Chapter Seven

Traveler

I’m caught in a riptide. There is an unseen current pulling me in deeper, no matter how hard I’m fighting to swim away. Why the hell else am I here? I can’t make myself go. If it were any other circumstance, I would have come back to clean up the mess I made, then parted ways without a second look back. The clock is winding down the minutes, and every second that I’m here with her is another second I risk getting caught. It’s just not worth it, yet there is some invisible chain connecting me to her side that I can’t sever. Every word that comes out of her mouth draws me in further. Her mouth. I can’t stop staring at her lips. For fuck’s sake, I almost kissed her. And it probably would have killed her since everything about me physically affects her in some way. With every transfer in touch, the atoms within her are being manipulated by me. I can’t keep this up.

The tiny shack Johanna is calling a restaurant is packed wall-to-wall with hungry customers. Families, friends, and couples are smashed together at vibrantly colored tables and booths scattered haphazardly around the room. The voices of so many patrons mixed together make it impossible to hear. She leans on her tiptoes, her breath smoothing across my jawline. “We can find a seat at the bar for now.”

The bar stretches the entire back length of Poncho’s. A tile mural of a Mexican woman sprawled lazily underneath a shade tree, listening to a man play his guitar, spans the entire wall. Johanna tugs at my hand, pulling me toward the far end of the curved bar where the last two chairs remain. Releasing my hand, she gracefully hops onto the bar stool as a short man with leathery skin approaches us, smiling. “Hey Benito! Two Margaritas. Sugar, not salt. Make it good,” she calls out, throwing him a wink before turning her attention to me.

“All right, Traveler, let’s hear it.” I find myself shifting in my seat, nervous from her unrelenting glare. “I’m not buying the quiet, mysterious vibe you’re giving me tonight. I gave you an entire journal entry from my life. Your turn.” I can tell she isn’t joking around.

The bartender places two frosted glasses in front of us along with a basket of salted chips and salsa. Johanna stirs the lime-green slush, dunking chunks of sugar that are lining the rim into the cup. “Bottoms up.” Her lips wrap around the straw, pulling the liquid into her mouth.

Hell. I catch myself swallowing hard and clear my throat. I take the straw out and tip my glass to my mouth, feeling the burn of tequila against my tongue, mixing with the sweetness of sugar. The drinks are small but lethal.

“Now that’s not bad,” I say, taking another gulp. “All right then, Johanna, what is it you want to know?” If I let her lead the questioning, then I won’t divulge more than she’s already curious about.

She tosses a chip into her mouth, pretending to contemplate a question. She clearly has several lined up single-file in her brain, ready to march out of her mouth one by one.

“How old are you?” She regards me curiously.

“Twenty-seven. How about you?” This is easy.

“Twenty-four.” She looks at me, twiddling her fingers, as if she’s just getting started. I’ve been trained on how to answer certain questions if the need ever arises. The thing is, we are also trained for that need to never exist. Blending is our main goal. I’ve purposely sought out this woman twice now. This alone is worth a life sentence in Vlad’s prison.

“Twenty-seven-year-old, Traveler, non-wallet thief, with secret fancy flashlights…what is it that you do when you aren’t passing through towns saving random girls from their arch nemesis?” I take a pause and finish my drink in one gulp as she does the same. She catches Benito and raises two fingers, signaling for another round. She pushes the chips toward me, swiping one for herself. “Try these.”

“I’m an insurance agent.” I say it quickly and confidently, staring her in the eye and steadying my breathing. I make it believable. I throw a couple chips doused in salsa in my mouth, and then a couple more for good measure. My eyes never leave hers. I can already feel the alcohol swishing through my bloodstream, and I can tell it’s doing the same to her. There’s an edge to our conversation. It’s as if we are rehearsing from a script, daring the other person to forget their lines. Setting traps. “And you? You own a store.” I try to divert the conversation back to her.

“The Great Outdoors. I’ve had her for two years now.” The words tumble from her mouth with pride. The thunk of our glasses being set on the bar momentarily grabs her attention.

I’m aware that my fingertip is grazing her knee, and there’s a peppering of chill bumps moving across her skin. We raise our glasses in a mock toast, and drink.

“Do you have family close to the Appalachians?” Her tongue runs along her bottom lip, scooping up a stray grain of sugar.

For a moment, I’m not able to place the origin of the question, forgetting the lie I told earlier in the day.

“No,” I reply, and she looks at me for more of an explanation. I take a breath and realize she won’t be satisfied with a one-word answer. “I never knew my family. Foster kid.” She doesn’t say anything in response, but her expression is a novel. I can read her every thought and I find a bit of company in our shared sorrow. I shrug. “Just a couple of orphans, huh?”

