Spirits Read online

  She wasn’t entirely sure she was ready to leave Cape May though, and she envisioned a future living there. Going back to Montclair churned her stomach. The thought of picking up where she left off––if that was even possible––seemed like a huge step backwards. Cape May still offered a fresh slate. She’d just have to pull herself together.

  Tori unfurled her hair and shook out the remnants of the water. She looked into the bathroom mirror and saw someone who had hit rock bottom. Her face was drawn and haggard. Lines framed the sides of her mouth. Shit, she thought. It doesn’t get more rock bottom than waking up on the concrete, shitfaced and desperate. She shook her head at the memory. She wondered if she’d ever be able to forget, and then it occurred to her that she never wanted to forget. She needed to hold onto that memory so she’d never slide back there.

  Something clunked just outside the bathroom door, and Chris called out, “Hey, when you’re done, I’ll be in the car.”

  She turned on the faucet and splashed cold water on her face. The absence of nausea, the peace in her head, overwhelmed her and tears slid down her face. She smiled at her reflection.

  “Damn, you need to get a grip, woman,” she told the woman staring back at her.

  She gave herself a once-over and opened the bathroom door. It was time to take charge. She took a long walk down the hallway and out the front door.

  The Subaru idled, and Chris ducked down in the car for a second before reemerging. She got in. The heater seared her skin. She was starting to feel human again.

  Chris stared straight ahead throughout the ride to Rio Grande. His stoic silence unnerved her, especially after the way he poured his heart out to her in the hallway.

  The sight of the Rio Grande Unitarian Universalist Fellowship stabbed her heart. Yes, Bracken was an asshole, but it was the first time she’d felt anything for a man in a long time. The thought that she’d been betrayed scorched her still, and she wondered if she’d ever let anyone get close to her again. Maybe being alone was the best thing now. How could she even think about getting involved with someone until she could pull her shit together and get clean?

  Chris parked and dug around in the back seat for something. He jerked upright and said, “Oh, you can go on ahead. I’ll catch up with you. I just have to grab something.”

  Tori got out of the car and made her way to the metal double doors. She held back and waited. Chris rounded the corner with a brown paper sack tucked under his armpit. The doors clanked when she pushed through them. She held the door for him, and they descended the stairs together. The place smelled like cigarettes and casseroles.

  A few people sat in folding chairs when they entered. The same guy she’d seen in the sweater vest the last time she’d tried this now set a plate of sugar cookies on a long table.

  “Welcome,” he said with a broad smile. “We’ll be getting started in just a few minutes. Are you new?”

  Chris cleared his throat. “She is. I’ve been here a few times.”

  “Great! Well, we’re glad to have you.”

  Tori’s stomach ached. The thought of sitting up front, exposed and absolutely anything but anonymous, froze her.

  “We can sit in the back, if you’d be more comfortable,” Chris whispered.

  He led her by the arm to seats in the last row on the far left so they could make a quick exit if she needed a moment. The gesture comforted her. A few other people entered, the metal doors slamming behind them. Each slam made her jump.

  The man with the cookies jogged up to the podium.

  “All right, folks. Might as well get started. My name is Alex, and I’m an alcoholic. If you want, you can stand up and introduce yourself.”

  A woman in an oversized chambray shirt and a pair of ripped jeans stood up and said, “My name is Jane, and I’m an alcoholic. I’ve been sober for twenty-seven days. I began drinking when I was eleven and snuck liquor out of my parents’ cabinet. By the time I got into college, I was drinking every single day. I’m trying to stay sober because I found out a couple of months ago that I’m having a baby next spring. My doctor says I have a good chance of having a healthy baby, if I can just stay on this path.”

  A spattering of applause followed, Jane sat down, and a burly man in a car coat stood up.

  “Hey, my name is Stephen, and I’m an alcoholic. I’ve been sober for almost ten years. I started drinking because I lost my job during the recession back in ’08, and I just couldn’t get it together financially. We lost the house, and my wife left not long after that. It all kind of fell apart. And then I fell apart.”

