Reluctant Guardian (13 page)

“What does
yours
do?” he counters, avoiding my question. Very clever.

“Um, my dad is an accountant. Pretty boring, but he likes to take us rafting and camping and stuff like that.” The more I think about it, the sadder I feel. I'll never go camping again. I'll never sit by a smoky fire making s'mores, or get to sleep on the hard ground in a tent again. I turn away even though I'm pretty sure he can't see my sorrow.

“You were lucky. We never do that.”

“Why not?”

With a sigh, Brecken answers. “Because my dad can't take time off. We're still paying tons of medical bills from my mom's hospital stay. We don't have insurance. Dad runs his own business and... why am I telling you this? It doesn't even matter.” He throws the remote down and stands up.

“Who are you talking to?” Heidi says, returning from her bedroom.

“No one.”

She stands before him, her arms crossed, her hip jutted to the side. I almost laugh. She looks just like me with my brothers. “Are you taking your pills?” she asks.

I can tell Brecken is tempted to say something rude, because there's nothing more irritating than a little brother or sister telling you what to do, but to my surprise, he says nothing. He turns and pounds down the stairs to his bedroom.

Heidi frowns and goes into the bathroom. The shower turns on and music blasts. Since I don't want to sit in the living room alone, I head downstairs and walk in to Brecken's room right as he's taking off his t-shirt. His arms are in the air, the shirt wrapped around his wrists.

“Ahh!” I scream, turning away. “Get dressed!”

He laughs. “What? You've never seen a guy's chest before?” He flexes his arms, proud of his bulging biceps. “One as awesome as this?”

My automatic reaction is not what he expects. Nor what I expect either. It's not that I'm unimpressed, or even shy. The problem is that when I see nakedness of any kind, I think of Mr. Roland. It makes me sick, and even though it's not fair to Brecken, that's how it plays out.

Gram is right. I'm letting the abuse continue. I've never had a normal relationship with a boy during my life, and the fact that I keep reliving those horrible moments with Mr. Roland, prove her point. I can't even look at a hot guy like Brecken without getting upset or grossed out. I need help, but where do you get it once you're dead?

“Get dressed!” I command again, jabbing my finger at him.

“I am,” he says, clearly disappointed. “You're the one who's not supposed to be here. What do you care anyway? Don't guardian angels get to see everything? There are no secrets, right?”

“Oh, I hope not,” I say, waiting outside his door. “And I already told you. I'm not an angel. Just a guardian. And speaking of that, can you please tell me what the big obstacle is that you're facing, so I can help you overcome it and get out of here?” I rest my head against the cement wall, waiting.

When he doesn't say anything, I sneak a peek into his room. He sits on a chair, his dirty t-shirt wadded in his fist, lines of worry etched on his face. His lips pulled down into an anxious frown.

“What's wrong?” I ask, forgetting myself and hurrying over to kneel beside him. As soon as his eyes lift to mine, I sense the overwhelming feelings of stress and exhaustion. I place my hand on his and say what I've never said to any other guy in my whole life. “It's going to be okay. I'm... here for you.”

Just then, darkness envelops the house.

The power has gone out.

 

~No Confession~

Alisa

 

My eyes adjust instantly to the sudden darkness, and I can see perfectly, but I freeze, kneeling beside Brecken. He jumps up and runs right past me to the stairs.

I hear Sophie crying. “The microwave won't work,” she sniffs, holding an uncooked bowl of oatmeal.

Brecken puts his arm around his little sister, and then glances at me. “I told you so.”

“You did?” Sophie answers, wiping her wet cheeks.

“It's still no reason to resort to crime,” I mumble.

“Not you, honey. I'm talking to my... my imaginary friend,” Brecken says, consoling his little sister.

Heidi walks in, shaking her head in disgust. “I'm so sick of this. I'm calling Dad.”

“Maybe he'll wire us some money.” Brecken heaves a heavy sigh and falls onto the couch, his legs draped over the side. “This is so stupid!”

By one o'clock that afternoon, Brecken's dad has promised to send enough money to pay not only their power bill, but to buy groceries too. There is even enough to go to the zoo. But while we wait to hear back from the bank, Brecken and I visit in living room. The girls play outside.

