Aftersight Read online

  "All right."

  Alice studied me a minute longer. "You may see her now." She got up and strode off. "Feel at liberty to bring your drink."

  I followed Alice through a wide doorway leading to a sunroom. The walls here were made of small, wood-framed window panes that looked out onto the side yard and a cool green lawn. Spreading maples lining the street shadowed the yard's carefully manicured landscaping.

  I'd half-expected to see a jaded old fortune teller caressing a crystal ball. She'd have dangly earrings, a long flowing gypsy skirt, and multiple rings on each finger. But when I saw the girl seated beside the small, white wicker table, I gasped out loud. I hope she didn't hear.

  She couldn't have been much older than I was, maybe seventeen or eighteen years old. Like her aunt, she was dressed a tad more formal than the occasion required: a floral, white linen dress, pink flats, a string of pearls that seemed just flawed enough to be real. Her long, spirally auburn hair enclosed a healthy pink face, stunning emerald eyes, a broad and sensual mouth. Something about the way she sat — flagpole straight in her chair — and looking off into the distance made it seem as if she was posing for a portrait, like another artifact in her aunt's expansive collection. I had to stop myself from rearranging my short, black hair. Even at my best, I'd look like a cow compared to her.

  "Cali, I would like you to meet my niece. This is Nicole."

  "Hey there," Nicole said, standing and offering her hand. "I'm pleased to make your acquaintance." Her fingers were long, white, refined. I could imagine her behind the lacquered grand piano I'd seen in the front sitting room, her hands fondling the keyboard, playing something classical. Something to go with the décor.

  "Nicole, this is Cali. Cali Hart."

  "What a pretty name!" Nicole's eyes brightened like headlights. "Won't you please be seated, Cali?"

  I took the chair across from her. The table was covered with a spray of pink blossoms, a half-drained blue china cup, and a dog-eared novel titled, The House without a Key: A Charlie Chan Mystery.

  "I will leave you two girls be," Alice declared, backing through the French doors we'd just come through. Her accent had slipped just a little, mimicking her niece, who had done nothing to muffle her thick, southern drawl.

  "Where are you from?" I asked.

  "Macon," Nicole said with a smile. "That's just south of Atlanta."

  "I know," I lied, thinking too late that maybe it wasn't such a good idea to fib to someone with extrasensory powers.

  "For the past few years Aunt Alice and I've been livin' in Charleston. We just moved here."

  "You graduated yet?"

  "I'm fixin' to be a senior this year at Sacramento High School."

  "You go to Sac High?"

  "I will. Why?"

  "It just seems like... well, like you'd go to a private school or something." I tugged at my stainless steel lip ring. I was hypnotized by Nicole's deep green eyes. It wasn't fair that some girls got all the looks and the body while others got squat. Nicole moved with the easy, confident grace of a popular girl, someone utterly unconcerned about defects in her appearance. Probably because she had none.

  "Aunt Alice explained the way I work?"

  "She might have mentioned a few things, yeah."

  "I'm still tryin' to figure all this out. I haven't been doin' this very long. I don't want any extra information that would make it seem like I'm interrogatin' you to get the answers."

  "Okay. Sure."

  "And I don't want you leavin' here thinkin' I played some kind of trick on you."

  "Your aunt didn't say how much this would cost."

  "No, I... maybe when I know what I'm doin' we might charge somethin', but I'm still tryin' to figure all this out. You don't mind bein' my guinea pig, do you?"

  "I've been worse."

  "Okay, let's get started." She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and uncrossed her legs so her feet were flat on the floor. She was still sitting up straight and tall, as if presiding over a tea party. I couldn't stop staring at her.

  "I'm gettin' a boy," Nicole announced at last. "A 'Rich' or a 'Chris.'"

  My breath lodged in my throat. My legs felt suddenly numb and my vision blurred with tears. "Chris," I blurted before I could think better of it. "Oh, right. Sorry. No talking. I forgot."

  "He was a little boy when he crossed over?"

