Speaking Evil

by Jason Parent

  No one else seemed to notice the bleakness of their hallowed halls. The corridor was awash with bright clothes and brighter smiles, the teenagers happy to reconnect with friends and catch up on the latest gossip. Michael kept his head down as he walked, never raising his gaze to see who might be watching him and judging. He let out a breath as he reached the relative safety of his locker, then stared at his lock as if concentration could will it open. It only took him two tries to recall the numbers and a third go because he forgot to bypass the second number on the counterclockwise spin. Students were supposed to empty their lockers at the end of every school year, but he’d left the rock band poster up. It had been there when he inherited the locker, had been there for who knew how many previous owners, and was there awaiting him on his first day back. Seeing the poster made him smile. It was a token reminder of what was his—a narrow enclave all for himself in hostile wilderness.

  A meaty hand clamped down on his shoulder. “What’s up, nerd?”

  Michael tensed, then relaxed when the voice’s owner registered. He turned to face the over six feet and growing junior star center for the Carnegie High Hurricanes, Robert “Robbie” Wilkins. Robbie was one of three friends Michael had made at the school, and the other two wouldn’t be showing up any time soon. If ever. Yet Robbie was all he needed to keep the rest of the population—the ones who whispered freak every time he passed them or fairy at the sight of his long, effeminate gloves—in check. Michael couldn’t prove that was so, and Robbie never hinted as much, but since their friendship had become general knowledge, no bully gave Michael so much as a second glance.

  But there were the others too—those who wanted to know all about his gift, wanted him to touch them and tell them their futures. Will Tyrese get into Harvard like his parents want? Will Becca get what she deserves for stealing Rhonda’s boyfriend? Will so-and-so make varsity, pass her driver’s license exam, get away with blowing up the toilet, or win a fight? The list was long enough even with Robbie’s hulking presence to dissuade them. Michael could only imagine how many soothsayer seekers he would have if he had to face them on his own.

  They didn’t know what they were asking of him, what he would be forced to see and share with them. Best case, he would see nothing, and everyone would leave dissatisfied. Worst case, he’d have a seizure—something every one of the askers seemed A-okay with—and end up witnessing some horrific event that either the person requesting his help would commit or be a victim of. That was how it had all started with Tessa. When he touched her and had seen what she would eventually do to her murderous turd of a stepfather. Like he didn’t already have enough drama in his life with a detective for a foster mom.

  “Relax, man.” Robbie flashed his big sloppy bulldog grin. Then he frowned and squinted, bending closer to Michael’s face. “Hey, are you okay, bud?”

  Michael looked up and forced a smile. Robbie could be a bit of a goof, but he had a big heart. Seeing the concern in his friend’s face turned Michael’s smile genuine.

  “You thinking about her?”

  Michael’s eyebrows shot up before he could plaster on his poker face. Robbie was more perceptive than his grades or his speech let on. Sometimes, Michael thought he purposely dumbed down the way he talked to fit in more. Not that anyone at the school didn’t like their football phenom. Michael shrugged. “Maybe a little.”

  “You see her lately?”

  “Not since before I left for my cruise.” Michael ran a hand through his hair and sighed. “And that time, she was... confused. She kept talking about weird things happening at that hospital. I don’t know if she was drugged or whatever they’re doing to treat her in there. Physically, she looked okay.”

  “Yeah, I bet you noticed that.” Robbie punched his arm and laughed. “She is cute, though. Red hair—”

  “It’s strawberry blonde.”

  “Whatever. That color ain’t really my thing.” He guffawed. “You know what they say about red hair. A little bit of crazy goes a long way.” When he noticed that Michael wasn’t laughing, Robbie shoved his hands into his pockets and blew out air. “But you got enough of that in your life already, Superdude. Things like she’s been through—abuse like that, then what she did to her own father—”

  “Stepfather.”

  “You know what I’m saying.” Robbie clicked his teeth. “People don’t just bounce back from that.”

  Michael crossed his arms. “I don’t know. People can surprise you. I bounced back all right from what you and Glenn did to me.”

