Strange Fruit: Prologue

mouth opened in surprise and she looked back at Yamato, whose eyebrows were raised, brown eyes wide. Ola reached for the doorknob.

  “Don’t!” Yamato tried, but Ola flipped the lock and opened the door.

  The boy, who looked around their age, immediately stopped moving. For a moment his strange colored eyes were blank, and then he blinked several times to clear water from his eyes. “W-who are you? Where’s my mom?”

  Ola glanced back at Yamato who shook his head slightly, body tense, and then returned her attention to the boy. “I live here. I think you’re confused, this isn’t your house. What is your mom’s name? You can come inside and we can give her a call.”

  “No…” The boy moaned, covering his ears with his shaking hands. “No, this is my house.

  Ola shook her head, “I’m sorry, but this is-”

  His shout cut her off, “No!” He shook his head, “Stop saying that! This is my house! Where’s my mom! What did you do with her?” He started crying again, and Ola knew he believed her; he was not home. His hands fell limply to his sides, as his breathing hitched and he continued to form a puddle on the narrow front step.

  Ola shook her head. “You must be lost. Come on inside. What’s your name?” When the boy didn’t immediately move or respond, Ola reached out, grabbing his hand to pull him inside.

  He ripped his hand away from hers immediately, falling to his knees and screaming. He pressed his hands against his ears as if to block out the sound of his own voice. “I didn’t lie! I didn’t lie! Don’t touch that! It’s in the closet! No! No! No! Don’t go away!” He started rocking as he continued to babble incoherently. Ola stood frozen, unable to comprehend a course of action. Yamato ran, which left Ola feeling even more at a loss.

  Unexpectedly her friend rushed back, carrying the rainbow gloves. He dropped in front of the hysterical young man, prying one hand from his head to shove the glove on it. Once the other one was on, the screaming had stopped, leaving a bewildered silence. The boy stared at the thin cotton gloves in awe, turning his hands to examine them at every angle. Ola glanced at Yamato, but he simply shrugged.

  The boy looked up at them, holding up his hands towards them. “They have no memory.” He said reverently. “Can I keep them?”

  Ola stared down at him, mouth slightly open. No memory? Was this guy a medium like Yamato and her were, or was he something more? “Of course. They were for you,” She blurted out, a little surprised at her response. The guy nodded, continuing to kneel on the floor in his puddle, staring up at them. Ola held out her hand, “Let’s try that again, shall we?” He hesitated, but then took her hand and she helped pull him into a standing position. “Yamato, can you go get a towel or something?” Her friend looked irritated at the request, but walked off to comply.

  Ola smiled, letting go of the guy’s hand. “My name is Ola Mustanzie, that’s my friend Yamato Taures. What’s your name?”

  “Corey Jasper.” The rather tall, she realized now that they were standing next to each other, young man said shyly.

  “Nice to meet you.” Yamato came back with a bundle of their thick, fluffy beach towels and shoved them towards Corey. Ola rolled her eyes. “Yamato, this is Corey.” He nodded once, shortly, which was about as friendly as he got.

  “Hi.” Corey responded, looking down and biting his lip. He carefully wrapped one of the towels around his body, and ran another through his hair. He froze when the wide stripe of white hair entered his field of vision. He frowned at it, but then went back to drying his hair.

  Ola interrupted the sudden awkward silence, “Let’s go sit down, I’ll get your phone number and we can try calling your mom.” Corey nodded enthusiastically. Ola led them into the living room and motioned towards the couch with its pale yellow floral pattern. Corey laid down two of the towels before sitting down with exaggerated care, Yamato dropped into the chair at the end of the couch. Ola sat down in the middle of the couch, careful to give the jumpy boy plenty of space. Corey gave her his number and Ola fished her cell phone out of her pocket. He opened his mouth as if he were going to say something, confusion clearly written all over his face, but then he closed it again with a frown. Ola dialed the number before she could forget it, and got a rather disturbing sound: This phone number is no longer in service.

  Ola swallowed, hung up, and then dialed the number again with the same result. “C-corey,” She looked back at Yamato, but he looked confused, “Can you give me the number again?” His eyebrows drew towards each other, before repeating the exact same number he’d given her before. She tried it again, nothing changed.

  “What’s wrong? Is your cordless phone broken?”

