by Shirley Duke
“It’s cool, Jon. Just show up.”
The woods were especially dark tonight. Omar couldn’t even see his own legs, but he could hear his feet cracking branches and shuffling leaves. He heard the night sounds of the other nocturnal animals too. The crisp fall air made his cheeks sting and his eyes water. Omar remembered how he’d always loved the night, and even now, he was amazed that it could be a comfort to him.
Omar knew he had a lot of things to figure out— about the others, about how Sophie knew about the Monroe vision, about what she wanted him to do. About her vicious streak.
But Omar had enough experience with big problems to know that you couldn’t tackle them all at once. No, you had to break them down or they’d make you useless. Right now Omar had to save Jon. He’d deal with Sophie later.
Damn! Omar thought as he caught a glimpse of fire in the edges of his sight. Not now. Omar braced himself for the oncoming vision. He quickly took off his jacket and removed his T-shirt. Using his teeth, he tore it into strips. While he could, he used the strips to tie one hand to a raised tree root. With the other arm, he grabbed onto the tree as hard as he could.
He was getting good at this by now—he wasn’t even afraid of what he’d see. As long as he could get through the images without writing them down, he could handle it.
Here we go, Omar thought as he felt the heat prickle his skin, as the smell of burnt rubber made him cough and gag.
“Write it!” the voice told him, and Omar yelled back, “No!”
“Write it!”
“No, no, no.”
Omar’s brain was resisting, but he’d lost control of his body. He was standing now, using the full force of his legs and both his hands to pull up the tree root. The tree root bent up into a steep arc, then it snapped. Omar took off like an unleashed dog, tramping wildly over the underbrush.
Then—slam! A dull pain spread out in circles from the center of Omar’s chest. He fell backward on the ground, arms and legs splayed. All at once, he was facedown, his hands joined behind his back in someone’s grip.
I’m sory, Omar,” a female voice said. Not high and musical like Sophie’s, but husky and matter-of-fact. “Is the vision gone?”
“Almost,” Omar said as he watched the flames flicker and die around him.
“Is it safe to let go?” she asked.
“Not yet,” Omar said. And so this person, whoever she was, sat on Omar’s back and put him in a choke hold. “Say when, okay?”
“Okay?”
For the next few minutes Omar focused on the outline of a boot by his face until he felt like he could trust his legs again.
“Okay, now,” he said, and he felt her weight lift from his body. He sat up and wiped his face.
“I’d better check you out,” she said, flicking on her flashlight. Omar squinted in the light at the figure behind it. This person, whoever she was, seemed about his size, though it was hard to tell exactly because of her baggy jeans and sweatshirt. Her hood was up too, so he couldn’t make out her face.
“Oh my,” she said, reaching into her backpack for some ointment and bandages. Her fingers felt cool against his face.
“You’ll be okay,” she said. Omar must have raised his eyebrows at that line because then she laughed a little and added, “I mean, at least you’re not hurt too bad.”
“Thanks,” Omar said, taking the light. He pointed it up so it cast a soft glow on his rescuer.
She smiled. “Rebecca,” she said, holding out her hand politely. Omar took it, studying her face. She looked like a teenage version of his Aunt Lena, actually. Same square jaw, same big eyes, same frizzy, honey-colored hair.
“What?” Rebecca said.
“Uh, nothing. You look like somebody I know, that’s all.”
“Oh yeah? Well, you definitely don’t know me.”
“You’re one of us, aren’t you? Like me and Sophie?” Omar asked.
Rebecca leaned back and put out both hands in front of her as if she were pushing something away. “Well, like you maybe, but definitely not Sophie.”
“I thought all of you were dead?” Omar said.
Rebecca laughed. “Omar, I have so much to tell you.”
Omar looked at his watch. He still had twenty-five minutes to make it to the Chowder Hut. “Okay,” he said to Rebecca, “but make it quick.”
Omar leaned against the tree while Rebecca sat cross-legged on the ground across from him. Above, the moon had broken through the cloud cover, resolving the surrounding gray forms into silver-edged branches.
