It had taken ten minutes for me to stop crying. I knew if I even thought about the fact that I had cried for that long, the sobbing would begin anew. I was hovering in a fog, looking out at the unreal world. Snow covered the ground, making the world gray and dead, with no divide between the sky and the terrain.
Hugh and Claire took me to a restaurant, like a special occasion. Hugh forced a menu in front of me. I felt plastered to the booth, having lost the urges to eat or go to the bathroom. I stared at the same menu for what felt like forever, but none of the words or pictures made any sense. The food all looked as though it was made out of rubber.
"The funeral is tomorrow," Claire said gravely.
I had no idea what she was talking about. I was busy looking at a shiny, shiny photo of a hamburger. Play food. Not for human consumption. My mind made a grisly comparison between the ground beef and Jenna.
A plate of food was suddenly in front of me, indicating time had passed. One of my parents must have ordered for me. I had no desire to pick up the fork.
"How did she die?" I asked finally. My voice sounded alarmingly flat.
Hugh and Claire looked at each other, their familiar puppy dog eyes routine.
"Stop doing that!" I burst. "I hate it when you do that, looking at each other like 'what should we say to this kid.'" I sounded angry, but I didn't feel anything except the hole in my heart. They looked taken aback, as though I might self-destruct.
"They think she drowned—" Hugh began.
Claire cut him off. "Hugh, please, I don't think—"
"She wants to know. She'll find out anyway. Better she hears it from us."
Still talking as if I wasn't there, as if I was just an inanimate object or a plant. A cactus, something that didn't even need tending. Claire shut her mouth, but her eyes bulged with worry about letting the little girl in on the secrets of the bad world.
"Drowned," I repeated. "Like water in the lungs. Sucking in the sea."
"Yes," Hugh said, his voice quiet. He cleared his throat and came back stronger. "A couple of guys were testing out the ice for fishing in the middle of Hush Lake. It froze up pretty good around the rim, but the center was still soft and dangerous. They put their hooks in and..."
"She doesn't need a visual," Claire snapped, clearly uncomfortable. Little iridescent beads of sweat peeked out from beneath her hairline. She hadn't touched her food either, and it reminded me of the birthday cake that only Hugh had eaten.
"And they found her underneath the ice," Hugh finished.
"When?" I asked gruffly, staring at him. My hands twisted my napkin, jerking it back and forth.
"A few days ago. They had to check the dental records because she had decomposed, being in the water like that—"
"Oh my god," Claire hissed. She bolted to her feet, tossing her napkin on the table, and rushed away. She was going to throw up, I could tell by the green flush on her face. Hugh looked embarrassed. I didn't blame him—he had the same wild imagination as me. He didn't find humor or excitement in the details, he just couldn't help but see them.
"Sorry, kiddo," he said sadly.
"It's not your fault. It's just what happened."
"I'm sorry for all of it, though. You're too young to live through this."
I had no comfort to offer him, and with what he'd gone through with Warwick, he didn't have much for me either. So we sat in silence, staring at the food that we wouldn't eat, destined to decompose in styrofoam boxes, unwanted.
###
That night, all I could see when I closed my eyes was Jenna drowning. She floundered in the water, thrusting her arms up but catching no relief. Arms reaching for me, she screamed for help as water flooded her mouth. But I couldn't even touch her.
I cried even in my sleep, tears stinging the skin around my eyes. The world was tinted blue and gray when I awoke. It wasn't a vision or a ghost doing it—it was my own mind.
A selfish thought kept chasing me, no matter how hard I tried to stop it. I wanted Henry there. I wanted to wrap myself in his arms and put my head on his chest and be safe again. That only made the tears come harder and harder. That safety was gone, and had never been real to begin with.
I woke up with my face sticky and red, my eyes puffy with salt. I could almost feel the grimy lake water in my own lungs, the smell of lake weeds clinging to my hair beneath the fruity layer of shampoo, gagging me.
