by Russo, Jessa
I couldn’t figure out what I’d done to make her shut down like that. All because I’d called it a date? Could that really be the issue? Or was it that I told her I believed she didn’t burn down her ex’s home?
“I was out with Cam, Mick. I told you that. Didn’t you see my note?”
“Yeah, but—”
“Wait a minute,” Ro said as she slung her backpack down by the front door and plopped on the couch. “What are you mad about? That I’m hanging out with him? He’s really cool, Mick.”
“Yes. No. I mean, yes. Ah!” I sat down across from her in the old brown Lazy-Boy and ran my hands over my face. My blood ran hot in my veins. I inhaled a deep breath, then brought my hands to my lap, and my gaze to my sister. “No, Ro. I’m not mad that you’re hanging out with him. I mean, of course I want you to be happy, kid. This isn’t a protective older brother thing, honestly. It’s just…” I ran my hand over my head, trying to make sense of my chaotic thoughts. The plan had to work. Holland’s life depended on it. “I’m just so worried. I don’t have a lot of time, and Holland seems to hate me—”
“Oh, please. Let me stop you there. There’s no way she hates you. I saw the way she watched you last night. And apparently she hates pool—like, we’re way past the normal hatred of a sport—so the fact that she played pool with you says a lot. Girls don’t just do that.”
“Well, I may have scared her off.”
“What? How?”
“I don’t know. I told her I didn’t think she’d tried to kill her ex.”
“So? That seems like a good thing, right? What else?”
“I called it a date.”
“Oh, geez, Mick. Under normal circumstances, I’d tell you that’s ridiculous, but after talking to Cam about her…I don’t know, she seems pretty anti-dating. I guess that Rod guy really messed her up.”
“There’s that, and the fact that she probably has no idea what’s happening to her right now, only that something is.” I rubbed my hands down my face. “So, tell me—from a chick’s point of view—how do I get her to go on another date with me, if she refuses to date?”
“That’s easy. I know exactly what to say to get into her head.”
“Get into her head? Don’t scare her again like you did when you first approached her.”
“Mick!” Ro threw a hand to her chest in mock shock. “I’m hurt! How could you say something like that?” She laughed and continued. “I didn’t scare her; she just thought I was a freak. Which I am. Proudly.”
Ro’s smile was contagious, and before long, I grinned back at her.
“You’re my freak, and I love you.”
“I know. But do you want to love me even more? Because if you do, I might have seven digits for you. Seven special digits.”
Ro held out a folded piece of lined paper, which I assumed contained Holland’s phone number. I grabbed at the scrap of paper, but she pulled it out of my reach.
“Nope! Not so fast! How much do you love me? Is it like, pat-on-the-back love, or make-me-a-Mick’s-famous-grilled-cheese love?”
“I’ll make you a grilled cheese. All you have to do is ask.”
“Awesome. I’m starving!” She handed me the paper and flopped back down on the couch, stretching her legs out in front of her. She reached for the remote, turning the TV on and flipping through the guide.
“Doesn’t your new boyfriend feed you?”
“First of all, he’s not my boyfriend…yet…and second of all, we weren’t thinking about food, if you catch my drift.”
She wiggled her eyebrows at me, and I would have laughed if I were anyone but her older brother.
“Don’t make me have to pummel this guy, Ro. Keep little bits of info like that to yourself from now on, please.”
“Oh, fine, Grandpa. But it’s not like I’m a little kid, you know.”
“Uh-huh. So, what are you going to say to Holland?”
“Please. Like I would tell you? These are top secret girl secrets, Mick. Sorry.”
I shook my head, then set off to the kitchen to make Ro’s dinner, stuffing the paper in my back pocket. I didn’t want to call Holland too late tonight, so I’d wait until tomorrow. Maybe she’d be done hating me by then.
Walking up to a house I didn’t recognize, I was suddenly aware of being watched. The weight of unseen eyes weighed on me as I slunk through the bushes, but when I stopped to look around, I saw nothing.
