Like the Moon: A Portal Worlds Novel

By Dawn J Braithwaite

For as long as she could remember, Elle Smith bounced from foster home to foster home after being found wandering the streets as a kid with no memories of who she was or where she belonged. She'd learned long ago not to get her hopes up to find a home that would last. She was just too different, too difficult for normal families to deal with. No

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dawn J Braithwaite
• Release date: Aug 26, 2021
• ISBN: 9798986261249

Book preview

One

Allow Me to Introduce Myself

Elle! Hurry up or you'll miss the bus!

Coming Nikki, I shrugged on my thick, black pea-coat as I flew down the stairs, skipping several in the process. Nikki watched me from the bottom of the banister, her deep auburn hair pulled back into a messy bun. Loose hairs lit by the pale autumn morning light streaming into they foyer took on a halo effect, making her look like the angel she was. With one hand on her hip, she held out the other. In it, one of her specialty breakfast sandwiches. My stomach twisted in anticipation and the corners of my mouth lift as the smell of it hit my nose. My favorite, a spicy sausage and egg with roasted peppers and spinach. So freaking good. With my food addiction, I kind of lucked out with this family having a chef for a mom.

Nikki ran a quaint cafe called Main Street. One of those hole-in-the-wall places, impossible to find unless you were in the know. Which was pretty much everyone that lived in a five mile radius. An off day for Main Street meant the line stretched a few feet out the door, rather than down the block. The sign of awesome food anywhere; a line long enough to rival the lines at the best amusement park rides.

Nikki's famous soups and sandwiches, made on buttery herb bread, had made her cafe a hot spot for all ages. Her nominal prices, pulled in patrons from all walks of life while still making more than you'd expect a hole-in-the-wall to make. She could have easily afforded to expand her cafe into a fancier restaurant, or open another location. Nikki refused to do that. She loved the Mom and Pop charm of her cafe, and wouldn't change it for anything. Her small town upbringing had to play a big part in that, as well as her strong Christian beliefs. Which also was a small part of her only flaws.

Nothing against Christianity, but sometimes some of their rules can be, well, less-than Christian.

How many times do I have to tell you that you can call me Mom? She offered me the sandwich as I landed next to her. My stomach growled the moment my feet hit the oriental rug at the bottom of the stairs, greedy for the spicy, warm goodness to come. There was no hesitation on my part in snatching up the greasy parcel. The oozing warmth greeted my hand with the promise of sating the rumbling in my belly. At least for a few hours.

I know, I know. I try. I really do, I'm just not used to being in one place so long. A pang of guilt stabbed at me. I wished I could allow myself to bond with her, but my strange past, and my strange condition, kept me from doing a lot of things most people did as easily as breathing.

Nikki McIntyre was one of many foster moms that I've had in the past nine years. I liked her well enough. She really cared for me, no question about it. The rest of the family though; let's just say the jury was out on them from the get go. Mr. McIntyre, Greg, was nice enough. Kind and hardworking were the words best used to describe him. His flaw? His obvious favoritism. His daughter got the best of the best from him. Not to mention her innate ability to manipulate him. Somehow every time he got mad at her, ended up with me getting into trouble. If this family were a business, I'd definitely have suffered from the effects of nepotism.

Amanda, Greg's pride and joy, had some bug up her ass about my presence. I'm pretty sure it had to do with, well, everything about me. Having a freak in the house ruined her perfect, cliche, cheerleader reputation. She, and her pep squad cronies, never let me forget it either. Almost every sentence she deigned to utter to me began with, Before you came around.

I'd been with them for almost seven months, a lot longer than any other family for sure. Other than Amanda's blatant disdain, they had been the kindest and most understanding of my problems out of any of the families I've been placed with. Well, Nikki had been. I'd been places in a lot of homes. Each one gave me up almost as soon as they got me. My special needs proved too much for all of them.

Even though Nikki had been the closest thing to a mother I would probably ever have, I never allowed myself to let my shield down and let her in completely. Calling her Mom would've only broken my heart in the end. That's why I never let myself get too comfortable. I knew better. Any day they could've decided that dealing with my issues wasn't worth the trouble and sent me packing. It was only a matter of time, in my experienced opinion. My placement history was proof of that.

Well, I have absolutely no intention of giving up on you, she pulled me into a light hug, which to me felt like an ill fitting coat. After nine years of rejection and little affection from people that were supposed to care about you, hugs really weren't my norm. Now, hurry up. And tell Amanda I need her to come home right after school, please.

