Ember Rising Light (Book One) Page 5

  Chapter One

  This particular move was different from the previous ones we had made, over the last seven years. Tray had come home early from his job as a mechanic and informed me that we were leaving Chicago, immediately. I didn’t ask him where we were going or why we needed to go so abruptly. Thirty minutes after he walked through the door, we were on the road and headed south.

  We had moved so many times that I couldn’t even count them anymore. Our frequent moves are typically my idea. So, Tray’s relocation announcement was highly unusual.

  A certain, small part of our wandering lifestyle can be attributed to the fact that we are gypsies. The call of freedom offered by the open road is a necessity.

  The primary reason behind our frequent moves is based on my keen intuition. Even as a small child, I had always been able to sense things. When Tray ran away with me seven years ago, my ‘sixth sense’ developed rapidly. And, the pattern would always happen the same way…

  We would be living somewhere and I would get an uneasy feeling inside my spirit. I could sense an evil lurking somewhere in the shadows – preparing to strike and destroy us. When this internal warning sounded, I would tell Tray it’s time to move on.

  He has never once, questioned me or hesitated to comply. We would simply pack up and leave. So when he walked through the door and said we’re moving, I didn’t question him about the decision.

  When I opened my eyes, I was staring at my reflection in the window of our well-travelled station wagon. I knew many miles had gone by because the darkness was deeper.

  Tray is gripping the steering wheel, intensely concentrating on the winding dirt road. His eyes were glazed over. He’s exhausted. It’s after three in the morning. Experience tells me that he won’t stop this car without the right motivation.

  For all I know, the place he has picked to move us to could be another ten hours away. Tray will ignore his own needs, especially if he is focused on getting to a specific destination. And, whatever prompted him to leave Illinois so quickly still has him spun up and panicked. If I want him to pull over, I have to suggest it as something I need. Otherwise, he will fight off sleep and keep on driving.

  “Morning…” I finally whispered while formulating my devious plot.

  “Sure is,” Tray responded with a small laugh.

  “That wasn’t an observation. It was actually meant as a greeting. How long was I out?” I questioned him.

  “Probably just two or three hours...” Tray hedged.

  “I’m sure it was more like seven or eight, but thanks for not making me feel bad about bailing on you. I haven’t been sleeping very well with all the nightmares I’ve been having…” I reluctantly revealed.

  It hurt me to see his brow crease as he processed this newly discovered information. Tray has spent his life protecting me, taking care of me and providing for me – just like any good parent would for their child. He also worries about me, constantly. Adding this concern on top of everything else, made me feel guilty. But, he desperately needs to sleep in a real bed. Revealing my nightmares was the only thing I could think of that might get him to stop driving.

  “How long have you been having them? When did they start? Why haven’t you said anything about them before now? Did something happen to you at school that you're not telling me about?” Tray continued firing questions without waiting for an answer.

  He tends to turn into an inquisitor when he gets nervous or upset. I’m not sure if it makes him feel better or worse, but he always falls back on this routine in times of stress and crisis. Five minutes later, I managed one interruption.

  “I’ve been having nightmares for the past couple of weeks...”

  “I wish you would’ve told me. Maybe, I could’ve done something for you…”

  “That’s an interesting concept. What, precisely, do you think you could’ve done about something that occurs in my sleep?” I forced in my question before he could resume his inquest.

  His brow creased deeper when he realized there was no way to fix my problem.

  “Don’t worry about it…they don’t happen every night…” I said – now, it’s my turn to hedge.

  My brother’s endless silence and concerned expression made me want to blurt out something like “I was just joking around.” That’s not the truth, though. And, I would never outright lie to Tray.

  I pushed the gnawing feeling aside and continued trying to persuade him.

  “Actually, I think sleeping with you in the same room would help me feel safe. That’ll keep the nightmares away…”

  Tray remained silent as he stared into the distance. The worry line was creased firmly into his brow, by this point. In order to keep myself quiet I reached over and turned on the radio. I need a distraction. He has to process the information and make a decision. He can’t focus on anything if I keep talking, but shutting up does not come naturally to me.

  My statement about not having bad dreams every night isn’t exactly a lie. Some nights I’m too frightened to go to sleep. That means technically my words would be considered more like a ‘creative-Emberism’. I have become fairly inventive at rationalizing my actions since my life is full of unusual choices and interesting (although mischievous) adventures. I always seem to find myself in the middle of something fascinating. That means I have to be good at making great excuses. Trouble has never had to come looking for me…

  The music wasn’t holding my interest like it normally does. Thoughts of my bad dreams made me shiver. I have, at least two nightmares every night and they terrify me. I wake up feeling doom on the horizon. Demons hunt me endlessly, in my dreams…

  We are travelling on the back roads. The starless night is making it impossible to see anything. The sharp, winding curves and steep hills lets me know we are surrounded by mountains.

