by Jessica Park
But I can still smell the burning flesh and taste the heartache.
SAM AND I ARE STILL WAITING FOR COSTA TO SURFACE. We’ve been huddled under a blanket by the fireplace, drifting in and out of fitful sleeps throughout the night and into the late afternoon the following day. The sky matches our mood, and I frown at the steel clouds looming over us.
“He’s been under a long time,” I say.
“Yeah. He’s good at controlling that. He can trip and stay down for hours if he wants. And that’s what he wants right now. He’s always been good with control,” Sam says. “He’s going to surface and trip again.”
“We have to stop him.”
“I don’t know how. He’ll be impossible to catch, and I can’t think of anything to say that will get him to stop. Who would blame him for what he’s doing? Cycling death trips is his only escape right now. If we’re lucky, one of these times, he’ll surface too drained to go again, and we can get him. But that could be weeks from now. He’s being fueled by a lot right now, and that could power him through.”
“What are we supposed to do if we catch him? Tie him down? Make this hurt less?”
Sam sighs. “I don’t know. Maybe he won’t come back. He can surface anywhere he chooses, and he might not want to see us.”
He gets up and adds another log to the fire. Both of us are chilled to the core. He turns and looks at the table that is covered in things for Toby.
“I’ll get those,” I say quickly.
Sam doesn’t need to see these toys and clothes any more than Costa does when—or if—he gets back.
“We haven’t eaten since yesterday, and we have to take care of ourselves so that we can help Costa when he’s ready. Let’s get showered, and then I’ll start something for dinner, okay?”
“Sure. You’re right.”
Our moods remain glum, but showering off the trip at least cleans us up. We both were saturated in the smell of death and tragedy.
I play music over the built-in speakers while I put together homemade macaroni and cheese and bacon-wrapped meatloaf. Comfort food seems in order, and it’s abnormally cold this evening, so I hope a hot meal will help restore even a fraction of stability. Plus, I need something normal—and human—to do. Our conversation is either stilted or nonexistent while I cook because there is too much to say and also nothing to say. We let the music fill the space for us.
When everything is in the oven, I start to wipe down the counters and set the table. There are only two settings tonight, and we both feel the weight of the absence. The triangle that is Costa, Sam, and me is complex. There’s no denying that. But Costa is important to both of us. Even when he’s difficult or manipulative or exploitative, that dark prince has our hearts. I debate telling Sam about Costa’s kiss, but I decide that death tripping is pretty much Vegas, and what happens during a trip or surge stays there.
The three of us came here with a goal, and we failed. Perhaps we never should have tried because the letdown has been too great. I’m not sure that Costa will ever recover from what feels like his child’s second death. The pain and destruction is fresh again, and while Sam is being as stoic as possible, I know that he’s being swallowed by waves of guilt all over. He’s suffered enough for the negligence that caused Toby’s death.
Because I understand the almost overpowering attraction that death tripping has, it’s all too easy to imagine getting so swept up in it that the real world would cease to exist. It explains how Sam could have been so out of it that he’d forgotten about Toby. Sam, more responsible and solid than Costa and I put together, even fell victim to the ferocious pull of death tripping.
I make a big salad and check the oven. “Do you, um…do you know what power you have now?” I ask. It’s a stupid question, given what we’ve just gone through, but it’s a start at conversation.
Sam takes glasses down from a high cabinet and starts to shake up martinis. A little of our favorite hard liquor couldn’t hurt right now. “I don’t think I have one. You know how we didn’t surge earlier? I think that stopped me from getting a power. Neither has ever happened before, but it’s the only explanation I can come up with. I didn’t realize my powers were connected to the surges that way. So, we learned something. Great.” The ice crashes around in the tumbler as he chills the vodka.
I hand him a jar of olives from the fridge. “You going to be okay, Bishop?”
“Eventually.” He fills the glasses and adds olive juice.
I lift my glass to my mouth and then spill half of it when there’s a resounding knock at the door. I look to Sam. “Expecting anyone?”
