What Lies Beneath (3 page)

My parents wanted me to see a psychiatrist but I didn’t think I could handle it, so I refused to see one. And I don’t need to see one, the internet and the forums work great for me. I looked at my mom and put on a smile, attempting to show that I was in a great mood, which wasn’t so a few moments ago.

I didn’t want her treating me as if I were crippled. I couldn’t even take out the trash, without her standing in the back doorway watching me, like a bird protecting its eggs. This could only go on for so long. She had to know that deep down.

              “I just need a few things from in here,” my mom said walking through the doorway. I stood, my feet grounded on the concrete. I hate the market and one of my favorite stores is right around the corner. I looked at her and she stared at me, more than likely wondering why I wasn’t following her.

              “I-I want to go to the Discovery Shop.” my voice came out hard and demanding. I knew she was going to say no. But I had to tell her. I needed some kind of freedom. She needed to get that through her head. It had been almost a month since the incident and I’d be okay with taking a walk on my own.

              “Honey, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

              “
Please
. I can’t keep running around like someone is after me. He’s dead, mom. Dylan is dead. I’m alive. Why can’t I live like it?” my words seemed to suddenly sink into her. My mom walked me to where the soda machines were and placed both of her hands on my shoulders. Here we go another lecture. As if it took everything in her, she inhaled and exhaled deeply, staring into my misty hazel eyes that mirrored her own.

              “You go and you stay there and wait for me to get you. Do you understand?” her voice echoed in my head. I nodded a few times, not really understanding what she was saying. What the hell did I say to make her change her mind? She kissed me on my forehead and turned away, heading back into Tillmans.

I stood for a minute, watching her through the side windows as she grabbed a cart by the doors and leaned forward on it. She was crying. I could see her shoulders shaking and I had the urge to walk in there and take back whatever I said and let her treat me like a child again. I’d go to the discovery shop another day. But something deep inside of me made me turn around and walk away.

4

              My mom and I had been close before I met Dylan. We used to do everything together. We’d design clothes, watch reruns of
I Love Lucy
until three in the morning, sometimes on school nights. But after I met Dylan, we calmed down. I started hanging out with Dylan a majority of the time and soon, my mom started acting like a strict parent, which wasn’t like her at all.

It was like we fell apart when Dylan came along and it hurts to think about it sometimes. Since the incident, she’s been trying to treat me like she used to, except she’s been taking it to an extreme with not letting me go anywhere and talking to me like I’ve completely lost my mind. I just want her to understand that I don’t need her to be like that. I want my mom, not a babysitter.

The bell above the door chimed as I walked into the discovery shop. It wasn’t as busy as it usually was and my favorite clerk, Mr. Allen, didn’t seem to be around. He usually gives me discounts because he knows my dad real well. I’ve always loved the atmosphere of this store.

The must scented clothes, and the dusty books. I loved it. I hurried past a woman and found myself standing in front of a giant bookshelf. Since when did they upgrade? Usually the books were stacked on top of each other, but now there was a gigantic bookshelf that looked way better. No more un-stacking to get to a book that I was interested in.

I searched the shelves, while a record player near the entrance played some oldies. Dylan had an old record player, and he used to play this song over and over saying it was our song. If I remember it was called “Tonight You Belong to Me” by Patience and Prudence. I secretly despised that song. It creeped me the hell out.

              After searching the books and finding nothing interesting, I ventured into the back of the shop and into the discount room. The discount room was a room that contained various things, whether it would be a knife set missing a knife, or a DVD missing its case.

I usually find knick knacks to put in my room and I really wanted something big to add, just to bring something different to the attic bedroom that would be mine soon. I reached down and began digging through a few boxes. I found eleven forks and a box of band-aids, minus the band-aids. I carefully lifted a miniature porcelain doll out from the bottom of the box and eyed her for any broken parts. She wasn’t anything big, but she would do.

She had a blue and white dress and her dark red hair was in crimped pig tails. Her eyes were yellow, worn with age, and you could smell the mildew coming from her stuffing. I wondered how much they would want for her. I checked the bottom of her white shoes for a price but there was nothing.

For what felt like an hour I walked around the shop, eyeing old things and trying on vintage looking dresses. I found a dark blue dress with gray lace trimming at the bottom and some trim on the cleavage. The buttons were gray and crackled, but the dress was only four dollars. I don’t know when I’d wear it. But at least I’d have it. Being in the store felt therapeutic for some reason, I felt calm and for a little while I even forgot about Dylan.

             
I never used to come here with Dylan. He hated the smell of the shop and he was an ass when it came to buying used things. His family is very well off, which is why he showered me in so many gifts. Some I never got to show off. All the gifts are now somewhere in a junkyard.

I don’t own anything from him anymore. I walked around the shop some more and came to an abrupt halt at what my eyes landed on. An old looking typewriter sat in the corner, nearly hidden underneath a VCR and a crappy looking red toaster. I hurried over as if it was a race and someone was coming for it too.

