Mystery-- Thus Far...

“He’s always been there, always. Sometimes he smiles, but I don’t see him do that very much. And he carries a wrapper in his pocket that he says is a present for me, but he won’t show me what it is… We talk all the time. I can hear him when I’m in my room, and so I’ll talk back.”

The little girl fidgeted in her chair, words stumbling off her tongue with over-enunciation. Her eyes flitted to the window, then back to the doctor.

“Do you know his name?” the doctor asked without looking up, his pen scritch-scratching across the paper.

The girl seemed to shrink. “He says I can’t say his name out loud unless I need him…”

“When is that?” the expressionless face of the doctor seemed to mask a kindness that lay within, so the little girl continued.

“Whenever I need him. Like when Sarah was being mean to me… She kicked me down and took my dollie that Pops gave me, and started putting mud on her face.” The girl paused, as if debating what pieces of a large puzzle were worth presenting. Seeming to agree with herself on some far-off thought, she nodded and continued, “Sarah’s not allowed to play with me anymore. Toby said she said she hates me...”

The doctor put down his pen and gave a soft smile. “Okay, Anna. Well, our time today is over, but I want to see you next week. Will you go out to the waiting room give your Grandma a big hug?”

“Okay. Bye, Mister Masson,” the girl smiled timidly, slowly slipping from her chair to follow a nurse back to the waiting room.

As they walked toward their destination, the nurse began to hum. The door opened slowly with the push of a button.

“How’d it go?” an older woman hoarsely asked as Anna and the nurse approached. She held her hand out for the girl, who took it eagerly.

“She did well. She didn’t get too emotional, so that’s a plus. I think Doctor Masson is making progress. He wants to see her next week, if that’s alright, Marissa?”

The woman sighed, nodding. “Sure, that’ll work.”

As they conversed on the appointment, Anna tried to bury her face in her grandmother’s forearm. The room’s single wide window gaped around the movement outside. Slowly, Anna pried her eyes away from it, and was pulled by her grandmother’s hand from the doctor’s office to the familiar beige car. Sneaking one last glance at the outdoors, she drank in emptiness.

Trees whipped by, greens blurred and mixed with the tan and gray blotches of houses. Eyes drooping with fatigue, Anna gazed out the window. “Gamaw, why does Mister Masson always ask me a lot of questions?”

The woman sighed, then cleared her throat with a rasping huff. Anna sleepily turned her head to look at her grandmother. “Anna,” her grandmother began, “I want to make you strong, like your mommy was. And Doctor Masson is going to help with that.”

The little girl looked down at the seatbelt in her lap, thoughts swimming in her young mind. The green blurs turned to blue and white as they crossed over a bridge near their town. Anna nodded her head slowly, wearily, “Okay.”

In too short a time, the sun sank below the horizon. Shrouded in a misty haze, the garish moon grated against the dark sky. Through a small window, a dim light slipped through the curtain of Anna’s room.

“‘Your ears shall hear a word behind you, saying, ‘This is the way, walk in it,’ whenever your turn to the right hand or whenever you turn to the left,’ So says Isaiah 30:21” A large book closed, the faded pages meeting face-to-face in darkness.

A voice shouted, “Marissa!” though it was muffled by distance. Anna’s grandmother rose from her chair and set the battered, leather-bound Bible on an end-table.

“I’ll be right back. Be good, babe,” Marissa’s voice tiredly rasped. The woman straightened her back, stretching, and crossed the room and out the door. Through the dark wood, several clicks were heard, then footsteps that quickly faded away.

A silence fell over the room, matching that of the hazy lunar light. Slowly, a smokey smell filled Anna’s nostrils. She drew back into her pillow, scrunching her nose.

Abrading the silence, the far-off sound of metal tearing against a thick layer of hindering rust crept into the room. Anna’s eyes widened; she pulled her thin, faded blankets up around her and whimpered her query, “Joey?”

“Hey, darling,” a male voice cooed. “Would you like another bed-time story?”

Anna sat up and nodded, murmuring an “Uh-huh” as she flattened and smoothed her blankets back in place once again.

“Okay. Well, once upon a time, there was a little girl named Mary, and she—”

The child interjected, “No, I want her to be called Anna.”

