Demons

by Heather Frost

  The opposing spectators groaned, jibed, and criticized. The rest of us cheered, shouted, and congratulated. There was still a good portion of the game remaining, but Josie's team was ahead again.

  Patrick was wincing at the loud screams of the crowd and the shrill whistles of the refs, and Jenna laughed at his face. “You look like you hate sports as much as I do, Patrick.”

  He smiled slightly, his face still twisted. “I'm just not used to this much noise,” he admitted.

  And while that might be true, I knew his headache was still present, despite his many assurances. Our eyes met, and I knew he knew that I knew. The headache was worse than ever before. Sleep wasn't helping, and apparently neither was more time. I hated to even consider the idea, but something had happened when he'd been shot. He hadn't been the same since. And if he wouldn't admit it, I would need to talk to Toni, Jack, or even Grandpa.

  He pressed his lips together tightly as he read these thoughts and emotions in my eyes, and his hand twisted around mine, twining our fingers together in response. His thumb immediately began tracing comforting circles on the back of my hand in an effort to calm me down. I sighed, and he focused back on the game, his jaw tight.

  I watched him, growing more and more worried but unable to say a single thing with Lee and my family so close. So I just held his hand, hoping the game would be over soon and we could get some time alone.

  Josie's team lost the game, meaning that the tournament was over for us. Jenna bounced down the bleachers lithely, pulling her backpack on while she skipped. My grandparents followed close behind, leaving Patrick, Lee, and me to take up the rear. We reached the field before turning toward the parking lot, knowing Josie would join us at the van.

  Patrick continued to hold my hand as we entered the parking lot, but I got the feeling he wasn't really aware of any of us. He seemed lost in thought, deep and distant, and I had to squeeze his hand to break his concentration so my Grandma could repeat her question. “Would you like to join us for lunch? We're just going to stop at the malt shop, if you want to come along.”

  Patrick smiled gratefully, but I already knew he was going to decline before he opened his mouth. “I would love to, Mrs. Bennett. But I'm afraid I'm helping my father with the yard today. I could barely get away for the game.”

  She nodded her understanding, but she seemed genuinely sorry. “Oh well. Maybe another time, then. You'll hang around to see Josie, though?”

  He nodded carefully, as though afraid his head was going to explode if he moved it too quickly.

  We reached the van, and Grandpa unlocked the doors with the quick touch of a button. Jenna pulled the van's sliding door open and climbed into the backseat without a word. Grandpa was still sipping his soda, which had to be warm by now, but I think he was drawing it out just to annoy Grandma, who didn't want him drinking it in the first place.

  Lee, Patrick, and I made a little half circle of our own, and my best friend broke the immediate silence. “So, Patrick, do you feel up to Jaxon's party tonight?”

  His hand flexed around mine, and he shot me a tired smile. “I think so. If Kate still wants to go.”

  Lee answered for me. “Of course she does. She needs to support me on my date.”

  “Who are you going with?” Patrick asked.

  “A kid from school. Do you know Rodney Sommers?”

  He hesitated, then shook his head. “I can't picture a face.”

  “He's a drummer, and we've been in band together forever.” Her voice was very dismissive, but her dim blush told a different story. I wondered if Patrick noticed or not.

  “I look forward to meeting him,” he said at once. He didn't seem to think it was strange that she hadn't asked Toni, since I'd just recently brought them to his attention. But since he'd never actually “met” the Toni that Lee knew, he couldn't very well ask her about him.

  If Lee picked up on any of this, she didn't have a chance to ask. Josie was walking the last few yards to the van, and her flushed face spoke almost more volumes than her aura.

  “I can't believe we lost,” she fumed. “I mean, really! The girls from North Park? Really? Their team sucks.”

  “Didn't look like that to me,” Grandpa stated firmly, stepping forward to give her a side hug. He squeezed her shoulders and then took a step back.

  Grandma embraced her next, her deep voice soothing. “You played great, Josie. I'm so proud of you.” After a long moment, she pulled back and said with a smile, “Who's ready for some lunch?”

