Baby Blue - part 4 of a serialized novella
)The doc casually looks through the notes he has taken sporadically while I’ve been in his office. “Let’s pick up where we left off, okay?”
Sighing, I force myself to describe the aftermath of the worst moments of my seventeen years. But maybe spilling my life to this guy will help relieve some of the guilt. That’s what therapy’s for, right?
OOO
After dreams of death and madness, I open my eyes. It's light outside
I slide Kayla off my chest. Poor girl. I’m not sure how to help her. Or even if I can. I'm attempting a quiet escape when I feel her hand grag my wrist.
“Blue,” she says, eyes still closed. “Don’t leave me.” My heart aches … and so does my head. I feel like crap. I lay back down beside her and pull her back onto my chest, holding her tightly.
“It’s okay, Kayla. I’ve got you,” I say. I can tell by the way her body is jerking that she’s crying. Perhaps that’s a good thing.
“What did you mean when you said you saved us?” she asks softly.
“I told you.”
“But that isn’t real. No one can do that. How did we survive?”
“I don’t know if you want to hear this right now.”
“Just tell me or I’ll go insane from not knowing.”
“Look at me,” I tell her. She rolls off me, her deep blue eyes now staring into my dark browns. I mutter the spell and we begin to lift off the bed. Her eyes go wide and her mouth becomes an O. For a moment, I fear she may begin screaming. Instead, she looks down from where we’re hanging near the ceiling.
“I’m not exactly like you, KayKay,” I say. “I’m human and everything, but my whole family is naturally endowed with certain abilities. Gifts? Curses? Who knows. But, please don’t freak out on me.”
At first she doesn’t respond. Then she says, “So, what are you?”
“In today’s terms, I guess you could say I’m a warlock.”
A nervous giggle escapes her full, beautiful lips. “You’re a warlock and you play a werewolf on television. When do the vampires come out?”
I can’t tell if she’s kidding or just trying to make light of something too far out of her comfort zone.
“I’m sorry, Kayla. I should have told you before but I didn’t know how. I was afraid you’d freak out and run away. And I love you so much I couldn’t bear that.”
There. I said it. And this time I meant it. Nearly dying last night has forced me to re-evaluate how I feel about everything.
“I’d better get home,” she says. That’s her response to me giving her my heart? I gently lower us to the bed again.
“Kayla,” I say softly, as she pulls away from me. “Please don’t …” I can’t finish. Don’t what? Don’t hate me? Don’t freak out? Don’t tell the world about me? Too many don’ts and not much else…
She runs her fingers through her hair as she leaves me. I get up and follow her as she walks downstairs. Sis and Dad are intensely staring at the TV and I wonder what has their rapt attention. Shit. There, in living color, is a close-up shot of a burned out hull of a car lying upside down at the edge of the ocean.
The announcer is saying the police found a purse with an ID in it. It had been flung away from the vehicle. They’ve put out an APB on her. Kayla stands silently staring at the television. Finally, she whispers, “How do I explain this?”
Dad turns to look her in the eye. “Tell them you weren’t in the car. That it was pushed off the cliff by a crazy driver while you two were sightseeing. That way, the onus is on someone else.”
I haven’t had my coffee yet and, being a little off my game, I find this pisses me off. “The onus really is on someone else, Dad. This was not my fault. I thought at least you'd believe me.” I turn to glare at my sister, who apparently still believes this is all my doing.
Pink turns off the TV and says, “Your father and I have made a decision. You’re going back to the island. My dad can handle you better than we can, it would seem.”
“I don’t need handling. I'm sorry that stupid shits exist who can’t drive, but this is not my fault and I’m not taking responsibility for it. My home is here. My Kayla is here. You can’t do this.”
I notice that my Dad isn’t making eye contact with me. This was Aubrey’s decision, obviously, not his.
My sister stands up and faces me. “I know what you’re thinking, Blue. But it wasn’t our idea. Mom and Dad saw the footage on TV this morning and when they heard Kayla’s name they put two and two together. They don’t trust us with you anymore. Dad’s making arrangements as we speak.”
“Well, he can make all the arrangements he wants, but I’m not going back. He doesn’t own me.”
“You’re not quite eighteen yet, Blue. He has every right to …”
I don’t even hear the rest of her sentence as Kayla shoots me a shocked look. “Is that true?”
“Kayla, listen…”
“Is it true? Are you only seventeen?”
