Losing Logan

Five

I lay awake in my bed long after I’ve sent Logan on his merry way. Staring at the ceiling, wondering what left turn I’ve taken to land myself in this particular pot of crazy. When I finally fall into a restless sleep, I dream of Logan when he was alive. We were in the hall at school, crowds of people buzzing around us like wasps, glaring. But we just stand there, our eyes glued on one another across the room. A person in a black hoodie walks up behind him, raises a massive knife and starts slashing him in the back. I scream but no sound comes out. Logan doesn’t flinch, even as the blood sprays the lockers behind him. Then the people around us stop, turn away from me, and watch in frozen silence as Logan crumples to the ground in a bloody heap. I scream again but I can’t move. When the faces turn back to me, they are all covered in blood.

I jolt awake, nearly flinging myself out of bed. Three times last night the dream had been the same. And each time I woke as I was now, sweaty and flushed, my heart pounding like drums in my chest. I slam my hand down on the wailing alarm clock, but even once it’s dead the sound vibrates inside my skull. I groan, squeezing my eyes shut and wondering if this is what a hangover feels like.

“Good morning sleepy head.”

I let out a startled noise and trip backward, landing on my butt.

“For shit’s sake, don’t do that.” I say finally as Logan stands over me chuckling.

He holds out his hand like he’s going to help me up. I raise an eyebrow at the gesture.

“Really?”

He shrugs and drops his hand, walking away.

“Oh, right. I forgot.”

I struggle to my feet and he drops into my sitting chair. “So, were you dreaming about me? You kept saying my name in your sleep.”

“How long have you been here?” I accuse, narrowing my eyes.

He waves me off. “A while. I got bored. Nowhere else to go.”

I turn my back to him, sliding open my closet. “Stalker.”

“You know, you should be flattered. I mean I could be stalking anybody right now. Cool people.”

I yawn and pull a pair of dark jeans and my soft grey Henley off of their hangers.

“Yes. Lucky me. And to think, you’re passing up the opportunity to literally be a fly on the wall at the playboy mansion right now just to hang out here and irritate me into an early grave.”

A knock at my door makes me jump. Mom peeks her head in, looking around.

“Hey, what are you doing in here?” She widens the door a little, checking behind it. “I thought I heard you talking to someone.”

I sigh, “No mom, just…practicing my lines. Carlos is making me try out for Gone with the Wind with him this year.”

The lie comes out smoother than I expect. I think I can count the number of times I’ve lied to my mother on one hand, that is, if you don’t count all the times she’s asked me how I’m doing and I say, Fine mom. Everything’s great. Because those lies would number in the thousands.

She gives me a wary half smile. It’s hard to tell if she’s not buying it, or if she’s just exhausted. She’s been working double and triple shifts at the hospital for months. I get why. Idle time is when the pain creeps back in. Happens to me too. Maybe that’s why I agreed to help Logan. Maybe I just need a distraction.

Mom walks into my room and puts her arms around me in an awkward hug as I try to hug her back with one arm while still holding onto my clothes.

“You doing okay?” She asks, brushing the hair out of my face.

“Sure mom. I’m fine.”

She nods and takes a step back. “Have you done your back to school shopping yet?”

“I’m going to see if Carlos wants to go today.”

Her eyes brighten and I turn away. She adores Carlos.

Hell, who doesn’t?

“Well you two have fun. I’m going to put together a dessert for the staff barbeque tonight. Did you want to come with me?”

I frown where she can’t see me. Truth is I’d rather be raked naked over hot coals than spend five minutes with her colleagues from the hospital. Between the gossipy nurses, rude orderlies, and Doctor Tucker, the resident surgeon who always leers at my mom right in front of his poor wife, a fork to the eyeball sounds more fun.

“I think Carlos wants to go to some poetry reading at the tea room tonight.”

Another lie. Wow, I’m really on a roll today.

“Hey, your mom is really trying to spend time with you. You should go.” Logan chimes in from the chair. I grit my teeth and ignore him.

“Oh, well, ok then. I suppose I’ll see you tomorrow after my shift.”

I nod, not turning back to her as she leaves, closing the door behind her.

