by Bryan, JL
Kieran muttered something in his room, too low for her to make out the words, but she doubted he was giving her compliments.
Cassidy shuffled to the couch, sat down with a great effort, then picked up the remote and flicked on the television.
“Turn it down!” Kieran shouted immediately, though the volume was fairly low. “I’m trying to sleep.”
“Stop whining!” Cassidy shouted back. “You sound like a little bitch!”
Kieran grumbled something that was clearly not clever enough to say out loud.
Cassidy flipped channels, scrolling past acres of Sunday-morning religious programs. By the time her mother arrived home from work, she’d settled on Cartoon Network.
“Cassidy, how are you feeling?” Her mother reached over the couch and touched her shoulder.
“Great,” Cassidy said. Her broken leg was propped up on the coffee table. The Irish whiskey made her feel warm and boozy. The pain and the hallucinations had both faded.
“That’s lovely to hear.” She glanced into Cassidy’s coffee mug and frowned. “You shouldn’t be drinking just now.”
“Not much else to do.”
“I’ll make you a proper breakfast. You must eat to heal.” Her mother, though clearly tired and frazzled, walked to the kitchen, shedding her blue blazer and tossing it over one of the four wooden dining-area chairs.
“You don’t have to do that, Mom. Make Kieran cook it.”
“You would want to eat a breakfast cooked by Kieran?” Her mother looked at her over the breakfast bar, raising an eyebrow.
Cassidy couldn’t help laughing. She shook her head.
“Was he helpful to you?” she asked as she brought out a box of oatmeal from a cabinet.
“He wasn’t any less helpful than I expected,” Cassidy said, and her mother snorted a laugh in return.
After banging around in the kitchen, whipping and frying, her mother brought out a plate of eggs and sausages, accompanied by a large bowl of oatmeal sweetened with a dollop of honey and cream.
“That’s too much food!” Cassidy said as she took the bowl of oatmeal. The first spoonful awakened a deep hunger in her stomach, and a feeling of nostalgia—her mother had been making this same oatmeal, just this way, for as long as Cassidy could remember. “But thanks. It’s so good.”
“You’ve never cared so much for oatmeal before,” her mother said. “Fill up. Think of yourself as a camel. I’ll go to bed soon, and you’ll have to fend for yourself.”
“I’m pretty good at that.” Cassidy bit into a greasy, fatty chunk of smoked sausage. Her stomach rumbled again.
“I would hope so,” her mother replied. “We all need to be. What are you watching?”
“Futurama.”
A smile crept into her mother’s exhausted face. “What was that awful cartoon you used to watch?”
“Beavis and Butthead.” Cassidy snickered.
“I forbade you to watch it, but your father would let you.”
“He liked it even more than I did.” Cassidy felt the weight in the room, the sadness instantly stirred at the mention of her lost father. “I think about him a lot. I miss him.”
“So do I.” Her mother looked at her for a moment as though she wanted to say more, then gave a small shrug and said, “I’m sure he’s thinking about you, too, Cassidy. Wherever he is. He loved you so much, more than anything. It’s important you remember that about him.”
Cassidy felt her eyes sting. She wiped them and swallowed back the tears. “Do you really believe that?”
“I know how much he loved you.”
“I mean, do you think he’s still around somewhere? You think people live on after they die?”
Her mother’s mouth worked quietly, framing different words, as though trying out different answers.
“The world gives us more mysteries than answers,” her mother finally said. “I believe there’s more than what we see. There’s an unseen world. I believe your father is not entirely gone.”
“Why?”
“Because I would rather believe it. When we cannot know a thing, we may as well choose to believe what we like.”
Cassidy thought this over. On the screen, the cartoon cast of Futurama was trapped in Robot Hell by the Robot Devil. She’d seen this one before; of course, they were all reruns now because the show had been canceled.
Like with my dad, Cassidy thought. I can keep rerunning the old memories, but there will never be any new ones.
“Are you all right?” her mother asked after a minute.
