Never Never: Part Two (Never Never #2) (8 page)

The cab company almost refused to give me information. I finally convinced the operator that I was a detective and needed to question the driver regarding a missing person. That’s only half of a lie. The guy on the phone said he had to ask around and call me back. It took about thirty minutes before my phone rang again.

It was the actual driver of the cab I spoke to this time. He said a girl matching the description of Charlie hailed his cab last night, but before he could take her anywhere, she told him never mind and she shut the door and walked away.

She just…walked away?

Why would she do that? Why would she not catch up to me? She had to know I was probably just around the next corner if that’s where we parted ways.

She had to have an agenda. I don’t remember a thing about her, but based on what I’ve read, everything she does seems to have a purpose. But what could her purpose have been on Bourbon Street at that time of night?

The only things that come to mind are the tarot shop and the diner. But in the notes, it states that Charlie never showed back up to the diner, based on information from someone named Amy. Was she going to find Brian? I feel a prickle of jealousy at the thought, but I’m almost confident she wouldn’t have done that.

It has to be the tarot shop.

I search Google on my phone, unable to remember the exact name of the place written in our notes. I mark two of them in the French Quarter and set my GPS to take me there.

I can tell almost immediately upon entering that this is the shop we described in the notes. The one we visited just last night.

Last night.
God.
Why can’t I remember something that just happened one day ago?

I make my way up and down each aisle, taking in everything around me, not even sure what I’m in search of. When I reach the last aisle, I recognize the photo hanging on the wall. The picture of the gate.

It’s here for decoration. Not something for sale. I lift up on my toes until my fingers grab at the frame, and I pull it down to inspect it closer. The gate is tall, guarding a house in the background that I can barely make out in the picture. In the corner of one of the massive columns attached to the gate is the name of the house.
Jamais Jamais.

“Can I help you?”

I look up to see a man towering over me, which is impressive. I’m six foot one, according to my driver’s license. He has to be six foot five.

I point down to the photograph in my hands. “Do you know what this picture is of?”

The man snatches the frame out of my hands. “Seriously?” He seems agitated. “I didn’t know what it was when your girlfriend asked me last night, and I still don’t know what it is tonight. It’s a damn picture.” He hangs it back on the wall.

“Don’t touch anything unless it’s for sale and you plan to purchase it.” He begins to walk away, so I follow him.

“Wait,” I say, taking two steps to his long, single strides. “My girlfriend?”

He doesn’t stop walking toward the register. “Girlfriend. Sister. Cousin. Whatever.”

“Girlfriend,” I clarify, even though I don’t know why I’m clarifying. He obviously doesn’t care. “Did she come back in here last night? After we left?”

He makes his way behind the register. “We closed right after the two of you left.” He plants his gaze on mine and arches an eyebrow. “You gonna buy anything, or are you just gonna follow me around with stupid questions the rest of the night?”

I swallow. He makes me feel younger. Immature. He’s the epitome of man, and the bone in his eyebrow makes me feel like a frightened child.

Suck it up, Silas. You’re not a pussy.

“I just have one more stupid question.”

He begins ringing up a customer. He doesn’t respond, so I continue.

“What does
Jamais Jamais
mean?

He doesn’t even look at me.

“It means
Never Never
,” someone says from behind me.

I immediately turn, but my feet feel heavy, like I’ve sunken into my shoes.
Never Never?

This can’t be a coincidence. Charlie and I repeat this phrase over and over in our letters.

I look at the woman the voice belongs to, and she’s staring at me, chin lifted, face straight. Her hair is pulled back. It’s dark, sporadically streaked with gray strands. She’s wearing a long, flowing piece of material that pools around her feet at the floor. I’m not even sure it’s a dress. It looks as if she just fashioned something out of a sheet and a sewing machine.

She has to be the tarot reader. She’s playing the part well.

“Where is that house located? The one in the photo on the wall?” I point to the photograph. She turns and stares at it for several long seconds. Without facing me again, she crooks her finger for me to follow her, and she begins to head toward the back of the store.

I reluctantly follow her. Before we pass through a doorway of beaded curtains, my phone begins to vibrate in my pants pocket. It rattles against my keys, and the woman turns and looks at me over her shoulder. “Turn it off.”

I look down at the screen and see that it’s my father again. I silence the phone. “I’m not here for a reading,” I clarify. “I’m just looking for someone.”

“The girl?” she says, taking a seat on the other side of a small table in the center of the room. She motions for me to sit, but I refuse the offer.

“Yes. We were here last night.”

She nods and begins to shuffle a deck of cards. “I remember,” she says. A small smirk plays at the corner of her mouth. I watch as she separates the cards into stacks. She lifts her head and her face is expressionless. “But that only makes one of us, doesn’t it.”

The statement sends chills over my arms. I take two quick steps forward and grab the back of the empty chair. “How do you know that?” I blurt out.

She motions to the chair again. This time I sit. I wait for her to speak again, to tell me what she knows. She’s the first one to be clued in to what’s happening to me.

My hands begin to shake. My pulse is throbbing behind my eyes. I squeeze them shut and pull my hands through my hair to hide my nerves. “Please,” I tell her. “If you know something, please tell me.”

