Michael (24 page)

Red.

Blood red.

I stood in a river of red. The color made me sick. The…water… ? …lapped at my waist, slapping at my belly as if it was trying to beat its way through me. If I had been a pillar of stone, and given enough time, pressure, flow, the sick redness would be content to erode me away into nothing. It had a consciousness of its own.

Why was it always red? Why always this dreaming about blood? I was so angry. I wanted to pull myself up out of the dream by the scruff of my neck, a
deus ex machina,
but I was powerless here. The redness was cold.
Thank God.
I didn’t know what I would have done if it was warm. I gagged in my sleep.
Yeah, me and nausea go way back.

I looked up, getting my bearings. A black sun, papier mache, was pasted onto the sky above me like a theatre prop. Everything became chilly. No vegetation to speak of lined the shores of this diabolical river. There was only black rock and the putrid stench of death.

This is getting old, darn it. I’m sick of having the same stupid dream and variations.
Freud would have had ample material with which to work the alchemy of his psychoanalysis on me,
all up in my Kool-Aid and not even knowin’ the flavah.

I looked for my old “friend,” the inevitable cloaked figure, star of all my fantasies, but I did not see him. I then felt inwardly for
She,
wondering if it was her sparking these dreams…or if it was something else.

“Listen and learn. Everything has a useful purpose, Airel.”

I widened my eyes and shook my head, singing out, “Cra-zy,” like an insane person had just said something to me that was completely absurd and I was going to walk away. It echoed back to me like I was inside an empty cistern.

I tried to walk to the riverbank but my feet wouldn’t move.
Great! A river of blood with a quicksand bottom, and I’m sinking into it little by little.
“All right, Sigmund,” I said aloud, really addressing
She,
“Have at it. Tell me what it all means.” But there was nothing.

Does anyone know how to give me a straight answer?
First it was Kreios and his cryptic non-answers, and now it was
She
taking up the mantle of obscurity.

“I guess I’ll just stay here, then. In the river of blood. Sinking.”

I looked more closely roundabout me, looking for whatever it was I was missing—and I knew I was missing
something,
for crying out loud. I was supremely irritated.

That’s when I saw it.

The black Hell’s-own-kindergarten theatre-prop sun was moving.

It was coming closer.

It soon spread from horizon to horizon, further blackening the dark sky. It rolled back gathering from bottom to top like a curtain.

I screamed in fright.

Revealed there was an enormous sickly eye, and it stared right through me.

Michael shook his head, popping out of a dazed trance.

He was angry.

He wanted to hurl the Bloodstone into the depths of the Columbia River. It was, after all, only a short walk away. He walked to the window, his body containing a bundle of nervous energy. He parted the curtain on a sunset that had turned the river’s waters into a red-orange torrent of blood. He shuddered, though he knew not why.

Then, like a lightning bolt out of a pitch black sky a simple thought came to him:
Airel.
Love. He breathed in deeply but it was ragged and spastic, as if he’d just been weeping his heart out. He exhaled and a tear escaped and ran down his cheek. He wiped it away with his hand and realized: he knew what he had to do. And why.

CHAPTER XVI

I OPENED MY EYES and stared at the ceiling. For the briefest of moments I could remember everything. Then it was gone, “like a fart in the wind,” as Kim would say.
What did I miss?
I felt dirty, like someone or something was watching me. I knew we were being followed, I could
feel
it. Was it the Brotherhood? Was it right now? I didn’t know.

Kim had snuggled up with most of the blankets in her sleep, leaving me chilly and naked on the bed. Becoming more aware of my surroundings, I panicked:
Is Michael in the room?
I covered myself as best I could and looked around. I spied Ellie in the bed opposite. She was sleeping.
Do angels sleep?
I guessed I had seen Kreios sleeping. I crossed my arms over my chest and sat up slowly.

I looked closer at Ellie. She was out cold. I figured maybe we would miss dinner. At least some of us would, anyway, and I was capable of getting some takeout for the rest of our little group so they could have something to eat whenever they woke up. As for me, I was hungry. Freaking starving.

But I was naked.
Yikes.
I looked around again. Ellie had been on a mission to get some gas station clothes, last I knew. Sure enough, there on the desk chair sat several shopping bags, and it looked promising: they were a big step up from convenience store quality. They were mall quality.

Go Ellie!

I grabbed the bags and made a dash for the bathroom. I never was the kind of girl who could walk brazenly across a women’s locker room, whether anyone was aware of me or not. I didn’t know how some women could do that. I was too shy for prancing in my birthday suit; it always made me uncomfortable. But what else could I have done? I wasn’t going to get dressed right back into my filthy clothes after I had showered.
Gross.

I shut the bathroom door behind me and flipped the light on, rummaging through the haul of stuff Ellie had brought back. I was stunned. It was like I had been out shopping myself. There were a couple of pairs of designer jeans, some really cute little tops, even some accessories like a little packet of hair ties. And—thank God—some high quality unmentionables.
Where did she find this stuff?
Did Arlington, Oregon have a Victoria’s Secret? It was crazy, and everything fit perfectly. The other bag had some shoe boxes inside.
No way.
Again, I was stunned. I pulled out a pair of sturdy lightweight hikers with an aggressive tread on the sole. They fit my feet like they had been custom made.
Insane.
I ran my fingers through my hair and tied it back loosely with one of the hair ties.
Lookin’ good.
I didn’t know what to think.

I checked my reflection one last time and then turned off the lights.

I quietly left the room and went down to the lobby.

Michael was sitting in a chair by the coffee maker, reading a newspaper. He looked clean and fresh, wearing jeans and a button-up shirt. He saw me and smiled, folding the paper and setting it down. “Hey. You get a good nap?”

