Falling into Forever (21 page)

Grabbing her pocketbook from the floorboard, her mother threw open the Jeep door. Reaching for her carry-on bag tucked behind the passenger seat, she looked at Alexandra pensively, her eyes full of panic. “Your propensity for accidents is, in fact, a very big deal to me.” The police officer's whistle shrilly punctuated her statement. “I will call you as soon as I get there,” she said, slamming the passenger door behind her. “I love you,” she called over her shoulder and scurried toward the terminal's massive sliding glass doors, her bag rolling bumpily behind her.

“Keep it moving,” shouted the cop. “You need to move it, or I'm writing you a ticket.” The driver in the car behind Alexandra blasted his horn.

Nodding at him, she yanked the gearshift hastily into drive. The roar of jet engines lifting into the evening sky surrounded her as she drove away from the terminal, toward the exit to the interstate. Her heart thumped in her chest, and her fingers still tingled as they tightly gripped the steering wheel. The images of the little girl playing on the beach, the images of herself through the eyes and soul of her mother, would perhaps never leave her mind.

Slowly gaining speed, the Jeep chugged along the interstate's on-ramp. She hoped to merge into the traffic that shot past her creeping vehicle like bullets seeking a distant target. Easing with difficulty into the traffic, she cruised slowly toward home in the far-right lane. Abruptly, she heard a hiss and a pop from the under the hood.

“Not again,” she said aloud.
Could I be out of gas so soon?
She glanced at the fuel gauge, which rested comfortably at three-quarters of a tank. Rolling the window all the way down, she stuck her ear into the wind. A rattle rang out.
That can't be good,
she thought, so she pulled over for a second into the emergency lane. Keeping the engine running, she put the Jeep into park.

Her fingers fumbled for the cell phone in her skirt pocket. She found Benjamin's phone number in the call log and hit it.
Please pick up.

“Hi, Alex,” Benjamin said, answering the call after only one ring. “What's going on?” he asked. In the background, she could hear a laugh that she recognized.

“Is Taylor with you?” she inquired, irritated, her nails tapping on the steering wheel.

“Yep,” he said, lowering his voice. “I can't get her to leave. You wanna try to talk to her?”

“No,” Alexandra whimpered. “My car, it's . . . Well, listen” she said, holding her phone out the window toward the rattle.

“So what do you think?” she asked, pulling the phone back to her ear.

“Hmm,” Benjamin mused. “That's not good. I think it's possessed.”

Alexandra drew in an audible gasp.

“Just kidding!” he said. “Where are you?”

“The interstate,” Alexandra replied. “I had to drop my mom off at the airport. Now I'm driving home, but I haven't been this way too many times.” She peered ahead, trying to read the next green-and-white sign.

“You may need to put some water in the radiator,” he surmised.

“Who are you talking to, Ben?” asked Taylor over his shoulder.

“Alexandra,” he said, placing his palm over the speaker.

Yanking the phone from his hand, Taylor shouted into the receiver. “What are you doing, Alex? You should come over here. Ben's room is the size of your whole apartment, and he has a mini-fridge and a fifty-inch television.”

“Wow,” Alexandra said, feigning interest.
So she's in
his room.

“Oh, and get this,” Taylor said breathlessly. “Benjamin promised to Skype Johnny Depp for me. Alex, I think I'm going to faint. Johnny freaking Depp!” Taylor screamed into the phone.

Sparing Alexandra from listening to any more of Taylor's delirium, Benjamin pried the phone out of Taylor's fingers. Taylor flopped down into a beanbag chair behind him, a pout spread across her pink, glossy lips.

“Are you still there?” Benjamin asked.

“Tell her hello for me,” mustered Alexandra, a pang of envy biting into her heart. “I'll check the radiator. Thanks, 'bye,” she told him quickly. She shoved the cell phone into her skirt pocket.

“Thanks, Taylor,” said Benjamin with sarcasm, the dial tone still echoing in his ear. Slouching in the beanbag, Taylor stretched her cast and wiggled a pink, glittery toe at him.

“I'll call her back in a few,” Taylor promised.

