“Sorry to barge in on you like this,” Rebecca says, looking him up and down, seemingly unimpressed. “We thought we would have a few drinks here.”
“Don’t let me stop you,” he says with a yawn, putting his mug beside the sink and pulling his sweats up higher. He turns and looks at Lucinda. “Well, well, well, if it isn’t my favorite niece.”
I roll my eyes. He’s got a silly habit where he insists that Lucinda call him Uncle Dex, even when she politely points out that he’s not her uncle.
“I’m not your niece,” Lucinda tells him matter-of-factly. I have to bite back my smile. “And you’re not my Uncle Roger.”
“I know I’m not your Uncle Roger,” Dex says. “I am much, much cooler. Would your Uncle Roger do this?”
Dex comes at her with the most mischievous smile on his face, grabbing Lucinda by the waist and hoisting her up in the air effortlessly. Lucinda squeals with joy as he spins her around the room like she weighs nothing at all.
Oh my god.
I know I’ve seen Dex do this with her before, but this time it hits completely different. It hits deep. How happy he looks, laughing along with Lucinda, totally in his element. I press my hands to my chest, feeling like my heart is growing too fast, too soon.
I glance over at Rebecca who is watching me so gleefully I swear there are tears in her eyes.
Jesus. My ovaries aren’t exploding, they’re fucking detonating.
Dex eventually turns Lucinda into an airplane, swooping her up and down past us until he’s about to put her on the couch.
“We’re coming in for a landing,” Dex says to her, making his voice sound like a crackly mouthpiece as he starts to lower her. “Hopefully there won’t be any beasts on Planet Vogsphere and…oh no.”
Fat Rabbit suddenly starts running for them, jumping on the couch, trying in vain to leap his little legs high enough to lick them.
“Abort mission, I repeat, abort mission.”
“Nooooo!” Lucinda yells, trying to reach for the dog.
Dex pauses her in the air. “So you’re saying you want to land on Planet Vogsphere, even though there’s a giant, ferocious, fart-blasting beast poised to attack?”
“Yes!” She giggles.
“Okay then.”
He puts her down on the couch where she’s immediately overtaken by Fat Rabbit again, laughing as the dog wriggles all over her.
“You have quite the brave daughter, Rebecca,” Dex says as he comes over to us. “He’s been stinking up the place all morning.”
But despite the fact that he’s talking about the dog being a fart factory, I think I’ve somehow fallen more in love with my husband. No, not think. I have. I never think it’s possible, yet it’s been proven time and time again to me that there are many layers to our love.
I’m willing to keep falling, as deep as I can.
“What?” Dex says, leaning against the island, his head cocked to the side as he studies me. “Don’t tell me you’re jealous.”
I try to shake the probably sappy expression off my face, but before I can, Dex comes over to me, making the grabby hand motion.
“No!” I yell, trying to make a run for it while Rebecca eggs him on.
Too late. He grabs me by the waist, his arms slipping around me, lifting me off the ground, higher and higher. His muscles strain as he does so, and yet he does it with so much ease that you’d think he was a strongman for the circus or something.
“Put me down!” I tell him, even though I’m laughing, my legs kicking out.
“If you say so,” he says, carrying me to the couch and effortlessly swinging me over the back of it so that I’m plopped beside Lucinda and the dog. “Prepare to be attacked.”
Both Dex and Lucinda start tickling me, the dog getting in on the action too.
I laugh and laugh.
And for the rest of the afternoon, I forget what happened in that restaurant.
I forget what I saw.
I just feel what it’s like to be normal.
And completely in love.
Four
I’m dreaming again.
It’s often the same dream.
I’m forced to relive the moment I found Dex dead.
I walk down the stairs into the basement in a house that should have never existed, and I know what I’m going to find, know that it’s going to rip my life in two and bring me to my knees, suck the soul right out of me. I try to keep myself from going down the stairs, but there’s nothing I can do. I’m powerless and compelled to see my worst nightmare come to life.
I follow the trail of blood against my will, walk across the cold stone floor, surrounded by black charred walls, and that’s where I find him.
Where the trail of blood ends.
Dex is lying on his back, eyes wide open, a sword sticking out of his throat.
As I always do, I run to him. I can’t stop myself. I run to him and collapse on my knees, and I cry and scream and shake him.
But it does me no good.
Because he’s dead.
He died that day.
And even though I refused to give up on him, even though I went to Hell to find him, even though I brought him back to life again, it still doesn’t erase the fact that the man I love more than anything else in the world died.
He fucking died.
Sometimes I find myself in my dreams, wondering if this is my punishment for never really dealing with it, like I’d so easily swept it under the rug. The fact that I saw my beloved die, something no one should ever see.
I rarely talk about it during therapy. I’ve talked about my mother’s own selfless sacrifice, how she jumped in front of that train to save us all. But I never talk about what it was like to have Dex do the same thing…how it sticks with you. The horror of that night settled itself into my veins like ink, mingling with my blood, never leaving me.
