Experiment in Terror 05 On Demon Wings (2 page)

Of course, everyone else knows I’m not entirely normal –

hence my nickname “Scary Perry.” They al know about the

Experiment in Terror show (as does the occasional

customer who comes in) and they love to tease me about it.

Shay believes in ghosts, so at least my manager doesn’t

think I’m crazy, but I can tel the others don’t know what to

do with me sometimes. Stil , they invite me out to the bars

after work and to local band showcases (which is where I

was planning to go with Ash tomorrow night), so I’m slowly

feeling like a regular girl.

Very
slowly.

I locked the bathroom door behind me and scrunched up

my nose at the smel . I knew it was up to me to clean the

bathrooms most of the time, but no matter what I did, I

couldn’t get rid of this foul, rank odor that emanated from

the wal s. It wasn’t that it smel ed like piss and shit or

anything like a normal washroom. Rather, it smel ed like

something was rotting away. Sharp and acrid, almost tangy

in a revolting way, like spoiled meat.

I stopped breathing through my nose and ran the tap until

it was cold enough and began dabbing a wad of paper

towels on my forehead, cheeks and eyelids, careful not to

smudge my makeup. I was wearing a lot of it these days,

feeling uglier than normal thanks to the purple rings under

my eyes and a strangely grey complexion. Though. I

wondered how much of it was actual y a manifestation of

how I felt. Did I look like crap because I felt like crap, or did I

feel like crap because I looked like crap? Ah, the mysteries

of life.

I took in a deep breath through my mouth, the smel

penetrating slightly, and I tossed the paper towels into the

wastebasket behind me. I leaned forward and looked

closer at myself in the mirror. I felt like I had changed so

much in the past few months, Iike I’d gotten older or

something. I had faint crow’s lines now. Wrinkles at the

corner of my eyes! I was only 23 - what the hel !

A breeze blew at me from the side, tickling my bare

arms and flipping up the bottom of my apron. I looked

behind me at the closed door, not sure where the wind was

coming from. It was chil y and moving fast enough to make

the paper towels wave back and forth from the dispenser.

I frowned, confused. But we were in a drafty old building

in downtown Portland. Too bad the breeze wasn’t clearing

the terrible smel away.

I looked back at myself in the mirror, strands of my hair

flying in my face. I pushed them behind my ears, just in time

to hear a smal
poof
from behind me.

I spun around.

The garbage can was on fire.

Yel ow flames were rising out of the mound of crumpled

paper towels, moving in the wind, reaching for the ceiling

with mesmerizing fingers.

I was stunned but not for long.

Fire!

I let out a smal , awkward cry and looked around me for

the closest thing to put it out. There was nothing, just me,

the paper towels, the sink and the toilet.

I didn’t want to run out of the washroom and cause an

alarm, though. The last thing I needed was a coffee shop ful

of panicked people.

Think, Perry, think.

I had an idea.

I turned on the tap, took off my right shoe and fil ed it with

water.

It wasn’t my first choice, but in the name of saving face, it

was my only choice.

It only took two refil s before the fire was out and the

garbage can was reduced to a wet, smoldering pile. I

peered down at it, afraid to touch the mess, wondering how

the hel the fire got started in the first place. It’s not like I

threw a cigarette into the bin. It had been a paper towel,

and a wet one at that.

It was beyond weird but I couldn’t devote too much time

to worrying about it. There was a knock at the door and I

was holding a toilet-water soaked shoe in my hand. I had

bigger issues here.

“Just a minute,” I cal ed out, trying to sound calm, like

everything was fine in bathroom land, and stuck my shoe

under the dryer while I soaked up the inside with more

paper towels. When it wasn’t as sopping wet, I put the shoe

back on my foot, wincing at the cold, squishy dampness.

Ugh.

I took a step, the water seeping into my sock. Double

ugh.

I unlocked and opened the door to see a patron looking

at me strangely. She eyed the bathroom suspiciously

before stepping inside. I must have been making some

pretty odd noises in there. Also, there was a trail of water

dripping behind me.

I walked careful y back to the counter, trying to lessen the

squish, squish, squish
of my footsteps. I smiled broadly at

Ash and took my place beside him, ready to man the

machines.

“Perry, what, uh…”

