Vision of Shadows Read online

  So why won’t my parents appear? I guess I shouldn’t be too surprised they want nothing to do with me now that they’re dead. They didn’t while they were alive. It’s no big deal. I’ll be fine. Life goes on.

  And yes, I realize how lame this sounds.

  I’m going to live in their old hometown, Spirit, which is in upstate New York, with my dad’s brother, my Uncle Mark. I don’t know how to feel about him. He’s always sent me birthday and Christmas cards, but until now I’d never heard his voice. He’s called me three times since the accident. He seems nice enough, if a bit persistent.

  The first time he called was that night. Told me how sorry he was, if there was anything he could do to just say so, and he was looking forward to finally meeting me. Hard to buy that. Why would he? But I’ll give him points for trying. He offered to drive down and get me that night. Said I shouldn’t be alone. But I told him I had things to do, and I wasn’t alone. Like he’d want to be stuck in a car with a grieving teenage girl for over six hours. I told him I’d just get a bus ticket.

  He called this morning to tell me he’d made all the arrangements for the burial, was working on getting me enrolled in school there, and he didn’t want me to worry. I’m sure he’s thrilled to have to do all this for a girl who’s never spoken to him. Never bothered to pick up the phone and call him and say, hey Uncle Mark, thanks for remembering my birthday this year, my parents didn’t. I appreciate he’s making an effort, but he and I both know he’s simply stuck with me.

  He mentioned coming to get me again, this time saying his sons are really anxious to meet me. Right. I’m sure they’re delighted to have to share their home with some whacked-out teenager they’ve never met. I turned him down again.

  I hate buses, but I can’t stand the thought of asking him to drive all the way down just to drive all the way home again. I’m going to have to live with them for a few years, so I figure best not get them all to hate me just yet. God, they must be tired of me already.

  Uncle Mark just called again. He told me he’s about an hour away. I guess some people can’t take no for an answer. So, he’s coming to get me, and he’ll take me back to the place that my parents ran away from. Can hardly wait. At least I won’t have to deal with the damn bus.

  By the way, my parents are dead, and I loved them.

  * * * *

  “Well, they should be here any minute now. Not that we care, do we?” I asked Ricky. “After all, we’ve gotten along fine without them.”

  I lived in an apartment building in Manhattan, on the twenty-second floor. My stuff was all packed neatly in the dining room. I was waiting for the doorman to signal my uncle was here. Until then, I was trying to be as patient as possible. For the record, I don’t do patient.

  “They’ll hate me,” I ranted. “Why wouldn’t they? Who wants to be stuck with me? Probably expect me to be like what’s her name, Snow White? Cinderella? Or Ariel? No, she was the one with fins. Whatever, it doesn’t matter.

  “I know you think I’m nuts,” I continued. “But I have no idea what these people are like. I know they’ll act wonderful at first, but it’ll be fake. Fake wonderfulness! I can just hear their first words.”

  I paced. “They’ll probably pat me on the back, say ‘buck up, sport,’ or ‘it’ll be all right,’ or something that’ll set me off like ‘I know how you feel,’ and I’ll flip! No one knows how I feel.” Finally, I stopped pacing and sat in a chair. “And no one cares. Do they? No one but you, Ricky,” I whispered to my hamster. Like there would be anyone else that would listen to me rant.

  The buzzer rang, and I knew that meant Eddie, the really cute—but most likely gay—doorman was telling me my uncle and cousins were on their way up. “Don’t worry, Ricky. If their mom hates hamsters, we’ll run away. I’m not losing you, too.”

  With a huff, I walked to the door and waited for these strangers to become my family.

  It seemed to take forever for the elevator doors to open. All I could think the entire time was: Who will say what first? Will they say something that they expect me to respond to? I have no idea what to say. What if it’s awkward? What if I break down and cry? I don’t want to cry in front of them. I don’t even like to cry in front of Ricky.

  Finally, the doors opened and a really cute kid ran down the hallway. He had a mess of dark blond hair and freckles covering his face. Adorable, except his eyes were bulging and his face was red, not to mention he was holding himself.

