Haunting Blue

by R. J. Sullivan

  We spun into the forest, and the wind called me again, stinging my face.

  Bluuuuuuuue...

  I raised my arms and screamed through the final dizzying seconds.

  Brakes screeched, jarring us to a jolting halt. Spent, I squeezed my eyes shut, feeling the car chug along the last few feet of track at a more conventional speed.

  My throat hurt, and I couldn’t find my voice.

  The next thing I knew, Chip scrambled out to stand on the wooden platform, reaching down toward me. I placed my chilled hands in his.

  He pulled me up and out of the coaster. I leaned against him—dazed and giggling like a madwoman. I could feel solid, planked floor beneath my shaking legs, and I clung to Chip.

  Chip put his arm over my shoulder—although he was none-too-steady himself—and we stumbled to the exit.

  I finally found my voice. “Wow. I mean…fucking wow!”

  Chip panted his response. “It’s only great because it’s a safety hazard.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  If Chip wanted to prep me for a slow ride, I could not have been more ready. I still had trouble willing my trembling legs to hold my weight. So, with a hand grasped on either shoulder, Chip led me, unresisting, down the sidewalk path to The Pirates of Perionne.

  No more than five people stood in line waiting to get onto the boat ride. Chip took me off the path to a set of wooden stairs. A wood-carved handrail split the middle of the stairs to create separate enter/exit lanes. We descended down the “enter” side, which led us to a circular cement platform in the midst of a small, manmade lake. Surrounding the cement base, a circular, wooden dock rotated to guide the tiny boats in and out of the canal.

  Two attendants scrambled across the rotating platform—one helping couples and families exit out of the floating capsules, the other running a squeegee over the plastic interior and guiding the entering groups to their ride.

  We stepped onto the rotating platform. In spite of my shaky legs, it only took a moment to adjust. As we walked across the platform, Chip took my hand.

  Our shoes made loud, clomping noises on the wood.

  Chip stopped at the edge of the dock and helped me into the slippery plastic of the boat interior. I squatted down, and he dropped directly behind me.

  Nice!

  I generally enjoyed this sort of Tunnel of Love thing as a lark. As Phil had indicated, mannequin boat rides provided the perfect backdrop for a little snuggling, and I needed some snuggling in the absolute worst way.

  I leaned back, placing my head on Chip’s shoulder.

  His arms enclosed either side of me, fingers brushing across my stomach. I reached down and enfolded my hands in his.

  A shiver ran up my spine, partly from a chill and partly from something else. His body shifted, and he pulled me against him into a more secure embrace. His hands trembled in mine.

  Chip’s warm breath brushed against my ear. “Better?”

  “Much, thank you, sir.” If I were a kitten, I would have purred.

  I saw a sheepish grin on his face. I grinned back, and then settled against him, caressing his warm hands. Now that the adrenaline rush had run its course, I’d become tired and droopy-eyed.

  The boat disengaged from the rotating porch and propelled us toward a double-door entry. The image of a pirate, black patch covering one eye, grinned at us before the nose of the boat forced the doors open, splitting him down the middle. The doors closed behind us, and the boat drifted into total darkness.

  The sound of rippling water soothed me, though my nose wrinkled in an involuntary response to a moldy odor riding upon the too-humid air.

  I heard a click, and spotlights from overhead snapped up to reveal a huge, mock pirate ship before us. The room erupted in the sound of cackles and screams and a hearty pirate “Yo-Ho-Ho” song echoing through the chamber. A large crew of stuffed pirate mannequins took turns attacking our boat as it floated past.

  I smiled, amused to hear the warped musical tones, the telltale sign of an audio tape still on active duty long past its intended use.

  “Argh! Is that a gold ring yer’ wearing?” a “pirate” called out, swinging a plastic sword toward the boat in an arc that passed harmlessly overhead.

  Giggling, I craned my head back. “Maybe he means my bellybutton ring, but I think I left it at home. Care to check?”

  Chip’s body tensed, but his fingers tightened around my hands. “Not right now, Blue.”

  Oh, well.

