Ether

by Dana Michelle Belle

  The sensation of holding his hand is briefly all I can think about, so I miss the faces as we weave through the crowd. My eyes are trained on Justin’s muscled back and shoulders as he moves us toward Mandy.

  Mandy is holding court in the dining room, which has been cleared of all its furniture and set up with sound equipment, lights and a bar, probably all rented by her parents. They’re more the credit card than quality time parents. The space around Mandy is a little less congested but Justin doesn’t let go of my hand as the crowd thins and I don’t pull away.

  As we come closer, Mandy raises one eyebrow in that dainty questioning look she practices for these occasions. “Hello Becka and Justin,” she says, placing far too much emphasis on his name. And then she giggles and launched into a high speed, highly mortifying monologue. “Oh my god, I can’t believe the two of you came here together. I always sort of thought you two were, and I’m so glad you are! You’ll have to tell me all about it. Don’t you just love the lights? And don’t mind the bar Becka, it’s all virgin. My parents aren’t totally without responsibility. Of course I’m sure someone will start spiking the drinks soon enough, so do be a little careful. So I hear your dad totally gave you the car…”

  She’s over excited, even by Mandy standards, and her voice is both booming and shrill as she speaks, sort of like a chipmunk speaking through a megaphone. As usual though, I only really hear the first bit, along with the rest of the room full of people. I turn about fifteen shades of red everything from cherry, to ruby, salsa, brick, and jazzberry jam red.

  Justin just laughs. While she’s extolling the virtues of a heated pool he whispers, “Don’t let her bother you. Just because Mandy announces something doesn’t mean anyone is paying attention.”

  The feeling of him standing so near makes my heart pound with both panic and pleasure at the same time, like the right and left side of it are pumping to different tunes. Maybe that’s why I’m feeling this terrible squeezing sensation. Everyone obviously thinks this was a date, part of me included. And just as obviously, Justin and I are going to need to have a real long talk, but not tonight. Not in a crowded party, drowning in sound. Besides, what’s the harm? It’s not like we’re going to slip upstairs and make out.

  We do joke, and flirt. Justin is in an amazingly good mood, and so full of happiness that I wouldn’t ruin it for anything. Someone new takes over the music and it becomes unexpectedly decent and danceable. Justin shoots me a questioning look and then offers me his hand. We’ve danced together often enough before; I rationalize.

  It’s different this time though, there’s electricity between us and I’ve never been so aware of him. It’s like one of those moments in the movies when the crowd fades out and the world shrinks down to two people. He’s close to me, very close. So close that I am breathing his breath in. In another second his lips will be touching mine and-

  And our friendship will be ruined. I take a giant step backward, bashing right into someone behind me. The intense world fading spell between us shatters and I see a range of confusion and hurt play across Justin’s face before I turn and dash toward the open French doors at the end of the room.

  The cool air of the night hits my face, and my lungs fill, cleaning out the heat and the confusion of the dance floor. I don’t have to turn around to know that Justin has followed me outside. Of course he has. I take my time turning around though, trying to control my expression. “Becka,” he says softly, from a lot closer to me than I expected. I pivot to find him less than a foot away from me. “I’m sorry. That was too fast, too intense. I didn’t mean to do that.” His voice is all gentle contrition.

  “No Justin, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be all leady-on and rejecty,” I blurt out. “I just, this all kind of surprised me. You know?” My voice is more pleading than I expected, and not just a little pathetic.

  Justin considers before asking, “Surprising amazing or surprising terrible?”

  His question stretches into the night. I sit on the cool stone retaining wall at the edge of the garden. Away from the bright lights and with the dance music muted by the open air, it’s easier to think. It’s also easier to have this conversation without Justin being able to read every expression on my face. The down side of being with someone who’s known you forever; it doesn’t matter what I try to say, he always know what the truth is.

  Justin sits beside me, near enough that our shoulders will touch if I lean just a little bit to the side. “Surprising in a confusing way. Not terrible, definitely not terrible.” I’m really talking more to myself as I try to cess it all out. “But really really mind bending.”

