by TJ Adams
It was a nondescript house in a nondescript street. The Scott’s were not people with money. Dominic had never worn designer labels, neither were all his books new. His dad’s car had looked like the first car he’d ever brought and his mom dressed like a frump. We’d been moderately wealthy, which made everything I did to Dominic worse.
I pulled in behind his mom’s car, the same car Dominic rode in to school. Seeing it gave me a weird time warp moment, like I hadn’t grown up at all. I sat in my car, rehearsing my lines with a creeping sense of dread. It’s not easy admitting your crimes, especially to those whose lives you’d ruined. Humble pie tasted bitter.
Enough dawdling, each time I remained here mentally tripping over my words was a moment lost to the soul snatcher.
Although they had little money, the Scott’s kept their home neat. White pavers checkered with trimmed grass wound a path through the small well-tended garden to the stone steps, lined with colorful gnomes at each end. I gently banged a large brass knocker after I’d scanned for a less abrasive way to announce myself. Through a small slot of opaque glass, I saw a shape move down the hallway, the thuds of the person’s feet in time with my growing apprehension. It would be so easy to apologize, say I had the wrong house and get on my way. Moments later I stared through a fly-screen door at a small woman looking too young to be Dominic’s mother.
“Can I help you?”
“Mrs Scott?”
“That’s right.”
“My name’s Matteo. I was a class mate of Dominic’s.”
Backlit by the sunlight streaming down the corridor from the backdoor, her face was an unreadable hue of grays.
“I was hoping I could talk to you about your son. I won’t take too much of your time.”
“Were you friends with Dominic?”
“I’d like to say yes, but I didn’t really know your son.”
She didn’t move, obviously wondering what a near stranger to her son would have to say about him.
“I’m sorry, this must seem like a surprise. If it’s an inconvenient moment, then I apologize. I can come back another time if it suits you better.”
“I guess you could come in, since you’ve bothered to come this way. My husband’s not here at the moment.”
She unlatched the screen door and held it wide for me, skimming her eyes over me as I entered. What would she see? A man the age her son would be had he lived. And what would she see at the end once I finished saying what I came here to say; a murderer?
The top of her head reached my chest. I remembered Dominic being short, and this was the reason why.
“Would you like a cool drink?” She flushed, perhaps realizing she sounded like she was speaking to a teenage boy. “Or maybe a beer. I think Harold has some in the fridge somewhere.”
“I’m fine for now, ma’am.”
I followed her into the small but neat kitchen, were she automatically flicked the switch to the kettle, then dug a round, floral tin out of the cupboard, looking reminiscent of mom’s cake tins, enough to squeeze my chest a little seeing it.
“I don’t want to sound rude but I can’t understand why you’re here if you barely knew Dominic.”
“We were in the same year at school, shared a few classes. I wanted to tell you how sorry I am for what happened.”
“That was a long time ago.”
“And this is coming too late. I’m sorry for that…I blame myself for Dominic’s death.”
I could tell by her eyes she didn’t know how to respond.
I plowed on. “I wasn’t a nice person when I was at school. I victimized Dominic for no other reason than because he wasn’t one of us. I thought it made me a big person, but I was too blind to see how small minded I’d become. After all these years, I’m sorry for dredging painful history back to the present, but I wanted to apologize for what I’d done because I will never get a chance to say my apology to Dominic. And this is probably me only thinking about myself and how I needed to release my guilt, and not about you, who probably doesn’t want to be reminded any longer.”
Mrs Scott stared at the kitchen counter for long enough I was about to interrupt the silence with more useless words of apology as I didn’t know how to say it right.
“Ten years I’ve always blamed myself.” She said.
Okay, so what do I say to that? A mother would always find guilt when suicide was involved.
“It’s people who—”
“No, don’t try to make an excuse. I failed to protect him.”
“But if he never told you what happened in school.”
“It wasn’t school. Dominic’s father is a difficult man, a harsh, domineering man. I believe he wanted the best for Dominic, but his ways were too severe. I contemplated leaving him on many occasions, but the truth was I had nothing. A single mother with a young boy, we would’ve been destitute. I was seventeen when Dominic was born. I didn’t even finish senior year. Dominic’s father has always controlled the accounts, everything actually. But he’s changed now. Dominic’s death changed him. He’s a broken man. That is why I stay. That is why it’s my fault. I should’ve protected my son more.”
“I want to say I’m sorry for what happened, the part I played, but those words seem inadequate.”
The whistling kettle acted as the puncture in the taut moment, but Mrs Scott chose to ignore it.
“You’re probably wondering why we remained in this house.”
I stayed mute.
“Harold wanted to move, but I refused. And for the first time he listened to me. As I said, he’s a broken man. For ten years he’s barely slept. He says a weight has sunk into his heart. I say guilt, but he says it’s more. He describes it as a restrictive force that squeezes his chest. He says it’s taken all his joy. But I feel close to Dominic here. I go into his room a lot and lay on his bed. When I do that I feel connected to him. I know it sounds silly. But it’s what’s helped me get through these years.”
