by Rebecca Sky
‘So, you’re just going to drive into New York and hope you don’t get noticed?’
Drive, or turn someone to drive for me. ‘It’s not like I can hop on a plane. I don’t have other options.’
He stares back at the road. ‘If you had access to a boat, I could get us there.’
‘Us?’ I ask.
We’ve driven for hours and the sun has long since set, so we don’t even have that as a guide any more. Twisted shadows from the trees cast on to the road. It’s creepy, the silence, the darkness.
Ben still hasn’t answered my question – that, and the lack of conversation, is overwhelming. I try to lighten the mood. ‘Do you like Mexican food?’
He glares at me. ‘We’ll talk more about your plan later.’
‘So? Not a fan of Mexican?’
Ben doesn’t laugh, doesn’t even respond.
Before I press further, I’m distracted by a white blur between the trees – at first I think it’s a person. Why would a random person be in the middle of nowhere? I twist in my seat, hoping for another glimpse. Ben’s still driving like a racer, and I can’t find it again.
I turn forward and catch Ben watching me, then his eyes dart out the window.
‘What’s that?’ He points to his side of the road.
It’s another white object. I sit up to get a better look. It’s a statue of two people dancing placed precariously on the edge of the cement. Ben drives close enough for me to make out that the statues are adorned with hair and clothes. It’s creepy how real they look. They hold a sign, but we pass too quickly so I can only make out the word Little.
‘Why would someone leave that there?’
He shrugs and continues on. ‘It’s a weird one.’
A short way down, the road forks to the left but Ben continues on the straight route. There’s another statue on my side. An archer, with her bow and arrow drawn and pointing to the left of the fork. A sign hanging from the arrow reads That Way. I gulp down the sneaker-sized knot forming in my throat.
When you focus on it, signs are everywhere.
Ben’s about to pass the turn-off. I dive across and crank the wheel. The van screeches as it slides to the left.
‘Rachel! What the hell?’
‘We should follow the sign,’ I say.
‘Next time, just ask.’ He straightens the van and turns down the road. We pass many statues – a child with a balloon, a juggler, a small crowd of tourists complete with hats and cameras, each illuminated in the headlights like frozen ghosts.
We drive a few yards further and come across a field full of statues and a big sign that says Little Tokyo Sculptures and River Tours. Ben slows, pulling to the shoulder. The moon’s glow breaks through a patch of grey clouds, sending an eerie shadow over the figures.
‘What is this?’ I ask, reaching for the door and pressing the power lock button. Even though the statues don’t move, I don’t trust them. It’s all too weird.
Down the middle of the field is a long dirt road, and for some reason – maybe curiosity or maybe madness – Ben turns the van down the path.
‘What are you doing?’ The dips in the road send me into further panic. I cling to the handle. ‘I don’t like this. Let’s go back.’
‘You’re the one who wanted to come this way. Besides, it’s a safe place to spend the night, off the road and out of view.’
‘Spend the night?’ It hits me. We’re going to sleep in the van. Something about that makes my insides burn. It’s going to be hard as it is to shut my brain off from worrying about my family. Being confined to a small space with Ben won’t help me get any sleep. He catches my eye and grins like he can read my mind. I turn away, cheeks heating, heart pounding at the thought.
Ben pulls into a small opening between two statues and shuts off the engine. He hops into the back and sets to work folding down the seats, giving us a nice flat place to sleep. When the back seat is stored, he notices Kyle’s blankets and tosses me one, making a sleeping-bag-sized bed for himself with the other, and using his pizza sweatshirt for a pillow. When I don’t move, he pops his head into the front. ‘You gonna sleep in that seat?’
‘Oh, I—’
He pats the small empty space beside him. ‘It’ll be more comfortable back here.’
I push down my internal warning alarm and crawl into the back, spreading out the blanket and rolling my cardigan into a pillow. Ben’s beside me, taking off his shoes, then his shirt, when he starts unbuckling his trousers, I turn around, waiting for him to get under the covers. My entire body heats at the thought of him, an arm’s length away. Once he’s covered by the blanket, I kick off my Converse, but leave my gloves on. I pull out my ponytail, letting my curls fall everywhere, and hurry under my blanket, holding it to me like a lifeline and feeling safer now that my body is mostly hidden.
