Living Violet (9 page)

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Authors: Jaime Reed

Tags: #Young Adult, #Fantasy, #Romance

BOOK: Living Violet
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“What the hell are you doing here?”
She folded her arms, pushing her breasts even farther up out of her top. “What's it to you?”
“This is a senior party. You're not supposed to be here. And you sure as hell shouldn't be drinking.”
Her raccoon eyes narrowed. “Neither should you.”
“Do you see a drink in my hand?” I looked around.
“They've got soda in the cooler over there. How did you get in?”
“Not that it's any of your business, but Garrett invited me.”
The answer was like a punch in the gut. Every PSA episode of
Degrassi
flashed before my eyes.
“Garrett?”
“Yes, Garrett. So, if you'll excuse me.” She turned her back and began mingling.
I pulled her arm. “Come on. I'm taking you home. Your dad would have a fit.”
“Let go of me!” Yanking her arm away, she tumbled back, almost snapping her three-inch heels. “You can't tell me what to do. You're the one who seemed to have outgrown your old friends, and you just hate that I'm gonna be popular now. All your little cool friends wanna talk to me. You're jealous, aren't you?”
“Oh, you're gonna be popular all right, but for all the wrong reasons. Now come on.” I reached for her, but she jumped away.
“No. You owe me for covering your shift. Just let me have fun for once.”
And with that, I let her go. I'd known she would call in that favor eventually. True, this party was an efficient way to climb the social ladder, but she was easy prey among a pack of wolves—a pack of oversexed, intoxicated wolves.
Caleb joined my side. “What's Alicia doing here?”
I rubbed my shoulder, working out the sudden cramp. “Making a name for herself.”
The muscles in his jaw flexed as he watched her hug every man within reach. “We should take her home.”
I shook my head. “It's cool. I'll just keep an eye on her.”
When we got back inside, I saw Mia yelling at Dougie in the corner. From what little I could understand, some drunk girl was hanging all over Dougie and, of course, Mia walked in at the wrong moment. There was a push, a shove, and then the most violent tongue wrestle I ever had the displeasure of witnessing.
“Are they always like that?” Caleb asked.
“Yep.”
“They should get their own sitcom.” He shook his head and handed me a soda.
For the rest of the party, I played chastity maid for Alicia and referee for Mia and Dougie. Between shifts, I gave Caleb what he wanted: time alone with me and the freedom to get lost in the moment. For just a few hours, the world comprised of two beings dancing to the rhythmic pulse around us as well as the beat within.
One o'clock was my cue to leave before Mom took it upon herself to hunt me down. The party was dying and Mia and Dougie were already gone. Caleb waited by the car while I went to grab Alicia. I didn't care if she was having the time of her life. It was days past her curfew, and her dad was going to hit the ceiling.
I searched upstairs, then around the pool area. I asked stragglers if they'd seen her, but all I got were shrugs and incoherent nos. I was about to give up when I saw something large and blond swaying near the trees. I raced down the deck and to the wooded area behind the house.
The closer I moved, the louder the sound—a soft moaning. It wasn't a content moan, but one of protest, like a child fighting in his sleep. Whimpering soon followed, and I was on high alert. In moments, I spotted Alicia pinned to the ground underneath Garrett. He was twice her size, so she couldn't have fought him off even if she was sober.
When I saw his big hands pull at her underwear, I lost it. I couldn't explain what happened inside me, but “Oh, hell no!” was the recurring theme. In seconds, I was on the scene, and Garrett got a size-eight shoe to the face.
Dad taught me one key principle about fighting: When you get someone down, make sure they stay down. I kicked, punched, screamed, and cursed. Samara Marshall was possessed and highly pissed. All of my mother's warnings and teachings rose to the surface, all the righteous man-hate exploded in a mushroom cloud of rage.
When he was no longer moving, I climbed off and crawled to Alicia. She curled on the ground, hugging herself. Dirt and leaves tangled in her twisty braids, but I saw no visible injuries.
“Alicia.” I kneeled over her, and she shied away. “Did he hurt you? Are you okay?”
