Authors: Bethany Wiggins
Something vibrated against my ribs. I shifted and inhaled, relaxing into a dream that smelled just like â¦
My eyes popped open. A warm and heavy weight draped my shoulder. The pillow beneath my cheek moved up and down and smelled like heaven. My ribs vibrated again and I practically jumped out of my skin in my hurry to scramble to the other side of the sofa.
Bridger's black lashes fluttered against his cheeks and he peered at me with glazed eyes. His hand went to his jeans pocket and he removed a vibrating cell phone. He pushed a button.
“Yeah?” he said, voice groggy. His eyes lost their gloss of sleep and he sat up, glancing at me. “Yes, ma'am. She's here, Mrs. C. Give me a minute to go get her.”
He put a finger to his lips and handed me the phone, then stood and left the room. I put the phone to my ear.
“Hello?” I said.
“Maggie Mae, how are you?”
“How am I? How are
you
? I've been so worried.”
“I can honestly say I have been better. But I've also been worse.” Mrs. Carpenter chuckled. “Would you come to the hospital? We need to talk.”
I didn't know what to say. Hospitals were the place where people never saw each other again.
“Maggie, dear?”
“Okay.” I would do anything for Mrs. Carpenter, even go to the hospital.
The sliding doors parted and I got a whiff of disinfectant and sick people. Memories started flashing in my brain. Blood. Pale skin. Blue lips. Silence.
Kat O'Connell strode past me, adjusted her oversized sunglasses, and flopped down in a waiting room chair.
“Are you all right?” Bridger asked me. I looked at my feet, cemented to the sidewalk outside the hospital doors, and forced myself to proceed.
“I can't believe you guys are up so early. I'm sixteen. I need my sleep,” Kat mumbled, standing as we walked past.
“Then you should have stayed home,” Bridger snapped. “You're the one who insisted on coming.”
She stuck her tongue out at him.
We walked through a waiting room, past people staring in a daze at a tiny television mounted in a high corner. They had no idea what they were watching. At least, that's how it was when I sat in the waiting room.
As we made our way deeper into the hospital, the beep and hum of life-reading machines came out of hospital rooms and made me sick to my stomach. When I was five, I'd sat in a hospital room staring at a pale face with blue lips, listening to that very soundâthe staccato beep of a pulse machine. It was when the sound stopped that my life changed for the worse.
I stared at my feet as they passed over white linoleum, too scared to look into the rooms.
“What's wrong?” Bridger asked, slowing to walk beside me.
I swallowed and shook my head.
“You know, Maggie, friends tell each other stuff. It makes life easier if you have someone to confide in. Did someone you love die in a hospital?”
I looked at him, wondering how he knew. “My aunt.”
“What happened? How did she die?”
“A freak accident in a national park.”
“Really?” Kat chimed in.
I nodded and touched the scar in my eyebrow. “And when I was twelve, I had to come to the hospital to get this sewn shut.” As if it were yesterday, I could still see Mrs. Simms, her eyes brimming with tears, sign the papers that released me from her care while police officers led her husband out of the ER in a pair of handcuffs.
“You know, I bet a plastic surgeon could make that scar disappear,” she said.
“Katie, shut up,” Bridger snapped.
We arrived at Mrs. Carpenter's room and knocked.
“Come in,” she called, her voice full of sunshine and cheer. She lay semireclined in a bed, her left leg wrapped in layers of bandages and propped up on a mountain of pillows.
“Hello, Maggie Mae, Bridger ⦠Katie,” Mrs. Carpenter said, studying Kat's bare shoulder poking out of her oversized wide-neck sweater.
“I go by Kat now,” Kat said, walking to the chair in the corner of the room and sitting.
I forced a smile to my face. “Hi. How're you feeling?”
Mrs. Carpenter didn't mince words. “Maggie, I'm going to need some help with getting my house put back to rights and taking care of the animals. I was wondering if you're ready to move up into the stable-hand room above the barn, and I can use your room until my leg's better?”
The dark cloud of hospital memories receded with her words. “I think that would be a good idea,” I said with a smile.
She sighed and squeezed my hand. “Bless you, child. Now, if I can just convince them to release me. These hospital gowns are ridiculous.”
