Chapter 4 #2
“I hope you know that you have an extra Mama in this city now,” Karen spoke so earnestly, so authentically that I had no choice but to believe her. “A best friend of my daughter’s is another daughter to me.”
I nodded. “Thank you, Karen. I appreciate that.”
“Ugh, okay, Mom. We get it. You love her and all that jazz, but we have shit to see and do.” Sara-Kate pulled on my arm as she led us out of the restaurant into the snowy November afternoon.
The day was filled with laughter, and my headache and maybe tumor were forgotten as Sara-Kate showed me around all her favorite places in New York.
After a leisurely, snowy walk around Washington Square Park, we took the subway to the New York Public Library, and I registered for my library card.
I could have walked for hours, perusing every shelf.
Sara-Kate walked alongside me, filling the air with whispers of our conversation that varied from a test in pre-calc we had next week to my no-show chemistry study date.
“So, he literally just ghosted you on Tuesday and didn’t even have the guts to explain on Wednesday?” Sara-Kate asked, sipping her illegally smuggled-in hot chocolate she had bought off a street vendor.
“I already told you this, but yes,” I repeated, shelving another book. I already had three in my arms and would need to carry these back to the apartment later. “It’s really not that big of a deal. I don’t care.”
“The audacity of that boy,” Sara-Kate mumbled. “Well, now I hate him, so there.”
I laughed. “You can’t just hate the guy. You don’t know him. I don’t know him.”
“Um, yes, I can. He stood up my best friend. He can go suck it.”
I laughed a little too loudly, causing a nearby library patron to shush us quite intensely.
“Shhhh yourself, asshole,” Sara-Kate whispered, but just to me. We stifled our giggles as we made our way to the checkout desk with my new books.
Although it was snowing and the air turned colder than it had been all week, I felt warm and fuzzy inside.
The headache that had started to thrum around the base of my skull was barely noticeable as we meandered through the city and finally made our way through Central Park.
I hadn’t been back here since earlier this week; my nightmare about my Nana burning alive making me steer clear of the area.
But I couldn’t hide forever, and seeing that I would be with Sara-Kate made it seem bearable.
It was late afternoon when we made our way past Turtle Pond, our destination being the Metropolitan Museum of Art.
Though our friendship was new, I knew that Sara-Kate was an artist at heart.
She loved the fine arts: theater, singing, and painting.
Her dream currently was to get into Julliard either for theater or voice; she still couldn’t decide.
As we walked the familiar steps, a sense of dread and foreboding took root deep in my chest; the headache I had been ignoring reared its ugly head in full force. I squinted through the ever-falling snow, trying my best to pay attention to what Sara-Kate was saying.
“I mean, I keep telling my mom that maybe I should have a backup plan in case Julliard doesn’t work out, but she is so focused on getting me to lock in on my voice lessons and beefing up my resume.
I guess I have the opposite of a controlling helicopter mom who wants me to be a doctor, but one who like believes in me almost too much, you know?
” She continued to talk, pulling our hooked arms closer to conserve heat.
“What about your uncle and aunt? Are they cool?”
I rubbed the back of my neck absentmindedly, trying to rid myself of my headache as I replied, “Oh, it’s really too soon to tell, but definitely not getting mommy dearest vibes from Tiff or Uncle Dan. I’ve barely seen him since he’s so busy at the DA’s office.”
My words faded as I realized we were headed right for the Obelisk monument.
“Mari?” Sara-Kat tugged at my arm. “Are you okay? You look really pale.”
“Paler than usual?” I tried to joke, but the words stuck in my throat, my mouth unbearably dry.
The headache sharpened, feeling like a tight vice around my head, my vision blurring for a few moments.
“I just need a second.” I stumbled, but Sara-Kate held me tight, leading me to a bench right across from the monument.
“Take a deep breath. Here, have some water.” She pushed her water bottle towards me and I took gingerly sips.
“This can’t be happening again,” I mumbled, feeling a tinge of embarrassment flow through me.
“Again? Has this happened before?”
“Yeah, last weekend. I felt faint at the store, but I was doing better. Just some headaches every now and then. But this feels worse somehow.”
I closed my eyes, burying my head in my hands, trying to protect myself from the daylight that suddenly felt blinding. Sara-Kate gently rubbed my back in an effort to comfort me.
