Title: My Immortal
Author: Heather Novak
Editor: Dan Sawyer
Copyright Heather Novak 2011
Chapter 1: Oh Ethan, Come Out, Come Out Wherever You Are…
October – 3:00am
What a difference a dream makes. Two hours ago, I dozed off listening to some infomercial chick, with a spray tan and unnaturally blond hair, doing her best to convince me I needed an industrial dehydrator. Now clothes were haphazardly hanging from my suitcase. Phone, wallet, keys – check.
I’d spent seven months in a dreamless euphoria. That had all changed the moment I closed my eyes. My usual Technicolor reverie was pushed out by a black and white nightmare. I was still shaking from what I saw, who I saw.
“Ethan, protect her,” the familiar face whispered.
“I swear,” I whispered back as dark shadows suffocated his failing body.
Only for her would I leave. Only for her would I go back.
Jaw locked, I flung open the refrigerator door, tossed the perishables into a trash bag, then scurried to the dumpster. The night was ugly and cold. Unnaturally cold. The darkness closed in around me as I scurried up the stairs and chained the back door shut.
A chill shot down my spine as I turned off the lights. There was something wrong with the dark. Grabbing my bags, I slammed the door behind me, sliding the deadbolt into place. It was 3:30 am. Only half an hour wasted.
The sun crept slowly over the horizon as I edged closer to town. My temples throbbed with the memories. It had been nearly six years. This was the last place I’d seen my family alive. They all died within six months of each other – first my sister, and then my dad and mom. They said my parents died of a broken heart, leaving me with the burden of cleaning up their misery. I escaped, built a life for myself and found peace. Well, my version of peace, anyway.
Vicksburg stirred awake as my watch whirled closer to seven. Storefronts flipped on their open signs, buses idled in the parking lot of the local middle school, and the bakery was stocking their cases with homemade delights. I had to slow to a reasonable pace as unsuspecting children ran for the bus.
I kept my eyes forward passing the street I used to live on. I had no desire to ever see that house again, but wished the new owners better luck than my family had. This was turning into the longest trip of my life.
I turned around twice, making it half way back the second time. But something nudged me forward. As the morning crept along, my need to be with her was overwhelming. I took a deep breath and hit the gas petal. Screw the speed limit. Twenty miles an hour over, I hurtled toward my fate. My Ava.
Chapter 2: Ashes, Ashes, Ava Falls Down…
“Ethan,” I breathed, bolting up from my sweat-drenched bed. 3:00 am. Switching on my desk lamp, I tried to shake the dream from my memory. It had been too long since I’d seen him, even in my dreams. But the image of his broken body was burned into my eyelids. The faintest smell of lavender filled my senses.
I scanned my surroundings with critical eyes. Moonlight poured through the window to the left, shading my room like an old-fashioned movie. Across from my bed, the closet door was flung open, just as I’d left it, a pile of dirty laundry spilling out. My favorite red, zip up hoody hung clumsily over the desk chair. On the edge of my desk was a photo; my best friends, Ethan and Becki Hammond – siblings two years apart –making silly faces along with my former sixteen-year-old self. It was one of the last memories we all shared. Ten years later, it was still my favorite picture. Sighing, I pulled the blankets over my head, drifting back to oblivion.
***
Through one eye, I peeked at the large red numbers emblazoned on my alarm clock. 7:30 am. There shouldn’t be a 7:30 am! Even the autumn sun wasn’t fully awake, yet it rudely forced itself through my curtains. A bird was singing just a bit too loudly. I pulled my pillow over my head to block out the interruptions, but it knocked an empty water bottle off my nightstand, causing it to skid across the hardwood floor.
“Aisling, dear, are you up?” My mom Sara’s voice wafted up the stairs. The lady had sonar hearing, I swear.
“Hmmmm,” I answered quietly, knowing she’d still hear me, miraculously.
“Aisling, don’t forget to mow the lawn before you go to work! Steven and I are leaving now. Love you!”
“Hmmmm,” I replied moodily. Stupid lawn. And why she was so chipper every morning? I hated that she called me Aisling. Aisling Violette Ambrose. But to make matters worse, it was actually pronounced Ash-ling. I was named after some ancient Irish relative, who no one talked about. Most people didn’t even know my full name, let alone use it. My dad called me Ava as far back as I could remember, but I never thought to ask why.
