Tuesday, September 6, 2016

Chapter Four


Let me come in, won’t you? Won’t you?

Hosei strains against my grip, his neck craning for the window. I wrestle him towards the couch, but it’s not the most coordinated take-down. He’s got a few inches on me and what he lacks in strength he makes up for in sheer wiriness.

“Peter! Help me.” Sweat licks my skin as I try to force Hosei away from the light. Maybe if he can’t see that weird blue glow, he’ll go back to normal. Or normal for Hosei.

It’s not Peter, but Tori who rushes to my side. At first I try to block her. It must look like I’m manhandling her brother, which, granted, I guess I am. Tears run down her cheeks, but when she tugs at my arm, it isn’t in a way that feels like she’s fighting me. “His ears!” she says. “C-cover his ears…”

“What?”

“Let me.” Tori throws herself onto Hosei’s legs, finally unseating him so he falls to the couch. She slams a pillow over his face and squishes the rest of him against the sofa. “HOSEI!” she screams. “CAN YOU HEAR ME?”

For a moment, this is the most psychotic thing I’ve ever seen. But whatever Tori’s doing, it works. Hosei’s eyes roll backwards and he sucks in a huge gasp of air, like he’s surfaced above water.

“Son of a – all right, I’m fine! Get off me, Tori.” He pushes her away and slaps his hands tight to his ears. “Good call. It’s a siren.”

“I – I thought so. You looked so weird walking towards…” Tori rubs her eyes to flick away the last of the tears.

“Sirens?” I repeat. Is that all the blue light is? A squad car?  “You think it’s the cops?”

“No! Sirens.” Hosei has to shout everything. He jams his hands so hard against his ears that red edges form along his cheeks. “Best known from Greek mythology. You know? Bird women who lure sailors to their doom?”

“We don’t have time for your weird theories!” We’re all shouting now. So much for not drawing attention to our position.

“We’ll be fine if no one opens the door,” says Hosei. “Sirens can’t do anything unless you listen to them and since you and Tori are both girls, you’re safe.”

“Are you kidding me?” This is the most useless conversation of my life. I look around for a weapon and settle on one of the spare two-by-fours we never used for the float. Maybe I’m paranoid about the shadow outside the house, but I’ll be paranoid and prepared, damn it.

“No, he’s right. The sea was a very sexist place for many generations,” says Tori sagely. “The Fey never learned to enchant female sailors.”

This is insane. This is every crazy thing about Hosei I’ve tried to ignore over the years, slapping me full force. And worse, Tori’s absorbed more of his battiness than I realized.

Let me come in, won’t you? Won’t you?

The shadow by the window falls backward, the silvery voice fading. For a second, I think it’s given up on us. My grip around the two-by-four relaxes. But then I see it. Blue light, peaking beneath the front door. And standing with his hand on the door knob is my slack-jawed little brother. Hosei and Tori lunge towards the door, but like me, they’ve noticed too late.

The latch clicks as Peter heeds the call of the creatures outside the house. But it’s not some glorious siren that waits on the other side. A demon hovers in the air, haloed in unearthly blue light. But as my senses adjust to the shock, I see it walking towards us, propelled not by its human legs, but by an extra, spidery pair that protrude from its body. Tori and Hosei throw their weight against the open door, but the spider’s legs snake through before they can shut it. One of the legs snaps closed over Peter’s wrist. We both return to our senses. Peter screaming, me rushing to his side.

“Out of the way!” I push Peter against the wall and take aim. Three times I bring the two-by-four down on. The spider leg writhes and weeps blood, but holds on. Peter screams louder with each twist of the clawed foot against his skin. I smack it again, and the beast finally releases him, leg retracting. But instead of wriggling away, it digs its claws into the door frame and pushes hard against the Yoshida’s.

Wood splinters off the frame as the spider monster forces itself inside the house. The Yoshidas fly backward and the beast chases me into the living room. I whack it away from Peter, but the thing has more limbs than I can hope to manage. Black, bristle haired legs claw at me from every direction and I stumble into a floor lamp. One of the legs wraps around my two-by-four and tosses it across the room. Glass breaks as three of Mr. Yoshida’s birds fall from their perches on the wall.

The human part of the monster reaches towards me. Large hands throw me up against the wall, closing over my throat. His face is dark like the rest of him, but white highlights cut down from his eyes across his cheeks. He grins at me with sharp pointed teeth.

“Eleni,” he says, leaning close and tracing a clawed leg along my cheek. “I’ve got the one we came for.”

“Like Hell you do.” I curl my legs up and kick him in the chest for all I’m worth. He topples backwards, legs flying everywhere. I want to take a moment to gag, but I know an opportunity when I see one. When you’ve got a spider belly up, you squish it.

I retrieve the two-by-four and smack him on the stomach over and over, dancing away from his legs best I can. “Peter! Someone, help me!” I don’t know where the Yoshida’s have gone. Maybe they’re passed out behind the door.

Peter’s face is so pale, he reflects the blue light, but he reaches for another spare beam. Shakily, he lands a thud on the demon’s face. The beast swears and I quickly bring another hit down on his stomach. The legs thrash about, but we’ve clearly found his weak spot. The human spot.

But the rush of success doesn’t last long. Another creature swoops through the door and a woman’s body throws me to the ground. Her hands go for my throat and mouth. Hands coated in… feathers? My head slams against the floor boards and my vision swims before I can make sense of it. Peter screams and I know the spider beast has him again, but this time, I can’t save him. This feathered witch knows better than to give me a chance to kick her away.

