Chapter Twenty-Two
I Buy My Onion Rings In The Library
(Harlow)
"Just watch him, okay? He needs you, Har. Go."
"But Brody, I can't - he wants you, you can help him!"
"Just go Harlow, the police will be here any minute for you guys. Go, help him."
"But Bee - "
"Go Harlow! The police are coming for you and Kingston, go!"
"Okay - where are you going?"
"I just .. I've gotta go. Help Kingston, okay?"
"Okay. Okay, Brody."
"Harlow?"
I blinked, the darkness overwhelming - my eyes were fuzzy and hazed, blind to the world around me. I blinked, blinked again. Blinked once more -
there was a face barely two inches from my own.
Wait ... what?
"EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP, WHAT IN THE HOLY HELL?"
I flailed, wrapping my already cocooned body even more into the twisted, knotted sheets around me. My heart was beating so fast, I swear to God it was trying to escape out of my chest. I looked around wildly, focusing on a spot at the end of my bed. I'm sure I looked hellish, but that was nothing compared to the beating I was about to inflict on that God damn -
"Chick! Jesus! What - what the fuck!"
"Did I wake you?"
"You - asshole - once I get - gah - out of these - ughhh - sheets, I'm going to - shit - kill you!"
"What a waste of time," she sighed, but her eyes were round and glassy with worry.
I saw the fearful expression on her face and stopped my struggling, peeling slowly away at the layers and layers of blankets wrapped around my legs and torso. How did shit like this even happen? You fall asleep lying under a blanket, you wake up folded like origami into every sheet, blanket and pillowcase you've ever owned in your entire life. Dammit. I had bedspread wedged in my underwear. I either flail like a mad woman in my sleep, or Chick secretly binds me with blankets. I didn't know, didn't care either (although I sincerely hoped the latter wasn't the case).
"What the hell were you doing?" I hissed, peeling the last corner of sheet out from under my back. "You scared the piss out of me!"
"Sorry," she muttered, rather unapologetically might I add.
"What's going on?" I asked, running a hand through my hair - it felt like a rat's nest.
"Nothing," she sighed, curling up at the end of my bed. "Nothing."
I glanced over at the clock - 8:30 AM. Well, could've been worse I suppose. Normally I'm not up until about noon, but I guess it'd be one of those 'early bird' kinda days. Stupid ghosts. At least it was a school day.
"Nothing," I repeated, shooting her a rather skeptical look. "Nothing at all? You always just crawl onto my bed and put your face two inches from my own? That's normal?"
"You see dead people, don't tell me what is or isn't normal," she huffed, but there was still a strange look of fear in her bright yet slightly deadened eyes.
My beating heart was calming a bit, and I took a moment or two to look around the room. I'd been home from Minnesota for two days now, and as much as I loved my cozy little apartment, I missed the musty hotel bed I'd spent two restful evenings in. At least there I wasn't woken up at strange hours by dead little blonde girls. Oh, and not to mention the fact that I had a pretty decent lookin' bedmate back in the ol' hotel room, too.
Hot damn.
From my left, there was sun shining through my window, a faint chirping of birds in the distance. It was a perfect May morning, not a cloud in the sky, not even a little nip in the breeze. By all means, it should've been a perfectly average, uneventful day. But I had a funny feeling it wasn't going to end up like that.
"Seriously Chick," I said, attempting to get rid of the irritation simply oozing from my voice - she didn't deserve it, not completely anyways. "What's up? You've been acting weird for a couple of weeks now. Is everything alright?"
She looked at me rather contemplatively, before sinking down even further than I thought humanly possible into my mattress. Her large blank eyes were sad, more dead looking then I'd ever seen them. She folded her thin arms over top of one another, crossed her lanky legs beneath her.
"Something bad is going to happen, Harlow," she said hoarsely.
"Ah, Chick, c'mon - "
"No, please - listen," she said softly, in a voice so vulnerable it made me stop my arguing immediately. "There's ... there's something going on. I don't know if it's in my world, or if it's in your world, or ... or what, alright? But there's something happening."
"Like what?" I asked patiently, folding my own legs beneath me.
She shook her head, closing her eyes in avid concentration. "I .. I don't know. Something really bad. I feel like something really bad is going to happen."
"You mean to you? Or to me?" I asked, and a terrible thought passed through my mind. "Or you mean .. in the world? You can't predict things like 9/11, can you?"
She shook her head. "No, I can't. I don't know any other person like me who can, either. It's you, Harlow. There's this thing, this .. presence, I guess. It's following you around. You're losing your light."