There was no point in going back to sleep. Mrs. Perky had broken the spell. I might as well get a head start on my “To-Do” list. Groggily, I flung my feet over the bed, letting them search for my slippers. As ridiculous as pink monster slippers are, my feet were always cold.
My best friend Ethan, who I hadn’t seen in six years, sent me a pair of slippers every Christmas. He still remembered that I despised cold feet. He called every year on my birthday and every Christmas a small box appeared at my door. I never pressured him to see or call me more often.
I wondered how he could stand any link to the life he ran away from…not after what he lived through. But he was the one who knew me, inside and out. He was also the only other person, besides my dad, who knew I could see ghosts.
Sighing, I shuffled to the mirror. Ugh. I looked as bad as I felt. A shadow of mascara that did not come off last night accentuated the bags underneath my blue, almost purple eyes. I stared for a moment at the crescent-shaped birthmark that grazed the side of my neck. It was white, more like a scar.
I ran my fingers through my nondescript blond hair, pulling it up here and there to spritz in hairspray. I bunched my hair in my hands, trying to give it some kind of shape. Finally, I conceded to the haystack, pulling it back into a sloppy ponytail.
Next, I wandered my room in search of something to wear. I picked a pair of jeans off the floor and sniffed them – immediately tossing them into my laundry basket. Making my way to the closet, I picked up a skirt while walking to the window. The clouds were thick, making the morning look more like she had switched schedules with twilight. Ah, the joys of fall. The trees shivered in the breeze and loose leaves, the color of burnt pumpkins, rained to the ground. I concluded that the sun wasn’t going to stay long, not with this wind.
“And that’s a no for you,” I told the skirt.
Great. I was already talking to inanimate objects – and it wasn’t even 8:00! So it was going to be one of those days. I glanced back out the window, hoping the weather had mysteriously changed. This was Michigan; anything was possible. I kept a snow shovel and a pair of flip-flops in the trunk of my car.
The overcast sky created an eerie setting for our two-story house. Leaves blanketed the uncut grass, which meant double the work today. A row of small bushes separated us from the worn out street, and an old, burnt out lamppost stood awkwardly near the driveway. A burning bush stood behind it, engulfed in a fiery red. A faint honk caught my attention as mom and my brother Steve pulled out of the driveway. I waved half-heartedly and trudged back to the closet.
Steve was five years my junior, the favorite kid and former football player who’d been hoping to ride out his college years on full scholarship. He was doing really well too, until the accident. Rumor has it, he and his best friend snuck out to crash some party. They took Tyler’s Mustang and wrapped it around a truck on the freeway. Steve made it out in a wheelchair, but Tyler never made it at all. Twice a week, Sara drove Steve to physical therapy with the hope he’d someday walk again. My parents made him a makeshift bedroom in Dad’s office, next to the master bedroom on the first floor.
Sighing, I pulled on a pair of jeans that were sitting on the closet floor – after they passed the smell test. I threw on a t-shirt from the same pile and my favorite hoody while I made a mental note, all in caps: DO LAUNDRY! SERIOUSLY! I opened my top dresser drawer and rustled through trying to find socks. “Yes!” I cheered, one pair left.
As I practically dove for the socks, I dropped them. I grabbed them off the floor just in time to whack my head on the drawer. I threw the socks against the wall in frustration and held my head in my hands. Muttering a few unladylike words, I threw my feet into nearby flip-flops. I glanced at the clock, 7:40 am. Why was I awake this early?
Grabbing my watch, I flung open my door with the other hand. I clasped it around my wrist before I noticed it wasn’t working. 3:00? I leaned back into my room and squinted at the alarm clock. 7:41. Ok, so I wasn’t crazy. Looked like I was stopping by the store to replace the battery. I turned to walk back out the door and smacked my elbow on the door frame.
“OW!” I yelped in pain, holding my elbow and pouting.
I was beginning to wonder if I’d make it out of the house alive. Taking the stairs two at a time was a decision I instantly regretted when I tripped over the last stair.
“ARE YOU KIDDING ME?” I yelled at my right ankle, which had cushioned my fall.