“Daddy,” she whimpered and curled into a ball instinctively. The strangled sound made me want to commit murder. I reached down to help her up when something large knocked me to the ground.
I looked up and saw Garrett looming over me, looking unpleased with the rearrangement I had made to his face. He clutched at his chest and pulled at his ripped undershirt.
After spitting a mouthful of blood, he wheezed, “You should have stayed out of this, bitch.”
His advance was intersected by something dark and fast from the left. It came at him in a blur and with such unnatural momentum, it sent Garrett's body flying behind a row of bushes.
I blinked a few times, unable to truly process the sight. When I finally stood up, low gurgling echoed through the trees, followed by a dry wheezing sound. I inched toward the shrubs and saw Caleb leaning over Garrett, giving him mouth-to-mouth. Caleb was so quick—I never saw him roll up—but I was glad he was here to help. The force of that push must have knocked Garrett out because he had stopped moving.
I shifted my feet, debating over which to do first: collect Alicia, go for help, or call the police.
Where was my bag anyway? I dropped it around here somewhere. And what was Caleb doing?
Between all the medical shows and emergency drills at school, I never saw CPR like this. Caleb's lips locked on Garrett's, not once pausing to pump his chest. I expected Caleb's cheeks to puff out as he pushed air into Garrett's mouth, but it was just the opposite.
I thought I walked into the middle of a
Brokeback
moment, until I saw Garrett was no longer moving. Still, unblinking eyes stared up at the sky, immersed, yet focused on nothing. His skin, a filmy, translucent sheet, looked more like gelatin than flesh.
“Omigod!” I gasped. “Caleb, something's wrong. We need to call—” was all I could say before Caleb lifted his head in my direction. Every last bit of sanity left my body in one scream.
10
T
hat Sunday, I took my ass to church.
I was virtually a stranger around these parts, and it came as a relief to step inside the building and not burst into flames. I sat in the first row, probably taking someone's seat, and shaking like a junkie. But I needed some spiritual counsel among godly folk. Rhonda had said that they were good for those troubled times. Well, times couldn't get any worse than this. The sermon drifted in and out of my mental range, for I hadn't truly seen or heard anything since last night.
 
I had seen Garrett's lifeless body and that string of white vapor being pulled from his mouth; the raised veins collecting around his cheeks and hands; his skin sinking in as though it was drying out from the sun. His body twitched in a final effort to stay alive, his face locked behind the grotesque mask of horror once the inevitable took root.
I bore witness to the greedy swipe of Caleb's tongue as the last of the strange mist passed his lips. I could almost feel the violent spasms contorting his body. I heard his growl fill the night, a battle cry inspired by the ecstasy and rage haunting his eyes.
Those glowing, purple eyes.
Caleb crawled along the grass, trembling with tears streaking his cheeks. “Get Alicia home. Now!” he ordered between breaths and tossed me his keys.
He didn't have to tell me twice. I found my bag, got Alicia to her feet, and dragged her back to Robbie's house.
It took all my combined faculties to get Alicia home in the vehicle of a man who had just sucked the life out of a potential rapist, but it was accomplished. Driving straight proved a true test of strength. Alicia was pretty out of it, so she hadn't seen how Garrett died—one less thing I would have to explain.
I wanted to blame Alicia for being the typical horror-flick damsel. I would always yell at the screen at stupid girls who went off in the woods in high heels, but it's a whole other story when it's someone you know, and when you know her parents.
When I reached Alicia's house, I parked up the block. Knowing her dad was an ex-marine, I wasn't about to get accidentally shot. Alicia teetered in and out of consciousness, her head rolling along the seat. Her dark cheeks glistened with tears and sweat.
I took a tissue and wiped some of that glam-rock makeup off her face, and sat her up straight. “Come on, wake up. You're home.”
Moaning, she looked around, then jumped. Clinging to me, she began crying. I wasn't sure what scared her more, what could've happened, or what
would
happen when she entered her house. Stroking her hair, I whispered words of encouragement, then opened the door for her. She didn't thank me, but her eyes spoke for her.
