Temptation: A Novel (24 page)

72. Shadowplay

Suddenly, out of nowhere or somewhere, things start to play tricks with my mind. And heart. And soul, if such a thing exists.

These visions or nightmares continue.

As if Mom left and something or someone filled her absence. But not with the person I thought. It’s been five days, and Lily hasn’t brought her suitcase and started shacking up with me.

Instead, there’s something else.

And the fact that I know that and just say it like I’m talking about the dog food on the ground—
hey, look at the dog food, and hey, there’s an evil spirit in the fridge—
that proves that either I’m totally bonkers or that it’s happening.

It’s really happening.

Doors opening.

Faucets turning on.

Things hitting the windows. Or the side of our house. Things that I discover the next morning are birds struck dead by the force of the hit.

Stuff like this—it’s only the beginning.

One night I discover the doors below my mom’s sink opened. Sure enough, the plywood is off and I can feel the cool air blowing out from the open passageway. It takes me about fifteen minutes to nail it back into place.

And sure enough, the next morning the plywood is off again.

It’s stuff like this. A freaking laundry list of hauntings. And by freaking I
mean
freaking out.

But that’s kid stuff compared to the stuff I start dreaming about. Things that I see not only at night, but sometimes when I’m riding to school or sitting in class or staring into my locker.

I seriously begin to not want to close my eyes.

I remember what Marsh said to me.

“Horrific visions. Stuff from nightmares. Nightmares blending into reality. Am I right?”

Uh, yeah, you’re always right.

“It’s all part of the process. Just—try not to freak out.”

Easy for you to say.

I wonder what “process” this is.

What am I becoming?

Then something strange happens.

Something that freaks me out in another sort of way.

One night I find a bottle of rum that my mom must have not thrown away once she came back from the hospital. Or maybe it was JUST IN CASE the whole rehab thing didn’t work a hundred percent. I don’t know. I was looking for something to clean up Midnight’s puke off the carpet (I gave her too many hot dog slices again), and I found the bottle of rum.

Unopened.

Just waiting for someone like me to toast to the insanity.

So that night, after I spend the day begging and pleading for Lily to come over, I decide to get acquainted with the rum. I open a two-liter of Diet Coke and begin to play bartender. The strange thing is I don’t feel the first two drinks I make.

On my third, I begin to feel the room spinning.

But this isn’t the strange thing that happens.

Sometime later that evening, I fall asleep on my couch watching television and eating Doritos.

I don’t hear anything strange that night.

I don’t experience any nightmarish visions.

I sleep like a baby.

When I wake up, I see the bottle of rum and the clock saying I’m an hour late to school and I really can’t believe that I didn’t dream anything last night.

I look at the bottle again, thinking of Mom.

73. Finally

“Why have you been ignoring me today?”

It’s Friday and I’m tired. Somewhere in between Marsh and Lily is a thing called biology, which just makes my brain hurt. The teacher is a drill sergeant and has no idea all the stuff I’m going through. I’m supposed to do homework in an empty home that I keep inviting Lily to. In an empty cabin that’s continuing to be visited by ghosts.

Do I believe in ghosts?

Yep.

So I’m just tired and cranky and irritated that Lily is just playing games.

“No reason,” I initially tell her.

Lily curses and tells me to just be real and tell her what I’m thinking.

We’re sitting outside on a stone wall during lunch break.

“You
know
what I’m thinking,” I tell her.

I look at her and see her whole expression and body language suddenly appear …

What?

I don’t know what.

Almost—guilty. Like she knows exactly what is going on and she feels bad, but …

But why?

“I just thought—I mean one minute you’re saying something, and then next you’re not even there,” I tell her. “And I thought that once my mom left … you know?”

Yeah, Lily knows.

She’s known the first time she saw me look at her.

It’s pretty much all over my face. And all the times she’s held my hand and kissed me and flirted and texted and told me things—what am I supposed to think?

Lily’s catlike eyes study mine for a moment. And even now, I’m so weak. So silly and stupid and young. I’m like a song put on pause waiting for her to press play.

