Linger
By Kodilynn Calhoun
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2011 Kodilynn Calhoun
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Linger
The latest pack of Voids stands on the corner of Main, their shoulders slumped forwards and their eyes downcast, yet they mingle, mumbling to one another. They’re almost like zombies; I say almost because they don’t eat human flesh. I don’t know what they eat, but they probably do it blankly, just like they do everything else. Voids are people void of emotion; the Takers have stolen their very Essence, their personality, stripped it from the velveteen strands of their soul. They still work like normal people, but they’re just…empty. They linger on for days—sometimes weeks—before their bodies give up and die. They gather in groups like this and just wait it out. I don’t know if they know they’re going to die or not, but they always do.
This pack is more upper-class—Abercrombie jeans-and-polos kind of people. At first it was just the homeless and the squatters, people nobody would care about. Nobody who’d make the news, not even in this small town. The Takers are getting pickier. The worst part is, no one really knows what they are or where they come from. We just know that they take what they want. We don’t know how to stop them.
I sigh a little and tug the hood of my sweatshirt over my head. My horoscope told me that something will be changing…and change and I don’t get along very well. I shoulder the glass door of Maury’s open and bask in the smells of lunch time in the grease-bomb of a family restaurant. I change into my uniform, punch in, and take the next round of tables. That’s when I pass him.
Jaeger Lewitt is my best friend. He’s my opposite—a jock and a pretty-boy where I’m the dread-head wallflower hiding in baggy hoodies so nobody notices me. I’ve had a crush on him since sixth grade, since I saw him perform magic tricks in the hallway between classes. He sported a shaggy black mullet and braces back then and I still liked him. I liked him before he got popular. Maybe that’s why we get along so well, but it’s friends-only. I’ve never even met his family.
Typically he’s a grinning fool. Today his face is blank, eyes downcast as he waits the table opposite me. I wave but he keeps on walking. I refill some lady’s Coke and hurry after him, grabbing his arm. It’s when he turns and I look into his eyes, their usual brilliance turned murky, that my stomach falls to my knees. “Jaeger?”
“Hn.”
I poke him—hard—in the ribs. He winces, as if he can feel the pain, but the annoyance he’d normally show doesn’t appear. No. Jaeger, my Jaeger, cannot be a Void. I won’t allow it. I grab his chin and look him in the eyes. I tell him the watermelon joke he made up to make me smile the day of my dad’s funeral. It’s never been rehashed by either of us, but I’ve never forgotten it.
He doesn’t smile.
“Jae, you can’t be a Void…” If he was Void, he would die and then who would I hang out with? My sister? I blink the tears back. People are staring, but I have to know for sure. Standing on my tiptoes, I kiss him—quick and searing. It makes my lips tingle and takes my breath away. I’ve wanted to do that for a long time. He merely blinks.
“Maybe this is just my destiny.” He shrugs.
“The Takers took your grin.” A ball of anger coils in my stomach. “How do we get it back?”
“There’s no point.”
“I’ll find a way to get it back,” I say, but Jaeger’s already wandering off. His shoulders slump forwards a little, just like the pack-Voids on Main Street. How many days will it take before he seeks them out and joins them? I finish my shift with my head full of hare-brained schemes, but in the end, I have no idea what a Taker even is, or how to find the one who took his Essence.
I find my pickup truck, more rust than red paint, in the parking lot. The engine rumbles to life and the heater warms up slowly. I curl my fingers into the sleeves of my hoodie so when I grab the steering wheel, it’s not like ice. Then I head home.
Something shimmers at the corner, like hot pavement in the summer, but it’s the middle of November. One minute I’m sitting at the light and the next, my pickup’s slammed sideways as a silver van rams me. I hear glass shatter, metal squeal, and my head’s smashed into the side window. It happens almost in slow motion as blackness dulls the edges of my vision, but I feel a tickle in my mind, a mosquito on my brain. I want to slap it away, but my arms are leaden. It’s just easier to close my eyes.
