Velocity (6 page)

“I’m not going to do that.”

“You can try it. But only for a few minutes,” Hugh relented.

Luke cleared off one of the couches of pillows and instructed me to lay flat. I did as I was told, making myself comfortable.

“How exactly do I do this?” I asked Luke, who was kneeling beside me.

“Marnie always held a picture in her mind, a vague image of where she wanted to go. Sometimes she’d spy on people from school from events that she’d heard they went to. Like I said, it doesn’t have to be your own memory, but it would be helpful to use one as a starting point.”

I settled down and lay the stone over my heart against my skin. It didn’t feel hot, or tingly, or anything, really. I couldn’t help but be skeptical. Statues on the mantle stared at me with tortured eyes.

“That’s roughly where my heart is, right?” I asked Theo. She nodded, pursing her lips and tilting her hand back and forth.

“I think I remember that from health class,” Theo said.

“You look like a corpse,” Hugh said without a drop of humor. We were both thinking of another recently dead body―one wearing a bad wig and far too much makeup to cover the brutalized side of her face.

“Hold a steady, clear thought,” Luke repeated. “As much detail as you can imagine. And picture yourself there. Marnie said it felt like falling. Just don’t expect miracles―so to speak― the first time. You are basically catching a moment out of the ether like a slippery fish in a fast stream.”

They all clustered around and watched me as I lay there. No one so much as breathed. As I lay there with my eyes closed, the silence grew deafening.

“Uh, guys?” I cracked one eye open. “All of you watching me is weirding me out. Can you at least pretend to talk about something else?”

Sitting back, they began to mumble quietly about the weather. My thoughts drifted to different topics. I thought about how long it had been since I watched TV. I wondered if I would miss any tests in school.

When I felt comfortable, I searched around in my head for a memory I wanted to revisit. I stared at the blackness behind my lids, waiting for a spark of inspiration to light it up like a planetarium.

Randomly, I thought about my seventh birthday party. I don’t know why it popped into my head. I’d told myself I wouldn’t look at anything too personal, but it was the strongest thought I could muster.

I pictured Claire and I both standing at the kitchen counter in front of my birthday cake, covered in candles. There was a picture of it on the wall at home, our mouths perfect circles, ready to make a wish and blow out the flames. I tried to imagine it as clearly as I could in my head.

Then I felt myself falling backward, my stomach dropping, and I knew I was leaving my body. I tumbled down and through myself.

CHAPTER 5

SUDDENLY, I WAS
standing in my house. Only it didn’t look the same. I recognized the old tea colored wallpaper in the living room from when I was a child. The decor was distinctly early nineties. I could hear Claire’s voice, younger and sweeter, coming from the kitchen, and my breath caught in my mouth as it froze open.

I went on careful footsteps toward her voice. Little seven year old me was standing on a step stool next to my mother as my party guests watched nearby. The pink cake was decorated with seven hot pink candles and a frosted pony with candy eyes. Claire and kid-Ariel blew out the candles and everyone clapped.

“Did you make a wish?” Claire asked.

“Yep. I’m not telling you what it is, though. I want it to come true,” I’d said. Claire smiled at her daughter and my heart ached inside my chest.

The adults all looked so much younger―my father with his goofy, long grunge hair and my Aunt Corinne’s eternally scowling face. Jenna was there with other little girls, wearing party dresses, and so was Mr. Warwick, standing off to the side with a beer in his hand.

For a second, a chill of fear hit me. Would he see me? Would any of them? But I was close and they looked right through me. None of them knew I was there.

“Because I’m not,” I whispered to myself. “I’m not here.”

I walked around and looked at my mom. She was young and carefree and beautiful in a red party dress. She stared at the birthday girl lovingly, and then cut a slice of cake and put it on a pink plate. The love in her eyes was unmistakable, and tears sprung into my own. What had happened to make her give up on me? To make her simply toss me aside for Thornhill?

“Can I open the big present first?” kid-Ariel asked.

Claire kissed the top of her dark hair. “Sure, honey.”

I wiped the tears from my cheeks. I couldn’t stay here. It was so much more intense and vivid than I had imagined.

I could see why Marnie had been driven mad.

I tried to focus back on where I’d come from, the ticking clocks of Luke’s house. The bright flames of the candles began to dim, and I felt myself catapulting back up to the surface.

I knew I could easily go all the way up and open my eyes. I could feel the smooth weight of the stone on my chest again, and hear the faint ticking of the clocks. I could probably twitch my hands and feet. But I felt a rush from succeeding―I hadn’t thought it would be that easy. Instead, I decided to try a less personal memory.

I pictured the photo in my parents’ senior yearbook, of the prayer group that the Thornhill people had been a part of. I tried to remember how everyone had looked, including Phillip and my mother, as teenagers. They had been standing around a flagpole holding hands, their heads bowed. I tried to remember the details.

Phillip Rhodes was all teeth…

Blackness gave way to gray. Then the swishing, stomach-drop feeling returned and I was free-falling into space.

When I opened my eyes, I was standing in front of the flagpole. Phillip Rhodes and his entourage were clustered around it. I was standing off to the side on the grass. Behind them was the old Hawthorne building, built with ugly orange brick, and much smaller than the one I was currently attending. The flag flapped in the strong breeze, although the blue sky was sunny.

“Wild,” I muttered to myself, but of course no one could hear me.

A photographer was standing by, clad in black jeans and a long, ill-fitted suit jacket with a t-shirt beneath it. One side of his hair was cut shorter than the other, and his face was oily and acne-pitted. In his hands he clutched a gigantic camera with a strap that looped around his neck, and a cigarette rested behind each of his ears.

