Faelorehn (3 page)

We all glanced towards the far corner of the parking lot.  He had on his usual trench coat, the hood pulled up to cover his head.  The few glimpses of his face I had managed to catch had shown the weathered features of an old man facing hardship.  He seemed to be staring right at us now.  The prickly chill that ran over my skin proved my suspicion.  I usually only got that feeling when I thought I was hearing or seeing things again.  I ignored it and instead listened to my friends’ conversation.

“Do you think he’s looking at us?” Will wondered aloud.

Robyn crossed her arms and snorted. “If he’s some crazy schizo that’s escaped from the Men’s Colony, I’ll just have to cast a spell on him.”

We all laughed.

“Can you actually do that?” Thomas asked.  Sometimes I thought his conservative upbringing made him a little more nervous than the rest of us.

Robyn released a sigh and examined her black fingernails. “I’ve done it before.”

Everyone was silent for a moment, but I only grinned.  Despite coming from a very old-fashioned family, Robyn had somehow discovered Wiccan and Irish mythology our freshman year in high school.  She went from being the perfect little goody-two-shoes to taking up her black garb and celebrating the pagan festivals of the ancient Celts.  She always dragged us along to her little ceremonies, Thomas being the only one uncomfortable enough to feign illness whenever a solstice or equinox was coming up.  I didn’t know how her family dealt with it, but I think they blamed it on something that happened in Robyn’s past.  Like me, she had been adopted, but in her case I think it had something to do with extended family taking her in.  Either way, we were both somewhat insecure about our identities.

The sound of the bell screaming over the din of car engines and chatting teenagers reminded us that, unfortunately, we did have to attend class that day.  As we walked down the hallways, seeking our first classes of the day, I cast one more glance over my shoulder to see if Hobo Bob was still watching us.  I didn’t know if Robyn had secretly cast her spell or not, but the homeless man was nowhere in sight.

-Three-

Voices

The next day started out well.  Thomas picked us up again and the morning proved to be promising.  I didn’t space out in pre-calculus, American history was actually rather interesting, and just before lunch I had my art class.  I loved art, but only because I think our teacher was very much into letting us express ourselves.  For someone like me, expressing myself in a non-verbal way, through art for example, helped soothe my psyche.

It was during the lunch hour that things started to go downhill.

“Out of the way homo!”

Like a rabbit that’s heard the screech of an eagle, I jumped out of the way before I even saw Adam Peders.  He wasn’t addressing me, of course, but I could very well be his next target.  Besides, I knew exactly who he
had
been addressing, and that knowledge made me ill.

I glanced over at Thomas, who was standing in the middle of the lunch courtyard looking for me and our other friends.  In my opinion, he looked very much like a tree about to topple over.  Thomas was even taller than me and a bit on the heavy side, so he always stood out no matter where he was.  And apparently he was walking a bit too slow for Adam.

“I said move you stupid fag,” Adam repeated, giving Thomas a shove.

It felt as if someone had dug their fingernails into my skin.  I
hated
that word.  And he had pushed Thomas.

Thomas was so stunned that it took him a while to recover before he could recede into the space between our lockers.  Everyone who had been standing around him had stopped eating their lunches and talking to their friends.  They all stared at Adam.  He might have been the star track athlete and he may have looked like some offspring of the Greek gods, but he was a complete ass.

As he brushed by, Adam pounded his fist against the closest locker, forcing Thomas and a few others standing by to jump.  I ground my teeth.  I knew Thomas was gay.  So did Tully, Robyn and Will, and probably the entire school as well.  We never mentioned it or brought it up for a few reasons.  First of all, Thomas would deny it, probably because he didn’t realize it yet.  Secondly, it would only give the popular crowd the evidence they needed to torment him even more.  And finally, if Thomas ever went home and told his parents, he might just be kicked to the curb.  Yes, talking about it would be suicide.

A few minutes passed before the lunchtime chatter picked up again and Adam Peders’s insult was all but forgotten.  I breathed a sigh of relief, glad it didn’t escalate into anything else.  But my anger lingered.  I didn’t care if Adam’s dark brown hair was always perfect or that his pale green eyes exuded flawless self-confidence.  I refused to be like Rachel Thompson or Sara Hobbes or any of the other hopeless girls who allowed Adam’s good looks to cancel out his evil deeds.  Besides, we had history, Adam and I.  He was the first person at my high school to learn I was crazy.

In kindergarten, those many years ago, when I first came to live with the Elams, something happened that my therapists over the years couldn’t make me forget.  Not even Doctor Morgan.  We were coming back from a field trip, the pumpkin patch if I remember correctly.  It was October and I remember because it had rained hard that week and we were all covered in mud.  My teacher had been holding my hand, because I had told her I saw something frightening as we traipsed around the great orange gourds.  Of course, I couldn’t really describe it but she knew about my ‘condition’; my parents had told her.

When we returned to school, the house directly across the street was having some small trees cut down.  I wouldn’t have noticed it at all, but I was still shaken up by whatever had freaked me out in the pumpkin patch and I guess you could say my senses were heightened.  We were almost all off the bus when the shrill, soul-wrenching cries of someone in pain reached my ears.  I remember freezing and trying to curl into a ball.  It took a few seconds to realize the screams came from across the street.  Between the buzz of the chainsaw and the crack of falling branches, I could hear the trees crying out, sobbing in pain as they were slowly being murdered.

I was so upset that I wrenched my hand free of my teacher’s, and sobbing, ran right across the street without stopping, screaming for the men to stop their chainsaws.  I was nearly hit by a passing car.  My teacher was in a panic, the entire school stopped to watch in horror, and the men with the chainsaws were so shocked at my claim that they were hurting the trees that they merely stood there, staring at me.  Luckily they decided to take a break then, but I could still hear the whimpers of the two birches they had just taken down.

