Chapter Three
Life
Not far from where Kimberly Corman was escaping near death by hedge clippers, Altessa Adams was thinking about death. After having left her mother in the kitchen, surely still talking to herself, the teenager had retreated to her private second story bedroom, intent on finishing her homework assignment before the weekend was over.
There, sitting on her desk amidst her folders and papers, was the Metro section of this morning's paper, which definitely had not been there when she had last left her room. Curious, Altessa picked the paper up, wondering where it had come from and why it was on her desk; before tossing it into the wastebasket, a single bold headline caught her eye. "Highway 23 Accident Anniversary Approaches and Victims' Families Establish Memorial Fund."
The teenager was intrigued, having heard about the pileup on Highway 23, which happened a year ago tomorrow. "The Highway 23 pileup was the worst recorded pileup in New York history, killing fifteen people when a lumber fell onto the road nearly a year ago. Nearly mirroring the events that happened a year ago on the day, of air craft 180, a college student reportedly 'predicted' the accident. Kimberly Corman, now 21, blocked off an onramp and saved seven lives, including State Patrol Officer Thomas Burke. The story, however, took a tragic turn when six of the seven survivors -not including Corman- died in freak accidents, including lotto winner Evan Lewis.
"Families of the victims, including the Lewis family, are establishing a joint memorial fund, where the proceeds will go to improving highway safety." There, the report ending, saying a few sentences more on how Kimberly Corman's prediction mirrored the prediction of Alex Browning, two years before. Since, Alex Browning and his girlfriend, Clear Rivers, had been killed in freak accidents.
Altessa sighed, frowning and pursing her lips; she remembered hearing about the explosion of Flight 180, which happened on the same day she and her family had moved into their current house. Her mother had been horrified at and the news, and insisted that her daughter didn't attend Mt. Abraham High School, as though they had something to do with the crash.
She also remembered hearing about the pileup in Highway 23, but she didn't remember hearing about Kimberly Corman, or anything that happened afterwards. She was suffering from her own accident. "Weird." Altessa mumbled to herself, thinking it was even stranger that the paper had suddenly appeared but figuring that it was nothing out of the "Twilight Zone" for her father or brother had probably just put it there.
She scanned the page again, stopping when she saw a blurry black and white photo of Kimberly Corman and Officer Thomas Burke, as the young patrolman led the college student into the police station, flanked by the other survivors of the crash. Kimberly was staring forlornly off into space, though straight into the camera shooting the photograph; Altessa stared into her eyes, feeling as though Kimberly's pain and confusion mirrored her own.
A knock on her door startled her, causing her to drop the paper into the trashcan beside her foot. Rolling her eyes again for being so skittish, Altessa turned to face the closed oaken door, knowing by the knock that it was her older brother, Michael. "Yes?" She called out, also telling the eighteen-year-old that he was free to open the door.
Michael Adams, eighteen and more then ready to move out of the house, slowly opened the door and poked his head inside, smiling slightly at his younger sister. He too noticed her ashen cheeks and pale complexion but decided not to say anything, knowing his sister didn't like to be bothered with such concerns. Though he didn't know why...but it seemed whenever someone expressed concern for Altessa, she became even more withdrawn. "Hey, Morgan's here." He told her instead, motioning behind him.
At his words, Altessa smiled slightly, welcoming the arrival of her best friend, whom she had known since she had moved in. Sixteen-year-old Morgan Richards pushed past Michael, a smile on her face, blonde hair pulled back in a messy ponytail. "Hey Altessa, long time no see." She joked by way of a greeting, since the friends had seen each other only the day before.
Without a word, Michael slipped out of his sister's room, shutting the door behind him. Altessa glanced at her friend, giving her a quick once-over and noting how different their outfits, -as well as demeanors- were; Morgan was welcoming the spring weather with a midriff revealing shirt and hip hugging jeans. Altessa knew that she would never again where an outfit like her friend's, for it far too easily revealed the scars, things she would much rather keep hidden.
"So, Morgan, what's up?" She asked, pushing those thoughts aside as she looked at her blonde friend, who flopped down on the single day bed.
For a second, Morgan didn't answer, studying her nails and attempted to decide if they needed a fresh coat of paint. As Altessa watched her, she remembered a time when she was more concerned with the color of her nail polish then anything else; but, things changed and she had since realized how important it was to dwell on things far more important. "Do we have plans tonight, Al?" Morgan asked, using her friend's most hated nickname.
Altessa shrugged, knowing that she was not usually the one to make the plans but instead she said, "I don't know, maybe you could stay over tonight and we could rent a video or something." By the look Morgan gave her, she could tell that her words didn't sum up her friend's idea of fun.
