Expel

by Addison Moore

  “Gage talked with Ellis last night. He’s going to be OK, no surgery or anything,” I assure them. “He’s getting it set in a cast later today, and sorry about the cake.” It was French vanilla—the raspberry filling was to die for. I bring my fingers to my lips, still warm with the memory of eating cake off Gage’s flesh. It’s the only way to do it.

  “So is everything OK with the two of you?” Her eyes swell with emotion for me. Mom wants Gage in our lives as much as I do.

  “Everything went great.” I flick my ring in the air advertising the fact our forever brand of love, lives on.

  “I’m so happy for you,” she swoons. “When you find that perfect person, you should never let go. Fate could step in,” her eyes darken a sodden shade of moss. “You could end up with the entirely wrong person due to time and chance, and miss out on an incredible love story that could have really taken you places.” She loses herself, gazing out at the powder white fog pressed against the window.

  Dear God, she means Demetri.

  I’m horrified by this.

  “That’s right,” Tad wraps an arm around her shoulder. “And in less than a month we’re giving it all we’ve got, one more time.”

  “I’m taking the girls to the mall this week,” Mom doesn’t even acknowledge Tad’s prideful boast. “Let me know when you’re free. I’ll help you shop for spring break.”

  “Thanks!” I hop up on the balls of my feet at the prospect of a new bikini. “So you guys are really OK with Cain River?”

  “We’re more than OK,” Tad picks up his cup of coffee and salutes me. “We’re going with you.”

  ***

  I sulk to Gage all the way over to Demetri’s. There is nothing more embarrassing to haul to spring break than your parents. In fact, they are the completely wrong accessories to lug just about anywhere.

  Tad surprised Mom with the chaperoning gig as a gift—an early second honeymoon. There are so many things wrong about conducting a honeymoon in a camp laden with teenagers—me being one of them. I don’t even know where to begin.

  “You probably won’t even run into each other.” Gage gives the hint of a wicked smile. “I’m pretty sure on our honeymoon we won’t be leaving the room.”

  A searing bite of lust rips through my abdomen at the thought of honeymooning with Gage.

  “For like a month,” I add, biting down a smile.

  Gage raises his brows, flashes the lamplight of his teeth before continuing. “Besides, we hardly ever see staff, they specifically try to stay out of our way.” Gage reaches over and squeezes my knee in an effort to comfort me. “And, yeah, a month sounds perfect. We should make it two just to be safe.”

  “We’re going to have a lifetime,” I bring his hand up to my mouth and kiss it, run my lips over the hills and valleys of his knuckles while taking in his clean scent. A bloom of sadness awakens in me for Logan. How does Logan squeeze into a lifetime of happiness with Gage? I try to shake the thought of him out of my head by changing the subject. “You know who never stays out of my way?” I ask. “Marshall. He specifically tries to get in my way. Speaking of which, he’s hosting some island-wide garage sale.”

  “What gives?” Gage wraps the truck around the back of the estate. Demetri’s mansion is daunting to look at from this angle. It rises from the ground like a monolithic skyscraper.

  “No clue. Says he’s going to give all the money raised to the Community Center.”

  “Is he planning on selling anything?” Gage squints into the idea.

  “Don’t know.” Just the thought of him peddling his haunted trinkets sends a shiver through me. “Talked to Ellis this morning. He’s pretty bummed he couldn’t be here. He actually asked if I needed help hiding the body.”

  “When I heard Chloe was missing that was the first thing that ran through my mind,” Gage gives a devious smile. “Figured you’d have it taken care of though.” He leans over and presses in a supple kiss that sends a mean shiver through me. “I died everyday without you, Skyla.”

  My stomach swims with the rhythm of his voice. I pull him in and share a deep kiss that has the power to ignite the two of us into a Molotov worthy explosion. There’s something more profound than lust here, something stronger than puppy love, or infatuation. We sit for a small eternity fogging up the windows with the heat from our desire.

  “We’d better go if we want to get out in time,” Gage pants the words in a whisper.

