Ever (The Ever Trilogy)

by Jessa Russo

  But first things first. Coffee.

  My research could wait until I’d at least had my coffee, right?

  I quickly checked my emails, slightly surprised to note that it really was only June 5th—the day after my birthday. How could it feel like so much time had passed when it hadn’t even been twenty-four hours since I’d come home from Disneyland? How could so much happen in such a small window of time? I felt like a different person. Who knew my entire world would change on my eighteenth birthday? Certainly not me. Most people expect things to be different, only to be gravely disappointed when they aren’t. Yay me.

  I threw on a comfy gray sundress and a hoodie, then left my room, my body auto-following the scent of coffee coming from the kitchen. As I made my way down the hall, I heard my mom’s voice coming from the dining room. I was surprised to hear her, but relief flooded me. If she was up and out of her room, then she must have woken up refreshed and ready to deal with life—craziness and all. I could mark off her mental health from my list of things to contend with for the day. I breathed a sigh of relief.

  Then I heard Frankie’s voice and groaned. So much for avoiding him for a while. I mean seriously, was this really my luck? Two guys I needed to avoid for a minute, and one of them actually lived in my house, the other right next door to it. Both of which made avoiding them for any extended periods of time absolutely impossible. I groaned again. Ugh.

  I guess I could avoid Frankie, at least for now … if I avoided the kitchen.

  Hmm. I debated with myself only briefly. Nope. Avoiding my morning coffee was definitely not an option after the night I’d had. I needed fuel.

  So, I entered the kitchen.

  Mom sat at the table with Frankie, chatting away about neighborhood gossip. I paused to really look at her. I noticed happily that she seemed to be in a good mood, a smile on her face. I admit I’d been hesitant still, even after I’d mentally crossed her off my checklist. But maybe she’d be okay after all.

  My gaze caught on Frankie’s hands, wrapped tightly around his coffee cup, and it was just one more thing I noticed about him. His hands: solid, real, and not going through the coffee cup he held. The memory of his hands on me last night popped into my brain, and my cheeks burned. Focus. Breathe. He was still in the same fitted white t-shirt and blue jeans as yesterday, and I mentally made a note to take him shopping after I’d tackled my list of things to do. Well, I guess it wasn’t so much a list of things to do, per se, more like one thing to do: find the truth. Not too crazy an idea, I hoped.

  I watched Frankie for a minute, soaking him in. His hair was starting to fall out of the almost-perfect pompadour it’d been styled into for the past two years, now that the hair grease was real again. I mentally noted that we’d need to get him some of his favorite hair stuff later as well. My stomach jumped around at the thought of it. All of these little things on my mental to-do list—the clothes, the Suavacito hair putty, the new Chuck Taylors—they all meant Frankie was finally home again. My Frankie. I didn’t know whether to be terrified that the impossible had happened or ecstatic. But I was mostly ecstatic, which made it really hard to focus.

  Especially since he’d kissed me last night, and the moment was repeating in my head on loop.

  I turned my back to my mom and Frankie, and I tried to rein in my thoughts. Staring at Frankie was doing nothing but make me blush, which was exactly why I wanted to avoid him for a little while.

  Damn. The carafe was near empty, with only about two sips left in it, so I set to making a fresh pot. Which totally sucked because waiting for the coffee to brew meant waiting in the kitchen, with Frankie, and I knew that I’d find myself staring at him again.

  “Well. It’s about time you woke up. I wish I had the luxury of sleeping all day.”

  I almost dropped the coffee can. The sharp sound of her voice sent a chill through my body, my muscles rigid in defense. I closed my eyes, inhaling deeply, and wishing her away.

  “Good morning, Ever.”

  Well that wish didn’t work. Seriously. What had I done to deserve this? I turned around, trying to mimic her faux pleasantry, but finding myself unable to offer even a forced smile. I hated her.

  “Ariadne. What are you doing in my house?”

  “Well, I should think that’s obvious. I’m having coffee with Annabelle and Frankie. I’m sure even you can figure that out.”