I remained mute, but for another reason.
“Do you mind if I have a look at his room.” I tried to stay somber, in keeping with the mood, despite my growing jitters.
“I guess it would be all right.” She started off out the kitchen door. “Harold has never been inside Dominic’s room since his death. He says his heart turns dark whenever he passes by. Guilt does terrible things to a person.”
Because the house was small we didn’t walk far before Mrs Scott halted out the front of a door marked with danger and keep out signs, things I would’ve hung on my bedroom door, but my bedroom was now a spare room and not a shrine of remembrance.
I felt nothing untoward standing here, so I stepped inside. The curtains were drawn back, the room light and airy, looking nothing like I’d expected. It was spotless despite the obvious signs of a teenage boy. I knew from filtered reports, this was where his parents found him hours after he’d committed suicide.
The idea his mother felt close to her son in the place he ended his life sounded wrong. The only explanation I could think was supernatural. Did Dominic still haunt the house, bringing his mother a sense of connection and his father a sense of shame?
Mrs Scott sat on the bed and smoothed the cover with one hand, lovingly, like you would a favorite dog. Her actions sent a shot of adrenaline up my spine. The hairs on my neck spiked to attention. I’d seen enough in the last few months to follow my gut when I believed things were wrong, and right now my instincts were ramming me in the face.
I moved to the montage of photos I’d looked at the day of his funeral. On alert, my eyes skimmed the photos, not seeing the people in them. I was more interested in attempting to sense the supernatural, which wasn’t an ability I’d developed, but maybe if I remained still enough…
His mother came up beside me. “His friends meant a lot to him. More than his father ever did.” She looked at me. “Don’t you think that is a terrible thing? Your parents should be the most important people in your world. At least he still loved me.” After a silence she
asked. “Are you close to your mother?”
I stared at her and nodded. She looked at the photos, smiling like someone reflecting on fond memories.
I understood why Mrs Scott refused to leave this house. Her grief cocooned her in a false world; one where she almost believed Dominic was still with her. Perhaps this house held nothing more than a mother’s fierce resistance in accepting her loss. Was I chasing a false trail?
“Maybe I can bring us up something to eat. I’ll let you reacquaint yourself.”
“Here?” I quirked my eyebrows. Did she really want to eat in his room? “Like I said, I didn’t really know him.”
“We’ll go through some of his year books. There’s a stack of journals too. I never knew he kept those.” She patted my hand. “Start at the draw second from the top. I won’t be long.”
Was she kidding me?
As I watched her leave I wondered if mom regularly visited Trinity’s old room. Like my own, her room had long ago been transformed into another useful place, this time a place to house her sewing machine and material. I knew everything that had come from Trinity’s apartment remained untouched in their shed, but perhaps mom went out there to wander around the boxes, the only thing remaining to signify she’d once had a daughter.
I turned back to the photos, but with the slamming door I spun, half expecting to see Mrs Scott. The room was empty. The window was open and a slight breeze ruffled the curtain so I thought nothing of it.
Giving up on the photos, I headed for the chest of draws Mrs Scott indicated only to be slammed into by an invisible force and flung back across the room. My breath whooshed out when I hit the wall. I groaned from the radiating pain of my sore hand, which hit the wall the same time as the rest of me. The pain distracted me for a couple of seconds before my brain caught up to speed. No false trails here. Dominic haunted this house. And he was not happy to see me.
11
Just as Jackson would forever be stuck with a cigarette hanging from his lips, Cynthia would remain with spiky pink hair.
With hands folded across her chest, she frowned at me. I hadn’t even opened my mouth and she was in a cranky mood, most likely due to my summoning her here. During the time I’d known her, Cynthia had yet to crack a smile that held genuine mirth, so perhaps her mood had more to do with her personality than anything else.
“You called.” The sarcasm would strip paint.
“I need your advice.”
She turned her back on me. “I’ve got nothing to give you.”
“This is not about Matteo.” Not directly at least.
She eyed me from over her shoulder. “Could that possibly be true?”
“I’ve got another which supernatural is that problem.”
She sighed, exasperated, and rolled her eyes. “Honestly, I was a reaper for years before I met half the things you’ve run into in the space of a few months. Why do you attract trouble?”
“I don’t. Not intentionally.”
“What is it this time?”
“Come and I’ll show you.”
I grabbed her hand and before she could protest we zipped along the supernatural highway and got off at the hospital corridor around the corner from Dot’s room.
“What were you doing at the hospital?”
“I was in an accident and died.”
“You what?” She grabbed me by my shoulders. “Bounty, how could you be foolish enough to get yourself killed? Did anyone see? You can’t be walking around alive if you’re recorded as dead. That’s so far against the rules Death will chain you in purgatory.”
“Is there such a place?”
“What does it matter? You’re so bloody stupid.”
“Cool it. I got as far as the morgue, then revived in time to set my death record straight. A lot of doctors are closer to believing in miracles thanks to me.”
Cynthia buried her head in her palms.
