Untethered (30 page)

“Okay. Well, some people follow their spiritual guides when they leave their bodies. Some don’t. Do you remember the movie
Pinocchio
?”

“
Pinocchio
?”

“Yeah. The puppet and the cricket? There’s a song in there ...” She starts singing, her voice way off key. “’And always let your conscience be your guide.’ If you’re a spiritual person, your conscience is your guide. Maybe it’s weighing you down. Maybe it’s not clean. Or clean enough.” She shrugs. “No one’s perfect, but some things weigh heavier on us than we think.”

My whole body tingles.
Tell the truth
. Kevin wasn’t just saying it to torture me.

“You know, though, Kevin, you’ve got to be careful with astral projection.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, it’s like swimming in the lake.” She smiles at me. “It can be fun, amazing. You experience sensations and a freedom you can’t experience anywhere else. But it can be dangerous. If you panic, you can drown. There’s currents, cold spots, drop-offs that can catch you off guard. Same thing outside of your body. There’s negative energy, waves that can eat away at who you are. Feed off your fears. Get into your head.”

I swallow a rough, dry pocket of air.

“But once you know to look for it, you can sense it. A shadow. A whisper. A voice or a presence you’re not sure of.” David lets out a weak cry and Kevin’s step-mom jiggles around a bit to calm him.

“Shadows?”

She lifts her eyes from David and studies me. “You’ve experienced it already?”

“Not ... not always. Just sometimes.”

“Was it when you were feeling sad or upset or angry? When you projected at that time?”

I think about it. When it happened. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s it.”

She nods. “You were probably in the lower astral.”

“Huh?”

She gets up, swaying back and forth, rubbing David’s little head. “So, how to explain? Okay, radio waves. We know they exist, right, even if we can’t see them?”

“Yeah,” I say slowly.

“Well, so do different planes. They vibrate at different levels than we do. They’re out there, they exist, even if we can’t see them. And how we feel when we project determines what level we go to. Lower feelings result in lower vibrations. And you end up with the lower beings. The negative energy. You don’t want to open yourself up to them.”

I stare at her, the hair on my arms rising. “But what happens if you do?”

She shakes her head. “From what I’ve read, they mess with you. Create havoc. Mischief. Chaos. Which is bad enough. Some talk about possession, but that’s extremely rare—”

I must look terrified because she puts a tentative hand on my shoulder. “Don’t be scared. There’s so much more out there, too.” She gestures to my painting. “You’ve seen it. And you’ll start to notice that you’re not alone. That most of the others out there are just people projecting, like you. Those of us who are pretty healthy spiritually stick to the higher realms.”

But I can’t stop thinking about the shadows. About the way they seduced me, got me to trust them. About the voice in my head, telling me I could be Cassie. That I could be beautiful. That I could get the boy. That possession was the way.
What did I open myself up to?

David starts crying in earnest now. Kevin’s step mom starts to leave and is at the door when I say, “But what about getting lost? Or stuck out there? Or in someone else?”

“I wouldn’t worry about that. It’s quite difficult to stay out there willingly, let alone on accident. And from everything I’ve read, no one’s ever reported going into someone else.” Then she steps into the hallway, closing the door gently behind her.

The second the door clicks shut, I hear a shuddering sigh directly behind and above me. My heart starts drumming.
Other people out there.
“Kevin?” I know for sure it’s him.

I swear I hear a barely audible sobbing.

“Kevin? We need to talk.” I wait and listen. But he gets silent. “I’m going to tell Cassie the truth and get out of you,” I say. “Just like you told me to.”

Still silent. Something in the core of me wriggles, but then I feel a suffocating squeeze. Like all of a sudden someone poured concrete into my gut.

“You heard what your step-mom said, right? We’ve got to get you back. It could be dangerous. For both of us. You’re not with the shadows, are you?”

No anwer, but I’m sure he’s still there. Positive. My entire body is covered in goose bumps.

“I don’t want to be you anymore.”

Still nothing. I ask, “Why haven’t you ever gone into my body so we could have worked this out?” But I know the answer. He wouldn’t want to be Psycho Sylvie Sydell. She’s the kind of girl who tries to steal her best friend’s body. Even floating around in the ether is better than being her.

