He freezes.
From this, I conclude the crown makes me imperceptible to Levi mentally but unable to protect Brooks.
“Go into the house, find the skates, and bring them to me,” he commands, adjusting his finger placement. His tone has altered. Cold. Calculated.
Showtime.
Brooks tries to open the door. It’s locked.
“Can’t get in,” he says, mussing his hair.
“Lyvs, all you,” Levi replies, splaying an arm toward the door.
“Oh, man. Sorry, Levi. I don’t open my house to the Devil.”
“Lyvs, I would suggest you rethink that logic.”
“Leevs, I would suggest you leave the premises. Now.”
“Why do you insist on the hard way every time?” He sighs deeply.
A tortured scream breaks our eye contact. Brooks grabs his head as he falls to his knees in agony.
“I’d say this wasn’t fun for me, but the truth works sometimes,” Levi states, flicking his hand.
Brooks rolls into the fetal position clawing at his eyes.
“I won’t kill him, Lyvs. Not yet, anyway,” he says, making a fist. Brooks removes his hands from his eyes and clutches his stomach. Blood oozes from gashes where Levi has ripped his skin. Now he pounds his mid-section with incredible force.
“I can keep going,” Levi says, raising his arm.
“No. Stop.”
“You gotta open that door,” he replies, twisting his fist in the air. Brooks’ screams intensify. I didn’t think that was possible. I analyze my particulars. The nails. That’s all I got. Come on, guys.
“I said, stop,” I proclaim, holding my hand up. “I’ll do it.”
The screams stop. Brooks lies still, panting heavily. I walk over to him mid-way to my destination. I stoop down.
“No…” Levi enunciates slowly, chastising a child. He lifts his hand—
“Okay. Okay,” I acquiesce, rising. I climb the steps to the large glass door. A lunar panel is fitted to the left of the entry. Made of moonstone, it’s Onyx’s version of Framework technology.
“Go ahead,” Levi drawls, his patronizing tone fills me with hatred. I lift my hand to the screen.
“Hello Lyvia,” a familiar male voice speaks. “Please look into the panel for facial recognition.” I hesitate. There’s shuffling behind me. I turn to see Brooks standing. He rubs his eyes. Blood smears across his cheeks.
“You know I’m not a patient man,” Levi says, inspecting his guitar pick. Brooks moans and grabs his stomach.
“Yeah, okay, fine. Stop,” I call, standing in front of the panel. The moaning diminishes.
“Now scanning,” the male voice says. A light radiates from the screen.
“Lyvia, it’s been too long.”
“I know, Stone. Way too long,” I murmur to the comforting presence of our home’s intelization system.
“Lyvs,” Levi drones edgily.
“Everything all right, Lyvia?” Stone asks.
“Yes, everything is fine, Stone. Please open the door.”
“Of course.” The door slides open.
“Bout time,” Levi spits. “Get on with it, Brooks.”
Brooks walks slowly into the house. He gives me a wary glance along the way. Behind us, Levi starts playing Landscape by Florence and the Machine. My song. I can’t stand to hear it from him. One stab after another.
“You can’t just use people to do your bidding,” I remark, making my way back over to Levi.
“Uh, who says, Lyvs? I’ve been doing it for quite some time now. It’s kind of my thang,” he drawls, playing chords from one of his originals, “I’ll Make You Act.” The irony of the song’s title is not lost on me.
“Well, I’m pretty sure God says.”
“Oh, Him?” He rolls his eyes. “He doesn’t seem to mind that much. I mean, He doesn’t make it easy, but you guys sure do. I’ll win. I’ve been toiling away down there, making progress. I’ll get what I want.”
“You don’t get to be God, Levi. There’s only one, and He’s got a monopoly.”
“It’s time for Him to take a back seat. Let someone else run things for a while. Show ‘Him’ how it’s really done.”
Then, the shoes spin. Awkward, heavy nails take refuge in my hands.
“Oh, playtime’s over, Lyvs?” He crosses his arms with a pout. “I hate business.”
“Well, this should be quick,” I respond, urging a spike forward. It shoots from my hand straight at the target. I wait for the sickening crunch. Instead, Levi raises a palm and the nail halts midair before landing unceremoniously on the ground. I try the other. Same outcome.
