The Host

by Allison Hobbs

  Hit with a wave of sorrow, Imani purposely redirected her thoughts to more pleasant topics. As she applied hair moisturizer, diligently working the honey-scented cream from the roots to the ends of her hair, her thoughts wandered to the baby shower and all of the adorable gifts that been given to her coworker, Amber.

  Wearing a faint smile she launched into the next step of her hair care routine, which involved the application of a curling gel, and then two-strand twisting the section of hair and twirling the ends around her index finger. Maintaining her hair was not only time consuming, but required a great deal of devotion. After cutting off her perm, she had finally fallen in love with her hair in its natural state and no longer viewed it as problematic or something that needed to be tamed with straighteners, concealed with wigs, or enhanced with weaves.

  After finishing the nightly hair regimen, she gazed in the mirror at her lustrous chestnut mane, feeling regal and beautiful. She put on a silk bonnet and pondered how she would style her hair for her date with Logan. Maybe she’d wear Bantu knots or a pineapple puff, a hairdo that emphasized her high cheekbones.

  While in the midst of feeling good about life, a troubling thought began to work its way to the forefront of her mind. She’d been feeling a little off for the past few hours. At work she thought she’d heard a woman’s voice. It spoke to her in a distressful tone, but she hadn’t been able to make out the words. At the baby shower, there was a cold draft that no one felt except her. And now that she was within the confines of her own home, she should have felt safe and secure, but she didn’t.

  She felt jumpy and tense, and couldn’t shake the feeling that she wasn’t alone. She knew it was all in her mind, but she had the weirdest sense that someone was watching her.

  What’s wrong with me? What am I afraid of? An intruder? Am I feeling jittery about my upcoming date with Logan?

  She nervously glanced around her bedroom and then the hallway. Thinking that she’d glimpsed something moving in the hallway, she grabbed a silver candle holder. Wielding the heavy object, she stepped outside the bedroom with her eyes darting around in expectation of God-knows-what. She crept to the living room and checked to make sure she’d locked the front door, and when she was satisfied that she’d locked it, she went from room-to-room, yanking open closet doors and peering inside.

  Feeling foolish, Imani convinced herself that there was nothing to worry about; her concerns were nothing more than an overactive imagination. As she headed back to her bedroom, the fearful feeling intensified and her heart began to hammer inside her chest. Chill bumps formed and began to spread up and down her arms, a clear indication that she was scared out of her wits.

  She took a deep breath, trying to calm her nerves, and in that moment a chilling breeze gusted into her bedroom. The curtains at the windows fluttered, casting eerie shadows that seemed to engage in a macabre dance upon the walls.

  “Oh, God!” Imani shrieked, backing out of the bedroom and then racing to the living room. With a hand covering her mouth she paced in a circle, wondering if she was losing her mind.

  She knew with certainty that she wouldn’t get a wink of sleep if she spent the night in her bedroom. The front door was an easy escape route and with it being only a few steps from the sofa, the living room seemed like the safest place to try and get some sleep. Preparing to camp out on the sofa, she had no choice but to return to her bedroom to grab a blanket and pillow. She eased inside the room and noticed that it had returned to its regular temperature. Nevertheless, she refused to sleep in there. She yanked the comforter off the bed, grabbed a pillow, and grabbed her cell phone, and hurried back to the safety of the living room.

  But sleep didn’t come easily. For some unknown reason she couldn’t stop thinking about the car accident victim—the young red head who had been dead on arrival. Something about the woman’s tragic death had left Imani feeling morose with an unsettled mind that had started playing tricks on her soon after she had exited the treatment room. There’d been the sound of faint whispers in the hospital corridor, the blast of chilly air during the baby shower, and the feeling that someone or something had followed her into the hospital’s parking garage.

