John got up and gestured to the folding chair, offering it to her. She shook her head. They still had a good three hours of daylight. She didn’t want to spend it sitting in her mouse-infested carport. Still, it wasn’t safe to go out. But, the lake was always well patrolled by police. They could make it home before dark just to be safe. “You wanna go for a walk?” she asked.
“What about the killer?”
“We have a few hours a daylight left, right? And the police say we shouldn’t be afraid. I’m not going to be cooped up like a prisoner.”
“Okay. Where are we going?”
“The lake.”
“The lake?” he asked.
She nodded. “You'll see.”
John
Thursday 6:38 p.m.
When the trees pulled back and he spotted the lake, John blew out a deep breath. Magnificent. The lake stretched across his periphery, hedged with trees all the way around. Across the way, two white swans floated regally across the rippling surface. To his left a killdeer scuttled across the brown sand. It keened a mournful note and its mate answered. Despite the heat, there were no bathers. One leathery old man lay face up, his radio broadcasting a baseball game in his ear. Camila and John moved off to the right where the water lapped quietly on the sand. John felt a shiver of pleasure run through him. To be in this place of splendid beauty with an even more beautiful girl at his side, well, this was paradise.
“You come here a lot?” he asked, his eyes on a swan that was circling the water.
“Uh-huh.” Camila’s eyes followed the swan too, but John could tell her mind was floating elsewhere. “Mama used to bring me here as a kid. Before she got sick.”
John scooped up a handful of sand and let it sift through his fingers. “How long has she been like this?”
Camila shrugged. “Hard to say. It was kind of a gradual decline, not like a sharp drop. I remember her being in bed a lot when I was in fifth grade. By high school, our trailer was pretty trashed. Once she went off for a week without calling. I was pretty scared.” She squeezed her hands together and blew out a tense breath. “One time she picked me up from school, plopped me in the car, and started driving to Disney. We ran out of gas in Tennessee. Never made it to Disney, but we did get a tour of Nashville from the guy who drove us to the gas station.”
John smiled. “That's an exciting way to live life.”
“You mean weird.” She shook her head, smiling wryly.
“What about the rest of your family? What do they think about your mom?”
Camila took a breath. “Uh, they’re not big fans. We’re not in touch. I've been trying to get a hold of my grandfather in Bolivia, but I can't find a phone number.” Camila shook her head, lifting a smile onto her face. “But, we’ve all got our problems.” she said, letting her eyes trace his face. “You can’t even remember who you are. That’s a problem.”
His cheeks flushed and he dropped his eyes to the sand flecks clinging to his fingers. “Maybe it’s better I don’t remember my family. I mean, if they cared about me so much, wouldn’t they have come looking for me?”
Camila drew her name in the sand with her finger and then smoothed it out with her palm. “They’re looking. Maybe we need to ask around. Where was the last place you remember?”
“The dog park,” he said, and regretted it. Would she put two and two together?
Her lips pursed as her mind worked this over. “The park that they closed down? The one with those comet craters?”
He nodded.
“Did you see the craters?”
John swallowed and nodded. “One of them, anyway.”
Should he tell her? He’d already lied once. He felt his secret resting uncomfortably just above his breastbone. It would feel so good to get it out, like coughing hard enough to dislodge a kernel stuck in his throat.
“So, maybe something from the meteor knocked you unconscious or whatever,” she said, splaying her fingers through the sand. “Did your head hurt?”
He rubbed at hand over the back of his head. “Yeah, a little.”
“Okay.” She stared off into the weeds. “Then how do we figure out who you are? In movies they always go back to the last place they remember, but the park’s off limits. We’ll have to come up with something else.”
John picked up a strand of dried seaweed and twisted it. He thought of the silo from his vision. Should he ask her? “There is this one thing.”
Camila squinted into the sun as she met his gaze. “What?”
“I keep picturing this big cement silo. Like a grain silo maybe, or something like that. Is there a farm with one of those around here?”
