Style and Disgrace

by Caitlin West

  “I’m with you there.”

  “You are only there passively. Like the rest of the world, you don’t want to see it end, but given the strength and power to do something about it, you’d choose not to.” He shook his head. “I’ve risked my life, my very existence beyond death to make a difference. What have you done?”

  “I don’t think that’s entirely fair. I only learned about this recently.”

  “I thought you were different.” Ian stood up. “I thought you were special, but instead, you’re the vapid celebrity I first thought you were. You embody everything my side has worked so hard to create. You’re self-absorbed, addicted to pleasure and public adoration. The sum total of your contribution to society will be a handful of songs written to ensnare a dollar rather than make an honest or thoughtful statement.”

  I couldn’t move for several moments after he fell silent. The words rushed over me and I took them in, tallying the damage of each one before I began formulating a retort. There were parts I might not be able to refute. I was addicted to adoration. I loved the fact people enjoyed our music and wrote me messages or talked to me online.

  High school had been a miserable, self-conscious experience where doubt was a better friend than the few ladies I spent time with. College was better, but I was still chafing under the influence of my mother. When I finally met Sammy and Doug, it all changed for the better, but up until then, I was building up a need for acceptance so strong I would’ve sold my soul to get it.

  “So you think just because I’m not interested in risking my life for a cause I don’t understand, I’m less of a person than you?”

  Ian sighed. “No, that’s not it…”

  “It certainly sounded like it. I have to tell you, there’s no way in hell I’d be willing to do what you and my father did. What stories do you have to prove that your…job, if you want to call it that, is a good thing? You don’t agree with your side, my father died trying to save a rival, and now, as I get dragged into this shit, I get insulted, too. Well, there’s the door, Ian. At least you don’t need a master lemming to show you how to use it.”

  I stormed toward the stairs and he intercepted me just before I could get there. He grabbed my arm, his fingers like tiny vises biting into my muscles. I twisted but it just caused it to hurt and I scowled.

  “Let me go.” My voice was low and threatening. Every ounce of anger I could possibly muster simmered just beneath the surface. I considered letting it go, but held back. The fireworks were primed and the fuses were short. There was no reason to go off quite yet. I had plenty of time. “Now.”

  “I didn’t mean to insult you.”

  “I’m not going to ask you again.”

  He let me go and I drew back, bumping into the wall. He held out his hands to either side.

  “Please, Abigail…just…hear me out.” He was truly desperate. His terror was palatable. He was wondering if he had lost me…this wasn’t something I garnered from his expression, it was something I just knew. Like reading a book, I picked up precisely what he was thinking and it came as easily as if he had told me himself. “The phone call I received was upsetting. I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.”

  “Yeah, you could’ve tried telling me what it was about or being the least bit respectful, but, instead, you got all temper tantrum on me. I’ve been through those relationships, Ian. I don’t need an encore. You want to start off fresh and leverage all of your supposed passion, find some barfly bitch that’s used to being smacked around by her boyfriend because that’s not me and it never will be.”

  “There are times we’ve been asked to kill…” He let the gravity of that statement settle in, but I was so far beyond the point of surprise or shock, it did nothing to me at all. A cold numbness smothered my brain and I just stared at him with a look that suggested he would have to do a lot more to elicit a response from me. “We haven’t done anything like that for a long time.”

  Something dawned on me.

  “Did they ask you to kill me?”

  “What?” Ian’s eyes widened and he quickly shook his head. “No, no…of course not, no. They don’t even know about you. You’re still neutral anyway. Even with the connection to your father, you’re not a threat to them. Not yet. I’m so sorry you would even think that.”

  “Would you fulfill that order if they gave it?”

  “I would not.” He answered a little too quickly for my taste, but, somehow, I did believe him. “There are plenty of things I wouldn’t do if they asked and they probably know that. This time, they would not take no for answer because it has been quite some time since they’ve asked. Mostly, I’ve done a good job lately of giving them something without doing something terrible. Now…there’s a person that requires our special attention.”

  “I don’t know what that means…are you a prostitute?” I shook my head. “I don’t know what you people do, Ian. I thought it was fight monsters from two different sides. Now you’re talking about being an assassin or…God knows what.”

  “Interesting choice of words.”

  “Enough of that shit!” I shouted. “Are you going to leave or what? It sounds like you’ve got something important to do so don’t let me keep you. I guess I’ll be figuring out how to take care of myself for a while…which is probably a good thing considering who’s offered to help.”

  “You…you were close to giving in to me.” Ian must’ve wanted to ask the question, but it came out as a statement. He figured me out and I didn’t care. That moment was over, even if I still nursed a masochistic desire for him in my heart and…well, physically too. “I made a mistake and now you’re drawing back.”

  “I guess that’s what happens.”

  “I don’t have to go until tomorrow morning…the assignment isn’t until then.”

  “Nevertheless, don’t you think you’ve caused enough damage here? Or do you think you might be able to find a couple more things I care about to insult, attack, or break?”

  Ian rubbed his eyes. “I don’t want to leave you alone tonight. I…I’ll stay down here and keep watch. We should continue this conversation when we’re not so emotionally charged.”

