Authors: Dana Michelle Belle
He touches
the scar shyly, using just the tips of his fingers to brush over it. “It’s been
over a month Becka, it’s quick but not impossible with good medical care, which
you’ve had. Listen, I know how much you’ve been through and you probably want
it to mean something important but sometimes these things just happen. You’re
not different. You’re still the sweat, dreamy girl who climbs trees to talk to
the sky. You just
feel
different right now. It will pass.”
I lean away
from the bright certainty of his gaze. It won’t do any good to tell him that a
week ago my leg looked like chewed meat. He has a rational explanation and
nothing is going to shake it loose. “Okay,” I sigh. At least I’d tried to tell
him.
“Math?” he
prompts, swinging gracefully to his feet.
I
let him pull me to my feet, groaning. “Do I have to?”
The rest of the
evening, homework, pre-dinner snacks, dinner with my mom and Justin, watching
TV with him, all feels surreal. When my parents were fighting, I used to call
that the Justin Effect. It didn’t matter how crazy life got, when he was there
everyone behaved and the universe acted like it was supposed to. Maybe that’s
why I spent so much time with him growing up.
The
problem with the Justin Effect is that I can’t keep him with me all the time.
Sooner or later he has to go home and then its craziness all over again. As
soon as the door swing shut behind him, I sense Ephraim’s presence near me,
warmer and stronger than ever before. I close my eyes and imagine him standing
directly before me, hazel eyes laced with questions over all he’s seen and
heard today. I try to block the feeling out but it persists and grows stronger
until I’m racing up the stairs to my bedroom.
“Ephraim?”
I call. I wait, anxiously for him to appear. He felt so close a moment ago I’m
sure he’ll just ripple into sight as soon as I call for him. I sit on my bed,
idly swinging my feet. I wait until I’m fairly sure he isn’t going to appear
suddenly and embarrassingly in front of me and then announce, “you better not
be looking,” as I switch into one of my new PJ sets, a pair of long slinky grey
pants with a lace trimmed lavender camisole. I open my journal and write,
“Where are you?” across the top of the page.
The ink
seeps into the page immediately,
right here
. Ephraim lounges on my bed,
arms behind his head, mirroring the pose Justin took a few hours ago. His
image is opaque and solid enough to pass for real. His smile is broad and
playful. “I thought he’d never leave.”
“Nothing
stopping you from dropping in while he was here, might help me ease up on the
‘am I crazy’ monologues.”
Ephraim
sighs, “I wish it was that easy. You’re just barely able to see me; I doubt I
can make myself visible to him, yet. I’ve never tried this with anyone else. Wouldn’t
it be unsettling for you to be talking to an apparition your boyfriend couldn’t
see?”
I blush,
replaying the scene between Justin and me quickly in my head, the way it must
have looked to Ephraim. We were all cozy, cuddly. Too cuddly, maybe, for who we
are now, but it was an old habit, like holding onto a teddy bear when you have
bad dreams. “He’s not my boyfriend. I mean, he’s a boy and my friend but
there’s nothing else there you know?” The blush on my face deepens, giving me
that candy coated look I hate so much.
Ephraim
raises an eyebrow, “Good to know. Come sit with me Becks?”
Of all the
inscrutable answers! Still, I can’t resist the little pleading tone in his
voice, so I cross the room and perch on the edge of the bed, just as I did with
Justin. But for some reason sitting here next to him is so much different than
it was with Justin. It isn’t cozy or particularly calming. Mostly, it’s
confusing. And even though I know his solid, life-like appearance is just an
illusion, everything I sense and see contradicts that. I can smell his
outdoorsy, wild scent. I can feel the warmth and the crackle of prickling
energy coming off of him. I can hear him breathe and the rumble of his voice as
we talk. I want so much to touch him, to convince myself that this amazing guy
next to me is real, but I know better.
He reaches
over and doesn’t touch the light switch, but the lights go out, all the same.
