Visions: The Mystical Encounter Series (The Mystical Encounter Series Book 1) (2 page)

~1~

Fresh Beginnings

“Well, Heather, what do you think? Isn’t it perfect?” Mom gushed.

I could tell she was nervous about my reaction because her words were rushed. The lack of direct eye contact was so obvious that I bit my lower lip to keep from rolling my eyes. Taking a deep breath, I reminded myself to be patient with her since she was trying to please me. The move, regardless of what I thought about it, had been entirely her idea. “A new start is just what you need,” she repeated over the last few months. Finally putting her words into action, we packed up and moved four hundred miles away from the one place I’d ever known, to this quaint, historical town.

In some ways, the move had been all too simple. First, Mom was a nurse, making it easy for her to find a job anywhere. Second, with just being the two of us for most my life, we didn’t have any other family to worry about. My father disappeared when I was six years old, leaving my mom to raise me on her own. Honestly, I didn’t have a clue whether he was alive or dead, nor did I care. He hadn’t tried to contact us since he left, which made me consider him dead. Mom never brought up the subject, and I never asked.

Both sets of Grandparents had passed long before I was born, leaving us with hardly any family. One aunt‌—‌my biological father’s sister‌—‌was living, but we hadn’t spoken to her in years either. After my father left, she called once in a while in a half–attempt to keep in touch. That didn’t last long, as her calls became further and further apart, until they stopped altogether. I wasn’t sure if Mom even knew her address anymore. It wasn’t like we were concerned.

“This is great, Mom, exactly what we need,” I said with a pathetic attempt to smile.

My words were enough to appease her because a huge grin broke across her face. One thing I’d learned this past year was to tell people what they wanted to hear. That was the easiest way.

Besides, she didn’t want to know how I
really
felt. She wanted a sugar–coated version, that life would suddenly be perfect. Unfortunately, everything was far from perfect. In my opinion, moving was the same as running away from the challenges life had thrown at you. Since problems don’t exist in the euphoric world she envisions, my life would never measure up, because it would always be problematic. I wasn’t sure if she thought my
predicament
would disappear by simply changing our location, but it didn’t quite work that way. I’d still be different from everyone else, a
freak,
as I was often called.

I didn’t mean to sound unreasonable. I understood what Mom was trying to accomplish. She wanted me to have a fresh start or “new beginning” as she called it. One where people wouldn’t know about my special talent.

She just went about it wrong. My therapist told me to be patient and keep an open mind about the move, which was what I was trying to do, but as I inspected our new house, I found it rather difficult.

“Right through here is your room. It has a wonderful view of the woods, which is why I thought you’d like it.” Not holding back, I rolled my eyes as she rambled on and on. She tried; I gave her credit. But honestly, she didn’t have the slightest clue what I liked. The view was probably nice, but trees have never meant anything to me. I wasn’t sure why she thought I’d be excited. As we entered the hallway to see the bedrooms, I questioned whether she picked up on my aloofness because she quickly added, “Of course if you’d prefer a different one, we could…”

“The room will be fine, Mom,” I interrupted; forcing another smile, knowing full well it wasn’t reaching my eyes. Mother, too busy talking about colors and décor, didn’t notice, or maybe she did and didn’t want to deal with it. It was hard to tell.

Her way of coping was through denial. My entire existence had been that way. Through the help of our group therapy sessions, I thought she had gotten better, but today that all seemed lost. I was afraid she’d slip back into refusing to understand my abilities. That would be her comfort zone—‌to ignore it completely. I certainly hoped that didn’t happen, but without a plan for future sessions, it was a distinct possibility.

When walking into my new bedroom, I came to an immediate halt. This strange mixture of coldness and sadness suddenly caused the hairs on the back of my neck to rise. It was quite an odd sensation, and I didn’t want to go in. The desire to peer out the window to see the view my mother hyped about dissipated with my first step. The gray walls increased the uninviting feeling, and I felt like an intruder in my own room. Maybe after the fresh coat of paint Mother kept talking about, and my own furniture, it would start to feel homier.

