She Lies Twisted (10 page)

Boyd is lying dead in a pool of dark.

You were minutes late.

It was your fault.

I opened my eyes with a gasp and jammed my fingers against the creature’s warm skull. Its body disappeared as neatly and easily as the sandman's but the blood remained. I struggled to get my feet under me and collapsed against the side of the house.

“
Are you feeling well, Tatum?” Asked the harpy lady. I closed my eyes and tried to swallow the clear night air into my aching chest. The blood on my knees was cooling rapidly. It was like having salt poured into a wound.

“
I have to go,” I said as I lurched towards the front door and into the house. I barely made it to the toilet before I was throwing up. My hair draped over my face and reminded me of my sister's dead body. I grabbed the edge of the sink for balance.
This is too much for me,
I thought as my fingers slipped off the granite counter top and I slumped against the wall.
I didn't want a new life. I didn't even want one at all.

I put my head between my legs and tried to catch my breath.

I needed a break. Sleep. I needed sleep. I raised my face and stared at the red splotches on my knees. But first I was going to shower.

Jam
es was waiting in the hallway for me when I came out but the harpy lady was nowhere to be seen. “Where's your friend?” I asked as I checked the tie on the white robe I'd found hanging in the bathroom. I think it had been Jessica's once. I didn't want to remember.

“
She had to leave but she did give us another assignment.” James was smiling as if this were a good thing. I wished I could agree with him. I continued past him and through the foyer, past the sitting room, and through a set of pocket doors that led to the kitchen. I planned on going to sleep but first I needed something to soothe my queasy stomach. Cereal was becoming my drug of choice. I almost felt like I couldn't get through the day without it. When I opened the blue box and found that nearly half of my remaining stash was gone, I almost flipped. But I had told James he could have it. I took a deep breath and went to the fridge. James sat down at the table and waited for me to join him.

“
So, uh, I guess I should explain things a little better.” I stared at him, the milk carton clutched tightly in my hand.

“
You think?” I asked and tried to remember to check my temper. Taking my feelings out on him wasn't going to help but I'd be damned if I didn't say it felt good. I took a deep breath and tried to force a smile. It felt awkward against my lips, like a mask that didn't fit. “I'm sorry,” I said. James didn't ask what for, just nodded.

“
You know,” he began slowly, as if testing the waters. I stayed silent. “It was hard for me, too, at first.” His voice trailed off in thought. I waited patiently, the sound of my spoon clinking against the china. “I couldn't stand the sound of cars for the first few months.” He held one of his hands out in front of his face and studied the minute stitches that wrapped around his index finger like a spiral staircase.

“
Because of your accident,” I confirmed, wanting to break the quiet. A little quiet was okay but too much left room for thoughts, memories. Pain.

“
No,” he said and his face fell. “Because of hers.” I dropped my spoon, chipping the fine porcelain.
He's talking about his friend, Sydney. He feels guilty.
James stood up quickly and pushed his chair in. “I think I'll check in, if you don't mind?” He flicked some of his gray-brown hair away from his face. I wanted to beg him to stay, to tell me why there was a catch in his voice that told me he blamed himself. I nodded, my mouth stuffed full of cereal and curiosity. The questions could wait, they would have to wait. James was already walking away, his borrowed sneakers soft against the wooden floor.

I stayed at the table for awhile trying to satisfy my curiosity with food. It didn't work and I found myself in the living room staring at a painting Jessica had made. Ribbons dripped from purple clouds like rain and a girl under an umbrella hunched beneath an oak tree, her blonde hair tugged by an unseen tempest. I smiled and touched the canvas with my fingers. Jessica had liked to paint with texture as much as color. The art was as vivid to my fingertips as it was to my eyes. “I miss you, Jess,” I said as my heart contracted with longing. Death was supposed to have been my chance for a reunion but now I was dead and I was still here, still suffering, still alone. “Why me?” I asked the girl in the painting. She didn't have an answer. Why should she? After all, the girl in the painting was me.

Movement outside the window caught my eye.

I weaved my way through the antique furnishings in the living room and into the adjacent sun room. The white harpy sat just outside on the sun bleached patio furniture. She was strumming a harp and humming a song I knew I'd never heard before. I opened the French doors and sat down on the edge of a chipped, cement bench. It had been nice once but neglect and time had taken their tolls.

“
Why are you doing this to me?” I asked her. She didn't look up until after she'd finished her song, tucking the harp beneath her right wing. Her face was sharp in the moonlight and her yellow lips shone like a beak. I wrapped my arms around myself to ward off a chill.

“
I've done nothing to you, Tatum,” she replied, folded her delicate hands in her lap. “Fate and circumstance chose you, not I.” I bit my tongue to stop myself from saying something I'd regret.

“
But why?” I asked. That seemed to be the million dollar question and nobody was willing to answer it.

