by Don Calame
Mrs. Caldwell was the first parent I ever knew who had died, and I spent most of my time in the kitchen, trying to stay out of the way. Vacillating between being grateful that it wasn’t my mom who was dead and feeling really guilty for being so grateful.
I ride my bike around to the back of the house. Nessa gave me explicit instructions not to leave my bicycle in front and to be careful not to be seen by anyone who might narc us out. I lay my bike against the tree with the tire swing and walk across the frozen lawn, lugging my backpack up to the patio. The sliding glass door is cold on the knuckles as I give a light knock. A minute later, Nessa appears, all pale skinned and violet lipped — dressed in tight black jeans, a spiked choker, and a low-cut black shirt with a blue-jeweled cross dangling hypnotically just above her cleavage.
She looks pretty hot, I have to admit, but all I keep thinking about is what Leyna would look like in this very same outfit. It’d take her Final Fantasy persona to a whole new level.
“Hey there, stranger,” Nessa says, sliding the door open.
I smile awkwardly. “Hey.”
“No one saw you, right?” She cranes her neck, searching behind me for potential spies.
“Not that I could see.”
“Good.” She steps aside. “Come on in.”
She leads me through the dining room, where nearly all of the surfaces — the table, the sideboard, the chairs — are stacked several feet high with overflowing orange file folders, old newspapers, and unopened mail.
“Don’t mind the mess,” Nessa says. “My dad’s an accountant.” As if this explains everything. “Come on. We’ll work in my room. It’s the neatest place in the house.”
We make our way up the green-carpeted stairs, hang a left, and head down a short hallway. We stop at an ornate blood-red wooden door. Carvings of vines, tree branches, and leaves decorate the six inset panels. This is not a door to a bedroom. More like an entryway to some enchanted castle.
“Sweet,” I say.
“My dad found it by the curb with someone’s garbage. They were just throwing it out. Can you believe that? We had to sand it, and cut it down, and paint it. But it was worth it.”
“For sure,” I say. “That’s the coolest bedroom door I’ve ever seen.”
Nessa smiles. “I think my dad secretly likes the fact that I’m into dark and weird shit. It gives him an excuse to hunt for cool stuff at antique shops and garage sales and flea markets. He’s always coming home with some new thing he thinks I’ll like.”
“That’s nice. You know, that he’s supportive and all.”
“Yeah. He’s pretty cool. When he’s not totally embarrassing me.” Nessa grasps the brass knob, then turns back. “All right, so. This is my inner sanctum. I don’t let just anyone in here. You are being afforded an honor, and I expect you to show courtesy and decorum. But most of all, I expect you to keep your mouth shut.”
“Yeah,” I say. “Sure. Of course.”
“If I find out you’ve breathed a word about my room to anyone — and that includes your drooling, emotionally stunted friends — not only will I no longer help you with your script, but I will happily place the world’s worst acne curse on you, which will make your face break out so badly that even your mother won’t be able to recognize you. Are we clear on this?”
I blink. “You . . . you know curses?”
“Screw with me and you can find out.” Nessa pushes open the door and steps inside.
My nostrils are filled with the sweet scent of smoky spices as I follow her into the darkened space of her bedroom. The heavy incense works in my favor as it should mask any lingering scent of pee. It takes a second for my eyes to adjust to the dim candlelight, but as soon as they do, my jaw drops. Everything is lush purple and deep crimson and dark wood. Her four-poster bed is canopied with sheer white drapery. The walls are decorated with all sorts of crosses, daggers, and knives; sketches of wolves and demons; old horror-movie posters; and dried boughs of red roses. The dressers and tabletops are covered with flickering candles, dragon statues, incense burners, chalices, and skulls.
It’s like we’ve entered someplace medieval and haunted and otherworldly.
“Holy crap,” I say, gawking at all the badass stuff. “This is hands down the coolest bedroom I have ever seen. Way cooler than Cathy’s gargoyles and red drapes.”
“Thanks.” Nessa smiles. “Glad you like it.”
