by Meg Evans
I fight with my weighty eyelids, trying to keep them open, but I lose the battle and drift off once more.
* * *
“Zara!” I hear someone’s voice. “Zara! Wake up!” It’s not just in my head; someone’s calling my name from afar.
I slowly regain consciousness. When I open my eyes, a blurry image of Cynthia is leaning above me. I blink to sharpen my vision. My eyes feel like sandpaper and my head is exploding with excruciating pain, whereas my chest is burning like it’s on fire. It’s been a couple of days since it bothered me last.
“What on earth are you doing on the floor?!” My aunt’s eyes drill into me as she kneels down. “What are you doing here?”
I look around, breathing heavily. I’m lying on the cold bathroom floor, still wrapped in my fuzzy bath towel. Heaven only knows how long I’ve been here like this. I can’t recollect what happened.
She grasps my arm and helps me sit up. “Tracy, your manager, called the house to ask why you didn’t show up at work, so excuse me that I let myself into your bathroom without knocking.” She slides me a leery look. “I come in here and what do I see? You, lying on the floor, blacked out. Did you sleep here all night?!”
It takes a while for me to marshal all the facts and work out how I ended up on the floor. Cold brushes against my exposed legs; it spreads from my toes to my thighs. Shaking, I wrap my arms around myself and make an attempt to look at Cynthia’s face, but instead of one Cynthia, I see three.
“No. I only…” My aunt takes my head between her hands; her face is so close to mine that the tips of our noses almost touch. No sooner does she try to look me deep in the eye than my stomach contracts. I push her hands away, and at the speed of light I transport myself on all fours to the toilet. I embrace it as if it’s my best friend and with a dramatic splash, empty my stomach. This can’t work in my favor in Cynthia’s eyes.
My throat burns, and my mouth tastes of puke. A disgusting reek of acid invades my nostrils. My stomach is still clenched, but not because of the nausea—now I have to face Cynthia.
Gradually, I turn around. I lift my head; our gazes meet. Luckily, only one pair of fuming eyes is glaring at me now.
“Zara, what’s going on with you?”
“I must have eaten something bad last night.”
“Don’t try to fool me! Have you seen your eyes? Bloodshot, with dilated pupils!” I’m taken aback; I couldn’t have anticipated that my eyes would look abnormal. My blurry mind isn’t capable of coming up with a good cover story. “I don’t know what you’re taking, but it needs to stop! This is my last warning! There never have been and never will be any drugs in this house! If you’re not going to respect this rule, then you should leave!” She wags her finger at me. “What’s going on with you recently? I don’t recognize you.” She tosses me one more frosty look, then, without waiting for my reaction, exits my bathroom.
I feel so sick, as if I really did take some drugs last night. Cynthia’s expression when she was reprimanding me was filled with exasperation, but also disappointment, which hurts me the most. She knows that I’ve been deceiving her—but how could I have told her the truth if I myself don’t know what’s been going on with me?
I massage my chest. The pain is slowly going away; so are the rest of the odd symptoms. I peek inside the toilet and wince at the view of the colorful vomit. I flush it, praying for the image to be erased from my memory soon.
* * *
When I finally get to work, I manage to placate my manager by using the excuse of sudden gastritis, which was severe enough to impair my ability to even hold a cell phone in my hand and drop her a line about my condition. All my listening to Tracy’s endless complaints about her loser husband eventually has paid off. As the only employee she can vent to, I’ve gained a lot of brownie points that now can be translated into avoiding punishment.
I feel perfectly fine for the rest of the day. No health abnormalities. The only thing that’s impaired now is my capability of thinking about anything other than Dorian Hatch. It’s like I’m tangled up in a web of thoughts. The more I struggle to break free, the more I entangle myself.
I’m jonesing for him. My whole body suffers when he’s gone; every single minute without Dorian causes me actual pain. I don’t just want to see him, I desperately need his presence. Flashes of those moments when we were closer than ever keep looping continuously in my head. I can’t control them. Everywhere smells like him. I’m addicted to his voice, touch, body. Dorian is my fix, and if I don’t see him soon, I’ll go insane.
