by Joey Jameson
Chapter Twenty-Seven
NOW
“What do you want to know? Everything you need is in the police report I had to give.”
“We’re not interested in the police report, Lyric. We want to know what really happened.”
“Well, I wasn’t there…”
A beat passed between them, almost as if the officers didn’t believe him.
“I wasn’t. I don’t know what happened. They had an accident.”
“Why weren’t you with them that night?”
Now, it was Lyric’s turn to pause. A long heavy pause that spoke volumes without uttering a word. Lyric shifted in his chair, feeling warm and suddenly uncomfortable in his own skin.
“Lyric, what happened the night of the accident?” she repeated.
“We had gotten in a fight.”
“Can you be more specific?”
“I had just gotten home. It was dark. I was high as a kite. I had gotten into an accident in the car and smashed the whole front. All the lights were out and broken. Cedar was so angry with me. Disappointed. He kept calling me worthless, and a waste of space.”
“Go on.”
“We fought. Like we had been so much lately. I had been really trying to get my act together. I felt like my last stint in juvie had put me straight. But then that night I was out with some mates and got wrecked and crashed the car while trying to pull out of a parking spot. So stupid.”
He felt the sting of tears behind his eyes once more.
“Cedar had been waiting for me to get home so he could pick up our parents from a party they were at. I was late. Obviously. He stormed out of the house and got in the car to go pick them up. I didn’t think anything of it, until it dawned on me that he’d be driving in the dark with no lights…”
“You let him drive the smashed car…”
“He shouldn’t have. He said it wasn’t that far and he didn’t have money for a taxi. I should have stopped him.”
“What happened, Lyric?”
“He was gone for over an hour. He should have been back by then, but he wasn’t. I was still so fucked up, I didn’t realise what time it was. I had passed out on the sofa watching TV and…”
“And?”
“And then I got the call. The police. They had found the car.”
The female officer looked down and read from the official report. “The driver, Cedar Reed, aged eighteen, and passengers Linda and Stephen Reed, both fifty-five, were killed on impact as their vehicle collided with a passing vehicle on the highway between Cala Llonga and Cala San Vicente at approximately 9:15 P.M. The family were travelling in a Toyota Yaris that had sustained substantial damage to the front bonnet in a previous accident and was without the use of functioning headlights. The driver of the other vehicle was unharmed…”
Lyric was quiet, except for the sound of his tears that came more freely now, rolling down his face and pooling in his cupped hands in his lap. The words from the report pelted him like hailstones as the officer read them out robotically and without any human emotion.
He remembered being called out to the accident. Identifying the bodies of his brother and parents. He remembered the feeling of emptiness and loss that had encased his every nerve. He remembered being on the brink when a police officer drove him to the scene.
He closed his eyes now and he could still see the wrecked car, the spilled blood; hear the wail of the sirens. He could see the bodies laid out on slabs in the morgue like show pieces at a deranged art gallery. He remembered the feeling of emptiness. Such hollow emptiness, as if all emotion and feeling had been drained out of him, dying with his family.
His family.
As Lyric sat there now before the officers, he wiped a hand across his face and nose, ridding it of the tears that exposed him for the vulnerable victim he’d started to feel like.
Cedar. His mother. His father. The institute. It was all too much. He wanted to forget, not to remember. He didn’t want to go there again. Not after he’d worked so hard to push the memories down. It was the only way to survive. The only way to remain him.
He closed his eyes again, squeezing them tight. He started counting down from one hundred and clasped his hands tight together in his lap, praying that the panic would subside.
He straightened in his chair, wrung his hands and looked up.
But when his eyes met with those of the officers seated across from him, something shifted. The two figures began to blur before him, their edges becoming fuzzy, and their features became lost in a cloudy haze. Then he smelled it.
Vanilla.
A sweet waft that filtered through his nostrils and made his body feel weightless, like some sort of toxic helium. He tried fighting it. Tried to refocus his eyes and return to his counting. But it was futile. He was already drifting from where he sat, looking down on himself and the officers, an observer on the situation, a third party in the room. The blackness was almost here.
His features twisted somehow, his eyes darkening and changing shape slightly. His mouth moved and inched into a sideways grin that was more menacing than pleasant. He sat forward for the first time since the interview started and he began to drum his fingers impatiently on the Formica table, the sound disturbing the silence and visibly startling the officers, who sat back as if animals protecting themselves from a predator.
The energy in the room shifted, as did the dynamic, as the interviewee seemed to supersede the interviewers.
No one moved for a moment. There was a battle of the wills as the officers stared at this new presence before them in surprise and awe, unsure as to what had just happened.
The female officer was the first to speak.
“Lyric?” she attempted through tight lips.
But he didn’t move. He didn’t blink. He just continued to stare, more between the two of them than directly at them. The officers exchanged nervous glances as they silently reassessed the situation at hand.
She opened her mouth to try again.
“With whom am I speaking?”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
THEN
Lyric was escorted home by an officer after identifying the bodies at the Hospital Can Misses in Ibiza town, and dropped off at the apartment he shared with his family.