“I didn’t bring you here to berate me. I need to introduce you to someone. He’s some weird, creepy supernatural.”
“All supernaturals are weird and creepy, so your description narrows the possibility of what it could be down to anything.”
“This way.” We rounded the corner, ahead the door to Dot’s room. I waited, expecting it to swirl into another spiraling vortex, but it remained harmlessly inert.
Just as I was about to lead Cynthia forward Akako zoomed across my path. He halted mid-flight and shrieked a thin, small sound when he spied Cynthia. Both of them blinked at each other.
“Who is this vision of beauty?” Akako said.
Cynthia snorted a loud huh sound, as Akako swept into another one of his low bows.
“I thought I told you to be permanently invisible.”
“You know this…” Cynthia couldn’t find the right description.
“Akako, at your service.”
“I thought it was me you wanted to serve.”
“Of course, my lady, but when faced with such overwhelming-”
“What is going on?” Cynthia’s harsh tone sliced through the void, silencing both of us.
“Akako is a kagi.”
Cynthia stared at me, waiting for more information.
“You know, spirits of ancestral clans.”
She shook her head. “How is it you never made it across to the other side? Why didn’t the reapers of your time clear you out?”
“Oh my lady.” There was true horror in his voice. “We are not ghosts. Our place is here in the void.”
“This is something entirely new.” She said. “I must ask Marylee if she has heard of the kagi before.”
“And kami, they’re the good version.” I said.
“He seems harmless enough.” Cynthia looked down her nose at him.
Akako reared up, both arms extended like he was about to pounce, and bared sharp teeth. “Harmless we are not. I was a great warrior, second only to the great Okejulli.”
“Well, you’re less than a meter tall now and ill formed, so I’d stick my head back in if I were you.” Cynthia said.
Akako disappeared.
“You offended him.”
“How do you know him?”
“He wants to serve me, or so he said. But he doesn’t seem too faithful.”
Cynthia was about to say more but a force smashed into the two of us and sent us mopping the floor on our asses back down the corridor-metaphorically speaking of course. A nurse rounded the corner as we slid past and Cynthia sped through her. The nurse dropped the metal trays she was carrying with a gasp and they clanged to the floor, drawing staff from the nearby rooms to check on who made all the noise.
“What just happened?” Cynthia said.
I was on my feet, grabbing Cynthia’s hand as I went. It’s not like I had to drag her up because she technically had no form.
“Quick, we don’t want to lose it.”
She wisely kept her mouth shut and sped alongside me. This time it was me that passed through the poor nurse while she was bent retrieving her pans. There was no time to worry about dodging mortals. The flash of her emotions slowed my mad flight, and I struggled to shake them off and keep going.
We burst into Dot’s room to find the creepy creature’s long arms extended over Dot’s bed. A white light emanated from around Dot’s chest and into its palms.
“Hey.” I shouted. “Back off.”
Like pushing a heavy object, I threw my arms outward, palms facing forward and concentrated on sending the creature to oblivion. Like a rag doll thrown, its long limbs flapped about as it disappeared through the wall. Good to know that little trick worked. It always did for ghosts, but the creature wasn’t a ghost, so I was unsure how much influence I would have over it.
“That’s my problem.” I jabbed a finger in the direction it had departed and glared at Cynthia.
She was frozen in place, eyes bulging like she’d only just discovered that supernaturals existed.
“Cynthia?”
She didn’t blink. I waved a hand in fr
ont of her face. “What’s got into you?”
She spun. “I’m out of here.”
“Wait up.”
We were in the corridor before I caught her. “Stop.” I spun her to face me. “You’re acting weird. Surely you’ve seen worse than that thing.”
“Find someone else to help you. I want nothing to do with this.”
She wrenched free of me and disappeared.
I returned to the room. Once inside, out of prying eyes I crossed into the mortal realm. Up close I saw Dot’s chest rise and fall. It had failed to steal her soul. What was this creature that it could take the soul from the living? I thought only Death had that power.
Bloody Cynthia. If she thought I would let her cowardice go, she was about to be disappointed.
12
With Dot all right I turned my attention to Cynthia. My mind was a heat sinking missile with my reapers now. They couldn’t escape from me. All it took was a little concentration on my target and I would find my way to her side, or I could just yank her ass back. The idea was appealing, but I wished to show my reapers more respect than that.
Before her mental vibe came down the supernatural line, which gave me something to latch on to, Kiara appeared in front of me.
“You’ve got to come.”
“I’m in the middle of chasing Cynthia.”
“What’s she done?”
“It’s what she hasn’t done. I never would’ve expected her to be freaked out by anything.”
“You’ve got the wrong Cynthia.” Kiara glanced passed me to Dot sleeping. “Why are you here? Who’s the woman?”
“What do you want, Kiara?” I didn’t need to embarrass myself in front of her by demonstrating how once again I was caught in another Matteo drama.
“Mora. She’s leaving.”
“Why do you care? You can reach her anywhere.”
“She’s going hunting.”
“She’s a jinn hunter.”
“Who nearly got herself killed.”