The Reaping (25 page)

I couldn’t finish the sentence, but I didn’t have to.  Derek was already nodding, his eyes focused firmly on the plate in front of him as he poked at the food with his fork.

“Oh, Derek, I’m so sorry.  I didn’t—”

Derek held up his hand to cut me off.  He wasn’t interested in my remorse.

As I looked at his bowed head, at the misery that screamed from every dejected line of his body, I realized that I could end up just like that—alive, but full of anger and regrets, bitterness and hatred, not really living. 

Though I refused to dwell on the eventuality of my “call”, it hovered over me, day and night, like a dark cloud.  It sucked up a huge portion of my energy, my enthusiasm, my life.  It was killing my spirit before I even had a chance to fight for it.  And that, I decided, was
crazy!
  I’d had enough.

At that moment, I determined that whatever fate had in store for me, whatever life had to offer, whatever was coming my way, I was going to do my dead level best to enjoy what time I had until then.  And whatever happened, whatever I was eventually forced to do or endure, I would get through it and leave it behind—or die trying.

Something inside me steeled, became firm and unyielding, resolute.  My father’s smiling face floated behind my eyes. 
This
was what he’d been trying to teach me all these years—how to survive—but he’d missed the most important thing.  There’s so much more to living that just surviving.  Derek had survived, but look at him.  Look at his life, his family.  His world is a shambles, like the warped twisted metal of a train wreck.

Like a dusty old light bulb flickering hesitantly to life, a glimmer of hope broke through the darkness that had settled over me.  It occurred to me that I had two options:  I could lie down and wait to die, accept the fate someone else had decided for me, or I could find another way, a way to save the people that I loved.

Just the thought of
making
the decision, of taking charge of my life and not laying down to just accept whatever was to come my way, empowered me, gave me a sense of control in a world where I no longer had any.  It was clear that, for me, there was really only one option.  It had been bred into me all my life.  I was no quitter; I would fight.

I had a mother and a sister that I’d never known.  I’d been robbed of a normal life for seventeen years and I wasn’t about to give up on the possibility of having a normal life somewhere in the future. 

Dad said he thought I could save my sister.  Maybe I could save us both.  I would fight, but not the way I was expected to fight.  I’d fight for my life and for my sister’s.  I’d find a way to get us out, to free us from whatever deal had been made.  And I’d find a way to save Derek and his brother, too.  I had to.

My resolution wavered the tiniest bit when, unbidden, one word popped into my mind.  How?  How could I do what had never been done before, what had never even been attempted, as far as we knew?  How could I do the impossible? 

And, just as quickly as the doubt had arisen, it was allayed by another vision of my father’s smiling face.  I knew the answer.  I’d do it for Dad.  Because he didn’t raise a quitter, he raised a survivor.

I felt a smile creep across my face, probably one of the first genuine moments of happiness I’d felt in a long time.  Then I looked at Derek.  I thought he could use a little pick-me-up and I remembered something else I’d seen in Dad’s closet.

“Will you take me for some target practice tonight?  For just a little while?”  I turned my smile up a little brighter when he raised his head.

“Alright,” he said with a sigh.  “Go get dressed.  We’ll take the car.”  I got the feeling that last was said as a little push, to see if I was going to freak out again.  But I didn’t.

“Great.  I’ll meet you in the garage.”

I dressed quickly, throwing on some jeans and a sweater, then grabbed my backpack and threw a few things inside.  I rushed into Dad’s room and immediately found what I was looking for.  Everything was just where Dad had left it. 

I heard Derek start the car and pull out of the garage so I hurried out the door and hit the button to close the garage on my way out.

We were well on our way when I asked Derek to take a different direction, toward the lake.  Though he tossed me a curious look, he said nothing as he made the necessary turns. 

As we turned off the main road toward the clearing, I saw a PRIVATE PROPERTY sign nailed to a tree.  We really had no right to be there, but I was feeling a little reckless and counting on the clearing being vacant. 

When Derek cut the engine, I got out of the car and glanced around.  It looked very much the same as it had when I’d come to this very spot with Stephen Fitchco, minus all the party accoutrements and people.  And fire.  I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw that we were alone. 

Quietly, we made our way across the clearing and down the dock to the little boat still tied at the end.  I reached out and steadied the little dinghy, threw my backpack in and stepped carefully in after it.

I looked up at Derek. “You coming?”  I couldn’t help but grin.  It seemed Derek was always saying that to me.

With a little shrug, he stepped down into the boat with me, grabbed the oars and untied us from the dock.

I told Derek where we were going and he got us into position then began to row.  I leaned back to watch him, much as I’d done that night with Stephen.  I couldn’t help but compare the scenario and the two men involved. 

This
was someone I cared about, probably even loved, though I couldn’t be absolutely certain since my experience in that arena was virtually nil.  This was someone I would gladly (I think) give myself to.  This was someone who thought enough of me and my best interests
not
to take that step no matter how much I wanted to, much less try and
force
me.  This was someone who actually protected me.  If I had to be stuck on an island with someone, even if it was only a few hundred feet from civilization, there’s no other person I’d rather be stuck with than Derek.

When we were a little over half way to the island, I got out my flashlight and shined it across the water to where the tiki torches lined the shore.  I concentrated and, with a flick of my fingers, the first one sputtered to life.  I shot Derek a cheeky grin and I saw the corners of his mouth twitch a tiny bit in response.

