Lightning Rider

by Jen Greyson

  They zig and zag in erratic patterns. Thin hairs when they first appear, they grow as thick as my finger while traversing the surface of my clothes. I stab my finger into the middle of an especially bright, jagged one as it streaks down my leg. It flares where I touch it but continues its course, dissipating around my knee. I twist my head around to see if the cop is paying attention—these things must make me look like a frigging strobe light. He’s busy on his computer, trying to find something to ticket me for.

  Another bolt fires from the crease at my hip and crisscrosses the black leather.

  Thunder rumbles again, and a handful of silver threads on my thigh change to thick snakes of light. They untangle and slither down my pants, leaving an icy, tingling trail.

  I should definitely be afraid.

  The cop approaches, but when he’s still two strides away, the electrical snakes snuff out.

  Trippy.

  When he hands my stuff back, no sparks erupt this time. I jam my documents into my pocket while waiting for his sentence.

  “All checks out,” he says, mild surprise in his voice. “Tell your dad he was fantastic.”

  Right, because he’s been looking for a president for his fan club. “Sure. Can I go, then?”

  “Yep. Get home and out of this storm.” As if in answer, a huge raindrop splits the air between us. Two more drops fall across the gas tank. I flinch as the lightning’s forewarning singes my nerves.

  It flashes far above but close enough to illuminate us both. He reads the pain on my face and, cataloging it as fear, extends a hand toward my elbow, in full protective mode now.

  “Are you sure you’re okay in the rain?”

  “Just fine.” I slip my helmet on and force myself to turn the key. The engine roars to life like the day I installed it. He steps back and waves me around in a U-turn. I ease into the opposing lane and accelerate to the speed limit.

  Raindrops hit me like bullets as I wind my way down the mountain. I’m grateful the house is less than five minutes away. Nick had better be gone.

  A red gas can signal flashes on the dash.

  You’ve got to be kidding me.

  I had half a tank when I left the shop. No way my devil ride used it all. Must have been vaporized when the lightning struck. Is that even possible without blowing it up?

  I don’t want to stop, but I’ll never make it back to the station in the morning if I don’t fill up now.

  What a shitty end to my day.

  I roll into the gas station as the engine sputters. Nice to see I made one good choice today. I scan my card and set the lip of the nozzle in the tank. The readout beeps.

  “Declined? What the—” I swallow the curse, trying to hold my temper as I look inside the store window. Devon’s working. I push the intercom. “Hey, what’s the deal with my card?”

  His dark head bends to check the readout, and he shrugs, lips against the speaker. “Says your card was declined. You not making any money up at that fancy-pants shop anymore?”

  I force a laugh. A dark foreboding drips down my back with an icy raindrop. “I only need a gallon. Hook me up and I’ll swing back in the morning with cash.”

  “Yeah. Like I haven’t heard that before.” He grins behind the glass.

  “Today, Devon.”

  He pushes buttons and gives me a thumbs-up. I fill the tank and roar out of the station. I don’t want to consider the current location of the four grand that was in my account this morning, but I have a pretty good idea, and its name is Nick. Too bad Mrs. Steinaman doesn’t have a curtained window at the bank so she could have warned me of that, too.

  I pull onto my sidewalk and barely let the bike stop before I’m off and plowing through my front door.

  Behind me, Mrs. Steinaman open hers and calls after me, “You’re too late, dear.”

  A blue halo lingers in my vision, plunging the entryway into a lopsided darkness. I slow and feel my way along the wall to the staircase. The three-story townhouse seemed like a good idea when I bought it two years ago, but tonight it feels like the long climb to the hangman’s noose. Fury propels me up the first flight. Even though his car is gone, I’m itching for him to be here.

  At the second landing, I scan the kitchen. Dark wood floors shine, and the counter gleams empty.

  Normal. Maybe I was wrong.

  I lean my jacket and helmet against the corner of the wall and walk to the fridge. My boots echo louder than usual in the room.

  I freeze, close my eyes, and turn toward the living room.

  Drawing one big breath deep into my lungs, I brace myself.

