SLEEPLESS*
JAY KRISTOFF
She takes her time.
I’m used to it by now. It’s always the same. She’ll be late to her own funeral, this girl. But she’s worth waiting for. When I think about her, I still get that unbearable lightness in my stomach. You know the kind—halfway between giddy and puking your lungs up. I can’t remember a girl making me feel this way before. Or at least, I don’t want to.
Funny thing is, I don’t even know her real name.
The house creaks around me, arthritis swelling old timber bones. The dark outside my bedroom window is full of crickets and the pulse of the distant freeway. If I listen hard enough, I can hear the rumble of farm machinery and soft voices. I wonder what the hell anyone out here has to talk about, but I can’t make out the words.
I was half-asleep. Dreaming of long blond hair and pretty blue eyes. The selfie she sent is stuck to the old laptop on the bed beside me. When the speakers ping to let me know she’s finally arrived, me and the butterflies in my stomach all wake up at once. When I see her avi on the screen, their fizzy wings start beating at my insides.
I think she might be the one.
2muchc0ff33_grrl: hey wolfie
My fingers don’t shake much as I type my reply.
wolfboy_97: hey c0ff33
2muchc0ff33_grrl: wut u doin
wolfboy_97: waitin on u like alwayz 
2muchc0ff33_grrl: ya soz, my mom being a cow
wolfboy_97: lol mine 2
2muchc0ff33_grrl: wut she on ur case about now?
wolfboy_97: got a C in history and she flipped
2muchc0ff33_grrl: flip over a C lol
wolfboy_97: ikr
2muchc0ff33_grrl: i could help.
2muchc0ff33_grrl: I’m real gud @ history
wolfboy_97: didn’t know that
2muchc0ff33_grrl: o ya
2muchc0ff33_grrl: can learn a lot
2muchc0ff33_grrl: mistakes of the past & all
wolfboy_97: ooh deep
2muchc0ff33_grrl: not like ur other girls huh
wolfboy_97: ur not like anyone i know
2muchc0ff33_grrl: 
wolfboy_97: so wut u doin?
2muchc0ff33_grrl: homework
wolfboy_97: *yawn*
2muchc0ff33_grrl: maybe u should try it sometime, C boy
wolfboy_97: so mean 
2muchc0ff33_grrl: u luv it
wolfboy_97: maybe. u luv me?
2muchc0ff33_grrl: mmmmaybe
wolfboy_97: only maybe?
2muchc0ff33_grrl: how can I say I luv u if I’ve nvr met u?
wolfboy_97: lol u’ve met me every nite for 6 months
2muchc0ff33_grrl: chat not the same as IRL
2muchc0ff33_grrl: i thought u’d wanna meet me
2muchc0ff33_grrl: thought u boys were only after 1 thing :P
wolfboy_97: i not like dat
2muchc0ff33_grrl: pity ;)
wolfboy_97: 0_0
2muchc0ff33_grrl: u goin 2 school 2morrow?
wolfboy_97: ya why?
2muchc0ff33_grrl: i dun wanna sleep
wolfboy_97: bad dreams again?
2muchc0ff33_grrl: always
wolfboy_97: 
wolfboy_97: wut r ur dreams about?
2muchc0ff33_grrl: voices
wolfboy_97: wut they say?
2muchc0ff33_grrl: sad stuff
2muchc0ff33_grrl: makes me cry
2muchc0ff33_grrl: makes me mad
2muchc0ff33_grrl: sometimes when I open my eyes i think i can still hear them
wolfboy_97: D:
2muchc0ff33_grrl: need sumthing to keep me awake tonite
2muchc0ff33_grrl: coffee not working
2muchc0ff33_grrl: figured I’d use u ;)
wolfboy_97: orly
2muchc0ff33_grrl: ya rly
2muchc0ff33_grrl: wut u wearing?
wolfboy_97: just sum shorts.
wolfboy_97: y
wolfboy_97: wut U wearing?
2muchc0ff33_grrl: i show u
2muchc0ff33_grrl: rdy?
wolfboy_97: k
2muchc0ff33_grrl: imgfile:thong_1.jpg
wolfboy_97: @_@
“Justin!”
The shout jars me out of the moment. Chokes the blood flow south. I slap the laptop closed and roll out of bed, shrug on a band T-shirt old enough to be in the vintage stores. Her voice trails down the hallway again.
“Justin!”
“Coming, Momma!”
The scent of roses and vanilla wraps me tight me as I step out of my room. Cloying. Choking. I hurry down the creaking floorboards toward her door. A crucifix of plain, dark wood nailed into its center. A ribbon of light spilling beneath. The walls are lined with dusty family pictures. Soldiers and nurses. Black-and-white. Watching as I walk past.
I knock gently, step inside. And there she is. Wrapped in a fluffy pink robe embroidered with tiny red flowers. Surrounded by plump white pillows and a thin gauze of mosquito netting. Scented candles burn on the nightstand, vanilla and roses thick in the air. Her hair is the color of old straw. Crow’s-feet eyes of milky blue. Staring right at me.
Through me.
“What were you doing?” she demands.
“Nothing, Momma.”
“You were talking to her again, weren’t you?”
“No, I wasn’t.”
“Don’t you lie to me, boy, God and almighty Jesus help me, don’t you lie.”
I’m not looking at her face, but I can feel her eyes on me. Sometimes I swear I can feel them when I leave the house. When I sleep or eat or shower. She never blinks.
“I’m not lying, Momma.”
“She’s just like the others, you know. They’re all the same. They only want one thing. You hear me?”
“I hear you, Momma.”
Bible on the nightstand beside her scented candles, open to her favorite book.
The last book.
“They don’t love you, Justin,” she says. “Nobody loves you like I do. A boy’s best friend is always his momma. You know that, don’t you?”
“Yes, Momma.”
“You’re a good boy. My special boy.”
I know what comes next.
The butterflies in my stomach are all dead.
“Come give your momma a kiss.”
The three feet to her side feel like miles. I paw my way through the mosquito netting and sit beside her on the creaking mattress. The bed that’s been her prison since the accident. This close, I can see how thin she’s gotten. Skin stretched on her bones. She used to sing to me when I was little. Songs of praise and glory to His name. She stopped the day Dad left us, though.
