Shooting Sdax Read online

  “Whatever,” the wisp said with a shrug.

  The words ‘shut up’ were on the top of Sdax’s hazy blue tongue. She was ready to engage in an all-out wisp war, but the cat meowed and Sdax remembered her goal. Pet the cat. Her hand was in motion, reaching slowly for him. Her aura shimmered with excitement. Sdax loved animals, and they her. Wisp fact: Animals are more likely to sense a wisp’s presence than the wisp’s own adult version. That was why Sdax hesitated. Once she made contact, the cat would respond. With a mewl, a purr, or a hiss even, if he was taken by surprise or if Sdax, in her excitement, pet him too roughly. And then what?

  “You’re such a baby. Pet him. You know you want to,” the older wisp taunted.

  Sdax scrunched her nose at Ms. Caulton’s inner child. “You’re not my mom. I don’t have to listen to you.”

  The older wisp yawned. “Gawd. You sound like her. Like them.” She pointed across the street where a group of teenagers shuffled down the sidewalk, sullen and quiet. Mixed in between the four boys and lone girl were smaller versions of them, trailing blankets and teddy bears, trying in vain to keep up. “And like them. And those guys. And that one, too.” The wisp jabbed her finger in the direction of the others—all walking alongside their matching adults. A car drove slowly by. The driver’s wisp sat on his lap, one hand on the wheel and a thumb in his mouth.

  The cat was nearly forgotten as Sdax swiveled around, looking everywhere this older, wiser wisp pointed. “There’s so many of them,” Sdax said. “So many of us.” She rubbed her nose. “I always seed them in ones.” She pointed her finger, then bent and straightened it.

  “Saw them,” the other wisp corrected. “You always saw them in ones. By themselves or alone.” She tossed her ponytail. “Have you ever been to the mall? The mall is full of wisps.”

  Sdax shook her head, and her mop of hair swung in response, kicking up her blue energy. The only time the mall ever came up in conversation was when Starr complained about going to crowded places and how she preferred to find everything she needed and then some online. “We usually just go to Starr’s work and home. What’s your name?”

  “Jomi,” the wisp said. “But what about on the plane? I bet you saw tons there and in the airport.”

  Sdax grimaced. “I closed my eyes.”

  “Well, they’re everywhere here.”

  “Are they nice?” Sdax asked.

  “I guess. Ms. Caulton and I don’t get out as much as we used to. She’s got a bum knee. But we used to go to lots of places. Now it’s church and home, church and the VFW, church and the store. I make her take a vacation every year, though.” Jomi jerked her thumb at Starr. “Just tell her you want out more. We’re in charge, remember? The more wounded we are, the stronger our pull.”

  Jomi knew she was right about this and waited for Sdax to acknowledge her superiority. Sdax fidgeted. All she wanted to do was pet the cat. She missed Bridgette, and now being so close to her big, furry dog friend, yet unable to cuddle her, had Sdax on edge. “I guess,” Sdax murmured, deciding that Jomi was a truly wounded wisp. Mean and bossy to boot.

  “Look,” Jomi said, frustrated. “You’re stronger than you think. I heard her yell at you. Right here in broad daylight. How did you think I knew you were here in the first place?”

  Sdax teared up. “I hate it when she yells.”

  “Then tell her. Make it clear that you’re the wounded one. You’re the one she failed to protect, remember? You call the shots. If you want to pet the damn cat, pet it,” Jomi demanded.

  Sdax trembled.

  “What? I suppose you don’t like it when people cuss?”

  “Huh-uh.”

  “Alright then. What do you want?”

  Sdax spoke so quietly that Jomi couldn’t hear. “What?”

  “I want a party,” Sdax said, surprising even herself. She’d been holding in her wish for ages.

  “For real?” Jomi’s eyes lit up, and she traced a finger along the cat’s spine. It arched its back in response.

  In the wisps’ world, a party was code for funeral. It was the demonstration of the wounded child’s ultimate power and strength. At a party, it meant the wisp had convinced his or her person that the only solution to all of life’s problems was solved by being laid to rest. Not an easy task at all considering the human species’ vicious will to live.

