by J. L. Myers
From the bed’s edge, Mamma’s fingers created waves, then shadows and underwater tunnels that lifted off the wall. My young eyes widened as the dark shapes hollowed out, a sparkle dancing from her conjuring fingertips to give life to the moving silhouettes. Coral of all colors appeared, followed by rocky caves that sparkled with glowing sea creatures and gems in the underwater cave that reflected their light. “Do you believe in magic, Calliope?”
Watching them both as if I were an outsider peeking in, my young self smiled and bobbed her head. “Yes, Mamma. Yes!” I giggled as the moving view twined in and out of a sunken shipwreck, passing a gathering of possessions that were too quickly sped by to note. A pod of dolphins dipped past, dodging and weaving around each other in a playful game. And then rays of beaming light spilled down through the deep water, growing brighter as whoever was driving this tour through the passing scenery shot straight up—to emerge out of a tranquil lake.
No longer underwater, flowers of every color under the warm sun surrounded a riverbank. Tall and oversized, they looked like giant floral soldiers. And they would have been dominating, if not for the enormous castle in the distance that speared fluffy white clouds and shone like it was covered in stars.
“Would you like to live here one day?”
My young freckled face bunched, rejecting the possibility. My squeaky words revealed why. “Only kings and queens and pinces live in places like that,” I said, failing to pronounce the ‘r’ in princes.
“What about princesses?”
“Yep. And pincesses.”
“Well, you’re my little princess.”
The moving view lifted up from the lake and glided through the towering flowers. A regular sized flowerbed came into sight near an arched hedge opening, blooming with—the same frozen blue flowers from the photo. I was dreaming?
“Mamma?” My hesitant voice caused the me watching to look away from the view of those flowers and to my younger self. One of my tiny hands lifted, reaching for the image that now revealed a room of mirrors. “Is daddy there? Can we visit yet?”
“Oh, baby. I wish—”
“Mamma!” the girl’s high-pitched voice interrupted. “Are those wings?”
The color and magic fled, replaced by a dark room of mirrors. I stood in the center, the child version of me gone as well as my dead mother. But I wasn’t alone. Shadows moved across the mirrors like the things that go bump in the night. I spun to keep my eyes on the danger. The hairs across my nape prickled as that cackle rose up. “What do you want?” I whispered.
The movement vanished and I stopped spinning, my breath too fast as my wide eyes sought the threat I still felt hovering.
A spindly hand came up behind me, freezing me like ice as its nails curled over my shoulder. Its breath was ice cold against my neck, its face so close its pointed chin tickled my skin. “Just you.”
Nightmare or not, terror claimed my racing heart. But the real danger wasn’t here in this make-believe setting with my mamma’s murderer.
It was out there, waiting, watching—
A sudden sense of eyes bearing down on me ripped me from sleep, tearing me away from the clues, answers, and fears I so desperately needed to make sense of. I ratcheted upright, knees retracting to my chest and fists clenching. A dark figure sat on the foot of my bed, male, built like a fortress, and…paying absolutely no attention to me.
And then I smelled it. That same mixture of a fresh ocean breeze mixed with the musky tint of man.
“Sexonlegs?”
His head panned sideways away from my canvases, his deep ocean eyes burning into me with intensity. A smile quirked his lips. “Sex on legs? Is that why you painted me?”
My face blazed red, burning me alive with embarrassment. Eyes flicking to the portrait of him, I cursed myself. Why hadn’t I burned the damn thing, or at least hidden it behind the other stacked canvases? I was never going to live this down—but hey, if he killed me, I wouldn’t have to. Death suddenly didn’t seem like such a terrible outcome. “What the crap are you doing here. In my loft. On my bed?”
His bedroom eyes fell down to my gray covers that were so old they were covered in pilling balls. At least they didn’t smell like mothballs. Then his gaze lifted back up to me, the parting of his lips seeming to want to say something—or kiss me, I realized as he licked his bottom lip when he glanced at my own and the fast breaths I was sucking in and out.
My hand slid over the bed’s edge, ready to rip the old baseball bat out from under it and go postal. But Sexonlegs was too close, and knowing my luck, it would just end up becoming the weapon he used to murder me with.