  The early September landscape must be beautiful with the leaves changing. Squinting didn’t help. The trees were still shrouded in inky shadows. So I tried, by sheer force of my will, to make the sun rise on my command – of course, nothing happened.

  I was prepared to launch into another debate, but as fate would have it I got distracted.

  We hit a small bump and my ‘memory box’ slid off the seat. It is odd how certain, seemingly random items can carry so much sentimental value. My old hat box is full of little mementos. Each one represents a part of my life and those are memories I intend to keep.

  Occasionally, I lose time…my memories fail to stay within my reach. I have always been preoccupied – especially when I was younger. Most of my cherished memories have been permanently misplaced due to my mental wanderings.

  My nomadic mind doesn’t always block out the bad memories, either – unfair, though it is. So, my inattentive nature is not very useful. Everyone should have the luxury of being able to erase a memory or two.

  I took a good, long look at my brother. I attempted to interpret Tray’s facial expression. It appears to be blank in my estimation. But, I have come to realize that I really stink at reading people.

  That thought is very ironic considering that I’m a gypsy. Gypsies are supposed to be excellent con artists – facial expression interpretation should just come, naturally. Those ‘gypsy interpretation skills’ are not among my talents yet, although I hope they will be someday. I am praying they will eventually develop like some dormant inborn ability. Maybe, I will wake up one morning and discover I have them.

  Tray doesn’t discuss our gypsy heritage with me. He has never offered to teach me any tricks or cons. If I don’t wake up with those gypsy skills like I am hoping for, then I plan to pout and plead until he teaches me.

  My brother and I could never be considered normal or average like other people our age. It took years of moving around and being on our own before I realized that fact. We are different from other gypsies too…and, everyone else on the planet for that matter.

  Traditional gypsies take care of th
eir own kind. Normally, Tray and I would have joined another traveling band after we ran away. My brother never considered living with another gypsy family, to my knowledge. My world has always consisted of just me and Tray. He is a combination of my parent, protector and hero. He has spent his life taking care of me and that forced him to grow up, fast.

  Sometimes, I wonder if that is regret I see swirling behind his ocean-colored eyes. That particular thought feels like the blade of a sharp knife being twisted deep in my heart. It fractures my spirit. Fighting back the resulting tears, I shoved the thought away.

  Darkness has a tendency of warping the very best of things and shrouding the soul...

  The many trials in my life have left me altered forever. I’m not cynical, just different. Fifteen-year-old girls usually giggle and are filled with idealistic hope. I have never giggled once to my knowledge and idealistic hope is a foreign concept to me. I feel so much older than fifteen.

  Tray eventually turned onto a paved road. The state sign announced we are only six miles from the highway.

  “If he stops for the night, then Ember-girl, you really are the freakin’ stuff…” I thought excitedly.

  When my brother exited onto a ramp with lodging, I didn’t feel quite so guilty anymore. We drove by two large chain motels before he pulled into a privately owned one called the Mountaineer Motor Lodge.

  We live life on the gypsy down low. This means we keep to ourselves and out of the spotlight. Tray will only choose a chain motel as a last resort. The reasons behind this choice were few, but vital, if we hoped to remain unnoticed – not to mention out of the hands of social workers and other authority figures.

  Hotel chains have security cameras, ask for a copy of a driver’s license and look suspiciously at two young people traveling together with no adult in sight. So we usually stay in small, obscure motels and motor courts – places that are only concerned with how green the cash is.

  The owner switched on the light in the lobby when Tray pressed the after-hour’s buzzer. The manager was wearing a washed out robe. His gray hair was tousled with a serious case of ‘bed-head.’ Just as I expected, he didn’t ask us any questions as he exchanged the key to the room for our money. Tray apologized for waking him up and then, asked him what time we need to check out.

  “Son, whenever your eyes decide to open and you wanna leave – that’s your check out time. Just don’t forget to return my key…” the owner stated with a smile.

  I felt tears threatening to spill for the second time that night. Never underestimate a kindness…

  Tray double locked the door and folded over the extra security latch at the top. Then, he shoved his bed against the door. He had performed this same motel door security ritual, for years. It was a comforting gesture.

  My brother is a very light sleeper. If someone walks by our motel room outside, he will be on his feet and fully alert in seconds. So, he always requests a room at the far end of the motel.

  Tray didn’t even take off his shoes or get underneath the covers. I think he was out before his head touched the pillow.

  Although I was still sleepy, my desperate need for a shower ruled my thoughts. Long car rides make me feel sticky. I have always hated being dirty or sweaty. I keep a ‘we’re moving right this instant’ bag packed with everything I need for two days on the road. Tray taught me to be prepared to leave on a moment’s notice.

  Stepping in the hot shower, I thought about Chicago. Once we move, we never look back. I have never given any thought to the other places we have left in our path. But, I actually made friends at our last school – something I have never done before.