  “Mother of dickholes.”

  I chew my lip and survey my living room. Not only did he take the stupid gaming chair I bought him, but the dick took my magazine rack and my new issue of Latina. He also made off with my leather couch and the entertainment center that took three paychecks to buy. At last I see the giant hole gaping in the middle of the wall, cables dangling.

  I roar.

  A sizzle of blue light streaks down the left side of my pants.

  I feel for the tingle of the bolt and snatch it off my pants, meaning to flick it away. The moment my hand closes around it, the bolt responds. It snaps and rolls, extending a few feet from my hand but with actual substance—like I’m holding an electric eel. I didn’t mean to grab it, but now that I have, it feels so right. There’s no sting, and it’s cold, not hot. I turn my hand over, and it falls toward the floor, extending a few more feet.

  “Maybe this isn’t such a shitty day after all.”

  With no idea what to do, I let fury and embarrassment fuel my actions. My lips curl up over my teeth, and my biceps twitch. I close my eyes and see myself throwing a lance of lightning through that bastard’s heart. I swing the rope of light over my head like a bullwhip, and it extends and retracts with each rotation. The motion comes naturally, like I was born to it, like the bolt is as much an extension of me as the bike. I whip my hand to the floor, and the bolt cracks and sizzles. What I wouldn’t give for Nick to be in this room right now.

  Nick. I fist my hand and squeeze the lightning. What kind of dumb ass leaves her extra debit card with the PIN on a sticky note in the silverware drawer?

  I trusted him. I trusted him with my home, my money, and my heart. I’m not sure which one makes me feel more foolish.

  Nothing of his remains in the room to destroy. Not much of mine either—a dirty coffee cup, a punching bag that’s screwed into the ceiling, a set of drumsticks. I pace the length of my living room, the silvery blue rope dangling from my fingers. It trails behind me like a tail, writhing and popping against the floorboards.

  I drag the lighting forward, and it roils and twists until I’m holding a blue ball in my palms. My heart pounds, and I stare into the crackling mass of the most badass weapon I’ve ever wielded.

  A blue hue colors my empty living room, and the reminder of why everything is gone plunges me into a deep abyss and back to the day’s low point.

  I ricochet between that and the high of this new toy, and finally berate myself that I still haven’t learned. Even with this coolest-ever distraction, defeat drags at my limbs like I’ve pulled a thirty-six-hour build, and the glowing ball fades. I rub my hands together, frantic not to let this dream come to an end, but the ball winks out and reality crashes over me. My emptied-out living room. My bamboo floors crisscrossed with burn marks. My ruined night in a long string of ruined nights.

  Nick and his stupid timing. Figures. He’d ruined my birthday, Valentine’s Day, and last Wednesday, too.

  Scrounging for a degree of normalcy, I march to the fridge. Big surprise—he’s emptied that, too. Now I have no couch, no tunes, and no beer.

  I hang my head and let the dread wash over me before I close the door on my empty shelves.

  What else has he made off with? My head snaps up. “So help me, if he . . .” I drop the curse and jog up the stairs to the bedrooms on the third floor. He’s left the master bedroom door ajar.


  Empty.

  In three hours? How the hell does a lazy piece of shit empty an entire apartment in three hours? He could barely get himself dressed in half that time.

  At the spare bedroom, I rest my head against the door, my hand on the knob. I don’t want to see the expanse of carpet on the other side, but I have to know for sure. There’s no reason he would have stopped at this point, not after taking everything else.

  Blue lights splinter from the doorknob, reaching outward. The lightning isn’t gone after all. I fight the giddy surge that accompanies it.

  With a twist of the knob, I push the door open. Moonlight bathes the room in a silvery glow.

  I stare for a moment before exhaling. With one flicker of decency, Nick left my drums. I pull the door shut and my shoulders drop. My brain fumbles in slow motion, and I can’t remember whether I saw Ike when I came in the house.

  “He wouldn’t!”

  I’m chased down the steps by the memory of Nick’s crude comments about turning Ike loose to fend for himself in the wild.