“She’s strong. Must have her mother’s blood,” the woman says. Her fingers tighten as I try to jerk out of her grip.

“What about the boy? Do we bring him?” It’s the spider’s voice. He sounds winded, which pleases me immensely.

“Why not?” she says. “Let’s get out of here before-”

“BACK TO THE SHADOWS, VILE FIEND!!!”

Oh Hosei…

If I could speak, I would tell him to run. Whatever these things are, they’ve come for me, not the Yoshida’s. But wherever they disappeared to before, they’re back and they clearly didn’t bring anything resembling weapons. They stand over my head, Tori clutching two tubes of glitter glue and Hosei shaking a paper bag that sounds like it’s filled with cutlery.

“Our fight isn’t with you, children.” The siren’s voice is soft and beckoning. I mean, I think it’s a siren that’s pinned to the ground. Hosei’s eyes glaze over again as she speaks and I wish now that I’d believed him sooner, not that it would have done us much good. “Put your toys down.”

“Don’t you talk to him!” Tori squirts both tubes of glitter glue in tandem. Ribbons of sparkles fly through the air, landing half on my face, half on the siren’s hands. I want to cry, this is so nuts. Though it’s not half so crazy as the fact that it works.

The siren releases me, instantly fascinated with her bedazzled feathers. “Oh! It’s like the stars-”

“HIT HER WREN!!!” Tori fires another round of glitter at the spider.

I deck the woman in the face, then roll out of her stunned grip. This seems to be enough to rouse Hosei, who reaches for my elbow and pulls me to my feet. “Here! Use these.”

He shoves a handful of rusty nails towards me. Odd, but I’m done questioning his logic. I start by rounding on the siren, swiping the nails at her when she tries to tackle me. I hardly break skin, but the way she shrieks, you would think I’d dripped acid on her.

“Retreat!” She stumbles towards the door. “Luther, retreat!”

“Without the girl?” The spider asks. Tori shoots glitter at him, but it’s not working the same way it did the siren. He lifts Peter into the air, edging towards the door. But it’s one thing for these beasts to try capturing me. Another for them to take my brother.

I leap towards him and drive a nail through one of his spider legs, catching the tip between the floor boards so he’s pinned down. He strains against it, howling in pain. Peter flies from his grip. I grab another spider leg and pin it to the floorboards. I wish I had a hammer. Poor Mr. Yoshida. I do not envy him the mess he’s coming home to.

But this is working. The siren flees and Hosei is close at her heels. For a second I think he’s going to run away with her, under her spell once again, but instead, he slams the door and locks it. Shaking. he spreads a layer of nails across the threshold. “People used to use iron shavings to keep the Fey out but, I mean, whose got iron shavings laying around these days, right?” Hosei jumps to his feet and then heads for the window. He drops more nails there then dashes for the kitchen and I hear the clatter of him lining another sill.

The lights flicker on and I draw a breath in. The power outage seems so long ago, but I guess it was part of whatever we just survived. What did Hosei call them? Fey? I can’t wrap my head around it. The kids begin to get to their feet. Peter’s arm weeps blood and I can see tears edging down his face. Tori is at his side instantly, asking him if he needs a bandage. Worried as I am for Peter, the others need me to keep my eyes on the monster trapped here with us.

Across from me, the spider beast thrashes, but it can’t pull its legs from the nails. Its breathing labors and it drops to its knees – or, well, two of them. The human ones.

“You’re killing me.” He wheezes. “Is this how you welcome your own kind? With murder?”

“Hosei?” I hold a fistful of nails up to it, but I have to admit, I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. Hosei’s littering the whole house with nails, so does he want the spider to die here? And if he does, how is he planning on hauling the body out?

“Press a nail against its neck,” says Hosei as he dashes between windows. He grins at me like we’re at Disneyland, like he’s been waiting his whole life for some kind of near-death experience with the supernatural. Actually, he probably has. So this is what Hosei looks like happy. “You’ll need to tape it down. Then you can pull the nails out of his legs.”

“So we are killing it?” Stone cold, Hosei. Stone cold.

“No. But I’d like a prisoner who’s a little easier to handle.”

The creature can hardly resist when I press the nail against the back of his neck. He lets out another yelp as I take some of the masking tape and fix it to him. Thank goodness we had art supplies lying around when they attacked us. Then I leap back and whip the nails out of the spider legs.

I brace myself, half expecting the beast to lunge, but instead, the legs fall limp and he twitches against the ground. Then something strange happens. His limbs shrink towards his body, until he’s left with nothing but normal, human body. The black bristles retreat into his skin. Even his eyes shrink to a more natural size. I catch my breath as I find myself staring not at a monster, but at a boy. He can’t be that far off of my age.

“See?” Hosei’s voice bounces with delight. “He’s shifted back. All Fey have at least two forms. One beast, one human.”

I nod, eyes fixed on our prisoner. I keep searching him for signs of the spider beast before, but aside from the iron nail sticking above the edge of his collar, he looks normal. His clothes are oddly dated, but unless you associate spiders with the late Seventies, I can’t see the connection. He’s dressed in a muddy colored turtleneck and his long hair curls in a way that reminds me of old photos of Michael Jackson. He reaches gingerly for his neck, but his hand flinches away when he touches the nail.

“You’re monsters, you know,” he says, taking a sharp breath.

We are?” I say.

“I call it like I see it,” he says with a smile that could only be called charming. Damn him, it’s very charming. “You know more than we were led to believe. Went and found yourself someone who enjoys torturing Fey to help you out, I see.”