“Yes. But I have my brother and Mary-Beth. Surely there are foster siblings you grew up with that you are close to?” She looks at me with a hopeful expression. The real version of my story is truly fucking sad. I could make up a pretty tale for her and save her and myself the pity party, but after her revelations of the past four years she’s lived through, I can’t quite convince myself to lie to her.

“It’s only me,” I say with a laugh. “I have a mentor I’m somewhat close with back home, but I’ve always been a loner. I’m okay with it.” She stares at me intently, studying the validity of my words. I get it. It’s hard to believe someone would prefer solitude. It’s not exactly a preference as much as it is a survival tool. If someone can’t get close to you, then they also can’t fuck you over. Even more of a reason to rip the Band-Aid that is Johanna Martin away from my flesh.

“I was heading up north to the trails for hiking. A vacation.” She seems to question my answer but lets it go.

“And our bewitching town lured you in along the way?” She raises her eyebrow, sarcasm lacing her words.

“Maybe it was the town. Could have been the people.” I wink at her, the alcohol taking over any fight for control I thought I had. “Which I haven’t seen enough of…the town that is.”

“Where are you staying at?”

“I’m up at the hotel by the state park,” I reply, remembering the billboard downtown advertising a forty-eight-dollar-a-night stay with lake views.

She swallows the last drop of her drink, and places both palms on the bar. “Well, before you leave us for good, there’s something you have to see.” Her eyes are twinkling, childlike excitement bouncing off her. She slides from the bar stool, and throws a twenty on the counter, “Thanks, Benito!” she calls, and he sends her a quick wave goodbye. She grabs my hand. I’m not prepared for it, and the contact sends electric currents running through our fingers. She yanks her hand back, staring wide-eyed at me. “Why does that keep happening?”

All I can give in reply is a shrug. She cocks her head to the side, and I decide she’s too smart. In truth, I don’t know why it keeps happening. I’ve touched people from the past before, and there hasn’t been the slightest twinge or spark. With her it’s like fireworks.

I follow her to the entrance, watching the strong muscles in her thighs tighten with every footstep. Her dark curls are tumbling down her back. She turns around to see that I’m behind her, and I can’t help but gawk at how stunning she is.

Once outside, she pulls out her phone, her thumbs swiftly working out a text message. “Okay, we have to go get my Jeep and then we can go to…well, you’ll see. You’ll love it,” she says, practically skipping down the sidewalk on the way back to her house. I’m having to shuffle my feet to keep up with her. It’s hard to believe a few hours ago, she was paralyzed on the floor.

****

It isn’t a long walk to her house. From the end of the gravel driveway I can see her front porch is illuminated. Her sister-in-law is swaying back and forth on the porch swing with a man I’m assuming is Johanna’s brother.

“You live with your brother and his wife?” I ask, as the rocks crunch under our footsteps.

“Andrew and MB had their own little place before the accident. When I told them I wasn’t going back to school, they chose to move into the house with me. I needed them here and I didn’t even know it. Even after our lives evened back out, the arrangement still made sense. So, how much do I owe you for therapy tonight?” she asks, laughing and shaking her head at herself.

Her sister-in-law waves at us as we hit the porch steps. “Hey there, Traveler, I’m so sorry I wasn’t able to make good on my dinner invitation. I hope Johanna showed you a good time at Poncho’s.” I nod my head once and give her a smile. I wasn’t expecting a family gathering tonight.

“This is Andrew, my brother,” Johanna introduces us. He has the same dark hair and eyes as Johanna, but his hair is void of the curls his sister possesses. He stands to shake my hand, a little harder than necessary. I get it.

“Nice to meet you, Traveler. Good to know I’m no longer tasked with hunting my sister’s wallet thief down.” There isn’t the faintest bit of humor in his words.

“Of course.” I shake his hand once, allowing him to assert the dominance he feels he needs to.

“Yep. Well, we are heading out. Just grabbing my keys.” Johanna pushes open the screen door, leaving me standing on the porch.

“How many did you have?” Andrew calls to her.

“Two!” She shouts from somewhere inside.

“Who made them?” He continues the questioning, not easing up.

“If you wanted to know the staff lineup for tonight, then you should have graced us with your presence.” She walks back outside with keys dangling from her hand. “Benito.” She stands still, confident, daring him to question her.

“Ya’ll have a goodnight. We are turning in,” Mary-Beth says, standing and yanking Andrew by the arm before he has a chance to respond to Johanna.

She kisses Mary-Beth on the cheek and turns to Andrew, sucker punching him in the arm before trotting down the steps. “Ow! Stop doing that,” he calls to her, as we turn the corner to the garage. “Be careful and watch your ribs!” I hear the screen door slam shut.

****

The garage is an old barn with two vehicles along opposing walls. I can tell that Johanna’s is the dark green Jeep. The other car sits as a mangled pile of twisted metal, the tires deflated by shards of glass, and the right side crushed entirely into the left. She catches me staring and quietly confesses, “We couldn’t get rid of it.”

