By late afternoon the sky above Paragon had been scoured clean, wiped in a thin slate of vanilla, nothing but a bevy of ghosts hovering around Brielle and I as we make our way through the fog-laden mall.
Logan actually gave me money right out of the safe at the bowling alley when I was done with my shift so I could, put gas in that damn car he gave me.
“You notice anything funny about Logan lately?” I ask, fondling lacy underwear from a bargain bin at the lingerie store. Brielle specifically came in looking for maternity lingerie which sounds a lot like an oxymoron but I don’t acknowledge that fact, just nod as she holds up a strange knit creation that technically you don’t even a need a stomach, boobs, or crotch to wear.
“He’s still hurting,” she says. “You know, from when you dumped him.”
“For the record I didn’t do the dumping.” I rattle a pair of black panties in the air for no good reason.
“’Tis true my blonde love,” she dusts my face off with a pair of skivvies so pink and innocent they can hardly justify their existence in this hotbed of immorality. “He told me himself yesterday. He took a wad of cash and said he was going to make himself feel better.”
“Mmm,” still not buying it. “Anyway, I’m glad he’s back. But whoever ran him over is still out there.” I bite down on my lip. There has to be a way to find out who did this. I bet I could get Marshall to fess up to it for less than a kiss—not that I would. But I’d love to see Chloe do jail time even if Marshall did use her as a pawn.
I spot Mom across the way, looking in a window at a men’s store. She’s probably just getting back from Demetri’s.
“I’ll be right back,” I say to Bree before whizzing out the door.
Mom adjusts herself in the reflection of the glass, wearing none other than heels and a baby doll dress that exposes her long thin legs. Ha! I so knew it. I bet Tad gagged on his oatmeal once she debuted her Lolita costume. Heck, he might be sprawled out over the dining room floor dead from a heart attack after he figured out that I was right for a change.
Just as I’m about to shout over to her, she picks up her phone and laughs into it.
“Did I leave something behind? Oh…of course I’ll see you—anytime, anywhere,” her voice carries across the vicinity.
God, she’s probably talking to Demetri. She’s way too jubilant to be talking to Tad. Come to think of it. I don’t think Tad has ever made her that happy.
“It’ll have to be quick,” she continues, “I have dinner at seven. How do I get there?”
Gross. He’s probably giving her directions to some seedy motel.
“I’m leaving right now,” she purrs and heads towards the parking lot.
I rush back to the lingerie store.
“I have to go,” I hiss over at Brielle who holds a teddy over her bulging midsection that screams wishful thinking.
“Go ahead. I just saw Michelle. I’ll catch a ride with her.” She snatches up a bra comprised of two giant pink hearts and grins.
“Oh, it’s you alright. I’ll see you at Ellis’. And not in that, please.”
“Skyla?” she calls after me. “Michelle mentioned she wanted to talk to you.”
“I’ll catch her later.”
What the hell does Michelle I-hate-your-guts Miller want to talk to me about on Valentine’s Day?
***
Thankfully my mother doesn’t get far. I’m able to follow the metallic blue minivan down miles of Paragon highway, and I’m careful to keep six degrees of separation at all times. Of all the colors of the rainbow Logan’s dad could have chosen for the Mustang, he chose an unsettling orange that’s about as subtle as a traffic cone even in Paragon’s heavily misted environment. Maybe that’s why he chose it because it was a safety issue. God knows every time I see a fender bender on the side of the road there’s at least one silver vehicle involved. So, I guess the justification is there, but still, it doesn’t allow for blending into the scenery while pursuing your mother on a slow speed chase to prove to yourself she’s having an affair with your father’s killer.
Obviously, I need to take her back in time to see Dad again. Obviously, the two of us need to sit her down and fill her in on a few facts about the man who has my father’s blood on his hands, who isn’t even human by the way. Marrying Demetri would be a far greater offense than marrying Tad could ever be. There must be some familial violation involved when it comes to befriending your dead husband’s killer.
Who knew Mom’s affair with Demetri would be the deciding factor that makes me land square on Tad’s side of the fence—odd how life works that way—finds enemies that make your adversaries feel like old friends.
She takes a turn and goes down an unincorporated road that leads past the falls. I pull over and let her disappear beyond the horizon before I tail her. There’s nothing out here, certainly not any hotel. What if she wasn’t on the phone with Demetri after all? What if she’s got another client who finds Lizbeth Landon too hot to handle? God, what if he’s a serial killer, and I’m about to rescue Mom from death’s clutches? I speed up a little only to find her car already abandoned on the side of the road.
The sky darkens, dusting the island with a lavender patina. I park and get out, following the trail of tiny holes she’s plowed in the dirt with her heels all the way to an all-familiar clearing.
“Oh my, God,” I breathe the words. In the distance, I see a group of people in long dark robes. The large flat stone of sacrifice in the middle of the field shines like a dulled out coin.
Mom laughs while a tall shadow of a man hands her a robe. She shakes it out, examines it for a good long while. The man turns, darts a quick look in my direction revealing his hooknose, coal black eyes.
There he is. Demetri the brainwasher.
