The Love Sucks Club (9 page)

“It wasn’t a fit.” Glaring at Sam, I cut her off as she opens her
mouth. “And it wasn’t a seizure.”

“I vote for the hospital,” Roxanne says.

“Forget it.” Planting my feet on the ground, I swing myself out of
the chair and stalk across the room. “I didn’t have a fit. I didn’t have a
seizure. And I don’t need a hospital.” Opening the front door with a huge,
dramatic sweep, I lean back and narrow my eyes at
Esmé
.
“And I don’t talk to dead people!” Storming out the door, I slam it behind me
and take off down the hill. I wish I had a car. I could jump into it and gun
the gas, throwing gravel and dirt into the windows as I take off. Walking down
the hill, the exercise and the fresh air starts to clear my head. I’m starting
to feel like kind of an ass. When I hear an engine coming down the hill, I make
a game of guessing which one of them got to come after me.

Sam pulls up and motions for me to get in. Climbing into the seat,
I pull on my seat belt and we take off. “Where are we going?”

She shrugs. “It’s up to you.”

“Let’s go to Brad’s house.”

On the way, I fill her in on Voldemort’s letter and her subsequent
visit. When I finish, she shakes her head. “That’s bad news.”

“Yeah, I don’t know why she’s rearing her ugly head now, but it’s
a hassle I don’t need.”

“On the other hand,” Sam says. “How
friggin
’
funny about shovel guy!”

“I know, right?”

“I love the fake fit thing. I’m going to have to try that
sometime.”

“Yeah, next time you get bored at work.”

She maneuvers around a group of guys who are parked in the middle
of the street, drinking beer and having a heated discussion. One of them yells
something as she squeezes past but we both ignore him and keep going. Brad
lives in the heart of what passes for a city on this island. When we pull up in
front of his house, Sam just misses running over a chicken because she is
dumbfounded by a large woman with S-E...X-Y written across her chest. The girth
of her breasts is warping the letters. I elbow Sam and she grins. “Sorry, it
took me a second to figure out the extra letters.”

The house is a dilapidated piece of wood construction that looks
as if it will fall down at any moment. I don’t know how it has managed to hang
on through the last couple of hurricanes, but every time we head down to check
on him after a storm, it’s still here. Sam opens the door and we carefully pick
our way around broken weed whackers, three legged chairs, old, yellowed
pillows, crumpled up and stained pizza boxes, and stacks of magazines. Brad is
sitting in a rocking chair near the window, listening to the neighbors argue.

“Hey,” I start, pausing as Brad raises his hand.

We all listen as the neighbors crescendo into a roar. The female
voice screams at the male, the male screams back. There are various thuds and
yells. I manage to catch a few words, “Whore.
Fucker.
Bastard.
Cheater.”
They are
obviously both pissed, but it’s hard to tell which one is the wounded party in
this fight. Finally, we hear a gunshot and then silence.

“Holy fuck,” Sam says. She digs into her pocket for her cell
phone. “I’m calling the cops.”

“Don’t bother, don’t bother.” Brad waves his hand dismissively.
“This happens all of the time. The cops will show up or they won’t.”

I’ve long since stopped fighting against the island madness, so I
put the incident out of my mind and motion at Sam to put her cell away. She
does so reluctantly.

Bradley sighs. “Are you here for some
help
?
I can see that you are, but I have to tell you that I’m feeling very weak.”

I can see why. He’s lost weight since we’ve been here and his dark
skin has gotten a kind of yellowish tint to it. His eyes are drooping and red.
The
dreadlocks,
usually clean and gorgeous, are matted
and greasy and carrying bits of leaves or possibly garbage.
“What’s
going on, Brad?”

“Too many ghosts.
I can’t keep up with them all.”

Sam rolls her eyes as I whip ten bucks out of my pocket and hand
it to him. He barely glances at it before shoving it into the front of his cut
off jean shorts.

“Listen, Brad. I’ve been having some...
er
...problems.
I used to have pretty strong visions, but I got rid of them.” Pausing, I think
about it for a second. “Well, mostly.”

“Ah, they’re back now,” he said.

“Wow, can’t believe you picked up that one,” Sam intones. I kick
her before turning back to Brad.

