Devil in Ohio

by Daria Polatin

  “Should we try?” Mae ventured, heading toward the bathroom.

  I wasn’t usually one for taking adventurous actions—especially when the consequences could go terribly wrong. Looking at this dangerously thick inky liquid, I had a sudden image of me smudging it and it running down my face and not being able to go to the party ’cause I looked like a disgraced pop star.

  But Mae seemed excited about it, so I thought why not give it a try. Brave New Jules.

  Mae clicked the video to start again. Before she came to our house she’d had no experience with the internet, but I’d shown her how to use it and she was a quick study.

  Mae tried to emulate the girl, steadying her hand to apply.

  “It’s cold!” Mae said as she touched the applicator wand to her lid. I laughed. She had a black dot on her eyelid.

  “Can you fix it?” she asked.

  I was nervous about messing it up more, but knew I couldn’t leave her looking like a warped Snapchat filter.

  I sorted through my small, stain-caked makeup bag, plucking out a regular eye pencil.

  “Let’s do this. I think black will be good,” I figured, holding it up to Mae’s face. “And you can smudge it a little and do a smoky eye.”

  “So it looks like there’s smoke on my eye?”

  “It’s supposed to be sexy.” I shrugged.

  Mae’s eyes widened for a millisecond but then recovered. She was definitely touchy about anything related to sex. From the little I had learned about her old life, it seemed like the world she’d grown up in was pretty strict, even prudish.

  “Close your eyes?”

  I looked at her flawless skin. In the few weeks she had been here I had not seen her get one pimple. I didn’t get them often, but still, we were human teenagers. And her cheeks had a natural pinkness to them. She really didn’t need makeup at all.

  Gently placing one hand on the edge of her lid, I steadied the palm of my pencil hand. Her skin was soft. I placed the pencil tip on the corner of her lid and ran it across her eyelash line with more confidence than I’d had doing most things in my life. It came out straight.

  I then focused on the other eye and did the same. Success.

  “Now we smudge.”

  I ran my ring finger along her eyelid, making small circles. I added some shadow too and evened it all out. When I was done, I admired my work. Mae looked beautiful—grown-up and sexy, but not like she was trying too hard.

  Mae stared at her reflection, unsure.

  “You didn’t wear a lot of makeup growing up,” I guessed. She shook her head no.

  “Me neither. My parents didn’t let me wear it until I was twelve. Mom didn’t want us to have a distorted sense of self, or ‘overglorify outward beauty.’”

  “Dani wears makeup, though.” I was surprised that Mae had noticed that, but she was pretty observant. She had noticed that I ate untoasted bread at breakfast sometimes, and that my dad always liked to sit on the left side of the table, so she had started taking the seat next to him.

  “Yeah, she won’t be twelve till next month,” I answered, “but she convinced my mom to let her when she lost all her baby fat so she could make a grand entrance when she started school this year.”

  It occurred to me that I never even thought of asking my mom to let me wear makeup before I was twelve. I never considered questioning rules. I always just went along with everything to maintain the status quo.

  “I guess it never seemed like an option to not follow the rules,” I admitted to Mae.

  “Me too,” Mae confessed. “But then I couldn’t do it anymore.”

  She thought about it, running her finger along the smooth edge of the sink surface.

  “How do you mean?” I asked gently.

  “I used to follow a lot of rules. And then it became—too much…” Mae trailed off and stared at the sink, picking at a dried piece of toothpaste. She would zone out like that sometimes, and it would take a little prodding to get her back into the conversation.

  “What do you mean it was too much, Mae?”

  She snapped out of her zoning and turned to me. “Sometimes things are meant to break you. And they do. But,” she added fiercely, “you can use it. To make yourself stronger.”

  A quiet descended while her words settled.

  “Ooh, let me try!” Dani interrupted, busting into the bathroom. Dani was wearing a pink velour jumpsuit, which she was sporting nearly every day now—her official rehearsal gear, which I think she must have seen some pop star wear.

  “We’re getting ready,” I told my sister. Translation: Get out.