I will, I winced inwardly knowing how well that would go over. Amanda wouldn't listen to me, I knew that. She wouldn't listen to me if I had an endorsement from Harry Styles. She called it selective hearing. I called it bitchy. Like I said, she really didn't like me. She let me know as often as possible, out of Nikki's hearing range, of course.

I skipped out before Nikki could rope me into something else that would be pointless. The cool air nipped at my face the moment I stepped out the door. Not even mid-October, and the temperatures were already frigid. It wouldn't be long before a frosty layer of white blanketed the town. I hoped I was wrong, even though I knew I wasn't.

Snow had never been my favorite. Snow and winter were at the top of my if I could wish it away, I would list. As far back as I remembered, which wasn't more than about ten years, the winter always brought me a string of troubles and heartache. Firstly, that's when kids really upped their game in calling me names. I'd heard it all in the past: Snowflake, Frosty, Snow Queen, Ice Princess. Not to mention kids telling me not to go out in snowstorms because I'd get lost. Those weren't much more creative than being called Moony, Granny, Spook, or Ghost the rest of the year, but somehow hurt worst of all.

To put that in perspective, I'd always been pale. Well, maybe pale didn't quite cut it in my case. Pale would've been tan for me, being practically translucent from head to toe. White hair and pale gray eyes on top of my light, pretty much glow-in-the-dark, skin. Even in the warm summer months my skin stayed the same, no matter how much time I spent in the sun. Tanning beds? They were no help there either. I didn't tan, I burned. From cherry red to pink to white again, all in a week. I accepted that I was meant to be pale, no matter what, almost instantly. Whenever anyone commented on my monochromatic look, all I wanted to do is thank them for the reminder of my weirdness.

Memories of being picked on weren't the only things that make me dislike winter so much. I always felt so alone and afraid during the long cold season. The time of year where family and warmth took precedence over everything, heightened my isolation. While families gathered to celebrate, I was only reminded that I didn't belong.

On top of it all, my condition always seems to get worse with the first snow of the year. I didn't know why, but that's how it was. It was definitely not fun, or cool, to have some strange, undiagnosable mental condition with traumatic memory loss. That's the long and short of my unseen oddities, or at least that's what I'd been told.

From what every doctor and psychologist has said to me, something bad had happened to me when I was a kid. I had no idea what, not even after all their prodding and hypnotic attempts, but it had to have been bad. I was found wandering the streets late one night in a tattered nightgown. My arms legs and face were marred with scratches, bruises, dirt, and tears. My hiccuping sobs broke the still night air. I had obviously been through something atrocious. Whatever it was, made me forget everything about my life before, even my name.

I was found by a kind woman, Reubenesque and middle aged. She stooped onto the cold wet pavement and wrapped her heavy blue tweed coat around my tiny shoulders. I remembered snuggling into her warm chest and breathing in the floral perfume that surrounded her. She fretted over me, soothing my fears. She was the one that named me. Elle, the name she found embroidered on the tattered hem of my gown. El, to be more precise. The rest had been ripped away in whatever ordeal I went through to end up there. For all I knew, my real name could've been Ellen, Elenore, Eloise, or some other name that began the same. Heck, it could even have been just Elle.

She almost took me in as her own. But, when the hallucinations started she had been quick to hand me off. The fear of dealing with my different-ness rearing it's head for the first time had me at the step of social services faster than lighting. Families had been handing me off ever since. No one seemed able to handle a girl that saw and heard things that weren’t there, almost all the time. They didn't want to, more like it. Once they realized my meds weren't working, they gave up on me and handed me off to Mrs. Wembley, my social worker, who eventually handed me off to a new family that would just do exactly the same thing a short time later. I'd been in dozens of foster homes in nine years. That much rejection and bullying became pejorative, case in point; I had trust issues.

A gust of wind whipped through the autumn speckled trees. The added chill settled deep in my bones and I clutched my heavy coat a little tighter. As I walked down the leaf scattered sidewalk, I chomped heartily into the breakfast sandwich Nikki prepared. The spicy, peppery flavor warmed over my tongue in a moment of sheer delight. Words couldn’t describe how happy it made me. Serious thoughts of marrying it crossed my mind. My relationship with food was always better than with people. Food never judged.

I savored the sandwich until I got to the bus stop, at which point I scarfed the remaining bites down in a hurry. The last time I ate on the bus, the driver tried to make me throw my food away in the tiny garbage behind his seat. I refused, defiantly shoving the final chunk in my mouth all at once. That was a big mistake. The bite was too big, and I ended up choking and subsequently losing all of my breakfast all over the driver. I got in major trouble. After that day, I made sure my breakfast was gone before I got to the stop. I didn't need the extra trouble. Trouble meant more attention I didn't want.

