Oppression (11 page)

It made my heart settle to see her familiar face. She had the same button nose covered in freckles, and silky flat hair turned slightly silver over the years. Her eyes squinted tightly behind her lifted cheeks as she smiled.

“I swear, every time I see you, I’m—”

I jumped to my feet. “Shhh,” I snapped, grabbing her hand and rushing her inside.

“What’s going on?” she asked in a hushed voice.

“Why haven’t you been answering your phone?”

“I don’t know. It’s probably on silent. What’s wrong with you?”

“Everything,” I said, closing my eyes, trying to wish it all back to the way it was. “I might have been followed. Maybe not though. You have to be careful.” All the worries I’d been toiling over were spilling out in one long breath. “Make sure you lock the door, and . . .”

“Elyse?”

My heart began to pound with anxiety.

“Is everything all right?”

“No,” I answered, and fell into her arms for comfort. I noticed how thin and frail she was as I wept into her shoulder, too thin.

After a few minutes of long awaited consoling, she led me to the couch. The place was small and more cluttered than I remembered. Shoes were lined up by the door, DVD’s piled next to the TV, and books stacked everywhere there was space, but it was as tidy as she could make it.

I took a seat on the worn out toffee-colored sofa. Anna brought me a blanket and hot cinnamon tea, still waiting for me to be ready to talk. How could I tell her she and Chloe were in danger and that it was my fault? I was thankful she was giving me time to settle down, to process the fact that everything was fine. She was fine. Her presence was comforting, and so nostalgic that I hardly noticed her aging eyes. As I looked past her into the girl I remembered, reminiscence dredged up inside of me.

The memory of our quiet town, which fell asleep at sundown every evening without fail, was like a forgotten dream that I could suddenly recall. It was a safe place, so Anna and I were allowed to venture off to the pair of swings behind our old brick school every night after dinner. We’d peel the loose fencing back and climb into the closed off space unnoticed, free to do as we pleased.

“I’m going to get out of here, Elyse,” she’d say. “I’m not going to let this place suck
me
in like it has everyone else.”

The wind whipped past our ears as we launched ourselves into the fading light of the dusky sky. I loved the feeling, diving head first into a pool of sweet summer air as the horizon turned the color of rainbow sherbet with the setting sun.

“I don’t know. It’s not so bad.” I never understood why she wanted to ‘get out.’ The place was heaven to me. It had everything I always wanted—school, friends, a normal life—but Anna wanted more than that. She wanted to really live.

“
Not so bad?
Elyse, there is a whole world out there. Don’t you want to see it?” We whooshed past each other, our legs pumping us higher. “I swear, when I’m eighteen, I’m going to find the biggest city there is and live right in the middle of it. I want to fall asleep to buzzing street sounds and go to dinner at one in the morning. Maybe I’ll be on Broadway or travel with a band or something.”

“Your mom’s going to love that,” I said, my hair trailing behind me like ribbons in the wind.

“I don’t care. I’m not going to just marry Charlie Stanton from down the street and iron his shirts and cook him food.”

I laughed at the disgust in her voice as she damned the future plans her mother had mapped out for her.

“Well if you do, remember to send me the wedding photo.
That
I’d have to see.”

“Are you kidding? If I marry Charlie Stanton, you’re marrying Billy Casey, which means we’d probably be neighbors, in which case I’d be over at your house complaining every day.”

“I’m not marrying Billy Casey. He smells like jerky.”

“I know,” she laughed. “But,
if
I do get married, it’s going to be to a singer or guitar player anyway. Not Charlie Stanton.”

“I don’t think I’ll get married,” I said as though it were a decision I’d made, not a reality I was forced to face.

“Yeah. Me either. Let’s just move to LA and live in an apartment together.”

“That sounds like fun,” I agreed, but I had my doubts about that sort of thing. When she was eighteen, I’d still look like I should be in junior high. I gripped the metal chains of my swing tighter. “Do you think we’ll still be friends by then?”

“Why wouldn’t we be? We’re best friends, and we’re going to be best friends until we’re both eighty and playing bingo for money on Tuesdays.”

Sitting there in her living room, in a reality so far from what she’d dreamed, returned the memory, fleeting as it was, to the back of my mind.

“I don’t know how I got myself into this,” I confessed to her. “I guess I would have found out eventually, but . . .”

“What?”

“You’re not going to believe me.”

She shook her head in disagreement. “After the way you’ve aged, I would believe you if you said you were Wonder Woman.”

“Well, I’m not Wonder Woman,” I said, “but I do finally know what I am.” If I was going to warn her about what was out there, about the threat posed by The Council, I’d have to start from the beginning. I didn’t see any way around it. She needed to know, so she could protect herself and Chloe.

Her eyes widened. “How?”

I sipped my tea and tucked my feet under the blanket. “There are others. Here, in San Francisco.”

