People in the Cove liked to talk about it as if it were some teenie tiny backwoods getaway in the middle of nowhere, but this ‘small town’ had a population somewhere in the eleven to twelve thousand range, which made it a whole-ass city. It had more than one church, multiple grocery stores, multiple gyms, a strip of fashion boutiques, specialized medical offices, and two whole school districts. It was far from rural and further from small. Marcie felt like she may well have been the only person in the entire city that had seen and loved every corner of it.
She always was sort of an adventurer at heart. After school—hell, even during her short thirty-minute lunch periods—she and Hunter used to hop in his Honda, pick a direction, and just drive. Hunter often worried about the safety of his vehicle so Marcie slapped a big bumper sticker on the back of the car with the logo of her parents' old company. Nobody would mess with the car then. Nobody ever did.
Redwood Cove was hers. It belonged to her. And in a way, she belonged to it. So to assume a walk through the streets of this city should have cleared her head, calmed her down, and set her at ease should not have been a stretch.
Tío Jacinto once described what it was like reentering society after years behind bars. Even a task as simple as purchasing shampoo at the grocery store was unbearable. The soap he usually bought, which Marcie remembered smelled like old cedar wood, had been discontinued. The breadth of different scents and brands and sizes the wall offered was simply overwhelming. Suddenly, every choice felt wrong and every aisle he went down sent him further into a panic.
Likewise, walking through Redwood Cove felt like stepping deeper and deeper into a raging whirlpool. She had vivid memories of these sidewalks, but having been separated from her body and her memories for so long, they all felt unstable to walk on. The feeling of nostalgia being taken over by unfamiliarity brewed a tempest of panic within her gaping chest.
Every street corner felt like an impossible choice. Her thoughts were all clouded and wrong. Shadows morphed into the forms of monsters or the faces of dead former classmates. Marcie didn’t know what pushed her legs forward—all she wanted to do was crumble, fold in on herself and hide. Was the world truly so cruel that it would make a hell of the place she knew as home? Surely not.
How she ended up at 1043 Mirabella Avenue, her childhood home in the lower west side of town, was lost in the haze of her amorphous thoughts. A soft yellow light peeked out of the windows and the melodramatic argument of two telenovela characters was audible even from the driveway. Marcie imagined Mama on the couch, glued to the TV like a child. She never took well to being interrupted. Papa’s car was gone and probably wouldn’t return until morning. Those racist fucks at the Cove precinct always kept him on the overnight shift. Victor and Javi’s light was off, as it should be on a school night, but Carmen’s light was on and the sweet sound of a guitar whispered from her window. Marcie desperately wished to climb over the back fence so she could talk to her sister.
She took one step towards the house and all of Hunter’s warnings flashed in her mind. No matter how much she didn’t want to accept it, he was right. She’d already gone too far by standing in the driveway. Even coming back to her neighborhood was a major risk. She knew that.
Still, she couldn’t bring herself to move either closer or farther away. She just stood. In one spot. Staring.
Mama got up, the silhouette of her long hair unravelling as she took out her tight bun. She always had her hair up to cook dinner and left it in until bed. Carmen’s guitar playing cut off suddenly, most likely Mama demanding for the Nth time that she go to sleep.
Shortly after, all the lights of 1043 Mirabella Avenue clicked off and Marcie was plunged into darkness again. This deep into the city, most of the street lamps were busted. Even though there weren’t any appendages in the pitch blackness that broke her bones into pieces, the yearning for her family, knowing they were sleeping so close by and so peacefully without her, broke her heart.
Down the street, she heard the single bark of a dog. This wasn’t uncommon for the area; most families had a xolo or a pitbull or some other breed. As the barking continued up and down somewhere in the neighborhood, it cleared some of the fog over her thoughts. She was alive. She was nearly home. But not quite.
Fear flitted across her mind, wondering if that thing, that void of being, would return for her. It said she would have been ‘delicious’. The phrasing of it alone was enough to send a shiver down her spine. It was a long walk back to Hunter’s house, and she wasn’t even sure how she was going to get back in past the gate that closed off his private drive. She thought to text Hunter, but had to remind herself once again that she no longer had a cell phone.
