by Karina Halle
I walked away from the line as quickly and calmly as I could and made a beeline to the women’s washroom.
As I burst through the door, I was relieved to see that it was empty, though the fact that it was a disgusting mess did nothing to stop the vomit that was threatening my throat. I rushed into an open stall and puked my guts up, seeing the half-digested remains of my mom’s roast pork splash into the bowl. It was enough to make me vomit again.
When I was done, I leaned against the cold metal door and caught my breath. The smell was gone, thank God, but the nausea still remained, coupled with the pains in my stomach. I sucked in my breath, trying to get air, keeping my hands on my abdomen. They felt like extreme period cramps but it wasn’t my time of the month yet. However, my last period was barely existent, so maybe my body was making up for it tenfold.
As the pain subsided enough for me to stand up straight, I left the dingy bathroom and went back into the chaotic noise of the venue. I ignored the drink line, not wanting to see the vampire-eyed, scary-toothed girl again, and went straight to Ash. It took a few moments to locate him in the sprawling mess of sweaty limbs, tattoos and piercings, so by the time I did, the pain was just as intense as before.
He looked crestfallen at my empty hands but that quickly turned into concern.
“Perry, are you OK?” he asked. He put his hand on my shoulder and squeezed it.
I shook my head and leaned against him, the pain so intense that I was having trouble standing up.
“Can you drive me home?” I squeaked, my eyes pinched closed.
“Of course,” he said eagerly, putting his long arm around me and ushering me outside of the building.
What transpired next was one of the longest car rides of my life. I didn’t live that far from the venue, but the pain was so bad that I was biting the edge of my seatbelt to keep from crying out. Several times Ash was adamant that he take me to the hospital but I stubbornly refused. I just needed to be home where I could be in pain without being a bother to anyone except the people I’m normally a bother to.
I said my goodbyes to a persistent Ash, telling him I’d see him at work tomorrow. I doubted it, though. I barely made it to the front door.
“You’re home early,” my mother said to me from her armchair in the living room, where she was flipping through a house magazine and sipping a steaming cup of tea. I stumbled past her, clutching my stomach, heading for the stairs.
“I don’t feel well,” I managed to say through grinding teeth.
“You drink too much?” she chided me.
I barely heard her. I leaned against the post at the base of the stairs, unable to make my way up.
“Perry? What is it?”
She joined me at my side and smoothed the hair away from my face and put her hand against my forehead.
“You’re burning up. Did something happen? When did this start?”
“What’s going on?” I heard Ada say from the top of the stairs.
I don’t remember what happened next, so perhaps I fainted. Next thing I knew I was lying in my bed, curled up in a ball on my side, with someone trying to take my boots off.
“Perry? Can you hear me?” It was my father. I lifted my head as much as I could, still reeling from the cramps, the hot little knives that cut away at my ovaries, and looked around my room. My mother was rushing in the door with a bunch of pill bottles in her hand and water. Ada was bent over untying my laces and my father was standing in the corner, arms crossed, worried but stern.
“Where does it hurt?” he asked in a no-nonsense voice. “Were you drugged?”
“No,” I whispered painfully. “I wasn’t drugged. It’s cramps. I’ve never had such bad cramps before.”
If my dad was the eye-rolling type, his own would have shot up to the ceiling.
“Just cramps?”
“Hey!” Ada snarled at him. “You have no idea.”
He looked both embarrassed and taken aback. He glanced at my mother but she just nodded.
“Ada’s right, honey,” she said softly, then came to my side and peered at my face. “Just be glad you don’t suffer from them because when they are bad, they are really bad.”
“These are scary bad, mom,” I said. My hand clutched around the corner of my pillow as another wave of pain rushed through me.
“How is your period? Are you bleeding more than normal?”
“That’s it, I’m out of here,” my dad said quickly, and left the room. For a theology professor, he really wasn’t very mature when it came to the female body. Or maybe that was par for the course.
