When Fully Fused

by Shari J. Ryan

  I can’t go home yet. I need more time to think.

  I’ve been dying for a reason to go see Alex’s new office, and I think now is the perfect time to pay him a visit. I’d love to fill him in on my newfound knowledge of, ‘The Necklace of Death’, but he’s probably already quite aware of its name.

  I briskly make my way to my car, still anxiously looking over my shoulder. Once I've secured the locks from the inside, I start the car and enter in the name of Alex's office building into my GPS. I bob my head around, waiting for the searching message to be replaced by directions. But the screen turns blue and the text: Location not found appears. Really? I pull my phone out of the middle console and send a text message to Alex asking for the address of his office.

  Within seconds he replies, “Why?”

  It seems kind of obvious that I'm planning to visit. “So, I can come visit?”

  He quickly responds with: “Oh, no. Don't do that. I was actually planning on coming home early today. I'll see you in an hour.”

  Yup, this can wait an hour. Or not! I open up the Internet browser on my phone and type in the name of his company.

  Nothing comes up.

  His company doesn't have a website. I find that hard to believe. It is hard to believe. In fact, I’m not sure what I can believe at this point.

  By the time I get through the traffic that appears to already be piling up, I'm sure an hour will have passed by the time I get home anyway. I take a deep breath, trying to diminish my anger. Maybe a long quiet car ride alone won’t be the worst thing.

  I tap my fingers along the top of my steering wheel, staring into the glow of the headlights in front of me. Visions of golden lockets and the Catacombs flood my mind with despair. I want to scream. I also want to cry. I want to be free from all of this.

  It’s been twenty minutes of crawling along the interstate at fifteen miles per hour. I am never getting home. I call Alex’s phone again, but he doesn’t pick up.

  The radio is playing an annoying song, and my blood is starting boil over. Going on forty-five minutes.

  Evidently, cussing out the driver in front of me for not keeping up with the slow crawl in front of him doesn’t make the traffic any better. He now has his middle finger plastered against his rearview mirror for my viewing pleasure.

  Sixty-five minutes to drive three miles. Unreal. Maybe Alex coordinated that too so I wouldn’t figure out where he really is right now.

  I walk through the front door, welcomed by a waft of baked goods and some kind of roast.

  "Celia, did you cook?" I ask, walking into the kitchen where I hear pots and pans clashing around.

  "Oh, hi, Chloe! I didn't even hear you come in. I'm sorry—I cook when I'm stressed out. At least you don't have to make dinner tonight." She smiles her sweet Celia smile.

  "You're planning to stay for dinner then, right?" I reach over and give her a hug.

  "I would feel much better here. My house is suddenly starting to feel overwhelmingly large." Her eyes are wide and unfocused. She seems scared and worried, as I would be living alone with these creeps roaming around.

  "You are always welcome here. If you want us to make up the spare bedroom for you, I'm happy to do so." I reach for her hand, forcing her to look up at me. "Really. I want you to stay here with us until this all stops."

  “You think this will stop?” The hope in her eyes causes a pain in my stomach. I wish I had a good response. But I don’t, so I don’t respond. “It has to stop one way or another, I suppose.” She sighs. I’m not sure what she means by that.

  “I guess.”

  "So, what were you really up to today?" She raises an eyebrow. Her motherly look makes me feel like I’m pinned up against a wall, but I think I’ll keep the information on ‘The Necklace of Death’ to myself.

  "I just needed to do a little research at the library…for class.” I fling my bag off of my shoulder and pull out my notebook. “This AP History class has been torture. I'm just trying to stay ahead of the game," I lie.

  "Oh, I didn't realize you were taking history this semester." She tries to take a closer look at my notebook, but I let my hand fall behind my back. As guilty as I feel for lying to Celia, I stopped taking classes last semester. But classes just seem to be the perfect excuse when I need to do something I’d rather not talk about.

  I hate lying. I'm so bad at it, especially to someone I love. I force a smile and happily welcome the distraction of the front door opening.

