Lost - Chapter Two

This is an addition to my earlier post, "Lost". You might want to read that first, although I suppose it would still make sense if you just read this one. Feel free to be absolutely brutal in your critique.

The poster didn’t do her justice. Granted, the lips were similar, with the same delicate arcs and swells. Even in this photo, where she looked straight into the camera, you could tell that her nose was very prominent. The hair looked right – crazy, sticking out of her ponytail all over the place. But the eyes didn’t look right, not at all.

When you look at Elise – really look at her, I mean – you would notice that there is something not quite normal with her eyes, something very unusual. Her irises are pale blue, but lose pigment as they near the center, eventually ending in a frosty ring around her pupil. It’s quite unnerving, especially if you catch her staring at you.

“That’s not a good picture,” I grumbled, crossing my arms as I waited for the light to turn red.

Alastair shifted uncomfortably beside me, the freckled skin of his cheeks pulled taut. His dark blue eyes – warm like a Florida beach instead of her Alaska cold – skipped uneasily from the poster, to the street, then back again. After a long pause, he cleared his throat, replying, “Yeah. A bad picture.”

I saw a flash of red in the corner of my eye. Grabbing him by the arm, I dragged him onto the street, rushing past the angry thrum of waiting vehicles. The cinema was just a block down; a block too long, in my opinion.

“Hurry up, Al,” I growled under my breath. “Your girly’s gonna be mad if I get you there late.”

I smirked as he stiffened; Lord knows why he said yes to Natalya. They were an odd couple, for sure; no one in their right mind would have put the stocky Russian girl and the skinny Irish boy together. I had agreed to drive him expressly for the purpose of watching the spectacle, then telling him how much I enjoyed the show afterwards.

We paused in front of the cinema, peering about. It didn’t take long to find Natalya. She stood haughtily in front of the ticket window, popping jellybeans into her fat-lipped mouth. A pudgy little Beagle stood at her feet, staring in anticipation at every movement of her hand. Every so often, she would “accidentally” drop a jellybean, accompanied by a sharp snap as the dog’s jaws closed around it. Had I not known Natalya, the fact that she was consciously killing her dog would disturb me. But I was simply happy that her attentions were otherwise diverted today.

“Alastair,” she said, flashing him a sticky-lipped smile. She was one of only two people that called him by his full name; I knew it irked him, for the muscles in his jaw suddenly quivered under his skin as the word left her mouth.

She acknowledged me with a stiff nod, as if to say she no longer had need of my services. I relished the sullen pout on her face as she realized I wasn’t leaving.

“Don’t worry, I’ll leave you guys on your own.” Of course, I would be two rows behind them, ready with my popcorn for when the real show started.

Slightly placated, she planted a particularly loud kiss on his cheek. His face blushed bright red, and his eyes stared intently at his shoelaces. I could almost picture her forty years from now as an old babushka, perhaps with a bunch of half-Irish children running about her feet, if Alastair didn’t learn to put his foot down every once in a while.

This was gold. Pure gold. I regretted not bringing my camera; this was the sort of thing I could still savor a decade from now.

Putting her flaccid, candy-coated hand in his, Natalya led her somewhat dazed boyfriend-of-sorts through the double-doors of the theater. I trailed behind, amused. Alastair shot me a desperate look over his shoulder, wordlessly begging me to make miracles. I shrugged, a smile tugging at the corners of my lips. It was too late for me to save him now.

With Alastair on her one side and the beagle on the other, she pushed ahead of the mass of bodies, giving a businesslike nod to the attendant checking tickets. He waved her through, and I hurried after them. I noted the sign on the wall, stating, among other things, “NO PETS ALLOWED.” Watching the rippling bulk of the miniscule dog, I wondered what sort of favors she pulled to get VIP treatment at the cinema. Apparently, everyone else had the same thought, for a murmur of resentment rose up in our wake.

The movie was a cheesy romance flick, only released a week ago and already in the smallest theater. I waited for them to sit down before I carefully chose my own seat, smirking as I watched the silhouette of Alastair’s head.

My festivities were short-lived, though. A man, most likely the tallest person in the whole town, decided to sit directly in front of me. Disgruntled, I leaned to my left, practically on top of the person next to me.

It wasn’t as fun now, but it was still better than the movie.

*****

When we walked out of the cinema, the darkness came as a surprise to me. But you know what they say - time flies when you’re having fun.

After an excessive farewell display, Natalya pranced off into the night, her wavy black hair glistening in the moonlight. The little dog trotted beside her, undoubtedly heavy with his feast of popcorn and other concession stand delicacies.

I walked side-by-side with Alastair, carefully masking my gleeful smile.

“So,” I said innocently, “how was the movie?”

He didn’t answer me, but I could feel his eyes boring into me. I snorted, unable to hold it in any longer. I glanced at him impishly, and his eyes narrowed.

“Oh, come on now,” I sighed. “You have to admit, it is funny to watch the girl that gave you a black eye in second grade try to flirt with you.”

“Says you,” he grumbled, but I saw him grimace as he tried not to smile.

“You’re such a good sport, Al,” I said, grinning. “That’s why, were it anyone else, I wouldn’t have spent two hours with Natalya.”

“You’re an awful liar,” he grumbled. “I saw you. You watched us more than you watched the movie. You actually enjoyed that.”

“You make that sound like it’s a bad thing.”

He laughed shortly. We crossed the now-empty street together, the green of the street light unnaturally bright. As I unlocked my car, Alastair rested one hand on the hood, his fingers drumming the surface absentmindedly. Gradually, the drumming slowed, then came to a stop. Halfway into the driver’s seat, I stopped, peering curiously at him.

A peculiar expression stole across his face. He squinted, staring at something nearby. I followed his gaze, and then realized what he was looking at. The missing person’s poster. My stomach dropped, all brevity forgotten.

Without looking at me, he whispered, “Doesn’t it . . . don’t you think it feels weird, going to the movies and having fun . . . while she’s still out there?”

I blinked, my fingers tightening around my keys. He turned towards me, his eyes seeking me out in the dark.

“You saw her last,” he murmured. “Don’t you feel something, anything at all, when you look at those pictures of her?”

I didn’t answer him, sliding into the car. He fell silent, dropping heavily into the passenger’s seat.

The engine growled as we pulled out of the parking lot and into the night.