AN: Back again! Just a note of warning: Alicia's reasoning is quite flawed in this chapter. It probably will be for some time to come. I did this on purpose- anyone who's dealt with eating disorders in the past will tell you that it does strange things to your logic. And how suddenly, starvation seems to be the answer to all of your problems…
Also, if anyone is reading this, review and let me know what you think! Concrit is a wonderful thing. Even just dropping a note to tell me that your fourteen year old drunken Chihuahua could write a better story, let me know. I have cookies, chocolate, and spare kidneys for anyone who does! ;p
In life as in dance: Grace glides on blistered feet. –Alice Abrams
Present Time…
The field was dark, foreboding in an unnatural way. It was barren, save for the tall, dry grass that blew across it in the wind. Clouds had started to gather, casting the entire area in an eerie yellow-grey light.
I wondered what I was doing in the middle of nowhere, when it hit me that this was one of those not quite dreams. Someone was trying to contact me, and I had to figure out why.
To my left there was a pile of wooden construction boards that had been weathered into a sorry splintered state. From where I was standing, I could see a small pair of legs sticking out from under the pile.
Dear God, not another one of these…
I fought the urge to wake myself up and forget that these sort of horrible crimes happened all too often. How many times had I done just that so I could continue to live out the illusion of a peaches and cream reality? The guilt weighed on me.
Eventually I knew I'd have to do the right thing, even if I didn't really want to.
Coming around the far side of the pile, I saw the form of a young boy solidify in front of me. He was about four years old, blonde and sunburned. The black pants and long sleeved red shirt he was wearing had seen better days. His back was to me, and he should have been staring at his own body.
He would have been, if there had been a head on his shoulders.
If I moved the planks of wood, his body would have been in the same condition. There was no suppressing the shudder that passed through me at that realization.
The poor little boy was lost, lingering on because his family had no idea what had become of him when he went missing three weeks ago. But what could I do? There was the possibility that this child wasn't even aware that he had passed.
"I know I'm dead." He spoke, head solidifying as he did so. Turning around to face the me, his eyes were expressionless.
"Then go to the light." It was a knee-jerk reaction for me. I had no idea if it actually did anything, if there was light for these spirits to go into, but I did know there was no reason for them to stay here.
Just because I can see the spirits, and they can find me, didn't mean I knew what to do about it.
"Tell them where I am." The boy's voice was strangely monotone.
"Where are we?" It was obviously a field, but there were hundreds of those in the city. Thousands even. It didn't do much to narrow down an actual location.
"Here." He said, disappearing as abruptly as he had appeared.
I woke up with a start, heart thudding dully in my chest as I looked around my semi darkened bedroom. It had been two weeks since I had returned home from college for the summer, having completed my second year at university.
I still halfway expected to wake up in the tiny closet they called a dorm room, but was briefly surprised to wake up in my familiar childhood bedroom.
That kid's voice was still rattling around in my mind. If I recalled correctly, he'd been in the news lately. Really… couldn't he have chosen to reveal himself to someone who knew what they were doing?
Spirits trying to contact me was nothing new, but it didn't happen all that often. Most of the time I didn't pay any attention to them. Why should I? I was living, and they were dead. And the way they did it I could live without. The amount of detail in these dreams was disturbing. If I tried to recount them later, I'd be able to recall details I hadn't even remembered seeing the first time around.
Funny how that worked, I did the same thing when I was awake too. Telepathic and empathic abilities wove themselves so seamlessly into my everyday functioning, I had a hard time telling what was general knowledge, and what was knowledge I'd gained from my abilities.
But right now I had more important things on my mind.
Showering.
Getting dressed.
Avoiding breakfast.
So sue me, I'm not exactly the good summation of the year. Let's say I did call the police and tell them what I'd seen. How was I supposed to explain where I got the information from?
I'd basically been taught to ignore my abilities from as far back as I can remember, and that all things mutant were to be politely shunned. I didn't exactly agree with the sentiments, but I could see where they were coming from. Running around proclaiming one's mutant status was the quickest way to get yourself shot around here, so I kept to myself for the most part.
Even if that meant avoiding situations where I could have helped people. It was something I'd always felt guilty about, and had thought about changing if the situation ever came about again. Well lucky me, it looked like it had. All I had to do was make a decision…
Eh, later. I'll decide later.
Padding down the hallway, I came out to the kitchen, where my mother was on the phone.
"Oh you should see her now!" My mom said to my grandmother. "She's so tall, so skinny- looks like one of us finally beat the family genetics." She smiled at me.
I tersely returned the smile, pouring myself a cup of coffee. Sitting down at the table, I reached for the morning paper. My mother scrunched her nose at me, she never did understand how I could stomach black coffee.
"Oh yes, it seems that college has really changed her. No, I don't know if they've given her any problems with that, but she's always dealt with it pretty well. She's had to since she was six after all… Yes, I know the people up there don't tend to be very open minded, but she copes. But really mom, you should see her now! No more baby chub, just skinny and beautiful for once!"
Right mom. Good to know you have your priorities straight.
