Beagban had pushed on the small of my back with all his strength, sending me halfway down the alley. I landed on my side, cheek to the asphalt. My long apricot hair lay puddled on the ground, red with blood where Beagban had grasped it. My hair was red. He’d made my hair red!
I moaned pitifully, pushing myself onto all fours, then to my feet. The teens were clustered around me, worried but wary. I didn’t understand what was making them so nervous, Beagban had gone. But then I understood. They were afraid of me. And what was more, I recognized them. Not long ago I’d held them up with a hairbrush. Was that ironic or what? I wasn’t sure, irony was a tricky word.
One of them, I couldn’t tell which, was talking, asking me a question. It was hard to focus. My mind and body weren’t on the same page. I felt scared, longing for someplace safe. My home. I wanted to go home and shower. But my body was suffering from either adrenaline or shock, I couldn’t tell which, maybe both. I stood there for a moment, shaking, crying. The boys kept talking at me, and they were getting harder to ignore. Finally I asked, “Which way did he go?”
They pointed past the dumpster, the way he’d dragged me in. I went the opposite direction. Stumbling became jogging, and jogging became running. I’m sure I passed people on the way to my car, but I recall none of it. I don’t even remember the drive home.
* * *
I went to work later that day.
I was still reeling from my Beagban encounter, but sitting around the house wasn’t going to fix anything. And I meant that literally—I didn’t have a phone. And the first thing I planned to do was call Reed Wallace. His account of ‘taking care of it’ and Beagban’s cryptic ranting didn’t add up.
I briefly considered asking to borrow Lucas’ phone, but this wasn’t a conversation to be overheard, especially by Lucas. So I went to work, though I didn’t much feel like looking at anyone.
I had to wear the ugliest shirt I owned. The scratch on my face hadn’t received much attention. I’d been able to pass it off with a vague explanation. But if I showed up to work a few days later with more marks it would stir concern. So I dug around the bottom of my closet until I found an outdated turtleneck. Of course it just happened to be in puke brown.
Usually I wore my hair in a simple way, down, up, or in a ponytail. Today I gave myself two loose French braids, going for a whimsical look. It failed. I didn’t look whimsical. I looked like shit, which was exactly how I felt.
I found Ben in his usual spot, parked at the picnic table under the oak. “You look like shit,” were the first words out of his mouth.
“I’ve had a problematic morning. What’s your excuse, old age?”
He glared at me with a frown etched on his face, carving lines beneath his grizzled beard. If Helen’s was the face that launched a thousand ships, then Ben’s could have sent them scurrying home again. It sometimes miffed him that I never responded to his cantankerous behavior or baleful expressions. He’d sent Stephen into a dither on more than one occasion, and even our own Queen of the Damned, Missy, was intimidated by him. Maybe I would be too if he was half as ferocious as he liked to think.
When he only glared, I asked, “So what’s on the agenda for today? Checking the airfare for trips to Atlantic City? The internet can be tricky, but I can help you—”
“You’re a real pain in my ass,” he griped.
“So no special plans then?”
Feeling a bit abashed, he mumbled something under his breath.
“What was that?”
“Isaidswimminlessons.”
“Your larynx must be gnarled like your fingers.”
“I SAID SWIMMING LESSONS!” he bellowed.
“No need to shout. I heard you the first time.”
He huffed his anger, standing to stalk off no doubt. His knees cracked in protest.
“Maybe swimming lessons will do you some good, or any form of exercise for that matter.”
“I’m fit as a fiddle,” he protested before turning to leave. Over his shoulder he called out, “Someone’s expecting you in the office.”
Of course he would wait until now to tell me. Fear struck like a lightning bolt. “It’s not a man is it?”
“No, she’s a lady that one, a real class act.”
The lady in question was none other than that mega-bitch secretary, Karen. She wasn’t sitting down or even leaning like a normal person would. No, she stood at attention, straight and stiff, her haute couture purse clutched in both hands.
“What?” I barked, heading for my chair.