I half listened as we toured the rest of the house. All I really wanted was to turn around and go back to our home in Clayton. I wasn’t trying to be difficult, but since the move was done rather hastily, I’d become skeptical. After coming home from school one day, she announced that we were moving. Just like that, without any warning. Sure, she’d been talking about fresh starts and new beginnings, but I didn’t take her seriously. Apparently, I should have.

She was crafty about it, I’d give her that. She set everything up without my knowledge. She got her transfer papers in order for the Veterans Affairs Hospital, which was what brought us to this area, I later learned. They had a position open in the intensive care unit‌—‌the same unit she worked‌—‌making for a smooth transfer. She had met with a realtor and found this house for a decent price. It had been on the market for ten years, and the owners were desperate to unload it, which was how we ended up in this particular town. My high school papers…‌everything done behind my back.

The one thing she overlooked, whether intentional or not, was my therapy sessions. She completely failed in finding me a therapist. “We’ll have time for that later,” was her lame excuse. We scheduled one last session with my therapist, who basically released me from care, and two weeks later, here we were.

Why I was opposed to the move didn’t make sense, really. One would think I would be ecstatic to move as far away as possible. There was nothing enjoyable about living in that town. In fact, I hated it. I wasn’t even going to miss any friends back there. Truth be known, I didn’t have any friends to miss. That was why I was seeing a therapist. It gave me an outlet, someone I could talk openly to about my problem.

The few friends I had, if you could call them friends, turned away from me when I started seeing things. Visions. “Clairvoyant” was the term my therapist used.
Freak
was the term kids at school gave me.

I could understand why they shied away from me, though. We tend to avoid things that were different or odd, and I definitely fell into that category. Even my own mother didn’t want any part of it. She certainly wasn’t anyone I could confide in. That drove a wedge between us, keeping each other from being particularly close.

Still, it hurt her badly, seeing me treated in that way. But I was all right with it, for the most part. I pulled strength from their pettiness which, in turn, formed me into a stronger person. That lesson taught me to rely on one person, me. That was my solution to things; ignore everyone else, and depend on myself. Her solution, though, was to move away from it. I just hoped she wouldn’t be disappointed when it started to happen again. No doubt that it would, which was why I was opposed to moving. Back home, at least, they already knew about me. I knew what to expect. I wasn’t accepted, by any means, but I knew what to anticipate from their reactions. Here, I didn’t have the slightest clue how people would respond. It will drive me crazy, waiting for them to discover my secret.

“So…‌that’s just about it. I know this old house needs a lot of work, but I think with some tender loving care and good old elbow grease, we can turn it into a home…‌Our home,” she said as she panned the room, her eyes glistening over.

Shameful thoughts about my attitude infiltrated my mind as I studied her. While hope filled her eyes, guilt clouded mine. A chance at a normal life was all she wanted for me. Everything she’d done was for my benefit. Caving to my conscience, I stated, “Mom, it’s great. I think I’m going to like it here.” Much to my own surprise, my sentiment was genuine.

“Aw, Heather…‌” She came over with her arms spread apart, giving me a hug. “We’ll do just fine here.” With another squeeze, she eyed the room one last time before saying, “Okay…‌let’s get busy.”

Suppressing another sigh, I followed her out to the moving van parked at the end of our driveway, and started the tedious chore of unpacking.

~2~

Small Steps

The first week of school sucked. All right, it hadn’t been all that bad, but if Mother thought it was going to be this perfect fit, and I would instantly make friends, she was sadly mistaken. I’d spent most of my life avoiding close relationships, and I wasn’t planning on it being any different here. Regardless, I still felt a twinge of pain when the hopefulness in her eyes quickly shifted to disappointment after she asked how my first few days went.

“Like every other day,” was all I contributed before pushing past her and heading straight toward the kitchen. I quickened my steps in a desperate attempt to get away from her.
I did not want to have this conversation
. It was hard enough, knowing I continually disappointed her by my lack of social skills, but she didn’t need to continually harp on it.

Opening up the refrigerator door, I reached for the milk carton as Mom’s steps sounded behind me. I knew she wasn’t going to let the conversation drop that easily, but I was kind of hoping. I just wasn’t in the mood to listen to another lecture about making friends.
Would she ever let it go?

