I would not have thought it possible, but I felt a deep sense of relief when we made it to the freeway, and CeCe decided to slow down and only do eighty. I turned and asked a question that had been bothering me. "Aren't you afraid the car will fall apart?"

She gave me a look like she couldn't believe what she had just heard. Then she frowned the way some people shrug and said, "Not while I'm driving it."

I looked at her. What did she mean by that? "You mean if somebody else drove this car, it would fall apart?" I asked.

CeCe grinned at me. "Almost certainly. Things work for me," she said. "They won't necessarily work for other people."

C.C. looked over at me. "Do you really want to talk about why some things work for me that won’t work for other people? Because I really want to talk about how your future self is trying to... press-gang you into living a life that it looks very much like you don't want.”

She navigated a tricky snarl of traffic, cutting someone off and using a exit lane to move around a slow car.

“And now you’re a vampire!" She grinned at me. It was perhaps the most disturbing expression I have ever seen on her face.

"How cool is that?!" she shouted.

I really had not anticipated this reaction from her. In my mind, this encounter had played out with first skepticism, then reluctant acceptance, and then a wary distrust that would build separation between us that I would be unable to ever patch. I know, a morbid line of thinking. But my experience was, anyone who really valued me and I got close to, left. My experience with Dad’s disappearance has predisposed me to believe that, I know this, and I still have to feel it. I had just made my first friend when Mom and I had to move away…

All of that came bubbling up, threatening to overwhelm me with everything else that was going on, and I pushed it to the back of my mind, forcibly tamping it down so I didn't have to feel it.

I let Cece's declaration replay in my mind. "How cool is that?!" I looked at her smile, and suddenly I felt something lift off my shoulders, and I smiled back. "You mean, you still want to be my friend?" I said.

"Hell yeah!" Cece said, clearly excited. "We were solid, Freak, but now, you and I, we're gonna do things you wouldn't even believe."

"Oh," I said, "you mean, you want to use me for your drug stuff?"

She quirked an eyebrow at me. "I guess I shouldn't question how you have knowledge you shouldn't have," she said. "But damn! No! I don't want to use you! I want to partner with you! There's a big difference!"

I looked at her. She looked at me. I became worried at how much attention she was paying me instead of the road. I glanced out the front window to make sure that she knew that I thought she should be watching the road, and then looked back. She was still looking at me.

I pointed out the window. "Don't you need to watch the road?"

She shook her head. "I need you to accept that I'm on your side," she said.

"I really think you should watch the road," I said, pointing out the front.”

"Watch it for me."

I sputtered for a second and then looked out the front window as requested. "Um, we're good so far. White car, 500 feet ahead."

We were still on the freeway, and Cece was overtaking every other driver. Even though, after the previous breakneck experience, this pace felt sedate. As the white car got closer and closer, I lost my nerve. I turned to Cece.

"Okay, fine, yes, you're on my side, I believe you. Please, will you watch the road?"

She winked at me and avoided the car without looking. I closed my eyes and counted to ten. I didn't know if this much adrenaline was good for someone my age. While I counted, I breathed. This was a trick I had learned years ago. The way to survive being overwhelmed was to focus on breathing and to force it into a four-count. Usually, all I needed to do was the first four-count in and out. After breathing out, I looked at Cece.

"You're not mad that I'm luring whatever that thing is to Jemima's?" I asked.

She cocked her head at me. "Jemima's a big girl. She can take care of herself," Cece said. "I'm on your side, not hers. If she started a fight with you, Freak, as far as I'm concerned, I'm in your corner. Let's go sort it out and see what shakes loose."

I let out a sigh of relief but continued to compulsively watch the road ahead of us. I didn't know how many times Cece could get away with avoiding traffic without looking. I hoped if I ignored her, she would drive without trying to show off.

She continued to pepper me with questions along the drive, wanting to know every detail. I realized after a minute that she had been driving in circles in order to make sure that I was able to get all the way through. I had been careful the entire drive not to look into any reflective surfaces. The spoon I had pilfered earlier was firmly lodged in my pocket.

I didn't want to hear Not-me’s opinion about my decision to confront Jemima. I was sure that he would insult me, curse at me, and insist that we needed to do things his way. But I wasn't sure I wanted to do things his way. I wasn't sure I liked him or trusted him.

Cece seemed to read my mind. "I don't really trust your future self," she said. "I think he's playing a long game that we don't understand yet."