My stepmom is two years older than I am.
I guess I wouldn’t feel like singing either . . .
I take her hand. Stick-thin fingers. Cracker-brittle bones.
“I love you, Justin.”
“I love you too, Momma.”
“Don’t you ever leave me.”
“I won’t. I promise.”
Where would I go?
As I lean in close, I smell what’s coming for her, dark and sickly sweet under the candle smoke. I kiss her cheek. Sandpaper skin against my lips. Her eyes still locked on mine.
“My special boy.”
2muchc0ff33_grrl: where’d u go last nite
I’m in the living room, sprawled on the couch. The TV is on; coupon sales and silicon lips and the milk-carton faces of missing people on the news. A Mexican guy a little younger than me with greasy hair and pock-marked skin. Yearbook photos of a girl with an orthodontist smile and long blond pigtails. Some old kiddyqueer the cops probably won’t look too hard for, all comb-over and empty eyes.
Black-and-white photographs on the walls and dirty dishes on the coffee table and slowly dying pot plants. I try to keep the place clean, but it’s hard to find the time. I suggested to Momma we get a maid once. She got so angry, she didn’t talk to me for a week.
I didn’t mind much.
wolfboy_97: internet went down, sorry
2muchc0ff33_grrl: u missed out, had 2 keep myself awake
wolfboy_97: 
2muchc0ff33_grrl: beginning 2 think u dun like me anymore
wolfboy_97: u kidding i’m crazy 4 u
2muchc0ff33_grrl: y u bail every time i get sexty then
wolfboy_97: told u my net went down.
2muchc0ff33_grrl: :P
2muchc0ff33_grrl: so
wolfboy_97: so?
2muchc0ff33_grrl: so when can we meet irl?
wolfboy_97: not yet
2muchc0ff33_grrl: y not? i want to see u so bad
2muchc0ff33_grrl: u only 1 town over
wolfboy_97: soon ok?
wolfboy_97: i want it 2 b rite
wolfboy_97: 2 b perfect
2muchc0ff33_grrl: sigh
2muchc0ff33_grrl: well in other news
2muchc0ff33_grrl: my mom being a total psycho again
wolfboy_97: wuts up
2muchc0ff33_grrl: i swear she wants to put me in a freakin convent
wolfboy_97: noooooo
2muchc0ff33_grrl: lol
wolfboy_97: you haven’t told her about us have u
2muchc0ff33_grrl: god no, she’d explode
2muchc0ff33_grrl: she just doesn’t shut up, you know? she has no idea wut it’s like. She’s always on my back. sometimes i just wanna pack up everything and spilt.
wolfboy_97: i know exactly what u mean
wolfboy_97: sometimes I wish I’d have gone with my dad when he took off. he was kinda awesome
wolfboy_97: but ur stronger than them. ur the most amazing person i know
2muchc0ff33_grrl: u always know how to cheer me up 
wolfboy_97: i really like u
2muchc0ff33_grrl: I like u 2 <3
wolfboy_97: i think about u all the time
2muchc0ff33_grrl: what u think about
I look at her picture taped to my laptop screen. Her skin is like milk. Her hair is liquid summer. Her photo wears a sly, knowing smile that makes me smile back every time I look at it. Her eyes take me away. Someplace quiet no one else can see.
wolfboy_97: i think about being with u
2muchc0ff33_grrl: like dinner at mcdonalds and 2 for 1 movie “being with me”?
wolfboy_97: no
2muchc0ff33_grrl: what then?
wolfboy_97: being alone with u
2muchc0ff33_grrl: and what will u do when ur alone with me J
wolfboy_97: stuff ;D
2muchc0ff33_grrl: lol, do tell
wolfboy_97: i been looking at the pic u sent me last nite
2muchc0ff33_grrl: excite u?
wolfboy_97: yeah
2muchc0ff33_grrl: u want me?
wolfboy_97: y—
“Justin!”
I close my eyes and try not to sigh. Try not to think bad thoughts. To wish she’d just go away like Dad did. How much easier it would be. How much quieter in my head. I know it’s wrong, but sometimes I think it’d be better if I was just on my own. I pray to God and almighty Jesus for strength, but they don’t listen. They never listen.
Honor thy father and thy mother.
“Yeah, Momma?”
“What are you doing?”
“Talking to a friend on the computer.”
Her voice rises an octave. “Is it that tramp again?”
I sigh, push the laptop aside. Stalk through the house, toward the back door. Pizza boxes and dirty dishes and dust bunnies in the corners. She wanted to sit on the porch tonight. Listen to the crickets sing. Insisted I drag her from the bed, wheel her out to watch the sunset. It can’t be good for her skin, but I didn’t have the strength to argue.
I push open the back door, stare down at her in her wheelchair. All the crickets in the yard fall silent. Like they’re waiting. She looks so small. So thin. I know it must be hard for her. She just never thinks how hard it must be for me.
“Momma, please don’t talk that way.”
Her eyes are on the horizon. Dying sunlight reflected in that milky blue.
“I don’t like it here anymore. Take me back. Take me back, Justin.”
She does this sometimes. Tells me to take her back to the place the county put her after the accident. They said I couldn’t look after her, that they’d take care of her. She says it was nice, to get on my nerves, but we both know it was horrible. Gray stone and cheap pine and padded walls. Crowds of gawping visitors on a Sunday, milling about like pigs at a trough.
“I’m not taking you back,” I say. “This is your home. No good son would leave his momma in a place like that.”
“And you’re a good son, are you?”
“I try to be.”
“You keep this up, you’re going to burn, Justin. You’re going to burn in hell.”
“Momma—”
“I know what you’re thinking. I can see it in you. You’re going to leave me, just like him. Some teenage piece of tail wags itself at you and that’s all it takes. I know it.”
“Momma, stop it.”
“She’s nothing but a tramp, Justin. She’s just like all the others. Sending you pictures of herself. It’s ungodly.”
I glance back into the house. “. . . How did you know that?”
She’s refusing to look at me. Thin lips drawn back against her teeth.
“They’re all alike,” she spits. “Wicked. No good. Dirty girls.”
