The Reaping (14 page)

CHAPTER NINE

Just like that—I’m cursed.  My first thoughts were that this guy was obviously terribly unbalanced and I needed to march right back upstairs, get my stuff and go home, but then...there didn’t seem a whole lot of other explanations for all the strange things happening to me lately.

I felt the blood rush from my face leaving me lightheaded and a bit disoriented.  The room tilted just a hair so I closed my eyes and counted to ten then opened them again.

“Cursed?”  There were days I might’ve jokingly said I was cursed, but never for one second did I think it might be true, and yet… “How?  Why?”

He shrugged again.  “Someone made a deal.”

“A deal?  What kind of deal?’

“The expensive kind, the kind that costs someone’s life…sort of,” he said mysteriously.

“Well, I can assure you that I’m not crazy enough to make a deal like that.”

“It doesn’t always have to be you.”

“What do you mean?”

“Unfortunately,” he said, bitterness liberally coloring his tone.  “A parent can make such a deal.”

“But my parents would never—”

“Don’t be so sure,” he warned harshly, raising his head and glaring at me.  “It happens all the time with twins.  It’s their failsafe—they only lose one.  I guess that seems like an
acceptable loss
to some parents.”

“But I’m not a twin,” I cried urgently.

“What?”

“I’m not a twin.”

Derek studied me for several long seconds before he spoke again.  “Yes, you are.”

“Uh,
no, I’m not,”
I declared, but that did little to deter him.

“Any siblings?”

“A sister.”

“But not a
twin
sister?”

“No!”

“Where is she?”

“She stayed with my mother.”

“How old were you when your parents separated?”

“Just a few months.  Why?”

“Can you be
sure
she wasn’t your twin?”

“Yes!  Don’t you think I’d know?  Don’t you think my father would’ve told me?”

“Did he ever tell you that you
weren’t?”

“Well no, but I’d think he would’ve said something.”

He made no comment, just leaned his head back and closed his eyes again.

I sat in silence, waiting for him to continue, a thousand confused thoughts chasing each other through my head. 

Indignant, I broke the silence.  “This is ridiculous!  You —“

“Hey, I’m just telling you what I think.  Believe what you want,” he said, shrugging again, apparently unconcerned.  Then, suddenly, Derek stood to his feet.  “Go home.  Ask some questions.  Meet me at the forks at six.”  With that, he turned to walk back into the kitchen. 

“But, I—” I began, but stopped when I heard the closing of a cabinet door.  I looked behind me and Mr. Kirby was turning, coffee mug in hand, toward the pot.

“How’d you sleep?”  I heard Mr. Kirby ask Derek when he stopped at the sink to rinse out his mug.

Derek shrugged, a gesture he obviously used often.  “I got in a couple hours.”

I watched as he put his mug in the dishwasher, turned and walked out of the kitchen toward the front of the house.  Seconds later, I heard the front door open and close.

I sat back in my chair, an overwhelming sense of foreboding settling around my heart like a cold, wet blanket.

********

As soon as it was socially acceptable for me to leave, I rushed home, ready to put Dad in the hot seat.  What I found instead of my father, however, was a note.  He needed a part for the Camaro, one we couldn’t go forward without, and he’d located one.  Unfortunately, he had to drive all the way to Wise for it, a trip which would take the better part of the day. 

Frustrated and disappointed, I resigned myself to busy work until he returned.  There was always laundry to do, bathrooms to clean, floors to mop, carpet to vacuum. 

I had just finished cleaning Dad’s bathroom when I noticed that his bed wasn’t made.  Since I had plenty of time on my hands, I decided I’d strip and change his bed, too, something he usually did himself. 

I carried his dirty sheets to the wash machine and pushed them in on top of mine then hit the start button.  I went back into his room, to his closet where he kept his queen size sheets.

I was pulling them off the shelf when I saw the safe where he kept all our important documents.  I had never looked inside it; I’d never had any reason. 

The lock had a dial and a place for a key.  I assumed it could be opened either way.  I hoped it didn’t require both because I had no idea what the combination was.  I did, however, suspect that I knew where the key was. 

I walked to his dresser and opened the top drawer.  Once when I was putting away some clothes for him, I’d noticed a small box stashed behind his socks.  I hadn’t thought anything of it at the time and he usually put his own clothes away, so I hadn’t seen it since.  But now, I pulled out the little box.

I glanced guiltily over my shoulder before I took the lid off and rifled through its contents:  a few silver dollars, a two dollar bill, some old wallet-size pictures of me, his wedding ring, a dried boutonniere, and, in the very bottom, a key. 

I took the key to the safe and inserted it.  It turned easily and the lock clicked open.  I pulled on the handle and the door yawned wide.

Inside were a variety of envelopes, a small stack of hundred dollar bills, an old photo album, a baseball card in a protective plastic case and some laminated cards, bound together with a rubber band.

