Yesterday's Gone: Season One Part 20

Paola picked up the blade, its metal handle cold to the touch, and rotated it in her hand, staring at her warped reflection and wondering why she looked so real if this were only a dream. She looked at herself in dream mirrors all the time, but never had her reflection seemed so real.

She set the butcher knife back on the counter, then walked the half mile or so through the kitchen and into the milky clouds of fog which covered the world.

She walked for more than a mile, except now the distance had turned real. Not like the fake miles inside the hotel that acted like forever but were only a feeling.

Rocks, branches and a shallow pool of shattered gla.s.s dug into her feet, stinging and tearing her flesh. She looked down, surprised to see blotches of red on her white skin, brown on the black asphalt.

The pain in her feet made the dream feeling fade.

She would have forced herself awake right there, but then she saw a square clearing in the night sky ahead with no fog at all, but rather a neon, blinking billboard that read, "DADDY THIS WAY" with a big red arrow aimed in the direction she was walking. She would walk on.

Just past the billboard, Paola saw the bright white canopy of a gas station, its rows of yellowed and aged fluorescent lights cutting through the fog. The station sat in the middle of all the light, making it look like an oil painting hanging from the middle of a big black frame. The darkness surrounding the station made it seem as though all the world's light was concentrated under the canopy. Most of that light gathered in the middle, bathing a tall man slouched against a fuel pump.

A chill went through Paola.

The man was her father, only not quite. Same hair, same smile, same eyes, but different clothes, as though he were dressing up to play her daddy, but he'd missed the finer details that made her dad's style. He was even wearing one of those hats they wore in old films and Indiana Jones movies. The hat looked fake, but the stubble on her daddy's cheek was real so Paola raced forward, the pain in her feet all but a distant memory.

"Daddy?"

"Paola!" He took off his hat, fell to his knees and wrapped his arms around her. "I've missed you so much, and I was so worried."

"I'm so glad you're okay!" Paola said. "Do you know what happened to everyone?"

"No, but I do know how we can find out. You have to come with me right now, then we'll come back and get your mom before she wakes up."

"We should go and get Mommy first."

"No, we can't, because she's sleeping right now and we'd have to wake her."

"She won't mind. Come on, Daddy." Paola waved her arms back toward the hotel.

He sighed, then shook his head. "It's okay, Shortcake, I promise. She won't even know you're gone. And as soon as we get back, we can all go out and get ice cream. Your new friends can come with us and everyone will be happy. It's just like playing hide-n-seek, except right now your mom's sleeping instead of hiding."

Paola shook her head. "She won't mind if we wake her up. No one will. They'll be excited. And she'll probably be mad if I leave without telling her."

"But it's me, I'm your father. Besides, it's my week. You're supposed to be with me right now, anyway."

That doesn't sound like Daddy at all.

"I want to go back to the hotel, Daddy."

Paola's father rose to his feet, returned his hat to his head and flashed Paola a movie star smile. "Come on, Shortcake. We'll be 15 minutes tops."

Paola shook her head and took a step back. The dream part felt like it was fading.

"Okay then," he held his hand out for Paola, "We'll wake her first, but we'll have to be careful. You know how f.u.c.king awful she is when she doesn't get her sleep."

Paola froze.

Dream Daddy would never say anything mean about Mommy. Or use that kind of language. Neither would Real Daddy.

"Why did you say that, Daddy?"

Paola knew she'd never hear an answer because her father's face started to change right that second, mouth first as it drooped horribly. The nose went next; shifting, contorting and folding itself inside out in an angry looking liquid motion. It looked like the devil was giving birth, like every bad thing Paola had ever seen, heard of, or thought up, was suddenly given two long and skinny legs.

Her father's skin grew bright red, wet, shiny as the muscles and bones beneath the flesh seemed to churn like someone was running a mixer in the thing's insides. The monster looked kind of like the black thing they'd seen in the road, but different in ways Paola couldn't quite place as she had turned away from the creature in the road pretty quickly. It was then that Paola realized with horror that she could not look away from this thing that was not her father.

Its eyes, dark, black, and evil, were the only constant as its face shifted form again and again like it was searching for the right fit. Her head began to hurt as if something were pressing hard sticks against her skull. Or fingers.

And that's when she realized it had reached out and was clutching her skull, and somehow forcing its way into her mind.

Memories began to flicker past her mind's eye. Things she'd not thought about in years.

I'm five and we're sewing a pillow for the tooth fairy. We have to hurry because my tooth is hanging to my gums. Daddy comes in the room smiling. He just finished building a tiny bed for the tooth fairy, in case she gets tired and wants to rest before she finishes for the night.

Her headache grew worse as if her head were being crushed beneath the pressure of the monster's fingers. And just like that, she could no longer remember what her daddy had built for the tooth fairy. And a moment later, she could no longer remember what age she was when the tooth fairy visited. And then after that, the memory itself was gone, leaving her confused, as if trying to recall a name she'd heard once five years ago.

