by Gilmore, RM
Cyrus shifted his ever-swelling eyes from me to Mike, and back again. He was mulling it over and it looked as though he was making a very wise choice.
“I got scared,” I blurted out. “Someone was following me home and it scared me. That’s all.” I put my hand on his thick shoulder. “Thanks for coming to check on me. Really, I’m fine.” And completely full of shit.
“Bullshit.” And he knew it. “Why are you home so early?” Sunday morning sunshine was poking through my ratty old mini blinds. I was home well over twelve hours ahead of schedule. So was Cyrus. I knew how and why I was home, but had no clue as to why and how Cyrus was back in California. However, I damn sure was going to find out.
“I didn’t like it. I came home.” His head turned to look over his shoulder at me. He scrunched his eyebrows together, letting me know he didn’t buy one word I’d said. “I am an adult, Michael. I can come and go as often as I please.” I was being overly defensive and was beginning to feel a bit absurd. I’d called him for help. I was frantic. I’d shot up my living room, and something busted my front door down; he was a fucking cop; I was getting away with nothing.
“Humph,” he grunted with pursed lips, still looking at me out of the corner of his eye over his shoulder.
Cyrus lay silent on the floor. The bleeding had stopped, but he still looked like a little bitch huddled on the floor, silent as the day was long, waiting for a woman to give him the go ahead to speak. My evil little heart skipped a beat with delight.
“Mike, really, I’m fine.” My door is in a million pieces and I emptied a clip into headless corpses in my living room, but I’ll be all right.
Without another glance in Cyrus’ direction, he turned his wide body in my direction and stomped toward me in one fluid motion. He had the ability to be a badass when he wanted to be. His hands gripped my arms in the same place Cyrus had moments prior. The difference in the two grips was startling. One was firm, confident, and hot to the touch. The other familiar, safe, and filled with a need I could never satiate.
“You are a horrible liar, Dylan Hart. Always have been.” His voice was so much calmer than I had expected it to be. He was wrong though. I was actually a pretty good little liar. He was just the only person on earth, aside from my mother, who could tell. Usually. “What happened?” His eyes bore a hole into my eyes and out the back.
Filling in Mike would open a can of necropolis worms I was not ready to deal with. Like the fact he had pretty much told me something like this would happen. Or the fact I just might be crazy as a fucking loon. Neither shed me in a good light. “I came home upset. Someone followed me from a few blocks down and it scared me. I called…I called you both. He got here first. When I refused to open the door, he broke it down to get in. I was in here huddled in the corner, crying like a bitch.” Well, most of it was true.
“Oh.” His eyes stayed trained on mine for a long minute. He sucked his teeth in annoyance and released his grip on my arm. “Why is this out?” He bent over and snatched my pistol from the floor. It had dropped in the hullabaloo and slid nearly under the bed.
“I told you I was scared. Shit, terrified. It’s why I own it, right?”
“Why did you fire it?” he came back with a sneer.
“It was dark and I didn’t see Cyrus was what…who busted down the door. I just shot and ran in here. I’d emptied the clip before he made it to the bedroom door.” Somewhat true.
“Well, Mr. Atossa, you’re lucky you made it out alive with Quick Draw McGraw firing at you.” Sarcasm oozed through his lips and trickled down his chin. “You’re loaded with shit and it’s beginning to flood over. Whatever the fuck is going on here, I will figure it out and someone is going to jail.” Cyrus scoffed and began to roll his body around, trying to get up from the floor. “I’d watch it boy. When it comes to choosing who to put in cuffs, I’d much prefer you. Well…usually anyway.” He smiled and winked. Leave it up to Mike to sneak in a sexual innuendo in a time of peril.
“Thanks, Mike, I can handle it from here.” I folded my arms across my chest.
“You’d better pack a bag,” Mike said nodding.
“For what?” I hissed.
“You’re coming to stay with me.” I started to protest, but he quickly cut me off. “There is no way in hell I’m leaving you here with your front door like that.”
“Well, I’m not going to stay with you!” There was no way the situation would end well.
