by Laura Bickle
“‘Beyond the Sea,’” Lily says. “It’s also the class song.”
“The Disney version?”
“No. That’s ‘Under the Sea.’ This is the Bobby Darin one.”
“Ah. Okay.”
We drift along the side of the gym, trying to get the lay of the land. Carl goes off to gather some drinks for us. There’s a deejay set up underneath one of the basketball hoops, with a line of people waiting to make requests. Despite everything that’s gone down in the last few days, I’m feeling oddly triumphant, hopeful. The crowd is a seething mass of dark suits and brightly-colored dresses, lit by that hypnotic blue light. It occurs to me that I should’ve come up with a romantic song to request, but I’ve got nothing. “Let’s Get It On?”
“Son of a bitch,” Carl mutters, returning with drinks.
“What?”
“Nothing.” He stares down at his drink.
I elbow him. “What, man?”
He gestures with his chin to the dance floor. “That’s the girl I like.”
I squint into the blue sea at the vivid fish. There are a lot of girls there. “Which one?”
“The one with the red dress and black hair.”
“She’s cute,” Lily murmurs.
“Yeah, well. She’s here with that moron.”
I see her now. She’s totally not like Carl. She’s very short—girls call themselves ‘petite’ when they’re short. A long fall of straight hair sweeps past her shoulders. She’s wearing a dark red dress, and has her arms around a guy’s neck. I don’t know the guy, but he’s talking a lot. She nods, but she’s not really smiling. He’s wearing a lot of purple dye in his hair, and his nails are painted black.
“I don’t think she’s that into him,” I say.
“Doesn’t matter.” Carl sighs morosely. “Amy’s here with him.”
“Did you ask her to go?”
“Yeah. But she said she already had a date.” Carl makes a face and downs his drink.
“Eh. An honorable woman. That’s no good for you.” Bert’s tail twitches. “What’s the story on her date?”
“His name’s really Cody. But he insists that everyone call him ‘Azrael.’”
“Oh, brother.”
“It must work. It’s really popular with the ladies. The whole sensitivity thing.” Carl brushes some imaginary lint off his sleeve. “He’s got a half-dozen girls wrapped around his finger because he’s a tortured artist or something. But he’s always looking for something better.”
“Meh,” Bert says. He takes Carl’s drink and pitches it into a garbage can. “Follow me.”
Bert grabs Carl by the sleeve and hauls him out to the dance floor. Carl protests.
“What is he doing?” Lily asks.
“I dunno, but it’s going to be hysterical.” Inspiration strikes me. “Hey, do you have a mirror?”
“Sure?” She digs in her beaded purse and comes up with a little silver compact.
I turn her around, gently, by the shoulders. I aim the mirror in her hand behind us to see what’s happening.
“Oh. My. God.” I breathe.
Lily breaks out laughing. She has to try three times to steady the mirror.
Bert has dumped the showgirl look. He’s taken the shape of Bettie Page. Holy shit. He really looks like Betty Page. He’s wearing a long, slinky white dress, slit up to the thigh and red lipstick. His skin looks like milk, and his eyes are as blue as a Pepsi can. He looks like goddamn Aphrodite.
Bert works his way through the crowd, Carl in tow, until they get close to Amy and Cody. Bert flings his arms around Carl’s neck to dance. Bert throws his head back and laughs at something Carl has said. Carl looks totally mortified, but Bert is glorious in his retro goddess skin. People turn to stare. Whispers rise in a tide. Boys gaze admiringly. So do the girls. The charisma is thick in the air.
Bert steps back and bumps into Cody. ‘Her’ head turns, and ‘she’ blushes.
Cody stares. He can’t help it.
Bert kicks Carl with a high-heeled shoe.
Carl swallows and says something to Amy.
“What’s he doing?” Lily asks.
“I think he’s asking if he can cut in.”
And that’s exactly what he’s doing. Carl dumps Bettie Page into Cody’s arms. The expression on Amy’s face is priceless...she’s shocked, but as Carl’s arms come around her waist, she glows like one of the overhead lights is trained on her face.
“Damn. That was smooth,” I say.
