Gone were the thoughts of the glorious mansion I’d just left, the dream car that I had driven, and the bricks of cash. Nothing compared to the plain wooden sides, the regular door handle, and the red chimney with its broken bricks. I didn’t care that we had cheap plastic blinds on our windows—I flew to my house like it was a treasure, landing on the roof with excitement.
The sound of the shingles cracking under my shoes brought joy to my ears. Every Independence Day, my family would pull out the long ladder and climb onto the roof to watch fireworks unopposed by the outlines of trees and neighboring houses. We would sit with our backs to the chimney and watch as the colors exploded into our faces. Alli would point into the sky trying to guess where the next ones would go off, so it would look like she was doing some sort of wicked magic in the air.
But July 4th was a long time away. I was by myself on the roof. I took a deep breath of the air and let it out slowly. If only I could put that Arleta air into bags and carry it with me, all of the danger I ever faced might be weakened.
I walked to the edge of the roof but there was no ladder. So I hopped off and let my powers lower me gently, wanting to peek in to my sister’s window. But the moon reflected on the glass and her blinds were closed. I touched the window to see if I could catch just a small peek, and I was surprised to find that it moved. Alli had left it unlocked.
A thousand thoughts went through my head at once. Did she actually think that I had sneaked out and would need to get back in secretly? I knew her too well to think otherwise: of course Alli would hope for that. Even after all the days that I’d been gone, and after they’d surely become convinced that I was either kidnapped or dead, she would still leave her window unlocked, hoping for me to return. She watched out for me even when I had abandoned her.
With my free hand, I slowly lifted the windowpane as silently as I could, pushing the blinds apart with my foot and stepping in. I could feel the air conditioning as I crawled through: I felt guilty for that. My mom must have had more important things to think about than the electricity now.
By crossing through the window, I immediately stepped back into my old world, covered by blackness but my eyes still recognizing every detail. Alli had a cheap desk that was exactly like mine—a two for one deal at a garage sale. She had tiny shelves crammed with pink book covers from her aunts, zombie comics hidden in the back. Her bed was in the corner of the square room.
Alli was under the sheets but had her thick blanket pushed against the wall, lying on her side so that she was facing me—fast asleep. I hadn’t realized how much I missed her until I actually saw her. A heavy lump formed in my throat that I just couldn’t get down no matter how many times I swallowed it. She slept so peacefully. I knew she had been worried for me though, because her bed was littered with books and a flashlight, and she had likely been restless until a short time before I’d arrived.
I knelt beside her bed, careful not to jar the mattress. With claws and scales gone, I now looked just as human as I’d always been, and suddenly felt like it too. I lay my head as gently as I could across from hers, listening to her breath and watching her still and silent face.
How can she rest safely when there were things like me around? This torturous question plagued my mind. How could people like her and my mom just go on living, millions like them too, never having any idea that they were slaves at the whim of creatures I didn’t venture to think were fully human. Was it better that way? Could it be a good thing for Alli to go on living blind and having no idea what was out there?
I remembered something Alli had told me before: monsters are never as scary if they eat you before you see them.
She took a deep breath and let it out in her sleep. I hoped that she was dreaming of something sweet – of riding in fancy cars and living in mansions and flying above the city. She deserved those dreams more than I did.
Part of me wanted to slap myself as I slipped into the sad and sentimental. But I argued straight back at whatever caused those voices, demanding to know why I wasn’t allowed to miss my family, why I wasn’t allowed to wish that I could just be normal again. There wasn’t anything wrong with normal.
“There isn’t anything wrong with normal?” it screamed. What’s happened to you? Where’s the Michael who loathed the very basis of the word normal, who hated the abyss of ordinary that sucked almost everyone around you in?
Normal? it spat. All along, you’ve never even been human.
I couldn’t take its vicious onslaught so I arose and passed through the doorway. Unlike the mansion, the walls of our balcony were plastered by framed family photographs and mementoes, no shortage of smiling faces and captured moments of excitement as I walked. Most of our family pictures had been taken by my mom until I’d gotten older and picked up my own camera. Then, I took most of them. It was easy to tell the difference: my photography was clean, all my mom’s were crooked and some had heads cropped off.
Since I was already in the house, I didn’t think it would hurt to stick around for a little while longer. I checked in through my mom’s open door. She was in bed too. Her hand clutched the cordless phone, tired bags beneath her eyes, random papers in a clutter around her on the sheets. I guessed she was waiting on a phone call, hoping the police would find me.
Part of me wanted to leave a short note that might comfort her. But I knew that might only open a lifetime full of questions for her. And worse, she’d never understand why she couldn’t go to the police.
I ventured back down the hall, prepared to leave but seeing my own bedroom door at the end. It stood welcoming me like an old friend I’d almost forgotten to visit while I was in town..
My door was closed and as it had a squeaky hinge, I felt only safe enough to open it a few inches and push myself through.
Everything was exactly as I’d left it. The piles of papers all over the desk, socks littered around the chair, camera lenses and tripods and lights…no one had moved a thing. Even my bed, which I had left unmade on that fateful Sunday morning, still had its sheets pulled back.
And my photographs—not a single one was missing from my Great Work. I sat on my bed and its springs creaked. A gentle whirr continued from the ceiling fan above my head. Even it said hello.
It was like I had traveled back in time. The world seemed to say that if I only crawled back in to my own bed and fell asleep, I’d awaken in the morning to the sound of my mom knocking on the door, yelling for me to hurry up and get to school. I’d go out to my car and it’d be parked there, just like always. I’d see Spud at school and we’d argue about why we never got dates. I’d drive home, edit some photos. I’d sneak out to see a client. My mom would act like she didn’t know. I’d sleep again. Repeat forever.
As if to shatter this possibility though, my hand—which had been absently running across my desk—uncovered the newspaper article with Callista’s face on it.
I couldn’t look at it. I covered it again, and left.
I headed back for my sister’s window, but when I reached her bed I stopped and knelt again, just wanting one more minute. I would have stayed all night if I didn’t feel like a prodigal serpent attracting danger to this holy place.
I sighed. A lock of hair was in Alli’s eyes so I reached to brush it away.
Suddenly, her hand slammed down, and before I could react, she’d grabbed hold of my wrist in an unbreakable grip. Her eyes flew open, and I was caught.
Alli swung up from the pillow and slapped me across the face with her other hand. The sound of the strike clicked off the walls like a tiny firecracker.