Obscura Burning

by van Rooyen, Suzanne

  “Thanks.” I lift the lid. It smells delicious. “And thanks for the supplies. Getting damn bored in here.”

  “How you doing?” he asks as I start eating.

  “My dad was here earlier. They’re getting a divorce.”

  “I’m so sorry, Kyle.”

  “I’m not,” I say before shoveling more chili into my mouth—green pepper, super spicy. “My mom’s fucking some other guy and my dad’s a drunk who beats the crap out of me. Just a pity it took me almost dying to get him out the house. If I’d known, I would’ve taken a bunch of pills years ago.”

  “Dios mio.” Danny holds up his hands to slow me down. “Your mom?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “You really mean that, about taking pills sooner to get your dad gone?”

  “Why? You going to run and tell the nurses again?”

  Danny squirms in his chair, rolls back and forth in the paraplegic equivalent of pacing.

  “What was I supposed to do? That was some weird-ass shit you dropped on me, Kyle.”

  “I told my dad about us.” I don’t have the energy to argue with him, easier to change the topic.

  “Really?”

  “Yup. Told him I was gay and that I’ve been sleeping with you.”

  “Holy crap, how’d he take it?”

  “He’s leaving, going to drive trucks. Don’t think he gives a crap who I’m banging, all things considered.”

  “He’s still your dad, Kyle.”

  “Unfortunately.”

  Danny watches me eat the rest of my lunch in silence.

  “So why does a squirrel swim on its back?” he starts, and I’m already grinning.

  “Do squirrels even swim?” I ask.

  “They do, on their backs.” A dramatic pause. “To keep their nuts dry.”

  My chuckle turns into a painful cough.

  “Pity you’re gonna miss the dance tomorrow. I really wanted to see you in that sombrero,” Danny says, catching his bottom lip with an upper incisor. Such a tease.

  I think of Mya and Prof. Cruz, and Obscura. It takes a while for the cogs to get turning in my head. The meds are making complex thought a challenge.

  “You’re thinking awful hard about something.”

  I chew my bottom lip for a bit before lowering my voice. “I need you to do something for me.”

  Danny leans toward the bed as we communicate in conspiratorial tones.

  “Bust me out of here tomorrow night?” I ask.

  “That’s mad.” Danny looks at me with that intense black stare of his that always stirs hurricanes inside me. I guess that’s love, being undone by a look.

  “I want to go to the dance,” I say.

  “You’ve got pneumonia.”

  “That’s not why I’m here, and you know it.”

  Danny’s tan complexion pales a little at the jibe. “Why you want to go so badly?”

  “You know I hate hospitals.”

  “I don’t know—”

  “Please, Daniel.”

  “How’m I gonna bust you out with me in this chair?” He raises his eyebrows at me.

  “Just get Gabriela to drive you over. I’ll meet you in the parking lot.”

  “You’re loco.” He tries to swallow the word but it’s too late. “I didn’t mean—”

  “Whatever.” I wave away the comment. “Just be here tomorrow night. Nine p.m. And bring the sombrero.”

  Danny smiles and so do I. The fragile beginnings of a plan are starting to form, but for anything to work, I need out of this damn bed. First escape from hospital, then take on Obscura. Unless I can direct my next shift and end up back on April 6.

  “I’m really tired, Dan.” I am tired, but more importantly, I need to shift.

  “OK, I’ll stay till you’re asleep.” He takes my hand and starts humming a Spanish lullaby, the one his mom used to sing us whenever I slept over at his place to avoid my dad.

  Danny squeezes my hand and keeps on humming.

  * * *

  The dream is different this time. There’s sunshine on my face and we’re sitting at a wooden picnic table. Guards with their guns hover on the periphery. Mya looks straight at me and lights my cigarette. I inhale, expecting tea leaves, but get a mouthful of menthol instead. The taste is foul, but worth it for the smoldering orange tip. I blow, a steady stream of breath encouraging a brighter glow. Watching things burn always has such a calming effect.

