Chapter Three – Whisper, Whisper

Pebbles crunch under my tires as I ease the car around the bend. My headlights have been turned off a block ago by the graveyard hoping to be as unnoticeable as I can be. It doesn't help that the sky is starting to lighten and the sun is on the brink of rising. The driveway to the house is just in sight on the middle of our borderline-suburbs block. My toes barely press on the gas trying to climb the small incline to my driveway. Turning the car off, I rest my forehead on the steering wheel and sigh. The first terror of my night is over.

Getting home on a weekend night is a nightmare. Police are always on the lookout and I’m a new teen driver with just enough alcohol to fail the very big test one should never fail. I wipe the sweat from the back of my neck and grab my bag from the passenger seat. An uneasy walk leads me to the front entrance to my latest house of which I quickly scurry inside. Every light is off making my lips break into a smile. It’s time to find my loyal and glorious bed.

“Get in the living room,” a startling voice whispers. “Now!”

I barely suppress a yelp from the large man at the top of the steps. With my heart pounding, sleep seems further and further away. I grumble back to the front room as Scott storms down after me careful not to wake Michelle. His heavier steps make more noise than mine and I’m not even trying to keep quiet. I flop on the worn out leather couch as he descends the last few stairs in a huff.

“Where the hell were you tonight?” His fingers pinch the bridge of his nose while his other hand waves me off. “Never mind, I don’t want to know. But there are rules in this house and one of them is that if I say stay home, you stay home!”

His large robe sleeves waver with every emphasizing point he softly yells at me. Scott’s face sports an intense shade of pink from the anger boiling in him and from not wanting to wake Michelle, the younger foster girl living here. All I hear is blah, blah, blah, how dare you disobey? Blah, blah, blah, there are rules. Blah, blah. Blah, blah. Scott has never been one for reprimanding before I came along so the concept of punishment is still fairly new.

And yet I know he’s right. A lump catches in my throat and heat rises up my neck and cheeks. I sit forward, not finding any comfort from the disrespect he probably feels when I lie back. My lip can’t help from quivering in disappointment at myself. Scott is a good guy; one of the best ‘dads’ I've had. He doesn't deserve the antics I put him through, even if it was a big school party. My eyes gaze at the floor with embarrassment. I hate it when I disappoint him.

“I’m sorry,” I say with a break in my voice. He overlooks my genuine emotion and carries on with his hushed ranting.

“I had to take off of work tomor— excuse me. I had to take off of work today just so I can be here to make sure you actually come home and not roaming the streets with the delinquents you call best friends.” I stare at him heatedly at the remark of Katie and Xander. They may have ‘too much fun’ but I’m the instigator half of the time. Scott takes my silent warning and skips over the can of worms he was about to unleash.

“Your bad behavior comes back to me,” he whispers more mildly. “I’m here to help you and you’re not even grateful enough to stay in when I tell you to.”

And that’s the stab that reaches my heart. It physically pains me to know I let him down. Scott sighs and rubs his temples. My hands reach automatically for my purse from the punishment I know he’s going to give. After digging it out in the silence, I hand him my key to his car followed by my beloved music player. He takes both in his hand and stuffs them into his robe’s pocket.

“Just try to listen,” he begs me pitifully. “Please?”

I nod and keep my eyes to the floor. My foster dad looks around the room and exhales loudly, finally done with his anger. He claps his hands in front of him and gestures me to the stairs, hoping this time I’ll take the hint and ask him about a party before going.

“Get to bed,” he demands. I say nothing but follow the exit his hand indicates. Scott stays in the living room, pacing and thinking of what to do with me. I wipe the tears and keep my chin high, trying not to let him see how much this gets to me. Guilt can really eat me up but I've learned that if you pretend on something long enough, you eventually stop pretending.

I’m still waiting for the day I don’t feel anything at all.

My feet tiptoe through the hall past Michelle’s sticker covered door and find their way into my room. My earrings are extracted and set in the little glass dish on my dresser. I don’t bother with removing my facial piercings and the newest one, the Medusa, has to be kept in for another month anyway. Finally, I flop on my bed. Relief exhales through my lips at both the finished night and Scott’s weak but forgiving punishment.

