11
Bobby
Saturday: 2:36 AM
I wondered if Glass knew that I’d noticed how he’d tensed up when his gaze had drifted to a certain spot in the room. My own gaze tracked his to that place where the air had shimmered vaguely, like dust caught in sunlight. I couldn’t see whatever watched us from the fringes of reality, but I had no doubt Jeremy had.
Suddenly, I understood that beneath his smart-mouthed exterior and idiot wisecracks, Jeremy Glass was just as terrified as I was.
Glass jiggled the cubes and sipped at his glass of Pellegrino. “Hits the spot. Thanks.”
“None for me, thanks,” Marisa said curtly. Her dark eyes flicked nervously to mine and then looked away.
The bubbles in my glass fizzed and floated up to the top, mesmerizing me. “I’m ready as I’ll ever be,” I said, but my body quaked with dread.
I pulled in a deep breath and squeezed my eyes closed. I didn’t want to see anything other than the dark as my reality peeled away in ragged strips, replaced by whatever truths the ring held.
I extended my open palm, eyes tightly closed.
“I’m ready, Gabe.”
“Are you sure?” she asked.
I heard them fidget and shift positions. I sat motionless, waiting for the feel of the cool metal to drop onto my palm. “Let’s just get it over with,” I snapped, my voice rough.
There was a pause, then hesitant steps, followed by the weight of the ring against my skin. It was warm from Gabe’s grip, rather than cold.
For a split second it was only a piece of jewelry, but then the dark space behind my closed eyes filled in with color and motion. My stomach lurched as if the floor had dropped away. Then, I was falling.
◆
The girl is one drink away from throwing her guts up, but the guy across the seat from her keeps insisting she have another sip. They are riding in a car, the back of a limo from what I can tell.
Just one more, he says, because he likes the way she laughs. She slips the fancy ring off his hand and teases, “Let’s get married.”
He laughs again. “Have a little more and the ring is yours. It’s my father’s anyway. He doesn’t know I took it.”
“You stole your father’s ring?”
“Why not?” says the guy. He’s hot, with a sly smile that’s to die for. His teeth are as white as the streetlights.
“No thanks,” she says. “I’ve kind of had enough.”
“Just another sip, Brittany.”
He’s been so nice to her. He’d told her she had a future in modeling and he had just the right connections for that. And she had what it took.
She’d met him at a club downtown, and when she’d noticed him break from his circle and come towards her, her girlfriends had all seemed impressed. He looked like someone famous, but she didn’t know who. With his expensive suit and watch, he seemed to have money to burn.
She just was on the brink of flunking out of the Fashion Merchandising Program at the Fashion Institute of Technology. It wasn’t what she’d thought it would be and it was only a matter of time before she had to suck it up and admit to her parents that she’d blown her so-called big chance. She’d always figured that it was just a stepping stone anyway, that she was destined to be a model or an actress. But if she didn’t act fast, she’d be packing up her dorm room and heading home on the first bus back to Tennessee. Which was as good as nailing her in a coffin and throwing dirt on it.
◆
I shot out of the vision like a swimmer gasping for breath after nearly drowning. The room around me wavered faintly behind watery darkness, sounds echoing in pulsating reverberations.
“Hello?” I called. But no one answered.
My body pressed into the couch like giant hands were trying to push me back under. The ring burned the flesh of my palm. Only seconds passed before I was sucked back under like I’d stepped into quicksand.
◆
“What’s your name?” the girl asks.
“My friends call me Nero,” the guy says, smiling. “But you can call me Zero.” He’s young and really pretty. Maybe even a model himself.
Her head is spinning. “Is that your real name?”
“Also rhymes with Hero. Does it matter, if I’m going to make you a star, Brittany?”
She giggles, then hiccups, a little bit of throw-up in her mouth. Her stomach is starting to roll.
“I don’t really feel that well. I want to— I don’t want to drink anymore.”
“Just another sip, Brittany. Don’t you know that success doesn’t come without sacrifice?”
There is a cold edge under her tipsiness. A vague warning. She rifles through her bag for her phone, just in case, but comes up empty. She feels full-on sick now, like her insides are doing back flips.
The man lunges for her. The limo keeps moving, the world outside the tinted windows a crazy blur. She has no idea where she is or where this guy is taking her, but she is so not going to let this be the end of her.
“Stop the car!” she screams, but the man is all over her. He’s hurting her, one hand under her dress, the other pressing into her windpipe so she can barely breathe.
She finds the ring inside her bag, slips it onto her middle finger, and slashes her hand out as hard as she can. It opens a gash across his nose and cheek. Enraged, the man screams and flails at her with both fists. She grabs one of his hands and bites down hard.
The car comes to a sudden halt. The door opens and she tumbles out, unsure if she jumped or if she was pushed. She tosses her shoes away and runs into the night, as fast as she can.
◆
Someone pulled at my hand, but I held onto the ring, my grip iron, because if I let go I’d drown for sure. Trapped in flickering half-light, there just didn’t seem to be enough air to fill my lungs. And then, I was sucked under again.
◆
The scent of lavender suffuses the air.
A man stands with his back to the woman on the bed, adjusting his collar.
“Did you really think I wouldn’t find out?” The woman carefully files her nails while occasionally glancing up at the man.
“I didn’t care, actually. And you’re in no position to complain.”
“You’re such a bastard.”
“So what are you? Joan of Arc?”
The man stares at his seventh wife in the mirror, picks up his ring, the one that had been in his family for generations, from the dresser, slips it on his tan finger, and walks silently out of their bedroom.