Crystal Rose Read online

  I supposed I felt sorry for Everett, as well, but I saw things from Luke’s perspective. I imagined he wanted to be free, but he didn’t want to lose his father. And at the moment, he was stuck in limbo, obligated to stay with an ailing father and give up his own chance to socialize with other people on his own terms. I would have done the same, had my grandmother or parents lived long enough for me to take on that responsibility, but I could also see how it felt like a trap. I couldn’t truly relate to the burden, not having any living relatives who would hold me down.

  I tended to look toward the positive aspects of my circumstances, never wanting to be the pitiful orphan or the traumatized teenager I had been in such risk of becoming. My life story sucked, but it had given me perspective and, more importantly, freedom.

  I didn’t have obligations to anyone, no family remaining to hold me down. I never had to feel guilty about traveling or deciding to move to another state or country. I never had to think about making accommodations for a sick relative. I wouldn’t have to be strong and go through funeral and burial preparations.

  I was lucky, even if that luck came through a despicable chain of events. I counted Luke lucky for having a father with him, but I did not envy him the weight he bore on his shoulders. I supposed you traded one pleasant situation for another, and I felt like I had drawn my luck from a hat held out by the Fates to test me. I wanted to believe I had passed the test, but I doubted it was over yet. I was sure it would never be an easy road for me.

  I dumped my book bag on the kitchen table, deciding I could get some homework done, since it was still early. I booted up the computer and logged in, referencing information I’d marked in the library books with sticky notes and researching them more thoroughly through the web.

  I had initially chosen to major in medicine, but I’d changed my mind as soon as images of organs and blood displayed on the screen in the lecture hall. Memories of the disfigured remains of my grandmother made it impossible to tolerate. Instead, I’d decided to focus on cryptozoology, which wasn’t exactly a popular career choice. But being that NYU promoted liberal arts and thought, they had a great program for it.

  My thesis would cover real world examples of encounters with supernatural and ‘mythological’ creatures, otherwise known as cryptids, such as the Chupacabra, Big Foot, and vampires. Most people envisioned eccentricity and even madness in those who believed in the existence of such creatures, and I had a feeling I would struggle with a career in the field, as most who had followed that path experienced.

  But there were plenty of success stories, individuals who specialized in the science, and they’d become famous, or at least sold plenty of books. I wasn’t looking for fame. I just wanted proof of something, one way or another.

  I intended to seek out some of the firsthand encounters with cryptids and try to interview the people involved, and I wanted to analyze the type of person that was likely to have such an experience. Was it the paranoid delusional or mentally ill individual who manifested such images in their minds, or was it because there was a certain quality to a person that real creatures revealed themselves?

  I worked until my eyes blurred, and my stomach rumbled as I turned off the computer, stacking the pages I’d printed and the notebook I’d scrawled questions in with the reference books. I retrieved my fast food and ate it cold, enjoying every bite as I pondered some of these questions, and then I drug my feet on the wood floor, so tired I barely managed to stand upright in the shower.

  It was late, but that wasn’t what had worn me out. The trip to the cabin was emotionally taxing, and I knew I’d probably feel the same by the time I made it home on Friday. But that was fine. If I was right about Luke’s father being overbearing and practically holding his son hostage as a home health care assistant, then Luke needed all the contact he could get with the outside world. I could help with that, and I needed to suck it up anyway. There were no ghosts, and I was a big girl.

  Besides, as I fell asleep, the memory of his eyes cast a spell on me, and I couldn’t stop thinking about them. They say the eyes can be windows to the soul, and maybe that intrigued me because it was the first thing I noticed about people.

  Or maybe, it was because deep down, I had a ridiculous conclusion about the monster I’d seen kill my grandmother, a concept which drove me in my choice of careers, and I was forever trying to find someone with the same eyes to prove my theory.

