Reckoning (6 page)

A chill washes over me as a cloud passes in front of the sun. I hug my arms, murmuring, “I wish I could talk to her. Find out the truth.” But I can’t. Even worse, there is
no one
I can talk to. My great grandmother died before I was born, and my grandmother passed away five years ago, my grandfather quickly following. And my mom has never been interested in her family’s history, so knows little about it. Which leaves me without any resources. It bothers me that I’ll probably never know the truth.

I think about my deceased ancestors and sigh. Despite my freakish ability, I’ve never been in contact with anyone from my family. Is that weird? Or weirder than anything else, for that matter?

“Well, it’s all ancient history, anyway,” my mom says lightly. “Everyone concerned or directly involved has long since passed on. So I don’t suppose we’ll ever know.” Her words uncannily mirror my own thoughts. She sits forward and starts to get up from the chair.

“Let’s go to Scotland,” I blurt, filled with an overwhelming desire to find the answers.

“What?” Mom looks at me with surprise and sits back down.

“Let’s go to Scotland,” I repeat. “An exploration of family heritage. Just like you did with Granny and Grandpa.”

Mom shakes her head. “You know we can’t just…
go
to Scotland.”

“Why not?”

“First of all, there’s the cost…”

“You know we could afford it. We could go inexpensively. It wouldn’t have to be a five-star trip. Just for a week.”

“True. But a trip like that takes planning and organization.” My mom is the queen of planning. She had spent weeks researching our trip to San Diego three years ago, comparing car rental and hotel rates, writing notes on attractions and expected weather conditions. Even a trip to the grocery story has to be detailed in advance. Meals planned, lists made. A trip to Scotland would send her into months of preparation.

“It wouldn’t have to be right away,” I continue, warming to the idea. “We could go at the end of the summer. Before school starts again. That would give you plenty of time to check it out.”

“I don’t think your dad would be too into the family research thing.”

“He wouldn’t have to be. While we’re doing that, he could go visit pubs or go to soccer matches. Or football, or whatever they call it over there. Or play golf.”

“Now
that
he would like.” She laughs, but shakes her head again. “But honestly, honey, I don’t think he could get the time off work. He just told me in his last e-mail they’ve got his travel scheduled planned out all the way through the fall.”

“Well, then, just you and I could go. It would be fun. A mother-daughter thing. And if we go for just a week, Dad probably won’t be here to miss us anyway.”

“I don’t know, Kat…”

“
Please,
Mom,” I implore. “Don’t say no. We
so
need to do this. At least think about it.”

She sighs. “All right. I’ll think about it.”

“Thanks, Mom,” I say. One thing my mom never does is agree to something, or say something she doesn’t mean, just to get me to shut up. If she says she’ll think about it, she will.

She stands up, gathering the stack of papers. “I have to drop these insurance forms off at the physical therapists. Want to ride along? We can stop at that antique store you like.”

One of my favorite things to do is roam through Yesterday’s Treasures, our neighborhood antiques store. I’m tempted, but decline. “No, thanks. I want to get started on my English so I don’t have to do it tonight.”

“Okay. I’ll see you in a little bit then.” She kisses my forehead and heads back inside.

“What’s with the house next door?” I call after her. “I noticed somebody mowed the lawn and the sign’s gone.”

She sticks her head back out the door. “I was wondering the same thing. I think maybe it finally sold, although I haven’t seen anybody over there. I’ll give Liz a call when I get back. See what she knows.” Liz Fullerton is a realtor and one of my mom’s closest friends.

A few moments later, I hear the sound of her car engine start. It rumbles noisily, then fades into the distance.

I continue sitting in the chair, wondering about our potential new neighbors before my thoughts return to my great-great grandmother, and why my mom never shared any of this information before. And why the fate of a woman three generations, half a continent and an entire ocean away suddenly seems so important.

Only later do I realize that I completely forgot about Rachel’s car.

The week ends without further incident. Although the girl in pink has not made another appearance, I choose seats away from the windows, keeping my thoughts firmly focused on schoolwork. I even manage to get in a few hours of dreamless sleep each night, which leaves me hoping that recent events have been nothing more than a series of random occurrences.

