On Demon Wings Part 11

"Do you?"

He looked a bit uncomfortable and fidgeted in his seat, trying to get comfortable. "I don't know if I do. It's usually something else. Mental illness."

Oh, of course. Everyone goes for the mentally ill angle.

"OK, and what about ghosts. Plain ol' dead people. Spirits. Specters. Et cetera. Do you think they can take over?"

He pursed his lips and wiggled them back and forth as he thought. "No. And if they can, if they do, I believe it has to be voluntary. But that doesn't mean that they can't get inside your head. That doesn't mean you don't have a nasty, revenge-fueled poltergeist on your hands, straight from Seattle, Washington."

I let out a burst of hot, booze-soaked breath I must have been holding onto for the last hour. So there was a distinct chance that some of the crazy, terrifying things that were happening to me were because Abby had decided to haunt me and make my life a living h.e.l.l. I felt partially relieved at having come to some sort of conclusion, but it left me with the overall debilitating sense of what the f.u.c.k do I do now?

I mean, seriously?

I had forgotten I had thought of the solution to my predicament earlier. And that was to get extremely drunk. After the Abby epiphany, I drank more wine and Maximus said we'd take a cab back, and then he got in on a few rounds and shots of whisky.

We stayed at the wine bar until it closed. I fielded texts from my parents and Ada wondering where I was and if I was OK and I rea.s.sured them I was fine. But I hadn't expected to stumble out of the bar at 2 a.m.

We both waved drunkenly at the waiter, who was only so happy to see us go as he locked the doors with a resounding click, and Maximus grabbed my arm and led me to the bike path that weaved its way along the dark, churning river and pa.s.sed through the open park s.p.a.ce where homeless b.u.ms slept on the benches. It was cold and a little bit frightening, but I felt safe with his hand on me.

And I felt safer two seconds later when his hand slid down my back and wrapped around my waist.

I gazed up at him as we walked, like we were on a romantic middle-of-the-night stroll in the waning days of winter. I didn't know how I felt about him. I felt drunk, that was for sure. I also felt scared, and it wasn't just about Abby, or about the weird shadows that lurked in the park, or the fact that I would be going home tonight. It was that I knew I didn't have to go home tonight, and that scared me too. Because the last thing I needed was to get embroiled with another man, especially this man. As charming a gentleman as Maximus was, he was still so tightly woven into the story of me and Dex that I didn't see how any of this could be a good idea.

And when I started to think that maybe I did like him, like him (as Ada would say), I wondered how much of that was real. And how much of that was because I was scared. And how much of that was because I was lonely. And how much of that was because there was something deep inside me that still craved one final stab of my own revenge. I wasn't going to pretend I was better than that, that I wasn't thinking how poetic it would be for me to sleep with Dex's ex-best friend.

But that was a bit icky. And when Maximus brought me closer to him, I felt all warm and gooey at the strength of his hands and I couldn't imagine just walking away with nothing happening between us. Lonely, icky, scared...I wanted him and I wanted him badly. I ached for him.

As if picking up on that vibe I was emanating from my lady parts, he stopped at a part of the path that jutted out in a semi-circle, where people would stand on sunny days to take better photographs of the river. I stopped with him and he put his other hand on my side and faced me straight on.

My goodness, he really was a tall guy. The wind off the river whipped up his hair, messing up his Elvis-like do, and it looked colorless in the cold lights of the city. His eyes were still green somehow, like a liquid forest, and they stared down into mine. It wasn't intense or dramatic or even particularly romantic, but I could see the feverish want in them fighting against his ever-present need to be respectful.

"Are you going to kiss me?" I whispered, my voice catching on a damp gust.

He grinned, that sly, lazy smile that only worked one side of his mouth. "I was thinking about it."

I might need a ladder, was my last thought before he leaned over and placed his lips on mine.

His lips were slightly rough, but they were large and pillowy and stirred up tickles on my tongue that traveled down to the base of my spine. He put one hand behind my head and held me there, the back of my head feeling very small, and I had the image of a baby bird being cupped between two hands. It was a weird mixture of feeling desire and feeling safe and the longer we made out in that park, his hands never straying from my head or the dent of my side, the safer I felt. Like nothing could touch me except him and as long as I was around him, I would be OK. Dex used to make me feel that way with everything. Except my heart.

I lifted my hands and placed them inside his leather jacket, which was open slightly. I could feel his muscles underneath his silky shirt. He wasn't rock hard; instead, he looked predestined to carry weight rather than lose it, but his body was still a pillar of strength and the more my tiny coral-painted fingers pushed and prodded against him, the more I felt like nothing could knock him over. He was as rooted as a tree. I wanted to borrow some of that strength, take it from him. Just thinking it made my kisses faster, more frenzied.

