Vicarious

by Paula Stokes

  “Like what?”

  He doesn’t answer for a few seconds. Then he shakes his head. “Forget it. Too much depressing conversation for one night.” He pats his leg. “You should get some sleep. I make an excellent pillow.”

  I’m curious, but I don’t want to force him to talk. I know what that feels like. Frowning at his muscular thigh, I ask, “But aren’t you tired too?”

  “We’ll do it like I did in the desert. Take turns. I get first watch. I’ll wake you in a couple of hours.”

  “All right.” My whole body feels heavy as I arrange myself on the sofa. I opt for a throw pillow instead of Jesse’s leg, but he scoots close enough to me that when I twist onto my side, his arm rests gently on my shoulder, an overlapping triangle of heat connecting us. For at least ten minutes, my brain does nothing except concentrate on the warmth, extending it outward, toying with the idea of what it would feel like to fall asleep in Jesse’s arms.

  And then, just as I decide I might like that someday, I think back to our conversation.

  I wonder what kinds of terrible things Jesse has done.

  CHAPTER 21

  Sleep drags me once again into a tangle of dreams. Hallways stretch out interminably long and mazelike. Rows of closed doors mock me, whispering choose choose choose, as if all but one lead straight into hell. My footsteps echo in my brain. My breath spikes in and out of my chest. I am not alone in the maze of hallways. I am running from someone.

  Or something.

  Winter. Rose’s voice in my head.

  “Eonni,” I whisper. “I need you.”

  I’m here.

  There is grunting and snarling from around the next corner. A creature that is half man and half beast appears in the corridor. It wears the head of the one-eyed man. I stop. Turn, double back. Just when I feel like I am safe, the creature appears in front of me, only now it wears Gideon’s head. I retreat again, and it wears Jesse’s head. Andy’s head.

  My head.

  There is no escape. I am a human sacrifice in the Minotaur’s lair. The doors fall away, all except two.

  Choose.

  “But how do I know which one?” Both doors look exactly the same.

  Fingers to fingers and thumb to thumb.

  “I don’t understand.”

  There’s no time to figure out what Rose means. I plunge through the nearest door. There is nothing but black space on the other side. I fall faster and faster. Air whistles by, soft, then sharper. From somewhere, the one-eyed man laughs.

  And then I hear something else—Jesse’s voice calling my name.

  I open my eyes and see the purple-gray of morning filtering through the blinds. I’m in Rose’s room—the floor hard beneath me.

  I sit up sharply, the folds of her comforter falling away. She is everywhere, too close. Her rose pendant hangs heavy around my neck; her clothes and magazines are still piled at the end of her bed.

  “Hey.” Jesse is peering at me through the partially open door. “Why are you sleeping on the floor?”

  I ignore his question. I don’t feel like explaining the customs of my childhood or my apparent psychological regression to him. “Why would you put me in here?”

  He yawns. “I didn’t. I dozed off and just woke up. I was looking for you.”

  A sharp pain shoots through my chest. “I came in here by myself? Sleepwalking?”

  “I guess.” He shrugs. “Maybe I was suffocating you on the couch and you came in here because of the blood in your room.”

  “Maybe.” It’s been a while since I’ve sleepwalked. I thought it was something else I had outgrown. I thought I was normal. Healed.

  Now I’m starting to wonder.

  I should probably make an appointment with Dr. Abrams. It was silly of me to stop going to therapy, but it had started to feel redundant—the same questions, the same answers. I felt stable. I was acing my classes, doing well at my job, and even starting to make friends … if Jesse counts as a friend. I figured I’d go back when I ran out of sedatives or if I felt like I needed to go.

  Maybe I need to go.

  The panic must be written all over my face, because Jesse slides through the open doorway and sits down on the floor next to me. He touches the back of his hand to my face like he’s checking for a fever. “You’re probably still shaken up from last night.”

  With one finger, I reach up and trace the dark circles under his eyes. “You said you’d wake me to take a turn keeping watch,” I say accusingly. “So you could sleep too.”

  “I lied.”

  I massage the side of my cheek that’s been pressed into the pillow. My eyes feel like they’re full of sand. I hear a sharp, snarling sound as I rub them—it’s coming from the TV in the living room.

