Heir to the Underworld

by Walker, E. D.

  Comforted, she settled in for a long, hot shower and belted show tunes into the echoing chamber, blotting out her own thoughts…

  So she wouldn't have to think about what she'd heard. So she wouldn't have to think about the fact her parents were lying to her.

  So she wouldn't worry what might happen on Saturday.

  ~~~

  Later that night, Freddy thrashed and turned under her covers, her mind spinning in a relentless rerun of the day's events. Sometime after midnight, she fell into a fitful doze, but as the sky lightened toward dawn an odd slosh and suck noise outside her window woke her.

  The watery noises continued for several long minutes, until she impatiently threw off her comforter and walked to her window. The window remained half-open to let air circulate, and Freddy eased it the rest of the way open. She leaned out to look at the backyard, scanning for a running hose or something.

  An old woman hunched by the back gate, a bucket of water at her feet with a washboard propped against it. Freddy clutched the window edge, her breath catching on a startled gasp. The strange woman scrubbed a shirt against the board in a steady, hypnotizing rhythm, sloshing water onto the lawn. The whole situation was weird enough, but the woman herself plucked at Freddy's senses, something just not right with the strange figure, her very presence caused Freddy's skin to rise in goosebumps.

  Half turning from the window, Freddy braced to run for her dad, but somehow she couldn't tear her eyes away from the woman. Almost as if someone physically held Freddy in place there. She faced the window again, tense and jittery, her fingers digging into the wood grain of her windowsill.

  The washerwoman had pasty pasty skin, gnarled and sagging with age. The remnants of her once-green dress were torn at the bottom and stained a dirty brown. Her long, gleaming white hair swung to cover her face while she worked. The sight was soothing, peaceful, and Freddy's eyelids drooped, her body swaying drowsily.

  A high-pitched wailing started, and Freddy jolted awake, nerves firing to attention.

  The woman's hands still moved in a steady rhythm, washing clothes in her decaying bucket even as she screamed and cried like her heart was breaking.

  Longing to run to her dad, Freddy still couldn't move, her body stuck tight to her window, her eyes glued to the woman in the backyard. The wailing redoubled, climbing higher and higher in pitch and volume until the sound became indistinct,, a high-pitched screech that made Freddy long to slap her hands over her ears and push the noise out.

  The woman had been working on one piece of washing, scraping the piece of clothing against the board over and over as she sobbed in hopeless agony. The single garment arrested Freddy's gaze, she recognized it now--her own old blue sweatshirt. The one she had been wearing earlier that day.

  Fresh blood covered it.

  Freddy squinted outside, her heart thundering inside her. "What the--"

  The woman's face snapped up.

  She had no eyes, only two dark holes, fathomless, bloody depths without end. Deep red pits locked onto Freddy.

  Gagging and shaking, Freddy looked away, down to her carpet.

  A body lay on the floor, dressed in the bloody clothes--Freddy's body. She stared down at herself and froze, shock numbing her. Light-headed, quivering with fear, she couldn't stop herself from studying her own dead body, even as she knew it couldn't be her.

  The corpse was laid out on the ugly orange shag, limp and broken, red hair fanned out to mirror the bloodstains on the floor. Eyes open and staring, her expression frozen in absolute agony, her body pale, bleached almost white…at her neck, a vivid slash of red, blood still warm with life poured out to pool in her hair…

  Freddy shook off the vision, squeezing her eyes shut. Her horror and fear blotted out all thought. She stumbled back, frantic, eyes still shut, so disoriented she collided with her bureau, painfully jarring her side. Ignoring the hurt, she tried to lurch away, out of the room, anywhere but there.

  Someone grabbed her, pulling her toward the window. Panic shredding at her insides, Freddy screamed, lashing out with her fists, pounding into something soft and fleshy.

  The hands holding Freddy let go, and Mom's voice cried out.

  Mom. I just hit Mom. Freddy sank to her knees, sobbing and trembling.

  "Baby?" Mom's hand slid onto to Freddy's shoulder, and Freddy fought not to flinch away.

  Hugging her knees to her chest, Freddy rocked back and forth, all her muscles tense and shaking. "Is she still there?"

  "Who?"

  "The laundry woman. Is she still out there?"

  Frowning, Mom stood to look out the window. Freddy held her breath until Mom turned back, uncertain whether she wanted the washerwoman to be there or not--to be real or not.

  "Nothing's out there," Mom said. "What happened?" She gripped Freddy's shoulders, staring at her like the world might fall down.