  A few weeks ago, Tray had abruptly decided that I needed to come out of my shell. He can be really annoying when he wants me to do something I would not normally choose to do.

  Even after I assured him that I was content living inside my own world (reading, listening to music and talking to him), he continued to badger me. Relentless in this strange pursuit to have me join the rest of the world, he claimed to know what’s best. In other words, he pulled his ‘parental-card’ and used it against me.

  His mind was made up. So I begrudgingly slipped out of my own world, with his assistance, and made two friends. I even managed to get one picture of them together. It’s stored in my memory box. At least, I wouldn’t lose Garrett and Emily to the sands of ‘Ember-time’ entirely.

  I dressed in two tank tops, a t-shirt, a pair of sweat pants and socks to sleep in. I wear layers of clothing, day and night. I have a modesty obsession, in addition to my cleanliness compulsion.

  It was late in the afternoon before I woke up. I was astounded that my sleep was dreamless. It appears that my brother can keep me safe from the lurking nighttime demons…

  “Well, I see sleepin’ beauty finally decided to grace the world. Or no, wait, maybe I should call you Rip Van Winkle instead. Sleeping twenty five hours suggests the latter…” Tray said with a genuine laugh.

  I grabbed a pillow and threw it at him. He dodged it and continued to enjoy his joke. I buried my head under my one remaining pillow and tried to make him believe that he was irritating me. I didn’t fool him, though. He knows I love to hear his laughter.

  “Oh by the way, Rip…thanks for leaving me a clean towel to dry off with. That one washcloth on the rack did the trick – no problem…” my brother said, dramatically once he stopped laughing.

  I listened to the playful sarcasm and realized that I had used the only two bath towels last night.

  “Hey, I left you a hand towel along with that washcloth…” I replied.

  I couldn’t suppress my laughter anymore. I extracted my head, still trying to look innocent.

  “Yeah, yeah very freakin’ funny…” Tray stated in a serious tone, but even with all his gypsy skills, he could barely keep a straight face.

  Tray is huge, like a linebacker that lifts weights constantly. He is 6’3” with a strong, muscular build. He keeps a tan year round. His hair is black like a raven’s feathers. And, he has ocean colored eyes. Well, I have never been there to prove it. But, every time I look in his eyes, that’s what comes to mind.

  My brother is extremely handsome. That’s something I can prove because I recently watched a girl walk into the side of a brick building while she was checking him out. I didn’t have time to react before she collided with the structure. Tray rushed over to her to make sure she was okay. The poor girl couldn’t seem to find her voice. He helped her up and all she could manage was to nod, blush and smile. I told him what happened on our way home. But, he just shook his head and dismissed my observation.

  Mine and Tray’s facial features are an uncanny match for each other, but the similarities stop there. I am barely 5’4” and weigh an impressive 85 pounds. It’s strange, but my hair keeps getting lighter. By this point, it would be considered dirty blonde. I have light blue eyes that match the color of the sky.

  It is very entertaining to watch people’s reactions when they see Tray and I together for the first time. It is indisputable that we are related to each other. But, nothing about me can compete with the mere size of my brother – the incredible handsome giant.

  We had stopped in a small city in Western North Carolina. The surrounding mountains were breathtaking. When Tray announced that we might stay here for a while, I was surprised. He prefers to live in massive, urban sprawls like Dallas and St. Louis. In fact, we have never lived in a rural town before.

  I tried to contain my excitement. Although it was unexplainable, I desperately wanted to remain in this area. The surrounding forest calls out to my spirit…

  The next day we found the perfect rental property. It was a privately owned, small but furnished older cabin on five acres of land. The landlady was a stern looking woman named Nora Dills. Her thin, passive husband was named Robert. The three of us followed Nora around as she gave us the tour and barked the rules. Any violation would
get us “kicked out on our butts without a refund”.

  “We’ll follow every rule to the letter…and, we’ll keep the house spotless…no worries…” Tray informed her as he handed over the first month’s rent and a security deposit.

  “Don’t gimme a reason to keep that deposit money – understand?” Nora stated while tucking the money in her bra.

  “Sure enough, lovely lady. You’ve got my word on it,” Tray offered with a wink.

  I thought I saw Nora smile as she turned away. Her husband gasped in shock, paid us a startled glance and dutifully followed his wife to the car.

  It’s interesting to see a formidable woman like Nora Dills soften around the edges. My brother seems to have a way about him that inspires even the hardest woman to behave in a more feminine nature. I had spent hours trying to figure out how he does that. So far, I’ve had no success at all….

  How Tray manages to accomplish the seemingly impossible is beyond my comprehension. Once again though, he discovered the one person in this whole town that would rent to us without a lease, credit check or an application.

  Tray’s particular talent of ‘persuasion’ doesn’t work on me, fortunately. After all, I have to live with the guy…