“I love a happy ending,” Lily murmurs. Her eyes are dark and lowered, but the red curve of her mouth is smiling. “Don’t tell anyone. That would ruin my reputation.”
“C’mon.” I catch her elbow. “Let’s dance.”
She allows me to lead her out onto the crowded dance floor. It smells like perfume and flowers and sweat gathering under the arms of suit jackets. The floor’s sticky with spilled drinks, and the spinning light overhead gives a dizzying, surreal effect. We’ve entered a place with unsure footing, a place different from our usual life.
I place my hands on her waist. My hands are sweaty, but I don’t think she can feel that through the beads. Her hands settle around my neck. Awkwardly, we begin to move together, right and left. I’m carefully watching my feet to make sure I don’t step on her beaded toes or in some sticky mess on the floor.
“You’ve never danced with a girl,” Lily whispers.
“No.” There are a whole lotta things I haven’t done with girls, and this is definitely one of them. I’ve watched other people dance at school homecomings and such. I have a vague idea of how it’s supposed to go. Hands stay visible, and you slowly rotate in a circle while carrying on some type of riveting conversation.
“Does that bother you...that I haven’t danced with girls?” I should feel ashamed, but I don’t. It’s just a question I want the answer to.
“No. Does it bother you that I’ve danced with other boys?”
“No. I’m glad someone knows what they’re doing, at least.”
Lily smiles. She draws me closer, resting her head on my chest. Her fingers lace behind my neck. The feather in her headdress tickles my cheek and I can smell the rose she’s perched there. Lily’s body is pressed against mine. My hands automatically come around to the small of her back, pressing my palms to the skin and beaded fringe there. The fringe on the bottom of the dress tickles my knees with a soft rattle.
I rest my chin on the top of her head. I have no idea if I’m doing it correctly, but this feels...right. Too right. We move in small steps back and forward, through the river of artificial light. Bobbie Darin is singing “Beyond the Sea.”
I want to relax into this, to just be in the moment of the music and Lily. Nothing else exists. Just the artificial sea and the way her heartbeat has slowed mine and the way she smells like magnolias. My eyes are half-closed, savoring the sumptuous beads of the dress and the warmth of Lily’s body swaying beneath it.
I close my eyes, wanting to feel this moment in all its ripeness.
But I flash on something through the dress. An image bubbles up in my mind like lava from a lamp. The dress seethes on Lily’s body, the material roiling on its own, independent of her own movements. Fringe tickles the inside of my knee, as if it has fingers that are reaching for me.
The fringe twirls in a different light, the dress worn by a different woman. The woman is dancing by herself. I can’t tell whether it’s on a stage or simply in a darkened room. Her hands move, and up-tempo music with horns swells around her...old-fashioned. The woman is smiling, caught up in the dance. Sweat glows on her cheeks and the beads rattle like rain as she moves. She’s wearing long gloves that emphasize the movements of her hands, ghostly in their paleness.
There’s the tap and rattle of something else. Something hitting the floor. At first, I think a thread of beads has come loose, and I’m hearing them tapping on the floor.
But it’s not.
Small drops of something spin off the fringe and
strike the floor. I recoil as a rivulet of blood snakes down the woman’s leg, down to the t-strap of her shoe. She continues to dance as the red runner soaks into her shoe and she smears the puddle across the stage. The perspiration glossing her face has darkened to pinpricks of red, rising up from her skin. Red palm prints are beginning to show on the white of the gloves.
Instinctively, I know what’s happening. She’s bleeding out. The dress shifts and clatters. It’s chewing away at her. With each flash of fringe, a spray of blood strikes the scarred wooden floor. It’s eating her alive, but she’s still dancing. The dress churns and swirls around her frame, like bird wings before they settle to rest on the surface of a pool.
Helplessly, I gaze into the dancer’s face. Does she know this?
There’s a dullness to her eyes, as if she’s seeing something in the distance, beyond the footlights. Like she’s trying to finish the show, for herself, or for others. Or perhaps driven to by someone else. She stomps and swirls in the macabre painting she’s making on the floor, her necklace swinging around her neck. She winces and presses a hand to her side, where sharp beads are chewing. But she keeps dancing.
