by C. S Luis
No. Alex shook her head. She wouldn't. Not this time. But she felt him so close now in June's house.
She held her wrist, clutching the bracelet; it glowed red now, and the voice returned. June never once looked at her, lost in her tea and The Bachelor on TV. She didn't understand that soon, Alex might not be around anymore. Not if the man were to return. She didn't want to, but Alex would be forced to leave.
When she went back into the kitchen, she grabbed her bag and got ready to go herself. She stopped in the living room once more and looked at June there, unchanged, completely unaware of her. The old woman would be fine, Alex thought. Right now, she had to do something she'd been putting off for too long. Before she ever lost this chance again, it was time to see her son.
Chapter 19:
The Eerie Sound
A few hours after school let out, Mr. Randal Peterson sat at his desk, checking over the remaining items on his lesson plan. When he finished, he cleared his desk and gathered the pencils and loose pens into a cup. Only then did he notice the ragged marks drawing across the end of his desk. For a minute, he wasn't sure what could have put them there. Then he remembered Tina's fingernails gripping into the wood. He hadn't realized her nails were sharp enough to leave a scratch like that, but apparently, they were.
That girl was the devil, he thought. There was something unnatural about her. But then this whole school seemed unnatural. How many times had he said that over the years? Dr. Edwards had never believed him, but then, Dr. Edwards had never been someone he could trust, either. The late principle had had a touch of something unnatural himself. And now, that granddaughter of his … She looked like an ordinary girl to the untrained eye, but Randal knew better. He could almost sense trouble before it arrived—that peculiar evil. And ever since Dr. Edwards made him take his cross off the wall of his classroom, Randal had begun to no longer feel safe even there.
He caressed the rough, metal edges of the cross dangling from his neck—his only comfort. Prayer was needed; these kids no longer had any respect for adults. Prayer and punishment. That was what this school required. Nowadays, no one could strike a child without having the authorities at their doorstep and sending them off to prison. Didn't they see that discipline was the only chance of saving these kids and keeping them out of trouble? If Randal were in charge, things would certainly change around here.
Pausing in his end-of-day routine, he looked up at his classroom doorway. The last student had cleared out of the school a long time ago. He should be on his way out too, but he always wanted to be perfectly sure everything was ready for the next day of class. As far as Randal was concerned, he was the only functional teacher left. The new principal would see that about him. Though Randal hadn't quite figured the man out yet, he'd see how Dr. Müller fit into all this soon enough. Maybe Müller was the change this school needed. The man's nephew seemed a bit odd, though, always lurking in the hallways.
An odd sound drifted toward him from the hallway. Was that … scratching? Randal rose, putting down his lesson plan, and tried to make out the sounds. He thought he heard someone's squeaky shoes, or maybe it was the janitor's noisy cart making its rounds.
He stepped toward his classroom door and poked his head out into the hall. There it was again. Randal looked up and down both ways, but he saw absolutely nothing. Then the noise stopped completely, followed by an eerie silence in the air.
It was definitely time to go home. He grabbed his lesson plan from the desk and reached into the drawer to grab his keys from among the clutter. But when he turned back around, his hands were shaking so badly, he dropped the keys. Quickly, Randal knelt to retrieve them, and the loose papers of his lesson plan spilled from the folder in his hands and scattered across the floor.
Muttering in frustration, he gathered them up again. Then he heard the noise again, only it was much closer now. When Randal slowly looked up, he saw her as clearly as he saw the last paper bending beneath her sneaker.
Tina? Her fingernails were making a scratching sound. She smiled down at him, but it wasn't in greeting.
Chapter 20:
Invited Guest
We got home a little later than normal; Michael had wanted to stop for groceries. Even when he slowly emptied the bag in the kitchen now, I could tell there was something on his mind, but I didn't want to intrude into his thoughts. Clearly distracted, he folded the bags and put them in the pantry, moving almost like a zombie.