  She said it all with a smile, that sickeningly sweet smile she tossed around so flippantly. I wanted to punch her. Maybe I will.

  “Get out,” I said, through tightly clenched teeth. I wasn’t one to sling fakeness around the way she did. It wasn’t who I was. It took everything I had in me not to grab her by her hair and pull her right out of that chair and out the front door. I didn’t care if she was taller than me. I had body mass on her skinny ass, and I wasn’t afraid to use it.

  “Ever! That is no way to treat our guest!”

  My mouth fell open, gaping in shock at my mom. How could she welcome this … this monster to our table? How could she … ugh. She was even sitting in my dad’s seat.

  “No, no, Annabelle. Don’t be upset with Ever.” She reached over, patting my mom’s hand and smiling her evil smile. “She’s had quite a shock, haven’t you, Ever?” She winked at me before turning back to my mom. “I have to be heading out anyway. Thank you so much for the coffee.”

  She glanced back at Frankie as she left the room, and her smile reminded me of a shark—all teeth, power, and appetite. I think I might have growled at her.

  I closed my eyes again, trying to get the image of Ariadne the Shark out of my mind. My heart raced, and I was already sweating. She really rubbed me the wrong way. I really wanted to punch her.

  After I heard the door close behind her, I turned back to filling up the coffee filter. Conversation picked back up between my mom and Frankie. After a few minutes of focusing on the painstakingly slow drip of the coffee, the conversation behind me began registering in my brain.

  I turned around to look at them, my brows pulled down in confusion.

  “Are you guys serious right now?”

  Both of them looked at me—my mom with pleasant confusion, and Frankie’s face determined, his eyes boring holes into mine. Was I missing something?

  “What do you mean, honey?” My mother answered me in a sweet voice that matched her quizzical, doe-eyed expression.

  “Um, well,” I started, sure that the look on my face was blatantly perplexed and slightly irritated, not sweetly quizzical. “I guess I’m just a teensy bit confused about how Sharon’s begonias being trampled on could trump what’s going on in our own home.” I waved my hand in Frankie’s direction and then toward the empty seat Ariadne had only recently exited to emphasize my point.

  Frankie looked at me pointedly and then quickly shook his head, as if telling me to stop.

  “What?” I’m definitely missing something.

  Frankie cleared his throat. “Ever, your mom had just been telling Ariadne and I that it wasn’t just anyone who trampled your neighbor Sharon’s flowers … it was Bonnie’s dog that trampled the begonias.” Frankie spoke slowly, widening his eyes and emphasizing some of his words, subtly urging me to understand.

  I didn’t understand at all. Bonnie’s dog? Begonias? What the hell? I just blankly stared at him before glancing down at my own dog lying on the floor at my feet, as if he could help me understand the connection. I swear Gollum looked back at me with pity in his big brown eyes.

  I played it over in my head. Bonnie’s dog. Sharon’s begonias. Yep, still nothing.

  My mom, eager to get back into her normal everyday gardening activities—she’d avoided them since my dad’s death—began rambling on and on about her flowers and how she hoped Bonnie would keep her dog on a leash from now on, and how she hoped that the friendship between the three women wouldn’t be ruined. She kept talking as if Frankie and I were both staring at her and listening intensely. We were not, of course, as Frankie was watching me intensely and I
was intensely confused.

  Frankie came to stand next to me in front of the coffee pot, slowly turning me around so my back was toward my mother once again. As he fiddled with pouring my creamer and making my coffee—a task he handled perfectly I noticed happily—he explained the situation in a voice quiet enough that only I could hear him.

  “Your mom seems to … not want to … well, shit, Doll, how can I say this … she doesn’t seem to be ready to acknowledge what happened last night. More directly, what has happened to me.” He waved his hands toward his body, acknowledging his new physical form.

  “Oh.” I don’t get it.

  It took me a second to catch on. I really needed that coffee. I grabbed it from Frankie’s outstretched hand, took a generous sip, and waited.

  Oh!

  Oh, geez.

