I'll Be Damned (Anna Wolfe Series) (24 page)

I allow her time to soak all of this in. The last thing I want to do is throw a lot of information at her and insist she believe it. It's best for people to draw their own opinions and conclusions. I want her to believe it on her own terms, or else none of it matters. I glance at Martello, who's also studying her. Kristy stares at her hands with empty eyes.

"Kristy, I know it's a lot to take in and I don't expect you to believe me, but I have to be honest with you. If you need to take some time or leave, I understand."

I didn't know what else to say. Martello shoots me a fleeting look, reinforcing we’re thinking the same thing. We wait patiently, anticipating her response. She stands up, and starts pacing back and forth between the refrigerator and the kitchen table.

"Kristy, what are you thinking?"

Silence is her answer. I look at Martello, who shrugs his shoulders. Her pacing is making me nervous. Then, quite unexpectedly, she speaks. "I believe you," she says simply. She holds up the palm of her hand to prevent me from responding. I can’t muster a word anyway. "I believe you," she pauses, and bites her nails. "I know there are
things
out there." She exaggerates the word
things
as if she has seen them. "I can see them," she adds nervously.

"What do you mean you see
things
?" Martello asks mockingly.

"I see
things
I shouldn't see... like ghosts," she answers.

I'm dumbfounded. I am some kind of unidentified supernatural misfit, and my best friend can see ghosts. There are so many questions popping in and out of my mind, it's impossible to grab one. What does Martello make of all this? I look at him, watching him shake his head in disbelief.

"Kristy, what do you mean you see ghosts?" I ask, dying for answers. No pun intended.

She fiddles with a strand of her blond hair. "When I was eight, my father passed away, but his spirit never left. I often saw his ghost in our house... I talked to him," she says, inhaling sharply. "He made me promise not to tell anyone. I didn’t understand why, since our family was so upset when he died. Nevertheless, I kept our secret, and every night I would sneak out of bed and meet him in the kitchen, where we talked for hours. I was happy, but guilt wore me down. I really wished I could share it with my mom," Kristy responds, plunking into the chair. She places her elbows on the table, staring at her interlaced hands.

"One night, we were talking when something appeared. It wasn't a ghost… It was evil," she adds, swallowing hard. "It had black skin and red, cold eyes. My father was scared, but there was nothing he could do. He tried to comfort me, but I saw how scared he was. It took him away right in front of me..." she trails off, tears falling onto her checks. I place my hand over hers, giving her a reassuring squeeze. "I ran to my mother, hysterical, trying to explain everything. I told her about my talks with my father and the evil entity that took him, but she just chalked it up to my grieving over him. After that night, I avoided all ghosts. I see them everywhere, but I ignore them. If I don’t, they'll bombard me," she pauses.

"How do you differentiate a ghost from a living person?" I inquire.

"They look like normal people, except they ripple the same way a lake does when a rock is thrown into it. I know the differences between good and bad ghosts, but it doesn't stop me from living in fear. I'm scared one day I will see that evil thing that took my father."

There's nothing I can say to comfort her. "Kristy, I never knew," I state in disbelief. "I wish you would have told me sooner," I add.

"I couldn't tell you, or anyone for that matter. I would have looked like a lunatic; plus, I felt it was better to never address it. It was an
out of sight, out of mind
kind of a thing," she answers.

She continues staring at her hands through hollow eyes. I lean over, folding her in my arms. I hug her tightly, attempting to imbue a feeling of safety. I reassure her that no matter what, I'll do everything I can to help. I close my eyes as we both cry in response to our beautiful curses. Martello gracefully slides himself over, creating a barricade between the outside world and us.

***

"I can't believe this is happening," Kristy says between sips of her adult orange juice.

"You's tellin’ me. I'm the one who feels left out," Martello replies, with a hint of sadness in his sarcasm.

