Messenger 93 Page 15

  I waited for inspiration. Waited some more. Dusk pressed over the sky. The fire got bigger. I was getting hot. Wishing for Gray to come. Infinity Girl was still hiding in the dark.

  “What’s that?”

  I looked over my shoulder. Vivvie and her crew were standing behind me. She was holding a mug of steaming-something in one hand and pointing at my scribbles with the other. “What is it?” she said again. The other four girls, even the silver husky, looked at me expectantly.

  I checked with my drawings. A chaotic jumble of scrawl, stick figures and speech-bubbles barely recognizable. I could have said it was anything.

  “It’s a storyboard.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Like a map for making a movie.”

  “You’re making a movie?”

  “Nah, I don’t think so.”

  “Why not?”

  I checked on Infinity Girl. Hopelessly stuck in some improbable ductwork. “Because it sucks.”

  “What’s happening?” she said, tapping her finger on the panel where Double Kross was raving at her minions.

  “That’s the bad guy. She’s plotting to kill the hero.” I pointed at Infinity Girl. “And the hero is figuring out how to stop her.”

  “But they don’t even know the hero is there. Why doesn’t she just zoom down and kill them?”

  “Because she can’t destroy anyone.”

  “No killing?”

  “No killing.”

  “Not even bad guys?”

  “Not even bad guys.”

  The oldest girl, the mothering one, whispered in her ear. Vivvie listened then said, “What’s her skill?”

  I said, “She reflects back to people what they really are.”

  “But what does she do?”

  “That’s what she does.”

  “No. That’s a power. She’s gotta have a skill. She’s gotta do something.”

  My pen scratched aimlessly at a corner of the newspaper. That was always my problem. No idea what to do.

  The girl with the shaved head whispered in Vivvie’s ear. Vivvie said, “They like it. They made a movie once. On their phone, with their friends. It was good. You could do that.”

  “I don’t think so …”

  Vivvie reached inside the lining of her white-sequined vest and pulled something out of a hidden pocket. “She could star in your movie.” It was a little folded paper person. Origami. She handed it to me. “But only if you give her a skill.”

  I reached for it. It was the cutest thing. A small pink-paper figure with an angled head and pointy feet and arms. “You made this?”

  “Yup. It’s my hobby.”

  I turned it over, admiring all the precise folds. “You ever hear of a show called Star Trek?”

  “Yeah?”

  “You know the Transporter? How they beamed people from the spaceship to, like, the surface of a planet or something?”

  “Yeah?”

  “They’re dematerializing then rematerializing, right? Well, back in the old days when they shot it, they didn’t have money for special effects, so they faked it by shaking sparkles in front of a black backdrop and filming it upside down in slow motion.”

  Vivvie smiled. “Whoa.”

  “I always thought it would be cool to try that.”

  Her brow furrowed. “Me too. I wanna push a button and get someplace fast.”

  I’d meant filming the upside-down sparkles. But I said, “Yeah, same.”

  “Where would you go?”

  I didn’t have an answer. I wasn’t ready to go back to the city. I didn’t want to save Krista. I wanted to be here.

  “I’d beam over to Jocelyn,” Vivvie said. “I’d bring her home.”

  That made me smile in the deepest way. “I wish you could do that too.” I gave her back her little figure.

  “No, I’m serious. Keep it,” Vivvie said. “She wants to be in your movie.” She handed me the steaming cup. “They said to give this to you. Sweetgrass tea.”

  “Thank you.” I tucked the paper mini-human in my coat pocket and cradled my hands around the warm ceramic. The scent wafting up through the steam was heavenly.

  “Her skill can be slow motion,” Vivvie said, stroking the husky’s head. “She can mess with the bad guy. The bad guy won’t even know it. The bad guy can hurt herself.” And then she and the husky broke off in a run. Her friends tagged after them. Their high-pitched, happy shrieks made me long for the easiness of being a kid.

