Nightmare

by Chelsea M. Cameron

  “Wow.” She sighs and sits back on her heels. I can't picture my mother doing something like that. The camping, yes, but not the traveling. She and Dad weren't big on it. We'd taken a few family vacations, but she'd never expressed a desire to see Europe. Had I missed something?

  “Why didn't you and Dad ever go?” She lets out a breath.

  “Oh, things happen. We got married and we were going to do the honeymoon after and then we couldn't afford it and then we had you and it got put on the back burner. Your dreams change when you have children. You'll see.” If things went the way I wanted them to, I wouldn't be having any children. For some reason that makes me sad for just a moment.

  “You should go,” Peter says.

  “I wish I could.”

  Why couldn't she? I'm sure she and Dad had money saved up for a rainy day. Well, it was pouring now.

  The front door pops open, making me jump. My eyes fly to the roof, but Peter is already gone.

  “What are you looking at?” Dad comes out on the porch and follows Mom's and my gaze to the spot Peter once occupied. Mom's the first to recover.

  “Just a strange bird. It's gone now.” She dazzles him with a smile. He squints up at the sky, looking for the “strange bird.” Yeah, you're not going to see it, Dad.

  “Are you sure you should be out here? Don't tax yourself.”

  “I'm fine. I was just going to come in for a glass of iced tea. I just have to finish up. Okay?” He nods and goes back into the house. Peter's back, as soon as he closes the door.

  “What a strange bird you are.”

  Blink.

  “I must go. If I am going to get a car, I will need to find a place to rent one.” And there's the first lie to my mother. I give him a look, but he ignores me.

  He's not renting a car. He's going to borrow one without permission. Or if you're feeling like a pirate, he's going to commandeer one. It's kind of hard to rent a car when you don't have a driver's license or a social security number. But Mom doesn't know that, and I'm not going into it right now.

  Mom looks up, as if she's remembered he's there. “We'll see you tonight. You might want to, ah, spruce up a little.” Her eyes rake Peter up and down and I want to slap my head again for not thinking of it myself.

  I snap my fingers. “Clothes. You need new clothes. And shoes.”

  Mom's eyes light up. “Why don't you take him shopping? Then you can drop him off at the car place.” Brilliant. Unsupervised Peter time where I can molest him with my eyes. And not think about last night and creepy Cal and the six days we have to wait for answers.

  I dash into the house and grab my purse, popping a quick kiss on her cheek.

  “Don't do anything that would make me ashamed of you,” she calls we get in the car.

  Moms.

  Peter

  “I don't want you buying me clothes,” I say.

  “Too bad. You need clothes and I'm going to buy them for you.” She turns the car on and backs down the driveway, barely looking in the mirror. Sometimes her driving skills make me nervous for her safety.

  “Are you sure this is a good idea, leaving her without someone to protect her?” She is having second thoughts. Her indecision plucks at me.

  “Viktor is here.”

  “Oh, good.”

  “Really, though, I'm not sure if this is a good idea. It seems like inviting trouble to frolic about going shopping and such when we should be hiding in a bunker with a lot of automatic weapons.” I try to follow her trail of thought. It is often like trying to find my way through a briar patch.

  “I will protect you.” It does not appease her.

  “I don't want you to have to. I want to protect you more.” I put my thumb on her lip, making her swerve in the road. I am not trying to silence her, but she does go mute. She straightens the wheel and I take my hand away. I should not distract her like that.

  “Where are we going to buy clothes?” I say, changing the subject. I haven't bought clothes since I was human. Usually, I take them when I can. There is not much of a selection, but beggars can't be choosers. She taps her chin before she answers.

  “Well, I can't really picture taking you to Walmart, so we're going to the thrift store in Sussex. You clearly don't have a problem wearing used clothes, so we'll find you something there. I would take you to some fancy place, but I can't really afford it.” She glances quickly at me as her cheeks pink. Her attention is diverted. For now.