"Trust me, I would trade for normalcy with you any day," I interject. A chill glides by me. I toss the throw blanket over my shoulder, draping it down the back of the porch swing. I glance at the night sky, now wearing an eerie shade of black. The stars punch through it, twinkling in the impenetrable blackness like little pockets of hope. In the distance, choruses of bullfrogs croak their nightly symphony, as lightning bugs flutter amongst the Spanish moss. I push the swing with my foot, resting my head against the overstuffed pillows behind me. Kristy and Martello sit in the matching Adirondack chairs with dazed expressions. The sheer magnitude of tonight is hard to register. Two of my best friends discover I'm a supernatural something or other, and now they're both here, supporting me in spite of it all. Kristy shared her secret with us, which I'm sure wasn't easy. I make a mental note to find out more about her special ability. Maybe we can help her embrace it, rather than pretend it doesn't exist. I chuckle to myself.
Look who's talking.

"We needs to figure out our next steps," Martello says, finishing the last of his drink.

I nod in agreement. "I have to read the book and see what I can find. I just don't understand what I'm supposed to do, or how to do it, for that matter."

"Hopefully, you will once you read it," Kristy replies positively.

"I doubt it includes step-by-step instructions on summoning my inner witch," I joke lightly. "Valen should have an idea about the demons or whatever. I'll contact him and see when he can come over."

"Can I be here when you do?" Kristy asks.

"Of course.” I glance at Martello. "And you're more than welcome too. I think it’s best if we're all aware of what’s going on."

"You knows I'm gonna be here, studying up on my voodoo," he smirks.

"Anna, I'll cover the shop for a while… until you get things figured out. I know with all of this going on, you need a break."

Kristy's right. I can't run my business while attending supernatural boot camp. "I don't want to impose, but I was going to ask you," I mutter. "I know it's a lot, so the minute you’re overwhelmed, let me know," I insist.

Kristy shrugs. "I don't mind. If anything, I need to take my mind off everything. Plus, I could use the extra cash," she replies with a modest grin.

"I appreciate it,” I smile. “Why don't you guys stay over? It's too late to drive home and I prefer to have your company."

They both nod. After a few more minutes of relaxation and small talk, we call it a night. Inside, Martello and Kristy walk into Janie's room, assuring me it's not awkward that they prefer to sleep in a queen bed together. With the sound of a click, their door shuts. I climb the stairs, choosing to skip my normal bedtime routine in light of today's draining events. The comfort I need comes in the form of a pillow and a soft blanket. I fall heavily into my bed and pull the pale yellow sheets up to my neck. Yellow is the color of happiness, but tonight, they are simply sheets. They could be black for all I care. My eyes close. I'm dreaming of Janie. I'm lying on the ground in a shadowy, red-hot room. Voices... I can hear voices in the distance, but I can't make out what they’re saying. They're speaking another language, one I never heard before with clicks and grunts. Footsteps trot towards me like a horse. Out of the blue, a burnt scarlet face with three, elongated horns flashes in front of my eyes. Tiny rows of pointy, yellow teeth clatter together as it clicks and grunts at me. It's so terrifying, it scares me awake.

I shoot straight up in my bed, gasping for air. I touch my face, sliding my hand over the wet, matted hair sticking to my forehead. An unfathomable sensation of concern washes over me. I know Janie's in that place… I can feel her, but where is it? Screw sleeping. I opt for a shower instead. I lean my head against the cool tile and close my eyes. The events from the past few days haven't cured yet, and I worry about my lack of reaction. I haven't cried, screamed, thrown dishes or collapsed next to everything else in my life. The only looping emotions are anger and confusion. Acceptance is tiptoeing around me, but I haven't gone through the appropriate emotional steps before this latest one. Do I even have a choice? I don’t and that’s the worst part of this whole situation - my lack of choice. The freedom to choose was yanked away from me. I have no say in what I am or what I might be, and there's nothing I can do to change it. I feel like Spartacus, stumbling towards a fate I never asked for. I coax myself from the refreshing water and dry off. I dress in shorts and a tank top in case I have another bad dream. Less fabric to stick to me is a good start. I walk to my window, pulling the curtains aside. The blackness taunts me. How does it swallow everything up so easily? I can't even see the trees directly outside my window. It's total darkness. A chill sprints up my spine. I let go of the curtain, watching it sway a few times before falling back into place. I slide into my bed, pulling the comforter up to my neck.