He rustles in the makeshift bed until he’s settled, then takes deep heavy breaths as his body relaxes.
‘Goodnight, Rach.’
‘Goodnight.’ I adjust my cardigan pillow, tug down my gloves, facing the door so I don’t have to look at him. Still, I count his breaths, wondering how on earth I’ll sleep with him so close. The air between us buzzes with electricity. I can’t be the only one feeling it.
I yawn.
‘Can’t sleep?’ Ben asks.
‘No.’ There’s too much on my mind.
‘You worried about your parents?’
‘Yeah.’ Them and you.
‘We’ll find a way to help them.’
‘We?’ My heart skips a beat. This is his second time saying that.
‘I’m not going to Mexico, not without you. And if you’re still set on going back to New York, I’m coming too.’
I want to argue with him, to make him go to Mexico where he’ll be safe, but I also want to dive across the van and hug him. Knowing that he’s willing to be with me to the end, to help me save my parents, makes it less overwhelming somehow.
‘Ben?’ I roll on to my side, facing him.
‘Yeah?’
‘Why don’t you ever talk about your family?’ The van falls quiet as I wait for his response – an awkward amount of time passes. ‘It’s OK if you don’t want to.’
‘No,’ he exhales sharply, ‘it’s not that. It’s hard.’ His breaths turn to quick shallow bursts, and he sits up, watching me in the low moonlight streaming through the window. And I watch him too, feeling the heat rush through me as I take in the way the light reflects the sadness in his eyes.
I roll on to my back, staring up at the domed ceiling, afraid if I watch him any longer I’ll pull him into a comforting hug. ‘Why hard?’ I ask.
‘They passed away a few years ago, my little brother and Gramps too.’
I suck in a sharp breath, remembering the sadness I first felt on him back in the jail cell. His frayed cuffs, his worn clothes – he’s an orphan. No wonder he doesn’t talk about it. I turn back on to my side so I can watch him again; watch those lips form his undoing.
‘I got a call at school.’ He speaks so quietly it’s hard to hear. ‘At lunch. I remember it like it was yesterday, the teacher coming to get me from the cafeteria.’ He stares out the window, his eyes so distant. ‘They were taking Gramps to a doctor’s appointment. It was a hit and run. A drunk driver. At lunchtime, can you believe that?’
Tears form in my eyes. ‘I’m so sorry.’ I don’t know what else to say. ‘Is that why you don’t drink?’ I instantly regret my curiosity.
‘Yeah …’ He breathes an awkward laugh. ‘It’s also why I wanted to be a cop.’
I hate that he says wanted. It’s my fault he might lose that dream. And now that I know why it’s so important to him, I hate myself even more.
‘Let’s hope my plan works and you still can be.’
‘Let’s not talk about your plan right now.’ He doesn’t sound so hopeful.
I sit up, hugging the blanket to my body. ‘Ben?’
He looks at me, his eyes roaming over my face, my hair, as if
he’s really taking me in. He reaches for a rogue curl, hesitates, and pulls back. ‘Yeah?’
My heart’s racing so hard I almost forget what I was going to say. ‘Um, for what it’s worth, I think you’d be an amazing cop.’
‘Thanks.’ He smiles and flops back.
‘Rach?’
‘Yeah?’
‘What do you want to be, you know, if we ever get out of this mess?’
I pull my knees close. ‘I thought about being a social worker. Helping kids with absentee parents. I even filled out my college applications.’
‘Rach?’
‘Yes, Ben?’
‘For what it’s worth, I think you’d be an awesome social worker.’
I smile. ‘Thanks.’
He yawns and rolls over. I follow his lead and curl into the scratchy blanket. I lie there for a while, watching his back. Soon my body relaxes, and my eyes close from the weight of exhaustion. It doesn’t take long for my mind to go blank.
Then the van wiggles and warm air blows across my cheek. My eyes flutter open. I frown, not trusting the image in front of me.
Ben?
