Chapter 8
As we pulledinto the driveway, I saw Phillip standing on the porch, his face set with worry. I wondered how bad the truck looked. Sloan came around to the passenger side and started to help me out, but Phillip was down the steps in a flash, scooping me into his arms.
“What happened to you?” he asked, his voice crackling with electricity. “I knew something was wrong. I could feel it.”
“Let”s go inside,” I said weakly. “And then I”ll explain.” I wanted to get inside, lock the door, and check out my injuries. I really hoped I wouldn”t have to go to the hospital.
“Are you alright?” he asked Sloan, and she must have nodded yes, because he turned without another word and carried me inside the house. Now that I was back home and in his arms, I felt safer, and more than a little sleepy. I laid my head against his shoulder, marveling at how warm he was. You”d think he”d be cold, but he was like a furnace, brimming with heat. I closed my eyes and breathed in the smell of woodsmoke.
“Don”t let her go to sleep,” I heard.
“Stormy.” Phillip sat me down on the couch and I groaned, not wanting to give up the warmth of his strong arms. “Wake up, sweetheart. Don”t go to sleep.”
“Would you guys stop harping on me? I”m not going to sleep. Jeez.” I reluctantly opened my eyes again. Sloan was holding out a slice of pizza to me. I was no longer hungry, but I took it dutifully.
“So what happened?” Phillip said, looking at me carefully. His eyes moved over me, assessing my injuries. “Who did this?”
I explained briefly what had happened – the men following us out of Mazzios parking lot, losing them, then being run off the road – and when I was done, his eyes flashed with anger.
“I”ll find them,” he said. “Find them and kill them.”
“Calm down,” Sloan said. “We don”t know why they did it, or who they even were.”
“They were just trying to intimidate me, I think,” I said, still woozy. “Now that I”m thinking about it, I don”t think they actually intended to hurt me. If they”d wanted to kill me, they could have done worse. It was like they were passing on a message.”
“A message for me,” he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “And they did hurt you.”
“Why for you?” Sloan asked him. “Is this some kind of mob situation or something? Are you into drugs? And what does any of it have to do with Storm? What”s going on?”
Phillip looked at me. “I tried to tell her the truth about you,” I said weakly, biting into my pizza. “She didn”t believe me.” It tasted like cardboard. “And honestly, I don”t know why, either. Why are they after you, Phillip? And who are they, exactly?”
“I don”t actually know yet,” he admitted, running a hand through his dark hair. “I just know that they”re looking for me.”
I smiled weakly. “It”s the paranormal po-po,” I said, with a small laugh. “They”re going to throw you in psychic jail for coming back from the dead without a permit.”
“Ha.” His eyes swept over me again, still concerned. “Eat that. You”re pale. I”m worried you need a doctor.”
“I”m fine.”
Sloan had wolfed down two slices already. She was regarding us both silently, but her face conveyed a number of emotions, and none of them were good. She was worried and confused, but she was also still angry with me. “Who the fuck are you?” she demanded finally, looking at Phillip. “Really.”
“Phillip,” he said simply, staring back at her.
“Please don”t tell me you’re taking part in this delusion of hers,” she said, exasperated. “Because I”ve got to tell you, I can”t take much more of this.”
“There”s no delusion here,” he said. He looked down at me again, making sure I was eating. I obediently took a bite. “But I”ll tell you what you want to know.”
“Good,” Sloan said, picking the peppers off her pizza, something I knew she only did when she was nervous. She arranged them in a little pile on her plate. “Well? Who are you then?”
“I”m Phillip,” he said with a slow smile. “Phillip Deville.”
“For fuck”s sake-”
He held up a hand to beg her for silence. “Wait. Let me explain. Just listen, before you decide we”re both nuts.”
“I”ve already decided that,” she said moodily, but went back to her pizza.
“I am Phillip Deville,” he went on. “But it”s not what you think.” He looked at me briefly, then back to Sloan. He seemed to have reached some decision. “Whatever Stormy told you, it was an exaggeration of the truth. Because she didn”t know how else to explain it without betraying my confidence. She was protecting me. She didn”t bring me back from the dead with some spell. She couldn”t have, because I never died.”
I almost choked on my pizza. A look from Phillip silenced me, though. What was he doing? I was trying to be honest, here, and he was just feeding her more lies.
“What are you talking about?” Sloan looked more confused than ever.
“I faked it.”
“You pulled an Elvis,” Sloan said dryly. “I”m going to need more of an explanation.”
“When I overdosed, they pronounced me dead,” Phillip said smoothly. “They were able to revive me at the hospital. But by the time I came to, somebody had already leaked the news that I”d died. All my fans, half my friends thought I was gone. And I was in a bad place. Really bad – drugs, alcohol, depressed to the point of being suicidal – I was in no shape to leave, not without some serious medical and psychiatric care. I needed a break, a stint in rehab, and some serious therapy. The band and my family got together and decided that it might be for the best if everybody continued to think I was dead for a while. It”d give me a chance to get well.”
