Deadwood

Oliver wouldn’t tell me any more about the dreams, despite all the effort I put into getting information. He was thoroughly shaken up, and insisted on changing the subject to something less sinister. I didn’t really blame him; if I was having dreams that I was a killer, I’d probably go off the deep end too.

“So what are you doing for your birthday?” He asked with quiet determination, again thwarting my attempts at getting him to discuss his dreams.

I sighed and shook my head, giving up for the time being. “I don’t know yet. Tomorrow Mom is making me clean all day, so we probably won’t get a chance to hang out.” I didn’t tell him I was a little relieved; it was weird hanging out with someone who had probably killed you in a past life.

“You realize it will be the anniversary of Alice Quinn’s death?” There was some unknown emotion in his voice.

“Yeah, I do.” I furrowed my eyebrows in concentration. “And I have a feeling that if I don’t do something then, I’m going to be really, really sorry.”

Oliver looked at me with his tired eyes, jaws clamped tightly shut. I wonder if he thought himself a danger to me; I wonder if he knew what I was thinking about him. Abruptly he stood, and I followed. “I should probably be going,” He said, not looking at me.

A few hours had passed since he had come over. I nodded in silent agreement, partially relieved and partially disappointed. “Can…can I see you on your birthday?” He asked, a little hope sparking in his eyes.

So many thoughts rushed through my head. But in the end, I knew what I would say. “Yes, of course. It wouldn’t be a very happy birthday without you.” I said softly, though my brain was screaming at me. I was practically painting a target on myself.

The corners of his mouth turned up in the attempt to smile, and then he was gone. I took a deep breath and flopped down on my bed. My mind was racing a million miles an hour. I knew time was growing shorter, and unless I thought of something fast, I might not be alive to enjoy another birthday. And so for the rest of the afternoon I kept to myself in my room, scheming.

The next morning Mom woke me up nice and early. I grumbled in response to her throwing open my curtains, letting the blaringly bright light of the just-risen sun cut across my face. “Good morning, sleeping beauty!” She said in a sing-song voice. “After breakfast, I have a whole list of things that need to get done today.”

After some serious coaxing, I finally got myself out of bed and dressed. I still felt like a zombie when I sat down at the kitchen table, barely looking at the food I was putting into my mouth. By the time I had finished eating, I was feeling considerably more awake. “Alright, what’s first?” I asked, coming into the living room where Mom was watching television and waiting for me.

She smiled, pulling a folded piece of paper out of one of her pockets. “Cleaning the carpets.”

I was thrilled to have something to distract me from my possible impending doom. True to her word, Mom kept me busy all day. I scrubbed floors, washed windows, and cleaned the car inside and out. The sun was going down before I knew it, and Mom wandered into the kitchen, where I was polishing our silverware. “You did a great job today, sweetheart.” She said, pulling a fork out of my hand. “Why don’t you go relax while I get dinner started? You’ve earned it.”

Gratefully I pushed up out of the chair and went into the living. I stretched out across the couch, allowing myself the luxury of watching some mindless television for an hour or so. The smell of chicken soon had my stomach rumbling, and I scrambled into the kitchen as soon as Mom called me.

I ate quite a bit, going back for second and third helpings. “So, you’ll be eighteen tomorrow!” Mom said. “I can hardly believe my little girl is all grown up. Are you excited?”

I shrugged, spearing a potato with my fork. “I guess.” I said nonchalantly, then broke out into a grin. “Okay, yeah, I’m really excited. You know I’m totally going to get a tattoo first chance I get, right?”

She let out a big dramatic sigh, but smiled. “Well, of course you are! I wouldn’t expect anything less from my daughter. That’s what I did when I turned eighteen.”

The rest of dinner, Mom retold stories of when she was my age. As always, I laughed and soaked it all up. I hoped that I would stories like hers to tell my children some day, and I realized with surprise that I already had a few.

I offered to help Mom with the dishes, but she insisted she could handle it. After saying good night, I went up to bed. I was pretty tired from all the cleaning and everything I had done. It felt good to lay down on my bed, stretching out my sore muscles before finding the most comfortable spot.

Before I fell asleep, I thought of how the next day would go. I’d probably wake up to my favorite breakfast, blueberry pancakes. Maybe a gift or two from Mom. Oliver would probably come see me. And then, when I had the chance, I had to go to Quinn Manor. I had a feeling that that was where the situation could be resolved, even though technically this whole thing had started here.

I snuggled deeper into my comforter, feeling chilly. And I hoped that the next day would be a really great day, just in case I never had the chance to experience another.