The Soul's Mark: FOUND (8 page)

There was no sign of Eric or Luke when they
got home.
 
Mabel had left a note on the
table letting the girls know that dinner was on plates in the fridge and all
they had to do was heat it up, but Amelia wasn’t hungry.
 
She was too tired and, extraordinarily, too
wired to eat.

Angelle helped lug all her new treasures
into her room.
 
It took nine trips
between the two of them.
 
They unpacked
the fifty-eight bags, spreading all the items out on Amelia’s bed.

Angelle perched on the edge of the bed and
started folding a t-shirt.
 
“Millie?” she
said, looking up, the beginnings of frown lines were appearing on her
forehead.
 
“I know we just met.
 
You’ve been through a lot and you probably
won’t believe me but…” she paused briefly, looking at Amelia with sad
eyes.
 
“I want you to know you can trust
me.
 
I mean it.
 
I’m really sorry for the way I acted
earlier.
 
I was rude and there’s really
no good reason.
 
It’s just that, it’s
really hard to explain but I feel connected to you somehow.
 
It’s like I’ve known you forever, like we’re
sisters.
 
When Erin came up to you I… I
don’t know… I guess I just feel really protective of you.”

Amelia didn’t know what to say so she
picked up a stack of pants and started putting them on hangers.
 
She knew what Angelle was talking about.
 
It wasn’t just Angelle though, Amelia felt
connected to all of them.
 
It was like
she was finally home.

Amelia finished hanging the pants and sat
down beside her on the bed.
 
“I know what
you mean,” she said faintly.
 
“As soon as
I met you I felt the same thing.”

“So I was thinking,” Angelle mused, the
frown creasing deeper, “you look like you need someone to talk to and well, you
can talk to me… if you want to.”

They stared at each other for a long, hard
moment.
 
Amelia hadn’t meant to say
anything.
 
At least nothing that really
mattered, but once she started, she just couldn’t stop.
 
It poured out of her like water gushing
through a broken dam.
 
She talked about
her parents, about the murder, and about how she had been tied to a chair,
bound and gagged, and forced to watch as they bled to death.
 
Amelia cried about the guilt, about how she
couldn’t do anything to help them.
 
She
even confessed to the dreams, and told about how she had fallen in love with
Mitchell.

When she finished, Amelia felt faint.
 
She had never told the whole thing to
anyone—at least not anyone who wasn’t a doctor.
 
What was Angelle going to think?
 
Would she treat her differently now?
 
Would she look at her with pity all the time?

“Oh, honey,” Angelle said. She had tears in
her voice as she pulled Amelia into a hug.

“It’s okay.”
 
Amelia pushed her off and got up, picking up
a top and putting it on a hanger.
 
“Really.
 
I don’t want
your sympathy.
 
It’s not going to bring
them back.
 
It won’t change anything.”

“It’s not sympathy,” Angelle said and
shifted her gaze towards the bed.
 
She
picked up another top to fold before continuing.
 
“This is going to come out wrong, but I don’t
feel sorry for you.
 
Everything happens
for a reason and, well, even though what happened to you sucks, it’s all part
of life.
 
It’s the cold hard
reality.
 
We all have loss and pain, some
more than others, but it’s made you the strong person you are.
 
So I don’t feel sorry for you, but I am sad
for you.”

Wow.
 
No one had even spoken to her like that.
 
It felt cold and harsh, but it was also… nice—
honest
.
 
The last thing
Amelia wanted was more people walking on eggshells around her.
 
She had had more than enough of that over the
last five years to last her a lifetime.

Angelle continued, “You be careful with all
that guilt though, it will eat you up if you let it.”
 
Angelle met Amelia in the eyes.
 
“You want to hear a secret?”

Did she?
 
Of course.
 
She had just bared her soul, spilling her deepest secrets.
 
The thought of hearing someone else’s was
just too tempting to pass up.
 
“Do you
even have to ask?”

“You’ve got to promise not to tell anyone,”
Angelle said.
 
“Especially
not the boys.”

“Duh…” Amelia replied, rolling her eyes and
plopping back down on the bed.
 
“I
wouldn’t dream of it.”

She shoved her pinky at Amelia.
 
“Pinky
swear
?”

Amelia locked her finger with Angelle’s and
repeated, “Pinky
swear
.”

Angelle smiled, but there was something
forced and sullen about it, nothing like her usual dazzling smile.
 
“When I was sixteen, I was fat and really
awkward.
 
No one liked me.
 
Even my parents shunned me.”