“So you just let people think you were dead?” She was baffled. “I kind of get it, doing that for a short time. But I mean...it”s been like twenty-five years!”
“Twenty-three. Almost,” I piped up. Sloan glared at me.
“After I kicked the drugs and booze and had some time to decompress, it had already been over a year,” Phillip continued, the lie appearing to come to him easily. “And I found that I wasn”t really interested in the band or playing music anymore. I waited for a long time to feel ready. But I just wasn”t into that life anymore. And the more I thought about the poor fans, all of them who had grieved for me and everything, who were putting flowers on my phony grave and getting tattoos and shit...I just didn”t want to rip the rug out from under them. I thought it might be best to stay buried.”
“Frankly, that”s fucked,” Sloan said bluntly. “First of all, who are you to make those assumptions? To keep your fans in the dark like that? And not to mention, faking your own death is a hell of a fucking undertaking. Wouldn”t it have been easier to announce that you were leaving the business and quietly go on with your life?”
“I couldn”t have left without a big, clean break,” Phillip said. “They wouldn”t have let me.”
“Arrogant.” Sloan snorted with indignation, and Phillip”s eyes blazed with fury. A laugh escaped my lips and I clapped a hand to my mouth.
“Anyway, have you seen yourself?” Sloan asked incredulously. “How have you not been recognized?” I rolled my eyes at her. An hour ago I’d been wondering the same thing about her.
“I have,” he said. “From time to time. I usually use the ”impersonator” excuse. You were just too smart to fall for it.” I smirked behind my pizza at how smoothly he lied. Sloan apparently swallowed it, though, because she looked pleased with herself. I fought the urge to roll my eyes again.
“So you never did the spell?” she asked me. “That was all bullshit?”
“No, I did the spell,” I said. “Mainly just to wind you up, but the recording got deleted. So it turned out to be useless.”
“I knew it. I knew it was all hock-and-booey,” she said in a satisfied tone.
I gave her a little smile and took a bite of pizza, hoping she”d let it go now. No such luck. “But none of this explains how the two of you hooked up,” she pointed out, picking more peppers off her pizza. “Or why Stormy didn”t tell me the moment she met you.” She looked at me, her face full of irritation; she was used to me telling her literally everything. How many times had she said to me, “just get to the point, I don’t need the details?”
“The spell is how we met,” Phillip answered for me, sensing my discomfort at lying. Sloan”s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “You know that album she bought, the rare one? It”s so special because it”s got the spell buried in the liner notes. I guess she”s told you all that already.”
Sloan nodded.
“There”s a whole thread on reddit about the spell.” I was suddenly glad I”d told Phillip all about reddit and the wormhole that it was. “People sharing theories, trying out the spell and posting pictures, stuff like that. I read it from time to time, just to keep up with what the fans are doing. Makes me laugh. And it”s nice to see I still have my dedicated fans.” He smiled at me. “Stormy posted about the spell a while back, and I don”t know...I just was drawn to her, somehow. She seemed too interesting, and so invested in the music. I liked her. It gets lonely, being dead. On a whim, I emailed her.”
“And we got to talking,” I said, seeing where he was going.
“I felt bad for her, going through a divorce and everything. We talked a lot, got to be friends. I was flattered. She was such a huge fan of mine. She knows every single song. Knows me better than I know myself.” He winked at me. Okay, he was laying it on pretty thick now. “I couldn”t help myself. Against my better judgment I decided to tell her the truth. About who I was.”
“When was this?” Sloan asked.
“About a week ago,” I said. “I didn”t believe him. I told him I needed proof.”
“So here I am,” he said, with a casual shrug. “I came down to Jekyll Island to meet her in person and show her I am, in fact, Phillip Deville.”
“This is so weird,” Sloan said finally. “But there”s one more thing I don”t understand. Who the fuck are the guys who were after Stormy and me?”
“We don”t know,” I said, thinking quickly. “But we have our suspicions that it”s two guys from the reddit group. I know there were a couple of guys in there who wrote for GOTHZine, you know, that metal/doom online mag? It”s like Vice meets Rolling Stone? I think maybe they uncovered Phillip”s secret. They found him somehow and now they know for sure that he”s not dead. That he never died. They want to break the story.” I was surprised at myself, now that I”d gotten into it, how easily the lies came.
“Some of my fans are crazy as fuck,” Phillip explained with a sympathetic look. “I mean, I get it, but damn. We think these guys are onto me, and they followed me down here to catch a glimpse. They want to get my photo, or better yet, confront me and get proof that I”m alive. Can you imagine the payout if they broke that story with some exclusive? They obviously know who Stormy is, and that she”s made contact with me. They”re hoping to expose me through her.”
