by Rysa Walker
“Can kill you,” he says. “No kidding. But I’m tired of lies, and the face you’re wearing right now is a lie. Not a very good one, either, since you’re pulling it from my memory, and it’s been a while since I watched those movies.”
Almost Molly sighs, and then her form sort of dissolves until he’s looking at a ball of light. Not pink this time but a rich amber color, swirled with flecks of brighter gold. The light isn’t exactly inside the tablet, but more where the tablet was, as if the ball of light has become the tablet. He can’t feel it in his hands, though.
“No lies,” she says.
Chase doesn’t respond, because he thinks the ball of light is probably still not the truth. And the woman—he does still get the sense that the ball of light is female—probably knows that he knows it’s not the truth. But he guesses he can overlook this one lie.
“You are not supposed to be here,” the light says, pulsing slightly with each syllable.
“I know I’m not supposed to be here. What I don’t know is how I got here. Or how to get back. I tried the whole ‘tapping the heels of my sneakers together three times and saying there’s no place like home’ thing.” This is true. He’d felt really stupid, but it had been worth a try. “I’m still here. Have you got a portkey or floo powder or something useful?”
The ball of light changes from golden to a murkier shade. He’s apparently pissed her off by being sarcastic. That’s probably not a good idea, since he doesn’t even know what she is. But it’s been a long day. He’s tired of games. Just plain tired, really.
“Tell me what you are,” he says. “Are you a witch? An alien?”
“That depends on how you define witch and alien. You can obviously see that I have abilities you think of as magic, otherwise I would not have taken the form of a witch in your mind. And I did not originate on Earth as you imagine it. Alien, angel, demon, fairy, witch. Take your pick. They are only words.”
“Tell me who you are, then. If you can’t give me a face, at least give me a name.”
There’s a long pause, and then finally, an answer of sorts. “Some have called me Zophiel. That name will do as well as any, if your mind requires one. Do you believe there is both good and evil in the world, Chase Rey?”
The sudden shift from answering his question to asking her own takes Chase by surprise. He considers for a moment and then says, “Good and evil and a whole lot in between. Mostly it’s the in-between stuff.”
“But you can tell the difference?”
“Of course. I’m old enough to know right from—” He stops, thinking about his father…or rather the father he’s stuck with in this place, whatever it is. Ralph Rey is clear-cut evil. No matter what that Aileen woman says, Chase has never known the man to do anything out of sheer kindness, without an ulterior motive. Ralph Rey is a bad man. Chase has no problem labeling him as such.
He can’t think of anyone he knows who is fully good, though. Maybe someone like Julie Kennedy. She was kind to him today, and preachers are supposed to be good, right? But he doesn’t know her well enough to say for certain.
Everyone he knows aside from Ralph seems to be somewhere in the center.
“I know the difference at the…at the two ends. At the extremes, I guess. But as you get closer to the middle, it’s not as easy. People are complicated.”
“You are thinking of your brother,” Zophiel says.
“He’s not my brother.”
“Fine. But you are thinking of him. He is complicated.”
“Yes.”
“And he is why you are here. Why Raum could not respect the boundary and why you have put the entire balance at risk.”
These aren’t questions, and even if they were, Chase doesn’t have answers. He’s not even sure what she’s talking about. So he remains silent, even though the ball of light called Zophiel is pulsing a bit faster now. Does that mean she’s angry? Or scared? He thinks perhaps it’s both.
“And now, the decisions he makes place everything on the precipice. This man who is complicated has drawn the black dot, and he must face his fears. There is no stopping it. The dark inside him could tip the balance. Not simply the balance here, but out there as well. In the place you think of as good, even though you were willing to risk leaving it to get his attention.”
Those last words cut Chase, and tears sting his eyes. He’s about to protest that she’s wrong, that she’s not being fair. But then his memories of that other reality recede, and he’s not even sure why her words hurt him so badly.
“So everything that’s happening in this place, everything breaking down. It’s my fault. That was your message on Martha Yarn’s fridge.”
