Seeker
5/5
()
About this ebook
Mila was a little girl when she first saw the young man who scared several other children at the zoo. She later learned that the children died. When she saw him again several years later, he looked exactly the same as before. She realized that people always died after his visits, but she seemed to be immune.
Nobody can escape death, but Death can't escape Mila.
Read more from Suzana Thompson
Heartless Rating: 3 out of 5 stars3/5The Forbidden Series Box Set Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsTrouble Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsBreathless Rating: 3 out of 5 stars3/5Naughty & Nice Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsMidnight Moon Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsStrange Magic Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5Change of Heart Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsGuilty Pleasure Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratings
Related to Seeker
Related ebooks
Moon Girl: Moon Girl, #1 Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsThe Watcher (Night Realm Series, #1) Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsLightFall: The Origin Prophecy, #1 Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsThe Vengeance Demons Series: Books 0-3 (The Vengeance Demons Series Boxset): Vengeance Demons Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsBurned (Draconia World Book 3): Draconia World, #3 Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsLost Girl: Moon Girl, #2 Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsForever Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Vampire University (Book One in the Vampire University Series) Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsDemon's Revenge: Emily: Book 2 Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsThe Sound Of Shooting Stars Rating: 3 out of 5 stars3/5Psycho Sitter Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsThe Bad Ones: The Red Mirror Series Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsThe Brokenhearted Rating: 3 out of 5 stars3/5Fight for Her Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsHalloween Rating: 3 out of 5 stars3/5The Precious Dreadful: A Novel Rating: 3 out of 5 stars3/5A Black Deeper Than Death: Miki Radicci, #1 Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsStephanie Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsA Perpetual Heart Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsThanksgiving Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsFyr: Celestial Spheres, #1 Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsIron Belief (Faerie Believers 04) Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5Snake Charmer Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsHell Fire: A Collective World Novel: Academy's Rise, #1 Rating: 1 out of 5 stars1/5The Voice Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsEmpath Chronicles - Series Omnibus - Complete Young Adult Paranormal Superhero Romance Series: Empath Chronicles Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsThe Fallen Prince Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsLay Me Down: A Haunted Love Story: A Kellam High Novel, #1 Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsUpdrift Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsEmotionally Powerful: Empath Chronicles, #3 Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratings
YA Romance For You
Caraval Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5It's Not Summer Without You Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5These Violent Delights Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Heartless Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Forever . . . Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5We'll Always Have Summer Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Legendborn Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Legendary: A Caraval Novel Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5The Selection Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5The Summer I Turned Pretty Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Destroy Me Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Cinderella Is Dead Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Shatter Me Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Better Than the Movies Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Finale: A Caraval Novel Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Out of Darkness Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Ace of Spades Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5To All the Boys I've Loved Before Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5The Giver Quartet Omnibus Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Foul Lady Fortune Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Unravel Me Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Sorcery of Thorns Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Glass Sword Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5They Both Die at the End Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Restore Me Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5The Do-Over Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5My Lady Jane Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Dorothy Must Die Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Ignite Me Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5This Woven Kingdom Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5
Reviews for Seeker
1 rating0 reviews
Book preview
Seeker - Suzana Thompson
Chapter 1
I see him the first time when I am five years old. He is standing near me by the elephant exhibit at the zoo, but he is watching me instead of the elephants. I glance up at him, because he is as tall as my daddy, but he looks younger. After my eyes meet his, he shifts his gaze to another kid.
The little girl hides her face from him as she clings to her mommy. She doesn’t answer when she is asked what’s wrong. Her mommy calms her down with crackers and juice. She no longer looks scared when she glances back in his direction.
He doesn’t look scary to me, just not friendly. His flat, onyx eyes stare coldly, but they fascinate me. I get the feeling that there are secrets hidden in them, and that I could almost glimpse what they are.
C’mon, Goldilocks,
my daddy says. Let’s go see the lions.
I skip behind him as he leads the way, and I smile at the young man. His blank expression changes into something less devoid of emotion but still unreadable.
I see him again later that day while we are having lunch. He scares another little kid, this time a boy with memorable red hair. The toddler cowers from him and calls out for his mommy. She turns from fussing with the baby in the stroller to attend to her distraught son. Offering to buy him ice cream seems to do the trick, and he is soon paying no attention to the stranger who frightened him.
