Perennial (17 page)

“I’m fine,” I say, forcing myself to keep my emotions in check. “Yes, I know what Perennial is. It’s a highly addictive drug.”

“It is,” she says. “Marc was working with federal law-enforcement agents in an attempt to bust up the Perennial drug ring.”

“As a teacher?” I say. “Was he keeping tabs on students who might be Perennial dealers or users?”

“I’m afraid not,” she says. “Alix, Perennial was the
source
of Marc’s dirty money.”

There’s a long silence. I place a hand over my mouth, trying to make sense of what she’s telling me.

“Mr. Watkins was selling Perennial to students?” I ask, lowering my hand.

“No.” Mary places a hand on my shoulder as if to prepare me for something big. Then she looks at me and says, “Alix, my husband created Perennial.”

Everything starts spinning. I put my face in my hands to keep from throwing up. Mrs. Watkins wraps her arms around me and tells me to look at her, which I force myself to do. She’s removed her sunglasses again, Mary Watkins staring at me with blue eyes that match the color of the clear morning sky above us.

“His chemistry background,” I say. She nods. “But
why
?” I ask. “Why would a man who devoted his life to teaching kids create something that has devastated the lives of God knows how many young people?”

“I don’t know, Alix. I honestly don’t know. That secret died with him. The only thing I know is that Marc was afraid of somebody who had muscled his way in and taken over the Perennial operation from him. Marc was so terrified of this person that he turned himself in to federal authorities and cut a deal.” She pauses. “In exchange for immunity from prosecution, Marc gave the Feds the names of all of his dealers, as well as the name of the violent kingpin who threatened to kill him.”

“Face,” I whisper, staring at the pond. “Mary, did your husband ever mention somebody named Face?”

She thinks about it. “No,” she says, shaking her head. “Marc refused to talk about any of it with me. That’s why we fought so much toward the end. I suppose he was trying to protect the boys and me.” She squeezes my shoulder gently. “Everything I just told you came to me through the federal agents. When I came home with the boys from my parents’ house on Sunday evening, Marc was gone, and somehow I knew he wasn’t coming home. He was dead. Murdered. Deep down I knew the man he was afraid of had killed him.” She sniffles and bites her lower lip. “The poison Marc created ended up destroying him.”

She watches the colorful koi. I do the same, trying to make sense of everything and nearly forgetting about the fact that I still have no idea who Lewis Wilde really is.

“Mrs. Watkins?”

“Mary,” she says. “Please, Alix. Call me Mary. Watkins disgusts me at the moment.”

“Mary,” I say. “I appreciate your honesty and candidness, but I don’t know why you just told me all of this. I just learned more from you than my father would ever tell me. I know you know that, so why? Why do you want me to know this?”

She turns to me. “Because you’re a student at his school, Alix. You might think I want his reputation saved, but I don’t. Marc invented a horrible drug that kills people and, as you said, has devastated countless lives. The son of a bitch didn’t even look for a way out until he was afraid for his own life. He would’ve kept on going too. He wasn’t addicted to Perennial as a drug. He was addicted to the power and money that came with Perennial.” She lightly smacks the side of her head with an open palm. “And I was too passive to ever challenge him on it. How do you think that makes me feel?”

I don’t respond.

“Besides,” she says, “you’re looking for answers too, Alix. I saw it the moment you introduced yourself, when I realized you were Clint’s daughter. There’s something special about you, something different. I don’t know what it is, but I feel it.”

“Maybe,” I say, dusting off my thighs and standing. “Maybe I am different, and maybe I am looking for answers.” She joins me and stands. We look toward the pond and the red shrine gate beyond. “Mary, will you do me a favor and not mention to anybody that I was here today, especially my dad?”

“Of course. Listen, everything I told you will become public sooner or later. I might even talk to reporters about it as soon as I get the okay from the Feds.”

“What about your sons? How will you tell them?”

“I’ll tell them the truth when they’re ready for it. Lying doesn’t do any good. And all of this,” she says, indicating the house and the garden. “All of this is gone, seized by the federal government, which will sell it to the highest bidder, I suppose.” She shrugs and slides her sunglasses on. “I’m planning on changing our last name and moving somewhere out of state. I never want to see Beaconsfield again.”

