Clear

by Jessica Park

  “What’s that?”

  “That making me a death tripper needed to happen. It makes some kind of crazy sense, doesn’t it?”

  “Don’t say that, Stell.”

  “You know it’s true.”

  “I’ll never be able to justify what he did. Nothing in the world is worth doing this to you. That trip you went on was a one-time deal.” His body heat engulfs me, traveling easily from his core to mine. “At least your surge had some good moments. I mean, after the stabbing-Costa incident. Not sure it makes up for all the other downsides though.”

  “I don’t know. That was some pretty good sex.”

  “Pretty good?” he says with mock irritation. “Seriously?”

  “It was insanely, amazingly good.”

  “I know, right? Sex when both of us were surging? That idea never even occurred to me.”

  “So, you would have tripped me if it had?” I tease.

  “Funny, funny. Besides, sober sex with you is more than I could ever ask for. The surge is great. It is. But—”

  I finish his thought, “It’s fueled by the wrong things.”

  “Yeah, it is. And it’s addictive.”

  “I’m already addicted,” I say, “to you, to making love with you, to being in love with you.”

  “Good. Because I am equally addicted to you.”

  “Even the new me?”

  “Yes, Stella. Of course.”

  “Show me.” I squirm against him. I have leftover surge powering me, but I don’t care where it’s coming from. I need release. “Let’s just enjoy the surge. We know there’s good underneath it.”

  “You’re not too tired?” But he’s already rolled me on to my back and positioned his body over mine.

  “For you? Never.”

  SAM TOLD HIS PARENTS THAT I HAD THE FLU, and he stayed with me for the few days following our trip. After that first fourteen-hour sleep, I was really fine, but I knew Sam was standing guard for Costa.

  On the third morning, I set an alarm for Sam and shoved him out the door. I spent the day on my design work, completing three book cover jobs that were already late. I got back into my daily schedule, refusing to let what had happened interfere with a normalcy that I’d fought so hard to find. A publishing house even contacted me, wanting a thriller cover done for a book they were putting out next year. The good news? They wanted blood and gore on the cover.

  I could do that.

  It’s been nearly two weeks since that night and since we’ve seen Costa. I know he’ll be back though. Sam and I both do. The only solace I have is that Costa’s already done the most damage he can. There’s nothing else left. Although I hate what he did to me, I hate the way he destroyed his relationship with Sam even more, and that makes my hatred complicated. I don’t understand why Costa tripped me, knowing that it would end his friendship with Sam—a friendship that I’m damn certain Costa values. Theirs was the only true deep relationship he had left in this world, and he blew it all to shit when he slit my throat.

  And I cared about him, too—still care really. I can’t say that I don’t. I’m confused and hurt and furious, but Costa’s past and his sadness prevent me from seeing him as entirely despicable. Sam, however, won’t even talk about Costa anymore, choosing instead to latch on to his anger, not the sense of loss and betrayal that I know haunts him.

  Maybe Costa is scared of the good, so he ruins it before he can lose it.

  I don’t have answers. I just have the aftermath to deal with. To add insult to injury, I don’t seem to have any powers. If I could fling fireballs, I know who my target would be.

  I’m walking into town this late-August evening to meet Kelly for dinner. Sam is still working at the inn, and he’s going to meet up with us. Kelly and I have become regulars at a small bistro that opened this summer, and we’ve been getting together every week for lunch or dinner. We’ve worked our way through the menu, but the chef also runs daily specials that are delicious.

  Kelly waves to me from an outside table, and I wave back. Her wild black curls are woven into two thick French braids, and I’m suddenly wishing that I hadn’t hacked off my hair last spring. Dining out with Kelly is always fun, but she’s so pretty that we’re constantly interrupted by guys slipping her their phone numbers and sending over drinks.

  Tonight, however, she has on a shirt that simply says, Thanks, but I’m a lesbian. AND I have a hot girlfriend.

  I laugh when I hug her. “Nice shirt.”

  “Thanks. April made it for me. I think she’s hoping Costa will see it. Where’s he been anyway? Dad said he called in a few weeks ago and said he was traveling for a bit.”