I frowned, trying to hide the shudder that had just run through my body.
I didn't feel any different. I felt the same as I always had. Perhaps happier then I ever had, truth be told. I was in a relationship, one I was ridiculously comfortable and happy in. With the exception of Sophie, I had never been closer to any of my friends. Financially, I was doing pretty well and all of my marks and courses were fantastic. If there was ever a time in my life when I thought everything was going alright, now would've been it.
I pondered the fact that maybe - maybe - Chick was just being paranoid. I mean, how long on this Earth after you've died do things start to get boring? Maybe she was making the whole thing up? Well no, that was a bit harsh. Maybe she was just imagining it? Or maybe there was something wrong with her, not me? That was always a possibility, wasn't it? It made more sense then something going on with myself. I'd have felt it if there was some weird, dark thing following me around, right? Let's face it, I'm already sorta sensitive to that kind of thing.
I leaned back against my headboard, looking thoughtfully at the clearly distraught Chick.
"Chicky," I said quietly. "Maybe it's just ... a passing presence, or something. I don't know. I feel great, Chick. Life is actually working out right now. Everything's going well. If you'd come up to me at any other time, any point in the last 4 years and said what you're saying now to me - I'd be freaking out a lot more. But right now? I'm the happiest I've been in ... well, ever, really."
"Maybe this thing like ... feeds on happiness?" she said hopelessly, running a hand through her fine hair.
"I've never heard of a thing that feeds on happiness," I said reasonably. "If I was going to be attacked or something by a bad spirit, they'd have kicked my ass when I was already feelin' down and out, you know what I mean? It's not in the nature of a ghost - or of anyone, really - to try and attack the strongest person in a room. You go for the weak ones.
"I don't know," she said, crumpling sadly into an even smaller ball at the foot of my bed. "I just ... I feel it, Harlow. I can't ignore a feeling, especially one that's so strong."
I nodded, feeling an inexplicable urge to comfort her, but knowing fully well I couldn't come any closer to her without her freaking out.
"It's okay, Chick," I said quietly, with a small smile. "It'll be alright. I'm always here for you, alright? And hey, if something happens, if my entire world falls to shit - I still have you, right?"
"Always," she whispered. "You always will."
I felt my heart crumple into a million pieces as one lone tear trailed down her face, off her chin, and fell onto my sheets.
And perhaps saddest of all, there was no stain where that teardrop fell.
Ghosts can't cry, not properly anyways. But I'll be damned if they can't feel what we do. Exactly what we do. A teardrop is still a teardrop, regardless of how big of a mark it leaves.
Misery knows no bounds.
(Ryan)
"Well you got rid of it, didn'tcha?"
I smiled, leaning back in my cushy chair. "Seems that way. Knock on wood, anyways, but the entire home felt better the day after dead time. Like all the darkness had been sucked out."
I heard Chip breathe a sigh of relief on the other end of the line. "Good. That's good. Whenever there's children involved .. well, you know."
"Course."
It'd been a little over a day since my team had gotten back from Minnesota. After dead time and a very very thorough house cleansing, there seemed to be no more angry spirits left in the Montague home. When Tia had come home from her slumber party at Auntie Marnie's, she had skipped right off to her room - no signs of fear. Even Marie had looked better - her color had improved and we'd greeted her the next day to see her all dolled up, full makeup and fancy clothes. That was the woman I imagined she'd been before.
When asked, Tia assured us she no longer felt the scary, faceless man in her home. And she couldn't find her little friend, either. But she didn't seem to dwell on it - she'd invited us all into her little room for tea five minutes after she'd arrived home. It was cases like that, that seemingly ended so well that made me feel entirely better about the job I was doing. It solidified the fact that yeah, maybe I was helping people after all.
"I'm sorry I wasn't able to make it, just got home a couple of hours ago."
"It's really no problem, Chip. We called Michelle in, she was in the state over. Easier drive for her."
"Why didn't you call Harlow?"
I heard the nonchalance forced in his voice, and I couldn't help the burst of laughter escape from my throat. I'd forgotten to tell Chip about mine and Harlow's little deal ...
"She was there, actually," I explained. "But not as a psychic. As the psychologist."
Chip was silent for a moment, but when he spoke, it was in a voice that was quite similar to an adult trying to reason with a very little child.
"She was there as the psychologist, even though she's a psychic," he said slowly, clearly trying to attempt to wrap his brain around it. "But .. why?"
"We had Michelle, I - "
"Oh no no, don't get me wrong! Michelle's fantastic, dead on, one of the best in the business there's no doubt about it! I was just ... confused, I suppose is the word. Why call in a psychic when you've already got one right there?"
