by K. A. Poe
“No...” It came out in barely a whisper as it finally sunk in that I had no one to go to anymore. Mom was gone; home would be vacant and lonely. I should have agreed to have Karen ride home with me after all. I fought back the moisture in my eyes, biting down on my lip and trying to force myself to suppress my feelings again.
“At least stay long enough to play that tune for me again,” he said, almost pleadingly.
4. COINCIDENCES
After thinking about it for a moment I decided that this must have been some strange plan of Karen’s for my birthday. It seemed like something she would do, or at least I hoped that was what was going on. He had said that she told him my name, where my car had been parked, and even that my birthday was tomorrow. That had to be it…
Hesitantly, I agreed to stay and play my song for Salem. He sat beside me on the wooden bench as I placed my hands on the keys. I shut my eyes as I played flawlessly – even to my own amazement, considering I had only come up with it this afternoon in school. I stopped abruptly when I felt his hands reaching across and touching mine. With a sudden gasp, my eyes flew open - his fingers were freezing! He smiled warmly at me and I forgot all about the cold of his touch and returned to playing, his hands following the movement of my own. I relaxed a little as I continued to play, until at last the song was through; he didn't remove his hands.
“I still cannot get over how beautiful it is,” he said quietly as he peered into my eyes.
“Um…th-thank you,” I whispered, my cheeks growing warm. I glanced at my watch: 7:15. I sighed.
“What's wrong?” Salem asked, and then noticed where my eyes were looking. “Oh. Still not sure you want to wait and see?”
“See what?” I asked.
“How many times must I tell you?” he grinned. “Are you hungry?”
“A little,” I replied honestly, before I had the chance to think better of it. What if he intended to poison me?
“If you could have anything right now, what would it be?”
I laughed as I thought about it. “Umm…chocolate cheesecake drizzled with caramel.”
Salem shrugged. “I will see what I have.” Before he turned toward the kitchen, I could have sworn I saw a glint of violet in his eyes, but I ignored it – it was probably my imagination playing tricks on me. He walked into the kitchen, tugging me gently behind him. As he opened the black door of the fridge, my hand dropped from his grasp and I stood frozen in shock. Sitting on a glass plate on the top shelf of the fridge was a slice of delectable cheesecake, just as I had described it. I shook my head in disbelief. I barely noticed that the rest of the fridge was empty.
“How?” My voice barely came out.
“Coincident?” he smiled. “Go ahead, eat it.”
“How do I know you didn't poison it?” I gasped. “Are you some sort of sick serial killer or something!?”
The look of hurt in his eyes made me regret it instantly. “You think I would poison you?” he frowned. “Would you like me to eat some of it to prove it is harmless?”
I nodded my head slowly, still unable to completely convince myself this strange boy had my best interest in mind, regardless of the clues I had pieced together about my birthday.
Salem shook his head in disappointment, but I watched him pull open a drawer. Wielding a silver fork, he gathered some of the cake and put it to his lips. I watched, my heart pounding, as he chewed the luscious chocolate and he smiled up at me. “See? It is perfectly safe.”
“Okay,” I gave in and took a bite. It was even better than I had imagined. I tried to fight the urge to eat the entire slice, but it was impossible. It was quite possibly the greatest food I had ever tasted. “Are you a chef?”
He laughed; the sound was musical, beautiful...I wanted to hear it again. “No, but I will have to let the baker at Budwell's Bakery know you appreciate his work.”
“I still don't understand how you had a piece of cake just like the one I wanted just lying around in the fridge,” I said, wiping my mouth of chocolaty residue.
He shrugged. “I told you...purely coincidental.”
“Right...” I said as we walked into the wide, open living room. He lay out on the end of the sectional, and I sat on the opposite side. Part of me wouldn't have minded being closer to him, but I felt distance was safest at this point. I contemplated what could possibly happen at midnight, how it would change anything, and how this boy could be involved in anyway.
“How long have you lived here, Salem?” I asked out of the blue.
“A few years,” he replied, putting his hands behind his head. He looked comfortable, serene. Strands of black hair fell across his eyes, shrouding them from my view.
“Did you just start going to our school today or something?”
He didn't respond right away. “No,” he answered simply.
“Were you going to a different one before?”
“Yes,” Just as simply.
I glanced at my watch again: 8:13.
“Sooo…tell me about yourself,” I said as I watched the second hand on my watch tick slowly by.
“I don't have much to tell you right now,” he said in a strange voice, “that will have to wait until the right time.”
“Midnight, right?” I laughed, but I wasn't really amused.
“Perhaps,” he lifted his head to look at me, “I'm not sure what I can tell you, to be honest. It isn't entirely for me to decide.”
“What are you even talking about?”
“It will be easier to explain come midnight,” he assured me, but I was doubtful.
“Do you not own a TV?” I asked, growing bored.
“No. I have no use for one.”
“What?” I laughed. “Everyone watches TV, or at least movies!”
“Do they?” he asked thoughtfully as he rested his head once more.