“Like it?” I circle around, taking in the old beat-up leather-bound books lining her bookshelves, the crystal ball on her nightstand, the small flat-screen TV and PS3 on her desk, the fake tombstone hanging on the wall over her bed. “It’s like a movie set or something.” I turn to look at her. “Are you telling me your dad actually helps you decorate your room like this?”
Nessa shrugs. “At first he wasn’t too pleased by the whole ‘dark’ thing. I think he thought I was getting obsessed with death or something after my mom passed away. Which was kind of true. I mean, for a while I was really sad. But then I got really interested in dying.”
“Interested?” I say. “Like, wanting to?”
She rolls her eyes. “No. It was more like intense curiosity. Wondering about the process.”
“Of dying?”
“Yeah. Like, how it feels, you know? Is it like falling asleep? Does it hurt? And what happens afterward? Once you’re gone? Are we just here one day and then poof? Nothing? Or is there something else?” She laughs at my blank stare. “Don’t you ever wonder about that?”
“I try not to.”
“Well, you should. It makes you appreciate your life more when you know you only have a finite amount of time on this planet.”
“I think it would just make me depressed.”
“Actually, it’s just the opposite. Thinking about death gives you perspective on all the things that are fleeting in the world. The fact that we’re going to die gives life more significance. That’s why vampires are so bummed. They’re immortal and everything, but it’s meaningless because nothing matters. And speaking of meaning”— she moves to her desk and opens her laptop —“we need to talk about the theme of this movie of yours.”
“Theme?” I say. “What theme?”
“Exactly.” Nessa sits in the antique desk chair, which lets out a little creaking groan as she settles in. The light from the computer screen casts a blue glow on her white face, making her seem fairy-like. “What are you trying to say with this film?”
I move to the desk and look over Nessa’s shoulder, forcing myself not to look at her cleavage. “I don’t want to say anything. I just want to scare people.”
She shakes her head. “Writing something just for the sake of scaring someone is pointless. And not particularly scary, to be honest.”
“I don’t understand. Isn’t that the whole point of a horror movie?”
“Yes and no.” Nessa looks up at me. “The great thing about horror, any horror, is that it forces you to confront the dark side of life. To make you think about things you might not want to think about.”
“Why would you want to be forced to think about things you don’t want to think about?”
Nessa smiles. “Because, Sean. It’s like I said. It makes you feel more alive. Seriously, how would you know what was good in your life if you had nothing bad to compare it to?”
“I guess. But how can seeing zombie-vampire-chimps make people feel more alive?”
“That’s what we need to figure out,” Nessa says. “What do you want to say to the world? About what’s important in life?”
“I don’t know.” I shrug. “Don’t experiment with human and chimpanzee DNA?”
Nessa gives me that frown that teachers and parents give you when they don’t feel you’re trying your hardest. “All right, let’s do a little thought exercise, see if we can uncover something. Tell me, what’s been on your mind lately? What concerns do you have?”
My mind flips around like a broken television searching for channels. The baby, the movie, moving into Cat
hy’s room, trying to ditch Evelyn so I can actually have a shot with Leyna.
And then of course there’s Nessa’s cleavage, which I really don’t want to focus on.
Her porcelain. White. Cleavage.
“Well?” Nessa asks. “I can see the wheels turning. What are you thinking about?”
“Nothing.” I chew on my tongue. “Everything. It’s hard to focus on one thing, I guess.”
“All right, then.” Nessa pops up from her chair. “Let’s do your tarot cards. That should focus things.” She walks over to her nightstand and grabs a black satin pouch. “And once we get the personal, we can transform it into the universal.” She dangles the pouch in the air and grins. “Are you ready for me to probe your innermost psychic secrets, Sean?”
Suddenly I’m very aware of the closed door, the candles, the incense, and Nessa’s low-cut shirt. Oh, God. What have I gotten myself into?
“GRAB THAT CHAIR and bring it over here.” Nessa lays a square of purple velvet on her desk and slides the tarot cards and a small clear crystal from their pouch.
I drag the antique wooden throne from the corner of the room and take a seat beside her.