***
When they open again, it’s to the blinding white of a hospital room. Mom sits in a chair, picking at a hangnail until it bleeds. Jaeger sits beside her, staring blankly ahead. I force a smile even through the pounding of my skull. Mom begins to fuss over me until the doctor comes in and tells us that I have no concussion, that I can go home, then she hurries off to pester him a little more. I turn to Jaeger. “Why’d you come if you can’t feel anything?”
“It’s not like I can’t think. I thought you’d want me here, Evee.”
I do, but not like this. “Tell me about the Takers.”
“They aren’t like us.”
“No, they suck out peoples’ souls; I’d put that at the top of the Not-Quite-Human list.” He doesn’t catch my sarcasm. “What are they then?”
“Faerie.”
I can’t help but snort. “The Good People feed on souls?”
“It’s more like a substance they abuse. And they’re hardly good; they’re the dark Fae, Faeries cast from the Shining Realm for using humans for their own twisted pleasures.”
I’m still caught on his words. “Faeries get high on people’s souls?”
“Essence. But the soul needs it to survive.”
“How long do you have?”
He shakes his head. “Until my Essence wears out. A week, maybe two. I don’t know.”
“Why you?” I reach for his hand, but he pulls away and my chest tightens.
“Probably the same reason they took my mother.” But he doesn’t elaborate—he just walks out of the room. Mom signs me out and fifteen minutes later we’re headed for Taco Bell. Taco Bell is Mom’s comfort food; she’s relieved I didn’t get hurt in the accident and she’s showing the world, or maybe thanking God, by buying Taco Bell. I order a Nachos Bell Grande.
“What would you like to drink with that?”
“Mountain Dew.” My reply is automatic.
The speaker-lady gives us our total and Mom pulls up to the first window. She gives me a stare that says ‘Who are you and what have you done with my daughter?’
“What?” I blink.
“You hate Mountain Dew.”
“What?” But she’s right. I do hate it. It’s like drinking acid, so why would I order it? What was I thinking? “Maybe I have a concussion after all.” My voice is strained. I hear a giggle, but when I look at Mom, she’s stony-faced. “What’s so funny?”
“I didn’t say anything.” One eyebrow rises up into her hairline and I sigh, flopping back against the leather seat and wrapping my arms around myself. Maybe I’m not hungry after all.
***
It’s not until Monday that I realize something’s terribly wrong. My 15-year-old sister drags me to the mall after school to celebrate my health and as we’re going through a bin of designer socks, I instinctively reach for a pair and hold them up. Kadie blinks at me, curiosity lining her gaze. “You never wear colors.”
I look at the pair of rainbow-striped knee socks clenched in my hand and frown. I don’t. I’m a black-white-and-grey sorta girl. Sometimes blue, on a good day. “I don’t even like rainbows.”
“I like rainbows.” The voice is young, musical. I turn around to look for its owner, only to find no one there. The hair on the back of my neck prickles. “You should see my wardrobe at home. Jae says I’m Rainbow Brite!” The voice giggles.
“Tell me you heard that.” I look to Kadie almost pleadingly.
“Heard what?”
“The girl! The giggling one!”
“Are you feeling okay, Evee? There is no girl.”
“Yeah, there is no girl!” the voice mimics before bursting into laughter.
“Who are you? What do you want?”
“Mercy Lewitt, at your service.”
Wait, Lewitt?
“Evelyn!” My sister hisses at me. I glance around to see people looking at us, a crowd of curious watchers. I squeeze my hands into tight fists and feel my fingernails making indents in my palms.
“Will you tell Jae I’m okay?” Mercy asks.
“Jaeger Lewitt?”
“Yup! He’s my brother.”
“Where are you?”
“In your head, silly! I stowed away after the accident. The Taker wants me back though.”
“No. Just no.” I’m not crazy. Please, God, don’t let me crack. I promise I’ll change. “Get out of my head.”
“She’s looking at us right now.”
“Where?” I glance around wildly through a sea of people. Panic lodges in my throat. That’s right, Evee. Believe the voice in your head. Great.
“Evee!” Kadie tugs on my arm, spooked.