  Chapter 5

  I wasn’t keen on traveling, so I instantly negated some of the names I’d put on a list for interviews. I doubted many of them would agree to a recorded Skype or Facetime session, either, and I had no intentions of going overseas or flying cross country.

  Then again, my thesis was important, and my passion was in a field of what-ifs that could only be substantiated by firsthand accounts and the convincing testimonies of those with such claims. I would have to try some of the avenues that didn’t really make me comfortable if I wanted to get anywhere.

  Luckily, I had a lot of opportunities right in my own backyard. The Jersey Devil seemed to terrorize a stretch of dark road just across the river, and I could handle crossing the state line, if it meant speaking to Sheila Mason or Thomas Winthrop, two individuals who claimed to have survived an encounter with the beast.

  And New York was apparently a breeding ground for urban mythology, with tales of werewolves and vampires running rampant. Even the Latin community told stories of the Llorona, and while I wasn’t as interested in spirits from beyond the grave, it might add up to an even better project if I tried to prove or disprove the existence of ghosts as I worked toward the same goal for creatures that only seemed to be recognized as real in cryptozoology.

  So, I added several more names to the list and created an email that I could send to those whose digital addresses were public. Then, I collected phone numbers for more. The rest would have to involve trips to their front doors, or at least to their last known whereabouts. All of this took up my Friday morning, before I went to class, and I had to admit I engaged in the task partly to distract myself. My anxiety threatened to stop me from facing my fears, building as time drew closer to the trip I had agreed to make up to the cabin.

  I was nervous about dinner and the first date I’d had in a long time. And it didn’t help matters knowing that we’d be chaperoned by a parent who wanted to keep me far away from his son. Everett reminded me of the surly orphanage supervisor, Mrs. Reynolds, who really shouldn’t have been working with children, considering she seemed to find them abhorrent. I couldn’t remember a time when she hadn’t addressed me with a snarl of disgust.

  But the biggest fear came from the feelings that the woods still evoked in me. Sure, I had issues with vivid memories, but even that wasn’t such a big deal in comparison with the way I felt when I was near it. I hadn’t confided in anyone regarding the way I thought the trees spoke to me or the entire forest as one entity seemed to be alive, its own person that breathed and watched and whispered. I couldn’t imagine anyone who wouldn’t suggest I get professional help or try to diagnose me with PTSD. Even Cricket, who accepted everything about me without judgment, would likely question my sanity if I offered up that particular information.

  I knew in the back of my mind fear of judgment wasn’t the problem, but I had no way to define it in a context that I could share. It was irrational, the entire belief probably borne out of trauma, but I couldn’t shake it off. So, as I left class that afternoon to go home, clean up, and drive upstate, I desperately tried to calm myself by any means I could find. I counted tiles in the shower. I folded the laundry I’d dumped in a pile that morning. In the car, I blasted the radio and sang at the top of my lungs.

  But I grew quiet as I made the final turn that would take me the last two miles to the cabin. It was like crossing a veil over into an alternate dimension, finally truly leaving the city and all civilization behind. Nature surrounded me, quiet and serene, blocking out the urban existence so close to encroaching on the undeveloped terr
itory.

  As the house came into view with the trees at its back, I spoke out loud, trying to boost my confidence. “It’s fine, Crystal. You’re going inside the house, where it’s safe. You’re going to have dinner with a sexy man who hopefully can cook as well as he claims. And then, you’re going to leave. You don’t have to get anywhere near the woods.”

  I halfway convinced myself I could do this right as I stopped behind the SUV. I hadn’t realized how small and low to the ground my car was in comparison before, and I had the errant thought that I might like to get an SUV. But that wouldn’t work for my tiny space in the parking garage.

  Shaking my head to clear it, I focused on what I came to do, fiercely determined to enjoy myself. I raised my hand to knock on the door and nearly punched Luke in the face. I lost my balance trying to keep from injuring him as he opened the door before I made contact. He caught me, his arms strong and muscular as he set me aright and made sure I had good footing. I would have blushed, but I was too busy enjoying the warmth of his grasp and the firmness of his chest.