  ‘Not ready to acknowledge what happened.’ Then Toby’s choice of words from last night floated back into my mind: coping.

  Having. Trouble. Coping.

  Frankie looked at me and smiled a sympathetic smile. My shoulders fell in defeat.

  “Hey, hey, don’t worry, Doll,” he whispered, “I’m sure she’ll be fine. Maybe we should just give her a day or two to come to terms with it. She’s been through a lot, you know.”

  My jaw tightened.

  As if I haven’t also been through a lot? As if my dad didn’t just die. As if my boyfriend isn’t the one who turned out to be a soul collector. As if my ghost isn’t suddenly standing three inches away from me, begging me to touch him.

  Or, well, maybe not begging.

  But seriously. As if this whole situation wasn’t happening to me. As if it wasn’t me who brought Toby into our lives. Me who ignored my dreams. Dreams that were obviously—somehow—warnings.

  Me. This was all because of me.

  Maybe I wanted to check out of reality, too. Maybe I wanted to have a meltdown and crawl back into bed, cocooning myself up for a few days or focusing on gardening like gardening actually mattered. Maybe I wanted to choose to ignore what was happening right in front of my face! Had anyone thought of that? Had anyone thought about how I might be feeling?

  I didn’t voice those thoughts, keeping my immature ranting to myself.

  I stared at Frankie for a long moment, unable to find something relevant to say, and finally turned to head to my room.

  Frankie began to follow me, and I shot him a glare over my shoulder. “No. Not right now.”

  It wasn’t that I didn’t want to be with Frankie, I did, but I had to take charge of this situation and get some information out of someone. I no longer had time to nurse, or even think about, my emotions or feelings. It felt like I’d suddenly grown up overnight. My dad’s death and now my mom’s apparent vacation in crazy-town had left me with very few options.

  So. I became an adult at eighteen after all. It was awesome, adulthood.

  I settled down in front of my computer, powering it up and waiting for the screen to welcome me back. I opened up my browser then turned on Pandora, deciding on a little Lana Del Rey to start things off. Something about ‘Kinda Outta Luck’ was very fitting for my mood.

  I opened Google. I put my fingers on the keys. And then … nothing. I just stared at the screen. What was I looking for, anyway?

  Soul collectors? Hot guys who trick you? Ghosts that have become human again? Get real!

  I racked my brain, trying to come up with something somewhat logical to look for.

  When that didn’t happen, because let’s face it, there was nothing logical about my life now, I entered the first words that had originally come to mind.

  Soul Collectors. I felt foolish typing them, but whatever.

  The first few websites were about some cheesy TV movie from the 90’s.

  There was a shoe website called … wait for it … The Sole Collector. Shoe soles. I shook my head at the ridiculousness of it.

  Then I found something worth looking into. A website about soul collectors, believe it or not. It was worth a shot.

  It started out pretty promising.

  ‘Here you will find info on the soul collector … .’

  Okay. I was listening.

  ‘… or as some call him, The Hat Man … .’

  Resisting the strong urge to slam my head into my desk took a lot of energy. Hat man? I tried to picture Toby being called a ‘hat man’. Ugh. Stupid. I’d never even seen him wear a hat, though I assumed the nickname was probably some sort of metaphor anyway. But I continued reading, if only in hopes that I’d at least be entertained for a few minutes by delving further into this nonsense. I had to be doing something because sitting there would just drive me crazy. Or drive me to seek out one of the two people I was currently trying to avoid, which I was sure would be a mistake. Plus, there was also the solid fact that I had absolutely nothing else to go on.

  I soon discovered that the website’s owner had nothing else to go on either. The website wasn’t even finished. Great. Thanks for nothing, Hat Man.

  The website had a link for pictures, and I was half-tempted to ignore it, for the simple fact that if I clicked on it and saw a picture of Toby, I’d probably pass out. I clicked on the link reluctantly, holding my breath and cringing while I waited for the bomb to drop.

  Nothing. Just a blank page.

  Thank god. I was relieved. That’s silly, I know, but I was relieved nonetheless.