I nod slightly and hang my head. “It doesn’t change anything,” I offer weakly.
“It changes everything,” she says. “You mean you were only … when we …?” For a moment, I really think she’s going to pass out. But instead, she turns to look at Dad. “Can you drop me off at my house? I have to call the police and tell them I’m alive.”
Dad ushers her out the door. “And don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone, Blue.”
I glare at my sister. “Blue, please,” she says. “It’s for the best.”
I turn, stomp back upstairs to my room and slam the door. In one five-minute spate of time, my family has managed to destroy my entire life.
I’m not going back to the island; that much is for certain. So I begin packing my duffel, stuffing everything I can into it. I have to get out of here before Dad gets back or I won’t be able to escape.
Sneaking downstairs, I see that Sis is out back doing something with the twins. So I pull my sister’s car keys off the hook by the door and move quickly to the garage. I slip into her tiny, hot pink pimple of a car and open the garage door. I start the car and as soon as the door is raised enough, I floor it. This is not a car I would ever be caught dead in, but since I was almost caught dead in my own car, somehow it seems appropriate. I glance in the rear view to see my sister running toward me yelling something, but I really can't be bothered.
Heading north, I remember some talk about one of dad's old flames moving into a palatial mansion not too far away. I've seen it, once. I bet I can find it again. I'm lucky that way.
Aside from the carload of girls who laugh at me in my outlandish pink pod, everything goes smoothly. And I leave them in my dust. I begin to recognize the neighborhood. One time, they had to drop something off at her house that she had left in the garden shed … oops, make that the guest house. I still can’t believe my sister was okay with Dad’s ex living in the garden shed for awhile … but hey, that’s none of my business.
The brick number with the custom red hot rod in the driveway. Bingo. I’m sure of it. I pull the pimple up next to it and turn off the ignition. I take in the house. It’s a pretty house. I can see the female touches in the window boxes and flower beds that accent the sprawling rancher.
Extracting myself from the Barbie car, I walk to the front door and knock. A minute later a huge galoot of a man opens the door and asks what I want. “I’m looking for Sophie. Is she home?”
The galoot turns and bellows. “Sophie. There’s a kid here to see you.”
I want to scream that I’m not a kid, but I refrain. I don’t want Sophie to think I’m hotheaded and unpredictable like my Dad. And there she is, looking sexy in a slinky black dress, her long, black hair piled high on her head. She dresses like this on a regular basis? No wonder Dad was attracted!
“Well, hello, handsome,” she says, seemingly happy to see me. I wasn’t sure she’d remember who I was. I only saw her once, when she moved her stuff out of the shack. The galoot grunts, pushes past me and disappears around the side of the house.
I turn my attention back to the piece of hotness before me, who has moved into my personal space in a way that wafts her expensive perfume in my face. “Get in here, you. What brings you to my door?”
I throw my best smile at her. “I was hoping you could help me with something.”
“Be happy to.” She glances past me for a moment and sees the pimple. “Interesting choice of transportation.”
I cringe. “I borrowed my sister’s car. Mine is … in the shop.”
“Aw. Too bad,” she says, sashaying to a cupboard on the wall. When she opens it, I realize it’s a fully stocked liquor cabinet. “Drink?”
I almost say no thanks; it's early afternoon, but then reconsider. If everyone assumes I’m a drunk, I may as well live up to it. “Double whiskey, no ice.”
She grins and continues to make refreshments. She sits close, shoving the drink in my hand, flirtily brushing her hand against mine. "So, what can I do for you, young Skywalker?”
The Star Wars reference is cute. When I was younger, I had a load of stuff from the movies in my room, although how she would know that is unclear. At present, though, I have - how shall I put this - more adult hobbies.
I throw back my drink in one go. It burns going down my throat but I don’t give her a chance to notice, getting right to the point. “I hear you know how to make luck talismans.” I just knew that if I had had a talisman like my Dad, that I wouldn’t have lost my car and my girl.
“Who told you that?” she asks, pretending she’s shocked before downing her drink. No lady-like decorum in this one.
“I get around,” I reply, as coolly as I can. This is no girl. This is a woman and I’d better come off mature or I won’t have a chance with her. “And from what I’ve heard, there is an extremely potent one.”
“You father always did have loose lips. You, no doubt, refer to Alexander’s talisman.” I do? Huh, that’s news to me.