  “Ah, yes…I wonder who got us that way.” I tapped my chin before starting up the stairs. “You had better stay down there the whole night, Ian. I have absolutely no interest in hearing you creep around near my bedroom. Just for the record, the door will be locked. I trust that you’re enough of a gentleman to respect that?”

  “Of course, Abigail I just—”

  “We’re not having any more of this conversation until tomorrow, remember?” I paused at the landing. “I’m an idiot for not kicking you out. Don’t make me regret that decision more than I already do. Whatever you and I could have had, I can tell you right now that’s long gone. The ship’s sailed, the rocket’s launched, and the balloon has popped. I’d start thinking about the next chick you’re going to obsess about and, maybe in a few months, we can discuss your success over coffee.

  “For now, good night. Oddly enough, that’s the last time you’re going to hear that without the closing of a car door punctuating the sentence.”

  If only that would end this little dalliance so simply. I know we’re not done talking about it, or finished with the potential, but I’ve bought some time to regroup and wise up. Come on, Abby, it’s time to make the right decision for a change. The road less traveled is the one where you keep your panties on in the presence of the hot guy who treats you like crap.

  Wow, I really am a sad person.

  Chapter Ten

  Shadow Victims

  I remember visiting Los Angeles the very first time. We hit all the sites, kept our eyes open for celebrities, and donned our blatant tourist visage proudly. Now, I dress like a secret agent when I’m there just to buy some milk and pray I can get back to the hotel without being spotted. That’s a weird evolution I never expected.

  —Abby’s Facebook

  I locked myself in my bedroom and sat on the b
ed, staring out the window. The argument flaring in my head involved whether or not I should kick Ian out of the house immediately or wait until later when we weren’t so pissed. My professional side argued I had to tread lightly because we couldn’t afford to fire two managers in less than a month and that’s where fighting with him would lead for sure.

  There wasn’t a good reason to get rid of him, not that I could tell the others about. The fact he was staying the night at my house wasn’t exactly conducive to happiness either. David might understand if I explained the circumstances thoroughly, but he shouldn’t have had to. I decided to let the night go by uneventfully because the next several months would be crazy enough to make it not matter.

  My mother came back into my head. How the hell did she have any money to be staying at a hotel? Who was she screwing to bankroll what had become her semi-fabulous lifestyle? The best question made me flush, both angry with myself and just because it made me sound like a jerk. Why the hell did I care what she was up to?

  I mean, turnabout was fair play and all that.

  I texted Sammy and asked her what she was up to. Her reply came right away.

  Sammy: Being bored. You?

  Me: The same.

  Sammy: We’re about to play Rock Band with our cousins. Just think of the fun you’re missing!

  Me: Hey, I like that game. I get to sing all the songs you guys think are too cheesy to cover.

  Sammy: Yep, keep getting your Night Ranger on at home cause I will never play that piano line outside the living room. That’s a promise!

  Me: You suck, I’d own Sister Christian.

  Sammy: So buy it on iTunes and sing in the shower. Gotta go.

  I sighed and flopped back on the bed, closing my eyes. My stomach was a little uneasy from all the spices at dinner and I tried not to believe Ian had done it on purpose. Still, the discomfort didn’t keep me from drifting off. As my senses relaxed, I became fully aware of the empty space in the room, almost as if open air emitted a low, white noise.

  I felt as if my body were weightless, my arms and legs so numb I couldn’t be sure they were still there. My breathing was regular, each inhale held for a moment followed by a long, controlled exhale. It was more like a profound meditation than actual sleep, the kind I saw in martial arts movies where the hero was preparing to beat the living ass out of the villain.

  Yeah, my monkey style would lean more toward snacking on rice cakes than battling ninjas though. Such is life.

  Darkness gave way to a vision of my neighbor’s house through my bedroom window. I could see their deck from my vantage point where they kept their barbecue and expensive lawn furniture. Every summer, the few times I was home they would host parties with kids, blow up swimming pools, and serve enough booze to make a sports bar look like an AA meet up.

  The sun was down. Dusk made their yard matte gray with black textures. Everything was quiet and the well-manicured grass seemed lonely as night took over. I wanted to open my window and breathe in the night air, but I couldn’t. Something held me back so I continued to observe, a silent voyeur of nothing.

  If this is a dream, it’s kind of lame.

  Their sliding glass door opened and two people came out. I couldn’t make out their features. They were silhouettes outlined in dark green. Their features were obscured by blotted, wild colors ranging from red to orange to yellow. Each time they moved, the colors flared in different parts of their bodies. Their centers were darker and the extremities were lighter, down to the feet of the woman, which were almost blue.

  I couldn’t make out what they were saying at first, but it was clear they were arguing. He thrust his finger in her face, gesticulating abruptly. She didn’t recoil, didn’t so much as take a step back. They were locked in a battle of willpowers and neither had any intention of backing down.

  An instinctive jolt filled my head and I knew they were escalating toward something terrible. I strained to move, wanting to open the window and tell them to stop. Whatever disagreement they were having, they could work it out. They didn’t have to resort to hurting one another, not any more than they already had anyway.

