“Since when can you do that? Actually, and since when can you just hang out like this? How long have you been manifested anyway? An hour now?” Strange that I hadn’t noticed before how long he’d been with me. I guess it just feels natural to be together.
Ephraim shrugs, “The more time I spend with you, the easier it’s getting easier to manifest, and it’s easier to maintain. Things seem more real too. I can smell the salt in the air; feel the wind against my face. Your world is less and less like a dream to me, with you the only vivid element.”
“So, will you eventually be able to-” I paused where I shouldn’t, causing his eyebrow to quick suggestively. I blush again, like re-dipping a candy apple and hurry on, “live in this world. Like all the way in. Staying around for hours, being solid, eating, sleeping, everything?”
He shrugs again, his hazel eyes focused on something far away, “I don’t know. I know some of my kind have taken on human lives, but no one knows precisely how it’s accomplished. My existence here is linked to you. The more we interact, the more you reach for me, the more real I become.” Holding my eyes he reaches forward and takes my hand gently in his. His skin is impossibly warm, pulsing with life. Ephraim takes a half step forward, closing the distance between us until he is only inches away. I can feel the power and strength of him radiating outward. It makes my skin tingle and my breath quicken. He leans in toward me, still holding my right hand, and then suddenly, his hand slips through mine.
I see the frustration in his eyes before I realize what’s happened. His image is wavering and watery before my eyes, making him appear translucent and insubstantial. He sighs and the brief flare of very human frustration fades into patience and resignation. “Perhaps it is a little too soon for that, anyway,” he says, his voice a little huskier than I’m used to. His cheeks are spotted with red, almost like he’s blushing. “I let myself get a little caught up there and burned through a lot of concentration. It’s going to take me a few hours to recover. Will you be alright on your own?”
His image is flickering madly now and I can tell he is fighting hard to hold on to any form of visual appearance. “Sure Ephraim, just come back when you can.”
“As soon as I can,” he promises from the empty air next to me.
I sit on a driftwood log, letting my legs have a minute to steady themselves. A moment ago my whole body was tingling with anticipation and nerves. A moment ago, I was about to kiss a boy from beyond this world. And now, I’m on my own, again.
Without Ephraim this place is lonely and desolate. And there’s something else too. I tilt my head, like a dog listening to a sound no one else can hear. But it isn’t a sound exactly, it’s a vibration. The beach, the cliff, even the air around me is thrumming and pulsing with some kind of energy. It makes the little hairs on my arms and the back of my neck stand on end. If it was a stormy day, I would have thought lightning was about to strike. I jump to my feet, no one needs to tell me twice to leave. But even safely inside my car I can feel the vibrations, and they seem to have shaken themselves into my bones, tugging at me until my whole body is quivering in response.
It’s not until I pull the car to a stop in town that I start to feel normal again. I’ve pulled up in front of this grungy little pizza parlour, Papa’s Pizza, that serves more grease than actual toppings. The prices are ridiculously cheap if you didn’t mind the totally unwashed look of everyone and everything that touches your food.
I sit in the dim back of the diner, sitting at one of only four tables and hold up a disgustingly huge and greasy slice of double pepperoni. The place is always really warm and dark and makes me feel like a sleepy grizzly trying to pack on a few extra pounds before the winter. Their pop is kind of watery so I order grape juice instead. I’m reaching for it when I looked up and find Derrick scowling at me from the other side of the room. Just before our eyes meet, his look is hostile and threateningly dark. It sends chills racing along my skin. Catching my eyes, he schools his expression into a more neutral look of passive boredom. “Rebecca Pierce, what are the odds?” he says coolly, walking over to me. He pulls a chair out, turns it backward and sits down at the table with me. “And just when I was hoping to see you.”
I try to act casual, like nothing unusual is happening and promptly knock my grape juice over. It pours in rivulets over the edge of the table, drenching the front of my pants and collecting in a pool next to the table. Grabbing a fistful of papery napkins I try to staunch the flow without taking my eyes off Derrick. “What do you want?”
