Calliope: Mad Scientist By Imani Wagner (Short Eight)

Calliope finally gets her questions answered regarding Ghost Boy's death... and what about that kiss? - IW.

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Azrael pulled away first. For just an instant I watched his lips and eventually my eyes found his. I was stuck, standing there in front of him, vulnerable and not knowing what to do next. He was watching me too, not waiting for me to speak, but possibly not knowing what to say either. We had just crossed a line in our friendship, and we had drawn it with the kiss. I kept waiting for some type of shock to knock me over into a fetal position rooted in profound embarrassment. I was waiting to feel unsettled in some way or another, but that never came. We looked at each other just a little longer before he quietly agreed to finish the mopping.

I continued with my closing shift duties. After turning off all of the lights and setting the coffee shop’s alarm we both headed out the front door. There were all of these brief moments of us staring at each other, admittedly still processing the kiss. It happened when I turned around to lock the coffee shop door. As we walked to his car, it happened again. Over and over our eyes connected. It was like they were sending signals to each other trying to tell the story of the night after a lifetime of writing our characters as best friends.

We didn’t talk much on the ride home. Neither of us mentioned the kiss. I told him about the ghost boy who’s name I still didn’t know, and how I had agreed to help him talk to his family. I felt tense about the subject. I hadn’t actually tried telling a living person that I could talk to their dead relative. It was different with Azrael and Dr. Delvaux. They both knew me, and Dr. Delvaux was not unfamiliar with the idea of paranormal activity. More importantly, they hadn’t been related to the ghost I was communicating with.

I rode the elevator up to my apartment in a trance. I hadn’t even noticed Mindy walking out of her front door, “You’ve been kissing a boy,” It wasn’t a question but rather a definite statement. “I can always tell when you’ve been smoochin’. You have that silly little look on your face, something between dazed and desire,” she laughed.

“I’ll have to tell you about it later, I’m still processing,” I chuckled nervously. I loved Mindy, but the last thing I wanted was to analyze what that kiss meant. Instead I left her in the hallway and plopped down on my sofa. Henrietta climbed onto my chest, and purred until my brain was free to compute again. She had always known what I needed.

I had almost forgotten to check in on Mya. Slowly, as not to jostle Henri too much, I pulled my phone out of my pocket and texted Mya. I hoped that whatever her family emergency was, that it was minor, and that everyone had exaggerated the already miniscule details.

“Was that your boyfriend?” I jumped skittishly when I heard the young ghost talking to me. I hadn’t known he followed me home. Henri woke up and looked at Ghost Boy curiously.

“No, we’re just friends,” I say as I bring me and the cat to a sitting position on the sofa.

“He might be your friend, but you are definitely his girlfriend.” The boy sunk into the olive green chair with one leg tucked underneath him as if he had just stated the truest of facts. I hadn’t turned any lights on in my apartment, but the light of his spirit lit up the cozy corner where he sat.

I ignore all talk of me and Azrael, “So, are you going to tell me what happened to you? What’s your name?” Henrietta seemed just as interested as I was. She sat snug in my lap and tilted her head periodically as the boy spoke. Her black velvet fur shimmered a silver color. I wondered what he sounded like to her.

“I’m Mavis. I was run over by a blue chevy. I must’ve died on impact because I snapped right out of my body. The truck stopped ahead in the middle of the road and I watched as some white dude got out. He grabbed my body and threw it in his backseat. I watched him take off,” I held up my hand requesting to pause the conversation. He didn’t question it. He understood the weight of his story. I carried Henri to the fridge and grabbed a chilled bottle of dry red wine. I walked right back to the couch with no wine glass. There would be nothing left in the bottle anyway.

“Okay, go ‘head,” I say after a long gulp.

“At first I didn’t know what to do, but then I thought about my body and where he might be taking it. All of a sudden I was sitting in the front seat of his truck. He drove about an hour into the suburbs and then into his garage. My body was dragged through his house. He left a trail of blood from the blue chevy to his basement, and onto a mortuary table. ‘Til morning he pulled out my insides. He examined my blood and injected chemicals into different pieces of me. He was like a mad scientist,” Mavis didn’t make eye contact as he told me the story, but instead he sent images to my mind.

I had a firsthand look at Mavis’ murderer pulling his kidney out of his abdomen and plunking it onto a stainless steel rolling tray. The man’s pale blue gloves glistened a dead looking red. There was a mixed smell of latex and stale blood. Though, the odor from the body was much more forceful. The basement was dark. The man used a single surgical light. In the corner of the dull room sat a table with different computer screens of things I couldn’t understand, things that looked like numbers and data about human DNA. In between sips of wine I observed the killer pull apart Mavis’ body. There was no doubt that I would need therapy after this. I prayed that those images wouldn’t be forever stuck inside my head.

At some point or another I fell into a disgustingly drunken stupor. The sound of a text notification woke me. One of my legs hung off the side of the couch and I found my phone on the floor near my foot. It was a text from Mya. She had sent a short message, only three words.

My brother’s missing