Page 90 of Succubus

No. I wrench backward, erasing the step I took.

Al is right. I can’t let myself see Joel again.

Al is probably somewhere behind me now, winded and limping in the shadows. Or maybe he’s frighteningly fast, like me. Maybe he’s gliding along. He might be right here, only paces away, watching me.

I startle, spin back toward the sidewalk, sprint toward home. I shake out my hands as I run. I’ve been clenching them into fists, as though holding on with all my might to something that doesn’t even exist.

When I open the front door, Dee pokes her purple-capped head out of the kitchen, surprising me.

“What are you doing up?” I ask her. She always takes her sleeping pill.

“Bizarre nightmare.” She shakes her head. “It was about you, actually.”

“Oh yeah?” I say warily. I don’t want to know.

“Yeah. You were turning into this . . . monster?” She laughs, gestures for me to follow her into the kitchen. I take off my shoes slowly. “Your eyes turned red,” comes her voice. “Like in a horror movie. Really cheesy. You were going to kill us. So creepy. Sorry. What were you doing outside?”

I come reluctantly into the kitchen. “Couldn’t sleep. Went for a run.”

She squints at me. “A run? At night? In the cold?”

I shrug.

“Are you okay, T? I feel like you don’t want to talk to me anymore.”

I don’t think I can deal with this right now. “I’m fine. I should go to bed.”

“Wait.” She holds out a quart of mango sorbet. “Want some?”

Yes. And I also could go for a damn steak. I wave her off. Not a good idea to talk.

“Are you still feeling healthy?”

I pace for a few seconds, open the fridge, shut it again. I can’t remember if I nodded just now or acknowledged her question in any way. I want to leave, but Dee wants me to stay. She says, spooning sorbet into her mouth, “I know this is weird, but it’s been really nice having Al around. I just automatically trust him. Ella really likes him, too.”

“Yeah.” I sigh.

Dee narrows her eyes at me. “Okay, I’m going to just be real with you.”

Damn it.

I wait.

“Are you feeling like you’ve moved beyond your depression? It seems like you’re on the right track. But you’re not telling me anything.”

“I can’t tell you anything,” I say before I can stop myself. This is the problem with it being late at night. I get too honest.

She blinks, sets the spoon down. “What? Why not?”

“Because you wouldn’t believe me, Dee.” Stop talking, I tell myself.

“Excuse me?” Her face closes. I know what she’s thinking. That this means I’ve been hiding my delusions from her.

“Never mind,” I snap. “I need to take a shower.”

“No!” She holds up her hand like a traffic cop. She’s always been the authority in this house, in our family. “Tell me what the hell you’re talking about. Is it more of this . . . curse stuff?”

“It doesn’t matter.”