“Is that why you”re leaving?” Sloan asked us.
“Yeah.” I nodded.
“It seems awfully impulsive, to risk outing yourself like that just to meet some girl you met online,” Sloan said, a hint of judgment in her voice.
“What can I say.” Phillip shrugged, his voice taking on a wistful quality. “It”s been a lonely twenty years.” I fought the urge to guffaw. He really was too much.
“Well.” It seemed Sloan was out of questions, at least for the moment.
Phillip sat down beside me, satisfied, and finally took his own piece of pizza, looking smug. He had managed to mollify Sloan with that ridiculous story, god only knew how. I”d known Sloan most of my life and she was like a dog with a bone. I”d never been able to lie to her. I wondered if one of the apparently many magical powers Phillip possessed included the ability to spin a tale that even the biggest cynic would swallow without trouble.
My head ached. The car crash nagged at me; who had chased us? Was it Lee? I didn”t think it was a coincidence that he”d shown up at the exact same time as Phillip. They were looking for him. Had we hit on something – was it possible he really was a fan with a hunch? Was I in danger? Was Phillip? I barely knew him, but I already felt protective. I”d brought him back, and it felt like it was my duty to keep him safe. Though looking at him, devouring his pizza with wolf-like bites, his huge shoulders practically busting through his thin black t-shirt, his long, muscular legs almost the length of my couch, I had no doubt that he could take care of himself and then some. I wouldn”t want to be on his wrong side, I thought to myself with a small shiver.
Phillip was brooding.Both pizzas were gone, Dan had picked up Sloan – he”d stayed and chatted just long enough for me to decide that I liked him, despite the fact that he was a totally vanilla frat boy - and they”d left Phillip and me sitting on the couch at opposite ends. My leg was still throbbing, but it wasn”t anything an ibuprofen or two couldn”t fix. I felt remarkably okay, though my nerves were still frayed. I watched Phillip silently, the way his jaw twitched – he was biting the inside of his mouth or grinding his teeth or something. He was obviously anxious.
“What is it?” I asked finally.
“I”m worried that I”ve put you in danger,” he said, turning to look at me. God, his eyes were beautiful.
“You? I”m pretty sure I”m the one who started this whole thing,” I said with a grin, but he didn”t return my smile. “I”ve just been thinking on that myself. I”m the one who said the spell and brought you back, right?”
“But I put it in the liner notes,” he said. “Honestly, Stormy, it was just a fucking joke. I was so strung out back then, it seemed like a good idea at the time. Just something funny, to watch the fans pick through my words and try to make a legend out of them. You know, like the whole ”Paul McCartney is dead” thing, or Ozzy biting the head off that bat. It wasn”t supposed to be taken seriously.”
“Ozzy really did bite the head off that bat,” I said, but he didn”t seem to hear me.
“When Guthrie gave me that spell, I was amused that he seemed to believe in it. Part of it was just me taking the piss out of him. I know it probably seems like this whole orchestrated thing, that I put the spell there on purpose so someone would bring me back, that if I actually went through with it, I knew I”d have a second chance, but-”
“Wait, what?”
He stopped. “What?”
“Went through with what?” I asked. “What do you mean?”
“Nothing,” he said. “I was just talking.”
“You died of an overdose,” I said slowly. “At least that”s always been the official story, the one your estate...” I trailed off, noting the look on his face, my stomach doing a flip flop.
“It doesn”t matter,” he said softly. “Whatever they printed, it doesn”t concern me now.”
“Phillip, did you-”
He cut me off. “I”m just saying that I didn”t know the spell was real. If I”d known, I never would have put the stupid fucking thing on the album. I never would have put someone in harm”s way just to bring me back.” He took my hand in his. His skin was so warm. “I”m so sorry, Stormy.”
“You don”t have anything to apologize for,” I said.
“I do,” he insisted. “And I want to make it up to you. I don”t know how, but I will. Somehow. And in the meantime, I”m going to keep you safe. From whatever it is that”s hunting me.”
“We’ll figure out who that is,” I promised.
He gave my hand a squeeze. “How long have you and Sloan been friends?” he asked, changing the subject.
“God, since we were kids,” I answered, smiling at the memory. “I’ve known her since 6th grade or so, but I guess it was around 9th grade that we became really close. Why?”
“That’s how me and Kim were,” he said, and my smile deepened, thinking of him and his guitarist as teenagers, going through puberty, learning to play guitar together. I’d kill to see a picture from that period. “Those lifelong friends, those are the best ones.” His eyes met mine. “If they’re true.”
“True?” I asked.
“You know. Loyal.” He squeezed my hand again. “A friend you can trust with your life. True.”
