Experiment in Terror 05 On Demon Wings (5 page)

I paused in mid-stride, then took one more step until I

was up against the door. I reached for the handle in slow

motion, hesitating before placing my hand on it, afraid of

what I might find on the other side. I was always afraid of

what I might find on the other side. I knew better now than to

chalk up anything strange as pure paranoia.

If I thought there was a monster in my closet, there

probably
was
a monster in my closet.

My eyes flitted to the shadow on the floor. As if to prove

my point, the shadow slowly eased back under the

doorframe until it was gone.

It was time to find out what was going on.

I grabbed the handle and flung the door open…

Ada was at the very end of the hal way near my parents’

bedroom, the red hot water bottle jostling in her hands.

“I found it!” she yel ed at me. “I got the tap water running

until it was pretty hot. What’s wrong?”

I shook my head. “Were you just in my room?”

“No, I’ve been looking for this in mom’s closet. Why?”

She came toward me and placed the bottle in my hand. It

was hot and soothing and just holding it, and having Ada

and her slender company, made my heart beat slower to a

comfortable level.

“I thought I heard someone knocking on my door.”

She scrunched up her forehead, the day’s waning

makeup crusting a little at the corners.

“I know I heard the doorbel ring three times.” She turned

to the stairs and shouted down them, “Mom! Who was at

the door?”

“I don’t know, sweetie,” came the response from the

kitchen. She sounded a little put out. “Kids playing nicky

nicky nine doors, maybe.”

I exchanged a look with Ada.
At eleven o’ clock at night?

In this neighborhood?
both our eyes seemed to be saying.

My mom appeared and came up the stairs with a tray

containing a hot bowl of chicken noodle soup (no chicken

chunks), a glass of orange juice and a bottle of Nyquil.

I eyed the NyQuil. “You trying to drug me, mom?”

“It’s to help you sleep. Get back in bed, Perry,” she said,

and shooed me into my room. I did as she said and placed

the hot water bottle on my pelvis. The cramps had already

died down a bit thanks to the pain meds. I swal owed the

sticky plastic cup ful of NyQuil, hoping the stuff would make

me pass out. My mind was racing and it needed to be put

to rest. I was hearing things and seeing things, most likely

brought on by my delirious pain of earlier.
Most likely
.

When my mom left, Ada sat on the bed beside me, her

long legs folded up until her chin rested on her knees. I felt

safer having her there. Maybe she knew that.

“Today total y sucked, right?" wi she said.

“Right,” I said, sinking deeper into the mattress. It was a

fucking weird day. First Rebecca appears randomly,

stirring al these feelings I wanted to keep at bay. Then the

incident in the club, the vomiting, the cramps, fol owed by

thinking someone was in my room and nicky nicky nine

doors.

“Your friend Ash was nice to drive you home.”

“He’s a nice guy.”

“Do you, like,
like him
like him?”

I smiled. “
Like him
, like him? No. He’s too young for me.”

I sensed Ada tensing up. I turned my head to look at her.

Her eyes were bright and shiny. Oh dear.

“Is he young enough for me?”

“Hel no. He’s twenty. And you’re stil fifteen.”

“Only for a few more months,” she protested.

“And you have a boyfriend,” I pointed out. She had been

going out with this Layton fel ow for the past few months. I’d

met him. I wasn’t impressed. Especial y when he cal ed me

“Ghoul Girl” and threw up the gangster symbol.

“I don’t know,” she said wistful y. “Sometimes I think I

don’t like Layton anymore. He just doesn’t get me, you

know. I want a guy who gets me.”

“Oh, I know,” I told her, feeling drowsier by the second.

“He thinks my fashion stuff is stupid. He thinks I should

be a cheerleader, but I think cheerleaders are stupid. Cuz

they are. And he won’t take no for an answer.”

I eyed her careful y, speaking through a thick, dry mouth.

“What do you mean he won’t take no? Is he pressuring you

to have sex?”

Her cheeks flamed and I knew the answer was yes. Ever

since I had found condoms in Ada’s drawer, I thought she

was already having sex. The fact that she wasn’t brought a

wave of relief to my tired soul.

“Ada, the guy is not for you. Not only should he respect

your wishes, but he sounds like a douchebag. And believe

me, I know douchebags. You need someone who likes you

no matter what. Your fashion, your ideas, your blog, your

scary mood swings, your secret love of Japanese pop

music and your aversion to physical activity. Everything.”

She looked at me with shy eyes. “I just want to be liked

for me.”

Her honesty pinched my heart. “I know. Everyone does.”

“Have you ever had that? Had someone who liked you

for everything that you are? You know, without shady

motives?”

I gave her a sad, drug-induced smile. “No. I haven’t.”

Her face fel . It matched the sinking feeling in my heart.

“But it doesn’t mean I won’t,” I added with some

sincerity.

“Even when they find out about your…um, powers?”

It was startling to hear her address my ghost-hunting

business as powers, especial y in such a serious tone of

voice, but I guess she wasn’t al that wrong.

“Wel . Now I’m thinking twice,” I joked, almost slurring.

Ada opened her mouth to say something and then slowly

shut it. She pursed her lips and let out a deep breath

through her nose. There was something else on her mind.

“What is it?” I asked lazily. Sleep was just seconds

away.

“What if…what if I’m just like you?”

What the hell is that supposed to mean
, I thought and

fought to say it out loud to her. But my mouth was too weak

to form words. My eyes closed and the formidable pul of

slumber won.

Despite the bouts of pain that stil stabbed me from time to

time, I managed to show up to work the next afternoon,

much to the surprise of Ash and Shay.

