The Elements Series Complete Box Set

by Brittainy Cherry

  “And your best friend.”

  I smirked. “The best friend I’ve ever had.”

  The rest of the way into town, Sam pointed out everyone we saw, telling me anything and everything he knew about them. He told me since most people thought he was weird, they ignored him, but that made it easy for him to eavesdrop on all the gossip around the town. “That right there is Lucy,” Sam said, pointing toward a girl on her cell phone. “She’s the best speller in town. Even won the annual spelling bee contest every year for the past five years. And over there is Monica. Her pops is a recovering alcoholic, but between you and me I know he drinks out by Bonnie Deen’s house on Friday nights. And over there is Jason. He kicked my ass a few months ago because he thought I called him somethin’ I didn’t call him. He apologized, though, saying he was on some bad drugs.”

  “Wow, you really do know everything about everyone.”

  He nodded. “You’ll have to let me take you out some time to a town meeting or something. Then I can show you the craziness that happens around this place.”

  I smiled. “That would be awesome.” As we pulled up to the café, my gut tightened as I stared across the street. “What about him?” I asked, seeing Tristan running down the street with his headphones on. When he reached Mr. Henson’s store, he took off his headphones and stepped inside. “What’s his story?”

  “You mean Tristan? He’s an asshole. And a bit crazy too.”

  “Crazy?”

  “Well, he works for Mr. Henson. You have to be a bit of a nut job to deal with him. Mr. Henson practices voodoo and stuff in his back room. It’s freaky. It’s a good thing Tanner has been trying to get the shop shut down.”

  “What?”

  “You didn’t hear? Tanner wants to expand his auto shop, and Mr. Henson’s store is the only thing keeping him from doing so. He’s been trying to start protests to get Mr. Henson to give up his store. He says it’s a waste of space since nobody ever goes into the place.”

  I couldn’t help but wonder what the story behind Mr. Henson’s store truly was, and I couldn’t help but wonder why Tristan found himself working there.

  During my shift, every now and then I would glance across the street at Mr. Henson’s shop where Tristan would be moving things around. The store was packed with all kinds of magical things. Crystals, tarot cards, wands…

  “Do you have a vibrator?”

  As the words left my best friend’s mouth, I was snapped from my mental wandering. I almost dropped the three plates of burgers and fries I was trying to balance. “Faye!” I whisper-shouted, my cheeks turning red instantly.

  She glanced around the café, shocked by my response to her not-so-appropriate question. “What? You act as if I just asked if you had herpes. Vibrators are a normal thing nowadays, Liz, and I was just thinking the other day about your poor, dry, grandma vagina.”

  My face was on fire. “How thoughtful of you.” I laughed, setting the plates in front of three elderly ladies who were giving me the rudest looks of distaste. “Anything else I can get you?” I asked.

  “Maybe your friend could use a filter.”

  “Trust me, I’ve tried.” I smiled and walked over to Faye, begging her to keep the vagina talk on the quiet side.

  “Listen, Liz, all I’m saying is it’s been a long time since you had any action. What is it like down there? Is it kind of like George of the Jungle meets The Golden Girls? Is there more hair down below than up here?” she asked, tapping my head.

  “I’m not answering that.” She reached into her apron pocket and pulled out her little black book, which had always brought about trouble in the past. “What are you doing?” I asked warily.

  “I’m finding a penis to help you tonight.”

  “Faye. I don’t think I’m ready for that kind of emotional connection with someone.”

  “What the hell does sex have to do with emotions?” she wondered, completely serious. I didn’t even know how to tackle that question. “Anyway, I know this guy who can help you clean up your garden of weeds. His name is Edward. He’s a creative genius when it comes to that stuff. Once, he drew hearts down there on me for Valentine’s.”

  “You’re so disturbing.”

  She smiled. “I know. But I can set up an appointment with Edward Scissorhands for you, and then you can pick any guy in my book to have a nice, easy, one-night stand with.”

  “I don’t do one-night stands.”