  He chuckled. “My fault entirely. Are you okay?”

  Better now. I nodded, not trusting my voice through a dry throat. When I thought I’d recovered enough, I shrugged it off and joked, “I’m fine. But you would have deserved the bloody nose I almost gave you if you’d let me fall.” We laughed together as he shut the door and led the way to the kitchen.

  His father wasn’t there, and I almost made the mistake of asking if Mr. Wesley had decided against joining us. That probably would have sounded rude, and it was definitely too much to hope for.

  “I hope you like salmon,” he said in a pleasant tone. “And rice.”

  I had eaten an early lunch and nothing since, so I was starving, and the promise of such a good meal almost had me salivating. “Sounds delicious.”

  “Great! My father’s resting for a while before dinner. I hoped you’d be a little early so we could have some time before he joins us.” He gave me an apologetic smile. “You probably noticed he can be a little gruff and surly.”

  I shrugged, not wanting to seem judgmental. “We all experience a little moodiness from time to time.”

  “It’s worse than that, and you know it,” he said quietly, glancing toward the door as if worried his father would suddenly appear. I could just picture him shooting up out of bed and hobbling at lightning speed into the kitchen to tear into his son.

  Luke started seasoning the fish he’d pulled out, and I watched from a perch against the counter a few feet away. It was comfortable, being back here with someone cooking, even if it wasn’t my grandmother. I thought she would approve of the new tenants. Or Luke, at least. She’d probably give Everett a verbal lashing for his dark broodiness.

  “Do you get along with your father?” I asked hesitantly, not wanting to pry but interested to know.

  “Sometimes. We used to be close, but…” He trailed off, a scowl falling over his handsome face. “Since he got sick, he’s been different, and he’s so angry all the time that he almost seems to be a completely different person.”

  I didn’t like how troubled he was, and I had an intense urge to take away his pain. “You know, a lot of people with diseases and conditions that change the quality of their lives have significant changes to their personalities.”

  He nodded. “I know. I read the brochures.” He sighed. “But enough of this negative sorrowful complaining. If I want you to stick around or consider seeing me again, I need to crawl out of this pity party and be grateful you’re here. This subject matter is hardly entertaining.” He winked at me. “I’ll admit, aside from engaging in conversation with me, you’re also much better to look at than my old man.”

  This time I did blush as his eyes roamed up and down my body. Trying to be coy and flirtatious at the same time – a talent that tended to evade me – I replied, “You’re not so bad yourself.”

  His shoulders squared, and he seemed pleased with the compliment. “Thanks. So, do you like your roommates? Or do you even live in the dorms?”

  I hadn’t been sure how much I wanted to reveal about myself, but the level of comfort here was high. Luke was polite, and he’d sort of let loose some very personal information in discussing his father and their relationship with me. So, I thought maybe I was safe to give him the basics. “I have an apartment of my own. I…grew up with a lot of roommates, so I decided that I would find a way to get some solitude. I value my social relationships, but I really need my alone time.”

  He glanced at me in question, and I realized he probably guessed my history, if he hadn’t actually done the research, but wasn’t quite sure what to say about my reference to ‘roommates’. I mean, he knew who I was. That had been obvious at our first meeting, the moment I’d said my name. But would he admit to knowing the back story beyond the newspaper headlines, or was he going to play dumb?

  “I can understand that,” he said, neither confirming nor denying anything. “I tend to do a lot of walking to get alone time and gain perspective. It clears my head and gives me space.” He slid the salmon in the oven and washed his hands, then reached into the fridge and pulled out a platter of deviled eggs. “I hope you like them. I thought they might make a good appetizer.”

  As hungry as I was, I might have eaten raw meat, regardless of my aversion. But I was anxious for these. “You must have read my mind. Deviled eggs are some of my favorite treats.” We sat at the table across from each other, and it felt intimate as we shared the platter, no small plates for individual use. “Where did you learn to cook?”