  Freddy dodged free of her mom's hands. Freddy would have crawled out of her own skin to hide if she could have just then. She shook her head until the world lurched and tumbled around her, and she had to remind herself to stop. Gulping in a deep breath, Freddy uncurled from the carpet. "I'm fine, Mom. Bad nightmare, s'all." Forcing herself to smile, Freddy padded back to her bed and climbed under the covers. Mom lingered, but after one last look out the window, she left, rushing out so quickly she slammed the door.

  Freddy flinched at the sound and dug in deeper under her blankets. Her dark room seemed suddenly echoing, dangerous. Heartbeat thundering in her ears, she pinched her eyes shut. It was all a dream. Don't be a baby. But the visions lingered. The ominous promise of her own dead body on the floor.

  Brush crunched under her window and Freddy bolted upright, but when she stared outside, it was only her dad walking through their yard, heading for the back fence, probably to investigate. Freddy slumped down in bed, wrapping the blankets and her own arms tight around herself. She forced herself to be as small as possible, trying to find some position that made her feel safe.

  Chapter Three

  School passed in a distant blur that day. Freddy couldn't banish the washerwoman from her mind, but, in an effort to do so, she started thinking about what she'd overheard from her parents. But that was so depressing she just let herself daydream about Guy Smith's honey-gold eyes and lovely dark hair--geometry class be damned.

  After a whole day thinking about him, as the time ticked by in her last period, Freddy's confidence wilted. Would he really show up? She spent her whole last period fidgeting from anxiety, so restless the boy behind her poked her with his pencil to get her to settle down.

  As the last period finally let out, Freddy sprinted from the classroom, anxious to get to the restaurant and get the date started already. She normally met her friends at their lockers, but today she rushed straight to Biaggio's restaurant. She didn't want to explain to her friends. Not how she'd met Guy, not about his horse or the armor or his fake name or anything. They might talk her out of seeing him, or they might try to tag along.

  No, Freddy's Guy Smith connection was too fragile to bear dissection by a pack of teenage girls. Anyway, savoring her secret gave Freddy an odd satisfaction.

  Biaggio's after school rush hadn't started yet. The restaurant was empty except for two senior citizens chatting in a corner booth and Guy Smith sitting alone by a window. A thrill of excitement shivered through her on seeing him. He seemed to sense the moment she entered because he turned to beckon her over with a smile. Freddy's stomach went all fluttery, her nerves edgy, even as her feet carried her to him without any instructions from her brain.

  Settling into the booth, she gave her hair a self-conscious pat. Dismay cringed along her spine as she ran her hands over her ragged, drooping ponytail. Too sleep-deprived to remember her name, let alone the date, Freddy hadn't been thinking about Guy when she'd dressed that morning. Now she was stuck wearing an old pair of jeans and a ratty brown T-shirt with a sketchy picture of Legolas the Elf splashed in red across her boobs.

  Then, being so
caught up with getting here, seeing Guy, she hadn't even remembered to check herself in a mirror before going in. She didn't usually worry about how she looked, and she'd forgotten she should have cared today.

  Boy, I sure know how not to get the Guy. She let out a little puff of a sigh.

  Ah, screw it. Reaching up to tighten her ponytail, she sat straight in the booth and blasted Guy Smith with her sunniest smile.

  His eyes brightened in response, and he smiled back as his gaze roamed over her face. She gave him a mischievous once-over, too, and didn't know whether to be relieved or suspicious that he'd dressed in trendy blue jeans with a plain black button-up shirt. He'd looked more at home in the tunic and floppy hat than he did in normal everyday clothes. She raised an eyebrow. "Lost your costume?"

  He shrugged and leaned away, draping an arm over the back of the booth. "I was on my way to the reenactment yesterday. I do not wear my costume on the street."

  "Uh-huh. Then why were you wearing it yesterday to wander around the Angeles Crest Forest? On a horse? Why didn't you just change when you got to the reenactment?" This had been bugging her ever since she'd met him.

  "I told you I was pressed for time." He laughed and eased closer, his knee slid against hers under the table with a rasp of denim on denim. Freddy flinched in surprise and instinctively drew her own legs back. Tilting his head, he murmured, "Beg pardon."

  As embarrassed warmth fanned over her cheeks, Freddy wished she hadn't so obviously betrayed her own frayed nerves. She knit her hands together in front of her on the table to keep from fidgeting. "So…where are you from? I can't place your accent, but you don't look like a typical citizen of small-town SoCal. Were you just here for the reenactment thingy?"

  His animated face stilled, a line appearing between his brows. "I am looking for my sister."

