by OL Ramos
The Keeper:
Awakening
By OL Ramos
~~~
Copyright © 2013 by OL Ramos
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 1
"The first and most important thing: forget everything you've heard or read. Forget everything you thought you knew. It's not like television, movies, or those fast food chains would have you believe. It's not glamorous, or beautiful either. It's ugly, feral...and dangerous."
"At least, that's what I was trying to convince everyone of. My name is Elizabeth. Elizabeth McBeth. Don’t even start with the jokes, I've probably heard them all by now. Anyway, I'm a typical college student, struggling to get good grades and pay my living expenses. Of course, in trying to prove my message and achieve my mission of global enlightenment, I've come across a lot of skeptics. The world can be so cynical. And it's not like parents listen anyway, right? Ah, I'm ranting, sorry. I do that."
"The truth is, for all my big talk, I'm just trying to explain what happened a long time ago to my mom. Ten years ago, my mother was snatched by...something. It moved really fast. Way too fast to be anything normal. It snuck into the kitchen while I was eating my breakfast and took my mother away from me. All things considered, I think I'm really well adjusted. I mean, my dad was always there, and he really tries to help me out. But he’s never gotten over Mom leaving. He has spent the last decade thinking that she ran off with another man, or woman. He drinks a lot, not like A.A. a lot, but enough to drown his sorrows, or so he says.”
"Ms. McBeth," the therapist interrupts. "You say your mother was snatched by something. What exactly do you mean, something?"
There it is. I can see it all over his face. The look starts at the forehead, continues down to the squinting of the eyes and the lips squeeze together as if stifling a smirk. I know that he thinks I'm crazy. This is a waste of time.
"Yes, doctor," I stifle a smirk of my own. "I saw something take my mother away from me. I know why I'm here. I have issues.”
"’Issues’ is usually a term used with very negative connotations, Ms. McBeth," he says as he adjusts those big round glasses on his face. Argh, I just want to punch him right in those glasses. Maybe I have an anger problem?
"Ms. McBeth? Are you listening to me?" the doctor asks, breaking me out of my daydream. "I was trying to explain something pretty important here.”
I sigh. I know he thinks he’s trying to help. But he didn't see what I saw that day. This is my first visit with this guy and I can already tell he’s one of those uptight types who follow Freud to the letter.
"Sir, I meant no disrespect," I say, a half lie. "I was just trying to reflect on what you were saying.”
He smiles. These types always smile.
"Ms. McBeth, you mentioned your father's drinking. Talk to me a bit more about that. Did he ever hit your mother? Any violence or confrontation in the home?"
I adjust myself in my seat. My father would have never done that. The question irks me.
"No doctor, my father isn’t a violent man. The drinking was really only a social thing until my mother disappeared. And like I said, my father tries a lot. He just never really got over the whole thing.”
The doctor clears his throat. Real professional. I subtly look at my watch. Thank goodness it's almost time to leave.
"How do you feel about your father's drinking, Ms. McBeth?" the doctor asks as he leans in and makes eye contact with me. If he’s trying to comfort me or connect with me, he’s doing a real lousy job of it.
"It used to bother me, but now I only feel sad for him," I answer without even thinking. Poor dad, I hope he never hears me say something like that. "And please doctor, I know this is our first session, but could you call me Liz or Izzy? That's what everyone calls me. This McBeth business makes me feel a lot older than I am.”
"Okay Izzy," the doctor replies, finally unable to hold back his smirk. "And how old are you?"
"I'm nineteen," I report casually. At this point, I figure the doctor wants to make small talk.
"And why are you here?"
I've officially lost my temper.
"You know why I'm here doctor," I reply as sharply as I can. "I'm just trying to make my professors happy. I don't think I'm wrong in my way of thinking. And like I told you earlier, all things considered, I think I'm really well adjusted.”
Well, that sucks. I really want to let him have it, but that's about all I can muster. I watch nervously as the doctor adjusts himself in his big executive-style leather chair. Oh boy, this guy must picture himself as some sort of big shot. He's going to let me have it for sure.
"Well, Izzy," the doctor starts snidely. "I'm here to help. You should know that.” He reaches behind his chair towards his desk and pulls out a big clipboard with several sheets of paper attached. He yet again adjusts his glasses on his face and begins to read from the top sheet.
