Long Live Dead Reckless Page 10

  “I’m sorry. I meant to tell you, but since you basically ran out, I never got a chance.”

  It took a minute for me to finally get a word or two out. My teeth were grinding so hard against each other that my jaw was aching.

  “So that’s why I saw Spencer turn into the creature from the black lagoon. And now I’m just like my dad. Seeing things and going crazy.”

  “Why are you talking about a monster? How much did you drink?”

  “Do you hear anything I say or are you just too busy worshipping yourself inside your own head all the time, Azalea?”

  She scowled.

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  I slapped my hand over my face and rubbed it.

  “Spencer, like, shape-shifted into some crazy monster last night after he kissed me. Then he disappeared. It wasn’t the best night, Azalea. I guess it all makes sense now. No wonder Sage didn’t want to talk to me last night. Who knows what stupid crap I said to him?”

  Azalea glanced back and forth while she took a long sip on her drink, which she nearly spit out.

  “When did you see Sage? I’m so confused right now!”

  I stood up to leave.

  “You’re confused? You ship a guy I hate, try to get me drunk, and insist we eat at shady bars with weird people! Who are you?”

  “I’m your friend, and I’m sorry. But you aren’t your father, Talor.”

  I grabbed my purse and shook my head at her.

  “No, I’m not, and you aren’t my friend, either.”

  Those words must have hurt, because she looked up at me with tearful eyes. I pushed my way down the stairs and just before I got to the door, a hand caught my arm. It was Jill.

  “She isn’t good for you. You’re doing her a favor, princess.”

  I shot her a bewildered glare and she let go. I took the last heavy step to the door and threw my whole weight against it. It groaned as it gave way to the world outside. Everything went white as my eyes adjusted to the bright light of midday, and for once, I was glad to feel the autumn southern warmth on my face. In the searing sun, my own tears began to evaporate and with them, my troubles.

  11

  All weekend, I had to play the bad guy in my own life. Dad called, but I ignored my phone and spent silent hours seeking the advice of wind in the wheat field instead. Even Azalea tried calling me once, but she didn’t leave a message. When Jesse called Monday morning and asked me to meet him before work, I agreed, but only because he wasn’t his sister.

  It was obvious that Azalea was sending him as a buffer to gauge the severity of our fight. It was a juvenile move for sure, but it also reminded me that we didn’t have many arguments. Our most recent was in fifth grade over the last swing on the playground, so it just proved that she was as awkward at fighting with her best friend as I was. That was a good thing, and it gave me hope that I could forgive her. Still, after all that happened, I needed some time to think about it first.

  The wheat field by Bosh’s house was always a hiding spot for me growing up – a shelter of sorts. It was at the end of the cul-de-sac and it backed up to several acres of forest. Wild wheat grew so tall there that I could just lie on my back in it and hide from the world. I would imagine stories about the cloud animals passing overhead while the tips of wheat formed a moving picture frame of the sky.

  I could doze off for hours and feel safe there in the open arms of nature. The only alarm clock was the crickets’ chirping. When it started to sound more like road construction than music to my ears, I knew it was time to go in.

  I kicked off my dusty shoes and flopped down on the bed. Spreading out like a sacrificial shirt on an ironing board, I was ready to be released from the wrinkles plaguing me. The house was still. Warm. Soothing. I cut my eyes to a crumbly pair of old slip-on shoes Bosh used to wear neatly sitting beside the door.

  Her small feet had worn toe imprints in the soles, so I bought her a pair of real TOMS for her birthday. She didn’t understand why someone had written their name on her shoes, but she wore them every day. It was the least I could do since I didn’t even pay rent. She had been out of town all weekend on a church retreat and she wouldn’t be back until evening. I was alone with my crazy thoughts for a little while longer.

