SCINTILLATE - Book #1 of The Light Key Trilogy

Chapter Two

As quickly as the illness came, it disappeared. Well, almost. An MRI, a neurologist, and an eye doctor could find no medical reason for the visual "anomaly." They even tested to rule out a stroke. I was finally discharged and sent home, which would've been a relief if my eyes weren't still funkadelic, projecting ghostly colors around everyone.

I begged Dad to take the scenic route home from the hospital, winding on West Cliff Drive, past the Santa Cruz boardwalk and beach. I gazed out the window at the blue-gray Pacific. It always struck me there was a whole universe under that live expanse of water, so much more than hinted at by the surface.

Kind of like people.

I steadied the vase of daisies between my knees as we rounded another curve. "Thanks for the flowers, Dad."

His brow scrunched up into a series of thin lines. "I didn't send flowers."

"Oh," I said, thinking suddenly of the boy who delivered them. I pushed the thought of Finn Doyle out of my head. "Probably Janelle,"

I speculated aloud, but found myself fantasizing that my real mother had sent them. It was a secret game I'd always played with myself. She was somewhere close by, watching over me. She knew when I was sick. When I was little, she had watched me at the park as Dad pushed me on the swings. Did her legs twitch to run to me when I fell? Did her fingers ache to wipe my tears when I cried? My mother was a constant spectral presence—and not just for me. I could see Dad's hyperawareness when we were out in public, glancing around a little too much, always looking over his shoulder.

Maybe he played the same game.

Before I could censor it, the question fell from my lips. "Do you think Mom could be nearby?"

Dad squeezed the steering wheel a bit harder. "No. She's nowhere nearby."

His certainty irritated me. "How do you know? Do you know where she is?" The words dropped from my lips like petals. Fragile. Easily crushed. I held my breath.

His eyes met mine. Couldn't he see the hope there? But his next words were cold, hard. And final. Petals crushed under his heel.

"I know she's gone."

A lump formed in my throat and wouldn't go away no matter how many times I swallowed. We were quiet the rest of the way home.

"Don't you find it disturbing they can declare me healthy when I'm seeing all these weird colors around people?" I asked Dad as we got out of the car. He supported my arm as we walked from the driveway to the house. I didn't need it but let him help me anyway.

"You had a very high fever, Cora. A fever like that can have serious repercussions, but you've been cleared by your doctor. I'm sure it'll resolve in short order."

I snatched my arm away. "Nice, dismissive way to talk about my possible brain damage."

"Let's see how it goes. If you're still...seeing things after a few days, then we can take you to another specialist."

"But, Dad, it seems like it's getting worse, not better."

He halted on the brick walkway. "Stop being melodramatic, Cora. You're fine!"

It was so uncharacteristic of my father to speak that way, I almost laughed. But his anger was startling, made even more so by the muddy red color that erupted from him like a solar flare. I watched it, mesmerized, then pointed at him. "Red."

Dad flung open the front door. "You'd better go to your room and lie down."

I stepped past him and walked inside to the squeal of "Welcome home!" from Janelle. I marched under a homemade banner and clouds of balloons and went straight to my room, slamming the door. Hot anger flowed through my body in a rapid current, heating me uncomfortably. I wiped my sweaty palms on my pants.

Some people were intent on acting like lower life forms devoid of sensitivity. I was in eleventh grade. I got that every day in school. What I didn't understand was why my own dad was doing it. He completely dismissed me, treated my concern like a trivial performance. I wouldn't lie about something like this. I was scared something was truly wrong with me, permanently damaged. Who was I supposed to talk to about it, if not him?

I rolled onto my bed and stared out the window, watching the blue sky turn milky in the fading daylight. When the room grew too dark, I flipped on the lamp next to the bed. As I pulled my hand back, a streamer of light followed behind like the afterglow of a sparkler.

I held my hand up and stared. A bright silver hand-shaped halo pulsed around my skin as if it were fiery, splintering metal. When I moved my hand, the light moved with it. Wiggling my fingers did not make it disappear. Swooshing it from side to side only made the streamer effect stronger. Awe and worry crashed inside me.

There was a light knock at the door. I stuffed my hand under my leg as Janelle burst in with a bed tray. "Dinner! I thought you might like some real food after that hospital stuff. You don't even want to know the things they've found in hospital food. I saw this documentary once, on 60 Minutes. They found like eight different kinds of hair—"

"Thanks, Janelle," I muttered, completely losing my appetite. She touched my forehead, her expression concerned. "Some homecoming, huh?" Her head bobbed as if it would incite me to agree. "Your dad is just tense. He was so worried about you! I've never seen him that distressed. You'll both be right as rain in the morning."

What if I'm not right as rain? What if my brain is permanently fried? What if I still see the jagged, forest-green color stretching out of your perfectly coiffed head?

"I'm sure we will be," I said. "Thanks for the dinner. I'll eat a bit before I go to sleep. I think I'll go to bed early so I'm rested for school."

"Oh, Cora. I don't think you ought to jump right into school tomorrow. Why don't you give it a couple of days? I've already contacted your teachers. You were practically at death's door."

"You didn't need to do that. Really, I'm fine. It's the last month of school, and I already missed one test." I attempted a smile, but it fell flat on my lips. "With finals coming up, I don't want to get any more behind than I already am." I wanted life to get back to normal, but as I looked at my hand again—pulsing with brilliant silver—I knew in my gut my train had jumped the tracks.