Milayna

by Michelle K. Pickett

  “It’s good. I have it,” he said close to my ear. His breath skated down my neck, sending ripples of warmth through me. He bought our popcorn and Cokes from the concession counter. “Butter?” He looked at me.

  “Stupid question. Popcorn has to have butter. I think it’s a law somewhere,” I said, guiding him to the butter station.

  “A law, huh?” He watched me put the popcorn bucket under the butter spray. “I hate the butter pumps. It gets the top corn all buttery, but when you get to the bottom, it’s like eating paper,” he muttered.

  “I’ll show you how to get the butter down to the bottom. But if you tell anyone my secret, I’ll have to kill ya.”

  He laughed. “Okay, show me your skills.”

  I grabbed a straw next to the fountain drink dispenser. I stuck one end on the nozzle of the butter dispenser and the other down in the popcorn tub. “Now push the plunger.”

  He pumped the butter, and I moved the tub of popcorn around, shifting the straw up and down in the tub.

  “Okay.” I shook the popcorn around to get it all gooey with hot, melted butter.

  “Pretty slick trick.” He winked at me and grinned.

  “Shh.” I put my finger over his lips. “Our little secret.” I watched his eyes darken and let my finger slip away with a shy smile.

  I’m so totally flirting! I’m not good at flirting. Am I doing it right? I wish I could text Muriel and ask what to do! Oh, wow.

  Chay wrapped his arm around the bucket and carried it and his pop in one arm. He held my hand with the other, and he didn’t let go until we were in the theater trying to get situated in our seats. As soon as we sat our things down, he threaded his fingers with mine again.

  He squeezed my hand gently. Something bloomed in my chest, releasing hundreds of colorful butterflies. Their wings fluttered against my ribs, tickling my insides in a weird, but oddly pleasant way.

  We sat silently watching the previews play. His thumb gently grazed across the top of my hand. He held my hand throughout the movie, his thumb caressing my skin, leaving a trail of fire.

  Halfway through, I dug deep for all my flirting prowess—which was virtually none—and lifted the armrest between us. I scooted close to him and laid my head on his arm. He tensed and I bit my lip, waiting for his reaction, but he settled back into his seat and wrapped his arm around me, pulling me close.

  I was sure that was what heaven felt like, because nothing had felt so good or so right in my life before.

  “Did you like it?” Chay asked when we walked out of the theater.

  “Yeah. It was scary.” Truthfully, I couldn’t remember much about it.

  “You jumped a few times.” He chuckled.

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “Liar.”

  “Okay, maybe a couple times,” I admitted with a grin. “You jumped once too.” I pointed at him and let my finger run down his chest, wrapping his T-shirt around it.

  He laughed and put the back of my hand to his lips. I sucked in a breath when his lips caressed my skin. His eyes found mine and he smiled, unlocking the car door and opening it for me.

  The night was rainy. Black clouds blotted out the moon, and fat drops of cold water pelted the windshield of Chay’s car. The raindrops covered the glass like a film, hiding us inside. I shivered.

  “So.” Chay slid in the car next to me. “How ‘bout that chemistry homework?”

  “What about it?”

  “Tomorrow? We could work on it together. I could come over or…” He looked at me with a lopsided grin.

  “Sounds good.” A finger of anticipation ran up my spine.

  He blew out a breath like he’d been holding it, waiting for my answer. “Good. It’s a date, then.” He tilted his head to the side. “Milayna…”

  “Hmm?” I answered with a smile, and my insides swirled. “Oh!”

  “A vision.” He cupped the side of my face in his hand.

  My stomach twisted in a knot.

  Oh, not now, please not now.

  My head started to pound, and I put my fingers to my temples. I could feel my heartbeat thudding against them.

  Go away!

  My vision blurred. With a sigh, I gave in and let the vision take over my senses. I closed my eyes and waited for the images to scroll through my consciousness.

  Cherries.

  Cherries? That was random.

  A hand. Big… a man’s hand. It’s digging. No, no, it’s scooping something.

  My eyes flew open, and I grabbed Chay’s arm. “How far is your uncle’s ice cream shop from here?”

  “Around the corner a little way. Why?” His mouth dipped in a frown.

