He wanted something.
Megan’s thoughts wandered, she and Chuck weren’t much different. They both were kicked out by their parents and then helped by Ben. But Chuck was sick, very sick. She had to forgive him for his attack on her.
He pitched back another step, then forward as Ben persuaded him to talk. The back and forth became a soothing rocking motion that lulled Megan’s senses.
Yes, she could forgive him. Chuck was tall and lean, but his attitude and slumped stance totally erased the terror he had manifested the night he attacked her.
Still, there was something vaguely intimidating about him. She couldn’t quite identify it, couldn’t name the suspicion. There was just an inkling of . . . something.
The perception that he was shrinking as he walked away bothered her more.
***
“Where were we?” Ben smiled at Megan. “We keep getting interrupted. Do you think if I close the door they’ll all leave us alone?”
“I don’t think a closed door would stop Cori. She said she’d be right back.”
“Obviously that was a lie.” He scrolled through the page on the screen. “I’ll check this while you go through that book. Let me know if there are any words you want me to look up.”
“Okay. It looks like it’s all in Latin and the writing is that old fancy stuff like calligraphy, but . . . oh, hey, here’s something interesting.”
Ben turned away from the online Bible and peered at the page Megan held open.
“I think I recognize some of these words. ‘Remedia’ would be remedy and ‘daemones’ looks like demons,” Megan said.
Ben took the book, ran his finger down the page, turned to the next page, and scanned for any other familiar words. “Too complicated for me,” he said. “Are you sure it’s Latin?” He handed it back.
“Pretty sure. I’m in Spanish, you know, and my teacher said English and French and Spanish have their roots in Latin. I’m guessing that word is ‘against’ and don’t these look like ‘communion’, ‘medicine’, and ‘theology’?”
“Uh huh, but it’ll take forever to look it all up. What’s the title again?” Ben copied Manuale Exorcismorum into a new window and waited a second for the results. “Looks like you can get a scanned copy of this for around forty dollars. That should mean the actual book is worth more. Hope that satisfies Cori.”
They were quiet for several minutes as Megan flipped through more pages and Ben searched online for Bible references to exorcism.
“Well,” he finally said, “we’ve been dabbling in some risky behaviors, so to speak.”
“Huh?”
“Ouija boards are a no-no according to this site. This guy says it’s a gateway into the occult.”
“I believe it.”
“Also we should stay away from tarot cards and pornography and recreational drugs.”
“I can do that.” Megan gave a little snorty laugh. She looked up from her book. “What about kissing?”
Ben smiled back and leaned over. “Uh, that’s a yes-yes.”
A few moments later they broke apart and Megan asked, “Sounds like you found out how not to get possessed, but what about exorcism?”
“Oh,” Ben straightened up, “must be some big church secret or else it’s so simple I’m missing it. In the Bible stories Jesus just says ‘come out’ and the demon obeys. We could try that with . . .” he nodded his head toward the door, “. . . all of them.”
“Come out? That’s it?”
***
Cori stared at her face in the bathroom mirror. She removed each piercing on her nose and her eyebrow and the seven in her ears. She scrubbed every trace of makeup off her skin. She stared again. Who did she look like? Was that resemblance to her older sisters still there? Was that her mother’s nose? Eyes?
She brushed her hair back into a ponytail and concentrated on each feature. Why was she trying to be so different? When had she become so angry?
She focused on her forehead, seeking a way to see into her own mind, but only succeeding in startling herself as her vision blurred her features into a bony skeletal mask.
Tears sprang to her eyes. What did she need to do? There was something . . . something pressing her to a decision . . . but . . .
When had she set her dreams aside? Why was everything so futile? Everything . . . pointless.
She compared herself to pretty Megan, then remembered that Megan was trying to get custody of her baby. What was his name? Simon? Well, she was better off than Megan. She wouldn’t want to be in her shoes.
And Emily. She had seen her semester report card – perfect grades. Nice, but she wouldn’t want to be that unhappy little mouse either.
