Burning Emerald

by Jaime Reed

  “I don’t know. That’s why I need you. You can sense where he is, can’t you?”

  “I’m not sure. I’ve been out of whack after all that’s been going on.” I looked around for anyone listening. Good thing Ruiz had left an hour ago—he would’ve loved to walk in on this conversation.

  “I don’t mean to ruin your celebration, but this is important. Can you please come with me?”

  “All right, but I need to tell my mom.” Julie Marshall was a woman of compassion, the defender of the underdog with warm, maternal instincts. Surely, she of all people would understand my plight.

  “Absolutely not!” Mom threw her head back and laughed, the red wine swooshing around her goblet. “This is a holiday. You need to be at home.”

  So much for sympathy. “Mom, Caleb is missing and there’s no telling what’s happened to him. He needs me.”

  “If he needs you, then he can come here. And if he’s in danger, then you need to call the police.”

  Okay, this was why parents shouldn’t know about otherworldly happenings in their children’s lives; they always interfere with lectures about safety.

  “Mom, Haden is coming with me. He’ll protect me. He just needs me to track where Caleb is, nothing more. When we find out, he’ll bring me back.” I looked to Haden, who confirmed with a nod.

  I saw Mom’s resolve wavering and I moved in for the kill, doling out my best sad-puppy face. “Their family is broken, Mom. All they have is each other. Imagine if I was the one missing. You’ll know where I am.” I waved my bracelet in front of her.

  “All right, fine. Keep your cell phone on and call me every hour on the hour, you hear me?” When I nodded, she moved to Haden and caught his chin between her fingers. I knew that wide-eyed, innocent look that turned manic as she devoured her prey.

  Her voice tingled with perverse glee as she spoke. “Mr. Ross, you cannot truly comprehend the horror that awaits you should something happen to my daughter. Just know that I’ll find you. I have heavy connections, impeccable aim, and my family owns a pig farm in Smithfield. It will not be quick. You get my meaning?”

  Haden’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he gaped at the small woman in front of him. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Good,” she chirped with a wide smile, then turned to me. “Grab a coat, sweetie. It’s chilly out.”

  “You’re one hell of a woman, Ms. Marshall,” Haden commented. “You remind me a lot of my own mum.”

  “Yeah, your father seemed to think so too,” Mom replied from over her shoulder, the icy delivery putting Haden in his place. I giggled under my breath, savoring the moment of raw pwn-age.

  I gathered my stuff and slinked out the door while Mom distracted the company, namely Dad. As soon as I stepped outside, my body screamed to race back into the warmth of the house. Frost capped over the lawn and on the cars lined around the driveway. Music blared from houses nearby and Christmas lights glittered through the naked trees.

  Haden leaned against my car, rubbing his cold hands together. “I took a taxi here, so we’ll have to use your car. It’s better that I drive so you can concentrate.”

  I played with the keys in my hand, reluctant to offer up my firstborn to a commoner. “You’re fortunate that these are dire circumstances, ’else your impertinence would come at the cost of your head,” I said with theatrical flair. “My car doesn’t know you, and we drive on the right side of the road in this country.”

  “So I hear. Now I see where you got your warm personality,” he mused. “Does your family really own a pig farm?”

  “That’s confidential information, Mr. Ross. If all goes well, you’ll never have to find out.” I smiled and tossed him my keys.

  We cruised down the main strip through this ghost town with its closed shops and vacant parking lots. People were home with loved ones while we drove in the cold in search for the lost. The repetition of the road, black and slick as night waters, held me in a trance.

  This thing living inside me, this growing connection, was better than any GPS in existence. In truth, it was more of a wire cable that pulled me in whatever direction Caleb moved. This would’ve been a handy little tool if it actually worked when I needed it. I centered my thoughts, even stuck my head out of the window to get a better signal, but there was nothing.

  Perhaps my connection with Tobias had muted it. That sneaky pest gnawed at the cable’s protective covering, splitting some of the wires and scrambling the frequency. I shuddered at the thought. If Tobias had kidnapped Caleb, there was no telling what he would do. Caleb could be in danger and I couldn’t find him. Panic grew by the second, and that malignant tumor fed from every negative thought. I had to cut it out before it rotted my brain.