  Grandpa patted his stomach and took Grandma's arm, leading her around to the other side of the van. “I'm starving, even after all that Coke.”

  Grandma began to gently scold him, but then they rounded the back of the van and their voices faded.

  Josie was still just standing there, breathing heavily. Her fists clenched and unclenched at her sides, and she looked completely miserable. Her uniform was dirty, and hair was escaping from her pony-tail. Her crooked nose had a smudge of black on the side of it, and I knew without looking that it had come from her hands. I hoped she wouldn't get it on me, because I knew in that moment that I needed to hug her.

  I released Patrick's hand and stepped forward, my hug somewhat awkward because she was still so upset about losing that she didn't really hug me back. I was preparing to pull away, thinking I was embarrassing her even more, when I realized she was crying. Hot tears dripped onto my shirt, and I was so shocked that I couldn't let her go.

  I bent over her ducked head, pulling her closer against my body. I could feel Lee and Patrick watching us, but I wasn't self-conscious. “Hey, Josie, it's okay. You can't win every time.”

  She sniffed loudly, and suddenly her arms were around my waist, pulling tighter and tighter. In that instant I was back at my parent's funeral. Josie and I hadn't hugged like this since that horrible day.

  Her voice shook dangerously, and her next words caused me to wonder if she could somehow read my mind. “I was going to win for Mom and Dad. But I couldn't do it. I couldn't—” Her voice broke, and she buried her head against my chest, her tears falling faster, her ragged breathing becoming louder.

  I bit my lower lip, swallowed hard, and began to rub her back. Unshed tears stung my eyes as I felt a small girl's heartbreak along with a lethal dose of my own. “Josie, it's okay. Mom and Dad… they understand. I know they do.”

  Without looking I knew Lee was staring at the ground, feeling out of place and unsure. But Patrick… his eyes were burning against my back.

  Josie's voice was so subdued, I barely heard the words. Somehow, I knew that Patrick was catching every word. “Why did they have to die? Why couldn't all of us have been in the car with them? Why did I ride home with Grandma and Grandpa? Why couldn't they have made me and Jenna come with you guys? Why did they die and you didn't? Kate, why does it have to hurt so bad?”

  It felt like a huge weight was pressing down on my chest, forcing the air out of my lungs and surrounding my heart with a painful pressure. I tried to blink back my tears, but they fell on her head anyway. I tried not to shake, but I couldn't help it—no matter how tightly I held my sister, we both trembled from the pain.

  “I don't know,” I whispered into her hair. “I don't know why it has to hurt like this. But it isn't over. They're not gone forever. We'll see them again. I promise.” My voice hitched painfully, and I had to stop the flow of words or reveal how badly I was losing it.

  “How do you know that?” she demanded quietly, her loss and anger mixing into overwhelming grief. “Sometimes I wake up and I'm so mad at them. And every night I tell them I'm sorry, and I ask them to come back. But they don't. If they're still out there somewhere, why can't we see them? Why do we have to wait until we die too?”

  “I don't know,” I repeated in a slow whisper.

  She suddenly pushed away, and she wiped quickly at her eyes. She avoided looking anyone in the eye, including me. “It was just a stupid game,” she muttered. “A stupid soccer game.” She stepped quic
kly around me, past our grandfather, who was standing near the back of the van. She jumped through the open door and pushed her way to the back, where she sat heavily next to a silent Jenna.

  I twisted around to watch her escape to the car, and I continued to watch her for a second through the tinted window. But once she was seated, she didn't move. Neither did Jenna. They were both frozen. My eyes flickered to meet my grandpa's stare, which was intense.

  The pain in his aura was overpowering, and I imagined that mine couldn't look much better. I could see him debating, wondering if he should approach me. But he and I both knew that Josie hated displaying emotion and that making a bigger production out of her outburst would only hurt her more.

  Grandpa moved for the driver's door, and luckily his action seemed to break the trance. Lee stepped past me, a hand brushing my arm comfortingly as she made her way to the open door.

