Siren's Storm

“What’s in this? Tobacco juice?”

Gretchen laughed. “Just coffee. It’ll pick you up, that’s for sure.” She grabbed a handful of creamers, and when she turned back, she saw that Angus had flipped her sketchbook around to get a better look.

“That’s nothing,” she said, reaching for it.

He slapped her hand lightly and looked up at her with a frown. “I am appreciating art,” he said primly.

Gretchen looked down at the counter. She felt the blush creeping up her neck. There was something about having people look at her work that always made her feel naked. When she looked up, she noticed that someone was watching her. Kirk Worstler had skulked into a corner booth earlier in the afternoon and had been sitting there-drinking a soda and staring in his creepy way-for nearly ninety minutes. Gretchen forced her eyes away from him.

“This is really amazing.” Angus took another sip of coffee, wincing slightly. “The feathers alone…” He gestured to the drawing. It was a woman in profile, her arm reaching skyward. Most of her naked back was obscured by two enormous white wings. Long dark hair fluttered to the side, as if blown in a breeze. In the distance were tall cliffs and crashing waves. Rocks hulked at the bottom of the precipice, and the waves hurled themselves against them furiously, sending foam spewing toward the sky. “Where did you even come up with this?”

“I had this dream,” Gretchen confessed.

“Beautiful.”

Gretchen’s blush deepened. “Thanks.”

Angus turned it back toward her and broke off a piece of his muffin. “So, listen, what time do you get off work?”

“Three,” Gretchen said. “Why?”

“I thought you might want to head over to the Commons with me tonight. It’s the first night of Big Screen. The theme is Elvis,” he added in a singsong.

“Oh, sure. Maybe Will wants to come, too.” She reached into the pocket of her apron for her cell phone, but Angus put a gentle hand on her forearm.

“I thought it could just be the two of us this time,” Angus said. His voice was heavy with meaning as Gretchen looked into his dark eyes.

Gretchen’s heart stopped a moment. She’d never actually noticed before that Angus was handsome. Maybe he never had been handsome before. She’d always thought of him as lanky and awkward, but now she realized that he was simply tall. In fact, he was slim in a rather elegant way. He’d done something with his hair-the formerly shaggy mop was now tamed so that you could see his eyes and the dark lashes that framed them. There was a splash of boyish freckles across his tan face. And when he gave that impish smile-like the one he was giving her now-he was charming.

“It’s Jailhouse Rock,” Angus said.

“What?”

“The movie. It’s a classic.” Seeing her hesitation, he added, “Don’t tell me that you don’t like Elvis.”

“I’ve never really listened-”

“Then we have to go!” Angus slapped the counter, and a couple of the other customers looked up.

Gretchen hesitated, squirming with discomfort. She really liked Angus, and she didn’t want to hurt his feelings. Besides, part of her wanted to say yes. After all, the movie sounded like fun. She loved seeing films on the giant outdoor screen they set up at the Commons. You’d bring a blanket and a picnic and lie on the grass, cheering along with the crowd under the stars. But she knew that Angus could never be more to her than a friend. And he wasn’t like Jason. Angus had a heart that could be broken.

The light at the glass door dimmed as a dark shape-Jason-yanked it open. He paused a moment, looking for her, his bulk blocking the light.

Angus followed her gaze, and his expression hardened. “Right,” he said, unfolding himself from the stool like a pocketknife. He gave her a smile, but his face was set-a wax mask. “I guess you could never go for just a regular nice guy, right?”

“I don’t know,” Gretchen whispered, but Angus was already walking away.

Jason was oblivious to the cold glare Angus shot him in passing. Her boyfriend spotted Gretchen and stalked over.

“Hey, what’s up?” he asked as he plopped onto Angus’s still-warm stool. He glanced down at Gretchen’s drawing, then shoved it aside without comment. “What are we doing tonight?”

We? It wasn’t like Jason had ever asked her out or anything. Gretchen handed him a cup of coffee the way he liked it-loads of cream, two sugars. “Want to go see an Elvis movie on the Commons?”

A faint, slightly patronizing smile. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah. It sounds like fun.”

Jason snorted. “No way.” He set his mug on her notebook.

Her open notebook. The wet bottom settled across the carefully articulated wings.

The gasp was silent, but she felt it in her chest. She was frozen. She’d heard of archaeologists finding specimens perfectly preserved in ice, as if they’d been caught in a sudden ice age. That was how she felt-like a helpless mastodon that had stumbled onto the wrong glacier. And then, on the heels of the ice, came fire. Rage seared through Gretchen’s body. Reaching out, she grabbed Jason’s wrist.

“Ow-shit!” Jason yanked his arm back with such force that he stumbled backward off his stool. He held up his arm. His wrist was red, a small blister forming at the base of his palm.

Gretchen stared, her heart hammering. She felt something, like a butterfly wing against her cheek. When she looked up, she saw that Asia was watching her. Watching Jason.

“What the hell?” Jason demanded. “Is this because of your stupid drawing?” He took a threatening step toward Gretchen.

Before Gretchen could react, Asia moved forward. “Get out,” she said.

Jason’s jaw went rigid and his hand tightened into a fist.

Asia leaned toward him. “You can’t move,” she whispered softly, sweetly.

Jason’s face twisted in rage. Gretchen was pressed against the steel sink, watching his muscles strain against an invisible barrier. “Let… go…” he snarled.

But Asia wasn’t touching him.

Angel darted out from behind the grill. The customers fell silent, staring as Jason and Asia glared at each other.

“Let go!” Jason screeched. “I’ll sue your ass!”

Asia laughed. It was a real laugh-not a mocking laugh-as if Jason had said something funny.

Jason lunged, stumblingly, as if he had been pushing against a door that suddenly gave way. Angel darted forward as Jason reached for Asia, and a piercing scream sounded from a corner booth. It was high and loud, and cut through the diner like a laser. It went on and on-much longer than a normal shriek. It was more like a siren or an alarm.

Everyone turned to look.

“Oh, God,” Gretchen gasped. Kirk Worstler was standing on the table, screaming. His fists were clamped into his dark hair, his eyes fixed on Asia. Finally his voice died away. He took another breath and started screaming again.

“Jesus Christ, shut up!” Angel shouted. He scrambled toward Kirk, who jumped away, monkey-like. He leaped onto the back of the next booth, then to the floor. Angel reached for him, but Kirk ran toward the back and darted, still screaming, out the back door.

“Everyone in here is fucking crazy!” Jason shouted.

“You!” Angel stormed over to Jason and put a finger in his face. His voice dropped, and he snarled from beneath his moustache. “You get the hell out of here.”

Jason slapped Angel’s finger away. He turned to Asia. “This isn’t over.”

“I know,” Asia told him.