  Robbie looked away. Michael could tell the barb had stung him.

  “Sorry. I’m just a little on edge, I guess. First day back and all.” He scrubbed the memory of Robbie dunking him in a toilet last year from his thoughts with a cleansing breath. “Look, I’m just saying she’s gone through a lot but has been making progress. The time before last when I saw her, I thought for sure she’d be out soon, but—”

  “But now you’re not so sure if she’s taken a turn for the worse?”

  Michael sighed and his hands fell to his legs. “I really hope not.”

  “You truly care about her, don’t you?” Before Michael could decide how to answer, Robbie added, “What kind of weird things did she say was going on?”

  “She wasn’t really all that specific. We didn’t get a lot of time together, and-and... I didn’t want her to be down, you know? To focus on the bad. The time before, she looked...” Michael bit into his lip as his eyes blurred. “She looked almost happy.”

  Robbie opened his mouth to speak, and Michael expected some quip poking fun at his feelings for Tessa. But Robbie clamped it shut with surprising tact. He tapped his chin, his gaze venturing toward the drop ceiling tiles. “Jimmy’s in there, too, right? Why not just ask him if he thinks anything weird is going on?”

  “That’s... that’s actually pretty smart.” Michael nodded. “Thanks, Robbie.”

  “That’s what I’m here for.” The big guy stuck his hands back into his pockets and shuffled his feet. “And, when you go see him, can I go too? I’d like to, you know, apologize.”

  Michael inhaled through his teeth. “I don’t know if that’s such a good idea. Everything he’s been through has really toughened him up. Glenn was only the first bully he took down. I’m not sure he’s ready to just forgive and forget. I know it’s been almost a year—and I don’t say this to sound harsh, but—look where you’re standing and where he’s at.”

  Robbie’s cheeks reddened. He stared down at his feet.

  Michael sighed. “Look, let me talk to him first, okay? The gesture would mean more coming from you, but—”

  Robbie threw up his hands. “Too soon. I get it.” He shook his head. “Well, I know he’s the reason for the new metal detectors, but those cops outside, they’re here for you, I bet.”

  Again, Michael was surprised at Robbie’s perceptiveness. “It’s just a precaution.”

  “Yeah, I’ve seen the psychos you and that detective mom of yours cross paths with, and I ain’t too proud to admit I hope to never see them again.”

  “Masterson’s dead, Robbie. No one’s going to see him again.”

  “Except in our nightmares. The dude’s like Freddy Krueger. I can’t imagine how it must be for Tessa.” Robbie pursed his lips then glanced at his watch.

  “Bell gonna ring?” Michael asked.

  “We still got a couple of minutes. Anyway, who’s got Detective Reilly spooked? She’s mean as a—”

  Michael shot him a warning look.

  Robbie gave another sloppy smile. “—really mean person.”

  Michael crossed his arms. “Don’t know.” He stood up a little straighter as a cute girl fiddled with her combination two lockers down from his. She caught him staring, smiled and nodded hello, then looked away shyly. He blushed as he faced Robbie and his knowing grin.

  “Anyway,” he said before Robbie could comment. “We were attacked by someone with a stun gun the last time I went to see Tessa. He wore some c
heap plastic Indian mask and was after Sam, I think.” He shuddered, remembering the attack with vivid detail. “I think Sam knows more than she’s letting on. The cops should be protecting her, not me.”

  “She’ll have plenty of cops with her every day, I’m sure.”

  Michael ran his fingers through his hair. “I hope so.”

  The bell for first period rang. Robbie cursed then shrugged. “And so it begins. Well, I guess I’ll see you later, Superdude. Come find me at lunch.” He entered the stream of zombies shuffling through the corridor on waves of white-noise chatter.

  A few feet away, he called back, “And don’t forget you promised to help me with math this year!”

  But Michael barely heard him, stuck in thoughts of Sam back on the job, wondering what she might be hiding from him. Wondering if she was safe.

  I hope so.

