Sidetracked: Part 1

by S. K. Kelley

  Why tell me about immortals or confess to having stalked me? Why sponsor me or sign me up for the Human Immortal Program? Why suggest to Night’s friends that we’re dating? Why be honest and rebuff my confession? Why admit to hurting James? He didn’t have to do anything that might create more tension between us, so I don’t think he’s been lying to me exactly.

  It still doesn’t make sense, but I...

  I believe James’ story too. He’s telling the truth—or at least the truth as he perceives it—but I doubt Ice meant what he said to him. I don’t think James completely believes it either.

  “Hey,” I say. “It’s alright. I don’t hate you.”

  He blinks, eyes wide. “What? Why not? After what I did—”

  “You messed up. You shouldn’t have done what you did—obviously, that was crazy—but I know you didn’t mean to hurt me. And I’m fine, so...”

  His expression softens, but he doesn’t look relieved.

  I offer to let him see the River Sapphire.

  He hesitates, staring at the necklace for a long moment before he finally takes it. He holds the gemstone up to the light. His eyes narrow as his frown grows more pronounced.

  “It’s pretty,” he says. “Too bad I can’t use it.”

  “Hasn’t done much for me yet either, but, um... Did Ice say anything about why he told me about immortals in the first place?”

  “No. I don’t think he mentioned it.”

  Dang. I was hoping to get a straight answer for once, but that’s alright. Maybe Ice was telling the truth when he said he just felt like telling me, and so he did. A whim. Maybe there isn’t any other reason.

  Maybe asking was a waste of time.

  Rain pummels the windshield. The fat water droplets merge and run down the glass in wide streams. A few streams catch in a thin crack in the glass, merging to follow the crack to the edge of the windshield. There’s nothing comforting about the sound of the rain now.

  Finding James left me with more questions than answers. I’m more confused—more conflicted—but this was a conversation I’ve needed to have for a while. I needed the outside perspective from someone who could understand what I’ve been going through.

  James returns the River Sapphire, and I put it away.

  “You plan on going back to their house?” he asks. “He’ll be pissed if he finds out I talked to you.”

  “Well, obviously. I don’t plan to tell him where I’ve been.”

  He gauges my expression carefully before speaking, “If you need more time to think about it, you could—I dunno... Stay here for a while?”

  “At that abandoned house?”

  “Well, yeah, I guess.” He averts his eyes and scratches his cheek. “I mean, if you’re not comfortable at Ice’s place right now, I can look out for you until—”

  I laugh. “Whoa. Slow down. I don’t hate you, but that doesn’t mean I want to stay with you. The Fourth of July was a complete disaster—fine, we both had way too much to drink, I guess—but let’s not forget you literally kidnapped me and threatened me with a gun.”

  He grits his teeth, pointedly avoiding eye contact.

  I guess he knows perfectly well what he did. He felt bad before I said anything.

  I sigh. “Anyway, I’m supposed to go home once the storm blows over. It should only be a couple more days, but I have to go back to Ice’s house first. I have a lot of stuff there.”

  “You could be in danger,” he says quietly. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

  “I can accept that Ice is only with me because he’s bored. I can even accept that maybe he’s not the person I convinced myself he was—that I saw a lot of things that just weren’t there—but I am telling you right now that I am not in any danger. He wouldn’t hurt me.”

  His expression grows strained. “Sure, fine, you’re safe, but we both know he’s more than willing to hurt me. Whether you like it or not, Ice is dangerous.”

  Ugh...

  He’s right. I can’t argue—not with him looking like that—and I don’t really feel like crawling back to Ice right now, anyway. James gave me a lot to think about, and I need a minute before I can face him again.

  But Ice will be upset if he finds out why I left, and I don’t want James to get hurt because of me a second time.

  Somehow, I’ll keep his name out of it.

  “Please, you have to trust me on this,” he says, though his nerve falters as he glances away. “If it helps at all, we can swing by his house tomorrow. You can pick up your stuff, and then I’ll take you home—or wherever you need to go.”

  “Tomorrow?”

  I don’t know...

  A moment of tense silence passes before he looks up again. His expression is muddled and strange, and it doesn’t quite match what he’s said. He made it sound like he’s worried about me—like he feels I need protecting—but his wide eyes and set jaw reveal a far deeper anxiety. It’s more like...now that I’m here, he doesn’t want to be left alone.

  Is he honestly that afraid of Ice? Or is it something else?

  Maybe I don’t want to know.

  “Fine,” I say. “If it makes you feel better, I’ll let you help me.”

  fifty-one

  I WATCH THE TREES PASS by through the passenger window as we drive down the gravel road on our way back to the dilapidated house. James pulls into the lot and parks his car off to one side of the porch.

  We run the short distance to avoid getting wet, and, as he opens the heavy front doors, he laughs about a raindrop that fell into his eye. It’s weird. Even as we walk inside, he seems like a different person—like he’s not the hopelessly miserable man I found when I arrived this morning.

  This place...

  I ask how old the building is, and he shrugs. Late Victorian is his best guess. Though, he does offer to show me around, so I follow him into the next room: the parlor we sat in before, where the tour begins.