"You've already graduated from college...it says here you graduated before you even turned eighteen. With a major in literature?"
Great, now he’s going to tell me my own life back to me. As if I had forgotten.
"You're now at the local university, heading into..." the know-it-all doctor turns the page and continues. “You're heading into your second year there. And you almost have your master’s degree. Your professors all consider you brilliant, but eccentric. There's nothing new there, with brilliance others usually see eccentricity.”
"Or so they say," I retort. What's the point of this exercise anyway?
"Izzy, why such hostility?"
Oh great. Every new therapist has their own way of doing things. But I'm fine the way I am. I can't stand that this guy is trying to relate to me. He isn't really on my side; he's just doing his job.
"It's not easy doctor," I answer as I put a serious expression on my face. Fine, I'll play along with him for a bit. "I understand the concern and I truly appreciate it. But it's frustrating because almost every semester I’m faced with this problem. I have ideas that are my own, you know? And maybe they are farfetched or even outrageous, but they’re still my thoughts. I feel that if I actually made myself vulnerable enough to put my inner self out there, I should at least be given a certain amount of respect for being brave enough to leave myself vulnerable like that.”
The doctor is truly taken aback. He wasn't expecting my answer. I got him completely fooled, but it's all for the best anyway. No one ever understands me.
"What kind of ideas do you have, Izzy?" the doctor asks before being interrupted. His timer has gone off to signify that the session is over. The gentle chiming is supposed to be soothing and gentle. But to me, it's a loud rock concert that pumps me full of adrenaline; it means I'm free of this guy.
"Well, I guess that's all of our time for today Izzy," the doctor says somberly. "I'll write my recommendation to the school. But if you ever need someone to talk to, please know that I would be more than happy to help.”
He hands me his card and a smile, probably a fake smile, though. I play the part of grateful patient and grab it with my own version of a bogus smile and head out the office. I throw away the card at the first garbage can I see. I was hoping I could finally find someone to talk to this time, but as usual, it was yet another
doctor, just doing his job.
I'm on a full scholarship, so the university wants me to sit there, make nice, and grow up to make them look like the perfect learning environment. The university can't have a black sheep running around, that's just not good for business, I guess. As I walk to my car I try to decide what to do with my free day from the books, but I’m kidding myself. I really have nothing close to having plans. I sit in my car and exhale in frustration.
I feel around in my purse, looking for my cell phone. I had turned it off out of courtesy to the great and all-knowing doctor. I grimace to myself when I see that I have voicemail. I hate voicemail. Anyone who calls your phone and leaves you a voicemail means that they wanted to talk to you, but couldn't, yet what they had to say was somehow important enough to leave a message. I am almost always guilted into returning the call. I really hate voicemail.
First in line is my dad. He mentions something about coming over for Thanksgiving and the usual questions about how I’m doing. My dad and I aren’t really close, though not for his lack of trying. I just feel like he gave up on finding my mother, while I didn't. Second message is my boss, screaming bloody murder. Something about the restaurant being understaffed and if I could serve tables full time. I grimace once again. Last up is a conference call with my friends Cindy and Kat. I say friends, but really they’re just girls I know from school. I’m kind of a loner mostly…they want to see if I’m able to do anything this weekend.
Going to Dad's for Thanksgiving is a given. I have nowhere else I'd rather be. As for my job...yuck. I really don't want to even think about it, so I decide to skip over the thought for now. And Cindy and Kat? I’m much too busy for fun. Even though I really wouldn’t consider going out fun to begin with…well, I can maybe do something during the day, but I'm really busy at night. That's when I really work on my life's goal.
So what do I do at night? What's my life's goal?
I’ll find what took my mother, and no amount of therapy, time, or medication will ever get me to stop looking for her. I have to know if she's still alive or if I'm just crazy and imagined the shadow that took her. And if I'm crazy...well, I don't want to think about that for right now either.
Like I said, I need to prove to myself that I'm not completely out of my mind. It mostly includes a lot of reading. Tons. Any libraries that are open, book stores—usually the trendy ones that serve ten dollar coffees—and web surfing. Lots of web surfing. Actually, it's mostly web surfing now that I think about it. But I've also done some interviews with local "experts" and grave-raiding.
