by Dawn Brazil
“Ferris, move your ass in here right now, because those reapers are almost on you!” Joe yells. “Move, now!”
Ferris cuts around a slow-moving reaper and staggers into the garden. The reaper’s long, wild, dark hair fans out around her head and her lips are pulled tightly around her mouth, exposing her sharp teeth. She screams and gnashes her teeth as she runs into the entrance of the garden. An invisible wall blocks her from moving forward; the shield pitches her from the front of the entry, and like a ragdoll tossed by a child, she’s flung to the road below.
“What the hell is your deal, dude?” Joe says to Ferris.
Ferris looks around with large eyes. “I–I don’t like this place.”
“Why? Reapers obviously can’t get in here,” I comment.
“No… but there’s other bad things.”
“Bad things,” Joe says. “You sound like a two-year-old. Grow the hell up. 'Bad things.' Like your horrible cowboy act?”
“Oh, well, surprise—I’m not an Asian cowboy.”
I laugh to myself at their exchange. I step away from them to inspect our surroundings. My nose is tickled as the heavy scent of vanilla, cinnamon, and almond wafts to my nostrils. It smells like a bakery.
Flowers and shrubs consume most of the space. A red cobblestone path bends around the diverse arrangements. I stoop to a particularly sweet vanilla-scented flower. Its petals are a soft lilac. “Wow. Smells terrific,” I exclaim to no one.
A voice, which I assume comes from the flower, responds, “You are most beautiful, Samantha.” I pull in a surprised breath.
Joe walks behind me. “Wow. Beautiful flower, horrible taste.”
The flower says, “Joseph, you speak untruth. You think Samantha is most beautiful.” I laugh. Joe’s jaw flexes.
“Wow, Joe. You’re a liar. No surprise there,” I say.
“Samantha, you are a liar, too,” the flower states. I grit my teeth. I understand why Ferris doesn’t like this place.
“We should look for a back exit now,” Ferris whispers.
“You are a liar too, Ferris Wheeler. You know more than you say, but don’t say more.” The flower wails a high-pitched laugh.
“Yeah… maybe it is time for us to leave,” Joe say.
“Joseph, your secret will get out eventually. What will your new friends think of you once they find out what you have done?”
“Which way is the back exit, Ferris?” I ask. He points to my left.
A blue flower with yellow petals says, “Samantha. Shouldn't you tell your friends why you are in VOLT? Tell them what you really want.”
I whirl around to glimpse the flower that said it, as if I can alter the words it spoke with a menacing glare. I swallow hard. “Let’s go now.”
I walk the path toward a side exit. All the plants decide to talk.
“Sam should be truthful with her new friends.”
“Ferris should be truthful with his new friends.”
"Joe should be truthful…”
The plants carry on with their aggravating mantra. Finally, we find an exit and run out of the garden without a glance behind us.
Chapter 17
We creep around corners and hide behind a massive dumpster, but find our way back to the hotel without further incident.
Once we make it to the room, in silence, Joe and Ferris drop on opposite sofas and look anywhere but at each other. I pay little attention to them and go straight to the head. They give no objection to me getting in first. I soak in the oversized black jacuzzi tub for nearly a half hour.
When I exit the head, the TV blares a tune I don’t recognize. It sounds like they’re watching a preschool program. I shake my head and start for one of the bedrooms. “Hey Sam, do you think we can talk?” Ferris asks. I suck in an annoyed breath. “I think maybe we should talk about what happened at the garden.”
“Why do you always want to talk about San Diego? Leave it alone,” I respond.
“You two are my first friends here. I don’t want that to be ruined because of what those dumb flowers said,” Ferris says.
I take a deep breath and release it slowly. “Ferris, I don’t give a Florida what those flowers said. I’m going to say this one last time—we are not friends. I’ve only known you for a couple hours. Seriously, what the Florida. Stop begging for friends.” It almost hurts to say the words when Ferris is such a nice guy, but I can’t have him thinking of us as friends. He’ll only be disappointed in the end, or worse. It’s me and I can’t change me. I’ve tried unsuccessfully many times. Pushing people away is an art form I have mastered. If I stopped taking up for Ferris, maybe he would stop making assumptions about a friendship with me.