“Nope. Who the hell could that be?” He’s cautious as he walks to the front door, and he even looks around the house and through the windows to the back patio. “Wait here.”
I watch from my spot in the kitchen as he peers through the peephole. He pulls back and then looks again. “You’re not going to believe this.”
“Costa? Why is he knocking?”
Sam shakes his head and opens the door. “No. Not Costa. But I have a guess who this is.”
He steps aside, and I’m astounded.
My sister walks through the threshold, looking more ragged and worn than ever. Amy is rail thin—gaunt really—and probably hasn’t showered in days. Her blonde curls have turned into a mass of frizz that she’s gathered in an unruly knot at the nape of her neck, and her sweatshirt and jeans hang on her body. Her eyes are unfocused, but she peers in my direction. “I don’t feel so good.”
Sam catches her just as her legs give out.
“Amy!” I rush over and help Sam get her to the couch by the fire.
He pulls a blanket over her to quell her shaking and then pokes the fire to get it going again.
“What are you doing here?” I ask.
“I’m sorry I hung up on you.”
“It’s okay. It’s okay.” I hug her and nearly cry at how thin she is. “How did you get here?”
“Flew to Boston. Rented a car and drove to Watermark.” She looks to Sam. “You must be Sam. Met your mom. She’s real nice.”
Sam is as confused as I am, but he gives her a smile. “She is nice. She told you where to find Stella?” he prompts.
Amy nods. “Yeah. Sorry I hung up on you. Did I already say that?”
I pat her arm. “That’s all right.”
“Death trippers, you said. That’s what we are?” She’s incredibly out of it.
“Yes.”
“Did Dad do this to you also?” she asks.
I wipe a smudge of God-knows-what from her face. “No. It’s a long story, but I’ll explain later. You need to eat and sleep. Sam, do you mind pulling the food out of the oven? It should be done now.”
“Of course. I’ll make up a plate.” He squeezes my shoulder as he walks past.
“Are you able to eat, or are you sick to your stomach?” I ask.
Amy looks grotesque, and I want nothing more than to nurture her and put her back together. I want to restore this fragile woman to the ferociously loving and protective older sister that she used to be.
“I’m okay now. Threw up on the plane a bunch, so that was cool.” She smiles just enough that I feel slightly better. “Do you…get like this, too? Sick?”
“I’ve only tripped twice, but yeah. I’m guessing that you’ve been going a lot.”
“Yeah. But it’s been five days since…wait, maybe four…since I death-tripped.” She laughs lightly. “Funny to have words for it now.”
“I’m so glad you’re here. We’re going to take care of you.” I pull her against me.
I’m beyond relieved that she’s here but equally worried. For now, I’m going to concentrate on getting her healthy and on the fact that my sister—or whatever is left of her—has come back to me.
“Where’s…where’s Costa?” It seems to be taking all her energy to talk.
“He’s not here. Not sure when he’ll be back. Like I said, there’s a lot to tell you.”
We get h
er to eat two plates of food, and then Sam carries her upstairs so that I can help her in the shower. She’s still too weak to do much for herself, and I’m amazed that she got herself here in one piece. I can only imagine what Felicia thought when my mess of a sister showed up at the inn. I’m really going to have to call Felicia now.
Sam asks for Amy’s car keys because it turns out that she parked on top of what used to be a large shrub.
I tuck her into bed in one of the plush guest rooms, and seeing her cleaned up and in flannel pajamas under a puffy comforter makes me feel as though I’ve accomplished something tangible. Amy falls asleep immediately, but I can’t bring myself to leave her. I get under the covers and wrap my arms around her.
Later, in her sleep, she hugs me back.
The light of day, however, brings a standoffish Amy. She clomps down the stairs and brushes past me when I go to her. “Do you have any cereal?” Her appearance is slightly less frightful, but her foul mood clouds the room.
“Actually, Sam made pancakes.”
She sighs. “Fine.”
