A Neon Darkness

by Lauren Shippen

  “So, yeah, I figured you deserved an apology.”

  Neon stares at me, a small smile on her face, an unreadable look in her eyes. I can’t tell if she knows that I’m bluffing, that I didn’t want Nick to apologize, that it just happened, either a response to some deep-seated desire even I’m unaware of or an active choice on his part. I don’t know if any of that makes a difference, if Neon would be mad about my taking credit for something I’m not sure I did. But she must not care, because her shoulders relax and she says:

  “You’re something else, Robert Gorham.”

  “Thanks…?”

  “You know, I could have taken care of it,” she tells me, rattling the wrench toward me in mock menace. “I don’t need a white knight.”

  “I have no doubt,” I say, smiling.

  “You really can make anyone do anything you want, can’t you?” she asks after a moment, her eyes moving down to the wrench still in her hand as she twirls it around.

  “I mean … yeah.” I’m looking at my own hands now, scared of what comes next. The rejection, the fear, all the horrible things my own brain tells me people would say if they knew.

  “That’s wicked cool.” She laughs again, softer this time.

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah.” Her eyes come back to meet mine and I think I can see electricity in them. “And it gives me an idea.”

  * * *

  Neon has been dealing with men like Nick her entire life.

  She knows that it’s not about being pretty or cool or able to “hang with the boys,” even though that’s what everyone tells her. She knows that if she didn’t have the face she had, if she didn’t wear leather jackets and ride motorcycles, there would still be the same bullshit to deal with. Maybe from a different source—she does seem to attract a very particular kind of sleaze—but life would never be quiet. Not for a woman who refuses to be anything but her loud self. Not for any woman in this world.

  It used to scare her, the attention. She’s always been too small and too Black and too queer besides—life was never going to be easy for her. It was never going to be safe. She walked through the first fifteen or so years of her life with armor around her and one eye always looking over her shoulder. And then the lightning came and there was a bigger thing in her life to be afraid of.

  But once she got that particular monster under control, she realized it wasn’t something to fear at all. And it helped the other fears too. When she was sixteen and a boy at a house party tried to take things farther than she wanted, he got three thousand volts sent through him. She knows there are still people out there who could overpower her, but most of the time, she stands up squarely to the men who try to intimidate her, and she smiles with the knowledge that she could bring them down with a flick of her wrist.

  Neon knows that there are plenty of people who look at her and assume she’s nothing to fear. She knows that the men who know the truth and stick around anyway are men she can trust. Sometimes it doesn’t feel like there are many good men in the world, but Neon knows that she’s found at least a few of them.

  And she knows when you do find the good ones, it’s important to keep them.

  * * *

  “… and that’s where Rob comes into play,” Neon finishes, and I see matching expressions of concern on Marley’s and Indah’s faces.

  “You want us to use Rob’s ability to get information from people?” Indah asks. “Is that … legal?”

  “It’s not like there’s a law against it. What would that even look like? ‘The law prohibits a superhuman from using his powers of persuasion to coerce people’?” Neon laughs at her own mock-officious voice like the whole idea is ridiculous, but Marley’s frown deepens.

  “Actually, yes,” he says. “If the law recognized Unusuals, I think that’s exactly what it would say.”

  “But the law doesn’t recognize Unusuals,” Neon says.

  “Rob, you’re okay with this?” Indah asks me softly.

  “Yeah, of course I am. Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “I don’t know, you don’t feel weird about using your ability to manipulate people?” Indah asks, shifting on the armrest.

  “That’s not what this is,” I say, defensive. “I’m not using my ability to manipulate people, I’m just … being myself. Which sometimes means that people tell me stuff they wouldn’t usually share. If we want to know where Blaze is, then I can find him.”

  “I’m game,” Marley says, shrugging, and I’m surprised and pleased he’s on our side. I haven’t spent much time with Marley—choosing instead to actively avoid him—but there’s still a big piece of me that wants his approval, that wants to show him I’m more than what he thinks.

