[Anthology] The Paranormal 13- now With a Bonus 14th Novel!

by Dima Zales

She gives me a final once over, and claps her hands. She’s thrilled. “There may be hope for you yet!” She doesn’t need me to check her over, she knows without even looking in the mirror that everything’s right, not a hair or anything else out of place.

  I have to take one last good long look at myself, though. The woman staring back at me has my eyes, but the rest of her…

  I hear my own voice asking, “Who is that?”

  Beth laughs, and steps into view next to me. “That’s one hot babe, that’s who it is.”

  Hot babe? Me? Not quite. Beth is the only hot babe in the mirror. There’s really no comparison between us. She’s got ridiculously perfect shoulder-length blonde hair, while I’ve got a tangle of barely-manageable brown curls. She has unbelievable legs and a good five inches on me. And to top it off, she’s – “well-endowed” is probably the best way to put it, and I’m, well, not.

  You know what, though? Despite all that, even though she’s beautiful and the most I’d ever call myself is “cute” or, maybe right now, at my absolute best, “pretty,” I’m not a bit jealous or envious.

  I feel really good next to her, actually. I look into my own eyes, green and bright and alive, as though I haven’t just gone through a week of horrible nightmares and barely any sleep, and I like what I see.

  OK, enough staring. We’ve got places to go. I grab my purse and we’re off, out the door, down the stairs. “Prepare to be amazed, people!” Beth shouts out ahead of us. There’s a crowd in the lobby, and they all stare up at her coming down the stairs. And then they stare at me.

  Someone says “wow,” and there’s a whistle or two. I’m sure it’s all just joking, but still, it feels really good to hear it. I can’t help showing off, I do a little twirl at the bottom of the stairs. Why not? It’s a special occasion. I’m not sure why, but it feels like one.

  Beth knows it too. She winks at me, and I wink right back; maybe it’s just wishful thinking, but I don’t think so. I’m convinced it’s more than that. This is going to be an evening to remember. I don’t have a doubt in my mind about it.

  2

  (December 1-2, 1989)

  Making it downtown in one piece turns out to be quite the adventure. Five of us jam ourselves into Joe’s car, which isn’t a recommended number for a creaky old VW Beetle. Jackie and Fred and I squeeze together in the back seat, while Beth is driving Joe crazy in the front.

  Beth can’t help but give advice when she’s a passenger. Usually it’s along the lines of “you’re not going to let him cut you off like that, are you?” Not surprisingly, that kind of thing doesn’t tend to go over very well. I spend the whole drive massaging Joe’s shoulders and telling him over and over that everything’s OK.

  Thankfully we do make it downtown in one piece, and we even find parking only a couple of blocks away from the club. That’s got to be a good omen, right? So here we are. We’re walking down Superior Avenue; I’m hanging back with Beth and Jackie. The boys are half a block ahead of us, leading the way. Right now Jackie’s telling us that she’s hoping Fred will make a move on her tonight.

  “I know he wants to. I’m pretty sure anyway. I thought he was going to last week but he got nervous, I guess.”

  “You could just make a move on him,” Beth tells her. It sounds simple enough, but Jackie’s clearly not comfortable with the concept. I know how she feels, but two and a half years of living with Beth have rubbed off on me at least a little bit.

  “She’s right. If there’s anything you can trust her on, it’s matters of the heart,” I reassure Jackie.

  “And other organs,” Beth says. “They’re much more fun than the heart anyway.” Well, that’s settled. As usual Beth has the last word. And here are the boys. Joe’s stopped to talk to someone. It’s a small world, because he’s talking to a mutual friend.

  “Hey, Reggie!” Reggie Morton’s an RA on the other side of campus. Now, anyway. Our freshman year she was our next door neighbor.

  “Sara! Wow, you look fantastic!” It really is nice to be noticed like that once in a while. I could probably get used to it.

  “Thanks! Where are you headed?”

  “I was just telling Joe, we’ve got some free passes to Sharky’s. You guys want to join us?”

  Free is good. It’ll be fun to go with Reggie, too. I haven’t done anything with her in a while. “Fine by me.”

