Chapter 2: Take one of these and call me in the morning.

Claire and I hurriedly finished the remaining six pack and meandered home along the back road on the peninsula. The excitement about tonight’s gathering was admittedly overshadowing my fear about facing the confines of our once-harmless condo. We ate our sandwiches as we walked because I was starting to get a hunger headache after a long afternoon in the sun with nothing but beer in my stomach. When we got home I made Claire go in first and she stuck out her tongue to prove she wasn’t scared.

“Moll Doll, it’s fine, there’s for sure some sort of reasonable explanation.” She made a show of checking under couch cushions and the rug on the floor in front of the sink. “We’re safe, k?”

“I know, I know.” I was starting to feel pretty foolish. Maybe it had all been a dream... No, that was a dumb thought. But maybe I could have been hallucinating from the pressure of the toomuh on my brain or just the shear magnitude of my migraine.

But the thought of the migraine made it suddenly apparent my hunger headache was getting worse. Like, way worse.

It was already 6:00 but I was feeling pretty groggy from the increasing pain in my temples, so I told Claire I needed to take a quick power nap before getting ready to go out. I was never really willing to turn down a good party, even if I wasn’t feeling up to snuff, but this pain was about to convince me otherwise. I recognized the potential disappointment couched behind her concerned words of encouragement, and I promised her I would do my best to feel better and come out with her. I asked her to wake me up in an hour and shuffled into my room to crawl under the covers. I tossed and turned, and undoubtedly whimpered a little because a few minutes later, Claire was there with some Ibuprofen and a glass of water.

Finally, I could feel myself drifting off, although my head still didn’t feel any better. But something else was keeping me from fully falling asleep. Something there in the periphery. A noise? Breathing. I could hear breathing. Getting steadily louder. Fast, labored breaths coming from the direction of the overstuffed chair in the corner of my bedroom. My eyes popped open. Oh my god, there’s someone there, in the dark corner... I pulled the edge of my sheet toward my ear... it was there, waiting for me... I knew if I could just get my ear covered, I would be safe... what could it want from me..? I couldn’t quit staring into that corner... I could just barely make out a shape, hunched over, head hanging toward his knees, hands clasped... is this really happening?? And I couldn’t help it, I stared hyperventilating, and then a scream escaped. I clapped my hand over my mouth, nearly suffocating myself, but he didn’t move. Instead, he began sobbing, low moans of anguish... his dark hair hanging to frame his forehead and tops of his cheekbones, his long dark lashes mashed together in a tormented grimace... unbearable. And terrifying...!

Claire burst into the room, fumbled for the light switch and after flooding the room in the painful blaze from my halogen lamp, skidded to the floor next to my bed. “Holy crap Molly! Are you ok?? I almost peed my pants when I heard you scream! What happened?”

“Claire, listen. SLOWLY, turn and look at the chair in the corner...” But as I was saying the words, he was already disappearing, the boy from before. His hunched body gradually pixelating into nothingness. She rapidly swiveled, completely disobeying my wishes, just in time to see the last remaining outline of his body before it faded.

“See?? See Claire? It was him! That was him! From earlier! The holo, or whatever he is! I’m so glad you saw him before he disappeared!”

She looked at me in shock. “Hon, there’s nothing there. I think your head’s playing tricks on you... are you sure the doctor said you checked out ok?”

“Are you kidding me? You didn’t see him? He was RIGHT THERE. Sitting in the chair! I know he had almost faded away by the time you turned, but you MUST have seen him!”

She was shaking her head defiantly, unwilling to listen to me. “I’ve been worried about you for a while now, but this is just crazy. If he was a holo, I would have seen him and not only that, we both know a holocaster won’t work here while the blocker is on. Moll, I’m gonna take you back to the doc in the morning, k? This is just getting too creepy. Listen, I think you need to unwind and get out of your own head.”

I took a deep breath and thought about what she was saying. Tried to clear my mind. I wasn’t COMPLETELY sure I could remember the whole situation clearly. But one thing was for sure, my headache was gone. So I said it out loud, just to be sure, “My headache is gone.”

