The Inheritance of Orquídea Divina (52)

These were not his usual neosurrealist paintings in saturated colors. These were not going to impress his agent. Although, if the universe had a sense of humor, he’d probably sell these for a million dollars. Then he could have his own fuck-you money.

When he showed them to Eddie, all he’d said was, “Interesting direction,” in a way that made it seem he was both confused and a little scared.

How could Rey explain that he wasn’t in control of his own hands? He wouldn’t tell his own boyfriend, but some nights he blacked out. When he would wake, three days had passed, and the painting was finished. He touched the rose on his hand and remembered his grandmother’s words. Paint me another. He’d been painting for the last seven years, so why was this happening to him now?

He needed to get out of the house. The air was unseasonably cold, but he zipped up a hoodie and jammed his earbuds in. Music and audiobooks helped block the outside world. The cold humid air seeped into his clothes and into his bones as he trekked from 125th and Fifth Avenue, and straight down Central Park. He liked to catch the sunset over the reservoir.

But when he went to turn on Ninety-Second Street, the tall figure he’d seen at his window was standing at the corner. Rey broke into a run, shoving aside runners and tourists, and kicking up gravel. He sprinted with the calm murky water to his left and shadows taking up his peripherals. Where could he run to? Four Rivers, he thought, but even as he conjured the words, he opened his mouth to laugh and only a scream came out. Rey glanced back and saw the prism of light at the heart of the shadow, then leaped out of the running track to cut to the West Side. His thighs burned and the soles of his sneakers began to smoke. He blacked out again and when he opened his eyes, he was in the middle of traffic with cars honking incessantly. A police officer on horseback galloped in his direction. Rey couldn’t hear anything other than sirens and blaring horns. The officer lost control of his horse and the creature bucked, kicking Rey in the chest.

Rey woke up in the hospital for the first time in his life. He touched his rose, fearing that they’d done something to it. Fearing that if it was gone, he would also lose his art, and Eddie, and the nameless faces who wanted—needed him.

But it was still there.

Eddie was frantic at his bedside. His hair looked grayer than silver as he alternated between, “What were you thinking?” and “I’m going to call my therapist. He can prescribe you the good stuff,” and “Baby, are you sure you’re okay?”

“I swear, I don’t remember how I got there,” he said, and he meant it.

Eddie sighed deeply. “Well, I don’t know your password and your phone has been blowing up for the last few hours.”

Rey felt a pang of guilt in his gut. There were twenty-three missed calls from Marimar, all in quick succession. The cold spread from the center of his chest outward as he drew up the phone to his ear. Even just the sound of her voice brought him to tears.

“Hey, Tatinelly has a stalker and she’s driving over here with Mike and Rhiannon. I know! You should stop being a celebrated artist and come to the sticks to hang out with your cousins. Love you, loser.”

Relief flooded him. She was fine. They were fine. He played the next message.

“Uhm… Tío Félix is dead.” He heard the static silence as she searched for something. “Car crash. I’ll call you back.”

“Rey—Tía Florecida is gone,” the next one said. That time her voice cracked. “She drowned in her bathtub. Fell asleep. Penny found her. I’m trying to get in touch with her. Juan Luis—that’s him on the other line.”

Rey quickly pressed the button for the next message. He had to hear her voice. He clung to it even as Eddie tried to insert himself, asking more and more questions.

“Penny,” Marimar said, so softly he had to replay the message again and again just to be sure he understood.

Another call. “Tatinelly just got here.”

Then another. “Please tell me you’re not picking up because you’re a famous dick and not because something happened. Okay.”

And finally, just, “Rey.”

He was not okay. He was not going to be okay. He checked the time stamp of each message and they were all today. All while he’d been ignoring his phone and had somehow wound up in the middle of a street running away from some thing. Is that what Orquídea had warned them about? Was it finally here?

“Wait, where are you going?” Eddie asked. When he was worried, the wrinkles around his eyes and lips became more pronounced. He hovered as Rey quietly got dressed and then barricaded the door with his own body. “Rey, talk to me.”

“I can’t explain. I have to go home.” He meant a different home, of course.

Eddie went home to their Harlem brownstone, but he wouldn’t find his Reymundo there. Rey went straight to the airport and kept going, couldn’t stop moving until he was back in Four Rivers, because he wasn’t sure what would happen to him if he stopped.





16

MUSINGS OF A FAIRY CHILD




Mike Sullivan remembered the first time he’d set foot in Four Rivers. He didn’t want to offend Tatinelly, but he hadn’t understood why her family had made such a commotion that the whole place had caught on fire. The house, though impressive, had been in need of a renovation, stat. The fire was a blessing in disguise, if anyone asked him. No one did.