“Come on, now, don’t be scared.” Nessa reaches over and pulls my chair really close to hers. I shift my legs to keep our knees from touching. “I don’t bite.” She grins. “Unless you want me to.”
“Um . . . I . . .” My eyes dart around, trying to look at anything but her on-display dirigibles.
“Okay, now.” She takes my left hand and places the tarot deck in my palm. “Hold the cards and clear your mind. Try not to think of anything. Just breathe and let your thoughts float away. We want the tarot to reveal what you need to know. When you’re ready, cut the deck three times, then place the cards at the bottom of the square here.” She taps the velvet at the bottom edge opposite the crystal. “Any questions?”
“No,” I squeak.
The cards are slippery and a little clumsy in my hands. They’re bigger than regular playing cards. And there are more of them. The backs are black with a framed gold weave pattern all around and a squiggly ruby-red sunburst at the center. Kind of mesmerizing, in a way.
I have to say I’m a little nervous. Most people don’t believe in this kind of stuff. But I believe in pretty much everything. Ghosts, UFOs, alien abductions, psychic abilities, curses, Bigfeet, the Bermuda Triangle, the Loch Ness monster. You name it. Coop makes fun of me all the time. Says I’m way too gullible. But I don’t care. There are too many strange things in the world to discount it all.
I take a deep breath and close my eyes. Try to clear my mind, to let all of my thoughts and feelings drift off. Which is harder than you might imagine. Especially when there are very specific thoughts that are insisting on your attention — like Nessa’s plunging neckline. Or the bejeweled cross that’s bobbing ever so gently between her breasts.
My eyes fly open. “I can’t do it. I can’t stop thinking.”
Nessa smiles, her dark lips full and glistening. “You don’t have to stop thinking. Just don’t focus on any one thing. That’s all.”
“Yeah, I can’t do that either.” I squeeze my legs together, my Stormtrooper starting to stand at attention. All of a sudden I feel guilty. Like I’m cheating on Leyna or something. Which is ridiculous because we’re not even dating yet.
Nessa reaches over and places her warm hands over mine. And that doesn’t help matters.
At all.
“It’s okay,” she says. “The cards will tell us what the cards want to tell us. Just cut them three times and put them on the desk.”
My eyes are drawn to Nessa’s breast-indicating cross like a magnet. I’ve been trying so hard not to think about this very thing that it’s now all I can think about. And I realize too late that I’m staring. Staring at her boobs. Drawn to them like Gollum toward the One Ring.
I blink hard and point at the necklace to try and salvage this one. “That’s pretty,” I say dumbly. “I didn’t know you were religious.”
Nessa looks down and takes hold of the pendant. “You like it? It isn’t a Christian cross. It’s a way older symbol than that. I wear it to remind me that we are constantly at crossroads in our lives. And that you are always being asked to make choices.”
“Wow,” I say. “Coolish.”
“Maybe that’s why you’re attracted to it,” Nessa says, her expression totally open and sincere. “Why your eyes were drawn to it. Maybe you’re at a crossroads and you have to make a decision.”
I shift uncomfortably in my seat. “Uh, yeah, could be, I guess.”
“Well. Let’s find out, shall we?” Nessa gestures at the tarot cards in my hands.
“Sure. Okay.” I cut the cards three times, feeling a little helium headed and jangly inside. “But then we should really get to work. We’re starting to film next week, and I need to have —”
“This’ll only take a few minutes,” Nessa says. “Once we discover what you’re struggling with in your own life, we can weave that theme into the movie. It’ll make the whole thing more meaningful. Trust me.” She closes her eyes and hovers her hands over the deck. “We’ll do a simple three-card spread. First position will tell us what the situation is. Second position will inform us of the problem. And the third card will explain the solution.” Eyes still closed, Nessa deals out three cards and places them facedown in a row. Then she opens her eyes and smiles. “And here we go.”
It’s bizarre, but just looking at those three cards lying there on that purple velvet, the candlelight flickering and dancing over them, makes me feel a little nauseous. It’s like when I go to the doctor and she tells me she’s going to take blood and I get an all-over-body queasiness.
“I don’t feel so good.”
