A Keeper's Truth

by Dee Willson

  “You’re right, Karen. I apologize,” says Bryce. “We should go.”

  Bryce reaches for my hand and Thomas, moving like lightning, swipes him away.

  “Thomas! What has gotten into you?” I say, astonished.

  Bryce stands tall. “That is enough.”

  “I should say so,” says Karen.

  My head starts to pound. “No more,” I mumble. “I’m heading home.”

  Karen wraps an arm around my waist. “You don’t have to leave.”

  “I do,” I say, glancing at Bryce. “And I’ll call a cab.”

  I leave all three of them in the almost empty living room and slam the front door behind me.

  Minutes later, I’m pacing on Karen’s porch, vigorously rubbing my arms, cursing my impulse to flee.

  “I cannot believe that man,” I grumble.

  My breath billows in the night air. I left without my coat and didn’t bring my cell to call a ride, but I refuse to go back in there. I’ll wait out here all night if I have to. I stare into the darkness, contemplating the atrocities my satin shoes would endure if I were to attempt the hike on foot. “Eventually someone has to leave this party,” I say, looking at my Jimmy Choos, “and when they do, we’ll catch a ride.”

  “Are you talking to your shoes?”

  I look up and see Bryce. He’s three feet away with my coat folded over one arm.

  “Don’t judge me.” I attempt to grab my coat but he swings it out of reach and points his chin at my hands. Surrender comes quickly. I’m freezing. I sigh and slide into warm sleeves. “How did you know which coat was mine?”

  “Karen. She would have come out here herself, but she didn’t want to leave Thomas and me alone.” He brushes the hair from my face and places a silver tiara on my head. “She asked Thomas to wait inside while I check on you. Actually, asked is a nice way to put it. That woman has claws. She told Thomas if he took one step out this door she would tell the entire population of Carlisle he has a temper problem and cannot be trusted.”

  The night air nips my skin so I retreat into my coat, bundling tight. I study Bryce’s face. His chiseled features are accentuated by the glow of the porch lamp, and I’d be rapt if not for the absence of silver in his eyes. The sizzle is gone. He’s worried about his brother.

  “She wouldn’t do that you know. Karen. She’s all talk.”

  “I know. I doubt Thomas will take any chances though. Besides, he knows he needs to chill.”

  Bryce reaches out, the tips of his fingers touching the wool collar of my coat. His gaze follows his fingers down my front. I swallow and a ball of air idles in my throat. He slips a finger into a buttonhole and pulls me to him. I ricochet softly off his chest, coming to a standstill against him, staring into his eyes. So close.

  “You are always running out on me,” he murmurs, finger still holding tight to my coat. Tiny silver flecks shimmer in his eyes, fading in from a distance.

  Chemicals churn in my head and blood pumps to my mouth, making my lips tingle.

  Bryce grins, smug. He tugs my arms free and my coat falls open. With concentrated motions he pulls the top button through the hole then slowly works his way down my coat, the quintessential gentleman.

  “I’m sorry you had to see that. Thomas and me at odds, again.” His stare hasn’t wandered from his fingers holding me captive. “It wasn’t always like this, Thomas and I. No matter what he says or does, I will not leave him to fight his demons alone. Not this time.” He sighs, gently leaning his forehead to mine. “Are you all right?”

  I am now. Perfect, I’d say, other than my cold hands with nowhere to hide. This coat has no pockets.

  Bryce takes my hands in his, squeezing them flat between his palms. Heat soaks deep, warming my bones.

  “I wish you and your brother would get along. I’d like to be friends with you both, but with fights breaking out at every turn you guys make it very difficult.”

  “I understand and I’m sorry.”

  “I am as well,” says Thomas, standing coatless in the snow. Footprints behind him lead to the back gate.

  The cold penetrates my hands floating in midair, suddenly unattended. I don’t know if it’s the crisp night or the quiet hum of hydro wires but something has made the atmosphere stable and serene. I look back and forth, between the two men, taking in their altered states. They seem to converse with their eyes, a sibling talent no doubt, but a discussion I’m not privy to. I dread the same argument, the same accusations being rehashed, so I say the first thing to come to mind.

