The Reaping

CHAPTER SIX





Immediately devoid of anger, I sprang into action, running to the pantry and grabbing the red canister that hung on the inside of the door. Turning with the extinguisher in hand, I was momentarily stunned by the sight of the blazing pan that sat atop the stove, the flames reaching up to lick at the curtains that hung over the window to the right.

“Carson!”

Having blanked on how to use the extinguisher, I darted across the room and handed it to Dad. I watched in stunned silence as he pulled the pin from the top of the canister, took the hose in hand, squeezed the trigger and blew white dust all over the stove and curtains.

Within seconds the flames were extinguished, leaving only a smoldering pan and singed curtains amid the smoke. Dad stepped back to stand by me; we were both breathing heavily. He wiped the back of his hand across his forehead and let out a relieved “whew”.

“I didn’t think I had turned that eye on yet,” he said, clearly puzzled.

I said nothing, but a mounting concern was blossoming in my gut. The phone rang, startling us both. I looked at the phone where it lay on the bar, covered by a thin layer of dry chemical.

“I’ll get it in my room,” I said. Dad just nodded his head in understanding.

Less than two minutes later, I walked back into the kitchen to get a glass of water. Dad was standing exactly where I’d left him, staring blankly at the stove. I stood beside him pulling huge gulps of soothing liquid into my mouth. I wondered what he was thinking, but I was too afraid to ask. Finally, I broke the silence.

“That was Leah. They want to eat while we’re out.”

Dad nodded again. “Guess that works out well since dinner’s…uh…”

It was my turn to nod. “Want me to bring you something back?”

“Nah. I’ll make a sandwich or something.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yep.”

We stood side by side, staring silently into the kitchen, until he Dad looked over at me. “I guess you’d better change clothes,” he said, tipping his head toward my shirt. I hadn’t noticed that the creamy material was covered in soot. I don’t know how I’d gotten so dirty, but I looked like I’d been rolling in charcoal. I was filthy. And I probably smelled like a bonfire.

“Good idea,” I said before turning away.

I knew I didn’t have time to wash my hair before Leah got there, so I stripped off my shirt and went to the closet for something clean to change into before I gave my hair a good brushing.

Sliding a black hooded sweater off its hanger, I pulled it over my head. My right shoulder blade prickled as the material grazed it. I stepped in front of the mirror on the back of my door and turned halfway around so I could see my back.

What had begun as a dark smudge at the bottom of my right shoulder blade had spread into long red and orange flames, like fingers crawling across my skin up toward the top of my shoulder and neck. It burned as if my flesh had literally been seared.

A horn sounding from the driveway startled me into action. I rushed to the bathroom, pulled the brush through my hair several times, flipped the pale locks to one side and headed for the door.

As I reached for the doorknob, I met my own sparkling green eyes in the mirror. For just a moment, I wondered what was becoming of the girl I’d seen there last week. Every day it seemed there was less and less of her staring back at me.

“Carson!”

“Coming,” I shouted back to Dad.

With one final look, I turned the knob and walked out to meet Leah.

********

“I like the pink one,” Dina said, watching as Leah turned for the fifth time in front of the mirror. She’d tried on the same sweater in four different colors. She was modeling the red one for the second time.

“But pink makes me look so…” Leah said, struggling for the right word.

“So what? I like it,” she reiterated. “I think the red is just too…”

“Too what?” Leah turned from the mirror, fists on her hips.

“Sexy,” Dina admitted.

“But I want to look sexy, Mom.”

“Leah, this is your first date and I don’t think—”

“Exactly! It’s my first date, Mom, but that doesn’t mean that it has to look like my first date,” she argued.

Feeling uncomfortable just sitting there listening to mother and daughter argue, I walked to a rack of sweaters nearby and casually flipped through the hangers, trying to tune out the conversation that was taking place several feet to my left at the dressing rooms.

A sweater caught my eye so I pulled it off the rack. I held it up to my chest, picturing in my head what it would look like on.

“Carson, you should totally try that on,” Leah called from the area just outside the fitting rooms.

“No. I’d better not.”

“But why not? That’s what makes a shopping trip so much fun.”

“I really couldn’t—“

“Oh, come on, Carson.”

“I shouldn’t—“

“Please, Carson. Pretty please, for me,” Leah cajoled.

“Come on and try it on, Carson. I bet it would look fantastic on you,” Dina chimed in.

Leah marched over to me, grabbed the sweater from my fingers, took my wrist in one hand and pulled me over to the fitting room she’d just left.

“You’re trying it on. Period,” she said, her tone brooking no argument.