Camila scrunched up her face, thinking. Finally she shook her head. “I don't think so. That's the only memory you have?”
John nodded. “There's nothing else.”
Camila leaned in a little. “Close your eyes.”
He looked at her. “Why?”
She shrugged, offering a small smile. “Something I saw on Guiding Light. They’re always losing their memory and trying to get it back.” When he hesitated, she sank back in the sand. “Forget it. It's stupid.”
“No, let’s do it.”
“You sure?” She perked up.
“Yeah.” He settled back and closed his eyes. “It can’t hurt, right?”
With his vision gone, the rest of his senses picked up the slack. He was suddenly aware of the sound of water lapping at the shore, the ribbets of frogs in the cattails to his right, the shrill cicada’s buzz. He heard Camila lean closer in the sand. Her knee brushed against the fabric at his thigh as she shifted. Over the smells of lake water and earthy forest, he found the scent of her strawberry shampoo. If she'd stay this close to him, he'd do any memory exercise in the world.
“Okay,” her voice said above him. “I want you to clear your mind.”
“Isn’t that the problem?” he said, smirking.
“No, silly, I mean clear it of all the thoughts of the day, the worries, the fears. Just try to make your mind blank.” She shifted and again he felt her knee brush his thigh. How could he clear his mind when she kept touching him?
“I’ll try,” he said, blowing out a breath. “For you.”
John settled himself and pressed the thoughts out of his mind. Many came swirling back, the anxieties of the day buzzed around like pesky flies, but he fought back, chasing them down and swatting them out. When Camila spoke next, it was as if her voice came from farther away.
“I want you to go deep, deep inside your mind. Deep into the places where you’ve hidden your memories. As I count to ten, you’re going to go deeper. At ten you’ll be so deep you’ll find those memories you’re looking for. Okay, one…two…three…”
This is never going to work, John thought, but he cleared that thought away and listened to the soft vibration of Camila’s voice. With his eyes closed, he was actually feeling pretty drowsy.
By the count of six, he felt his head dip.
By ten the lake, the sand and even Camila were gone.
Thursday 6:48 p.m.
Darkness. Then sparklers of light at the backs of his eyes. Suddenly there was a flash and the sharp smell of something burning. Then the feel of moist dirt on his bare skin.
Another flash. His head spun. Then he was hurtling downward in a black void. Stars whipped past in streaks of light through the small semi-translucent window. He was in some sort of organic pod, warm and pulsing. It felt like being inside a beating heart. A voice spoke, vibrating the walls. Someone familiar. He wanted to hear more, but the image bled and shifted.
The silo flashed before him like a neon sign on a black backdrop. This time he was farther back and he could see the whole thing. It was taller, more bulbous at the top. Some type of tower? He started to walk toward it.
Then it too fizzled and died.
Deeper, further. He needed more.
He pushed inside himself, digging at memories through a membrane of foggy confusion. Just as he was about to break through the fog,
a searing pain hit him like a fire poker wedged through the two halves of his cranium. His head would split apart.
He cried out.
He woke gasping.
Cradled his throbbing head in his hands, he moaned. He couldn’t open his eyes. They would rupture and leak out if he tried.
“John? Oh God, John. I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”
He turned toward the voice. “Camila?” he mumbled. God, his head. It felt like someone had dropped one of those train cars on it.
“John? What happened?” A hand closed over his and a thumb moved in gentle circles over the back of his wrist. He concentrated on the sensation of her fingers on his skin and the headache abated slowly. He opened his eyes.
A jab of pain, but then it backed off until he could focus on her face hovering over his. Her dark brows furrowed. Her hair fell over her shoulder and tumbled down to where it lay pooled on his chest like a silk curtain. Her tank top spilled forward revealing two mounds of soft tan flesh. Suddenly his headache seemed a lot better.
She shook her head. “I can’t believe I did that. God, I’m sorry, John.” She continued to rub his hand. “That never happens on Guiding Light.”