“Yeah right,” Amelia laughed.
 
“Not even possible.”

“Seriously,” Angelle continued, shooting
her a look that clearly said ‘shut up and listen’.
 
“I hated high school.
 
Kids can be just so vicious.
 
Anyways, that’s not the point.
 
I had an imaginary guy, too.
 
Just like you and the dreams.
 
His name was Derek and for two years, I pined
over him.
 
For awhile the dreams were
more real than life and I just lived to dream.”

That peaked Amelia’s interest to a whole
new level and a happy little voice inside her yelled out,
you’re not alone and you’re not as crazy as you think.
 
She needed to know more.
 
She had so many questions, but she wanted to
play it cool so she asked,
“So what
happened?” as casually as possible.

Angelle shrugged.
 
“I slimmed down, had a growth spurt and
became popular and the dreams just stopped.
 
I guess I just didn’t need him anymore and then life just sort of
happened.”

“Huh.”
 
Well that wasn’t what she had hoped for.
 
And it really wasn’t all that reassuring.
 
Amelia was eighteen.
 
She wasn’t going to have a growth spurt and
become beautiful over night.
 
She would
never be popular because, she had to face it—she was a bookworm and kind of a
nerd—and nerds were never popular.
 
And
if she told herself the truth, she didn’t want the dreams to stop.
 
She might have said that she did last night,
but she really didn’t mean it.
 
Life
without Mitch was not something that Amelia thought she could deal with.

Angelle must have read it on her because
she continued, looking distant, as if recalling a great loss.
 
“It was hard for awhile.
 
My life revolved around him and to tell you
the truth, I still miss him sometimes.”
 
Then she smiled another sad and fake smile.
 
“But hey, look at me now.”

“Why are you telling me
all this?”

“I don’t know.
 
I guess I just wanted you to know that you’re
not alone.”
 
Angelle picked up the stack
of clothes she had folded and set them on a shelf in the closet.
 
When she came back out, her normally bubbly
disposition had returned.
 
“Enough of this serious crap, you still hot for Eric?”

Amelia blushed—a bright cherry red—and
flung a pillow at Angelle.
 
She dodged
it, and snagged it out of the air just before it hit the ground and then threw
it back at Amelia playfully.
 
It hit her
square in the face and they both burst out in laughter and collapsed in a
giggling heap on her bed.

They talked for hours—strictly girly girl
talk. They divulged their most embarrassing moments, trying to one-up each
other (Amelia won by a landslide with a story involving two foster brothers, a
bar of soap and a shower curtain malfunction).
 
They chatted about their favorite romantic movies, and remembered their
first kiss.
 
Angelle grilled Amelia on
fashion, a subject on which she was clueless, but Angelle promised to whip her
into shape.

The hours slipped by, and the yawns kept
emanating from Amelia no matter how hard she tried to keep them in.
 
She had stopped adding anything valuable to
the conversation, because her sleepy brain was no longer forming any thought
that was even remotely comprehensible, and before she knew it, she had drifted
off to sleep.

On Saturday morning, Amelia slept in.
 
She was usually up at the break of dawn but
this morning she just couldn’t pull herself out of bed.

Lying on her side, curled up in her king
size bed, she stared at the alarm clock, watching the glowing red digital
numbers change…8:30…8:31…8:32.
 
Maybe if
she just stayed in bed and closed her eyes, she would fall back asleep and he
would be there.

It was sad and it made her feel a bit sick,
but some part of her had secretly hoped that Mitchell could be real.
 
But of course, he wasn’t real.

The words of her psychiatrist echoed loud
and clear through her mind.
 
“Mitchell is
a figment of your imagination.
 
It’s all
very normal Amelia.
 
You have created a
fictional character, an imaginary friend if you will, to help you deal with
your loss.”

That was the logical explanation.
 
And Amelia was usually all about the
logic.
 
But if Dr. Roth was right, then
that meant Mitchell wouldn’t be with her forever.
 
Sooner or later, she wouldn’t need him
anymore.
 
Maybe that’s why she hadn’t
dreamt of him last night.
 
Maybe it was
because she actually had real friends now.
 
Maybe this was her psyche trying to tell her that she no longer needed
him.
 
Maybe she would never dream of him
again.

The thought of never seeing him again hurt,
sticking her like a knife through the heart.
 
She shivered as a prickling sensation enveloped her skin as if she had
lain down on a pincushion.
 
Wow.
 
This is just sad
, she thought.
 
Pull yourself together
.
 
Look
around you.
 
You have friends who
actually care about you and you live in a castle.
 