Flipping through the cards, I saw my birth certificate and slid it from beneath the band.  It had all the information one would expect to find on one’s birth record.  I didn’t know if multiple births were recorded on a birth certificate, but this one said nothing about a twin so it was no help. 

I stuffed the card back into the stack and replaced it in the safe and pulled out the old photo album.

The first couple of yellowed pages held pictures of my mom and dad when they were younger, probably even before they’d gotten married.  They were smiling and happy, both looking healthy and sane.  I flipped past their life together until I reached baby pictures.  There were several pages of me, in all sorts of clothes and poses, but nothing out of the ordinary.  I flipped ahead to find pictures of my sister when she’d come along.  Being younger than me, I figured she’d be toward the end.

As I flipped, I saw a family picture.   It was Mom and Dad in heavy winter coats, standing in front of an old house.  Mom was blonde and beautiful, her long hair nearly reaching her waist.  And Dad was handsome as ever, his dark hair curling around his chiseled face.  Snow was on the ground all around; it dusted the trees in the background.  And in their arms, they held me—separately. 

My heart sank into my toes.  I knew that there was only way that picture could be possible, without photo shop that is.  Twins.  One of my parents was holding my identical twin.

I brought the picture right up to my face and looked closely.  The brightness of the sun and the whiteness of the snow brought out red highlights in the hair of the baby in Mom’s arms.  I lifted a lock of honey blonde hair from my shoulder and held it up to the light.  There was not even a hint of red in my hair now and, as far as I knew, there never had been. 

A ghostly face with black eyes and flaming hair danced through my mind, hovering in the shadows much like she had in my dream.  I knew at that moment that my mother held my twin sister in her arms in that picture and that, somehow, last night I’d dreamed of her.

Flipping back toward the front of the book, I looked once more at all the baby pictures.  I looked closely at the hair.  All the different clothes and poses hadn’t been me at all; only half of them were.  The other half had been of my sister—my
twin
sister.

Feeling more betrayed and dejected than I could ever remember (and that was saying a lot since Dad’s recent admissions), I carefully replaced the photo album and locked the safe then returned the key to the box Dad kept hidden in his sock drawer.

Hours elapsed after that discovery.  At one point I remember hearing a hard rain pounding on the roof, but the next time I was really aware of my surroundings, darkness was falling and still there was no sign of my father. 

Anxious to talk to him but equally anxious to meet Derek at the forks, I changed into yoga pants, a tank and a hoodie and then went into the kitchen to scribble Dad a note.  If it was good enough for me, then it should be good enough for him.  All things considered, I felt like it was very generous of me to think of his feelings
at all
.

When my feet hit the pavement, I struck out west, in the direction of the mountains.  Within minutes, my feet were thumping on the wet pavement in a steady rhythm and I was completely inside my own head, just the way I liked it.

The “forks” was actually just a fork in the road.  It was a fairly significant fork in these parts, however, as many people had disappeared from that general vicinity over the years.  Needless to say, I’d never been allowed to run that far before.  Dad said it wasn’t safe. 

If I hadn’t been so preoccupied, I’d probably have been afraid—heading to the forks, on foot, by myself, after dark, no one aware of my whereabouts.  But before I had time to dwell on it, I was there, just over an hour after I’d left my driveway. 

The forks lay under the shroud of a heavy mist; the air was so humid I could almost taste the fallen leaves from the forest floor, just a few yards away.  I searched the dark, foggy roadside as best I could in the darkness, but saw no evidence of Derek or his bike.  

I was acutely disappointed that he hadn’t shown.  I wondered if he’d changed his mind.  I walked a little ways up first one fork then back down and up the other.  Still no Derek. 

I was back at the fork, standing in the middle of the road, debating what to do, when I heard the snap of some twigs in the woods a few feet from where I was. 

I was instantly alert and alarmed.  I couldn’t see a thing, I hadn’t found Derek and I was all by myself.  I stood motionless, listening closely for the sound, but I heard nothing.  Once more, the woods were quiet. 

A couple of minutes later, after I’d convinced myself it was just some sort of forest creature moving about, my heart returned to a more normal pace.  Calmly, I was considering turning and running home when I heard another snap.  Then another.  I tipped my head and listened hard, trying to triangulate the sound.  When I fixed its position, I turned to face it.  Straining, I looked deep into the trees and their inky shadows, but I couldn’t see anything beyond the edge of the woods. 

Then, just like I’d seen in my dream, a face appeared in the darkness.  It was the same girl.  Her eyes were like hollow pits in her pale face.  Her red hair floated out around her as if she were suspended in the mist. Her lips, so like my own, were twisted into a cold smile and she beckoned me.

Another snap sounded then I saw Derek’s face push through the mist and the girl dissolved in the air like smoke in the wind.  I closed my eyes in relief, letting it flood my body and flow into my tense muscles.

“What were you staring at?”

“N-nothing,” I hedged, opening my eyes.  “I didn’t think you were here.  Where’s your motorcycle?”