Living Violet

by Jaime Reed

  “And I don’t like the word, ‘conversate,’ but people say it,” I shot back.

  He stared down at me with open impatience. “It. Is. Not. A. Demon. Not completely. If you wanna be technical about it, it’s a sentient, a being capable of conscious thought and emotion. A soul.” Caleb ruffled his hair and dragged a hand over his face before continuing.

  “True demons still have their physical bodies, have unspeakable power, and they’re evil as fuck. They have no morals, humanity, or conscience. ‘Demon’ is a very sensitive word among my kind. We try not to use it.”

  “Duly noted.” I shook off the chill creeping up my neck. “But if this ‘sentient’ once had a body, then how did it get inside you?”

  “I don’t know. My dad says that I was born with it, but I never felt it until I was about twelve.”

  “Whoa, back up. How does your dad know?”

  “He’s a Cambion too. There’s another thing about this entity. It can multiply and spread, kinda like a gene or a curse.” He chuckled bitterly.

  I reared back. “Can I catch it?”

  “It’s not a germ. You can’t get it from touching. It’s passed down at birth and it’s been in my family for centuries. My children will have it.”

  “Let me guess, your brother Haden is just like you, too?”

  “Yes,” he confessed, though he seemed reluctant to do so.

  “So that’s what he meant by legacy.” I nodded, not having the brainpower to do anything else. I suddenly felt tired and drained, and I hadn’t even touched Caleb. “Does Nadine know what you are?”

  His cold stare locked me in place. “It’s not something that should ever come up in conversation, Sam. Can I trust you to keep this to yourself? Tell no one, not Nadine, or even Mia.”

  Was he kidding? People would think I was just as crazy as he was. “Yeah, sure. I won’t tell.”

  He sighed as if my silence offered some great relief. “Samara, I like you, I really do. You’re about the only woman in this town who doesn’t have this reaction. I would never hurt you or your family. I can control this; I’ve done it for years. I’m able to live a normal life. I told you, this spirit has recognition. The more time you spend with me, the less likely it is that it will draw from you. My parents were married for twenty-eight years without any problems.”

  Just as I was about to respond, Mom opened the door and yelled, “Honey, Mia’s on the phone for you. She sounds upset.”

  My shoulders sagged as I let out a breath. Mia had probably heard the news about Garrett. All the events from the past twenty hours slammed into me like a crosstown bus. When Mom saw me nod, she went back inside, but not before undressing Caleb with her eyes.

  “Listen, I gotta go. Thanks for bringing my wallet back.” I started for the door but stopped when Caleb touched my arm.

  With a look that echoed torment, he asked, “So, are we cool?”

  I pulled back. “No, Caleb, we are not cool. A friend just died last night, and that’s something one doesn’t shake off right away.”

  His features hardened, his nostrils flared. “How can you call him that after what happened?”

  “With ease. I know it’s a lame excuse, but Garrett was drunk and probably high. He deserved a serious beat-down, some jail time, and a taste of his own medicine by the fellow inmates, but not death. Death is a little permanent for me, and I prefer that it be applied sparingly. You just threw a lot of information my way and I need to process all of it. I don’t hate you, especially after you helped me last night. But no, we’re not cool, Caleb. So if you’ll excuse me, I need to comfort my friend and find a black dress.” I went inside and slammed the door in Caleb’s face.

  11

  Garrett’s funeral took place the following Wednesday. The student body, extended relatives, and half the commonwealth were in attendance. Those who couldn’t find a seat stood in the back. Within the ocean of black were the tear-stained faces of children, friends, and teammates who awaited the answer to the universal question: Why?

  The autopsy report verified Caleb’s claim of steroid use. Though the cause of Garrett’s bruises remained unknown, police speculated the injuries came from a brawl during the party, a pastime he was known for. Medical examiners concluded that his sudden heart attack was caused by the FDA-banned horse pills that polluted his bloodstream. The fact that Garrett hadn’t dropped dead in the middle of the practice field was a true act of God.

