Paranormal After Dark

by Rebecca Hamilton

  “Would I have liked to know them? Of course. Do I miss them even though I don’t know them? Yes. Does that make this God’s fault? No.”

  “How did they die? Or do you not want to talk about it?”

  “If I didn’t, I wouldn’t have brought it up.” I hesitate then ask, “Can I borrow your phone? I have to tell my mom I’ll be late.”

  He hands it to me. After I leave a message explaining where I’m going, he asks, “You still call her mom?”

  “I guess. It’s habit, and she did raise me, but sometimes I think of her as Patricia now. It’s weird.”

  “I’ll bet.”

  The look in his eyes… I can’t bear to see it, so I start walking. Down the block, we have to wait for the light to change.

  I glance over. He’s listening but not prying. I really appreciate that. “My birth mom died in a car crash. Slid into a snow embankment. I was in the backseat.”

  “And your dad?”

  Several cars drive past before we can safely cross the street. “He had cancer,” I whisper.

  Vince’s stance grows rigid. He wraps his arm around my shoulders. “Do you want me to come with you when you talk to Father?”

  A lump forms in my throat. “You would do that?”

  “I may clown around and joke a lot, but in here…” He pounds his chest with his other hand. “I don’t think a lot of people know how I really feel. You understand me. You’ve never given up on me. I know you want me to stop blaming God, and I probably will someday. Just not today. If you need someone to come with you, I’ll be willing to go.”

  “You might have an easier time talking to Father Joseph by yourself,” I blurt out.

  He kicks a stone and clasps his hands behind his back.

  I stare at my feet as we walk and wish he still had his arm around me.

  He doesn’t move to touch me.

  Of course. My wishing something doesn’t make it happen.

  We walk the rest of the way to the hairdresser’s in silence. When the young stylist asks me what I want, I say, “Something shorter but not too short. Something different.”

  She snaps her bubble gum and grimaces. Probably wished I was more specific. She washes my hair and directs me to the middle chair. Snip, snip, snip. Clumps of hair fall to the ground. Ever since a horrific haircut in the fifth grade, I’ve been trying to grow my hair long, but my hair grows abnormally slow.

  More proof that I can’t make things happen just because I want them too.

  “Almost done.” The stylist grabs a brush and blow-dries my hair. “Finished. Take a look. Do you like?”

  I look completely different. My hair is short, way short, although longer than Gavin suggested. In fact, my hair’s about halfway between what the two boys said. Instead of being cut straight, the front is more layered, so I have long bangs in the front. I play with my hair and then toss it back and forth. “I love it.”

  “Great.” The hairdresser smiles, her relief evident. “That’ll be sixteen dollars.”

  I take a twenty out of my wallet and hand it to her. “Keep the change.”

  “Thanks!”

  Vince is staring at me peculiarly as I walk over to him. I touch it self-consciously. “You don’t like it.”

  “It sure is different.” He cocks his head to the side. “Turn around.”

  I turn, feeling more like a duck than a model. “Well?”

  “You look… good.”

  “Good? Just good?” I aim for teasing, but it comes out whiny.

  “Don’t worry. I’m sure Gavin will compliment you up and down tomorrow.” He scowls.

  “Wait, what?” The only other customer in the place and the hairdressers are staring at us, so I grab his arm and yank him outside. “Where is this coming from?”

  “Oh, get off it, Crystal. I saw how you were looking at him.”

  “And why should you care?” I snap. Vince is so infuriating! I like him one minute, and the next, I want to punch him.

  “Of course I care. Why wouldn’t I care? Haven’t you been listening to me at all today?” He shoves his hands into his pockets and stomps down the sidewalk. After a few steps, he halts but doesn’t turn around. “You coming?”

  Wordlessly, I follow him.

  When we reach my front door, he touches my arm. “I’m sorry.”

  “You don’t like me,” I guess. “You just don’t want me to be friends with Gavin.”

  “If I didn’t like you, would I do this?” He cups my face and gently presses his lips to mine.

  I stare at his closed eyes for a second before I shut mine. By the time I pucker my lips, he’s already pulling away.

