Adelaide Confused (5 page)

“Mr. Wallace doesn’t give second
chances.”

“
Good. That means we’ll
never have to repeat this conversation again. Now if you don’t
mind, I should be getting back to work.” I scooped up my lecherous
novel and buried my nose in it.

When I got home I kicked
off my shoes in the front room and climbed the stairs to my loft. I
changed into boxer shorts and a T-shirt before wandering back
downstairs. I then took out the trash and washed a few dishes,
basically puttering around, procrastinating until I was too hungry
to put off cooking dinner any longer.

I pulled a chair out from
under the little table I kept pressed under the kitchen windows.
Hauling it to the refrigerator, I climbed up to reach the tiny
cabinets above where I kept the canned food.

I began to rifle through,
setting aside a can of cranberry sauce for later while I continued
to debate what type of soup sounded best. I caught myself humming
and went deathly still.

It was that same feeling
I’d felt before, alien but familiar. I’d say happy, maybe excited,
but not in a way I’d ever experienced. It was reflex to glance
around, look for the source.

The movement caught my eye,
a milky white swirl hovering below my feet at the base of the
chair. It shifted and churned like smoke and water, going
transparent so I could see the linoleum pattern beneath it. And in
a blink it was a milky mass once more.

I sucked in a sharp breath
and moved away, pressing myself against the fridge. It seemed to
fade for a moment, and I fervently wished it would go away. Instead
it turned a sickly gray, seeming to solidify into something real,
though I couldn’t say what. Without warning it came at me, pouncing
upward in a whirl of twisting wisps, reaching for my feet with
enthusiasm.

I gave a shrill, piercing
scream as I jerked away. The chair tilted and I threw out my arms,
flinging a can of soup as I scrambled to catch myself. Noise
exploded as I fell. First a tinkling crash, followed closely by a
resounding thud. That was me hitting the floor, landing roughly on
my side.

When people said they had
the wind knocked out of them, they had a point. I laid there
gasping for breath. My entire body ached from impact. Whatever
feelings I’d been catching were gone along with that thing,
whatever it was.

I stayed still for a few
moments, and seriously considered if maybe I was crazy. Perhaps my
accident had triggered a case of schizophrenia and this was all a
hallucination. That was plausible. I was very private, and with the
disappearing act I had pulled at eighteen, I’d never given anyone
the chance to diagnose me.

That could also mean I
didn’t have the ability to feel emotions. I mean, an empath,
really? When being crazy was the logical answer, you knew things
had hit rock bottom. Probably I should see a doctor. But then I
remembered back to the years of therapy and pills, and I just
couldn’t bring myself to do it. I would rather be where I was,
barely keeping it together and possibly crazy, than living like
that.

Something firm pressed into
my neck. I gave a strangled cry and lashed out with my arm. Much to
my humiliation, it was only my neighbor Lucas Finch. He moved away
at my outburst and was now standing across the kitchen watching me
warily. “Just checking your pulse too see if you were still
alive.”

I gingerly picked myself up
off the linoleum. Most of the glass from the broken window had
fallen outside, but a few pieces had scattered across the floor
before I landed, leaving me a bit scratched.

“
Don’t move,” he
instructed. “Your feet are bare. Where do you keep the broom?” I
pointed to the laundry closet. “Did someone try to break
in?”

“
No. I threw a can of soup
out the window.” He handed me the broom. “It was an accident,” I
added lamely. “I fell off the chair.”

I began to sweep while he
put said chair to rights, setting it in its proper spot. “I heard
you scream, then the breaking glass. It sounded like you were being
murdered.” His voice was deep, gravelly, and the way he spoke gave
off the impression that he usually didn’t say much.

“
If that were the case you
would have been useless. You didn’t bring a weapon.” I finished
sweeping and put the broom away.