  “Do you know where you are?” she asks. Not Mya’s voice. One I’ve heard before though. Itching familiarity.

  “I’m dreaming?”

  “Are you?”

  “I’m not?”

  “You tell me.” Sounds like a damn shrink. The embers flare in the breeze as ash flakes and drops to the table.

  “It’s like my comic book story.” I scan the yard, half expecting to see others in orange, but we’re alone.

  She folds her arms and leans toward me. “So tell me what happens next in your story.”

  “You’re going to get me out of here.”

  It’s not Mya who returns my smile, but Amy. “Only you can get yourself out of here, Kyle.”

  The fences elongate, razor wire dangling above my head like a baby’s mobile from a nightmare realm.

  “Not without your help.”

  “I am helping you. But now you need to help yourself.” She reaches for my hand, but her grip slips as she gets sucked away in a vortex of dust and shadow.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Danny’s dead

  The dream disintegrates and I trip over my feet, skinning my palms on rock. Blood trickles from my nose, out of my ears and down my neck, staining the white shirt I don’t remember putting on this morning.

  Tuesday, July 3, 09:02. Danny’s memorial starts at 10:30.

  The day’s sweltering, the hottest yet with a warm wind blowing dust in my face as I head down the path toward Shira’s, cursing at the cloudless sky. I’d wanted April 6.

  I keep the date in my head, repeating it over and over under my breath until the words lose meaning. As the trailer comes into view, a mirage shimmers across my vision.

  The air condenses around me, an accordion motion that leaves me nauseated and disoriented.

  For the umpteenth time, my lunch escapes—chili con carne burns all the way up my esophagus. A glass of water would be awesome around about now, but that’s a luxury I don’t have. The Nirvana shirt clings to my sweaty chest, the Nirvana shirt I haven’t worn since April 6. That shirt should be lying crumpled under my bed, just an unpleasant reminder of my infidelity.

  Despite the migraine that feels like my whole skull’s being trepanned, a smile tweaks up the corners of my lips. I got my wish. It’s April 6 again. Now, to just not repeat past mistakes, and that’s easy. Just don’t see Shira today. My feet carry me up the path, away from the trailer. A bout of swirling vertigo lands me back outside Shira’s trailer, fist knocking on the door. Panic knots up my insides. There’s no stopping it; I couldn’t just walk away.

  Shira answers after two knocks, her long hair in twin braids making her look every bit the Navajo.

  “Kyle?”

  Before, there’d been no hesitation. I just stepped right up and kissed her, pushing her back into the trailer, not giving her time to argue. This time’ll be different, even if it takes every ounce of willpower to change my actions. My hands are trembling, the blood beating black metal drums in my ears as my feet carry me closer to her against my will.

  “You don’t look so good.” She steps out of the trailer.

  “I love Danny.” I force the words through gritted teeth. Trying not to repeat the past feels a bit like blazing my own trail through a thorny thicket. There’s a footpath clear of debris lying before me, offering an easy stroll, and here I am trying to force myself through a stand of acacia.

  “I know.” Shira smiles at me. There’s something behind that smile, playing in the depths of her eyes.

  “I don’t want to sleep wi
th you.”

  “No, don’t suppose you do.” She’s laughing, and for a moment, the branches bend to my will, letting me gain some new ground. Still, the trailer door is open, inviting. Shira’s so small. It wouldn’t take much effort to sweep her up in my arms and whisk her to bed.

  Do not sleep with Shira. It becomes a looping mantra.

  Teeth on my tongue and the taste of blood. The pain helps clear my head. If I can change this moment right now, maybe everything else would be OK as well.

  Do not sleep with Shira.

  “Sorry.” The words stick in my throat. “I shouldn’t be here.”

  “Are you leaving?” she asks, dragging a bare toe through the sand. Wind chimes clatter in the breeze, drawing my attention back to the open trailer door.

  It’s too hard, it’s impossible to change what’s already been done.

  She’s kissing me then and I’m kissing her back, drawn down in a black tide of despair. Maybe Mya was right; maybe there’s no point trying to change the past.

