My Name Is Not Alexa Pearce

by Kerri McLoone

My arms stretch out in front of my chest. They both tremble until they finally fall to my side. I step away from the shelf, my back pressing against the glass wall. I sigh and drop my head into my hands. I have waited five years for this, I think. I have lost too much, and I have missed too much, and I have spent too much time searching to just do nothing now that I’ve actually found it.

  I straighten up and step back up to the shelf. I reach out and take the books on either side off the shelf; an early printing of Don Quixote by Cervantes, and A Tale Of Two Cities by Charles Dickens. I place both books gently onto the assessment table with bare hands. Another part of this I won’t be telling Jeff about.

  In this cube the table is next to the door, so I check the rest of the hallway outside to make sure I’m still alone. I grab my phone from my pocket to check the time, almost three o’clock. That gives me a solid two hours to look at The Book. What i know now is my book.

  As soon as I gather the courage to actually touch it.

  With plenty of space on either side of it, and having confirmed I’m still alone, there is nothing else I can use to stall. It’s time. If it sends out a signal to Darius, at least I’ll have The Book with me and I can project Milo and the box to me then transport us away.

  As my hands get closer to The Book, my body starts to tingle before I even touch it. I let the fingertips on my right hand lightly brush the spine. Even from that light of a touch, I immediately get a feeling of strength and resiliency, there is quite literally nothing I can’t do right now.

  I yank my hands back. Did I just use my powers? How could I have felt so much through such a minor touch? Does Darius know where I am now!? I pause and inventory my powers, I haven’t used any of them.

  I don’t realize that I’m holding my breath until black dots start to form in my vision and I gasp for air. Panting, I now remind myself of the way every story began when I was little:

  Power is neither good nor bad, it’s how you use it that creates light or dark. Darius uses his power for evil to bring great darkness to the world. But the princess, the princess uses hers only for decency, kindness, and light. Except for the effort it takes to defeat Darius, she never uses her powers forcefully on others. If she ever does, she’ll be just as bad as him.

  I shake my head quickly, roll my neck, and wring out my hands. I fill my mind with only the purest of intentions, remind myself that the absolute only reason I need The Book is to vanquish Darius and close the portal to his world.

  I exhale sharply and put both of my hands fully on the front and back covers of The Book. I feel the strength and resiliency wash over me again. While touching it, I repeat to myself the differences between me and Darius.

  I lift The Book off of the shelf and turn it so the front cover is facing up. Just like the spine, there is no writing, no title or author, no symbols on its maroon surface. I open it and see an inscription inside the front cover.

  Possessor ex hereditate possidebitis in hoc libro historia ac maxime in key vincere semper tenebris ambulant in hoc mundo.

  I don’t know the language but my computer printout says Latin, so I take out my phone and download a translator app. I type in the inscription, careful not to miss or misspell any of the words. I press the speaker button to hear the translation out loud. The robotic voice recites:

  “The holder of this book possesses the history of and key to defeat the greatest darkness to ever walk this world.”

  Well, that at least explains why Darius wants this thing so bad. It’s basically a how-to on how to end him. But if this whole thing is in Latin, it’s going to take me a very long time to get through it.

  I sit down on the floor with my legs crossed and balance The Book on my lap. I flip through the first few pages. They are thick, closer to vellum than paper. I run my fingers over the words that are impeccably handwritten. There are intricate drawings on every other page that clearly depict Darius creating a portal from his world to ours and the destruction he was generating. It makes me realize that my magical ancestors took a lot of time in creating this and it’s my responsibility to use it right and to make sure nothing happens to it.

  I hear my phone chime and check it to see what the alert is. It’s just a notification from an app, but I see the time is 4:25 P.M.. I absolutely have to talk to Jeff before I go home and convince him to allow me to continue working on this project.

  I stand up and reluctantly put The Book back on its shelf. I grab Dickens and Cervantes from the table and gently return them to their places. I check to make sure I haven’t left anything behind and exit CCR3. I use my card to grant access again to CCR1 to get my bag, make sure my entries are saved in the database.

  I’m about to close the database software when I hear the electric lock of the room click open.

  “Alexa,” I hear Jeff’s voice behind me. I turn around and greet him.

  “Hi, Jeff,” I say. “I just finished my third entry. I was about to come up and get you to double check I did everything correctly.” A little fib in this case won’t hurt.

  “Wonderful,” Jeff says without any actual excitement. “That’s exactly the reason I came down. May I?”

  He gestures to the laptop on the table. I move away from the computer as I wave him over. “Please.”

  “This all looks great. Photos are clear, synopsis is detailed but not too long. Very impressive.” Again, said with barely any inflection.

  “Listen, Jeff,” I begin. “I wanted to ask if I could continue working on this? I’ve really enjoyed today. And I was thinking if it’s alright with you that I could work on it in during the mornings of my shifts. And if you needed additional help on the weekends, I can check if I’d be available.”

  I may be rambling but I think I’ve made my point.