  CHAPTER 4

  Tessa scanned the rec room for an ally. Other than the one they called Dizmo, a thirty-something-year-old with dissociative identity disorder—and only some of his personalities liked Tessa—she didn’t really have any allies. Most of the children liked her, and she still visited their play area from time to time. But ever since she turned seventeen and had already proven she was no longer a danger to others, she’d been allowed free range in the hospital’s community areas. The adult rec area quickly became her favorite spot, where she could whittle away time by completing a sudoku without getting caught up in a game of tag. She still slept in Ward C, the kids’ ward, as the hospital had a policy—or maybe were required by law—to separate those eighteen and older from the rest. Tessa assumed it had something to do with sex. Different wards were probably a smart idea, not that she had any interest in the drippy-drooling men she’d seen there. But as far as she could tell, the adults were just down a different hallway, with no discernable barrier or security between them.

  In any event, while the adults were kind to her or else paid her little attention, none were her friends. She’d only really ever had one friend, Michael, but he was on the outside. He could do nothing for her, not even with a cop for a foster mom.

  Looking at all her fellow crazies, dressed in all white and gray cotton tees and sweatpants without drawstrings, Tessa felt more like she was part of a cult than a patient in a hospital. A hospital for loonies, she qualified, never missing a chance to tear herself down.

  She grabbed a crossword puzzle book and a black crayon then took a seat at a plastic table. Opening the book, she stared at a very detailed drawing of a penis. She had to flip through several pages before the notorious penis artist had apparently gotten bored and left her a clean puzzle to work on.

  As she considered a seven-letter word for nervousness, the hairs on her neck began to tingle. The room seemed quieter, the only sound Manny’s spastic moaning. Raising her gaze without lifting her head, Tessa took a closer look at the morning crowd. In addition to Dizmo and the much older Manny, who only spoke Portuguese when his strange ailment allowed him to speak at all, the usual patients were in their routines—baby boomers Jordan and Harriet were playing chess, chins resting on hands as they focused on their board; Monica was scribbling furiously in her sketch pad, her long bangs always hiding her eyes but exposing a thick scar running along the side of her head; Dirty Terry was reading a sleazy romance novel, his hand rubbing the front of his pants; and the bridge club, all of whom seemed entirely normal, was, of course, playing bridge. Other patients were doing those heartbreaking little things—the rocking, the staring blankly, the muttering to themselves—that helped fill the hours of their days and reminded Tessa of where she spent hers.

  But Link’s eyes were on Tessa as he leaned against the wall in the corner, presiding over his subjects. She heaved in a sharp breath and averted her gaze from the orderly’s, tapping the crayon against the side of her head as if in deep thought.

  Actually named Jeb, Link was six feet seven or thereabouts with a skull that seemed too big to be human. That, together with the ridge of bone protruding under his eyebrows, his prominent cheekbones, and his right-angled jawline had earned him the nickname “Missing Link,” or “Link” for short. In her peripheral, Tessa saw him watching her with beady eyes set deep in his orbital sockets. Catching her looking back, he smiled as if to say, “Yeah, I see you.”

  She refocused her attention on the page in front of her, her hand jerking and marking a black line across the clues. Taking a deep breath, she kicked off her slipper then bent over to put it back on. While leaning over, she checked the rec room for other staff but saw none and no one looking her way except... Her breath hitched as her gaze landed on another freakazoid, a fellow patient who the other kids called the Bandage Man. Despite their usually creative imaginations, the psych ward children failed to offer the man anything more than a descriptive nickname. Gauze and medical tape chaotically wrapped most of his head, with tufts of gray hair sticking out at the top and at his chin. His eyes, almost feline in shape and shadowed by eaves from the tape, peered out with seemingly vicious intent. A narrow slit over his mouth allowed him to breathe.

  Tessa had heard at least half a dozen reasons for those bandages, most of which entailed fire and severe burns, but the most outlandish of them rumored that he’d carved his own face off. He never spoke and always scowled, but his deep brown eyes revealed a sinister mind at work. A mind that, at that moment, had turned toward her.