She was stunned by my rude manner. I believe she had expected me to say something like ‘so sorry to keep you waiting.’ Oddly enough, she wasn’t mad—a first. In fact she was... happy. No, not happy, I thought, evaluating her emotions, smug. I soon found out why. Smiling sweetly, she turned to face me while I got settled. “Reed thought it would be best if you didn’t see each other for a bit.” Of course she was smug; she thought Reed had dumped me. Hardly, he was probably afraid I’d unman him if we met again so soon. She was waiting, anticipating my indignant response.
I stared at her blankly for a moment before asking, “And?”
“And?” she repeated hollowly.
“What does he want? I assume he sent you with a message.”
Disappointed, she nearly scowled, but quickly hid her darker side behind that chilling professionalism. “Yes, of course. Mr. Wallace has requested that you find time to visit the Sea Turtle Center, preferably tomorrow morning.”
“The Sea Turtle Center?”
“Yes, the Georgia Sea Turtle Center,” she clarified. “It’s located on Jekyll Island, not far. Mr. Wallace said you would understand.”
I understood, but thought it a bit far-fetched. Did Reed expect a sea turtle to just vomit the demon diary into my lap? Unlikely, but who knew, maybe I’d find it under a statue or something. It was worth a try. “Is there anything else?”
She was back to being her normal angry self. “Yes, he’s requested that you attend a picnic. It’s tomorrow at the club, another Wallace Enterprise event.”
“Sure, fine, whatever.”
“There will be tennis and other recreational activities. Reed suggested you dress accordingly, a polo and some khakis will do.”
“Alright,” I said, knowing I didn’t own either.
“That’s it then,” she said, sliding her purse handles up to rest on one shoulder. “Reed will meet you at the gate, noon sharp, don’t be late.”
I watched her leave. As her body swayed with each step, her hair remained unmoving. Most unnatural. I passed a great deal of time daydreaming that she was a robot after that. Eventually I realized I couldn’t put off calling Reed any longer. It didn’t matter that he thought we shouldn’t see each other, in fact, I quite agreed, but we still needed to talk.
The phone rang the moment my hand touched it. I picked up. “Sterling’s, how may I help you?”
“He’s involved with someone else!” Francesca wailed. “He came in to see one of his employees, we got to chatting, things were going great, and then he says he’s involved!”
“That is a bit shocking,” I agreed.
“Can you believe he’s got everyone thinking he’s a bachelor, all the while he’s got a woman waiting back in New York?”
“Yes I believe it, that part isn’t such a surprise. But what I do find shocking is that he admitted it. I’d have expected him to try for a one night stand at least, girlfriend or no.”
“I know right! I’m so unlucky.”
I wondered if Reed really had a girlfriend in New York. If not, then why lie? I’d seen them together, I knew he was attracted to Francesca, everyone was. Maybe he was doing as I’d instructed, fixing the situation by putting her off before she turned out like Crazy Karen. But then I remembered his less than honest explanations and doubted it. Whatever his motivations, they would always be self-centered.
“Where are you calling from?” I asked.
“The Crowne. I don’t get off for a few more hours.”
“Don’t worry about this now, just finish work and tonight I’ll stay at your place.”
“But you hate sleeping over.”
Not when there was a crazed murderer set on revenge, not to mention dismemberment, after me. “I think I can manage,” I replied.
Chapter 25
Everything would have gone swimmingly if not for Reed turning up at the Turtle Center. I hadn’t called him after all. I couldn’t say why. Probably because I already knew what he would say. That I should go home and relax, that he’d take care of it. His lies would give me little comfort. No thank you, I’d prefer to hide at Francesca’s.
I almost regretted it.
Francesca was a proud sort. She didn’t cry, but only just. Her misery was like a wet blanket, smothering me all through the night. I had debated bringing the Ouija board, knowing a make-believe séance would get her mind off Reed. But considering the ghost’s propensity for following me I decided against it, putting off the task for another night.
