by Becca Fox
So I gave up. Accepted my fate. Chose to be content with my underground lair, my glass birdhouse, the only three men who truly understood me, and the chance to help my uncle solve murders. Now, the only time I went online was for school.
Charlie always said chatting with people on the computer made me moody anyway. I didn’t remember that but I could believe him easily enough. Listening to the cares and problems of normal people only made me want to be like them even more. And grieve the fact that I couldn’t.
Once outside the birdhouse, I locked up and stared at my reflection. I had such a sad, pathetic existence…
I slapped myself across the face. The sound startled some pigeons that had been roosting on the parapet. I was breathing hard now. My cheek had its own pulse. The girl in the glass had an angry red patch on hers. Tears swam in those purple eyes I hated so much. I pulled my shoulders back and blinked away the pain. I had to go back downstairs now. I had to think about something else. True love. Rainbows. Laughing babies. Cat memes.
The muscles in my face protested but I did manage to lift my lips a bit at the corners. I held them there as I walked to the roof access door. It started to sprinkle about halfway through the journey. My favorite swampers kept me from slipping over the slick, flat roof. If I’d cared about getting wet, I might’ve pulled on the hood of my jacket. But I didn’t. My hair became heavier and heavier as it absorbed the water. It was coming down hard when I walked over the threshold and bumped shoulders with someone.
“Oh, I’m sorry!” the stranger said, turning to face me. “I didn’t think anyone...would be…”
We locked eyes. His were so blue behind the thick framed hipster glasses, they looked almost gray. The low-fade haircut only served to confine his springy strawberry blond curls to the top of his head. His skin was covered in freckles. I became fixated on them immediately. There were so many little red dots, some in tight clusters, others in sparse bunches, but all over the place. They were like stars.
The stranger held his hand out, looking a bit dazed. “I’m Ralph McCarthy. The intern.”
He certainly looked like an intern. He wore a dress shirt and khaki pants, which were rolled up to expose his socks. They were bright red with yellow ducks.
“Jasmine Campbell,” I said, my creepy little smile still in place. “The psychic.”
Ralph made a funny sound, part laughter, part nervous gibberish as he shook my hand. Then he cleared his throat and stepped back, shoving both hands in his pockets. A closed umbrella hung from one wrist. “We don’t call you that, you know.”
I shrugged, walking away from him. “Sounds better than freak.”
“We don’t call you that either.”
“All right. Now I’m curious.” I turned on my heel. My swampers squeaked. “What do you call me?” Truth be told, I wasn’t nearly as curious about my secret nickname as I was about him. So far this was the longest conversation I’d had with anyone from the precinct aside from Vanessa Burkley.
“Jasmine,” he said with a kind smile. “Just Jasmine. Like Cher or Madonna or Pink. You’re, like, the precinct’s own celebrity. We’re not allowed to stare, take any pictures, talk to you unless you talk to us first, or say your name outside of work.” He mimed scribbling in midair. “We signed a contract and everything.”
“So what you’re saying is…” I pretended to think about it. “I’m essentially Lord Voldemort.”
Ralph threw his head back and laughed. It was a throaty, carefree sound that made me want to laugh too.
“Not exactly.” He half turned to nod at the door behind him. “Do you mind if I walk around your birdhouse? I heard you have quite the collection.”
“I don’t know. Was that included in the don’ts part of the contract?”
His guilty grin was enough of an answer for me.
“You know, if you hope to keep your internship, you might want to consider following more of the rules,” I said, wagging a finger at him.
“I have an inquisitive nature. Isn’t that what the captain is looking for in a detective?”
“It’s definitely a good trait for a detective to have, I’ll give you that.” I stepped back. “Thanks for the talk, Ralph.”
He cocked his head, surprise pulling at his mouth. “Anytime.”