“She said that her Jeep was making a strange noise,” Benjamin told her and hit the power button on his laptop. Pulling a red rolling chair up to the glass-topped desk, he found the internet icon on the screen. Behind him, Taylor frowned.

“That stupid Jeep,” she cursed. “It's going to get her into trouble one of these days.”

16
Lost

Driving north on the midtown connector from the airport, Alexandra marveled at the Atlanta skyline glowing brilliantly against the chalky evening sky. The gold dome of the state capitol building winked at her, while the red sun settled for the night behind the towering skyscrapers and luxury hotels.

“Olympic Drive, there you are!” she muttered aloud and flipped on her right turn signal. Gray clouds flocked like stained cotton around the tops of the city buildings that loomed ahead.

Easing off the interstate, Alexandra flipped on her headlights while the Jeep coasted down a dark ramp to a busy side street. A well-lit gas station beckoned on a corner ahead of her. She took her foot off the gas to slowly ease toward a traffic light.

Guiding the Jeep toward an empty gas pump, she slid her elbow over the door lock and smashed it downward. A couple of teenaged boys wearing baseball caps stood outside the gas station's shop door, puffing on cigarettes. Neon beer signs smoldered in the windows.

Leering at Alexandra, the taller one slapped his friend's chest and nodded his head toward her Jeep. She could hear his voice through her closed window as he walked closer.

“Are you lost, sweetheart? You need some directions? We can help you.” He motioned for Alexandra to open her window. Her fingers hovered over the keys still dangling in the ignition. The tall, skinny one speaking to her tapped on the window, while his shorter, acne-faced friend positioned himself squarely in front of her bumper and rested his hand on the hood of the car.

“We need a ride, sweetheart. Can you give us a ride?” the taller boy asked Alexandra, staring at her through the windshield. Her fingers gripped the keys in the ignition and turned them anxiously, but the engine stalled and sputtered. The boys refused to move out of her way. At that point, the shorter boy rested both arms on the hood and stared at her squarely through the windshield. He smirked while she fumbled with the keys. The engine hesitated and sputtered, then stalled again.

Her ears rang in a swell of panic and fury at the punks blocking the Jeep. With the windows closed, the temperature rose within the vehicle. The taller boy continued to tap on her window. As he did so, the ringing in her ears flatlined and spiked into a soaring roar. She heard a voice screaming urgently inside her head:
They
will hurt you. Hurt them. Hurt them before they hurt you.

“Who are you?” she screamed back to the voice. But that got her nothing but taunts from the boys. She remembered hearing that voice before, the time she got pushed into traffic at the intersection by the park.

Hurt them,
the voice repeated, and this time she tried to oblige. One more turn of the keys in the ignition sparked the engine to life. She revved the gas pedal as a warning to the boys to move away from the car. Still refusing to move, the two boys scoffed at her through the windshield.

Go
, advised the voice in her head.
Go now.

When Alexandra revved the gas pedal once more, the smaller, acne-faced boy slid his hands back from the front of the hood and stood up straight, as if daring her to punch the gas. “You don't know me very well, do you?” she shouted at him as her foot slammed against the gas pedal.

The Jeep launched forward. The kid dove out of the way, and her bumper brushed against his knee. Checking the rearview mirror, she saw the boys cursing and throwing empty cans at her bumper as she fled into the dark street, not even stopping to check for oncoming cars. Flooring the accelerator, she pushed the cranky old Jeep as fast as she could for a half a mile before an intersection forced her to slow down.

“Don't turn red,” she told the traffic light dangling from a pole ahead of her. “Please don't turn red,” she repeated, checking the rearview mirror.

The neon shimmer of the gas station faded in the distance behind her, and she could see no one else on the dimly lit street. Relieved that the boys had not tried to run after her, Alexandra turned her eyes back toward the road. Unexpectedly, a figure stepped from the sidewalk and directly into the path of her headlights.

“Oh no!” Alexandra screamed and crushed her foot against the brake. Her body slammed against the seat belt.

The Jeep had screeched to a halt just inside the crosswalk. Above her head, the light glowed red. The beams of her headlights illuminated the man's tall figure as he squinted into the bright light. Black clothing covered his body, and what Alexandra was certain was a cape draped down the length of his back to his knees.