“Goes to show you shouldn’t make assumptions,” I say to hide the fact that I don’t know what he’s talking about. I jab the nails towards him again. “Don’t move.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it.” He lifts his hands in a mocking surrender. “After all, those nails your friend dropped around the house will clearly keep me in and clearly keep all my friends out.”

“Hosei?” I say.

Hosei’s jubilant expression sobers a touch. “Actually, he’s right. We should take him somewhere for questioning.”

“You mean the police?”

“No!” says Hosei. “Are the police always your solution? You are such a cop’s daughter. I meant someone who knows something.”

Someone who knows something.

Maybe I wouldn’t have thought of it if Hosei hadn’t mentioned Dad. But an icy weight fills my legs. These creatures came for me and Peter, less than a month after Mom disappeared. Our prisoner’s earlier words come back to me as I understand them for the first time.

Is this how you welcome your own kind?

“Hosei.” My voice shakes in a way that it never did while we were fighting with the Fey. “I think we should at least consider the possibility that the cops know something too.”


***

Today's Poll...

The Fey have arrived and they don't seem very friendly. Oh dear oh dear. Wren and Hosei clearly need to move their prisoner, and they need advice. Do they seek the help of...
a) A contact of Hosei's, who is an expert on Fey
b) Wren's father, who is an expert on Wren

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Monday, August 15, 2016

Chapter Three




According to Casey, all older siblings are duty-bound to regale their younger kin with choruses of “I-told-you-so” as often and enthusiastically as circumstance permits. It was the soundtrack of my early years, Casey gloating every time I burnt my scrambled eggs or didn’t have a raincoat to protect me from a freak downpour. When Peter came along, he was supposed to be my chance to turn the tables and finally sound like the “smart” one. But that would have required Peter being less Peter. That would require him being wrong on occasion. Case in point, the float looks frickin’ awesome.

We don’t have the budget for anything larger than a shipping pallet, but Hosei turns out to be handy with a drill gun and fixes on some wheels. After that, he retreats to the couch and cracks open a book about hauntings in the Victorian Era.

Tori focuses on costumes. She’s a wizard with fabric, never looking up from her pile of patterns as she sews up everything from gala gowns to high-waist linen pants. She wanted to go with tuxedos for the boys, but Hosei insisted they’d be too hot for the Victoria Day Parade.

As for the rest of the float, it’s all Peter. I mean, I’m there too, but mostly as support staff. First we build up the scaffolding for the float, using Hosei’s collection of plywood. Why does Hosei collect plywood? Well, wouldn’t it be nice if he answered questions like that. Over the skeleton, we drape layers of black fabric and poster board. Peter spray paints flecks of silver over the surface, so that it gradually resembles the crackled texture of mica in the pavement. Then come the stars, which we make by bending coat hangers with a pair of pliers. Peter stretches gold crepe paper over them and gives each a generous coat of Tori’s glitter before I’m allowed to hot glue the finished stars to the float. It makes my heart ache to see Peter creating something so wonderful. He got his artistic flair from Mom.

I snap a pic of the ongoing preparations and text it to Casey with a caption: Can you believe this guy?????

I know better than to expect a reply, but that doesn’t stop me from staring at the screen for five minutes afterwards, hoping. Since Mom’s disappearance, Peter and I have clung to each other for life, but Casey’s drifted further and further from the family. Dad still gets the occasional call, but on the whole, she’s ignoring us. Maybe that’s the easiest thing to do when you’re away at university, but I’m not going to pretend I understand it. Dad says we all mourn in different ways, but one of the biggest surprises for me has been how selfish grief can be. Honestly, I’m as bad as Casey. I want my Mom back and I want my big sister to text me funny gifs again and I want those things for me more than anyone else.

Suddenly, my phone buzzes and for a euphoric second, I think Casey has actually cracked. I mean, it’s a pic of Peter with a tube of glitter glue between his teeth. Who wouldn’t be a sucker for that? But instead it’s Jaclyn, my best friend besides Peter, and it’s not just a text, but a full-on phone call. Peter is in the zone with his float, so I take a minute to step inside the kitchen and answer her.

“Hey, Jacks,” I say.

“Where are you?” She sounds frantic and at that, I know I’ve forgotten something.

“Oh – um, at the Yoshida’s.”

“The Yoshida’s? You mean you’re at Hosei’s?”

“It’s a Film Club meeting.” I meant to say that in the first place, but I was staring at a photo of a harlequin duck when she asked me.

“Film Club? Wren, seriously?” Jacks is a pretty understanding person, but right now she sounds annoyed. I know I’m going to be apologizing for something in a few seconds, I just wish I could remember what. “You promised you had this evening free. I even played the cousin-card to get Jamie here and now April’s draped across his lap like a total hoe because you didn’t show up for your own party! I taped a frickin’ Jay’s game for you!”

“Don’t call other girls hoes.” I say because my face is going red, I’m so mortified. How on earth did I forget this? Jacks has been trying to set me up with her cousin for months (she’s kind of obsessed with the idea of us marrying into the same family and since Peter’s thirteen, she says it’s my duty) and here I am, gluing stars to a pile of plywood instead. She’s calling it my party, but it really was for her. An excuse to bond us together. I’ve gone full turtle on her since Mom disappeared, and that’s what makes the guilt kick me in the lungs. “Jacks, I’m so sorry-”

“I called her a hoe for you! It was a hoe of solidarity! Whatever. I’m just glad you’re alive. I thought your car got speared by a tree or something.”

“Speared by a tree?”

“Have you seen the weather?”