I looked at him curiously, and he grinned. “Don’t mind me,” he said with a laugh. “I think I’m in one of my moods. Barb used to call it the Nihilist Hour, when I’d get like this. Next thing you know I’ll be locking myself in your bathroom, holed-up reading T.S. Eliot.”
“Sloan’s true,” I said, his hand still warm in mine. On impulse, I reached forward and enveloped him in a hug. He tensed for a moment, then relaxed into me, his shirt soft and smelling of my soap, his shoulders wide and solid. His hair tickled my face. My heart pounded at the memory of that morning, his arms around me, teaching me to play bass.
“Do you still want to leave in the morning? For Boston?” I asked, reluctantly pulling away.
“Yeah. I”ve got to sort all this shit out. Do you still want to go?”
I nodded. The thought of him going and leaving me behind was impossible.
“Ok, then. But before we go, you need to do one thing,” he said. “It”s probably stupid and won”t work anyway, but I want to try it.”
“What is it?” I was curious.
“Guthrie told me almost nothing about that damn spell. And I didn”t ask.” He was still holding my hand. “But there”s one thing I do remember.”
“What is it?”
“I heard him say something to somebody else once. This strung out hippie type he gave a spell to – a different spell. He told him when he summoned someone to make sure he had salt sprinkled all over the place.”
“Salt? Why?”
“He said that the practitioner should bathe in salt. That it would help protect them, to counter-balance the black magic they”d performed. I guess kind of a reversal, maybe? A cleansing?”
I took a deep breath. Until he”d said the words ”black magic” it hadn”t even occurred to me that that”s what I”d done. Not the good kind of magic. Not the benign kind. Black magic. I”d opened myself up to all kinds of bad things, and I hadn”t even bothered to think about it. I shuddered. “Okay, so. How do we do it?”
“I”m not really sure. We”ll just wing it,” he said. “Do you have salt?”
“Yeah, I”ve got one of those huge cylinders of Morton salt with the pourable spout,” I said. “Top cabinet, above the stove. With the spices.”
Wordlessly, he went into the kitchen and returned with the salt.
“Do you think it”ll work?” I asked.
“I hope so,” he said. “Another thing I used to hear Guthrie say, is that magic is all about intention. If you believe, that”s 75% of the battle.” I nodded. I”d been saying the same thing to myself for days, which was a serendipitous little detail I didn”t want to think about just now. But it was true, if the fact that he was standing in front of me was any indication. “Come on. Let”s get this over with. See if we can”t cleanse some of the evil off you.” His grin was wolfish and impossibly sexy.
“Leave a little of the salt,” I said, standing up, feeling suddenly coy. I came just under his chin; near him, I felt so short. There was a heat coming off him, something electric. He stared down at me, his eyes on fire. “Not much, but just a sprinkle. It might come in handy.”
“Careful what you wish for.” He gave me a long, slow smile. He leaned in toward me, and for an achingly long moment it seemed like he was going to kiss me, but then he leaned back and touched my arm. “Come on. Let”s get you cleaned up.”
I followed him into the bathroom and held out my hand for the salt. “Do I just, like, pour a ton of it into the bath, or what?” I asked. “Would it be better to use epsom salt?”
“No, the plain stuff. Table salt,” he answered. I was still holding out my hand, and he shook his head. “If it”s okay with you, I want to be the one to do it. I feel like that will make it more potent.”
“You”re going to bathe me?” I was incredulous.
“Yes.” He gave me another one of those slow smiles. “Is that okay? May I?”
“I mean, I guess...” I said, my thoughts racing. Had I shaved...areas...recently? Oh god.
“I have seen naked women before,” he said dryly, noting my discomfort.
“Oh, I know,” I said. “And therein lies the problem.” I imagined a bevy of impossibly thin and toned, busty supermodels, strippers and groupies parading around him, and wished I could hide my belly and stretch marks.
“If you”re not comfortable, you could leave your underwear on,” he said helpfully.
“Okay,” I said, nervous. “The washcloths are under the cabinet there.” He turned to grab one, and I undressed quickly, leaving on my underwear and bra, which thankfully matched, though I realized as I settled down in the steaming water that they were both white and would become see through in a few short moments. The hot water hit my scraped leg and I yelped. Phillip was by my side in a flash.
“You ok?”
I nodded. He glanced down at my underwear but met my eyes again in seconds. Smooth, this one. Despite the pain in my leg, the hot water felt amazing and I felt my limbs relax. Phillip dipped the washcloth in the steamy water and dabbed it at my head. It felt like a little of the swelling had gone down. Without thinking, I closed my eyes and settled down in the water as he ran the washcloth over my shoulders, my arms. How long had it been since someone had bathed me? It felt so good, calming and primal at the same time.
“I”m going to do the salt now,” he said in a quiet voice, and I opened my eyes. He was pouring it onto the washcloth, rubbing it into some kind of body scrub. “I have no idea if this is the right way, but we”ll see. Can you sit up a little?”