  Our phones lit up with calls from Michael and Mom wanting updates, but the news stayed the same by the second hour. Michael combed the area around the hospital and came up empty-handed. He agreed to meet back at my house to compare notes, so Haden decided to end our scavenger hunt for the night. I stared out of my window, watching the sleepy city speed by in long streaks of light. I wouldn’t let this get to me. I couldn’t.

  Confusion, rage, and excruciating hunger filled my senses out of nowhere. It came in waves, making me rock and sway with motion sickness. I’d been too distracted, too preoccupied, to even notice, or maybe the feelings were so familiar I’d mistaken them for my own.

  “Turn around!” I ordered.

  “What’s wrong?” Haden asked with his eyes still glued to the road.

  “I feel something. Head toward his place again.”

  “You sure? We’ve driven by there twice already.”

  “I’m positive. Go back,” I insisted.

  Haden veered to the left shoulder, crossing two lanes and busting a U-ie in the intersection. We doubled back and made our way to Caleb’s neighborhood.

  The houses in the subdivision displayed a model of suburban life, but they were as coldly artificial as a movie set. As we drove closer, the vibe grew stronger, and hunger like I’d never felt before overwhelmed me. The feeling worsened as we reached his street. The only one who seemed cool with any of this was Lilith.

  Haden parked a block away to keep from rousing any suspicion. He killed the engine and turned to me. “You sure he’s here?”

  I nodded. “I feel him.”

  He climbed out of the car. “Wait here.”

  Was he serious? That’s how people got killed in horror movies. “Mom said that I’m not to leave your sight. I’m going with you.” I jumped out of the car before he could argue.

  Strolling up the quiet street toward the walkway, I kept watch for landmines that might appear within the unmarked terrain. Neither of us knew Caleb’s current mental state or whether he was alone, so our approach had to be handled delicately. Even more so when we found the front door unlocked. Pushing the door open, Haden and I stared into the dark interior—two kids forced to enter a haunted house on a dare.

  “You sure he’s here?” Haden asked again, not moving a muscle.

  “Yup.” Instinctively, I patted the spray bottle of olive oil in my pocket, hoping I wouldn’t need to use it tonight.

  Haden went inside first and turned on lights as he inspected each room on the bottom floor. He pulled out his cell phone again and wandered into the kitchen. A few bags lined the hall leading to the stairs, items the brothers had brought with them while they watched over the place in shifts. Old newspapers, junk mail, and empty cereal boxes lay in the green recycling bin by the door.

  Caleb’s townhouse was spacious with a high ceiling, crown molding, and hardwood floors. However, the library of music piled in every available space distracted the eye. Somewhere within the pillars of vinyl were a couch, an entertainment unit, and an old-school turntable where he mixed his music. Every square inch of the house, each stain, each piece of furniture, told a story. But the deserted atmosphere now reminded me of a tomb, an airtight vault preserving Caleb’s treasures.

  I smiled at the weird weapon collection moun
ted on the wall: swords, daggers, crossbows, double-sided axes, all handcrafted in precious metal. My eyes fell on the longbow he’d used on Halloween, a time as ancient as when the weapon had been in fashion. It felt like ages ago, a waning dream I strained to recall, and this artifact produced memories of a past life.

  A noise came from the second floor, creaking floorboards above. Haden was still in the kitchen, likely raiding the fridge.

  I couldn’t trust my eyes or my own judgment, so I asked Lilith, “Is Caleb here?”

  She hummed and danced up my torso, a similar reaction to the one she had whenever she fed from Capone. The image of Caleb’s face smiling down at me appeared behind my eyes. The feeling put me at ease for a moment and supplied me with enough nerve to proceed.

  I crept up the stairs and inched toward the first room on the left. A light issued from under the door, an eerie glow that seemed to be the basis of every ghost story. Purple shafts of light speared through the cracks, putting me in the mindset of alien abductions and little green men. The noise that followed made the impression worse.

