Through Indigo's Eyes (20 page)

At noon the next day, I caught the bus home from Sarah's. The alcohol sloshed and swished in my stomach, and I just wanted to throw up. Because it was Saturday, only three other people were on the bus. I made my way to the back and sat down, sliding over on the vinyl seat to be close to the window and putting my guitar beside me. The window glass was cold; condensation bordered the bottom. The weather was hovering at the in-between stage, where it wasn't quite winter yet but the nice fall weather was over. I ran my finger through the water droplets, making swirling marks. Were John and I done, just like the warm autumn air? Were we a one-season couple?

Soon it would be nothing but cold outside, every day, every hour. Was my winter going to be cold without him? The cold would match my insides. Cold. Ice cold. Why hadn't John paged me? Had I done something wrong? Said something he didn't like?

Only my mother had paged me.

I tried to close off my mind, get a picture of John and where he was. But nothing happened, and I couldn't get my mind to still long enough to even see the white page. Too many questions ran through my brain. Why did I have such a hard time seeing anything for myself? I was so immersed in thought that I didn't hear anyone approaching me. Then I heard the small, squeaky voice. “Can I sit with you, Indie?”

When I looked up, Nathan stood by my seat, clutching a violin case. “Sure,” I replied. I put my guitar case on the seat in front of me.

He sat down and carefully put his black violin case on the floor beside him.

“You play?” I asked. I wanted to make conversation so he wouldn't see how hungover I was.

He nodded. “Yeah.”

“How long?”

“Since I was three.”

“Wow, you must be good.”

“I didn't know you played guitar,” he said.

“If you can call it that,” I replied. “We have an all-girl band. We might do a short set for the animal shelter at their fund-raiser.”

“I'll come watch,” he said. “When is it?”

“Probably not until March.”

“I'll still come,” he said. “I want to be a concert violinist.” Then he sighed. “I just have to make it through high school.”

“You have good grades,” I said.

He shook his head. “Making it through high school has nothing to do with grades.”

Suddenly, just like the last time I had sat with Nathan, I felt a shove on the back of my seat and flew forward, almost nose-diving into the metal bar in front of me.

The muscles in my arms tensed as I grabbed the bar. Then it happened. What I had been trying to make happen: my gaze clouded over, my mind went blank, the spinning started … and I saw a pool of water.

“What's wrong, Indie?” Nathan put his hand on my shoulder.

The touch made me return to the bus. I leaned back and exhaled, clutching my stomach. “Did you feel that?” I whispered.

“Indie,” said Nathan, “no one is sitting behind us.” Then he glanced at me, his eyes wide and innocent. “Are you high?” he whispered. I sensed a disappointment in his tone.

“No,” I replied, trying to smile. “I think I have the flu.”

“That's good,” he said. “Well, not good that you have the flu, but good that you're not like the others. Are you still going out with John Smith? He's always nice to me, too.”

I smiled at Nathan. “Yeah, he's still my boyfriend.”

But is he?
I had felt a kick and seen a pool of water.
Is that for John or Nathan? Is John kicking me away? Is our relationship drowning in a pool of water?
I was so confused.

John didn't call that afternoon, nor did he call that night. I had no idea what to do with myself. I locked myself in my room to sleep and get rid of my hangover. But I couldn't sleep, and the four walls of my room throbbed in and out. Finally, darkness arrived, and I curled under my covers.

Dreams invaded my sleep.

John and I ran along a beach and then Lacey was running beside us. But she stopped and started choking because her necklace was too tight. She clutched her chest and fell. John started to do CPR on her. Then Lacey became Burke, and John still did CPR. I just stood there doing nothing. Nothing. Nothing.

I woke up in the middle of the night, shaking and breathing so hard I had to sit up. A glass of water sat on my night-stand, so I picked it up and took a sip.

Suddenly cigar smoke stung my nostrils.

I immediately looked in the direction of the smell. I put my hand over my mouth to stifle my screams. At the end of my bed was the man I had seen at school. The glass in my hand dropped, water soaking my covers. I didn't care. He just stood there, motionless, staring at me with a sneer on his face. I was so repulsed that I inched to the back of my bed. My teeth chattered, and I wanted to throw up, but most of all, I wanted to scream and scream loudly.

“Who are you?” I snapped.

No answer. He crossed his arms and let his cigar dangle from his mouth.

“Why are you here?

He took his cigar from his mouth and gave me an evil smile that hit my bones.

“Answer me!”

Still nothing.

“Why won't you talk to me? Say something, anything. You're supposed to talk to me. Every other dead person who has visited me has talked. Why won't you speak?”

He just stood there staring at me, my body.

I pulled my bedcover up to my chin. “Who are you?” I asked again. “Who are you? Tell me!” I flung my words out fast and furious.

His vindictive smile made me cringe.

Could ghosts rape? The thought crashed through my mind, because that is exactly what it looked like he wanted to do to me. Every part of my body shook.

I yanked the covers up to my nose and curled my legs to my body, trying to become as small as possible.

“Get out of my room!”

He reached up and made a slashing movement to his throat. Then, with a horrible glint in his eyes and a mocking look on his face, he started to undo his belt.

“No! Get out!”