  Celia looks down at her watch with a puzzled grimace. "Honey, what are you doing home so early? It's only four o'clock. Are you okay?"

  Alex arches an eyebrow with a questioning look. "A better question might be, why are you here and cooking dinner?" He laughs and gives her a kiss on the cheek before she has a chance to respond.

  Celia awkwardly looks over at me, probably wondering why I didn't tell Alex she was coming over to watch Sammy. I didn't think this one through, obviously.

  "I-ah had to run to the library to get something for my class." I stare past Alex, fidgeting with the hem of my shirt.

  "And, what class is that?" he interrogates me with a smirk.

  Dammit. He knows.

  Celia beats me to the punch and with a sing-song voice says, "AP History."

  "Interesting," is all Alex responds with. He clears his throat and thankfully changes the subject. "What did you make for dinner, Mom?"

  A cheerful smile spreads across Celia’s freckly cheeks as she lifts the lid off the saucepan. "Your favorite," she says while wafting the scent from the pan to her nose.

  "No way, really? A Big Mac?" He laughs in my direction, joking about one of our very first conversations.

  "Yes, Alex. I made you a Big Mac?" She chuckles and shakes her head. "I made you fresh Bolognese sauce. I hope it will be suitable for your suddenly odd pallet."

  Alex takes the spoon from Celia’s hand and dips it into the sauce. As he brings the spoon up to his lips, we're interrupted by a clatter from the other room. Celia jumps, throwing the dishtowel behind her, and Alex sprints down the hallway as I follow. "Sammy?" I yell.

  We hear the noise echoing from his room and Alex busts through his slightly opened door. All standing in shock, we see Sammy having a ball as he whips a broomstick against an upside down trashcan. All three of us are clutching our hands over our chests. All three of us only think the worst now. All three of us are sick of this.

  As we all let our clenched hands fall from our chests, a wave of calmness appears to sweep over Alex first as he kneels down by Sammy’s side. "I called the alarm company today, they'll be coming by tomorrow to set it up," he says, giving Sammy a kiss on the top of his head.

  "Alex, can we talk for a minute?" I ask.

  Celia trades places with Alex and crouches down to play with Sammy.

  I pull him down the hall and into our bedroom. As soon as I close the door behind him, I say, "We both know an alarm system isn’t going to do a damn thing." He sighs and combs his fingers through his hair. He always gets nervous when he thinks I’ve come closer to figuring things out. "When were you going to tell me about ‘The Necklace of Death’?"

  His eyes narrow before widening. "What?" he asks, seeming confused by what I’m sure he knows about. "Where did you get that information from?"

  "Research." I raise my eyebrows emphatically.

  He groans in response. "This is exactly why I didn't want to talk about this." His hands slap against the sides of his thighs, and he paces the bedroom in small circles.

  "Well, I think we should talk about it, seeing as how I'm in a lot more danger than I realized."

  Alex sucks in a deep breath and stops pacing. "Whoa, hold on now. You are not in danger. I will never let anything happen to you. Ever," he says, lowering his head to look me in the eyes. "You believe me, right?"

  It’s not that I don’t believe him. I just know what Franco is capable of, constrained in a cell or not. Alex seems to forget about that man’s skills. But I haven’t.
r />   "Yeah. It's just that…you've been acting kind of strange lately. I'm a little troubled by the fact that you didn't want me to come visit you at work, and all of this other creepy stuff going on is really making me feel uneasy."

  With no further explanation, he pulls me against his body and holds me tightly. "I know," he whispers above my head.

  I should have known he was hiding more secrets. He only ignores my accusations when they're accurate. "What else do I need to know?" I ask.

  "There's nothing else you need to know," he says simply before squeezing me a little tighter. "Thank you for understanding, Chlo."

  I don't understand the purpose of secrets, and I'm tired of them. If I need to find something out, I have to do it myself.

  "You know what? After dinner, I'm taking you to a movie. Celia's staying the night anyway and I doubt she'll mind taking care of Sammy," Alex says with his best attempt at swaying my mind from where it’s planted.

  "Sounds good," I smile. It will take my mind off of things for a bit.