Hence why people think I'm certifiable. But I'm not. I don't think so, anyway.
I pull down the visor and look at my face in the mirror. Jeez, I really need some sleep. Not tonight, though. Tomorrow.
I reach for the radio and pause. On second thought, I don't want to listen to anything. I rush home, trying as best as I can to be patient with all the people in this city who should be arrested for just stepping into a car, much less driving one. Apparently, they'll give anyone a license nowadays. I run into my room at about mach 2 and change into my cutesy uniform, which I hate, and I'm right back out the door to get to work.
"Liz, you're late!"
I don't even have to look to know who's yelling at me. It's Jack, and he's really steaming. "Sorry Jack," I say as I rush to the kitchen. "I really have no excuse today. I had to go to another shrink; otherwise, the school would have kicked me out.”
"Liz, you know I'm shorthanded," he says as he turns the corner. Poor Jack, he's been waiting tables again. That always puts him in a bad mood. I'd say the whole responsibility of running his own business is going to turn his hair white, but it can't get much whiter. Maybe silver. And I'm daydreaming again.
"Liz!" Jack shouts to snap me out of it, by now he's used to it. "I'm talking to you here! You know, your merciful boss. The guy who is still wondering why you're under his wing.”
"Sorry again Jack, seriously," I spit out truthfully. "There's a lot going on. And as far as being understaffed is concerned, it's your own fault. You don't like anyone enough to give them a job.”
"Hey, hey! This here is a family business. Every time I give someone a job, they leave me high and dry holding the bag. The last three girls quit without any explanation. And they never even answered their cell phones. Hell, they never even picked up their last checks!"
"Jack...we've gone over this," I explain to my poor boss as I put my hand on his shoulder. "You're overworked. I'm overworked. When you say family business, I hear, 'I make everyone in my family plus Liz work here.' And as far as the last three girls, I told you, there was something strange about them leaving. You really should listen to me about—"
"I don't want to hear this, Lizzy," Jack interrupts. "I don't wanna hear any more about this crazy crap. We've wasted two minutes already with this! There's no such thing as ghosts, shadows, goblins, or whatever else you think! Those three girls were friends, and they fell into the same stupid habit and left the place. I bet they ran out of town, too. With the exception of the university, there ain't much else for a kid your age to do around here. Now do me a favor and drop it, okay?"
The bell from the front door rings. Great, a customer.
"And while you're at it, Lizzy, attend whoever walked in. If you give me a heart attack, you'll be the one I'm haunting.”
Jack does his best spooky wail and walks away in a really awkward way. Older men shouldn't act so goofy. But that's Jack for you. Screaming at me one minute, trying to make me laugh the next. He's been good to me.
I fix my blouse and head to the front of the restaurant to greet our fine connoisseur of exotic delicacies, and there he is. I've seen gorgeous guys, and I've watched movies. I've never seen a guy that gets much of a rise out of me, though. This guy makes my jaw drop. He’s older than me, I think. 21, 22 maybe? But talk about tall, dark and handsome.
"Hey there," he says. "Do I sit myself? Or...?"
He has a great voice, too.
"Whichever you'd prefer," I answer, barely avoiding a stutter. "I don't want you being stingy on your tip.”
Oh boy. He must think I'm an idiot. I try my best not to blush, but I bet I’m blushing.
"Alright," he says with a short smirk. "Don't worry about that. I'm pretty generous with my tips. Having said that, how about you sit me in a nice corner booth?"
He has a sexy, sarcastic air about him. I bet he has a great smile. I walk behind him and grab a menu. Jeez he's tall. And strong too—His muscles have muscles. what is this guy, some sort of football player?
"If you'd follow me please?" I say with a smile as I walk slowly towards the corner. I‘m hoping he'd smile back.
He merely cups his lips and nods his head. He seems to be thinking about something else. Maybe his mind wanders like mine? Well, my mind is definitely wandering, because I didn't even notice the briefcase he is holding. It must have been those jade-colored eyes of his. I bet they're contacts. There's no way anyone has that eye color naturally. Eh...I lose myself for a second; I guess he's some sort of plastic guy. Or maybe even a pretty boy. No thanks, never cared for that type.