But I’m no longer her
, I think, then say aloud, “I’m no longer her. Sylvie Sydell has become a new person.” I narrow my eyes at the empty air around me. “And I don’t mean you.”

Supper doesn’t go much better than the night before. Kevin’s dad comes home late from work. “How was swim practice?” he asks, as he sits down at the table.

“I didn’t g—”
Just lie,
I tell myself before I ruin it all
.
“Uh ... Good,” I say, not looking at him. “Wet.”

The meal’s fantastic: barbecue ribs and home fries. Salad with some thick, creamy dressing. At least being Kevin has
some
advantages. I rip a huge hunk of meat off a rib with my teeth and despite my mouth being full I say to Kevin’s step-mom, “This is phenomenal.”

She beams at me. Like I was little David, not Kevin. A fuzzy warmth spreads through me.

“Your mother called me.” Mr. Phillips skewers a chunk of salad with his fork, brings it to his mouth and chews. “She said I need to teach you some manners. That you hung up on her.”

“
I
need some manners? She cancelled on me. And apparently this isn’t the first time.”

Mr. Phillips looks at me funny. But then he shakes his head and goes on, his voice louder and more angry. “It doesn’t matter what she did. You don’t hang up on an adult.” He wipes his mouth with his napkin and gives me a hard look. “Why do you even want to spend time with that woman? I’ve told you over and over she doesn’t care about you. Not one bit. She never has.”

It’s like someone took a huge sword and just —WHOOSH — spliced through me in one quick swoop. The pain is intense enough that I look down at myself to make sure I’m still in one piece. And then a scene flashes in my head. And I see my feet —Kevin’s feet—on the stairs, only they’re smaller and in Spiderman tennis shoes. I’m leaning against the wall, hiding, listening to a conversation in the living room I know I shouldn’t be listening to. I hear Kevin’s mom’s voice, disgust lowering her timbre: “You can have full custody of Kevin, for all I care. God knows I never wanted to be a mother.”

I reel back and I’m in Kevin’s kitchen looking at the stern face of Mr. Phillips.

And then I know these flashes aren’t just weird thoughts. They’re memories, stuck in this brain. They’re memories that are not my own.

Kevin’s step-mom reaches out to touch my forearm, but my body jerks in reflex, up and out of my chair. “I’m not hungry anymore,” I say and run upstairs.

On Kevin’s bed, the tears overtake me. Long sobs that make my chest hurt.

The thing is, I don’t know which of us is crying — me or Kevin.

Maybe, it’s both of us.

Thirty-Six

The Upside of the Downside

Later, when I’ve finally cried myself dry, I call Sam.

“Hi,” I say. “I just wanted to know how things are. How’s Mom and Dad?”

“They were at the hospital tonight holding hands.” Then he sighs. “There’s no kissing or anything like that, but they don’t act mad anymore. ”

Ironically, my projecting may have brought them back together after all. I feel the first genuine smile form on this face since I’ve had it. “No divorce, then?”

“They haven’t called it off completely, but they’re not in a hurry anymore. That’s what they said.”

I imagine them, on the plastic hospital seats, fingers entwined, knees touching. Maybe it’s enough for them to get back together.
Wouldn’t that be great?
But then I hear myself saying something surprising: “Well, as long as they’re okay with each other. And with us. Married or divorced.”

Sam doesn’t say anything. I take a breath and ask, “Did I just say that?”

“Yeah. You did.”

I think it over. “Well, I mean it. Mostly.”

“Fine. But maybe if you stay Kevin long enough, they
will
get back together.”

I groan. “No way.”

There’s a silence and I hear Sam jiggling the phone. “Okay. So you’re in him. It’s horrible, I’m sure, but it could be worse.”

“Sam, I have a penis. How on Earth could it be worse?” But I think of the shadows, the voices. Maybe I’m lucky something even more evil didn’t happen.

Sam ignores my jibe and continues instead, his voice faltering, “Sylvie, I gotta tell you something. There’s bad news. Things aren’t getting better. The doctors actually talked to Mom and Dad about the possibility of ... you ... not making it. They wouldn’t have told me if they weren’t really worried.”

I clutch the phone tighter, hoping I misunderstood his words.

“Mom won’t leave the hospital room. Dad’s always outside because he’s smoking constantly.” He pauses. “I just think you need to know that it could happen.”

