Forbidden Fruit (8 page)

Grabbing my book bag, I headed upstairs. There wasn't a soul in the giant house. I was utterly alone. Ginger was probably out grocery shopping, and the cleaning crew must have finished for the day. When I first moved in with Rose, all the foot traffic was strange. I wasn’t used to people constantly in and out of my home. Then, I craved time alone. I wanted the privacy I was used to having when my parents were alive. Now that I was used to having people around, it felt incredibly lonely when the vast old house was empty.

I spent the rest of the afternoon curled up in my favorite, off white Adirondack chair on the porch right outside my third story bedroom. Sipping sweet tea and listening to the waves crash against the battery wall, I wrote in my journal. I had never kept one until last year. After my parents died, Rose got me one as a kind of therapy. She thought it would help me by giving me a place to confide. It worked most of the time.

I flipped through the pages of endless writings about my parents and that awful night. I tried not to relive the fire that destroyed everything that was once my life each time I opened the journal. It was filled with writings about the loss. I dreamed of that night at least once per week. I would frequently wake up in tears and pour my heart and soul into the little, paisley notebook.

Today I added a different entry. My thoughts were still consumed with the strange behavior of Michael. Who was he? Why does he stare at me but not say anything? Why does he hate Jason? How do they know each other? All these questions remained unanswered no matter how hard I tried to make sense of them. The journal entry ended up being a series of questions and vague, random speculations. It wasn’t working. The more I thought about him, the more I wanted answers. Since he didn’t seem to speak, my chance at answers was slim. I closed the journal with a frustrated sigh. Why was I obsessing over him?

Later that night, just before I hopped in the shower, my phone rang. I cringed at the sound of the ring tone she insisted be hers. Each and every time I received a call from my best friend, which was frequently, I had to endure a terrible rendition of The All-American Rejects “Dirty Little Secret,” which was sung drunk karaoke style by me and Bailey several months back. She loved it, but of course she would, she sounded like an American Idol contestant. I did too, only I was the one that made it on television for the laugh factor.

Before I could say hello, I heard laughing and slurring. Bailey was hard to understand, but I managed to make out “so freaking awesome” and “coming over.” She was a notorious partier, and it was nothing new to hear her drunk, but it did surprise me to hear her that way on a Monday night. I made out something else about “will so get in trouble.” I told her she could stay the night, knowing her father would love to have a reason to tell her she was a disappointment, which was exactly what he would do if she went home in that condition.

Twenty minutes later, the doorbell chimed, followed by several sporadic knocks. It sounded like a party outside. I could hear Bailey’s giggles and at least one male tone. When I opened the door, Bailey stood, half-propped up by Eric, who was having difficulties standing himself. They were a mess. I laughed and moved to the side to let them in. Then I saw that Jason was with them.

"Hey there," he greeted me with a devilish grin.

"Hi…" I hadn’t expected to see him.

"So you never answered me earlier, can I make it up to you or not?" he asked through a wickedly crooked smirk.

"I..." I recalled what he asked earlier and the episode with Michael. I wasn’t in the mood to entertain him, but couldn’t let Eric in and not him. “Come in,” I allowed. At least he wasn’t with his darker half.

Bailey and Eric had fallen sloppily on the couch, limbs intertwined and Bailey sitting partially in his lap. I smiled at her, "Had much to drink?" I teased.

She laughed and then hiccupped. She covered her mouth in embarrassment as Eric started planting light kisses along her neckline.

"Rose isn't home so feel free to stay," I assured her.

"Yeah, Paris right? How long will she be gone?" Jason asked.

I turned on him, surprised and a little suspicious, "How did you know?"

Eric blurted out, "Ah, come on Lily, you know everyone knows everyone’s shit around here."

"Yeah, really," Bailey giggled as she nuzzled into his neck. It was true, I really should not have been that shocked, but there was something about Jason that put me on edge.

