Slam! Austin’s home. Heavy footsteps barrel up my stairs. My bedroom door flies open, and 74 inches of nasty-boy sweat and hormones fill my doorframe. “Yo, word nerd. Someone’s at the door for you.”
I look up from my stack of books lying all around me, my security blanket, thankful I shoved my journal under the mattress before Austin’s prying eyes could see it. I glance up at him again, annoyed at his boy stench that floats across the room to offend my delicate nostrils. “Who is it?”
“I don’t know. Some guy in a hot uniform.” He wiggles his eyebrows at me. “Maybe you’ll get lucky.”
Stepbrothers are so stupid. “Shut up, you incorrigible perv.” I march past him, slightly curious. “Why didn’t you just bring me the package or whatever.”
He levels me with a look. “I tried. He says it’s registered mail.”
I head downstairs and hug the wall of the door to avoid contact with the collection of mass and matter that is Austin, my temporary stepbrother, who I’ve managed to avoid like the plague, which is kind of like being around Austin. He’s kind of a headache, makes me uncomfortable on every level, and the longer I’m around him, the more I question my mortality. Besides, there’s no point in getting attached. I’m going to college soon. He will go on living his exciting party life and I will continue on with my ordinary existence between bookstores, coffee shops and the occasional WebMD search for my latest medical malady. I march down the stairs with my constant companion in my hand, a book. There’s a guy standing on my doorstep in a FedEx uniform.
“Are you Amy Evalina Smith?”
“Yes.”
He looks at me again. “I’m going to need to see your ID.”
This one statement grates on my last nerve. Now I have to march all the way back upstairs. “Are you for real?”
He holds his clipboard securely to his chest with one hand, as if I want to see who else’s name is on that list. The other hand remains behind his back. He stares at me like I don’t understand English. “Yeah, I’m for real.”
“Fine.” I march back up the stairs and yank my drawer open to pull out my lanyard, and return to my front door. I hold it out to him.
He looks it over once or twice before looking back at me. Satisfied, he shoves the clipboard in my face. “If you’ll just sign here, write your address here, and don’t forget the date.”
I fill it out and wait impatiently. His other hand comes out from behind his back, and he hands me a fat envelope, which I take. Wordlessly, I start to shut my front door, but he stops me by sticking a foot in like a forced entry in a horror movie. My anxiety level raises just a sconch. I’m about to call for Austin.
“Wait. I have more.” His boyish tone slows down the onset of my tachycardia. He goes back to his truck and opens a cooler. He hands me a white Styrofoam box. It’s cold to the touch. He looks me in the eye as if waiting for signs of comprehension. “Whatever’s in there will keep for the next 24 hours. Then you’ll need to find some place cold to store it.”
I give him my favorite sarcastic reply. “Gee, thanks.”
He flashes a smile. Okay, he’s a little bit hot. “Have a nice day, ma’am.”
I look him in the eye, although it pains me to have to look up to do it. I hate how my small stature makes me feel inferior. He stares down at me with a hint of humor. How irritating. My pulse changes. What is he waiting for? I sputter through my confusion. “You do the same.”
I guess that suffices as a dismissal, because he does a sudden spin-turn, worthy of Flashdance. This makes me giggle, which must have been his goal, because he looks back at me with a bold wink.
Someone’s hot breath is on my neck. I swat at him like a pesky mosquito. “Shoo, gnat-boy. You smell.”
Austin’s response is to blow air in my ear. So gross! I duck sideways to escape his germs and hit my head on the doorframe. I side-eye a chuckling Austin who now has his arms in the air. “Gooooaaaalll!”
I give him a hard shove. “Despicable ingrate.”
He raises his eyebrows at me. “Ooh, such big words for such a tiny gir-l.” He looks down at the box. “What you got there?”
I slam the front door in annoyance, anxious to carry the mysterious cold box to my room. I wonder what it could be. I lift my chin as I look back at Austin. “Your improper use of grammar does not deserve nor constitute an answer.” I march past him with my nose in the air.
Someone snores behind me as I walk back upstairs. “Am-y. Your intelligence bores me.”
I shake off Austin’s comment, but it stings more than I’d like to admit. I close the door to my room and leave the gnat and his insults outside. I grab a nail file from my dresser to cut through the tape on all sides, being careful because I hate how Styrofoam falls apart, leaving unbidden microscopic pieces of white everywhere that stick to everything. I lift the lid and expect to see ice cream or food. The box is full of cubed ice. I dig around in it. There’s a Ziplock bag somewhere near the bottom. With frozen fingers, I pull the bag from the ice. My curiosity builds as I hold it up to the light. A blood-curdling scream escapes me as I drop the bag before I fall to the floor, deadweight.
