by Dela
I threw the book shut and scratched my chin. It couldn’t possibly be Dylan. That would be ridiculous. But my finding fed a curiosity I couldn’t ignore. I hesitated, but before I knew it, I was turning back to the page. I stared at it hard. How are the drawing and Dylan so close? I turned the page to another picture, skipping a few paragraphs of writing. It was a sketch of a city set on the edge of a tall cliff overlooking an ocean. It was beautiful. The caption called it Tulum.
As I moved to the next drawing, my anxiety intensified. It was an entire page full of pictures I knew I’d seen before. There were six distinct drawings, similarly mazy, but each different in itself. One I was positive was an exact replica of Lucas’s tattoo. It had the circle, the mazelike lines, the star, and the tree. My eyes zoomed to the scribbled cursive above it: “Markings of the Royal Gods.” Gods? I quickly looked underneath the picture. The caption read, “Aztec Prince.” I blinked hard, closed the book quickly, and sat up, stumped.
Before I even considered accepting Lucas as an Aztec prince, sure that I was losing my mind, I needed to leave. I aimed for the grocery store to purchase something—anything with high sugar content. But under the grim sky on my way home, with a seat full of candy, I thought I saw movement through the forest. I pressed my foot against the gas pedal without thinking, hoping to reach home before something else reached me.
By the time I turned onto my street, the late sky had cleared, creating the perfect cloudless dusk. Jett’s car was parked on the curb, dewy from the afternoon showers. I shifted to park with a deep breath, still imagining I was being followed, and braced myself for the run from my car to the front door. I counted to three, then opened the door and fled for the house.
I was surprised to find all the drapes drawn when I stampeded inside. It was dark, with the kind of quietness that raised the hairs on my arms.
“Jett?” I called out, slowly taking a step toward the stairs.
I scanned the front living room through the dimness while I waited for him to say something. But I heard nothing.
“Jett?” This time my voice was trembling as I tried to speak up. Maybe he didn’t hear me. “Jett?”
I didn’t see any movement in the living room, so I moved on to the family room like a victim in a horror film. Where’s that stupid light switch? My hand fumbled along the wall as I got past the stairs, feeling around for the plastic cover. Before my hand could flip the switch, a loud “BOO” sounded at my side.
“AHH!” My arms flew to the sides, knocking over some pictures on the end table. Jett laughed.
“I’m going to kill you! Why’d you do that?” I screamed, practically feeling my veins popping out of my neck.
I didn’t wait for an answer. I was already rushing up to my room as the first tear fell. I didn’t want Jett to see me emotional like this, but a knock sounded on the bedroom door the second I slammed it shut.
“What?” I hollered. I flipped on my light and sniffed. The air smelled like Lucas, as it had when I returned from the hospital.
“Zara, it’s Jett. I’m sorry. Look, don’t be mad. We just thought it would be funny.”
But I wasn’t listening. I stepped away from the door and followed my nose. The trail brought me closer to the window, and then I saw it. There, sitting on the windowsill, was another vase with a single fire-and-ice rose. A piece of ripped parchment paper was tied around the rim of the glass with twine. My hands trembled as I reached for the paper.
I’M SORRY.
I swept the shades away from the window and searched the street for him. When I saw nothing but the gold light of dusk, disappointment and fear settled in. The rumors at school were true. I was utterly alone.
“Zara, did you hear what I said?” Jett called through the door.
I strode to the door, ready to kill that boy, and threw it open, creating a wall of wind that blew through Jett’s hair. He took a step back, looking scared.
“You have no idea what I’ve been through the past few weeks, so please, spare me the stupid games,” I said.
“Well then tell me, because I don’t like who you are right now. What happened?”
I puffed exhaustedly and retreated to my bed, where I fell on my back and stared up at the ceiling. “Never mind, forget it.”
“No. Tell me.” He stepped through my parents’ invisible do not cross tape between the hall and my bedroom and joined me on the bed. “I’m concerned about you.”
He looked to the rose on the window and put some pieces together. “Did Lucas do anything to you when we were playing the night games?”
I felt stiff as I turned my head to him. Eight years had passed since Jett was last in my room. He sat there hunched over, with his elbows on his knees, a boy who was sincerely concerned and confused. His brown eyes were soft when he asked me again. “Did he?”
I looked back up to the ceiling again, not able to bear Jett’s sudden love for me. “No,” I answered. “Lucas didn’t do anything.”
Once I said it, I shook my head incredulously, and my shoulders shook as I started laughing. Lucas didn’t do anything. Not literally, and yet I held him responsible for everything. Jett had no idea of the measure of trouble I had been in since my car crashed that night. He had no idea of my migraines, the visions I had when I blacked out, or the creatures that had been chasing me. All of it was too unreasonable to explain to him . . .to anyone.
“I have just been a little spooked lately, that’s all. Your joke came at the wrong time for me. Sorry, I shouldn’t have flipped out on you,” I lied.
“Really?” he asked. He seemed to doubt me at first, but eventually his squint went away, and he looked down at the ground. “I had no idea.”
“Well, now you do,” I said, resting my hands across my ribcage.