  Looking at the ceiling, my eyes followed a slow-spinning fan blade around while I replayed the scene with Spencer over and over in my mind. I felt the well-placed kiss on my lips, plotted and perfect. His lips were so much softer than I imagined. I blushed when I realized I had imagined them. I saw his face, the features morphing and twisting and the curls transforming. I remembered the hollow hell of his eyes, the shards of empty night. He acted like I betrayed him, but he was the one who had turned on me.

  It had to be drugs.

  That had to be the reason for the violent change in behavior. I turned every corner in my mind to find a better excuse for him. I couldn’t. I felt a darkness closing in around me, so I turned my face towards the window and the light. I watched the leaves grapple with the windy gusts in the back yard. It was finally acting like autumn outside – my favorite season. But I couldn’t see past his hideous face.

  I came to the conclusion that I wasn’t crazy and he wasn’t playing some elaborate trick on me. He had simply drugged my drink. My alcoholic drink that my best friend served me. No wonder I was crazy; I had friends like them. I groaned and sat up. The grandfather clock in the kitchen clunked a solemn rhythm. It reminded me that there were still hours left in the day. Hours before it got dark. Hours before friends turn into creatures you can’t explain sober or drugged.

  In an effort to distract myself, I started walking around in the house. Bosh’s presence was everywhere. It was comforting to be surrounded by her things. I ran my hands against the collage of artifacts from her life and the picture frames sitting on side tables. I knew the faces around me – cousins, aunts and uncles, mostly. But the half-covered black and white faces of strangers caught in time grabbed my attention and beckoned me over.

  There – almost totally hidden – were newspapers stacked on top of an old photo. Figurines and books littered the corner bottom shelf. The books and papers were dusty but looked like they had been moved recently. I bent down and grasped the edge of the picture. It was then that I saw it was hanging out of a cloth burgundy album with a dragon stitched on the front. Wiping away the dust from the crumbling cover revealed the words SHANGHAI, CHINA.

  I paused.

  Now, there are family photos standing guard over every corner of the house, and each holds a different chapter of Bosh’s life. Well-known chapters. Ones she tells us grandkids. They’re on display, and this book of photos was hidden. That was curious. It was curious because Bosh never talked about her childhood in Shanghai. Curious because no one knew why. We all just stopped asking somewhere along the way. So a hidden photo album was worth investigating, especially with no interruptions.

  I rested back on my heels as I cracked open the fragile spine and peered through the pages. They were filled with fascinating photos of her family from as far back as the early 19th century. Their frozen faces were like a mysterious stranger with a steamy secret to tell. I bent forward and pulled it close, studying their faces and listening for their paper whispers. They kept their secrets.

  Turning a page, I saw a piece of old stationery paper stuffed between two photos that had some strange writing on it. I pried it from between the sticky old backing. At first glance, I thought it was just poor handwriting in English. But another look told me I was wrong. I guessed it was Russian – since that’s Bosh’s first language. A family photo album filled with Russian inscriptions made sense for a Russian family. Unable to shake my curiosity, I took the golden paper over to my computer and started searching the letters.

  Nothing came up. Nothing. On the Internet. I thought maybe it was just because the letters needed special characters on the keyboard, and I didn’t have them. I took a picture of it with my phone to s
how one of my professors at Cypress College. Dr. Milton might know something. He was in the military a while back.

  The next picture was dated October 1886. It was a hazy shot inside a crop circle. Wait…a crop circle? I brought it up to the light. I wasn’t sure why I was checking it like it was a fake bill. I could see the stain of age on the edges and the uneven bubbly matte finish of the photo paper. It looked authentic, but that didn’t make sense. I shook my head and put it back.

  I knew where I could get some answers. Heading into Bosh’s room, I went straight for the small wooden chest on her dresser. It was locked, like always. The chest was a gift from her bridesmaids on her wedding day. Bosh once told me that each of them carved their names and wrote a memory on the inside so she would always remember whatever secrets they shared in China. If the crop circle was real, and it was the reason Bosh never talked about Shanghai, I wanted to see inside.

