Elysian

by Addison Moore

  “It’s a little late,” Marshall chides, holding the door for me to enter. “Better late than never.”

  He flicks on the lights, and the house warms with a peachy glow.

  I step in, and Ezrina follows. It’s cavernous inside. A wrought iron staircase sits to the left and sweeps to an upper level in a dramatic fashion. Creamy limestone floors expand all around us, the walls painted a soft vanilla. It’s empty. The scent of new wood and paint permeates the air.

  Marshall gives me the tour, five bedrooms, four baths, a kitchen the size of three of my mother’s back at the Landon house.

  “This way.” Marshall opens the pantry door and steps inside revealing another door just to the left.

  “A secret door?” I bite down on my lip with elation.

  “Ridiculous place for one.” Ezrina doesn’t bother hiding her true feelings.

  “I concur,” Marshall adds. “Nevertheless, here we are.” Marshall leads us down two flights of dim-lit stairs before flicking a switch.

  The entire area illuminates bright as afternoon.

  “Oh my, God.” It streams from me unexpected.

  A white room expands in front of us, deeper than the house up above and with a far wider reach. Stainless counters, steel beds, surgical instruments.

  “It’s a lab,” I whisper. Clearly this puts anything Ezrina had in the Transfer to shame.

  “This way.” Marshall leads us down a series of white slick corridors until we come to an oversized room. A thick metal door sits open with what looks like a steering wheel attached to the front, and then it hits me.

  “This is a safe.” My heart jumps, my eardrums pulsate with fear. “Marshall?” I look around and spot a giant vial lying on a silver table just like in Ezrina’s chop shop. “Who designed this?”

  “The Pretty One.” He gives a depleted smile. “Of course, he had a consultant.” He nods into Ezrina. “I’ll be back.” Marshall speeds off.

  “To work.” Ezrina pulls a hose from a hole in the floor and begins filling the tube with the most beautiful sight ever—a blue solution—bright as an L.A. sky.

  My lips quiver as I try to absorb all of the attention to detail Logan put into this place, the lab being the crown jewel of his very precious gift to me.

  Marshall returns with a blanket thrown over his shoulders, bare feet exposed at the base. He hoists Logan’s body onto the silver bed of steel set up in the center of the room, and the three of us gape at him. Logan with the sutures that circle around his neck in a line of jagged X’s, his beautiful face. I reach over and run my fingers through his hair, snagging my way through the moisture, wishing to God he’d magically wake up.

  A strangled cry escapes my throat. I can’t bear seeing him like this. My Logan, my husband—lifeless with his eyes partially opened, gazing up at God.

  I bend over and press my lips over his—cold and unforgiving.

  “It’s time, love.” Marshall rubs his hand over my shoulder, and I sizzle back to reality.

  I take a deep breath. “Let’s do this.”

  44

  Pomp and Circumstance

  Graduation ambushes us on an unassuming Friday afternoon as if there had been a miscalculation, and we were left bewildered by its abrupt arrival. Here we were on our last official day as students at West Paragon High, sitting on flimsy white folding chairs that stretch in rows across the lawn—the sky lit up like blue powder.

  We sit in alphabetical order with Ellis in front of me, and Gage falling directly behind me. I appreciate it like this—Gage keeping watch over me, sheltering me from danger.

  Principal Rice drones on and on about the importance of embracing everything we’ve learned along the way on our scholastic journeys, at least those spent in the minor leagues here at West. Mine was laden with thorns, and the beauty of true love—a rose in all its splendor.

  College is upon us, laced with new possibilities, responsibilities, new freedoms—rife with open pathways—unknowable pleasures, and I know exactly who I’ll share all of those precious moments with.

  I turn and smile at Gage. He slips his hand over my shoulder, and I imprison it there, bringing his fingers to my lips with a kiss.

  Principal Rice adjusts the microphone and it lets out an arduous squeal. “And now I present to you the valedictorian of West Paragon High, Emily Morgan.”

  A deafening cheer erupts from the stands. Emily waddles to the podium, round and proud, in this, the ninth month of her pregnancy and startles the dumbfounded onlookers into an awkward silence.

