Self-pity gripped Alex’s heart as he stepped into Reid’s room the second time. And like the last time, the temperature became frigid. Each small step brought an even bigger chill, especially with a light hospital gown flapping open behind him as he walked. The air sliced through his skin, his nerves, his mind. He didn’t know what to expect, but with each step he became less sure that this was where he wanted to be. Perhaps alone was better than what he was walking into.
He hesitated.
Something wasn’t right.
Treading lightly, he suddenly felt afraid to wake Reid. At his bedside, Alex leaned over to get a closer look. He thanked the heavens that Reid’s eyes were closed this time. Last time, they looked so wrong. Maybe I only imagined it.
Even though Reid was catatonic, Alex had to hope his friend was still inside, the only person in the world who really knew him and what happened.
Reid’s eyes flung open, and Alex realized he hadn’t imagined it the first time. Those weren’t his eyes. Empty, dark. They didn’t acknowledge Alex but stared straight up at the ceiling once more.
Alex tried to take a step back, but his body locked with fear.
And then Reid’s face crinkled up as if he was in excruciating pain and about to scream. His mouth fell open, but there was no sound or movement.
That’s when it truly hit Alex that Reid was gone. He no longer knew this person, the body before him. Something bad happened in that house when he stepped in front of Alex. That thing went inside him, had it ever come back out?
His feet finally decided to work and Alex stepped back and bumped into something that hadn’t been there before.
Memories came rushing back—shadows, bird-devils darting about.
Fingers gripped his shoulder and all he could picture were those gray claws, digging in. The flames encircled the room. The shadow on the ceiling…
Alex turned his head to look at those fingers on his shoulder and saw red.
Nail polish.
It was just the nurse. Good thing, too. Alex was exhausted, and being around Reid was now the last thing he wanted. She helped him back to his room, scolding the whole way, telling him that being up and about so soon was likely to make him catch his death. Alex almost laughed at that. How many times in that house had he almost been caught by death? And being in that room with Reid, having him silently screaming, staring out with those eyes—Alex knew death was already there.
Alex shook his head and the memory away, then strode across the parking lot, toward the door. He didn’t want to see that pretty pink sky any longer. By the time he made it to the second row of cars, the sunlight had crept across the sky, sending a ray off the silver car in front of him and temporarily blinding him. He blinked to fight off the effect and came to a dead halt.
As his vision cleared, a girl climbed out of the car. Dark curls fell across her shoulders.
Alex’s heart leapt until he heard her speak.
“What ah ya starin’ at?” Her voice was sharp with a Boston accent.
Alex just stared at her, mouth agape.
“Well?” She put her hand on her hip and she leaned to the side.
“Uh, nothing. Sorry.” His voice cracked. “You just look like someone—I mean, for a sec I thought you were someone…” He swallowed down the lump in his throat. “I used to know.” Tears threatened his eyes and he held them back.
She shook her head, rolled her eyes and walked away, curls bouncing over her shoulders with each step.
That girl clearly didn’t know him, or she never would have made eye contact. Never would’ve uttered a word or even looked in his direction.
You’d think Alex had been marked by the devil himself the way people looked at him and talked about him behind his back. People would cross the street just to avoid him. No one ever made eye contact, and if they did by accident, they’d quickly avert their eyes. It was worse at school. While walking to classes, it looked like Moses parting the Red Sea, except not so holy. The hordes of kids split to either side of the halls, afraid of getting close enough to touch Alex. Every now and then, someone would bump shoulders with him accidentally and lose their shit, frantically wiping at their arms to remove whatever poison he had. No telling what kind of madness he’d pass on to them.
No friends, no one to joke or fight with, no dates, no nothing. Like oil and water, Alex and the rest of the town. When you initially shake the two, it might look like they’re coming together, but they always separate again.
Beads of sweat formed on his forehead as Alex relived those memories. He ran his hand across the marked side of his temple. The fine line of the scar, still there. Always would be, like a brand, a warning to anyone who might be dumb enough to get too close. As he stood outside the hospice, sweating, he couldn’t shake those awful thoughts which pulled him back in.
Stay back—he’s marked, cursed, tainted.
His own brother, Mike, just around the corner at UMass, was too busy to call or visit. Fuck, even a letter now and then would’ve sufficed. It was a shitty excuse. Alex had reached out numerous times, mailed letters, called, but he never got a reply. Mike had crossed Alex off his list the day he wrote that goodbye letter. His own brother.
