Poison

by Dejana Vuletic

  Yeah, too bad about that one.

  I was so rigid with stress that Chris had to conduct all the stands music. Ms. Altera made me sit by her and keep drinking endless glasses of water, which got really, really irritating after a while. I didn’t know why, but just like before, I felt like I was being watched.

  I felt like someone was right behind me at every second, or somewhere close just staring at me, and I couldn’t suppress that feeling.

  Chris tried to stay as near to me as possible, but the band kept complaining that they couldn’t see him well enough to play the music. So at least I was protected by two hundred innocent teenagers and an ancient band director. That should provide a little comfort, right?

  Fear seized me and tugged relentlessly at me until I was dragging my feet. The look in Chris’ eyes scared me; it was the same as the times in the cafeteria. Like he could sense her presence as much as I could; only there was nothing he could do to find her. She moved like a shadow, completely undetected, and that was the one thing even I couldn’t beat.

  I didn’t know what to look for.

  So I couldn’t find her since I didn’t know who she even was . . .

  I also noticed that the other team’s mascot continued to look over toward our stands. It took a lot of gusto for the guy, I’m sure, but after almost a half hour of deliberation, the guy came over to our side.

  He was dancing around me and the rest of the band, but all he got from them was a chorus of boos and hisses. Then the greasy little cougar walked over to Chris and started mocking him while he was directing a stands song.

  I ignored him, and he seemed to notice, so he stood right in front of me, his chest in my face. I closed my eyes and ignored him, and after a while, he was gone.

  Chris darted to my side and whispered, “What was that all about?”

  “I have no idea,” I said back. “But whoever he is—”

  “He knows . . .” Chris and I said at the same time.

  “Shit!” I exclaimed, but then clamped my mouth shut. “I mean . . . shoot!”

  Chris chuckled, but his serious look returned. “I’ll try to keep an eye out for him.”

  “No,” I contradicted. “You can’t be watching out for everything. Honestly, I think I can survive for a little while on my own. If I don’t, you can chastise me later. But now, we have a halftime show to do.”

  He smiled and took my hand to help me stand. I marched with Chris onto the field, the band flanking us, and our salute this time was just as complicated as the one preceding it.

  Chris and I grabbed hands and flipped each other over. Chris landed in a crouch, into which I landed in his arms. He then took a deep breath, kissed my neck, and threw me catapulting into the air. I loved the feeling of Pa’s fingers in the wind as they supported me in mid-air until Chris was ready to catch me just below, supported under his feet by Ricky’s strong, unwavering shoulders. I twisted and twirled in Pa’s arms until I landed safely in Chris’ arms.

  The maces landed point down in the dirt beside us—Chris had thrown them while I was airborne—and the crowd erupted into cheers.

  As I looked into Chris’ eyes when he caught me, a fleeting desire to just be a normal person overtook me. The desire to simply live my life without my life being in danger; the possibility to have a happy life with Chris by my side; the joy of watching our children and our children’s children play in our yard. . . .

  But all signs pointed to my life ending before any of these things could happen.

  My smile disappeared from my face as I took the podium to play the first song, “Don’t Stop Believin’.” I knew that I shouldn’t stop believing either, but I just couldn’t keep going like this. Especially when every few minutes I was in danger of dying.

  The music seemed a little too joyful for me. As the rest of the band darted around the field with smiles and looks of happiness—we were winning the game, after all—I stood there on the podium with a look of complete defeat and fear. I knew this wasn’t the end of anything. This was the beginning of a really, really tough time for me, and I wasn’t at all ready for it.

  I cut off the happy music and started walking down the podium. Chris put his arms on my shoulders and turned me around so he was closer to the podium now.

  “Smile, love,” he said happily. “Everything’s going to—”

  Chris stopped speaking; the air cut off from his lungs and he fell forward into me.

  “Chris?” I asked as we fell to the ground together, his unconscious body on top of me. Panic started to flood through me at an alarming rate.

  I turned Chris’ neck so that his face was looking straight up at me, and then I saw it. Stuck there in the skin of his neck . . . was some kind of dart.

