[Beautiful Dead 01] - Jonas

by Eden Maguire

  Logan swung and creaked for a while.

  “And you’re definitely not going to tell me you’ll wait for me until I’m ready to fall in love with you,” I challenged. Let’s get this clear, Logan, once and for all!

  He stopped the swing and stared at me. “You sure don’t care about hurting my feelings, do you?”

  “Yes, I care!” Truth time. “No way do I want to hurt you, but you’ve got to stop crowding me the way you’ve been doing lately. It’s not like that between us—we’re friends. At least, I think we are!”

  “Friends,” he nodded, managing to convey in one word a world of disappointment and disillusionment.

  “Hey, don’t trash it. I’m happy with friends, if you are.”

  “Meaning, you’ll come to me with a problem if you have one?”

  “Sometimes, yes.”

  “Not always?”

  “No. Some things are private. I like it that way.”

  “And I can still talk to you about stuff?”

  “Whenever.” The literal way Logan needed to fix boundaries made me smile.

  “So what’s up?”

  Logan started with the swing again. “Am I that easy to read?”

  “Like an open book.”

  “OK, I just had to get away from my house because Bob Jonson is back drinking with Dad. I don’t like to see it.”

  “No, it’s not good.”

  “He needs to clean up before Tuesday, and I’m not sure he can—not if Dad comes across with the alcohol and lets him drink himself stupid.”

  Something struck me about Logan then that I should’ve paid attention to before, only you don’t when you’re around someone so much. Logan was the parent and his dad was the child—totally the wrong way around. And now he had Bob Jonson to deal with as well. “It’s not down to you,” I said quietly.

  “And it’s not just the Buds and the whiskey chasers,” Logan went on. “We all know what’s coming up—the anniversary and all—which is hard enough for Bob without the big procession thing. Tuesday might push him over the edge.”

  I sat forward in my chair. “I thought you backed Matt on that? I thought everyone did.”

  “I’m not so sure, Darina. I’d be happier if someone else was heading it. This way, it feels… dangerous. Kind of, light the blue touch paper and stand back. Does that sound stupid?”

  “No. Explain.”

  “Matt’s an out of control type of guy. And he never organized anything like this before. There’ll be dozens of bikes—a hundred maybe. And emotions are running high. But Valenti sanctioned it—did you hear?”

  “What he actually said was he couldn’t stop it.” This was weird. I was agreeing with everything Logan said, but I still desperately needed Jonas’ memorial procession to go ahead. I was split right down the middle.

  “Yeah, so there’s nothing I can do. Except be there on one of Charlie’s bikes.”

  “We all have to be there,” I insisted. And I made up my mind about where I wanted to be, come Tuesday. “Can I ride pillion with you?” I asked. “Up near the front, alongside Bob and Matt.”

  Normal, everyday stuff. School on Monday, chatting with Jordan and Hannah, hearing Matt endlessly using his phone, pinning down details of time and place, speaking to his brother about the number of bikes on loan. In his spare time he cornered me. “Hey, Daddy’s girl!”

  We were between classes, on a stairway with a long distance view of Amos Peak. There was no one else around.

  “Back off, Matt!”

  “Aw, does Daddy’s little girl need protecting from big bad Matt?”

  He knew Jim wasn’t my dad, he was just twisting the knife. I tried to dodge free, but he pushed me back against the stair rail.

  “You know what I told Jim when he came visiting? I told him he must be kidding. No way would I waste my time hassling his stepdaughter, Little Miss Weirdo. She’s not my type, I said. Anyway, did you take a good look at her lately? Since Phoenix died, she really let herself go.”

  My head was reeling and I felt nauseous. I wanted him out of my space.

  “Hey, Matt, did Charlie find me a bike yet?” Christian called up from the bottom of the stairwell.

  And Matt gave me one last sneer and ran down to join him, two steps at a time.

  School on Tuesday, and I hadn’t slept all night. The parking lot in the school grounds was filled with gleaming chrome. A contest grew up between the girls over who had bought the biggest and best red roses, the flower of love. They stacked them on the steps outside the main door, ready to carry in the procession. At midday I had a message from Zoey: Am wearing J’s buckle and thinking of u all.

