My phone beeped. I lifted it to glance at the text while Tercet pursued the phone and my hand.
“I could come over to your apartment if you want.”
I didn’t want that. Not with the possibility of Tessa or someone else possibly deciding to pop in. I wanted to keep some of my cards under wraps. Even so, there was curious George to think of downstairs waiting for me to visit. Even if he didn’t know Griffith, it was unlikely he approved of him, if I went by the impressions of Chance and Ruthie. Despite his living here, I didn’t think Griffith fit in with the regulars.
I needed somewhere public, but offered privacy, because this book probably wasn’t something he shared with just anyone. Maybe I could convince him to tell me about it. Like for starters, how to open the damn thing.
“How about the park?” I responded. It wasn’t far from here, and it was warmer out today, but not warm enough for many people to go there.
“See you in fifteen.”
Trudging to the closet to dress in jeans and a sweater, I grabbed a shoulder bag large enough to hold the book. The bottom of the closet was a mess from where I’d shoved the suitcase. I continued to live directly out of it and hadn’t found places for my meager possessions. That would make this stay more permanent. I wasn’t sure if I was ready for that.
I ran a brush through my hair, brushed my teeth, and applied lip gloss and mascara. Lucky for me I’d perfected the two-minute make-over while living in my car. When I went back to the kitchen for the book, Tercet was crouched beside it, hissing furiously. After I tossed the book into the bag, Tercet stalked away with her head and tail held high.
I scanned the empty park as I approached. The scattered trees were starting to show a bud or two as they struggled in the changing spring weather. Sliding the bag over my shoulder, I headed for a bench in the middle of the park. I made my way through the muddy grass. The combination of melting snow and spring rain showers made the ground sloppy. I mentally noted escape routes and the closest businesses I could run to, if necessary.
As I sat, the cold of the bench penetrated my jeans, chilling me. I considered sitting on the book, but didn’t think Griffith would approve of using his ancient book as a seat cushion.
The park seemed like a safe place in case Griffith decided to try to overpower me with his oppressing stuff. Jumping off the top of the sliding board or riding the merry-go-round until I vomited—both seemed unlikely methods to kill me.
“Hey,” Griffith said, from behind me.
I jumped up, clutching the bag concealing the book against my chest. “You about gave me a heart attack.” As soon as the words left my mouth, I wondered if perhaps that had been his intent. Although it would be a long shot at my age, despite my lackluster exercise regime.
“Sorry.” He smiled slightly, holding back his humor. “I didn’t realize you were that jumpy.”
“Where’s your bike?” I scanned the park, thinking I would’ve heard him approach on his motorcycle and wondering if he had abilities like Drake did when he’d arrived at Griffith’s unannounced.
“I walked from work.”
“From work?” I’d assumed he didn’t work. Figuring he inherited money from his parents to have that big house. Spending all of his time imagining how to oppress and depress people or in the seduction of women. Although the seduction part probably wouldn’t take up too much time. It appeared to come naturally.
“What do you do?” I took in the nice black slacks and dark blue shirt, trying to picture what kind of work he’d do. The iridescent haze waxed and waned around him like a caress.
“I manage the liquor store.” Griffith either sensed my anxiety or had some of his own, because he kept shifting his gaze around the park.
“Ahh, makes sense for you to spend all that time at the bar, then.” I repositioned the bag on my shoulder. “Trying to make sure we’re selling your product? Or promoting it to our regulars?”
He smiled. “They say it’s good to know your merchandise. I have to sample the products, don’t I?” He glanced at the bag. “Did you bring my book?”
“Yeah, about that.” I sat down on the bench and Griffith sat beside me, without waiting for an invitation. “I’m sorry about taking the book without asking.”
I snuck a glance at him to see if he looked angry. “I meant to ask if I could borrow it, but…forgot.”
Griffith didn’t say anything. I’m sure he could see right through my lie, considering the size of the book. It wasn’t as if I could forget I was carrying it. Plus we’d ridden the motorcycle that day. The look on his face made me think he might’ve known I took it in the first place, but he hadn’t tried to stop me.
As the silence became uncomfortable, he spoke. “You forgot?”
“Okay, that’s a lame excuse, isn’t it?” It was time to lay my cards on the table. I wasn’t one to play games and wasn’t about to start now.
Griffith’s laugh came out short and quick, but genuine, and apparently, startled him as much as me. “You could say that. I’m just surprised you did. Do you make it a habit of stealing from people you just meet?”
I averted my gaze to the ground. “No, this is a first for me. Well, if you don’t count Yolanda and her wets-a-lot doll, but I was six and she had plenty of other dolls, so I wouldn’t call it stealing, since I don’t know if she even missed the doll…”
I stopped babbling. He watched me with a raised eyebrow that emphasized the depths of his beautiful eyes. I clamped my mouth shut before I continued to babble all the secrets of my life as if confessing my last sins. Although, this meeting wasn’t over yet, and perhaps I’d be doing just that by the time all was said and done. As of right now, he looked entertained and didn’t appear to be contemplating methods of making me suffer a slow, terrible death.
