Blood and Other Matter

by Kaitlin Bevis

  “Circumstantially, your conclusion makes sense. She was the only girl there, he’d just made a comment about her appearance, and I don’t know what his tone or body language indicated, but I’m willing to bet he helped push your mind down that path. But there’s a reason logical leaps don’t give you the right to play judge, jury, and hangman. You could have gotten into a lot more trouble than you did today, Derrick. And if there is foul play going on there, you just made it that much harder for me to uncover it.”

  Damn it, she was right. “Sorry.”

  “You should be.” Letting out a long breath, she ran her fingers through her short hair. “You’re sure he grabbed Tess?”

  “She’s got bruises where he shook her, Mom. Tess told the principal, but no one seemed all that interested.”

  Mom lifted her eyes to the sky like the calm she so desperately wanted to feel waited up there, just out of reach. “Okay. I’m going to fix this, and you’re going to wait in the hall.”

  “Mom,” I objected.

  “Shut your mouth.” She caught herself as her voice rose and dropped to a whisper. “Do you have any idea how much trouble you’re in? You don’t get to watch me justify this. You don’t get to listen to me defend you because I don’t want you to think for one second I approve of my son assaulting someone. Are we clear, or will a night in jail help that sink in?”

  The principal stuck her head out the door. “We’re ready for you.”

  Mom shot me one last murderous look as she dragged me into the school and deposited me on the bench just across from the principal’s office. After she disappeared into the room, I held out for a solid minute before crossing the hall to hear better.

  “ . . . getting off light,” Principal Smith was saying. “Mr. and Mrs. Worthington have agreed not to press charges.”

  “Oh, yes. Expulsion.” Ire laced my mother’s tone. “That’s very light.”

  Shit! They were going to expel me?

  “Better than your son deserves,” Mr. Worthington snapped.

  Principal Smith cleared her throat. “As you know, we have a zero-tolerance policy for—”

  “Really?” I could hear the sarcasm dripping from my mother’s voice. “Because it seems to me like you’re tolerating the assault on Theresa D’Ovidio just fine.”

  Thank you!

  “My son is in the hospital!”

  “Both of you need to sit down.” Principal Smith’s voice sounded hard as flint.

  In the moment of silence that followed, I pressed my ear to the door, nervous I was missing something.

  “Abby,” my mom said, and I blinked at the use of Mrs. Smith’s first name. “If you think my son deserves expulsion, expel him. But you’re too good of an administrator to allow double standards in your school. And if you think I won’t raise hell over this, you are dead wrong.”

  My mom was going to kill me when I got home, but this was worth it.

  “Excuse me?” Mr. Worthington erupted. “My son lost his friends and then was nearly beaten to death at their memorial! These are not equal offenses by any stretch of the imagination.”

  “Obviously—” Mrs. Smith interjected, raising her voice. “—this has been a very trying time for our students, and some lashing out is expected. What happened to Miss D’Ovidio is unfortunate, but given all that has transpired—-”

  “Do you think it was easy on my son to find the bodies?” my mom asked. “He was defending a friend he very nearly lost—”

  “Which is why I’m not pressing charges, Mariah!” Mr. Worthington said. “But he doesn’t get to walk away from this without consequences.”

  “Neither should Josh. But—”

  “No one is walking away from this without consequences,” Principal Smith interjected.

  Mom railroaded right over her. “Let’s make sure we’re being constructive in our choice of punishment here. And not just for our boys. Our community was dealt a harsh blow. We cannot afford to send the message that grief justifies breaking the rules, or more people are going to get hurt.”

  She was right about that. Half the people in Fairdealings had tried to sneak into the National Forest with guns. The other half hadn’t been caught. Mom’s deputies had money riding on how many days would pass before someone got shot.

  The bell rang, interrupting my thoughts and putting an end to my eavesdropping. I crossed the hall and settled back into my place on the uncomfortable, wooden bench as students filled the corridor. Tess found me within seconds.