Liz wasn’t able to tell my mom much about our new neighbors, other than the house was sold two weeks ago to a Michael and Carlotta Ambrose from Brockton, Massachusetts. They paid slightly less than the asking price and completed the transaction in cash. I wonder what kind of people pay cash for a house. Maybe they are into the fix-and-flip – invest a little sweat and money and, three months later, sell it for a profit. It’s a common practice in my neighborhood.

Dad comes home on Friday, and over dinner at my favorite Asian restaurant, I relay the news about Rachel’s car. I get the I’m-really-not-surprised, slightly bored reaction that I expected. I talk about Rachel having a job and earning her own money. I even throw in hints of increased responsibility and valuable work experience, and the fact that she won’t need to rely on anyone to get her places. But I’m sure it falls on deaf ears as they just nod and mumble something about the dangers of teenage driving. I save the subject of the Jeep for later.

Pushing scattered grains of fried rice across my plate, I eye my dad across the table. He’s always been athletic and in good shape, usually getting in a round or two of golf whenever he is home. Sports to him are what the news is to my mom. But he looks tired. There are dark circles around his eyes and deeper creases between his brows. His light brown hair is graying along the sides. I wonder if the constant traveling is wearing him down. Or if there is something else going on I don’t know about. Maybe a trip to Scotland would be good for all of us.

Returning home, mom and dad settle into the living room to watch television, while I head to my room. I feel restless, as though I have an overstock of energy and nowhere to put it. I wish I could go for a run, but it’s too dark out, and I’ve just eaten. Grabbing my drawing pad and colored pencils, I sit cross-legged on the bed. Alecto curls up beside me, purring contentedly.

The light from the lamp reflects off the dark mahogany furniture, softening the pale yellows and greens of the wall paint and comforter. I let my mind wander, thinking about Rick and everything that’s happened this week. I draw random designs, my hand moving across the paper without conscious thought. Several minutes later, I lay the pencil aside, and stare at the page.

I’ve drawn the girl in pink, her dress swinging with her movements, her long hair whipping to the side. But rather than the athletic fields at school, I’ve sketched a background of trees. Dark and ominous, the pine branches interlaced into a thick canopy. I stare at it, lost in thought, something about the picture making my stomach clench with tension.

My cell phone buzzes, making me flinch in surprise. Almost gratefully, I toss aside the drawing pad and grab the phone from my nightstand. I have a new text message. I smile. It’s from Rachel, double-checking on the gem show.

Are u sure about tomorrow?

I text her back, thinking maybe I should go just to keep my mind occupied. But I stick to my original decision.

I’m sure
.
Have fun. Call me when you get back.

I sign off with LULAS, the love-you-like-a-sister acronym Rachel taught me, and hit the send button. Turning the drawing pad upside down, I turn on my stereo, keeping the volume low so it won’t disturb my parents.

I glance out the window, the reflection of my computer screen glowing in the glass. I can just see the outline of the empty house next door, the white trim shining softly in the moonlight. I start to turn my head away, when something catches my eye. The side of the house growing lighter, then darker. Confused, I peer closer. It happens again. I look for car headlights or anything that could cause the glowing effect, but see nothing.

I leave my room, wanting to ask my mom if she’s forgotten to tell me our new neighbors have moved in. But they’ve both fallen asleep, my mom half covered in a blanket on the couch, my dad snoring gently, the TV remote still clutched in his hand.

Remembering the tired look on Dad’s face, I leave them to their slumbers and head back through the kitchen, stepping out onto the back patio. A half-moon glows between thin clouds. The trees rise like tall, dark shadows at the rear of the yard. The fence stretches into the darkness, dark gray and weather-beaten. The knots in the wood look like black splotches on a faded canvas. I shiver as the cool night air settles on my skin.

The light glows again, then fades. Stepping across the flagstones, I edge my way closer to the fence. Peering between the slats, I look for trespassers. Maybe neighborhood kids messing around with a flashlight or lighter. But the backyard is empty.

