Gravity

Gravity - By Abigail Boyd

Chapter 1

Fifteen candles set the top of the cake on fire. Another year disappeared.

"Make a wish, Ariel." I sucked in all the breath my lungs could hold and blew the candles out. I wished for my year back.

My family was holding a small birthday party for me at the house I'd lived in my entire life. Just my parents, Claire and Hugh, and my Aunt Corinne. Corinne and Claire are twins, although vastly different in many ways. Claire is all business at work and at home, where she sees herself as the person missing in the pictures of a glossy design magazine. She is the invisible hand that fluffs embroidered pillowcases and sets the perfect table.

I'm her plain, too-ordinary daughter, who sometimes smudges makeup beneath my hazel eyes and doesn't realize it for hours. Once I walked around school all day with gum on the seat of my pants. No one told me until I got home.

I looked around at the hesitant faces that gathered in my honor. Atop each head was an ugly brown and yellow polka dot party hat, clearance from the birthday section. The strap on mine pinched my chin and I slid my finger beneath it. That was the extent of the decorating.

I woke up that morning feeling strange, as if a veil hung over the world. The happy jitters I normally had on my birthday were nonexistent. It could have been any other day on the calendar. But the nagging feeling that the world had changed, shifted ever so slightly, plagued me through the hours. Maybe the way I looked at it had changed. I put it down to being older, and tried not to think about it. I seemed to be the only one who noticed.

"Remember, I need to be getting home soon," Aunt Corinne said, shifting from foot to foot. The fifth reminder she had given us already. Life had to revolve around her time schedule. In that way, both she and my mother were the same.

Claire glared at her, the whites of her eyes reddened from fatigue, but Corinne was oblivious. Claire stepped in to cut the store-bought cake, making delicate little slivers with her engraved cake server. Always the hostess, even when nobody important stood by to grade her skill.

"There are four people here, honey. Who are you saving cake for?" Hugh asked gently.

Claire's smile was a red line. She scooped two small pieces on each of the china plates she only brought out for special occasions and handed them out.

Ever since I could remember, I called my parents by their first names, at their insistence. I think they thought it kept them young. Especially with Claire, "mom" was verboten, and would earn me a scolding.

We picked at our cake around the dining room table, none of sitting. I bit down on the white plastic fork with my teeth. Why the formality of a birthday party seemed necessary to Claire was beyond me. But I would do anything to make her happier for a day.

"Present time!" Corinne said after a minute, clapping her hands so the thin bangles on her wrists jingled. She seemed intent on running the show now. We shifted over as a unit to the brightly-wrapped objects on the kitchen counter. Although I held my hands poised to start unwrapping, inside I wished for the whole ordeal to be over. I wasn't in the celebrating mood. I drifted somewhere behind myself, like watching my life being acted out by someone else.

"Start with mine." Claire handed me a charming gift-wrapped box. I undid the shimmery lilac paper. The box contained an old-fashioned necklace on a silver chain, from which hung a rectangular, emerald-colored glass pendant. At least, I assumed it was glass. I held the pendant up to catch the light on the ceiling fan. A bit formal for school and not something I would wear often, but lovely nonetheless.

"That necklace belonged to Grandma Eleanor," Claire informed me. "I've been keeping it in my jewelry box until I felt the time was right."

"Thanks," I said, laying it carefully back on the strip of cotton inside the box. It meant a lot to have a token from my Grandma's life, not just something she'd given me; I had barely seen her in the final year before her death. "It's really beautiful. I'll keep it safe."

"I know how much you miss Grandma," Claire said. She pushed a stray strand of hair out of my eyes.

"We all miss Mom," Corinne interjected, as if it were a contest. Who's the best daughter? Even now that the mom could no longer receive handmade cards or runaway threats scribbled in crayon.

Hugh handed me a bag stuffed with tissue paper. "Here you go kiddo. Happy birthday. I hope you like it."

Inside was a fitted gray and black coat. Claire had probably picked it out, but I thanked him for his good taste. It seemed like something I would have picked out myself, as my wardrobe consisted entirely of muted colors.

"Hopefully it's the right size. You've grown so much taller since last year," he said, with a touch of nostalgia in his voice that made me wistful. He exaggerated. I'd gained maybe an inch, which barely put me over 5'5". But I knew that inch seemed like the year to him, coming too fast and changing me into a different person, one small aspect at a time.

Aunt Corinne's present would have obviously been hers, even in a pile. The paper was shiny purple, dotted with silver crescent moons. One would never tell from her uptight demeanor and plain clothing, but Corinne had an obsession with the occult. Tarot cards and scrying mirrors filled the spare room of her condo.

I pulled off the paper along the seam and laid it flat, revealing three chunky hardcovers. I lifted the books up one by one; they all had "ghost" in the title.

"Thanks, I needed something new to read," I told her. "These are perfect."

She beamed, the look on her face declaring she'd found me the best gift. I almost expected her to stick her tongue out at Claire.

