Insight (3 page)
People were rushing in and out of the doors of the gallery when we arrived. We didn’t see Mom at first, but Libby spotted her as the people scurried around us.
“There she is.”
My mother, dressed in the unique style that reflected her artistic ability, was wearing one of my father’s pinstriped shirts. She had fashioned it into a dress with a wide belt, black tights, and several long gold and silver necklaces. Both of her wrists were full of silver and gold bracelets. By next week every teenager and trendy mother would have on the same outfit. Her energy filled all those that she came across. She was addictive and had no idea that she was.
I waved at her to let her know we were there. Libby then took my hand and said, “Let’s find yours.”
It was not hard. One of the first ones in the presentation was mine. It was of a little boy in a field, surrounded by wildflowers. I had painted it almost a year ago. The emotion was happy in this painting. He was so sweet, but when I first saw him he was filled with sorrow, he had lost something. I only tried to give him patience. Just as I was to leave him, I saw what he had lost come back to him. It was his best friend, a yellow lab. It made me smile to remember him. That was the upside to this odd trait of mine: helping.
“Who did you draw?” Libby asked.
“It was just someone I thought of,” I uttered with caution.
“There are my two angels,” I heard my mother say.
Libby was in her arms before I could turn to her voice.
“Did you like your movie?” she asked Libby
The energy that those two put off was unbelievable. Libby nodded and went into a full recount of the movie. My mother’s eyes met mine as Libby spoke. Wanting to avoid her stare, I began to walk down the hall in the gallery and look at all the paintings. The emotion of the artwork, not just mine, was powerful. The most amazing part was feeling the emotions of the people who gazed at them. If they understand the painting, they feel it. Seeing the silent connection from the creator to the observer was near breathtaking. It always gave me the reassurance that we are not alone, that somewhere someone is feeling or has felt what you are going through. They obviously survived it, so no doubt you would, too.
My mother caught up with me. “How did your day go? Did you sleep in?” she asked, trying to catch my gaze.
“Yeah, I’m good.”
“We’re going to meet your Dad at Antoine’s for dinner,” she said with a sigh of relief.
“Speaking of sleep, I bet he’s tired since he had to work last night.”
I tilted my head and gave her a dry grin, just so she would know that I was not stupid, that I knew something was up with them. No doubt there.
A surge of suspense rushed through her. She stood speechless before turning and trying to look busy, talking to the lighting crew.
When I get home tonight,
I thought,
I’m going to have to just demand a solid answer from them.
Antoine’s was busy, which wasn’t surprising, as nice as it is. Dad managed to get us a table out on the street. He seemed lost in his thoughts, which was odd because he is usually very attentive to us. I melted into my seat, keeping my eyes down and tracing my forbidden tattoo, as well as the new addition—the small star—now there. It’s now a part of me. Great.
I listened as Mom and Dad went over their days with each other. They were interrupted often as people would pass by and stop to talk to them. I listened and added in a laugh or “yes” or “no” when the questions would come my way. My eyes were on the people all around us. I had not given up my search for another image.
I was more worried that it would be another six months before another image would come. I could feel my father watching me, following my gaze. When he exchanged glances with my mother, I could sense his concern.
What is it with him lately?
As dinner ended, I felt a familiar pull on me, so I hastily searched the crowd for anyone out of place. Across the street, I saw three girls walking toward the direction of our home. They looked wet and were huddled closely together, trying to calm each other. I looked at my mother and saw her sketching something on a napkin.
“Mom, do you care if I go by the art store before I come home?” I asked, needing an excuse for the detour that I was planning.
“That’s fine with me. I’m surprised you haven’t made any plans for tonight. Hannah and Jessica stopped by the shop today looking for you.”
Jessica and Hannah were friends of mine and big fans of my mother. My father seemed to grow a little tense. I felt his emotion shift to concern. He spoke before I had the chance to respond.
“What could you possibly need at the store? Between you and your mother, you could open a store on your own.” His voice seemed uneasy as he spoke.
My mother hesitated then looked across to my father. She did not seem to be as cautious as my father was trying to be.