The handful of overly bundled teens at the bus stop ignored my arrival, as per usual. Not that expected anything else. I probably would've died of shock if they did anything else. In turn, I took my usual isolated stance away from the rest of the small group that happily gossiped with each other. My mind kept occupied examining the cracks in the cement and eavesdropping on the mindless conversation happening five feet from me. Suddenly, I knew the innocuous scene at the street corner was about to get uncomfortable, for me anyway. It began as it usually did, with a heavy feeling forming in my head, fuzzy and swirling as though I'd just spun in circles in an attempt to make the world spin. Pro-actively, I sat on the dirty, half-frozen ground. I'd learned long ago when that feeling crept into my head, I'd better sit my ass down if I didn't want to crash to the ground. My breath slowed, as I prayed this episode would be a short case of vertigo, rather than a full blown trip inside my head. Soon, though, that hope proved fruitless.

The chatter in the air quieted, taken over by the unmistakable sound of crying. A woman crying. My insides froze at her wailing and my muscles tensed in preparation for what I knew was coming, a full on vision. A hallucination. The bane of my unique existence. The reason I'd been shoved out of so many homes.

The wailing woman, one of the voices I heard more often than I'd like. The voices that came that came before so many of the visions. My heart clenched every time I heard the wailing woman, and I heard her more than any of the others. She sounded completely broken every time. Lost even. Whatever she was going through seemed awful. Every time I heard her, my instincts told me to comfort her. Of course, I never could. She wasn't real. Her sadness, more than likely, was a bi-product of my trauma. One psychologist even suggested she was me, an embodiment of whatever had caused me to be the way I was.

Her sobs faded, making way for the vision. My visions never revealed anything huge or meaningful. Despite being out of focus, I could always tell what things were supposed to be. It was like looking through a sheet of privacy glass. Blurry gardens and structures. Sometimes I saw figures too. Unfocused bodies going about their business completely unaware my brain had dreamed them up.

This hallucination was no different. The world frosted over. A bright light filtered through the frost, bringing to mind a sunny day ahead instead of the clouded sky on the brink of the winter that reality held. A figure sat near a large monolithic structure of some sort. A decidedly feminine figure.

The glittery light flared, blinding me. When the light dissipated the vision is disappeared. Reality set back in and my heart sank at what it revealed to me. Before me, the black exhaust of the bus swirled in the air. The bus was pulling away down the street without me, the faces of my peers jeered out of the dirt crusted windows.

Shit.

I knew it’d be useless to walk back to the McIntyre's to hitch a ride to school. Nikki had already left for Main Street. Greg worked an hour away. Amanda was already at school, and wouldn't give me a ride if her life depended on it.

Standing, I hitched my bag up and started to walk.

Two

School or Torture

There was no rush to get to school, so I took the slow route. My bus always arrived just before the morning bell, barely giving me time to get to my locker. There's no way I would've made it on time on foot. I decided to make the most of it and miss my first class, History. Mr. Granger, the history teacher, was so over zealous about his small goat farm, that he prattled on about it for half the class. Anyone that complained about it caught the ire of the kids that wanted an easy ride. Since they were the popular kids, no one dared risk the social suicide by doing so.

I even had time to stop into Cuppa for a nice cup of hot tea to keep me warm on the way. Cuppa, almost as popular as Main Street, made the best drinks in the county. Not to mention their fast and reliable service was always done with a smile. The baristas working there knew every one of their customers by order. A nod of the head was all the confirmation they needed to start an order of that customer's usual. By the time the customer got to the counter, their order was ready. All they had to do was pay. My order was almost always a hot ginger and turmeric tea with honey and lemon. That day, it didn't change.

I was so tempted to hang out in the coffee shop all day, drinking tea and eating delectable pastries. I couldn't though. I needed good grades in order to get a much needed scholarship to be able to afford college. No foster family would put me through college, and a part time job would nowhere cover tuition. Even with money for school that the state promised, I needed scholarships. Missing too many classes was something I couldn't afford, not with attendance and participation being a small percent of the grade in over half my classes.

Trust me, I'd much rather not go. If college wasn't so important to survive in this world, I wouldn't. School never had been high on my list of things I liked to do. Aside from it being a cesspool of bullying and over-rampant hormones, I found it boring. Not stimulating, at least not outside of the classic novels assigned by ELA teachers. I loved recreational learning. Other than that, school was only a mildly tolerated obligation. That was the only reason I left the little shop and continued on my way.