  “How are you this morning, honey?”

  Tessa jolted upright, whacking her head against the table. She rubbed it even though it didn’t hurt as she looked up into the watchful eyes of Nurse Francine, which were circled with so much black eyeliner and shadow that she resembled a raccoon.

  The nurse grinned. “Were you able to get some sleep after all?”

  Tessa hesitated, searching for the right response, then nodded.

  “That’s good. Good.” Francine smiled wider. “If you continue to have trouble sleeping, I can talk to your doctor and see if we can’t get you some pills that’ll help.” She threw a thumb over her shoulder at Link, who was leering at them. “I’m sure good ol’ Jeb there would be happy to bring it to you tonight. Would you like that?”

  “N-no.” Tessa fidgeted with her crayon. “No, thank you. I’m sleeping okay now.”

  “Good. Good, dear.” Francine leaned closer so that her mouth was only inches from Tessa’s cheek. Her breath reeked of eggs and her skin smelled of too much lotion or perfume. The overpowering lilac scent reminded Tessa of home, a place she would happily never return to. It smelled like the potpourri Father used to keep in the bathroom and something else, like disinfectant, maybe ammonia.

  “I know you were worried about Mitchell last night. Well, I just saw him playing with the other children, looking happy as a clam.” The nurse straightened, crossed her arms, and chuckled. “I don’t think you’ll be hearing him screaming again tonight.”

  Tessa didn’t know how to respond to that, so she kept her mouth shut. A wicked gleam twinkled in the nurse’s eyes that made Tessa want to run and hide. She thought she’d been locked away from the horrors of the real world, but she didn’t feel safe there anymore. The people coming in from the outside would always be dragging their dirt in with them.

  “Well,” Francine began with an exaggerated sigh. “I have to get going—you know, places to go and people to see. But remember what I said. If you need anything, Jeb and I are happy to help. We’re always around, and we’re always happy to lend a hand where needed.”

  She turned on her heel then sashayed toward the double doors leading into the hall when a redheaded, freckle-faced teen about Tessa’s age entered. Francine stopped mid-stride to avoid colliding with him. He smiled and held the door open for her. She nodded curtly, smoothed out her uniform, then walked out without a second glance.

  The boy stood just inside the door, sizing up the rec room just as Tessa had. A tingling in her lizard brain told her she should know him, but she didn’t. His gaze swept the room, eventually landing on her. Apparently
taking her stare as an invitation, he offered her a warm smile before approaching.

  Her heart pumping just a little faster, Tessa slid out of her chair as he came within a few feet. The boy slowed his approach, his smile shrinking. He took another step forward, and Tessa stepped back. He stopped and extended his hand. “Hi. I’m Jimmy.”

  Tessa hugged herself tightly and flinched away from his touch. The boy lowered his hand and frowned.

  “Jimmy!” Tessa blurted, her eyes exploding open with sudden realization.

  The boy’s frown grew with the wrinkles in his forehead. “Your name’s Jimmy too?”

  She let out her breath then giggled. He must have thought her one of the gibbering crazies. “No-no, I’m Tessa.” She smiled and looked away, her cheeks flushing with warmth. “We have a mutual friend. Michael told me all about you. In fact, he says he wants to visit you.”

  “Really?” Jimmy scratched the back of his head and smiled awkwardly, his dimples childlike and endearing. “Well, I guess it’s good someone out there still cares, but he’s sorta the reason I’m in this place.”

  She arched her eyebrows. “Oh.”

  “Though it beats the hell out of prison, I guess.” He tapped his foot and huffed. “Well, then I guess there’s no use in pretending I’m not as nuts as everyone else in here.” He chuckled, apparently realizing his gaffe, then sighed and studied the floor. “Sorry.”

  Tessa laughed. “No offense taken.” She took her seat, and he flipped another around and straddled it, resting his arms over the back. “Forgive me if I don’t shake hands. I... I don’t like to be touched.”