Transcend

Chapter Five

Chapter Five

I’m not the kind of person most people want around their kids.

Pre-funeral, it was because I had a reputation. Parents would whisper, “He’s a smart kid, but he’s just too restless,” when they’d pass me in the school halls during annual meetings. “Irresponsible, but filled with potential,” is what the teachers would tell my mother. “Devil’s spawn,” is what old Principal Grant liked to call me.

But my reputation wasn’t utter crap either. I was pegged as ‘one of the good guys’ – whatever that meant – but I wasn’t responsible enough to be entrusted with the life of a kid. Fine by me. Between soccer and having a life, it’s not like I had the time or the inclination.

Post-funeral is when I went from ‘good guy’ to ‘emotionally unstable’. Part of that was my own doing, but a major part of it was ‘cause of my mother’s outburst.

The only kid I ended up spending any time with after that was Reese. Mrs. Garroway thought people were being silly and they’d come to their senses soon enough. She was right. They did. But by that point, I’d stopped caring.

Plus, once you’ve borne witness to the mayhem an evil genius like Reese can create, your concept of little kids gets pretty distorted. So maybe an outsider would find it weird that I’m getting antsy at the thought of dealing with a little girl, but to me it’s absolutely normal.

What’s not normal is that she’s a human glow-in-the-dark.

“Hey, mister, your face has gone all funny. Are you sick? Mommy always gives me water when I get sick. Do you get sick a lot? I get sick all the time. Mommy keeps paper bags in the car ‘cause sometimes, my tummy pains and I get sick all over the seats. Does your Mummy keep...?”

I tune her out and squeeze my eyes shut for a second. When I open them, she’s still talking. Something about cookies. “Uh, kid?”

She pauses. “Yeah?”

I clear my throat. Suddenly, I don’t remember what I wanted to say.

Why did I interrupt her? She could’ve kept the conversation going for the both of us. It’s not like I know what to talk about. My conversation arsenal isn’t exactly kid-friendly.

Then I remember. I nod my head in the direction of the bed. “Who’s the girl?”

The kid doesn’t even look. She giggles and slaps her palm against her forehead. “That’s me, silly. Can’t you tell? She has my nose and my hair and my face and my....”

Damn it. I was hoping for a better explanation.

There has got to be a better explanation. As long as it doesn’t involve the words ‘soul’, ‘Reaper’ and ‘Underworld’, I’ll take it. Anything.

“Hey, your hand’s in a bag.” The kid scrunches her nose and points at my sling. “Did you break it?”

“Yeah.” I hop into the room when I hear voices coming up the corridor. “I got into an accident.” Using my body to keep the door open, I drag the wheelchair in. Pain darts up my sides. The door swings shut, blocking most of the outside light.

The sound of the beeping magnifies in the closed room, and so does the glowing. I bump into the wheelchair as I feel around for the switch. One would think a glowing object like a freaking soul would be a helpful thing to have in a dark room, but I can’t see jack around the kid. I can barely make out the outline of the sofa. It’s like the glowing isn’t lighting anything up. I locate the switch next to the door and the room brightens up under a dim fluorescent panel.