by M. Leighton
It seemed like an eternity passed before he spoke. “Why don’t you take it for a drive by yourself,” he suggested flatly.
I opened my mouth to argue, but before any words came out, it occurred to me that his offer sounded very appealing.
“Alright,” I said, maybe a little too brightly. I walked to Derek and held out my hand expectantly.
His eyes bored into mine and, without breaking that contact, he dropped the keys into the center of my palm. Wordlessly, I turned and walked to the garage door. I paused with my hand on the knob, thinking there was probably some polite response or gesture I should make. It eluded me, however, so I turned the knob and stepped out into the garage, closing the door behind me.
I opened the car door and slid behind the wheel. I’d done it at least a hundred times, but never this way.
A sliver of sadness sliced through me. Tears stung my eyes. This wasn’t how I’d pictured my first drive in this car to be. Right now I should be getting a twenty-two point lecture on safe driving and at least one bone-chilling cautionary tale, complements of my father. Then he was supposed to be standing at the edge of the garage watching me back down the driveway, arms crossed over his chest and a proud smile on his face. There wasn’t supposed to be this emptiness inside me, this ache.
Swallowing past the lump in my throat, I pushed the key into the ignition and turned it. The engine roared quickly to life. I shifted into reverse and backed slowly down the driveway, careful not to look forward at the empty garage.
When I reached the bottom, I turned onto the street and paused for just a second. I closed my eyes. In my head I pictured Dad giving me an approving thumb’s up and in my head I waved to him. Then I opened my eyes and, without a backward glance, I punched the gas and left my troubles behind.
The speed was a very effective, albeit temporary, tension-reliever. I drove for miles and miles, trying to put as much distance as I could between me and… everything. But it turned out I couldn’t escape my life for very long. After all those miles and all those turns, when I could’ve already reached the state line, I ended up at the cemetery instead, parked in the lot, staring at the stone-dotted landscape.
I got out and walked to Dad’s marker. They’d finally gotten it put in about two weeks ago. It was thick and sturdy, just like Dad. I sat down and leaned up against it, hoping I’d feel closer to him if for no other reason than just physical proximity to his body.
I sat like that for a long, long time, though Dad never showed up. I wasn’t even really disappointed. That was my problem: I knew he was gone and he wasn’t coming back.
When I noticed how bright the dusk-to-dawn lights were getting, I hopped up and hurried to the car. If there was one thing I knew for sure it was that I didn’t want to get caught in a cemetery after dark.
I felt safer after I got in and closed the car door. I started the engine and leaned my head back against the headrest. I listened to the steady throb of the engine, wishing Dad could’ve driven it just once before he died.
After several minutes, I raised my head. A glimmer of movement drew my eye to the rearview mirror. There was something in the back seat.
I whirled around to look into the dark back seat just as invisible hands wrapped around my throat.
The strongest grip I’ve ever experienced pulled me up over the top of the bench seat and into the back seat. Then I was flat on my back looking up into the face of the badly burned man I’d seen in the garage. Terror gripped my heart even tighter than his hands.
On one half of his face, much of the bone was exposed and charred to a dull black though there were patches of melted flesh that remained, as well as a few tufts of hair on his skull. On the other side there was blood and soot-smudged skin stretched tight over a handsome bone structure and short dark hair that covered his scalp.
He had only one eye and it stared down at me furiously. And then, somewhere in the back of my horrified mind, something struck me about that cool, pale gray eye. It was familiar.
Before I could finish the thought, my lungs began to burn with the need for oxygen. My eyes watered. My head throbbed. I raised my hands to my throat, desperate to loosen the fingers at my neck. I clawed at them frantically, but my nails met with my own skin. There were no other hands there.
I pushed at the dark chest that hovered over me, but there was nothing but cool air beneath my palms. I kicked wildly with my feet, but they met with nothing but the inside of the car.
Tipping my chin back as far as I could, I managed to drag in a gulp of air, which only made me cough and sputter. Then his grip tightened even more.
I continued to flail my limbs, but it was becoming harder and harder to move as my struggling grew weaker and weaker.
I was fading quickly and I knew it. I had to do something. My last clear thought was to somehow get the door open so that the interior light would be triggered. That’s what had saved me in the garage—light.
I tried to formulate a plan, but it was so hard to focus. My brain didn’t want to think. It was sluggish and faint.
And then a car drove slowly by.
It seemed to happen in slow motion. Light shone first against the ceiling, illuminating the interior the tiniest bit. The man screamed and his hold on my throat lessened. As the car passed by, brightness swept through the front seat. The grip on my throat faltered, as if something was pulling the man away from me.
Then light rushed into the back seat. As it chased away the shadows (and everything that traveled in them), the pain moved from my throat to my chest. I felt the man’s fingernails tear into my skin, his fingers clutching and clawing at me as if he were being dragged away.