At that point I figured I had little choice, so I gave in as graciously as I could. “Fine,” I said with a sigh.

Leah shooed me into the changing room and closed the door snugly behind her, calling through its louvered front, “Come out when you get it on.”

Quickly, I doffed my sweater and pulled the new garment over my head. I tugged at the hem until it fell neatly to my hips then I turned to survey my reflection.

The sweater was cashmere and deep apricot in color. It was fitted, hugging my curves as if it was made to fit them. It flared out at the sleeves and hem into a gentle near-ruffle that made it very girlie and very sexy. The warm color accentuated my creamy skin and the silky material shifted softly against my body as I moved. I loved it instantly.

I looked down at the price tag dangling from under the arm. The price didn’t matter since there was absolutely zero chance I would ever own such an item, but I still couldn’t help but gasp when I saw the triple digits.

“Yow!”

“Does it fit?” Leah was still standing right in front of my door. She must’ve heard me and thought I was referring to the sweater.

“I guess,” I said, trying to sound ambivalent about the most amazing sweater in the world.

“Come out then. Let me see,” she said, her voice fading as she walked away.

I opened the door and made my way to where Leah had been twirling in front of the bank of mirrors. I stood before them, seeing the perfect fit of Carson and cashmere from a variety of different angles. Leah and Mrs. Kirby made all sorts of comments and noises of approval. I couldn’t help but smile at their flattery. I also couldn’t help but agree with them; that sweater was made for me.

I was enjoying my modeling moment, laughing and twirling with exaggerated movements, when I spun back toward the mirror and saw a man standing several feet behind me. I looked at his reflection, the air hitching in my throat. My eyes met his in the glass. Instantly, I recognized the cool silver staring back at me, like mercury orbs set in a dark face.

It was the man from my dream, the stranger in the snow. His hair was even tied back, just as I’d imagined it would be. A chill skittered down my spine. It was laced with a little awe, a little fear and a little fascination. My heart fluttered in my chest as his eyes bored into mine. After a few seconds, he turned and walked away.

I watched the back of his dark head as he weaved through the racks. I was overcome with the most bizarre pulling sensation, like a magnet dragging at my insides, urging me to follow him.

When I could no longer see him, the breath I hadn’t even been aware of holding came rushing out. I whirled around, the air cool as it dried the sweat that had broken out on my brow.

“What’s the matter, Carson? You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Did you get a glimpse of the price tag?” Leah quipped.

Every fiber of my being was still sharply focused on him. I struggled to bring my attention back to Leah. “Wh-what?” I asked, turning back to the mirror and finding Leah’s face in it. I watched her smile slowly faded. She wasn’t joking anymore. “What?” I repeated.

“Seriously, are you ok? You don’t look so good.”

Leah’s face was full of concern. I knew she wondered what was going on with me and why I was keeping it from her. For a split second I considered telling her. Everything. All of it. Just spilling my guts. After all, I trusted her. I knew I could tell her virtually anything in confidence and she’d keep my secrets. But, alas, I wouldn’t.

I sighed. Not an audible sigh, but a soul deep one, the kind you feel more than you hear. I wouldn’t tell Leah because I couldn’t do that to her. I couldn’t burden her like that. Plus, she couldn’t help me even if I did tell her. There’s nothing she or anyone else could do for me. And that included Dad.

Intuitively, I knew that whatever was happening to me, whatever this life-changing metamorphosis was, it was something I had to deal with on my own. It was between me and me, the old and the new, the known and the unknown.

Resolute, I pushed my troubled emotions aside, pulled my lips up into my biggest smile and did what I was learning to do best: pretend.

“You’re just jealous because I found this sweater first,” I teased.

Leah’s eyes drilled into mine for several long, tense seconds. I could almost see the indecision warring behind her chocolate eyes, but, in the end, her easy-going, unobtrusive nature won out and she smiled. Her decision was made. She was going to go along with my pretense.

“Yeah right. My sweater kicks the crap out of yours.”

And so the charade began, each of us bowing to the terms of our silent agreement to keep things light, no questions asked.

We continued in that manner for the rest of the evening, a simulation of lightheartedness that I found utterly exhausting. By the time they dropped me back at my house, I was ready for bed.

Sleep was elusive, though. Each time I’d doze off, the same dream would come, only I’d awaken as soon as I saw the stranger lying in the snow. I’d open my eyes to the dark ceiling of my room, heart flying, breathing shallow, palms sweating. I thought of my science fair project, but knew that I lacked the concentration to be able to make any progress. So I lay there in bed, staring at the ceiling, reliving those brief moments at the mall, wondering who the stranger was and why I’d felt so drawn to him.