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Bianca bounded up the stairs right after Ophelia escaped realty on Twitter. “Where’s Dad?”
“Isn’t he home yet?” Ophelia lifted her head and looked at her computer clock. “Six o’clock already?” Time flew on the Internet. She’d completely forgotten lunch, which was not a good thing for a diabetic to do. “Where’s Mom?”
“Langdons’. One of their foster kids is down with the flu and Mr. Langdon might have pneumonia.”
Dad was never late for dinner.
Sounds of the garage door raising drew their attention at once.
“Mom’s home.” Bianca tossed her a snack bar and started back out. “Test and eat.”
Ophelia pulled the gold heart-shaped locket to the outside of her blouse and examined it.
Her father had given it to her for her sixteenth birthday. ‘Make sure,’ he’d said, ‘the guy you give your heart to is worthy of it.’
She got up to test her blood sugar.
Afterwards, Ophelia flopped back down on her bed and ripped open the snack bar.
A minute later, Bianca yelled through the heating vent. “Is your cell phone working?”
“I’ll check.” Ophelia fished it out of the trash can and tapped in Mrs. Cox’s phone number. Nothing. “It’s dead.”
“Oh, shit.”
“Bianca.” Mom’s voice cut through the vent. “No potty-talk. You’re smarter than that.”
“Yeah, but sometimes...”
Mom did not like cussing at all, ever, for any reason. “The tower’s probably down with the snow. I can get Mrs. Langdon on the land-line.”
Ophelia stared at the ceiling.
Mom had stopped calling police chief Brynner for help after he came onto her one time when Dad was out of town.
Bianca smashed the door against her dresser. “Where the heck are my good scissors? You didn’t use them for one of your weird science experiments, did you?”
“No, and I don’t know where they are. What did Mrs. Langdon say?”
“Those scissors will dull if you use them on anything except fabric. I’ve told you not to use them on paper.” Bianca dug through the laundry heap on her floor.
“I didn’t use them on paper. What did Mom say?”
“It’s a pain in the neck to get those stupid things sharpened.” Bianca always flew into a tizzy about minor problems when she was worried about something big. “Our cars don’t have four-wheel drive, so we’d never make it up Hatchet Pass. Mr. and Mrs. Cox said they’ll go looking for Dad with Mom as soon as they fixed their truck. That could take all night. And it’s snowing again, so she can’t go alone in her Bronco and she won’t take me. Where’s my scissors?”
Ophelia rolled off the bed. “I’ll help you find them.”
Mom poked her head in. Black mascara ran down from the corners of her eyes. “It’s all right, girls. I’m making dinner. I’m sure Daddy will be home by morning.” Her brow furrowed deeper. “We’re all going to Grandma’s house just as soon as the airstrip is clear, so we can be near a hospital. I may need help hog-tying your father to get him there.” She quite nearly growled her last sentence.
“You got it,” said Bianca.
“Sounds like a plan to me.” Ophelia went down on her hands and knees and started digging through Bianca’s clutter.
“Have you seen my scissors?” Bianca flung a gym bag at her overflowing laundry hamper.
Mom kissed the top of Bianca’s head. “I’ll search downstairs.” She started for the door but stopped as their Husky offered a deep huff. “What’s with Kiska?”
Ophelia looked at their dog creeping along the floor on his belly right next to her. “I don’t know.”
Bianca thrust out her lower lip. “Maybe he knows something we don’t.”
“He’s just a dog, Bianca,” said Mom.
“Adrian...” Ophelia stopped herself from saying the rest out loud. Adrian told him to take care of me. Bianca would go into a tizzy about psychic pets and such. She was always swiping paranormal romance novels from their mother.
Kiska sniffed under an old shoe and whined.
Ophelia spotted a flash of silver under the shoe. “Here they are.” She dug the scissors out from under a stinky t-shirt and patted Kiska’s head. “Good boy.”
“Thanks.” Bianca grabbed them and went straight to her sewing machine.
Ophelia settled back on her bed, certain she’d have a new dress she didn’t need or want by morning and a very cranky, exhausted sister who’d make her wear it. So much for my favorite color. She rolled over on her side and hugged her pillow.
***
OPHELIA LAY IN THE darkness on her side of the room after dinner and stared at the ceiling but saw only the tormented thoughts in her own head.
Words Adrian had spoken to her replayed over and over. My sister went out with a guy like him. I’ve dealt with his kind before.
At last, Ophelia’s mind was released into sleep and she sank deeper and deeper until all dream images were blackened with nothing.
A shriek split her sleep. Three black creatures swooped down on her father’s truck.