“Don’t stress, baby girl,” Sara-Kate chuckled. “Maybe you’re still experiencing jet lag or something.”
I looked up, eyebrows raised slightly. “From a two-hour plane ride a week ago?”
“Okay, maybe not,” Sara-Kate conceded, her smile turning concerned. “So, what do you think the deal is?”
But before I could respond, there was a loud scream; a deep, throaty screech that sounded more animal than human.
We both looked up and saw a man on his knees about ten feet away, screaming as he held his hands to his ears.
His face was scrunched in pain, his shaved head shining in the snowy light.
He eerily reminded me of Ashe, the girl who hadn’t been to school in a week after this very same thing occurred, not in appearance, of course, but an odd sense of déjà vu overcame me.
That same deep-seated feeling of dread flared, making my chest feel hollow and my headache burst anew.
A police officer made his way through the small crowd that had begun to gather around the man who was still screaming in what seemed to be a different language I couldn’t recognize.
He gently pulled the man to his feet, asking what was wrong, what had happened, and if he was hurt.
The man stopped screaming and turned his open mouth towards the stone Obelisk, inching towards it as if it were speaking to him.
“Ne znam ?ta ho?e? od mene!” The man screamed, his throat hoarse and raw from yelling. “Ostavi me na miru!”
He suddenly made a mad dash through the park, heading toward Fifth Avenue. The police officer took chase, and the crowd dissipated once they realized their entertainment for the afternoon was gone.
“God, this city is so bizarre,” Sara-Kate mumbled under her breath. “You’ll get used to all the weirdos New York has to offer soon enough.”
Instead of laughing, changing the subject, or even insisting we continue our way to the museum, I froze.
Because that man reminded me of Ashe in more ways than just the apparent public mental breakdown.
The man also had a golden tattoo of a strange sigil that seemed to branch out down his neck, disappearing underneath his clothes.
It glowed brightly against his dark skin as I watched him run out of the park.
But when I mentioned it to Sara-Kate later, she shook her head, insisting she didn’t see anything of the sort.
I had an eerie feeling that no one else could see it. No one besides me.
Later that night, I sat numb as I watched the local news report on how a Bosnian man allegedly went crazy and ran into oncoming traffic, dying on impact with a city bus.
At the same moment, Sara-Kate texted me that apparently Ashe wasn’t in rehab, but at the morgue.
She allegedly committed suicide earlier today.
SK ???????
I just saw online that Ashe killed
herself this morning. ?? So sad!
Mari ????
That’s awful. I know she was your friend.
I’m so sorry.
SK ???????
Yeah, I’m still in shock.
Can’t believe it.
Mari ????
Did you see the news?
The guy from the park apparently died too.
Ran out into traffic and got hit by a bus.
SK ???????
WHAT!? That’s crazy.
btw, how are you feeling?
Any better?
Mari ????
A little. Gonna go to bed early.
Hopefully that helps.
SK ???????
Just promise me you’ll tell your aunt
and uncle to take you to a doctor if
you don’t feel better.
Mari ????
Yes, mom. I promise.
The news story was muted; and as I continued to text Sara-Kate with one of my new library books open in my lap, I heard Uncle Dan come in. His footsteps were heavy as he headed to his office with a box of papers labeled as evidence.
“Hey there, Mari,” he grunted his greeting before closing his office door. He once again missed dinner, and I was sure he was in no hurry to face Tiffany yet. She had spent the majority of dinner complaining about Dan’s job and how he really didn’t need to work himself so much.
Usually, I wouldn’t bother Dan. I was content for us to remain more casual acquaintances rather than seeking a deeper connection.
I never had a dad and didn’t really feel the need for one now, but the pull to follow him was strong.
I set my phone and book down, turning the TV off before leaving the room.
I walked up to his dark oak office door, taking a deep breath to steady my nervous breathing.
For whatever reason, I wanted to talk to Uncle Dan.
I wanted to ask his opinion on Ashe and if he had any thoughts regarding her or the Michelle Nelson case.
For whatever reason, I had a strange feeling that maybe the two were connected.
Two deaths at Windsor Academy seemed too coincidental.
Then, adding on the man who got run over by the bus made it feel like this city was cursed.
I timidly knocked on the door. A moment later, his voice came through the door, muffled.
“Come in!”
I opened the door, closing it gently behind me. Uncle Dan was at his desk, which was overflowing with various papers. When he looked up, he breathed a sigh of relief.