“With fresh Maine blueberries. You’ll like them.” I try to sound cheery, but I give Sam a confused expression.
She takes a plate of food that Sam assembled for her and sits at the table.
I bravely join her with my coffee.
“Let’s get this out of the way,” she says between mouthfuls. At least she’s eating.
“Get what out of the way?”
“Tell me what you know. About all this.” She waves a fork around. “This death tripping.”
I explain what I can with Sam jumping in to help me when I falter. While Amy refuses to look at me, she does seem to be listening. I tell her about Costa tripping Sam and then me and what he relayed to us about the day of the accident.
“I heard Dad in your room, apologizing. He said he didn’t know what to do.”
Amy slaps her fork against her plate, and I jump. “He should have let me die! That’s what he should have done.”
I’m too shaken to respond, but Sam pulls out a chair and sits next to her. “Costa said the same thing. I know how that feels. And you’re sick right now, so that makes everything worse. You’ve been tripping your ass off, huh? You’ve been surging hard, too?”
“Surging?”
“What happens after you surface.”
He explains the layers of it, and Amy eventually turns her head slightly in his direction.
“Yes,” she finally says. “I surge hard.”
“You’re addicted,” he offers.
“I can stop the surge if I want. I just choose not to,” she says rather proudly.
“What do you mean, you can stop it?” he asks. So far, the only thing that’s prevented us from surging was the aftermath of not finding Toby.
Amy wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. “Watermelon.”
“I’m sorry. What?” Sam looks beyond confused.
“Watermelon. Stops all the craziness. I came back one time and went to a bar. I don’t know about you guys, but I need to get laid when I come back. When I surface. It’s so crazy to finally have a word for it. Anyway, I went to a bar and ordered a watermelon cosmopolitan.” She moves a finger across her throat. “Cuts it off in a second. Totally sucked. But I keep it on hand if I have a shitty trip.”
Sam laughs. “Seriously? Watermelon?”
“Yep. The imitation stuff works a little, too, if you’re desperate or if you just want to tone it down. You know, watermelon-flavored water or even gum at least takes the edge off.”
I have to smile. I remember the watermelon-flavored water that I found in her bedroom at the condo when I thought she overdosed. Everything about that day now makes sense, even down to the trash in her apartment.
“Now, tell me more about these powers you get. I don’t have that—at least not that I know of. And Stella is your what? Generator?”
I roll my eyes. “Power augmenter, not generator.”
“Whatever. Are all women power augmenters? We don’t get powers? That blows. So, am I a power augmenter?”
Sam shrugs. “No idea.”
Amy studies him. “Maybe I could try augmenting your powers, Sam? What do you say we give it a try?”
I don’t like the way she’s eyeing him. “It doesn’t work that way.” I drink the last of my coffee and loudly set my cup down. “Also, screw you.”
Sam shoots me a look that tells me to leave it alone. Amy is not a threat.
“We don’t exactly have a huge population of death trippers to interview. You and Stella are the only female death trippers we know. Costa and I are the only males, except for your missing father. You can’t find him anywhere?”
“No. He’s totally off the grid, which is good. I don’t ever want to see him again.” She’s finished her pancakes, and she goes to the kitchen to help herself to more. “I want to know where Costa is.” She’s more solemn now.
“He’s tripping. And we don’t know when he’ll be back.” Sam goes to her and takes the pancake that she’s eating from her hand, puts it on the plate, and directs her back to the table.
I smile. He’s much better at dealing with her detoxing behavior than I am.
“Costa is binge-tripping because…” Sam hesitates. “It’s a longer story that he can tell you if he wants. We’re not sure we’ll be able to get him to stop.”
“He was there with me that first time. I need to see him. I’ve been waiting years.”
“So, you’ll wait here with us,” I say. And since we’re playing Twenty Questions, I ask her, “Why did you leave Chicago? For Costa?”
Amy blanches slightly and takes her time answering. “The only person keeping me in Chicago disappeared, so I left.”