  ***

  After placing the last dish in the dishwasher, I walk out into the living room to wait for Alex to finish tucking Sammy in. I find myself staring at the window near the door with an odd feeling—a feeling as if I'm being watched again. I take a step closer to the door, and I come face to face with the two small lights shining into the window once again. Rather than yelling for Alex, I slowly pace toward the lights. If it’s me they want, they won't run. I reach for the door and wrap my hand around the knob. Sounds of jumbled whispers reverberate through the cracks of the door. I reach for the deadbolt but before I can twist it, Alex's hand slams firmly against the door above my head.

  "Wait," he says calmly.

  I look to the side window out of my peripheral view and see that the lights are gone. He scared them away. Without turning around, I say, "Why? What's wrong?" I attempt to sound calm enough to appear as though I didn't see the lights.

  "You forgot your coat. It's supposed to get down to fifty degrees tonight," he says, throwing my coat at me.

  I shake my hands in front of my face as if I were scared off by his statement. “Oooh fifty degrees. We should pull out our winter coats,” I joke. At least he didn't see the light. He reaches for the locks and opens the door, allowing me to walk out before him. Within only a couple of steps out, I see a shadow looming close in proximity.

  Does he see that too? I wonder.

  I look over at Alex to gauge his expression. But trying to assess his thoughts becomes unnecessary as the shadow begins to glow with a tiny light—one that's growing precipitously. Fear encompasses me and I wrap my hands around Alex’s bicep as I hide behind him. “What is it?”

  Alex groans, as if annoyed by the situation. He leans over, picks up a rock and throws it at the shadow. “Leave her alone,” he shouts.

  The rock bounces on the ground. The sound startles me and I blink. When my eyes reopen, the shadow and its light are gone.

  CHAPTER THREE:

  DEATH, BIRD, FAMILY

  “DAMN,” ALEX SAYS, slamming his hands against the steering wheel. “We’re not going to make it.” He turns up the volume on the radio and searches for the traffic station.

  “Twenty-car pileup on Interstate 5. Four mile backup,” were the only words I was able to make out through the annoying static. Looks like we’ll be sitting here for a while.

  “Sooo. What now?” I ask. Clearly, we’re not making the movie.

  “Now, we sit here.” He throws his head back against the headrest and rolls his eyes. The static gets louder, and he jams his thumb into the volume knob to shut off the radio.

  “What do you think that thing was?” I ask with hesitation. He’s pissed off now, and it’s not because of the traffic. It’s because these things or people, whatever they are, are winning at this game.

  “Your fears,” he says as if it should be an obvious answer.

  “I’m scared of a light?” I laugh a little.

  “You know, they aren’t going to hurt you here. You understand that, right?” The words make sense, but the meaning doesn’t. He puts the car in park and shifts his body to face me. “You know how we can drift into each other’s minds. That’s how we coexist here. Right?”

  “Yes. That part I understand. Somewhat.”

  “When you dream, your mind plays on your hopes and fears. When there is more fear in your life, your mind is clouded with more fear when you dream. Franco is your fear. The more he breaks you down, the more you are letting him in. And if you let him in far enough, he’ll brainwash you—he’ll capture the locket.”

  I’ve spent the last five years trying to understand the validity of living in a permanent drift. Alex tries to explain it to me over and over again, but I have trouble comprehending the realism versus the surrealism that only exists within the confines of my mind. Between Franco, the locket, and being followed by Franco for the locket, it’s all driving me past insanity to the point where I might be too sane to understand the insane.

  Franco and Alex are both real. I get that. One represents happiness. The other, fear. I’ve let Alex into my mind. He’s created the happiness. But I’ve also let Franco in, and he’s the evil who will eventually corrupt my mind, more than it already is. I can’t let him in any more than he already is. If I do, I’ll supposedly lose the locket—I’ll lose the ability to think for myself, as Alex tells me constantly.

  The one thing I am sure of, is that there will never be a cure, and I’ll forever be a prisoner of my own mind—whether that’s living happily, in fear, or both.

