A Boat Made of Bone (The Chthonic Saga) (14 page)

Ferg was off at five but chose to stick around. Kate glanced in his direction, feeling a surge of pity for him. He stayed at the store when he didn’t have to because he had no other life. Or rather, his life
was
the store, which was why it was such a sad prospect for all of them that Darryl was planning to close it.

Starting around seven, the customer traffic slowed down. At least, people who came in to shop for music became rare, and what filled the rows of cellophane wrapped vinyl, worn cassettes, and used CDs was the ever cycling body of regulars. Tonight, Zach and Anthony came in at 7:30 and pretended to shop, though they were both there to see Ferg.

Kate sighed, longing for time alone to think, to maybe figure out a way to stop the dreams. She needed answers!

As she tried to tighten the swirl of price-gun tape, Kate absently listened as the lanky Anthony with his emo-black hair made the mistake of bringing up a new tattoo he was planning to get. Kate stopped what she was doing to stare.

“This again? We’ve been over this, Anthony. So you want to permanently mark yourself with an ugly tattoo, is that it?” Zach asked, running his fingers through his dark red hair and letting out a long-suffering sigh.

“What’s wrong with it?” Anthony asked, his jaw sticking out in a defensive angle.

Ferg butted in before Zach could answer. “Everything! You always get these stupid tattoos that only mean something right now. You think you’ll really be into 311 in ten years?” His voice was toned the way it got when he waxed philosophical. Kate rolled her eyes and looked back at the price-gun.

“Yes.” Anthony’s reply was as frank as his personality.

“If you are, you’ll be a total idiot, because I guarantee everyone else will think they suck. No woman, no job, nothing, all because of your lame 311 tattoo,” Ferg predicted.

“Exactly,” Zach pitched in, punching Ferg on the shoulder in a show of camaraderie. “I mean, I’m not saying 311 hasn’t had some good tunes . . . but they haven’t.” Zach laughed at his own joke, covering his mouth as though he were a shy little girl, and went back to his spot near the endcap on the L through R aisle. He relished being ironic all the way down to his gestures. Pantomiming everyone from the stereotypical high school girl to the egotistical college frat boy.

“So what, Zach, who do you think I should tattoo my back with?” Anthony asked, his brow furrowed in dismay.

“No one, man,” Ferg said. He stood with his arms draped on the top of one side of the wobbly metal detector by the entrance. 

The tape Kate tried to tighten was now falling out of the pricing gun. White stickers were peeling off in droves and some were stuck to her fingers. She bit her lip. She was so close to throwing it down and stomping on it.

Ferg continued loudly. “If you want to get a tattoo—which I think is stupid, personally, because I think all body art is pure shit—you ought to get something that will last forever. Like your girlfriend’s name. That’s eternal. It will never die.”

All of them stopped what they were doing and stared at Ferg, including Luke at the back of the store, who craned to see Ferg around a life-size cardboard cutout of Johnny Cash.

“I was joking,” Ferg said. Everyone exhaled in unison, swearing and laughing.

“Dude, I was about to punch you if you were serious,” Zach said.

Luke walked up the A through K aisle, shaking his head. He paused at the end of the row. “You’re lucky you clarified that, Ferg. I was just about to Stooge-slap you.”  

“Really? I’d love to see that,” Ferg said in a taunting voice. “You’d really break your pacifist vows just to hit me? What a shame!”

Kate rolled her eyes, frustration about the pricing gun mounting. The obnoxious conversation chewed at the fringes of her concentration.

Luke ignored Ferg and addressed Anthony. “Look, Anthony, I just want to tell you, the tattoo idea is stupid. But if you really have to get one, let me recommend a giant image of the Sublime sun from the 10-ounces cover.”

Kate looked up from the unwound strand of tape and saw Anthony studying Luke’s face. “Really?” the boy finally asked.

“Nah, I’m joking man. That would suck.” Luke laughed and shuffled back to the vinyl section he’d been organizing, clipboard in hand.
Luke is joining in now?
Kate thought in shock. She took a deep breath and counted to ten.

Anthony grimaced and flipped his dyed black hair off his forehead. “You guys suck.”

