I know perfectly well you're not interested in my excuses, so here's the next chapter (that took way too damn long to write, and still isn't great). Swearing and hints of trouble here...
Mitch
It's been over a month. Now, it's November.
We're going to Jamesontown, Michigan. It's been kept secret from the public, so Amara doesn't get any unwanted visitors.
"Nervous?" I ask Kirstie, who looks distracted.
"Just... thinking," she says. Which means of course I'm nervous, you dumbass in more polite terms.
I'm nervous, too. I don't know why; it's not like this happens every day, but I think we're doing something good, seeing this girl. Plus, maybe I can clear up my questions.
Like, why does Harley look distracted throughout the video? Why does she keep glancing to the left nervously, like there's someone after her? What was that bruise on her eye? What else did her parents ignore about her? Where did she get that hair dye?
All of them are equally urgent.
Two weeks ago, I searched for the hospital where Amara is staying. During that search, I came across another video from a woman named Amanda Freedman who preferred to be called Mandy. She was wearing a white lab coat over motorcycling gear and held a helmet in one arm.
What followed was a list of places to contact Mandy, and a basic breakdown of what would happen. Once we flew in from the airport of our convenience, Mandy would organize transport to Jamesontown. We were responsible for our transportation out of Jamesontown. Mandy had already organized a deal with a nearby neighbor, so there was a house waiting for us once we got there.
"Just contact me through any of these numbers, and I'll respond as quickly as I can. Also, a quick explanation, in case you noticed something strange in Harley's video. Harley got in a fight with some of the kids in the neighborhood, so any bruises or cuts you see in the video are courtesy of that fight. Don't worry about her. Harley rules Jamesontown whether it likes it or not, because for her to do anything else with her time would be laughable. To give you an idea of what I'm talking about, Harley won the fight I mentioned earlier with almost no effort, and she was against three guys from the football team. Another quick side note: she's much taller than she appears to be in the video, and a lot scarier, too. I haven't seen her reveal that much emotion in nearly five years."
The video ends there. I had Avi's sister contact Mandy, and things went well from there.
"Nice and organized," Esther said with approval. "Left me almost no work to do. Tell them it's official; if they all want to go, you're going."
So, we're going.
We're taking a plane to a private airport near the Mackinac Bridge. From there, we're driving for about three hours to Jamesontown. I've looked it up online, and it's actually beautiful. It's right in the middle of the Upper Peninsula, near the Gwinn State Forest Area. The pictures I saw online are clearly only a few of many.
I'm somehow not surprised that Harley lives there, in a place so isolated from the rest of the world. She seems isolated herself, in a way.
On the way there, we get bad turbulence.
"Sorry," the flight attendant says. "There's a storm system making its way to Michigan, but thankfully we'll only get a bit of wind. I think it'll be over soo—"
After that, the seat belt sign comes on, and everyone feels queasy until the plane comes back down.
Once Kirstie's face finishes its transformation from "guacamole" to "normal", we wait at the airport for Mandy's transport.
What comes isn't what we expected. A woman with pink hair so bright that I could see it from nearly two miles away pulls up in a sleek black car. She gets out and starts walking over, showing absolutely no signs of a woman who's about to let five celebrities in her car.
"Azalea," she says as she holds out a hand attached to a wrist that's absolutely covered in bracelets with crystals on the end of each one. The crystals jingle as she shakes our hands, one by one. We all pile into the car—it's a tight fit, but we manage—and we drive away.
"You mind if I turn on some music?" Azalea asks.
"It's cool," Avi says from his hunched position in the middle seat.
Azalea smiles. "Scott, you mind pulling out the green CD from the glove box?"
Scott rummages around before finding the CD and putting it in the slot. A piano plays softly.
"That's Mandy," Azalea says. "She claims she doesn't sing, but Harley gave me the recording a while back."
"This sounds familiar," Kirstie says.
Then Mandy sings the first few words.
"If I could begin to be half of what you think of me, I could do about anything. I could even learn how to love..."
"Steven Universe," Kirstie marvels quietly. "Mandy's perfect for that song!"
I listen a bit. Mandy's not like Harley. Harley's voice takes you up into the clouds, dances above you so you can watch. Mandy's keeps you safe, tucks you in at night like the loving mother everyone wants to have.
"In case you're wondering, no, Mandy is not aware that she is incredibly talented," Azalea says as the song ends. "She prefers what she's comfortable with."
"And what is she comfortable with, exactly?" I ask.
"Her work at the college, her dance classes, her motorcycle..." Azalea shakes her head. "Hell, Mandy goes skydiving! She's more of an adrenaline junkie than a musician."
"Skydiving?" Kevin asks, eyebrows raised. "Man, and Esther said she was organized."
"Oh, she is," Azalea says. "Mandy's got her life down to a science. I mean, considering she's a science major, I guess that makes sense, but still. The skydiving's only when she's got spare time, and that's not very often. I don't think she's been on a plane in a year." Azalea laughs. "It definitely shows. She's more high strung than ever."
"Who's that?" Scott asks when a strong voice sings with Mandy.
"That's Amara," Azalea says. For the first time, Azalea looks troubled. "We haven't heard her sing for a long time now."
There's a crashing dissonance on the piano, and laughter.
"Mandy, quit hogging the seat!"
"There's barely any room on here, Amara."
"Then get off, you're tall enough to reach!"
"No!"
Then, there's another crash of the keyboard while Mandy and Amara laugh.
"Amara, it's time to—" A new voice starts, and then stops. "What happened?"