She looked at me sheepishly, “Hey, maybe all you need is a good party with some boys and booze.”

“Sure!” I scoffed, incredulously, “Take the crazy one to a shin-dig to loosen her up! Just what the doctor ordered!” I couldn’t believe her nerve, but on the other hand, she did have a point. The last thing I wanted to do now was stay in this haunted condo worrying about the ghost of Jared Leto’s twin reappearing.

_________________


Because I’m typically such a worry wart, and because I was so on edge after the crazy events of the day, I downloaded a tracking app on my biopass. I knew that was complete overkill, especially in a small town like Arcadia, Michigan. I felt like even more of a paranoid freak about allowing myself to fall victim to the big brother mentality of a security system for my BODY. We were only going around the lake to the marina. It wasn’t like we couldn’t scream and have the entire town hear us.

Claire had dolled me up of course, because I never really felt that motivated to put on makeup or do my hair. I’m pretty proud of how long and dark my eyelashes are on their own, and my hair is, well, just long, straight and dark. Too thick and coarse to do much with it other than a ponytail. But Claire was on a mission that night, wrapping my hair into millions of huge body wave rollers, adding layer after layer of mascara and eyeliner until I looked like Cleopatra. I immediately rubbed off the bright red lipstick as soon as she turned her back. I could tell it annoyed her, but there was NO way I was gonna meet boys without my trusty lip gloss. My only tried and true beauty accessory.

Of course Claire had transformed herself into a rockabilly pin-up for the night. Red lips blazing, her belted cardigan showed off her petite curves all too well. I hadn’t seen her this dolled up all summer, not even when we went to Traverse for the night. She must really be into this guy. I couldn’t help but giggle imagining the pair they would make: him in something like a tie dyed t-shirt, headband and hemp necklace, her bleach blond pin curls taking a beating from the wind off the lake. And oh, I could see it now, she would stumble a bit on the rocking boat, because of her red patent platform stilettos (who wears something like that on a boat?) and she would fall, oh so clumsily into his strong granola arms. A match made in heaven. At least he had mentioned his “boys,” plural, so I would hopefully have my pick.

After some debate we decided to ride our bikes around to the marina because we were running pretty late after all the primping. We must’ve looked hilarious riding up all purty on our mountain bikes. At least I was wearing a tank and jeans. Claire almost bit it when we rolled down the grassy hill to the bike rack next to the docks. She had her heavy shoes in one hand and was trying to steer with the other while dismounting barefoot. I agilely threw a too-long leg over my back tire and propped my bike just in time to grab her arm before she fell.

“You practicing your damsel in distress routine?” I asked, chidingly.

She stuck out her tongue and righted herself to put on her shoes. I started to hear chuckles erupt from the lake nearby. We turned to see Mitch and a stocky meathead type covering their mouths and pretending to look elsewhere. Oh no, I thought, that’s my date?? I scolded myself for mentally using the word “date” for the situation, and looked him over. He was about the same height as Mitch - 5’9” or so - and muscular with a beer gut. His t-shirt boasted a big thumbs up surrounded by the words, “Helloooo Ladies!” How lame. Not such a bad looking guy though. I even thought maybe he looked a little familiar but couldn’t quite place him.

“Where are your ‘boys?’“ I shouted over to Mitch. “I thought you had an entourage coming tonight!”

“I’m all you need, baby!” Meathead yelled back, obviously proud of himself.

Yikes, I thought, giving Claire a “you owe me BIG” look. She winked in response and began to wobble over the uneven ground toward the pontoon. I grabbed her arm again and dragged her along, feeling a little chagrined.

“Hi, I’m Trevor,” Meathead announced and stuck out his fat fingered hand like a businessman. “Are your people originally from this area?” I kid you not. That was his first question to me.

“Uh, my? My people?” I could feel myself losing my cool.

“Yeah, Native Americans. You’re Indian, right? You gotta be with that hair.”