  “Okay. You can lie down to do it, if you want.” She smirked. “But seriously, Liz. Have you thought about dating? Just getting out there around a few guys. It doesn’t have to be anything serious, but I think it could be good for you. I don’t want you to stay stuck in neutral.”

  “I’m not stuck in neutral,” I argued, slightly offended. “It’s just—I have a daughter. And it’s only been a year since Steven’s death.”

  Wow.

  I was somewhat impressed by how it had rolled off my tongue without any backlash of emotion.

  “I didn’t mean it in a harsh way. You know I love you, and you know how much Steven meant to me.”

  “I know...”

  “Look, I’m a womanwhore, but even womanwhores get their hearts broken sometimes, and for me, when things are hard to move on from, sex always helps.”

  I laughed. “I don’t think I’m ready for that just yet, but I’ll keep it in mind.”

  “I understand, sweetie. But if there comes a point when you feel as if you need my little book, you just let me know.”

  I smiled. “Your book seems so small now. I could’ve sworn it was bigger before.”

  Her hand dove into her apron again, and she pulled out two more books. “Don’t be silly. I was just trying to seem ladylike by only displaying one at a time.”

  During my break, curiosity got the best of me, and I found myself stepping foot into Mr. Henson’s shop. Within a few seconds, it was easy to tell that Mr. Henson pretty much sold anything and everything magical. Half of the store was a coffee shop while the other half was set up like a closet that was filled with things I’d seen in many supernatural stories.

  As I entered, the bell dinged above the door, causing Mr. Henson and Tristan to look at one another with confusion in their eyes. When they turned my way, I tried my best to act normal as I explored the store, even though I could still feel their eyes on me.

  I paused for one moment, reaching to the top shelf of one of the bookcases for a book. A book of spells? Okay then. The binding was tied together with string, and it was covered in dust. I picked up another book. Both pieces looked older than dirt, but still somewhat beautiful. Dad had always loved finding old gems like those in vintage shops. He’d had a huge collection of old books in his study that were in different languages or on subjects he hadn’t any idea about, but he just loved how the covers felt and looked.

  “How much for these two?” I asked Mr. Henson. He remained silent. I arched an eyebrow. “I’m sorry. Are you closed?” When my stare met Tristan’s, I held the books to my chest and my cheeks blushed over. “Hi.”

  Mr. Henson cut into the conversation, which was probably for the best.

  “Oh! No, no. We’re open. We just don’t get that many visitors. Especially visitors as easy to look at as you are,” Mr. Henson said, sitting down on the edge of the countertop. “What’s your name, darling?” His comment broke my stare away from Tristan, and I cleared my throat, somewhat pleased by the distraction.

  “Elizabeth. And you?”

  “I’m Mr. Henson. And if I weren’t four hundred times your senior and very engrossed in the male anatomy, I might think about taking you out dancing at the old barn house.”

  “Dancing? What makes you think a girl like me would be interested in dancing?”

  Mr. Henson kept the look of pleasure on his face and didn’t answer.

  I walked over and sat beside him. “This is your store?”

  “It is. Every inch, every square. Unless you want it.” Mr. Henson laughed. “Because if you wan
t it, then it’s yours. Every inch, every square.”

  “That’s very tempting. But I have to say, I have read every Stephen King book ever published five times over and the idea of taking on a store called Needful Things is a bit alarming.”

  “Between you and me, I thought about calling it Answered Prayers, but I’m not much of a religious guy.”

  I snickered. Tristan did too.

  I looked over at him, pleased that we were laughing at the same time, so he stopped.

  My eyes fell to the books. “Is it okay if I take these off your hands?”

  “They’re yours, free of charge.”

  “Oh, no… I want to pay.”

  Going back and forth, the two of us argued about me taking the books for free, but I wouldn’t let up. Mr. Henson ultimately folded.

  “And this is why I stick to my men. Women are too much like me. Come back in another day and I’ll give you a free tarot reading.”

  I smiled. “That sounds like fun.”

