The Awakening (6 page)

"You asked," she says.

Trying to show more interest, I cross my arms in front of me. "What hair product are you using?"

Celia holds up a box with a picture of an older man on it. "Grecian Formula."

I let loose a belly laugh. "You're awfully serious and dedicated for only the second day of school."

Celia doesn't blink behind her goggles; a lock of hair has fallen in her face. "I asked for extra-credit work already to beef up my scientific credentials so I can get into a college of my choice."

I've wanted to go to the University of Michigan since, like, birth. They've got a great school of architecture and urban planning where I can become a second-generation planner and be just like dear ol' Dad. Besides, loves me some Wolverines football! Go, Blue! I think I'll major in football my freshman year. I'm curious to know where a smart Southern gal like Celia Nichols would want to go to college. Georgia Tech? Emory? Vandy? "Where's that?" I ask.

She stops what she's doing and says, "There are dozens of fine institutes of science technology throughout the country. My focus will be on microbiology, chemistry, and physics, to enhance my major. Over the summer, I narrowed my choices to three places. First, Princeton University; second, Duke University; and third, a long shot, is the University of Edinburgh."

I wasn't expecting
that!
"As in Scotland? Are you serious?"

Celia curtsies as if she's doing it for Queen Elizabeth. "Sure thing! I mean, an Ivy like Princeton is a long shot coming from a school as small as RHS; that is, unless you're a legacy, which I'm not 'cause my dad went to Georgia Tech and my mother didn't even go to college—"

Uh-oh, here she goes again. "Celia..."

"But Princeton has their PEAR—Princeton Engineering Anomalies Research—program that studies consciousness-related physical phenomena. Of course, Duke has the Rhine Research Center and lots of seminars and workshops in my field."

I can't keep up with her and what this has to do with an experiment about lead content in Grecian Formula.

Celia takes a deep breath and pushes her hair out of her face with the back of her hand. "The granddaddy of all programs, though, is the University of Edinburgh. One of the most highly respected programs, and believe me, I've done my research."

My eyebrow twitches. "What programs? What exactly
is
your chosen major?"

"Parapsychology," she says, not missing a beat.

Shaking my head, I say, "Are you still on that?"

"Of course."

"That stuff's not for real, Celia. You can't spend your life chasing something that doesn't exist."

She gives me her own headshake. "There are more things in heaven and earth, Kendall, than are dreamt of in your philosophy."

"
Hamlet.
Act one, scene five," I say. "Although it's
Horatio,
not
Kendall.
"

"Whatever," Celia says. "The point is, if we're arrogant enough to think we're alone in this world without the presence of spirits, ghosts, angels, demons, entities, energies, what have you, then we're as ignorant as the bureaucrats who refuse to fund this kind of scientific research for the betterment of—"

"Okay, Madame Curie! You win!"

Celia laughs and sticks her tongue out.

"You wanna walk home together?" I ask.

"Sorry. Can't. I have my Segway." She examines the setup in front of her. "Besides, I need to finish this. I'll be home in an hour or so, though. Tell you what. Bring the video recorder over then." She lowers her voice and looks around. "You know ... we'll
look
at it."

"Oh, okay. Sure." I am curious to see if there's anything on there. "I'll see you then."

As I'm headed out of the classroom, Celia calls out to me. "Yo, Kendall. Go take a walk around town. Get to know Radisson. It's not a bad place. You'll see."

Celia Nichols knows what she wants to do with the rest of her life. I don't even know what to do this afternoon. I suppose a nature walk will do me some good.

I smile and wave back at her.

Sure, why not? I have an hour to kill.

All right, I'll admit it. Radisson, Georgia, is a quaint little town.

I say
little
because, well, it is. The welcome sign at the city limits boasts a population of 14,877. Obviously, that's not counting the four-person Moorehead family who just joined the ranks. Talk about a downgrade from Chicago's nearly three million people.

I'll stop comparing, though. This sojourn around town is supposed to be about getting to know Radisson. I'm stuck here until I graduate, so I might as well kick back and get comfy.