“You know, if you die tomorrow and those were the last words you said to her, you would feel like shit. Trust me, I know.”

“Ground rules. Number one, no watching me sleep like a perv. And number two, no guilt trips about my relationship with my mom—or anyone else for that matter. Keep any and all urges to be my undead life coach to yourself. Clear?”

He nods. I turn on my heel and head for the bathroom. I need a shower and five minutes away from all of the people talking in my head, living and dead.

I dress in the bathroom, which I never do, because I don’t want to risk my pervy little buddy catching a peek. I’m self conscious enough about my tall, overly skinny body without him making any comments about it. Mom calls it good genes. I call it no boobs, and let’s face it, having no boobs in high school is a genuine handicap. Once I’m dressed and I’ve blown out and flat ironed my long brown hair into submission I head back to my room, to find Logan staring out the window.

“Something interesting?” I ask, tossing the damp yellow towel across my chair.

He doesn’t turn to look at me.

“I’m just bored. I never realized how boring being dead could be.” He sighs deeply, his shoulders slumping as he exhales. “Still, it could be worse.”

“Worse than being dead?”

He glances over his shoulder, his blue eyes piercing from across the room. “I could be dead and alone. At least I have you.”

I feel a blush creep up my neck and I try to shrug it off. “Yeah, I’m sure you’re just dying to hang out with me.” Then I force a weak chuckle.

“I mean it, Zoe.” He turns, walking toward me slowly, stopping just a few inches away. My heart skips in my chest. Even dead he’s the most beautiful boy I’ve ever seen. From the sharp slope of his nose to the curve of his jaw, from his broad shoulders to his dirty blonde hair that is perfect-messy in the way only movie stars seem to be able to achieve.

“If I didn’t have you to talk to—if you couldn’t see me—I’d have gone crazy days ago.” He reaches out and for a second, and in an idiotic, unrealistic heartbeat in time, I think he’s going to touch my face. But before he gets close he drops his hand to his side and the corners of his mouth turn up just a little.

At which point I realize that I’m standing there like a moron.

“Maybe I should start a business.” I fan out my hands in front of me. “Zoe Reed. Therapist to the dead.”

“You could have business cards with coffins on them.”

I snap my fingers, “And my tag line will be, Just because you’re dead doesn’t mean you’re not crazy.”

He laughs and it rolls through the room and across my skin like a cold breeze. I shudder and grab a light denim jacket from my closet.

“What’s first on the agenda today, General?”

He points to my phone. “First text Carlos about taking you shopping.”

I stand up tall and salute him. “Yes sir.”

As I’m texting, Logan goes over and starts looking through my closet.

“Carlos has one thing right. You are entering a combat zone. You need a first day battle outfit.”

“Ooh, leather and stilettos?”

He looks over his shoulder, frowning.

“The point is to make you look less like…”

“Me?”

“Like you might rip someone in half just for saying hello.”

I put a hand on my hip. “So no leather then.”

“No. I’m thinking a dress. Something feminine.”

Oh sure. Pick the one thing I don’t own.

My phone vibrates. “Ok, Carlos is in, and judging by the amount of happy faces in this text, he’s a little excited.”

It vibrates again.

“He wants to take me to Potomac Mills, to the designer outlets.”

“So?”

“And how shall I pay for those expensive garments? With my good looks and winning personality?”

He frowns. I take a deep breath and go to my dresser, pulling open the top drawer. Pushing aside the underwear I grab the small black wallet.

“I didn’t want to have to do this.” I open the billfold and remove the one lonely card from the slot.

“What’s that?”

“My debit card to my college fund.” I clutch it tightly. What little inheritance I’d received from my dad’s insurance policy went into this account. I’ve never used a penny of it, not until now. It always felt like blood money.

“Do you have enough?” he asks.

I glare at him.

“You owe me for this, Logan. Big time. When you get up there, you had better give me a damn good recommendation. I mean it.”

He grins, “Deal.”

Twenty minutes later Carlos arrives, blasting the horn from the driveway. Mom is gone when I walk out the door. She probably had to make a grocery run for her famous rhubarb pie ingredients.

