Synesthesia: Chapter Twenty-Three

serial fiction

Image: Francesca Grima, Unsplash (cropped)

I slept terribly that night, waking up every hour or so imagining I was hearing Gas Stove coming in through a window to murder us all. By the time the first pale sunlight began to pour into the room, I was a bleary-eyed mess, but I was up and ready to put as much distance between myself and Gas Stove as I possibly could.

Hoka guy was up next, followed by Jacob, who woke up and just stared at us, clutching his sleeping mother’s hand in both of his.

Around eight o’clock, I was starting to get antsy. If Gas Stove hadn’t already realized his money was missing, he’d figure it out any minute. I was sure the house Amber had snuck into must have been full of cameras. Even if it wasn’t, Gas Stove would definitely find out who had been in there and taken his money.

Amber was still fast asleep, sprawled across the mattress, her legs tangled up in the threadbare white sheet, Jacob clinging to her hand and silently keeping watch.

I moved toward them slowly, not wanting to frighten Jacob. Gingerly, I reached one hand out and lightly touched Amber’s shoulder.

She shot up instantly and looked all around her, her green eyes wide and shooting orange blossoms like lasers.

“Whoa, whoa, calm down,” I said, hopefully soothingly. “You’re okay. Everything is okay.”

She just stared at me with those huge, shell-shocked eyes.

“We gotta go,” I said. “It’s already after eight. I don’t want Gas Stove to find us.”

That last sentence was a mistake. As soon as the words “Gas Stove” had left my mouth, Jacob started bawling. Amber grabbed him and pulled him in toward herself, hugging him and rocking him and kissing the dark curls on the top of his head.

The room smelled incredible, both of them sitting there in terror. But I didn’t have the luxury of enjoying it. I wanted out of Tucson ASAP.

“Come on,” I urged, and my voice came out like a whine. “Get up, please, so we can leave.”

After giving Jacob a few more kisses, Amber complied. Jacob didn’t want to let her out of his sight, so he followed her into the bathroom. Hoka guy and I stood around stupidly, staring at the closed bathroom door, waiting for them to come out.

It felt like one of those awkward situations where you have to make small talk. But how do you make small talk with a guy you’ve kidnapped and held captive in a dog crate?

Hokas opened his mouth and saved me the trouble of coming up with an opening line.

“Hey, uh,” he began, grabbing one of his dumb multicolored shoes and doing some sort of a leg stretch, “you think you can take me back to Phoenix? I mean, if we’re done with all of… this?”

I stared at him. He put his foot back down and grabbed the other shoe, doing the same stretch on the other leg.

He had a point. I didn’t really need him anymore. He wasn’t afraid of me by now, and I’d feel like an asshole keeping someone in a dog crate with Jacob around to see it. It’s the kind of thing you feel fine about doing until there’s a kid watching you.

Hokas put his other foot down and started stretching his elbow above his head. He looked at me expectantly, smelling faintly of vinegar.

I wrinkled my nose up at the smell. I’ve never understood why hope smells like vinegar.

“Yeah, okay,” I agreed finally. “I can take you back.”

The vinegar smell turned into shit.

“And can I keep my car, too?” He was literally bouncing up and down with excitement, filling the room with the smells of cinnamon and feces.

I took a few steps away from him.

“Yeah,” I said. “You can keep your car.”

Twenty minutes later, we had checked out of the Magic Sunset Hotel and were moving north toward Phoenix at seventy-six miles per hour. I was in the driver’s seat, Hokas was next to me, and Jacob and Amber were in the back.

The silence in the car was killing me.

“Why would you even buy a car that doesn’t have a CD player?” I complained in Hoka guy’s general direction. “Don’t you ever want to listen to music?”

Gasoline stung my nose. Hokas started to laugh.

I felt anger and annoyance rise tight in my chest.

“What do you want to listen to?” Hoka guy asked.

I looked over at him in confusion, then put my eyes back on the road in front of us.

“The hell are you talking about?” I asked.

“What do you want to listen to?” he repeated.

I scoffed. “Well, if there were a CD player in this car, I’d put on Empire of the Sun. But—”

“Alexa,” interrupted Hoka guy. “Play Empire of the Sun.”

As if by magic, “Walking on a Dream” started up on the car’s speakers, filling the space with sound.

“What the hell?” I asked.

Hokas laughed harder. The disgusting stench of gasoline was too much, and I lowered my window to get some fresh air.

“You seriously don’t know about Alexa?” he asked, incredulous.

I thought hard. It sounded familiar. It might have been the name of one of the girls I’d met at a club and tried unsuccessfully to take home with me.

Hoka guy was cracking up now, doubled over in laughter, his face red, his eyes streaming tears.

“Whatever,” I grumbled, searching for a volume knob. My hand collided with a flat glass screen.

On a hunch, I decided to try something.

“Alexa,” I half-shouted over Hoka guy’s hoots and cackles. “Turn up the volume.”

The volume increased, drowning out Hoka guy and the wind from the window and everything that irritated or annoyed me or posed any sort of problem in my life.

“Wandering Star” began to play. As Empire of the Sun serenaded me and the hot morning air of the desert smacked me in the face, I sped up to seventy-seven miles an hour, feeling invincible.