And for a fraction of a second, I could feel him, too.
Where I’d been trying to push at his chest, suddenly there was something substantial beneath my hands. I could feel fabric with muscle and bone beneath. I fisted my fingers and pushed as hard as I could.
Then he was gone.
Adrenaline pumped through my body. I lay for a few seconds, breathing heavily, shaking all over, trying to gather my wits. But when darkness had once more settled all around me, I leapt into action. I climbed quickly back into the front seat and hit the switch to turn on the interior light. Then, without wasting another second, I slammed the shifter into reverse and pushed the gas pedal all the way to the floor.
After I’d driven several miles and put a safe amount of distance between me and the cemetery, I became aware of something biting into my palm. I held my hand up and saw that a necklace was wrapped around my fingers. And there, pressed between my palm and the steering wheel, was a charm. I stuffed the necklace into my pocket and tried to put it out of my mind.
When I arrived at the house, I saw that it was dark inside. Derek obviously hadn’t come back and I was keenly disappointed.
My body was suffering the after affects of an adrenaline rush. I was shaking from head to toe. Carefully, I pulled the car into the empty garage then got out on unsteady legs to close the door. I left the car’s headlights on and turned on every light I passed as I made my way into the kitchen then on to my bathroom where I turned on the shower and started shedding clothes.
As I peeled my jeans off, the necklace fell out of the pocket. I picked it up, holding it in the bright fluorescent lighting so I could study the charm. I wasn’t all that familiar with the saints and Catholic lore, but I thought it looked like a St. Christopher’s medal. I turned it over and read the engraving.
Safe travels, my son.
I hung the necklace on the edge of the medicine cabinet for safekeeping then got in the shower.
When I take a shower, I like the water nearly scalding. If I don’t look like a lobster when I get out, I don’t feel clean. And, though I’m used to the burn of hot water, this time I flinched when it hit my skin. It stung in an unusual way on my chest.
I looked down and saw four long, deep gashes that traveled the length of my sternum. Each scratch exposed a track of pearly white beneath my skin.
I remembered feeling the man’s nails digging into me and realized that, in his struggle to hang on to me, he wounded me.
I cleaned the angry-looking scratches well then finished showering and got out to towel off. The bathroom was steamy, the mirror completely fogged up. Before I wrapped my towel around my head, I used it to wipe the moisture from the mirror so I could see.
With two wide swipes, the glass was clear. Still jumpy, I lowered my towel slowly, thinking of all the scary movies I’d seen where there is another reflection in the mirror.
Scoffing, I gingerly let my arm fall. I was relieved that there was no face other than my own in the mirror. I turned toward the door and bent over to wrap my towel around my wet hair. When I straightened, my breath caught in my throat. There was a shape in the mist.
Though much of the detail was lacking, I knew instantly who the colorless form in the steam was. The question was: what did she want.
Finally, I took a deep breath to calm myself as I backed away from her. When the cool ceramic of the sink hit my butt, I stopped. She didn’t move and, this time, she didn’t speak. She just stared at me with eyes that were still perceptibly empty, even in the mist.
When it became evident she wasn’t going to speak, I asked, “What do you want?” There was fear and reservation in my quiet voice and I hated that. Though I felt weak at that moment, caught off guard, I didn’t want her to know that.
Still, she neither spoke nor moved. An unexpected wave of frustration washed away my fear. “What do you want?” This time my voice was louder and stronger, more demanding. More in control.
This interlude was unlike the others (if my crazy dreams could even be considered as “interludes”). Though her expression was carefully blank as she stared at me, I got the distinct impression that she was angry. She didn’t beckon to me, she didn’t ask for my help, she didn’t seem curious or desperate or even friendly. Somehow, she seemed hostile.
I took a step forward. She didn’t move. I took another step and then another, but still she didn’t move. I lifted my hand and swiped it through the mist, through her form. She disappeared for just a second. And when I saw her face materialize in the mist once more, her lips were curved in a chilling smile.
My ever-ready anger pushed through my alm. I shouted, “What do you want?”
She opened her mouth, her top lip curling up into a sneer. I thought she was going to speak, but, just then, the bathroom door opened. A gust of cool air rushed in, chasing her away with the thick steam. Her image dissolved as if it had never been.
Derek stood on the threshold, a look of concern puckering his brow.
“Why didn’t you lock the garage door? And why are the car lights on? What’s the matter?”
Like a punctured balloon, I felt suddenly deflated and unspeakably exhausted. I was so tired of heartache and fear, of uncertainty and worry, of complicated. For the first time I could ever remember, I craved simple. Not breathtaking or exciting or dangerous, just simple. And safe.
I looked at Derek. Perversely, one of the biggest complications in my life was standing right in front of me. The perverse part of it was that I craved him more than I craved simplicity, craved him so much that I could almost hate him for coming into my life. Almost.