  “Definitely not terrible?” Justin repeats my words softly and touches my face gently, turning my head so that I’m looking at him in the soft shadows of the night. He gazes into my eyes, reading what’s there. I feel myself trembling, either from the chill of the stone seeping into my skin or from his nearness, or a little of both. He leans towards me, closing the distance between us so slowly that I could easily lean away. Instead I hold very still. He kisses me softly, his lips touching mine with the barest of pressures. I close my eyes and let the feeling of him so close to me race down my body, thrilling at the contact. And then he pulls away. I feel his eyes on my face and I open my eyes, smiling.

  It was a great kiss; soft, warm, full of tingling chemistry. I can tell by the bemused look on Justin’s face that he feels it too. If we stay here, like this, he’ll probably kiss me again, and again. A part of me wants that but I force myself to scoot away from him on the wall. Not far enough to imply a rejection, just far enough to give me some breathing room and make a second kiss less imminent. “Can we hit pause a second?” I ask.

  He smiles affectionately, no trace of resentment or hurt in his expression. “Absolutely. Why don’t we go back in, dance a little, have some fun?” He jumps up off the wall briskly and holds out his hand to me, all easy going confidence.

  I stand, but lean against the wall. “Actually, can I meet you in there in a couple? I think I need a few minutes just to, kind of, get a grip on things.” I could never have said that to a regular boy, but Justin will understand.

  Justin nods, backing a few paces from me, “I’ll see you inside.”

  I sit back down as he walks away. Now that he’s safely inside, I have the sinking feeling that I’ve been making some very reckless decisions. I’m still flip flopping between berating myself and savouring the feeling of his lips when I hear sharp voices, arguing in the darkness of the garden, beyond the wall.

  In the shadows of the wall I’m invisible, so I strain to hear what the argument is about but the voices are foreign and difficult to pick out clearly. Curious I creep along the wall, until I’m positioned so I can see into the elaborate, old fashioned English garden. I have my hands braced against the wall, my bare knees buried in the damp grass. There are three boys, standing in a knot. Two have their backs to me and the third’s face is obscured by the almost absolute darkness of the garden.

  I can’t see him, but now I can hear him clearly. As I lean forward I hear the icy remoteness of his voice. “I need someone younger Cha’tima, this one’s mind is disintegrating. I cannot hold him.”

  The boy he addressed as Cha’tima turns and I could see the round, baby fat contours of his face. He’s young, very young. He can’t be in high school with us. What is he doing here? When he speaks his voice is detached and ages older than he looks “Your failures shame you. Younger is not permitted. Otaktay’s orders are specific. He does not wish to wait years more for the host body to develop. Either bring your will to bear on its mind or fade away. We have no place here for the weak.”

  The other body, still blanketed in darkness, so I have no notion of his age, speaks with an indifferent, almost bored tone, “than choose someone more, malleable. My host is intelligent, independent, exhausting. He fights me constantly. This is your failure. The hosts were supposed to be pliable, followers. Summon us new ones, before we lose our hold on this plane.
”

  “Blaming others for your own inadequacy is yet another sign of weakness. I won’t cater to your frailty. Your host is healthy, athletic, and influential. You could not ask for better. If you disagree though, there is a whole party full of young, vibrant bodies here. You want a new host Inteus, get it yourself, if you can,” Cha’tima taunts. His arm sweep out, gesturing toward the lights of the party.

  One of them steps out of the shadows enough for me to see the ghastly grey blue of his face. He looks more like a suffocation victim than a living person. Watching him walk toward the house makes my flesh crawl. I ease myself down into the grass, pressing hard against the stones and willing him not to look back. Not to look at me. I try to keep my mind clear, just in case. I don’t know in case what. I’m just trying to be still on every level. I don’t see what becomes of the other two but the thought of them somewhere out here in the garden with me, makes me stand and head back into the party, as nothing else would have.

  Are these things the Numina Ephraim warned me about? It certainly sounds like it, what with the plans to snatch a new body from the crowd. So somewhere back in that mass of dancing teens there is at least one Numina, hunting. I break into a sprint back towards the warmth, the light and Justin.