I remembered two things as my teacher cradled me against her chest while carrying me back to the schoolyard.  First, knowing the echo of those distraught cries would haunt me forever, and second, seeing Adam Peders staring at me with the strangest look on his face.  At the time, I didn’t know what that look meant, but now that I’m older I have a little more perspective.  It was disgust, and even a little bit of fear.  Even at the age of five, Adam managed to find fault in others.

“Hey Meghan, coming to lunch with us?”

I jumped up and turned to find Will staring at me, his glossy black hair a mess as usual and his dark eyes magnified by his glasses.

“Um, yeah, just wanted to put some books away in my locker.”

He shrugged and moved on.  We all ate on the benches provided for us on the north end of campus.  There was a nice lawn with several trees circling it just in front of the school, but that was reserved for the seniors.  I sighed heavily as I located my locker, and then stuffed my books in.  I looked forward to sitting amongst those trees next year.  The memory of my recent recollection surfaced for a split-second, but I shoved it back down.

It didn’t take me long to find my friends.  We always sat at the same bench, the one furthest away from the popular kids.  I took a place next to Thomas and placed a comforting hand on his back.  He glanced over at me.  I could tell he was still shaken up.  I pulled my lips in and gave him a small nod.  We all knew what it was like to be the object of ridicule, but it was never easy for any of us.

That afternoon, as school let out, I glanced out Thomas’s van window and spotted Hobo Bob leaning against a large eucalyptus tree on the corner of campus.  I blinked as we drove past, for I could have sworn that his unusually tall frame looked less bent than usual, but when I opened my eyes again he was stooped over, examining something on the ground.

I huffed out a breath and pushed it from my mind.  What did it matter if the homeless guy had been standing up straighter?  Maybe he had just been stretching his back.  I turned my head and watched the other cars drift by in the opposite lane instead.

By two-thirty I was already in my room, pulling my homework out of my backpack.  I switched on my stereo, flipping the knob over so that it would play the CD I had put in last night.  I smiled when I heard the violins begin their lively dance.  I enjoyed a wide variety of music but when I was working on anything important, the soundtrack I preferred was strictly instrumental.

Like any school afternoon, I was able to get a good forty-five minutes of peace before my brothers got home.  Once Logan, Bradley and Aiden arrived any hope for decent early study time was over.  If they got it in their minds to torment me, then I would have to wait until after dinner to finish.  I was really hoping my parents would enroll them in some after school sport one of these days.

Not today, unfortunately.  I heard them arrive with the subtlety of a truck hitting a building.  I tried to ignore them, but soon my mom was calling me upstairs to help get dinner ready.  I sighed and set my pencil down.  I didn’t feel like working on pre-calculus anyway.  I turned my stereo off and climbed the stairs.

Dinner at the Elam house was quite the production, what with there being eight of us and three of those eight being picky eaters.  Mom didn’t put up with it, of course, but that didn’t mean my brothers never tried to get out of eating broccoli or mushrooms.  I couldn’t blame them about the mushrooms though.

“Meg, could you peel the potatoes while I go get Jack and Joey?”

I nodded and took her place by the sink.  The twins were just a block over at a home daycare center.  My mom couldn’t wait until they were old enough to go to preschool.

I scrubbed the potatoes and tried to block out Logan and Bradley arguing over whose turn it was to play whatever video game they were currently addicted to.  They took this time with their video games very seriously and counted it as preciously as a pirate would count his gold.  As soon as Mom got back from getting the twins, it would be time for homework.

I cleaned the potatoes, clouding up the water in the sink with dirt, and then fished the peeler out of a drawer.  I looked down when I felt someone touching my leg.  I smiled.  Aiden was looking up at me with those blue eyes of his.

“Help?” he asked.

“Sure,” I said, “do you know where the colander is?  Big yellow bowl with lots of little holes shaped like lemons?”

He nodded and padded over to the other side of the kitchen, then pulled the drawer open with a little more force than necessary.  After a few minutes of banging around, he returned with the colander, dragging it behind him the way a smaller child would tug along a teddy bear.

“Thanks buddy,” I told him, placing a hand on his head.

He wrapped an arm around my leg and I just let him stay there.  He found comfort in such displays of affection and I didn’t mind knowing that at least one person on this earth wasn’t afraid to be close to me.

Peeling potatoes was a tedious chore, so I distracted myself by glancing out the window above the sink every now and again.  I could see the neighbor’s house, a little higher up on the slope than ours.  Behind their house, the hill tapered off into the trees that surrounded the swamp.  It wasn’t a real swamp, at least not like the kind you would see in Florida or in some bad horror movie.  It was just a low spot in the land that remained wet and marshy throughout the year.

I turned my gaze onto those trees and a flash of movement caught my eye.  I strained harder to see what it was.  Something large and dark.  It flickered in and out of view as it moved between the trees.  After a while I could tell that it was some sort of bird.  Finally, it landed on the branch of the nearest eucalyptus tree, then turned its head and looked right at me with dark red eyes.  I was so surprised that I nicked my hand with the potato peeler.  I said some sort of kid-friendly curse, and then looked down to find a stream of blood dripping along my finger and into the dirty water.

I quickly glanced up again, only to discover that the bird was still watching me.  It was the raven, the same one I saw that morning, it had to be.  But I didn’t remember it having red eyes . . .

Meghan . . .

No way.  I couldn’t be hearing voices again.

Meghan, you must come . . . it’s been too long, we’ve missed you . . .

I closed my eyes and gritted my teeth.  My hands clenched the edge of the sink. 
No, no, no!

Meghan . . .

No!

Meghan!

“Meghan?”

“Mom!” I said, looking around the kitchen as if I had just woken up from a bad dream.