I made it to school with fifteen minutes until first period let out. I wasn't surprised to find my best, and only friend, Q, hanging around the commons sipping on his own caffeine-infused drink. His addiction to the stuff ran far deeper than mine. He slurped down the last drops as I plopped next to him. It was all but guaranteed he'd skip off later in the day for another.

E tu, Q? I joked about his being late with me. Q got his name from his double Q moniker, Quentin Queen. I had no idea what his parents were thinking saddling him with a name like that. I just knew I felt eternally grateful to them for his constant presence in my life, and their complete and total acceptance of, well, everyone that deserved it. He'd been raised the kindest person I'd ever met. We were pretty much inseparable from the moment we met when we were ten. We kept in touch whenever my foster situation took me away to different schools or towns. His existence made me unbelievably happy.

Actually, I was here on time today but figured there's no use to sitting through Mr. Granger's boring lecture about either the great American experience or his amazing goats without my BFF to suffer with me. So I left, got my mocha and came back to wait on your beautiful, late butt. He brushed his bright pink hair out of his eyes and finished with a wink.

I like the pink, by the way.

Thanks, I did it last night. You know, you should let me do your hair. You know I'm dying to make it look like your silvery mane has been dipped in unicorn farts.

I laughed at his comment and snorted tea into my nose; not a pleasant feeling. Yeah, that's not happening and you know it, I said when I finally recovered from the citrus attack on my sinuses. It's not that his desire to make my hair look like gasses from a mythical creature's ass wasn't amusing to me, I just couldn't. I wished I could change my hair, but, as with my un-tannable skin, it proved impossible. I tried to dye my hair a few times. Nothing crazy or fun, just brown. It was a low point, the bullying was getting to me and I thought that giving my hair some color would help. The dye washed out before the weekend was over. I thought it was a fluke and tried again with a different, stronger, brand. Two days of brunette bliss followed by crushing defeat. I felt certain not even the most permanent of the most chemical filled dyes would save me.

You are no fun, girl.

Shut up. You know how much I would love to have colorful hair, it just never takes. Lord knows I could use something to make me look normal-ish.

Normal is overrated. He leaned over and planted a friendly kiss on my cheek. Now, let's do our nails before the zombie masses are released from their cages and swarm our sanctuary. Do you want purple glitter or holographic? He dug about in his messenger bag for a minute before coming up with said prizes.

Holo, for sure. Then my nails will match my vision this morning, super shiny.

You are twisted, my friend. That is why I love ya.

I love you too, Q. I did. I loved that he stood by my side, and that he never pried for details when I had episodes. He merely accepted me, no matter what.

The next few minutes were pure therapy. Q painted a shiny layer of polish on my nails with the same level of expertise and flair as a professional, the whole time gossiping about cute boys and mean girls. If I could've, I'd have frozen time, just to spend the whole day like that.

My heart sank at the shrill bell that called for the end of class. It didn't take long for the commons to explode with hustling students traversing the school in herds that rivaled scenes from a zombie movie. We looked at each other and knew we thought the same thing. Q rolled his eyes and imitated the undead. School.

Shall we join the herd? Q laughed while giving one last admiring glance at his now shiny nails.

Do we have a choice?

No, sadly. Come on, darlin', he offered me a hand up, arm yourself, and don't get bit.

All right, I stood, laughed, and slung my bag over my shoulder. If we survive, meet me here for lunch?

You know it.

* * *

The second hand on the classroom clock threatened to travel backwards. Every class had felt that way, making lunch an eternity away. When the bell ending fourth period finally rang, I couldn't leave my seat fast enough.

Despite my best efforts, the commons was crowded by the time I made it to lunch. Scanning the area for Q, disappointment settled in me. Q's bright hair was nowhere in sight. I assumed he got held up, as usual. Unmoved by the promise of what either line offered, I picked the closest one and joined in.

It took a minute, but soon after getting in line I realized it was a bad choice. Amanda's sleek, signature high-ponytail, a copycat style of her favorite pop-star's, gleamed before me. Nikki's request to speak to her rang in my head. I debated doing it. Talking to her at school was a kiss of death. She'd either ignore me, or find some way to humiliate me in front of half the student body. On the other hand, if I didn't tell her, I risked getting in trouble with Nikki. The one person in the McIntyre household I felt certain actually liked me. I didn't want to do anything to hurt that relationship in any way. Even though I hesitated in opening up in return. Part of me hoped there would come a day, far in the future, that I would; if not with Nikki, then at least with somebody.