That’s what I like about this house. Here, keeping steady grades and unbearably boring nights are the biggest issues. Last home my ‘brother’ kept trying to put moves on me. He was allowed to do whatever since Miss Pam, our guardian, didn't care as long as we did anything the social workers needed us to do. I was glad to be rid of her but the next place was just as bad. The two other girls who lived there had blackmail pictures of me smoking. It was the first time I ever lit up but if Gina and Tim, the couple taking us in, ever saw the photos I would have been returned to the system right away. Their blackmail made me do stupid, embarrassing things in school and Gina still ended up finding the pictures. The next weekend I was placed somewhere else.

Scott is my fifth home since my dad died but definitely the most stable. The other fosters should have been put through so many background checks and tests that they shouldn't have been as terrible as they were. I guess I was ‘blessed’ enough to be dealt to those people. However, the past has passed. I need to be grateful like Scott said, even though he doesn't realize how much those words really mean to me. He’s too selfless and kind to realize I've seen the world in a much different light.

Below and still in a fuming state, Scott paces the living room floor. I hear his feet strut around many more times in a soothing rhythm before he finally retires. Poor guy. He should know by now I’m too far into the clouds to keep grounded. I nuzzle my head into my pillow as he climbs the stairs, crosses the hall and closes his bedroom door. With the morning sun as my nightlight, I fall asleep hoping the past stays far away from me and the future can at long last be bright.

~*~

Beep beep. Beep beep.

It’s Tuesday now. I hate Tuesdays. In fact, we have a mutual love/hate relationship which is not healthy for anyone to have with a day. I snuggle more with my pillow and hide my face from the snoozed-pressed alarm on my nightstand. Work at Yada Yada’s Costumes starts at 10 o’clock but it’s only 8:05. Inching under my blankets the sun is hidden from view and I’m back to my much needed sleeping within a few minutes.

Little dreams pop up here and there; nothing with great importance but welcomed fancies nonetheless. My arms race ahead of me as I swim in a lake of sapphire and spring up to next fly over glistening rivers. They’re beautiful and calming like dreams really should be. Unfortunately my life isn't so magical. I awaken shielded by the dark of my blankets but I’m willing to get up now. Repositioning my legs, I roll onto my stomach and stick my foot off the bed into the cool air.

“Gail,” the nagging voice shouts from downstairs. “If you don’t move now the bus will leave without you!”

Scott whirls the blender for his morning protein shake while my hand crawls out of the cocoon of warmth and presses down on my palm. Lifting up, I notice time has passed. Actually, a lot of time has passed. My breath hitches as I stare at the green letters which now read 9:21. If the bus is on time today, it leaves in nine minutes and if I’m not on that thing then I’ll be extremely late for work.

Covers fly off of me noisily as I spring from the bed. The things ruffle on my legs as I fight my way out. It doesn't matter anyways since my toes catch on the edge of my sheets, sending my dreads in the air and my body downward. I squeal from the sudden drop. The floor thumps loudly as it welcomes my face, elbows and knees. The buzz circulating under my skin makes me moan in pain. Letting go of all irritations, my squished cheek and limp body lay there a moment trying to accept what just happened. I’m still not awake apparently.

“Well this is perfect,” I mumble sarcastically. My arms shakily push me up as the blender downstairs stops humming at my impressive morning failure. All is quiet in the house and I know Scott is waiting to hear what’s wrong. “I’m good,” I yell down to him, receiving a lighthearted laugh from Michelle in the kitchen below.

Imagining he nodded his head, the blender whirs up again. My eyes look back at the mocking blankets and a low groan starts in my throat. Tuesdays and mornings hate me. My fingers massage the oncoming bumps on my knees as I limp awkwardly to the bathroom down the hall.

Sunlight shines through the window onto the seashells that decorate the borders of the mirror. I have no time to shower today meaning I’ll have to do a late night wash on my dreads again. Contrary to Rose’s beliefs, my dreadlocks are cleaned and cared for more intensely than normal hair. Today’s late start however is making me wrap them in a bandanna ponytail. I straighten my septum ring and clean my eyebrow piercing followed by my Medusa ring, my snakebites and my multiple ear studs. Once I deem myself half as acceptable as I normally would, I rush down the stairs.