###
Theo accompanied me to the visitation. She was dressed entirely in black, and I'd never before seen her fully devoid of makeup or glitter.
"I'm sorry I don't have much to say," I told her in a voice so small I didn't think she'd hear.
"Ariel, please," she said, grasping both of my hands in hers. "I'm here for you. I don't need anything from you."
I wanted to be grateful, and deep down I'm sure I was. But I still felt nothing, a vast swirling hollow inside of me sucking up every speck like a black hole. I finally knew the meaning of dead on the inside.
I was preoccupied with the idea that Madison and Lainey might show up at the funeral. I kept bringing up the paranoid thought to Theo and my parents, who assured me that wouldn't happen.
At the funeral home, a majestic white building with Grecian columns and pots with fake ivy spilling out, we walked up the steps and directly to the funeral room. Her room, with her body. I refused to think of her as the body. She was still Jenna, even if all that was left was her abandoned shell.
I walked over to the casket; it was closed. The word decomposition flitted through my head. There were lilies in vases all over the room, making it smell sweet, too sweet. Jenna had wanted to be cremated, her ashes scattered in the ocean. Why did I know that and no one else?
"That's the only way I'll ever get there. Then I can live in the water forever," she'd told me dramatically. I think we were ten at the time. She'd been clutching a seashell her grandmother had brought her up again her eye, twisting it back and forth like a kaleidoscope. But she'd never made it to the ocean.
###
It snowed all night, and I watched it out the windows. Hugh and Claire spoke in soft voices around me so I could pretend they weren't even there. They went up to their room early, leaving me alone on the couch with Grandma Eleanor's afghan slung on my shoulders. A mug of hot cocoa went cold in front of me.
At eight PM on the dot, my ringtone went off. I whipped my head around, watching my phone jerk and flicker on the coffee table. The number came up as unavailable, but I had the strongest feeling that it was Henry. The thought filled me with hope and dread and horror at my old obsession. I had to stop myself from smashing the phone against the wall.
The caller didn't leave a message.
I stood up again and went to the back door, watching the snowstorm outside. It was beginning to get quite high, at least six inches having fallen over what was already there. I rubbed my hands over my arms. Even though I'd thrown a sweater over my turtleneck, I was still freezing.
The thought hit me instantly, like a lightning bolt. I didn't want to see the dead anymore; I didn't even want to know why I had in the first place. There had to be others like me—let them handle the visions and weird sounds and hands reaching from beyond the grave. I'd done my part; I'd helped the girls. Let me be. I didn't want to know what lurked out in the shadows.
I didn't think I'd ever fall asleep, but as soon as I laid down, I was plunged into oblivion. And there I stayed as the months passed by, never fully waking, waiting for a spark.
###
"Why won't she let me in?" Jenna said, pacing back and forth in front of Ariel's basement doors. "I wasn't gone for that long."
But part of her knew that wasn't true. She'd been here for a while now, waiting, watching. The things creeping around in the shadows were getting closer. And the sun wasn't coming up. She could feel the dark seeping into her pores, filling all the spaces inside where the blood should have been.
"Please, Ariel," Jenna pleaded with the air, bangin
g on the door again. The only sound she could hear was the rhythmic pounding of her fists.
THUD. THUD THUD. THUD.
About the Author
Abigail Boyd began writing stories as a kid on dark and stormy nights. She was born and still lives in Michigan with her husband and the haunting cries of three rambunctious children. Her influences include Stephen King, Veronica Mars, and lots of processed sugar. She wishes that time had a pause button.
Gravity is the first book in the four part Gravity Series. The sequels Uncertainty and Luminosity are out now, and the final book will be released in 2013. For more information, feel free to contact me or visit me online.
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[email protected] This edition uploaded 3-31-13
Read an excerpt from
Katherine Pine's
AFTER EDEN (FALLEN ANGELS #1)
Prologue
The two of us used to reenact The Snow Queen in the woods behind our house. We'd begin by lying on the lawn, and his cool fingers would squeeze my hand until my eyelids grew heavy and my breathing slowed. Then he would let go.