He holds my eyes until my head is swimming with imagines, little flickerings of things I am trying to forget. Pools of my own blood, shattered glass, twisted metal, the swerving car. The longer he looks at me, the colder I feel. “We should be friends. You’re not going to hold dying against me for all eternity are you?”
I swallow. “You mean, almost dying.”
He shakes his head at me, “No reason to make things worse for yourself than they have to be is there? Accidents happen.”
I am cold and sweating at the same time. My palms start to itch and my stomach is tying itself into complicated knots as I struggle to keep my composure. “Are you threatening me?” I challenge, but my voice fades in the middle of the sentence, making me sound as scared as I feel.
He smiles, and for one moment he looks like the handsome, charming boy I let drive me home from a party a month ago. “I’m trying to make things easier for everyone. Can’t say I didn’t try.” He slips a bill onto the table, “at least let me buy you lunch,” he says and walks out.
I put my head in my hands. Derrick had actually been kind of decent, or completely terrifying, depending on which way you read things. If that first accident was really an accident, then I’m being a royal bitch about things. On the other hand if it wasn’t an accident, then meeting him here is absolutely terrifying. Which one of those is the truth?
My nerves are a jangling mess. I wish I could call Ephraim, or that he’d never left. But I told him I could manage on my own for a few hours. Still, I’m not at all happy to see a strange cat sitting in the parking lot, right in front of my car. He’s sitting primly and it’s all too easy to imagine he’s been waiting for me. I clamp down on my imagination. I’m pretty sure right now I’d see all kinds of crazy in an ink blot test.
The cat regards me coolly, impassively. It’s the same look every cat has ever given me. The crazy beating of my heart slows down a pound or two. My mind is just playing tricks on me. I move to pass the cat and get into the car and the cat makes a weird sort of mewing chirp that sounds a little bit like a derisive laugh. I glance down at him and he meets my eyes evenly. He is a normal cat. At least he is until he spreads his mouth wide and gives me a toothy, squinty grin. His mouth is pulled back into such an unnatural shape that my stomach bucks. The cat stands and saunters away, flipping his tail swiftly from side to side.
As soon as he’s out of sight I dash for the car and lock the doors firmly behind me. The only thought running through my head is, “What the hell is going on here?”
So maybe my house hadn’t seemed very homey when I’d first gotten out of the hospital but now, I feel like crying with relief when I pull into the driveway. The day has turned grey and drizzling but my house is looking as solid as ever. I slide the car into the driveway, taking pains not to slam the door as I close it. Maybe mom won’t notice it right away. I’ve developed a habit of trying to forestall fights, hoping maybe something will change and the fight will just go away.
I cross the lawn, letting the wet grass soak into my sneakers. The droplets landing on my face, my hands and seeping in my shoes help calm me, and snap me out of my paranoia. I stand there with my face upturned, breathing deeply. The doctors were right about feelings of uneasiness.
I take a step forward and feel something solid and large squish under my foot. I pull my foot up sharply, jumping back in one motion. Lying in the grass in front of me is a large dead crow. I’ve just stepped on its head and stuff is oozing
out. GROSS! A few steps away is another dead crow and beyond that another. Buick’s work maybe? Or a bird flu? Whatever it is I put a large chunk of distance between me and them, using the path as I make my way up to the house. On the porch I turn, looking back at the birds. I want to know how many of them there are. There, in the rain slicked grass are the glistening bodies of six ravens arranged into a circle, right in the middle of my front lawn. It’s a clear geometric shape; someone has arranged them like this in front of my house.
I yank the door open, bolting it behind me and hurrying down the hall to the bathroom. I’d like to say it’s food poisoning that keeps me heaving over the toilet but it’s something more like revulsion. And as always when my life turns upside down and inside out, I call Justin.
I’m still shaking with the weak queasy feeling that comes from retching until your eyes hurt, so I’m sure there’s a quaver in my voice when he answers. “Justin?” I say timidly. I’m planning on asking him to come over until I hear a slamming door and stomping feet headed up to my bedroom. Beyond the bathroom door, in the real world, my mother has discovered the Volvo in the driveway and put two and two together. Fortunately, I am not in my room. Unfortunately, the house is not really large enough to hide in.