“Yes, they’ve come back with a vengeance.”

“There’s someone who means you harm.
One, maybe
two.
The spirit is trying to warn you.”

Rolling my eyes, I raise my eyebrow at him.
“The
spirit?
God?”

“God.
The creator.
The universe.
Your own mind.
Whatever it is, whatever you pray to, it’s trying to help you.”

“Help me what?”

He shrugs and rolls his eyes. “
Dunno
.
Maybe let go of your past.”

“I have let go of my past,” I reply, ignoring Sam’s skeptical
snort.

“Obviously not if the ghosts
from your past are trying to talk to you.”

Pausing, I stare at the wall for a moment. Brad’s apartment is
small, dirty, and overloaded with furniture, including the most ridiculous
blend of artwork I have ever seen. When his clients can’t afford to pay him
cash, he will usually take something in trade. By the looks of his art
collection, he isn’t picky about what he takes, either. Blinking at a velvet
clown, I formulate my next question.

“Do you think it’s really Fran who is trying to communicate with
me?”

Without taking my eyes from the wall, I can feel Brad staring at
me. Sam’s staring at me, too. Suddenly, I feel like more of a freak than I
usually do. Brad hasn’t answered, so I clear my throat. “Well?”

Shrugging again, he gives me a half smile. “Her energy never left
you.”

“It’s a curse.”

He shakes his head. “Your visions are a gift, not a curse.”

“So then what do I do?”

Laughing, he spreads his hands in amazement. “Listen to the voice,
of course!”

“Of course,” Sam says in the same amazed tone. “Listen to the
voice!”

Brad laughs at Sam and pats her hard on the shoulder. “You keep
dismissing me, woman, but you will find out someday about these things and you
won’t be laughing then.”

“Food for thought,” Sam says, standing up.

The front door slams open and a teenage girl in short shorts and a
bra storms into the room. She pushes past Sam and plants herself in front of
Brad. “I need to put a hex on someone who’s out to get me,” she demands.

I dig out another ten and hand it over to Brad who makes it
disappear into his shorts again. I shudder at the idea of being handed that
same money as change in one of the local shops. Making a mental note to start
carrying hand sanitizer, I thank Brad. “We’ll leave you to your next client,” I
say. The girl doesn’t even look up as we depart.

Sam is chuckling before we make it to the car. “Are you serious?”
she says as we drive out of the city. “You’re taking advice from a man who keeps
his money in his crotch?”

“Maybe I should get hypnosis.”

“Maybe you need therapy.”

Shrugging, I look out the window. “I’m not saying that’s not a
distinct possibility.”
 

Susannah and Thomas are sitting at a table outside of Seth’s
coffee shop, so Sam pulls over to the curb. Thomas jumps up and leans in the
window. “Can I buy you ladies a coffee?”

“I have to get back to work,” Sam says. “Do you want me to drop
you off here or at home?”

Envisioning Roxanne and
Esmé
drinking
tea and comparing notes about my sanity, I decide that home is probably not my
best bet at this point. Slugging Sam on the shoulder, I thank her and jump out
of the car. Susannah stands to give me a hug and Thomas goes in to buy me a
coffee.

“I heard Voldemort showed up at your house this morning,” she
says.

“How the fuck is that even possible?”

“I just ran into
Esmé
at the gas
station.”

Island grapevine.
At least I know she’s not
hanging out at my house waiting for me to come home. Thomas returns with my
coffee and sits next to Susannah, touching her arm gently as he sits. She
smiles at him. They look happy.

“Well,” Susannah prods. “What about it?”

“What about what?” Thomas looks from one to the other.

“Yes, my ex showed up at my house today. Shovel guy saved me. His
name is George, by the way.”

“George.” Susannah tries it on. “George. Weird that it never
occurred to me that he might have a name.”

“Everyone has a name,” Thomas says.

Susannah sips her coffee. “Thomas and I were at the gallery. Did
you know that
Esmé
is an artist?”

