Wicked Sense Read online

  So, Drake is a rocker—an endangered species. I still know so little about him… Franz Ferdinand is my choice. I skip to the third track. Through the patio door, I see Drake smiling softly when he hears the first riffs of “Take Me Out.” I’ll leave the more romantic soundtrack for later; now I want to inject some life into the house.

  I come to him and embrace him from behind. He leans back slightly, making the contact between our bodies more intimate, but he carries on with his cooking.

  “What are you making?” I ask.

  “I’m wrapping corn in aluminum foil, so it doesn’t burn. We’re also having broccoli on the grill. I’ll cook your boca burgers and my real burgers later.”

  I give him a soft kiss on the back of his neck. “Mind if I look around?” I ask.

  He hesitates for the tiniest of seconds, but points to the inside of the house with his barbecue tongs. “Go ahead,” he says.

  Going back inside, I really look at the house for the first time. It looks modest, put together more for functionality than anything else. The flat screen TV is new, but everything else, couch, curtains, tables, are worn and about at the end of their life. The kitchen cabinets are white, refinished. The walls are painted in bright colors, giving the house a cozy and happy vibe.

  At the bottom of the stairs, I see the garage door to my right, but I don’t go there. Instead, I move upstairs, where I find three rooms. The master has a small bathroom and white walls, and it is even barer than the living room. I pass another small shared bathroom in the hallway. The next bedroom is Drake’s. He tried to hide the pigsty-ishness of it, with no success. The closet door opened, probably by itself, and now reveals a pile of dirty clothes crumpled in a heap. On the desk, a computer, some energy bar wrappers, and an empty Vitamin Water bottle. His school books are stacked on a small bookshelf above the desk.

  I sit on his bed. Fortunately the cover is a geometric, abstract pattern. I was afraid of finding Disney characters. I bounce on it, and then I giggle: am I unconsciously test-driving it for later in the evening? It is a good-sized queen bed, I notice.

  “Come on, Skye,” I whisper to myself. I set the thought aside.

  On the wall, I see a massive Jimi Hendrix poster. Drake is old school indeed.

  The poster makes my mind itchy. Something’s wrong, and I can’t pinpoint what. Then it strikes me. I go back to the hallway and glance to Mr. Hunter’s bedroom and to the stairs at my feet. Except for the Hendrix poster, no paintings or pictures hang anywhere on this floor. I can’t recall seeing any downstairs either.

  Mona’s bedroom door stares at me—a purple door. I like her already.

  I want to see if she has paintings on the walls. I shrug and open the door. There, I find the life in the house.

  Her bedroom is a collage. The walls are covered with small posters and magazine cutouts. Blockbuster fantasy movies and indie cult flicks share the wall’s real estate equally. Top models of both genders mingle with Madre Teresa, Che, Obama, and other iconic figures. I see an Aztec mask hanging on the wall. Kanji characters are stenciled below it. Mona uses the walls as white boards, sketching and writing stuff in every gap between the pictures.

  The room smells of lotus flowers. I see an incense burner on her dresser. I smile; Mona is a kindred spirit.

  The dresser is the only organized space of her bedroom. A huge mirror dominates the area above the dresser. It has little lights that remind me of Mum’s dressing rooms. But Mona’s dresser is personal, with small pictures framing the mirror, like a miniature version of the walls around me. She has an interesting collection of make-up, including every color imaginable of lipsticks, mascara, and even some hair paint.

  The smell of Drake’s cooking invades the bedroom and fights the lotus scent. It snaps me out of my journey to this strange land. I regret to leave.

  On my way out, I notice the walls have no bookshelves, but piles of books litter the floor. I’d like to take a look at some of them, but Drake yells from below.

  “Skye, would you make us something to drink?”

  I give a last glance to Mona’s sanctuary and leave, closing the door. I go down two steps at a time, feeling good about myself, about Drake, about our evening together.

  Then I see him waiting for me. He’s wearing a black apron with huge white block letters reading “Kiss the cook.”

  I feel that, as a guest, I must oblige.

  ***

  Our (virgin) piña coladas sit on the floor. We cuddle on the carpet lazily. Drake is propped on some pillows, embracing me from behind while we watch college football on the telly.

