Cover by MJStudioArts
"Connie? It's time to wake up."
Rolling onto her side, Connie pulled her face out of her pillow and cracked one eyelid. The light of a summer morning stabbed her in the pupil, too bright even through her room's closed blinds and drawn curtains. Connie groaned and clapped her palm over her eye, feeling her aching and fuzzy head throb. "Mmgnh?" she groaned in the direction of the doorway. "Whhtihmizit?"
"Good morning," her mother answered. "Though in about an hour, that would be 'good afternoon.' You should get up and eat something."
Not so long ago, the words would have been an instruction, not a suggestion. That tiny change in their dynamic probably said more about Connie's pitifulness than anything else. Connie rolled back onto her face and grumbled, ""Mmnnnodunghry."
The springs in her mattress creaked, and her bed shifted with her mother's weight next to her. A hand gently stroked her long, knotted hair. "I know you're not, but you need to eat anyway. You need to get out of your room." Sounds of delicate sniffing filled a short beat, and then her mother added, "And you also need to take a shower."
"Ayyyygnowwwww…"
A long sigh feathered the back of Connie's head. "I have to leave for my shift soon. Come downstairs and eat something in front of me so I know you got something in your stomach today." A light kiss pressed into Connie's scalp through her hair before her mother's weight creaked off the bed. "Blech. But first: shower."
Footsteps padded out of the room. After a quiet hesitation, the door creaked shut. It wasn't until her mother's footsteps had faded down the stairs that Connie managed to roll off her face and onto her back. The ceiling stared back at her, empty and blank.
Connie knew her parents were worried about her. She knew they had good reason to be worried. It had been eight days since the Battle of Ascension, which was an overly dramatic name for what had amounted to a scuffle between a handful of Gems on an abandoned mountaintop, but since the "Scuffle of Ascension" sounded even goofier, she stuck with the first name. In those eight days, Connie had cried, and raged, and remembered, and had spent sleepless nights plumbing the corners of her own mind for signs of non-Connie thoughts or feelings. But she had found nothing. And after the pain of loss had faded, she felt nothing.
Well, not nothing-nothing, per se. But her emotions had cooled and congealed into a lifeless, colorless blob that hung on her like an anchor. With this invisible blob weighing her down, it felt harder to move or think. She was sleeping more, sometimes for an entire day, only to wake up exhausted.
She didn't want to worry her parents, but she didn't know how to make things better. She didn't know if she could feel better anymore. And that should have worried her too. But it couldn't. The feeling-blob didn't do worry. It only did heavy.
Taking a long, deep breath, Connie choked, and agreed with her mother one at least one point: she needed a shower. She rolled until her feet struck carpet and then shambled toward her bathroom.
While the shower water heated up, Connie peeled out of her pajamas, which smelled almost as bad as she did. Before she had turned thirteen, the idea of becoming a teenager had seemed like a grand transformation of maturity, wisdom, and feminine mystique on the horizon. Now that she had reached it, the reality of it seemed to be mostly sweating.
Cradling her pajama shirt, Connie stared at the cheery yellow star ironed into its pink fabric. Steven never seemed sweaty. Even after a hard training session, he didn't really sweat as much as glow.
The pajama shirt had been one of his numberless everyday shirts, borrowed from his wardrobe and never returned. Beneath her own funk, Connie could still detect a hint of sea spray and powdered sugar that Steven always seemed to smell like. She started to put the shirt in the bathroom's laundry hamper, but then paused, and tossed it onto the counter instead. It still had a little bit of its comforting magic left in it before the next wash. And as fitfully as she'd slept while wearing the shirt, she was afraid of how badly she might sleep without it.
By the time she finished sluicing off her teenage stank, the bathroom was thick with steam. She climbed out of the shower with her towel wrapped around herself and another towel wrapping up her wet, tangled mass of hair. As her hands moved on autopilot, brushing her teeth and rolling on deodorant, she realized that she did feel the tiniest bit lighter. Being clean, feeling clean, made a bigger difference than she'd thought.