In the darkness he seems even more real. His soft voice is lulling me to sleep,
even though I’m trying hard to focus on his words. “Will you come somewhere
with me tonight?
The world around us is an
endless white mist. It’s so soundless that my ears feel stuffed with cotton and
I strain to hear the slightest sound. Ephraim steps out of the mist coming into
view, at first he’s hazy and then he resolves into tanned skin, smiling pink
lips and deep hazel eyes. In this place the colour stands out so sharply I
wonder how I look to him. What had Ephraim said, that I sparkled with life?
He touches
my arm gently. With his warmth, the mist thins and I can see grassy plains, and
faded out blue lakes, dimly in the distance. Beyond the washed out world, I can
see small villages and beyond them, cities. The houses, the landscape, everything
is pristinely perfect but strangely muted. My sight stretches on and on, until
I see sparks of brightness that are hard to look at for too long. Out of the
corner of my eye I glimpse a portly lady, but when I look towards her I see a
swirl of light instead and have an impression of humid August heat. An old man
disappears into the sound of ocean waves and bird call. And there are others,
hundreds of others who fade into impressions and feelings.
My head
begins to ache with the vastness, the endlessness of what I see. Tenderly,
Ephraim turns me toward him until it is only his eyes I am looking into. “This
is my world. It’s flawless and endless and unchanging. This is the between
world, the ethereal plane.”
I am
looking up into his eyes, but I also feel the morning sun and hear leaves
shifting in the breeze. “You’re a spirit? Isn’t that like a ghost?” I ask,
awed.
“I’m an
Ethereal. I’m energy, part of the vital essence of the world, Becks. I’ve never
been truly alive, so I can’t be dead. I’ve never tasted food, or felt the grass
under my feet or touched a human hand. I’d never experienced anything; at least
I never had until I met you.”
“I’ve never
even heard of Ethereals before. Immortals, angels, ghosts, the undead, faeries,
maybe but-”
He shrugs,
“our nature is difficult for humans to perceive. But I wanted
you
to
understand.”
“There are
more of you here though? And I’m guessing friendly, helpful and all heroic
isn’t the norm,” I ask even though I already kind of know the answer.
His smile
fades and a shadow crosses over his eyes, “No, it’s not. Most Ethereals have
little interest in humanity and those that do, the Numina, have a more
predatory interest.”
The
mood between us has cooled and grown tense. I regret bringing up something so unpleasant;
it feels like I have shattered the peace between us. I try to make amends,
giving him my best flirty smile. “So how come you’re so different?”
He
rewards me with a warm, full smile as he leans close to me. “Well I’ve got
something in this world that’s really precious to me. Something that draws me
in,” As he speaks he moves closer to me. I hold my breath, unable to take my
eyes off of his lips as he speaks. And just as he draws so near that I expect
to feel his warm, perfect skin against mine, he cocks his head to the side,
“time to wake up, Becks.”
Before I
have time to protest I’m blinking sunlight out of my eyes. Justin is leaning
over me, shaking me, “Becka, come on, we’re going to be late. Wake up.”
I sit up
groggily and see a mixture of relief and annoyance in Justin’s face, “I was
just about to call 911 Becka! I’ve been trying to wake you up for about ten
minutes!” he says giving me one more little shake for good measure. “Scared the
life out of me, again.”
“How did
you even-” I begin, until I see the hide-a-key dangling from his hand. “Break
in much?” I growl. I wasn’t ready to be snatched away from Ephraim and his
unearthly world. “What are you even doing here anyway?” I snap.
“I told
Matt to pick me up here from now on. I need a little more exercise in the
morning to get me going,” he says, tossing me the jeans I’ve thrown over the
back of my chair. “So how come you’re still in bed? Did you take something?”
I glare at
him, reminding myself that I appreciate his concern, even if it is a huge
invasion of my privacy, not that I have any of that left. I snatch a fresh
shirt and the jeans out of his hands and go to dress in the bathroom.
