Annabeth Neverending Read online

  I stand there waiting, and finally he opens up. He looks pretty raggedy, with dark puffy circles under his eyes, like he hasn’t been sleeping. Or paying attention to personal hygiene. Gabriel ushers me into his filthy room. Leftover food and takeout containers are scattered throughout.

  This feels like the last part of a rom com, when the couple has broken up, leaving the guy bereft, until he finally comes to his senses and wins back his love in the contrived finale. The thing is…While in some weird universe what’s gone on between me and Gabriel may have been construed as “rom,” it isn’t the least bit funny. There is no “com” to be had.

  “I need you to be honest with me. Did you start the fire?”

  “Yes,” he says, without hesitation.

  “But you didn’t mean to, right? It was an accident! Your powers went haywire again. Things were beyond your control,” I cry out.

  Gabriel chuckles evilly. “Yes and no. Don’t you get it? You’re the one who keeps setting me off! I do horrible things when I see you with my brother. You’re the trigger,” he says as he clenches his fists, as though the very thought is more than he can bear.

  Even though I knew it to be true, I couldn’t allow myself to believe the horror of it. I didn’t want to accept the blame, my part in all of it.

  Why do I bring out such jealous devotion in both of these brothers? I mean, what’s so wonderful about me anyway? Most guys don’t even like redheads, let alone freckle-covered ones!

  “Some of my classmates, some of my teachers, were hurt. Somebody could’ve died,” I say ominously.

  Gabriel’s voice takes on a gruff quality. “I want you so badly. And my powers are making sure nothing comes between us. Nobody is safe if I’m around you. That’s why you need to keep your distance.”

  “I don’t know if I can,” I say.

  This is really messed up. He thinks he may have injured countless teachers and students, but he doesn’t sound absolutely positive, and his room for doubt fuels mine. Despite the probability of guilt, I’m still drawn to him, and now I’ve admitted more than I should have…to him or myself.

  Gabriel’s crooked grin makes its appearance. I’m about to run out the door. But Gabriel won’t allow it. Instead, he grabs my arm. I try to jerk away, but I have no upper-arm strength on a good day—I can’t even do one pull-up—and I’m certainly no match for Gabriel on a bad one like this.

  “No, I’m not letting it go that easy. I’m not letting you go that easy. I need to hear you say it. How do you feel about me?” he demands, snarling.

  “You first,” I say.

  “That’s mature,” he says with a leering grin…Kha’s leering grin.

  Before, the last thing I wanted to hear from his lips was that sentence, “I love you,” and now I want him to say it. I’m not sure what I’ll do when it happens, but I know that I must hear it.

  “Fine. I love you, and I’ve loved you ever since the first time I caught you in my arms. Happy now?”

  Now that he’s done it, now that he’s put the words out there, in their wrongness they feel so right.

  “No, I’m not happy! Damn it, Gabriel. You’re ruining everything.”

  And it’s true. He’s singlehandedly destroying my relationship with C. J. simply by caring for me. And that’s only part of it. He’s already ruined so much more.

  “I’m still waiting for you to say it back,” he demands hostilely.

  “I want you because I shouldn’t, and I want C. J. because I should,” I admit with difficulty, though it easily pours out of me anyway. “But just because I feel that way doesn’t mean I’m going to act on it.”

  “I wouldn’t expect that. I’m much too dangerous,” says Gabriel as he wags his eyebrows. “Though you seem to like that, don’t you? Maybe Kha was really the one you wanted all along.”

  Hearing him say it makes me think there’s a chance he’s right. And so I don’t answer him. Instead, I leave. I don’t bother saying good-bye. Why stand on manners now? I start with a walk, but it quickly turns to a run.

  Will I need to run forever?

  I don’t stop sprinting until I arrive at my mom’s car. I hop inside and lock the door. Did I keep all this from C. J. because I didn’t want to admit the terrible truth to myself? If I could have feelings for somebody who’s evil, that must mean that I’m evil too. Gabriel must have corrupted me in ancient Egypt, and surely he’s corrupting me again in this life.