That hardened look came back to Stalker Guy’s face—yeah, that was a much better name, why didn’t I pick that one sooner? His head straightened and he stood up, sauntering over to my makeshift art room, which was just the right-hand corner of my entire living/sleeping/eating space. “You painted these?”
I leaped to my feet and snatched the bat out, holding it ready to swing. “Get the guy a gold star, people. He’s a sharp one. Now, get out.”
Sexon…I mean, Stalker Guy cut me a dark look and I glared back. Ignoring my demand and my weapon, he turned around, gently touching the canvasses that portrayed my dreams and nightmares as he passed. I watched as he moved, for once not focusing entirely on the lines of his toned back or the cut of his biceps that bulged out of the T-shirt he wore. Because all I’d dreamed lived and breathed with the promise of life on those canvases. Every flower, every giant toadstool, every angle of the castle, or running unicorn, had come from my dreams before they turned into nightmares. I’d been seeing those magical places all my life while asleep. My shrink explained them as a young mind trying to cover fear with beauty, but they had never changed as I’d gotten older, they’d only evolved, revealing more of these magical and underwater places that I had never seen before but that were so familiar to me…and now I knew.
My dream tonight had revealed the truth. These images, these places, they were a creation from my mother, distorted memories of the childhood stories she used to tell me.
“They’re beautiful.”
Sexonlegs—yes, I know, but who was I kidding, that’s the first name that came to mind whenever he spoke, appeared, or looked my way—anyway, where was I? Oh right, Sexonlegs glanced over his shoulder, that hard look gone from his Greek God worthy face.
“The make-believe places that exist in my mind.” I don’t know why I elaborated, but the statement seemed to surprise him.
“Imaginary, huh?” He glanced around. “Almost makes it feel like this isn’t a dirty dump.”
I bared my teeth, thankful I’d fallen asleep in sweatpants and a tank top as I marched up to him. “This dump…” I snarled at him, noticing too soon that the dagger I’d seen at school was strapped to his hip with a custom leather sheath. I held onto my anger and irritation as I tightened my grip on the bat, reminding myself that this guy had been watching me while asleep and hadn’t cut my throat when he’d had the chance. “…is my home. All that I have. Now. Get. The hell. Out.”
Unperturbed by my aggression, he snatched the bat from me and threw it at the bed. It bounced and rolled over the far edge, completely out of reach. Under his watchful gaze, I resorted to looking at the dagger along his arm in-between glances to the one decent knife I had on the card table beside the hotplate. He sighed as I slowly took a step back. “I have scared you. Again.”
“Ding-ding-ding. Winner takes all!” I backed up closer to the knife. “What are you, an alien? Stalking, wielding dangerous weapons, appearing in freaking baths! Which part of that wasn’t meant to freak me the hell out?” My backside hit the card table, and I blindly reached back, palming the plate and the one set of cutlery I owned and hadn’t bothered to wash before going to sleep. I cursed as I knocked a discarded can of tuna to the floor, but I didn’t stop. Finally, I found the knife and flung it up in front of me. “Now, I want you to leave me alone. Go away. And don’t come back. Get it? Comprend
e? Leave!”
“You’ve forgotten my name, haven’t you?” he said with a grin.
I stalked forward.
“Okay, okay. I’ll go.” Sexonlegs didn’t look particularly concerned. Instead, he let his gaze linger on my tank top and the way it clung way too tightly to my bust. He shook his head with a chuckle as I growled. “I will go, but I will see you again. And, Princess? The places you paint are not imaginary. They’re as real as you and I—”
I lunged, driving the knife toward his chest. I don’t know what came over me. His repeated appearances and the mystery surrounding him and my life of late, or the possibility that what he was claiming could be real.
Ada-someone caught my wrist, halting the blunt weapon as he squeezed tight and lifted my arm up. He eyed the kitchen knife with a frown. “How will we tell the children this?” He cracked a smile and chuckled, before recovering and glaring down at me. Jekyll and Hyde much? “No children. No future. You didn’t listen to me last time. You glimpsed into a mirror.”
