The Inevitability Of: Death's Gate

By Neka Marie

For centuries a Hobbs witch has held Death's Gate, but for the first time in history, the next Gatekeeper has no magic.

Rikaria Hobbs is an overachieving realist who knows that her summer tradition of taking a couple months off from real li

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mindset Crafting LLC
• Release date: Jun 20, 2023
• ISBN: 9798988047919

Book preview

Chapter One

CONQUEST CAME FIRST, FOR HUMANS NEEDED TO BELIEVE.

Rika’s headache reached a pulsating crescendo as she crossed the threshold of her grandmother’s property. She eased her car through the open wrought-iron gate, pushing her balding tires from worn asphalt to shifting gravel, and tried her damnedest to ignore the ringing in her ears. No music on the radio, just the constant and monotonous internal tonal nuisance. Migraines were not uncommon for Rika, but this one felt too familiar, too akin to the one that made her last summer and following academic year a chaotic hell on Earth.

An old, gnarled weeping willow that Rika played under as a child still stood like an imposing sentinel off to the side of the driveway, thin leaves waving as she passed. Her grandmother’s garden of vegetables, herbs, and shrubs flowered in the late June heat. Wave after wave of nostalgia and nausea washed over her as she parked her car in front of the old two-story colonial. A blanket of guilt clung tight against her spirit. This summer, if her meticulous plans came to fruition, would mark her last visit for a long while.

Once all of her luggage was out of the trunk, Rika began the sweaty task of pulling her suitcases through the gravel and up the worn wooden stairs. She’d only parked a few feet from the porch, but it felt like she had walked a mile with her summer’s worth of wardrobe in Virginia’s notorious humidity. She pulled out her key, placed it in the lock, and groaned as it provided no resistance. Despite her nagging, her grandmother still left the door unlocked.

Nothing had changed since her last visit. The smell of cinnamon and vanilla blew past her as she pulled her things into the foyer, giving a nod to the altar statue of the Orisha Oshun draped in waves. The figure was perched on a pedestal in the corner surrounded by yellow candles, sunflowers, a small bowl of honey and sweet fruit. She took in a deep breath, eyed the photos of mostly unknown family members lining the entryway, and winced at the pressure building behind her eyes.

A chill rose from the middle of her back to the nape of her neck and she turned, frowning at the closed door. Had there been a draft? She hissed at the stab of pain at her temples and tried to find her center by inhaling deeply. The headache, mixed with the nerves of telling her grandmother she would be leaving for more realistic pastures, had to be getting to her. Despite her churning stomach, she reached into her pocket and pulled out a tiny, gold-wrapped chocolate. Nervous snacking was a terrible habit, but it had become the one thing keeping her calm in recent days. Years. Decades.

Let me out.

She turned to the empty living room, looking for her grandma, though the voice sounded distinctively her own. Not a single soul could be seen on the floral couches drenched in handmade quilts, by the massive oak bookcases, or by the bay window by the fireplace. She shook it off with a shiver. There was no time to lose her mind or hear voices, not again. Her unease worsened as she dragged her luggage up the stairs and to her room for the summer. She knew no one was home and yet the creeping sensation of being watched was unmistakable. Between the thumping of plastic wheels on hardwood stairs, Rika could have sworn she heard softly clacking of heels.

The room, her mother’s old room, was frozen in time. Rika tried to make it her own in some ways, adding two black end tables and a cosmetics organizer on the dresser, but most of the room was a time capsule. The walls were bubblegum pink. The fuzzy comforter was a mix of white and blush pink. The furniture, from the four-post bed to the dressers to tiny picture frames, also white. When Rika was twelve she certainly hadn’t minded, but as an adult it felt juvenile. She wished she could rationalize and relate the cuteness of the room to the coldness of who her mother had become.

Ultimately, it didn’t matter what she thought about the space anymore— she wouldn’t be back to complain about it. In August she would be in her apartment drowning under books and papers until her thesis was completed. Once that was finished and well received, a PhD would be quick to follow. Her supervised years would breeze by and then she’d open her own practice a few years after. That was the plan. No more fantasy, no more make-believe, just her hard fought future where no one could deny her high-performing presence. As if she needed reminding, her phone chimed. An email notification surged to the top of the screen from her University’s Psychology Department head reminding everyone that their thesis proposals were due in July. She shoved the phone back into her pocket with a sigh; she had an idea but it wasn’t quite there yet.

