Longing for sleep, I stared at the shadows dancing over my bedroom ceiling. Insomnia wasn’t a common problem for me, but there were times when I just couldn’t shut off my brain and fall asleep. Considering that my thoughts felt like a thousand butterflies flitting around in my head, tonight was definitely one of those times.
Knowing that no amount of counting sheep would help me, I got out of bed and pulled on a sweatshirt and slip-on shoes. I grabbed a blanket and then tiptoed down the hall and quietly opened the back door. Thanks to years of sneaking out of the house at night, I was able to see where I was going with very little moonlight. I easily maneuvered through the shrubbery until I reached my favorite spot in the yard.
The air was crisp without being too cold. After spreading my blanket over the grass, I lay down on my back and stared at the sky. The smell of dirt mingled with grass soothed me. It was a perfect night for stargazing; the crescent moon provided just a sliver of light in an otherwise midnight-blue sky. The stars sparkled, reminding me of the diamonds in my mom’s ring. I instinctively lifted my hand up to my face, trying to see my beautiful gift in the darkness.
For as long as I could remember, astronomy had been my way of connecting with my mom. She had been a brilliant scientist who worked at NASA’s Jet Propulsion Lab. Even though I was so young when she died, I had many poignant memories of her teaching me about the stars.
Staring at the cosmos with her ring on my finger, I felt closer to my mom than I had since she died. As I flipped through my memories like a photo album, I suddenly put together a piece of my history that had been missing for all of these years.
When I was little, I went by the name Kira. After Mom’s death, Dad told me that Kira was her nickname for me because it meant “beam of light” and I was her little beam of light. He said that he would start calling me by my real name so that I could keep that special memory of her. My six-year-old self accepted his explanation, and I had considered it a sweet story ever since.
My dad’s words about creating new identities for us came back to me then, and the truth hit me with full force. Haley wasn’t even my real name; Kira was. It shouldn’t have been a big deal after everything my dad shared with me at dinner, but somehow it was the final straw. Even something as fundamental to my person as my name had been a lie. How could I know who I was if I didn’t even know my real name?
For the first time in a while, I let my emotions take over. I cried silent tears for my mom and all the years I lost with her. I cried for six-year-old Kira who never had a chance to grow up a normal, happy child. I cried for my dad, who made an impossible decision and lived with the consequences ever since. And I cried for eighteen-year-old Haley, who received the gift of answers on her birthday but now found herself with more questions than ever.
* * *
The sunlight filtered through the window onto my bed, bathing the room in a soft pink light. Its gentle warmth awakened my senses. As I slowly woke up from what must have been a pleasant dream, I heard the gentle sound of leaves rustling and a bird chirping in the distance.
I extended my legs and arms, stretching as I rolled onto my back. It was cool and quiet in the house. I sat up and placed my feet on the rug next to the bed; the wood floor beneath creaked, declaring its age.
My dad already left for the day, off to work before daybreak. Thankful I wouldn’t have to face him yet after our talk last night, I climbed out of bed and walked down the hall to the only bathroom in the house. While rinsing my face, I studied myself in the mirror; dark circles under my eyes betrayed my exhaustion.
I shook my head then gently rubbed my eyes to push the sleep away. After stargazing, I must have climbed in bed and fallen asleep at some point, finally worn out. I put on casual shorts and a fitted V-neck T-shirt before walking to the kitchen to make breakfast.
After clearing the mismatched dishes from the table, I washed them by hand in the sink. The house was old but comfortable. Although the wood floor was already pretty clean, I swept it once more. As I quickly folded the quilt and placed it gently over the back of the sofa, it made me wonder. What was our old house like? Did my mom like cooking?
My recollections of her and our life before the accident were vague. Sometimes memories that were more like dreams would float through my mind. Now I wondered if they were actual memories from our life before. I pushed the subject out of my mind for the moment and tried to go through the motions of my daily routine.
I walked aimlessly from room to room. Having completed my home school curriculum a few years ago, I had more free time now. Instead of a prescribed regimen, I had the freedom to explore topics that piqued my interest. From navigation and the history of sea travel to art history, my interests were broad. Most recently, I had been delving into the Civil War.
Since I planned to take a walk later in the day, I perused my new library books, finally settling on Gone With the Wind. After spending the next hour or so reading, I returned the book to the stack, and The Codebreakers caught my eye.
I smiled, reminded of the cute guy at the library and replayed the scene for what felt like the millionth time. I couldn’t believe how good-looking he was and that he could seem so nice. Even though it was just yesterday, it already felt like a distant memory or something I had imagined.
I’m sure I’ll never see him again, I thought wistfully. I don’t even know his name. Shaking my head at how silly I was being about a complete stranger, I glanced around the room for something to occupy myself with.
Despite my lack of sleep, I felt restless and decided something creative may help. I grabbed my paint brushes, paint, easel, and canvas and went outside. With few clouds in the sky, the sun played peek-a-boo, casting curious shadows on the mountains. The fresh air and sunshine made it easier to focus.
I circled the house, seeking a comfortable perch, finally settling on one and setting up my supplies. I wanted to get my mental picture of last night’s sunset down before it faded away. Raising my hand to paint, a glimmer of light caught my attention. The stones of my mom’s, now my, ring glinted in the sun. I sat up straighter on my stool and focused intently on the task at hand, determined to push the swirling thoughts and questions away.
* * *
Late afternoon, with my chores completed, I decided to take a walk to clear my head and stretch my legs. I grabbed my small cross-body bag and added a bottle of water and a snack to the other items I usually carried. I slipped on my favorite canvas flats and locked the door behind me.
