Airel. Part 5

I started back to the house as my heart beat harder and harder. Don't run! That will make it worse. I took off running anyway. I was now completely terrified. I clamped my mouth shut, trying not to scream, when I saw a lone figure standing in front of my mailbox.

I stopped instantly and looked with wide eyes at the man who stood in between me and the safety of my home. He had short, blond, hair and stood wel over six feet tal , with a muscular build. He was wearing a black leather jacket and blue jeans. My heart was in my ears. Al I could think about was getting out of there. I turned the other way and ran, going past my next door neighbor's house, stumbling over their sidewalk on the way. I ducked into their side yard and ran for the back.

Now I was petrified.

It was the same man from the theater. I was sure of it. How did he find me? What did he want from me? I thought I knew the answer to that, but couldn't bring myself to say it or even think it. I scrambled over my neighbor's fence and ran across their backyard, circling around toward my house again. I stopped at the gate and quietly unlatched it. I could see part of my front yard through the crack. I had to get back inside my house where it was safe, but it wouldn't be safe if the kil er knew I was there.

I had to get closer if I was going to be able to see anything. My house had the perfect shrub to hide behind. I got down low and crept out the gate along the side of my house, hugging it closely and squeezing behind a large evergreen shrub. I parted the branches to look out. I was safe enough as long as he didn't see me. Airel, you are being reckless and putting your life in danger. What are you doing? I peered out and looked around.

He was gone.

The mailbox sat with the door open and the flag up, but no one was around. I looked up the street and back down again. I couldn't see the kil er anywhere. Was he hiding, just waiting for me to show myself? Then a horrible thought struck me. He might be in the house.

I waited a few minutes and final y decided to risk it and make a dash for the front door. It was only a few feet from where I was hiding and even if he was waiting, I could probably out-run him.

Taking a deep breath, I jumped up, ran to the front door, and burst inside, slamming the door. I couldn't believe I didn't wake anyone up with that racket. I looked around the kitchen and living room as I stood with my back against the front door, gasping, trying to catch my breath.

Everything was quiet. I sank to the floor and put my face in my hands. I wanted to cry, but I was too mad to let it escape. Who did this guy think he was?

Coming to my house and scaring me to death.

So much for going back to sleep. Then I heard the sound of footsteps on the porch. I scrambled to the island in the kitchen and ducked behind it. My heart beat in my ears and after a breathless minute I peered up and saw the shadow of a man looking in the window.

I gasped and clamped my hand over my mouth. He didn't see me and turned and walked away. I stood up and watched him walk down the sidewalk and disappear around the corner. The mailbox door stood open.

Chapter XV.

The note was written in the most elegant cursive I'd ever seen, yet it chil ed me to the bone.

I know what you are!

I stared down at it. I sat down on a bar stool heavily. What did it mean? I know what you are. Shouldn't it say who you are-? The kil er was leaving me notes and fol owing me to my house and I was ful y creeped out.

What could I do, though? What would I do?

I decided, for the moment, that I was overwhelmed enough to go back to bed. I was suddenly very tired. I trudged upstairs and plopped down onto my soft bed, pul ing the covers up to my chin. As my body began to calm down and the bed began to warm up, I relaxed. I began to drift off to sleep, even as my mind raced with how to handle my bigger-than-life problems.

I didn't know who to talk to-the police? My dad? My mom? What should I tell them? Exactly how much could I reveal, even to my closest friends and family, without sounding total y insane, even to them? Could I tel the detectives about my stalker, the murderer? I mean, should I?

What about this note, though, and what if they wanted to use it as evidence-what did that mean for me? And how exactly could I break any of this to my dad? He would total y flip out and run out to stock up on ammunition or something. That's al I needed, for Dad to answer the door with a shotgun al the time. And what could I tel Mom-that I'm like, barfing al over the place, unexpectedly?

My mind was final y starting to shut down, but not because I was ready for sleep. It was probably because I was in over my head and I knew it. My life had official y become berserk.

As far as I knew, the rest of the night was uneventful. I slept through the night and even had a nice dream about Michael Alexander. Nothing too weird, just about our afternoon at the mal and how he looked at me. He could look at me one minute like I was a science project and the next, I was beautiful. Did he like me, truly? Or was I some sort of sick dare that he had with his guy friends? "See if you can get that girl to like you," or, "I dare you to get her to go to prom with you." So juvenile.

A few short hours later I got out of bed. Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I looked in the mirror to see if my skin had gone back to normal. Nope. Not that I was disappointed. I was beginning to like my new, airbrushed look. If this kept up I could be on the cover of People or something. Hopeful y it wouldn't be the National Enquirer. I guess I didn't need to put on make-up today. I ran my hands through my wet hair after a shower, pul ed it up, and twisted it into a messy bun. I found a #2 pencil, stuck it through the center of the bun, and smiled. Why not? City worker chic. Sweet.

