by Jaime Reed
“Yeah, you’ve got me all right,” I replied in the dark, but he was already asleep.
22
The downside of secrets was keeping your lies straight. Lies were the seas that separated the land, ensuring that neither coast would touch.
The only way to keep from drowning in the gulf was to confess. I knew I couldn’t keep this secret anymore and why I kept it for this long was a testament to my gullibility and pride. Honesty wasn’t as easy as it sounded, but it was a quick indicator to tell who your friends really were, who had your back and who didn’t. It was a relief to lay it all on the table, and if I was to do that, I’d best do it right so I wouldn’t have to repeat myself.
Dougie’s mom decided that this meeting should take place outside in their Zen-friendly backyard, where her son could get some fresh air. He’d been cooped up in his room for a week since he’d been released from the hospital and he was just now accepting company. The twenty-degree weather was worth it to see him, to know for myself that he was alive.
Dougie appeared to be his usual wise-cracking, thug-tastic self, but there was a vacancy behind his eyes where mischief and humor used to live. Something haunted them now, something dark and inexplicable that only slept in the daytime, which likely contributed to his insomnia.
He claimed he had little recollection of what had happened to him, or at least that’s what he told his parents and the police who visited him in the hospital. Detective Ruiz had done a good job covering the evidence, removing the vehicles and burnt remains, but not the memory of us being there. Dougie was aware that something evil had happened to him and he knew that Caleb and I were connected in some way, but not enough to stitch together a patchy police report.
Caleb came for moral support and, if necessary, to apologize for beating the living crap out of Dougie. I found it funny that we stood in the same place he taught Caleb how to fight off the wanton women in the area. No one expected the teacher to get schooled by the pupil and not in such a brutal manner. Judging by how Dougie narrowed the one eye that wasn’t swollen shut, I was pretty sure he could at least remember that part. He took the defensive pose, but it was hard to look tough with an upper-body cast and neck brace.
The doctor said he would be fine in six weeks, but his wrestling career would have to wait until then, which rightly, was another reason Dougie had his panties in a twist. He sat quiet in the bamboo lawn chair under a blanket, his face swollen and placid as I spat my tale.
Mia sat at his side in the twin chair, holding a can of Sprite for him to drink through a straw. One good thing to come out of this was their newfound appreciation for each other, even if it came at the cost of our friendship.
Mia had returned to giving me the silent treatment in school, not even bothering to look at me, but held enough compassion not to rat out anyone to the police. She had seen what came out of Dougie’s mouth and heard the demon’s cry, but none of the events that night could be explained without the aid of Mulder and Scully. Curiosity had won out and she had agreed to this meeting, wanting to collect on that promise that I would tell her everything.
I talked better on my feet, so I paced the patio area and recapped everything since last summer, from the Fourth of July party to Nadine, to Caleb’s coma, to Malik Davis, to the three-way link, ending with, “And then a demon jumped into your body.”
The two kept quiet to the end, their jaws slacked the whole time I revealed the details of the incredible story.
Mia’s reactions were the textbook stages of grief, starting with incredulity. “You’re joking, right? Quit playing.” Then the last-minute attempt at logic. “Oh yeah? You sure you’re not just bipolar?” Followed by overdramatized panic. “Oh my God! You’re a monster!” Finally, awkward resignation. “So, what happens now?”
“I go on with my life, if that’s all right with you,” I replied. “I’m still me. It’s just me with a little bit extra.”
Dougie scowled at me, struggling to process my explanation. “You say that you’re Cambodian now? You’re not even Asian.”
“Cambion, Dougie. Cambion,” I said.
Mia’s body shifted along the chair and she tucked her scarf tighter around her neck. “I thought that was fried squid.”
“That’s calamari. Okay, guys, say it with me now. Cam-bi-on,” I pronounced the word slowly.
Dougie turned to Mia, revealing the right side of his face, which had bloomed into a big maroon-colored blister. The two judges leaned close, conferring with each other for the next panel question.
“How do you get rid of it?” Dougie asked.
“You have to die,” Caleb said from one of the patio chairs behind me. He’d been quiet all this time, letting me do all the talking.
The two stared at Caleb, surprised at his comment, too wrapped up in my story to remember he was still there.
“And you say you were like this all your life?” Dougie asked him.
Caleb nodded and blew hot air into his chilly hands. “But Sam’s new to our world. She acquired a spirit with Nadine’s death.”
“That’s why your eyes look like that.” Dougie studied me with new understanding. “And Olivia is one too?”
I gave a small nod.
“Who’s Olivia?” Mia asked, her voice edged with accusation.
“A memory.” Dougie leaned over and kissed Mia’s cheek, then asked me, “How can you be cool with this?”
“Because spazzing out is counterproductive,” I said and smiled to Caleb. “I just wanted you to know because you’re the closest people in my life aside from my family. You wanted the truth; there it is and I’m sorry that you don’t like what you’re hearing. What you saw that night was what happens when these things get out of control, when we as human hosts lose sight of who we are. And if we hadn’t stopped it, it would have killed you both. It had no humanity, but we do. And I’m holding on to mine for as long as I can.”