Altessa wasn't the only one thinking of how things used to be different; two years ago, Altessa would have been more then willing to stay out all night, hitting the teen clubs in the area with her best friend and jock boyfriend. But, Morgan realized that things were suddenly so different now, and she didn't have to wonder why. "Look, Altessa, why do you want to stay in? I mean, you've got a fun loving best friend and a great boyfriend; you've got your whole life ahead of you. Why don't you act like it?" Morgan advised, raising an eyebrow.
Her friend sighed, knowing that what she said was true, but at times, it didn't feel that way.
* * *
Despite the fact that she had found no trace of a gas leak seeping into the apartment complex, Kimberly found that she didn't feel any better. She figured it was because of the brush with the hedge clippers -which she hoped didn't put her back on Death's list but managed to assure herself that it didn't; she had decided not to tell Thomas about the incident, not wanting to worry him. She did, however, tell him about the rats.
"I absolutely hate rats, Thomas." Kimberly assured him adamantly, forgetting for a moment about a supernatural horror, concentrating on a rodent one. "They were so large, furry, with teeth..." She demonstrated the rodent's teeth by pushing her lips back and curling her fingers into tiny paws. Truthfully, she was happy that the utility room had rats, for the rodent very well may have saved her life.
Thomas laughed at her impersonation of the horrid creatures in the dark, shaking his head; he was pleased to see her joking, knowing that this was surely the way she must have acted before the pileup a year ago. "Right, first cults and now rats; what a fine place we live in." He remarked, pulling her into a hug and ruffling her brunette hair, a gesture he knew she secretly loved but pretended to hate.
Kimberly wrestled away from, a smile on her face, tossing her hair, pretending her best to be angry. "I want to move." She informed him, words she said nearly everyday, saying them as though the thought had just occurred to her.
Thomas pursed his lips, letting out a sigh; he didn't speak but Kimberly knew what he was thinking: a low-rung police officer and a college student couldn't afford any better then an apartment complex that housed more rats then people. When she had decided to move in with him three months ago, they had decided to move out of Thomas' apartment, though now Kimberly wasn't sure why. The tiny one bedroom apartment could barely hold them, let alone all the junk they had amassed over the years, including the blue kayak that Thomas refused to part with, which he had strung to the ceiling once again.
Kimberly found herself gazing longingly at two-story house that had "for sale" signs in their front lawns, hoping one day to move out of the crappy apartment and getting a real house; she often took the free broachers to look at, or peered into the windows of already empty houses. She sighed, leaning against the back of the over-stuffed couch, knowing that her uneasy feeling had nothing to do with the horrible apartment.
It was the feeling that she had become so familiar with, the feeling she had felt while leaving for Daytona a year ago...the feeling that Death was still coming for her and Thomas. That it wasn't over.
* * *
Altessa listened to her friend tell her about the college boy she had seen in the gas station on her way over, but her mind was far from Morgan's story. She was still thinking about the mysterious newspaper on her desk, and the pileup on Highway 23, the crash of Flight 180. When she believed Morgan's story to be over, Altessa turned to face her, tossing her black hair behind her shoulders. "Morgan, do you know anything about the pileup on Highway 23 that happened a year ago?" She questioned, jade eyes resting on her blonde friend.
Morgan blinked, surprised by the question but then nodded slowly. "Yeah, why?" She asked, raising an eyebrow. Her friend had often been scatterbrained but her questions usually led to somewhere, even if that somewhere couldn't be seen right away.
"Well, I was just curious how much you knew, because you know the anniversary is tomorrow and I remember hearing about Flight 180, which happened two years ago but...how much do you know?" Altessa rambled, searching for the newspaper but being unable to find it. Something told her to learn more about this Kimberly Corman and anything related to her; something about the whole ordeal stood out at her, perhaps it was the weirdness of the events or the coincidence of Kimberly Corman having a dream about the same pileup. Lately, her life had been filled with coincidences and she wasn't sure she was ready to believe that they weren't something more.
Morgan sighed, leaning against the propped up pillows on her friend's bed. "Well, I know that this chick supposedly saw a huge traffic accident before it happened and she saved some people but then those people died. She said it was like what had happened to that kid from Mount Abraham, you know, the Flight 180 guy." She told her friend, not sure she believed the whole thing, though it was strange. "It was kinda like that, all the people he saved on the plane died and all the people she saved died too."
Altessa nodded, knowing most of what Morgan had said; she saw her friend wince slightly, and knew that the blonde was touchy about saying the word 'death' around the raven-haired teenager. Altessa understood her hesitation, not liking the word anymore then she did, for she had come too close to death to be comfortable with it.
The blonde stared at her friend, who remained silent. When she finally could take it no more, Morgan prompted, "I know exactly what you're thinking: that's strange."
Altessa shook her head slightly, knowing strange very well. "Well, that's life."