  “Really?” Indah turns toward him. “What about what you just said?”

  “Neon is right: the law doesn’t recognize Unusuals. Yeah, Rob’s power is ethically … a bit tricky, but so is mine.”

  “Exactly.” Neon nods. “I’m the only one with an ability that’s pretty cut-and-dried. I don’t use it on people—”

  I make a sound of disbelief.

  “—unless I have to,” Neon emphasizes, looking at me pointedly. “Physically hurting people is a big no-no—we can all agree on that—but looking into their pasts or making someone want something is a bit … gray.”

  “I think making someone want something is a pretty big no from me too,” Indah says, crossing her arms, her brow furrowed.

  “What if the thing they want is to tell the truth?” I ask.

  “It’s still coercion,” she says, scowling.

  “Look,” Neon says, stepping toward Indah, “I don’t love it either, okay? We’ve all been on the other side of Rob’s power and it’s … it doesn’t feel that great.”

  “Wow, thanks, Neon,” I deadpan, trying to keep the genuine hurt out of my voice.

  “It’s not your fault, kid,” she says soothingly, and I flinch. “We know that you don’t mean to do it, but it is weird when it happens.”

  “Really?” I ask. “What does it … what does it feel like?”

  There’s a three-way significant glance and I suddenly very much do not want to know the answer. Before I can even voice that thought out loud, the conversation has moved on from my question, my silent wish granted.

  “This might be the best shot we have at finding Blaze,” Neon pleads.

  “Getting the truth out of people won’t matter if no one knows anything,” Indah points out.

  “True,” Marley concedes, “but you know Blaze. He hung out with some … weird folks.”

  “You mean weirder than a bunch of superhumans?” I quip, but no one laughs.

  “He’s a really lost kid,” Marley says, acting like he’s a hundred years old and Blaze is his son. Like he’s responsible for him—for his well-being, his happiness. Is that what this is? Is that what Neon meant when she toasted “to family”?

  “He’s never been a big fan of being an Unusual and sometimes would take out that frustration in … other ways,” Neon adds. “Could be some of those people know more about what he’s been up to recently than we do.”

  “But you don’t think they’d tell you?” I ask. “Wouldn’t they want to know what happened to him too?”

  “Not necessarily,” Indah says darkly. “That crowd isn’t the most nurturing bunch.”

  “But with you, Rob, we might be able to get something out of them.”

  I nod, swallowing around a suddenly dry throat. I’ve never had a job before—something to do. A purpose.

  “Ugh, ‘Rob,’” Neon scoffs, interrupting my mini crisis. “‘Robbie,’” she says emphatically. “That name doesn’t suit you at all.”

  Indah laughs at that for some reason, and a smile starts to curl its way around Neon’s face.

  “Think it’s time for a name?” Marley asks, mirroring her smile.

  “Mm-hm.” She nods, leaning forward on her elbows. Suddenly I’m nervous in a different way. I’m excited, leaning forward as well, the air betwe
en me and Neon full with a kind of electricity she can’t make from her hands.

  “A name?” I ask, unable to keep the smile out of my voice. “Like the ones you guys have?”

  “Mm-hm.” She grins, cocking her head at me. “And I think I’ve got it. You know who you are? You’re like a little Damien.”

  “From…” I search, the name ringing a bell somewhere deep in my mind. “From, what, The Omen?”

  “Ha, yeah, that’s the one,” she laughs.

  “Isn’t he the antichrist?” I ask, trying not to be offended.

  “What, you think that doesn’t fit?” Neon teases. I’m about to rebut when—

  “‘To tame.’”

  We both turn our heads toward Indah.

  “What?”

  “‘To tame,’” Indah repeats. “‘To subdue.’ That’s what the name ‘Damien’ means.”

  “God, Indah,” Marley laughs. “Why do you know that?”

  “Maybe we did some poking around online.” She shrugs innocently, and my heart flutters at the idea that Indah and Neon have been thinking about this for a while.

