Death, and the Girl He Loves

“Yeah, whatever. You sucker-punched me.”

“Dude, I told you I was going to hit you.”

“Yeah, but I thought you were just talking crap. I didn’t expect you to follow through.”

Kenya stood and brushed herself off. She turned to me, her chest swelling with something I hadn’t expected. Pride. “Better,” she said, a mischievous grin lighting her face. “Much, much better.”

I would never figure that girl out.

“Now that the MMA exhibition fight is over,” Mac said, one corner of his mouth twitching, “can we hear more about this new talent of yours?”

I looked around at everyone. My family. Members of the Order. My best friends on earth. Embarrassment rushed through me like a wildfire, scorching my insides. “Sorry,” I said.

“Oh, no you don’t.” Kenya stood again, her stance aggressive. “Don’t you dare run back to your hidey-hole.”

“What are you talking about, Kenya?” I asked, becoming frustrated.

“You got spunk, girlfriend.” She backhanded my arm in camaraderie. “Let it shine.”

“You don’t have to make fun of me.”

“No, I mean it. That girl that just showed up? The one who tried to kick my ass? That’s who you are. Deep down inside. And that’s who you need to be if we are going to do this. So, chin up, Balboa.”

NO PRESSURE

After things settled down, I explained exactly how I did what I did. Mac was worried about the possibility of an honest-to-goodness concussion, so Jared and Cameron brought out one of the cots we had set up in the archive room.

“She might have a concussion already,” Brooke said. “She hit hard. Either her head split or the floor. Not sure which.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not as hardheaded as you are. And by the feel of things, it was my head and not the floor.”

“Then you gave it a run for its money, I can tell you that much. Quite the combatant today,” she added with a soft laugh.

Grandma lowered the lights a little as Jared took my hand and helped me lie down on the cot.

“I’m not sure I can do this with everyone standing around.”

“Sure you can,” Kenya said, excited about the prospect of watching.

“No, she’s right,” Granddad said.

“That’s okay.” Mr. Henderson waved a hand. “We’ll go. Just let us know what you find out.”

Mr. Henderson was one of the members furious with my grandparents for sending me away. I wasn’t sure how to feel about him now. While I understood his misgivings on one level, I couldn’t help but hold a certain amount of resentment toward him, toward all of those who gave my grandparents a hard time while I was gone. It was probably best that he leave.

Everyone except my family members and best friends left. Unfortunately, that did little to relieve my doubt.

“Okay, Pix, how’s this?” Mac asked as he knelt beside me.

“Great. No pressure, right?”

He grinned that charming grin of his. “None at all. If this doesn’t work, that’s okay, honey.”

Glitch handed me the sketchbook. “Good luck,” he said.

I nodded.

“You can do this,” Brooke said. She took the seat that Grandma had set beside the cot.

Cameron stood at the foot of the cot while Jared stood at the head. I tilted my head back and looked at him. He winked at me. Even upside down, that guy could stop a heart with one grin. Actually, he probably could stop a heart with one grin, since that was his job and all. He was so handsome, though. So magnificent. God took his time on that one.

“We’ll be right here,” he said.

They were there for a reason. If I did have a seizure or whatever it was that happened before, my grandparents didn’t want me getting hurt, so I had bodyguards of a sort.

Nervousness tingled inside me as I took the sketch and looked it over again. It really was rudimentary. Embarrassment washed through me for the umpteenth time, and I realized Kenya was right. I really needed to get over myself.

I siphoned cool air in through my nose and out through my mouth in concentration. I needed to go further back this time. I wanted to see my parents. Or not. This was the most painful day of my existence. The day they disappeared. Did I really want to see that again?

Just getting into the picture would be hard enough. I decided to leave it at that. To just do my best. After one last look at Mac, who was still kneeled beside me, I touched the image. It was cool beneath my fingers. The texture of the drawing paper almost rough. I focused, relaxed my eyes until the lines I’d drawn merged into a blur. Then I closed my eyes. And I waited. And waited. This time there was no wind. No roaring or whipping of dirt in the air.

“I don’t think it worked,” I said, opening my eyes.

The room had brightened and I blinked as Grandma turned the lights back up. But it wasn’t Grandma. It was the sun. I was outside. I was at the ruins where my parents had disappeared.

Startled, I looked up and saw the demon again, its shoulders blocking out a good portion of the afternoon sky. I bit down, tried not to let my fear catapult me out of the picture this time. If he was already here, that would mean that my parents were already gone. I looked around for them frantically anyway, but all I saw was a little girl staring up at the demon. Her curly red hair stuck out in all the wrong places. Her tiny hands curled into fists as she looked up at the beast. At Malak-Tuke. And just like Kenya said, I stood my ground. I was only six years old, but I was ready to fight the demon until my dying breath. If only I still had that sense of bravado. That bravery that only innocence brings.