The Nibiru Effect

Memory 3

I stare, wide-eyed, at the symbol on my arm. Unlike in the dream, the hourglass is idle. The top half is full. The bottom one is empty. It appears as though it was always part of me, yet its mere presence is enough to set my nerves on edge.

I sit there for the longest time, staring and refusing to believe it's real. Then I hear footsteps, and I'm reminded that I'm up past my bedtime. Somehow, the prospect of being caught terrifies me more than the symbol on my arm. I click off the flashlight and pull down the covers so my head is once more visible. Moments later, I'm pretending to sleep.

The footsteps echo throughout the orphanage. A few of my fellow orphans shift in their sleep, but none wake. I lay there, unmoving. My heart beats so hard I can barely think straight. It takes all I have just to figure out that whoever is making their way across the dormitory must have seen my flashlight.

Please don't let them know it was me, I silently implore. I don't believe in God—no orphan who's old enough to grasp the concept of a higher power does—yet I pray to him.

The footsteps keep coming.

"I hope it's not Miss McAlister," I mutter. "Please don't let it be Miss McAlister."

Miss McAlister is a good woman at heart but a horrible person to deal with. She devotes all of her time to keeping the orphanage running smoothly, yet she hates children. She gives empowering speeches to keep the staff motivated but turns into a crone as soon as she must interact with the orphans. Now and then she's forced to cover for a sick staff member, and whenever that happens, we're on our best behaviour. No one knows what would happen if Miss McAlister caught us breaking the rules, but I don't plan on being the one to find out.

I almost jump out of my skin when a voice emerges from the darkness.

"Shut up!" growls Angela. "You'll get us in trouble."

I guess the beam of light to the face woke her after all. I want to apologize, but I know that will only make things worse, so I keep my mouth shut and listen to the sound of approaching footsteps.

The repeated slamming of shoes against concrete is both terrifying and oddly soothing. I focus on it and soon find myself drifting off, my mind wandering back to my past.

The orphanage is all I have ever known. I never knew my parents, yet I can't help missing them every day. When I was young, I spent my days sitting by the orphanage window, praying for them to return. Every couple that passed made my heart flutter. The sound of the front door opening brought me running to the entrance hall. At school, I felt like an outcast. The only ray of sunshine in my otherwise bleak existence was Grace. She was my best friend, my only friend.

Years passed, and I grew up. Grace and I were still close, but everything else had changed. I no longer expected my parents to rescue me from the orphanage. Nor did I expect to be adopted—if that was meant to happen, it would have occurred when I was still young and cute. I accepted my fate. I tried making friends, but no one understood me. Boys my age spent their days talking about girls and cars. I preferred quiet contemplation. I pictured my life as it would have been had my parents kept me. I imagined myself growing up to be something. A husband. A father—I promised myself that when the day finally came, I would be the best father there ever was. I could hardly wait for the day when I would get to meet my child and tell them how much I loved them.

I'm interrupted in my musings by the sudden cessation of footsteps. I crack open an eyelid and scan my surroundings.

A shadow stands at the foot of my bed. The light is too dim to make out features, but the outline leaves no doubt in my mind that the newcomer is a woman.

Miss McAlister. Given my recent string of bad luck—the mysterious dream, the magical light, the enigmatic symbol—it can be no one else. I reseal my eyelid and wait for her to go away.

She doesn't move.

After what feels like an eternity, Miss McAlister whispers my name. Only it is not Miss McAlister.

"Grace?" I ask, bolting upright in my bed. Angela breathes a sigh of relief, but I ignore her. I'm too relieved to care about my fellow orphans.

"What are you doing here?" I ask.

Grace shushes me, then gestures for me to follow her.

I slip out of bed. The concrete floor feels cold against my bare feet, but I welcome the chill that spiders up my spine. It's a nice change of pace from all that heat and pain.

"Get dressed," urges Grace. "We may be gone a while."

I do as I'm told. Moments later, I'm fully dressed. Almost immediately I regret not removing my sweat-drenched pyjamas, but it's too late for that now. I follow Grace out of the dormitory, doing my best to keep my sneakers from squeaking on the concrete floor.

I'm momentarily blinded by the light that fills the main hallway, but I forget all about it when I notice Grace heading toward the kitchen. I hurry after her and catch up just as we reach our destination.

It's the middle of the night, so the kitchen is deserted. Stainless steel counters and shiny pots hanging from hooks make up most of the décor. Four stoves, five microwave ovens, and six sinks are scattered throughout the room. To my left lies a walk-in fridge. In the far right corner stands a small table with a couple of chairs.

"What are we doing here?" I ask, making sure that my sleeve covers the symbol on my arm. The last thing I need right now is Grace asking questions I can't answer.

"You'll see soon enough," she says as she grabs my hand and leads me to the table. "Close your eyes," she adds once I'm seated. "It's a surprise."

I hesitate. I normally enjoy a good surprise, but so much has happened in the last few minutes I fear I may not be able to handle another revelation. Unfortunately, refusing to comply with Grace's request would only complicate things.

I cover my eyes, but not before taking a moment to study her. She's beautiful. Her hair is long and hazel-coloured. Her lips are drawn back in an ever-present smile. Her eyes twinkle with joy. She wears a plain t-shirt and torn jeans. To most, she's just another beautiful woman, but to me, she's the personification of all that's good. She's the closest thing I have ever had to a mother, and I love her with all my heart.

Grace gets to work as soon as my eyes are closed. I hear her shuffle around. I can make out the distinct sound of plates grinding together and the ding of utensils hitting the wooden surface before me. I also hear a grating, explosive sound, yet I don't recognize it until I'm finally allowed to open my eyes.

A small, frosted cake stands before me, fifteen candles burning brightly atop it. It takes a moment before I remember something important.

It's my birthday!