  I take a seat and pick up the menu, eyeing the appetizers. “Did he say when he was coming back?”

  “I assumed you and Sam would know.”

  “I’m not really sure where he went. I think to visit someone,” I say vaguely.

  “Visit who?”

  “Just…I don’t know.”

  Kelly pushes my menu down. “What’s going on? Costa doesn’t have any friends outside of Watermark.”

  “Oh, fine.” Obviously, I have to lie to her, but I do tell her a partial truth, “He and Sam had a bit of a fight.”

  “Shit. Really?”

  “Guy stuff, I guess. Costa isn’t the easiest person to get along with.”

  “That’s an understatement.” She flags down the server. “I’d hate to see that friendship fall apart again.”

  To start with, we order crispy pork belly with peach chutney and also charred Brussels sprouts tossed with pancetta and balsamic. My mouth is already watering.

  “What do you think about Costa?” I ask.

  Kelly blows out a long breath. “Oh, Costa Jorden…he’s self-centered and a shithead some of the time, I know, but I saw how he grew up. I saw what his parents did to him. I swear to God, I’ve never seen parents care less about their kid. It was like he didn’t exist to them most of the time. When he was only eight or nine, they’d leave for days on end with no food in the house, no working phone, nothing. When my parents found out, they threatened to call child services, but his parents gave some bullshit sob story about how they found work out of town for a few days and had to go. Costa begged Mom and Dad not to make the call. Instead, they got his parents to agree that Costa would stay with us when they couldn’t take care of him. He was with us more often than not.”

  I drink half of my grapefruit cosmo to try to ease the sick feeling in my stomach. “Jesus. I didn’t realize it was so bad.”

  “I know. My parents would go over to his house to clean and leave some food. I went with them one time when Costa was eleven or so. Liquor bottles were everywhere, and trash was piling up. Costa’s room was no place for a kid—no sheets on his bed, almost no toys. It was disastrous.

  “By high school though, Costa was basically living with us and barely had any contact with those people. He had clothes, a warm house, and a family. Finally. Holidays were at our house, and he got presents on Christmas. His parents were nuts. I know they were addicts. Mom told me it was why they never gave those people actual cash. They would have blown it on booze or drugs. Costa grew up in hell. I hate to think about what that kid’s life was like before he had us.”

  Everyone’s an addict, I think to myself. “Thank God for all of you.”

  Kelly seriously looks at me. “He and Sam can’t fall apart. You do whatever you have to do and make sure that doesn’t happen.”

  “Kelly, I don’t know if I can—”

  “Promise me,” she says strongly. “Costa is family.”

  “I’ll try,” I say with more resolve than I expected.

  She sits back in her chair and folds her hands together. “Whatever garbage is going on now, it’s meaningless in the scheme of things. They got through losing Toby. This summer has been the best either of them has had in years. A lot of that is because of you, but it’s also because they’re back together. Costa has earned a lot of slack, so Sam needs to give it to hi
m. And vice versa.”

  “Sam’s done a lot for him,” I point out.

  “He has. But Sam has advantages that Costa doesn’t. We all need to do what we can. I’ve tried calling him, and he won’t pick up. Maybe he’ll talk to you.”

  “I can’t call him.”

  Kelly studies me. “Something happen with you two also?”

  I don’t say anything.

  She reaches across the table and puts her hand in mine. “I don’t care what it is. Fix it. You’re the only person who can.”

  I squeeze her hand. “I’ll do everything I can. I swear.”

  “Good. Now, let’s order more food.” She takes a sip of her beer. “And why are you smiling?”

  “I was just thinking about how truly horrified my mother would be that I’m holding hands with a lesbian.”

  “Yeah? Well, we could take a selfie of me tongue-kissing you, if you’d like. Just don’t tell April.”

  I laugh. “It’s a good thought, but I don’t talk to my mother.”

  “At all?”

  “At all.”

  “Is that permanent?”

  “Yes.”

  She studies me. “You get Costa, don’t you?”