I leaned forward, closing my eyes again, and felt the washcloth caress my skin. It was grainy and rough with the salt; it felt like sandpaper, but in a good way. I sighed with pleasure. He moved it back and forth over my back in circles, scrubbing me methodically, then down to my lower back, then my hips and legs, taking special care with the scrape, back up to my arms, over my stomach and breasts, my shoulders and neck, and finally my face, which he washed very slowly and gently. “Lean back,” he said, “So I can do your head.”
I eased back into the water, feeling my hair fan around my face. My skin seemed to be alive; it was thrumming. He washed my hair with the cloth, his fingers moving through the wet strands, his thumbs resting on my face. As he touched me, I felt something strange happen.
I felt unnaturally light, almost as if I”d left my body. The sensation of warmth from the water, from him, had pooled into a delicious liquid gold feeling, and I felt like I was fluid myself, floating all over, everywhere. Like I was looking down on the both of us. My limbs throbbed with pleasure, but at the same time I couldn”t feel them. I was in two places at once, feeling two feelings at once. Pleasure and pain. Numbness and warmth. Dark and light.
His hands moved over me, touching each place a second time, moving over every inch of me. His black hair was loose from its ponytail, falling into his eyes, a few tendrils making their way into the water to mingle with my own. Black and dark blonde. At some point I had opened my eyes, but I wasn”t sure when. His were now closed; we”d switched places. I memorized the lines in his face, so intent with the job at hand, and marveled at his soft, inky black eyelashes. A rock star on a grand stage, tall, imposing, a bona fide sex god, former junkie, legend in his own right, back from the dead, and with eyelashes as soft as down, as dark as ink.
After another few agonizingly sweet moments, he leaned back, sat on the edge of the tub and smiled. “I think I got you,” he said. “Every place there was to get.” His smile was boyish.
I was floating; I didn”t want to move.
“You look like an angel,” he said. “With your hair floating all around your face like that.”
“Angel or devil, I don”t care,” I sang in a warbling, off-key murmur.
“For in front of the door, there is you.” His voice was husky and razor-sharp, echoing in the small, steamy room. Familiar and yet other-worldly with the bathroom acoustics. A chill went up my spine. “Bowie.”
I sat up, droplets of water cascading off my shoulders. “Get in.” I said.
He looked at me dubiously. “What?”
“Get in. The water is still hot.” I smiled at him invitingly. “You could use a good scrub yourself.”
He stared at me, unsure.
“The tub is too small,” he said.
“We”ll fit.”
He stared.
“Are you scared of me?” I asked. It was meant to be flirty, but I realized the question had other implications.
He looked at me for another moment, then wordlessly stripped off his shirt. The muscles in his arms and chest twitched. His skin looked like china under the harsh bathroom light. He leaned down and took off his pants, then smiled at me. “You wear your underwear, I wear mine.”
“Fair enough.” I scooted to the far end of the tub, giving him room as he stepped into the tub and eased down. He wrapped his legs around mine.
“Sorry,” he said. “I”ve got really long legs.”
“No kidding.”
He wrapped his arms around me, too, and instinctively, I leaned against his chest, resting my head in the crook of his neck like a lover. I wondered if he”d flinch, but he didn”t; rather, he set his chin down on top of my head, cradling me, and let out a sigh. The room was quiet except for the drip-drop from the leaky faucet. It was strange, but the tub wasn”t all that cramped, I realized, my eyes closed, letting my limbs do the assessing for me, noticing that it was almost as though the tub had expanded. I stretched out my legs, feeling his skin against mine, and marveled that I could unfurl them all the way without having to bend my knees. What magic was this, and had I done it?
I could feel the thump of his pulse against my back where his chest was pressed up against me. His heartbeat was steady, strong. I pressed in closer, feeling the hardness of him against my lower back, and his breath caught in his throat. I tried to ignore the way my very blood seemed to be singing as it rushed to my extremities. My chest was flushed with desire, and I could tell by his shallow breaths that he was feeling it, too. But it wasn”t about that right now – as much as I wanted him, wanted to turn around and devour him whole, this was about cleansing, about taking back control, taking back the power over us. I relaxed against him with a sigh. His arms were strong and held me fast, and I knew if he ever were to truly become predatory, there would be no hope in hell of getting away from him. As it happened, I had no desire to.
Phillip was singing again, his voice low. “My death waits like a witch at night...and surely as our love is bright. Let”s laugh for us and the passing time...” He laughed low and murmured in my ear. “That you would think to sing that song right now.”
“It just came to me,” I said.
“Bowie was always my favorite,” he said.
“You were always mine,” I whispered.
“I knowwe need to get on the road,” I said to Phillip as we coasted up onto the bridge that led to Jekyll Island, “but we won”t stay long, and I really want you to see this place.”
