Authors: Molly M. Hall
The forest grows denser, the trees and branches becoming thicker, narrowing the path. I stretch my arms out in front of me, forging my way through. The path grows even narrower, slowly disappearing altogether. I push forward, ignoring the pain from the scrapes and cuts on my bare skin. My arms are soon covered in blood, long trails of it snaking past my elbows and dropping with bright red splotches onto the ground. I can it smell it, warm and sharp, the iron tang of it strong in the damp whiteness.
The blood. The ground. The smell. I stop, panicked. I’m leaving a trail even a blind man can follow. I yank off my shirt and using teeth and hands, rip it in two. I hastily bind each arm. Dark patches of red quickly seep through the thin white cotton. But at least it stops the dripping.
I move forward as quickly as I can, dodging trees and branches, my feet exploring the area in front of me for rocks and holes. Hide. I needed somewhere to hide.
I hear it behind me, just a few feet away. Sniffing and growling. Low and menacing. It knows it has its prey. A sob escapes my throat. No! There has to be a way. Somewhere to go.
I slip between two overhanging branches and drop to my knees, crawling through a tangle of vines and shrubs. Thin, sharp-pointed brambles lash at my bare back, snagging on my bra. Reaching the other side, I stand and look around with relief. The fog has thinned, receding into long white tendrils that slowly rise upward. There is nothing before me but a wall of rock.
Screaming in frustration, I run forward, peering upward, but the rock extends for hundreds of feet, the surface smooth and flat. I look to both sides. The wall curves around, enclosing me in an inescapable prison of stone. Suddenly I know it has led me here, pushing me through the forest, making sure I made the right turns, followed the path that would leave me no way out. I’m trapped. Nowhere to hide. Nowhere to run. Nowhere to climb.
It’s over.
I turn at the sound of rustling leaves. I can see it. A dark shape, materializing out of the fog. I can hear it breathing. Steady and even. I begin trembling, my muscles quivering and shaking so much I fear my legs will give out and I will fall, collapsing in a shuddering heap on the ground.
I force myself to remain upright, my breath coming in ragged gasps. I will face it standing. No matter what. I’m trapped but I won’t give up without a fight. I reach down and lift my pant leg, my fingers closing around the hilt of the knife strapped to my calf. I rise, my hand shaking so badly the knife nearly falls out of my hand. I clasp it tighter and draw myself erect, my arm behind me.
It steps forward, it’s eyes slicing through me.
It reaches out, and I scream, my arm sweeping around in a powerful arc as I plunge the knife in as far as it will go.
_________
I wake, sweating and panting, the sheets and blankets twisted around my legs. Sitting up, I look around wildly. Moonlight glows softly around the window blind. Fish swam lazily back and forth across my computer screen saver. The hands on the clock glow neon green beside the bed: 3:14.
I took several deep breaths, trying to bring my racing pulse under control. Pulling the damp hair away from my neck, I look at Alecto, perched on my desk, her blue eyes gazing at me softly, as though patiently waiting for my frenzied thrashing to end. I run a hand across my forehead, propping my elbows on my knees. The edges of the dream begin receding, breaking into disjointed fragments that no longer seem to fit together. Sighing, I beckon Alecto over. She stretches and arches her back then jumps to the bed. I straighten the sheets and flip the pillow over. Alecto tucks herself beneath my arm. Turning to my side, I snuggle against her, kissing her small head.
“Why don’t the dreams just stop?” A tear slides down my cheek, but I brush it away impatiently. If only I didn’t have to sleep. I’d tried staying awake, fighting off the tiredness so I can avoid the dreams. But, somehow, sleep always manages to find me, my eyes inexorably closing.
I sigh, shifting position on the bed. Something about the dream was different this time. But what? It flickers at the back of my mind, but I can’t pinpoint it. Which is odd, because the dreams usually stay with me, with an intense clarity, for hours afterward. But this time I can hardly recall the details. Maybe that’s a good sign. Maybe it means they’ll go away again, like before.
I can only hope.