And now, as I stare at his body in my dream, looking at his lifeless eyes, I’m struck by how much sick conviction he must have had to take that sword and plunge it right into his throat.
Dex killed himself.
Literally took that sword and ended his own life.
And I don’t think I’ve ever really talked to him about it either.
“Dex,” I whisper to him in my dream, my fingers stained with his blood, tears running down my face.
His eyes move to the side, look at me.
Completely black.
I scream.
And then I’m awake.
I’m awake.
Sitting up in bed in the darkness, a cry caught in my throat, sweat trickling down my back.
Dex is beside me, rolling over in his sleep.
“Baby?” he whispers, his voice ragged from dreams of his own. “You okay?”
Am I okay?
No.
I look down at him, his eyes slowly blinking open, the room faintly lit by the streetlights of Fifth Avenue that seep through the curtains.
“You died,” I whisper.
His brows knit together in confusion. “You had a nightmare?”
“No,” I say. “I mean, yes, I did but…Dex, you died.”
I lower myself on my side, facing him, my fingers gently pressing into the hollow of his throat where only the faintest scar remains, so faint that you have to look for it. “You killed yourself.” My voice breaks.
I feel like my heart is shattering all over again.
He’s watching me closely, eyes glinting in the din. “Baby,” he says to me, licking his lips. He reaches out and cups the back of my head, bringing my face closer to his on the pillow. “What’s done is done. I’m here. That’s all that matters.”
Tears prick at the corners of my eyes, hot and threatening. “But it does matter. You willingly took your own life, Dex. You did that.”
He presses his lips together, searching my face. “I made a sacrifice. You would have done the same.”
Would I have? Would I have had the courage to drive that sword into my throat and end
my life for the greater good? I’m not sure if I would have been that strong, that selfless, that brave. I’m not like my mother.
“You would have done the same for me,” he repeats, his voice hard, moving closer to me until I’m pressed up against him. He holds me tight, and I bury my head into his neck, trying to fight back the images of him dead and lifeless, trying to convince myself that he’s here, he’s real, he’s alive, and he’s mine.
I hold back the tears somehow, taking a deep breath, his smell so achingly real and familiar that it feels like home. I press my lips against the soft, warm skin of his neck, feeling his pulse underneath.
He’s alive, he’s alive.
But, god, to think of what he went through when he had to make that choice.
“It wasn’t all bad,” he murmurs, kissing the top of my head, picking up on my thoughts as he sometimes does when my emotions are high. “I died knowing how fucking lucky I was. How lucky I am.”
He runs his hand down the back of my head, down my back, pressing me to him even harder. “You know I’d tried to kill myself before,” he whispers, his voice thick and rough in the quiet of the night. “Back then, when I didn’t know who I was except that I was someone I hated. It was nothing like that. Not even close.” He shifts my head back, resting his forehead against mine. “Perry, you made my life worth living. And you were worth dying for. Please believe that.”
My chest sinks, feeling hollow, carved out. I pinch my eyes shut and the tears start spilling over my eyes. I can’t help it. There’s just been too much going on, too many changes, I’m so scared, and yet I’m so fucking grateful that I have this man by my side.
“Shhh,” he says to me, wiping the tears away with his thumbs. “It’s okay. I’m not going anywhere. You know you’re stuck with me. For better or for worse.”
“Til death do us part,” I manage to say, shaking.
“No, baby, that vow never applied to us,” he says softly. “We know better than that.”
He brushes his lips against mine, tasting my tears, then adjusts himself, turning me over so that my back is against him. His arms wrap around me, so hard and strong, and despite my fear, I’ve never felt safer.
“Get some sleep,” he whispers to me, pressing his lips against the back of my head. “I’ll be right here.”
* * *
“Once again,” Dex says as he puts the Highlander into park and fixes his eyes on me. They glow orange from the reflected streetlight. “Are you sure you’re up for this? Because we can always call it quits and turn back now. Go home and forget about it.”
I stare out the rain-splattered window at the house. It’s only six, but it’s been dark for hours, and everything feels darker still, parked in front of this place.
After what happened to me the last time I was here, plus my sighting of the dead lady and her unseen monster at the restaurant, followed by my nightmare of Dex dying, you’d think I would have called the whole thing off. That’s what any sane person would do. Tell Dex that I don’t want to go through with it, that things are dicey enough as it is, that Mr. Cox can keep his money.
But apparently I’m not sane in the slightest.
Because when morning came and Dex told me he was having second thoughts about tonight, and about going back into this world in general, my first instinct was to get defensive. That I needed to, wanted to do this. I know, it surprised me too. I’m starting to think that even through the fear, some part of me feels strangely at home.
Either that or I’m being compelled by this fucking house, which isn’t much of a stretch either. Guess we’ll find out.
I give Dex a quick smile. “I’m fine. I promise. A little scared, but that’s normal.”
“It’s more than normal,” he says, reaching across and holding my hand, rubbing his thumb over the back of it, his touch calming. “And the moment you feel it’s too much, then we stop. Okay?”
I nod, grateful for the easy out, if needed. “How about you? Are you scared?”