"Where are you going?" I'd call out as I grabbed his ankles, causing him to stumble when he tried to stand.
"Stop," he'd tell me. "I don't love you anymore. I love my queen." He didn't want to say such things, he didn't even like the game, but I loved it and so he indulged me.
After that he would run into the woods. I would count to ten, and then go find him.
Once I found him in a pile of autumn leaves. He'd hidden in the tall branches of the old oak, and then fallen and skinned his knee. He didn't cry, he never cried, but I did.
Sniffling, I rolled up his pant leg and picked up a yellow oak leaf from the forest floor. It wasn't medicine, we both knew that, but still my brother let me rub it on his skin. "You found me," he said.
"I will always find you," I promised, and my little heart meant every word. It loved him more than it could stand, and so it could not conceive of a world where those words wouldn't be true.
"I love you, Devi," he said. I wanted him to call me Greta. Greta was the girl from The Snow Queen. She was the brother of Kai, the boy in the fairy tale who shared my own brother's name.
Things would have turned out differently if my name really had been Greta. She was the bringer of spring. She could suffer the winter and melt the ice around her brother's heart. She would find Kai regardless of where he'd gone or who'd taken him.
But I'd been named Devi, and so after he was stolen I couldn't find him, no matter how hard I tried.
Chapter 1
No other girl under the age of 18 would be caught dead outside Morrison's after 5pm, especially when the sky looked like a backdrop from the opening scene of a hardboiled mystery. The used bookstore's turquoise and mustard yellow exterior had always reminded me of my grandmother's psychedelic kitchen, and so conjured memories of unconditional love, burnt cookies and salmonella poisoning. Maybe that's why I chose to spend Friday nights shuffling through the sale books on the outdoor rack instead of getting ready to hit the clubs or crash a party on the East side.
Unfortunately all they had out were the usual suspects--science fiction novels featuring giant reptiles shooting lightning from their bloodshot eyes, techno-thrillers, and old school romances a la Lilac Lovelace's magnum opus Sweet Savage Sentiments. I skimmed a few chapters before closing it with savage disappointment.
You won't find him here.
My fingers trembled, suddenly aware of the cold air, and the trashy book almost fell from them. That voice was so lonely and quiet--the voice of a child. I stumbled back. Don't do this, I commanded, but I'd already shut my eyes, gone completely still, and made my breath as quiet as possible.
I listened for that voice to return. Only the sound of tires, the dull, throbbing beat from the strip club across the street, and my own internal silence responded.
He wasn't there. It was just my mind playing tricks. I shut my eyes and stood. Don't look, I told myself as my heartbeat raced. I just needed to keep my face forward, to bury myself in the pages of a book, any book. I couldn't--
I glanced over my shoulder. Above the line of skyscrapers I could just barely make out the gray silhouette of the West hills. My house was hidden up there, behind the cedars, firs, and gnarled limbs of deciduous trees. Part of me longed to go home, drop my backpack by the front door, and curl up under the quilt on my bed to wait for sleep. But I couldn't go home. Not yet. Night wouldn't come for another few hours.
I looked away from the forested heights and returned my attention to the neon-lit heart of the city. The days were getting shorter, I reminded myself. Soon I'd be able to wander past that spot on the bluff where he'd disappeared without seeing every detail of the oak, the crumbling wooden gate, and the wide expanse of gray buildings far below. I'd still know those things existed in the dark, of course, but at least the images wouldn't seduce my mind into playing that memory over and over--the one of my twin brother being taken by the man in white.
I wiped my sleeve across my eyes. Thinking about it shouldn't have affected me this much after so many years, or at least that's what everyone kept telling me.
A gust of freezing wind blew at my back. I crossed my arms over my chest and stared into Marilyn Monroe's carefree smile. Ever since I was a kid the front window had featured that famous poster of her standing above the vent, pushing that little white dress over her legs. She looked warm and dry--I was kind of jealous.