Colors blended together as she crossed the bedroom’s threshold. Rika tried to steady herself by leaning on her suitcase handle, but as her full weight came down, the handle slammed back into the plastic housing and sent her face first into the carpet. She heard her head bounce off the floor before she felt it and, in a most unladylike fashion, came very close to cursing.

Your mother had a foul mouth too. A smoky voice filled the room, or inside her skull. She couldn’t tell over the pounding in her ears.

Rika groaned in annoyance. Her mother cursed like a sailor after a storm and Rika, above all else, strived to have nothing in common with her mother. As her self-loathing subsided, panic set in. Someone was in the house.

She sat straight up, hand pressed to the rapidly forming a knot on her forehead, and frantically looked around the surrounding area. Grandma? she yelled, but received no answer. No one was there. On all fours, she crawled to the threshold and peered around the door jamb to her grandmother’s room and back down the stairs. After hearing nothing but the house settling, she crawled back and popped open her suitcase, pulling clothes out and keeping one eye on the door at all times. Two different voices, no response. Her summer headache was taking things up a notch this year.

Rika shook her head, putting more force than necessary into making sure her shirts lay as flat as possible in the dresser drawer after refolding it to perfection. She would not, under any circumstances, be paying attention to pain-induced hallucinations. Not. Again. Because she gave into one intrusive thought last summer, she was plagued with flashes of uncharacteristic urges the rest of the year.

Being in the house made Rika revert to her younger self. A version of her that was carefree, imaginative, and only saw what could be instead of what was. That was why she had to put some long-term distance between herself and everything her grandmother, and their time together, represented. With her grandmother, magic had the chance to be real, but she knew from prolonged time with her mother, and in the real world, there was nothing mystical about life. Within the confines of tiny Hamlet, Virginia, she had a semblance of freedom that teased her, tricked her into thinking she could be something she wasn’t: special. She was smart. Many even called her accommodating. Above all else, she was polite. But her mother struck any notions of special early on. All that would be fine if she didn’t feel so abnormal all the time.

Despite the relative excitement over her future aspirations, her soul felt heavy and her stomach twisted into a hard knot. She knew her grandmother would be heartbroken, but the rest of her family, a family she never had a chance to connect with, wouldn’t care at all. She couldn’t remember the last time she had a substantial conversation with any of her extended family, or if she ever had. Heck, she wasn’t sure she knew any of them outside of photographs her grandmother told stories about. Save for a Great Aunt that had passed many years prior and her absentee Aunt, Rika couldn’t remember the last time she was physically around anyone but her grandmother. Even her own brother was down to texting her once every few months just to say hi before leaving her on read. She was far past trying to create a relationship with any of them, but she knew her announcement would put a strain on her one strong familial tie. Rebati would always drawl, Family is everything, and Rika wished that was true for her.

Gods, you are so boring. Let me out!

She sighed, rising to her feet to check her forehead in the mirror atop of the dresser. Her head looked fine other than the aggravated purpling splotch just under her hairline. She used her ring finger to gently poke it, hissing at just how tender the skin was. She met her own dark brown eyes in the mirror and frowned, That’s enough excitement for the day.

A single beat, reverberating and bassy, shot through her chest, immediately followed by a coldness she had never felt before that spread quickly over her breasts, across her shoulders, and crawled up her neck. Whispers filled her ears, incoherent syllables coming quickly. She shook her head hard, ratcheting up the intensity of the already present pain ten fold and brought her hands up to her ears trying to shut everything out and hold herself still.

Looking into the mirror again, she paused. Her reflection, what should have been a perfect reverse image of herself, watched her with an intense smirk where her own mouth pinched in worry. The reflection’s hair was a cloud of long black coils, whereas Rika had her hair tied into a stern and unobtrusive bun. Stranger still, her reflection’s eyes were glowing a bright and impossible deep purple.