  Babysitting my brother and sister had introduced me to that particular sound, the nimble pitter-patter of racing feet on the floor above. But there was no floor above, not even an attic space where a bird or squirrel could escape the cold.

  I sucked in a deep breath, gathering both air and courage before opening the door. No sooner than I turned the knob, the brightness disappeared, casting me into darkness, save the soft light pouring from the window. My hand fished around the walls for a light switch, and found one that didn’t work. The same was true for the light in the hall and the bathroom, but those on the bottom level guided my way up until this point. It could’ve been a short circuit or some other valid explanation, but paranoia ensured that logic had no business in this house.

  I’d scarcely seen Caleb’s room, and truth be told, I wasn’t missing much. A dresser, two nightstands, and a wooden sleigh bed filled the space between the bare white walls. I tried my luck on the lamp on the small table and struck out, which forced me to rely on night vision. A ripped hospital gown, blackened with dirt, was slung over the footboard. I fingered the soiled material and noted how the body heat still lingered.

  Muddy footprints on the carpet led me to the other side of the bed, ending in front of the window. Jumping out at the last minute would’ve been impossible, if the latch locking the closed sill was any indication. Unless he could dissolve through glass all of a sudden, this was a dead end. Nothing stirred outside, yet movement and activity hummed around me. He was here, but where? And why was he hiding?

  “Caleb,” I called to what appeared to be open air.

  I studied the footprints again and noticed more trailing up the walls. The heel and toe marks pointed upward, creating a walking pattern that defied gravity and reason. I followed the tracks, which faded upon reaching the ceiling.

  “Didn’t take you too long to find me,” he said. “It’s not safe for you to be here.”

  His voice left a delayed echo in the room, bouncing from one wall to the other. The light from the window didn’t reach as far as I’d hoped, barely outlining edges of furniture. My eyes dragged across the dresser, the bed, the window, to a man squatting in the corner by the closet.

  Perhaps squatting was not the right description, seeing as his feet by no means touched the floor. Instead, he perched catty-corner to the wall like a large bird; his head mere inches from the ceiling. His relaxed position told me he’d hung up there the entire time, watching me wade through the dark as an owl would a juicy rodent.

  I should’ve been out of the house and halfway home by now. I should’ve raced downstairs, told Haden to pry his brother off the ceiling, gotten in my car, and dipped. But I couldn’t take a step until I saw his face.

  “Caleb?” I whispered.

  The purple nimbus returned, operating as a searchlight sweeping up and down my body. Those high beams radiated the room, obscuring his face and blinding me in the process. Never before had I seen his eyes so bright and alive, not even while angry, but it removed all suspicion of disguise. Though Tobias could impersonate any human on earth, he could never replicate that signature glow.

  “How did you get up there?”

  “I climbed up here,” he stated matter-of-factly, the words coming out in stereo around the room.

  “Why did you leave the hospital?”

  “Excuse me for not wanting to die in a hospital gown. If I’m gonna go, it’ll be at home with some decent clothes.” He pointed to his jeans and thermal undershirt.

  His dirty, scabby feet flushed to the wall as if a nail pinned them there. He didn’t appear to be in pain, and barely seemed to be aware of anything but me.

  “You blame him for Nadine’s death. Don’t deny it! I felt the hate in you—I could taste it. I can still taste it, bitter like spoiled milk. Just know if I go, you’re coming with me.”

  “What are you talking about? I didn’t come after you. I haven’t seen you in a week.” My mind raced, seeking meaning behind his words and the situation at hand. “Did someone attack you in the hospital? Is that why you left?” I took another step. “Caleb, are you all right?”

  He didn’t answer but his eyes drifted around the room, looking for something in the shadows. “That noise! I can hear you, you sad little puppy. You think I wanted this? She shouldn’t have died that night, but her spirit is mine now. You can’t have her! I won’t make it easy, I promise you that. Come on, you coward!”