  Freddy blinked in surprise. "Your sister?"

  "Her name is Kore. Maybe you have seen her? She is petite. Curling dark hair and brown eyes. Very beautiful, very striking. About your age." He watched Freddy as he spoke, his gaze roving anxiously all over her face.

  She shifted in her seat, uneasy under the intensity of his stare. "I don't know her."

  He sat poised for a moment, his whole body tense, then gave a small nod and glanced out the window at the rundown streets of Afalton.

  A waiter came then with menus. Freddy handed her menu right back and ordered the fried zucchini and a coke. She tugged the sleeves of her sweatshirt down to wrap around her cold hands. One of her friend Junie's relationship rules was never order anything with noodles on a first date. A wise idea as Freddy so did not want to sit in front of Guy slurping up a bunch of messy noodles. An Italian place probably wasn't the wisest choice there, Fred.

  She sighed and squeezed her hands together to release some of her anxiety. Trying to fumble her way through this whole thing had knotted her shoulders tighter than three hours of training could. Slowly, she forced herself to relax, and some of the coiled tension she'd been storing since she'd walked in dissolved. Jeez, dating stressed her out. Or not "dating" but maybe dating or…

  Shut up, Fred.

  Guy only ordered an iced tea and, as the waiter left, he smiled at her and asked, "Were you born in Afalton?"

  "My parents came from New York when I was a baby." The waiter interrupted again, bringing Freddy her coke and Guy his tea. Having something new to fidget with now, Freddy turned her glass around on the table as condensation pooled around the bottom. When she glanced up, Guy was watching her. Self-conscious, she forced her twitchy hands to stay still. "Where're you from, Guy?"

  He shrugged and sipped his own drink. "All over."

  Annoyance flashed through her, quick and bright as a lightning strike. She leaned forward on her folded elbows. "You know, the man of mystery act is a great way to get me to leave."

  "Beg pardon." A lazy smile spread across his mouth like a curtain drawing back from a brightly lit stage. "I was born in Greece. My family moved all over Europe afterward." Glancing around at the restaurant's walls, Guy shook his head and laughed under his breath. "This restaurant truly has a fascinating…décor."

  The owner of Biaggio's was a horror movie fanatic, and he'd peppered the restaurant's walls with movie posters for some of his favorite flicks. Classics like The Birds, Nightmare on Elm Street, The Exorcist and more recent stuff like the first Saw movie, and--one of Freddy's personal favorites--Shaun of the Dead. Freddy laughed at Guy's so very delicate reaction to "décor" that was straight up appalling for any kind of place where food would be served. "You should see the Halloween decorations."

  Guy scanned the posters and pointed to the one hanging just behind their booth. "What is that one about?"

  Freddy craned around, and her mouth dropped open in astonishment, seeing which movie the poster was for. "Evil Dead? You've never seen Evil Dead?"

  "No."

  "You're a teenage boy and you've never seen Evil Dead with Bruce Campbell?"

  He gave her a good-natured smile and shrugged. "My family does not own a television set."

  Freddy widened her eyes in mock astonishment. "Oh, you poor, sad, deprived creature."

  He snorted. "Dear Jane, believe me when I say I have had a surfeit of evil dead in my lifetime."

  "Not a big zombie fan?"

  Guy knit his hands together on the table and leaned forward, his face very serious. "Not as such. No."

  Freddy grinned at him, giddy delight bursting inside her. He smiled back, light sparking deep in his honey-gold eyes.

  The zucchini arrived then, fresh and so hot the oil on it still sizzled. Her mouth watered, but she kept her chin down and slid her eyes up to grin at Guy. "Want some?"

  He rubbed his hands together in anticipation. "Is there enough to share?"

  She shoved the basket of zucchini with the container of ranch dressing to the middle of the table. Breaking a slender zucchini finger in half, Freddy drowned it in ranch then popped the delicious morsel into her mouth. Guy reached for a piece, too, but Freddy touched his hand to stop him then nervously drew her hand back after her fingertips brushed his skin. "You might want to wait. I'm the only person I know who can eat these fresh out of the fryer." Well, except Dad. That was how Freddy had acquired her fireproof tongue. If she didn't attack the zucchini basket right away, Dad usually ate it all first.

  Guy only smirked at her and tossed the zucchini into his mouth--with no obvious signs of scalding all his taste buds off. Freddy gaped in shock. Anyone else would be howling in pain as their tongue melted right now.

  Guy answered her astonishment with a shrug and happily kept eating, trying to tug the basket closer to himself on the down-low.

  "Oy. Don't push your luck." Laughing, she retrieved the basket then fished out another zucchini, smiling at Guy Smith all the while.

