by Chase Connor
I just wanted to say things to say them.
I needed to process everything I knew.
But my head wouldn’t allow it.
Was that a side effect of being a kid and suffering through tremendously tricky events? Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder or something? Is that why things seemed to be somewhat blocked in my brain, keeping me from processing them? Was it a side effect of having my memories wiped clean when I jumped in the well the first time? Doing my best to think back to my life before I had jumped in the well at sixteen-years-old, I knew that I didn’t have PTSD or anything really psychologically wrong with me. My brain had just been programmed to push these things away, out of sight, out of mind. So much so that when I tried to think about them, my brain threw up a type of veil to keep me from thinking too hard.
“When I was a kid,” I said in a whisper, speaking to no one and everyone, “my mom just disappeared one day. My dad was at work. Mom was making breakfast, and The Police were playing on the radio.”
Carlita looked over at me, her face a blank slate.
Like my brain had been wiped clean of memories right after I jumped into the well the first time.
Tabula Rasa.
“I remember the house shaking.” I shook my head in frustration, trying to conjure up thoughts and memories that hadn’t been in my head for years and only came to me in dreams. Nightmares. “Lights and loud…fucking loud…sounds. Like a freight train and an earthquake all in one. Things were falling to the floor.”
Carlita was still staring blankly at me, and I was staring back as I spoke, as though in a trance placed by my own thought processes. I didn’t know why I was speaking so openly with Carlita, but I assumed oracles tended to have that effect on people. A drag queen oracle, even more so.
“Everything stopped, and everything was really still.”
Carlita waited.
“What happened after that, baby?” Carlita asked gently, her hand reaching for her coffee cup once more.
“I don’t know.” I shook my head jerkily. “I don’t remember seeing anything. But…I don’t remember anything after that until my dad was putting me to bed that night. He was tucking me in and reassuring me that mom would be back.”
No follow-up questions from Carlita.
“But she never came back.” My eyes locked on Carlita’s. “And Dad was gone in the morning. That’s when Oma showed up. To take care of me.”
“Who called Esther Jean?” Carlita asked lowly.
“I guess Dad?” I shrugged shakily. “I mean…I guess he knew someone had to watch me at that age if he was just going to up and take off as well, right? Grandparents are usually the first choice in those situations, right?”
“I suppose.”
Chewing at my lip, I stared at Carlita.
“I don’t remember Oma before she showed up. We were living in that house before Oma came to take care of me.” I said dryly. “I’ve never not lived in that house before or after Hollywood.”
Carlita stared.
“That’s not Oma’s house. Is it?”
More staring.
“A lot of my life is a lie,” I said with finality.
Carlita gave me a tight, concerned smile. With a shaky sigh, I slid from the booth seat and came to stand beside the table, looking down at the drag queen oracle known as “Carlita.”
“Thank you.” I shrugged.
“For what, baby?”
“Listening,” I responded. “I guess.”
She stared at me for a breath. “What will you do now?”
Again, I shrugged.
“About which problem?”
Then I left.
Chapter 7
Nelda Hammersmith was using an honest to goodness telescopic cigarette holder as she stood before me outside of the Sunny-Side Up Café. My phone had been vibrating sporadically in my pocket since the sun had begun its march towards the horizon, but I knew the list of suspects was small. Honestly, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to speak with anyone on that list anytime soon, so I just continued to ignore the vibrations emanating from my pocket as I took in my manager’s outfit right there on the main thoroughfare of Point Worth, Ohio.
Full evening dress, another fur capelet, a headwrap, alabaster skin with a red gash for a mouth, bright blue eye shadow, high heels, actual opera gloves, and sunglasses so dark I doubted she could see anything. My manager was a walking, talking caricature of what people thought Hollywood talent managers and agents looked like. Well, at least the female ones. It was probably all tailored suits, greasy, slicked-back hair, and chomping cigars for the male managers. Then again, I had no idea what gender stereotypes everyone had in their heads, so I could have been dead wrong. Also, I had no idea if people would have pegged Nelda Hammersmith as having anything to do with Hollywood at all.
Maybe people just think she’s batshit crazy?
My phone buzzed again, and I ignored it once more.
“Now I see why you never return my texts or calls, Jacob, dear.” Nelda cooed as she unclasped her tiny satin clutch purse to fish for a lighter. “You’ve been positively ignoring your phone since we got here.”
Since we got here was two minutes prior. Nelda had been standing outside of the Sunny-Side Up Café when I had been driving down Main street towards home. When I had seen Nelda standing there, draped in her Old Hollywood cosplay regalia, I had to stop. Not just because I was afraid she would be accosted by backwoods Ohioans with asinine questions about her provenance—not to mention her mental state—but because a thought struck me upon seeing her there. So, I had pulled into the parking lot of the café and approached my manager as she stood in the middle of Point Worth, looking as though she was waiting for the bus from the rest home.
After speaking with Carlita in the coffee shop in Toledo and having the revelation that I had, my mind was racing. When I drove home to Point Worth, to the house, I would be faced with Oma. Knowing what had transpired at the coffee shop, remembering the things that I remembered, I wasn’t sure that was something I was prepared to do. In fact, I wasn’t sure if seeing Oma was something I was incredibly keen on.