  Seated in the third row were the dreaded Courtneys. Yes, our school had a clique of girls who shared the same name. Rumor had it, they had also shared Garrett. They were nicknamed the Brides of Dracula, because every other week, one hung on his arm, wearing his class ring. They traded off like the Changing of the Guards. They now huddled together, dabbing their eyes with tissue and checking their makeup.

  I sat near the back in the second to last pew. I didn’t own a black dress, so Mom had let me borrow her old turtleneck dress with the football shoulder pads. Mia looked no better, dressed like the opening scene of Breakfast at Tiffany’s. She leaned against Dougie, who still looked like the closing scene of Fight Club. Dougie and Garrett were far from blood brothers, but Dougie wanted to pay his respects. He held Mia tight, as if afraid that Garrett would make a pass at her from beyond the grave.

  After a quick sermon and group prayer, the service moved right into open-mic night. People approached the podium, sharing delightful anecdotes and fond memories of the departed.

  I wondered why people only praised others after they died. Was death the ultimate street credit? Dad told me that you could tell how one lived by how many people attend their funeral. Seeing these solemn faces left no doubt that Garrett would be missed.

  The service was brief, dignified, and uneventful as all get out. I’d only attended one other funeral in my life, and it was nothing like this. When Grandpa Watkins died, Nana went all to pieces. She fell out in the church, screaming, and pulling the body out of the casket. Cousin Tameka’s water broke, announcing the arrival of her fifth child. And Uncle Rudy had some warrants out on him, resulting in his arrest at the gravesite.

  Now that was entertainment.

  This, on the other hand, was Melancholy and the Infinite Sadness. Not a cough, crying child, or whisper as the silence carried its own noise throughout the building.

  I couldn’t even look at the Davenports. Garrett was their only son who hauled their dreams on his back. They sat in the first row, showing a brave front, and all I could think of was my own parents.

  There was something cosmically perverse about burying one’s child. It left several questions in the air. What were those past eighteen years for if he was going to leave? What was the point of expectations and hope? And how would they, could they, move on with life?

  Once Garrett was laid to rest, I hugged my friends and left. I wasn’t in the mood to talk, and I preferred to grieve in private. Halfway home, I pulled over on the side of the road and cried. It came from out of nowhere, one of those nasty, snot-bubble, I-hope-no-one-is-watching-me cries. It was a delayed reaction that was long overdue.

  After collecting myself, I stopped for a slushy, because turtlenecks in July were never a good idea. I couldn’t even smile as Captain John Smith held up the line by blowing his paycheck on scratch lotto tickets. A cloud of depression hovered over my head and wouldn’t go away.

  Then there was Caleb. What on earth was I supposed to do about him? I had to think fast because he was parked in front of my house, and I didn’t know what to do.

  I spent the past three days avoiding him, which he made easy for me. He didn’t look at me at work, and that bothered me more than I liked to admit. I still needed to take everything in, process and analyze it to death—which only produced a new batch of questions. Aside from Hebrew scriptures and some very entertaining fanfic, the Internet was not a stable reference for this particular issue, so I thought it better to consult the source directly. Today he decided to take matters into his own hands and pay me a visit. He leaned
against his Jeep as if I was running late.

  Despite it all, I liked Caleb.

  There, I said it. I liked Caleb.

  I often wondered why girls were attracted to dangerous, mysterious men. The answer was simple. It’s exciting and provocative. They’re constantly on edge, nothing’s ever boring, and danger is a turn-on. Wearing faded jeans, a tight-fitting black T-shirt, and aviator shades, Caleb epitomized the bad boy.

  I got out of my car and strolled down the driveway. “What are you doing here?”

  “Waiting for you.” He pulled the shades to the bridge of his nose and dragged eyes down my outfit. “Holy 1985, Batman!”

  I almost cracked a smile. Almost. “You’re just jealous that you can’t pull off this look.”

  “You got me there.” He nodded. “How was the service?”

  My eyes lowered to the grass. “Sad.”