  “Go.” When he didn’t move, I yelled, “Go now!”

  “What did you see, Milayna?” Chay asked, alarm in his voice.

  “I don’t know. I don’t even know if it’s your uncle, but I saw cherries and ice cream.”

  A piercing wail. A constant screaming. Not a person. An alarm.

  And then I smelled it. Smoke.

  “Ooh, hurry, Chay.” I squeezed my eyes tighter, trying to see the vision and hear the sounds more clearly.

  It’s hot. Flames lick the walls. There’s a sign. Uncle’s Ice Cream.

  “Drive faster!” I grabbed my cell phone and dialed 911. “What’s the shop’s address? Chay! What’s the address?”

  “I don’t know. It’s on West Chestnut, that’s all I know.”

  “911. What’s your emergency?”

  “There’s a fire at Uncle’s Ice Cream Shop on West Chestnut.” I pinched my eyes closed with my forefinger and thumb to ease the pounding behind them.

  “Is there anyone in the building?”

  “I think… I think so.”

  Chay’s tires screeched as we took a corner too quick. I had to hold on to the dash to steady myself. My phone dropped between the center console and the seat. I wiggled my hand between the seat and the console, but the phone was wedged in place.

  “Are you sure?” Chay asked.

  “Yes, I saw the sign.” I was thrown back and forth as Chay weaved in and out of traffic. His car fishtailed several times, hydroplaning across the wet pavement. Cars honked as we flew by.

  “I need your phone.”

  “In my jacket pocket.”

  I leaned over the center console and fished his phone out of his pocket. Scrolling through his phonebook, I found the number to his uncle’s shop. I pressed call and waited for someone to answer, biting my nails.

  “Is he there?”

  “He’s not answering.”

  A searing pain exploded in my head. My lungs burned when I tried to breathe. I coughed and gagged, my hands at my throat.

  A body on the floor. Flames surrounding it.

  “You have to hurry,” I choked out between coughing fits.

  I heard sirens. Climbing up on the seat to look out of the back window, I half expected to see a police car. There was nothing. I turned around and saw the large truck barreling toward us.

  “The firefighters beat us,” Chay said with a relieved sigh.

  Water. Smoke billowing. A man lying on the floor.

  “It hasn’t changed,” I whispered.

  “Damn it.” He smacked the wheel with the heel of his hand.

  The tires squealed when he took the turn into the parking lot too fast. The firefighters were already working. One tried to stop us from getting out of the car.

  Chay strained against the firefighter blocking him. “My uncle’s in there!” Chay yelled. His face was red and his neck corded with muscle as he tried to push his way to his uncle.

  “You’re sure?”

  “Yes. He’s behind the counter!” I looked at the flames reaching out of the windows of the shop like they were waving at us, taunting us.

  Please get to him in time. Hurry.

  “We’ve got at least one person inside,” the firefighter shouted.

  We watched as they broke through the door, and two men disappeared in
to the smoke-filled building. An ambulance turned into the parking lot just as the firemen pulled Chay’s uncle through the door.

  The EMTs hauled a gurney out of the back of the van and loaded Uncle Stewart on top of it. They strapped him down, put an oxygen mask over his mouth and nose, and inserted an IV in his arm.

  I stood next to Chay, the cold rain pelting down on us. Absently, I rubbed my chest with my hand. I didn’t notice until he mentioned it.

  “What’s wrong? Why are you rubbing your chest?”

  I blinked. I hadn’t noticed until he mentioned it. “It hurts to breathe. It burns.” My eyes watered, and I sniffed as I watched the EMTs work on Uncle.

  Both of Chay’s hands were on top of his head. His dark hair was spiky from the rain. His skin was cold and drained of color. Only his eyes were sharp, watching everything. His gaze never left his uncle and the paramedic squeezing air down to his lungs. “Has the vision changed?”

  “Yes.” I didn’t say anything else, and Chay didn’t ask for details. I was thankful because although the vision had changed, I wasn’t sure if it was for the better.

  My lungs are burning. A hospital bed. Beeping. Doctors and nurses work on Uncle. Heart monitor. My heart skips a beat, a stab of pain sizzles through my chest, stealing my breath.

