Crux

by Julie Reece

  “I’m super happy for both of you, girl. You two are the cutest couple ever.” Did I just say that? I sound like a preppy cheerleader. Next, I’ll ask her to be my BFF and dot my I’s with little hearts—not. Yet I can’t contain my excitement for her. “What happened? You don’t have to tell me … unless you want to? I mean, I want to hear, unless—”

  She laughs. “Of course I’ll tell you.” She tosses her hair over her shoulder and leans against the counter. Her smile fades. “I’ll be honest, Bird. I got scared last night. Really scared, I thought I might be robbed, raped, killed … whatever else you can think of. You probably think I’m a big baby.”

  “No, Kate, I don’t. It was scary. I put us in danger.” My hand stretches out to squeeze her arm. “It’s all my fault, I’m so sorry.”

  “Shush, stop apologizing. Nothing’s your fault. It’s awesome the way you’re trying to help people.” She waves a hand. “So, anyway, let me finish telling you what happened. Scud came to see me today. Turns out he got scared, too. Told me he’s had feelings for me for a long time and just didn’t realize. But that night, when he thought he might lose me, everything changed. Bird, he said he loves me, always has.” Her grin lights up the powder room. “Can you believe this is happening? I’m so happy.”

  She throws her arms around me and hugs me tight. I don’t seize up, but I’m slow to hug her back, and pat her shoulder in an awkward attempt to reciprocate. When she pulls away, her eyes are all misty. I’m not going to cry with her.

  “And I’m happy for you, too. I’ve been rooting for you guys, you know?”

  “You have?” Her big blue eyes get wider.

  “Yeah. I think everyone knew but the two of you.” I lift my palm and wave my other hand over it, miming a fortune teller with her crystal ball. “I predict your life is going to be good. You’re going to be deliriously happy, and no one deserves it more.”

  “Thanks! It’s great. And, oh my gosh, he’s the best kisser! He does this thing …”

  TMI.

  The lights in the bathroom flash twice.

  “Oops, they’re starting,” Kate says. “We better get back.”

  Intermission’s over. Thank goodness. “I’ll be right there. I’m going to try this lotion first.”

  “Okay.” She waves and bounces out the door, leaving me alone.

  I pump some creamy white lotion that smells like vanilla into my hand and rub it into my skin. A stall door opens behind me, and Izzy saunters out. My senses jolt. I hadn’t seen her come in and had no idea she’d been skulking around, listening. Darn her.

  “Well, well, well, if it isn’t the resourceful Ms. Orin. The ladies room’s been a wealth of information tonight.”

  My tongue feels swollen as I try to speak. “Izzy?” The question is stupid. I know it’s her. I just can’t believe how sloppy I’ve become.

  “Surprise!” She raises both arms and does a quick ‘jazz hands’ for me. “We don’t have much time, so I’ll make this quick. Though I’m still figuring out the details, from what I overheard, you’re in serious trouble. Then you exposed Kate to that trouble. Am I getting warm? You gave me what I need to finish you off and serve you on a platter, honey—even faster than I’d hoped. Thanks.”

  The poison expanding my tongue reaches my brain. The useless pile of macaroni up there produces no idea, thought or pithy comeback. I stand and stare as if I’ve been frozen in a block of ice.

  “You don’t need to explain,” Izzy says. “I can crack Kate open in less time than it takes to bust an eggshell.” She snaps her fingers with an exaggerated head bob.

  Your swag needs work, Iz.

  “Here’s my proposal, and you let me know if I use too many big words, okay? I’ll drop the whole thing. I won’t ask a single question. I won’t talk to Kate’s heartbroken and still grieving parents. I won’t share my concerns about what an unsuitable, even dangerous friend you are for their kids. And all you have to do is vanish.”

  “Vanish?” I sound like a mindless parrot.

  “See there,” Izzy says, “it’s a vocabulary issue. Maybe if I talk slower …” She leans in close. “Go back where you came from, and leave us alone.” She over enunciates each word for emphasis. “I don’t care what excuse you come up with. Just. Go. Away.”

  Without waiting for an answer, she sashays past me and disappears out the door. I turn and look at my reflection.