What did she want? She couldn’t put it into words, but there was a deep and profound longing for . . . God, what is it!?
Is it You?
***
“Well,” Megan set the book down, “I guess Cori isn’t coming back. And I’ve got to get to work.” She smiled at Ben, was paid back in a pair of dimples. “This was the best snow day ever. Thanks.”
“No problem. I’ll drive you to work. And remember, we have a skating date tonight.”
“Do you mind if we make that tomorrow night instead? I forgot about some reading I have to do for English class.”
Ben stuck his lower lip out in an exaggerated pout. “You don’t work on Thursday night?”
“Not this week, not unless they changed the schedule since yesterday, and that’s not likely.”
“Thursday it is, then.”
***
Emily gathered the scraps of Mrs. Beridon’s note and rolled each piece into a tiny ball. She lined them up on the window sill and studied them. One she placed into the palm of her hand and rolled it again until it was smooth and round. She flattened it until it looked like an aspirin or some kind of pill if she squinted her eyes at it. Even the bits of writing looked like the letter imprints that identified a manufacturer. She rolled seventeen more.
Bored.
Tired, but afraid to go to sleep.
She got up and went to the door. She peered out at the empty hallway, listened to the creaks and groans of the house. Something wasn’t right.
Thursday
Chapter 20
Megan woke to the same eerie silence in the house that she had felt when she arrived from work last night. Ben had dropped her off at the restaurant and then called her there later to apologize that she’d have to walk home. He was in some sort of trouble, didn’t want to explain, and was plainly embarrassed.
Megan had not only used the latch on the stairway door to lock the three girls in, but she, like Emily and Cori, had moved her dresser in front of her bedroom door. There was no conspiratorial plan, no whispered paranoia, no hushed panic. In fact, no one spoke. Megan had reached the top of the stairs and saw Emily’s eye at her door. The door closed; the scraping of furniture followed. Then she heard Cori bar her door with something, heard a grunt and the sounds of heavy objects sliding across gritty wood. Had something happened with Chuck while she was at work? A flashing memory of his attack on her sent her scurrying to her room. She latched the door, moved the small dresser against it. There were sounds in the attic, but they were accompanied by Cori’s usual curses.
Megan read until late then slept with the light on.
***
Chuck didn’t sleep. He was thinking more clearly than he ever had. The voice in his head was his own. From time to time he asked Adam a question or made a joke, but Adam never answered and Chuck had no one except himself to humor.
He stuffed all of Adam’s things up the chute and taped a poster over the hole. He made both beds and leaned the third mattress up against the wall. He sat on the floor with the wastebasket between his legs and meticulously picked up every crumb and scrap and speck of dust that was on the floor.
By morning his room was spit-polish clean, his back sore, his eyes red, and his plan completely in place. They wouldn’t see him coming. The guns were loaded,
the large bag ready, the field day certificate taped to his chest. He doubled his dose of meds, then stuffed a couple extra pills in his pocket. The tremors in his hands increased, his mouth went dry, the muscles in his legs began to spasm.
Time to go.
Sorry, Ben. You were cool.
***
Ben woke early, the anger flooding back into every vein in his body as soon as his eyes opened.
He hated Ed. What a jerk he was. Making his mother cry. Grounding Ben. Taking his car keys. Was it any wonder that he had to keep away from that idiot as much as possible?
The worst part was letting down Megan.
He showered quickly, intending to get over to the rooming house as fast as he could. The roads were good today, school was on, he had a skating date tonight. The eager anticipation coated the anger and calmed the agitation. By the time he went to the kitchen he wasn’t so upset that he couldn’t fake a contrite apology to Ed and beg for the car keys.
“What’s wrong with taking the school bus? My taxes pay for that thing. Your driving to school is a waste of gas.” Ed slammed around the kitchen looking ready to take Ben on again.