She begins to shake her head slowly. Back and forth, back and forth. “It’s not that easy, Silas,” she says.

She knows my name. I want to scream
Victory
, but I still don’t have any answers.

“Last night, your card was blank. I’ve never seen that before.” She runs her hand across a stack of cards, smoothing them out in a line. “I’ve heard of it. We’ve
all
heard of it happening. But I don’t know anyone who has actually
seen
it.”

Blank card?
I feel like I remember reading that in our notes, but it doesn’t help when I no longer have the notes in my possession. And who is she referring to when she says
we’ve
all heard of it.

“What does it mean? What can you tell me? How do I find Charlie?” My questions tumble out of my mouth and trip over each other.

“That picture,” she says. “Why are you so curious about that house?”

I open my mouth to tell her about the picture in Charlie’s room, but I clamp it shut. I don’t know if I can trust her. I don’t know her. She’s the first one to know what’s going on with me. That could be an answer, or it could be an indication of guilt. If Charlie and I are under some sort of spell, she’s probably one of the few who would know how to do something of that magnitude.

God, this is ridiculous. A spell? Why am I even allowing myself these thoughts?

“I was just curious about the name,” I say, lying to her about my inquiry of the house in the picture. “What else can you tell me?”

She continues realigning stacks of cards, never flipping them over. “What I can tell you…the
only
thing I will tell you…is that you need to remember what it is that someone so desperately wanted you to forget.” Her eyes meet mine, and she lifts her chin again. “You may go now. I am of no further help to you.”

She scoots away from the table and stands. Her frock bellows out with the swift movement, and the shoes she has on underneath make me question her authenticity. I would assume a gypsy would be barefoot. Or is she a witch? A wizard? Whatever she is, I want desperately to believe that she can help me more than she has. I can tell based on my hesitation that I’m not the type of person to buy into this shit. But my desperation is heavier than my skepticism. If it takes believing in dragons to find Charlie, then I’ll be the first to wield a sword in the face of its fire.

“There has to be
something
,” I tell her. “I can’t find Charlie. I can’t remember anything. I don’t even know where to start looking. You have to give me more information than this.” I stand, my voice desperate and my eyes even more so.

She simply tilts her head and smiles.

“Silas, the answers to your questions lie with someone who is very close to you.” She points to the doorway. “You may go now. You have a lot of searching to do.”

Very close to me?

My father? Landon? Who else am I close with besides Charlie? I glance at the beaded curtains and then back at her. She’s already walking away, toward a door in the back of the building. I watch her as she leaves.

I run my hands up my face. I want to scream.

When I wake up, everything is clean. No rice, no sausage, no shards of porcelain to cut a bitch.

Whoa!
Where did that come from?
I feel loopy. She’s got this timed down to a T.

Knock Sammy out, bring her crappy food, knock Sammy out, bring her crappy food.

But this time when she returns, she doesn’t have crappy food. She’s carrying a towel and a small bar of soap.

Finally! A restroom.

“Shower time,” she says. She’s not as friendly this time. Her mouth is a tight line across her face. I stand up, expecting to sway a little. The needle to the neck was stronger than the other stuff they’ve been giving me, but I don’t feel as foggy. My mind is sharp; my body is ready to react.

“Why are you the only one who comes?” I say. “If you’re a nurse, you must work in shifts.”

She turns away, walks to the door.

“Hello…?”

“Behave,” she says. “Next time things won’t go as well for you.”

I shut my mouth because she’s taking me out of this box, and I really, really want to see what’s behind that door.

She opens the door and lets me walk out first. There’s another door in front of me. I’m confused. She turns right and I see there’s a hallway. Just to my right is a bathroom. I haven’t used the toilet in hours, and the minute I see it my bladder starts to ache. She hands me the towel. “Shower only has cold water. Don’t take long.”

I close the door. It’s like a bunker. No windows, raw concrete. The toilet doesn’t have a lid or a seat, just a rimless hole with a sink next to it. I use it anyway.

On top of the sink is a new hospital gown and underwear. I study everything as I pee, looking for something. Anything. There’s a rusted pipe near the floor, jutting out of the wall. I flush the toilet and move toward it. Sticking my hand inside, I feel around.
Gross.
A piece of the pipe has corroded away.

I go to turn the water on in the shower in case she’s listening. It’s a tiny little bit of metal, but with some effort I’m able to detach it from the wall. It’s something, at least.

I carry it in the shower with me, holding it in one hand while I wash. The water is so cold; I can’t stop my teeth from chattering. I try to clench my jaw tighter, but my teeth still rattle inside my head despite how much I try to still them.

How pathetic am I? I have no control over my own teeth. No control over my own memories. No control over when I eat, sleep, shower or pee.

The only thing I feel I can control is my eventual escape from wherever it is that I am. I clutch the pipe in my hands with all my strength, knowing it could be the only thing that gets me back some form of control.

When I walk out of the bathroom, it’s wrapped in toilet paper and stuffed in my underwear, a simple pair of white panties she left for me. I don’t have a plan yet; I’ll just wait for the right moment.