Paranormal After Dark

by Rebecca Hamilton

  After sticking headphones into his ears and cranking the music, he began his jobs, starting with spraying off the house. Because he’d done it the day before, he simply waved the spray of water back and forth to give the illusion of cleaning. No doubt his mother had her ear to the wall, listening to his every move.

  He finished spraying the house, then mowed the lawn, swept the driveway and the garage, tried to find something to trim on the bushes, washed the cars, and finally went upstairs to clean his room. He was slow going up the white, carpeted stairs, and took deep breaths to calm his sudden racing heartbeat. Cleaning his room was the worst of the chores.

  Albert stopped at his bedroom door, his hand shaking just above the doorknob. Out of the corner of his eye, his mind registered something out of place in the long, darkened hallway. He glanced over. His mother was standing erect at the end of the hall, her hands clasped together. She didn’t say anything, didn’t blink, didn’t move. She just stared, her eyes made darker by the lack of sunlight in the narrow space.

  The cold metal of the doorknob touched the underside of Albert’s palm, and he jumped as if shocked. He quickly turned the handle and slipped inside his room, closing the door behind him. Breathing heavily, he leaned against the door, keeping his eyes closed. He was hoping he’d hear his mother walk by, but he didn’t hear anything. For all he knew she was still standing there. Sometimes she’d stay like that for hours.

  After some time, Albert opened his eyes. His reflection looked back at him, face pale and forehead beaded with sweat. He wanted to turn away, but it wouldn’t make a difference if he did. No matter where he looked, he saw himself. Years ago his parents had lined every wall in his room with mirrors. And every day he had to clean them.

  Albert set to the task, all the while thinking about the Bodian drug hiding beneath his bed. It could make all of this go away. But then he remembered Claire.

  At six o’clock on the dot, his father came home. He listened from his room as the front door opened and closed. He looked down at his watch. If his dad didn’t come see him within three minutes, then Albert would know his mother had told him about being late.

  When the second hand on his watch passed the allotted time, his chest tightened. He would be grounded for the weekend (didn’t matter that he was almost nineteen), and that meant he couldn’t see Claire. His insides began to tremble, and his sanity felt as if it had been dropped into a blender.

  Maybe he could ask for the paddles instead. It had been several months since they’d been used, but he knew his dad still considered the option. He’d threatened it just last week. Sometimes Albert wished his father were a raging alcoholic who lashed out in anger. That would be much easier to accept than a—

  The door opened. His father’s massive frame filled the doorway. “Your mother said you were late, Albert.”

  Albert grimaced at the sound of his given name. He wished he never had to hear it. “Only by fifteen minutes, and I was just in the driveway.”

  His father’s chest rose and fell. Deep breaths, slow and steady. “Don’t make excuses. You know the rules, and until you move out, they have to be followed.”

  “Yes.”

  “Other than going to work, you’ll be staying home this weekend.”

  “Please, Dad. I already have plans.”

  “I don’t care about your plans.” He turned to leave. His ironed blue shirt barely moved. A shell.

  “Wait!”

  His father stopped and turned around. Dark eyebrows shadowed even darker eyes.

  Before his father could scold him, Albert quickly said, “Can you punish me another way?”

  His father’s gaze moved to a set of paddles hanging on a mirror. “You will receive both punishments for questioning me. I’ll be back in one hour.”

  The door closed.

  Albert cursed and smashed his fist repeatedly into a pillow. Months ago, he had stopped trying to convince his parents that he would never become like his brother. They didn’t believe him then, and they weren’t about to now. In their minds, the family name would never be tarnished again, and they saw to this by imposing crazy rules and punishments upon him.

  Clenching his jaw, he squished beneath his bed and scooted to the back corner. There was no reason for him to feel like this. Not anymore. He curled his fingers around the edge of the carpet and pulled back, exposing a wooden floor. After removing the nearest board, he peered in and stared at the glass vials.