"For diner? We're going to Golden Corral. Right, they opened a new one right down the street- the buffet is so much better than before, oh you should see their dessert spread."
'There's no way I'm going to diner THERE. Too much food.' I said to my mother telepathically. Why my family seemed to be so obsessed with food was beyond me.
She glared at me.
'You know I don't like it when you do that.' She chastised me.
'I told you I don't like eating at buffets. No one needs that much food.' I sipped slowly at my coffee.
'Not THAT. If you want to discuss our diner plans, you can wait until I'm off the phone. Communicating like this is unnatural.' "Oh what was that? Sorry mom, I dazed off there for a second. Of course I'm listening to you" My mother glared at me again.
'I'm not going tonight, I have plans.' I walked out of the kitchen, cup still half full, and sent her a headache.
There'd probably be hell to pay for that little exchange later, but I didn't feel like dealing with it. Once upon a time she considered me her little miracle child. At nineteen, we could hardly speak without having an argument. My, how times do change.
"Just where do you think you're going?" My mother asks me as I'm about to head out the door.
"To dance. I wanted to get a few more classes in before my auditions." Because the fact that I have my hair in a bun, a pair of jeans over a leotard, and a massive dance bag over my shoulder didn't make it obvious enough.
"Have you managed to find yourself a job yet?" She's standing two feet away, with her hands on her hips.
"No, but what do you think these auditions are?" You know, the thing I've been training for since I was seven years old, the thing I'm going to college for…
"I mean a real job."
"Like a desk job." Like the type she had perhaps?
"Or retail, or bagging groceries, just something so you can carry your weight around here." She's been after me about this since the moment I came home.
"If these auditions work out, I'll be more than able to do that." As soon as I did that I'd also be moving out of this place, not that I'd mentioned that yet.
"And if they don't, then what? You need a real job." Her faith in me touches my heart.
"I've been trying to find job, but for some odd reason whenever I come around, no place is hiring." Leaving now would be a good idea…
"That's bullshit. Everyone else you know has a job, there are 'Now Hiring' signs right and left. I refuse to keep someone like YOU around for any longer than is absolutely necessary. I left my parents when I was seventeen, you should be lucky that I gave you another couple years." She's not yelling, but speaking in that hushed voice that's a thousand times worse.
"I told you I've been trying. But these people take one look at me, and it's 'No, all positions are filled' or maybe 'We're accepting applications, but all summer positions are taken.' But that's only if they're being nice. This section of town hates anyone that's not just like them, so I'm out before I even walk in the door." I said, exasperated.
"You can fix the problems with how you look. You've already started. But I've had enough of your excuses. Fix yourself, THEN go looking for jobs. I swear, I though you were smart." And she has officially entered 'holier than thou' mode.
"Stop light red hair and orange eyes can look a bit intimidating on an otherwise pretty face mother. As for 'fixing' my problems, you know that dye doesn't work, and that contacts bother my eyes. I may have begun to 'fix' myself by loosing weight, but really mom, what I've done isn't worth it." Goddamn, I hate it when she does this.
" What, have you gone anorexic again?" She asked, half scared, half smirking.
"No, of course not." It's an automatic response to that question- I've been getting it a lot lately.
My mother snorted.
"I've just grown a few inches, that's all." Well it was the truth- I'd gone from being 5'2 to being 5'8 within the last year… and had my eyes change a bit. Ok, more than a bit. But really, who's keeping track?
"And become a freak. You can pull off your look well. But none of it is natural. You have to hide them if you want a normal life in this world." Says the all American looking woman.
"That's easy enough for you to say, you look normal. But coming from a fellow mutant, coming from my mother- one might think you'd be a bit more understanding." We've had this argument before. Many, MANY times. Mental shields up on my side.
"How dare you call me a… a… one of those!" Mental shields up on her side.
How predictable.
"How dare I? You ARE one mother. Say it with me: mu-tant, it's not that hard, really. And while you may be able to deny what you are, I can't. I am trying to make my way as dammed well as I can, but in this reality, it's not an easy thing to do. Never has been, and for all of the advantages I've been given, all of the advantages I have, I have a few disadvantages that make all the difference in the world. Those few 'problems' that outweigh everything that's good in me to those who would never give me a chance because of them." I paused, opening the front door to step outside, trying to calm myself and collect my thoughts. "I don't know how to convince you, but I will turn out okay."
God, I've wanted to say that for SO long.
I ran to my car, unlocked the door, and started the engine as quickly as I dared. Turning on the engine, I raced away without looking back.
For once I had been brave enough to express my opinion, but it didn't mean part of me wasn't afraid of her. Untrained telepathic abilities can be very dangerous, especially when there's power behind it. Long story short, it has a tendency to make one mentally unstable. Especially when you've been dealing with it for forty years. When my mother lost her temper, it was literally painful for me. She had no idea- not that she'd be able to control it even if she did.
I never knew what to do about it, so I did the only thing possible. I left until it was safe to return. If there was ever really such a time.
