Soul Mates Read online

  He’d been searching for the right apartment all day, checking web sites on his iPhone for places to rent, but nothing had appealed to him until he found the loft above the small strip mall.

  At first he thought nothing of it. Who wanted to live above a strip mall? As he looked around, though, he realized it would be awfully convenient. The mall had anything he’d need. Since he would be spending the majority of his time at home, practicing and perfecting his work, that was a definite plus.

  The apartment itself was the clincher, though. The ad had described it as a one bedroom with a large living area but he saw it differently.

  “Might be too much space for a single fella.”

  The realtor led Jeremiah up to the second floor and showed him the space. He glanced at the bedroom on one side, not really caring about it. On the other side, a kitchen held the usual assortment of appliances. He ignored that, too, other than to mentally check off a box.

  But, the main room . . .

  It was easily thirty feet wide and ten deep. The ceiling was ten feet above the floor.

  “My stage,” he whispered.

  “Beg pardon?”

  Jeremiah smiled at the realtor. “It’s perfect.”

  “Well, good to hear. You know the rent from the ad, so if you want it, I just need first and last month and a damage deposit.”

  “Why is it so big?”

  “Guess it’s to match the size of the dance studio below. Maybe originally an overflow area? Not my business, but that’s my figuring.”

  Jeremiah walked to the center of the large room. The floor consisted of two-inch wide strips of hardwood. He thought maybe oak, but he wasn’t sure. It wasn’t all shiny and new, but it was hardwood just the same.

  He held his arms out and imagined the audience in front of him. There was plenty of room all around him.

  “I’ll take it.”

  * * *

  His equipment arrived three days later, filling a sixteen-foot, cubical moving truck. The official weight was 2,840 pounds, of which the vast majority was paraphernalia for his show. At the beginning of his career he never would have imagined having more than a ton of magic equipment, but there it was.

  There was no elevator, since he was only one floor up, so that certainly made the movers work for their money. When everything had been delivered to the second floor, he gave each of the two movers a fifty-dollar tip. They thanked him and they left.

  Jeremiah loved his new digs. He spent the rest of the day moving things around and unpacking boxes. He thought of playing some music but decided against it. The sound of boxes scraping across the floor boards was all he wanted to hear.

  He only had two chairs, both better suited to a lawn party. When he had moved all his boxes to generally where they belonged, he cracked a Coors Light and sat.

  “And the magic begins again in a new venue,” he said, toasting an invisible audience.

  He rested his eyes and enjoyed being in his new home.

  An hour later, Jeremiah realized his stomach was rumbling. He hadn’t eaten any lunch and it was now almost 7:00 p.m.

  “One advantage of living at a strip mall,” he said.

  He rubbed his eyes and took one last look at the apartment before heading out.

  At one end of the mall was the unusually named Wilson’s Chinese, while at the other was the Swiss Kitchen, a chain of mid-scale family restaurants.

  He chose the Kitchen and walked over. The smell of rotisserie chicken wafted everywhere, making him realize he was starving.

  The restaurant was mostly empty. He assumed the families ate earlier, which was good to know for future times when he might want to eat in silence.

  “Can I bring you a drink, sir?”

  The waitress gave him a bright smile, and he returned it. Seems like a friendly place, he thought. I like it.

  “Just a coffee would be great. Thanks.”

  “First time here?”

  “How would you know that?”

  “I—” She shrugged and laughed. “I guess I’ve worked here too long. I know all the regulars.” She looked around at the other waitresses. “We all do.”

  “Ahh.”

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude or anything.”

  “No, it’s fine. You’re right. This is my first time here. I’ve just moved into the apartment above the dance studio.”

  “Well then, welcome to the neighborhood! I’m Errin Elizabeth and I’ll be your server tonight.”

  “Nice to meet you, Errin Elizabeth.”

  She locked eyes with him and blushed. He couldn’t help notice her nice smile, her long dark hair that curled at the ends, and the way she glanced at his left ring finger, which was empty.

  He nodded and said, “Coffee would be great.” Then he lifted the menu, still glancing in her direction.

  “I’ll be back,” she said.

  Jeremiah watched her leave before returning his attention to the menu. As with other women he had met, he didn’t feel any sparks, and he somehow knew he never would. Errin was pleasant, and she’d be happy if he asked her out, but he also knew it would come to nothing. He’d seen that movie too many times.

  Quarter chicken with a skewer of shrimp, he read. Two choices of sides, $16.95.

  His stomach approved his choice, rumbling again.

  He left Errin Elizabeth a 20% tip and thanked her for the kind welcome. He promised to return soon, and he meant it.

  * * *

  Back at the apartment that night, he spent a couple more hours organizing his belongings.

  He was careful as he unpacked his books and set them up in his small shelves. He only had a couple of dozen print books, mostly classics he’d read over and over again, including both Romeo and Juliet and West Side Story. Jeremiah craved the kind of love that both stories showed him. He knew, however, it was very unlikely to ever fall his way.