The wind roared again. Marilyn's face didn't change but her dress seemed to twirl, perhaps due to the shadow of the twirling poppet nailed from a string on the overhang.
Wait, what?
I blinked. Alright, I hadn't just imagined it. A black doll no bigger than my hand danced in the breeze. Three pins stuck out of its chest, and pasted on its back were two feathers--one red, one white.
I suppressed a chill. That had to be new. Either that or someone was playing a joke on the pudgy, aging clerk; I doubted someone who wore freshly ironed polo shirts with little animals embroidered below the collar was into that sort of thing. Then again, whoever owned the place seemed to collect oddities. There was a dream catcher above the register, and the door to the storage room had been replaced by long strands of glow in the dark beads.
I rested my hand on the doorknob, debating whether or not to go inside. They probably wanted to close early. The only customers they'd get on a day like this were lunatics--well, lunatics and hopeless romantics with a fetish for the smell of dusty old books, which in their eyes probably amounted to the same thing.
My grip on the doorknob tightened. They hadn't officially closed yet. A light still glowed from the back of the store and no one had flipped around that illegible, handwritten sign in the window I'd always assumed said "We're Open."
I glanced down at the florid pink book I still held and decided to check their romance section before I left. They had to have something better than Sweet Savage Sentiments.
Right as the thought entered my mind something hot built up in my throat, increasing in pressure until I could scarcely breathe.
Panic seized my chest. I tried to grip the doorknob but I couldn't feel the cool metal beneath my fingertips anymore. Not now, I pleaded. It was always my first thought when the headaches started. My head pulsated as if my blood was trying to pump out of my skin. God, why did this have to happen--and so randomly, too? I was going to collapse. I had to get out of there before I passed out on the street. Already the gray, fall sky was blurring into the sidewalk. My palms hit
my temple, slick with perspiration. Maybe the clerk inside...
Too late . I fell into the door and the bell above it jingled, signaling a visitor. No, signaling me, gasping for breath and flopping around on the pavement like a fish. If it didn't hurt so bad I would've laughed.
Two boots appeared in front of my face, so close I could feel the leather on the tip of my nose. A hand gripped my shoulder and a voice said something, maybe. Then everything faded.
***
Someone was trying to pound my chest into submission. Okay, okay, I conceded. But whatever was above me couldn't read my mind. Instead of stopping, it dragged something sharp across my collarbone.
Damn that stings . I placed my hand over the scratch and opened my eyes.
My long, black hair was plastered to my face. In between the strands I saw two slanted, yellow eyes staring back. I sucked in a breath as the mass of fur meowed and catapulted forward, pushing its wet nose into my chin.
"You're finally up. Are you feeling better?" A man's voice. It sounded contemplative and primal, as if someone were whispering a lament over a dying fire. Or perhaps it only seemed so enigmatic because I was half awake.
"I hope you're not allergic to cats," he continued.
Clack . Something was placed beside me. I rolled my head to the side. My temples still pounded lightly and my vision was still blurry. The fact that I was being attacked by kitty kisses probably didn't help.
"Not allergic." I sniffed the mug on the table and grimaced. "Hate coffee," I muttered.
Out of the corner of my eye I saw a hand reach down to grip the mug and cringed, this time from pure shame. I wanted to explain that I wasn't normally that selfish, but my tongue refused to move.
Luckily he just chuckled. "Be right back." His footsteps grew distant and then inaudible, leaving me alone with the sound of the cat's rhythmic purring.
I rubbed its sleek coat as my vision cleared. Dim light spilled over the walls from over a dozen candles. The way they were spaced around the room in a circle reminded me of a séance, but that's where the similarities between this storage space and a midnight ritual ended. Instead of being sprawled across an altar dressed in something sheer and white, I was underneath a woolen blanket on a faded pink couch that smelled of coffee and dust. Bookcases lined the walls from floor to ceiling, and even more books were stacked in tall, uneven piles throughout the room.