Divine Vices

by Parkin, Melissa

  Jack laughed outright. “This is my fault, huh?”

  “When it looks like a duck and quacks like a duck, I can damn well guarantee that it’s not a howler monkey. Word of mouth about our imaginary exploits must be illustriously explicit for anyone to buy into the idea that a reserved, straight-A, committee-working student would abandon all her principles to give in to her baser, animalistic instincts,” I remarked.

  “So, you admit that you have a visceral nature?” Jack asked impishly.

  “Can you take anything seriously?” A light bulb unexpectedly turned on in my head, registering the last bit of his initial remark. “What did you mean that there’s no way that I could be dating Ian?”

  The thick smirk on Jack’s face never subsided. “No offense to Callaghan, but he hasn’t got a chance in hell.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “It’s not just him. No guy does,” Jack confirmed. “You have your walls built up so high that planes have to redirect when approaching your airspace just avoid hitting them.”

  An atypical combination of anger and amusement burned in the back of my throat, and I out-and-out sneered at him. “And that makes you what exactly? A masochist?”

  Surprisingly, he did not respond. He simply continued to look at me with his unceasing smile.

  “Ahh,” I replied rather wickedly, “I’m right, aren’t I? You’ve spent the last seventeen years sailing through, claiming every conquest you land your ambitions upon with minimal effort, until now. At first, my resistance enticed you because you thought it would only make victory taste all the more sweet. But now, you’re faced with the dilemma of having to admit that you’ve reached an impasse with me. Instead of moving on to an easier target, like Stacy, you thrive off the only unrequited desire you’ve ever felt.”

  Jack smirked. “And you honestly think someone like Callaghan would be able to handle that fiery temper of yours?”

  I immediately headed into the washroom on the opposite side of the hall, wordlessly stating the end of our conversation.

  “Relax,” he said, following in after me. “I’m not here to give you a hard time.”

  “Given past history, not to mention your complete lack of boundaries, I doubt that,” I countered, pointing at the image of a stick figure wearing a dress that was mounted at the top of the doorway. “Girls’ room. Get out.”

  “Why are you letting these people get to you? I know you well enough to know that you’re thicker skinned than this.”

  “Let’s just get something straight,” I snapped. “You don’t know the first thing about me, so before you go all philosophical, telling me what I think or how I should act, I’m telling you now to shove off.”

  I grabbed hold of his bicep and tried to pull him toward the doorway, which given our some-eighty pound difference didn’t present much of an argument.

  “Please,” I said, my tone dropping to the point that it almost sounded like I was begging. “Just leave.”

  He laughed. “Why can’t you just admit you like me?”

  “Because I’m not an idiot.”

  “I see. So only those of low intelligence belong with me. Fitting.”

  “Oh, don’t act like I just wounded your pride. You know exactly what I mean. I prefer to know that when I wake up in the morning to an empty bed, it’s because there was no one else there the night prior. Not because some schmuck climbed out the window after his conquest.”

  “And now you’re insulting my bedside manner? How uncouth of you,” he cracked, looking down at my hand.

  I suddenly realized that I was still in possession of his bicep.

  “You want to take that with you as a keepsake?”

  “I’ve had enough shit happened to me lately, and the last thing I am is naïve. I don’t wish to invite trouble into my life, and you, sweetheart, are every bit deserving of the label,” I said, practically throwing his arm back at him.

  “Sweetheart, huh? I have to say, for a girl who is pledging celibacy from the likes of me, you certainly have a funny way of showing it. Tell me, why is it that you, a branded introvert, suddenly seems to exude this... peculiar sense of sexual prowess in my presence? Because not a single other guy in the whole of New Haven could attest to the same treatment.”

  “I think you’re mistaking prowess with irritability, and no one else here has ever irked me nearly as much as you have,” I countered. “Now, could you do me the immense pleasure by leaving?”

  “Admit you like me first,” he said, moving in closer.

  “No.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it serves no purpose.”