“I didn’t.” Thanking Thomas for the coffee, I stand up and walk
toward the art gallery. Two streets over, I see Voldemort leaving one of the
corner bars and I duck down an alley to avoid her. Two men step out from the
shadows with intent on their faces, but I raise my hand and lower my voice. “
Don’t
even fucking think about it,” I enunciate as I stalk
past them. My face must be something else, because they both slink back into
the shadows as I pass. I make the street and I turn toward the gallery. I’m
nearly running as I get to the door. Why the hell wouldn’t she mention being an
artist? Certainly having a showing at the only gallery in town would be cause
for at least a casual mention in conversation.

Slamming through the door, I startle a couple of tourists who are
looking at trinkets in the front of the shop. The woman drops whatever it is
that she’s holding. Ignoring her gasp, I push past them into the main showroom.
The room is filled with paintings, but I recognize
Esmé’s
immediately. They’re daytime forest scenes, but they are all somehow
terrifying. The trees are twisted and warped. The shadows seem to meld into
almost recognizable shapes on the ground and on the other trees. The sky,
though blue, barely makes an impression through the intertwined branches of the
trees. In each one, a woman is standing. It’s a series, so in the first one,
she’s too far away to see. She moves progressively closer in the point of view
of the artist until, in the last one, she is near the front of the painting,
and she stands, smiling awkwardly, but happily, like a lonely teenager who has
been asked on her first date, but isn’t quite sure if it really happened or
not. The woman is Fran. Reeling, I make it back to the sidewalk before I pass
out.

Chapter Eight

This is getting familiar. I blink into the sunlight and wait to
see whose face is going to appear in my line of vision. It would almost be
funny if it wasn’t such a pain in the ass.

“Well, look
who’s
awake.” a strangely
familiar voice says.

Voldemort.
My eyes fly open and I blink
them furiously to clear the clouds. I’m in the front seat of her car. She’s
sitting in the driver’s seat, smiling. “It’s good to see you alive.”

“I’m out of here.” I grab the door handle as she grabs my wrist
and pulls me back.
 

“I saved you,” she grins. “The least you can do is hear me out.”

Her grip on my wrist is strong and I know from past experience
that if she decides I’m not going anywhere, it’s going to take a lot of effort
to change her mind. I don’t know if I have the strength for that right now.

“What do you want?”

She releases my wrist. “I came on a little too strong earlier. I
need your help.”

Sighing, I lean back against the car door.
She-who-shall-not-be-named could sound so sincere sometimes. I wasn’t as stupid
as I used to be, but it was still hard to disbelieve her when she had that look
on her face. Part of the problem is that she believes herself when she’s
talking like this. A part of her truly believes that the world is against her
and she is just doing her best to be a good person in a bad world. If I hadn’t
caught her in so many lies, I’d be a lot more likely to believe her now.
“Well?”

“I’m about to be kicked out of my apartment. I need some money to
cover the rent.”

“And I was your first thought as a benevolent benefactor?”

“I know you’ve got some stashed away.”

“It’s what I live on when the royalties aren’t enough.”

“Your house is paid for. You don’t drink. You don’t have any
credit card bills. If you loan me, say, five thousand dollars, I can pay you
back at five hundred a month. That’s more than enough to cover expenses and
you’ll be paid off within the year.”

“And have you given a thought to how you’re going to shell out an
additional five hundred a month when you can’t make your expenses right now?”

“I’ve stopped going to the bar. That’s more than five hundred a
month right there.”

Laughing, I look at her incredulously. “I just saw you coming out
of a bar.”

Pursing her lips, she shakes her head. “I went in to drop
something off. I wasn’t there drinking.”

“Whatever. And even if you’re not lying, how long will that last?”
I spit her name out in disgust, practically choking on the words.
“Seriously.
When we were together, I had to fight with you
every day to keep you out of the bars because you were draining my bank
account. Every time I turned around, you were buying shots for the bar. Fuck.
If I had been counting on you to actually pay the rent that we agreed on, I’d
have lost my house.”

Her fingers are gripping the steering wheel and the wrinkles
around her mouth are getting more pronounced. When she speaks, she measures out
each word in an attempt to sound as though she’s not losing her cool. “If we’re
going to start making a laundry list of our past transgressions, give me a
second to compile yours.”