  I tried to keep my eyes open as the images scrolled through my mind, not wanting Chay to know I was seeing them. I didn’t know what they meant, and I didn’t want to upset him more than he already was.

  Chay sitting on a bench. His head in his hands. Shoulders slumped.

  “We’re taking him to St. Mary’s,” an EMT yelled, climbing into the ambulance. It sped away, sirens blaring.

  “C’mon.” We got into Chay’s car, speeding to keep up.

  “Chay, slow down. Uncle wouldn’t want you to get in an accident.”

  Chay’s foot eased off the gas pedal, and he rubbed the back of his head. “I need to get there and make sure he’s okay.”

  I grazed the backs of my fingers over his cheekbone. “I know. Me too.” I held up my phone. “I’m going to call our parents.”

  Chay nodded absently. He was silent the rest of the drive.

  ***

  The hospital smelled like disinfectant and sickness. I hated the smell. The walls were painted a muted sage, and the floors carpeted in beige. A vase of flowers sat on a small table. A painting of a flower-lined creek hung on the wall behind it. It was all very pretty, but it didn’t change where we were—a hospital ER waiting room. The place people waited to hear if their loved one was… well, a place people didn’t want to be.

  We’d been there for three hours. My dad and Chay’s parents arrived shortly after we had. I stood in the hallway across from where Chay sat with his head in his hands, just like in my vision. I watched him, biting my nails. He hadn’t said more than a few words to me since we’d arrived, and I didn’t know what to say to him.

  I hadn’t had any more visions. I tried to reassure him, telling him that was good.

  “Nothing about this is good,” he’d snapped, and then sat silently.

  “Dad,” I whispered. “Do you think this has to do with the Evils or demi-demons?”

  “Probably.” He didn’t say more.

  What is it with the men in my life and one-word answers? It really pisses me off.

  I blew out a breath. “Why’d they do this to Chay’s uncle instead of one of us?”

  “Retaliation.” I jumped at the sound of Chay’s voice.

  “For what?”

  “Saving you. He stopped the demon from pulling you into the pit. Azazel’s retaliating.” His voice was hard, hateful.

  “Son—”

  Chay waved his dad away and stood. “What? It’s true.” He turned his back to me and stalked down the hall.

  I didn’t see Chay again that night. Minutes later, the doctor gave a report on Uncle Stewart. He’d suffered smoke inhalation, a concussion from hitting his head on the counter when he fell, and what they suspected was a mild heart attack—but more tests were needed to confirm that diagnosis. Still, the doctor expected a full recovery. My dad and I left after that.

  I was relieved that Uncle would be okay.

  I was devastated that he almost died because he’d saved me.

  I was shattered that Chay blamed me.

  ***

  I lay on my stomach across my bed. My chemistry book and notepad were opened beside me. But instead of working on the assignment, I drew circles across the page. I couldn’t forget the hateful look Chay gave me at the hospital or the cruel way he said I was the reason for the fire.

  The doorbell pealed through the house. With a sigh, I tossed my pencil down, shoved my books away from me, and crawled off my bed. The doorbell rang a second time while I was walking toward the stairs.

  “I’m coming.” I jogged down stairs and pulled open the door. My limbs turned stiff, and my blood chilled. “What are you doing here?”

  Next time, I’ll use the damn peephole.

  “We have a date, remember?” My gaze locked on his. It looked friendlier than the night before, but I remembered the accusation I saw there, and it still stung like a stream of angry hornets flowing through my body.

  “Really?” My hand on my hip, I narrowed my eyes at him. “I was sure it was cancelled. How’s your uncle?”

  “He’s good. The doctor was right; he did have a mild heart attack. They’re putting a stent in, but he’s gonna be fine. He said to tell you ‘thank you’.”

  “I was only returning the favor. See ya, Chay.” I started to push the door closed. Chay’s arm shot out and blocked it.

  “Milayna,” Chay murmured. My name dripped from his tongue like decadent chocolate. “I’m sorry.” He started to reach for me, but he hesitated.