  He winced in pain, both hands pressed over his jeans zipper. “For Pete’s sake, where’s your bathroom?”

  Taken aback, I opened the door and pointed to the bathroom. Without another word, the boy dashed off into my apartment.

  “Leave it to my brother to make an entrance.” Another boy ambled down the hallway, tripping at least three times over his own feet along the way. “I’m Simon and that was my little brother, Zack. Sorry about him.”

  Taller than the first boy, this kid was very thin, with glasses and combed blond hair. He wore neatly pressed jeans and a button-down shirt with red and black stripes.

  Behind him was my Uncle Mark, who looks a lot like my dad, tall with dark hair, very green eyes, and a very kind face. Also in jeans, he wore a plain black tee. The boys must have taken after their mother, my aunt whatever her name is.

  Oh. My. God. I had no idea what my aunt’s name was. This couldn’t be good. I could picture her in my head upon hearing the news of my parents’ death: “You don’t hear from your brother in how long, and now we’re saddled with his teenage daughter! Well, she’s your responsibility. And she better not hog the bathroom!”

  “Hi, Bristol. I’m your Uncle Mark.” He hugged me. “I hate that we have to meet under these circumstances, but I’m glad to finally see you.”

  “Me too,” I lied.

  Uncle Mark walked to the dining room where all my stuff was and looked it over. “Not too bad. We can take it down in two, maybe three trips.”

  Zack strolled out of the bathroom, looking far more relaxed. His face was rounder than his brother’s, and he wore a Transformers shirt. Zack walked over to Ricky and stared into the tank.

  “Man, I can’t believe how much I just peed,” Zack said. “It wouldn’t stop. I bet even John John never peed that much, but I feel much better now. I thought I was going to explode. But anyway, are we leaving right away, or do we get to look around? We already saw a few homeless guys. I even saw one peeing on a building, but Dad said I couldn’t do the same. Anyway, I want to eat a hot dog from those cart things I see. John John says those guys wash their socks in that water, which is gross. But I think he’s lying, and I want to try one so I can decide for myself. Hey, cool hamster. Dad, can I get something to drink?”

  I had no idea what to say. I’d never heard anyone say so much in one breath. I just stood there and blinked rapidly.

  “Zack, you drank three bottles of water within the last two hours,” Uncle Mark said.

  “Yeah, but I just peed it all out, and now I’m empty.”

  “Has it occurred to you that perhaps the amount you urinate and the amount of water you consume are directly related?” Simon asked.

  Zack tapped on Ricky’s tank. His adorable face scrunched up. “Huh?”

  Simon sighed. “The more you drink, the more you pee.”

  “Oh,” Zack said, “but I’m thirsty.”

  Simon shook his head.

  “Why don’t we all sit for a little bit and talk to Bristol,” Uncle Mark said. “How are you holding up?”

  I shrugged. They seemed nice enough, but I didn’t feel like sharing at this point.

  “I guess it’s hard to talk about,” Uncle Mark said. “Especially to strangers.”

  “But we’re not strangers,” Zack said. “She’s our cousin, and Grandpa said Blackburns look out for each other. Bristol is coming home with us, right? Grandpa said Bristol belongs to us now. She’s still coming home with us, right? We can keep her?”

  “Geez, Zack, stop treating he
r like a poodle,” Simon replied.

  “Poodles are weak,” Zack affirmed. “If anything, she’d be a boxer or a lab or something.”

  “Zack, she’s not a dog at all,” Uncle Mark said.

  “Really, if anything, I’d probably be a hamster,” I added. This earned smiles from everyone.

  “Grandpa says—”

  “Enough Zack,” Uncle Mark interrupted. “I don’t care what Grandpa says and neither does Bristol. This is hard enough on her.”

  Uncle Mark took my hand and led me to the couch in the living room.

  “Bristol, we are your family,” Uncle Mark began, his all too caring eyes looking right into mine. “I know this is rough, having to leave the only home you’ve known. I know you haven’t been given much of a choice here.”