I glance outside. The forecasted rain pelts the house with full force. It’s just hard to hear over Tori’s sewing machine and the constant chatter of the younger kids. Come to think of it, weren’t there supposed to be more of them? Didn’t Tori call the other Film Clubbers? The wind gusts a large branch against the window pane and it rattles ominously.

“Jacks, I’ve got to go. I’m so so sorry. I’ll make it up to you next week, okay?” I say.

“No! Just come over now. We haven’t even opened the chips.”

“I can’t. I’ve got Peter with me. And I need to make sure a whole bunch of ninth graders didn’t get speared by trees.”

Jacks growls dramatically. Luckily, she can’t hold a grudge. She’s all bluster, part of why I love her. “Fine! But if I end up with April as an in-law, I’m blaming you!”

“I can live with that.”

I hang up and immediately start searching my phone for numbers that belong to Peter’s friends, but I don’t have them. Even if an inordinate amount of my social life is dedicated to Peter’s Film Club, it’s still more his thing than mine. It never felt like my job to keep track of these kids until now, but visions of branch skewered cars dance in my head.

“They’re at home, you know.” Hosei’s voice over my shoulder makes me jump.

“What?”

“Kimmy and Jonathan. Their parents called a little while ago to say they wanted to wait out the storm.” Hosei pulls a bag of Fritos out of the kitchen cupboard, his eyes only lingering on me for a second. He probably just came in for food, but it still rattles me to know he was listening in.

“Okay… good.”

Thunder rolls in the distance, but the hills and mountains keep the lightning from sight. I bite down on my tongue, trying to calm my stomach, which still feels uneasy. Hosei shifts between his feet, and I think he’s about to head back to the living room, when instead he clears his throat. “You can go, if you want.”

“What?” I’m not used to Hosei talking to me, but he’s actually making eye contact right now. This is on the edge of a full blown conversation.

“Those were your friends, right? I can watch the kids. Peter can spend the night. You don’t have to stay.”

Oh. So that’s why he’s willing to talk to me. He wants me to go away.

“I will have you know I am a very proud and committed Film Clubber,” I say in what’s meant to be a haughty, imperial manner, but Hosei quirks a grin at me. He’s not buying it.

“Seriously, what’s keeping you here?” he asks, tilting the bag of Fritos towards me.

“I’m in it for the chips. Thanks,” I say, taking a large handful, but he keeps waiting for an honest answer, even as I pop one into my mouth. It’s so weird to be talking with him, I find myself wanting to tell him the truth. Besides, it’s not like he’s got anyone to blab my secrets to. “Honestly? I’m kind of glad I don’t have to go. It’s easiest being around Peter, since…”

I don’t have to finish, of course. Even if our siblings weren’t friends, Hosei would have heard the details by now. The whole school knows my Mom is missing. We’re short on teen-pregnancies this year, so I’m the most interesting thing at Belmont High.

Hosei looks over his shoulder at where Tori and Peter are still working. I think for a moment he’s bored of me, but based on his soft tone, he just doesn’t want to be overheard. “I get it. I felt the same way about Tori when we lost our Mom.”

“Lost?” As long as I’ve known the family, Mr. Yoshida has been a single dad. I kind of assumed a divorce, since the other option is so grisly, but I wish now I’d asked sooner what happened to Hosei’s mother. “Did – did she die, then?”

“Nope.”

I’m about to ask the divorce question, but Hosei’s gaze hardens in a way that shuts me up. His eyes are so many things wrapped up in one. Black as ink. Steely and searching and just daring me to ask what happened to her. Threatening me if I do. It’s like I’ve never really looked at him until now. I don’t know if this view makes him seem more or less crazy.

“Well, I’m sorry for you. Both of you. Losing a parent sucks,” I say and this seems to be close enough to the right thing. Hosei’s shoulders deflate and he gives me a weak smile. That’s twice I’ve seen him smile in the last five minutes. Will miracles never cease?

He’s about to slouch off to the living room when a wild idea seizes me and even though I think I know the answer, I can’t help asking. “You know, Tori and Peter are probably fine without us. If you want, we could both go to Jaclyn’s party-”

“You’ve got to be kidding.”

“C’mon, Jacks throws great parties and-”

As I try to finish my pitch, the wind picks up outside the window and branches smack the panes again. It’s so loud, Tori yelps. I’m about to make a quip about the weather and Jacks’s tree paranoia, but before I can, the light above me pops dead. It takes a beat for us all to register what’s happened, but when we do, the house explodes in noise.

“The glue gun’s off!” cries Peter.

“My machine too!” Tori pumps the pedal, but nothing happens.

“It’s a power outage, guys. Nothing to freak out over.” I dust the tortilla crumbs from my hands and make my way back the living room.

“But we need to finish this!” Peter gestures to his float, which only has stars glued to one side.

“Give the city an hour and it’ll be back on.”

“Do you have a back-up generator?” Peter asks Tori.

“Normal people don’t own back-up generators, Pete,” I say.

“Hosei has some solar cells!” Tori rounds on her brother with a hopeful face and I want to kick myself for the “normal” comment. Fine, maybe there are some good reasons for Hosei to hate me.

 “They aren’t hooked up to anything or charged.” A flush spreads over Hosei’s cheeks. “They’re… umm… for emergencies.”

“This is an emergency!” Along with Mom’s artistic talents, Peter also got her flare for the dramatic. “If we don’t finish this float, the PTA will ban us from next year’s parade!”

“Calm down.” I place my hands on Peter’s shoulders and force him to look at me. “It’s a power outage. Not the end of the world.”