When I got no objection, I continued. “So there you have it, the reason why I’ve been acting weird, why all the boys love me and all the girls hate me, why I have to wear these painful contacts, and why I’ve signed up for therapy. There are things in this life that are far scarier than school, and you only had a taste of what I’ve had to deal with. Welcome to my world.”
I turned to leave, but Dougie’s voice stopped me. “Wait. I ain’t sayin’ you’re a bad person, Sam. It’s just this is too weird for me, you know? Demons? My folks don’t believe that one-religion stuff, but damn, I’m ready to go to church.” He dropped his gaze to the ground in deep thought, his brows knitting together. “These dreams, man, they keep buggin’ me. I keep seeing that thing—what it wanted to do. Can’t even breathe air now and not think of what’s in it. And all these people in my head. I can hear them screaming. I just need to think about it, you know? Get my head right.”
When I nodded, he asked, “Malik Davis is dead, isn’t he?” but it didn’t sound like a question. He knew the answer and just wanted me to say it.
“Yeah.” I stared at my feet and kicked leaves off the clay tiles of the deck.
The hype over Malik had died down in school and the search had been pushed aside to more important matters, as happens with most cold cases. It may sound cruel, but I cared more about his family than the boy himself. The dead didn’t have any problems, but the living were riddled with them. They needed peace, and a reason to stop searching and release the hope that was never there. Between the fear of being exposed and the lack of solid evidence, none of us could give it to them. In fact, I was certain that this conversation would go no further than the four of us. As Hamlet said, “Thus conscience does make cowards of us all.”
“What happens now?” Mia asked, her voice small and timid as she hugged her arms.
“We move on and celebrate life while we’ve got it. Other than that, I gotta get back home. I was only allowed an hour out.” I went to the picnic bench and grabbed my shoulder bag. “So are we cool?” I asked.
“I really don’t know, Sa
m,” Mia said. “Can we get back to you on that?”
“Yeah. I’m not going anywhere. I’ll catch you later.” I left the patio and went around the side of the house with Caleb right behind me.
“Don’t let it get to you, Sam. They’re scared and need time to figure all this out. They’ll come around. You did.” He bumped my arm. “Your mom was serious about you being grounded until you’re eighteen?”
“Yeah, but it’s cool. It’s only a month.” I was lucky to get off so easy. I’d put my mom through hell, and I was once again thankful for Ruiz’s manner of distraction. He had been in New York for weeks, but called Mom every day, which made her smile and forget her own name at times.
Ruiz told me that the remains along with the photos Caleb took on his phone were enough to sate the Santiagos’ bloodlust. Brodie was released from Santiago custody and flew back to England with a belligerent Michael in tow. Our participation had guaranteed a pardon for any persecution, and the family looked forward to meeting me in person. A cold day in hell came to mind. I’m sorry, but threatening to kill me and my boyfriend’s family wasn’t water under the bridge for me.
Angie left for Poland and promised to return in March after her art exhibit. She had somehow found inspiration through this whole ordeal. She made a comment about using Tobias’s ashes for pigment for a piece she was working on, but I hoped to God she was kidding.
Speaking of morbid, I got a package from Olivia last week with the book she bought about the serial killer boyfriend. It was actually a good read, good enough to recommend in our next book meeting at work. Olivia and I still weren’t bosom buddies, but it was a start.
The repairs on Caleb’s town house were complete, and not a day too soon given the fact that he and his brothers were politely evicted from their lavish hotel room. Haden was staying with Caleb until he recovered from his bullet wound and from how Caleb puts it, milking his injury to keep from helping with the move.
Now with everything settled, all I had to worry about was passing trig and devising ways to sneak off with Caleb to feed. This Cambion soul mate stuff was bigger than either of us signed up for, that was for sure. But as Caleb said, there was nothing easy about us. I will say, it’s very entertaining what love will make people do. It’s a great way to start your year.
“Did you want to get something to eat?” I asked as he walked me to my car.
“Naw. I gotta finish moving my stuff back. But I’ll call you later tonight.” He pecked my lips, cheek and neck, successfully making me shiver from more than just the cold.
Finally, he pulled away. “I’ll see you around, Miss Marshall.”
“I know.”
He was halfway to his Jeep before he rushed back across the front lawn for another kiss. This one was quick but with more meaning than the first. A cold, flat disk passed from his mouth to mine. The invasion startled me, but the soft clink against my teeth made his motive clear. We pulled away and stared at each other, examining our fate mapped in front of us.
I’ve seen this face a hundred times, but the image seemed new to me. This wasn’t Caleb, the guy in the music department at work, or Caleb, the Cambion, or Caleb, my boyfriend. This was my future, my matter of life and death, calm and very aware of his effect on me.