  “‘To tame’…,” I echo, the words rolling strangely off my tongue.

  “I mean,” Neon starts, “that does kind of work for you, kid.”

  “So, what,” I say, “you want to change my name to Damien?”

  “You need a name.” Neon shrugs.

  “I have a name,” I argue, wanting to be christened an Unusual but wondering about the weight and history of the name that Neon wants to bestow on me.

  “Rob, you told me the very first night we met how much you hate your name,” Indah calls out.

  “Yeah, well I was very drunk at the time,” I retort.

  “So you do like your name?” she asks skeptically.

  “Of course I don’t fucking like my name,” I admit. “They gave it to me.”

  “Ooh, who’s ‘they’?” Neon sits up, eyes wide in excitement.

  “No one,” I say.

  “It doesn’t sound like no one,” she taunts. “If they gave you your name, I’m going to assume they’re your parents?”

  “Wow, top-notch detective work,” I deadpan, and Neon sticks her tongue out at me. The sight warms me, even though we’re edging toward a subject I’d really rather avoid. But this is what friends do, isn’t it? They learn about each other, share the gripes of childhood, hopes, dreams, petty thoughts, crushes. They give each other responsibility, a purpose. They rely on each other and tease each other and they don’t leave.

  Robert Gorham could never quite manage all of that stuff. But maybe Damien can.

  * * *

  I know I’m not the most sociable person in the world, but Blaze’s roommates seem particularly heinous as far as people go.

  The next time the four of us all have an afternoon free—which doesn’t happen as often as I would like, though I’m free literally every afternoon—we go to Blaze’s loft, where he lived with three artist types who appear to be stoned at two p.m.

  “You rented out his room?” Indah asks incredulously. All of Blaze’s possessions have been hastily boxed up and stacked against one wall of the enormous and practically empty shared living space.

  “He hasn’t been here in months,” a Twiggy-looking girl drawls.

  “Months?” Marley clarifies.

  “Yeah.” She sounds bored. “And it’s not like he left a rent check or anything…”

  “Months…,” Neon murmurs. “I thought he just lost his cell or got a new boyfriend or something…”

  “Why didn’t you guys come to his apartment until now?” I ask.

  “We don’t exactly love coming here,” Indah answers, her eyes widening, and then glances sideways at Twiggy.

  “Though it is a pretty great place,” Marley comments, looking around. He’s right. The apartment is on the top floor, with high, beamed ceilings. The part of the loft we’re standing in is an enormous open space, the living room leading to a dining area leading to the kitchen. “Too bad you guys don’t do anything with it.”

  “Whatever, dude,” Twiggy drones.

  “Where’s Blaze?” I ask pointedly, looking straight into her dead eyes. I want to know what she knows, what she could be hiding, but I suspect that it’s probably nothing.

  “Listen,” she says, staring straight back, and I feel the tether between us click into place. It’s working; she’s going to tell me the truth. “No one gives a shit about that guy. He was barely here when he was paying rent and when he was, he was always so … weird. It honestly took us a little while to realize he was gone.”

  Her flat words fall with a thud in front of the four of us and I’m afraid to look at the others. This isn’t what I wanted—I was supposed to be helping them find their friend, not proving that the people in his life didn’t care about him.

  “Well, we give a shit,” Neon snaps, stepping toward the girl menacingly. “So if he comes back—when he comes back—you’re gonna give him his room back. In the meantime, we’ll be taking his stuff with us.”

  “Whatever,” she says again, rolling her eyes, the link between us slackened. “So … are you guys gonna get out of here or what?”

  We do. We go up to the building’s roof, after dodging one of Blaze’s other ne’er-do-well roomies asking for money. Indah says that Blaze liked to come up here to let out small flames when he needed, but there doesn’t seem to be any trace of him.

  “At least they didn’t toss his stuff,” Neon says, kicking a rock across the wide and empty rooftop.

  “Why does he live with these people?” I ask. “Why don’t you guys all live together?”

