Wicked Hunger (Someone Wicked This Way Comes)

by DelSheree Gladden

  “Ivy, honey, what is going on in here? It sounded like a herd of elephants just ran through your room.”

  “Sorry, Dad. A car alarm went off outside and it scared me. I knocked my lamp off the nightstand and tripped over it when I got out of bed to shut the window.”

  I listen to every word in stunned silence. Why isn’t she telling her father that the guy she’s seeing just snuck into her room and tried to kill her? She’s lying, and I have no idea why.

  “Well, are you all right? Did you hurt yourself?” her dad asks.

  “No, no, Dad, I’m fine, just a little startled. Go back to bed. Sorry I woke you up.”

  “If you’re sure you’re okay…” I see Ivy’s head bob up and down. “Alright, honey, get a good night’s sleep.”

  “You too,” she echoes.

  A second later, she closes the door quietly. Her hands linger on the white paneled wood door for a second. Then she drops down, retrieves the blade, and flicks it against my throat faster than I would have thought possible for her. My hunger surges again, but the memory of her bulging eyes and blue lips hold me back. I don’t move. I don’t speak, because there is nothing I can say to defend myself. I am a hunger-bound maniac with incredible strength and abilities, and I am at her mercy.

  The blade pinches against my skin. About to break through, Ivy holds and stares at me. Nothing is said. My heart and hunger wage war against each other, while Ivy stares at me wide-eyed. Behind her, I can the see curtains stir in the breeze, giving the only hint that this room isn’t a work of art frozen in time for future generations to muse and wonder at. Close up, with the moonlight hitting her from behind, I can see the cut on her arm where a piece of the broken lampshade must have nicked her. A thin trail of blood dribbles down her biceps. It’s such a small amount, but my hunger licks its lips eagerly.

  “What are you doing here?” Ivy hisses.

  “I…” My mind trips over itself trying to find an explanation that will work. It quickly realizes what an impossible trick that is. I just tried to kill her. There’s no explanation for that but the truth, and I’m not about to offer that up.

  The tip of the blade digs into my neck deeper. My hunger surges, almost forcing me back over the edge of my control. “Why are you in my room in the middle of the night?”

  I don’t even try to answer.

  “Tell me, Zander, or so help me I’ll scream and my dad will call the police. I’ll tell them you were here and…and that you…I’ll tell them you broke into my house.” Her hand is firm against my neck, but her bottom lip is trembling slightly. Even still, I believe her. I have to give her something. I have to talk and distract myself before I tear her apart.

  “I wanted to see you…and it’s easier this way.”

  “Easier? What is that supposed to mean?” she demands.

  “When you’re asleep, it’s easier for me to be around you.”

  “Why?”

  I balk at answering her and she digs the blade in further. I can feel a bead of blood start making its way down my neck. The scent of it makes me whimper.

  “Why?” she asks again.

  My eyes close, and I know I am about to invite my own death in for tea. My hunger balks at the thought of dying and begs me to reconsider. “Because when you’re asleep, I can trick myself into thinking you’re dead.”

  “What?” she squeaks. “Why would you want to think I was dead?”

  “What you said about me and my brother. It wasn’t true. I am exactly like Oscar.”

  She blinks. Once. Twice. Three times. “You want to kill me?” she whispers.

  “Yes. I mean no.” My frustrated growl makes her jump back. “Part of me wants to hurt you very badly, Ivy, but the rest of me wants to protect you.”

  “I…don’t understand. Why do you want to hurt me?”

  “I don’t know,” I say, cradling my head as I slide down the wall. My hands can’t keep the battle raging inside my mind and body from spilling out. It tumbles out in a feral, mournful growl. “I don’t know what makes me want to hurt people. I’m sorry, Ivy. I’m so sorry.”

  The shuffle of her feet on the carpet is almost soundless. The screaming inside my head quiets at the sound of her footsteps. “Stop moving,” I snap. The sound vanishes.

  “Can I talk?”