Phillip was in deep discussion with his group. As I moved closer, my breath was taken away. He really did look so much like Henry. They could have almost been twins, except Phillip was taller and slightly more severe looking. My mother was gorgeous, but this version of her was alien to me, so there was less of an emotional tie. I’d never seen her like this except in pictures.

“We gonna do this thing or what?” quizzed the impatient photographer, shifting in his high-tops.

Phillip’s dark brown eyes glared at him. “Hold your horses, Bret.”

Bret rolled his eyes and snapped bubble gum between his teeth.

The young, glamorous Claire must have squeezed Phillip’s hand or something, because his expression softened, and he smiled down at her. His face looked weirdly loving, so much so that my blood ran cold.
Phillip never loved you
, I wanted to shout.
He’s why you’re dead now.
Claire just smiled back at him.

“Yes, you can take the photo now,” Phillip said, much more graciously as he smiled at Bret. “Everyone join hands.”

The group did so with swift, eerie synchronicity.

“Is this actually what you cats do?” Bret asked, putting the camera up to his eye. He didn’t seem to notice how irritated Phillip was getting as he bit his bottom lip. The gesture was so familiar―Henry did it all the time―that my heart stopped for a second.

“Yes, this is a spiritual group. We pray and speak of matters of the afterlife.”

“Don’t know why you need a club to pray,” Bret continued. “My granny does just fine in church, but whatever. Smile big, pretty people.”

Instead of smiling, they bowed their heads. Bret shook his head and snapped several photos anyway, his flash illuminating the moment even in the daytime. I started to feel a twisting sensation in my stomach, but I fought it. Now that I was here, I had to see more.

“That’s all, folks. Good thing you didn’t break my camera.”

“Shut up, or you’re getting a fist sandwich,” Bruce Slaughter growled, tightening his hands into fists. He was more bulldog than his son, his face square and a little stupid.

“Can I get that on rye? A little mustard?” Bret snickered. Bruce took one step toward him and Bret stopped smiling. “Okay, chief. I’ll have these to Miss Kirkland. She’ll pick the best for the yearbook. Thanks.”

Bret slung his camera strap over his shoulder and skittered away. The prayer group broke up again, watching Phillip and waiting for his next command, presumably.

“Finally,” Phillip said, just a few feet away from me. “I didn’t think that little ass would ever leave.” He brushed off the shoulders of his button-down polo shirt, already dressed like a professional.

“He’s not so bad,” Claire said softly in a gentle, clear voice.

Cheryl, Henry’s future mother, came skipping up to Phillip. She stuck her chest out in her scoop neck top, her hair all feathered and blonde, like the sister from
That 70’s Show
. “I think the picture will turn out great, Phil.”

Oh please.
I rolled my eyes.

“It’s going to look fantastic in the yearbook,” Cheryl continued. “You always look so handsome, like a model.”

Claire was gaping at her and I didn’t blame her. Lainey Ford had nothing on Cheryl. Claire twisted her arm through her boyfriend’s. An amused smile touched his lips―he was obviously enjoying the attention.

“Come on. Let’s go in so we can start the meeting, dear.” Phillip murmured.

‘Dear?’ That’s what Henry sometimes called me. The word sent a bucket of cold water rushing down the back of my neck. This was definitely creepy.

I followed the group as it assembled in a chatty line and headed for the front doors of Old Hawthorne. I thought about what my father said, about how Henry would be like his father someday.
What if he’s right?

The inside of the school was definitely straight out of the seventies. McPherson would have been at home as the principal. Brown and orange was the predominant, tacky color scheme, and I figured that it must have been the school colors. Never thought I’d miss gold and purple.

The way the group kept together and strutted like peacocks reminded me of how the popular kids in my time acted. Some things never change. People got out of their way so they could walk uninterrupted. There were a few high fives and attaboys as they went, and Claire said hello to girls along the way, but they didn’t stop their pace. Claire and Phillip led the group, holding hands, looking like the perfect golden couple while I walked beside them, invisible.

Phillip held the door of a conference room open, and the rest of them filed inside. I quickly went with them as he shut the door. A sign reading “Shh! Please don’t break our concentration. Prayer group in session,” marked it as theirs for the afternoon.

Chairs had been set up in a neat circle in the center of the room. The carpet was brown, and there was no other furniture, only neat wooden cabinets built along one wall. There weren’t even any windows. It was the perfect place for secrecy. I stood off to the side and watched them settle in, staying close enough to hear clearly. Claire bristled when Cheryl took the other place beside Phillip.
Phil.

His demeanor changed. Instead of mere arrogance and smugness, he now seemed commanding and cold. “Make sure the door is locked,” he said, snapping his fingers at Bruce. Although he’d never seemed like one to take orders, Bruce instantly scrambled up and checked the door.

“Locked, boss.”

Phillip nodded. “The fifteenth meeting of the spiritual club of Hawthorne, come to order,” he boomed in his authoritative voice.

“Do we have to be so formal?” Claire complained.

“Yes.” But his icy stare was directed toward the others. “Let’s skip the rest of the script, though. We need to talk about what’s going to happen with the rabbit.”

My attention perked up, and I stepped closer. I felt that insistent twisty feeling in the pit of my belly again, and this time it was harder to ignore. I knew I didn’t have long before I was sent back where I came from.

“He’s been a good pet,” Deana suddenly piped up. “Can’t we kill something else?”

Phillip scoffed and stretched his legs. “It has to be something precious. Something you care about. That’s the whole point, that you be willing to kill something beloved to gain ascension. What are you going to do when it’s a person, instead of a stupid rabbit? You can get a new one, anyway. Rabbits screw constantly.”

Deana was taken aback and sat meekly, slouching in her chair and staring at the floor. I almost felt bad for her.

“I’m not crazy about the idea, either,” Claire mumbled, staring at Deana sympathetically.