  I nodded, forgetting that her eyes were closed. "Oh, sorry. Yes."

  There was a long pause. I tried to steady my breathing.

  "I'm feelin' like there's somethin' caught in my throat."

  Tears instantly raced from my eyes. "Yes."

  "It's like I'm having trouble breathin'."

  "Yes." Another wave of tears. I sniffed to prevent a gob from pouring out my nose.

  Nicole opened her eyes, aghast at how quickly I'd unwound. She reached across the table and took my hand. "Oh, I'm sorry, sweetie. Did you want a tissue or somethin'?"

  "No. I'm fine."

  "Are you sure?"

  "No, really. I'm good."

  Nicole closed her eyes again, still holding my hand on the tabletop. I took a deep steadying breath, trying to recover. Nicole's hand was soft and warm and reassuring.

  "Chris was your brother?"

  "Yes."

  "He's sayin', 'We were brothers.'"

  I laughed, despite my tears. "Yeah. Little git. That's exactly like something he'd say."

  "It happened while you were watchin' him."

  "Yes." I wiped at my eyes and my hand came away black with waterlogged mascara.

  "He's tellin' me that you shouldn't blame yourself. He's tellin' me for you to stop beatin' yourself up about it. That it wasn't your fault."

  "But I was supposed to be taking care of him."

  Nicole shook her head, her eyes still shut tight. "You couldn't watch him every second of every minute. He says he wasn't supposed to live a long life. He went when he was supposed to go. But he's okay. He's fine and happy. Everything's okay."

  She opened her eyes and with her free hand gave me the white linen napkin folded neatly next to her teacup.

  "No, I'll screw it up."

  Nicole squeezed her hand reassuringly. "It's okay, honey. Take it. It'll survive."

  I wiped the mess from my face. There was a sweet fragrance to the napkin, like rose petals.

  "I'm getting' a name. 'Bruner'? 'Bruno'?"

  "Bruno. He was our dog. He was hit by a car the week after Chris died."

  "He's sayin' he's here with Bruno. That they're both okay. Not to worry about him. And not to get all tore up over somethin' that was gonna happen anyway."

  I nodded.

  "Your parents aren't together anymore?"

  "Yes. No. They split up."

  "This happened after Chris passed?"

  "Yes."

  "Chris is sayin' that this was somethin' that was gonna happen anyway. He says it seems like they're blamin' you and blamin' each other, but it's really themselves they blame. He says not to punish yourself for somethin' that wasn't your fault."

  "Okay."

  Another long pause. "Your daddy's kind of outta kilter?"

  "Um, yeah. I guess."

  "Chris seems to... he says... how can I put this? That there might be chemical dependency issues."

  "Yeah."

  "He says your daddy needs help. If at all possible, you should encourage him to get help for his problems. It's like this could lead down a dark path for him."

  "Okay."

  "You're plannin' something?"

  "What?"

  "You have some kinda plans?"

  "Yes." I chewed on my lip ring. Oh, no. Oh, no.

  "Your brother's tellin' me that it's a bad idea. Not to do it. It looks like it might even be a little dangerous for you."

  I shook my head. "Okay."

  "He wants you to be careful. To be very careful."

  "All right."

  "Okay. He's tellin' me that this is very important. Cali, are you listenin' to me?
" Nicole opened her eyes and stroked my arm with her free hand. I felt electric pinpricks crawl up the back of my legs. It seemed to get very hot very fast.

  "This is very important," she insisted. "He says you can't blame yourself for what happened. Not for what happened to him, not for what happened to your parents. He's sayin' that nothin' that happens is an accident. That's not to say he meant to leave you. He had no intentions of doin' himself harm. He's just sayin' that everything that happened was important for his path as a spirit. And your path. And your parents' path."

  "Okay."

  "He's sayin' it's very important that you forgive yourself. He's tellin' me that there really are some wonderful things ahead for you. Some amazin', wonderful things, if you can just hold out for 'em."

  "All right."

  "Can you do that, sweetie?"

  I took another quick, steadying breath. "I can."

