What Lies Beyond

by B. B. Palomo

  Noah pressed his lips into a pout and threw a lazy hand onto the steering wheel. “And after those kisses yesterday, I was starting to think you knew me.”

  I laughed and rolled my eyes. He pulled the door lever and helped me swing the heavy hunk of metal open, so I could step up and in the cab, sinking into worn gray nylon seats. I settled in, tossing my backpack to the ground, and we were off, heading in the direction of the college. The radio played some old-school alternative rock, and just as I thought I might know the song, Noah turned the knob down, the music following suit with a slight lag.

  “What happened last night?” he questioned, glancing my way quickly before returning his gaze to navigate the road. “I was worried. Those were strangers.”

  “I know. I’m sorry.” I rubbed my palm against the back of my neck, the tension in my muscles now building there. “It was—a weird night.”

  “Weird how?”

  “Well,” I inhaled deeply. “For starters, one of the guys was kind of a creep—”

  “What?” He turned in his seat, fierce eyes jumping from me to the road and then back again, keeping only one hand on the wheel.

  “No, it’s just that, he was interesting.” I tried to rephrase what I’d said, but the rigid set of Noah’s jaw didn’t have me convinced it was working. “And”—I laughed, the sound coming up choked and disingenuous—“I thought the Ouija board worked for a moment.” I purposefully omitted that I could see the guy’s dead mother, figuring it wasn’t an important point to add. Not like he’d believe me anyway, not when I wasn’t even sure I believed me.

  Noah must have sensed something in my tone because he relaxed his shoulders and placed a gentle hand against my clenched fist, prompting me to open it and accept the support I quickly realized I needed. He interlaced our fingers, and I pulled his arm closer to me so I could rest his hand against my thigh.

  “It’s silly, but after everyone left, I used the board. I thought I could call my dad. Of course, nothing happened when I did and when my mom came back and showed me how she got the board to work—with a friggin’ magnet no less—I felt, I dunno. Disappointed?” I pressed my head back against the seat rest, my updo making it uncomfortable. “Stupid, right?”

  Noah pulled my hand to his mouth, breathing me in before placing a light kiss against my knuckles. The gesture woke the sleeping butterflies in the deepest pit of my belly. “No, I don’t think it’s stupid, Willow.”

  “You don’t have to say that to—”

  “I mean it.” He interjected carefully. “I think you are still healing from the loss of your father. I know you have a lot of guilt you haven’t come to terms with, and I think you don’t open up about it enough, but I can assure you, I have never, ever thought of you as stupid.”

  I tilted my head to watch him as he focused on slowing down for the intersection that turned into a long two-lane road, which eventually led to our school’s parking lot. His words made my chest contract with love, and I couldn’t help the smile that pulled at the corners of my lips. Those blue eyes locked onto mine as he put the truck in park. Nothing in them said he was lying, though I could search them forever and possibly never see the ends of where they landed.

  “Ready?” he asked.

  I nodded and suppressed a sigh at having this moment cut short and begrudgingly opening the door. It slammed behind me involuntarily, assuring me it had closed without turning back to check. Noah had already grabbed my bag and met me at the tailgate, still leveled from his day at work. The stroll to our respective classes didn’t need conversation. Instead, we only held on to each other until we came to a path we needed to part at. Noah kissed me before handing off the bulky backpack, promising to see me after class and again before going off to my job at the library.

  I wouldn’t get to see Cora or Adira today, both of them having different schedules than me. Adira would be on campus during the late afternoon, arriving in the middle of one of my lectures, and Cora somehow snuck a classless Friday to her demise and our jealousy. I made sure to send her some angry face emojis to remind her how lucky she was as I prepared to face students that cleared their path from mine in an attempt to avoid my germs.

  I threw the strap over my shoulder and dragged my feet down the concrete path in the direction of the social sciences block. My history class was filling by the time I’d made it to the door. The loud chatter was disorienting as I searched for a seat far from anyone else. Four rows of benches were inclined toward the back wall with only two cases of steps leading up. I hurried to the farthest one, ignoring sharp looks cast in my direction as a silent warning not to take an open seat in front.