"Harlow needs to do some work for classes," I said. "She needs to either intern in a psychology business or building or in a school or mental institution or something - she needs to do real evaluations on real people. Our old psych, Jamie - you remember her? - she's out on maternity leave, so we had a space open for Lo. She decided to take it."
"And that was alright with her? Harlow, I mean. She didn't ... want to do a walk through or anything?"
I pondered the question a moment. "Mm .. no. She didn't. It was a case for the show, actually, there were cameras there and everything. Harlow didn't really want anything to do with it."
"Did she pick up on anything?" he asked.
"Yep," I said, with a faint smile. "I think she was having a hard time not. She's so sensitive to the paranormal, even when she's focusing on other tasks it's right there, you know?"
"Too well," Chip said solemnly. "She's just got to learn to turn it on and off. It takes practice, and time. She'll be able to eventually."
"I hope so," I said earnestly. "It really drains her, having to focus on that stuff all the time."
"Yeah, yeah I imagine it does," Chip said, but his voice was suddenly thoughtful. "Say, how is Harlow these days?"
I frowned. "Good, I think? She's doing well in school - top marks again. She's happy, from what I can tell."
"Good, that's good," Chip said distractedly. "She hasn't been complaining about .. headaches, or say .. like, weird dreams or anything, has she?"
"Mm, not that I've heard," I said, slightly puzzled. "Why, what's up?"
"Oh no, nothing," Chip said hastily, attempting a rather cheery tone. "Just wondering. We go way back, Lo and I. Just checking in every now and then."
"Oh come on, Coffey," I said, rolling my eyes. "You're a fantastic medium, but you're a terrible liar. What's up?"
"Nothing, nothing," he said, trying to brush it off. "I was just thinking of ... naw, it's nothing."
"What, Chip. You can tell me."
There was a faint pause on the phone, and for a moment I thought I'd lost him.
"Chip?"
"I'm here, sorry. Here."
"What's up, Chip?"
"I had a weird dream," he said thoughtfully. "Little over a week ago."
"About Harlow?"
"No, no ... I don't believe so," he said, but his voice was rather unsure. "Just .. made me think of her, that's all."
"What was the dream about?" I asked, trying without much success to not sound like I was prying.
"Well that's the thing," Chip said, in slight frustration. "I don't remember it. I remember waking up, it was .. well it was a bit of a nightmare, actually. And then I fell back asleep. But when I woke up again later on in the morning, I could barely remember it."
I frowned. Hadn't I had a similar episode a couple of weeks ago?
"I don't understand how that has to do with Harlow, though," I said curiously.
"Me neither," he said, and I heard honest confusion in his chipper voice. "All I remember is waking up, and wanting very desperately to talk with Lo."
"That's strange," I said, leaning back even further in my desk chair. "Did you end up calling her?"
"No, no I didn't," he said. "I just went on with my day, tried to forget it."
"Well it clearly worked," I said with a slight laugh. "You can't remember any of it."
He laughed as well. "No, apparently laundry helps take the mind off things. All I remember - and I don't know how this fits into the dream or what part it had in it - is the color green. Not just green, green. Like a ... celery green. Or an emerald green. A very bright, very vivid green."
I felt my heart skip three beats, my stomach churn painfully.
"Green?"
"Yeah, like .. a harlequin color. Foresty."
Eyes. The green eyes, just like in my nightmare.
Chip laughed. "That's all I can remember, though. Crazy, isn't it?"
Green.
Specifically, emerald green.
Bright, dazzling - filled with pain.
"Ryan?"
(Harlow)
When we rationalize, we are distorting the facts to make the event or our own impulses less threatening; that is, diluting the anxiety to a manageable level. We often come to believe our own distortions, or excuses, or even lies.
I scribbled the short piece down onto my already jampacked piece of looseleaf - that Sigmund Freud. Interesting guy. Complete nutcase, but fascinating all the same.
I was seated way in the back of the University library, beside a large and rather intimidating bookshelf that loomed high and mighty over my tiny little table. All around me, I was surrounded by inches thick books chronicling everything from Pseudo-Sexual Stages of Development to the Theory of Transference and Trauma. Not the best reads, but they were helping me get through my page long list of essays and other things to do. Couldn't complain.
The library was relatively dead today, a shocker for this time of the year. Exams were only days away, and in times like these, every table is usually packed full with under-Grads ripping their hair out and chugging small pails full of coffee. Today, there was barely anyone else in here but me.
