by Dima Zales
“It wasn't all a dream, then,” I said, somewhat disappointed, but at the same time a little relieved.
Salem simply smiled at me. “It is midnight.”
“It is?” I looked at my watch to be sure. “It is! I must have dozed off while reading. So…what happens now?” My voice shook as I spoke.
“Your mother didn't just leave on a whim,” he said grimly, and quite suddenly.
I stared at him groggily. “What? You know my mom?”
“I met her once before,” he said. “You might say I am familiar with her boyfriend more so than her. She left this letter with me, to give to you on your birthday.”
“How did you know where to find me?”
“She told me where you would be. Just read the letter.”
I tore the letter open, my heart racing once more. How much agony was I going to have to endure before this was all over? I read down the letter, slowly taking in each word—
'Alexis, September 9th,
Happy birthday, sweetie. I know the circumstances are a little different than you might have anticipated, but trust me – things are only going to get better. Paul was the one that insisted I leave – maybe not quite like this, but nevertheless, you shouldn’t put the blame entirely on me. You can beat him up for that when you see him again.
I left a present for you with Salem, whom I hope has been kind enough to explain the situation with you more than this letter can. While having a house of your own with no expenses might seem like the perfect eighteenth birthday present, that was more of a gift to me than it was to you. I hope you like it and can find some use for it.
Visit Paul as soon as you can. You will understand even more clearly when you do.
Love always,
Mom'
Before I could ask, Salem passed me a gift box. This led me to believe he had read the letter, but I ignored that thought. I ripped the bright pink wrapping paper away, revealing a simple cardboard box. It wasn't taped, but the flaps had been folded so it wouldn't open. I popped up the flaps to reveal a black, leather-bound book. When I opened it, the pages were blank. I looked at Salem, as if he might have an answer for me.
“What is it?” He leaned over to have a peek.
“Is this some sort of diary?” I laughed. Mom should have known by now that I had no interest in a diary. I had never written in one before, why would I start now?
“I suppose it must be.” He looked a little shocked, as if he was expecting something entirely different. “Whatever it is, your mom wanted you to have it and that's all that is important.” He smiled.
“Please tell me this isn't what I waited all night for.”
“It isn't.” He glanced away from me; his eyes turned toward the vast window behind the sectional. “Now that you are eighteen, your mother thinks you can handle the truth.” He sighed heavily. “I don't know why I was the one left with this task. Perhaps because Mark decided to whisk your mother away at the last moment, giving her no chance to explain, and—”
“The truth about what?” I demanded, breaking him off mid-sentence.
“Your heritage, your real family.” He glanced up at me. “I know this is all very sudden, and it is going to be confusing and hurtful, but I need you to listen. Janet isn't your real mother, Alexis. Nor is Desmond your father.”
I nearly laughed, but stopped myself when I noticed how serious Salem looked. “Of course they are my parents! I have been with them all my life!”
He smiled warmly and took my hand, leading me to the sofa. I sat down hesitantly beside him. “Paul is your real father.”
“As in my uncle Paul?” I shook my head and laughed. “That's impossible. Is this some sort of prank or something?”
“Think about it, Alexis.”
And I did. I thought hard, picturing Desmond and Janet in my mind. I looked nothing at all like them. My father was dark-skinned, lanky and there was no resemblance between him and me. My mother and I may have shared the same dark brunette hair and light complexion, but everything else about us was different. My head was spinning; this was too much.
“Relax,” Salem whispered, placing a gentle hand on my shoulder. “It is going to take some adjusting to, but in time, it will all make sense. I promise.”
“If you’re telling the truth, then why didn’t Paul say something before?” I didn’t want to believe him, but the further I thought about it the more sense it made. I wanted to cry, to scream, to escape. This was all too much in one day.
“He had to wait. It wasn't safe, until now.” Salem's blue eyes were serious again and there was no sign of the warm smile he often wore. “Have you ever read about the Salem Witch Trials?”
Why was he suddenly changing the subject? What did this have to do with anything? I nodded slowly, recalling reading about it in middle school. I supposed he was trying to distract me.
“Remember how I told you my name was a bit contradictory?”
“Yeah, sure.” I remembered it more than I wanted to admit.
“My mother was an ancestor to Alice Gray,” he spoke quietly, “she was the first witch to be executed during the Trials. Do you understand how this is contradictory?”
“Yes...” I muttered. “What does this have to do with anything?”
“The world isn't as simple as it might seem, Alexis.” He stared out the window behind us. The water rippled elegantly; the bright moonlight reflected upon the lake's surface. “Coincidences simply aren't coincidental.”
The cake. The cake wasn't coincidental? On came the spinning again. “What are you trying to tell me, Salem?” I gasped, trying to breathe.
“Calm down,” he whispered. “The witches in Massachusetts were real witches.”
I shook my head in disbelief. “Are you trying to tell me that you’re a witch?”
“Warlock would be the correct term, I suppose,” he replied with mild humor, “but no. I'm not a warlock—at least, not exactly.”
“Not exactly?” I eyed him suspiciously.