Then she found herself holding her blow dryer as she tilted the towel wrapping off her head. The instant it turned on, blasting her face with warm air, she felt her stomach clench and dropped the dryer, jerking back. It clattered to rest on the counter with a steady stream of air belching from its nozzle.
She stared at the hairdryer, its electric whirr filling the room. Even as she fought the impulse, her stare was drawn up to the broad mirror above the sink. She tried not to look, but the fight was hopeless, and she knew it. Her gaze came to rest on the muddied reflection lurking under the thick, runny fog clinging to the mirror. A flash of color peered back at her through the fog, and even though she begged herself not to, she wiped the condensation from the mirror.
In her smeared reflection, Connie saw the square shape of the gemstone beneath her throat, its rounded sides peeking out from the top of her towel wrap. Its deep green color glimmered back at her with the rise and fall of her breathing. When she reached up to grip the stone, she could feel it still firmly rooted to her sternum, its boxy shape resisting her pull.
"I had been working on a farewell gift, but assumed I would have more time. It was almost complete, but now… Well, perhaps you will find it and finish it for me."
Connie stared at the stone, the only remains of Jade. She had spent days tearing apart her room to find whatever gift the Gem had mentioned. She had looked through every file on her computer. And when nothing new had revealed itself, she had been forced to conclude that the gemstone was the only thing left behind. That, and her own body, free of the corruption Jade had taken with her when she had given up her physical form.
Whole and healthy, Connie had been given a second lease on life. Connie had defied all odds, and even her own promises to Jade, and had come through their shared ordeal intact. And Connie couldn't feel more miserable for the accomplishment.
Twisting away from the mirror, Connie jerked the hairdryer's plug from the wall, stilling its warm wind. She dressed and left the bathroom with a tangle of wet hair at her back and the dryer resting in a puddle of her towel on the floor.
Her mother waited for her in the kitchen, already dressed for work and wearing her lab coat. There was a plate of toast with jelly and a bowl of fresh fruit on the table next to a glass of orange juice, all of it for Connie. As Connie sat down, she saw her mother surreptitiously set aside a hairbrush at the sight of her daughter's soggy hair and try to hide a look of worry.
"Thanks, Mom," Connie mumbled. She took a bite of the toast and forced herself to swallow. The bite crawled down her throat like a centipede made of sandpaper.
A little smile crossed her mother's lips. "Much better," she said, and nodded. Then, pretending to remember, she grabbed a brown cardboard box off the countertop, clearly placed there so she could present it as soon as Connie arrived. "Oh, and we got a package this morning too," she said, and slid the box across the table to Connie.
Grateful for an excuse to ignore her breakfast, Connie pulled the box closer. The tape was already broken, so she pulled the top of the box apart. Inside she found two short stacks of paperback books, their covers old-timey and featuring words like Classics and Canon. "Books?" she said.
"We got your summer reading list from the school's website and ordered them from Bookézoid. The minimum requirement was to just read three off the list, but your father and I figured you for an advanced reader." A twinkle lit her eye as she peered down into the box and added, "But I thought I saw something odd at the bottom…"
Connie slid the books apart and saw a sliver of something dark and starry at the very bottom of the box. Finding an edge with her fingers, she pulled it out to reveal a glossy pamphlet. It had a picture of a starfield surrounding a NASA logo, and was headed with two words that made Connie's eyes huge as she read them aloud. "Space Camp?"
When she looked up, her mother had a coy smile waiting for her. "How did that get in there? It must be a mistake," she said, her tone too serious to be genuine.
An old excitement flickered briefly inside of Connie as she stared at the pamphlet. "But you always said I was too young," Connie insisted, hardly daring to believe that her mother wasn't playing a joke on her, as unlikely a thing as her mother pranking anyone might be.