  “Pa!” I shouted in fear. “Pa! Ricky!”

  In seconds the two of them were right beside me. “Ricky,” Pa said calmly, putting her arm upon his, “Tell Ms. Altera what happened. Instruct her to take the band and get them off the field. Then run to the box office and see if the security cameras caught anything.”

  “I’ll be back soon,” he said mostly to me. He touched my shoulder comfortingly and turned to Ms. Altera. I could hear him arguing with her, telling her what the problem was, but the words were all jumbled and not making any sense.

  “Pa, what is that?” I asked, pointing my finger toward the dart in his neck.

  Pa didn’t speak for a moment. Instead she licked the tip of her finger and placed it on the wound on his neck. She pulled her finger away and I watched as the skin on the tip of her finger slowly started to burn away.

  “He’s been poisoned, Dessa,” she said.

  I felt my blood freeze as the terrifying truth finally took root in my mind. I felt all my hope evaporating, my happiness rising like smoke into the air and drifting further and further away from me. The dark and sinister sky taunted me, tormented me now that I was . . . now that he . . .

  I couldn’t connect thoughts in my head. Nothing was making sense, and the entire world seemed to reverse its spin, except for me. I kept going against everything and ended up falling on my face from the pull of the inevitable.

  “No . . .”

  “Dessa, he’s going to be fine,” Pa said, but her voice was quiet. Like she was unsure of what she’d just told me. “I can get the poison out. But I need your help.”

  “What do I have to do?”

  “The poison is in his bloodstream, but it hasn’t circulated to his brain just yet. Once it gets into his heart and brain, it’ll kill him. I need you to hold him down. I have to remove the dart and seal the wound, but before I seal it I have to drain it out.”

  I spoke no more. Pa’s nimble fingers removed the dart effortlessly and she put it into her pocket. Chris’ body jerked uncomfortably and I had to lie completely on top of him to keep him from moving while Pa was working.

  I felt a slight bit of hope returning. Sure, he would live. Okay, good. I wasn’t going to be alone. He wasn’t leaving me just yet. But how long until he was well again?

  All of a sudden Pa whipped out the tiniest syringe I had ever seen. She stuck the needle onto the syringe and motioned for me to move. I took my body off Chris and watched as Pa plunged the tiny needle right into Chris’ heart.

  “What is that?” I asked worriedly.

  “Just an antidote,” she said cheerfully. “He’s going to be fine, D. There’s still some poison in his blood that I can’t get out, though. I’m afraid he’ll have to fight that off on his own.”

  “No.”

  I didn’t know where the word had come from, but I knew I had spoken it. I didn’t know why it had been spoken, but I knew what I needed to do. It was just like when I had truly seen the fountain for the first time, when my skin began to shine from the inside and I finally knew who I was. I knew how to save him . . .

  “What?” Pa asked. “No what?”

  “No,” I repeated. “I can get the poison out of him. I can save him.”

  Pa looked utterly amazed. “If
you think you can, go ahead and try, D.”

  I nodded and leaned in over Chris’ body. I ripped off his shirt and touched the skin of his chest with my palm; his body lit from the inside, radiating the light. I could now see his veins, the blood as it flowed from one place to another in his body, the bones and his skeletal structure. I could see everything.

  I could even see where the poison sat inside him, eating slowly away at his heart. I could see it permeating there, collecting and clogging his artery. And I knew just how to get rid of it.

  I can’t really explain to you what it felt like, to touch his heart and feel the poison upon my fingertips as I burned it out of him. I can only tell you that his reaction when I touched him made my heart flutter inside my chest. At my touch, his body quivered and his eyes opened. He could see what I saw now, and he saw the poison burning upon my fingertips as I pulled my hand out of his body.

  The poison hissed as it melted away into the air, too evil and dark to rest upon the blazing warmth of the light within me.

  Chris stared in amazement, his face frozen. “Dessa . . .”

  “I’m so sorry,” I spat guiltily, feeling like—again—this was my fault.