The words I bite back taste like sour milk in my mouth.
“Momma, stop it. She’s really nice. She’s sweet and funny and—”
“And the woman was arrayed in purple and scarlet color,” she hisses, “and decked with gold and precious stones and pearls, having a golden cup in her hand full of abominations and filthiness of her fornicati—”
I’m tired of this. Of scripture and revelation, of those eyes that never blink, of her always being inside my head. I grab her wheelchair handles, drag her in through the back door. She shrieks protest, but I don’t listen. Trundling her through the sprawling rooms, past those staring photos and Bible pages in dusty frames. Every word is a nail driven into my head. I pick her up, and she weighs almost nothing in my arms. And careful as I can, I put her back into her bed, back into the cloying stink of those scented candles and musty pages. Screaming all the while.
Tramps. Harlots. Floozies. Trollops. Jezebels.
Shut up, shut up, shut up.
I slam the door, muffling her venom. Snatch up my computer. Fling open the stairwell door and stomp down into the cellar. It’s always quiet down here. Thick concrete walls and rich, dark earth. Sheets of old plastic. My dad’s tools hanging on the walls. The only things he left behind. The only place I can really go to escape her voice.
I’ll wait down here awhile. She’ll be calm in an hour or two. Everything will be normal.
Normal.
wolfboy_97: sorry, back
2muchc0ff33_grrl: missed u
wolfboy_97: 
wolfboy_97: we shud do it u know
2muchc0ff33_grrl: um slow down stud
2muchc0ff33_grrl: u run a mile when I send you a pic of my undies
wolfboy_97: lol no
wolfboy_97: i mean run away together
2muchc0ff33_grrl: lol, ur crazy
wolfboy_97: only about u
2muchc0ff33_grrl: u don’t know me.
wolfboy_97: I know ur amazing
2muchc0ff33_grrl: might not think that the 1st night i wake up screaming next 2 u
wolfboy_97: i wouldn’t care. Coz u’d be waking up next 2 me
2muchc0ff33_grrl: I’m a total headcase, wolfie
wolfboy_97: u can’t be as bad as my other gf’s lol
2muchc0ff33_grrl: o so I’m ur gf now?
wolfboy_97: . . . aren’t u?
2muchc0ff33_grrl: tell me bout them
wolfboy_97: who
2muchc0ff33_grrl: ur old gfs
wolfboy_97: y?
2muchc0ff33_grrl: told you. I’m good @ history. Mistakes of the past and all
wolfboy_97: this is like a golden rule or sumthng. Never talk about exes
2muchc0ff33_grrl: if ur as hawt as ur pics, they must have been too
2muchc0ff33_grrl: so
2muchc0ff33_grrl: were they?
wolfboy_97: lol i’m not talking about this
2muchc0ff33_grrl: WERE THEY
wolfboy_97: . . .
wolfboy_97: they were pretty, yeah
2muchc0ff33_grrl: prettier than me?
2muchc0ff33_grrl: think carefully b4 u answer, wolfboy
wolfboy_97: ur way prettier
2muchc0ff33_grrl: huzzah u have passed the test!
2muchc0ff33_grrl: how many gfs u had?
wolfboy_97: I plead the 5th
2muchc0ff33_grrl: afraid u’ll incriminate urself?
wolfboy_97: u make me smile
2muchc0ff33_grrl: lol i make u squirm
2muchc0ff33_grrl: crazy headcase psycho girl I told u
wolfboy_97: i like that ur psycho
wolfboy_97: i’m psycho too 
wolfboy_97: hello?
wolfboy_97: u there?
2muchc0ff33_grrl: *sighs* gotta jet, wolfie. mom screaming again
2muchc0ff33_grrl: back around 10
wolfboy_97: k
2muchc0ff33_grrl: xxx
I stare at her kisses for I don’t know how long. The sound of the world down here is muted. Soft and dark but for the house breathing. I can’t hear Momma yelling anymore.
My mind drifts, wandering in the unwelcome direction of former girlfriends. Why’d she ask about them? Why take me there? Now I’m remembering and it makes me sad. I don’t like thinking about how it never works out.
Shy Alice with her freckles and her glasses who never really kissed me back.
Lucy with her tattooed arms and pierced tongue.
Sally, who never really talked much, but still liked to scream my name.
A parade of imperfections and unhappy endings. Failed experiments. Sometimes I wonder if the right girl is out there. Sometimes I wonder if Momma isn’t right about all of them.
No.
C0ff33’s different. She’s special. She’s the one.
Just like me. Lost. Lonely. Looking for someone.
Someone special.
That special boy.
× × ×
I met her on Reddit. Some true-crime author AMA. I visit lots of chat rooms. Books and hobbies and music and movements. Just watching. People would say I lurk, but I hate that word. Sounds like I’m some kind of creeper, and I’m totally not. I just don’t talk unless I’ve got something to say. Mark Twain said it’s better to remain silent and be thought of as a fool than to run your mouth and remove all doubt.
Anyway, after the AMA was done, she got into a flame war with some nub who insisted Pedro Lopez was the worst serial killer in history. I watched her take him apart, smart and funny all at once. Explaining Lopez was second-string, that Luis Garavito had over four hundred possible vics. The nub disappeared with his tail between his legs.
I sat staring at her name. 2muchc0ff33_grrl.
I don’t drink coffee. Gives me headaches.
Took me ten minutes to muster the courage and PM her.
wolfboy_97: ur wrong btw
2muchc0ff33_grrl: wut
wolfboy_97: about Garavito
2muchc0ff33_grrl: omg another Lopez fanboy? Learn 2 google, kid
wolfboy_97: not Lopez. Harold Shipman
2muchc0ff33_grrl: lol he bushleague. 250ish
wolfboy_97: your wikifu sucks, they solved over 400 murders off Shipman.
wolfboy_97: but they think it could’ve maybe been 1000
wolfboy_97: and Lopez maybe beats Garavito. No way for them rly know who the #1 is
2muchc0ff33_grrl: who the hell r u, guinness?
wolfboy_97: just another freak
wolfboy_97: like u
2muchc0ff33_grrl: well thank u very much
wolfboy_97: freaks beat normal any day
2muchc0ff33_grrl: I’m not a freak, I’m special
wolfboy_97: ha that’s just wut my mom says
2muchc0ff33_grrl: *crickets*
wolfboy_97: where u from
2muchc0ff33_grrl: winterset
wolfboy_97: iowa?
