Ephemeral

by Addison Moore

  Aside from the fact we’re essentially spending the night in a mausoleum, everything seems normal, not as normal as Cooper’s house or Cider Plains, but rather uneventful, not at all what I envisioned.

  Back home, my mother drank her nights away with an endless glass of wine, and our house could easily fit into this one at least five hundred times. I bet if Lacey were here, she would dare me to sit on the railing and slide all the way downstairs. She would have dipped her feet in the fountain before anyone could stop her.

  “Blaine’s coming early,” Jen snipes, “and I don’t want bags under my eyes.” She snatches me by the elbow and speeds me into my bedroom, presumably to snap on the chastity belt in private. “I like Wes,” she hisses, “but not for long if he keeps trying to take advantage of you.”

  “And what if I’m trying to take advantage of him?”

  “You’re an Anderson.” She rolls her eyes as though this were an impossibility, as though we never had the conversation concerning my expired v-card.

  “What the hell was that gun you gave me?”

  She studies my face with a soap opera worthy measure of drama. “I swear, Laken, it’s like you think I’m stupid. Do you really think you can go all look shiny on me and derail me from the conversation? Just keep your damn legs shut.” And with that, she stomps out of the room.

  “Good night to you, too.”

  I decide to give it a minute before heading back to hang out with Wes. God forbid Jen catch us sitting together on the couch. Who knows what cardinal rules of celibacy we might be breaking if we choose to hold hands.

  A flash outside the window catches my attention. A quiver of light refracts from the pool. I press into the window and catch a pale flame dart across the yard—a girl in a white dress.

  What the hell?

  I speed out into the hall and follow the sound of howling laughter until I come upon Wes and Fletch in the heat of a foosball game in the family room.

  “There’s a girl in the yard. She’s running,” I pant.

  Fletch hops over the back of the couch and collapses with a sigh as if I had just said good night.

  “I’ll check it out,” Wes offers. He bears into me as if he’s gauging whether or not this is just another symptom of my insanity.

  “It’s Joy chasing Brighton,” Fletch murmurs with a throw pillow over his face.

  “Her dog.” Wes ticks his head to the side. “I’ll check it out, anyway.”

  He takes up my hand as we make our way downstairs. My heart picks up pace, as a new level of fear spears through me. I want to go home. I don’t like feeling afraid, even if I am with Wes.

  “It’s okay.” Wes pulls me into him. “I’m here with you. There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

  “Thank you,” I whisper. Wesley offers more solace and comfort with his words—his person, than he can ever know.

  The Anderson estate is void of any affection, each unblemished wall a blank canvas that acts as a testament to the sterile environment. Not one family picture lines the expansive hallways. This place feels more like a precinct than a home.

  Downstairs, Wes pulls me through a heavily furnished room that sits adjoined to an oversized kitchen.

  He holds open a set of double French doors, and we step outside into the foggy night air with an unexpected calm.

  It’s uncomfortably cold, serene. The blue river that bisects the yard gives the gentle slosh of water. It glosses the night like a beautiful woman adorned with expensive jewels.

  A muffled cry comes from the forest that lines the south end of the property, and I see her again. The girl in the dress flickers against the edge of the woods like an ember. She disappears in and out of the fog in regular intervals like a poltergeist.

  “You see her?” I’m afraid to move in fear she’s only alive in my imagination.

  “I see her.” Wes pants as he backs me into the house. “She might be a Spectator. Stay here. I’ll check it out.”

  I watch as Wes darts down the stairs and disappears into the paper white night.

  “Laken!” A girl’s voice cries from the edge of the woods.

  I bump into the door in fright and scare the shit out of myself in the process. My hand claps over my chest as I squeak into the dark.

  “Laken, help me!”

  There she is—alone just shy of the forest’s border. The quarter moon graces her from above with its waxy crescent. She glows in the night like an alien being.

  I recognize that short pixie hair.

  “Casper?”

  I bolt outside and down the stairs.

