Of Blood and Smoke

Chapter 10

TEN

Della

After talking with my dad’s doctors and Melinda once I got home, I knew the prognosis wasn’t good. There was no way dad could come home and get the level of care he now required. My heart ached, thinking of how I wished I could solve everything and knowing I was powerless to do so. My dad and I were very close, and he’d always done the best he could for me. I wanted to repay the favor—it was my turn.

As intimidating as my job interview was, I needed that job.

I’d done my best to put my past behind me. Ashley only knew bits and pieces; I’d never told her the extent of what had happened to me. She thought I’d only experimented with drugs and had no idea I went through around six months of hell. Six months and one week, to be exact, and just enough to end up with a criminal history after getting arrested a couple times. I’d never had the money to get my history erased and with it being so long ago, I’d thought it didn’t matter anymore.

Ashley had no idea Brett was helping pay for my father’s care or that he’d been the one to introduce me to drugs. Brett was a small-time drug dealer and a big-time asshole when it came to holding my past over my head.

I’d met him at a party in college and we bonded over our mutual love of eighties music and French fries after getting in a playful argument over which food stand down in Asbury Park, New Jersey had the best crispy potatoes.

We began hanging out nearly every day and then the tan, tall, and handsome man convinced me in a moment of weakness to try a painkiller pill when I’d had a raging headache that regular meds didn’t touch.

My mother had recently left us, disappearing one day out of the blue, while my father’s health declined. My status as a student was up in the air, our finances depleted due to medical bills, and my whole life in disarray. All of that, coupled with copious amounts of alcohol, and my downward spiral into pills and substances took root. I’d been beyond stressed out and very vulnerable.

The behavior was completely unlike me, but as I said, I was weak and drained. Brett continued to supply me with pills, and once in a while, powder. Then he started charging me for the chemical assistance.

When I couldn’t afford it anymore, he began keeping a tab and implied very subtly that if I was his girlfriend, I’d get my fixes for free. The tab turned into me sleeping with him fairly regularly to keep him from coming to collect. It wasn’t like there was no attraction between us or we didn’t enjoy each other’s company. I would’ve slept with him anyway.

To keep power and control over me, he’d been paying for half of my father’s visiting nurse bills.

The position I was in was a strange one because I knew how his manipulation was wrong, but he never did anything overtly bad to me and we were friends. He was sociable, funny, entertaining, got along with the few companions I had, and could even be described as kind. Even my dad liked him—and my dad had no idea I’d struggled with addiction. If he found out, it’d break his heart and surely kill him, and he didn’t need the added burden of that knowledge.

While I’d lied to the interview team earlier today about totally forgetting my drug habit, I hadn’t lied about just stopping and not looking back. That period of my life was an after-thought I didn’t focus on or even think of most days. I truly hadn’t remembered it when I filled out the application, it was that far behind me.

For whatever reason, I’d been able to quit without intervention and if I had to guess, I’d chalk it up to the devasting effects the whole ordeal would’ve had on my father. That was motivation enough.

I called Ashley again. “Hey, so it's not good with my dad. He needs to be in a facility.”

“Oh no, I’m so sorry. That’s what you thought would happen though, right?”

My closet door creaked loudly when I opened it. “I kinda knew. Didn’t want to, but I did. I’m trying to see what clothes I have if I get hired.” I shoved a bunch of hangers to the side and began flicking through.

“I have some stuff you can borrow if you need it. I don’t know about pants because you’re smaller than me but definitely shirts for sure,” she reassured me.

“I just might take you up on that. You still at work?” If I remembered correctly, she had a shorter shift at the call center today.

“I am. It's been slow. I leave for my interview in a little bit.”

Moving a handful of decent shirts to the front of my closet I said, “I better get this job because I have to call out tomorrow for my second interview. Let me know how it goes, don’t forget.”

There was a buzzing sound in the background. “I won’t. I gotta go, talk to you later,” Ashley said, hanging up to answer an incoming call.

Shutting my closet door, I checked the time. My dad had been at the hospital for several hours now. I messaged Melinda letting her know I was on my way.

Trudging back into my building's parking lot after getting off the bus, I let my sadness wash over me. My father wouldn’t be coming home anytime soon. It was warm outside, but a chill covered my skin thinking of his upcoming extended absence.

The hospital would be keeping him for a while, and I would be on my own. This time would be used to make sure I got the job at Ipomoea; there was no way I’d let myself fail my next interview.

Clouds blotted out the sun and a nice, cool breeze ruffled the leaves on the scant few trees in the area—three, to be exact. They bordered a basketball court where some people were playing, the orange ball shooting through torn net before hitting the ground with a rubber echo bouncing off the concrete. I felt like the projectile I watched, just bouncing around and hoping my safety net would be repaired in the form of a high paying job.

Sirens sounded in the distance, and I punched in my code at the door before stomping up the stairs to my apartment. Tossing my keys onto the wall-mounted holder, I seated myself at the table. My dad should’ve been here boiling a hotdog or pouring liquid cheese over some broccoli and telling me to go “play with your friends.” I was an adult, but I was still very dependent on him, on his company and just knowing he was here.

He’d been in the hospital many a time before, but this time was different. He very likely wouldn’t come back if he needed a higher level of care. Seeing him near lifeless in his hospital bed, pale and wan, surrounded by machines and wires and knowing there was no reversing it hurt my soul. He had no idea I’d even been there.