My own baby brother distracts me with a cute little gurgle, and I spend a couple minutes talking to him while he grasps my finger in his tiny hand. Do you like it here?
I ask him. We’re gonna see more animals.
Finish your chicken nuggets, Mila,
Mommy urges me.
I manage to eat one more chicken nugget before I am too full to eat another bite. Daddy takes the rest and eats them quickly.
Tim,
Mommy scolds. She only ate two nuggets.
We would be waiting here all day,
Daddy tells her. I paid for the rainforest too, and we still have to get over there.
Let’s go there now,
Mommy says. She might get too tired later.
I see him for the last time that day inside the rainforest. He rides the elevator to the second level with us, and I am thrilled when he notices me again. He’s the first to exit the elevator, but he stops in our way as he scans the faces of the people waiting to ride down. A chubby little boy with expressive dark eyes stares back at him in terror. He turns and runs down the corridor.
Lorenzo,
his mom yells and struggles after him. Lorenzo! I can’t take the stroller down the stairs.
My daddy is keeping the elevator doors from closing so that Mommy can push the stroller out. She is going to run right into the young man, but both the stroller and Mommy pass right through him like he isn’t there. I step around him and reach out to touch him as I pass. My hand skims over the pale skin of his arm, and he looks down at it.
My parents are urging me to keep up, so I hurry toward them. We enter the exhibit area, and Daddy points out the porcupines. The young man comes to stand beside me, and I glance up at him while my parents are talking about porcupine quills. He reaches out to hesitantly touch my hair before pulling his hand back. Then he turns and walks back out into the corridor and out of my view.
We are at the piranha tank when Daddy says a bad word.
Tim!
Mommy says in her scolding voice.
Sorry, but look at her hair. What the hell happened to it?
Oh my God,
Mommy exclaims. Where did it come from?
I can’t see what they’re talking about, but they both look so upset that it worries me. What, Mommy?
Did somebody spill something on your hair?
Daddy asks me.
No,
I answer.
I’ll take her to the restroom,
Mommy says.
I see it in the mirror while she turns on the faucet. There’s a small patch of black in my blonde hair. Mommy rubs water on it, but it doesn’t wash off. We’ll wash it out with shampoo when we get home,
she tells me.
The shampoo doesn’t wash it off either.
It must be dye,
Daddy says. It’ll fade away in a few weeks.
I’d cut it off if it wasn’t so high up on her head.
Mommy sighs. I just can’t imagine who would spill dye on her hair, and in such a small amount. There was no chemical smell either, so I guess it must be some kind of natural dye.
I become bored with listening to them talk about my hair. There are more interesting things for me to think about, like the young man that people can walk through. I tell my mommy about that when she’s tucking me into bed that night, but she thinks that I’m pretending.
I walked right through him?
Mommy asks in her happy, pretending voice.
It’s not pretend,
I insist. He was really there.
Yes, baby,
she agrees, but I can tell that she doesn’t mean it.
Did you see him?
I press. He was by the elephants too, and the porcupines.
She frowns, and now she looks like she might believe me. What did he look like?
His hair is this color.
I point to where I know the patch of black is on my head. And his eyes too.
Her frown deepens. Was he holding anything, like a bottle?
No,
I say. He wasn’t holding anything.
Did he say anything to you?
Mommy asks.
No,
I reply. He just touched my hair.
The expression on her face scares me. Touched it with what?
With his hand,
I tell her anxiously, worried that I did something wrong.
Tim,
she yells, and I begin to cry.
It’s okay, sweetie,
she assures me. We just want to know about the man.
I’m too upset to go into all the details, so I don’t say anything about him scaring the other kids.
Everything except my hair goes back to normal over the course of the next week until I see my parents looking anxious again. They ask me questions about how I’m feeling, if my throat hurts or if my tummy doesn’t feel good. I tell them that nothing hurts, and they look relieved.
Another week passes, and I happen to notice a familiar face in the newspaper. He was at the zoo,
I exclaim excitedly, recognizing the boy with the red hair. Is he in a movie?
Daddy folds the paper, and I can’t see the picture anymore. He looks at Mommy.
No sweetie,
she tells me. He’s, uh, sick.
I wonder why he’s in the newspaper if he’s not in a movie. I’ve been sick before, and my picture wasn’t in the newspaper. Then I think that maybe I didn’t see it. Was my picture in there when I was sick?