"Excuse me, miss?" he calls out to me. He raises an eyebrow as I meet his gaze. "Is everything all right?"
"Yeah, sorry," I say in total embarrassment. "I was just thinking about school.”
"This booth is perfect," he says coolly as he takes a seat and places his briefcase on the table. "I really need to get some stuff done on the laptop, and the sunlight is a real hassle. You know?"
He opens up the briefcase and I manage to sneak a peek at tons of folders, printed paper, and newspaper clippings inside. He looks at me as he closes his briefcase and places a compact laptop on the table.
"So, are you a journalist or something?"
"Oh? You mean the paper clippings?" He looks back at his briefcase as he shakes his head. "No, nothing like that. It's more of a hobby, I suppose. So, what would you recommend, Liz?"
I catch a glimpse of his eyes a
gain. I can't find the outer edge of the contacts; those might really be his eyes after all.
"So you're one of those that like to read nametags huh?" I ask wryly.
"I just like being polite, that's all," he replies after a short pause.
"Well, we have one heck of a porterhouse if you have an appetite," I suggest as I realize I'm pretty hungry myself.
"Porterhouse, huh? That sounds good. I'll take your advice and get that, rare please.”
"Alrighty then," I answer with a smile, "and you get two sides. What would you like?"
"Surprise me," he replies, finally letting me see his smile. I was right; he's even more gorgeous when he's grinning.
"And what would you like to drink?"
"Well, you can give me a glass of water, that would be fine.” He starts booting up his computer and turns to face me again.
"That's not very adventurous, you know, a big guy like you. I was expecting you to say something else actually. What are you, some sort of football player? A wannabe boxer?” I can't believe it. I'm actually hitting on this guy. I've never done this at all, period. Oh well, have to start somewhere, I guess.
"Not really, no," he says with a chuckle. "I'm just a transfer student. I'm going to the university here, UA. Just for a semester though.”
"Really? Me too.” I know it because I can feel it—I'm definitely blushing now. "Well, tell you what, we'll go halfsies. I'll get you a cup of water, and a drink. You look tense.”
"All right, very well," he answers my prodding with another smile. I could get used to this.
"I need to see some ID, you know, for your drink.” Totally obvious way to get his name. I am so lame.
He furrows his brow and licks his lips curiously. After a slight delay he reaches into his pocket and pulls out his wallet. It's black leather, just like I figured it would be. He searches for his ID as if trying to hide the contents of his wallet from me, serves me right I guess. He hands me his identification and I, of course, scour over it like some sort of federal agent.
"You're 28?" I say not being able to hide my incredulity.
"Which is why I always am surprised when I get carded," he answers.
I hand him back his ID and start to walk away. I feel his hand grab my wrist firmly, yet he also did it with an undeniable gentleness that's impossible to describe with words. It just felt...contradictory.
"You know, if you wanted to know my name, you could have just asked me, Liz. A pretty girl like you doesn't need to hide behind such transparent schemes.”
And now, I'm mortified. Was I really that obvious?
"You must think a lot of yourself Michael," I say with a fake look of disgust that soon turns into a smirk of my own. "You figured me out though. What gave me away?"
"Call it a hunch. My hunches are usually pretty spot on.”
"Is that a fact?" I reply as I turn around to face him completely. "Can your hunch tell you that I don't like a smart ass? I'm going to have the bartender make you something that's going to completely floor you.”
"As if that's a bad thing," he says with a chuckle. A short, irresistible chuckle. He's actually starting to irritate me now, he's too much. "And besides, my hunch is telling me right now that you actually like a little cynicism. So go ahead, you and the bartender get together and plan against me. I can't wait for this awful conspiracy to come to light.”
I smile, feeling a bit guilty. This guy is completely reading me like an open book. No one's ever done that. That means that this guy could be trouble for me.
"All right, I'm up to the challenge. I hope you won't hold it against me when I have to call you a cab.”
My stomach complains loudly. Of all times to make a humiliating noise, why did my stomach choose this precise moment? I was almost gone. I grimace and look up at Michael's face.
"Excuse me; I haven't been able to get a bite to eat yet. It's been such a busy day. I'm so sorry.”
