Death, Doom And Detention Part 11

Everything in my periphery dissolved. The colors melted together, then reshaped themselves, molecules fusing into patterns until they formed the items in the Prathers' living room nine years ago. On the day Brooklyn turned seven.

"Mom!"

I heard a little girl yelling above the roar of grade-schoolers and looked over at Brooklyn, fascinated that I was there, at her seventh birthday party.

"Mitch.e.l.l poured juice into my shoe again."

Juice, compliments of Mitch.e.l.l Prather, Brooke's little brother. Two down, one to go.

Brooke's mom, a beautiful African American woman with a stylishly spiked do, stepped out of the kitchen. Wiping her hands on a towel, she gave Mitch.e.l.l a withering look. "Mitch, if you can't behave yourself, I'll send you upstairs and you'll miss the party."

"No!" he shouted, his voice edged with the fear of someone facing certain death. His short legs dangled off the chair. He crossed them at the ankles, locking his feet together, and folded his hands in his lap. "I won't do it again. I promise."

Brooklyn's dad chuckled and scooped her little brother into his arms. Mr. Prather was like a sand-colored stick wearing a polo shirt. Tall and slim with pale skin and sandy-colored hair, he was so opposite Brooke's tiny, dark mom that, when I first met Brooke, it had taken some time for me to realize they were married. Then I started noticing little things about them. About their relationship. How her dad doted on her mom. How her mom ordered her dad around. Oh, yeah. They were definitely married.

"There's someone here to see your sister," Mr. Prather said. His eyes sparkled with mischief when he indicated someone behind Brooklyn with a nod.

At her dad's beckoning, Brooklyn glanced over her shoulder and screeched, "Uncle Henry!" She jumped up and ran into a man's arms just as a bright light flashed in my eyes. And just like last time, the image ended when the picture was taken.

I blinked back to the present, my entire body tingling with wonder.

"Maybe you're still concentrating too hard. You need to loosen up." She wiggled her shoulders to demonstrate. "Be a loosey-goosey."

"It was your uncle Henry," I said, astonishment softening my voice. "You were so happy to see him even though your brother had poured juice in your shoe."

With the slow movements of shock, Brooklyn turned and gaped at me. After a long moment, she asked, "What happened to him? To my uncle?"

The emotion roiling in her eyes wrenched me back to my senses, and I realized who that man was. He was that uncle, the black sheep of her mother's family, the one they hadn't seen in years, quite possibly since that very day.

The last time he'd called, he was living in a shelter in South Texas. He'd asked her mom for money and then disappeared. Her mom called the shelter, trying to find him, but they said he'd never gone back. She called the police, but they didn't have anything on him. She called every law enforcement agency in Texas and New Mexico, to no avail.

"You have to go back," she said, her voice rising an octave. She grabbed my arm, her nails digging into my flesh. "You have to touch him and tell me where he is."

"Brooke, I can't touch anyone. I can only see what's going on. It's like I'm not even there, which I'm not."

"But you could try. You didn't try." She jabbed the picture with an index finger. "Just go back through and touch him."

"Okay, I'll try, but I don't think this works like that."

"No, I know. It's okay. Just try."

But by then, I was too fl.u.s.tered. I couldn't get past the curtain again. It was more like a vault door that required a retinal scan and DNA sample. Maybe once I'd entered a picture, I couldn't go into it again.

Despite the failure of every subsequent attempt, I kept trying, over and over, until the bell rang. I shook my head apologetically and handed back the picture. "I'm sorry."

She took it with a disappointed frown.

We stood to gather our stuff and she hesitated, biting her lip in thought. "I'm so sorry, Lor. I didn't mean to freak out on you. This is all just so incredible."

"No apology necessary. I know what your uncle means to you." We walked past Ms. Phipps, who was still sitting in the exact same position. "Do you think she's dead?" I asked.

"If so, we'll be blamed. We get in enough trouble as it is. Let's get out of here before the homicide detectives come." When we reached the hall, Brooke continued her apology. "I am so sorry again. I kind of lost it."

"Brooke," I said, wrapping an arm in hers, "that's completely understandable. I wish I could tell you where your uncle is."

"This is all just amazing. I mean, I never imagined. We have to tell your grandparents."

"No! I mean, no," I said, a little quieter. "Let's wait awhile, okay?"