  “Scoot,” she said, dropping onto the bench. “Sorry I took so long. They wouldn’t let me leave class after Mrs. Smith sent me back. What happened?”

  “They want to expel me, but Mom’s fighting it unless they expel Josh, too.”

  Tess’s expression darkened. “This isn’t fair. I tried to tell them I broke his ribs, but—”

  I waved her off. “Tess, there’s no way you pushed him hard enough to break his bones, okay? I’m the one that beat the crap out of him, so this one’s all on me.”

  She didn’t look convinced. But instead of arguing, she scooted closer to me on the bench to lay her head on my shoulder and lace her fingers through mine, careful not to touch my bruised knuckles. “I hate that you’re in trouble because of me.”

  I almost shook my head, then stopped, unwilling to risk her moving away from me. Right now, she was willing to ignore the scandalized looks of the students walking past us, but I wasn’t sure how long she’d hold out against their scrutiny. Instead, I rested my head against hers, some of the tension going out of me with the simple comfort of her touch. We used to be able to do this. Touch casually. Just take comfort in each other. Especially right after Ainsley died.

  Then I’d gone and screwed everything up by thinking of her as more than a friend. She knew. I could tell she knew. No matter how much I tried to bury it. I could feel her weighing every bit of contact. Now she only touched me with exaggerated friendliness. Pushes and playful punches that practically screamed ‘this is platonic, don’t read too much into it,’ unless something extreme happened, like someone died, or I beat the hell out of Josh Worthington.

  “I’m in trouble because of me.” I squeezed her hand back, surprised by how much I’d missed this. Why can’t I just be happy with this? “You’re not a puppet master, Tess. I make my own choices.”

  “Then choose differently. Josh—”

  “Deserved it.” I protested, unwilling to hear her defend him. “He said—”

  “I know what he said, Derrick. You shouted it loud enough for them to hear up in Haleyville.”

  Had I? I didn’t remember shouting.

  “And yeah, he deserved it, but I’m not worried about him. I’m worried about you.” She lifted her head to fix those dark eyes on me. “One of these days, you’re going to get into more trouble than she can get you out of, and I’m not worth that.”

  When I started to object, she cut me off. “No one is.”

  “What would you have done? Situation reversed?”

  “I’d remember you didn’t have a scratch on you. Whatever they planned to do, Derrick, they didn’t. And yeah, the fact that anything might have been planned would make me want to kill him.” She put her head on my shoulder again, and that took some of the sting out of her next words. “But I wouldn’t. I’d do whatever you needed me to and not a drop more because worrying about me wouldn’t help you.”

  A flash of memory came to me. Tess staring at me wide-eyed in shock, droplets of blood decorating her face like a fine mist as the teachers pulled me out of the gym. How close had she been? I tried to think back but couldn’t remember much beyond the crunch of his face against my fist and the heat of rage. I could vaguely remember her hands pulling at me. Did I push her away? I couldn’t remember. “I’m really sorry if I scared you or—”

  �
�I could never be afraid of you, Derrick.” Her voice sounded so soft, I almost didn’t hear her.

  That made one of us. I glanced down at my swollen hand, twined in hers as the full gravity of what I’d done hit me. Had Josh even been conscious for most of that? “I kind of lost myself back there,” I realized, pulling away from her.

  “He has that effect on people.” She seemed to realize I needed space, so she moved to the other side of the bench, pulled her sketchbook out of her bag, and started absently drawing another one of her stupid sympathy cards. She’d insisted on hand-delivering them to all of the football players’ homes. I’d never had so many doors slammed in my face as I had this weekend. Tess didn’t seem to get that she was the last person those parents wanted to see.

  Her pencil moved along the page. “God, can you believe I ever wanted to go out with that douchebag?”

  No,” I deadpanned. “You saying ‘yes’ to Josh Worthington is actually still the most mysterious thing that’s ever happened in this town.”