I sat and watched him lying there perfectly still, as time slowly crept by. I was tired – no, exhausted – and longed to return to that familiar place I reluctantly left this morning. This day had twisted in such a way that I never could have imagined. Mom was gone; I still couldn't grasp that fact. I had a house in my name. Jason wanted to throw a party, and I made the wretched mistake of agreeing! Then, I met this bizarre, yet fascinating boy...and ended up here. How did things turn out this way? I should have woken up in the morning, found mom at her usual spot at the table, left for school, had an ordinary day, gone home, watched TV and gone to bed.
“So,” I said, interrupting the silence again, “seeing as you don't spend your free time watching TV like a normal person, what do you do?”
“I do plenty of things. A lot of my time is spent reading, hiking, listening to music, pondering our existence...”
“You do have a pretty big collection of books, I see,” I commented, eying the shelves of books. “What are your favorites?”
I could see a faint smile spread across his lips as he contemplated my question. “Hmm...I suppose that might include some of Charles Dickens' literature, as well as Poe's masterpieces. The Picture of Dorian Gray and I must admit I have a soft spot for Romeo and Juliet.”
With scarce realization, I felt myself smile. He shared interest in some of my favorite reads, but that shouldn't surprise me – considering he appeared to have tastes beyond his years, shown not only in his book collection but his choice of clothing and his love of the piano. “Those are some of my favorites, too,” I replied, “Are you in the drama club at school or something?”
He glanced toward me and arched a brow, “While I enjoy the occasional play, I cannot picture myself upon a stage. Why do you ask?”
“You dress a lot differently than most kids our age.”
“Our age,” he mused, laughing to himself at some unspoken joke, “I suppose I just have finer taste in clothing than the typical teenager.”
“What about music? Do you play the piano?” I felt somewhat stupid asking, considering he did possess the very instrument.
“Occasionally, although I dare
say I am not nearly as exquisite a pianist as you are.”
My cheeks reddened, “I'm not that good, really.”
“I disagree. You have exceptional talent, Alexis,” he smiled again, “you should put that to use, perhaps make a future out of it.”
“Me? On stage?” I laughed at the thought. “There is no way I could get on stage in front of a crowd and play. I barely have the nerve to play at school in front of the music teacher. I just can't see myself doing that.” I frowned.
“You never know, someday that might change.”
“I wish I could look at it like that as easily as you can,” I sighed. “Do you mind if I check out your book shelf?”
“Be my guest.”
I watched him closely as I rose from my seat. I walked across the plush rug and over to the bookshelf. To my relief, I found The Raven amongst the wide variety, but that didn’t surprise me at all. I plopped myself down in the armchair, switched on the light and began to read from where I had left off at school. Before I knew it, I unintentionally dozed off.
5. MIDNIGHT
‘Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary, over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore, while I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, as of someone gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.’ [- Edgar Allan Poe]
“Nevermore,” I heard a silky voice whisper into my ear. A wisp of cool breath tickled against my neck and I ju
mped. My eyes burned from exhaustion, and my heart was thumping hard in my chest.
“It wasn't all a dream, then,” I said, somewhat disappointed but at the same time a little relieved.
Salem simply smiled at me, “It is midnight.”
“It is?” I looked at my watch to be sure. “It is! I must have dozed off while reading. So…what happens now?”
“Your mother didn't just leave on a whim,” he said grimly, and quite suddenly.
I stared at him groggily. “What? You know my mom?”
“I met her once before,” he said, “You might say I am familiar with her boyfriend more so than her. She left this letter with me, to give to you on your birthday.”
“How did you know where to find me?”
“She told me where you would be, just read the letter.”
I tore the letter open, my heart racing once more. How much agony was I going to have to endure before this was all over? I read down the letter, slowly taking in each word -
'Alexis, September 9th, 2012
Happy birthday, sweetie. I know the circumstances are a little different than you might have anticipated, but trust me – things are only going to get better. Paul was the one that insisted I leave – maybe not quite like this, but nevertheless you shouldn’t put the blame entirely on me. You can beat him up for that when you see him again.
I left a present for you with Salem, whom I hope has been kind enough to explain the situation with you more than this letter can. While having a house of your own with no expenses might seem like the perfect eighteenth birthday present, that was more of a gift to me than it was to you. I hope you like it and can find some use for it.
Visit Paul as soon as you can. You will understand even more clearly when you do.
Love always,
Mom'
Before I could ask, Salem passed me a present. This led me to believe he had read the letter, but I ignored that thought. I ripped the bright pink wrapping paper away, revealing a simple cardboard box. It wasn't taped, but the flaps had been folded so it wouldn't open. I popped up the flaps to reveal a black, leather bound book. When I opened it, the pages were blank. I looked at Salem, as if he might have an answer for me.
“What is it?” he leaned over to have a peek.
“Is this some sort of diary?” I laughed. Mom should have known by now that I had no interest in a diary. I had never written in one before, why would I start now?
“I suppose it must be,” he looked a little shocked, as if he was expecting something entirely different. “Whatever it is, your mom wanted you to have it and that's all that is important,” he smiled.
“Please tell me this isn't what I waited all night for.”