Humiliation was the only option. I tapped Amanda on the shoulder. Her golden hair swished as she turned. Her vain smile disintegrated into a sneer when she realized I stood behind her. The eye-roll she gave me, before whipping back around, could've won awards, if there were awards for eye-rolling.

Amanda, I tapped her shoulder again, and braced myself for the tiger to pounce.

What makes you think I want to talk to you at school, loser? Her voice carried over her shoulder without her having to turn. Her lemming friends cackled at her remark. They were witches with a capital B. Amanda, being their leader, was the funniest girl in the world; to them at least.

I don't, I came back at her. I'd rather have a hallucination than have a conversation with you. I'd lose less brain cells.

Amanda turned with fire in her eyes. Then what is your problem?

Nikki says to come home right after school, Your Vainness. The words tumbled from me almost too fast to comprehend.

She glared back, mouth hanging wide. No one else in her life had the audacity to call her anything but perfect. Sure, to the pedestrian and sheep eyed population of teenagers at school, she was. Perfect hair, perfect teeth, flawless skin, and a perfect body. She was popular and pretty. All that was superficial. Those few of us that saw the inside, knew better. Her perfect hair came from a bottle. The perfect teeth were bought and paid for. Anyone could have perfect skin if they spent most of their time preening themselves. As for her body, well that was purely based on opinion.

After a beat she forced her friends to leave the line for another. I saw their protest in their eyes, but they didn't dare defy their queen.

As if the encounter with Amanda wasn't bad enough, I soon got a glimpse of the gourmet muck waiting at the end of the line. Chipped beef and fries. Yuck. My stomach churned like a raging sea in a storm as I wondered what horror lay at the end of the other line that made Amanda's cronies think this was preferable. I watched, half mourning for my stomach, as the lunch lady slopped the white, meaty gravy over the golden fries on my tray.

There was no worse death than that by creamed meat. Poor fries.

I sat in mine and Q's favorite spot and pushed the mess around on my tray with absolutely no intention of eating it. I was ready to abandon ship when my lunch was saved.

Never fear, I am here. Q announced, plopping next me. He set a brown paper bag on the table in front of me and another before his self. The smell of the delicious contents seeped through the bag and I knew what hid inside without opening it. I saw the horror show that is school lunch and decided to save us.

Carlitos! You are my hero right now. I tore into the bag to find just what I expected; a veggie and chicken burrito with a side of spicy pickled avocados. The first time Q took me to his favorite food truck during lunch I was adamant that I would not like the healthy fare. Riced broccoli and cauliflower instead of real rice just didn't sound appealing at all. Tacos and burritos were supposed to be greasy and full of all the things bad for you, but one bite was all it took to hook me. Carlito was a magic man. This is just what I need to get through the rest of this day.

Wanna tell me about it?

Nothing, really. I had to talk to Amanda.

Gasp! Q exaggerated his sarcasm with a hand to his chest. Did she explode?

No, I replied between bites of my upgraded lunch. That would have been a real tragedy, I would have gotten her ick all over me. I might have been infected.

Q mock-shuddered as he stole one of my avocado slices from the red checkered paper tray.

Hey, get your own! I swatted his hand away.

Never. Stolen avocados taste better, he popped another in his mouth and grinned maniacally. You need to stop worrying about Amanda so much, not worth your time.

I only do it for Nikki. She's the best foster mom I've had so far. Greg's tolerable. Amanda fell far from those trees for sure.

Or she was dropped on her head.

I giggle-snorted with the grace of a cave troll, That would explain it.

Coming over after school? Q changed the subject.

Of course. Where else would I go?

Lunch seemed to be over all too soon. Isn't that how time always worked? The fun things passed by so quickly while the work took an eternity and then some to be done. All I could do was plan to count the tedious minutes until the end of the day came.

Three

The Worst Thing I Could Do

My eyes struggled to stay open, lulled by the low hum of the projector and the dim glow of the black and white film it displayed. The exceedingly outdated and boring health video Mrs. Carvey picked for our viewing pleasure, didn't help. For some reason, the school figured these outdated films didn't need replacing, despite the fact much of them had been distorted by time. Cheap bastards.