While Kat sat silent in the corner, Bridger and I chatted with Mrs. Carpenter as she ate her breakfast. She told me where the key to the barn room was located. When a nurse came in to check her vital signs, we left.
“Do you mind if we make one more stop?” Bridger asked as the door clicked shut behind him.
“You mean at the hospital or on our way home?” Kat asked. “Because I'm all for stopping for breakfast.”
“Here, Katie,” he said.
She sighed, adjusting her oversized sunglasses again. “I'm going to find some coffee. See you at the car.” She strode away and I wasn't sorry to see her go.
“So where are we going?” I asked.
“I'd like to see how Danni is.”
I laughed a humorless laugh. “Please say you're not serious.”
“I'm serious, Maggie.”
Filling my lungs with a breath of recycled hospital air, I answered, “Lead the way.”
Bridger got the room number from the woman at the information desk and together we walked to the other side of the hospital, to the intensive care unit. But when we got to Danni's door, we were told by a nurse to stay out. ICU patients got visits only from immediate family.
We stared at Danni through a window. Bandages wrapped her arms, a heart monitor beeped with her pulse, and she lay utterly still beneath a white blanket. She could have been my aunt, except Danni's lips weren't blue. And the heart monitor was still registering life.
Movement from the side of the room forced my eyes from Danni's slack face. A haggard-looking woman with brown hair and bloodshot eyes stood from a chair and opened the ICU door.
“Bridger.” She closed the door behind her and forced a smile to her face. Opening her arms, she took a step forward and wrapped Bridger in them. “Thanks for coming.”
“How is she?” he asked, returning the hug. The woman let go of Bridger and glanced at Danni through the window.
“She's in stable condition. The doctors hope to move her out of ICU in the morning. Who did you bring with you?” she asked, turning to me.
I clenched my jaw shut.
“This is Maggie Mae,” Bridger said.
Danni's mom frowned, as if trying to remember where she'd heard my name. “Oh. Maggie Mae. Mortensen? I'm sorry if you're looking for your jacket.”
I looked between Danni's mom and Bridger.
“What jacket?” I asked.
“Gray jacket with your name on the tag. Danni was wearing it last night when she got attacked. The doctors had to cut it off of her. I'm so sorry. I can buy you a new one if you want.” A film of tears glazed the woman's eyes, making them look even redder than before.
“No. It's no problem. It's summer. I totally don't need a new jacket.”
Mrs. Williams pulled a wadded tissue from her pocket and began dabbing her eyes.
“Let me know if there's anything I can do to help,” Bridger said.
“Thank you, but at this point all you can do is pray.” She sniffled and went back to Danni's room.
Bridger and I walked through the hospital in silence. When we got to the sliding doors and stepped out into sunshine, my entire body sighed.
“What was she talking about?” Bridger asked.
“Who?”
“Mrs. Williams. Danni was wearing your jacket?”
I shrugged. “She stole it from my gym locker. I'd written my name on the tag. Guess Danni liked it.”
Bridger didn't say a word the whole drive home.
As I opened the barn doors, a whiff of chicken-scented air hit me and I prayed the barn room didn't smell the same.
Kat started coughing. “Are you seriously going to live in a
barn
?” she asked. “Like a homeless vagabond?”
“Yep,” I said. Being a foster child felt like being a homeless vagabond at times. My own snug, sound room above a barn didn't sound so bad.
Shash darted past me and jumped on Kat, trying to lick her face. She kneed him in the gut and brushed off her shirt.
“Stupid dog! He got dirt on my new Pierre Cardin sweater! I'm waiting in the car,” she insisted, striding away.
With Bridger at my side, I crossed to the far side of the barn and stopped at a narrow wooden stairway. I thrust my hand under the bottom step. My fingers snapped spiderwebs and I cringed, hoping the web didn't belong to a black widow. I rummaged through the dirt and produced a grimy key.
Wooden stairs groaned beneath my feet. At the top of the stairs I paused, inserted the key into the door handle, and twisted. The door swung silently open and the smell of dust and sage and wool wafted out. I stepped inside and gasped, pressing a hand over my mouth.