“No. That was Andras’s message, not mine. The choice Martha made was her own. The choices you make are your own, too, Chase Rey, although—”
HEY ZO: I KNOW YOU’RE IN HERE. SKULKING ABOUT IN
The words seem to ricochet off the walls of Chase’s skull. Impossibly loud. And then the witch woman huffs in annoyance, and the screen he’s holding goes dark and silent. He waits, unsure whether she’s coming back. Kind of wishing she wouldn’t and that the world would fill back in. But the world out there isn’t the real world. It isn’t the reality he wants. Maybe he’s better off in this nothingness.
And with that thought, Chase hears music. Just a few discordant notes, and then the silent blackness again.
The dark only lasts a few moments. Then his screen lights up again.
“Where was I?” The amber light pulses a bit more intensely now.
“You were pointing out that my choices are my own,” Chase says drolly. “Do you want me to go sit in the corner and think about them?”
Zophiel is silent, and he has the sense that she’s combing through his memories for the source of the comment. It’s an uncomfortable, intrusive sensation. He doesn’t much care for it, so he pushes out a string of faces—teachers, his dad, his guidance counselor.
“You do need to think carefully,” Zophiel says, “but what I was going to say is that you might have been dealt an unfair hand. I may have…overestimated your ability to handle certain challenges. The fault for that is my own, but that fact will not make your choices any easier or your path less fraught with peril.”
“What choices? What path? Stop talking in riddles and just tell me what I need to do to get home.”
The ball of light rises from his tablet and glides off in the distance, where it turns pink and once again morphs into the glittery witch with the trembly voice. “Dorothy clicking her heels three times was not what allowed her to return home. She was able to go back only because she realized an important truth. A truth that she had to learn on her own.”
“Yes, I know. There’s no place like home. I said that part, too. I want to go home.”
“But that was the truth that Dorothy had to find. Your truth is different, Chase Rey. And you have not yet found it.”
The Glinda image fades around the edges as she speaks, growing smaller and fainter.
“Wait!” Chase says. “I have more questions. What do you want me to do? And who is Raum?”
Her voice is softer now. “I cannot tell you what to do, Chase Rey. That is the beauty and the tragedy of free will. And you already know the answer to the other question.”
The blackness is complete for a moment, and then Chase is once again in Martha Yarn’s backyard. Daisy is now in front of him, sitting on the ground. She looks like she’s in pain. Tucker crouches next to her.
“What happened?” Chase asks.
“I just…lost my balance,” Daisy replies, rubbing the side of her mouth. “What happened to you?”
Her expression suggests that she’s not telling the entire truth. Again. Chase is pretty sure that Tucker is thinking the same thing, judging from the frown he wears as he looks at her. But then he turns his attention back to Chase.
“Yeah,” Tucker says. “Where’d you go? Because you didn’t seem to be here.”
“I wasn’t,” Chase
says. “Not exactly. It was like what happened back at school today. Only I wasn’t alone this time.”
Chase starts to explain what the entity told him, but he realizes that there’s just not a lot he’s willing to share. He’s afraid to tell them that this Zophiel seems to think he’s the reason everything is broken and off-kilter. If he does that, he’s worried they’ll blame him. Most of all, he can’t mention her comment at the end, because Zophiel is wrong. He has no clue who Raum is.
And the other stuff? About not belonging here…about there being some other reality? If Ben didn’t believe him, why would they?
Except…he’s pretty sure Daisy is in that other place, too. She might believe him. Some instinct tells him that she’s not going to admit that in front of Tucker, though.
And is that other place a better place for her? He thinks maybe it isn’t. Even if she believes him, that could factor into her willingness to help him look for this truth he’s supposed to find.
“It was just this ball of light. Or energy, maybe. I think it’s connected to what’s going on. It said something about my brother drawing a black dot and facing his fears, which I didn’t understand. And that we need to find the truth. That seems kind of obvious, so it wasn’t really much help, I guess.”
None of that is a lie. And maybe he can find the courage to tell Daisy more eventually.