Attempting without much success to focus on the jumble of words in front of me, I made a few corrections here and there, substituted a word on this page, added a whole other sentence on the other. I was about ready to give up and go find the closest burger joint, when there was a light thud from across the table, and a figure took a seat directly in front of me.
"You're gonna go cross eyed from all that reading, y'know."
I peered up, and couldn't help the grin that slid across my face.
"You're one to talk, Mister Paranormal Professor - you spend half your days reading through essay after essay."
Ryan smiled. "You'll still like me if I'm a googley-eyed monster, won't you?"
"I suppose I could find a place in my heart," I sighed.
He was looking a little tired today, truth be told. There was a distinctly ruffled look about him, and an undeniable gleam of worry in his dark eyes. He looked at me a little strangely today, his glance filled with more concern then usual. Maybe he noticed that I hadn't showered ... crap. Was a look of that much sincere worry really from me looking like a dirty greaseball? God, I hoped not.
He laughed, taking a book nimbly off my pile of eight thousand. "Structural and Topographical Models of Personality. I think I just fell asleep."
I rolled my eyes, snatching the book back from him - there was a light of amusement twinkling mischievously in his deep brown eyes.
"It's interesting, you know," I sniffed haughtily, giving him a slight little wink. "It's a boring title, but it all goes back to the groundwork about how our personalities are developed."
"Is that right?" Ryan asked, leaning on the table.
I nodded. "In fact, in twenty questions or less, I could lay out for you exactly why you're such a hardworking, albeit stubborn, bullheaded individual. It all lies in ten simple questions about your childhood."
He grinned, but feigned a look of deep hurt. "I'm not stubborn."
"You don't think so? Explain to me why not."
"Don't you psychoanalyze me, Vincent," he said, causing both of us to laugh quietly in the near dead silent library. "I get your point though. I personally couldn't even get through a chapter on this stuff without falling asleep, but ... to each their own."
I smiled. "Exactly. What brings you to the library?"
"I wanted onion rings," he said sarcastically.
"Hilarious. I'm laughing on the inside."
He grinned. "Actually, I came to find you. Pretty sad that I knew exactly where to look for you on a Tuesday afternoon, isn't it?"
"This is my life," I sighed. "Library, bed and kitchen. What were you looking for me, for?"
"To show you this," he said, yanking a folded piece of paper from his bag. "Thought it might interest you."
I took the paper from his hand and unfolded the yellowed sheet carefully. It was an old newspaper clipping, from back in the 80's:
FATHER OF THREE SURVIVES SUICIDE ATTEMPT, REST OF FAMILY MURDERED
Quiet Minneapolis Suburb Rocked By Botched Attempt On Life In An Apparent Murder-Suicide
BY DEMETRI GLEESON, MAY 9TH 1982
A small Minneapolis neighborhood was awoken early this morning by the sound of a shotgun blast, coming only yards away from their homes. Upon further inspection, the neighbors were shocked and horrified to see forty two year old John Seabrin lying in his front yard, bleeding profusely from the face. At first, many of the neighbors were under the assumption it was from a botched robbery attempt, but upon closer inspection, the handful of people realized it was, in fact, a failed suicide attempt.
"We heard a noise, my husband and I," Tara Stevens, a thirty six year old mother of two says. "I live right across the street from the Seabrins. My husband, Tyler, went out to see what the fuss was along with everyone else down the block, and - we, we saw him. Just lying there."
Although little details are known (the police are withholding information until the extended family can be contacted) about what exactly happened in the quaint house on 104 Harrow Street, there are reports from the neighbors that Mr. Seabrin hadn't been around the house in almost seven months.
"I heard they were splitting up," one neighbor, whose identity was asked to be withheld, said. "Things hadn't been going well between the two of them."
Minneapolis police have confirmed that four other bodies were removed from the house, and that they did indeed belong to Mrs. Janet Seabrin and her three children, Nancy(11), Peter(8) and John Junior (5). John Seabrin is currently in critical condition at the Lady of Saints Hospital.
I stared down at the sheet in my hands, feeling a very cold chill run through my entire body.
"Harrow street," I said softly. "Isn't that - "
"Marie and Teddy's," Ryan said, with a gentle nod. "Here, take this one."
He handed me another piece of paper, and I unfolded it:
MINNESOTA HUSBAND CHARGED WITH FIRST DEGREE MURDER DIES IN HOSPITAL
Details Still Unclear On The Exact Cause Of Death
BY SARAH STONER, JULY 29TH, 1982
John Seabrin, the man charged with slaughtering his entire family, has died today in the Lady of Saints Hospital. He was forty two years old.
