Foretell (2 page)

Leaning against the window frame, my mother casually held up one of her hands, inspecting her manicure. She didn’t seem at all shocked by my rebellion. In fact, she seemed as equally as bored as Indie. “Do you really want your sister to have to pay that much?”

I rolled my eyes. “She’s worth eleven million, Mom. I’m sure she can afford to lose a few grand.”

“You’re not being very sisterly, you know. Now be a good girl and come inside. Tell Indie how to get the dress.”

“No.” I flinched even as I said the word.

My mother would not be happy about my disobedience. It wasn’t often I fought her. Giving my family what they desired usually felt good. Leading Indie to her rise to fame, for example, was something I’d truly enjoyed. She’d always been a talented singer, and now the whole world knew it. More than that, my sister reveled in the spotlight. I loved seeing her so happy, knowing I’d helped to make her that way.

Today was different though. True, the dress wasn’t something I cared to give my sister when she could easily buy it herself. But I doubted it was the underlying spark to my defiance.

Perhaps I was finally pissed off enough to act out. The unfairness of it all had been eating at me for a while. Just once, I wished I could have control over this thing that fed on other people’s desires. I wanted my own voice back.

The two of them bickered inside of the house. Mom ordered Indie to fetch me, but my sister was deathly afraid of heights. No way she would come out onto the roof. I smirked, listening to her adamant refusal. I should’ve used the roof as a hiding place long ago.

Eventually my mom sighed and bent down to remove her heels. Before I knew what was happening, she was climbing out of the window.

“Don’t you dare, Rachel!
”

Sometimes I called my mother by her name for the shock value, but she didn’t even flinch this time. Wobbly, she held her arms out, balancing herself on the tilted roof. Once she gained a sturdy footing, she began inching towards me. I scooted back from where I sat, scraping my skin against the shingles in the process. My eyes darted behind me. Nowhere left to go except over the ledge, and then two stories to the ground. I eyed the drop warily. Looked like a long ways down from up here.

I didn’t want to break a limb. Not over a stupid dress.

It just wasn’t worth it.

My mom’s manicured hand snaked around my arm. “How does Indie get the
Valli
dress?” she demanded. “Without having to pay for it.”

She knew me too well.

Familiar goose bumps spread along my arms and tingled down my spine. As usual, the desire paired with my mom’s touch was a force too strong to overcome. My symptoms became unbearable. Soon enough, I found myself speaking against my will. “Two-one-two, five-oh-seven, six-eight-seven-three.”

Immediately, I felt lighter. My fight was lost.

“Is that a phone number?” my mom asked.

I nodded, ashamed I hadn’t been able to keep the information from her, and ashamed I was giving in to her once again. I ground out my next words angrily. “It’s Giambattista Valli’s personal cell. If he knows it’s for Indie, he’ll give her the dress for free.”

My sister clapped excitedly. “Hells yeah! Omigod, thank you, Mommy! This is so exciting. Everyone will be so jealous when they see me wearing the newest
Valli
.”

Thank you, Mommy
, her words echoed in my mind annoyingly. My fists clenched with the urge to strangle the excitement from Indie’s throat. Lucky for her, I wasn’t up to murdering anyone today.

My mother’s mouth curved into a smug grin. “That’s a good girl, Estelle. You’re truly a gem.”

I rolled my eyes again. “Glad to be your puppet.”

Once they were gone, I crawled back into the house, shaking with anger. I ran to my room, slamming the door behind me. I knew it would do no good, my slamming of it. My mom and sister were probably already downstairs waiting for the car. They wouldn’t concern themselves with something as minute as my feelings.

Still, it felt kind of nice. So I opened it back up and slammed it again.

Afterwards, I fell into my bed face-first and growled unbecomingly into the pillow. While beating the mattress with my fist, I let the rest of my pent up anger out. It surprised me, knowing I had so much rage boiling inside me.

It took a while before my breathing returned to a normal pace and my limbs stilled. I wasn’t sure what had bothered me so much this time. I didn’t usually let it bother me this much.

The May second square, circled in red on the calendar, teased me from the wall. Only one month to go until my birthday.

I’d be eighteen-years-old finally.

Most teenagers viewed the age of eighteen as something akin to freedom. I guess it could mean so many things…like college and leaving the family nest. Or it could mean getting a job, paying bills and learning how to cook. I wondered what eighteen meant for me. Was it only another day?

Or could it be the start of something more?

I gazed out my bedroom window, noticing the bright colors of springtime blooming within our neighborhood. Next year I could be staring out of a different window, possibly in the midst of a studious university, where the bricks and mortar bespoke of generations of young adults searching for themselves and their independence.

I shook my head, realizing the impossibility of being on my own. What was I thinking? I could never go to an actual university with other college students. It would be extremely stupid of me, especially after what had happened with Katie.

The memory of my old friend drew a sigh from my lips. I’d only attended half a year of high school because my mother decided to homeschool me after she found out about Katie Sorenson.

Katie and I had been best friends since grade school. She’d mentioned how she wished the most popular boy in school could be her boyfriend. So I told Katie how to do it. She hadn’t touched me and I hadn’t been forced to say anything. I told her how to capture her crush’s heart-simply because I wanted to. I told her what the boy’s interests were, where he hung out after school, what she could say to make him laugh, and what she could wear that he would think was pretty.

Katie thought nothing of it. In her mind, I’d only given out some awesome advice. I was being a good friend. My mother, on the other hand, freaked out when she learned what I’d done. By chance, she overheard Katie thanking me and put two and two together. She pulled me out of school the very next day.

Later that night, my mother terrified me as she described the implications of my ability. She described the different ways people could use me in frightening detail. For the first time, I’d begun to understand what this all meant for me.