“Hey Zoe,” Carlos offers with way too much enthusiasm for this hour of the morning. He hands me a tall coffee which I accept gratefully. Logan appears in the back seat. I sigh. I hadn’t wanted him to go with us but he refused to be left behind. His death was very boring apparently. Even after I’d suggested he chill out in the girl’s locker room at the gym he refused to be anywhere but attached to my hip. I just hope I don’t forget Carlos can’t see or hear him and start talking to ‘myself’.

It’s a long ride from my small town to the Outlet Mall in Potomac Mills and Carlos talks the whole way. Most of the discussion is about his upcoming date, the first he’s had since the firmly-in-the-closet-quarterback fiasco of sophomore year. I try to be pleasantly interested and encouraging, and ignore Logan who is singing along with the radio at the top of his lungs. Digging through my purse I find my small bottle of pills and pop two in my mouth.

“I’m sorry, are you getting a migraine sweetheart?” Carlos asks, patting me on the knee.

“It’s not you,” I say honestly and smile.

Logan huffs in the back seat and leans forward, poking his head between us.

“Consider this payback for all the rude names you’ve called me in the last few days.”

I sigh.

“So, where to first?” Carlos asks as we finally pull into the parking lot.

I have no idea where to begin. There must be fifty stores, all trendy boutiques I’ve never heard of.

“Left to right?” I offer weakly.

Carlos shakes his head. “No, what sort of clothes are you thinking?”

Logan yells in my ear but I ignore him.

“I need something,” I pause, waiting for Logan to shut up before I continue. “Feminine.”

For a brief second I think Carlos is going to wet himself with excitement. He reaches across the car and pulls me into a bone crushing hug.

I pat his back and he releases me.

“What was that for?” I ask.

He wipes a pretend tear from his eye. “My baby girl is growing up.”

I slug him in the arm.

“I’m serious Zoe. I’ve been waiting for you to dress like a girl for three years.”

I roll my eyes and step out of the car.

“Well, your wait is over.”

I see Logan climbing out of the car behind me so I slam the door on him. He looks up at me half of him still in the car, half of him hanging out the door.

“Hey. That wasn’t very nice.”

I smile and let Carlos take me by the arm and lead me to the first boutique.

Three hours and eight hundred dollars later I officially have more bags than I can carry. Still, Carlos insists on one more shop. Exhausted and feeling like I’ve burned a hole in my poor credit card I protest, but he makes a pouty puppy face and I relent.

“Let him have his fun,” Logan advises.

“I am,” I mutter under my breath as we enter the last store. All three of us come to a complete stop two steps in. Across the room, on a rack near the dressing room, hangs the most beautiful red dress I’ve ever seen.

Carlos grabs me by the arm and points to it.

“That one.”

I shuffle my bags over to him. The sales woman, more than happy to help after seeing my haul from the other stores, puts me in a dressing room. It looks even better on, if that’s possible. It’s a halter cut red sundress that drapes in delicate folds from the waist. There’s a line of tiny woven designs around the hem which hits me at just mid-thigh. It has a 1950’s vibe without looking costume-ish. And looking at myself in the mirror, for the first time I can see why Carlos thinks I’m pretty. I twist my long brown hair up the back of my neck experimentally. It’s perfect. This is my war dress.

And I feel ready for battle.

“I want to see it,” Carlos whines from outside.

Not patient enough to wait, Logan slips just his head through the door making me jump.

“Wow,” he says, looking me over in a way that makes blood rush to my cheeks.

“Out of the dressing room, perv.” I whisper before stepping out to show Carlos.

He grins proudly and motions for me to spin around.

“It’s stunning. You’re stunning.”

“Good,” I say looking over myself in the bi-fold mirrors outside the dressing area. I run my hands down the bodice area. This dress even gives me the illusion of having boobs. It’s a freaking miracle dress. Reaching down I grab the price tag and almost lose my balance. This dress is over five hundred dollars. I glance up and see Logan watching me from the door to my dressing room. He looks…

Enchanted.

“This better work,” I mumble more to myself than anyone else.

“What was that?” the overly eager cashier asks.

I take a deep breath. “I said, I’ll take it.”