“What's wrong?” Bridger asked from the doorway. His first words since the hospital parking lot.
A wrinkled black face with wide, hollow eyes was staring at me. Matted hair framed the face and stark white outlined the eyes. I slowly lowered my hand and took a step closer.
“Did that scare you?” he asked, lingering in the doorway and pointing to a mask hanging from the wall.
I nodded. “Totally freaked me out.”
“It's a ceremonial Navajo mask of Haschebaad, the goddess,” Bridger explained. “And it is probably a priceless antique.”
“It's creepy.”
“Yeah. It's supposed to be. It's made to scare evil spirits away.”
“Do you really believe that?” I asked, looking at Bridger.
“Have you seen any evil spirits while you've been living here?”
I laughed under my breath. Evil spirits? No. Demon dogs were another story.
“So, can I come in?” he asked.
“Yeah, of course. Why are you so paranoid about being invited in?”
He stepped through the door. “Because I'm Navajo.”
“And the Navajo people are ⦠vampires?”
He laughed. “No. But we have certain beliefs. If I enter your house uninvited, I run the risk of bringing all sorts of bad stuff in with me.”
“Bad stuff? Like what?”
“Anything. Death,
chindi
, bad luck ⦠anything.”
“
Chindi?
”
“Evil spirits.”
I studied him for a hint of insincerity. “You're serious.”
He nodded. “Warriors are often haunted by
chindi
, by the spirits of those they killed.”
“And this applies to you how?”
He shrugged. “It's just a Navajo belief,” he said, and started walking around the room. I followed. There were more masks, one on each wall, and all of them were freaky beyond belief. They were made from leather, which looked like shriveled human skin, and had ratted, human-looking hair coming from the tops of their heads.
“I've got to get those out of here. I won't be able to sleep with them watching me,” I said.
“You're giving me a hard time about my beliefs, yet you're the one too scared to sleep with them in the same room?”
“Sorry.”
Bridger carefully took the four masks from the four walls and laid them on the bed. “I'll find somewhere safe in Mrs. C.'s house to store them,” he said.
I walked to a door on the right side of the room and opened it. “Thank goodness,” I whispered under my breath. Through the door was a small bathroom with a toilet, sink, and stand-up shower. I shut the door and went back to exploring the bedroom, pausing at a wide dresser.
“What is that?” I asked. A wooden bowl filled with pale gray powder sat on the dresser's edge. Bridger dipped his fingers into the powder and blew on them. Dust filled the air and I sneezed.
“This is ash. Another form of protection.”
“Protection from
what
? I don't get it. Protection
masks
, a protection
ring
around Mrs. Carpenter's property, protection
ashes
, even a protection
bracelet.
” I held up my wrist. “Is Silver City located on top of an opening into hell or something?”
Bridger laughed and shook his head. “No. Silver City's a good place to live. But evil is everywhere. You can never be too safe. Mrs. C.'s husband obviously loved her very much.” He looked at the door. “How about I go get Katie's old clothes out of my SUV and bring them up.”
I nodded. “Thanks.” Bridger reverently picked up the Navajo masks and left. I kept examining the room. Sunlight streamed through the window, lighting dust particles that floated silently through the air. Burned sticks and bird feathers were nailed above the door and window. Bowls of crystals and turquoise sat on the dresser beside the bowl of ash. Inside the drawers I found individual bundles of twine-bound sage as long as my forearm and a little thicker than my thumb. I leaned my face into the drawer and inhaled. Something about this room spoke to me, making me feel calmer, stiller than normal. I'd been in this room for only a couple of minutes, yet already it felt like home. I picked up a bundle of sage and held it beneath my nose.
Bridger's voice echoed up into the room from below. Not bothering to put the sage down, I walked to the door and opened it a crack. Bridger stood just outside the open barn door, cell phone pressed to his ear.
“⦠totally serious ⦠I don't know why they would, either, but the sooner you can come, the better.⦠That soon? Yeah. I'll arrange it.” He took the phone from his ear. I stepped back to the dresser, holding the sage beneath my nose and inhaling again. A minute later the stairs thumped and Bridger walked into the room, two black trash bags in his hands. He set them on the bed.