“You don’t want to go there, Sweetie, trust me,” she says condescendingly. “But I can make one for you if you like.” She pauses for a moment, obviously mulling something over in her mind. "Or, perhaps, I can do you one better."
Trying to appear like a hardened outlaw, and not a stupid teenager, I hold out my glass. “Refill?”
She throws her dark mane back and laughs a hearty, predatory laugh. I’m beginning to think I might be out of my league with this one. When she returns, I throw her my sexiest grin. It’ll either turn her on or make her laugh. Could go either way. Depends on how much she likes my father. It’s a risk, but one that I need to take. “The talisman isn’t the only reason I came here,” I say, then swallow the strong liquid that makes my throat burn all the way down to my gut.
Coyly, she lifts an eyebrow. “No?”
“No.” I set the empty glass on her coffee table and gently move a tendril of hair out of her face.
She smiles at me. “Are little boys who drive pink cars ready for someone like me, I wonder.”
“Why don’t we take a test drive and find out,” I say. I slowly and tenderly (I hope) grasp her chin, bringing her face to mine for a kiss. She doesn’t resist, which is good, because my bag of seductive tricks is not nearly as huge as my Dad’s.
Bingo! She’s turned on instead of repulsed. The Nurev charm holds sway! I leisurely move my arm around her and pull her in for a more passionate kiss. Suddenly, she picks me up into her muscular arms, and carries me over to the bearskin rug in front of her fireplace. Yikes, she’s strong!
Physically powerful, yet gentle at the same time, she lowers me to the floor, unbuttoning my shirt while nibbling my ear. Dang, she’s doing all the work, yet I don’t feel the need to complain.
I have no idea how long we made love but by the time we stop, it’s dark outside. It seems as though I was in a daze or under her control somehow. Hours passed in minutes. Did she drug my drink?
Suddenly, she rises and says, “And now we go dancing, yes? We’ll take my car. I refuse to be seen in the …”
“Pink pimple?” I offer, struggling to get up, get dressed and straighten out my noodle, which she has just screwed in every way possible.
As we walk to her car, she throws me her keys. “Start her up hotshot. Show me what you can do.” For a moment, my mind flashes back to my beautiful Bimmer flying off the cliff and I stop in my tracks. What if I drive off a cliff again?
“What’s wrong, Tiger? I figured you’d love to drive my hotrod,” she says, with a playful pout, adding sexily. “I can tell a lot about a man by the way he handles a car.”
Shaking off my discomfort, I open the passenger door for her. After I slide into the driver’s seat, I remember that that Dad gave me a few of those magic pills for emergency use. This certainly qualifes. Subtly, I reach into my shirt pocket and pop one into my mouth. She purrs like a kitten for me - the car, not Sophie, who laughs when I fasten my seatbelt and ask her to do the same.
“I pegged you for an adventure junkie, like your father,” she says, as she pulls the strap across and jams it in the slot.
I don't reply, but I’m determined to pay attention to what I’m doing this time. The last thing I want to do is destroy two luxury cars in less than two days. I just need to forget everything and have some fun and Sophie seems up to helping me do just that. We head to L.A. to hit the club circuit. Under-age? No big whoop. With fake ID firmly in hand, we enter the club without incident.
The club is in full swing. I’m not attracting much attention, but she’s so hot, every eye in the room turns toward her as we squeeze into the packed club. I find myself hoping there’s not a fire tonight. Gah! I’m starting to think like my boring step-father!
Regaining my composure, I pull myself up to my full six-foot-two inches. I’m taller than most of the men around me. Sophie is fairly tall herself, and in heels nearly reaches six feet.
We are the king and queen of the night. It feels good.
Wrapping a sinuous arm around mine, Sophie leads us a secluded spot in a darkened corner of the club. The waitress arrives and I order another whiskey. She orders a dirty girl scout. How appropriate is that? The way she’s looking at me, I feel like a piece of high quality meat she’s about to devour and, to be honest, it’s making me a bit nervous.
Finishing my drink, I look up to see a tall, sophisticated-looking man walking our way. I can tell he thinks he is somebody by the way he carries himself. Sophie stands and he gallantly kisses her hand. She whispers something in his ear that causes him to give me a look. He whispers something back, never taking his gaze off of me. Meanwhile, I pretend I’m not paying attention by attempting, in vain, to lure the waitress over so I can order another drink.