Sneaking out is out of the question, since Cynthia has been keeping an eye on me since I came back from Walgreens two hours ago. Taking a trip to Dorian’s certainly wouldn’t escape her notice, no matter which way I might choose to go. Besides, I want to prove to her I’ve taken her words to heart and am not going to do anything ‘bad’. I have to somehow suck up the lack of Dorian and try to function normally so I won’t get into trouble for at least a few days.
But no matter how hard I endeavor to keep my mind occupied, my thoughts, like a boomerang, relentlessly come back to Dorian. I try reading, studying, even leveling up in Candy Crush, but nothing helps. I can’t focus on anything. My body starts to ache. Heady despair intoxicates me. I have to do something, anything.
I rush down to sit on the porch. The Bentley is gone, but that doesn’t discourage me from falling into the swing chair. I pull my knees to my chest and wait until he comes back. The cool wind tousles my hair; the afternoon air is refreshing. I’m willing to stay here for hours just to be able to see Dorian for a fleeting moment. One look into those blue eyes will do for a short while.
My eyes, fixed unblinkingly on my neighbors’ front yard, prickle. In my head, I’ve been constructing different scenarios of the moment when the car shows up and Dorian gets out of it. Unfortunately, none of them come true. Long hours pass, yet the driveway remains empty.
The only time I look away is to check out my buzzing phone. Someone has sent me several messages. It’s Matt, asking me out to a concert that is taking place in a couple of days.
The thought of Matt makes me chuckle internally. I can hardly believe that I used to perceive him as an embodiment of perfection. My standards have changed dramatically. He doesn’t hold a candle to Dorian. As a matter of fact, I doubt if any man with the capacity of having such an intense influence on me as Dorian does has ever been born.
I don’t respond right away. I don’t want to waste my time looking at the phone screen. Matt can wait.
* * *
Dinner time has come, which means a family meal. I’d prefer to skip it, but I’m smart enough to realize that if I don’t screw anything up and don’t suddenly start throwing plates against the walls or something, it may work to my advantage.
We sit down to eat lasagna, which is Cynthia’s signature dish. Initially, the atmosphere is rather thick. However, Maddie, who usually dominates in conversations, doesn’t let me down this time either. She saves the dinner with random small talk: “I’m wondering what color shoes I should purchase that won’t clash with the dress for my prom. I saw one pair today that I kind of liked, but in the end, I thought they were a bit too shiny. I don’t know what would work.”
“Silver matches pink,” Cynthia says.
“I personally like the pink and black combo, to be honest,” I say, cutting out the first piece of lasagna, which is always the hardest to pull out from the casserole dish.
“But black is the color of sadness.”
“If you were dressed all in black then, yeah, you’d look like you were going to a funeral. Aren’t we talking about only the shoes, though?” I drop the piece on my plate with a splat.
“Perhaps you could come with me one day to a shopping mall and help me choose something. How does that sound?” Maddie asks.
Her question, for unknown reason, fills me with some inexplicable anxiety. Am I being paranoid about leaving the house after the incident with the man with the knife?
“Yeah, that’s a good guess,” Maddie says with a discontented voice. “No worries, I’ll take Lara or Maria with me. Isabel, in the worst-case scenario.” She rolls her eyes at that thought. Maddie doesn’t get along with Isabel; she only pretends to like her because Isabel is one of the most popular girls at the high school.
“Why do you even need anybody to assist you?” My quiet aunt reminds us of her existence. “Don’t feed me the line that you need advice. We all know that you’ll make a choice regardless of any advice. As usual.”
It’s so true. Maddie doesn’t listen to anybody when it comes to clothes. Even when she asks someone about their opinion, she only does it as a courtesy to make her companion feel wanted and needed. In the end, she picks out the pieces that her taste dictates her to take, not the people around her.
