Lynn steps out of bathroom, already dressed. She leans forward and kisses me on the lips. She doesn’t care about my morning breath; now that’s love.
“Hey, not fair, I'm not even awake...” I protest. My make-out session with Akasha has become a distant dream.
“Whoever said I liked to play fair? This is the perfect time to take advantage of you.”
Lynn is about to kiss me again, but then she pauses. Her gaze fixes on me and now I’m worried. Did Akasha’s attentions leave some sort of mark? I don’t remember noticing anything the night before...
“What is it?” I ask, dreading the answer.
“You better see for yourself,” Lynn says.
I get out of bed and rush into the bathroom. As I flick on the light, I spot the three small marks that caught Lynn’s attention. They aren’t hickeys, as I feared, though they are on my neck. They vaguely recall love bites but the discoloration is different. It takes me a second before I figure it out. The brown-yellow spots are burn marks, as if my skin made contact with a hot metal surface and donated some skin in the process. How did I sustain these injuries without noticing them sooner?
I probe the marks with my fingers and wince. The skin is sensitive to the touch. I should apply some burn cream if I want to avoid scarring.
Lynn appears behind me in the mirror. “What happened?”
I lamely offer up a bullshit theory. “I must’ve burned myself taking a shower at the gym.”
I wish I had a real answer, but all I can think of is the cryptic message on Akasha’s Blaze profile.
Love burns you when it’s hot.
6
Once again I’m facing the operating table and gearing up to make my first incision into the cadaver. It’s the same body from the day before, the young man who was struck down in his prime.
“Today we’ll be focusing on head and neck anatomy...” Dr. Wallace says, but I’m not paying attention.
Lynn reaches for the mask that covers the corpse’s features and begins to remove it. I’m about to see the face of the dead man we’ve carved up in the name of higher education. To my horror, the visage staring back at me is all too familiar.
I’m looking at Josh.
His skin is a darkened mass of burnt tissue but those haunted eyes belong to my brother. It gets worse as the charred death mask turns toward me. I cry out and recoil, dropping the surgical blade. It clatters to the stone floor of the classroom, echoing.
Panic explodes in my chest and I’m unable to catch my breath. A hand touches my shoulder. It’s Wallace. A concerned frown furrows his brows. “Are you okay, son?”
Good question. If the experiences of the last few days are any indicator, the answer is a resounding no. My eyes drift back to the corpse. The lifeless features are those of a stranger. The stares of Lynn and the other students are mortifying. Their expressions range from pity to surprise to dark amusement.
I trade a quick glance with Lynn. I spot the love and concern in her gaze and I feel like a shit for my behavior last night. I inhale sharply and eye Dr. Wallace.
“Take the afternoon off,” he says. “It happens to the best of us.”
I nod and leave the anatomy classroom. Lynn’s worried gaze follows me all the way. She wants to come after me, but I wave her off.
Everything’s okay, babe.
I’m lying.
I head to the cafeteria and order a coffee while I wait for the class to let out. I sip the bitter brew, which goes down like a cup of ashes. Forty minutes later, Lynn joins me.
“What happened?” she asks.
Good question. What did happen?
“I think I need to get some rest. Too many nights of burning the midnight oil. It’s starting to catch up to me.”
Lynn studies me with a doubtful expression, not quite convinced.
“You sure you’re okay?”
“I’m fine.”
“Let’s do something fun tonight,” she says. “How about we plan a real date?”
“Sounds like a great idea.”
It’s been way too long since we’ve gone out.
“I’ll come up with something,“ Lynn says. “Be ready by eight.”
I relax. Despite a crazy study schedule that doesn’t leave much room for romantic outings, Lynn is going to carve out a window of time. Because she knows we need it.
God, I love this girl.
The plan for the rest of the day is simple. I’m going to study my ass off. If I’m going to have fun tonight, I must maintain my focus and clear some work off my plate. I head to the library and find a quiet corner where the world can forget I exist. A place where knowledge and science dominate and the twisted soap opera of my life will seem small and insignificant.
For the first two hours I make excellent progress. A quiz is coming up in my biology class and I want to be prepared. My grade-point average is solid, if not spectacular. I flunk one test and it could jeopardize my academic future. I can’t slack off or use tragedy as an excuse for failure.
My cell phone chimes. One glance at it and reality comes crashing down on me. Akasha is Facebook messaging me again.
“What are you up to?”
I eye the message, phrased innocently enough. I thought that after what happened last night, we’d be done. I guess I was wrong. I break down and respond to this latest communication.
Me: “Doing homework.”
Akasha: “Need any help?”
Cute response, and I almost smile. Akasha waits for a beat before sending the next message.
“When can I see you again?”
I can no longer sugarcoat this. Better to be honest and direct.
I type: “I don't think that would be a good idea. I told you, I have a girlfriend.”
“Where was your girlfriend when you made out with me last night?”
Akasha logs off and I stare at my cell in silence.
Outside it’s snowing again. White clumps of melting ice drift down the glass pane and I’m glad that I’m indoors. I turn off my phone and plan to get some work done.