  Somewhere, Chloe is smiling for interrupting yet another exhilarating moment between Gage and me.

  “It’s time to unleash the witch back into the wild,” I say, getting out of the truck.

  One thing is for damn sure, if I were ever to make Chloe Bishop disappear for good, I wouldn’t leave any tracks to follow. I would be the last person Demetri would want to investigate.

  And that’s exactly what I plan on doing one day soon.

  ***

  Demetri’s grandfather’s abode is more than a little freaky with no one around. Of course, Gage is with me, but even with the two of us, it seems isolative, exceptionally strange, like walking around in a museum after closing time.

  I lead Gage upstairs to the entry that’s now conveniently sealed over.

  “I’m pretty sure this is it,” I say, patting down the wall like a thief.

  “How are we going to get in?” Gage takes pictures of the wall, the hallway. He documents our every footstep.

  “There might be another way.” I lead us down to the library.

  The elongated rows of spines sit up at attention, all on good behavior in our honor. The opening at the far end still exists, but it’s reduced to half its size. As it is, I’ll barely be able to squeeze on through.

  “I won’t fit,” Gage tries to push his shoulder in but his chest can’t clear the opening. “There’s a binding spirit I can’t teleport.”

  I take in a breath and press myself to the other side. The narrow space irons out my stomach as I slide back out towards Gage.

  “I’ll go in by myself,” I say it weak. The thought of hopping into an alternate universe all by my lonesome doesn’t really appeal to me.

  “Get Dudley,” Gage is resigned to the fact this is going to happen.

  I send a quick text to Marshall. At the Althorpe dinner, he did offer to play lookout while I crawled inside to get Chloe.

  “What are you going to do?” I pull Gage in by the waist.

  “I’ll wait here—read a book,” he pulls a wry smile. “I’m not taking my eyes off that mirror. I’ll give you fifteen minutes before I tear down the walls and come in after you.”

  “I’ll be quick.” I land a kiss on his lips before squeezing into the Fem memorial. I decide to wait until Marshall shows before actually diving into an alternate dimension.

  I pause at the gilded frames that encase pictures of unsuspecting victims right before a surprise Fem attack. An entire shelf dedicated to the candid eerie photos. I pick one up of some guy walking on the beach and shake it just the way I saw Chloe doing the day she disappeared.

  “Oh my, God,” I take a quick breath.

  It moves—morphs into some kind of miniature television. I watch in horror as a boy around my age is attacked by three menacing creatures. One of the Fems has his entire face buried in an unnaturally full beard, the body of a bovine, arms like a man but far too long, cloven hoofed feet. The second is a panther-like creature with hind legs of a bear, and the third a bloodied clown. I turn away when the panther mauls the side of the poor victims head, his face peeling off like a mask. I place the picture back on the shelf in haste. The clown twists his neck abruptly and looks right at me. He gives an eerie grimace as though he knew who I was, as if he remembered me.

  “Have you ever entertained the phrase, do not touch?” Marshall whispers from over my shoulder. He’s transparent in nature, and I assume this is to keep Gage from ogling him as if he didn’t already know who Marshall really was. “You’ve aroused an entirely new form of ill will upon yourself. Which o
ne have you called,” he muses, inspecting the frame I just set down. “Ah, yes, the clown, you must be loathing the fact you ever laid a finger on him. Do refrain from such pleasures in the future. Come, Love,” he ushers me towards the mirror. “In and out, we’ve got a date this afternoon.”

  “We most certainly do not have a date this afternoon,” I correct. “I’m back with Gage. I’m spending the day with him.”

  “Very well—Jock Strap, the Pretty One, even the Chemically Deluded one can join our reindeer games. It matters not, the faction war waits for no one.”

  “So you heard?”

  “Two for two,” he says with heated violence. “There’s no getting around what I must do with you later. How can I make this anymore clear? My day job depends on it.” He traps me with those copper eyes and holds me in a masterful gaze that both reprimands and beckons. “I have a meeting in a quarter of an hour.”

  “What if I’m not back by then?”