  “It’s like rugby, but with helmets and steroids,” he whispers in my ear.

  “I’ve lived half of my life in the States,” I reply, showing off my American accent. “I know baseball too!”

  “That’s ‘airborne cricket’ for you. Why do you use an American accent?”

  I’ve never mentioned it to anyone before. “To blend in. I don’t want to attract attention.”

  He snorts. “Good luck with that. Have you seen you? Or your eyes?”

  My hand goes behind him and slaps the back of his head, softly. “You’re so silly.”

  “Hey,” he says, his voice playfully malicious. “You’re not in a position to be calling me names.” He tightens his embrace.

  As an answer, I lounge further back, and mold my body into his. I grin at his muscles stiffening.

  His hands caress the front of my neck, a touch not soft enough to tickle me, nor too firm. Just perfect.

  I want him badly, but this simmering is so nice. We have the whole night, and I’m waiting for darkness to envelop us. It just feels right.

  He kisses the nape of my neck. A dry, soft touching of his lips to my skin. It gives me goose bumps, and I let out an involuntary, soft moan.

  I lay the back of my head on one of his shoulders, elevating my chin, giving him access to my slightly parted lips. He takes the initiative.

  Making out with him is sooo good. My hand goes behind his neck, pushing his head down toward mine, making our kiss more intense.

  A primal urge takes over me. I turn around and lie on top of him. Even I am surprised by my eagerness. I push the pillows away. My hands reach for his wrists, and I pin them against the carpet, leaving him at my mercy. He doesn’t fight it. I can’t stop kissing him.

  We lose track of time. In one of the rare moments when I let our lips separate, he whispers softly, “We should come up for some air.”

  “Air is overrated,” I whisper back, and we resume our session.

  He turns the tables on me, rotating our bodies so he emerges on top. He’s the one holding my arms gently against the carpet now, my wrists above my head.

  I’m lost in this different world. No worries. No rush. Nothing, just the two of us. I even feel a slight vibration as if a low-voltage electric current flows through the skin of my back. It’s pleasing, and I notice its intensity is increasing. Drake’s lips explore my neck.

  “The ground is shaking,” I say, dreamily.

  He gives a soft chuckle. “Already?” he whispers. Drake doesn’t stop kissing my neck.

  A tingling. Pleasant, stimulating at first, but—

  Magical energy. A Sister is close to us. But I never felt it like this, so sparsely. It’s always a wave. This thin veil of energy is delicate, almost ethereal. And what’s up with the vibration?

  “Something’s wrong,” I say. My eyes open. Knickknacks on the mantle are vibrating.

  “What?” he asks softly. “Am I…”

  He doesn’t need to finish the question. The whole house shakes. Drake’s eyes bulge, and he leaps to his feet.

  “Earthquake!” My voice quivers as he helps me up.

  His eyes scan the house in a blaze, and soon he’s dragging me to the front door. He opens it and pushes me against the frame. He takes his place in front of me.

  He holds my hand, trying to soothe me. “It’s a strong beam!” Drake yells over the otherworldly noise. />
  The house shaking is surreal, but what distresses me is the energy I feel. It gets stronger and stronger, as if an electric shock permeates me. The tingling overwhelms me, saturates my body, and soon I’m shaking too.

  The trembling—my trembling—becomes uncontrollable, and I feel like fainting, my eyes losing focus.

  Drake notices it and gets a hold of me. He hugs me hard, trying to subdue my spasms.

  We hear an ever-increasing rumbling sound. The noise of squeaky metal is terrorizing. The knickknacks tremble to the edge of the mantle and plunge to the floor, like mindless lemmings. The TV follows suit and falls from the stand, crashing onto the floor where we were just seconds ago.

  I’m regaining control of my body. My shaking weakens, but not the shaking around us.

  Drake feels my body relax. “Are you okay?” he yells over the noise.

  I nod to him, and he lets me go slowly. The tingling is still there, but now it’s a steady flow. Still, it’s the strongest signature I’ve ever felt.

  It’s got to be the Singularity.