“I just want to see if they have anything new. I think Monica is working anyway,” I responded, a bit defensive.
My mother reached out and put her hand on my father’s hand. Bringing his attention to her big brown eyes, she spoke softly, almost imploring him to listen to her. “Jason, let her go.”
He started to say something, but she put her fingers to his lips, and with their eyes locked, she seemed to reassure him. Taking advantage of the distraction she had given me, I stood quickly.
“I won’t be out late,” I promised. “Hey, Libby, give me a hug.”
“Can I go with you?” Libby asked, dancing in her seat. It was obvious she just didn’t want to sit there anymore.
“Young lady, it’s close to your bedtime. Give your sister some space,” Mom ordered, putting her sketch in her purse.
As I walked past them I didn’t look at my father. I shouted, “Love you guys,” over my shoulder as I walked toward the art store.
Unfortunately, the images were walking in the opposite direction of the art store, toward where my parents were sure to be walking shortly. The art store was just a few spaces down from the restaurant, so I went in quickly, trying to give them time to leave. My friend, Monica, was sitting behind the counter, reading a magazine.
“Hey, Willow,” Monica said absentmindedly as she marked the page in her magazine.
“Hey,” I said, staring out the storefront.
Monica is a good person, honest with her emotions. Sometimes too honest, but she always seemed to lighten any mood I was drowning in.
“What are you looking for?”
“Nothing, really. I was just getting some space between me and my parents.”
“Willow Haywood, why on Earth would you ever want to do that?” she asked sarcastically. “Wait, don’t tell me you’re sneaking off to meet one of your many admirers. Who’s the lucky guy? Dane? Josh, maybe?”
I grimaced as she said the names, which only made her laugh.
“Hey, go to the lake with me tomorrow. Hannah and Jessica are going,” Monica pleaded, walking toward me and trying to see what I was looking at outside the store.
“Yeah, I guess. I’ll see if Olivia wants to go, too,” I said, still staring impatiently out the window.
“Guess what? There’s a new guy in town. Chase has been showing him around today. He is drop dead gorgeous, tall, and muscular, but not too muscular, like Josh. He has the most amazing eyes. They just pull you in when he talks to you.”
Monica’s dramatic description made me laugh. She had always been a bit boy crazy, not a good trait to have in a small town. There are not a lot of them to go around.
“Who is he?” I asked not really caring.
“His name is Drake. Chase met him this morning. He’s renting out the studio at Chase’s house. He’s going to the lake tomorrow, too,” she continued.
“Monica—”
“I’ll pick you up at noon,” Monica asserted.
I let out a deep sigh. “Fine. Look, I gotta go. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Love ya,” Monica yelled as I walked out.
Waving goodbye and walking back onto the street, I glanced back toward Antoine’s. My family had left. The streets were clearing out. I could see Mom and Libby almost a block ahead of me. Wondering where my father went, my eyes searched for the group of three as I started to walk in the direction I’d seen them before.
My house was only a block away now. Just as I was thinking of turning back I felt the pull again.
I saw them a few feet in front of me: three girls, young. I wasn’t sure what was wrong. Their faces held an expression to which I’d rarely been called. There was utter silence all around them. My stomach dropped, and I felt a little sick. I always felt this way just before I got in trouble. If I had any sense I would see this as a sign to turn around and go home, but my curiosity won over my anxiety. I stepped closer.
The night air seemed to chill as a breeze swept through the trees. I could feel emotions all around me. Beyond my images was one full of anguish. I glanced back but all I could see were the people in the distant lights of the streets. Not sure where the anguish was coming from, I ignored it and decided to help the images before me. Long ago I figured out the best way to end this fear of the phantom images was to face them.
Breathing in, I looked at the girls and reached out for the one closest to me. Instantly, the pull and the tingling sensation absorbed me once again. I smiled as I relished in the feeling. I was past the fear and now I could help.
The night became darker. I felt the cold rain. The girls trembled as they walked. Their exhaustion was apparent in the manner in which they carried themselves. They were finding their way back. It was apparent they had been lost for some time and were near the end of whatever trepidation they had faced. They just needed one little push to cross the finish line.