No, baby,
Mommy replies, but her voice doesn’t sound right.
Then I see the tears in her eyes. It’s okay. I don’t care if my picture’s not in there.
Mommy feels really sad about it, though, because she begins to cry.
It isn’t until a few days later, when I hear two teachers talking about it on the playground, that I realize the boy died.
It looks like the third kid isn’t going to make it either,
my teacher says.
I hope she pulls through,
the other teacher says and sighs. It’s so sad about the two boys, Lorenzo and the red-haired one. I always forget his name, poor little guy.
The only connection they could find between the three of them is that they all went to the zoo on the same day. My niece was there that day too, and my sister is worried sick about her. I told her she would have been showing symptoms already. The kids that died were symptomatic within a week.
What’s so scary is that they don’t know what it is,
the other teacher declares loudly.
Don’t scare the children,
my teacher admonishes.
I drift back toward my friends on the monkey bars. They had all wanted to know why I had painted part of my hair black. I told them that it happened by magic.
It wouldn’t be until years later that I made the connection between everything that happened and the young man who had left his mark on me. The black patch in my hair never did wash out or fade. It had become a permanent part of me. What I didn’t know was that I had also left my mark on him.
Chapter 2
I see him again when I am nine years old. My parents have left us with my grandmother while they are celebrating their anniversary over a long weekend. Justin is happily playing with Dad’s old Hot Wheels cars on the living room floor while I watch Wheel of Fortune with Grandma.
I absently twirl a strand of my hair around my finger as I try to solve the puzzle on the TV screen. The black patch is something that nobody in my family talks about anymore. It spooks them, but they’ve had no choice but to settle into an uneasy acceptance of it.
Mom did eventually try cutting it out after it failed to fade or even grow out. Although my hair grew longer, the dark patch remained on the exact same spot on my head. In desperation one day, Mom took the scissors to it and hurriedly threw it in the trash.
There,
she said in relief. It’s gone.
Dad came running into my room the next morning when he heard Mom shrieking in horror. Her hand shook as she pointed at my head in response to his panicked query about what was wrong. They both stood staring at my hair with fearful eyes until I began to whimper in fear at seeing them so scared.
It’s okay,
Dad soothed as he moved to hug me. You’re okay.
Tim,
Mom choked.
It’s okay,
he repeated firmly. She’s a perfectly healthy kid.
But how—
It’s not hurting her,
he exclaimed. Just leave it alone.
I saw it in the mirror when I went into the bathroom to brush my teeth. The black patch was in my hair like it had never been cut out. The one that Mom had cut out yesterday was still in the trash can beside the toilet, but a new one had grown into my hair overnight. The blonde hair beneath it had yet to regrow, and that portion of my hair looked like it had been snipped off right below the dark patch.
Mom then tried to lighten it chemically with hair color, but it had no effect on the black patch. After that failed, she attempted to hide it by coloring the rest of my hair black, but it all washed right out when she rinsed my hair after the allotted time for the color to set. She tried again with another dye in case that one had been defective, but the same thing happened. Her expression was now grim rather than horrified.
Leave it alone,
Dad urged again when she complained to him about it.
She had no choice but to comply, since she had been unable to get rid of it. When people remarked on it, she just told them that I had wanted to do something unique and different with my hair.
Unlike my parents, I liked the dark patch in my hair. Bullies made fun of me for it, but I thought it was cool. I’d also discovered that it was literally cool. We’d been sitting out in the sun watching Justin’s t-ball game when I had found a cool spot as I touched my hot head. It was right where the dark patch was. Knowing that the patch upset my parents, I didn’t mention this new discovery to them.
Their fear has faded over the years since the mysterious patch in my hair has had no effect on the rest of me. I’m a completely normal kid in every other way. Right now, I laugh in delight when Grandma’s guess about the words in the puzzle turns out to be correct.
You should go on the show,
I tell her, excited about the possibility of seeing my grandma on TV.
Too much trouble for these old bones,
she says. Can’t be flying out to California, not with this arthritis.