Ada sighed in disgust. “Grow up, dad, jeez.” She removed my other boot and told us she was going to go find the hot water bottle.
I tried to ignore the pain by concentrating on my mom’s face as she fiddled with a pill bottle’s stubborn childproof cap. Even though it was a quiet Saturday night at home, she still looked as elegant as ever. She was dressed in a black jumpsuit, with a mint-colored Celtic shawl wrapped around her. Her face was lined with worry (it usually was whenever I was around), her light blonde bangs brushing the edges of her clear blue eyes. She looked every inch the Swede she was, yet at the same time, her face looked strangely familiar. Not familiar in the “d’uh, she’s my mother and has been for 23 years” kind of familiar, but that “I’ve seen someone lately who looks like her” kind of way. Of course, in my pain-riddled mind, I couldn’t begin to imagine who that could be.
She wrestled two ibuprofens out of the container and handed them to me. “This should help with the pain; it might take a while though.”
I took the pills with a grateful smile and drank a heap of water to wash them down, hoping they wouldn’t come back up again. It was strange that I was so nauseous earlier and wasn’t now. Strange that the meat smell followed me into the club. I shuddered at the thought of the woman I saw.
“Are you cold?” my mother asked, tucking the blanket around me tightly.
I wasn’t; in fact, I’d been especially warm lately, but I smiled and nodded anyway. It sounds sad but my mother rarely doted on me, so sick or not, I was going to get as much attention from her as I could.
“You haven’t been well for some time,” she said gently, and patted my arm. “I know you’re going through a rough time, but things will get better. You’ll get a better job and you’ll find love with someone good. You’ll find your way, pumpkin.”
My mother was being uncommonly nice. I frowned at her, trying to figure out what her deal was, but she paid no attention. She straightened up and clapped her hands together. “I’ll put on some chicken noodle soup for you.”
“Lipton,” I croaked after her as she left the room. “Or else I’ll have to pick out those gross chicken chunks.”
After she left, I gritted my teeth until my jaw began to hurt and eventually drifted off to sleep. I was soon awakened by a presence nearby. Ada must have been back in the room with me.
“Did you find the hot water bottle?” I mumbled into my pillow, not wanting to move or open my eyes.
I heard the door shut and felt Ada’s presence move toward me. She stopped at the foot of the bed.
Stopped.
And waited.
I could hear her breathing; it was low and ragged, like her lungs were filled with loose stones.
“Ada?” I asked again. “What are you doing?”
When she didn’t respond, I opened my eyes and raised my head in her direction.
There was no one there.
The door was closed but Ada wasn’t in my room. I was alone.
The back of my neck was enveloped in icy prickles. I had just heard someone, heard them breathing as clear as day.
“Hello?” I asked timidly, my voice sounding extra small. There was this indescribable feeling around me, my bedroom blanketed by a heavy, eerie vibe. Everything looked normal, except the air near the lamp in the corner seemed to bend and warp, like a sheet of moving plastic.
I rubbed my eyes and sat up slowly. I trie
d to focus on the anomaly until my eyes adjusted and everything looked fine again.
“Ada,” I said loudly, hoping she’d hear me wherever she was in the house. “Did you close my door?”
I waited for a response, waited to hear the breathing again. I held my own breath.
The doorbell rang, its clang causing my heart to seize. I gasped, surprised and thoroughly spooked.
It rang again.
And again.
Then stopped.
My alarm clock on my bedside table said it was 11:42 at night. Who on earth was ringing our doorbell at this hour? Was it Ash?
Rebecca?
Someone… else?
I felt a tightness in my chest at that last thought and carefully eased myself out of the bed and over to the window. I peered though it onto the driveway below. The motion detector lights weren’t on and I couldn’t see a car or anyone out there. I listened, hearing the front door open and my mother saying “hello?” into a darkness that didn’t answer back.
There was a single knock at my own door. I cried out, my heart hammering wildly, and spun around to see a shadow sliding underneath the door and into my room.