  The house is massive, and he navigates it easily, but I’m not convinced he knows what he’s talking about as he leads me around on the so-called tour.

  The kitchen is in the back, but I don’t use it.

  This is a bedroom—I think.

  Whatever you do, do not use the rear staircase. It’s dangerous.

  Dunno why, but the sink in this bathroom doesn’t work.

  This looks like some sort of...storage room?

  He keeps saying things like that.

  The first floor has a fair amount of wood debris and broken glass strewn about. It’s the worst by far—the least livable—but only half of the rooms above it have anything noteworthy inside them. A chair or chest of drawers. An old TV. A broken bed frame. A collection of furniture covered by off-white sheets.

  The air smells of mildew, and most every surface is coated in a thick layer of dust. Half of the doorknobs are dusty—some with hand imprints indicating the door has only recently been opened. Many of the light bulbs flicker or stay dark when James flicks the light switch upon entering a new room.

  I can hardly believe the place even has electricity.

  It’s not until we reach the third floor that he finally admits to not living here. I’m not at all surprised, but he goes on to explain that he was recently kicked out of his father’s house—again—and couldn’t think of anywhere else to go.

  But it’s fine.

  We’re not trespassing. Technically. The building, aptly named Reid Manor, is owned by his family, though it’s been left uninhabited and neglected for decades.

  “Anyway,” he says, opening another door, “I’ve been crashing in this room. It’s not much, but there’s less dust.”

  I scan the room, and I have to agree. It’s not much, but it is the least dusty room he’s showed me thus far. The square bedroom is as stuffy and sad as the rest of the house—the green wallpaper peeling at the top edge—and it smells faintly of smoke, but...

  No, it is significantly better than the others.

  James enters the room ahead of me. The fi
rst thing he does is grab a pack of cigarettes off the top of a small, black mini-fridge, crumple the box, and stuff it into a nearby backpack.

  Okay...

  Ignoring him, the room is plain and sparsely furnished like many of the others, but it feels more...lived-in. The bed’s original, aged bedding is piled in one corner of the room, having been replaced by a single throw blanket and flat pillow. There’s also a chest of drawers with chipped white paint and a worn reclining chair.

  James stands around, holding a cell phone he grabbed from the top of the mini-fridge—next to where the now-sacrificed cigarettes used to be.

  Imagining him holed up here, alone during the storm with nowhere better to go, is kind of depressing, but I appreciate the lack of dust motes in the air, and the room is brighter than the others. A large window with no curtains—the source of the light—faces the forest outside.

  The boards creak beneath my feet as I cross the room to stand in front of the window. Past James’ car and the large, gravel lot, a sea of trees stretches into the distance. The weather is cool, leaving the indoor temperature comfortable, but I bet this place turns into an oven during the summer. There’s no way it has central air.

  “You expect me to sleep in here?” I ask, turning around.

  James slowly looks up from his phone. He unplugs it, stands up straight, and scratches the back of his head with his free hand.

  “I guess,” he says. I assume he’s also wondering if asking me to stay was a good idea. “You can take the bed if you want. I’m fine with the chair.”

  “Right. Thanks.”

  I’m certain he needs a night of quality rest more than I do, but I’m not about to argue over a single night’s sleeping arrangements. If he’d rather sleep in that ancient recliner, it’s his loss.

  Sitting on the edge of the bed, I check the time—it’s just after 2PM. I set my phone to silent this morning, so a text from Rose has gone unnoticed for over an hour.

  Sooo... how are things?

  Is it still raining?

  Great... Should I talk to her?

  I glance across the room at James, who is still standing around awkwardly and messing with his own phone. He soon meets my gaze, and I flash an apologetic smile.

  “Can I have a few minutes?” I ask. “I need to call someone.”

  Detecting a flicker of concern, I laugh nervously.

  “Don’t worry; she’s a human friend—my roommate. I am not calling Ice.”

  He hesitates but nods. Then he digs a set of over-the-ear headphones out of his backpack and leaves the room. The door latches shut, and I try to get as comfortable as possible considering the circumstances before I make the call.

  Rose answers promptly. Her cheery voice is a breath of fresh air, and my muscles relax ever so slightly as we exchange normal pleasantries.

  “Any news?” she asks.

  “I don’t even know where to start.”

  “Uh-oh. Things not going good with Ice?”

  “No,” I admit. “I don’t think they are. As if everything else wasn’t enough, I kind of, um...took off this morning without telling anyone where I went.”

  “Took off? Are you okay?”

  It sounds worse than it really is when I say it out loud.

  “Of course I’m okay,” I assure her. “Sorry if it seems weird. It’s just that... I don’t think things are working out between us after all, you know? I needed some time to think.”

  “Oh. Well, it’s about time you’ve come to your senses,” she says with a mild laugh. “Are you at home, then?”

  “No, um...”

  “No? Where are you?”

  How much can I get away with telling her?

  “I found out that Ice...hurt someone last week,” I say carefully. “I talked with the guy today, and he told me that Ice said some...things about me, so—”

  “Hold up. Ice hurt someone? Like, hurt hurt someone? Why? What happened?”