  Ola raised her eyebrows. “You…What happened?”

  Corey frowned, shaking his head. “I had a nightmare. I’ve had them a lot lately. So I decided to go for a walk. Then…” Corey bit his lip, his face scrunched in concentration as if he were searching for a distant memory. “There was a car. I was crossing the street, headlights blinded me. And then…” His voice changed pitch, shaking, “…everything moved…very fast. And then it was raining. And I…I-”

  “What day is it?” Yamato cut in.

  “I’m pretty sure it’s Wednesday.” Corey responded, nervousness continuing to leak into his voice.

  “Uh huh.” Yamato said, despite the fact that it was actually Monday. “What year is it?”

  “Why are you asking me that!” Corey exclaimed, pressing his hands together. He started trembling, and Ola wasn’t sure if it was from cold, or fear of where the conversation was going.

  Ola saw the sympathy and regret in Yamato’s eyes, but when he spoke his voice was almost cold. “Just answer the question.”

  Corey shrunk back, looking at his gloves, “It’s not 1997 anymore, is it?” He said, his voice small.

  Ola’s eyes widened, shocked by the truth, “It’s…it’s 2008, Corey.”

  Corey started crying again, but this time quietly, tears trickling down his cheeks. “I-I suppose that would explain some of the things I’ve been seeing.” He stuttered between deep, shuddering breaths.

  “Can you see the future?” Ola asked, almost as breathless as Corey was. Corey stared at her, balling his hands in his lap. Ola reached out, covering one of his hands with her own. “It’s ok. We can see the future too, well, possibilities anyway.”

  Corey shook his head. “Nothing ever changes. Our path is set, and it ends in death.”

  Ola and Yamato looked down at their own hands, nodding.

  “We know.” They answered in unison.

  Back to Top

  Song of Revenge

  Belial crossed her (well, a her right now) legs, taking a sip from her Starflower tea. She looked out over the veranda of the small café, at the spires of the Red City, a beautiful view of what the humans called Hell. She chuckled at the imagination of humans, the horrifying, flaming pits Hell was supposed to be made of; a fairytale to scare themselves into respecting one another’s basic rights, and it didn’t even work.

  Azazel, who was sitting across from her at the little white table, gave her a curious look. Despite the fact that he was red, he looked slightly more human today, clearly having picked up a few things from the demons that had seen the light of the material plane. He still looked awkward though, more familiar with his hulking goat-like shape than this dainty stick-figure. However, he acknowledged it was better for having tea, so he adapted. “What?” He nearly growled in Demonic, the language of lies and codes.

  Belial waved her black, star-speckled hand airily. “Nothing really, just thinking about the humans.” Azazel snorted. Belial tilted her head slightly. “Speaking of, how is the hunt for the Prince going? Have the hell hounds made any progress?”

  Azazel snorted, grumbling. He opened his mouth to speak, but any words that came out of it were lost on Belial, as she was absorbed in the sudden song of her name; a beckoning. The song was relatively strong but didn’t reach the level of a compulsion. While it was a little irritating that such a n
ovice witch thought she could summon a demon prince, it was always entertaining to be invited to the material plane.

  “Azazel, if you’ll excuse me, I have a date.”

  His response was to turn into his favorite animal-thing and trot off. Belial dissipated in a spiral of black to follow the thread of the song. It led her to, laughingly enough, a dorm room in New York. The room was a cluttered mess of silly Wiccan paraphernalia and almost impenetrable with incense.

  Belial chose the form she quite preferred lately, a naked, midnight woman, her skin the expanse of space. What could be construed as hair, floated around her, constantly undulating. Humans did so love theatrics. The witch, a fairly pretty blonde girl, trailed off at Belial’s appearance.

  “Why do you summon me, little thing?” Belial asked in a melodious, echoing voice, letting in just a touch of arrogance to irritate the witch.

  “Revenge.” The girl hissed without hesitation.

  Belial tilted her head slightly. “I’m not interested in revenge.”

  “This is special.” The girl said, a pleasant viciousness in her voice, “I think this is something you will enjoy.” The witch’s grin was positively malicious. Belial thought better of haughtily saying the little girl couldn’t possibly know what she would want, settling on a thoughtful noise, because she was indeed interested. “My ex-boyfriend. He raped me and several other girls, but I