I strain to peer into the darkness behind her. Who would force her do to this?
I see luminous eyes. Shining white eyes above shark-like teeth. Something inhuman.
Hoodie.
I stumble back from Lily, snatching my hands away from the dress.
“What’s wrong?” Lily asks. She’s standing before me, looking hurt and confused.
I try to steady my breath. “We need to go. We need to go get you out of that dress.”
She blinks. Then a sly light enters her eyes as she takes another meaning. “Okay.” She leans forward and kisses my forehead. “Let me go to the ladies’ room. You tell Carl and Bert we’re leaving.” Her hand holds mine for a second, then slides away.
My heart pounds a hundred miles a second. I wind through the crowd, tap Carl on the shoulder.
“Hey, Lily and I are leaving,” I say.
Amy’s head is tucked up under Carl’s chin. He gives me a thumbs-up and keeps dancing.
I cast about for Bert. He’s busy screwing with Cody’s head, talking to Cody with the voice of a man.
“You don’t sound like..like...” Cody says, faltering.
“Like how I do on video,” Bert finishes for him and shrugs. “Bad cold.”
I touch Bert’s elbow. “Hey, Lily and I are leaving.”
Bert bobs his eyebrows. “Good going, man.”
I shake my head. “It’s not what you think.”
Bert jams a finger into Cody’s chest. “You. Asshat?”
“Azrael.”
“Whatever. Go get me a drink.”
Cody scurries off.
Bert’s eyes narrow. “What’s up? Is the Mob here?”
I shake my head. “No. No...it’s that dress I got her.” I press my hands to the sides of my head, wishing I could make it explode. “I didn’t check it out too carefully when I bought it. Some chick bled to death wearing it...it’s like a parasite...and it’s got Hoodie’s stink all over it.”
“Fuck.” Bert snarls. “Where is she now?”
“Ladies’ room.”
“We gotta get her out of that thing and home safe.”
Bert and I scramble down the green-tiled hallway, out to the fluorescent lighting of the main hallway. We turn left to the bathrooms. I bang on the ladies’ room door.
“Lily!” I shout. “Are you in there?”
No answer.
I hesitate. Years of social conditioning prevent me from just striding into the ladies’ room like it’s no big thing.
Bert’s not saddled by such human conditioning. He straight-arms the door open, banging against the wall.
I’ve never been in the girls’ room before. I assumed it was like the boys’ room, only without urinals. But it’s totally different. This room is covered in coral tile and doesn’t smell like piss. A whole wall of mirrors reflects closed stalls. There’s even a cart of extra toilet paper.
“Anybody in here?” Bert yells. He shoves open the stalls with bangs like gunshots, one by one.
“It’s empty,” I say.
Then my gaze fixes on the floor. A beaded aqua shoe lies on the tile. I kneel to pick it up.
I don’t know shit about shoes. I pay very little attention to them. But I remember these, because they came with Lily’s costume. The strap is broken, and beads are loose, sliding away from the thread, tapping down to the tile with the smallest tap-tap-tap.
I look up. Above me is an open window. It’s open to the night, to darkness.
I close my eyes to Bunko the shoe. In an instant, I know what’s happened. I flash on teeth in rows, like a shark’s, and claws reaching through the window. A shriek sinks deep into the sole of the shoe.
Hoodie has taken Lily.
Blood for blood.
A low groan begins at the back of my throat and ends as a howl.
CHAPTER 27
“Where?”
I grip Lily’s shoe so hard the beads cut into my palm. Carl rests a hand on my shoulder, trying to comfort me, but I shrug it off.
“Where has he taken her?” I demand. I squeeze my eyes shut and try to wrest more information from the shoe, but it won’t tell me. Maybe it doesn’t know.
“The whole thing was a set up.” Bert crosses his arms over his chest. We’re standing in the hallway, along the lockers. “What you said about that dress...yeah. I’m sure of it.”
“But how?” Carl wants to know.