  “I just need my elastics. Chill.” She reached for the cabinet and pulled out a wad of neon rings.

  “Is that Helen’s perfume?” she sniffed. “I’m telling!”

  “She gave it to me,” I said defensively. Which she had. Or more she had put it into a bag Mom was bringing to Goodwill and I had slipped it out.

  “Your eyes look cool,” Dani complimented Mae.

  “Thanks, Amelia.” Mae smiled, then realized she had called my sister the wrong name.

  “I’m sorry—Danielle.” A shadow fell across Mae’s face.

  “No biggie,” Dani returned, tying her curls up in a pony.

  “Who’s Amelia?” I asked. It didn’t sound anything like “Danielle,” so seemed like a weird name to confuse with it.

  Mae picked up a brush and ran it through her raven locks. “Just someone I used to know,” she answered quietly.

  “A-meeee-liaaaa,” Dani sang, to the tune of West Side Story’s “Maria.”

  “Get out,” I ordered, having had enough of my annoying little sister.

  Dani rolled her eyes, grabbing my lip gloss on her way out. “Thanks okay byeeeeee!”

  “Hey!” I called after, which I knew was useless. I could hear her snickering down the hall.

  After putting on our makeup we got dressed in our joint room, Mae changing in the closet. When we were all ready we inspected ourselves in the full-length mirror.

  Mae pulled at the sleeves of the maroon knit sweater dress I had lent her over her palms. The dress looked good with her pale skin and dark hair. I was sporting a new/old navy button-down sailor dress I’d discovered in the back of my closet. I vaguely remembered Helen giving it to me as a hand-me-down a few years ago. It was a little tight but I wore it anyway. I adjusted my white-piped dress hem. It was short enough to look cute but long enough to not feel slutty—the holy grail middle ground of an outfit.

  Our heads were side by side in the mirror, Mae’s a little higher than mine. I was impressed with our going-out A-game. Good job, us, I thought.

  Then Mae glanced at my neckline.

  “That’s so beautiful.”

  I reached for the pendant on my necklace. The gold half heart was warm between my fingers.

  “Thanks; my mom gave it to me for my thirteenth birthday. She has the other half. I know it’s cheesy, but I still like it.”

  Mae stared at it, the heart glinting in the light. I remembered Mae had mentioned that she wasn’t allowed to wear jewelry.

  “Here, try it on.”

  I stretched my arms behind my neck, unhooked the clasp, and held it out to her.

  Mae stared at me. “Really?”

  “Yeah,” I assured her. Careful not to touch her shoulders or back, I reached the necklace around her. She held her dark hair up as I fastened it around her pale neck.

  Mae admired the pendant now hanging on her chest, beaming like she had just been crowned homecoming queen.

  She looked at me through the mirror.

  “Thank you, Jules.”

  I smiled back. “No problem.”

  Mae’s eyes didn’t move from mine. “You’re such a good friend.”

  CHAPTER 17

  COUNTRY MUSIC WAFTED FROM A JUKEBOX IN THE corner of the bar. The smell of long nights and spilled beer filled the air. Neon signs and whiskey placards were the only decorations on the wood-paneled walls, save for a lone dee
r head.

  Suzanne pulled her thin overcoat a little tighter around her body, scanning the small crowd of dedicated patrons. Her eyes followed the lineup of drinkers at the bar until she saw:

  Detective Nelson.

  His rumpled gray suit had been a feature he hadn’t changed in all the years she’d known him, and he wore it no matter what the season. She’d met him after Helen was born, when she first started working at the hospital, where he was assigned to cover cases. Now in his fifties, his hair had grown gray, and there was less of it.

  She made her way across the sticky floor and slid onto the bar seat next to him. He turned and faced her, then back to his beer.

  “You didn’t return my calls,” Suzanne stated, by way of explaining her presence.

  Nelson shook his head at Suzanne’s tenacity. “You don’t ever quit, do you.” He waved to the bartender. “Bill, this woman needs a drink, if not two.”