Kate dropped the price-gun to the floor and kicked it against the display cabinets. She put her hands on her hips and stared at Ferg, fuming. “Look guys, lay off, OK? Leave Anthony alone. If he wants to get a stupid tattoo, let him. He’s old enough to make decisions like that on his own. Even if it’s something he’ll regret when he’s sixty. Or forty. Or even the next day.”

“Thanks Kate,” Anthony said, lifting his chin.
Finally, someone was on his side.

“Whew, what’s got your panties in a bunch?” Ferg asked, a smile covering his face.

“Don’t start with me, Ferg,” Kate said in a chilling tone, her eyes flashing. “And don’t ever, ever use that disgusting expression on me again or you’ll wake up one cold morning with no eyebrows.”

“Damn, Kate, if you want me to fix the price-gun for you, just say so,” he said holding his hands out in mock surrender. He left his post at the door and joined her behind the counter. He picked up the gun, ejected the rest of the sticker tape, fished a new roll out of the drawer beneath the printer and put it in. He slapped the gun against the wall, plastering a bunch of price tags over a poster of Dave Matthews to demonstrate that his work was good. “See? Works just fine. Next time get my help before you waste an entire roll of price tags like that,” he said, grinning.

Kate opened her mouth to cuss him out for letting her work on it for so long without help, but a familiar face on the TV screen over Ferg’s shoulder caught her gaze. She gaped, no sound leaving her throat. Ferg’s brow knitted together as he stared down at her.

“I know I’m amazing, but you don’t have to be such a brat about it. A simple, ‘You’re the man, Ferg,’ will do,” he said.

Kate managed to close her mouth and swallow. Hard. The man on the TV screen was him. The man from her dreams.

“Kate, seriously, what’s wrong?” Ferg asked. He spun to exchange glances with Zach and Anthony. Their eyebrows rose and they shrugged, looking as stumped as Ferg.

“I’m not that impressed, if that’s what you’re getting at, Ferg,” Zach said.

“Me neither,” Anthony agreed.

“What show is this?” Kate pointed at the TV screen.

“Is that what’s got you speechless?” Ferg asked. He leaned on the counter. “Just a random cop show from the 70s. I bought it today from some guy with a huge Blu-ray collection. He was purging. This show is like pre-
TJ Hooker
and
CHiPs
. I thought it would be a good laugh. But it’s actually fairly decent. A thousand times better than
CHiPs
. Not that anyone even liked that stupid show.”

Kate couldn’t respond. She stared at the TV, watching the guy from her dreams strut around in a blue police uniform. His sapphire eyes tugged at her gut. His smile made a blonde Farrah Fawcett-type at a desk swoon and Kate recognized the feeling all too well.

“But—” she said, clearing the rasp out of her throat, “who—what’s the actor’s name? That guy. Who is he?”

Ferg’s gaze flicked up to the TV. He squinted. “Uh, I don’t know. Hang on.” He went around the counter to check the Blu-ray cover on the ‘Now Playing’ display. “Uh, looks like the utterly not-famous William Hawke. I’ve never heard of him.” Ferg stared at the case. “
L.A. Bluefire
. Oh wait, wait. I have heard of him. Yeah, my mom. She loved him. She loved this show, actually. I remember when he died, but only because she was oddly broken up about it. Weird.” He shook his head as he put the case back.

“Thanks,” Kate said, absently. She continued to stare, her heart thudding. She couldn’t pull her eyes away. She heard a clicking that echoed within her head like the sound of giant machinery locking together and beginning to spin.
Everything is in place
, she thought she heard. But it was so faint that it could have been something else entirely or her own overactive imagination making things up.

“What’s got into you, Kate? I’d say you were smitten, only you look like you’ve seen a ghost. Your face is like a Police song, all alabaster and such.” Ferg squinted at her. Zach and Anthony had melted away. Vaguely, Kate could hear them far away somewhere, razzing Luke. Sounds came to her as though from a distance. The banging of her heart against her ribcage echoed loudly in her head. Outside lightning flashed, startling her—the clap of thunder struck at the same moment as the flash.

“Shit,” Ferg cursed, jumping aside. He shrugged his shoulders and shivered visibly, over-acting. “That was close. Like right outside the door.”

The lights flickered and the TV screen went black as the PlayStation turned off.