  He laughs softly. “You’ve never been kissed before.”

  “Brian kissed me in the first grade.”

  “Doesn’t count.” He tucks some of my hair behind my right ear. “Let’s try that again.”

  This time, I’m ready. I pucker my lips and kiss back. It’s sweet and tender and everything a first kiss should be, even if it really is our second.

  “Have a good night,” he says when he pulls back. “Call me if you want. We can talk about your meeting with Father.”

  “I’d like that.” Not knowing what else to do, I wave awkwardly. After he walks down the sidewalk and out of sight, I open the door and shut it behind me.

  “Finally,” Mom says.

  I jump. Heat rises to my face.

  She looks so pleased, and so smug. “I’m so happy for you two.”

  “You were spying on us?” A tiny thrill squeezes my heart at the thought of us meaning me and Vince. I hold out my hand in a “stop now” gesture. “Don’t ruin the moment.”

  “Dinner’s ready.” She walks to the table, her back to me but I can hear her smile in her voice. “You look wonderful. Do you like it?”

  I touch my short hair. “I do, but it’s going to take some getting used to.”

  Smiling, I sit in my spot at the table. We concentrate on eating, and the conversation dies. Once my plate is almost picked clean, I start to tell her about my appointment with Father Joseph when the phone rings.

  “I’ll get it!” I jump up and run to the kitchen. “Hello?’

  “Hi, Crystal. It’s Vince. I was wondering if you wanted a ride to the rectory. My mom said it’s okay if I drive you.”

  My breathing grows rapid. I hope he can’t hear it. “She has to come with, right?”

  “Yeah. I almost have enough supervised hours to get my real license.”

  “Sounds good. Thanks, Vince.”

  “Great. We’ll be there in about ten minutes.”

  We hang up, and I touch my lips. I doubt Vince will kiss me again in front of his mom, but I like to think he’ll kiss me again sometime soon.

  “Who was it, honey?” Mom carries our dirty dishes into the kitchen.

  “Vince.”

  “Already? Wow.”

  “He offered to give me a ride to Father Joseph’s.”

  Is it my imagination, or did Mom pause for a moment before rinsing our plates?

  “That’s fine. I just want you to know there’s nothing you can’t talk to me about. I don’t mind if you want to talk to Father, but always know I have two ears for you.”

  “Ew, Mom. That sounds gross. Don’t go all Picasso on me.”

  “You’re cracking bad jokes. Must be love.”

  I ignore her and run upstairs to brush my teeth. Should I bother with lipstick? Nah. It would be too obvious.

  A few minutes later, there’s a knock at the door.

  Taking a deep breath, not wanting to look too eager to see him, I slowly open the door.

  He leans against the frame, his arms crossed. “Ready to go?”

  I nod. “Bye, Mom,” I throw over my shoulder and close the door behind us. Self-consciously, I adjust my purple shirt as I approach the black car. “Hi, Mrs. Fuller.”

  “Hello, Crystal. Vince tells me you want to have a memorial service for Tommy.” Her blue eyes shine with unshed tears. “I want y
ou to know how much that means to Vince’s dad and me.”

  “It’s no problem.”

  Vince opens the door for me, but before I climb into the backseat, Mrs. Fuller says, “I’ll sit in the back.”

  “You don’t have to,” I protest, but his mom insists. She moves to sit behind Vince so I claim the passenger seat.

  Vince sits next to me and grins. “Don’t worry. I’m a much safer driver than Brianna.”

  “I think everyone is.” I giggle.

  He turns on the car and drives down the street. Vince puts on his left turn signal and slows to a stop at the stop sign. After looking both ways twice, he pulls out and turns.

  “You drive like a grandpa,” I tease.

  “Hey, it’s scary learning to drive. You never know what the other drivers are going to do. And the highway, merging? Just you wait,” he warns.

  I bite my lower lip. “I never thought of it like that before.”

  “Yeah, and teenagers get into a lot more car accidents than any other age group.”

  “Maybe I’ll hold off on getting my permit.” Skipping kindergarten means I’m the youngest out of our friends.