  Sdax giggled and clapped her hands, tickled by the awe she inspired in Jomi. “Uh-huh.” As if buoyed by the respect she’d earned, Sdax rubbed her small hand across the cat’s nose. Annoyed, the feline yowled and wiggled out of Ms. Caulton’s arms. Sdax bounced in delight. Maybe Jomi was right. Maybe Sdax was strong enough to get the party Starr had been hinting at for years.

  The wisps laughed and shimmered at Ms. Caulton who hollered at the cat. The old woman waved her cane in anger. As she hobbled after him, she threw a parting jab at Starr. “See what you did? Shit Sdax to you, little lady. Now my Clarence is gone, and I have to chase him.”

  “See you around, kid,” Jomi said as she trotted after Ms. Caulton. “Be careful what you wish for.”

  “Bye! Bye,” Sdax said excitedly and waved at her new friend.

  Starr watched Ms. Caulton go. The entire episode with the woman took less than ten minutes but left her exhausted. Starr wore a bracelet that matched the brown hue in her skirt. She twisted the beads round and round. The motion caught Sdax’s eye. She was transfixed. That was the kind of emotion she craved. Sdax faded into Starr until the two became one. Tentatively, she put her hands out like Starr’s and helped her human twist the bracelet harder and faster. They stared at the rowhouse together. By the time the yellow taxi pulled up behind them and Geoff jumped out, frantic and apologetic, the streetlights glowed, and the moon had started its ascent. Tears streamed down Starr’s face. The skin beneath her bracelet was raw.

  Sdax licked Starr’s salty tears as they fell and shrunk smaller and smaller as Starr and Geoff shouted at one another. He tried dragging Starr’s suitcase to the door while he dug for his keys, but Starr swore and pushed against his chest. She pulled the suitcase by the handle, an instant tug-of-war, as she edged toward the sidewalk to hail another cab, determined to leave.

  “You don’t even want me here. If you did, you wouldn’t have left me standing on the doorstep,” Starr shouted.

  Geoff’s temper flared. “Starr, stop it. I said I’m sorry. You need to calm down. People are staring.”

  On the other side of the street, a man hurried by. At the sound of their yelling, he paused. He looked across the expanse of Steiner Street and glared at the couple. A rueful shake of his head, and he waved a hand, dismissing them.

  Sdax saw the man’s wisp, a teenager with earbuds around his neck and Converse on his feet. She waved fiercely, childishly, excited she’d spotted one of her own. But the young man ignored her. He gestured with his hands in an attempt to convey something to his person. She remembered Jomi’s words. “I’m stronger than I think,” she whispered.

  “I’m going home,” Starr said. “I won’t stay here if I’m not wanted.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. I was late. That’s it. Do we have to start this part of our lives with you nagging me?” Geoff matched Starr’s volume. Maybe it was the fact that he raised his voice—something he hadn’t planned on doing—that stopped Starr in her tracks. She appeared stunned, and her tirade was cut short. He felt a physical shift in the atmosphere.

  Fast as lightning, Sdax folded herself into Starr’s angry stance and using Starr’s voice blurted, “If you hate me so much, I should kill myself.”

  Starr’s face went blank, and Geoff’s crumpled. He choked up. “Hey, no, Starr, honey. Please don’t say that. I’m sorry. Really. I’m a jerk.” He touched her hand, cautiously coming closer to her, afraid she’d bolt if he moved too fast.

  Shocked by her outburst, Starr slumped into his arms. She was exhausted. “I don’t know why I said that.”

  Geoff led Starr inside, and Sdax trailed behind them. She pictured the coffin and beckoned Starr to see it, too. Behind the trio, Geoff’s wisp, Ian, followed them in. He repeatedly tapped Geoff on the shoulder, desperate to tell him that the threat was Sdax’s idea. But Geoff paid him no mind.

  Chapter Two

  Starr surveyed her office at Cloverleaf Counseling Center for anything that didn’t belong. A previous patient’s forgotten hat or glove. A left behind homework assignment, an earring back unknowingly separated from its front. The intern, Julle (pronounced Julie) Sherman, watched her with a curious look.

  “It’s a trick I learned from my graduate school mentor. ‘Never let the current client think you have others.’ You should write that down,” Starr suggested and handed Julle a notebook and pen.