  She offers a gentle smile and takes a few melodic steps as if she were about to break out into song.

  I speed over the lawn, feel the blast of cool air baptize my face and sear through my lungs as I race toward her. She steps back into the shadows just before I reach her, so I bolt into the thicket.

  She’s gone.

  The soft crunch of leaves gives way behind me, and I see her belle sleeves illuminate through the darkness. I lunge in and catch her by the elbow.

  “Casper?” Dear God, it is her. “You’re not dead!”

  She lowers her head with an eerie grimace. “I’m not dead.” Her voice dips to a demonic octave. “And I’m not Casper.”

  27

  Disappear

  A horrible face.

  A monster with a mouth the size of a lion. Eyes cast black like a reptile, and a narrow forked tongue. She morphs quick as a breath—pouncing on top of me with the weight of a battleship.

  A harsh tingle vibrates through my bones. A lewd jolt of electrocution leaves me gasping for air as it seizes me. My entire body jostles. This must be how it feels just before you die. I’m certain of it because I’ve felt it once before, the day I flew through the windshield and sailed into a black abyss. That was the day I stared into the face of a beautiful being that shone from the inside like molten fire, but this was no heavenly creature, this was hell encapsulated in flesh and bones.

  Gone is the forest.

  I land hard against a cold white surface, complete with glossy floors and walls to match. A series of doors line the corridor up and down the halls.

  “Wes?” I cry out. I don’t know why I would expect him to be here, be anywhere for that matter, since I was witness to his death and now perhaps two of my own.

  Where the hell am I? It’s a building, a bunker. One minute I was out in the woods, and now I’m holed up in this white expanse of a prison.

  I stagger down the narrow path, trying to catch my bearings, unable to right myself completely. The walls sway from side to side, and I’m not entirely sure, but I think the fact I just had my head bashed in has something to do with it.

  The corridor elongates, a carpeted hall appears, and a blue glow emits from a room just ahead.

  “You are a liar,” a female voice booms from the other side. Her words string out in an unnatural echo.

  I pause, pressing my back against the wall, hoping to reappear in the twisted forest from where I came.

  “I’ll have you know.” A male voice vibrates from inside. “I will pick my teeth clean with the entire band of your people. Your failures have created a mockery of this plane as an entity. You are a disgrace, and that’s all you’ll ever be.” His words end in a clattering growl, then silence.

  His voice sounds familiar. I’m certain I’ve heard that odd drawl before but can’t place where or which lifetime.

  A finger comes over my lips from behind. Despite all of my fear, a feeling of calm settles over me. A pleasurable ache that transcends any other sensation I’ve ever experienced trembles through my bones.

  If you use your vocal cords in any way, there’s a very good chance you’ll lose them. A voice enters my mind as audible as speaking.

  I turn around to find Cooper in all his cutthroat splendor staring back at me.

  Coop! I throw my arms around him and press my face into the warmth of his neck.

  My heart pummels against my chest.
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  What if it’s not really Cooper? What if I’ve lodged myself into some sort of brain infarction where people morph into monsters on a routine basis until I beg to die from the horror of it all?

  I shake my head disbelieving and begin to back away.

  He takes a firm hold of my hand and reels me in, wraps his warm arms around me and presses out a humble smile.

  It’s me, Laken—I swear. You were nice to my sister, and you seem to be under the misguided notion you’ll get me to love chocolate. His eyes sparkle as though loving chocolate were both an improbability and a means of seducing me.

  “Demons know everything,” I hiss taking back my wrist.

  “You can’t hear me unless I touch you,” he whispers, interlacing our fingers ever so gently. But it only works for you in this place. A peaceful smile expands on his lips as he pulls us into a darkened alcove. How did you get down here?

  Casper appeared in the forest behind the Anderson estate. Only it must have been her unfriendly ghost because she morphed into some freaky beast with the face of a lion, and jumped me. Then—without reason, I landed here.

  Trust me, you’re here for a very distinct reason. He darts a quick look past my shoulder.

