Night Sky (2 page)

I'm getting ahead of myself here.

The crappola had really started hitting the fan almost a week before the infamous Sav'A'Buck incident. Of course, I didn't know at the time that a string of unbelievable events were about to take place that would forever change my life. But then again, who can ever tell something like that?

My week had started out completely normal. It was the usual. School, Calvin, babysitting, dealing with Momzilla—a totally typical few days. If anything, it was an uber-awesome week because I got to babysit Sasha an extra night. Extra babysitting equaled extra money. And, anyway, I loved watching Sasha. She lived right down the street from me, and her whole family was exactly what I wished I had. Even though Sasha's mom and dad were struggling with money and both needed to work two jobs because of the whole Second Great Depression that everyone kept talking about, they still seemed so
happy
all the time. And relaxed.

Nothing like my uptight mom and her crazy rules. Momzilla always told me that we should consider ourselves “lucky” because we hadn't been affected by the world economic crisis or whatever. But seriously? No matter how much money we had, I still had paranoid Mom on my case constantly. And
that
didn't make me feel lucky at all.

Anyway, that Sunday night was the last “normal” evening I would have in a really long time. Sasha sat at her dining-room table as I stood behind the kitchen counter and mixed chocolate syrup into her milk.

“A lot, please,” Sasha said, crossing her fingers together as she swung her pajama-pant-clad legs underneath the table.

“Not
too
too much,” I replied, pouring more syrup into the glass.

“But too too much is
good
!” she exclaimed. Her brown eyes were big and almond shaped and quite serious. “Daddy and Mommy let me have as much as I want!”

“Well. You've got it made, then,” I said. “
My
mommy won't let me have milk
or
chocolate.”

Or beef. Or any soda pop with artificial sweeteners. Actually, the list of things my mom wouldn't let me eat was longer than the list of things that I
could
. Ever since the accident and then our move to Coconut Key, the rules I had to follow would have given a kindergartner a rash. Compared to me, Sasha was pretty much living it up.

I had to do my homework before I watched TV.

I was not allowed to get into a car being driven by anyone who hadn't had their driver's license for a full decade.

I had to be home by ten thirty on the weekend and in bed, lights out, by eleven on a school night.

And blah, blah, blah…

Because life was so dang dangerous now, unlike the incredibly safe and bucolic good old days of the twenty-teens, or whatever ancient but perfect decade Mom had grown up in.

“
Skyylarr!
” Sasha brought me back to the present.

“Sorry,” I said.

“What's wrong?” Sasha's eyebrows wrinkled up. Her expression of concern made her look way older than a nine-year-old. But she acted way older than a nine-year-old too. Sometimes Sasha was an old, wise person in a little girl's body. But unlike some kids who had older sisters and were nine going on sixteen, Sasha still embraced her inner five-year-old and liked being babied.

“Nothing,” I said cheerfully as I handed her the glass.

She took a long, luxurious sip before grinning up at me. She had a serious milk mustache and she knew it. She pretended to twirl it with one tiny finger—exactly the way her dad did when he was joking around. “Yumbo!”

I giggled. Sometimes she acted like a wise, old person…and sometimes she was her extra-goofy father's daughter.

“Okay. Big sips and then bed.”

“Big sips,
tooth
brushing
, and then bed!” Sasha reminded me.

“I stand corrected.”

She drained the glass and then carefully returned it to the sink, making sure that it was rinsed out and set perfectly in the dishwasher before padding deliberately down the hallway to the bathroom.

It was pretty crazy—I had never met a neat-freak nine-year-old before, but Sasha was borderline OCD about certain stuff. It just added to the overall cuteness, though. She was as tiny as an elf, seriously small for her age, with little stubby pigtails and eyelashes that went on for miles. But her elfin appearance hardly matched her little-professor attitude.

I wished I could adopt her.

Or, better yet, I wished Sasha's parents would adopt me.