“Drawing a black dot?” Tucker asks. “You mean like, drawing it with a pen?”
Chase shrugs. “I don’t know. But I don’t think so. I got the sense it was more like…drawing something out of a hat.”
“Out of a helmet, maybe?”
“Maybe.”
Tucker turns to Daisy. “The Howlers’ yearly tradition. They put slips of paper in the football helmet. One has a black dot on it. Whoever draws that is the lucky soul who gets to take the pumpkin up the hill to the Grimshaw house.”
“So that’s how they choose,” Daisy says. “Are you going to lose your Man Card for revealing locker room secrets?”
Tucker rolls his eyes and is about to respond, but Chase cuts him off.
“I’m okay now.” He stands and brushes off the seat of his jeans. “We need to get going, like Daisy said. Ben will be wondering where I am.”
Tucker and Daisy exchange a look, but Chase ignores them. He begins walking back to the car, knowing they’ll follow. And they do. As he gets into the backseat of Tucker’s car, he risks a look down Hammond Street. Just as he expected, the body is there, hanging from the branch, same as before. He can’t see the sneakers in the dim glow of the streetlight, but the shape is familiar enough by now that he really doesn’t need the confirmation.
They head back to the Hart, each lost in their own thoughts. Neither Tucker nor Daisy pay any attention to the body swinging from the tree as they drive past. Tucker’s eyes are pointed directly at the tree when they pull up to the stop sign, so there’s no logical way he could miss seeing it.
It’s not there, Chase thinks. That’s why he doesn’t see it. It’s all in your crazy head.
Tucker stops at Daisy’s house on the way back so that she can run inside and grab something. She looks both pissed and amused when she comes back out carrying a plastic bag. Tucker asks what’s in the bag. She gives him a cryptic little smile and says he’ll find out later. Her smile is a lot like the one that he’s seen MB give Ben, which he finds a little surprising, because Tucker is older. Not old old, but not in high school, like Daisy. Maybe age and time are a little wonky for other people in this reality, too, not just Ben.
When Tucker finally pulls up in front of the Hart, Ben’s truck is already at the curb. His brother is rattling the theater door, which Daisy locked on their way out, and peering through the window to see inside. He comes running over when he sees Chase getting out of the police car.
“What happened?”
Chase pastes on a smile. “Daisy had to pick something up at her house, and they said I could ride along since I’ve never been in a police car.”
“You were supposed to stay with Reverend Kennedy,” Ben says. “Marybeth’s dad said there was an…accident…at the library?”
Chase exchanges a look with Daisy and Tucker. Barb Starrett’s miraculous recovery makes it hard to know how to answer.
To Chase’s surprise, they seem to be leaving the decision up to him. “There wasn’t an accident at the library,” he says. “It was at Martha Yarn’s house. She’s dead.”
“Yeah, he mentioned that, too,” Ben says. “But he clearly said Barb Starrett grabbed Tucker’s gun and shot herself.”
“I just saw Barb over at the bakery,” Tucker says.
“She’s fine,” Daisy adds. “You know MB’s dad. He’s kind of weird.”
Ben nods in agreement, but he’s clearly confused.
“Julie had to go break the news to Martha Yarn’s family,” Daisy continues. “She was supposed to help me with the FrightFest, so Chase volunteered to take her place. He’s been a big help.”
“I’m having fun,” Chase says. “Can I stay?”
Ben looks from Daisy to Tucker, and then back to his brother. Chase is pretty sure he wants to say yes, but he’s conflicted. “How about we come back later? When the movie starts. I need to get you something to eat. Maybe we could drive down to the Pinewood first. Grab some bacon and eggs.”
“Sure,” Chase says. He’d prefer to go across the street to the bakery, but he knows money is tight. As long as they don’t make a habit of it, and they order the cheap stuff, Neil Prescott has always been cool with Aileen extending her employee discount to cover their meals.
“You’re going to the Pinewood?” Tucker asks, his voice rising nervously at the end.