I've always loved ghost stories, even when they scare me. Maybe especially then. Truthfully, all my life I've been a bit strange, with an interest in the macabre. When I was seven, I made a shoebox diorama about the Donner Party, complete with tiny clay body parts and half a bottle of red food coloring. The teacher safety-pinned a note to my backpack that day, asking Claire if we had any trouble at home. She pasted it in one of her scrapbooks.

Claire grimaced, the bridge of her upturned nose creasing.

"Really, when are you going to give this up?" she asked Corinne, picking up The Truth about Real Ghosts. My mother hated even the mention of anything supernatural. All scams, according to her, for gullible people. Her disapproval of Corinne was the footnote to that assessment.

"Never," Corinne retorted, looking insulted. She puffed her chest up a little. "How do you give up a sacred truth about the universe? Would I ask you to give up number crunching?" Claire set the book down as she pooh-poohed her under her breath.

Hugh looked as uncomfortable as I felt, a tight, unnatural smile tugging on his lips. Whenever the twins got together it was a draining situation for everyone else unlucky enough to be around. Aunt Corinne could suck all the energy out of a room into herself, like a tornado, fueling her bad moods. I didn't want to reach that point today. I didn't think I could take it.

I set the volumes aside, running my index finger over the silver lettering on the top selection. Even with the false cheery atmosphere, I could feel the creep of death in the room, between my Grandmother's necklace and the subject of the books.

"Ariel, I really do need to get going," Aunt Corinne said yet again, flipping her limp bangs. I resisted the urge to clench my jaw, telling myself that at least she would be gone. Pulling on her coat and mustard yellow scarf, she lifted her hefty leather purse off of the table. Three cake plates sat untouched beside it. Only Hugh had managed to eat his.

"Happy birthday. Enjoy them while you can," she advised me.

We exchanged a sterile hug, and she clomped across the carpeted living room in her boots. I could practically hear Claire's teeth on edge. Usually, no one was allowed to come in or go out the front door because of the pale living room carpeting. There was even a tidy print-out, complete with a little border of vacuums, taped on the back of the front door. Any time a mark appeared on the carpet, Claire got on her hands and knees with the spray bottle, scrubbing long after it became invisible to most human eyes.

My parents followed behind Corinne out to her minivan. I waved from the doorway. Occult bumper stickers decorated the back beneath the tinted windows. I shut the door, and headed back to the scene of the little party.

The remnants of the gathering looked discarded and sad now that everyone had deserted the room. I crumpled the leftover wrapping paper pile sitting on the counter and deposited it on top of the recycling bin. Gathering the books and the box with the necklace, I set them on the basement steps to take down to my room.

The sliding glass door opened as Hugh and Claire came back inside. True to form, Claire had insisted they walk all the way around the house and come in through the back door. Hugh walked past me, patting my shoulder as he continued to the hall and disappeared upstairs. Probably to work in his studio, I figured.

He owned an art gallery in town called Erasmus, and these days he was always so buried in paperwork and formalities he hardly had time to paint. He snuck in every opportunity he could find, even if it only happened to be a spare five minutes.

Claire stacked the dirty plates from the kitchen table on her arms like a waitress and carried them into the kitchen. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes distant. She looked as though she was watching a play inside her head. I wondered if it was a comedy or a tragedy.

"Do you want any help?" I asked. Dishes were usually one of my few chores. My voice sounded too loud as it rang out in the room.

"Of course not...it's your birthday," she said dismissively. She scraped leftovers into the trash. The tines on the fork she was using snapped, and she flicked it into the trash with an exasperated exhale. She grabbed a metal one from the silverware drawer and continued her cleaning. We stood silently for a minute; the only sounds those of metal against china, and the soft thudding as the cake hit the bag.

"Did you have a good birthday?" she asked finally, looking into my eyes for the answer. I knew she wanted me to say yes. I shrugged instead.

"I feel older," I admitted, managing an expression close to a smile. I wiped a smudge off of one of the cabinets with my finger.

She smiled back, but undisguised worry filled her eyes. "You are older," she said.

She never handled emotions well, preferring to pretend not to feel them at all.

I excused myself and went in the living room to lie down on the couch. I felt more tired than I had initially realized as I curled up on the puffy gray cushions. Heaviness settling over me and my thoughts slowed down as I drifted off.

A sharp sound jolted me awake in what seemed like the next moment. I sat up, hitting the coffee table with my shin as my legs swung out. The sound came from behind me, outside the picture window. My brain still half asleep, I turned and peered out of the curtains. A figure stood across the street. Fear instantly seized me, though I didn't know why. There was nothing obviously threatening about them, no weapon, but that didn't stop my pulse from speeding up.

I rubbed my eyes, trying to focus better. I realized that it wasn't my vision that was blurry; the person looked hazy and out of focus. I got up and opened the front door, walking out onto the porch.

The clothes were my first indication. She still wore the same yellow hoodie, jean shorts, and purple flip flops as the last time I saw her in June. I stopped on the grass, not realizing I had continued walking off of the relative safety of the porch. Jenna, who disappeared almost three months ago, now stood a few yards away from me. For a moment, I felt nothing. Not the shock I had imagined I would feel if I ever saw her again. Neither of us moved, nor said a word as we looked at each other. Her features were a flat mask.