I nodded and hugged him, laying my head against him. I could hear his heart thumping in his chest. “You smell good,” I said, relishing the familiar. “So…you’re catching up on sports, or…?” I motioned to the paper.

His eyes sparkled. “Comics,” he said.

I rolled my eyes. “Nerd.”

He kissed my cheek, setting me afire. “Where’s everyone else?”

I pushed him away gently. “‘Everyone else’ is still sleeping. I figured why wake them.”

“Cool.”

I could tell he was going to ask me something important, something potentially awkward.

“So,” he said, “You want to try that date again?”

My heart skipped a beat when I realized what he had said, and my mind flitted back over all the—well, the Audrey Hepburn moments we had had. The awkwardness I had felt. It was like he was asking me out for the first time. Um, again.

“On one condition, mister. This time, no thuggish fights in the parking lot.”

He laughed, a musical sound. “No worries. So, what’ll it be? Pizza? Or pizza. That’s, like, all they have here.”

“Hmm,” I rested my chin on my finger, thinking. “Let’s see here. I’m gonna go for pizza.”

He nodded as if I had said something very wise. “Good call.”

“I could eat a whole one all by myself,” I said. I loved that I could be a pig and not worry about…about being a pig. I could be me with Michael, and I loved that.

CHAPTER XVII

WE FOUND A TABLE near the back of the small hometown pizza joint and sat down. The place was moderately full; farmers, road crew guys, fishermen, and just-passin’-thru types filled various booths and tables. An ancient Rock-Ola jukebox hurled the occasional hatefully catchy 80’s power ballad at all of us whenever someone dropped in some quarters, which was too often for my taste. The waitresses hustled from table to table with frilly little salmon-colored aprons around their waists. It didn’t take much imagination to see them taking orders with pad and pen, lit cigarettes dangling from their lips, held fast by their filters in the bond of thick blood-red lipstick, thus completing the cliché. I mean, why not, after all?

One of them, a rough bulldog of a woman with pock-marked jowls and strands of gray hair rebelling against the bun that held most of it at bay, came and curtly took our order. She then swooshed away in a storm of polyester and Aqua Net hairspray.

“So,” Michael began, “what do you think about Ellie?”

It was abrupt; it made me suddenly cautious. I brought my guard up by taking a sip of Coke, hiding behind the glass and speaking into it, “What do you mean?” My voice tumbled out amplified, it embarrassed me.

“Well, I mean…you two seem to have your differences, ya know? I couldn’t help but sense the drama.”

I huffed. It was mostly a laugh. “Yeah. Well, I honestly don’t know what her problem is. Can we talk about something else?”

He looked frustrated. “Yeah, I guess.”

I thought about how she had insisted on dividing us up along boy-girl lines at the hotel. “Look. I think she’s who says she is, okay? I mean, like her or not, she’s the real deal…”

Michael’s expression was a clear question mark, and it hung over both of us. “But what was going on back there on the train?”

I thought about it, wanting to give him my best answer. “It was crazy. I don’t even know. It’s like all this…this evil…just came out of nowhere.” I wiped beads of condensation from my glass down onto the table, spinning it counterclockwise as I did so. “I guess after the devil was done down in Georgia he decided to take a little train ride in Oregon, huh-huh,” I laughed crazily at my own pathetic joke and made a face.

He didn’t laugh or even crack a smile. “Yeah,” he said, and that’s all he said.

“What.” I knew there was more.

“I don’t know.”

“Yeah, you do.”

He acknowledged the truth with a little shrug. “Okay.”

“Yeah?”

“Just okay.”

“You’re holding out on me.”

This time he sighed heavily. “Sparkling conversation. First date.”

“Second,” I corrected him into my glass, taking another sip.

“Second,” he acknowledged, drumming his fingers on the table.

“And don’t try to change the subject. Go on, spill it,” I said. I tried to sound encouraging, optimistic. It came out too harsh.

He sighed again. “I just don’t know...” He looked like a little boy sitting there, like a little boy whose dog had just been run over and he didn’t know what to do with himself.

I reached out and touched his arm. “What is it?”

We were interrupted by the waitress. She placed a hot pizza down on the table with a couple of plates, called us both “hon,” and walked off after confirming we needed nothing else. We dug in greedily, forgetting the line of conversation for a moment. But it came back. I wouldn’t let it die.

“Do you think we can trust her?” I asked.

“Ellie? Ha,” Michael said, “Yeah, we can trust
her.”

“What’s
that
supposed to mean?” I gnashed another bite of gorgeous tasting pizza in my mouth.

“It’s Kim you should be worried about.”

“Mff?” I asked through my food. It helped me mask my shock.

“Kim. Dude. She’s the reason…”

I swallowed. “What. Tell me.”

He simply shook his head. “Can’t we just enjoy ourselves for one evening, just the two of us? Why do we have to talk about this?”

“Because it’s important?” I was a little incredulous.

“More important than taking a much-needed time out? Come on, we’ve been running from—” He lowered his voice and came closer. “We’ve been running for almost a week now. Running, like common criminals. From…from all kinds of…of things. And people. Can’t we just have one night? A few hours?”

This time I sighed. I was exasperated but I took another enormous bite of my slice and began chewing it. All I could do was roll my eyes a little in expression of my frustration. “You’re worse than my Dad,” I finally said.

“Compliment accepted.”

“Oh, FRACK,” I said, which proved I was a
Battlestar Galactica
nerd.

He laughed at me and then took another bite. “I’m hungry,” he said.

It was one of those things people said as they were eating; it made no sense really.

I knew he was done talking about The Issue At Hand, and in that sense what had happened just now was the spitting image of any number of conversations I’d had with my Dad. When it was over, it was over. He could be so stubborn!