Wow, this guy was a real tool. Right down to the socks with sandals. Why in the hell was Mitch hanging out with him?

As if reading my thoughts, Mitch interjected, “Molly, Claire, meet my cousin Trevor. Not the most eloquent guy, but straight forward. A REAL straight shooter.” I detected a hint of sarcasm in his voice and I raised one eyebrow in appreciation.

Claire just giggled and pulled her arm away from me to grab onto Mitch’s bicep. “Absolutely, Mitch! I can totally tell he’s that kinda guy!”

In my brain, I gagged. Mitch looked a little apologetic and added, “There should be a couple more dudes showing up in a few. No worries.” He looked happy he had given me hope.

I wouldn’t normally feel so attacked by a stranger. I’m not the most PC person myself. But something about Trevor’s question really hit home. I guess, yeah, by now I’ve started associating myself as a Native American. It’s weird to live with the most red-headed Irish people in the world and stand out in family pictures like you’re a character in that old movie Avatar, but that’s my life. At least my sister Shannon has dark hair like me, but our skin is two completely different shades. And normally, I’m totally fine to talk about my heritage, or lack of it, and my adoption, but he had struck a very sour note with me. It was probably just him though, not so much the rude question. I happen to ask rude questions way too often.

“I’m Irish.” I half-lied to Trevor.

After almost an hour of Trevor droning on and on about the (apparently endlessly amusing) insurance fraud he tried to commit last summer, and ultimately failed - poor him - and the reasons why his drunk mother was hilarious, I couldn’t take his drivel anymore. Because no one else had shown up yet, we were floating about 50 yards out from the shore, checking the docks occasionally for new comers. No luck so far.

Mitch and Claire were getting along famously as far as I could tell. She was lounging at the back of the boat, smoking a cigarette with her capri’d legs thrown over him, centerfold style.

“Um, Mitch, I really have to pee...” I stated unconvincingly.

I wasn’t even surprised anymore when Meathead replied, “You could just lean over the edge of the railing. We won’t look,” and smiled his proud smile.

“No problem,” Mitch replied to me, knowingly. He got up to start the motor and Claire visibly pouted.

Thank god for a break from Trevor, I thought, just as Mitch answered his telechip.

I could tell from Mitch’s end of the conversation we had been abandoned. He asked a few times when they would be here and after a minute of frustration, changed his tactics to where they were, what they were doing and for how long. I felt sad for some reason, like I had missed something important, although I had no idea why.

“Oh! Yeah, that’s fine. We’ll be there soon,” Mitch blinked hard, unconsciously signaling to us he had disconnected.

“Ok, so we’re gonna head to Frank’s for a bonfire. Almost everyone is already there. He said he’s sorry he ditched us, but they had some friends come into town at the last minute who wanted to party at The Farm.”

_________________


The Farm, I soon learned, was an ancient, peeling farmhouse and a few dilapidated barns outside of town. It was probably only a few acres with no real farm land to speak of.

“But,” Mitch had told me on the drive over in his El Camino - with Trevor in the back! - “Frank’s ‘rents left him and his older brother the house when they retired to Arizona.” Now it was used mainly as a bachelor pad, by the looks of it. As we pulled up the long driveway, I could make out the glow from a large fire behind the second barn.

Claire was all giddy at the prospect of spending more time in a rural setting and Mitch was happy to oblige. I found her perspective on pastoral America hilarious: while on one hand she was terrified someone was going to kill her and wear her skin, she was completely charmed by “innocent farm boys,” and she always pointed out that events like a bonfire were illegal within Grosse Pointe city limits without a permit.

“Molly! Look at how BIG that fire is!”

I had seen plenty of roaring bonfires during my childhood in Plummer, Minnesota, but I figured I could humor her. “Wow, you’re right, let’s get over there!”

The next thing I knew, Claire was clinging to Mitch, piggy back, and Meathead was reaching for my hand. Feeling a little rude, but very sure I didn’t want anyone thinking I had arrived WITH Trevor, I sped up in front of our little group. As I got closer I realized there were actually a decent number of people here. Probably 25 or so milled around the fire, laughing loudly at a stumbling girl who had just spilled her beer, while a couple other chicas danced perilously on top of a tall stump.