The words are hardly out of my mouth when the storm decides to prove me wrong. A giant, meteorological I-told-you-so. Lightning snaps outside the windows, thunder following immediately at its heels. My eyes burn in the afterglow, the fringes of my vision swirling a hazy blue. We must be at the center of the storm.

“Ow! Wren, let go.” Peter pries my hands off him, and I realize I’ve got my brother in a vice grip. I’m about to apologize – maybe try to laugh off the fright the lightning gave me, but before I can, another bolt strikes beside the house. Only this time it isn’t thunder that follows, but a voice, thready and lilting.

My heart, it grows weak and my blood, it runs thin,

They tore out my hair and they’ve stolen my skin,

I’ll lie by you bare if you let me come in.

Let me come in, won’t you? Won’t you?

I have to grab Peter’s shoulder again to steady myself. It isn’t the lyrics themselves that scare me, but the fact that the song is so familiar. It’s like I’ve known the melody for years, and yet I can’t place it anywhere. It’s as though whoever’s singing it is trying to convince me I have a memory that can’t possibly be real.

For a second, I’m sure I imagined it.  But in the gloom, I see Peter’s mouth hanging open. Shock colors all our faces, even Hosei’s, though he’s the first to move. He steps towards the window, where the blue glow has intensified. It wasn’t an afterglow. There’s really something outside. Hosei walks towards the light. “It’s happening…”

A shadow slides across the blue light and before Hosei can reach it, I lunge and drag him backward. “Get away from there!”

“What?” He tries to fight me off, but I’m stronger than him.

“There’s somebody out there.” It takes all my effort not to shout and draw even more attention to us. But I know what I saw. And if Hosei thinks a strange person appearing on a stormy night means anything other than trouble, then our Film Club clearly isn’t paying enough attention to the horror movie selections.

***

Today's Poll...

What a mysterious storm!!! And who IS the dark shadow outside the Yoshida house?
a) Wren is right! Bad guys are outside and they're coming for Wren!!!
b) Wren is NEVER right! Good guys are outside and they're looking for Hosei. Duh.

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Thursday, July 21, 2016

Chapter Two




Dad and I spend most of the drive home grumbling at the radio for playing more commercials than songs. There’s a grocery store advertising “Fresh Fish Friday” and an automotive repair chain with an absurdly catchy jingle.

Dad grimaces. “Do these people know what they’re doing to me? I’m going to spend my next shift humming ‘tune it up up up today’ at every druggie we book.”

“You’re going to need mental health leave from work. You should definitely sue them.” I say encouragingly.

“Dear jingle writers,” Dad says. “I have seen men bleed to death in the streets, but thanks to you, I am no longer in possession of my own mind.”

We laugh easily, everything way more natural than the so-called “bonding” we did at Fisherman’s Wharf. We’ve made fun of radio commercials my whole life. Our words feel rehearsed, not that it’s a bad thing. Lately I’ve found myself wishing that life ran on an actual script; that it didn’t require so much improv. Maybe then I wouldn’t spend so much time wondering what we’re supposed to do without Mom.

Speaking of improv, when we arrive home, Peter is standing in front of the garage, very much in the way. Dad doesn’t even bother taking the keys from the ignition. Instead, he chuckles under his breath. “Well, what’s Petey dreamed up this time?”

Technically we both lied to Dad about having a meeting, but until now, I hadn’t given what that meant a lot of thought. Not so with Peter. My little brother waits for us with a tremendous scowl on his face and a backpack the size of France. I got more than my fair share of Dad’s “sporty” genes, but Peter practically went out of his way to avoid them. He’s short and soft bodied, his hands tuned better to the rhythms of paint brushes and video game controllers than a softball. The backpack looks ready to eat him alive.

“Are we going on a Film Club camping trip?” I climb out of the car, almost expecting to see a collection of his little Film Club friends carrying sleeping bags, but he can’t have organized that, can he? Or is this one of those doubt-not-the-force-of-the-Peter moments? What my little brother lacks in athleticism he eclipses with sheer tenacity.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Peter straightens his neck in an attempt to come eye-to-eye with me. He’s milking this act for all he’s worth, the little stinker. “We’re decorating the parade float, remember?”

“Ohhhhh…”

Dad laughs at my feeble attempt to hide my disappointment. Really, it’s my own fault. I asked for Peter’s help and my options are to either look like a rotten liar or go along with whatever scheme he’s dreamed up this time.

“The keys are in the car. Where are you headed?” Dad asks.

“The Yoshidas,” says Peter, lugging his bag into the backseat. “I think they’re gonna feed us dinner.”

“Sounds great. Keep your cell phones on, okay kids?”

“Yup,” I say, not bothering to resist. The Yoshidas. Plural. Of course.

It’s not a long drive, but even I don’t want to carry Peter’s trail pack the kilometer or so it takes to get to the Yoshida household. Both our families live in the same non-descript suburban neighborhood near Belmont High, all modest, single family homes that haven’t been updated since the Eighties. I turn the radio off, my fingers tapping against the steering wheel to the rhythm of music that’s no longer playing.  

Peter tilts his seat back and stares at the car’s felted interior, hands laced together over his tummy. “So,” he says.

“So.” I feel my lip curl in a smile.

“Can you park somewhere? Just for a few minutes?” he asks.

“Oh, are we not going to the Yoshida’s after all?” I keep my tone teasing, because it really will hurt Peter if he picks up on how much that would please me.

“No, you’re not getting out of our meeting.” He smirks. “I just wanted to ask… what made you leave? Did Dad say something or…?”