Austin’s footsteps pound up the stairs and in my head. He throws open the door to my room. “Why are you so loud, Amy?”
I point up at the box on my bed with a shaking finger as if it’s alive. “There’s a…there’s a finger in there.”
Austin looks at me like I’m speaking Cantonese or something. “What? In where?”
“In the box. There’s a finger in the box. Someone sent me a finger!” My loud shrill voice pierces my own eardrums.
Austin eyes me in disbelief. “No freaking way. Who would send you a finger?”
My head’s about to explode. “I have no unearthly idea!”
Austin spies the envelope lying on the floor next to me. “Did that come with it?” Why is he so calm? I just told him a friggin’ finger came in the mail.
“What?” My hands shake as I pick up the envelope. I recognize the loopy handwriting. It’s my Aunt Evalina’s. I stare up at the bag in Austin’s hand as he holds it up to the light. I look away before I faint.
“This finger has a tattoo on it. It’s like a rose with thorns. Weird.” Austin’s deep voice breaks through my fog.
My heart stops for a second at Austin’s words. I’m on the verge of hyperventilating. I manage to answer breathily as I stare at Austin’s ear to avoid seeing the bag. “I think I know whose finger it is.”
Austin’s eyes bug out at me, as he continues to hold the bag up in the light. “You do?”
I can’t believe this is happening. I feel like I’m in a horror movie as I answer him like a Zombie. “Yes. It’s Lady Margaret’s.”
He sits down on the bed, still holding the Ziplock bag. “Who is Lady Margaret, and why would she send you her finger?”
I open the padded envelope and dump out the contents. Austin’s eyes get even bigger.
“Hol-y crap. That’s a bunch of Benji’s.” He pulls one from beneath the rubberband, and holds it up to the light.
I make a face at Austin before shoving the bricks of money back in the envelope. The front door closes downstairs. Great, mom’s home. I look up at Austin and put my finger to my lips and whisper. “You can’t tell her any of this. Promise.”
Austin’s eyes light up with joy, and he nods his head like a willing conspirator. He drops the finger in the box, puts the lid back on, and shoves it under my bed. He shoves the hundred in his hoodie pocket. I stow the envelope beneath the bed by the box and drop the comforter down just before my mom walks in my room. “Hey, Amy. How’s your graduation speech coming?”
I point at the pile of books, trying to reorient to the land of pre-UPS-man-dropping-bombs-on-my-doorstep, as I clear my throat. “It’s going alright. I’ve just been pulling some of my favorite quotes. You know how I love a good quote.”
She crosses her arms. “Yes, Amy, I do. Just don’t get too fired up. No political comments, please. Okay? This is your graduation.”
I nod my head vigorously. “Got it, Mom. I’m Switzerland.”
She cocks her head to the side. “What?”
I shake my head at her naivety. “I’m neutral, Mom. No sides here.”
She gives me a rewarding smile. “Good. Glad to hear it. I don’t know why you can’t speak more plainly.”
I answer under my breath. “Because that would make me a troglodyte.”
“Did you say something, Amy?” Her words are innocent, but her tone is sharp.
I shake my head again. “Nothing important, Mother.”
She turns to Austin. Her smile grows. “So, Austin. How was weights today? Are you boys ready for another great football season?”
Austin clears his throat. “I expect we will be.”
My mom looks back down at me, and her smile falters slightly. “Darn it, Amy. I meant to get you a hair appointment before tomorrow. I thought we’d do some summer highlights and trim off about four inches. I’d like to get a haircut that frames your face. Have you thought any more about contacts?”
I paste a smile on my face and hold back my response of possibly having partial Ommetaphobia. “I guess I could try them.”
Her face brightens at my words. “Great. I’ll call the eye doctor and make an appointment.”
She exits my doorway, but I hear nothing as she glides away. I hop up. I count the seconds before I rush to my door and shut it quietly. I go to get my envelope, but Austin already has it. I run over to the bed and plop down beside him. I snatch back my letter. I realize this is the first time I’ve had full physical contact with my stepbrother, who I’ve pretty much managed to avoid as much as one can escape an irritating and demanding gnat who buzzes to his own tune, lingers in doorways shamelessly eavesdropping, and constantly meddles in my affairs since he moved into my life nine months, two weeks, and three days ago, but who’s counting.
I open my aunt’s letter with reverence, wondering what in the world could be any kind of explanation for receiving a severed finger in the mail.