"Well, no matter how much I don't like it, you keep insisting on getting older," her mother said. The tiniest of cracks appeared in her façade, and she admitted, "And your father and I both agree that you can handle a lot more than we ever realized. We think you're mature enough to spend two weeks getting sick in a centrifuge if that's what you really want."
Connie fought to keep her own smile intact. "Thanks, Mom," she heard herself say.
Composure returning, her mother tapped the cardboard box. "But that pamphlet's at the bottom of your reading list, understand? Once you've finished those books, we will all sit down and talk about what happens next."
"That seems perfectly reasonable," Connie said, nodding sagely as she pretended to agree.
Her mother gave her a long, searching look, but then nodded in return. She collected her purse and keys, and then hesitated. Stepping close, she planted a long, lingering kiss in Connie's wet hair. "I love you, Connie. Call me if you need anything. Okay?"
"I will. I love you, Mom." Connie rose and hugged her mother tightly. And she even managed to keep her smile in place until her mother closed the front door from the other side. Once the lock clicked, though, her mouth sagged again.
Releasing a long, stale breath, Connie dropped back into her chair and looked at the pamphlet again. Not that long ago she would have relished the chance to train with real astronauts, to be trusted to spend two whole weeks away from home with no parental supervision. Even before she had met the Gems, Space Camp had been one of her big dreams.
Now, though, any joy from the notion felt like a betrayal. How could she think about playing space explorer after a real space explorer had given up everything for her? The memories of excitement and longing for something so terrestrial now felt like a child's foolish wish.
Shaking away the memories, Connie drew the first book out of the box. If she couldn't escape the childishness of her old dreams or the misery of the present, she could eat least bury it all under some school-approved literature. "Frankenstein? Again?" she groused as she read the cover. Then, opening to the copyright page, she brightened. "Ooh, it's the 1818 Edition! Missus Braeburn probably wants to teach the 1831 Edition in class." Since she had already read the later edition, it at least put her ahead of next year's studies.
She flipped to the first page and picked up her orange juice, determined to consume something if only for her mother's sake. But when the glass reached her lips, she paused, setting it aside to frown at the page. As soon as her eyes focused on the words, the text felt immediately familiar to her.
She started back at the first line, but as she tried to read each sentence, a sense of impatience overwhelmed her. She already knew the words. Shaking her head, she flipped to the next set of pages and continued, wondering if the two editions were actually that similar. They must have been, because as soon as her eyes focused, she realized that she already knew these pages too. Every word on the paper was as familiar to her as though she'd written them herself in that very moment.
Had she actually read this version of Frankenstein before instead of the later version? Even if she had, it had been years since she had picked up the book, and as good as Shelley's work was, she didn't remember it leaving such a lasting impression on her before. But as she flipped from page to page, she could hardly focus on the words before she realized that she knew them all by heart.
In little more than a minute, Connie flipped past the final page and close the book. She must have been mistaken about which edition she already owned. "I hope Mom isn't too mad about buying the same book twice," she said, and pushed it aside. Then she selected the next book: Pride and Prejudice, a book she definitely had never read. With a sigh, she cracked the book, resigning herself to getting through the toughest read first so the rest weren't so bad by comparison.
But as soon as her eye focused on the page, she realized that she knew these words too. Connie's frown deepened as she flipped from page to page, confused by her own recognition. The last time she had tried reading Jane Austen, it had been like trapping her brain inside a cage of itchy banality, and so she had sworn the author off. Now, though, as she skimmed through each page, it was as though she had memorized Elizabeth Bennet's high-society tribulations.
She shut the book and closed her eyes, trying to remember what came next. If she had really read Pride and Prejudice before, she would remember how it ended, wouldn't she? But as she strained to remember, she could only recall the events of the book up to the chapter she had just been reading. Everything before that, she could remember perfectly, but what came next was a mystery.
So she opened the book again and continued skimming. And as she moved from page to page, she realized that she did remember what happened. A minute later she closed the book on Elizabeth's and Mister Darcy's happy ending, bored and frustrated with their wishy-washiness, and recalling every single word of it. Had she really read it before and forgotten, only remembering now as she skimmed through it?
