Page 8 of Strange Lights

“I’m sure we’ll be fine,” I say shortly.

He sits quietly for a long time, finishes his beer, never takes his eyes off the vacuum lying inert on the floor. I wonder what internal debate is raging inside him. He hides it well, but traces of it flit across his face.

“There’s something else,” he says. “I got a call from an unknown number. They mentioned you and Eldi. By name.”

My blood runs cold. “What did they say?”

“Just . . . it sounded like a threat. They disguised their voice, but why would they call me unless it was to warn me?”

“Calvin. What did they say?”

“They said, ‘She knows about Eldi. She’s looking for her. Tell Regina.’ And then they hung up. Does that mean anything to you?” His eyes meet mine, and I refuse to look away from his stare.

“Not really,” I say, my mind racing. I have a few theories. Calvin must have a few, too, and he’s clocked the use of my full name. No one uses that anymore.

“They said ‘she,’ though.” He seems almost to be talking to himself now. He looks up, worry written in every line of his face. “What’s the story with Eldi’s father?” he asks quietly. He looks guilty to even be asking. I think he’s made up his own story in his head about that. How off-base he is, he’ll never know.

It’s not the worst cover story, all things considered, so I roll with it.

“He’d take her if he found her,” I say slowly, making sure I consider what I’m going to say, trying to weave enough truth in order to cover the lies. To limit my lies, to keep my story straight. “I keep a low profile. It’s safer for both of us.”

And safer for you too, I add. But only in my head, because I can’t explain that statement easily.

“What about the rest of your family?” Calvin asks cautiously. “Your parents?”

“Not in the picture,” I say. I can’t hide the venom in my voice.

He watches me closely but says nothing more about family. It hasn’t escaped him that I coldly shut down any such inquiries. That I can’t hide my ire when forced to speak of them.

After a beat, he changes subjects. “I got an email today. Another vacuum malfunctioning, only a few hours south of here. I’m stopping. You in?”

I decide to loop Calvin in at least a bit. I can only hope the loop doesn’t turn into a noose.

“Only if we stop in Missouri as well. I got an email today too. There’s a kid’s tablet that’s apparently cursed.”

“Great, maybe it’s the start of the AI revolution,” Calvin says with a short laugh, not knowing he’s read my mind.

“Not funny,” I say, thinking of dead goldfish, popped tires, and scared cats.

The second vacuum is virtually indistinguishable from the first. It, too, seems drawn to Eldi, which makes me nervous, but they seem harmless enough so far. I rationalize that Eldi herself could be perceived as dangerous, but she isn’t unless you’re a goat. Perhaps the vacuums are only dangerous if you’re a goldfish. Or a car tire. I’m neither, so I pay double what the vacuum cost and waive my fee yet again to take it with us.

It’s late afternoon by the time we get to Missouri, where a flustered young mom of three tells me they bought the tablet online for cheap.

“I can’t find the website anymore, and I’m afraid this tablet is hacked or something. We can’t unlock it, and it keeps singing in foreign languages, making strange noises, I don’t know. And whenever my two-year-old picks it up, it flashes a light at him. I’m worried some weirdo online is taking pictures. But my mom says it’s something demonic cursing us, since we won’t go to church.”

“And you tried getting rid of it, but it keeps popping up?” Calvin says.

“How did you know? That’s the only reason I started to believe my mom’s right, that it’s cursed instead of hacked. It’s spooky how it sticks around. I tried calling the police. They laughed at me. I even tried to fill out some online reports to the FBI, anyone who might listen. But y’all are the only ones who would.”

Calvin tries to unlock the tablet, then inspects it for, I’m sure, a charging port. He gives me a meaningful look. There isn’t one.

“Do you have the charging cord?” I ask casually.

“It’s never needed to be recharged,” the mom says as she gets her youngest a snack.

“That seemed normal to you?” Calvin asks.

She frowns. “Now that you mention it, no, but⁠—” she begins, before another child distracts her.