I crept up to the house and stood as rigidly flat as I could, trying to blend into the shadows cast on the wall. I looked around again, but still, it seemed I was alone. The streets were empty, and all the windows in the neighboring homes were dark.
I tilted my head toward the moon, still high in the sky. No one would be out at this hour, and anyone inside should be sound asleep. Somehow, I knew there were only two people inside, and that the others were away, but I don’t know how this information came to me. I didn’t even know where I was, or who this house belonged to.
I closed my eyes for a moment, allowing the cool air to brush my face. I inhaled the salty ocean breeze and let it fill my lungs.
I used to love this place. But it didn’t feel like home any longer.
Wait, what? Where had that thought come from? How could I love this place when I didn’t know where I was?
Breathing in the all-too-familiar sea breeze, that same feeling of familiarity washed over me. Home. Safety. And then…the strongest of the feelings…betrayal. So strong it was almost palpable.
How a place so foreign to me, could bring on such intense emotions, I had no idea.
I glanced down and picked up a bulky gasoline container by my feet. My hands moved of their own accord, opening the container and tilting it over, allowing the gasoline to flow from inside.
I panicked, but I wasn’t able to stop my body from performing these actions.
A wave of calmness hit me, soothing me momentarily, but then I pushed past it, my panic reasserting itself in the forefront of my mind. This was all wrong. Where was I? What was I doing there?
I made my way around the entire house, up onto a wooden porch that wrapped from the front of the house to the back, all the while pouring out a steady flow of gasoline.
I heard the waves crashing on the shore; the rhythmic sounds masking my footsteps and the sound of the flammable liquid hitting the deck.
When I ran out of gasoline, I returned to my first spot and obtained a second large container, resuming where I’d left off.
All the while, I commanded myself to stop, but was unable to do so.
When I was finished, I stuffed the empty gasoline containers into an opening under the patio deck in the back. I have no idea how I knew it was there, yet I’d walked straight to it.
Disoriented and out of place, not recognizing a single object of my surroundings, I was illogically calm and at home. Part of me was soothed by the unmistakable sense of belonging I found here.
I took one last look at the home I’d never seen before, but somehow knew, and pulled a lighter from my pocket. After retrieving the lighter, I pulled a picture out of my pocket. The photograph was worn, and showed the telltale signs of having been bent up and crumpled more than once, but I pulled it open to take one final glance. I recognized the blonde girl in the middle, but not the pretty redhead to her left, or the jock on her right. Deep down, something inside me broke at the sight of the three of them together. Familiar and sacred—this threesome—and without a doubt, the hallowed bond had been broken beyond repair.
Next, I pulled a letter from the same pocket and crumpled it up into a long messy torch. I lit the end, noticing the words Best Friends Forever as the fire began eating the paper in my fingers.
I threw the burning paper and the picture into the gasoline and watched as it very slowly ignited into a massive wall of flames. They licked and lapped at the side of the house as waves would caress a boat in the sea. The heat came quickly, my face warming at the sight of it. I closed my eyes.
“Holland!
Stop!”
I turned at the sound of the voice—my voice—and faced what looked like me, but couldn’t be me. Shaved head, green eyes—everything matched, but if I was here, how was I also standing just a few feet away and calling Holland’s name?
“Holland,” my mirror image asked, “What have you done?”
He—my double—pointed toward my hands. I followed his gaze, and saw hands that didn’t belong to me. I hadn’t noticed them before.
They were not my hands. They were feminine hands, with shiny pink nails and a raised heart ring on one finger.
“Shit!”
I sat straight up in bed, sweat binding my t-shirt to my skin. I ripped the shirt off, trying to make sense of what happened.
I’d watched her—no, I’d been her—as she lit her ex-boyfriend’s beach house on fire. That would explain the comfort and sense of home I’d felt there, when I’d never seen the place before in my life. But wait. I had seen it. In photos. But still, those were Holland’s feelings, not mine. She felt at home there. She was completely calm while setting fire to a building.