In my hurry to reach the group, I caught my foot on something and - TIMBER! - I reached out a long arm to grab a small branch on my way down. It promptly snapped and I landed in a heap on the ground, much to Trevor’s amusement. I could hear him coming up behind me in the shadows laughing like a circus clown. I had just turned to tell him off when a baritone voice said my name.

The voice’s bonfire-ringed silhouette towered over me. “Molly?” he asked again, more sheepishly.

“Uh, yeah, that’s me.” I felt so overwhelmed by embarrassment, “Do I know you?”

He plopped to the ground in front of me and leaned forward as if to tell a secret. “Now you don’t look weird sitting on the ground alone,” he feigned a covert tone, the smile apparent in his loud whisper.

He handed me a plastic cup of beer and continued, “Mitch told me he was bringing you, I assumed you weren’t the one riding on his back.”

“Yup, how deductive.” Now I leaned toward him, to mock his earlier jest, and loudly whispered, “Thank you SO MUCH for saving me from--” just as Trevor reached us.

“Nice one twinkle toes,” Trevor butted in. “Do I have to be by your side at all times? I’m not a very good date if I let you go falling on your pretty face, am I?”

The silhouette looked up at Trevor and back to me, “Your date?” He seemed amused. “Sorry, should I leave you two love-birds alone?”

My extreme embarrassment returned, “No, I... um...”

The silhouette caught my wrist to pull me toward him and whispered softly in my ear, “Don’t worry, I’ll get you out of this - if you want me to.”

I nodded, woozily trying hard to think of something other than his hot breath on my earlobe. He took my vague cue, tilted his head back again and suddenly became serious. “Trevor, she’s fine. I’m making sure of it.”

Shaken, Trevor tried to save face, “Well... sure man, you can have her. She was a snobby pain in the ass all night anyway.” He turned, mouth hanging slightly open and strode away.

Apparently the silhouette thought this was really amusing but stifled a full-out laugh. “Don’t worry about Trevor. He’s convinced he’s a ladies man, and he means well, but sometimes I wonder what the hell he’s thinking.”

He was trying so hard to be tolerant, I couldn’t help but feel inexplicably drawn to him... but at that moment we realized he was still holding my wrist and our controlled laughter erupted.

“Do you want that back?” he teased, and slowly let my hand slide through his fingers.

No... no I actually don’t... I thought as my hand pulsed with the energy his fingers had left there. Then I started to feel kinda pathetic. This guy was really drawing me in, and I didn’t even know his name!

“So, my savior, The Amazing Silhouette - that’s your super hero name,” I announced. “What’s your mild mannered alias?”

Oh my god, I thought, I’m so lame! I took a slow sip of beer to appear nonchalant.

But he burst out laughing again. “Well, when I’m not wearing a cape and fighting crime,” he put his fists on his hips and raised his chin to his right gallantly, “most people call me Teague.”

For some reason his silliness triggered my childish side and I couldn’t contain a large bark of a laugh - just as I was trying to swallow. The beer in my mouth launched itself at him, but he must’ve had cat-like reflexes because he was able to topple himself sideways in time to miss most of it.

“Wow! Are you always this dangerous to be around?” he joked as he righted himself.

Even though I had plenty of reason to feel embarrassed by now, I was feeling more and more comfortable. Teague, The Amazing Silhouette, had some sort of magnetism I hadn’t felt before. Like I was rushing down stream in a cold current, but easily able to keep my head above water and enjoy the frightening pull.

I thought for a split second about apologizing, but instead, against my better judgment, this came out of my mouth: “Why do you feel so familiar to me?”

Now I had done it. He was sure to be scared away by this weird, overly intense girl who he had just met. I expected him to laugh again, or politely excuse himself, but instead he simply said, “Yeah, it’s strange isn’t it?”

Whoa...