Hopping toward the freezer, I grabbed two bags of frozen “Vegetable Oasis”. Vegetable Oasis? What, do a bunch of carrots and cauliflower go hang out on some beach before they freeze them? How do I get a job naming frozen foods?
Sitting on a kitchen chair, I grabbed a dishtowel off of the fading cream Formica counter. I wrapped the checkered towel and first bag of vegetables around my ankle, then rested the other bag atop my head, groaning. It was too early and I was too Pop-Tart-less!
The doorbell startled me, and the bag on my ankle slid to the linoleum floor. I grunted, irritated, and hopped towards the front door. A doorbell before 8:00 am usually meant one thing, some lady was going to try to talk my ear off about a religion I could care less about. “This better be Ed McMahon back from the dead with a million dollar check!” I shouted, ripping open the door with a dirty gaze. I instantly forgot how to breathe.
“Too soon?” I choked, shocked.
A familiar pair of gray eyes captivated mine. Ethan. My Ethan. All six foot four inches of him. My heart nearly thudded out of my throat as I ran my hand over my hair. Of course he’d show up on a day I hadn’t bothered to brush my teeth. I hadn’t seen Ethan in almost six years. Not since…
Ethan rolled his eyes, running his fingers through his rich chocolate hair, “I’m not sure, you’re probably the one who saw him last.”
“Ha, ha,” I chortled, regaining some composure. What was he doing here? What happened? I pushed back the feeling of dread.
So,” he mused after giving me a once over, “what piece of furniture didn’t make it this morning?”
I threw the frozen veggies at him, but he caught it gracefully. He sighed and walked through the door, gently lifting me over his shoulder. He closed the door with his foot.
“Put me down!” I complained, knowing he wouldn’t listen. My stomach knotted as I felt the heat of his body. Ethan chuckled and laid me on the couch. He plopped the bag of frozen veggies back on my head and walked to the first aid drawer my dad put in the kitchen. Ethan grabbed a bandage from the drawer and scooped the second make shift ice pack and towel off the floor. He sighed heavily as he sat next to my leg, assessing the damage.
After carefully rolling my pant leg up, Ethan’s fingers gingerly appraised my ankle. I was elated I had remembered to shave recently. Each touch of his fingertips sent a cascade of tiny sparks through my body. What was going on?
“Does this hurt?” he asked, playing ring-around-the-rosy with my ankle.
I inhaled through my teeth as a confirmation.
“Well, thankfully it’s only twisted. Don’t run any marathons in the next few days and you’ll be fine.”
He winked at me and started to wrap the ace bandage around my ankle. I was a little awestruck, but not sure why. Ethan had always been a pro at bandaging me up.
“Why are you staring at me like that?” he asked.
Because I didn’t realize the hole you left until you showed up on my doorstep. “Nothing. Just entertained.”
Ethan snickered as he clipped the bandage in place, “Do I have Vegetable Oasis on my face?”
I chucked a pillow at him, which he ducked.
“No,” I mused, “But to what do I owe the pleasure of your company?” Six years. It had been six years since I’d seen that smile!
Ethan squirmed out from beside me and knelt next to my head, examining my other injury. His face rested only inches from mine, and I caught the smell of a smooth aftershave. As his breath trickled down my forehead, heat rushed to my cheeks. His long fingers prodded my head, trying to decipher how awful the bump was. I winced as he pushed down on ground zero.
“Sorry,” he murmured.
“You never answered my question,” I prompted, nervously. He placed the bag back on my head and held it there, seemingly distracted.
“Do I need a reason to visit my best friend?” he challenged.
“No…its just…been awhile,” I retorted.
“Hmmm,” Ethan leaned back and gave me a once over. He stood and walked to the kitchen, opening the faux-wood door guarding a half-eaten box of chocolate puffs and raspberry Pop-Tarts. He grabbed the blue box and threw two pastries into the toaster. Leaning against the sink, my best friend gazed out the window into the backyard. An old wooden play set lay forgotten between two large oak trees. We used to climb those trees for hours.
“How’s Becki?” Ethan asked quietly. His voice didn’t shake, but I heard the strain beneath the façade.