Had shared…
The officer had asked if he would be all right on his own, to which Lyric had only grunted in response. The grief counsellor at the hospital had requested Lyric stay overnight at the hospital for observation, but he had refused.
He wanted out of there. They had asked if he had anyone whom they could call to notify or who could come and pick him up. But he had no one. No one was left. This had been it. His whole family.
Lyric’s movements were almost robotic as he passed through the many minders at the hospital, signing papers and documents. Flashing his ID whenever needed and answering questions he could not now remember. There was so much paperwork and red tape to clear that he just switched off as his way of dealing with everything. His hands felt numb as did his legs. He was simply going through the motions in a dream-like state of unawareness, counting down the seconds until he could be alone again to process all that had happened. When he closed his eyes the noises around him turned to static and left him with an odd sense of comfort despite the hellish scenario. He longed to stay there longer and just let himself drift away. But it wasn’t long before someone interrupted his trance and plagued him with something else he had to attend to.
When it was all over, at least for that moment, he was permitted to leave, as long as he checked back in with the hospital first thing in the morning for an evaluation.
As the officer drove him back to his house, the road seemed different somehow. Almost alien. The curves were unfamiliar and the sounds otherworldly. He allowed himself to rest his head on the window and look up at the inky-dark sky. Even the stars seemed to dull, despite the clearness of the night, and the thrumming of the engine mirrored the throbbing in his head.
When t
hey arrived at his home, he and the officer parted ways and exchanged emotionless pleasantries. It was as he closed the front door, and the darkness surrounded him, that he lost control.
He smelled the vanilla first. Strong and sweet like someone had placed a vial of smelling salts directly beneath his nose. It was so immediate that he flinched as the scent invaded his nostrils, making his head swim.
“Cedar?” he cried out. For vanilla was his twin’s signature scent. Always had been. Cedar had adored it ever since they were little, demanding that all the candles in the apartment be vanilla scented. He loved vanilla ice cream, vanilla soda. Even vanilla perfume—which Lyric had always teased him about as it was such a female-associated scent.
But as his bleary eyes searched the darkness, he didn’t expect to find Cedar there, despite the odd smell in the air. The throbbing in his head was getting worse and it persisted until it developed into a ringing in his ears that got so loud and unbearable he had to shut his eyes and grit his teeth.
Dropping to his knees, both out of exhaustion and from the sound in his head, he opened his eyes in an attempt to centre himself and was surprised to find his vision so out of focus. He reached for a light switch and flicked it on in hopes of clarifying the misshapen surroundings of his home.
But the lights only made it worse. Everything blurred until a sort of halo surrounded the furniture in his lounge. He rubbed at his eyes to clear them, but it was a fruitless attempt. The panic came next. A fear that wormed its way through him, leaving his limbs shaking and cold.
A moment later, he was floating. Weightless. Like a feather drifting in the breeze. He watched as his stiff body grew smaller beneath him as he seemingly rose above himself until he was able to look down upon his blurred frame. It was as if he had been pushed out of his own body and was merely a spectator; a passenger in the car and someone else behind the wheel.
Then he was gone.
Part Three
Cedar
Chapter Twenty-Nine
NOW
I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror in the lounge above the fireplace and was caught off-guard by the reflection staring back at me. How odd I looked with dreadlocks. So unlike myself. I was half-tempted to cut them off right then and there, but there was a more pressing matter building up inside me.
Looking down at myself I was aghast to see an ill-fitting vest and saggy shorts and quickly went to find something a bit more suitable in my closet.
Riffling through my closet, I decided on a dark blue button-down shirt and a slim-fitting pair of khaki chinos.
These would do nicely.
I grabbed a set of keys from the hook by the door and left.
The air was cooler than I had anticipated, but it didn’t matter. There would still be loads of people around tonight. I headed up from the beach and towards town, looking at things with fresh eyes as I walked. The first thing I noticed was the stares I was getting. So different from the looks I was used to. Some with curious eyes, others full of judgement. I didn’t care, though. Tonight, I wasn’t out to impress. Tonight, I was only after one thing. I knew what my body ached for and I knew exactly where to go to find it.
When I got to MAD bar, the place was moderately crowded but I found a stool by the bar where I sat and ordered a Mai Tai. It didn’t take long for the fishes to bite.
Within moments of my drink arriving, someone joined me on my left, lowering himself down on the stool next to me as he checked me out. His gaze lingered on my torso, which filled out the navy shirt more than it normally did, the buttons straining at the seams and hugging the muscles in my arms.
I kept my gaze focused straight ahead at the wall of liquor behind the bar. Sipping my drink nonchalantly as if unaware of his eyes focusing on me.
“¿Lo que, bebe?” he asked in an authentic Spanish accent, gesturing to my glass.
I took a moment to respond, enjoying the tension my silence created. He had turned his head to face me now, giving up on playing coy. He leaned against the bar in a seductive post and as I turned my eyes to see him more clearly, I took in his appearance.