Chapter 5: Psychosis
It’s only as Matt’s car
roars down the street that I realize why Justin came over this morning. He’s
looking out for me, again; making sure Matt doesn’t abandon me. But he probably
doesn't need to worry because Matt seems like himself again. He grins when I climb
into the car and holds out a steaming coffee cup, as usual. He doesn’t even
complain about me making them both late, he just ruffles my hair, calls me a
sleepy head and cranks the volume up on the radio. It’s so loud today that any
other thoughts I have are shaken loose.
Whatever
weirdness was in the air yesterday, it seems to have passed today. A pop quiz
lays waiting on my desk in English class, and math class, and history. It’s
like all the teachers have gotten together and agreed on the right day to
torture us. Friday morning, three classes and three pop quizzes. I think I
might have preferred yesterday. At least I know I can’t have a quiz in fourth
period; study hall.
I linger in
class, dawdling until the room is almost empty. I haven’t been alone all morning
and the one thing I want more than anything else is to see Ephraim. Losing
patience I decide to try the girls’ bathroom, by now everybody should be in
class.
I nudge the
bathroom door open with my shoulder, and hear the unmistakable sounds of a girl
crying. My stomach sinks, I was counting on alone time. On the other hand it’s
part of the unspoken girl code to comfort a crying girl. I sigh and push the
door all the way open.
It’s a
large bathroom but long and narrow rather than spacious. There are rows of
sinks and mirrors against one wall, a row of stalls against the other. A girl
from the girls’ basketball team, I think her name’s Dakota, is standing in
front of the mirror staring into her own eyes and crying. Huge shuddering sobs
rock her body back and forth in a crazy, lurching rhythm. Snot and tears and
little bubbles of spit are running down her face and chin. She gags, coughing
up mucus. Her hands are bent into claws. Dragging her fingernails against the
milky white of her inner arm she cuts deeply, sending welts of blood surging to
the surface. Her other arm is already a chewed up mess of blood and torn
tissue. I stare, transfixed as she scratches again.
“Stop,
Dakota, stop!” I scream. She doesn’t turn to me; she just cries harder and keeps
scratching. I grab her hands tightly. It takes all my strength to hold onto
her. She jerks violently in my grasp, a huge spasm going through her body. Her
knees start to buckle and we both slide down to the floor. A hair-raising keen
rises up in her throat. She lays twitching in my arms, crying and gagging and
then goes very still. My hands scramble over her neck, feeling for a heartbeat,
listening for breath and wishing I paid a hell of a lot more attention in first
aid. She’s alive, she’s breathing, what now? I slide a blood covered hand into
my pocket and dial.
The paramedics take
Dakota away wrapped in a blanket on the stretcher. Her face has the same slack-skinned,
ashen look to it I saw on Matt’s the morning before. One of the paramedics threw
a rough wool blanket around my shoulders as I crouched on the bathroom floor
next to them. I still have it on my shoulders as I sit in the office, shivering
despite the blanket. I’m in one of the burgundy visitor chairs again. I keep my
eyes riveted on the carpet before me. I can hear concerned murmurings. A parade
of polished black shoes and snub nosed flats move through my field of vision.
In that ever thinning cone of vision I see my own arms, the knees of my jeans,
even my hands are all smeared with blood. The blood stands out against the
stark whiteness of my skin, cut here and there with vivid red scars. A
whooshing sound starts in my ears and rises into a sickening roar, as the edges
of my vision grey out. The only thing I can think is how much I want Ephraim to
be here.
A hand
covers mine lightly, ever so faintly touching mine, like a snowflake falling on
my palm, and just as swiftly the touch melts away. But I can feel him now, near
me, with me. His warmth fills me and the terrible roaring tremble leaves my
body. I straighten up, letting the blanket fall from my shoulders. “Ms. Reins?”
I say, with a quaver in my voice, “I think I’d better get cleaned up.”
