Finding Sky (4 page)

Making my excuses to get away from all this talk of murder, I arrived outside the practice room five minutes early. I had the place to myself and indulged my wandering fingers on the grand, dipping in and out of a Chopin nocturne. It helped cleanse me of the shivery feeling I got when thinking of the Denver shooting. Violence always made me feel panicked, as if it was about to release a tiger from a cage of memories inside me—something I couldn’t fight or survive. Not going there.

We didn’t yet have a piano at home and I was having serious withdrawal symptoms. As I weaved my way through the notes, I distracted myself by wondering what reception Zed would give me today. Chopin melted into something more funky, with the
Mission Impossible
theme tune interlaced.

The door banged and I spun round in anticipation, pulse leaping, but it was only Nelson.

‘Hey, Sky. Yves and Zed aren’t in school.’ Elasto-man bounded in and got his instrument out of its case.

I felt a huge wave of disappointment which I told myself to put down to being denied the chance to play, not because I was missing out on seeing the object of my secret obsession.

‘Do you want to try out a few things together anyway?’

I ran my fingers over the keys.

Nelson’s mouth twitched. ‘What kind of things you have in mind, sweet thing?’

‘Um … I’m sure there are a few songs here we could take for a test drive.’ I got up and leafed through the stack of music on the table.

He laughed. ‘Aw, shucks: you’re brushing me off!’

‘Am I? I am?’ I could feel my blush getting to the top of the embarrassing scale. ‘How about this?’ I shoved a random piece of music towards him.

He looked down. ‘Show tunes? I mean,
Oklahoma
has some good ones but—’

‘Oh.’ I snatched it back, getting more flustered by the knowledge that I was amusing him.

‘Take it easy, Sky. Better idea: why not let me pick?’

Relieved, I abandoned the scores and retreated to my piano stool where I felt more in control of things.

‘I make you nervous?’ Nelson asked seriously, shooting me a curious look. ‘You shouldn’t mind me—I was just fooling around.’

I tugged my long plait over my shoulder and wrapped it around my fist. It had to be kept plaited or it got out of control. ‘Not you.’

‘Just guys?’

I thumped my head lightly on the piano lid. ‘Am I that obvious?’

Nelson shook his head. ‘No. I’m such a sensitive soul for recognizing it.’ He grinned.

‘I’ve got a few issues.’ I wrinkled my nose in disgust at myself. My problems were many, all rooted in my deep sense of insecurity according to the child psychologist I’d been going to since I was six. Well, gee, as if I couldn’t have worked that one out for myself, seeing that I was abandoned and all.

‘I’m a bit out of my comfort zone.’

‘But I’ve got your back, remember.’ Nelson pulled out his choice and showed it to me for my approval. ‘You can breathe easy round me. I ain’t got no nefarious designs towards you.’

‘What’s nefarious?’

‘I don’t know, but my grandma accuses me of having them when she thinks I done something bad and it sounds good.’

I laughed, relaxing a little. ‘That’s right—I can rat you out to her if you step out of line.’

He gave a mock shudder. ‘Even you can’t be so cruel, Brit Chick. Now, are we going to sit shooting the breeze all day or play some music?’ Nelson grabbed his sax and tested the tuning.

‘Music.’ I propped the score open on the stand and jumped right in.

 

I had no plans for the weekend.

Doesn’t that sound pathetic? Tina and Zoe had Saturday jobs in the local stores and Nelson was out of town to see his dad so there was no one to hang out with. Simon had mentioned something about hunting for second-hand pianos but that idea got shot down by the manager of the Arts Centre asking my parents to come in and sort out their studio space. I knew better than to get in the way. It would be like standing between two chocoholics and their candy supply. That left me circling Planet Wrickenridge, a lone comet in my own orbit.

‘Come and find us for lunch,’ Sally said, handing me a twenty dollar note. ‘Go and see what’s what in town.’

That didn’t take long. Wrickenridge was American-quaint; even Starbucks masqueraded as a Swiss-style chalet. There was a small selection of upmarket shops, some only open during the skiing season, a couple of hotels with posh looking restaurants waiting for winter, a diner, a community centre, and a gym. I stood outside that for a while wondering if it was worth a closer look but in the end felt too shy to try it. Same went for the adjoining spa and nail parlour. I wondered if
Neat
Nails
  was where Tina got hers done. I’d pretty much bitten mine to the quick.