She’d thought—no, she’d known—two people were inside.
Two people.
Her ex-boyfriend and his new girlfriend.
I jumped out of bed and powered up my laptop. I didn’t have far to search—the beach house fire was still pretty popular as far as news stories go. They hadn’t caught the person who’d started the inferno, but they knew it was arson.
All fingers pointed to Holland.
I clicked on a photo of a side by side, the beach house as it originally stood, next to an image of the charred remains—a blackened footprint on an otherwise pristine beachfront row of homes.
She’d done it. I knew that going into this, regardless of how much I wanted to pretend otherwise. I knew the way the curse would show itself. I knew the darkness inside Holland would act out, unbeknownst to her, hidden crimes she’d never remember committing.
But I hadn’t lied when I told her I knew she didn’t do it. That part was true. She didn’t do it. That Holland wasn’t the real Holland. I would never blame her for acts of violence beyond her control. That’s not what the men in my family did.
Our shared dream disturbed me. Even more so than the not really needed, but nonetheless upsetting confirmation that Holland had indeed committed that crime. If I’d just seen Holland’s misdeeds in my sleep, and we’d begun sharing dreams, I was running out of time. She’d change soon. The darkness would take her over, little by little, until her crimes escalated further.
Way before schedule.
Holland
Monday mornings suck. It’s a universal truth, and who was I to challenge it? I walked as if dazed, went to all my classes, dealt with the right-on-schedule groveling attack from Leslie, the ever-present complete lack of acknowledgement from Rod, and waited for Cam by the car after school.
I couldn’t stop focusing on the conversation I’d had with Mick yesterday. It wasn’t the actual conversation that had my mind spinning—that had been as bland as vanilla pudding—it was the fact that a conversation had been had at all.
Because I hadn’t been able to get off the phone with him.
What was wrong with me?
On top of that, I was floored by the fact that my completely innocent, bland conversation could last over two hours. I mean, what was I doing talking to Mick for two hours anyway? And about nothing! I wasn’t supposed to talk to him at all, let alone ramble on about nothing for two hours straight, like some dreamy-eyed school girl.
Which I was.
Dammit.
I hadn’t seen Rosemarie, but I was going to strangle her for giving her brother my number without my permission. Cam was also missing in action all day, and I was going to throttle him for giving my number to her in the first place.
“There you are!” My brother’s voice boomed through the lot. “You’ve been avoiding me, Holl!”
Okay, so maybe it hadn’t been them who were missing in action today.
I turned around to see Cam and Rosemarie walking to the car, and had to smile at how ridiculous they looked together. My brother was all water polo’d out, wearing our school’s black and gold and representing his team proudly, and Rosemarie was…well, Rosemarie was Rosemarie. Her onyx hair was pulled into half a faux-hawk, and once again, all she lacked were sparkly wings. They were definitely a case of opposites attract.
“I haven’t been avoiding you. I just didn’t see you all day.”
“Really? Huh. So that’s why you left without giving me a ride this morning? That’s why you ate God-knows-where instead of finding me at lunch today?”
“No. I mean, I had studying to do, and needed to stop and get gas, and—”
“Right.” Cam leaned back against the door of the Cabriolet and looked at me sideways, that broad smile of his making my anger difficult to hold on to. “You’re pissed because I gave someone your phone number. Just admit it.”
“No! I’m not. I just…” I just don’t want to have this conversation in front of the person you gave my number to. “I guess I just—”
Rosemarie’s eyes widened, and her mouth fell open. “Oh my God! You’re upset that I gave your number to Mick! I am so sorry. I thought you two hit it off. He was talking about you all weekend and I…I mean, to get him to shut up…I’m so sorry. I just…wait a minute. Didn’t you like him?”
“Yeah. I mean, no. No.”
He was talking about me all weekend?
“Oh. That sucks. I guess I just thought—”
“You thought right, Rosie. She likes him. Check out that silly expression on her face. She’s still focused on the fact you just said Mick was thinking about her all weekend.” My brother laughed and punched my arm.
