A Want So Wicked (4 page)

“Sure.” She starts to walk away when I'm suddenly struck with an intense worry. It's not unusual for her to sneak out two nights in a row, and yet my stomach twists with a sharp anxiety. “Lucy,” I call. She glances back over her shoulder at me, raising her pierced eyebrow. “Be careful,” I say.

My sister grins. “Why start now?” Then she turns and leaves my room.

CHAPTER 6

M
y father wakes me up early for my doctor's appointment and tells me to ask Lucy to go with me because he has morning services. And since he's the only pastor, he can't exactly reschedule.

I'm not looking forward to being poked and prodded, especially since I have a fear of needles, and of doctors in general. Side effect of watching my mother slowly die in a hospital, I guess.

I wake up my sister and wait for her to get dressed. I'm only three sips into my glass of juice when I hear Lucy's ballet flats tapping on the tile floor of the kitchen.

“Ready?” she asks, her hair spiked up in a stylish short Mohawk.

“That was fast,” I say, dumping the rest of my glass down the sink. “You're leaving the house without makeup on?” I honestly can't remember the last time that happened.

“Figured I'd show off my natural beauty instead.”

“Modesty is such an attractive quality,” I say, and snatch my purse from the counter. It may be an overcast morning, but it's still close to eighty degrees out, and she's wearing a dark gray hoodie.

“You cold?” I ask.

“It's that damn ice water in my veins. Keeps me cool in the summer.” She grins and then goes to the front door, motioning for me to walk out first.

The doctor's office is just on the outskirts of Thistle in a small adobe-style building. Lucy stays in the waiting room, flipping through an old copy of
Family Circle
when I head to the back. The doctor listens as I tell her about the hallucination, the memory. I'm not entirely sure she believes me, though. Instead she orders blood work and then checks over my arm, saying that the scratches don't look infected and should heal up quickly.

After a visit to the office lab, the doctor tells me my vitamin D is significantly low. The symptoms of that include weakness, fatigue, and tingling. That does cover a lot of what
is
wrong with me, but I think it's too simple of an explanation. Even so, the doctor says we should rule it out before ordering a brain MRI, which just sounds frightening. I leave with a large-dose prescription in hand, and make Lucy stop by the pharmacy to fill it.

As we're waiting in the chairs at Walgreens for them to call my number, my sister checks her phone. “This is taking way too long,” she says, sounding impatient. I look sideways at her, unamused.

“I had to get blood drawn. I think I'm the one who should be whining.”

Lucy sighs. “Sorry. I just have to be somewhere.”

“Where? It's nine a.m.?”

“I'm meeting friends for coffee,” she says. “And I'm—” My sister pauses, closing her eyes as if she's struck with pain. I reach out to touch her arm and she jumps. “Sorry,” she says. “I should probably see the doctor about my cramping. It's been intense lately.”

“I can see that. Have you told Dad? He's worried about you.”

She smiles softly. “I know he is. But like you, Elise, I'm not down for being a science experiment for doctors. You saw what they did to Mom. I don't want anyone testing their theories on me.”

I furrow my brow. “About cramping?”

She looks over at me. “About anything.” Lucy stands up, slightly bent as if compensating for her stomach pain. “I'm going to grab some products. You'll wait here?” she asks.

I nod, concern rushing through me. I watch her leave to head down the aisle, and just then the pharmacist calls my name. As I stand at the register, the guy clicking numbers into his computer, I start to feel it. A vibration in my fingers, slowly crawling up my arms. I close my eyes, hot sensations racing over my skin.

“You'll want to take these with food,” the pharmacist explains. But I'm starting to shake, unable to respond. Instead, I look behind him and catch my reflection in the mirrored cabinet.

I'm nearly struck down with fear.

The person in my image is someone else. She's wearing a Catholic school uniform, long blond hair behind her ears. My mouth parts with a gasp, but as I watch, the reflection starts to change. Her skin starts turning gold.

I cry out and stumble backward, bumping into the person in line behind me. The woman reaches to steady me, but I fall past her, nearly pulling her down with me. The back of my head hits the linoleum, and I roll onto my side. There are a few startled screams and it takes a minute for the pain to ease off enough for me to sit up. The pharmacist runs from around the counter to kneel in front of me, asking if I'm okay. I tell him that I am. But I'm not.

