Chapter 3 #2
“I’ll wait here,” she said when she parked in front of the store. Simon got out, carefully avoiding the door frame. Shanna’s friendliness got a touch too intense at times, and he wouldn’t mind having a moment for himself.
For what Ralph’s lacked in size, it made up in the sheer number of shelves, and for what it lacked in organization, it made up in the insane variety of products.
By walking down one aisle, Simon progressed from fishing rods to candy to books, all haphazardly stacked in rows or boxes.
There was no one else inside, just the teller—a teenage boy lounging behind the counter, seemingly bored out of his mind.
Simon picked up a pair of pants—it would be incredibly generous to call them slacks—and two shirts.
It might get cold at night, but he should be out of here before then.
As he strolled further away from the exit, looking for the tech section, something yanked on his wrist, jerking him toward the door.
He whipped around. Nothing. No one. He shook his hand; it was fine now.
Maybe he’d imagined it, but—there, the phones!
They were displayed on a shelf by the counter.
Simon hungrily took in the selection, the familiar blue-and-black packaging design catching his eye.
He lifted the phone and brushed his fingers over the plastic protection.
Ariose 15A. A whole new model. He’d missed an entire series. Oh, it was beautiful. Still folding, so the glass composite for the screen must have worked. Brushed aluminum casing on the back, and they were closing in on the edgeless design he’d discussed with Everett before Vegas.
Simon swallowed, unsure of what he was feeling—sadness, regret, even, that his company had made an entire new series without his supervision, or pride and happiness, that even while he was gone, everything was still working perfectly, and they’d arrived at a product he’d be satisfied with.
In the end, happiness won. Simon took the clothes and the phone and went to the counter.
“This, and a prepaid SIM card, please.” That would do until he got home and sorted out his life.
He dug through the wallet that was supposed to be his.
A bit of cash, and his credit cards were still there, alongside …
Bungee Jumping Club Card? Paragliding? A confirmation of a free fall flight?
What the fuck had that man been doing in Simon’s body? Was he insane? Was he trying to kill himself?
As Simon looked up, ready with the credit card, the boy was gawking at him, a mild interest flashing in his lazy stare. “Hey, you look like the dead guy.”
“Excuse me?”
“The, uh—” The boy snapped his fingers. “They were talking about him on TV. Tech guy—Simon Montague! That’s him.”
Simon’s heartbeat doubled. “What?”
“Yeah, look.” The boy gazed up at the small TV mounted on the wall and changed the channel until it stopped on a close-up of a woman in business attire, explaining something to a sea of recorders and phones.
Martha Lewis. The PR representative for Aries Tech.
“What more can you tell us about Mr. Montague’s death?” a reporter said off-screen.
“What? No! I’m not dead!” Simon yelled toward the TV.
“I cannot disclose all the information yet,” Martha said. “But so far, we can confirm with absolute certainty that there was no foul play at work. A few years ago, Mr. Montague suffered a car crash …”
“Was the public ever notified of that?”
“At the time, we didn’t think it was necessary,” Martha responded in a calm, even voice. “Seeing as the injuries were only minor.”
“What do you mean, minor? I died,” Simon snapped.
“However, it is possible some injuries were overlooked, which led to a delayed reaction and Mr. Montague dying of natural causes.”
“Once again, I’m not dead!” Simon realized how stupid he was, arguing with a TV screen, and he looked back at the kid.
He was staring at him wide-eyed, mouth hanging open with a half-chewed gum.
Simon sighed, picked up a packet of Jolly Ranchers from the display at the counter, and put it on top of the clothes. “That’ll be all, thanks.”
***
Shanna was happily drumming her fingers on the steering wheel in time with Belinda Carlisle’s Leave A Light On when the passenger door swiftly opened, and Simon plopped down on the seat. “They think I’m dead.”
“Huh?”
“Everyone in my company—and therefore, everyone in the world—thinks I’m dead.”
“Except for me,” she said, until the true meaning of the words caught up with her. “Wait, why?”
“I don’t know. It must be a mistake.” He fiddled with the packaging of his phone, then finally fished it out and turned it on. Aries’s logo came up on the screen above a loading bar. “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”
“Should I drive us back home?” Shanna asked uncertainly.
“Yeah, yeah.” Simon waved in her general direction, eyes still glued to the phone screen. “When I’m back, we need to make the system load faster.”
Shanna decided to ignore his attitude. It was fine. He was stressed, and people didn’t behave as nicely when stressed. And after Simon’s recent ordeal, he had every right to be anxious. Especially if false news reports were spreading through the media.
By the time they got back to her house, the system on Simon’s phone had booted up. Shanna went to clear the dining table of her crafting stuff. Simon rapidly tapped a number into the phone and set it down on speaker while he dressed in a light blue shirt.
“Aries Tech, Everett speaking,” a male voice sounded out.
“Everett!” Simon grabbed the phone. “It’s me!”
“Excuse me, who is this?”
“Me! Simon! Everett, I’m not dead! I don’t know what’s happened, but—”
Everett cut him off. “Look, whoever you are, this isn’t funny.”
“No, no, it’s really—”
Click. Simon frowned at Shanna, his Adam’s apple bobbing. He dialed the number again.
“I won't be responding to pranks.” Everett hung up.
“Call someone else?” Shanna suggested.
“Yeah. Yeah, good idea,” Simon said, and she hated that she felt proud, like she’d been noticed and her achievements acknowledged.