Bailey and Eric had successfully created a human pretzel on the sofa. I could no longer tell where one ended and the other began. At the sound of wet, smacking kisses, I asked, "Why don't you guys get a room?"

"That’s just what I was thinking," Eric said as he nibbled her ear.

It was a rhetorical question, I didn’t actually mean for them to leave me alone with Jason. That was the last thing I wanted, but before I could say otherwise, Eric and Bailey were climbing the stairs enthusiastically. "Stay out of my room!" I called.

"Your room, huh?" Jason asked, inching closer to me.

Reverting back to elementary tactics, I pretended I didn’t hear the question. I had no intention of doing anything with Jason in my room. I sat awkwardly on the couch next to him, crossing my legs and wrapping my arms around myself. I was attempting to give major ‘back off’ body language.

He didn't take the hint. The next thing I knew, he was making himself comfortable on the couch, sliding his arm over my shoulders. I immediately sat up. "Can I get you anything to drink?" I asked trying to put some space between us.

"Sure," he grinned.

I jumped at the chance to leave the room. Pacing back and forth in the kitchen, I ran my fingers through my hair, trying to think of a way to halt his advances. I peeked around the corner and found him patiently awaiting my return, with a satisfied appearance. I rolled my eyes.
Now what
?

I went to the sink and leaned on the counter, as if the characteristic position would give me guidance. I didn't want to drink with him tonight; however, I knew that I could ask him questions about today's incident with Michael. If I played my cards right, I could fend him off and still get some answers about Michael. In the end, my burning desire for any information about Michael won.

I grabbed a couple goblets and began pouring some sort of wine I found in the fridge. I didn’t care what it was, I had no intention of drinking it. As I started pouring the second glass, a movement out of the kitchen window caught my eye. A quick glance up, had me sucking in a sharp breath. As I registered what was standing only feet from the window, panic overcame me. It was the cloaked serial killer, staring right at me, from my backyard. Dark cloth hid his face and body, though I swear I could feel him glaring at me, anger and violence wafting from the folds of his jacket. In my shock, the glass slipped from my hand and shattered, creating an eerie cascade of shards. Jason appeared in the kitchen, eyes wide, "Are you okay?"

"I just saw..." I turned, breathless, to the window and pointed, but there was nothing there. My heart felt like it was about to pound out of my chest. My hand shook in mid air, and I knew my face was ashen.

Jason came over and looked out the window. "You saw what?"

"The cloaked guy," I mumbled, immediately regretting the disclosure.

"What cloaked guy?" he asked still peering out the window. "There's nothing there," he said as he laughed it off.

I knew it was true. Looking at the window, there was nothing out of the ordinary, especially not some creepy cloaked psycho. My thoughts started reeling, "Jason, do you remember seeing the cloaked guy on the battery Saturday night?"

"What?" he sounded truly perplexed.

"You know, the guy who was standing there watching us?" I prompted.

"I didn't see anyone Lily. It was just us." His expression was genuine; he had no idea what I was talking about. Great, I really am crazy!

I tried to recall that night, and I realized that I hadn’t actually seen the guy until Jason walked off. But he had to have seen him, right? The thing didn't just appear out of nowhere.

Jason came over to me, glass crushing under his feet, and grabbed both of my shoulders, "Are you sure you’re alright?" He was smirking. He thought it was funny that I was so freaked out, and apparently seeing things that weren’t there.

"I'm fine," I said testily, pushing out of his arms. I grabbed the broom and started to sweep. After I cleaned up, Jason brought over two glasses of wine, and handed me one. I took a sip, my eyes sliding over the window. There was still nothing there. I titled the glass and downed the entire thing. Then I sighed. Maybe I am seeing things.

"Rough night?" Jason asked mockingly.

I cut my eyes at him, and then said, "I'm going to bed." I put my glass in the sink and made my way to the door to show him out. "Whoa, whoa, wait a second," he changed his attitude, all laughter ceased.