  I arch an eyebrow. “You watched that channel all night?”

  “I watched your apartment all night,” Jesse says. “I got a hold of Gideon a couple hours ago. Needless to say, he’s freaking out. You’re supposed to call him as soon as you wake up.”

  I groan. “I think I’m going to pretend I slept for another hour or two.”

  Jesse swallows back a yawn. “Better yet, let’s not pretend. I could use more sleep. I feel kind of delirious.”

  I flinch at the word. It’s too close to delusional. “Go ahead. I don’t think anyone is going to try to break in now that it’s daylight.”

  “Cool. Just give me about an hour to recharge my batteries.”

  “Of course.” I wish I could recharge my batteries in an hour.

  Jesse returns to the living room and stretches out on the sofa. I head to the bathroom, splash some water on my face, tame down my hair, and go to the kitchen to brew myself a cup of tea. I dice some ginger and lemongrass and add it to loose green leaves. Before the water even begins to boil, I can hear Jesse’s even snoring. I glance over and smile to myself. There’s something innocent and peaceful about a person lost in sleep, even someone with a dark history and an unconventional sense of morality.

  Maybe Jesse doesn’t know himself as well as he thinks. If he didn’t care about right and wrong, he’d be getting rich by stealing or selling drugs instead of working as a recorder for Gideon. War does things to people, just as my old life did things to me, but that doesn’t mean you can’t overcome them. We are who we are. I prefer to think as Rose did. We choose who we become.

  When the tea is ready, I pour myself a mug and stand in the doorway to the living room, watching Jesse’s chest rise and fall. Then I slip into my bedroom and grab the comforter from my bed, carefully skirting the bloodstain on the carpet on my way in and out.

  Jesse stirs as I drape the blanket over him, but he doesn’t open his eyes. Rolling onto his side, he exhales deeply and tunnels into the folds of fabric. He twitches, his lips forming silent words. I wonder if he’s dreaming, if he’s haunted by his own one-eyed man.

  I return to the kitchen and grab my tablet. I check again for any news of a body in the river and then work through a few homework problems for my calculus class. As I finish my tea, the sun rises full and hot. The morning brings a Zen-like sense of security. Like I said, no one will try to break into the penthouse in broad daylight. And if they do, Jesse and I will take care of them.

  Ducking back into my room, I grab my notebook and the music box full of Rose’s ViSEs from my locked cabinet. I add the ViSE from the Phantasm break-in and the overdose recording in with the others, just so none of them get misplaced. Then I sit cross-legged on my floor, a safe distance from the spots of blood, my back up against the wall. I place two of my throwing knives within easy reach.

  Grabbing my headset, I prepare to insert the next ViSE. Last night’s memory card from Zoo is still in there. Maybe I should play that recording again, just to make sure nothing jumps out at me now that I’ve slept.

  I slip on the headset and press PLAY. I fast-forward through our arrival to the club, pausing long enough to hear Jesse tell me I’m pretty. Everything plays out just as I remember until he exits the cage.

/>   He makes his way around the gyrating dancers. The lights overhead change their pattern and the room grows darker. Half of Jesse’s face is bathed in blackness. My heart thrums in my chest. Then Jesse steps out of the circling black lights.

  I remember how distorted Jesse’s form had looked last night. Now it’s easy to understand why he looked like the one-eyed man for a moment. It was just because the club had changed the lighting.

  I play the ViSE to the point where we’re leaving the club, focusing on the car in the parking lot and on the street, but the license plate is just a blur. I give up and trade the memory card for another one of Rose’s recordings.

  I’m sitting at a blackjack table in Riverlights Hotel and Casino, sliding forward a stack of chips. The music playing over the loudspeaker is being drowned out by the beeping and chiming of a bank of nearby slot machines. The dealer flashes me a sharp smile and then deals me a pair of face cards—I win. Adrenaline surges through me as the dealer doubles my chips. I bet big again. I win a few more hands and a crowd starts to form behind the table. The guy sitting next to me gives me an appraising look. “What’s your secret?”

  I grin. “I guess I’m just getting lucky tonight.”

