Darkhouse

I looked over at him. His eyes were intently focused on the road in front of him, which was a good thing considering the fog. Still, I had a real issue with awkward silences to the point that I will always prattle on about God knows what just to fill the air.



I cleared my throat. “It’s nice to see you in the daylight.”



He nodded, still keeping his eyes forward.



“Was it a long drive?” I pressed.



“No more than usual,” he said bluntly. His voice was bordering on a growl.



I was so confused. Was this the same guy I was talking to on the phone for the last two days?



He must have sensed the stupid look on my face as he finally took his eyes off the road to look at me. He still didn’t say anything, though.



I managed a nervous, stupid smile. With the strange force behind his eyes, I preferred it when he was ignoring me.



“Do you drive to Portland often?” I asked, sounding even more pathetic. “I mean, we have no sales tax here so it’s pretty popular with Washingtonites…er, Washingtonians.”



He ignored me.



“Do you like music?” he asked in a way that suggested he didn’t really care what my answer was.



“Who doesn’t?” I asked by way of saying yes.



He shrugged and flipped on the MP3 player. It started playing a song that was immediately familiar to me. It was one of my favorite bands, it was loud, and it was very fitting that we were listening to it (the song was named after the 101 highway we were to take once we hit the coast). Somehow the music also suited him to a tee; intense, weird and hard to classify.



I started mouth the words to the song, careful not to utter a peep. He raised his eyebrows at me.



“At least you have good taste in music. We might get along at this rate.” I could have sworn there was an audible trace of admiration in his growl.



It was a bit easier to sit in silence now that we had the music blaring. Its familiarity was comforting in this strange situation.



That said, we probably drove without speaking for another half hour before heading off the I-5 and getting on the highway that would carry us to Cannon Beach.



After eyeing his fuel gauge, Dex abruptly wheeled the car into a gas station, pulling up beside a gas pump. He turned off the car, got out and leaned in on the window, arms resting above the car. It looked like he was stretching, so I let him be. He had his head down and was shaking it slowly back and forth.



I tried not to stare at him. I focused my attention on the normalcy of the gas station, the minivans full of writhing kids, the man in his “midlife crisis” sports car who inexplicably had the top down despite the chilly temperatures, and the gas station attendant who was coming over to us. There were posters for hot coffee on the walls of the store. Another giant cup of steaming coffee would help all my woes.



I picked my bag off of the floor and started rooting around in it for loose change when the hairs on my neck began to rise. I cautiously turned my head to the left. Dex was staring straight at me, still as a deer, with a huge grin on his face.



Ada was right, I thought. He really is the Devil.



Even though I felt chilled to the bone, I put on my “Can I help you?” face and played it cool, like I was used to people just grinning at me for no reason.



“Can you get me a coffee too?” he asked, his voice a tad brighter than earlier.



I nodded, muttered “sure,” and eased myself out of the SUV. How he knew what I was thinking, well I didn’t know. Coincidence, I guess.



Once inside the ugly lights of the convenience store, I felt better. I decided it was a good time to text my mother. I was probably going to get an “ARE YOU ALIVE?” text from her any minute.



I went to the register to pay for the coffees—I realized I had forgotten to ask Dex what he takes in it but figured he was a “straight black” kind of guy—when the bespectacled store clerk asked me where I was headed.



“Just to Rocky Point for the night,” I said.



He shook his head. “There’s a huge storm heading this way. Bad weather for the entire Oregon and Washington coast.”



Oh, just great. Hopefully it wouldn’t get in the way of our filming.



I thanked the man for the coffee and scuttled out of the store. He was on to something; the sky to the west was growing darker instead of growing lighter. I shivered while somehow managing to not spill the coffee.



The attendant was busy pumping gas into the car’s tank and making some sort of small talk with Dex, who eyed my coffees greedily as I approached them. He smiled broadly, a toothpick sticking out of the corner of his mouth, his tongue fiddling with it rapidly.



“Sorry,” I said, handing him the coffee. “I didn’t know what you wanted, so I just got black. Hope that’s OK.”



He grabbed the cup from my hand. Our fingers touched, brushed, and sparked. It wasn’t a normal spark of static electricity. In fact, as he took the cup from me and raised it to his lips, he didn’t appear to notice. But it felt like a trail of energy passed from his body onto mine. It ran up my arm, down my spine and surrounded me in luxurious, hazy warmth, like I was draped in hot towels straight out of the dryer. It was the weirdest thing on a day already full of weirdness.



His took a satisfying gulp, toothpick still in his mouth. His eyes were softer now, round, with sleepy lids. A smile twitched at the corner of his moustache. He looked younger, cute even.



Dangerously cute.



He gave me a wink and I abruptly looked away, turning my attention to the sky in hopes of covering up my blatant staring. The irony wasn’t lost in that he could stare freely at me—like a psycho, I might add—while I wanted to keep my actions close to my chest.