I placed my shopping basket on the ground and moved the toaster out of the way. The VCR was oddly heavy. I don’t remember them being so heavy. We still have one, but we never use it. I used to watch Disney movies on it when I was younger. My favorite was
Beauty and the Beast
. I finally got the VCR down and sat it on top of another VCR that looked somewhat newer.

With all my might I pulled the typewriter out from the corner and dragged it out into the middle of the aisle. It was beautiful, aside from the fact that it was immensely dusty and heavy as hell. It was cream colored and the keys were round and surprisingly in good condition. I searched the type writer for a price but couldn’t find one at all.

I hate when the stuff doesn’t have prices. It just gives the clerks a chance to make up their own. Mr. Allen would give it to me cheap, and there’s no telling how much one of the clerks will make up.

I sat and contemplated how much I really wanted it. I know I won’t write with it. But it’s big and would look great in the attic. Standing up, and rubbing the carpet marks out of my knees, I sat my basket on top of the typewriter and headed over to the checkout counter. There was an elderly woman in front of me and she was arguing over the high price of a coffee mug.

              “Fifty cents? I’ll give you five cents!” the woman snapped in her smoker’s voice. I’ve never argued over prices, and I have a feeling she won’t be leaving until the cashier takes the nickel she’s placed on the counter.

I looked over her shoulder and saw the clerk’s face, nervous. I’ve never seen him here before. I hope they didn’t replace Mr. Allen. The new clerk looked to be around the same age as me. He either went to Samuel Blake high or to Hanson, my old school.

If he went to Hanson, he had to be new because I’ve never laid eyes on him and I’d never forget a face like that. He was so pale, it was scary. He had black short hair, styled as if he had jumped out of a 40s romance film and black eyes to match. His eyelashes were long and his lips were plump and pink. He practically looked like the porcelain doll in my basket.

              “Fine.” he snatched the nickel off of the counter, licked it, and stuck it to the middle of his forehead. I stifled a laugh and watched as the old woman walked away with a hand on her chest and the mug in the other. She must’ve thought he was insane.

The coin was still stuck to his forehead when I walked up to the counter and he turned to me. He smiled widely and the nickel popped off his forehead and fell onto the counter. He wiped his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt, but the pinkish circular shape was still visible. 

              “Nice one,” I said, finally letting a laugh escape me. He blushed and swiped the nickel off of the counter and tossed it into the register.

              “She has been in here three times this week. She thinks everything shouldn’t cost more than ten cents.” he explained. His voice was deep but enchanting, as if he narrated books for a living.

              “I would not want to be you when she comes in again.” I said staring into his eyes. They were dark, like Dylan’s were that night.

             
As the ice water sliced down my throat, I stared into his eyes. His beautiful blue eyes were no longer there. His eyes were now dark and hollow, vacant of emotion. I didn’t know this person. Someone had taken over my boyfriend’s body and was trying to kill me. He pushed me under and under until black film filtered over my eyes and my lungs filled with the water of the lake. I came up for air, but he wrapped his hands around my neck and squeezed tight.

              “This all could’ve been avoided, Blair. You should’ve said ‘yes’.” Dylan’s voice shot into my ears as he brought me to the surface and socked me in the head
.

              “Are you okay?” the clerk’s voice ripped me out of the vision, a new vision. But what did Dylan mean by me saying
yes
to him? What happened that night that turned him inside out?

              “I-I’m f-fine.” I smiled. I needed to think about all of this. But the discovery shop wasn’t the place to wig out. This was my comfort zone, not a mental institution.

              “You looked frightened a moment ago,” he said, looking concerned.

              “I’m sorry. I was just thinking about something. Um, the typewriter,” I changed the subject. “I came to ask you how much the typewriter is in the back.”

              “Oh,” he said as he walked out from behind the counter and followed me through the shop to the back area. He was tall, lean and didn’t seem to have a muscle in him. Funnily, he reminded me of Ichabod Crane from
The Legend of Sleepy Hollow
.

              “I’m Tate Nance.” the clerk turned to me as we passed the book aisle.

              “Blair Lewis,” I said as we stopped at the typewriter. He looked down at it and shook his shoulders.

              “That thing looks like it has been here forever. How about a dollar?” he looked into my eyes and they widened.

              “A dollar? You’ve got yourself a deal,” I said, trying my hardest to see past his dark eyes. He was not Dylan. So why was he making my pulse race and my palms sweat? A bell chimed from the front of the shop and we both turned.

              “I’ll see you at check out,” he said as he jogged back to the front of the shop. He was nice.

              I looked down at the typewriter and noticed a piece of paper intact. That wasn’t there earlier. I squatted down, moving my basket out of the way. Something was typed out on it.
Tonight, you belong to me
… the song, our song was playing. I turned to the record player and my heartbeat picked up its pace. It’s just a coincidence, the song is old and they probably had a copy of the record here anyway. Swatting the ugly thoughts away, I reached down and tugged the paper free. I lifted it up closer to my face and read the pitch black faded ink.

You still belong to me, Blair Bear.