Authors: Lee Hayes
“You will pay for this in ways that will cause angels to cryâI promise you that.” Her voice was so shrill that Clara felt claws scratching her arm, breaking the skin. Rebecca stroked Eli's forehead all the while maintaining unbroken eye contact with Clara as the shadows began to cover her and Eli. “You cannot leave this house. You are bound here from this day, forevermore. The glass buried in your skin is permanentâit can never be removed. And, you cannot die, not until I kill you. This is your curse, from this day forward, until the end of time.” As the shadows completely engulfed the duo and they began to fade, all that could be heard was Rebecca's wailing moans as she held Eli in her arms, rocking back and forth.
That night, a great storm ripped through New Orleans.
T
homas Thibodeaux was in a panic. His shallow, rapid breaths dug deeply into his chest as he slid deep down into the folds of the cold, leather seats in the borrowed, sky blue, '67 Ford LTD with the white rag top. It was a tank of a car with a dull, foretelling grin that looked as if it knew it was, someday soon, destined for the junk yard. Thomas's body was on fire with adrenaline, but panic choked off the giggle that tried to escape from his mouth. He knew he had been wrong. He never should have grabbed that girl by her waist and shoved his tongue down her throat, but the danger in the air, mixed with the promise of the taste of her cherry red lips, created an almost irresistible temptation. He had to kiss her, it was destiny. And when he kissed her, she only protested because her hairy beast of a boyfriend was across the room, at that very moment, leaping across the pool table, ready to separate Thomas's head from his shoulders
.
Thomas let the kiss linger a beat longer than it should have, but the reward far outweighed the risk. He was spry and knew there was no way the beast with the thick neck, skin tight blue jeans, and heavy cowboy boots would be able to catch him once he got moving
.
Thomas hadn't counted on the beast having friends
.
As he zigzagged through the crowded bar, dodging swinging fists and beer bottles hurling through the air, he didn't notice a burning tingling in his hands, but in his head he realized he was seeing events happen a few seconds before they took place, giving him the edge. He knew who
would leap out to try to tackle him. He saw a skinny boy with frazzled brown hair swing a pool stick before he actually did it. He heard the sound of the black eight-ball whizzing through the air before it was actually thrown by the dark-skinned dude, who had been playing pool with the girl's boyfriend. Thomas ran through the crowd as if his life depended on it; he was quite sure it did. If they caught him, they'd beat him to a bloody pulp, or worse. Luckily, he made it outside and disappeared into the parking lot before they laid hands on him
.
With care, Thomas dug the keys out of his jacket pocket, making sure that they didn't jangle against each other as he searched for the ignition key. He had to get out of there. He had no problem fighting one dude, but he wasn't thrilled with the thought of taking on up to five
.
Outside the car, Thomas heard frantic voices; voices desperately out for blood, searching for him in the dimly lit parking lot. Heavy footsteps pounded in succession against the hard black asphalt outside of the Lux Lounge. The thumping sounds fanned out in different directions as the gang sought to corner its prey. Thomas felt as if he was surrounded, trapped like a mouse in a maze. The parking lot was full of cars, their drivers, inside, heavily drinking and furiously dancing away the blues of their troubled lives; that is, until Thomas flirted with the wrong girl, a bad habit he had perfected. For him, there was nothing more satisfying than the forbidden pleasure of another man's woman. The moment he slid into a prohibited sweet place that belonged to another was the moment his ego swelled. He could have any woman. Any time
.
During the evening, he had purposely made eye contact with the girl's boyfriend on several occasions, smiling wryly from the corner of his mouth when she pointed him out to Thomas. He was across the room at the pool table with his brow furrowed deeply into a sharp crease, a sharp wooden toothpick clutched tightly between his thin lips. Despite his formidable presence, Thomas made very little attempt to disguise his intent. The two men's eyes slashed across each other with shallow cuts
,
finally settling into a permanent sour glaze. Periodically, between shots of tequila that ignited the back of his throat and bottles of Corona that cooled it, Thomas looked at him as if to say “tonight, I'm getting between her thighs” and “fuck you.”
The boyfriend returned Thomas's stares, walking menacingly around the pool table while gripping the pool stick, fire in his belly, daring Thomas to push too far
.
The waitressâCarmen Delgadoâpushed Thomas away several times, but he recognized the faux protest that glinted in her eyes. Her mouth may have said, “Stay away, I got a man,” but her eyes said, “Come closer and fuck me now.” Thomas would have, had it not been for the gang now circling the lot, looking for him
.
He only had one shot at getting away. If he tried to start the car and the engine didn't turn over, the vultures would descend upon him and peck him apart, piece by piece. And they would enjoy it; Thomas had antagonized them so. If it came down to it, he'd fight and take a couple down with him, but he'd lose. The odds weren't in his favor.
.
He had a clear shot out of the parking lot if the car would start; a clear, direct path into the street. The car belonged to his elderly landlord and neighbor, Ms. Irene Bell, and it wasn't in the best condition. By the time the goons hopped into their cars, he'd be gone, cloaked in the safety of the dark streets
.
Slowly, he inserted the key, said a little prayer, and turned it. Vroooooooommmm
.
“Thank you, God,” he said to himself. He sat up in the car so that he could see over the dashboard, threw the car into drive, and pressed hard on the gas pedal. His tires screeched as he burned through the parking lot, shooting the middle finger at the guys as he blew by them, narrowly avoiding a full on collision with the girl's boyfriend when he jumped in the path of Thomas' escape route
.
