A Gray Life: a novel (12 page)

Getting inside was tricky, because we di
dn’t know if the house was empty or not. There were no lights on, and it looked deserted. We knocked to be sure. After waiting five minutes and getting no response, we decided it was time to find a way in.

Louise and I tried the f
ront door and windows, but they were locked. We would have broken a window to get inside, but then our safe haven wouldn’t have been as safe, would it? Nothing came up when we looked under the mat for a spare key.

“Let’s try the back door.” I suggested.

By then, the chill of Outside was getting to us. Our clothes were thin and full of holes, not ready to withstand nightly adventures. The Man had fed us (barely), but He had kept us in the same clothes we had arrived in.

Around back, there was a deck that opened
up to the second story, with a pool on the ground level. As we suspected, the French doors by the pool were also locked. We climbed the stairs.

The second deck was our last chance for an open door, but it was locked too.
Whoever the owners were, they had locked the house up good and tight. I was shivering, running my hands up and down my arms.

“What are we going to do?”

But Louise didn’t answer me. She was staring out over the balcony, or, I thought that’s what she was doing.

“Th
ose flowers, they’re in bloom.”

“What flowers?”
And why does that matter,
I wanted to add.

“Right there.”
Louise pointed at a pot of daisies perched on a corner post of the deck.

“Yeah, they’re pretty but----”. Her raised eyebrows helped me see her point. “---but, they
shouldn’t
be blooming. Everything else is dead!”

She reached out to feel the flower petals. “They’re
fake.”

When she picked up the vase, there was still no key. Our hopes dashed again, we sighed together. As an
afterthought, she glanced under the pot, and bam! There was a key taped to the bottom of it.

“Oh thank God.” Louise breathed out.

We had found our way in.

* * * *

Cabs weren’t running anymore; t
oo risky. No one from the Coach Inn was willing to give Juniper a ride into the city either. It wasn’t as if she wanted to go back, but the city offered the only other hotel that was still open: the Four Seasons. The Four Seasons meant pricey. Monroe’s wallet would take care of her money problems for awhile. His billfold held over three-thousand dollars. What a school accountant was doing with so much cash was not for Juniper to understand. He could have emptied out his savings in anticipation of getting hookers and escaping the city.

Juniper was going to use the money to remain
in
the city. 

She didn’
t have the same itch Ashley did. Juniper knew the city, knew its ugliness. Hell, she was part of the ugliness, and guess what? Looking into the mirror never felt better. Of course, there were days when the underbelly of the city dragged and sagged and stunk to high heaven, but those days weren’t as often as one might suspect. The city was her friend, even while things were falling into real darkness. And after what had happened with Christopher, Juniper had little hope for a future beyond the dingy walls of her urban home.

Let’s just hope I make it back home alive
, she thought. Walking back into the city at night was never smart. To avoid trouble, Juniper took shortcuts through the suburbs. The shortcuts took her past the entrance of Christopher’s subdivision. She hurried onward, not wanting to be seen. Nearby, she felt tranquility. Everyone in the neighborhood was asleep.

A few blocks from the hotel, she picked up an idle presence. It was a calm persona, but not the calm of sleep. The calm changed to excitement when whoever it was heard Juniper’s footsteps. Most people felt trepidation when a stranger was around, not excitement.

Juniper put her hand on the gun inside of her coat. Whoever it was, she wouldn’t be unprepared. Around the corner, she came face to face with a young man. He was handsome and appeared non-threatening, until he smiled. It was a predatory smile, one Juniper had seen before.

She walked past the boy without acknowledgment. Instead of his excitement fading, it increased.
The boy’s excitement was pungent. It wasn’t a sexual excitement, though there was some of that mixed in too. Mostly, he was broadcasting delight at what he perceived to be a scared girl, alone at night on the big bad streets.

“Hi.”

Juniper kept walking.

“It’s polite to say ‘hi’ back.”

The boy was
following behind her. If he touched her, he would get a response.

“Hey.” H
is hand clamped down on her shoulder. “You’ve been rude, and now I have to hurt you and take your money.”

She cocked the gun without t
aking it out of her jacket. The boy recognized the sound, lifting his hand from her shoulder.

“I thought you looked like a fighter.” He said.

“Oh, I am.” Juniper spun around with the gun out. It was pointed at his groin.

The boy looked
amused. “That’s cute, but I bet you’ve never shot anyone before in your life.”

“Yeah, you’re right.
” Juniper aimed lower, and squeezed the trigger. The bullet tore into the boy’s left thigh. “But now I have.”

The
boy’s excitement flared into anger. It wasn’t red like with most people; it was black, with blinding white at the edges.

“You bitch.” He groaned, only it wasn’t his voice anymore.

Juniper had to look away. The glare of his white-hot anger was too intense, a small mushroom cloud in the distance bringing heat, light, and horror. An instant later, the glare subsided. She looked again, but the boy was gone. There wasn’t time to figure out how he had run off with an injured leg. Staying on the streets meant an increased chance of meeting more assholes. And Juniper only had so many bullets left for assholes. She planned on saving one for herself if need be.