I was on the landing about a story below before I realized I could’ve stayed. This was Anthony’s weekend with his boys; he’d made sure I finished all of my school assignments for the week last night so there wasn’t any work waiting for me. Charlie and Uncle Vic wouldn’t be back from court for a few more hours. Why would I pass up an opportunity for more conversation with a stranger who wasn’t afraid of me? I could’ve offered to let him into the birdhouse!
I groaned up at the ceiling and dragged my feet down the next few flights of stairs. It had been too long since I’d talked to another human being outside my circle. I’d become even more socially awkward than Charlie. To race back up to the roof now would come across as weird, maybe even desperate. The best I could do was hope I’d run into Ralph again some other time.
I bumped into Anthony at the elevator. For the first time since I’d met him, my doctor/tutor was dressed casually; boots, jeans, windbreaker. With his car keys in one hand and his tablet in the other, he looked like…well, like a normal man in his late thirties running errands on a rainy day.
“Tony,” I said, taken aback. “Hi. What’re you—?”
Three boys stood with him. Hayden, Connor, and Jackson, ages ten, eight, and five. I only recognized them because of the picture Anthony carried in his wallet, the one with their names and ages written on the back. His ex-wife had made tons of copies and mailed them to their relatives along with their most recent Christmas letter. Anthony had snagged one somehow.
He’d told me very little about his other family, his other life. As if that would somehow make me feel less guilty for stealing him away from them. It wasn’t until I looked into those three little faces that I realized he’d been right.
“Jasmine,” Anthony said, as if he’d gotten punched in the stomach. He smiled thinly. “We can’t make a trip to Bainbridge Island without the tablet, apparently, and I left it here. Since the boys had never been inside the precinct…” He seemed so embarrassed, so apologetic. I wanted to say something to put him at ease but all I could do was stare at his boys.
Hayden looked just like his father; curly brown hair, dark eyes, tall, athletically built. Connor was all arms and legs, with glasses that amplified his blue eyes. Jackson was a blue-eyed, blond-haired cherub. All were dressed appropriately for the weather in brightly colored raincoats and boots. The way they stood around their dad, almost possessively…they loved him. And in that moment, I loved them. I wanted to say I was sorry. I wanted to say I was firing Anthony so they could keep their father forever. I wanted to say a lot of things.
“I thought you might’ve gone to court with Victor,” my doctor murmured.
I shook my head hard and conjured up a smile somehow. “Charlie wouldn’t let me. Something about paparazzi. But it’s okay. I’m glad I was here to meet your sons.” I bent over to put my hands on my knees so as to be more on their level. “Hello, there. I’m Jasmine. It’s nice to finally meet you.”
“Hey,” Hayden murmured awkwardly.
“Dad says you’re sick, but you don’t look sick,” Connor said.
Anthony sent his second son a sharp look. “Connor.”
The boy scrunched his shoulders around his ears, giving his dad a “What? It’s true!” kind of look.
“My sickness is of the mind,” I said, pointing at my temple. “It’s not the kind that can be seen on the outside.”
“Your eyes are purple,” Jackson chirped.
“Yes, aren’t they cool?” Anthony handed the tablet to his oldest before scooping Jackson up into his arms. “We better get going if we want to beat the traffic to the ferry. Say goodbye, boys.”
Hayden had already turned on the tablet and was tapping away on its surfa
ce. “Bye.”
“Nice to meet you,” Connor murmured as he walked past.
“Buh-bye,” Jackson said, scrunching his chubby hand at me.
With one last apologetic look over his shoulder, Anthony said, “Sorry again. I’ll see you Monday.”
“No worries.” I straightened up to raise a hand in farewell. “Have fun.”
“Dad, can we meet the captain?” Connor asked, tugging on his father’s shirt.
“Maybe some other time,” I heard Anthony say before their voices became lost in the hubbub.