Around five I call it quits and brave the weather. I leave the library and catch the F-train back into Queens. It takes another forty minutes to arrive in Briarwood, but I get lucky and manage to snag a seat. I continue to study my flash cards while the train rattles its way through the bowels of Manhattan and over the streets of Queens.
I switch on my phone again and am relieved to not find any messages from Akasha. I check in with Lynn and she tells me to meet her at one of her favorite hole-in-wall Thai places in Queens. We’re going to dodge the Manhattan commute and keep things local tonight. I can only stomach one trip into the city per day, especially during the winter months. Rain is coming down in raw, cold sheets as I emerge from the subway station. I make a mad dash for my apartment building which is only a block away from the station. It’s impossible to not get wet, even though I’m moving pretty fast.
When I reach the entrance, I go stock-still.
Someone is waiting for me below the front awning.
Akasha.
Her dress is soaked and pasted to her beautiful figure, leaving little to the imagination. There’s a trace of anger in my voice as I address her. “What the hell are you doing here?”
A sob escapes from Akasha's throat and I realize tears are mixing with the melted snow on her face. She is hugging herself and shaking in the icy downpour. A pitiful sight.
Seeing her vulnerable like that dampens my anger and I feel like a shit for going off on her. I pop the door open and say, “You better come in before you catch pneumonia.”
She faces me from behind a curtain of cold tears and nods. I hold the door open for her and she brushes past, her wet skin grazing mine. The contact is electric. Alarm bells go off inside my head, but I choose to ignore them.
Ten minutes later, Akasha sits in my kitchen, a towel wrapped around her soaked shoulders. A teakettle heats on the stove and I’m about to make some tea for us.
I eye Akasha
with trepidation as I notice the curves outlined under the wet material of her clothes. For a second, Akasha’s eyes fix on me, catching me in the act. But from the way she smiles, it seems she doesn’t mind being inspected. Letting her up here was a bad idea.
“I like your place,” she says.
“Thanks.”
“You live with a roommate?”
I nod, perhaps a little too quickly. “Yeah.
“Where is he?”
“Cyrus is still at work.”
“I guess there's no one here to interrupt us.”
“There's nothing to interrupt.”
Akasha rises and the towel drops to the floor. I can see the outline of her breasts under her wet T-shirt and this confirms what I’ve suspected since I first saw her outside my building – she’s not wearing a bra.
“I wonder what Lynn would think if she found me here?”
There’s an edge in my voice as I respond. “How do you know my girlfriend's name?”
“Relax. She doesn't know about us.”
“What are you talking about? There’s no ‘us’ to know about.”
“You could've fooled me the other night. I loved the way you kissed me.”
She takes another step toward me. The water makes her clothes cling to her shapely figure in a primal way. This is getting out of hand.
“What are you doing?”
“What do you want me to do?”
Mere inches separate us. It would be so easy to reach out, tear those clothes off and take her right here and now. I know she wants me to, but I can’t do this to Lynn.
Akasha presses her body into mine. “I know you feel the same way,” she says. “I can see it in your eyes. Why fight it?”
Why? Because there’s an amazing gal out there who cares about me. And I don’t want to break her heart. I can’t risk my relationship for the sake of a fleeting experience with a hot but emotionally unbalanced girl. I grow resolute. I’m not going to succumb to temptation.
“Listen, you better leave. If you need me to call you a cab, I will.”
I see the stunned look on Akasha’s face and I’m worried. Is this what happened with Josh? Did he push her away after he realized she was bad news? Did he pay the ultimate price for his rejection?
“Who do you think I am?” There’s an undertone of menace in her voice. “Someone you can just kick out once you're done with me?“
Her gaze is distant and it feels like she is reliving some other past, talking about another guy, another relationship. How often has this been her story? One-night stands that started hot and heavy but ended with her being shown the door?
That does it. I snap. My anger is fueled by fear. Something is wrong with this girl, and I can’t stop thinking about Josh’s dying gasp and the terror in his eyes as he mouthed his final message – her name.
The reason I contacted Akasha has gotten lost in the course of this seductive game, but I won’t lose sight of it again. “I tried to be a nice guy, but you don't seem to get it. I have a girlfriend. I don't know what your problem is, but I want you out of here. Now.”
Her eyes narrow into slits and become intense, blazing with emotion. Beads of perspiration bloom on my face. The heat in the apartment appears to be rising.
Then the moment passes and the same vulnerability I saw earlier, in the rain, creeps back into her face.
“Don't you like me, Mark? Just a little?”
Before I can come up with the proper response, the fire alarm goes off. The sound is sharp and shrill. I search the kitchen for a sign of smoke or anything else that could have set off the alarm. I don’t detect any visible cause.
I rush over to the alarm. Seeing no other choice, I pop out the battery. The noise dies down.
I whirl back to Akasha...
But she is gone. It’s a small apartment so it doesn’t take long to be sure she isn’t hiding somewhere.
I open the front door and poke my head out to peer down the now empty hallway. There is no sign of Akasha.
7
It’s past eleven when I park the Honda near my Briarwood pad. I get lucky and find a spot a few feet from the main entrance. My life is a bit of an emotional rollercoaster at the moment, but it seems my parking karma remains solid.