Finally he pulled back and moved his hand around to the side of my face. It was warm against my cold cheek that was braised by the chilling wind.

"It's getting late," he said, his voice uneven. He cleared his throat.

"It already is late," I whispered, not wanting to stop.

"And cold," he said as he pulled my cardigan around me. "You need something warmer than this."

"You'll do," I said. I was surprised at my boldness. Maximus was too.

"I'm pretty hot, I'll admit that," he said slyly, then chuckled at himself. "But we need to be inside a warm cab before you get pneumonia."

He gave me a quick peck on the lips, then took my hand in his and led me back to the path. Now that the makeout session was over, the terrors and shadows that lurked in the back of mind were free to play. I didn't want to go home. I couldn't. Abby would be there.

But I couldn't bring myself to say any of this to him as we cut across the park, the damp gra.s.s brushing against the bottoms of my boots, the b.u.ms who lurked beneath the trees. I probably would have felt safer snuggling up to the guy who slept under his garbage bags full of beer cans than alone in my room.

We hailed a cab fairly easily once we got to Burnside Street it was the weekend and downtown Portland was in full swing with people spilling out of hole-in-the-wall bars, music venues with s.h.i.tty bands, and late-night dives. I wanted the night to keep going. I wanted to line up with the ma.s.ses at Voodoo Donuts and feel like the city had my back.

But instead we both got in the cab. At least Maximus made sure to drop me off before him, even though he lived way closer to downtown than I did.

As the cab pulled down my familiar street, he asked, "Do you have a big day tomorrow?"

"I was scheduled to work," I said, feeling a pang of embarra.s.sment, anxiousness. "But who knows what's going on with that anymore. I guess I'll just get haunted. Maybe I'll take up knitting. Baby slippers seem to be pretty popular."

My voice was shaking slightly at that last bit and I swallowed back my tears. My house loomed in front of us, the cabbie reciting my address.

"Perry," Maximus said, reaching for my hand. "I know you're scared. But so far, nothing really bad has happened."

"What?" I snapped at him. I briefly eyed the cabbie in the rearview mirror and he quickly looked away, none of his business.

"Abby is taking it slow. Knocking and slippers, painting your nails."

"And taking over my body!"

I could sense the cabbie was looking back at me again, wondering who the h.e.l.l these weirdos in his cab were.

Maximus lowered his voice. "We don't know yet if it's connected, remember? I don't think it is. In fact, I know it's not. You're still you, Perry. One hundred percent."

"Oh, well, if you're so smart, why don't you tell me what else it could be?"

He gave me a small smile, immune to my anger. "I don't know. I know you don't like to hear that it could all be in your head-"

I gasped at that. Appalled.

"But," he continued, "you've been through a lot. So I would at least consider it, if I were you. I'm going to come over in the next few days and we're going to figure this out and start from there. One thing at a time. Abby won't be a problem, you'll see."

I wondered when he had gone from Ghost Whisperer to Ghost Buster, but I had no choice but to believe him. He was the only person who had experience in this, and the only person who took me seriously. Maybe not entirely seriously, but enough. And he was a good kisser.

He leaned forward and hugged me and that cinnamon smell engulfed me again. Then he said, "I'll call you tomorrow."

I would have stayed all night in that cab if I could, but I reluctantly got out. To his credit, he kept the cab waiting outside until I had unlocked my front door, then it sped away into the night.

I tiptoed up to my room, trying to ignore the darkness of the sleeping house, and made it to bed. The slippers on the floor were gone. The pamphlet was back on the table. I don't know why I was so against having it all be inside my head. That would actually be glorious. Maybe there never were any slippers. And if there were no slippers, there was nothing to fear.

It didn't explain a lot of other things, though, but before I could even indulge those possibilities, the evening of wine and tequila folded over me like a breaking wave and I was down for the count.

CHAPTER NINE.

"Wake up, sleepy head," Ada's chipper voice cut into my dreams. My dreams where I was falling and falling through a red inferno, giant wood bugs crawling up the side of my mind.

I groaned and tried not to move as the events from last night snapped into place. I knew I was hungover as s.h.i.t and if I opened my eyes and moved a muscle, I was going to pay for it dearly.

"Go away," I slurred, unable to say anything more.

"It's a beautiful day outside," she responded, ignoring me. I could hear her walking over to the window and opening it. "Ahhh, smell that air. Spring is on its way."

