Prologue
Twenty years ago
Belle Isle.
Belle Isle.
To me, it sounded like a fantasy land where magic things could happen. When I heard my parents talk about the island, though, they seemed ... less excited. I didn’t know how else to phrase it.
Even now, as they worked next to the shimmering gate that led to what I thought of as other worlds, they made fun of the island and its lack of offerings.
“I just want a good cup of coffee,” Mom supplied, as she wrinkled her nose and sipped from the mug Dad had handed her moments before. “I don’t think that’s too much to ask. If they expect us to work here, we most definitely should be able to get good coffee.”
“Perhaps they’re considering making caffeine a banned substance,” Dad offered as he moved behind me, slowing his pace to monitor what I was doing. “If that happens, dear, you’ll have to register as an addict.”
“Screw that.” Mom wasn’t paying attention to Dad’s gaze so she didn’t notice it was focused on me. “I’ll do what everyone else does and hide my addiction. I think that works best for everyone ... including our blood-sucking friends.”
“Uh-huh.” Absently, Dad knit his eyebrows and knelt to look at my drawing pad. “What are you doing, Izzy?”
I shifted my eyes to him, his tone making me wary. I was only seven, but my parents said I was “wise beyond my years.” I recognized when it was time to be careful about what I said. “Just drawing.”
“I see. And what is that?”
I wasn’t sure how to answer the question. “It’s just ... something I saw in my head.”
The gate’s shimmer ratcheted up a notch, but my father didn’t react, so I figured he was expecting it. His full attention seemed to be focused on me, which made me uncomfortable and happy at the same time. “You saw this in your head?”
My lips parted as I shifted on the cool floor, grabbing my stuffed dog for comfort as I nodded. The dog, a present from Santa the previous Christmas, was the one thing I toted with me wherever I went. The drawing pad, a gift from my mother, was a close second on my “favorite items” list. I liked to practice, drawing what I saw in person and dreams. My mother said I had a gift for it. “Did I do something wrong?”
“No, baby.” Dad stroked the back of my head and forced a wan smile. He was trying to soothe me, but I didn’t miss the look he shot Mom.
Finally, as if coming out of a trance, Mom dragged herself away from the computer she was focused on and joined us. The quizzical expression on her face immediately shifted to something else as she bent over and snatched the sheet of paper from my father. “Are you kidding me?”
Dad ignored Mom’s outburst. “Izzy, what’s in the picture?”
I didn’t know how to answer. “It’s just something I saw.”
“But ... you had to see it somewhere. This isn’t something you saw while playing outside. I need to know where you first saw it.”
“I don’t know where.” I fought back tears as I clutched the dog to my chest. “I don’t know where I saw it.”
Dad licked his lips as he waged an internal war to maintain his temper. I recognized the expression on his face ... and I didn’t like it. “Sweetheart, Daddy isn’t mad at you. Not even a little. This picture, though, it’s important. You had to see this somewhere. You’re not in trouble. I need to know where you saw it.”
“In my head.”
Dad threw his hands in the air and made a disgusted sound in the back of his throat as he locked gazes with my mother. “I can’t even ... .”
Mom, calmer, shoved him out of the way to move closer to me. “Sweetie, do you see things like this in your head often?”
I nodded. “All the time, especially at night ... and when I’m here.”
Confusion was evident as she wrinkled her forehead. “Did you see this in your dreams?”
I shook my head. “One of the voices told me about that.”
“What voices?”
I pointed at the shimmering death gate, the door my parents were supposed to guard. That was their only job. They made sure souls crossed over to the other side and nothing ever came back through the opening. I didn’t pretend to understand what they did, but as I grew older things became clearer. It was almost magical how I was beginning to understand things.
“You hear voices from the gate?” This time Mom looked panicked when she glanced back at Dad. “Did you know that was possible?”
Dad shook his head as he rested his meaty hand on my shoulder. “I didn’t. Maybe she’s confused. Maybe ... she’s not hearing what she thinks she’s hearing.”
“Well, I can guarantee she hears what you’re saying now,” Mom said dryly. “Don’t talk about her as if she isn’t here.”
“Fine.” Dad’s eyes fired before he shifted them to me. “Izzy, what do the voices say?”
I shrugged, making sure the dog remained on my lap so I wouldn’t accidentally lose him. I was well aware that he was my responsibility and, if he went missing, it would be my fault. My parents were big on personal responsibility.
“You don’t know what they say?”
“They say different things,” I replied finally. “They ask what I’m doing and who I am. They ask if I want to visit them. They want to know if they can visit me.”
“Do you answer them?”
“Not really. I don’t think they can hear me.”
“Why do you think that?”
The question felt too complicated to answer. “I don’t know. It’s just something I feel. I ... I don’t know.” Frustration bubbled up.
Dad held up his hands in mock surrender as he forced a smile that was more of a grimace. “Okay. There’s no reason to get worked up. It was a simple question.”
“We were just curious is all,” Mom added, her head jerking toward the gate when it made a crackling sound. “What was that?”
“I have no idea.” Dad was instantly alert as he stood. “I’ve never heard it make that noise before.”
“You don’t have to worry,” I offered, feeling the need to soothe. “It’s going to be okay. It’s just the voices. They say he’s coming.”
“Who is coming?”
I shrugged. “Whoever they’re sending to see me.”
“They’re sending something to see you?” Mom’s voice jumped an octave as the gate crackled again. “Izzy, why would they send someone to see you?”
“Because they think I can help them. I told them I couldn’t, but they don’t believe me. Maybe they’ll believe me when he finally gets here. I’m tired of telling them I can’t help and having them yell at me.”
“They yell at you?” My father’s panic was palpable when the gate crackled again. “What do they say?”
“I already told you.”
Apparently my answer wasn’t enough to appease my father, because he grabbed me around the waist and hauled me up. I managed to keep the dog clutched tight, but the drawings I’d worked on so painstakingly were left behind.