  At lunch Logan sat next to me and we didn’t talk.

  I didn’t connect with anything—not the Harleys or the roses, or the fact that clouds were gathering over the mountains. All I knew was that this was endgame for Jonas and I’d better not screw up.

  “There’s a fifty per cent chance of a storm before sundown,” Logan told me as I climbed on the back of his borrowed Softail bike. We followed a stream of Harleys, Kawasakis and Suzukis out of the school grounds towards the centre of town.

  “Oh crap!” I muttered, and it wasn’t because my hair would be wrecked if it rained. If the storm turned to thunder and lightning, the Beautiful Dead would be out of here.

  “Why so jittery?” Logan could feel me trembling as I put my arms around his waist. “You’re not freaking out over me riding this thing, are you?”

  “No, Logan. I’d trust you with my life,” I muttered. Anyway, we were coasting along at twenty miles per hour, in the centre of a bunch of other riders, part of a big pack.

  Logan glanced over his shoulder, looking out for Matt. “He said Charlie, Brandon and some of the older guys will meet us at the mall. About twenty in all. Plus thirty-five of us from Ellerton High. Plus who knows how many kids in cars.”

  “Here comes Matt now.” I’d spotted him riding up from the rear, sitting well back on his seat, arms outstretched and the fringes on his leather jacket fluttering in the wind as he wove through the pack.

  He yelled instructions above the roar of the bikes. “Here’s the order of riders in the procession. Tommy, you ride with Lucas. Logan and Christian, you’re behind them. Don’t tailgate, and don’t overtake.”

  We stopped at red lights and Logan had time to turn around properly. “You OK?” he asked me. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

  “I’m hating every second, but yes, I want to be here.”

  The lights changed and we crossed the highway to ride into the mall with big, slow drops of rain starting to fall. Matt rode ahead, right up to his brother, who was sitting astride his Tourer, waiting with his own bunch of friends for the event to start.

  Logan and I coasted around the edge of the parking lot, looking to take up position behind Tommy and Lucas, who had Jordan riding pillion with him. “These guys are hardcore,” she muttered.

  Amongst Brandon’s group of friends there were no shiny jackets with fringes, no clean blue jeans. Instead, their leathers were creased and scuffed, covered in studs and zippers. Some had long hair and beards, and looked like they were joined at the hip to their pennant-flying Harleys.

  Brandon caught sight of me on Logan’s bike and quickly looked away. Like he hadn’t saved me from drowning, or given me a new car. Like he didn’t even know me.

  “I don’t see Bob Jonson,” I told Logan, shaking off the weird feeling I’d had when Brandon noticed me. “Maybe he didn’t make it.”

  “No surprise there.” He edged through the stationary bikes to pull up alongside Christian. “The last time I saw Bob was late Sunday, smashed out of his skull.”

  “Again, no surprise,” Christian chipped in. “The guy hasn’t been sober in a month. They say now that Jonas’ mom has left home for good.”

  Still sitting pillion and clinging to Logan, I shook my head. “I sure hope Bob doesn’t show today.”

  I knew it wasn’t the place to spend the first
anniversary of your son’s death, even if you were sane, happily married and sober. The thrum of fifty bike engines sounded their steady, background roar, waiting riders revved and stared ahead without talking. Meanwhile, the rain fell more heavily.

  “He has less than five minutes to get here,” Logan checked his watch then took a long look at the crowd that had gathered in the entrance to the mall. He noticed faces near the front and tapped my leg. “Zoey’s here with her mom!”

  It was like someone had taken a swipe at my legs with a baseball bat and knocked my feet from under me, I was so shocked. “This isn’t supposed to happen!” I spluttered, jumping off the bike without thinking and running to talk with Zoey. “What are you doing? Haven’t you been through enough already?” I needn’t have worried—Zoey was standing tall. Her hair and clothes were the latest fashion and she was wearing Jonas’ buckle. She was amazing.

  “I wanted to be here after all,” she told me. “I don’t want to follow the procession. I just need to see it leave.”

  “There are so many people here,” Mrs. Bishop said sadly.

  “Everyone loved him,” Zoey said calmly. She handed me a single red rose and told me to fix it to my lapel. “This is for Jonas. Lay it in the place where it happened. From me.”