  “Not from my father,” he snorted. “I taught myself, mostly. I got tired of the same old thing all the time. All he can make are hot dogs and microwave dinners. My mother cooked for him, and his mother before that.” He winked again. “Besides, I thought it might make a woman happy to have a husband who can handle himself in the kitchen. You can’t expect a career woman or a mother to do all the cooking.”

  Now, that I liked. I was sold. If his reality lived up to his promise, I thought I could have married him on the spot. “I think you’ve had a lot of time on your hands to put together a sales pitch for yourself,” I teased. “But you’re right. Good looks, a sense of humor, and a bang up job in the kitchen will take you pretty far with women.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.” There was a distinct twinkle in his eye, and I basked in that. After about six attempts in the last year that had all gone south, it was nice that this wasn’t turning into a horror movie. I couldn’t help but find it ironic, considering where we were, or the circumstances under which we met. “What about you? Where are you going with your life?”

  I typically avoided the conversation regarding my major on a first date. Any normal guy stopped taking me seriously. Any guy with interest turned out to be the worst kind of geek or freak. But then, it did go a long way in weeding out the bad seeds. I decided to be direct. “I’m studying cryptozoology.”

  “Really?” I couldn’t tell Luke’s exact reaction. He seemed surprised and intrigued, but I didn’t know him well enough to be certain.

  “That means she studies fantasy and bullshit.” I looked up to see Everett coming in the kitchen, the same scowl on his face as he’d had the first time. I wondered if he had any other expression. He looked a bit haggard, as if he’d been working outside all day, and his shoulders curled forward with exhaustion. I was a little disappointed the private time had ended so soon, and so abruptly, but I managed to keep my poise.

  Luke, on the other hand, shot daggers through his eyes at his father. “Be nice, old man, or I’m feeding you the skin we scrape off the fish. Sorry, Crystal, he’s especially grumpy when he first gets up from a nap.”

  I hoped a little of it would wear off as time went on. I liked Luke, and I really wanted to get to know him better, but Everett was already making that difficult, and we’d only just started to talk. I’d been there for maybe twenty minutes, not nearly long enough, but I knew our banter was going to be much more subdued
now that we weren’t alone.

  Chapter 6

  Luke sent his father a scathing look as the older man took a seat on a side of the table between him and his guest. So far, things had gone incredibly well, but if it was up to Everett, that would change now. Luke had no intention of letting his father run the show, especially since he likely wanted to sabotage any chance Luke had with Crystal, so he made it clear through his expression and his gestures that the bad attitude and scornfulness were unwelcome.

  Completely ignoring his father’s outburst, he focused on Crystal. “So, what made you want to go into that field?” he asked, completely enthralled at Crystal’s choice of studies. Other than a few individuals that definitely suffered from loose screws in their brains, he’d never met anyone interested in studying cryptozoology, unless for fictional purposes.

  She bit her lip and shrugged. “Sometimes, I think events in my life drove me in that direction. Others, I think I wanted to break away from the norm. I tried majoring in medicine, but I couldn’t hack it. Literally. The idea of surgery and blood and…” She trailed off, shivering, and Luke chuckled softly. He knew why she had the aversion, but he didn’t want to reference the carnage that had been posted in all the papers at the time.

  Not to mention that, according to the media, she’d just lost her parents less than a year earlier.

  “You think there’s no blood and guts in all those fairy stories about monsters?” Luke’s father chimed in, looking amused. It was a bit derisive, but Luke let it go. It could have been worse. This was an example of his father under control, and that was enough of a relief. He didn’t want to push his luck.

  “Of course there is,” Crystal smiled, addressing him in a friendly tone. She wrinkled her nose. “But I don’t plan to find one of these beasts that may or may not exist and go hunting with it. The carnage is on paper and film. You don’t have to worry about smelling it or touching it firsthand.”