  What do you think it is? I’m terrified. This is a psychological trauma that I’ll probably never recover from. Instead of worrying about short nail beds and split ends like normal girls, I’m going to agonize over Fems, zombies, and my uncanny inability to die. The next time a slightly deceased corpse tries to suck my brain out, I’ll gladly let him in exchange for directions to the afterlife—if indeed there is one. I’m beginning to think all those things they taught us in Sunday school were a ruse to divert us from the fact bad incarnations are all that really wait for us—scary ones at that.

  I think maybe I’m the reason you’re here. Cooper wears a sober expression as though he were trying to digest the idea himself. He lets his gaze fall to the floor as if examining it for answers.

  If Wesley wasn’t with me, alive and at Ephemeral, I could easily see myself falling for Coop. This brawny god with velum eyes has the ability to pierce my heart and melt my insides ten thousand different ways. Maybe landing here was just a happy accident.

  Ending up in the Transfer is never a happy accident. He punctuates it with the impression of a devilish grin.

  I catch a breath. Cooper hears everything. The Transfer, I repeat in an effort to divert the topic. I wonder just what in the hell it is they’re transferring.

  Cooper leads us farther down the corridor, away from a set of opened double doors with a blue light emanating from inside. The shouting has ceased, and there’s not another soul haunting these unhallowed halls. I’d ask who was yelling only I’m a little put off by the fact they’re probably not human.

  Where we going? I feel like a prisoner in my own illusion. Like I’ve fallen through death and the rabbit hole beneath that—nothing but an endless carousel of terror speeding up at a demonic pace.

  I was going to show you my office. He gives a wry smile.

  Are you serious? I can’t catch my breath. This is beyond surreal, although, I’ve come to the conclusion Cooper Flanders will not be morphing into a nightmare anytime soon. He emanates anything but horror with his resolute attitude, centered in perfect calm. Those heavily lidded eyes sway me toward him, soft like a summer breeze.

  Deadly serious. He lifts his gaze just beyond my shoulder. I haul road kill down here for fun—although technically it’s neither fun nor road kill. I prefer my fun with people of the female persuasion. He gives a naughty look.

  Clearly he’s open to the option right about now.

  Very not funny. I take it this is a “special” kind of road kill. I get the feeling the possums of the world are safe from the confines of this torture chamber.

  He furrows his brows. If by “special” you mean Spectators, you’re right.

  “No, I do not want to see your office,” I hiss, pulling back my hand. The thought of laying eyes on those flesh deficient creatures isn’t high on my priority list. “Do not take me near any kind of once-upon-a-human, or I swear I will scream myself into a new tomorrow.”

  “Okay,” he whispers, rubbing my back in an effort to calm me. His cheek slides into an easy half-smile as though on some level he’s enjoying this.

  I promise I was teasing, he says, pressing his lips into the top of my head as though it were a conciliatory act without any sexual pretense, but for one fleeting moment, everything in me begs for it to be anything but conciliatory. I would never endanger you. He dips his head into mine. Plus, the consequences are too high.

  Like, you’ll get fired? I’m pretty sure docking his employment isn’t the only means of disciplinary action they’d consider.

  More like feed me to the lions. He glances past my shoulder.

  Shit! No lion feeding. I can almost see the frenzy with those deformed humanoid faces.

  “Just, please tell me,” I plead, “how do I get the hell out of here?” Clearly I’m clinically insane.

  I burrow my face into Cooper’s chest. The waterworks start, and my mascara leaves behind an imprint of two necrotic butterflies.

  You said you were in the forest—which one? He winces as though he were feeling my pain.

  “The woods, outside the house. I followed Wes—I saw—”

  He presses his finger to my lips again, traces them soft as a feather almost as an afterthought.

  Think about the woods. Think about the house, he instructs.

  I give a feverish nod.

  Cooper pins me with a smoldering look. A hot bite sears through my insides. It makes me feel dizzy, confused.

  If I really love Wes, why does Cooper have such an intoxicating effect on me?