  After all, he thought, it took Shakespeare to write romance like that. Nobody ever found it in real life.

  He still hoped for one day, though. His heart wanted to find a soul mate. She was out there somewhere . . . wasn’t she?

  His other books included The Grapes of Wrath, The Shining, The Old Man and the Sea, The Andromeda Strain, Pride and Prejudice, and The Hunger Games. He liked what he liked, and if nobody else could understand why they all belonged on his shelf, well, he wouldn’t lose any sleep.

  What would surprise people more, though, was the lack of books about his craft. There was only one: The Encyclopedia of Magic.

  He actually owned hundreds of other books on magic, but they were all stored on his Kindle. He didn’t treasure them the way he treasured the print books he owned.

  When the books were arranged exactly as he wanted them, Jeremiah stripped to his briefs and climbed into his double-sized bed. That night, as always, he dreamed of magic and love.

  * * *

  The next morning, he woke with a renewed sense of purpose. He sat on the edge of his bed and stared at the wall. Several framed photos of people leaned against the wall. Jeremiah planned to hang them sometime in the next day or two.

  Three of the photos were of his mom, his dad, and both of them at their wedding. He loved how the photographer had captured them glancing at each other with a secret smile as they met at the front of the church.

  A few feet from those photos was one more, a picture of Suzette, grinning widely. Before the accident had sliced her leg.

  Suzette never knew that he had that photo and that he used it every day to remind himself that no part of his act was as important as safety. It’d taken him five years to pay her hospital bill, and he had never contacted her again after he saw her that one time while she was recovering.

  It was two years after the accident before he finally had the courage to once again perform magic in public, and to this day, he still hadn’t tried to cut a woman in half. Every day, though, he felt closer to being able to take that challenge. He knew that with the right precautions (and the right assistant)
, the trick was safe.

  One day . . .

  * * *

  For two weeks, Jeremiah worked on setting up his apartment, which consisted mostly of hundreds of individual pieces of equipment for his magic show.

  His next booking was for a week-long stint in Orlando, and he wanted to shift around some of his tricks to appeal to a younger audience. He loved performing in front of teens and pre-teens, because lots of them came in expecting a stupid waste of time.

  Instead they found themselves marveling as Jeremiah performed miracle after miracle, and almost every one of them walked away believing in magic. Real magicians could even beat Walt Disney World. They’d be return customers for life, wondering how he did the things he did.

  The expressions on kids’ faces were more rewarding than the pay checks he received.

  The two weeks passed in a flash, blinked away like one of his doves.

  In that time, he got to know the little strip mall well. He alternated meals at the Chinese restaurant and the Swiss Kitchen, and he already knew both menus. He could smell the Chinese food every time he left his apartment.

  He also knew every one of the Starbucks baristas, the clerks at the small grocery store and the specialty wine store, and even the owner of the dance studio below his loft. Nickie was a nice enough woman, and Jeremiah had chatted with her once as she was arriving at the studio. She was the owner and, yes, the apartment he was renting was originally part of the studio. Her dreams were bigger than her number of customers, though, and she scaled it back to the single floor.

  Jeremiah hesitated as he left the apartment, not really wanting either restaurant choice tonight. He glanced to the busy street beyond the parking lot. Maybe it was time to go hunting for a different place . . . .

  Just then, a woman walked in front of him as she made her way to the dance studio door. She glanced at him and gave him a closed-mouth smile that was both sincere and guarded.

  She was absolutely beautiful.

  Wow.

  Before he knew what he was doing, he blurted out, “Hi there.”

  Oh, Jesus, he thought. What am I doing?

  That one smile had captured him. Somehow he knew that that single image would live in his brain forever. It was a snapshot from Instagram or Facebook that he would never forget.

  In the split second before she turned toward the studio, he saw her soul.

  He saw her almond-shaped green eyes that widened just a fraction. He saw the corners of her perfect mouth rise and her nose wiggle a fraction of an inch. He saw the life in her bouncing dark hair and the scattering of tiny freckles on her cheeks.

  She was the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen.

  And when she glanced back after he called to her, he knew immediately that they couldn’t possibly have a future together. She looked like she was barely twenty, and he was twice that age.

  She smiled again, this time a broad smile full of bright white teeth.

  “Hi.”

  Her voice was whispery, shy, full of secrets and promises, and Jeremiah knew his heart was lost.

  The girl stopped and looked at him, as if she was trying to see if he was somebody she knew. Why else would he have said hi to her?

  “I’m . . .”

  He stopped and shook his head. His mind wasn’t working. He licked his lips and tried again.

  “I’m the tenant from upstairs. My name is Jeremiah.”

  “Hi,” she said again. Her voice was soft and gentle, and Jeremiah’s heart felt her shyness and knew immediately this girl was fragile and needed to be treasured.

  He lurched his hand out, startling her a bit. She recovered and reluctantly shook his hand.

  “I’m Alannah,” she said. “I practice here. Dance.”

  “Yes, I kind of figured that. It being a dance studio and all.”

  She laughed.

