The Silent Countdown

1

It was days like this that made you think the world was drowning.

Rain beat its watery fists against the pavement and street signs; it surged past the gutters and filled the city’s streets like an ocean.

I watched the white-washed world rumble through the bus’s window and hoped the driver could see the road ahead. Even with those window-wipers working overtime, I wouldn’t want to be driving in weather like this.

Truth be told, I didn’t even want to be out in this kind of storm. I would’ve been much more content sitting in bed and reading the latest celebrity magazine or putting together outfits on my favorite fashionista site.

But my parents had decided that today was a good day to pick a fight with me over college applications, and why I hadn’t filled any out yet. Whenever they got pissed, they sent me to my grandmother’s place, rain or shine.

Thunder bellowed through the sky, and I swore the bus trembled. I sighed and reached into my hastily packed duffle bag, pulling out my phone. Ten more minutes before I reached Grandma’s house. Iris, my best friend, had responded to the rage texts I’d sent her right before I left my house.

Your parents can be so so so lame, Sayda. At least your grandma has good snacks at her place.

I huffed out a laugh. Yeah, at least. Grandma Rhen had all the sugary treats my parents hated. Chocolate crème filled cookies included. I was going to eat the entire box that Grandma kept in her pantry just because I knew Mom and Dad—who were both dentists—would faint if they knew.

The bus came to a shuddering stop. “Conyers!” the driver shouted.

That was me.

I slung my duffle bag over my shoulder and snatched up my cheap nylon umbrella. My eye caught on a passenger who was wearing two gold watches that rivaled the currently hidden sun. The designer bag balanced gingerly on his lap made my duffle look like the garbage tucked into the woodsy parts of Atlanta.

I ignored the envy running its hands up my spine and gave a small wave to the driver before descending the steps, flaring my umbrella out before me.

My parents were well-off and made good money. But holy crap did they hate spending it. I had an allowance that would better suit the needs of an eleven-year-old than my age of eighteen.

Promising to get a job while searching for colleges was the only thing keeping that measly allowance coming, but I sensed that my parents were close to cutting me off if I didn’t take action soon.

Ugh.

The rain pummeled the umbrella, filling my ears with its angry roaring. Grandma Rhen’s red one-story brick home came into view minutes later. I sloshed my way up the gravely driveway and all but ran underneath the house’s awning, setting my umbrella near the front door.

Grandma had given me a copy of her house keys two years ago, after my mom started making a habit of sending me here when she didn’t want to deal with “my attitude” or whatever.

The door opened silently, enveloping me in a cloud of lavender and baked banana bread. I shut the door and leaned against the wood, breathing in the quiet and homey smell. In here, the storm outside felt like a distant memory.

“Grandma!” I called, toeing off my droplet-peppered rainboots and plopping my duffle bag beside them. “You home?”

I walked through the foyer and into the minimally decorated kitchen. Sure enough, a pan of fresh banana bread sat atop the stove. I opened the pantry door and reached for the crème-filled cookies. “Grandma Rhen?” I tried. She wasn’t hard of hearing and seldom took naps during the day. Plus, Mom had called and told her that I would be coming.

I turned and saw a yellow note on the side of the refrigerator.

Sayda,

I had some unexpected business to tend to downtown. Help yourself to whatever you’d like. The basement is off-limits, as usual. I will be back tomorrow.

Love,

Grandma

“Could’ve called,” I muttered, popping a cookie into my mouth. What business did she have to handle downtown in this sort of weather anyway? Grandma Rhen didn’t drive and hated public transportation. She claimed she used Uber to get where she needed to go, but I’d never seen the app on her phone. Maybe she flew there.

I laughed to myself as I re-read the note.

The basement is off-limits, as usual.

Yes, as usual indeed. I’d never been allowed in there for as long as I could remember. But then again, I’d also never been in Grandma Rhen’s house alone. The thought made me pause.

I was here alone.

Alone.

I used to be much more curious as to why I couldn’t enter the basement. I’d come up with all sorts of secrets that could be in there. Spy equipment, confidential FBI files. Bodies. My imagination was wild as a kid. I didn’t care too much anymore, deciding that the basement was just Grandma’s space and hers alone. But…

I set the cookie box down and headed to the back of the house where the basement door was. The familiar bold “OFF LIMITS” sign greeted me. My hand twisted the knob.

Locked.

I grabbed a hair pin from my frizzed hair and crouched low. Iris taught me how to pick locks junior year of high school. Her mother was a private detective and taught her all sorts of neat tricks.

My eyes widened when the knob clicked open.

Holy. Crap.

I pushed through the door and slowly descended the carpeted steps. They creaked ominously in the silence with each press of my foot. I gaped when I reached the landing.

The basement was an underground psychic shop.

Windchimes and paper cut-out hands with eyes on the palms hung from the ceiling. Cosmic drawings peppered the wall. A long table in the basement’s center held red candles, tarot cards, incense and leatherbound books. At the very back of the room was large glass case. Letting out a low whistle, I walked toward it.