  “I don’t have a lot to say.” She burps the words into the microphone. Her body twists to the side to accommodate her bloated frame. “Things are going to be different now.” Typical Em, getting right to the point “Things are going to change. Get used to it.”

  Ellis leans back. “Worst valedictorian speech, ever.”

  True. Even Ellis, in his chemically altered state, could have provided a pearl or two of stoner wisdom.

  “There’s a fork in the road. Make sure you choose the right one.” Emily belts it out like a threat. “Try not to get yourself killed. There’s all these reunion picnics and shit we’d like to see you at.”

  Principal Rice jumps up and shoos Em back to her seat, offering a quick apology before getting to the arduous task of naming each of the graduates. We stand and snake around in a long line to the front, each in our royal blue robes, bored to tears and excited to be here all at the same time. Marshall stands at the far end of the makeshift stage passing out diplomas, shaking each student’s hand on a job well done. Not every student will get to cross that stage today. Not Logan. But I do my best to push him out of my mind for now.

  Lexy goes up and snatches her degree from Marshall with a bounce in her step. She never did spill her secret and teach us how to bind a Fem. Figures. She’ll probably take that one to the grave with her.

  “Chloe Bishop,” Principal Rice shouts as if she were reprimanding her, and a mellow round of applause breaks out.

  Ezrina walks the stage like she owns it with her shoulders back, her eyes cut to dangerous slits. She’s ditched Chloe’s contacts for glasses and spins her hair in a bun every single day. And, oddly, she looks far more cutthroat than Chloe ever did, well, in a cutthroat librarian sort of way, but still. Ezrina and Nev have been nothing but grateful for having their lives restored.

  Nat goes up. Then one student after the other takes the long, lonely walk across the platform. A gentle breeze picks up, and an all too familiar scent enraptures me—Logan’s cologne.

  I give a brief glance around, but I don’t see him, not one sign. My mother gifted him a treble, weeks ago, and he’s yet to use it. I would have pleaded on my knees, crawled the entire length of the island just to have him here today of all days. Why in the hell is he avoiding me, not to mention the pain the Olivers are going through.

  “Brielle Johnson.”

  I scream and yell until my lungs are sore. Brielle crosses the stage while lifting her gown up over her knee as if she were flirting with the crowd.

  Principal Rice continues on, and a sea of bodies filter through before Drake is called. He crosses the stage with a serious douchebag swagger and forgets to pick up his diploma from Marshall. I suppose there’s an allegory in there somewhere.

  The students in front of me melt from the line. I glance out at the crowd and spot Mom and Tad each holding a baby, next to them both Mia and Melissa. This is it. It’s really happening. I’m closing a chapter in my life, one that can never be reopened.

  Cerberus catches my eye one last time. My last few moments as a student of this haunted establishment are upon me. So many things have changed since I first set foot on Paragon, so many lives transformed, lost—although they’ll never be forgotten, good or bad I’ve tucked them away in my memory bank. I have a feeling I’ll privately relive these West High days with a certain serendipitous fondness that only high school can bring.

  “Skyla Messenger.”

  A breath gets seal
ed in my lungs.

  Gage presses forward and sears a quick kiss over my lips, his dimples dip in with an approval all their own.

  “I’m proud of you, Skyla.” His eyes beam with a smile, and, for a moment, the world stops spinning, it’s just Gage and me.

  A polite applause ushers me as I stride my way toward Marshall.

  The last two years tumble through my mind like the rinse cycle of a washing machine. Ellis and those bright red Solos, the Fems, the clowns, Chloe and all her madness, ski week, the All State Competition, my time in Ezrina’s lair—her skin. Logan and Gage and all those heated kisses, and, of course, the angel in disguise I come upon at this very moment—my, one day, partner in carnal crime—Marshall.

  “Ms. Messenger.” His cheeks rise in appreciation. “Well done.” He hands over a leathery piece of cardboard with a blue ribbon sealing it shut, my name printed in gilded lettering across the front. I take it from him and wrap my arms around him tight.