Creeping forward, I ease the gate open, just enough to peek through. The side of the house is dark, and for the moment, the light is gone.

A rumble of thunder spreads across the sky. Looking up, I see heat lightning flashing on the horizon. The thought crosses my mind that maybe the strange light had been nothing more than lightning. But I know it wasn’t. It had definitely come from the house.

The light glows on and off again and, suddenly, I know the answer. It’s coming from the basement window. I tense, wondering if someone is in there. And why they would be turning the light off and on. I glance around, but the place looks deserted. No cars or moving vans parked in front. No sound or light anywhere. Except the window.

I slip through the gate and step quickly to the side of the house. The bricks are cold against my hand. Dropping to my knees, I creep to the window. Old leaves crunch softly beneath me, sending up an odor of damp soil and compost. Something sharp jabs my palm and I flinch.

“
Damnit
,” I whisper, examining my hand for any sign of injury. But there is only a small indentation near the base of my thumb. I run my hand along the ground, looking for the source – a small stick from our ash tree, the ends jagged and torn. Tossing it aside, I move forward. Headlights sweep past me, and I freeze, exhaling slowly as the car continues down the street.

I ease my head nearer to the window and look inside. The light flashes on again, and I squint against the sudden illumination. The glass in the window is old and dirty and partially covered with low-hanging ivy. But I can see old carpeting, brown and tattered, and roughly plastered walls. Two boxes and a dusty floor lamp are pushed against one wall. A shelf with too many coats of white paint contains bottles of detergent, bleach and old paint cans. I turn my head, trying to see more, but the light abruptly goes off, plunging the room into darkness.

I hear footsteps coming down the sidewalk followed by some sort of metal clinking sound. I hunch down in the shadows, hoping I won’t be seen. From the way I’m positioned, I could easily be mistaken for some kind of peeping tom or burglar. I imagine the police showing up and the embarrassment of trying to explain myself.

A dog trots by, straining at its leash. I hold my breath, hoping it won’t notice me. Hoping it won’t bark. But it is absorbed in whatever scent it is following and keeps its nose to the sidewalk. It’s owner follows, several feet behind.

The sound of the leash fades into the distance and I breathe a sigh of relief. Turning back to the window, I move my head further down, waiting for the light to go on again.

Sudden thoughts of a Hollywood horror movie flash through my mind: Staring at a darkened window. The light flashing on again. A horrible, blood splattered face staring back at me.

Don’t be stupid, Kat.
I shake my head, reminding myself that things like that don’t happen in real life.

I hope.

The light flashes on again and I tense. But there is just an empty room, like before.

Taking a deep breath, I lean in, trying to find the source of the light. I can see a doorway, and another darkened room beyond. It appears empty. I pull aside an overhanging vine and look closer, hoping there aren’t any spiders lurking in the window well.

And then I see it. A bare light bulb hanging from the ceiling, the socket dangling and wires exposed. The screws must have fallen out, or someone worked on it and never reattached it. The bulb starts to flicker, stuttering, as if not receiving full power. I wonder if there’s a short in the wiring, and if it’s serious enough to cause a fire.

Or if there’s someone in the house messing with the electricity.

I glance up. The dining room window is directly above me. Rising slowly, I peer through the glass. Although the house is dark, the streetlamps cast just enough light through the front window that I can see the room is empty. The house has the same floor plan as ours, so I can’t see the kitchen or the bedrooms, but there is no light coming from that direction.

Thunder rumbles again. The clouds have thickened, spreading quickly across the sky, blocking out the moon. I can smell rain.

I drop back down to my knees, watching the light bulb sputtering feebly. I change the angle of my head, trying to get a better view, but I can only see what looks like the rounded edge of a hot water heater. I glance toward the other basement window, but it is covered with some type of blind or curtain.

Sitting back in defeat, I shrug. It has to be just the wiring. Maybe the approaching storm is making the electricity freak out. Or maybe it’s mice, chewing on the wires. I’ll mention it to my mom in the morning, just to be on the safe side.