  “Yes, just don’t let me hear you move, Ivy. I can barely stop myself from coming after you right now. Distract me, but don’t move a muscle. And cover up your cut.”

  “How can I distract you?” she asks quietly.

  “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

  “I…don’t think you want to hear it.”

  She’s right. I don’t want to hear it. “Then tell me why you keep a knife under your pillow.”

  “Um, okay,” she says quietly, a whisper that betrays her nerves. “Back in California, we lived in an apartment. It was nice, but during the summer before we moved, our neighbors were renovating their apartment. They moved out while the work was being done, but the construction crew had keys to get into the building. My parents were out one night, and I had gone to bed, when one of the crew came back. He broke into our apartment with a screwdriver and started in the living room with the electronics. I heard him when he dropped one of his tools on the glass coffee table.”

  “What did you do?” I ask.

  “I grabbed a lacrosse stick and crept out of my room.”

  “Ivy, that wasn’t very smart.”

  Her huff of irritation makes me smile. Hearing her voice with all my other senses shut down begins to ease me back toward control.

  “Anyway,” Ivy continues, “I wasn’t trying to attack him. I’m not stupid. I had left my cell phone charging on the kitchen counter. I thought I could grab it, run back to my room, and call the police.”

  “I’m guessing your plan didn’t work very well.”

  She doesn’t answer right away. “He heard me, freaked out, and pulled a gun. I don’t think he meant to shoot it. He was as scared as I was, but the bullet almost hit me. He ran away and I called the police and my parents. They caught him, but I couldn’t sleep after that. Every noise I heard made me think someone was in the apartment. My mom didn’t want a gun in the house, but eventually she let me have the knife.”

  With her story ended, Ivy falls quiet. My yearning for blood and love slowly begins to ebb.

  “Go lay down. Get under the blankets and lie very still.”

  I struggle to keep my tenuous calm as I hear her move to the bed. She does it as quietly as possible, but the squeak of springs and rustle of blankets are still enough to tense every muscle in my body. I stay curled up at the base of the wall until the battle raging inside me calms back down. Only when I’m confident of my ability to control myself again do I move. My feet tread carefully over to the round black trashcan with lime green flowers on it, and I pull it over to the side of Ivy’s bed.

  “What are you doing?” Ivy whispers.

  “Cleaning up the broken lampshade. I don’t want you to get cut again. The smell…it isn’t good for me, and I don’t like for you to be hurt.”

  She doesn’t speak again, and the only sound in the room is the subdued plink of glass falling into the plastic bin. Luckily, most of it only broke into separate pieces rather than shattering. I get the mess cleaned up, though I take my time doing it. By the time I finish, Ivy is so quiet that I’m almost sure she’s asleep. I set the trashcan back in its place. A sound proves me wrong about Ivy being asleep.

  “Zander, are you okay?”

  I hang my head and sigh. “You’re the one that got attacked. Why are you asking me how I am?”

  “Because I’m worried about you,” she says quietly.

  “Why didn’t you tell your dad I was here?” I ask as I walk to the end of her bed and sit down on the floor with my back to her.

  Ivy doesn’t answer right away. I debate slipping back through her window and telling Van what I just did. She’d be more than happy to give me the thrashing I deserve for my
stupidity. She wouldn’t hold back, either. I think she’s been chomping at the bit to finish what she started the day she punched me and tackled me to the floor.

  “I didn’t tell my dad because I know you’re not what you think you are. You aren’t a bad person, Zander. You’ve got some problems, but you’re not alone in that. We’ve all got problems.”

  “Yeah, but how many other people’s problems involve killing people?”

  “You’d probably be surprised,” Ivy says, almost too quiet for me to hear. Her comment pricks my curiosity, but she continues before I can ask her about it. “Zander, I’ve tried to put aside your issues because I don’t want you to run away from me, but I think after tonight I need some real answers.”

  Every cell in my body howls in agony. Not because they are trying to convince me not to tell her anything, but because they know I’ve already made my choice.