I’m not sure what arthritis is, but it seems to prevent her from doing all kinds of fun things like riding a bike and running around in the park. She walks slowly and has to sit down a lot. During this visit to her house, she seems to be even more tired than usual. A few minutes after our talk, I look over at her and see that she has fallen asleep.
My little brother asks for juice, and I tell him that I’ll get it for him. When I walk into the kitchen, I see the young man that I had seen one day at the zoo and never forgotten. My memory of him had been somewhat hazy though. Seeing him before me again sharpens the details that had faded over time.
His black eyes are still as impenetrable to scrutiny as complete darkness is to sight. They stare unblinkingly at my hair. My own eyes become transfixed by the sheen of his smooth black hair. I want to touch it and find out if it feels as silky as it looks.
I am taller than I was the last time I saw him, but he still has to bend down so that I can reach his head as I lift up my hand to touch his hair. It is just as cool and silky as I had imagined, and I sigh at the luxurious feel of it.
He straightens up and watches me with his expressionless eyes. I gaze at them searchingly, trying to glimpse the secrets hidden within them. The movement of his hand distracts me. As he raises his hand, my eyes travel over the length of his arm and notice a patch of color on his pale skin. It looks rosier and healthier than the rest of his pasty skin.
He lightly runs his finger over the small hoop in my left ear.
I got my ears pierced,
I tell him. I was too little for earrings when you saw me before.
He looks exactly the same as he did when I saw him at the zoo. He’s even dressed the same as he was then, in black jeans and a black t-shirt. The boots he is wearing are also black.
Is black your favorite color?
I ask him. Mine is purple.
I lift one foot to draw attention to my purple tennis shoes. I have a purple swimsuit too. Do you like to go swimming?
Mila,
Grandma calls out before she enters the kitchen. Who are you talking to?
She halts behind me, and I turn to see her staring at the young man. It’s...
I trail off as I realize that I don’t know his name.
What’s your name?
I turn back and ask him.
Leave her alone,
Grandma demands in an anxious, panicked voice.
He’s not a stranger,
I assure her, because she’s always warning me to stay away from strangers. I know him.
Grandma now looks horrified when I glance back at her. Take me instead,
she pleads. She’s just a child.
You are the one I came for,
he says in a dry, sandpapery voice that sounds like he’s dying of thirst.
Go give your brother his juice,
Grandma urges me.
I obediently take the juice box out of the refrigerator after walking past the young man. On the return trip, I try to walk through him, but I come up against a solid body. Why can’t I walk through you?
I ask in disappointment.
Justin suddenly comes running into the kitchen and reaches effortlessly through the young man to grab the juice box out of my hand.
It’s not fair,
I complain.
Go back to the living room, kids,
Grandma says in a tremulous voice.
Justin hands the juice box back to me. Fix it.
I puncture the container with the straw so that he can drink it. He takes a sip and rushes out of the kitchen with it.
Mila, go,
Grandma gasps, looking like she’s about to collapse.
Grandma!
I hurry around the young man to help her over to a chair.
She sits down heavily, clearly exhausted. Don’t take me now,
she pleads in a weak voice. They’ll be alone.
I’m not taking you anywhere,
he rasps.
With another inscrutable look at me, he turns and walks through the closed back door, disappearing into the darkness outside.
After drinking the juice box I place in front of her, Grandma feels better. She’s able to help Justin into his pajamas and tuck him into bed.
Who is he?
I ask her later as I’m getting ready for bed too. The man in the kitchen.
You don’t know?
Grandma questions me. You said you knew him.
I then explain about seeing him at the zoo when I was little. She listens thoughtfully without getting upset about it like my parents did. Her eyes spark with understanding when I mention how he touched my hair.
That’s where it came from,
she murmurs. But he didn’t harm you.
What does harm mean?
I ask.
Hurt,
she tells me. It means hurt.
No, he didn’t harm me,
I confirm, proud of saying the new word I had learned, but not thinking of the implications of her statement.
His touch is...
She trails off, and I recognize the expression adults have when they don’t want kids to know something.
What?
I press. His touch is what?
You’re special,
she says. He touched you, but you didn’t...
She again frustrates me by not finishing her sentence. You’re okay,
she adds. And I’ll be okay. He didn’t touch me.
