The good news is that we found a really cute apartment in Orange Park. It's right next to the police substation, so it feels nice and secure. And there's a community pool right behind our building. It's not ready for two more weeks, but it was such a good deal that I couldn't pass it up. Every other apartment in our price range gave me the creeps and this one gives me peace.
But, you're really here for the next chapter. At least that's what I hope. So, here you go.
Chapter 4
“Girl,
are you okay?”
It takes me a long moment to reorient myself,
to realize I’m not in the vision anymore, but here in the real world. I blink
several times, trying to bring myself back into focus, and when I do, I see a
hand waving in front of my face.
A girl
that belongs to the waving have stands in front of me. She is my age with dark
skin and big brown eyes, and while not overweight, she’d probably look a lot
thinner if she wasn’t popping out of the outfit she’s squeezed herself into.
She has on a short red skirt, a low-cut leopard-print top that is struggling to
cover her overwhelming cleavage. Her black hair is tied up in what looks like
two puff balls on her head.
“I’m fine,” I say. But I’m really not. I’ve
never been okay. I’ve always lived on the edge of life and death and it’s
draining.
“You must really be into useless high school
trophies,” the living girl in front of me says.
I turn to her, still trying to figure out
what’s real and what’s not, and why I’m seeing more than just ghosts. “Oh, I
am.”
“What’s your name?” she
asks.
“Cass,” I say.
“Ruby.” She takes out
a lipstick from her purse and applies it to her puckered lips.
“Lipstick number 57 in the Red Hot series?” I
ask.
She smiles. “Girl, I like
you. Raunchy Red is my color. How did you know? Do you sell Purple
Ladies?” Her eyes are wide and hopeful, like makeup is better than donuts.
“My mom does. I can get you the friends and
family discount, if you like.”
She grabs me and pulls me into her a tight hug.
Stunned at the embrace, I stumble back a little when she releases me. “Thanks,
best friend,” she says.
She starts talking about makeup, but I can’t hear
what she’s saying. Instead I hear, a now all too familiar voice. “Cassandra.” I
catch a glimpse of him in the reflective glass of the trophy case. I spin
around and reach for my knife, expecting him to be sneering down at me, but he’s
no longer there.
Her penciled eye brows
knit together as she notices my hand moving beneath the back of my shirt. “Are
you sure you’re okay?” Ruby asks.
“My bra came unhooked.” I return my knife to its
sheath wiggle around a like I’m trying to re-hook it to sell to lie.
“Oh, I hate when that happens,” she says. “My
girls have a mind of their own sometimes.” She tries to press a mound of her
cleavage back into her shirt, but it pops right back out.
Though I hear the air conditioning kick on overhead,
the lobby warms. Sweat drips down my hairline and slides down my neck. I
squeeze my eyes shut, knowing what I’ll see if I open them. I back away,
wanting to get to the exit.
“Where are you going?” Ruby asks.
I open one eyes, and when I don’t see the dead
guy or Brittany, I open the other. “I’m going home. I hate orientations.”
“But it’s mandatory.” she says.
“I don’t care,” I respond. “Just sign my name
on the attendance roll. They won’t know the difference.” I turn and bolt to the
door.
“What’s your last name?” she asks.
“Charon. Cass Charon.” If my weird behavior
wasn’t enough to scare her away, knowing my last name will be enough. I made
and lost my first friend in Ravines in a matter of minutes. That’s just how
talented I am at relationships.
I run out to the parking lot, planning to jog
all the way home, but find Mom still sitting in her purple pimpmoble, applying
a second coat of makeup. I yank open the passenger door and slid into the seat.
“Is it over already?” Mom asks. Her compact
clicks back together. I can manage is a nod. Mom stares at me for a moment,
waiting for a further explanation, but when none comes, she starts the car. As
we drive home, she doesn’t say anything to me. I close my eyes and listen to air
rush through the windows until Mom parks in front of our house.