  4

  GRAY FINALLY CAME OUT of the house. I watched him the whole way as he walked towards me, carrying two plates of dinner. It wasn’t until he was almost at the fire that I realized I was smiling. I sucked in my lips, chewed on the insides.

  “They’re sorry about keeping you out here,” he said as he approached. “There’s a lot to talk about in there. It’s pretty crowded.”

  “I get it. It’s okay. I’m fine.”

  He handed me a plate. Roasted potatoes, squash, grilled sausage. We both inhaled our meals without talking. I was even hungrier than I’d realized. When we finished eating, Gray stoked the fire and caught me up on everything that had happened in the hours since we’d last seen each other. Mostly a recap of what Charlie had already told me: that Jocelyn’s father had been murdered, that her family assumed she’d gone to Deerhead to see the place of his death, either searching for answers or to mourn him.

  “You know that corkboard in her room?” I said. “The part you can’t see in the photo?”

  Gray straightened. “Yeah?”

  “When I went into her place to wash up, I saw what was on it. A drawing that I think she made. It’s the words truth and nohtawi.” I spelled the last word out.

  “Nohtawi …” Gray said thoughtfully. “They post daily words on the online community board for people to learn the language. I think it means ‘my father.’” He contemplated the flames. “Yeah, that’s what everyone is saying. That she’s out there looking for the truth about her dad.” His jaw muscles contracted — that tension when you have to accept a legitimate but dangerous possibility. “She could be trying to find the guy who did it. And putting herself on the line to find him …”

  It made sense. Total, terrifying, infuriating sense. Because no one else was investigating her father’s death. Jocelyn probably felt she had no choice.

  “The cops still haven’t put a trace on her phone,” Gray said, his voice rising. “If she still has it on her, this could be over like that.” He jabbed a finger. “Twenty-eight days gone. A whole month — nothing.”

  We gnawed on the injustice, on our helplessness. Eventually Gray came back from his faraway thoughts to fill me in on the rest. He confirmed that I would be banished the next day to the bus that went down to the city. That I needed to go back because I’d stand out among them in Deerhead, and maybe bring unnecessary, unwanted attention. He seemed sincerely sorry that I wouldn’t be staying with them, but he promised to share any information they discovered. I made a big show of accepting all of the developments and reassuring him I was fine.

  I told myself that I was fine. I was being guided, which must mean I would receive another clue and get where I needed to go. There was still a chance the messages would help me find Jocelyn and bring her back to her community. What an epic triumph that would be.

  I watched Gray tease the fire with the end of the stick. I said, “How was it in there?”

  “Sad. Worried.”

  I could imagine it. How else could it be? I remembered Clio’s pressing desperation when I’d sat with her. Her fear. And that was with Krista gone only a couple of days.

  I leaned into the warmth of the fire. “What about being here with them — is it okay?”

  He met my question with a lingering gaze. “They’re being really — I don’t know — really nice to me.”
>
  I smiled. “That’s good. Isn’t it?”

  “Yeah. Totally.”

  “But …?”

  “I don’t know … Is this my place? … I keep thinking that something will happen and I’ll know for sure. But —” He lifted another log from the pile and positioned it over the embers. “Nah — I can’t tell.”

  There were so many things I could have said to him. Lines from books and shows and movies. It’s only the beginning. You’ll find a way. Give it time. Characters always had the most poetic answers.

  But I said, “Do you like it here?”

  He jostled the new log with the stick, and the log smoked then grabbed some flames. “Not why I’m here … But the here here? … Yeah, I like it.”

  That made me glad for him.

  I wanted so badly to reach out and touch the velvety nape of his neck. To run my finger along the delicate feather tattooed under his right ear.

  I said, “I’m sorry about your birth mom.”

  He checked the ground between his knees. “It’s not like I remember her or anything.” His voice caught a bit when he said, “I’m sorry about your parents too.”

  I started, then realized. My dead parents. I had told him I was on my own. It was just me and my twin sister Krista.

  I pretended to search the shadows of the trees. I only had a few more hours with him. I didn’t want to fill it with lies.