From RHS, I walk east on Main Street four "city blocks" until I reach the Square, in the middle of town. The Square is Radisson's main drag and shopping area. My dad's office in city hall is across the way, in the building with the large clock tower on top of it. Lining the perimeter of the Square are charming yet kitschy stores, such as Delver's Drugs (with an old-fashioned soda counter) and Karol's Kountry Kitchen restaurant, featuring "down-home mac 'n' cheese" and some kind of concoction I've never heard of—what in the world are rutabagas? There's a fabric store, a hearing-aid place (love the name: Stick It in Your Ear), an arts and craps place (because, honestly, it all
is
crap), and a coffee shop named Central Perk, obviously a nod to
Friends.
A men's clothing store is on the corner of Main and Pace, with a shoe store across the street full of Crocs of every size and color and a sign that reads "Warning: we're temporarily out of Webkinz."

I head over to the middle of the Square where there's a well-kept park, complete with shade trees and flowers in planters. In the center of the park is a tall granite Civil War memorial with a Confederate soldier facing south. It says he's a soldier at parade rest. Hmmm, doesn't look too restful to me, clutching that musket to his side. There is a fishpond to the right of the monument that has a small fountain gurgling away. I can see how someone might like sitting on the nearby bench and enjoying the afternoon. Not me, but someone.

Suddenly, the wind shifts and seems to dance around me. My skin grows cold and clammy, and my footing falters. Oh, man, I'm terribly lightheaded. Whew. Where did that come from? Okay, maybe I
will
be someone who sits in this park. I drop to the bench, and my heartbeat accelerates, pounding fe rociously against my lungs. My head is woozy and I sense all the blood rushing straight down to my feet. On top of that, my stomach hurts. It's like I've eaten bad pizza. You know, when you think the leftovers still look good after three days in the fridge, then you have to make that quick dash to the bathroom. Yeah. Just like that.

I wonder if I can run into Central Perk and use their washroom.

Since there are no crosswalks, I look both ways, wait for the pickup truck decorated with Georgia Bulldog stickers to pass, and then scoot across the street. I grasp a nearby lamppost with a death grip to keep from falling to my knees. Something serious is happening to me. Words tangle in the back of my throat. I cry out for help in my head.
Someone call 911. Or my mom.
Man, it's like there's a firecracker show going off in my head. I hear pops and music and voices and talking and ... whoa ... what's going on? I spin around to see if a store is piping Muzak out onto the sidewalk. Nope.

A mosaic of colors dances around me in a fuzzy rainbow effect. Is this for real or am I hallucinating? Were those mushrooms that were in my lunch salad of the magical type? No, that's absurd. Maybe I breathed in too much of those acetate fumes Celia was cooking up in the chem lab.

A woman walks past, checking me out from head to toe. "You must be Roy and Elva's granddaughter," she says.

More random rockets explode inside my head. Or at least, that's what it seems to be from the noise in my brain. Can anyone else hear what's going on? Is there a volume knob somewhere? I wish I could shut this off. But how?

"Ummm, no, ma'am. I'm not," I say politely when all I want to do is scream bloody murder.

The woman flattens her lips. "You look just like Elva. Are you sure?"

The mental sparklers and colors have now morphed to a full-throttle headache. I so don't want to talk to this woman right now. "Yes, ma'am. I'm sure of who I am."

"Of course you are," she says with a dainty laugh. "It's just that Elva's granddaughter is about your age and I thought..."

Her words become a mangled mishmash lost in the cacophonic orchestra of my mind as a slow realization penetrates the brain traffic and noise, forming one painfully clear notion:
I know her name.

I see the letters in my mind: H-e-l-e-n P-e-a-r-l-m-a-n.

Helen Pearlman was born here in Radisson and ... I rub my temple. She leaves town only once a year to go stay at her beach house in ... I wince, searching for the details on the edge of my gray matter. There's sun, water, and sand painted across my memory like I've been there myself. Of course, I haven't—I've got it! Grayton Beach, Florida ... in the Panhandle.

My hand flies to my mouth.

How the hell do I know that?

"Are you all right, dear?"

I nod, afraid to speak.

"Y'all sure now?"

"Stomachache," I mutter, thinking it's the easiest answer.

