Replacement

by Wojciech Cram

  never had a hickey and Boston had less than fond memories.

  She decided to remedy the problem with a sleeveless light blue turtleneck due to the lack of any cosmetic products, including foundation and concealer. Kyros was going to materialize any minute for their date. Maria was strangely blithe over that fact that she had a date. Those occasions never came in high school.

  She picked up a brush and began to run it through her hair. She always did her best thinking that way. Kyros seemed to literally materialize when she least expected it. She never

  heard his foot steps, never heard his breath, and never felt his presence as she did with everybody else in the city. And what a charismatic presence it was!

  "Boo!" Maria jumped up, nearly smacking him up side the head with the silver brush. Before she could blink, he dodged it and took it from her hand. And there was another strange

  thing…his reflexes were similar to a wild animal. Maria smiled while he spent ten minutes laughing his head off. Normally, she found situations such as this painfully irritating but…

  well being her normal self never helped her before.

  Besides, he's funny, and sweet, and…doesn't ask questions. About my family, my link to Martha, or my scars, emotional or physical. Maria commanded herself to be content for

  once in her life.

  After he had calmed down, they walked out of the building. Surprisingly, they stopped in front of a motorcycle, instead of the Lexus he had been driving for the past three weeks.

  "We'll be going to Rao's tonight."

  "I thought that was difficult, to say the least, restaurant to get into. And even if you have reservations, the owners let their old friends take your place."

  "Yeah, well I got my connections. Strap your helmet on tight, oh and I forgot to tell you to wear your hair up didn't I? Oh well, you could just fix it before we get in." Before she

  could respond, they zoomed down the street.

  Great, I'll be going to this classic, sophisticated, and not mention celebrity packed restaurant with bugs stuck in my hair and mud splattered on my legs. Just great.

  True to his word, they walked in without a questioning look from the host. Taking a booth in the corner, the two talked of pleasantries, then lapsed in to a routine silence. On every

  date they've had, Maria noticed that after the "Yeah, ma's doin' all right," there seemed to be no other interests. But she hoped that would change when she met his friends, and he met hers (after she made some at college, of course.)

  Only when the food came was she truly grateful for the silence. To her, any food that was concocted without the help of a microwave was a masterpiece to savor slowly. It was not

  often that one had a chance to dine at Rao's, so she spent dinner with wide eyes, drinking in the walls lined with autographed pictures of many famous stars. One she did not care

  for: Mike Piazza of the New York Mets. Now if he were to ever end up on the Yankees, minus the facial hair, I'd appreciate his picture more. Then she felt guilty for focusing on such matters, when on a date with such a thoughtful man.

  The night was uneventful. The moon, that once looked so romantic a few weeks ago, hung dully in the air as if saying, "Yeah, yeah so you're young and in love. Big deal!" And, for

  some peculiar reason, Maria felt the stars shined for some other victims of l'amour.

  Kyros followed her up to her apartment without asking, as he had done the first time they met. It as an irking habit, but Maria felt it was his nature to be so presumptive and

  confident. This time however, the date ended at the door.

  "Are you tired this evening?" Kyros had stared at her during dinner, while she took in the sights. Every once in a while, she would wince or sigh in impatience whenever she turned

  to him.

  Maria was glad he unknowingly came up with an excuse for her. "Yes, I've been burrowing in my mountain of clothes for this top. Our last date left me with a little me memoir."

  Kyros peered to the spot where she pulled at her collar. She noticed his gaze looked lower than needed. Suddenly eager to see this date end, she gave him a quick peck on his lips,

  pulled out of his extremely addicting hug, and shut the door. Maria quickly skipped across the living room to wave good bye to him on the street. Funny how he got down there so

  fast. With the moonlight giving him an aura of goodness, contrasting the prankster inside, Kyros bent down on his knee like her Romeo.

