July (The Year of The Change Book 1) (30 page)

When I awoke, no memory of dreams lingered, which was a welcome change. My dreams this year had been very vivid and I could still recall some of them in great detail. One was about a mountaintop where a very scary guy and I jumped off. There was a lot of running fast and a really cute guy. I think it was one of the two guys I’d been drawing for months.

“That just made it worse.” Tam huffed, quietly.

So much for sleep.

“There, that’s better.”

“That’s not any good.” Tim never could leave anything electric alone.

“No, no, don’t touch it. That’s as good as it gets.”

Tim huffed and plopped on the bed next to Tam. “Boy, whoever heard of a motel without cable?”

Stretching, I thought about rolling over and sleeping some more. It was then I heard something. It was a bird. It wasn’t like anything I’d ever heard in Oklahoma. I wasn’t a bird expert, so I didn’t know what would make such a mournful sound.

Last night, Dad declared today would be a rest day. There would be no riding in a stuffy minivan. No traveling meant I itched to stretch my legs, and breathe some fresh air. As I sat, I could tell I was better. The headache was gone completely and my stomach was steady. That is, steadily telling me it was hungry.

It was early so I grabbed two apples to appease my appetite while I enjoyed my new freedom. “Hey, guys, let’s go for a walk and see what’s around here.”

The twins were immediately game for an outdoor adventure. They, too, had enough of watching the scenery whip by. It was time to experience some one-on-one with nature.

We were dressed and about to leave our room when Dad knocked on our door.

He raised a brow as we donned our jackets. “Where are you guys off to?”

“We thought we would explore, unless you’re ready to go to breakfast.” My stomach was ready if he was.

Dad chuckled when a growl seconded food. “Mom will be ready in about fifteen or twenty minutes, so stay close.”

The twins charged past him.

“Okay, we’ll stay close.” I picked up my sketch pad and followed the twins around the building, where a wall of trees greeted us.

Tim dashed ahead into the forest. Hopefully, I would get to see what made the mournful sound that drew me fully awake. With the noise the kids were making, they probably scared it away already.

We walked a short distance into the lush trees where the twins played a game of tag. I sat on a tree stump with my sketch pad open and closed my eyes. What I wanted was to draw something, anything. I didn’t know what I would
get,
though. My ability to draw was very selective. Occasionally, I would get what I wanted, however most of the time I drew unusual stuff. It was weird how I didn’t know where the ideas or talent came from.

Weird doesn’t describe the half of it. One day, I picked up a pad of paper and started drawing. This, in and of itself, isn’t that odd, except that I’d never been able to draw before. It’s not like I started drawing stick figures and got better. The drawings were very good from the start. The first thing I drew was a young Native American man. He had the most beautiful eyes, set deep in a well carved face. His straight, black hair hung down past his bronze shoulders. The look of authority made me step back and really look at what my talent had drawn. “Wow, I have a great imagination.”

Tam wanted me to draw her and it didn’t come out well at all. She patiently sat still while I tried and tried to capture her pretty hazel eyes. I didn’t get close. Her hair looked more like a haystack than her beautiful strawberry blonde tresses. Tam was very disappointed when I gave up. There had been no use continuing. I could only hope I’d be more consistent after The Change was done with me.

A week later I was outside, failing miserably at sketching a tree and was actually hoping to catch a glimpse of Calvin Thompson. Tim came along and sat down beside me.

He watched me draw for some time before he leaned over and asked, “Sylvia, why are you drawing a dead girl?”

I’d been so engrossed in trying to draw trees I hadn’t realized that my talent had other ideas. The last thing I remembered drawing was a sickly version of the tree in Calvin’s yard. My eyes focused on the pad in my lap and, sure enough, I’d drawn a gruesome crime scene. A woman with dark brown hair lay sprawled on the ground with multiple bloody wounds.

Bile caught in my throat. “I don’t know, Tim, I must’ve seen it in a book somewhere.” No memory of where this came from surfaced. I couldn’t connect how I got from trees to that awful picture.

Tim grinned, “That is so cool, Sylv. I wish I could draw cool stuff like that.” With an admiring glance he jumped up and ran off, probably to tell Tam about my gruesomely cool drawing. Boys are so weird.

The sheet of paper ruffled in the breeze. Smoothing it out, I searched my head again. Nope, no clues at all. I turned the page to a new sheet and saw the face of a Hispanic man on the back of the murder scene. No memory of drawing that one, either. A shiver cascaded down my spine at the thought that my pictures had become so gruesome. Here was something else I would need to talk to Gram about during our weekly conversation.

Unfortunately, I wouldn’t get a chance to talk to Gram before the fat hit the fan, as Gramps would say.

