by Jaime Reed
“You really got the staff around here spooked. Even the police in this town freeze up at the mention of your name. Any particular reason?” Ruiz asked.
“My grandpa is a very influential man and he enjoys scaring people, including us. Not a good idea to step on his toes.”
He gave a shrewd nod. “So I hear. Must be comforting having so many powerful people backing you. You can get away with just about anything.”
“Mr. Ruiz, just out of curiosity, why are you called the Cuban Necktie?” I asked, remembering what Caleb had told me at the party.
With a wry grin, he answered, “Because I’m Cuban and I have the reputation of being cutthroat when I need to be.” He left it at that, some clever anecdote everyone in the room got but me.
I caught Mom giving him the eye during the interview, adding an extra flip of her hair whenever she interrupted him. Her efforts brought a smile to his stern features, and his line of questioning took a detour into her marital status.
I guessed stubborn people attract each other. If I hadn’t been strapped to the bed by IVs, I would’ve given them some privacy. After twenty minutes of the sickest flirting contest I’d ever witnessed, the detective left defeated with promises of a rematch.
And the Awkward Train just kept on rolling.
Dad swung by to check on me, which led to another Caleb-bashing session. He figured Caleb’s vegetable state was a fitting punishment for endangering his baby girl yet again.
To make matters worse, he’d brought his shrew of a wife, Rhonda, who looked as though she’d been dragged there by knifepoint. She made a show of concern, but the disdain wafting off her body was enough to choke a horse. The woman couldn’t stand me, but her contempt was exacerbated by her belief that I harbored bad juju, which made her visit blissfully brief.
Dad brought the twins with him as well, dishing out a mouth-watering treat for Lilith. She loved the pure, concentrated energy children produced, which my siblings owned in abundance. I watched the six-year-olds nap in one of their brief breaks from anarchy. Kyle curled up in the chair in the corner, snoring with his mouth open. Kenya leaned on her brother, wearing a Princess Tiana costume that she refused to take off, a stubbornness I would’ve never gotten away with growing up. Dad was getting soft with his old age.
I didn’t get to see my brother and sister as often as I should. Much like this meeting, they mysteriously fell asleep after the first hug. This strange occurrence only Lilith and I could explain, and our silence added another brick to the growing wall between Dad and me. Though Lilith recognized Dad’s presence, with the right amount of concentration I could use her “powers of persuasion” to cool his temper. It had gotten me out of binds before; why fix what isn’t broken?
“I think it’s a bit strange that so many ‘accidents’ are happening in Williamsburg.” Dad strolled in front of my bed and continued his cross-examination. “First one of your classmates, then your mother, your coworker, and now this. A lot of odd events this past summer, and they all occurred right around the same time you started seeing that boy.”
Here we go. Dad had some serious Angus beef with my boyfriend, and he needed to get over it. Gathering what little strength I had, I sat up straight. “Daddy, don’t blame Caleb. We’re all victims in this.”
He swept a meaty hand across his bald head. “All I know is that something happened to you, something strange. Not just your eye color—which the doctors still can’t explain, by the way—but your whole demeanor. You’re like a different person.” He reached inside his suit jacket and pulled out a folded pamphlet. “Samara, there’s a psychologist in Alexandria who specializes in abnormal cases of post-traumatic stress,” he began, waiting for my reaction.
I didn’t say a word, but stared at the worn brochure in his hand and wondered how long he’d been holding on to it.
“I know you think you’re fine, but it’s clear that you’re not. When I met your friend Nadine, the first thing I noticed about her were her eyes. And you have the exact same pair. The mind is a powerful thing, baby girl, and I believe that your change is a physical sign of your grief. Now this specialist handles all sorts of anomalies: women who miscarry but still have all the effects of pregnancy, twins who share physical symptoms of their siblings, people who claim to have stigmata, and so on. Now these sessions are completely confidential and ... just think about it, okay?”