2muchc0ff33_grrl: check out the big brain on brettttt
wolfboy_97: lol i go to high school like 1 town over from you
2muchc0ff33_grrl: omg its fate
wolfboy_97: obvs 
wolfboy_97: how old r u
2muchc0ff33_grrl: 16
2muchc0ff33_grrl: u?
wolfboy_97: 17
wolfboy_97: u like true crime, huh
2muchc0ff33_grrl: meh. maybe. thinking about doing forensics in college
wolfboy_97: CSI winterset!
2muchc0ff33_grrl: lol
2muchc0ff33_grrl: sumthin like that
2muchc0ff33_grrl: what about u
wolfboy_97: wut about me
2muchc0ff33_grrl: what you wanna do when u grow up
wolfboy_97: my dad says growing up is overrated
And that’s how it started. Simple as that. She joked about it, but maybe it was fate. I’d just finished with Sally maybe two weeks before. The breakup hadn’t gone well—I didn’t take it too good. But when I was with c0ff33, it didn’t seem to hurt so much.
I sent her my pic, she sent me hers. The online courting waltz, pieces of us shared in the cricket-song dark. It’s funny how I’ve never asked her real name, but she knows me better than anyone. Sometimes I’m afraid of what’ll happen when we meet. Afraid it’ll turn out like everything else. We’re perfect while we hide behind our little screens. We can be whoever we want in the dark. But there’s no delete key IRL. No way to undo the mistakes we make.
Maybe it’s better this way.
I plod up the stairs. Up to my room. Find the shoebox under my bed. Ticket stubs from ball games my dad took me to when I was a kid. Shells I collected from some summer at the beach. A piece of polished bone. Tongue stud (Lucy’s idea, and a bad one—they totally ruin your teeth). An old orthodontic retainer. Rubbers. And right at the bottom, I find it. A gold ring, set with tiny diamond flecks. A single word engraved on the inner band.
I remember the day I found it on the bedroom floor. Momma’s fingers had gotten too thin for it to stay on anymore. I remember the way it looked on Alice’s hand. How Lucy freaked when I gave it to her. The empty band of skin around Sally’s finger where it used to be, thirty seconds after she broke my heart.
There’s no delete key IRL.
No way to take back “I love you.”
× × ×
It’s 11:45 PM, and she was supposed to meet me at 10:00.
She always takes her time.
2muchc0ff33_grrl: u hear about this SK on the news
My stomach drops into my toes as she appears on-screen. Full of new butterflies. A pesticide breeze blows in through the open window. The crickets are singing, all in time.
wolfboy_97: hello 2 u 2
2muchc0ff33_grrl: u hear about it?
wolfboy_97: i don’t watch the news
2muchc0ff33_grrl: cops found belongings at his house from five different girls
wolfboy_97: jesus
2muchc0ff33_grrl: he kept their jewelry, how stupid is that
wolfboy_97: lotta serial killers keep trophies
2muchc0ff33_grrl: i know that. It’s just real dumb. if u wanna get away with it, i mean
wolfboy_97: maybe he didn’t wanna get away with it?
2muchc0ff33_grrl: well, he didn’t. been missing for twelve days now. sum1 got him
wolfboy_97: good
2muchc0ff33_grrl: who you figure did him?
wolfboy_97: dunno
2muchc0ff33_grrl: come on, u read about this stuff all the time
wolfboy_97: maybe it was just bad luck.
wolfboy_97: walked out in front of a bus when texting ruh rohhhhh
2muchc0ff33_grrl: lol
2muchc0ff33_grrl: vigilante maybe?
wolfboy_97: not likely. he’s prolly just holed up sumwhere.
2muchc0ff33_grrl: wouldn’t that be cool, tho. Sum1 out there hunting these freaks down and giving them what they deserve
wolfboy_97: i guess. Cops sure can’t do it. Only time they catch an SK, it’s usually an accident or the guy being stupid
2muchc0ff33_grrl: not accident. karma
2muchc0ff33_grrl: u believe in karma, wolfie? Universe bringing us wut we deserve?
wolfboy_97: nah
2muchc0ff33_grrl: y not?
wolfboy_97: coz I got u. and no way I deserve u
2muchc0ff33_grrl: ooooooh, SMOOTH talker
wolfboy_97: :D
2muchc0ff33_grrl: u don’t deserve me, huh
wolfboy_97: nope
2muchc0ff33_grrl: so have u been a bad boy, wolfie?
wolfboy_97: lol I’m very well behaved I’ll have u know :D
2muchc0ff33_grrl: mmm
2muchc0ff33_grrl: u want me 2 be a bad girl 4 u.
My hand slips down toward my boxers. My mouth is dry as dust.
wolfboy_97: i don’t know
2muchc0ff33_grrl: tell me wut u’ll do when u meet me
2muchc0ff33_grrl: will u be bad 4 me baby
wolfboy_97: u torturing me
2muchc0ff33_grrl: lol, not yet
2muchc0ff33_grrl: but when i do
2muchc0ff33_grrl: it’s gonna be soooooo good
“Justin!”
Her voice is like a bucket of cold water thrown in my face. It wakes me up. Drags me back. And just for a moment, I hate it. Hate this. Hate her.
“Justin!”
I glance at the flashing cursor on the screen. Search for the girl beyond it. Wondering if she really is the one to get me away from this place. Away from her. Away from me. Is she real? Can I make her real?
“Justin, I’m cold! Come close the window!”
I wonder if there is such a thing as karma. Or God. Or whatever.
2muchc0ff33_grrl: u there?
I wonder what I did to deserve a life like this.
But I know what I have to do to change it.
wolfboy_97: I got u something
2muchc0ff33_grrl: got me what?
wolfboy_97: present
2muchc0ff33_grrl: omg what?
wolfboy_97: I show u
wolfboy_97: rdy?
2muchc0ff33_grrl: yesssssss
wolfboy_97: imgfile:ring_1.jpg
2muchc0ff33_grrl: *squeeeeeeees*
wolfboy_97: u like?