“Wow, Sam. You’re sure a friendly girl. Bet you’ve got a line of groupies beating down your door outside of here. Ferris and I apologize for breathing your air too long.” Joe laughs, but Ferris doesn’t—he stares at me, through me.
It’s scary.
“She’s sad, Joe. Leave her alone.” I tighten my jaw and force my eyes away from Ferris' inquisitive probe. I take a step backwards—ready to bolt out of the room.
Joe laughs. “She’s sad? Ferris, we’re here because we lost our mothers.” He points an accusatory finger toward me. I push myself against the wall. “She’s here for her boyfriend. She’s depressed about a guy she probably would’ve broken up with a few months from now anyway. Don’t feel sorry for her.”
I bounce off the wall. “I never asked for your pity. I never asked you for anything. I don’t need you to feel sorry for me. And you haven’t seen me cry. Don’t act like I’m running around acting helpless and weepy. I don’t need you or—"
“Actually, you do need me,” he cuts me off. “I definitely wouldn’t be here if you didn’t need me for something.” My bottom lip trembles and I snatch it between my front teeth. Everything is quiet—even my heart. Joe has stood up, and he faces me across the space. I stand in front of the entryway to the room. Joe and I hold a gaze for about ten seconds without speaking.
His scowl is a challenge to a fight I have zero chance of winning. It’s an answer to the question as to whether I need friends. His frown screams without uttering a sound.
My breath is quick and I speak the truest words I can muster. “I’m not judging you or calling you a momma’s boy because you can’t let go of your mother. I know how it feels to lose someone. I’d never wish it on anyone, or belittle someone else’s pain because I don’t feel they’re validated in their grief because of who the person was. That’s low, even for you, I suspect. So, you don’t have to stay. You can go if you can’t see I need to find him more than I need the blood to pump through my veins. If you can’t understand that need, that kind of love, what’s the point of you being here at all?”
Joe stomps over to the couch and plops back on it. He rubs his hand across the back of his head. I’d like to draw a swift kick to the area his hand rubs. “I was out of line. I apologize.” No one says anything for a minute. “You have us here searching, and you aren’t telling us everything. I don’t like to be made to look like a fool.” He glances at me. “I’m not abandoning you. I made a promise, and I keep my promises. But that doesn’t mean I follow after you blindly.”
“I’ll be honest, I am a liar—just like those plants said. But I’m not misleading you. My lies affect me, only me.”
The idea of seeing Ryan, knowing it’s a possibility, destroys me. The nothing I’ve felt for so long is replaced with everything. Every emotion I normally don’t feel or hide surfaced when I learned Ryan died. These emotions consume me. I don’t want to talk for fear they’ll swallow me whole. Or worse, they’ll devour the person I’m telling them to. I can’t be held responsible for more misery. I’ve done enough already.
Joe watches as I tread out of the room backwards. Our eyes lock as I close the door. It’s been said the eyes are the windows to the soul. So, I divert my mine quickly. He can’t see who I really am—not yet, at least. If they knew the real me, they’d run for c
over.
When my head hits the pillow, I want to cry. It’s hard to do, though. I envy people who can let go easily. It’s liberating. My nothing is worse than crying. I feel so cold inside, but I don’t know how to change it—or even if I want to, and it’s not even at full measure. If the nothing had washed over me completely, I wouldn’t care at all about what Joe said. Since the nothing hasn’t consumed all of my emotions, a war is raging in my head and heart over how long I’ll keep searching for Ryan and keep Ferris and Joe away from what they’re here to do.
* * *
After an uncomfortable night in the queen-sized bed, the two suns shine brilliantly through the bare windows. Joe and Ferris must still be fast asleep, because it’s too quiet. They did stay up half the night talking. I could hear their periodic laughter through the hatch. How can they have become friends so easily?
I dress in the onesie Joe gave me from the store in the lobby. It’s the kind with the non-slip grip feet and extra-long zipper in the front. To make the outfit even worse, it’s a Barbie original. I want to wring Joe's thick neck.