  Matt was talking to Charlie and Brandon, checking watches and wondering what to do when Bob Jonson finally showed up.

  He was riding his Dyna—no swerving or swaying—straight towards them, his head bare, his chin clean shaven, wearing a white T-shirt and no jacket in spite of the rain. Anyone without twenty-twenty vision might have mistaken him for Jonas himself.

  A murmur went round. “The poor guy made it after all. He got it together for the anniversary.”

  Bob came up alongside Matt without saying a word. He looked straight ahead. “Let’s go.” Matt raised his right hand and pointed to the mountains.

  Engines roared, pennants fluttered, the gleaming procession had started. We rolled out of town at not much more than walking pace, allowing time for the cars to fall in behind the bikes and for bystanders to realize what was going on and to pay their respects.

  It must have been something to look at—the bikes, the kids, the red flowers in the rain. I spotted Laura at the door of her store, and a little later, Dr. Valenti with some of the teachers, gathered by the gas station. But most of the faces were a blur.

  Soon we reached the neat lawns and picket fences of Centennial. Another blur. I was looking only at Matt Fortune, riding out there in front, judging our speed and working out how long it would take for us to reach Turkey Shoot Ridge. Then we were on the highway, rising up into the mountains under dark, threatening skies.

  I leaned forward, as close to Logan as I could get. “Whatever happens here, I want to thank you ahead of time,” I told him.

  He tensed up. “Why? What’s going to happen?”

  Ahead, Matt and Bob rode side by side, with only Lucas and Tommy between them and us. The neon cross was already plain to see.

  “Something big,” I whispered back. “Trust me.”

  We were a huge cavalcade moving along the highway, almost the only traffic on the road, towards the spot where Jonas had lost his life.

  I saw Bob Jonson slow down and hang his head, his unsteady hands letting his bike wobble and swerve. I saw Matt ride close, reach out and straighten him up. We were directly under the cross. Rain was driving into our faces.

  “Logan, get up there!” I hissed.

  I felt him stiffen with surprise.

  “Please!” I begged. “Trust me. Ride alongside Matt.”

  Logan gave into my plea and broke ranks. He swerved around Lucas and Jordan to catch up with Matt and Bob.

  “Dude, you’ve got to get through this!” Matt was telling Bob.

  “Don’t tell me what I need to do!” Bob swerved away angrily, leaving space for Logan to ride between them.

  Behind us, the whole procession slowed almost to a halt. We’d reached the turn off for the back road to Angel Rock.

  “You!” I told Matt Fortune, leaning out towards him and burning him with my gaze. “You don’t get to tell Jonas’ dad what to do!”

  Bob jerked his head up to look at me. I had his full attention, and Matt’s too. “This is all down to you.” I was calm as I slid from the pillion and ran alongside Jonas’ murderer. “You killed him, Matt. A year ago today. And now you’re going to pay.”

  I had no clear view of Matt’s face as he swung his Harley towards me and tried to run me down. I was ready for him though—dodging and running towards the dirt track, drawing him away from the pack. Other bikes slowed him down as I sprinted on.

  Follow me, you jerk! I swore to myself, listening for the sound of Matt’s bike, looking out for Hunter up ahead. Go crazy! Follow me and try to kill me too!

  Sure enough, Matt reacted with wild fury. His engine was roaring behind me, kicking up dirt, I was out of breath and about to fling myself sideways out of his path, when Hunter stepped out from behind a rock. He stood right in front of Matt’s bike, strong as an oak tree, eyes fixed on his face, zapping him and willing him to stop.

  I watched Matt’s willpower crumble in an instant. He let go of the handlebars and fell with the Harley on top of him, motionless, with only the wheels spinning, until Hunter lifted the bike and dragged him to his feet.

  Rain pelted down, whipped by the wind, and I heard wings, louder than ever before, if that was possible, and I too was under Hunter’s spell, unable to move as he grasped Matt’s shoulders and made something extraordinary happen.

  Wings were beating, a storm brewing, grey clouds cloaking the mountainside, and Matt Fortune was standing beside Hunter with wings—a devil-angel. Then me in Hunter’s grasp, surrounded by mist and feeling my shoulder blades tingle and burn, turning round and gasping to see me spreading my own magical white wings, becoming part of that world—the world of the Beautiful Dead.