  Shira pulls away and gives me a sad smile. “You ready?”

  I shake my head.

  “I know this is hard, Kyle. But we’re doing it for Danny.”

  The world slams back into focus. Flash forward thirteen weeks.

  Shira’s in black, a neat little dress with a modest neckline. Thick eyeliner and burgundy lips—she looks like a doll.

  “Your ears!” she shrieks. “Holy crow, you’re bleeding.” She drags me into the trailer, sits me down on a stool.

  Deep breaths. It takes several long moments before I’ve regained composure. Shira’s dabbing my ears then trying to rub the blood out of my white shirt collar.

  “I need to tell you something.”

  “Like why your ears are bleeding?” Her face is pinched with concern.

  Taking her hand, I pull her round to stand between my knees. She stares into my eyes expectantly.

  “You ever heard of the multiverse?”

  She shakes her head and bites her lip. After a brief summary of the physics, I finally divulge my deep, dark secret.

  “According to this Princeton professor, Obscura’s caused a rift in this multiverse, making it possible to shift between alternate realities.”

  Her eyes widen and she sits down on the stool opposite me. “Say that again.”

  I do, and she shakes her head.

  “That sounds crazy. You really think it’s possible?” Given all her New Age juju, I’m not sure why she’s having a tough time believing it.

  “Yes, it is, because it’s been happening to me and dozens of others.” The rest comes out in one long rush, my tongue tripping over the words in my desperation to be rid of the secret.

  “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” she asks, looking hurt.

  “I didn’t know how to.” I try to hide behind my fringe.

  “So all this time, you’ve been seeing Daniel in this other world and you didn’t think it important enough to tell me?” Fat tears well out of her black-lined eyes and streak charcoal down her cheeks.

  “I’m sorry, I just—”

  “No.” She tosses the towel at me. “I don’t want to hear it. This whole time?” She shakes her head, wipes her cheek, only smearing the makeup and making it worse. “I don’t like you very much at the moment.”

  “I can understand that.”

  “And this Mya girl. You tell her and not me? Are you sleeping with her too, Kyle?”

  “No, she’s just a friend.” The blush warms my cheeks at the memory of Mya’s lips on mine.

  Shira folds her arms and juts out a hip. “You knew I blamed myself for his death, and you’re too afraid to tell me there’s this other world where I’m dead? You don’t think I’d want to know about it, maybe send Danny a message to say I’m sorry?”

  A fresh wave of blood heats my face. I hadn’t even considered that either of them might want to contact each other.

  “So you believe me?”

  “Of course I do. It explains why you’ve been acting so weird.”

  “I’m sorry, Shira.” Should’ve told her ages ago.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” Her dark eyes bore holes through my chest, through my very soul.

  “Honestly…” I’ve screwed everything else up, might as well tell the truth. “Because I was jealous of you and Danny. I wanted him to myself.”

  “You were jealous of me?” Her bottom lip trembles and fresh tears flow down her face, drip off her jaw. “Danny was going to run away with you to New York. You were both going to leave me. He chose to be with you.” She buries her face in her hands and her shoulders shudder.

  Holy crap, Danny’d told her about his plan. Little good in berating myself now, though, for being an inconsiderate and selfish asshole. Everything Mya said was true; I’m an awful human being.

  “Why do you think I did what I did, huh?” Her voice is full of cracks, misery oozing out of them, thick and heavy.

  “What did you do?” Her slim shoulders fit so easily under my arm. She tries to fight me, beating her fists against my chest and I let her. Then she folds in my embrace, soaking my sleeve with black tears.

  “I’ve been such an idiot,” I whisper into her ear when she doesn’t answer, kissing her hair. “I am so sorry, Shira.”

  “I should never have done it, but I was hurt and angry.” Her words come out staccato between her sobs.

  “Is that why you slept with me?” I hold her away from me, looking at her face.

  She looks up at me with smudged eyes. “I thought that maybe you wouldn’t want Daniel any more, not after… And at least I’d still have one of you. Stupid, right? I was just so afraid of losing what we had. Guess that makes me pretty pathetic.”