Mom appeared at the door, looking at us sternly. “Oh, good afternoon, Jett. You know the rules.”
“Yes, Mrs. Moss,” he answered as he shot to the door, where he leaned for a moment. “I planned for us to do a bonfire tonight, but we can reschedule it for another night if you want.”
“No, that’s fine. I just don’t want to be alone,” I said.
“When can you be ready?”
“Twenty minutes?”
“All right. I’ll go pick up Tommy and Bri, get the wood and lighter fluid, and come back to get you,” he said before fleeing downstairs.
By the time I got off the bed, there was a warm dent in the shape of my body. I dressed warmly, pulled a beanie over my head, and walked to Jett’s truck without enthusiasm. Tommy and Bri were in the back of the cab, and Max and Casey sat in the truck’s bed, whistling obnoxiously at me as I got into the truck. The only thing good about leaving was watching the twins freeze as Jett accelerated onto the freeway.
The last bit of sun was setting as we entered our usual bonfire area, a little clearing flush with the lakeshore, filled with soft sand and fallen logs. Loud music and laughter swirled in the cab, but I stared out my window at the brilliant streaks of orange, purple, and pink in the sky, dreading its darkening. It was black by the time the fire was lit. I was paranoid, checking over my shoulders and across the lake for any movement, constantly observing my surroundings.
Then, out of nowhere, headlights shone on the fire. I followed the hazy beam to the approaching car as it parked next to Jett’s truck and its lights went off. At once I recognized the red sedan, and fumes ignited at my core. All four doors opened, and five snobby cheerleaders stepped out.
“Who invited them?” I looked meaningfully at Jett.
Max got up and walked toward them, smiling. “I did.”
“Why, man?” Jett asked, sounding truly upset.
“I hate you,” I yelled at Max.
“Relax, they don’t mean any harm. Ladies!” Max held his hands like a circus ringleader, inviting them to come to the fire.
Poppy spotted us and snickered a
s she walked over to the twins.
I stood. “Jett, get me out of here right now.”
“What about Max and Casey?”
We looked at them simultaneously. The twins were sitting on a log, each with a girl sitting on each leg. Jett turned back to me and nodded. “All right. Tommy, Bri, we’re leaving.”
They were cuddled together on a log, maybe a little too comfortable for an audience.
“Bri’s parents aren’t home. Can you take us there?” Tommy asked.
“Yeah, sure. Let’s just leave . . . now,” Jett said.
Without a word, Tommy stood and pulled a giggling Bri toward Jett’s truck.
When we got back home, my anxiety didn’t get any better. I was surprised to see the house completely dark. Jett followed me inside and watched as I dashed through the house, obsessively turning on every light.
“You going to be okay alone?” he asked.
My feet froze. Alone? I pushed past Jett and ran outside to the driveway. My parents’ cars were gone.
“I’m coming with you to take Tommy and Bri home,” I stated, marching back to the truck.
“Um, okay.” Jett nodded without argument.
When Jett pulled up to my house a second time, I was relieved to see that my parents had finally come home.
“Thanks for the ride,” I said as I opened the door.
Jett’s hand reached for my arm. “Hey.”
I looked from the hand clasped around my arm to his face, which was grim in the light from the green dashboard.
“I just want you to know that Poppy has nothing on you,” he said.
I looked away. This was neither the place nor time for a heart-to-heart with Jett. “Good night, Jett.”
The moment the metal of his door clanked shut, I had the feeling something was following me in the dark. I speed-walked up the grass until Jett’s car drove away, then sprinted to the porch, my hands already reaching for the handle of the front door. I stormed into the house and slammed the door shut behind me, but stopped short when I saw Dad in the living room reading a book by the lamp. He cast a funny look at me over his reading glasses.
“Oh, hi Dad.” I laughed awkwardly.
“What are you doing?”
“Nothing. I just hate being in the dark by myself.”
“Since when?”
“Since now. Good night,” I called, skipping steps upstairs.
The only thing calming when I walked into my room was the lingering scent of Lucas. I walked to the window and sat down on the windowsill. I picked up his good-bye note once more and wondered why he’d left. Then I saw Mae’s book peeking out of my purse. In a flash his note was falling to the floor and I was running for the book, desperate for answers. I sat at the desk, flipped the light on, and began reading from the beginning.
It wasn’t until my head knocked against the desk that I realized I’d fallen asleep. So I walked to the bathroom, brushed my teeth, and washed my face in an attempt to stay awake. I slipped into my flannel pajamas and rubbed my neck as I settled back down at the small desk.
I decided to skim through the pictures and leave the rest of the reading for morning. First I returned to the page with the picture of Lucas’s tattoo. I was certain it was an exact replica. But the way the roots twisted and curled around the trunk of the tree also reminded me of the one I saw in my blackout. I didn’t want to look at it anymore—or didn’t want to see the connection—and instead hopped over to the page with the twins, realizing that the ball the god was holding looked similar to the one in the tattoo on Dylan’s calf.
I flipped the pages more quickly now. Halfway through was an odd sketch of a map with one half missing. A few pages later, I found a drawing of a barefoot woman with short, spiky hair. When I looked into the friendliness of her beautiful smile, I paused, cupping my hand over my mouth as my head began to spin. This woman had a tattoo, just like all the other members of the Castillo family. I found my eyes drawn to the caption underneath: “La bruja.”