  I blew out my breath slowly, rubbing my wet eyes and face with both hands, trying to get rid of the emotional evidence.

  Patrick was watching me carefully, the pain on his face not for himself. He was hanging back, following my grandpa's lead, and it was killing him to do it.

  I swallowed hard and tried to force a believable smile.

  He didn't buy it.

  His arms were around me in the next second, one arm hooked fiercely around my waist, the other hand cradling the back of my head. I leaned against him, placing my forehead against his hard shoulder. I tried to breathe evenly, tried to keep from shaking. His fingers stroked my hair, his lips were soothing against my neck, kissing me before he lifted his chin and balanced it on my shoulder.

  He didn't say anything, and he didn't have to. I knew what he was feeling—I knew what he was thinking.

  Somehow, I didn't shed any tears while he comforted me. They burned in my eyes but didn't spill. Being violently thrust back into the memory of my parent's death was one of the hardest things about their passing, because it happened so unexpectedly. Like yesterday's mind reading, and the emotions I'd continued to feel long into the night. The sudden rush of emotion, of grief… and glimpsing Josie's pain and then seeing Grandfather's…

  I was so grateful to have Patrick's steadying arms around my suddenly weak body.

  I knew everyone was watching—they had to be. I knew this moment had to end. It would be best for the twins to just think their older sister was saying good-bye to her boyfriend, rather than the truth. I needed to be strong for them. I couldn't let them see how much I was still affected by the loss of the two most important people in my life. They couldn't see me break down any more than I already had.

  I lifted my head, placing my mouth against his ear. “Thank you.” The faintly spoken words were sincere but insufficient. I hoped he was able to read me as clearly as I was reading him. I wanted him to understand how much he meant to me right now.

  His voice was surprisingly rough, and I was almost stunned by the depth of his empathy. “You will see them again, Kate. I promise. Someday, you'll be reunited, and you'll never have to leave them again.”

  A deeper emotion seemed to throb beneath his words, but I didn't have the time or the emotional strength to question him about it. I only nodded gratefully, kissed him briefly, and then pulled away.

  His hands dropped, and his blue eyes were shining with clarity. “I'll pick you up tonight, if you'd like.”

  “Thank you, Patrick,” I breathed. And I wasn't just referring to his offer to drive.

  I moved quickly, knowing the sooner I left, the sooner I could push my way into a new conversation, new surroundings. The sooner I could escape from this moment, the sooner I could abandon this pain.

  I sat next to Lee in the middle seat and dragged the sliding door closed. While I put on my seat belt, I stared out the window, watching as Patrick pushed his hands into his pockets and stepped back to watch us pull away.

  If anyone thought that was creepy or weird, they didn't say anything. But then no one was talking, period.

  Lee reached out for my hand, and I sent her a grateful look as we backed up and headed for the road.

  I didn't look back.

  I wasn't sure what to wear that night. In the end, I decided to wear the outfit I'd worn to Patrick's honorary birthday party. It had worked great once before.

  I wasn't exactly in a party mood, but Patrick would soon pick me up, so I couldn't put off getting ready. I was no longer drowning in the depression that had overtaken me after Josie's game, but those thoughts were still understandably near the surface. No, mostly I didn't want to go to the party because I didn't want to listen to Patrick deny that anything was wrong again. Because obviously something wasn't right. I'd tried calling Toni, but he wasn't answering my calls. I assumed he was off being weird again, probably being a little invisible thief.

  Josie hadn't mentioned her traumatic breakdown, and none of us were going to bring it up. We ate lunch together, and Jenna pulled Lee into the conversation about Peter Keegan. Josie made a few jokes about having her teacher watch her play soccer and how embarrassing that was. Grandpa was closely watching her aura, but it was drifting back to normal. He slowly began to relax, and I eventually did too.

  When we dropped Lee off at her house, I told her I'd see her at the party—with Rodney. She blushed a little but assured me they'd both be there. And then we'd driven home, and we'd all separated to do our own things. Josie was in her room, Jenna sat at the piano, and I went up to my room. I pretended to do homework for a while, but I couldn't keep fooling myself, so I went through my email, which I hadn't checked for days.