2muchc0ff33_grrl: OMFG ITS BEAUTIFUL
2muchc0ff33_grrl: WUT’S THE ENGRAVING SAY I CAN’T READ IT
wolfboy_97: “forever”
wolfboy_97: gonna give it to you when we meet
2muchc0ff33_grrl: WHEN
2muchc0ff33_grrl: WHEN
wolfboy_97: u luv me?
2muchc0ff33_grrl: I luv u
2muchc0ff33_grrl: OMG IT’S BEAUTIFUL I LUV U
2muchc0ff33_grrl: *dies*
wolfboy_97: lol, don’t do that
“Justin!”
wolfboy_97: i gtg
2muchc0ff33_grrl: ok
2muchc0ff33_grrl: I luv u
2muchc0ff33_grrl: I LUV U
I drag myself out of bed, trudge past those black-and-white faces toward her door.
“Coming, Momma.”
2muchc0ff33_grrl: omg
2muchc0ff33_grrl: omfg
I open my eyes. It’s nearly midnight. The house is so quiet, I can hear it breathing. The pinging on my laptop is loud enough to wake the dead. I look to Momma’s room, slap at the volume control as my chat window fills with her name.
2muchc0ff33_grrl: wolfie
2muchc0ff33_grrl: u there
2muchc0ff33_grrl: pls
wolfboy_97: wuts up?
2muchc0ff33_grrl: omfg, my mom
wolfboy_97: wut about her
2muchc0ff33_grrl: she went through my computer
2muchc0ff33_grrl: she read my logs
2muchc0ff33_grrl: saw the pics I sent u
Cold fingertips brush my spine. I can’t seem to breathe right.
wolfboy_97: 0_o
wolfboy_97: what did she say
2muchc0ff33_grrl: SHE FREAKED WTF U THINK
wolfboy_97: ok ok calm down
2muchc0ff33_grrl: she said she gonna cut off my net
2muchc0ff33_grrl: that I’m not allowed to c u anymore
2muchc0ff33_grrl: i told u she’s a PSYCHO
wolfboy_97: where r u now?
2muchc0ff33_grrl: bus station
wolfboy_97: wtf
2muchc0ff33_grrl: did u mean what u said
wolfboy_97: what did I say?
2muchc0ff33_grrl: that u wanted to run away with me
. . .
. . .
wolfboy_97: yes
2muchc0ff33_grrl: then come get me
2muchc0ff33_grrl: let’s just go
2muchc0ff33_grrl: u and me
2muchc0ff33_grrl: now
wolfboy_97: does ur mom know ur gone
2muchc0ff33_grrl: no, I waited til she went to sleep
wolfboy_97: did u tell anyone else about us?
2muchc0ff33_grrl: who the hell am I gonna tell?
2muchc0ff33_grrl: COME GET ME
It wasn’t meant to be like this. This was supposed to happen when we both wanted it. I’m not ready for it yet. I haven’t even started to—
2muchc0ff33_grrl: wolfie pls
2muchc0ff33_grrl: wolfie I luv u
I should let her go. If she’s run away, the cops will be looking for her. I could get into so much trouble. My mind is running through the maybes. This is stupid. This is crazy.
But what if she’s the one?
wolfboy_97: ok
wolfboy_97: ok I’ll come
2muchc0ff33_grrl: omg thank u baby
wolfboy_97: its gonna be ok, i promise
2muchc0ff33_grrl: ok ok
2muchc0ff33_grrl: i’m ok
wolfboy_97: it’s gonna take too long 4 me to get to winterset tho
wolfboy_97: i can’t drive
wolfboy_97: my dad can, tho. he just outside of ur town. i’ll get him to come get u.
2muchc0ff33_grrl: ur dad? Won’t he tell the cops?
wolfboy_97: no, he’s cool. trust me
wolfboy_97: he’s a real cool guy
wolfboy_97: he’ll take u to his place, I’ll come pick u up in the morning, ok?
2muchc0ff33_grrl: ok
wolfboy_97: don’t wait at the bus station tho
wolfboy_97: too many ppl
wolfboy_97: wait two blocks south, he’ll come get u there
2muchc0ff33_grrl: wolfie I’m freaked out
wolfboy_97: its gonna be ok, i promise
2muchc0ff33_grrl: ok
wolfboy_97: we’ll be together soon
2muchc0ff33_grrl: forever?
wolfboy_97: and ever
Amen.
× × ×
A storm is coming in from the north. Rain like knives.
My hands are shaking the whole drive there. Windshield wipers squeaking in time with my pulse. I’m not sure what I’ll say. She thinks I’m perfect behind my little screen. I can be whoever she wants in the dark. But there’s no delete key IRL.
What if she can’t love who I am out here?
The brakes on my dad’s truck squeal as it pulls up to the curb. Gravel crunches under the tires as the headlights die. I look at the streets around me. Empty asphalt and dark windows. Lifeless neon and howling wind and rain, rain, rain.
Nobody for miles.
My breath fogs up the glass and the storm comes down in floods. But finally I see her skulking down the street, and I know it’s an awful cliché, but I swear my heart skips a beat. Even in the gloom I recognize her, the half-moon crescent of her cheek picked out in the streetlamp’s light. Raindrops glittering as they fall around her, like her own personal fireworks show. Long blond hair flowing from beneath her hoodie, leather jacket, and tight, tight jeans. Gliding slow through the dark. She looks up, sees the truck, but even then, her pace doesn’t quicken. Ever and always, she takes her time.
I roll down the window so she can see me. Distrust in her eyes. I give her my most disarming smile.
“Hey there, coffee girl,” I say. “You look soaked.”
“Who’re you?” she asks.
“I’m Justin.” I smile. “I’m Wolfie’s dad.”
× × ×
She stares out the window the whole way back. Doesn’t look at me at all. That’s okay, though, I expected it at first. Her lips are slightly blue, and she’s shivering. It’ll be better once we get home. Get her out of those wet clothes.
“Are you cold?” I ask.
“I’m always cold.”
I turn on the heater, and the dashboard rattles and shakes.
“I’ll take you back to my place. You can have a shower, get warmed up.”