“There. The pretty one with blond curls.” Mercy’s voice is timid now. I see the Taker, a Greek goddess in a flowing black dress. Her features are perfectly sculpted. Definitely Fae. People give her a wide berth, probably because of the crazed expression on her face. “Find Jae. Takers can’t take me if I’m around a Void.”
“And if she does take you?”
“She’ll take me, but she’ll take you, too.”
I leave my sister’s howl of confusion behind as I bolt, sprinting across the store and skidding on tile. The Taker is racing after me—I can feel the energies surging in the air around her, but her footsteps are silent. I find my way out, find my truck, and drive like hell. I don’t know if she’s following me or not. “Where do you live?”
“343 West Street!” As she says it, it’s like I know how to get there by heart. My tires toss gravel as I slam the car into park and head up the steps. I begin to pound on the door. Jaeger opens it with a bored look on his face.
“Jaeger, I know this is going to sound insane, but I think your sister’s sharing my body and now there’s a Taker trying to take her back,” I gasp out, pushing past him and collapsing onto an overstuffed chair.
His eyes widen. “Mercy?”
In my head, Mercy begins to sniffle. “Jae, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have been so careless!” I relay this to Jaeger quickly, no longer caring if I sound crazy. “Why does she want us? Is it because of our power? Do we taste extra-good or something?”
He turns his face away when I look at him. “What power?”
“Nothing.”
“A druggie Faerie needing a fix is stalking us. You owe me an explanation.”
Jaeger doesn’t get the chance. “We’re psychic!” Mercy says quickly. “Jae doesn’t accept it, but it’s true. I can sometimes see the future.”
“We’re Gifted,” Jaeger mutters. “And our Essence is more potent or something. It lasts longer in the Taker’s system. Mercy, how did you get away if she took you?”
“She used a little…extractor-gun-thingy. She called it a Lifevial.” I speak Mercy’s words for her. “She was saving me for later, when your Essence wears off.” There’s a shadow in the window and I shiver, but Mercy doesn’t seem scared. “She can’t get us if we’re around a Void. They block her power, somehow.”
“So your Taker is the same one that took Jaeger’s Essence?” I ask.
“Yup. I saw it when she touched me.”
“And if Jaeger’s still alive, it means she hasn’t used it up yet? Can we get it back?”
“Evee—” he begins, but I hold up my hand to cut him off.
“Look, we can’t just hole up in here forever. We’re safe for now, but you’re gonna die sooner or later and then we’ll be free game.”
“If you got his Essence back, I don’t think the Taker can take it away again,” Mercy says thoughtfully.
“Then how can they take you back?”
“Because it’s not the same body that they took it from.”
“How do you know this?” I rub at my eyes, blinking away the stars I see.
“When she touched me, I knew what she knew.”
I turn to Jaeger. “Do you know this too?”
He shakes his head. “I realized the Taker was a Faerie, but that’s all. Mercy’s powers have always been stronger than mine. I doubt most the Voids ever realize what happened to them.”
“If we get Jaeger’s Essence back and I return you to your body, they won’t be able to take you back? Wait—how did you get in my head in the first place?”
“The Taker was driving the car that hit yours,” Mercy says. “You were knocked out and the tube-thingy broke on impact so I just kinda…willed myself into your mind. Sorry for intruding. I didn’t know she’d still be able to track me.” She sounds a little sheepish.
“Okay. So now we have to—”
“Evee, just drop it, okay?” Jaeger’s voice is calm, emotionless, but I know he’d be angry if he had it to spare. “I refuse to let you risk your life to save mine. You have to get Mercy back to her body. She’ll be safe there.”
“What about Mercy?” I get angry for the both of us, lunging to my feet and wavering there. “When you die, where will she go? You have to make it too! You have to be there for her.” I reach for his hands, squeezing them. He takes a deep breath. Mercy is silent. “You have to get your Essence back.”
“Fine. Any idea of how to do that?”
“I have an idea!” Mercy pipes up and when I hear it, I groan. My horoscope should’ve warned me that the changes in my life would suck.