“If you’ve been around as long as Hoodie has, you’ve got a whole lotta patience and a whole lotta traps laid away. Sometimes for decades. Sometimes longer. He’s like one of those octopi you see on the ocean floor in the nature shows. Camouflaged, listening...until it’s too late.” Bert reaches out and grabs at Carl with a clawed hand.
I can barely say it: “Is Lily still alive?”
“Not for sure. There’s no blood on the floor, so that’s a good sign. If he meant to kill her right away, he’d have strung her up like a side of beef, just for effect.”
I feel queasy.
“Sorry. But that’s how predators like him operate.”
“Where is he now?” I whisper.
“Remember that talk we had earlier about hell? Side dimension? That’s my bet.”
“How do we get there?”
Bert reaches into his coat. He draws out two pistols, ones I recognize. The haunted dueling pistols.
Carl and I stare at him. He looks like a wild west tale on an acid trip.
“You didn’t think I was going to chaperone you guys unarmed, didya?”
“Bert...those can’t be safe...” I remember what they do. Using them could be fatal.
“That’s why I’m holding them and not you.” He shrugs. “They were the last guns in the house, anyway.”
My hands chew on the shoe. “Take me to Hoodie.”
Carl shakes his head. “No. Take us to Hoodie. “
Bert nods. “We’re all dressed up. Looks like we’ve got someplace to go.”
I’M NOT SURE WHAT I think about hell. It sure isn’t what I expected it to be.
Following Bert, we run four blocks down the street, turn left, and wind up on the sidewalk before Wong’s Dragon Buffet. The windows are painted black, and the sign lit above flickers. I’ve eaten at Wong’s a couple of times a month since I was old enough to eat solid food. The General Tso’s chicken is to die for.
Bert reaches for the door.
“Bert, what the fuck?” I say.
“Shaddup and follow me. There are a lot of ways to get to Hell. This one is closest.”
Carl and I plod after him into the restaurant.
The sound of running water greets us in the foyer. An aquarium with a waterfall holds eight gold fish and one black molly. Ever since I was a kid, there have always been eight goldfish and one black molly swimming among the plastic plants.
Two doors stand in the foyer
. One goes to the dining room. I can see the buffet, more aquariums, and potted plants through the glass. The other one’s blacked out, and there’s a sign on it that says “Please use other door” with an arrow pointing to the lighted one. That’s flanked by a gold-painted lion sculpture, and the black one by a dragon with red glass eyes.
“Um. I always assumed that led to the kitchen,” Carl says. His stomach growls.
“Sort of.” Bert reaches out and knocks on the black glass.
A female voice behind the door shouts, “Go away!”
Bert sighs. “Yin, it’s me.”
“Which ‘me’?”
Bert clears his throat. “It’s...the Lotus Dragon.”
Carl and I exchange glances. Carl elbows me, mouthing: “Lotus Dragon.”
Bert gives us a dirty look. “It’s a pet name.”
I’m immediately fearful of anything on earth that can keep Bert as a pet...
There’s the small snikt of a metal lock being turned.
Bert points to the blackened door. “Gentlemen, stay close. And don’t lose your cookies.” He opens the door and slips inside.
I’m on his heels, tripping over his tail, and Carl is so close behind me, he’s stepping on the back of my shoes. Nobody wants to get lost in another dimension.
It’s black. Really dark. The kind of dark under your bed in the middle of the night when you can’t sleep and you swear something’s moving under there. You can’t see a damn thing, but there’s a sense of motion—maybe a shift in air pressure—that tightens your gut and curls your fingers into fists.
Bert’s tail drags on something in front of me, making a hissing sound on an uneven floor. I put one foot in front of the other, holding my hands out for balance. It’s almost like floating, but I’m afraid of falling. My shoes squeak on something sticky on the floor. I have the sense of going down, but there are no stairs.
Ahead, there’s a pale flicker. It’s not a bright light, but it glows a bit. It reminds me of smoke, the way it turns and moves, seeming to defy gravity. Growling, deep and distant, emanates from it.
And the white shape comes shrieking down the tunnel, toward us. It’s bright and shining and growling like a goddamn train...