Pulling into the parking lot of the Miami City Ballet, I looked at the post it note I had stuck to by bag before I left the house. I had jotted the number for the police tip line down on it, and promised myself I would call if I got to ballet early.
Well, I had half an hour until the class was scheduled to start, and that left me plenty of time to call.
The yellow paper was taunting me. It was now or never.
Digging my cell phone out of my purse, I dialed the number before I had a chance to change my mind.
"City of Miami Police Department, how may I help you?" A tired female voice asked, sounding slightly distracted.
"I'd like to call in a tip on the kidnapping case of Shawn Lopez." My heart was racing, and I hoped my voice wasn't shaking too much.
"One moment please." That had definitely caught her attention.
I could hear voices on the other end, but I couldn't make out what they were saying.
"Please miss, what information do you have? Please give us as much detail as you can." I had been transferred to someone else, and I had the inkling the call was being recorded.
"I don't know how to say this…" My hands had started trembling.
"It's ok, just tell me what you can." His voice was authoritative, attempting to sound soothing,
"Shawn is dead. He's buried in a field in west Kendall, no I don't know exactly which one it is, it's just a big empty field with overgrown grass. There's a pile of construction boards, and he's under that. I think… I think his head may be cut off. I'm sorry, I am so sorry, I… I…" I had gone from rambling to nearly crying.
"Can you tell us what the child looked like?" His tone had become sharper.
"He was maybe four or five, with dark blonde hair. He was wearing a long sleeve red shirt and black pants that were kind of dirty."
There was an awkward silence, something was going on, and it was not a good thing. "How did you come by this information?"
"I'm sorry, I can't say." I should have known better, oh God I was such an idiot.
"If you tell us who you are, there's a possibility of a reward." He was fishing for information, he wanted to know who I was. He couldn't possibly think…
"I can't take money for letting the boy's parents know he's dead. I'm sorry." I hung up and dropped let the phone fall to the bottom of my bag.
That had been more unnerving than I thought it had been, but at least I had done it. For whatever it was worth, whatever it would do, it did not make me feel any better. But if it could bring closure to that poor boy's parents, than I suppose it was worth it.
Trying to push all of this behind me, I got out of the car and headed towards the building.
Open classes at the Miami City Ballet were an entity all their own. I used them to supplement classes when I was away from school, and had been doing so for years. The people knew me here, and I counted myself lucky to be able to take classes in such a world class facility from such excellent teachers.
The building itself was massive. From the sprawling lobby and boutique, to the upper levels of offices and seldom used studios, to the eight looming studios that lay beyond the lobby. The latter of those was my destination.
Jogging up the steps, I pranced through the glass doors and headed to the security desk.
"My god, it's a mirage!" Frank, the portly security guard grinned at me. "We thought you'd died."
If I missed so much as one class, that was the response I got from him. I'd been gone for several months.
"I was at school, I told you!" I laughed, signing my name on the roll sheet.
"How ya been kid? Have they been feeding you?" I raised an eyebrow, looking me over.
"I dropped a few pounds to help my dancing." Working at a ballet company, he had to understand the mentality.
"Did it work?" He looked in my eyes for the first time, and seemed slightly startled.
"Yeah, I guess you could say that." Looking away, suddenly turning my eyes downcast.
"Your eyes always been like that?" He knew I was a mutant, but it never seemed to bother him or anyone else here. They knew me for me, and I was always appreciative of that.
"No, but honestly Frankie, does it matter?"
"Guess it doesn't. Have a good class." He grunted to himself, and leaned back in his chair.
I knew no one here would judge me by my appearance, but it didn't mean they wouldn't at my upcoming auditions. Balletic body type aside, I prayed they'd take into consideration that my unusual coloring wouldn't be all that noticeable from the stage.
To make up for my freakishly red hair, I decided earlier this year that I needed to be as thin as possible. Somewhere along the line my body had gotten its signals crossed, and my eyes had gone from brown to bright orange. Believe me, I was not amused.
But then I came to one brilliant conclusion: If starvation had brought about one physical change in me, it might bring about another.
If I kept at it long enough, I might very well be able to starve these physical mutations away completely.
Sure, my telepathy and empathy were currently a lot weaker than they'd been in the past, but they were still there. Even if they were acting strangely.
I could have taken the cure, but that would have gotten rid of those too. When it came down to it, I wanted to keep those advantages. But the physical mutations? They had to go.
The human body is strange like that- become physically deprived enough, and the body will turn on itself.
I had to be careful, oh so careful. But I was in control. I would do this for myself, for my future. I would unmutate myself.
Gliding through the huge double doors that separated the lobby from the studios, I brushed past the dressing rooms and down the dimly lit hallway to studio four.
The world of barres, marley floors, rosin boxes and mirrors brought a genuine smile to my face. I was home.
People stretching, talking, faces new and old looked up as I came in, and welcomed me. I wasn't a mutant here, I was a fellow dancer.
I had been stupid to be paranoid about the consequences of one insignificant call to the police. I had done the right thing, I had nothing to be afraid of.
After all, what was the worst that could happen?