I waited for Alicia to reach the stoop before I started the engine. Once the porch light clicked on and the door swung open, I took off, leaving skid marks in my wake.
My brain went on automatic shutdown, taking one task at a time; trying not to think, or else I would bug the hell out. That could wait until I got home. I parked Caleb's car back at Buncha Books, tucked the keys under the visor, and bounced.
When I got to the house, everything was as it should be—no sign of predators with glowing eyes, though that did nothing for my accelerated heart rate. Thank goodness Mom was already asleep. I couldn't talk tonight. What could I tell her anyway?
My mind tried to provide a logical explanation, but logic didn't drive through my neighborhood anymore. I wasn't half asleep, I wasn't seeing things, and I wasn't high on anything but caffeine and fear. Just as sure as I knew the night's events were real, I knew I would have to confront it. The question was who would make the first move, me or him.
 
Once church ended, I received a barrage of sympathy hugs and pats. The congregation saw my haggard state and assumed the worst. The deacon offered me a few dollars until I got back on my feet. Once his back was turned, I snuck some vials of anointing oil and went home. I circled my house, my car, even made the sign of the cross over my door with the oil.
When I called in sick to work, it didn't surprise me when Linda revealed that Caleb had done the same. With that accomplished, I called Alicia to see if she was all right. Mr. Holloway kindly informed me that Alicia was on restriction and could not receive phone calls. I was just glad that she was safe, so I didn't argue the point.
I shut off my cell and took another shower. Pain and guilt washed over me with the spray. I grieved for Garrett and for his parents when they heard the news.
I'd known Garrett since seventh grade, back when he was still a beanpole who hadn't grown into his body, the shy kid who helped me burn my Barbies in the backyard. He didn't get into his asshole years until he joined the junior varsity team. His behavior was inexcusable last night, but that didn't stop the tears from stinging my eyes. He was a shining star in our school with a bright future, and now he was gone.
I began thinking about
my
future. What would the police think of all the bruises on Garrett's face? Would they come after me? Would I be sharing a prison cell with a large hairy woman named Jerome? The disappointed look I imagined on my dad's face made the tears flow in a torrential downpour.
By six o'clock, I curled into a fetal position on the couch. To Caleb's credit, he forced me to partake in an activity I never thought possible: watching the news with Mom. My eyes stayed glued to the screen, waiting for any word about a murder.
“Honey, are you all right? You've been acting strange all day.”
“Fine, Mom,” I mumbled from under the blanket.
When she stroked the top of my head, I flinched. “Baby, what's going on? Are you sick?”
“I'm good. I'm just tired.”
“Well, go upstairs and lie down,” she ordered as the doorbell rang.
From under the covers, I expected Mom to go through her customary greeting to
anyone
who came to our door. “Who are you? What do you want? Are you a registered sex offender?” And so on.
Instead, soft voices and giggling accompanied her line of questioning.
I pulled my head from its hiding spot as footsteps approached. I had no idea how I made it to the other side of the living room, but there I was, with an iron poker in my hand.
“Samara, that is no way to treat company. This young man was kind enough to return your wallet. You're scaring him.” Mom reached over and stroked Caleb's head.
I held the poker like the Excalibur sword. “Mom, go to the kitchen and call the police.”
“Samara, what is wrong with you?”
“I mean it, Mom. Back away slowly.”
Mom rolled her eyes and turned to Caleb. “I'm going to the kitchen to make some green tea. Would you like some, honey?”
“I'd love some, thanks.” Caleb's eyes slid in my direction, heated with intensity. “Is it all right if I speak to Sam alone?”
“Of course you can. You're more than welcome to stay.” Mom continued playing with his hair, dragging her fingers along his nape and twirling the ends.
“Mom, could you stop petting him and call the police?”
“What for, baby? Caleb hasn't done anything. Now you two just have a seat, and I'll be right back with your tea.” With visible reluctance, she wandered into the kitchen.
Caleb simply stared, his expression blank. For every step he took, I took one back.
Before he could open his mouth, I said, “Don't even give me the ‘we need to talk' spiel. Just give me my wallet and get out.”
“I can't do that.”