  “I can’t stand out here and not think of Sonia lying in drifts, freezing to death, only a couple of houses down. I hope he killed her before he left her in the snow. I can imagine the hell she went through.”

  Both Thomas and Bryce abandon their stance to gape at me, their expressions making further explanation a must. “I have vivid nightmares. Have my whole life. I’ve been brutally beaten and left for dead more times than I can count. I know what it felt like for her.”

  I search Bryce’s face hoping to find reassurance that my confession hasn’t pegged me a psychotic freak, but he just stares. I try to backpedal, to lighten the mood. “Hopefully it was painless and she didn’t know what was coming. Maybe it was a vampire,” I say in jest.

  Thomas and Bryce flinch in unison but neither utter a word.

  “Will you two lighten up? I’m sorry. I know this is no laughing matter. I really do hope they find who did this to her.” The solemn vibe has taken on a life of its own, thick and heavy, pulling me down like quicksand.

  Bryce steps back to better view my face in the light. “Vampire? What makes you think Sonia was killed by a vampire?”

  Shit. Why did a vampire come to mind? The guy in the café came to mind, the thing with the girl in his arms, but I hadn’t thought of him as a vampire before.

  “I don’t know. I haven’t been myself lately.” I think up a lie real quick. “I’m reading a vampire book and it’s got me seeing vampires in my dreams,” I pause, wondering if I should let go of the precipice I’m hanging from. “And at the cafe.” I chuckle then stifle it with a cough.

  Bryce lowers his head to gaze directly into my eyes, but I’m so embarrassed I look away. I peer out into the yard in time to see Thomas turn around, hands entwined in his hair.

  “Please look at me,” Bryce begs. Even though his voice is delicate and soothing, I can’t bring myself to move. He draws close, his breath warming my scalp. “Have you seen something, someone who reminds you of a vampire, here in town?”

  “Seriously, guys, this is stupid. Go back to fighting. Stop freaking me out.”

  The men glare at each other. Minutes pass as I watch them locked in an unspoken argument, their body language disclosing some of the tension but none of the facts.

  “Leave her out of this,” Thomas huffs.

  “If she saw him, maybe he saw her,” Bryce snaps back.

  Again, two sets of eyes penetrate my shield of self-preservation. Breath comes in spurts and my chest aches, experiencing some sort of panic attack. I showcase a pathetic smile, striving to look like I get the joke.

  “Tess, it’s very important you tell me what you’ve seen,” says Bryce.

  I know he’s referring to my vision in the café, but I’m not willing to play their game or pretend any of this is real. I look to Thomas for help.

  “None of it is real,” he says. “You’ve lost your husband. You are under a lot of stress.”

  Bryce glowers at Thomas, a rare show of ire that catches me by surprise. When his attention returns his countenance is new, resolved, as if he’s decided to ignore Thomas altogether.

  “Please tell me what you saw in the coffee shop,” he says, resting his fingertips on my cheeks.

  “Don’t touch her,” growls Thomas.

  Bryce groans, dropping his hands to his sides. “Trust me,” he whispers, his breath swirling in a ray of porch light.

  Trust him . . . with my secrets . . . The truth collides with li
es in my head as I struggle to find solid ground in a landscape where I’m released from gravity. Do I entrust Bryce with my private delusions, my lapse from reality?

  “I, ah . . . I was waiting in line to get a caramel brownie for Karen . . .”

  “Where? Where were you?”

  “At a café downtown, the new one next door to that fancy spa.” Reluctance overthrows my attempt at disclosure and I stop, picking at a button on my coat. Do I really want to publicize my insanity? I take a deep breath. “He was leaning on a stool by the front window.”

  “What did he look like? Had you seen him before?”

  “No. I’ve seen many things but nothing quite like him.”

  Bryce’s eyes push for more.