  Another pair of doors split, and we floated into a new chamber. Hedonistic, tropical music assaulted my ears while the boat encircled an island.

  A pirate chased a blonde damsel across the beach, the distorted music muffling the whirr of the crane carrying them both along a track. Other pirates fended off dark-skinned natives, sword-to-spear. Arms and legs gyrated and rocked in amusing fencing action.

  I drifted, content to let the scenes unfold around me. On the verge of falling asleep, I watched with a sort of detached fascination.

  We floated by a sandy lagoon supporting a wooden-planked deck, covered in glittering doubloons.

  A cackling pirate, standing next to an ominous black cauldron, emitted a shrieking “HAR!” at us.

  The soundtrack, set to 11, jarred me from my slumber, and startled, I pressed back against Chip.

  The pirate leaned forward, pointing a short sword in my direction, still shrieking too loudly, “Git yer own gold, matey! This be all mine!”

  It continued to cackle at a high volume while the boat floated out of the room and into the night air.

  A shiver ran over my body from the chill.

  Or perhaps something else.

  I sat up, now fully awake and annoyed. I adjusted my jacket and shirt—let the attendants think what they wanted—and waited patiently while Chip rose up from behind me and stepped up onto the rotating plank.

  I reached up with both arms, gripping his outreaching hands. He braced himself, allowing me to stand and rise to my feet. Then, his hands dropped to my waist. He lifted me out of the wet boat and placed me down onto the platform. I sighed, sad it was already over.

  Still holding my hand, Chip led me up the stairs, oddly somber and quiet. “So, what did you think? Wasn’t it great?”

  “Well—I think you owe me a hotdog.”

  We stepped back onto the walkway. Chip chuckled. “It’s a deal.”

  I slowed my pace, feeling somber. “Seriously, Chip. The last date I had in Broad Ripple, my ex-boyfriend escorted me down an alleyway and tried to get me to do shots with him. As if he needed to get me drunk to do whatever he wanted.” Yikes, did I just say that out loud? “I’m so sorry, I’m talking way too much. Let’s go get that hotdog.”

  Chip stared at me, blank-faced. “I’m sorry, Blue.”

  I shrugged. I decided to stop feeling sorry for myself. “The ride was fun. The evening’s been great, Chip.” I reached my arm around his back and pulled him into a half-hug. “You’re a good friend, and I really need one right now.”

  He looked down at me and smiled, draping his own arm across my shoulders. “We losers have to stick together.”

  I giggled. “That’s right, no one’s running us out of town as long as we watch each other’s back.”

  “You’re going to be okay, Blue.”

  I sighed, suddenly very tired.

  “Besides, you mentioned a movie tomorrow,” said Chip. “I think the new Dwayne Johnson just opened.”

  “Please. I’ve let my testosterone shots slip.”

  “Or we could just go to the theater and see what’s playing. I don’t really care what movie we see. As long as I’m with you.”

  A smile warmed my entire face. “Thanks.”

  * * * *

  Advancing toward home, we walked in darkness along the sidewalk. We held hands, occasionally chatting.

  We passed beyond Sylvia’s porch and stopped in my front yard. The house loomed in complete darkness before us.

  Chip shrugged nervous
ly, and squeezed my shoulder. “I’ll come by tomorrow around noon. I’ll see you, then.”

  I grinned. “Looking forward to it.” I reached out and clasped both his hands, glancing at him in expectation. “Chip, I had a great time.”

  He smiled back. “Me, too. Goodnight, Blue.” He paused, then disengaged his hands and turned away, walking off into the darkness.

  I swallowed back disappointment. His fidgeting, hesitating, awkward responses throughout the night screamed inexperience. Patience, Fi-Fi. It’s not lack of interest. Still, a final goodnight kiss would have been the perfect ending.

  I stepped carefully across the cement stones leading to the house. My mother had already left for her trip. Only darkened windows remained to greet me.

  Like a slap, the harsh, white brightness of the front porch light next door struck me in the face.

  What in the—

  I turned toward Sylvia’s house, holding a hand out to ward off the blinding light. I blinked away spots, waiting for my vision to clear.