“Daddy!” Her butt hit the floor next to her bed and her eyes opened on the waking world.
But, still, the vision remained before her eyes.
My son! Grandma blew into the darkness, a whoosh of gray as the black retreated. She shimmered to white and her silver hair and lines of age vanished into a youthful beauty of blonde and ice-blue eyes. She threw back her head and shrieked, a death-cry, and collapsed her transparent body over him. My son!
Grandma. Ophelia reached for her hand.
The great lady did not respond.
Until Dad drifted into nothingness in her arms, vanished.
Grandma lifted her wet face, young and beautiful, and the terrible angles of grief softened. My son’s spirit will endure.
Ophelia pondered the words over and over, as her grandmother’s hand warmed her face.
Sobbing, deep guttural crying jerked their attention.
My sister. Ophelia looked to see Bianca collapsed in terrible wailing.
She needs you. Go. Grandma’s beauty faded back into old age. I will be with you in waking moments very soon.
Grandma, the death scene, the whole vision drew away like a curtain on a stage.
Bianca curled up link an infant on the floor, hugging her knees, and cried.
Ophelia rested a hand on her shoulder.
“He’s dead.” Bianca lifted her tear-washed face from the floor. “Daddy is dead!”
“We don’t know that. It’s just a bad dream.” Ophelia wrapped arms around her sobbing sister.
“That we dreamed at the same time?” Bianca buried her face in Ophelia’s neck. “I heard you screaming.”
Ophelia pulled the quilt back over them. “Dreams are processed during the stage of sleep known as REM, ‘rapid eye movement.’ It’s our brains’ way of sorting through the massive amount of data we accumulate throughout our waking moments. That is all.”
“But...sometimes Science doesn’t work.” Bianca crawled back into her own bed.
Ophelia grabbed her Tribble plushie.
“Sometimes...we’re just gonna have to go on faith.”
“Go back to sleep.” Rattling off a bunch of scientific mumbo-jumbo always worked on her sister, but Ophelia couldn’t banish the images from her own mind. The accompanying feelings lingered black and clawed at her senses.
Hours later, Ophelia woke to her sister ironing a dove-gray dress. “Has Mom said anything about Dad?”
Darkness still oppressed Alaska. Only the clock indicated it was morning.
“Take your shower. I have to fit this on you.” Bianca held the dress up to the ceiling light. “Wish I had time to embroider the sleeves.”
“I’ll take that as a ‘no.’ It’s pretty.” Ophelia sighed. There’d be no getting out of wearing the dress. She pulled back the covers and walked over.
Bianca glanced up, runny mascara darkening the bags under her eyes. She thrust the fabric into Ophelia’s hands. “Feel that. It’s Ultrasuede. Polyester, but it feels like suede leather, warm, soft, and you really don’t need to iron it. I’m just making sure the hem is neat. Wear your ankle boots with it.”
“I don’t have ankle boots.”
Bianca picked up a Christmas present from the floor and shoved it into her arms. “You do now.”
“Thanks.”
“Daddy will like our new dresses.” Bianca sniffed as she moved the iron over the hem, over and over. “He always called us his little princesses.”
“Of course, he will. He’s so proud of your designs. You’re going to be a famous Hollywood costume designer one day, just like Trisha Biggar.” If only I could retreat into the solace of my own imagination, too.
Ophelia showered, and afterwards endured Bianca weaving the front of her still-damp hair into two braids that dangled down the back of her hair.
At quarter to eight, she tossed her backpack over her shoulder and grabbed her flashlight. She paused at the kitchen door to hike up her woolen tights beneath her dress. She hated wearing dresses in the winter. The tights itched. However, it was less irritating than her sister’s whining.
Bianca lunged at her from the archway. Yanking the backpack off her shoulder, she tossed it on the table. “No, your leather messenger bag goes with the dress and coat.”
“I don’t have...”
Bianca shoved another Christmas gift into her hands. “You do now.” She loved Christmas, but this was premature and a bit much even for her. “I’m riding with you, by the way.”
She’s such a leech when she’s worried. Ophelia loosened the ends of the wrapping paper. “You must’ve babysat a lot for this outfit.”
“Oh, my dog, Ophelia, just rip it open.” Bianca shredded the paper in nothing flat. “Actually, I sold three Homecoming dresses I made. Remember?”
“Sorry, I forgot.” Ophelia dug out the messenger bag, a golden tan fake suede one, and transferred all her backpack things into it.
“Oh, the brown leather doesn’t match the dress.” Bianca fussed with her make-up and made little short whiney sounds.