“What if I can’t be fixed, Dad? Are you gonna have me committed like Grandpa tried to do? I don’t want any more tests, blood work, or pills thrown at me. I just want to be normal. So please, just let me.”
Fear and disappointment gripped his face for a moment. I wasn’t sure what had caused that look, my secrecy or my quantum leap into adulthood, but he seemed to think I was a stranger.
He glanced back and forth between me and his other two children as if comparing our differences, not in complexion, but age. The twins had just started first grade and I was about to graduate, a lengthy gap that Dad had trouble measuring. He’d never looked as resigned as he did in that instant, demoted from his proud station as protector and provider.
I reached out and pulled him closer. His big body covered what little room was available on the bed. His hands dwarfed mine as dark brown fingers enclosed them. He had a way of making me feel small and delicate by proximity alone.
“I’m the same ol’ Sam, Daddy. It’s just a newer version of me—Samara 2.0. I’m seeing the big world out there, and I like what I see for the most part. I’m still your baby girl. No matter what, that fact won’t change.”
“I know.” He leaned in, planted a warm kiss on my forehead, and in a slick move that almost made me proud, slipped the brochure under my blanket.
An hour later, Mia dropped off my classwork with an extra helping of tension that was bigger than her handbag.
“So you gonna tell me what the hell is going on, or do I log this in the ‘things Sam won’t talk about’ shelf?” she began. “I’ve seen some weird things in my life, but Halloween night was off the chain.”
“There’s nothing to talk about. Had some bad reaction to some food,” I explained with a mouth full of lime Jell-O.
She didn’t buy it for a second. “I’ve taken three years of biology and not once have I ever read about foreign bacteria that make your face start glowing like a radioactive mutant. If so, why was no one else at the party affected but you and Caleb? Come on, Sam. It’s me. Talk to me,” she pleaded.
Though each syllable cut at my insides, the lies rolled off my tongue like Polish. This skill would come in handy once I started law school, so it was good to start early. Her parting glare as she left the room told me I needed more practice.
For the rest of the day, I replayed Halloween night over and over in my head, wondering what Caleb had eaten that could have been tampered with. I remembered the bottles of water Courtney had been chucking at Caleb, but could oil mix with water without him noticing? At my request, Mom rechecked my clothes and found nothing. We were about to give up when I recalled the hot cocoa I’d drank that night. I’d set down my mug at the bar while chasing after some stranger around the party. Anyone could have gotten a hold of it.
I cupped my head in my hands and cried. For years, Mom had warned me of situations like that, to never leave my drink unattended. The one time my guard dropped, I became the newest cautionary tale. But Caleb had gotten caught in the cross fire, more collateral damage, another life in danger because of me.
Guilt and damnation rode me hard that night, granting only minutes of sleep before another round of abuse. But I swore I would find out who’d done this, even if it killed me.
The middle child of the Ross dynasty signed the visitors’ guestbook the next morning. Michael Ross was the emaciated version of Caleb with a long, brown braid that reached his waist. I would never get used to these body doubles running around. It conflicted with the “Holding It Together” campaign I had going. But each had their distinct style and endearing quirks.
Though
I was unsure of his preferred poison, Michael carried a perpetually drunken sway and could never sit in one spot for very long. He also had his paranoid moments, looking over his shoulder and answering questions only he could hear. Oh yeah, there were some screws loose, but he was always aware of the things around him.
Of the three times I’d been in Michael’s company, I’d never seen him stone sober, just in fluctuating degrees of blitzed. Today was no different.
“It keeps the voices quiet,” he’d told me once after his dad’s funeral. “I can hear the lives I take, and not all of them are pleasant. It becomes harder to sort out which memories are mine.”
Everyone coped differently with the Cambion lifestyle, I guess. None of the brothers confronted him about his self-medication and I thought I’d better do the same.
On sight, this walking skeleton drew me in for a hug that almost hurt. I could feel his ribs under his baggy trench coat, and his red-rimmed eyes avoided mine. He never looked a female in the eye unless he fed, so I didn’t take offense.