The case was unlocked; its small door ajar. Inside was a black book and a—

I dropped to my knees.

A gigantic stash of money.

____

“This better be good.” Iris stood in the doorway with both hands on her hips and a lollipop stick hanging from her mouth.

The rain had slowed to a grudging drizzle, and her green raincoat was freckle with water. I grabbed my best friend’s hand, dragging her inside. “Oh, it’s more than good. I called you over because it’s freaking great.”

Iris’ jaw was slack as she watched me count out the money on the table. I’d cleared away most of the cards and books to make room for the stacks. “Twenty grand?” she whispered.

“Oh yeah.” I squeezed one of the wads of cash. “I had no idea my grandma was packing like this!”

“What are you gonna do?” Iris pulled the lollipop from her mouth. “This looks like Ms. Rhen’s life’s savings, Sayda. You can’t, like, spend it. Can you?”

“Not all of it, of course.” I picked up a wad. “How about…900? We could go to the mall. Buy those matching Coach bags we always wanted.” My mind flashed to the man on the train with the gold watches. “Some jewelry, even!”

“This is wrong,” Iris said. But her eyes were alight. “This is stealing, you know.”

“Well, my grandma’s note said to help myself to whatever I’d like.” I chewed my bottom lip. “Can this not count? I’ll pay her back when I get a job. Come on, Iris. You know we’ve been dying to go on a shopping spree for forever. Don’t you want to go to college with nice things?”

Iris sighed heavily. “We’re awful people.” She pointed to the black book. “Did you open that? It’s probably how your grandma keeps track of the money.”

“Yeah, I opened it.” I grabbed the smooth, compact notebook. “It’s blank. See?” I flipped through the lined pages. “Nada.”

Iris grimaced. “I feel gross about this,” she sighed. But I knew, like me, the devil on her shoulder was winning over the angel. “One Coach bag for each of us,” she said. “Just one.”

I smiled. “Just one.”

____

Two baby blue Coach bags spiraled into a pair of diamond earrings.

Three bags full of clothes from Zara.

Two cosmetic packages from Sephora.

One bracelet from Tiffany’s.

A Kate Spade jacket.

I felt alive. I felt like I was laughing in the faces of Mom and Dad for every time they told me no; like I was fulfilling every want and request that had gone ignored because I wasn’t making the best grades or hadn’t submitted that college essay. And though the guilt mounted with every purchase, so did my defiance.

Until there was only ten dollars left.

I handed it to Iris as she pulled into Grandma Rhen’s driveway hours later. “For gas money,” I said.

Iris sighed. “What if I told you don’t worry about it?”

“I’d say too bad.” I squeezed her hand. “Thanks for putting up with my awful ego. I’ll pay my grandma back eventually.”

Iris pressed the ten-dollar bill into her cup holder. “The Coach bags are really cute,” she admitted.

“I know, right?”

I waved good-bye as best I could while carrying my new purchases as Iris reversed out of the driveway. Back inside the quiet of my grandmother’s house, the yawning pit of guilt I’d barely managed to keep closed burst open. I dropped the bags beside my duffle and walked into the basement, reminding myself that I hadn’t even spent 1,000 out of the money.

Near the glass case, the little black book was open.

There was writing on the page.

My eyebrows furrowed as I unzippered my jacket and crouched to pick it up.

Sayda Harper Wrinesmith, allotted 828 months to live, retrieved the life-blood money on 6/11/2017, beginning the lifespan countdown at 2:27 p.m.

o 274 dollars = - 274 months

o 186 dollars = - 460 months

o 105 dollars = - 565 months

o 253 dollars = - 818 months

Ten months left.

I stared at the letters. The numbers. “What the hell?” I whispered. My hand trembled as I reached for my phone in my back pocket.

I called my grandma.

“Hello?” Her voice was hushed, as though she were somewhere quiet. “Sayda?”

“Grandma, hi.” My voice wobbled as I explained what I’d done. What the book was now telling me.

I hoped my Grandma would say this was all a joke; that she had come home early and seen the basement door open. That she knew I’d spent her money and was just trying to teach me a lesson.

But sobs broke out on the other end of the line instead.

“Grandma, what is it?” My breath snagged on my lungs. “What’s going on?”

“Oh, Sayda,” she whispered. Her voice cracked. “Please, do not spend those last ten dollars. My job…the money I earn is not ordinary. It’s… I’ll explain more when I get there. I’m coming home right now. Don’t move, don’t do anything.”

“Can I return—”

“No, dear. It doesn’t work like that. Please. Wait until I come to you.”

The line went dead.

Tears wet my own cheeks as I stared at the screen. What did she do for a living? She had to be a witch.

Do not spend those last ten dollars.

Iris. I’d given the last of the money to Iris. My blood roared as I dialed her number. Please, please pick up.

“Hello?”

“Iris!” I shouted. “Don’t spend—”

“Hold on—I’m ordering at Salada. Yes, sir, that’ll be everything.”

“Iris, do not—”

“To-go, please. Sayda, give me a second, okay?”

I was screaming now. “IRIS, DON’T USE THE TEN—”