Rika’s feet wouldn’t move. She couldn’t back up or run or fling herself out of the bedroom window a yard away because her body refused to follow her commands. Her reflection tilted its head to one side and Rika followed the act like a puppet. Her reflection bared her teeth in what could have been a smile or a threat, "Pay attention," her reflection purred.

Searing pain shook every nerve in her body. Her muscles clenched, her teeth ground together as a scream she so desperately wanted to free became trapped in her mouth. She dug her nails into her palm, paining herself beyond the fire in her veins as her polish chipped off in her skin. Her vision flashed bright purple, white and finally blackness as she careened through an explosion of stars. Her body felt like it was swelling from the inside with static, her bones humming in time with her erratic heartbeat. She closed her eyes against the onslaught of sensation, willing everything to stop.

With one last pop, sweet release came as though someone yanked the plug that held every ounce of turmoil in her body. A coaxing warmth replaced the flames and the static in her fingertips and toes became a delightful anchor as her breathing slowed.

What’s wrong with ya, baby? the raspy voice, the one not in her reflection, returned.

Rika opened her eyes and her body woke up in a way she had never experienced before. The room shimmered in front of her, the very air glistening with silver threads that glittered in the sunlight filtering through her gauzy curtains. The light licked at her skin, the beams kissing and caressing it so nicely she rolled her head back and sighed. That sigh felt like the first real breath she had ever taken.

She flexed her fingers and rolled out her shoulders, so hyper aware of the way the necklace she always wore weighed against her chest and how rigid the starched white shirt she wore felt against her skin that she gasped. She ran a hand along her black leggings absentmindedly, hypnotized by the sensation as though she were touching them for the first time. Had they always been so soft? Had sunlight always felt like glitter? Her body was alive with sensation, teeming with it and somehow all she felt was calm, surety in her own existence. Whole.

She looked into the mirror again to find her reflection, doing as it should be, and a hazy figure behind her made her jump. She turned, hip crashing into the heavy wooden dresser and felt the sting in technicolor.

Oh! The raspy voice was familiar and familial but long since gone, Where in the world is my sister when she’s actually needed.

Rika’s head started pounding once more. She doubled over, hands flying up to her ears to stave off the drumming. Her own brain swelled against her skull, trying to free itself. With every throb she held tighter. She closed her eyes. The light was too much. Feeling her muscles move under her skin was too much. She leaned forward just as something within her frayed and threatened to break her existence into tiny fragments.

The tone was unmistakable. The slight hint of condescension wrapped in a sweet southern drawl meant to sharpen any harmless statement into a weapon. Only one woman used to sound like that effortlessly.

Rika’s eyes felt like they could shoot out of their sockets if she opened them, but curiosity got the best of her. She opened one eye, then the other, still doubled over, and saw the unmistakable ankles of a portly woman. Purple kitten heels, white church tights…

The throbbing intensified, but she dared to look higher. White tights turned into a purple skirt, which led into a pair of gloved hands over a purple blazer. Rika closed her eyes again, silently screaming to herself to just stop looking and walk away. This had to be some kind of psychotic break. Her therapist would have told her to take several breaths and name three things she knew were real in the room. The bed, the dresser, the mirror. She forced her eyes open and knew what she was seeing was impossible.

In front of her stood her Great Aunt Maybelle. Despite being rather round, she had a stern nose that jutted out from her face like a pin. Her big brown eyes were uncharacteristically soft by comparison. On top of her head was her favorite hat that she only wore on Sundays. Rika must have seen her wear that hat in every photo of her around the house. She only saw the woman a few times, as Maybelle loved to drop by just to chastise her grandmother about one thing or another. Her Great Aunt never outright dismissed Rika, but she never struck up long conversations either. She was kind, not blatantly avoidant like others.

Rika remembered the day her grandmother accidentally tore off one of the many flowers on that hat and they fought for about a year. She remembered how Great Aunt Maybelle made a far better peach cobbler than any of her sisters and never missed a chance to tell anyone who would listen. She remembered that Maybelle once tried to open her own shop, just to piss off her grandmother, but failed miserably and that caused yet another fight that lasted years. She remembered the way Maybelle would always come over the day Rika arrived with fresh baked cookies and a new dress she had made. In fact, Rika still had some in storage.

