by Alice Bell
28. Ruby
HENRY WAS taking me rafting. He spread maps across my bar. We pored over them, plotting a route down the Snake River that twisted through Hells Canyon. I couldn’t make sense of it. The lines on the map were squiggly and the names of the landmarks incomprehensible.
“The rain isn’t going to last,” he said. His cheeks were ruddy with anticipation. “The weekend will be hot.” He showed me the weather report on his phone. There were five suns all in a row, starting Friday. The high temp was supposed to hit seventy-nine in the city. “Always warmer in the canyon,” he said. “Bring sunscreen.”
He brought up a picture of a leafy green plant. “See the shape of the leaves? It’s poison ivy. Don’t touch it. Once, my old girlfriend and I set up camp on a bed of poison ivy. Can you believe it?” he shook his head, as if he enjoyed the memory. “Turns out I’m not allergic. But boy, it got my girlfriend. Welts as big as a baby’s arm. Nasty stuff.”
Fear coiled in my belly.
“What about rattle snakes?” I said.
“Snakebite kit. Don’t worry, I’ll suck the poison out of you. Hey, kidding. I’ve only run into a few snakes down there. You respect them, they’ll respect you.”
Why did people always say that about dangerous wild animals? The best way to show respect, I thought, was to stay home. In my own habitat.
I couldn’t imagine riding in a raft, trying to sleep on the hard ground, poking bushes with a stick to check for snakes, and making coffee over a fire. “Cowboy coffee,” Henry called it.
He left a giant green backpack on my living room floor, and a list of what I was supposed to put in it.
After he had gone, I stashed the pack in my utility closet. We weren’t leaving until Friday.
* * *
In the days that followed, I stayed inside my apartment. I was afraid of running into Zadie and Inka.
I ordered groceries, ate regular meals, took my medication, and climbed into bed at ten. But I couldn’t sleep. I laid there and watched shadows moving across the wall.
Friday was fast approaching. I’d done nothing to get ready for my raft trip with Henry.
I felt a crawling beneath my skin, a low buzz in the back of my mind, which was how it always started—the downward spiral.
On Thursday night, I called Henry at ten. He picked up. I was relieved, until I heard noise in the background, music and voices, like he was in a bar.
“Rubes,” he said. He’d never called me Rubes before. It sounded strange in his drunken voice, and made me feel afraid, like if I fell into poison ivy, he would laugh. I pictured his old girlfriend with welts all over body.
“You got that backpack balanced?” he said, too loud.
I held the phone away from my ear. I had no idea what he was talking about.
“Rubes … you there?”
I swallowed. “Can you come over?” I whispered.
“What? Speak up.”
“Will you come over?” I felt like I was yelling. My voice was hollow, foreign.
“Right now?” There was a long silence, followed by a muffled, scratching sound.
“Please?”
“Um, yeah. Hold on. Get another pitcher,” he said to someone else. Then to me, “I’ll come by later. Okay?”
“Okay,” I said, but he’d already hung up.
I put on a black silk dressing gown and combed my hair. I played The Smashing Pumpkins and looked out my vista window at the building across the street. Someone had moved in. Party lights edged the windows. A pot of red geraniums bloomed by the front door.
The bars closed at two. It was half past.
I expected Henry soon. I ran a bath, with my phone nearby on the counter, so I could let him in, when he came.
Only he never came.
I fell asleep, at last, just before dawn, and didn’t wake until a gash of sunlight broke through a part in the curtains.
My head felt thick. My eyes were grainy.
I got up and retrieved my phone from the bathroom. It was Friday, 1:39 p.m. Henry had wanted to leave for Hells Canyon no later than ten this morning.
His first call had come in at eight. He left a voicemail. “Hey, Ruby. Sorry about last night. I'll swing by in an hour or so.” He'd called from downstairs at quarter past ten. “Look, I'm really sorry about last night … where are you?” At 11:27, he said, “Really? This is how you're going to play it? Grow up, Ruby.”
My stomach cramped. He thought I was purposely ignoring him? Standing him up?
