Expel

by Addison Moore

  What do I say? How do I respond? Of course, I love Gage, but a very real part of me understands exactly what Logan just said as though the testimony had sailed from my own lips.

  “Let’s get you back into your body,” I whisper, artfully choosing my words.

  He gives a wry smile. “I talked to my uncle. He’s going to research the most efficient way to off Holden and get me back without any damaging effects.”

  “I’ll make sure Marshall gets you to where you’re supposed to be.”

  “Not at the expense of your body, Skyla.”

  “No, nothing like that, I swear.” I tug at his hand. “I miss you, Logan Oliver.” I bring up his hand and plant a gentle kiss on his finger.

  He gives a smile born of sadness. “I’ve been missing you for months, Skyla Laurel Messenger,” Logan wraps an arm around my shoulder. “I wish it were summer and we had just met. I’d do everything different.”

  “You mean, Gage,” I sigh.

  “I don’t think I could have stopped what the future holds, but, for sure, it didn’t have to play out this way to get there. Yes, I mean Gage, I mean us—Chloe.”

  “How do you think Chloe was able to capture all of those precise moments? You know, me and you—me and Marshall.”

  “And Ellis,” he leans in.

  “That was the most innocent of all. He was peeing on my hand.”

  Logan squints and shakes his head as if he wants me to spare the details.

  “Chloe got those pictures the same way I was able to create that film we used to frame her,” he says. “Supervising spirit.”

  “Figures. Speaking of spirits, did you find Giselle? Did you tell her I desperately need to speak with my mother?”

  “I did.” Logan tips his head down. “And Giselle relayed the message.”

  “That’s great!” I can’t wait to get Ezrina off my back. “What did my mother say?”

  “She said she doesn’t plan on seeing you again until after the faction war. She said, no, Skyla.”

  Chapter 39

  The Good Girlfriend

  The week sweeps by in a torrent.

  No sun, no warmth, no Gage.

  Dr. Oliver pulled him out of school temporarily so he could proceed with home study, says his cough came back and that’s the best way to keep him out of the hospital for now. I have a feeling I’m more than slightly responsible for his convalescing condition, for his newfound desire to pursue scholastic knowledge from the confines of his bedroom.

  I’ve been sending a steady stream of texts, a deluge of emails to Gage, but nothing came of it. He doesn’t take my calls, doesn’t respond to a single mode of communication. I’m not sure how much longer I can handle being cut out of his life like this.

  I think tomorrow after my community torment at Demetri’s, I’ll swing by and see if I can at least get him to prove he’s still filling his lungs with air, that he’s still on Paragon proper.

  “So you wanna go shopping and get some new gear for that dance next week?” Brielle asks, lounging on my bed. Her belly rises into the air like an anthill.

  “The Althorpe dinner?” I stop combing my hair midflight.

  “Yeah, your mom says it’s formal. Like prom but with old people.”

  “Charming. I think I’ll pass on the spending spree. I’m trying to scrape up everything I can to help Logan.” I’ve managed to amass a whopping fifty-two dollars and twelve cents.

  I guess it didn’t suck quite enough that he was dead—he gets to watch the business his father built kick the bucket, too.

  “So, you talk to Gage?” She makes the transition with the utmost care.

  “No, did you?” The thought of him using Brielle as a liaison has me hopping over to the bed with excitement.

  “He called and asked me to cover his shifts.”

  He speaks!

  “Did he sound OK? Was he coughing? Did he ask about me?”

  “Yes, no, and, unfortunately, no.”

  “Oh.” I mean I’m thrilled that he’s not coughing up loose change, but I’m devastated by how easy it is for him to live life without me. Having Gage out of my world is like being thrust into permanent darkness. I’m left groping around the landscape, hoping to find the smile that once lit my universe. “I can’t stand that he hates me,” I lament.

  “He doesn’t hate you,” she scoffs. “Gage Oliver is incapable of such mortal feats. He’s just pissed—more like devastated. You made him feel like less than nothing. He was totally into you if you hadn’t noticed.” It doesn’t come out mean the way she says it, just a simple observation. All of it true.