He’s right up close, his dark hair falling into his eyes. Those eyes. They flick to my mouth and a smile spreads across his face. He brings his lips to my cheek. I suck in a breath as he presses them against my skin.
‘Ben,’ I groan. His kisses trail down my jaw, down my neck. He pulls my T-shirt, kissing the delicate skin on my collarbone. ‘Ben, you shouldn’t …’
He puts his finger to my lips. ‘Shhh. I know what you’re going to say, and I don’t care.’
He holds my face. Brings his lips to mine. The moment they touch, my gift pulses feeling like magic. Then it erupts – jerking me up and pushing him back. ‘Ben, no!’
He smiles, trailing my bottom lip with his thumb. ‘I’m fine, see. Tell me to stop.’
I pant in mouthfuls, trying to regain my breath. ‘Stop. I don’t …’
His lips come crashing back.
He didn’t listen. He didn’t obey – he still has his will – he’s kissing me, a toe-curling, heart-pounding, world-shaking kiss.
Relief floods through me like a tide, pushing and pulling, and melting me into his touch. I wrap my arms around his neck, tangle my fingers in his hair, pull him closer.
He can’t be close enough.
Tears escape from the joy of knowing my gift doesn’t work on Ben.
I can be with Ben.
Two strong hands grip my shoulders, shaking me. ‘Rach? Rach!’
I jerk up, nearly bumping heads with Ben. My fingers trail my lips where the memory of his kiss still lingers. When my eyes brave finding his, he raises an eyebrow and takes in my weird expression.
‘You OK? You were calling me in your sleep.’
‘In my sleep?’ I repeat the words, not wanting to believe them true. ‘You mean you didn’t, we didn’t just …?’
He frowns. ‘What’s going on?’
I was sleeping.
‘Oh god, it was a dream.’ I throw the blanket aside, shoving Ben back as I pull open the door and run from the van, embarrassment fuelling my speed. The interior light illuminates all the freaky-looking statues. I weave my way through them, trying to get away from him. Dream or not, it was too real – too good. I’ll never be able to shake the memory of his lips. If there was a chance at ignoring my feelings for Ben, it’s gone now.
I stop by a statue of a girl on a bench staring into a vanity mirror. I sit in the empty space beside her, looking into her mirror. In the low moonlight my loose curls almost glow. They hang over my shoulders, and the light dusting of embarrassment is still warm on my cheeks. I’m not the same girl Ben met that day in the jail cell, the person he labelled a kid. Too much has happened. My face is different. Brave. Ready to embrace being a Hedoness and do whatever it takes to save my family.
Why don’t I feel so brave?
My eyes flick to my freckles, remembering that time back at Joyce’s when Ben first noticed them. The way he made me feel in that moment shifted my world.
I sigh and cling tightly to the vanity, aching for water to wash away the intensity of the dream, his touch, his lips. The night chill soon wakes me to reality, though. I’m a stupid girl with a crush. I’ve let myself get lost in the hope that he feels the same. I let myself think that his willingness to help me was something more. My dream was proof of that.
‘Don’t be stupid, Rach.’ The words come out sounding too much like Marissa. I rub my face. ‘He likes helping people. He wants to be a cop.’ That’s Ben. He helps the police, he helps the pizza delivery man, he even helps Marissa. He’s a helper, that’s all, nothing more.
The best gift I can give Ben is freedom.
I push up from the bench, standing in the darkness, taking one last breath before wandering back through the statues. This is it – when I return to the van, I’ll leave any hope of him behind.
Ben’s sitting in the open side door and when he sees me he jumps to his feet. I look at the ground, not wanting my eyes to linger too long on his body.
‘Rach, you had me worried.’ He rushes over and grabs my shoulders and as soon we make contact, my stomach flips and my hands heat, and my heart breaks all over again.
He escorts me back to the van, his hand on the small of my back. My gift pulses, aching to be released. It takes all my concentration to keep it in check. Ben must sense my struggle, because he stops a few feet away and watches me. ‘You all right?’
I pull away from his hand, finding the strength to look into his eyes. His attention fixes on a curl, stuck to my lip.
‘I’ll be OK.’
