“Oh, you’re not going to need that. He never answers his phone, so the best thing to do is just drop in.”
I may be new to town, but showing up on an anti-social alcoholic’s doorstep doesn’t seem like the brightest idea to me. If Claire notices my hesitation, she doesn’t let on. The second she resumes talking, not even a semi crashing through the front door could stop her.
“The house is at 3341 Miller Way, but you don’t even need to remember that, trust me. You can’t miss it. Just turn left out the door, take a right onto Main Street, and keep on going even when the houses disappear. It’s the only residence on the hill up there. You really can’t miss the thing. Want me to give you a ride when I get off here?”
Tempting. I hate walking, and Claire’s been nothing but nice to me. But she’s also bubbly and chatty, and being stuck in a car with her when I’m this moody would only drag her down and suffocate me. “It’s all right, thanks. I can walk.”
She tries to hide it, but her face falls slightly. “Okay. Well, let me know if you change your mind.”
“I appreciate it.” I smile and turn back toward the steps, ignoring the jitters forming in my stomach as I force my way to the top floor.
I step into my room, locking up behind me. My back is glued to the door as I scan the space with care. Looks empty.Feelsempty. Such a different feeling than when I ran out of here earlier. When he was here, in my bathroom, his fingers running gently down my skin . . .
My body warms at the recollection, and I cross to the bathroom. It’s just as empty as the bedroom, a lightness in the air, and I’m surprised to hear my disappointed sigh. I shouldn’t be disappointed about this. Normal people would feel a weight’s been lifted, relieved to know their mental health might still be salvageable, right?
Shoving the thoughts aside for now, I slink out of my clothes and get in the bath. I take my time shaving and exfoliating, the soap filling the bathroom with soft scents of vanilla. There’s still nothing to indicate his return when I towel-dry and get dressed, and I’m not in the mood to deal with an angry alcoholic just yet. I end up spending the remainder of the day curled up in blankets watching TV reruns while devouring an entire box of pizza, until, eventually, I close my eyes and drift off.
Awarm breeze. Dark skies. Wet grass beneath my bottom. And nothing but lightning bugs to cast a flickering, dim glow around us.
“What do you see?” I hear myself ask in that young, boyish voice. My skinny arm is outstretched before me, palm up, fist closed. I feel something small fluttering inside.
“Can’t see nothin’ if you ain’t gonna show me,” Tommy quips with a crooked grin. He tries to duck when my other hand comes up, but I’m too quick, giving a playful tug on his ear.
“You sayanything, notnothin’. And it’sare not, notain’t. Hear me?” I chide. “We’re not like him, you and I. Not in speech or anything else. Got it?”
The younger boy nods slowly, then runs his fingers over a bruised cheek. “Got it,” he mumbles.
“Now,” I repeat, angling my head toward my outstretched fist. “I didn’t ask what’s inside my hand. I asked what you see.”
The little boy’s quiet for a moment, eying my fist like it’s a trick question. “How am I gonna see if you ain—aren’t—gonna show me?”
“Look closer.”
And he does. He leans forward, eying the faint glow seeping through the tiny gaps between my fingers. “I see . . . light?” He glances up at me, then narrows his large, childish eyes. “Hey, you got a firefly in there, don’t you!”
“Shush,”I instruct, and I feel a smile tugging at the lips that aren’t mine. “So, you see a light. That’s good. And what else?”
“Um. Well. It’s hard to see the light at all, with the way it’s blocked in like that. Wait a minute,” little Tommy says, flicking his gaze back at me, “you’re not killin’ it, are you? It’s gotta be runnin’ out of air.”
My lips lift again. “No, this one’s a fighter. Watch.”
I open my fist, a twinkling glow illuminating the open palm of my hand as the beetle hovers above it. After a second, it must realize freedom is finally in its grasp, because it darts off into the distance, becoming nothing more than a speck in the sky.
“See, Tommy?” I say softly, the smile dropping as my eyes continue to gaze into the dark night. “He’s not so different from us, that lightning bug. You can trap him. Try to shut out his glow. Try to block his light from ever being seen again. But not even the biggest fist, the darkest night, is strong enough to shut it out completely.”
My head shifts, my gaze locking onto Tommy’s.
“You understand what I’m telling you, Tommy? You have a light inside you, and the only person who gets to decide whether that light shines or not is you.”
The boy nods, eyes twinkling up at me, clinging to every word I say. “I understand,” he whispers.
Iwakewith wetness on my cheeks. Sitting up, I swipe the tears with the back of my hand. I don’t know why I’m crying. It’s only a dream, just like before. And just like before, Ifelteverything—the fierce love for his brother, the desperation in his heart, the hope that his words were true.
And it hurts. In the strangest way possible, it hurts. Why does it have to feel so real? Like I’m intruding on these boys’ most private moments?
Except they aren’t real boys, I remind myself. None of it is real. Just fictitious creations of my twisted mind. It really should come as no surprise that a mind capable of conjuring intimate moments between me and an imaginary being would also be capable of this. Why only mess with me during the day when there’s so much fun to be had at night too, right?
That thought prompts me to consider something I hadn’t thought of before. Both occurrences, the strange presence in my bathroom and the hauntingly realistic dreams, began around the same time.
