Read Online Awakening (Book One of The Geis) by Christy Dorrity - Free Book Online
Authors: Christy Dorrity
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that the body of the real Mrs. Saddlebury is down there.”
I shuddered as raindrops dotted my arms and head. “Why would she want to keep the body?”
“Every time I’ve run across one of the killer’s victims, the body has been preserved, even months after death. I am thinking that as long as the body stays intact, she can stay in that person’s form. If the body is cold and dark in the basement, or in some sort of freezer, she can be Mrs. Saddlebury as long as she wants.” Aunt Avril took a brisk pace down the hill. When I didn’t follow, she took my arm and pulled me along. “I wouldn’t tell your mother about this, just yet. I don’t think she would take it well.”
“Ok.” Mom wouldn’t be thrilled to know that I showed signs of being like Aunt Avril. But I couldn’t keep it a secret from her forever. “What about the way I can feel others’ feelings?”
“Power can be a blessing and a curse, and there’s no one who knows that better than your mother,” Aunt Avril said. Raindrops fell harder, making plopping noises on the leaves of the trees around us. We jogged down the hill toward the Vette. “Let me warm her up a little. She needs to get used to the idea.”
Melancholy music pulled me into the gym. I recognized the theme song to Tchaikovsky’s Swan Lake . It matched my mood. My emotions were stretched and raw to the touch, like an open wound. I almost didn’t come to dance, but I knew it would help me get out of this funk.
Christa’s toe shoes were laced, and she walked over to me en pointe. “You’d better hurry—Ms. Slannon says she’s going to work us hard today.”
Most of the girls were already warming up on the gym floor. I shook the rain off my jacket and pulled one shoe from my dance bag. Panic set in as I remembered that I left my other shoe in my hurry to get out of the school the other night.
Ms. Slannon called out directions to the other girls in time to the music. She walked over and handed me the missing shoe without stopping her instruction. I mouthed a silent “thank you” and stuffed a wad of lamb’s wool inside the shoe before slipping it on. I tied a quick knot in my last ribbon and joined Christa in the middle of the floor to stretch.
So much had happened since our last class. I hadn’t even told her about seeing the janitor dancing.
Over the weekend, I had replayed the janitor’s dance in my mind. His movement was haunting—graceful and powerful in the same moment. The steps he’d danced were so similar to the Irish dancing I had seen. It had the same shuffling movements—the percussion and rhythm were its own music.
Never had I witnessed anyone dance with such a depth of emotion. When he’d stopped dancing, I’d felt self-conscious, like I’d overheard a personal secret. His anger at my intrusion had frightened me, but it wouldn’t stop me from asking him to teach me. I wanted to dance like that, to dance with emotional abandon.
I kept watch for the janitor during the entire class, hoping that he would show up in the hallway with his mop and bucket.
I tried to dance with emotion, the way he had done. The gloomy music of Swan Lake should have made it easier for me to dance with feeling, but it came out forced and mechanical, like the tiny dancer in my jewelry box—always spinning in time to the music, but never going anywhere.
“You okay?” Christa put her hand on my back. I didn’t realize that I had stopped. The other dancers continued the routine and Ms. Slannon looked our way before continuing her instruction.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” I said. Christa gave me a look. “I’ll talk to you after class.” Ms. Slannon clapped her hands to start the routine again.
A myriad of faint emotions swirled around me, fading in and out like radio signals, intensifying when someone spoke to me or made eye contact. My stomach lurched and I stumbled, off balance. After a few deep breaths, I regained enough control to continue with the exercise.
When
I shuddered as raindrops dotted my arms and head. “Why would she want to keep the body?”
“Every time I’ve run across one of the killer’s victims, the body has been preserved, even months after death. I am thinking that as long as the body stays intact, she can stay in that person’s form. If the body is cold and dark in the basement, or in some sort of freezer, she can be Mrs. Saddlebury as long as she wants.” Aunt Avril took a brisk pace down the hill. When I didn’t follow, she took my arm and pulled me along. “I wouldn’t tell your mother about this, just yet. I don’t think she would take it well.”
“Ok.” Mom wouldn’t be thrilled to know that I showed signs of being like Aunt Avril. But I couldn’t keep it a secret from her forever. “What about the way I can feel others’ feelings?”
“Power can be a blessing and a curse, and there’s no one who knows that better than your mother,” Aunt Avril said. Raindrops fell harder, making plopping noises on the leaves of the trees around us. We jogged down the hill toward the Vette. “Let me warm her up a little. She needs to get used to the idea.”
Melancholy music pulled me into the gym. I recognized the theme song to Tchaikovsky’s Swan Lake . It matched my mood. My emotions were stretched and raw to the touch, like an open wound. I almost didn’t come to dance, but I knew it would help me get out of this funk.
Christa’s toe shoes were laced, and she walked over to me en pointe. “You’d better hurry—Ms. Slannon says she’s going to work us hard today.”
Most of the girls were already warming up on the gym floor. I shook the rain off my jacket and pulled one shoe from my dance bag. Panic set in as I remembered that I left my other shoe in my hurry to get out of the school the other night.
Ms. Slannon called out directions to the other girls in time to the music. She walked over and handed me the missing shoe without stopping her instruction. I mouthed a silent “thank you” and stuffed a wad of lamb’s wool inside the shoe before slipping it on. I tied a quick knot in my last ribbon and joined Christa in the middle of the floor to stretch.
So much had happened since our last class. I hadn’t even told her about seeing the janitor dancing.
Over the weekend, I had replayed the janitor’s dance in my mind. His movement was haunting—graceful and powerful in the same moment. The steps he’d danced were so similar to the Irish dancing I had seen. It had the same shuffling movements—the percussion and rhythm were its own music.
Never had I witnessed anyone dance with such a depth of emotion. When he’d stopped dancing, I’d felt self-conscious, like I’d overheard a personal secret. His anger at my intrusion had frightened me, but it wouldn’t stop me from asking him to teach me. I wanted to dance like that, to dance with emotional abandon.
I kept watch for the janitor during the entire class, hoping that he would show up in the hallway with his mop and bucket.
I tried to dance with emotion, the way he had done. The gloomy music of Swan Lake should have made it easier for me to dance with feeling, but it came out forced and mechanical, like the tiny dancer in my jewelry box—always spinning in time to the music, but never going anywhere.
“You okay?” Christa put her hand on my back. I didn’t realize that I had stopped. The other dancers continued the routine and Ms. Slannon looked our way before continuing her instruction.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” I said. Christa gave me a look. “I’ll talk to you after class.” Ms. Slannon clapped her hands to start the routine again.
A myriad of faint emotions swirled around me, fading in and out like radio signals, intensifying when someone spoke to me or made eye contact. My stomach lurched and I stumbled, off balance. After a few deep breaths, I regained enough control to continue with the exercise.
When
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