“I hate roaming around alone, especially after the series of break-ins that you mentioned, Mom. Those thieves might as well be rapists,” Maddie says, skewering a tiny piece of lasagna with her fork and examining it thoroughly from all directions. “What kind of cheese did you use?”
“Fat-free,” Cynthia says to calm her down, but her words make me gulp and wonder what I’m actually eating. What’s left in the cheese when you take away all the fat from it?
“So, what was I saying? Yeah, um… Break-ins, of course. This afternoon, as an example, I popped out to buy some yogurt, because someone forgot to buy it”—a digression that is entirely a dig at Cynthia—“and I had a feeling that on my way back some guy was following me.”
Some guy was following me bounces around in my head. My body stiffens, and I feel my face go pale as I stare at my cousin.
“What did he look like?” My voice is agitated, and Maddie and Cynthia both look at me. They must notice that the mention of the man has shaken me a bit.
“I don’t know.” Maddie shrugs. “He was tall and had a hood on, so it was hard to tell. Besides, he was behind me, not the other way around.”
“Weren’t you scared of him at all?” My jaw almost drops at her indifference toward the matter.
“It was at three. I was among plenty of people. What was he supposed to do? Stab me?” She finally puts the small bite of lasagna in her mouth.
Maddie’s arrogance bothers me somehow. How can she be so sure that he wasn’t going to hurt her even in the middle of the day? She has no idea what he is capable of, but it’s probably not the best time to point that out to her.
“How do you know you were being followed? Maybe he was going to the same destination?” Cynthia tries to find a logical explanation and avoid spreading the panic.
“That’s possible,” Maddie says, still nonchalantly. “But I could’ve sworn that he caught up with me whenever I sped up, and slowed down when I did. Obviously, it might’ve been just me.” She wipes a drip of tomato sauce from her lips with a napkin. “Anyway, no worries; he was limping, so if I had broken into a run, there’s no chance he would’ve gotten me.” She giggles.
Now I’m confident it wasn’t just any man. It was the man with the knife, and it can’t be an accident that he chose Maddie as his victim. He must want something from me. From us. If not, then how come he’s already followed me twice and stayed on Maddie’s heels today?
Shivers go down my spine at the thought that he might harm my family. But didn’t Rita conclude that I’m the one he wants, and I’m the one Dorian should keep an eye on? Maddie has nothing to do with that.
“At the end you went separate ways, right?” I hold my breath.
“Duh,” she says, like it’s obvious. “I made a turn into our driveway. Of course he didn’t walk into the house with me.”
Now he knows where we live. Wonderful. I give myself an imaginary facepalm.
“Maybe he paid a visit to the Hatches?” It’s like pulling teeth to get Maddie to tell me as much as possible.
“I don’t think so. He stared at our house for a minute and then walked away.”
“Why didn’t you tell me about any of this?” My aunt frowns.
“Oh boy, I’m telling you right now,” Maddie says, irritated. “It was today in the afternoon, not a week ago.”
“Maddie, you’re not careful enough, and you’re way too cocky,” Cynthia rebukes her. “Are you even aware that Liz Lawson’s daughter has been missing for a couple of weeks now?”
“Gina?!” Maddie drops her fork and covers her mouth with her hand.
My eyes bulge at the news as well. Gina was Maddie’s best friend at elementary school. Even though it’s been years since we last saw her, the thought that she might have been kidnapped is disturbing.
“Yes, Gina.” A swift silence descends. “I was sure that you knew about it. Aren’t you interested in current events in the neighborhood at all?” A flicker of disappointment briefly passes over her face. “She’s not the only one who left home and never came back. Danielle Leigh went out to visit her friend on Thursday and has been missing ever since, too. Her family has had no contact with her. She’s vanished without a trace.”
“How do you know about these things?” I ask, fidgeting in the chair.
“Are you kidding?” She tosses me a pitying look. “I read newspapers and chat with people. That’s all it takes to stay informed in this city.”