“But in light of me being honest with you...” I studied my lap to avoid looking at his face, since I lost control of my tongue when I did and went on a chattering tirade. “Ahh…perhaps you can tell me about this book? You knew I took it, didn’t you?” I slid the book out to lay on my lap.
“Yes, I did.”
The book was warmer than it should have been, and the cover looked different. It reminded me of one of those optical illusion pictures that had different images each time you looked. “Why did you let me take it?”
The colors on the cover meshed, and a wooded image appeared. “I’ve never seen anything like it. Perhaps you could tell me about…Oppressors?” I looked at him, to gauge his response.
The humor left Griffith’s expression, and he stared straight ahead. “You haven’t figured that out yet?”
I shrugged. “You go first.”
“I don’t think you know what you’re getting into.” The muscles in his jaw clenched and unclenched.
“No, I don’t. That’s why I’m asking you.” I tugged at the book cover again, but it still wouldn’t budge. “That’s why I took this book. But I can’t open it. I don’t understand. It opened when I had it out in your library.”
“That’s because you were in my house, and I permitted it to open.” He held his hand a few inches away from the book, and it warmed and pulled toward his hand, as if a magnet was inside of the book seeking him out.
“It’s mine, and it knows it.”
“It? The book? Is it because you’re one of…” I risked agitating him pressing him like this, but didn’t think he’d hurt me. “Is it because you’re an Oppressor? One of its, err, kind?”
He stood. “That’s not my kind.” Griffith towered over me, and the haze around him darkened and picked up speed. Its movement made me feel very small.
“I’m sorry, I thought…” Cowering under his anger I wondered what the hell I was doing taunting him.
I slid to the edge of the bench, grabbing the back to keep from falling off. I tried to remember the escape routes I’d planned.
“I’m surprised you’d even pick it up.”
“Why? Because it gets hot?”
“No, because the co
ver is made out of human flesh.”
“Human flesh?” Bile rose to the back of my throat. I wiped my hands on my jeans, looking from Griffith to the book with horror and disgust.
Griffith scowled. “Don’t look at me like that. It’s not like I made the cover.” He sighed. “Look, Hope…” He ran both hands over his face, scrubbing off the fury. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”
“I’m not frightened,” I squeaked.
Griffith reached for the book, and it scooted into his hand without him touching it. He tucked the book under his arm, and the cover flapped open for a second as he transferred it. “I have to get back to work.”
“What about the book? Can’t you tell me about it?” Even if I had it in my possession again, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to touch the cover, knowing what it was made of.
“No. Not today. Not here. If she knew you had this…” Griffith peered around the park, studying every tree as if he thought someone was going to rush out.
I looked but didn’t see anyone except a few ladies who’d sat at one of the picnic benches with their brown bag lunch, probably taking advantage of one of the first warm days of spring. They didn’t look threatening. But I didn’t feel threatened by Griffith, and the look in his eye a few minutes ago told me I should be. All my life I’d been mistrustful of people, and I didn’t know why I’d choose Griffith to learn how to trust others.
“Somewhere else, then?” I said, tentatively, unwilling to give up the book without gaining any new information.
He placed a hand on my shoulder, and the heat from his touch permeated my jacket. I gasped.
“There are some things you’re better off not knowing.” He turned and stalked away through the park.
****
“Why in the world would you trust him?” Chance slammed his soda, and a little bubbled over the top. The people at the sub shop glanced at us, appearing irritated we’d disturbed their meal. “First you steal that book, then you give it back before we can get any information out of it?”
I bit my lower lip, unsure how to respond. Perhaps I won’t tell him about the human flesh cover. I don’t think it would win Griffith any favor in Chance’s eyes.
“What was the point of taking the book? Except risking getting yourself, and probably all of us, killed.”
“I don’t know. Griffith wouldn’t do anything to hurt me, or any of us.” I picked through my potato chips to find one of the curled ones and popped it into my mouth.
“I think he’s going to tell me about the book. After he has time to cool down.”
“Have you lost your mind? He’s not your friend.” Chance grabbed my hand.
I met his glare.
“I am,” he said. “We are. We’re family.”
“You wouldn’t understand.”
“What because I’m a man? I’m not blind. I know he’s good looking, but you can’t go throwing caution to the wind because he’s batted his eyelashes and shook his tight behind at you.”
“It’s not that. It’s nothing about his looks.” At least I didn’t think it was. I curled my hand into a fist, crushing my napkin and several potato chips.
“Then what is it?”
“It’s because…” I opened my hand and dropped the chip crumbs, shoving them around with the tip of my finger. “It’s because he’s like me. He lost both his parents.” I studied the table.
Chance sat back in the booth, staring at me.
“Kind of like me. We understand each other.” I shrugged. “I know it sounds dumb, but I feel like I’ve bonded with him somehow over that.” I formed a small mountain of crushed potato chips.
My mind registered that Chance had lost his parents, our parents, the same time as me, but I didn’t think about it the same way. Maybe I didn’t see him experiencing the same loss because he was my brother, or because he always had Destiny by his side.