"Well, he did say that I needed to help you with your whole drug thing," I told her.

"Hmm," she said, tapping her chin, "I wonder why. I think that we should get Jemima's opinion, and then I think we need to talk it through. You need to make up your mind about what you want to do," Cece said. "Don't let me do it. Don't let Jemima do it. Don't let... Not-me do it. That's totally a clever name, by the way. We're going to use that."

I grinned, happy at the praise.

Cece drove around another corner and then pulled down a street that looked familiar. I began to recognize the neighborhood and the houses until we pulled to a stop in front of Jemima's house, still looming like one straight from a horror movie. I looked up at the structure, took a deep breath, and let it out slowly.

"You can do this," I said to myself. Besides, I was on a deadline. I don't know how I knew it, but I was certain that the dark figure I had seen at school was still on its way.

Walking around the house with Cece brought back vivid memories of stepping into a kitchen that was an explosion of ornamentation, colors, and chicken feathers. For me, that event marked the beginning of all of this. As I walked down the sidewalk, looking at the cracks and ants scuttling back and forth, I remembered the expression on Cece's face right before we had crashed. I don't know how I had had time to see the truck and see her face, but it was right there in my mind—the look of horror she wore right before we impacted the back of the semi.

Reflecting on it now, I'm glad that I had not laid hold of my ability to slow my perception of time. It would have only given me more time to appreciate the horror of the moment. And even though it had been just a moment, it was still with me.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Cece was fine.

I watched as she pranced up the walk and banged on the kitchen door. I wondered why she knocked this time when she hadn't before. I knew she was fine, but still, something inside me was a stone sitting heavy, deep down, knowing I had watched her die.

I took a deep breath and followed her, stepping into the kitchen that thankfully did not contain a screaming woman and Jemima shaking a chicken. The kitchen actually had a pleasant aroma of fresh-baked sweet bread, an undercurrent of cinnamon and some other spice that I couldn't quite put my finger on, perfuming the air. I noticed this time the room seemed peaceful, like the pressure I was feeling wasn't able to follow me into her kitchen. I wondered about that. Before this series of events, I had never paid so much attention to the feeling of a space, but now it seemed important.

Cece was not in the kitchen, and neither was Jemima. I could hear low voices in the dining room where I had waited before. I stood in the kitchen, wanting to be near the door, not sure if I was walking into a trap, or if Cece really was on my side. After her confession in the car, she had me fairly convinced. However, I had only known her for two weeks. Though she had fast become my best and only friend, she was still an unknown quantity in some ways. After all, I'd been promised before that people were on my side. But I don't think it's possible for people to always keep their promises, whether they want to or not. And so I stood, feeling a little wary, right at the threshold to the next encounter.

Cece came back into the kitchen first, smiling a reassuring smile before dropping it for a more serious face and coming to stand beside me with her arms folded. Then Jemima walked into the kitchen. She was exactly as I remembered, down to everything she was wearing, with the exception that when we had spoken before, she had a chicken feather lodged in her hair. I had not pointed it out, but used it as a piece for thoughtful contemplation when I wanted to ponder what it was she was saying.

"So," Jemima said, "you have returned, boy." Her rich, warm accent rolled over me, and I wanted her to be the good guy. I wanted her to be the person I could believe in. I wanted her to be the person I could trust. She just sounded so much better than Not-me.

I folded my arms, remembering how she had used my blood to take my luck. Then it struck me. She was speaking as if she remembered our first encounter. I narrowed my eyes. "Do you remember speaking with me before?" I asked.

"No," she said. "I don’t. But I have heard from someone who does remember. And they told me what it was that we said."

I wondered at that. "You took my luck," I said to her. "Last time. And it all left."

Jemima nodded, the beads around her neck and hanging off of her shawl rattling as she did. "I know. I did that on purpose, boy. Come on. We have to go to the other room. I have things set up for you. It will be in there that we can have a clear conversation. We need to have everybody who is party to events present. And in order to do so, I have to do some preparation."

I didn't know what she meant, but I followed her into the other room. Cece seemed encouraging about the whole thing, and I discovered she had a ring of candles set up at her kitchen table and, of all things, an actual, honest-to-God, crystal ball sitting in the center. I let out a laugh.