“Now do you understand the situation we're in?” Brecken says. “My dad can't always send money when he's gone.” He leans over his knees, his hand shielding his eyes. “And the bank's only open in the morning on Saturdays. I hope they hurry.”

“Yeah, I get it, but it doesn't change the fact that if you'd been caught, you could have gone to jail,” I say. “Would that be better for Heidi and Sophie?”

Silence fills the room and Brecken refuses to answer. He knows I'm right, but doesn't want to admit it. My heart softens and I lean forward, sure he can see me.

“It worked out this time.” I pat his hand, not sure if I should continue where I left off downstairs in his room. Against my better judgment, I do. “I meant what I said before. You can trust me. I... can be a friend.” I don't know why I promise this. I hardly like him, and I can't wait to leave. I have no patience for his life of crime, but the words come unbidden from my heart, so I let them spill like cool water over a parched earth. They have the desired effect.

He gazes softly into my eyes and smiles. “You know, I don't have any regular friends who are girls.”

“Why?” I ask, tempted to add something sarcastic. I refrain.

He looks away and rolls his eyes.

“I've never had any guy friends either.”

He glances at me, surprised and suspicious. He wonders if I'm lying. I can feel it, but he laughs and shakes his head.

“Nope. Never,” I say, reinforcing the truth.

“Why?”

“Uh... ” I'm not about to tell him the truth, that a lot of my hang-ups are connected to Mr. Roland, who has infiltrated my personal life. Since I died, I've learned that many of the decisions I've made were tainted because of him.

A rush of hate barrels through me. I stamp it down, trying to concentrate on Brecken instead of myself for once. Brecken looks vulnerable, and I have an overwhelming feeling of compassion for him—a result of my job as his guardian, I'm sure—and I really do want to help him, but my secrets are my own, and I'll keep them that way.

“Are you gay?” he asks, trying to playfully shove me. Instead, his hand goes right through me. “Are there such things as gay angels?” A wry smile appears on his face.

“No, I'm not gay, and I already told you. I'm not an angel.” I move over to the door with my arms crossed over my chest. “Plus, being gay doesn't stop you from having friends of the opposite sex.” I shouldn't have said that. Now he'll ask what my reason is, and I don't want to tell him. Maybe this is a good time to leave and be by myself. I'm not supposed to do that, but it's what comes natural.

“Alisa, wait.”

With pursed lips, I turn, looking straight into his eyes. They seem so deep and black in the dim light. Something flutters in my chest and the urge to touch his hand pulls at me. Scowling, I push those weird feelings away.

“Tell me how you died.”

I stare at him for a long moment, my mouth frozen, my mind blank. I don't want to admit the truth. That I'd been so weak, so depressed and lonely, that I couldn't hack it. It seems like a pathetic excuse now. All people have problems. All people struggle. Most don't go out and end their lives because of it.

He walks forward, his hand reaching out. It goes right through mine, but the sensation shakes me like an electric shock. Compassion, caring, and understanding warm through my soul, softening my resolve, melting my determination to leave.

He feels these things for
me.

I study his face, his eyes—his unruly bangs that flop over his forehead. Who is this guy? He doesn't seem like an unfeeling/druggy-loser to me anymore. He doesn't
feel
like a boy who sleeps around, gets drunk, or beats people up. Brecken—despite his wild behavior and appearance to the outside world—is kind, generous, and loving. If I can help him clean up his act even more, he'll be amazing.

He leans forward, his face serious. He really wants to know my story. “You can tell me, Alisa. I'll understand.”

He might, but I can't risk it no matter how much I want to help him, no matter how much I want him to trust me or like me. Shaking my head and giving him a look of apology, I blink my eyes and disappear.

 

~No Relief~

Alisa

 

Once again, I flee home. I curl up on my bed in a ball like I used to when life seemed overwhelming. Gram's words come back to me again. Mr. Roland interrupts my life. How can I forgive someone who did something so heinous that my every waking moment is torment and my every nightmare carries his face? I don't know how to let go. I don't know how to heal.