  Heads nodded. Tori found herself nodding along, too. Stephen shuffled his feet and stuffed his hands in his pockets before he sat again.

  More applause rang out. It went on like this across the room like some sort of exposed confessional. The meeting leader was there to absolve them all and forgive them for their sins. Fear rattled Tori, and she didn’t know if she’d be able to stand up and confess when her turn arrived.

  The stink of smoke caught her attention, and she jerked her head toward the window. A man with stringy, gray hair sat by the open window, frigid air blowing in, puffing a cigarette. No one else seemed to mind or even notice. Tori looked at the faces in the room, really studied them. Not one person looked happy. Most of them looked absolutely miserable. She looked next to her and saw Chris; he shivered slightly and wore the look of a man who wished he could be just about anywhere else. He probably would’ve had a better time at an Ankara prison.

  A puddle of sweat gathered in her philtrum. She licked her lips and tasted the salt. The air coming in from the window chilled the sweat to her face, and she sucked in a deep breath. It eased some of her nausea. Her head still throbbed, and her hands jittered.

  Chris stood beside her and said, “Hi, I’m Chris. I’ve been sober for twenty-one years and seven months.”

  More applause. It pounded in her head like a mallet chipping away at her resolve. Her palms sweated.

  Chris slipped a warm, dry hand into hers and nodded at her. She stood up. Her knees felt wobbly.

  “Hi,” she said. Her voice cracked. “My name is Victoria. I’m an alcoholic. I need help.”

  The room was silent for a moment as her words settled. The applause built up. She sat and exhaled. The act of getting the words out freed her more than she believed it would.

  Chris looked at her and smiled. He put his hand back into hers and squeezed it. She felt more at ease.

  Chairs screeched as someone got up and poured a cup of coffee. The cigarette-smoking guy returned to his seat, reeking of tar and nicotine.

  Alex droned at the podium about choices. No one in the room seemed to be listening. The smoker sauntered back to the window, shoved it open, and lit another cigarette. Some of the platitudes were trite and obvious, but it occurred to her that if it was all really obvious, she probably wouldn’t be sitting there, wishing she could suck down the hand sanitizer in her purse.

  She crossed her legs and her foot twitched up and down. She sat on her hands, which would not stop shaking.

  “Does anyone have a success story they’d like to share with the group today?” Alex asked.

  Stephen stood up.

  “Some friends invited me out the other night. Everyone around me was drinking, but I just had soda. It’s the first time I’ve gone to a gathering where I knew there’d be alcohol in years. I wasn’t tempted.”

  More applause. It slammed her head. Would they just stop clapping already? She knew that sounded bitchy, but every little thing irritated her, and she couldn’t understand why. Stephen had every reason to be applauded. She pulled her hands out from under her and put her head in them. She hadn’t recalled a headache that rattled her so much. Her eyesight blurred from the pain. Nausea bubbled up, and she instinctively darted for the door in search of the bathroom. A chair screeched behind her, but she couldn’t turn around. She stumbled up the stairs and into a foyer where she spotted the restrooms. She slammed her way into one of the
m, unsure that it was even the ladies’ room. Vomit spewed forth just as she reached the first stall. It was all yellow bile, and another torrent followed along, this one tinged with red.

  The sight of blood startled her, and she hugged the toilet. Sweat clung to her hair, and it felt like the fires of Hell itself were steaming up from her sweater.

  She clutched the sides of the toilet and pushed herself up. Her stomach burned.

  “Tori? Are you okay?” A muffled voice called from the other side of the bathroom door. She wiped her nose with the back of her hand and turned to the sink. The automatic faucet came on, and she ran her trembling hands underneath it, gathering pools into her palms. The simple act of splashing her face felt like a spa day.

  She gathered up more water, slurped some in her mouth, swished it around, and spat. Slightly revived, she walked out.

  Chris leaned against the wall next to the door, and he snapped to attention as soon as she opened it.