  He’d promised himself that he would throw them away after what had happened with Mindy, but now he was glad he hadn’t. He reached in and took hold of the nearest tube. Just touching the cool glass relaxed him, and he inhaled deeply.

  Wriggling back out from under the bed, he sat on the floor and studied the clear liquid. He remembered the day he’d stolen it. His father had taken him to work late at night to retrieve paperwork he said he’d forgotten. Because his dad’s buddy was working security, he let him take Albert into an area normally forbidden to outsiders.

  While there, he overheard his dad and the guard talking about Bodian Dynamics’ latest project for some huge corporation. Their scientists were developing a drug to make soldiers, not only fearless in battle, but stronger, too. His father pointed out the concoction on the other side of the lab, admiring its application. “If this works,” he’d heard his dad say, “then someone’s going to have one hell of an army. Finally the world will have some real men in it.”

  As soon as his father left, Albert entered the sterile room and took as many vials as his coat pockets could handle. His father didn’t notice anything amiss when he returned, but if he had looked closely, he would’ve noticed sweat dripping from Albert’s forehead.

  Albert couldn’t explain why he’d done it. Maybe he was tired of pretending to be someone else, to both his parents and his friends. Or maybe he just wanted to prove to himself that he was worth something.

  Holding the glass to the light, he stared at the vial, unable to comprehend how such a small amount could make him feel so incredible. He pulled a black plug from off its top. Just a few drops, he thought. Just enough to numb the pain.

  He took a small gulp then quickly plugged it again. A sharp, searing heat ignited his insides, but within a few ragged breaths, he felt better. He stared at his reflection, waiting to see if his appearance would change. Luckily it didn’t. Maybe he’d have to drink all of it for that to happen.

  He kicked off his shoes and collapsed backwards into bed, hands behind his head, and thought of Claire.

  Sometime later, a brief moment of terror sliced through his calmness when he heard the squeaking of wheels rolling on the wooden floor outside his room. One rotation after another, their squeals turned the room cold and the air foul, but Albert’s fear was quickly muffled by the pleasant euphoric sensation of the Bodian concoction.

  Like he’d promised, Albert’s father arrived one hour later. He opened the door, pulling a small, familiar cart behind him. On it was a fully charged, industrial-sized battery, a single green light blinking on its top next to a red button.

  His father didn’t look at Albert as he removed the paddles from the hook on the mirror, mindful to keep the long cord between them from tangling. He found the end and plugged it into the battery, then reached into his pocket for a familiar-looking, small bottle.

  “You know what to do,” he said.

  Albert took the bottle from him and calmly squeezed gel onto the electrode paddles that his father held in each hand. This sure is a lot easier than all the other times. Albert almost laughed at how afraid he used to be of this whole process.

  After his father attached the electrodes to each side of Albert’s head, he said, “Put in your mouthpiece.”

  Albert reached for the chewed-up, blue mouthpiece on his nightstand. Anyone else might think he was a serious football player if they saw it and never guess what it actually was—the only thing that prevented his teeth from breaking when his father shocked him. His mother was convinced this sort o
f treatment would curve any deviant behavior and probably would’ve saved his brother had they used it. “I’ve felt your pain,” she’d told him once. “Shocking treatments were the only thing that stopped me from hurting you or your brother when you were babies.”

  As soon as the mouthpiece was in his mouth, his father bent down, his blue eyes level with Albert’s. “When this is finished and you wake up, you are to stay in your room the rest of the night. No dinner.”

  Albert shrugged like it was no big deal. He really didn’t care. He felt great.

  The briefest of shadows crossed his father’s face, and Albert swore he had almost smiled, but then his father straightened and walked back to the box. He glanced at Albert one last time, his finger hovering just above the red button.

  And then he pushed it.

  A jolt of electricity shot through Albert, sending his arms and legs into the air, shaking violently. Searing pain raced from the top of his head all the way to his toes until he fell over backwards, his body contorting in ways that would leave him swore for days after.