“You'll tuck me in?” Sasha called after she'd brushed her teeth (carefully, of course, complete with milk-mustache removal) and climbed into her bed.

“Of course,” I said, going into her room.

“Thanks a bundle,” Sasha replied cheerfully, curling up underneath her pink bedspread. She held her favorite teddy bear close, placing the soft, downy fur underneath her chin before smiling up at me.

I lifted the covers around her, patting the sides with painstaking precision, just the way Sasha liked it. “I'll be in the living room doing my homework if you need me.”

“Like if I have a nightmare or something.”

“Like if you have a nightmare or something,” I agreed as I looked around at the immaculately organized bookshelves, her neatly arranged toys—her massive doll collection the little room's centerpiece. She owned about a trillion old-school dolls, with big glassy eyes and frilly clothes. All of the beautiful brown-skinned dolls were front and center, with the blonds and the redheads at the bottom and in the back. They sat in perfect rows—typical Sasha organization. “But I bet you won't have any nightmares tonight.”

Sasha looked over at the window, with its chiffon curtains, and I went to double check that it was locked—something Mom had trained me to do long before I was Sasha's age. Outside, the night was dark and silent.

“Or if I just get scared or something?” Sasha asked as I checked to make sure her collection of night-lights was on.

“Or if you just get scared,” I answered.

Sasha sat up. “Unless you want to stay and watch my dollies dance!”

I gently pushed her back down. This kid was a procrastinator when it came to bedtime, because she was so afraid of the dark. She'd make her dolls perform an entire Broadway show if it meant I'd stay in her room a little bit longer. “I'd love to see your dollies dance,” I replied. “But it's time for bed now, so we'll have to play with them another day.”

“No!” Sasha shook her head fast and sat up in bed again. “They don't dance during the day! Only at night!”

I pushed her down again, this time sitting beside her on the bed and pinning her down with the blankets. “Well, maybe you'll have a good dream tonight about your dollies dancing. That way, you won't have any time for nightmares.”

Sasha belly-laughed. “But you don't
get
it!” she exclaimed through giggles. “They don't dance
in
my dreams. They dance before I fall asleep! Like this!” She wiggled out from beneath the covers and sat up once more, letting her head loll forward, her arms outstretched like a puppet on strings as she shifted her body back and forth.

I laughed, mostly because the idea of those dolls dancing like that would've made Calvin freak. “Wow. That's amazing. I wish I had dolls that danced around my room at night. But it's late.”

“I'll show you next time,” Sasha said, her eyes suddenly solemn.

“Okay,” I said, “but right now, it's time for all little girls and dolls to stop dancing and start sleeping. Because tomorrow you have to be up early for school.”

“Ew!” Sasha said, her nostrils flaring.

“I know. School is ewwy.”

“No, no.
Eeeeew
. What's that
smell
?”

I sniffed the air and the stench hit me. Like something had died and then come back to life just so that it could die again and double the stink. I mean, it was
intense
.

“Oh my lord, Sasha, for
real
? Did you just
fart
?”

Sasha had her hands over her nose, looking like she didn't know whether to laugh or throw up. “Nuh-uh!” she exclaimed, her voice muffled through her fingers. She burrowed her face into her teddy bear and made a groaning sound, like breathing the air was physically painful.

It was. My eyes were literally
watering
. “Well, it wasn't me!” I exclaimed, gagging before I covered my own nose and mouth with my hands. “Good God! You are never getting too-too chocolate milk again, woman!”

She laughed.

The awfulness was fading, but I was still thinking about maybe hurling—or at least offering a dry heave or two to the Gods of Terrible Odors—when Sasha initiated a tickle war.

“Don't!” I warned her, trying to catch her hands, but the gasping breath I took was filled with fresh, clear, un-stankified air, and I immediately recovered.

Before long, the two of us were hysterical, a jumble of arms and legs on Sasha's bed, giggling and out-tickling each other until finally we lay there exhausted.