  Imani shuddered with fear. Her palms were sweaty and were balled into tight fists of anxiety. But what exactly was she afraid of? A cold draft? Shadows? Her inexplicable fear was ridiculous, but it was nevertheless, real. At a time like now, she really wished she weren’t single. Tonight she would have very much appreciated having a strong pair of arms wrapped around her protectively.

  Burrowing under the comforter, her mind wandered to her potential relationship with Logan. At twenty-five years old and having accomplished her educational goals, she was more than ready to settle down. She earned a good salary, owned her condo, was attractive and smart, yet she had the worst luck in the world when it came to men. She’d kissed way too many frogs, and hoped that she and Logan were at the beginning of something they could build on.

  So far, based on the lengthy phone conversations and numerous texts between Logan and her, they seemed to be well suited for each other. They were both foodies, both had been athletes in college and were still very much into sports, both were adrenaline junkies with a bucket list that included skydiving before their thirtieth birthdays.

  And they both loved the work they did. Imani was passionate about her role in helping to save lives and Logan, an aeronautical engineer loved working with aircraft. When he spoke about developing control systems for jet fighters, analyzing new materials for spacecraft construction, or working on propulsion methods for missiles, his excitement was contagious.

  Logan was involved in a project that helped inner city youth, and he mentored a nine-year-old boy named Alex. Imani was inspired by his charitable work and would have considered mentoring a young girl if she worked regular hours like Logan did.

  Thinking about Logan had a calming effect on her and gradually the terror she’d been experiencing began to subside. Feeling much more relaxed, she noticed that her hands were no longer balled into tight fists. No longer plagued by cold drafts and fluttery shadows, she wore a dreamy smile as she drifted off to sleep.

  *****

  Mila hadn’t meant to scare Imani; she only wanted to get her attention. Yet her movements around the apartment created a cool breeze that frightened her. And although she remained invisible to Imani, somehow her presence had cast multiple shadows that further terrified the nurse.

  With Imani sleeping Mila was unable to make any progress toward communicating with her. With nothing to do except wait until morning, she roamed the apartment. Initially, she moved from room to room out of sheer boredom, but when she noticed Imani’s cell phone on the coffee table, it occurred to her to use the phone to call her mother.

  Of course, the moment she touched the phone, she felt lightheaded and her fingers sliced through it like a hot knife through butter. She was about to give up on using the phone when she noticed an incoming text from Logan, the guy that Imani was crazy about.

  Mila was curious about their relationship and luckily she didn’t have to touch the phone to read Logan’s message. Somehow he was able to open the text by willing it to open.

  I woke up in the middle of the night with a smile on my face and I realized I’d been dreaming about you. I can’t wait to see your pretty face again, Imani. Friday can’t get here fast enough.

  Logan ended the message with a heart emoji.

  Momentarily forgetting her troubles, Mila’s heart was warmed by the blossoming love affair between Imani and Logan. Her relationship with Tucker had never been sweet; it was volatile from the start, but they’d always made passionate love after every big blowup. She’d confused a dysfunctional relationship with passion, and she now yearned for a stable relationship with a caring and romantic guy like Logan. She wondered if romance would ever be in the cards for her or was she doomed to drift aimlessly for the rest of her life.

  She bit her lower lip as a combination of fear and sorrow wa
shed over her. Her world had become a strange and baffling place where everything seemed surreal. A world where she had no control over anything.

  Maybe Tucker was on to something with his theory that they had both died in the accident and were now spirits. No! That can’t be true! She shook her head briskly, negating his ridiculous theory. How could she possibly be dead when she felt so alive? There had to be another explanation for her current state of existence.

  How long would she go on this way—in a state of being where she seemed to be simultaneously dead and alive? Would things ever get back to normal? She’d be twenty-four on her next birthday and she wondered if she’d get to celebrate it as a fully functioning person? She had planned to go back to school, and now she wondered if she would ever get her degree and achieve a fulfilling career. And what about love and marriage and one day starting a family? Was everything she’d ever hoped for out of reach forever?