  Starr had mixed feelings about Julle. The spelling of her first name gave a millennial flare to the young graduate student’s collegiate aura. Her plaid skirt that fell just above the girl’s tanned and shapely legs seemed expertly crafted, like a sexy school girl. Dishwater blonde hair hung down her back with just the right amount of curls. A waterfall of scented locks that Starr wanted to stand beneath. The kind of curls crafted by a large, heated barrel that could also be flat ironed into strands of straw. The make-up, button-down blouse, and tortoise shell glasses pulled the outfit together. Julle was the sexy nerd type, and Starr waited for the intern to realize she’d taken a wrong turn in the career department—social worker instead of a swimsuit model.

  She wanted to believe Julle was an excellent protégé. As the veteran therapist in the office, Starr had eagerly agreed to take the young woman under her wing and guide her into Starr’s paying position that she’d soon vacate. Starr had been practicing for a decade, and she’d been hired at Cloverleaf Counseling Center after moving to San Francisco. It frustrated her that the Rachel James case helped seal the deal at the interview, but Starr decided it was better to take the job and work toward opening her own private practice.

  “The person in your office should believe he or she is the only person who exists in your world,” Starr said. A year under her mentor’s tutelage, mimicking everything he’d said and did in an effort to be the best therapist she could be, and the office once over had become rote. “I’ve gotten to the point that I can prevent stray items from lingering based on whichever client I usher out the door. The kids leave the important stuff—the homework. The adults leave the less important things—hats, gloves, reading classes, half empty coffee cups—their own and the Styrofoam ones Cloverleaf provides.”

  Julle popped her gum and doodled in the notebook. “Seems easy enough.”

  Frustration gnawed at Starr. How dare this overprivileged scholar belittle her efforts? It was as if she found therapy beneath her. Juvenile even. “Well, it’s not. Especially after an emotional session. Once, I held this grieving woman’s baby while she processed the death of her husband. Afterward, she walked out without her baby.”

  “She left her own kid?”

  “In her defense, we were both rather stunned by the breakthrough she’d experienced. It didn’t even occur to me that she’d forgotten her precious cargo until a couple minutes later. By then I’d steadied myself and was ready to tidy up for my next session.”

  “It took you that long to realize you were holding a baby?” Julle’s disdain for Starr’s oversight was apparent in the girl’s arched eyebrows.

  “I know, right? I freaked out. Thankfully, the woman had opened the sliding door to her minivan when she realized she didn’t have her child to put in the car seat.”

  “What did she do? Run back inside and demand her baby?”

  Starr struggled with the fact that Julle focused on the concrete details instead of the meaning behind them. She wanted to teach her about the dangers of triggers and behaviors. But all the girl wanted to know was the who and not the why. “No. I met her in the parking lot. The poor woman’s face was flaming red. She was so embarrassed. And I mean, so was I. As a therapist, you’re supposed to be calm and rational the whole time, not let someone’s sad story get to you. You know? Yet there I’d been, totally overwhelmed by what she was going through that I didn’t notice a sleeping baby against my chest.”

  Julle laughed. “Maybe you should write that down before it happens again, huh?” She held out the notebook.

  “Not funny.”

  “Did she blame you? Or accuse you or anything?”

  Starr blushed. Maybe she’d engaged in too much self-disclosure with this girl, who was not her friend. “No. She was upset. Afraid I’d call social services or something.” She didn’t add that she’d been afraid the woman would call her out. Tell her supervisor or worse, call the licensing board to tell them about her state of duress.

  “Does that happen a lot in your field?”

  Starr waited for Julle to realize what she’d just said. The seconds ticked by while Julle stared at her waiting for an answer. Starr prompted her. “You mean our field?”

  “Hey, look!” Julle squealed. She showed Starr the doodle she’d been working on. “Good, huh?”

  “Does what happen in our field?” Starr asked, pushing aside the sketch of a hanged man with a raven circling overhead. “And shred that after. You can’t be giving people ideas. It’s morbid.”

  “I’m only joking.” Julle ripped the page out and folded it in half inside the notebook’s cover. “Therapists, though. Does that happen a lot—where they get in the way? So overwhelmed they can’t see what’s right there in front of them?” Julle frowned. “I don’t think that would happen to me. I wouldn’t let someone else’s mood control me.”