“Where the hell else do you have to go?”
He had a point. Tatum might as well have been on Mars. Cyrus was out of the question, it really only left Mike or my mom. Neither of which sounded appealing, but beggars really couldn’t be choosers now, could they?
“My mom. I’ll stay with my mom.” Just as overbearing and annoying, but without the aggravating sexual tension.
“Good. Pack a few things. I’ll drive you. She’s been worried sick about you since yesterday.”
“Worried sick? How many times did she repeat that phrase until it was stuck in your head?” Mike stared at me like I had something stuck to my face. “I’m not leaving right now. I have some shit to deal with, and when I’m done, I’ll drive myself.” I let out a sigh and stepped closer to Mike whose face was beginning to turn an unhealthy shade of red. “Look, I’ve had a really shitty couple of days. I need some time to decompress. I’ll call you when I get to my mom’s. Okay?” He’d likely be there when I showed up anyway, but giving him the satisfaction of a future phone call would have to do for the moment. Just to keep him off my damn back.
His eyes shot from my worn out face to Cyrus on the floor and back. “Fine,” he said simply.
He wasn’t giving up, not by a long shot, but he knew how far he could push me before someone ended up hurt. And it usually wasn’t me.
Mike had had enough of me and all my bullshit. Not giving up, just giving in for the time being. Without another word, well maybe an irritated grunt, he turned his back on me and walked out.
I didn’t hear the door, but that could have been because the huge fucking hole made it obsolete. After a few minutes of silence, I turned and stomped toward the man with blood drying on his face.
"Answers. Now," I spewed through clenched teeth as I towered over the heap of wimpy man meat laying on my floor.
"Do you mind if I stand?" he smiled an irritatingly charming smile that reminded me so much of our first few encounters together.
Reluctantly, I shuffled back a few steps to allow space for him to crawl to his feet. I didn’t know why I was so annoyed and a little disgusted by his lack of masculinity. It really wasn't his fault. Mike did come in with a surprise attack and followed it up with a beautiful ground and pound. Perhaps I just had no patience for pussies. Or Mike just did it for me. No. No, it’s the patience thing. It must be.
"Now," Cyrus began, moving to stand in front of me. "Let’s fix the door." He tugged at his shirt and adjusted the collar.
"Let’s not," I said, crossing my arms across my chest. "Let’s fix this little matter about dead things traipsing in uninvited."
His eyes dropped to the floor refusing to meet mine. "Well, I suppose that is a priority." He paused long enough to annoy me before reaching for my arms. "You, my darling Dylan, are on the road to hell and Azelie d’Entremonte is at the wheel."
Great. More cryptic ominous bullshit.
"And?" I urged.
"And...you are fucked, my love." His hands squeezed my biceps. He lifted his eyes to meet mine finally, and stared quite a long time.
There was no other way to put it. I was fucked. The only questions left were how bad and how long. I couldn’t live like this forever. My head couldn’t take it. Either I would end up in a nut house, or I’d throw myself from a seriously tall building. Neither of which seemed attractive in the least.
“What am I supposed to do?” I asked flatly. No need to beat around the bush at this point.
He thought about it. His brows furrowed and I was surprised he didn’t tap his chi
n or rest his fist on it; his face was so textbook pensive.
“I need to talk to Malcolm.” He wiped at his face, smearing the last of the wet blood across his cheek.
“That’s your answer? ‘I need to talk to Malcolm’. You have no clue what’s happening, do you? Because of you, I was dragged into the mess in the first place!” I shoved my finger into his chest. “You pushed for my attendance. You left me to fend for myself!”
His eyes squinted and it looked like it hurt with all the damage. “You, my dear, used my invitation as an open door to spy on those you wish to exploit. You traipsed into Madame Azelie’s shop. You elicited her wrath. You are the cause of your own ruin.”
Son of a bitch! Fuck him for being so damned right! And fuck him for tossing it right into my face. Morality money shot.
“Well, what the hell did you do to stop it?” I ain’t nothing if I ain’t irrationally defensive.