I creep from the room and make my way to the lobby to purchase another outfit. Maybe I can barter with these people.
The store is full of pajamas in an array of hideous designs. The outfit I have on is actually better than any in the store. I walk to the counter and ask the girl behind it for directions to another clothing store. She’s short, but real—not plastic—and has flowing, curly red hair.
"Oh, you're in luck, girlfriend. A few blocks on this strip is the best wears store in town. They sell all the latest wears, Fatality, Demise, and my personal favorite but kinda heavy on the price, Annihilation. You'll see the large sign out front before you reach it. Trust me girlfriend, you’ll love it."
For a few seconds, I think she’ll laugh at the odd joke she tried to make. Those names must be her idea of witticism. She proceeds to fold a purple onesie. “You’re serious?”
“What’s wrong, girlfriend?”
“Those are actual names of clothing lines?” She stops folding and looks at me.
“You haven’t figured it out yet?” Her voice is laced with sympathy and I instantly dislike it. I don’t say anything because I’m not sure what she means.
“VOLT, you ain’t figured it out yet?”
“Figured what out?” I whisper. Her mouth puckers as if she might not like my question. “Does everyone who comes here find their lost thing?”
“Unfortunately, you’re on your own with that. Nobody can help you there. You gotta take your journey—wherever it leads you.”
For a second, I can’t see past my anger—at her for not telling me what I want to know—at Joe for having us stop overnight—at Ryan for not being at the shop—anger with someone I can’t even think of without falling to pieces for always doing what I asked. I gulp my wrath and shove it to the back of my mind behind the mountain that’s already formed.
But it’s there, like the ballad of a song I hate that constantly plays everywhere I go. My anger seethes and intensifies, wanting release. It bubbles and boils beneath my skin like a giant pot of chow.
“Thanks anyway.” I walk out of the store and into the lobby before I slip and allow the anger to take control.
It’s getting busier in the lobby. Plastic people and humanimals scurry in every direction. I hurry past the lost things section. Annoya and Rudena are engaged in a heated debate about something, but I don’t stop to determine what. The attendant opens the hatch for me when I make my way up to it.
“Good morning, Miss,” he says. I nod at him. “Is your boyfriend with you?” My head jerks to meet his eyes.
“Excuse me?” I say.
“Oh, I apologize. I assumed you two were together. My apologies.” I stare at him, blank-faced. “Are you sure it’s wise to be out without companionship?” I open my mouth to speak, but he starts again. “I mean, without your friend.” He bends closer. “It’s dangerous out here, Miss. Sometimes even more in the daytime than the night. All sorts of bad things running loose around these streets.”
“I’m a big girl. I’ll take my chances.” I turn to walk away, but stop. “But thanks anyway.” I don’t want to be a heartless Boston all the time.
“No problem, Miss. You have an excellent and safe day.” I nod my goodbye.
I step out of the hotel to a humid disaster. My hair frizzes as soon as the atmosphere touches it. Before I return to the hotel, it’ll be a scouring pad.
The streets are lined with pedestrians and walking and talking animals. I divert my eyes to the ground as much as possible to thwart my gawking at some of these… creatures.
I stroll past the first and second building without seeing the sign for the other shop. I cross the street and keep moving north. The sign the girl assured me would be evident before I reached the building hasn’t popped out yet. I tug on the collar of the onesie but keep my pace. Sweat drips from my neck and rolls down the front of my PJ onesie. My feet drag across the stone sidewalk, the fabric nipping and tugging on uneven cement spaces. I don’t even have shoes on over the plastic enclosed feet. It seemed too redundant to wear them.
I walk past several more buildings. Maybe I should go back. After one look at the soot covering the feet of my onesie, I change my mind.
I slow my pace to stop the cuts threatening to rip through the bottom of the pajamas. A large sign on the sidewalk with red neon bulbs flashing reads, "For the latest wears, buy from Mortal's on Main Street."
It’s still almost three more blocks away, though.