The problem, Rika slowly realized, was that she remembered her Great Aunt because Maybelle had been dead almost ten years.

M-Maybelle? she stuttered. Her entire body began shaking from head to toe as a low, throbbing cold pulsed through her chest, just below her collarbone.

Great Aunt Maybelle scrunched up her face in confusion. She looked behind her, down the hallway, and around the room before finally looking her great niece directly in the eyes. Child, she half smiled, can you see me?

Maybelle moved forward as Rika’s knees buckled, causing her to fall to the floor.

Now, Rikaria Hobbs, don’t you play with me! Maybelle moved closer. Can you see me? What’s wrong with your eyes, child?

Rika, still shaking, could only gasp before her body gave out. She became weightless as her vision glazed over in a purple haze and she shattered into chaotic pieces. A cacophony of children’s laughter sounded off in her mind, punctuated by a distinctly masculine, bassy chortle. Her head hit the floor with a thud, but she didn’t feel it. She couldn’t feel anything as everything went black.

Let me out!

Chapter Two

Blackness. Rolling fog. Rika sat on a high-backed throne of bones, staring into endless nothingness.

One leg draped over the armrest of skulls filigreed in thin gold veins and her arm propped up on the knee. A robe of thin purple fabric lined in black along the hem touched the mist-covered floor as the loose bell sleeves fluttered in a non-existent breeze leaving nothing to the imagination. Her hair unbound, curls and coils freely sprawled down over her shoulders and framed her face. She closed her eyes and inhaled deep before smiling like a secret played on the tip of her tongue.

An odd dream, Rika knew that, and yet it was her favorite. The version of her sitting alone amongst nothing looked confident, powerful, and ready for anything. Everything she wished she could be in real life.

Nothing ever happened in the dream, not really. Sometimes she would stand and pace. Other times she sat there and tapped on the top of skulls with her daringly long black nails until she woke up. Bored always, patiently waiting. This time a small, knowing smirk became the oddest difference.

Rika looked forward, her irises rimmed in a deep purple glow, and spoke casually, "Are you finally aware of us now?"

Another shift in routine. This dream never had visitors before.

"Did you enjoy the taste of what you could be?"

A wave of frost crystallized against Rika’s awareness, keenly aware that something was wrong. She was not sitting; she was watching herself. A jolt went through her chest and traveled up, turning into an intense pressure behind her eyes. I don’t understand, she groaned, hearing how utterly terrified she sounded against the smooth cackle coming from the woman on the throne.

She, her, the one she thought was a dream, shoved her fingers into the eye sockets of skulls at the end of her armrest. The waiting expression Rika had become so accustomed to turned to giddy excitement as her eyes filled completely with bright purple light, "You will." Her Other spoke in the same way she spoke to inattentive students she tutored, the primacy layered behind a thin veil of pleasantry.

The pressure behind her eyes spread as she tried to take it all in. It’s a dream, Rika muttered to herself. That was the only logical explanation and she was nothing if not logical. For emphasis, she repeated it to herself, It’s just another dream.

Her Other smirked, amused by her weak claim to sanity, and looked off to the side. "They have decided your word. Morbelis. Accept it."

Please, Rika did not mean to sound whiny, but the pain pushed against her temples, I don’t understand. Who are you? What are you?

Her Other let out a laugh so deep, so seductive and haunting that the tiny hairs on the back of her neck stood up. "The one, she let the words drip from her black tinted lips as she raised a slender finger to Rika and then pointed to herself, The two and the three. Divine are they, and so are we. Danger comes for you, Rika, but I can help."

Air rushed from her lungs as she was thrown backwards. Phantom wind blew past her ears, the volume causing immeasurable pain as she fell through nothing but blackness and cold fog. She tried to scream, but no sounds escaped her lips. She reached out but touched nothing.