“You’re kidding.” She paused, waiting for me to continue. “Well, spit it out already. What did they say?”

“You can’t tell anyone,” I said firmly.

“Hey, blood sisters for life, right?” A satisfied smile crawled up her cheeks. “I’m proud to say I’ve kept that secret buried deep.” She had. Not even Chloe knew about the day I healed Anna.

“When I told you I was being followed, about William and Kara . . .”

“They’re like you,” she guessed.

I nodded. “They call themselves Descendants. Each of them has an ability and lives as long as I do. They say we’re descendants of Greek gods, only Greek gods were never really gods at all. They were just people like me, who were misunderstood, taken to be gods because of their powers and their aging.”

“You’re a Greek god?” she asked, eyes alight with amazement.

I laughed. “No, I’m not, but I guess that period of time had some effect on their . . . my people, because they still use the names. William said I’m descendant of Asclepius, god of healing.”

She laughed. “No shit, Sherlock.”

“Yeah, I guess we sort of knew about the healing, but get this. My left side does the opposite. The blood’s poison.”

“Yeah right,” she said, not sure if I was joking. “Seriously?”

“Well, I don’t really have proof of that, but I’m not sure I want to test it.” I was glad I’d made the decision never to try the healing again after the blood sisters incident. I could have easily killed someone.

“So, are you going to be all right?” she asked, taking another sip of her tea. “You’re not in trouble with them are you?”

Trouble was one way of putting it.

“Yes,” I answered honestly. “I think I am. I think we all are.”

I told Anna about all of it. How the entire society of Descendants had an elaborate system and way of life, completely unknown to most of the world, and that it was forbidden to expose anything to humans. She was in danger because of that. I told her about the events of the night, how one innocent decision to save a human being had resulted in her death and the death of her attackers. How they all thought I’d be the one to save them from the corruption and evil that ruled their secret race and ultimately threatened her. Lastly, I told her about William and the crushing disappointment I’d felt when I learned my growing love for him wasn’t even real.

“If I’m really in danger,” she objected, “why hasn’t anyone come to hunt me down, huh? How do you know Kara even really killed the girl? She could be acting out this whole thing because she’s jealous. I’m not worried about it,” Anna said with finality. “Tell me more about this guy.”

“He’s . . . just a guy,” I said, laughing a little through my words. I cupped my tea in both hands, letting the heat warm my palms. The feeling reminded me of William’s touch. “I mean, I’ve never allowed myself to have feelings for anyone, and then, when I finally do, I find out it’s not genuine.”

“Look at the bright side, though,” she pointed out. “Now, there
are
other fish in the sea. You actually can be with someone, even if it’s not him.”

“You’re right,” I said, starting to feel better.

Chloe’s bedroom door opened, and she peeped her head out with tired eyes and messy hair. She was looking more like her mother every time I saw her. It was like opening a window to the past. She was the childhood Anna I remembered and longed for in the days I spent alone with Betsy after I left. Her chocolate eyes and straight black hair were Anna’s. Her lips and cheeks might have belonged to someone else, but the rest I recognized.

“Hey, Chlo bug,” I said with a cheery smile.

“We being too loud?” Anna asked.

She walked out in striped flannel pajamas and snuggled into me on the couch. “Why aren’t you sleeping?” she asked her mom.

“I’m keeping her awake,” I answered.

Chloe looked me up and down, then smiled when she found my eyes. “I’m catching up to you.”

“Don’t remind me,” I said, shoving her with my shoulder. “In my mind you’ll always be three.”

“I’m fourteen.”

“Jeez,” I said, looking at Anna. “When she looks older than me, I’m going to lose it.”

“Me too,” Anna agreed with a nod.

Chloe looked at her in a way that communicated something I wasn’t a part of, some silent worry between them that I hadn’t been let in on.

“What?” I asked, picking up on it.

“Nothing,” Anna said, brushing it off. “We should all get back to bed.”

My body was giving out to fatigue quickly and against my will. “Sounds good to me. I’m exhausted.”

“All right, will you be okay here on the couch?”

“Yeah. It’s perfect.”

“Okay, I’ll see you in the morning,” she said after grabbing a pillow and extra blanket from the closet.

“Goodnight, Chlo bug,” I said as Chloe slipped back into her room.

11.

I DIDN’T REMEMBER falling asleep, so it must have happened immediately after Anna climbed the stairs to her room. Like most nights since she’d died, I dreamed of Betsy, reliving that part of my life and longing for her comfort.

“Honey, can you open your eyes?” she spoke calmly in my dream, not a hint of worry in her words. I heard her, but I didn’t dare move. I was disoriented, like waking up after a deep sleep and forgetting where you are. I tried to drift back into the coddling blackness, subconsciously aware of the horror I would have to face when I did open my eyes, but their conversation grabbed my attention, and I was suddenly alert.

