“Good. I was…well, I was worried about her.”
He knows something, Michelle thought. She swallowed the lump in her throat, afraid of the question she was about to ask. “Why would you worry about her?”
“She was partying at my friend Steve’s house. She and Steve, well, I guess they hooked up or something.”
“Steve Mann?” Michelle asked. In her book there was no greater asshole in the world. The son of rich parents, Steve had thrown all the parties, banged all the cheerleaders, and delivered much abuse. For four years, he’d referred to Michelle and Laura as “The Isle of Lesbos.” He’d mocked them in hallways, in classrooms, and nothing had ever been done about it. He was worse than a bully. He was untouchable.
The thought of his tongue down Laura’s throat brought intense pain, and she didn’t know where to direct the bulk of her anger—at Laura or Steve.
Corey nodded, and Michelle retreated into a state of silent judgment. Steve no more thought of Corey as a friend than the Pope thought of Muslims as God’s children. But he was the type of weak, insecure soul who tossed around names like Steve Mann so that he’d appear part of a higher order. Nothing more than a paltry ass-kisser, and she hated his kind. But there were bigger worries.
The black eye and scratch on Laura’s face loomed like prehistoric beasts over the Tokyo of her mind.
“What’s wrong, Shell?” Sabrina asked.
“Huh?” Michelle blinked against the bright day and hugged herself.
“Looked like you were going into a fugue there.”
Michelle glanced around. Corey was gone. “Where did that guy go?”
“Flicked his butt and stepped inside,” Sabrina replied. “He tried to talk to you, but you just stared at him like he was a stale loaf of bread.”
“Was I rude?”
“Totally.”
“Wow. Sorry.”
“Nah, it rocked. Has anyone ever told you how bizarre you are?”
“Sorry.”
“Stop apologizing already. Strange I like. It’s normal that gives me the heebie-jeebies.”
Michelle smiled. “So we’re friends, huh?”
“That’s the way I see it. I don’t have many, but I know one when I see one.”
“I find that hard to believe. Who wouldn’t kill to be your friend?”
Sliding into a fake southern accent, Sabrina said, “I do declare, Ms. Breedlove, I reckon you may have a little crush on me.”
A blush rushed Michelle’s face, and she staggered back. “That obvious, huh?”
Sabrina laughed. “Written all over your grill the second I saw you.” She took a drag from her cigarette and extended a light touch to Michelle’s shoulder. “Don’t worry about it, kid. If I had a buck for every chick who wanted to fuck me.”
“You’d be a millionaire.”
“Well, I’d have at least five bucks that I don’t have now.”
“I think you’re being modest.”
Sabrina shook her head. “Not a virtue I’ve ever been accused of, but thanks.”
Michelle looked at her watch then into the distance.
“Something that boy said is bothering you?”
“Maybe.”
“Is Laura your girlfriend?”
“No. Not really, but—”
“But you care about her, don’t you?”
“A lot.”
“What happened?”
“Someone beat her up at that party.”
“Steve Mann?”
“That’s my guess.”
“Hmmm…let’s say you and I hang with Corey Stillman after work. Find out what’s really going on.”
Part of Michelle wanted to say no, afraid that nothing good could come from ignoring Laura’s wishes. Still, on the cusp of a promising new alliance, she couldn’t deny the new warmth and power that surged deep inside.
“Sounds good,” Michelle said.
3
One minute, Sabrina called to Corey across the parking lot. And Michelle, locked in brisk strides with her new friend, felt better than she had in a long time. She was an agent of action.
That was one minute.
Things redlined in the next, Sabrina grabbing the boy by the throat, squeezing hard. “Did your sweet Stevie beat her?” she demanded through a clenched scowl.
“Sabrina,” Michelle pleaded.
“Got a zero-tolerance policy for guys who beat women,” Sabrina growled at Michelle.
“I do, too, but—”
“Let go of me,” Corey squealed. “I-I’ll…tell you everything I know.”