“I live in these woods too, Omar,” Rebecca began, “in a shelter on the other side of the brook, and I’ve been watching you and Sophie.” She looked up into Omar’s face. “You’re in deep, deep trouble.”
“I know.”
“I mean, like biblical trouble, Omar. Like the-devilwants-your-soul trouble.”
“Sounds like a bad story I wrote once,” Omar said, smiling a little.
“Yeah, well, maybe that’s why she chose you, Omar.” Rebecca was not smiling. “But probably she just knew you were an easy victim—distracted parents, troubled, into vampires and crap like that.”
Omar didn’t have time to get offended. “You mean—Sophie’s the devil?” he asked.
“Maybe not the devil, but something dark, something evil—but she’s not as powerful as you might think. . . . When I knew her, she went by Lynette, but she’s had a lot of names. When I met her two years ago, I was a sophomore at St. Philomena’s. I’d just lost my big sister to cancer, so emotionally I was ripe for the picking. Lynette was in my skating league at the Oceans Arena.”
“So what was your art?” Omar asked.
“I was a painter. Still am.” Rebecca got quiet for a second. “I used to handcuff myself to the radiator when I felt a vision coming on. . . . My paintings killed a lot of people.” Rebecca’s voice was angry now. “When I saw the same thing happening to you, I knew now was my chance to stop her. She still believes in you— you can help me put an end to her power.”
“Whoa, back up,” Omar said.
“Oh, Omar!” Rebecca said. “Don’t you realize that the visions are coming from her? Sophie, Lynette— whatever evil thing she is—she made you this way. You’re her little work of art, don’t you see? She makes you want to die from the visions, then shows up like your guardian angel. She tells you that stupid story about being so lonely and she etches your face onto her wall. Then she tells you you’re finally ready and tries to turn you into a killer.”
“And she’s going to punish me with visions until I give in, right?” Omar was catching on now.
“Well, for a while. You have maybe another day before she loses her patience with you.”
“Then what?”
“Then she’ll kill you, like she killed the others.”
“Wait a minute—so you carried out a vision?”
“Whoa—no, hold on. I didn’t, Omar. Are you kidding? Actually, very few people have it in them to kill an innocent person—and I’m definitely not one of them. I pretended to die. She buried me in the ground—”
“So burying alive—that’s how we die?”
“Yes, Omar, that’s the only way. From dust to dust—we take the expression to a whole new level. In any case, there I was under a foot of loose dirt, but I didn’t panic. I slowed down all my muscles and my breathing. I tricked her into thinking I was dead. When she finally went away, I clawed my way out of the ground, gasping and spitting dirt everywhere.”
“And the visions were gone?”
“Yes, by then she’d turned her attention to someone else. But still, I’m lonely, Omar. My family, everyone—they think I’m dead. But it’s too dangerous for me to contact the people I love. If Lynette— Sophie—knows I’m living, she’ll come back for me . . . Omar, I’ve been watching her for two years now. She’s had two other victims since then, both young, lonely, and talented. Their names were Meg and Joshua—”
“Joshua Walker?” Omar interrupted.
“Yes.”
“He lived in my neighborhood. I remember when he went missing. There were posters everywhere.”
“Sophie got him,” Rebecca explained. “And Meg too. I watched them come and go from that cabin. They must have had some hole in their lives the way you do. Sophie fills that hole. For you, it was an escape. For me, she became a new older sister.
“But Meg and Joshua—” Rebecca continued. “They’re dead now, both of them. I wanted to warn them, but I had to be careful. I had to time it right to be sure they wouldn’t betray me to Sophie. Meg was too afraid to walk alone in the woods. And with Joshua, I was too late. You’re the first one I’ve been able to reach alone. Alone—in time.”
Omar looked at his watch. “Jon!” he yelled. “Rebecca, I’m sorry. I have to go. I wrote a story about my friend Jon and I have to warn him before it comes true.”
“Omar, listen to me,” Rebecca said. “There’s only one way to save Jon: go back to Sophie’s. Tell her you’re going to carry out a vision. That will keep her happy. She’ll want details, but she’s not smarter than us, Omar. You’re the one with the imagination, right? Convince her, but find an excuse to put it off. Then wait for her to fall asleep. I’ll be close, by waiting for you.”
