Starseed (29 page)

Kaila listened. Heard the wind rustling the leaves. The stream gurgling over stones.

She folded her hands.
Give me strength. Help me, please.

And then she had an idea. She pulled out her phone and texted Pia.

“Go to drugstore. Get a preg test. You’ll see you are not preg anymore. Do it!!! Will explain ltr. C U tonight.” She added three emoji hearts.

“How did you know I wasn’t pregnant anymore?” Pia asked later. Kaila, Melissa, and Pia had suffered through dinner answering the typical boring questions about school and grades, while the girls were dying to get upstairs behind closed doors.

Kaila locked her bedroom door then sat on the sleeping bags on the floor. “Because I was there when they took the baby,” she said.

We should run out of here now.

Is she trying to trick us?
Kaila heard their thoughts.

“Listen,” Kaila said. “You remember when we made a triad and formed a pact of secrecy?”

Melissa and Pia nodded, looking like scared lambs.

“Well, I’m honoring that. I made a mistake. I went with them because—”

Because I loved him!
Her mind shouted.

“I made a mistake. I thought it was cool what they could do. But it’s not cool. Not at all.” She petted Lucy’s head, searching for the right words.

“I’m gonna tell you the truth, but you have to swear to secrecy.”

Kaila told them about the abductions and how they impregnated females with mixed
DNA
of alien and human, how they let the fetus grow in their belly, and later re-abducted them to take the baby to create hybrids.

“But why are they doing this?” Melissa asked.

“Look,” Kaila finally answered. “Aren’t you freaked out just to know that everything you suspected is true?”

“What can we do?” Melissa whispered.

“For starters, sleep here,” Kaila said. “I’ll kick anyone’s ass that dares come here.”

After that, Melissa and Pia started to trust again. They spent the night catching up then raiding the kitchen for midnight snacks. As they ate fried chicken with red beans and rice, Kaila explained mind-screens. It was easy for them to understand for they’d experienced many owls, cats, and mysterious shadow people. Even those were but a whisper of a remembrance.

Kaila revealed that she planned to put a mind-screen on Mrs. Bourg and her teachers to make them believe she was in class but that she couldn’t go back to school now. She could not risk being around the hive or seeing Jordyn. She’d either kill him or collapse blubbering at his feet.

“If anyone says anything about you not being there, I’ll tell them to shut up,” Pia said.

You won’t have to
, Kaila thought. For she’d extend the mind-screen to everyone but them.

Later, in her bedroom, they sat on the sleeping bags. Glassy eyed, they needed rest. Kaila closed her eyes and visualized energy emerging from her heart and surrounding them as a golden light shield.

Melissa gasped. Kaila opened her eyes. It was visible, this radiating light.

“Awesome!” Pia said.

They sat in silence as her light surrounded them.

“It feels wonderful,” Melissa said.

Kaila lay on her sleeping bag on her stomach, her face on her pillow. Melissa and Pia did the same, on each side of Kaila. Kaila spread her arms over her friends’ backs, like a cross.

“I’ll protect you,” Kaila said. “Sleep.”

When she heard Melissa and Pia’s soft snores, Kaila stifled her own sadness. She had to be strong.

A heavy shroud wrapped around the home. Paw Paw was dying. And everyone knew it.

Even the dogs tread lightly.

Lee spent more time in her yoga studio, meditating.

Mike sat in his recliner, for once having no commentary on the news; he worried about Paw Paw who spent more time in sleep. Nan stayed in her room reading the Bible.

It came to where Paw Paw could not stand, so Kaila, Mike, Lee, and Nan all carried him upstairs.

Kaila stood by his bed watching him sleep. She remembered him taking her shopping that first day after school to help her fit in; she remembered him barbecuing on her birthday; she remembered riding horses with him; she remembered sitting in his lap and him reading her
Green Eggs and Ham
; she remembered setting out cookies with him on Christmas Eve in his Santa suit. How would she bear this? No one she loved had died before. Out of necessity, she’d calcified her heart. She could bear no more pain. It was too deep to realize, to touch, to know—to accept. How she’d get through this, she didn’t know.

They called hospice. They put a stretcher in the living room and put Paw Paw on the stretcher.

“I don’t want no drugs,” he murmured.

Ever a proud Southern man, he refused to dull his pain, though the cancer had claimed his body and was eating away at it.

Nan hid in her bedroom, weeping. Lee hid in her yoga studio. Mike hid with the horses in the barn.

The hospice nurse visited.

“Here,” the nurse said, handing Kaila drugs. “Though he says he doesn’t want it, you will know. She gave her a dropper. “Morphine. Every three hours. Squeeze it into his mouth, inside his cheek.

Kaila nodded, scared.

“You can do it,” the nurse encouraged.

“How much time does he have?”

“No one can say for sure. But probably by the weekend.” The nurse packed her stethoscope and blood pressure monitor into her bag. “Call if you need help.” Then she was gone.

“I can’t do this,” Nan said, weeping.

“You don’t have to,” Kaila said.

She wanted to run and hide, but there was no place to run and hide. She’d learned that by running to . . .
them.
No matter where she ran she still was herself. She just had to suck it up and face it, dig down and find the strength, no matter where she was, what she faced.

She glanced at Paw Paw lying on the stretcher, snoring, covered by a sheet.

Kaila sat on the couch observing her grandfather. She was frightened but knew what she had to do.

She did not sleep. She and her mother changed him. He protested, waving them away. Kaila, realizing that his dignity was deeply affronted, retrieved the eyedropper and filled it with morphine. She pushed the dropper into her grandfather’s mouth and squeezed.

