by Jeyn Roberts
We walk slowly and at some point he takes my hand and I allow it. When we reach my church, I hold on tighter.
We go inside. Gazer is sitting by the fireplace. I look at the clock, surprised to see it’s just a little past eight. For some reason I feel it should be later. When Gazer sees I’m not alone, he puts down his book and stands to meet us.
“Gazer,” I say. “This is Chael.”
I’m so nervous, you’d think I was introducing the Queen of England to the Dalai Lama or something equally ridiculous. Chael steps forward and holds out his hand and Gazer, after a moment’s pause, extends his own to meet it.
“Pleased to meet you,” Gazer says. His face is a mixture of surprise and pleasure. I’ve shocked him. I can’t help feeling a little happy about that.
The men exchange a bit of small talk. I don’t add to the conversation. What can I say? Gazer, this guy is dead so don’t get too used to him. He might not be around much longer or he might start rotting in the living room. He’s a good man. He’s almost as smart as you. I love him and I can’t say that to you either because it’s too personal. I’m not ready to share. But when I am, you’ll be the first to know about it.
As it turns out, I don’t need to say a thing.
“Maybe I’ll go down to the bar and hang out with some of the old boys,” Gazer says after a bit.
I open my mouth in surprise but Gazer just winks. I leave Chael to admire Gazer’s book collection and follow my adoptive father to the door.
“What are you doing?” I say. “You never go out for drinks. Ever.”
Gazer grabs his coat and hat and puts them on. “Always a first time for everything,” he says. “And I feel like celebrating.”
“For what?”
“Your life,” Gazer says. “When you left today, Faye, I was positive I was never going to see you alive again. Instead, you show up with a boy on your arm and your eyes are glowing. I don’t know what happened tonight but I’m just thankful. So I think it’s time for me to move on too. Go out and see some of my old friends. I’ve been a hermit for too long.”
“A new outlook on life? That’s always a good start.”
“I don’t want to know what you did tonight so don’t tell me,” he says. “I’m just glad you’re home. And I better not have to remind you not to do anything that might annoy me in my absence.”
“No wild parties. No drugs. No fun. I get it.”
“Not funny, Faye.” Gazer looks back toward the living-room area, where Chael has sat down to read the back cover of a thick novel.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “But he’s good. You’ll approve. He’s taught me a lot of things.”
“Oh?”
“I’m not better,” I say. “Not even close. But you’re right. You’re always right. The two of you are very similar. It kinda freaks me out a bit.”
“Nonsense,” Gazer says. “There’s no right or wrong. Everyone is different. You just needed to find out on your own.”
“I’m tired of being angry all the time. Sometimes I just want to forget everything. Be empty. But that wouldn’t solve my problems either.” I swallow hard and take a deep breath. The tears are threatening to come back out again. I try to concentrate enough to keep them away. “Do you think I’ll ever be okay?”
“Don’t know.” Gazer puts his arms around me and hugs me tightly. “But I’m glad you’re sticking around to find out. Now go pour that man some tea or something. I’ll be back in a few hours.” He pauses and shakes the door handle. “I think we’re going to have to fix this. Lock’s going to break right off any day now.”
I close the door behind him and head back to the main room. Chael is done looking through Gazer’s book collection and is now admiring his vintage vinyl.
“He’s got just about every single big band from the twenties and thirties,” he says. “And this record player is amazing. It’s got to be at least forty years old.”
“More like fifty,” I say. “I grew up listening to that stuff. I know most of those records. I swear, Gazer should be at least ninety years older than he really is. He loves all that stuff. I’m going to make some tea. You want?”
“Sure,” he says without even looking at me. He’s too enthralled by Bing Crosby’s greatest hits. I wander into the kitchen, wondering what I’ve gotten myself into. They say girls marry their fathers. In this case, my ghostly boyfriend’s musical taste is way too much like my guardian’s.
Am I ever going to live a normal life?
When I come back five minutes later with tea, Chael’s managed to figure out the record player and Frank Sinatra is blasting out a ballad.
“Dance with me,” he says, taking both mugs of tea and placing them on the table. I start to pull away but he gets his arms around my waist and soon we’re both laughing as we step on each other’s feet.
“I feel like I should be more upset than this,” I finally say as he spins me around.
“Why’s that?”
“Um … Ming?”
Chael pulls me closer and I sink into his arms. He’s so very warm and soft. I lean my head against his shoulder.
“What about Rufus?” Chael asks. “What are your plans for him?”
“I don’t care about him anymore,” I say. “I really don’t.” I pull my head away and look right into Chael’s eyes. “Why is that?”
“You said earlier that you feel empty,” he says. “And I think that’s true. But that’s because something’s been removed from you. All that hate is still there but maybe it’s not.”
“No,” I say. “It’s still there. But it feels different.”
“Maybe you’re learning that you can channel it somewhere else. Make a difference in the world. Create rather than destroy.”
I think of Beth and imagine all the other Beths still out there. All those gutter rats that have been rejected by everything warm and loving. Pushed to the point of addiction because they’ve lost any chance of real happiness. The world is a hard place. Can one person make a difference? Can I?