  “Sam, I’m really sorry.” The words sounded urgent, almost desperate.

  “I know. It shouldn’t have happened that way. I don’t expect you to understand, but Garrett was a friend. I’ve known him since—”

  “Junior high, I know, but he’s not the same boy you knew. The drugs he took changed him and not in a good way.”

  “Well then, leave me alone to grieve for the boy he used to be.” I treaded across the lawn, then stopped. “Wait, how did you know how long I’ve known him?”

  “I know a lot about him now.” His tone carried a hint of suggestion.

  “Like what?”

  “He wasn’t a good person. Alicia wasn’t the first girl he attacked. There were others.”

  If that didn’t get someone’s attention, nothing would. “Who?”

  Caleb shifted his feet and shoved his hands in his pockets. “Someone named Courtney.”

  “Which one?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  I stepped closer. “How do you know all of this?”

  “The energy consumed comes with a type of fingerprint of its past, memories. I know all about Garrett. Everything.”

  “Like?”

  “He was allergic to cashews. He loved kung fu movies. He was very insecure about his body for a while, which is why he took drugs. He had a crush on you when he was fourteen, but he wasn’t sure how his parents would react to you.”

  “What do you mean react?”

  “Let’s just say that there are some members of his family who aren’t as open-minded as most.” Caleb’s gaze lowered toward my chest. “Did he really pay you ten dollars to touch your breasts freshman year?”

  I dragged my hand over my face. “I completely forgot about that.”

  “Garrett didn’t. You want me to go on?”

  A rush of dizziness rocked my body. “No. Yes. I mean, no. What were you saying about the Courtneys?”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised if they’re not sad to see him go.” The look on his face told me that he didn’t want to elaborate.

  I shook my head. “I need to go inside. I’m roasting in this dress, and I’m tired.” I moved toward the house.

  “When can I see you?” he called after me.

  “When you always do. At work.”

  “I mean outside work.”

  I spun around. “What do you want from me, Caleb?”

  He pushed off his car and met me halfway. “For you to be close to me. I need you near me so—”

  “So what? So your roommate and I can bond? I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it’s weird, because it’s dangerous, and I’ve got better things to do on my day off.” I walked away.

  “Please?” Though the word was barely audible, its meaning rang loud and clear.

  That one word was enough to stop me in my tracks and put a crack in my dam. “What do you get out of this?”

  “Company.”

  I watched him draw closer. “Is it really that lonely?”

  He pulled the shades from his eyes, removing all barriers from getting his point across. Capturing my full attention, he said, “Sam, women want me, crave me, but none of them like me. My family lives all over the world, and the guys in this town are nuts. You’re the only person I truly have fun with. I’m at peace with you. You like me, don’t you?”

  I glanced sideways at him. “You a’ight.”

  “Sam.”

  “What do you want me to say? We’ve just started talking”—I checked my invisible watch—“a few weeks ago. We’re still in the introductory stage. This is all new to me. I’m not a big fan of dating, not counting dealing with whatever it is you are, and that you accidentally helped kill my classmate. Top it all off with the fact that I’m wearing polyester in eighty-degree heat. What do you want?”

  He took a deep, controlled breath, as if trying to conjure patience. “Fine, go change and let’s go.”

  I stared him up and down. “Go where?”

  “To eat. I want waffles.”

  I jumped back, appalled. “Waf—are you insane?”

  “No. I’m hungry, and we can talk. I’m sure you have a new list of questions for me. Now go change. You’ve got fifteen minutes.”

  “I’ve got as long as it takes for me to shower and get dressed. Don’t rush me.” When I got to the porch, I turned back to him. “Mom doesn’t come home until seven. Come inside. You can wait downstairs.”

  He stepped closer. “Are you sure? You don’t think I’ll come after you, or something?”

  “You could try. The Marshall women don’t die easily, and we always go out shooting. Besides, you should worry about yourself. You have no idea what’s inside the rest of my house.”