Then Marcie had the astute realization that there was no use in ruminating on all this while standing like a creep in front of a house. She turned to walk away but immediately collided with someone. A startled yelp escaped her as she jumped back and instinctively swung a right hook at whoever or whatever had snuck up on her.
The figure stumbled back giving Marcie enough time to take a defensive stance.
“Dang niña. ¡Ese brazo es jodidamente buena!” The man laughed away what had to be considerable pain.
Marcie dropped her arms and rushed forward, “Tío Jesse?”
He looked so different than when she last saw him. When she was little, before Tío’s immune system started eating away at his joint cartilage, before he couldn’t toss her into the air anymore, he looked alive. Then for most of her life, he’d sunk deeper into pain and the opiods he’d been given to avoid that pain. Now, he looked like he used to when she was four or five. Lively, full, relaxed, and solid. He stood straight when he recovered from her punch. Tío was younger, much younger, than her father. But they had the same weathered eyes with crows feet pulling at the corners. And those eyes widened when they settled on her.
She hugged him without thinking, then pulled back immediately when realization hit her. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.
Tío Jacinto or, Tío Jesse as he preferred, should still be several cities over in a rehab center. Or maybe not. The memory of it all was still so fuzzy. But seeing him brought about a certain raw clarity. Her Tío was back. He was there in front of her and she was in front of him. It made her wonder what else she was missing from the year before her death. But that was the issue: for as much as Tío should be in rehab, she should be in a grave.
“Marcella?” Tío Jesse looked her dead in the face.
Like a hypnotized chicken, she stood and stared. If anything were to be in motion, it would be her heart beating nearly out of her open chest. But it too was still.
“What’s up, diablilla,” he said, straightening the black coat that clung to his wide shoulders. Marcie felt tears well up in her eyes when her Tío pulled her in for another hug. “Ahh, I’ve missed you.”
She pulled back, again, but only slightly. “You… hmm…you know what happened, right? I can’t really remember if you were back by the time…”
“Sí, mija,” he said, petting her shortened hair.
“Then why are you being so calm?” Marcie asked, falling into his arms again. Her cheeks should have been wet with tears but rubbing at her quivering eye left her hand dry.
The pause before Tío’s next words were nearly audible. He exhaled like a purr or a soft growl. “I’ve seen some weird caca. Seeing my favorite niece again is the least unexplainable thing I’ve seen in a long time.”
Marcie couldn't begin to decrypt what her uncle meant by that. Still, it was nice to find that at least one familiar face wasn’t startled to death over her undeath. She lingered in his embrace with no plans on letting go until he did.
“Is there somewhere for you to go? Where did you even come from?” Tío Jesse asked in soft whispers.
“It’s a long story. And yeah, I’m staying with mi novio,” she responded. She thought of Hunter, lying in dirt off the side of the road where she’d walked away from him. The pain in his voice as he called out to her both broke her unbeating heart and filled her with something like panic and rage. She abandoned him there with a monster. But to be fair, he had also abandoned her to go after that demonic book when that monster had her in its clutches.
Tío hummed a laugh, “Mmm, el gringo.”
“¡Ach!” I know you know his name Tío,” Marcie held back a snicker.
Down the far-off streets there were a chorus of howls and barks from the neighborhood dogs. Once one canine was set off, so were the rest. That’s how it always was. Tío perked up at the sound, letting go of Marcie as he seemed to focus his attention.
“It’s late. Can I walk you back?” Tío asked.
This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.
Marcie nodded her head. “Yeah, sure.”
The stroll back through town felt far less anxiety-inducing. Tío’s presence was grounding. Where the town felt large and all-consuming, he was right in front of her, leading the way through the belly of the beast.
“Not that I mind that you’re here or anything, but why are you out so late?” Marcie asked as they passed by Harvest Fresh, nearing the nice side of town.
The question seemed to make Tío think. He spoke his answer carefully. “I’m part of a neighborhood watch program. We work in shifts overnight around here.”
Marcie had her own questions. Those who lived on this side of town worked long hours during the day, and the men that worked the graveyard were on the fishing boats. Who would have the time? From Tío’s guarded expression, she thought it best not to press that line of questioning. Instead she asked, “You don’t go down to the beach, do you?”