Without another word, he walked away, taking another piece of my heart with him. I watched him drive away before I pulled the quarter from my mouth, hoping against hope that he washed it beforehand. Tucking the coin in my back pocket, I realized at this rate, I was going to need a bigger jar.
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Living Violet
Love indulged the masochist.
Truer words have never been spoken, if I do say so myself. It’s a philosophy that has kept me sane for as long as I can remember and helped me survive the weirdest summer of my life. On the flip side, it’s very entertaining what love will make people do. It’s a great way to spend your lunch break.
Sitting on my car hood, sucking down a Big Gulp, I watched the pinnacle of love unfold before my eyes. My best friend, Mia, and her on-again off-again boyfriend, Dougie, squared-off like prize fighters in the middle of the outlet center parking lot.
This week’s drama included props. Dougie pivoted along the concrete, ducking and avoiding death by the finest designer handbag money could buy. Through the litany of screams, cusses, and purse swinging, I figured Mia had caught Dougie hanging out with another girl. Mia could be a little high-strung sometimes, but when it came to her man, she advanced to straight head case. That jealous insanity went both ways, depending on the day, and much amusement awaited all who watched.
“God, you’re such a liar! How could you do this to me?” she raved.
“Chill, baby! She was my cousin!” Dougie escaped the oncoming blow from Mia’s handbag by an inch.
“You lying piece of crap! I’ve met all of your relatives, Douglas. She never came to your house before.”
Dougie ran in circles around her, the blood rush turning his face beet red. “She just came into town! I swear, baby.”
“Why didn’t you introduce me, huh?” Mia wiped her sweaty brown hair from her forehead. “What, are you ashamed of me?”
He paused, clearly hurt at the suggestion. “No! Why would you say that?”
“Liar!” Her purse swung at his head, but missed.
Dougie grabbed one of the straps, and the two began a full tug-of-war in the middle of the parking lot. Weekend shoppers watched in horror, covering the ears of their children from the curses flying in the air. At any moment, someone would definitely call security, so I decided to leave the lovebirds to their own devices.
“Hey, guys,” I yelled behind me. “I gotta get back to work, but I’ll see y’all later, okay?”
“Okay, I’ll call ya!” Mia yelled back before shoving Dougie in the chest.
I dumped my cup in the trash, then entered the side door of Buncha Books. The air-conditioning slapped me in the face and pushed the June heat back outside. Mellow jazz rang through the speakers in a chronic loop from the satellite radio. Tourists and townies overran the floor in a slow, indecisive dance around the bookshelves.
I strolled through the main aisles, past the kiosk of new releases and bestsellers toward the customer service desk in the center of the store. Working at Buncha Books since sophomore year taught me a few tricks of the trade, namely to never get caught on the actual book floor. I also discovered that if I didn’t make eye contact with the customers, they wouldn’t talk to me. That policy remained tucked in my back pocket until my shift started. Casting a wary glance over my shoulder, I singled out an empty computer and clocked back in.
Stealth infiltration and quick reflexes allowed me to reach the other end of the store without incident. When I breezed by the magazine aisle, I caught something odd in my peripheral, a scene disturbing enough to break my stride. I stopped, blinked a few times, and then backtracked to the Home & Garden section to confirm what I just saw.
Caleb Baker, the assistant manager in the music department, held some redhead in a devastating lip-lock. She didn’t seem to have a problem with the public tonsillectomy, but this wasn’t the type of customer service the managers urged us to practice.
Just as I turned to leave, his gaze met mine.
Caleb’s looks would never stop traffic, but he was worth a second glance with his deep dimples, and the most intense violet eyes I had ever seen. Despite his claim of authenticity, eyes that color shouldn’t exis
t in nature—eyes that now reflected every purple tone of the color wheel.
Light brown strands draped over his face as the two continued to slob each other down. If they didn’t come up for air soon, Caleb would no doubt suck the life out of her. From what I hear, cheap hotel rooms existed for such an occasion, and there were plenty in the area to choose from.
Of the year and a half I worked here, that kid weirded me out in one way or another. Not to mention the number of women who chased after him on a regular basis. This fact went unnoticed and unaddressed by everyone in the store, including the managers, which disgusted me even more. Having seen enough, I walked away toward my station before my lunch came back up.
Cuppa-Joe was a coffee shop in the back of the bookstore, the place where people kicked back and talked trash about everyone; the cesspool of company gossip and customer-bashing.
I closed tonight with my weekend partner in crime, Nadine Petrovsky, a Polish exchange student at The College of William & Mary, and one of the most cynical people I ever had the pleasure of meeting. Guys came to the café just to hear her exotic accent and watch her work. One glimpse of her explained why.
Model scouts would salivate over her European beauty: her long wheat-colored hair that reached her butt, and her freaky green cat eyes. Too bad none of the attention interested her. Having no time for the BS left the girl cutthroat and caustic. She was just too focused to let a guy or anyone else slow her down.
Nadine stood in front of the barista machine, rinsing the steam wand, when she caught me in the corner of her eye.