  What the hell is wrong with you? You just stood there.

  The girl in the mirror doesn’t answer, but vocabulary is not the problem. Thank Mr. Bernie Dixon and the Fun Family Fact Game for that. Words pop into my head that wouldn’t a moment before. There’s contemptible, unscrupulous and vindictive, but honestly, I prefer Scab, Ho and Biotch.

  • • •

  On the apartment across the street, the windows wink and sparkle, reflecting my building and the sunny day. The cloudless blue sky looks like something from a Hallmark card, but I’m not happy.

  After Izzy’s threat, the working capabilities of my brain shriveled to that of a sun-dried raisin, and the second half of my evening passed in a blur. With a painted-on smile, I laughed and talked as though nothing was wrong. Several times, I caught Grey watching me, brow wrinkled, head cocked to the side. Between Izzy monopolizing his attention, and my focus on conversing with Dylan, Grey was easy enough to avoid. I had to admit the witch was better than I thought. She’d guessed right I wouldn’t risk more pain to the Mathews.

  Not so dumb after all.

  The morning paper hangs limp in one hand, a mug of hot coffee warms the other. I slide down the wall to the floor where the cold of the wood penetrates my yellow, flannel pajama bottoms. Fenris comes and sits beside me, whining and nudging me for a scratch, but I have no free hand.

  My head rests against his furry back. “Hey, boy. Who’s the best dog in the world?” Fenris sighs. “You know I’m sad, don’t you, sweetheart? Can you understand me, Fenris?” I shove the paper beneath his nose. “Did you see this, Fella?” I don’t know why I’m showing him, but I do. “It’s the grandma I helped off the ground the day I met Jeff.

  “Listen, ‘Seventy-two year old Marisa Gonzalez was in critical condition Sunday following a near-fatal beating inside her home. Atlanta police are asking for the public’s help to identify her attackers.

  The woman was found by her neighbor, Gary Stokes, who’d grown suspicious around 10:00 PM. Saturday when he noticed her hose was left running in the yard. EMT’s arrived at the scene and found the badly beaten Gonzalez unconscious in her living room.

  This appears to be a burglary, police said. We can’t account for some personal belongings, and her house was ransacked. Stokes noticed three young men in the area Saturday afternoon. He described them as white males in their mid twenties, wearing military type jackets. Police questioned more neighbors on Saturday, looking for additional witnesses or other clues …’”

  “Look at this picture.” I smack the paper with the back of my hand. “This is her, Fenris, the same woman I met. Do you know what that means? Those guys who took money from Jeff in the alley are hunting the rest of us for our shares. I don’t think there’s much those monsters aren’t capable of.”

  At a knock on my door, my head jerks up. Fenris and I scramble up and tiptoe toward the peep hole. Johnny, the super, stares forward. His new tangerine hair half blinds me above a purple, leopard print shirt.

  I swing the door wide. “Come in, Johnny.”

  He eyes Fenris. “I think I’ll stand here, if you don’t mind. Gobbledepoop.”

  “Yeah, okay.” I lift my purse from the kitchen counter and scrounge for my wallet. Handing Johnny a number of bills, I say, “This should square us, dude. I’ll be out tomorrow.”

  “Shame.” He flips through the money, his lips silently counting. “You pay on time, and you’re quiet. I like things serene and peaceful.”

  I glance at his flaming hair. “I can see that about you.”

  “Forwarding address?”

 
“Nope.”

  “Well then. Good luck, Rebecca Orin.” He rolls his hand in front of him and bows like a herald, or maybe the grand squire of supreme kookiness. I’ll miss him in a weird kind of way. This was my first place, something of my own. It sure didn’t last long, but threats hang over me like a guillotine’s blade, and I’m out of choices.

  “Goodbye, Johnny.”

  15

  Layers of sleep lift as if I’m surfacing from the deep end of a pool. Alarr, usually cool against my chest, burns. Without thinking, I grasp the pendant in my fingers, and I’m whisked away, sucked into the Hoover’s vacuum tube again. Squished and spun, I’m as powerless as a tuft of grass.

