When Fully Fused

by Shari J. Ryan

  "I’ve already seen the picture inside, Alex. Nothing came back to me. It was a picture of an old couple in front of a rock. How would that trigger my memory?"

  "There's something else besides the picture in the locket."

  "Well, what is—" I stop talking when I see ten men, who all look similar in disposition, walk in. They're all in gray suits with weird matching copper wristbands. They spread out around the restaurant. Two of them are covering the exits, one is by the bathroom, three are in the ordering line, and two others sit at a booth near us. They're scoping out the surroundings, but they aren't looking at us. It's clear that we need to get by them without being recognized. I look up at Alex just enough to see the look on his face. His eyes widen and he mouths, "Go. Now."

  I grab his hand so he knows I’m not leaving without him. "Honey, I don't want McDonalds. I'm not eating anything here. How many times do I have to tell you that?" I shout, causing a dramatic scene.

  "Ah—but—Oh, I'm sorry. How could I be so stupid? I forgot you’re allergic to hamburgers," Alex plays along.

  "You didn't forget. You're just so damn selfish all the time. You knew I wouldn't eat anything here, and yet you still dragged me into this dump." I stand up, continuing my act. "I'll be waiting in the car for you. Go order your damn Big Mac and meet me outside," I say, walking toward the door with my head down.

  Alex stands up from the table and yells, "Baby, wait. I won't eat here if you don't want me to. We'll just go to Taco Bell. I'm sorry," he continues yelling, while racing after me.

  As I approach the door, one of the men in a gray suit moves to the side and lifts his hands in defense against the brutal five-foot-tall girl bombing through McDonalds with rage. I bust through the door, and I hear one of the men say, "Good luck, man," to Alex. Alex continues after me, yelling, "Baby wait, I'm sorry."

  We both make it outside and I hail a cab on the corner of the main street. After a minute or so of waiting for someone to pull over, a car pulls up and we both jump in. I see the men in gray suits exit McDonalds, noticing our departure in the cab, rather than the car I said I'd be waiting in.

  Alex tells the cab to step on it and go to Southborough through all of the back roads. The cab driver pulls a sharp U-turn and slides us around the backseat. We're heading down the main street in the opposite direction, weaving in and out of traffic, and driving through red lights as we finally pull off on a narrow side street.

  "No one's ever told me to step on it. That was fun," the cab driver says in an unidentifiable thick accent.

  We ignore the cab driver’s ignorance and look at each other. "Burger King?" I laugh.

  "I couldn't think of anything else on the spot." He laughs in return. "I can't believe you just pulled that off. I've underestimated your skills, Chloe." He puts his arm around my shoulders and pulls me into him.

  I know I can't ask what's in the locket while we're in the cab. Who knows what the driver will do, say, or think? We have no clue who's affiliated with Franco and who's not anymore. It's safer to assume everyone is.

  "We can do this. Get away," I whisper.

  Alex shakes his head with disagreement. “We can't change a future we've already seen. It's going to happen, Chloe. We just don't know when.” He lifts my hand from my lap and squeezes it in between his.

  "I don't believe it. We can change it." I sigh. Who makes these rules anyway? "Maybe you were just saying good-bye to Sammy and Celia because you had to go on some kind of police mission for a few days? They do that don't they, the police I mean?" He could be wrong. Maybe that’s what this is—a mistake. Confusion maybe.

  "That's not the case. I'm sorry, Chlo." He drops my hand and takes his hat off of his messy blonde curls. He leans his head back against the seat and closes his eyes.

  What could he have seen that showed him the end? Why has he been able to go all of these years without telling me? I would have told him. I think.

  "Where in Southborough do you need to go, sir?" The driver asks.

  "Chloe, what's your parents’ address?"

  "No. No way—absolutely not. Are you insane?" Besides, would that even be the same here? I suppose since she’s always popping up in my drift, it could be the same. That hellhole will never be welcome on any other street. That’s for sure.

  "Yes, now tell him the address, please," he says, maintaining his calm demeanor.