  “You really think I’m going to give up that easily? It’s only been a few days, which is actually quite promising given my ascending position. Being considered one of the most despised people to have ever crossed paths with you, only then to garner the title of regrettable interest is hope in itself.”

  My blood boiled as my throat burned with the words my tongue was preparing to fire out unremittingly, until Stacy’s cousin, Alicia, walked into the restroom with a happily bewildered expression.

  “My, my, my,” she said, twisting her frosted blonde locks around her finger. “What do we have here?”

  “Nothing,” I said.

  “That’s not what it looks like from where I’m standing,” she replied in fiendish delight, slowly backing away. “See you two later, on page one.”

  She ducked out and I looked up at Jack furiously, who was beaming from ear to ear.

  “I’m gonna kill you,” I sneered.

  “Why?” he laughed.

  “Gee, I don’t know. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that she’ll start another salacious rumor about me.”

  “Two men in one day. Well done, introvert.”

  I unapologetically punched him in the arm.

  “Cassie?” echoed a voice from the hall.

  Not ten seconds later did Gwen come into the restroom.

  “Holy cheese and crackers!” she blurted. “Are you serious?!”

  “I take it you ran into Alicia?” I said, pushing passed Jack.

  “Yeah, with a word that evidence of some recent, and rather juicy, gossip was right on display in here,” she snapped. “Mind if I ask what’s going on?”

  “You need visuals? Because I’m more than happy to demonstrate with Foster,” Jack quipped.

  “Nothing happened,” I said.

  “I’m sorry, but can I ask what’s gotten into you lately?” asked Gwen as she hurried after me upon my fleeing from the restrooms.

  “Me? I haven’t done anything. And I do mean anything. So if you wouldn’t mind doing me the favor of keeping this off the front page of your gossip column, I’d appreciate it.”

  “If you keep putting yourself into positions like the one back there, I might not be able to contain the story,” she remarked, just a bit too judgingly.

  “Well, I’d do my best if I were you, because who knows what kind of dirty little secrets might start to circulate in regard to you, and your love life,” I remarked warningly.

  “Oh, please,” laughed Gwen. “Everyone knows of my proclivity for taking a liking to jocks. That’s hardly scandalous.”

  “No, but your fondness for a particular, eccentric magician might be.”

  Gwen grabbed my arm and crashed to a halt. “Come again?”

  “Oh, I know all about you and your peculiar childhood crush,” I returned all too smilingly.

  “Where did you hear that?” she whispered, her eyes as big as a bushbaby’s. “Ian didn’t tell you that, did he?! Does he know?!”

  I chuckled. “Relax, he’s still completely oblivious to it.”

  “Because that was when we were little. I mean, come on. What did I know? I was six at the time. You know what else I wanted when I was six?”

  I shrugged amusingly.

  “To become a horse.”

  I burst out in laughter.

  “Seriously,” she said, a slight smile rising to her
lips. “I was a weird kid; hence my peculiar taste. Just promise me you won’t tell him. He’d never let me live that one down.”

  “Oh, I don’t know. I may have to keep that little nugget handy, just in case I need to divert some attention away from another salacious, completely falsified, rumor about me,” I said, seeing her squirming about as she contemplated the possible damage to her social ranking.

  “Fine, I’ll keep anything about you and your slew of men off my blog, as long as there’s no evidentiary proof.”

  “Deal.”

  Chapter 16

  Seven Devils

  It wasn’t even ten o’clock when I fell into bed. Pulling up my comforter to the tops of my shoulders, I tossed and turned until I finally settled on my right side. My eyelids sank shut from exhaustion and I nuzzled my head into my pillow. The television was still on, but I didn’t bother to shut it off because its low volume was just enough to subdue my reeling thoughts without engaging me too much in the conversation onscreen.

  Like slipping into a warm bath, my weary limbs slowly eased under the lethargic wave of serenity that washed over me. No matter how much I dreaded whatever dreams awaited me on the other side of my consciousness, my body and mind gave into the exhaustion.