Sabrina eased her grip, Corey’s face fading from bright red back to pink. He coughed a couple times then took a deep breath.
“Sorry, Corey,” Michelle said, “I didn’t mean—”
“Don’t apologize,” Sabrina snapped, “especially not to a cockroach.”
“All I know,” Corey wheezed, “is that Steve and Laura were on the couch, getting it on. The party had died down, it was about three or four in the morning, and I went into the kitchen to see if there was any more beer in the fridge, but there wasn’t. So I came back into the living room, and they were gone. I sat down and started watching TV, feeling like I was gonna pass out at any minute. I was really drunk. And then I heard something going on upstairs, like…like a fight or something.”
“Then what?” Michelle asked. Anger boiled, and she wanted to strangle Corey herself.
“Laura came running down the stairs all beat up,” he said. “That’s all I know, I promise. Don’t know what happened to her or why. She rushed out the door so fast, and, like I said, I was drunk and not really in the mood to get in the middle of a lover’s squabble.”
“Listen, asshole,” Michelle shouted. “Those two aren’t lovers.”
Corey raised his hands. “Hey, I was just the drunk guy on the couch. If you want the facts, ask your friend. She’s bound to know a lot more than me.” He rubbed his neck and coughed again, then he looked at Sabrina. “Damn, you’re strong, girl.”
“Don’t forget it,” Sabrina replied.
He pulled a limp cigarette from his pocket, lit it, took a drag. “Can I go now?”
Sabrina pushed him away with a firm palm. And he ran, didn’t walk, toward his car.
“That was intense,” Michelle said.
“Like I said, I do everything fast.”
“Yeah, but he would have talked to you.”
They started walking again. “He would have told us half of what he knows. Losers like that always say too much, but they don’t say everything without pressure. They wanna stir shit up, but they’re always protecting someone. Fuck-sticks like Corey live on the fence. And when you’re dealing with fence-jockeys, strike fast and ask questions later.”
“I guess, but—”
“Question is, what are you gonna do with the information?”
Michelle didn’t have an easy answer.
Sabrina stopped walking and stood in front of Michelle. “Well?”
“I don’t know yet. I should talk to Laura about it.” Michelle looked around the lot. “Where are you parked?”
“Had to sell my wheels to pay overdue parking tickets. Pretty ironic, huh?”
“Something like that.”
“How ’bout you?”
“I’m on foot, too. Got my mom’s Lexus in the garage, but I don’t like to drive it.”
“Lexus—fancy schmancy. I’ll drive it if she’s not.”
“She’s dead.”
In an instant all of Sabrina’s posturing dissolved. “I’m sorry.”
“Great, now I’ve got you apologizing.”
“I know I must come across as a tough bitch.”
“Don’t worry about it. That’s usually my role. Nice to let someone else play it for a while, even if you play it a lot harder than I ever could.”
“I’m not always this way. I still act like a little girl with my folks, just can’t break the habit ’cause I love them so damn much.” Sabrina pulled a blist
er-pack of gum out of her pocket and popped two pieces in her mouth. “I can’t even imagine losing them.”
“Lost my dad when I was eleven.”
“Holy shit.”
Michelle put her hands in her pockets, shifting uncomfortably.
“Things are getting too deep, huh?” Sabrina asked.
“Yep.”
“Why don’t we hang for a while? You can come over to my house and I can show you my books. My parents have become a little strange in their old age, but you’ll like them. They don’t judge.”
“And here I thought you were chewing all that gum to cover the smell of cigarette smoke.”
“Hey, I said they didn’t judge, not that I want to give them any reason to.”
“Can you promise me one thing?”
“Whatever you want, sunshine.”
“Can we not discuss my past or anything remotely dark for the rest of the day?”
Sabrina put her arm around Michelle, and they started walking. “You bet, sister.”