  But not this time.

  Albert kept his eyes closed to give the illusion of being unconscious, the typical response from being shocked, but as soon as his father closed the door, taking with him the squeaking cart, Albert sat up and stretched his limbs. The pain had been great in the moment, but was gone only a second after. A wonderful response.

  He turned to the clock on his nightstand. By seven his mother would be in bed reading and his dad holed up in the office working on who knew what. They wouldn’t check on him or say goodnight; they never did. Only one more hour and then he was out of here.

  To pass the time, he thought about looking at different schools that weren’t so close to home, despite having already been accepted into the local college, but his body was too much of a mess, pulsing with energy. He paced the room, tugging at his hair, until he dropped to the ground and pumped out one hundred push-ups in less than a minute. Then he started the process all over again.

  Seven fifteen arrived just in time. A second longer and he would’ve smashed all the mirrors in the room. Albert pressed his ear to the door and listened closely to the sounds in the home. All was quiet.

  It took a little effort, but he managed to slide open the window noiselessly. He swung his legs over the windowsill and climbed to the roof by way of a nearby rain gutter. It wasn’t the safest route, but it beat jumping to the ground and into prickly rose bushes, strategically placed by his parents.

  Once on the roof, he snuck to the other side and jumped into a nearby tree not far from his parents’ window. A risky move, but it was worth it. There was someone he wanted to see.

  Chapter 5

  CLAIRE PULLED UP to the local mini-mart about 8:30 p.m. The brakes on her mother’s old van grinded to a halt, and she jammed the gear into park, cursing it and everything else. There was no food in her house and before her mom had crashed onto the couch, she’d tossed her the keys to her van and a fifty-dollar bill.

  “Make sure you get Oreo’s,” her mother had said after clicking on the television.

  Claire did as she asked, but only because she was starving. She and her mother rarely got along; they were more like roommates than anything else. Claire just couldn’t relate to her. Her mother didn’t know how to fight life, only accept whatever was thrown at her as if she had no other choice.

  Stepping out of the van, she closed the door and glanced around. A few tourists still walked up and down the boardwalk, looking for open souvenir shops. A lot of the locals didn’t like the tourists, but she did. They made Bandon grow and without them, their town would be stuck in a provincial bubble.

  She went to the front door of the grocery store and, using the sleeve of her jacket, reached to open the glass door, but stopped when the reflection of someone standing across the street caught her eye. She turned around. Between a restaurant and a t-shirt shop stood a boy wearing a black Bandon High sweatshirt, hands stuffed in his pockets. A hood shadowed all but his lips.

  She waved, assuming she knew him if he had gone to Bandon (their high school hadn’t been that big), but he didn’t move, didn’t even shift his weight. His odd stillness gave her the creeps, so she quickly turned back around and ducked inside the store.

  It didn’t take long to get the groceries she needed. Most of the food was meals she could heat up in the microwave, along with the ingredients for chocolate chip cookies, her favorite. At the last second she remembered the Oreo’s and paid for the items.

  Arms loaded with grocery bags, Claire walked out into the parking lot. She glanced across the street—stare-hard was gone. Good.

  She slid open the side door of the van, set the groceries inside, then closed the door. When Claire turned around, she caught sight of the sea. The sun had just begun to set, spreading its rays across the ocean like thick honey. She loved this time of day and seriously considered walking down to the beach to enjoy the last of the daylight.

  Just then she heard the sound of a motorcycle cruising down the road. It pulled into the parking lot and stopped next to her. The driver removed his helmet and turned toward her. She smiled.

  “How’s it going?” Logan asked. He smoothed back his thick, sandy hair. Even though it was messy, it still looked great.

  She folded her arms. “Since when do you ride motorcycles?”

  “It’s the same as riding a dirt bike.”

  “I know, but when did you get one?”