With only two days left until the end of the school year, I finish cleaning out my locker Wednesday afternoon, leaving only a notebook and a couple of mechanical pencils. Shoving the remainder into my book bag, I think about the weekend. I don’t know what I’m more excited about – my birthday on Saturday, or getting my driver’s license the following Monday. Without question, the license is big, but for some reason, my birthday seems more important. It just feels like I’m taking a giant step forward. Maybe it’s because I’m younger by several months than most of my classmates. Or maybe it’s because I’m a year closer to eighteen. Or maybe it’s something else. Something I can’t define or put my finger on. But whatever the reason, I’m filled with anticipation.
Hitching my backpack over my shoulder, I head to the cafeteria. Rachel had to talk with her English teacher, but promised to meet me outside by 3:30. Glancing at my watch I see I still have ten minutes so I wander over to the vending machines, intent on upping my sodium intake for the day. As I stare at the meager selections, I idly wonder how I managed to get around before Rachel got her car. It had only been a week and I was already completely dependent on it.
I dig through my shoulder bag looking for change. I was sure I had at least a dollar’s worth lying loose on the bottom, but all I can find are two pennies, and a dime. I unzip the inside pocket but that only produces a miniature bottle of hand sanitizer and a half-full container of Tic-Tacs. Setting it on the floor, I open it wider, moving the contents aside as I run my hand along the bottom. Nothing. Disappointed, I slide my hand into the side pocket for one last search. And pull out the picture of the dark-haired woman on the swing.
I stare at it in shock. What was it doing there? The last time I saw it, it had been lying on the counter at the antiques store. Had I put it in my bag and not even been aware of it? In addition to seeing images that weren’t there, was I now unconsciously shoplifting?
No
, I tell myself. Despite the strange state my thoughts have been in lately, I would never do anything like that. The only answer is Lovell. He must have slipped it into my bag when I wasn’t looking. But why? And why not tell me?
I shake my head, not wanting to think about him. I’d ask him about it later. I just hope that he paid for it.
Finally finding the change I need in the pocket of my book bag, I slip the coins into the slot, my fingers drumming against the side of the machine. After staring blankly at a packet of M & M’s for several moments, I realize that I’m humming
The Swan
. Which makes me think about Lovell. Something I’ve been doing entirely too much of lately.
“Not much to choose from, huh?”
Stifling a gasp, I look to my left. Into the brown eyes of Rick Laurent.
“What are you gonna have?” he asks, as if genuinely interested in what I will choose.
At a complete loss for words, I mumble, “Um, just chips,” and blindly push A2, hoping I haven’t just selected the chocolate bar on D2. The coil moves with agonizing slowness while my mind freezes into a barren nothingness. I struggle to think of something,
anything
, to say. It seems impossible that Rick Laurent is actually standing next to me. Speaking to me. Asking me a question.
“Cool.” He gazes at the vending machine for a moment, appraising the selections, then shrugs. “I’m not really hungry, anyway,” he says, turning his attention to the soda machine.
The chips finally drop to the bottom. Reaching inside I grab the bag, knowing that I’m letting the perfect opportunity slip through my fingers. But my tongue and lips and brain have ceased to function. From the neck up, I could probably be pronounced clinically dead.
Escaping out the side door, I wend my way through the cement tables. Fortunately, the area is deserted. The last thing I want is company. Choosing the table furthest from the door, I sink onto the bench and drop my head into my hands, my cheeks flaming with embarrassment.
Could that possibly have gone any worse? A chance to actually speak to the guy and the best I can come up with is, “Um, chips?” And I’m sure it came out in that horrible, squeaky voice that happens every time I get nervous and my vocal cords tighten up.
Why is it that in my imagination the conversation always goes so much better? We talk and laugh, surprised by how much we have in common, while I flirt and tease effortlessly. He leans one shoulder against the wall, quietly asking for my number because he’d like to call me sometime, his brown eyes conveying his interest and attraction.
In reality, it never works that way.
Reality sucks.
I shake my head, my stomach twisted into a painful knot of humiliation.
No longer hungry, I toss the chips into the trashcan, wishing I could drop into a sinkhole with them. Forget the entire experience; forget this day; forget this week. The door opens behind me and Rick walks out, drinking from a bottle of orange Gatorade. His gym bag is over one shoulder, a lacrosse stick lying diagonally across the top. He looks in my direction.
Great
, I think.
Another chance to make a fool of myself
.