  “I just got nostalgic, I guess,” she said softly, pencil pausing on the page. “He never used to be such a jerk.”

  My mind flashed back to the three of us sword fighting with empty wrapping paper rolls in his den. “No, he didn’t.”

  Mr. Worthington stalked out of the office, pausing only to give me the stink eye before storming down the hall. Mom emerged behind him and gave me a heavy look.

  “A hundred hours of community service, Saturday school for the rest of the semester, and mandatory sessions with the grief counselor for the remainder of the year.”

  My mouth dropped open, and she raised her eyebrows, fixing me with an icy glare. “Oh, that’s just the school’s punishment. You’re also grounded until you graduate, and you’ve lost car privileges. Tess, sweetie, do you mind driving his car home? Derrick will be riding with me.”

  “Of course not.” Tess suppressed a smile at the word “home.” Mom had pretty much unofficially adopted Tess. I hadn’t even had to tell her about what happened at Tess’s house.

  “Thanks.” Mom smiled at her, but her grin faded when she turned her attention back to me. “Did I stutter? Get moving.”

  I handed Tess my keys and followed Mom to her car.

  Chapter 13: Isaac

  Thursday, September 15th

  ISAAC COULD SEE his light, burning too bright beyond his closed eyelids. But he couldn’t force himself to get out of bed to turn it off.

  No matter how hard he tried.

  Overhead, the ceiling fan whirred off-balance, creating a symphony of irritation. Thunk-creak went the fan bumping against the ceiling, clack-clink went the chain hitting against the glass light. He’d grit his teeth in frustration, but he couldn’t do that, either.

  Move, he thought desperately. Come on! Lift your arm. But his arm lay rigid at his side like an impossibly heavy slab of dead weight. Oh, God. Not this again.

  Isaac had only experienced sleep paralysis once since his last asthma attack, but it used to happen pretty regularly. He’d almost forgotten the terror of his mind waking to find itself trapped within a sleeping body. Almost.

  Come on, he thought, fighting back panic. But hard as he tried, he couldn’t force his eyes open. He tried to scream, move his arms to bang against the wall, or do anything to get Dad to come wake him up.

  Thunk, creak, clack, clink went the fan.

  Gah! That stupid fan. It was like it got louder the more annoyed he got.

  Just relax. Trying to move was no use. The last time this happened, his girlfriend, Wren, was curled up beside him reading a book, and she hadn’t noticed until he came out of it, terrified and gasping for breath.

  “Bad dream?” she’d asked, setting the book down.

  He’d stared at her for a second, at a loss for how to explain. But then he’d noticed the little crinkle she got in her forehead when she worried, and a rush of warmth went through him. He wasn’t used to people caring. “God, I love you,” he’d whispered.

  His anxiety level, already high, shot through the roof at the reminder. They’d broken up after the memorial today.

  “Is it true what everyone is saying?” she’d asked, her blue eyes filling with accusation. “A team-building thing? What does that mean, Isaac?”

  He parroted the same lie he’d told the cops. “Nothing. It doesn’t mean anything. Josh was just pressing buttons, you know how he is.”

  She’d stared at him in disbelief. “You never wanted me to go to the bonfires with you.”

  “Wren—”

  She talked right over him. “I always figured you were worried one of your friends would hit on me or something. Or you were just being considerate. You know how I feel about being around drunk guys, and you know how much Aunt Jenny Johnston’s stretch of the woods creeps me out, but now I wonder.” She’d swallowed hard, tucking a vibrant red lock of hair behind her ear. “What were you so afraid of me seeing? What did you do?”

  He couldn’t answer her because for the life of him, he couldn’t remember. He knew what people were saying about him. Even his dad had asked why Tess was the only girl at the bonfire.

  “Is it true?” Her eyes filled with tears. “Did you guys . . .” She couldn’t seem to bring herself to say it, but Isaac knew what people were saying. “Did you hurt Tess?”

