33. Clark
THIRTY-THREE
CLARK
If Olly’s hair blowing around on its own wasn’t unnerving enough, the snowstorm in the studio was getting worse.
And the levitation? That was just unexplainable and awe-inspiring.
I slowly advanced on Olly, and put a hand on each of her arm, gripping her as hard as I dared.
For all I knew, she had no idea who I was, so I moved slowly but deliberately.
I gave a pull, hoping she would naturally come to the ground like something filled with helium when you gave it a tug, but she seemed stuck somehow.
I motioned for Shepard to take her left arm with both of his hands, leaving me free to just focus on the right.
I mouthed a countdown from three, Shepard nodded, and we pulled, and this time she descended onto the wet floor.
Speaking of wet, I asked carefully, “Bea? Thank you for making this beautiful snow for us, but it might ruin the portrait that your... father... made. Can you make it stop? And clean it up so it’s nice and dry and snug in here? We don’t want anyone getting sick.”
As if by the most disturbing magic ever, Olly’s hair went back down, energy stopped crackling from her, and she collapsed into my arms. The snow was gone, completely evaporated like before, as was the apple juice and glass on the floor.
When I looked around for where the glass had gotten to, I noticed a new addition to the room: on the windowsill was perched a vase made up of fragments of blue glass, just awaiting flowers.
Then, as if spoken by a breath of wind, the message, “I’m sorry, Daddy. You too, Papa.”
This time, the amber liquid in the plastic cup Shepard held was definitely not apple juice. He took an enormous gulp and looked bereft. “It’s all true then? Psychic powers, ghosts, vampires, werewolves, Frankenstein’s monster, the fucking FLY!”
“Whoa, Shepard, relax,” Olly said, and cringed, knowing that the least surefire way to get this man to relax was to tell him to relax.
I, on the other hand, was lying down on the couch, with Olly snuggled up on my chest, one of my hands on their baby bump, and their feet up on a pillow.
They didn’t remember the events from earlier, not since Bea had taken over.
We thought the best thing to keep this from happening again was to remain as calm as possible, and to keep Olly away from the portrait until after Bea was born.
Shepard wanted us to have it, but we could keep it in storage for the time being.
Well, technically he said, “take it away,” but I preferred to look at the positive side of that.
“I think we can backtrack a bit on your list, man,” I said.
“Psychic powers, ghosts, yes, we know those are real. But vampires and werewolves? It’s got to be a no, right?
Think about it. We’re talking about the power of the human brain, rather than movie monsters, here.
And I think the real monster in the book was Dr. Frankenstein himself, for making the creature, don’t you, Olly? ”
“Yeah, of course,” Olly said, wonder filling their voice as we both saw Shepard was actually calming down. “And The Fly was just a movie. A scary movie, but it can’t hurt us.”
Shepard sighed, and put his head in both of his hands. “You know when I’m going to die, don’t you?” He stared Olly down and I knew there was no way they could deny him the truth when he came right out and asked.
“Yes,” Olly whispered, pushing back into me for comfort and strength. “Do you want to know, that’s the question.”
“Why the hell not,” Shepard said, downing what was left in his cup and letting out an impressive burp.
“You have a bucket list,” Olly started, trying to be as delicate as they could so as not to upset their...
magic baby, which apparently is what The Organization lackeys called Beatrice.
“You want to go to India. Visit the orphanage you were adopted from and see for yourself if there are any records of your biological family. You never wanted to be Shepard Smythe, and you aren’t even sure of what your ‘real’ name is.
And you trace your family back here, to Montréal of all places in the world.
They immigrated like, just a few years ago, I think.
I’m sketchy on them, on their names, on the immigration.
I’m sorry. I can’t pull things, information, from thin air.
That’s not how my abilities work. You know, I have replayed your death countless times in my head, and no matter how I try to intervene, you still wind up in that damn city and you still get mugged by that kid.
In the most common scenario, he stabs you, and you bleed out in the street. ”
Tears welled up in their eyes, and they put a hand up over their mouth to contain sobs.