I’m very confused as she tells me goodnight and leaves the room. I want to know what she was talking about and who the man is. She seemed to know, but she didn’t answer my questions. I’m still curious about it the next morning, and I hope that she will tell me.
I see that the refrigerator door is open and that there is a carton of eggs on the floor when I walk into the kitchen. Some of the eggs are broken and splattered on the floor. Justin is sitting at the kitchen table with a juice box in one hand and a straw in the other. He holds both out to me. Fix it.
You made a mess,
I scold him as I help him with the juice box. Where’s Grandma?
Sleeping,
he answers and sips his juice.
I step carefully around the slimy mess and shut the refrigerator door. Why didn’t you wake her up?
Can’t,
he says and demands Pop Tarts.
Wait,
I tell him and go to check on Grandma.
She is lying stiff and motionless on her bed, and her skin doesn’t look right. Grandma,
I call out loudly, but she doesn’t respond.
I think about trying to shake her awake, but I’m reluctant to touch her for some reason. My mind searches for another option, and I remember that I’m supposed to call 911 in an emergency.
Justin barges in insisting on his Pop Tarts while I’m talking to the operator. I shush him and finish answering the lady’s questions about Grandma. She tells me to stay on the phone with her while I go downstairs and wait for the ambulance to arrive.
I quickly make Justin’s Pop Tarts in the toaster and place them on a plate for him before waiting by the front door for the ambulance. The nice lady on the phone asks if I know how to call my parents. I tell her that I have them on my cell phone, and she says to call them after I let the paramedics into the house.
I call Mom while the paramedics are in Grandma’s room. She asks to talk to them, and they meet me in the hallway as I’m walking to Grandma’s room. One of them takes the phone from me, and the other one ushers me back downstairs.
Did you wake her up?
I ask.
His gaze shifts away from me and fixes on Justin playing with the Hot Wheels cars. Not yet.
He looks relieved to see his partner coming down the stairs.
Cops are on their way,
his partner says and hands me my phone back. Your mommy and daddy will be here as soon as they can.
What about Grandma?
I question. Is she going in the ambulance?
They exchange an uncomfortable look. Not right now,
one of them answers.
I like your hair,
the other one tells me. That’s a cool earring too.
Thanks,
I reply and lift my hands to my ears to indicate that I have two earrings. Some kids say it looks stupid, but I like having this in my hair.
Kind of a semi-Goth look,
the other guy notes, but I have no idea what he’s saying.
They stand around awkwardly and keep looking toward the front windows. Their relief is obvious when they see the police arrive. They’ll stay with you until your parents get here.
The paramedics leave, and the police officers ask our names. A short time later, they greet a lady at the door. This is Miss Martin. She’ll stay with you until your mommy and daddy come home.
We are then left in the care of Miss Martin, who tells me that she’s a social worker after I ask if she’s a police officer too. I don’t know what that is, but I accept her answer without questioning her further about it. She’s a warm and friendly person who smiles a lot at us. That’s why I immediately notice her guarded expression when some more men arrive. They’re not dressed like paramedics, but they’ve brought a stretcher with them. She speaks quietly to them then turns to us with a bright smile.
I bet you haven’t had breakfast yet. Let’s go into the kitchen, and I’ll make you something to eat.
Oh!
I remember the mess in the kitchen. I forgot to clean it up.
She coaxes Justin to come with her and follows me into the kitchen. I’ll get it,
she offers as I grab some paper towels.
She crouches down and begins to mop up the broken eggs. What do you want for breakfast?
Pop Tarts,
Justin exclaims happily, apparently delighted to eat breakfast again.
Miss Martin has to use more paper towels to finish cleaning up the mess, and I drift back into the living room while she’s occupied. The men are bringing the stretcher back down, and I can see that there is someone on it, although the person is completely covered with a sheet.
Mila,
Miss Martin gasps as she hurries toward me.
I stare at her in shock. Was Grandma murdered?
The men wheel the stretcher out of the house, and Miss Martin closes the door behind them. She looks very upset as she turns back to me. Why would you think that?
I explain about seeing someone covered like that on a TV show my parents were watching. I’d heard the police talking about murder before my parents noticed me there and made me go back to bed.
No,
Miss Martin says. Your grandma wasn’t murdered. She was sick, and she died. I’m sorry, Mila.