  “Well, he was a big guy. Muscular I mean. Dark skinned, strange tattoos covering most of his body.” I hesitate, waiting for them to notice I’ve mentioned physical details without alluding to clothing. “His hair was black, shoulder length, and curly. I didn’t see much of his face at first. He was making out with—”

  “There was a woman with him!” Bryce roars, losing all composure.

  Thomas’s hands fly to his head again, his feet pacing in nervous circles that throw snow into mini drifts.

  “I don’t understand why you guys are freaking out. It was a figment of my imagination. A daydream. A vision. I was the only one to see them, and Karen was standing right beside me!”

  Thomas speaks through clenched teeth. “Did he see you?”

  “No . . . yes . . . maybe. I don’t know!” My head is spinning. “He just looked at me and snarled.”

  Thomas: “Fuck.”

  Bryce: “What did you do?”

  “When I looked back he was gone, my daydream was over. There was a guy who looked like him, sort of, but he walked out and down the street. So I left the café with Karen.”

  “And the woman? The one with him,” Bryce urges.

  “They were both gone.”

  “What makes you think he was a vampire?”

  “I don’t. Or didn’t. I don’t know. He didn’t have two pointy teeth like you see in movies. His set was needle thin and sharp. He didn’t have red eyes or white skin and there wasn’t any blood. I’m not sure why a vampire came to mind. You can’t possibly think that what I saw that day was real, can you?”

  “Don’t you dare, Bryce,” warns Thomas.

  Bryce looks at me, his expression professional, calculated. “Remember what I told you on Halloween? Vampires are not the creatures embellished by generations of storytellers. In fact, most vampire stories are birthed from mermaid mythology. Current day vampire and mermaid tales stem from ancient folklore describing demons that siphoned souls, robbing the living of their energy, aura, or chi. Over the years, blood was dubbed one’s lifeline, one’s essence, spurring the notion that these demons sucked blood. Nothing could be further from the truth. They are people, humans, souls of a different time, an ancient era. They are old souls who have forgotten their purpose, lost their grip on humanity.”

  I’m lost and this charade is getting more ludicrous by the minute.

  “You think he was a mermaid?”

  “A lost soul. His tattoos, did they depict water?”

  “Yeah. But he had legs.”

  “Myths, Tess. Fairies, vampires, witches, mermaids, they are all but tidbits of facts from a time long before the written word. Witches are just people capable of tapping into natural psychic abilities. Mermaids were human beings who adapted to aquatic life when the alternative was death. And vampires are nothing but manifestations of ancient folklore retold in a gothic age. All are human beings with old souls. Lost souls.”

  “Fuck, Bryce, no more,” Thomas yells from across the yard. “You’re gonna scare the shit out of her!”

  “She needs to learn, Thomas, you know that. You of all people know that.”

  My whole body starts to tremble.

  “He was real?” I gag on the word, “Alive?”

  “Nothing dead walks,” says Bryce. “But real isn’t the right way to put it. Lost souls are just people, alive and real as you and me. Only their souls are tainted, marred, angry. And you can see the soul within.”

  “No more!” barks Thomas. His long legs make quick strides across the lawn.

  A wave of nausea crashes over me and I shake my head, trying to dislodge images from the café. That man, that thing, was someone’s soul? How is that possible? What does that mean? And why is my body reacting this way? Why am I not laughing like this is all a big joke? Why do I feel, deep in my marrow, that this is a truth I’ve known all along? My forehead rolls against the rough stone of the house while voices argue around me. I’ve had too much to drink, that’s it. Stress combined with alcohol has pushed my imagination into overdrive. I need to go home. When I wake this will have been a weird dream, an evening of comical admissions said on an alcoholic high and quickly forgotten.

  “I think I’m gonna hurl.”

  “You’ll be all right,” whispers Bryce.

  Thomas reaches for me. “She will if you leave her alone!”

  The door flies open, almost hitting me, and a large man in a navy suit steps out. “The party is inside, people!” he bellows, spitting a cloud of stale booze and cigarettes. More people file out and Bryce adopts a protective front as the group links arms for the icy trip down the walkway. They’re drunk, stumbling, and obviously couples, the last stopping every few steps to kiss.