No grandfather should have to see his granddaughter change him like a baby. He was so much more than that. His lips and tongue were dry. He hadn’t eaten or drunk anything in days. She rubbed a moistened swab to his lips, watching him suck the water like a baby bird. She rubbed the swab on his parched tongue.

As the morphine took effect, he slipped into the protective veil of sleep.

Nan, Lee, and Mike hovered, looking scared and lost.

“Y’all go to bed,” Kaila said. “I’m sleeping here. I’ll take care.”

Her phone chimed an alert she’d downloaded. The voice stated in a mechanical tone: “You-have-another-sucky-text-message.”

It was Pia. “Spending night at Melissa’s. U got nuff goin on.”

“No. Come.” Kaila texted.

“We OK,” Pia texted back.

Kaila sighed. She was but one person; she could not save the whole world. Plus, now, she would not leave Paw Paw. There was no need to put a mind-screen on her family regarding her absence at school, for now they wanted her home.

She slept on the sofa in her jeans and t-shirt, called Lucy and Woofy up next to her. She wrapped her arms around Lucy’s soft black fur, cradling her head next to hers.

She dozed, with one eye open, listening. The grandfather clock tick-tocked and chimed on the hour. Every three hours, Kaila rose, filled the dropper with morphine, and put it inside Paw Paw’s cheek.

“Sleep,” she said, caressing his bald head. He dully tried to shake his head. She marveled at his pride and resolve as his life slipped away.

She did this for three days, refusing food and care.

“Leave me alone!” she said to her mother, who begged her to eat and shower.

She was on death watch and everyone knew it. She was the one who had the strength to do this. And everyone knew that too.

At three a.m. Kaila rose, filled the eyedropper with morphine. Determined that Paw Paw would never feel pain again, she inserted the dropper inside his cheek, softly rubbing.

She felt numb, a robot. She had to stuff her emotion; she had to function. Just think and perform . . . just like
them
. . . no, don’t think it!

Kaila lay down on the sofa. Paw Paw’s snores deepened, resonant and long with a pause, like the blankness between words in a sentence. Where was that space? She dozed, delirious, not having slept in days. That space beckoned. Quiet. Solitude. Peace.

She slipped into a superficial slumber, ever listening.

And then, all grew quiet. A deathly silence filled the room. Kaila was so exhausted she couldn’t open her eyes.

She felt like the Caribbean sun shone above. It enfolded her with warmth. She saw Paw Paw when he was younger and strong. He was smiling, radiant, infused with golden light.

I am so happy,
he said.

Kaila opened her eyes. It was silent. Paw Paw was not snoring anymore. She ran to the stretcher.

“Nan, Mom!” she shouted. She ran to the stairwell. “Come down here! Now!”

Nan, Lee, and Mike scrambled down the stairs in their bathrobes.

They clustered around Paw Paw on the stretcher. Kaila placed her palm on Paw Paw’s forehead. He drew in an inhalation, then deeply exhaled.

“Oh,” Nan gasped. “His last breath.” She started to cry.

“Stop that,” Kaila said. “Paw Paw,” she said, nuzzling her face next to her grandfather’s. “I know you can hear me. Don’t worry about us. Go. Go!”

She cradled her cheek against her Paw Paw’s withered face.

As she closed her eyes, she again saw Paw Paw smiling. Felt his warmth and his love, the wholeness of himself in spirit.

What will you do?
he asked.

“Oh, Paw Paw,” she said. “Don’t worry. We will be okay.”

She felt his light, his spirit evacuating his body.

Her mother started shaking and sobbing.

“Stop that,” Kaila said, instinctively knowing that grief might bind a spirit to earth.

Mike put his arm around Lee, pressing his lips together, not knowing what to do.

“Go,” Kaila urged Paw Paw, keeping her hand on his forehead, her cheek to his.

Then, emerging from his emaciated body, Paw Paw’s spirit lifted. He hovered near the stretcher, smiling and luminescent. He embraced Kaila with his golden light. His spirit held her, infusing her with a love so profound and true, she was dumbstruck.

A long corridor opened.

“Don’t look at me,” she managed to say. “Go. Don’t look back.”

She felt him floating and enveloping her with a love she’d never known possible. Its purity and power made her dizzy.

“I love you, Paw Paw,” she said through blurry vision. “Go on now.
Git!”

He smiled at her, radiant.
I’ll love you forever, Goosy.
He turned, raced through the open corridor toward the light. His spirit merged with the light. The corridor closed and disappeared.

Then all was still.

Kaila kept her hand on Paw Paw’s forehead, her cheek cradled to his.

“Kaila,” Lee prodded after minutes had passed.

She didn’t want to let go. She kept her face pressed against her grandfather’s till she realized that his flesh was still and growing cold. It was silent except for the ticking of the grandfather clock.

Kaila lifted her head, looked at them. “He’s gone,” she said.

In true Southern style, Nan pulled out the wine. She poured everyone a glass. They went outside and sat on the porch.

It was Sunday morning. Birds chirped and flew across the sky.

“I always knew he’d leave me on a Sunday,” Nan said, weeping and sipping her wine.

“That’s cause he knew how much you love your church,” Lee said. She swallowed deeply of her wine. “It’s a message he’ll see you again.”

They looked out at the fields and the pond and the morning sky, pondering life without Paw Paw.

“It’s a beautiful day,” Mike said, not knowing what to say.

The sun shone, the sky cloudless. Yet grief clung to them.

“I saw him,” Kaila said.

“I know you did, my sweetheart,” Lee said, leaning her thin body against hers.

“We all felt it,” Nan said. “Lord, I loved that man.” Her eyes welled with tears beneath her protective green hat. “I’ll see him in heaven one day.”

Then they all lowered their heads and wept.