“What?” I tugged to free my wrist, but it was no use, his grip was solid. Any imaginings on how it would feel to have his strong hands somewhere else on my body fled my mind. “How do you—”
“The queen knows where you are. Which leaves me with no choice.” He released my arm with a shove. “You’ll see soon enough. I’m the better option, the only option…unless you wish to die.”
Sexonlegs spun and stalked away from me. He bypassed the wooden trunk that was still near the entry and had taken me a good twenty minutes to push out of the way with it being butted up against the door after I somehow left my apartment and appeared on that pier. He swung the door wide, throwing me a dark knowing smile before slamming it after him.
I slumped to the ground, the knife clattering from my hands.
My stalker was never going to leave me alone. My dreams were real. And now some crap about a queen. What was next, flying pigs?
Or maybe just the death he’d promised.
Chapter Ten
I pounded the pavement down West Thames Street, gasping, sweating, and running like my life depended on it. My hair flailed behind me, streaming out from my high ponytail. My face was likely near on the color of its fiery strands, and my heart was threatening to burst through my ribcage. But for once, I wasn’t in mortal danger.
I was late.
A last-minute stop had slowed me down, but I was almost there.
The Cherry Top Diner’s flashing neon sign came into view, italic red letters surrounded by a border of blue. And there he was…
My burning lungs fought my decision, but my legs won the battle, pumping faster. I caught the glass door just as it was about to open, and tugged on the long bar handle. “Mr.…” I gasped, trying to form the words between the breaths my lungs forced me to take. “…Mullins. You’re early.”
The old man craned his neck up to look me in the eye, a smile lingering around the wrinkled edges of his gray gaze. In his day he would have towered over me, but now he was hunched and walked with a hobble. “No, my dear, Calli. You are late.”
I cracked a big smile, seeing the appreciation in his eyes at my make-or-break attempt to get here in time to open the door for him—like I did every other Sunday before my shift started. I stood aside and tilted my head. “Well, go on then. You’ve gotta eat, and I have tables to bus. Want something different tonight?”
“You know me, Calli.”
I grasped his elbow to help him over the slightly raised threshold, an act of kindness that would get anyone else scalded. “Hold up there, Mullins. You expect me to maneuver this terrain all on my lonesome?”
A broadening smile graced his face as I led him to his regular booth.
“I’ll get your order—”
A crash ripped my head sideways as I deposited Mr. Mullins into his booth seat. Behind me at the bar with its red cushioned swivel stools, Debbi had just tripped and crashed to the ground, bucket of dishes and all. Food scraps spilled out and milkshake remains splashed the mess of broken glass and cracked plates.
I dropped to the ground, going for the bigger pieces.
“You’re late.” Debbie glared at me through the escapee black curl that hung over her face.
I paused for a moment, surprised she had spoken to me. Since I started here over two years ago, she hadn’t even said hello since I shrugged her off on my first day. “Sorry, Debbi.” It was only a few minutes, but if I’d been on time, she wouldn’t have been stuck bussing my tables. “Won’t happen again.”
She huffed and stood, throwing her cleaning cloth at the bar. “It better not, and don’t think I won’t mention this to Bob.”
Great! Just what I needed. I was barely making enough for bus fare and food and rent. I needed this job. But what did she care? Clearly not at all as she spun and stalked away, leaving me with all the mess.
“I would help, my dear, but my blasted hip is not playing nice today.” Mr. Mullins leaned outward from the edge of the both. “But maybe your admirer wouldn’t mind lending a hand.”
“Admirer?” I felt his penetrating gaze before I looked to the back corner of the diner and found his stormy eyes. There in the last booth was Adam? Adrian? Marion…no, that definitely wasn’t it. Whatever Sexy Guy’s name was, he was there, watching me with a look that for once didn’t ooze sex appeal or malice. Behind the messy waves of his hair that begged me to run my fingers through the strands, and his full kissable lips that for once weren’t set into a goading smirk, he actually looked…impressed? What was this guy’s deal? “He’s nobody. Just some weirdo with a fetish for broody stares that gets a kick out of terrorizing women for fun.”
