The Real Thing

by Marina Simcoe

  “Well, I just keep him safe and happy. I make sure that he has everything he needs for work, and he makes money for both of us.”

  “You were friends in school,” I reminded.

  “He told you how we met?”

  I nodded.

  “We spent a lot of time outside as kids.” Simon paused and gave me one last long look before proceeding. “My mom drank a lot. Dad wasn’t around. Marcus’s foster parents at that time… Well, they weren’t the greatest out there. Marcus didn’t talk much about them, but he was never in a hurry to get home either. We used to hang out together on some abandoned property. The house had been demolished, and we played on the broken driveway. Marcus always had pop and chips lying around, and I was always hungry.” He shrugged and smiled again, but it didn’t reach his eyes this time. “Marcus didn’t stay at that house for long. Just a few months. They moved him to another foster home before the end of the school year.”

  “Do you know why?” I asked.

  “There was an incident — an accident — at his foster home.” Simon narrowed his eyes at me. “Marcus didn’t tell you about it?”

  For a second, I was worried that he wouldn’t tell me either but chose to remain honest and shook my head in reply.

  “He doesn’t talk about it,” Simon continued. “Maybe you should ask him one day. That night, I woke up from flashing lights and noise outside. There were fire trucks, police and ambulance on our street. The next day, Marcus was gone.”

  “What happened?” I urged him as my breath slowed in apprehension.

  “I’m still not sure. I was too young for anyone to explain anything to me, but I heard adults talking about a fire inside the home. It started in the bathroom. This was what puzzled everyone: most of house fires start in the kitchen, not the bathroom. Marcus’s foster dad was taken to the hospital that night with third and fourth degree burns to most of his body. All kids in their care were moved to other homes. The foster dad never came back. He didn’t die, but I think he ended up in a home somewhere. The foster mom got some insurance money for the house and left too. The next time I saw Marcus, it was in the parking lot where he was doing a magic show. Did he tell you about that?”

  “A little,” I confessed. “He was in high school then.”

  “Yep, he was in his last year of high school. I’m about a year older than him, and I had already spent a year doing random jobs whenever I could, shoplifted a little here and there when there was no work… Anyway, nothing good. When I saw Marcus performing, I didn’t even know who he was at first — he had that mask on — but I knew right away that he could do better than the parking lot. We could do better. I bought an ancient, rusty van from my mom’s boyfriend of the month, and we drove all over the state. I got him a few first gigs in some bars through buddies of mine. We were too young to even have a drink in a bar yet, but they would let Marcus do his show as long as it brought people and money in. It worked fine at the time. We did everything we could then: supermarket openings, country fairs, birthday parties…” Simon’s voice trailed off and his eyes focused somewhere past me as he remembered those early days of their beginnings.

  I tried to imagine what it had been like for them. Two young men — still practically boys — taking the world on, all on their own; I felt grateful that Simon was there for Marcus all this time.

  “You’ve done well,” I smiled at him warmly.

  “Yes. We’re doing okay,” he agreed, returning my smile. “We both got what we deserve, it seems. He has you waiting for him here, and I…” His voice changed as he exhaled a sharp laugh and got up from his seat. “Well, I have a whole bunch of showgirls waiting for me in the party room downstairs! Can you let Marcus know, please, that we may need a replacement for Rosy, the elephant, tonight?” He winked at me, adding, “Whenever he gets out of the shower.”

  I winced — there was no sound of running water upstairs. I was sure Simon noticed it too when I walked him past the locked downstairs bathroom and towards the exit from the suite.

  “Actually, he already knows about Rosy. He’s… um… going to do something about it,” I said as the bathroom door opened, and Marcus stepped out right in front of us, with a pink cloud of cotton candy on a stick held in his hand.

  “Simon?” His eyebrows furrowed.

  “Oh,” was all I could say at that moment.