“Ada?”
Another knock. My door shook from its singular impact.
“Mom?” Now my voice was shaking.
Another knock, louder this time, as if to shut me up.
“Um, come in?”
I walked over to it, taking silent, slow steps, listening for whoever was on the other side. Whoever it was had knocked three times.
I heard that breathing again.
I paused in mid-stride, then took one more step until I was up against the door. I reached for the handle in slow motion, hesitating before placing my hand on it, afraid of what I might find on the other side. I was always afraid of what I might find on the other side. I knew better now than to chalk up anything strange as pure paranoia.
If I thought there was a monster in my closet, there probably was a monster in my closet.
My eyes flitted to the shadow on the floor. As if to prove my point, the shadow slowly eased back under the doorframe until it was gone.
It was time to find out what was going on.
I grabbed the handle and flung the door open…
Ada was at the very end of the hallway near my parents’ bedroom, the red hot water bottle jostling in her hands.
“I found it!” she yelled at me. “I got the tap water running until it was pretty hot. What’s wrong?”
I shook my head. “Were you just in my room?”
“No, I’ve been looking for this in mom’s closet. Why?”
She came toward me and placed the bottle in my hand. It was hot and soothing and just holding it, and having Ada and her slender company, made my heart beat slower to a comfortable level.
“I thought I heard someone knocking on my door.”
She scrunched up her forehead, the day’s waning makeup crusting a little at the corners.
“I know I heard the doorbell ring three times.” She turned to the stairs and shouted down them, “Mom! Who was at the door?”
“I don’t know, sweetie,” came the response from the kitchen. She sounded a little put out. “Kids playing nicky nicky nine doors, maybe.”
I exchanged a look with Ada. At eleven o’ clock at night? In this neighborhood? both our eyes seemed to be saying.
My mom appeared and came up the stairs with a tray containing a hot bowl of chicken noodle soup (no chicken chunks), a glass of orange juice and a bottle of Nyquil.
I eyed the NyQuil. “You trying to drug me, mom?”
“It’s to help you sleep. Get back in bed, Perry,” she said, and shooed me into my room. I did as she said and placed the hot water bottle on my pelvis. The cramps had already died down a bit thanks to the pain meds. I swallowed the sticky plastic cup full of NyQuil, hoping the stuff would make me pass out. My mind was racing and it needed to be put to rest. I was hearing things and seeing things, most likely brought on by my delirious pain of earlier. Most likely.
When my mom left, Ada sat on the bed beside me, her long legs folded up until her chin rested on her knees. I felt safer having her there. Maybe she knew that.
“Today totally sucked, right?” she said.
“Right,” I said, sinking deeper into the mattress. It was a fucking weird day. First Rebecca appears randomly, stirring all these feelings I wanted to keep at bay. Then the incident in the club, the vomiting, the cramps, followed by thinking someone was in my room and nicky nicky nine doors.
“Your friend Ash was nice to drive you home.”
“He’s a nice guy.”
“Do you, like, like him like him?”
I smiled. “Like him, like him? No. He’s too young for me.”
I sensed Ada tensing up. I turned my head to look at her. Her eyes were bright and shiny. Oh dear.
“Is he young enough for me?”
“Hell no. He’s twenty. And you’re still fifteen.”
“Only for a few more months,” she protested.
“And you have a boyfriend,” I pointed out. She had been going out with this Layton fellow for the past few months. I’d met him. I wasn’t impressed. Especially when he called me “Ghoul Girl” and threw up the gangster symbol.
“I don’t know,” she said wistfully. “Sometimes I think I don’t like Layton anymore. He just doesn’t get me, you know. I want a guy who gets me.”
“Oh, I know,” I told her, feeling drowsier by the second.
“He thinks my fashion stuff is stupid. He thinks I should be a cheerleader, but I think cheerleaders are stupid. Cuz they are. And he won’t take no for an answer.”