“Ouch! Dick! Knock it off. And no, I was absolutely not thinking about that. And I’m sorry, Rosemarie. I’m just not interested in your brother that way. Please don’t encourage him.”
I turned and hopped into the car. Please don’t encourage him? Who talks like that?
“You can get a ride home with her, right, Cam?”
I didn’t wait for a response. I shut my car door and turned the key in the ignition, quickly pulling out of the parking space without even letting poor Penny warm up.
He talked about me all weekend?
Well, that just wasn’t going to work.
I skipped going home after school and decided to visit my mom instead. Our paths hadn’t crossed much lately, and I missed her. I drove to her work—well, if volunteering at the old folk’s home could be considered work. I headed down Crown Valley Parkway and pulled into the lot. Maybe I’d hit the mall after this and get a pretzel or something. I didn’t want to go home and chance the phone ringing.
“Hey, Mom,” I said, as I made my way into the activities hall.
Mom was hunched over a couple of ladies, guiding them in today’s art project. She was the volunteer arts and crafts coordinator, and had been forever. It appeared to be some sort of clay formation-thingy today. Used to be she’d test them all out on me, her makeshift Project Test Dummy, but now that I was older and had an enormous workload of homework and reports, she didn’t subject me to arts and crafts torture anymore.
“Hollie! What a surprise!”
Mom wiped her hands on the clay and paint covered apron that protected her perfectly tailored navy blue slacks and ivory blouse, then came around the table to embrace me. I inhaled the familiar smell of Estee Lauder Pleasures and Sebastian hair spray. She’d used both products religiously for as long as I could remember. The combination was her smell.
“So, what’s up? Is everything okay? Did you get in a fight with Dad or Cam?”
“No, no, everything’s fine.”
Mom squinted, and I knew she didn’t believe me. Well, I’d never been a very good liar.
“Is this about the boy who called yesterday?”
Though I’d hardly call Mick a boy, I didn’t know how to answer. I definitely did not want to talk abo
ut it. But then, was that necessarily true? Why had I come here if I didn’t want my mom to pry? I knew she’d pry. Might as well get it over with, then, since I’d clearly come here for this reason and this reason only.
“Ugh. Yes. There’s a boy.”
“I knew it! Tell me all about him!”
“What’s this I hear about a boy? My Hollandaise only has eyes for me, don’t you, honey?”
Mr. Greenburg wheeled his chair over to us and reached for my hand, smiling the smile only I could get out of him. His presence always carried a sense of calm, and my shoulders relaxed now that he was near.
Mr. Greenburg was like a Grandpa to me. I’d known him most of my life, or at least as far back as I could remember. He’d been my dad’s associate first—a long time ago, and before I was born—then eventually retired, staying in touch with my family as our designated ‘Grandpa.’ Eventually, he ended up here. I always thought he just wanted to be close to my mom. Secretly, I think she reminded him of the daughter he never had, or something.
“That’s true, Mr. Greenburg. I only have eyes for you.”
“That’s right Hollandaise. You save that dance for me like we discussed, you hear?”
I nodded and let him kiss my hand. He’d been saying the wheelchair was only temporary for the past five or so years. But if he ever did get up, I’d dance with him all night long if that’s what he wanted.
“Oh, Hank, you know Holland is too young for you. Have you spoken with that sweet Mrs. Smith in room seven yet? I think she’d love a little companionship. Don’t you, Hollie?”
I nodded assent, but when Mom’s back was turned, I shook my head at the thought of Mrs. Smith as a prospect for Mr. Greenburg. He scowled at me, following my train of thoughts, so I stuck my tongue out and crossed my eyes, then made a gagging motion, pointing my finger into my open mouth.
“Careful, dear, your face may freeze like that,” he whispered.
We both laughed at the statement—one he’d been telling me since I was a little girl.
“Now, tell me about this boy!” my mom squealed. “What’s he like? Where’d you meet him? Is he from school?”