Details have yet to be released on the exact cause of death, but information has leaked that it was caused by sepsis of Mr. Seabrin's extensive head trauma. Early in the morning of May 8th, Seabrin murdered his wife and three young children in their home on 104 Harrow Street. After attempting to take his own life with a shotgun, he miraculously survived the blast to the head and managed to stumble into his front yard where he collapsed. Comatose since the tragic day, the police were never able to get a statement from Seabrin. All those close to the family suspect Seabrin snapped after being served with divorce papers from his wife, Janet.
Above the article was a photo of John Seabrin, clearly taken before his botched suicide attempt.
"That's the guy you saw?" Ryan asked.
I frowned, shrugging my shoulders. "I think so .. the man I saw didn't have much of a face, it's sort of hard to tell. You're pretty sure this is the guy though?"
"We're positive," Ryan said with a slight nod."Elf did research after Michelle's walk-through. Found all these old news article clippings. Found an autopsy report as well."
"And?"
"You and Michelle were both right. Entire half of his face, blown off completely."
I shuddered. "You should've seen it. I'm glad you didn't, but .. "
"I can't imagine it," he said quietly. "And the little boy, we're assuming it was his oldest son."
I nodded. "Tia said his name was Peter, and that he was eight years old. Did you tell Marie about this?"
Ryan shook his head. "We thought better of it."
I couldn't help but agree. There's one thing to come to the realization and acceptance that your house is being plagued by ghosts, but to see article clippings like these ones? It would've sent her over the edge. We'd left out all the grizzly details of Seabrin's face, but we had told her there was a slightly disfigured man haunting the home. Even that little bit of information had freaked her out. Can you imagine what this would've done to her?
"The house cleanse went well, though," I said, more to reassure myself then really ask the question. "Nothing going on anymore, right?"
Ryan nodded, small smile lighting up his face. "From what we could tell, whatever had been haunting the home had been eradicated by the time we left."
I felt a calm flow through my body, and I lay my hand over Ryan's warm one. "Good work, Boss. I'm - I .. "
I felt that serenity leave my body in a split second, being replaced with an all consuming rush of fear and panic. I stared, mouth slightly agape, over at the center of the library. Ryan, clearly sensing my sudden onset terror, peeked over his shoulder, and I heard a low hiss escape from his throat.
In the middle of the room, a slight, beautiful, honey blonde girl stood pouring over a handful of textbooks. Sophie's eyes were glued down on the pages of her journal. I felt the blood drain from my face, the air escape from my lungs. I hadn't seen her at all - not since last practice, when the whole world fell to shit. She looked the same - had I really expected differently? It'd only been a little over a week, after all. But there she was. My beautiful Sophie, so poised, so icy - so terrifying in her own right.
"You okay?" Ryan said quietly, and I turned to see him searching my face in earnest concern.
I nodded, trying to find my voice again. "Yeah. Sorry. I just .. haven't seen her."
"Not even once?" he asked, frowning.
I shook my head. "Not since that night."
Ryan nodded, peering crossly over his shoulder. "That night."
I heard faint footsteps, and saw a frail looking white blonde girl move towards the statuesque figure of Sophie. Long hair up in a knot on the back of her head, pale blue eyes visible from even this far away. Ainslee. It'd been equally long since I'd seen her too - it felt like there were little daggers ripping at the inside of my heart.
Unlike Soph, Ainslee seemed to notice Ryan and I straight away. She looked - with a glare of pure fury and horror - towards us, then rushed up to Sophie's side. Her head bowed, I could barely make out her thin lips moving only inches from Sophie's ear.
"That's .. Ashlee?" Ryan guessed, looking back over at me.
"Ainslee," I whispered.
"Right, Ainslee," he sighed. "I've heard Kimmy talk about her."
I smiled, although it felt rather unnatural at this point in time. "Don't listen to everything Kimmy says. Ainslee's ... she's not a bad person. She's just impressionable, that's all."
"I think Kimmy's got a better overall interpretation of her," Ryan argued softly. "Face it, Lo. You could make a case for Hitler if you needed to. You can see the good in everybody, even if there's clearly more bad."
"Who's the psych major now," I muttered.
Sophie's ice blue eyes peered up from her notebook, glanced over nonchalantly at my table. For a minute - one sliver of a second - I almost thought she'd smile and walk over. Just like old times, you know? And for a moment, it seemed like she was going to. But she hesitated - something I'd never seen Soph do before. And instead of walking towards me -
she walked away.
