by Rebecca Sky
Footsteps approach, slapping heavy on the damp ground. Ben runs through an opening, his head darting from side to side, looking for something.
‘Ben?’ I pocket the card.
He stops, hands on waist, panting from the exertion of the run. When his eyes land on me a sense of relief floods his firm features. His shoulders drop and he exhales loudly. ‘I was worried when I woke and you were gone.’
I start towards him and he jogs the remaining distance, standing a few feet away, staring like he’s trying to read my mind.
Thank the gods he can’t do that. I laugh, and he raises an eyebrow in question.
Then his gaze shifts, moving down my face to my lips, staying there for a moment too long.
My breath catches in my throat.
A breeze pushes a lock of my unruly curls in front of my eyes. Instinctively, Ben steps forward and reaches up, tucking it behind my ear and leaving his hand resting on my shoulder. A current of electricity burns where his fingers trail my skin. My heart knocks against my ribs.
Each time I breathe Ben’s hand brushes my neck. The electricity surges in me. I find myself looking at his mouth. Questioning what a real kiss would be like. I try to push it down, ignore how my body aches for his, but it only continues to build. I’ve never let Ben this close, for this long. I bite my bottom lip and pry my eyes from his. Now is not the time to take this risk.
With the last of my determination, I step back. I can’t bear looking at him, at his questioning eyes.
‘We should probably leave soon,’ he says. ‘It’s only a matter of time before the police start looking in this direction, if they aren’t already.’
I nod and we walk back to the van, me thinking about my family, and Ben thinking about … I’m not sure.
‘Ben?’
‘Yeah?’
‘Will the police take everyone back to New York?’
He runs his hand though his hair. ‘If they follow standard procedure, they’ll see to their medical needs and then, if the detainee is able, they’ll question them before transporting them back to their state. But there’s nothing standard about this.’
‘Where do you think Marissa and Kyle will be?’
‘I don’t know how hurt they are.’
I pull my cardigan tighter, even though I’m not cold any more.
‘Rach?’ Ben asks. ‘What’s bothering you? Your whole face just dropped.’
His care-clouded eyes give me courage to ask. ‘What if they haven’t been moved? What if the police here don’t let them go?’ I shove my hands in my back pockets and my fingers brush the gold card. If everything works, I’ll fake getting shot and go into hiding with Eros until we break the curse, which could take gods know how long – Eros didn’t really give specifics. It might be my last chance to see everyone for a while.
‘Is this about your plan?’ He sighs. ‘It’s not right.’
He’s right. It’s wrong. Even more so now that I might have to turn someone. But now it’s something more. With the chance to break the curse, anyone I turn will go back to normal. Even Ben. He can forget all about us and become a police officer. But I can’t tell him that, so I stare at the ground. ‘What other option do I have?’
‘I can think of some. For starters, they can take responsibility for their own actions.’
‘What about Kyle, Joyce, my dad? They were dragged into this. Yeah, I have to do things I’ll regret, I hate it. I hate it so much. But I can’t think of another way.’
‘You really want to spend your life in jail?’
Ben paces. His jaw clenches and his hands are in fists at his side. The vial burns against my skin, reminding me of what could be for my family.
He stops suddenly, and turns back. ‘Their actions led to their consequences. While you, on the other hand, fight to be good, fight to never use your gift. Why should it be you who is punished? You who makes all the compromises? It’s not right, Rach. You don’t deserve this.’ We reach the van and he hops in and starts the engine, putting it in drive before I even make it to the passenger side. I get in and close the door and he drives down the dirt lane, through all the statues.
‘Shouldn’t we head back to the main road?’ I ask.
‘We’re almost on empty. This is the first sign of something that could point us in the direction of a gas station. I want to see where it goes.’ He keeps his eyes carefully ahead.
‘But …’ I close my mouth when a small wooden store with smoke rising from a chimney and the warm glow of lights comes into view.
‘Let’s ask where we are,’ Ben says. ‘Plus, I really could use the bathroom.’ He pulls the van next to a line of ballerina statues and puts it in park. The door to the store creaks open, casting warm beams of light on to the shaded porch. An elderly lady, with her grey hair piled in a messy bun, wearing a short floral dress and yellow gumboots, waves from the doorway.