  I called out, irritated as hell. “That was not nice, old lady! You’d better—”

  My eyesight cleared, and the vision of Sylvia, still sitting and rocking in her chair, halted the complaint in my throat.

  I stole a glance at my little Indiglo® digital watch—11:42 PM.

  I stood, paralyzed with shock and fear, watching the rocking silhouette. Her head rested at an awkward angle against the side of the chair. She continued rocking even with her eyes closed.

  I called out. “Ma’am?”

  She didn’t move. Best I could tell, her body appeared stiffened in the chair, like a pile of dry mulch. A sudden wind kicked up between us, rustling the new-fallen leaves.

  I walked across the yard, closing the space between us. “Sylvia,” I called again.

  I stepped onto the porch, fighting a sudden urge to run. Please, God, don’t let her be dead!

  I turned away, gazing at the closed door that held the sanctity of my home, and then turned back.

  A musty smell hit my nose, overpowering even the cold, fresh air.

  Sylvia was gone.

  The chair stopped rocking with an abruptness that made me jump.

  The wind kicked up and leaves rolled across the porch. I blinked, telling myself she’d never been there, that I had imagined seeing her. Maybe I passed out and dreamt—

  Then, a gravelly voice whispered, “Guntherrrrrrr…”

  A shudder passed over me like an electrical current. I couldn’t shake the dreadful feeling that I had seen her.

  The wind kicked up, and an eerie voice floated on the breeze.

  “Bluuuuue…”

  In spite of myself, I shrieked and backed away from the porch.

  Nothing more to see here.

  I bravely walked away, trotting—not running, dammit!—to my house.

  I shut the door on the wind and the old woman’s porch.

  I switched on all the lights, hurrying down the hallway and into my own room at the end of the hall. I stripped off my clothes, dropping them on the floor, and pulled a long T-shirt over my head. Settling under the covers, I waited for the shakes to pass, but it took a long time.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Staring at the reflection in the bathroom mirror, I’d just finished brushing on a thin coating of blue eyeliner when the doorbell rang. I glanced at the reflection of the clock: quarter to twelve.

  Chip had arrived early, but I already looked dazzling. Hair combed, slight spike, mascara, faint color on the eyes and lips so I looked less rebel and more cutie—but in a subtle way. I applied a touch of Cinnaminx—my favorite scent—to my neck.

  I gave my reflection one last cheesy smile—admiring the magic of whitening toothpaste—then stepped into the hallway. I left the eyeliner and makeup scattered over the bathroom marble-top. Hey, Mom was gone—fuck it.

  I opened the front door into bright sunshine and Chip’s smiling face. He thrust a huge bouquet of blue carnations toward me.

  Startled, I took an involuntary step back into the house.

  The carnations followed after me. A hopeful glow lit Chip’s expression. “Here. I want you to have these.” He deposited the huge bouquet into my arms.

  I cradled them in a reflex action.

  The perfumed fragrance overpowered my nose, and I could only imagine the dumbstruck look on my face. I continued to stare at the flowers in my arms, still unable to find my voice.

  Chip’s words reached my ears. “Do you like them?”

  I backed into the room, my head spinning, but I found my voice. “Come in. Shut the door, please.”

  Water…you’re supposed to put these in water. I turned on my heel, taking mechanical strides toward the kitchen. I could hear his footsteps following me.

  I reached up, popping open a white-stained cupboard, looking for a vase I knew I wouldn’t find. When was the last year either Mom or I had gotten a bouquet of flowers?

  I spied a wide-mouthed Taco Bell® Go-Cup. I dropped it onto the counter.

  I stared at the sink, not wanting to look up. I fought down trying to control the conflicting waves of pleasure and fear rising in me. I’d flirted and fished to gain his interest, but the unexpected gift of flowers had just thrown me off balance—not a place I liked to be.

  I struggled against the inclination to wrap my arms around his neck, shower him with kisses, and let hormones take their course.

  Exactly the way I surrendered to Joey.

  I couldn’t let that happen again—not without being sure.

  I turned toward him, shaking the bundle of flowers at him like evidence to a crime. “What is this? What do you think you’re doing?”