  “I won’t let him in,” I say, as if it were so simple.

  Alex sighs, and I see the sorrow fill his eyes. I hate that he feels bad for me. The look on his face tells me he doesn’t believe that I can control this element of fear that has taken up residency in my mind. I know I’m strong enough to make him go away. I have to be. “He’s an illusion here, nothing more. You and Sammy are safe. I promise.”

  It’s not my mind I’m worried about, it’s my physical state of being I fear for. Franco will find me. “Anything else you’d care to share?” I feel an awkward silence growing between us. I know he’s done with his brief explanation. He won’t tell me more than what is necessary for me to know, according to him.

  He nods his head dismissively, shooing off my irritated words. “I think I see the cars starting to move ahead.” He places the car back into drive and repositions his body toward the wheel.

  “Speaking of Sammy, did you take Thursday off?” I ask.

  “I did,” he says. “Anything you want to do?”

  I shrug. “Not sure. I have a few ideas though.” I’m trying to sound normal. Do I sound normal? Please don’t start interrogating me. We do this every year. Why can’t I fake excitement? It would be so much easier if I could. I could avoid this.

  “Chloe?” Guess I didn’t sound normal. I’m now wishing we weren’t stuck in traffic. I’m starting to feel claustrophobic in this car, even with all of the windows open.

  I clear my throat, trying again to sound normal. “I figured we could take him to the zoo and to dinner or something,” I say, keeping my eyes locked on the taillights in front of us.

  “Still having a rough time?” he asks, pinching his fingers around the muscle in my shoulder. He looks over at me briefly when the car comes to another stop.

  “Yes, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to do something nice for him. Let’s just drop it. Okay?” Just because I was robbed of what was supposed to be the most memorable moment of my life, doesn’t mean I should dwell on it every year. But I do. I’m a dweller. I’m sensitive, and painful memories stick to me like tar.

  “Hey.” He places his finger under my chin. “You’re both here. You’re both alive. That’s all that matters now. We should be celebrating that.” He pulls my hand from my lap and squeezes it within his. “Maybe it would help if you talked about it?” He thinks that will be the magic answer to these memories disappearing. It won’t help. I�
��ve refused to talk about this for the past three years. I know he’s not going to give up on me. We’re now stuck in a car in the middle of completely stopped traffic. He wants me to tell me him my story, and yet he won’t share any of his secrets with me.

  “Come on,” he whines a little. “Just tell me what happened. How about I never bring it up again if you tell me the story one time.” Part of me wants to say, you should have been there. If you had been, I wouldn’t have to retell this horrible story. But then the other part of me knows if he could have been there, there’s nowhere else he would have been. This torn world we both live in doesn’t always cooperate with our relationship.

  “Maybe it would help if you told me your secret first?” I cock my head to the side and raise my eyebrows. If only bribery could work so easily for me.

  “Hmm,” he says, scratching at his chin. “If I say, I’ll consider telling you part of it, will you tell me?”

  “I always have to negotiate with you.” I narrow my eyes at the side of his face. I know he can see the look I’m giving him out of his periphery.

  I’ve tried to spare him the details on the events surrounding Sammy’s birth. I wouldn’t wish what I went through on anyone—well, maybe someone. My mother. I’ve tried hard to forget. I’ve tried hard to pretend everything was perfect that day. However, it was nowhere near perfect or even good. The day your child is born should be the best day of any mother’s life, but it was the scariest for me.

  It was bad enough Charlie told me I had to stay put from thirty-five weeks on until Sammy was born. It wasn't safe for me to be mentally incapacitated for his birth. Understandably so.

  I was told that labor would likely start anytime between thirty-seven and forty-two weeks, which meant I had to be away from Alex for up to five weeks or so. Although, it ended up happening the day I reached thirty-seven weeks.

  I know this was a nightmare for him. What new dad would be okay with missing the birth of their child? He was sick about it.

  “Okay,” I say, with a deep exhale.

  “Really? You’re going to tell me?” He looks excited to hear this horror story. Probably because he doesn’t know how horrible it really was.