Mel shook herself out of the daze she’d fallen into. The story was weaving itself into her brain. She could almost see the record player, the records in their bright and new sleeves of colorful cardboard.
“Yes, I’m fine. I’m just listening.”
“Oh, that’s alright then.” Baby paused to sip her fruit juice, eyeing Mel over the rim of the carton. Perhaps satisfied that Mel wasn’t being lulled to sleep or otherwise losing focus, she went on.
“I was excited about the records because that house was the most boring one I’d ever been in. That area is now covered in expensive houses, but then, it was nothing but long sloping ground down to a beach I couldn’t see in the middle of nowhere. I tore through that box like it was Christmas. The first one I picked out was one I’d never heard of before and it was nice, but the singer was male and something about his voice wasn’t right. It was like I was looking for the right voice, you see? I think it was the magic trying to come out, trying to tell me what to do.
“At any rate, the son let me get through a few songs, then grabbed me up so he could do his thing. I told him I wanted a different record first, so he started to undress and I grabbed the next record in the stack. The cover had a beautiful woman on it and she was looking out at me in a way I understood. Her picture was saying, ‘Play me.’”
Baby paused, looking at Mel as if a bit shy all the sudden.
“I’m still here, Baby. You say whatever you want to. Or stop. It’s up to you.”
The girl smiled a little, then shook her head. “It was a Donna Summer record, though I’d never heard of her before that moment. I took out the record and put the needle on the track. It was like my fingers knew exactly where to go. I remember hearing his belt slide out of his pants and then the music started. The song was I Feel Love. Ironic, no? And that’s when things got…weird.”
Mel was falling into the story despite its horror and obvious impossibility. This girl was an amazing storyteller, weaving a web of words that would trap anyone.
“What happened?” she asked, no longer thinking of anything except the tale.
“The music happened. It was me and not me. It brought the real magic out and everything went hazy and filled with that delightful green light. When the song changed to the next one, I woke up and he was dead. Hanging off the bed and dead as a doornail. And I was strong. So strong I could have lifted up a car or a house or the world. I felt like I could fly. I was so strong that I carried that giant, fat man for over a mile until he was far from the house. I tossed him over the dunes and into a field. I didn’t even sweat. It was like carrying a flower.”
A wave of dizziness sent Mel reeling. Her hands left her lap and she braced herself, using the firm ground beneath the scratchy and musty blanket as an anchor to the world. Everything beyond the blanket was hazy and indistinct, like a watercolor left in the rain. But Baby kept talking and her words were the only clear things left.
“I did it wrong that first time. I didn’t know everything yet. The next time was better. I kept my wits about me and discovered that if I kept taking until there was nothing left, then there really was nothing left, not even a body. And as the years passed, there were new songs. New buyers, new sellers, and new songs. And so much magic. So much life for the taking. So, I do. I take and take and take.”
Mel was losing touch even with the ground now. It was fading and the world with it. Suddenly, Baby’s face was inches from hers and the girl touched her face. Clarity returned, but not entirely. Her eyes were right there in front of Mel’s face, but hadn’t they been gray? Weren’t they as gray as a winter sky before a storm? They were green now. The green of the grass around them, and glowing as if the first light of day were falling on a new spring lawn.
“Mel,” Baby said, her voice soft, but firm. “It’s time to take me back now. You’re tired and want to go home. You’ll want to think about this and that’s fine, but you’ll think about it alone. Tomorrow, you’ll pick me up and we’ll finish the story and that’s what you want. You’re satisfied with that, aren’t you?”
The fingers on her jawline fell away, but the green-eyed gaze still captured all her attention. Something was wrong with this situation, very wrong. But what was it? Or was it? No, this was fine. This was the way it was supposed to be.
“Yes,” she said. “That’s right.”
“Good,” Baby said and smiled. The smile made everything alright.
One Box and A Pair of Wings
Mel shook her head when the knock on her door sounded out in her silent apartment. She looked around, a little confused. When did I come home? She looked in her lap and found she was holding a plate with the remains of some Chinese noodles.
When did I eat? Where did I even get this food? she thought.
The knock came again, this time sharper and a little impatient.
“I’m coming,” she called, then put aside the plate. A minor wave of dizziness made her grab for the couch when she stood, but it faded almost immediately. “What the hell?” she muttered.
“Delivery!” a voice called through the door.
“I’m coming,” Mel repeated, then shook her head to clear the