  I beat my angel-wings alongside a million lost souls. I could see Hunter up ahead with Matt, forging through grey mist. My feet had left the ground and my wings were moving but this wasn’t like flying—more like spinning, tumbling whirling through the sky without any sense of direction, out of control. I could see Matt’s face, his mouth wide open in a silent yell. And Hunter’s mask-like face, stony cold. I tried not to scream.

  The world grew darker. We were in the eye of the storm, tumbling and turning, our wings spread wide. I felt pain through my whole body—every muscle was stretched and twisted as we travelled. And wings surrounded me, carrying me on a violent current, along with the death-faces, a hundred thousand—floating, haunting, spooking, spreading to infinity.

  The yellow, crumbling skulls surrounded Matt. I lost sight of him, but could still see Hunter leading the way towards a pinpoint of light ahead.

  I had to reach that light. Death wanted me. It was tugging at my limbs, tearing at my beautiful wings, but I struggled on.

  Hold on, Darina! I heard Phoenix’s voice above the chaos. You’re almost there.

  He was watching over me, making sure I made it. I pictured him on Foxton Ridge, standing alone, staring up into the storm, seeing everything.

  The distant pinprick grew bigger, brighter. We were sucked towards it at what felt like the speed of light, so fast that I thought I would split apart and disintegrate into a million atoms. And now a blinding light surrounded us—incandescent, unearthly light. We were inside it and everything went still. The wings stopped, the skulls vanished. Hunter spread his arms wide and we were there.

  It was the afternoon of Jonas’ crash. We were in a leafy street in Centennial. Zoey waited impatiently on the sidewalk for Jonas to arrive.

  Hunter, Matt and I took up position fifty metres down the street. When Matt opened his mouth to speak, no words came out. I did the same—nothing. We had no speech. We were mute, invisible observers.

  Torment twisted Matt’s features. Hunter’s powers held him prisoner.

  Soon we heard the sound of a bike and saw Jon
as turn the corner. Jonas on his Dyna in the sunshine, relaxed and happy—easy rider.

  Zoey smiled and waved. She looked cute in cut-off pants and blue top, her blonde hair carelessly tied back. She couldn’t wait to hop on the bike and ride away.

  They headed out of town and we followed. Zoey had her arms around Jonas’ waist, the wind caught their hair and T-shirts as they cruised on to the highway.

  Sunny freeway, two beautiful people in love. Jonas left town and picked up speed.

  A truck headed downhill in the opposite direction. A silver sports car overtook Jonas and Zoey on their final journey.

  Then there was another bike on the road, coming from way behind but gaining fast. Matt saw himself on his Harley, his jacket zipped to the chin, opening the throttle and making his engine roar.

  For a second I took my eyes off Jonas and Zoey to glance at devil-angel Matt. I saw total disbelief, total denial, total fear. Hunter held him, a helpless witness to his own crime.

  Matt raced up the hill towards Turkey Shoot Ridge. He drew level with Jonas and Zoey. Jonas glanced sideways, recognized Matt and braked.

  “Is that it—your top speed?” Matt taunted. He swerved in close to the other bike, forcing Jonas into the breakdown lane.

  The sun bounced off the silver machines—sudden flashes of bright silver light. Zoey clung tighter still to Jonas. She yelled at Matt to quit. Jonas braked again, swerving back on to the highway, only to find Matt had looped back and was riding circles around him, laughing out loud.

  “Quit that!” Zoey cried.

  Matt laughed again—an ugly laugh—the one that came back to haunt her. He was in their faces, jostling Jonas off the road again, cutting across in front of him and nudging him from behind. A terrified Zoey leaned into Jonas and hid her face against his shoulder.

  “Come on, dude—make this a race!” Matt shouted at Jonas. He leaned back and raised his handlebars, riding on one wheel along the deserted road. He refused to let Jonas slow down, harrying him from behind like a coyote snapping at the heels of a young steer. Jonas swung wide into the fast lane, trying to escape, refusing to rise to the challenge of the maniac on his tail.