  And if that’s the case, why does it feel so good?

  I can’t hide it from C. J. any longer. I have to tell him the truth. At least, the truth as I know it. It’s going to make me sound like I’m a lunatic, but C. J. has the right to know what’s going on. And maybe if I enlist his help, we can save Gabriel before he’s too far gone. And before I’ve gone with him.

  Dora allows me into C. J.’s home, looking at me suspiciously all the while. “He’s upstairs in his room. You can go up and see him if you want.”

  “Thank you,” I say while moving around her to head up the stairs.

  “Now, you aren’t going to hurt him, are you?” she asks while inspecting her newly manicured nails.

  What the hell? This is beyond good parenting, heading into weirdness.

  “No, I just need to talk to him.”

  “Because he really likes you. I’m just looking out.”

  I try to tell myself that it’s sweet how much C. J.’s stepmother cares for him. But it’s not.

  I rush into C. J.’s room. It could be the bedroom of any teenage boy in the country, filled with trophies and sports paraphernalia. Though there is one distinction. A poster for the movie The Mummy is hanging in the center of it all.

  C. J. is lying on a plaid flannel-covered bed, wearing a University of Maine tee and jeans. He’s deep in the throes of a video game, but tosses the controller aside and sees me eying the poster.

  “Do you like it? I got it at work.”

  I nod, noting that he’s probably in the early stages of Egyptifying his bedroom. Who knew I was such a tastemaker? And why is it that I’ve had nothing but a positive effect on C. J. and nothing but a negative effect on Gabriel?

  “We need to talk. Gabriel caused the fire at the dance,” I blurt out, even though I previously had a drawn-out explanation planned. I proceed to fill him in on the other things Gabriel had a hand in…the mugging, the burial alive.

  C. J. crosses his arms and evaluates what must seem to him like a ridiculous tale, even to someone who believes the seemingly unbelievable. I feel terrible for being the one to bring this to light. Clearly, Gabriel never wanted his brother, his one ally in his family, to know the truth about his wrongdoings.

  “That’s a lot to take in,” he says, betraying his doubt in my outlandish story.

  “His evil—it’s building. Can’t you sense it?” I ask. I feel it with every inch of my being.

  “No, I can’t. Annabeth, he’s my brother. I’ve known him my whole life. And if he’s a black sorcerer from ancient Egypt, why didn’t you tell me before?”

  “I guess I didn’t want you to be jealous, because I was engaged to him in a previous existence.”

  “Oh, so now you were engaged…engaged?” C. J. cries, sounding tormented.

  “I didn’t choose to be. My father selected him for me,” I explain, hoping that the details will be compelling enough.

  “Annabeth, do I have reason to be jealous?”

  And now, I give in to my own dark nature…and I lie. “Of course not. You’re the only one I love. The only one I’ll ever love,” I say. And I must mean it to a certain extent, because he believes me.

  He looks to be deep in concentration. I pray C. J. finds a way to have faith in us.

  “I’ve seen more flickers of Kha in my memories, and while he didn’t seem outright evil, he didn’t seem good. Something was…off. That’s why I’ve kept my
distance from Gabriel emotionally. I can’t help it.”

  I nod knowingly.

  “But in the end, he’s still my brother. And I’ll always think of him that way. He may have been evil in the past, but I’m not sure he’s evil now. It’s just…It’s so hard for me to accept all of this.”

  “I understand,” I mutter.

  “But I can’t risk us getting hurt in this life. Better to err on the side of caution. He’ll understand if we’re wrong, so I’m betting on us. On you.”

  “You are?” I say with a disbelieving smile.

  “Yes, but we’re no match for black magic. Especially not if his powers are growing. Let’s run away together.”

  I go silent. Thinking of the possibilities, the hardships…

  “I need to redeem myself to you. I have to show you that I’m the man I once was. Let me be your hero,” says C. J. as he rises to his feet and reaches for me. I dive into his arms, where I finally feel safe, at ease.