  Although it had only been a few hours since the tragic accident, Mila was terribly lonely. She already missed laughing and joking with friends. She missed having meaningful conversations with the people who were dear to her. She wanted to dance, attend music concerts, and go to her favorite restaurants. She wanted to do all of the things she used to do when she was living life to the fullest. It was unthinkable that she might remain trapped in an unendurable reality where she was perceived as nothing more than a silhouette that skulked around, desperately trying to make her presence known.

  I can’t go on like this much longer, she thought, blinking back tears.

  “Please help me, Imani. I’m so scared,” she whimpered in anguish.

  CHAPTER 7

  Imani and Logan strolled along the aisles of the festival. The aisles were crowded with attendees standing in long lines in front of beer brewery stands and food vendors. Ordinarily, the long lines would have irked Imani, but not tonight. She and Logan were having so much fun sampling beer and snacking on junk food that nothing bothered her. They chatted about everything under the sun and they were so involved in their conversation that it came as a total surprise when it was finally their turn in one of the queues where several types of tacos were being sold.

  “We’re gonna have to force ourselves to take in these carbs to counterbalance all the beer we’ve been drinking,” Logan joked as he handed her a shrimp taco in a cardboard container.

  “I love having permission to indulge in carbs,” Imani said, biting into the crunchy taco shell.

  To prevent a hangover they made sure to hit up a water station after every two or three samples of beer, and of course the water stations also had ridiculously long lines. But once again the lines seemed to move extremely fast as they laughed and joked, thoroughly enjoying each other’s company. The way their conversation flowed so easily it was hard to believe that they had only recently met. After making it to the front of the line and after downing a liter of water they were forced to seek out their respective restrooms, which were located at opposite ends of the festival area.

  “I miss you already,” Logan verbalized as he reluctantly released Imani’s hand. “Let’s meet up at the Blue Point Brewing Company and try out their Blueberry Ale.”

  “Okay, see you there,” she agreed, looking down at her map of the vast venue and circling the location of the Blue Point Brewing station with a red Sharpie.

  From the ladies room a line trailed out into the hall. Imani should have been aggravated about having to hold her bladder for an extended time period, but she wasn’t. She was having such a good time with Logan, she doubted if anything could get on her nerves tonight. Thinking about how sweet and attentive he was, a smile tugged up the corners of her lips as she took her place at the back of the line.

  Logan was everything she’d been looking for in a man. He was not only handsome and intelligent, but he was self-assured enough that he didn’t mind revealing his emotions. He was also generous with compliments, heaping praise on her curve-hugging black dress and constantly touching her fluffy curls and stating how much he loved her hair. For a black woman who had gone through her teens and adult life being a slave to perms and weaves, it was such a blessing to have her natural hair appreciated.

  She and Logan were quickly becoming inseparable and she wondered how they’d find the strength to go their separate ways at the end the evening. She didn’t want the night to end. In fact, she was more than ready to have sex with him. But she couldn’t—not if she wanted him to respect her afterward. The double standard was so unfair, but Logan was too good of a catch for her to be tempted into breaking societal rules.

  She wondered when it would be an appropriate amount of time to throw on some sexy lingerie and invite him to her boudoir, and she decided that they’d both know when the time was right.

  Out of nowhere, she experienced a fleeting memory that made her feel uneasy. Worry lines began to wrinkle her forehead as an unpleasant thought began to flit around at the back of her mind. But she couldn’t put her finger on exactly what was bothering her. Eyebrows furrowed, she twirled a lock of hair as she searched her mind. She remembered being scared out of her wits the night before and sleeping on the sofa, but when she woke in the morning, she was no longer afraid and felt foolish for allowing her imagination to get the best of her.

  But there was something else. Something she’d blocked from her mind. She thought hard and it suddenly hit her. Words that had seemingly echoed inside her mind:

  Please help me. Imani. I’m so scared.