“I thought you were Tiffany,” he chuckled, looking back down at his papers. “How mad is she?”
I shrugged as I made my way to one of the leather chairs that sat facing his desk. “She’s definitely not thrilled. But how is the case going? How many more late nights and weekends does she need to prepare for?”
Uncle Dan sighed heavily, leaning back in his chair as he rubbed his eyes beneath his glasses. “God only knows. We keep hitting hiccup after hiccup with this one.”
“It’s the Michelle Nelson case, right?” I asked, trying to hide the desperate tone in my voice. He was tired, and if I played my cards right, I was sure he could let a few things slip.
“Yeah,” he nodded, his brown eyes meeting mine from beneath his black-rimmed reading glasses. “Sad case that should be open and shut, but it’s proving to be more complicated.”
“How so?”
“Well, I can’t seem to get a moment alone with the defendant to do my own preliminary questioning,” he continued, leaning heavily on the desk. “His lawyer is also making it difficult for us to move forward with jury selection.”
I nodded. “Maybe the school could help with giving more info. Especially with what happened to Ashe earlier this week.”
Dan looked up sharply, his tone grave. “Who’s Ashe?”
“A girl at school who seemed to lose it during lunch on Tuesday. She was screaming about something and had to be taken off campus. There were rumors she was at a mental hospital or something, but my friend Sara-Kate just texted me that this girl apparently killed herself today.”
There was a brief silence as Uncle Dan took in this news.
“You think the two deaths may be related?” He posed the question thoughtfully, not outright calling me an idiot for asking, but genuinely seeming to want my opinion.
“Perhaps,” I explained. “It just feels strange that two people have died this semester in such a small private school.”
“And so you think the school may be hiding something? Since they are not helping with the case?”
I shrugged again. “Maybe. I don’t know.”
He nodded, grabbing a pen and paper and scribbling some notes down. “That’s interesting. I’ll have to bring this up with my investigator and PD contact. Maybe she knows if there is a link. Thanks for the heads-up, Mari.”
“No problem.” I stood, suddenly feeling heavier, more tired. “I think I’m gonna go to bed. It was a long day. Two deaths in one day are a lot to take in for my first week in New York.”
“What?” Uncle Dan looked up sharply.
“Oh,” I waved my hand, almost trying to put the words back into my mouth. Crap. “It was just a guy freaking out in Central Park, and when a cop tried to help him, he ran away and, according to the news just now, he ran into the street and got hit by a bus.”
Dan sat back in his chair, his eyes looking me over, as if trying to find any injuries.
“And how are you feeling? With everything? A lot has changed for you recently. Have you had anymore fainting incidents?”
I should have known that Tiffany would of course tell Dan about my little blackout in Saks last weekend, but with how much he has been working, it never occurred to me he would even remember to bring it up.
I should be honest and explain what happened in the park today, but something in my chest pulled sharply.
My Nana’s amulet heated abruptly as if in warning.
I shook my head, pulling the sleeves of my sweater down over my hands. “Nope. No more fainting spells. Just trying to get caught back up with school and get into a new routine.”
“Right.” Uncle Dan smiled tightly. “Well, don’t let me keep you. I’ll be up a while longer.”
“Night, Uncle Dan.” I turned to leave, halfway out the door when Dan spoke again.
“One more thing, Mari.” He took a moment to take off his glasses, looking into my eyes. “You’d tell me if anything was wrong, right?”
“Wrong?”
“Like, anything wrong with you? Like if you weren’t feeling well . . . having severe migraines?”
My eyes widened in panic. How did he know?
He waved his hand nonchalantly, seemingly trying to calm me. “It’s just something that runs in our family. Migraines, especially after a huge change or trauma. I’d just thought I’d check in.”
I schooled my features, trying to exhibit an air of calm, of confidence.
“Oh, yeah, just getting used to the cold. It may be getting to me, but I’m fine. I promise.”
I wasn’t sure why I didn’t just take that moment to tell him the truth about the headaches or about seeing weird golden tattoos on dead people.
It just didn’t feel right to divulge that information to him.
I wanted to be normal, and saying any of how I felt out loud felt like an omission that everything was anything but normal.
But as I left his office, I couldn’t help the feeling that Uncle Dan didn’t believe me. And that maybe he knew more about what was going on than he was leading me to believe.