  It’s hard to evaluate specific thoughts while in a state of shock. But one detail filtered through, screaming louder than the rest: Caleb was scared out of his mind. And that mind, diseased and distressed as it was, had ventured to some dark, nightmarish place that I couldn’t follow. His fear was real, but what caused it left me standing stupid.

  “What happened to you?” I asked.

  “You shouldn’t be here when it happens, but he won’t come otherwise. He’ll follow you to the ends of the Earth if need be.” He leapt off the wall, landed on his feet, and stood before me in one collective movement. His stiff, imposing stance threw off his natural posture, a suit that didn’t quite fit. Neither did that intense heat shooting from unfamiliar eyes. “But he needn’t travel that far. My door is wide open.”

  I reared back, mostly to avoid the glare of those eyes. It hurt to look directly into them, and they left an inverted image behind my lids when I blinked. What little I could see dropped a weight in the pit of my stomach. Not only had his pupils expanded to the size of quarters, but his irises had taken over the whites of his eyes. They were the eyes of an animal.

  Tobias and his costume play had taught me to distrust external appearances, but this was not an outward deception. No, this was Caleb’s real body, but as some darker rendition. Though the answer had been staring me in the face since I entered the room, I had to hear it from him. “Who are you?”

  His head tilted to the side, studying me as if I were a new species. “Don’t you recognize me? After all, you named me.”

  My body shook from the terror of knowledge; a host of explanations played in my head, countless opportunities that ascribed to this new dilemma. This was what Caleb feared most, the overthrow, the mutinous role reversal between master and subject. No matter the catalyst, the crisis remained.

  Capone had been unleashed.

  20

  I’d always been a fan of horror movies, zombie movies in particular, those scabby, half-dead creatures shuffling toward their next meal.

  There’s always that scene where one infected person has kept quiet until the last minute and the survivors have to make the crucial decision to kill them. But there comes that moment of pause where the camera zooms in on the actor’s expression of disbelief and turmoil before he pulls the trigger.

  That’s kinda how I felt right now, but far less entertaining. The only difference was I didn’t have a gun. I could grab one of Caleb’s weapons downstairs, but the fierce light darting from his eyes sug
gested that I could barely breathe without permission.

  He ambled to the nightstand and clicked on the light, which suddenly decided to work from his touch alone. Everything about him and this situation was wrong—from attic to basement, hitting every floor in between.

  And just like those people in the movies, I experienced that moment of pause, frozen beyond shock or denial. Sure, I could fight and scream loud enough for Haden to come up here—where was Haden anyway?—but I couldn’t leave by my own will. If a part of Caleb was still here, still alive, then I had to find him. I had to save him, if only from himself.

  Capone knelt down and pulled a pair of high-laced boots from under the bed. He bounced on the mattress, slung a leg over his knee, and slid on the footwear in a method of ceremony. He applied heavy concentration to this act, a sacred ritual before going into battle. Caleb rarely wore those boots, known throughout the punk-rock circle as “ass-kicking boots”—and ass kicking seemed to be one of the events scheduled for this evening.

  “Someone’s been sleeping in here. Caleb doesn’t make the bed this way.” Capone sniffed the air. “I smell licorice, so it must be Michael. They ate all the cereal in the house too—that had to be Haden’s doing. I hate when they use his stuff. They always take and take and he gets what’s left.” He whipped his hair back and caught my gaze. “Except for you. He doesn’t have to compromise or split you five ways like clothes, toys, and attention. He can have all of you. Do you have any idea how much joy that brings him, or how much energy that joy creates?”

  He dragged his tongue over his lips as he recalled some past flavor. “Oh, I’ve never had it so good. I’ve been sucking on misery and fear for almost two decades. Imagine eating cold soup every day with no variety. But you, Samara, the joy you bring him is warm and sweet and spicy like cinnamon. He won’t go back to cold gruel and neither will I.”

  I just stood there, stone still, as I tried to make sense of his ranting. Finally, I found my voice. “Where’s Caleb? Is he dead?”

  “If he was dead then I wouldn’t be here, now would I?” Capone replied, sliding on the next boot. “Your lover is safe. He’s not in any condition to drive, as it were, so I’m taking the wheel.”