But he was also my biggest source of safety. And, as always, I was inexplicably drawn to him. I took the few steps that would bring me into his arms and I wound my arms around his neck, melting into him. I absorbed his strength and heat, his power and security as it bled from his skin into mine.
He was relaxed at first, his arms coming around me in a warm embrace, one meant to comfort. Then, slowly, electricity began to crackle between us, as it always did. I became aware of the cool leather of his jacket where it was pressed against my naked skin, of the rough skin of his palms as they rubbed my back soothingly.
He must’ve felt the shift in my mood because his touch changed. His hands moved purposefully over my skin, warm with the passion that always lay just beneath the surface. They stroked my back and buttocks, hinting at the wicked pleasures they could bring.
I pressed my lips to his neck. His hands moved to my sides, traveling up toward the sides of my breasts. My body was already on fire when his hands stopped suddenly and he stiffened.
“What’s that?”
I was still caught up in the moment, my head fuzzy with desire. “What?” I answered, pressing my body more tightly to his.
“Carson,” he snapped, the seriousness of his tone like a bucket of cold water. “What is that?”
He pulled away from me so that he could look down into my face.
“What’s what?”
“That necklace,” he said nodding toward the mirror behind me.
What his tone hadn’t done to sober me, his question had. How easy it was to forget the world when I was in his arms.
“Oh,” I said, suddenly aware of my nakedness. I took the towel from my head and busied myself with covering my nudity before I answered. “That.” I turned and walked to the mirror, taking the chain off the medicine cabinet and holding it out to him. “Just a little something I picked up tonight.”
He took the necklace from me and I stepped past him into the bedroom to get some pajamas.
Derek was silent for several seconds as he examined the charm. He surprised me when he whirled around and stomped toward me, covering the space in three huge steps. The look on his face was indescribably hostile.
“Where did you get this, Carson? Be specific.” This was the way I’d perceived Derek when I’d first met him: dangerous. His tone, his body language, his expression, it all reeked of what pain he could inflict upon me if I didn’t tell him what he wanted to know. And even though I knew he wouldn’t hurt me—or at least I didn’t think he would—it still gave me pause to see him like this.
“I was visited tonight by one of the people that I saw in the garage that night.”
“And?”
“And he attacked me.”
“He attacked you?”
It felt a little better to have that deadly cold anger focused on someone other than me, but something about it struck me as odd. There was something else in his eyes, in his voice, something I couldn’t quite discern.
“Yes.”
“And then what?”
I gave Derek a detailed accounting of the whole ordeal.
“What did he look like?”
“It’s hard to say. He’d been badly burned and one side of his face is almost gone.”
Before I could even finish my sentence, Derek had turned and stalked from the room. I followed quickly.
“Where are you going? What’s wrong?”
He didn’t answer, just kept walking. When he opened the front door, he finally turned to me. “There’s something I’ve got to do,” he said mysteriously.
“What?”
“I need to find out some things before I involve you.”
My temper rose immediately to the surface. I bit my lip, trying to control it before it ran away with me. I was too volatile today to lose control.
I looked away from him, simply nodding, not trusting myself to speak.
I heard him sigh. “Do you want me to come back tonight?”
When I looked up, his eyes were on mine. They were a fathomless, stormy gray that I felt penetrating my very soul.
The stubborn, proud female in me wanted to say “no”, but the practical, insecure pragmatist wanted me to say “yes”. That internal debate must’ve raged on a little too long because, with an impatient hiss, Derek turned around and walked out the door.
I watched as he mounted his bike, started the engine, turned around and sped down the driveway. I wanted to stop him, to ask him to stay. I also wanted him to leave and never come back. I wanted to yell at him, tell him I hated him. I also wanted to kiss him and tell him I loved him. Nothing in my life made sense anymore.
After I shut the door, I tried to do normal things, tried to relax into the peace and quiet, but I just couldn�
��t. I found myself listening to every passing motor for the sound of Derek’s bike.
I turned on the television, hoping it might provide an adequate distraction. After a while it worked—by putting me to sleep. I don’t know how long I’d been asleep when I heard the rattling of the doorknob.
I sat up, immediately alarmed yet still a little disoriented from being awakened in such a way. I listened closely. The jiggling continued, but I never heard the scrape of a key in the lock, which meant it wasn’t Derek.
Though I was very much afraid, I drew some small comfort from the pools of light that spilled onto the floors in every room of the house. It seemed the people from the shadows couldn’t tolerate the light at all, therefore I surrounded myself with it. As long as it wasn’t one of them attacking me, I felt pretty sure I could handle myself and anybody else from this world. I’d trained so much with Derek and, before that, with my father, I knew I could at least hold my own with a run-of-the-mill intruder.