“I cannot believe you, Dylan. I have experienced your ridiculousness a number of times in the recent past, but this incident is more than I can bear. You are behaving horribly. You know you are in the wrong. You know you have brought this on yourself, no matter how unwarranted, and now you are unable to cope with it all. I will step into my own grave before I run off on an excursion to save your ever-loving soul if you are going to continue to act as a child.” He didn’t yell at me. He didn’t talk down to me. He scolded me. He might as well have expressed how much I disappointed him. The ultimate parental punishment – ensure the kid feels as horrible and guilty as possible.
Game. Set. Match.
I looked away from his gaze unable to meet his eyes after my reprimand. A flash of spankings fluttered through my brain, but was quickly washed away by preservation instinct. He was right. My big-ass mouth had dug me into a huge mystical hole of death and gory things, and the only person I could count on to get me out of it was the one person I was trying to inappropriately blame it on. When faced with the choice to straighten up and fly right or shrivel into oblivion huddled in a corner hiding from dead things – I’d fly that shit like a fucking Wright brother.
“Fine.” I flopped my arms against my hips. “What the fuck am I supposed to do?”
“I’ve told you. We need to speak with Malcolm.”
“And how to you propose we do that? He’s across the country. What do you guys have, some kind of Secondus-Primus E.S.P.?”
“No,” he scoffed and grabbed his own ass. “We have cell service,” he replied condescendingly, raising his puffy eyebrows, and pulling his phone from his back pocket.
I’d called Tatum a few times and had no response from her. In all the clamor, I’d forgotten to be concerned with her wellbeing. Having no concern for Malcolm was intentional.
“Good luck,” I snarled and folded my arms over my chest, again. They might as well make a t-shirt with straps on it to hold my arms in that perpetual position.
The sun peeked its shining face through the blinds in my room, creating bars of light along the white walls. My first glimpse of sunshine in damn near thirty-six hours. A lovely prison cell of sunshine just for me. Cyrus held his matte black phone to his ear for what seemed to be a million years. I waited for him to begin leaving a message, but it never came. He just waited.
“They’re in the air,” he said, ending the call.
“I was right about the E.S.P. thing!” I exclaimed with a finger pointed to the ceiling. Flashes of Malcolm flying through the shining sky, toting Tatum along by her hand, like a blood drunk Peter Pan flittered through my brain.
“No, it’s a logic thing. They must have caught a flight back the moment Malcolm discovered the mess you’d created.” He slid his phone back into his pocket and grabbed me by the arm. “We need to leave. Now.”
“But my door.” I stumbled along with him as he pulled me through the apartment.
“I don’t think it will be an issue,” he assured.
He stomped through my upstairs apartment, his footfalls echoing throughout the building. Luckily, I lived above a garage, so the only thing to piss off was Mr. Garabedian’s ’64 Bel Air. We made it to the holey front door before I began to protest. “Wait!” I said, jerking my arm from his grasp. “I’m not leaving my home unattended with a huge hole in the door. I need to take care of this whole dead girl thing, but I also need my personal items when I get back from my trip to hell. If I get back,” I added, not wanting to jinx myself any more than necessary.
Without a word, Cyrus opened the front door to reveal Mike standing a few steps down from the landing of the stairs that led to the entrance of my place. He was on his phone yelling about needing a rook’ to haul his ass down to my street for assistance.
“What are you doing?” I asked as if I genuinely had no clue what he was up to.
He jutted a finger in the air telling me to hold off the bitch-fest until he was off the phone. I rolled my eyes and sighed immaturely. He grumbled more orders into the phone, before hanging up and giving me his full attention. “I’m not leaving you here like this.” His large hand pointed toward the now open door. “An officer will be posted on your stoop until the Super’ gets here with the new door.”
“Jesus.” I dropped my head into my hand. “I didn’t think about having to tell Mr. Garabedian. He’s going to be so pissed.”
“It’s taken care of,” Mike said with little emotion. “You will have a new door by sundown. But I still want you to stay with your mom or me for a few days.”
What? A few days? I want this shit handled in a few hours. I have shows on tonight.