When Francesca was still feeling lousy the next morning I invited her to join me and Stephen at the Sea Turtle Center. Stephen I’d invited the night before, obligated to cheer him up after the predicament I’d put him in.
Just before he left I’d asked him to cover my Saturday shift, needing the afternoon off to attend Reed’s picnic. No sooner had he agreed, then Missy arrived (a half hour early) begging him to cover her Saturday shift as well. Things went downhill from there. Missy, unable to take no for an answer, continued to press an increasingly uncomfortable Stephen. I’d pointed out that even if he could manage a sixteen hour shift, his mother would never let him work through the night. My interference only served to upset Missy. She heaped her resentment upon me by the boatload, and to make matters worse, Stephen was crumbling under the guilt. It was to spare him that I had salvaged the situation, agreeing to cover her night shift. Not once during the entire argument had we stopped to grumble over our lack of help.
When I first got a job at Sterling’s there had been a passel of employees, but one by one they’d gone. And as the workers left we would vaguely remark on the need to replace them, never really meaning it. In truth, Sterling’s offered each of us something we required. For Ben it was a reason to wake up in the morning, a place he was needed, a place to extinguish the sadness. For me Sterling’s offered safety, allowing me to mix with others on my own terms. And for Missy… who the hell knew? It was probably the late night hours. We juggled shifts, we worked long hours, and Stephen relieved us when his school schedule allowed. It was as we liked it, and usually it worked, with the exception of yesterday’s hiccup. Which brings me full circle: Everything would have gone swimmingly if not for Reed turning up at the Turtle Center.
Jekyll was a little sliver of an island just south of St. Simons where the blue bloods used to gather on holiday over a century ago. Francesca gripped the steering wheel, heading for mainland, then south, and finally out toward sea once more. The drive was a C formation, involving more than its fair share of bridges to cross, the Sidney Lanier being the most impressive with all its cables.
I muttered from the backseat when it was time to pay the five dollar parking fee just to enter the island. I passed up the crumpled bills, cursing Reed for the loss. My accusations only added to the number of complaints Francesca had already laid against him. From the passenger seat Stephen was silent, but he was taking in every word, doing his best to more fully understand the female persuasion, Francesca in particular.
In a matter of minutes, with Stephen playing navigator, we found the historic district where the Sea Turtle Center was located. I was following behind Francesca, staring down at the crushed shell pavement beneath my feet when her emotions spiked.
It was Reed that shocked her.
I watched as he moved away from the brick exterior to greet my friends. He completely ignored my outburst. Obviously my first reaction was to demand, “What the hell are you doing here?”
“It’s good to see you both again,” Reed said, addressing Francesca and Stephen. He was lying. I could tell he’d hoped to find me alone. “Would you mind terribly if I tag along? I need to speak with Adelaide about some business.”
Stephen hadn’t forgotten the car ride over. Smart boy. He remembered our complaints, and loyal to the last, he refused to thaw. Unwilling to assume the eager admiration he once wore, Stephen turned to Francesca, waiting to see how she would respond.
Even as she despised herself for the weakness, Francesca desperately hoped he’d stay. Afraid to speak and appear overzealous, she smiled, going for demure.
I was discomfited by her response. To Reed they’d shared a casual conversation in passing at the Crowne, nothing more. To Francesca the conversation had been a shattering of all her hopes and dreams, shallow as they were. I’d spent the night before trying to piece her back together. It was all for nothing. With one casual meeting Reed had managed to undo all of Francesca’s common sense.
I snarled, “Fine, but you’re paying.”
“Of course,” Reed agreed.
“And you owe Stephen more money. He’s covering my shift again today.”
Stephen was prepared to splutter, but I shushed him.
Reed nodded, pulling the front door open and ushering us through. If anyone else had done it, I would’ve taken it as a courtesy. But with Reed’s charm a simple act of kindness felt more like a promise, something meaningful. Already Francesca was excited, deluding herself into thinking he cared. I was betting she’d already rewritten his admittance of being involved with someone else as a small misunderstanding.