“She’s been in and out for the last few days. I’m sure she’ll be fine, but maybe you could come by tomorrow instead?” she said making her words into a question.

“Oh no. I’m sure she’s in good hands. We just wanted to come by and see how she was doing.”

“That’s very sweet of you.”

I took my chances and let my eyelids lift just enough to make out the man standing in the hallway. He was thin and tall, wearing a wool gray coat. I couldn’t see his face, but there was a boy at his side, maybe nine or ten, who looked curiously through the open door of my room. His eyes were sad as he watched me, not knowing I was peeking at him.

“Not to be insensitive, but do you plan to put her in foster care?” the man asked.

“Actually, I was planning on taking her in,” the woman said matter-of-factly.

“That’s good. She’ll be better off here.” He sounded relieved at the arrangement, and pulled the boy back out of view.

“Exactly my thinking, too,” she said.

“Have a nice day, miss.”

The woman was hidden from my sight, but when she peered around the corner, I saw the reflection of my anxious face in her eyes.

“
Now
you’re awake,” she teased. “You hungry?” Without an answer, she headed to the kitchen to rummage through the fridge. She acted as if my being there was the most normal thing in the world. Her hair was a light dusty brown, tied back in a braid. She was middle aged and looked tired, but it didn’t take away from the sort of raw beauty about her.

“I’m Betsy,” she said as she re-entered the room holding a turkey sandwich. “I set a few books out for you to read if you get bored, no TV though.” She set the sandwich on the dresser giving me the opportunity to respond. I didn’t. “I’ll be in the living room if you need me.”

“I’m Elyse,” I choked out. “Ellie.” It was all I could bring myself to say. I didn’t dare ask the questions that clung so desperately to the edge of my subconscious.

“What a pretty name,” she said as she smiled and left.

At that point I realized that I was in a bedroom that seemed to be set up for me. A few sets of clothes were hanging in the open closet, and atop the pink dresser in the corner were some books and a set of dolls propped up against the wall, their joyful faces mocking my buried devastation. There was a lamp on my bedside table, appropriately pink to match the dresser. The bedspread, also pink, seemed new, and the truth of it all sank in. It was apparent that Betsy had made this
my
room.

Days passed, and I couldn’t muster the will to speak. The police came and went, and the funeral for my parents passed by me in a blur that made me numb. I mostly kept to myself, closing the door to my new room and submerging myself in the dark shadowy grief that I found around every corner. My life consisted of losing myself in books and sleeping. My father’s words kept echoing in my head—
People like us could not live a normal life if we were exposed
. Despite my behavior, Betsy kept on living in her usual way. She was a nurse, and she went to work regularly, leaving me to my moping, checking in only to let me know that she was home. Tonight, I didn’t anticipate a change in our routine when Betsy peered her head in, so her words caught me off guard.

“Hi, Elyse.” She paused. “Do you feel like coming out and reading in the living room tonight?”

I could not meet her eyes. My mind was buzzing, and I wasn’t sure what to say or how to feel. I’d been raised to avoid this, to break bonds before they were formed.

“Okay,” she said as she closed the door. My internal conflict must have gone on too long.

Her presence was a constant reminder of the absence of my family, and the emptiness was paralyzing. It bore deep down into my bones, and there wasn’t a moment I didn’t feel the hurt. This was all my parents could give me now, this emptiness—an emptiness I would have to learn to live with and grow accustomed to, because if I were to let myself love someone else, this loss would happen all over again.

Despite the pain I felt, Betsy had been kind to me, and I didn’t want to seem ungrateful. I slipped out the door and found myself a cozy spot by the fire. She gave me a pleased look and then continued knitting on the couch completely absorbed in her radio program. The new atmosphere hit me hard, and all of a sudden I was scared, confused, and nervous. I felt the salty tears in my mouth, and I realized this was the first time I had cried over it all. Wondering if she’d noticed, I looked up and caught her gaze. Her arms were open and I crawled into their loving warmth letting loose an ocean of grief.

“How did I get here?” I asked after a while. It was like breaking through the fog. Finally I could see things coming into view. I had so many questions.

“A nice man and his son brought you to me. They stopped when they saw the accident. I was the closest house. You’re lucky he happened to be heading home when the snow storm hit.” She read my expression and hugged me closer. I didn’t feel
lucky
at all. The guilt was painful and constant in my chest.

“It was out of your hands, Elyse,” she said, letting me consider the thought for a while.

“What about all of my things, the house . . . my parents’ things?”

“Now don’t worry about all that stuff. You just let me be the grown up, okay? I’ve talked to the Sheriff about sorting all that out. The house is yours, and everything in it. I’ll drive you there whenever you want.”

It felt good to be comforted, to be told that everything would be all right. I knew that maybe it wouldn’t be all right in the end, and things were bound to change once she knew my secret—that I was, in fact, older than her. For now, I liked being ten, and I was glad I fit in her lap.