They rapidly return to my palms. A few more rounds of that before I change direction and clip his arm. Clip maybe an understatement. The metal has burned a chunk of his limb away. Not just a chunk, half his bicep muscle. Sizzling flesh curls away from the wound. Ew.
We get diverted by a noise in the house before resuming stance. I whip the nails out in a distracting manner and clip his other arm. The first hole has begun to repair itself. The skin stretches together lit by fire. He looks down at the second injury. Annoyed.
“Fuck. Okay, Lyvs, you wanna play rough? Let’s go.”
He walks toward me and I hear a voice inside my head.
‘Vee, I found the skates and am heading out. I can’t stop myself.’
Okay. Just come out and be prepared for back up.
I urge a nail toward Levi’s advancing body, but it stays in place—vibrating wildly.
“I think I’ve seen enough of those.” He swipes his hand through the air and the nails fall to the ground. Clink. Clink.
“Levi, you’re not going to win,” I say, pleading a nail. It shakes on the ground and starts to float, but an invisible force shoves me up against the stone wall. The nail clatters back to the ground.
Brooks appears through the glass door holding a pair of men’s black-and-white hockey skates.
“Set them on that bench,” Levi says, not wavering his gaze from me.
Brooks sets them on the bench and sticks his hands in his pockets. Takes a seat. Leans back. Nothing fazes this guy.
“Lyvs, when will you just give up this silliness? Get off the ride. It’s not taking you anywhere. My road, though, my ride, has endless possibilities.” He steps closer. Less than six inches now.
“You’re making me do this, Lyvs. All of this,” he says, stretching an arm wide. “All you have to say is yes and—”
He doesn’t finish his sentence. His face flashes for an instant. Horrifying and zombie-like, yet unearthly. Haunted. Ripped, torn flesh. Terrifying black-filled eyes. Evil Incarnate. Then—back to Levi in a spilt second. To the point where I’m not even sure I saw it. But I did. I can’t unsee that.
He sags forward and flops on the ground. Brooks stands behind him with a golden harpoon. Levi’s fallen form lies still for a second. We gain space around him, not sure what he’s capable of.
Then—a guitar pluck behind me.
I spin around. Levi lounges on the black chaise again. Looking back, there is no sign his body has ever fallen.
“You know better than that, baby,” he says, playing “Baby, Hold on To Me” by Eddie Money.
Brooks picks up his harpoon. Leans against it.
“Dude, I got nothin’ against you, but I know that Vee really needs those skates. So, let’s just call a truce.”
Levi laughs. “Wish I could say the same, man.” He plays “What Goes Around Comes Around” by Justin Timberlake. “But, uh, yeah, you kissed my girl.”
With that, he vanishes from the chair. Brooks and I stare at each other. His face freezes. He lets out a cough and falls face forward.
Levi stands behind him. I follow a giant blade down to a silver, two-handed ancient sword. Between us a Brooks-shaped form rises from his body. A figure of flaming orange circuitry hovers above him. Suddenly, the spirit shoots vertically toward the heavens. His body lies unmoving on the ground.
“Ugh. L
yvs, I hate getting this dirty.” He wipes the bloody steel on Brooks’ t-shirt. The crimson spreads a gruesome inkblot.
The nails find my hands. They shoot out. Gigantic bullets. He bats them away with his weapon. They clatter and return. Clatter and return. We go through the same routine a few more times.
Then—I duck and swipe very low. The nail clips his calf.
“Damn it, Lyvia. I’ve seriously had it.” He lunges forward. The blade swishes above my head. I shoot a nail to clip his other calf and roll away. Closer to the skates.
“Hey Boss,” a disembodied voice says from around the corner. Damien. The kiss witness and Levi’s source.
“Yeah, Damien, I’m gonna need you to get those skates, over there.” He points with his blade. “And take them to the car.”
“Sure thing. Hey, Lyvia,” he says, walking obediently toward the skates.
From a crouching position I swing a nail toward Levi’s face. He stops it midair. At the same time, I urge the second at Damien. It knocks him out with a thunk. He collapses on the ground.