There was a pain in my chest, one I hadn't felt since early last week. It was one I hoped I'd never feel again. But here it was, back with a vengeance. The ripping and tearing of my heart. The complete rush of misery that enveloped me completely in it's sadness.
Was I really that bad? Was I really such a terrible person? A freak? Maybe. But I thought if I just gave it time, things could go back to how they used to be. How I wanted them to be. Simple. Care-free. But in all honesty, it didn't seem like they would. I missed Sophie. She was the Yin to my Yang. The peanut butter to my jelly. The Angelina to my Brad. She was fearless but cautious. Aggressive but sly. Powerful. Brilliant. She was my girl.
I realized a moment later, Ryan was no longer across the table from me - he was seated next to me, now, large body only inches from my own. His arm, so lean, so warm, curled around my shoulders, and I leaned carefully against his side. Rested my cheek on his shoulder. I wouldn't cry - I refused to. Now was not the time, and absolutely not the place. Frankly, I wasn't sure I could cry. I was too shocked.
"It'll be alright."
"I know," I said quietly.
"When do you have to see her again?" he asked.
"Tonight, and tomorrow," I said, feeling cold just at the thought of it.
"Really? Why?"
"Practice tonight," I said softly. "Game tomorrow."
"How's that going to work?" he asked curiously.
Good question.
I peered up at his face, so handsome and so sweet. "I don't know. We'll have to make it, that's all."
He nodded, giving my forehead a very light peck. "You've got Kimmy, and you've got Lindsey. And Emma, Jenn, Jess. Meagan."
"And you," I whispered.
Interesting fact: no matter how miserable you feel in a library at any given time, a quick, steamy makeout session with Ryan Buell under a rickety wooden table can fix the hurt.
My God, could it ever.
(Kimmy)
"What, she's just gonna set the practice time and date and not even show up?"
Lindsey was furious - rare for her, lemme tell ya. Her face was set in hardened anger, arms folded crossly across her chest. She was the only one standing, staring furiously at the auditorium doors. I looked in slight amusement but equal amounts frustration over to my left at Jenn - she was looking curiously up at Linds. You see? Highly uncommon for any of us to see Lindsey like this.
"Don't worry about it," Harlow said softly, who was seated cross legged on the floor of the gym. "They'll show up, I'm sure. And if they don't - well, that's fine."
I grinned, leaning back against the bleachers. "Look on the bright side, you guys. We still have a full team, right? There's seven of us. Even if those asswipes no show tonight and tomorrow, we still got a full roster, plus a spare."
"It just won't be the same though," Jenn sighed dramatically. "You guys know we can't play without them! Without Kenzie's constant ball fumbling, Ash's constant wedgies and Natalie's tits falling out of her shirt at any given time, we're destined to lose!"
There was a roar of laughter from the entire team - minus Harlow. It was true, really. All the best players, aside from Sophie, were already seated in the room. Jenn and I were both liberos, third and fourth best only to Soph and Harley. Jess, tiny as she was, was still by far the best spiker on the team. Em was without a doubt a better middle blocker then Ashlee, and Linds and Meagan were the best setters this sport had seen in years. Sure, we didn't have either of our servers - but how fuckin' hard was it to smack a ball over a net with your fist? If Natalie could do it, a blind kid with no arms in a wheelchair on crack could.
Harlow took a sip from her water bottle, and peered up at the large clock on the opposite wall. "We'll give it another ten minutes. They don't show up, we'll start without them."
"Don't go easy on us, Lo," I grinned. "We're here to work our asses off."
"Wouldn't dream of it," she said, her own cheeky smile lighting up that gorgeous face.
"I still don't understand how you can be late - or no show - to your own God damn practice," Lindsey huffed, plopping down on the bleachers next to me.
"Maybe she forgot," Harlow said, but even she didn't sound like she much believed it.
"Come to think of it, I haven't seen Sophie at all in the last couple days," Jess said softly.
"Me neither," Emma said thoughtfully, stretching her long leg across the bench. "Maybe she moved to Albania, but let's not get our hopes up."
"I saw her this afternoon," Harlow said quietly, looking distractedly at the opposite end of the gym. "Library. She was with Ainslee."
"Gross," Jenn sniffed. "Who hangs out with Ainslee by choice?"
"My thoughts exactly," I laughed.
"Did she look sick?" Meagan asked.
Harlow shook her head. "Looked fine to me, but she was a good distance away."
"Didn't come and talk to you or anything, did she?" Lindsey asked.