“She’s good. Great actually. She’s worried about you.”
Ethan didn’t respond, but continued to stare, as if he could will her to appear.
“She misses you, a lot,” I admitted.
The sudden release of the toaster made us both jump and broke the tension. I giggled as Ethan burned himself, twice, retrieving breakfast and tossing it onto a hideous floral themed plate. It was like a tribute to the 80’s in our dish cabinet. Ethan plopped himself next to my head again, shoving the entire Pop-Tart into my mouth.
“Pffank-ou,” I managed before devouring the snack. Ethan commandeered the other pastry and started to eat it meticulously; first the corners, then the sides, and then slowly circled towards the middle.
“Weirdo,” I mumbled, trying not to let on how endearing I thought the whole process was. Ethan finally finished and licked his fingers slowly, removing any trace of raspberry goodness. I was sufficiently distracted.
“Yeah…but not as weird as seeing dead people,” he quipped. “Oooo I see dead people!”
I slapped my hand against his arm. His full, muscular arm.
“Come on, you know it was your favorite movie!” Ethan teased.
“Yeah, until all the kids at school started saying it every time they saw me.”
“I offered to beat them up!” he recalled, laughing.
“You were like fifteen and my arm was bigger than your entire body!” I pretended to look him over critically, raising my arm in front of me as a measuring tool. “It seems you’ve filled out nicely.”
Ethan began to flex incessantly and adopted his best hillbilly accent, “Ya’ll need tickets to the gun show?”
I hope I didn’t have drool oozing down my face. “If a girl loved you as much as you love yourself, it’d be the greatest romance of all time!” I shot back.
We dissolved into a laughing mess. How familiar it seemed, Ethan back in my living room, making me forget the nightmare of his absence. We used to sit around watching stupid internet cartoons and planning our imagined future lives. Back then we took every day for granted…dreaming was easy.
As we fought to catch our breath, Ethan sighed, resting his chin on the crook of my arm. I sobered up immediately as my breath caught in my chest. Time apart had definitely not helped this silly crush I’d been harboring. In fact, I’m sure it intensified everything. Knowing I was being foolish, I sat up, hoping to dislodge the butterflies in my stomach.
“Let’s go get some ice cream,” Ethan suggested. “I haven’t been to ‘Cow’s Paradise’ in forever!”
I imagined a heaping scoop of mint chocolate chip ice cream running over my hand as I dug my tongue into cool bliss. I got a little turned on, if such a thing is possible when thinking about frozen dairy.
“Heck yes!” I cheered, leaping to my feet. I was abruptly put back in my place when I saw the lawn mower outside of the shed from the back window. “Argh! I can’t!” I pouted, sinking back into the couch.
“Because?” Ethan prompted.
Ignoring the fact that Cow’s Paradise wasn’t open yet, I grunted and delivered my best Sara impression. “Oh Aisling? Are you awake? Hello? Aisling honey? Are you awake yet? Oh good! Listen, I’m going to need you to be a dear and mow the lawn for me today. Then go ahead and ignore all your plans and focus on my life. That’s not going to be a problem is it? Good. Ta-ta!”
Ethan challenged me with a we-both-know-that’s-not-what-actually-happened eyebrow raise and came to sit by me on the couch.
“I’ll make you a deal,” he suggested diplomatically, “You buy me ice cream, I’ll mow your lawn.” I stared at him. “And rake the leaves,” he sighed.
“She means the whole lawn,” I teased, referring to an incident in high school when he’d posed the same proposition. I came home to find only the front lawn cut with a, “no one looks in at the back yard anyway,” excuse.
Ethan play punched me. “Obviously, I think Gary might kill me if I pulled that again.”
“You think? Luckily Dad’s gone until the weekend anyway,” I admitted.
Gary, my dad, was working on a new development a few towns over. In this economy, he was lucky to get that build. At least he was in the state this time.
Ethan nodded, holding his chin in his hand awaiting my answer. I pretended to think long and hard, placating him with heavy “Hmmmmms” every few seconds. Then the real question sprang into my mind.
“Why?” I asked, more serious. “Why after six years do you show up, mow my lawn, and want ice cream?” I wasn’t sure what frightened me more – the question or the answer.