  “Unfortunately, in many ways, I do. And I want the zucchini noodles with seared shrimp.”

  “I’m sorry about your mother. And I want the pork chop with the red-wine glaze and wilted spinach.”

  I smile at her. “I’m glad we got together tonight.”

  “Me, too. Now, let’s dish before my brother gets here.” She leans over the table. “Did I tell you what April and I did the other night?”

  Her eyes gleam, and I can tell there’s a good story here.

  “You did not,” I say, my interest piqued. “Shoot.”

  We talk and eat over dinner, and we trade stories that must be whispered. I wish I could tell Kelly about the death tripping because she’s become such a good friend, but I obviously can’t. It has to be contained.

  The sun has set by the time Sam shows up to drive me home. “Aw, you got me dinner to go? You girls are the best.” He gives Kelly a noisy, long sloppy kiss on the cheek until she screams and pushes him away.

  “You’re disgusting. Boys are disgusting. I don’t know how Stella tolerates you.”

  Sam kisses her again anyway. “My penis and I are repugnant. I get it. But I love you anyway.”

  “I love you, too, you weirdo.” Then, Kelly hugs me. “Good luck.”

  “Thanks. Talk to you soon?”

  “Yep. And you need a dye job again. Come in next week.”

  Sam’s truck is parked down by the waterfront, and we hold hands and pop into a few of the shops as we make our way down the tourist-filled busy street. I’ve relished the simple things like this ever since I got to Maine but now even more so. My appreciation for good food, amazing friends, the beauty and feel of a small town, a place to call home, a boyfriend to hold my hand and guide me through a crowd…I won’t let anything undo that. Anything.

  Maybe I should feel differently than I do. Something freakishly wild has happened to the very center of who I am. I don’t even know if I’m still considered human. Are death trippers human? I have no clue. But I should feel wobbly and jarred. And while I do to some extent, there is a significant part of me that feels as though this was supposed to happen. I’m not a big believer in destiny, but it’s hard to ignore the idea that it’s coming into play here. There’s also the undeniable feeling that, as a death tripper, I am closer to Sam.

  Now that we are the same, yet another wall has come down between us.

  Sam and I stand on the pier and watch the boats for a bit. Their lights remind me of the ones that Sam used to be able to make, and I’m surprisingly melancholy about him losing that power. There was something so incredibly sweet and pure about it. We haven’t done much with his floating skill, except help him control it and stop our togetherness from sending things flying into the air. I follow the path of a small fishing boat decorated with twinkle lights, and my sadness swells again. The time of the lights seems so simple now.

  “It’s beautiful out tonight,” I say. “I never imagined loving a place as much as this.”

  “Watermark is a pretty special town to live in, I agree. Come with me. I want to show you something.” He leads me down a set of wooden stairs that takes us to a small beach area.

  “Sam, it’s kind of dark here. What are we doing?”

  “You’ll see.” With a swift movement, he scoops me up into his arms and carries me a number of yards away until we are in the most remote area of the shore, none of the streetlights reaching us.

  “Sam…”

  “Shh…”

  He kisses me, and my arms encircle him in response. It’s one of those kisses that melts me, that’s filled with adoration and devotion, and that pushes aside anything even mildly troubling.

  Gently, he takes his lips from mine. “Look.”

  When I turn slightly from him, my eyes fill with joyful tears. We are hovering three or four feet over the water, fairly far from shore.

  “You wanted to float in the Maine air,” he says.

  “So, you made it happen. Oh, Sam…” I take a deep breath and feel the air coursing into my lungs along with the salty wind dancing on my skin. I look down and see the ripples of small waves below us. It’s just the two of us and the night right now, and I’d happily stay in his arms, sheltered from so much—forever. “You are amazing.”

  Even Sam, who is prone to brushing off the intriguing and fantastical nature of his powers, appears to be enjoying this. How could he not?

  We jerk up a foot higher, and I squeal and clutch on to Sam. His mouth finds mine again, and my nerves settle as I relax into the feel of him. Kissing when floating, it turns out, is pretty remarkable.