“Okay. There was a little girl named Anna, and she was the most beautiful little girl. She had brown hair like this, and hazel eyes like that, and eyebrows that slanted like this, and a nose that went up like that, and lips that were red like this, and a face that was round like that, and cheeks that were bright all over. She had a little dolly for every day of the week, and each doll looked a little like Anna. She had a doll named Cari, with brown hair like this, just like Anna. She had a doll named Zoey, with hazel eyes like that, just like Anna. She had a doll named Sarah, with eyebrows slanted like—”

“But I don’t like Sarah… She’s mean to me and told Tony that she hates me…”

“Okay. We won’t call that doll Sarah.”

“Okay, good.”

“She had a doll named…” The voice paused, then continued, “We’ll call the doll Marie, with eyebrows that slanted like this, just like Anna. She had a doll named Mikka…”

Slowly, the voice became inaudible; Anna rolled on her side, asleep.

The clicking of locks was heard from just outside Anna’s bedroom. Marissa peered in through the now-open door, the reek of tobacco thick upon her clothing and breath. “Anna’s sleeping, so you’ll need to shut that trap of yours on your way out,” she hissed at someone. She slid the door closed except for a crack.

“Anna! Anna! C’mon, baby, wake up!” the world was quaking, shifting from beneath reality. Dimly, the child opened her eyes to see her grandmother above her, a frantic expression on her face. “Oh, baby, you’re okay!” she gasped, pulling Anna to her chest. A stifled sob escaped from Marissa as she held the girl close.

“Gamaw, what happened? Why are you crying?” Anna’s head lolled to the side.

The woman laid Anna back down on the bed, forcing a smile. “Nothing, baby. You’re safe, so it’s okay now.”

“Did Mister Caleb make you cry again?” Anna whispered, her eyebrows shifting to show a look of concern.

“No, baby. And he won’t be—” her voice cracked and turned to whimpers; she choked back more sobs. A buzzing began, followed by a loud, electronic beeping. Marissa reached into her pocket to pull out a small cellphone. She patted Anna’s head, then pulled herself from the room. The girl touched her hand to her face where a teardrop had fallen. She pulled her hand away, confused by the deep crimson now coating her fingertip.
“—‘t know what happened! It… Fault is his… Your blame… Can’t be Jasper—”

Anna stared at the red droplet as snippets of her grandmother’s phone conversation brushed past her ears. “…Joey?”

“Yes, darling?”

“Why’s Gamaw crying?”

“Mister Caleb isn’t around anymore.”

“But… Then that means he can’t make her cry anymore and he can’t hit her anymore. Why is she sad?”

“Mister Caleb died.”

“Why?”

“Your present.”

Darkness soaked the sky, echoing the curse of bitter rain upon the air. The stairs of the apartment building were slick as Anna stumbled down them. Sullenly, she glanced back up at her floor’s landing. As the steady drip-drip-dripping slid down the stairway, Anna exhaled in acceptance. She drew her eyes from the cracked half-wall and continued her way down the staircase.

Faltering, her breath caught as she left the building, “Good morning, Joey.”

“Good morning, darling,” the kind voice sharply contradicted the face. Smeared with grime and sorrows’ scars, the face gazed down upon Anna. She smiled piteously, forcing herself to continue breathing despite unease around her ‘friend’.

A boy’s head turned toward Anna; his bored expression suddenly ripped away to reveal a cold glower. The girl moved her hands to the shoulder straps of her purple back-pack, tightly gripping the fistfuls of woven polyester against her tattered jean jacket. He tilted his head in a sharp, jutting nod. She instantly looked down to her feet, of which her left big toe poked through her once-shiny, once-black shoes.

“C’mon, Anna. You know the drill.”

“Yes, Jasper. Don’t talk. ‘Nd don’t look at anyone. Ever.”

“Good. Now Toby and Ben are gonna be here soon. Sit in front of me, and stick to the rules.”

Anna nodded, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. Her eyes had scouted out a tiny patch of struggling moss in a crack beneath her feet. A groaning rumble in the distance was heard: the sound of an engine straining to climb a moderately steep hill. Anna’s sight shifted, though the rest of her remained motionless. Her lips quivered and parted to form soundless words.

Jasper turned to Anna, cleared his throat, and stomped his foot. “Anna, what did I tell you about talking?”