“Don’t ask,” I told him, and turned to face the rest of my

shift.

~~~

The next morning was grey, dreary and mild, as per usual

for the Pacific Northwest. I didn’t have to work, so I laced up

my running shoes and hit the trails down by the Columbia

River. Aside from the first few weeks of December, when I

gorged myself on Christmas cookies and eggnog in order

to restore some feeling of happiness in my body, I’d

actual y been pretty active and working out almost every

day.

Stil , the weight that I had shed from my bootcamp

sessions in November came back on. It was only about five

pounds or so, but on a short body like mine, I could tel the

difference. My ex-trainer and one-date wonder, Brock the

jock, cal ed me a few times wanting to go out again, but

aside from my heart and mind being too fragile, I felt like I

would have just disappointed him if he saw me. It’s such a

girl thing to do, to not be interested in a guy but stil want

them
to be interested, but it’s the truth.

At least running cleared my mind and made me feel a lot

more energized. Ever since Seattle I’d been dealing with

the restlessness I used to get, that nagging urge to be

anywhere but here. I felt lost and directionless and my mind

always wanted to go back to the happier times, the times

when I felt everything was possible. But it wasn’t that way

and I had to keep my eye on the prize. I needed to move

out, move far away, and start finding myself al over again.

My life had reverted to the way it was before I met Dex in

that lighthouse. Though, perhaps I was a bit wiser.

After I left the river bank and hit the long street that led

me back to my house, I slowed, then stopped and stretched

my muscles by a row of roadside bramble. I was

surrounded by bare oak and cherry trees and the dul ,

frosted mint color of grass in late winter. My neighborhood

consisted of family homes and retirement ranchers with an

overal Victorian vibe and almost everyone, my house

included, had at least a half acre of land or more. My lot

was simple since my mom wasn’t much of a gardener, but

some houses had beautiful y intricate gardens, while others

had swimming pools or even chickens. One neighbor had a

bunch of pigs, thanks to the generous zoning laws.

I was bending over for my toes in a compromising

position when the neighbor with the pigs walked past with

Cheerio, her gorgeous chocolate lab. I smiled at the dog

with my head between my legs and waved awkwardly at his

owner. I was pretty sure the dog smiled back, looking as

happy as ever. How could he not be happy; he lived with a

bunch of pigs.

I straightened myself up slowly and walked along the

road toward my house, watching for any signs of exercise-

induced dizziness. It was when I was almost at the start of

my parents’ long brick driveway when I noticed a car idling

on the side of road, facing the opposite way. It didn’t look

out of place, as it could have been someone waiting for

Ada, or just someone who had taken a wrong turn down our

street (people often got lost on their way to the mountains).

It could have been anything and anyone but my legs

stopped moving and my heart slowed with a lurch. My body

recognized the car before I did.

It was a little hatchback and though I couldn’t see who

was in the car, I could smel the person, the cloud of pot

smoke and perfume that emanated from the half-open

window. The car turned off and my heart thumped anxiously

at the sudden silence. The door opened and long legs clad

in camel-colored breeches and black leather riding boots

swung out and landed on the asphalt with a faint echo.

I stood there, red-faced, sweaty and confused, as

Rebecca Sims got out of the car and gave me a shy smile.

I could only blink. So I blinked some more.

“Hiya Perry,” Rebecca said, shutting the car door,

causing the cloud of smoke to dissipate in the damp air. I

expected her to approach me but she just leaned against

her car and looked around her at the sprawling acreages

and spacious yards. “You’re almost in the country here. It’s

lovely.”

I stil couldn’t say anything. Part of me wanted to throttle

her, even though what happened with Dex and me wasn’t

her fault. If anything, she had dropped hints that perhaps

hooking up with him or tel ing him my unrequited feelings

wasn’t the best idea. I’m glad now I only did the former, and

not the latter. I would have never recovered my pride.

She smoothed her glossy black hair behind her ears,

showcasing a row of diamond skul earrings that went

surprisingly wel with her elegant ensemble, and turned to

me.

“I know I shouldn’t have just shown up like this,” she

explained in her smooth British accent, “but I didn’t know

how to get a hold of you. I tried cal ing you.”

“I changed my number,” I said, my tongue loosening.

“And I tried emailing you.”

“I got a new email.”

A smal smile teased her magenta lips. “Wel , anyhow,

Ems and I are here for the weekend just visiting her folks.

They live in Beaverton. I thought I’d escape from her mother

and come see you. Hope that’s al right.”

I folded my arms and let out a short breath of air.

“No. It’s not al right, Rebecca,” I told her, looking her

straight in the eye. “There’s a reason why I didn’t want

anyone to get a hold of me.”

“I know. I figured. And I understand, I real y do. I’d do the

same if Emily…wel , I just wanted to see you.”

“Wait,” I said, holding up my hand. “How did you know

where I lived?”

She dropped her eyes to the ground. “A little birdie told

me.”

A giant flame of anger erupted deep inside my chest.

“Is he here!?” I exclaimed, my voice shooting through the

morning calm. My fists automatical y curled up into tiny,

hate-fil ed bal s and I craned my neck at the car to see if

anyone was sitting in the passenger side.

“No, no he’s not here,” she said, eyeing me nervously. I’d

never seen her nervous before. I must have looked ready to

punch her in her pretty face. “He’s at home. He’s in Seattle.

It’s just me. I promise.”

“So he sent you here?” I sneered.

“No,” she said and walked toward me. She stopped a

few inches away, a sympathetic tilt of the head. “This has

nothing to do with him. At al . I came here because I wanted

to know if you were OK.”

“Oh, how thoughtful,” I said with a rol of my eyes.

“I was worried about you. Al of us were.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Al of us? Who is ‘al of us’?”

She bit her lip, scraping off a tiny bit of lipstick from the

surface, and looked at my house. “Perry, look, can we talk?

Maybe inside? You must be freezing your knickers off.”

I was only wearing my jogging tank top and pants and

the sweat on me had cooled, but I’d never felt warmer. Stil ,

part of me did miss Rebecca’s company and did yearn to

talk to someone different for a change. She also looked a

bit awkward, standing on the side of the road like a jilted

lover. It would have taken a lot of guts for her to just show up

at my house, randomly, especial y when she knew I didn’t

want anything to do with that life anymore.

I nodded reluctantly and headed up the driveway,

hearing the clip clop of her boots as she fol owed.

Inside, the house was even warmer thanks to the stone-

wrought fireplace in the living room that was giving off a