She throws the cloak over her dress, invoking a long hug from him as a reward. I watch as her pale arms ride up and down his back like a pair of withering lilies.
Mom pulls back and listens to whatever bullshit it is he’s feeding her and laughs. Her voice echoes through the woods, the fattened clouds that hover above aren’t enough to contain my mother’s newfound elation. Her echoing laughter bypasses the sky, enters into the stratosphere before shooting off into dark abysmal space.
She takes up his hand and dutifully falls in line at the unholy altar.
I wonder how much longer before he convinces her that I should be lying on the stone in front of them.
I wonder how much longer before he convinces my mother I should disappear from their lives forever.
Chapter 16
Down in Flames
Later in the evening, I get dressed and head over to the Oliver’s house without even trying to break up a raucous knock ‘em down drag out fight between Mia and Melissa. Instead, I let Tad deal with the fallout and don’t even bother offering up information when he asks a million times if any of us knows, where the hell our mother is because they’ve got reservations, and he’ll be damned if he misses out on dinner tonight.
I pull in next to Gage’s truck and kill the ignition, glancing at the raging bash across the street. Ellis’ party is already in full swing with bodies milling around nine deep around the circumference of the house—odd because usually people are in it.
I make my way through the cool of night, up to the Oliver’s house, shivering because I forgot my jacket just as Gage opens the door.
“Hey beautiful,” the words swim from his lips.
A pair of headlights pull into the driveway at an alarming speed. I jump into Gage afraid there might be some reprisal of what happened behind the bowling alley, only it’s not the haunted Mustang heading in our direction, it’s a giant white truck.
“Looks like Logan is home,” I say before diving into an I’m-so-happy-you’re-alive slash Happy Valentine’s Day kiss with Gage. I love his mind-numbing kisses. I could easily spend an eternity in a lip lock with him.
A branch falls from the roof and hits him square on the head.
“Whoa,�
� Gage backs up, plucking leaves out his hair.
“Perfect timing,” I laugh, picking the stick up and waving it over our heads like mistletoe.
“Happy Valentine’s Day,” he murmurs through a series of soft pecks.
“I was about to say the same.”
“Enough with the love fest,” Logan shouts from the driveway. “Come check out my wheels.”
Logan stands admiring his truck from a good ten feet away so we join him. My mouth falls open at the atrocity.
“What in the hell possessed you to do that?” Gage groans. Just looking at the vandalism that’s taken place causes him physical pain, I can tell.
Giant red and yellow flames expand across the breadth of Logan’s truck. They look cartoonish, silly and vulgar all at the same time.
“I’ll second that,” I say. “What the hell got into you?”
A hurt look crosses Logan’s face before morphing back into the pissed off expression he’s been sporting like a mask as of late.
“I mean it’s different,” I try to rectify the situation.
“Oh, it’s different,” Gage takes another step back. “Is this a joke? This is a joke, right? These are stickers, or magnets.” He goes over and starts picking at the paint.
“The only joke I see around here is you,” he presses out a dry smile and heads across the street to the party.
“He didn’t mean it,” I say.
“Of course, he meant it. Logan doesn’t say things he doesn’t mean. He just plays it off that way.”
***
We follow Logan across the street where Ellis’ house thumps into the powder white night. Bodies swirl, disembodied laughter fills the air, and there are enough cars parked haphazard on the property to fill a dealership.
I’m secretly looking forward to having a couple’s page done for Gage and me.
We find Emily at the breakfast nook where she has already set up shop. Her dark head is lowered, speaking with Brielle and Drake as she dutifully goes over paperwork with them as if she were explaining a life insurance policy.
An aqua glow electrifies the backyard. I can see the pool outside the window. A thick seam of vapors rise off the water, and people are actually jumping in, so I guess that means it’s heated.
Ellis walks by and I snatch him up by the elbow.
“Is that the big surprise? You heated the pool?”
“It’s Valentine’s Day,” he nods as if it’s a given. As if pool heaters the world over were traditionally fired up for just this occasion. “I thought it’d be a nice surprise.”
“It would have been a nicer surprise if you would have warned us. We could have brought our bathing suits,” I say. Not that I would have. Well, maybe I would have.
“That’s half the fun, Messenger. No bathing suits. I’ve got three topless girls from East winning the water-wrestling competition. Now are you just going to stand there and let them take down our school like that? Or are you going to get out there and do something about it?” His serious demeanor makes me want to smack him.
“She’s not saving the school with her body, Ellis,” Gage interjects.
“Relax, I’ve got you covered my ailing friend. I have one more slot opened for judging—I was just on my way to offer you the position. Just wait until the synchronized swimming portion of the evening.”
“No thanks,” Gage adjusts himself on his crutch. “I’m not into synchronized swimming.”
“Neither am I,” Ellis assures, “But again, three girls from east, topless.”
“Geez,” I smack him hard in the gut. “You’re a pervert and so is anyone watching.”
“Logan happily volunteered. In fact, he’s out there now holding down the fort,” Ellis ticks his head towards the back. “It’s nice to have him back. He’s always so uptight. It’s like he’s finally loosening up.”