I thought of how many times he'd shown up late. Last night, he’d blown me off completely. I couldn't quite grasp why he believed I was the one playing games. If not for the empty backpack in my closet, I would have called Henry back and told him to grow up himself.
I ate a croissant and an apple, and graded a couple of senior mid-term essays. Later, I showered and put on a red and white floral pattern dress with a red cashmere sweater, and red strappy shoes.
The lowering sun made the sky pink and gold.
I meant to walk down to the cafe on the corner and get a coffee (screw Dr. Sinclair and her damned green tea). I wanted a triple shot cafe au lait, served steaming hot in a bowl.
When I came out of my building, I saw a battered Volkswagen bug pulling in across the street. I watched as a dark haired woman got out. My pulse raced. She’s familiar, I thought.
My hands trembled.
I waited for a car to pass, before crossing the street. The woman had climbed the stairs to my favorite building. She was unlocking the door. The way her black hair hung down her back, I suddenly knew why she was familiar. She reminded me of Scarlet Rose. She had to be her mother. There was no doubt in my mind.
“Excuse me! Hello!” I picked up my pace, trotting towards her. I was wobbly in my heels. But I needed to catch her, to talk to her. It felt paramount, in that moment.
She turned.
“Hi!” I waved.
She came down the stairs to meet me.
I was breathless, like I had run a marathon.
She had an open, lovely face, and big brown eyes, a sophisticated streak of gray in her long hair.
“I'm Ruby Rain,” I said, my voice shaking, like it used to when I talked to Henry. “I'm your neighbor across the street.”
“Oh, you live in the old hotel,” she said. “I hear it's been magnificently redone.”
I was confused, thrown off track, like meeting a long lost friend who doesn't recognize you. “I—are you Scarlet's mother?”
“Why, yes,” she smiled. “I'm Sarah.” Now, there was a question in her eyes, and something else, awareness.
I knew she was psychic, at least, according to Scarlet. I hoped she hadn't glimpsed a tragedy in my near future. Blood rushed to my head. “I used to be one of Scarlet's teachers at the academy. How—how is she?”
“Well, I think she is doing quite well. As well as anyone can at eighteen. She's in L.A. At art school.”
This was a relief to me, but not, I realized, what I wanted to talk about.
I licked my lips. “I'm glad.”
“Are you alright, love? You look faint.”
“I just need to eat,” I said. “I, um … I was wondering if you do psychic readings? Scarlet mentioned something about it.”
She nodded. “I'm afraid I don't, anymore. I'm sorry.” She looked as if she truly was, as if she pitied me, in fact.
“Oh … okay. Please tell Scarlet hi for me. She was one of my favorite students.”
“Thank you. Of course I will. Next time she comes home, I’ll send her over.” Her expression didn’t match her casual words. Her brows knitted and she appeared severe. I almost felt afraid of her.
I hurried down the sidewalk.
“Wait … Ruby!”
I stopped and turned back.
“Can you come inside for a minute?”
She held the door for me.
Inside, it was cold. I thought maybe I wouldn’t like to live here, after all. The ceiling was so high, and the m
arble floors would never be warm. Not even in summer. My grandmother’s house had also had cold pockets. It was one of the reasons I was glad I’d moved.
I followed her up the winding stairs, into an apartment, where a furnace churned out moist heat. The antique furniture reminded me of my grandmother’s house too. The wine colored Oriental rug across the dark wood floor was almost identical to the one I’d left behind.
“Listen, love. I want to give you something I hope you’ll accept.” She pulled a book from the shelf. It was thick, hardbound. The title had gold and black lettering: The Guardian Spirits, by Sarah Rose.
I took it from her. “Is this why you don’t do readings anymore? So you have time to write?”
She tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. Her touch was so tender, I could have cried. “I can’t do psychic readings,” she said. “They drained too much energy and made me sick. But I can still help people. Through my books.”
“Thank you,” I said.
“Do me a favor, and read it right away. If you have any questions, come over. We’ll talk. And have tea. Okay, sweetheart?”
