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VIX EYED the cops at the corner. So far, they didn’t seem interested in the witch, the body thief, and the ghost, but that could change.
“Be cool. Both of you.”
“What would I do?” Dorfman asked.
Vix had no idea, mostly because she meant herself and Opera. “I don't know. Throw stuff around?”
He floated ahead of them. “I can't do that.”
“You ever try?”
“When would I have done that? At the morgue?”
The cops stood twenty feet away.
“Head down, O. Walk casually.” Hard enough when you're in a body that's not yours, let alone when it's a beefy boy like Dorfman.
But Opera had stopped walking and took on a frozen stare. Dear Lord, she couldn't freak out right now. They needed to walk. Agitation crept around under her skin.
She stormed back a few steps. “Girl, we ain't got time for this. Walk!” she shouted at a whisper.
The hulking figure as fear-stricken as a fainting goat, gradually moved forward, but no way was Opera fully present inside.
Geezy Pete. Protecting this chick was painful sometimes.
A gust of wind smelling of rain pushed them forward.
The officers glanced their way.
Just passing through, Vix thought, trying her best at Compelling on the fly. We don't look like anything suspicious. No need to say a word.
She gave a curt nod to the female officer. A slight smile for show. Another shove of soft, fuzzy energy to lull the alertness of those in blue.
The woman's brow hiked. Eye contact made, Vix's heart kicked into high gear.
Son of a shit. How many police officers were trained to spot Return to Senders? How many were searching for the missing Josiah Dorfman?
They knew . . . something.
“Run,” Vix grabbed the girl's wrist and bolted passed the cops.
“Hey, stop!” one of the three yelled.
Glancing back, Vix spotted Gails and Takon yank Ijemma back into the library.
The harder she ran, the more she tugged to bring a panicked, lumbering Opera with her. What was it with her freaking out so easily?
A few more yards and she tightened her grip before hauling the girl down an alleyway with her.
Piles of trash and cardboard boxes littered the pavement. A stench of urine overlapped the rain scent. Feet slipping on the wet concrete, she lost her hold on the girl before stumbling and made a last ditch effort to leap over a woman sleeping across a pile of newspapers.
Opera wasn't so lucky. Her legs wobbled, an ankle rolled, and she crashed down over the sleeping woman with a deep, resounding thud.
The woman scrambled away, shrieking.
Police officers rounded the corner and jogged toward them.
Dorfman's blue haze whipped through the air, then spun like a top for a nanosecond before funneling downward into Dorfman's motionless body.
“Go! Go!” The homeless woman shoved Vix in the back, urging her forward.
What? Wide-eyed, she took in the woman's face. Deep lines, gaunt, with sunken in cheeks. How the hell did this lady know her?
Dorfman climbed to all fours and stumbled to his feet, pressing a hand to his head.
“Vix,” the woman yanked her shoulders. “We have to go. Now!”
Adrenaline surging, Vix complied, but holy hell she didn't understand what just happened.
The cops surrounded Dorfman and helped stabilize his stance. Meeting his gaze, Vix watched just long enough to witness Dorfman spin away and turn his back on her, drawing the cops' attention away from them.
Why would Opera sacrifice herself like that?
Confused, she raced behind the woman until they were blocks away and winded. Hands on her knees as she bent over and sucked for air, Vix watched the old bag cough and hack, a gurgling of phlegm rattling around either in her lungs or her throat.
“Who are you?” She tilted her head, attempting to understand.
The coughing continued. When the wheezing began, the woman spoke through squeaks, “It happened again. I jumped into a new body.”
Opera? Unbelievable.
“How?” Vix rushed to her. “What did you do?”
She shook her head. “I think I know, but, I don't know.”
“I know,” a voice came from behind them. “You knocked me off my buzz and out of my bones.”
Turning, Vix took in the sight of a white haze built up to the small stature of Opera's new body.
The form wagged a finger at them. “I don't know who you two shits think you are, but I'm not having any of this.”
––––––––
OKAY. OKAY. VIX STEADIED her breath and committed herself to the horrific reality of their new situation: the cops had Dorfman—not that he was wanted, but he had a story to tell them, if he chose. Opera was in a new body, and the former resident of said body was more than a little upset. Kicking a hornet’s nest upset, actually.