  Suzanne ordered a glass of wine, which set the bartender off to find a wineglass—and a bottle, for that matter.

  Suzanne picked at a cardboard coaster. It wasn’t exactly bad what she was doing, coming here. However, she knew that Peter probably wouldn’t approve of her tracking down a detective at a dive bar on a Saturday night to talk to him about a patient.

  “Cheers,” Detective Nelson said, holding up his drink as the bartender set a glass of red wine down in front of Suzanne.

  Suzanne clinked his glass with hers and sipped her wine to calm her nerves. The wine tasted extra acidic. She guessed the beverage was not served here often.

  Nelson took a long pull of his pint, then his watery blue eyes looked up at Suzanne.

  “What brings you to this fine establishment, Dr. Mathis?”

  Suzanne launched in. “I want to talk about the girl at the hospital. The one with the carving in her back.”

  Nelson nodded knowingly, as if he was afraid that’s what she was there about.

  “There was another boy. He came in years ago, when I first started at the hospital. He had the same carving. He was from Tisdale—just like Mae.”

  Suzanne waited for the impact of that to settle in. Nelson sipped the amber liquid, not betraying his thoughts.

  Suzanne took a deep breath, pressed on. “The town—I think it’s a cult. And they’re committing violent crimes against minors.”

  ZZZZTTT, buzzed Suzanne’s cell on the peeling lacquered surface of the bar. Suzanne instinctively pressed the button to silence the ring, then looked at the display.

  PETER.

  Suzanne wasn’t sure why he was calling, probably just to check in, but she didn’t want to answer the call right now. She needed to focus on getting Detective Nelson to look into Tisdale.

  “I need your help finding out more about—”

  “I can stop you right there,” Nelson interrupted. “That town is not in my jurisdiction, so I don’t have access to information.”

  “But we have to find out what’s going on there. Mae has been abused; other children have clearly been abused as well. Who knows how many more children are going through the same thing?”

  Nelson turned his beer glass clockwise a couple of times in his thick fingers. “Dr. Mathis, I investigated this town years ago when that boy came in.”

  Suzanne’s surprise showed on her face.

  “These people are nutjobs. They think they’re direct descendants of the devil,” he cautioned. “You don’t want to have anything to do with them. They like to keep to themselves, so help them keep it that way.”

  “But my patient—” Suzanne countered.

  “People’ve escaped out of there before, but they never end up testifying. They’re too scared to say anything. The town’s got some kind of, I don’t know, hold over them, I guess. Mind control.”

  “Mind control…”

  “They mess with their heads, and then the victims just go right on back ’cause they don’t know anything else. Then, lo and behold, no one hears from them again.”

  “Classic cult mental programming,” Suzanne assessed, taking a big sip of her wine and grimacing from the taste.

  The country song on the jukebox ended, and a more upbeat one started.

  “Someone has to do something about it,” Suzanne determined. “We can’t just let people get away with this abuse.”

  “I’ve seen a few people go down that road. People have tried bringing charges against them in the past. But what ends up happening—is no good.” Nelson shook his head. “End up getting themselves into trouble.”

  “What kind of trouble?”

  “You don’t want to know.”

  Suzanne doubled down. She had to get him to help her. She leaned forward on her barstool, brought her voice low. “What if we could find him?”

  “Who?”

  “The boy who had the pentagram carved into his back. The one who came into the hospital years ago. He probably still has the scar—that’s evidence. And we have Mae. We could convince them to testify. What could be a stronger case than those scars!”

  “Dr. Mathis—”

  “If you can’t help me look into the town, then at least help me look into his case. Find out his real name for me.”

  Detective Nelson didn’t answer.

  “Please,” she went on. “You want to help people, right? That’s why we do what we do.”

  Nelson heaved a sigh, then looked at Suzanne. “Dr. Mathis, you have a family to take care of. Keep your eyes on that.”

  He reached for his beer, ending the conversation.

  ZZZZTTT, buzzed Suzanne’s phone again. Peter. Suzanne stared at her phone screen as his name flashed.