“Why not? You had no problem walking in here.” So much for the anointed oil. Next time, I'll try holy water.
“We need to resolve this,” he said.
“I swear, if you hurt my mom, I'll—”
“I'm not here for your mother.”
That chilled me even more. His tone, his intent stance—it all screamed “predator.”
After a hard swallow, I asked, “Would I be asking too much for us to just forget about last night, and go our separate ways?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“You know why. And we
are
going to talk about it, so you might as well get comfortable.” He took a seat on the couch and placed my wallet on the table. “I'm not here to hurt you. That was never my intention. If that were the case, I would've done it the first day you started working at the bookstore.”
That fact didn't ease my anxiety in the slightest. I stood my ground.
“I know you have questions. What do you wanna know about me?” he asked.
“Only what I need to do to get you to leave.”
“You have to listen to me. That's all.” He patted the cushion next to him.
I scooted to the armchair in the corner. “I'm good here.”
“Fine. I'm sorry you had to find out this way. I wanted to find the right time to tell you, but—”
“Here you go, sweetie.” Mom floated in, all buoyant and domesticated. The only things missing were the vacuum cleaner and pearls.
Caleb set the cup on the coffee table and smiled. “Thank you. Could you leave the sugar bowl?”
Watching the exchange, my mouth gaped open. When Mom left, I asked, “What did you do to my mom?”
“The same thing I do to all women. Nothing.”
“Oh, you did something. That woman is queen of the feminists. How you managed to get through the front door without an X-ray is a miracle.”
“You've seen how women act around me. Are you really surprised that your mother would have the same reaction?”
“Why? What makes women do that?”
“It's what I am; what's in me.”
“What's in you?”
He didn't answer right away. He just piled five spoonfuls of sugar in his tea. After blowing the steam from the cup, he snuck a glance at the entryway. Satisfied with our privacy, he asked, “What do you know about spirits?”
“That I'm too young to drink any,” I threw back.
“I mean sentient beings, or souls.”
“I'm sorry; I've already had my dose of church today.”
“I doubt they'll tell you what I have to say in church. But spirits are all around us, and I'm not talking about ghosts.” He set down his cup and balanced his shoulders. “Let me explain.”
“Please do.”
His elbows rested on his knees, his hands clasped together. “I suffer from a type of possession.”
“Like
The Exorcist
?”
“Not that bad. Let's just say that there's more than one conscious life inhabiting my body.”
“Ah, you have a roommate,” I chided. “What's his name?”
“He doesn't have one.” Caleb leveled me with a stare that swept all humor from the room. “Sam, I need you to listen to me. This isn't a joke. There are different types of spirits around us. Some are good, some are bad, and some are downright evil.”
I crossed my arms with the poker held tight in my hand. “What category does yours fall under?”
“The bad,” he replied in a noncommittal tone. “The spirit in my body is just a piece of a much larger entity, a creature older than time. Even after centuries of human experiences, my being still carries a few of the traits from its origin. A creature that's still among us today, one that is known throughout folklore as an incubus.”
“Which-bus?”
“Inc-u-bus,” he pronounced slowly.
My eyebrows rose. “Like the band?”
“Like the demon that seduces women and sucks the life out of them.”
I was speechless, motionless, and officially struck stupid. Meanwhile, Caleb just sat there like we were swapping chemistry notes instead of tales from the underworld.
He extended his hand in appeal. “I know this sounds farfetched, but—”
“You think?” I snapped. He might be all blasé about ghouls hijacking his body, but it would take a minute for me to drink this in.
“If you have a better explanation for last night, I'd love to hear it.” Eyes locked to mine, he reclined on the sofa and waited.
As if to reinforce the creepy atmosphere, his eyes ignited in a purplish glow. They possessed their own power source, which detained and refreshed with each blink, a feature that no optometrist or contact lens could achieve. Watching the light fade, or simply return to its violet origin would easily take hours out of one's day. No trick of the eyes, no second-guessing, no room for error or denial, but a formal introduction to an unknown presence. Then just like that, it disappeared, and Caleb sought his tea.

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