I watched them snake their way through the cubicles, wave at the people manning the reception desk, push past the big glass doors, amble out into the city and the rain. I had half a mind to run after them, beg them to let me be a part of their afternoon. I’d be safe on Bainbridge Island so long as I was with my doctor. I could travel by ferry for the first time. Feel the movement of the ocean. Walk among the trees on the other side. But I couldn’t intrude on Anthony’s outing with his family. I already dominated so much of his time.
My dripping nose made me aware of the tears pouring down my face. Then I noticed the sideways glances I was getting from the passing officers. If any of them noticed me noticing them, they quickly looked away. Picked up the pace. Cleared their throats. Moved on before the “celebrity” clawed their throats out.
Dabbing at my cheeks with my sleeve, I spun around to face the elevator. The door was open, waiting for me to return to my hidey-hole. Return to the darkness where I belonged. I hated it, but where else was I supposed to go?
“To hell with this,” I hissed.
Once inside, I yanked the door closed, then bashed the down button with my fist. I wiped my face but the tears just kept coming. I howled angrily. The elevator stopped and I opened the door. Down the steps I marched, around the counter, into the kitchen. The bucket of bird seed was dumped into the sink. The medicine cabinet door was thrown open. I reached in blindly, pulling out every pill bottle I could find. I poured them into a bowl at random until it was full. Red pills, blue pills, yellow pills, clear pills. A petri dish of cures.
My one-way ticket to Death. Or so I hoped.
I threw back handfuls of pills in between big gulps of water. I didn’t stop until the bowl was empty. My stomach felt so full. It took effort to walk across the apartment, to sit on the edge of my bed, tug off my swampers, shrug out of my jacket. I crawled under the covers and pulled them up to my chin. If Charlie and Uncle Vic were going to find me dead for real, their final image of me would be in peaceful sleep, like a princess from a fairytale. I felt a pang of guilt, of regret, of heartache, but it was brief. There was no going back now.
I breathed deeply, trying not to think about my belly full of poison, fighting the urge to throw up. But then a new thought made me gasp.
“Charlie,” I whispered into the quiet. “Can you see me right now?” More tears came with a harsh sting. “I’m so sorry. I love you.”
“Exactly what do you think you are doing?”
I lurched into a sitting position, my heart jumping into my throat and smashing into the scream that had been about to pop out of my mouth.
A woman stood at the foot of my bed, arms dangling at her sides, head bowed. Her pale lips were pursed, those violet eyes, although heavily lidded with exhaustion, burned fiercely in rage. Her black hair was impossibly long, reaching well past her butt. That dress...that glow...
“You’re here,” I choked out. “You came.”
“But of course, I came,” Death spat. “You’re killing yourself.” She reached out with her perfectly petite hand as if to grab onto something.
I could almost feel the bite of her nails around my stomach. Doubling over, I cried out. “Wh-What are you doing?”
“Rescuing you, simple creature.”
I looked up in time to see her tug her clawed hand back. With the gesture, the pain in my stomach was gone. I was left panting in my bed, feeling…completely normal.
“There.” Death whipped her hand out to the side, getting rid of whatever excess magic still clung to her fingers. “A valiant attempt, but you cannot escape.” The annoyance melted away from her face, leaving behind only a cold, bitter certainty. “Neither of us can.” Then she was gone.
Chapter 20
Charles
“What the hell, Jazz?” I paced in front of my sister, the only freakin’ reason I was still trying. Thoughts of Esmer threatened to make me take that last part back, but I shook my head. I could live without Esmer.
Jasmine sat at the center of her bed with the covers forming a wrinkled arc around her. Her glazed stare was fixed on something I couldn’t see. “She has purple eyes. They’re not as dark as ours but still…She didn’t just mark us as cursed. She marked us as hers.”
“Are you even listening to me?” I roared. “How could you try to kill yourself?”
“She said there was no escape,” my sister rambled on. “Not for either of us. What did she mean by that?”
“Didn’t you stop to think about what your death would do to me? To us?” I waved a hand at our uncle, who stood beside me, arms crossed, brow low.