“Yeah,” Cassidy said, swallowing back her feelings so she wouldn’t trouble her mother. “Yeah. Thanks for breakfast.”
“Rest and take it easy on yourself.”
“Thanks, Mom.” Cassidy watched her mother take her dishes back to the kitchen, then walk to her bedroom.
“Goodnight, Cassidy,” she said, though it was still morning. “If you need anything...”
“I’ll bug Kieran.”
Her mother smiled and closed the door. A minute later, Cassidy could hear her bath running. Her mom would read for a little while, then go to sleep for the day. Everyone in her family tended to be nocturnal, Cassidy realized.
She texted Peyton: How’s it going over there?
F-ing awesome, he wrote back five minutes later. I’m staying all week if I can. Good drugs, private room, gourmet food, HOT nurses. LOL.
Bet mine were hotter, she replied. I got shit for drugs, though.
That sucks. I have to get ready for swim therapy. Later.
OK have fun, Cassidy texted back. He didn’t reply, didn’t ask how Cassidy was. She imagined Peyton floating in a posh indoor swimming pool, perhaps accompanied by one or two of the HOT nurses. LOL.
Barb texted Cassidy at about eleven in the morning, which counted as “first thing in the morning” for Barb.
How ya feeling, cripple? Barb texted. Can I come visit?
PLEASE. So bored, Cassidy replied.
Need anything?
Smokes, Cassidy typed. And other aid and comfort.
Anything specific? Barb asked.
Whatever will blot out my brain. Don’t bring anyone else with you.
No prob.
Barb arrived about forty-five minutes later. She let herself inside, dropped onto the couch next to Cassidy, and gave her a big hug and a kiss on the cheek.
“So this is where you’re camping out,” Barb said, glancing around the living room. “Weird how it all looks the same but feels different.”
“That’s what I’ve been thinking.”
“Everyone still asleep?” Barb whispered. Cassidy had texted her to just walk inside rather than knock or ring the doorbell.
“Yeah, Mom’s back to night management,” Cassidy said.
“Is that safe for her?”
“The hotel has a night security guy.” Cassidy shrugged. “I think she prefers working nights. She only complains when she has to do mornings.”
“I got your CARE package.” Barb held up a folded cigarette-pack cellophane. An assortment of pills plus one large green bud of marijuana were stuffed into the makeshift baggie.
“Wow, thanks!” Cassidy took it from her, happy to have some means of medicating her brain while she was stuck at her mom’s place.
“I took up a collection around the house,” Barb said. “Stray donated a couple Valium. Allie’s boyfriend Whitley donated a Roofie.”
“Great. Now I can date-rape myself.”
“Her other boyfriend Chet donated a few Xanax.”
“I officially like him better now.” Cassidy smiled, shaking her head. “How does she keep two boyfriends? That would drive me crazy.”
“I’ve seen girls do it before,” Barb said. “One time in high school Reese technically had three of them. Usually they’re kept secret from each other, though, that’s the crazy part with Allie and her guys. Dating together, sleeping together...you’d think at least one of them would have broken up with her by now.”
“Only ecstasy makes a relationship like that work,” Cassidy said. “No way it would last if they got off drugs.”
“It’ll all explode one day. I just hope I’m there to watch the fireworks.” Barb snickered and handed her a pack of Parliaments.
“You didn’t have to get these! I would’ve been happy with Basics.”
“That’s what you like, though.”
“Sure, when Peyton’s buying. Let’s go outside.”
Barb helped Cassidy to her feet, then opened the glass door from the living room to the small corner balcony. Cassidy hopped after her on the crutches.
“The old balcony,” Barb said, looking out over the brush-choked sinkhole below. “Lots of memories in this little spot, huh?”
“Yep.” Cassidy gestured at the few plants still struggling to survive in the clay pots and planters. Cassidy and Tamila, and later Barb, had helped maintain the garden when they were younger. “I don’t think Kieran and his friends help Mom with the plants.”