“Yeah, like, a lot,” I marvel. Like unraveling at the seams, but I leave that part out. I have a feeling discussing Logan and his bizarre behavior will set Gage back weeks in his recovery—hell his wardrobe alone is enough to send the both of us into a fashion induced coma.
“Never mind that,” Gage points over at Brielle who’s balling.
I speed over to her. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s not working out like I thought.”
“What’s not working out?” I ask, taking the paper out of her hands. It’s a million little pictures of babies and furniture and a crooked looking house, much like Emily’s own creepy family abode, and a bunch of other crap that’s too difficult to decipher in this defused lighting.
“We’re headed for trouble,” she whines. “Our couple days could be numbered.”
“That’s bullshit,” I say, trying to refute whatever Emily may have told her. Although deep down inside we both know it’s not. Emily bats a thousand with those pictures she hammers out. They have an uncanny way of predicting the future. “I guess the good news is that there’s still a chance.”
Emily catches my eye sitting there alone with no new customer filling the void so I pat Brielle on the back and push her off towards an agitated looking Drake.
Just before I can pull Gage over to the breakfast nook, Chloe swoops in and takes a seat. She doesn’t even acknowledge Gage. Who knew Chloe would fall into submission so easily? And here I thought you couldn’t keep a good bitch down.
Emily draws something up at dizzying speeds, turns over the paper and continues her sketching spree—double-sided no less. Chloe has a saga worthy love life in store for her this year. I wonder if this means anything? If it falls in line with the duplicity my mother is pulling, a.k.a. seeing men that don’t belong to you, or if it simply means Chloe will go through an entire line of suitors she blackmails into being with her, probably the latter.
“This is Ethan,” Emily starts.
Should we be listening? Gage asks, plucking at my hand.
Very much so, I assure.
“Remember,” Emily reprimands, “this is only for this year.” She pulls a pencil from a plastic cup blooming with markers and uses it as a pointer. “Your relationship goes somewhere with him. You have something real here. It’s funny because I didn’t think you were that into him.” She shrugs it off. “This is Logan.”
Shit.
“You are so going to piss off Michelle and Lexy, but not too much because he was on theirs, too.”
What?
He is a free agent, Gage is quick to remind me.
“He’s hot and heavy with you for a while then it’s cold turkey right around here.” She points off to some timeline I’m not privy to. “Same with Lex and Michelle. It looks like he gets pretty serious with someone else and shuts the rest of you down, but you continue with Ethan, and I see this for the rest of the school year.”
Chloe gives a heavy look in our direction. She leans into Em and whispers. Emily nods and whispers back, bringing a smile to Chloe’s face.
Obviously it’s about Gage.
Gage is the soil in which she buried her heart. Chloe waits for springtime, for the sun to warm over it, for a good shower of my bloodshed to fertilize her efforts. She’s insane if she thinks anything is ever going to bloom out of that rancid maggot pit that lies buried in her chest. Devastation, maybe, but that’s all that will ever come from there.
You better not make Chloe’s year, I say, yanking Gage by the fingers.
“I’ll be too busy making yours,” he leans on his crutch and kisses me full on the mouth, causing the room and all of its interruptions to melt away.
“Next,” Emily beeps it out, obtrusive as an air horn.
I scoot in next to her, and Gage takes a load off his aching leg in the seat across from us. Emily stares at me banally as though she were reading a newspaper printed across my forehead.
“You sure you want him here for this?” She flicks a finger towards Gage.
“Yes.” I fully expect to see an entire page cluttered up with nothing but our love—hearts and rainbows, a unicorn or two with our names t
attooed on its rear in a giant frilly heart. Gage, on the other hand, looks like he’s ready for a nap, like just walking across the street has proven to be too big of a physical challenge.
Emily zigzags her way at top speed across the front and back of the thick parchment set in front of her.
“So you can interpret the things you draw?” I’ll have to beg her to tell me in detail what that freaky body art she scribbled over me this last winter meant.
“Sometimes,” she says it bored as if she was fine with it either way. If it were me, I’d totally want to know what the hell my haunted drawings were trying to say.
Emily continues to spit out microscopic scenes across the page before coming abruptly to a halt.
See? Easy as pie. Gage and I are so utterly predictable in our happily ever after, it took less than ten seconds for her to whip it out.
She reaches over and grabs another sheet.
“What the heck are you doing?” I spit it out in a panic.
“Ran out of room.” She darts around the page before flipping that too, over. To my horror she picks up another sheet and continues without missing a freaking beat.
“Looks like a lot of loving going on,” my toes curl when I say it. Truthfully, I’m regretting this big time. The last thing in the world I want to see is that I, in any way, veer from Gage in the next year.
“Um, you know, I think we’ll get going now.” I try to stand, but she yanks me back down.
“You have Gage, you can relax. But these other two, they’re not,” she shakes her head, “something’s different about them. This one’s not human, you’re not like into some freaky shit, like dogs, right?”
She pegged it—dogs of the celestial variety.
I shake my head, quick and nervous.
“I don’t know what’s up with these two. I’m not even sure this one’s human,” she says before looking up at Gage. “You’ve got some serious competition from a lion and a, well, I don’t know what the hell that is, some prehistoric velociraptor with wings.”
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