  “You don't have to buy me clothes.” I do not like her spending money on me. She has so little of it. I would spend all the money I possessed on her. If she would let me. What was once mine belongs to her. She has the key.

  “Well, you need clothes and shoes and I'm not comfortable with you stealing them. I'll let you steal a car, but I'm not letting you steal clothes.” She laughs a little.

  “What is funny?” She continues to giggle. The sound is warm and light and I want to bottle it.

  “I have more qualms about you stealing clothes than a car. That's what's funny.” I do not find it funny, but enjoy her laugh anyway.

  She puts on the radio and hums along. She reminds me of her mother so often. I don't think she knows how much like her she really is.

  The place she takes us is in the back of downtown Sussex, on a side street. All the buildings are of old weathered brick. It is an old town, and I like that. I remember spending a night or two in a few of the churches in town, before her.

  Churches were one of my many hobbies to pass my immortality. I made it a habit to visit a church in every place I visited. Sussex was no exception. Despite religion being out of fashion in the modern world, there are always churches.

  Her car fits into the only available space out of three. Her car protests when she turns it off. I will get Viktor to look at it while she is sleeping.

  “Come on,” she says, nodding to the store. “You're going to be my living Ken doll.”

  Her arm slips through mine like a link in a chain. “What is a Ken doll?”

  “It's...” She searches for the words, looking up at the cloudy sky. “Never mind. I'll show you sometime. It's too hard to explain. Basically what I mean is that you're going to be a doll and I'm going to put clothes on you.” My sisters had dolls. They would pester me to do the buttons on the backs of the dresses because their little fingers weren't nimble enough. I spent many afternoons that way, sitting in the little parlor that overlooked the garden, the sun streaming in through the bay window. I had worked hard to hold onto that memory.

  “I do not care what I wear.” Unlike Ca, I had never cared for clothes.

  “Yeah, I know.” She rolls her eyes back. Humans put much emphasis on the clothes you wear as a means of judging the person inside. Noctali do not judge this way.

  Musty and cluttered, the store smells like dust and abandoned memories. Things are crammed in nooks and crannies and piled in tottering stacks everywhere. Damaged mannequins hide in corners like ghosts. There seems to be no form of organization as pants, jackets and scarves are all hung on the same rack with no tags for sizing. At least the men's and women's clothes are separated. That is a blessing.

  There is only one other person here, an older woman who is in the back, moving boxes and cursing under her breath about her arthritis.

  “What about this?” Ava places a black fedora on my head. I lean down so she can adjust it. She tips it to the side and stands back, squinting and leaning to one side, considering.

  “Not bad.” She takes it off my head, but holds onto it. With laser precision, she scouts the racks, finding pants and holding them up to me, shirts and finally shoes.

  “What size do you wear?”

  “I do not know.” I knew once. But it was not something I held onto.

  Her laugh rings through the shop. “One way to find out. Stick you feet in those.” I slip out of the flip flops and slide my feet into the shoes she puts in front of me.

  “May I help you?” The owner emerges from behind a beaded curtain,
her eyes squinting to find us in the dim light.

  “No thanks, we're good,” Ava says. The woman squints in our direction for a few more seconds and then goes into the back again, muttering about her glasses.

  I remove my feet from the shoes. “Too small.”

  “Okay, try these.” She puts another pair down. They are made of leather and look soft.

  “Better.”

  “What about these?” The shoes are black with white laces. I put them on and cinch up the laces, tying a quick bow. They are comfortable.

  “Yay, you can tie your shoes.” She claps. We add the two pairs of shoes to the hat and keep going. She piles things on my arms, without even consulting me. Every now and then she holds up something to me, squinting her eyes. I marvel again at how much expression passes across her face in one day. Finally she seems to be satisfied with my armful of garments.

  “Now you're going to have to try this stuff on. To the dressing room!” She raises her arm as if she's riding into battle. Her mood has lifted from the day before, like a balloon floating into the sky.