I threw my pillow at him. It went right through his body and landed on the other side of the room. Then I threw my doll. She crashed against the wall and fell to the floor. I screamed and screamed. Then I threw the glass. It crashed against the wall and splintered into tiny shards. I would not let this happen to me. I couldn't.

The knock on my door rattled me back to reality. Suddenly, the man's face changed, and his evil sneer was gone. I saw some sort of remorse. Then he disappeared.

“Indie! Are you okay?”

The smell was gone. The man was gone. I had to get out of my room. I had to feel my mother's arms around me, and I couldn't wait for her to come into my room. I had to get to her now. I needed her. I tried to stand so I could walk to the door. My mother barged into my room.

“Indie, what's wrong?”

I saw her face as my legs gave way and I fell to the floor.

Then the room went black.

When I awoke, the light was bright, and a cold, damp cloth was on my forehead. My mom was sitting on the edge of my bed, with my dad standing behind her.

When Mom noticed that I was awake, she readjusted the cold cloth.

“How do you feel?” she probed.

“Okay,” I answered, my throat parched. “What happened?”

“You were screaming. Then you fainted. Do you remember anything?”

My dad moved to the end of my bed and began massaging my feet.

“I had a bad dream.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.”

“Indie, you fainted. This is not good.”

“I have my period, and it makes me have nightmares. And my cramps make me weak.” Why was I making up excuses? Why couldn't I just tell them that I had seen a horrible ghost? I glanced at my mom and saw her worry lines. That was why. She would worry about me and send me to the doctor.

“That would explain a bit,” said my mother, obviously not convinced.

My dad stood. “I'll let you girls talk this one through. I'll go get you some water.” The lines on his face softened, and he smiled like he had a little joke sitting on the end of his tongue. “How ‘bout a popsicle?” He asked, raising his eyebrows.

I tried to smile back. “I'm not five, Dad. But sure.”

Although my dad had broken the ice, my mother still eyed me. A tissue box sat on my desk, and she pulled out a few and started picking up the big pieces of glass.

“Don't worry, Mom,” I said, trying to reassure her. “It was just a dream.”

Mom put the tissue with the glass inside of it on my desk. Then she picked up my pillow and gave it to me when she sat down beside me again. “It must have been a bad one.”

I hugged my pillow and closed my eyes. Who was that man? Why did he keep coming to me?

She stroked my hair. “Indie, you are who you are for a reason.”

“I wish it would all go away.” I stopped to catch my breath and hug my pillow closer to my body. “Mom, what if … what if John drops me because of the way I am?”

“I don't think he will, Indie. But if he does, he's not worthy of your love.”

“I'm just so afraid of what will happen if I lose him.”

 

Chapter
Twelve

At 2:00 on Sunday afternoon, I still had not heard from John. I couldn't stand not knowing what was wrong. Stashed in my purse was a bus map. Within seconds, I had figured out what buses I needed to take to get to his house. With my pager in my purse, I grabbed my jean jacket and told my mom I was heading out.

The weather had taken a drastic turn. The sky was ash gray, the clouds were definitely snow clouds. Little particles of ice hovered in the air. Yuck. I hated the cold. I lowered my head and did up my jacket, wishing I had worn a scarf or even a turtleneck.

Two buses later, I was in John's neighborhood. Ten minutes after that, I arrived at his town house, my hands and toes frozen. I should have worn gloves and thicker socks. I lifted my hands to my face and blew on them, trying to warm them up. The curtains were drawn, and the place looked dark. But there did seem to be a light on around the side of the house, which, I was sure, was John's bedroom. This time there was no jingling of keys as I walked up the front walkway.

I rubbed my hands together before I knocked on the door. Once. I waited, and when no one answered, I knocked again. Footsteps sounded from inside the house. The door cracked open slightly, and John's eye peered out. When he saw it was me, he opened the door a little wider, but not much. In one small movement, he stepped outside, quietly closing the door behind him. I was so cold I wanted to go inside to get warm. Wearing only a T-shirt and jeans, he crossed his arms to the chill of the day. “What are you doing here?”

His tone shocked me. Was he not happy to see me?

“I haven't heard from you all weekend,” I stuttered. He didn't want me here. I shoved my hands in my pockets. “I wondered if you're okay.”

“I'm fine. I have a ton of homework.”

“Why didn't you answer my calls?”

“I was going to call tonight.” He shivered. “You should probably go.”

Go.

Go?! Suddenly the word hit me. Was he serious? I had come here on the bus, in this crappy cold weather, to see him, and he wanted me to go. Tears threatened to spill down my face. I couldn't let him see me cry. I straightened my shoulders and nodded. “Do you think I could use your bathroom first?”

He didn't answer me. Did he have someone in the house with him? Another girl? I had to find out.

“Please,” I said. “I really have to go. I won't stay. Plus I'm freezing.”

He sighed, ran his hand through his hair, then said, “Okay. But my mom's sleeping.”

I stepped inside his house and immediately noticed the gloomy darkness. I wondered if anyone
was
in his room with him. Had he brought another girl home? I slipped out of my shoes and tiptoed to the bathroom. As soon as I closed the bathroom door, my blood rushed to my head. And I couldn't breathe. I clutched my throat. What the hell? Afraid to even look in the mirror, I sat on the toilet. I trembled and shook and placed my head in my hands. But I did pee. Finished, I knew I had to stand, so I braced myself by placing one hand on the side of the sink.