“I have some...special abilities. Nevertheless, I am definitely not a warlock.”
“I think you have a bad case of sleep deprivation or something, Salem. Or you’re…I don’t know…this is insane.”
He smirked. “I don't sleep. It isn't necessary for me.”
“What?” I laughed, knowing I must still be asleep and suffering from bizarre dreams brought on from the stress of yesterday’s events.
“I'll explain that another time.”
“I should go home...” I blurted out suddenly. “This is all wrong. This is all crazy…you're crazy!”
The last words clearly stung. “I am not crazy. Neither are you. And you are in no condition to be driving right now. You can stay here.”
“Here?!” I shouted, bewildered. “Would you stay in some stranger’s house after they told you your parents weren't who you thought they were for the past eighteen years, and then told you he had special 'abilities?!"
Salem frowned, and his eyes reflected the sadness. “Honestly, I probably wouldn't – if I didn't know all of this was true.”
My mind was racing with questions and worries, but soon they all seemed to fade. A sense of calm filled me and I felt completely at ease in Salem’s presence. “What are these special ‘abilities’ you claim to have anyway? And how do you do them?”
“That cake.” He smiled sheepishly. “I can make things materialize like that.”
“What? How?”
“It's a long story, Alexis.” He leaned back on the couch. “You probably couldn't handle it all right now. I'll tell you more tomorrow.”
“I can handle it,” I insisted, although I knew that was a lie. In fact, I was almost certain I was somewhere on the side of the highway, unconscious in my flipped over vehicle and my mind was wandering into madness as I slowly slipped away, because this was impossible. This was not real.
Wake up, Alexis, wake up! I thought to myself as my mind raced almost as fast as my heart.
“I won't tell y
ou any more until you have rested”, he said firmly. “Would you be more comfortable sleeping on the sofa or in the guest room?”
I wanted to decline both options and yell that I’d prefer to sleep outside in my car, but instead I found myself agreeing to sleep on the couch.
“Good choice. There are much more dangerous things out there to you than me.”
It was true that he hadn’t hurt me yet, and he had had ample opportunity while I napped earlier.
I didn't object to him helping me stretch out across the sofa, nor did I notice him leave the room to fetch a blanket and pillow. I had to admit that this was comfortable, warm and much better than struggling to sleep in the Alero.
“Goodnight, Alexis, sleep well,” Salem whispered as my eyes fell shut uncontrollably. Sleep overcame me quickly as I silently hoped I would wake up in my familiar bed to find this had all truly been a dream.
6
There was that familiar tugging again. My dreams were full of wonder, a strange boy named Salem, Mom abandoning me...this time I was more eager to wake up. I was startled when I found myself on a white sofa identical to the one in my dream – or what I had hoped was a dream. I screamed, pulled myself away from the comfortable sectional couch and ran toward the tall milky doors.
As the doors slammed shut behind me, I fell to my knees on the alabaster stairs. My Alero was gone. I fought the urge to scream again, and felt a sudden whip of cold air from behind me.
“Good morning.” The silky, sweet voice of the boy from my dream filled my ears.
I rose from the ground and thrust myself at him, my palm prepared to smack him across the cheek, but he was too quick. He gripped my wrist tightly and pulled my arm downward. “There's no need for that.” His voice was tense. “Your car isn't gone. It is in the garage.”
My eyes fell upon the garage to the left of the house, and I sighed with relief. He released my hand. “I’ll admit, it wasn’t easy getting it there, as I have limited experience with operating vehicles…however, I managed, and assure you that your car wasn’t damaged in the process,” he said and looked amused at my expression of alarm. “While we're out here, though, why don't we drive over to Paul's business? There are many things he needs to explain to you, and the sooner you know, the sooner you will understand everything,” he suggested, his voice calm and gentle now.
“I don't want to go there,” I replied stubbornly. If all of this was true, I didn't think I was ready to face reality. Paul couldn't be my father.
“You will have to eventually, you know,” Salem said calmly. “And somewhere, deep down, you want to.”
“What does it matter anyway? It’s not like it will change anything.”
“It will change a lot of things, actually,” he stated. “You'll feel better if you go.”
“I highly doubt it.”
The garage door opened, revealing my silver car. Salem gripped my hand gently and led me over to the vehicle. Despite all that had happened, it felt strangely good having his hand in mine.
I snapped out of the brief thought of Salem’s touch as he pulled my keys from his pocket, holding them in the air between us–the now familiar and alluring smile slightly blocked by the dangling metal. I sighed, taking the keys and climbing into the car. It appeared I had little choice; he was very persistent. I sat behind the steering wheel, pondering whether I could pull out of the garage and go home before he made it into the passenger seat. I put the key in the ignition and started the car, about to put it in reverse when I heard the passenger-side door open and shut.
“You're too slow.” He smirked.
“Maybe you're too fast,” I said glumly.
After enduring the long winding trip away from Salem's house we finally made it back to town and soon pulled up to Paul's auto shop. I glanced over at Salem, who had an apprehensive look on his face.
“What's the matter with you?” I asked.
His expression changed immediately, although I could tell he was faking the smile this time. “Nothing. Go on ahead, I will wait out here.”