“Do you want to come to Mandy’s party with me? My dad leant me the car, so it can be just the two of us-” I’m speaking quickly, my word tumbling out in a nervous rush. Any second now there will be a knock on the bathroom door. On the other end of the line there is a long pause.
“Sure, that would be great.”
“Nice, I’ll pick you up around eight say? Great. See you then.”
I click the phone off hurriedly and swing open the door, pulling my bright happy voice into action. “Mom, are you home? I thought I heard you. Dad’s lending me the car for awhile. There’s a party at Mandy’s tonight and I’m going with Justin. I hope that’s okay?”
My mom rounds the corner, her face a mixture of anger and confusion. She has worked herself up into a storm thinking my irresponsible father has just given me the car, five weeks after my head injury. She isn’t expecting it to be a temporary loan. She isn’t expecting reasonable and limited, her two favourite words.
“He loaned you the car for tonight?”
I nod, trying to look concerned. “Mostly for tonight, though maybe he’ll let me use it to get to school sometimes too. I told him I didn’t want to get stuck for a ride, so he thought it would be safer for Justin and me if I had the car. But only if it’s alright with you, he made me promise.” Oh the lies. Lies on top of lies. It would never in a million years have occurred to him to check with her about anything.
Her face softs somewhat. “So your father leant you the car?” She still seems perplexed but at least the anger is seeping away. Of course, so is any chance of keeping the car long term. She never would have gone for that anyway. She raises an eyebrow, considering. “He leant it to you for your date tonight?”
“I guess.” I answer uncertainly. I didn’t mean it to be a date, it’s just Justin. Surely everyone knows that. I play the quick conversation with Justin over in my mind; the nerves in my voice, my awkward phrasing, the long, long pause before he answered. Crap.
“Very well, but let’s consider this as a test of responsibility and good decision making skills. Impress me Rebecca.” She tucks a stray strand of hair out of my eyes, having a rare maternal impulse, “I think Justin is a good choice for you. He’s very solid and reliable. Have a good time.”
I’m not sure how it happened but I find myself in my bedroom trying to find the perfect outfit to convey, ‘I’m interested in an incorporeal man, so this isn’t really a date date’ which, naturally, is impossible. All the sexy party clothes that Mandy made me buy send absolutely the wrong message. On the other end of the spectrum, my normal yoga pants and t-shirts can’t really be worn to a party. I empty my closet and stack the clothes into two high piles on my bed. Finally, I pick the new black skirt that seems only marginally sexy but is, admittedly, both short and form fitting. I add one of the new tops that shows a little much in the way of cleavage but at least it isn’t sheer or sparkly. Inwardly I curse myself for ever letting Mandy stock my closets.
The upside is that dead circles of ravens haven’t entered my thoughts most of the afternoon. I twirl in the mirror, checking to see that the scar on my thigh remains covered; it does. The effect of the outfit is kind of pretty, even if it isn’t my normal style. I wink at the mirror, hoping that Ephraim is still watching, even if he can’t communicate yet.
A faint creak catches my attention and I peer at the mirror curiously, “Ephraim?” I step toward the mirror, trying to feel Ephraim’s presence in the room. For one fleeting second I think I can feel him, and then a wave of terror sweeps over me. I can feel something else too; something dark and unnatural is in the room. The mirror groans and a crack appears at the top, and spreads like a fault line down the mirror. I scramble backward from it. The mirror explodes, sending a cascade of razor edged shrapnel rocketing across my room. I dive away from it, landing on the other side of the bed, protected by the wall of clothes I’ve built up. A shower of glass rains down on my head and neck, cutting tiny grooves into my skin.
I keep my body very still once the shower of glass ends. Careful not to kneel on the glass, I lift myself up slowly. The mirror is blown out and black. Slivers of glass now carpet the floor. I’m in bare feet, so any movement; no matter how small will drive glass into my feet.