  I picked it up and fiddled with the lock. It looked simple enough for even a novice criminal like me to pick. I considered breaking it and replacing it. Instead, I took an envelope opener into the crack and pried it open slightly. Bending over, I put one eye against the dark open slit into Bosh’s secrets, but I couldn’t see anything. Unwilling to risk breaking it, I set the chest back down with a sigh.

  It felt like no time passed from when I put the chest down to when I awoke. I was back on the bed again staring up at the fan. I shot up to check the clock. Two hours had passed. I had less than an hour to meet Jesse and get to work.

  Seeing the dirt from the field still clinging to my ankles, I jumped in the shower. Grabbing the razor, I propped my foot up on the water faucet so I could shave my leg. The monotonous motion had me lost in thought and oblivious as I tried not to nick my knee as I always do.

  Then things got weird.

  I noticed the shower curtain move and I felt the cold air at the same time. I checked the air vent overhead. The air conditioner wasn’t on. I turned to the small window beside me. It wasn’t open. I slowly raised my head and looked towards the door, which to my horror was not closed, but now open. My eyes went wide as I saw the shape of a man standing directly behind the see-through shower curtain separating us.

  The beads dangling from the velvety valance on the outside of the shower curtain swayed back and forth but made no sound. I stood frozen in my bent position as if remaining still would make me invisible. It didn’t. The shower curtain ripped open in front of me as if it were my last defense. My attacker was a dark shadow. As in a ghost.

  I didn’t have time to scream. I instinctively lashed out at it, slapping it away. I took my razor and slashed at it several times. Even then, I felt ridiculous, but I didn’t know how to fight a ghost. I knew the razor wouldn’t do anything, but I had to improvise. As expected, my attacks did nothing except dissipate the shadow for a moment, but it kept gathering back together as it gave an echoing cackle.

  This ghost had vocal chords, which was all the more unnerving. I finally let out something of a scream – part gasp, part whimper – before closing my eyes and cowering in the corner. I was tired of perching on a single leg like a crane and slashing at a ghost with a pink lady razor.

  A flash of light burst out, warming my lids, and the ghost screeched. I cracked open an eye and saw that the overhead light had busted. The ghost was gone. I was alone. It vanished like I was imagining the whole thing. Like I really was a crazy person. The water ran cold over me and I jumped back, leaping out of the shower and slamming the door shut, locking it. Every move was shaky and quick, like I had no control over myself.

  I just wrapped myself up in the towel and let the shower continue to run. I slid down against the wall, trying to calm myself down. I didn’t have my phone in the bathroom to call anyone. Thankfully, I had also undressed in there, so my clothes were sitting on the floor beside me. I scratched my forehead, only stopping once the itch subsided.

  I lay down flat on the bathroom floor so I could see if the ghost was still around just outside the door. I saw nothing —no shadow feet taunting me from inches away. I decided to get dressed with my towel on just in case. I made sure balled up pieces of toilet paper blocked out the sporadic holes in the old door. A ghost could seep through cracks in the door, you know.

  Every time I would put a new piece of clothing on, I would check the door to make sure that it was still locked. It could always come back. I needed to hurry. Once I was fully dressed, I turned off the shower and prepared to fight whatever I would face outside that door. I gathered my courage, but I couldn’t make myself open the door for a good five minutes. I tried to remember where I put my keys and phone.

  Who I would call first? My mind slowed at the thought. Wait, why would I call multiple people? Why would I call anyone? What would I tell them? Imagining the right words to describe what happened was like listening for a whisper through a hurricane. Oh, I was just taking a shower when a ghost attacked me. You know, Mondays! Sure, Talor. I know a good doctor you should meet.

  When I finally emerged, the constant quiet of the house wasn’t soothing anymore. I wanted to get out of there. I hurried to my bedroom, locking the doors on either side. I hunched over on the bed, my hand catching my head as I closed my eyes to think. A heavy knock came on the front door.