Harlow shook her head again. "No. Why would she? Plus, I was with Ryan. The day she came over to either of us would be the day Hell freezes over, nevermind approaching both of us at once."
"Fair enough," I sighed.
The whole situation between the two of them, it made me feel terrible. They had always been a pair, Harlow and Sophie. You never saw one without the other. They were like fire and ice, complete opposites, but somehow able to find a happy medium. But now, that same incompatibility that had brought them together was tearing them ferociously apart. Harlow was too meek, too shy to approach her. Sophie was too stubborn. Harlow was quiet, content with blending into the crowd. Sophie was loud, ice cold in her abrasiveness. It was a pairing that never should of worked in the first place, but now that it didn't, the world just didn't seem right.
Sophie'd been wrong. We all knew that. But as big of a bitch as she was, I didn't want this to go on any longer. I'd be willing to forgive Sophie for all the terrible things she said - I knew Harlow already had - if she'd just come back and be our Sophie again.
I would do anything in my power to help the two of them make amends. I would circle this Earth a million times or more. I would walk through the fiery gates of Hell and back if it meant they'd learn to love each other again. I'd give up anything I had to make them okay. But nothing I had could fight Sophie's stubbornness. Nothing I possessed could push Harlow to make the first step. It was a sad fact, but it was a true one. One I had to face.
But it didn't change the fact that I'd give my life to bring these two together again. I'd give anything.
(Sophie)
She was so beautiful - and so familiar looking.
A mane of chestnut brown hair. A face as round and sweet as an apple. Bright eyes, round and dazzling. I knew her, I had to know her - but I knew for a fact I'd never seen her before.
"Who are you?" I asked, reaching a hand out to touch her.
She was just a little too far away, just a foot or so too far. I could've touched her if she'd only move a step or two forward.
"Help her," the little girl said. "Help her."
I was confused.
"Help who?" I asked.
"Help her," the little girl said again, but her voice was higher now, more petrified then before. "Please, warn her. It's coming, it's coming."
"What's coming? Warn who?"
The girl opened her mouth wide, eyes round and terror-stricken. And then, as suddenly as her voice had changed, so did she.
It was like an explosion, a silent one that you can't hear but terrifies you more than one you can. Her hair began to blow, wildly, uncontrollably around her face. Her scalp split in two, right down the middle. It shook and twisted and fell about her face, the flaps of skin and strands of hair falling to pieces at her feet.
I wanted to scream, to vomit - but I couldn't do anything. I was frozen in place, feet away, but unable to help, to move - to cry.
There was blood, blood everywhere - down her face, her front, her hands. Crimson marked every last inch of her.
Her mouth opened once more in a scream, this time loud and blood-curdling. Those eyes, as far and wide as a desert, green as a freshly polished emerald.
Those eyes - the last things I saw before she exploded into a blast of dust, the strands of hair and skin still piled where her feet had just stood.
"HOLY SHIT."
I jolted awake, grabbed my own face in my clammy hands. I was sweaty, but beneath my hands I could still feel my face, fully intact. I ran a hand over my head. Still alright. Still one piece. I wasn't splitting in two.
I sat up in my bed, peered over at the clock. Midnight. I'd barely been asleep for an hour, and already I'd been jolted awake, thrown back into reality. My heart was racing, beating a painful tattoo against my chest. My hands were clammy, a thin layer of sweat coated my entire body. I had chills, but it wasn't from being cold.
I fumbled for the lamp, missing three times before I was able to hit the little switch beneath the lightbulb. My room was illuminated with the pulsating light, but my fears remained. Tight in my chest, like a corset of horror.
I kicked the sheets away from my legs, curled up into a little ball, leaning against the large oak headboard behind me. I couldn't remember the last time I'd had a nightmare - not since I was just a little girl, that was for sure. And never - not ever - had they been that vivid.
Normally whenever I woke up from a dream, I forgot it within seconds of opening my eyes. But this was different. I could recall every part of it, every last detail. Every last horrific moment of it. But it wasn't the blood that was making me nauseous, or the splitting of the skull or the screams. It was the girl, that tiny little girl.
She couldn't have been older then ten. And she couldn't have been more beautiful, or more familiar looking. The more I thought about her, the sicker I became.
She could've been Harlow. Easily. The beauty part was dead on. The eyes, that same brilliant color I'd always admired so much. They were the exact shade of the little girls. But there were differences between the two, obvious ones. Like someone had carved the girl and Harlow out of the same magnificent jewel, but with deliberate mistakes.