  Car alarms set off, and their blaring makes us turn our attention to the outside. It’s bizarre. Cars shake from side to side in a macabre jig, and the street itself seems to pulsate. I’m unsure if everything is vibrating that hard, or my own quivering makes it all blurry.

  I look back to Drake, who tries to reassure me with a friendly grin. But I can see the uneasiness behind the smile.

  For some reason I think of Mona’s neatly arranged dresser upstairs. In the midst of the panic, the image of all her make-up and jewelry knocked over and her delicate belongings shattered makes me sad.

  We hear glass breaking in the distance, some cries. A few neighbors imitate us and find shelter by their front doors. On the street, I see a young boy skateboarding fast, pointlessly trying to run away from all of it.

  Drake notices him, too. “Come here!” he yells above the mayhem. “Now!”

  The boy jumps off his skateboard in a seamless movement, abandoning it on the sidewalk, and runs to us. He positions himself between Drake and me. Drake puts his left hand on the boy’s shoulder, who nods gratefully, but says nothing. Drake’s right hand still holds mine.

  The rumbling subsides. The screeching sound of metal on metal goes away. The noise of destruction, inside and outside, fades. Except for the car alarms. When I tune that out, the remaining silence is eerie.

  I’m still shaking, but I think now it’s mostly my legs.

  Drake’s nervous smile regains some confidence. The boy between us, despite his cocksure skull t-shirt, smiles sweetly to me. He turns to Drake and reaches for the hand on his shoulder. They fist-bump without uttering a word, and the boy dashes to his skateboard, left overturned on the curb.

  “I know him,” Drake explains. “He lives down the street.”

  His words awaken me from my terror spell. I take a deep breath, but my knees stumble, and I almost fall. As always, Drake is there for me, and he catches me.

  “Easy,” he says. “You okay?”

  I’m embarrassed to show weakness, and I straighten up quickly.

  “I think so. But I felt magical energy—”

  My cell rings.

  “Skye!” Gemma’s panicked voice greets me. “Are you hurt?”

  “No! I’m fine. Drake’s here with me. How about you?”

  Drake watches me for a second, and then runs inside.

  “I’m okay. I hid under the table,” she says. Thank Goddess for the massive dining room table. “Do you need me to pick you up?”

  “No, I’m fine,” I say. I see Drake going upstairs.

  “All right. I’m on my way to Linda’s. I’m worried about her.” Linda is our elderly neighbor, who lives alone. I hope she’s safe.

  “Sure. Don’t worry about me,” I say. “I love you,” I add. It surprises even me.

  After a beat, Gemma answers. “I love you too, dear. Take care. Call me often.”

  “Sure thing,” I say. I hang up, moving inside to go after Drake. Just then I see him running down the stairs, two steps at a time, his cell glued to his ear.

  “Mona is not answering,” he says, worried. “What are you doing? Go back to the door.” He grabs my arm with a strong, rough grip, and drags me back to where we were before. “Aftershock,” he says as a way of an apology.

  While we wait for Mona to pick up, I scan the street. People are coming out of their houses to examine the damage, turn their car alarms off, and assist their neighbors. It’s about dinnertime and most families are home. A couple emerges from the house in front of us. The woman carries a surprisingly quiet baby and the man yells at us, “You guys okay?”

  “Yeah,” Drake answers, cell still pressed into his ear. “You?”

  The man nods and points to his baby, “Little Kevin was laughing the whole time. He thinks we were playing some game. Kids…”

  Drake gives him a half-smile and points to his cell. “I can’t find Mona. I’ll go to her friend’s house. If we miss each other and she shows—”

  “I’ll let her know,” the man interrupts. “She can stay with us until you’re back.”

  Drake just lifts his hand in a thanking gesture. The man waves goodbye and goes check on his family. Drake turns to me. “Is Gemma okay?”

  I nod. “Do you think we should drive now? I mean, the aftershocks.”

  “I need to know that Mona is okay,” he says. His voice is breaking. “My dad left her with me.”

  I remember his pain over the fire incident. He doesn’t need to explain. “Sure,” I say. “Let’s go.”

  My cell tinkles again. Connor.