Trying to stop my mind from racing is like trying to build a fence in the wind. I groan, staring at the water stain on the ceiling. Maybe I’ll find the time to repaint it during the few weeks I have off. Sleep tempts me as my eyelids slowly shut. Without warning, a loud crash from the kitchen roars through the house, rendering me motionless. The kitchen chairs smack the ground one after another like dominos. Soon, a cacophony of horror ensues with clatters, slams and crashes. It sounds like someone’s rifling through my cabinets and throwing their contents all over the floor. My heart hammers in my chest, making my rational thoughts foggy. Do I have any weapons? I jump out of bed and dash to my closet. There has to be something in here. I reach frantically towards the back wall, grasping the wooden bat Stephen won during his team's baseball finals. I curse under my breath as I pull it from the darkness and clutch it tightly.

Tiptoeing to my door, I gently twist the handle and pull it towards me, flinching as a small squeak escapes. I wait to see if the intruder hears me. Faint footsteps in the kitchen don't sound like anything human. Who or what is in my home? A strange collection of clicking and clanking sounds fills the empty air, followed by a slithering noise. The faces of Kristy and Martello pop into my mind, jolting me back to reality. My fear turns into motivation as I grasp the wooden bat, and gingerly side-step my way down the staircase, carefully avoiding the steps that creak shout-outs. One after another, their little protests assault my ears like deafening shrieks. I cringe, halting my descent on the landing. I lean against the wall with the bat defensively held above my head, and wait for someone to ambush me. The entrance to the kitchen is empty. Placing my left foot on a stair, I gradually add my weight to it, cautiously repeating the move all the way down the rest of the flight of stairs. A faint yellow light illuminates a very small part of the foyer and I curse myself for leaving only the oven light on.

The skidding noise grows louder. My heart pounds in my chest as I stare into the dim light and wait. In an instant, an appalling creature tiptoes into view. Its ten-foot-long body is painted with diamond-shaped scales that resemble shingles. Four bowed, reptilian legs, no more than four inches high, support the creature’s underbelly which plunges to the floor, and drags like a sack of potatoes tumbling over one another. A thick tongue hangs from the corner of its mouth shielding hundreds of petite, jagged teeth. Four eyes, as black as onyx, are knotted at the top of its goblet-shaped head. Its lengthy tail converges into an assortment of spikes, similar to a medieval flanged mace. As it slides further into the room, it exposes gleaming scales of slime that make me cringe.

I can guarantee this animal wasn’t featured on the National Geographic channel. It's something else; something bred for trouble. The creature stops, lifting its serpentine neck to take a long, hard sniff. The congestion of mucus rattling in its snout is repulsive. It moves again, this time, stopping in front of the bedroom door where Martello and Kristy are sleeping. Rage boils inside of me, triggering my defenses. It paws at the door with five-inch claws, and bellows an ear-piercing shriek. I jump off the staircase, charging towards it with the bat. It hears me coming, and before I can make contact, it turns around so swiftly, I stop in amazement. It hisses at me, releasing a rancid smell from its mouth that scalds my nose. It takes all the energy I have not to gag. I take a step backward as it slowly scuffles towards me. Its mouth is shaped in such a way that it almost looks like it’s smiling. I lift the bat above my head, ready to strike it. Just as I prepare to nail the abomination, the bedroom door swings open, thereby stopping me from making contact. I glance up to see Martello and Kristy standing in the doorway, looking astounded.