I hear her say something to me, but don’t know
what. She waits a beat, but then goes inside, leaving me in the car. I study our
house. From the outside, it looks like any Southern house, with its wraparound
porch, white-washed wooden exterior, and blue shutters, but it’s known as a
place where we kill chickens and drink their blood, where we dance with the devil.
And worse of all, where my Mom hosts makeup parties.
I think about going inside, to help Mom prepare
for tonight, but I know if I do, she’ll try to use me as her makeup model. I
hate the witch rumors, but I hate hot pink blush even more.
I stay where I am, cursing my life, until the
back of my shirt is wet with perspiration. I get out of the car, and sit on the
wooden swing hanging from a branch of a large oak tree near the back of our
property. Daddy hung this swing when I was five years old. It was the last nice
thing he did for me before he forgot I existed.
The toes of my sandals drag in the grey sand as
I swing. Dusk has taken over the sky, filling the horizon with a hot blue and pink
haze. Crickets and frogs chirp in the distant palmetto bushes, and I spot a
lightening bug from time to time. This
is the one thing I love about Ravines.
A navy blue BMW pulls
up and parks in the row of other cars, and I grind my teeth when I see Blake,
with a pizza box in hand, exit the driver’s side. Even in the twilight, I see
his intense aqua eyes smile at me.
Blake’s Mom gets out
of the driver’s side of the car. She has on just as much makeup as my mother,
but she wears it better. She’s tiny compared to Blake and it’s hard to image
she was ever taller than her son. Georgia is dressed in a hot pink sundress
with embroidered green alligators all over it, and her bleach blond hair is in
a French twist.
“Hello, Cass!” she
calls to me as she enters the house. Georgia has a Southern accent sweeter than
honeycombs. It’s easy to see how she won all those beauty contests, and to see
where Blake gets his charm and good looks. Blake hangs back a little, watching
me as he leans on the hood of his BMW.
I roll my eyes at her, but stay where I am. I
turn to Blake, and ask, “Why are you here?”
He glances at me out
of the corner of his eyes, and then surprises me by telling the truth. “My
mom’s license was revoked when she tried to drive home from the country club
after having one too many spiked iced teas, and plowed into the Welcome to
Ravines sign. We were lucky. Sheriff Michaels is the one who found her. He
covered up as much of it as he could. She probably should have spent some time
in jail, but Dutch always liked her.”
“Is she okay?” I ask.
“Is she doing better?”
“No,” he says. He lays
his head on my shoulder. I want to push him away, but it seems a little too
heartless since he’s talking about his alcoholic mother. “I’m glad you’re here.
You have a way about you that makes me forget all the bad stuff. We had fun all
those summers, didn’t we? Especially the last one.”
For just a moment, my
mouth twitches into a smile. “I guess we did. But the summer is over. It has
been for a long time.”
This gets him to sit
up and shift away from me a little. With the back of his hand, he wipes sweat
from his brow. “It’s too hot. How much longer do you think they’ll be?” He nods
his head toward the house.
“Hours.” The makeup
parties go longer than the séances.
He stands, and for a
moment, I’m relieved that he might be leaving. It’s much easier to hate Blake
from afar. With him so close, I want to forgive everything. He offers me a hand
and pulls me to my feet. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”
He opens the passenger door, and against my
better judgment, I get in. Anything has to be better than thinking about
Brittany and the blond boy ghost who is haunting me. I need something to take
my mind off of my troubles, and Blake is a handsome and charming distraction. It
makes me weak, but I like being with Blake. He makes me feel almost normal.
We motor down the dusty lane until we reach
pavement, where Blake shifts the gears to increase our speed. After ten
minutes, he stops the car. I squint into the darkness. We’re somewhere along
Black Creek, but I have no idea where. The creek winds on for miles through the
town.
Out here, far from town, the darkness swallows
up everything. The stars swell and weave into the Milky Way, but the starlight
isn’t enough. I can’t see three feet in front of me. I couldn’t even see a
ghost if one was right in front of my face.