Levi and I square off in my childhood backyard. I spot my giant playhouse to the east. A mini replica of the home complete with identical carpeting. I always loved that thing. It even has a matching tower in the middle that descends to its counterpart’s matching glass steeple. A spiral staircase leads to the highest point, a round circular bedroom. It’s a huge playhouse house full of a mishmash of furniture. I kept the furniture different in the playhouse, changed it often. I never liked getting used to ‘same.’
A green turtle-shaped sandbox lid. Upside-down, leaning side-to-side. Invisible waves take us home. A tiny house awaits. A small blonde head races me to the door. We already know who will win. No matter what I ‘try.’
“You got the rest of your posse?” I speculate, returning to the present.
“Nope.”
“So, how ya gonna get the skates?” I ask, twirling a spike.
“I guess we’re at a crossroads,” he replies, flipping his blade.
“Well, I’m not carrying them for you, and I’m not leaving without them.”
“See that’s the thing, Lyvs. My only recourse is to make sure you stay knocked out until after Damien comes to and we’re on our way.” He licks his lips and advances slowly.
“I like that thing better when it’s a guitar,” I reply, forcing both spikes at him. They miss and return. Miss and return.
“This is getting old, Levi. You kill Shane, then Dagan, and now, Brooks? I’m sick of it.” I take off the crown and whip it toward his head. A ray of light resembling an oracle spreads forth. It slices through one of his hands and regains purchase on my head. The hand vanishes from the ground and regenerates with fire back to clutching his sword.
“Lyvs.” He holds the sword unthreateningly in front of him. “I didn’t kill Dagan. He’s just stuck in time.”
“What the hell does that mean?” I stand up, breathing heavily.
“Much to learn you have, young one,” he replies, casually balancing the sword point on the ground.
“Stop the shtick, Yoda. What are you talking about?”
“There’s more than just communication vortexes, Lyvia. There’s what’s called a ‘Time Ring.’ Loops. Fall into one of those, you can get stuck there forever. Just loop after loop after loop. Now, it sounds like Hell. And, sure, it’s similar. But my place is so much more fun.” The sword has transformed to a guitar. A sexy track beats from the instrument. He slides into a Michael Jackson ‘moonwalk’ as he sings the hook from, “Yeah!” by Usher.
I never saw a flaming form rise from Dagan’s watery grave.
“How do I get him out?” I ask, twirling the nails in my hands.
“You don’t,” he laughs, while fiddling his strings. “You know, whenever it transforms, I have to re-tune. So annoying.” He rolls his eyes.
I glance at the skates. If I could just get to them… And what? Throw them around my neck and run? I won’t get far.
He starts playing some eerie, ominous chords.
Suddenly, he is right beside me. He brushes hair off my neck.
“I’m sick of the games, Lyvs,” he drawls—now appearing directly in front of me.
I drive the spikes into his shoulders. They burn through flesh. He sags momentarily but advances, arms outstretched. The nails fall to the ground. He grabs my neck, pushes me against the stone wall. I can’t breathe. I struggle, gasping for air. I push at his arms, but they only tighten. He inches closer. I’m suffocating. Black hedges my vision.
My right hand pushes against his chest. I start to pray and prepare myself for the afterlife. Suddenly, a severe burning radiates from my shoulder down through my fingertips. Glancing down, my arm glows red-hot. My scorching palm burns through his chest. A hot steel tip for wielding.
His hands drop. I open my eyes. His face flashes again. Ripped and torn. Haunting eyes.
Then—poof—a burst of fire I cannot feel.
27
I survey the area. He’s gone. I sprint to Brooks. He’s still unmoving. I check his pulse, just in case, but he has definitely departed.
I walk over to Damien. He’s still out cold. I grab the skates and return to Brooks. I can’t leave him here. I’m sure Damien’s happy helpers will show their unwelcome faces at any moment. Not to mention—what the hell happened to Levi? And my arm?
“I already called Lani,” a muffled voice comes from my abandoned bag on the side of the house. “She has a few friends in Onyx who will take him to Turquoise for burial. You just need to put him somewhere safe until they can get here.”