The name Danielle Leigh doesn’t ring a bell, but for some reason, I immediately connect her and Gina’s disappearance with the shady creep. I have the strong feeling that he might’ve had a hand in both cases. I can’t control the trembling within me because, though I hope I'm wrong, all the signs indicate that the next target is either Maddie or me.
Dorian and Rita must know who that man is. I don’t care what Cynthia’s going to think; I need to speak with them. Dorian will understand that it’s a matter of life and possibly death, so he’ll have to tell me who the man is.
“The police have taken care of it already,” Cynthia continues. “They’ve opened up an investigation. It surprises me how little you know about current matters. You should be more interested in local breaking news.”
Me and Maddie cross ‘oh no, she’s starting with this again’ glances. Maddie decides to justify our ignorance by saying: “But nothing like this has ever taken place in Keizer. It’s a small town where everybody knows each other. You can’t fart without other people knowing.”
My aunt grimaces at Maddie’s digression, but then her face softens. The news about her former friend Gina must’ve taken away Maddie’s appetite; she’s pushing the plate away with an almost untouched piece of lasagna.
“Honey.” Cynthia covers her daughter’s hand with hers. “Nothing is absolute and unchangeable. You have to recognize that. Today we have peace, but tomorrow we may have to face a war. Right now we’re safe; in a week, we might be in danger. That’s why I must insist that the both of you do not wander around alone after dark.” She moves her eyes to me. “At least, not until we make sure that the area is safe.”
“Definitely,” Maddie agrees. I obediently nod, even though deep inside I’m already planning to skip out unnoticed later tonight.
CHAPTER eighteen
I wait patiently until Cynthia and Maddie go to bed, lock themselves in their cozy bedrooms and, ideally, fall asleep. My plan is simple: use the back door, and from there sneak to the Hatches’ house unseen, as my aunt’s bedroom faces the other side of the neighborhood. The worst that could happen would be Maddie catching me red-handed, but since she agreed not to say anything, it shouldn’t be a problem. I’m sure that regardless of the late hour, Dorian and Rita are still awake.
I was right. Rita, who opens the front door, is still fully dressed and has makeup on. In fact, I’d say that she’s getting ready to leave, not to turn in.
“Zara?�
�� Her eyes pop. “What are you doing here?”
“Hi, Rita. I know it’s late, but it’s urgent. It’s about that man I met yesterday.”
Rita seems to have anticipated that sooner or later this subject would push me their way and I’d end up at their house asking questions. She glances at me, distracted, and then moves to the side, giving me enough space to walk through the door. “Come in.”
When I deftly step inside, Rita scours the vicinity to ensure nobody followed me and then slides the door shut. “Dorian’s still out, but he should be back soon.”
It’s just the two of us, then, for the first time since I met them. It’s a bit awkward; after all, I showed up to speak to Dorian and her if need be, not the other way around. Nevertheless, my crafty brain prompts me to take advantage of the situation.
“Would you like something to drink?” she asks as I sit in the corner of their leather couch.
“No, thank you.” It’s not that I suspect she’s up to something, but I kind of have some trauma related to inexplicably dropping off on their couch a while back.
“How can I help you?” She sits on the opposite side, keeping the distance.
“I have a couple of questions, which I hope you’ll be able to answer.”
Rita gently smiles. If I didn’t know how she really feels about me, I wouldn’t suspect she’s uncomfortable right now at all. “Of course.”
“That man, yesterday. Who is he?” I peer deep into her eyes.
The corners of Rita’s mouth slightly uncurl; her little smile has changed into a tight, thin line. She takes a deep breath and swallows hard. Without Dorian standing by her side, she must be uneasy.
She clears her throat and says, “Yes, I know him,” then pauses for a second. “He’s dangerous, and you’d better stay away from him.” She doesn’t say anything I didn’t already know, but I didn’t expect her to let the cat out of the bag right away.
“I’m all for evading him, but there’s one problem. Apparently, he doesn’t want to stay away from me, because I’ve come across him twice so far. I’m positive that wasn’t by accident.”