  I don't want to see my parents, plus, the last time I attempted to introduce Alex to my mom, she couldn’t see him, which means I will just be alone with them. I’d rather rot in hell. I’d rather go share a cell with Franco.

  I rake my fingers through my hair, frustrated and trying to think of an alternate solution. Nothing is coming to me, though.

  "Alex, please—"

  "Chloe, tell him. He's waiting," he says, becoming aggravated. I don’t see the need to involve my parents in this. I’m just giving that woman what she wants by running back to her. I feel defeated.

  "My address is 2452 Pine Street. It's off of Main Street," I say.

  "You two running from the cops or something?" The cab driver chuckles to himself.

  "I am a cop," Alex says with an intimidating attitude.

  I can see the driver's eyes widen into circular shapes, showing more of the white than his brown irises. I watch his Adam’s apple move up and down on his throat as he swallows hard. His left hand fidgets around on the console, covering something up as he clears his throat. He thinks we care right now, but he is the least of our problems. He could be chugging a bottle of booze right now and Alex wouldn’t care.

  We pull down the familiar streets in my neighborhood, filled with large colonials that belong to millionaires, mixed in with some old farmhouses. We take a left onto my street and drive by the neighboring houses. Everyone still has their Christmas lights up. In reality and in my drift, these damn lights always stay up until Easter.

  The driver pulls into my ripped up driveway and up to my white colonial house. I wish my parents would do something to fix this place up so it would match the other houses on the street.

  I fling myself out of the cab and instinctively look both ways to make sure no one has followed us. After Alex throws some money at the driver, he steps out with our two backpacks and meets me around the other side of the car. "I remember this place now," he says.

  “You remember my house?”

  “Yeah, we used to play here. Sometimes we went to my house, sometimes Celia’s, and sometimes here.” He shrugs as if it’s no big deal. But it is a big deal to me. I didn’t know he knew where I lived. I guess it doesn’t change anything. But gaining insight on more times I can’t remember, still infuriates me.

  I wonder if I found it embarrassing to live in an unkempt house then, too. I guess children don’t really have a sense of what’s nice and what isn’t—a temporary innocence that clouds their minds against such embarrassment. "I have the oldest, most run-down house on a street in the midst of all these mansions. It’s humiliating." I sneer at the peeling paint.

  "I think it looks cozy and homey," he smiles.

  Right. Exactly.

  Snow covers the driveway. It’s compacted down from tire marks. My dad gave up on shoveling years ago. When he lost his motivation to be happy, he stopped caring about everything. I remember that when the winters got hectic here, we’d get up to a couple of feet of snow on our driveway. Eventually, it got to the point where the mailman started leaving our mail in a plastic bag at the end of the driveway. I can’t say I blamed him. No one should have to wear knee high snow boots to walk up a driveway.

  “Sorry about the snow.” Neither of us is wearing boots. Alex has on his Converse Chucks, and I’m wearing ballet flats. I didn’t prepare well for this trip. I forgot how cold and miserable it is here. I look down at the pale exposed skin on the top of my feet, wondering how bad the cold will hurt when I step into the snow.

  Alex follows my gaze and laughs a little. He scoops me up in his arms and carries me to the front door. For a minute,
I’m caught up in the feeling of his embracing arms, remembering the first home we bought in South Carolina.

  We found this perfect little house right on the water. It was two floors, three bedrooms, and two bathrooms—a perfect starter house for a young family. I fell in love with the house as soon as we pulled into the driveway. Alex jumped out and pulled Sammy from the carseat.

  I stepped out of the car as Alex was running back toward me. He was so happy—a smile from ear to ear. He scooped me up and ran with me to the front door. He had to carry me over the threshold. We had lived in so many different places already, and this was going to be our first permanent residence. It was comforting to know we could call a place home. I would do anything to feel like that again. We only got to live there for a year until we moved back to San Diego because of the followers. But it was a great year.

  "Why are we here, Alex?" I ask, as he places me down on my feet in front of my parents’ front door.

  "I don’t think they’ll come here,” he says with an unsure look on his face.

  "This is the only place in the whole world that I’m safe? Are you joking?" Why wouldn’t they come here? This is a great place to come. Take my mother, do something with her.

