Free For Ever by C. J. Valles Page A

opened.
Another was sent just a few hours ago. I open the one sent a couple
of days ago.
     
    Wren - Give me a call. I’ve got something I want to
ask you.
    Dad
    --
    Thomas Sullivan
    Senior Vice President, Client Retention
    Southwest Region
    Dystel and Scott Advertising
     
    The one he sent today makes me grind my teeth
together.
     
    Wren, you’re not being fair. Call me.
    --
    Thomas Sullivan
    Senior Vice President, Client Retention
    Southwest Region
    Dystel and Scott Advertising
     
    My blood begins to boil. I’m the one
not being fair? I start typing an angry response before stopping
mid-sentence. There’s no point. With a deep breath, I start
again.
     
    Dad,
    Sorry. Busy with school stuff. What did you want to
ask me? The picture you sent of Benjamin is very cute. Say hi to
Jessica.
    Wren
     
    I shut down my e-mail and walk to the window.
The sky is pitch black. No stars. All that’s visible on the
darkened street is a yellowish pool of light from the single
streetlamp. When I get downstairs, I finish washing the dishes.
After rushing through my nighttime routine, I climb into bed
feeling exhausted and annoyed that I can’t seem to focus on the
good stuff. Then, as soon as my eyes close, an image of Ever Casey
pops into my head.
    So I guess the movies got it right: the guy
you can’t stop thinking about is inevitably the one who couldn’t
care less that you exist.

 
     
4: Caring Is Creepy

     
    The blood and guts flashing on the movie
screen, combined with the smell of buttered popcorn and black
licorice, are making me sick. But the state of my stomach is the
least of my problems.
    Taylor’s on one side of me; Josh is on the
other. When we filed into the row, I had tried to maneuver
so that Josh would be forced to sit next to Taylor, but he
stubbornly waited until I ducked in after her. He offers me the
giant tub of popcorn that’s being passed back and forth. I shake my
head, relieved when the smell of artificial butter fades.
    Some demonic creature leaps out, and the 3-D
reinforces my sensation of motion sickness. I cringe when the main
character, an archangel—or whatever he’s supposed to be—lobs off
one of the creature’s appendages. The theater erupts in screams,
and I close my eyes, briefly visualizing doing the same thing to
Josh’s arm when it comes down on the back of my seat.
    The gore only gets worse. But it’s only when
I find myself comparing the actor playing the main character to
Ever Casey—Ever Casey wins by a landslide—that I finally get up and
squeeze my way past Josh to the aisle. In the lobby, I check the
time on my phone and try to calculate how much longer the
apocalypse can possibly take.
    I have the lobby to myself, with the
exception of a few bored concession workers. Settling on a sticky,
vinyl-covered bench, I’m staring blankly at the glass doors to the
parking lot when the sight of a figure standing in the rain makes
me straighten up. By the time my eyes focus, the form is gone. It
was a man—I think—but I couldn’t make out any features with the
lights inside reflecting back on the glass. The tiny hairs on the
back of my neck prickle as I get up and walk toward the doors.
Standing in front of the glass, I watch a couple hurrying toward
the ticket window. Otherwise the parking lot is a still sea of
cars.
    Returning the way I came, I follow the signs
to the bathroom, where I splash my face with water and reapply my
lip balm. I check the time again when people begin pouring into the
bathroom. By the time I reach the lobby a minute later, there are
people everywhere. Eventually my eyes land on a large group that
looks my age. One of the guys turns toward me, and I flinch. It’s
Jeff Summers. He waves, but he’s far enough away that I hope maybe
it wasn’t me he was waving to. Still unable to find Ashley and the
others, I head to the exit, hoping that they’re waiting for me
outside. I’m almost to the doors when a hand comes down on my
shoulder.
    “Told you