The jawline had been different. The girls was much rounder, softer. Less defined then Harlow's razor sharp one. The cheeks were thinner, the nose a little longer and less rounded. The hair was a shade or two lighter then Lo's. The skin, just a little milkier. The eyes were more almond shaped, not the round globes of Harlow's.
But if this girl wasn't Harlow, who was she? Why did she look so familiar?
I rested a head against my backboard, looking in a daze up at the roof. The paint was peeling, only slightly, and there was a tiny watermark that resembled some kind of fish in the far corner. I considered going back to bed, falling back asleep - but my racing heart heard nothing of it. I was awake, wide awake, and there would be no changing that.
I stretched my legs, flopped over to the edge of my bed, struggled into my slippers and padded out into my tiny little living room. Dropping onto the couch, I reached for the remote and turned the television on. Not to watch - just for some background noise.
I couldn't go to bed again. Not after that.
Tonight, sleep would elude me.
Author's Note:
HELLO MY BEAUTIFUL'S! Hope you're all fabulous and darling and wonderful as always, but really, I don't doubt you are! I've quit that God awful job I got shafted into, and now I have nothing but spare time to pump out a couple more chapters to tide you lovelies over. Although it won't bring anyone happiness, you've been warned again - this story is only gettin' darker. Sad. Face. :( ON TO MY THANK YOU'S.
WinchesterAngel3389: Oh, I could NOT agree more. I'd take a week of the worst hangovers known to man in order to be able to party with dear Mr. Buell. In fact, I'd take a month of them just to be able to meet that sexy beast. I'm a genius? Oh please. YOU are the genius. And the sweetest. A sweet genius, your mama must be so proud! Thank you for the review, I simply adore you!
kcollins720: ME sweet? OH NO, you are simply the sweetest human being on the face of this earth! AND the most loyal, might I add. Your review, as always, brought a smile to my face, and I could never than you enough :)
nouseforaname89: Hello my nameless but wonderful reviewer! Oh if anyone knows anything about Geek Love, it is I. There is nothing sexier then a guy that can fix my computer AND that wears a pocket protector. There's something so loveable about them, isn't it? You don't know if you want to give them a wedgie or a big big big kiss. Hope you enjoyed the chapter, thank you for the review!
PSUPRS: SORA MY LOVE! I know I know, I'm a terrible person and everyone hates Sophie. Would it make you feel better if I told you that she may possibly, potentially, I'm-notgiving-anything-away redeem herself? Not saying she's goooooing to ... but y'know. As always, your novel of a review left me with butterflies and tears and a heart full of hot burnin' love. Be mine, forever and ever? Thank you thank you for the review! xo
akahitoha: You know what's truly amazing? You. And know what's even more amazing then that? My sincere, deep, undying love for your amazingness. CLEARLY, we are best friends forever and ever. Like that was ever even a question. People like me would not exist without wonderful beautiful undeniabley awesome people like you. Muchmuch love, thank you for the review!
futureauthor62: WELL, be still my bespeckled heart, you made my entire life! I'm so glad I'm not the only complete nut who hides under covers. I honestly think I'll be 50 and still following that rule. I also follow the universal rule that says if you sing really loud in creepy basements, nothing can get you. It's a fact. I've yet to be captured, because I sing Jingle Bells at the top of my voice when I go do laundry. Thank you for the amazing review, I love you more than a dog loves milkbones!
xoxoMyRealityIsFiction: Your reality may be fiction, but my love for you is completely real! I'm sorry, that was a littttttle spoiler, but I'm not takin' it back! It will devastate many readers, it devastated me and I haven't even written that chappy yet. But actually, now that I think about it .. it'll be the chapter after that when life really gets hard :( Bah. OH NO, don't shank me! But even if you do, our FanFic Love Relationship will continue past the grave. And yes. I meant that as creepy as it sounded. :D Love you! Thank you so much for the wonderful review!
XDeadlyImperfectionX: Can not tell you if there's gonna be another fight! You have to wait and see :P But that picture didn't work for me! :( Resend if you can, I'm interested to see what other people make of the creepy faceless dude! Thanks for the review :) You're my sweetest sweet pea alive, much love! xo
ALRIGHT LOVERS. I'm off to finish Chapter 23, work 6 days straight, and then start on Chapter 24. And then, comes the dreaded Chappy 25/26, which I will be writing in a mound of kleenex because what happens upsets me more then life itself. It might not kill you as much as it kills me, but this is mah little baby and everytime I do something like I'm about to do, it kills a little piece of me. Le Sigh. Much love, thank you all so much for the reviews and have a wonderful rest of your week!
love always; ellah!