Wandering further on, I headed up Main Street towards the park, enjoying the municipal flowerbeds spilling over with bright autumn blooms. Passing the duck pond that doubled as an ice rink in winter, I walked until garden planting faded into an arboretum of mountain trees and shrubs. A few people strolling in the sunshine greeted me as we passed, but I was mostly left to myself. I wished I had a dog to make my presence less conspicuous. Perhaps I should suggest it to Sally and Simon. A rescue pup that needed a home because someone had abandoned it—I’d like that. Problem was we were only certain on staying a year—not long enough to be fair on a pet.

I followed a track up, hoping to reach a viewpoint I’d seen marked on the map at the park entrance with the intriguing label of ‘ghost town’. My leg muscles were burning by the time the path led me out on to a rocky outcrop that had a great vista of Wrickenridge and the rest of the valley. The label hadn’t lied: the ledge was home to a street of abandoned wooden buildings; it reminded me of a movie set when filming had finished. I read a plaque hammered into the ground.

Gold Rush township, built 1873 when the first nugget was
discovered in the Eyrie River. Abandoned 1877. Seven miners
died when the Eagle shaft collapsed in Spring 1876
.

Only four years and the miners had thrown up a whole little community of lodging houses, saloons, stores, and stables. Most of the dark wood buildings had lost their roofs, but some were still thatched in tin which creaked ominously in the breeze. Rusting chains dangled over the edge of the escarpment, swaying over the golden wild flowers that clung to the ledges, mocking the lost dreams of the pioneers. It would make a great backdrop to a really spooky story—‘Revenge of the Miners’, or something. I could hear the spine-chilling themes already, incorporating the lonely clank of the chain and the hollow notes of the wind blowing through the abandoned buildings.

But it was a sad place. I didn’t like to think of the miners buried somewhere in the mountainside, crushed under tons of rock. After poking around in the buildings, I sat down, crossed my legs on a bench, wishing I’d thought to buy a Coke and a chocolate bar before climbing all the way up here. Colorado was just so big—everything on a scale unfamiliar to a British person. Mist drifted off the mountain slopes, cutting the sunlit summits off from the dark green base like an eraser rubbing out a picture. I followed the progress of a yellow van winding its way along the main road, heading east. Cloud shadows moved across the fields, rippling over barns and roofs, dimming a pond then moving it on to leave it a bright eye gazing up at the heavens again. The sky arched over the peaks, a soft blue on this hazy morning. I tried to imagine the people living up here, faces turned to the rock rather than the sky, watching for the glint of gold. Had any of them stayed on and moved down to Wrickenridge? Did I go to school with descendants of people who arrived in the madness of the Gold Rush?

A twig snapped behind me. Heart thumping, head full of ghosts, I twisted round to see Zed Benedict hovering at the point where the track left the trees. He looked tired, shadows under his eyes that hadn’t been there last week. His hair was mussed, as if he’d been running his fingers through it repeatedly.

‘Perfect, just what I need,’ he said with cutting sarcasm, backing away.

Words not calculated to make a girl feel good about herself.

I got up. ‘I’m going.’

‘Forget it. I’ll come back later.’

‘I was just heading home in any case.’

He stood his ground and just looked at me. I had the strangest sensation that he was drawing something out of me, as if there was a thread between us and he was winding it in.

I shivered and closed my eyes, holding up a hand, palm towards him. I felt dizzy. ‘Please—don’t do that.’

‘Don’t do what?’

‘Look at me like that.’ I blushed a furious red. He would now think I was completely mad. I’d imagined the thread after all. I turned on my heel and strode off into the nearest building, leaving him the bench, but he followed.

‘Look at you like what?’ he repeated, kicking aside a fallen plank of wood in his pursuit. The whole place groaned; one puff of a strong wind and I was sure it would collapse on our heads.

‘I don’t want to talk about it.’ I marched ahead, making for the empty-framed window overlooking the valley. ‘Forget it.’

‘Hey, I’m talking to you.’ He caught my arm, but seemed to reconsider. ‘Look … er … Sky, isn’t it?’ He cast his eyes upwards as if seeking guidance, not quite believing what he was about to do. ‘I’ve got to tell you something.’

The breeze got under the eaves, making the tin roof creak. I suddenly realized just how far we were from other people. He released my arm. I rubbed at the places where his fingers had dug into my skin.