“Oh my God,” she said aloud with a nervous laugh, “I almost ran over Dracula.” Her eyes met the figure's bewildered gaze, and recognition sparked between them.

“Miss Peyton!” she heard him shout.

“Callahan?” she yelled at him in disbelief.

“What are you doing here?” they asked each other at the same time.

The Jeep shuddered as Alexandra shoved the gearshift into park and threw open her door to greet him. A pair of oncoming headlights in the opposite lane slowed as they passed and illuminated Callahan's figure in their glow. “So you're rocking a cape tonight, Callahan. That is a bold fashion statement for this neighborhood,” she said, gaping at her teacher.

With her hands steadied on her hips in awe, Alexandra watched in speechless admiration as Callahan lifted his arms like wings and twirled once on his feet, the cape cascading around his form. “It is magnificent, is it not? I had it specially made for me by . . .”

“No, let me guess,” she interrupted. “It was hand-stitched by a family of little hobbits in Transylvania, right?”

“Hmm, I detect a bit of sarcasm in your voice,” he said accusingly. “You're being silly. Every one knows that Transylvanian hobbits have a two-year waiting list for their capes. In fact, it was sewn by a family of leprechauns living in a cave in Ireland,” he explained while he flapped his arms up and down. “Would you like to check the tag here?” he asked flipping the garment label out from under his collar. “Look. It says made in Ireland. Dry clean only. Now do you believe me?” he asked, smiling.

“Dry clean only. Is that so you don't wash the magic fairy dust off of it?” Alexandra asked.

“Precisely,” he agreed, laughing. “Now may I ask you a question?”

“Not until you tell me what you're doing running around this neighborhood at night in a man-cape. You're just lucky that I happened to ride by here to rescue you.”

“Rescue me? I am in no distress,” he protested.

“Are you sure about that, Callahan?” she teased. “Maybe you should get in the car.”

“I always wear my cape when I am hunting,” he pointed out.

“Okay, um, you need to get in the car,” Alexandra urged, climbing back into the driver's seat as another set of oncoming headlights slowed to pass. “Please,” she coaxed, leaning over and fumbling to unlock the passenger door for him.

Grumbling objections under his breath, he lifted the door handle, and his body glided gracefully into the passenger seat beside her. “I know what I am doing, Miss Peyton. There is no need to rescue me, regardless of how ridiculous I may appear to you.”

“Lock your door,” she commanded and glanced up at the rearview mirror. “Buckle up, Dracula.”

Callahan's fingers pressed down on the door lock, and Alexandra slammed her foot on the accelerator. Above them, the traffic light turned green as the car sped through the intersection, and Callahan gripped the dashboard in front of him.

“What are you hunting, Callahan?” Alexandra asked curiously.

“Are you sure you want to know?” he countered.

“Quite,” she assured him, pressing harder on the accelerator. “Furthermore, you're going to have to give me some directions if you want me to take you home.”

“Turn right at this stop sign and then straight until I tell you to stop,” he told her. She pounded on the brake pedal and sent the Jeep into a fishtail swerve. This maneuver made him cover his eyes with his cape. “Does Collinsworth not have a driver's education course for which you could possibly register next semester?” he asked, dropping the cape slowly from his eyes.

“No. Why?” she asked, turning right at the stop sign to a more brightly lit side street. “Straight ahead, Callahan?”

“Yes,” he gulped and tightened the seat belt around his chest.

Alexandra's pace slowed the farther she drove down the quiet street. The homes offered glowing windows and wide, welcoming front porches.

“Shouldn't you be wearing camouflage or something, instead of that costume, if you're supposed to be hunting?” she asked.

“What costume?” he replied. “And why would I wear camouflage? That would be silly,” he insisted.

“So are you going to tell me?” Alexandra asked as they slowly passed each home. A couple swung quietly on a porch swing and waved politely.

“Perhaps,” he said, waving back at the couple.

“You were looking for something. What's lurking in the shadows out here to draw you to the dark and dirty streets at night? And in a Dracula cape, no less?”

“Again with the cape, Miss Peyton? I think you're jealous.”