“I”ve been to the beach before,” he said with a smile, staring out the window. I could see why he was unimpressed so far. The sky was gray and dreary – the sun hadn”t been back out since that big storm that had brought him to my door – and the water was dull and dirty against the mud of the marsh. Even the grass, in the dull light of the fall, was muted and colorless. A lone seagull crested against the wind and flew off into the horizon.
“But Jekyll is special,” I insisted. “You”ll see.”
The truth was that I wasn”t quite sure why I wanted to bring Phillip here. I”d woken up that morning with a new vigor, the excitement and energy in my limbs almost palpable, and I”d thought before my head had even risen off the pillow that I wanted to take Philip to Driftwood Beach. I knew he was in a hurry to get going, so I”d packed quickly and loaded up the truck, figuring we”d leave for Boston right after – no point in stopping back at home first. I had arranged for Sloan to take care of Blinken until I got back, and things were all tied up with work for the next week. Everything was set to go. But I just had to show Phillip Driftwood first. It felt right somehow.
“If it”s special to you, I”m sure it will be special to me, too,” he said, putting a hand briefly on my knee. It was a simple gesture, but it brought back memories of how Tess had once done the same thing, and I felt an immediate jolt at his touch. But this was different. “How far is it?”
“Five minutes’ drive,” I answered, changing gears and grimacing as my old Blazer made a rusty, clanging noise. God knew what that was. “Jekyll Island is quite small. And Driftwood is on this side of the island, anyway. Once we go through the toll bridge it”s less than a mile to the main road, we”ll take a left at the roundabout, another mile, and we”re there. It”s really close. We could walk if we had more time.”
“I wish we did,” he said, still smiling. “That sounds nice.”
“Maybe on a sunnier day,” I said, wondering if he”d be around long enough to see it through.
“Yeah,” he agreed. “Let”s do that.”
Five minutes later I pulled onto the side of the deserted road and got out of the truck. The wind had picked up; it looked like rain. Phillip got out of the passenger side and stood beside me. “Well, here it is,” I said, pointing to the narrow trail within the trees. “These little cut throughs are all up and down this road for a couple of miles, but I always take this one. I”m a creature of habit.”
“After you,” he said, and I started down the winding trail, thick with brush and sand, hoping it wouldn”t rain on us. Phillip had to duck to follow me, the trees were so low. We shuffled through the soft, billowy sand, pushing dead limbs out of our way, passing by dunes, getting grit in our shoes.
“Venomous snake nesting ground,” Phillip read as we passed a faded old sign. “Well, that bodes well.”
“You let them be, they”ll let you be,” I said, still dodging limbs.
“Sage advice.”
We walked through the clearing and came out onto the beach, which was totally deserted except for one older couple picking up shells several yards away. They gave us a little wave and went back to their task. The horizon had a gray look to it, the water churning with a dirty, weak froth. “It”s going to rain,” I said, holding a hand over my eyes and craning to see beyond the water. “But I don”t think it”s going to be a storm. Just a drizzle, probably.”
“It”s beautiful out here, even overcast,” Phillip said, standing beside me with his own hand over his eyes. “I”ve never seen anything like this. So many trees.”
The entire span of the beach was covered in bleached, dead trees. Each of them was unique, gnarled and twisted and stripped into its own grotesque, sloping shape. I pulled myself up onto a J-shaped piece of driftwood into a sitting position. “Aren”t they gorgeous?”
“Eerie,” he said. “Beautiful.”
“Like something out of a Tim Burton movie,” I agreed.
“I don”t know any of his movies besides Edward Scissorhands,” he said with a smile. “But I could totally see this on one of our album covers.” Looking out at the expanse of gray beach and gnarled, bleached trees, I had to agree.
“I used to come out here every day and go for a run,” I confessed, smiling as he pulled himself onto the driftwood beside me, lowering into a crouch, his head resting beside my right leg. “It’s always been my favorite place. Was my favorite place. This is the first time I”ve been in months.”
“Why did you stop coming?” he asked, staring out at the water. The wind whipped his black hair into a frenzy around his face.
“Because of Tess,” I said. “My ex-husband.” I sighed, and ran my hands over the smooth, stripped bark. “We had our wedding reception here, what seems like a million years ago. It was such a beautiful night. Everything was perfect. We hung paper lanterns from the driftwood, and we set up tables with all different colored tablecloths. People brought dishes to share, and we had sangria and s”mores and after dark we lit a bonfire and sang and danced around it.”
“That sounds cool.”
“It was. It was perfect.” I felt sad at the memory. “I remember sitting there on the sand, in my white sundress, and the sea air was cold on my shoulders. Tess came and put his suit jacket over me, and it smelled like him, and I remember thinking I was the happiest I”d ever been.” I swallowed. “I”m pretty sure he was already cheating on me by then.”