  It was true; I hadn’t been asked, but I had nowhere else to go. I didn’t want to stay here. Besides, as zany as they seemed, I was already starting to like these people. “I want to get out of here.”

  Uncle Mark nodded.

  “Bristol, we all know how you feel,” Simon said.

  “Simon, you can’t know what this is like.” I hated the bitterness in my voice, but really, how could a kid like this understand how I felt? It was absurd. Insulting. Just plain old wrong.

  “I d-didn’t mean… I’m sorry,” Simon said. “It just reminds me of when my mom was killed.”

  I could see the pain in his eyes brought on by having to remember his mother’s death. The fact that his concern was over how I felt only made me feel even worse. My stomach twisted in a mix of grief for my parents and guilt for what I’d said. Uncle Mark’s warm green eyes reflected the same pain as Simon’s. Zack’s eyes were closed, his tiny frame slumped back in the chair.

  “I’m so sorry,” I said. “I didn’t know…”

  “My brother never told you?” Uncle Mark asked, the sadness in his eyes replaced by anger. “Never mentioned Eve was killed four years ago?”

  I shook my head.

  “Did you know your grandmother died seven years ago?” Uncle Mark continued. “Or about your cousins? Mark and Emily? They died in a fire soon after we lost Mom.”

  I shrank into the sofa. Why wasn’t I told? I had no answer. Maybe my parents were trying to protect me? Maybe they knew about my gifts and figured if my dead relatives wanted me to know, they’d just show up and tell me themselves? There was a theory I wasn’t planning on sharing anytime soon.

  Uncle Mark closed his eyes and reached for my hand. “I’m sorry. It’s not your fault, Bristol. I guess we really do have a lot of catching up to do.”

  I looked into his face, into the faces of his sons, and saw nothing but compassion and sympathy. I couldn’t understand any of this. Why in the world did my parents not let me have these people in my life before?

  “Well, let’s get you packed up and ready to go,” Uncle Mark said. “We have a long drive ahead of us, plenty of time to get to know one another. We can stop before we leave for one of those dirty water dogs for Zack.”

  With a huff, Zack got up and followed. “S’ok. Not hungry.”

  It took three trips to bring my stuff down. The first two were done mostly in silence, which made me worry I had already overstayed my welcome. But the third started with a huge fight between Simon and Zack over who got to carry Ricky in his tank. After an eye roll, Uncle Mark decided he would carry the “little critter.” Simon and Zack were left to grab the last of my bags. That left me with nothing but my purse.

  “We got this,” Uncle Mark said. “Take your time. We’ll meet you in the car.” He herded the boys off, leaving me a moment to say goodbye.

  I walked throughout the apartment, room by room, remembering different things that had happened in each of them. Every time I turned a corner, I hoped to see my parents there, waiting to say goodbye, but the place was cold and barren.

  I headed to the front door, stopping one last time to take a look. Ghosts, spirits, whatever you want to call them, appear for a number of reasons. Some just aren’t ready to move on. Some have unfinished business or can’t let go of someone who is still alive. The reasons go on and on.

  Whatever motivations might exist, they obviously didn’t apply to my parents. They were clearly done with this world and done with the living.

  They were done with me.

  When I got to the truck, Zack was sitting in the back playing his PSP, and Simon was next to him reading a book. Up front was Uncle Mark. His eyes found mine as soon as I stepped out. I barely knew this man, but I could see the kindness and patience within him. I’d learned over time to trust my instincts about people. My old life was over, and it was time to start again. Somehow, I was starting to believe it might not be as bad as I’d thought.

  I slid into the front of the truck next to Uncle Mark and let out a deep breath. It was time to leave.

  “You ready?” he asked.

  I closed my eyes for a moment. “Yeah, let’s go.”

  Uncle Mark nodded, turned the key in the ignition, and guided his truck onto the busy New York City street. I watched as he navigated his way through traffic, signaled for turns, and checked his rear-view mirror.

  Me? I never looked back.