“Is Wolfie there?”
“He’ll be there in the morning.”
She nods, chews at her lip. I watch out of the corner of my eye, and my mouth goes dry.
“Bad scene at home, huh?” I ask.
“Yeah.”
“I know what that’s like.”
“Runs in the family?”
“What do you mean?”
“Wolfie doesn’t get on with his mom either. Says she’s a real psycho.”
I bristle a little. “I’m sure he never said that. They might butt heads sometimes, but—”
“He hates her. I can tell. The way he talks about her.”
My knuckles are white on the steering wheel. “I’m sure that’s not true.”
“She sounds like a real freak.” A sideways glance. “No offense. I mean, he told me you split when he was young. I don’t blame you. You must know what she’s like.”
No, no, this isn’t working at all.
“It’s kinda funny,” I say. “You guys meeting online and living so close to each other.”
She shrugs. Damp blond hair plastered to her throat. Her skin is moonlight pale.
“Wolfie and me are fate.”
“You really think that? Some people are just meant to be together?”
“I think everything happens for a reason.”
“Well, Wolfie’s very lucky, then. You seem like a wonderful girl.” I steal another glance. “Beautiful too.”
“It’s real cool of you, you know.” She shifts a little in her seat. “Helping us out like this.”
“Well, I’m a nice guy.”
She looks at me and smiles, and it seems the sun has come out from behind the clouds.
“Yeah. Wolfie always said.”
The windshield wipers are too slow to keep up with my heartbeat now. The road hisses under our tires as we drive through the thundering night. I see her stifle a yawn against her sleeve. I notice dark circles under her eyes.
“What’s your real name, anyway?”
“Cassie.”
The word echoes in my head like a prayer.
“You look tired, Cassie.”
“Yeah, I don’t sleep much.”
“Is that why you call yourself coffee girl?”
“Coffee’s my best friend. I have bad dreams.”
I put one hand on her lap. Just the briefest touch. Light as feathers.
“Everyone has bad dreams.”
She stares out the window. Blue eyes fixed beyond the foggy glass.
“Not like mine.”
× × ×
The brakes squeal as we pull into the driveway. I have an umbrella, run around to her side of the truck. As we dash toward the porch, I put my arm around her waist to keep her close. She’s so cold. I can feel the chill coming off her skin.
It makes me shiver.
Inside, the rain beats down on the roof like a million tin drums. Thunder rattles the windows in their frames. I shake the wet out of my hair, watch as she shrugs off her backpack, offer to take her jacket. As I hang it on the coatrack, I can smell her perfume on the leather. Feel a faint breeze somewhere on the back of my neck that sets goose bumps loose all over my skin.
Her eyes are so blue.
“The bathroom is up the hall. You can have a shower, get out of those clothes. I’ll get a fire going. Did you bring pajamas?”
“Yeah.” She shivers. “Couldn’t fit my robe, though.”
She must feel it too. This is perfect. Just too perfect.
“I have one I can loan you,” I say. “I’ll leave it outside the bathroom door.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
“Down the hall.” I smile. “Second on the right.”
She tosses her hair over her shoulder. Turns and walks away. I watch her hips sway. Think about the shape of her lips. Raindrops beading on her skin.
She must feel it too.
She said it was fate.
This time it’s going to be all right.
This time it’s going to be perfect.
Not like the other times.
× × ×
Alice was my first and I made a mess of it—first times are usually that way, they say. I gave her too much Flunitrazepam and she just never woke up. She was too thin. Too shy. That was her problem. Momma told me I needed a girl with a backbone, so I kept a piece of it. A little polished piece of bone in a shoebox. All that remains of shy little Alice.
Lucy was my second and she was much better. She had a bad mouth, though. The things she called me when she woke up—I couldn’t keep her after that. Momma wouldn’t have stood for someone like Lucy living under her roof. I tried to keep her tongue, but it just turned to rot after a while. A silver barbell’s all that’s left.
Sally woke up too early. I’m still learning how much I should use in their drinks. I get the tablets online, keep them above the kitchen sink—the shiny white kind that dissolve easy, not the blue ones that stain the liquid. But it’s hard to guess the dose. She screamed when her eyes fluttered open. Screamed my name and kicked and flailed. Bit me with those perfect teeth her orthodontist must have made a fortune on. I still have the scar. Still have her retainer too. The ground got the rest.
They didn’t understand. They weren’t the one. But Cassie’s different. She said bad things about Momma and I’d never think those things, but the start is always hard, isn’t it? Before people really get to know each other? It’ll be okay this time. She loves me. She’ll understand the person behind the screen is the same person in front of her now. Of course she will.
She has to.
I don’t know what I’ll do if she doesn’t.
I feel sandpaper skin against my lips. Smell vanilla and roses over my shoulder.
Yes, you do.
× × ×
I’m pretending to read when she steps out of the bathroom in a swirl of warm steam. Damp blond hair framing an angel’s face. She’s wearing black bunny slippers with X’s for eyes. Her pajamas are black too, patterned with skeleton teddy bears. I don’t like them. At all.
But the robe is perfect. Fluffy and pink. Embroidered with dozens of tiny red flowers. She looks beautiful. She looks—
“I look ridiculous in this thing,” she says.
“No, you look great.”
“I look like someone’s mother. Someone’s tragic, saggy, seven-million-year-old mother.” She plops down on the couch opposite me, plucking at the hem. “I look like I murdered Martha Stewart and stole her skin.”
My butterflies are all dead.
“I don’t have anything else,” I manage to say. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s only for tonight, right?” She gives me a thin smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.
This isn’t going well at all. She moves differently than I thought she would. Slumps in the chair with her legs slightly spread instead of crossing them like a lady. Picking at the browning leaves of the potted plant beside her. And her voice is wrong. Her accent is hard. And she chews her fingernails. I don’t like that.
“When’s Wolfie coming?”
“He’ll be here in the morning, like I said.”
Silence stretches for miles between us, broken only by the rolling thunder. Her gaze roams the room—she’s obviously looking for something to say. It’s so easy for us, usually. We talk for hours. Words flowing like water. Surely she can still sense that? Surely she can find something worthwhile talking ab—
“How long you lived out here?” she asks.