Life
Not far from where Kimberly Corman was escaping near death by hedge clippers, Altessa Adams was thinking about death. After having left her mother in the kitchen, surely still talking to herself, the teenager had retreated to her private second story bedroom, intent on finishing her homework assignment before the weekend was over.
There, sitting on her desk amidst her folders and papers, was the Metro section of this morning's paper, which definitely had not been there when she had last left her room. Curious, Altessa picked the paper up, wondering where it had come from and why it was on her desk; before tossing it into the wastebasket, a single bold headline caught her eye. "Highway 23 Accident Anniversary Approaches and Victims' Families Establish Memorial Fund."
The teenager was intrigued, having heard about the pileup on Highway 23, which happened a year ago tomorrow. "The Highway 23 pileup was the worst recorded pileup in New York history, killing fifteen people when a lumber fell onto the road nearly a year ago. Nearly mirroring the events that happened a year ago on the day, of air craft 180, a college student reportedly 'predicted' the accident. Kimberly Corman, now 21, blocked off an onramp and saved seven lives, including State Patrol Officer Thomas Burke. The story, however, took a tragic turn when six of the seven survivors -not including Corman- died in freak accidents, including lotto winner Evan Lewis.
"Families of the victims, including the Lewis family, are establishing a joint memorial fund, where the proceeds will go to improving highway safety." There, the report ending, saying a few sentences more on how Kimberly Corman's prediction mirrored the prediction of Alex Browning, two years before. Since, Alex Browning and his girlfriend, Clear Rivers, had been killed in freak accidents.
Altessa sighed, frowning and pursing her lips; she remembered hearing about the explosion of Flight 180, which happened on the same day she and her family had moved into their current house. Her mother had been horrified at and the news, and insisted that her daughter didn't attend Mt. Abraham High School, as though they had something to do with the crash.
She also remembered hearing about the pileup in Highway 23, but she didn't remember hearing about Kimberly Corman, or anything that happened afterwards. She was suffering from her own accident. "Weird." Altessa mumbled to herself, thinking it was even stranger that the paper had suddenly appeared but figuring that it was nothing out of the "Twilight Zone" for her father or brother had probably just put it there.
She scanned the page again, stopping when she saw a blurry black and white photo of Kimberly Corman and Officer Thomas Burke, as the young patrolman led the college student into the police station, flanked by the other survivors of the crash. Kimberly was staring forlornly off into space, though straight into the camera shooting the photograph; Altessa stared into her eyes, feeling as though Kimberly's pain and confusion mirrored her own.
A knock on her door startled her, causing her to drop the paper into the trashcan beside her foot. Rolling her eyes again for being so skittish, Altessa turned to face the closed oaken door, knowing by the knock that it was her older brother, Michael. "Yes?" She called out, also telling the eighteen-year-old that he was free to open the door.
Michael Adams, eighteen and more then ready to move out of the house, slowly opened the door and poked his head inside, smiling slightly at his younger sister. He too noticed her ashen cheeks and pale complexion but decided not to say anything, knowing his sister didn't like to be bothered with such concerns. Though he didn't know why...but it seemed whenever someone expressed concern for Altessa, she became even more withdrawn. "Hey, Morgan's here." He told her instead, motioning behind him.
At his words, Altessa smiled slightly, welcoming the arrival of her best friend, whom she had known since she had moved in. Sixteen-year-old Morgan Richards pushed past Michael, a smile on her face, blonde hair pulled back in a messy ponytail. "Hey Altessa, long time no see." She joked by way of a greeting, since the friends had seen each other only the day before.
Without a word, Michael slipped out of his sister's room, shutting the door behind him. Altessa glanced at her friend, giving her a quick once-over and noting how different their outfits, -as well as demeanors- were; Morgan was welcoming the spring weather with a midriff revealing shirt and hip hugging jeans. Altessa knew that she would never again where an outfit like her friend's, for it far too easily revealed the scars, things she would much rather keep hidden.
"So, Morgan, what's up?" She asked, pushing those thoughts aside as she looked at her blonde friend, who flopped down on the single day bed.
For a second, Morgan didn't answer, studying her nails and attempted to decide if they needed a fresh coat of paint. As Altessa watched her, she remembered a time when she was more concerned with the color of her nail polish then anything else; but, things changed and she had since realized how important it was to dwell on things far more important. "Do we have plans tonight, Al?" Morgan asked, using her friend's most hated nickname.
Altessa shrugged, knowing that she was not usually the one to make the plans but instead she said, "I don't know, maybe you could stay over tonight and we could rent a video or something." By the look Morgan gave her, she could tell that her words didn't sum up her friend's idea of fun.