  * * * *

  We made our way out of the city. Uncle Mark offered to let me pick the radio station. I declined, figuring it was his truck. He spent the next twenty minutes trying to find some type of acceptable music, got frustrated, and finally slid in a CD of somebody named George Strait.

  Oh joy, country.

  As we drove, Zack told me about his school and friends. I was given a complete character assessment of the aforementioned John John, who was apparently called that because his father’s name is also John. I guess calling him John Junior was somehow unacceptable. As Zack continued, I learned John John’s many talents included farting and burping on command. He was amazing at anything Wii or X-box related, and he knew all about everything to do with a variety of subjects including, but not limited to, Spiderman, X-men, baseball, football, dogs, bikes, something called Halo, and a host of other subjects. I also heard about Willie, Jimmy, Jake, Brandon, some poor boy nicknamed Pudgy, and a girl named Jo-Jo, who was cool because she played sports and could kick the butts of most of the guys in their class.

  Zack spoke in what seemed like one incredibly long run-on sentence. I don’t think he ever took a breath as he continued to go on and on about each subject, each with equal amounts of fascination.

  In all honesty, I didn’t absorb more than half of what Zack said. Eventually, he quieted down and went back to his game, piping in with a comment or question whenever something caught his ear.

  It was Simon’s turn next. With him, it was far more of a conversation. I could tell Simon was a very intelligent boy. Thoughtful, too.

  A few times, Simon would try and tell me something using words that were more than a bit beyond me, causing me to tell him to dumb it down.

  Uncle Mark smirked. “You have no idea how many times we’ve all told him that, one way or another.”

  I smiled. “I was afraid it was just me.”

  “You know, it’s common for everyone to have to learn to rephrase things in an appropriate context,” Simon said. “Especially when they are faced with a new dynamic or social setting.”

  “Right,” I mumbled. “Keep dialing up the dumb there, Simon.”

  “Okay, look,” Simon said. “Dad’s a cop, right?”

  “You are?” I asked.

  “Yup,” Uncle Mark answered. “Sheriff, in fact.”

  Simon continued, “So when he’s talking with his deputies, he may use certain language, terms that are meaningful to him and other cops, but may leave a layperson confused.”

  “I’ve heard Deputy Dwight Dugan talk, and I know all the words he uses,” Zack said. “Dad would wash my mouth out with soap if I used any of them.”

  Uncle Mark sighed. “I’m going to have to have a chat with Dwight, using a few of those words myself, I imagine.”

  “I�
�ll get you a clean bar of soap, Dad,” Zack offered.

  “Anyway,” Simon said. “Sometimes we have to adjust how we communicate when we’re speaking with people who aren’t familiar with us or our method of communication. It isn’t an indicator of lack of intelligence on your part. I just sometimes forget to take that into account. Sorry.”

  “What my brother is saying,” Zack said, “is that he forgets the rest of us don’t speak geek.”

  I couldn’t help but giggle as Simon sat back in his seat, closed his eyes, and sighed.

  “So you’re a sheriff, huh?” I asked.

  “I’ll try not to scare any boys coming round the house too much,” Uncle Mark added. “But I make no promises.”

  “Noted,” I said. “Although, I doubt you have much to worry about. Boys aren’t exactly breaking down my door to ask me out. Doubt that’s going to change much unless most of the girls in Spirit have a third arm growing out of their forehead or something.”

  “Only a few, and they’re married already,” Uncle Mark answered. “Hard to imagine a girl like you—funny, interesting to talk to, and real pretty—has a hard time getting the boys to take a look.”

  I smiled at him and gave him points for putting funny and interesting first and the pretty part last. Not that I saw myself as being any of those things, but it’s always nice to hear.

  Dating had never been my thing. It’s weird, but I always felt like it was cheating on the boy in my dreams to date somebody else. Besides, when you had the kind of secrets I do, you can’t really risk going out on a date. You never knew who’s going to tag along.

  “I’ve been looked at once or twice, but that’s about it. I don’t think you have anything to worry about. I don’t date.”

  “You don’t do that thing kids call hooking up, right?”