“When don’t I want ice cream?” He joked. I raised an eyebrow. “Because I owe you,” he admitted quietly.
I nodded and stood up, offering him my hand. There was a danger that I felt lurking underneath, but for now I was simply taking my best friend out for ice cream.
“Well, we still have two hours before they open. Come on, I’ll help you rake the leaves,” I suggested.
“Ok gimpy, deal.”
Ethan smirked as he watched me limp to the back door. I knew I was going to be picking leaves out of my hair the rest of the day.
Chapter 3: To Ava, the Ice Cream is that Important.
Cow’s Paradise was the strangest ice cream stand I’d ever seen. The structure was similar to most side-of-the-road ice cream dives – a closed-in space with white walls that were wide at the top and tapered near the ground. Sticky white counters edged the shop and black plastic stools littered the surrounding area. I wasn’t sure who thought black stools on a sunny day were a good idea, but obviously it wasn’t someone who liked to wear shorts. Trying to mimic a tiki bar, plastic grass lined the bottom half of the stand. The thatched roof was made with fake bamboo.
On each side of the building stood a totem pole of three cow heads, each making a different face. The bottom cow doubled as a trash can. The employees, back when I worked here in high school, were required to wear cow heads. The Health Department ruled them a safety hazard two days after I quit. That’s karma for you.
The stand looked horribly out of place and had caused quite the uproar when it was built. The downtown of this small city was dedicated to an older, more romantic style. Fancy benches, blooming flowers in every available space, and a classic movie theatre made the area a magnet for tourists. In the winter, twinkle lights adorned every archway, every tree branch, and every rooftop. It was like a scene from a movie. Then there was this cow-themed ice cream tiki bar! Only in a small town. While I stood in line and stared at a little girl riding the mechanical cow, I remembered the first time I waited impatiently in this very spot.
I was six and a half. My dad had suffered through another all-girls t-ball game where both teams apparently tied. As a catcher who couldn’t catch a beach ball, I was smart enough to know we’d lost. Becki played first base, and was much less of an embarrassment. We were sitting on a black and white bench, outside the ice cream shop, while I shoved my entire face into the bowl of mint chocolate chip goodness.
Ethan and Becki sat on either side of me, savoring their favorite treats. Ethan couldn’t live without his cookies and cream, which he meticulously ate with a small spoon, and Becki was a simple strawberry in a sugar cone kind of girl. Their dad, Arnold, and my dad sat on the opposite bench, laughing. Gary artfully licked his waffle cone stuffed with butter pecan, and Arnold followed suit with a coffee-flavored scoop.
Dusk settled around us and the smell of exhaust mingled with the sweeter air. We were at the main corner of our little downtown, the place where the shopping center and the movie theatre met. Purple and white flowers were everywhere, even on the sides of trashcans. A large church to the left let out its weekly choir practice, the ancient wooden doors creaking with the motion. I was mesmerized by the new traffic signal, which had been installed earlier that week.
I watched people walk back and forth as the signal changed from the red hand to the white walking man. An old couple strolled by with their dog. The gray-black mutt stopped to sniff my outstretched hand and started to lick the ice cream off. I giggled uncontrollably until the old man chided the dog and continued on. I squirmed as my dad tried to wipe some of the ice cream off my face before any more could reach my sleeve.
“Ava, your mom is going to hang me out to dry if I bring you home looking like this,” he chuckled.
I laughed and wiped my sticky hand on dad’s shirt. He tried to look angry, but couldn’t keep from smiling. I threw my head back as he tickled me, when my eyes landed on someone familiar. Waiting to cross the street was my Grandma Ann.
I jumped up, pointing and yelling, “Dad, look! It’s Grandma Ann! It’s Grandma Ann!”
My dad tugged on my arm, exchanging a worried glance with Arnold.
“Pumpkin, Grandma Ann isn’t with us anymore,” Gary whispered quietly, “Don’t you remember going to the funeral? It’s just someone who looks like her.”
I turned to face my dad with a bewildered look. Arnold nodded at Gary then rounded up Ethan and Becki. They waved goodbye, but I didn’t respond. I looked back at Grandma Ann. She looked just as I remembered her; short, white-blonde curly hair styled into the standard grandma-do, her peach trousers highlighting the matching peach flowers on her white shirt. Lavender burned my nose, blocking out all other smells. She waved at me and I leapt off the bench, tossing my ice cream aside. I darted off towards the crosswalk, barely aware that my father was screaming behind me.