I turned to find him
watching me intently. I knew what Lucas must be seeing. Me, clad in
only my nightclothes (not the cute pair) and covered in scratches.
Long layers of strawberry-blonde hair hanging in complete disarray,
with bangs that fringed my eyes sticking out in all directions. I
had to be looking pretty grim just then, my brown eyes distant, my
pale complexion turned somewhat wan. I sure wasn’t looking my best.
It was that damned swirly thing, or maybe the
schizophrenia.

The longer he stared at me,
the more curious I became. He was empty, no emotion whatsoever, but
it was his thoughts that I wanted a glimpse of. What could he be
thinking while he looked at me that way?

I didn’t want to be alone
in the house yet, and sensing he would soon go, I hurried to make
up a legitimate excuse to stall our leave-taking. “Do you mind if I
use your phone?”

He didn’t mind, so I
followed, trotting after him as we crossed the yard. It was dark,
the lights from my kitchen spilling out from behind us. Faintly I
could see his back. Muscles flexed beneath his shirt, shoulder
blades moving rhythmically with each step.

His voice cut through my
thoughts. “You don’t have a phone?”

“
No. Usually I don’t need
one.”

I didn’t know what to say
after that, how to fill the silence. Our conversations were
stilted. I just didn’t know how to handle him, because he wasn’t a
customer or fellow employee. But I wasn’t the only one out of
practice. He was taciturn to the extreme.

Lucas, apparently
comfortable with the silence, pushed past a tall shrub that was
covered in clumps of frothy white flowers. I followed him over the
fence. He waited patiently on the other side, holding the branches
back.

As we walked the short
distance between our houses, cutting from yard to yard, I noticed
my eyes would wander back to the shadow of his hulking form. The
layers of isolation I’d wrapped around myself suddenly seemed
suffocating.

The back door hung open, as
if he had rushed out in a hurry. Lucas waved me over the threshold
and walked off to the front room. Left alone, I let my eyes take in
the detail of his kitchen.

He didn’t own curtains,
just blinds. That was pretty much how the rest of the room went,
very... single man. Where personal touches would have added
character, he had impersonal, but well used utensils and
appliances. The few pieces of furniture were plain but solid, no
cushions or doilies. The place lacked frill. There wasn’t even a
picture on the fridge. It was a little disappointing. I guess I’d
been hoping for a secret guide, some insight to navigate by as
Lucas lacked emotions.

He returned, handed me a
cell phone, and walked off again without a word, granting me
privacy. I could hear him moving around the house as I dialed
Francesca’s number.

“Francesca Black,” she answered smoothly.

“Hey, it’s me.”

“Where are you calling from?”

“
My neighbor’s. I broke a
window at my place.”

“
Did you meet death?” She
sounded serious.

“
Nope, he stood me up.” I
hesitated, then, “But I did see something weird. It creeped me
out.”

“Weird like a big bug or filthy rat?”

“No, it was bigger—”

“—
bigger like a stray
dog?”

“
No,” I said in
exasperation. Why was I even trying to explain? I’d already decided
I was crazy. I sighed, “It wasn’t an ani—”

I was speechless because
Francesca was right. It
was
a dog. That was why the emotions had been both
familiar and alien. I’d felt them before on a few occasions, mostly
with dogs, once a cat. Animal emotions came in softly, and they
never quite felt human. They were cleaner, more innocent somehow.
Simpler creatures, like a slug, didn’t have emotional reactions as
far as I knew or felt. But I’d often wondered about the more
complex creatures I hadn’t yet come in contact with: dolphins,
horses, and even gorillas (Coco came to mind).

And the thing, whatever
that blob of mist had been, it’d given the impression of a dog,
having moved like one. An idea was forming in my mind, and I didn’t
like it one bit.

“Hello? Have you even been listening to me?
You can’t have a stray dog running around the house. You have to
call animal control.”

“
No, it’s already gone,” I
replied absently. I remembered the reason for calling her and
steered the conversation around. “But I’m still wigged out, want to
have a slumber party?”