  As if I’d want to.

  I climbed my way to the back, settled in between two empty chairs, and dropped my bag between my legs. The zipper echoed around me, sounding like a remote control car barreling forward at full speed as I opened the pocket. My trusty spiral notebook instantly betrayed me, the sharp end of the coil pricking my finger and drawing a single drop of blood. I hissed, shoving the tip of my finger into my mouth and licking the bitter metal taste from my skin. I retrieved a pen and placed both in front of me, readying myself to take notes as the professor entered the classroom.

  No more than an inch or two taller than I was, Professor Angevin wore a red polyester sweater, the buttons stopping just above a ballooning gut. A coffee stain on the right side of his pressed khaki pants surprised me because he still set a mug of coffee down on the desk. I personally would have thrown the cup as far as humanly possible in anger, but then again, I guess that wasn’t the appropriate response in the first place. He’d combed his graying hair over, doing his best to hide the bald spot at the center of his skull.

  I didn’t need the plaque on his desk to know his first name was James. I’d heard some of the faculty drop it while rating his bachelor status like they were still in high school. He apparently moved from Massachusetts when he learned his mother was ill, which propelled him toward the top of their ranking.

  “All right, class.” His voice was firm, carrying throughout the rustling room easily. Everyone quickly relaxed in their seats, ready to listen. “Let’s get started. We have a lot to cover before next week.”

  The silent groans were traceable across the room of both familiar—and not so much—faces. I quickly averted my gaze when I caught Timmy’s glare. Once our paths crossed at the cemetery, and my friends put an end to his onslaught of insults, he’d personally made it his mission to dox me more than I already was. It was like the mere thought of people being unafraid to stand near me drove him mad.

  “Today…” Professor Angevin jumped to loop his fingers into a brass ring connected to the projection screen, needing the extra few inches in height. It came down, clunking loudly before he pulled once more to lock it into place. He reached for his remote, pointing it past our heads to turn the lens on, lighting the screen with bold text reading 1692. “We are going to cover some local history. This will be on the quiz, so make sure to write it down.”

  I rushed my pen over the paper as if someone was going to snatch it right from the desk.

  “Who knows the defining events surrounding this year?” The professor pointed up to the screen. A girl’s hand shot up in the corner. “Mr. Levingston?”

  “Was, like Jesus born or something?” The Valley Girl voice was clearly forged, but it drew cackles from everyone around her.

  “No.” Mr. Angevin was unimpressed. “You’re like over a thousand years too late or something.”

  The girl slid down in her chair as the cackles erupted in praise for the professor. She flipped a quick bird to a boy who was mocking her silently, trying to ride the coattails of the event.

  “Anyone else?” he asked and only received shaking heads in response. No one else wanted to risk being humiliated by his quick-wittedness.

  “Nineteen sixty-two is most notably remembered for the Salem Witch Trials,” he started. Gasps and whispers trickled through the desks as students shot quick gazes my way
. I kept my eyes forward, studying the intro slide as if there was fine print I’d need to write down—anything to ignore the people around me.

  “Quiet down,” he warned. “What a lot of people don’t realize is that mentality had been stewing for years, and it wasn’t the first time people were wrongfully executed after being labeled as a witch. Actually, years earlier, New Hampshire had their own version of such, which is not widely documented. Two women were executed just a few blocks from here over what was more than likely a petty dispute between neighbors.”

  My focus wavered as he clicked to the next slide. Hordes of people gathered around the center of town to scream at a group of petrified women elevated on the gallows. It didn’t look like our town square, most likely a depiction of Salem, but knowing that this was what my great-grandmother saw right before she died made me sick.

  “Professor Angevin?” Timmy raised his hand. He was slumped coolly in his seat with his lips parted lazily.

  “Mr. Clark, yes?”