John sat up and the pain lanced the backs of his eyes. He pressed his fingers to his eye sockets and waited. Then he opened them again. “I think it might’ve worked. At least…” He looked up, trying to remember.
“Really?” she asked, her eyes widening.
“I don’t know what it means.” He dug his finger into the soft brown sand, drawing the image he had seen. Slowly he traced the shape burned into his brain like an after image of a flashbulb in the darkness— the tall cylinder topped with an oval. John shook his head. What was it?
“The water tower?” Camila said, examining his drawing. She lifted her eyes to his. “You had a vision of the water tower?”
John pointed to his drawing. “This is the water tower?”
Camila nodded, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “It looks like it. It’s the right shape anyway. It’s the one they just built on Guidings Road over by the landfill. Is this what you saw?”
“Some of it, yeah.” John ran a hand over his forehead. Most of his vision was a blur, like images viewed out a car window at eighty miles an hour.
Camila stood, brushing her sandy hands on her cut-off shorts. “Well, let’s go.”
He squinted up at her. “Go? To the water tower?”
She nodded, holding a hand out to help him. He accepted and she pulled him to his feet.
For a moment they stood, feet planted on the sand, a warm summer breeze teasing back the strands of her dark hair. Her hand was in his. He savored the supple curve of her palm, the delicate brush of her fingers on his. She released him and turned away. He stood, wishing he could go back to touching her again.
When they got to the main road and set out toward the water tower, the sun was just brushing the tops of the trees. Camila looked up at the sinking sun and frowned.
“When does your mom expect you home?” John asked, kicking at a hunk of gravel buried in the long grass on the road’s shoulder.
Camila shrugged, frowning. “She’ll probably be zonked out until morning. Besides, I’m an adult. I don’t have to answer to my mother.”
John dug his hands in his shorts' pockets. He was about to respond when a semi-truck clattered by, spewing a cloud of exhaust in their direction. When the rumble faded, he turned to Camila. “You don’t have to do this. I can go alone.”
Camila shook her head. “Nuh-uh. Not with a psycho killer on the loose.”
John raised an eyebrow, smiling. “You’re going to protect me?”
“What? You don’t think I can?” She swiveled and lifted her fists, a playful smile dancing across her face. “You think you’re so tough because you’re six-four?”
John nodded. “Six-five,” he corrected her. “Yeah, I’m pretty tough.”
Camila stuck out her bottom lip and waved him forward. “Give me your best shot.”
John held up two palms like boxer's mitts. “You’re the one who’s going to defend us, remember?” Her eyes were twinkling with mischief. He pointed to his outstretched palm. “Go ahead. Put one right here.”
Camila looked from John’s face to his hand. “Really? Really hit you?”
“Really.” He lowered his hand to make it easier.
She considered this for a minute, reached back and punched his palm.
The smack was loud, a good solid punch, but John hardly felt it. He pulled back his hand, shook it tenderly, and mouthed ow.
Camila smiled and dropped her fists to her hips. “Told you I could defend us. Bring on the psycho killers.”
John nodded, but suddenly felt cold. His eyes flitted to the dark shadows between each pine. Where was the beast now? Did he smell him?
By the time they got to the water tower, the sun had disappeared behind the tree line and the sky was a beautiful orange and purple blend. As they approached, his heart spurred up. It was the tower from his vision. But why?
They shuffled to a stop beneath it and John looked up, hoping something would jog his memory. It rose about ten stories with a cylindrical concrete base. Up above, the curve of the oval water basin bowed out above them. The side read Auburn Township in big green letters. John waited, shifted, waited some more. A mosquito landed and needled into this arm. He swatted at it and looked up. What was he doing here?
“Well,” Camila said, studying his face, “anything?”
He looked around the shrubs that bordered the field. The grass waved in the twilight. A truck thudded by on the road beside them.
“Nothing.” He shrugged. “Sorry.”
“Maybe it's another building nearby.” She squinted into the dark, off into the distance.