  “Brielle,” I lean back against the wall in defeat, “what makes a good girlfriend?”

  “A good girlfriend?” She contemplates this for a moment by twirling a copper lock around her finger. “Someone who bakes cookies, gives back rubs, laughs at all their stupid jokes—makes them feel like the smartest person in the world.”

  I had never done any of those things. I had never baked Gage cookies, and he baked me a cake for my birthday. He gave me countless shoulder massages, and I never once returned the favor. Of course, Gage never told a stupid joke, and I would never placate his genius because he just happens to be the smartest person I know on the planet. But I would laugh at the simplest thing that flew from his lips if I were ever presented with the opportunity again.

  It would be pure joy.

  ***

  Friday evening Marshall arrives twenty minutes early for a dinner party Mom threw together at the last minute. She had invited him so they could finish the ad for his island-wide garbage sale that spans time and distance, and, I’m pretty sure, dimensions.

  I’m not certain what’s driving Marshall to encourage the good people of Paragon to declutter their closets, but it’s safe to say, it has supernatural consequences that might reach as far as my baby making station.

  “What is that glorious aroma?” He bows into Mom with a partial hug. He’s either bending the truth and reflecting on the heavenly scent of those burgers grilled atop Mount Headless during ski week, or he outright has an olfactory defect. The house happens to smell like hot crap on a sunny day.

  “You like?” Mom gives a sultry wink before escorting him back to the family room. Marshall wraps an arm around my waist, and I’m quick to push away his efforts. “I’m pairing pan-fried calves liver with a nice wheatgrass salad. I’m on this new health kick to get me into ultimate prime procreating condition. You did know that Tad and I are trying, right? I’m sorry if this is too much information.” She leans in feigning embarrassment.

  My mother doesn’t mind sharing with the free world the sorry state of her uterus. I wouldn’t be surprised one bit if I were driving downtown one day and came across a picture of her and Tad’s dehydrated baby making parts splayed out on a billboard like some disturbing PSA.

  “No, I wasn’t aware. But I wish you the best of luck in your donation to humanity.” He winks playfully. “I look forward to blessing the world with my own seed one day.”

  Seed? Must we go there?

  “Oh, you should have lots of children,” she’s quick with the reply. “With a face like that I’m sure women are knocking down the door trying to help you fill an entire school bus.”

  “One would think,” he muses over at me.

  “Anyway, I’m mostly vegetarian now,” Mom announces. There’s a prideful undertone that suggests she’s embracing the anti-conformist rebellion sponsored by her journey to motherhood. Frankly, I’d prefer she wolf down a burger and fries. Normally, my mother and Tad would take turns scoffing at vegetarians. They thought the vegetable offensive was nothing more than a well-constructed ploy by foreign adversaries to destroy the cattle industry. This bovine conspiracy was further justified by Tad as yet another measure in taking down the financial structure of this great country, which evidently relies solely on sticking a cow’s ass in a grinder. “But there’s so much great protein in calf’s liver, I thought why not?” She turns her palms out
. “But I’m strictly vegetarian otherwise. I steer clear of dead animal byproducts,” she goes on to defend the mutiny of perhaps the last cohesion that held she and Tad together. “The liver is amazingly rich in iron, and it’s cheaper than dirt.”

  “If only it were dirt,” I whisper. I’d rather eat dirt. Hell, I’d take it straight from the cemetery—fresh off a casket.

  “So, let’s see,” she opens her laptop and pounds on the keyboard. “What would you like the ad to say?”

  I lean in. “How about, look at all the crappy hobbies I wasn’t good at?” I offer, taking a seat at the island.

  “Skyla,” Mom sings my name in a tone that lets me know I’m pushing it.

  Marshall postures. “I’m thinking more—bring us your weary, your downtrodden, your huddled masses of clutter,” he suggests.

  “Hey, that’s snazzy.” Mom types away unwavering.

  “That’s plagiarism.” I’m quick to discredit Marshall’s undying genius. It’s written on the Statue of Liberty, everybody knows that.