  “Sure,” Beth agrees. Jackie and Fred nod their heads. Sharky’s it is. It’s just a few doors down from Checkpoint Charlie’s, so it’s not out of the way. This is good, because it’s freezing cold and I’m not wearing nearly enough to be walking around outside for any length of time.

  I feel much better. A couple of drinks and an hour of dancing were just what I needed. Right now, I’m resting for a few minutes, dancing takes a lot of energy. And it’s very crowded and warm in here too. I’m enjoying myself, which is the most important thing. I made the rounds, said “hi” when I spotted a couple of folks I knew, danced with Beth a little, and I danced with Joe quite a bit.

  I remember reading in a novel once how a character took a turn on the dance floor that “could’ve gotten her pregnant.” I was never sure quite what that involved before, but now I know exactly what it means. I’m sure Joe wasn’t expecting anything like that. It’s good to know I can still surprise people once in a while.

  Jackie catches my eye. She’s wading her way through the crowd to me. It doesn’t look easy, but she eventually makes it over here. “Sara!”

  “Yes!” We’re not quite two feet apart and we still have to shout at the top of our lungs to hear each other.

  “We want to try the other club!” I think that’s what she says, anyway.

  I like this place just fine, but right now I think I’ll do great wherever we go. Besides, I’ve never been to Checkpoint Charlie’s and from the little I’ve heard it sounds kind of interesting. Why not? “I’ll go get Beth! You find everybody else! Meet us outside!”

  She nods her head and starts pushing through the mass of people away from me, so I assume she heard me correctly. I head back onto the dance floor; Beth is there somewhere. I’m shaking and swaying my way into the crowd and I see her. No surprise; she’s dancing with three guys, all very good-looking. She finally sees me, smiles, gives me a little wave. I slide between two of her guys and grab her arm. She blows all of them a kiss as I pull her away.

  “Something wrong? Or were you just jealous?” she asks me when we get off the dance floor and then to a halfway quiet spot so we can actually talk.

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean to spoil your fun, but we’re leaving. Jackie wants to go to the other club, and I kind of want to check it out too. OK?”

  Beth looks back at her suitors, shakes her head. “Oh, well. I can do better anyway,” she says as she follows me towards the door. We get outside, pushing past the line of people trying to get in. Joe and Jackie and Fred are waiting for us a little way down the street.

  “Is everybody having a good time?”

  “I know you sure are,” Joe answers me.

  “And you aren’t? What, you didn’t like dancing with me?”

  He drapes his arm around my shoulders. “I didn’t say that. I just didn’t expect you to be so…” he’s got that lost-in-thought expression now. Joe’s usually very particular about what he says and how he says it. “…friendly.” That isn’t quite the word I’d have chosen, but I let it pass. He goes on: “You never got that ‘friendly’ when we were dating. That’s all I meant.” Ancient history. We went out a few times last year. Nothing came of it, there just wasn’t any chemistry, I guess. It never got too serious, physically or otherwise, so it wasn’t ugly or awful when we stopped dating. I’m pretty sure that’s why we’re still friends today.

  Beth is curious now. “How ‘friendly’ are we talking here?”

  “Friendly enough to make you proud. How about that?” And I don’t even blush when I say it. I think that’s what surprises her the most – she’s utterly speechless now. Hah! I act
ually managed to shock her. That doesn’t happen often.

  We‘re in front of Checkpoint Charlie’s now. It’s a warehouse, or it used to be one. It isn’t much to look at from the outside – rundown is the first word that comes to mind. But there’s a line to get in, so it must be better inside than out. I head for the back of the line, but Beth shakes her head and walks right up to the doorman. She’s talking to him, pointing at us – me, I think, but I’m not completely sure.

  It doesn’t take long at all for her to talk him into letting us in. I’m pretty sure it wasn’t what she said as much as her miniskirt. It could get her arrested for indecent exposure if it were about an inch shorter. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, she wears it very well. Besides, the truth is that the whole sex kitten thing she does is mostly an act. A little bit of it is real, but nowhere near as much as she likes to pretend. Not that I’d ever say that to her. Anyway, act or not, if she can work it and get us to skip the waiting-outside-in-line part, I’m all in favor. It looks like it is working; she waves us over to her, and in we go.