  I also felt completely ridiculous. I mean, what kind of people hung out on these websites anyway? Certainly not levelheaded people like me.

  After that website, there were a few band websites—Soul Collector was apparently a very popular choice in band names—and a few book links and gamer sites. Three or four pages into my Google search, I discovered that there was absolutely nothing to discover. Super.

  I decided to try to find something on Toby and Ariadne’s matching tattoos. Gag.

  In my frustration, my heart tried to tell me to go ask my boyfriend my questions, but I sternly reminded my silly little heart that Toby wasn’t really my boyfriend—not if he’d never truly loved me and our relationship had never been real.

  My heart then tried to convince me to call Frankie into my room and ask him my questions. But my heart was so trusting, which made it completely untrustworthy. Clearly, my heart didn’t want to accept the fact that I was pretty much on my own in this, and that was just too bad.

  After I’d searched Google images for angel wings … and angel wing tattoos … and angel wing tribal tattoos … and Seattle tattoos—seriously? What was I thinking with that one?—and tattoos with three lines—that one was even more ridiculous than the previous search for ‘Seattle tattoos’—I was completely annoyed, and nowhere closer to finding anything out. None of the images was what I was looking for, even though the list of word combinations was endless, as were the images.

  My patience, however, was not endless.

  After an hour or two of searching and coming up with no results, I gave up.

  What to do next … ?

  My next thought was the library, but then I reminded myself that without a point of reference to start from—and I couldn’t just ask for a book about soul collectors if I wanted non-fiction—I’d end up with the same frustrating results Google gave me.

  I stared at the wall for a few minutes, wishing for the idea to come to me. Begging it to come. But when it did, it wasn’t good.

  Dammit.

  Be careful what you wish for, whispered a little voice in my mind. I swear the voice was mocking me.

  No way. I don’t like this idea one bit. I stared at the wall for a few more minutes, willing something—anything—to come to me. There had to be a better plan. Ugh. I turned off the computer, reluctant to act on my idea, but unable to come up with a better one.

  Maybe, if I played it just right, I’d slip and fall when I stepped into the shower, cracking my head on the tile and bleeding out before I had to actually act on my next idea.

  Maybe a house would land on me when I walked outside.


  I showered slowly, unable to rush because I knew what I had to do. I threw the gray sundress back on, because I’d only worn it for a few hours anyway, and called Jessie. I wasn’t about to do this alone.

  When she answered her phone, I could hear that she’d been crying. Oh, no. She’d taken the shock worse than I’d figured. Of course, if she was crying, I realized, she hadn’t checked out completely like my mom had. The silver lining of the storm cloud that was now my life.

  “Jess? What’s wrong?”

  ”I broke up with Greg, Ever!”

  Oh, geez. Why had all of this happened? Anger filled me again, and most of it was directed at Toby. He brought these people into our lives, and whether he had intended all of this was beside the point. Like it or not, it had happened, and more than just I was affected by it.

  “Oh man, Jess. I’m so sorry.”

  “Do you know what he told me, Ever? He told me he’s a soul collector.” She paused, waiting for my shocked reaction. “A freaking soul collector, Ever! Did you hear what I just said?”

  Oh, geez.

  “Yeah. I know, Jess.”

  “You know? So what, you believe them, or something?”

  “Yeah, Jess, I guess I do. I don’t understand it—at all—and I don’t know what it all means, but I intend to find out. And wait a minute—aren’t you the one who’s been telling me to open my mind to the possibilities?” She couldn’t see my hand, but I’d added air quotes to possibilities.

  “Oh, Ever. I wasn’t serious!” Uh-huh, sure. Whatever. I dropped it.

  “Okay, well—”

  “He used me.” Her voice had gone down a few octaves, and my heart broke at the sound of it. “He used me to get to you.”

  “Jess. Maybe he—”

  “Forget it, Ever. It’s no big deal. There are a million guys just like him who would die to date me. No biggie. What’s your plan?” And with that, she’d moved past it. Or at least pretended to.