He's digging through my mind like when Mommy digs through her garden. He's filling his baskets with memories instead of flowers, and yanking them up by the roots. He's taking them with him.

She cried out and tried to smack the monster's arms away, but her body wouldn't cooperate. It wasn't hers to control any longer. She'd become little more than a puppet.

A few moments later, she lay on the cold concrete ground of the gas station, unable to remember what happened, or how she'd gotten there. Nor could she remember her name.

The only thing she knew for certain was she was about to die.

CHARLIE WILKENS.

October 17 Early morning Pensacola, Florida As they got comfortable in the house in Pensacola, Charlie settled into the hope that things might be okay. They hadn't seen any creatures since leaving Jacksonville, but they also hadn't seen survivors. That was just fine by Charlie.

The house, a three-story mansion on the water, belonged to Bob's brother, Derek, who was gone to no one's surprise. Rather than be upset by the news, Bob was relieved to find the brother he hated was on the highway to heaven or h.e.l.l or where-the-f.u.c.k-ever.

The house was easily the nicest Charlie had ever been inside. The photos of Derek and his family arranged in a neat row on the wall told Charlie exactly why Bob didn't care for his brother. He was gay, with a black boyfriend and an adopted Chinese toddler girl. Even if Bob weren't racist, the boyfriend wouldn't jive with Bob's hardline anti-queer views.

Charlie wondered how someone like Derek - successful, good looking, gay, and who didn't hate minorities - could be related to Bob, who was the tail's side of the coin on all those things. Well, except the gay part. Charlie figured anyone as h.o.m.ophobic as Bob was probably deep in the closet hiding behind a pink taffeta gown or two.

Charlie had gotten a taste of Bob's h.o.m.ophobia the previous fall when he tried growing his hair out to look less geeky.

"What are you, a f.a.ggot?" Bob harangued him repeatedly.

One time, Charlie was feeling snarky, and answered, "Yeah, want a kiss?"

Bob answered with a swift smack in the mouth. That night at dinner, Bob demanded Charlie cut his hair or he would hold him down and shave him bald.

"You've got a choice," Bob said, "You have your mom take you to one of those f.a.ggy salons so you can get it cut nice and short, or I will strap you down and shave you."

"Mom," Charlie pleaded, "He can't do this."

His mom had that look.

She wasn't willing to turn the burner up on Bob's temper. "You'll look handsome honey. We'll take you to the place Chad's mom takes him. You like Chad's hair, don't you?"

Charlie just shook his head. He could hardly look at her. He was more p.i.s.sed at her than Bob. She was his mother. She was supposed to fight for him, not help the enemy. Charlie fled from the table. The next morning, he took his bike and went to the barber he'd gone to for years and got a shorter haircut, vowing to grow it out the minute he turned 18.

Now, as he drifted in Derek's pool, Charlie considered growing his hair out again. It was already longer than it had been in years, though Bob hadn't seemed to notice in some time. The world was gone; Bob couldn't get too p.i.s.sed. It wasn't like Charlie's haircut would cost him a job with some Fortune 500 company.

Charlie glanced at Bob who manned the barbecue grill, cooking some recently-thawed burgers from Derek's deep freezer. He thought about mentioning his plans to grow his hair, but Bob had been in a decent mood today. No need to rock the boat.

Callie, who had been in the house reading, came out in blue fleece shorts and a gray tee shirt.

"Look out," she said, jumping in next to Charlie, causing him to go under and swallow a huge mouthful of chlorinated water.

He came up gagging, and saw Callie laughing.

"Thanks," he said, splashing water at her.

She splashed back, and moved closer to him, then jumped behind him, and pushed him under the water.

"Hey!" he said, coming up, and grabbing her shoulders.

For a moment, time seemed to slow, and their eyes locked again, as they had in the parking lot. He noticed her nipples poking through her tee, could see the outline of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, as the wet shirt clung to her. He quickly glanced away, but not before she'd noticed. She smiled, then dunked him again.

He came up, this time behind her, and wrapped her head in a playful headlock. As their bodies touched underwater, Little Charlie was at full attention. As she tried to break free of the headlock, her a.s.s rubbed against his c.o.c.k, and he couldn't help but think she noticed. She pulled away, laughing, as she pushed off of him and swam away.

He went underwater, and closed his eyes trying to wish his embarra.s.sing erection away.

Baseball... Bea Arthur... that old guy on those bran commercials WITH Bea Arthur.

When it was safe to come up, Callie was at the edge of the pool, Bob standing over her, chatting her up. Though he was clearly checking out her t.i.ts, Callie didn't seem to notice. She was either the coyest of flirts ever or naive to what men were always focused on. Bob was just smooth enough not to get busted by Callie, but more than a couple of times, Charlie had caught him sneaking peeks. Each time, Bob would wink at Charlie or make a crude gesture.

Bob said he was just encouraging Charlie to "tap that a.s.s." But Charlie couldn't help but think Bob wanted to do some tapping, himself.