  I couldn’t move, but their voices came to me first as whispers then as clear as if they were in my bedroom.

  “You’re a fucking bitch,” he said to her, trying to keep his voice low, but it rasped against his slim control. “You’re a lying, conniving whore and you really should just admit it!”

  “I’m a fucking bitch?” Her voice raised an octave as rage swallowed her whole. “You fucked my sister, our lawyer, and even another guy and I’m the fucking bitch? I’ve never met anyone who deserved to be castrated quite as much as you! I got tired of waiting around at home and finally took care of myself. So what? Between the two of us, I’d have to be gang-raped to be more messed up than you.”

  “I didn’t sleep with that guy, God damn it! That was a rumor!”

  “You don’t deny the others?”

  “You know about the others! We have to work this out, Jill. Think of the kids—”

  “Is that what you were thinking about when you screwed Sarah in your office? Were you worrying about the family while getting a little oral advice from the lawyer in our bed? I’m thinking of the kids. The fact is, I can’t believe I’m so calm. I wish I had the nerve to kill you for what you’ve done!”

  No! I tried to shout, but it was just a thought trapped in my mind. I couldn’t do anything. I was a reluctant observer. Waking up was not an option and yet there I was, seemingly aware…seemingly conscious…but not.

  “Oh, this is too much! Do you hear yourself? Now you’re threatening me? Come on!”

  The woman lashed out and slapped him in the face so hard he stumbled toward the edge, his hands slapping the railing. He leaned there for a moment, staring down at his gray yard. I knew his thoughts, knew the impulses that rushed through his sinews and nerves, tingling his extremities and making him tremble.

  He thought about the life he had built with that woman. He wondered how he could possibly have screwed it up so badly and how his urges had destroyed everything he loved. His lust had always been uncontrollable, but he figured he could hide it properly. He never counted on his sister-in-law telling his wife about their rendezvous.

  And he hadn’t counted on the impulse that drove him to a desperate act in the next few moments.

  I fought to move so hard my entire body throbbed and ached. Nausea threatened to overwhelm me and I fought through it, desperate to intercede before he could act. The whole effort was wasted. I was doomed to watch, a viewer in the theater yelling at the victim to avoid the dark cellar where the killer was waiting.

  He turned from his perch, tears burning his eyes. His hands lashed out and he grabbed his wife, who was considerably smaller than he was. Fingers tightened about her throat, cutting off a scream. He drew back a fist and pommeled her once in the face. I sensed the pain flare through her body for just a moment before she passed out.

  I experienced her death from a firsthand perspective. Even unconscious, some part of her was aware of her impending end. Darkness closed in from either side, pressing her head like a vice. Some unseen weight constricted her chest, squeezing her lungs with invisible hands trying to make a bag airtight. Her heart beat faster than ever before, like a terrified rodent in the embrace of a bored, murderous cat.

  She woke up just long enough to pass from the world. Her eyes opened and the last image burned in her mind was the very thing she had loved not so long ago. A face she thought handsome had become ugly, her murderer…her end. They had committed to each other and she had sacrificed so much only to be betrayed time and again.

  The final time was more than terrifying. It shook her to the core and as I watched her soul lift from the husk that had been her body, I began to sob. Her pain became his pain. I couldn’t sympathize. As he wondered desperately about what he had done, I wanted to see him die. I wanted him to follow her, the attack he had initiated visited upon him. I would have done anything a
t that moment to be the one to throw the switch, pull the trigger, or shove off the building.

  I bolted upright on my bed, falling onto the floor. Sweat-covered, I was having a hard time breathing. Tears flowed freely and I picked up the sobs from my dream without missing a beat. The clarity I felt while watching them from the window was replaced by sheer panic. Had I witnessed an actual murder or was my imagination simply twisted beyond reason? I couldn’t tell one way or another.

  I crawled to the window, clawing up the wall to peer outside. My pulse raced as I fully expected to see the man hovering over the corpse of his wife, but instead of a macabre scene, there was nothing. The empty deck, the vacant yard, and the opposite side of their fence still in desperate need of a paint job.

  What the fuck was that? I wanted to scream the question. A knock on my bedroom made me jump.

  “Abigail?” Ian’s voice was muffled, but I could still hear the concern. “Are you okay? What’s going on?”

  I couldn’t help myself. Any port in a storm, desperation, terror, I couldn’t tell what drove me. I crawled to my feet and stumbled over to let him in. My fingers fumbled with the lock, but once it was disengaged, I threw the door open and fell against him, clinging as desperately as a drowning woman would to her savior.

  “What’s wrong?” Ian’s arms closed around me, his hand lifting to pet the back of my head. “Abigail, what’s happened?”

  “Dream…” I gasped. “I think…people…next door…argument…murder…”

  “Oh dear…” He let out a sigh. “It’s okay, Abby. I’m here now.”

  “What was it?” I still couldn’t risk raising my voice above a whisper. “What did I just see?”

  “Shadows of the future,” he replied. “Something that could be…will be most likely. That was your father’s talent as well. He was able to see events in great detail, even feel what the participants felt. It was quite extraordinary.”