“You know, Heather. You’re going to have to put forth a little effort in order for people to be nice to you. It wouldn’t hurt for you to at least try,” she scolded.

As I poured myself a glass of milk, I stared as the opaque liquid swirled into the glass.
It’s easy for her
, I thought.
She doesn’t have to worry about being different; she’s normal
. I wished more than anything I could be normal like her, and everyone else, but that wasn’t reality. Not
my
reality, anyway. In my world, I’d always be a freak. I didn’t see that changing. The sooner she realized that, the quicker tension created between us would ease. Honestly, I failed to see the point of trying, because once people discovered the truth, they wouldn’t want to know me.

It was obvious by the way she held her hand on her hip, with eyes narrowing in on me, that she wasn’t going to let this conversation drop. Deep down I wanted to scream. I needed to change my tactic, otherwise the argument would keep continuing. In my most reassuring voice, I replied, “Don’t worry, Mom…, I’ll adjust. People aren’t backing away from me as I approach them.”
Yet
, I mentally added.

“I’m sure, with a small effort, you’ll be able to make a friend or two,” she countered.

I finally agreed with her to shut down the conversation. She seemed content enough when I told her I would try harder. I didn’t actually mean it, but that was what she wanted to hear. Satisfied with my answer, she turned and left the room. Since that was my way out of the argument, I hurried toward my bedroom to escape any further scrutiny. As I shut the door, I closed my eyes, wanting desperately to feel good about being alone. But once I reopened them, the unsettling feeling swept through me again.

I let out a breath as I scanned my room. Even with the walls freshly painted a creamy color, I still couldn’t get a sense of coziness there. It certainly didn’t feel like home to me. We hadn’t lived there for very long, which may be part of the reason, but there was something else. Something I couldn’t explain. Aggravated, I shook my head. I might never understand this feeling of displacement whenever I entered this house, but I wanted to figure out why it was strongest in my bedroom. The easiest solution would be to move into a different room.
Would that even make a difference
? I quickly dismissed that notion since it would bring up more questions from Mother. Ones I didn’t want to answer.

I dragged myself away from the door and went over to lie down on my bed. As I stared up at the ceiling, I pushed the uneasiness away, and began mulling over what she said. Maybe she’s right, and I was just too stubborn to see it her way. I didn’t know…‌It wasn’t like I’d tried. I’d been pretty much keeping to myself, like I always did. Maybe I should put forth a little effort. Or at least not recoil when people did reach out to me.

There have been a couple of times people went out of their way for me. I was just polite enough to not be rude, but I immediately went back to my own business, totally ignoring them.

A smile crept across my face as I thought about the guy sitting behind me in my physics class. On my second day of attendance, he went out of his way to make sure I had proper notes from the lesson they were currently on. Right before the teacher arrived to start the lecture, I felt a soft tap on my shoulder. A warm, jolting sensation shot down the side of my arm, causing me to whip around. My eyes grew wider as I took in the sight of him. Staring back at me was the most gorgeous guy I had ever seen. His sandy blond hair was disheveled on top, giving it that just–so–sexy look. But it was his eyes that captivated me in that moment. They were warm and inviting, tinted the softest shade of hazel. I sat there for a second with my mouth slightly ajar as I just stared at him. I was caught completely off guard. Nobody had ever captured my attention that way.

Finally blinking, I couldn’t force myself to turn away as the corners of his mouth drew up into a half smirk, obviously aware of my ogling. A warming sensation zinged through my body as the heat crept into my cheeks. I glanced down, embarrassed that he could elicit that type of response.
What the heck was I feeling anyway?

He waved a stack of papers back and forth as if he was vying for my attention. Finally, I snapped out of my trance at the realization he was trying to hand them to me. As I snatched the papers, I barely heard him murmur something about notes from the current lesson before turning back around. It was such a nice gesture, especially since I came part way through the lesson, and I was sincerely touched by his kindness. He certainly didn’t have to do that. But in that particular moment, I wasn’t thinking clearly.