Ferg turned and flipped it back on. “Kate, Kate? You alright?” he called over his shoulder as he navigated through menus with the controller.

The hair on the back of Kate’s neck stood on end. Chills swarmed across her arms. She shook her head, clearing her thoughts. “Uh, yeah. I’m fine. Thanks.”

“What the hell is going on? This bleeping storm is going to flood us,” Ferg mused aloud.

“Maybe,” Kate said. She couldn’t concentrate on Ferg or the store. Her thoughts repeated that name over and over like the rain against the store-front windows.
Will. That’s his name.
William Hawke. She touched her temple, shivered, and felt like it was right. So that was it. Will. The man in her dreams.

***

Abruptly, the front door swung open and in walked Ty, the chimes of the door lost in the roar of another thunderclap and the sound of tires swishing through pools of water on the streets outside. The odor of wet pavement swept toward her.   

“Kate, hey,” Ty said, turning to her. He approached the counter. His white T-shirt was speckled with rain and in one hand he carried a Salt and Sugar paper coffee cup. 

“Hi, Ty. Hello,” she said, her voice sounding distant and a hesitant smile forming. Another crash of thunder outside echoed the collision in Kate’s head of two worlds coming together. It was tantamount to a couple real-life love-interests stumbling upon each other in an unlikely and unplanned meeting.

Ty grinned and wiped the rain from his forehead. “So, uh, I was just in the neighborhood and I thought I’d come by.”

“Oh, yeah? Getting a coffee?”

“Right. Over at Salt and Sugar,” he said. “In fact, I brought this for you. It’s just an herbal tea. I didn’t know for sure if you were working tonight and if you weren’t, I’d have to drink it myself. So it doesn’t have any caffeine. Sorry.”

Kate took the drink, smiled, and sipped it. Peppermint. “Wow. That’s very cool of you. Thank you
so
much.”

Ferg stared at Ty with his arms crossed, while the guys in the back of the store had ceased conversing just to watch Kate and Ty. Kate backed onto the forbidden stool, trying to collect her thoughts and forget that she’d just discovered the identity of the man who was haunting her dreams. Gradually Zach and Anthony made their way to the front of the store, leaving Luke behind.  

“Oh, uh, this is Ty,” Kate said to Ferg. “Ty, this is Scott Ferguson. We call him Ferg.”

Ty turned and extended his hand. Ferg took it.

“How’s it going?” Ty asked.

“Great,” Ferg said. “So how do you guys know each other?”

“Kate shreds the routes at the gym where I work, don’t you Kate?” Ty said, giving her a crooked, playful smile.

“Ah, the climbing gym,” Ferg said as though everything finally made sense.

“Yep,” Kate said, feeling hot all over, especially her face. She could all but hear Ferg judging Ty. Kate knew that when Ferg got the chance, he would tell her what a loser Ty was and try to convince her he was a waste of time. That’s what Ferg did every time. Always. No one was ever good enough for Kate in Ferg’s opinion.

“So is that all you do? Hang at the climbing gym? Working on those muscles?” Ferg asked. Kate wondered if he realized it sounded like he was flirting with Ty rather than insulting him.

“Nah. The muscles are just good breeding. But I do tend to get a lot of climbing done while I’m there,” he shrugged. “I also help with marketing and other deals like that.”

“I see.” Ferg rubbed his chin. 

“Ty, um, hey, why don’t you walk me outside for a minute. I’m taking this out to the dumpster.” Kate pulled the mostly empty garbage sack out of the bin next to the front counter, suddenly anxious to get out of the store and rid herself of that feeling of having Will and Ty in the same room together. It was plaguing her like a cloud of buzzing locusts.

“No problem, sure. You have an umbrella?” Ty asked as they headed for the back door together.

“Uh, no, but that’s fine. I’m not made of sugar,” she joked.

He raised an eyebrow. “Not even a little? I somehow doubt that.”

She blushed, catching Luke glancing up from his clipboard. The wide grin on his face made Kate cringe and mentally curse him for not sticking behind the counter, where he should have been entering product into the online database Ferg started. They’d gotten permission to start some kind of web store.