The admonishing look she leveled on me could have crumbled a hardened criminal. But I was neither a criminal nor hard. I was kind of squishy, in fact. "Lor, you have to get over what they did sometime. They might be able to explain this."

"It's just, I want to explore it a bit first." I stopped and turned toward her.

"Your grandparents might be able to help."

"It's not just them. Everyone has so much faith in me. There's so much riding on my ability. I don't want to give anyone more hope than they already have. We still have no real idea of what is going on. Of what's going to happen. Why throw this into the mix? Get everyone all excited for no reason?"

She bunched a dimpled cheek. "I guess I can understand that. They do have some pretty high hopes for you, with that whole saving-the-world thing and all. It will suck if you fail. No pressure, or anything."

"Thanks."

"Anytime."

Cameron was waiting for us outside as usual, and we met up with Glitch in the parking lot. He had to go help his dad with some technical thing that I didn't care about, but he promised to be back later. Whatever. I hurried everyone else all along, craving to see if Jared had made it back to his apartment. But after all the pushing and shoving and stuffing bodies into vehicles, I was disappointed yet again.

The skies had turned dark gray, and clouds roiled as I knocked on Jared's wooden front door. Peeked in through his multipaned windows. The small apartment my grandparents had provided him stood empty, just as it had been the last fifty times I checked it. I didn't want to alert my grandparents to his disappearance. They'd ship me off for sure. And the last thing I wanted was to leave Riley's Switch with Jared still missing.

"Can I talk to you, pix?" Grandma called out to me. We'd entered through the back as usual and I was hoping to avoid her. I frowned at Brooke to announce my reluctance, then plopped my backpack on the stairs and walked through the house to the store, bracing myself for whatever may come.

The cash register sang its familiar tune, announcing a sale. "Have a good day," Grandma said. She smiled at Mr. Pena as he left before turning to me. "How are you?"

I grabbed a bar of soap to examine it and lifted a shoulder. "I have homework."

Disappointment lined her face. "Granddad's at the church. He was asking about Azrael."

"It's Jared, Grandma," I said, adding an edge to my voice. "It's just Jared now."

"Pix." Grandma rounded the counter and put a hand on my shoulder.

I stiffened, but didn't step away from her. It was the weirdest feeling, being at odds with my grandparents. It had never happened before. I'd been mad at them before for some perceived infraction, but our relationship never sank to this level of pain and resentment. And it wasn't just about Jared. It was everything. Everything they hadn't told me. Every secret they'd kept and every lie they'd lived. And now they were planning to ship me off without even consulting me? Without asking what I wanted?

"We can't begin to express our grat.i.tude where he is concerned. It's not as though we don't want him here."

For some reason, I asked, "Then what is it?" I didn't want to have this conversation. As infantile as it sounded, I didn't want to forgive them just yet, and having a heart-to-heart would only lead me closer to that end.

"We're just ... we're worried. That's all. He's so much more dangerous than you can imagine."

"I know." I schooled my expression again. "You've told me. Can I go do my homework now?"

She drew in a deep breath and nodded, and I steeled myself against the hurt in her eyes. "There's fruit in the kitchen."

"Is it in the form of a toaster pastry?" Brooke asked, trying to lighten the mood. She'd walked in after the coast was clear of unwanted sentiment.

"There are those too. Cameron," Grandma said to him, looking past us into the kitchen, "make sure you get a snack. We'll see about dinner in a bit."

He offered a sheepish smile. "Thank you, Mrs. James."

With a sigh, I shuffled off to bake Cameron a toaster pastry. I wasn't hungry in the least. My mood had turned as gray as the skies.

"What are you doing?" Brooke whispered to me.

"Making Cameron a snack."

"At a time like this? We have things to discuss," she said just as I was maneuvering a cherry pastry out of the toaster oven with a fork. Because I could be reckless when I wanted to be. Danger was my middle name.

"And Cameron has to do a perimeter check," Brooke said, pulling at my arm.

"I do?" he asked, taking the pastry from me and blowing on it.

"You most certainly do."

"So, you're kicking me out of the playhouse?" He grinned at us, at her, then took a huge bite, unconcerned.

While Brooke was dragging me up the stairs, she turned back to him and said, "Of course not. We just have girl stuff to discuss."

"I thought you had homework." He said it plenty loud enough for my grandmother to hear. I cringed and glowered at him, but only for a second before I lost sight of him.

"Fingernails," I said as Brooke whisked me into my bedroom.