  “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

  “I know,” he whispers as we part. “I’ve gifted you a D in trigonometry. Not to worry, we’ve the rest of our lives to rectify your lack of numerical knowledge.”

  “A ‘D’?” Crap. “I totally don’t deserve a D,” I whisper, making my way off stage.

  OK, so maybe I never did do any work in his trig class, but that’s beside the point. We had quasi-sex on a light drive for Pete’s sake—pornographic art was created in our honor.

  I stand off to the side as Gage nears the front. I want to be the first to congratulate him—to kiss him at the finish line, the starting gate to the freedoms that wait for us on the other side of West High.

  “Logan Oliver.”

  I give a small gasp as the crowd starts in on nervous titters.

  Principal Rice leans into the microphone. “Accepting on his behalf and receiving his own diploma today is his brother, Gage Oliver.”

  I roll my eyes for a moment at her relational oversight before sniffing back tears. But now that I think about it, Logan and Gage were a lot more like brothers than they were anything else. It’s fitting for Gage to accept on his behalf. My chest heaves as he strides across the stage. He smiles in my direction, never taking his eyes off me as if I were the prize he were accepting for both Logan and himself.

  Gage and the selfless sacrifice he’s made for Logan resonates through my mind, my heart. He laid out years of his life as easy as digging pennies out of the ashtray in his truck. Gage thought nothing of dividing the spoils of God’s own breath. He’s perfection—a savior in every way.

  Gage shakes Marshall’s hand, and Marshall pulls him into a man-pat. I take it in. Gage and Marshall experiencing a brief truce. Something warms in me when I see it. I’d love for Marshall and Gage to put their differences aside, but I suppose their only real difference is me.

  Gage heads over, and those dimples ignite a killer smile on his face.

  “Congratulations!” I jump over him, crushing my chest to his with a giant embrace. I pull back and shrug, looking down at the dual degrees he’s sporting. “That was nice of you.”

  “He earned it. He had enough units to graduate last semester.” The smile slides off his face. “It’s going to be OK, Skyla.” Gage picks me up and twirls me. He presses a kiss just over my ear. “We’ll push through this. He’ll be back.”

  “Oh, Gage.” I sigh, bearing right into his sky-born eyes. “You always know the right thing to say.”

  I press my lips to his and offer a mouthwatering kiss right here on the soil of West Paragon High under the watchful eye of Cerberus.

  It’s our last kiss of senior year and now, officially, senior year is over.

  ***

  The Landon house looks as if it’s been bombed by a paper-shredding factory. I take that back, it looks like every piñata that has ever been created has detonated on the premises.

  Mom insisted on throwing me, Gage, Brielle, Em, and Drake a graduation party even though sweet little “Misty” is hardly two weeks old. Last week, Gage helped Tad move a bona fide “full-size” coffin up into the master bedroom for Beau, now that Misty occupies the mini casket. I suppose I could do them the favor and move out—not that I have any cash. My once-upon-a-trust-fund was squandered on the brain malfunction known as the Gas Lab.

  “Skyla!” Mom calls from the kitchen. She’s got the baby papoosed to her chest, only instead of suckling off a faux nipple, Misty has scored the real deal, and Mom isn’t shy about it either.

  “Present and ready for duty.” I swoop in to help her slice and dice a watermelon for the house full of guests swarming around us.

  “Thanks.” She makes a face. “I wanted to let you know that the Gas Lab received a strange shipment yesterday.”

  “Really?” That place has been ticking like a bomb ever since the anonymous donor put a cap on its life, otherwise known as August. “Did the mystery man show up again and demand his cold hard cash back?” That was sexist of me. It could have just as easily been a woman.

  “No.” Her eyes widen as if I should have already guessed where this was going. “He left cold hard appliances—an industrial deep fryer—a proofer. And he also left this.” She produces a white envelope, small like an invitation or a thank you.

  I pull out the card, and emblazoned across the front is an iridescent blue butterfly. I stare mesmerized at the beautiful illustration before opening the card.

  Skyla,

  This might help the Gas Lab get off the ground.