Ty gently lifted the bag from her hand as they ducked through the back room. “Let me carry it, and no, not because I think you’re helpless.” He laughed as they pushed the door open and headed out into the downpour.

“Thanks. I’m not that threatened by chivalry,” Kate explained, raising her voice over the sounds of water gushing through the rain gutters and storm drains. Rain pelted her face and she lowered her head against it.

“Oh good. That makes it easier to be chivalrous,” Ty said, leaning closer to her as they crossed the pothole-infested road.

“Sorry about Ferg. He gets possessive and protective.” Kate stepped in front of him to lift the dumpster lid.

“No problem. It’s nice to have people looking out for you. I can handle him, though.” He chucked the sack of garbage in and Kate let the lid slam shut.

“He comes across as rude and surly, but once you get past that, he’s great. Well, I mean, mostly great. He’s got his drawbacks.” Ty took her hand and they hurried back to the store through the rain. A car turned into the wide alley, its headlights shimmering through the drops of rain. He’s holding my hand.
He’s holding my hand!
Kate repeated in her head.

“Thanks for the warning. So does that mean he’s single?”

“Why, are you into him?” Kate laughed awkwardly giving him a sidelong glance.

“That’s completely not what I meant.” He tightened his fingers around hers momentarily. The glimmer in his eyes gave away his mirth.

They paused beneath the small awning at the door and he dropped her hand. She tried to ignore the disappointment over that—
were my fingers too cold? Did he regret it? Was it like holding onto slimy slugs?

She cleared her throat. “Wait, let’s not rush back in there. The guys—they tease pretty fiercely, especially when I’m the only girl. I was just kidding. But anyway, Ferg is single. At the moment.”

“I can wait out here in the rain with you. I love a good desert storm,” he said, turning to gaze out at the newly formed streams running through the overflowing gutters. “So. Is he into you?”

Kate couldn’t hold back the snort. It was an instinctive reaction. “Hardly.”

“Are you sure?” He shoved his hands into the pockets of his gray shorts. His black hair glistened in the glow from the single light over the door, matted to his head and hanging into his eyes from the rain.

Kate cocked her head. “Well, I guess I’ve never thought of him like that. We’ve been friends a long time.”

“Some guys take a long time to make a move.”

“I sincerely doubt he ever would. We’re just friends.”

“OK,” he said, his gaze swept back to her. He hesitated, then said, “So, I wondered what you were doing this weekend.”

Kate’s heart leapt. “Which night?”

“Any.”

“Saturday night I’m—” she paused, wondering if she should tell him. Would he think she was bragging? “—I’m, uh, just doing this little, understated, unimportant gig with my guitar at Salt and Sugar. But I’m free afterward.” A gust of wind brought a spray of rain under the awning and into her face. She shivered. Water dripped from her short bangs onto her nose. She brushed it away.  

“No way? Performing? On guitar?”

Her cheeks reddened. “Yep.”

“I had no idea you played. Can I come watch?” He looked at her askance, as though concerned she’d say no.

“Sure.”

“Great! I’ll be there.”

“Fine. But don’t—” she hesitated.

“What?” He leaned close to her. His breath smelled of mint—exactly how the tea he’d brought her tasted.

The blush spread to her ears, thinking of how he might taste. “Don’t expect too much. I just do it for fun.”

He laughed and his smile made her stomach spin. “Modest, Kate. I like that.”

9: History

This time Kate remembered. Emerging into the dream had become as real as waking up.

Tendrils of heat curled around her bare ankles from the wide, crowded sidewalk where she stood. Japanese lanterns dangled above her, strung over the throngs of people, glowing with yellow light. She was in the middle of the walkway and a bottleneck formed around her, so she navigated to the edge, out of the stream of people. Tea lights in white paper sacks along the path illuminated the Japanese wooden clogs, like flip-flops, on Kate’s feet.

Faint music in the distance drew her toward it. She passed lit up booths where people browsed and milled, selling and trading
objets d’art
. Kate knew somehow that she’d find him if she kept walking; she felt that he was pulling her to him; she recalled that, in the dream, they were drawn to each other.

She increased her pace, eager to see him, the half that completed her night life, as the long history of past dreams rushed into her mind. There had been thousands of them. It was only in the past month that she began to remember them and connect the dreams into a continuous stream. Her mind had gotten stronger.