Phillip was quiet, listening.
“We used to come out here all the time together. It was our place. I guess once he left...it was just too hard, to come out here. Among all those memories. It feels like it”s his place now.”
“No,” Phillip said, resting his cheek briefly against my leg, a movement that was friendly and tender but somehow felt sensual. “It”s your place. Don”t let him take it away from you, not if it means so much to you.”
“You”re right,” I said. “But sometimes it”s just so hard to let go. Of pain. You know?”
“I do know.” He paused for a moment, and I watched as his face lit up with a sardonic smile. “Did you ever read anything about my wedding?”
“A little bit,” I said. “But I”d love to hear your version.”
He scratched at a speck on his black jeans, his face thoughtful as he remembered. “Barb hired a camera crew from a metal mag to film the day, even though I told her I didn”t want that. They followed me everywhere, even into the bathroom while I was getting ready. I was a ball of fucking nerves and I wanted a drink, but I wasn”t going to start mainlining shots with a camera in my face.” He shook his head. “I finally yelled at them to get the hell out, and that was the portion of the video that made MTV. Me, standing in a bathroom half-dressed in a tux that didn”t fit right, yelling at a cameraman, my stupid hair flying all over the place, because somebody made off with my comb. On my wedding day. Meanwhile, Barb and her mother got into a screaming match just outside the chapel, and somehow Barb”s veil got ripped off her head and stomped on. All the guests, who were already seated, heard them carrying on, and when I walked up to the pulpit to get into position, everybody was giggling. Barb comes out on her dad”s arm, and there”s a giant shoeprint from her mom”s Manolo right in front of her face.”
“Yikes,” I said. “But still, it could be worse.”
“Oh, it got worse,” he said with a choked laugh. “We got through the ceremony okay, even though I forgot half my vows. But the at the reception everybody got rip-roaring drunk – having an open bar for a bunch of musicians and junkies is a mistake, just FYI – and Kim actually passed out on top of the ice sculpture. He sort of stumbled into it, knocked it over, and was out cold on top of it. Almost looked like he”d passed out trying to hump the thing. Then he just laid there in a puddle of melted ice and everybody danced around him, dodging the wet spots.”
I stifled a laugh as he went on.
“He came to, soaking wet, tried to stand up and give a toast, called me a bastard, then threw up all over his tux, threatened to punch everybody”s lights out, then passed out again.” He sighed. “After that the party was pretty much over. I got so blitzed, trying to forget how mortifying the whole thing was, that I barely remember my honeymoon.” He turned to me with a smile.
“Christ,” I said, embarrassed for him.
“Yeah,” he said. “At least you don”t have a wedding story like that to contend with, despite whatever came after. I”d love to get married at a peaceful spot like this, out on the beach.”
I hesitated, then said, “There”s another reason, too, that I don”t like coming out here much anymore. I…. almost got struck by lightning here. Last year.”
He looked at me in surprise. “Holy shit! What happened?”
“I came out here to run one Saturday,” I said. “I could see that it was going to storm, but Tess and I were arguing, and I just wanted to get out of the house. I didn”t get a mile down the beach before the rain let loose. I hadn”t brought a slicker or anything, so I got drenched. I was trying to make my way back to my car when the thunder and lightning started up.” I thought back to that day, remembering the ominous gray of the sky, the huge, fat storm clouds directly over my head, and the tumultuous churning of both the sea and my heart. That had been the day I”d begun to realize that my marriage was ending, and my usual level-headed, cautious attitude toward bad weather had taken a backseat to my heartbreak. “I was almost at the dunes that mark the entrance of the trail, and I turned one more time to look at the water. I”ve always liked the way it churns during a storm, bringing all the debris onto the shore, all dark and frothy.”
“Like a purging,” Phillip said thoughtfully.
“Exactly.” I nodded. “I watched it for a second, caught up in the beauty of it, but then I noticed there was a man down the beach, several yards away. He was running too, I guess trying to get back to his own car. But then he stopped and was just standing there, looking back at me, like he was frozen. I called out to ask him if he needed help, but he couldn”t hear me – the rain was so loud, and I was far away. Then there was this massive thunderclap that shook the ground, and it started to hail. I turned and ran toward the dunes to my car, giving up on trying to help the guy - but just before I hit the trail, the lightning struck less than a foot away. It hit one of these pieces of driftwood and split it in half right in front of me.”
“Damn,” Phillip breathed. “That”s insane.”
“I don”t think it hit me – I”d be dead – but I swear, I could feel the electricity, thrumming in the ground and in the air around me. The force of it knocked me into the sand, and when my fingers went into the dirt, it shocked me. I felt it jolt through my hands. Somehow, I managed to scramble back up and get to my car, but I was shaking like a leaf.” I shivered. “If I”d been holding onto that piece of driftwood, I”d have been smoke.”