A storm had moved in. The wind shook the world around us as rain scratched and clawed across my window in ma.s.sive waves. And again, all I could think about was the fact that Jared was out in it. I could only pray he found shelter.

"Hurry," Brooke said as she rummaged through her backpack. "I know you don't want anyone to know about your new talent, so we have to practice before your bodyguard gets up here."

She was back and in full force. I thought I'd gained a reprieve from her prodding when I told her what I was going through with my visions. Apparently not.

I rubbed the underside of my arms. "I wasn't kidding about the nails. You have a killer grip."

"We need to explore your new talent."

"I didn't really mean that literally."

"You said yourself, you want to understand this a bit more before we tell anyone."

"Brooke, I don't want the visions, remember?"

"But these are safe. You're only seeing into a picture, into what actually happened when it was being taken. No emotion. No scary dreams afterwards or thoughts of suicide. This will be fun. Now sit," she said, completely ignoring my exasperation. She brought out a photo wallet as I sat on the end of my bed. After thumbing through it, she stopped and handed one over. "Okay, see what you can get."

I made sure to exhale really loudly before I scooted until my back was against my headboard. She did the same on her bed, but she leaned against the wall so she could watch me. Which was only a little uncomfortable. I looked at the picture. It was a shot of Cameron at a lake with his dad. He couldn't have been more than twelve, his blond hair shorter and his long frame thinner. He had an almost sad expression in his eyes as he posed for the shot. His dad had an arm around his waist, his teeth flashing white against his dark skin, but Cameron's smile was more reserved, almost cautious.

"Where did you get this?" I asked her.

"Out of Cameron's truck. He wouldn't give me a picture, so I stole one."

"Brooke," I said, my tone admonishing.

"What? He knows I took it. I grabbed it off his visor and stuffed it into my pocket with him watching me." She thought back. "He just gave me this odd expression. Like he couldn't understand why I'd want a picture of him in the first place."

"He isn't the most secure guy."

"True, but the look on his face in that picture has me curious. I just thought you might could see what was going on."

I was curious now too. Darn it. I filled my lungs and concentrated, imagined the sheer veil. My first attempts at pulling it back failed. The veil slipped through my fingers, the only disturbance a puff of smoke where I'd tried. I stopped, shook my head to clear it, then tried again.

Finally, on the fifth try, the veil solidified and gave way to a ridiculously bright day. I blinked and tried to raise a hand to block out the sun. But it seemed I didn't have a hand. I wasn't really there. I had no corporeal manifestation. It was like walking a tightrope a hundred feet off the ground, wanting to grab on to something solid, something stable that wasn't there.

I focused on the surroundings. Cameron stood at the edge of a lake, the water lapping at his feet, his swimming shorts long and bright. He wore no shirt or shoes as he dipped his toes in the water, splashed them around a bit.

"I'm not sure how this thing works," Mr. Lusk said.

I looked over to my left. Mr. Lusk was fumbling with a camera. He was so much shorter than Cameron and had dark skin and hair, very at odds with his son's pale features.

"I think you just push a b.u.t.ton."

He glared up at his son teasingly. Cameron laughed softly, then looked out over the ma.s.s of blue. When I looked back at Mr. Lusk, he was studying him. His face sad and proud at the same time.

"Got it," he said, balancing the camera on a rock and hurrying to stand beside Cameron. He wrapped an arm around him as Cameron smiled for the shot.

Even as young as he was, he towered over his dad. And they couldn't have looked less alike if someone had paid them to. While Cameron was tall, lean, and very blond, his dad was average height, stocky, and dark, his skin like leather from working out in the elements for all those years. He was handsome like Cameron, just in a very different way.

Of course, he wasn't Cameron's real father. The angel Jophiel was. But he was loyal to his son and supported him in every way.

"I'm so proud of you, son," he said, waiting for the timer. "Of everything that you are."

Cameron shifted in discomfort. "Thanks, Dad."

Just before the timer snapped the shot, Mr. Lusk added, "And so is she."

Cameron's smile faded almost completely as his dad put on his best one. Then a light flashed around me and I was back in my bedroom.

I blinked and sucked in a deep breath like I'd just surfaced from a tank of water. Then I put the picture down, feeling like an intruder.

"What?" Brooke said in alarm. "You have to keep trying. You can't just give up-"

"It worked."

She stopped. "But, you just now shook your head to try again. Like a microsecond before you put it down. And it worked? You went inside?"