I let Libby’s face flash through my memory—the warmth and energy that came off her. I then placed my other hand on the girl to the far right. Noticing that the two girls on the outside were clearly stronger, I took my right hand and placed it on the girl in the middle. I watched as determination crossed her face. I could see a house with all the lights on inside. The girls could see it, too. I let go and a force pulled me back into reality.
I stood still, trying to hold on to the tingling sensation I felt, wondering once again what force that sensation belonged to, how I managed to use it in the first place.
“Ahem…”
Hearing someone clear their throat, I turned slowly and right behind me was my father.
“Hey, Dad,” I said anxiously feeling my skin blush and my heart pound.
“Willow, do you want to tell me something?” he asked in a placid tone that I had never heard him use before.
My stomach turned. Did he see me disappear—or did he see me reappear?
“About…?” I answered shyly.
My father closed his eyes and raised his head to the night sky. He was really upset, more so now than he had been at dinner.
“Do you realize how far you went that time?” he asked, lowering his head and looking carefully at me.
“What?” The wind was knocked from me.
“Do you even know what you are doing?”
“Do
you
?” I retorted.
My father cleared his throat again and hesitated as an older couple walked by. “Willow, we need to talk. I need to explain something to you.”
I swallowed hard, not sure that I wanted to know what he thought he knew.
My father put his arm around my shoulder and we walked in the direction of our house. His mood was shifting. He wasn’t quite as uptight as he was before.
“Willow…you are a gifted child, and I’m not talking about painting,” he began.
We both stared forward as we walked. My body was tense. I’d rehearsed over and over again exactly how I would tell my parents about my gift. The shock of their knowing was crushing to me.
“The gifts you have come, in part, from me,” he said in his familiar peaceful tone.
I looked slowly up at him and noticed that he was smiling down at me.
“Which ones?” I muttered knowing that as far as I knew his dreams were normal.
“Well, I cannot feel others’ emotions, if that is what you are asking,” he said quietly as he gave me a pained smile.
His blunt answer made my stomach drop. I had no idea that he or they knew what I could do.
We made it back to our home. My father then led me around the side of the house through the back gate, where he knocked on the kitchen window to get my mother’s attention. I could sense her excitement and her anticipation. My heart was hammering.
What where they going to tell me?
Mom made her way out to the patio with three glasses of tea and set them around the table. She then ran back inside and returned with her phone, a notepad, and a pen. I kept my eyes down, waiting for her to settle. When she did, Dad continued.
“Would you like to know what I can do?” my father asked. As he settled in next to my mother, I nodded nervously. He continued. “Well, I can see what is wrong inside the body.”
“Anything?” I asked wondering if that meant emotions, too.
One nod.
“Well, that explains a lot. You are a really good doctor,” I bit out, not meaning to sound mocking. I was just nervous.
My mother smiled proudly at my father.
“Do you have a weird gift, Mom?”
“Oh, sweetie, I’m from this dimension,” she said innocently.
My father closed his eyes.
“Do what?” I said louder than I intended. I felt sick to my stomach and thought they had officially lost their minds. Or maybe I had.
“Um, dear…we really have not gotten that far yet,” my father said under his breath.
My mother’s eyes widened. She looked down, avoiding my stare, as her anxiety built. I sat forward in my seat, my mouth and eyes wide open.
“What are you trying to say that I’m part—alien? Seriously, you guys better not be messing with me,” I finally managed to say.
Dad leaned forward and put his hand on my knee.
“No, no, Willow. Listen, you are not an alien. You are definitely from earth.” His eyes shifted to the side. “Just a different part of it.”
I furrowed my eyebrows together, questioning his every word. Another part of it? What? This was not happening. I was dreaming. Had to be.
“Listen, when you do what you did tonight, you are using a string, and those strings connect other dimensions. I’m from a different one,” my father said as he shifted uncomfortably next to my mother.
“String—what are you talking about, another dimension?”