  After the last step, I hit the wood floor in the kitchen and scramble to make the corner. I fly down the next set of stairs and jump the last three.

  I turn too fast, catch the chunky toe of my boot on the last entryway tile, and twist my ankle as I hit the ground. My elbow lands on the edge of the tile in the gap between grout and carpet. Pain jolts up my arm. It’s a tenth of the pain from tonight’s storm, and I stagger to my feet and stumble toward Ike’s aquarium across the room.

  My ankle won’t hold the weight, so I limp the last few feet. The glare from the light reflects on the glass, and nothing moves.

  I yank the heavy lid and send Ike racing to the other side of his big glass enclosure. A piece of paper flutters into his cage and settles on his head. I reach in to stroke his spikes, and the note slips from his head. He leans into my palm, safe.

  Graffitied with Nick’s dark slashes, the note lies half in Ike’s water dish, and I pick it up to see what brilliant prose he’s left behind.

  “I never liked this stupid lizard and you can’t play drums for shit.”

  Dick. I crumple the paper and hold it in my palm.

  Just to see how cool this new toy is, I glare at the paper and command it to burst into flames. Nothing. I try again and get the same result.

  I hold it out for Ike. His tongue flicks, and he munches the paper into mushy pulp.

  “He’s not a stupid lizard, jackass—he’s a red iguana.” And about a thousand times the man Nick is.

  I bite my lip and force myself not to be upset. He’s a textbook asshole. I should be skipping around, overjoyed at the twist of fate that forced our lives apart.

  Above Ike’s cage, the air conditioner clicks on, and I shiver. I run my hand along the top of Ike’s aquarium and hang my head. No more taking guys at face value, no more blind trust in their lies, no more creeps, no more thieves, no more dicks.

  Ike bumps my hand and waddles to his empty food bowl. Whether he ran out of time or vengeance, Nick had left everything in this part of the house alone. Handy, since he hadn’t left anything in the fridge.

  I dig slices of dried melon from the Tupperware dish on the shelf above Ike’s enclosure and hold them out for him. He leans into my fingertips, and I scratch under his wide mouth while he slurps the orange squares.

  I plop a few more pieces in his cage. Tears blur my vision, and I swipe my eyes with the back of my hand so I can make out the small tin at the back of the shelf.

  I shake the tin just to be sure. The melodic rattle of its contents loosens the knot in my belly, and I set it next to Ike’s aquarium and wrestle the heavy lid back into place. “Later, buddy.”

  He scratches the glass with his long claws.

  I grab my tin, hobble to the front door, and stare at the deadbolt. Nick has a key, and there’s not much I can do about it. As I flick the light switch next to the doorframe, a tiny line of electricity leaps from my finger.

  With a laugh that sounds a little dark, I guide the squirming line across the wall to the deadbolt. The metal glows with the same blue jumping light, and I trace the circle of the lock, fascinated.

  Even after dropping my hand, the tiny strand of lightning stays in place, slithering and arcing across the metal surface. I cradle the tin and grip the banister, hopping up the flight one stair at a time.

  On the landing, I glance back at the blue stream of electricity locking me in. That dark, glowing place in my belly hopes Nick comes back tonight and tries his key.

  Chapter 2

  An orchestra of rock music, grinders, and torches serenades me through my workday. Another cloud passes over the sun, dimming the room and jerking my attention to the high window. There’s still some blue sky. While I scan the curling edges of the white clouds, I rub the gloved tips of my left hand together, feeling for the slightest tingle, but whatever that was last night stays silent.

  I sigh and twist the knob on my torch, killing the flame. After it cuts out, I flip up the welding helmet and survey the weld. Good enough for today.

  “Bye, boys.” I toss the helmet, gloves, and apron on the bench and give the frame a final once-over before leaving.

  Three grunts and a high-pitched good-bye escort me to the door, and I slip between everyone else’s rides and onto my own leather cradle.

  Jax stands at the garage door, chain in hand. He gives me a hesitant wave and I blow him a kiss, but today the reddening around his ears does nothing for me. I roll past him, and he pulls the big door down behind my bike. I bite my lip. Delaying isn’t going to make this any easier, so I fire the engine and roar away from the shop.