Though my mom was the world’s biggest hypocrite, I knew she was right. I had to keep whatever this thing was a secret. God knows I already despised being used by her and my sister. I couldn’t imagine anyone else finding out, too. At least my family was smart enough to keep their mouths closed.

Sometimes I wondered why this thing happened to me, and how it might have been if I’d been…well, normal. My little sister wouldn’t be a rising pop star, that’s for sure. Her name would still be Irene and we would still live in our small home just outside of Portland. We wouldn’t be here, in Calabasas, California, residing in a mansion in the heart of the wealthy and posh, driving Maserati’s and wearing Chanel.

I would be different though. I would be…someone.
Perhaps someone less afraid of the world.

Something stirred in my bedroom, startling me. I slowly sat up and looked around. Nothing was there.

Chilled, I rubbed my arms, hugging myself. I grabbed a sweater from off of the storage chest at the end of my bed. I slipped it on and walked towards my writing desk. I flipped open my laptop, smiling as I checked my email account.

Thirty-seven new messages.
More traffic today than usual.

I sat down in my little wooden desk chair and opened the first email.

Dear Chloe,

(I loved my pseudonym. Aside from the fact that I have an old lady name in real life, I’d rather people didn’t know I was Indie Spencer’s big sister.)

Please help me! I’m in love with my best friend’s boyfriend…

Hmm…now that’s intriguing.

I don’t know what to do, Chloe. It’s killing me being around them both, kind of like I’m trapped in that 80’s song, “Jessie’s Girl.” Except my version would be entitled, “Britney’s Boy.”

I snickered at my reader’s anecdote. Sometimes these emails cracked me up.

I jerked my head up, hearing the noise again. My humor disappeared, replaced with a fearful edginess.

It almost sounded like something
wooshed
by me. I looked around, but couldn’t find anyone.

Then I saw a figure appear out of the corner of my eye.

My hand clutched to my chest as a faded little girl drew near me. Large brown eyes set within a round face, with fat brown curls to match. Her cheeks were rosy, but they started to pale. Her face became hollow.

I watched in horror as a red circle expanded within the fabric of her snowy white gown. It continued to grow, soaking the entire front of the dress.

Blood.

A choked scream tore from my throat. Dizzily, I ran to my closet, slamming the door and hiding inside. Falling backwards, I caught myself on some hanging clothes. I eventually collapsed along the floor.

My breathing wavered and my world went completely dark.

Abby, my
puppy,
whined and scratched at the closet door, waking me up. Groggily, I managed to pull myself off of the pile of sneakers I’d fallen on top of and stood upright. I groaned, feeling the soreness from the spots where my shoes had dug into my backside.

The puppy leapt onto me as soon as I opened the door, showering me with kisses. She almost knocked me over; she was getting so big. Some sort of mutt, I’d picked Abby up from the pound when she was nothing but a tiny black ball of fur. She’d steadily grown since I brought her home, much more than I ever anticipated.

“We agreed you would stay under twenty pounds, miss,” I muttered while scratching her behind the ears. “You’re clearly breaking our contract.”

She licked my cheek in response.

I sighed and gathered the courage to leave the closet, peeking around the corner first. Everything seemed normal and in its place. I stepped across the carpet slowly. My laptop was open where I’d left it on my desk. The Van Gough painting, “Starry Night” displayed as the screen saver.

I wondered if it had all been my imagination.

I’d been mulling over turning eighteen before I saw the girl…maybe this particular birthday was carrying more heavily over my shoulders than I’d originally thought.

I needed to get out of the house, pronto, and get some fresh air. I spent way too much time acting like a recluse and it was clearly beginning to reflect upon my sanity. I had enough problems as it was with the damned curse always getting in the way. I couldn’t afford to go all nutso, too.

Pulling my hair away from my face, I tied it into a tight band. After sliding some running shoes on, I ran down the spiraling staircase leading into the foyer. Abby bounded down after me excitedly. I was already breathing heavily by the time I made it to the front door.

Sometimes I missed our quaint little home back in Oregon, mostly during moments of laziness because it takes forever to get anywhere in this mansion-like house. However, my mom insisted we move into this place. “Your sister is a star,” she’d said, when I protested the move from Oregon. “We’re going to buy a home built for a star.”

I swear my mother had transformed into a snooty, social climbing elitist. She never acted like that before my dad died. I remembered a woman who was down to earth, a passionate baker, and a loving mother. I remembered stained aprons and watching her push her glasses up the bridge of her nose while browsing through recipes and cooking magazines.

She wears contacts now, of course. Colored ones, which turn her pretty hazel eyes into a creepy looking shade of green.

She used to bake the best pies and cakes, too, and had even won some competitions. Granted, they were small competitions, usually held at county fairs and church events, but exciting for her nonetheless. Daddy and I used to make her blush so hard because we would go on and on about how she was the best cook in the whole world. Such simple things used to make her
so
happy.

I can’t recall the last time she baked anything. Probably not since we moved. She’s done a complete one-eighty since then.

Pushing the old memories away, I leashed Abby and left the house. Rays of the setting sun spilled over us and I slid on my sunglasses. Together we jogged down the sidewalk. Both of us needed the exercise. Apparently I was full of pent-up energy. And Abby, well, she was always energetic.

We headed towards The Commons, a ritzy-ish shopping plaza. The grounds were elegantly manicured; the grass green and lush, and several koi ponds enhanced the plaza’s aesthetics. Abby loved to chase the fish back and forth.

My heart was pounding by the time we arrived. Abby looked up at me happily, her tongue hanging outside of her mouth.