Authors: Kathy-Lynn Cross
This new Bond-Rite, between me and Max, would give us the break my clan longed for. I would also have a chance to open her eyes and awaken her powers to see if she really was the River’s chosen. The time frame was golden, giving me close to thirty days to help this creature from losing her way. It was doable.
“Agreed.” I unsheathed the scythe and positioned my hands over the two silver roses and twisted. Amused at the discomfort it caused because the feeling was connected to so many issues, I glided toward Max and presented him with one dripping hand. With his teeth, he ripped open his palm and held out the wounded claw. We shook and sealed our Bond-Rite. Alexcia would only be a burden for one more lunar month.
Max peeled his teeth back to show me the full length of his canines, “And stop calling my wife, Rae. It’s Mrs. Stasis to you. I will even tolerate Rae-Lynn if you have to speak to her in front of Alexcia. But, if you ever address her by your own pet nickname again, I will stick your scythe up your ass.” With that… he was gone.
Dreams are fairy tales
Opened by the heart’s desires
Tasting the candy-coated lies
They place by your pillow
Nightmares are terror tales
Unlocked by an eclipsed heart
Broken from a shattered soul
Screaming truths into your pillow
~Alexcia
During the night, chaos came to visit me, jolting me from slumber by using loud voices mixed with screaming machines. Instinctively, I used my good hand to wipe the sleep from both eyes as I forced them to focus on the scene playing out before me. A slew of medical personnel stood over and around Willow, fiercely working on her frail body.
When I sat up, one of the nurses noticed and came over to pull the curtain halfway on the track so I couldn’t see what they were doing. Then it happened. It felt as though someone gave me a shot of adrenaline. A lightning burst of electricity hit me, igniting the back of my eye sockets. I couldn’t stop the pain of the pressure. Physically, I wanted to scream in agony. Instead, a sense of reason took over. Release was the only option. When I permitted the sticky tears to flow…
My ears popped.
Everything stopped.
Silence filled the space. Slowly they gathered at the foot of her bed, all of them appeared drained and disheartened. I heard someone ask the time of death and a nurse behind the curtain replied, “Zero three thirty-three.”
Willow was gone.
My right pinky finger was cramping. Halfheartedly, I cast a watery gaze down at the painful annoyance. Both hands had knotted my fingers around the sheets and blankets, causing the knuckles to turn white. The anger I felt made me realize how much I wanted to shriek at them…
see, she told you all something was wrong with her heart, but none of you listened.
And now Willow was dead… dead. The thought left me cold to the point of numbness. At that moment, I realized a familiar chill.
It was the same sensation I’d felt the night of the party, but only when I was around Michael. The feeling seemed to have taken on a life of its own as it slithered underneath the flat sheet, snuggling up to me. Locked down in horror, the icy breeze licked the bottom of my foot, softly lapping from heel to toe. Terror sparked a shout engulfing my lungs, as it burned up my throat to escape. I quelled it by zipping both lips. If I had reacted the way I wanted to, everyone would think I was freaking out over Willow’s passing. The intense heat was burning. For extra measure, I clamped my fingers to stop any sounds that might escape and bit my tongue before they used a straightjacket on me.
A voice from within whispered fearfully, “Michael’s here… It’s Michael.”
For some reason I knew he was there, somewhere in the room. The icy air settled next to me like an empty presence. Cautiously scanning from corner to corner, the desolation I felt turned to dread. Small droplets of dew fell from my eyes resembling snow. Deep down I knew he had come to visit her.
***
A sour taste formed from Willow’s passing. Dealing with death again so soon hit too close to home for me. My life went from what I thought was a normal existence minus the nightly meltdowns… to a life turned inside out and upside backward. Did that make sense? Because if it didn’t… good.
Why should anyone else understand my life better than I do?
For the first time in two weeks, I felt the discomfort of negativity flee as my refuge came into view. I was almost home. Rae-Lynn straightened her turn, gliding her precious steed up the driveway. For a moment, I wished to be Sleeping Beauty, for evil to swoop in and lock me away in the castle and put me into a deep sleep. The last twenty-four hours had been nerve-wracking. Everything had stacked up against me—from lack of sleep mostly due to fear, thanks to an overactive imagination—to being deprived of food since last night. It all rounded out the conclusion that I was suffering from a severe case of homesickness. One of the side effects was my crappy mood. Forcing myself to snap out of it was making it worse.