I wasn't the only one not watching. No one paid attention to the plight of Billy playing out on the white screen pulled down in front of the white board. Half the class chatted amongst themselves. Others busied themselves by drawing, reading, or some other activity by the low light. Not even Mrs. Carvey paid attention to the video, or the class for that matter. She busied herself with some project on her laptop, likely grading or some other boring task. Part of me suspected she moonlit as an erotic romance author, writing spicy love scenes that would make the most experienced lovers blush. She was so buttoned up and pristine in her appearance all the time, like she'd just stepped out of one of the heath videos she tortured us with weekly. Yet, there was something in her eye that hinted at a secret wild side.

After only ten minutes of fighting it, sleep claimed me. It didn't take me long to find myself in an old familiar dream.

* * *

Low lying branches scratched like clawed hands desperately grasping at my ankles. My steps echoed the pounding panic in my heart. I had to get away, the man in the black robes was closing in. I could almost feel his fingers at my back. I knew deep down that he would catch me again, he always did. He had the advantage of being grown over me, the advantage of having full use of magic.

A wall of trees sprouted up out of nowhere, blocking my escape. The dark figure closed in, but not all the way. The space left between us terrified me. It could close at any moment. The figure’s hands became engulfed in flames, just before he flung those flames at me with a growl. My arms rose in a feeble attempt to guard myself. I didn't know how, but the fireball veered off into the thick woods. There was no relief though, the figure remained and advanced, stretching his claw-like hands out to grab me. Before it could, I pushed at them and they tumbled away.

A high-pitched screaming crept into my mind, growing louder and louder. The trees and bushes protecting me began to fade away. In moments the world around me changed from dark woods into the top of the stairs of the commons in my school. I should have been hunched over my desk in health class. What the heck?

As the dream continued to fade from my mind, I was met with erratic, hushed commotion. It's only when I became fully aware of reality that I saw the crowd of students standing frozen, feet away from me. Their faces full of judgment and horror. The silence broke into cries and yells.

Oh my God! Elle, you are such a freak! a girl shouted over the din.

What did you do? a passing voice accused, laced with panic.

My eyes followed the frantic form of a teacher I recognized, but didn't know her name, down the stairs. I couldn't see what she rushed too. There were too many people gathered around the bottom of the stairs. I didn't have to see to know my freak sleepwalking episode made me do something awful. Something I feared more than anything. I'd hurt someone.

Part of me wanted to run. Run and never look back. What would that make me though? A monster? A monster that had no control of what had happened. Morbid curiosity compelled me. I had to know who bore the brunt of my damaged brain. Even though I didn't want to know.

The jeering cries of the surrounding student body muffled with my invisible cotton in my ears as I got closer to the crowd. The seconds ticked by like molasses, slow and steady. I pushed my way into the crowd, shoving my way through in desperation. Many of them shouted accusations at me with angry eyes as I passed them, but I couldn't hear them. All I could hear was the pounding of my heart.

I shouldered my way through remaining cluster of people. Each person I passed turned to me with horrified and hateful glares. My stomach sank deeper with each step, until finally I reached the center and saw exactly what I had done. Who I had hurt. Amanda. My foster sister was the first victim of my sickness. I knew instantly how it looked from the outside. Everyone knew we didn't get along, everyone heard the rumors she spread about me. This was bad. Very bad.

My eyes clamped shut against the ugly scene and I shook my head, hoping I had seen wrong. Desperately, I opened my eyes and rubbed them, hoping the scene would fade away. I wanted it to be nothing more than another hallucination. The scene remained, as I knew it would. My foster sister lay unconscious on the cold linoleum floor of the commons. Her arms splayed out awkwardly and one of her legs was obviously broken; a bone protruded grotesquely from the middle of her shin.

No. Oh no.

I froze there, unable to move, speak, or hear clearly. My whole body trembled. I was in so much trouble. When the EMT crew rushed past me, I stumbled to the side. Yet, I was still in a daze. It was only when someone physically pulled me away that I began to come out of it.

Panic filled me as my senses came to. I looked over my shoulder, expecting to see an officer or a teacher ready to take me away for my crime. Instead I saw Q. Unlike the rest of the room, he wasn't mad. His fists didn't shake at me in accusation. All he did was sit me against a wall and try to calm me.

The gravity of the chaotic ordeal finally fully processed. The dam broke and all my consequential emotions came pouring out. My sobs came out thick and heavy, barely giving me air to breathe. The crowd growing behind Q only made things worse. I looked in to each face, desperately looking for some sympathy. Only Q had any for me.

Two uniformed men joined the faces peering down at me. Their grave expressions set my panic into overdrive. I struggled past the rising panic, finally managing to say, I didn't mean to. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to.

Four

From Ghost to