  "Good bye!" She called softly, for on this street, every body slept by eleven. He ruined the romantic atmosphere by pulling his ears, puffing up his cheeks, crossing his eyes, and

  sticking his tongue out, giving the effect of a retarded monkey. With a raucous laugh, he jumped on his 'cycle and sped off.

  Despite his apparent immaturity, Maria liked him. "Like him very much actually," she told her reflection, but her voice was irresolute. "I do like him," she argued with herself and

  changed into night clothes. She thought the humid heat in Georgia was unbearable, but now she wasn't so sure. The pollution and concrete insulators trapped the heat in the city. All

  her flannel pajamas stayed in the packing boxes as she dressed every night in tanks and shorts of childhood. Mari would absolutely dread any surprise visit from Kyros after bed

  time; it would be impossible to make him leave in that outfit.

  Still debating over her romantic feelings, she unplugged all appliances and checked the locks. After she made her usual rounds, she finally made her way to her bed room. She

  noticed something strange when she reached the door; it was closed when she was sure it had been left open. Maria narrowed her eyes, for this fact was firm evidence in what she

  had been suspecting for a month. Her apartment was haunted. The conclusion was the product of too many hours spent watching paranormal tv specials.

  Taking a deep breath and giving herself a pep talk of courage, she swung open the door, flicking on the light switch. At first, there was nobody in sight. Then, in the shadows, or

  perhaps creating its own shadow, she saw somebody sitting in her chair. Somebody more frightening than any poltergeist could ever be. Some how, her voice found its way to her

  lips trembling lips.

  "Did you remember the sugar?" Rashel lit up at the mention of the forgotten ingredient. Her finishing touches to the lemonade were interrupted when scuffling and shameful curses

  were heard outside, beyond the porch.

  The two girls rushed outside, leaving the beforedinner snack in the Carter's kitchen. In the storm cloud of dust, they could discern two male figures tussling in the dirt. Punches,

  kicks, and even fangless bites were used.

  "You goddamn sonofabitch take that back!"

  "There's nothing to take back you idiotic shitty bastard!"

  Mary Lynnette tilted her head and studied the brawling friends just as a dog would tilt his head and studied a new toy. Rashel, however, was not helping in the least.

  "That's it, John, you could take him! His neck is open to attack. The NECK not the head! Jesus, how could not see that punch coming! This is pitiful, absolute pitiful, how could you

  let him land that one! Use your legs to push off his weight! …for God's sake, punch him already, what are you waiting for the next millennium? Absolutely pitiful."

  "Oh it's pitiful, all right," Mary Lynnette said dryly. Soon, the three sisters ran up, Mark in tow, and also became spectators to the match. Rowan threw her hands up in disgust.

  "Why does he always end up doing that when he comes here?!"

  The younger two shrugged nonchalantly, then became Ash's cheerleaders, since Mary Lynnette refused to fulfill the position. Kestrel especially, for ever since the Neanderthal Quinn

  oversaw every single move she made in pre and post Final Battle with unneeded criticism, she had the growing need to beat the daylights out of him.

  "Go for his weaknesses! Behind the knee, it's unprotected…WRONG KNEE IDIO
T! Keep this up and even Jade will be able to beat you!"

  "Hey!" Jade protested indignantly.

  It wasn't until Mary Lynnette ran to and from the back yard and let them feel the full force of the water hose that they pulled away from each other. With heaving chests they stared

  at each other with barely constrained anger, and stood a foot apart.

  "Now, do you two asses care to explain what happened here?" Mary Lynnette, when she truly wished to, could be authoritative and haughty as a queen. Ash hated those moments.

  She cleared her throat when one simply stared straight ahead, seeing nothing, and the other kicked at a pebble. Both had their hands in their pockets and regret in their heads.

  "He insulted your honor," Ash burst out suddenly, like the tattle tale child. "So, you see I had to beat the jack off's ass. I just had to." Mary Lynnette stopped herself from smirking;

  she remembered the feeling of simply having to do something.

  "Bull shit! All I said was 'Gee, Ash I pictured Mary Lynnette to a beauty queen by the way you've described her before.' And then this dilhole starts pounding on me."