Charlie felt sick, watching Bob joke with Callie while she giggled in waves.

Is she flirting with Bob? Or is she so nice that she's oblivious to his creepiness?

It wasn't as if there were anything between he and Callie, though they had been getting closer - whenever Bob wasn't around as the third wheel.

While Callie was kind of a bad a.s.s, she was also nice, funny, and kind of geeky. Not in a socially awkward way like Charlie, but in the things she liked - comics, video games, and sci-fi and fantasy books. All the same things Charlie liked. It was as if G.o.d, or whoever or whatever made everyone vanish, had picked the perfect girl to strand him with. He couldn't help but think fate had brought her to him. Or perhaps, fate's cruel sister, irony, to create and present someone so much like him, yet so much better looking that she'd never have anything to do with him.

Charlie had been relegated to the "friend" role far too many times with attractive girls. If you fell into the friend zone, you never escaped. One girl (who was rejecting him at the time) told him, "A girl knows within 10 seconds if she'll sleep with you. If you don't make a great impression right away, you'll never get with her."

Needless to say, Charlie had never made that kind of impression on any girls. He had too many things going against him. He was geeky and homely, with zits, and as more than a few girls had also told him bluntly, he was "too nice."

Charlie told himself that "too nice" didn't really mean too nice. It was code for too ugly, or perhaps the girl was too immature to appreciate a nice guy. Girls his age seemed to like so-called bad boys. And given the number of young women even 10 years older than him seemed to be attracted to losers, he wasn't sure when that infatuation with a.s.sholes ended. He hoped it was before they got old, or he was screwed.

Callie didn't seem like other girls, though. So he had to be very careful not to miss his one chance at bat. He had to make a good impression before she could put him in the friends-only zone. The way he saw it, he had a couple of things going for him. They met in an emotionally charged moment. He saved her life (a brave and selfless act). And, as far as they knew, he was one of the last two men on Earth, and the other was an old drunk a.s.shole. Even if Charlie wore headgear, had uncontrollable explosive diarrhea, and suffered from involuntary spasms, he was pretty sure he made a better match for a woman than Bob.

But Charlie also had things working against him.

Aside from not being Brad Pitt, he was also a white guy. A VERY white guy, so pale he would likely be a lobster after an hour in the pool. And he didn't know if Callie even liked white guys. He wasn't even sure what she was, if she were light-skinned black or mixed race, which the blue eyes made likely. In either event, white guys might not be her thing. He had never been attracted to a black girl before now. Nothing racial, just not something he'd ever considered, just like he wasn't attracted to redheads. You like who you like, not much you can do about it. But that also meant Callie liked who she liked, and geeky pale guys might not be on that list.

And for all he knew, she might like a.s.sholes... like Bob.

Yet, he felt something with Callie. When they spoke, when their eyes met, moments were there, just outside of time, when they seemed to connect on a deeper level. He didn't know if it was just his brain's way of lending importance to l.u.s.t because he was experiencing it, or if it was something real and deep. And maybe Callie was feeling it too?

He'd been trying to work up the courage to make some sort of move since last night, but each time they were alone and in deep conversation, Bob would show up to c.o.c.k block Charlie. Either Bob was oblivious as h.e.l.l or even more evil than Charlie thought.

Tonight, Charlie decided, as he watched Bob joking with Callie, would be the night he'd make a move.

It was, after all, the end of the world. Who knew how long they had?

Bob got weird at dinner.

They were sitting at Derek's fancy dark wooden table which could have easily seated 10, when Bob set down the burgers on a giant plate, along with a bag of chips. He was bringing a baking dish from outside, which he'd cooked canned chili in, when it slipped from his hands and shattered on the floor.

"Dammit!" Bob shouted, his eyes quickly targeting Charlie, "Why can't you clean up when you track water in here?"

"What?" Charlie said, confused.

"Don't play stupid. You tracked water in here when you got out of the pool. And because you're too d.a.m.ned lazy to clean it up, I slipped, and dropped our f.u.c.king dinner!"

"No, I didn't," Charlie said defensively, "I came in through the bathroom door, and dried off in there."

"Are you calling me a liar, boy?" Bob said, his face redder than his bloodshot eyes.

"No," Charlie said, confusion turning to panic. "But I swear, I came in through the bathroom."

"Oh, so now I'm just imagining some spill on the floor, right? Next you're gonna say I didn't even drop the dish, I just threw it down on purpose, right?"

Charlie looked down at the floor and while a small puddle of water was next to the broken blue baking dish and mess of chili all over the floor, it wasn't from him, meaning it had to be from Callie. He glanced at her, her tongue tied and eyes frightened, then back at Bob.

"Maybe it was me," he said, lying to protect her.

"I'm sorry," Callie said, "Actually, I think I might have come in through the door and forgot to wipe it down."

Bob stared at her, then back at Charlie, momentarily defused, and running a hand through his hair, then looked back at Charlie, "Clean this s.h.i.t up, boy."