  “For what?” he asked quizzically, smiling a little.

  “For what happened to you,” I said hurriedly, looking at the ground.

  “It wasn’t your fault,” he argued gently. “It’s my job to protect you.”

  “But not to die from it!” I shouted, whipping my head away from him.

  “To the best of my ability,” he corrected, touching my chin and gently nudging me to look at him. “That was my promise.”

  “I don’t want you to die,” I said solemnly.

  “I didn’t, thanks to you,” he said, trying to sit up. His eyes closed almost immediately and he let out a gasp of pain. I gritted my teeth and turned away again, afraid that he would realize how much I’d hurt him and finally tell me to get the hell away from him. But no such reaction even happened.

  Ricky walked over to us after making sure Ms. Altera was safely in the hands of the police officers, who began asking her questions about what she saw. Chris looked up as Ricky approached and he chuckled a little, sitting up with Ricky’s help.

  “Who do you think did this?” Pa asked suddenly. “I didn’t see Skylar at all.”

  “Yeah, me either,” Ricky supplied. “I didn’t see the creepy cloaked chick at all.”

  “Neither did I,” Pa echoed. Chris looked from one of them to the other, but I was staring away from everyone. I was looking for the mascot, but he was gone. I looked for the cheerleader, but she, too, was no longer there.

  “Guys,” I said in a daze, “I think both of them were here.”

  “What?!” Ricky and Pa asked in synchronization. “How?”

  “I noticed that the mascot seemed pretty interested in the fact that I wasn’t by Chris’ side. He came over to our side of the field after he saw I wasn’t with Chris. But then he saw the rest of the band and just acted like a mascot. I think it was Skylar.”

  “Dessa, that’s not possible . . .” Ricky argued.

  “Why the hell not!?” I shouted at my brother with such hostility that he shrunk back. “Sorry,” I apologized quickly. “Ricky, you have to understand who we’re dealing with here. Skylar would do anything—and I truly mean anything—to get rid of me. And that girl . . . I think she was one of the cheerleaders. She was the only cheerleader speaking to him . . .”

  “Let’s not assume too much, D,” Pa said cautiously.

  “Then who else shot Chris in the neck with a poisonous dart that was obviously meant for me?” I shouted. “Don’t you dare tell me I’ve got terrorists after me, too!”

  “Dessa,” Ricky began.

  “Listen to me,” I commanded sternly, but in a controlled tone. “I was obviously the intended target. The only possible assassins are Skylar and that cloaked woman. Unless you guys are more on board with the terrorist idea . . .”

  Ricky chuckled. “No, I think she’s right. Pa,” he said, turning to face her, “I want you to sever all connection you have with Skylar. That means break the engagement, stop talking to him, move out, everything.”

  “Ricky!” I shouted in appraisal. “You can’t expect Pa to just—”

  “No, D, it’s okay,” she interrupted. “I was planning on doing that anyway.”

  “You’re sure?” I asked. “I don’t want you doing something that could hurt you.”

  “He’s the only thing that comes close to hurting me anymore, D,” she said. “Honestly, I’ll be okay.”

  “Let someone go with you,” I begged. “Please.”

  “I’ll be fine, D,” she insisted cheerfully. “Let’s all just go home and get some sleep for now, okay?”

  I didn’t know why, but it was getting increasingly difficult for me to not see the worst in everything.

  I was sure Ricky would go anyway, but the overwhelming doubt that I was in this alone started to swallow me. I felt more alone than ever as I sat there on the artificial turf; I knew that Pa and Ricky and Chris were all there surrounding me, but for some strange reason, their presence didn’t comfort me at all. If anything it caused unease to penetrate my mind and freeze me in fear.

  “Fine,” I said. Ricky and Pa tried to help me up, but I shoved them off. “Help him,” I said caustically. “I’m not hurt at all.”

  “All right,” Ricky said awkwardly, and I felt a surge of pain at the hurt showing in his eyes. “Sorry to bother you.”

  I didn’t say anything, because I knew my words couldn’t fix anything. I walked in front of them all, not in the least concerned if I got shot with a dart.

