Please, God, let it be an invitation to the policeman’s ball.
But I knew.
Please, God, let it only be minor injuries.
But I knew when the troopers stepped out of their car and donned their hats, stern-faced and reluctant in their strides. The hose dropped to the ground, where it hissed like an angry serpent. I’d wanted to run away, but my heart surged, drew all my blood from the rest of my body, and encased my feet in ice.
No! Don’t say it. Just don’t say it!
I wanted to rush them, to shut their mouths, to keep them from saying aloud what I already knew, as though unspoken words constrained the truth. If only I could silence the words I could keep them from being real.
But I knew. I knew my parents were dead.
I always knew things; my gift, or curse, of foreseeing outcomes. Not quite predicting the future, just knowing the end of a situation before the rest of the world. Unfortunately, most of the time, my foresight involved a death.
“Are you Miss Emari Sweet?” asked the blonde deputy. R Blair glinted from his name badge.
“Yes.” I sounded like a strangled mouse.
“Your parents are Zecharias and Jane Sweet—driving a maroon 2012 Cadillac?” Blair asked.
I folded my arms around myself, already held myself together as the troopers delivered the news.
“Miss Sweet, there’s been an accident on I-90 near Fourth of July Pass.” Blair’s eyes scanned my face and filled with hesitation. I nodded, too numb and racked with pain in the same instant. “I’m sorry to inform you, ma’am—that both of your parents were killed.”
I lunged at Deputy Blair. “No!” He held me at bay by my wrists. Someone was shrieking. The whole world secretly shifted a degree on its axis and forgot to tell me. I groped for a hold on the Earth and my sanity.
One of the troopers put a strong arm around my waist and began leading me inside. A wave of nausea twisted my stomach. I leaned over the porch rail and retched on the rose bushes. They guided me into the house, sat me on the couch and gave me a drink of water. My body shivered, in shock.
“Miss Sweet, is there someone we can call for you?”
Don’t you get it, you fucking moron, there is no one else! “No. I can call my Uncle Adrian.”
Blair handed me my cell from next to the couch and after three fumbling attempts, I dialed Adrian’s number.
“Uncle Adrian? Something…it’s Mom and Dad. Their car…they crashed. The police say they’re…” but I couldn’t say it. I couldn’t give life and solidity to words of death by speaking them aloud.
The troopers stayed with me until Adrian arrived. One of them was some sort of chaplain/cop or something. I didn’t really have much use for him, all things considered. So I sat, blind and empty, and caved in on myself.
Vaporous phantoms of the past haunted my wakefulness. Remembrances of happy times with my parents, family vacations to amazing places like Yellowstone and the Grand Canyon or chasing whales off the coast of San Diego. Tender moments that brought brief joy to recollect, but cut like a double-edged sword.
Nightmares of blaze-engulfed wreckage staked their claim on my sleep. An array of painful and gruesome images assaulted my mind each time I closed my eyes. Chimera stalked me, left me dreading sleep. I resisted its pull until it finally overtook me and I collapsed from exhaustion or narcotic
But I knew.
Please, God, let it only be minor injuries.
But I knew when the troopers stepped out of their car and donned their hats, stern-faced and reluctant in their strides. The hose dropped to the ground, where it hissed like an angry serpent. I’d wanted to run away, but my heart surged, drew all my blood from the rest of my body, and encased my feet in ice.
No! Don’t say it. Just don’t say it!
I wanted to rush them, to shut their mouths, to keep them from saying aloud what I already knew, as though unspoken words constrained the truth. If only I could silence the words I could keep them from being real.
But I knew. I knew my parents were dead.
I always knew things; my gift, or curse, of foreseeing outcomes. Not quite predicting the future, just knowing the end of a situation before the rest of the world. Unfortunately, most of the time, my foresight involved a death.
“Are you Miss Emari Sweet?” asked the blonde deputy. R Blair glinted from his name badge.
“Yes.” I sounded like a strangled mouse.
“Your parents are Zecharias and Jane Sweet—driving a maroon 2012 Cadillac?” Blair asked.
I folded my arms around myself, already held myself together as the troopers delivered the news.
“Miss Sweet, there’s been an accident on I-90 near Fourth of July Pass.” Blair’s eyes scanned my face and filled with hesitation. I nodded, too numb and racked with pain in the same instant. “I’m sorry to inform you, ma’am—that both of your parents were killed.”
I lunged at Deputy Blair. “No!” He held me at bay by my wrists. Someone was shrieking. The whole world secretly shifted a degree on its axis and forgot to tell me. I groped for a hold on the Earth and my sanity.
One of the troopers put a strong arm around my waist and began leading me inside. A wave of nausea twisted my stomach. I leaned over the porch rail and retched on the rose bushes. They guided me into the house, sat me on the couch and gave me a drink of water. My body shivered, in shock.
“Miss Sweet, is there someone we can call for you?”
Don’t you get it, you fucking moron, there is no one else! “No. I can call my Uncle Adrian.”
Blair handed me my cell from next to the couch and after three fumbling attempts, I dialed Adrian’s number.
“Uncle Adrian? Something…it’s Mom and Dad. Their car…they crashed. The police say they’re…” but I couldn’t say it. I couldn’t give life and solidity to words of death by speaking them aloud.
The troopers stayed with me until Adrian arrived. One of them was some sort of chaplain/cop or something. I didn’t really have much use for him, all things considered. So I sat, blind and empty, and caved in on myself.
Vaporous phantoms of the past haunted my wakefulness. Remembrances of happy times with my parents, family vacations to amazing places like Yellowstone and the Grand Canyon or chasing whales off the coast of San Diego. Tender moments that brought brief joy to recollect, but cut like a double-edged sword.
Nightmares of blaze-engulfed wreckage staked their claim on my sleep. An array of painful and gruesome images assaulted my mind each time I closed my eyes. Chimera stalked me, left me dreading sleep. I resisted its pull until it finally overtook me and I collapsed from exhaustion or narcotic
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