  Love,

  Logan

  “He signed it, love.” Mom makes a face as if it were scandalous.

  “He does love me.” I blink back tears. He’s coming back, but a small part of me doesn’t believe it. Logan has been slow to initiate the treble, and I can’t, for the life of me, figure out why.

  “Take this outside for me, would you?” Mom picks up the platter and shoves it into my chest. “It’ll take your mind off things. And Skyla?”

  I turn back around.

  “I’m really proud of everything you’ve accomplished. You are my daughter in every single way—you’ve got to know that.” Her eyes glitter with tears.

  “I know.”

  I head out to the backyard where most of the guests have congregated under a canopy of stars. The haze still hasn’t settled in for the night.

  “Skyla!” Brielle calls from the patio, and I make my way over. “Can you believe it? We did it! We’re finally free! No more school ever again.”

  “What are you talking about? Aren’t you going to Host?”

  “Are you kidding? I’m thinking about taking a semester off and finding out who I really am. I could use a breather.”

  “Right.” I plunk down the platter of watermelon next to the overgrown graduation cake Mom ordered with five black caps decorating the top. I make a face at the entire arrangement. “I don’t know. It’s just hard to believe senior year is over. Life just seems like its on fast-forward. One day we’re going to wake up and we’ll be old. The sad part is we probably won’t even notice. I mean, how the hell are we supposed to know we’re old?”

  “We’ll know we’re old when we start adding the words better than sex to our favorite desserts.” She pops a brownie in her mouth and examines me a moment. “So whatever happened, Skyla?” She hitches her auburn hair behind her ear. “I mean, Logan split town, so it must have really killed him when you chose Gage.”

  “Something like that.” I pan the vicinity. Gage is late, and Marshall is embroiled in a heated debate with Barron over what makes a better superconductor, so I steal a moment and fill her in on everything that transpired. I tell her exactly what my celestial mother said.

  “Oh, Skyla.” She collapses over me with a heart-stopping hug. “That’s like”—she scans the sky for words—“a beautiful bummer.” She pinches her lips to the side. “But you know what? I’m going to be there for you no matter how bumpy the ride gets. I’ll be honest, I was sort of rooting for all three, so I guess in a twi
sted way, I win.”

  I nod because really there are no words. A beautiful bummer pretty much sums it all up.

  “How are things with Drake?” I know for a fact he and Em are back on the platonic track, but he’s been leery of flaunting Brielle in her face, so it sort of feels like they’ve cooled it, too.

  “We’re taking it slow. We’re dating.” Her face fills with color. “He wants to wait until Em has the baby, then we’ll—you know.” She wags her finger in the air with the thin silver wire wrapped around it, the red paper still hanging on for dear life in patches.

  “Upgrade the twist tie to a ring?”

  “That’s right.” Drake comes up behind me. “You’ll see. I’ll make an honest women out of both Bree and Em.” He slops a kiss off the side of her face, and she laughs. I’m not sure either of them grasps the meaning of those words.

  Someone tweaks my ribs, and I jump.

  “Hey!” I spin to find Gage’s smiling face. His dark hair shines in this dim light, glossy as wet tar.

  “How you holding up?” he whispers, dotting a kiss over my ear.

  “Better now.” I clasp his strong arms around my waist and sway like a reed in the wind—unmovable, unbreakable with Gage wrapped around me like a shelter.

  “OK—OK!” Tad claps up a storm as if he were calling a circus to order. “I’ve got a couple of rug rats that gotta hit the casket, let’s get this show on the road. Lizbeth, pull out the presents.”

  Mom scoops up a set of colorful gift bags off the table and hands the pink ones to me, Bree, and Em, the blue ones to Gage and Drake. We open them at the same time with Gage holding back just enough to be sure I unwrap whatever it is first. I unfold the tissue and reveal a white plastic container. A metal disc sits inside with a round circular blade. Gage and I hold up our matching gadgets and thank Mom and Tad.

  Ethan steps in close and sniffs. “What the hell is it?”

  “It’s a cheese grater for your feet!” Tad expands his chest proud at his disastrous purchase.