  “Hi, Marcus!” Simon was the only one who didn’t seem to be fazed by Marcus’s sudden appearance. “I was just leaving. I came to tell you about Rosy, but Angela says you’re handling it already. So, we had some coffee instead.” He punched Marcus on the arm on his way to the door. “Good night, man. Have a good morning, Angela.” He winked at me over his shoulder again, and his eyes travelled to the cotton candy in Marcus’s hand for a second. “And all I get are a bunch of complimentary soaps in my bathroom!” he laughed as he closed the door behind him.

  17. The Fire.

  Usually, Marcus worked every single day for four weeks, doing two to three shows a day. After that, he was allowed a week off by his contract before starting another four weeks of shows.

  It wasn’t easy for us to find the time in our busy schedules to see each other. We got together for breakfast. Well, it was an early breakfast for me and a very late dinner for Marcus. Then I had to work a full day in the office and an evening shift at the store through the week. On the weekends, I had a little more time before work because the shoe store opened later. I even had an occasional Saturday or Sunday off here and there. However, Marcus had more shows on the weekend, and getting together was still difficult.

  Thanks to his ability to teleport, though, Marcus would find ways to see me through the day, no matter what. Often, he would text me to meet him in the supply room at the office to steal a kiss and a hug.

  On the rare nights when I didn’t have to work at the store, he would show up at my apartment when he had a break between the shows. Right off the stage, in full costume, still buzzing with the excitement of the last performance, he would give me a quick update from his show, a hurried hug and a warm goodnight kiss, leaving me dreaming about him for the rest of the night.

  Shortly after his performance in Toronto, Marcus started thinking about replacing the opening act of his show. The new act was supposed to be his very own original work again, just like the Phoenix act, and he looked so excited when he animatedly discussed his ideas with me.

  His work on the design and planning of the new act began in earnest during his next week off. Marcus was very busy in Vegas because of it, and I wasn’t surprised that I didn’t get to see much of him during that week.

  At the beginning, he still called and texted me several times a day even while he was meeting with vendors and working with the crew. Then, late Friday night, he texted me that he wouldn’t even find a minute to see me for the next three days, which surprised me.

  I was determined not to read too much into it, not believing that it could be the beginning of the end already. Until that text, he had always been so happy to see me whenever he had a chance; he couldn’t possibly want to finish what we had barely started! I refused to believe that there was a problem between us.

  The idea of not seeing him until Tuesday morning still made me very sad. Marcus had become so much a part of my everyday life that not seeing him every day left a void that couldn’t be filled. I missed him so much it hurt. I missed him so much it scared me.

  By Saturday, even his calls had stopped. He texted me “Good morning, beautiful!” when I got up, and then I wouldn’t hear from him for the rest of the day.

  ***

  I woke up hot and sweaty. It was still night. The room was dark, lit only by the ever-present glow of the streetlights from the window. Something large and scorching hot was pressed against my back. Startled, I made a choked noise and tried to pull away in surprise.

  “Don’t be afraid, Angela,” a voice whispered hot in my ear. “It’s me. Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  “Marcus!” I turn
ed around to face him. He broke the rule. He was not allowed to appear unannounced in my bedroom, not to mention in my bed! I was supposed to be angry with him. I was going to get angry with him — in a second — but first, I allowed myself a few moments of pure joy from seeing him again.

  I cupped his face and jerked my hands away immediately.

  “Oh my God, Marcus! You are burning up!” His skin was dry and unbelievably hot, almost too hot to touch.

  “I know. I need you, Angela,” he rasped, and I realized that he wasn’t whispering to keep quiet – he simply wasn’t able to talk any other way at the moment! His voice sounded rough and scratchy as it left his dry throat.

  “Are you sick?” I took a better look at him. His skin appeared papery dry. On the contrary, his hair was soaked with sweat; long slick strands plastered his temples and forehead. His eyes looked large and dark; they glistened with a weird, unhealthy shine in the semi-darkness of my bedroom.

  I raised my hand and touched his forehead carefully. It was so hot! I would have never thought a human body could withstand this type of fever. A chilly feeling of dread crept inside of me.

