The sky is starless as I walk out, the clouds turning the black night a dark gray. At least it’s not raining. I’ve always hated the rain. I climb into Lucy’s car and take out my phone to see if my father called again. But it won’t power on. It’s dead.
“Perfect,” I say, and toss it onto the seat. I close my eyes, my earlier conversation with Diego haunting me. The memory that wasn’t mine. I’m not sure how I’ll explain this to my father in a way that doesn’t make me sound crazy—even if that’s how it feels.
I could never know those things about another person. No one could. So how did I—
A swift knock at my window startles me and I stifle a scream. Standing there is an old woman, a knit cap pulled down over her white hair. She’s motioning for me to open my window, but I hesitate. She’s creepy.
I consider starting the car and pulling away, leaving her in my dust. But it seems cruel. So I lower the window—halfway.
“Hi,” I say, keeping back from the glass.
The old woman tilts her head to the side. “What are you doing here, child?” she asks in a ragged, broken voice. It’s a terrible sound, and I cringe from it.
“Leaving work,” I respond, glancing toward my purse. I figure she’s looking for a handout, maybe hasn’t even eaten today. And though the woman is freaking me out, I can’t leave her here with nothing. I reach inside and take out my five-dollar bill. “This is all I have,” I start to say as I hand it to her, but suddenly she grabs me by the wrist, yanking my arm out the window.
I shriek, trying to pull it back, but she’s strong. I’m afraid she’s going to bite me. Instead she ducks down, her wrinkled face close to the glass, and puts my palm to her cheek. “You’re so bright.”
“Let go!” Tears are streaming down my face and then images begin to fill my head—dark pictures of skin cracking, dead and gray underneath. “Stop!” I cry out again.
Suddenly the woman is pulled from the car, her broken nails digging into my flesh as she’s yanked away.
“What’s going on?” It’s Abe, and he has the woman by the shoulders. “I told you not to come here anymore. Do I have to call the cops?” He looks over at me. “Elise, did she hurt you?”
Next to Abe, the woman is fragile and small. I sniffle and then shake my head no. She seems harmless now, especially near Abe’s imposing frame. “Get out of here,” he growls at her. “And if I see you again, I won’t bother calling the cops.”
The old woman turns to me as she backs out of Abe’s arms. “I showed you. They’re coming, child,” she says, pointing to me. “Watch out for the Shadows!”
“Go!” Abe yells, pushing her toward the empty street. When she’s gone, he comes to stand outside my window. “I had to come back for my jacket. But—” He stops, peeking down at me.
I’m shaking as I inspect the four long scratches raked across the inside of my arm. “Ow,” I murmur, my throat thick with tears.
Abe motions to my cuts. “Looks like it hurts.”
“It does. Who was that?”
“Local psychic. Although now she’s mostly just a sad old lady who wanders around town sometimes. She’s never been violent before—just a pain in the ass. Why did she grab you?” he asks.
“I don’t know,” I say, touching the raw skin around the scratches. It really does hurt and I want to go home. I’ve never been attacked before. I’ve never even been yelled at before. I can only imagine how pink and puffy my face is from crying, but it hardly matters now. Not after the day I’ve had.
I wrap my uninjured arm around myself just as little taps begin to hit my windshield—drops of rain. I turn the ignition and flip on the wipers. Abe lifts his eyes toward the sky, annoyance passing over his features.
“Elise,” he says. “Since I just saved your life and all, do you think you can give me a ride home?”
I nod, and as Abe crosses to the passenger side, I brush the tears off my cheeks and unlock the doors. The minute Abe’s inside, I lock them again. I don’t need any more crazy old ladies grabbing me tonight.
The car is silent for a long moment before Abe reaches out his hand to me. “Can I see?” he asks. I slide my palm into his and he lays my arm across his thigh to inspect my wound. “It’s not so bad,” he says, running his finger gently over a scratch. He traces it back up again, tickling me. “I don’t think it’ll scar.”
“Lucky me,” I say.
He lets go, and I pull my arm back in front of me. My skin tingles where he touched me.
“Why were you alone, anyway?” Abe asks. “Didn’t Santo and Margie walk you out?”
“They did. I stayed an extra minute to call my dad, but my phone was dead. Then the woman came up to my window and I thought she wanted money—”
“And you gave it to her?” He laughs. “Elise, didn’t your mom teach you not to talk to strangers?”
“My mom is dead.”
“Oh. I’m sorry, I didn’t—”
“It’s okay. And yes, my dad did teach me that, but I was being nice. I didn’t expect her to—”
“Hey,” Abe interrupts. “You don’t have to dismiss the subject like that. My mother died last year.”
I look sideways at Abe, struck with sudden grief. He shrugs, as if acknowledging that we’re both in the dead-parent club. And it’s not really an awesome place to be.
“What happened to her?” I ask. “Was she sick?”
Abe exhales, reclining the seat back and stretching his long legs in front of him like he’s settling in. “No. It was an accident. Yours?”
My mother had never smoked a day in her life, but that didn’t matter when she was diagnosed with lung cancer at the age of thirty-five. I’d been eight years old. I can still remember the small things, but I’ve spent longer with a grieving father. So it seems that my time with her will always be overshadowed by my time without her. “She had cancer,” I say, checking over my scratches as a way of distraction. “I was just a kid, though.”
“I see. And how long have you been here, Elise? In Thistle?”
“A month. We moved from Colorado when my dad got a job at Mission Church. He thought my sister and I could use the change of scenery.”
“I bet. Too much beauty in all those mountains up there. You needed more dry air and sand in your life.” He smiles. “And your sister? Is she like you?”