I approach my place and almost expect to find Akasha waiting for me again but the front lobby is deserted.
As soon as I’m in my apartment, I slam a Red Bull and attack the books. Unfortunately, the energy drink only buys me thirty minutes before my concentration wavers and my eyes grow heavy. I decide to catch a power nap. I allow myself only thirty minutes. Setting an alarm on my phone, I close my eyes.
When I open them again, a quick glimpse at the clock reveals it’s 4 a.m. I’ve been out for four hours. So much for the alarm! I sense shadowy movement in the darkness and conclude I’m not alone. I lie on my bed, senses alert, heart hammering away, uncertain what to do next. A sound from the corner of the room draws my attention.
I bolt upright, adrenaline surging. Wide-awake now. My eyes bore into the dark and I make out Akasha looming at the foot of the bed, gazing down at me.
“Why don't you like me?”
She is crying now. Tears slide down her cheeks and hit the floor in what seems like slow motion. They ignite like napalm upon contact. In a sudden flash, I find myself surrounded by a ring of fire. The flames flicker hungrily.
I’m shocked to discover that my body is paralyzed as the roaring inferno tightens around me. I want to scream for help, but solely manage a croak. This is what must have happened to Josh.
And it’s about to happen to me.
My prediction comes true a beat later as the fire engulfs the bedspread. Within seconds the pillows, comforters and sheets are engulfed in roaring flames.
As the blaze devours my flesh, I let out a piercing scream...
* * *
My eyes snap open and the scream becomes a gasp for air as I jerk awake. I’m covered in sweat, my T-shirt sticking to me like a second skin. My eyes tick back and forth, scanning the room.
There’s no fire.
No sign of Akasha.
I shake off the last vestiges of sleep and it all sinks in. It was just a nightmare.
I take a deep breath, wishing I was at Lynn’s place where I could roll over and cling to the reassuring physicality of another human being. But the bed, like the room, is empty.
It’s barely five o’clock. Great. I have a quiz in a few hours. Might as well just stay up and hit the books.
I climb out of bed and stagger toward my bathroom. I flick on the light and squint under the harsh glare. I lean over the sink to splash water on my face. My body is trembling, still affected by the horror of the dream.
I peer up at my reflection and freeze.
The mirror reveals a disturbing sight. The blackened outline of a hand’s imprint has burned itself into the doorjamb behind me.
I turn and inspect the handprint. The charred wood is still hot to the touch and leaves black marks on my fingertips. A wave of dread washes over me and this time I know it’s not a dream.
8
Daylight streams into my bedroom, a sharp reminder that I overslept. My ambitious plan to get some studying done in the early hours of the morning never materialized. Despite my experience in the bathroom, I managed to fall asleep again. A soon as my head hit the pillow, I was out cold. Maybe the world has become too much to handle. Sleep offers a much-needed refuge from the horror.
Now that I’m awake, reality comes crashing down on me with a vengeance. Besides this whole Akasha weirdness, quizzes are coming up and papers are due. I’m going to have to catch up somehow.
I get up and stagger to my desk. The plan is to take a quick glance at the news before hitting the shower, but I end up on Facebook perusing Akasha’s page. I notice that something about her profile has changed.
While I’m bad with names, I have a knack for remembering numbers and dates. I guess it’s just the weird way my brain works. Ask me to
identify some actor by name and I couldn’t answer to save my life, but I can quote you the weekend grosses of the latest blockbuster movie.
This allows me to pick up on the change in the profile. Akasha added a new friend since I last checked. She now counts 40 friends, not 39. I wonder who the lucky guy might be.
As I scan the list, I ask myself who’s becoming obsessed with whom.
The newcomer is a smiling black man whose name is David Smith. He appears to be in his mid-twenties, as far as I can tell, and I’m struck by a disturbing thought.
I Google Akasha’s new friend and get three hits for multiple news stories posted within the last few hours. David Smith perished in a fiery wreck on Queens Boulevard after losing control of his vehicle. I view the news-footage with shaking hands and realize the accident happened three blocks from the Starbucks where I met Akasha the other day.
* * *
The plan is to skip my quiz. I know Lynn will be worried, so I send her a quick text promising to explain everything once I see her. The news of Robert’s death shakes me to the core. The fact that he died in a fire and ended up on Akasha’s friend list can’t be a coincidence.
I study the list and a chill dances up my spine. One by one, I type the names of her friends into Google. A terrifying theory is soon confirmed.
First is Mike Wells, a handsome fellow in his late twenties. I try not to get sidetracked by details and skim the man’s profile. I punch in his name in my Google search box and it doesn’t take long to find what I was dreading to discover. Mike’s picture smiles back at me from a news article. His cheerful disposition stands in sharp contrast to the text. “Young man perishes in MYSTERIOUS FIRE.”
After six more names and a series of similarly fiery deaths, I’m ready to call it quits. Each story is nearly identical to the last. The only differences are the changing pictures of the dead and slight variations in the facts of the case. Forty men have died in unexplainable fires over the course of the last ten months.
Soul Mate Page 4