I saw them working to control their breathing, and then was able to talk.
Olly’s voice took a bit of an odd tone, like she was delivering prophecy without drawing it, but in words.
“It’s winter, quite late at night. It’s snowing, the big kind of flakes.
And cold like only Montréal seems to get—so damn cold that it sucks the moisture out of all your exposed skin.
You’re up against a building, lying down so the few passersby there are think you are homeless and sleeping, or passed out on drugs, or they just don’t care.
You die alone, Shep. And I try to stop it, I swear, but you are so goddamned stubborn!
” By this point, she was almost yelling, and I watched as he bit his bottom lip and nodded his head.
“Yeah, I’m stubborn, and you can’t back off, even when requested,” he fired back. “Like, ever. Just tell me when, okay? How long do I have?”
“You have a full and rewarding life if you just stay away from Montréal. How many times do you think we will fight over this?”
“The moment I find out where my birth family is, I’m going to them. I don’t care about the season, I care about hugging my mother and father. I care about learning my birth name, about learning the stories of my family, even relatives who have passed away.”
“And what about the relative you have here, who has yet to be born?” Olly spoke with such despair, yet frustration. They seemed to be at a stalemate, until Olly continued. “About five years,” they said, wiping their tear-soaked face messily with the shirt they’d slept in.
“Then I better get started if I want to make it back here to see Bea start pre-kindergarten. Mumbai, that’s not a short flight, nor a small place to explore.
” He smiled at us, and then dropped to his knees and crawled over to the couch.
He put both of his hands on the bump that contained our sleeping little Bumblebee, and Olly and I added all of our hands.
We were all her parents now, I knew, and she would always have all of us, in some way.
Olly pulled up their shirt a bit, and Shepard leaned down, kissed their belly, and nuzzled his beard into it, tickling Olly and making them laugh through their tears.
I swear I heard the echoes of a little girl laughing, too.
There was a time when I’d think that weird, but after everything we’d been through, an unborn child or the ghost of a dead one laughing along with us was nothing to get worked up about.
“I’ll pack up the portrait and send it to your new place on the waterfront?
Just give me one more day for it to dry fully. ”
“That would be great,” Olly replied. Shepard then moved and kissed them gently on the mouth, then moved up a bit and surprised the hell out of me by kissing me too, mostly on the mouth. I think he was aiming for full-on but I moved slightly at the last minute, not anticipating what was coming.
“Thank you. Thank you for never letting her—Bea—forget who I am, because I know you never will” he said, and rose to his feet.
“Shep!” Olly said, in what was a desperate tone.
“Don’t go to Montréal, ever. Invite your relatives here, when you find them.
Please, I’m begging you, just try. Try to stay away, and I promise I will pay for everything to bring them here for as long as they want to stay.
Please, my dearest friend...not for me, not even for yourself, but for Bea.
Think of her. Think of how you are her only connection back to India at this point.
” This was met with silence, Shep’s hand was placed on Olly’s cheek for a long moment.
I got the distinct impression that we’d worn out our welcome, especially when he had to pack.
Olly tapped my hand a few times, and I moved out from behind them, and helped them up, too.
Shepard had made up his mind, and Olly had delivered what I’m pretty sure was even more than one of their drawings in its inevitability.
It was time to go home and face the mess of The Organization.
We decided to start unraveling the web that Edward Dearest weaved by first grabbing Becky from my apartment, making time for Olly to shower and change into fresh clothes.
That was the plan, anyway. It seemed that before I even knew what was happening, we had walked to the car, driven home at top speed, used my pass on the elevator, and were inside her apartment shedding our outerwear in the foyer.
Shoes, toques, jackets rained down on the floor around us, and we laughed as Olly stripped her sweater off and reached for mine, yanking it up and around my head, adding to the clothes pile.
This was the first time I saw so much of her bare, the navy bra cutting across white skin, and it was still enough to drive me crazy.
She wasn’t faring much better, running her hands up and down my pecs and abs, and then over my upper arms like she was exploring new territory. I suppose she was.