I've gone into full meltdown mode.
"Okay, let me propose a deal to you then," Michael starts without skipping a beat. "If you can't floor me with your alcohol, you have to sit down and have a meal with me, right now. Everyone's got to eat, right? Ask your boss if he's okay with it, I wouldn't want you getting into trouble.”
"Please," I retort, "Jack lets me get away with murder around here.”
"Not really, I don't," Jack answers. He completely snuck up on me. "But this young man's right. You should know better than to come into a shift with an empty stomach. If you lose, you sit and eat with him."
"But—"
"No buts, Lizzy," Jack completely cuts me off. Then to prevent my retaliation, he walks swiftly to the other side of the restaurant. I just can't win.
"There you have it Liz," Michael states calmly. "You heard Jack. It kind of sounded like a direct order."
I nod my head and walk away. I don't even know what to say any more. But I do know who I want to talk to. I rush my way over to Jack and pull on his sleeve.
"Jack, you're killing me!"
"Listen to me sweetie," Jack explains. "I've known you and your father for a long time. I've never seen you even speak with a boy, much less flirt with one. You're beautiful and you have such a good head on your shoulders. Any boy would be lucky to have you, but you never let yourself have fun. That boy there seems like he wants to take you out; let a guy take you out for a change. Besides, I saw you giving him the drool face.”
"What?! Drool face?"
"For a genius, you're pretty oblivious," Jack says dryly. "You're into the guy. It's not a crime. Besides, a guy that size, it'll take a lot of alcohol to put that giant down. And frankly, we need the money and you need the tips. So go, go, go! Bat your eyelashes and those pretty green eyes of yours and sell our food!"
"You're terrible!" I respond, just short of a yell. "What's next, Jack? You going to change the uniform to make our food a little more sexy?"
"I've thought about it," he confesses as he looks in the fruit refrigerator. "I am a businessman after all. But I wouldn't do that to you or your dad. You get hit on enough as it is, we don't need any more trouble. Especially with that mouth of yours.”
"I defend myself against one table of misogynistic perverts, and you’ll just never let it go, will you?"
"For Christ's sake Liz, you punched a guy in the face. I'm all for that women's freedom crap and all that, but you don't punch customers in the face. Now scoot.”
I know my face is pouty right now, but there's nothing I can do about it. The whole situation has me flustered. I decide to give up and sigh, turning to walk away.
"Hey, you know if you and that guy get together, your babies will have some pretty green eyes and one hell of an attitude!" Jack yells as he laughs loudly.
At least this fiasco happened in the kitchen. You see, most of Jack's business lies in repeat customers. He wasn't lying when he said the university was the only thing to do in town. Well, that and Jack's Place. Almost everyone here knows one another, and this bar and grill is the only place that people have to socialize. Who would have thought that such a prestigious university would be in this one-horse town? I continue racing through my thoughts as I place Michael's order and chat it up with the bartender, Roy. I have to butter him up pretty good, but luckily, he’s more than willing to spike Michael's drink with mostly liquor after I compliment him once or twice.
"Here's your water. You're going to need it," I say, and place Michael’s glass of water in front of him but pay care to not be anywhere near the laptop he is working with. Michael's eyes are poring over all the information on the screen at a really fast rate. So he's not just a pretty face on a hot body, huh? Interesting.
"Thanks for that. I appreciate it.”
"Don't thank me yet, Mikey boy," I say confidently as I put a tall blue drink in front of him. "That right there might be dangerously high in alcohol content. But it's nothing a big tough guy like you can't handle, right?"
He raises both of his eyebrows and looks at me as he closes hi
s laptop.
"Mikey? Only my father ever really called me that," Michael states as he pushes the cup of water to the side and grabs the death drink that will ensure my victory. "So, this is going to do me in, huh?"
I tilt my head to the side, wondering if I offended him or overstepped any boundaries.
"Yeah, that drink’s really strong; just take it easy, okay?" I caution him. I didn't want to lose, but I didn't want to call an ambulance, either.
I guess I wouldn't mind losing. Maybe.
"Want to double the stakes?" Michael asks, pulling me from my thoughts.
"What do you mean?"