“You need to refill yourself with something other than pain.” Chael leans down and kisses my neck gently. “Let’s start by giving you some really good memories.”
His lips meet mine and everything melts away.
It’s surreal. I almost feel like I’m watching a movie in which I’m the star. This isn’t a happy ending. I killed a man tonight and now I’m dancing. That’s wrong. I shouldn’t be this happy. Rufus is still following me. Now that I’ve killed Ming, he’s going to come after me with vengeance.
But all those nagging thoughts refuse to stay in my mind. I’m ignoring them because I don’t want them.
What’s wrong with me?
I push Chael away. The room’s gone suddenly cold. He comes closer again and puts his arms around me. I allow it only slightly.
“This is wrong,” I insist.
“You’re punishing yourself again,” he says.
“I should be.” The tears are back again, threatening to fall.
“You’re allowed to be happy.”
“Not like this.”
Chael reaches out and runs a finger along my cheek. “It takes time to heal,” he says. “It won’t happen overnight and I’ll help you get through it. I’m here for you. I’m not going anywhere. We’ve got all the time in the—”
A gloved hand stabs a needle into Chael’s neck. Silvery liquid speeds through the tip and into the skin. Chael’s green eyes widen as he struggles to get the last word out.
“World,” he says.
Then his entire body shuts down. As he falls away from me, all I can see is a look of surprise staring up at me.
“Dumb bitch.”
The words are there and it takes me forever to tear my face away from Chael. I know that voice. I’ve heard it a million times in my head, playing over and over like one o
f Gazer’s records.
I look up and gaze into the eyes of the monster I’ve wanted to kill my entire life. Only minutes ago I was ready to give him up. Now he’s gone and taken that from me too. How many ways can he destroy me?
Rufus stands before me, smiling like a maniac. He’s holding in his hands the needle that, seconds ago, was sticking out of Chael’s neck. There’s still some silver liquid in the syringe.
Heam is deadly and has plenty of side effects. But it’s a drug that is ingested by swallowing. People don’t shoot Heam unless they’re planning on never coming back. It’s like putting liquid nitrogen into your veins. It kills you within seconds.
Chael isn’t like most people. Chael’s survived being shot and stabbed. He heals quickly. This should be a walk in the park for him. But he’s not getting up off the floor. His eyes remain closed. He’s not breathing.
Something’s wrong.
“You’re next,” Rufus says. He drops the old needle on the floor and pulls a fresh one from the folds of his jacket.
Rufus lunges at me and I barely manage to snap out of it before I feel his hands grabbing at my hair. I pull back my arm and punch him as hard as I can. I miss most of his face; my knuckles land the blow on the side of his head, but it’s enough to make him let go and step back in shock.
He expected this to be easy. He beat me once without any resistance on my part. That’s why he went after Chael first. That’s why he was cowardly and attacked from behind. Maybe he thought I’d drop to the floor in tears like some sort of hysterical idiot. Nope, not this time.
I hit him again and a well- placed kick makes him drop the needle and retreat in pain. I see his other hand going into his jacket to grab his gun but I don’t allow it. I throw myself on the monster, kicking and punching, not giving him a second to catch his breath. The gun flies out of his jacket and I ignore it, choosing instead my fists as my own weapons.
Rufus drops to his knees and covers his head with his hands, trying to protect himself from my blows. I punch around his fingers, finding cracks in his defenses, kicking at his chest and ribs.
He finally goes down and I stop. Rufus curls up on the floor like a baby and suddenly all that fire inside of me washes away. I look at him, a pathetic loser, a wasted man who uses pain to make his life seem useful.
I pick up the gun and aim it at his head. I should pull the trigger and end his life. I’d be doing the world a favor. I’ve thought about this moment every day for six years. I should be ready for this.
But I’m not.
Gazer and Chael have been right all along. Revenge isn’t as sweet as everyone is led to believe. I’m still not complete. In fact, I doubt I ever will be. And I don’t want to kill him.
I want to live.
Behind me, Chael’s lifeless body waits. There are more important things to do right now.
“Did you figure it out?” I ask. “Do you remember me?”
Rufus spits out blood and refuses to look at my face.
“You killed me once,” I say. “Many years ago. A poor helpless child. But you should have made sure I was really dead. I came back. I got strong.”
“You mean you’re just a gutter rat?” Rufus finally looks up at me. “Holding some stupid grudge because you got addicted to Heam? I’ve got news for you, sunshine. That’s your own fault.”
I refuse to rise to the bait.
“You think I’m going to remember ever single gutter rat I’ve given drugs to? Jesus, my memory ain’t that good. You’re nothing more to me than a thousand other faces.” He spits on the ground as if to emphasis his point. “No one cares about you and they sure as hell won’t remember you—least of all, me.”
“I should kill you right now,” I say. “But I’m not going to. I’m not going to give you that power over me. I’m not letting you take my life completely.”