I get out of the car, remove my shoes, and walk
down the marshy embankment. The brown water ripples against my ankles, cool
against my skin, as I wade deeper. I stop and look back at Blake, who is sitting
on the hood of his car. He left the headlights on, so he is the all I can see
in the darkness.
“Want to go swimming?”
I call over my shoulder.
As an answer, Blake
pulls his shirt off and wades in. Before he can reach me, I dive in and am
thankful I wore a black top and skipped the mascara. There’s nothing less
attractive than raccoon eyes when you’re trying to look self-assured.
Blake dips under, and
when he emerges, his dark hair falls onto his forehead until he pushes it back.
“Did you hear there’s a party down at Doctors Lake this Friday?”
“I’m going with my new
boyfriend,” I say, lying. My eyes have adjusted to the darkness and I can see
him clearer in the moonlight.
“You’re going with me,
then?” He chuckles as I splash him with a wave of creek water, but he dodges it.
“I’m looking forward to seeing you in a bikini again. But seeing you in your
underwear and tank top is almost as good. It leaves just the right amount to
the imagination, and I have a vivid imagination,” he said, winking at me.
“Stop winking!”
“Why can’t I wink at
you?”
“Because you have a
girlfriend.”
He stands up fast,
like someone kicked him. “No, I don’t.”
“You’re not seeing
anyone?” I ask.
“Right now, just you.”
He gives me that cocky half smile and winks again. He laughs and lunges at me,
pulling us both under the water. When we come up for air, I ask, “Have you
heard from Brittany?”
“What are you talking
about?”
“You know, your
girlfriend.”
“She’s not my girlfriend.”
“Do you know where she
is?”
“No. Why?”
“I just. . .” How did
I explain this without telling him about the dreams and the ghosts, without
telling him what I am? “I think something bad has happened to her.”
“Brittany is fine. Last I talked to her she was
going to Daytona for the weekend.”
“But her mother was worried.”
“Step-mother,” he says, correcting me. “And in
case you missed it, the new Mrs. Moore is a little nutty. And why are you
worried about where she is? Do you want to ruminate on what a wonderful kisser
I am?”
“No.”
I turn away from him and look back up at the
sky covered sky. The crickets’ chirping lulls us into a calm as we float,
silent and still as driftwood.
Water splashes over my hot face,
waking me from unconsciousness.
“You’re not going to fight me this
time, are you?” he asks.
Unable to speak, I shake my head, and
try to focus on him, but my vision blurs. I can’t make out any of his features.
“Good. You caused such a scene
before. I wanted this to be a happy time, but you wouldn’t cooperate.”
Whatever he drugged me with has left
my mind unable to focus, but I try to take in my surroundings. We at a cabin,
but there are no other dwellings around us. There is nothing but darkness and
trees. This could be my last chance to escape. I might get lost in these woods,
but at least I’ll be away from him. I know now I’ll do whatever I can because
if I don’t I’ll die out here.
He hauls me to my feet, and I
stumble forward as blood rushes away from my head. He still has hold of my arms
and, because I’m so weak, I lean into him. I reach for his lips, but before our
mouths touch, I knee him in the groin.
While he rolls around on the porch,
I grab the keys he dropped, and run from the house. I get into his car, and ram
the key into the ignition so hard I’m surprised it doesn’t break off. I crank
the engine, but nothing happens. I swear and hit the sterling wheel. When I try
to start the car again, it sputters to life. I look into the rearview mirror
and push the car into reverse. I face forward, but as I turn the wheel, the
door retches open and I’m pulled out of the car by my hair.
Choking, I spring up to stand, alarming Blake.
“Are you okay?” Blake
asks. “You were kind of out of it. Your eyes were blank.”
Without waiting for
him to follow, I exit the water and trudge up the bank. I ring out my shirt and
turn back to him.
“What’s wrong?” he asks as he follows me out of
the water. “Did you . . . see something? A ghost?”
“Yeah. Cass Charon local nercomancing freak,” I
say, raising my hand.
“To me you’re just Cass Charon, local beauty.”
