Authors: T. G. Ayer
"Yes, I do. I can see why you were angry. I left you so suddenly and the message gave you the wrong idea. I did owe you an explanation. I'm sorry."
Confused by his apology I shook my head. Too late to acknowledge I'd been nosy when our relationship wasn't even a legitimate one. Two kisses, no matter how heated, did not make a relationship.
His warm fingers linked to mine and he pulled me to my feet. "What is it you want, Aidan? I'm not girlfriend material. I'm not an easy one-night stand. What's happening here? Between us?"
"Something you and I can figure out together. And something we don't need to rush. It's nice as it is, don't you agree?"
Our proximity was not conducive to coherent thought. I cleared my throat and asked, "So will you help me find out more about the premonitions?" But my words were more of a heated whisper.
Aidan nodded and his cheek crushed my temple. How did we get this close this fast? I didn't recall either of us moving together. A dance to music only he and I could hear.
Breath mingled, heartbeats tangled. Mine spiked every time our bodies touched. The heat of his fingers entwined with mine scorched my skin, unbearable and incredible. Blood thrummed in my ears, smudged my thoughts. Just wanted him closer.
And, as if he'd heard me, as if he knew just one more step would be a step in the wrong direction, he breathed deep and stepped away. He'd stolen away the warmth and I shivered.
"I think it might be best to keep some distance here. . . ." He wiggled his eyebrows and I giggled softly. "Not sure I can stop myself if you keep getting so close to me all the time."
Cheeky grin.
I smiled. "Can we get back to the topic at hand please?"
"Okay, so who did your friend have the premonition about? Who does she think is going to die?"
My throat closed, rebelling against the thought, the very idea we might be losing Brody soon. My mind refused to form the words but I tried.
"Brody," I said, and the name came out ragged and almost unintelligible.
"Who?" His voice was harsh.
I cleared my throat again and took a deep breath. Why I thought a deep breath would help I didn't know, but it pushed the name past my lips. "It's Brody. Our Brody."
Aidan's face paled. He'd bonded with the two boys so easily. He was so good with the kids, not minding them rushing around the house playing pirates and squabbling about which game to play on Xbox.
"What are we going to do?" I whispered and sank onto the edge of the bed. The mattress sank beside me and Aidan's arm curled me into him. My tears were hot and angry and desperate.
"Do you really believe…her then? That her premonitions are true?" His chin moved in my hair.
"Yes. It's real." I could barely hear my whispered words.
"Then we'll do whatever it takes to find out how it works and how we can stop it from happening. Okay?"
I nodded.
Before I could thank him for his understanding the door flew open and Ms. Custer burst in. "Aidan, help me! It's Brody!"
***
Ms. Custer stared at us, forehead creased. It didn't look good. Aidan and I, both seated at the foot of his half-made bed, his arm around me, my head on his shoulder and my face wet with tears.
She blinked, swallowed, and then said, "Hurry!" Her eyes snapped down the hall. She turned and raced back to Brody. We would get our telling off soon enough. I swiped at the moisture on my cheeks and eyes, wiping it off on my jeans, and followed Aidan to Brody's room next door.
Our foster mother sat at the edge of the bed, staring at Brody's pale face. Ms. Custer wrung her hands, then placed them in her lap, knuckles whitening. Hands shaking, she reached out to check Brody's pulse.
"He's breathing, but so shallow I almost missed it." I heard the tears gathering at the edge of her heart, pooling, ready to spill over. "He won't wake up."
The lights blazed, yet grey, cold shadows seeped into the room. Simon, who shared the room, stood on the far side of Brody's bed, blue eyes paled to a sad grey, shivering against the gathering cold. He stared at Brody, whose features glowed with a serenity and peace that stabbed molten pokers into my gut.
Aidan's phone beeped as he dialed 911. He spoke fast, his voice void of emotion. Izzy appeared at the doorway, her eyes widening and then filling with tears and fear as Aidan spoke.
"Ambulance is on its way. Not long now." His gaze, like everyone else's, fastened on Brody. Aidan and I were the only ones already grieving for the little boy. The only ones who knew he would soon be leaving us forever.
This shouldn't be happening.
It was too soon.
The glow, no brighter than yesterday, confused me. My head ached with fear and guilt and confusion.
The paramedics came and left in a blur of urgent and strangely calming activity. Ms. Custer went with Brody. His little body lay prone and vulnerable on the stretcher. I put Simon to bed, snuggling with him, stroking his blonde curls, until his breathing deepened. Creeping out of the bed, I unhooked his fingers from my neck, tucked him in and stemmed the urge to sob aloud.
How will he handle being alone?
They made such a troublesome yet adorable pair. Not brothers in blood but in every other way that counted.
I pulled the door until a thin shaft of light from the hall illuminated the room in case Simon awakened and called out for us. He wouldn't be frightened by the dark, and I'd hear him call. I went to check on Izzy but her room was empty. I hurried down to the front room, finding Aidan checking his phone, probably for the eleventy-fifth time. Izzy huddled in Ms. Custer's favorite armchair, clutching a pillow close.
I gave her a weak smile and turned to Aidan. "Any news?" I asked, tugging my cardigan close, hoping for
good
news.
"No, I thought I'd ring Ms. Custer but . . . she doesn't need us annoying her with phone calls."
I stared at Aidan. His eyes were ringed with worry and weariness, but a quiet strength enveloped him, projecting a confidence he didn't possess. I kept my grief at bay, aware too that he might be thinking too much, being too sensible.
And Ms. Custer would never be annoyed if we rang to check on little Brody.
"I will call her." His head shot up. "She would expect us to call her. She's there all alone. She'd need the company a little, I guess."
I dialed and waited for her to pick up. On the final ring, seconds before it went into message, she answered, her voice raspy.