  "Chloe, it's just until I can come up with a plan to keep us all safe, okay?" He grabs my hand to turn me around. "I want to believe that what I saw isn’t our fate, and I want to believe that there's still a way to change what I saw.” He rings the doorbell. “I just need to clear my mind." I just want to tell him how unsafe my mother really is. She’s a nutcase, psycho. Last time I saw her, she couldn’t even see Alex. So, this should play out well. This woman should not exist in my mind. I wish I could make her disappear here, at least. But everyone’s hopes, wishes, fears, and deaths live within the confines of their own heads. She’ll never disappear, not from my real life, not from my nightmares.

  "You know my mom can't see you, right? Remember when she found me in Paris and didn't know you were there?"

  "Hmm—" He takes in a slow breath. "It's okay. You can just pretend you're alone.” Well, that should be easy. That’s exactly how I feel right now. No one hates this woman as much as I do. Alex won’t have to deal with her, only I will. My stomach is churning at the thought of seeing the grimace on her face when she recognizes me. The hate in her eyes, the scowl on her lips. The disdain she holds for me, blaming me for her horrible life.

  I grunt as I reach for the doorknob. The door flings open and my mother is standing there with her arms out, crying. Her auburn hair is perfectly curled, her mint green eyes look rested with less wrinkles than I remember. She’s wearing perfectly fitted jeans and a white button down blouse. She looks good, but I won’t tell her that.

  She pulls me into the house and wraps her boney arms around my back. Has she lost weight? She looks like she must have lost twenty pounds or so. I wiggle out of her arms and take a couple of steps back. Alex makes his way up to where I'm standing, taking slow hesitant steps. But he could be doing jumping jacks and cartwheels right now and my mother wouldn't notice anything.

  "Alex," my mother says, pointedly.

  "Hello, Mrs. Valcourt. It's been a while."

  My mother opens her arms and walks toward Alex. He doesn't move, but she still wraps her arms around him tightly while he stands stiff as a board.

  "Mother? You can see Alex? But—I thought—I thought you couldn't see him. I thought you said he was just my imaginary friend? Now you can see him?" I ask, while wrapping my arms around Alex's arm.

  "I've always been able to see him," she says, inhaling sharply and pushing her bangs away from her right eye. "I figured if I showed you that he didn't exist, then he wouldn't. You shouldn’t exist here, Chloe. You need to come home. And Alex is keeping you in this world. I want my daughter back." Her eyes fill up with tears, and I can’t figure out the meaning of anything she is saying. I am home right now, and Alex isn’t keeping me anywhere.

  "You have real nerve putting me into an institution, pretending I’m crazy, that something is wrong with me. You’re just as screwed up as I am," I spew to her. I pull Alex toward the front door, forgetting why we're here. All of the reasons I never wanted to see her again are slapping me in the face.

  "Can I get you two some hot cocoa?" my mother asks in a kind voice I'm unfamiliar with. She completely ignored what I just said and seems unfazed by anything.

  "Hot cocoa? Do you even have such an artificial beverage in this house?" I ask snidely. I turn to open the door, but Alex wraps his hand around my wrist, pulling me toward him. I sigh heavily, knowing we aren’t leaving.

  I pull my coat off and drape it over the side of the couch. “Come on, Mother. Let’s hear more of your bullshit.”

  "Chloe, how many times can I apologize and tell you I want to change?" she says, reaching for my hand.

  I yank my hand out of her reach. "People don't change," I sneer at her. "Where is Dad?”

  “Your father does not exist in your drift,” she says with a look as if I just asked the most ridiculous question. “Chloe, do you still not understand how this works?”

  “How what works?” I whip my head to the side. “My own mind?” I think I know how that works. Bitch.

  “Those who appear in your drifts can also drift. Besides, no one wants him around anyway. We are no longer together. Our marriage has failed because of you, Chloe.”

  Because of me? This is so ridiculous I almost want to laugh. Trying to comprehend this, I have to assume that every person in this so-called imaginary world is real, but not in the form in which I see them? My own questions are being pieced together. I feel more knowledgeable and somewhat enlightened by this.