“Shut up,” I say, rolling my eyes at him, but I
can’t help but smile.
Blake smiles at me, and then fishes two towels
out of the trunk. He hands me one and drapes the other one over my shoulders.
He kisses me on the forehead, and then says, “Wait here for a second.” He
disappears into the dark and comes back a second later with a small pink box.
He lays the blanket out a few feet from the headlights and I join him.
He pulls out a miniature cake with a candle on the top tier, two plastic forks,
and a lighter. Then he sings happy birthday.
“I didn’t know you could sing so well,” I say,
surprised at his beautiful his voice.
I actually make Blake blush. “Just blow out
your candles.”
I do and I wish for
normalcy, even though I know it’s a false hope. We sit by the creek and eat the
cake until our clothes are dry. We would stay longer, but I promised Mom I’d be
home for the Marking ritual. The scent of honeysuckle drifts in through the
open windows of the car as we drive back toward Ravines. When we reach the
house, I notice all the cars are gone. Blake takes my hand as we walk up the
porch steps. Leaning against the door, I turn to tell him goodnight, but before
I can say anything, his head tilts down toward mine.
I press my palm into his chest, keeping him at
a distance. “I don’t think so,” I say.
Blake gives me a real frown. His hands fall
away from me, and then says, “I’m sorry for last summer. I screwed everything up,
didn’t I?”
I start to tell him, I don’t forgive him, but
before I can, his mother rips open the door. Georgia stands, staring at me for
a moment until she bubbles over in a fit of giggles. Her teased blond hair
looks like she fell asleep on it, and her lipstick is smeared. Blake’s smile
falters as he steadies her before she topples over.
“Happy Birthday, Cass!” Georgia stammers. She
toasts me with a silver flask. “I’m drinking in your honor.”
“I thought you weren’t going to drink anything
tonight, Mamma,” Blake says through tight lips. He yanks the flask out of her hand
and shoves it in the pocket of his jeans.
Mom rushes out after her. “I was putting Anna
to bed, and Georgia said she was just going to watch TV downstairs.”
“It’s just a splash of something I brought from
home.” Mrs. Harrington hiccups and Blake glares at her. He ushers her out the
door without saying goodbye. I can’t blame him for wanting to get out of here
as soon as possible. If there is anyone who understands getting embarrassed by
their mother, I do.
“Where have you and
Blake been,” Mom asks. “Want to tell me about it?”
“No.”
She huffs out a breath. “Fine. Let’s get to
your Marking ritual.” She grabs her necromancer bag and I follow her out of the
house. We take a short drive, and when
Mom parks the car, I say, “A cemetery. Really, Mom? Could this be more cliché?”
“Hey,
I didn’t make up the ritual.”
I
step through the metal gates. I see nothing but headstones, and hear nothing
but the sound of my feet as crunch across the gravel. Mom hands me the gray
leather book that I saw on the kitchen table earlier today, and says, “Happy
Birthday. Your very own Book of the Dead.”. I open up the book, but it’s blank
again, not a single word about the Reaper or the end of the world.
On
the marble slab of a mausoleum, Mom sets up the ceremonial bowls and candles.
She builds a small fire, places an old iron pot over the flames, and pours
grave water and a bunch of bayberry leaves inside.
Mom’s
face takes on a stern look as she says, “Give me your left wrist,” Mom says.
She takes a handful of warm, wet leaves and wraps them around my wrist.
“Spirits of the Afterworld, no longer will you roam. I offer you my daughter to
guide you home. Is she the one to bring light to the dark? Tell me, spirits,
does she bear the Reaper’s Mark?”
My
skin glows and burns. I have to bite down on my lip to keep from crying out. I
look up at Mom for guidance, but her brown eyes are wide with fear. The leaves
covering my arm burn to ash and fall away.
On
the underside of my wrist, a small sickle blazes red and then turns to black.
Then
the blond boy I’ve been seeing appears.
“You’re
the Reaper?” I ask.
He
smirks down at me. “I’m surprised it took you so long to figure out.”
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