The white mist swirled like a tornado around them, blowing around dropped receipts and empty cigarette packs.
“Police,” the ghost screamed, “Police!”
But the cops at the end of the alley didn’t turn, not even a little.
Sweet!
“Look,” Vix addressed the formation as it spun. “We’re leaving. If you want your body back, you better come with us.” A lofty promise, and one she knew she could never fulfill, but if it got them out of that alleyway and back to her place then so be it.
The haze collected together and shoved the apparition of the woman into Vix’s face. “I’m not going anywhere, you bitch.”
More than a little insulted, Vix would have shoved the lady if she had a body. “Alright then. Stay here. Haunt a dumpster.”
Taking Opera’s thin hand, she led her friend down the alley and back to a side street. Four, maybe five blocks, and they could take her car back home.
“Oh, no you don’t.” The mist trailed them. “Think you can leave me?”
Vix didn’t even slow. “Come on then.”
God, she didn’t know what this was going to do to Opera. The poor girl had already been through so much, and now she had to deal with an aging body and a ghost with an attitude. Somehow or another, she had to fix this. Unfortunately, she was starting to think she couldn’t, and that scared her more than the mouthy spirit currently cursing offensive names at her and taking down womanhood all together.
When they reached Vix’s apartment, Gails, Ijemma, and Takon all sat on the hallway floor, leaning against her locked door.
She wanted to smile at them as she let them in, she really did. Grateful for their presence, sure, but also because everything about their situation was broken and nothing seemed to come without a heavy price. Her guilt and despair hung over her shoulders like a black shawl.
“Who’s this?” Takon pointed at the old woman with saggy boobs and a t-shirt declaring her love for rock and roll.
Vix glanced at Opera, but she didn’t speak for herself. This girl really needed to stop checking out so much. She just sat there, in the chair, staring at her wrinkled hands with as many age spots as dirt spots.
“Well, it’s not Dorfman anymore.” If she could have laughed in that moment she would have. Instead she pushed passed them as they stood frozen, staring at the old girl.
“Can I ask something?” Gails partially raised his hand. A slight hint of sarcasm rode his tone as he motioned at Opera’s new container. “How in the hell did this happen?”
She shook her head. “Got me.”
“Got me,” the ghost mimicked her.
“There’s no need for that,” Vix replied, shooting an unamused look at the thick mist strolling through the living room examining everything. “And having an attitude towards us isn’t going to get you out of this problem any faster.”
“Little girl, having an attitude is all I got. You idiots are a problem for me, not company.”
Gails waved in front of Vix’s face. “Who are you talking to?”
Oh Jesus, they couldn’t see this formation either. “Opera’s newest friend.”
“I have a name, jackass.”
“Okay grandma, what would that be?”
“Marva Lee Lewis, and I ain’t no grandma. I ain’t got any family.”
Whether the woman didn’t have family because she was nasty, or she was nasty because she didn’t have family, Vix would decide later, but something clicked inside her now that actually felt bad for the woman. If anyone knew what it was like to face the world alone, it was Vix. Hell, Vix could very well be a Marva Lee Lewis in thirty more years at the rate she was going.
Ijemma and Takon sat on the couch and stared at Vix as if she was the one acting crazy. Well, this shit show had only just begun.
She wanted to scream, to take everything out on this woman as if things were going fine before today, but she knew that wasn’t the case. And she couldn’t blame her classmates. The only thing they’d done since the start was be there for her. While Opera wasn’t solely innocent, she wasn’t guilty either. This all just kind of . . . happened to her.
“Opera’s host’s name is Marva,” she said with a sigh, making eye contact around the room. “She’s here with us, and she’s scared too.”
“Like hell,” Marva chimed in. “I’ve been homeless for four years. You punks don’t frighten me in the least.”
Vix ignored her.
A stench crept around the room now they’d had time to settle. Was that urine?
“Honey,” she addressed Opera. “Do you want to get cleaned up? I know that helped last time,” she lied, but wanted to be as polite as possible for the woman’s sake.
“I . . . I think I’m drunk,” Opera said, blinking rapidly, and then squinting.