“It’s fine; I don’t care if you come, I mean…you already know it all anyway, right?” Part of me sincerely wished he would join me; I didn't want to face Paul alone, regardless if I barely knew this boy.
“No.” He gave me a stern look. “It would be best if I was not present.”
“I really don’t think Paul will care if you come with me, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“I'm staying out here, and that's final,” he replied, the fake smile vanishing right as he turned away from me.
“Fine!” I said bitterly, slamming the door behind me as I left the boy in the car. His eyes were watchful as I approached the shop. As soon as I opened the glass doors I scrunched my nose. The smell of oil was so overwhelming I had to cup my hand over my nose to keep from gagging.
Paul was nowhere to be seen at first, but I could hear his distinct voice paired with someone else's. He must have been with a customer. I noticed a small surveillance camera perched high up on the ceiling, and I felt like it was following my every step. It had been years since I came here, but everything looked the same as it always had.
The building wasn’t too huge, but large enough to fit a back room full of various-sized car, bicycle and motorcycle tires. There were at least seven aisles of vehicle-related objects that I simply had no idea what were. For me, this was probably the most boring store in existence. Despite that fact, there was nothing else to do other than browse while I waited for my uncle—or father, if the story was true. As I quietly walked down the first aisle, I found a row of things I actually recognized and understood: air fresheners. I picked up a rose-shaped one and sniffed it, displeased by the fact that I could barely smell the scent through the plastic sleeve.
“Can I help you?” a woman's voice asked. I jumped and looked in her direction.
She was about a foot shorter than me – which was unfortunate for her, because I was barely over five feet myself – and a little chunky around the midsection. Her face was round and full, and atop her head was a spiked mess of pink hair. She wore a loose, sleeveless black top that revealed her arms, both of which were covered in vibrant, colorful tattoos. She had to be at least twenty-five or so.
“I-I'm looking for Paul,” I stuttered.
“He's with somebody else at the moment. Is there something I can help you with, though?” Her voice was high-pitched and light, bizarre coming from someone of her appearance.
“No. I'm sort of...family,” I wanted to say I was his niece, but I wasn’t even sure if that was the correct answer anymore.
“Oh!” She grinned and held her hand out. “I'm Kate.”
“I'm Alexis,” I muttered, wishing I could retreat back to my car and avoid all of this. “Any idea how long until he’s done?”
“No idea, but knowing him it could be a while.” She laughed and shook her head. “I think he spends more time buddying up the customers than he does fixing anything.”
“What do you do here?” I asked, trying to pass the time and being as polite as I could under the circumstances.
“Me? I work behind the counter,” she replied, pointing to the checkout counter at the front of the store. “I've been here for almost two years now, and don't tell Paul, but I still don’t know jack about half the junk people bring in here.”
“Yeah, I’ve never been much of a car person, either.”
Before the pink-haired woman had a chance to say anything else, Paul came walking out from the back of the store grinning and shaking his head. He looked just as I remembered him, if not a little heavier. He was a bulky man, with broad shoulders and muscles fit for a wrestler. His appearance had always intimidated me, but despite the way he looked, he was a gentle man. Atop his head was a thick mane of bronze hair that I was grateful I hadn't inherited from the family gene pool.
“Alex!” he said, walking in our direction with the grin on his face widening more than I thought possible, then suddenly engulfing me in
his big arms.
“Hey, Paul,” I squeaked under the pressure of his hug.
He released me, the grin never leaving his scruffy, oil-stained face. “Happy birthday!”
I frowned. “I guess you wouldn’t forget a day like that, huh?”
“What? Forget my favorite niece’s birthday?!” He laughed and ruffled my hair, like he did when I was a kid. “What brings you around these parts, having some car troubles? I told your mom that old Al-”
“Mom–no, Janet–gave me a letter last night,” I interrupted, lying a little, not mentioning that Salem had filled me in on the rest of the story.
“About what?” He didn't seem to have a clue why I was here. I glanced past the aisles and customers and through the windows at Salem, wondering if it really had all been some sort of elaborate prank. He didn't move an inch.
“About her and Desmond not being...” The words caught in my throat. “About them not being my real parents.”
“Oh...” he muttered, looking at me in shock. “Do you want to go to the back room?”
I could feel Kate's brown eyes gazing curiously at us. I nodded my head slowly and followed Paul into the back. We were surrounded by boxes of car parts that weren't out on the shelves yet, and in the far corner was a light-brown desk cluttered with used coffee mugs, scattered papers and a checkbook. He took a seat behind the messy desk, and I sat in the seat on the opposite side.
“What exactly did she tell you?” he asked, pushing some of the debris away so he could lean forward with his elbows against the wood top.
“She told me that you are my real…my real father,” I said with some difficulty. “Is it true?”
He appeared just as uncomfortable talking about this as I was. “Yes, Alexis. I am your father.” His voice was barely audible.
“Why...why didn’t anyone ever tell me?”
“It was for your own good,” he said with a sigh. “I was just trying to protect you.”
“Protect me? Protect me from what?”