‘Welcome! Welcome to Little Tokyo,’ she calls in a thick European accent.
Ben turns off the engine and opens his door, looking back at me. ‘You coming?’
I wait, watching him walk over to the lady and shake her hand, before hesitantly opening my door. I pull on the edge of my red gloves and clutch tightly to my cardigan. The statues seem to press in – I can’t even see the path we drove down to get to the store.
‘Little Tokyo?’ I repeat, remembering the road sign.
The lady smiles and motions me to follow her. ‘My husband lived there for a few years working at a wax museum. When he returned home he felt uncomfortable in our isolation so he recreated the feel of Tokyo, people of every type and every fashion, everywhere.’
The name suits the place. Whatever place it is.
‘What can I do for you this fine morning?’ she asks. ‘Not every day we get customers this far out. Most people order online.’
‘We were looking for someplace to get gas,’ Ben says.
‘I’m afraid the only gas we sell is for boats.’
‘Is there somewhere nearby we could go?’
‘Our docks back on to the Mississippi river marshlands. There’s not much around. If you continue east, you’ll run smack dab into a swamp-logging mill. Nothing else’s that way, except a couple of swamp squatters like us. There’s a little gas station a couple of hundred miles back. Or you can reach the major highway and connect into Jackson. There’s good shopping in Jackson.’
I had no idea we’d driven so far. What are we going to do? We can’t stay in a mill and we can’t go back.
Ben smiles. ‘Any chance we could use your bathroom before we go?’
‘Of course, follow me.’
Something about the lady’s friendly disposition helps me settle. I return the smile and follow after her into the store. The front entrance has a reception desk and till with some fishing flyers stacked in neat displays. A large statue of a sailor holds a big sign that reads Fishing Charters and a cork board showcases pictures of various boats available.
‘Heinz, put your trousers on,’ the lady yells as she pushes through a worn blue door beside the desk. ‘We have company!’ She motions us after and we follow into a little kitchen behind the shop.
There’s a grunting sound from a far room. ‘No!’ he replies, short and firm.
The lady’s hand flutters to her chest. She offers a half smile. ‘Heinz!’ she tries again, adding a hint of warning to her tone.
‘No!’ the voice repeats.
I glance at Ben, nodding to the blue door, hoping he’ll pick up on the hint and get us out of here. He smiles, big and cheeky. He’s enjoying my discomfort way too much.
‘Artists,’ the old lady says, as if that one title pardons the fact that Heinz, whoever he is, refuses to wear trousers.
She motions us after her and Ben follows. I pause in the kitchen entrance, watching them leave before sighing, and following after.
When I round the corner, I freeze. Heinz sits on an olive-green couch that quite possibly could be older than him. His outfit isn’t as bad a
s I expected. I mean, it’s bad. But more it’s just comical. He’s wearing a white button-up that forms tightly to his beer belly, his grey hair’s slicked back as though he spends too much time grooming it, black dress socks pulled halfway up his calves, and black suspenders clip on to his underwear.
My face flames at the sight. But for the absence of trousers, his outfit could’ve been considered Wall Street bests. I slip my hands in my pocket, wrapping my fingers around the gold card.
Ben extends his in greeting. ‘Hello, I’m Ben and this is my friend Rachel.’
The man stares at Ben’s outstretched hand and raises an eyebrow. He grabs his remote, pausing the show blasting out of a projection TV that’s taller than me.
‘You’re not here to complain about my art?’ Heinz asks.
‘No, sir,’ Ben says.
‘Then we are friends. Don’t mind me, I was catching up on the latest episodes.’ Heinz points to the TV, frozen on an image of bloody fangs. ‘Do you watch My Vampire Alien Life?’
‘I wouldn’t admit it if I did,’ Ben says with a grin.
Heinz laughs. ‘We saw a news report of what’s been happening in New York and decided to check the show out. I’m not convinced it’s real, like Frieda is, still – it makes you wonder if there’s something bigger than us out there.’