He dialed another number; this time, the reception. Same thing—as soon as he introduced himself, the receptionist thought it was a prank. He called more people with the same results, typing in numbers so rapidly Shanna could barely follow him.
“You know all the phone numbers by heart?”
“Of course I do,” he said, not looking up from his phone. “It’s my company.” He set down the phone and hid his face in his hands, letting out a tired sigh. “It’s my company, and nobody will answer me.”
The way his voice hitched up at the end, Shanna had to physically hold herself back—grip the backrest of the chair—to keep from going to him and trying to console him.
He wasn’t her Simon anymore. He was a stranger whose life she’d mucked up, then saved with the help of witches more competent than she was.
“Would a video call help? They could see it’s really you,” she tried.
He looked up. “Yes! Why hadn’t I thought of it?”
“It’s fine. You just woke up after a long sleep,” she said with an encouraging smile.
“Speaking of which, I should shave before I call them. They’ll never believe this”—he circled his finger around his heavily stubbled face—“is me.”
“Bathroom’s over there.” She sat down as he disappeared into it, only to be jolted back to her feet when, a minute later, the sound of crashing, yelling, and cursing came from behind the door.
Shanna rushed in. Simon was fine, but the metal shelves over the sink had collapsed, leading to a landslide of bottles and cans in the sink.
“I didn’t even touch it, I swear.” Simon lifted his hands. “This, and the car—it’s like I’m cursed.”
Shanna slumped her shoulders. “It’s not you. It’s me. I get bad luck.”
“What do you mean?”
“This.” She pointed at the mess in the sink. “It happens all the time. Things will break, or I’ll bump into them. Back in Vegas, my brief waitressing career was a long list of disasters. But I’m not sure why it’s suddenly extending to you.”
Simon glanced at a razor left on the sink. “I probably shouldn’t shave right now.”
“Probably not.” Imagine if, after all this, he cut himself and bled to death because of her bad luck.
“All right.” Simon checked his appearance in the mirror and brushed his hair back. “This will have to do.”
They returned to the kitchen, where he attempted a video call to Everett—only for a consistent beeping to announce the call couldn’t get through.
“They blocked me,” Simon said in disbelief.
He tried all the other numbers—nothing. “They’ve actually blocked me.
” He paced around the dining table. “Can I try your phone?”
“You can, but it doesn’t support video calls.”
“How the hell wouldn’t—” He paused as she handed him her worn-down brick of a phone. “This isn’t a smartphone.”
“It’s from this century, though.”
He only shook his head.
“The accidents accompanying my existence,” she said, “particularly extend to technology.”
“Hence the car. And the phone. And …” He turned around the room.
Shanna mustered a pale smile, watching him arrive at his conclusions.
No microwave, a gas stove, no TV—those usually had a lifespan of about two weeks with her—a house that was a complete antithesis to the CEO of one of the world's biggest tech companies.
Simon leaned back on the counter, closing his eyes. “All right. I’ll just have to physically plant myself at our headquarters, then. That should make them believe me. Could I get a car in town?”
She nodded. “At Joey’s Garage. But it might take a day or two to get one ready.”
“I’ll go ask them right away—I mean, if you could—”
She was on the verge of offering to drive him again, but stopped herself. Pitiful. He doesn’t want you as his wife anymore, so you’re going to be his chauffeur? No, she’d better get it in her head that Simon was leaving, and the sooner she started separating herself from him, the better.
“You can go.” She tossed him the car keys. “It’s down the road from Ralph’s. If you get lost, ask around. Everyone in town is very friendly.”
“Thanks.” He deliberated for a moment, then waved an awkward greeting and left.
So this was it, then. Simon would be gone tomorrow, and in a span of a few days to a few weeks, he’d forget her once more. Shanna sat down and rested her chin on one hand, absently petting Jinx who, for some reason, didn’t choose to follow his new best friend.
“At least you’ll never forget me,” she murmured to the dog.
Jinx yanked on her wrist.
“Hey!” She pulled her hand away, but there were no signs of teeth, and besides, Jinx never bit.
Instead, a faint brown marking of a tattoo appeared on her skin.
It went around her wrist, like a painted bracelet resembling a twisted rope.
An invisible force yanked her wrist again—precisely where the tattoo was—and the markings became clearer and darker, turning from brown to black.
The front door burst open as Simon held up his right hand. “What the hell is this?” The same kind of tattoo had appeared on his wrist.
The yanking stopped, so Shanna approached him. “I don’t know. It appeared on my skin, too.”
He narrowed his eyes. “You didn’t do some ‘ritual’ thing again?”
“No!” She threw her hands up. “Maybe it’s protection left over from the ritual that returned you to your body.”
Simon sighed. She couldn’t blame him for being fed up with all the weirdness. “I suppose we can figure it out later.” He headed back to the car, started it, and drove off.
At least for a few yards—and then Shanna’s wrist yanked again. Toward the car. It was so strong she nearly lost her balance; similar to when Jinx yanked on a leash when speeding after a bird spotted on a walk.
The car stopped. Simon got out. They stared at each other, motionless, like two cowboys at high noon.
Slowly, Simon took a step further away from her.
She got yanked again. In his direction.
“What in the…” My turn. Now she stepped back, almost to the door. Simon was yanked toward her. Her new tattoo still shone a clear black.
“I can’t get further away from you.” Simon marched toward her, bristling. “What is this?”
Ritual. Protection. The words repeated in her head until they settled into an answer. She’d never experienced it before, never done it for anyone else either, but she’d heard of such things. Not a ritual, not a spell.
“It’s a bond.”