A Fractured Light (Beautiful Dark)

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    “Fine!” I called. I danced around silently. It had worked! I’d healed myself. I looked up into the bathroom mirror, and my eyes flashed silver and intense. For once, I didn’t look away or feel uncomfortable. I didn’t wish that they were just a normal gray like anyone else’s. I was proud of what my silver eyes meant. My light and dark powers had woven together, to help me when I needed them. I’d drawn on them both to fix what was broken. And now I was ready. Ready to fight, to win, to take utter control of who I was. I wasn’t afraid of my powers anymore.
    I went to turn the doorknob when my mind suddenly went blank, and I found myself, once again, walking down the darkened upstairs hallway. I managed to stay upright, to let the wisp of a vision flow through me. The door to Aunt Jo’s bedroom loomed at the end of the hall. Empty.
    And then I was back in the downstairs bathroom again, my hand still gripping the doorknob. Devin’s last words to me echoed in my mind.
    Did it ever occur to you that your visions might be telling you something important? What if they’re not just dreams? What if what you’re seeing is the future?
    My hand gripped the doorknob tighter, so tight that my knuckles were turning white. The blood drained from my face.
    “Not prophecies,” he’d said. “The Sight.”
    My mind spun and my heart raced. As I turned the knob and slipped out into the hall, the sound of water and dishes clattering echoed from the kitchen. Now was my chance. The upstairs hallway would be dark. Aunt Jo’s bedroom, empty.
    With the noise from the kitchen as my cover, I tiptoed up the stairs. If I strained my ears, I could just hear her humming softly as she worked. I’d seen this happen before. When she started singing, it meant she was lost in thought, her mind shut off from the rest of the world.
    I had only a couple of minutes, if I was lucky.
    I moved quickly and silently up the stairs and down the hall, the memory of my vision blurring with reality.
    I glanced to my right, at the door to my bedroom, which was slightly ajar. Light spilled out into the dark hallway, illuminating my path. To my left was the bathroom. The door was open and the lights were off. I peeked over the railing of the stairs. The whole house was dark and silent. Directly ahead of me was her bedroom.
    I walked toward it, as if pulled by an invisible string. The walls on either side of me were smooth under my hands as I let them guide me in the semidarkness.
    The door to Aunt Jo’s bedroom wasn’t closed all the way.
    I pushed it open, carefully, silently, and turned on the light.
    Her room was empty.
    As I knew it would be.
    The bed was unmade. Clothes were draped over the chair in the corner. I turned toward the closet.
    Slowly, slowly, I reached my hand out to open it.
    I knew what I was looking for.
    In the corner of the closet, I spotted the stepladder. Downstairs, I heard the rush of water from the faucet in the kitchen sink. I didn’t have much time.
    I climbed onto it, peering over the shelves above my head. That’s where I spotted it.
    The shoe box. The same one from my vision. The one I’d been looking for.
    As if time was moving in slow motion, I opened the lid. . . .
    I sat down on the floor of the closet and peered inside. With hands that trembled slightly, I picked up a small velvet box, and opened it to find a glittery diamond ring. I snapped the lid shut and moved on to the next artifact—an old photograph, yellowing slightly at the edges from weathering years inside a shoe box in a closet. In the photo, a couple leaned against a tree, oblivious to the camera. His hair was dark and wild, and his head was tilted down toward hers, as if they were sharing a secret—or were about to kiss. The woman smiled up at him, the corners of her eyes crinkled in laughter. Blond wisps of hair had come loose from her ponytail and were blowing in the wind.
    Wait a minute.
    I looked closer. The woman was Aunt Jo!
    I squinted to inspect the guy. He was gorgeous in a dangerous sort of way, that was undeniable. But there was also something familiar about him. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it.
    I put the photograph back and moved on to the next item in the box. A stack of papers were tied together with a piece of fishing twine. I lifted them out of the shoe box and carefully undid the knot. The pages all had jagged edges, as if someone had ripped them hastily from a notebook. The missing pages. My throat was