Once the pleasantries were over, he told me that Brodie was still missing in action, and I wasn’t sure if I was happy or sad about that fact.
“Do the police have any leads on a suspect?” Michael asked.
Haden looked puzzled. “Nothing so far, but I don’t expect the police to come up with anything useful. This wasn’t an accident. Someone was trying to get to Sam and Caleb, and if it was a Cambion, then he won’t stop until he finishes the job.”
Michael staggered around the room, pulling out drawers and opening cabinets. “We’ll have to stay here in shifts. I’ll take the morning and you take evenings.”
My head volleyed between the brothers. “You think he might come back?”
“We’re not leaving anything to chance.” Michael smiled, stuffing alcohol wipes and rubber gloves in his coat pocket. He was so weird. “Let us worry about this. You gather your strength. Caleb needs you more than ever.”
With Michael and Haden’s help, I snuck into Caleb’s room for the next couple of nights and tried to nurse him back to health. I had to up my food intake threefold in order to sustain us both. Holding Caleb’s head in my arms, I would offer all life force as a sacrifice. I entered the room full as a bloated tick only to be carried back to my room depleted. These night visits turned me into a lifeless zombie, too weak to stand on my own, which lengthened my stay at the hospital. On the upside, I lost ten pounds within a span of three days.
No matter how often I fed, how much energy I donated, it wasn’t enough. Capone was getting stronger, but he needed more than what I could give. I would offer every last drop I had to keep Caleb alive. Haden and Michael voiced their concerns, but no other alternative presented itself. I was no good to Caleb weak, but that utility went both ways.
Hour by hour, Caleb resembled a soulless, capsized vessel, and I was slowly going down with the ship. Though still new to the world of dating, the thought of being without my Cake Boy dropped me into a void with no bottom. All I had was hope. And time.
On the fifth day, the doctors sent me home with a clean bill of health. They might as well have left me there because I camped out in Caleb’s room. Mom’s absurd demand that I return to school at some point kept me from building a fort out of blankets.
My first night home was one of melancholy and isolation. Mom kept her distance, but her shadow passed under my door every few hours. She told me that Dougie had dropped off a card. Thank goodness Mom was there to intercept my messages; I wasn’t up for company. Questions abounded, and I could barely eat, let alone wrap my lips around a decent explanation. Things would only get worse in the morning when I returned to school.
I couldn’t stay in one place for too long, and my skin prickled at the slightest touch. Lilith whined and clawed at my insides, pining for Capone as I did for my own companion. Conversations whispered in my ear; laughter and arguments tickled the hairs on my arms with their ghostly presence. Phantoms emerged, transforming my room into a crowded house party of memories, multiplying and taking more than their share of space.
I was a nervous wreck, crying at random over the dumbest stuff: running out of shampoo, burning my tongue on the soup Mom had brought me, and staring at the jar of quarters sitting on my dresser. For months, I had collected those coins as tokens of Caleb’s affection, a code only we could understand and truly cherish. Two hundred and fifteen “I Love Yous” safely deposited in an old mason jar, gaining interest by the hour.
I sat on the floor and poured out the jar and counted the quarters, carefully tending to each one of my children. When the numbers didn’t add up, I tore my room apart trying to find the missing quarter. Screaming my anger to the heavens, I checked under tables, chairs, and piles of clothes with no success. My hands shook, reporting my crisis to every known part of my body. Breathing and all other functions stopped in response to this state of emergency.
Mom burst into the room with a baseball bat, ready to do battle. “Samara! What’s wrong? What happened?”
“One is missing! It’s gone. It was right here.” I crawled on my knees and swiped my hands across the carpet, my eyes scanning for anything small and shiny. Tears blurred my sight, so I had to rely on touch to continue my search. “I remember fifty-three-seventy-five. There’s only fifty-three-fifty.”
Mom dropped her bat and joined me on the floor. “Samara, calm down. We’ll find it. You probably miscounted.”