Mom helped me out of the backseat of her midnight blue Lexus HR750. Both legs were sticking to the gray leather seats, leaving a burning sensation of peeled skin behind. Once I was in an upright position, she walked around the open door to the passenger’s front door to pull out the crutches, my parting gift from the hospital. It was work to keep those damn things under my arms, especially while sporting the forearm cast. Irritation made me start to rub the sensitive skin, causing a frown to deepen as Rae-Lynn handed them to me.
“I don’t see why you couldn’t convince them a wheelchair would be more practical? And you didn’t even press them for one. Geez, I can’t feel my foot in this brace. I think you went past tighten, and straight to constrict on the straps. When we get inside, I’m taking it off, and then I want some food. My stomach is threatening to move to a different residence.” I blew dirty bangs from my eyes.
Yes, I’ll be the first to admit, my picture was right next to the word bitchy in the dictionary. I had eaten a breakfast consisting of half a can of warm soda and a leftover bag of lint-laced toffee peanuts because I was under the assumption I was going home by brunch. I had refrained from consuming the rubber open-faced turkey dinner last night. But thanks to an oversight, I didn’t get one of those paper menus, so the cart passed by this morning for breakfast. The doctor was going to release me by seven o’clock. Yeah, right. He didn’t wander in the room until ten this morning, and I saw him for a total of six minutes. The process to leave took forever, with the paperwork and getting the right prescriptions called in to our pharmacy. By then, lunch had come and gone. It was now 3:55 p.m., and I was running on fumes.
Through the opening between the trunk lid and the car, I saw Mom lift her head slowly and back away so she wouldn’t hit the underside. She was gathering all my consolation prizes for not winning the
getting myself killed by a fuel truck
award, when she muttered, “Edgy much, daughter?”
Attempting to maneuver around the front of her car to get to the walkway, I made noises similar to a gasping sprinter. I bit the inside of my cheek to refrain the use of a colorful reply. Instead, the words deflated with a mumble as an alternative response. It was better than sparking a word war with her because, in the end, she would indubitably win by the rule of grounding. Max had already established my new stipulations in the hospital. If they added more rules to my grounded status, I would need a grave marker by my bedroom door.
The cobblestone path was going to make getting to the front door practically impossible. I readjusted myself on the crutches and continued toward my goal. The rubber feet on them only got caught once which gave me a ping of satisfaction. With perspiration dotting my forehead, the next challenge seemed to mock me. The stairs. I felt as if I were trying to win a race to the porch. After maybe moving a hundred feet or so, my left wrist began to throb.
I was rocking up the short steps to the door when I heard the backfire from Ghost’s car. He must have turned down the street. The smell of smoke was already lingering in the air and it made me appreciate being out of the cell, even though it reeked of exhaust from his farting car. It wasn’t cold, dry hospital air anymore. Trust me when I say, even smoke tainted air was better. For the past two weeks, I had wished for one smoke, and maybe a beer. I had to admit though, the cravings for the latter had curbed during my imprisonment, but I couldn’t wait for Rae-Lynn to leave so I could light up.
Max wouldn’t be home until after ten. So, Blake agreed to come over and hang out, unlike Jake, who was making an appearance before heading to his job. Maybe I could convince him to call in sick? I would have called Dee too, but she was working at the A & M: Accessories and More Jewelry, until eight. Since it was a school night, I knew she wouldn’t be able to come over. Her mother was controlling like that.
Feeling a stab of jealousy from missing the Sip ’N Chug, I blew my bangs from my face again. I mean, who really likes working where people come in all uptight and bark out demands, instead of asking for what they want? Leaving my presence all relaxed and happy, I did like seeing them leave though. It was the best part.
My nose even missed going into work; I loved the smell of fresh ground coffee. I could even get away with being a little rude before seven thirty. Using some of the same excuses the customers did had granted me slip status. The best one was,
I hadn’t had my morning fix yet
. Mr. Sipton, on certain days, would even let me get away with it until the mid-morning rush around eight. By then I’d normally had a few cups.