He frowned, reluctant even to speak to me, but made himself do so. ‘There’s something you need to know.’

‘What?’

‘Be careful at night. Don’t go out alone.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘The other night I saw … Look, just be careful, OK?’

No, not OK. He was one scary guy.

‘You’ve got that right.’

What? I hadn’t said that aloud, had I?

He swore and kicked the broken mining gear in frustration. The chain clanked to and fro, reminding me of a body swinging on a hangman’s scaffold. I hugged my arms to my chest, trying to make myself a smaller target. This was my fault. I’d done something—I don’t know what—something to set him off.

‘No, you haven’t!’ He said the words sharply. ‘None of it is your fault, you hear?’ He dropped his voice. ‘And I’m just scaring the hell out of you, aren’t I?’

I froze.

‘Fine. I’ll leave.’ He strode off abruptly, disappearing between the empty buildings, swearing at himself under his breath.

So, that went well.

 

Three weeks into the semester and high school had proved to be mostly fun apart from the weird feeling left over from Zed’s warning. What was that boy on? And what did he think he had seen? How could it possibly have anything to do with me not going out after dark? The last thing I needed was some bad boy to take an unhealthy interest in me.

I tried to shrug it off. Too much else was going on. I had a few bad moments with some of the students teasing me about my accent and ignorance of things American, but on the whole they were OK. A couple of the girls in my social studies class, including the cheerleading Sheena—ones I’d privately tagged as Vampire Brides due to their preference for blood-red nail varnish—stole my ID off me for a joke when they’d heard me moaning to Tina about how bad my picture was. Unfortunately, the Draculettes agreed with me and dubbed me the ‘blonde bunny’ when they saw my photo, which I found more than annoying. Tina advised me to let it pass, arguing it was more likely to stick if I made a fuss about it. So I bit my tongue and kept my school swipe card hidden at all times.

‘Activities day next week—Juniors can choose to go rafting,’ Nelson told me one Friday afternoon as he walked me home. He was on his way to fix his grandmother’s lawnmower for her. ‘Wanna come?’

I wrinkled my nose, imagining Robinson Crusoe lashing together tree trunks. ‘Rafting—you have to build one or something?’

He laughed. ‘This isn’t the Boy Scouts of America, Sky. No, I’m talking white-water, white-knuckle, high octane excitement on the Eyrie River. Imagine an inflatable boat with room for six or seven. You’ve got the main man on the rudder at the back, the rest of us with the paddles sitting on the sides, just barely holding on as we plunge through the rapids. You’ve gotta give it a try if you want to count yourself a Coloradan.’

Whoa, high school wasn’t like sixth form college after all—this was immense. I could see the images flashing before my mind now as I expertly navigated my way down a foaming river, saving the child/dog/injured man, music swelling to unbelievable heights, heavy on the strings, tight with tension …

Yeah, right.

‘They’ve got a beginner’s level?’

‘Nope, gonna send you down the trickiest run with no life jacket and no guide.’ Nelson laughed at my expression. ‘Course they have, you muppet. You’ll love it.’

I could do this: start small, graduate to hero status once I’d got the hang of it. ‘OK. Do I need any special kit?’

He shook his head. ‘No, just wear some old clothes. Sky, I don’t suppose you’d ask Tina if she’d like to come in our group?’

My suspicions were instantly alerted. ‘Why don’t you ask her yourself?’

‘She’ll think I’m coming on to her.’

I smiled. ‘Aren’t you?’

He rubbed the back of his neck in an embarrassed gesture. ‘Yeah, but I just don’t want her to know it yet.’

The day of the rafting trip and the weather looked a little cloudy, the mountains a sullen grey and breeze stiff. There was a definite chill in the air, even a few spots of rain. I’d put on a thicker hoodie, my favourite one with ‘Richmond Rowing Club’ on the front which I thought was funny considering this was absolutely no Thames. The minibus bumped down the dirt track that led to the rafting school. The first gold leaves were drifting off the aspens and falling into the river to meet a violent end in the rapids. I hoped it wasn’t a sign of things to come.

When we arrived, the rafting school receptionist doled out helmets, waterproof shoes, and life jackets. We then gathered on the bank to listen to a briefing given by a stern-faced man with long dark hair. He had the dramatic profile of a Native American, broad forehead and eyes that seemed eons older than his years. It was a face made to be drawn or, better yet, sculpted. If I’d written a melody for him, it would have been haunting, plaintive like the South American panpipes, music for wild places.