  His laugh warms me. “I should be going for my test within a week or two, right, Mom?”

  “As long as you don’t do anything to screw it up,” she says.

  I twist around to see his mom. “So more like a month or two, right?”

  “At least.” Mrs. Fuller and I laugh.

  “Very funny.” Vince stops at another stop sign and glances over at me. “Anyhow, I can be your personal driver if you want.”

  I grin. “I’ll hold you to that. I’ll be more likely to turn seventeen if you drive me everywhere instead of Bri.”

  “Is she really that bad of a driver?” Mrs. Fuller asks.

  “Worse.” Vince shakes his head.

  The church is still a mile away. He stops at a traffic light. A car drives through, its tires squealing, spinning onto our street much faster than the speed limit. It keeps on turning until it plows hard into our car.

  Chapter 11

  MY HEAD SLAMS into my window, and bright lights flicker before my eyes.

  I scream, Vince curses, but his mom says nothing.

  “Are you ok?” he asks.

  I nod, but the movement makes my head pounds. There’s a huge bump on my forehead. No blood though.

  Vince has a small cut on his forehead, and he winces as he unclicks his seat belt. He rubs his chest. “Mom?”

  I twist in my seat. Mrs. Fuller’s head is covered in blood. The impact of the other car had been directly at her seat, and the car door juts into her.

  “Oh my God. Mom!” He tries to open his door, but his is jammed shut.

  Despite my shaking hands, I manage to unbuckle my seat belt and open my door. A wave of dizziness washes over me, but I fight through it and step out of the car. More vertigo. Some breaths help, and I reach back inside to help a wobbly Vince climb over my seat and out of the car.

  The other car backs up. The driver glares at me with hatred in his eyes. Tires squealing, he peels away.

  I shiver.

  “Mom!” He runs around the car and tries to open the ruined door.

  “Vince, we have to call for an ambulance,” I say.

  He doesn’t stop his struggle with the door.

  My hand squeezes his shoulder. He doesn’t respond when I ask for his phone, so I slip a hand into his pocket and take it. My fingers keep hitting the wrong buttons, but finally I dial 911 and tell the dispatcher about the accident and our location.

  I hang up and pocket the phone. “Vince.”

  He whirls around, rage in his eyes. Tears stream down his face. “He can’t. He can’t take her too.”

  “He won’t.”

  His hand rubs his face. “I’d never forgive him.”

  “Don’t worry about that now.”

  “Will you pray for her?” he asks desperately. “He listens to you.”

  “Of course.”

  Sirens wail in the near distance.

  “Come on.” I shove him to the other side of the car and open the back seat on the passenger side.

  Vince pushes me aside so he can dash into the car. “Mom, please say something.” He brushes hair out of her face. “She’s bleeding. Her face, her arm, her chest… So much blood.”

  I don’t want to ask, but I have to. “Is she breathing?”

  After a long moment, he says, “I think so.”

  “What happened here?” a deep voice asks.

  I whip around to see the new guy. “Gavin. A car hit us and drove away. Vince’s mom is really hurt and—”

  “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine, and so is Vince.” I wave his words away.

  Vince comes out of the car. His eyes are frantic, and he looks like a madman. “I don’t think I should move her. Her seat belt is jammed anyhow. The stupid car door is cutting into her side, and she’s really bleeding, but I can’t get to the wound to stop the flow.” He glances around wildly. “Where the hell is the ambulance?”

  “It’ll be here any second.” I grab his hand and squeeze it. The ambulance siren grows louder.

  With his free hand, he runs his fingers through his hair. “Can’t lose her too,” he mumbles.

  “You won’t,” I say fiercely. If I can will Mrs. Fuller back to health, I will.

  Why shouldn’t I try? I can pray to God and try to use magic or whatever to save her too. What harm can it do?

  “Pray with me, Vince,” I plea. Now more than ever, he needs Him.

  “I can’t.” His voice sounds hollow, and he looks like a lost little boy. “I don’t remember how to.”

  “Just talk to Him like you would me.”