I can’t answer. I can’t say a thing. I hear Sam sob into the phone.

Sam’s crying gets me. It always has. “I’ll figure something out, Sam,” I say to reassure him.

But I have no idea what.

I call Cassie so we can meet, so I can tell her the truth, but she doesn’t answer her phone. When I call her house phone, her mom says, “Oh, she’s at a meeting of some sort.” Weird. Cassie isn’t in a club or anything. If I weren’t so terrified about my body dying, I’d be relieved. Because despite wanting to be out of Kevin, I’m in no rush to spill it all.

Just as I close my eyes, my phone rings. It’s a number that comes up unknown on Kevin’s phone. “Hello?”

“Cassie gave me this number.” It’s Nelson’s voice. I bolt upright like a rocket.

“So, you know it’s me? You know I’m not Kevin?” The words rush out. Then I stop and take a breath. “You believe me.”

“No,” he says. “I just ... you said Sylvie needed a friend. I just wanted to know how you think I can help her.”

A happy ache bobs inside me like a buoy on water. “You just did, Nelson.”

I’m about to go to sleep when the phone buzzes. I pick it up, hoping it’s Nelson again because it says UNKNOWN caller. But it’s not. I don’t think. The phone buzzes. And buzzes. It’s a message. And another one. And another one. And another one:

“rd sum mor”

“red som mre”

“read sm mr”

I stare down at it, wondering what the hell is going on. But I can feel Kevin. In the room. Like a breath on a sigh on the wind. A shiver runs down my spine. It’s got to be him.

But what’s he saying? The phone buzzes again:

“READ SOME MORE”

I stare down at the screen, swearing. Then it hits me: the notebook. He’s trying to tell me something.

I page through it and stop on a long passage. His writing slants to the left, and the blue ink is thick and smudged in some places. I read:

October 27: Bryce won’t let me go back on the bet. Like everything else with him, the damn thing has taken on mega proportions. Why did I even agree to it? But he knows where and when and how to strike with me. And I was wasted. Too wasted.

But I like her. A lot. Yeah, she’s hot. But it’s more than that. Sometimes, when I look in her eyes, it’s like I get lost there, she’s so deep. And she knows what it’s like to have parents who want you for what you can do, not who you are. I’m actually kind of glad I didn’t hook up with her for the bet. She’s delicate. Breakable. I want to take it slow. And I want her to decide.

So I told Bryce off. Fuck him. Fuck everyone. He can still take the Camaro if he has to. I came home early from his place. Couldn’t stand looking at his face anymore. I’m gonna AP a bit, and then tomorrow I meet her for lunch. I have to tell her the truth, or she’ll hear it through Bryce, and that would be BAD. He’ll give her all the details, and then make more up, that’s for sure. I’ve typed up a sort of confession/apology to text to her. Because I know I won’t be able to say it out loud. She might hate me. She will hate me. But I have to let her know. And maybe I’ll figure out how to win her back.

I stop reading and look again at the date. October 27
^th
. Whoa. That was when I projected. Into him. In the middle of the night, sometime between the 27
^th
and the 28
^th
. He was going to tell Cassie the truth. But he never got a chance.

I page through some more and can’t believe my eyes. The guy’s a closet poet. He’s written tons of poems, from haiku to free verse. And a lot are about a copper-haired girl with green eyes and a sad smile.
How the hell did I miss that?
My spying skills suck.

So Kevin is a complete cretin for even taking part in the bet, but I can’t say he’s all bad. He genuinely likes Cassie. For the right reasons.

“All right, Kevin, I won’t judge you anymore,” I say out loud. Then I laugh a bitter laugh. “Like I can.”

“Tomorrow I’m getting out of you. And we take care of things on our own.”

Thirty-Seven

Or Not So Psychotic

I dream again of Kevin. He’s standing before my painting, tracing the lines of my brushstrokes with his finger. “You’re really good,” he says.

I don’t move or say a thing, but I can feel my heartbeat in my throat.

He glances at the door of his room, then keeps his gaze there, like he can see beyond it to where the rest of his family is sleeping. When he turns back to me, his eyes are full of a sad sort of humor. “I saw you with Amanda. Seems like you’re a better me than I am. Maybe—”