What I had said to Carlita had been true—as far as my memory served. My mother had disappeared one day after something…violent…had happened at the house. Then I remembered nothing until my dad was putting me to bed. When I awoke, Oma was there, prepared to watch over me since my father was gone as well. Both of my parents disappeared in less than a day after something shook the house and made a light show of epic proportions. What had happened at the house that would cause such an event—and make both of my parents run for the hills?
Had they even run away—or had they been chased off? Worse…had something terrible happened to them, and I had spent the entirety of my life thinking they were negligent and irresponsible parents? That’s what Oma had led me to believe for two decades, anyway. Oma had told me that my mom was a trifling ho-bag, and my dad was dumb enough to fall in love with her. It all led me to believe that my parents had just been horrible at the job and had decided that they were meant for different things besides raising a child. But I had enough of my early memories to know that my mother had not been negligent. In fact, she had been very attentive. She had been warm and loving, to both my father and me. There was no way she had just run off in the middle of the day. Even if she had, my father wouldn’t have followed suit, knowing that I had already lost one parent to a whim. Would he have?
If everything I had remembered, everything I now believed to be true was real, what did that mean for me and Point Worth? Where did that leave Oma and me? What about Lucas? The Kobolds? Any of it? Why did anything in Point Worth, Ohio even matter to me anymore? Couldn’t I just disappear like my parents had? Make a clean break? I had all of my memories. My magic. I could just go back to being Jacob Michaels, make movies, live in California, and pretend that none of this had ever happened. Oma had insinuated that it was possible I should just go back to Hollywood.
That was curious, though.
Maybe even more curious than other thoughts swirling through my brain like a gathering storm.
No one who was looking to cause me harm would tell me to take myself out of imminent danger’s way.
Right?
“Let me help you.” I sighed to myself as Nelda’s shaky hand extracted a silver-plated lighter from the small clutch.
Nelda smiled vaguely as I pulled the lighter from between her fingers and clicked it open. One cupped hand created a windscreen around the end of her cigarette as the other operated the lighter. I spun the wheel of the lighter…and nothing. Instead of trying again, I simply pushed a little magic into the lighter, making it produce a small flame on which Nelda could light her cigarette. I waited as she puffed a few times, then exhaled a plume of smoke, before I pulled the magic back, extinguishing the flame. Clicking the lighter shut, I held it out to her, which she readily accepted and dropped back into her clutch before clicking the purse shut once more.
“What’s waiting for me, Nelda?” I asked. “Is it just action movies and bullshit like that? I mean…if I came back?”
“Bullshit like that makes us millions of dollars, Jacob.” She clicked her tongue at me, disapprovingly. “I think—and don’t quote me—but I think if this sequel does as well as the last one, maybe we can get you in one of those awful Marvel movies.”
“Don’t say that too loudly,” I mumbled, though not unamused.
“Marvel movies?”
“No.” I frowned. “Don’t call them awful. You’re in middle-America for God’s sake, Nelda. Superhero movies are up there with Hot Dish and Jesus on Sundays.”
“What,” She gave a distasteful look, “is a Hot Dish?”
“A casserole.” I waved her off.
My stomach grumbled at the thought of greasy meat, cheese, and tater tots. Obviously, I needed to eat. If I was getting hungry thinking about Tater Tot Casserole, then I was starving.
“I don’t want to go back to Hollywood,” I shook my head slowly, “but I really don’t want to stay here. But, I guess, even Hollywood is better for me than staying here and being…me.”
“That’s perfect.” Her brow raised, and surely her eyes lit up, though the sunglasses kept me from confirming the fact. “They’re going to film the sequel in Turkey of all places.”
“Seriously?” I cringed.
“Mm.” She nodded and delicately spat a piece of tobacco from the tip of her tongue. “We’re going to have to put some weight on you, of course. Get you back into the shape you were before. If the producers see you like this—”
“If I did it once, I can do it again.” I waved her off. “Where’s Randy?”
“He’s waiting in the car.” She gestured vaguely at the Town Car parked a few spots down from mine. “I told him to wait while I checked to see if they could seat us. I figured that since we had to stay here tonight before our flight out tomorrow, we may as well have a decent meal.”
Glancing at the Town Car, Randy beeped the horn at me sharply and waved from the driver’s seat. He looked as out of place and clueless as Nelda Hammersmith did, though he seemed to be dressed more appropriately for Buttcrack Nowhere. I waved back with a confused smile before turning my attention back to my manager.
“Nelda.” I sighed. “This is Point Worth, Ohio. It’s a diner. It’s a walk-in place. They have never even thought of the idea of reservations. You seat yourself when you go inside.”
Nelda frowned, confused at the concept as she glanced at the squat, though charming building behind us.
“Quaint.” She stated magnanimously.
“It is that.” I agreed, not wanting to defend the café since it would distract from my point. Trying to explain that the rest of the world didn’t work like Hollywood elite believed was not on the agenda, either. “Look, what’s the latest I can come back? I have some…things…I need to do before I hop a flight.”