“Yeah, and fuck you!” he yelled as he watched their agitated bodies
grow smaller in his rearview mirror. Once again, he had avoided catastrophe.
When Simon opened his eyes, he was sitting straight up in bed in the hotel room. He was naked, except for a thin white sheet that was draped across the lower half of his body. Brilliant sunlight spilled into the room from the partially open blinds, and he could smell the fragrant aroma of freshly brewed coffee. Images of his dreamâor visionâstill claimed a part of his mind. He looked around the room, which seemed much smaller than before, as if the walls had been pushed closer together. He expected Thomas to burst from the bathroom, having escaped the clutches of Carmen's boyfriend. He had never dreamed of Thomas before, yet he felt a spooky closeness to him, an inexplicable bond. Now that he was awake, he felt robbed, as if the waking hour had stolen a part of Thomas's life that was yet to be discovered in the dream.
He shook his head in disappointment and noticed a lid-less, half-empty Styrofoam cup of coffee sitting on top of the dresser. From the outside, voices of a passing family seeped into the room and stole his attention. A father, Stephen. A mother, Lana. Two daughters: Christina, seven; and Carrie, five. The girls sang an off-key rendition of “Santa Claus is Coming to Town,” but they sang so joyfully that it made their parents giggle. Simon listened to the pitter-patter of eight feet on the sidewalk until they rounded the corner. At this point, he didn't even question how he knew so much about the family he had never even seen, except in his mind's eye.
Simon shifted his body to get out of bed, planting his feet on the floor. He stood up and stretched, feeling as if he had just awakened from a much-needed slumber. As he placed his arms at
his sides and took a step forward, the doorknob jiggled and Franklin stepped inside.
“Oh shit,” Franklin said as he closed the door quickly behind him; surprise stained his face. His eyes grew wide as he stared at Simon as if he hadn't seen him in months. “Youâyou up,” he managed to say after a few seconds.
“Of course I am. Why wouldn't I be?”
Simon, unashamed in his nakedness, stood and waited for an answer from Franklin, who seemed at a loss for words. Franklin diverted his eyes downward, moved over to the dresser and dropped the car keys on the wooden top, next to the coffee cup.
“Dude, could you put on some clothes?” Simon looked down at himself, as if he didn't realize that he was nude. He grabbed the bed sheet and wrapped it around his waist. He watched Franklin move nervously through the room, carefully avoiding eye contact. He could even hear Franklin's shallow, quick breaths. Clearly, he was ill at ease. In contradiction to the disharmony that surrounded Franklin, Simon felt perfectly calm, at peace. Gone was the tight ball that had resided in the pit of his stomach and served as a constant reminder of his overwhelming sense of fear. He felt rested, at peace. He was at peace with whatever had happened to him over the last few weeks and, as much as he could, made peace with whatever was to come. He no longer dreaded the future.
“Are you gonna tell me what's wrong?” Simon finally asked as he sat back down on the bed.
Franklin stopped dead in his tracks and looked at Simon. “Everything. Everything is wrong.”
“What do you mean?”
“First, Brooke called a bunch of times, but I didn't answer 'cause I didn't know what to tell her. And, the credit card you used to
pay for this room was declined and the manager is gonna bang on the door at any minute to kick us out. Shit, I had to hide in the parking a lot a for a few seconds 'cause I saw him coming our way.”
“That doesn't make any sense. The room was like seventy dollars, and I had a couple hundred dollars on that card, at least,” Simon said, ignoring the information about Brooke.
“Simon,” Franklin said as he took a seat on the twin bed across from Simon, “we've been here four days.”
“What? We just got here last night.”
“No, we didn't. You been asleep for three straight days, every since . . . ” His voice faded.
“Since what? Franklin, since what?”
“Since you . . . since you, walked on water.” Franklin's voice trailed off at the end of his sentence and he diverted his eyes away from Simon, who watched as Franklin's body shifted uneasily as he sat on the bed. Simon wished he had words of comfort to offer, but he didn't. He couldn't explain his extraordinary feats and, at this point, didn't have the inclination to even try. Walking on water? Sleeping for three straight days? It all sounded so normal to Simon now. It never ceased to amaze him, the things that people can grow accustomed to.
“Franklin,” Simon began, but he was cut off, mid-sentence.
“It's cool, man. Really. Walking on water ain't the only shit that's been going on around here the last few days.”
“What else?”
“I mean you. You've been freaking me out, sitting up in bed at night while you still sleepin'; talkin'âI guess it was talkin'âin a language that didn't sound . . . human. I don't know what the fuck it was. You were like, talkin' to someone, and the crazy part about that shit is that I swore I heard whispers in the room, but wasn't
nobody here but me and you.” Franklin spoke rapidly, leaving little room between his sentences for Simon to process what he was saying. “I woke up one night and you were standing in the middle of the room, sweating like it was a hundred and twenty degrees. I couldn't wake you and I couldn't move yo' ass, either. I tried to pick you up, to lay you down, but it felt like you weighed a ton. Shit, I couldn't even push you down. Then, you started moaning like you were in pain and black shit starting running out of the corners of your mouth. It was slimy, like oil and it stank to the high heavens. I had to open the window to let the smell out, even though it was cold as hell outside. I almost froze my balls off. I didn't know what to do. I thought about callin' 9-1-1, but then I didn't know what the hell I'd tell 'em, so I didn't, but it's safe to say that you done officially freaked me the fuck out.” When he finished speaking, Franklin exhaled loudly and looked at Simon with droopy eyes that begged for better days. “Is this shit real, or am I losin' my mind? Am I crazy?”