When he helps me to my feet, amid the stares of concerned customers, I crane my neck to peer around him—to find the girl in the mirror again. But it's just me, standing in a Walgreens, pale as the dead. The pharmacist asks if I'd like some water, but I can't answer. Instead I stare at my reflection, my dark hair, my blue eyes—and suddenly I think . . . I look wrong.

 

* * *

 

“I'm so sorry,” Lucy says, holding my arm as she leads us to the parking lot. “I had to buy tampons. I didn't think you were going to have a seizure in the middle of the store.”

“I didn't have a seizure,” I tell her, still rubbing at the back of my head. After I'd gotten up, the staff made me drink a glass of water, asking repeatedly if I wanted an ambulance. But I was fine, other than a headache. And the fact that I'm suffering from hallucinations.

Lucy starts the car, her sleeves pulled down over her hands, her thumb poking out where she cut a hole in the cuff. She glances sideways at me, her lips pressed tightly together. “You sure you're okay?” She sounds concerned.

I lower my head. “Yeah. I saw something and it freaked me out.”

My sister cranks up the air-conditioning and checks over her shoulder before pulling out into the street. “What was it?”

“A reflection. Only it wasn't mine. I looked like someone else.”

Lucy's back straightens. “Seriously? Who?”

“I don't know. I can't really remember her face. But strange things keep happening,” I say. “First the parking lot with that old woman, then . . . other things. There's no way this is a result of a vitamin deficiency.” I notice Lucy's knuckles turning white as she grips the steering wheel.

“That sounds like a plausible enough explanation,” she says.

My heart beats quickly in my chest as I hear the catch in my sister's voice. “Do you see things too?” I ask.

“What? No.” She looks at me, a surprised expression on her face. “As I'm sure you've noticed, Elise, I'm very well-adjusted.”

We both smile, but when she turns to the road, she gasps and slams on the brakes. I fly forward before my seat belt catches me, yanking me back. “Ouch!” I say, rubbing at where the belt has probably bruised my neck.

“I could have killed him,” Lucy murmurs, reaching up to brush her hair back with her fingers. In front of us the traffic-light is still red, a rear wheel of a motorcycle only inches from our bumper. I pause when I realize it's the guy. The one I saw in Santo's. He glances back over his shoulder at us, his eyes shielded by dark glasses.

“You almost ran over the hottest guy in town,” I whisper.

Lucy laughs, looking sideways. “You're feeling better.”

Then she sticks her head out the window and waves to the guy. “Sorry about that!” she calls. When he doesn't immediately respond, Lucy hikes her thumb in my direction. “Also, this one here thinks you're really cute.”

“Lucy!” I shove her shoulder.

The guy's mouth twitches with the start of a smile, but then the light turns green and he puts his boots back on his bike and drives away before turning at the next street.

“Can't believe you just did that,” I say.

Lucy leans over to kiss my cheek dramatically as if this all falls under the sisterly code of conduct. She eases the car forward before picking up speed. “Now,” she says. “Let's get home before I nearly kill anyone else.”

I agree, but as we drive, I peek down the street where the motorcycle turned, hoping to catch another glimpse of the guy. But he's gone. I bury my fear from the reflection and tear open the bag from the pharmacy, swallowing a pill dry.

 

Monsoon season is in full effect, the announcer on the radio says. And Thistle is getting unprecedented amounts of rain—continuing today.

I groan as I pull Lucy's car into Santo's parking lot at four, clicking off the stereo. The place is packed and I have to turn up the hill to the back lot. I pull the emergency brake and take a second to check my reflection, feeling utterly exhausted. My hair is in a knot at my neck and I'm wearing Lucy's eyeliner, hoping it will help me appear less tired. It doesn't.

When I get out of the car, I notice the sky—the clouds covering any hint of blue. I'm not a meteorologist, but I'm pretty sure that the desert is supposed to be sunny—especially in the summer. It's not fair that it's so miserable out, especially when I could really use the vitamin D right now.

I head toward the glass door of Santo's, passing three men smoking cigarettes. One mumbles something perverted under his breath, and I turn, ready to tell him off. But the second I see him, I'm hit with a searing heat over my body. Oh no. Not again.