“No a menudo. We don't want no problems with los popis,” he answered firmly, before heaving a sigh. “When you kicked it, it motivated us. Nos hizo más vigilantes. Tal vez si tuviéramos los huevos, we would have started walking the Ridge. Maybe we could have prevented–”
“–don’t even finish that statement.” Marcie pointed a stern finger at her uncle. She couldn’t bear the thought of anyone believing her death was their fault. Well, except whoever’s fault it was. First Hunter, now Tío Jesse. It wasn’t fucking fair. They didn’t deserve to feel shame for her passing or regret on her behalf.
Tío attempted a smile but it faded quickly. “For now, we’d rather not lose anyone else.”
They passed the Ridgeview campus, parking lot where Tío had once showed up unannounced to ask her for money. She was eleven. Papa chewed him out for hours, but Marcie couldn’t find it within herself to fault him. Mama always said she was too soft on him.
“You were at my highschool graduation,” she said like a statement, but in her mind it was a question. Even that memory felt like it had faded a bit, like a sun-bleached polaroid. From what she remembered, that was the last time she’d seen Tío Jesse.
“I was.” Tío looked at her quizzically.
Marcie nodded. One hazy memory was beginning to clear among a sea of many still so opaque. He’d gotten the day out approved from the rehab center and seemed so genuinely proud and happy to see her finish highschool He congratulated her on doing something he never did.
“I was discharged a little after that. ¿Te acuerdas?” He asked.
“Sinceramente, no,” she replied. Tío went quiet and she knew to continue her explanation. “I’ve thought about this. I was resurrected about a year and six months after I died, and all my memories from about a year and six months before I died are all sort of clouded. It's like…trying to drive through a foggy road. The brighter I try to illuminate those memories or try to see them clearly the harder it gets. It's really weird.”
“Mmm,” Tío agreed. “I can’t say I have any answers for you, but I know the feeling. I don’t know if it’s that I can’t remember or I choose not to, but I remember very little from the worst times.”
It was difficult for Tío to talk about addiction. Marcie knew that. Unless asked directly, he would not be revealing anything further. And she didn’t want to do that to him. Not when she just got him back.
Tío trailed into a new question. “¿So, since you’ve been back, que ha pasado? You said it’s a long story. We got time.”
And so the floodgates opened. She told him everything from waking up on the carousel, to figuring out all the quirks of her new body, to the makeover she underwent with Hunter’s assistance. She told him about Grant and how he claimed she wrote a note the day she died and then about the Void.
Again, she noticed the absence of function in her lungs, which otherwise would have hyperventilated at the memory of it. His expression narrowed in ways that told Marcie his thoughts were somewhere else entirely. It felt like he was doing his best to hide that he was scrutinizing her.
Up the road, a car was parked with its engine purring and headlights on in front of the gate. She panicked, imagining the Void stepping out once again to slaughter her uncle and swallow her again. But this car was larger, a new Subaru model she didn’t know well enough to name.
“Tío,” she prompted.
But when she turned he wasn’t there. The only trace of him was the sound of leaves crunching beneath his feet somewhere in the dark wood leading back to the main road.
A voice called, “Hey! Oh thank God. Beth, is that you? Do you know the gate code? I’ve been stuck out here for forty-five minutes and Candace won't pick up her phone.”
The outline of a man stood beside the car up the road. The silhouette of his arm reaching up to scratch his head dissolved any potentially threatening aura he had.
Tío was gone. Without him there now, all she wanted was to be in bed, and since she’d been spotted, there didn’t seem to be any other way but through. Marcie adjusted her eyepatch, patted as much dirt off her clothes as she could, and prayed that this man wouldn’t notice the bloodstains spattered across her pant legs.
“Uhh. I’m not Beth, but I do know the code,” She called up as she walked forward.
The man had bags sagging under both eyes. It had to be at least three in the morning and he’d said he’d been there for almost an hour, yet he grinned wide like now that she was here, nothing was wrong.
“Oh great!” He said. “So are you a friend of hers?”
Chipper as he was, it was starting to become grating. Marcie simply said, “No.”
Rightfully, Brad paused, expecting more of an explanation before he let some random stranger onto his fiancée’s estate.