“Yeah. My mom works there,” Ben says, apparently picking up on the odd tone in Tucker’s voice. “Why?”
Chase feels a tug of guilt. He didn’t even think about Aileen when Tucker and Daisy said something happened at the Pinewood earlier. True, she isn’t really his mom. He’s not even sure that she’s real. But he feels like it should have crossed his mind that she worked there. The name of the place barely even registered then, but he can now feel a memory taking shape. He’s sitting in the booth, mopping up fried eggs with his toast. Aileen is in her waitress uniform, pouring him some more orange juice. Brushing his hair out of his eyes like she always does.
The memory feels real, but it also makes his head throb the tiniest bit. It’s a sensation not unlike his conversation with the Zophiel woman back at Martha’s place, when she was pushing her thoughts to him.
“Could I suggest an alternative?” Tucker digs into his pocket and pulls out his wallet. “I buy, you fly. I told Daisy I’d help her with a couple of last-minute things for the festival, but I’m starving. She probably is, too. And Chase has to have worked up an appetite pushing that broom. Maybe you could drive down to Chickwich and grab sandwiches for the four of us? Some fries, too.”
Tucker holds out three tens. Chase can see Ben wrestling both with his pride and with his feeling that something is going on behind the scenes that he’s not entirely following.
“Thanks, Officer Vance! That sounds good,” Chase says before his brother can object. “I’ll ride with you. Come on, Ben.”
His brother reluctantly takes the money, but once they pull away from the curb, he gives Chase a questioning look from the corner of his eye. “Spill, Chase. You’re wearing your fake everything’s just great expression. It might fool Daisy and Tucker, but I know you.”
He stares out the window to avoid Ben’s eyes. “I’m okay.”
“Bullshit.”
“I saw my first dead body, okay?”
That’s not entirely true, if you count his own dead body hanging from the tree. He pushes the thought aside and goes on.
“I thought nothing happened at the library.”
“Yeah, but I was with Julie when she found Miss Martha. And this whole day has been weird.”
“Maybe we should just go home after we deliver their food,” Ben says
. “You’re right. It’s been a hell of a day.”
“I don’t want to go home. Helping Daisy at the theater keeps my mind off all of it. And…you can’t go home, anyway. You have to deliver the pumpkin.”
“How did you even know about that?” Ben begins, and then says, “Never mind. It’s goddamn Haddonwood. I told Chad it would be all over town if I didn’t do it. I don’t care, though. They can kiss off.”
Chase doesn’t know how Chad Voorhees fits into the picture, but he remembers what Zophiel said—that this was a test Ben had to face, that everything could hinge on his choices. “I could go with you. If you want.”
“No.” Ben’s answer is immediate, firm, and definitive. “You’re not going up there.”
“But you’re going, right? You’re not actually scared of that place, are you?”
It was kind of a mean thing to say, but Chase isn’t sure he has any choice. Zophiel didn’t seem to think that not going was an option for Ben.
“I’m not scared,” Ben says. “It’s just a dumbass tradition.”
“Yeah, but you gave your word. Anyway, I don’t want to go home. So either take me with you or let me stay and help Daisy in the projection booth.”
“You’re not going with me.” Ben rolls the window down as they approach the drive-thru menu. “I guess you can stay at the theater, though.”
Chase feels a surge of relief, but he can’t help feeling disappointed, too. Not disappointed that he’s avoiding going to the Grimshaw house—that place is beyond creepy—but disappointed that he still doesn’t feel like he can confide in Ben. Chase knows deep down that Ben has seen some of the same things that he has. Ben is aware that something is very, very wrong in Haddonwood. But he won’t admit it. Maybe he can’t admit it. Maybe the part of his brain that accepts this sort of weirdness is just too hard, too inflexible, now.
Ben wouldn’t make fun of him if he told him about the body hanging from the tree. But he wouldn’t really believe him, either. He’d find a way to push it aside. To forget it. To cover up the strangeness with a thick blanket of nothing-to-see-here-folks.
He’s complicated, like Zophiel said. And he’s definitely not ready yet.