"I'm really tired, and we have school in the morning," I explained.

He looked toward the door and then said, "Lily, I can't go home like this, my parents will kill me!"

"Go home like what?" He didn’t appear to be very drunk.

"They will know I've been drinking," he insisted. Dropping his face closer to mine and asked, "Can I please stay here tonight?" from under long eyelashes.

I hesitated. I didn't want to give him the wrong idea by saying yes, but I also didn't want him to get into trouble. I glanced outside the window by the door and shuttered at the thought of sending him out there with the serial killer, in case he wasn’t a figment of my imagination. "Okay, you can stay,” I conceded, “But I am going to bed."

A smile stretched across his face. I ignored him and began to walk upstairs. He followed. I got to the second floor and heard Bailey laughing from outside one of the guest bedrooms. I shook my head and continued to the next room. I opened the door and said, "You can stay in here." I refused to meet his eye and engage him further. I turned and walked back toward the stairs and up to my third floor room.

I didn’t notice he had followed me until I tried to shut my bedroom door and felt a hand in the way. "What are you doing?" I accused, becoming increasingly irritated.

"What? I thought you could use some company?" he shrugged, feigning innocence.

"No! Go back to your room Jason," I pushed him out and closed my door. Arms crossed, I stood there waiting, daring him to try coming inside again. I heard a dull thud of what sounded like his forehead on the door, "If I get scared can I sleep with you?" he whined.

I opened my mouth to retort but thought better of it. Instead, I locked the old antique door handle, which slid with a loud, concluding sound. I could hear him chuckle on the other side of the door. "If you change your mind, you know where to find me," he added.
The audacity of this guy!

I waited a minute until I heard nothing more. When I decided he had finally left, I changed into my pajamas and tried to fall asleep.

I was deep in a dream about wild gardens and impossible paintings when I was rudely awaked. My eyes yanked open as fear assaulted me, racing through my body. I was laying in my bed, held down by something I could not see. An invisible assailant held my body in a death grip. I panicked. Thrashing around in my sheets, I tried to break free from whatever had me, without success. With each effort, I felt razor sharp blades cutting into my skin where the attacker held me. Or was it attackers? There were at least eight hands, holding me down. I tried to scream but something was over my mouth.

Suddenly, the French doors to my third floor porch flew open, curtains flapping wildly in the wind, a low guttural growl came from the balcony. Suddenly, I was released.

I watched several dark, shadowy creatures scurrying out of my bedroom and onto the porch. Painful howls and unearthly screeches speared my ears. Then a series of sickening tears and gurgling sounds followed.

I jumped out of my bed, and ran to the corner of the room. Sinking to the floor, I assumed the fetal position, hoping I would go unnoticed by the monsters. My heart pounded in my ears and hot tears streaked my cheeks. I could hear and feel the feral wind whipping through my room. I clamped my eyes shut and tried to pretend none of it was real. It had to be just a dream. I waited for an eternity it seemed to wake up.

I never did.

Finally, I heard the French doors close, the wind immediately ceased. There was nothing but a shroud of eerie quietness surrounding me. I was more afraid than I had ever been in my entire life.

It took me a moment before I opened my eyes. When I did, I found my room was completely normal, no doors open, no dark figures, not a single picture frame turned over. My razor sliced arms had no marks or pain. The only reminder of the terrifying event was the moon shining through the window where the curtains had opened.

I cautiously got up and walked over to the window on shaky legs. I saw exactly what I was afraid I would see, the cloaked man. Only this time, he was walking away.

I watched him retreat until I couldn't see him anymore. With a still pounding heart, I climbed back into bed, knowing it would be another sleepless sunrise.

I was out of the shower and getting dressed before I normally even wake, a result of having not slept the night before. I had long since calmed down but felt like there was a dark cloud above my head, waiting to smite me with lightening or maybe even rain down more scary creatures of the night.