flashbulb.
“Aruna?”
I say, lowering my hands and preparing to defend myself as I step toward the
Dumpster. There’s still no sign of her, but she’s back there. “Aruna? It’s
okay. You can come out.”
She
stumbles out from behind the Dumpster and nearly falls onto the walkway, before
managing to lean a deathly thin arm against the Dumpster for support. Aruna’s
shoulder-length dark hair is disheveled, matted, and dirty. She’s way too pale.
Her glassy eyes and lack of coordination make it clear she’s in another world,
stoned beyond belief. She’s wearing a wrinkled, black tank top and tight,
tattered black jeans. I see small red marks up and down her arms. Needle marks,
I realize. Right now she’s the most un-Beaconsfield-like creature in
Beaconsfield.
And
this once-beautiful girl is dangerously close to death.
“Hey
there, special new girl,” she says, slurring her words. Her voice is annoyingly
high pitched, and whatever she’s high on makes her giggle at the end of her
sentences. “Face said you’d know who I was.” Another giggle. “But how did you
see me? I thought I was hidden pretty damn well, if I do say so myself.”
I’m
trying to read her and hoping for another vision, but I get nothing. Five feet
separate us. She’s not carrying a bag or any other accessory, and her tight
clothing doesn’t reveal any hidden weapons. Still, her unstable state worries
me, so I clench my fists and keep them at my sides.
Aruna
notices and says, “No, no, no, special girl. You got me all wrong. I’m not here
to fight. You’ll get plenty of that later.” Giggle. “I’m just a messenger. You
know what they say—that thing about not shooting the messenger or whatever.
That’s me, okay?”
“Aruna,
you need help,” I say. “Can I take you to a doctor?”
She
laughs so loudly that I figure it’s only a matter of time before a nearby
employee or resident comes back here.
“Help?”
she says, stifling her laughter. “I’m beyond help, special girl.” She removes
her hand from the Dumpster and manages to stand under her own power, although
she’s swaying badly.
“From
what I’m told, you’ve been missing for two years,” I say. “Isn’t there somebody
you can call? There must be people who care about you and want to know you’re
alive.”
“Shh,
shh, shh,” she says, shaking her head and raising an index finger in front of
her mouth. “Some people prefer not to be found. You know what I mean? Besides,
everybody’s dead to me, special girl. Everybody except Face. Face takes care of
me.” She glances at her toothpick-like arms. “He gives me what I need.”
“My
name’s Alix,” I say. “Alix Keener.”
“Well,
then shut up and listen, Alix Keener.” Giggle. “Face has a message for you.
Stop now and you’ll live. Continue digging and you’ll die.” She smiles,
revealing a set of yellowed and blackened chipped teeth. “They know where you
live, Alix. You live in Willis’s old room. The room he died in.”
The
white light explodes in my head as soon as she mentions his bedroom. My bedroom. I see a vision that upsets me, but it occurs to me that this is a
vision of the past, not the future. I see that William and Aruna had a history.
I see them together in his bed, a thin, white sheet covering their sweaty
bodies, the two of them lying on their backs beside each other, smiling and
staring at the ceiling, Aruna’s glazed eyes looking like red spider webs. It’s
obvious what they just finished doing—something I’ve never come close to
doing—but I find it odd that William has his backwards baseball cap and
sunglasses on. I glimpse his tattoos for the first time. William has an ornate,
green, blue, orange, purple, and red Japanese dragon running down the length of
each arm. Each dragon has its open mouth just above his wrist. The dragons are beautiful,
and I wonder how he paid for such quality work.
“Now,
tell me something,” Aruna says, leaning her left arm on
“Aruna?”
I say, lowering my hands and preparing to defend myself as I step toward the
Dumpster. There’s still no sign of her, but she’s back there. “Aruna? It’s
okay. You can come out.”
She
stumbles out from behind the Dumpster and nearly falls onto the walkway, before
managing to lean a deathly thin arm against the Dumpster for support. Aruna’s
shoulder-length dark hair is disheveled, matted, and dirty. She’s way too pale.
Her glassy eyes and lack of coordination make it clear she’s in another world,
stoned beyond belief. She’s wearing a wrinkled, black tank top and tight,
tattered black jeans. I see small red marks up and down her arms. Needle marks,
I realize. Right now she’s the most un-Beaconsfield-like creature in
Beaconsfield.
And
this once-beautiful girl is dangerously close to death.
“Hey
there, special new girl,” she says, slurring her words. Her voice is annoyingly
high pitched, and whatever she’s high on makes her giggle at the end of her
sentences. “Face said you’d know who I was.” Another giggle. “But how did you
see me? I thought I was hidden pretty damn well, if I do say so myself.”
I’m
trying to read her and hoping for another vision, but I get nothing. Five feet
separate us. She’s not carrying a bag or any other accessory, and her tight
clothing doesn’t reveal any hidden weapons. Still, her unstable state worries
me, so I clench my fists and keep them at my sides.
Aruna
notices and says, “No, no, no, special girl. You got me all wrong. I’m not here
to fight. You’ll get plenty of that later.” Giggle. “I’m just a messenger. You
know what they say—that thing about not shooting the messenger or whatever.
That’s me, okay?”
“Aruna,
you need help,” I say. “Can I take you to a doctor?”
She
laughs so loudly that I figure it’s only a matter of time before a nearby
employee or resident comes back here.
“Help?”
she says, stifling her laughter. “I’m beyond help, special girl.” She removes
her hand from the Dumpster and manages to stand under her own power, although
she’s swaying badly.
“From
what I’m told, you’ve been missing for two years,” I say. “Isn’t there somebody
you can call? There must be people who care about you and want to know you’re
alive.”
“Shh,
shh, shh,” she says, shaking her head and raising an index finger in front of
her mouth. “Some people prefer not to be found. You know what I mean? Besides,
everybody’s dead to me, special girl. Everybody except Face. Face takes care of
me.” She glances at her toothpick-like arms. “He gives me what I need.”
“My
name’s Alix,” I say. “Alix Keener.”
“Well,
then shut up and listen, Alix Keener.” Giggle. “Face has a message for you.
Stop now and you’ll live. Continue digging and you’ll die.” She smiles,
revealing a set of yellowed and blackened chipped teeth. “They know where you
live, Alix. You live in Willis’s old room. The room he died in.”
The
white light explodes in my head as soon as she mentions his bedroom. My bedroom. I see a vision that upsets me, but it occurs to me that this is a
vision of the past, not the future. I see that William and Aruna had a history.
I see them together in his bed, a thin, white sheet covering their sweaty
bodies, the two of them lying on their backs beside each other, smiling and
staring at the ceiling, Aruna’s glazed eyes looking like red spider webs. It’s
obvious what they just finished doing—something I’ve never come close to
doing—but I find it odd that William has his backwards baseball cap and
sunglasses on. I glimpse his tattoos for the first time. William has an ornate,
green, blue, orange, purple, and red Japanese dragon running down the length of
each arm. Each dragon has its open mouth just above his wrist. The dragons are beautiful,
and I wonder how he paid for such quality work.
“Now,
tell me something,” Aruna says, leaning her left arm on
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