“The guy in the store said there is supposed to be a storm tonight on the coast,” I said hesitantly, as if Dex would decide against the trip.



He nodded and leaned against the car. “I heard that this morning. I wouldn’t worry too much about it, kiddo. We’ll get what we need. Ghosts aren’t afraid of a little wild weather, are they now?”



I shook my head. They weren’t afraid of wild weather, no. But it occurred to me that they might not show up at all, regardless of the weather. That’s what I was afraid of most of all; I’d be leading Dex into the lighthouse, cameras blazing, and finding nothing.



“You look a lot older than I thought,” Dex said. The toothpick switched sides.



“Oh?” I wasn’t sure if it was a compliment or not. No one likes to hear they look older.



“It’s not a bad thing,” he said reading my face. “I just thought you were...”



I raised my brow. Well?



“Someone more transparent,” he finished the sentence off with another gulp of his coffee. He threw the empty cup in the bin and wiped his lips with the back of his hand. Before I had any chance to digest what he said (and wonder how he finished that cup of coffee so damn fast), a shrill voice interrupted my thoughts.



“Perry Palomino?” it exclaimed from behind me.



I froze, not recognizing the voice off the bat, but still worried that someone here knew my name.



I glanced warily at Dex, who was already looking over my shoulder. I slowly turned to the direction of the sound.



A medium-sized girl with long, slim arms, a cascade of radiant red hair that wasn’t found in Mother Nature, and enviously shaped jeans was staring at me with her mouth open. It took me a second to recognize her face, but once I saw those pink lips, jaunty nose and darkly-framed emerald eyes I knew who it was: Debbie Birmingham.



Her name said it all—she was always the belle of the ball. I had gone to college with Debbie. She had been in the same advertising program as me, though her looks and steely resolve were always better matched for public relations; she wasn’t exactly the creative type. She was actually one of my better friends throughout college, but we kind of lost touch after the second year. It hadn’t ended awkwardly; I mean, we were “friends” on Facebook and everything, but I had literally not seen her for a few years now and that in itself was a bit unnerving.



Nonetheless, I flashed Debbie my brightest smile.



“Hey, Debbie,” I said trying to sound as confident as possible. All my feelings of inadequacy from being her friend came flooding back.



She walked across the pump divide and put me in an awkward embrace that smelled like Dior and Pantene Pro V.



I giggled nervously and took a step backward. She held me by the shoulders and looked me up and down like I was some outfit she was going to try on.



“You’re looking lovely. It’s been so long!” she squealed. She eyed Dex briefly with vague interest, then looked back at me. “I see you on the Facebook from time to time but we never really talk. What have you been up to?”



I totally thought Dex would have headed back into the car and given us some privacy, but after he had paid the station attendant, he folded his arms and continued to lean against the car as if he also wanted to know what I’d been up to.



“Um, you know,” I said, forcing a smile. “Just the same old.”



“Are you still taking those crazy classes of yours?” she asked, a flitter of amusement on her face. Not the good kind of amusement, but the patronizing kind.



“No, I kind of gave up on that.” I laughed, hoping it sounded breezy.



“Thank goodness! People were starting to get afraid of you.”



I gave her a quizzical look but she continued, not noticing.



“I saw that you work at Allingham and Associates! You know, I almost got hired there to be an account coordinator, but I got a better offer at Mindtrap. What do you do there?”



I felt my face getting hotter. My eyes automatically dropped to the ground. I didn’t want to look at her, nor did I want to look at Dex, and I could tell both of them were watching me expectantly.



“I’m the front desk coordinator,” I mumbled.



“Oh,” she said sounding surprised. “You mean reception?”



“Yeah.”



“Oh, well,” she said, baring her toothpaste commercial teeth, and patted me on the shoulder, “I’m sure you’ll find something one day. It’s a tough economy right now, right?”



I nodded and tried to think of something witty to say but all I came up with was just a brain fart.



“Do you still talk to anyone from school?” she asked, fidgeting with her top as if the banality of talking to me was starting to bore her already.



“No, no one,” I answered truthfully. I felt lamer by the second.



“Really? You know, Adele, Steve, Ashley—actually a whole bunch of us are living downtown now right here in Portland. I would have thought you talked to at least some of the old group.”



I shook my head, wanting the conversation to be over. If she was friends with them, wouldn’t she know that? Oh, but of course, she was proving a point. The truth was I had lost touch with a lot of people after college. It wasn’t on purpose. I just gradually became more of a loner at the end of the final year. The people Debbie mentioned were all fine to party with at the beginning, but I got that awkward feeling whenever I was around them, like they were letting me hang out with them out of pity or something. After a while, it was just easier to hole up in my dorm room by myself and spend my nights listening to tunes and making weird clay sculptures. As you do.