Chapter Eleven: The Story Long ForgottenA Chapter by Not here“That’s…” “Unbelievable,” Christian finished for Crystal. “After that week where nothing happened-" “I know." Michael stopped him, looking over towards Crystal, who had tears in her eyes. Under normal circumstances, he would have thought this was quite girlish for her, since she almost never cried, but these were not ordinary circumstances at all. He had shed some tears himself, before that moment in the hospital when he decided crying was no good; only getting Lilly back would make him happy again. Brandon, who told his story before Michael, just sat in silence, pulling apart the thin blades of grass. All around them, Pine Tree Park was glowing and bright, full of children’s laughter and the sounds of nature. Wind whistling merrily in their ears, birds chirping in harmony; most days, this would be a beautiful sight. Even Brandon would have had to admit it. But today, nobody felt much like running around, climbing the slides, and having a good time. After a hospital visit, the park seemed like the most lively place in the whole world. But that was the last thing on their minds. Everything had changed in only a few days. They were subtle changes for the most part, but sinister nonetheless. Michael, with his concussion and bandaged head, had walked out of the hospital into a harsher reality. All those memories of grief, emptiness, and loss that had tortured his brain were now right there in front of him. They were no longer memories; they were the trees waving down to him, the birds singing, and everything else jolly and bright. Somehow, they too had become evil. The trees were waving goodbye, goodbye, have a nice, painful day. The birds were singing funeral songs through their beaks, twittering along like organs drumming out tear-jerking tunes. The grass swishing under his heels was the sound of a woman’s dress; that particular woman’s dress. Everything had certainly changed. Brandon, once full of livelihood and laughter, now seemed more solemn than ever before, his eyes not quite tearful, but not normally dry either. He tried to hide the tears, even though his friends assured him it was okay to cry. What did it matter to them; he hid the crying from himself, to maybe give a glimmer of hope. If he refused to cry, Grace would come back; if he assured himself things were alright, they would be. Somehow, in his mind, it made sense. Christian and Crystal, while not suffering the loss of a family member, had their own agony. They felt deeply for their friends, but were not able to help. Everything seemed unnatural, different, and yet they had no say in restoring things to their rightful place. Listening, while many said it was helpful, did not seem adequate. It seemed like something a weak person would do, just muttering, “It’s alright,” and, “I’m here for you,” while they went home to a full family, one with both parents and the kids in their proper places. In some ways, they suffered worse, but that was only for now. Trading places, while it would have been noble, was the last thing on their minds; even friend’s allegiances only go so far. That was a sad reality they all seemed to be accepting, and not happily. “Brandon,” Crystal said to him, breaking through whatever barriers of thought he had conjured up, “are you okay?” There it was, the big question. Was he okay? Was anyone okay, or anything? Could she not see that he was hurting, that forcing him to answer would only rub salt in the wound? Why would she ask such a thing; could that possibly be justified? Of all the healing words, with all of the possible things to say, so many words in the English language, she chose to ask if he was okay? Instead of voicing these thoughts, he answered with a grunt. There was no point in lying, and there was no point in answering truthfully; Crystal regretted asking the question as soon as the words left her mouth. Sometimes, there was precious little to say, but that little was precious. “I don’t think we should bother him,” Christian commented, nudging her lightly in the side. Brandon’s face shot up, and only then did they see he had been crying all through Michael’s telling of the story. Since he himself had finished, Brandon must have been reliving it many times in his head. “I’m still here,” he growled, staring at Christian. “You don’t gotta talk like I’m not.” “I’m... I’m sorry,” Christian said sheepishly. Brandon growled, “Everyone’s sorry, but no one can do a thing.” His eyes were wild and unfocused. Standing up and looking away from his friends, Brandon picked a leaf off of the low-hanging tree branch. It was delicate, with simple veins running all through it and the edges slowly crumbling away. Folding his hands, he rubbed them together until only shreds fell down, some sticking to his hand. He was about to say something important. It was obvious, and a little unwelcome. Things were screwed up enough, already, and whatever he said was sure to stir the cake batter some more. Then again, if you stir it enough and mess it up enough, things tend to fall back into place. “There’s something I never told you three; not even you, Michael. Something about Grace.” Things were not falling back into place. “You can tell us now,” Christian piped up, trying to get back on Brandon’s good side. “I’m not sure…” “Sure of what?” Crystal asked. She looked to Michael, who had the same bewildered expression on his face. “Sure that you want to know. Sure that you can know.” Michael stood up and went to put a hand on Brandon’s shoulder, but he stepped away so Michael sat back down on the grass with the other two. “Come on, man. Just tell us.” “Michael, do you remember back when Grace was born?” asked Brandon. After a nod, he continued, “It was just a few months after my family moved here and we got to be friends. What about you two?” Christian and Crystal exchanged a glance before she answered, “I don’t think we lived here yet. Moved here after... I think about a year after.” Christian nodded in consensus, so Brandon went on. “Well, just before she was born, there was a small circus that went through town here. It was a big deal, back then, because Marcy and Hardy were about the same size, only Marcy had more schools, police stations, buildings, churches, and everything, except for people, than Hardy. Or that’s what my parents said. “Anyways, that circus stayed up at the high school in Marcy, performing for a weekend and earning a whole lot of cash.” “What does that matter?” Christian asked. Brandon ignored him. “We went to the circus one of those days, because I was young and wanted to see the fire-breathing person I’d heard about. Turns out, he was a hoax, but that’s not important. When we went, there was a supposed psychic traveling with them, and every time they had a show he would call on someone from the crowd. Luck had it that my father was the man he called on. Well, maybe not luck. Back then, my father was all interested in magicians and such, since they had done a Bible study at the church on them. He was all too willing to go down. “Right there, in front of a few hundred people, which sounds like more than it is, the ‘psychic’ did this whole ritual thing. At that point, my father was too interested to care, but my mom was freaking out. She didn’t like the idea of any magic; thought any type of magic musta been the really bad kind. “Anyways, this psychic goes up to my dad and says, ‘Well, kind sir, let me give it a whirl. Your wife is pregnant with a girl! “My dad looked honest-to-God shocked at this and is like, ‘What? A girl?’ At this point, they hadn’t gone to the doctor and found out the gender yet. “The dude says, ‘Yes, sir, that’s the truth, but let me make it double. When your little girl’s not so little, she’ll have lots of trouble.’ “My dad was shocked at this, but not in a good way. He said, ‘Son, you must be wrong. You can’t know… “The dude was like, ‘I am not wrong; I never have been. What I have said will surely happen. “My mom was freaking out and being loud, so I didn’t hear what they said, but after my dad came back up he said that the man was going to see him after the show. Apparently, he had news, and not the good kind. Stuff that the man thought was so important my dad had to know right away.: Christian asked, “What did he say?” Crystal and Michael had opened their mouths to ask the same question, but kept it to themselves. “He never got the chance,” said Brandon. “I guess he died of a heart attack soon after the show while my dad was still going to see him. When he got there, lots of cops and that sort were already there. Whatever he was going to say, we never found out.” “Do you think he knew she’d be kidnapped?” questioned Michael with a thoughtful expression on his face. “I don’t know. But the next day, we were looking at pictures we had taken, and sitting in the row behind us was a lady with her hood up. We laughed about it at the time, because it was so weird, probably some prank, but now I think-” “That it was her,” Christian interrupted. “Her hair convinced me of it. That silver-white color.” “Do you think she knows you or something?” asked Crystal. Christian began, “Maybe she-” “I’m not done,” Brandon said, giving him a stern look. “Not long after that, when Grace was about 2 or 3, she kept having these dreams. In them, a lady was watching her, and every time she woke up that lady would be standing over her bed, leaning down really near and whispering strange words. I heard Grace telling my mom and dad that this lady had white hair and looked really old. It was strange, but at the time we just chalked it up to a wild imagination. Lots of kids have them.” “You didn’t connect the lady watching you with that one in her dreams?” Christian asked curiously. “No; that was like four years ago. I thought it was just her imagination, same as my mom and dad.” Crystal looked astonished and completely disoriented. “Well, what made you remember it and that circus person?” “Psychic,” her brother corrected. “Whatever,” she snapped. Brandon waited a minute and then answered, “I found a diary. Michael, do you remember that notebook your mom gave me a few years ago? About two, I think.” “Yeah, sure; it was real girly. But you actually used it for a diary?” He was tempted to laugh at first, but the seriousness on his friend’s face erased any chance of so much as a switching grin. “No, that’s the thing. I threw it up in my attic and never looked back. Then, when we were looking through Grace’s room the other day, I found it. In her closet.” They all looked at him incredulously, but nobody said a word. “My dad thought it was mine, just forgotten in there some day, so he gave it to me. I knew I never wrote in it. When I took it back to my room, there were words in it; jumbled and sloppy, like my sister’s writing.” “What’d it say?” “I’m getting there, Crystal.” She looked down at her toes sheepishly. “Anyways, in the diary, there was only about a dozen pages filled out. There were random words in there, all sorts of letters I’d never seen and words I’d never heard of. They weren’t any language that I could tell, and definitely not that my sister would know. I don’t know why, but something in it made me remember the psychic and I remembered the dreams. Some of the words were just... triggers, I guess.” “That’s all that was in it? Triggers?” Christian gazed at him unusually. “Triggers. None of it made any sense to me, not until I remembered the psychic and dreams.” Michael peered up at the sky, where clouds were beginning to soar nearer to their position. On the horizon, they were just visible, but clearly coming closer, every moment drawing towards them, however slowly. It would have been boring to watch the clouds as they sailed along, but when the storm came, there was nothing at all boring about it. Just storming rains, storming thunder, and the brightest lightning. “What do you think this has to do with the lady?” asked Michael. “Something else was in the diary. On the last page,” said Brandon, trying to control his racing heartbeats, “was a sentence. And a picture.” Crystal opened her mouth to speak, but Michael shook his head. She looked worried and extremely nervous, although he could not imagine why. Well, he could imagine, but did not want to. Instead he placed a hand on hers, and she gladly held it. For a moment he smiled, but Brandon’s story continued, vanquishing that grin. “A sentence was repeated over and over again, all the way down the page. In the middle, drawn over the sentences, was a picture. It was a little girl, just a stick figure, and she was holding what looked like a doll in her stick-hand. Her hair was in pigtails, just like my sister normally wore them. Beside her was a taller stick figure, with long hair. The sentence said: And they walked away together…. And she was a happy, old lady. “What do you think it means?” Christian asked. Brandon answered in a moment, “Isn’t it obvious? These aren’t just normal kidnappings; they were planned. There’s something worse going on.” “Like what?” “What if she doesn’t just want to keep the kids?” Crystal put a hand over her mouth and gasped, understanding what he meant. She leaned over towards Michael, and he released her hand, putting that arm around her instead. Christian, however, was still clueless. “I don’t understand.” “What if she means to kill them?” Michael stared at him, trying to maintain a regular breathing pace. He knew what Brandon meant, but hearing it spoken unnerved him. Kill them? Kill her? Lilly.
© 2015 Not hereAuthor's Note
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