  “You talk about it like these weren’t justified killings. Like the people weren’t protecting their families from”—he cocked his head back, straining to meet my eyes—“those monstrous people and their beliefs.”

  “I don’t think I follow.” Professor Angevin’s brows furrowed in confusion. “These were crimes of fear, influenced by the—”

  “I mean”—another girl I didn’t know by name flipped her hair, cutting him off—“they never should have done away with the trials, then we’d have one less witch walking around town.”

  The snickers were deafening. Not even the hollering of the professor to quiet down stopped the outburst. Flames crawled the length of my face as I hastily shoved my things back into the backpack at my feet. All eyes were on me as I struggled to make my way back to the aisle through the students still laughing. My chest tightened as I came upon Timmy’s seat, the instigator. A surprising vengeance blossomed in my chest, blinding me of the calming words Mom would have whispered into my hair, reminding me to take a high road.

  Teach him a lesson. Reach out and wrap your fingers around his neck and squeeze—

  I gasped, Timmy’s eyes widening with a smirk at my shock. My inner voice was a stranger, not matching how I’d expected to feel, but the words were both uncomfortable and thrilling. I suddenly loved to beat real fear right into him, giving a valid reason to speak such heinous things about me. He turned to his buddies, shrugging with a laugh.

  “I don’t know, I’d do a witch.” He raised his brow seductively, accepting a quick high five from another.

  “Be careful”—a girl sitting behind him leaned forward, speaking into his ear, but her eyes were trained on me—“she might hex you for saying that.”

  My fists curled at my sides. Their words were nothing new. I’d heard it all before. Actually, things had gotten significantly worse in the last few weeks with Mom doing her readings, yet if I thought someday I’d grow numb to their verbal assaults, I was mistaken. I secretly wanted to be accepted, maybe even seen as a friend, but there was nothing I could do to convince them that was worth allowing.

  I turned to leave, but my feet glued themselves to the floor. Intense rage unfurled in my belly like wings on a bat, scratching its way up my chest. I couldn’t leave here like this. I didn’t want to be the butt of their jokes anymore.

  They needed to pay.

  “How can you be certain I haven’t already?” I said, closing the gap between us. The words themselves could be seen as a joke, but there was no mistaking the venom frothing at my mouth. “I’d watch out if I were you. I don’t think people would find you near as charming without your eyes.”

  “Ms. Harper!” Professor Angevin’s voice rose above the other students’.

  I shuffled back like I’d awoken from a dream. Did I just threaten him? My name was called out again, but I ignored it. I couldn’t go back, not now. I shut my ears to the whispers of me using eyes in my spells and brews, knowing that giving more attention to it would just make things even worse than I’d just done. As the door closed with finality behind me, sealing the fact I’d never be returning to that class, I didn’t feel sad.

  No.

  I was invigorated, trembling with excited energy I’d never experienced before. It had been so long since I’d said anything back to the people around me. It was too easy to lie dormant as they spewed their lies and treated me like a walking plague. The pep in my step was abnormal, fueled by cynical pride and totally oblivious to any repercussions my words could bestow later.

  Unfortunately, my pride was short-lived. By the time I’d reached the courtyard to wait out my next class, I was a deflated mess. The adrenaline hyping me up dried quicker than a river during a record heatwave, leaving me cracked and useless. I’d made a knee-jerk decision. It wasn’t like me and stooping to their level left grime on my skin that I desperately wanted to scrub away. They all were supposed to be insignificant, just a blip on my growing radar as I blew this town and made something of myself.

  Luckily, the rest of my classes went off without a hitch. I didn’t enlighten Noah about the incident, hoping to erase it from memory and move on. I took my notes, did my work, and kept my head down before calling it a day. I no longer felt the need to venture outside of that comfort zone, almost as if I’d had a split personality that had taken over and now rested with their job well done.

  However, as I tried to pin the blame on a disorder I knew I didn’t have, a little voice in the back of my head whispered a promise of more revenge.

  They’d all get what they deserved.