“Mike, I’m fine. I can stay in my own apartment.” As long as it has a door and the blessing of a priest. Or two.
“I’m talking about you needing to spend some time with people who love you.” His eyes shot to Cyrus then back to me.
“As opposed to?” I asked as I crossed my arms firmly over my chest.
He hesitated a few seconds, “Everyone else.” His arms mimicked mine over his broad chest.
“Humph,” I scoffed. “Thanks for taking care of the door,” I tossed my head toward the gigantic hole of splintered wood. He nodded quickly just before I shoved past him and down the stairs.
Cyrus followed directly behind me, leaving Mike standing alone on the top step.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Mike called from above us.
“Saving my soul,” I yelled over my shoulder.
Cyrus opened the passenger door of his white SUV. He’d left it at LAX when we departed for our weekend from hell. Mike didn’t speak again, just stared from his perch as we drove away. I had no idea where we were headed, but wherever it was, it held my salvation. Or I was headed off to die in a hole somewhere surrounded by dead things. Either way, nothing about my life would ever be the same again. Magic and death were seeping its way into my existence, and there was nothing I could do about it, but accept the facts, and try to change my future. I could believe in magic. Believe or die. Or was it believe AND die?
Where’s Agent Mulder when you need him?
Chapter Three
Cyrus swerved into traffic from the onramp to Highway 101 South. Other vehicles honked viciously, as only Los Angelinos can, screaming from their windows and wagging their middle finger at us. Cyrus never faltered; he just kept driving, wildly I might add and fairly unsafely.
“I’m not one to criticize the driving of others, but can you at least drive straight.” I tried to keep my voice even, no need to upset the crazy.
He’d been driving this way from the moment I was buckled into his passenger’s seat. He hadn’t spoken a word since we left my apartment and I was only assuming he was taking me somewhere safe. Assumptions never ended well. You know the whole ass-you-me thing.
“Where is it we’re going exactly?” I asked, hands white knuckling anything bolted down. “I appreciate the help, but can we please be on the same fucking page!” The last of my words came out rushed and squeaky. I’d been through too many adrenaline spikes in the last twenty-four hour
s to handle any more death-defying stunts.
“We are going to someone who can help you,” he answered finally.
“Oh, that’s great, all the information I needed. Ugh,” I grunted in frustration.
“You will shut up and listen,” he said through his teeth. “Nothing you have experienced is what you think it is. From the moment you strolled into Macabre Saturnine, you put yourself in a world you cannot escape.” His driving continued to decline as he spoke. “I am taking you to someone who can help you, but the price will be substantial.”
“I don’t have any money.” Nothing else he said stuck until he mentioned having to pay for something.
“It’s not money they’ll want,” Cyrus answered plainly. “What is happening to you right now…money can’t fix this.”
“What is happening to me right now? Dead bitches crawled through a hole in my door. I was chased by some invisible monster. And now, I’m stuck on Mr. Toad’s wild ride on my way to see Mr. Fixit. I’d say this is a pretty fucked-up situation. What would you call it?” I tried to keep my voice steady. I fought so hard to keep the undeniable fear from creeping up the back of my throat. It was not that I was so terrified of Cyrus’s horrid driving skills; it was mostly the idea of another human being having so much control over me. Or, not so human in Azelie’s case. I guess in Cyrus’s case too – judging by the room filled with coffins.
“Revenge,” he said in a tone that chilled me to the bone.
Traffic thickened in the jumble of freeway just before Boyle Heights. Cyrus weaved in and out of lines of cars and headed toward the 60 and into East L.A. Why I was being taken to that side of crap I couldn’t tell you, but wherever he was headed, he was headed there in a fucking hurry.
“Revenge. So Azelie wants my head? What else is new?” I’d left New Orleans running like hell from her, and all of her hoodoo voodoo priestess crapola. I thought leaving her meant leaving it all behind me. “How the fuck did this escalate so quickly? In a matter of days, I go from strolling into a voodoo shop on a street in New Orleans to hurdling through Los Angeles traffic on my way to see a guy about some headless dead girls.”