“Well, I’m Brad. I’m Candace’s fiancé. I don’t think we’ve met.” Brad stuck out his hand for a shake. It was an incredibly unwanted distraction when she was in the middle of staring at the gate’s number pad, racking her brain to remember what the hell the code was. “Who are you exactly?”
“I’m a friend of Hunter’s from college. He’s letting me stay for a bit while I’m in town.” Marcie offered. “My name is…uhh Maria.”
The name escaped her lips in a panic. It was too close to her real name, surely he’d realize. She strained to remember if she’d ever met this man before and was coming up blank. She so desperately wanted to put her palm straight to her face, but instead it was taken up by Brad who clasped it with a somewhat firm grip.
Brad had a rather vigorous handshake, which tracked with everything Hunter had told her about him. He was nothing if not enthusiastic, but in every other way, about as average as a man could get. Cropped brown hair, a plain face, and not quite buff or flabby. Just straight down the middle of every possible metric for how she’d describe someone. And it hit her. Average.
Marcie tapped her stiff fingers against cold metal. “Zero, eight, seven, seven, three, six,” she read.
Creaks from the gate’s old metal hinges rung out like small whimpers. They opened to the pathway up to the house, lined in eerie pine trees that were rustling in the wind. The distant light of 1 Weller Drive served as a north star.
“What do those numbers mean?” Brad asked.
Marcie couldn’t tear her eye away from the darkness, still unable to shake off the fear that somewhere in it, a monster lurked. “I don’t know. Mr. Campbell thought it’d be clever to take the average of all of his children’s birthdays. Apparently that’s what it comes out to.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Brad raise his head like something clicked for him. It didn’t seem all that interesting to her, but Brad seemed to be impressed. “Marshall is a smart man.”
“Sure,” Marcie said, finally turning to Brad. “Hey, would you mind if I got a ride up to the house. I don’t really wanna walk.”
“I was just about to offer!” He said enthusiastically.
His car was sickeningly fragrant with something that had confusing notes of cedar, maple, vanilla, and maybe lavender. She quickly discovered this was because he had four of those hanging air fresheners dangling from his rear-view mirror. That overwhelming smell was all she could focus on the whole way up the winding path, which, she figured, was at least better than the anxiety of peering into the black nothingness beyond the window.
The main house loomed tall. Its white coating was so bright since Hunter had cleaned it that it almost felt like it was glowing. Apparently, they had yet to move Marshall’s old 1994 Corvette, which meant Brad was forced to park his car a fair distance down the driveway. Marcie reluctantly got out to walk the rest of the way up to the house.
In the time it took them to take two steps out of the car, she heard bounding footsteps coming down the road. Hunter nearly knocked Marcie over as he tackled her into a hug.
He sighed with great relief and squeezed her. If tears could be shed, she'd have shed them. Instead, she sunk deeper into Hunter’s chest. Falling into him felt so natural. So much like home. But as quickly as that feeling came, it fled. She had no home. Just earlier that night she had stood in front of her childhood home and saw her mother and heard the sweet song of her sister’s guitar and still it was out of her grasp. Before that, Hunter had left her behind. And now he didn’t want to let her go? What the hell was he thinking?
Wandering through Redwood Cove had sent Marcie into such a panic that she hadn't been able to cool down, or process the confusion and anger she felt from the night's previous events. Now, she felt anger and fear boil in her again. It almost made her feel like she still had a stomach that could wring itself into knots. But alas, there was no such sensation.
Brad grunted conspicuously. “Alright, it’s getting pretty late. It was nice to meet you Maria.” Then he winked at Hunter. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, okay?”
Hunter turned to face Brad with a startled, wide-eyed stare. “Uhh…”
Clearly his relief had gotten the better of him and he’d failed to realize the full scope of their current situation. It was so typical of him it almost made Marcie chuckle despite her frustration with him.
“Thanks Brad.” Marcie said, giving him a pleasant wave.
Without fully letting go of Hunter, she pulled back from their embrace. She narrowed her eye at him and reached up to ruffle his hair.
Marcie centered herself with a nonexistent breath. “You look exhausted. But we have to talk. Either now or in the morning, it’s your choice.”