  His smile vanished, replaced by a frown of confusion. “I…uh, thought you would like them. They’re a gift.”

  “A gift?”

  I deposited the flowers on the countertop next to the Go-Cup and drew a shaking breath, collecting my thoughts.

  The absurdity of the situation pushed forward in my head. Chip the suitor arrives at the door to woo his maiden fair.

  I was anything but a fair maiden.

  My feelings must have shown on my face, because he tried to step away from me. I put a hand on either side of his head, locking my eyes with his and stepping close, making him look down at me. “Don’t do this, Chip.”

  “Blue, what are you—?”

  “Don’t try to turn me into a Mary Rowan, or some other dipshit proper Perionne girl you think you can court and win over.”

  I panted, and I knew he could feel my hands shaking, but the words poured out of me. “Do you have chocolates for me? Are you going to start writing me sweetheart notes? I’m not going to change for you. I’m not going to change for anyone. I’m not the good girl who gets the flowers. I’m not going to the church pitch-ins or the girl’s-night-out slumber parties. I don’t want the bullshit. I don’t want it from Phil, or Mary, or most of all, you.”

  During my tirade, Chip’s expression changed from upset to angry. “Wait, just a second. What the hell’s gotten into you?”

  What the hell had gotten into me? Well, I knew what I meant. I just didn’t know if I could explain it.

  He reached up and took my hands in his. “Look, I’m sorry the flowers upset you, Blue. I bought them because I like you, and I wanted to show you.”

  “Stop it.”

  “No, you stop it.”

  My jaw clamped shut.

  “Look, I don’t know who this fuckhead was from your hometown, but clearly, he messed with your mind in some horrible way, and now I’m stuck with the collateral damage. I don’t expect you to change. God, I don’t want you to change. You’re unlike anyone else I’ve ever met, and that’s why I like you. If I buy you flowers today and chocolates a few days from now, it only means I want to show you that I like you. That’s all.”

  I could feel his hot breath across my cheek, and I knew he could feel mine. His sincerity penetrated my fear. I realized that it wasn’t Chip keeping me from enjoyin
g this, but my own silly paranoia.

  I took a deep breath, centering myself, and then continued more calmly. “You’re right. When I first met Joey, he was so sweet, so smart, and…full of bullshit. He’d take me out to dinner, and write me poems, and buy me jewelry, and then…”

  I broke off. I couldn’t go there. Not yet. “No bullshit, Chip. Not from you. Joey may have been the worst, but he wasn’t the only one. When someone wants something from me, they butter me up first. I get the gifts. I get the compliments. I give my heart away. Then, the other shoe drops. If that happens again, I’ll be so hurt and so disappointed. I want you to leave now if that’s what you’re doing.”

  Chip took a deep, somber breath, returning my angry glare with a stone-faced stare of his own. He replied in a calm, unemotional tone. “I’m not going anywhere, and I already told you why I bought you the flowers.”

  I dropped my arms, letting my hands travel from the sides of his face, then reaching down and placing them back in his. “The thing is, I already trust you. You’re my friend, and we’ve always been up-front and honest with each other.”

  A hint of my cinnamon scent reached my nose—a reminder that I’d been doing my part to pretty myself up and get into date mode, so who the hell was I to come down so hard on him?

  The realization of my own actions hit, and I knew I needed to let him off the hook.

  “So—let me see if I get the hidden meaning behind your…gift. You want me…and you want to know what I think of that.” As I spoke, my voice deepened and turned sultry on its own.

  His fingers tightened around mine. I could tell he thought desperately about pulling away, but I held his gaze.

  He looked so cute and off-balance. My breathing quickened, and a flush ran over my body. I realized I very much liked the idea that Chip Farren desired me.

  His mouth opened, but words failed him. He shrugged and looked down at the floor.

  I reached up, one hand tipping his chin to look into my eyes.

  “I want you, too.”

  I released his hands and clasped mine together, trying to still their trembling. I continued to stare, unable to speak.

  The energy in the room had gotten way too intense. I glanced away, taking a deep breath until my inner shaking subsided.