“So, Michael,” I started, emptying the last plastic bag, you bought a lot of stuff. Are you by any chance making your famous chicken casserole? Maybe enchiladas?” I put the last few things into the fridge, and Michael just turned slowly to face me.
“I invited a guest over for dinner,” Michael announced without meeting my gaze.
“Who?” I asked.
I was surprised I hadn't noticed it before, but now he didn't have to say anything; as soon as I'd asked, I read it in his mind. “Dr. Müller?”
“Yes, I invited Dr. Müller and his nephew John for dinner.” He said it with a smile, but when I glared at him in disbelief, he cringed. It also might have been a little too soon for me to pull the words from his thoughts before he had the chance to speak them.
Those were the last people I'd ever expected him to invite to dinner. “You did?” I asked.
Michael tried to smile and failed miserably. “I thought you'd be happy about it.”
Happy? Was he serious? But he didn't know anything more about either Dr. Müller or John; I knew that much. He had no idea what had happened in that office when I'd first met them, or anything else after that. John grabbing my arm in the hallway, the kiss—I doubted Michael would like that, and I wasn't going to tell him about it now. “Why would you think I'd be happy about it?” Instead of waiting for an answer, I walked out of the kitchen.
Michael followed, still not sure what was bothering me. That part radiated from him. I didn't want to talk about it. I didn't want him to ask. What could I possibly tell him?
“I thought dinner would get us all a little better acquainted,” he said. “It might be nice. So we can get to know our new principal. It helps break the ice, Claudia. And Dr. Müller may be able to offer some assistance in finally getting all those repairs we badly need at Milton.” I just stood there in the hall, unable to say anything. “Was I wrong?” he finally asked.
“No,” I replied. “Of course not. It's just…” What could I tell him? Nothing right now made any sense, even to me.
Michael studied me, then took a deep breath. “I think I know what it is.”
I looked up at him. “You do?”
“Yeah. Dr. Müller's taking your grandfather's place at that school, and… well, your grandfather's position there represented a lot of things. You're still mourning him. And here's a new principal moving in so shortly afterward. I imagine that only makes it harder to accept he's gone.”
I blinked. “Yeah. You're right. I guess.”
“Honey, if you don't want me to invite him over, I won't. I don't want you to be unhappy. Okay?”
“No, it's fine. I get how it'll help the school, too.”
Still, he frowned, looking even more uncertain. “Are you sure?”
I nodded. “Yeah, I'm sure.”
“All right, then. Why don't you go upstairs and get ready? Who knows? Maybe you can get to know John Müller, too. He seems like a nice kid.”
By the time he'd said this, I'd already reached the bottom of the stairs leading up to my room.
“Prom's coming up,” Michael added. “I wonder if he has a date.” He turned around just a little, smiling before heading back into the kitchen. Did he just suggest I go to prom with John Müller?
“I'm sure he already does.” I made sure I sounded as uninterested as I possibly could. Michael looked back at me, I flashed him a quick grin, then I raced up the stairs.
* * *
The startling tug I felt in my bedroom took me completely by surprise. Then I heard the doorbell ring, and
I knew it was him. He was here. Dr. Müller didn't bother me nearly as much as his pretend nephew John. I knew what they both were—well, at least I knew John wasn't who he said he was. But I still had no idea who or what Dr. Müller was or what part he played in all this.
I wasn't sure what to expect from this dinner, which Michael seemed determine to have just to break the ice with the new principal. The poor man had no idea that neither of his guests were even remotely who they said they were. I didn't want to be the one to tell him, but I wondered if anyone else ever would.
Now, all I wanted was to hide in my room and never come out. The doorbell rang again.
“Michael, someone's at the door,” I yelled. Normally, he would have at least replied to that, so it was strange when he didn't. I opened my bedroom door to poke my head out into the hall. When I looked downstairs, I saw Dr. Müller's outline through the glass window in the front door.