  The place is decorated in – well, East German chic by way of a military surplus store is probably the best way I can describe it. There’s a big video screen covering almost one entire wall. It’s showing one of those old May Day parades, where all the tanks and planes and missiles drive around Moscow or wherever. There are neon fighter planes hanging from the ceiling; and from the little I can see all the bartenders are wearing military uniforms.

  It’s a clever idea, I guess. Cold War military surplus is not something I would ever have thought of, but it is pretty funny, and it’s definitely unique. Popular, too, if the line outside is anything to judge by.

  Except, now that we’re inside, it isn’t quite as crowded as I expected. Not that it’s deserted or anything, but there’s room to walk without having to shove past people, and it isn’t so loud that you can’t hear yourself think, like Sharky’s was.

  So we’re wandering over to the bar. I look over at a table in one corner with a red and gold neon fighter plane hanging right above it. My eighth grade boyfriend would have known exactly what it was called and all the vital statistics about it. I just think it looks kind of funny. And…

  And what?

  …Sara is in the stands, watching a basketball game, watching herself down on the court cheering for a tall, dark-haired guy who’s getting ready to take a shot. Watching herself, watching someone else who’s dreaming about her…

  It’s him. The guy at the table under the fighter plane is the guy on the court. The one from the dream. It’s definitely, absolutely, bet-my-life-on-it him. That’s impossible, isn’t it? It wasn’t real, he wasn’t real. It was just a stupid, weird dream. But he’s sitting right over there!

  And so what? I’m in uncharted territory here, but I know it has to mean something. I didn’t just dream about him. I was inside his head, or he was inside mine. Whichever. There was him, and then there were the nightmares.

  At least the dream with him, as weird as it felt, wasn’t all creepy and horrible. Actually, if you take away the weird, it didn’t feel bad at all. So if the nightmares are making me crazy, maybe this guy will – what? Make the nightmares stop? Make me sane again? I don’t know, but I have to find out.

  “Hey, what’s going on?”

  It’s Beth. I assume she’s wondering why I stopped dead in my tracks and why I’m staring at some random guy. "Nothing. I just need to talk to somebody over there. You go get a drink, I’ll find you in a little while.”

  I don’t wait for an answer. I head straight for my mystery man.

  I’ve seen love at first sight happen. When I say that, I mean two people seeing each other for the first time and the moment their eyes meet there’s an instant connection. It’s almost like electricity, everybody in the room can feel it. I’ve been there when it happened, and there’s no doubt at all that’s what it was. Say what you want about it being silly or sappy or just plain BS, I don’t care. I know it’s real.

  That’s what it feels like when I’m halfway over to him, and he turns his head, sees me, and we make eye contact. Everything else disappears. There’s me and him and nothing else in the world. We’re connected. I don’t know why, I don’t know how, but that doesn’t change the fact that it’s happening.

  And now I’m there and he’s staring at me like he can’t believe I’m real. It’s OK, I feel the same way. I reach out, put my hand on his arm and I really expect to feel sparks or something, but I don’t. It’s just him, just the fabric of his shirt.

  I slide my hand down his arm and I can feel the goosebumps as I go. I’ve got them too. I take his hand, and now I’m pulling him away from the table and everything else is starting to come back. It’s louder than it seemed a few minutes ago, and it feels much too crowded all of a sudden, and what I need right this second is quiet and just him.

  “We have to talk,” I whisper in his ear, and he doesn’t say anything but he does follow me. There’s a back door, it looks like there’s a patio for when the weather’s nice. I head for it, and I need it to be open and it is and out we go.

  I don’t feel the cold at all. It’s perfect, just the two of us, and with the door closed the noise from the club is all drowned out. He can feel it, too. He knows we’re connected; he knows this is exactly where we’re supposed to be the same way I do. Neither of us says anything at first. We’re just looking at each other, trying to think of the appropriate words. The silence goes on for probably only a few seconds, but it feels like minutes or even hours.