Thrown carelessly across my bed are a pair of delicate sandals, which are more strap than shoe but they’d provide some protection from the glass. I strain to reach them without raising my feet, my fingertips just brushing them. I lean forward and hook them, sliding them toward me until I can grab them.
My feet now protected, I back into the door way, surveying my room. The carpet, bed, desk and dresser are all carpeted with a fine spray of glass. Now what? Either I can run away from here, out there with the murder of birds, or I can clean this mess up.
I sweep carefully, glancing nervously around me. My skin crawls with the sensation that someone, or something else is near. Every moment I’m in the room I have to fight to remain calm. It doesn’t take very long to clean up the most obvious glass, the rest can wait.
I glance over at the pile of outfits. My current threads are far sexier than I ever anticipated wearing to a party with Justin, but I’ve lost my taste for dress up completely. I decide just to head over to his place, even if I am early and overdressed.
I’m just belting into the driver’s seat when I see Buick standing in the driveway, tail pumping like mad, something large and black in his mouth. “No, Buick!” I shout. “Nasty. Bad. Drop it. Drop it Buick!” I command. Buick trots past me with the bird in his mouth and crosses the lawn to the circle of birds, placing his crow gingerly into formation with the other birds. He turns shining eyes to me, tail wagging, sitting proudly before his work. I gulp and slam the door, hard.
Justin isn’t quite ready, his mom tells me pleasantly, when I get there. So I fidget on the living room couch, becoming ever more aware that we are enacting a dating archetype. Justin’s mom is sweet, plump and extremely maternal. She’s kind and well-meaning and talks to me like I matter as a person. On any given day I would trade families with Justin, except I wouldn’t wanted to saddle him with mine.
Sitting quietly waiting for Justin gives me time to worry. Why hasn’t Ephraim reappeared yet? What’s taking so long? We haven’t been apart this long since I died. Something has to be wrong.
Justin clears his throat from the doorway. I jump to my feet and then check myself. Justin is dressed in the dark, button-down style of shirt that he knows I like, unbuttoned enough to give a glimpse of his strong neck and well formed collar bones. His sleeves are rolled up, revealing muscled forearms. His hair is slicked back and the smell of aftershave and cool, tangy cologne fills the air. He’s taller than I realized and, honestly, kind of hot. How had I never realized that before?
&
nbsp; He waits for me to take in his transformation, his eyes sweeping over me as he does so. “Nice,” he says approvingly and walks into the room.
I try to recover my senses but I’m still reeling from the day’s events. Chatting with Derrick, grinning cats, accidentally asking out my best friend, realizing he turned good looking while I wasn’t paying attention, it’s all one confusing blur in my thoughts. “You like?” Justin asks with a grin, and does a little turn for me.
“You’ll do,” I retort, falling back on our old banter for some stability.
“You too,” he says in his smoothest and most provocative tone. He holds out his arm to me. “Shall we go?”
Chapter 7: Festivities
The drive over to Mandy’s house is excruciating and wonderful at the same time. Justin is charming and flirty in the gentle, teasing way I’ve seen him use with other girls, but never with me. He smells amazing and I keep sneaking sly little looks over at him. When he catches me looking he winks and grins his old, reassuring grin at me. I’m feeling the Justin Effect pretty strongly.
On the other hand I’m twisting with guilt and anxiety. He isn’t some random boy. He’s my Justin; my lifelong best friend. And I’m no expert but what’s happening here could ruin all that pretty quickly.
Still, standing with the cool evening grass lapping my toes, gazing up at the spill of bright lights streaming out of Mandy’s six bedroom mini-mansion, all I can focus on is how happy Justin seems and how little happiness I’ve brought anyone lately.
Mandy’s house is pulsing with bodies, heat and sound. The impression of chaos that hits me as soon as the doors swing open is overwhelming. We press ourselves in, trying to thread through the crowd. Justin, ahead of me, reaches behind him and takes my hand, to keep us from becoming separated, just as he always does in large crowds. This time, however, a warm, self-consciousness spreads through me.
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