Kim sauntered into the room and looked like she was the one who was up being hara.s.sed al night by a kil er. Her red hair was off in crazy-land and the bags under her eyes had their own zip code. "Morning, hot stuff!" I said as she waved me off.

"Shut-up! I need coffee and a bagel-in that order." She dragged herself into the bathroom and turned on the hot water. I looked at the clock.

"If you want coffee you'd better hurry." We had less than a half hour to get to school. We had a hardnosed teacher in our first cla.s.s together and cracking down hard on tardiness was a part of his motivational technique.

On the way to school, I couldn't help but tune out some of Kim's chatter. It was like I was a magnet and the fridge I was drawn to was al this c.r.a.p that was happening to me. My thoughts were so crazy that they seemed like they didn't even belong to me half the time.

Thank G.o.d for history cla.s.s. Come on, like I cared what Chinese dynasty was what, or when they built the Great Wal . But this time I wasn't thinking about how my jeans fit, or how Marcie should real y not be wearing a 6, or if I would get asked to prom by Michael-and if he did ask me why was I so scared of the question?

No, I was stuck with the face of a murderer looking up at me from a dark movie theater, the footsteps sounding on a hard tile floor, the echo that made him far scarier. I could have very wel lost my life.

Or maybe I was just over-thinking again. It was almost painful to be this confused. Kim would have laughed and joked about that nonstop, if she would have heard me say it.

I looked for Michael, but he was not in school that day, as far as I could tel . I wondered if he was sick-maybe he had what I had, or what I was getting over-or if something worse had happened to him. Airel. You're acting like a lovesick headcase. Then again, maybe that's exactly what's happening here.

After school, I went right home. Dad's orders. He had made it perfectly clear what he expected from me, until this kil er was caught and locked up. No negotiation. Not that I was any good at it anyway.

The sky had a large gray and black cloud hanging over part of my fair city, like a schoolyard bul y waiting for the nerd to come around the corner so he could blow off a little steam. It smel ed like rain and I didn't care. Rain, snow-who cares.

I was stuck at home until my own personal cloud pa.s.sed over and my parents decided it was safe for dear little Airel to go out and play again. I was about to pul into my neighborhood when I felt that al -too-familiar feeling rise up in my chest. Not again!

I pushed on the brakes just in time to throw my door open and lean out to lose my school lunch. Weird, it didn't look much different then when it was served to me a few hours earlier. That's what a buck-fifty buys ya-it looks like barf.

And with that, my mind was made up. Time to cal the doctor. Doctor Gee had been my doctor since forever. He had white-blond hair and the brightest blue eyes I'd ever seen. I flipped open my phone and cal ed his office. I hoped I could get in. It wasn't flu season yet so I didn't think it would be a problem.

"Doctor Gee's office," the chipper secretary said.

"Yeah, Hi. This is Airel-"

"Airel, oh, how nice to hear from you!" She cut me off. I knew it was Mrs. Birch, a sweet woman who had been with the office for longer than I had been alive. "Are you feeling alright? Oh, that's sil y of me. You must not be or else you wouldn't be cal ing."

"I've been pretty sick... " I croaked, "and I was wondering if I could get in to see the doc." I tried to sound happier then I was feeling, not that it mattered.

She didn't care if I muttered and complained about how I was feeling.

"You know, we just had a no-show. If you like, he can see you right away. Can you be here in ten minutes?"

I was only five minutes away so I told her I would be there. I managed to hold in the next round of queasy feelings on the way over, and as soon as I pul ed into the parking lot, I started to feel much better. Murphy's Law, I guess. You feel sick until you get to the doctor's office. Then, miracle of miracles, you're healed.

Mrs. Birch's mess of silvering hair was al 1982 and her gla.s.ses were tethered with a thin gold chain draped around her neck. She smiled and looked up at me as I came in.

"Oh, sweetie, come on back. He's waiting for you. My, my! How you have changed...so beautiful!"

I blushed and turned my face away. "Thank you, but it's just me...the same Airel as always." She squeezed my shoulder and showed me into a smal room with a table and a counter. In the corner next to the sink there was a jar of tongue depressors.

"He'l be just one minute." She smiled and closed the door, leaving me alone. I felt just a little scared, even though I was in my family doctor's office. I went to the table and sat down, making the paper on the table crackle. My feet hung over the side and I felt like a little kid again. I sure hoped he could find out what was wrong with me. I didn't know how much more of this weird sickness I could take.

Chapter XVI.

"So, Ariel, I've been told that you're feeling a little under the weather." Dr. Gee smiled with his bright white teeth al showing, which made him look like he should be on the set of a soap opera rather than in front of me in a dress shirt and a tie.