  “You need to go to the hospital, Marcus. I’ll call a taxi.” I made an attempt to get out of the bed, but Marcus grabbed my hand and pulled me back under the covers, close to him again.

  “Don’t go. I need you here… Touch me, please,” he breathed hard and seemed to fight to get the words out.

  Then suddenly, Marcus groaned and let out a tortured cry in a low grating voice that I could barely recognize as his. His back arched, and his hand closed painfully around mine. Every muscle in his body seemed to solidify to the hardness of stone. Veins bulged on his forehead and along his neck, running in thick ropes under his pale skin.

  Ignoring the pain in my hand squeezed by his, I cupped the side of his face with my other hand. He threw his head back and rolled it on the pillow with a growl of pain, while I tried to keep his head steady for him as much as I could.

  Fear seized my heart when I noticed that sweat beaded on his forehead only to evaporate in small streams of steam. How was it even possible?

  “Marcus,” I called to him quietly, really scared for him now. “Oh, my God, Marcus! What’s happening to you?”

  He could only groan in response, his body still twisted into the unnaturally grotesque arch.

  He was having a seizure!

  What was one supposed to do when someone was having a seizure? I tried to think frantically through the wall of rising panic. Even under the best of circumstances, my medical expertise didn’t reach far beyond the correct technique of applying a Band-Aid on a scraped knee.

  “I’m calling 911!” I made the decision and reached for my cellphone on the night table with a shaking hand.

  “No!” He groaned again and pulled me back with the strength enough to make me lose my balance. I swayed towards him and ended up crash-landing on his chest. It felt so hard, with his every muscle stretched tight in agony.

  “Stay with me,” he breathed out and the hard ropes of his muscles relaxed beneath me. The seizure seemed to have passed just as suddenly as it began.

  “Touch me,” he insisted again in a whisper. “Before it starts again.”

  His hands reached up to my face and pushed my hair back from my forehead.

  “You’re so beautiful, Angela,” he whispered in this eerie coarse voice of his, pulling me closer to him. His mouth landed on mine in an unexpected kiss, and his hands slid from my hair down my back.

  With a scorching hot moan into my mouth, he rolled us over, flipping me onto my back and covering me with his body as the cloud of intense heat shrouded us both.

  I felt one of his hands travel between us and palm my breast; I moaned in response as his lips slowly moved from my mouth and along my neck.

  “Just like that…” he murmured into the hollow between my collarbones.

  His breath hit my skin like a scorching blast from an open furnace, somewhat bringing me back to my senses.

  “Marcus, darling,” I pulled away and lifted his head with my hands, forcing him to meet my eyes. “You are very sick, honey,” I spoke slowly, articulating every word, making it easier for him to understand, just in case he already was suffering from fever-induced hallucinations. Why else would he want to make out with me right now when he was obviously in pain and in dire need of antibiotics? “We need to get you help.”

  “You are my help,” he insisted stubbornly.

  “Okay,” I humored him. Maybe there were reasons he didn’t want to go to a hospital; maybe he didn’t want any publicity in regards to his medical condition.

  I strained my memory to remember anything I knew about fighting a fever.

  “All right. Can I at least run you a cold bath, please? To bring the fever down?” I pleaded.

  I continued to hold his head in both of my hands, determined not to flinch from the unbearable heat radiating from him and burning my naked body so close to his.

  God, he looked horrible! There were dark shadows around his sunken eyes and in the hollows of his cheeks. His usually pale skin looked ashen and almost translucent now; the fever brought no colour to his face!

  My heart swelled painfully for him, urging me to do something, anything, for him. I made a move towards the bathroom in hope that he would let me go and would follow me as well.

  His words stopped me.

  “Bath won’t help. Water evaporates. I tried,” he said without moving off me.

  Was that true? The whole tub of water evaporated? Or was he truly delusional from the fever now? Both thoughts seemed equally terrifying.

  He must have seen the horror on my face.