  And then—hours later and with not much to show for it—it was time to get ready. I put on the blue shirt, the same silver necklace, and the long dark jeans. I pulled my hair into a half ponytail, keeping most of the light locks bouncing over my shoulders. Once I'd freshened up my makeup, I went downstairs to eat a quick dinner with my family.

  We ate with minimal conversation. It was pretty obvious by the auras in the room that we were all thinking about what had happened in the parking lot, and we were each dealing with our own personal emotions. Grandpa and I shared a few looks, but mostly we just watched the colors of our family.

  When Grandma finished, she started packing up the leftovers, and Grandpa rose to help her.

  I was loading the dishwasher when the doorbell rang, signifying Patrick's arrival. It was as if his coming broke some spell. Both girls went running out of the kitchen, the dishes they were tasked with clearing left abandoned on the table.

  “I'll get it!” Jenna shouted.

  “Let me!” Josie argued hotly.

  Their feet pounded on the wooden floor of the entry hall, and then slammed rapidly to a skidding halt at the door. A grunt or two, and then—

  “Hey Patrick!”

  “Patrick!”

  “Hello.” His lilting voice was surprised by the energetic reception, but he sounded pleased too. And tired. “Do you answer the door like this for everyone?”

  “No,” Jenna admitted with a laugh, but Josie overrode her.

  “Of course we do! You're nothing special. Just our sister's boyfriend.”

  I shook off the excess water on the plate I was rinsing, and then I placed it carefully in the bottom rack of the dishwasher. “Patrick!” I called loudly, hoping to save him from further embarrassment. “I'm in the kitchen!”

  I heard the footsteps coming, accompanied by teasing girlish voices. I rolled my eyes, grateful that he'd had to deal with far worse over his years. They could annoy just about anyone.

  The silverware clinked into the dishwasher, and when I straightened and turned, Patrick was walking into the kitchen, a sister on each arm. He smiled across the room, and I smiled back. But as I watched him pull against the twins, I noticed the set of his mouth—the small furrow between his eyebrows that fought to grow deeper. His headache hadn't gone. If anything, it was worse. How could it be worse?

  Grandma twisted awkwardly as she dug around in a cupboard, craning her head over her sh
oulder to view the commotion. She sighed. “Jenna, Josie, let go of him, please. I'm sorry, Patrick.”

  He shook his head minutely, his smile genuine but careful. “It's all right, Mrs. Bennett. They're perfectly all right.”

  But Grandma's stern look persisted, so the twins finally released him and returned to the table to gather their dishes. As soon as he'd been released, Patrick rubbed at his wrists. It was impossible to know if it was his strange new habit or reflexive after being strangled by four small hands. Still, it was disconcerting to me.

  I snatched up a towel lying listless nearby and quickly wiped my hands dry. I leaned back against the counter and turned to watch him as he walked toward me. I was still holding the towel when he reached me, but that didn't stop me from wrapping my arms around his neck. His hands slid around my waist, and he pulled me close, murmuring a low greeting against my hair.

  My sisters made gagging sounds behind us, but I wasn't really paying attention. Being held by Patrick did that to me.

  His hand rubbed my back gently, then he pulled away to face my grandparents, one hand still linking us together. “We won't be out late,” he promised.

  Grandma shrugged, still searching the white cupboard for a lid to match the plastic container she'd already taken out. “It's a Saturday night, and we're not Nazis—take your time.”

  “No later than midnight.” Grandpa spoke for the first time, and the way he looked at Patrick made me wonder if he sensed something was wrong. But watching his aura, I think he was less worried about Patrick and more concerned about the possibility that we were going on another mission.

  Patrick only nodded, his hand tightening around mine. His blue eyes clearly conveyed to my grandfather that everything was fine. “No problem, sir.”

  “Well, have a good time,” Grandma told us, finally finding the object of her searching. She brandished the lid proudly, and we said our good-byes.