I pull into a stranger’s driveway. If someone asks what we’re doing here, I’ll tell them I stopped to admire the rose bushes. I don’t respond quickly. Of all people, Peter is the one I’m most determined to be strong for. Dad’s about as emotionally available as a blender these days and Casey’s worse. The reason I’m getting through this at all is because Peter needs me.

“No,” I say finally. “It just got to be too much.”

“It’s Fish n’ Chips, Wren,” says Peter, picking up the empty cardboard container left over from my fries.

“Yeah? Then why didn’t you want to come, too? Hmm? No one has that much homework in ninth grade.” I put the car back into gear. I’m ready for this discussion to be over, enough so that the Yoshidas are sounding like good company.

“I dunno, I thought…” Peter tugs absentmindedly on his seatbelt. “Maybe he’d say something to you? Something he wouldn’t say to me.”

“He hasn’t.”

“But you’d tell me? If he ever…?”

“Peter, you know I would.” I give him the fiercest big sister look I can; the kind that’s meant to inspire confidence when his dreams are filled with nightmares about Mom. “You’re my partner in this, one hundred percent. I’m sure Dad knows that. It’s probably why he hasn’t told me anything.”

Peter nods, still not meeting my gaze.  We drive the rest of the way in silence, because we don’t need to speak in order to know we’re mulling over the same things. I wish I could be that child Dad wanted to confide in, but since I’ve got ulterior motives, it’s probably no surprise I’m not.

Both Peter and I agree Dad doesn’t tell us everything about the investigation. He’s a police officer, so he must hear chatter from the guys working on Mom’s missing person’s case. He’s not supposed to, but you can’t convince me it doesn’t happen. And even if he weren’t a cop, the police must be asking him tougher questions than the rest of us. In a disappearance like Mom’s, the husband is always the prime suspect.

The last time I saw Mom it was Wednesday night, April 23rd. You can’t forget the details once you’ve had to restate them to the police a hundred times. By the time my alarm woke me up at 7:30 am, April 24th, she was gone. Weirdly enough, I left for school more worried about Dad than her. What if something happened on his beat and he was in a hospital somewhere, Mom gripping his hand at his bedside? I was being stupid for worrying, but your mind can play games with you when your parents don’t turn up where they should be.

Then I got a text from him at lunch hour. “Where’s your mother?” Where indeed.

Disappearances are the worst way to lose someone. The tragedy hits you nice and slow. You can feel yourself swallowing it, like a dry pill. I spent the first day in denial. She wasn’t picking up her phone, but maybe it was for a fun reason. Maybe we were on a new reality TV show and our reactions were being filmed right now. We’d win a million dollars if I didn’t panic. I only fell asleep that night because I talked myself into believing things were okay. She’d show up tomorrow, with some crazy story and her excuses would be so funny, none of us would be mad she vanished.

But you can't hold on to dumb fantasies like that forever. Soon we were filing a missing person’s report and her picture was on CHEK news, asking people to phone in if they sighted her. I dragged my mattress into Peter’s room and held his hand at night, because I couldn’t stand the sound of him crying through the wall.

I only cried once. The first time the police interviewed me, I held it together right until they said, “thank you, sweetie. You’ve been so helpful.” And it was such a lie, I couldn’t take it. I sobbed for an hour. My face looked like a fried tomato, but I couldn’t stop. I hadn’t helped anyone. I couldn’t help anyone. What can you do when your mother slips away without a trace? They tore our house apart looking for evidence, but there was no sign of foul play. No sign of anything other than an empty family.

I’ve got one lead – one hunch I can’t let go of, that maybe can help my mom. But it’s something I can’t tell the police. They’ll take it the wrong way. But I know my father’s hiding something. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be so resigned to what happened. He actually uses a different word than the rest of us when he talks about Mom. She didn’t disappear, she left. Left. You have no idea how much that word riles me up.

I turn into the Yoshidas’ driveway, still morose, and not paying enough attention to my dippy younger brother. Against my wishes, Peter leans across my lap and honks the horn, a fresh grin on his face as I shove him away. I swear, if slamming the horn every time we come to the Yoshidas’ didn’t make him absurdly happy, I would have so many words for him. At our overblown entrance, the front door opens and Tori Yoshida bounds out, dark black hair tumbling like an ocean wave behind her.

“Petey Petey Petey!” she shouts, greeting him halfway to the car. “Best idea! I’ve got, like, ten pounds of glitter glue we can use. Ten pounds of glitter!”

“That definitely won’t be enough,” says Peter.

“I called Johnathan and Kimmy. They’re gonna come over in an hour. David has a track meet, so he’s out, but he was super bummed. I promised we’d make him an awesome costume. I was so scared we weren’t gonna do this! I mean, you know, because of stuff.” Tori looks at us meaningfully, which could be a really uncomfortable moment if she stopped talking for longer than five seconds. The reason we’re so late finishing the float is because Mom wanted to help us. Peter insisted she’d come back on time.

“But here we are!” Tori throws her arms wide. “Floating! Floating to the staaaaaars!” She spins in a circle laughing and Peter immediately copies her. I don’t know how middle school didn’t manage to beat the enthusiasm out of her, but she is the most adorable, hyper-active fourteen-year-old I’ve ever known. You can’t help liking Tori, even if her attack-hugs get annoying on occasion. If she were the only Yoshida, this would be a great place.

But the ongoing commotion draws out Yoshida #2. Hosei frowns at our whirling younger siblings, looking about a thousand times too serious for the “I Want To Believe” X Files shirt he’s wearing. The May weather has prompted him to don a pair of too-short shorts, which you can tell he hasn’t replaced since last summer. Hosei grew about a foot this year and he still looks incredibly uncomfortable in his brand new stork legs.