  She shoves me behind a curtain and pulls it shut. She hands me several items over the top, saying, “you're going to have to show me when you've put them on.”

  First is a pair of jeans and a blue shirt. I strip out of my other clothes, turning my back to the mirror. I do not often look in reflective surfaces. There is no need. My face and body have not changed. Vanity is not one of my vices.

  The jeans slide over my hips and settle low. They are too baggy for my liking. I put the shirt on. It's made of a soft material that makes me think of the shirts Ava wears to bed. It doesn't smell like her, but I hope in time it will. All the clothes carry the smell of the human that wore them last. They all carry the residue of blood.

  “Let me see.” On the other side of the curtain, Ava bounces up and down on her feet. I pull open the curtain and she beams.

  “Not bad. Turn.” She swirls her finger in a circle. I am puzzled. “Spin around so I can see the whole effect.” I turn around.

  “The jeans are a little baggy for you. Unless you want your underwear showing at the top like some badass rapper guy.” I have no idea what she means, but I do not like the bagginess.

  “No, I do not.”

  Her eyes skip up and down and around my chest, assessing the shirt. “I didn't think so. The shirt's nice though.” She brushes a finger across my chest. “Okay, the shirt is a go, the jeans not so much. Next outfit.” I let her push me back behind the curtain.

  By the time Ava is finished with me, I have more than a few shirts. In my arms are no less than ten shirts, six pairs of jeans, one pair of black pants, two jackets and one sweatshirt.

  She snaps her fingers as if she's remembered something. “Oh, pjs. You need those, too.”

  I assume she means pajamas. What would I need those for? “I don't sleep.”

  “I know, but it's weird when we go to bed and you're still wearing jeans. I guess you could wear boxers.” Her face blooms with red and I understand her embarrassment. “You're going to be on your own for that stuff. But I could at least get you some comfy pants.” She adds a pair of soft gray pants that I don't try on to the pile.

  “Is that it?” The shop is so small that I wish to get outside. The air is stale and old. I can barely smell Ava with all the other things crowded in the shop.

  There are so many hints of other lives, other people who have worn these clothes. The places they went, what they did seeps into the fabric. I'm not sure if I can wash it out. I hope Ava's scent will someday drown it out.

  “I think so. Not too bad for a rinky dinky thrift store.” We go to the counter and Ava pays with her card. I want to protest, but she is determined. The woman looks from me to Ava and back, pressing her lips together as she puts my new clothes in a bag. We're about to leave when I see something hiding behind a naked mannequin that is missing one arm. It's a dress. Ava needs a dress. The only dress I have seen her in was Texas', and I hadn't seen it since.

  “What about you?”

  “What about me?” She turns, her hand on the door, the bag with my things in the other.

  I gesture at the shop as a whole. She should get something. “Would you like something?”

  “We came here for you.”

  “You should get yourself something.” She lets go of the door and looks around. Her shoulders slump. I can tell she's tired.

  “I don't know. I'm not really in the mood.” Her earlier buoyancy has deflated somewhat.

  I move toward the sparkle I'd seen behind the mannequin. “Would you let me pick something for you?” She smiles and looks at the floor.

  “Sure.” She takes the bag from me and sits in a chair outside the changing room. I pull out the item that had caught my eye. It's a green and black dress that would hit her right above the knee. I am not a good judge of women's clothing, but I know Ava, and this would fit her. It would also bring out the color in her eyes.

  “This.” I hold it up so she can see it. She gets up and comes to feel the fabric watching it shift in the light.

  “Wow, that's really pretty. Where did you find it?”

  I point to the mutilated mannequin. “Over there. Will you put it on?”

  She flushes before saying, “yeah, okay.” She goes behind the curtain and I hear her slide out of her other clothes and pull the dress on. Taking a deep breath, she pauses before drawing the curtain back.

  I cannot speak for a moment, lost in her beauty. Her eyes shine bright, her hair tumbles down her back and the dress hugs her frame as if it was crafted for her alone. She adjusts the straps, a nervous tick.