He waves me back into the van. I step inside and get straight into my bed, pulling the covers over my head. There’s a scuffle as Ben hops over and shuts the sliding door. Being back under these covers, with Ben only inches away, makes my lips tingle with the whispered memory of his kiss.
It was only a dream, I remind myself, tugging down my red gloves. My body is electric right now, and with Ben so close I can’t risk accidently turning him in my sleep.
It was only a magical dream. What wrong could come from having another, though? I let myself drift to visions of what our normal life together could’ve been and soon my subconscious takes over. I dream of us in Central Park, spread out on a blanket, my head on Ben’s lap as I study for a social work exam. Then Ben in his police cadet uniform, meeting me for lunch on my university campus. The first time seeing him drive a squad car when he picks me up from my job at the community centre, and as I lean in to his window to seal our hello with a kiss, it isn’t him, it’s me. Just as I’m about to pull away, a single drop of blood drips from my eyes, down the inside of my cheek, pooling on my lips.
I sit up in bed, panting hard. Trying to blink the strange dream from my mind.
The warmth of the morning sun streams through the van window, falling over us. I can’t believe I slept the night away. It felt like only minutes had passed.
I glance at Ben. The blanket covers his waist and legs, leaving his chest bare. It rises and falls with his steady breath. The sunlight turns his skin a golden hue. He’s so beautiful when he sleeps. Even the statues outside seem to stare. My stomach flutters and my breaths quicken. I need to calm my head. I slip out of bed, grab my cardigan, wrap it around my shoulders and open the door as quietly as possible.
A cool morning breeze greets me. I pull my sweater tighter to my body and stick my gloved hands in my pockets to keep warm. Taking in a deep breath of the damp air, I wander to explore the first patch of statues. They’re much less scary in the light. Something about them reminds me of New York; the vibrancy, the diversity. It makes me miss home. Every now and again I come upon one that’s so beautiful or unusual that I stop to study it, but each statue is quite remarkable in its own way. It must’ve taken years to make them all. When I come across a mother and child, my heart breaks thinking about my own ma. I’m so powerless to help her, and that feeling makes me snap.
‘
Eros!’ I yell in desperation. ‘You’re supposed to look out for your descendants. So help me get my family back.’ I grab a fallen branch and whack it against a statue, over and over. ‘Eros!’
A flicker of movement catches my eye. ‘Ben?’ I groan, worried I woke him with my racket. When I get no reply, I turn down a narrow pathway between the statues towards where I saw him.
‘Rachel?’
Someone calls me, but it’s so faint I can’t be sure it’s not just the wind whistling through branches and my mind twisting it into my name. I continue looking for Ben but all I find are new statues.
A shiver runs down my spine. It’s probably just heightened nerves after the bad dream. Still, I’m aware of how far from the van I’ve wandered. I take a step towards the way I came and stop in my tracks.
There’s a man watching me.
At first I think he’s a statue, but then his head turns and his blonde curls dance in the breeze.
‘Hello?’ My voice shakes.
‘Hello, love,’ he says in an unrecognizable accent.
I shield my eyes from the sun, trying to get a better look at him. His unnaturally blue eyes lock on me as he steps forward. There’s a strange familiarity about him. I’m sure I’ve seen him before. He’s the kind of handsome you don’t forget – regal, somehow.
Then it hits me. He was at the precinct – the officer that winked as we passed. I open my mouth to scream a warning for Ben when the man wags a finger. For some reason, I stop.
‘I’m not a cop. I just pretend to be sometimes.’ He smiles and leans casually on a statue.
A shaky hand rises to cover my mouth. I don’t remember saying anything.
He laughs. ‘I can hear thoughts.’
I step back, using a small statue of an older lady for support. I slip my fingers from the glove and pinch my wrist. I feel the sting. This isn’t another dream.
The guy looks about a year or two older than Ben, but holds himself in a way that makes him seem much older. He’s wearing jeans and a purple T-shirt, and though there’s nothing odd about the clothes, they look weird on him. He doesn’t seem to mind the cold air on his bare arms. He stands tall, shoulders straight, not slumped forward like most guys, and he walks to me with one hand behind his back, the other swinging by his side like a march for some military procession.