  I couldn’t tell what hour it was when I turned over to my left side. Time is funny like that in the REM cycle. I opened my eyes to see that not only was it still pitch black outside, but so was my room with the exception of the subtle glow from the streetlight outside that always peeked through the top of my curtains by my bed. Had I turned the television off in my sleep? I felt around, trying to find the remote, but it wasn’t there. Just as I rolled over to check my other nightstand, I noticed a dark figure looming in the corner of my room by my closet.

  I reached under my bed and grabbed the baseball bat resting on the floor behind the valance. Gripping the handle firmly, I frantically called out for my dad as I jumped out of bed.

  “He’s not here.”

  That voice.

  “Ja-Ja-Jack?” I sputtered.

  Sure enough, his serpentine blue eyes illuminated in the faint light like that of a young wolf as he emerged from the shadows.

  “What the hell are you doing here?! Where’s my dad?”

  He didn’t reply. Jack simply strode in further, his shoulder blades pinched high like that of a lion when stalking its prey. Wielding the bat with as much strength as I could muster, I stepped away from my mattress and nightstand so that I had clear space around me to make an unobstructed swing, free of lamps and low hanging lanterns.

  “What? Are you gonna hit me, Cassie?”

  I nodded fiercely. “Until you give me a good enough reason not to.”

  He took a long stride and cut the distance between us in half, so I leaned in and swung without mercy. The strike was precise, but somehow the bat didn’t connect with anything. After recovering from the forceful momentum I had driven into the swing, I whipped back around to look out at the absent living space. Where did he go?

  Lifting the bat high again, ready to hack at anything that so much as moved, I cautiously stepped deeper into the bedroom.

  “Better put that thing down before you hurt yourself,” said Jack, his breath falling upon the nape of my neck.

  How did he get behind me?

  I whirled around and prepared to swing unapologetically at him, but just as I was about to follow through, the bat snapped to a stop and the jolt sent a sharp pain into my shoulders as they locked.

  His hands gripped the sweet spot of the bat and he ripped it free from my death-grip as easily as a toy from a toddler. Tossing the lumber across the room, he snatched hold of my waist from behind just as I bolted for the door. Amid my frantic kicking and flailing, I concentrated on trying to claw at his face, but Jack quickly grabbed a hold of my arms as well and pinned them firmly at my sides as I hopelessly struggled to break free from his clutches.

  He suddenly flung me sideways and I hectically tried to pull myself off my mattress as I hammered down on the bed. Before I could so much as sit upright, Jack rushed over me, pinning down every limb. I yelped desperately for help, but an unspeakable surge of isolation swept through the house with my bellowing echoes.

  My chest shuddered frantically with sharp, short, agonizing breaths as I stared up at Jack through tear clouded eyes. “What the hell do you want?!”

  His once-charming, crooked grin grew jagged and his steely gaze radiated wickedly with malicious intent. For the first split second he crushed his lips against mine, I thought to thrash about as violently as I could, but the fear and sense of violation melted away with an unexplainable calm. My eyes fell shut with no fight. It wasn’t that I felt safe. Not at all. I felt numb. Tranquilized.

  As his lips parted from mine, I reopened my eyes to see him still staring over me, but something was different. It felt cold. In fact, I could feel a breeze coursing through the air. Slowly retracting off me, Jack rose with my hands held in his. He pulled me upright, the distance between us so minimal I could feel the heat from his body emitting onto mine.

  A sudden gust tossed my hair over my eyes, and that’s when I realized it. I was outside. Turning in the direction of the chilling draft, the black strands blew themselves away as I looked out at the vast woodlands sprawling infinitely in every direction. But that’s not what caught my attention most. It was the seven dark cloaked figures standing in a circumference around the two of us, their features veiled by deep-set hoods that protracted several inches in front of their faces.

  “Who are these people?!” I asked frenetically.

  “Mors venit ad vos,” whispered Jack.

