His Dark Ways (7 page)

She nearly falls off the top of her desk and takes a seat the correct way. People quickly turn around to see what’s going on. “Whatever, you fucking weirdo,” she mutters with sidelong looks.

Insanity has truly slipped into my veins—it’s gushing throughout my body taking control. I twitch my head and stare at her. I’m sick of her games. It doesn’t take long for her to move to the other side of the room. The rest of the people in class continue to steal glances at me and only remind me of what I already know—I look like crap.

Mr. Stevens must not recognize me from the back of the room. He always has something to say when I come in, but he turns toward the board—syllabus in hand.

The plane flying overhead causes Daniel to leach into my thoughts and I slump in my chair. The base isn’t far from here and it lightly shakes the walls. I shudder, trying to shake free the memory of him fading away with a panic stricken face. I pull out a couple of sheets of paper and a pen from my bag and take class notes. But the task quickly becomes too complicated, my writing is blurred.

Music—that song Daniel played on the piano flows into my ears like an obsession. Blue ink starts to bleed across the page as I try to recall the notes he played. The support of my chair bounces off my back and returns as I start to sway—the motion helps me remember. “Two, three, four, one. No, two beats,” I hold my fingers in front of my face and count again, “one beat, two, one, two.”

Class grows quiet. “Savanna?” Mr. Stevens is perplexed with wide eyes, “everything, okay?”

I nod and silently keep trying to recall Daniel’s composition. The more I can’t remember, the more I feel like I’m having a bad dream in the middle of class. I lay my head down in the fold of my arms and look intently out the window and pray I’ll see him walk toward me so we can hit replay on last night—maybe for the rest of our lives. But there’s nothing there, only the yellow flowers covering the sage brush that seem to be frozen in time like Daniel.  

As the bell rings, I rush out of class so Mr. Stevens doesn’t ask how the essay’s coming along because it’s not. It’s just a pile of papers with theories of how Daniel could possibly exist. I lean up against a locker and evaluate my failed attempt to recall his music. I stretch the paper in my hands as taut as the skin on a drum. “Two notes in the beginning, two, then one, or maybe there was a fifth?”

A revelation dawns on me. The Kaluza Klein theory. Three planes of existence, could the fifth be possible? I’ve thought about the possibility many times before, but never took it seriously till now.

Someone begins flattening my paper near the top and stops my train of thought—I’d know those long black nails anywhere, Lucky. “Hey you.”

“Hey,” I say trying to fix my now half crinkled paper.

“Sorry, it looked like scribble from over here.”

I attempt to flatten it over my thigh. “What’s up?”

“Amy told me about the séance you guys wanted to try this weekend. Are you two sure you want to do this crap still after the other night?”

I’d forgotten all about that already. Amy wants to try to find her Dad’s spirit. Maybe we could try to find Daniel too. I’m selfish and only say yes because it may help Daniel come back to me again. Lucky bends down and starts inspecting me—I’m still trying to unwrinkle the paper. It’s not really even wrinkled, these things just bother me when I’m tired—I’ve got a mad tick. “Damn, Savanna, you don’t look like your normal sexy self.”

I ignore her observation. “Your house or Amy’s?”

“My parents are in Vegas for the next two days, so mi casa is all ours, lady. But I think you two are insane for wanting to do it, but I love you guys, so you know I’ll do it.”

Jared walks up and kisses her—hard. Last night comes to mind and pain digs in—it’s close to grinding on my bones. I need to get out of here. Lucky shouts out as I open one of the back doors to disappear. “See you tonight. Get some sleep woman.”

As I wait for the engine to warm up a stray cat stops in front of my truck. Patches of fur are missing like he put up a good fight and barely got by alive. He glares at me and lets out a hiss with a hunched up skeletal back. “Who’s lost their mind now, crazy kitty?” I say to him, or myself, I’m not entirely sure.

My stomach grumbles right before I’m about to have a full-fledged conversation with a stray rabid-looking animal. I’ve been craving El Marquez ever since Dad brought home their famous soup yesterday. I examine the many pockets of my backpack and toss any change I find into my lap and count.

Eight dollars and six cents—should be enough for soup, a coke, and a tip.

The acceleration of my engine in reverse frightens off the stray as I begin to pull out of the school parking lot.