  Chapter Six

  The local library was a ten-minute walk from the school. Though usually uneventful as I either rode with Noah or listened to a greatest hits station, this stroll was filled with the lingering feeling I wasn’t alone. Casting inconspicuous glances over my shoulder yielded no results unless you counted the group of ladies pointing at me while I jaywalked across the street. I knew it was because of who I was and not the infraction I’d managed to avoid getting ticketed for.

  Stubborn weeds had sprouted from the sidewalk cracks, drawing attention from the meticulously kept flower bushes hugging the building. I stepped to the right, making sure to avoid a low-hanging spiderweb, not sure I wanted to find out if it was vacant or not. The aged door creaked in agony over being opened, slamming with force behind me as if it was angry over being disturbed. The movement kicked up the dust bunnies I’d need to sweep later. They flew across my sneakers and snagged in the laces.

  The building was a single level with vaulted ceilings. Upon entering, guests would see the librarian, Ms. Jasmine’s desk stationed dead center with five rows of shelves stretching back to the bathrooms behind her. During a clear day, the sun would beat through tall, double-paned windows installed after the town's approval, illuminating the dust floating through the air against deep mahogany furniture.

  It was cozy.

  The sweet, musky aroma from a section of limited edition prints masked the woodsy scent seeping from the bookshelves, but never the strong vanilla perfume Ms. Jasmine wore.

  She wasn’t sitting at the desk, but I knew better than to lollygag until she yelled at me to do something. My job consisted of multiple functions, easier described as busywork. I was to keep the place clean—including the bathrooms in the back—return books to their shelves, organize and log new purchases, and just about anything that wasn’t checking people out. Ms. Jasmine preferred to handle the duty, which was fine by me.

  It wasn’t an exciting job.

  On an eventful night, however rare of an occurrence, you could encounter someone yelling about the late fees attached to their unreturned books, forgetting they signed a disclosure agreeing to the stipulation. Maybe one of my friends would stop by to keep me company as I reorganized VHS tapes some teenagers tore apart to be funny.

  Three hours into my shift, and this evening had no such drama as expected. I’d done a thorough cleaning the last few times I’d worked, so I focused on returns�
��which were oddly plentiful—and kept me stuck in the back with general fiction.

  The only company I had was the painful creak from the old rolling cart with wheels that had been long overdue for a good greasing. Every few turns it would jam, only to fix as soon as I tugged on it, lurching forward into my ankle. I’d become an expert at biting back the curses as the skin turned bright pink from the abuse.

  Despite returns outpacing my ability to get them back to their shelves, no one had come into the library today. Instead, people used the mail slot as they ventured over to the local high school to watch one of their championship games. I didn’t mind. It was better than fielding an onslaught of requests to search for a new release we seldom had. The library was slow to acquire some of the newer, more popular reads. Partly because of funding, but mainly because Ms. Jasmine didn’t think that was literature worth reading.

  I disagreed.

  There was nothing I loved more than getting lost in a mythical land of fairies whose high-stakes lives were sinking faster than they could prepare for. I loved the classics, too, thanks to my dad, but it wasn’t often people would request them, so I was tasked with breaking the news that they were better off driving to town or the bookstore to get their fix of whatever the newest bestseller was.

  Of course, the sharp stares of disappointment could be because a creepy Alden was employed, let alone talking to them.

  I shrugged as if I’d been having a conversation with someone other than myself in my head.

  It was their fault for approaching me if they were so afraid.

  Just then, a chill scurried up my spine, straightening it. The stack of Janet Evanovich books I’d cradled in my arms shifted awkwardly as I did my best to keep my hold on them. I looked around, but the library was just as empty as before. I turned to finish pushing the books into their designated spot on the shelf when the lights flickered in and out, casting me into brief darkness before coming back to life.

  I dropped the stack onto my foot and slammed my palms against the shelf behind me. The air grew thin, dancing against my skin in icy needle pricks as I sucked in a shaky breath. I exhaled a white puff and searched for the eyes I instinctively knew were on me.