  Rashel intervened when she saw Mary Lynnette flare up at the insult Quinn directed to her soul mate. "Okay, jack off," she turned to Quinn, "calm down. And dilhole," she said to

  Ash, "chill out. We just have a communication problem. A beautiful relationship as yours cannot be destroyed by menial complications."

  Their anger now appeared foolish, their clothes torn, and their faces covered with mud and dust. Neither of them made an attempt of apology, and their feet planted firmly in their

  spaces just as their stubborn attitudes were. The unspoken countdown was finally up and Rashel spoke.

  "Fine. Then neither of you will enter either of these two houses," she pointed to the Carter and sisters' house, "unless it is to show us a poignant, sincere, and not to mention mushy

  apology." With an uncharacteristic toss of her hair, Rashel herded the rest of company into the Mary Lynnette and Mark's house.

  Inside, they enjoyed a scrumptious meal and lively conversation with each other. Mark and his parents were a bit baffled by Rashel's evasive yet truthful answers concerning her

  personal life, but the puzzle was soon forgotten by the laughter caused by Rashel's dessert: "whip cream pie." Mary Lynnette smiled amusedly at her over the table, and took a bite

  of her whip cream topped graham cracker.

  After dinner, all eight prepared for a game of charades when Ash and Quinn came in with a riveting performance. While Ash belted out "I'm Sorry, So Sorry," and Quinn listened

  with mock amorous eyes, Mary Lynnette and Rashel mouthed to each other, "Men!" Both sensed the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

  July 30, 2000

  New York City

  She refused to pick up the phone. After several rings, modern technology took care of the annoying machine.

  "Honey, why are you never home?" The voice softened with a Southern drawl seemed to clog every cranny of the room. She didn't hear the familiar lecture as it bounced futilely in

  her mind and remained simply meaningless. "…and ever since you've had pneumonia…I don't know why you let your friends talk you into a ski trip… I just worry about you, that's

  all…that sickness has lasting effects…we were playing bridge at the Smith's, you remember the Smith's…but then she said, 'No, no he's marrying his cousin'…and I tried this new

  color called raving rouge…and I swear I felt like the minister was looking right at me when he said those words…"

  The voice of her dear aunt finally was cut off by the end of the tape. He still sat there, peering down on something in his hands. She struggled to remain calm and keep the fear

  away, for he, like wild animals, could smell it. It was a smell that told them to move in for the kill. And all she could do was stand dumbly like a deer in headlights and think.

  Thinking without action never saved anybody's ass, genius! Great, she thought a moment later, that vicious part of my mind is back. And I'm starting to feel like fair Rosamond when

  "She found Phillip Tempest waiting in her Parisian tower," he finished for her dispassionately. "I doubt Louisa May Alcott knew she was writing for the future when she wrote of

  Tempest's chase of his love all over the world. And I have been chasing you, Maria, or shall I say fair Rosamond." He, indeed, seemed to be the epitome of villainous traits. But,

  unlike most villains or antagonists of novels, Valdis did not lurk nor hide on the shadows. Here, in her room, he seemed to create them.

  Oh dear god. Simply the sound of his voice crashed painful memories before her eyes. Series of brutal fights gripped at her mind, and his voice mingled with hers pounded in her

  ears. There was little to do other than exert her pain through squeezing the door knob behind her. All her senses screamed for her to simply twist the knob, and run for dear life.

  For seconds, she wondered why she wasn't moving. Then she realized it; although she was terrified by Valdis , she was also extremely stubborn with him.

  "But I," her voice taking a challenging tone that hadn't resurfaced in months, "do not intend to run. A distinct difference Mr. Eldson, " It was stupid, overwhelmingly stupid to

  to stay in the same room with her future murderer, but for some unknown reason, her will for a fight overrode her common sense. She wondered if this would technically count as

  a homicide or suicide…

  "Another difference," she continued when he still stared at the object in his hands. It was too dark to see whatever fascinated him. "is the fact that Tempest loved her."

