Experiment in Terror 03 Dead Sky Morning (6 page)

I sprayed it into my mouth as Dex got off of the bed and sauntered over to me, curiosity flickering in his eyes.

“Breath freshener?” he asked, taking it from my hands and reading the label over. He looked disbelieving and gave it back to me. “You’ve had quite the day, haven’t you?”

“How can you tell?” I muttered sarcastically.

“It’s written all over your face,” he said pointing at my eyes. “Those bags belong in cargo hold.”

I gave him my most withering look. “Did you come here to make things better or make things worse?”

I aimed the spray into my mouth but the nozzle was turned the other way.

I ended up squirting Dex right in the face.

He winced hard, grunted and turned away. I swear it was an accident but it was a perfect one. I burst into giggles.

He wiped his watering eyes and stepped backward.

“I guess I deserved that,” he said, blinking rapidly at me. “What’s in this, pure alcohol? No wonder it calms you down.”

He came forward again and rested his hand on my shoulder. I felt that warm current flowing between us.

“Look, kiddo, I saved your ass,” he grimaced, wiping away a tear.

“It’s a pretty big ass.”

The smile came easily to his lips, his eyes red but dancing. “We both know how I feel about your ass.”

Ah, yes. He had grabbed it while we were slow dancing at the bar in Red Fox. It was the first time anyone had complimented my bubble butt. Well, anyone of importance, that is. And just like that I was starting to get inappropriate thoughts, images and feelings in my head, swimming around in a heady circle.

And the reality, that he was in my bedroom, standing close to me, his hand on my shoulder, wasn’t helping matters either. I became aware that I hadn’t said anything and the silence was getting awkward.

I cleared my throat. “I’m thankful you saved my ass. I really am.”

He squeezed my shoulder. I stared up at his face, his strong jaw and expressively wide mouth flanked by his barely there ‘stache, his low, dark brow that sheltered those all–knowing eyes that shined like polished coffee, the way his black hair flopped lazily across his handsome forehead. Wow. Thoughts like that weren’t helping the awkwardness either.

He’s your partner you idiot,
I told myself. I broke my study of him and focused on the rescue spray in my hands. “So we’re still on for this weekend?”

With his hand still on my shoulder he said, “How about right now?”

“What?”

“How fast can you pack?”

“Sorry, you didn’t answer my ‘what?’” I wasn’t supposed to be ready until Friday.

Finally he took his hand off of me. My shoulder felt cold and exposed without his comforting palm. He walked over to my closet and flung it open.

“It’s just as nineties as I thought,” he said to himself, inspecting the haphazard contents. “Should I just start grabbing stuff? You kind of wear the same thing every day. Let’s see, we need leggings, a band t–shirt and skirt. Maybe jeans.”

I marched over to him and shut my closet door, facing him with my arms held against it like I was guarding some secret passage. “Seriously, where could we possibly be going tonight? Also, I wear my band shirts to sleep.”

“I’ve seen you wear them at other times. Weren’t you wearing a Kings of Leon shirt last week?”

“Dex!” I said through gritted teeth. I hated KOL with a passion. And also, he was pissing me off with his avoidance.

He yawned. Don’t tell me he was bored?

“Here’s the plan. I drove all the way down here to, uh, fix things. Now it makes perfect sense that you come up with me tonight to Vancouver. BC. Canada. Not the fake Vancouver across the river.”

“Are you kidding me?” I said. “It’s like nine o’clock at night!”

“OK, maybe we won’t make it as far as Vancouver, but anyway, we’ll get as far as we can. We have a hockey game to attend!”

“What?” I rubbed my temples again. None of this was making any sense.

“You said last time that it would be ‘great’ if we actually hung out in a normal setting and got to know each other as people instead of running around with ghosts and scaring our panties off each other.”

It’s true. I did say that. Not the panties part but I did mention, offhand by the way, that it would be nice if we could just hang out like normal people did. Like friends. But I didn’t see where this was going.

He read the confusion on my face. It wasn’t hard. “There’s a Canucks hockey game against the Rangers tomorrow night. I got us tickets. We have to go to Vancouver anyway, to talk to someone about the filming. So you know, I was just trying to be a good guy and please you.”

“Phhff,” I sniffed. “Please me? What if I said I hated hockey?”

“I’d never speak to you again,” he said, narrowing his eyes. It was hard to see how serious he was. He hadn’t really mentioned hockey before, at least not when I was listening, but he also took the weirdest things very seriously. “Is it true?”

“No.” I didn’t have anything against the sport, I just didn’t know anything about hockey. Understandable, since we had no NHL teams in Oregon, just the minor league Portland Winterhawks.

“Good,” he said, still watching me carefully. “Then we can still be friends.”

“So, we leave tonight…go to the island on Friday?”

“Correct–a–mundo. Then we come back on Sunday, just in time for your birthday on Monday.”

“You know when my birthday is?” I was sorta touched by that. It was sad that I was so easily impressed.

He tapped his head. “I’m more observant than you think. Now, without any more jerking off from you, I suggest you get packing as fast as you can. I’ll help. Where are your bras and underwear?”

I rolled my eyes, pulled out my overnight bag and started cramming crap in there.

* * *

I don’t think I’ve ever packed so fast in my life – I obviously needed to get out of that house more than I knew.

With Dex at my side it also kept any exchanges with my parents at a polite distance. My dad even helped us rummage through the garage to find me a sleeping bag. Staying on the island did not involve staying in any fancy cabins. We would be camping the entire time. Yeah, in November. In Canada. Fun times.