  Slowly, he takes his tongue from my mouth and whispers over my lips, “I’d better take us down. I don’t think we’re up for night swimming.” He rubs his nose against mine, and he floats us over the water and back to the shore.

  He sets me on my feet, and I playfully swat his arm. “We could have been seen.”

  “Whatever. It’s Friday night. Everyone’s drunk.” He hops up and down. Then, he picks me up by the waist and spins me around in the dark. “You and I should go home and get drunk and have some more fun.”

  “I’m totally into that idea. Dirty martinis?”

  “You got it. Extra olives.”

  “Deal.”

  “And extra mini swords?” I ask.

  “I’ll spear as many olives as you like.”

  “Maybe you can make them float from the jar into the glasses?” I suggest.

  “For you, anything.”

  I keep my hand on his leg while he drives up the hill to our house on the cliff. The contentment that fills me each time we pull into the driveway will never get old.

  We’re strolling up the gravel path toward the steps when Sam sharply drags me back.

  “What?” I look at Sam and find fury on his face. I turn to the house.

  Costa is sitting on the porch under the spotlight, his back against Sam’s door.

  Sam’s body lifts from the ground, and with surprising speed, he flies the twenty feet it takes to reach Costa. In an instant, he lifts Costa under the arms so that they are both off the porch. Sam floats them back a few feet and then rams Costa against the door. And then, he does it again.

  “Sam, no!” I scream, running to them.

  But Sam pounds Costa into the old door one more time. Under his strength, it splinters down the middle, and they fall through the threshold to the floor of Sam’s apartment. When I reach them, Sam has his hands positioned to snap Costa’s neck.

  “Don’t do this. There’s no point.” I’m trying to control my panic. I might be new to this, but what Sam is doing seems to fall outside the boundaries of death tripping. “There’s no point!” I say again.

  “He’ll be gone for a while. That’s a good point.”

  I look at Cos
ta, who is barely resisting Sam’s aggression. He is clearly exhausted and broken.

  “Let him go. For me.”

  Costa speaks softly, “Please don’t kill me. I’ve been sober from death tripping since that night. Please.”

  “Fuck you.” Sam is seething.

  Then, Costa says something that makes even Sam’s violent impulse break apart, “We might be able to surface Toby.”

  SAM RIPS COSTA OFF THE FLOOR and charges him across the living room until his body is pinned up against a wall. “What the fuck are you talking about? Don’t you dare use Toby to try to repair what you’ve done.”

  I quickly get to Sam, but I can’t pull his hands from Costa. Appealing to his non-death-tripper side is the only hope I have that Sam won’t kill him. “You are not a murderer. You’re not. Please.”

  Sam pulls his hands back, and Costa catches his balance before he falls. Sam’s face tells me that I’m right, that he was on the brink of going too far. He doesn’t kill people when he’s sober. I know him. It’s a line that he cannot cross without hard repercussions, but this is now the second time that he’s come close. The day on the dock when his hearing power was making him edgy, he nearly choked Costa, and I was barely able to stop him.

  Costa’s leather jacket is off one shoulder as he stands fully and runs a hand through his hair. There is a ragged and unfamiliar air about him, and he strains to sound casual. “So what? You can fly now? That’s kinda badass.”

  Sam makes a slight move, and Costa holds up his hands to block him. “Okay, okay. Sorry.”

  I have to work to pull Sam back and move myself in front of him. I hate the mood between them, between all of us. “What are you really doing here?” I demand. I can hear Sam pacing behind me. So far, this is much less fun than martini night would have been. “You want something. So, what is it? What else are you trying to take from us now?”

  Costa is noticeably thinner and paler than usual, and dark circles leave shadows under his eyes. “Can I sit down?”

  I hardly recognize his voice. He’s shaky and emotional and nothing like I’ve seen him before. He’s even pathetic-looking. But I’m still suspicious of his motives. I wish to all hell that I could blindly trust him, but he’s ruined that. I know broken and crazy well, and I’m willing to forgive. Only, Costa has been pushing it beyond reasonable limits.