Page 24 of Bewitched By the Phantom
But everyone gets their shit together for the performance. We’ll continue the search after because apparently, this can’t bepostponed. The TV networks are waiting for the live broadcast. Just when the show’s about the begin, Raoul finds me back stage, his eyes bright with fear.
“Chris, can I talk to you?” he asks, grabbing my elbow.
I jerk out of his hold. “Oh, now you wanna talk? Thought you were busy ignoring me?”
He winces. “Look, that’s not what I need to talk about. It’s about Erik.”
I scoff. Of course, it’s about Erik. “What about him?”
“Look, I don’t think . . . there’s something off about him. He’s not . . .He isn’t . . .”
“He isn’t what?” I hiss. “Spit it out, Raoul.”
“I don’t think he’s human,” he finally says, his expression apologetic, as if he understands how insane that sounds.
“You don’t think he’s human?” I repeat, staring at him in disbelief.
“He’s dangerous, and I think he’s planning to hurt you,” Raoul continues as if my tone doesn’t make it clear what I think about his words. “He’s way too interested in you. It doesn’t make sense. The man follows you around like a lost puppy!”
“So, it’s weird that he likes me?” I ask, staring at him.
“Yes! I mean . . . no. That’s not how I mean it. You’re beautiful, but he’s obsessed with you, Chris.”
“And?” I cross my arms. “Is a man not allowed to be obsessed with me?”
“You’re not listening, Chris,” he growls. “I’m only trying to protect you!”
“I can take care of myself,” I hiss. “You can’t come in and try to control my life, making up bullshit about him not being human just because you’re jealous?—”
“I’m not jealous,” he tries to argue, but we both know that’s a lie.
“And what kind of creature is he then?” I goad. “A vampire? He gonna drain my blood? That might be pretty hot actually. What about a werewolf? I’ve always liked dogs.”
Raoul shakes his head. “He’s awake during the day and he was fine during the full moon a few days ago.”
I stare at him, really stare at him, this man that I used to know so well when we were kids. Clearly, we’ve followed different paths because he answered that question with a certainty that makes me think he really believes what he’s saying. His concern may be genuine, but his jealousy is still seeping through. This big story isn’t necessary.
But a part of my mind, the shaken part, remembers what Erik had done to that painting, remembers how he’s always there, remembers the golden record. He’s strange, and there are unexplained things going on, but . . . not human? That’s insane. Monsters don’t exist, not the kind without people faces.
“I think he has something to do with the disappearances,” Raoul begins. “I think he’s?—”
“I’m going to stop you right there,” I growl. “You can’t go around accusing people of shit like that.”
“Just listen to me, Chris! I’m trying to?—”
“Stop. Please.” I study the man I thought I knew, the one who was always sunshine and brightness, and realize that we don’t have much in common anymore. All of our conversations are about the past, about the good times, but he hasn’t made any effort to create new good times, to really get to know me. I’m not the same person I was when I was a kid. I’ve walked in darkness for much longer now, and someone with as much sunshine as Raoul wouldn’t know what to do with that.
“I get it. You wanna protect me, but I’m a big girl,” I tell him. “I appreciate your concern, but I can take care of myself.”
His face darkens, and it’s the first time I’ve seen him wear such an expression. “Don’t do this, Chris. I can help.”
“I’m good,” I repeat. “Just . . . I gotta go get ready.”
And then I leave him there, turning my back on the man who at one point had been my best friend. He hasn’t been that for a while though now, and honestly, I’m not sure we could ever be that again. Besides, for all Erik’s weirdness, he’s just quirky. We’re artists. It comes with the territory. There are literally people here who cosplay as vampires twenty-four seven. Fake fangs and everything. Erik being a little spooky makes sense.
“There you are,” Erik purrs when I reappear backstage. But when he sees my expression, he frowns. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah,” I grumble, reaching for my guitar. “Yeah, it’s all good.” I throw my shoulder strap on and go to run my fingers along my strings. It’s a comfort thing. I do it all the time. But this time, when I do it, it comes with a bite of pain on my fingertips that surprises me. “Ow! What the hell?”