  When the swirling stops, I stand against a rough-hewn wall inside a darkened room. Low burning candles illuminate the wide, wooden beams, and four small beds, one on each side, are nestled against plaster walls. The scent of sap and fresh hay fill the space.

  A men’s dormitory?

  Three men are with me in the room. They’re dressed in plain, brown robes tied with simple sashes. I assume they’re monks. One stands next to me, a chubby, middle-aged guy with a receding hairline. The other two sit on their beds. Though I’m aware they whisper in some foreign language, I understand the words perfectly. As on my previous trip, I spy on the strangers unseen, a proverbial fly on the wall.

  “Brother Michael,” says the chubby guy next to me. “Is the work completed yet?” He addresses a man caressing the spine of a big book. Intricate designs tooled in leather adorn its cover. A Bible? My curiosity is peaked.

  “It is. I finished only today, yet I wonder if we did enough to end this hated curse. Would that I could meet with King Thorolf even now. Perchance we might put an end to this foul business and lives would be spared. Is there no other way?”

  “Peace, Michael,” Chubby says. “You know that would be our undoing. We must trust in God’s timing. He has shown us the way.”

  “Will you not read the passage to us again?” asks a third monk who sits on the end of his bed and picks at his bad skin.

  Gross. Dude, they’ve got Benzoyl Peroxide for that.

  “Did we do enough to soften the curse? I believe it would bring me solace to hear the solution once more,” he continues.

  “Very well,” Michael says. First flourishing his wrists, he reads:

  Once a man embraceth fear

  Is deaf to truth, seductions near

  His foot ensnared on thorny path

  Torn and bleeding feels the wrath

  Of majesty lost, now dark offender

  Peace slips away from tortured mind

  Would that he could turn back time

  Undo the deed that brought him low

  Through ageless eons now must show

  A cloaked existence, that of pretender

  His penance for the hated thing

  Repent, the words redemption bring

  Where once were two, let there be one

  Broken bond reformed, melded and done

  The divider now becomes sole mender.

  Acne Man doesn’t look any happier for having heard the ‘solution’, and I agree with him. Frustration boils up inside me as I struggle to understand the perplexing words.

  He stares into space and digs at his face with his fingernail until it bleeds.

  My innards balk at the sight of his self-mutilation, so I focus on Michael and his questions.

  “Will he understand, brothers? None but the King can end the suffering. Will he embrace the spirit of a son that betrayed him so? He must touch him, and the amulet, or all’s for naught.

  “God will make it so,” Chubby says. “Everything they need to break the curse lies within those pages. We’ve done all we can. The final role belongs to another. Come, brothers, let us join hands and pray as he must.”

  “Wait, what does the poem mean?” I say aloud, knowing they can’t hear me. What good does it do to see this if I can’t understand what’s going on?

  They grasp one another’s hands, bend their heads, and begin:

  “We repent of all evil. Embrace what is Holy. Return to life’s natural order. Find no dwelling place here. Go to your eternal rest. Be at peace.”

  “What curse?” I scream. “Our curse?”

  “Return to life’s natural order. Find no dwelling place here.”

  “Who are you … what are you talking about? Please!” My vision sullies as if I watch through a dirty window. “No! Wait!” I want to stay, but no one hears me. “Can I pray, too? If I could just have a minute alone …”

  “Go to your eternal rest. Be at peace.”

  My lungs experience the pressure of the Hoover whisking me away. Images twist and distort. Darkness folds in on me, and I’m transported back to the present.

  I emerge from sleep to wakefulness as Fenris’ warm body stretches next to me.

  Darn it!

  Jeff said Alarr reveals its history through visions, but what did the monks mean, ‘the solution’? Answers dance at the edge of my understanding but stay out of reach. Boy, I wish I could talk to one of them for even five minutes or get a hold of that stupid book.

  I rub the sleep from my eyes and try to focus on something familiar, but none of it is. The occupational hazard of moving so often is I tend to forget where I am. It’s pretty bad, though, that it slipped my mind when I moved into a mansion, and that I left my apartment for Jeff’s and dragged all my belongings to his place the day before.

  I hope it won’t be too awkward living with Jeff. Compared to what? The good old days in foster care or when I slept in urine?