***
I scurry across the street after midnight coats the town in a blanket of darkness. I stuff my hands into the pockets of my hoodie, feeling the cool steel of the gun hidden there and I force my breathing to slow down. Relax, Evee. It’s just a crack-head Faerie who wants to steal your personality, nothing to worry about. I almost laugh at the absurdity of it. All of my life I’ve been the weird girl because I have dreadlocks and dress in dark clothes…now I’m a Faerie-hunter with a voice in my head.
I keep moving. Jaeger gave me the gun ‘just in case’. Just in case the Taker gets close enough to take my Essence—and Mercy’s too—while we’re luring her out. “Aim for the head or the heart,” he’d instructed, but I don’t know if I can do it if it comes down to that. If I kill the Taker, Jaeger’s Essence will slip away and he’ll die. I’ll have murdered my best friend. I’m not sure I can handle that.
I don’t hear the Taker, but I have that dreadful feeling in my gut that warns me that she’s coming. I walk a little faster, slipping down the mouth of the nearest alley. Then the air shimmers right beside me and the Taker steps through, beautiful and deadly, a smile on her lips. Her wild eyes betray her calm demeanor. She looks like a tweaker coming down off of a high. I step back, fingers tightening around the handle of the pistol, and she lunges at me with an animalistic snarl.
“Watch out for her gun-thing!” Mercy’s voice is shrill in the silence.
The Taker’s long fingers tighten around my wrist, burning hot like fire. Heart lodged in my throat, I jerk away, stumbling backwards. She’s nearly on top of me. I yank out the gun and cock it. My hand shakes a little—I’m sorry Jaeger—and I fire it right into the Taker’s chest just as Mercy shrieks, “The head! The head!” But it’s too late. She stumbles back, violet-red blood billowing out in torrents, but obviously not insta-dead like she should’ve been.
“Shit!”
“No heart, sweetie,” the Taker leers. She twists my wrist and the pistol falls and skitters across the pavement. I feel the press of a metal instrument against my neck, feel the death that’s coming for me, hear Mercy’s scream—but only for a moment. Then Jaeger’s tackling the Faerie to the ground, his hands wrapping around her throat. They wrestle on the dirty, blood-slick asphalt and my heart thunders. As the Taker weakens from blood loss, Jaeger’s also slowing down, his movements sluggish. The Taker catches his chin in an uppercut and Mercy yells out a curse that I don’t dare repeat.
It’s happening. Jaeger’s Essence is fading.
He grabs for the Taker’s shirt as he sinks down to his knees, dragging the Faerie with him. Before the Taker has a chance to react, Jaeger jerks her close. My eyes widen as he does what Mercy told him to do—without a moment’s hesitation, he presses his lips against the Taker’s pale mouth in a kiss. Then the Taker’s eyes widen as Jaeger begins to suck the air from her, sucking the Essence back out the way she’d stolen it from him.
Then they both collapse. The Taker seizes, mouth gasping for air. She reaches for me, her long fingers curled like claws that contort and tremble as she clings to her last shred of life. Then she falls still.
“You were right.” The Taker had been so high that the abrupt loss of Jaeger’s Essence had thrown her into withdrawal. Talk about DTs from Hell.
“Of course I was!” Mercy boasts. “I saw it in her mind—it was her greatest fear.”
“That which I fear has come upon me,” I quip softly, then drop to my knees beside Jaeger. “Jae, look at me. Talk to me.” I slap at his cheeks gently and his eyes flutter open. They don’t sparkle as bright as they used to, but they sparkle enough. He has enough Essence left to survive. He offers a tiny smile, as if that’s all he can muster, but I’m so happy to see him smile again that I don’t care.
He props himself up on one elbow and uses his free hand to rub at his temples. “I feel like shit.”
“Well…” I suddenly feel awkward. He’s looking at me so intently. “Glad you’re alive and all, but what do we do about her?” I point to the Taker’s corpse. Shouldn’t it turn to dust and float away? I poke at it with the toe of my shoe. No such luck.
“I have an idea.”
The streets are strangely abandoned. I end up carrying the body and, surprisingly, I’m not as disgusted as I should be. She’s not human, so it’s not illegal to parade a corpse around town, right? I chant that to myself until I believe it.