“Then what?”
“Don’t you know, Omar? There’s only one way.”
Omar knew. He understood what had to be done. He just wasn’t sure he’d be able to do it.
Omar had always been a good storyteller. Convincing Sophie that he would kill for her—that was the tale of a lifetime. But Rebecca had been right. Once he put his imagination to use, the story was doable. It had been so long since Omar had trusted his own imagination; he’d almost forgotten that it could help him. And Rebecca was right about something else, too—Sophie wasn’t as smart as she let on. Or maybe her giant ego squashed her IQ Omar found that all he had to do was compliment Sophie, tell her how right she’d been and how grateful he was.
“You saved my life, Sophie.”
“Thank you for finding me.”
“You’re so beautiful, Sophie.”
He buttered her up, and she fell for it. He made her believe that he was going to strangle Monroe tomorrow, right after dawn.
By the time Sophie put her head in Omar’s lap, it was after midnight, but the light was still glaring at his portrait on the wall. For a minute, Omar watched the room’s shadows cut across Sophie’s face. Her skin looked gray now; he could see the loose skin under her chin, the spidery blue veins beneath her flickering eyelids.
Silently, Omar waited for Sophie to fall asleep. Eventually, her mouth went slack and her eyelids went still. He listened to her shallow breaths. Sleeping, breathing—they seemed like such normal activities for someone like her. Gently, he removed her head from his lap and placed it on a pillow. He slipped out the door and headed outside.
As soon as he was in the clearing, Omar checked his phone. He had three texts waiting for him from Jon.
Where r u?
Waiting for u
What the hell, Omar?
Jon was still alive! Omar quickly texted back, Sorry. One more thing he hoped he’d get a chance to explain tomorrow.
He found Rebecca in the center of the clearing. She was sitting on the giant boulder, sketching in a notebook by moonlight.
“What are you drawing?” Omar said, coming up to her.
She sprang off the rock. “Omar! God, I’ve been so nervous.” She turned her book toward him. “See? It’s you—and you don’t even have an axe coming out of your head or anything.”
Omar examined the drawing. His chin looked weird, and his hair was wrong, but she’d gotten his eyes perfectly. “Not bad,” he said.
Rebecca grabbed back the notebook. “Just wait till I get to go to art school, Omar. I’m going to be one of the greats.”
“Rebecca?” Omar said. “Why do you live like this? How come you didn’t just go away? Leave Bridgewater. Find a new town, go to art school, change your identity?”
“I’ve thought about it. I’ve come close.”
“But?” Omar said.
“Omar, my paintings hurt so many people. And then there were Meg and Joshua, and now you, Omar. What if I hadn’t been here for you? I’ve stayed to do what I must. . . . Look at me, Omar.” She stared him in the face. “Are you with me?”
“I think so—yes, I am.”
“Because you’re the one she trusts, Omar. You’re on the frontline. You don’t know how strong she is. Even with two of us, we have to rely on our wits, not our strength. I can help set the trap, Omar, but you have to be the bait.”
Rebecca walked behind the boulder and came back carrying two shovels. She handed one to Omar. “Here.” Omar wrapped his hand around its long handle. Rebecca pointed to a patch of dead ferns a few feet away. “This is where I was buried,” she said, “and the others too.”
Without hesitation, Omar raised his shovel and stabbed the cold, brown earth.
For hours, Rebecca and Omar dug. Shove, lift, toss. Shove, lift, toss. The repetitive motion allowed Omar to focus only on the mechanics of his body— breath, heartbeat, sweat—blocking out any other thoughts.
Omar and Rebecca spoke little—just to comment on their work and hash out the last few details of their plan. After a while, the grave became deep enough that Omar had to lower himself in to continue digging.
Omar peered at the dirt wall, just a few inches from his face. Thin, white shapes flecked its surface. Slowly, Omar reached out to touch one. He ran his finger along its smooth surface. Bone.