Ben looks at me, and I shrug.
‘Heinz!’ Frieda tosses a dishcloth at him. ‘You saw what the boy said to the reporter – he was abducted and marked with that necklace.’
The last time I saw Paisley she was wearing that spaceship necklace. So much has changed since then.
‘Are you here to charter a fishing boat?’ Heinz asks, determined to find out why we’re standing in his living room. They really mustn’t get many customers.
‘As much as I miss fishing,’ Ben says, ‘we’re hoping to get some directions to a place we can get gas and food. We have a long trek ahead.’
I glance at the TV screen, and squeeze the no-limit gold card tight. ‘Actually,’ I say. ‘We want to buy a boat.’
Ben snaps his attention to me, eyes full of questions.
‘Ha!’ Heinz laughs, and grabs Ben’s hand, using it as leverage to pull himself up. Once standing, the man yanks Ben into an embrace. ‘Boats we have.’
It’s hard not to laugh as Ben stiffens in the arms of the trouser-less man, his eyes fixed on me.
‘Come now,’ Heinz says, waving us all after him. ‘I’ll show you our inventory.’
Frieda hooks elbows with him and smiles at Ben. ‘But first, a detour to the bathroom.’
We follow after the pair. Ben slows his pace to match mine, and leans in. ‘We want to buy a boat?’
‘We need to get to New York and avoid traffic cameras – you yourself said it was a good option. And you can drive it, right?’ ‘Yeah, but …’ He stops mid stride and sighs. ‘How will we even buy this boat?’ I pull out the gold card and hold it up. ‘Eros. He gave me this – it has no limit.’
Ben frowns. ‘Eros?’
‘Long story, I’ll fill you in later.’ I nod to Heinz and Frieda, who’ve stopped in the kitchen to wait for us.
‘Right. Fine,’ he whispers, firm. I know it’s not fine. He doesn’t like being kept in the dark.
‘The bathroom is there,’ Frieda says, motioning to a door beside the worn blue one.
Ben frowns at me one last time before hurrying in, leaving the three of us standing awkwardly in the kitchen. Heinz sways from his heels to his toes, his thumbs hooked on his suspenders. Frieda notices my unease and whacks him on the back of the head. ‘Go put your trousers on and prepare the boats.’
‘Yeah, yeah,’ he says, waving her off, turning and wandering out another door.
Ben exits shortly after, shaking his hands dry, and I slip in the restroom behind him.
‘Help yourself to anything,’ Frieda calls.
I slide the Olympus Gold Card in my back pocket and notice a basket of ribbons next to a bottle of spray deodorant on the counter. It seems weird using someone else’s deodorant, but we’ve been on the road for days, so I give myself a quick spray. Frieda said to help myself to anything, so I grab a black ribbon, tying it to the vial. I slip that around my neck and tuck it under my Wonder Woman T-shirt, patting it for good measure. My hair is everywhere. I finger through it, trying to get it to lay flat enough for a ponytail. There’s a few bumps but it will do. I splash water on my face and wash my hands and arms. A shower and some clean clothes would be better, but still, I feel more myself than I have in days.
I open the restroom door, pausing when I hear Frieda and Ben’s conversation.
‘You two make a beautiful couple,’ Frieda says. ‘How long have you been together?’
I press against the wall and hold my breath. My heart thumps so loudly, I’m afraid they’ll hear it and notice the door’s propped open.
‘Rachel and me? No, uh … we’re just friends.’
The words come off his tongue so quickly that it catches me by surprise. He didn’t even have to think about it. Now I know. It shouldn’t bother me, especially not after I’ve committed to forgetting about him. Still, my lip trembles and tears threaten to come. The last thing I want is to cry over a boy. And if Ben saw me crying, he’d ask a hundred questions. I return to the sink and splash another handful of water on my face, letting the droplets fall down my cheeks like tears.
We wait for Heinz in the store. He comes back wearing trousers and plops a stack of pictures before us. ‘We have two seaworthy boats we can sell, both for a special deal.’
‘Price isn’t a worry,’ I say.