I hope the clothes sound better than the names on the tag. I glance around for the first time to see if anyone watches me. They don’t. A couple walks across the street and an elderly man paces back and forth in front of a storefront. A car full of German Shepherds drives by, a rap tune shrieking from the windows.
I’m in VOLT, I remind myself, shaking my head. The memory of a dog I once owned, mangled and riddled with tire marks, flashes through my mind. The memory is yanked away before I can register an emotional response. Sometimes, the nothing is the closest thing I have to a friend.
I step around a kid wailing his lament at a chunk of chocolate cake splattered on the ground. Trying hard not to attract any attention like Joe showed me last night is easy, my eyes are averted to the ground as much as possible. I do manage to stumble into a glob of melting chocolate as I dash around the crying monster, though.
A dreadful shriek causes me to pop my head up. A woman in red hurries in my direction. I recognize her; she’s my Economics teacher. I keep an eye on her as I increase the speed of my steps. Maybe I can still make it to the shop before she can reach me.
A group of upright-walking dogs bounce out of a shop, effectively blocking her view of me. The dogs stop mid-stride and turn to her. All at once they speak to her—in plain English. I don’t listen for coherence. The entire time they speak to her, her eyes remain on me. I stop walking. She glowers back, finally her lips quirk into a full smile.
The chill of recognition spirals like a knife twisting in my gut.
Reaper.
Chapter 18
I spin around, back toward the hotel. A sharp hiss reverberates behind me. I push my feet faster without breaking into an all-out sprint. Sweat cascades from my hair and blocks my vision. Her angry growl sounds closer.
She’s within arm’s reach. “Florida.” I hurry around the first corner and cut into an alleyway. I follow it all the way down, past another intersection. Her tortured jeers follow me. Scrambling around a giant yellow dumpster, my foot kicks a glass bottle onto its side. The glass shatters as it makes contact with the cement. San Diego! I clamber around to the side of the dumpster and crouch low to the ground.
A livid shriek pierces the air around me. I grit my teeth to keep my fear at bay and creep from my squatted position to see where she is. A fist crashes into my face and I stumble backwards. Pain races across my cheek where the blow landed.
Now sitting on my rear, I thrust my leg out
and land a kick to the reaper's stomach. I lunge forward with another kick to the side of her face. Her head spins and she spews black liquid from her yellow, decaying teeth. She promptly shakes it off like I'd just given her a love tap to the gut. San Diego. A shard of glass glistens on the ground near me. I snatch it up and jump forward, slicing the reaper across the belly. She stumbles backwards, away from me. A thick black liquid oozes from the cut.
I shove myself from the ground and race to squat behind another dumpster a few feet away. I peer around the container. She's bent at the hips and sniffing the air like a hound dog. Can she smell me? I crawl further up the alley. There is nowhere for me to hide. Large warehouses with broken glass and corroding structures line the alleyway I’m in.
From nowhere, a warm hand covers my mouth.
As I’m about to sink my teeth into this random person’s hand, they speak. “Don’t make a sound. She migh—" Joe whispers into my hair. The reaper connects eyes with me before Joe can complete his statement.
He snatches my hand and whips me around, but not before the reaper breaks into a run across the alley toward us. Her teeth are pulled back, exposing her jagged yellow fangs.
Around us, glass shatters as Joe hurls us through a window in the abandoned warehouse. We fall through the opening and land on the unyielding cement floor. My breath is knocked from me for a second, but I have zero time to recover. Joe pulls me to my feet as I squirm in agony from the crash. My left foot is wet with something that will no doubt be disgusting. We cut across the deserted office space to an empty room.
The crunch of glass breaking sounds. The reaper has evidently jumped into the building along with us. Why the Houston is Joe here? I want to punch him in the jaw for coming here; I also want to cower inside his strong arms.
Most of the rooms in the office are bare, with no visible areas to hide. On our tiptoes, we make haste over the concrete floors toward the back of the warehouse. Joe ushers me around a corner in the back. A single row of metal lockers line the wall on one side; we run to one of the lockers and thrust it open. Cobwebs cling to the handle as the door squeaks open; a whiff of burnt rubber smacks us in the face as we peer inside.