"You could say that! I think I might be dying." I smiled back and faked a cough just to try to make myself feel better than I real y was. Not that I was feeling like death at the moment, on the contrary, I was feeling great. That was what made it al so much worse. It was like never having a chance meeting with a cute boy when you were ready to. No, girls like me only ever met cute boys over breakfast, without makeup, wearing sweats and a t-shirt, and with our hair total y beyond help. Nothing ever worked out the way it was supposed to.

"Wel , tel me what's going on-don't b.u.t.ter it up for me. And tel me what you think it might be as wel ." He looked at me with his blue eyes and I felt like I was looking straight into a cold sky in the dead of winter. I think I even shivered a little.

Dr. Gee listened to my breathing through his stethoscope and looked into my ears as I began to explain the past few weeks in as much detail as I could, without explaining what each chunk of barf looked like.

"And no-I know what you're thinking-it's not possible."

He nodded and grinned with just the left half of his face. "No boyfriend?"

"No. Besides, I'm partial to waiting until marriage, if you know what I mean. I've got the ring and everything." I held up my left hand and flashed him my ring finger, which had a thin gold band on it. "My dad gave it to me when I was thirteen." I was a little embarra.s.sed to be talking about this with my doctor, but he got the hint after I looked at the floor, leaving my sentence unfinished.

"That's great." Dr. Gee sat back on a little round chair on wheels. The silence was more than uncomfortable as he slid back a foot or so with his arms folded across his chest.

"So what do you think about my little problem? Am I going to die?" I laughed a little, but deep down inside I was thinking I might do just that... either from this mysterious il ness or by the hand of some psycho kil er. Is this what people meant when they talked about being lovesick, or what?

"I don't think you're going to die, Airel, but I'm not sure what it might be and I would like to run a few tests, if you don't mind. I think it might be viral and I would like to rule out some things before we dig any deeper." He saw the look on my face, pushed forward in his chair, and leaned forward to touch my arm. His orange tie hung down like a breezeless flag. "Don't worry, you'l be fine. I just want to be sure. I don't want to overlook anything, okay?"

I nodded and sighed with relief.

"Now. I'm going to have Sue take some blood, and I would like a urine sample as wel . If you get sick again, I want you to cal me right away, then come in. I would like to run a test when you're feeling your worst, okay?" He pul ed out his card and scrawled his cel number on the back, handing it to me with a serious look on his face. "I mean it. You cal me as soon as you feel anything."

"I wil , I promise. I don't think I want to live with the ability to vomit without any warning. It doesn't real y fit into my social agenda, doc." I winked at him, which for me, was uncharacteristic, and it made me blush. Man, I hate when I embarra.s.s myself like this.

Dr. Gee laughed aloud and stood up, making him seem like a giant. He left the room and once again I was alone in the chil y office listening to the only sound in the room... the crackling paper under my legs. I was not looking forward to having my blood drawn.

My mind wandered and came to rest on vampires, of al things. I remembered a book I read about someone who was bit and changed into a vampire-it made him sick, but he got better afterward. If you could call it that. Anyway, no one had bitten me-except for the love bug, as Kim would say. I didn't know of any vampires at my school, anyway; they weren't even real to begin with.

I put my hand to my cheek, felt its uncharacteristical y smooth soft surface, and closed my eyes. "Changed... " I muttered in a whisper. I hadn't had a zit in like forever. Which, contrary to everything holy, actual y gave me cause for concern. I should have paid more attention in science. "Chaaaange, Meta-MORRR-phosis," I said to myself, in my TV announcer voice, which made me laugh. But...my skin was smoother, and al but a few of my freckles were disappearing. No, it can't be. There's no such thing! Humans don't undergo metamorphosis. It was probably just hormones making me insane. It's al a part of growing up.

Sometimes life is just sucky and unexplainable. I final y had the perfect skin I'd always wanted, but along with that came the spontaneous barfing... a package deal. Or does all of this mean something worse? Was I going to grow fangs and start craving blood?

As I was thinking that, the hair on the back of my neck stood up on end, and I nearly fol owed suit. I could feel a presence in the room with me, as if something invisible had just al owed me to take notice of it and didn't care how I felt about it, one way or another. Whatever it was, it wasn't evil. I knew that much, because I wasn't scared of it. In fact, it seemed like it was good al the way through to the core, fil ed with bril iant white light. It was just startling because I couldn't see it. Whatever it was, I had a feeling it was here to stay.

It spoke to me, not in a real voice or audible words, or even as my conscience, but a third voice beyond my own being. It laughed a faint little giggle and shook its head like a parent who had just heard me say something incredibly naive about sil y old legends.

It stretched like a cat, settled down and fel asleep. I had to laugh out loud about it. I had a new friend and I was not entirely sure if I wanted one or not. I had a feeling I didn't have a choice about it. Great. More drama. Just what I needed.

Chapter XVII.

