Chapter 5

After running for two blocks from the train, I managed to make it to Brooklyn Heights by nine-thirty-three. Lola's small pet store was mushed between a laundromat and a Chinese take-out restaurant. The tips of the worn red awning snapped in the wind. I arrived just as she was flipping the sign from closed to open. The bell hanging off the doorknob jangled as I walked through, the sounds of budgies chirping and the smell of hamster and rabbit bedding hitting me square in the face.

"Hi, Lola?—"

"You're late," she uttered flatly, her permanently etched scowl adding extra lines to her aged skin as she glared at me.

I mock-checked my watch. I knew I was only three minutes late, but to Lola, punctuality was everything. "I'm sorry, it won't happen again."

She scoffed, "That's what you said the last time, Avery. It's ill-mannered to keep customers waiting."

The store was a tiny rectangular space that allowed for only two aisles. One aisle had a wall of fish tanks and small reptiles and the other aisle had cages with small birds and rodents. You could easily scan the whole store with one glance. There were zero customers waiting.

Keeping my mouth shut, I didn't bother acknowledging the obvious and simply took up my post at the register. Running her hands through her thick mop of shoulder-length black hair streaked with gray, she retreated to the backroom to do whatever it was she did back there and left me to man any would-be customers and the register by myself. "The glass on the front door could use some cleaning, Avery. Try to do it before lunch."

"Sure thing," I hollered back as I stuck a strip of gum in my mouth. I blew out a silent breath, needing to remind myself why I'd taken this job and why I continued to tolerate my boss. When I left Arizona five years ago, I possessed zero professional skills, so it wasn't like I could've just landed a job anywhere I wanted. I didn't have a surplus of opportunities. I tried waitressing at a local diner, but after I punched the manager in the nose when he tried to get handsy with me, I decided I needed to try something different—a job where men weren't in a position of power over me.

I loved animals and had a connection to nature since I could remember, so it made sense for me to work at a pet store—plus, the Promenade was only a couple of blocks away which made it easy to take a stroll there on my breaks or on my way home. The spectacular views of the East River, Lower Manhattan, and the Brooklyn Bridge lured many to its peaceful walkway—tourists and locals alike. Suspended above the Brooklyn Express Way in an unusual triple cantilever, the Promenade was physically attached to the highway.

Joggers, walkers, or anyone looking to sit at a bench and admire the view of the New York Harbor flocked to the walkway, undeterred by the sounds or sights of the traffic below.

I loved going there for walks because seeing the river and open sky gave me a slice of freedom, something I cherished since turning eighteen and leaving The Winslow Home.

Lola didn't pay me much, but at least it covered my portion of the rent plus my bills. And despite how intolerable she could be at times, I loved tending to the animals and the customers were usually pleasant.

Grabbing the window cleaner, I strolled outside to clean the glass on the door when I heard a woman's voice boom from the sidewalk, "Aiden, no!"

As I turned around to see what happened, I watched the woman run after a little boy around the age of four who seemed to have gotten away from her and had crossed the street going after a black cat.

My heart thundered as I watched in complete horror at the scene unfolding before my eyes. A passenger bus approached down the street. Pin focused on the cat, the little boy chased after it across the wide, two-lane busy street.

Dropping the cleaner, I ran toward the intersection, hoping to help wave the bus down to a stop. But the driver didn't see me, didn't seem to notice all the people on the sidewalk who were running toward the little kid. But there was no way the driver would be able to brake in time. My heart sank. The little boy wasn't going to make it across without getting hit.

Panic coursed through my veins, and, as I neared the intersection, a rush of wind surrounded me as if a tornado had suddenly sprouted out of nowhere. A debris-mix of dead leaves, broken branches, and littered newspapers swirled in the air, hitting me in the face and obscuring my vision. Using my hands to shield my face, I continued to run toward the street.

The whole scene played out in slow motion as if I was moving through molasses. Then the whispers began, a cacophony of hundreds of voices chanting in my ears at once.

I couldn't see where the voices came from and couldn't understand a word they said, nor did I care. The only thoughts knocking around in my brain were of that boy and his mother. I couldn't let this happen. I had to do something. As if on instinct, I halted dead in my tracks, the unrelenting whispers making my skull crack. I shut them out, and with every fiber in my body, I prayed to everything holy, putting my hands out and screaming, "Stop!"

In that instant, a loud pop blasted in my ear—the sound made when air is sucked out through a vacuum. All the wind swirling around me rushed toward the bus in a hurricane-type speed and force, blasting into the side of the bus and knocking it over.

The bus's windows exploded into millions of raining shards of glass. People screamed and tires screeched as other vehicles stopped short to avoid colliding into the overturned bus.