They were acting like this was the most normal conversation ever. Was I the only sane one left here?
My father cleared his throat before he spoke. “The string is like a hallway that leads to other doors, and behind those doors are dimensions much different from this one. Honestly, I do not completely understand the way you have taught yourself, but you do pass through the string.” His eyes raced across my confused expression trying to gauge how I was grasping this revelation.
“Look, those people I help are normal. They don’t look any different than we do,” I argued, refusing to play a part in the reality he was painting for me.
I couldn’t breathe.
“We are all people, we all look normal. These dimensions are only different because of the choices made as a whole,” my father assured, engaging my blank stare.
“I don’t get it…why are you telling me this now? What is the deal?” I said, failing to find reason in his words. Trying to hear him over my racing heart.
Dad glanced at Mom, then back to me.
“It is time to go home,” he said quietly.
“This is home. This town is perfect, safe, and beautiful,” I argued, looking back and forth between them. Home?
“And my dimension would make this world humble in its beauty,” he said in a whisper, his eyes gazing in deep reflection.
“Then why are we here? Why have you had us live a lie? Why have you not told me that I’m not crazy for all these things that I can do?” I almost yelled, standing and beginning to pace the patio.
Dad shifted in his seat and looked at Mom. She smiled, encouraging him to go on. My father then stood and put his hands on my shoulders, forcing me to look at him. His hazel eyes had shifted to a light green, which matched the calm I felt coming from him now. How could he be calm? He was now just as insane as I was.
He smiled faintly and said, “My dimension, Chara, has a trait: we all leave to find our soul mates. We are driven by a feeling deep inside.”
Oh dear God, the only thing I could think about when he said that was my blue-eyed boy. Every part of me seemed to become all too aware at once. What if I could find him? What if he was real? A wave of heat washed over me—my body was humming.
My father grinned as he let his hands fall from my shoulders.
“I left at twenty to find your mother. When she decided that she would rather live in my dimension, I went to find another traveler to help me lead her home, but the storms inside the string had somehow closed my passage. I found other passages over time, but by then you were born, and I thought it would be safer to stay here for now.”
I knew this man. He was holding something back. Like details. “Storms,” I repeated, still not understanding what a “string” was.
“Yes, not like rain and thunder, though. You see, the string is made of energy; it flows, sometimes too aggressively. We always lead a new person home with the help of a seasoned traveler. If our dimension is not in your blood, all you will see is darkness. It can be very frightening,” my father said, glancing back at mother, trying to warn her of what she would have to face.
Like that was the most shocking revelation of the night.
“So, is the storm over now?” I asked, still not understanding his vague explanation.
He looked back at me slowly. “Not really. We just think it’s time,” he said as I felt dread come over him.
Yep, he was hiding something from me. “If you couldn’t get Mom there, then how are you going to get us all there now?”
“I went to meet a friend of mine, Ashten, last night. He is on his way home to get his family. They will help us all get there.”
Shifting my eyes between my mother and father, I wondered if my nightmare had triggered this sudden urge for him to be honest with me. Well, halfway honest with me.
“So what’s your plan? For us to just vanish? I have friends here. I have a life here. We all do,” I argued.
“Willow, just trust me,” my father said, desperate for me to be more agreeable.
“What are you not telling me? You didn’t just wake up this morning and say, ‘Gee, I think I’m going to tell Willow that we’re from another dimension, ha ha, she will
love
that,’ did you?”
My mother stood and put herself between my father and me.
“Honestly, we have been thinking about it for a while. Libby is already six. We want her to grow up there,” Mom said, trying to defend my father.
“Why didn’t you want me to grow up there?” I asked sarcastically.
I had never been jealous of my baby sister. I could just feel that they weren’t telling me everything, and honestly, it had to be big. They are not afraid of telling me I’m from another dimension, so what could be so bad in comparison? Evil. I kept seeing that dark nightmare in my mind’s eye. The only way I’d endured those nightmares was by telling myself that a place like that didn’t exist. They just ripped my life jacket off of me. I felt vulnerable, terrified.
“It was just different then,” my father said.