Altessa wasn't the only one thinking of how things used to be different; two years ago, Altessa would have been more then willing to stay out all night, hitting the teen clubs in the area with her best friend and jock boyfriend. But, Morgan realized that things were suddenly so different now, and she didn't have to wonder why. "Look, Altessa, why do you want to stay in? I mean, you've got a fun loving best friend and a great boyfriend; you've got your whole life ahead of you. Why don't you act like it?" Morgan advised, raising an eyebrow.
Her friend sighed, knowing that what she said was true, but at times, it didn't feel that way.
* * *
Despite the fact that she had found no trace of a gas leak seeping into the apartment complex, Kimberly found that she didn't feel any better. She figured it was because of the brush with the hedge clippers -which she hoped didn't put her back on Death's list but managed to assure herself that it didn't; she had decided not to tell Thomas about the incident, not wanting to worry him. She did, however, tell him about the rats.
"I absolutely hate rats, Thomas." Kimberly assured him adamantly, forgetting for a moment about a supernatural horror, concentrating on a rodent one. "They were so large, furry, with teeth..." She demonstrated the rodent's teeth by pushing her lips back and curling her fingers into tiny paws. Truthfully, she was happy that the utility room had rats, for the rodent very well may have saved her life.
Thomas laughed at her impersonation of the horrid creatures in the dark, shaking his head; he was pleased to see her joking, knowing that this was surely the way she must have acted before the pileup a year ago. "Right, first cults and now rats; what a fine place we live in." He remarked, pulling her into a hug and ruffling her brunette hair, a gesture he knew she secretly loved but pretended to hate.
Kimberly wrestled away from, a smile on her face, tossing her hair, pretending her best to be angry. "I want to move." She informed him, words she said nearly everyday, saying them as though the thought had just occurred to her.
Thomas pursed his lips, letting out a sigh; he didn't speak but Kimberly knew what he was thinking: a low-rung police officer and a college student couldn't afford any better then an apartment complex that housed more rats then people. When she had decided to move in with him three months ago, they had decided to move out of Thomas' apartment, though now Kimberly wasn't sure why. The tiny one bedroom apartment could barely hold them, let alone all the junk they had amassed over the years, including the blue kayak that Thomas refused to part with, which he had strung to the ceiling once again.
Kimberly found herself gazing longingly at two-story house that had "for sale" signs in their front lawns, hoping one day to move out of the crappy apartment and getting a real house; she often took the free broachers to look at, or peered into the windows of already empty houses. She sighed, leaning against the back of the over-stuffed couch, knowing that her uneasy feeling had nothing to do with the horrible apartment.
It was the feeling that she had become so familiar with, the feeling she had felt while leaving for Daytona a year ago...the feeling that Death was still coming for her and Thomas. That it wasn't over.
* * *
Altessa listened to her friend tell her about the college boy she had seen in the gas station on her way over, but her mind was far from Morgan's story. She was still thinking about the mysterious newspaper on her desk, and the pileup on Highway 23, the crash of Flight 180. When she believed Morgan's story to be over, Altessa turned to face her, tossing her black hair behind her shoulders. "Morgan, do you know anything about the pileup on Highway 23 that happened a year ago?" She questioned, jade eyes resting on her blonde friend.
Morgan blinked, surprised by the question but then nodded slowly. "Yeah, why?" She asked, raising an eyebrow. Her friend had often been scatterbrained but her questions usually led to somewhere, even if that somewhere couldn't be seen right away.
"Well, I was just curious how much you knew, because you know the anniversary is tomorrow and I remember hearing about Flight 180, which happened two years ago but...how much do you know?" Altessa rambled, searching for the newspaper but being unable to find it. Something told her to learn more about this Kimberly Corman and anything related to her; something about the whole ordeal stood out at her, perhaps it was the weirdness of the events or the coincidence of Kimberly Corman having a dream about the same pileup. Lately, her life had been filled with coincidences and she wasn't sure she was ready to believe that they weren't something more.
Morgan sighed, leaning against the propped up pillows on her friend's bed. "Well, I know that this chick supposedly saw a huge traffic accident before it happened and she saved some people but then those people died. She said it was like what had happened to that kid from Mount Abraham, you know, the Flight 180 guy." She told her friend, not sure she believed the whole thing, though it was strange. "It was kinda like that, all the people he saved on the plane died and all the people she saved died too."
Altessa nodded, knowing most of what Morgan had said; she saw her friend wince slightly, and knew that the blonde was touchy about saying the word 'death' around the raven-haired teenager. Altessa understood her hesitation, not liking the word anymore then she did, for she had come too close to death to be comfortable with it.
The blonde stared at her friend, who remained silent. When she finally could take it no more, Morgan prompted, "I know exactly what you're thinking: that's strange."
Altessa shook her head slightly, knowing strange very well. "Well, that's life."