“It would take more than a second, I’m sure.” Trying to diffuse
the situation, I resort to joking, as usual.

She allows a fleeting smile to cross her mouth. “Well, we both
know you’re perfect.”

“Perfectly awesome,” I grin. “It’s hard to be me sometimes.”

“Indeed.”

“So, are you going to loan me the money?”

Slipping my hand into the door handle, I am halfway out of the car
before she reaches out to grab me. I manage to yank my hand out of her reach.
“No, I’m not. I don’t have the kind of income that allows me to just throw
money away. Giving money to you would be dumb. Giving money to you and
expecting repayment would be beyond stupidity.”

She makes another grab for my hand, but misses again.
“Dammit, Dana.
I’m in a lot of trouble here. I’m going to
end up homeless.”

“Oh come on. I’m sure you have enough friends that you can find a
couch to sleep on.”

“Mandy won’t be anxious to share someone’s couch.”

“Oh, I’m sure Mandy will not have any trouble finding a place to
live if you get kicked out of your apartment.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

I glance back into the car and for a brief second, I’m tempted to
tell her what I saw on the dance floor. It’s really none of my business and I
don’t owe her anything. Slamming the door without answering, I take a few quick
steps toward the sidewalk, listening for her car door. I don’t want to look
back and give her the satisfaction of knowing that she’s rattled me. Walking
down the street, I hear her engine directly behind me. There’s no traffic, so
she can keep pace with me as long as she wants. Yet again, I almost wish I had
a car. She’s staying out of my peripheral vision, but I can hear the vehicle. I
can cut across to the busier market street, but to do so, I have to cross in
front of her. If I take a turn up one of the next alleys, I’ll end up in a more
secluded and seedier section of town. My ex revs the engine a bit, just in case
I didn’t know she was there. I’m trying to present a nonchalant stance because
I don’t want to let her know that she’s getting to me. This is her M.O.,
pushing and pushing until she gets her way. I’m not afraid of her, but her
intimidation tactics can be a little unnerving. I don’t know who would win in a
fair fight, but I’m not willing to try to figure it out. I’m a lover, not a
fighter and she’s got all of that suppressed rage on her side. Continuing to
walk at a brisk, but not rushed pace, I weigh my options. I could duck into one
of these businesses in the hope that she would get bored and leave. If I did
that, she would know that she’s freaked me out. If she decided to wait me out,
I’d be stuck in the store. I’m saved from making the decision by the ring of my
cell phone. Fumbling it out of my pocket, I’m relieved to see Sam on the
display.

“Dude.”

“What’s up?”

“I’m walking down Magnolia being somewhat slowly chased by my
ex-girlfriend.”

“Near what?”

“That scary bar where the
prostitutes hang out on Saturdays.”

“I’m on Steel. See you in less than ten minutes.” She hangs up and
I toss the phone back into my pocket. Sam will be coming from the other
direction, so I need to get across the street. Voldemort is still pacing me.
Some panicked voice inside of me is telling me that she wants to kill me. This
is ridiculous. It’s broad daylight. Yet, every time I think about crossing the
street, I see a vision of myself flipping over her hood. I’d be worried she was
going to kidnap me and break my legs in the fashion of “Misery,” but since
she’s about to be evicted, I can’t imagine where she’d keep me. Still, I can
see her standing over my bed with a hammer. I’m starting to freak myself out.

Assessing my situation, I notice a couple of guys hanging out in
front of the bar across the street. They look pretty shady, but I’m willing to
bet that even my ex wouldn’t run me over in front of a couple of witnesses.
Checking the street lets me know that there is no one coming from the opposite
direction. I can’t hear any engine noise but hers, so I’m pretty sure there is
no one else behind me. It’s time to make a break for it. Without warning, I
make a quick dart into the street.
Running for the space
between two parked cars that will come out directly in front of the dudes in
front of the bar, I chance a glance back over my shoulder.
Voldemort is
staring at me with her mouth hanging open, though whether she’s amused or
surprised, I can’t say. Tensing to make the small jump onto the curb, a chicken
wanders out from under the parked car. I have just enough time to realize that
I can’t miss it before my foot slams into the stupid bird. Squawking, the
chicken goes flying toward the men and I go flying face down toward the
pavement. My hands spring out automatically and I land hard on both hands and
one knee. The chicken slams into the leg of one guy, who swears and kicks at
it. It goes screaming away, scolding me in a high pitch screech the whole way.
The other guy stands over me.