  It’s not plagiarism if I were the one to suggest it to the author in the first place, he gives a smirk.

  Mom hops up from the barstool. “Excuse me while I toss the dinner rolls in the oven. They’re buckwheat,” she whispers into him as if buckwheat were code for sinfully delicious. I’m afraid the entire dinner is simply going to be sinful. If digesting infant mammal organs and a salad made of weeds is the way to fuel your body to enhance reproduction, I’m pretty sure I’m out of the running for children.

  Why so forlorn? Is Jock Strap still evading your efforts at communication?

  “Please don’t refer to Gage as Jock Strap,” I whisper. “I need an emergency appointment with my mother. Can you arrange this?”

  Only if I go with you.

  “Done.”

  Then it’s a date. He gives a wicked smile.

  Unfortunately, I can’t swear off Marshall’s efforts just yet, and this type of behavior is precisely why Gage will be eating vital organs and buckwheat with another girl someday in an effort to procreate. But with Ezrina eyeing my skin like her new favorite jacket, there’s not a whole hell of a lot I can do about it.

  It’s a date.

  Chapter 40

  Dinner with the Enemy

  Chloe.

  She sits at the table next to Ethan as though she were the newest Landon family member. If Ethan’s twisted form of revenge is chaining Chloe to himself for the rest of his natural days, I’m afraid the punishment will be his to bear. No human should put up with what Chloe has to offer. She’d release a rattlesnake into a newborn’s crib if she thought it would bring Gage back to her. Ethan has it all backwards. Dating Chloe is not a part of his revenge—it’s a part of hers.

  “So, we need to start pulling crap together for the kid,” Darla, Brielle’s mother, artfully leads us into sparkling dinner conversation.

  “Yes, a baby shower is definitely in order,” Mom lays a platter of bovine toxin filters, evenly shriveled and singed before us.

  The doorbell rings, and Mom frees herself from a conversation comprised mostly of caskets in lieu of bassinets and human remains as rattles and teethers. Brielle has a warped sense of style when it comes to the miniature Count brewing in her belly.

  “So,” Brielle starts, “I saw this thing on TV where you set up this blowup kiddie pool and you have the baby right there in your living room. How cool is that?” Her emerald eyes blink into me with amazement.

  “Totally.” My stomach trembles with nervous laughter.

  “Not in my living room,” Tad says it low, in an effort to keep off my mother’s radar. God only knows this sounds like an idea my mother would glom onto, heck she’d jump into the kiddie pool herself in hopes of squeezing one out herself.

  “Why not?” Marshall provokes. “It would be a gift to witness the miracle of life blooming in the heart of your home. Think of all the memories you’ve yet to impress.”

  I can’t even imagine the thought of my mother retching in pain in some ridiculously small swimming pool while trying to expel Tad’s evil spawn from her body.

  “The screaming, the bodily fluids sloshing onto the carpet,” Tad counters, “Why don’t we initiate these memories at your place? That way I can feel all warm and fuzzy each time I drive by.”

  Marshall’s face drains of color. “Come to think of it, the bleeding and screaming might be better fit elsewhere.”

  There will be bleeding and screaming at the Landon home one day, Skyla. Do you believe this? He gives a devious smile.

  I reach down and touch his hand. Does it involve Tad?

  Deliciously so. He nods into Tad and gives the impression he were acquiescing to his wisdom.

  Hmm, I don’t know if I like the word delicious mixing with the idea of Tad bleeding and screaming. Sounds like a kitchen accident.

  “I think a home birth sounds fantastic,” Chloe pipes up. There’s a strange gleam in her eye as if her fantasy of giving birth in a blow up pool somehow involves Gage. “You could get shoulder rubs, and foot rubs, and be catered to by the one you love right there in your living room.”

  For sure it involves Gage. I could practically see the cartoon bubble over her head with my raven-haired boyfriend feeding her grapes, well, my sort of boyfriend.

  I think Chloe is sadly mistaken regarding what real labor and delivery is like. Back in L.A. they made us watch the Red Asphalt version of childbirth, and it may as well have been called This Red Bloody Ass is Your Boyfriend’s Fault.