  Everything he says makes sense. Soon, Gabriel won’t settle for flirtation. This must be where things have always been heading, toward our flight. C. J.’s and mine. This is the apex. The zenith. The climax.

  “But what would we do? Where would we go?”

  “Let me take care of all of that. Heroes don’t divvy up their duties,” C. J. says, resolute.

  “I’m not sure…” I’m hesitant. I can’t leave just yet. I have things to take care of…people to say good-bye to…loose strings to tie up. It would mean leaving everything I’ve ever known. Including Gabriel. Running away would be the easiest solution to all of my problems, but I have misgivings. Even though running off with C. J. should be my greatest fantasy.

  Whether I have nagging doubts or not, this is the only way. “I have some things I need to take care of first…some good-byes.”

  “And then we’re out of here.”

  C. J. kisses me. It’s insistent; it’s more aggressive than usual. Surely the excitement, the danger is fueling it. He runs his hands over me, and I welcome it. This is the beginning of our forever.

  I knock on Mrs. Lansing’s door and wait impatiently. What will she say to me? I don’t always follow her advice, but I value it nonetheless. And I’ve never needed her guidance as much as I need it now.

  After a prolonged pause, the door swings open on its own. A chill runs through me. My gut is telling me something, and this time I hope against hope that it’s wrong. Yes, I came to say good-bye, but this feels like something even more…final.

  “Mrs. Lansing?” I ask, dread invading my body, overtaking it, and ruling it.

  I tread lightly into the living room, uneasy about coming in uninvited. She believes in old-fashioned manners, like handwritten thank-you letters and calling an adult by “Mr.,” “Mrs.,” or “Miss.” Not even “Ms.” will do. Yet, I have no real choice. I have to talk to her. I need her take on this. She’s the only one who can see things clearly, for what they really are, because she’s more removed. I’m too inside of it, and it prevents me from knowing which way is up or down.

  I push the swinging door open into the kitchen, and I gasp. There she is, lying on the floor. She’s clutching her iPhone, unconscious. Her skin has taken on a sickly waxen pallor. She’s ashen, gray. And she doesn’t look…alive.

  I kneel down by her side and lightly push my fingers against her wrists, her neck, but there is no pulse to be had. The batting of her eyelashes, the taking of her breath, the rushing of her blood—it has all ceased.

  I dial 911. I speak to the operator, my straining voice crackling with anguish. I’m shaking; I’m quaking; I’m breaking down. She can’t be gone! Not my friend. Not my Mrs. Lansing.

  If only I hadn’t found her body, maybe I could refuse to accept it. And then it wouldn’t be true. But I did see her, and the picture of her pale little body, devoid of her larger-than-life personality will plague me forever. I need to crush the visual. I need to leave.

  I spy a subtle movement that makes me jump. And I realize that Mew Mew is lurking in the shadows of Mrs. Lansing’s house, observing me with her odd eyes.

  What’s she doing here? Does it even matter? Mrs. Lansing is dead!

  Still, that’s too bizarre, given the circumstances. Why would Mew Mew be inside her home, when Mrs. Lansing hated her? It’s not like she would’ve invited her inside for a bowl of warm milk. Maybe Mew Mew could sense that I needed her. I find her hiding underneath an oversized armoire and lure her out with some kind words. I hug her to my chest, and a trail of my tears falls upon her fur. Mew Mew’s ears flatten in protest.

  “I didn’t mean to get you wet.”

  I sit down with Mew Mew cuddling into me while I call my mother. She can help me navigate this tragedy. And maybe seeing death firsthand will make her less anxious to stare illness in the face.

  My mother embraces me as Mrs. Lansing is pronounced dead at the scene. So even though they’re loading her into an ambulance, she’s not going to the hospital. They’re taking her to the morgue. They say that the cause of death was inconclusive, and that an autopsy will have to be performed.

  I don’t want them to do an autopsy. They may say that it’s simply a postmortem examination, but we all know what that really means. I watch medical dramas by the handful. And I don’t want anyone cutting her apart. Yet, I have no say in the matter. We aren’t related by blood, and the coroner’s office will do as they must. An EMT picks up her phone and calls the number Mrs. Lansing had been dialing when she passed. My phone rings, and I burst out crying.