Leading the way out, Ophelia snapped on her flashlight. “You know, I can do my own make-up.”
“You’d never wear make-up.” Bianca followed at her heels crunching in the snow.
“So?” Ophelia remembered what Adrian told her. “When we get home, I’m going online and ordering a new blouse, a purple one.”
“Purple? You can’t wear purple. You have red hair.”
“I can wear purple if I want. It’s my favorite color.”
“It is?” Bianca sipped from a large, lidded cup of coffee.
“Has it never occurred to you to ask what I like? I am not your dressmaker’s dummy.” Ophelia tossed a glare over her shoulder as she rounded her car.
Already running, the car blew out white exhaust between the night-like morning and the porch light. She’d started it fifteen minutes before. Her father always plugged the car into a heating unit against the frigid Alaskan night. He made sure it was functioning in the morning before she ever set foot outside the house. But Dad was not there to do those things for her, and so she’d done it herself.
Ophelia opened her car door.
“Why does that garbage bird keep hanging around? Have you been feeding it?” Bianca pointed to the shrunken pine tree next to the garage.
“He is not a garbage bird. He’s beautiful, and I just gave him a little moose meat. He was hungry. We’re vegan anyway.”
Despite the townsfolk knowing the Dawson family didn’t eat meat, someone always gave them some. They were always thankful too, because Mom said it was a local custom which meant they cared.
“Great,” said Bianca. “Now, he’ll never go away. You know you’re not supposed to feed wild animals.”
Ophelia ignored her scolding. “I didn’t know ravens preferred the blood. Did you? He sucks it all out and knocks the rest off the roof for Kiska. They’re great buddies now.”
Kiska sat on his haunches, looked up at Raven, and whined a little.
Raven cocked his head.
“Can we just go? I’m freezing.” Bianca tangled herself up in the seatbelt. “Oh, shiii...”
“I’ll tell Mom.”
“Shoot. Crap. Whatever.” Bianca wrestled her belt into place. “Don’t ravens represent death?”
Ophelia got into her seat and tossed her things into the back. “In European mythology, yes. But, according to Alaska Native mythology, the raven tricked the bad guy into letting light back into the world, saving humanity. Here, the raven is sacred.”
“Whatever.” Bianca slammed her door. “I wasn’t asking for a freakin’ lecture.”
“You did ask.” Ophelia released a martyr’s sigh and fastened her seatbelt. “Oh, I get it. I’m supposed to listen politely to you gush about what some bubble-headed actress wore to the Oscars, like I give a da...dang.”
Bianca looked ready to behead her for blaspheming the fashion industry.
Ophelia backed out of her parking place. “But, my explanation of how modern perception of common creatures largely depends on the point of view of ancient storytellers is utterly unacceptable.”
“What did you just say? Never mind. I really do not want to know.”
“It’s exactly that attitude that kept Europe in the Dark Ages for a thousand years.”
Bianca sipped from her cup. “Dog, I hate ‘morning people.’”
Ophelia started down the icy road. Their neighborhood was only eight blocks in area. Two blocks past the playground, she turned onto Main Street. An old log house was home to the post office and police station. The post office didn’t open until noon, but Mr. Brynner was usually in his office by seven. On this morning, however, his office remained dark.
Ophelia parallel parked on the street next to the student parking lot. “I’m sure Dad’s fine. He’s lived here all his life, except college. If he did go into a ditch, I’m sure he managed to survive the night. He keeps emergency kits in all our vehicles.”
Bianca got out and trudged for class, new leather messenger bag over her shoulder, too.
Ophelia breathed out tension. She’d have to hurry if she was to get to Calculus, and to Adrian, before Martin could intercept her. She grabbed her new bag and purse out of the car.
A flapping of wings drew her attention upward. Raven landed on the streetlamp and cocked its head at her. Ophelia stared up at him for a few seconds. She’d heard stories of ravens seeking out human companionship after being raised or rescued by them. “Sorry, no birdies in school.” She locked her door and nearly broke into a jog making for the main entrance, head down.
“You said they broke up.”
At Katelyn’s exclamation, Ophelia wheeled around and froze.
Bianca looked at her, wide-eyed.
Katelyn stood outside the girl’s locker room. A purple bruise shone over her eye and upper cheek, unsuccessfully disguised with make-up.
Ophelia gasped.
Katelyn glared as though it was Ophelia’s fault Martin was a jackass and rushed into the gym.
Bianca just stared, wide-eyed.
Martin can get away with anything. If he won’t accept my breaking up with him, what am I going to do? Ophelia rushed for the main entrance, head bowed.
I will protect you, Princess. A familiar male voice spoke.