  I groan. “It’s hard to explain. The guy’s fine...mostly, but Ice did not want me to talk to him, and, after coming here, I think I understand why. He knows things about Ice, and getting away has given me time to think—”

  “You’re freaking me out, Jay,” she says, her voice noticeably uneasy. “You said you’re not at home?”

  “No.”

  “What—”

  Maybe I should have lied.

  With a sidelong glance at the closed door, I lower my voice further. “He lied to me, Rose. Ice lied to me about this guy and how he feels about me and who knows what else. I have no idea what to do now.”

  “Okay, hold up. You’re seriously telling me that you’re with a different guy right now?”

  “Ugh. Yes.”

  “A guy your last boyfriend...beat up?”

  “Ice was never my boyfriend. But yes. Essentially.”

  “Just for wanting to talk to you?” she asks, her voice thick with confusion.

  “It’s a little more complicated than that. They have some kind of history. I don’t really know what happened between them, but I think I accidentally got caught up in the middle of it.”

  She makes a slow, uncertain noise. “This is too much drama even for me. What the heck is going on in your life right now?”

  I stare out the window, holding the phone against my ear. The storm is starting to ease up. The wind isn’t as strong. The rain is lighter.

  “Honestly, I have no idea.”

  “But you swear you’re safe?”

  Eh... “Ninety-five percent positive.”

  “Alright,” she says slowly. “So, what’s the deal with this guy you’re talking to now?”

  I give up. I’m done hiding things that don’t matter.

  “His name is James. He’s weird, but he’s alright, I guess.”

  “Is he cute?”

  “Oh, shut up,” I mutter, ignoring her laughter. “It’s not like that at all. I came here to talk—to figure out what happened. But I’m not going back to Ice’s house today. I need more time to work things out. Then I think I’ll just pick up my bag and head home.”

  “Good. Is James a friend, then?”

  I pause. “Not...really? He seems alright, like I said, but I hardly know him. It’s complicated. I have a lot on my mind right now.”

  “I get it. I’m confused for you, to be honest. I thought a little stupid summer romance would be good for you, but I guess you attract shitty guys.”

  “Or something,” I agree.

  “But I do wish you’d actually talk to me about it.”

  Oh, god. Why now?

  “What do you mean?” I ask, feigning naivety.

  “You know what I mean.” Her voice is low and serious, almost uncharacteristically so. “I may be a blonde, but I am not dumb. I know you’ve been hiding shit from me. I don’t understand what’s going on with you and your boy trouble, but I keep telling myself you must have a good reason for not explaining it to me.”

  Rose...

  The line goes quiet for a moment, and then she sighs. “I want to trust you, Jayde, but you have to swear to me that you’re safe. If you need help—even if you think it’s stupid—tell me. I will pack my car and be home tomorrow.”

  “No, it’s fine.” I laugh, but it feels forced. “I think I can handle it myself.”

  I wasn’t expecting relief, but it’s a weight off my chest and sheds a sliver of the guilt I’ve carried for weeks. At least I don’t have to hide the fact that I’m hiding things anymore.

  “I wish I could explain more, but it’s a real mess.”

  “I won’t bother asking.”

  That’s fine.

  We talk about her vacation instead. She hasn’t seen a drop of rain in Arizona, and she just bought another souvenir for me—though she still won’t tell me what any of them are. She’s having a great time. I’m glad.

  Then she asks if I’m sure I’m fine, and all I can do is say yes. All I can do is tell her that she shouldn’t worry about me.

  “Call me as soo
n as you’re home,” she says.

  “Of course.”

  “Good luck with everything. Talk to you later. Love youuu.”

  “Yeah. Thanks.”

  I end the call, and all I hear is the rain on the roof.

  What do I do now?

  My hand falls into my lap. I switch my phone off silent and scroll down my FaceSpace newsfeed, but there’s nothing important, so I glance out the window and watch the steady rain falling from the grey sky instead.

  I turn toward the closed door.

  Should I find James?

  Should I tell anyone else where I am?

  I scroll down my list of friends. Robbie? No way. We haven’t talked in months. He has no idea what I’ve been up to. Carmen? That would be weird. I flick past Night’s name and, once I hit the end of the list, scroll up again.

  Should I message her?

  I could tell her where I’ve been. What James told me. That I plan on picking up my stuff and going home tomorrow morning.

  My finger hovers over the text input box.

  What if she tells Ice that I met with James?

  What if she tells him where we are?

  I don’t message anyone. I lock my phone and leave the room.

  I SIT ON THE BED WHILE James sits in the recliner across the room. We don’t talk, for lack of anything meaningful to say to each other, so we just...stew in a terribly awkward silence.

  When staring at my phone gets too boring, I look out the window. It’s still raining. I look up at the ceiling, at the wooden boards. Then I look around the room.

  James, who, I think, is listening to music, does the same. Mess around on his phone. Scan the room. Glance at me. Frown. Back to his phone. He looks more functional than before, though. He took a shower during my call with Rose. His face is cleaner, shaved, and his hair is still damp.

  He notices me watching and drops his headphones to his neck. I resist the urge to look away.

  “I know I said I’d take you to get your stuff tomorrow...”

  “You don’t want to?”