  “It’s as if you read my mind, Alexa.” Jeff actually smiles at me. “I was going to ask you if you’d like to continue, but after seeing your work, I’m requesting for you to.”

  My stomach flips at how much time with The Book that would award me. “That sounds great,” I say trying not to pounce immediately and create suspicion. “Maybe we can discuss logistics tomorrow morning?”

  “That sounds fine to me.” Jeff checks his watch then and says, “Look at the time. Please pack up your belongings and make sure all the doors are securely closed behind you. Then you may go.”

  “Of course,” I respond. “And thank you again, Jeff.”

  He nods and exits without another word. As always, a very Jeff-like exit.

  ● 28 ●

  The entire bike ride home, I relived the little time I’d had with The Book. I felt ownership and protectiveness over it now — it’s mine. I’m not going to let Darius, or anyone, take it. The same way it can be used to take down Darius, in essence, it can be used to take me down too. And I’m not about to let that happen.

  When I unlock my apartment door, Milo is sitting there waiting for me, his tail wagging happily. I scratch his ears before I hang up my bag up on a hook by the door. I put my helmet on the floor, take off my jacket and put it on top of my bag. Then I squat down and give my boy a big hug.

  “Today was a good day, Milo,” I say. I cradle his fluffy face in my hands and drop my voice to a whisper before I say, “I finally found it. I finally found what we’ve been looking for!” I squeeze Milo again before standing up.

  Milo trots after me as I go to my bedroom. I change into old, comfy yoga leggings and an oversized sweatshirt. I go back to the front door and pick up Milo’s leash and harness.

  “How about a nice jog, big guy?”

  Milo barks once in agreement. I bend over to put on my running shoes and strap my pup in. I stand up and bounce on my toes a few times. Coming across The Book today after searching so long for it has left me with abundant energy. I take my phone and wallet out of my bag and put them into the front zippered pocket of my sweatshirt. I take out my keys, and then Milo and I step out of the door.

  I lock up my apartment and do some dynamic stretching on the
landing outside my door to get my body warm. It’s not a Mickey workout but it serves its purpose.

  Milo and I exit our building and make a quick right on SW Fourth Avenue. We go straight for three blocks and then make a left onto SW Salmon Street. After another three blocks, Milo and I go left again, this time on SW Broadway. Our third left puts us back on SW Jefferson Street.

  We pass our apartment and go all the way down to SW First Avenue, the block right before the park we went to yesterday. We go right on First and over three blocks to SW Market Street. We make a right and head up three blocks which brings us back to SW Fourth. We finish our figure eight route once we come back to Jefferson. Then we repeat the loop one more time.

  Milo and I had kept up a relatively steady pace throughout and we finish the almost two-mile long jog in just under twenty minutes.

  Once we are back on Jefferson, Milo and I walk back to our apartment. When we get into the building, up the stairs, and in the door, Milo puts his head between my knees and presses in with a bit of pressure. Like always, a feeling of safety washes over me as he does this. I bend down to his level and take off his harness and leash.

  “Okay, Milo,” I say scratching under his chin. “It’s bath time.”

  The moment the words are out of my mouth, Milo turns tail and bolts. He dives under the coffee table facing away from me.

  “Come on, Milo,” I say standing up. I get a whiney bark in response. “It’ll take twenty minutes tops pup, then we can snuggle and watch a movie.” It’s a small bribe, but that’s usually what it takes to get Milo into the tub.

  I go into my room and grab the Milo-specific bath towels and his oatmeal shampoo I keep in my closet. I left the medicated anti-flee shampoo treatment in the shower once soon after I moved in and Cali accidentally picked up the wrong bottle. It didn’t hurt her scalp or make her hair fall out or anything, but for half the day the smell made her nauseous. So now I keep all of Milo’s bath items in my closet, just in case.

  I put his stuff in the bathroom and then make my way back into the living room. The only part of Milo that’s visible is his tail sticking out from under the table.

  “Milo, please.” I get down on my hands and knees and crawl around the coffee table. I peek under the corner to face him. “You need a bath ‘cause you’re stinky.” He doesn’t look directly at me but does give me some serious side-eye.

  I try my stern voice: “Alright, that’s it. It’s bath time, mister. No more games.” Milo doesn’t budge.

  “Come here, pup. Who’s a good boy? Oh, he’s such a good boy!” The baby voice doesn’t do it either.

  I gasp and lift my head up quickly trying to spark his curiosity.

  “Oh my god, Milo! What’s that noise?” But, alas, trickery does not work either.

  “Okay, okay,” I lay flat on my stomach with my nose inches from his. I decide to sweeten the deal from before hoping it’ll do the trick.

  “You drive a hard bargain, I’ll give you that. How about this? You come out and take your bath, and I will not only go down to the corner store and get that peanut butter ice cream we both like,” I see his ears perk up at this. “But we can watch Beethoven’s Second while we eat it. Will you take a bath for that?

  “Come on, pup. What do you say?” He slowly crawls out from under the coffee table, comes to me inch by inch. “There’s my good boy!”