  “What?” I turned my attention back to Jack and screamed in sheer terror as I looked at where his icy blue stare used to be. Instead, crimson red painted the entirety of his eyes.

  I stumbled backward, but even before I got so much as a pace away, Jack immediately grabbed the back of my neck and yanked me in again.

  Keeping me tightly in his grasp, he ran his mouth slowly down the side of my face until reaching my ear. “Mors venit ad vos.”

  His hand slowly crept down my shoulder, falling to the middle of my back where his other hand was already positioned. Curling his fingers into my skin, his nails began breaking into the flesh as he pressed harder and harder.

  “Jack, stop!” I screamed, trying to pry myself free.

  He didn’t stop though. He tore deeper and deeper, and I could feel my skin ripping apart under the slicing pressure. Just as I let out an agonizing cry, Jack ripped his clawed nails down in a rapid slash that felt like numerous daggers being torn into my broken flesh.

  “STOP!”

  Hurtling myself into consciousness, my eyes and body sprang awake with a near convulsion as I reentered reality. Expecting to see posters and my Chinese lantern resting over me, I was sent into more of a dither when my vision finally focused overhead at lofty, autumn-riddled trees resting under a pale sky that held the subtle colors of dawn as my fingers scraped up moist foliage from the grass beneath me. The early morning dew had seeped into the back of my clothes, leaving goose bumps to perforate across my forearms, legs, and neck. I sat upright, looking out at the vast woodlands that stretched out in every direction around me. There were no roads, cars, or houses in sight, and with only the knowledge of where east was, my anxiety shot into overdrive.

  Crackling erupted from behind, igniting me into fight-or-flight response. Just as I scrambled to my feet, I whirled around to see a rabbit bouncing about the ground twenty feet away. I breathed a sigh of relief, but as I exhaled, my nerves only tightened all the more. With the extensive rain the earth had accumulated, it was fairly easy to make out my bare foot prints in the mud. Backtracking my steps southbound, I caught a glimpse to my left of what looked like another set of imprints in the ground. Finding the freshest mark, I knelt down and brushed away some crushed leaves to see a long, slender boot print stamped in the dirt.

  Shooting upright, I spun about, only to still find my
self in pure isolation. Running like a bat out of hell, I launched off in the direction of my footprints with no determination in mind but to keep moving and not stop until reaching civilization again.

  It had to be a good quarter mile or so before I came rocketing out of the woodlands and onto the end of Stockton Boulevard, three streets across from my house. As I cut through my neighbors’ yards, I prayed that nobody was awake to see me in my frantic, disheveled state. All I needed was a white laser wristband to be mistaken for an escaped patient from a mental hospital. Slinking past houses and scurrying like a ground squirrel across the street, I continued to keep a lookout just in case I was being followed. Not a soul was in sight. I took what little comfort that gave me and darted onto Avery, up my driveway, and in through the side door that was already unlocked.

  I could hear my dad rummaging through one of his tool boxes he had stored in the coat closet, so I quickly tiptoed through the kitchen and up the stairs to my bedroom. I wasn’t sure why I didn’t want him to see. Clearly, something was wrong with me. Amid my psychological bedlam, my one lucid objective was to get cleaned up. I grabbed my robe and shower caddy before ducking into the bathroom.

  Peeling the cold, dampened clothes off my frame, I cranked the shower on high. Once steam began fogging the top of the mirror above the sink, I readjusted the dial to a more tolerable temperature before jumping in the shower. With thick suds foaming into a washcloth, I vigorously scrubbed over my face and arms to rinse off all the mud and muck. Reveling in the calm of the water, I let it cascade over my head as it trailed down to clean the soap from my face. With a clump of shampoo in hand, I turned around to begin lathering, only to jump forward as an agonizing shot of heat scalded my back. Mustering just enough strength to not yelp out in pain, I cautiously extended a hand back into the water. The temperature was fine. I slowly went in again, but as soon as the water hit my back, I leapt out of the way with a shooting pain coursing up from my hips to the middle of my ribcage.