“It's gone,” Sasha said. “The smell is.”

I turned my head to look at her. “Thank goodness. You're nasty.”

She giggled. “
You're
nasty!”

I stood up, fixed the girl's covers, and planted a big ol' kiss on her forehead. “Go to bed,” I said.

“Good night, Sky,” Sasha said.

“Good night, Sash.”

I didn't realize it then, but I should have said good-bye.

—

Things went south fast, starting late on Monday night.

I'd gone to bed at my usual time, but I'd fallen asleep quickly and immediately had one of my crazy, super-detailed dreams.

This one started out pleasantly enough.

I was on a highway. It was a long, two-lane deal…a place that looked familiar, but I wasn't sure why. And it was foggy. So much fog that I could barely see five feet in front of me as I drove.

Ooh. I was
driving
. Way cool.

I think that's when I suspected I was dreaming. In real life, I hadn't gotten my driver's license or even a permit. It was just one more thing I resented about my mother. Everyone else my age had gotten their licenses, but after everything that had gone down in Connecticut, Mom didn't think it would be “a good idea” if I got mine.

Anyway, in the dream, I was driving, and I was trying to keep my eyes focused because it was so hard to see a thing with all the fog. Trees whipped by in my peripheral vision, and a light drizzle smeared the windshield.

Suddenly, the car slowed down despite my insistent foot on the accelerator. A light was flashing on the dashboard, and I saw that it was the gas gauge. I was running on empty.

There wasn't a soul in sight.

The car puttered to a stop, and the rain started to come down faster and harder, tapping like angry ghost fingers on the glass.

I could hear myself breathing. And I realized I was scared.

Blip. Blip. Blip. Blip.

It was a noise outside the car, something in addition to the rain. My breathing quickened, and I pressed the lock button on the inside of the door.

The noise got louder, an insistent little chirp that reminded me of a hospital heart-rate monitor. It was just a beeping sound, but for some reason I couldn't stand it, especially with the dripping of the rain. I shuddered, and the goose bumps on my forearms tingled.

I pressed my hands against the cool rubber of the steering wheel and looked down at my lap.

Why was I wearing a
dress
? I
never
wore dresses. This one was white with little blue diamonds. It reminded me of those horrible hospital gowns doctors gave their patients to wear in the emergency room, like the gown I'd worn when…

I looked up again, and there was a face at the window.

I jumped and smacked my hip against the emergency brake.

Contorted through the rain-smeared glass, the face was pale, ghost-like. I could see dark hair, an open mouth, dark eyes…as dark as holes.

Panicked, I tried to start the car again. It sputtered and stalled.

The face leaned in, and I recognized it!
Her!

Sasha?
I called, and suddenly I was desperate to open the door to let the girl in.

Why was she standing in the pouring rain, on the highway in the middle of the night?

Sasha!
I called out again, and finally pushed the door open.

But Sasha had already begun to walk away from the car. Somehow, she was moving so fast and had gotten so far away from me. I just wanted to get her inside where she would be warm and dry. I wanted to get her away from whatever she was walking toward.

And then, just as fast, I was out in the middle of a field, and the sun was shining. I was still in that stupid hospital gown, and Sasha was gone. It was just me and a flurry of monarch butterflies…and the woman.

The woman.

Who was she?

Across the field, I could see her. Silver hair and a hat that covered her face. I felt okay for a second. For just a second.

And then I was in a room, and there was screaming, and there was blood, so much
blood
, and I was covered in blood, and I could smell it—

BOOM
BOOM
BOOM!

I woke up, gasping, flailing for the lamp that sat by my bed. The sheets were saturated with my sweat.

I turned on the light and sat up, breathing hard. My heart beat wildly in my chest.

BOOM
BOOM
BOOM!

“Holy crap!” I shouted, because the sound hadn't come from my dream. Someone really was knocking on our front door.

Correction: someone was
pounding
on the front door.