And then there was Alex’s dad. His excuse for keeping his distance was that he worked so much and he was tired all the time. He worked hard for a living to support his family, send Mike to school, and hopefully Alex at some point, too. If he were lucky enough, Alex would go far, far away.
Peace and quiet when he wasn’t working, that’s what his dad needed. He’d come home, kick off his shoes, hop into his recliner, and stare at the boob-tube for hours. When he wasn’t doing that, he had his nose buried in the newspaper, pretending Alex wasn’t there. It was such a quiet house. No one spoke to each other anymore. Weary glances were the extent of it.
Like robots, they’d wake, eat breakfast, go to work or school, come home, eat, sleep. Rinse, repeat.
His Mom was the worst of them all, though. Alex could take Mike hiding at school, Dad hiding in the paper or lost in the TV. But Mom hurt his heart the most.
Because Mom would look at him.
But it seemed that she either didn’t see Alex for who he really was or was afraid of what she might find, so she always had to keep an eye. Those eyes of hers seemed to be asking, Why you? Why are you still here and she isn’t? You fool. You should’ve known better. Everyone knows better.
Random bullshit, is what Alex wanted to say. Luck of the draw, if there were luck to it at all. Fucking Russian roulette, that’s why I’m still here.
It was so close to being him, he wanted to tell her. A bend in the hallway, a blind corner and they got twisted up. That creature reached out for Alex and got caught in those curls of hers.
Or had it chosen her? Either way, Alex would never tell his mom. He couldn’t, anyway. No one wanted the true story. Hush, hush, no stories of monsters and shadows and evil houses. Even though they knew, they’d never admit it. The entire town swept the whole thing under the rug.
Alex didn’t want to think about any of it, but that’s all he ever did.
It’s all they did, too. He saw it in their eyes, their stance, their avoidance. Alex, the constant reminder of sadness, death, evil.
In the past four years since he’d come home, his Mom had aged ten years. She’d chopped off her lovely locks, real short, like a boy. Probably because she just didn’t care anymore and had no energy to put in the effort. It was graying more and more every day. When the grays first started coming in, Alex remembered that Heather would poke fun at her and she’d dye it. No more Heather. No more hair color.
She’d stopped wearing makeup, too, and she never used to leave the house to get toilet paper without putting on some mascara or lipstick. But what was the point now?
She rarely dressed up anymore, just trudged around the house in ragged sweats and a baggy tee, with the rattiest, most tattered slippers Alex had ever seen. Those things bugged him the most.
He wanted to throw them away and buy her a new pair, but he knew she’d never wear them, never accept them from him. Gifts from the devil—no way, no how. And the worst thing of all was that she was on anti-depressants, walking around like a freaking zombie. But Alex really couldn’t blame her for that. She’d lost her little girl. One day Heather was there, bright and full of life. The next, nothing but a pile of ashes and a painful memory.
But Alex had lost her, too. Did anyone ever think about that? Alex had watched her die and lived with the guilt every day that it should’ve been him. He should’ve been able to save her. The thought of it choked him with tears every time.
But no anti-depressants for Alex. He had to be clear and aware so that he could get through school and get outta this town.
That’s why he’d started smoking. When he got too stressed, when the memories were too much to bear, it was nicotine for Alex. Everyone needs a vice.
A McDonald’s bag floated across the parking lot, toward Alex. He pulled his right foot back and let it rip. Sent the thing sailing straight up into the air. He threw his arms up and shouted, “Three points. It’s good! Patriots win, Patriots win!” He spun around and flipped-off the air.
Then he shrugged, dug his hands in his pocket and continued walking.
Alex couldn’t play organized sports anymore. All those years of athletic skill and training, down the stinking toilet. No one wanted to touch him, let alone throw him a ball. Solitaire was about as sporty as it got for Alex.
So he did the only thing he could—put his nose deep in books. His whole world became studies. His grades had always been good, but now they exceeded expectations. And he worked so hard that he made his wishes and his parent’s come true. He got accepted into UC Berkeley. Just about as far away as he could get. And of course, his parents were all too happy to pay and send him off if that meant they no longer had to live with a burden, the cursed one.
Guess all his dad’s hard work had paid off. Maybe once Alex was gone, Dad and Mom would talk again. Maybe he’d take her out, or at least buy her a new pair of fucking slippers.