Retribution Clause

My cell phone rings, startling me awake. It takes me a moment to realize I fell asleep on the beach. I blink to clear my head as I sit up. Hastily, I unzip my bag, pull out my phone, and raise the antennae. “Hello?” I say groggily.

Mama Mabel’s frantic voice comes over the line. “Melanie Katherine Slate-Strader-Valdez, where are you?”

Uh-oh. My godmother just used every name I’ve ever had and one I’ve yet to officially gain. Not good.

Sheepishly, I answer, “Surfrider.”

“YOU’RE WHERE?” Mama Mabel squawks, apparently spiraling into mom mode. “Are you telling me you slept the entire night on the BEACH like a surf bum?”

I wince. “Maybe.”

“The very idea!” she bellows. “Trey, you get your hungover ass up this instant! Melanie just slept all night on the beach!”

“What?” From Trey’s tone, I gather he was sleeping when she sprung the news on him.

“I don’t know what your dysfunction is lately, but you need to pull it together,” Mabel says, apparently scolding Trey.

“Mabel!” I exclaim through the line.

“Yes, Melanie?” she huffs.

“See if you can get through to him, because I’ve CERTAINLY had zero luck.”

I hang up and watch the waves, contemplating all the things that have been going wrong with my metaphysical abilities. While I thought that whatever was screwing with me might have been confined to Mabel’s, I discovered last night that it’s still with me. I feel weird, and my control over myself keeps slipping. Now that I’m aware of it, I’ve realized it has happened a lot lately. Mostly, I’ve been getting distracted in odd ways. I need to talk to someone before I lose control and unintentionally hurt people. Considering I have the ability to black out half of Hollywood when I’m mad, I’ve got a hell of a loose cannon living unchecked in my psyche.

My phone rings again, and I sigh. I don’t want to deal with Trey, but I answer.

“HELP!” screeches Ms. Alice.

My heart races as I jump to my feet. “What’s wrong?”

“Get to Pierre’s store,” Ms. Alice yells. “PLEASE hurry!”

“Tell her to bring Demitri,” someone screams from the background.

“He’s out of town,” I say, grabbing my stuff before sprinting up the cliffside path. “Tell me what’s going on.”

“Oh my God, someone do something,” Ms. Alice screams.

I hear a crash.

“Chelsea!” I shout into the phone.

No response. I try calling her name two more times, but all I hear is screaming, chaos, and crying.

I hang up and call Demitri Cantrell, the dance pro extraordinaire of our Misfit group. He’s also an ethereally stunning heartthrob, and one of my best friends. While that should be enough to place him in the top-shelf echelon of social status, his secret claim to fame is that he’s an incredible metaphysical healer. He saved me from certain paralysis after I plunged from a cliff in a stolen car. And he healed me after I was crushed to a pulp by a collapsed building. The fact that Ms. Alice requested him, given that only she, and a handful of others, know what he can do, is a very bad sign.

The moment he answers the phone, I bark, “Did you already leave town?”

“Yes. We left early this morning,” Demitri replies. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know, but Ms. Alice called,” I gasp out. “She was screaming and begged both of us to go get to her.”

“Find out what’s happening and call me back,” Demitri says.

I hang up, jump in my car, and hit the gas. The usual ten-minute drive takes five, and I screech into the parking lot of the surf shop once owned by my deceased husband, Pierre “Riptide” Strader.

Rocco Rutelle runs over and yanks open my car door. “Run!” he barks, tears streaking his cheeks.

My eyes widen. I take off into the surf shop, which I’ve never stepped foot in before.

“Go!” Luis bellows as I enter, pointing deeper into the store.

I sprint past rack after rack of swimsuits, shirts, and wet suits. Ms. Alice is leaning against the back wall, struggling to breathe. She points to a door, and I dart through.

My mouth falls open when I see Zane on the floor. I rush to him while hitting redial on my phone.

“Talk to me,” Demitri barks.

“Zane,” I gasp. “Dead.”

“WHAT?”

“Help me,” I beg, trying to process the earth-shattering shock.

“We can’t get his heart to start,” Ms. Alice wheezes, still barely able to breathe.

Rocco runs in. “Can you fix him?”

My hands land on Zane, and I scan his vibe. “No pulse, Demitri.”

“Okay, Meley,” he calmly coaches through the phone. “See if you can shock him with an energy load.”

“Is an ambulance on the way?” I whimper, feeling ill equipped to handle this.

“We called,” Rocco replies.

I put my hands back on Zane’s chest, forcing myself not to look at his purple face or bruised neck. “Ready.”

“Three, two, one,” Demitri counts.

I send a massive energy load, and Zane’s body arches before slamming back to the floor. No response. “Demitri,” I say, panicked.