  “No, no, no. Don’t be scared, Angela, please. You’re fearless! You’re never afraid of anything. Please don’t be afraid of me…” he begged.

  “I’m not afraid of you, Marcus. I’m afraid for you. You don’t look very good, sweetheart. Please let me help you somehow. Tell me what I can do?”

  “Everything. You can do everything. You can make it go away. All you need to do is let me make you feel good and keep your hands on me. That’s all.” He kept looking intently at me with those eerie glossy eyes. He obviously needed a doctor. Quickly.

  He sensed my unease because he lowered his head to my ear to move his face out of my line of sight.

  “Close your eyes,” he whispered softly. “Don’t look, just feel.”

  I inhaled deeply and closed my eyes for a moment, getting ready to argue again. His mouth travelled down my body then. Slowly. His tongue felt like licks of liquid fire against my skin.

  “You need a doctor…” I exhaled but kept my eyes closed. My body was already stretching, arching in the languid waves of heat that began to build up inside of me under his fiery touch.

  “I need you…” he echoed between the kisses. The bed sheet that had been caught between us dissolved into thin air. “Only you…” The heat of his tongue circled my nipple, reaping a sharp moan out of me. “You are like a breath of fresh air.” His hands slid down along my hips, leaving the feeling of hot molten lava behind. “A cool breeze to my fire.”

  “Ice queen,” I smirked with my eyes closed.

  “My queen,” he corrected, his mouth hovered well below my waist now. His hands parted my knees, and I screamed as his tongue slid between my folds. Too hot for the delicate flesh of the most sensitive part of my body!

  My first reflex was to jerk away just like one would from a hot stove, but Marcus held on tight to my hips, keeping me in place. He stilled for a second, letting me adjust to the heat and then moved the tip of his tongue in slow little circles.

  My head rolled on the pillow and my hands fisted into the sheet below me. I could no longer say if the waves of the intense heat that consumed me were coming from his tongue or from inside of me.

  “Oh, it’s good…” I gasped. “So good… better than good…” I exhaled on a moan.

  Just like that, he made me forget about everything around us. Nothin
g mattered anymore, only that tiny little petal of fire that was beginning to grow inside of me under the magical touch of his tongue.

  In no time at all, he fanned the tiny spark into a raging inferno, and the powerful waves of concentrated heat exploded inside me with the force of erupting volcano! I screamed as my hips lurched forward, towards him.

  His hand searched for mine. Through the fog of rushing orgasm, I remembered his plea touch me and grasped his hand tight. I squeezed it as hard as I could, holding on to it as I rode the scorching waves of pure pleasure, one after another…

  My eyes still closed, I felt Marcus move up the bed, closer to me, and then I felt a kiss of his hot lips on the tip of my nose. Well, not overly hot any more, actually… Did it really work? Or did I catch the fever myself and was hallucinating too now?

  I opened my eyes and saw Marcus looking at me. He was lying next to me on his side, propped on an elbow.

  “See! Feeling better already!” he smiled at me brightly.

  He even looked better too. His eyes no longer had the unhealthy shine in them; instead, there was a happy glimmer of excitement. His skin also looked normal.

  Eyes open wide, I reached for his face. It was hot, hotter than a normal temperature of a human body should be, but the heat was more than bearable now.

  “It worked?” I whispered bewildered. “What was it?”

  “I don’t know. Energy? Magic? It needs to be released regularly either through me giving a show in public to share it with as many people as possible or… through having sex. Otherwise it keeps building up until this starts happening. Unfortunately, I let it go too far this time. I was hoping to make it until the show tomorrow night —”

  “It hurts you,” I interrupted him.

  “It burns,” he agreed quietly.

  “It was terrible to watch! I could only imagine…” I shuddered thinking of his body twisted in agony.

  “Don’t. Don’t imagine it.” He moved a strand of my hair from my face and put it behind my ear. His hand stayed on my upper arm, massaging it soothingly. “I’m fine now. Thanks to you.”