  "But it is a selfish love," he quoted, and smiled a dazzling smile. Maria had never seen him smile without malicious intent, at least directed deliberately towards her. "And my love

  is not selfish."

  She stopped breathing. Literally, all air remained frozen in her lungs and dizziness leaped sporadically in her head. Love? What love, there was no love between us. Then, as

  always, the little tower of hope building in her collapsed when she used logic. Of course, she thought, he must mean Pearl.

  The object he had been toying with glinted a flash of silver. A million possibilities ran in her head. A knife, a small ax, a gun, a Chinese star? Or it could be a…

  He laughed with disdain and shook his head at her. "You always were a suspicious little one." Valdis held up his hands to the light. Resting on his index finger was a silver, round

  disc…a CD. She involuntarily let out a sigh of relief, but then immediately tensed. Hadn't one of the girls in Carrie 2 been sliced and diced by CDs?

  "I was reviewing your extensive collection under the bed and in the closet when I found this. Why on earth would you want a Simon and Garfunkel?"

  She snatched it from his hands, careful not to brush against his slender fingers. "They're deep, which is more than I could say about you." Other than that, no other words came to

  her mind. And he did not seem inclined to break the stillness. She began counting the seconds.

  "Silence, like a cancer, grows," he sang briefly, and laughed at his own joke. She wondered exactly what drugs he sniffed to make him sing to her. Valdis never even liked

  to her in the old times.

  "Now are you ready to have a serious conversation now, or is your head filled with more nonsensical ideas?"

  "No, I am not," she replied curtly and briskly wriggled into an over sized flannel robe. Unhurried by his scorching gaze, she took her sweet time unfolding the cuffs so that her

  hands were covered. There. No chance of skin to skin contact, except for the face. And there's a bigger chance of Clinton staying faithful than him wanting to kiss me.

  And since no matching ski masks were available, she threw him a toss of her hand, like a queen prodding a dozing courtier. Irritation was evident on his handsome face.

  "I spent six months looking for you. Well, five months taking leave from the world and one m
onth asking your aunt about your whereabouts. She was very reluctant, she must have

  thought I was one of those "terble" "ferns" who brought you on that "distrasus" skiing trip six months prior." His tone suggested that his didn't exactly ask for the information.

  Maria bristled at his exaggeration of her aunt's accent. The one person who could make fun of her Georgia twang was Maria, and Maria only. Her expression only darkened. One

  question hung in their, waiting to be plucked for tension's sake.

  "Why?"

  "What would you say if I told you I wanted to speak with you? Willingly speak to you."

  She rubbed her chin and pretended to concentrate on her answer. "Bullshit. Unless you feel you needed to bitch slap me again, or had an urge to complete destroy any healthy self

  esteem boosts I've given myself for the past few months. But, otherwise, bullshit pretty much sums everything up." Maria paused, searching for her next words for he simply sighed

  impatiently. "How the hell did you know I was alive any way?"

  He stared unwaveringly at her, and she felt tiny pokes in her head. She shook the little harpoons off, and tried to set up shields to protect her privacy. Mari supposed they worked,

  for he eased back and asked flippantly. "Just who did save you?"

  He had just answered her question with another question. She hated it when people do that. But, seeing that this was no normal human being with whom she could argue without major loss of blood, she found herself answering. "I don't know. Probably one of the daybreakers. They…"

  "Didn't want you," he finished for her again, this time with a smirk. Brushing away the sting his comment caused, she continued.

  "Yes, to put it tersely. And my aunt found me freezing on her doorstep, which shows the abundant love for me." He nodded, although his voice showed little interest in her

  explanation. When he added, "I'm sure," she had had enough.

  It didn't make sense for her to become so angry so quickly. Vintage bug cars did not accelerate from zero to sixty in two seconds. Little boys did not instantly transform to horny

  teenagers. There was a process, a building up of emotions. At least there was supposed to be.