“Do it again, Meley,” he instructs.

I direct another energy surge to his heart, trying to mimic a rhythm. Zane’s body arches and slams down again. He inhales slightly. I scramble to feel his pulse.

“Breath and pulse,” I announce through tears. “What do I do now?”

“Okay, try scanning him for injuries,” Demitri instructs. When I try, I get nothing.

“Nothing, D.”

“Can anyone else hear me?” Demitri asks.

“We’re here,” Rocco says. “Rocco, Pepe, Luis, and Ms. Alice.”

“All right, what happened?” Demitri demands. “I need details.”

“We opened the shop,” Rocco says. “I came to the back storage room and found Zane hanging from the rafter.”

“Warm or cold?”

“Cold,” Rocco replies grimly.

“When’s the last time anyone saw or heard from him?” Demitri asks.

“He left the screening after-party at eleven,” Ms. Alice informs.

“He called me when he left the party,” Rocco continues, voice shaking. “He tried Melanie several times, but no one answered. He panicked when he realized she had left the party, and he came to my condo. We talked for a long time about what happened at the screening. I fell asleep, and when I woke up, he was gone. He must have gone downstairs while I was asleep.”

“What time did you fall asleep and then find him?” Demitri presses.

“Asleep at two in the morning. Found him at nine.”

“Melanie?” Demitri says.

“Yes?”

“Put your hands around his head and scan.”

I do, and my breath ratchets up. “He has no soul hum,” I whisper.

“Damn it!” Demitri bellows.

I hear distant pounding through the phone. It sounds like he must be running.

“I need everyone to listen,” Demitri says, winded. “Melanie must keep his heart going. I need the ambulance gone. I can’t heal an international movie star if paparazzi or the media get involved. Almost nobody knows about my abilities, and it must stay that way. Too many people suspect Melanie’s abilities already, which is dangerous.”

Ms. Alice goes to look out the front window. “Ambulance just arrived,” she calls and rushes back in.

“Get rid of it!” Demitri demands. “Act clueless. This was a prank call. Tell them everything is normal.”

“Go, go,” Rocco yelps at Pepe. They race out with Luis and Ms. Alice and close the door behind them.

I glance up at the rafter overhead, where a cut rope hangs. I whimper, “I can’t go through this again!” The old pain and fear from losing Pierre comes roaring back.

“I’ve got my stuff,” Demitri says. “We just got here. I haven’t unpacked yet. I’m running, Melanie.”

“Demitri, where are you going?” Victoria yells in the background.

“There’s an emergency at home!” he calls. I hear his Jeep door slam.

“I’ll call you back,” I bark as an idea sparks. I hang up and dial another number. Brian Drell, Zane’s brother, answers. “Has anyone called you?” I ask.

“About?”

“Zane.”

“Conversation over,” Brian snorts.

“No, no, no. Wait!” Tears slip down my cheeks. “He hung himself.”

“WHAT?” Brian screams.

“I’ve restarted his heart, but Demitri’s in Las Vegas. We think we can save him, but we can’t take Zane to a hospital. He’s been gone too long for normal intervention, so we need to hide him here.”

“Las Vegas?” Brian yelps. “How’s he getting to you?”

“Car.”

“I just landed at the Reno airport and dropped off my customers,” Brian tells me, voice cracking. “I’ll pick him up in the helicopter. How bad is this?”

“He’s brain-dead, Brian,” I confess. “But if anyone can help him, Demitri can.”

Sobs punctuate Brian’s words. “I’ve screamed, berated, and destroyed Zane over Rachelle. You wouldn’t talk to him. Rachelle wouldn’t leave him alone.”

“Brian, just get Demitri. I’ll do everything I can to bring Zane back.”

“What if you can’t?” Brian panics.

“We’re not going to worry about that.” I take a huge breath.

“Promise me you won’t leave Zane alone,” Brian begs.

“I’m not leaving.”

We hang up, and I look down at Zane’s pale, slack face and severely bruised neck. Panic surges in my chest.

The door reopens, and Rocco, Ms. Alice, Pepe, and Luis hurry in.

“The shop is locked,” Rocco says. “We got rid of the paramedics.” He swallows hard as my phone rings again.

I answer, and Demitri says, “I’m headed to the private airport in Vegas. Brian’s coming to pick me up. We’ll have to get my Jeep later.”

“I’ll keep Zane going until you arrive,” I gasp. Trepidation leaks into my tone as I ask, “What if we can’t fix him?”

“I’ll handle it, love,” Demitri says softly. “Zane was already gone when you found him. If that’s nature’s order, I’ll rebalance the scales.”

Suddenly, Zane’s heart stops again.