Flashfire

Ch12

When Caleb opened his eyes, it was dark out. Evidently, after freaking out that he was losing his mind, he had drifted off to sleep. He really regretted having done that. He was sore, stiff, a painful crick in his neck and his arm asleep that was tucked beneath his head for support.

Caleb closed his eyes once more. He didn't want to be awake. If he was awake, he had to live in this Hell where his husband was murdered. If he was awake, he had to admit to himself that he was probably going insane from grief. In the waking world, he had just pushed away his only good friend.

Caleb opened his eyes again and sat up, groaning. People who are crazy don't know they are—wasn't that how the saying went? Was there a reality behind that? If there were, did that mean Caleb had been temporarily insane? People couldn't actually summon people from the dead, could they?

Worse, what if literally everything had been a mass hallucination? What if he never actually got the demonic book from online? What if when he had gone to the store he had really been by himself the entire time? What if Liam being there physically wasn't real?

Panic threatened to take Caleb over again in a tidal wave. If the above were true, did that mean he had a serious mental illness, like schizophrenia? Or psychosis brought on by the stress and trauma of losing Liam? Even worse; what if the nosebleeds were a sign of something sinister? Did Caleb have a brain tumor which caused the nose bleeds and hallucinations?

Fighting down the taste of bile in the back of his throat, Caleb got to his feet. He found the spellbook immediately. Picking up the nondescript volume, he ran a hand over it. It was definitely real.

"Well, at least that's real."

Caleb was now more determined than ever to summon Liam to him. Then he remembered the empty lighter.

"Fuck," he muttered. Luckily it was an easy fix; a gas station was only three blocks away.

Caleb left and locked up the bar behind himself. It was chiller than he thought, and he shoved his hands deep in his pants pockets. A car turned around the corner, or just turned its headlights on; Caleb was only marginally aware of this fact. Living in a city had made occurrences like noise pollution and light pollution a normalcy. In fact, the only reason he was even mildly aware of it was because there weren't currently any other cars on the street that weren't parked.

Caleb fished out his phone from his back pocket. Frowning, he noticed he had a missed call and a voicemail from Paul. Shaking his head in a mixture of disbelief and annoyance, Caleb put the phone to his ear and listened to the message.

Hey man, it's Paul.

Look, I'm sorry for just busting in there like that. I get it; anyone in your position would be stressed the fuck out. You haven't been around at all though. If you ever want to come over, don't be a stranger, alright? Bye.

End of messages.

Caleb turned the corner and slipped the phone back in his pocket. A car rounded the same corner, going slower than what was necessary. Once again, Caleb thought little of it. That is, until, the car sped up at the end of the street, barely breaking for the stop sign before making a right hand turn and sped off.

"Idiot," Caleb muttered, shaking his head.

By the time Caleb reached the stop sign himself, he heard another car turn back onto the street. It's tires screeched, and he could hear the engine rev behind him. Caleb had to cross the street going left. The car sped to the stop sign; Caleb waited, not wanting to get flattened.

A black car with windows so dark he couldn't see into them stopped at the stop sign. While they had seemed in such a hurry moments ago, they waited.

And waited.

And waited.

Caleb swallowed thickly. What was this car waiting for? There wasn't anyone else around. It was late, so there weren't even any other pedestrians.

They're just lost, Caleb reasoned with himself, fighting off the urge to panic.

Then why don't they roll down the window and ask?

They're probably afraid to. Or embarrassed.

Well, I'm not going to stand on this corner forever, so.

Caleb turned to walk behind the car. It was a good thing he did; by the time he reached the back of the car, the tires squealed and the car hooked a hard left. Caleb jogged across the street.

He swallowed and ran a hand through his hair. A thought occurred to him as he quickened his pace down the last block before he reached the gas station; a car with black tinted windows had honked at Liam and him the other day. Was it the same one?

Caleb heard screeching tires again in the distance. He looked behind him as his heart started to thud in his ears. No car. Even so, his feet carried him even faster.

"Fuck," he muttered to himself, looking over his shoulder every few feet. "What color was that car? What color was that car?"

He heard a car behind him, stopping at the intersection he had just crossed. He was halfway down the block, and he could see the gas station sign. Not bothering to look behind him again, Caleb broke into a sprint. Tires screeched behind him. Caleb didn't stop running until he busted through the glass door, pulling it frantically shut behind him. He stumbled away, panting, eyes frantically scanning the area for the black car with tinted windows.

"Are you okay?"

The voice made Caleb nearly hop out of his skin. His head snapped to the right. The station clerk stood behind the counter, one hand either on a panic button or a gun. Caleb decided he wasn't too keen on finding out which one it was. Taking a final glance outside, he scurried towards the counter.

"Yeah," he replied, still glancing nervously out of the window. "I thought I was—"

What, being followed? C'mon, Caleb. Paranoid now too? Who would be following you?

Caleb shook his head, grabbing a lighter from off the counter. "Never mind," he muttered, unable to look at the attendant in the eyes and feeling himself flush.

"Is that it?"

Caleb lifted his head. After considering the question for a split second, he grabbed two more lighters and a pack of gum. Wishing the man a good night, he hurried out of the store.

Caleb thought it would be stupid to head back to the bar. Halfway to his destination, however, he realized going back there wouldn't pose a larger threat; whoever was following him (if he was actually being followed) already knew him from the bar. It wasn't a scenario where if you're being followed, you shouldn't head back home because then they'll know where you live. They (whoever they were) already seemed to have a firm grasp on his association with the bar.

By the time he reached Paul's apartment, he was shaking. The entire six block walk was uneventful. He passed a couple of people walking their dogs, but that was it. No black car with eerie windows followed him. In fact, not a car was to be seen on these residential side streets (besides those that were already lining the street, shut off and parked).

Caleb rang the doorbell, looking over his shoulders. After a few seconds passed and nothing, Caleb rang again, holding the button down a few seconds longer than normal.

"Hello?" Paul's voice came over the cracking speaker.

"Hey Paul, it's Caleb."

"Oh."

"Er, I thought I'd take you up on that offer..."

"Oh yeah, sure. Let me throw some pants on—"

"Shit, sorry, if your girlfriend is over never mind—"

"She's not. I was just about to go to bed, that's all."

"Oh. Well, I don't want to—"

"Get your ass up here, Caleb. You're not bothering me."

Before Caleb could answer, the door buzzer rang out and there was a click as the door unlocked. Caleb puffed out his cheeks with a heavy sigh, ran a hand through his hair, took one final look over his shoulder, and then scurried into the apartment building, feet carrying him up to the third floor.