“You still had family. I lived in an orphanage until Tessa took me in. Even though you think you can, you can’t understand what that was like.” That and Chance didn’t have a haze pouring out of him when he became angry like Griffith did, or like I did.
I waited for him to say something, but he just stared at me. So I resumed my potato chip crumb races. I had no better explanation for my irrational behaviors.
“His mother isn’t dead.”
“Yes, she is, Griffith told me…” I paused, realizing I’d taken Griffith’s word verbatim. Breaking my gaze with the table, I met Chance’s challenging stare. “Where is she if she’s not dead?”
“I think she’s dead to him, but otherwise she’s very much alive. Maybe not sane, but alive. She’s been in the psychiatric hospital for years.”
“Why would he lie to me about that?”
“For the very reason you just told me. To gain your trust. It appears he succeeded. I didn’t think you’d be that gullible.” He shook his head.
Neither did I. I picked at the wrapper on my sandwich, looking up when the bell jangled over the door. A teenage couple walked in, hands intertwined and bodies practically fused at their sides. They stood in front of the counter, whispering to each other and studying the menu on the wall above. I’d never been with any guy like that, not when I wasn’t sure if they wanted me for me or the euphoric feeling they received when they touched me.
As I watched with envy, I noticed the newspaper rack against the wall by the door. A photo of a familiar face stared at me from the front page. “Isn’t that Bob from the bar?” I stood and made my way across the shop. Excusing myself as I passed the couple then hunkered down in front of the paper. The headline read, Local Man Commits Suicide.
I covered my mouth as my breath caught. I hardly knew Bob, but he’d been nice enough to give me that ride home. Plus I’d taken his job. Surely that hadn’t been enough to push him over the edge.
I searched in the pocket of my jeans until I found a few coins. I slipped them in and pulled out the paper to scan the commentary under his picture. The words were brief and to the point, stating Bob was found in his home, dead by what appeared to be a self-inflicted gunshot wound.
The worst part was that the time of death was still being determined. Since he lived alone, no longer worked, and had few friends, he hadn’t been missed for several days. The meter man had gone by and noted a foul odor coming from the cracked window. He saw Bob, or rather what remained of him after the mice or rats that shared Bob’s residence chewed on him. At least that’s what they thought had gnawed at his flesh.
I sat down heavily in the booth. Chance had just taken the last bite of his sandwich. “Did you see this?” I turned the paper toward him.
He nodded and continued chewing, apparently familiar enough with the discussion of death that it didn’t interrupt his lunch.
“I can’t believe Bob would do that.” I set the paper aside, unable to look at the picture any longer. “He didn’t seem depressed enough to kill himself.”
I laced my fingers on the table and studied my nails. “I’ve never known anyone who committed suicide before.”
What went through my mind was how self-absorbed I was, and how I hadn’t taken the time to see how Bob was doing. At the bar the other night, I barely gave him a second glance. I didn’t notice any signs that maybe he needed help. What good was it to have the ability to give people hope if you didn’t know when to do it?
“It probably wasn’t suicide.” Chance crushed the wrapper of his sandwich, making a loud crinkling sound.
“What do you mean?” As soon as I asked, I remembered the last time I’d seen Bob at the bar. He was with Drake.
“You’ll notice there are a lot of suicides or accidental deaths in this city.” He flipped over the paper to the obituary list and tapped it. “Look at the ages of the deaths listed.”
There were the expected ones in their eighties after living a long life, but several were much younger—their lives cut short in their twenties and thirties.
“Plus our psychiatric hospital is one of the biggest in
the state. Why do you think that is?”
“I don’t know. The crappy weather?” I knew what he wanted me to say, but even after Tessa and the incident in the woods, I wasn’t sure I could accept how lethal the Oppressors were.
“No, what I’ve been telling you.” Chance glanced around. Except for the one other couple, the shop was empty. “It’s more than the Oppressors.” He tapped the table. “This town is located at the Crossroads, at the entrance.”
“Crossroads?” I’d heard that before. “Is that because this town is part of Pittsburgh, the university community, and on the grounds to the state psychiatric hospital?”
Chance’s frustrated expression told me I was wrong.
“What does it mean?”
“Ruthie said Tessa told you the stories about the Goddess. Do you remember anything about them?”
I crinkled my brow, trying to recall. “I remember parts of the ones she told the most, but not much about a Goddess, though. Ruthie told me a little the other day, then threatened to bring out your old children’s books for me to read.”
I sighed. “Tessa talked about the Moon Goddess, but she renamed her once I grew afraid of the dark after her stories about the ‘Queen of the Night.’” I shuddered at a memory of Tessa sitting on the edge of my bed, with me cowering under the covers begging her to read another book, any book, instead. “Tessa wasn’t the best at bedtime stories.”
“Well, the Goddess has gone by many names.” Chance took a drink, appearing to contemplate his next words. “It’s believed our town is an entrance, or passage, between the heavens, the Earth and the Underworld.”
I sat back in the booth, slumping with fatigue. “Why are you telling me this now? Giving me bits and pieces of information instead of telling me it all at once?”
“Would you have believed me if I’d told you all of this the first time I met you? The second time?”
I grimaced. “Probably not.”
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