  12

  I’ve never considered myself a finicky eater. No pie ever crossed my path and survived.

  However, watching Caleb get his grub on removed any trace of my appetite. I sat on the other side of the booth, watching him ingest his second stack of waffles. Blueberry syrup, berries, whipped cream, sprinkles, nuts, Skittles, and one of those little drink umbrellas formed a Tower of Pisa at the top.

  My upper lip curled. “Dude, you’re gonna die.”

  “Naw. I’m a professional. Don’t try this at home.”

  “Or anywhere else,” I mumbled. “How can you stomach all that?”

  He drizzled more syrup on his already soggy plate. “I have a fast metabolism. It goes right through me, and it takes a lot of fuel to feed a spirit.”

  “Oh yeah, I forgot you were eating for two.” I reached into my bag. “And you’re right. I do have a few questions.”

  Cheeks crammed to capacity, Caleb waited for the interrogation to begin. After a noisy swallow, he griped, “Tell me you did not whip out flash cards.”

  “I like to be organized and thorough during the interview process, Mr. Baker.” I shuffled the cards in my hands.

  Throwing his head up, he exhaled. “Fine, go on.”

  “Okay.” I cleared my throat. “Why heart attacks? Why don’t they just drop dead?”

  His shifty eyes darted to the surrounding patrons; then he leaned closer. “It has very little to do with the actual heart, but stress to the heart. In most cases, women just faint or pass out for a few hours until their energy’s restored. The body is constantly producing energy, so a simple kiss isn’t as potent. If the kiss goes any deeper, the body tries to fight back, straining to build enough energy. If unsuccessful, the blood pressure will drop, causing shock and possible cardiac arrest.”

  “Within what span of time?” I asked.

  “The delay depends on the amount of energy pulled and the individual. It could be immediate if too much is taken, or drag out to about forty minutes of suffering.”

  “The girl at the bookstore had her attack hours after you kissed her.”

  “No, about an hour. She kissed me twice. The first time when you walked in, and another when we were closing. The second kiss was longer than the first. She hid in the storeroom, waiting for me. When I was closing up she snuck up on me from behind and ...”

  �
��Order up,” I finished.

  “Yeah. I finally got her off me and showed her out. She must have had a fit in her car while we had our book meeting.”

  “If you knew what could happen, why didn’t you help her?”

  “Who do you think called the ambulance? It can only go so far until they need medical attention.” His body tensed at the horror of his own explanation. Anger lines marked his face, then slowly disappeared.

  I controlled my breathing and shook off the chill of what could’ve happened. “What is it that draws these women in?”

  “My eyes, for one thing. They think purple is pretty.” He batted his lashes.

  I snickered. “Speaking of which, the night at Robbie’s party, I saw your eyes glow. It happened before when in the magazine aisle at the bookstore. I thought I imagined it, but you did it again when you came over to my house. Why do they do that?”

  “When the spirit is anxious or excited, it shows itself. It happens right after I feed. But outside of that, it usually occurs when I’m mad or really horny. It only lasts a moment. And they change colors, from indigo to lavender.”

  “So, you’ve got mood-ring eyes. That—I—that’s just creepy.” Albeit peculiar as hell, this little fact made Caleb a lot easier to read. I consulted the list again to keep occupied. “You said that your, um, spirit didn’t have a name. Does that mean he talks to you?”

  “Not really—not with words, anyway,” he said. “You can tell if a dog is happy, scared, or when he needs to go outside. Yet he can’t talk—just signals and indications. I can feel his mood, and that’s how we communicate. He feels my emotions and responds.”

  “That recognition thing works with emotions?”

  “Every person triggers a different response. When you see your parents, you feel one way; when you see someone you don’t like, you feel another. My spirit tries to memorize each one.”

  “So it’s like ‘oh, I feel uncomfortable and I don’t know you so it must be lunchtime’?” I summarized.

  He shrugged. “Basically.”

  My eyes traveled to every item in our booth, all except the boy across from me. “So how do you feel about me?”