Schasm (Schasm Series) (11 page)

I can’t help but laugh in response. "I wish."

He places his napkin over his plate and pushes his chair out from the table. “I have something I want to show you,” he says. “Are you ready to get out of here?” He reaches his hand out for mine.

I push my chair out as well, and slide my hand into his. “Thank you for dinner. It was incredible,” I say. “Where are we going now?”

He snatches up one of the mints left with our check and tosses it into his mouth. He steps in front of me, and pulls me behind him. “You’ll see." We jog down the stairs of the restaurant and back onto the beach. "Don’t worry, I won’t let you down.”

We slow down once we hit the shore and continue walking and looking out into the dark water. The tide is out pretty far, and it makes the beach look twice as large as it did before.

“I think I like long walks on the beach.” I giggle, trying to break the silence.

He stops short, almost causing me to walk into him. “Sorry to disappoint you, but we’re not walking anywhere.” He grins and pulls me down to the sand. I drop next to him as he places his arm around my waist. I lean in closer, looking for a comfortable spot within his arms. It’s easy enough to find one.

Everything just feels right.

We stare into the water. I find myself getting lost between the ocean and the sky, trying to draw a distinctive line between the two. It’s like the two worlds I live in; the line has become too faint to distinguish.

 “Chloe," he shouts, grabbing my arm. He points up into the sky. "Look, it’s a shooting star." He squeezes his arm tighter around me. “Make a wish,” he whispers into my ear.

It’s almost as if he planned this moment out. How would he have known there was going to be a shooting star right now? There’s something quite mysterious about him, and I’m pretty sure that’s what’s making me fall for him. He’s different, like me.

“I’ve never seen a shooting star before, but I know what I want to wish for.” I smile in awe.

Some people might wish for money, a great job, a new car, or even love. But my wish is none of those. My only wish is to make this life my permanent one. To stay here, with Alex, forever.

“I know it’ll come true,” he says as if he heard the dialogue in my head. “Someday.”

He pulls me in closer to him. My head falls onto his sturdy shoulder. We sit together for what seems like hours. He turns to me and gazes at the side of my face. I don’t budge, though. I know if I look at him, I won’t be able to look away, and who knows what else will happen? Instead, all I can do is look down toward the sand while I command myself to
grow up
.

“You are so amazing,” he says, his voice echoing a breeze. “You always have been.” He brushes some of the windblown strands of hair out of my face. “I have to ask you again.” He sighs. “How did I get so lucky?”

My cheeks fill with warmth, and I’m thankful he can’t see the evidence in the darkness.

“I don’t know, but if you told any other girl that you had been watching her for the past two years, I’m not sure she’d be sitting here searching for shooting stars with you.” I giggle and nudge him with my shoulder.

“Yeah, yeah. Trust me…I know.” He nudges me back. He glances down at his watch. “It’s getting late, Chloe. You might want to get some sleep tonight.”

“Not really,” I tell him.

He smiles. “We’ll see each other tomorrow though, don’t worry.”

Here’s where I make my confession. “Don’t laugh at me, but I’m not quite sure how to get back without being woken by my mother. I’ve never wanted to return to my normal life.” I force a grin, hoping my statement doesn't spark uncomfortable questions.

“Yeah, I could tell…the odd timing of your disappearances pretty much gave it away.” He laughs. “It’s actually quite easy. You just need to convince yourself that you’re back in your bed. It’s a simple matter of tricking your brain.” He says it so matter-of-factly.

How does he know all of this, and why am I so in the dark? And how am I supposed to
trick my brain
when all I want is to believe that I’m sitting here with him?

"Oh," is all I say.

“Here, I’ll help you.”

He leans over and places a soft kiss on my cheek. The mint from his breath cools my face and makes me shudder.

“Close your eyes,” he whispers in a voice so soft that it gets lost in the sound of the tranquil winds. “You’re warm in your soft bed…your covers are comfortable and familiar.” He covers my body with his jacket. “Your head is resting on your fluffed down pillow,” he murmurs as he lowers my head down to cradle in between his forearm and bicep.

Sweet dreams, beautiful…

The words slip from his mouth like a lullaby as I fade into a state of darkness.