"Does that thing really work?" I asked, unable to resist. I didn't care that there was gravity to the situation. This was fascinating. I didn't know that that was a real trope, that people actually used crystal balls.

Jemima nodded. "That is a real crystal ball. They don't work unless they're made by a master craftsman. So don't think you can go to any shop and buy any bauble. And then you have to have the gift. OMost people don't know what they're doing. But that's not important right now. What is important right now is that you have a passenger, and we need to include him in the conversation."

I froze. That's what she meant? A chill ran through me. I didn't want to include Not-me in the conversation. He would win. Every time I spoke to him, he convinced me he was right. It was like he muddled my thinking. I wasn't sure what was true, and I wanted time to process everything without him. I was tired of speaking with him. I felt like he was trying to take everything from me, and it was his fault I was in all of this mess to begin with.

I shook my head, backing up. "I don't want to talk to him," I said.

Jemima cocked her head at me. "Why not, boy? You've been talking to him a lot. I can see it on you."

"He's too persuasive," I said. "I don't know what I think when he's around. When he's talking to me, the things that he points out are the things that make sense. It's only when I'm away from him that I can make my own decisions."

Jemima nodded. "You are wise for someone so young, boy. You don't know the truth of what you just said. All of life is like that. That doesn't mean you have to be afraid of someone else and their opinion. You can listen to him, and you can still leave and have your own opinion. This is an important thing to learn, boy. You're going to need it as you grow. You're going to need it in order to survive what's happening to you right now."

"What is happening to me?" I asked her.

"What is happening is that I have given you back your agency, boy. You were fated to follow the path that your passenger had you on. There was no escaping it. He would guide you no matter how many times it took. Now, you and he are connected but separate because you are now divergent from him. You have the power to choose. It is unfortunate that what I did to take your luck caused you some pain, but I could see no other way forward."

I didn't know what to say. Now Jemima sounded perfectly reasonable. I came here ready to confront the bad guy, and here she was making me feel like she was on my side. I took a deep breath and nodded. "All right. I'm ready. Let's bring Not-me into the conversation. What do we have to do?" I said.

"Sit down at my table. Let me light the candles and get you a cold glass of water. You look like you'll be needing it."

It occurred to me then that we might not have time for this. I didn't know how quickly the dark figure was going to catch up to me. And I didn't know either if I should tell Jemima because I had planned to use it as a weapon, but now I wasn't sure if I needed a weapon. Why was life so complicated? I sat down at the table and put my head in my hands, unsure of what to do.

Cece walked over and put a hand on my shoulder. "Hey, Freak. Take a deep breath. We got this." I looked up at her, grateful for the support.

"I don't feel like I can do this," I said to Cece. My hands were shaking. I looked down. I didn't know why they were shaking, but I couldn't stop. I felt sick to my stomach. I looked at her. "I want to go home," I said. "I want to go back to the way it was before."

Cece nodded, a look on her face that wasn't quite pity, but it wasn't sympathy either. It was, if I had to try and label it, I would guess, understanding? "I know, Freak. Believe me, I do. There's no going back, though. Don't think about going back. Think about going forward. Who you are, you get to keep, okay? This," she gestured to the room. "This," she gestured to me, her hand moving up and down.

She pulled a mirror down off the wall and held it up. "This," pointing to my lack of reflection. "That doesn't tell you who you are. That doesn't define you."

I caught a glimpse of something in the mirror before she pulled it away. Not-me was here. I thought about Cece's words. Really thought about it. "You sure about that?" I asked her.

"Freak?" she said. "I've never been more sure about anything in my life. You get to choose. No one else gets to choose for you. And I'm right here. If you want to go, give me the word. We'll split. I got your back."

That did it. Those words made me feel like maybe I could. Maybe I could do it. If I wanted to go, Cece would take me away. I took another deep breath as Jemima came back into the room and began to light candles. I quietly watched as she did. I was curious, having taken the one piece of magic from her that I had, what else I could learn by observing closely as she performed whatever it was she was doing. She was muttering something, but she kept her voice low enough that I couldn't distinguish the words. Too bad, I thought. Although, to be fair, I don't think that being able to summon a spirit and speak with him was the sort of magic that I wanted to know how to do. I was still curious.

After she finished lighting her circle of candles, she sat down at the table and directed Cece and me to sit at the other points of what formed a triangle. The table was small enough that we were able to join hands at her direction, and then Jemima invoked my future self.