  Had she dreamed that someone had spoken those words? No, it hadn’t been a dream. She’d heard the plea as clear as a bell inside her mind. Oddly, it hadn’t been her own voice in her head. It was the eerie sound of someone else…a woman who sounded like she was on the verge of hysteria as she pleaded for Imani to help her.

  This is insane! But what did she expect when insanity had been lurking around her like the grim reaper, waiting to claim her. The irony that it had caught up with her at such an inopportune time brought out a burst of bitter laughter that caused a few of the women in line to turn around and eye her skeptically.

  Her father, God rest his soul, had been schizophrenic. He’d committed suicide when Imani was only two years old, and her mother believed that his death had spared Imani from the suffering she had endured being married to a mentally ill person.

  But Imani had never felt that her father’s death had spared her from anything. She’d always feared that his specific brand of crazy was deeply embedded in her DNA, lying dormant and waiting until she had her life totally together before rearing its ugly head and taking over her mind. Her father had heard voices, and now she was hearing voices. It was so unfair!

  Determinedly, she decided that unlike her father, she would not let the voices push her over the edge. She’d fight back. She’d seek psychiatric help and dutifully take whatever medication was prescribed so that she could live a normal life.

  Would Logan remain interested in her if he knew that she was on the verge of losing her mind? She doubted it, and who could blame him?

  In only a few short minutes Imani had gone from feeling on top of the world to sinking to the depths of despair. In a desolate mood, envisioning the worst case scenarios for every aspect of her life, her mind was fertile ground for negativity, and she wasn’t surprised when she heard the voice again:

  Please help me, Imani. I’m so scared.

  “Fuck you!” Imani blurted aloud and literally raised her middle finger at the mental illness that lurked in her genes and threatened to take away everything she’d achieved in her young life.

  The woman directly in front of her inched forward and put a safe amount of distance between her and Imani who seemed to be having a mental break.

  Ordinarily Imani would have been too concerned about appearances to indulge in such an undignified public outburst. But in a blink of an eye her world had taken on a hazy quality, and she wasn’t sure how long the pleasant world she had known would continue to exist. It was entirely possible that in the near
future she could end up being locked away in a mental facility with a bunch other crazies who heard voices. Facing such a dire possibility, there wasn’t much point in feeling concerned about what any of the women in the restroom line thought about her.

  But it wasn’t in her nature to lie down and take whatever hand she was dealt. She had to fight for her sanity, and she told herself that she’d make an appointment with a psychiatrist and start taking psychotropic meds as soon as possible.

  Meanwhile, she had to let Logan down easy. It wouldn’t be fair to string him along, allowing him to believe that she was dealing with a full deck when clearly she wasn’t.

  Finally at the front of the line, Imani entered the bathroom stall and locked the door.

  She heard the voice again, and it was louder and more insistent this time: Please help me, Imani. I’m so scared.

  “Shut up and leave me alone,” Imani said gruffly, her voice echoing inside the restroom.

  People gawked at her when she came out of the stall, and one woman asked if she was okay. Feeling off-kilter and humiliated for herself, she hurriedly washed her hands and exited the restroom.

  Feeling sorry for herself, Imani fought tears as she navigated the throngs of attendees and found her way to the Blue Point Brewing Company’s station. She didn’t have to search for Logan. He stood out from the crowd, holding two plastic cups filled with beer as he walked toward her.

  Forcing a smile on her face, she moved in his direction.

  “You’re gonna love this Blueberry Ale,” he said, handing her one of the cups.

  “Thanks,” she said softly, her throat tightening at the thought that tonight would most likely be the last time she enjoyed Logan’s company. They were only getting started, but it would be extremely unfair and unreasonable for her to expect him to accompany her on the journey that lay ahead of her: visits with psychiatrists, experimenting with different medications, and perhaps a stint or two in mental health facility. An upwardly mobile young professional like Logan didn’t need those kinds of problems in his life.