I fumbled for the Spanish–English dictionary at the corner of my desk, near the bottom of last year’s book pile, and opened it quickly to the Bs. When I saw the word bruja, I jolted back to the sketch, unable to withstand the anticipation or the turning of my stomach. It read, “witch {charmer, sorceress; a person who cast spells on others}.” I zoomed back to the woman in the drawing, who didn’t look anything like a witch. Her friendly features were young and playful, but the evidence pointed me toward an unexplainable conclusion. I’d seen her with the Castillo family at Lucky Pin.
I had to move on, but when I turned the page, I immediately closed the book, afraid that the creatures shown there would come alive and get me. Although it was absurd, I placed another book on top of Mae’s to weigh it down and went to bed for the evening, with the lights on.
When I woke up the next morning it was sunny, but a darkness seemed to hover over the burgundy book. I felt tricked when I found myself sitting down again to open the leather-bound journal. My shaky fingers turned the frail pages with caution until I reached the page where I’d stopped. The drawing seemed less scary in the daytime, although I still envisioned it coming to life.
The sketch of two entities filled an entire page. The one on the left was a shadow identical to the ones I’d seen during the night games. Its hazy shape was precisely what I remembered, a human figure with hollow eye sockets and long fingers. The picture to the right showed a skeletal man, the same size as the shadow, but only partially covered with skin, with his innards on the outside. The identical midnight eyes proved that these were the same monster—and worse, the creatures of my blackout world. A shredded breechcloth was wrapped around the naked skeleton’s waist, and he wore strange armor over his head.
Only a few words were written underneath these drawings: “Demonio de mundo terrenal.” In seconds I was searching the dictionary for a translation. I shuffled through the pages to the letter D. There, demonio—I followed the typed words to the right: “demon.” I jumped back and started shaking my hands as if I could ward the knowledge off.
No, no, no. Demons do not exist. The words repeated in my mind. Suddenly I felt an awful flow of fluid heaving up my throat, an upswelling of filth. I rushed to the bathroom, threw my hands down for support, and splattered the toilet with rancid liquid. Right, I missed dinner, didn’t I? My stomach cramped with nauseous hunger as I wiped my mouth and swiped my toothbrush through it. Then I went downstairs to raid the kitchen, leaving the old journal for another time.
“Hey, Mom,” I moaned, rubbing my stomach. I opened the fridge and pulled out the first thing I saw, a carton of orange juice.
Mom flipped a blueberry pancake on the skillet and looked at the oven clock. “You’re up early.”
“I couldn’t sleep well.”
“Are you sick?” she asked, observing my pale skin.
“No.” I tried to sip the orange juice, but it didn’t sit right in my stomach. I left it in front of me untouched, my attention drifting out the kitchen window to the flying leaves in the backyard. Max and Casey were outside, hunched over in the dirt. “What are the boys doing, and why so early on a Saturday?”
“We got a call from jail last night.” Mom didn’t move her head, but her eyes swept to the back window and over the twins. “Your dad had to bail them out at three in the morning; he put them on family community service to pay him back.”
I laughed, feeling a little better.
“You should have seen their faces when we picked them up.” She laughed.
“Wait we? You left me alone last night?” I panicked.
“Yes, you were asleep.”
“Why didn’t you wake me up?” I asked frantically, my forehead sweating.
Mom laughed again as she sat down at the bar. “And wake you up? You’re hilarious.” Then she buried her nose in a fashion magazine. As a retired pageant que
en, she was religious about keeping up with the latest styles, even though our funds didn’t allow her to buy Gucci. “Why on earth would I do that?”
“Because it’s irresponsible.” I pounded the counter, raising my voice. “You’ll get child protective services called on you!”
Mom looked up from the colorful pages and laughed again. “You are seventeen, Zara. You’re a big girl.”
“Ugh. Don’t do that, Mom.”
“Dad said you were a little on edge last night. You’re not tripping, are you?” Her eyes stopped dead on mine, searching suspiciously. I lost my appetite.
“What? Mom, no. That’s disgusting,” I said, appalled.
I glanced at the twins once more. As much as I wanted to be entertained by Max and Casey pulling weeds at seven on a Saturday morning, I felt drawn back to my bedroom and the mulch of my depression and self-pity. Maybe I was in denial or just scared stupid, but either way, I was not picking up that book ever again. It didn’t matter. I had been abandoned.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Hallow’s Eve
It was mid-October, and a thin white film crunched underneath my feet as I trekked across the lawn.
“What is that awful smell?” I asked, hopping into Bri’s car. The sun sparkled through the frost-webbed corners of my wagon’s windshield as we passed it. I sighed.
“It’s my new caramel lotion, and if you don’t like it, you can drive your own damn car.” Bri stared ahead without the slightest glance at me. “Tell me again why you don’t want to drive yourself? You’re going to flunk your history class if you never go.”
“Like you care about my classes. And besides, I don’t need to show up to pass. I can study from the textbook on my own.”