“I understand. Thank you, Mary. Not just for the information, but for talking to me about my mom. I hope we can stay in touch.”

“I’d like that.” She gives me a warm hug and says into my ear, “I hope you find whatever it is you’re looking for.”

“Me too,” I say. “Me too.”

We exchange smiles as she sits down on the stone bench. I turn and head down the pea gravel path toward the backyard gate. A million thoughts race through my mind. If Face killed Mr. Watkins, then he surely murdered William as well. As for Lewis, I still don’t know what to do about him. I love him and hate him at the same time.

“Alix?” Mary says from the bench.

“Yes?” I stop and turn.

Mary looks over her shoulder and says, “Can I tell you the real reason I came to the garden this morning?”

“Sure,” I say. “If you want to.”

“I came here because this garden is a reminder of what Marc was capable of as opposed to what he actually became.”

She turns toward the koi pond.

I continue walking, listening to the falling water behind me and the sound of the pea gravel beneath my feet, but most of all realizing that I’m now on the road to possibly solving two related murders instead of a single isolated one.

What do you do when it seems as if the world is crashing down upon you?

That’s what I’m thinking as I spend the next few hours driving in a continuous loop around Beaconsfield, looking for answers I can’t find. It feels as if fantasy has become reality and reality has become fantasy. I own a magical knife that has destroyed two demonic beasts, my boyfriend doesn’t seem to have a place of residence, and the city’s most beloved teacher created a sinister drug that is now in the hands of a demon who potentially plans on using it to possess people worldwide.

And it’s up to me to stop it all by the end of tomorrow night, which means going back to Oval City and doing so alone. Impossible. That’s what I keep saying to myself. Based upon what I saw in Oval City, there’s no way I can saunter in there alone and expect to find the violent and elusive Face. Besides, Dad saw me there last night, and it took one huge lie and an Oscar-worthy performance to convince him that it wasn’t me in the truck. Thanks to Mary Watkins, I now have confirmation that Dad is working closely on the Perennial case and knows all about Mr. Watkins’s secret life, meaning Dad will more than likely be undercover in Oval City for the next several nights. So, if I’m going to destroy Face and Oval City, I’ll have the added difficulty of dodging my dad while doing so.

Good luck, Alix.

I’m famished and exhausted well before noon, so I hit the Taco Bell drive-thru and head to a nearby park, where I park the Explorer in a secluded, wooded spot next to a stream and eat the greatest fast food ever created. I nervously check the glove compartment twice to make sure Blade is safe and sound. Watching the stream flow, I try to temporarily forget about my problem with Lewis and what I now know about Mr. Watkins, so I think about William instead and smile at how helpless I felt in his presence during the three dreams, especially the last one. I know we won’t make dream contact again, but I hope he can see me right now. As much as part of me wants to summon Vagabond, hand him the silver knife, and tell him that I quit, I just can’t bring myself to abandon William. William is the reason this all began.

I imagine William Weed sitting next to me in the Explorer right now, William in his backwards baseball cap, sunglasses, and cargo shorts. I imagine kissing him and running my hands over his dragon tattoos. Then I imagine what might happen if we decided to move things further …

… And the next thing I know, I’m gasping and opening my eyes in the driver’s seat as Taco Bell wrappers fall to the floor mat below me. I must have fallen asleep after eating and thinking about William.

A panicky feeling sets in. What time is it? I dig my phone from my pocket. It’s almost 2:00 p.m. I was out for more than two hours!

I look out the windows in all directions. There’s nobody in this part of the park, just an endless expanse of green and the relaxing sounds of birds and the flowing stream. School ends in twenty minutes. I feel slightly depressed and guilty as I think about the end of my attendance streak. Part of me wonders if the attendance office contacted Dad. I check my phone again. There are no texts, voice mails, or missed calls, so I doubt he has any clue that I ditched. Hopefully it stays that way.

I take a deep breath and start the Explorer. My stomach rumbles. I figure it’s the Taco Bell digesting, but then I realize it’s a bad case of nerves from knowing that I have about thirty-four hours to destroy Face and a demonic lair that encompasses an entire city block in the most dangerous part of Detroit.