“Oh,” Michelle added, “and don’t ever call me sunshine again.”
4
Sabrina’s parents were much different from her. Like something out of a Norman Rockwell painting or a ’50s sitcom, Stan and River Drake posed in the living room. He in his easy chair, a Kansas City Star folded neatly in his lap. And River—strange name for someone so prim, Michelle thought—stood next to him in a flattering but bourgeois housedress.
In a slow, sweet voice, Sabrina said, “This is my friend, Michelle.”
Stan nodded and smiled. And River said, “Welcome, Michelle. Can I get you girls something to drink?”
“I’m fine,” Michelle said, “but it’s very nice meeting you.”
“Likewise,” said Stan. Putting his paper on the coffee table, he turned to Sabrina. “How was your first day, hon?”
“Okay, I guess,” she replied.
River looked at Michelle and asked, “Do you work for Anon, too?”
“We met in training,” Sabrina said.
“You girls are going to love that job,” Stan said.
“Hard to tell on the first day?” Michelle offered weakly.
Stan and River’s expressions soured, Stan getting ready to say something. But Sabrina beat him to the punch. “It’s great so far!”
Smiles returned.
Creepy.
Michelle kept her thoughts to herself in the protracted quiet that followed. The four judgmental eyes on her were nothing new.
Do they know who I am?
Are they connected to the hive-mind right now?
Michelle glanced at Sabrina, who didn’t—at least not outwardly—regard the moment as weird.
Is she part of this?
“Michelle’s interested in my bibliomania, so I invited her over to look at my books.”
“You two should look over your training manuals,” Stan said.
“That’s the book that matters now,” River added.
They said those things in a cold, hollow manner. And a shiver raced up Michelle’s spine.
Sabrina laughed nervously, then, to Michelle’s surprise, said, “Sure thing.” Before Michelle could say anything, Sabrina grabbed her hand and they rushed down a hall.
Comfort returned the second Michelle stepped into Sabrina’s room. The smell of print and old paper hung heavy in the air, nary an inch of wall space consumed by anything other than a book. Even though the room was huge, probably intended as the house’s master, it felt incredibly small. Around Sabrina’s unmade bed, stacks and stacks of paperbacks filled the floor. And this, though obsessive beyond words, was incredibly human, out of step with the pod-people in the living room.
Sabrina shut the door and said, “Welcome to my lair.”
“Wow,” Michelle said, “you could be on Hoarders.”
“What’s that?”
“Stupid TV show.”
“They’re all stupid, dear. I gave up on television when I was twelve. Just realized it was a waste of my time. Clock’s always ticking.”
Michelle snatched a copy of Twilight from a tall stack and snickered. “And this isn’t?”
“Hey, the Holy Bible is in here somewhere, too, but Jesus isn’t exactly my homeboy.” She took the book from Michelle and started flipping through it. “Damn, this bitch sells like crack.”
“So?”
Sabrina sat on the edge of her bed and tossed the paperback onto a pillow. “I’m a writer, or at least I’m trying to be.” She spread her hands wide. “And this is my research.”
“So you’re gonna write young adult vampire novels?”
“I’m a good whore. I go where I’m kicked.”
Michelle laughed. “You didn’t seem like a good whore in the living room.”
Sabrina, clearly unfazed by the comment, kicked off her Chucks and stretched to a small stereo on a shelf above her headboard, belly exposed. A naval piercing or a tattoo wouldn’t have shocked Michelle, but what she saw did.
A long pink scar.
Sabrina, having turned on music, caught Michelle’s stare and sat up. “C-section,” she said plainly, the opening riffs of Radiohead’s “Airbag” filling the last empty space in the room.
Michelle didn’t know what to say.
“Felix, my son, was killed in a car crash last year.”
Michelle whispered, “And his father?”
“Killed in the same crash. He’d just picked Felix up from my apartment. Drunk driver t-boned them doing eighty.”
“That’s terrible.”