  Since we lived on a dead end street populated by baby boomers, I jumped up. None of the elderly neighbors had that kind of energy. My mind went to its craziest place, imagining all manners of people on the outside of the house lurking. Knocking, yet lurking? Wait. Lurkers don’t knock.

  I crouched down and tiptoed to the front door. I was glad no one could see me creeping across the room. Ironic that I was accusing a stranger of being a creep when I looked like the very definition moving towards the door. Thankfully, Bosh had a peephole installed. I peered through it and no one was there. I straightened up to a sigh of relief. Wait. No. That’s worse. No one was knocking? That wasn’t alarming at all.

  I was startled by the noise of a big UPS truck driving off. I peeked out the window and saw the tail end of the truck disappear down the road. When it was clear, I cracked the door. There, on the doorstep, was a plain white package. It had no addresses on it – not even mine. Why – heck, how – would a UPS truck deliver something without an address? I battled with the decision to leave it on the doorstep or bring it in. I stared it down, expecting it to move or something.

  For some reason, I couldn’t let it sit. It wasn’t an abandoned baby, but I whisked it inside like it needed a new diaper stat. I slowly unfolded the edges. The paper was thick – like a brown bag from a grocery store. Inside was a box. It had rhinestones decorating all four corners and a small latch without a lock on the front. I mentally prepared myself before opening it. Not that such a small box could hold a ghost, right? It was the phantom feeling of justified dread lingering inside the box that made my fingers pause before creaking the top open.

  The truth is, I jumped before I even looked inside. My premature reaction caused me to drop the box on the floor. Once I saw what tumbled out, I laughed. Curled up at the ends, Spencer’s gala mustache looked happy to see me. What else could I do but smile right back at it? Spencer found a way to make me laugh when I wanted to hide under a couch. Maybe it really was all a joke in good humor.

  Leaning down to scoop up the mustache, I noticed there was something else inside the box. I turned it over to look and saw a unique key. Spencer’s car key, specifically. It was wedged in the box with a folded note wrapped around it. Blood stained the paper where a cryptic sentence was written.

  The car is yours, my love.

  12

  I stared at the package. Who called me ‘my love’? Wholly spooked, I flung the package at the couch and ran to my car. It felt as though I’d be safe if I could just get in my car. My hands were shaking as I struggled to start the car and turn the wheel. I hoped for some solace when I got to work. Familiarity. People. I would busy myself and forget all about the gala, the car key, and the ghost. You can
make yourself too busy to go crazy, right? Yes – I think.

  Kati tried to talk to me as I came charging through the lobby, but I didn’t even look her way. I went straight back to the nursery area. I didn’t realize until later that I forgot to clock in so I worked that day for free. It was quiet in the nursery, and I was grateful for it. I needed to sit alone for a few minutes to process everything before being bombarded by a hodgepodge of screaming toddlers. My hands had finally stopped shaking when I just happened to look over to the door where someone was standing and staring at me. I gasped, unable to breathe again. Sage gave a shy wave as I went over. Easing into the hallway, I began to feel a little safer standing next to him.

  “Hey, are you ok?” he asked.

  Nodding, I sighed the stress out and stuffed my hands in my pockets. They were shaking again and I didn’t want him to see.

  “Oh – what? No, I mean, yes. I’m fine. What’s up?”

  He gave me a once over.

  “You’re shaking. Do you need to sit down?”

  I looked up and locked my elbows in an effort to still the offending arms. I opened my mouth, feeling my brow soften as I considered telling him everything. Sage seemed to actually care. Those eyes, that voice, the genuine look of concern on his face…but no. No, I couldn’t tell anyone what happened. I shrugged.

  “I’m just – oh god, Sage, it’s been a day, you know?”

  He watched me for a second. We both knew I was lying, so I couldn’t look him in the eye. I stared at those gray Saucony shoes he always wore. Now they were shuffling. Running, but not running.

  “Well, as long as you’re ok, um,” he said slowly, thumbing towards the double doors. “Kati asked me to come get you. You need to come to the front.”

  “What for?”