A memory shakes loose. The pebbled wall around the garden has an overhang that turns into a tunnel. A small wooden door reveals a passageway that winds underground and opens to the basement. I practically lived in there growing up. I always thought I was Goldilocks in her underground hideout before she investigates the bears’ den. I can secure him in there. There’s even a lock on the door.
“Okay Seph, I’m going to lay him in the tunnel,” I say, searching for some kind of cloth to wrap him in. Nothing.
Ensuring Damien is still out cold, I go into the house. The scent takes me back to a little girl when things were simple and wondrous. Lavender and Vanilla Snuggle fabric softener and ‘All’ brand laundry detergent lingers in the air. Shane still uses the stuff, as do I.
I need to hurry. I look around. Boy, things changed with my parents gone. It seems his room has melted into the entire house. Chewing tobacco cans and half-empty Propel water bottles litter the floor. Clothes and athletic equipment drape over the furniture. Nothing is big enough to wrap Brooks in.
I try the laundry room. To get there, I move down the massive hallway that twists to the east end of the house. I avoid looking at the walls. Framed photos line them. Shane’s athletics, my newspaper articles, posed dance photos, family portraits, millions of Shane's action shots—our family memories frozen in time. It was my father’s project. He created a photo mosaic of our family.
The large laundry room is crisp white. The scent of detergent and softener is even stronger in here. Again, clothes are draped and strewn about all over the place. I open cupboards searching for a sheet or blanket only to find more random clothing.
“Come on, Shane. You gotta have something to sleep on…” I murmur through the shuffling.
“Ugh.” I collapse on a pile of fabrics. The mixture of familiar scents overwhelms me. I feel a tear drop, wetting the material.
Upstairs. The linen cabinet upstairs. I jump up feeling the pressure of time. The house is very large, made larger by the obstacles in attendance.
“Shane, I told you to hire a housecleaner.” I make it to the landing and head up the twisty, spiral staircase. Rounding the top, I take a quick right to the master bathroom’s linen closet. Scanning up past towels and washcloths, I spot linens at the top. Can’t reach.
I peruse the area and spot an armchair in the loft’s living room. I push it across the hardwood floor and attempt to cli
mb. It’s soft and squishy as if I’m stepping on quicksand. I balance precariously on an arm and reach up. I manage to brush my fingertips on the shelf in question but lose balance and grab nothing.
I try again, this time with a bit more force. I grab the corner of something, but my momentum causes me to fly—yes, fly—off the chair which clatters onto its side opposite of me. The shelves follow suit, missing me by inches. I sit up and clear my hair from my face. I find the corner of a flannel sheet pinched between two fingers.
“Yes, this will do.” I quickly make my way out to the backyard. Sliding open the glass door, I hear moaning. Oh yeah. Damien.
“Arrghh.” He growls, wiping his eyes.
I ignore him and head over to Brooks. He hasn’t moved. I’m so tired of death. I cry silently over his still form—until I black out.
I start coming to and rub my eyes. I touch the crown of my head where it’s throbbing. Warm sticky blood covers my fingers. I see movement to my right where Damien’s form is holding an ice skate.
“Whoa, Damien,” I say, struggling to stand up. “Let’s talk.”
“I’m done talking, Lyv. I have to do what Levi says. He wants you knocked out.” He raises the skate.
Mentally urging the nails, I say, “I’m not letting you leave with those skates.”
“Not your choice,” he replies as he swings forward.
“It always is,” I reply, sidestepping the strike.
As I round to the left, a nail finds my palm. I swing it at him, but he uses the skate’s blade to ricochet the ancient metal. During which time, he swings his other fist and catches me square in the jaw. I flop to the ground abruptly. Unable to lift my head, I stare at Brooks’ fallen form. Damien stands above me; two hands hold the skate. I continue to stare at Brooks and hope for a swift ending.
Suddenly an orange, glowing form drops down next to Brooks. The figure is eerily familiar, tall and broad. If I didn’t know better, I’d say I spot a fatty tucked in his lip.
Shane?
The Shane-shaped flaming circuitry nods imperceptibly and touches Brooks chest. Damien watches the display with the skate still poised above his head.
I Am the Storm Page 21