She has arthritis,
I inform her, wondering if that’s why she died.
She walks over and puts her arm around me. I’m sorry. I didn’t want you to see that. Your parents wanted to tell you themselves.
I go back into the kitchen with her and sit numbly watching Justin munch on his Pop Tart. Miss Martin asks me what I want to eat, and I shrug. She finds some waffles in the freezer and toasts a couple for me, prompting Justin to declare that he wants waffles too.
Our parents arrive before Miss Martin has to deal with feeding us lunch. They were staying at a bed and breakfast inn about three hours away from Grandma’s house. Justin, still unaware of what happened to Grandma, launches himself into Mom’s arms.
Look at my cars, Mommy! Grandma says I can take two home, but I have to leave the others for next time.
I’m sorry for your loss,
Miss Martin says.
Thank you,
Dad replies. And thank you for taking care of our children.
She looks anxious as she takes him aside and speaks quietly to him while Justin chatters away at Mom. Dad glances at me as Miss Martin continues speaking to him. He nods somberly at her and says something to her in reply.
We leave Grandma’s house shortly after Miss Martin, and Justin is thrilled when we stop at a fast food restaurant for lunch. Most of our meal is eaten in silence until Mom notices my earring.
Where’d you get that?
she asks, pointing at my ear.
I look questioningly at her.
That earring,
she says. Where’s your other hoop?
I’m still looking at her uncomprehendingly, and she gets up out of her seat and comes over to inspect my left earring. She takes it off me and shows it to me. I reach out to feel the intricate black spiderweb design etched into the gold hoop, and I remember the young man touching my earring last night.
Where’d you get this?
Mom demands with a sharp edge to her voice.
She’s already upset, and I know that mentioning the young man will only upset her more. I don’t know,
I tell her. It was my regular earring when I went to sleep.
She stares at me and then looks down at the earring in her hand. Then she pivots and drops it into her empty sandwich wrapper and crumples it. She’s marching determinedly toward the trash can when I react.
No,
I yell and run after her. Give it back!
She ignores me, and I begin to scream and carry on like I’m Justin’s age. Dad jumps up to intervene, but she’s already tossed it into the trash.
It’s not fair,
I shout. Grandma said he didn’t harm me.
My rage withers instantly when I see the identical expressions of terror on my parents’ faces.
Justin breaks the creepy spell we’re under. I have to go pee, Mommy.
Mom pulls herself together, but her voice breaks a little when she answers him. Mommy will take you to the bathroom.
Dad busies himself with cleaning up the rest of the trash from our table. Grandma was old and sick,
he tells me.
Arthritis,
I say.
And other problems,
he adds.
Neither one of my parents ever asks me about what I said in the restaurant. When I am older, I realize that they didn’t want to know. Grandma died without telling me what she knew about the man in her kitchen, so it would be awhile before I found out who he was.
Several days after Grandma died, I discovered that the earring was in my jewelry box. Whether it was the same one that Mom had thrown away or a magical replacement was something that I would never know. I knew better than to let Mom see it again, though, so I hid it in a sock at the back of my sock drawer. I’d often take it out and admire it when I was alone in my room.
Unlike my dark patch of hair, the earring was not cool to the touch. Running my finger over the tiny, thin lines on the gold hoop caused my skin to tingle in an oddly pleasant way.
Grandma had mentioned the young man’s touch, and I wondered about it. Would his hand feel cool on my skin like the patch in my hair, or tingly like the earring?
I hadn’t thought about him that much after I saw him at the zoo. After his appearance at Grandma’s house, though, he began to seep into my thoughts more often.
Chapter 3
Five more years pass before I see him again. I am fourteen years old by then and no longer a clueless child. Patterns are becoming clear in my mind, and the circumstances of our next meeting confirm them to me.
We are visiting my uncle in the hospital after the removal of a tumor from his abdomen. Mom is very worried about her brother and about whether all his cancer is gone. I am deemed old enough to go see him with my parents. My little brother is on a playdate at a friend’s house. He knows that Uncle Dave had an operation, but he doesn’t know about the cancer.
Uncle Dave smiles when we enter his room, but it’s not his usual big, happy smile. He is normally an energetic man with a booming voice, but his illness has weakened him. Seeing