"Hey, it's me."
"Hello, honey." I pictured the teary smile.
"How is he?" It'd been less than an hour, but felt like an eternity.
"Bryn, you have to listen to me, child." She paused, to blow her nose and sniff, the sounds coming through loud and clear.
Right, Bryn, don't go all hysterical on her.
"Okay, tell me what's wrong with him." Pressure built in my chest. Aching, frightening pressure.
"He didn't make it, Bryn." Her voice shook, filled with tears and grief. The first fingers of hysteria slipped around my lungs. I sank onto the floor, leaning against the coffee table, my legs refusing to take me the two steps to the couch.
Aidan rushed to me, crouching beside me, one hand on my shoulder. Izzy rose to her feet, still clutching her pillow.
"What?" I asked, but my voice failed me and the word ended up a disbelieving whisper.
"He's gone, baby." Ms. Custer's tender voice came down the phone to soothe my pain. I loved her more for her generosity of spirit. And I ached to comfort her too. But anger still enclosed my grief in chains of black iron. I didn't ask how she was, if she needed anything. "I'm just signing some papers," she said. "I'll be home soon."
The urge to give in to tears was overwhelming. But I didn't give in, had to be sensible, responsible. I said, "I'll send Aidan for you."
"Good. Thank you, child."
"How did it happen?" There had to be an explanation of how a little boy could die without warning.
"They think it was a heart attack. The doctor said it happens sometimes with undiagnosed heart conditions." She took a deep breath, which rattled down the line. "They'll know for sure after they complete their tests."
Long QT Syndrome
, the doctors had said. A fancy name for Brody's death. A reason why his bright light was extinguished. Their words told me nothing, so I checked the internet. It explained about irregular heartbeats in kids that sometimes go undetected. Until one day the patient just dies.
I shed all my tears alone. Izzy huddled in my arms on the porch swing until Aidan and Ms. Custer returned from the hospital. Aidan gently led the distraught old woman up the steps to the front door. She fumbled with the latch. Her hollow eyes made me tremble, made me feel again the emptiness of the house without Brody.
Izzy followed Ms. Custer through the door, grabbing on to her hand. Aidan and I stayed outside on the porch swing, which would never hold the two squabbling boys again. Ms. Custer retreated to the dining room, making calls, preparing for the funeral on Saturday, trying to figure out what would happen next.
"He didn't just die, you know," I said to Aidan, now that Simon couldn't overhear. "I knew he was going to die. I could have told someone."
The swing creaked, laughing at my cowardice.
"And just what were you planning on saying to them? He had no known health issues, Bryn." He faced me, his features masked by gathering grey darkness. He tucked a lock of hair behind my ear, touched my cheek before pulling me closer. "How were you going to convince the doctors?
By the way, Doctor. Brody's going to die. I just don't know how or when or why, but please check him out?
"
Aidan rubbed my arm and turned to stare out into the darkness beyond the porch. Silence owned the next few moments and I mulled over the stark truth of his words. Then he shook his head, speaking so softly it was almost as if he were talking to himself. "No, they would have thought you were insane. Probably committed you. You’re a ward of the state, you know. One wrong move and you are dust."
I bristled, despite knowing he was right. My history with psychiatrists would have colored the doctors' judgment. I could never have warned them about Brody or Aimee or anyone, not without risking the best home I'd ever had.
***
The days all blended into one indistinguishable week. The day of the funeral arrived and the house was swathed in silence. Poor Izzy couldn't even crack a smile. And yet the sun shone on the fall afternoon, as if blessing us with a burst of golden light to say farewell to our little brother.
I was sick of golden light.
Brody had an open casket, revealing his cute little smiling lips and corkscrew curls. Many well-wishers managed a sad smile when they bid the little boy farewell.
And Brody still shone.
The little boy still radiated lustrous gold so bright it speared my eyes, drawing hot tears. I steeled myself, lowered my head until I regained control. Nobody would know the depth of my anger, the intensity of my guilt. My grief had grown into a solid, black lump in my chest. Fed by anger, and hate. Hatred for myself, anger at myself. Even Aidan's words didn't assuage my guilt.
That night, the dreams made it all worse. For the few hours of sleep I managed to get, every unconscious second was violated by dreams. Dreams of wings flapping, thrusting against my face, lifting my hair. Of muzzles twitching, dark eyes shining, reflecting the white moon. Those eyes bored into me. Knowing eyes. Intelligent, human eyes.
***
The week after the funeral crawled by. A week in which every minute was weighed down with my tears and my anger. The dreams worsened and I rarely slept. The house still lay silent most of the time, as if no one dared to have any fun—as if TV, games and laughter would lessen our loss.
I dried the dishes while Aidan stacked them away. Ms. Custer chatted with Simon and Izzy in the living room.
"It's my fault," I said softly.
"It's not."
"I should have done something!" I flung the cloth at the counter and sank into the nearest chair.
Aidan sighed. "Look, Bryn, maybe it doesn't work that way. Maybe sometimes premonitions happen for reasons other than the obvious." He shook his head, eyes narrowed, impaling me with the fiercest stare. "You have to snap out of it."
I got to my feet again and grabbed another dish. He'd never be able to understand what I was going through. Not until he could see the glow and live with the knowledge himself. And that would never happen.
"Stop beating yourself up," he continued. "You see the glow, then the person dies. Each time it's different. You never know when they'll die. So you can't do anything to save them, Bryn." Aidan sighed, his eyes filled with regret and grief. He took a step toward me, hesitated for a moment, then turned abruptly on his heel and left the kitchen.
His parting words chilled me like a plunge into arctic waters:
You see the glow, then they die
. I turned and stared, horrified, after Aidan.