  But was it a lie if I was trying to help find missing girls — not just Krista, but now Jocelyn too? Because I was there for a reason, wasn’t I? The crow had led me to him. It had lured me. It was helping me save people.

  I was still trying to figure out how to fix all the fractures that were trailing from the epicenter of my story when Lily and Walter walked by.

  “Time to settle in,” Lily said. Kind but firm. “It’ll be another early morning tomorrow.”

  Walter set down a sack. “Could rain tonight. You kids should get out of those jeans and sweaters. Cotton is like a sponge for cold and wet. There’s some wool underwear in there, and rain pants. Anything of yours you need to keep dry, you should store in that bag.”

  “Thanks, Walter.” Gray sounded a bit sheepish, but he grabbed the sack and began to root inside, passing me the smaller of the tops and long johns and nylon pants. I bundled the comfortably worn clothes in my arms and thanked Walter too.

  We exchanged goodnights and Lily and Walter went over to their own campspot. They didn’t bother to light a fire, just crawled into their tent and zipped themselves inside.

  Gray hopped up and grabbed the sleeping bags and blankets that Charlie had left in a pile and headed to the tent.

  “Oh,” I said. “You’re staying out here too?”

  “Yeah,” he said. “I hope that’s okay.”

  “Totally.” I tried to cover my utter relief. “It’s your tent.”

  I was still blushing and awkward when I went off to change in Jocelyn’s trailer. The nylon pants were way too big, but there was a drawcord and I could cinch them around my waist. By the time I got back, two sleeping bags were laid out side by side, and Gray was in one of them. Sound asleep.

  I crawled in. It was cold, but not too bad. Walter’s wool underwear was soft and warm. The tent was insulated, and the sleeping bag was like a bundle of cozy. Outside-sounds became hyper-distinct. The whoosh of wind swirling through the woods and over the clearcut field. The hiss of logs breaking apart and smoldering in the fire pit. The crack of a dead branch breaking under something’s weight.

  Fire shadow danced across the nylon walls of the tent. Gray’s profile was illuminated against it. I measured the lines of his nose and chin. The curve of his relaxed and resting lips. He was so close that if I stretched my fingers, their tips would have brushed his side. It was hard to believe that I’d only met him the day before.

  I sighed and rolled over so I wouldn’t have to look at him.

  A kind of chant started droning in my head. It helped numb out everything that I didn’t understand or couldn’t have.

  Save Krista. Save Jocelyn. Save someone. Isn’t that what Joan of Arc would do?

  The words droned over and over until I slipped under to the other side.

  SUNDAY, APRIL 15

  FOUR DAYS UNTIL THE FALL

  1

  “MESSENGER 93,” THE SMALLEST, sweetest voice whispered in my ear. “Wake up.” My eyes fluttered open and it was pitch dark and I forgot — again — where I was. It was the smell of new nylon and the sound of wind whirling over the field outside that reminded me.

  I blinked my eyes until they adjusted and then I saw a little girl kneeling beside me, neatly set under the sloped roof of the tent, her little body folded quietly on itself like she was an origami sculpture and not a real person.

  She motioned for me to follow her and I got out of my sleeping bag and poked out of the flaps. The brisk night air instantly cooled me. I stood up and wobbled and tried to hold my balance.

  The origami girl was gone, but I planted my feet on the grass anyway. The blades were cool under my socks. My body began to sway and slowly circle. There was a sizzle and pop and sparks burst in front of me and floated away like a spray of fireflies.

  I turned to the fire. It was still smoldering. Its crimson and charcoal glow lit a small group of people approaching through the dark. A group of small people. The renegade and her friends — the mom-teen, the two goofballs, the girl/boy. They were bunched together, walking from the farmhouse, passing my fire. They all stopped and turned to me in unison — surpsied to see me. Curious as to what I was going to do. The silver husky came out of the shadows and padded into position next to her leader.