‘They’d be around fifteen thousand,’ he says.
I pull out the card. ‘Do you take plastic?’
Heinz smiles.
I’m half surprised when the point of sale machine registers the transaction approved. Ben’s even more curious, but he doesn’t press further yet. Frieda and Heinz bring us back outside. We gather our things from the van then head through the twisted maze of statues and trees towards the boats. It’s a long walk, and I half expect to see Eros pop out from behind one of them, but he never does.
When we finally reach a clearing, I smell the river before I see it. It reminds me of the musty plant smell of the turtle tank we had in my sixth-grade homeroom. Despite that, this place is magical. Lime green sludge-covered water carves a path away from us, winding through low-hanging trees; leaves and flowers float on the surface, and white birds fish from exposed roots.
‘Here we are,’ Heinz says, stepping down a steep path to the water. ‘Careful,’ he finishes, turning to help Frieda. A couple of boats are propped up on blocks on the bank, a few more are anchored in the marsh, and a giant weatherworn waterwheel is tied to a tree jutting out of the sludge, fallen white paint flakes floating around the hull like snow. ‘It’s beautiful,’ I say.
‘I plan to restore it,’ Heinz says proudly. ‘Come back some time and I’ll take you for a ride.’
‘I’d like that.’
We follow him down the steep path towards a small dock with two large boats. I have no clue how such a little dock can hold the bus-sized ships.
Heinz waves at the boats. ‘Which one?’
Ben takes his time, looking them over, then points to the blue one. ‘This one looks more ocean-ready.’
Heinz smiles. ‘Oh … Betsy.’
Frieda lovingly slaps Heinz on the arm. ‘He thinks this boat is his mistress,’ she explains. ‘We took Betsy out recently and haven’t had the chance to clean it. There’s a bit of canned food and some linen and things. They’re yours to use. And there’s a couple of good places along the river for groceries.’
‘You’ll have to refuel soon anyway,’ Heinz says. ‘She holds enough gas in her to get you around the Keys to Outlet Bay – you can grab food there too.’
As we near Betsy, water floods over our feet. Heinz and Frieda back away, allowing the dock to float up. Ben hops in and holds out his hand. I hesitate, adjusting my gloves before reaching for
him. In an effortless motion he lifts me on to the boat, holding me until I stop swaying. But even when he lets go, my insides still rock.
Heinz comes back, unhooking the ropes. ‘You sure you know how to drive it?’
‘Yes, sir,’ Ben replies with a smile. ‘I used to fish the ocean with my dad every summer.’ His smile drops and his eyes grow distant. All I can think about is what he told me last night. His dad’s dead.
I lean into Ben. ‘Can I have the van keys?’
He frowns in confusion but hands them over.
‘Here,’ I say, holding them out to Heinz. ‘We don’t need this any more.’
Ben’s eyes quickly find mine and he shrugs.
‘Thank you. This will help move my statues.’ He smiles and finds his place next to Frieda. He puts one arm around her and tugs on his suspenders with the other. ‘Just follow the arrows, they lead to the ocean.’
Of course they do.
Despite the narrow swamp-banks, Ben expertly manoeuvres the large steel boat through the twisting bends until we reach the river. I sit on the bow, wincing at every white-weathered arrow we see hidden beneath hanging branches or propped on stilts out of the water.
We come to a section of trees so low I have to duck. I pluck a leaf as Ben guides Betsy past.
He smiles at me. I hop down and open the door to the bridge room, popping my head in and handing him the leaf. ‘So you’ve done this before?’
‘My dad taught me a few things.’ He tucks it behind his ear and smiles.
I want to ask more about his dad, but he faces front, his grip tightening on the throttle. It doesn’t seem the time to pry, so I return to my seat, enjoying the breeze and the comforting rock of the wake. We pass a big boat and I wave at the passengers – some return the gesture, and for a moment, in the sun, on the water, en route to save my family, with Ben here, everything is perfect.
After an hour or more of this, I leave my perch on the bow and go to him inside the small bridge room, sitting on a built-in stool next to the helm stand.
‘What was all that about, earlier?’ he asks.