She’s about to tell me sorry and end things. I know it. I can tell because she’s suddenly so serious and almost sad-looking.

“Okay, fine,” Lily says.

“Fine, what?”

The sad, serious look only lasts for a few more seconds. Then suddenly, another look splashes over her face. Like a motion picture screen changing from black-and-white to a rainbow of seductive colors.

“You
know
what. So tonight. Okay?”

“Look, Lily—I just didn’t know why—”

She puts a finger over my lips and laughs. “I shouldn’t be doing this, Chris. I really shouldn’t.”

“Shouldn’t be doing what?”

She laughs and brushes back that hair and seems to look up at the sky as if thinking
This is crazy.

I’ve been thinking that since the very first time I found myself riding behind her on the motorcycle.

“I shouldn’t be falling for you like this.” She stands and looks down at me. “Pick me up tonight around six. I’ll let you drive my car. So we can go on a proper date.”

Suddenly I’m feeling nervous.

“Where do you want to go?”

No—make that scared.

“You choose, Chris. Tonight, you choose everything.”

No—make that terrified.

I’m staring out the window in the class after lunch. Staring and thinking. Staring and imagining.

Between classes, I’m walking through the crowds and I see her walking toward me. Tall and beautiful. Smiling my way. Stopping by me.

I’m dizzy now without the rum.

I remain that way all afternoon.

Nervous. Wondering. Waiting.

It seems I’ve been waiting a long time. Not for any reason. Just waiting.

Some part of me feels like things will be better if and when this thing happens with Lily. I know it won’t change anything about my life and what’s happened or what’s about to happen, but I swear that deep down a part of me really kinda thinks that it will.

It’s crazy how all of this has led to this afternoon.

And to tonight.

When I’ll finally get what I want.

Not just Lily. Not just choosing everything.

What do you really want, Chris?

Relief.

74. Slave to Love

Lily exits the door of the bed-and-breakfast wearing a strapless dress that’s white with an exotic black and blue pattern. The loose dress shows off her long legs and seems to move and shift with each step she takes.

She tells you she’s going to drive and you can barely catch your breath to say okay.

You’re not hungry but make it through dinner anyway.

Soon you find you’re laughing.

A lot.

Like the silly, stupid teenage boy that you are.

Some things shouldn’t be laughed at but you laugh anyway because you feel unlocked and unhinged. You feel unleashed like a tiger in the night.

You know you’re a pup but she makes you feel like a raging animal.

She laughs because she seems to be able to read your thoughts.

You’re a fool but that’s okay because you can’t help yourself.

She holds your hand and leads you through the rain.

The storms swell above and the thunder cracks and you take shelter under a small alcove and then you feel her cradle herself close to you and you forget the day or the time or your age.

All this.

Every little bit.

Where did that gloom go?

Where did that scary story drift off to?

Did the writer suddenly take happy pills?

Or did the skies open up and she came down like a beautiful flower? A flower named Lily.

Opening and freeing and beautiful and intoxicating.

A year older and a decade wiser.

That’s you and that’s how you feel.

And when the storms pass and streetlamps are on and the moments seem to inch by, she asks you what you want to do.

“I want to go home,” you tell her.

She just looks at you, serious and searching eyes. “You sure about that?”

You nod, but of course deep down you’re not sure. You’re not sure about anything anymore except this feeling deep down that never seems to go away.

“Okay, let’s go.”

You hold her hand as she drives in the darkness. And you don’t even notice the SUV in the driveway of the cabin until she mentions it.

And in one short gasp of breath, you realize that your night has changed.

That everything has changed.

That this risky business has suddenly been found out.

And that somewhere up in the cabin above you, with the lights already on inside, your father is waiting for you.

75. Long Gone

Dad is sitting on the couch when I open the door. He gives me that look that I grew to hate and have never forgotten as he turns off the television. It’s a look that can’t hide his anger, a look that says he’s trying to contain it but it’s spilling all over that face of his.