It literally only takes me a minute to get from one side of town to the other. Every time I drive onto Main Street I’m reminded of just how ghostly this town is. The only people wandering the streets appear to be stranded tourists. We are the half-way mark between Reno and Vegas, so if people have a crappy car, they usually get stuck here. And they always look horrified, probably because the only hotel we have for them to stay in is The Clown Hotel.

It’s sad how I notice every new thing that goes up in town—Sage Brush Realty, how fitting, not very original, but fitting. I turn into El Marquez’ parking lot and cross my fingers ahead of time that I don’t run into any lovebirds. Usually, people could be slobbering all over each other and it wouldn’t bother me, but it would today and hopefully only today. Are these the secrets girls keep? I’ve always wondered what secrets girls could keep seeing how men and women are both human, but I’m figuring out fast that we’re definitely a different species. It sucks feeling like this—all obsessed with love for a boy. A vanished boy, but one that’s rare and I will find him.

  I’m starving, but bits of that song are coming to me like particles of a shooting star that are lightly dusting the piece of earth I’m on. I shut my eyes and try to grab the pieces, but my stomach interrupts. It’s too distracting to think.

There’s a loud crack in the sky when I get out of my truck. Large grey pillows of clouds are stretching out into heavy streams of black as if they’re trying to mimic night.

Elsie greets me when I walk in. “It’s getting crazy out there, huh?”

“Yeah, it’s nice though, we don’t get enough rain out here.”

She directs me over to a table in the corner and gives me a menu. “I know. The drought this year has been tough. How are you feeling, baby? Your Dad came in yesterday and mentioned you weren’t feeling well.”

“I’m okay, just back for more soup.”

“You got it,” she says with light rolls of her Puerto Rican accent and a wink.

It doesn’t take Elsie long to return with my meal. I’m here before lunch so things aren’t busy yet. I’ve gotten to know Elsie really well ever since Mom converted her to “our side” four years ago and now she’s caught the religious disease. She bends her neck a little and gives me a look. “Estas enamorada, Savanna.” She continues with her English translation and takes a seat. “You’ve fallen in love, haven’t you?”

I try to hide a smile in the cusp of my spoon as I take a sip of soup.

The lights in Elsie’s eyes grow brighter as she sighs. “Ah, el primer amor. First love?”

Inside I want to smile like I am on the outside when I say, “Maybe.” But I can’t, knowing Daniel could be gone forever.

Another customer comes in and Elsie squeezes my only partially healed wrist. “Good for you, baby, but he better be a nice one. You deserve only the best.”

My wrist aches from the pressure of her touch.

What the hell was that thing in the hotel that dragged me across the floor and forced fear into the back of Daniel’s eyes? It was the same expression he gave me last night before he disappeared. He talked about monsters. Could they be holding his soul hostage? For what, though? Maybe I should tell the girls what’s been going on. Daniel’s soul is more important than my secrets—my desires. It’s time I told them the truth, I need their help.

New voices a few seats from behind are starting to make El Marquez feel more lively, and one of the voices is familiar to me. I turn to glance at the table. It’s Jared, and he’s not here with Lucky. What a dick. He’s here with Peg Opened Legs. In my gut, I feel like a jerk for continuing to call her that name, (even if I am only saying it to myself) but she knows Jared and Lucky have been together forever. The longer I watch them flirt and kiss each other from across the table, the more I want to do Lucky a favor and deck him.

Lucky’s going to fall apart if I tell her about Peg and Jared. They’re locking lips and touching each other like they’ve found a new toy in the toy shop that smells good and is fun to play with. I don’t want to walk out like a wimp and not say anything, but it wouldn’t be right to knock him down for Lucky either. She likes taking care of herself.

I wait for Elsie to walk out from the kitchen so she’ll see me leaving. Her voice can carry through an entire football stadium without a microphone and I want Jared to notice when she hollers out goodbye so he can squirm when he hears my name.

As Elsie comes out from behind the door, my plan works like clockwork as I start toward the exit. “Feel better Savanna, baby. See you soon?”

Four eyes narrow in on me and smiles evaporate as I walk past their table and give Elsie a nod. I don’t say anything out loud, just give them starved lion eyes and a middle finger. Jared’s usually quick to be clever and would normally shout out something like, “No, I don’t want to fuck you, Savanna.” But he’s quiet and must realize I don’t think he’s so clever anymore.