She fell for what felt like an eternity as visions and symbols whizzed passed her, none of it making any sense as she twisted and flailed to no avail. An intricately carved door, ashen white against the rushing blackness, rose toward her. She closed her eyes and covered her face despite everything telling her the door could not hurt her. It was a dream, nothing was real.

The crushing impact became all she knew. In her mind, every bone in her body cracked and shattered, surpassing the previous thrumming in her head tenfold. The sickening sounds made her stomach lurch. Surely she had died.

To her surprise, she was on all fours, dry-heaving on a reflective black floor. She saw her face, definitely her and not the Other. Her tight bun tied up at the top of her head to tame her curls, her wide and scared dark brown eyes, her sweaty brown face. Me, she told herself as her breathing slowed, it’s just me.

Her reflection’s head tilted, though she knew her head remained rigidly straight, and smiled as her eyes filled with white that darkened to purple glow.

It was never just you.

⤗

WAKEY WAKEY!

Rika shot up, nearly slamming her forehead into her grandmother’s, and screamed. MAYBELLE! ME! BUT MAYBELLE! Her arms flailed, her eyes trying to fight the blurred images that slowly came into focus.

Rebati, her sweet and rather tiny grandmother, reached out and shook her shoulders, Child, if you slap me I am not making apple pie tonight.

Rika blinked rapidly, trying to clear visions of fog and her very gone Great Aunt from her mind. Seconds later, Rebati’s silver-white locs, her barely wrinkled face and sweet eyes, came into focus. Without thinking, Rika hinged forward and wrapped her arms around her grandmother’s colorful kaftan, thankful in more ways than one to be awake. Her headache, in an act of rebellion, gave her one more cause to wince in pain before fading away.

Rebati stroked her back slowly with a low laugh, I’m happy to see you too.

I thought I saw Great Aunt Maybelle. She was in that awful getup she wore to church. Rika could barely force the words out of her mouth but she needed someone to confirm that she was seeing things. She would omit seeing herself, the weird dream, and the way sunlight danced over her skin.

Rebati pushed at her shoulders, her ringed fingers pressing roughly through her shirt, and looked into Rika’s eyes, searching. The expression playing in her normally soft, light brown eyes was anything but comforting. Before Rika could react, someone cleared their throat behind her.

Rika, it’s so good to see you.

She turned to find Junior leaning on the door jamb. His blue eyes lit up in delight as his trademark smirk cracked across his face.

Junior. Rika said simply, ignoring a knowing hum from Rebati.

Her long-time friend, the boy who took her virginity, the man who had become as synonymous with her summer stays as her grandmother’s apple pie, and an unfortunate casualty of her outburst the previous year. A stagnance hung in the air. Unspoken words in the form of subtle glances and deep breaths that were held too long. They’d not parted on good terms and Rika would take great pleasure in telling him she wouldn’t be back. She would do her damndest to never see him, his family, or that woman who laughed at her ever again.

Her grandmother’s lips twitched downward, so quick Rika might have missed it if she blinked, What’s wrong?

Again, something flashed across grandmother’s face, but was quickly turned to a smile, a disingenuous one that did not touch the eyes. Rebati rubbed her shoulders and laughed, Always worrying. Maybe this will be the year you learn to just have fun, Rika.

I’m fun! The words came out more petulant than desired, but Rika didn’t consider herself boring. She did what she had to do when she had to do it. What was more fun than being productive?

If you don’t stop with that.

Rika tensed, putting everything she had into not reacting to the voice in her head, and the worried look on Rebati’s face returned. Sorry, she sputtered. There was no reason to stress her grandmother with her psychotic break. I’m just a little spooked.

It’s okay, baby, Rebati squeezed her arms before standing, not that she was much taller on her feet, You are more than welcome to stay in bed if you’d like but Junior tells me he’s arranged a welcome back dinner for y’all. Sounds delicious.

Sounds like trouble.

The intrusive thought was unwelcome, and loud, but true. No matter how many times Rika insisted he stop with the grand displays, he refused. Throwing around money was Junior’s love language, but that always came before the pawing, before he did something or said something ignorant. She should have said no to his gifts and affection a long time ago. If she were more decisive or more prepared to be alone back then maybe she would have, but, as it stood, Junior was her only friend though she used that term loosely. As toxic as it may have been, they had once been good to each other. Was she ready to lose all that?