We’re on Main Street now, on the corner where the pack lingers. I set the Taker down on the sidewalk between them and the Voids are like cattle—they move to let me through, then as soon as I step back, they shuffle to encompass the dead body into their group. They are used to death, after all. If the police think that the Taker was a Void, there would be no investigation. Jaeger is smart.
In the middle of the pack stands a young girl, her messy blonde hair dyed rainbow at the tips. She doesn’t look up, not even as I reach for her, take both of her hands in mine, and look into her blue eyes. Mercy laughs in my head and there’s a buzz of energy, a crackle of magick against our skin. Then, the girl is looking up at me, her gaze filled with liquid sunlight, and she laughs for real this time. She wraps me in a bear-hug.
I smile. She’s safe. Jaeger’s safe. Takers can’t take them back out of their bodies now that they’ve been restored. And I know what I’m looking for now, if they ever come back for me. Besides, I don’t have an ounce of psychic power in me and the one Taker who could possibly want revenge is dead. I turn to Jaeger, a little surprised as he wraps his hand in mine.
“Remember that kiss you gave me back in Maury’s?” He is solemn. “I really, really wish I could’ve felt more than just your lips. If I played my cards right, could there be a repeat performance?”
My lips twist into a sly grin. “Are you asking me out on a date, Jaeger Lewitt?”
“Is that a yes, Evelyn Carver?”
Then Mercy groans, as if our display of almost-affection is sickening to her. She shoves her brother into me. “If you’re going to kiss, kiss already!”
So we do, even if it’s just to spite her, but the look in Jaeger’s eyes tells me there’s more where that came from. A lot more. And I’m glad. Maybe I’ll come to like change after all.
###
About the author: Kodilynn Calhoun is a 23-year-old gal from Indiana. She’s been writing seriously for over 10 years; her first real novel was a 300 page fantasy-monster with little plot and plenty of randomosity. Today, she’s mostly a writer of YA paranormals and is a sucker for a good love story and the fantastic: werewolves, shifters, incubi and gargoyles? You name it, she probably writes it (and hopes you like it)! You can follow her on Twitter, Facebook, or find her online at http://kodilynncalhoun.com
Coming Holidays 2011 by Kodilynn Calhoun:
Christmas Angel
Ever since his girlfriend died in a car accident on Christmas Eve, 19-year-old Cheshire Morgan has been…well…a Grinch. With a dislike for Christmas and his rent two months late, his only option is to take a job playing Santa for a bunch of whiny kids. Then he meets Savannah. She tells him that his girlfriend’s spirit can’t move on to Heaven until Cheshire stops clinging to the past. He doesn’t believe her, but she’s annoyingly persistent. She makes him a deal–spend the holidays with her, let her try and teach him how to love Christmas again. If she fails, he’ll never have to deal with her again. But can the spunky girl crack the ice around Cheshire’s heart in time for Christmas?
Chapter One
Cheshire Morgan watched miserably as the first snow flurries of the season began to fall right outside his bedroom window. He lay sprawled on the twin-sized bed, sheets tangled around his legs, the sweat on his brow from his nightmare already beginning to dry. He dragged a heavy hand across his face, rubbed his eyes, then sat up. It couldn’t be winter already…could it? The chill to the floorboards was answer enough and Chesh groaned. Where had October gone? November? Had Thanksgiving come and went? He didn’t celebrate it; he wouldn’t know.
He willed his tired body to move. He felt sixty, not seven months shy of twenty. He gathered up a fresh pair of jeans and a black Chevelle hoodie with too many holes and headed for the bathroom. He needed a hot shower. That would ward off this budding anxiety. He hated this time of year. He wished he was a bear that could hibernate the holidays away and wake up refreshed in the spring. On his way there, he stubbed his toe on the doorframe and cussed under his breath.
There was a rapping on the door. He did his best to ignore it, but they were quick, insistent knocks that made his lip curl. He cranked the shower to hot, then in just a pair of black boxers, swung the door inwards to reveal a tiny lady with red hair and green eyes that hid behind a pair of glasses. “What?”