  Evidence of last night’s storm litters the route. Gutters overflow with winter debris washed downstream, pink and purple flowers poke up from the damp ground, and green shoots tint the edges of winter-burned grass. At the entrance to Mami and Papi’s neighborhood, two tall oaks stand as guardians, their spindled branches stretching toward each other in attempts to unwrap the leaf buds at their tips. I duck my head and barrel up the main street.

  One street, two street, yellow park, three. I almost crack a smile at my old silly habit, but the moment vanishes as I turn into their circle and ease over the bump in the driveway.

  I tuck the bike beside his Dodge, kill the motor, and sit. A school bus slows at the intersection, and four neighbor kids tumble out before screeching and shoving their way up the block. Last day of school today.

  Enough. Quit stalling.

  I get off, and my ankle pinches, still sore from last night. Limping, I cruise through the carport, knocking on the back door as I enter.

  “Papi?”

  Surrounded by blueprints and a wild assortment of tools, he leans back in his office chair. “Hey mija. What’s up?”

  Silver-haired and soft from years of family and kids, he barely resembles the world-champion fighter everyone else remembers. I never cared, but sometimes I think he misses the fighting and the traveling. Posters of every conceivable vacation locale plaster the walls, maps cover the desk beneath protective glass, a globe on a stick pokes up from his pen jar. I swallow and force myself to make eye contact.

  He smiles, and my nerves melt. Nothing can get me here. Not even my bad choices. I lean against the door and blow out a breath. Tears sting my eyes and I blink rapidly.

  That gets him flying out of his chair and wrapping me in an embrace of sweet comfort. I bury my face in his collar but just for a second. He smells like sawdust and peppermint.

  “I’m fine. Really.”

  He holds me at arm’s length, and I fidget. “Come. Sit. Tell me what’s got you on my doorstep.”

  As I step away, he pats my wild hair. “Rough night?”

  “Mmm. You could say that.” I settle into his office chair, and he moves a giant stack of papers to unearth a stool. He climbs on and pats my knee.

  “Spill it.”

  I flutter the edge of a set of blueprints. “I need a place to crash.”

  “What? He
re? Of course you can stay here.”

  “Maybe for a couple of weeks. I, um, had to sleep on the floor last night.”

  “What happened?” He draws the words out, like he already knows the answer and he isn’t happy about it. It’s the tone of voice I’ve been waiting for. Damn.

  “Let’s just say Nick is really good at getting even.”

  “You give him money?”

  “Some.”

  “He was going to pay you back, right?”

  Before I can answer, he drops his chin to his chest like I’ve whipped him. My heart cracks. Will I ever stop disappointing him? After too many seconds, he lifts his face, a slight smile on his lips. He pats my knee again.

  “I’m glad you’re home, mija.”

  I fight the tears and twist my fingers together. “Mr. Steinaman’s bringing a few of my things over later.”

  “The walking burrito?” he asks.

  “Iguana. And yes. Ike is nearly the only thing Nick left.”

  Papi flinches, and my commitment to the new no-jackass policy renews itself. This wouldn’t happen to my love life if I could find someone like Papi. Loyal, respectful, hard-working, and insanely in love with my mami.

  “Oh! Didn’t Mami leave today? Are you already a bachelor?”

  He rolls a pen back and forth across his desk. “And Tia Marie picked up the little girls. They’re excited about having a pool. Tiana’s excited about some new neighbor boy of Tia’s. I took your mamá to the airport this morning, not that I wanted to. Damn stubborn woman.”

  “Is she really going for the whole summer?” I lean back and cross my legs.

  He grunts. “I guess. Who charges a bunch of abuelitas two grand to paint trees and shrubs for three months?”

  I nudge his knee with the toe of my boot. “Or lets his wife go to the other side of the country for a whole summer?”

  “Lets,” he says. “Like I let your mother do anything.”

  That makes me laugh.

  “I’m not saying I mind, but seriously, she could at least ask.”

  My insides warm. “You’re a good man, Papi.”