“
Sure, come over. You
haven’t met Brock yet. You’ll probably think he’s an
ass—”

I interrupted, “Oh, I
forgot tonight was the date for new carpets. Nevermind, I’ll be
fine.”

“
Brock won’t care. Come
over,” she urged.

“No, I’d have trouble sleeping anyway.”

“
Do you want me to call him
and cancel? I can come over there.” She would too, cancel her plans
in an instant to come over if I needed it. I didn’t want
that.

“No, really I’ll be fine. Forget I
called.”

“
Alright, but I’m entering
your neighbor’s number into my contacts, you know, just in
case.”

“
Don’t, he’s not my
secretary.” Speaking of secretaries, I wondered if I should tell
Francesca about my visitor. But that conversation could last a
while, so I decided it should wait.

“
With your death drawing
near, I think it’s only wise.”

“Whatever,” I said before hanging up.

Lucas came in a moment
later, making me think he’d been waiting for me to finish. “You can
use my couch,” he offered.

“
You were eavesdropping,” I
stated blandly. He didn’t respond, and I took the moment to mull
over his offer.

Did I want to pass the
night alone with a phantom dog? No, I did not. But was it safe to
bed down with a virtual stranger? No, it was not. I mean, I knew
the definition of sociopath. And there I had a perfectly normal
looking man, not to mention really attractive, and he couldn’t feel
a thing. That made him the perfect candidate, because people who
lacked empathy made awesome serial killers.

“
Does your house have a
basement?” That was where he’d do all the murdering and
stuff.

“No.”

I hadn’t thought it would,
but better to be sure. I wanted to say yes, nearly did, but years
of habit held me back. “No, thanks for the offer, but I’ll be
alright.”

The beams of light
streaming in through the loft windows made it difficult to sleep.
I’d purposely left the floor-length linen drapes open, a wake-up
call. I had things to do.

It hadn’t been a pleasant
night. I’d drifted in and out, waking often only to imagine a
sickly gray shape perched at the end of my bed.

This morning wasn’t going
much better. I still felt jumpy. I rushed to shower and dress,
looking around constantly, somewhat paranoid as I waited for that
damned dog to appear.

It wasn’t until entering
the kitchen that I got a surprise. The broken window had been
covered over. Confused, I went out the back door to get a better
look. A piece of plywood covered the hole, held in place by a mound
of duct tape. For a patch job, it looked sturdy. Not only that, but
there wasn’t a piece of glass in sight. I discovered a pile of
shards in my trash bin. How Lucas had found them in the long grass,
I didn’t know. And it had been Lucas, I had no doubt. But why he’d
done it, I was still uncertain.

I left after that, rushing
to complete an errand before my shift started. I was cutting it
close. But I had to know, this couldn’t wait. It was still early
for the tourist types, so I found good parking and hopped out,
running for the door.

The Parlor was as I had
left it, dark and moody with dusty creaking floorboards. I hoofed
it down the hallway, stopping abruptly when I reached the reception
desk.

“
You!” I screeched. She was
the last person I had expected to see here, to see
anywhere.

Her tangle of frizzy blonde
locks bobbed as she stood up. “Hello, it’s good to see you again.”
She stretched her hand out across the counter. “My name is Nancy
Bristow.” With a self-deprecating smile she added, “Here I’m known
as Madame Bristow, but you can call me Nancy.”

Perplexed, I did nothing
but stare for a moment. Her hand fell away as I found my voice.
“That fake, Eclipsys, the astrologist or whatever, said I’d meet
with death. And guess what? Yesterday I saw a ghost! So I
come—literally running back for answers—and find you all
omnipotent, acting as if you’ve been waiting for me the whole
time!” My voice had been rising with each word, the last punctuated
with a shriek. But I wasn’t done. I felt totally out of control,
and it made me angry. “I thought you were homeless!” I
shouted.