You are following your dreams and going to
University.
 
You even have a housekeeper.

Life was finally starting to look up.
 
She was finally starting to see the light at
the end of the tunnel.
 
So why did she
still feel so empty?
 
So
alone?
 
It was as if something was
missing, something important.
 
There was
a void inside her that seemed to stretch out forever, leaving her filled with
misery.

Her eyes started to sting and she squeezed
them shut, willing away the tears that threatened to spill.
 
She sucked in a gasping breath and got out of
bed.
 
She craved fresh air and yearned
for exercise.
 
Running was like her
coffee.
 
It woke her up, giving her that
jolt of raw energy she needed to start the day.
 
And it was late enough that the curfew was over so that meant it was
safe.
 
Right?

In about two minutes, Amelia had pulled her
hair up into a bun and slugged her way into her yoga pants and hoodie.
 
She snagged her water bottle off the table
and frowned when she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror.
 
She looked like crap.
 
And what was the dark, puffy circles under
her eyes about?
 
She poked at the saggy
looking skin and sighed.
 
It looked as if
she hadn’t slept in weeks and she wondered if she could sneak out of the house
without her stunning roommates seeing her.
 
Probably not.

A tantalizing whiff of pancakes, maple
syrup and freshly brewed coffee drifted from the kitchen.
 
Amelia’s stomach rumbled, but she didn’t want
to eat because if she ate, she would have to sit at the table and smile and
pretend that everything was fine. Right now that seemed like way too much work.

Trying to stay as quiet as possible, she
inched her way down the hall, hoping to avoid her roommates.
 
But, of course, it was just her luck she ran
into Angelle in the hallway, just outside of the kitchen.
 
She was in pink today—a frilly, hot pink mini
skirt, matching hot pink camisole and a light pink open cardigan.
 
Her hair was tied up with an assortment of
pink ribbons and her lips were painted in a soft pink shine.
 
For most people, it was just way too much
pink, but on Angelle it was somehow perfect.

Hit by a sudden twinge of jealously, Amelia
wondered if there was anything that wouldn’t look good on Angelle.
 
She instantly felt guilty for the thought and
fire burned in her cheeks; she blushed, embarrassed.
 
She wasn’t one of those catty girls and she
wouldn’t start now.
 
Nevertheless,
seeing her drop-dead gorgeous roommate looking so spectacular did not help her
sour mood.

“Good morning, sunshine,” Angelle chirped
in a bubbly voice and if Amelia hadn’t been sour before, she definitely was now
because no one should be that happy in the morning.
 
The cheerfulness surged through her like
nails running down a chalkboard.

“You’re way too perky for this early in the
morning,” Amelia groaned.

Angelle’s
big brown eyes widened and her lips curved into a playful little
smile.
 
“Someone woke up on the wrong
side of the bed I see.”
 
Amelia rolled
her eyes and slid past her into the kitchen.

Mabel, who was busy loading the dishwasher,
gave her a warm, motherly smile.
 
“Oh,
you’re up.
 
Did you want breakfast
now?
 
The rest just finished.”

“No thanks.
 
I’ll grab something later,” Amelia replied, dragging herself over to the
sink and filling up her bottle.
 
Why couldn’t everyone still be asleep?
she
thought sourly.

“Morning, Millie,” Eric greeted.
 
She hadn’t noticed him when she walked in but
he was sitting at the table looking just as chipper and awake as Angelle, in
jogging pants and a faded beer logo t-shirt.
 
He beamed at her.
 
“You look like
shit by the way.”
 
She didn’t bother to
answer him but shot him a look that clearly said,
screw off,
which just made him laugh.

“Someone’s not a morning person,” Angelle
chirped, gliding in behind her and gracefully perching herself at the island,
newspaper in hand.

Eric laughed harder and Amelia felt the ice
melt just a little.
 
What a laugh, so
clear, almost musical.
 
She gave herself
a little shake, clearing the fog that seemed to suck her in whenever he was
around, padded towards the door and jammed her feet into her running shoes.

“Hey, where are you going?” Eric asked,
hopping up from the table.

“Run,” she grunted, and opened the door.

Eric darted around, putting his hand up,
stopping her just before she made it outside.
 
“I’ll go with you.”

“You’ll just slow me down,” Amelia said,
and weaved around him, ducking under his arm, and out into the cool, crisp
morning.

Eric followed her out, not taking the hint
that she just wanted to be alone.
 
“I
doubt that,” he said with a lazy, lopsided grin.