  "Your brother wants you to know that he loves you very much."

  "I love him, too. Will you tell him?"

  "You can tell him yourself, silly bird, but he knows it already."

  I managed a smile and dabbed my face with the linen napkin. I'd screwed it up, all right. What had been spotless white was now tie-dyed black.

  "And those plans of yours," she went on, looking directly into my eyes. "He wants me to make sure you get this. They could be very harmful to you and to the people who love you. Please be very, very careful. All right?"

  "I will."

  "Will you promise?"

  "I promise."

  ****

  The windows were still lighted at my house, even this late, well past midnight. Home was a 1960s ranch-style house with crumbling wood siding and rusted aluminum windows. I could hear classic rock blaring as Derrick and I pulled up to the sidewalk. Rolled up newspapers lay derelict on the driveway. Several of them had been on the lawn so long that they were nothing but grey lumps, elephant turds scattered in the overgrown grass.

  Derrick and I slipped inside. If there was a lamp in the house that wasn't on, I couldn't find it. Dad must want to use as much electricity as possible before the city shut it off altogether. The music that blasted from the living room was muffled slightly by battered pocket doors, but they didn't prevent the skunky smoke smell from leaking into the hall. I didn't need to peek inside to know what was going on: Dad and his girlfriend were getting stoned.

  Girlfriend was the optimal word, for Tammy was more girl than woman, closer to my age than my mom's. Tammy liked Dad because he supplied her with free drugs and he liked her because Tammy supplied him with something else.

  Derrick pawed through the stack of mail near the front door, piles of first and second missed-payment notices. He held up the six-by-nine-inch envelope like it was a trophy. Before he could say anything, I grasped his arm and tugged him down the hall to my room, closed and locked the door.

  "Check it out, Dipper." He fanned it in front of me.

  "Give me that." I read the return address. Department of State. My passport. At long last.

  "You know what this means?" he said, poking me with a long, boney finger. "We can leave anytime we want."

  "Not so fast." I slapped his hands away when he tried to give my breast a celebratory squeeze. "We'll go when I say we go."

  "You're always changing the rules. Before you said we could go when school let out. Then you said the end of the summer. And now it's next year!"

  "You know what a pain in the butt it's been going to school through all this mess? In January I'll have enough credits to graduate and enough money so we'll have something to fall back on if your cousin flakes on us."

  Did we really have until January? Maybe not. Not at the rate the bills around here were going unpaid. The last remnants of my old life could implode at any moment. But after the warning Nicole had given me that morning, I wasn't taking any chances. I wanted to get away so badly but I couldn't screw up the timing. I recognized the thin line between success and homelessness and didn't think I would get a second chance at this. It had to go just right.

  Derrick pushed a dark thatch of hair out of his eyes and adjusted the dimmer switch until the bedside lamp was only a faint glow. "Let's hit the sack, Dipper. If you're not going to let us sleep at my place anymore, the least you can do is let me move some of my stuff in. A toothbrush, at least."

  I pushed piles of discarded clothes onto the floor so I could sit next to him on the bed. "I can't wait 'til it's just us. Not my loser dad. Not your pervy roommates."

  "Freedom's on the horizon. Just hold on a little longer." He put his arms around me and kissed me, softly at first, gently biting the loop of my lip ring and tugging it playfully. I shed my pink sweatshirt while he undressed and climbed into bed.

  I could still see the remnants of my cry that morning in the mirror above my bureau, despite attempts to repair the damage with makeup. The cluster of small moles that started near my right eye and trailed onto my temple were clearly visible, even in the dark. One of the many things my little brother Chris used to tease me about.

  Could he really see and hear me from wherever he was? What did he think of the person I'd become since that day he'd left us, now over a year ago?

  I laid next to Derrick and closed my eyes. The image of Nicole appeared beneath my closed eyelids, looking vivid and clean and lovely. What a contrast her house was compared to mine, so much beauty opposite all this squalor. Yet I didn't envy her. She seemed as much a prisoner as I was, a princess shut up in a palace, but a prisoner still. I felt the sudden, profound urge to rescue her, to leave Derrick and run away with Nicole instead.