“Blue, I’d like to introduce you to Alexander.” This is the great warlock Alexander, slayer of demons, curator of the dark arts? Somehow I expected something … more. I rise and shake his hand. A smile crawls across his face, an unnerving affair that shows too many teeth. I remind myself that he is a powerful warlock, possibly centuries old. I must be vigilant to stay on his good side.
“Care to join us?” I ask, lowering my voice in an attempt to parrot my Dad. He nods and sits down. Immediately, the waitress appears at our table. He orders a scotch on the rocks for himself and fresh drinks for the two of us. He and Sophie are trading ambiguous glances. Just how well does she know him? I find myself getting a little jealous, which is crazy. One night out with the woman is hardly a relationship, although I can still feel her lips upon mine and I might still be bleeding from the bite on my neck she inflicted.
As I sip my whiskey, I try to overhear what they’re talking about, but the music is too loud. I’ve been able to read lips since I was a child and I think she said the word, talisman, which caused him to laugh. All I can glean from him is that he’s referring to me as a kid. Not good.
Suddenly, as though she just remembered I’m sitting there, she leans into me and whispers “let’s dance” into my ear, nipping it in the process. Her hot breath sends shivers down my spine. Once out on the dance floor she pulls me close and grinds up against me. This woman is hot sex, snuggly gift-wrapped in a silky black dress.
“You look a lot like Dmitri, when I first met him.” She proceeds to lift her leg up so it’s on my hip. What do I do now? Next thing I know, she’s wrapped both legs around me and I dip her backwards, hoping that’s what she wants. She laughs and returns her feet to the floor. “I asked him about the talisman,” she whispers in my ear, as the music slows and we, once again, are wrapped around one another. “He's agreed to give you one.”
“In exchange for what?” I ask. I wasn’t born yesterday. People don’t just give you valuable talismans.
She laughs softly. “Not a lot actually. He just wants progress reports.”
“Progress reports? On who? Or should I say whom?”
She laughs. “Your father, Dmitri, of course. Alexander doesn’t want to harm him. He just wants to know about his life.”
This might not seem a lot to ask to her, but that’s my family she’s talking about. Besides, Dad would definitely see it as a major betrayal on my part. Can I do that? Then I remember how my sister thought I was the cause of the accident and how she assumed I’d been drunk and didn’t believe me when I said I wasn’t. And how my father didn’t utter a word in my defense. My anger at their willingness to believe the worst about me still burns hot.
“Tell him I’m in.” Guilt stabs me hard, but hey, he isn’t going to hurt them, so what’s the harm?
We return to the table. Alexander stands up and I nervously grasp his outstretched hand, shaking it firmly as I nod my acceptance of his terms. He motions for me to take a seat and I do as he asks. “All I need you to do is keep me informed.”
I want to ask why he's so interested in my father, but I can’t seem to find the balls to do so. Finally, I blurt out, “And in exchange for information about my Dad, you’ll have a powerful luck talisman made for me. One like the one you gave Dad?”
“The one I gave him?” He tosses his head back and laughs. “He stole that from me, Son, and someday payment will come due. In the meantime, I’ll make you one myself. It will be the equal of the one I currently possess. It will be tailored for you alone, just as the one I wear is tailored for me." He pulls an undulating stone from his shirt. It sparkles and churns ominously in the flashing lights of the night club. I feel myself getting pulled into its power.
I'm jarred from its spell when Sophie grabs my arm. “Let’s go, Hot Stuff. I have a job in the morning.”
Alexander smiles and says, “I’ll be in touch, my boy.”
Sophie drags me out to the car. She’s three sheets to the wind or she could be pretending. I know Dad doesn't get drunk like other people. At any rate, I feel pretty good thanks to daddy's little helpers and I confidently drive us back to her place. I’m nearly ready to turn into her driveway when I see the flashing lights. The cops are there, surrounding the Pink Pimple. Dang, my bag is still in there. I slow down and drive on past.
Sophie looks confused. “What’s that about?” she asks. “I thought you borrowed the car.”
Cringing, I reply, “Actually, borrowed may not have been the right word. I guess they called the cops on me.”
“Well, we can’t go back there tonight. There’s a nice hotel a couple of miles down the road. Hit it.”
I press the accelerator and the car responds warmly. I could get used to this lifestyle. It's mine for the taking. And all I have to do is betray the people closest to me.