And then she ran. Without a second thought, I started to run, too. My legs moved before my thoughts caught up. Something inside me screamed for me to stay where I was, but I paid no attention to the warning. No cars drove in the empty street. The dark sky above looked purple, the clouds racing each other across the horizon. I couldn't find the sun. I must have slept longer than I thought.

I pictured the collection of medals that decorated the wall of Jenna's room, declaring her the fastest girl on the track team. I didn't have that kind of stamina, so I struggled to keep up. My gaze remained locked on her as she sped away from me. The sound of my frantic footsteps hitting the pavement filled my ears, like drums.

"Wait!" I shouted, but she didn't hear me. Up ahead, the road dead-ended, but she didn't stop running. Past that were the trees that bordered the woods. I was sure she would stop, but again I was wrong. Like a colorful butterfly, she flew in between the giant trunks of the shaggy hickory trees. I didn't have a net, nothing to catch her. And so I followed her.

Unseen dangers threatened me in the dark of the woods. Sharp sticks scratched my bare arms below my t-shirt sleeves. Branches whipped my cheeks, snagging in my long hair. It was as if they were trying to stop me.

Jenna stood out as a bright spot, flickering in the trees ahead. I felt like if I lost sight of her for a moment, she would be gone forever. I was in the middle of my only chance. That thought kept me going, even as every breath burned, and my legs felt like they would give out. The sound of my lungs expanding and contracting took over the tattoo my feet were beating on the ground.

The only two people in the world at that moment were Jenna and I. She knew her destination, I could tell, as I crashed through the foliage that slowed me down. But whether she wanted me to follow her, or whether she was trying to get away, I didn't know. I wanted to shout again, but I knew the effort would be futile. I didn't have enough oxygen anyway.

Picking up speed with every step, she gracefully darted between trees and rocks. I stumbled over a low stump, crying out in pain as I nearly fell. But I got up again and kept moving, trying to ignore the throb in my shin. The woods seemed never-ending, even though I knew better. I'd been there many times, the dark green leaves hiding me like a secret. As little girls Jenna and I played in these same woods, our laughter echoing off the tree trunks. It seemed like a different world now.

A clearing appeared ahead, past an archway of bowed branches, grasping each other like a handshake. She ducked through them and disappeared. Panic seized me. I had lost her. I wasn't fast enough. Defeat threatened to swallow me alive, a fish in the mouth of a whale.

But as I came out on the other side, I caught sight of her again. In front of me wound a dirt road, the surface black as if wet with rain. The unnatural purple clouds rolled by, like a strong thunderstorm pushed them in. Trees made a wall on my side of the road, and I couldn't see the space I had just come through.

Jenna didn't stop like I did, I realized too late. A huge, wrought iron fence stood across the road, with a tall gate. To my surprise, she pulled open the gate and continued to run on the property beyond. The gate slammed shut behind her with a deafening clunk.

I ran across the street and slammed into the closed gate, harder than I intended to. The bars struck my chest, skin stinging beneath my shirt. Frustration rushed into my throat, wanting to roar out. The gate rattled but didn't budge. Wrapping my fingers around the solid bars, I tried to pull the barrier open, but it seemed to be locked. A copper colored symbol sat in the center, like a bundle of sticks.

The fence wrapped all the way around the property as far as I could see. I stepped back and walked from side to side, like a caged animal. Instead of wanting to get out, I wanted inside. But there was no break in the endless duplication of iron bars. No way in.

Jenna! I tried to scream, but no sound came out of my mouth. My tongue stuck behind my teeth. But she finally stopped running, standing still. There was no slowing down; one moment she ran at full speed and the next she was at a dead stop. I wondered if she heard me, after all, when I didn't hear myself. Only then did I notice the tall building that stood before her. I recognized it after a moment as the Dexter Orphanage, one of our town's supposedly haunted sites. Haunted for tourism, since some long-ago fool decided to name it Hell. Why would she bring me here? Maybe she really was trying to escape me.

Jenna turned to look at me. Her curly hair hung lank around her shoulders, as if ready to fall out at the roots. She always took so much pride in her hair. Was she hurt? Nothing seemed right or logical. I'd known her for as long as my memory stretched back, yet she looked like a stranger to me.

I leaned my face into the bars, reaching my arm out so far it hurt, spreading my fingers. Her face remained stoic, not even the smallest flicker of emotion or acknowledgement that I could see. Standing as if rooted to the spot, I couldn't tell if she saw me or not. Or if it mattered.

For a second, it looked as though maybe she would come back. Walk towards me. Hope stirred inside my chest. But then she turned, walking behind the split staircase that led to the front door. I shook the gate again, pulling with every ounce of strength I had, but it still wouldn't move. As Jenna disappeared, I realized this was the moment I dreaded. The moment I would remember for the rest of my life with a pang of regret in my heart. The last time I would see her.

Thick smoke began to billow out of the top windows. It took me a moment in my distraction to realize what that meant. The building was on fire. My feelings of abandonment became feelings of horror. Orange flames jumped out and licked the sky. I opened my mouth to scream.