The question’s so banal, it makes my teeth ache.
“A long time.”
“God, I’d go crazy out here all by myself. Don’t you miss the city?”
“I like the quiet.”
“I think I’d kill myself out of boredom.”
No, no, no.
“Wolfie lives in a place like this, right?” she continues. “Some old crappy farm thing? God, no wonder he wants to split. Psycho mom aside, I mean.”
My hands curl into fists on my armrests.
She seems to remember herself. Something like apology creeps into her voice, matched by that eyeless smile. “I mean, I’m sure it’s okay for a guy like you.”
“. . . A guy like me?”
“Yeah. Old. I mean, older. You know.”
It feels like I’ve been stabbed in the stomach and all the air is leaking out of me. Flames are crackling in the fireplace. The wind outside sounds like howling wolves.
Someone’s tragic, saggy, seven-million-year-old mother . . .
I look into her eyes and I suddenly realize they aren’t blue at all.
A guy like you. Old. Older. You know.
They’re gray.
She’s just like the others, you know. They’re all the same . . .
Shiny white pills in the cupboard above the sink.
“Would you like something to drink?” I hear myself say.
“Yeah, coffee would be awesome.”
She’s still speaking as I walk toward the kitchen, but I can’t hear what she says. I want to ask her to keep her voice down in case she wakes up Momma, but suddenly I can’t stand the thought of looking at her. It’s not the same. It’s never the same. It’s so easy when it’s all happening behind a screen. So clean. You never have to notice that their eyes have dark shadows under them, or they fidget when they talk, or their fingernails are chewed down to the quick. I should never have brought her here.
There’s no delete key in real life.
I bring back the coffees (I know the way she likes it, I know everything about her), watch her nurse it in her lap, waiting for it to cool. She’s still talking and I want her to shut up in case Momma hears, but I don’t want to be rude.
Drink it, drink it.
“Are you okay?” she asks.
The apologetic smile on my face feels made out of plastic.
“Just tired.”
“I’m cold.”
Wood snaps in the fireplace, sparks spilling up the chimney like fireflies. I get up and throw another log into the burning mouth, let the flames tumble and catch. I’m not sure how long I stand there, watching the heat lick and the bark blacken, trying not to hear her talk about her bad dreams and the voices she hears when she closes her eyes and everything about her I once wanted, and now want to rip bleeding out of her chest. But I’m still. So still and quiet.
Like a good little boy.
When I turn back around, the butterflies in my stomach wake up as I see her draining the last of her coffee, thumping the mug onto the table.
She doesn’t use the coaster.
“Urg, what flavor was that? Sweaty underwear?”
“Just instant.”
“Tasted like something died in it.”
“Justin!”
My stomach lurches. Cassie’s eyelids are fluttering, the corners of her mouth starting to sag. She runs her hand across her eyes, blinking hard.
“Justin!”
“Excuse me for a moment.” I smile. “I’ll be right back.”
Down the hallway on shaking legs, past the black-and-white stares toward the crucifix door. I knew she’d wake her, I knew it. She’s spoiling everything, God why can’t it ever be—
“Justin!”
“I’m here, Momma,” I say, pushing the bedroom door open. It smells damp in here. Wrong. I think the rain is creeping in somewhere, rotting the wood.
Momma is staring at me. Through me. “Who are you talking to? I heard voices.”
“Nobody.”
“Don’t you lie to me, boy, God and almighty Jesus help me, don’t you lie.”
“It’s just the television, Momma.”
“You think I don’t see, don’t you? You think I don’t know what you get up to?”
“Momma, go back to sleep.”
“Don’t you take that tone with me!”
“I’m not taking a tone!”
“You’re just like him, Justin. Just like your daddy.”
“I’m not like him!” I shout. “I’m still here. I’m a good son! A good boy! Who got you back from that awful place they put you in after the accident? Who looked after you?”
“It’s not an accident when it’s on purpose, Justin.”
My butterflies are all dead again.
“I said I was sorry!”
“I was happy where I was. It was quiet there. I could sleep.”
“No.” I shake my head. “No. You belong here, this is your home.”
“I belong in the ground, Justin,” she sighs. “Put me back.”
“Who’rrre you talk . . . talking to?”
I whirl and see Cassie standing behind me with those wide eyes that are gray, not blue.
“Is she . . . ?”
And she’s looking past me to the thing in the bed—that thing of dry skin and cracker-brittle bones I dug up out of that awful place they put her. I said I was sorry. It was an accident. Oh God, I didn’t mean to hurt you, Momma. And Cassie’s hand creeps up to her mouth as she realizes her hair is the same color and the robe I gave her is identical and all the rain and the candles in the world still can’t quite cover the smell.
“Is she . . . dead?”
Pale blue eyes that never blink.
Her voice always inside my head.
Only inside my head?
“Don’t you talk that way about my momma.”
“Oh, Jesus,” Cassie whispers. “Oh, my God . . .”
She turns to run, but the pills have got her now. Her hands on the walls as she tries to keep her balance, stumbling and knocking one of the photos loose. It’s an old one—soldiers and nurses—my mom and dad during the war. It shatters on the ground, glass shards spinning slow in the air until they fall, down, down, just like Cassie, down to her knees and then to the boards, hair the color of damp straw splayed about her head in a ragged halo.
I stoop and heft her over my shoulder, boots crunching in broken glass.
“I’m going down to the cellar for a while, Momma.”
I close the bedroom door behind me.
Momma doesn’t say a word.
× × ×
I lay Cassie down on the workbench, plastic sheet beneath her. I’ve slipped Momma’s ring onto her finger and she looks so perfect. So pretty. So peaceful now. With all those bad dreams, I bet she hasn’t slept this good in years. I almost want to leave her a little longer to enjoy it. But I suppose she can sleep forever now.
A breeze is tickling the back of my neck as I look through my dad’s tools, taking the ones I want to start with. Wood saw. Pliers. Claw hammer. I plonk them onto the table beside Cassie, watch her chest rise and fall. There are goose bumps on my skin. It’s really cold in here.