"My Lawrence has the same problem. He eats at least two packs of Tums a day and—"

More flash cards of information skitter across my mind's eye. Lawrence isn't her son. He's her husband. For some reason, I know this as sure as I know my own name. And, umm ... Lawrence had a goiter—
What on God's green earth is a goiter?—
removed from his neck last May. Eww...

I shift my gaze back to Helen Pearlman, wife of goiterless Lawrence, hoping I don't appear as horrified as I feel.

Ribbons of color surround her, and I blink to focus. Yellows and pinks seem to dance about her head in a spotlight of sorts. Is the sun playing some sort of trick on my eyes? People don't just walk around with, like, halos of rainbow hues all over them. Seriously. And the intense, sudden outcropping of anger within me is nearly frightening. I want to lash out at this poor woman, although she really hasn't done anything to me. WTF?

"You'll have to excuse me, please," I say. "Nice to have, umm, met you."

She waves after me as I stumble away. I'm completely discombobulated and I'm freaking out here! The pavement under my feet feels like quicksand, but my legs are leaden as I try to walk. My hands are tingling, and the pain in my head is massively forceful. It's like part of my head is missing. At this point, I wish it were—anything to take away this pain!

I don't think I can make it to Central Perk. It's too far down the street. Light-years away, it seems. I need air-conditioning, water, and a seat. Probably an emergency room, as well. I must be having an aneurysm or something none of the doctors on
ER
can correctly diagnose.

There's some random store directly behind me. I push on the glass door and hear the jingle of several bells when I burst inside. The cool air conditioner surrounds me, tickling my neck and causing the hairs on my arms to stand at attention with chill bumps. To my right, a woman in jeans and a T-shirt that reads "I know I'm psychic 'cause my underwear says 'medium'" stands and smiles at me.

"Hi there!" She's young. Maybe in her early thirties.

I somehow find my voice. "May I use your ladies' room, please?"

The woman stares at me with great scrutiny, like she recognizes me. Oh God. She doesn't think I'm Elva's granddaughter too, does she? Stupid small town.

Her hands spread wide and she waves around my head with a look of fascination. "Oh my goodness! You're literally bursting with energy!"

I'm bursting with something, that's for sure.

The pupils in her hazel eyes are widely dilated. From the pungent odor of incense in the room, I assume she must have been smoking some marijuana before I came in. Marjorie's older brother used to smoke the chronic in his room, so I recognize the transcendental look this lady's got.

"The bathroom," I say, trying to nudge her out of her daze.

"Oh!" She snaps out of it with a knowing expression across her lips. "Sure, hon. Up the stairs and to the right."

I smile. "Thanks."

"And when you're done," she calls out, "I'd love to have a long chat with you, Kendall."

I
FREEZE IN PLACE
on the third step up.

My bottom lip quivers when I start to speak. "H-h-how do you know my name?"

Instead of answering me, the woman stretches out her hand. "I'm Loreen Woods." She emphasizes the words, like they're supposed to mean something to me.

"Nice to meet you," I say, still puzzled and even more wigged out than I'm letting on. Not wanting to be rude, I sheepishly reach to shake. When our hands touch, Loreen's eyes close and she breathes in deeply, clasping my palm securely to hers. A near vibration passes through me, like we're sharing a pulse. I want to pull away, but she seems entranced again. I pump our hands up and down twice and then release. Her lids remain shut, so I take a moment to check this place out.

Jeezy-chreezy. What have I walked into?

Candles and incense line one wall. Another is covered in books and CDs. I also see pyramids, crystal balls, tarot cards, and I Ching sticks, whatever those are. There's a jewelry counter that sports racks of crystals and stones hanging from chains. Not really necklaces, but something pretty. A sign over an old-fashioned cash register reads "Divining Woman." Uh-oh. Have I wandered into some sort of fortunetellery psychic-babble store? My mother would shit a gold brick and throw holy water on me if her devoutly religious self knew I was even within ten feet of this place. I feel the need to get out of here
fast.

Loreen's eyes open. "Kendall. It's so wonderful that you stopped in."

Okay, I need to get hold of this situation. My pulse seems to have calmed down, and I no longer feel like my insides are going to explode. "Again—how do you know my name?"

"There's a connection to you that I've been feeling for several days, but I didn't know what it was until you just walked in here," she explains.