Walking in the direction of the mountains, the worn dirt path crunched beneath my feet. My mind and body felt heavy as I slowly made my way toward my favorite escape, hoping to find solace. After walking for twenty minutes or so, the familiar path widened to reveal a small clearing with a majestic old tree. I loved to relax under the huge tree and daydream; something about the place was magical.
I slumped down in the grass against the tree and leaned back against its reassuring trunk. The large branches arched protectively above me, letting sunlight flicker through the leaves. With my feet flat on the ground and my knees bent, I settled in and my gaze clouded.
The dam holding back my thoughts and questions gave out, and I didn’t resist any longer. I should have known better than to hope for a dramatic explanation for our peculiar lifestyle. Clearly my request was granted and then some.
Dad was a detective, I thought. That makes so much sense. Out of everything he told me the night before, I found his former career the least surprising. A thousand tiny moments with my dad flashed through my mind: teaching me basic self-defense maneuvers and how to shoot; instructing me on how to be aware of my surroundings and quizzing me on my observations; teaching me how to live in the woods with very few supplies.
As fervently as I hoped that nothing would ever happen to him, I was also grateful for all of the practical skills he had taught me over the years. At least now I knew there was a reason for his lessons. If only he hadn’t kept the truth from me for so long. I was trying to understand his perspective, but I still wondered why he had been so secretive until now. Did he not trust me?
I clutched at the grass between my fingers. Is Dad right? Are the criminals behind Mom’s death still out there and after him? Even though I didn’t believe he would try to scare me without justification, I hoped that he was just being overly cautious. Surely no one was still looking for him after all of these years.
With all of the thoughts racing through my head, one in particular kept pushing to the front of the line. What now? Did Dad really expect us to stay hidden for the rest of our lives? I doubted that he was truly happy in his current situation. He was still attractive and relatively young. And, he obviously had the ability to do something much more rewarding with his time.
Now, more than ever, I feared that he would never be okay with me living the life I wanted. Although he taught me to drive a few years ago, I didn’t have a driver’s license. I’d never had a job and didn’t even have a formal high school diploma. Could I convince him to let me start small now that I’d turned eighteen? I could get a driver’s license, a used car, and a job at the library. Would that even be enough for me?
I inhaled slowly and deeply. As much as I longed to experience more of the world, it was difficult to imagine leaving this place for good. It was the only home I remembered, and I inherently drew strength from the beauty and tranquility surrounding me. And yet, I ached for more freedom. The chance to make friends. Go shopping in town without a constant chaperone. Swim in the ocean.
It was times like these that I missed Jessica the most. As my only friend, she had always been my confidante, my shoulder to cry on. Since she moved away for college, we still kept in touch by e-mail. But it wasn’t the same. I longed to hear her animated voice and see her mischievous grin. I even missed her incessant nagging for me to loosen up and have fun.
I remained beneath the tree, unmoving, for a long while until a bird crowed in the distance and snapped me out of my dream-like state. Glancing at the time, I realized I had been gone a lot longer than I expected. Knowing Dad would be home soon, I figured I should head back so he wouldn’t worry.
Winding down the trail back to the house, anxiety sunk in as I wondered how to approach my dad. Should I act normal? Should I ask the rest of my questions? Should I force the issue—that I don’t want to live in hiding anymore? I walked lazily, partially out of procrastination and partially from a lack of energy. My limbs were tired and my mind was weary.
Without warning, a loud boom interrupted my thoughts. My body snapped to attention as I tried to determine the source. Straining to listen, I quietly rotated on the spot and realized it had come from the direction of my house.
Knowing Dad would have returned by now, my heart raced wildly. I picked up the pace while I tried to reassure myself that it was probably nothing. Moving quickly, my feet gripped my shoes, and I yanked on my purse strap, forcing it to stop bouncing on my hip.
As the trees thinned closer to the house, the smell of burning filled my nostrils, and smoke was visible in the sky. My mind full of panic, I started sprinting toward the house, the entire time hoping that it wasn’t on fire. The temperature continued to rise, and my mouth felt dry. When the house came into view, I could see flames. Oh my god.
The area around the house was eerily quiet outside the roar of the fire. I couldn’t see or hear any signs of Dad. I wanted to call out to him, but I was breathless and choked with fear. I struggled through the overgrown landscape toward the house, fighting against downed tree limbs and other obstacles. I moved forward blindly, intent on making it to the house as quickly as possible.
Time seemed to slow. My foot caught and I lost control, flying forward to the ground. I landed on my hands and knees, rocks and fragments of wood grinding into my skin. I tried to stand quickly, but my ankle twinged, and I struggled to my feet. I have to get to the house. I have to find Dad, I thought.
Forcing myself to ignore the stinging in my legs and palms, I tried to run, but I couldn’t move as quickly. With every step, pain radiated from my ankle as I hobbled toward the house. I used the back of my hand to wipe the sweat away from my forehead. The air was thick with haze and smoke; I held my shirt to my nose and mouth, desperate to find a pocket of fresh air.
Flames licked the walls, devouring the house and all our possessions. From within came the crackle and hiss of items as they caved under the extreme temperature. My throat burned, and I fought to suppress a cough. There was no point trying to stem the flow of sweat, my skin first hot and then almost burning as I neared the blaze. I have to find Dad, I repeated over and over to push myself forward.
Suddenly, I was slapped by a wave of heat. I stopped in my tracks, unable to force myself forward. The house and landscape blurred, and a vision of a car on fire appeared in front of my eyes. I could feel my hand reaching out in front of me; I stretched as far as possible but could never quite reach what I wanted. I felt small and helpless and wanted to cry out.
I gasped for air, choking against the oppressive heat. Sinking into an unknown abyss, I screamed for help, but no sound came out of my mouth. Colors swirled in front of my eyes before darkness enveloped me.