  The guy’s gaze drifts below my neckline. “What about me? Do you think I have a shot at getting lucky tonight?”

  “Probably not.” I use my index fingers to pull my lips down into a sad face.

  “Didn’t think so.” He gets up and leaves.

  Another guy sits down—Andy Lynch. “What about me?” he asks. He gives me a boyish smile.

  “Maybe.” I run my fingertips up his arm. “Give your luck a try.”

  Andy starts betting and wins a couple hands. He increases his wagers to equal mine, but I’m having better luck. He stays on an eighteen. Dealer has nineteen. I have twenty-one. He hits on a sixteen and busts. Dealer busts. Blackjack for me again.

  Gideon must have paid off the pit boss so Rose could amass a string of impressive wins. Even she wouldn’t try to record in a casino without permission, especially considering she must have used fake ID to get in.

  “How about you just give me your phone number?” Andy says, slurring his words slightly. “You can be my proxy. I’ll wire you over a few grand next time you’re coming here.”

  I lick my lips. “What fun would that be? Maybe I like to watch you suffer.” I gather all of my chips into an impressive pile, scoop them into my purse, and then get up from the table.

  “At least tell me your name,” Andy calls after me. “I’ll save up my suffering for you.”

  “Figure it out,” I say.

  I try to dissect the tone of Rose’s voice. Is she bored? Flirting? Seriously interested? Normally I can read my sister, but not this time.

  I sidle across the room to the roulette wheel and put a thousand dollars’ worth of chips on red-7. People murmur—a mix of concern and admiration. The wheel spins. The ball bounces. Around me, everyone leans in eagerly to watch. The ball stops on red-7. I just won thirty-five thousand dollars.

  The ViSE ends. It had to be a setup. Rose would have told me if she won thirty-five thousand dollars at roulette. I would have noticed her coming home with two hundred new pairs of shoes. Maybe Gideon is doing gambling ViSEs as a sort of advertisement for the casino. Maybe they think that once you’ve tasted the thrill of victory, you’ll be likely to come back for more.

  The next two recordings are Rose singing at an open-mic night and Rose in the front row of a pop concert. Interesting, but nothing suspicious. No man in gray leather.

  I update my list. So far it reads:

  #1: NYE fashion show—Gideon

  #2: Zoo dancing—Natalie, man in gray coat

  #3: Bungee jump—Gideon

  #4: Knife thrower—Man in gray coat

  #5: Blackjack—Andy Lynch

  #6: Open mic

  #7: Front row concert

  Seven ViSEs down, another twelve to go. I creep over to my doorway and peek out at the sofa. Jesse is still curled on his side, my comforter pulled halfway over his head. I take a few big breaths, shake out my arms and legs, and grab the next ViSE from the music box.

  I’m standing on the porch of a three-story house with a gabled roof. I knock. The front door opens. Andy Lynch steps out onto the porch, his eyes locked onto mine. “I’m glad you came,” he says.

  I open my eyes for a second and debate stopping the recording. It’s a little creepy eavesdropping on Rose and Andy now that I know they were dating, but Jesse’s right—I shouldn’t trust Andy just because he seems like a nice guy. He might know more about what happened to Rose than he’s letting on. Pressure starts to build at my temples and I quickly close my eyes again.

  “Nice place,” I say.

  “My parents’ house,” he says. “They’re in Hawaii for a couple of weeks.”

  Andy is wearing an NFL jersey with a long-sleeved shirt underneath. He looks down at the porch and then back up at me, a small smile playing at his lips. I can smell the alcohol on him from a foot away.

  Watching Andy highlights how limited ViSEs actually are. The recordings share only sensory impulses, not actual thoughts. This might seem like a drawback, but considering that my usual thought process during a ViSE is anything from Did I forget to feed Miso? to I sure hope this recording turns out well, it’s obvious having access to a recorder’s actual thoughts would be problematic.

  If Rose was afraid of Andy, I might feel her muscles tense or her pulse accelerate. If she was really into him, I might feel butterflies in her stomach or arousal. But all I’m feeling is the nausea beginning to creep up on me since I’m not concentrating.