After a while, I sit up. The house is quiet, so I peek into my parent's room, and then check Ty's room, two doors down from mine. All empty. I debate floating through the floor to Derek's room, but I'll just find the same thing. Nothing.

I have to get back to my work, but for a moment more, I bask in the familiarity I miss so much, floating to the living room, and running my fingers across the ivory keys of our grand piano. I come to rest on the hard, black bench, all the music I've memorized rushing to the forefront of my mind. I yearn to hear that music streaming from my fingers again... but I can't press the keys. I can't do anything without a body. I threw mine away, and now more than ever, I wish for it back.

Wallowing in self-pity, I drown in my misery until I can't stand to be with myself any longer. I have to do something. In the past, I would have called Natty. Where is a heavenly phone when you need one? As soon as the thought crosses my mind, the unnerving tug and pull of spirit travel pulls me from my house in an unwelcome flash of energy.

A moment later, I find myself in the all-too-familiar living room of Natty's old house. The house that has become a memory of torture for both her and me.

For a moment, I stand frozen, anticipating hyperventilation. Memories whirl in a tornado of confusion. Why did I come
here?

I search the room. Very little has changed. The same flower-print couch rests against the back wall; the same matching end tables hold the same brass lamps. The painted walls now sport a lighter shade of brown, and there's hardwood where carpet used to be, but that is the only difference.

Some strange force in the pit of my soul pulls me down the long hall toward Natty's old bedroom. I stand in the threshold and peek in, seeing light blue, newly painted walls with baseball posters tacked up. There's a toy-box in the corner. The unmade bed screams this is no longer Natty's room.

I back up and glance toward the kitchen—sick curiosity taking hold of me. There's a door in there that leads to the basement, and like all horror movies, all the bad stuff happened in the basement.

I can't stop myself even though every fiber of my being cries out for me to turn around and run. The brass door handle is locked. Has that lock always been there? It's been years since I've been down there, and I certainly don't want to go down now, so why do I feel compelled to descend these stairs?

Pushing through the door, I take that first step. Darkness envelopes me, but I see with perfect clarity. Spider webs hang from the rafters with eerie daintiness—their delicate threads decorating the ceiling with scalloped dust. I enter the room of horrors—a ten by twelve area of cement and two-by-fours. Memories smash their way through my brain, forcing me to re-experience those tortured moments with stunning accuracy.

I'm twelve years old, wearing a pink and white sundress my mom sewed for my birthday. I sit on a wooden crate down in the basement where Mr. Roland led me. I watch him approach, a sticky-sweet smile on his puffy, flushed face.

“I'm so glad you came over today,” he says. “Natty gets so lonely.” He moves closer and squats before me, his hands resting on my bare knees.

Vomit rises in my throat, but I'm too afraid to cry out or show my fear. My breathing hitches, and I hug my arms close to my chest.

Maybe he won't hurt me today. Maybe he's just being friendly. Maybe he'll take my hand and lead me upstairs into the safety of the afternoon sunshine.

“I get lonely too,” he says, his hand sliding up my leg.

Instantly, raw fear, so powerful I can't control it, takes over. I come back to the present, screaming with feral terror, falling to my knees. Dry sobs wrench violently through my mind. I can hardly think, can hardly stand to relive it.

“Help me,” I whisper to whoever is listening. In the blink of an eye, I materialize back in
Idir Shaol
, rocked to the soothing tones of Gram's voice.

“Shh, darling. Everything will be all right.”

***

I don't know how long I sit there, wrapped in the comfort of Gram's arms, but after a moment, I pull back and gaze into her bright blue eyes. “I'm a basket case,” I say, feeling like I should be wiping tears from my face.

“No, you're perfectly normal.”

“Now you're lying.” I smile and look down at my hands clasped in my lap. “I don't even know what normal is.”

“It's you,” she says, smoothing back my hair.

“I think you're right, Gram. About Mr. Roland, I mean.”

“I know,” she whispers, squeezing my hand. “You'll get there. Don't worry.”

I'm not sure I believe her. I don't know if I'll ever get there; if I'll ever be purged of the hate and anger I feel toward that vile man. “I should get back. Brecken probably needs me.”