I could tell my parents were having a hard time coming to terms with the situation. They were still mad at my lies, disappointed in my choices but at the same time they understood where Dex was coming from. As much as they hated the idea that I had involved another person in my problem, they had no choice but to accept it. And having Dex there, an accomplished (sorta) and mature (again, sorta) man there probably helped.

And Ada…well, I knew how Ada felt about the whole thing. Just as we were coming out of the garage, she yanked me aside.

“You’re totally going to sleep with him now,” she hissed roughly in my ear.

I ignored her. There was no way I was going to get caught in that argument again, not with the subject slinking around in front of me.

Luckily we made it out of the house in record time and were soon cruising through the darkness on the I–5, heading north. Dex’s black Highlander was packed with everything from filmmaking equipment to a tent and camping gear.

Dex is one of those people who prefers to blast the music loudly and keep chit–chat down to a minimum. This trip was no exception. I found a strange comfort in our shared silence now, just hearing the music and the sound of his toothpick as it flitted against his teeth. When we first met I was so nervous being alone with him, I just needed to blab about anything to fill the air. I felt just a teeny bit proud that I knew Dex enough now that if we needed to talk, he’d be the one bringing it up.

Which is what happened an hour into our journey. I was in the midst of checking my emails on my phone when I felt him give me a curious look. It sounds stupid but you can always tell when Dex is looking at you. At least I could, even from miles away. Something about those eyes…

“So I’ve seen you’ve got your fair share of haters on the blog already,” he said. “Good job.”

I sighed loudly. I had wanted to talk about this for so long.

“You’re telling me,” I said, giving him a pained and drawn–out look.

He seemed to think on that for a moment; a hint of gentleness graced his expression.

“Well, that’s the nature of the internet,” he mused matter–of–factly. “If you didn’t have haters, then I’d worry.”

“Yeah but they are really mean,” I pointed out.

“The internet is full of meanies. Their opinion doesn’t matter.”

Yes, it does
, I thought.

He picked up on that. “Okay, it shouldn’t matter.”

“Maybe we should close down the comment section… it reflects badly on the show, doesn’t it?”

He chuckled to himself and shook his head. “No can do, kiddo. Don’t underestimate the power of creating a community on the web. By having a place for people to voice their opinion, no matter how fucked it is, attracts more people to the site. The more people to the site, the more people to watch the show, the more people to watch the show, the more ads we get, the more ads we get, the more pay I get, and eventually you. It’s a numbers game. You just have to buck up and ignore the haters. Everyone gets them, from the smallest blogs to the biggest websites.”

“Besides,” he said, slapping me on the leg. “I think it’ll be good for you. Toughen you up a bit.”

“I’m already tough enough,” I muttered.

“If you were that tough, this wouldn’t be bothering you. It should be water right off your back.”

My eyes automatically narrowed into two little slits. He took his eyes off the road and smiled when he saw them. Not the response I was going for.

“Is that look supposed to scare me?” he asked, his lips twitching in amusement.

I wanted to explode on him, just start shooting the salvos and bring up a lot of crap about my past, so he had an actual idea what it was like to be me. But I couldn’t. Because what he said actually had a point to it. I always considered myself tough…going through drugs and other problems while in high school, growing up with a family shrink (all my doing), the stunt woman classes I had taken for a defunct career. I had been through a lot – mentally and physically. So how was it that a few comments from people I didn’t know were weighing on my mind so much?

I kept my mouth shut and looked out the window at the black rushes of roadside that flew past.

“Honestly,” he spoke in a more serious tone. “It’s not worth your time, Perry. You’re better than that. And the more successful this gets, the more successful you get…it’s only going to get worse. But you’ll be OK.”

At that last bit he reached over for me again, but instead of slapping my leg, he squeezed my knee. It was borderline ticklish. Any more pressure and I would have been squirming. He didn’t remove it right away, either, and I could feel his eyes coaxing mine to meet them.

Too many feelings were running through me and my body was responding; my tongue felt dry and thick, the skin on my upper neck danced nervously, the hairs coming alive. I looked at him. He seemed concerned or interested in my response but there was something else lurking behind those brown eyes. Something I couldn’t place my finger on. It was almost as if he was undecided. A restlessness.

“So where are we staying tonight? Your place?” I found myself saying.

At that his eyes flinched and he quickly withdrew his hand.

“No,” he said, pursing his lips. I obviously said the wrong thing. I wanted to push it.

“Does Jenn object?”

If he flinched it was barely detectable. He did crunch down hard on his toothpick before saying, “No, no. She…it’s just better if we get as close to Vancouver as possible. I think Bellingham is probably a safe bet, just find a Motel 6 there or something like that. If we went through the border now we’d cause too much of a fuss…especially with all the gear back there. I don’t want to tell them we’re there on work since we would need a visa and all that.”

I nodded, not really convinced by his spiel but it did make sense. I wouldn’t have blamed Jenn anyway if she didn’t want me in their apartment. Still, the apprehension that Dex subtly gave off was enough to make me store the memory in my mind for future use. There was something else, and maybe one day I’d figure it out.

CHAPTER FOUR

“And where are you from?”

I leaned forward in the car and smiled up at the questioning border guard, who looked like he had taken on too many shifts in a row.

We were in the border lineup heading into British Columbia, a place I hadn’t been to for at least five years. It used to be a popular jaunt for cheap shopping back in my high school days, but with their rising dollar and the visitor paranoia after 9/11, I hadn’t been itching to come back. I was just glad I actually had a passport (thanks to various trips to Sweden to see my grandfather Karl over the years) since that whole regulation had changed too.

I understood why they were being thorough but it didn’t stop me from feeling extremely guilty. And yeah, Dex and I were actually fudging the truth a teeny bit.