  “You will be,” and with that he gives me a powerful shove right through the oval framed mirror.

  ***

  I land flat on my back in the trophy chamber of horrors—same one I came from with the exception everything here is in reverse order. I drift into the hall and the décor takes a drastic downturn in both quality and character. Gone is the gilt and stone, replaced with plaid carpeting, oak paneling with pictures of Chloe and her family lining the walls. I walk slow and steady from frame to frame. So freaking bizarre.

  Downstairs it looks homier than the house in its original state, kitsch—something about it resonates ordinary people, or should I say humans.

  A garish wall slaps me in the face with its questionable décor.

  I take it all back. This is neither ordinary nor human.

  Twin paintings—colossal in size—eat up half the living room wall, emitting their prideful effigies. The first one is of Chloe in a black strapless gown, a simple string of pearls bisect her neck. There’s enough cleavage to warrant an R rating. The canvas stretched by its side is a picture of Brody donning his football uniform from West. A helmet and a face guard are planted square on his head, which I find almost unsettling. It’s as if Chloe was allowing her brother into her fantasy but under her own terms.

  So, I get it, I think. Chloe and her family live here now.

  The scuttle of heels clip clop in my direction and a body crashes into me from around the corner.

  “Skyla?” It’s Brielle. She’s thinner, obviously without child, but there’s something off about her in addition to that.

  “What are you doing here?” I take her in, she’s wearing full French maids regalia, only it’s not nearly as hot as the one Gage picked out for me at Halloween. It’s more of a cross between a nurse and a nun.

  “Working,” she says, annoyed. “I was just getting ready to hand wash Chloe’s cheer uniform. She’s the best cheerleader that West has ever seen.”

  Honest to God, I half expected her to laugh or roll her eyes but she stands there solemn as though she had just spouted off the pledge of allegiance.

  I’m a little miffed by the display of robotic attention. I’m not sure what the rules are, but it’s obvious the ‘best cheerleader ever’ has the ability to manipulate them.

  “Where’s Chloe?”

  “She’s in the viewing room,” she points down the hall. “But you can’t disturb her, she’s with Gage.” Brielle gives a challenging look as if it should mean something.

  “Gage?” Shit. “Oh, I won’t disturb them,” I assure, speeding down the hall. I plan on calmly collecting Chloe and getting the hell out of Dodge.

  I open door after door until I come upon a small hallway with a giant framed picture on the wall of Chloe staring out at a pale fog of light, the word Matinee printed just beneath.

  I don’t hesitate opening the door. It’s dark, and the air is stopped up with the heavy scent of popcorn. The carpeted walls clot the sound of my footsteps as I fast approach the end of the long dark corridor. A wall-sized screen blazes away with a flickering seizure of color. It’s a freaking movie theatre, loud as one, too.

  I peer around the dividing wall, stealth as a sniper, and to my horror I see Chloe sticking her tongue down some poor guys throat. They’re indulging in one serious flesh-fest with an intense vigor that sets off a primal alarm in me. I recognize that glossy black hair, those strong arms stretched over her like a canopy.

  Oh shit.

  That’s what she’s doing with Gage?

  I pluck her off his body so fast her wild-eyed expression clues me in on the fact, I’m the last person on the planet she expected in this fornicating fantasy.

  Gage snatches my arm, and I pause, examining him. I marvel at the details, every last whisper of his being is in place. What an immaculate replica. This doppelganger is like Gage in every way, right down to his perfect lips, the woodsy scent of his cologne.

  I smack him in the chest before dragging Chloe out. She bucks and writhes in an attempt to liberate herself from my vice-like grip. She claws and kicks all the way upstairs. It takes all of my Celestra strength to keep her from launching the two of us over the railing. Even if Chloe did manage to off herself in this delusional world, I’d totally drag her body back to Paragon, leave her to rot in Demetri’s dungeon until the bumbling detective came upon her carcass.

  “Let go.” She pushes me off as we land in the library.

  “You have to come back.” I block the exit with my body.