She had to be. Maybe she would make friends in her new phase of her life, ones who have never seen her lose herself. Perhaps a suitable romantic companion was in her future as well. One she actually felt something for other than bland situational appreciation.

If you need to freshen up, Junior reached into his pants pocket, perfectly tailored to show his muscular thighs, and pulled his phone out, I have a call to make. You can meet me outside.

Rika swallowed. I should probably help grandma with the shop, right grandma? She pleaded for Rebati to assist in her obvious attempt to get out of the situation with her eyes.

Rebati shrugged and headed for the door, Junior’s been pulling long nights so you wouldn’t be needed. Besides, I have some work to attend to here, go out. Call it your off night.

But grandma! Rika started, but Rebati turned the corner and shut the door to her own bedroom.

Junior gave a wicked wink before looking her up and down, Five minutes, he bit his lip, I’ve missed you, Rika.

Ice spread through her chest, a lattice of shame and doubt forming just below the surface. She tugged at her shirt collar to help suck in more air. She didn’t want to go, but the expectation was there and she never could say no to Junior’s insistence. However, after last summer and the way Junior’s stare greasily roamed over her, everything in her cringed. Her gut was telling her not to leave that room.

You could just stay here. On the floor.

Fear needled at her spine. She knew that voice meant she was losing it. The long nights of studying, hard days of clinics and the stream of completely unnecessary extra work she took on were getting to her. The intrusive thoughts had always been there, but never so loud. And never so right. But if she were losing her sanity, then maybe the right thing to do was to go with Junior. Doing what she normally did would be the sane choice, right?

Wrong.

She got up with a groan and looked herself over in the mirror, tugging at her shirt to get rid of wrinkles that weren’t there. Warily, she eyed a late afternoon sunbeam still cutting into her room and stuck a hand into the light. Her skin didn’t tingle, she didn’t see stars or fall through the universe, nor did her tiny cells explode like fireworks. Her recently done nails were chipped though, that could not stand. She chuckled with relief and turned back to the mirror to smooth back wayward coils and check her eyes for any glow. There was nothing. She was, as she always had been, normal.

Chapter Three

Junior’s subdued drawl could be heard through the door as Rika descended the stairs. He was clearly talking to his father, Senior as everyone called him, by the way he forced a begrudging modicum of respect into every syllable he spoke. Rika slowed, skipping the creaky step so he didn’t hear her coming.

Well, I didn’t do anything to the damn thing, sir, Junior spat. After a pause and a soft curse he responded, That’s not my problem. Call it off or I start talking.

Rika hit the first floor and paused, fiddling with her flats even though they were secure on her feet. She peeked through the thin square windows on either side of the door and watched Junior pace back and forth on the porch. One hand white-knuckled his phone while the other gripped at his purposefully disheveled hair. He paused, cursed, and continued pacing as Senior continued speaking.

Yes, she has to be here. We don’t know shit about the charm but you and- Junior leaned against one of the support beams and sighed, If and when it fails, she’s mine. Simple as that. Figure it out, a pause, sigh, and a groan, "Sir."

He hung up and Rika knew her time skulking around had come to an end. She straightened up, put on her best neutral smile and opened the door. Junior stood bone straight and not for the first time, Rika was taken in by the way he looked at her. His eyes always scanned over every inch of her like he was trying to commit her to a new memory, the way someone looks at an oasis in a desert.

Thirsty men do dangerous things.

So where are we off to tonight? Rika asked quickly, trying to keep the annoyance off her face. Whatever episode she was having needed to be quiet.

Junior closed the space between them quickly, hands threading themselves around Rika’s waist and pulling her closer. His lips were on hers in an instant and any protest she had was swallowed, pushed away by his tongue forcing its way into her mouth. She had not kissed many people, but she knew Junior was taking, not giving. She tried to back out but his hands held her in place. An animalistic sound came from him as he pushed his erection between them.