“Just relax and breathe into it. It’s normal to resist self-discovery, Sean. Don’t worry. It’ll pass. Okay, now. The situation is . . .” Nessa reaches out and turns over the first card. “The Ace of Wands. Oh, that’s a powerful one. If I remember correctly.”
I stare at the picture of a hand bursting out of the earth and holding a flaming wand topped with glowing jewels. It certainly looks powerful. “What’s it mean?”
“Let’s see.” Nessa opens her desk drawer and takes out a Tarot for Newbies book. She flips through the pages and finds what she’s looking for. “Here we are. ‘Beginnings. A moment of great opportunity. A time for action. For decision. A new way of life. Transition.’” She looks up from the book. “Does that make any sense to you? Do you feel like something new is coming into your life? Something that maybe you’re afraid to fully embrace? Or to take action on?”
The flipping TV channels again: baby, movie, Cathy’s room, Evelyn. Leyna. Cleavage. “There are lots of new things in my life right now. Can you be more specific?”
“Hold on.” Nessa flips the page and runs her finger down it. “Aha, okay. ‘The Ace of Wands is filled with active male energy.’” She looks at me knowingly, then returns her gaze to the book. “It’s associated with ‘procreation and the seed of life.’” Nessa raises her eyebrows. “What do you think that could be referring to?”
Masturbation. Cleavage. Oh, God. My upper lip starts to sweat. “I don’t know. My mom’s pregnancy, maybe?”
“Really?” Nessa scrunches up her face skeptically. “Are you sure?”
Don’t look at her boobs. Don’t look at her boobs. “Could be.”
“Does that feel right to you? Do you have conflicting feelings about that?”
“No. I mean, yes. Sort of. I think so. I don’t know. Sometimes. Yes.”
“Orrrr”— Nessa points to something else in the book —“it also could have to do with relationships. New relationships. Perhaps something different for you. One you might be resisting. Something recent. Or something that might be just around the corner. Are you conflicted or concerned about your relationships at the moment?”
I cast my eyes around her room for something else to focus on. There, on the wall! A dagger! Think of daggers. A
nd weapons. And armor. Bows and arrows. Staffs. Helmets. Chest plates. No. No. Not chest plates! Back to daggers! Just daggers!
“That card could mean anything, Nessa. I don’t think this is really helping. Maybe we should just get back to —”
“Ah.” Nessa holds up her hand. “We’ve only looked at one card. The other two should clarify things.” She flips the center card over. The head of a blindfolded woman floats over an ocean with two broadswords crossed beneath her. Weapons. Yes. Thank goodness.
“The problem: Two of Swords.” Nessa thumbs through her book. “Okay, now. The Two of Swords. It means a stalemate situation. A conflict between what your heart wants and what your brain is telling you. Between female energy and male energy. This is your problem. You find yourself paralyzed and unable to act. Even though your situation”— Nessa taps the first card —“demands that you take action on a new opportunity.” She lowers her tarot guide. “Isn’t that interesting? Are you finding yourself stuck right now? Like you can’t make up your mind about something? Or someone?”
But I have made up my mind. Leyna. I like Leyna. So what if my divining rod seems to say otherwise? A guy can’t help what happens to his body around a pretty, half-naked girl. “No, I’m not feeling stuck,” I say. Then I remember Evelyn. Ew. Talk about salt on a slug. “Well, I guess maybe . . .”
Nessa smiles sympathetically. “I thought as much. Unfortunately, this card cannot say how long the problem will last. Or which side will win. Female or male. Heart or brain.” She places the book aside and gazes at me. “So tell me, Sean, what’s your mind saying that your heart doesn’t agree with?”
It’s not my mind I’m worried about. “Look, I don’t think this is really helping,” I say again. “Can we stop, please?”
“Come on, now. Don’t turn away. What comes to mind?”
“Nothing,” I lie. “Nothing comes to mind.”
The disappointed-teacher frown again. “Okay. You don’t have to tell me. That’s fine. But let’s at least take a look at the solution.” Nessa flips the last card over, revealing . . . Death.