I nodded.
She reached up and took off a necklace tucked into her sweater. “I’d like you to have this amulet too.”
She stood before me, tall, like Scarlet. I gazed up at her, thinking she could have been a Greek goddess; Athena, or Artemis.
“It’s a bit crude,” she showed me the necklace, a blue stone, the color of a robin’s egg, attached to a silver chain. “You have such beautiful clothes. I know it isn’t your style. But it’s a protective crystal. Please wear it.”
“But—it’s yours.”
“It belongs to you now.”
A protective crystal. She has seen my doom.
“May I put it on you?” She leaned down to clasp the chain around my neck. Her skin, brushing mine, was soft, her scent exotic, like a magical forest. She whispered in my ear, words I couldn’t fathom, but understood were a prayer.
29. Zadie
THE GIRL had been possessed by Devon. She would love him until the day she died. Which should be sooner, than later, Zadie thought.
When she had held Ruby in her arms, Devon’s memory lit up inside Ruby, and thus, inside Zadie. She tasted their first kiss, saw their heated lovemaking, felt their passion coursing through her own veins.
“When are we going to kill Ruby?” she asked Inka, who was being far too lackadaisical about the situation.
They were in their hotel room, getting ready to go out. Inka painted red lipstick on her mouth. “We’re not going to kill her,” she said.
“You promised!”
Inka turned from the mirror. “Devon is going to kill Ruby.”
Zadie’s breath caught. “Have you heard something? Is he coming?”
Inka reached for her leather jacket. “He’s coming.”
“When?”
“Oh, Zadie. Don’t be so boring. You’re getting on my last nerve.”
Inka drove, taking the freeway, toward China Town. As they neared Irving Street, Zadie felt slightly mollified.
They cruised slowly past Devon’s building, where lights warmed the windows. There was a light on in Ruby’s apartment too. Things were looking up.
“This woman who has taken over Devon’s building,” Inka said. “She is a famous psychic.”
“How do you know?”
“Bram has eyes and ears all over the city.”
“Is she terribly famous?” Zadie said.
Inka chuckled. “Not really. A local celebrity. I don’t like her being so close to Ruby though. She could get in our way.”
“How annoying,” Zadie said.
“You can satisfy your blood lust, Little One. When we get rid of the psychic.”
30. Devon
FOR OVER a week , I didn’t see Claudia. Just when I started to worry, she rapped on my door.
“Hey, stranger,” I let her in.
Her eyes were bright, her face unusually pale. “Are you high?” I said.
“A little,” her gaze darted around the room.
“Do you want to stay in?” I thought it might be nice, for a change. I realized how much I’d missed her. I didn’t want to share her with the demon quarter. The place had begun to depress me.
“Yeah, sure,” Claudia’s breath came fast, as if she’d been running.
“Are you okay?”
She took a chair at the counter. Her foot tapped the rungs. “Devon—I …” she rubbed her forehead with a shaky hand.
“Geez, Claud. What are you on? It doesn’t look fun.”
She gazed up at me. Her pupils were huge. “Devon … there are things you don’t know about me. Things you don’t want to know.”
“Don’t I?”
She shook her head and glanced down. I saw a tear plop on the counter. She rubbed it off with her finger.
I put my hand on her shoulder but she jerked away, slapping at my arm. “Don’t touch me, right now. Okay? Okay? I just—I want to get loaded. Let’s do some lines.”
“I’m in training.” I stared at her. Fuck. I was missing something.
“You’ll probably be in training for the rest of your life.”
“What does that mean?” I said.
She ignored me and took out a small zip locked baggie of white powder. She shook it at me. “You sure? Angel bootie. You know your friend Decimus snorts this stuff like it’s going out of style.”
I thought of Decimus telling me to loosen up. If I was with him, it would be a direct order. But just being with Claudia was illicit. I was getting a bad feeling.
“No thanks,” I said. “Put it away.”
Her eyes went to the window. Then, in one swift move, she dumped out the powder.