‘Great—we’ve got Mr Benedict—Zed and Yves’s father. He’s the best,’ whispered Tina. ‘He totally rocks on the water.’

I couldn’t pay attention, my eagerness to launch myself out on to the rapids dwindling now I actually faced the turbulent river.

Hearing our murmured discussion, Mr Benedict gave us both a keen look and I had a sudden glimpse of colours surrounding him—silvery like the sun on the snowy peaks.

Not again, I thought, feeling that strange sense of dizziness. I refused to see colours—I wasn’t letting them back in. I closed my eyes and swallowed, snapping the contact.

‘Ladies,’ Mr Benedict said in a soft voice that still managed to carry over the noise of the water, ‘if you would listen, please. I’m running through vital safety protocols.’

‘You OK?’ Tina whispered. ‘You’ve gone a little green.’

‘It’s just … nerves.’

‘You’ll be fine—there’s nothing to worry about.’

I hung on to every word Mr Benedict said after that but few of them lodged in my brain.

He finished his little lecture, stressing the need to obey orders at all times. ‘Some of you said you were interested in kayaking. Is that right?’

Neil from cheerleading raised his hand.

‘My sons are out on the course right now. I’ll let them know you want a lesson.’

Mr Benedict was gesturing towards the upper reaches of the river where I could just make out a series of striped poles suspended over the channel. Three red kayaks were racing down the rapids. It was impossible to tell who was in each boat but they were evidently all skilled, playing the river in a series of almost balletic movements, pirouettes and turns that brought my heart into my mouth. One shot through to the front of the trio. He seemed to have an edge over the others, able to anticipate the next churn of the water, the next flip of current, a fraction ahead of time. He passed under the red and white finish post and punched the air with his paddle, laughing at his brothers lagging behind.

It was Zed. Of course.

Mesmerized, we all watched the other boats cross the finish. Zed was already at the bank getting out of the kayak when his brothers reached him. After some rowdy arguments in which the word ‘unfair’ was shouted several times, the tallest one picked Zed up and threw him in. He went under—but it was a calm backwater so he merely bobbed up to the surface. He grabbed his brother and pulled him over. From the easy way the boy fell, I guessed that this was not unexpected. That left Yves on the bank but he was getting royally splashed before lending a hand to haul his brothers out. They collapsed on the bank, laughing, until they got their breath back. It was odd to see Zed happy; I’d come to expect nothing but dark looks from him.

‘My younger sons,’ said Mr Benedict with a shrug.

As if hearing a whistle out of the hearing of the rest of us, the Benedict boys looked up.

‘Get the raft launched, Dad, and I’ll be right with you when I get changed,’ shouted the tallest one. ‘Zed’ll take the kayaker.’

‘That’s Xav,’ said Tina. ‘He only left school this year.’

‘Is he like Zed or Yves?’

‘How do you mean?’

We tagged along after the rafting party as it headed to the landing stage.

‘Hostile or friendly. I think Zed’s got it in for me.’

Tina frowned. ‘Zed’s got it in for a lot of people, but not usually girls. What’s he done?’

‘He … it’s kinda hard to explain. When he notices me—which isn’t often—he seems really irritated. Look, Tina, is it me? Have I done something wrong? Is it because I don’t understand how things are done here?’

‘Well, there are these vicious rumours that you prefer drinking tea to coffee.’

‘Tina, I’m being serious!’

She put her hand on my forearm. ‘No, Sky, you’re doing fine. If he’s got a problem with you, that’s what it is exactly: his problem, not yours. I wouldn’t worry. Zed’s been acting kinda strange for a few weeks now—more of everything, more angry, more arrogant—everyone’s noticed.’

Our discussion ended as we had to pay attention to Mr Benedict’s instructions as to where we were going to sit. ‘River’s running high since the rain over the weekend. We need the smallest and lightest in the centre of this seat so you don’t get flipped out.’

‘That’d be you, Sky baby,’ said Nelson, nudging me forward.

‘One of my sons will take the paddle at the front, and you,’ he pointed to Nelson, ‘take the other side. That leaves you two girls to sit behind them near me.’ He beckoned Tina and another girl from high school forward. They both were issued with paddles; I was the only one without as I had to be in the middle.

Zed approached, having dumped his wetsuit and put on shorts and a life jacket.