“Are we gonna work on this thing, or what?” he asks, fists stuffed inside his pockets.

“Hosei’s excited too!” says Tori, completely sincere, and for all I know, she’s right. I have literally never seen her brother look anything besides perturbed, but he must have a larger emotional range underneath the scowling.

“Hi, Hosei. What are you planning on putting on the float?” I ask, but I only get a nod back. Friendship attempt number five thousand sixty-seven… rejected. He shuffles inside the house, leaving the door ajar so that we know to follow him in. Behind me, Peter and Tori hoist the hiking pack from the backseat, already making plans for the junk inside.

When Tori and Peter decided to start the Belmont High School Film Club, they needed backing from two upperclassmen in order to get approval. And the one thing Hosei and I have in common is that we’re both suckers for our younger siblings. He shows up for every club function, but he isn’t what you would describe as engaged. He puts on his headphones through most of our post-movie discussions and fell asleep during Jurassic Park last month, which, frankly, felt a bit personal since it was my turn to pick the movie.

He probably wouldn’t annoy me so much if I didn’t feel like it was my job to include him. I can sometimes convince my friends to attend our meetings, if we happen to watch a movie they’re interested in, but Hosei never brings anyone. Truthfully, he hasn’t got anyone to bring. He’s a total loner at school and I know some of the guys tease him. I make my friends lay off him, but… well, it’s not hard to guess why it happens. He’s a weirdo. Last year in Planning 10 we had to present a project on what careers interested us and he legitimately got up there and said he wanted to track Big Foot one day. Everyone but me laughed. I’ve seen his bedroom.

What I’m saying is he doesn’t have options, so you would think he would like me. You would think.

Inside, he’s got a stack of books on the paranormal opened on the coffee table. They’ve got titles that belong on romance novels like A Dance For The Devil And You and Messages From Beyond The Beyond. I’d tell him to get a hobby, but clearly, that’s where the problem started.

Mr. Yoshida doesn’t appear to be home, but he’s got a touch of his son’s obsessive nature. He’s an avid birder and his house is covered with photos he’s taken at parks around the city. Between the picture frames, I think the walls are beige, but who can be sure? During one Film Club meeting, he cornered me and went into lengthy detail about each one.

To your left, you can see the yellow crested nightwarbler and above the mantle are a pair of blue feathered tit tweeters.

So fine, I made those up.

But he’s a nice man and likes to order us pizza, so I shouldn’t complain about being here. Most of the prints in isolation are quite beautiful. My favorite is a large crane he photographed on a trip home to Japan. You’d almost think the photo was an ink drawing, the lines are so stark, but above the crane’s eye is a blood red mark. She hangs in the bathroom across from the toilet because, as Mr. Yoshida says, “isn’t that where we all like to stop and have a think?”

Tori pushes aside the living room furniture, spilling Hosei’s ghost books and unseating a letter opener shaped like a duck. “Hosei! Get the tarp out of the garage.”

“Did Dad say we could use it?” he asks, but heads for the door.

“You think he wants glitter glue on the rug?” Tori fires back.

“Shouldn’t we be doing this outside?” I ask.

“Can’t. Rain in the forecast.” Peter rubs his hands together, breathing deeply. “Okay… so guys, this has to be good.”

I bite my lip. “Peter…”

“Amazing, even! I’ve got a whole plan.” He slaps his hand on top of the hiking pack. Tori responds to this like she’s taking orders from a general and starts unloading rolls of construction paper and coat hangers from inside. “We’re going to make it look like Hollywood stars. The Walk of Fame. And then all of us are going to dress up like Golden Era icons.”

“It sounds amazing, Pete, but we should be realistic,” I say. “The parade is on Monday.”

“Nope. No way. We’re going to prove to them we can do this.”

“Prove it to who?” Hosei asks, arriving back with a tarp rolled under his arm.

Peter flushes self-consciously, and I almost want to kick Hosei for embarrassing my little brother, but Tori saves face for everyone. She throws all four limbs into the air and crows. “To the world!”

Ladies and Gents, welcome to Film Club.
***
TODAY'S POLL...
Clearly, a lot is on the line when it comes to decorating this float. But how does it turn out for everyone? Do things go...
a) Better than hoped, but they are cruelly interrupted by a mysterious, massive power outage.
b) Worse than feared, but they are mercifully interrupted by a strange, frantic call from Wren's Dad.

*** The poll should be in the upper, right hand corner of the page. If you are having trouble viewing it on your cell phone, click the "View Web Version" link at the bottom of the page and the poll should then be in the right place. Happy voting! ***


Sunday, July 3, 2016

Chapter One




The dock shifts and sighs under my feet, like a giant beast taking a long breath. I lean against the railing, dangling a french fry over and trying to catch the attention of the seals below. Their plump, gray bodies twist around the dock pilings, but the only interest I’m getting is from the seagulls. Jerks.

I swear, the fattest seals in Victoria hang out at Fisherman’s Wharf, glutting themselves on the good graces of tourists and locals alike. Behind me, a one-hour line up of cruise ship passengers places their orders at the fish n’ chip shop and in front of me are the candy-colored houseboats that call this dock home. They’re like something out of a westcoast faerie tale and keep the visitors coming back year after year. Further down the dock, a little girl pulls on her mother’s hand, begging her to buy some chum to throw to the seals. Lucky, chubby devils.