  We made it back to Ricky’s car and loaded Chris in the back seat. I sat in the back with him, and let his head rest in my lap. Pa took the passenger’s seat and talked to Ricky the whole way home.

  I couldn’t focus on the aspects of the conversation; I was too preoccupied with the paleness of Chris’ face and the beads of sweat rolling down his cheek. I ran my fingers through his hair as he slept in my lap.

  He continued whispering things, too. I could make some of them out—like “Dessa” and “Can’t let them hurt her”—but most of them were unintelligible phrases that must have been about what he was seeing in his dreams. The entire ride home I just looked at him. He was so pale. He looked so sad, so broken. Like he had failed . . .

  But he hadn’t, had he? I was still here. I was alive, and so was he.

  That was a win in my book.

  I touched his cheek and his skin lit from beneath my fingers, warming him to the core. He stopped shivering and his murmuring ceased for the rest of the ride.

  The sky was a menacing blackish red when we got back to Chris’ house. Ricky parked the car in the garage and carried Chris in his arms back to his bedroom. He placed him gently on the bed and looked toward me.

  “Watch over him,” Pa said from beside Ricky. “He needs rest, and don’t you dare let him out of that bed. If he needs something, call one of us. I’ll be downstairs preparing some dinner for everybody. I’ll bring yours and his up here.”

  “Thanks, Pa,” I said. “And I’m sorry about before.”

  “It’s okay,” she answered with a smile. “I understand.” She took Ricky’s hand and walked away.

  I sat down on the bed beside Chris’ motionless form and watched him. For hours I must have sat there without moving, just meditating in front of him. His beautiful face served as my mandala while I drifted farther and farther into my own mind.

  I drifted so far that I was no longer in the bedroom. I was in a different room, where everything was black and red—the walls, the floor, the bed sheets, everything—and a man was standing in front of a mirror.

  I stood beside him, but only his reflection was showing in the mirror. He looked at his reflection with blackened eyes, red irises darkened by anger and hatred. Skylar then touched his reflection, and it began speaking to him.

  “I didn’t succeed,” the r
eflection said. “How in the world did I mess that up? I had a clear shot, and then I waited? What the hell’s wrong with me?”

  Skylar looked at his reflection with ashamed eyes and he pounded his fist softly against the glass.

  “I didn’t mean to,” he argued. “He got in my way. I was ready, waiting for the vein in her neck to be at the right angle. But then he got in my way.”

  “That’s no excuse!” his reflection argued against him. “I clearly could have done this right. Now she’ll be angry with me.”

  “Who cares about her?” Skylar yelled. “What about me?”

  “Yes . . . what about me?” his reflection asked.

  My mind was spinning in endless circles, trying desperately to figure out what exactly was going on here.

  “What am I gonna do?” Skylar asked himself.

  “She’ll find out I didn’t succeed,” his reflection said. “She’ll find out and she’ll kill me . . .”

  “She won’t kill me,” Skylar argued. “I set her free. She owes me.”

  “All she promised me was to get Paola back,” the reflection pointed out. “So far, that hasn’t happened.”

  “So I’m safe?” Skylar asked.

  “Yes, I’m safe,” his reflection replied.

  I felt my hold on the situation slipping rapidly, so I had to listen with all my strength as my vision blurred.

  “. . . Go after her . . .”

  “. . . Get her back myself . . .”

  And everything went black.

  I opened my eyes to find myself lying on the bed next to Chris, and my hand was clutching his where it rested by his side.

  What had I just seen? How long had I been unconscious?

  I sat up slowly and looked at Chris’ sleeping form. He was smiling slightly, and the color in his face was gradually returning. He wasn’t sweating anymore, and the healthy glow of his eyes could be seen underneath his closed eyelids.

  I slowly released my hold on his hand in efforts to not disturb him, but my attempt failed. He opened his eyes slowly, groggily, and then chuckled and said, “Oh. Hi.”

  I grinned. “Hi,” I replied. “How are you feeling?” I added as I touched his forehead.