Bright light illuminates the world around us, blocking out everything else. I'm submerged again in the compassion, the love. I struggle to keep my focus, but then images fill my head—the guy's life unfolding there.

Paul Rockland is in his forties, with graying black hair and a suggestive smile. But it fades from his face as I stare back into his brown eyes. I make a small sound, unable to fight off the desire to speak to him.

“Paul,” I say breathlessly.

“It's you,” he murmurs, sounding both frightened and relieved.

Paul's in town to evict the single mother who complained about his property being infested with cockroaches. With filth. Paul knows his building is uninhabitable, but he doesn't want to spend the money to fix it. Instead he's going to threaten her and her children until she leaves. He'll keep her deposit, making it impossible for her to get another place. I see all of this, and the lines of his face deepen as he cowers under my stare.

“Don't do this,” I whisper, sad at how he's forgotten his own childhood. The force inside of me pushes my words forward, even if I'm not entirely sure what they mean. “You won't be able to turn back,” I say. “Not if you go down this path. Remember where you came from.”

When Paul was a boy, he took care of his mother, a woman unable to hold a steady job. She was illiterate because of a learning disability and it left her easy prey in their seedy neighborhood. Paul worked two jobs under the table to pay rent, rent that was raised unjustly. And when they couldn't pay, the man asked for a trade. With nowhere else to go, Paul's mother agreed and walked to the back bedroom, leaving Paul in the hallway, crying and punching the wall. He couldn't bear his mother being degraded, but he felt helpless to stop it.

At fourteen years old, Paul nearly killed that man. But he didn't. A light came into his life at the right moment, with the right message. He sees that same sort of light in me now, and his shame is almost too much for him to bear.

“I'm sorry,” he says, starting to cry. He thinks of his mother, how her death several years ago has turned him bitter. Angry. He has so much regret.

I put my hand on his arm, comforting him when he needs it most. Letting him know that he always has a choice. That this is his second chance. And then I tell him to go home.

When I step back from Paul, it breaks our bond—the light gone from around us. His friends are there, although their voices are barely registering in my ears. Paul wipes his face, looking purposefully toward his car, as if about to leave. But I'm the one who is stunned.

I try to move away but stumble—catching myself with my hand on the siding of Santo's. The warmth is fading from my body, replaced with anxious energy.

That definitely happened. There's no way that was only in my head. Frightened, I move past the men into the restaurant.

CHAPTER 7

W
hen I rush into Santo's, I find the room frozen. The hostess is in her checkered dress, holding a menu. A customer has his hand raised to get a server's attention. Even a glass of soda, half over the edge and about to spill, is motionless.

I gasp, and then the scene slips away entirely as I'm flooded with a memory.

I'm lying in bed, his arms wrapped around me from behind. He's half-asleep but still murmuring in my ear, his breath tickling my skin.

“Let's run away together,” he whispers. “Let's run far away and never come back.”

I smile, my love for him so strong that it almost hurts. “You always say that,” I say, intertwining my fingers with his as I pull him tighter around me. “And I always say yes. Yes, just so long as I'm with you.”

The memory stops suddenly and reality hits me. I cry out, startled, and the frozen world snaps back to life: the hostess drops her stack of menus, the customer waves his hand, the soda spills—prompting a shout from the woman across the table. And then everyone turns to me as I stand in the doorway, trembling.

“Elise,” Abe calls, jogging from behind the counter. He looks concerned, but I'm speechless, darting my gaze around the room. When Abe comes to stand in front of me, he reaches out. “Are you—”

“What's happening to me?” I murmur as tears spring to my eyes. Before he can touch me, I rush past him toward the back.

Panic, thick and suffocating, rages over me as I lock myself in the employee bathroom. I rest my hands on either side of the pedestal sink, crying softly. That memory—my memory—has left me absolutely heartbroken. I feel shattered, as if pieces of me are scattered about, no longer able to fit together.

“Elise,” Abe says softly on the other side of the door. “Are you okay? Do you want me to call your dad or something?”

“No,” I say automatically. The last thing I need is for my father to get a call from a stranger about his daughter losing it at work. I squeeze my eyes shut one more time, willing away the images of Paul's life. The feeling of being in love. Those aren't my thoughts; those aren't my memories.