Ms. Reins
almost poor dears me back under the blanket, but thankfully Mandy breezes into
the office, an arm load of what looks suspiciously like gym sweats in her
hands. “Oh my god Becca! You look gh-ashtly,” she says, drawing out the word
ghastly until it sounds more like an accusation than an observation.
“Fortunately, I had the foresight to raid the locker room, not fashionable, I
know, but much better than blood smears and scars. Don’t you agree Ms. Reins?
I’ll just take Becca to the staff bathroom and fix her up. Yes? Good.” As she
speaks she lifts me from the chair, and propels me into the staff bathroom off
of the office foyer.
Still feeling
a little wooden, I watch as Mandy wads up some paper towels and soaks them
under the sink. She swabs the towels over my arms, trying to clean the blood
off. The blood turns into a thin, runny, red liquid, like water colour paint
running down my arms and hands. Mandy is talking steadily and, for once, I hear
everything she says, “Try not to freak out Becca, I know this must bring back
bad memories and all but it isn’t your blood, okay? I’ll have it all off of you
in a second. There.” She pauses; satisfied that she’s washed away all traces of
blood. “You know,” she adds thoughtfully, “in all the time I’ve known you, you
haven’t had so much as a hint of drama in your life, and now you can’t seem to
get through a day without it.” She hands me the sweat clothes. “Do you need
help changing or are you alright to do it?”
I smile
gratefully at her, taking the clothes. “I’ll be okay, thanks Mandy, really.” I
turn the lock behind her as soon as the door closes. Longing for the kind of
comfort only one person could possibly give me I call softly, “Ephraim?”
He’s
standing in front of me even as I speak the words. My heart shivers inside me
when I see him. “This wasn’t something human Ephraim. I could
feel
it.”
I burst out, wishing I could throw myself into his arms for comfort.
Ephraim
looks grim, he reaches out, and then checks himself, just short of touching me.
“I’m sorry,” he says gently.
Mandy
knocks softly on the bathroom door, “you still okay in there?”
“Turn around
so I can change,” I order Ephraim. He shrugs and turns around, while I hastily
shuck off my blood smeared clothes.
Pulling on
the sweat suit Ephraim says casually, “Just so you know, I can still see you
even with my back turned. My vision doesn’t work like yours. It’s more of an
awareness than a sense.”
I grab my
jeans and swat the air where he stands; they fly through his image easily. “You
could have told me that before I started to change!” He winks and fades out,
but I can still feel his nearness.
The rest of the day streams
by in a blur. The school counsellor pulls a few girls aside, beginning with me,
for what sounds suspiciously like the script for an after school special. She
says some fancy things about self mutilation being a cry for help, tells me I’ve
done just the right thing, and asks if I’m feeling any distress. I give her the
right answers, the ones all adults are looking for when they ask those kinds of
leading questions and I am sent on my way.
But I
know
something else is happening here. Who knows, maybe Dakota does have a totally
suck life, and maybe she does need help, but I don’t for one second believe she’s
a cutter.
When Justin
finds me, he scrupulously skirts around today’s hot topic, which probably means
that he has quite a lot to say about it. He keeps shooting me measuring looks
and shaking his head, but he keeps the conversation light all the way back to
my house.
He gets out
of the car with me, and waits for Matt to drive off before he speaks, “I can
come in you know, hang out, if you don’t want to be alone.”
“It’s okay,
I actually just want to lie down and relax.”
Justin
grins, saying sweetly, “I’d be happy to do that too.” If I didn’t know better I
would have sworn he was flirting.
I swat at
him half heartedly, “Justin seriously, I’m fine. I’ll call you later okay?”
Ephraim is
waiting for me in my bedroom, lounging on the bed and looking very comfortable
in my room. “I really think he spends more time attached to you than I do, and
he isn’t bound to your on a spiritual level,” he muses. His eyes are large and
soft with humour. As he looks at me another look seeps into his eyes, and he
smiles his long, slow smile. “With all the excitement, I missed you today.”