  “I know,” I lie.

  Her eyes narrow at me, seeing through my deception. ““Did you also know that your uncle has the ability to manipulate souls of the dead?” she says softly.

  Like, ghosts? Why is she whispering? Is she hoping Alex doesn’t hear? I’m pretty sure he has a right to know that we’re being chased around town by ghosts right now. They are also figments of my mind. Good to know. “Ghosts, huh?” I laugh a little.

  Her face drains of color, and her eyes go wide. “Things are different here, Chloe. The real life you chose to abandon does not have these entities of fear. Ghosts don’t exist in the real world, but they do in your mind. And you shouldn’t be foolish enough to think they can’t hurt you here. In your mind. Fears can always hurt you.“

  “Yup, sure, Mother,” I try to cover my growing anxiety with sarcasm.

  She glances over her shoulder into the living room and shrugs in that direction. "Okay, well I have company right now. So if I can't get you anything, will you excuse me for a moment while I tend to this kind gentleman in the other room?" She swallows hard and nudges her head toward the door. "He said he would only need a few minutes of my time. Once I can get him out of here, we'll have all the time in the world to catch up." She smiles and turns toward the living room.

  Alex follows her to the edge of the wall and peeks around the corner before flinging his body back against the wall. "Gray suit," he whispers.

  CHAPTER NINE:

  GRAY SUIT

  NO FAST FOOD restaurant, taxicab, or childhood home is going to protect us now. We're trapped, and I'm even willing to bet that more gray suits surround the house. It’s as if I’m being chased out of this world—this drift.

  As my mother walked back into the living room, I followed. I watched as it took the man less than a minute to have her hands roped. He threw her to the couch and stood in front of her with his arms crossed over his chest.

  "What do you want?" I ask the man.

  He looks down at his copper bracelet and huffs a breath of air onto it. "Look, hon, I was never really into killing people, but Franco has convinced me otherwise. I'm sure you can understand. This can really be quite simple. You give me the locket, and we all leave you alone to rest-in-peace." He laughs, while polishing the foggy copper with the inside of his gray suit.

  "I need
a moment to speak with my husband?" I say.

  "No. I don’t think so." He takes a step closer to me. "I'm trying to be nice right now. But you see, here in this world you created, Franco captures the souls of those he has killed and turns them into people like me. I’m angry that my life was taken from me. And to be quite honest, I couldn’t care less about sparing yours. I don’t have the ability to feel sympathy. You’re pleas will be in vain.” He isn’t real. Franco is just trying to get in my head. “So you see, in about ten seconds," he pauses and looks down at his watch, "I'm going to get a little less friendly." He looks at his watch again. "Do you get where I'm going with this?" His voice elevates into a high-pitched whiny voice.

  He isn’t real.

  He can’t hurt us.

  I look over at Alex with question. I’m not sure what to do. Part of me is frozen with fear. The other part really wants to believe that this person is in fact just a figment of my imagination.

  A nightmare.

  "I'll take you to the locket," Alex says through his gritted teeth.

  I look at him and shake my head, confused and wondering what he's doing. He's made it clear he won't give the location of the locket away.

  The gray suit readjusts his coat and cracks his neck to each side. He turns around and lifts the mug of coffee from the coffee table and takes a sip. "Mrs. Valcourt, thank you for your kind hospitality. I guess we'll all be going now," he says with a conniving smile.

  "Uh, I don't think so, sir. Why don't you have a seat here and we'll talk this through. I'm sure there's something we can do to work this out, other than the kids leading you to this superficial artifact." She slides her foot up the man’s leg, slowly and seductively. I want to throw up.

  He jerks his leg away from her and moves a few feet away with a disgusted look on his face. "I've said all I'm going to say, Mrs. Valcourt. It would be in your best interest to have a seat and leave us to our business."

  "You are absolutely not taking my daughter. Take him if you must." She nods her head in Alex's direction.

  Of course she would surrender Alex to him. She would feed him to a bunch of hungry wolves if she had the opportunity. That way she'd have me trapped again, and all to herself—maybe then she could lock me back up again.