“You okay?”

He reaches a hand down and I grab it, letting him haul me up. I
can hear my ex laughing wildly from her car. Without looking back, I lift my
arm in the air behind me and flip her off.
Stupid cow.
She peels off and I thank the man who helped me up. Limping a few steps tells
me that nothing is broken. Stupid
island
. Why the hell
are there farm animals everywhere? The two men are staring at my back. I can
feel their eyes on me. A couple of cars pass as I’m pacing. Finally, Sam pulls
up.

She skips the formalities and goes straight for the scoop. “What
the hell?”

“She-who-shall-not-be-named apparently found me in the street
during one of my fits.”

“Dude, it’s time to get you to a doctor.”

“I don’t think a doctor can help me.”

“Seriously, what happened?”

Mimicking her tone, I parrot back to her. “Seriously, why aren’t
you
back
at work?”

She shakes her head and glares at me. “Captain sent me out to get
some primer.”

“I was lucky you were so close.”

Instead of answering, she stares out the windshield, concentrating
on the road. Lost in thought, it takes me a while to realize that we are
nowhere near my house.

“Look, I just want to go home.”

Still silent, she turns onto the dirt road that leads to one of
our favorite hikes. Resigned, I stare out the window at the view from the
bottom of the mountain. A few minutes later, Sam parks the truck on the side of
the road near the bushes. Grabbing a few bottles of water from the back, we
take off into the woods and hit the trail. It’s a steep uphill climb and for a
while, we just focus on walking and breathing. Sam has a harder time than I do
because she is an on-again off-again smoker. By the time we reach the top of
the trail, we are both sweating like crazy and Sam is doubled over with her
hands on her knees, trying to catch her breath. Finding a nice boulder, I plop
down and take a sip from a bottle of water. Sam finally straightens up and sits
down beside me.

“I suppose you’re wondering why I brought you here today,” she
says, grinning.

“I’m actually wondering how you don’t get fired from your job.”

“I’m the only one who knows how to do any of the things I do. So,
it takes me two hours to go get a bucket of primer every once in a while.
That’s better than having to hire ten guys to do my one job.”

I open my mouth to call her on her arrogance, but I know she’s
right. Stalling, I take another sip of water. Sam waits patiently.

Finally, I look at her. “Okay. What do you want to know?”

“I want to know why the seizures have suddenly come back with a
vengeance.”

“They’re not seizures!”

“Fine.
Fits.
Whatever you want to call them.”

“You’ve know about my visions for years.”

“Yes.”

“And you know my visions are accompanied by some physical issues.”

“They seem to be getting worse.”

“They are getting worse. Or at least, more frequent. I don’t know
what’s going on. I had almost gotten rid of them altogether for a long time
there. And then I woke up one morning feeling like I was having a heart attack.
Since then, the attacks have been coming more and more frequently.”

“Well, what can we do about them?”

“According to Brad, I need to focus on them and listen to the
voice.”

Sam’s sniff is all the answer I get to that.

“Actually,” I continue, “
Esmé
feels the
same way.”

“She’s new
agey
,” Sam protests. “Of
course she wants you to move into your visions or whatever the hell it is.”

Laughing, I put my arm around her shoulders. “What do you think I
should do?”

“I think you should go to the doctor and have
them
check you out. If this started with heart attack symptoms, you should already
be in the hospital.”

“It wasn’t a heart attack. It was a panic attack.”

“You can’t know that for sure.”

I debate about how much to tell her. I know that Sam’s belief only
goes so far. She trusts me and she knows that I wouldn’t lie to her. So, she
wrestles with her skepticism about things beyond the “norm” of the world and
the fact that her best friend has dealings with the spirit world.

“The panic attacks and the visions are connected. I think the
panic attacks are my body’s reaction to the visions. Either that or the
vibrations coming through are too intense for me to handle so I react
physically, either with the panic attack or passing out.”