I don’t stop myself from the urge I have to brush her hair back off her shoulders as we stand there looking at the wreckage. “They were together?”

“Yes. They were on their way back from the local football game. My dad was the band director, and my mom was the Freshman biology teacher, so they were there every Friday night. They loved this community and were always pouring themselves into it. And everyone loved them back. The whole town was in mourning when they died.” She smiles at the memory, though it doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

“I’m sorry, Johanna.” It’s probably the lamest sentence anyone could say. I’m sure she’s heard the useless apologies from everyone who knows her. Still, she looks at me with appreciation and understanding.

“Me too.” She shrugs and gives a slight nod toward her car. “Let’s go.”

****

Her Jeep top is completely open, and my eyes are fixated on the way the wind is manipulating her hair. We’ve been climbing the curves of a mountain for about ten minutes, and the peacefulness is radiating off her. “We’re almost there,” she says, looking briefly in my direction and smiling.

There is something about her. It’s not only her story and what she’s gone through. It’s strength. A strength I’m sure she’s always had, one that hibernates inside her. Dormant on most days, but it’s there. Silently piloting her through life. She’s remarkable. I can’t believe some douchebag chose another woman over her.

The tilt of her Jeep evens out as we crest along the plateau of the hill. She comes to a complete stop at the side of the road where the only thing worth looking at is her.

“Woods. You’ve brought me to the side of the road, on a mountain, surrounded by woods?” I deadpan.

“Nope. Gotta walk the rest of the way.” She rounds the back of the car, slipping off her sandals. She opens the back and pulls out a pair of hiking boots, sliding them over her ankles. “Your shoes should be okay. It isn’t too far. Good thing you’re a hiker,” she says with a sly grin, before disappearing into the trees.

“Déjà vu,” I mutter to myself. Why am I always following this woman through the woods?

I trail close behind her through the pine trees, the crunch of their discarded needles under her boots is the only sound in the forest tonight. I’m concerned she’s going to trip and fall, re-injuring herself, so my hand every so often touches the small of her back to help her balance.

Ahead of her, I can make out relief from the brush and thicket. The thorns and branches are becoming more scarce the farther we trek along the invisible trail she somehow so easily knows. She reaches her hand back, and her fingertips lightly touch mine, drawing a static spark. She doesn’t jerk back in response, she expected it, as if she were testing out a theory.

Like a wall, she breaks through the tree line, the moonlight bouncing off her dress and skin. The breeze this high up is cooler, and I watch her close her eyes and breathe in the cool air. “Here it is,” she says. Her voice is barely audible.

I force my gaze to peel away from her as I walk closer to her side, our shoulders brushing against one another. Before us, seemingly miles below, is the lake, swimming with glitter. The water conforming around the town in protection.

“You said you hadn’t seen enough of the town. And now you can see it all.” She glances at me with her arms outstretched toward the view, showing me her offering. “I love it here. My hideaway,” she whispers.

“It’s beautiful, Johanna.”

She points out the landmarks from a place she so clearly loves. “There is the high school, and if you look just to the right you can see downtown with Poncho’s in the middle, and if you follow that road to the left a little ways…that speck of light, that’s my house. The darkness that stretches beyond it is my backyard,” she says with amusement.

She turns to look at me. “My dad proposed to my mom here. Right over there.” She points to a large boulder sitting over the small clearing. “And Andrew proposed to Mary-Beth here. He had me up here for hours, lighting candles and fussing over every weed or twig on this very patch of grass.” She points down to the exact spot where we are standing. “As far as I know, we are the only ones that know this little spot even exists. Sometimes it’s good to come here and…disappear,” she says with a happy sigh.

She is staring at the sky. The light pollution is nearly nonexistent at this height. “Don’t you sense it sometimes? Something’s out there, Traveler. I can feel it. You can’t look up at the night, with the stars speckled across so perfectly, as if they were placed there one by one, and not feel it. When I’m here, I feel so connected. There’s more. Somewhere.” Her voice is hypnotic.

Any control I had on my ability to restrain myself from her has vanished. I reach my hand out from my side and wrap my fingers around hers. I ignore the voltage. I ignore the familiar feeling of energy winding up in my body. I slide my hand around her waist, turning her to face me. My hand reaches up, and I satisfy my craving to run my thumb along her bottom lip. She tilts her head up to me just as I lean down and press my lips against hers, my fingers twisting in her hair. My eyes are completely closed off to my surroundings as I taste the hint of lime and sugar along her tongue.

And then, behind my closed lids, the faintest tint of blue stains my vision, growing brighter before I can snap back into consciousness and be aware of what is taking place. I can feel the full capacity of my body dematerializing. It’s too late, and I can’t stop it.

And like a snap of a finger, I’m in my shifting chamber with Johanna Martin lying in my arms. Her lips are still molded into mine, and her eyes are unaware of what she will see once she opens them.