  It narrowed in on the true consequences of unprotected sex by way of demonstrating how mindboggling elastic the female anatomy is. And judging by the drawn out high-pitched wails, this experience was neither brief nor painless. I’m pretty sure grapes and massages were the last two things on that woman’s mind.

  “Look who’s here?” Mom drags Demetri in by the hand.

  “I was just dropping a key off for Skyla. I’m afraid I have an appointment tomorrow, and I won’t be able to let her in. I’ve left instruction on the entry table. My secretary will be arriving around noon.” He tweaks Chloe on the top of the head when he says it.

  Lovely.

  “Won’t you join us?” Mom steers him over to her spot at the table next to Tad and scoots in another seat from the kitchen quicker than he can protest.

  “I want to thank you for making my wife’s dreams come true,” Tad gives a curt nod. “Weddings don’t come cheap you know.”

  Ironic. I thought everything came cheap with Tad. It was like the unexpected bonus my mother got on her wedding day—an entire lifetime of frugal living courtesy of the cheapasaurus himself.

  “Not a problem.” Demetri blinks a smile. “I want nothing more than to make all of your wife’s dreams come true.”

  I bet that includes in the bedroom. I’m guessing if Tad thought he could save a buck on the wedding night by letting Mom bunk with Demetri, he’d be tolerant of the situation.

  Demetri’s face blooms with a grin as if he heard.

  I swear that cheesy smile never leaves his face. Someone should clue him in on the fact that humans scowl once in a while—like I’m doing now.

  “I’ll be hosting an inter-island bargain and barter in the next few weeks,” Marshall glares into Demetri. “I don’t suppose you have any long abandoned artifacts floating around you might want to be rid of. You know, the odd trunk, vase—mirror,” Marshall pronounces vase, voz and I crimp a smile at the old school drama of it all.

  “I’ll pilfer through the estate. I’m sure I can purge a collectable or two.”

  I place my fingers over Marshall’s knee until he brings his hand over mine.

  It’s that haunted mirror you’re talking about, isn’t it? I ask.

  Nothing irritates him more—with the exception of losing your mother of course.

  I take in a sharp breath at the revelation. If Demetri is anything like Chloe, he might just fill Tad’s stomach with a blade on his wedding day and save a dollar’s worth of that
marzipan cake.

  “Are you OK?” Mom mouths over to me.

  “Oh, I was just thinking the food might get cold,” I whisper.

  By the way, I squeeze his hand under the table. I need about eighteen grand for the bowling alley—better make it an even twenty.

  Looks like the bargain and barter begins tonight. I’m sure there are far more interesting things you’re willing to part with. We’ll speak.

  Tad rises and doles himself out a liberal helping, first, per his usual custom.

  I’m shocked to see Chloe indulging herself with the biggest liver of the bunch and a big heap of shrubbery on the side. It looks downright offensive. The golf greens alone are enough to make me retch. All I can think of is the times I’ve seen Sprinkles vomit up the grass out front after realizing what the heck he just ingested.

  “You know, Lizbeth,” Tad grinds the food in his mouth, “I’m going to go out on a limb here—I don’t think we should be serving lawn clippings as a side dish.”

  I hate when I agree with Tad.

  “Is it that bad?” Mom has mia culpa written all over her face.

  “Oh, I don’t think so,” Brielle douses it with ranch dressing and wolfs it down before her taste buds can properly discern the offense.

  “This is grass?” Drake bounces in his seat.

  “I’d rather smoke it.” Ethan pushes back his plate.

  “A newborn’s liver always tastes fantastic,” Chloe gleams her mischievous smile as she takes another bite. It’s full of toxins, pesticides, poisons and yet, somehow, Chloe is enamored with its coagulated goodness.

  “God!” Darla takes her plate and Brielle’s, and dumps them back into the serving platter. “I don’t know what the hell you eat in L.A., but here on the island we tend to stray from cannibalistic tendencies. Ya’ll get your stuff,” she instructs half of the table. “I’ve got bacon next door.” She rises with Brielle, Drake, and Ethan in tow.