“Where’ve you been?” he asks me.

It’s almost been a year since we left, and not one single word has come from this man, and
that’s
what he asks me.

Lily is already heading home. I told her I didn’t want her dealing with this drama.

I also told her that I wanted—that I
needed—
to make up for tonight. Somehow and in some way.

She only smiled and kissed me on the cheek in response.

“Chris?”

“What are you doing here?”

He stands up and looks me over with questioning eyes.

“I’m here because your mother called and told me what had happened. She wanted to make sure you had ‘called’ me.”

“Yeah. I know. I lied.”

“Why?”

I rub the back of my neck and don’t look at him. A year and nothing. No “How are you?” or any of that. Just riding me like he always did.

He looks the same. Dark hair parted on the side, a square and rugged face with lines on the forehead. I can see stubble from not shaving, something that rarely happens.

Something about him looks different, however. Yet I refuse to look at him long enough to figure out what.

“I think it’s obvious.”

“Chris—your mother has been in trouble—for some time now. Why didn’t you call me?”

“I could say the same thing.”

“I’ve been talking to your mother on a regular basis. As much as she would let me. Sometimes every week. I’ve always—always asked how you were doing. Always wanted to talk to you.”

I look at him and know he’s not lying. Christians don’t lie, do they? At least they’re not supposed to.

“Did your mother tell you that?”

“No.”

He sighs as I pass him and go to the refrigerator.

“Chris, we need to talk.”

“We’re talking.”

“So, what—were you not going to tell me what was happening with Mom? With her drinking?”

“Nope.”

I pour myself some orange juice.

“She almost killed herself.”

“Yep.”

“You should’ve called.”

I want to tell him about the lack of having a phone, or a connection, or a life. But I don’t.

I keep my mouth shut.

“You had to go to summer school?”

I nod.

For a while, my father looks at me. The eyes that aren’t that wide to begin with seem to sharpen like a knife.

“You’re grounded.”

“What? You can’t do that.”

“I’m your father, and I can make any decision I want when it comes to you.”

“Not anymore.”

He tightens his jaw and lips, and I see it, the anger and the frustration on his face. Just like always.

You haven’t changed a bit have you.

“You should have called me.”

I stand there not far away from him in this suddenly very crowded and very stuffy cabin. There are a thousand things I want to tell him he should have done. But I’ve learned that silence is sometimes the worst thing for someone.

“A part of me says I should just take you back home to Illinois.”

A couple months ago I would have said “Please!” But not anymore. Not since meeting Lily.

“Chris, listen,” he finally says. “You can’t just shut me out like this.”

“We left almost a year ago.”

“And your mother has been making sure I had very little contact with you.”

“You’re an adult. You could have figured out how to get hold of me.”

This seems to be a total slap in the face. He just stands there, the anger suddenly disappearing. He seems speechless. Which is a wonderful thing.

“Your mother said that Uncle Robert hasn’t been around either.”

I laugh. “Uh, yeah.”

“She’s been lying to me this whole time.”

“About what?”

“About him being here.”

“Are you serious?”

“All this time, I thought he was here.”

“So that made you feel better, knowing there was a man in the house with Mom?”

“Listen, don’t you—”

Then Dad stops and holds the rest of his thought.

“I’m going upstairs.”

“I didn’t want this, Chris. Any of this.”

“Yeah, well, it looks like it still happened.”

“Your mother is stubborn.”

I look at the man across from me, the one who used to be a lawyer and supposedly a very good one. Someone who did his job and made a great living making sure that he proved his point. And he
always
seemed to prove his point.

“Yeah, I know,” Dad continues. “I’m stubborn too. And that was the thing—one of the things that was so hard. But I didn’t want to lose your mother. Or you. I mean it, Chris.”

I just nod, trying to show no emotion.

He looks at me, and I raise my eyebrows as if to ask
Are we done here?
Then he nods and I head upstairs.

He might have not wanted to lose Mom and me. But he did.

And we’re both gone.

Long gone.