“What was that, dear?”
Right, I’d said all that out loud. “Nothing, Jerry. I’ll just clean this up and grab your dinner.”
Shaking my head, I brushed my arm over the hard, rectangular item that was hidden in the side pocket of my black pants. My white ruffled apron that completed the tight white shirt uniform I wore hid it well. Guess my last minute stop was worth the drama, in spite of the expense, seeing as my stalker had now invaded my workplace. It was gonna be tuna on bread for the next month. But that was small fry. I was already in deep water. I could hear Debbie whining to Bob about me and my tardiness.
If Sexonlegs tried anything, I’d be toast.
Sending a glare up at him that demanded he wait, I rushed to clean up the mess, shoving the broken dishes back into the bucket and then swiping Debbi’s discarded cloth to mop up the milkshake splatter. I heaved the bucket up and disappeared into the kitchen, receiving a frown from Bob who glanced up from the fries he was stealing off Jerry’s plate. His round face was red from not only the heat but from annoyance, I assumed, from the twist of his greasy mouth.
“Sorry,” I mouthed. “Won’t happen again.”
“Damn straight, and you’ll be locking up solo tonight.”
I didn’t bother to argue, nodding meekly as I grabbed the plate and rushed out through the swinging wooden doors. Back out in the diner, I slid Jerry’s plate onto the white table with a smile. “Bon appétit.”
“Thank you, Calli. But you’re friend…” I saw the empty booth as he said the words. “He said he’d meet you out back straight away.”
“Oh, thanks,” I tried to sound calm and collected even as irritation made my face and neck burn red hot. Who the hell did this guy think he was? Stalk me, scare the crap outta me, confuse me, threaten me, and now he was making demands? No way, buster. Not on your nelly. I plastered a fake smile back onto my face. “Eat up before it gets cold. I’ll go grab your OJ.”
I returned a moment later and froze as I caught a glimpse of the quiet TV mounted to the opposite corner of the diner. I couldn’t hear the news reporter’s words, but I didn’t need to. The news subtitles painted the picture perfectly. Dead on arrival. Chest torn open. Heart missing. But that wasn’t the worst part. The photograph of the deceased in the top right-hand corner was.
The OJ slipped from my hand a
nd shattered at my feet. “Shut the front door.”
“Are you alright, dear?” Jerry questioned, placing a gentle hand on my arm that made me flinch.
I shook my head then nodded. I so was not okay, because Dead Guy was no other than the storage manager I’d escape from yesterday.
The next few hours passed as if in slow motion. Every minute I was hyperaware of who was coming and going from the diner. I couldn’t get the storage manager out of my head, and I kept expecting my stalker to return at any second, to appear out of nowhere and scare the bejeesus out of me. Was there any relation between him and the dead guy? I had no idea, but he didn’t appear in the dishwater—come on, if I didn’t imagine the bath incident, that could totally be possible…if he wasn’t a hunk of man that would actually fit in the trough sink. Which he wasn’t. I even checked the toilet bowl when I took a quick bathroom break. You can laugh, but you’d do it too. What if his face appeared in the toilet water as I was about to sit down. Lace bra and panties were one thing, but fully bared from that angle…I cringed at the thought.
Finally, my shift ended. Mr. Mullins was long gone, and I was on lock-up duty after final cleanup. Grabbing the trash to take out back, I shoved out through the back door, meeting the assault of frosty wind. The door slammed shut behind me, making me jump. Suddenly I not only wished I hadn’t forgotten my jacket, I wished I’d paid more attention before rushing out here. The alley was dark, the light bulb over the door that now locked me out was broken. And it had been raining. The asphalt was shiny, and potholes had filled with water. Memories rushed into my mind of the night my mother died, bringing me back to the terror and a feeling of helplessness. My heart jacked up to racing speed, and my quicker breaths created puffs of white mist on the frigid air. The hair along my nape prickled as I stared from one puddle to the next, blindly stepping sideways to lift the dumpster lid and throw the trash inside. It wasn’t raining now, and the stillness of each puddle was eerie, raising goosebumps over my arms. None of them moved or formed ice and nothing poked out of them…yet.