‘Xav and Yves are taking the kayaker,’ Zed announced.

His father frowned. ‘I thought that was your job.’

‘Yeah, well, I saw that he was going to be a jerk. Yves’s better at handling that.’

I decided there and then that Wolfman had missed out on the devilish charm-school part in his anti-hero training.

Mr Benedict looked as if he wanted to say something—a lot of somethings—but was prevented by us listening in.

We took our places in the inflatable raft. This arrangement had the unfortunate consequence that I was next to Zed with Nelson on the other side. Zed appeared to be studiously avoiding looking at me—I’d become Miss Invisible Sky.

‘Girl in the middle at the front—Sky, isn’t it?’

I turned round to see Mr Benedict was speaking to me.

‘Yes, sir?’

‘If it gets rough, link arms with your neighbours. Girls up my end, make sure your feet stay in the toeholds on the bottom of the raft when it starts to buck. They’ll keep you from falling in.’

Nelson grunted with disgust. ‘Not worried about the boys then, is he?’

Zed overheard him. ‘He thinks men should be able to look after themselves. Got a problem with that?’

Nelson shook his head, feeling the dig. ‘Nope.’

Sally would just love this, I thought. As a card-carrying feminist, she would think Mr Benedict a complete dinosaur. She wouldn’t be too impressed by Zed either.

Mr Benedict pushed the raft off from the moorings. With a few strong pulls from Zed and Nelson, we were out in the current. From here on, paddles were mainly about steering as there was only one direction on this stretch of the river—downstream very fast. Mr Benedict shouted instructions, plying the rudder-paddle at the rear. I hung on to the seat, biting back my shrieks as the raft spun round a rock jutting out into the water. When we passed it, I saw what lay ahead.

‘Oh my God. We’re never going to survive that!’

The water looked as if there was a giant whisk churning away on the fastest setting under the water. Froth flew in the air; rocks pierced the surface at irregular intervals, making navigation round them impossible as far as I could see. I’d watched what happened to eggs in a food mixer—that was going to be us in two seconds.

With a great kick, the boat surged forward. I screamed. Nelson roared with laughter and shouted ‘Yee-ha!’, swinging his paddle to help stave off the rocks. On my other side, Zed calmly did the same, showing no sign that he felt the exhilaration, the danger or even noticed that I was having a minor panic attack.

‘Devil’s Cauldron’s looking a bit frisky,’ shouted Mr Benedict over his shoulder. ‘Keep us central, boys.’

The stretch he referred to looked more than frisky. ‘Frisky’ is what you call boisterous foals on a spring morning, gambolling in the sunshine; this was an autumnal savaging bear in a killing frenzy, wanting to stock up for winter with extra body fat. A raft-load of humans seemed to me the perfect menu.

The strains of the
Jaws
theme tune thumped in my mind.

The raft plunged in. The nose momentarily dipped under the surface, dowsing us in icy water. Tina shrieked but she was laughing as the water sloshed away. We were buffeted on all sides. I was thrown against Nelson, then into Zed. I slipped my arm through Nelson’s elbow, but didn’t dare do the same on the other side, Zed looked so forbidding. Nelson gave my arm an encouraging squeeze.

‘Having fun?’ he bellowed, water dripping down his face.

‘In an awful “I’m-gonna-die-any-moment” way, yes!’ I shouted back.

Just then, the nose of the raft got wedged between two rocks, pressure of water pushing us sideways. Waves slopped over the side.

‘I’m going to push us off!’ Mr Benedict shouted. ‘All to the right.’

He’d taught us this drill on shore—it involved piling over to one side of the raft to make it lift half out of the river. I ended up sandwiched between Nelson and Zed, the stem of Nelson’s paddle clipping my chin.

‘Left!’

On the order, we lurched to the other side. The raft began to slide free.

‘Back to your places!’

As I scrambled to obey the order, Zed suddenly threw his arms around me, tackling me to the floor, face down in the water that sloshed ankle-deep. ‘Keep hold or you’ll fall in,’ he yelled in my ear.

Water going up my nose, I panicked and struggled free, just as the raft leapt down another rapid. Floundering on the floor, I was propelled towards the side. I had no grip so I parted company with the boat and tumbled backwards into the water.

Cold—rushing water—screams—whistles. I thrashed to the surface. The boat was already ten metres behind as I was swept like an aspen leaf through the Cauldron.