“Of course you are, you dolt.” Good old Marva. “It’s the only way to quiet the bullshit in this world.”
Fan-fucking-tastic. This woman was becoming more and more lovable by the second.
Vix moved to Opera, took her elbow and helped her stand. “I’ll get you some water. Grab your shower, chug a little, and then lie down, okay?”
A slight stumble and the girl made it into the bathroom and shut the door. At least, and that was at the very damn least of it all, Vix and Marva seemed to be about the same clothing size, one because they were skinny, the other because they were frail.
Marva vaporized through the door to follow Opera to the shower. Vix was certain it must feel weird to be separated from your own body like that. She’d probably want to stick by hers, too.
Taking a seat, Vix savored a moment to just breathe—in and out—like a normal person with no problems, but the energy of the room shifted as the others cut glances at each other.
“What?” she asked.
Ijemma cleared her throat. “We need to come clean to the school. It’s the right thing to do, and they’re possibly the only people who can help us.”
“And what happens to Opera? Her body has been nipped and tucked by now. Where’s she supposed to go?”
“That’s exactly what we can ask Professor LaRiche, or Dean Wallstone, or anyone in that place who has a higher understanding of what’s happening.”
Vix shook her head. “I don’t think it’s a good idea. I don’t like it.”
“We have no other options,” Takon spoke up. “We’ve tried it your way; it didn’t work. Now it’s worse for everyone. Opera’s in a new body, and we’re accessories to this by not saying anything already.”
Every way she flipped the situation in her head to try to have any of it make sense, it didn’t. Her throat tightened as she fought back tears forming. They were right. It was all over. If they didn’t tell, life only got more complicated. But if they did, she felt sure they would get expelled, and then life would get more complicated.
She wanted to shove some energy around, make them see it her way, Compel them to her point of view, but the truth was, all that shoving and compelling was what she’d done to get her way in her old life. She wanted to be different now, and different meant not manipulating other people for a change.
What are you doing, Victoria? she thought. Give it up. It was all broken, and for the first time in her life she had to admit she couldn’t fix it.
“I'm sorry, you guys,” she said, solemn, honest like never before in her life. “I don't think adding the dean of Pent College to the mix is actually going to help us.” Damn it, why couldn’t she let it go?
Ijemma grabbed up her jacket and purse, yanking them from the back of a wooden chair. “You're ridiculous.”
“What did I do?”
“You're selfish, that's what?”
“How?” Truly, well, partially confused. “I'm doing my best to protect this group. Protect Opera.”
Takon followed suit, joining Ijemma at the door. “Protect yourself, you mean.”
“Are you serious?” Some kind of crazy sinking, like the Swamps of Sadness, took Vix over. “Protecting myself from what?”
Ijemma and Takon shot daggers at her as the door opened. She spoke for the both of them. “We come clean, you might have to face a consequence for once in your life instead of boss others around, and I bet you'll do anything to avoid that.”
“Oh, come on.”
They slipped through the doorway like a thread through a needle's eye.
Vix's mouth hung open. Shocked. Surprised. Maybe a little ashamed at the kernel of truth they threw at her. Turning to Gails, “Can you believe this?”
He tipped his head downward, shaking it in a way Vix didn't exactly like. It was the way her dad did, the arched over posture, the clenched hands, the displeasure creasing his face.
“Vicky, you got a problem.”
“Wha—?”
“You're good at doling it out. Pushing people around. Away.” Gails nodded. “But when it comes to feedback and some real truth, you suck.”
Crossing her arms, she pitched her weight onto one foot. “I told you, Dezi, my name ain't Vicky.”
“Right.” He stood, walked his cup to the kitchen and set it into the sink. “Way to push your last friend away.”
He strode to the door and left, leaving an emotional vacuum behind him.
Vix sucked for air. Literally holding her heart inside her chest, she lowered onto the couch and didn't resist the urge to have a complete and total breakdown. Whimpering, snot, shoulder wracking, and gallons of tears.
She cried so hard and so loud she didn't notice the sound of the shower cutting off, or Opera returning to the room.
Without words, Opera came to her side and drew her into an embrace, like a real mother would, letting Vix collapse into Marva's bony, saggy body.
“If it makes you feel any better,” she said, “I miss my penis.”