"Nothing!" Mandy's voice is embarrassed.
"Who was singing?"
"Mandy was, she's amaz—"
"I don't sing," Mandy says softly. There's pain in her voice, and I wonder if someone told her she was a bad singer in the past.
"Time to go," the new voice says.
"Aw, Ben!" Amara protests. "Stay a bit, I might get Mandy to sing again!"
"You won't," Mandy says. Footsteps fade away.
"What's with her?" Amara asks.
"She's a Freedman, Amara," Ben says. "Who knows?"
Azalea stops the CD.
"Mandy doesn't like to sing anymore. She hates it. Reminds her of her old friends. She also hates driving, which is why you get silly me instead of her," Azalea says.
We're all silent now. There's not much you can say to something like that.
After an awkward three hours, Azalea pulls up to the hospital and drops us off.
"Thanks," she says. "Amara's going to be so happy."
Then, she leaves.
That woman is completely insane.
We all shiver. It's colder than we thought it would be.
Seriously? Is no one else going to go to the door first?
I sigh, and start walking. I hear the others follow me, and I roll my eyes.
It's all silent, mostly. A few kids ride their bikes across the street from us. A woman walks her dog behind them. A couple swings their toddler back and forth on a tire swing.
It's all normal, until we hear the roar of a motorcycle. The couple looks at the woman riding the motorcycle and quickly take their little girl inside. A black helmet covers the woman's face as she pulls into the parking lot.
Once the woman parks the bike, she walks toward us. She takes off her helmet, revealing a pale, freckled face and a huge smile.
"You are absolutely unbelievable," she says with a sharp laugh. "Coming up here for a random girl's birthday? D'you normally do stuff like this?"
We all just stare. She's a lot to take in, after all. Her face is shaped like Kirstie's but there's no makeup to be seen. If I was into girls, I'm pretty sure this woman would be drop-dead gorgeous to me; my theory is proven when I look over to see Avi's face.
"I've got all the paperwork set up. Esther helped me set it up so that visiting hours could be rearranged if needed, but I don't think we'll have to go there. Amara's parents are getting the cake, but they said they'd only be a few more minutes. In the meantime, we can get you checked in. Amara's going to love this."
I take a moment to remember that this woman jumps out of planes in her spare time. Where the hell does she get money for that?
As we walk in the doorway, a trio of girls makes their way past. All three are giggling about something. Mandy flips them off as casually and coolly as humanly possible and keeps walking like nothing happened.
"Rude," one of the girls whispers.
Mandy whirls around, and suddenly I realize just how tall she is. "Touch Amara again and I'll have Harley whoop your ass to kingdom come."
Mandy keeps walking. We follow, uncertainty stronger than ever. Meanwhile, the girls pale in unison and back away.
"Told you Harley runs this place," Mandy says with a smirk. "Just a whisper of her name, and suddenly I scare everyone. Hang on, I've got some paperwork to drop off."
Mandy reaches for an enormous sports bag and digs around. She grows more frustrated as she looks for the paperwork, and ends up tossing a pair of pointe shoes to the ground in her search.
"Aha!" she says with a slightly manic smile as she pulls out a blue folder. Mandy stuffs the pointe shoes back in her bag, and we go to the front desk.
"Again?" the woman on duty says. "Amanda, do you realize—"
"I've spent exactly six hours, fifteen minutes, and eight seconds here, mostly in ten minute intervals," Mandy interrupts coldly. "Yes, Denise, I know what you think of what I choose to do with my spare time, which I get very little of, by the way. Just take the paperwork. I have no patience for your griping today."
Mandy has now become the embodiment of everything I've ever wanted to say to rude people. I like her.
Denise sighs and rips the paperwork from Mandy's hand. She glances up, and her eyes narrow as she looks at us.
Mandy guides us to the elevators, where a tiny boy with a toy soldier in his hand and strapped to about five different IVs is guided away. He salutes Mandy, who salutes right back.
When we reach the right floor, two girls who look about nine greet us.
"Miss Amanda," one of them says, "did you know Jenny's in here too?"
"Well, that's why she hasn't been coming to classes," Mandy says with a roll of her eyes. "Her parents never bothered to tell me. Listen, Beth, I've got to run. See you at class next week, all right?"
"Bye, Miss Amanda!" Beth waves goodbye, but her friend's eyes widen. "Sara, come on," Beth says.
"No," the girl refuses, a growing smile on her face. "Harley got Pentatonix here, didn't she?"
"Yes, she did," Mandy laughs.
"My sister's a fan," Sara says. "Thank God for that. For a while she kept playing the same five songs over and over again, and it was just crazy! I mean—"
"Really?" Mandy says as she guides Sara to Beth, who takes her friend's hand and slowly guides her away.
"Amara's just down the hall," Mandy says.
Sure enough, we hear quiet singing that sounds familiar.
Mandy stops. "No way. She hasn't sung in—"
The singing continues. Once w reach the room, we look through the window. A tall girl in a t-shirt with some sort of crest on it is sitting on the side of a hospital bed occupied by a tiny, redheaded girl who's got sheet music in her hands. The tall girl nods as the girl in the hospital bed sings just loudly enough to be heard.
Then, the tall girl sings. And we've found Harley Freedman.
Once again, the usual author's requests apply here. If you actually want an explanation as to why I went AWOL, here it is. My writing muse likes to take month long breaks, and then come back with no ideas. It's been a long school year on my end, but at least I'm back! Next chapter will be in Mandy's POV.
Bonus points to anyone who knows exactly what Mandy was singing!
Love you all,
carrie