"I'd like to take you out later tonight—that is, if I win," he replies immediately. "So, how about, you make the strongest drink you can possibly make, because this isn't it, and bring me two of those. If I manage to drink all three, you have to have lunch with me now and dinner with me later. Any place you'd like, of course.”
I laugh at the absurdity.
"This is the only place in town. Besides, you're talking like you won't be off your ass after that," I explain. "You're going to be done after that right there. There's no need for two more, especially not two more drinks stronger than that one.”
"Very well, so then you don’t have a thing to worry about, right?"
At this point, I'm having a real tough time trying to figure out if Michael is annoying me or intriguing me. I'll give him the benefit of the doubt for right now.
"Fine, but go ahead and try to drink that, hotshot, you're going to be eating alone to—"
I stop myself from putting my foot in my mouth any deeper. Michael has drunk the entire glass, without even flinching, in what is probably record time. I step back and look at him. I'm half expecting him to belch or throw up. But he doesn't do either. He just places the glass back on the table and goes back to work on his laptop, again, without skipping a beat.
"All right, that's lunch, why don't you bring me the other two drinks so I can guarantee dinner?" Michael says coyly.
I take the empty glass and head back to Roy. I imagine the shock was pretty evident on my face.
"What, he couldn't handle it?" Roy asks with a triumphant smile on his face.
"Not exactly," I correct him. "Not only could he handle it, he chugged it. He literally drank it without a pause. He must be some frat champion or something.”
"Well damn," Roy admitted with a puzzled expression, one he wore often. "I put almost nothing in there to chase it. He drank a cupful of almost pure liquor; I only splashed a little mix in there.”
"This time, don't splash it," I instructed in a frustrated tone. I'll admit it, Michael was getting under my skin, and I don't like losing. Maybe I can get him so hammered he won't remember a thing. Yeah, he was probably just putting up a brave front right now. The liquor will probably hit him by the time I get back to his table. "Better yet, don't splash anything in it. There will be no splashing. There’s going to be a lot of pouring. And make it the strongest thing we have in this place.”
Roy's eyes widened. "Listen, Pa told me about this guy already. So he wants to have lunch with you, what's the big deal?"
"Please, Roy, just do as I'm asking you, okay? I don't like pleading.”
"Fine," he answers as he scrounges around under the bar. "But listen, Lizzy, this here is going to be like one mega cup of hangover. It's basically going to be filled with nothing but shots.”
"That's great, make it able to bring down a bear, I'm going to need two of those.”
"Two of them?!" Roy asks incredulously, loud enough to interrupt the entire place.
"Sorry folks, continue your meal!" I shout at the patrons, trying to get the attention off Roy and me.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Michael laughing in his booth. At this point, I’m way past feeling embarrassment. He was going down.
"What the hell is going on over here?"
Great, Jack is back.
"Nothing Jack." I begin to explain my clever plan. "I was just telling your son over here the order of one of our customers.” I smile at Roy.
"Stop dragging your heels boy, just do what she's asking," Jack orders.
I notice Roy's harsh stare. I probably deserve it. I would apologize later, definitely. But right now, I just have to win. I wait patiently and full of confidence while he makes the drinks. He wasn't kidding, I think. I was getting drunk just off of the smell coming from the glasses. I place Michael's drinks on my tray and take them over to his booth.
"Here you go. Good luck sport," I whisper sarcastically. No way was this macho routine going to keep going.
But then, he drinks both of them, just as fast as he drank the first drink. He once again closes his laptop and looks up at me.
"Well then, get comfortable," Michael says calmly. "Not much kick in the alcohol, huh? I guess you let me win?"
I sit down reluctantly. I really hate losing.
"Well, you can't just expect me to give up can you?" I ask with a renewed sense of hope. "You might feel it any second now, and then, you lose.”
"I really don't think that's going to be a problem you need to worry about.”
"Yeah, well, we'll see.” I was in complete denial.
"So, what are you having?" Michael asks me as he picks up my tray. I’m not sure if he’s mocking me or trying to be sweet. I guess I was just too angry to note the difference.
"All right, you win, I'll take care of the order," I answer as I rise up and grab my tray from him. I hide my smile as I walk away. "I'll be back.”
"I can't wait.”
And that would turn out to be the best lunch I've had in a while....