I shined my flashlight on the next one and brought its flame to life then the next and the next.  By the time I trained my flashlight on the fifth one, I had begun to feel pretty confident.  Too quickly, I flicked my fingers at its tip, the entire top of the torch exploded.

“Woops,” I said sheepishly.

“Yep.  Got too cocky,” Derek said, shaking his head.

By that time, we’d reached the tiny island.  Derek rowed ashore, much as Stephen had done, then got out to drag the boat further up the bank.  He walked on ahead of me then stopped halfway up the beach area and turned back to me.

“Watch this,” he said.  With a snap of his fingers, all the other torches sprang instantly to life.  There were torches there I hadn’t even seen, ones that hadn’t been lit the night I’d been there before.  And Derek had lit them all at once.

“How did you do that?”  He was constantly amazing me with his power, his strength, his focus.

“I saw them as I walked up the beach and then, when I turned around to you, I just pictured them, just like I’d seen them, in my head.”  Then, with a satisfied grin, he said, “Easy as pie.”

“Show off,” I mumbled, trying to keep the boat steady as I disembarked.

I was getting ready to step out onto the sand when Derek swept me off my feet and carried me up onto the beach.  When he sat me on my feet, he let my body slide down his until the tips of my toes barely touched the ground. 

The friction kindled a low fire in my belly, like contact with Derek so often did.  I looked up into his handsome face, the torch light warming his bronzy skin and turning his eyes to shimmering pools of mercury.

There was a day’s worth of stubble on his chiseled cheeks.  My fingertips itched to touch it, but I was on a mission and getting all hot and bothered
this
early wasn’t part of the plan.

“So,” I said, clearing my throat.  “Are you up for some fireworks?”  I saw Derek’s pupils dilate.  He had no doubt mistaken my meaning, which I knew he would.  I knew before I asked what his answer would be.

I wiggled myself onto better footing then stepped out of Derek’s arms.  I unzipped my backpack and took out a blanket to spread on the sand. 

“Sit down,” I said with a wink, chastising myself for being such a tease, but loving every minute of it.  Then I turned back toward the shore and took out the rest of my goodies.

My father had bought a bunch of fireworks for the fourth of July, but the church had had a big production so we never got to use them.  I laid them out in a row, fuses stretched out facing the blanket, and walked back to Derek.

“First rule of the night:  there are no rules,” I said dramatically, using my best “Fight Club” voice.  Then I giggled.  “Just kidding.  Whoever gets the most fireworks in the air and makes them explode
before
the fuse does wins.”

“Wins what?”

“Uh,” I paused.  I hadn’t thought that far ahead.  “Winner gets a wish.”

“A wish?  What kind of a wish?”  Something about the way Derek said “wish” made my stomach flutter.

“Whatever kind of wish you want,” I said softly.

“Hmm” was all he said.

I sat down beside him, close but not too close.  “Let’s get ready to rum-ble,” I said, doing my very best Michael Buffer impersonation.

“I’ll go first,” I declared, focusing on the thing string trailing behind the first firework.  I flicked my fingers and the fuse sputtered to life.  Seconds later it launched into the sky.  I concentrated on the little torpedo as it rose, but I wasn’t fast enough.  It exploded into a shower of beautiful sparks before I could blow it up.

“Not bad,” Derek said.  Without even sitting up, much less breaking a sweat, Derek lit the fuse of the next two fireworks.  When they left the ground, they didn’t even make it ten feet into the air before they burst with a loud pop, sending colorful embers falling to the ground.

“Two–zero,” he boasted.  “Looks like you’ve got some catching up to do.”

“Show off,” I mumbled, directing all my energy to the fuse of the next firework.  As soon as it was lit, I immediately began to focus on the body of the projectile.  Unfortunately, my concentration was too complete and too early; the firework burst while it was still on the ground, skipping and sputtering along on the sand. 

“Ouch,” Derek said.  “Still two–zip.”  He sat up and pushed up the sleeves of his black Henley.  “Now let me show you how it’s really done.”

A tiny frown of concentration creased his brow just before Derek flipped both his hands up, like a maestro leading his orchestra to raise their instruments.  Instantly, all the remaining fuses lit and seconds later all the rockets launched into the air.  Once they were airborne, Derek flicked his fingers out as if he was brushing the dust off something and every firework exploded simultaneously in a brilliant, glittering display.

The light show was dazzling, erupting into an amazing conglomeration of shapes and colors then falling to the lake and sand like diamonds from the sky.  Though it lasted only a minute or so, it was awesome.  It was like sitting beneath a galaxy of shooting stars as they breeched our atmosphere and rained down on our heads.

Acrid smoke hung in the air like a thick cloud.  I looked toward the water, where the fireworks had lain.  They were gone and my bag was empty.  I turned to look at Derek.  “Well that sucks.”

We looked at each other for several seconds before we both burst into laughter.  It was the first time I’d laughed like that in a long, long time and it was the first time I’d ever heard Derek laugh,
really
laugh, at all.  The sound was a deep, velvety rumble that made my toes tingle.  I wanted to hear it again and again.  As our mirth died off, I silently promised myself and Derek that I would make him laugh more.