My simple life of school and the occasional pizza and movie night had been turned on its head. I not only had a genuine stalker, who seemed to like kil ing people and mocking me with cryptic notes, but I also had a weird disease that crept up at the most unexpected times. As for everything else, wel , yikes. What was I supposed to think? I was probably certifiable now. Schizophrenic.

I had a strong feeling that Dr. Gee wouldn't find anything, no matter how many tests he ran. The new little voice in my head told me that it was al nothing.

I had a feeling that al of this was simply pointing back to what was going on with my skin and those occasional intense growing pains. Now, as I looked in the mirror on a normal Tuesday morning, there was something more. It had been a week and stil no change, 'til last night.

I had been startled awake at three in the morning by the most hel acious nightmare I can ever remember having. I had a headache to end al headaches and my hair, dripping wet, tangled on my face as if I had just come up for air in the river. I couldn't for the life of me remember what the nightmare was about, and I was glad about that. I summoned the courage to get up and turn on the light in my bedroom, which instantly seemed to dispel most of my fear.

I felt real y gross. Maybe my dream was about pre-season practice with the footbal team. Now that would be a nightmare. I shuffled to the bathroom to clean up, cool down, and try to pul myself together. I changed into my back-up pajamas: my favorite blue sweats and an old long sleeved t-shirt. They were so comfortable-but so ugly-that I didn't dare wear them unless I had no other choice.

I felt better after that, but stil had a raging headache and no idea why. Grabbing a couple of Advil from the medicine cabinet, I fil ed the gla.s.s by the sink with water. I tossed back the tablets and took a long drink of cool water, then carried the gla.s.s into my bedroom.

When I sat down on the bed, with my feet dangling off the floor, the gla.s.s suddenly shattered in my hand. I gasped as shards dug into my hand and I dropped what was left of the gla.s.s. I was in total shock. It hit the carpet with a thump and I bit my lip to keep from screaming out in pain.

Blood ran freely from two different cuts on my palm. From the looks of them, they were deep. I started to get woozy but forced myself to keep it together.

Don't pa.s.s out Ariel. You've got to stop the bleeding. In that moment I wished I had woken my mom up. I jumped up, dodging the gla.s.s on the floor, ran to the bathroom holding my bleeding left hand, and got to the sink just in time to catch the first drips. Mom would have a cow, maybe a calf too!

I turned on the cold water. It stung and I winced in pain as it flushed out the wound. Blood pooled in the sink. There were two large deep gashes in my hand; I feared I would need st.i.tches. I pul ed the largest pieces out with my fingers. There were a few that I just couldn't get, and though I was brave, I wasn't that brave.

I found some bandages and gauze strips under the sink, wound them around my throbbing hand, and made a bandage that looked like something out of one of Dad's war movies. Not the best, but at three in the morning I wasn't about to wake my parents-at least, not now that I had everything under control. I guess I just needed a stiff upper lip and time to heal.

I made sure the bathroom didn't look like I had just kil ed someone and went back to bed. I stil don't know how I fel asleep with the rhythmic throbbing in my poor hand, or the thoughts running through my mind of what I was going to tel my parents when they saw my enormous gauze mitten. And what would I tel Kim-Miss Talks-a-lot?

Stuck in the back of my mind was my new friend, whispering why did the gla.s.s break? It was a good question. It wasn't one of those thin cheapie gla.s.ses. It was heavy, thick. I could have tossed it across the living room and it wouldn't have broken. It would have left a dent in the wal . So that's how I spent my night: horror show, sweat shower, headache, my own real-life episode of CSI, and back to bed.

In the morning, I stood in front of the mirror in the first rays of sunshine more beautiful than I dared to be, especial y after a night like that, hearing those words in my head: why did the gla.s.s break?

I unwound the tape and bandages, wanting to a.s.sess the damage before showing Mom my handiwork. That's when I knew there was going to be big trouble. There was more to my little mysteries than vomit and perfect skin, anyway. I stared at my hand. Impossible! Then I stared at it in the mirror, thinking that in there maybe things would look normal. I'm going crazy and that's that! My hand was not cut, bleeding, bruised or even starting to heal.

It was completely healed.

The alternative version of reality was that I was never cut, the gla.s.s never broke, and it was al just a bad dream. But there were b.l.o.o.d.y bandages and fragments of broken gla.s.s in the trash can that sat next to my dresser. I turned my hand palm up to inspect it again. Nothing. It was fine. But there was something gritty and shiny on my palm. After a closer look, I realized that somehow my body had rejected the tiniest shards of gla.s.s that had been embedded in it... the ones that I could not get out the night before.

I reached down and pul ed the bandages out of the trash can. They too had little shards of gla.s.s. I looked again at my palm and realized that there weren't even scars. I looked up into the mirror again, looking myself in the eyes, blinking as if meeting myself for the very first time.