I don’t want to strap her down yet. I’m not sure what part I want to keep. I want to wait until I can’t wait anymore. Until the need makes me shake. And so I rip open her backpack, upend it on another workbench. Sifting through the socks and tees and underwear, pulling apart her toiletries bag—paint for those blue lips and polish for those too-chewed fingernails. I’m beginning to think there’s nothing worth keeping until I search the side pocket, find it sitting in there like it was just waiting for me.
Her diary.
I glance at her on the table, smile sneaking and creeping to the corners of my mouth. Opening up these pages will be like opening up her head. I have to keep it. It’s too perfect.
I flip through with trembling hands, eyes scanning the text.
. . . Mom on my case again about staying out so late. She just doesn’t . . .
. . . no sleep again, yay for double-caff . . .
. . . sometimes wonder why they picked me . . .
. . . bad dreams . . .
. . . the worst. She swears like a goddamn sailor. I try to . . .
There’s nothing in here, I realize. My frown deepens and I keep flipping, page after page.
There’s no reference to Wolfie at all.
But she said she loved me . . .
. . . followed him home from work last night. Some crappy dishpig job . . .
. . . think I found another one . . .
. . . nightmares again. Latino kids with their eyes missing. They showed me his face. Long greasy hair and acne scars. I know where he put . . .
What the hell is this?
And from inside the pages, something tumbles. A photograph, fluttering down to the concrete at my boots. As I stoop to pick it up, I see there’s a red X marked across it. The face still looks familiar, though. Hollow eyes. Terrible comb-over. I’ve seen it somewhere before . . .
Television, I realize.
That missing kiddyqueer they were talking about on the news . . .
wolfboy_97: wut r ur dreams about?
2muchc0ff33_grrl: voices
wolfboy_97: wut they say?
2muchc0ff33_grrl: sad stuff
2muchc0ff33_grrl: makes me cry
2muchc0ff33_grrl: makes me mad
2muchc0ff33_grrl: sometimes when I open my eyes i think i can still hear them
No.
. . . followed him home from work last night . . .
. . . sometimes wonder why they picked me . . .
. . . They showed me his face . . .
2muchc0ff33_grrl: wouldn’t that be cool, tho. Sum1 out there hunting these freaks down and giving them what they deserve
I turn and she’s sitting up on the workbench. Head slightly tilted, staring at me with those bruised gray eyes. Skeleton teddy bears on her pajamas. Claw hammer in her hand.
She swings it faster than I can move. It catches me on the jaw and I feel the bone shatter, taste bright copper in my mouth. I stumble, legs going out from under me. Knees cracking on the concrete, sharp pain lancing through the bloody haze over my eyes. And as she brings the hammer down again, her words cut like razors in the dark.
“Sorry, Wolfie.”
× × ×
I wake up and all I taste is blood, metallic in my mouth. The light-globe above me is etched in triplicate—three burning suns to blind me. My head doesn’t feel right. I try to speak, remembering too late my jaw is broken. Bone grinding bone. Whatever I was going to say turns into a bubbling whimper.
I’m still in the cellar, I realize. Strapped to the table. The suns overhead are eclipsed as she leans slowly over me, looking down. Gray eyes and blue lips.
It’s freezing, I realize. Her breath hangs in the air between us as she speaks.
“You cold, Wolfie?”
I can’t speak. Nod instead.
“Can’t say I’m real sorry about your comfort level. But it gets cold when they get angry. And they’re real angry at you, Wolfie.”
They?
I glance around the room, seeing nothing but blank concrete and my father’s tools on the walls. Some are missing, I realize. Not in their places.
“Don’t bother looking for them.” She wiggles her fingers in front of my eyes. “You gotta have the touch. The curse. The crazy. Whatever you wanna call it. Alice doesn’t look too bad, but it’s not like you’d want to see Sally and Lucy, anyway. They mostly keep the shape they died in, see. And you didn’t let them die easy, did you?”
I try to speak, but it’s just a gargle of pain and bone splinters.
“Shhhh,” she whispers, putting her finger to her lips. “You don’t have to explain. They told me all about it. Chatroom creeper. IM flatterer. Solid pro at spotting the easy pickings in the crowd, right? Lonely girls. Sad girls. Lost girls. Big bad wolf, huh?”
She picks up the wood saw. Holds it in front of my eyes.
“This is what you used on Lucy, right?” Her gaze flickers along the saw-tooth blade. “They told me what you did to them. What you did it with. So I didn’t drink your coffee, Wolfie. Your plant looked thirsty. Mistakes of the past, remember? I’m real good at history.”
I flail at the straps holding me down. But she’s bound me tight. My muscles cord and tendons stretch, but it’s no good. No good.
“Wuh . . .” I wince, agony nearly drowning me. “Wuh . . .”
“What do I want?”
I nod. Tears running down my cheeks.
“I want to sleep, Wolfie.” She sighs the words, and I see the red veins scrawled across those big gray eyes. “Just a single night without one of them finding me. Pleading. Waking me in the dark. They just wander, see. The Sleepless. Looking for someone who can hear them. And eventually they find me. They won’t leave me alone.” She rubs at her temples, frozen white spilling from her lips. “The only way to shut them up is to give them justice. Vengeance. Whatever you call it. Then they can sleep.”
Another sigh.
“Then maybe I can too.”
I jerk against the straps again, leather and buckles cutting into my skin. She pats my shoulder, somewhat apologetically.
Lifts the wood saw.
“So, this is really going to hurt. And from what I understand, the place you go after this hurts a lot worse. But don’t hate the player, hate the game, right?”
I feel metal teeth replace her hand on my shoulder.
The first tiny sting.
“Noohh . . .” I try to say. “Muh . . .”
“Mother?”
A weak nod.
“The thing in that bed stopped being your mother a long time ago, Wolfie. But she’ll be cremated. Along with this house. Along with you.”
No.
She leans in close. Whispers in my ear.
“This is for Alice. And Lucy. And Sally. And all the others you would’ve done for if someone like me didn’t stop you.” She shrugs, and her smile doesn’t reach her eyes. “At least someone’s going to sleep easy tonight.”
Metal teeth gleam in the dirty light.
I pray to God and almighty Jesus she makes it quick.
They don’t listen, though.
They never listened.
And she takes her time.