I straighten then, looking in the mirror. My eyes are red-rimmed, and I splash cold water on my face, pulling myself together. Something is happening to me, something unnatural. I know I can tell my father, think I should, but at the same time—the idea terrifies me. I don't know what I'd do if he didn't believe me.

I have to try to figure this out on my own. Or at least try to. But I can't do that locked in the bathroom of a Mexican restaurant.

“Not to sound insensitive,” Abe says, his voice echoing off the door as if he's leaning against it, “but Santo is probably going to hassle you for the outburst. And you're sort of late for work now. Is there—”

I open the door, and Abe nearly falls in, catching himself at the last second. He's pale as if stricken with worry.

“Sorry,” I say, trying to sound normal. “I'm obviously off my meds.”

He laughs, looking unsure of my stability. “Yeah, well,” he says. “Maybe counseling would be a good next step.”

I move past him, careful not to meet his eyes, not to give away my fear. I go to the time clock, punching my card. But as I hang it back up, I feel Abe's hand slide onto my shoulder.

“If you need to freak out about something,” he whispers, “I totally understand. But you should try to keep it together today. I don't want you to get fired.”

I close my eyes, his smooth voice setting me at ease. His hand steady on my shoulder, holding me still. He's right. I don't want to get fired.

Abe smiles when I look at him. “Better?” he asks, studying my expression. When I nod, he brushes the backs of his fingers gently over my jaw. “Good.”

And then he turns and leaves the kitchen.

 

As I start my shift, I find that my panic has settled into a soft dread—something manageable. And it seems that work helps to keep my mind focused, almost as if I'm able to forget about earlier by acting normal. Acting as if it never happened.

I avoid a lecture from Santo, sneaking past his office to meet Abe out on the floor. It's nice to be able to throw myself into work, even if I'm still following Abe as part of the training. But he lets me take the orders, standing at my side like my own personal Mexican food encyclopedia. He interjects only when I really mess up my pronunciation. I've taken to just pointing at various things on the menu, but Abe is hip to my game and makes me try to sound them out.

“There is nothing difficult about the word
albondigas.
Say it with me, Elise.” He squeezes my mouth and moves it in tandem with the syllables.
“Al-bon-di-gas.”
I make the attempt, but then forget immediately when I'm at the next table telling them our soup of the day.

We dive into the shift, the evening passing quickly as Abe explains how to garnish a plate, how to act offended when customers order a cheeseburger. Santo's is especially busy, and Abe tells me it's never been this crowded. He says they must be here for me.

The job is fun, though. With so many customers it's all a blur of smiles and half-filled iced tea pitchers. Between tables Abe's got me cracking up, introducing me with a different name to each patron. I was Doris, Consuela, and even Godzilla—which he told them was my nickname. I think he was taking a shot at my five-eight height, but he says he wasn't. Either way, I was a little annoyed after that one so he went back to calling me Elise.

I'm pouring myself a cup of coffee in the kitchen when Abe comes up, smirking. “How will you ever sleep tonight?”

“I still have an hour here,” I say, glancing at the clock to see it's almost nine. “And besides, I haven't been sleeping all that well.”

“You're the hardest-working woman in the restaurant business.” He takes a packet of sugar and hands it over to me, leaning against the food counter while I stir in the sweetener. “Do you like it here?” he asks offhandedly, examining his fingernails.

“It's the best job I've ever had. It's also the only job I've ever had, so it doesn't have much to compete with. But I do like it. For the most part.”

Abe looks up as if he's surprised by my answer. “No, not at Santo's. I mean—”

“Elise,” Santo calls from the kitchen, his voice having its usual gruff edge. I worry that I'm in trouble as I head back there. Abe follows, and I find Santo at the grill, flipping strips of chicken and green peppers. When he notices me, he wipes his hands on the white towel he has thrown over his shoulder.

“Go ahead and take off,” he says with a head nod toward the front door. My stomach drops.

“I'm fired?”

Abe laughs from behind me, and Santo shakes his head. “What? No. I just don't need you anymore tonight.” He pauses, as if he doesn't want to say the next part. “Nice work out there.” He pours oil on the grill, drowning out the sound of my thank-you with a sizzle.

I go to grab my purse, untying my apron as Abe snorts. “What?” I ask. I can't help but smile, a little embarrassed about my exchange with Santo.