Chapter 6:
Unlucky
In the midst of all the
post accident drama I haven’t spent much time with my dad, not that that’s unusual,
I guess he just notices it more. Both my parents are noticing me more than
usual. A year ago I would have been thrilled by the increased attention, now,
not so much. I’m too used to having my freedom and time to myself. Still, I can’t
avoid him forever. And maybe, it wouldn’t hurt to talk some of this out, if I can.
I wait until mom leaves for an early appointment on Saturdays and then dial his
number. A little less than fifteen minutes later his motorcycle roars into the
driveway. Dad hands me a helmet and I scoot onto the back of the motorcycle
without a word. He’s good like that, not asking a lot of sticky questions. I
bury my head against his back as we soar along the highway, winding along the
coast to his apartment. I’ve been over to his apartment before, of course, but
not often.
At first I resisted
going because I didn’t want to condone his moving out and having this whole
alternative life, and then I didn’t go because it felt kind of creepy to be there.
His place doesn’t feel homey. It’s all marble and leather and done up to be
swanky in every possible way. There’s a bedroom set aside for me too,
professionally designed. It’s about a thousand times nicer than my bedroom back
home. The bed is soft and there’s a desk, all fitted out with the latest
gadgets, ready for me to leap in and use. He even had a mural of the woods
painted on one wall, about nine years late, but still a thoughtful touch. I
stand in the doorway of the room, really seeing it for the first time.
He put so
much effort in, it must have been such a disappointment that I’ve never slept
here. I actually refused to even go into the room. I turn to see that dad has
come up behind me and is watching. Unlike mom, he’s an open book. I step inside
the room, very deliberately turning around in it, trying for an appreciative
expression. “It’s nice, really nice,” I tell him.
He doesn’t
smile, doesn’t give me that polite reaction. “You and your mom get in a fight?”
“Mom’s
fine.”
“Then
what isn’t?” he asks, his eyes telling me he doesn’t believe I’m here just to
socialize.
I sigh. “Things
just aren’t as easy as I thought they’d be once I got out of the hospital and
back to school. I feel different. I am different. And I can’t stand being
cooped up all the time at home. I can’t go for walks, can’t visit the shore or
go for a bike ride or any of the things that used to calm me down and I’m
afraid, most of the time. I just don’t feel okay anymore.” My voice trails off.
Dad and I used to be close but it’s been awhile since that’s been true. Plus, there
isn’t really a right way to explain about being forever bonded to an invisible,
incorporeal being.
But when I
look up I see him nodding. “It’s hard to adjust to life again, after you’ve
come close to death, especially recovering from an injury as severe as yours.
But it gets better Becks, eventually. It just takes time. I can’t make it go
faster for you, but maybe there is something I can do to help.” He throws me a
set of keys, which he’s been holding the entire time. I hold them limply in my
hand, not really understanding. “There are some strings attached, though.”
Maybe he isn’t
as tuned out and irresponsible as mom always says, because of the two of them,
he’s the only one even trying to help me. He tells me he set up an appointment
with some post trauma counsellor, and that he expects me to start spending
every other weekend here, so we can do some father daughter bonding. Not that I’m
thrilled about being sent to a shrink, but I can’t get over the idea that Dad
noticed I’ve been struggling. It will be a good thing to spend some time with
him.
So here I am, sitting
in my own car. If he’d let me have the car a month ago my whole life would be
different now. There’d be no scars, no weird rift between me and my friends, no
Ephraim. As if thinking of him conjured him, I feel his presence near me. I
hope, devoutly hope, that he can’t actually read my mind, because I’ve had
fairly detailed thoughts about him.
The
transition between empty space and Ephraim sitting casually in the passenger’s
seat is so smooth that I miss the exact moment it happens. The watery
flickering is a thing of the past, now he slips into sight as smoothly and
quickly as a breath of air.