The woman—Mrs. Scott—made a tsk’ing sound and shook her head. “Your manners are lacking, as always, Mr. Morgan,” she said. “Your rent’s a week late. Now, I understand you aren’t currently employed, but it’s nearly the holiday season and people will be hiring for Christmas.”
The words made Cheshire’s stomach coil like a snake. “I—”
“No excuses. I let you slide last month, but I just can’t afford it! I’m sorry, Mr. Morgan, but if you don’t get the money to me by Friday, I’ll have to evict you and I hate to do that so close to the holidays.”
Cheshire snorted. Like she cared. “I’ll see what I can do,” he said briskly, then—before she could reply—he slammed the door in her face and stalked back to the bathroom. Not even the thick steam, or the supposedly-relaxing peppermint bath salt at the bottom of the tub, made his mood any better. Here he was, the holidays looming, with no job, no income, and—”Shit. Just shit.” His voice echoed in the tiny bathroom, making it boom when he felt tiny inside. All he wanted to do was curl back up in bed and try not to think about the past; try not to think about what he’d had only a little while ago.
After he’d dried and dressed, he found his dead cell phone and plugged it into the wall charger. He dialed in Kerr’s number, but a robotic woman’s voice told him that he hadn’t paid his bill and that his service was cancelled. He chucked it across the room and it spun in a circle where it landed. He pulled on his shoes and headed out into the dreadful weather with a pocketful of change. He found a pay phone, one of the only ones in his small hometown, and called Kerr up. Kerr Hannigan wasn’t his friend exactly, but he’d been a friend of Rae’s and he figured the man might help him out.
“Yo,” came Kerr’s jovial voice over the line.
Cheshire barely suppressed a snort. “Hey. It’s Cheshire Morgan.” After a lapse of silence, he swallowed and continued. “I know I’m a couple years late, but I was hoping for that favor you promised me? I was thinking maybe you knew of a place that’d hire me? I’ve got rent due and…” He trailed off, feeling foolish.
Kerr hmm’ed to himself and Cheshire heard rattling papers and the clicking of keyboard strokes. “I don’t have anything permanent…”
“Temporary works.”
“I do have one thing. But Chesh? You’re not gonna like it…”
And after the man explained it to him, Cheshire decided he was right. He didn’t like it at all.
***
He stood in front of the tiny, red and green trailer set up outside of the courthouse, strung up with Christmas lights. The sign on the door was festive enough to make Rudolph barf glitter. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Kerr met him in front of the trailer, a black garment-bag slung over one arm. His shoes crunched in the light dusting of snow as he unlocked the door and led the way inside. It was…homey, if you were a sucker for Christmas. There was a mock fireplace complete with mock fire, and the walls were decorated in gold and silver. The carpet was old and raggedy, but the camera wouldn’t capture that—it was facing a big chair with a red, faux-velvet lining.
Santa’s chair.
Please God… Cheshire thought as Kerr explained that he was to open in the morning and sit in the chair. The parents of little kids would pay Santa’s “elf” (who, miraculously, knew how to take money and work a high-tech camera) to let their child sit on Santa’s lap and tell him what they wanted for Christmas. They would get a picture with Santa and then prance away, happy little campers, believing that they would be on the “Nice” list this year. Cheshire snorted.
“I hate kids,” he mumbled as Kerr gave him the key and offered him the garment-bag.
The man merely chuckled and patted him on the shoulder. “You’ll do just fine. And besides, perhaps some fine single mother will ask Santa out on a date.” He wiggled his too-bushy eyebrows, then left Chesh alone in the empty trailer.
Cheshire took a cleansing breath, in then out, and stared Santa’s chair down. He should call it quits now. Give Kerr back his stupid job and find one in the next town over—surely someone would be hiring. Right? He gripped the key in his hand until it became hot in his grasp, and then shook his head. “Hope you’re up there laughing your ass off, Rae,” he growled, staring up at the ceiling. She would be, of course; Rae Ramone loved the holidays.
He could remember a time when he did too.