“Hey,” I grabbed her arm. “I don’t want that shit in here … all over my counter.”
But I was too late. She stared up at me, and I saw the betrayal in her eyes.
“You bitch.”
They kicked in the door—the military police. A couple of bruisers.
I put up my hands. “Wait. Let me explain.”
A fist shot out and hit me square in the mouth. I reeled back, tasting blood. They punched me again, and again, before I fell.
I heard Claudia scream, and thought: Really?
They rammed their steel toes up my ass. Handcuffs cut my wrists. More blows landed on my ribs, and my head.
Stars exploded behind my eyes. And the world went dark.
31. Ruby
I TRIED to read the book Sarah had given me, but the words got squiggly and jumbled, sliding off the pages, like alphabet soup; a sure sign I was losing it. The same thing had happened to Sylvia Plath, I’d heard.
Dr. Sinclair was still ‘out of the office’. Which angered me. Someone in her position shouldn’t be allowed to go on vacation. I needed her.
My own vacation was coming to an end. In a matter of days, I had to report to work. If I didn’t get a hold of some Valium, or sleeping pills, I wouldn’t make it.
I tried Dr. Sinclair’s answering service. “It’s really important,” I told the woman who answered. “Imperative.”
“If this is an emergency, you need to go to the E.R.”
“Do they have psychiatrists at the E.R.? Because that’s what I need. A shrink.” I hung up on her, and threw my phone on the counter.
I made myself a salad but was out of dressing. Sitting at the bar, shoving dry lettuce into my mouth, I was on the verge of tears. I wanted to scream.
After taking a bath, I went to bed at nine. I hoped the bath would relax me, but nothing ever did, except Valium.
When I finally slept, my dreams weren’t soft. I writhed on the sheets.
Zadie and Inka chased me down narrow, twisting streets. My legs pumped. My breath turned ragged. I ran and stumbled and veered. In the end, I came to a wall, impossible to scale with its razor wire and broken glass.
I woke, clutching my amulet, holding onto it for dear life.
My hands trembled all the ti
me now. I was obsessing over the smallest things, like how many steps were between the door and my bed, how many spoonfuls of sugar to put in my coffee. I wasn’t even supposed to drink coffee but I was exhausted every morning. How else would I wake up?
Apparently, I’d damaged my phone when I threw it. Though I plugged it in, it wouldn’t take a charge. I moved it from outlet to outlet, with no luck. Technology was scary. You could never rely on it, and yet, the whole world did.
One night, I gazed out the vista window, to Sarah’s building.
I noticed she didn’t have her party lights on. I found myself trying to see inside. I was sure I saw movement behind her dark windows.
I threw on a sweater, and ventured to the lobby, holding my breath in the elevator.
A man came in, and smiled at me, as he was folding his umbrella. “Wet out there,” he said.
I nodded, unable to speak.
“Are you alright?” he frowned at me.
Why did everyone ask me that? I must look a fright, I thought. I licked my lips and nodded to him again. I was aware of his gaze, following me outside. I stood under the awning, shivering in the damp air.
When there was a break in the traffic, I ran out into the rain, across the street.
I felt someone was inside Sarah’s building who was not Sarah. Because Sarah would have all the lights on. She would never scurry around in the dark.
There was a prickle beneath my skin, as I neared her stairs.
I stood at the bottom, gazing up at her door. She had painted it purple. The sight of her soggy geraniums made me sad, for some reason, like no matter how hard you tried, things got ruined. You were always having to start over. Try again.
I decided to go up and ring the bell, to scare the burglar. I wished my phone hadn’t died, so I could call the police.
I took a deep breath, summoning my courage. It incensed me that someone was violating Sarah’s home, probably stealing her antiques. Maybe I shouldn’t ring the bell, but run straight home to call 9-1-1 from my land line.
For God sake, just do it. The police will be too late.
I ran up the stairs and put my finger on the buzzer, stabbing it angrily, again and again. Adrenalin surged in my veins. I felt like I was yelling at everybody who had ever done me wrong.