“Can you drive me to work instead,” I ask the busy man of the house. He scrambles around getting lunch ready while wearing a stained pink apron over his pressed shirt and tie. Already knowing the answer, I stuff my sweat jacket over the strap of my purse and grab the slice of toast laid out. Twelve-year-old Michelle half smiles in my direction, bidding me a good morning before clearing her plate. Her leotard is next to be checked off her to-do list, placing it in a dufflebag covered in green stars and polka dots.

“Her cheer camp is an hour away and in the opposite direction of where you’re going,” he says hurriedly. After rinsing the egg pan, his apron is ripped off and he hands Michelle the last of the fruit juice to put away. “I’m going to quick grab the camera and then we can head out. And you—” he points his finger in my direction “—need to catch the bus.”

Waving him off, I rush back down the hall and to the front door. It swings wide under my grip as I thrash it open but it’s shut quickly behind me. I’m greeted by a surprising sight. My eyes blink at the flashing lights of fire trucks and an ambulance. It’s my unlucky day apparently. Police cars are further down the street, away from my house and towards the end of the block. How did I not hear this when waking up?

Casually jogging through the edges of the scene, an older gentleman dressed in his dark blue police uniform stops me. His partner yells something to him and the crowd, me included, is forced back behind yellow tape they’re starting to put up.

“Stay calm everyone,” he says beneath the growing caterpillar on his upper lip. “Just a little fire and some things to be sorted through. This area will be blocked for an hour but anyone who lives in the vicinity can follow Mr. Argus over there.”

Not believing my luck, I check my phone. It’s now 9:29am. There’s less than a minute to get to the station!

“Please, let Jose be late,” I shout to no one in particular. I charge backward through the crowd of people and race the long way around the bus stop. Because of the barrier of emergency vehicles, the bus is four blocks out of my way. All this for some little fire? I groan having no choice but to run.

Backtracking by the graveyard, I pass the broken old headstones and Mrs. Manson’s overly dog filled yard. Every Pug and Dachshund yaps noisily, lapping their tongues to be pet or aiming to tear my leg off. But they’re trapped behind the painted white fence and I’m free to breeze past them.

Finally, the last corner is turned and I stop dead in my tracks. The bus is driving off and carrying on with its routine, abnormally on time. If Jose, the kind driver who works this circuit, saw me running to catch a ride he would've stopped. I’m too far away to see in the rear-view mirror and he has a job to keep. I swear and grab my phone, hastily going through my contacts and calling the store. After a few rings, Melissa picks up and my act is on.

“Yada Yada’s Costumes and More,” she says with a little less cheer than normal. “How can I help you?”

“Melissa,” I rasp out with a whining voice. I clutch my stomach for further affect and close my eyes. When I want to be in character, I get in character. “I can’t come into work today. I’m sick.”

The store manager crinkles on the other end of the line, repositioning the phone on her shoulder. She sighs and deliberates on what to say. “You’re sure you can’t come in?”

“Yeah, I threw up not too long ago,” I reply softly. “And my block is covered with police and fire-trucks. Even if I was good, I would have been late. Ow…” I moan at the risk of laying on too thick today. My fingers cross with hope she doesn't tell me to come in later; she’s done that to a few Ricky and Hannah before. “I’m sure I’ll be fine by tomorrow.”

A pause drags out between us. I hear her put the phone down and check the schedule, flipping through pages of her precious calendar. Her throat clears before she picks up the phone again and mumbles reluctantly into the receiver.

“Alright,” she sighs finally. A smile breaks on my face at the day off. “Feel better, okay?”

“Oh,” I reply, trying not to sound as relieved as I am. “Yeah, I’ll try. Thanks.”

I press end call on my phone and exhale while straightening up. I like my job, especially the part where I get paid, but I’m too tired and I’m not feeling it today. I would love if this would happen more with school. Too bad I can’t call myself in sick and Scott’s male voice is just a little too hard to imitate.

My fingers massage my dreads as I think on what to do on my day off. Scott and Michelle should have left by now so the house will be empty but I don’t want to head home yet. Heading across the street and staying away from the dogs ready to attack me, I decide on the local diner a few blocks from here. Breakfast sounds like the perfect start to a lazy day like today.