  “Aha. See that? A wad of tissue. If I’d overlooked this, my next patient would know I have others.” Starr tapped her head. “Always have to stay a step ahead.”

  Her protégé wrinkled her nose. “Do you feel like a maid sometimes?”

  “The kid who left this is kind of a drama queen. Pretty normal for kids her age. Grace Wu. She’ll be one of yours soon. She doesn’t get along with her drill sergeant father. He’s worried she’ll end up like her mother.”

  Julle stretched and leaned back in the corner chair. She had yet to participate in any of Starr’s sessions, and Starr wasn’t ready for a set of eyes and ears watching her work. Besides, Julle had yet to ask permission to do so. As of yet, she was content to read case notes and participate in staffing sessions. Even in staffing, Julle's interest for clinical work waxed and waned. Starr wouldn’t be able to make a graceful exit, ensuring her clients were well taken care of if Julle didn’t develop a love for patient care. Soon.

  “Her mother’s no good?” Julle asked.

  Starr reached into her supply cabinet and pulled latex free gloves out of the box marked ‘100 small’ and shoved the box back inside. “Eh. I don’t know about ‘no good’ but definitely different from the girl’s father. She’s a free-spirited type. The mother, not the girl. The mom allegedly left the family during a routine grocery store run. I guess she lives in a commune somewhere in Montana and writes heartfelt postcards to her daughter about life on the range.”

  Julle spit laughter. “Life? On the range?”

  “True story.” Starr raised her gloved hand in solemn oath. “I’ve seen the postcards. Occasionally, the girl cries about the whole situation and other times she doesn’t. Hard to read her. That’s what the gloves are for. No sense in assuming she didn’t cry when she did and end up with tears and snot on my hands.”

  Julle nodded and asked, “Has she seen the cards?”

  “The girl? God, no. Her father doesn’t want her influenced in any way. He’s strict.” She ticked his rules off on her gloved hand. “No parties. No boys. No sleepovers. He even has all the passwords to her social media accounts as a preventative measure.” She stood ramrod straight and raised a hand in oath. “‘There will be no communication between my daughter and that flake.’ His words, not mine. He reminds me of the rule every single week.”

  “Sounds extreme.”

  “Well, you don’t know the whole story,” Starr said. She felt a sense of camaraderie and checked to be sure the office door was shut. If Julle asked for details, she’d share them.

  “No, the gloves. It seems extreme you’d wear gloves to pick up one possibly soiled tissue.”

  Starr’s hopes flickered and died. She’d missed the cue, and her confidence, already shaky, wobbled hard to one side. She laughed it off. A mild delay in the punchline reaching her. “Might as well give the place a thorough once over since we’ve got about four minutes before the next one.” She started with the Lysol wipes that were in a container in the supply cabinet. She wiped down every hard surface—the end table that sat between two chairs, her keyboard, monitor, door knob (inside and out), the arms of the chairs—and finally ended up at the window where she slowed down and began wiping the blind rod. It had been a long day, and the motion soothed her.

  “The girl spent part of our session standing here with her back to me as she twisted and untwisted the rod. It’s kind of her ‘thing’ as she put it.” Starr rubbed the rod and noticed the dust caked on the blinds. “Here at Cloverleaf, therapists do it all.”

  “Really?”

  “Most of it. Brandy, receptionist number twelve since I’ve been here, does the scheduling, and there’s someone who takes out the trash. The rest is up to us.” She wondered if this was one of the reasons Julle was apathetic to the idea of taking on her caseload.

  “What’s the rest?”

  Starr turned and smiled, desperate to make a connection. Julle didn’t reciprocate. Her eyes were locked on her phone. Starr looked away before Julle could be privy to her feelings. “We make our own reminder calls and submit our own billing. Service authorizations when a client needs more sessions. We vacuum, clean, and dust.” She heard the words tumble from her lips and backpedaled. “I suppose I should be glad for what I have, considering where I started in life. Silver lining, right?”

  “I guess. You’ve obviously paid your dues, or you wouldn’t be heading out the door for the private practice life,” Julle said with a smirk.