As You Lay Sleeping. Katlyn Duncan
Her gaze wandered the room, pausing everywhere except for me. “I’m sure I’ll see you soon,” she said in a flat voice.
I hesitated, wanting to decipher what her change in attitude meant. I didn’t have a chance, since she turned on her heel, leaving me standing alone watching her walk away. I knew Kat did this; she always pushed people away when something negatively affected her. And this situation was no different. She needed my support as much as I needed hers. Even if at the moment she didn’t want it.
With each sharp inhale, the scent of the seawater filled my nose; my chest ached with the need to return home to my sanctuary. The air in Chester Bay, especially by the water, helped ease my nerves. A pair of joggers came toward me from the distance. I flipped my hood and cinched the strings tight, masking my face. Under the cover of early morning and later evenings I was able to rid myself of the plastic prison that concealed my identity.
The need to run had been ingrained in my body for years. Anger and frustration that appeared out of thin air at a moment’s notice were pushed aside. My mind was clear and that was exactly what I needed to formulate the next steps of my plan.
The man and woman passed, both of them nodding a hello. I dipped my chin lower, ignoring them. I doubted they would be so kind if they saw my face.
After picking up my pace to distance myself, I glanced over my shoulder to make sure they were gone. Their bodies were far in the distance.
I’d already done several laps, enough for now, even though I still had no idea where I was going to live for my stay in town. I packed light, my backpack had all the supplies I needed and currently resided in a paid locker by the bathrooms on the beach. I had a few things to pick up and didn’t find it necessary to lug them around before I needed them. I had enough money to cover the expenses when the time came.
I took a break, finding a bench to sit on. I scanned the area and it was clear of any people. I dropped the hood and traced the thick lines across the top of my head. The bench faced a playground. I could almost hear the laughter of the children from the swing sets and their glee as they glided down the plastic slides. The tinkling chains on the clatter bridge filled my ears like the echo of children running across it.
Had Sylvia played here when she was little? I imagined her face and how it had morphed over the years to a beautiful, ethereal teenager. Something inside me stirred.
A loud horn blasted in the distance and I turned around to see a large boat floating over the water further out to sea. I smiled. Fate had once again steered in my direction.
It was the fastest way to get her home, avoiding any chance of being followed. I shook my head. Why didn’t I think of it before? It was perfect. In my isolation over the years, Father taught me how to run a boat and with access to the ocean; my plan started to formulate.
I took a deep breath, embracing the sea air, allowing it to flow through me, to inspire and invigorate me.
My muscles buzzed with repressed energy and I stood from the bench and continued my jog back down the boardwalk. I steadied my breathing while picking up my pace.
Further down the way, someone stood outside one of the storefronts. I moved to the other side of the boardwalk and flipped my hood over my head once more. The closer I got, the more I could make out the person. He carried a bundle of newspapers and stacked them on the stand outside of the store. Something inside made me slow down. I pretended to stretch my quadriceps while watching him. Another man came from the store and handed the delivery man an envelope.
The store owner lifted the top paper and clicked his tongue. “What a tragedy.”
“Tell me about it,” the delivery guy said, peering into the envelope. He seemed satisfied and tucked it into his back pocket.
“His parents own most of the places on this strip and a few other big complexes in town. Just goes to show that money doesn’t mean immortality.”
I glanced over my shoulder and saw the color photo on the front page. It was a picture of the boy I killed.
The services for Joe took place later that week. My parents and I stayed for most of the wake. The funeral home was packed with people in support of the Blair family. Joe’s family members, whom I’d got to know over the years at holidays and other celebrations, approached me and hugged me. I offered condolences, while they did the same.
My parents were only children, so we didn’t have a big family. Ever since I entered the inner circle of the Blair family, I always looked forward to these events that I’d never be able to experience in my own family. Mom, Dad, and Madison seemed content with this, but I never did. They were happy enough to be small while I always had the yearning for more. It was a distinct divide in our family but there was nothing I could do.
It had already been raining for some time when I woke up the morning of the funeral. The sky was gray and thick clouds blocked any sun from peeking through. The leaves on the trees were slick with rain and twitched as the rain picked up again.
At the church, I sat with my parents and Madison. Rachael and Brittany had managed to get seats together and with their parents. Mom had insisted we show up early to get a seat together. As she suspected, the church filled quickly and soon enough there were people standing behind the last pew.
It didn’t matter that I was separated from my friends, it wasn’t as if we could socialize during the service. We’d meet up at the reception later.
At the cemetery, my parents, Madison, and I squeezed under one umbrella. I had a consistent trail of rain assaulting my head the entire time. And, by the time I got into Dad’s Jeep, I was soaked and sweaty from the heat. I shoved back my damp hair, which had been wild and frizzy that morning. I didn’t prefer either look. I worked my fingers through my hair and started to braid it.
The gentle patter of the raindrops against the plastic window accelerated as a loud boom of thunder rumbled in the distance.
Mom and Dad got into the car and Mom’s perfume filled the small space. She opened the glove compartment to retrieve a travel-sized pouch of tissues. She blotted the damp bags under her eyes and sniffled. She offered the tissues to Madison and me.
Most of the black-clad mourners were already in their cars and off to the reception. Streaks of water distorted the view through the window. One person was left at the service even after the priest had gone. He or she wore a long, dark trench coat and had a small, cheap-looking umbrella that bowed under the weight of the rain. A gloved hand placed the final rose atop the coffin.
I shivered as the cool air from the air conditioner struck me, turning my attention away from the coffin, and I said my final goodbye to Joe.
The reception was held in the ballroom of a country club that the Blairs belonged to, a place I’d been to only a handful of times. The exclusivity for members was lifted only for certain events.
Cream-colored gathered fabric billowed from the ceiling. The edges cascaded down to the spaces between the large French doors open to the stone patio and golf course. The rain pattering against the stone brought a more somber tone to the normally breathtaking view. Plush leather chairs outlined the dozen or so tables filling the room.
In the minutes from the cemetery to the reception, Rachael and Brittany had changed into black frilly party dresses instead of their more church-appropriate attire. I noticed their hairstyles were different, too. I assumed the humidity and rain had done the same tricks to their hair as they had mine. Rachael’s thick black hair was braided in a fishtail, while Brittany had a caramel-colored bun at the top of her head. I suddenly felt overdressed and plain compared with them, a feeling I hadn’t had in quite some time.
Rachael looped her arm with mine and we went in search of Kat. I tried to walk off the wetness in my shoes, which made an embarrassing squeaking sound as I walked. Thankfully