Krysta's Curse (19 page)

But AJ was still gawking at the back of the room. “I
think he
does
know. He looks upset.”

Whoever this guy was, I suspected he was bad news. I
could tell by the way Sophie’s flushed skin had turned as pale as a
ghost. And considering I had seen plenty of ghosts in my lifetime,
Sophie was practically glowing.

“Please don’t let him sit by me,” Sophie whispered
through frozen features.

And then the boy sat in the vacant seat in front of
her desk.

AJ

I sat in the passenger’s seat of my brother’s truck,
fuming. In fact, if I’d been a cartoon, steam would be shooting out
of my ears. Sophie had sent me a text this morning that she didn’t
like Mike’s driving and she was taking the bus.

The bus.

Only losers and freaks took the bus to school. The
cool kids drove. And if they didn’t have their drivers’ licenses,
they rode in a friend’s car. Sophie had the opportunity to ride in
the truck of one of the coolest jocks in school. Instead, she’d
thrown away the chance to actually look cool, and not like a moping
freak, all because she didn’t feel safe.

Sure, I had to admit my brother’s driving sucked. I
had already yelled at him a few times when he was checking his text
messages instead of focusing on the road. But Mike wasn’t going to
crash. Because if he was, I would have seen it, just like I’d saved
my parents from a car crash last year.

So basically, Sophie refused to ride with us because
she not only lacked faith in Mike’s driving, she lacked faith in
me.

And that cut hard.

Really hard.

I crossed my arms over my chest and swore. I was
just so angry. So angry, I almost didn’t see my brother speed
through that red light.

I pressed against the dirt, my palms gathering dust
in the cold darkness. A thin sliver of flickering light fell to my
left from between the floorboards above me—his shadow passed,
blocking it momentarily. Through the crack, I watched as he moved
over my hiding place.

“
She is not here,” an unfamiliar voice
said.

Breath held and heart racing, I listened to their
boot falls above me. A rat tittered somewhere behind my head, and I
closed my eyes, fighting the panic that rose.

Finally, his voice. The voice of the man who would
kill me given the slightest chance. “She is here.”

“
We have searched the cottage,” the stranger
argued.

“
Not hard enough!” my tormentor barked, his deep
voice booming off the walls of my home.

I whimpered, turning away from the light. Caught
between the earth and the floorboards that held my enemy, I had
nowhere to run. The sliding sound of a rat’s tail on the dirt moved
closer.

“
Come to me, my little witch,” he murmured. His
heavy steps stopped over me once more, as if he could sense my
presence. I could see his handsome face through that infernal
crack, illuminated by my cheerfully burning fireplace: the strong
curve of his chin, the dimple in one cheek. The face of an angel,
the heart of the devil. “God has judged you and deemed you unworthy
in His eyes. I am charged with doing my spiritual duty. You cannot
hide forever….”

No. I couldn’t. But I could very well run until he
decided to give up the chase.

He would not have me alive.

His face tilted down, and his brilliant blue eyes
rested on me.

***

AJ

I woke with a start, and though my first instinct
was to jump out of bed screaming, I couldn’t find the strength to
move. My vision was blurred. The lights and walls around me blended
into one big white blob. Something was beeping beside me. Was it my
cell phone? It had never made that noise before. My heart pounded
out a wild staccato as I recalled the dream. It had felt so real.
Who was this woman and how could I keep her from being
murdered?

Slowly, the room came into focus. I was sitting up
in a bed. In front of me was a blank television screen set against
a white wall. As I began to register my surroundings, the wild
racing in my heart was replaced by a dull throbbing in my head and
a burning ache in my side.

“Ugh,” I moaned. The pain all around me was
worsening. I tried to lift my arm, but it seemed stuck in place.
Muscles ached all over my body. What had happened?

I was vaguely aware of a warm hand clutching mine
—of my mother hovering above me with red-rimmed eyes and a furrowed
brow. I twitched as strands of her blonde hair tickled my nose.

“W-what happened?” I moaned, though the act of
uttering those words sent a new wave of pain to my side.