  He stood up and walked toward the storage room. “Tristan, ring her up, will you?” He turned to me and gave a slight nod before he disappeared into the back.

  Tristan went to the cash register, and I followed.

  I slowly laid the books on the counter. My eyes moved to the tan and black photos of the forest framed against the wall behind me. “Beautiful,” I said, staring at the pictures.

  Tristan punched in made-up numbers for the books. “Thanks.”

  “You took these?”

  “No,” he said, glancing at the pictures. “I carved them out of wood then added the black ink.”

  My mouth hung open in disbelief, and I moved closer. The closer I looked, the more I could tell that the ‘photos’ were actually wood carvings.

  “Beautiful,” I muttered again. When my eyes locked with his, my stomach twisted with nerves. “Hi,” I repeated, this time with a sigh. “How are you?”

  He rang my items up, ignoring my question. “Are you going to fucking pay or what?”

  I frowned, but he didn’t seem to care. “I’m sorry. Yes. Here you go,” I said, handing him the money. I thanked him, and before I walked out of the store, I looked at him once more. “You act like such a jerk all the time, and the town only knows you as this callous man, but I saw you in the waiting room when you found out that Zeus was going to be okay. I saw you break down. I know you’re not a monster, Tristan. I just don’t understand why you pretend to be.”

  “That’s your biggest mistake.”

  “What is?” I asked.

  “Pretending for a second that you know any damn thing about me.”

  7

  Tristan

  April 2nd, 2014.

  Five Days Until Goodbye.

  When the taxi dropped Dad and me off at the hospital, I ran all the way to the emergency room. My eyes darted around the space, searching for something, someone familiar. “Mom,” I shouted, making her look up from the waiting room. I took off my baseball cap and hurried toward her.

  “Oh, honey,” she cried, rushing to wrap her arms around me.

  “How are they? How are…?”

  Mom started sobbing harder, her body trembling. “Jamie…Jamie’s gone, Tristan. She was holding on for so long, but it was too much.”

  I pulled away and pinched the bridge of my nose. “What do you mean gone? She’s not gone. She’s fine.” My eyes moved to Dad’s stare, who was shocked. Confused. Hurt. “Dad, tell her. Tell her that Jams is fine.”

  He lowered his head.

  My insides were set on fire.

  “Charlie?” I asked, almost sure I didn’t want to know the answer.

  “He’s in intensive care. He’s not doing great, but he’s—”

  “Here. He’s here.” I ran my fingers through my hair. He was okay. “Can I see him?” I asked. She nodded. I hurried over to the nurses’ station and they took me to Charlie’s room. My hand wrapped around my mouth as I stared at my little boy, hooked up to more machines than I’d ever thought possible. A tube was down his throat, IVs ran through his arms, and his face was bruised and battered. “Jesus…” I muttered.

  The nurse gave me a wary smile. “You can hold his hand.”

  “Why the tube? W-w-why is there a tube down his throat?” I stuttered, my mind trying to stay with Charlie, but the truth of Jamie was slowly creeping in. Jamie’s gone, Mom said. She was gone. But how? How could she be gone?

  “During the car accident, his left lung collapsed, and he’s been having a hard time taking in air and breathing. It’s to help him breathe.”

  “He’s not breathing on his own?”

  She shook her head.

  “Will he be okay?” I asked, staring into the nurse’s eyes and seeing her guilt.

  “I’m not his doctor. Only they can—”

  "But you can tell me, can’t you? If you were me, and you’d just lost your wife—” The words forced emotion out of me and I choked it back down. “If that little boy was all you had, and you were all he had left, you would want to know how much hope there was, right? You would beg for someone to tell you what to do. How to act. What would you do?”

  “Sir—”

  “Please,” I begged. “Please.”

  Her eyes faltered to the ground before she met my stare. “I would hold his hand.”