Reminiscing about the good old days, I sighed and made a quick mental note to call Mr. Sipton about putting me back on for a shift or two next week. Maybe there was some light duty work I could do with my cast? At least the leg brace comes on and off when I want.
Jake’s car pulled up in front, and I heard his parking brake crunch. The Ghost had arrived. His dingy, yellow submarine, which was a Cadillac Eldorado 2000, made the top of the World’s Ugliest Car list, but he called it a classic. What was it with guys and their vehicles naming them, washing them with shammies, and talking to them? It gave me the creeps when they spoke in goo-goo talk to the dashboard while patting it, like Tod… used to… do. Unexpected tears welled up in my lacrimal ducts.
I had paid attention in biology class.
I tried to stand upright against the doorjamb to rid myself of the crutches. It was the only way I could stop the soon-to-be-falling drops from rolling down dry cheeks. Lightly pressing two fingers against the bridge of my nose, I forced myself to stop crying. This was retribution, and the guilt was leaving a huge emotional void. If I were lucky, the chest organ would soon implode under the pressure and turn me into a black hole. I had no right to live and face an unforeseeable future.
Ghost walked up the driveway next to Mom and helped carry some of the stuffed animals. “Don’t worry, Mrs. S., I’ll unload the rest so you can get Lex-Cee settled. Tell me where you want them, okay?” He always had a weird kind of smile when he was around Rae-Lynn. I think he had a small crush on her, but I wasn’t going to say anything about it yet. If he ever started talking to her chest or trying to sit by her when he’d been invited over to dinner, I’d have to inform Max.
I smirked thinking about how Max would handle that tidbit of news. My father was very possessive where it concerned my mom. As I watched Ghost follow her up the stairs like a well-trained puppy, the grin he shot me was all it took. His smile persuaded against snitching because I didn’t want him to become an actual ghost. I liked him haunting among the living.
Rae-Lynn placed her keys and purse on the small table next to the front door. “Jake, go ahead and take them up to her room.” She reached up and punched in the code to our locked key box. It clicked, and she pulled open the small door. I watched her hang up the ring of keys and silently wished that one day mine would be hanging in there too just as she closed the box.
“Here, let me prop open the door, then I’ll help you to the couch.” Mom held the door open with one leg and braced her hand to keep me from falling forward. “I’m pretty tired too, Lex-Cee. Is it okay if we order out for dinner?” Rae-Lynn turned to face Ghost in the doorway. “Jake, would you like to stay for dinner?”
I saw the glint in Jake’s eyes. “Only if it’s dinner for two
,
”
I said to myself using his voice mockingly in the back of my head. Then I heard him right next to me. “No, thanks, I have to leave in about forty minutes.” He checked his watch to be sure.
After he had cashed his first paycheck, it had been the first thing he purchased. The sharp looking wrist watch was a Fossil. It was waterproof, and the numbers and hands lit up, complementing the metallic blue face and silver band. He loved it and never took it off. I’m sure he would want to be buried with it, and I laughed inwardly at the thought.
Ghost brushed past me, leaving a cool breeze in his wake, taking the stairs two at a time as he whistled, carrying an arm full of flowers to the bedroom. Rae-Lynn looped her arm around my waist to help me across the mahogany floor to a large, navy blue couch. The crutches must have made a
come here
sound because I heard rapid clicking coming from down the hall.
“Oh geez, look out—” I braced myself against Mom. “Here comes Trigger,” I yelled so Ghost could hear me from downstairs. This was his only free warning. My father’s Rottweiler, Gigi, was making up for weeks of missed slobbery kisses.
Ugh
, her breath was so bad. It stunk as if she had been chewing on charcoal and burnt hair.
Mom issued a stern command for her to go lay on her bed by the door to Max’s office. The dog may have her dumb moments, but it amazed me how much she understood, not just commands but full-on sentences. I could say, Gigi, go and get my slippers, the fuzzy green pair, and she would do it. They would be soaking wet, but she understood the request. Max claimed it was because the dog had been around for so long, she picked up on the language. I would give him a nonjudgmental wave and say, “Yeah, right.”
I believe Gigi is about eleven or twelve. That is ancient in dog years.
I wasn’t sure exactly when Max brought her home because I was really little then. And I think that memories locked away by time are funny creatures, misting over and becoming foggy. In short, you can’t trust them.