I pull into my driveway twenty minutes later to the sight of Lewis Wilde sitting on my porch. I almost throw the Explorer into reverse and take off, but all that will do is prolong the inevitable confrontation between us.

I park and kill the ignition, but I don’t get out. There’s something different about Lewis today. Less than twenty feet separates us. He’s as gorgeous as ever, his pale skin, wavy black hair, and green eyes irresistible to look at, but as we stare at each other through the Explorer’s windshield, I’m surprised with the emotionless look on his face. It’s as if he’s the world’s most beautiful zombie. I’m worried he might be high, but his eyes don’t look red or glossy from here.

He’s just staring at me, Lewis wearing a pair of perfect-fitting black jeans and a long-sleeved black crew-neck tee that sticks to his chest, shoulders, and arms like a second skin. It’s like he knows I’m angry with him, and he’s simply waiting for me to get out and start the fight.

“Fine,” I say, opening the door and hoping he can read my lips. “If this is how you want to do it, this is how we’ll do it.” I open the glove compartment and grab Blade. The knife isn’t moving, meaning I’m fairly confident Lewis isn’t a demon. Still, I sheathe the shimmering weapon in my back pocket just in case things get weird. “So many lies,” I whisper, stepping out of the Explorer and slamming the door. “So many lies.”

He stands and folds his arms across his chest, Lewis looking me dead in the eyes and not blinking as I walk up the concrete path leading to the porch and stop a few feet away from him. I feel like screaming, but that’s the old, fly-off-the-handle Alix. That’s the Alix Mom and Dad worked so hard to fix.

Well, Mom and Dad, it finally worked, because I’ve seen things called Brawlers and Heaters that can get you killed if you overreact to them, and after learning about the real Mr. Watkins this morning, I can’t imagine discovering anything else that could possibly come close to sending me over the emotional cliff.

I adjust my glasses and glare at Lewis, waiting for him to say something.

He won’t speak, so I roll my eyes and say, “Okay, you want me to start?” There’s no response, just that cold, unblinking stare. The only good news is that he doesn’t look stoned. “Here we go then,” I say. “You’re probably wondering why I wasn’t in school today. Well, I took a little field trip. First of all, you don’t have grandparents on Bloomfield Street. The address you gave me doesn’t even exist. Second, you never went to Eastland High. I know because I went there and had a secretary search your name. In fact, there’s no history of you ever attending
any
school in Eastland.”

I pause and wait for a reaction from him that doesn’t come.

“Jesus, Lewis, say something, okay?” He doesn’t, and he still hasn’t blinked. “How can you just lie to me like that? And how dare you take advantage of me like you did yesterday. I told you how I felt about you. I said it was all new for me, and that I didn’t want any games.” I jab a finger toward his chest. “I don’t know about any of the other girls you’ve been with, but I’m not somebody you can just use and lie to, you idiot.” I throw my hands in the air. “I mean, who are you anyway? And what’s your role in this whole William thing? Because I know you’re involved, Lewis.” I groan and look skyward. “Please, just say something before I punch you in the face.” Silence. I exhale deeply, look him in the eyes, and say, “Last chance. Have you told me the truth about
anything
since I met you?”

He stands there like a statue, arms still folded in front of him. I reach out and plow my hands into his powerful chest. He barely moves, just a slight backwards tilt as he continues to hold my gaze.

“Talk,” I say, giving him another shove that accomplishes nothing. “Why are you being like this? Come with me right now and show me where your grandparents live, because I know you have to live in Beaconsfield to go to school here.”

I grab his arms and pull, but he won’t move. He’s like a stubborn dog.

“Screw you, Lewis!” I ram the bottom of my fist down onto his forearm. “I hate you!” I reach up, grab his shoulders, and start shaking him as if he’s a stuffed animal. “I hate you! I hate you! I hate you!”

He continues staring at me as I jolt him back and forth. As much as I want to burst into tears from all the pain and hurt his silence is causing me, I manage to hold back.

Exhausted, I finally stop shaking him. Then I drop my head and slowly run my hands down his sleeves before finally letting go once I reach his wrists.

It’s the blue I see first, just a hint of it along his left wrist. His arms are still folded. The rest of the colorful mouth appears as I push the cuff of Lewis’s sleeve above his wrist and past his forearm. I feel my own mouth drop open at the sight of the dragon’s green eyes and purple, red, and orange head.