  After lowering the kickstand, he swung his leg over the bike’s seat and sat on it sideways. “A couple of months ago. I finally found something worthy to spend my money on.”

  “I thought you only worked at Leo’s for the girls. I didn’t realize there was an actual point.” Logan was a waiter at the local steak house; Claire loved the free burgers.

  He shrugged. “I’ve got depth.”

  Claire laughed. “Since when?”

  Logan was a ladies man and a jokester who never seemed to worry about anything. Sometimes she wished she had his life.

  Logan glanced away, his eyes serious.

  “So what are you doing out here?” she asked.

  “Had to get out of the house.”

  She nodded, understanding. Logan didn’t talk much about his home life. In fact, she’d only met his parents a few times in all the years she’d known him. According to Logan they were private people, who were only happy around each other.

  He stood up and moved over to her. “How’ve you been doing?”

  “Living the dream in Bandon, Oregon.” She forced a smile. It had been almost two weeks since she stumbled into that dead girl, but she still couldn’t sleep without a night-light.

  Logan touched her lightly on the arm. “You know you can talk to me, right?”

  She nodded and moved back a step. “So I was thinking of going to the beach for awhile. Want to come?”

  “Um, I don’t know. I can’t be gone long.” He looked toward the road, then back to her. “Wait here for a minute? I have to go inside and get some things.”

  “Sure.”

  “Cool.” He dashed inside.

  She leaned against the van and quietly sang her band’s latest song. For the first time, Kate had written the lyrics and surprisingly, Claire liked them. On the other side of her van she heard a car pull up, but she ignored it while she tapped against the metal door.

  “Hey,” a voice said.

  She turned her head and immediately straightened when she saw who it was. Ethan stood on the sidewalk wearing a black t-shirt and dark jeans. Since that day she’d cried all over him, he hadn’t talked to her, but that didn’t surprise her. Why would one random event make them friends again?

  “Hey,” she said.

  Ethan stepped off the sidewalk, closer to her. “I have something for you.”

  He reached into his pocket and pulled out her cell phone. The one she’d dropped in the girl’s locker room. The police had kept it because it was “evidence.” Evidence of what, she di
dn’t know.

  She took it from him. “How’d you get it?”

  “Yesterday I was visiting the police station, and I overheard Smith saying they were done with it, so I told him I’d take it to you.”

  “Is that what you do for fun? Visit police stations?”

  He chuckled. “Actually I was getting my passport at the courthouse. Smith was in the hall talking about it.”

  “Passport, huh? I always knew you’d something bigger with your life.” Claire didn’t look at him. Instead she turned the phone over in her hand. “So I guess I’m not a suspect anymore.”

  “You never were.”

  “Sure felt that way. Do they know what happened yet?”

  He shook his head and looked toward the ocean. “They lifted a bunch of prints from the light switch, but it didn’t match anyone in their records.”

  “Did you know her?” She couldn’t say her name.

  Ethan’s blue eyes returned to hers. “No. But a few of my friends did. They went to her funeral on Tuesday.”

  She looked down at the ground, her heart pounding. She hated funerals.

  “How are you doing?” he asked.

  “Fine.” She kicked a pebble across the pavement.

  “You’re lying.”

  Her head snapped up. “What?”

  “No one would be fine after seeing that. You don’t need to act like it doesn’t bother you.”

  Surprised by his insight, she said nothing.

  “Cool bike. Whose is it?” he asked.

  “Logan’s. He’s inside.”

  He stuffed his hands into his pocket and looked toward the store. “Have you eaten yet? I’m starving.”

  She tried not to stumble back. Was he asking her out? “Um, I might be going to the beach with Logan.”

  Just then Logan walked out with an armful of junk food. He stopped when he saw Ethan.

  “Hungry much?” Claire asked him.

  He looked down at the food. “A little. What are you guys doing?”

  “I was admiring your bike,” Ethan said. “You ride?”