Locking the door behind him, he left the Wish Station trailer behind and headed home for a dinner of stale shrimp ramen and green tea for the fourth day in a row. “Ho-ho-ho.” He tried out a jolly voice, but failed. Right. December was going to be ho-ho-horrible.
***
“And what do you want for Christmas, little boy?” Cheshire lowered his voice to fit Santa the best he could, but he’d been at this for four hours and his throat was more than a little sore. The six-year-old boy sitting on his lap frowned, glanced at his parents—who were waiting with Kristine, the “elf”—and began to spout out a list of brand-name toys he’d probably seen on TV commercials. “Uh, yeah. I like the race car idea. Let’s go with that,” he mumbled.
Kristine squeaked a little rubber duck, which let out a high-pitched shrill, making both Chesh and the boy glance up with deer-in-the-headlights looks on their faces. Then she snapped the camera and the boy hopped down and hurried to his parents’ sides. They thanked Kristine and, after paying and leaving their information to get the photos sent to them, left the Wish Station.
The open door let in a blast of surprisingly frigid winter air—not that Cheshire could feel it through the thick Santa-suit. The hat probably had lice in it and the beard was suffocating him, but he didn’t dare pull it off. Who knew when the next family would come in? He sighed and sagged against the sleigh chair and prayed for the day to be over quickly.
No such luck. An hour before closing time, he got in a carload of kids who took their time grinding their bony butts into his poor leg, chirping about the toys they wanted. Chesh gave up the voice act mid-sentence and the girl on his lap gave him the stink-eye. “Hey, Santa went through backwards puberty. Get off my ass,” he scowled at her, earning him a reproachful look from both Kristine-the-elf and the parents, who were out of there faster than a cheetah on speed. “Good riddance.”
“You’re not going to survive December with that attitude,” Kristine snapped at him, rearranging her elf-ear headband with a sigh. “I’m going out for a smoke behind the trailer. If anyone comes in, stall them ‘til I get back.” She swung the door open and shut it behind her with enough force to rattle the only window in its pane.
Chesh closed his eyes, thankful for the silence. Even between customers, Kristine just wanted to yap, and she wanted to yap about Christmastime. Screw that. He massaged his temples. Then the bells rang again and the door opened to reveal three teenagers—he didn’t recognize them, but they were probably seniors on a prank. Two jocks in maroon and gold letter jackets, and a girl. The girl caught his eye, a flash of remembrance floating through him.
She was tall and willowy, with legs that went on forever and a delicate curve to her jawbone. Her hair was dark and swirled around her face in loose ringlets and her eyes were storm-warning grey. She was probably an A-cup, he noted to himself—not that that mattered: he was just surprised to see her looking like a woman. He knew her, he knew he knew her. She was from a time when he and Rae were together and happy. Wow, how she’d grown up…
She caught his eye and held it, bold. He found himself smiling through the beard despite the fact that the boys were arguing about who was sitting on his lap and who was standing, to which the girl—Savannah, he recalled—laughed and bowed with a flourish. “I’ll sit on his lap. Otherwise you’ll look gay.” The boys gave Cro-Magnon chuckles, the taller one jabbing his friend in the stomach with an elbow and Cheshire rolled his eyes. Jocks. They never changed.
But hell. That meant she was sitting on his lap. Lovely. “Aren’t you a little old to be sitting on Santa’s lap?” He lifted a brow.
“Aren’t you a little young to be playing Santa Clause?” the tall boy shot back. “What are you, twenty? Is this the only job you could get?”
“Bet it pays shit,” the other smirked. “Bet he needs drug money.”
“Guys.” Savannah’s tone was warning.
Cheshire stood, lifting his lip in a snarl and opening his mouth to snap something back when Kristine came back in, snow clinging to her hair. She looked surprised, glancing between Chesh and the teens, and then shook her head and sat down in her elf chair.
“What is this, a bet? Someone bet you to embarrass yourselves?” Cheshire asked finally.
“The only one who’s embarrassed is you, Santa.”
Chesh took a warning step towards the boy; he was smaller than the tall one, but stockier than both of them. He could probably take him down, though the suit might hinder him a bit. “Wanna take this behind the trailer?” The words were quietly spoken, his temper simmering.