“No! It was here. I lost him. I can’t find him. Mom, help me, please!” I burrowed under my bed, tossing out items I hadn’t seen in years. A solid grip captured my waist and pulled me out. “No! I have to find it. I can’t lose it. It’s mine!”
“Baby, stop. Please, just stop.” Mom trapped me in her arms and rocked me back and forth. “Hush now. Just breathe. We’ll find it, even if it takes all night. I’ll count with you. Accountants are good with numbers, remember? Baby, please, just be still.” Her voice broke as she crooned and shushed me quiet. I didn’t know who trembled more, me or her.
I now had a taste of what Mom had gone through when she finally split with Dad—the loss, the vulnerability. I wondered which hurt worse: watching someone you love marry and start a new family without you, or helplessly watching a loved one die before your eyes like Caleb’s father had. Both paths ended in grief, the slowest kind of death.
I wiped my eyes on Mom’s sweatshirt. I’d never told her the significance of the coins, but I was sure she knew it had to do with Caleb. Cradling me in her arms, she dragged the jar to us and began counting one by one. After twenty minutes of searching, we found the missing coin in my sock. Too drained to do anything else, I climbed into bed in a full-body collapse, tucking the coin jar next to me.
Mom sat at the foot of the bed, having watched her daughter lose her mind over pocket change and been powerless to do anything about it.
“I knew this was going to happen. Evangeline warned me about this, but ...” Mom swallowed noisily. With a broken voice, she said, “This is only the beginning.”
9
Finding something to wear for my first day back to school was a true act of futility.
The person staring through the mirror wasn’t me, but an addict fresh out of detox. A hooded sweatshirt and jeans draped over my body in shapeless layers of fabric. My skin looked waxy and almost green from the lack of sun. Unfocused eyes hid behind dark shadows with their emerald luster gone. No need to sugarcoat it, I looked busted. It mirrored my enthusiasm for school, so I was good to go. Just the thought of solid food made me nauseous, so I downed some orange juice, pecked Mom on the cheek, and set out.
James City High’s welcoming party came with a powder keg and a hard dose of reality. Word of the Halloween freak show had gone viral, reaching both students and faculty. The good news: my instructors fell into a more diplomatic approach to teaching, even offered a sympathetic ear if I needed counseling. Their compassion helped ease the burden of makeup exams and overdue projects.
The bad news: I got m
ore hostile glares and dubious whispers, along with the most outlandish yarns I’d ever heard. The ringleader to this circus was Courtney B., who recommended drug rehab and gave unwanted dating advice. As if I would take any advice from someone who couldn’t remember my name.
“You know, Samantha, you have your whole life ahead of you,” she said, walking beside me on my way to gym. “Hanging around bad elements is bound to ruin your future in fast food, but it’s good that you know now. Poor Caleb, what a tragic end, but in time you’ll move on.” She looked down at me in feigned sympathy, then strolled ahead with the other two Courtneys flanked at her sides.
Not even ten seconds later, Alicia leapt into my arms, frantic and out of breath. “Ohmigod, Sam! I heard you were in the hospital and the police are after Caleb because he tried to kill you with an arrow. Are you okay? Did you get stitches?”
“What? No, Alicia, I’m fine. He had a food allergy and now he’s in a coma.”
She sprang back in shock. “Oh no! I hope he’s okay.” She covered her mouth, then frowned when a question struck her. “Wait, if Caleb was the one that got sick, then why were you—”
“Wow, look at the time!” I announced a little too loud and checked the clock by the bulletin board. “I’m gonna be late for gym. I’ll let Caleb know you asked about him—’kay, bye!” I quickened my steps before she could follow me.
It only got worse from there. The rumor mill kept churning out hit after hit, more exaggerated with each telling: epic explosions, bloodshed, and supernatural fervor that would make Stan Lee slap his forehead. Only my lunchmates dared to ask about that white elephant in the room, so I gave them the director’s cut of what happened. For the obvious reasons, specific scenes were removed and would forever remain on the cutting room floor.