“You gonna eat those, Wren?” Dad pokes me directly on the elbow, which has always felt weird, no matter how many times he does it. He’s got this super human gift that makes him hit the nerve that runs across the joint every single time.

So I squirm away, but with a smile on my face. Or at least half of one. “I dunno, they’re kind of soggy.”

“You dumped half a bottle of vinegar on them.”

“I like vinegar, okay?” I say and shove ten fries in my mouth at once. My eyes screw up, but I’m too proud not to swallow. Plus, I want to see him laugh. My throat is burning when I finally gag them down. “See?”

And sure enough, he does, dimples pulling his red, scruffy beard into a mess of prickly ripples. He hasn’t shaved since Mom disappeared. “Wren, we’re out in public.”

“Let them take photographs. They're here to sight-see, aren't they?” I wave another fry around like a baton and a hopeful seagull hops closer. I eat it for two reasons – to annoy the birds and keep Dad laughing.

Eurgh… This one is mush, it’s so wet, but I don’t dare say more. Today is a big deal for Dad. We’ve gone out. We’re bonding. And nothing brought our family together quite like fish n’ chips. Mom and I used to spend hours arguing about who made the best in town, my older sister Casey covering her ears and begging us to shut up. I don’t know if Dad did it on purpose, but we’re at Mom’s favorite chip shop, not mine. The place on the harbor causeway has the better fries and yes, they can handle my preferred levels of vinegar drenching.

But Fisherman’s Wharf has the seals. And Mom never cared what her food tasted like so long as she could see the damn seals.

The little girl I noticed a few minutes ago has finally cajoled her mother into submission and they’ve bought a pile of scraps from the on-dock fresh fish market. The kid is so excited, she jostles the plate and a piece of salmon skin flops into the water. In a second, the seals smell the meat and glide to her spot on the dock. Whiskery noses break the water and she squeals as one goes for a large hunk of fish in her hand. She drops it out of excitement, thank heaven. No toddlers with seal bites today. They’re wild animals, no matter how much they look like underwater puppy dogs.

That’s why Mom never let us buy the plates of scraps. “Lazy old codgers,” she’d say. “They should be out hunting.”

I never actually fed the seals with my mother, even with all the hundreds of times we’ve come here, but I can’t handle watching this little girl do it. It isn’t fair she’s got this memory with her Mom and I don’t. My eyes sting, but not because of the vinegar.

What’s wrong with me? I’m jealous of a four-year-old. The soggy fries, the seals, Dad laughing. It’s just too much. A bubble rests at the bottom of my throat and I know if I stay here any longer, I’m going to break down. And I haven’t done that for over a month. Not since Mom disappeared.

Dad’s busy dunking his cod inside the tartar sauce, so I seize the opportunity to fish my cellphone from my pocket. I work fast, texting Peter.

ME: I need an escape ASAP.

“I thought they put more dill in the tartar sauce,” says Dad, brow furrowed.

“No, that’s the one in the harbor.” I stash my phone in my pocket and try to look innocent, but it’s wasted effort. Dad’s still focused on his fish.

“Really? Huh. Why is it you like coming here, then?” he asks.

I struggle to think of a response, but he doesn’t seem concerned with the answer. His eyes are swallowed up in the ocean, both a murky shade of gray. Dad was always the thoughtful one in the family, or at least I assume he is. That’s what people do when they’re quiet and don’t have a movie on, right? Think? It’s the assumption I’m working on. Luckily, my phone buzzes, saving me from the ramblings of my own mind.

PETER: Why? Where are you?

ME: With Dad. Doesn’t matter. PLEEEEEEAAAAASE

PETER: You’re a terrible daughter.

I’m about to text something grumpy back at him, but before I can get the message off, Dad’s hand flies to his pocket. His ring tone is set to Gladys Knight’s Midnight Train to Georgia, a song I’ve never understood his fascination with but kind of makes me adore him.

“Hello? Oh, Peter!” He smiles, because like all rational people, he loves Peter. “No, Wren didn’t mention a meeting. Maybe she forgot?”

Dad looks at me and on cue my hands fly to my mouth. Bless you Peter, you’re a miracle worker. “I did! Dad, I’m so sorry-”

Dad nods in understanding and yes, I feel horrible like I should, but not horrible enough. “We’re about done with lunch. I can get her there in fifteen minutes. Okay, see you.”

“I really am sorry,” I say.

“Not a big deal.”

He hangs up and dumps the rest of his half-eaten fish in the compost bin. It’s not like him to leave food unfinished or to hurry away from something before he’s done. But judging by the bounce in his step, he’s relieved we’re leaving too.  We’re off the dock and in the parking lot faster than I’d dared hope, which seems awful the moment we reach the car.

As Dad fires the ignition, I suck the vinegar off the end of one of my fries. I kept mine. Even if they aren’t that great, they’re french fries, for goodness sake! You don’t treat french fries lightly. As we pull out of the lot, the rooftops of the Fisherman’s Wharf houseboats bob in the distance, all shades of cherry and lime. Usually I love them. But today, they seem to be waving goodbye.

***
TODAY'S POLL...
There's nothing like a friend you can count on to pull you out of an awkward situation. But who is this mysterious Peter? He clearly means a lot to Wren, but why? Is he...
a) Wren's Ex-Boyfriend
b) Wren's Younger Brother
Vote on who you think Peter should be. The poll is located in the top, right hand corner of the page. Then tune in next time to see Peter in action!

*** The poll should be in the upper, right hand corner of the page. If you are having trouble viewing it on your cell phone, click the "View Web Version" link at the bottom of the page and the poll should then be in the right place. Happy voting! ***