Then, with a spark of realization, she quickly drew the next book, a biography of Carl Sagan assigned as optional reading for her science class. She didn't normally read biographies, and knew for a fact that she had never read it before. And yet, as she flipped to each new page, she felt as though she already knew it.
But that wasn't it. Instead, she realized, Connie was reading each page as quickly as she could focus her eyes. Even without consciously examining the words, her mind was absorbing the text instantly upon seeing it. Before her toast had gone cold, Connie finished reading the entire box of books. She could recall every word of every page, and with just a moment's concentration, she could recite it back to herself without looking. She could count how many apostrophes and commas appeared in each book, and compare the number of each per page, per book, or total their numbers together, or compile a ratio of consonants to vowels, or—
She shook her head and backed out of her chair, sending it skidding across the kitchen floor. Staring at the pile of books on the table, she realized that she had just internalized her entire summer reading list in the time it would have taken any other student to finish a chapter. It was an impossible feat…for a human.
Reaching up, Connie touched the stone under her blouse. The first night she had awoken, Jade had read Connie's entire library: two full bookcases with shelves stacked two volumes deep. This new rapid speed-reading of hers seemed similar, though she'd never really been awake for any of the Gem's reading. But what did it mean that she could remember all of the books perfectly? She didn't remember anything else from the morning in that kind of detail. Would that change? Would she start remembering things she had forgotten?
She had blown Steven off his own porch with an accidental wind the night Jade had…left. But nothing had happened since. And she remembered the event like a normal memory, not like a new-book-eidetic memory. But would that change? Would her old memories start crystalizing like the books were now? Would there be room in her brain for all of it? Would she remember being a baby, or being born? Would she remember memories that weren't hers?
A tinkling sound ripped her out of her mental spiral. She looked to the corner of the kitchen and saw the wind chime strung up above the counter swaying in the still air. The three notes of the chime rang in chaotic, atonal succession. A breeze tickled the damp nape of Connie's neck, but the instant she noticed it, the air stilled again and the chimes went silent.
Connie felt her stomach curling up into a shriveled little fist underneath her heart. "Jade?" she whispered. "Jade, are you doing this?"
There were no chimes this time, and no voices in her head, and no new understand of what was happening to her.
She felt her eyes sting, and clenched her eyelids shut. "I could really use you right about now. You kind of left your body stuck in my chest. Can you please come back and help me figure out what's happening?"
Silence answered inside and out.
Her fists balled tightly at her sides, her knuckles cracking. "Please," she said, voice quavering. "Please come back. Please."
Nothing.
"Please!" she shouted into the stillness.
Her voice rattled the room, knocking her breakfast across the tabletop and throwing her orange juice into a puddle on the floor. The empty cardboard box tumbled and smacked into the refrigerator hard enough to crumple its corner. Curtains at the window billowed and snapped like flags, and the wind chime jerked against its hook, its chimes banging into each other and the clapper in a cacophony of noise.
Startled by the sudden windstorm, Connie scrambled backwards out of the room, running from the screaming notes of the wind chime. For just a second, it felt as though she were running against a hurricane gale, but she pushed through it and ran up the stairs and into her room.
The door slammed behind her, and she braced against it, chest heaving. Familiar jitters of adrenaline shivered in her nerve endings. She closed her eyes and forced her breathing to slow, concentrating on the simple physical process. In moments, her heart rate eased, and the pounding in her ears faded.
An odd weight hung in one of her hands. Looking down, she jerked in surprise to find the doorknob to her bedroom hanging broken in her hand, ripped out of its housing in the door. She didn't remember feeling the knob break away, and couldn't imagine how much effort it would have taken to manage the feat on purpose. But the broken ends of the metal were fresh and obvious, and still sharp when she tested it with her thumb.
With her wits returning, she could hear herself think again, and only one thought rang clearly in her mind. "Steven."