Today's word count: 1,996 words
Running total: 43,781 words
Summary: I don't want to give the big twist away in the summary, so suffice to say Scarlett talks to someone and gets a new lead on a ghost.
Also, there is a completely random interlude where the characters perform the exciting act of ordering drinks at a restaurant.
I hit send, and part of me regrets it as soon as I do. I try and squash that part out as quickly as I can. It’s barely been a minute when I get a reply to my message; Dean must be a really fast texter.
Thanx cn we meet Tuesday 5pm @ city cafe? ill pay
This says, “Thanks. Can we meet Tuesday, five o’clock PM, at City Café? I’ll pay.”
I think my heart almost stops. City Café is a nice upscale Rochester restaurant. If he just wants to insult me, he wouldn’t be inviting me there. And he especially wouldn’t be offering to pay. I quickly send a message back to him:
Sounds great! c u there
That says, “Sounds great! I’ll see you there.”
I decide not to tell any of my other friends. They’ll probably think I’m just conspiring with the enemy. Instead, I spend the rest of my night planning for the date tomorrow and working slowly through a terrible, terrible summer reading list.
---------------------
Scene XV
I Don’t Understand Why I Have to Write One of These Things, But Whatever, I’m Writing It Now, Too Late to Go Back
Dean
Sometime when I take my seat down in the restaurant I realize that my text could have sounded like some sort of invitation to a date. Didn’t mean it that way at all, but maybe that’s why this chick is a little late. I check my phone about once ever fifteen seconds. I’m anxious. I can’t take the stares from the people much longer.
You know, my offer still stands. If you don’t—
“Fuck off,” I mumble. I hope It’s quiet enough that no one hears me, but I can’t be certain. I wonder if I’m a schizo. I feel like one right now. And yet part of me is convinced that it isn’t just voices in my head. And if anyone knows about it, it will be Scarlett Jones. Well, all right. Kenneth is the real freak of the bunch but I don’t want to look like a fag by asking him to dinner.
Finally, Scarlett shows up, smiling. She’s dressed to the nines in this evening gown and elbow gloves and overdone hair—everything. No wonder she showed up so late.
“I’m so sorry,” she says. “It’s a policy of mine to show up fashionably late for everything—I mean—“ She hasn’t even fucking looked me in the eyes yet. Why was this a good idea?
It wasn’t.
Gee, thanks, Captain Obvious.
You’re welcome, it says, sounding way too happy about the insult. I ignore it.
She sits down across from me, beaming like she just won the lottery. Then she actually sees my face; her expression slowly falls from one of happiness to one of concern. I’m almost touched. Most people look at me with horror. This is a change of pace. Still, I keep my guard up. Can’t let anyone get close to me right now. My faith in humanity is waning, to say the least.
“What happened?” she asks.
I sigh. I knew I’d have to tell this story at least a million times but that doesn’t mean I want to tell it.
“There was a fire… where I was going to work this summer. There was a fire. Whole place burned down, first day on the job.” I lean back, close my good eye. “Before you ask, no, I wasn’t doing anything brave. I was trying to get out like everyone else. Tripped on a dolly.”
“Dean, I’m—“
“I’m not here to get your sympathy, Scarlett. I’m not even here for the romance or anything like that.”
For a second she looks hurt but she sucks it up pretty quickly and does her best to look like she’s taking me seriously. “Then why do you want to talk to me, Dean?”
Just as I’m about to explain to her a perky waitress comes to our table and smiles. “Is this the whole party?”
Fuck. Now that Scarlett’s here in her dress and makeup she’s going to get the wrong idea about us. As long as I don’t look at her, though, all she’ll see of my scars is the bit of charred flesh on my left cheek. Honestly, the left side of my face made it out better then anywhere else on my body.
“Yeah, this is it,” I say, managing a smile.
“All right, then,” the chick smiles, “Welcome to the City Café! My name is Sammy, and I’ll be serving you tonight. Have you been here before?”
Before I can answer yes, Scarlett says, “Well, I haven’t been here before. I don’t know about him.” She quirks her eyebrow at me, and all I can think is, what the fuck, who besides book characters and grandmothers quirk their eyebrows like that?
I manage to get un-distracted enough, though, to respond to the waitress. “Yeah, I’ve been here before, but I haven’t had the time to explain anything to her…”
The waitress smiles at us with this ‘Aww aren’t they sickeningly cute together’ smile before she says, “Well, in front of you is our dinner menu. Our fish are caught fresh daily. Our soup today is Gruyere Leek, and our special fish is swordfish! Can I start you off with something to drink?”
“I’ll have water—no lemon, please,” Scarlett answers carefully. She probably orders that at every restaurant she goes to, but I wonder who the fuck actually wants water without lemon. I thought the only reason anyone got water was to squeeze the lemon into it, mix in one of the sugar packets and make a poor man’s lemonade.
“I’ll have iced tea.”
Our waitress quickly jots these orders down, then smiles at us again like she thinks we’re the greatest match-up since Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie. Whatever. I guess I don't really care that much. “All right. I’ll be back with those shortly!”