“It isn't,” he glanced away from me, his eyes turned toward the vast window behind the sectional. “Now that you are eighteen, your mother thinks you can handle the truth,” he sighed heavily. “I don't know why I was the one left with this task.”
“The truth about what?” I demanded.
“Your heritage, your real family,” he glanced up at me, “I know this is all very sudden, and it is going to be confusing and hurtful, but I need you to listen. Janet isn't your real mother, Alexis. Nor is Desmond your father.”
I nearly laughed, but stopped myself when I noticed how serious Salem looked. “Of course they are my parents! I have been with them all my life!”
He smiled warmly and took my hand, leading me to the sofa. I sat down hesitantly beside him. “Paul is your real father.”
“As in my Uncle Paul?” I shook my head and laughed. “That's not possible. Is this some sort of birthday prank or something?”
“Think about it, Alexis.”
And I did. I thought hard, picturing Desmond and Janet in my mind. I looked nothing at all like them. My father was dark-skinned, lanky and there was no resemblance between him and me. My mother and I may have shared the same dark brunette hair and light complexion, but everything else about us was different. My head was spinning, this was too much.
“Relax,” Salem whispered, placing a gentle hand on my shoulder. “It is going to take some adjusting to, but in time it will all make sense. I promise.”
“If you’re telling the truth then why didn’t Paul say something before?” I didn’t want to believe him but the more I thought about it the more sense it made. I wanted to cry, to scream, to escape. This was all too much in one day.
“He had to wait. It wasn't safe until now,” Salem's blue eyes were serious again and there was no sign of the warm smile he often wore. “Have you ever read about the Salem Witch Trials?”
Why was he suddenly changing the subject? What did this have to do with anything? I nodded slowly, recalling reading about it in middle school.
“Remember how I told you my name was a bit contradictory?”
“Yeah, sure,” I remembered it more than I wanted to admit.
“My mother was an ancestor to Alice Young,” he spoke quietly, “she was the first witch to be executed during the Trials. Do you understand how this is contradictory?”
“Yes...” I muttered. “What does this have to do with anything?”
“The world isn't as simple as it might seem, Alexis,” he stared out the window behind us. The water rippled elegantly, the bright moonlight reflected upon the lake's surface. “Coincidences simply aren't coincidental.”
The cake. The cake wasn't coincidental? On came the spinning again. “What are you trying to tell me, Salem?” I gasped, trying to breathe.
“Calm down,” he whispered, “the witches in Massachusetts were real witches.”
I shook my head in disbelief. “Are you trying to tell me that you’re a witch?”
“Warlock would be the correct term, I suppose,” he replied with mild humor, “but, no. I'm not a warlock - at least, not exactly.”
“Not exactly?” I eyed him suspiciously.
“I have some...special abilities. But I am definitely not a warlock.”
“I think you have a bad case of sleep deprivation or something, Salem. Or you’re…I don’t know…this is insane.
He smirked. “I don't sleep. It isn't necessary for me.”
“What?” I laughed, knowing I must still be asleep and suffering from bizarre dreams brought on from the stress of yesterday’s events.
“I'll explain that another time.”
“I should go home...” I blurted out suddenly. “This is all wrong. This is all crazy…you're crazy!”
The last words clearly stung. “I am not crazy. Neither are y
ou. And you are in no condition to be driving right now. You can stay here.”
“Here?!” I shouted, bewildered. “Would you stay in some stranger’s house after they told you your parents weren't who you thought they were for the past eighteen years, and then told you he had special 'abilities'?!”
Salem frowned and his eyes reflected the sadness. “Honestly, I probably wouldn't – if I didn't know all of this was true.”
“What are these special ‘abilities’ you claim to have anyway? And how do you do them?” My mind was racing with questions, worries. Was this really happening?
“That cake,” he smiled sheepishly, “I can make things materialize like that.”
“What? How?”
“It's a long story, Alexis,” he leaned back on the couch. “You probably couldn't handle it all right now. I'll tell you more tomorrow.”
“I can handle it,” I insisted, although I knew that was a lie. In fact, I was almost certain I was somewhere on the side of the highway, unconscious in my flipped over vehicle and my mind was wandering as I slowly slipped away, because this was not possible. This was not real. Wake up, Alexis, wake up! I thought to myself as my mind raced almost as quickly as my heart.
“I won't tell you any more until you have rested,” he said firmly, “would you be more comfortable sleeping on the sofa or in the guest room?”
“I'd rather sleep outside in my car,” I said sharply. I really wasn’t in a state to be driving but I surely wasn’t going to be sleeping somewhere this crazy person could get to me.
“I could arrange for that to happen, but really, I think it'd be wiser to stay indoors. There are much more dangerous things out there to you than me.”
“Fine! I'll sleep here,” I gave in, defeated. It was true that he hadn’t hurt me yet, and he had had ample opportunity while I napped.
I didn't object to him helping me stretch out across the sofa, nor did I notice him leave the room to fetch a blanket and pillow. I had to admit that this was comfortable, warm and much better than struggling to sleep in the Alero.