He walks towards me, and smiles. “Hey, Kat. How’s it goin’?”
Dumbstruck, I somehow manage to find my voice. “Good,” I squeak. I clear my throat. “And you?”
“Great.” He smiles again, and I notice his smile is slightly crooked and that one of his incisors slants inwards. I find it oddly charming. “Glad school’s almost done.”
“Yeah. Me, too.”
He steps closer, and my heart starts to pound in my chest.
The door opens again and a boy I don’t recognize comes out carrying a helmet, stick and pads. “Hey, Laurent. You comin’?”
“Yeah,” Rick says. “I’ll be right there.” He looks at me apologetically. “Gotta go to practice.” He nods in the direction of the athletic fields.
The other boy looks curiously between Rick and me, then shrugs one shoulder and walks in the opposite direction.
“Um, so I guess I’ll see you around, Kat.”
I nod, watching him as he walks away. Suddenly, he turns around and jogs back.
“I’m having an end-of-year party at my house Saturday. It’d be great if you could come. You know, if you’re not busy or have other plans or anything.”
I swallow and try to maintain a neutral expression while my heart begins fluttering erratically in my chest. “Um, yeah. OK. That’d be great. Thanks.” My brain stumbles, its usual thought-forming pattern stalled, as I try to process the fact that Rick Laurent has just asked me to his party.
“Cool,” he says, and smiles. “It’s not far from here. But I’ll get you a map with the address. I still have some in my locker. Can you meet me in by my locker tomorrow after school? It’s at the end, by World History. Room 420.”
I nod. I know exactly where his locker is. I’ve stolen glances at it between classes all year. “Sure.”
“Awesome. See ya!” He hurries away, disappearing around the side of the building.
_________
I jump in Rachel’s car and grab her arm. “You won’t
believe
what just happened.”
“What?” she asks, her brown eyes wide with curiosity.
“Rick asked me to his end-of-year party on Saturday.”
Her eyes grow even wider and she pushes my shoulder. “
Get out
! Are you kidding me?”
I nod enthusiastically, riding a wave of emotion that hovers somewhere between total disbelief and sheer ecstasy.
“Oh, my God! That is so awesome! I
knew
this would happen!” A smug look crosses her face.
As I look at her, I’m struck by a sudden thought. Rachel had been suggesting for months that I let her drop a few subtle hints to find out if he was interested, but I had made her absolutely
swear
she would never do such a thing. The thought horrifies me. “Oh, my God…you didn’t.”
She looks at me in confusion. “Didn’t what?”
“Say anything! To him or anyone else!”
“No! Of course not! I promised you I wouldn’t, and I didn’t.”
I narrow my eyes.
“All I meant was I knew the two of you would get together. It was bound to happen. When you feel that strongly about somebody, there’s a lot of chemistry going on. And the other person feels it, too. It’s the law of attraction in action. You’ve thought about him enough, you’ve drawn him to you. Now you just have to visualize the two of you together. Forever.” She smiles dreamily.
“Yeeaahh,” I say. Rachel’s new-age thinking is beyond me at the moment.
“I’m tellin’ ya. It’s true. Anyway, tell me everything. How. When. What he said.” She puts the car in gear and heads out of the parking lot.
“There’s really nothing to tell,” I protest, but give her a brief rundown of the meeting at the vending machine, followed by the short exchange outside. I glance out my window, watching two crows pick apart the remains of a sandwich and chips that had been carelessly tossed onto the street. “You know,” I say, the practical side of my brain finally kicking in, “I’m probably making too much of this. It’s just a party, after all. They’ll probably be a hundred people there. He won’t even notice.”
“No way. If he made a point of asking you to come, he’ll notice.”
“Yeah. Maybe.” I pick at my fingernails. He’d only asked me ten minutes ago, and I’m already beginning to have doubts. Overcome with nerves, I turn sideways on the seat and look at her imploringly. “You have to go with me.”
Rachel glances sideways, taking in my desperate expression. “You’re forgetting something – I wasn’t invited.”
“So? Like anyone would even notice! There’ll probably be tons of people there that weren’t o
fficially
invited.”
She is silent, focusing on driving. The car slows as the red Saturn in front of us pulls into the parking lot of the Mini-Mart.