  Ketchup grins at me when I crawl into his car. I’m barely even awake enough to smack him in the arm. That only makes him laugh. I’d like to hit him again, but I slouch down in my seat instead. Ignoring him is all the reaction I have strength for right now. Maybe it’s the fact that Zander isn’t here, or it might be my sour attitude, but Ketchup doesn’t lurch away from my house like he usually does when he picks me up. He looks over at me seriously, his posture soft and inviting. Then again, it might be the fact that when Zander told me last night after he picked me up from work that he wouldn’t be able to take me to school today, I called Ketchup instead of asking Grandma for a ride.

  I didn’t call Ketchup because anything has changed. The more time I spend with Noah and his family, the more my desire to have a normal life grows. I called Ketchup because Zander has been acting really weird since Sunday night. Well, Monday morning, I should say. I don’t know where he was all night, but he didn’t get home until after three in the morning again. All yesterday he acted nervous, but at the same time relieved. It was a weird combination I couldn’t explain. Then he tells me he can’t take me to school because he’s picking Ivy up so they can go out after practice. He didn’t want to tell me what they were doing, but I wouldn’t let him go until he admitted they were going to a movie.

  Maybe to anyone else that would seem harmless enough, but I know better. Hunger mixed with him and Ivy sitting up close and personal in the dark is the fast track to disaster. I freaked out and yelled at him, just barely holding back another punch in the face, but he wouldn't relent. He kept saying it was fine. He had everything taken care of. I have no idea what that meant, but when he slipped and said Ivy was going to help him, I knew something was wrong. He clammed up and refused to even speak to me after that. There’s no way Ivy can help him unless she knew what the problem is.

  He told her something.

  “Hey,” Ketchup says, “are you okay? You aren’t usually this crabby in the morning.”

  “Couldn’t sleep last night.”

  Ketchup startles me by slipping his hand over mine. “Van, what’s wrong?”

  Shaking my head, I look over at him. “Something’s up with Zander…something’s wrong. I’m afraid something bad is going to happen.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I think he told Ivy something he shouldn’t have, and now they’re planning on going out tonight. Alone. He’s acting weird…taking risks, keeping secrets, acting moody and edgy.”

  “Isn’t that how it started with Oscar?” Ketchup asks without looking at me.

  My eyes pinch shut, and I have to force the lump in my throat back down. “Yeah.”

  My bottom lips starts trembling. Ketchup’s arm wraps around my shoulders and pulls me against his chest. I bury my face against his shirt and take slow deep breaths. I don’t want to cry, not in front of Ketchup. He’s stubborn and pigheaded, but he can’t stand to see girls cry. If I start blubbering in front of him, I’ll never get him to focus. A few minutes later, I pull away from him slowly. His eyes meet mine, and I can see the concern building by the second.

  “We’ll figure something out, okay, Van? Whatever it takes, we won’t let Zander end up like Oscar. Just tell me what to do.” He’s absolutely serious, and I love him for it. He doesn’t understand even half of what’s going on, but he’ll do anything I ask of him. He let go of my hand when he moved to hold me, but I take his now and squeeze it.

  “Thanks, Ketchup.”

  He smiles and doesn’t say anything. The flick of the kitchen curtain draws my attention. Grandma stares down at us with one eyebrow raised. A clear what are you two doing out there is reflected in that one look. Before she decides to investigate, I say, “Let’s get going, okay?”

  Nodding, Ketchup lets go of my hand reluctantly and shifts into drive. He presses down on the gas, but lurches to a stop a second later. “Van, you forgot your backpack. Do you want me to run inside and get it for you?”

  “Uh, no,” I say, “just go.”

  “But, Van…”

  My voice takes on a demanding edge. “Go, Ketchup.”

  He shakes his head and presses on the accelerator. I wait until we’re out of my neighborhood and nearing the school to speak again. “How would you feel about ditching school today?”

  The way his eyes light up and one corner of his mouth twitches into a half smile almost makes me regret asking. “Sure. Where do you want to go?”

  “I want to go see Oscar.”