Michael's bedroom was just at the other end of the hallway, so I went there next and gently knocked. “Michael, someone's at the door.” There was no way I was going to get it and be the first ones to greet “our guests.” Really, they were Michael's, not mine. I didn't want to see John at all.
“Will you get it, please?” Michael called, stopping me from knocking a second time. Frowning, I slowly backed up and headed toward the top of the stairs, glaring down the staircase. “Just until I'm finished,” he added.
I sneered in irritation. “You owe me, Michael,” I whispered and slowly made my way down the stairs. Michael stepped out of his room just then, adjusting his tie when I turned to look back at him.
“What do you think?” Michael asked, gesturing to the tie.
“Lose the tie,” I suggested with a smile. “You're not going on a date with him.”
He smirked, his eyes darting toward the doorway when the doorbell rang again. Then he took off the tie and headed back into his bedroom. I huffed and slowly walked down the stairs.
I basically dragged myself to the door, where I saw Dr. Müller's face through the glass pane. He waved, and I promised myself I'd try hard to be on my best behavior. I didn't see John right away, and for a moment, I thought maybe he hadn't come. Then I felt the tug that always came with his presence, and I spotted him just to Dr. Müller's left.
I opened the door and just stood there, glaring at both of them.
John didn't look up at me, doing his best to keep himself under control. I could feel him resisting whatever it was I also felt radiating from him. Sweat formed on his brow as he focused on the tips of his dress shoes.
“Hello, Miss Belle. How are you?” Dr. Müller asked politely. I glanced down at the brown bag in his hand, which looked like a bottle of wine. But I was more focused on the strange distortions I heard in his mind, which were really hard to distinguish from his actual thoughts there. I could pick John's thoughts out easily enough, just not Dr. Müller's. So I tried not to listen to anything that sounded like a radio.
Still, I knew something was different. I'd heard something like this before coming from the both of them, but this time, John seemed different and far more in control.
“Sorry for being a little late,” Dr. Müller added.
I forced a smile for the sake of pleasantries.
“And I brought some red wine. I hope it's appropriate for the dinner.”
I didn't know. I didn't drink.
“She doesn't drink, Joseph,” John said. “How would she know about wine and food?” Now he finally looked at me through the doorway, and I'd never seen him look this confident or in control of himself before. More than that, he looked fearless—self-absorbed.
“Of course not.” Dr. Müller grinned and chuckled in slight embarrassment. “I meant for Michael and me, John.”
“My uncle and I really appreciate your invitation to dinner,” John told me.
I forced another smile and had to lower my gaze. There was that tug again, but it couldn't have been from John. That pull had always unraveled him before. Was it coming from me this time instead? I couldn't help but wonder where his sudden confidence had come from, and then I found myself studying his clothes.
He wore a dark sports jacket, black slacks, and well-shined black shoes. A blue silk shirt popped from beneath his jacket. Honestly, he looked like one of those teen-fashion magazine models. His piercing green eyes were anything but normal, even without the gold dancing in the center now. They still didn't quite look like they belonged in a human face.
I hated to admit it, but he looked quite handsome. And now his strong presence was actually intimidating. I cursed Alex for putting such crazy observations into my head. Now I knew I wouldn't be able to look at him without blushing or feeling sick with nerves.
“Can we come in?” John asked.
I moved aside, my face growing hot at the fact that he had to ask. “Michael should be down soon,” I said. My lip quivered as we all stood awkwardly together in the entrance.
“Such a large house for just you and Michael,” Dr. Müller mused, looking around.
“It was my grandfather's house, Dr. Müller,” I replied, avoiding his eyes.
“Please, Miss Belle. Call me Joseph.”
“Makes him feel old…” John told me with a smirk.
“Old isn't all, nephew. I can relate better with people on a first-name basis. The title makes me feel restricted. I don't want you to think I'm a stick in the mud.” He chuckled, but there was no way I'd buy into this game of theirs, even if Joseph—as he called himself—didn't know that I already knew their secret.