****

As she dried yet another dish, Juniper resisted the urge to look at the clock.
He’s just a little late
, she told herself.
Four hours isn’t a “little late”
, her pride shot back.

“He’s working late.” Juniper told the empty kitchen.

Anyhow, it was on the early side. Nine o’clock wasn’t late. Traffic had probably gotten the best of him. She tried not to think about how easily people were disappearing. To better distract her mind, she switched on the kitchen television.

It was set to the international news station.  A blond anchorman was
speaking, and none of what she was saying was good news.

“The worldwide crime epidemic has finally reached
Europe. Citizens have fallen victim to senseless violence, some of these acts being committed by the police authorities. Our cameras managed to capture some of the brutality in Spain. We warn you, the images you are about to see are extremely disturbing.”

Juniper turned the television off. She had seen plenty of disturbing images
in her lifetime. She didn’t need to see anymore. A glance at the clock told her it was 9:18. Damn it, where was he? He could have at least called.

Christopher’s call became obsolete when Juniper heard his key in the door
five hours later. The house was an empty tomb. Every step he took was slow and heavy. Christopher lumbered downstairs, and then upstairs. She could hear him walking around from room to room. He was looking for her.

Well, let him keep looking.
Juniper had waited up for him. Christopher was alive, therefore he had
chosen
not to call. He had worried her unnecessarily for hours. Juniper wondered where he could have been. Most of his work was done from home. Occasionally, he was called in to do technical work at the office, but Juniper knew the office that contracted him closed before 9 p.m.

“June!” Christopher yelled.

Next to her room, the other guest bedroom door slammed shut. He would open her door next. Juniper didn’t know why the thought scared her. No, she did know why. Through the walls, she felt an anger unlike any she had felt before. Christopher’s body was alight with it, flushed with a darkness tinged with white at the edges. Even before he came to her door, she saw him, a silhouette outlined in white.

Juniper was lying in the bed.
Part of her wanted to draw the covers up over her head and disappear. Another part of her wanted the confrontation, and had been waiting for it since their wedding day.

He threw her door open. Shadows from the hallway hid Christopher’s expression, but she could see his eyes. They were yellow.

“What is wrong with you? Why are you so angry?”

“I’m not angry.” Christopher moved from the doorway into the room. The light from his eyes and body faded. “I’m horny.”

“Hmm, you’re drunk and I’m tired. So that’s not happening.”

He came to the bed to sit down beside her
anyway. When he spoke, his hot breath blew into her face. Juniper equated it with rotting cherries.

“Yes, I’m drunk. Two more of my colleagues have disappeared. A couple of the guys and I needed to have some drinks, talk things over.”

“You’ve needed to do that a lot.” Juniper remarked.

“What’s that?”

“Drink.”

Christopher’s hand tweaked Juniper’s nipple through her nightgown. She slapped his hand away. His head came up and she saw his yellow eyes again.

“What’s wrong with your eyes?”

“Nothing.
What’s wrong with you? Why won’t you fuck me?”

Fuck me
. He’d never asked her like that. She didn’t like it.

“Because I don’t want to right now.”

“How many?”

Juniper sighed.
“How many what?”

“How many guys have you fucked?”

If he had punched her then, Juniper would have been less shocked.

I knew it
, a voice whispered.
Shouldn’t have trusted him. He just wants to hurt you like the rest of them
. Juniper swallowed her shock and her pain, allowing her to answer Christopher’s question without tears.

“You could have asked me th
at before, and not so crudely.”

Christopher
stood up and turned away from her. “Right, because I offended your slutty morality.”

Another punch would have been more welcome. “If you feel this way, why
the hell did you marry me?”

Inside, the darkness was spreading inside of
Christopher like a cancer. Juniper could see it taking root in his heart.

“Did you let yourself feel what they were feeling while they fucked you?”

Of course he knew about her ability. He had known for years, but he hadn’t asked. Though, Christopher might have guessed that she could and would use her power in such a way. Yes, she had put herself inside the feelings of another man’s pleasure. Juniper had done it because it was the alternative to feeling her own feelings: self-disgust, hate, pity. Could she ever admit her secret to Christopher? In his state, he wouldn’t understand. He would use it as an excuse to call her more names.

“Get out before you say more hurtful things you can’t take back.” 

“Okay, I’ll go.”

Mid-stride, Christopher stopped
next to the dresser. On top of it, he left something that resembled folded paper.

“Maybe this’ll change your mind about fucking me.”

When he walked away and out of the door, Juniper saw what he had left for her. A stack of money.

Bastard
.

The odd thing about their conversation was Juniper had
n’t been talking with Christopher at all. A stranger had been in the room with her. His feelings, his mannerisms, his words, his
eyes
had all been foreign to her.

In the master bedroom, she heard things falling over.
Drunken
idiot
. She wondered how much longer she could stay.

Turned out, three more weeks was her max; Christopher apologized for his words and behavior the morning after the first time. T
wo days later, he came home black-out drunk. Juniper let it happen five more times before leaving a few notes of her own on Christopher’s dresser. Except her notes were not greenbacks.

He was lucky she left him
anything at all, because she planned never to come back.

It would be another two months be
fore they saw each other again.

****