“Ava! Stop! Ava, you’ll get hit by a car!”
My cleats thudded against the sidewalk, hurting my feet. I hit the pavement harder and harder, trying to go faster. I saw Grandma Ann shaking her head. This distracted me for a brief moment, but I continued on my path. As I dashed over the curb, I heard the blare of a car horn and felt arms heave me back. My dad and I both tumbled back onto the sidewalk.
A small circle of bystanders gathered to help us up, repeatedly asking if we were ok. I stared at the spot where my beloved grandmother stood only moments ago. It was empty. I could hear my father explaining that I mistook someone for my grandma, and reassured the gathering crowd that I was perfectly fine. Wide-eyed and confused, I buried my face in my dad’s chest. He scooped me up and carried me to the car, kissing the top of my forehead.
“But Daddy, I saw her!” I protested.
“I know,” he promised. “But we can’t tell anyone, ok pumpkin?”
A sharp gust of wind whipped a napkin across my face, bringing me back to the present. I grumbled and pulled the napkin off, tossing it into the trash. For such cool weather, this was an incredibly long line.
“Welcome back!” Ethan chuckled.
“I’ll need you to catch me up on everything I missed,” I mumbled. The line had barely moved.
I glanced up at the gray blanket that extinguished the remaining blue sky. The wind swirled a pile of leaves at my feet.
“We’d better take our ice cream back to the house,” I suggested.
After another agonizing five minutes, Ethan stepped up to order a chocolate chip cookie dough dish for himself and a heaping scoop of fluorescent green mint chocolate chip in a waffle cone for me. He was thoughtful enough to set the waffle cone upside down in a dish for easy transportation. I paid the miserable teenager and we made our way quickly to the car, protecting our treasure from vengeful Mother Nature. I handed my ice cream over to Ethan when he’d fastened his seatbelt, then followed suit. I put my keys in the ignition and turned. Nothing happened. I tried again, petting my steering wheel.
“Come on baby,” I crooned, “Come on, you can do it!”
Still, nothing happened. I leaned my head against the steering wheel, grunting. I rolled my face towards Ethan.
“Seriously, what the hell is with today?” I asked, leaning back in my seat. I grabbed my ice cream and shoved way too much in my mouth. It was so cold that I started waving my hand in front of my mouth, as if that would alleviate the problem. Ethan started laughing.
“Looks like someone’s out to get you!” he joked, grabbing a napkin and wiping some stray ice cream off my chin. I stiffened, only remotely aware of his touch. This handsome man’s long fingers were one layer of cheap paper away from my lips, and I was distracted by something else. Story of my life.
“Like someone’s out to get me,” I whispered.
Ethan leaned back a little and locked eyes with me. “Ava, what are you babbling about?”
Something besides curiosity was behind his stare. Not just concern, but a hybrid of fear and guilt. I made a mental note to dive more deeply into that later.
“I don’t think someone’s trying to get me,” I pondered, “I think someone’s trying to get my attention.” I set my ice cream down on the dashboard. I glanced down at the watch my dad had given me last Christmas. Frowning, I tapped the face. It read 3:00. That was about the time I woke up from the nightmare. I felt Ethan reach over and touch my shoulder, breaking the spell.
“I-I, um,” I stuttered.
A gust of wind bent a young maple tree near the edge of the sidewalk to the ground. The sky grew darker and more menacing with each passing minute. The clouds started to form circular patterns in their once smooth blanket. October was several months past tornado season. Still, something felt off. Keeping my eyes locked with his, I groped for the ignition switch and turned it forward. With a grumble, my little car started. I barely registered the shock on Ethan’s face as he caught my ice cream, which had vibrated off the dashboard.
“By the pricking of my thumbs…” Ethan murmured.
“Something wicked this way comes,” I completed.
We smiled briefly at each other, remembering the semester of Shakespeare we took together, as I threw the car into reverse.
MY IMMORTAL — The first book in a three part series. Amazon, May 2012.
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