I eyed her carefully, speaking through a thick, dry mouth. “What do you mean he won’t take no? Is he pressuring you to have sex?”
Her cheeks flamed and I knew the answer was yes. Ever since I had found condoms in Ada’s drawer, I thought she was already having sex. The fact that she wasn’t brought a wave of relief to my tired soul.
“Ada, the guy is not for you. Not only should he respect your wishes, but he sounds like a douchebag. And believe me, I know douchebags. You need someone who likes you no matter what. Your fashion, your ideas, your blog, your scary mood swings, your secret love of Japanese pop music and your aversion to physical activity. Everything.”
She looked at me with shy eyes. “I just want to be liked for me.”
Her honesty pinched my heart. “I know. Everyone does.”
“Have you ever had that? Had someone who liked you for everything that you are? You know, without shady motives?”
I gave her a sad, drug-induced smile. “No. I haven’t.”
Her face fell. It matched the sinking feeling in my heart.
“But it doesn’t mean I won’t,” I added with some sincerity.
“Even when they find out about your…um, powers?”
It was startling to hear her address my ghost-hunting business as powers, especially in such a serious tone of voice, but I guess she wasn’t all that wrong.
“Well. Now I’m thinking twice,” I joked, almost slurring.
Ada opened her mouth to say something and then slowly shut it. She pursed her lips and let out a deep breath through her nose. There was something else on her mind.
“What is it?” I asked lazily. Sleep was just seconds away.
“What if…what if I’m just like you?”
What the hell is that supposed to mean, I thought and fought to say it out loud to her. But my mouth was too weak to form words. My eyes closed and the formidable pull of slumber won.
CHAPTER THREE
Despite the bouts of pain that still stabbed me from time to time, I managed to show up to work the next afternoon, much to the surprise of Ash and Shay.
“Honey, if you want to go home, go home,” Shay said to me as I put on my apron. “Ash said you were almost dead.”
I rolled my eyes and looked at Ash. “It wasn’t that bad.”
“Perry, you nearly chewed
through my seatbelt,” he said, widening his eyes believingly at Shay.
“Your seatbelt is from 1982,” I told him. “It’s old.”
“Hey, I’m from 1982,” Shay cried out. Shay wasn’t old by any means. With her bubbly personality, youthful Pakistani complexion and round face, Shay looked younger than I did. She was also the nicest boss ever, providing you didn’t get on her bad side.
“1982? Nah, you mean 1992,” I said, covering up smoothly.
Shay shook her head and let out a laugh. “OK, Scary Perry, if you say you’re fine, then I believe you. You certainly act fine.”
The fact was I was faking it. The medication made me tired and even though it dulled the pain, it was still there. It’s a strange sensation to feel the throbbing but not the pain. It couldn’t be a good thing; my body surely knew that something was amiss in my nether regions. The only good thing I had going for me was that I got a fine sleep thanks to the Nyquil and I didn’t have to ride my motorbike Put-Put to work; my dad had a meeting at a church and said he’d drop me off. Both my parents were OK with me staying home but I could see I made my dad just a little bit proud when I told them I’d manage and that making a living was more important.
Unfortunately, it wasn’t total bullshit.
Anyway, I was soon sucked into the world of lattes and cash machines and overpriced pastries while trying to keep my cramps at bay. The distractions were certainly helping and I was almost grateful for the dude who spilled the entire container of milk on the fixings counter.
I was crouched down wiping the spill up from the floor with a wet rag when I heard a voice emanate from near the cashier.
“Pardon me, ma’am, would there be a Perry Palomino here?”
For the second time in two days, my heart skipped a beat and then froze.
I kept low and pivoted in time to see Shay behind the counter, pointing my way. In front of her was a very tall, very well-built man dressed in hiking boots, faded jeans and a green checkered shirt underneath a tan leather jacket.
He didn’t have to turn his ginger head in order for me to know his eyes would match his shirt exactly. But he did and looked right at me.