  “She was calling me! She needed me…”

  If only I could’ve been here for her, so she wouldn’t have had to live her last moments on this earth by herself. Though it does give me some comfort knowing that I meant that much to her.

  I remind myself that it’s all a cycle. And rest assured that she’ll see another day. That we’ll meet another day, even if I’m someone else.

  “She’s gone, but when I see her again, I may not recognize her,” I say under my breath.

  Mom looks at me and seems confused, but I can’t bother trying to explain.

  “You’ll see: time is the best healer. I would know,” my mother says while chucking me under the chin.

  Did Gabriel do this? Is he evil enough to have killed her?

  My mother hands me a picture set in a scrolling silver frame. It’s not entirely in plain view. Though it’s out in the open, sitting on her grand piano, it’s blocked by more recent, competing additions to her photo collection. But this is a portrait taken when she was young. I examine it carefully. She looked so different, yet so infinitely recognizable.

  “Why don’t you take this with you? I’m sure she’d want something for you to remember her by.”

  As though I could ever forget her.

  I stare at the photograph, transfixed. The hair is a 1950s bouffant, but what if it were a wig of braids? Her eyes are framed by cat’s-eye glasses, but what if they were coated with outrageous eye makeup? That neck is encircled by a Peter Pan collar, but what if it were layered with gold necklaces?

  All those features disguised by years of wisdom, wrinkles. I’d known her so long as an old lady; I never imagined her younger, more vibrant self. A self that had lived before…

  I practically choke when I make the connection. She was Nefertari!

  Was she able to access her memories? I doubt it; I feel like she would’ve told me. But maybe she suspected it. Did she move here, somehow waiting for me? Anticipating me? If only I could ask her. I’ll never be able to ask her anything now, I think, with a long sigh.

  Looking at this picture from her past causes the loss of her to rip through me anew. If only I had known who she truly was before. Even a day before she passed. Even a moment. So we could’ve shared the knowledge.

  No wonder I feel like my heart has been stripped from my chest, like my emotions have been torn
up, twisted around. It’s bad enough losing a friend, but I lost my mother. A birth mother, a mother I knew and came to care about through my memories, a friend I grew to love in the present. I decide to bury my sadness, entomb it as the ancient Egyptians did.

  How many other times has she been stolen from me when I needed her most? It’s like somebody removed the beam that was propping me up, and I’m collapsing under the weight of my sadness. It’s pouring out from under me.

  My mom calls C. J. and has him come over to soothe me while she finishes up with the authorities. He always knew how to calm me, console me, in ancient Egypt; hopefully he hasn’t lost the ability. C. J. rushes to my side and instantly proves he’s as sensitive to my needs as ever.

  “It’ll be OK, Annabeth. Everything will be OK.”

  I suppose I’m going hysterical, because I can’t stop crying. My fists are clenched so tightly that even my nonexistent fingernails are digging into the skin of my palms. C. J. rubs my back to pacify me.

  “She’s in a better place now. Isn’t that what they always say?”

  He gently forces me into submission by encircling me completely with his thick arms. He’s so insistent; I have no choice but to get a grip on myself. I feel a little better, now that I’ve let it out. Now that he’s holding me.

  And as always, he knows just what to say.

  “Try to dwell on all your best memories.”

  Not on those of her corpse.

  “Come on. I’ll get you home.”

  C. J. walks me back, and Mew Mew follows close behind. It’s a sad procession, which reminds me that there’s going to be a funeral. I’ll probably help plan it. But thinking that through is too much for me at the moment.

  It’s hard, but I must find a way to go on. She wouldn’t allow me to be completely consumed with my bereavement. She’d want me to continue to live my life. Even if there’s something strangely beautiful about being so grief stricken you just give up and give in.

  Then I swear I can hear something—or someone—stirring in the bushes.

  “What is that?” I ask C. J., softly but sharply.