“
I cannot help you with that,” she replied, tilting her chin up to meet the stars. “I can only assure you that I will do my utmost to guide your soul to peace.” I wanted to tell her that she sounded like one of the new age books that Boyd had liked to read where everything was flowers and love and kindness. It was all bull, of course, but I'd let him tell me about how we'd be reborn in the next life and things would be good. “Karma's a bitch,” he'd say. “But she's also fair, Neil. We've served our time. Next round's ours.” I guess he really believed it.

“
What was that thing?” I asked instead. I needed a distraction, I was starting to drown in pain again. I'd been treading water for way too long.

“
Just think of it as a lost soul,” she said simply, her voice tinkling like a wind chime. “And it's your job to guide it.” She folded her wings beneath her and disappeared into the night leaving behind a sea of feathers and the harp.

I sat on the bench for awhile, watching the trees sway in the breeze and waited for clarity to dawn on me, for some lifelong revelation to hit me in the face like a truck. The void of emptiness inside of me yawned, stretching wide enough to swallow me whole. I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to breathe. Nothing happened. I wasn't ready for that first breath yet. It was still too soon. I opened my eyes and stood up.

The harp beckoned to me in the silence, begging to be strum by expert fingers. I couldn't grant its request but I did pick it up. It was lighter than I'd expected, like it was made from aluminum instead of wood. I traced my fingers across the grain and wondered how they'd gotten such a dark, almost silver stain. It reflected my face like a mirror, the moon silhouetted behind me like a spotlight.
The universe is watching you, Tatum.
I plucked one of the strings and closed my eyes.

The sound was pretty but that was it. Nothing special had happened. I opened my eyes and frowned. Where was the magic? The mystery was there, that was for sure, but where was the hope that always accompanied a hero's journey into the unknown? I started to set the harp back on the bench when I noticed the inscription.

She lies twist'd, twist'd, twist'd,

On the edge of gray cliffs mist'd.

A shiver traveled down my spine as I moved into a brighter patch of moonlight to read.
Where have I heard this before?
I wondered as I finished the poem. It was only eight lines long but the message was pretty clear. “This is about me.” It was more of a statement than a question.
“That fucking harpy as a lot of explaining to do,” I snapped at nobody in particular.

I tucked the harp under my arm and stomped up to my room. I didn't worry about waking James or Grandma Willa. In reality, I almost hoped that one of them would wake up, join me in the hallway, and push away the loneliness that had crept back in like a fog. I needed a light like I needed air. I laid the harp on the windowsill next to the crows and wondered if I'd ever have one again.

I adjusted the hem of the skirt I was wearing. It was too short for a funeral but it was the only 'dress' that I had. I tried to ignore the stares of the old people in the aisles, their gray hair tucked under veiled hats or combed over to hide bald spots. Their glares made me feel like a fucking harlot for daring to show off my calves.

“
You'd think I'd worn a red mini,” I hissed at James as we sidled into the front bench next to the weeping widow. I sort of felt like Harold and Maude only James and I weren't here for fun, we were here for business. He gave me a tight lipped smile but didn't respond. He was nervous and so was I. Today was our first real 'assignment.' James would touch the body or, as he'd corrected me earlier, at least somewhere in the vicinity so that the soul would be released from its earthly bonds. I would then step in and touch the ghost, sending it to the Akashic Library to study its past lives and hopefully, learn from its mistakes. I took a deep breath. It didn't seem so complicated anymore. It was actually a fairly simple concept. I just had to ignore the demons, the harp, and the creepy poem and it all made perfect sense. I sucked in another breath between my teeth. The widow looked up and glared at me.

I huddled down, burying myself in the gray wool coat that had belonged to my mother. Eight years later and it still smelt like ash. I shivered with unwanted memories. James wrapped his fingers around my hand. I stiffened.
You wanted a friend and now you've got the chance to make one. Do not blow this.
I pretended to yawn and pulled my hand away to cover my mouth. Boyd had been touchy-feely, James was touchy-feely. I guessed it was a good sign but still, we'd only met four days ago. I wasn't sure if I was ready to hold hands yet.

James didn't look like he'd noticed. I sighed with relief.
Nobody will ever love you again,
my brain whispered sibilantly.
You had your chance. Boyd was a perfect match for you and you ruined it. You don't deserve friends.
I ignored my own thoughts. They'd gotten me nowhere. I tried to move my attention to something else. The sermon was just a bunch of crap I'd heard a thousand times before.
At Jason's funeral, at Dad's, at Mom's, at Abe's, at Jessica's.
Boyd hadn't gotten a real funeral but then, I'd died for him, sort of. I supposed that was worth more than some empty words.

I surreptitiously flicked open the latch on my purse. The inscription on the harp whispered at me from inside the velvet folds.
Touch me, play me, sing me.
I snapped it closed. My new found interest with the instrument was starting to border on obsession. I pushed that back, too.

James rose from his seat and I found myself the only person in the audience still sitting. I stumbled to my feet.

The widow approached the dais first. We waited in uncomfortable silence while the family said their goodbyes, dripped tears across the still face in the coffin, and had to be dragged away by friends. I stared at my feet intently. I didn't want to look at that, at other people feeling like I felt. It was too personal, too emotional. I blinked back tears.