My Dearest Amy,
I write you this letter in the strictest of confidences, as I regret to lay such a heavy burden on your young, impressionable heart. However, I’ve managed to land myself in a heap of trouble, and I fear this time there’s no way out. I always worried my riches would be my ruin, and now my worst fears are coming true. I walked into a carefully-laid trap, never once suspecting I was being preyed upon until it was too late. As I write this, I’m certain my end is near. I’ve given too much of my wealth to a heartless predator who, at this very moment, is literally poisoning me. If I can stomach it, I will send you my finger to be tested to point at the guilty party. The rest of me will end up in ashes in an urn which will join all the other urns in the Room of the Departed. Let this be my last request, my dearest Amy. You must rescue my ashes from this horrific prison and set my soul free. I know you think you can’t, but you can. Despite your innate cautious nature, I believe there’s more to you than my beloved shy bookworm you have turned out to be.
I need you desperately, Amy. Don’t disappoint me.
I apologize in advance for sending my bloody finger by registered mail. My soul tremors at such an uncouth action, but I fear I have no choice. I don’t have the wits or courage to fight him in the flesh, but I vow to take down the handsome monster from my grave. If my suspicions are correct, I’ve entered the lair of a serial killer masquerading as a Religious Leader. If my letter gets to you, I know there is still hope.
And now I must leave you with these parting words, as you and I have always been Kindred Spirits. Life is for the Living. Be More than a Spectator.
Never forget dearest Amy; you may be a Smith, but there’s more to you than your plain-Jane last name. Embrace your inner Evalina, and come Find Me.
Love,
Your Favorite Aunt-y,
Lady Margaret Evalina Jackson
My head spins as I lay the letter on the bed with trembling fingers. A tear escapes and rolls down my cheek.
Austin jumps up and claps his hands. He paces in front of me with more excitement than ten of me put together. “What are you going to do?”
I fall back on my bed and let my legs dangle over the edge as I stare up at the ceiling. “Right now, I’m going to somehow finish writing a speech that I will be reciting in front of 6,110 people tomorrow. After that, I don’t know.”
Austin plops down hard on the bed beside me. He shakes everything as he grabs a hold of my knee and squeezes hard. “What do you mean, you don’t know? We have to go and get her! Those are her last wishes. You can’t ignore someone’s last wishes. That’s like inviting an omen into your home. It’s bad karma.”
I sit up and hold my head in my hands. “Austin, talk quiet. You don’t want my mom to hear us. If she knows anything about any of this, she’ll flip out. She hates Lady Margaret. The only reason she tolerates her at all is because she’s loaded. Lady Margaret is like the black sheep of our family that no one talks about, but we all wait for her cards on holidays hoping she’ll send us some money.”
Austin makes a face. “That’s terrible.”
I look him in the eye. “I know, but that’s how it is. Do you have anybody in your family like that?”
He laughs. “Amy. Look at me. I’m Mexican. If we have anyone rolling in the dough, it’s all hush-hush, and no one admits to knowing them. We don’t touch their money in the light of day.”
I give him an incredulous look. “Whatever, trust-fund baby. Your dad’s a cardiologist.”
He shakes his head slowly back and forth and stares down at his hands. “I know. The rest of the family still believes he was switched at birth or something.”
I twiddle my thumbs; only half paying attention to Austin as I sit here pondering. “This must be why I haven’t heard from Lady Margaret for the past year and a half. I mean, she’s never sent letters regularly, but I used to get one like at least every three months.”
Austin leans over the bed. His head disappears as he pulls the box out once more. He talks in a resigned fashion. “I know where we could take the finger.”
I can’t believe I’m asking. “Where?”
He pops back up into a sitting position, clears his throat and scratches his neck. He speaks under his breath as if his next words are shameful. “My uncle’s kind of like a detective in the next city over. He’s kind of a big deal. He lives for this kind of stuff.”
I take a deep breath. I know that if I take this one small step, there’s no turning back, but Austin’s right. I can’t not do it. “You got time to run me over there?”
Austin jumps up, all excited, and I can’t help it, I’m getting excited too. “For Reals?”
I nod my head. “Yep. Let’s do it.” I tap the box. “For Lady Margaret.”
Austin holds his hand high, waiting. I slap it. He grabs my hand and squeezes hard. “For Lady Margaret!”
I take my hand back and put my finger to my lips. “Shhh.”
He whispers. “Sorry. For Lady Margaret.”
I grab the box and shove the letter in my purse. We tear down the stairs and run out the front door. I know I’ve crossed a precipice, the point of no return, but this path feels predestined. Not all omens are bad, right?