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  “I think I’ll be okay. It’s like the worst case of the flu I’ve ever had.”

  “It’s withdrawal,” he replied. “Not fun at all. I know. I hallucinated for days when I quit drinking. Couldn’t leave my bed. I was constantly seeing … well, I saw people in my house who couldn’t have been there. It’s like living in a nightmare.”

  She stared at him, aghast.

  “I guess I’m not coming off as supportive, but I don’t want to give you the false sense of security that this is going to be an easy thing,” he said.

  The headache was thundering again, and her ears felt like they were clogged.

  “Come on,” he said, hooking her elbow with his forearm. “I’ll take you home. You could probably use something to eat, maybe some coffee. I make the best damned omelets you’ve ever had.”

  The idea of eating churned her stomach, but she didn’t resist. Food had been the last thing on her mind for weeks, and it might ease the pounding in her skull.

  He helped her into the car and closed the door for her. The paper bag was still tucked under his arm, and she wondered what he could be carting around as he crossed in front of the car and opened the driver’s side door.

  Chris sat down and the car shook under his weight. The paper sack rattled as he rifled through it. He tucked something into his lap and said, “I’m proud of you for doing this. And years ago, I told you to come in and get a copy of Wonder Woman. Do you remember?”

  Tori’s mouth dropped open. She remembered. The memory of that day had stayed with her for decades. It comforted her during the rockiest of days when her parents screamed and slammed doors. It gave her a standard for men when her father walked out and didn’t return for days at a time. It opened a curtain onto the kind of man fathers could be. She’d never have one like Chris, but it was enough to educate her on the wrongness of her family life. Chris made her feel safe.

  Even sitting in his car, a headache ripping into her skull and a puddle of sweat gathering in her clothes, she felt like he could save her. He slid a comic book into her lap. Wonder Woman stood atop the Invisible Plane. Batman, Superman, and Hawkman––there were others, but those were the only three she could recall by sight––surged ahead in midair to help Wonder Woman save the day.

  She stared at the Mylar-bagged, thirty-five-year-old comic. It was a special anniversary issue at that.

  “I can’t accept this,” she said, pushing it back toward him. “It’s got to be worth quite a bit.”

  Chris shrugged. “Nah. Not particularly. Mint condition, encapsulated, it’d probably fetch a hundred bucks tops at auction. But I want you to have it, because you are Wonder Woman. You’ve fought back at every challenge you’ve faced. Coming here today, taking that first step and admitting you have a problem, that takes courage. I promised you this comic all those years ago, and you should keep it.”

  He clutched the steering wheel and discomfort flashed across his face.

  “Are you all right?” she asked.

  He shuddered and said, “Yeah. Sorry. I could really use some food. Let’s get out of here.”

  CHAPTER 21

  The smell of frying eggs sent Tori bolting for the bathroom. Her head felt like someone smashed it in a car door, and her body shook as she hovered over the toilet bowl. Her stomach had already been depleted of all its contents. There was only the taste of acid left. Her muscles jerked as she dry-heaved.

  Once she was certain nothing was coming up, she stood and held herself steady against the countertop. The fragrance of coffee wafted in from the kitchen, and she eased herself out of the bathroom and down the hallway toward the soothing aroma.

  Chris stood over the stove, staring at the eggs in the pan as if they’d burst into flames if he didn’t monitor them constantly. Tori opened up cabinets until she found the coffee mugs and took one out. She poured herself a cup of coffee and inhaled the steam coming off of it. It smelled fresh and earthy. It tasted rich and delicate with the slightest chocolatey aftertaste.

  Chris flipped the omelet in the pan, and it sizzled.

  “Should be ready in just a few seconds,” he announced.

  Tori wasn’t particularly interested in food, but she’d try. Dishes clattered as he folded an omelet onto a plate. He sprinkled salt and pepper onto it and turned to face Tori. There was something not quite right about him. A fog wisped across his irises, something hazy. It chilled her blood.