  “It’s midnight folks,” the man in the overcoat sings. “Another year has arrived!”

  About time. I really need a new year. The last one sucked. And frankly, this is a crappy start to a new one.

  I watch the couples stumble toward the taxi and realize a moment too late that I just missed a ride.

  “We can’t talk about this here,” Bryce mumbles in my ear.

  “I’ve had too much to drink.” I swear my words are slurred. They must be slurred.

  “How many martinis did I have? I think I had three or four. Maybe five. Over the course of hours. That’s enough to feel tipsy but not so loaded that I . . . I’m drugged! Oh my God, that’s it! Someone slipped something in my drink!”

  Bryce shakes his head. “The martinis aren’t helping, but you are not drugged.”

  “Maybe you are,” says Thomas, “and you’ll wake recalling nothing but a foggy hallucination.”

  “Thomas,” grumbles Bryce.

  “Don’t Thomas me. She can ignore all this shit.”

  “How’s that working for you?”

  Thomas leers. “She can go back to the way things were.”

  “She can’t and you know it.”

  “Bullshit.”

  Bryce taps his thigh with his knuckles. “You are not helping.”

  “Didn’t say I would, Brother. I don’t want you teaching her anything. Leave her alone.”

  “She is stronger than you—”

  “Enough,” I cry out. “If I have to spend one more second in this cold, I’m going to pass out. I’m going home.”

  I wobble down the stairs, my equilibrium and heels working against me.

  Bryce takes my arm. “I’ll drive you,” he says. “Get some sleep and we’ll talk tomorrow.”

  “I don’t want you telling her anything,” yells Thomas, following us down the walkway.

  “Too bad. He’s seen her.”

  “He got what he wanted and left. There is no reason for him to stick around.”

  Bryce pauses, supporting my weight while he turns to Thomas. “Call a cab, walk, drive, but go home. There is nothing we can do or say in the middle of the night that will make a difference. We’ll deal with this later.”

  At least a foot of crisp night air separates our bodies as we amble down the path.

  Thomas swears under his breath and stomps up the steps, slamming the front door.

  I shudder.

  Bryce sighs.

  Innate Need

  January 4th

  Think of the devastation caused by the bombin
g of Hiroshima, 2004’s Indian Ocean tsunami, and Cyclone Nargis. Now imagine bombs the size of Texas, tsunamis bigger than Mount Everest, and volcanic ash that has the entire planet in darkness, all happening at the same time, on every continent. Total annihilation. If this really happened at any point in Earth’s history it would be clear why mankind’s past is shrouded in mystery. And yet it has. We know it has.

  Forgotten History Magazine: Archeological Finds Baffle Scientists

  These are really quite comical.

  The plane hits a turbulence pocket, almost knocking my cell from my grasp. “Look at this one,” I say, “you have spit coming out the side of your mouth.” I laugh and Abby giggles.

  “I didn’t like that ride. The spinning made my tummy hurt.”

  “Well, those ones can do that to you,” I say. “The loud music didn’t help. The pizza, candy apple, and ice-cream probably didn’t help either.” Abby squirms as I yank a pigtail. “Check out Gramps’s chair, it looks like it should tip with all those bags hanging off the back.”

  Abby huddles close, inspecting the photo on my cell. “That one is funny. Grams has her hat on backwards.” She leaves tiny fingerprints on the screen.

  Abby adjusts her blanket, long limbs dangling awkwardly in the cramped space. Her eyes grow heavy, reflecting the sunset and cotton candy clouds. Someone close has a serious case of body odor. I adjust the air knob above Abby’s head and breathe through my mouth.

  I skim through countless pictures of our day at Animal Kingdom, Magic Kingdom, and Grams and Gramps’s place, pulling the camera closer to examine Gramps. I’m shocked to spot the differences between my mind’s perception of him and the real-life man everyone else sees, the man the camera reveals. Where is the pride in his posture? Why are those piercing blue eyes sunken, surrounded by wrinkles I haven’t seen before?