  “I guess so,” she said.

  “What kind of dance do you do?”

  Alannah lowered her head as if she was ashamed and didn’t answer for a moment. When she did, she kept her head low.

  “I don’t really follow a style. It’s just what I like to do.”

  “That sounds very creative.”

  She looked up and locked eyes with him.

  “You know about dance?”

  “Not as much as I should. I’m an entertainer. A magician, actually. I’ve shared the stage with a lot of people over the years: singers, comedians, and dancers.”

  “What kind of magic do you do?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t really follow a style. It’s just what I like to do.”

  Alannah’s face reddened and stepped backward.

  “You’re making fun of me.”

  “Oh my God, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that at all. I really liked your answer.”

  “I should go.”

  “Can I watch?”

  “What?”

  “Can I watch you practice?”

  She stared at him, pursing her lips. He wondered if she was considering running away or calling the cops. She was tense. He smiled and tried to reassure her with his charm.

  Don’t leave me now. It’s taken my whole life to find you.

  “Sure, why not.”

  He let out a long breath, without even knowing he had been holding it.

  “Thank you.”

  “Don’t make fun of me.”

  Chapter 9

  2014

  Alannah slept that night, totally relaxed. She’d written in her diary about the stranger who wanted to watch her dance. Even though he was much older than she, she felt attracted to him. She’d never have the courage to tell him that, of course, but as she drifted off to sleep, his face stayed in her imagination. She liked that.

  She wasn’t very experienced with men; her perpetual shyness was a big part of that. That’s what made him such a nice surprise.

  Chances were that she’d never see him again, but that didn’t stop her from contemplating what might be.

  “A agua esta fria.”

  What?

  She blinked awake and froze in her bed. The voice seemed too real to have been a dream. And it was that odd phrase again that she’d heard once before in a—

  (vision)

  —dream. It was the same soft voice, a girl or perhaps a young boy.

  Alannah sat up and realized her fingers and hands were sticky. She couldn’t see anything in the dark, so she shuffled her way to the bathroom and flicked the light on.

  Her hands were covered in blood. It was sticky, but not wet, like it’d been there a little while.

  Oh my God . . .

  Alannah’s first reaction was that she must be bleeding somewhere, but she didn’t feel any pain, and other than some dried red smudges on her night clothes, there was no blood anywhere except on her hands. She wanted to cry out but she was frozen with fear.

  “What happened?”

  She clenched her fists. The blood was tacky and sticky, but there was no pain. She glanced toward her bedroom, but there was only darkness.

  Pulling together every bit of courage she could find, she turned the water on and scrubbed the blood from her hands. It swirled down the sink and left her with just wet, cold fingers.

  Part of her knew she needed to turn the damned bedroom light on and see what there was to see, but she ignored that. She wanted to stay hidden in the bathroom as long as she could. It was safe there.

  Surely there was nobody hiding in her room.

  Who’s blood was it?

  She bent over and splashed water on her face, hoping that the chill would help wake her up and allow her to think about what to do.

  Alannah listened, but there were no strange noises from her bedroom.

  She grabbed a hand towel, patted her face dry, and looked at the mirror.

  It wasn’t her face staring back. It was a little boy. He had long, light brown hair and was naked. His face and body were bloated, parts of his flesh ripped off. A large hole disfigured his right cheek, and blo
od oozed out of it.

  His face was pure evil, hate lasering from his eyes and hunger from his mouth.

  She couldn’t move, knowing she must be dreaming, but this wasn’t like any dream she’d ever had. This felt real, and although she wanted it to be a dream, her mind screamed no.

  He was real.

  The boy grinned hugely. His teeth were covered with green slime.

  Alannah’s legs almost gave out, and she grabbed onto the counter to stop herself from falling.

  “A agua esta fria!” he shouted.

  “No,” Alannah whispered. “You’re not real.”

  The boy laughed and said, “Oh, I’m real, sis. And I’m coming back.”

  Alannah couldn’t look at him. Neither could she move. She wanted to leave the bathroom but couldn’t. Her legs wouldn’t carry her; neither could she move her hands. She couldn’t even turn her head from the monster staring at her.

  The boy laughed and reached for her. She felt sure that his arms would come right out of the mirror to strangle her.

  She couldn’t scream, couldn’t move, could barely think. She was a frozen statue of herself. Urine spilled down her legs.

  All she could do was close her eyes. She didn’t want to see him touching her.

  “Who are you?” she wanted to ask, but no sound came from her mouth.

  After a moment, she gasped as she realized she hadn’t been breathing. Her eyes flew open, and she saw only her own terrified image in the glass.

  Her body was free again, and she almost collapsed but caught herself on the counter.

  Alannah took a deep breath, not daring to move her eyes from the messy girl in the mirror. Her hair was soaked, and the T-shirt she wore was covered in sweat. Her eyes were wide and tearstains glistened below them.

  “You’re not real,” she said again. She wasn’t sure if she was saying it to herself or to the little boy.

  She walked back to her bedroom and turned the light on.