  I wanted to keep watching the girls, but my eyes were blinking closed and I had to fight to stay awake. I thought it was a dream, but I couldn’t tell for sure.

  “Where are you going?” I said.

  “The upside-down sparkles will take us there,” Vivvie said. There was a flatness to her voice that reminded me a little of Trevor’s. I wanted to cry, I missed him so much.

  “Am I going with you?”

  “No.” She put a finger to her lips. “Don’t tell anyone — but we can slow down time.”

  “I won’t tell anyone.” I swayed gently. Almost asleep again. “Where are you going?”

  “We’re going to find her. We have the skills. We have the power.”

  I forced my eyes to stay open. “You can’t look for Jocelyn alone. You’re just kids.”

  “Yes,” she said, not because it was fact, but because it was the reason. “I’ll give you a present if you let us go.”

  She reached under her coat and plucked something out. My heart was beating with anticipation. She offered her hand to me. Poised on her palm was one tiny gleaming white disc. A sequin from her vest.

  I was incredibly honored.

  “Keep it somewhere safe,” she said.

  “I will,” I said.

  Her dog was staring at me. It curled its lip and began to growl.

  “Is your dog going to hurt me?” I said.

  “Yes,” Vivvie said. She was turning away. “But only a small hurt.” She was walking to the woods and the other girls followed. It was eerie how they hardly made a sound. The dog’s growl got more threatening so I didn’t move.

  “I don’t want it to hurt me,” I said to the girls as they picked their way over the clearcut grass. “I have no tolerance for pain.” But they didn’t react, only walked into the woods and wound their way among the thin trees.

  The husky stayed. It bared its teeth and growled at me. Its canines were long and pointed, as sharp and shining as crescent moons. I could feel myself shaking but I wasn’t able to move. My body was still rooted and swaying. The dog reared back and its muscles flexed and then it torqued into a pounce. Its jaw opened as it jumped at me, the full set of sharp teeth more menacing than a
nything I’d ever seen. I couldn’t move as its gaping mouth flew towards my face.

  I remembered my father reading me Little Red Riding Hood. We were in my bed. I was on his lap. I was full of wonder. There was a wolf in that story. It pretended to be the grandmother, then devoured everyone, even the girl.

  The husky’s icy silver eyes stared me down as it pounced, ferociously glaring. Starved for everything inside me. My mouth opened in an involuntary scream and the husky’s mouth arrived so that we were mouth to mouth, teeth to teeth.

  I remembered my dog Pepper and how he used to run circles around me in the park, how he would push his furry weight against my leg when he wanted me to scratch his throat.

  The husky’s teeth penetrated my head as I sank deep inside her.

  A little girl’s voice whispered in my ear, “She will fall in four days.”

  A SHORT SQUAWK WOKE me and my eyes fluttered open. A glossy crow was standing on my thigh, something hard clasped inside its beak, its black claws flexing into the borrowed rain pants. I started up and the crow dropped its treasure and flew away. Was it the same crow I’d met the day before in the woods?

  I looked around, dazed from a deep sleep. I was damp and chilled through, sitting on the grass. An orange sun was low behind the trees, so it was day but still early. Everything was normal. The tent beside me, the fire — now out — the quiet clearing, the woods.

  The crow’s gift had landed in the grass by my feet and I picked it up. It was a small metal coil. Minimally shiny. Like the spring from inside a ballpoint pen. I turned it over in my hands.

  “M? Are you okay?” It was Gray’s voice. I glanced over my shoulder. He was crawling out of the tent.

  I fumbled with the spring. It reminded me vaguely of the gold rings that Remy wrapped around her braids. For some reason I didn’t want to lose it, so I pulled at my hair and twisted the spring around a strand and tucked it behind my ear.

  Gray arrived and crouched next to me. “Are you okay?”

  Was I okay? I remembered the dream about the girls and the husky and how it had eaten me. I ran my hand over my face, checking for injuries or blood, but didn’t feel any wounds. My fingers came away damp but clean. The only thing wrong was an intensity of cold.