Why was she so chipper? Usually Ada was a G.o.ddess of grump in the mornings.

I felt her sit down on the bed and I bobbed up and down on the mattress. I moaned again and threw my arm over my face. The air coming in did smell cool and inviting but it wasn't enough to clear the cobwebs.

"What did you do last night? You stink."

I ignored her and attempted to go back to sleep, feeling my brain getting sucked into the dark weightlessness. Before I could, she grabbed my arm and lifted it up, forcing the light into my face. I winced.

"I said go away," I repeated, dragging out the words into a whine.

"Do you have to work today?"

Pause.

"f.u.c.k." I totally forgot about that.

I opened my eyes carefully as the stabs of light entered. It really was a beautiful day out, but all I could see at that moment was blankness, like I was standing in the middle of the sun.

Then I saw Ada on my bed, holding my phone out, like she knew exactly what was going on. She was wearing a kelly green dress and her hair was tied into a knot at the very top of her head. She looked like a clear-eyed forest nymph. I felt a pang of envy.

I took the phone, muttering "thanks," and dialed the shop's number. I didn't have enough time to get scared or nervous because Shay snapped it up on the first ring.

"Don't worry about it, Perry," she explained to me after I apologized profusely for not being there. "We've just taken you off the schedule until you get better. You just rest up and sort yourself out."

I hung up the phone feeling worse rather than better. I hadn't been let go or fired but this was all too familiar. This was how I almost lost my last job (before, you know, I screwed myself over on purpose). My employers had been worrying about me because I was seeing Old Roddy in my bedroom. Now it was different ghost, same problem. Was this doomed to repeat itself throughout my whole life? Was I never, ever going to escape the dead? I wished I knew what they really wanted with me.

"It's because you're one of them," Ada said.

I jumped at her voice, forgetting not only that she was in the same room as me but sitting next to me, a foot away.

"Pardon me?" I asked her as my heart quickened.

She rolled her eyes. "I said you're one of them. I asked why your slacker coffee shop was so understanding and I answered it's because you're one of them. You're a slacker. They need your kind there. I'm just talking to myself really, since you don't ever seem to hear a word I'm saying. Ever."

That wasn't true. Not entirely.

"How was last night?" I asked, gingerly sitting up in my bed. I rubbed at my temples as the room spun. I think someone had replaced my mattress with a water bed.

"Do you actually care to know?" she asked snidely.

I peered at her with one eye. It hurt less than with two. "Yes, don't be so emo."

I could tell she was going to come up with a retort about me being emo, but she swallowed it. It was always a matter of who called the other one that first.

"OK, if you care to know, we broke up."

I managed to open the other eye so I could study her face better. Her chin was lifted defiantly. She looked confident. "Are you OK?"

She nodded. "Never felt better."

"So you know you did the right thing, then. How did he take it?"

She giggled, then broke into a huge grin. "He had the nerve to throw it in my face of how long he had waited and now he wasn't ever going to get any."

"What a f.u.c.king douchecanoe," I said, wanting to punch Layton's lights out.

"Total f.u.c.king douchecanoe," she reinstated. "That's how I totally knew I made the right choice. He was so angry, his face went all, like, red and he was babbling c.r.a.p and telling me I'll never be anything..."

I let out an angry laugh. "That's rich, coming from some dillhole whose biggest accomplishment will be to get his head crushed in by some lame college football team."

"If he's lucky," she said, tracing her finger along the pattern on my quilt. "But then I told him it must burn to be dumped by someone like me then. And then I left. Well, I gave him the finger. And then I left."

Even though it hurt my head to do so, I leaned forward and gave Ada a quick hug.

"I'm proud of you," I blurted out, feeling strangely emotional.

She snorted. "That's cuz you're lame." But I could tell it made her happy, as lame as I was.

"Hey, listen - "

I was interrupted by a piercing, terrible scream from downstairs.

Our mother's scream.

Our eyes met for a brief, horrifying instant and we both leaped out of bed as fast as we could. I was only in a long t-shirt but it didn't matter. I had never heard my mother scream like that before and I prayed that we weren't going to run down the stairs and find her dead on the floor.

We scampered down the stairs two at a time, with Ada calling "Mom!"

"Girls!" she yelled back, sounding calmer, which relieved me. Her voice was coming from my father's study.

We hustled our way over there. The door was open and my mother was standing in the middle of the room, a stack of papers at her feet, plumes of dust rising up from them and catching in the sunlight that was coming through the opened blinds.

Her back was to us, her limbs frozen in front of her, like she was still holding onto the papers. Her attention was on the walls so that's where my attention went too.