The next morning at breakfast, Sue had the newspaper spread out on the kitchen counter reading a story about a young woman who’d been murdered the night before. There were a lot of stories in Midwest City. Murder still got the most attention. The local newspaper would slather it across the front page, letting it flow through the rest of the daily run.

Tim came in as I poured myself a bowl of cereal. His sudden exclamation caused me to drop my spoon.

“Wow! Sylv, they used your picture in the newspaper!”

My head jerked up as Sue looked at Tim and then at me. I tried to swallow as I jumped to see what he was talking about. When I reached Sue, Tim was pointing to a large photo, smack in the middle of the page. With my mouth open, I looked at the picture of my drawing. Except this was not a drawing. It was a photograph from last night. The murder of a local woman filled the first page.

Tim ran from the room and returned in record time with my sketch pad, and flipped it open to my drawing that he’d admired the day before.

“See, Sylv? It’s the same picture, only they don’t have the body. Didn’t Sylv draw the coolest picture?” He handed his mother the spiral pad of paper.

For Sue, speechlessness is a rare, if not non-existent, occurrence. She stood looking from drawing to photo and back again. When she was finally convinced that what she saw was exactly what Tim said, she turned her frown on me and demanded, “Sylvia, explain yourself.”

Explain myself?
I needed someone to explain it to me, first. My cheeks warmed and I could feel sweat bead on my forehead-- something my face always did, even under less stressful conditions.

“I don’t know what to tell you. It’s just another one of those weird drawings. I did it yesterday. I don’t know why I drew it, just that I did.”

Her expression changed. It went from wonder, to anger, to concern, and back to anger. It always ended in anger. No question about it, she wasn’t convinced by what I said. She never believed me and always thought I was up to no good. Being the biggest chicken around, I was too afraid to look at my own shadow, but Sue thought I was the instigator for anything that happened. She leafed through my sketch pad as I stammered and tried to explain.

“It’s just one of my drawings.”

From the look on her face, that was the wrong answer.

She stopped at another of my drawings and turned it towards me. “What is this picture about?”

I looked in horror at a drawing of a man lying on the ground with a knife protruding from his brutally beaten body and another man standing over him with a blood-drenched baseball bat. The detail, right down to his jaw smashed to one side and a leg bent at the shin, drew bile to the back of my tongue. All I could do was stare. I didn’t remember that picture, either. She turned a few more pages. Another graphic drawing with a man crouched in the evening shadows, hiding by a fence, as a young woman walked down a sidewalk towards him. He had a knife in one hand, a rope in the other.

I couldn’t look anymore. My stomach lurched and I ran for the bathroom. Opening my mouth, I tried to fill the white throne with what little cereal I’d consumed before the whole thing with the pictures blew up. My newly sentient stomach wouldn't give back even a drop.

What had my new gift turned into? It started out innocently enough when I could only draw the cute man. Everything else I tried to draw was terrible. Was I going to have to deal with this for the rest of my life?

Sue broke into my thoughts, “I don’t know what this is all about, but you’re going to talk to the police.” She turned on her heel, grabbed her purse and jerked me to my feet.

Numbly, I stumbled out the door, vaguely aware that I wore my ratty old sweats and a t-shirt that needed to be washed, as I pulled on my coat. She towed me briskly down the sidewalk and the twins followed. Stuffing me into the front seat of the minivan, she ordered the twins to climb into the back.

The short ride to the police station gave me just enough time to settle my stomach and get my thoughts together … sort of.
Why is Sue doing this? She knows I can’t tell anyone about The Change.
Did she really believe I was faking everything just so I could prove an addled, old woman was right? The only thing was, my grandmother wasn't addled, and she was so right it hurt. So what in the world was Sue expecting me to tell the police? My mind went blank again. I couldn’t tell the police about our family fairy tale. I couldn’t tell them that I was going through a weird change that would last all year. I couldn’t think of anything I could tell them.

Well, I guess I could tell them my name, rank (dependent, obligation), and Social Security number.

Sue parked with a jerk and told everyone to get out. Actually, it was me she snapped at. The twins eagerly scrambled from the back seat before she did. The building that I’d passed many times, and had never thought twice about, loomed before me. Here it was in all its authoritative glory and I was being forced to enter it. The twins were so excited to actually see the inside of a police station, they couldn’t stand still. Me, not so much.

Tim stood by the front bumper. “This is way cool.” He breathed in awe.

Tam thought it was cool, too. She wasn’t as excited about it until she saw the cute sergeant behind the front desk. Sue marched me right up to the plate glass window and the cute sergeant.

With her jaw set, she announced, “I would like to speak to someone about the murder from last night.”