She simply shook her head, her line of vision once again returning to the moss and cement.

The vehicle staggered to a halt before the building. Many children were now waiting at the bus stop for the glass-paned doors to open. The anticipated shriek of the crank-handle filled the air; they immediately boarded all at once. Anna was shoved against another child, but her eyes were strictly pointed toward the steps of the bus. Expressionless, Jasper climbed past her.

The tangle unwound. Anna boarded. The school day was started.

The school day dashed itself against the hard sky as children ran to play for recess. Rain’s eminent arrival cloaked the sodden day. Anna sat with her back to a large oak tree, dozing.

The still silence seemed to echo past the roar of the playground. A root of the tree crackled as bark was stripped from it by a tennis shoe. A smile broke out from the newcomer, “Good thing our rules work.”

Anna looked up lazily from her daydreams, confusion staining her cherubic face, “But… Jasper, why do I always need to be quiet on the bus?”

“Because I like you and I don’t want them to beat you up,” another piece of bark shifted, sounding light as grating gravel.

“But Jasper,” the girl pulled a strand of frizzing hair from her honey-brown tresses, “You can’t like me.”

A shocked, inquisitive glance demanded an explanation. Jasper sat down next to her.

“I’m only six. And you’re eight. You can’t like me. Mikka says it’s gross to like younger people.”

There was a long, tempestuous silence; it simmered with Jasper’s thoughts and Anna’s worry.

As first droplets began to fall, Jasper let out a resentful whisper, “Joey thinks I’m good.”

Anna’s eyebrows furrowed; she turned, looked at her companion’s solemn profile. “How did you know what Joey said?”

Jasper turned away, mute pain resonating from his core.

Piercing and shrill, the bell rang for the end of recess.

Jasper stood; he took three slow paces before quickening to a jog.

Anna stayed still with her back against the rough trunk. A mumble fell from her lips, barely audible, “I wonder if anyone will look for me?”

“I would, darling.”

“Thanks, Joey. I know you love me, and I love you, too,” her cheeks shifted as she gave a timid smile. After a brief moment of pause, she asked, softly, “How does Jasper know you?

“You’ve talked about me, and he’s listened.”

His dark hands reached out to touch her face, the grit that covered his fingers lightly brushing against her cheek.

“It’s gonna rain, so you should go inside with me.”

“I will, darling.”

“Will you come to math class, too? My teacher is really nice. Miss MacCully is really nice. She’s really smart, and gives all the little girls princess hats for our birthdays. I would’ve wanted a green one last year.”

“What about the other teacher? What’s she like?”

“I don’t like her. Zoey says she taught her brother Ken last year. Ken is in sixth grade, but for some reason she’s teaching first grade. Gamaw says that Mrs. Kamon thinks we need to listen to directions instead.”

“Mrs. Kamon isn’t very nice then?”

Anna shook her head, then looked up for her friend. Not finding him, she stood up and looked all around the tree. “Where’d you go?”

“I didn’t go anywhere,” the voice seemed to grin, but the girl knew that there was no one smiling near her.

“Okay. Well, I need to go to Morning Snack. All the mean kids probably budged everybody else by now, so it’ll be safe.”

“Okay. I’ll see you in math class. Bye, darling.”

Anna sat at the end of the table, alone. She sniffled a bit, recalling how last year she had eaten Morning Snack with the Second Graders during reading time, so she could talk to Jasper. Eyes threatening tears, she blinked furiously. A large force hit the table just before her face; it was so sudden that she cried out in fright.

“Baby!” a mocking voice carved into her mind.

“Hi, Sarah. I’m sorry you hate me.”

“Nuh-uh, you’re not sorry! You put a curse on me! You’re like a witch that flies around at halloween time! You make me have nightmares! I hope you crash into a tree while riding on your broom, and go SPLAT!”

“I didn’t make you have nightmares. I’m not a witch. I’m sorry you hate me,” the words trembled.

Hands grabbed at Anna’s crackers. The broken fragments were thrown back at her with fresh mucus and saliva clinging to them.

Abruptly, an authoritative voice snapped at them, “Hey! Sarah and Tobias! Go back to your seats, you two.” The principal nodded, then walked out of the room again. Anna combed through her hair with her fingers, trying not to gag as clumps of snot clung to her hand.