  “Did I miss All States?” She pants from the struggle. Funny, the only thing she asks about is some stupid competition, doesn’t even bother inquiring about her mother, her frantic father who swore on television this ordeal was shaving ten years off the backend of his life—the friends she left behind, not that she has any.

  “We leave in less than a week.”

  “Perfect.” Chloe heads over to the mirror willingly and crawls on through.

  The world around me disintegrates, evaporates into a blue expanse of nothing, arid like the sky on a perfect L.A. day.

  I make a beeline over to the mirror before it completely disappears.

  Something tells me I’ve just found a way to make Chloe do just that, forever.

  Chapter 53

  I Do?

  A staffing emergency arose at the bowling alley, and Gage had to fill the void. I offered to cancel our faction-centered play date with Marshall but he wouldn’t hear of it.

  “I promise to knee him in the balls if he tries to kiss me,” I say, leaning over and pressing my lips into Gage like some silent impassioned plea for him to stay.

  “I promise to do the same if he tries to kiss you.” He looks through the windshield over at Marshall’s sprawling estate. “I’ll see if I can’t get someone to cover the shift. Either way, call me when you’re ready. I’ll swing by and pick you up.”

  “Done.” I get out and wave as Gage rounds his way out of the circular driveway—his black truck a perfect silhouette against the dull of afternoon.

  Each day Paragon produces the same grey taffy world. It pulls out forever, entombs us in a cloudbank as if we had risen in the sky. I miss the sunshine back in L.A.—the dapples of light that burst unexpectedly into the house, the splash of warmth over the carpet where Mia’s old dog would curl up and take his naps. I miss the stamp of nature’s design over my back as I sat beneath a tree, lost in a book, robed in glorious light.

  I ring the bell and wait for Marshall to show. He mentioned he had a meeting to attend, regarding the faction war. The last time he was there he spent his time defending me to the celestial higher-ups, which apparently included God himself. Marshall was totally in a foul mood when he returned, and I expect nothing less today.

  The door flies open, a winded Marshall sweeps his hand for me to step inside.

  “Skyla,” he breathes my name in one lusty whisper. “Don’t be hindered, please, come in,” he gives an awkward smile, pants like a lapdog as he devours me with his eyes.

  I can’t figure out his heady
grin, or the fact he’s becoming more inebriated by my presence with each passing moment. Instead, I maneuver past him, ignoring his strange behavior.

  “Please take a seat,” he offers, as I’m about to plant myself on the couch. “May I offer you a drink? A meal perhaps? ” His eyes widen. He’s absorbing me, memorizing my nuances, the exact interpretation of my being, savoring it for later. He whisks his eyes over me as if I were royalty. “Would you be more comfortable with your feet up?” He retrieves a damask pillow from the corner and places it beside me.

  “No, thank you.” I try to assess the stupid grin blooming on his face but it’s no use. “What the hell is wrong with you?” I say in the nicest way possible.

  “I’ve just heard the words I’ve been longing to hear,” his chest heaves, his eyes still magnetically locked over mine. “It’s true. All I’ve ever wanted. It’s been granted.”

  “Great,” I shrug. I can’t imagine what Marshall would possibly crave, hunger for so deeply that it could make him act like a five year old on Christmas morning. “A new longbow?” I take a stab at the subject matter.

  He winces at the prospect of such absurdity. “No, Love, material goods mean nothing.” He falls to his knees before me and caresses my cheek. “It’s you Skyla, you’ll become my wife one day.”

  ***

  I try to convince Marshall there is no way his so-called friend got the prediction right as he leads me into the forest behind his house for the lesson in question.

  “Delphinius is an orator,” he says it with nod. “Makes my visions look like discernments from a Magic 8 Ball. He’s an accurate source, I assure you.”

  This is probably going to play out like Gage’s vision in the courthouse, leaving Marshall disappointed and me gloating because I was right. I can guarantee we will never marry. I’d say it out loud but I have a feeling it would kick off our ode to weaponry on the wrong foot.

  Marshall plucks something up from behind a noble fir and carries it over to me, looks like a bow on steroids.