Mother’s lips quivered as she spoke. “You were in an
accident.”

Accident? I didn’t remember an accident. When? How?
I ran a tongue over my teeth, wishing I had something to drink to
quench my thirst. I tried to ask my mom more questions, but my
mouth was so parched, I only managed to cough, which sent a new
wave of dizzying pain across my side. The pain raced up my chest
and through my extremities. I cried out.

My mother released my hand and then quickly returned
with a glass of water. I slowly drank from the straw. Slowly
because even the act of drinking made my side ache. But at least my
mouth and throat were no longer sore.

After I’d finished nearly the entire glass, I laid
my head against the pillow. My mother continued to hold my hand, as
I tried to piece together my thoughts. I tried to move my fingers
on my stiff, right arm, but even the simple act of twitching a
thumb sent shards of pain through my wrist.

Okay, so right arm broken. No biggie. I pitch with
my left.

Judging by the way it hurt to speak, cough, drink
and even breathe, I realized at least one or more ribs were
broken.

So with a broken arm and broken ribs, I’m definitely
missing basketball practice, maybe even the first few games.

But what worried me most was the dull ache in my
head. This pain wasn’t like a normal headache. It was much deeper.
The nauseating throbbing left me dizzy and disoriented, but not
disoriented enough I couldn’t feel the pain all over my body, like
I’d been beaten to a pulp.

“My body hurts,” I groaned.

“You have broken bones,” my mother answered as she
squeezed my hand tighter.

Though I ached, something about the warmth of my
mother’s touch made me feel better.

I nodded before closing my eyes. The lights overhead
seemed to worsen this overwhelming nausea.

“Basketball season?” I asked weakly, even though
that thread of hope was quickly unraveling with each new throbbing
pain on my body.

My mother heaved a heavy sigh. “I think that’s the
least of your worries.”

Again, I asked myself the questions.
An accident?
How? Why?

I was struck with a flash of understanding. One
memory. Me screaming as my brother ran a red light.

We were hit by another car. My brother!

“Is Mike okay?” I asked on a rush of air as my eyes
flew open and I shot up. The movement sent shards of blinding pain
through me.

Mother gently pushed me back against the pillow.
“He’s got a broken collarbone but he’ll live if I don’t kill him
first.”

“Football?” I asked, knowing my brother would be
devastated if he, too, had to sit on the bench.

Mother shook her head. “Neither of you will be
playing sports for a while.”

I closed my eyes again, but it did little to stop
the hot tears streaming down my face. I was the only sophomore on
the varsity squad. A starter, too. And now, my dreams had been
crushed because of my brother’s stupid driving. Because we ran a
red light and we were hit.

Another car!

“The other car,” I asked her as fear gripped my
extremities like a vice. I’d never forgive myself if the other
driver had been killed. After all, this whole accident was my
fault. I should have seen it coming.

“You mean delivery truck,” she stated with emotion
in her strained voice. “The driver suffered minor injuries. He
actually gave you first aid while they waited for the
paramedics.”

I heaved a sigh of relief. Slowly, as my aching side
couldn’t withstand any sudden movements.

“It hurts to breathe and my head is pounding,” I
rasped.

“You have broken ribs and a concussion.”

That’s serious. Why didn’t I see this coming?

Though I dreaded her answer, I had to know. “Am I
losing my powers?”

“I don’t think so,” my mother answered before
squeezing my hand. “But they are changing.”

“What does that mean?” I asked.

“I don’t know yet. But Aunt Bertrice is here. She
can help us.”

Aunt Bertrice? I remembered hearing about my
mother’s aunt, her grandmother’s twin sister. Bertrice, my
grandmother had said, was far more gifted than any of us. But what
was Aunt Bertrice’s gift? I had no recollection of my grandmother
telling me.

I knew my mother could see where her loved ones were
by closing her eyes. I wondered if my mother had seen the accident.
Then I realized she must have by the way she’d described it.

My grandmother could teleport objects. Grandma had
once saved Mike’s life by slowing down his fall after he’d stumbled
off a cliff. Mike had suffered a broken arm but he’d deserved it
after disobeying our mom and going snowboarding at Hell’s Peak.

