Through Indigo's Eyes (21 page)

“Okay, Indie.” I decided to talk myself through whatever it was that was going on. “It's just that the room is small. You're just feeling claustrophobic. Wash your hands and get out of here.”

I managed to get my pants done up, then I turned to the sink to wash, refusing to look in the mirror, afraid of what my face would look like. I kept my gaze on the little ledge above the sink.

“Focus, Indie. Focus. And you will be okay.”

I turned the water on hot and stuck my hands underneath the tap. It felt so good to warm up my hands. If only my heart could warm up this quickly. It still felt cold as ice from John's rejection.

Something in front of me glistened and glimmered.

Shone like a bright halogen light.

The light pierced my vision, and I kept rubbing my hands under the water, washing them clean. Was it the tap that was shining? I couldn't figure it out.

I turned the tap off. Then I closed my eyes.

I held on to the sink. “Open your eyes, Indie. Open your eyes.”

You're a crazy girl. Crazy in the head.

At the sound of the mean voice in my head, I opened my eyes. “No, I'm not,” I said firmly. “I'm not crazy. I'm just tired. And this stuff with John is making me out of sorts.”

Nice try

Then I saw the locket sitting on the little ledge next to a bottle of pain relievers. It was gold, real gold from what I could see, with a long gold chain. The locket itself was oval in shape and had some etchings on it. Was that what had been shining so brightly? The locket?

Suddenly, I was blinded! I covered my eyes and drew in a deep breath to stop whatever else was coming my way. I kept gripping the side of the sink. But a feeling so powerful overcame me, and I desperately wanted to touch the locket, hold it, open it. Mom had always told me not to touch other people's things, that it was rude. But something about the locket drew me in. The magnetic appeal overpowered me and any common sense that had been given to me by my mother.

I just had to reach for it.

Touch it.

Hold it.

My fingers inched forward, slowly, and when the tips of my skin came in contact with the necklace, they burned, sending painful electrical currents through my body. Scorching pain. But even the pain didn't stop me from picking the locket up and opening it.

I gasped. And shut the locket until it clicked.

I had to be wrong. Had to be. This couldn't be right. I held the locket tightly in my hand, squeezing my fingers, pressing the chain into my skin. It burned my skin, but I kept digging it into my palm, hoping that next time I looked inside I would see a different photo. I had to believe that what I saw was wrong.

“Okay,” I whispered. “I'm crazy. I admit it.”

There was no answer from the voice in my head.

I have no idea how much time passed before I opened my hand again. Seconds, minutes. Was John going to knock on the door soon, wondering if I was okay? The necklace sat in the palm of my left hand. I stared at it. Just stared. Then I sucked in a deep breath. And with my right hand, I clicked the latch and opened the locket again.

I glanced down again at the small photo, praying, hoping, desperate to see something different.

No!

The same face stared back at me.

The locket fell from my fingers to the floor. The room swirled and twirled around me. Spinning, spinning, I moved around and around, my body feeling as if it were some kind of liquid. When I glanced in the mirror, I couldn't see my face. Everything was a blur, and all I could see was a blank wall behind me. “Get a grip,” I whispered. “You have to get under control. John is going to wonder what is wrong with you.”

But I couldn't stop the room from spinning like an out-ofcontrol merry-go-round.
Stop. Stop. You have to stop.

I sucked in air as fast as I could and tried to breathe it out just as quickly. In and out. In and out.
Keep breathing, Indie. Keep breathing.
In and out. In and out. I hung on to the sink for dear life.

Finally, the spinning slowed and stopped. And when it did, the vertigo started. I clutched my stomach and vomited in the toilet. I heaved and heaved until everything was out of me. Then I turned on the tap again and splashed cold water on my face. How long had I been in this powder room?

I dried my face and slowly lifted my head to look in the mirror. My skin had a horrible gray tone to it. I pinched my cheeks.

“Come on,” I whispered. “Give me some color.”

Within seconds, I looked a little better. As I went to unlock the door, I remembered the necklace, sitting on the floor, below the sink. I didn't want to pick it up, touch it again. But I couldn't leave it on the floor.

I snatched a toothbrush out of a plastic holder and used the end of the brush to lift the necklace off the floor. Once it was back on the ledge, I put the toothbrush away, smoothed my hair, and opened the bathroom door.

The waft of fresh air that hit me almost made me recoil. I had been stuck in that small room with evil, of that I was convinced.

Before I walked into the hallway to face John, I inhaled and exhaled three times. The magic number three worked. Then I tried to walk as if everything were okay.

Act normal. Say something intelligent. Don't say something stupid. Don't mumble. And for shit's sake, don't faint. Just get out.

I was almost to my shoes when I heard the voice. “John,” his mother screamed, “I need another drink. Please! They're coming for me again. I can't stand it. The pain. Please!”

All the warmth I'd felt when I entered the house disappeared, and icy cold air circled me. I stumbled to my shoes.

“You have to go,” whispered John. He grabbed me by the upper arm, digging his fingers into my skin as he almost pushed me through the front door.

Within seconds, I was running hard down the street, my purse flapping against my body, my lungs burning. A bus came, and without looking at where it was going, I jumped on.

I slid into the first seat and tried to catch my breath. Then I rubbed my arm where he had grabbed me. I wondered if it was going to be bruised.

Did I dream the photo? Was I delusional? I had looked at it twice. Twice. Maybe I should have looked three times.