  Chris walked around her and put the plate on the table. She sat with her coffee cup, put it down, and lifted a fork with a shaky hand to scoop up a mouthful of omelet. The eggs tasted buttery and delicious, even if she didn’t have much of an appetite for it.

  After about four bites, the nausea dissipated. Her head felt more like a standard hammer was smacking her in place of a sledgehammer. Chris sat down across from her and dug into his breakfast.

  “Any good?” he asked.

  “Yes. Thanks. I do feel a little better.”

  He stuffed a large chunk of eggs into his mouth and chewed loudly. Tori scrunched her nose involuntarily and put down her fork.

  “I think I’ve had enough,” she said.

  She stood and turned to see his back yard out the window. A tangle of vines wound its way around a rusted swing set. The place needed some serious landscaping.

  “Do you mind if I step out onto the back porch for a few minutes? I’m sweating so much. I just need some fresh air.”

  Chris said, “Oh, of course,” over a large chunk of half-chewed eggs.

  The French doors creaked when she pulled them open. The sun was already high in the sky, but the wind whipped through the trees and rustled the leaves. A chain on the swing set clanged against a metal pole. Tori walked barefoot onto the porch, feeling the splintered, rough wood against her feet. Gooseflesh raised on her arms. The salty air swirled through her hair and dried the sweat that clung to her whole body. She should’ve felt refreshed, but she just felt on-edge. She couldn’t shake the feeling that something bad was about to happen.

  A wisp of something caught her eye over by the hedges just beyond the swings. It was indistinct, but she could’ve sworn she saw a pair of eyes and the faint whorl of hair. She studied it as if it was an insect in amber. Before she could make out any features, it faded away. The prickling on her skin subsided. The fear that the nightmare of hallucinations wasn’t yet over froze her to the spot for a few seconds.

  Tori walked back inside, her skin now numb and cold. She shivered, but she couldn’t be sure if it was the change in temperature, fear, or the constant twitching she’d had to contend with for far longer than she cared to recall.

  Chris sat devoid of any expression, shoveling another forkful of eggs into his mouth. A ripple right at the fresh scar his bandage once covered held her attention.

  “Something the matter?” he asked. “Did you see her, too?”

  The question caught her off guard, and she didn’t say anything for a moment. “Her?” she replied.

  Chris scooted the chai
r back and took his plate to the sink. “No one,” he said. She studied him as he scrubbed the dishes. A tremor, slight at first, vibrated across his shoulders. She saw the rough hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. A dish smashed against the floor, and at first, she thought he’d deliberately threw it until she noticed the tremor had worked its way down his arms. He jumped back to avoid the jumble of ceramic shards. Tori knelt and picked up the few large pieces and tossed them in the trashcan. There was a broom right next to it, so she swept up the few remaining bits so Chris wouldn’t step on them. He stood, staring at the clean space where the debris had been scattered. The only movement came from the long, fish belly-colored scar that ran along his cheekbone and down to the corner of his mouth. Something beneath the flesh bulged and squirmed. Tori closed her eyes for a few seconds, unsure of what she’d seen.

  “Are you all right?” she asked. “You don’t look good at all.”

  Chris breathed in deeply and exhaled through his teeth. “I don’t know. I think I’m going to go lie down for a while. Are you going to be okay?”

  Tori shrugged. “Yeah. I’ll be fine. I’m probably going to rest a while myself.”

  She took up the task of cleaning the few dishes remaining in the sink as he padded down the hallway to his room and closed the door. The dirty window that looked out on the back yard over the faucet displayed smudges and ghostly strands of spiderwebs that cast a sinister pall over the unkempt yard. Through the knot of weeds, she spied locks of red-blonde hair. The cold sunshine spilled down upon it, and it sparkled like spun gold. A little girl dressed in a pair of burgundy pants and a long-sleeved, striped shirt sat on a swing, her back to the house. Tori dried her hands on a thin cotton towel, slipped her sneakers back on, and walked outside. The child rocked back and forth on the swing. Tori descended the steps to an overgrown pathway made up of flat rocks.