The screaming faces of Meg, Joshua, and the others from Sophie’s wall flashed in Omar’s mind. He felt their screams vibrating underneath his feet, then up inside the bones of his legs and into his ribs. The sounds became muffled as dirt filled their open mouths. Omar tasted the dirt. He felt it against the roof of his mouth. Then—a damp softness against his face, behind his ears, the small of his back. The soft, rotted flesh of Sophie’s victims brushed against his skin.
Omar retched. He doubled over and retched again, then again. Exhausted, he sat up and leaned against the wall. He wiped his mouth with the edge of his sleeve and waited for the voice and the urge to write it down, but only Rebecca’s voice came down from above.
“You okay down there?” Rebecca’s face was just a black hollow behind her hood, but Omar could make out the ragged outline of her crazy hair.
So it wasn’t a vision, just his own vivid imagination.
“Yeah, I’m okay,” he said.
“Do you want to switch places?”
“No, I want to do it.” Omar had no idea how long he kept digging from inside the grave. When he looked up, he saw the forest floor was even with his shoulders.
“C’mon up, Omar. That’s deep enough.” Rebecca helped Omar out of the pit. Standing on the grave’s edge, Omar checked the sky for the first time in hours; a pale blue seeped into the blackness in the east.
“Time to begin,” Omar said. He felt cold suddenly. A chill shook his whole body. He wrapped his arms around himself.
“You okay, Omar?”
“Yeah, I’m okay. I’m ready,” Omar said. As he headed toward Sophie’s cabin, he noticed smoke curling out of her chimney.
“Where were you?” Sophie demanded as soon as Omar entered her room. She stopped suddenly when she caught sight of him. “What happened to you?”
“Monroe’s grave,” Omar said, “I’m all ready to do it, Sophie.”
“Omar! I knew you wouldn’t disappoint me!” Sophie held his face and kissed him softly on the lips. He held his head stiffly, forcing himself not to back away. When she pulled away, Omar noticed that her eyes were wet. “Everything’s going to be okay now, Omar, you’ll see,” she whispered.
Omar looked down. “Okay, well, we’d better get moving.” He forced himself to hold out his hand to her. Sophie took it, wide-eyed with joy, her lips parted with excitement.
Hand in hand, Omar walked with Sophie toward the cleari
ng. “This way,” Omar said. The sky was light enough now that he could clearly make out the boulder and the pit beneath it. He led Sophie to the edge of the grave and took up position behind her.
For just a second, confusion flashed over Sophie’s face. “Here?” she asked. Then, suspicion. “You chose here for Monroe’s grave, Omar?” Sophie didn’t wait for Omar’s answer.
“Liar!” she screamed, lunging at Omar’s throat.
But a flash of metal intercepted Sophie’s move. Then—craaaaaaaack. The bone crunching sound of the shovel hitting Sophie’s skull.
Omar froze for a second, staring at Sophie’s lifeless form by his feet.
“You know she’s not dead, Omar—move it!” Rebecca yelled.
Omar bent down and shoved Sophie into the pit. But even as she fell, her arms and legs started twitching.
“Start shoveling!” Rebecca screamed, as she frantically attacked the mound of dirt they had made. Omar climbed on top of the pile and started pushing with his feet. Dirt cascaded down the mound and onto Sophie’s face and the long, streaked hair that pooled around her head and shoulders.
Sophie swatted at the onslaught as if it was a swarm of insects. She pointed at Omar. “Weak!” she screamed, even as the dirt rained into her open mouth. “Disappoint me!” Sophie struggled to sit up, but Omar pushed harder with his legs. A mass of dirt and stones covered her from the waist down now. Its surface heaved as her legs struggled to break free.
“You will never be free!” Sophie screamed, but it was no longer her voice. It was that voice—the electronic one from Omar’s visions. Sophie’s face looked different now too. Through the dirt, Omar could make out its greenish color.
“Coward!” Sophie’s open mouth showed a row of rotten teeth. Omar caught his breath—her eyes were gone, too. In their place were empty sockets crawling with maggots. Her long, glamorous hair was replaced by a few white bristles. Sophie sat up from the waist and Omar took in the full effect of this writhing, hissing creature. It struggled and grabbed at the sides of the grave with clawlike fingers.
“Keep shoveling!” Rebecca screamed at Omar.