"Timothy Thompson, I summon you, present yourself now, here."

The room that we were sitting in grew colder. This was weird because when I spoke to Not-me, the room didn't grow cold. The candles guttered and the light seemed to dim, but not from the candles. The ambient light surrounding us dimmed, and the candles became the only source of light in the room. I looked around, trying to see what was going on. It was daytime outside. There were windows in the room, and they should be casting light in through the curtains. But everything had darkened, and it continued to darken until we were sitting in blackness. Jemima, Cece, me, and the table were the only things that existed. The darkness was absolute. The only sources of light were the candles pressing back against the blackness.

I had the urge to jerk my hand away, get up and run, but I found that it was once more locked into place with a familiar sensation to what I had experienced when I took a bit of Mrs. Streep's luck. Then, Not-me appeared in the crystal ball. It wasn't zombie Mrs. Streep, for which I was grateful. It was the face of an old man, weathered lines carved into the features, a hard scowl set into his face. I was immediately put in mind of Clint Eastwood. I had never seen any other scowl that could compare to Mr. Eastwood's, but this one would have given it a run for its money.

The familiar, gravelly, raspy tone of Not-me came as if he was sitting in the room beside us.

"What the fuck is this?"

Well, at least some things hadn't changed.

"Oh, I see now. God-damn it. What the fuck did you do, boy?" Not-me said.

I looked at him, keeping my mouth a hard line. I wasn't going to answer that right now.

Jemima spoke up. "Hey, you crusty old fool. What are you doing harassing this boy?"

The head of Not-me, inside of the crystal ball, turned to face her. "Oh, you. I should have known. How'd you get him back, huh? Cast a spell?"

"The boy came to me of his own free will. I think he intended to attack me."

Not-me turned and looked at me, raising an eyebrow. "Oh yeah? Oh, that's what your plan was. I get it now. Clever. Wouldn't work, though. That thing can't get inside here. You would have had to caught her outside in order to transfer that malice." He looked at Cece. "How much did he tell you?"

"Everything," she said.

"Well, it's good to see you again. I've missed you."

She looked affronted at that. "Excuse me? I don't know you."

He laughed, seeming to be amused by her ire. "Yeah, I know that. But I know you. I know you better than anyone. There ain't no one who knows you the way I know you."

Cece cocked an eyebrow at that. "Bet," she said.

He chuckled and turned back to Jemima. "So, why are we here? This sucks, by the way. This is really uncomfortable. Has anyone that you put in this goddamn ball told you that this is fucking uncomfortable?"

Jemima nodded slowly, not ruffled by his tone. "I know it, and you're just going to have to endure it."

He harrumphed, and then I swear he turned and spat. Nothing happened on our end of the table, but the gesture was pretty clear.

"All right, well, say your piece. I'll listen, and I'll answer your damn questions, you bitch."

"Watch your tongue," she said, seeming ruffled for the first time.

"Oh yeah? Watch my tongue. I'll say what I want."

"You will not. I will make this more unpleasant for you."

"I don't think you—" He screamed. After a second, the screams turned into wild laughter, and he looked her in the eye. "Just kidding. Nope. No, it doesn't work on me. I'll say what I want. And I'll leave when I want. Watch."

Suddenly we were back in the room. Everything was lit normally. It was all the way it had been. We were sitting at the table, and it was like I had been plopped into my chair. I let out a whoosh of air as I landed, confused at what had just taken place. Cece looked startled. Jemima looked ruffled, her clothes out of place. All the candles had gone out.

She looked from Cece to me, to the crystal ball, which was now empty, to the well-lit room, let go of our hands, and stood. "Well," she said, "we're going to need sandwiches and something to drink before we have that conversation. What would you like, boy? I have peanut butter and jelly, or I have roast beef."

Surprised, I took a second before I answered. I was hungry, I realized. I hadn't known until just this second that I was hungry.

"Uh, roast beef, if you don't mind," I said. That sounded really good. I'd been living on peanut butter since we moved into the new house.

Jemima looked at Cece. "How about for you?"

"Yeah, I'll have some roast beef. Oh, do you have any of that lemonade?" Cece said.

Jemima nodded. "I'll take care of it. You make sure those candles don't move, you hear?"

Cece nodded, as if this was old news, and she knew exactly what was going on. I looked over at Cece, realizing I had no idea what I had gotten into.

***