  Justin is waiting for me with his usual heartening confidence. He whisks me on to the dance floor before I can do more than glance around the room. The faces around me are reassuringly normal, but I can’t stop scrutinizing them. Where is he? Which one of these kids is really a monster? I check each face, but I didn’t see anything that looks out of place. Most people’s faces are flushed from dancing and drinking too much. They look vibrantly alive.

  Logically, I know there’s something very wrong happening but what can I do? Without any ability to control it, or run from it, I guess I’m coping by pretending. Before long I’m laughing and joking and breathless from bouncing around the dance floor with Justin. I’m not a very graceful dancer, but then Justin knows that already and doesn’t care. He grabs my hand and spins me backward. I spin a little too hard and go cascading into a mass of thrashing bodies, knocking one clear off his feet and sprawling on top of him. For one confusing second we are a jumble of legs and bodies sharing some ultra embarrassing contact. Behind me, Justin is trying to lift me off but my body is rigid. I’m inches from the deadest eyes I’ve ever seen. Blue, breathless skin and slack face muscles make him look more like a corpse than a high school boy. His gaze bores into me and my heart squeezes, like the beginning of a heart attack. My breath comes out in icy crystals. A fine sheen of frost creeps up my arms, leaving my hands blue and numb. His eyes get larger and larger, filling all of my vision with blackness. I am falling into the darkness of them.

  The world is becoming soundless, dim and distant. Far above me, my body is flailing wildly, fighting with primal instinct to preserve itself. One of my hands lands, thump, on the bare skin of his throat. For a moment nothing happens. There is just the heaviness of a weight on our chests then a shockwave bucks through us. A burning, driving pain forces me upward, and away from him. His eyes shrink below me and I fight, in control of my own body again. I lock both hands on him and shove away with all the force I have, mentally and physically. A massive shock punches down my arms and into his chest. Pain roars back up my hands like the kickback from a rifle. His eyes narrow into hateful slits before his mouth drops open and he starts to keen with an unearthly howl. Justin grabs me around the waist and lifts me clear of him.

  He holds onto me as everyone stares. The boy’s body arches against the ground and bucks. Little specks of foam start to froth out of his mouth and his eyes roll back in his head. I struggle against Justin, trying to put more distance between me and the boy. Justin lets go of me abruptly. “He’s having a seizure! Someone call 911!” he yells.

  I ease back into the crowd, letting Justin take over. When I have a wall of bodies between me and the action I turn my hands over. They’re still throbbing. They’re also ruddy and cracked. A trickle of blood runs out the fissures in my palms.

  I lock myself in the bathroom and run my hands under cold water. The coolness eases the pain. I watch the watery, pale pink of my blood wash down the drain. “Ephraim? Ephraim? Ephraim!” I whisper, over and over into the mirror.

  I study the mirror, looking for any sign he’s heard me. Ephraim’s told me that reflective surfaces are the easiest to manifest into. If he can contact me at all, it will be through the mirror. A weak, watery image flickers and disappears. There’s another flash of color and then just the shiny silver of the mirror again. He must be trying to contact me, but something’s stopping him. I look at the swollen red of my hands. Can the Numina prevent him from reaching me?

  I stare at my reflection in the mirror, hoping he’ll flicker into view. I try to call him up in my mind, remembering his eyes, his smile, and the fresh coolness of his scent. Remotely, I think I feel a little pull, a shift of awareness. Can I reach him?

  The door thumps with a knock from outside. I jump, my concentration shattering. “Becka, you okay?” Justin asks through the door.

  “Sure,” I say, dismayed at the shakiness of my voice.

  “Then would you mind unlocking the door?” Justin gives the handle a little rattle for emphasis.

  Actually I do mind. I want to just stay in here, safe and by myself, away from all the crazy weird, ethereal events that have taken over my life. But I can’t just leave Justin out there. I turned the lock and wait for Justin to swing the door inward.