Rufus starts to climb to his feet. He sways unsteadily for a few seconds. Then he spits again in my direction. He’s still smiling. The bastard is still grinning like I’m not a threat.
I raise the gun straight to his head and he flinches.
“Your boyfriend doesn’t look so good,” he says.
“Get out of here,” I say. “And don’t let me ever see you again. Because the next time I will kill you.”
Rufus looks around like he wants to challenge me but at the last second he decides against it. Even he knows his limits. He wipes some blood away from his mouth and starts walking backward.
“Watch yourself, girlie,” he says. “One day when you least expect it. I know where you live now.”
“I’ll keep the back door unlocked for you,” I say.
He stops and takes a step forward. I raise the gun above his head and pull the trigger. The explosion is loud and part of the ceiling sprays bits of brick from where the bullet entered.
Rufus puts his hands over his head and ducks. I lower the gun until it’s level with his eyes.
“I said leave.”
He opens his mouth to say something but I wave the gun again and he thinks better of it. Rufus turns and heads for the door with me right behind him. The moment he leaves, I lock the door. The knob wobbles in my grip. Gazer was right, it does need fixing. It probably wasn’t hard for Rufus to pick it.
I drop the gun into the empty umbrella basket. My arms are shaking so badly I’m amazed I’ve been able to hold it for this long. I lean against the door, trying to mentally force my heart to stop pounding.
Chael!
I turn and run.
He’s still on the floor and I drop down beside him and put my head on his chest. His shirt is still warm but for how much longer? I can’t hear a heartbeat so I check for a pulse. Nothing. He’s not breathing.
I get into CPR position and place my hands on his chest.
One and two and three and four. One and two and three and four.
I tilt his head back and breathe air deep into his body.
One and two and three and four. One and two and three and four.
Breathe. Breathe.
“Dammit, Chael,” I scream. “Come back to me. Don’t leave me!”
The minutes pass. My body begins to cramp and my hands ache. But Chael doesn’t move.
I pound on his chest before finally giving up. I sit on the floor beside him, exhausted, both mentally and physically. The music clicks off. Sinatra has left the building.
Reaching out, I take his hand and hold it, trying to will my own warmth to leave me and enter him instead. Tears run down my cheeks.
“True love never leaves,” I whisper. “Even in death. You came back to me before. Please come back again. I don’t want to be here without you. I can’t do this without you.”
I have a feeling it was only a one-time thing.
But that doesn’t mean I can’t go to him. Suddenly I’m off the floor and searching the room for the syringe. I find them both beside the couch. One almost empty. One filled.
I pick up the one with the silvery liquid and hold it up to the light. Instantly I can feel the ache tugging from my scars. The desire.
It’s time to feed it.
If Chael can’t come to me, then I’ll go to him.
The needle slides under my skin and I push the plunger home. There is a bright flash of white light. My head involuntarily turns up toward the ceiling as my body completely shuts down. In slow motion I fall backward, watching everything around me go blurry. My head hits the floor but I don’t feel it.
My vision dims.
Nothing but darkness.
Twenty
The world stretches out before me in the shape of a dark space. There are no walls, just an endless hardwood floor that leads off further than my eyes can see. There is no ceiling. When I look up, I see nothing but darkness. But there must be light somewhere because I can see. I am surrounded by a dull glow, giving me about ten
feet of visible space.
I appear to be in the spotlight.
I’m lying on the floor, my hands scraping against the wood. Maybe once, this floor was shiny and new. I wonder how many people have traveled through here to wear down the finish, leaving nothing but splinters and cracks.
If this wood were sand, there would be a million footprints left behind.
I get up after fully taking in my nonsurroundings. Chael has to be here somewhere. All I have to do is find him.
I start walking. The light follows me. No matter which direction I turn, the glow sticks to me like glue.
My walk turns into a jog.
Then I’m flat-out running.
No matter how far I go, the floor beneath me doesn’t change. I’m going nowhere. Eventually I stop, collapsing to my knees, panting heavily. I keep my head down and wait for the inevitable hell that’s sure to follow.
The shadows are all around me. I’m sure of it. They’re moving in across the floor and they’re going to swallow me whole this time. I can feel them getting closer and I brace myself for the pain I know is coming.
I can’t remember how we first figured out that our bedroom windows are side by side. But now that we’ve discovered it, we pull the screens off the windows every single night and stick our heads out to talk. Mom gets angry because she says I’m damaging the blinds. So we have to be secretive.
Our secret.
“What happened?”
“They arrested Dad,” I say. The blue-and-red lights are finally gone. They lit up the entire street, forcing the neighbors to peek from behind their curtains. Mom is still downstairs. She sent me to bed but I hid at the top of the stairs, watching quietly as they read my father his rights and slapped the cuffs on his wrists.
“That’s what my parents figured,” Christian says. “Mom’s gonna offer to take care of you for a bit if needed.”
“I don’t know,” I say. “It’s scary. She’s downstairs, staring at the table. She hasn’t moved since they left. She’s crying. I’ve never seen her cry before.”