John could tell I wasn't entertained in the least; I heard in his mind clear enough. He seemed to agree that no amount of Joseph's friendly banter was going to persuade me to warm up to them. I glanced briefly at John and thought it was strange that he looked so concerned about it.
“So how are you doing?” Dr. Müller asked me. “In light of the circumstances, of course.” He shifted the bottle of red wine in his hand, not sure where to put it, but he honestly seemed more focused on me than anything else.
“Fine,” I whispered, unable to offer much. I bit down on my lip to the point that it actually hurt.
“That's great. I'm happy to hear that.” The man grinned, and I tried to return the smile but failed miserably. The silence deepened, and I prayed Michael would hurry.
“Things will get better,” John added. “I promise. It may not seem like it now, but it will.” His eyes were wide, warm with reassurance as he tried to offer kind words.
“I heard you love to paint,” Dr. Müller said. “What else do you like to do?”
Did he really expect me to answer that?
“Joseph…” John shot the man an irritated look.
“Sorry. I guess I talk too much.”
Michael finally came down, and I was incredibly grateful to see him. I was hoping not to have to answer any more of their questions or wonder why John was so silent this evening. At least, his mind was silent. Still, I couldn't ignore the occasional tug I felt, the drawing, the energies between us stirring up even more need and connection.
“Dr. Müller, I'm sorry for keeping you waiting,” Michael said politely as he came down the stairs toward us. “John.”
“Nonsense, Michael. We had the best company,” Joseph said. I tried to smile.
“Ah, good. Shall we?” Michael directed us into the dining room.
“I brought a bottle,” Joseph said, lifting the paper back. “I hope it isn't too off for the occasion.”
“Absolutely not,” Michael replied. “Thank you. This really wasn't necessary.”
“It was the least I could do.” Joseph removed his jacket. “So, I hear Claudia is a great painter…”
Why did he keep asking about this?
“One of the best,” Michael boasted. “I was impressed to see her sketches. Even more when I had the honor of seeing some of her paintings.”
My face flushed hot again. “Michael,” I said, grinding teeth. “I'm sure they're not interested.”
“I want to see…” John's voice was quiet, and when I glanced back, I found him looking at Michael. “I'd like to see them. I mean, if it's okay.” He gazed at me then, eyes wide with innocence, and it almost looked real.
“My nephew has always been interested in taking art as an elective,” Dr. Müller said. “But my brother would rather have him concentrate on his major studies. The man's a General Surgeon. Kind of wants John to pursue the same line of career.”
“Wow, I see,” Michael said.
“Right,” I whispered. Joseph gave me an unsettling look, forcing me to look away.
“Claudia, why don't you show John your work?” Michael asked.
I narrowed my eyes at him; we didn't have any signals I could give him to say, 'No, please don't make me do that.' I'd hoped just a hesitant glance would get the message across, but no luck.
“Dinner's almost ready,” he continued. “You kids go upstairs. Let Claudia show you her artwork, John. You tell me if she isn't the best.”
“Yes, sir,” John said, already headed for the staircase. When I turned to look at him, he shot me a clever smile. I huffed and moved with the quickness of a turtle as he hurried up those stairs ahead of me.
Joseph handed Michael the bottle of wine. Michael walked ahead into the dining room, admiring the bottle and its label.
“Play nice, kids,” Joseph called after us. When I looked back, he smiled and winked, then joined Michael to correct him on pronunciation of the label name.
“We got it, Joseph,” John called down the stairs, clearly annoyed.
Why were they here tonight?
Michael caught me looking back at him and shooed me up the stairs. Seriously, wasn't he at all concerned to leave me alone with John—or any boy? John was looking down at me again, now on the second floor, running his hand over the railing.
“You coming, Miss Belle? We have a lot to discuss…” He beckoned me closer with a single finger, then winked at me. The minute I stepped onto the second-floor landing, John disappeared into my bedroom. I found him in the back of the room, looking at the sketchbook I'd always had with me before I lost my parents.