  He takes one look at me and says, “You’re not alright. Would you like to go?” I nod weakly, grateful to let him lead me away from the party and out into the calm coolness of the night. I hand him my keys, there’s no way I’m okay to drive.

  We’re quiet as he drives. I can tell he’s watching me, but I’m not quite ready to answer his questions. I’m not even sure I have the answers. What I really want, what I really need, is to see Ephraim again.

  Justin pulls the car to a stop and I realize we’re in front of his house, not mine; which makes sense. At my house we’d have my mom to deal with. Here, we can talk. The only problem is that I didn’t know what to say. I don’t want to lie to him, but what can I tell him that would make any kind of sense?

  Finally Justin sighs. “We might as well go inside then, Becka.”

  Justin’s house is still and silent as I tiptoe up the stairs to his bedroom. I’ve been in this room hundreds, maybe thousands of times. The walls are pale blue and the furniture is spare and simple. There’s a dresser, a few posters and the bed. Normally I’d throw myself on it, stomach first, kicking my feet in the air as I chatted, but that was before. Now I find myself perching uncomfortably on the edge. I keep my eyes on the pale blue comforter, trying not to look at Justin. Why did he have to pick now, of all times, to change our friendship. And why am I only now noticing the strong set of his shoulders and the ripple of hard muscles along his body?

  Justin straightens the blanket before he sits, conspicuously far away from me. “Just so I’m up to speed Becka, did you freak out about the party, the seizure, or what happened between us?” he asks matter-of-factly.

  “Kind of the seizure thing, actually,” I answer so quietly I don’t know if he can hear me. How am I supposed to explain what really happened? What did really happen?

  “The seizure?” he repeats cautiously. He shifts closer to me. “Becka?” I don’t look up. I keep my eyes on the blue bedspread like it has the secret of life written on its cotton-polyester threads. Using just his fingertips he slowly tilts my face up. “Mark’s okay. He’ll be fine now. You didn’t do anything to him. You didn’t cause it. It was just bad timing. Not your fault.” His eyes don’t match his words; they are troubled and clouded with worry.

  “No it is my fault, in a way,” I say slowly.

  He shakes his head, but doesn’t say anything so I kept going. I spill the entire crazy thing. Justin just listens. I see a muscle in his jaw twitch when I tell him about Ephraim. And then I sta
rt on the terrifying events; the rock slide, the chase, Dakota, the Numina at the party. When I finish he just sits, holding my hands, which I didn’t feel him take, and looking into my eyes. “Say something.”

  He nods, processing. “I don’t know what to say. You’ve been through a lot lately; the accident, the scare with Dakota, Mark’s seizure. It makes sense that your mind needs a way to interpret it.”

  “You think this is all in my head? You think I’m just crazy? I tell you that someone has tried to kill me three times-“

  “Four times,” Ephraim says softly from the doorway.

  I glance up at his bright expressive eyes, “Ephraim!” Relief floods through me. Finally, Ephraim is back, everything will be okay now. I want to throw myself into his arms, but of course, I can’t do that. His image is thin and flickering, fading out to pale and translucent one moment then surging into richer detail for a moment, only to fade again. “Where have you been? You said you wouldn’t be gone long! I was scared without you!” The words tumble out of me and I barely register that Justin is staring at me, horrified.

  “Careful Becks, he can’t see me,” Ephraim cautions.

  In the same instant Justin stands up too, his hands out in front of him, his voice careful and controlled. “No one said crazy Becka, but listen to how all of this sounds. I mean, right now you’re talking to someone who isn’t even here. You’re upset. I understand that. It was an upsetting night.” He’s using his most soothing tone, but perversely, it enrages me. “I think you just need to calm down. There is a rational explanation for all this. For one thing you’ve had a very bad head injury that is altering your perceptions. Plus, you have to consider that before your accident you were a little self-absorbed. You just buried your head in the sand and minded your own business and now that you know what it’s like to suffer you’re more sensitive to people in trouble. Maybe now you notice when someone is looking sick, or feeling down or about to hurt themselves and you act? Maybe the world just seems different because now you’re involving yourself in it.”