“Sounds like you used up one of your nine lives,” Phillip joked, but his face was grim.
“And I used another one last night, when I got run off the road,” I said. “Now I”m down to seven.” I realized as I said the words that Phillip had the number “7” tattooed on his arm. I felt a chill and wrapped my arms tighter around myself.
If he saw the significance, too, he gave no sign. “I”m glad you”re okay,” he said softly. “It”s pretty fitting, your name – Stormy - isn”t it? There”s always a storm raging around you.” Then he was silent, staring out at the water.
After a moment, I felt a need to fill the silence, to put my thoughts at bay. “Do you think it will be hard?” I asked. “Giving up your old life? Fame, fortune, being up on the stage?”
“Right now, it”s the last thing in the world I want,” he answered honestly, still looking out at the water. “Whether or not that”ll change, I don”t know. I hope not. It was fun, playing music. It was my dream once, and I was lucky enough to see it come true. But with all that shit comes the drinking and drugs, and the fractured relationships, and the fish eye lenses, you know? By the time I died, my life was a shell of what I”d thought it would be. I didn”t know who I was anymore. By that point I didn”t even want it.”
I was silent, watching him stare out at the water. The wind blew his hair into his eyes, but he didn”t push it away.
“It”s like being on a rollercoaster, but long past the point of being fun. And you keep telling yourself ”this is fun, this is fun, it”s a ride” – you know, like the Bill Hicks quote?” I didn”t, but I nodded. “But you”re really ready to go home. You”ve got a stomachache and you”ve ridden it for hours and you just want to go home. Go back to normal. But you can”t get off the ride once you get on. Not unless you just jump.”
“Is that what you did?” I asked softly, reaching out to touch his shoulder. “You jumped?”
He paused. “In a manner of speaking.”
“What do you miss the most?” I asked. “About that life?”
“I don”t think I”ve been away from it long enough to miss anything,” he said, then added, “I miss my bass. It was custom made – I spent years on it. Designed it, built it, painted it, spent years customizing my pedal board.”
“I know,” I said. “I”ve seen it in the guitar mags.”
“I wonder who ended up with it,” he said. “I doubt it sold at auction or anything. I was never famous enough for that.”
“Not true,” I said with a snort. “It did sell at auction. I can”t remember who got it, but it was in the hundreds of thousands. It was a charity thing. C”mon, Phillip. You have a cult following now. Your fame rose exponentially after your death.” It touched me how humble he was, how he didn”t seem to realize how much people loved him.
“I guess that makes sense,” he said. “Thinking back to, like, Morrison, Lennon and all. But it’s weird to think about. I don”t hold myself in the same esteem, you know.”
“You deserve it,” I told him. “Fame and adoration. Even if you had to die and rise again to see it.”
He laughed. “That”s such a weird sentence.”
“Well, you”re a weird guy.”
We both stood, sliding off the large piece of bleached driftwood, and began to walk down the beach. The sand was gritty in my shoes, so I reached down and took them off, and Phillip did the same, sitting down on the damp sand to remove his laced-up combat boots. He rolled up his black jeans and I chuckled to myself, watching him – this tall, goth drink of water carefully rolling up his pants so he could walk in the surf. It occurred to me that a moment like this might never happen again, so I took a mental snapshot of him, sitting there in the sand, heavy, dark boots sitting beside him, his long fingers deftly rolling up his pant legs, hair streaming around his face. “You”re so handsome,” I said softly, feeling overcome with an emotion I couldn”t identify. “All of this feels like a dream.”
He looked up at me with a slow, sexy smile, and pinched the skin of his arm. “Nope, no dream,” he said with a laugh, rising on his haunches and standing. “I”m as undead as they come, Stormy Spooner. I”m afraid you”re the real deal, a real-life necromancer. Fuckin” weird, huh?”
“Very fuckin” weird,” I repeated.
“What”s weirder is that I”ve never set foot in Georgia in my life until a few days ago, but I can”t shake the feeling that I”ve been here before, y”all.”
He stood there, grinning, then he pitched forward and enclosed me in an awkward but very warm hug. His arms were strong and warm and held me tight. I wrapped my arms around his neck and hugged him back, inhaling the woodsy, clean scent of him, feeling his tangled hair brush against my cheek. The sound of the water lapping up on the shore was behind us, soothing and calm.
He gave me one more quick squeeze and pulled away, his pretty green eyes catching the dull light. “I don”t want you to worry. We”ll figure all this shit out, and it”s going to be fine. I promise.”
“How do you know?” I asked as we began to walk along the water, our shoes left behind in the sand. “What if it”s all a giant clusterfuck and I”ve opened a huge can of worms and we have to somehow fix it?”
“I”ve already died,” he said. “What”s the worst that could possibly happen now?”