The sergeant barely looked up. “You can speak to me. Which murder are you referring to?”

Sue pulled out the newspaper and slapped it on the counter. “This one.” She reached down and pulled the sketch pad out of my trembling fingers and handed it to the sergeant.

The tall blond officer opened the pad and leafed through some of the pictures. His name tag was as far up his tall body as I could make myself look. Sumsion, I didn't know anyone by that name. In my small world I guess I didn't really know that many people.

The pictures in front were of the handsome man and then the horrible ones that I was unsuccessful with.

“Nice art work. What’s this got to do with the murder from last night?”

In my peripheral vision, I saw the sergeant’s chin move in my direction. I wanted to duck down, but my stepmother had me firmly by the upper arm.

Sue, red in the face, turned the pages until she found the sketch of the dead girl and laid it next to the newspaper photo. “My step-daughter drew this yesterday. I don’t know how she knew about it before you did, but here’s where she dated it.”

The sergeant took the pad back. This time he spent more time with each sheet. He frowned at Sue and then me before he turned the sheet over and saw the man’s picture on the back. “You drew this? … Yesterday?” From the mouth down his face was dubious.

My head nodded automatically as the blush worked its way down my face and radiated through my whole body.

The sergeant took the pad and newspaper as he headed to the back of the station. Over his shoulder he said, “Don’t go anywhere.”

He walked into one of three offices that lined the back of the room. He was only gone a minute before he returned. Not long enough for me to get my wits about me and make a run for it.

“Detective Hernandez would like to speak with you.”

We were ushered to an office behind the shielded counter. The click as the door thudded closed made me jump.

He motioned for us to go in the small room. Sue marched forward. I peeked around the door frame with the same slow, cautious movement a thief on the run would use.

Behind a well-worn wooden desk sat a good looking Hispanic man in a white shirt and tie that looked as though he’d not slept well last night. Though clean shaven, he had a toughness about him which told me not to cross this man. Not that I would have, even if he were dressed like a clown.

Detective Hernandez leafed through my sketch pad as we entered. Without looking up he motioned for us to sit. Sue continued her march to the far seat and sat with a huff. When I didn’t follow she gave me a dirty look which moved my feet involuntarily. I slipped into the nearest seat. Eyeing the door, I planned my escape. The escape department of my brain, not over the sight of Hernandez, was in slow motion with mouth open.

Tim and Tam moved quicker and stood behind Sue and me. Hernandez noticed the twins, wide-eyed, soaking everything in.

“Sumsion, why don’t you give these two kids a tour?”

The sergeant frowned as the detective gave him a stone-faced stare. “Yes, sir.” It was plain on his face that he’d hoped to be in on our discussion.

Sumsion took a step in, motioned to the twins and waited stiffly. He stopped all movement. His body went ridged. I tried not to look at him. He turned to stare, his eyes soft. For a split second, before my brain clicked on, I’d thought he was just being kind to the twins as his smile grew. I looked away wishing for someone as nice as him. There wasn’t much hope of that happening, so I went back to prodding my brain to find a way out of this situation. I couldn’t let my imagination run away with me. I had to keep my head, so I could keep my head.

Hernandez called Sumsion's name sharply and the sergeant stammered an apology. To my relief, he and the twins left. Now that the young officer no longer blocked the only exit, I alternated between studying the terrain and watching the detective.

Sue breathed in huffs. I waited quietly across the desk as Hernandez continued to look at all the pictures. He didn’t say anything and I wasn’t about to interrupt him.

Finally he put the pad down, open to the girl’s crime scene. He steepled his fingers, cleared his throat and fixed his eyes on me. “So, you drew this yesterday?” It wasn’t really a question as he hung the sentence out as a piece of fact.

Sue jumped into action, “Yes, she said she drew it yesterday.” The accusation was obvious and it stung like all the other times she’d done that.

Hernandez didn’t remove his gaze from me as he spoke to Sue. “I’ll get to you later. Now …” He read my name from the bottom of the picture. “Sylvia, isn’t it? Why did you draw this picture?”

Sue leaned forward to say something. Hernandez shot her a glare that immediately silenced her. Wish I could develop such a glare.

“Sylvia?”

All he said was my name. He didn’t have to repeat himself. Probably, it was very seldom he had to repeat a question.

My stomach still did somersaults as I slowly lifted my eyes to his. Our eyes locked. He didn’t frown. He didn’t show any real emotion, he was all business. How was I going to answer his questions? He’ll think I’m nuts. I decided the truth was best. At least as much of it I could tell. They could lock me away in a padded room if they wanted.

“I don’t know why I drew the pictures. To be honest, I don’t even remember drawing them.”