And the pain in his mother's voice had been unbearable. Awful. Horrible. What had happened to her? I shouldn't have gone over, should have waited until Monday to see him. Now, I wondered if he would ever talk to me again. I couldn't tell him about what I had seen. I just couldn't. I had to keep this all to myself. My stomach ached. I closed my eyes. I didn't want my ulcers back.

It took me three buses to get home and more than two hours because I got so messed up I couldn't read the schedule right. As soon as I arrived home, I grabbed some dog treats from the kitchen cupboard and lured Sheena and Sasha into my room. Then I shut the door, locking them in.

“Protect me,” I whispered. “You have to stay with me all night.” I patted my bed, and Sheena jumped up. When I was changing into my pajamas, I noticed my upper arm; there were distinct finger marks from when John had grabbed me. I quickly put on a long-sleeved pajama top and got into bed. I curled up in the fetal position, and Sheena found her spot right behind my legs. Her body felt warm against mine.

I left my light on.

Scared of the night. Scared of the ghosts.

And scared of the man in the locket.

The same man who kept visiting me from the dead. The man with the cigar.

I didn't go to school the next day. I couldn't get out of bed I was so exhausted and listless. It felt as though every ounce of energy had been siphoned out of my body. I told my mother I had the flu.

She carried a tray of food up to my room before she left for work: a bowl of chicken soup for comfort, saltine crackers to help digestion, and a big glass of ice water for rehydration. Once a nurse, always a nurse.

All day I watched mindless television. I couldn't concentrate on even the shallowest of shows, and my mind constantly wandered to the man in the locket. I wondered about John and his family. He'd never mentioned anyone other than his mother and her brother. John had said that he was the only relative who talked to his mom. But the brother was still alive, so it couldn't be him. Was that guy in the locket a relative? An old boyfriend who had died? An uncle? Perhaps he was John's grandfather?

Or … was I imagining everything? I should have looked a third time. But the repulsion had been too strong, its effects making me violently ill. I was still sick today.

I flicked through television stations. “Push it from your mind.” I talked out loud. “Push it. Bury it. Forget about it.”

Flick, flick, flick.
There was nothing to watch.

Around midday, the phone rang. I thought it was my mom, so I picked it up. When I heard the low, velvety voice, I swear I thought I'd stopped breathing.

“John,” I whispered.

“Sorry about yesterday,” he said quietly.

“It's okay.”

“Can I come over?”

“Sure.”

By the time he arrived, I was sitting at the kitchen table, slicing an apple, dressed in sweats and a long-sleeved T-shirt to hide the bruises on my upper arm. I knew he hadn't meant to give them to me.

He pointed at the apple. “My mom does that.”

“Cuts her fruit with a knife?”

“She often has the knife by her bedside.”

Silence hung over us like a big puff of air that needed to be pricked.

Finally, John said, “My mom, she has some problems.”

I put down the knife, and the clanging sound echoed through the kitchen. The pain in his eyes almost made me cry. I put my hand on his forearm. “It's okay, John.”

He slowly shook his head. “She's struggled for years.”

“She has a disease.”

“I think she drinks to hide her loneliness.”

“Does she have
anyone
besides you? You've only ever mentioned her one brother. Is there anyone besides him to help her through this?”

I searched his face to see if I had gone too far. All afternoon I had thought about the man in the locket, and about his mother, and who she was avoiding with alcohol.

John moved away from me and blew out a big breath of air. “My uncle might move here. That would be so good for my mom. I talked to him the other night. I wish my father hadn't just taken off like he did.”

“Does she ever talk about your dad?”

He shook his head. “Never. If I bring him up, she shuts me down and says he's never coming back and that he probably has a new family somewhere.”

“What about any relatives on your dad's side? Do they ever keep in touch with her?” I cut a piece of apple and pushed it over to John.

“She never stayed in touch with any of them.” John spun the apple slice in circles.

“You might have an entire family out there. Are you curious to find out who they are?”

Again, silence. After a couple seconds he said, “I've looked for traces.” He didn't look at me and instead just kept spinning the apple slice around and around. It started to turn brown.

“Find anything?” I asked softly.

He shook his head, still spinning the apple, almost as if he were hypnotized.

“Maybe I can help you.” I put my hand on his to stop his repetitive movement. “We could search together.”

“My mom hates it when I look for him. Sinks her down. Last time she got really mad and told me to stop and to never look again.”

“Has your mom ever had any boyfriends?”

“Never,” said John. “I wish she would find someone, though. It's as if she can't get close to anyone. I just feel so sorry for her. She's always alone. She only has her bottle. She's tried to stop, but when she's sober, she's almost lonelier. Alcoholism is horrible.”

This time, I put my hand on his face, letting it rest on his cheek. He tilted his head and gazed at me. The sadness in his eyes sank to the core of my heart. I looked into his eyes, wanting him to know I was there for him.

Then he leaned forward, and our lips touched, ever so gently at first, but building, building, until we were locked together, intertwined, my hands wrapped around his body, his swathing mine. He lifted me and gently sat me on the kitchen counter, circling his arms around my lower back. I draped my arms around his neck, and our noses touched. Then we kissed again.

When we separated, he whispered, “I heard there's a Halloween party on the weekend.” His warm breath lingered around my lips. “Let's have some fun. You want to go with me?”

I kissed his forehead. “I'd love to.”