Uncle Vic hadn’t said a word since I’d told him about my latest vision. He’d driven us away from the courthouse like a madman, raced through the precinct beside me, and barreled across our apartment to get to Jasmine, but that terrified urgency had vanished the moment he’d seen she was all right. His stony expression was hard to read. Jasmine’s suicide attempt had failed, but I hoped he was as angry and hurt as I was. I couldn’t be the only one thinking about what could’ve happened to us if she’d been successful.
My sister finally scowled up at me. “I was thinking about you. I was thinking about how much more time Anthony would be able to spend with his family if he didn’t have to be watching me twenty-four-seven. I was thinking about the social life Uncle Vic could have if he wasn’t constantly worrying about someone getting too close and finding out our big secret. I was thinking about how much time you’ve been spending with Esmer, how happy that’s made you, and how much happier you could be if you didn’t have to keep rushing back to me every time someone died.”
My face went from warm to blazing. “I don’t know what you’re—”
“I was thinking,” she went on fiercely, “that I’m tired of living in limbo, unable to live, unable to die, unable to breathe without being in pain.” At this, her voice hitched. She pressed her hands against her face and started rocking. “I can’t stand it. I want to be happy, and good, and brave. But I can’t. I can’t.”
Uncle Vic sat beside her. He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her forehead. His eyes were shimmering a bit, his lips trembling. “I’m sorry. I love you so much, sweetheart. I wish I could help you.”
He was doing a better job than I was at keeping himself together. I had to look away and wipe my face against my forearm. My throat was throbbing.
Jasmine lay limply in his arms, sobbing.
“You think we’d be better off without you, but you’re wrong,” I said, my voice thick and deep. I cleared my throat. “Happy or unhappy, you’re the only good thing in our lives, Jazz. Can’t you see?”
She didn’t answer.
“What do you want?” I gestured to the elevator. “I’m still talking to Esmer like you asked. I’m experiencing. Uncle Vic’s going out with Vanessa and a bunch of other detectives for drinks on Friday. Anthony’s taking some vacation time in a few months. We’re not going to change overnight, but we’re trying to do what you’ve asked us to.”
My sister just kept crying.
I squeezed my hat’s bill between both hands, gritting my teeth. “What else do you want, Jazz? You want to go on more field trips? You want to die in front of more people? Go back to being front page news?”
“Charlie,” Uncle Victor said wearily.
“What? I’m honestly curious. Would that make you happy, Jazz?” I demanded. “Would that make you feel any less like one of your caged birds?”
“No.”
At long last, my sister dragged a hand across her face. Our uncle released his hold on her so she could sit up on her own. Running her hands through her messy dark hair, she seemed to return to herself. She fixed me with a serious look. “But I don’t want new hires to be afraid to talk to me anymore.”
I scoffed, dropping my hands to my sides. “How would we be able to control that?”
Jasmine simply turned to our uncle.
He rubbed the palms of his hands against his knees as if they were suddenly sweaty. Grimacing a little, he said, “There was a contract drawn up when the two of you first moved into the precinct. Every new hire has to sign it before they can start working here.” At my look of confusion, he added, “People were still afraid and/or strangely obsessed with Jasmine at that time. The captain and I thought it was the best way to protect her from religious fanatics, or officers who’d been paid off by reporters, or visitors just looking to get her picture on conspiracy blogs.”
“Is there anything about me in this contract?” I asked.
My uncle scrunched his face as he tried to remember. “I think there’s a clause in there about allowing you access to files belonging to all investigations, and following any order you might give in the field.”
That explained a lot, actually. Still—
“Why am I only hearing about this now?” I threw my sister a suspicious glance. “And how do you already know about it?”
“The new intern told me.” Jasmine grabbed a handful of Uncle Vic’s sleeve. “Don’t tell the captain.”
“I won’t,” he said slowly. “But, Jazz, the contract has been working all these years. You and your image are safe.”