I stood cemented to the ground, wide-eyed and shaking, unsure of what had just occurred. Then my right hand burned as if I had placed my palm over the hot plate of an iron. I gasped as I stared at my hand in shock. Branded into my palm was a flaring hot symbol of some sort, an upright triangle with a horizontal line across it.

I didn't understand what it meant, but more worrisome was the fact that I couldn't comprehend how it appeared there. The burning subsided, but the raised flesh remained raw and tender to the touch. As I continued to stare in bewilderment, the sounds of people screaming drew my attention back to the accident.

Snapping out of my daze, I darted across to the other side of the street. Pedestrians helped trapped passengers while others stood by with their phones pointed at the accident. Emergency sirens echoed in the distance as first responders rushed to the scene.

Walking through the thick crowd of onlookers, I finally spotted the boy huddled in his mother's arms on the sidewalk near where the accident took place. He'd made it. I couldn't believe it.

Relief swam in my veins until it hit me—what I'd just witnessed. I stared in fright as paramedics rushed to the injured passengers. People laid on the sidewalk, bloodied and moaning in pain. I felt weak and lightheaded. Images of the swirling wind flashed in my head. I recalled the popping sound, the whispering voices. Then I looked back down at my branded hand. The burn had faded, but a pinkish healed scar in the shape of the symbol remained.

Had I done this? Hurt all these people? No. How would that be possible? I didn't even know what happened or what caused the bus to overturn. Unable to take the sick feeling in my stomach, I turned away from the scene and dry heaved until I vomited bile.

Breathing deeply, I wiped my mouth and leaned back against the brick building behind me for stability. I felt ill, as if all my energy had been sapped from me.

Nothing made sense.

But the wind… It seemed to have reacted to me as if it had read my thoughts to stop that bus. It was absurd. An impossibility. Yet, I'd seen it with my own eyes as it churned debris around me. Heard it as it spoke to me in a foreign tongue. Felt it as a crackle of energy sparked on my…

I closed my hand into a fist, hiding the mark.

What was happening to me?

Perturbed and unable to tolerate the carnage, I ran from the scene and back to the pet store. Dread struck my heart like an ax as I burst through the front door, my chest feeling tighter, not sure if it was from the cold air or a panic attack. I placed my back against the door and tried smudging away the images of all those people lying on the ground. "Please, don't let anyone be dead. Please."

Tears streamed down my face. If I'd caused this…

I shook my head. What was I thinking? How could I have done that?

Lola rushed from the backroom. "What's with all the sirens? What's going on?" When she saw me panting by the doors, she said, "Avery? What's going on?"

Another emergency vehicle raced past the store. "I need to leave," I told her.

"What are you talking about? Your shift doesn't end until five o'clock."

A wave of dizziness slammed through me, and I almost fainted into Lola's arms. "Avery, what happened? You're pale."

I could barely focus on her face; her features a total blur. "I'm sorry, I don't feel so good." Wobbling to the coat rack, I grabbed my things and stumbled out the door.

"Avery! You can't just leave. Avery!"

Her voice sounded like it was miles away, but I just kept walking . I needed to get away from that place. As I rushed back to the train station, people turned my way, eyes lingering over me, uncomfortable gazes leaving a slimy coat of uneasiness on my skin. I'd never felt so exposed, so seen.

I needed to be off the streets and in my apartment, curled up under a blanket.

Lola was probably going to fire me for leaving, but I simply couldn't stomach seeing the chaos of that accident. I nearly broke into tears in the subway car, but I managed to keep it together.

Closing my eyes, I leaned my head back, letting the rumble of the train vibrate through my body, the familiar sensation soothing my unsettled emotions. The loud squealing noise of the brakes as the train came to a stop made me open my eyes. Years from riding the train had given me some type of sixth sense when arriving at my stop.

Heart in my throat, as soon as the doors pinged open, I ran out of the subway car, squeezing through the crowd of people waiting to board the train.

As soon as I stepped out into the winter air, my world came to a halt. Walking was like trudging through a membranous substance, the air thick and sticky, every movement my muscles made required too much energy.

People moved in slow motion, their bodies weighed down as if their shoes were made of cement and the earth's gravity had suddenly magnified.

Across the street from the subway station, a dog barked, the delayed sound reaching me in a muffled rasp as if my ears were clogged.

Heavens. Was I about to have a vision?

A sleepy haze fell over my eyes, the urge to sleep hitting me like a bulldozer.

I need to get home…

Forcing my limbs to respond, I pushed through my fatigue and the fog in my head. I couldn't pass out on the sidewalk. I couldn't let myself fall asleep.

"Let's…go…Avery," I told myself, summoning strength from the depths of my core.

By the time I reached my apartment and closed the door behind me, I'd drained every ounce of life from my veins. Felt like days, maybe months had passed since I'd been home. Barely able to move another muscle, I wobbled to my bed and fell on my back, plummeting into a dark and cold hole.