  Pausing the ViSE, I take another quick look around to make sure the penthouse is secure and Jesse is still asleep. Then I return to my room, lie back on my bed, and try my best to relax every single muscle in my body. My fingers, my face, even the muscles of my eyes. The more I empty myself, the more Rose will seep in.

  Andy turns back toward the door. A dog barks. He swears under his breath. “Someone let Touchdown out of the basement. Let’s go around the side.”

  I follow him across the snowy yard. Music and laughter float over a wooden privacy fence. We pass through the gate into a backyard full of athletic college guys and pretty girls. They’re split roughly into three groups—crowded into the hot tub, tossing a football back and forth along the back fence, and clustered around a giant fire pit in the center of the yard.

  Andy finds a spot for both of us near the fire but then promptly gets called away by a couple of his friends. I watch the tongues of flame dance in the air as I wait for him to return. Tapping one foot, I dodge the wayward sparks that rocket out from the blackening wood. Across the dimly lit yard, Andy is gesturing with his whole body as he converses with his friends.

  Sighing, I relocate myself to the deck, where there are eight people crammed into the hot tub.

  “Come on in,” a guy yells. “Always room for one more.” I give Andy one last look and then unbutton my coat and drape it over the deck’s railing. Hurriedly, I slip out of my heels, shimmy my dress up over my head, and slide into the hot tub in my bra and underwear. I shudder as my cold skin hits the bubbling water.

  The guy who coaxed me in scoots close, his breath reeking of beer and tortilla chips. I slide just far enough away from him so that our hips aren’t touching.

  Andy catches my eye from across the yard. He heads toward the deck but then stops just short of the wooden steps to talk to a muscular older man who looks out of place.

  It’s the guy I saw him with in the lobby—the one I figured was a coach. This is probably the party Andy mentioned that Rose went to a few days ago. I can tell it’s recent from the snow on the ground.

  My lips turn downward and I let the guy next to me press his leg against my own. I look up at the stars and can just barely see the outline of wispy clouds, gray against the black sky. Someone passes me a bottle of whiskey and I take a long swig, and then another. The liquor burns my throat, but
it warms the skin of my face and neck.

  The mix of smoke and alcohol makes the backyard hazy, but I see movement in the yard next door. The silhouette of a man.

  It could be just the neighbor making sure they’re not burning down the neighborhood, but he’s roughly the same size as the guy from the circus ViSE, and it looks like he’s wearing a fedora. I try to follow his movement, but Rose has other ideas.

  Andy gestures toward me. I stand up in the hot tub and immediately start to shiver. Andy breaks away from the guy on the steps and wraps me in a towel as I slide gracefully over the hot tub’s side. I slip back into my heels and grab my coat and dress from the railing. Together Andy and I head in the back door.

  “Come on.” He nuzzles the place where my neck meets my shoulder. Chills race down my spine as he tugs me up the stairs to the third floor.

  His room looks like the typical frat boy hangout, complete with inflatable Bud Light furniture and empty pizza boxes stacked in one corner. He wraps his arms around me and pulls me close. I smell hard liquor on his breath.

  With almost no warning I get to find out Andy is a really good kisser. I’ve never played a kissing ViSE before and not being able to pull away is weird. I feel a little dirty doing this, but it’s all in the name of finding my sister’s killers. And it’s not real. The visual of Andy fades away as Rose shuts her eyes, amplifying all of the other sensations.

  The feel of his arms around my back. My racing heart. The sensation of floating as he lifts me off the ground and lays me gently on his bed. I kick off my shoes. His lips find mine again. Sweet yet urgent. His hands slip beneath my towel.

  Trembling, I reach up to fast-forward again. But then:

  His phone rings. I open my eyes.

  A sigh. He rolls over and checks the display. “I have to take this.”

  “But all you’ve done so far tonight is ignore me,” I protest. I gather the towel around me.

  “I’m sorry, Rose. Just give me five minutes.” He pulls away and leaves me on the bed. I crawl beneath the covers, my heart still pounding with desire. The clock ticks upward. One minute. Two minutes. Five. Ten. Andy paces in the hallway, speaking in tones too soft for me to hear.