All I see is a blurry image of a little girl’s feet dangling in a pool.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

NUTCASE

LIGHT SHINES THROUGH MY WINDOW,
almost bright enough for me to see through my eyelids. The warm rays of the sun are teasing me, breaking through the glass of my window, giving me false hope that it’s not as cold outside today as it really is. I open my eyes and glance at the clock. 6:59 a.m.

I’m on time.

I rip the covers off and drop my legs over the side of the bed, cringing in suspense of making contact with the ice-cold floor. But to my surprise, I find that the old wooden planks aren't as arctic as normal. I pick up my clock and whip it around to check the little thermometer on the top right corner. The window didn’t lie: it’s fifty-nine degrees.

I feel like celebrating this amazing heat wave. I whip open my drawers in search of a T-shirt, knowing that I don’t have to dress in the layers my mother has already laid out for me. She must not have looked at the forecast.

My head is drifting in the clouds today. My happiness can be attributed to only one thing: my night with Alex. It’s amazing he was able to create a place in my life that welcomes happiness.

Time is ticking away. The clock says 7:15 a.m. I still have fifteen minutes before I need to head downstairs. I can’t help but look over at my closet and see one of Pandora’s boxes staring right at me. It’s almost as if there’s a magnetic force pulling me toward trouble.

Not trouble. The truth.

The desire to know more about my uncle overwhelms me, and I know no matter how hard I try to ignore that box: I’ll still rip it open to pry through more letters. Without any further hesitation, I pull the old peach-colored shoebox down from the shelf. The lid slides right off, and I shove my hand into the center of the pile, pulling out one of the letters. An accompanying upside-down Polaroid photograph falls out onto my lap. I flip it over, expecting to find another picture of my mother with someone.

But it’s me.

It’s me, with the little boy from the school. He’s wearing the red hat, and we’re sitting on a patch of grass with our arms wrapped around each other.
I knew him.

I open the letter. The crisp piece of yellow notepaper looks as if it’s only been touched once, folded three times with uneven creases. I open it, and my eyes can only focus on the dark red print, written with some sort of thick marker. The note is hard to read. The handwriting appears to be that of a child.

MARIE -

TEll TOmas I am mad. And He has maDe me Very upset and Angry with him. He will pay for what he did, and I will not STOP until he is gone fOREVER.

FRANCO

This was written by one of my uncle’s personalities.

I pull out another piece of paper, excited to see what other hidden truths exist there. My fingers move quickly and becoming tangled up in the wad, so I pull the corners apart and flatten the indented creases out. All I see are a bunch of abbreviations that make up some sort of mathematical formula. Was he some sort of mathematician…or a scientist?

Was each personality something different?

I don’t have time to go through them all now. I place the letters back into the box, and I take the photograph over to my dresser and place it under a pile of clothes in my top drawer. I also take my crumpled drawing out from my back pocket and place it under the pile of clothes as well. I need to keep these safe. I can’t let my mother know I have read any more of these letters. The less I have to hear from her, the better.

I head downstairs at 7:29 in order to hold up my end of the bargain. My mother is waiting for me, as I knew she would be. “Good morning, Chloe.” Her tone isn’t warm.

“Good morning, Mother,” I say, a bit more chipper than usual.

“You seem cheerful this morning,” she says, as if she’s offended at me being happy. “What’s gotten into you?”

“I just got a good night sleep, that’s all.” I think I need to tone it down a bit, since I’d like to avoid an interrogation. “What are your plans today, Mother?” I ask. I force a bit of burned eggs down my throat. I keep hoping one of these days she’ll actually learn to cook.

“I need to run to a couple of stores,” she mumbles, looking down at the palm of her hand as if there were a list written on it.

“I could use some new clothes. Would you mind if I came with you?” Maybe if she’s in a good mood, she’ll let me choose my own.

Even though my afternoon will be filled with awkward silences in between thousands of unnecessary questions, I will do anything for a new pair of pants and a couple of new tops. The beautiful dress I wore in San Diego in my drift has turned me onto the idea that maybe I don’t have to be restricted to the crappy clothes my mother chooses for me.