  How long had it been since I'd had a female friend? Since the sixth grade, my best friend had always been the guy I was seeing. Since then I'd gone from one relationship to the next, like someone jumping from stone to stone to find their way across a river. Boys are so much less complicated than girls.

  Derrick, who had pulled two back-to-back shifts at work, was out as soon as his head touched the pillow. I could tell by the way his breathing changed, even before the scuttling snore. I stared up at the ceiling that I'd known all my life, desperate to leave but reluctant to take that first step. No peace. Not even in sleep.

  I could feel it happening again as my body relaxed and my mind began to wander. It had started several months after Chris died and the insomnia had set in and it had been increasing in frequency until summer came, when it began happening every night. Now there was little, if anything, I could do to stop it. It was always most intense on nights like tonight, when I was physically exhausted but mentally awake and restless.

  A falling sensation gripped my insides and pulled. I seemed to sink into the mattress. That's the way it always started. Sometimes it was a quick jerk, as if the bed had suddenly disappeared, but most of the time it was this gradual, quicksand descent. I tried and failed to roll over, to thrash my arms, my legs, to scream. I was paralyzed in my own body and, as I did every night, I tried to stave off panic, to remain still, pretend nothing was happening.

  This is what it feels like to be buried alive.

  I'd researched it: Sleep paralysis. It was the mind's way of shutting down the body to prevent thrashing about and injuring itself while dreaming. It was a natural part of sleep and went unnoticed by all but a small percentage of the population, who woke up while their body was still immobile; or, like me, lost the ability to move before drifting off to sleep.

  Right on cue, I felt it, a presence, as if something ghostly had passed into the room with me. It was always the same, a creepy sense that the presence was rising from my own body and hovering just above the bed. Sometimes I thought I could just make it out, even through my closed eyes, a faint, milky mist floating there, washing me in a glow like moonlight.

  Usually I tried to relax, take deep breaths until sleep finally took over. But not tonight. Tonight I struggled against it. Despite my exhaustion, despite how easy it would be to surrender to it, I tensed every muscle, willing the sensations to stop. For a little
while, maybe a minute, it backed off. There was no strange weightless feeling, no sense of rising; every part of me grew rigid.

  "She's fighting it." It was a woman's voice, close by but muffled, as if someone was looking down on me invisibly from the ceiling.

  "She's still awake." A man's voice now. "We should let her sleep."

  "She won't remember this in the morning." A second female voice. "We need to get her ready."

  "No, we should come back." The first woman again.

  "Nonsense. Come, Anderlyn, come with us."

  This time I felt it, something vaporous within me lifting up and out of my body. I panicked when the electric surge drove through me, violent tremors that seemed to make the bed tilt and shudder. I couldn’t scream out loud, but the cry for help rang through my head and spread out to mix with the vibrations. I heard a tearing sound, like adhesive tape being separated from a roll. It started at my forehead and ripped down to my feet as my spirit peeled away from whatever I'd left behind in the bed.

  What the—?

  When I ascended through the blackness, my vision, then my consciousness began to blur. The last thing I remember was the sound of my own voice — a male voice? — speaking to my unseen companions.

  "Come on. We have work to do."

  Chapter Five

  Cali

  Sacramento, California

  September 22

  "It's not that complicated, really. We get on Interstate-5 and go north, up through Oregon and into Washington." Derrick traced the route on the map with his finger. "It's a straight shot to Tacoma. Eleven maybe twelve hours, depending on traffic and food and gas stops. We stay at my buddy Hollis's place long enough to sell the car, then he takes us over the border to Vancouver. My cousin says he'll let us stay in his spare room until we get on our feet. We can work at my uncle's restaurant. It won't be much, but he'll pay us under the table, so what we earn we keep." He nudged me with his elbow, adding in a mock accent, "Whata ya say, Dipper? We're gonna be Canadians, eh?"