Ben didn’t rise to the bait. “You’re right. I should take the bus. But . . . I can’t. If you haven’t been riding it all year they won’t let you on. Security, you know. Like I could be a terrorist or something. The bus driver doesn’t know who I am.” He stood next to the end of the counter, trying to be as small a target as possible. He expected Ed to take a swipe at him again.
Ed poured some milk on his cereal and set the jug down hard enough to make some milk splash out the top.
“Look what you made me do. Get me a paper towel.”
“Yes, sir.” Ben cleaned the mess up and stood back. “So, uh, I guess you’ll have to drive me to school.”
Ed gave a definitive shake of his head and dug in his pocket for Ben’s keys. “I’ve got better things to do, you little pissant. Here. I have to check on one of my rentals on Elm this morning.”
Ben caught the keys, but held back a gasp. How was he going to pick up the girls if Ed was going to the same street?
***
Cori was the first of the girls into the kitchen and almost ran into Chuck.
“Your face,” he said.
“What about my face?” she tried to scrunch her brow into its usual scorn, knew her clean bare look with her hair pulled back was a naked shock. She hadn’t replaced any of her jewelry or painted her nails or applied the masking makeup.
“It’s . . . it’s beautiful.” Chuck’s breathy admiration was flattering despite the repulsion Cori couldn’t help but feel when she looked at his geeky face. She backed away from his open gaping and tried to think of some way to disparage him.
“I have something for you,” Chuck said. His voice grew stronger with an apology and a promise of a gift that she would find later.
“What are you talking about?”
Chuck turned away, grabbed his large bag, and headed out without another word.
“Weirdo,” she said to the closing door.
***
Emily lost her footing on the second to last step and stumbled just as Chuck’s banging of the side door shook the house. She lurched into the hallway and hurried to the bathroom when she heard Cori’s voice.
Weirdo was right, but weren’t they all weird? The one closest to perfection was Ben and even he had his faults.
She finished in the bathroom and opened the door to find Cori looming over her. Her arms were crossed and she looked more like a housemother than a teen, as if she had aged ten years by washing her face. Her aspect had that accusatory look and she wasn’t changing her stance. Emily couldn’t duck around her. She lowered her eyes and waited.
“Well,” Cori pointed her finger at Emily, “were you in there cutting yourself?”
She shook her head.
“It didn’t seem like you had enough time. Let me see your arms.”
Emily obliged her, mumbled that she had given her razor to Megan.
“And your legs?”
Emily backed up, glanced self-consciously toward the kitchen. If Ben was in there . . .
“Just pull your pajama legs up. The guys aren’t here.”
Emily conceded. The scars were red, but there were no new cuts.
“All right . . . good.” Cori tried to sound compassionate, even gave Emily a pat on the shoulder as she let her pass by. Emily was surprised that she didn’t hear the customary derogatory label; it had to be on the tip of Cori’s tongue.
She went to the kitchen window and looked out. She had spied from her room and seen no new tracks. Ben hadn’t come home. Now there was a snowless outline of where Chuck’s car had been and two narrow lanes flattening out a trail to the road, going over a lump at the end of the driveway where the city plow had heaped a ridge.
She ate her breakfast in silence, noticing a newness about Cori. She scrutinized her as surreptitiously as she could. Megan came down dressed and ready. Emily could see Megan’s surprise as she inspected Cori’s style, but she, like Emily, held her tongue.
Emily had practiced what she wanted to say. She was sure she remembered word for word the note Mrs. Beridon had written. She had only ridden to school with Megan three times, but the oppressive feeling had become too weighty, the back seat too lonely, the jealousy too . . . too absolute. She had to tell her now before they got in the car. Before Megan became Ben’s front seat girlfriend.
She opened her mouth to say that Mrs. Beridon was coming, something important was happening today, the judge was ruling.
But Megan spoke first, “So, uh, Ben said he’d be here the usual time to take us to school. He, uh, he had somewhere else to be last night.”