He caught my arm, as I was the last to march by. “Use the restroom.”
I tried to shake him off. “I don’t have to.”
He released me, but in a menacing tone repeated, “Go to the restroom.”
In a loud and awkward way, I announced, “I don’t have to use the bathroom, but I think I’ll go and have a look-see anyway.”
Francesca and Stephen didn’t bat an eyelash at the disclosure. They were used to my antics. But Reed was annoyed. I’d managed to frustrate him already.
The bathroom was a small space, made smaller by the busy artwork on the walls. I halfheartedly searched, glancing in the stalls, but mostly I fluffed my hair in front of the mirror. I plucked at the raised collar of my borrowed shirt, ensuring it covered the gouge marks. It was Francesca’s, so it was neither outdated nor hoity-toity.
A movement from behind had my immediate attention. A cloud of smoke wafted upward, swishing near my spine and around my neck. I went completely still, watching through the mirror. The rising tendrils sifted back and forth, hypnotic, mesmerizing.
It was not my ghost. It was nothing like him, strange as it was to say. His movements were different, less teasing. He didn’t invade my space, not like this ghost.
The smoke thinned into a mist, pressing in about my face like a caress. I decided it was a woman, her movements reminiscent of a swishing skirt. I didn’t know what she wanted, if she’d even realized I could see her. Maybe she was in the habit of haunting the bathroom stalls, having herself a one-sided flirtation with their occupants.
With a great force of will I returned to fluffing my hair, pretending that I hadn’t been gawking. I left shortly after, putting as much nonchalant as I could muster into each step. I wanted to look back, see if she was following, but I didn’t.
Reed had purchased our tickets, among other things. Francesca was standing close behind him, a stuffed sea turtle under her arm. Tremendously pleased, her smile was near blinding. She measured relationships by material means, and to her a stuffed animal was just the beginning. He had no idea what he’d done.
I ignored them to wander around the gift shop. A massive sea turtle skeleton hung suspended from the ceiling, demanding attention. Fat as a
cow, the thing could have easily swallowed a demon diary. But I could see straight through to the rafters and there was nothing there.
Stephen walked over to hand me a T-shirt. “Mr. Wallace bought souvenirs. I got a book.” I looked up to see a shy looking manatee posed on its cover. “It was Francesca’s idea,” he added defensively.
He’d misinterpreted my consternation, thinking it had something to do with allowing Reed to buy us things. No, that wasn’t it, that wasn’t it at all. I was horrified that a T-shirt was selected on my behalf. Even though it shouldn’t have mattered, it was quite depressing. I would have preferred anything else, even a keychain. Who picked it out? Did they even know me at all? I wanted to ask, but I didn’t.
Our tickets weren’t actually tickets at all, but a game for children. We were meant to wander through the display stations, marking a sea turtle journey as we went with embossing stamps. I handed my pamphlet to Stephen, saying, “Have at it.”
I walked the room in a matter of minutes, stopping to skim a few plaques. I’d already determined that there was no demon diary hiding here either. The trip was a waste of time, which wouldn’t be so bad if I was spending it with Stephen and Francesca, but I wasn’t. Instead I was watching a loggerhead glide by, watching the blurry and distorted image through her tank. Across the room Reed was making my friends laugh. Francesca stroked his arm casually (though there was nothing casual about it) and even Stephen was back to being smitten. I was suddenly lonely in a room full of people, terribly alone, crushingly so. I hoped it was coming from someone else, that it wasn’t me that felt this way, but I suspected it was.
The ghosts swirling about, filling the room with milky pockets, did nothing to make me feel better. They only isolated me more. I ignored them for a while, but there were too many, and I found myself distracted. Eventually I slipped the ring off and stowed it in my pocket, the milky stains disappearing in a blink.
Chapter 26
I was staring at a variety of turtle remains that had been encased in glass when Reed swooped in on me. Without a word of explanation he pulled me through the doors to my left. We were outside and I was being dragged down a little brick path. I protested, but Reed’s severe expression turned me mute.