She sighs as she turns to walk toward the kitchen sink. “I suppose there won’t be any harm in you joining me.”

“Thank you,” I say, as a formality. I know I’m just a thorn in her side, and the only reason she agreed is because it’s a weekday morning, and it’s a time when the stores are quiet.

We clean up the kitchen and head out. Our express shopping trip begins in a couple of stores, which don’t appear to carry clothes from this decade. We pass by each store practically at a run, until we approach a boutique-looking shop with a window display full of fluorescent pink mannequins, all wearing trendy outfits. I pivot on the balls of my feet, making a sharp turn right into the store, forcing my mother to follow me in. I dash toward the back of the store, while noticing that something has caught my mother’s attention. She stops to scrutinize it, while I take the opportunity to grab a few things to try on…though I’m almost positive that none of these clothes will be acceptable to her.

“Would you like to try those on?” the store clerk asks.

“Please,” I say, looking toward the front of the store to make sure she isn’t coming after me.

“Right this way,” the clerk says. I follow her and her bobbing black ponytail. She’s probably my age, and dressed to perfection. I’m jealous. “I love these pants.” She points to the pair draped over my arm.

“Yeah, they’re nice,” I say. “Hopefully they fit.”

She unlocks a dressing room and holds the door open for me. “My name is Cassie. Yell if you’d like me to get you a different size.” She walks off with a bounce in her step and a smile that lights up her bronzed cheeks.

“Thanks; I will,” I say.

My mother doesn’t even allow me two minutes before she barges into the dressing room with an appalled look on her face.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she asks.

“I’m trying on clothes. What does it look like I’m doing?” I mirror her attitude.

“Chloe, I choose your wardrobe, not you. Take those absurd-looking things off. Bright colors don’t suit you.” She scowls with a hateful look in her eyes.

“Mother, I’m more than capable of choosing my own clothes. I’m a grown woman. Treat me like one.” I raise my voice, trying to show some authority.

She folds her arms. “I’m paying for them, so I will pick them out. End of discussion.” She rips the clothes out of my hand and replaces them with a few acceptable items that she found.

I feel my chest tighten and my muscles tense from anger. I need to keep my emotions under control so I don’t have a repeat of yesterday’s midday excursion to the
dark place
.

I examine the chosen clothes. All I’m allowed to have is a pair of straight-leg jeans and three basic long-sleeve shirts in subdued solid colors with no fit to them. These will match the rest of my wardrobe. How perfect. I’m not even going to bother trying them on. Instead, I fling open the dressing room curtain and throw the clothes back at her.

“I’m leaving,” I inform her as I trudge out of her sight, giving her no time to respond.

Cassie, the sales girl is straightening some clothes near the front entrance and I offer her a slight smile. “Thanks for your help,” I say.

She shrugs. “Have a nice day,” she chirps. “And good luck.” Her eyes droop into kindhearted almond shapes as she pouts. She must have heard my mother’s outburst. That just infuriates me even more.

I bolt through the courtyard, but I'm forced to slow down when I realize I have no clue where we parked the van. There are multiple parking lots surrounding me, and now I’m going to have to surrender to that woman. I feel like a child, standing here waiting for my mommy.

I notice how empty this area is, except for a few stragglers and an odd-looking middle-aged man who’s sitting on a bench across from the store I just ran out of. He’s staring at the store as if he’s waiting for someone to walk out. I find this terribly interesting, considering there is no one in the store besides my mother.

He turns his head and looks right at me. I feel frozen, unable to move from his glare. His greasy black hair looks as if it hasn’t been washed in a month, and his eyes are wide, but bloodshot and with large, baggy wrinkles below them. He has a shabby black beard and mustache. His hands are burned and scarred.

I break from his bitter gaze and amble forward in the opposite direction, trying to move out of his view.

“Hey!" the man shouts. "Come back here!” His voice echoes between the stores.

I look back to see that he’s getting up from the bench. My heart is pounding; I can't help but feel defenseless. I make a run for the parking lot in front of me and see my mother coming out of the store holding three large white shopping bags. She looks at the man walking in my direction. He stops when he notices my mother.