  Jeff was great when I called and suggested the new arrangement. I explained what happened with Izzy, the army jackets attacking Mrs. Gonzalez, everything. He agreed I’d be safer with him and could get in more practice.

  The only issue Jeff won’t let go of is ditching my Guardian. My disappearance is for Grey’s own good, for his parents’ peace of mind, and Kate and Scud’s safety. Never mind that I promised I wouldn’t ask him to back out anymore, or that I ran away without explaining or telling anyone goodbye. I had no choice.

  Now if I can only convince Jeff we don’t need anyone else. The big … dumb … Sensei. He seems more convinced than ever Grey is crucial.

  My stomach cramps at the thought. Grey has ditched several classes since we’ve met—something I feared his parents noticed and attributed to me. The last two days, however, he had important tests to cram for and take. The separation gave me the chance to move and make the break.

  I roll over, and an earbud from my iPod falls out of one ear. Music helps me sleep at night, pushing other thoughts away. I replace the earpiece and hit play. She’s gone, gone, gone … … I see your face everywhere I look, and I can’t stand the pain … only half of my heart beats without you here …

  Ouch, guess not. I shut it off again and lay the iPod down on top of my sketch pad. Maybe music is not the best idea right now. The Mathews knew me a couple of months. Big deal. It’s not like they’re actually going to miss me or anything. Are they?

  Izzy’s voice inside my head says, “Not likely, honey.”

  Shut up, Izzy.

  My finger’s stroke Fenris’ thick fur. “Let’s go, puppy. We’ve got a lot of work to do if we’re going to kick Viking butt. We might kick some Snatcher butt before we get to Thor and his buddies, though.”

  Fenris yawns and slides out of bed.

  I’ve been mulling over a plan. It started as a thought that tickled itself into a full blown idea. What if I were to give my abilities with Alarr a test run? Against, say … The Snatcher?

  If I’m honest, he couldn’t be any more dangerous than stepping into the middle of axe wielding dead guys. I can just hear that conversation. “Excuse me, Mr. Haddr, Sir? Can you refrain from skewering your father for just a moment? I need to convince you of the error of your ways. If you will admit you’ve been naughty in trying to usurp your daddy’s throne, all these nice warriors can be off to Valhalla. Then I can melt Alarr down t
o make a fabulous fruit bowl and be home in time to hang my Christmas stocking. Okie dokie?”

  Right.

  I head into the bathroom to drag a comb through my hair and brush my teeth. In the mirror, my cheeks flush from the excitement of all my plotting.

  I’ll walk around in all the places the Snatcher’s van goes. It shouldn’t be too hard to get picked up. They’ll take me to wherever they hide the girls, and Alarr and I will give ’em the smack down.

  Boo-yah!

  Back in reality, I walk down a long hallway, painted a soothing vanilla cream color. What one guy needs with all this space, I’ll never know. Passing numerous closed doors, I emerge on the stair landing. Fenris jogs ahead of me down the steps. I follow until we reach the kitchen.

  The ceiling is stamped Victorian tin. Black and white marble covers the floors, while the walls are painted pale yellow. Copper cookware hangs on a pot rack over an antique walnut island. I bet a decorator designed this—an expensive one, too.

  Fenris goes out the back door to do his business on Jeff’s pristine lawn beneath a sky roiling with gray clouds. Ugh, sorry, dude. Freezing air hits my skin, chilling me until goose bumps spring up like Braille. Maybe I should have thrown a sweatshirt over my flimsy white tank.

  Jeff walks in and takes a seat in the chair by the bay window. He’s positioned to see both the yard and kitchen at once but only seems to notice his paper. He sports the same five o’clock shadow and wears the same trench coat that he always has on. Does he sleep in that thing? The guy’s one note like he’s frozen in place or something.

  “Morning,” I say. “Can I fix you some breakfast?”

  “No, thank you, Birdie. Help yourself, though. I’d like to start training as soon as you’re ready.” He glances up from his newspaper. “We’re going to the next level today.”

  Interesting. “Okay, cool. I actually don’t eat breakfast. I’d love some orange juice, though, if you have any.”

  “In the icebox.”

  Icebox? Who says icebox anymore? “Thanks.”