“Poor little guys.” Barb lit her smoke, then reached out and lit Cassidy’s. “Sinkhole’s still thriving. Lots of kudzu.”
“I had a dream I flew over it last night,” Cassidy said. “That purple mini-golf club was still there, stuck in the drain.”
“Is it really still there?” Barb leaned over the railing, squinting her eyes.
“I can’t see from here. If I went down there and found it, though, I’d be pretty freaked out. I’ve been having these dreams where I’m flying around outside my body, ever since the crash.”
“That’s called astral projection.”
“You know I don’t believe in all that New Age stuff,” Cassidy said. “They’re just dreams.”
“How can you say that after...after what we’ve seen?” Barb’s voice dropped to a whisper, and she glanced at the door to Cassidy’s old room, where Kieran was still sleeping.
“I just think it’s better to avoid all that.”
“I’ve never understood. We know that evil things are out there, so why wouldn’t you want to take steps to protect yourself?”
“Yeah? By dressing in a little robe and wizard hat and casting spells?”
“I don’t wear a robe.”
“Do you wear the wizard hat?”
“Come on,” Barb said. “I don’t practice the craft because I want to be different and freaky. I do it because of that thing we saw take over Reese’s body. I don’t even like to talk about it.”
“I know. I don’t like talking about it, either. That’s why I’m an atheist.”
“I still don’t get how you can be an atheist when—”
“Nothing about what happened to Reese makes me believe in God,” Cassidy said. “Maybe there’s supernatural evil, but I’ve never seen anything that was supernatural and good.”
“I’ve glimpsed some things from inside the circle,” Barb said. “I think.”
“Right.” Cassidy decided to change the subject before it became an argument. “Speaking of weird culty shit, guess what I found in my brother’s room? You know those guys in the suits that are always giving out religious pamphlets?”
“Mormons?”
“No...”
“Jehovah’s Witnesses?”
“No, the ‘Are You the Messiah?’ guys.”
“Right!” Barb laughed. “What about them?”
“Kieran had one of their leaflets in his room.” Cassidy spoke in a low whisper so Kieran couldn’t hear through the door, in case he was awake. “There’s like a questionnaire. If you answer ‘yes’ to all the questions, then you, too, could be the messiah. And it’s all questions like, ‘Do you think you’re more important than other people realize?’”
“Ha! The perfect sales pitch for all the little narcissists out there.”
“It might be working. He filled out the questions.”
“Seriously?” Barb’s smile thinned. “You think he’s really into it?”
“I have no idea. He was mad I looked at it, so maybe. Did you know he took over my room?”
“Makes sense.”
“Yeah, but that tells you how little time I’ve spent visiting my mom—I didn’t even realize he’d done that years ago. My poor mom. Now I feel guilty.”
“You should. You’re an evil person,” Barb said, and Cassidy laughed. “So what’s the plan? You’re just sitting on your mom’s couch until you can walk again?”
“She’ll worry less if I’m here,” Cassidy said. “I figure I’ll stay for the week, because I go to physical therapy a couple of times. I hope I get the same guy from the hospital. He was really hot. And he’s actually taller than me.”
“That sounds like therapy you could use. How are your nightmares?” Barb asked.
“Worse than ever, actually, so thanks for the Valium and Xanax.”
Barb looked her over for a minute, then looked out at the sinkhole. She took a breath.
“Cassidy,” she said, “Let me clear your room. Okay?”
“You want to clean my room? Sure, anytime.”
“And you probably know that’s not what I meant.”
“You want to cast some kind of witchy spell. Is that what you mean?”
“Just a clearing spell to get rid of any little evil things that might be hanging around. Don’t make a big deal out of it. It would just make me feel better.” Barb’s eyes were hopeful but a little wary, probably expecting a sharp retort from Cassidy. It was rare to see Barb looking vulnerable. She normally looked like someone who might cut you if you stepped too close.
“Whatever makes you feel better,” Cassidy said. “How can I say no to a girl who brings me Xanax?”
Inside, Cassidy led Barb to her new, smaller room.