  Marley just shrugs.

  “I don’t know. It’d be nice. This spot would be great, but there aren’t a ton like it in LA. These creeps have been here since long before Blaze. Guess the rent was cheap and he wanted something with a rooftop.”

  “I get that,” I say, looking out at the view. We’re a few miles from downtown Los Angeles, one of the only parts of the city with anything remotely resembling skyscrapers, and the vista is not too shabby. It’s not an overly tall building, but because everything in LA is so low, we can see the high-rises of downtown, the mansion-speckled hills, the sprawl of the city that I know eventually reaches out to the ocean, somewhere beyond what we can see, hidden behind the distant sheen of smog.

  “Okay, so he hasn’t been home in months, hasn’t answered any calls or texts…”

  “Where did he work?”

  “Fry cook,” Marley says. “I already checked, he quit a few months back.”

  “That’s not unusual for Blaze though,” Indah says. “He wasn’t very good at holding down a job.”

  “So where else is there?” I ask. “Give me someone else to talk to and I’ll figure it out.”

  “Can’t you just…,” Indah starts, looking nervous.

  “Can’t I just what?” I ask.

  “Look…,” she says, stepping close to me. I can see the worry in her eyes and smell her perfume—light and flowery—and it warms my face. “I know you don’t know Alex,” she says, and I don’t think she even realizes that she’s used his non-Unusual name, “but can’t you just … want him to be back?”

  Her eyes are pleading and I want so badly to lie to her. I want to tell her that, yes, that is how it works. I can reach across cities and states and countries and oceans and want someone to come back so badly that they do. But I lived with that sour hope for too long and I would never poison anyone else with it.

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper. “It doesn’t work like that. It’s a proximity thing, I’m pretty sure. I need to be close to the person to have it work.” Even as I explain it, I’m not 100 percent certain that it’s true. What if that’s the lie and what Indah hopes is the real truth? What if I’ve been living with a hope that could be met but never was because They were too stubborn to let my wanting bring them back?

  “Are you sure?” Indah insists. “Have you tried?”

  “Yes, he has,” M
arley says, his soft voice even softer in the light breeze that’s sailing over the rooftop. I let his response hang in the air, all at once angry and embarrassed he’s seen my past again and relieved that I don’t have to explain to Indah why what she wants won’t work.

  The four of us stand in silence, looking out over the city where Blaze might be. I can practically feel the longing coming off of each of them, like they’re the ones who can project their desires onto me, and I try to pretend I can’t relate to what they’re feeling. I don’t know Blaze. I have no investment in this other than wanting to help my fellow Unusuals. My friends. This isn’t like it was when it happened to me. When Blaze doesn’t come back, it won’t sting as much.

  “We should go to Void,” Marley says after a moment, breaking the tense quiet.

  “Shit,” Neon sighs.

  “What’s Void?” I ask.

  “It’s a bar that Blaze used to go to a lot,” Indah explains.

  “It’s where he used to buy…” Neon trails off.

  “Where he’d buy what?” I prompt, feeling dumb and out of the loop.

  Marley gives me a significant look and the penny drops. I guess Blaze had bigger problems than just being a pyrokinetic.

  * * *

  The pain is extraordinary. It defies description, defies logic, defies all the known laws of the universe. He’s not sure when it started, can’t fathom it ever stopping.

  He’s felt pain like this before. When everything first started, he could feel the fire building in his blood, in his skin. He thought he was sick—full of fever and bile—and he wasn’t completely wrong. This is an illness. But one that he can’t sweat out or treat with painkillers, as much as he’s tried. The stuff he’s gotten from his roommates, from the people at Void, it’s supposed to be able to knock anyone out, keep anyone under. But the fire still burns.

  It’s burning worse than ever now. The pain should be coming from somewhere else, should be a response to something that someone is doing to him. The human body shouldn’t be able to create pain like this on its own. But then again, he might not be human. Maybe he’s some sort of devil and not actually a person at all. It would explain the hellfire in his veins.