“No later than a week, Jacob.” She was shaking her head admonishingly. “You should just fly back in the morning with Randy and me, though. I can book you a flight right now.”
Nelda reached for her clutch again, probably to pull out her iPhone or some other device she had no clue how to use well enough to buy airplane tickets on the spot. Holding my hand out to slow her down, I drew her attention back to the matter at hand.
“I’ll be back before a week is up.” I nodded slowly, my hand on hers as she clutched her tiny bag. “I promise. And I’ll get my own ticket.”
“Well,” She turned her nose up, “if you insist. Personally, I would make my assistant do it if I were you. What else do you pay him for?”
“Her,” I said blandly. “Jessica is a woman.”
Nelda shrugged and brought her cigarette holder to her lips once more.
“It’s not even a unisex name.” I shook my head. “Nevermind. Look, I’ll see you in a week, Nelda. Okay?”
One shoulder rose and fell as Nelda blew out a plume of bluish smoke, right into my face.
God, I missed cigarettes.
“See you in a week, Nelda,” I state hurriedly as I turned and headed back towards my car, pulling my phone out of my pocket in the process.
“Hopefully sooner!” She stated grandly in response.
As I was sliding into the driver’s seat of my car, Nelda was waving for Randy to get out of the car and join her. Randy was exiting the car as Nelda plucked the cigarette from the telescopic holder and dropped it daintily to the ground before crushing it with the toe of her shoe. As Randy approached, he held an arm out to her, and together, they made a grand entrance into the Sunny-Side Up Café. I shook my head as I watched them disappear inside, wondering what they would think of Midwestern café food. Hopefully, they both would end up puking after eating more grease than they’d both collectively ever had in their lives. At the very least, a nasty case of The Trots was in their futures.
Once I was certain that they were safely inside and making asses of themselves in the café, I unlocked my phone and brought up my notifications. Several from Oma—which I had no intention of returning quickly—one from Jessica, probably to warn me about Nelda’s impending arrival, and two from Lucas.
You are still coming over for dinner, right?
The question was followed by the grinning devil emoji.
But I didn’t know if that little devil would still be smiling after I told Lucas what my future plans were going to be. Then again, I wasn’t so confident that I knew how to tell Lucas that I was giving up on my previous idea of staying in Point Worth. My head fell back against the headrest as I groaned, thinking of everything that had happened in the last few weeks. If I had been smart—which was something no one had ever accused me of—I would have left to go back to Hollywood as soon as I had gotten my memories back. Staying and giving Lucas his memories back had been the worst decision I had ever made. Really thinking about it, I felt that it might have also been the cruelest as well.
My phone got tossed into the passenger seat, and I pulled out of the Sunny-Side Up Café parking lot. Meeting Nelda Hammersmith outside of the café had helped me make a decision about my future—and how I really felt about staying in Point Worth. Lucas, on the other hand, was a major fly in the ointment. It was one thing to give Oma “deuces” and jump on a plane. I’d done it before without so much as a single word, so it wasn’t beneath me. Telling Lucas I couldn’t stay any longer and keep my sanity was another issue. Not just because it would be cruel to him…but because I genuinely did love Lucas.
That was one thing my memories didn’t contradict.
Chapter 8
Upon entering Lucas’ house, one thing was made clear to me once again. My boyfriend knew how to be alluring to the point that all other thoughts were pushed from my brain, and I was left in a hormonal puddle of stupid. Lucas was in the kitchen, peeking into the oven, clad only in boxers. When I came through the front door, his eyes came up to meet mine, and he smiled widely, the sheer joy at seeing me plastered all over his face. How could I possibly
say or do anything to hurt him in any way? It would be like kicking a dog…well, no…my boyfriend wasn’t a pet. But he always looked as happy to see me as a beloved family pet would. How do you say or do anything cruel to someone who loves you as deeply as you love them? Aren’t those the people you are supposed to go out of your way to be as loving and kind to as possible?
“Hey, babe.” He greeted me. “How does pork chops, roasted potatoes and carrots, roasted Brussels sprouts, and warm, buttery biscuits for dinner sound?”
“Amazing,” I responded automatically. “What are we having?”
Lucas laughed.
“Everything except the pork chops.” He bit his lower lip, making lower parts of me stir. “But I did pick up a cake from the Super Walmart on the way home from Toledo this afternoon. Double Double Fudge.”
“Ooooh.” I wiggled my hips suggestively as I sauntered toward the kitchen. “You treat me so fine with your big city store-bought cake.”
My boyfriend tried not to look amused.
He failed.
“Bite me, city boy.” Lucas teased as I hopped up onto the barstool on the other side of the counter from him. “I wanted to get home in time to get cleaned up so your second dessert would be fresh.”
“When you put it that way.” I pursed my lips as he leaned over the counter to give me a kiss.
“I thought you’d see it my way.” He spoke against my lips before pulling away. “Second dessert is always more important to you than first dessert.”
“I don’t even give a shit about dinner if you want to skip right to second dessert.” I teased, though my stomach grumbled at me, admonishing me for saying one of the dumbest things I’d ever said in my life.