“Whoa, it’s like a storage unit,” Barb said, looking around at the carelessly heaped cardboard boxes.
“I know. I should get the rest of my stuff out of this room so my mom can use it.” Cassidy eased herself down to the bed, her right leg jutting stiffly out in front of her.
“She should move to a two-bedroom, save money.” Barb knelt in front of a cardboard box in the middle of the room and set her large patchwork purse beside it.
“Yeah...” Cassidy knew why her mother hadn’t moved, but she didn’t want to bring up her father just now. “So, work your magic.”
Barb kicked off her sandals and set out four items on the box. First was a clay saucer etched with a pentagram, into which she poured Diamond Crystal kosher salt from a small red cylinder. Then she set out a stick of incense in a small holder that kept it upright, a red candle, and a little wooden chalice into which she poured water from a twelve-ounce Dasani bottle.
“Can I have the rest of that?” Cassidy asked. Barb passed her the bottle, and Cassidy washed down a Valium with the remaining water.
Barb whispered under her breath as she lit the incense and the candle, probably some little chant that she didn’t want Cassidy to hear and laugh about. Cassidy wouldn’t have, though. She was interested in watching Barb’s performance.
Barb took the saucer of salt and walked around the edges of the room, at least as far as the boxes permitted, sprinkling tiny pinches as she went. She continued whispering under her breath. When she reached Cassidy’s bed, which was against the wall, she simply stepped up onto the bed with her bare feet, walked along the wall behind Cassidy, and stepped down off the other end and continued her circle.
She returned to the center and traded the saucer for the incense and started circling again. When she walked up onto Cassidy’s bed, Cassidy looked up at her, smiling.
“Hey, aren’t witches supposed to be, what’s the word? You’re not supposed to wear any clothes, right?”
“Skyclad?” Barb raised an eyebrow, looking down at her. “You want me walking around your room naked?”
“I didn’t make the rules. Take it off, baby.” Cassidy slapped Barb’s rear end playfully.
“Sh, let me concentrate.” Barb continued on, stepping off the bed and whispering something about “spirits
of the air.” Maybe it was better that Cassidy didn’t hear all the words, or she really might have been tempted to laugh.
Barb finished it off by circling the room with the candle, then the little wooden cup, sprinkling little droplets around the room. Finally she sighed, blew out the candle and incense, and packed everything away quickly, her face flushed as though embarrassed.
“Thanks for letting me do that,” she said to Cassidy. “And not messing me up too much.”
“Hey, thank you,” Cassidy said. “I don’t want any little demon creatures hanging around my room.” She wondered whether it might actually help with her transparent-bug infestation. She couldn’t see any of them now, but she had the whiskey and now the early effects of the Valium to thank for that.
Barb sat on the bed next to Cassidy and chatted about the previous night at work, telling her about a drunk who’d been thrown out and how Kit and her crew had showed up wasted and snorted lines of crystal meth right off the bar, ignoring Barb when she quietly insisted they stop. Barb hadn’t called for the bouncer, though, and nobody else had complained.
Barb eventually left after helping Cassidy back to the couch. Cassidy watched an old vampire movie while the Valium melted her into the cushions. Her finger was too heavy to change the channel, but her mind was blissfully free of shelled worms and transparent bugs.
Chapter Thirteen
Milton Hospital was a large private facility serving the software and financial professionals who populated the surrounding gated golf-course communities. Peyton’s family lived in such a neighborhood, though they were neither bankers nor software executives. They owned a dozen franchises of Pizza Village, which marketed to budget-conscious families with small children. Each store offered lousy, buffet-style pizza and a couple of arcade games at the back to make it a “destination spot” for little kids.
Peyton had grunted his way through physical therapy in the hospital’s aquatic center, which included multiple pools and therapeutic hot tubs, warm bubbling mineral water illuminated by dozens of skylights above. He was working to regain lost flexibility in his arms and torso. His therapist was a sixty-year-old man with what Peyton considered a fairly impressive six-pack of abs for his age.