  “I think you’d better answer that,” Detective Nelson advised.

  Suzanne didn’t. The phone kept ringing, until it eventually went to voice mail. Suzanne sat there, not leaving.

  “They never did get your father, did they?”

  Suzanne’s face blanched.

  “After he came to find you?” he continued.

  Suzanne drained the rest of her glass. “No,” she managed, finally finding her voice.

  Then she stood up, put some money on the counter for the bartender, and walked out.

  CHAPTER 18

  GROSS WAS ALL I COULD THINK AS I took a tiny sip of beer from a red plastic cup. But besides vodka and a questionably colored punch, it was the best option at the party. Plus Sebastian had poured them for Mae and me when we arrived, so it seemed like the obligatory thing to do to take them. It had been a nice surprise to see him. I wasn’t sure if he was coming and had been too nervous to ask him when I’d seen him in the Regal office the day before.

  Mae and I were now standing on the crowded back porch of Chelsea Whiff’s house. Chelsea was a senior who I had never spoken to, but she was super popular—the house was packed. Word was her parents were in Mexico building houses with their church group. Since it was all the popular kids, I would have expected to see Helen there, but I’d heard her tell my mom that Landon was taking her out for their four-year anniversary dinner. Mr. and Mrs. Perfect.

  I was glad Mom hadn’t questioned it too much when we’d asked to go out tonight. She seemed a little out of it and simply nodded when I told her we were meeting up with Isaac to go to a movie and that his aunt was driving. She probably wouldn’t have minded us going to a party, but I didn’t want to get into questions about it since I was sure there was going to be alcohol there.

  I hadn’t mentioned the party to Isaac. I’d meant to, but kept forgetting—maybe even a little on purpose. Isaac didn’t like these kinds of parties, and part of me thought he’d be judgmental about me going. Larissa had picked us up in her dad’s Chevy SUV. Although most of us had our learner’s permits, that meant we couldn’t drive after midnight without supervision. But Larissa’s dad apparently didn’t care, and let her use the car anyway.

  I looked over at Mae, who was standing next to me on the porch, so close I could feel her body heat. Her beer was still full.

  “Tastes like pee,”
I joked.

  Mae laughed out loud.

  “Not that I’ve ever drunk pee,” I clarified. “Like what pee smells like.”

  “My brother drank pee once.”

  “Nasty. Why?”

  “He was stuck in the woods all night and ran out of water. He got thirsty and said it was the only option.”

  I remembered she’d mentioned she had a few brothers. “Your older brother?” I asked.

  She nodded.

  “What is his name?”

  Mae’s mood darkened. “Haskell,” she answered reluctantly. Then she got quiet, retreating into her own world.

  “Mae!”

  From the other side of the porch, Larissa made her way over to me and Mae. She was sporting short overalls with only a bra underneath, which was yellow. I wondered how she wasn’t freezing.

  “Ohmygod, Travis is here and we already talked for, like, an hour. I need to make out with him,” Larissa declared, taking a large gulp of her drink. Travis was a star basketball player who all the cheerleaders swooned over. He was tall and African American and model-handsome.

  Larissa turned her glassy eyes toward me. “Cute dress, Jules!” she admired, slapping her hand on my shoulder. “You’re like a sailor. Love it.”

  “Thanks,” I smiled. “I like your bra.”

  Jules! What a weird thing to say. I was so excited to get a compliment from Larissa I’d just blurted it out. Shit.

  “Um, thank you for noticing,” she slurred, then thankfully moved on. “Guys: let’s go inside. It’s way better in there.” She then whispered so loud that it wasn’t actually a whisper, “Travis is inside!”

  Larissa grabbed my hand and led us through the thick crowd into the house. I followed her lead willingly—Sebastian was inside too, and I hadn’t really gotten to talk to him before.

  Mae trailed us as we passed through the kitchen, weaving among a sea of sway-standing drunk kids. A skeleton-thin girl in our grade—Sophie, I think her name was—waved at Mae, who waved back. I didn’t know they knew each other, but was glad that Mae was making friends.