Amelia gritted her teeth and clenched her
fists into little balls.
 
“Fine.
Whatever.
 
But I’m not slowing down for you.”

She skipped her usual stretching, annoyed
that he was insisting on coming and took off down the driveway at a sprint, not
bothering to warm up her muscles.

If Amelia had been worried he would not be
able to keep up, she was wrong.
 
After
ten minutes, she was breathing hard, in short bursts and dripping sweat and he
looked like he was just out for a leisurely stroll.
 
At
least he wasn’t talking to her
, she thought, glad for the silence.

As if he could read her mind, in that
instant he said, “Millie?”

“What?” she gasped, short of breath, and
pushed on, harder and faster.

“What’s made you so crabby this morning?”
he asked, shooting her a sideways glance.

Crap.
 
Not what she wanted to talk about.
 
What was she supposed to say?
I
didn’t see my imaginary boyfriend last night?
 
If she had any hope of impressing him, and
she really did want to make an impression, because, he was, really,
oh-my-god-hot, that really wasn’t the topic to do it with.
 
“Just run,” she said and hoped she didn’t
sound sad.
 
The running helped cover the
tremors in her voice and she picked up the pace.

“I get it,” he said, “You don’t want to
talk to me.
 
But you can if you
want.
 
I’m a good listener and you’re not
alone anymore.”
 
He sounded a little
strange, tired and a touch too serious.

Amelia didn’t know what to say so she just
kept running.
 
She suppressed a wide
smile.
 
Not alone.
 
That was good, right?
 
It sure felt good.

****

By 11:30, Amelia was curled up studying on
one of the marshmallowy chairs in her room, a soft fleece blanket wrapped
around her.
 
It hadn’t been her first
choice for spending the day but Luke had some emergency business meeting, Eric
was playing video games and Angelle was busy doing God only knows what.

Amelia flipped open her Linear Algebra I
textbook.
 
The main structures of linear algebra are vector spaces.
 
A vector space over a field F is a set
 
V together with two binary operations…

She hadn’t gotten
very far when Angelle burst through the door in a frenzy.
 
“There you are!” she said.
 
“I’ve been looking all over for you.
 
You have guests.”

“Guests?”
Amelia
questioned, closing her book, “But I don’t know anyone.”
 
And she really didn’t want to meet anyone, at
least not in yoga pants and a hoodie.
 
She hadn’t bothered getting dress up since she had planned to study all
day.

Angelle swooped
over to Amelia, tugging the blanket away and yanking her up.
 
The book that Amelia had on her lap fell to
the floor with a thud.
 
“It’s time for
you to meet the neighbors,” Angelle said, looking her over with a look that
clearly said she didn’t approve of her attire.
 
“I bought you so many nice things
yesterday.
 
Why are you wearing
this?”
 
Angelle picked at the hoodie like
it was filthy and she didn’t want to get her hands dirty.
 
She sighed loudly.
 
“Well I guess you’ll just have to go out like
this.
 
Your guests have already been
waiting too long.”
 
She grabbed Amelia by
the hand and towed her out of the room.

“Wait a minute,”
Amelia said, trying to pull away.
 
It was
a useless effort.
 
Angelle was a lot
stronger than Amelia had guessed and she didn’t waver at any of her tugs.
 
“Let me have a shower.”

Angelle ignored
her and dragged her down the hallway, up the grand stairs and straight out to
the outside lounge.
 
The second Amelia’s
bare feet hit the cold balcony she shivered, but Angelle pulled her on to where
a crowd had gathered, lounging on some fancy chairs and chatting amicably.

One of the girls
turned around and
squealed,
“Amelia!” and she rushed
over, smothering Amelia in a hug.

Amelia
stiffened.
 
Why did everyone keep hugging
her?
 
What happened to shaking hands?
 
Amelia thought the girl would have gotten the
hint from her stiff stance but it didn’t ruffle her in the least and she was
starting to think the girl wasn’t going to let go.

“Jessica,” a man
said, chuckling softly.
 
“Let the girl
breathe.”

“Oh, sorry,”
Jessica said, stepping back from Amelia and looking bashfully at the man who,
Amelia assumed, had saved her from the hug.
 
She was short, not more than five feet tall, and she looked like a
miniature Barbie doll—busty and curvy, which really stood out in her low rise
blue jeans and yellow scoop neck t-shirt that fit like a second skin.
 
“I’m just so excited.
 
She’s finally here.”
 
She looked back at Amelia and grabbed her
hands jumping up and down excitedly.
 
“We
are going to be the best of friends.”