A pulse shot through her body, starting from her chest, spreading cold up to her crown and down to her toes. Blood rushed into her ears, the sound so loud that her world spun.

Let me out!

No! Rika pushed and Junior finally freed her from his vice grip. She could have sworn his blue eyes glowed for just a second as he stumbled back.

He shook it off quickly, pushing mussed tendrils of brown hair back and licking his kiss-swollen lips, You’re right. I haven’t apologized or explained yet. he said through his labored breathing. He put effort into that kiss, but it did nothing for her. We should get going.

Rika wiped her mouth with her sleeve while Junior bounced down the stairs and stood expectantly at the passenger side of his car. He opened the door and gestured toward the seat. For a brief moment she thought she would go back inside, brush her teeth and go to bed early. She wanted to. Every nerve in her body was telling her to go back. The cold subsided, leaving her with the oddest feeling of being watched.

But it was Junior. The little boy who used to count the days until she arrived for the summer. Junior, the teen who covered Rebati’s porch in red roses one year because he discovered that she never got anything on Valentine’s Day. He made her feel cared for and showed that he loved her, in theory. If he was going to apologize for the random woman in his bed, she could apologize for swinging on her. And him.

However, ignoring the tainted sensation of him overpowering her never sat right. If they were puzzle pieces, one of their edges simply failed to sit flush. Rebati explained to her long ago, when Junior first started becoming a fixture in the summers, that the Montegoreye and Hobbs families had been together for a long time and Junior was simply continuing the tradition of being around. That did not mean it felt right.

Like a flesh eating virus.

Rika. Junior cut through her thoughts, We’ll miss the sunset if we don’t hurry.

Rika shook it off. She would tell Junior she was leaving after.

Once she was buckled in the car and Junior’s hand snaked to her thigh, they were speeding down the road, wind whipping their faces over the tiny convertible windshield. He told her about his last year while surreptitiously sneaking closer to her vagina with his wayward fingers. She placed her own hand on his to keep it in place.

Happy to hear Junior held true to his promise to donate to charities, she allowed a small, genuine smile to visibly stretch across her mouth. He didn't do it out of altruism but kids had blankets and shoes so what did his real motives matter if the results were warmth for those in need? He told her about how they were already decorating for their annual summer party. Apparently his father was trying to impress some out of town clients. Rika was never allowed to go to their fancy summer gala, so that didn’t interest her much. Then he shifted the conversation to some of the investments he started making overseas. Some in Dublin, some in London and a few working deals in New Delhi.

Eventually she tuned his voice out and took to watching the gorgeous countryside fly by. Flowering trees waved in a gentle breeze while the occasional house broke up large swaths of green far away from the road. She inhaled the scents of honeysuckles and dogwood and found peace in the sound of the car tires rubbing against old tar.

I think it's time we replaced that necklace with something silver. Junior intruded on her moment.

Rika turned her attention to the sky. Strokes of pinks and oranges were starting to appear among the darkening blue. The wispy clouds moved lazily and she wished that she could drift back to the house and sit down with a nice cup of tea. She reached up to touch the necklace and pulled her hand back before making contact with the small pendant, I’m not a fan of silver, she said matter of factly, My necklace is fine.

He let loose a disgusted sound, one he often used in reference to the attachment she had to the simple piece she always wore. Trust me, you’ll be rid of that thing soon enough. Rika rolled her eyes as Junior eased the car onto the shoulder and turned it off.

He gestured to a small path and Rika found herself smiling without meaning to, realizing they were heading to one of her favorite places in Hamlet. She walked past him, knowing the way but he took her hand and kept pace. It was big, meaty, and a bit clammy. Unwanted, but pulling out of his vice grip would have caused an unnecessary battle of wills that she was too tired for.

The trail was overgrown with grass and roots from trees older than she could imagine. It was fairly easy to traverse but she wished she’d worn different shoes. Her flats stuck in small patches of mud left from a recent rain, she slipped on stones in the small creek they had to cross over midway up. Because of all of this, Rika was forced to continue accepting Junior’s hand for leverage and the occasional lift up. Half an hour went by before they