  ~~~

  Freddy stayed talking with Guy long after the zucchini had run out. She told him about her parents and growing up in SoCal, about the last school play she had performed in--Romeo and Juliet, as a western--and her loathing for math in general, and geometry in particular. Somehow, she kept putting off launching into her sales pitch for her dad's swords.

  Guy, for his part, talked about Europe and the Mediterranean, the places he'd been, and a little about his family. Reading between the lines, his parents seemed to be separated, maybe even divorced, and he lived with his dad. Freddy sighed in silent sympathy.

  Guy also had some great stories about his extended family. About the dysfunctional aunt and uncle who were always fighting over the uncle's numerous and very public affairs. About a whole pack of cousins that couldn't seem to get along with him or each other.

  Listening to him talk, Guy seemed to have enough family for three people. A niggle of jealousy scratched at the back of Freddy's neck that her dysfunctional family was so dwarfed by his. Freddy had only her mom and dad, but she'd always wanted siblings, a cousin or two. Anyone else who could share and sympathize in the wackiness of the Fitzgerald clan.

 
Freddy cupped her chin in her hand and drank Guy's stories in, drank him in with greedy relish. But even as she wildly enjoyed herself she sensed that as much as he'd told her…he'd held back more.

  The fact Guy had done so much traveling in his life was a big red flag that his folks had to be loaded. Although the professional grade armor and the freaking black stallion had already clued Freddy to that fact. She understood why Guy wouldn't want to go around bragging about his wealth, but still, she wished he'd tell her more about himself. Where he was going to school. How long he was staying in Afalton. Whether he wanted to see her again.

  The shadows of late afternoon crept over the tabletop, shadowing her empty coke. Freddy cranked her head around to look at Biaggio's clock. Oh, crap. Way past time for Freddy to go home.

  With a pang, she scooted out of the booth, and Guy stood with her. He eased in close and cradled her elbow with one hand. His nearness sent a wild rush of tingles all through her, and she leaned in to his touch.

  He smiled down at her, his eyes warm, his voice soft. "Would you care for a ride home?"

  Do I trust you enough to hop in a car alone with you? Backpack dangling from her fingers, she arranged her features into an expression of seriousness. "My mother told me never to accept rides from strangers."

  "Then, dear Jane, isn't it a good thing we introduced ourselves yesterday?" He laughed and dropped a twenty on the table, way too much for a basket of zucchini and two drinks.

  He held the door for her as she stepped out of Biaggio's, and as he closed it behind himself, his hair gleamed in the sun. Freddy's fingers itched to tangle themselves in the soft stuff. She adjusted the straps on her backpack instead. Guy looked at her expectantly.