“There’s our miracle patient,” a booming voice
echoed from across the room. “How are you feeling?”

I opened my eyes. An older man with a receding
hairline and thick glasses was standing over me. He wore a white
smock and clutched a clipboard to his chest. I assumed he was a
doctor.

“My head really hurts,” I moaned.

“You have a serious concussion.” He turned to my
mother with raised brows. “Or so I thought.”

He looked down at me and held one hand up. “How many
fingers am I holding up?”

“Four,” I answered.

“Good.” He nodded and made a mark on his clipboard.
“What’s your name and birthday?”

“Don’t you already have all that on my chart?” I
asked, not even bothering to mask my annoyance. Didn’t this guy
know I was in pain?

He smiled. “Just humor me.”

“AJ Dawson. April ninth,” I said curtly before
adding, “Am I going to miss all of basketball season?”

The doctor laughed.

Grrrr. I wished he’d take his loud voice someplace
else.

“Amazing. Simply amazing.” The doctor shook his head
while patting my arm. “I’ve never seen a patient with this type of
concussion heal so quickly with no sign of brain damage.”

“Look at her recent cat scans.” He pulled a sheet
off of his clipboard and held it out to my mother. “Can you believe
this? Remember all the swelling and fluid on her brain? Gone! And I
didn’t think she’d ever wake up.”

Mother didn’t even look at the image. She simply
smiled at me. “It’s a miracle.”

My mouth went dry again, and though it already hurt
to breathe, now it felt like I was breathing through a straw. My
chest hurt, my limbs went numb. I struggled to make sense of what
the doctor was saying. Swelling on the brain? How badly had I been
injured?

“If I wasn’t a man of science,” the doctor continued
in his annoyingly exuberant voice, “I’d say your daughter had the
help of a higher power.”

“Definitely,” Mother said with a twinkle in her
eyes.

The doctor patted me one more time before stepping
back. “I’ll send a nurse in to get some vitals.”

A higher power?
I realized the doctor was
probably right. But how? The women in my family were gifted with
different powers, but I didn’t know anyone with the power to heal.
Then the realization struck me. “Didn’t you say Aunt Bertrice is
here? Where is she?”

Mother smoothed her hand across my cheek. “Grandma
took her for a bite to eat, but she’s been by your bedside for the
past two days.”

“How long have I been out?”

Mother’s eyes clouded over as her lower lip
trembled. “Five days. You were in ICU for the first three. Like the
doctor said, the concussion was serious.” Then her voice broke off
as she stifled a sob. “They told us you might stay in a coma
forever.”

Though my head throbbed, I seemed to be thinking
clear enough to realize I was lucky to be alive. And here all I
cared about was being able to play ball. I knew without a doubt why
this aunt I’d never met had come to my bedside after the accident.
Aunt Bertrice had the power to heal.

Krysta

“Do you want to play with me?”

She couldn’t have been older than five. She was
adorable. Pudgy hands and cheeks, big brown eyes, dark, curly hair.
She actually looked a lot like me when I was little. I tried to
imagine her with olive skin like mine, but this child’s skin was
deathly pale with a slight blue tint. Her tattered dress dripped
with what looked like water. She had a large gash on her
temple.

Tears pricked my eyes, but I plastered on a smile.
“I’d love to, but if I played with you, people would think I was
crazy.”

I scanned the few people in the hospital waiting
room. A middle-aged couple was gawking at me. An elderly woman had
moved to the far side of the room while she glared at me from
beneath her lashes. They probably thought I’d escaped from the
mental ward. The only person in the room who knew I wasn’t crazy
was Sophie, but my BFF was snoring on the bench next to me.

I sighed while rolling my eyes. “They probably
already think I’m crazy.” To an outsider it must have looked like I
was talking to myself.

“That’s okay.” The little girl shrugged. “There are
other kids here.”

“I know.” I nodded, as again, I fought to hold back
the tears. “I’ve seen them.”

Gawd, how I hated hospitals. Hated them. I’d never
seen more dead people in all my life.