“Mai Tai,” I responded in my newly gruff voice.
“Oh, you’re not Spanish,” he said in a tone of apology. I didn’t respond. Instead, I allowed myself to drink in the sight of him. How strange a look he was giving me. It was as if his eyes were saying dirty things to me, undressing me almost. Perhaps these were what people called “bedroom eyes.”
I didn’t think I had ever been regarded in such a way. Like a proper piece of meat. This man didn’t care what I did for a living or what my favourite colour was or where I grew up. As I studied his expression. There was only one thing behind his eyes.
Lust.
“My name’s Rodriguez,” he said to me, offering up his hand.
I didn’t respond straight away and I didn’t shake what was being presented. Instead I swivelled my chair so that we were face-to-face; profile to profile, and stared him down, a sly smile creeping up on my face. I ran a hand through my long, blond hair and puffed out my chest slightly, giving him a better appreciation of what I had to offer. His eyes followed suit as I hoped they would and before long I found myself standing up, closing in the distance between us until I could smell the scent of his aftershave and feel the heat emanating from his body. He moved back slightly at first, perhaps surprised at my forwardness. I allowed my hand that wasn’t clutching my drink to gently graze his arm, just enough so that he felt it.
When his eyes returned to my own, I parted my full lips and ran my tongue across them, moistening them seductively like I had seen done so many times before in the movies.
“You wanna get out of here?” I asked.
But I turned to leave before he could answer, knowing full well that he would follow. As I reached the door, he reached out his strong arm to open it for me in as gentlemanly a way as he could muster.
I smiled to myself as I led the way out of the bar and into the night.
He caught up quickly with me and attempted small talk as I led him towards a part of the beach where I knew we would be alone.
“So, uh, you from around here?”
“Yes,” I murmured in response.
“Cool. I, uh, know a place not far from here. Great food. Good music…”
I kept my eyes straight ahead, the destination being the only thing on my mind.
“Or we could go to my place, maybe?” he suggested.
“I’ve got a better idea…”
He was cute. Very good-looking, actually. Much hotter than any man who would normally give me any attention. My skin tingled all over with anticipation. I enjoyed feeling his eyes on me as we walked, watching my arse that filled out my chinos perfectly, if not making them appear slightly too tight. He wanted me. I knew it. From my peripheral vision, I could see him adjust himself in his jeans as perhaps the thought of what we were about to do danced through his mind.
“Not much of a talker, eh?”
“We’re almost there.”
We reached the spot I had in mind and I took him by the hand, enjoying the warm sensation of his hand in mine. I led the way down a grassy path, taking care with my footing on the jagged rocks that lined it. With my free hand, I moved branches out of the way from the low-hanging trees that skirted the trail. It was even darker down here now that we were away from any streetlamps and the moon above our heads was our only guide.
“Woah, where we headed?”
I’m sure I could sense a mild tinge of nerves to his voice as he ducked and moved to avoid getting a naked branch square in his eye.
“You sure you know where you’re going?”
Definite nerves.
“You’re not taking me somewhere so you can kill me, or something, are ya?”
His last sentence stopped me in my tracks. I paused for a minute, his hand still in mine, then turned to face him. “Now why would I do a thing like that?”
His expression, although cast in shadow, darkened and his bro
w furrowed as he considered the tone of my question. After a second of watching him flounder, I smiled to ease his tension.
He softened immediately and returned my smile, his gaze lingering on my lips. He let go of my hand and cupped my face as he lowered his head to mine for a kiss.
My body felt electric at the sensation of his lips pressed on mine. He was gentle, sensitive, and careful. I let my hands fall limp at my sides and closed my eyes and lost myself in the moment.
The feeling was exquisite. It had been so long since I’d felt longing from a guy. I parted my lips and let my tongue explore his mouth and invited him into mine. He gripped my face gently in his large hands, pulling me closer still until our bodies were pressed up against the other. His erection pressed up against my pelvis. I was growing hard too, lost in the sensation of his tongue licking my own.
It took all the effort I could muster to pull away and turn away from him before he could protest, and continue the last few metres towards the clearing to which we were headed.
“Ah, you tease…” he joked, following closely behind me.
After a few more paces the path opened out into the most beautiful secluded clearing.
“Oh, wow!” he said. “I had no idea this was even here.”
It was a small space I had discovered as a child that had remained all but unknown over the years. The gravelly terrain dissipated into a small sandy beach that was sheltered from the low-hanging palm trees and the tall, overgrown grass. The road behind was barely visible and the only light to illuminate the space was the glow from the moon up above, which danced and glittered on the waves in front of us.
“It’s gorgeous down here,” he said more to me than the surroundings. “How’d you ever find this place?”
But I had had enough of talking. I pulled his face into mine this time, planting my open mouth on his, forcefully yet passionately. He responded by returning my kiss. I explored his muscular arms, running my hands over his broad, rounded shoulders, tracing the bulging lines of his biceps.