“Hockey?” She knew he stayed away lots of nights. It had to be because of hockey. Where else would he go? That other address? Emily felt a horrendous surge of hate. Apparently he didn’t keep secrets from Megan.
Megan wasn’t answering. A shrug of her lying shoulders was all she gave to Emily. Megan and Ben had a secret, didn’t they?
Emily rinsed her breakfast bowl and lumbered up the stairs to get dressed. The moment to tell Megan had passed. She’d try one more time. Maybe.
The window at the top of the stairs faced the back yard and something caught her eye. It was Ben. He jumped the neighbor’s fence and trudged through the deep snow, heading for the side door. She wasted no time in getting to her room and throwing on jeans and a sweater. She wanted to get back downstairs quickly in order to hear his explanation. Where was his car? Why had he come through the neighbor’s yard?
***
Ben parked on Birch Street and took a chance on cutting through the neighbor’s driveway and back yard. The chain link fence was an easy climb though he didn’t fly over it as easily as Cori had levitated the fat man. He reached the side door just as his step-father’s car turned the corner. He thanked his lucky stars that the door wasn’t locked and he could glide in before he was spotted.
“Hey! Get down. Everybody get down.” Megan obeyed immediately and left her plastic juice glass to clatter into the sink. Cori started to protest, but Ben grabbed her arm and pulled. “Listen. The car that’s pulling up out front is my step-father’s. He owns this place.” He watched Cori’s pretty blue eyes widen. “I don’t want him to see me. Or us, any of us. Where is Emily?”
“Upstairs,” Megan’s whisper was automatic.
“No, I’m here.” Emily crawled into the kitchen and crouched by the stove, her satchel mashed against her side. “What’s wrong?”
“I don’t have time to explain, but if he comes here we might be in a lot of trouble.” He took a closer look at Cori. “Hey . . . you look . . . you could be . . .” He chuckled, a plan formulating fast. “Cori, do you think you could pretend to be Mrs. Kremer if he comes to the door? The next door neighbors, the Petersons, complained that a bunch of teens are living here unsupervised. You could say they’re mistaken . . . that you’re just watching your niece and nephew
or something, you know, and that they have a lot of friends over. Could you do that?”
“What, Ben, you want me to lie?” Cori’s sneer was so much less potent on a clean face. She smiled. “Sure, no problem.”
A brisk knock at the front door was followed with a stuttering of the doorbell.
“My big moment,” Cori said as she rose. If he didn’t believe her performance perhaps she could put him in a rolling coma, like she did to the fat dude.
She took her time and walked slowly to the door. Meanwhile Ben handed the girls their boots and coats. “We’re gonna cut through the back. My car’s on the next street.”
“But Megan can’t go,” Emily whispered.
“Shh,” Ben opened the side door carefully and directed them through as soon as he heard his step-father’s voice. He closed the door with ghostly softness when he heard Cori’s perfectly composed greeting.
***
It was easy walking into the school behind the Thursday morning chess club kids, but Chuck had almost been late. He had taken a little too long on his detour this morning. Couldn’t think about that now. Wouldn’t think about that again.
Chuck had remembered weeks ago that the chess nerds met an hour before school. That knowledge became a small part of his plan, small but important. He wanted to be in place before the hall monitors started roaming, the teachers opened their rooms, and the students flooded the building. He had considered joining the chess club when he first started high school, but then he had . . . changed. The events that got him reassigned to the alternative school were best forgotten, but he would never forget the names and faces of the perpetrators. He was here to even the score.
First stop – an empty locker. He spotted one in the main hallway, but it was too close to the office. The side wings were better locations and he wanted a locker on the first floor. There. Number 413 was missing a padlock. He looked up and down the hallway as he lifted the latch and opened the door. The shelf was empty except for a broken pencil. The two coat hooks were twisted downward. Another glance, he was still alone. He used his body and the door to block the view as he stashed a gun there. Four thirteen. Four thirteen. He had to remember this locker. This spot.
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