  I watched his hand and wished I had laser beams for eyes so I could zap him and cause a tiny bit of the pain he’d caused me. I stared at his hand for a beat before my gaze traveled to his. “Accepted,” I said in a clipped tone, hoping it was it clear I was finished talking. “I have to go. See you in class.” I started to close the door.

  “Wait, Milayna—” He stuck his foot between the door and the jamb.

  “What?” I made an exaggerated sigh.

  “What about chemistry?” He held up his book bag and eyed me. His expression was open, vulnerable, and I almost caved. I wanted to. I wanted to grab him and squeeze him against me. But he’d hurt me and I wasn’t real amenable to a repeat. So I kept my bitch wall firmly in place.

  “I’ve already finished.” I almost choked on the lie.

  “Fine.” He turned and walked away. I slammed the door behind him.

  Jerk.

  After Chay left, I sat on my bed thinking.

  I thought I was supposed to help people with my visions—to set wrongs right and protect humans from the evil around them. But I nearly got Chay’s uncle killed. How’s that helping?

  I grabbed my purse, scrambled off my bed, and ran down stairs. “I’m going to Grandma’s,” I called to my parents and rushed out of the door before they had a chance to ask me why or tell me I couldn’t go.

  I sped all the way to my grandma’s apartment, lucky there were no cops around. I was doubly lucky that my beater made it in one piece. It shook and shimmied all the way there. The old motor groaned and coughed.

  I pushed through the heavy glass doors into her building, waving at the little old lady behind the reception counter. She had a beehive hairdo that was as tall as she was, but she was nice and had the sweetest smile.

  I hurried through reception and into the great room. It was full of chintz chairs and over-stuffed couches. It had a huge stone fireplace separating it from the dining hall, where Mrs. Richardson sat eating dessert with who I guessed were her grandkids.

  “Hello, Milayna. I didn’t know you were visiting today,” she said around a bite of lemon meringue pie. Meringue stuck to her upper lip.

  “I’m surprising Grams.”

  “Well, take her
some pie, dear.” She scooped out two big pieces and placed them on a paper plate. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that neither of us liked lemon meringue.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Richardson.” I smiled and waved as I walked toward my grandma’s apartment.

  I rang the bell when I reached her door. I heard her call out, asking who was there.

  “It’s me, Grams!” I pushed open the door.

  “Milayna!” She wheeled her chair and peered down the hall. “What are you doing here? Is everything okay?”

  “Everything’s great. I just wanted to visit.” I lifted the plate of pie. “I also have this.” I wrinkled my nose.

  “Oh, that must be from Trudy. I told her earlier I didn’t like lemon meringue. She’s gone senile.” I almost laughed out loud. “Well? Come here and give me a kiss,” Grams said.

  I dropped the pie on the kitchen counter as I walked by. Leaning down, I kissed Grams’ cheek, giving her shoulders a squeeze. I breathed in her perfume. It reminded me of spending the night with her when I was a little girl. The pillowcases on her bed always smelled of the same perfume: lavender-something, clean and fresh. It brought back so many happy, peaceful memories.

  “So. What’s up?”

  “Not one for small talk today, huh?” I asked, smiling.

  “Not when I can tell something is bothering you.”

  “I need to get rid of it, Grandma,” I blurted, then cringed and wished I could suck the words back in. I’d meant to ease into the conversation.

  “Milayna.” She sighed and rubbed her forehead. “We’ve been through this.”

  “No. There’s a way, I know it.” I sat on the purple couch I loved and leaned in close to Grams.

  “Yeah, okay, you can turn.” She swung her arm in the air. “Flip sides. That’ll get rid of it,” she snapped, her voice rising.

  I flinched and scooted away from her. “You know I don’t want to do that,” I whispered.

  “Then what?” Her graying eyes bored into mine.

  I looked down at my lap, twisting my fingers. Shrugging a shoulder, I puffed out a breath to calm my nerves. “It’s hurting the people I love.”

  “Tell me what happened, child.” She took my hand in both of hers.

  “There’s this boy—”

  “Why do all stories start that way?”

  I laughed. “Be serious. This boy… I like him a lot, Grams.” I looked in her eyes, hoping she’d see the truth in my next words. “I like him a lot. And I think he likes me. He’s a demi-angel, too, so he knows what it’s like.”