  “Did you feel that?” he asks.

  No how-are-yous. Again. “Of course I felt it, you twit!”

  “She’s right in front of our eyes, Skye. Can you track her?”

  “No, it went away,” I say, ever the dutiful Sister.

  “Come on, Skye, find her. Don’t screw this up!”

  I look at Drake’s desperate expression. “I need to do something else now,” I tell Connor before hanging up.

  Chapter 51: Drake

  I fear the worst when neither Mona nor Pain answers the phone. And I don’t have Pain’s landline number anywhere. Stupid new cell phone.

  Damn earthquake. The last one I can remember hit when I was a kid. It was much weaker than this. Pain’s house is not far away. I decide to run there with Skye.

  We hold hands and negotiate our way through the people crowding the streets. They’re still disoriented, looking behind their backs as if an aftershock might sneak up on them. Fortunately, very few are bleeding. Small groups sit curbside, maybe afraid to get back into the buildings. Businesses are handing out plastic cups of water.

  Traffic is slow. A few cars are left in the middle of the road. Going on foot was a good idea.

  An antique shop owner examines the damage inside. Some houses and stores have broken windows. Debris and bricks litter the sidewalk, and at least one parapet fell—judging by the lack of blood, not hitting anyone.

  I see small fissures on the side of the buildings. The sidewalks are uneven and cracked. Across the street from us, a water leak goes unchecked.

  Skye grabs my arm. She has a frightened look on her face. “What?” I ask.

  “I sense another Sister,” she says, quietly. She looks around. “Not too close.”

  “Do you—”

  “No,” she says, “Never mind. Let’s go find Mona.” But she looks over her shoulder one more time.

  We run the last block. When I turn Pain’s street corner, my heart sinks. They are not outside like everybody else.

  Skye says, “Take it easy, Drake.”

  I let go of her hand and run to Pain’s. While ringing the doorbell, I look through the window. It’s a split-level. Only the foyer is visible from the outside. Nobody answers, so I go around the house, quickly looking through the windows. I reach the backyard and climb the stairs to the second-level deck. Mona and Pain are just lying on the floor insid
e. Still.

  I yell, “Mona!” I try the door handle, bang on the glass door.

  Skye joins me, peeks inside, and picks up a heavy plant pot. “Get out of the way,” she commands.

  She hits the bottom of the pot near the door handle, breaking the glass door. Mona and Pain are far enough away. They aren’t hit by the shards.

  Some glass still clings to the frame, so I sneak my hand inside, unlocking the door. When I slide the frame open, more pieces of glass fall. I don’t care. “Mona!” I yell again.

  Skye is dialing 911. I go inside and kneel next to my sister, ready to start CPR. I saved Skye. I can save Mona.

  But Mona is still breathing. A quick check tells me Pain breathes too.

  I shake my sister gently. No response. Mona just lays on the floor, still.

  No visible wounds, no blood. On either of them. It actually makes me more anxious, not knowing where they are hurt, or how much.

  A sorrow the size of the world overcomes me.

  ***

  When the paramedics put Mona on the gurney, I almost lose it. I feel like I’m about to cry. Skye tries to console me.

  Mona is stable, but unresponsive.

  “They’re secured,” the paramedic says. I pull myself together. I’ll ride with Mona and Pain in the ambulance, and Skye will drive my car to the hospital.

  Skye points to the ambulance and whispers, “Just go. I’ll be with you soon.”

  ***

  I called Dad after the paramedics arrived. He said he’d be on the first flight out of Vegas, but they told him they’re still assessing the conditions at Sea-Tac, and the airport is closed. I try to calm him down, to no avail.

  “It’s all my fault. I shouldn’t have left you guys alone. I’m sorry,” he says. He doesn’t sound like he’s about to cry. He just looks defeated.

  Promising him I’ll call with news, I hang up.

  Neighbors called Pain’s parents, who were having a night out. They too are on their way to the hospital.

  ***

  They took Mona for exams. The anxiety is killing me.

  She looked so peaceful when I saw her. Rested. Actually, I’ve never seen her so beautiful, so… glowing. It made me even sadder, how she looked like a little princess.