“What the …?” I swallow hard, my mouth going dry.

I glance at Lewis. He finally blinks. He looks more at peace and far more comfortable now. I pull his left arm toward me with both hands. Lewis doesn’t fight it and fully extends his arm. The rest of the brilliant dragon tattoo emerges as I force the sleeve up past his large, toned bicep, stopping only when I reach his shoulder and can’t move the fabric any further.

The dragon is identical to those William had on his arms. The ink looks brand new, the tattoo an intricate full-color work of art. There’s a moment where I think Lewis must have arrived here directly from the tattoo artist, but an ornate, full arm design like this must take numerous sessions to complete.

“Your shirts,” I say. “I’ve never seen you in anything but long sleeves.” I run my fingers along the length of the dragon. “It’s the same as Will …” I trail off, remembering that Lewis has no idea I’ve had contact with William’s ghost.

A slight smile crosses Lewis’s face. I feel like he’s reading my mind.

“What’s going on?” I whisper.

He glances at his opposite arm and extends it toward me. The long sleeve still covers his skin like a magician’s secret curtain.

Heart thumping, I begin pushing up the sleeve on Lewis’s right arm, feeling dizzy as I once again see a colorful open mouth followed by the incredible combinations of green, blue, orange, and purple that comprise the remainder of the arm-length Japanese dragon.

They have identical tattoos
, I say to myself.
I don’t understand why, but William and Lewis have the exact same tattoos.

That’s the thought that keeps looping through my mind as I gently lower Lewis’s bare arms to his sides. I’m feeling dizzier now, but I do notice that Lewis’s arms are even more muscular than I imagined. In fact, he’s just as muscular as …

As if sensing my growing loss of balance, Lewis extends his dragon-covered arms again, this time placing his strong hands around my waist. I can’t make sense of what’s happening. Things are spinning. I’m angry, curious, excited, and fascinated.

I manage a deep breath and feel a touch of stability returning as he holds me in place.

“Who are you, Lewis?” I say, the words barely audible through my dry mouth. “I need to know, because I don’t have much time.”

Lewis looks so peaceful, almost childlike as he takes a step back and removes his hands from my waist. He raises his arms and turns his palms so that they’re facing up. As he does so, I notice how the matching dragons seem to follow his movements and wrap around his arms.

I’m not sure what he wants me to do. We stare at each other. His palms continue facing skyward. Then he gives me a slight nod, and I realize what’s happening.

“You
know
,” I say, fighting the dizziness again. “You know what I can do, don’t you?” His lips curl into a smile. “You want me to read you?” He continues smiling. I think about Blade, still motionless in my back pocket. That’s good.

Gazing into Lewis’s wonderful eyes, I say it again, knowing this will be the final time I need to ask.

“Who are you, Lewis Wilde?”

He glances at his tattoos before looking into my eyes.

Then he says, “It’s all in the name, Alix.”

I take his hands and squeeze.

The flash of white light is so powerful this time that it jerks me forward several inches and forces me to close my eyes. I feel William stabilizing me as the clearest word cloud yet flashes through my head. This is what it says:

LEWIS WILDE = WILLIS WEED

Confusion sets in. I’ve yet to see a word cloud like this one, so I have to analyze it in my mind’s eye for a few moments. And when I finally see the obvious anagram, I feel like everything around me is falling.

Ten letters in each name. The
same
ten letters. And the same ten letters create the same two names.

Silence. Then:

Lewis Wilde
is
Willis Weed.

White light flares, taking the word cloud with it.

I gasp and open my eyes. He’s still here. I’m wobbly. I grip his hands tighter.

“William?”

“Hello, Alix. I’m sorry it had to take this long.”

“William?” I say it again, unable to believe what I’m seeing and hearing.

“It’s me.” He finally shows those perfect teeth. “But I really do prefer Willis.”

“William?”

“Yes?” he says. “Are you okay, Alix?”

“Oh God,” I say, losing all sense of balance. “Catch me, William.”

The last thing I see is a pair of brilliant dragons coming closer to my face. Then I pass out in the muscular arms of the living ghost of William “Willis” Weed, my Dream Guy in the flesh.