He leans over me to peer up at the house, eyes searching through the blurry glass. “Not yet,” he says after a moment. “Come on. I think I see Edgar Allan Fuck over there.”
I open the door and get out of the car, grabbing my crossbody purse and putting it on, twisting it forward. I have no idea what to expect, but Dex and I started cramming things in there that we might possibly need before we left. Flashlights, headlamps, extra batteries, a wireless mic, a spare, old iPhone (we’ve learned our lesson many times before), EMF meter, and an EVP recorder. To be honest, I was surprised when he pulled the recorder out of a storage box. I never expected to see the thing again, and yet the moment he handed it to me, it felt like I’d only used it just the other day.
Dex joins me by my side, locking the car with a loud beep that makes me jump (I’m on edge already), a camera bag slung over his shoulder.
Atlas Poe is standing at the base of the stairs, staring at us. I can’t really make out his features in the dark, but it’s enough to creep me out.
Dex takes my hand for a moment, giving it an encouraging squeeze, before pulling his newsboy cap down on his brow and walking toward Atlas.
I follow, my Chucks slapping against the rain on the pavement as I hurry along.
“You’re filming this?” Atlas asks as we approach. He’s not even under the shelter of the porch, just standing out in the rain and getting wet.
“Is that a problem?” Dex asks, placing a protective hand on the camera bag.
“Not at all,” he says. “Provided you’ll let me review what you’ve shot first.”
Dex stiffens, looks over his shoulder at me, brows raised. I know he’s not happy with that, but he also didn’t run this by Atlas either. He’s definitely one of those “better to ask for forgiveness than seek permission” kind of people.
I shrug. “Can we finish talking out of the rain?” I move past them and up the steps to the porch. My eyes focus on the door handle for a moment and I feel that strong, strange pull again. I have to force myself to look away, to put my back to the house while Dex and Atlas continue their dick-measuring contest or whatever the hell they’re doing staring each other down.
Finally, Dex finishes his glaring and walks up the stairs, stopping by my side.
“So, let me guess, you want to give us another tour?” he asks mildly.
Atlas remains where he is. “No. Just came here to unlock the door for you.”
I exchange a wary glance with Dex before looking back to him. “So that’s it? What about the messages?”
“I told you last time, there are no messages.”
“But your father said…”
He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose for a moment. I feel a strange sense of relief at seeing Atlas bothered. “As I said last time,” he repeats, voice tired, “he doesn’t know what to believe.”
“So why the money?” Dex asks.
“Love?” he suggests, glancing at us warily. “He’s got a lot of money, always has. Always paid his way through this and that. He loved my mother to the point of…obsession. It makes sense he would feel this way after her death. He wants you to communicate with her. About anything. He lacks clarity right now. Hence why I’m here.”
He’s not the only one in that family who lacks clarity, I think.
“But you said it yourself last time, that you want us to give her a push through the Veil,” I tell him.
“Well, that was on Samhain, wasn’t it?” Atlas says. “You dicked around and didn’t even get the chance. So you lost the chance.”
“Dicked around?” Dex repeats, his tone like flint. “You were with us the whole time. If anyone dicked around it was you. And it wasn’t our chance, it was yours.”
“Guys,” I say quickly before this turns into an argument, even though Dex is totally right. “Can we stay on track? Okay, Atlas, you’re saying now that reaching your mother through the Veil can’t happen because we lost our chance two weeks ago?”
“It’s easier on Samha
in.” He shrugs and looks off toward the street. “Maybe on the next full moon. But just because you can’t reach her, doesn’t mean you can’t talk to her.”
“This is really fucking confusing,” I tell him, rubbing my palm on my forehead. “So we can talk to her?”
He gives me a quick smile. “Yes. That’s why you’re here. Go inside and talk to her. But as for bringing her out of the Veil, I guess that will have to wait for another time.”
“Let’s back the fuck up here,” Dex says, crossing his arms, his legs in a wide stance. “Your father is paying us to communicate with your mother, about something, the weather, sports, I don’t know, he doesn’t seem too picky from how it sounds. You, however, her son, want us here to bring your mother…back from the dead?”
“She’ll remain dead, don’t worry.”
My eyes go wide and I look at Dex. Don’t worry? She’ll remain dead?
“But yes, from the Veil,” he continues. “She needs the push. She needs to be invited. You two have the power to do that.”
“No offense, Donnie Darko, but we would never agree to that. We’re here to communicate, maybe even clear the place, if that’s what you want. This what-the-fuckery is the opposite of that.”
“You agreed last time.”
“We agreed to draw her out,” I speak up. “As in have her appear. We did not mean so that she can physically step back into the world. This isn’t Pet Semetary. You can’t just bring people back from the dead…”
But my voice trails off, because of course you can.
I did.
And I think he knows that.
Atlas stares at me for a moment, wheels turning. He then looks up at the house, the rain falling in his eyes, shoving his hands into the pockets of his trench coat before giving us a veiled glance. “Fair enough. I thought maybe you both would have a little compassion for a man who lost his mother, considering how you both lost yours.”
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