Sabrina wiped a tear from her cheek and flashed a crooked smile. “You wanna hear the worst part?” Not waiting for a response, she said, “I was happy about it…at first.”
“Then?”
“It hit me later…”
Michelle sat on the bed next to Sabrina. “It’s always hard to know what to feel in the moment.”
“Sounds like you’ve got a little writer in you, too,” Sabrina said, putting her arm around Michelle. “Though I disagree—the moment’s the time to feel. Later, you think, and that often gets in the way of true emotion.”
“I could never write. My true story would have to be published as fiction. Besides, that was always my sister’s dream.”
“Where’s she?”
“I…I don’t know.”
“Truth’s always stranger than fiction, girl.”
Michelle tilted her head and moved closer to Sabrina, meeting no resistance, heart racing. Music amplified and floated through her mind like cotton-candy clouds.
Tenderly, they kissed, and they didn’t stop for a long time.
5
Thirty minutes after Michelle left, Sabrina tried to read but couldn’t focus on the words. Her mind kept racing to the mysterious girl, bringing a smile to her lips. She’d only been with a few girls—not that she’d really been with Michelle yet. All of them were experiences she didn’t care to remember. Michelle, however, was different. Nothing she could put her finger on, not yet, but the girl was cool.
A knock sounded at the door. Sabrina shut the book she’d been trying to read, the latest David Morrell thriller. It wasn’t like her parents to disturb her in the evening, her time of solitude, but she didn’t mind. They’d been the one constant in her life, saving her when she thought she was beyond saving, loving her unconditionally.
“Come in,” she said.
The door opened, and Sabrina’s mother entered. “Do you have a minute?” she asked.
“Sure,” Sabrina beamed. She sat up and patted an empty space on the bed.
“I’ll stand, if that’s okay? Besides, this won’t take very long.”
River Drake was nothing if not longwinded, and her curt tone cut to the quick, sending chills through Sabrina. Despite mild unease, Laura kept smiling, certain that nothing could make her stop.
“I don’t want you to see Michelle Breedlove,” River said.
Sabrina’s smile dissolved. “But, I work with—”
“You can see her
at work; there’s nothing your father or I can do about that. But I don’t want her in this house again, and we don’t want you together outside the office.”
“Why?” Sabrina whispered, nakedly shocked. Her parents had never set conditions before, and they weren’t closed-minded bigots.
“I can’t answer that question,” River said. “It…it hurts me, too. I never thought I’d tell you who you could and couldn’t be friends with…but…”
“Tell me, Mom. Tell me why.”
River shook her head. “I’m not saying you can’t talk to her, be cordial at work. But whatever connection you’ve made with that girl, emotional or physical, it ends now.”
Sabrina had no response. She just stared at her mother, tears welling in her eyes.
“I’m very sorry, baby,” River said.
Opening her book, Sabrina slowly nodded. She couldn’t say no to her mother or father. No was a word for the outside world, those who’d betrayed or hadn’t earned her trust. Maybe, she told herself, her parents would change their minds later. They were, after all, reasonable.
“Goodnight,” River said.
“Goodnight, Momma,” Sabrina replied.
6
River closed the door and looked down the hallway at her husband.
“How did she take it?” Stan asked.
“Not well, but she’ll do as we ask.”
“Doesn’t make any sense,” he said, keeping his voice low.
“No,” River agreed, wrapping her arms around his waist. Whispering in his ear, she added, “But who are we to deny the company?”
He embraced her tightly. “Amen,” he replied. “Amen.”
—Chapter Six—
1
Reggie darted across the tennis court and backhanded his father’s volley. Slowing time through his eyes, he saw that the ball wouldn’t clear the net. He willed the net lower then watched the ball sail toward his father.
Laughing, Tyler caught the ball. “Game, set, match,” he said.
Reggie jogged toward the net. “Why didn’t you hit it back?”
“You think I didn’t see that?”
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