As she leaves, I ask Scarlett, “Do you know what you want?”
“I’m not sure,” she mumbles. “Do you have any favorites?”
I glance over the menu quickly for a memory refreshment. “Well,” I say, “I like their yellowfin tuna. It’s not very… it’s very rare. Raw in the center. That’s apparently the only way you can cook tuna without it turning into that disgusting canned shit.”
“Hmmm.” She seems very thoughtful about such a simple choice. “I’ve never had tuna before because it smelled so bad… it’s not like that?”
…That seems rather dumb, but okay. “No, it’s an actual fish fillet before they do… whatever they do to it.”
She smiles and looks up at me again. “I think I’ll have that, then. It will be interesting, at least.”
I look up at her cautiously. I’m a little bit taken aback. She smiling at me the way Patricia used to, like I’m still a stud and don’t look exactly like Two-Face. She’s looking straight past the scars—she’s looking at me.
Don’t be fooled, kid. She’s no different from anyone else. Deep down, she’s completely reviled by the way you look.
I can’t talk to that voice now. I blurt out, “I hear someone talking to me and I don’t think I’m crazy.”
Scarlett looks at me like I am, indeed, crazy. She then says, “All right, back up. You hear someone… talking to you?”
At that point the waitress comes back with our drinks. There’s another lull in our conversation as we both order yellowfin tuna fillets. Once she takes off again, I turn my attention back to Scarlett. Before I can talk, though, she goes off on what she was saying.
“I’m talking to you right now, though, so… or do you mean, like, a voice in your head? Sound hallucinations?”
I sigh. “Voice in my head kind. It didn’t start until after the fire.”
I hesitate. If I talk now, everything will come spilling out. Scarlett will know enough about me to destroy what little fragments are left of my life. If the information I give her is mishandled, I will have no reason left to live. On the other hand, if I tell her nothing, this problem could escalate to the point where I end up in a straight jacket in a little room with padded walls and no windows. I’m damned either way. But which way is the one that leads to lesser damnation?
You can’t tell her. After all, I ain’t driving you too mad. You’ve been doing a fantastic job ignoring me, and this girl is set on ruining you. Ain’t she your eternal rival, anyway?
Damn it. The voice actually has a point.
Suddenly I feel a delicate gloved hand on mine. I know it’s Scarlett without even looking up. She grasps onto my hand, and I instinctively hold on. As so as I do, I try to let go, but something keeps my hand firmly rooted in place. I don’t want to let go of anything. I’m too afraid to be alone. I am alone, frightened, lost. This is what my life has become.
This is the person I am.
You could be so much more if you’d just listen to me.
Scarlett starts rubbing her thumb on my hand. I look down and see some of the especially dead flakes of skin fall off. As disgusting as it is, I don’t want to let go.
You can do better than her. You can be perfect. But you can’t do a damned thing without me. Just listen to me for once.
I look at Scarlett. She’s looking at me again, past the burn scars and at the person beneath. I briefly wonder what she sees before realizing that that is a ridiculously romantic thought that should be squashed as quickly as possible. It’s a bit unnerving—eventually I have to look away.
“You don’t understand, Scarlett. This destroyed my life. Patricia doesn’t want to see me anymore. She says we can’t possibly make this work. She doesn’t want to make it work… I’d be more than willing to.”
Just as I feared, all my problems keep coming out. “I was about to get my driver’s permit, you know that? My birthday’s in October, and I’d be sixteen. But it’s illegal to drive if you don’t have two good eyes. I’ll never be able to drive. And the scars—besides… looking like this, you know—it’s not as supple as normal skin. I can write and text for short periods of time, but it hurts long before my hand cramps. And I won’t be able to go out for track this year, I don’t think. I really like running, but—
“And then one day I heard a voice from no where. It told me it knew how I felt, that it understood my feelings. And it told me that it could fix me. Make me the way I was before the incident…” I turn back to face Scarlett. She looks like she’s about to cry. I really wish she wouldn’t; she’s not the one who’s suffering like I am. If she breaks down I might have to hit her. But I need to look at her to finish this. “But the voice told me I’d have to kill. And I couldn’t do that. I realized I might be crazy…
“But then I remembered that day with Kenneth. Did he ever…?”
Scarlett nods. “Yes, we know about how Kenneth tried to attack you.”
I lean back and take a deep breath. “Scarlett, promise me you’ll tell me the truth. I’ll keep the answer confidential or whatever the hell you want, but I need to know this. Can I take your word?”
She hesitates for a moment but I think she already knows what I’m going to ask. “I swear I’ll tell you the truth, whatever your questions may be. I just ask that you don’t go blurting out your answers on the street.” She then leans forward. “What do you have to ask?”
“Are ghosts real?”
“…Yes.”
“What the fuck is up with Kenneth?”
“His soul was eaten by a ghost. Partially; he’s still got enough of it intact to live. Unfortunately… he has to eat souls to survive.” She plays with her hair briefly. “He only eats souls of the dead—ghosts. But he was
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
Posts
No comments:
Post a Comment