“Nothing,” Abe says. “I just think it's funny that when your boss tells you that you can take off, your first instinct is to think you're fired.”

“Maybe I'm not all that confident in my server skills yet.”

“I understand that. You're awful at it.”

“Hey!” I laugh, slapping his shoulder. He doesn't apologize, but motions toward the kitchen.

“I'll be right back,” he says. “Wait for me?”

I agree, and lean against the wall, facing the dining room. There are only two tables, and Margie's able to handle them both with ease. I think about Paul, about the terrible things he's gone through, the terrible things he planned to do. I just wish I knew
how
I could see those things.

“All right, let's go,” Abe says, startling me as he walks up.

“Go? Where?”

“You have some time before you have to be home, right? Let me buy you dinner.”

“Who's open this late besides us?”

He grins. “You'll see.”

 

A Slim Jim, a Coke, and a pack of yellow cupcakes hit the spot as we sit on the bumper of Lucy's car in the 7-Eleven parking lot. Abe is eating a nasty-looking hot dog that he plucked from the heat rollers in the glass cabinet, but I passed.

“Tell me about yourself, Elise,” Abe says between bites. “I must admit that I am fascinated.”

I brush my hair behind my ear in a nervous movement. “And why is that?”

Abe takes another bite before answering. “You're gorgeous. Innocent. And yet”—he points his finger—“there is something very unusual about you.”

“You mean strange?”

“No,” Abe says seriously. “I mean fascinating.” I'm not sure how to respond, but I don't have to because Abe stands, crumpling up his napkin as he finishes off his hot dog. He tosses the wrapper in the trash before wandering back over.

“I'm close with my family,” I say, answering his earlier question. “My father does a lot of work for the church, so Lucy and I spent most of our childhood there. But now he lets us decide for ourselves when and if we want to go.”

Abe eases down next to me. “He sounds like a very practical man.”

“He's great,” I say, fully aware that talking about my
dad
might be lame. “And when we left Colorado last month, I wasn't sure if I'd ever make another friend again.”

“But then I came into your life. Sounds like fate to me.”

I turn, but find I can't hold Abe's dark gaze. When I look away, he chuckles.

“And now that I've properly humiliated myself with my constant flirtation,” he adds, “I'll say good night, and hope that tomorrow night we can have dinner again. In seats, maybe?”

“Like a date?” My heartbeat quickens.

“Like dinner.” He turns to leave, sliding his hands into the pockets of his work pants as he begins to whistle. I'd offered him a ride home, but he said he preferred to walk. And once he's gone, I bite off a piece of jerky, thinking about tomorrow.

Lucy is going to be so proud.

A loud rumble cuts through the cooling night air, and I look up to see a motorcycle pull into the 7-Eleven. My heart skips a beat when I recognize the rider, and I set the beef jerky aside.

He notices me and comes to park next to my car, cutting the engine. The silence is thick around us when he does. “Hi,” he says, like he's surprised to see me here. He takes off his helmet, hanging it on the handle bar. “Late-night fix?” He grins and motions to the cupcake wrapper.

“If I see another taco I just might poke my eyes out,” I respond, standing and smoothing down my shirt. “So I thought this was a good alternative.”

The guy nods politely, then glances back at the store. “I should, uh—” He points toward the door, as if asking my permission to leave.

“Of course,” I say. “You know, you should come by the restaurant again one day. Maybe this time I'll be the one to bring your soda.”

“I sure hope so,” he says. “Your coworker was highly efficient, but not nearly as distracting. You might have some competition for employee of the month.”

“Well, as long as you're rooting for me.”

“I definitely am,” he murmurs, watching me as I walk around the car to get in. I'm glad he didn't mention the fact that my sister nearly ran him down earlier.

“When do you work next?” he asks suddenly. I look over my shoulder.

“Tomorrow.”

“Then I'll see you tomorrow.”

He's so calm and collected—confident in a way I've never seen. It's like I could tell him anything. I decide to start with my name. “I'm Elise, by the way,” I offer. “Since you never asked.”

He winces as if he's shocked by his own behavior. “That was awfully rude of me,” he says, his voice tender. He takes a step closer, the lights of the store showering his face in a soft glow. I'm once again stunned by how handsome he is. “It's nice to meet you, Elise,” he says, a slow, sexy smile pulling at his lips. “I'm Harlin.”