Suddenly a figure strode out of the shadows: a man maybe a couple years older than John. He was tall and muscular, though a little pudgy around the middle and he was eating… Was that a cake right out of the box? John jumped in front of Camila, his hands in fists.
The stranger raised a cake-filled hand in greeting.
“Jesus, Jopari,” the stranger said, “where have you been? You look like crap.”
Camila
Thursday 7:54 p.m.
Camila stared at the stranger in front of them, a raw anxiety snapping through her like an electric current. Tall and broad shouldered, John and this strange man could’ve been brothers with their dark brown hair and brown eyes. This guy looked four or five years older with long wavy locks, olive skin and a pouty mouth set in an impish smirk. The stranger had on a white Haynes T-shirt, board shorts and flip-flops, like he was ready for a beach party. And he was eating a whole cake out of the baker's box. The chocolate frosting clung to his fingers as he took another giant handful and chewed. He tossed the box into the weeds and brushed his hands on his shorts.
Was she dreaming? Camila blinked and shook her head. Nope. Just losing her marbles.
“Who are you?” John asked, not moving, not even blinking. His forearms tensed.
The man chewed a few more times, then shook his head. “Are you kidding?” His voice was still thick with cake. “Gods, Jopari, I've been all over this hell-hole looking for you. We were supposed to meet here two days ago, and you never showed. What happened to you this time? And who’s the broad?”
The broad? Camila crossed her arms over her chest, indignation swelling.
John just stood dazed.
The guy pulled a plastic soda bottle from his shorts' pocket and took a swig, shaking his head. “Ah, damn it. Total wipe? Gods, we’ve had a lot of trouble this time around.” He strode forward and peered into John’s eyes like a doctor.
John stumbled back.
“Who are you?” Camila said, stepping forward. “What're you doing?” She planted herself in front of the stranger and glared at him.
The stranger laughed, sending a wave of goose bumps up her arms. “Where’d you find her, Jo? The back of the line at the Jersey Shore audition
s?” He snorted at his joke, then raised a dark eyebrow at Camila. She frowned. He held his soda out in her direction. “Thirsty?” She shook her head. He shrugged and took a huge gulp. “I love Mountain Dew.” He glanced at the bottle. “How do they come up with this stuff?”
Camila frowned. “Who are you?”
The stranger stepped closer, peering down at Camila, more amused than annoyed. He waggled one dark eyebrow. “I could tell you who I am, sweetheart, but if I tell ya,” he lifted the corners of his mouth mischievously, “I gotta kill ya.”
“Enough!” John stepped between Camila and the stranger and peered into his face. Was that some recognition dawning behind all the confusion?
The stranger slapped a hand on John’s shoulder. John stiffened, but the stranger tugged him forward. John reluctantly followed him. They stopped a few feet away, heads bowed together and began whispering. What were they saying? Camila couldn't help it. She tiptoed close enough to catch their words.
“…thought you’d come alone, Jo. Can’t blame ya cause of the difficulties with your noggin, but this chick,” he shook his head, “she complicates things, my friend.”
Oh God, this guy made her mad. “I can hear you,” Camila said, her arms crossed over her chest.
“Course you can, sweetheart,” the stranger said, stepping back. He addressed them both now, spreading his arms wide like he was giving a speech. “You two can call me Nomad. Jopari, John, whoever you are these days, I need you to meet me back here in an hour. Alone.” He stressed the word, looking at Camila.
She frowned. “Why should he?”
“Because,” he said, smirking, “if he doesn’t, he’ll never know who he is or where he came from.”
Camila looked up at John. His eyes were still trained on Nomad. Somehow that made her angry. “Why should he trust you?”
Nomad dug a candy bar out of his pants and took a huge bite. Then he continued with his mouth full. “He knows why, he just doesn't remember. If you don’t come, John, you’ll never know what is hunting the nice people of this town.” He flashed Camila a set of perfect teeth, marred with gobs of chocolate. “And you’ll never know how to stop it.”
20 Shades of Shifters: A Paranormal Romance Collection Page 157