  “No, I get it, Shira.”

  “Why did you sleep with me, though? And even after Dan… I just don’t understand.” She swallows hard, looking at me with eyes full of expectation.

  Words never seem enough, totally inadequate for expressing the thoughts in my head. “Don’t know, maybe… I thought maybe I wasn’t gay, or that I could fix it, fix me. And then after Danny died, being with you was like…”

  “Being with him?”

  I nod and she hugs me. “I kinda felt the same way.”

  We stand for a while just hugging each other and this simple embrace feels better than anything else we’ve ever shared.

  “You’ve been feeling confused lately, right?” She pulls away, studying my face. I nod.

  “Feeling tired? Dizzy? Lack of appetite? Seeing strange things sometimes, any nightmares?”

  All over my body, fine hairs are standing at attention. I swallow before speaking. “Yeah, how did you know that?”

  “I don’t know about rifts in multiple universes or anything, but I know about ghost sickness.”

  Great, Native superstition. Incense bath incoming. “Seriously?”

  “You’re so quick to believe in multiple realities but won’t consider a spirit world? Isn’t that just an alternate reality?” She folds her arms, her face dressed in irritation.

  “You’ve got a point. So what about ghost sickness then? Can it be cured?”

  “I’m no expert, but I know someone who is.”

  “I’m not spending nine days in some crumbling hogan, communing with Mother Earth.”

  Her eyes flash with anger and her lips draw tight together, letting me know I’ve crossed the line, offending her.

  “Sorry.”

  “You should be. You really know nothing about anything. I’m just asking you to talk to someone who might have more answers than this Professor Cruz. Or are you too afraid to face the ghosts that might be haunting you?” She raises her delicate eyebrows. It’s a challenge and I can’t back down.

  “Fine, I’ll go see your medicine man.”

  “Show a little respect.” We glare at each other, but the intensity of her stare makes me cave and apologize again.

  “When can we go?”

  “I’ll let you know. Niyol isn’t alway
s around,” she says.

  “It has to be before tomorrow night.”

  “Or else the world will end?” Shira rolls her eyes.

  “If this ghost sickness doesn’t kill me first.” That’s a sobering thought, and Shira nods.

  “We’re going to be late for the memorial,” she says, going over to the sink to wash her face. “Your shirt’s a mess. You can’t wear that.”

  “Think Danny couldn't care less.” I smooth the creases from my shirt.

  “Will you tell Daniel I’m sorry, about everything?” She takes my hand as we leave the trailer.

  “Of course.” Her fingers feel frail in my hand. “Thank you for believing me.”

  “Thank you for being honest, finally.” She kisses my cheek with a grin. We both put on our stoic faces as we head toward the cemetery.

  * * *

  Except for the unpleasant ice cream incident, I haven’t seen any of Danny’s family since before the fire, having so far managed to avoid them in town. It’s easier that way, for all of us.

  Now they’re here, gathered near Danny’s grave. Not sure why they felt the need to make this already morbid event even more macabre by holding it at this hole in the ground. The lettering is barely visible beneath the wreaths of flowers, rosary beads, and dripping candles. His tombstone reads Juan Daniel Quijano Martinez, Beloved Son and Brother. Friend and lover too, but they forgot to chisel that in stone.

  The tombstone to the right is small, bearing only his baby sister’s name and the year she was born. His uncle’s stone is older, weathered with the engraving in Spanish.

  His mom, dad, and Gabriela look somber in black. I haven’t been to his grave either. With him alive in the other reality, it just never really felt necessary to visit a pile of bones.

  The whole town’s turned up, with flowers and candles, wide-brimmed hats and sad faces. None of it seems real.

  “I can’t do this.”

  “Yes, you can. Just think of Daniel.”

  “Alive and in a wheelchair?”

  “No, happy and whole and totally in love with you,” Shira says. Her tone is gentle, but her words clear admonishment. Her fingers squeeze mine. I don’t deserve her friendship.