Now let me be clear: I think it’s super tiresome when girls describe butterflies in their stomach or how lightheaded they feel when they meet a handsome boy for the first time, but lame descriptions aside, there was something suspicious happening in my belly and my brain... and I hadn’t even SEEN him, so he didn’t have the handsome thing going for him - yet.

I cleared my throat, and tried to change the subject. “So how do you know Mitch and Frank and all these guys?”

The light danced on his shoulders as he thought about his answer, “Hmmm, well, I’ve known Trevor since he was born, and Mitch has been coming up every summer to stay with his aunt and uncle - Trevor’s parents - since he was a little kid. They both have their issues, but I always got along better with Mitch than Trevor though. No big surprise there, right?”

“I’ll say.” So Mitch was lying when he asked for a tour of the area… interesting, I thought. I let it go and mustered up the courage for another non-life commitment type question. “And Frank?”

“Well, Frank’s older brother Sam and I grew up together - went to the same elementary and everything. Sam has always been a really great friend, but especially since... uh...” He paused, clearly not ready to continue, so I waited.

“Man, I’m becoming a downer, so sorry.”

“Totally fine, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.” I was dying for him to continue, but I didn’t want to intrude.

“No, no, it’s ok. Sam dragged me out tonight to get my mind off it. It’s just really hard to see your parent struggle through an illness, ya know? Well, you hopefully don’t know, but anyway...” He shrugged awkwardly before continuing. “...My mom is in the pretty late stages of cancer and she probably doesn’t have very long left... Most people in the community don’t really know about it... she’s so strong. She doesn’t want to be a burden or a spectacle...” he trailed off.

My heart broke a little for him and I had no idea what to say. “That’s terrible...” was all I could manage.

“Yeah, but she’s strong... Strongest person I know. She would hate it if she knew we were sitting here talking about her instead of having a good time.” He sounded like he was trying to convince himself, like HE was the one trying to be strong; his voice wavered a little despite his resolute words. “So now that you know all about me, what about you?”

“What ABOUT me?” I tried to be upbeat for him, despite his sad news. “What do you want to know?”

“Everything.” He laughed genuinely.

“Everything? Wow, if I told you everything, I’d bore you to death...”

“I doubt it. Try me.” He leaned forward again to prove his devoted interest.

“Ok, I’ll tell you all about my summer, and then it’s your turn again.” I began to tell him about my time in Arcadia, sharing a condo with Claire, trying to figure out what kind of job I wanted to get, where I wanted to live in the fall. I felt like everything I said was pitifully mundane, but he hung on every word. He showed no signs of interrupting me, so I finally shut up because I wasn’t used to talking about myself so much.

After a second of silence he said, in a disappointed tone, “That’s all I get?”

“For now.” I replied, “It’s your turn. That was the deal, remember?”

“That was the deal YOU made. I don’t want to spoil our night together talking about myself and my problems, and you don’t have to tell me everything at once. I’m kinda hoping we’ll have plenty of time to get to know each other.”

I knew I was blushing furiously and I prayed the firelight wasn’t bright enough to give away the redness of my skin. His words were so straight-forward and confident, I felt flattered and anxious and excited. I hadn’t ever met anyone like him before.

“Anyway, we’re being awfully anti-social hanging out here under the cherry trees instead of joining the party aren’t we?” He stood and reached out a hand, “I really want to introduce you to my friends.”

He pulled me to my feet and although I was disappointed our private meeting was over, I felt flattered he wanted his friends to meet me.

I straightened myself to my full six feet and tried to get a good look at this shadowed stranger who felt comfortable telling me about his heartache, and who hadn’t been scared away by my intensity. As he turned to escort me toward the roaring flames, I finally got a good look at his features, his beautiful, shockingly familiar face eye to eye with mine.

I choked on a violent gasp of realization, and it hit me like a baseball bat to the gut: all the memories of the intruder in my living room and of his defeated form sitting in my bedroom chair came rushing back. As his kind eyes searched mine with apologetic concern, I could feel the blood rapidly leave my face as the world around me went dark.