“Who do you mean? Mom?”
“Ugh, no.”
“You two were glued at the hip,” I say with irritation. “Don’t act like you weren’t.”
Suddenly, Amy takes her plate and flings it across the room, shattering it against the wall. She kicks back her chair and stands up, slamming her hands on the table and leaning over to me. Sam and I are both speechless, but I can tell that he’s ready to restrain her if necessary.
My sister looks me dead in the eyes. “We both know that I’m fucking crazy, but I never loved our mother. Don’t you dare imply that I did. Just because I took whatever she gave me doesn’t mean that I gave a shit about her. She was a monster. Dad threw us to the wolves when he tripped me and ran out of town. I didn’t even tell her I was leaving when I blew out of town. So, don’t look at me with that fucking accusatory face, Stella. You got off easy. I would have left ages ago, but I had to stay!”
“Had to stay for what? It certainly wasn’t for me. I lost you, too, after that trip.” I hold her stare. “Who was keeping you in Chicago?”
She backs off and goes to the window. “It doesn’t matter. He’s gone.”
Great. A guy. I can only imagine what kind of dysfunctional moron she got herself involved with.
“Go clean up the mess you made.” Sam breaks this up calmly. “You’re an addict who’s drying out, and you’re being obnoxious. You’re scared, and you’ve been alone in this for way too long. Now, you’re not. At some point, you’ll get that, but until then, watch yourself. This is my house, and I’ll kick you out if I have to.”
Amy’s face crumples, and she breaks down. “I’m sorry. I’m really…sorry. I don’t know who I am or what’s been happening to me.”
I let Sam go to her because she seems to respond better to him. I don’t like it, but it’s true.
He puts an arm around her and lets her cry. “You need to get clean. It’ll be easier then.”
“He’s been gone too long.” She is in hysterics now. “I lost him, and I haven’t been able to get him back. I tried so hard. I don’t know why he left.”
I don’t know if she’s talking about Dad or Costa or this boyfriend of hers, but she’s very agitated. Despite years of being mistreated by my sister, I understand it all in
a new context. In some ways, Amy’s responsible for her behavior, but in so many ways, she’s not. I can’t imagine how frightening and isolating her experience has been. I’ve got Sam, and I’ve still felt terrified. It’s no wonder she thinks she’s crazy.
“Amy.” I try to break through her crying. “Amy, it’s going to be okay. We can figure all of this out. It’s just going to take a little time.”
From Sam’s arms, she nods. I take a few steps in her direction, and she goes from him to me. I can feel that, to at least some degree, she’s letting me in. Our reunion, however, is cut short when the wall next to us blasts open, and we are thrown to the floor.
Costa’s back.
Plaster dust coats his body, and he charges past us. I’m not even sure that he can see through his storm. Amy is shaking in my arms, and I realize that she’s never seen anyone surface before. Costa heads to the stairs, and I yell Sam’s name.
I know what’s in Costa’s room.
I push Amy behind me. “Stop him!”
Sam is already halfway across the room, and when he gets close, Costa spins and clocks Sam across the side of the head, delivering a blow that gives Sam pause.
“Costa, no!” I scramble to my feet and go after him.
Sam manages to shake off the hit to the head, and together, he and I are able to get a hold of Costa, and we struggle to pull him back downstairs. His surge has made him stronger than I was prepared for.
With garbled speech, he says, “My gun. Where’s my gun?”
“No guns. No. You’re not doing this.” Sam gets an arm around Costa’s neck and pulls him back.
“Give me my gun now!”
Costa is in a rage like I’ve never seen, and I barely recognize him. The anguished screams and moans from earlier return, and I cannot bear to hear him in this kind of pain.
“I’m gonna blow my fucking brains out!”
He lifts his legs in an attempt to tighten Sam’s hold around his neck and cut off his own air, and Sam is forced to lower him to the floor although he keeps his grip tight. Sam stays like this until some of the fight and tears recede.