  There is only one thing to say.

  “You look lovely.”

  This time the smile reaches her eyes and a surge of pleasure runs through her, warm and sweet. “Thanks. It's a bit tighter and shorter than I'm used to wearing.” She pulls at the hem as if trying to make the dress longer. I like the length where it is. Besides, it is longer than the dress she wore the night we danced. I have thought about that night many times since.

  “What about the gold dress?” I ask. She rolls her eyes again.

  “Don't even get me started. That was all Tex. I wouldn't have worn that if I'd known that was what it looked like ahead of time. She knew that, which was why she knew I'd have no choice but to wear it.” She's shifting and twitching inside the fabric, and I can feel her discomfort.

  “What is wrong with it?”

  She finally meets my eyes. “I don't know. I just feel kinda exposed.” Crossing her arms, she moves closer to me, as if I'm going to shield her indecency.

  “You shouldn't hide your beauty.” I take her arms and pull them out. She resists, but lets me.

  “I'm not hiding it. I'm just, keeping it under wraps. Like a secret.”

  I have an impulse and take one of her hands, holding it above her head. She giggles and twirls under my arm, striking a pose with one of her feet in the air.

  “You should buy it and wear it on the date.”

  She finally relaxes. “Yeah, and freeze to death.” I often forget that she gets cold.

  “You should still buy it.” I like the dress, but I like it more when it's on her. Her hair look like a river of black ink rolling down her back as she turns to go back into the changing room. “Buy it. For me.” She could get away with anything in that dress.

  She looks over her shoulder. “Fine.” One side of her mouth turns up in a smile. Effortless.

  While she's putting her normal clothes back on I try smiling a few times in the mirror, butI need Ava to tell me if it looks right.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Ava

  If I'd known wearing a skimpy dress would get Peter to look at me like that, I probably would have done it sooner and more often. True, I had worn one that night when we danced, but I'd forgotten a lot about that night, due to the craziness that ensued afterward. Oh no, I hadn't forgotten the dancing. I couldn't forget that even if I wanted to. And I very much didn't
.

  One look at his face when I came out of the changing room was all it took for me to want the dress. I thought it was nice when he held it up, but I like that he likes it on me more. It's got a cool swirly black and green pattern of leaves and there is a subtle sheen to it when I move. The straps are thin, so my shoulders are pretty naked. Although, my boobs look fantastic, so there is that.

  I try to forget that I'd been wearing a green dress that night at Bolero when my parents had shattered my world forever. That night had led to meeting Peter. And my mother would still be sick if they had told me or not.

  I have absolutely no place to wear the dress. It's more of a formal dance kind of thing, what with the sparkles and all, but I don't think I'll be going to prom this year. The point of prom is to spend it with a big group of people. I just have Jamie and Tex and I can't bring the person I want to bring, so it would be lame. I might have to go anyway, to make my mother happy. Maybe I could smuggle him in. He's stealthy enough. I'd only have to dance with him once to make it worth it. But prom was a long way off. I couldn't see past this week yet.

  After the thrift store I took Peter to the local equivalent of a department store so he could buy unmentionables. There was no way I was going with him to buy underwear, so I wrote him out a check and signed it.

  First of all, I'm not his mother and second, I would spend the whole time picturing him in said underwear and he'd know and that would be super awkward for me. Especially if he could sort of read my mind.

  I can't even go into the store with him, it's that bad. I feel a serious case of the giggles coming on so I stand outside and stare at the window displays and hoping he can shop in a store without me needing to rescue him.

  He comes out a few minutes later with a bag. Phew. I don't ask to see what's in it and he doesn't offer to show me. Instead he shoves the bag in the back of my car along with the thrift shop bags. I really wish I was a fly on the wall to watch him check out, but alas. I was not.

  “So where are we procuring this car from?” I have to change the subject so I'll stop thinking about whether he got boxers or briefs. Or those things that are in between.