  Clearly not the answer he was expecting, his eyebrows rise in shock. “What?”

  “Please, Ketchup? I need to talk to him about Zander. He’s the only one who can tell me what’s going on with him…whether or not it’s the same thing that happened to him.”

  “Van, are you sure? I’ve never been to see him before. What if it freaks him out?’

  “It won’t,” I say.

  He looks at me doubtfully.

  “Unlike Zander, Oscar always liked you. He’ll probably be happy to see you. Nobody outside the family ever visits him.”

  Stopped at a four way stop with no one else around, he reaches down and takes my hand. This time his grip is firm, but nervous. “You said the last few times you’ve gone to see him, he hasn’t been very coherent. What makes you think he’ll be any different today? I don’t want to risk taking you to see him if there’s no point. I know how much his outbursts upset you.”

  “I need to go. Besides, I don’t think he’ll act that way if Zander isn’t around,” I say.

  If what Ketchup and I found out about the strange taste is actually true, things will go much better with just the two of us. Lately, when Oscar sees Zander, he keeps saying weird things, like how close Zander is to joining him, how he knows. It scares me to death to think of what Zander may have already done, but I have to know for sure.

  “Please, Ketchup.”

  He sighs and rolls through the intersection. “Fine. How do I get there?”

  The route is ingrained in my memory, so we make it to the hospital without a problem. My usual fear of stepping through the doors is missing today. We stalk right up to the front desk. I grab the visitor log and start signing us in. A familiar face stares down at me.

  “Van?” Rita asks. “What are you doing here? This isn’t your assigned visiting day.”

  “I know, but I really need to talk to Oscar. Zander is sick. I was hoping you’d let me slip in for a few minutes to talk to him.”

  Rita looks doubtful. “I don’t know. Knowing Zander is sick may only upset him.”

  “But, if Zander doesn’t get better…” I leave it hanging, letting her imagine what it would be like to tell Oscar his brother is dead without any time to prepare himself.

  Now Rita honestly looks worried. “I know all three of you have some kind of genetic disorder…”

  Ketchup looks over at me with a question in his eyes, but I can’t stop to answer him.

  “…but I thought you and Zander were doing well.” Rita presses her hand to her heart.

  I feel bad lying to her, but to be honest, if I don’t stop Zander from ruining everyo
ne’s lives in time, we may all be in danger of dying. “Please?” I beg.

  “Al right, but I can only give you fifteen minutes today. Oscar has therapy soon and he can’t miss that.”

  “Thank you so much, Rita! You have no idea how important this is.”

  Rita’s eyes tear up. “Your poor family has been through so much, I’d hate to cause any more distress. Tell Zander I hope he feels better soon.”

  She completes the sign-in process and asks us to wait in the lobby for an orderly to collect my brother. The wait seems to take forever, but the ugly plastic clock on the wall says it’s only been ten minutes when Rita waves us over. She buzzes us through, and guides us to the room with the metal table and chains. I hate this room, but I force myself to open the door and step inside. Ketchup’s hand, which pretty much hasn’t budged since he took it in the car, tightens around mine. If I weren’t who I am, it would hurt. Instead, it only reassures me. There’s no way I could have asked Noah to come with me.

  Ketchup and I stand in the middle of the room. As usual, it takes Oscar a few minutes to realize we’re here. When his head starts to come up, I brace myself for his reaction. Last time, he started ranting at Zander the moment he saw him. We didn’t stay long. This time, he shocks me by smiling. The expression seems so foreign on him now. Even more surprising is the laugh that bursts out of him.

  “Well, if it isn’t my favorite condiment,” Oscar says. “You know, there was I time I almost started calling Van mustard, you two were together so much. I don’t know how many times I walked her over to your house, Ketchup.”

  He sits back in his chair. The leather cuffs holding his wrists securely to the table are digging into his flesh, but he doesn’t seem to notice. “Looks like things haven’t changed much, have they? I was wondering how long it would take Van to ignore Zander and get back together with you. It’s nice. You two look good together.”