The facility’s gift shop had a decent assortment of cards, so I’d bought one and left if for him on his bedside table. He was in a vegetive state, but I still had hope he’d recover and get to see the card and know I was thinking of him.

I spent the rest of the day reading a romance novel, eating potato chips, and trying to not obsess over my father.

The past twenty-four hours had been exhausting and I wanted to be well-rested before my follow-up interview at Ipomoea Pharmaceuticals, so I went to bed and didn’t bother with dinner.

I tried to think about anything but my dad and mentally went through my whole wardrobe trying to put outfits together. Something that would be perfect for the higher-paying job I had my fingers crossed for. Finally, I had an outfit in my head picked out to wear—black pants, black heels, and a navy-blue button-up shirt with lace detailing. It’d have to do.

When sleep finally claimed me, it was restless. I tossed and turned, frequently waking up. I tried to roll over for the millionth time, into sweet oblivion, when suddenly I was trapped on my back as if I’d been tied down.

Paralyzed, I moved the only part of my body I could and tried to scan the room. The air had a blurred quality again, almost like peering through water or a thin layer of smoke.

My heart was pounding in my chest, rebelling against the foreign sensation of not being able to move a single muscle. I tried to relax enough so I could think, my automatic response having been sheer panic.

Underneath the sound of the blood rushing in my ears I heard rustling, the sound of something or someone moving. There was a black mass to my right, just enough outside my line of vision to be barely identifiable as a figure.

I recognized the sound of my cellphone being placed on my nightstand.

Focusing on my arms, I pulled as hard as I could. There was no reason I should be glued to my bed, and I didn’t understand what or why this was happening. As soon as I was free, I was going to Google being frozen and awake in bed, I couldn’t live like this. If I could understand it, maybe I could stop it.

My arms were not listening to me, and I was getting more scared. What if this became permanent at some point? Suddenly, it felt like my arm broke free. I could feel it moving, but not see the motion. Instead, I was staring at my arm lying on the bed even though I could feel it going up and down. What was happening to me? Was I dead? How was my arm moving but not moving?

Terror filled me and my heart started pounding so hard I just knew I was going to die of a massive coronary attack in my sleep. It felt like I was choking as my blood turned to ice, washing from my head down to my toes before receding. My first thought went to my dad and how this would kill him if everything else didn’t.

Stress induced heart attack?

I was beginning to wonder if I had died and was now having a panic attack in the afterlife and that heaven was bullshit. I couldn’t feel my lungs, but I tried to take deep breaths anyway. What were you supposed to do when you were dead? Finding myself trapped on a mattress had never entered my mind as a side effect of having left the land of the living.

My bed shifted, and I slid my gaze toward where I sensed the motion. How was I feeling the things happening around me but not my own body? Nothing made any sense.

The black cloak with a silver zipper was back. The faceless man. My lips tried to form words, but I could only hear them in my mind. The figure moved a little bit, and I saw the man holding my journal open. It’d been in the drawer of my nightstand. He flipped a page, obviously reading it.

Humiliation and panic tore through me at the sight of my privacy being violated. Not even Brett had ever gone so far as to go through my personal things. My arm, the one that felt separated from my body, swung out trying to punch him in the shoulder and make him stop but it went right through him as if he weren’t there. The only sign that I had any effect on him was the turning of his head.

He still had no face. Just the hood with dark hair sliding forward and the impression of a man. If there was such a thing as auras, this man’s would have been unbelievably powerful, and so alluring it was deadly. It felt like I was being sucked into his orbit with promises of dark and delicious unforgettable sin.

Was there sex when you were deceased? Surprisingly enough, even though I was paralyzed, embarrassed, and possibly, probably dead, desire lit my blood on fire.

My invisible arm fell back to the bed when I heard him snap the journal shut. He then stood up, towering over me.

This is how I die for real.

If this was death the man must be here to drag me to hell.

But is hell supposed to feel so seductive? What the hell was wrong with me? Even without seeing a face, I just knew he was beyond beautiful. I had no explanation for feeling that way and zero excuse for how the space between my thighs dampened just by being near him.

Well, okay maybe because the last time he was here he ate me out like a man dying of thirst in the desert. If I’d been able, I was positive I would’ve started crying from shame.

My pulse was racing as he climbed over me, caging me in. I was powerless to resist while his long fingers smoothed my hair back from my face with the gentlest of touches. There was nothing I could do when I felt his soft lips skate down the side of my face and skim along my neck before he nibbled at my collar bone.

In my head, I was screaming. “Who are you, who are you?” The words never left my mouth though I could sense the vibration in the air.

When I tried to lift my arm free again, it didn’t work. I couldn’t figure out what the difference was, this time. Whoever this man was, it seemed he had the power and authority to keep my body immobilized. It scared me to think what that could mean. Was he some kind of demon? A figment of my imagination?

“Are you some kind of hallucination?” I asked him, feeling the soft fabric of his head covering drag along my chest. I could’ve sworn I heard a low laugh from the stranger in response to my question. “I’m dreaming all this up.”

“No, Little One, you’re not imagining me.”

My heart slammed against my ribs. He heard me .

Can you hyperventilate when you’re not really breathing?

“Shhh...” The man attempted to quiet me, to soothe me. I felt his gaze while he rubbed his thumb up and down my neck. My eyes closed, seemingly of their own accord and it felt like I’d somehow nestled back inside my body, cocooned under his spell. A sigh left my lips, nearly waking me when I realized I physically heard the wisp of air leave my mouth.

Sleep pulled me back under, wrapping me up in its darkness.