  I point to the short hallway leading to the bathroom and Milo trudges along slowly toward it. I get him into the bathroom and close the door. I turn on the tap for the tub and check the temperature with one hand as the other pets Milo. He’s looking at me with his “sad eyes” trying to guilt me out of this.

  I give him a bunch of kisses on his head and say, “Okay, Milo. In.”

  His stocky body climbs at a snail’s pace into the tub. I switch the tap to the shower head and take the handheld hose down and wet him from head to toe. I brace myself behind the shower curtain expecting Milo to shake head to tail.

  He doesn’t, so I open the curtain and pick up his bottle of shampoo. I get Milo good and soapy, and that’s when he chooses to shake, covering me in soap suds and water.

  “Real nice, Milo,” I say frowning. He starts panting. It looks like he’s smiling at me.

  I scrub Milo down and rinse him off thoroughly. Milo moves to jump out of the tub but I stop him.

  “Uh-uh. Not done yet, dog.” I douse him again in shampoo and start scrubbing again already reaching for his conditioner knowing I have to act fast.

  Milo looks at me with the saddest eyes I’ve ever seen. I don’t need to use my powers and read his mind to know that there’s only one thing that’s playing on repeat: This sucks.

  **********

  Milo may not be able to stand taking a bath, but he loves getting blown dry. I towel him off as much as I can, but his thick, silky black hair stays wet so long that I have to get out the blow dryer.

  He puts his puppy-like face right up to the dryer and turns it side to side, enjoying the warm faux wind rushing through his hair. He rolls onto his back to expose his belly. I give him a belly rub as I dry him and tell him what a good boy he is.

  Once Milo is dry, I brush him from head to toe. “Oh, look how handsome you are!” He spins in a circle and poses proudly at the compliment.

  I open the bathroom door and he dashes out as if he’s just been released from captivity. He runs two circles around the couch and coffee table in the living room and then jumps onto the couch, rolling onto his back and squirming from one end to the other.

  After I hang Milo’s towel up over the shower curtain, I get a glimpse of myself in the mirror. My mascara is running, I have droplets of water all over my face, there are soap suds on my head, I’ve got clumps of Milo’s fur that he shed stuck to my neck and shirt. In short, I look like a drowned rat. Status quo when Milo gets a bath — I usually come out more soaked than him.

  I get Milo a treat from the kitchen and give it to him before grabbing my towel from my bedroom. Even though I showered this morning, after my run and Milo’s bath, I’m in desperate need of another. I bust out into my second go-to shower song, Lady Marmalade, the early 2000s version. I’m in and out in ten minutes.

  I get dressed in purple camo-print capri sweats and a white long sleeved thermal shirt, put my thick, curly hair up in a messy bun, and put on black sneakers. When I walk into the living room, Milo is in the kitchen drinking water. I bend down and take his almost empty bowl from him and refill it from the sink.

  I open the fridge to see if there’s anything Cali and I need that I can get at the corner store since I’m going for ice cream. We’re a little low on milk. Probably from when Cali ate that whole box of cereal. Oh, cereal! I think.

  I check the cabinet above the fridge and the cereal boxes that usually fill it are gone. I take a pad of paper out of a drawer near the sink and start a list for the store: milk, cereal, peanut butter ice cream. I check our bread and jelly situation and both are good.

  “Okay, Milo,” I call out walking to the door. “Ice cream time.”

  I take his leash and harness off its hook and strap him in. I check that I’ve got my phone, keys, and wallet, and we head out.

  The little store is literally right around the corner so we get back to the apartment quickly. I put the three boxes of cereal in the cabinet above the fridge and put the milk and ice cream away.

  I make myself a PB&J sandwich with smooth peanut butter and strawberry jelly, and leave it on the counter out of reach from my pup. I go into my bedroom and grab a blanket from my clean laundry pile. I toss it onto the couch and grab my sandwich and a can of seltzer from the kitchen. I plop down and drape the blanket over me.

  “Come on, Milo,” I say. Milo jumps onto the couch and settles on the blanket next to me. I turn on the TV and go through the menu options to play the movie on demand.

  At the opening credits, Milo snuggles closer to me and puts his head on my knee. He lets out a deep sigh as he relaxes next to me comfortably. I can’t
help but let one out myself.

  A very good day, I think.

  ● 29 ●

  I’m kissing Matt. My breathing is ragged. My back is against a wall and Matt is pressing his entire body into mine. I can feel how much he wants me.

  My tongue manipulates his. One of his hands is on the side of my neck, his thumb on my jaw. The other hand is moving under my shirt from my hip up to my breast. My hands are tucked into his belt, pulling him even closer to me.

  His fingers ghost up my side making goosebumps appear all over my skin. He increases the pressure of his touch as his hand gets closer and closer to my chest. His palm closes on my breast and starts massaging it.

  My heartbeat is rising. My breath is coming faster.

  I pull his bottom lip into my mouth. He sucks in a breath when I move my hands under his shirt. I play with the tuft of hair just beneath his belly button. I drag my nails down his tight abs and slide my hands over his skin back to his belt and unbuckle it.