  “I wouldn’t do that.” He grabbed her arm, ready to say he hadn’t done anything to her, but a flash of memory had stopped him. Tess, stumbling against Josh as he led her into the dark depths of the forest. The memory had filled him with such dread, such horror, he’d almost gotten sick then and there.

  She’d read the guilt in his eyes and wrenched her arm free. “But would you watch while they did? Would you go along with it? See, that’s what I can’t answer about you. And if there’s even a doubt . . . you’re not someone I want to date.”

  Wake up, he begged himself. Lying here, unable to move and fighting back irrational terror was bad enough. But reliving that conversation over and over, watching her walk away? That was torture. Worse, he couldn’t be sure she was wrong. After all, something drove Chris to suicide. Maybe he’d remembered something Isaac didn’t.

  After everyone he’d lost, Isaac wouldn’t have thought adding one more death to the pile could hurt so bad, but he was wrong. Pain was an exponent. There could always be more.

  A floorboard creaked near his window, and hope fluttered through his chest. He wasn’t alone in the room. There was someone else. Maybe they would wake him up. He strained his ears, listening to the footsteps moving closer to the bed. They were too light to belong to his dad.

  Wren? Did she come back? Dad might have let her in without checking to see if he was still up.

  He could smell smoke. Not the nicotine-filled variety, but more like a campfire. The scent moved closer to him, and panic flooded his chest. He wasn’t sure how, but he knew whatever was in the room with him wasn’t friendly.

  “Sufferers from sleep paralysis sometimes imagine another person or being, often malicious, is in the room with them,” his pediatrician had explained years ago.

  He followed his doctor’s advice and tried to remain calm and logical. His brain was awake, his body wasn’t. It felt scary, but if he took advantage of the fact that his mind was aware of what was going on long enough to think, he’d realize—

  The bed dipped under a new weight. Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit! Isaac tried to scoot back, to jump up, to run, to scream, to something, but he couldn’t move. Something slithered over him, settling on his chest. It hovered over his face, breathing in his air, leaving nothing for him to inhale. Isaac fought to open his eyes, and his throat went raw from the silent screams that refused to be vocalized.

  The fabric of his shirt stirred as something plucked at his buttons. Feverish hands pressed against either side of his chest. His body went hot, then co
ld.

  This isn’t real, this isn’t real, this isn’t real, he tried to tell himself, as sharp nails dug into his sternum. The hands braced, like they were getting ready to pull. Wake up! he told himself. Somebody please wake me up! He thought of his dad, two rooms down the hall. If he could just scream. Pain wrenched through his chest as his heart strained to meet the sharp nails digging into his flesh.

  Isaaaac, its voice whispered in his mind.

  His brain seized, shook, shattered. It was like someone had shoved a glass grenade into his frontal lobe and set it to detonate. Images shredded through his mind like shrapnel. Smoke. Tess D’Ovidio’s bound hands.

  He couldn’t breathe. His mind flitted to his inhaler. Did he still keep it in the drawer of his nightstand? If he could just move his hand, it was right there.

  You did this. You wanted this, the voice in his head insisted, vibrating, reverberating through his skull until it rang.

  He hadn’t wanted this. No one wanted this. Nothing was supposed to happen, nothing ever actually happened. But the words wouldn’t form.

  You did this.

  Inside his mind, he screamed and sobbed and begged with a fervor he’d only heard once before. Please. I’ll do anything. Just make the pain stop.

  Anything? It shifted against him.

  He didn’t even hesitate. Anything!

  Die.

  Well, okay, maybe not anything. He was graduating in a couple of months, then with any luck, he’d be off to that awesome forensics program he’d applied to. He’d meet someone new. Someone even Wren couldn’t measure up to. Then he’d start his life, ideally making six figures somewhere far away from Fairdealings.

  Visions of the bonfire flashed through his mind in slow motion, forcing him to watch each of his friends die in excruciating detail. Blood, shouts, flames. The pressure on his chest increased until his lungs threatened to explode.