Veiled (Ada Palomino 1)

Amy can be really blunt, so I try not to let her choice of words get to me, nor the fact that she said “we” which means it’s something she and Tom have discussed, possibly even Jessie.

“It’s . . . complicated,” I tell her. “And you’re not going to believe a word of it. I understand. I wouldn’t believe it and I still fucking don’t. But it’s the truth and it’s my truth.”

My truth. It sounded so fatalistic.

“Okay,” she says warily as the lights go green again and we cross.

As we walk, I wonder if our relationship is going to change from beyond this moment to the time we get to the festival. I wonder if I’ll ever hear “Hungry like the Wolf” the same way again.

I can feel the sweat building in my palms as I take in a deep breath. I have to do this like pulling off a Band-Aid.

“The truth is,” I say, keeping my eyes focused on the street ahead, not daring to look at her, “well, you know the movie The Sixth Sense? That’s my life. Minus Bruce Willis. But yeah, that’s pretty much my problem. I see dead people.”

I pause but still don’t look at her. To my surprise she hasn’t faltered in her strides beside me. Far-off thunder rumbles again, as if on cue.

I go on, quickly, the words bubbling up in my throat like champagne in a bottle. “It’s always been this way. At least it started with Perry. Three years ago she told me she started seeing ghosts. That the show she did with Dex was real. He saw them too. I thought they were nuts but at the same time, I believed her. She was like that at fifteen too, but I was too young to get it. I do now. Because I’m just like her. It took a while for it to happen to me though. And when I was fifteen, I started seeing things. My dead grandmother mainly. But demons too. It’s . . . been a learning experience since then. I’m not crazy though. I mean, I think I am sometimes but I’m not. It just is what it is.”

We stop at another intersection and I hear Amy suck in her breath. I dare to look at her and something inside me breaks. She’s staring at me like I have some sort of disease. It’s the look she used to give me when I was grieving, wild on drugs, doing anything to escape my head. But instead of the worry and pity, there’s an extra emotion there.

She thinks I’m lying.

I swallow hard, my throat raw and dry. “It gets worse, too.” I mean, fuck, I’ve gone this far. Let’s rip the lid off the can of worms. “When my mother died, she was possessed by a demon called Michael, even though that really wasn’t his name. He’d taken possession of Dex’s brother who knows when. That’s why we really all went to New York to begin with. His demon brother had taken Dex and we went to get him back, and all the while we were walking into a trap. In the end, the demon even possessed me until my mom overtook him.” I pause, not because I’m aware that I’m raving like a loon and attracting the looks of people walking past, but because the memories burn. I know how ridiculous it sounds the moment the words leave my lips but it doesn’t stop it from being an open wound. “My mother jumped in front of the train to save us all.”

Heavy silence falls between us, so much so that even the distant thunder and the bass of the concert, just two blocks away, is muffled, like someone has put a sheet over the city. The air grows hotter, thicker, while my skin seems to chill from the inside out.

I glance at Amy as we walk, my heart in my throat. She’s looking straight ahead, blinking slowly, not looking at me, not saying a word.

“I know it’s a lot to take in,” I coax her, wanting her to at least say something.

She nods, eyes darting around her like she’s already trying to distance herself from me.

I think we go an entire block in silence, every step I take I regret opening my mouth, wishing I hadn’t told the truth.

Finally we stop on the grass of the waterfront park, the crowd around us becoming thicker, the security lines forming by the gates. In the background a pop rock group is between songs, making remarks about the storm in the distance. I don’t have to look over my shoulder to know the clouds are darkening and coming right for us.

Amy sighs, a long and harsh exhale, and gives me a look I can’t read. Usually I can read everything on her expressive face, but not now. Not when I need to the most.