The festival participants in her path fell away as she rushed toward the music, the sound of the wooden sandals faint beneath the buzz of the masses and the music. She came to an open area where the walkway gave over onto a wide grassy square. There the lights were brighter, stretched from posts along the edge of the square to a tall poll in the center. Big paper lanterns were interspersed with smaller glimmering lights. From a stage at the far side, a band dressed in Japanese clothing played some kind of fusion of traditional and modern music. One of them led a dance that the audience participated in. 

Kate searched for him among the mob of people dancing beneath the lights. Was he with someone else? Fear stabbed through her that she would find him in another’s arms. Where was he?

She stepped down the cement stairs onto the soft grass. She went where her feet took her. They carried her toward the center of the square.

She scanned the crowd, feeling that he was nearby. A couple dancing together moved away. Lantern-light reflected off a blue gaze. Kate caught his glance.

“Will!” she shouted as her heart fluttered against her ribs. She couldn’t have held his name back if she had wanted to. 

“Kate,” He reached for her as he strode forward in quick, eager steps. They fell into a tight embrace.

The music roared as his warm lips pressed against hers. He pulled Kate’s hips close to him. She couldn’t breathe because his breath was in her. Holding him filled her with fire and longing. Fingers tugged at hair, smoothed over cheeks, and touched the soft part of ears.

“Everything’s coming back to me,” she said when he broke away from the kiss.

He kept one arm around her waist and held her hand close to his face, pressing the back of it against his cheek. A deep inhalation brought his familiar, musky, smell into her. It belonged there. She needed it, she felt, to feel real again. They began to dance slowly. “What do you mean?” he asked, smiling at her softly, his eyes half closed.

“I’ve been meeting you in my dreams for so long. Do you remember all of it?” Being near him again was like revisiting some comforting childhood place—her grandmother’s, or the park where she used to play with her brothers—where she knew she was safe.

“I remember some,” he said, but he hesitated, as though guarding his answer. She felt her brow furrow, perplexed at this.

The music became a texture; the notes touched the paper lanterns and floated down beside them, landing on the ground like the seeds of a dandelion. Their feet kicked up a mist of sound.

“Thousands of dreams, Will. So long. But I’m only just now realizing it.”

He kissed her, his blue sea-glass gaze glowing in the soft light of the lanterns. Concentrating was hard when he kissed like that.

“You have to remember,” she said, holding onto the desire to speak to him. 

“I remember enough, I think,” he said. “Let’s get away from here.” His voice was a hoarse whisper in her ear. The hungry sound of it sparked a bonfire in Kate’s gut.

They were suddenly in a bedroom dominated by a huge, luxurious bed. The air was heavy with the fragrant smell of incense and the thick touch of a recent rain. A huge apse with towering windows like triptychs filled one corner of the room. Night reigned outside those windows. Kate’s eyes flickered across it, soaking up the environment before she was entirely consumed by Will. The Milky Way was a glowing slash across the black sky. Inside, light from a flickering candelabra danced across Will’s cheeks, flickering off the blue crystalline of his eyes. He never took his eyes from Kate’s gaze. His fingers slipped along the buttons of her dress, undoing them deftly, and then he lifted the dress over her head. Kate unbuttoned his shirt and slid her fingers inside, opening it up, watching the dance of shadows across his smooth chest. He laid her down upon the bed.

“The days are so long without you,” he murmured in her ear as he kissed her neck.

The days?
a voice repeated somewhere deep in the listening part of Kate’s brain.

“I know,” she said.

“Kate, my Kate, never let this end. Never wake up. Never leave me again.”

***

“What do you remember about being alive?” Kate asked from her lazy, catlike repose on the bed. She watched Will closely. His eyes flicked away, avoiding her. He stood up and clapped his hands together, not even trying to be casual about his eagerness to avoid the topic.

Why is he being so strange?
she wondered, perplexed. Was it just that talk of living bothered him, or was there something else? A secret. Something bad?

“Let’s go somewhere. Where have you never been that you’d like to go? Florida? London? Rome? Somewhere more exotic? The Canary Islands? Madagascar?” He snapped his fingers and slapped his hands together at the same time.