“Enough!” Savannah gave the tall boy a shove, sending him falling into the wall. The whole trailer shook from his weight. “Goddammit, Cam, why do you have to be such an asshole?”
Cam shot eye-lasers at Chesh, who shot them right back, and then the boy cast his gaze to the carpet. “Sorry, Savvy.” He sounded like a beaten puppy, but Cheshire knew it was just an act to get on the girl’s good side.
Cam’s friend eyed Cheshire, then punched Cam on the shoulder. “C’mon, man. Let’s wait outside. We’ll wait for you, Sav,” he said, then escorted the tall boy out of the trailer, his poise haughty. Once they were gone and the door was shut firmly behind them with a jingle of bells, Cheshire sank back down in his chair.
“You want a picture or what?” he asked, all the fire he’d felt before suddenly leaking out of him, draining him of his energy.
“I know you,” Savannah said softly, looking down at him. Their eyes met again—and for the first time since the accident, Cheshire felt a fluttering in his cold, black heart. “Cheshire, right? Rae’s boyfriend.” At that, his heart stopped with a heavy thud and he nodded. The girl offered a hand, which he took. Hers was warm and soft. “Savannah Grable. Rae was like my big sister, kinda-sorta. Man, it’s been awhile.”
“Yeah,” he agreed, feeling hollow inside and wishing he could just stand up and walk away.
She squeezed his hand, her face softening into a solemn smile. “She doesn’t blame you, you know.”
He stiffened, snapping his gaze into hers. What? Blame him for what? The accident? How the hell would she know? “Look, Savannah, it was nice to see you again, but maybe you should go.”
“It’s been two years,” she murmured, gripping his hand tightly. “You look like hell. You feel depressed. You’re probably repressing anger and emotions that need to come out, not that it’s any of my business, but—”
“Shut up,” he warned.
“You’ve got to let her go, Chesh. She can’t pass over when you’re clinging to her so tightly! You’re suffocating her and—”
“SHUT UP!” He lurched to his feet and tore off his beard, running both hands through his dark hair as he struggled to breathe. Images of that night tore through his mind, his nightly nightmare on repeat in all its grisly detail. He stood, his hands trembling, and then looked up at Savannah. She wasn’t startled—she was resolute. Firm. “Like you’d know. She’s dead.” And he’d killed her. “Get out.” His words shook.
“Time to go,” Kristine announced, stepping between them. She grabbed Savannah’s arm. “Honey, we’re closing. Go home.” Her voice was hard. Savannah reached for Cheshire, but he jerked away at the same time Kristine pushed her towards the exit. “Go on. Closed is closed.”
“I’m sorry,” Savannah murmured before slipping out the door. The bells fell silent as it shut.
Cheshire felt Kristine’s hand on his arm and he all but growled at her, feeling like a caged animal. She huffed. “Look. I don’t know you or anything, but it doesn’t take a genius to know you’re upset. Take off the suit and go home. I’ll close up.” When he didn’t reply, she gave him a shove towards the door, shooing him off. He haphazardly zipped the suit, beard, and hat into the garment bag, then hung it on the hook and left the Wish Station behind.
Rae had been so beautiful; thick auburn hair and bright hazel eyes, eyes that could read your very soul as if it were an open book. He remembered her husky laugh, the way her eyes creased into crescent moon shapes, and the dimple on her cheek when she smiled. Goddammit. If he hadn’t drove that night, if he hadn’t had that last beer at the party… He swiped furiously at his burning eyes, though no tears came.
He found his way home, feeling numb and very much not alive, more like a heartsick zombie. He fished out a Xanax from the bottle on the counter and took it with a cup of lukewarm water. He collapsed on his bed, not bothering to cover up. He buried his face in the pillow he’d sprinkled her perfume on, just for the scent of her when her real scent faded away months ago. Taking deep breaths, he attempted to relax, to think of better times, but each thought ended with the image of her death.
And then there was Savannah’s face, telling him it wasn’t his fault. And it just looped over and over again.
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