“Sure.” I breathed, pointing out how unbelievable that response was.
“Listen, bad people are everywhere. We were told that someone very dark was in the string. They—they, we just didn’t want to travel through there with you being so young,” my father said in a frustrated tone as a sea of deep emotions swarmed through him.
“So, the bad guy is gone now…?” I said shortly.
Please, Dad, tell me the evil is gone now.
“Not exactly, but Ashten has very strong boys. They will make sure we all weather the storms and make it home safely,” my father replied weakly.
My mother wrapped her arm around my shoulder. “Willow, tomorrow we are going to tie up some loose ends, then the next day we are going to go home where we belong,” she said with a sense of finality.
“Are we never going to come back?” My voice cracked.
“We will come back to visit, but we belong there,” Dad said.
“What am I supposed to tell my friends? I have known them my whole life. You want me just to disappear, like they mean nothing to me?” I argued.
As I spoke, both of them were shaking their heads
no
.
“Look, I’ve called all of their parents tonight, and I told them you were accepted to a school in Paris. They are happy for you,” my mother said.
“This is a good thing, Willow. We should have gone home long ago,” Dad said as regret absorbed him.
The phone rang, and my mother reached to answer it. When the person on the other end of the line spoke, I watched her pick up a pen and draw a line through a name. She had composed a list of people to say goodbye to which made this all
very
real.
Too stunned and angry to ask any more questions, I rolled my eyes, then turned and walked in the house.
“Sweet dreams tonight, okay?” Dad called after me.
On the walk up the stairs to my room, I was in a complete daze. If I did not see images or have strange dreams, I would consider having my parents’ sanity checked.
I had never felt more alone in my whole life. I was close to my parents. I never could have imagined that they would have kept something like this from me. I pulled myself into a ball on my bed and rocked myself back and forth, refusing to cry. Flashing back over my childhood, I tried to remember if there had been any hidden clues I’d missed.
I heard something hit my window. Knowing it was Dane, I let out a deep breath then wiped my eyes quickly, making sure there weren’t any tears and walked to the window. I quietly opened it and climbed out onto the rooftop. Having done it more times than I could remember, I grabbed the branch of a large oak tree by my window and made my way down, feeling Dane’s anxiety as he braced himself to catch me if I fell. Once on the ground, we walked quietly to the edge of the yard where we sat on a small bench. I could feel Dane’s emotion growing heavier. I wondered if my mother had already called his.
“You know you were supposed to use the nightmares to keep you from going to New York, not send yourself to another continent,” Dane whispered.
“I don’t think we’re going to find an excuse to keep me here,” I uttered, covering my face with my hands, trying to hide my raging emotions.
“You know you’re eighteen, you could just tell them no,” Dane said, feeling defeated.
“Yep, and you could tell your mother that you don’t want to have anything to do with that diner,” I offered in rebuttal.
He nodded, then we both laughed quietly. Neither of us had any intention of not following our parents’ wishes. It wasn’t that we were afraid, it was just that we had no idea what we were supposed to be doing. Until that moment came, we would follow.
“What am I going to do without you, Willow?” Dane said.
“I don’t know. Maybe if you’re not hanging around me so much you might find a girlfriend,” I teased, trying to lighten the mood.
Dane looked at me crossly, showing me that he wasn’t amused.
“What? I know Monica still has a crush on you,” I said, trying not to laugh out loud.
“Monica likes everybody,” Dane bit out, rolling his eyes.
“Hey!” I said in her defense, even though it was true.
“I didn’t mean it in a mean way. She’s not what I’m looking for,” Dane said as he leaned forward.
“You’ll find her,” I promised, rubbing his back.
“I’m going to tell you something weird, Willow,” he said letting his gaze meet mine.
I held my breath. I wasn’t sure how much more “weird” I could take tonight.
“I’ve never seen you as more than a friend,” he said with a ghostly smile that held volumes of memories of the two of us.
I nodded and let my breath out. Good, we were on the same page.
“But, I get this feeling that if I stay close to you, I’ll find what I’m looking for,” Dane finished.