  He starts to shake then leans over to a nearby bush and retches. I rub his back and whisper in his ear that everything will be all right, but I’m terrified. Mrs. Fuller can’t die. Vince needs her too much. He’s suffered so much already. His entire family has.

  The sirens blare dangerously loud, and the ambulance appears. Several people rush about, and the car is attacked so Mrs. Fuller can be rescued. A police officer talks to Vince and me. I don’t say much. The flashing lights hypnotize me. I’ll rather watch them than see the car being wrenched apart or the panicked apprehension in Vince’s eyes.

  Gavin stands on the sidewalk, hidden in the shadows as night descends. After the police officer walks away, he approaches us again. “I know this is a bad time, but do you still want to talk to Father Joseph? I can walk you. You could ask him to pray for Vince’s mom.”

  My jaw drops.

  Before I can object, Vince says, “Please, go to the church and pray. He’ll listen to your prayers long before he’ll listen to any of mine.”

  “But—”

  “The EMT said you didn’t have to go to the hospital,” Gavin interjects.

  Only because I lied about not having a headache.

  “I shake my head even though the movement churns my stomach. I’m not leaving you, Vince. I can pray at the hospital.”

  He smiles despite his pain. “I guess I can try to pray there too.”

  “But Father Joseph will be worried about you if you don’t show up,” Gavin says.

  Why is he so insistent I go to the rectory? “Could you go to the rectory and explain to him what happened for me?” I give him directions. “Thanks. I don’t have a cell to call him.”

  Gavin nods. “I hope your mom’s okay, Vince.” He shoves his hands into his pockets and strolls down the street.

  Vince pulls me close. He appears to have finally gotten a grip on his emotions, but he breaks down again when they finally pull his mom out of the half-wrecked car.

  All I can do is pat his back and try to comfort him.

  With all my heart, I pray God will save and heal Mrs. Fuller.

  With all my desire and mind, I will Mrs. Fuller to be okay.

  I almost wish I am magic, if only so I can make sure she lives and so Vince won’t forever turn
his back on God.

  * * *

  BECAUSE I GO with Vince to the hospital, I’m examined by a doctor. I answer every question truthfully and pass a concussion test. They give me some pain medication for my headache. Vince has a mild concussion, nasty bruises from his seatbelt, and some minor scraps.

  After he’s cleaned up and bandaged, we sit huddled together in the ER waiting room. Vince is almost in shock and keeps repeating himself. Whenever I attempt to get him to pray with me, he gets worse. We hold hands, and I alternate praying for Mrs. Fuller and willing her to make it.

  A doctor approaches sometime later. “Vincent Fuller?”

  It takes Vince a moment to notice him, and he nods slowly.

  “We took your mom to surgery. I’ll update you when I can.” The doctor walks away.

  “She’ll be fine,” I tell Vince.

  “I wish I had your faith,” he mutters. His eyes are bloodshot, and he rests his head on my shoulder.

  “You aren’t supposed to sleep.”

  “I know, but I’m so comfortable.”

  The seats are hard, and the cushion scratchy and decidedly uncomfortable, but I don’t bother to correct him.

  Something vibrates in my pocket, and I pull out Vince’s cell. It’s Ned.

  “Here.” I hand him the phone.

  Vince ignores the call. “I can’t believe I haven’t called Dad yet.” He presses some numbers. After a hurried explanation of what had happened and a promise to keep his dad informed, he shuts the phone. “He can’t leave work now, not yet anyway. Stupid construction. Roads take so long.”

  “He’ll come as soon as he can.” My hand slips into his, and I squeeze reassuringly.

  We stop talking. I lose track of time and start to doze when I sense someone approach.

  Mom. Looking so pissed off. “What happened? Why didn’t you call?”

  I have to give her credit. She isn’t making a scene. Her voice is low.

  Shifting slightly, I open my mouth when Vince stirs and wakes.

  “Any news?” he asks through a yawn.

  “No. Get a soda. It’ll help you stay awake.” I shove my hand into my jeans pocket and give him my change.

  He stumbles to the soda machine in the corner.

  Now that I don’t have to put on a brave face, I feel myself start to crumble on the inside. “I’m sorry. I should have called.”