  Enough. I say the first thing that pops into my head: “You’ve been spending your nights with me. I think I deserve to know your name.” No, that’s all wrong! “God, did I really say that?” He nods his head. “I’m sorry, let me start again. I’m Sara, and I don’t know who you are.”

  He looks so nervous, he’s got exactly the same expression my dog Lumpy gets whenever someone starts up the lawnmower. It’s a long story. He manages to shake my hand. “Brian Alderson,” he says, but I guess he doesn’t think that’s enough. “I’ve been dreaming about you.”

  Now I think about it, I have seen him before – outside the dream, I mean. I’ve seen him on campus. He’s – I think he lives over in Allen House, the dorm right next to mine. Which means he lives probably two or three hundred feet away from me. I never really gave him any special notice before, but now that he’s right in front of me, he actually is kind of handsome. He’s on the tall side and pretty slim and he’s got short, dark hair and the brownest brown eyes I think I’ve ever seen.

  And besides all that, we’ve got some kind of psychic connection, apparently. I can keep telling myself that I don’t believe in it, but I can’t ignore the fact that it’s happening to me anyway. “I know. I was there, remember?” He nods. He still looks nervous, worse than poor Lumpy ever gets. I reach over and take his hands in mine. “Calm down, OK? I’m nervous enough for the both of us.”

  He relaxes, almost. At least he looks slightly less nervous. But to be fair, why shouldn’t he be nervous, too? This has to be just as weird for him as it is for me. “You’re not – not angry about it?” he stammers. “I mean, I understand if you are.”

  Angry? Not at all. Freaked out? Yes, very much. But not angry. “No. Why should I be? I’m – I’m flattered, I guess. I didn’t think anyone dreamed about me like that.” If I hadn’t seen it, I never would have believed I was a part of anybody’s romantic fantasies.

  “You’re…” I don’t know what he was going to say, but whatever it was, he thinks better of it, takes a second to make sure he gets this right, “…really beautiful and smart and friendly too, why wouldn’t I dream about you?”

  Wow. He’s got it bad. He’s had it bad for me for a little while now, obviously. And he’s being so sweet about it. I do the only thing that makes sense right now, without even thinking about it. I lean close to him and I kiss him, very gently, on the lips. He’s really surprised at that. I am, too. “Hey, you know something
? That’s the nicest thing I think anybody’s ever said to me.”

  “Then you’re hanging around the wrong people.”

  “What?”

  “Oh, God, did I actually say that?” I just nod my head. Poor Brian, he looks like he’s ready to run for the hills any minute. It’s all I can do not to laugh. “I thought I just thought it. But it’s true. I mean, you are really beautiful.”

  Beautiful? He really does mean it, I can see that. Amazing. None of my boyfriends have ever been this taken with me. Not like this. I’m not sure how I’m supposed to respond. I don’t want to scare him off – and this is incredibly flattering – and he is sort of cute. Not to mention the connection, the love at first sight thing, whatever the hell it is that’s going on here. Maybe the best way to handle it is just to go with it. Why not?

  “Like I said, that’s really sweet. I’m totally flattered. But, you know, you should have talked to me before if you felt that way. I’m pretty harmless, honest.” I think just about everybody I know would agree with that.

  He doesn’t know it, I guess. He’s still way too nervous, he’s just looking at me waiting for me to do God only knows what. I wish I knew what to do here. Here I am, with a guy who’s acting like he’s in love with me even though we’ve never actually met before tonight. And then there are the weird dreams. It’s not like there’s a guidebook for this kind of thing.

  One of Aunt Kat’s bits of advice pops into my brain: “in for a penny, in for a pound.” She says that a lot and she’s right more often than not. Maybe that’s what I’m supposed to be doing now? “Besides, how did you expect to go out with me if you never actually talked to me?”

  I don’t think he was expecting me to say that. I’m not sure I was, either. “Go out? You mean go out go out? You and me?”

  That could be what everything is about, maybe this really is meant to be. “Yes, that’s exactly what I mean.”

  “Yeah – yes, that would be great. That would be absolutely great,” he says. He takes my hand, but he’s holding it exactly the way you’d hold something breakable. I really hope he starts to relax, or else he’s going to make me as nervous as he is.