My brain tries to process what I just saw as I sit in my truck. I attempt to play out what I’ll say to Lucky, the idea makes me feel like the dirty one—not Jared. What the heck am I supposed to do? The only way tonight will end right is if we find Amy’s Dad and I shut up about this, but that would make me the shittiest friend ever. I’ve got to tell her.   

A splash of rain falls into a crack on my windshield. The large drop fills in the dip and takes on the shape of a cross. Go figure. Why a cross and not some oddly shaped object I could stare at trying to make different faces out of? I’m positive the universe is mocking me. The cross reminds me of how I promised Dad I would volunteer in the nursery. Maybe signing up will help earn back some trust? Guilt is riding its course through my conscious ever since I promised Mom I’d take care of him by being a good and helpful servant.

Even though my eyes burn like Listerine, I start up the truck and turn toward the church.

As I walk through the hallways of the church, the strong scent of bleach assures me I’m closer than I think to the nursery. I’ve always hated that smell after I visited a morgue with Mom in Africa and it brings back bad memories.

A crusty clipboard hangs on a nail. Knotted around a string is a smiley face pen that used to be yellow, I’m surprised this thing still has ink after all the abuse it’s been through. I spoke too soon—the thing only engraves my name into paper. It really doesn’t have any ink. As I look around for another pen, Dad’s voice carries through the slit of his office door. I can hear Erica’s voice, the temporary nursery leader, and others, too. He must be in a meeting.

Erica’s holding onto a fresh cup of coffee as she comes out and sees me. “Savanna? Can I help you?”

“I’m actually trying to find a pen,” I hold it up and try to smile with weak facial muscles, “this one has died.”

She tilts her head to the side as if she’s confused. “For?”

As if the clipboard in my hands isn’t enough evidence as to why I need a working pen. “Dad said you could use some help in the nursery.”

“We are fine really.” She avoids my eyes and refills her purple coffee cup that reads “God is Good.”  

She heads to the cleaning supplies room, leaving me with a bitter taste in my mouth. Does she think I’m stupid? She’s taking over Mom’s position until she gets back and I’ve known forever that things can easily turn to chaos if that roster has empty spaces.

I firmly hang the clipboard back up and pull my hoodie over my head. She couldn’t even say thank you, hello—nothing. Didn’t her parents teach her manners? I know they did because I’ve witnessed her using them, especially on Sunday’s. She must be just another religious freak who can’t practice what she preaches.

As I walk by Dad’s office, I overhear him, “Kids can be really difficult, trust me, I’ve been experiencing that a little too much lately, but you just need to continue to pray for them and trust in God.”

Why did I come here? Seriously? Dad must be talking about my so-called “problems” to the entire church. I pick up the pace. The exit door has always been my favorite thing about this place.

Chapter 9

Séance

Lucky left her back door open for me—supposedly, but it’s stuck. I plant my soles firmly onto crumbled concrete steps as I pry it open. Small pebbles shift beneath me as I pull hard. The black metal incasing the frame is bent—aged. I finally get it open enough to squeeze through and barely get my bag in. If His Dark Ways had been in here, it probably wouldn’t have fit. The girls are going to be pissed when they find out Dad has it.

There’s a note on the counter. Normally I would mind my own business, but there’s a pile of dirty twenties on top of it and it’s not your normal every day stash—I lightly push them aside.

Have fun this weekend, Kitten. We finally won enough to take off to Vegas for the poker tournament your dad’s always talked about. Our winnings are your winnings—enjoy! Miss you. Mom and Dad  

It’s sad to know her parents had so much money at one point that all their wildest dreams could have come true and then some. But no matter what they win, it’s never enough—bigger and better is their motto. The draft coming through the slider reminds me of the only kind of fixing this place ever gets—the temporary kind that is usually cheap and a waste of time because things quickly go back to how they were. Lucky’s parents are always saying the money will be coming in soon enough that they’ll just be able to pay someone to do the job. It’s funny, they are the most optimistic people I know, but they are constantly asking Dad for counseling. I’m pretty sure that the Westside of Vegas stays lit because of all the money they throw at that city.