The cool air makes me take my sweat jacket from my purse and pull it over my goosebump covered arms. My steps softly pass over the uneven sidewalk lifted in cracks made from trees that have long since been cut down. The breeze feels good on the back of my neck though. I let my fingers trail over the rungs of the graveyard’s black painted bars. I don’t get to walk around this town as much as I’d like to so it’s nice to get the chance. With everyone at work, running errands or down the block by the emergency trucks, the streets are emptier and a lot quieter. My feet skid the ground on purpose, dancing like a child. It’s going to be a special day; I can feel it.

My thoughts bounce, wondering what I’m going to eat to the things I see around me. The cemetery’s fencing captures my attention when I look to the bright clouds above. They stand taller than me by a good three feet and point to the sky like spears. Vines fight to cloak the bars, probably something the groundskeeper hates to manage. I've never seen the man but he’s most likely older gentleman with a bad back. It explains why the vines have been taking over. If he’s not careful, the sidewalk is going to catch him in an unforgiving way. A vision of the groundskeeper falling pops into my head but I brush it away. That’s too morbid to think about, especially in summer.

“Diana, I still love you.”

I’m brought out of my wild imagination to let my hands fall from the black painted rungs. The whisper on the wind came from beyond the fence and in the paths out of my reach. Whoever it is, I’m letting them have their private moment with their deceased loved one. I hurry along, glancing back to find the woman whispering her love. Arching my neck to look around the trees and stone columns, I see no one. My legs slow down and I blame the wind. Staring back into the cemetery again, curiosity begs me to take a peek at some of the tombstones.

“Annabelle Culley,” I read out loud, wringing my hands around the bars. My forehead rests in between the metal poles and I sigh dreaming up what her life was like. I imagine her as a housewife, singing whenever she was home alone and to her son when she put the little boy to bed. “I bet you could have gotten a record deal if it weren't for little Tommy. But he was your favorite mistake, wasn't he?”

“She knows of Thomas!”

My head whips around. This time I know it came from inside the cemetery. The voice was right in front of me. I let go the bars and take a step back before leaving. My stomach must be hungrier than I thought.

“She’s a witch,” the woman yells louder than before. Followed by her outburst, others join in. Each voice belongs to a different person and yet no one is on the streets. No one is in sight. I cower and hurry away but the voices are following.

“Tell Gary to move on, please.”

“Amanda is the real liar.”

“It’s hidden under the stairs!”

So many people echo in the empty air. My feet shuffle faster along and I cover my ears. There’s too many of them crying at me. I run for the end of the block, trying to get away from every person who’s not even there. I turn the corner with the voices still shouting but one in particular gets my attention the most.

“Gail?”

I stop the freak out and let go my ears gently as the people fade to nothingness. A confused Ryan stands there, holding his red bandaged fingers close to his chest. His dark eyebrows are narrowed in concern at the sniveling girl in front of him. I wipe the cowardly evidence from my face as he steps closer.

“You okay,” he asks me. “You seem spooked.”

“It’s nothing,” I respond quickly, knowing there’s no way anyone would believe what just happened. My head shakes to clear my mind and I take the attention from me to the one with the cast. “What’s with the Hellboy hand?”

“Uh, this,” he motions to his bright red cast. The two non-bandaged fingers bend to prove they still work. “After you ran off, I uh…”

An image pops into my mind of him after I left him at The Ledge. I scoff before even letting him finish. What a typical stupid guy thing to do. “Why would you think punching a rock would make anything better?”

“Who told you I did it,” he asks dejected. Apparently he wanted to tell me before anyone could spoil it. My head shakes as my eyes squint from the sun.

“Nobody,” I tell him. My anxiety bubbles more and I just want to get out of here. “Remember, no one really talks to me.”

“Then how do you know?”

“What?”

Awkward silence. Ryan looks at me stunned as if I’m some freak of nature just because I guessed what he did. It’s nothing anyone else couldn't have figured out. Still, the way I can see him clearly do it unsettles me. My weight shuffles from foot to foot as he backs away with a touch of apprehension in his eyes.

“I need to go,” I mutter before he’s able to say anything else. My feet hit the pavement on the street. The diner is only three blocks away; if I get there, maybe things will be alright. I turn around, daring to look at the one calling after me.

“I’m sorry,” Ryan begs me. “Gail?”

I leave him there with so many questions of his unanswered. Maybe it’s from the fall of this morning or maybe I’m going mad. Whichever it is, I’m in need of some hot chocolate and later, a warm bubble bath. Lazy day, here I come.