  He leans in and brushes his lips over mine then backs up as though he lit the fuse to a very short stick of dynamite.

  “You kissed me.” I cover my mouth with my fingers. Perhaps the biggest horror of the evening is that I wanted him to—that I lit up like a dehydrated hillside that met with an ember as soon as his lips touched mine.

  My heartbeat exaggerates its rhythm, gyrates in my chest with a volatile distemper.

  Cooper and all of his mystery—he blessed me with his lips, and now I need a little bit more. This is just a dream and strange things happen in dreams that are generally out of your control.

  He pushes in and kisses me again, slow at first then with a burst of trembling passion. His soft lips, his skin pressed against mine—there’s something achingly pure about kissing Cooper. An underlying sadness emanates from the two of us, lets me know this is more than just some fantasy. An alarm rails inside me and assures me this can never be.

  An icy bite of wind rakes across my body, alive like a fire.

  A roll of nausea rips through me as I open my eyes to the eerie silence of the forest—the black navy sky judging me from above.

  “I’m back,” I whisper, running my hands up and down my body to make sure I’m still in one piece. It was a dream. It must have been.

  My head explodes with pain as I crawl on my knees to escape the dense woods.

  “Laken!” Wesley’s voice echoes in the distance.

  I stumble to my feet and race out of the forest. I let the pale glow of the swimming pool guide me out of the dark and spot Wes floating in a fogbank as if he could fly.

  “Wes.” I groan, staggering to meet him.

  I’m pretty sure I’m not going to tell him I saw Cooper on corpse duty, that I extended the invitation to my mouth and let him have free reign while I violated his. I’m not sure he would believe me anyway. Hell, I’m not sure I believe me.

  Just as I’m about leap into his arms, he pulls out the bastardized Ruger and aims the barrel up high in my face.

  It goes off with a blast.

  28

  If You Don’t Know Me by Now

  A scream rattles out of me in the cool damp night as I toss my hands over my head like a common street criminal.

  Wes cor
rals me in a hard embrace, kisses the side of my cheek with an uncalled for level of passion. The eucalyptus trees release their oils into the night and fragrance the moment with a perfume as thick as frankincense.

  “What the fuck keeps happening?” Wes strides past me in a fit of rage.

  The beast in a white dress is sprawled out on the ground. Whatever the hell Wes shot, lies motionless with a dart through one eye. Its grey shriveling flesh sizzles and smokes until it finally begins to evaporate.

  “Fucking Fems,” he says, more annoyed than worried.

  “I’m attracting them.” It comes out a hoarse whisper. Obviously, I’m lying in a coma safely tucked away in some nursing home in Kansas because this reality is way too screwed up to exist anywhere but in a very injured mind.

  This is my punishment for sleeping with Tucker, offering my body to the first passerby who shed a sideways glance in my direction. As penance, I’ll have to live in this twisted world with dead Fletch and dead Wes, until I finally reach eternity and live with the real versions.

  Exhaustion streams from Wesley as he shepherds us back to the house.

  “So that’s what the gun is for,” I say.

  “That’s the what the gun is for.”

  “At the library, you said Fems sided with Counts.”

  “They do.” There’s a note of wild disbelief in his tone. “I don’t get it.”

  “Maybe these aren’t Fems. Maybe they’re the other guys. You know, the ones that side with Celestra,” I say as Wes slides three brass bolts over the door behind us.

  “No.” He gives an aggressive jiggle to the doorknob, testing its resistance. “Not their style. Besides, piss off a Fem, and you’ve got a tiger by the tail—for life. Piss off a Sector, very little happens.”

  “Who do you think pissed off a Fem?”

  Wes lowers his chin, gazes into me with all his dark splendor. “By the looks of things—I’d say you.”

  In the early hours of dawn, a thin grey film stretches across the sky. It melts over the fields, erases the morning with its ever-present haze. I lie back down on the bed and burrow into Wesley’s arms. There was no way in hell I was going to sleep in this room alone after what happened.