“Honey, if you want to go home, go home,” Shay said to

me as I put on my apron. “Ash said you were almost dead.”

I rol ed my eyes and looked at Ash. “It wasn’t that bad.”

“Perry, you nearly chewed through my seatbelt,” he said,

widening his eyes believingly at Shay.

“Your seatbelt is from 1982,” I told him. “It’s old.”

“Hey, I’m from 1982,” Shay cried out. Shay wasn’t old by

any means. With her bubbly personality, youthful Pakistani

complexion and round face, Shay looked younger than I

did. She was also the nicest boss ever, providing you didn’t

get on her bad side.

“1982? Nah, you mean 1992,” I said, covering up

smoothly.

Shay shook her head and let out a laugh. “OK, Scary

Perry, if you say you’re fine, then I believe you. You certainly

act fine.”

The fact was I was faking it. The medication made me

tired and even though it dul ed the pain, it was stil there. It’s

a strange sensation to feel the throbbing but not the pain. It

couldn’t be a good thing; my body surely knew that

something was amiss in my nether regions. The only good

thing I had going for me was that I got a fine sleep thanks to

the Nyquil and I didn’t have to ride my motorbike Put-Put to

work; my dad had a meeting at a church and said he’d drop

me off. Both my parents were OK with me staying home but

I could see I made my dad just a little bit proud when I told

them I’d manage and that making a living was more

important.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t total bul shit.

Anyway, I was soon sucked into the world of lattes and

cash machines and overpriced pastries while trying to keep

my cramps at bay. The distractions were certainly helping

and I was almost grateful for the dude who spil ed the entire

container of milk on the fixings counter.

I was crouched down wiping the spil up from the floor

with a wet rag when I heard a voice emanate from near the

cashier.

“Pardon me, ma’am, would there be a Perry Palomino

here?”

For the second time in two days, my heart skipped a

beat and then froze.

I kept low and pivoted in time to see Shay behind the

counter, pointing my way. In front of her was a very tal , very

wel -built man dressed in hiking boots, faded jeans and a

green checkered shirt underneath a tan leather jacket.

He didn’t have to turn his ginger head in order for me to

know his eyes would match his shirt exactly. But he did and

looked right at me.

Maximus.

To say I was devoid of thought would be an

understatement. As with Rebecca the day before, I could

only blink, my arm continuing to mop up the milk like it was

on autopilot.

He smiled, a wide flash of white teeth against weather-

beaten, freckled skin and sauntered over to me like he

hadn’t a care in the world. He stopped right before me so I

was nose to his boots, which were just as worn and dusty

as his jeans.

“Miss Palomino,” he drawled in his light Louisiana

accent. He held out his large hand for me. Without thinking,

I put mine in his. It looked so smal in comparison.

He lifted his hand up until I was at my feet. I had risen as

if he had Jedi powers.

“What…uh, what?” was my very intel igent response.

He squeezed my hand and that action sent two

competing feelings through my body. One was uneasiness,

that this was a friend of Dex’s, or an ex-friend, but at least

an associate to a past that kept trying to rear its head in my

life. The other feeling was one of warm shivers because he

was oh so handsome, maybe even more so now that we

were out of the grime and desolation of Red Fox (where I

had met him before), and he and Dex never real y got along

to begin with.

Stil , the question remained and I couldn’t help but blurt

out, “Maximus! What the hel are you doing here?”

“Why Perry, you haven’t changed at al ,” he said with a

smirk. “Do you mind if I steal you away from your, uh,

position, for a few moments?”

I looked over at Shay. Even though she was in the

middle of talking to a customer, her eyes met mine and she

gave me a slight nod and a deliciously bemused smile.

Unfortunately, Ash’s expression was one of utter distrust for

the tal , handsome stranger. I couldn’t blame him. Maximus

stuck out in Portland like an exotic flower in a bed of weeds

(even though half the weeds probably got a similar shirt

from Urban Outfitters).

He continued to hold my hand while I awkwardly held the

milk-soaked rag in the other and he led me to the corner of

the shop where a table sat unoccupied.

In true gentleman fashion, he pul ed out my chair and

gestured for me to sit down.

I did, feeling out of it and stupid. He pul ed up the other

chair, his long legs sprawling out underneath. He rested his

elbows on the table and looked me over slowly.

I made sure to do the same to him. It gave me time to

gather my thoughts.

I had only known Maximus for a short amount of time. A

weekend, real y, back in October. It was the second

Experiment in Terror episode that had Dex and me trotting

out to New Mexico to uncover a so-cal ed poltergeist. Only

it wasn’t a poltergeist at al , but the work of an evil shaman,

or medicine man, and his bewitched lover, who conspired

to bring her husband’s ranch to its knees.

Maximus was the one who had set it al up. He had been

cal ed in because he is, in some ways, like a ghost

whisperer. Obviously he doesn’t have Jennifer Love

Hewitt’s boobs in this case, but what he does, or what he

says he does, is pick up on the readings, or “imprints,” of

the people who died. He can figure out what they were

doing and thinking in their last moments of death. Some of

Maximus’s “power” went further than that, I believe, so that it

was almost a psychic ability. But neither Dex nor I saw any

sign of this condition when we were with him in Red Fox.

The only thing Maximus deduced was that “nothing died

there,” which could have been a lucky guess. Dex seemed

to think that Max was just ful of it and trying to scam the

living by saying he could talk with the dead.

I wasn’t sure what to think. In some ways I’m the same,

so it’s not like the ability is far-fetched or impossible. On the

other hand, I never saw any proof of this power directly. He