  I nodded once, knowing she had just told me more truth than I was ready to hear. I walked over to the chair besides Charlie’s bed and took his hand in mine. “Hey, buddy. It’s Dad. I’m here, okay? I know I haven’t been around as much as I should’ve been, but I’m here now, okay? Dad’s here and I need you to fight for me. Can you do that, buddy?” Tears rolled from my eyes onto his cheeks as my lips rested against his forehead. “Daddy needs you to work on your breathing. We gotta get you better because I need you. I know people say that the kid needs the parent, but that’s a lie.

  “I need you to keep me going. I need you to keep me believing in the world. Buddy, I need you to wake up. I can’t lose you too, okay? I need you to come back to me…please, Charlie…come back to Dad.”

  His chest rose high and when he tried to exhale, the machines started beeping rapidly. The doctors came rushing in, and they pulled my hand away from Charlie, who was shaking uncontrollably. They all began shouting at each other, saying words I didn’t understand, doing things I couldn’t comprehend.

  “What’s happening?!” I shouted, but no one heard me. “What’s going on?! Charlie!” I yelled as two nurses tried to pull me out of the room. “What are they doing? What’s…Charlie!” I said, louder and louder as they pushed me from the room. “CHARLIE!”

  Late Friday night, I sat at my dining room table and dialed a number that had previously been so familiar to me but hadn’t been used as much in recent days. As it rang, I held the phone to my ear. “Hello?” the voice said, smooth and soft. “Tristan, is that you?” The alertness in her sounds made my stomach twist. “Son, please say something…” she whispered.

  I pounded my fist against my mouth, but I didn’t reply.

  I hung up the phone. I always hung up. I sat alone in the darkness for the rest of the night, allowing it to swallow me whole.

  8

  Elizabeth

  Saturday morning, I was certain I was seconds away from waking up the whole neighborhood as I tried to start the lawnmower, which kept backfiring every few seconds. Steven had always made it look so easy when he handled the lawn work, but I wasn’t having the same luck.

  “Come on.” I yanked the chain to start the engine one more time, and after a few sputters, it went ahead and died. “Jesus Christ!” I kept trying over and over again, my cheeks blushing over when a few neighbors from across the street started staring at me from their homes.

  When a hand landed against mine as I was about to yank the chain yet again, I jumped in freight.

  “Stop,” Tristan scolded me, his brows narrowed and his eyes filled with irritation. “What the hell are you doing?”

  I frowned, staring at his t
ight lips. “Mowing my lawn.”

  “You’re not mowing your lawn.”

  “Yes I am.”

  “No, you’re not.”

  “Then what am I doing?” I asked.

  “Waking up the whole fucking world,” he grumbled.

  “I’m sure people were already awake in England.”

  “Just stop talking.” Hmm. It seemed he wasn’t a morning, afternoon, or night kind of person, so he had that going for him. He pushed the lawnmower away from me.

  “What are you doing?” I asked.

  “Cutting your grass so you will stop waking up the whole fucking world, minus England.”

  I didn’t know if I should laugh or cry. “You can’t cut the lawn. Besides, I think it’s broken.” Within a couple seconds after he yanked the cord, the lawnmower started up. Well, this is embarrassing. “Seriously, though. You can’t cut my grass.”

  He didn’t turn back once to look at me. He just went to complete his job—the same job I’d never asked him to do. I was seconds away from continuing arguing with him, but then I remembered how he’d killed a cat for meowing wrong, and well, I liked my sad little life enough and didn’t want to risk dying.

  “You did a great job with the lawn,” I said, watching Tristan shut off the lawnmower. “My husband…” I paused, taking a breath. “My late husband used to cut the grass in diagonals. And he would say, ‘Babe, I’m raking up the grass clippings tomorrow, I’m too tired now.’” I chuckled to myself, looking at Tristan, but not really seeing anything anymore. “The clippings would stay there for at least a week, maybe two, which is weird because he always handled others’ lawns so much better. But still, I liked the clippings.” My throat tightened and the burning of tears entered my eyes. I turned my back to Tristan and wiped away the few that fell. “Anyway, I like how you did diagonal lines.” Stupid memories. I grabbed the white metal handle and opened the screen door, but my feet paused when I heard him.