“My turn to ask a question,” she said after a while. “How is it that a ten-year-old likes to read Shakespeare?”

I glanced at the copy of
Romeo and Juliet
I held clutched to my chest and smiled a little inside before answering. “I’m just an old soul, I guess.”

It surprised me how oddly comfortable we felt together, like she’d been written into my life from early on. I knew I wasn’t supposed to love her, but I could tell I already did—and love is not something you can undo.

“An old soul, huh? So how old does that make you, thirty-seven?” she asked jokingly.
Not too far off
, I thought.

“Ten,” I answered too quickly. “Just ten.”

“So that’s what . . . fifth grade?”

“I don’t know. We never did grades for homeschool.”

“Homeschool?” she asked mostly to herself. “That might be a little hard for me, honey. I have to work. What do you think about going to the elementary school?”

I was confronted with a mix of feelings as she spoke. School had never been an option for me. Things could go wrong. What would happen when I didn’t age? I couldn’t tell Betsy. What would she think? She would think I was crazy. I knew I’d be taking a risk, but my delayed growth, my secret, none of it was an immediate concern, so I agreed.

“Fifth grade will be fun,” I said, somewhat uncertain. The excitement was real, and I couldn’t help but feel the anticipation of the new experience. People changed schools all the time. Saying goodbye to friends was normal when you were young, right? I would tell Betsy in time. I would have to. For now, maybe this would help pull me out of the stabbing anguish that marked the loss of my parents.

Things were perfect for the next three years—too perfect. I remembered the day it ended, the day Betsy started in on what would be a life changing conversation.

“Elyse, I need to talk to you about something,” she began from her seat at the dinner table. She didn’t wait for my response. “Over the last couple of months, I have been getting calls from your school. Your teacher, the principal, even concerned parents have called me.”

I was shocked. Why would they call? I had good grades, friends, a good attitude, but Betsy answered my thoughts.

“It’s your weight, sweetie.” She glanced at my plate of half-eaten chicken, peas, and potatoes. “Well, your size, really. I think it might be time for you to get a real check up at the hospital. I wasn’t worried about the calls. I know you are a healthy girl. I feed you. I give you checkups. You’ve never even had so much as a cold. I mean, I’m a nurse. I think I know how healthy my own daughter is. The nerve of these people.”

I could tell she was blaming herself for this, thinking she had done something wrong. The frustration in her voice wavered with the sound of holding back tears.

She set her fork down and buried her head in her hands. “Yesterday, Social Services came to check on you, Elyse, when you were at Anna’s. I don’t know what to do.”

She waited. Whether it was for comfort, advice, or an explanation, I didn’t know, but I knew I had to tell her. I couldn’t believe this moment had come. It had only been three years. I hadn’t expected it so soon. Was I really so small? I dreaded the consequences of my words. They were a death sentence that would destroy the life I knew like a dream upon waking.

“Mom,” I said. It was the first time I had ever called her mom. Her eyes lifted in a way that made everything seem okay for the moment, but what I had to say shattered any hope of that. I moved my peas around on my plate. I couldn’t look at her. “It’s not your fault. I’ve been keeping something from you. I should have told you a long time ago . . .” Her eyebrows pulled together, forming a deep crease. “Something my parents told me about myself.”

Her worry turned to concern. “What is it?” she asked.

What if she didn’t believe me? Was I about to lose her, too? Either way, I had no choice. Her reaction was something I couldn’t control, and I had to tell her. It was time.

“I know why I’m so small. It’s genetic, but not in the way you think. I’m different. I age slower than most, a lot slower. My parents did, too.”

“Why wouldn’t you tell me you had a medical condition, Ellie? We should have been seeing a doctor.”

“No,” I said with force. “It’s not like that. People like us could not live a normal life if we were exposed.”

“People like
us
?”

“It’s what my dad used to tell me.”

“What are you talking about, sweetie? I’m not sure I understand.”

“You’ll think I’m crazy, but it’s the truth, I promise. When my parents died, they were nearly 200 years old.”

She laughed uncomfortably, hoping I was making a joke out of all of this, but my face stayed controlled as I waited for it to register.

“Elyse, are you okay? You know that is impossible, honey. I know losing your parents was hard for you, but this is just a little . . .”

“Crazy,” I finished for her. I was going to lose her. She didn’t believe me. I began fidgeting with my fingernails. What was I expecting? I would have to run. She would try and take me to a doctor and it would all be over. I loved Betsy, but I wasn’t about to spend the rest of my life being poked and prodded by mad scientists looking for a new anti-aging formula. Tonight, I would run.

“All right, Elyse, I know you have a wild imagination, but this is enough. If you have a serious medical condition, you are going to see a doctor about it, and that’s final,” she said firmly.