Ms. Clark picked pieces of Styrofoam off the rim of the coffee cup she held in her lap. “Her stomach and head are still hurting her. They’re giving her some tests and pain medication.”
Cara sat across from her.
Ms. Clark offered her a small smile. “I’m glad you came.”
“I hope Rachel will be glad, too. She hasn’t wanted to talk to me much lately.”
Ms. Clark sighed. “Me, either. It’s that Ethan she’s so obsessed with. Ever since she started seeing him, she hasn’t been herself.”
“I know. I just don’t know what to do about it.”
“The nurse said I could visit soon. Please try to talk to her.”
Cara nodded and sorted through the magazines on the small table beside her: Better Homes and Gardens, Parenting, and Coastal Astrologer. The last publication seemed an odd choice for a hospital waiting room. She opened the magazine to the table of contents and found titles like “Harvesting Holiday Herbs,” “Moon Cycles,” and “Potent Potions.”
Glancing up, she found Ms. Clark eyeing her, her mouth open as though a question hung on her tongue. Cara raised her eyebrows, inviting her to ask whatever was on her mind. Ms. Clark hung her head again and resumed picking at her coffee cup.
After Cara had flipped through half the pictures and diagrams in the Coastal Astrologer magazine, a nurse called for Elizabeth Clark. Ms. Clark lumbered out of her chair and followed. Cara trailed behind.
The nurse and Ms. Clark disappeared behind a curtain. Cara waited on the other side while they fussed over Rachel. A couple of minutes passed before the nurse walked out and Ms. Clark waved Cara in.
Cara slipped into the small area surrounding the hospital bed Rachel rested on. Rachel lay partially reclined, wearing a standard white gown flecked with tacky pastel splashes meant to mimic waves. A small monitor was clipped to her finger and an IV fed into her arm.
Cara shared her best smile with her best friend. Rachel gave her a blank stare.
Ms. Clark stood on the opposite side of Rachel’s bed. “The least you could do is greet Cara, Rachel.”
“Hi,” Rachel said, her voice as devoid of emotion as her face.
“What do you think’s wrong?” Cara asked Rachel, confusion twining with the concern festering in her gut.
“Nothing,” Rachel said. But her teeth clenched, and she pressed her forearm against her midsection.
“Then why are you still in pain?” Ms. Clark tilted her head toward the IV fluid bag hanging from the pole next to the hospital bed.
Every now and then, a machine attached to the bag issued a methodical click.
“They’re giving you morphine, but you’re still hurting,” Ms. Clark continued. “That’s not normal.”
Cara took Rachel’s hand in hers. A hazy film receded from Rachel’s eyes and they widened. Her fingers tightened around Cara’s. When Cara’s knuckles cracked, she wrestled her hand free. Rachel’s eyes clouded over again.
A nurse pushed through the opening in the curtain. Ethan entered behind her. Ms. Clark scowled at him.
“You said you were expecting him?” The nurse looked to Rachel, then to Ms. Clark.
“Yes.” Rachel pushed a button that raised the back of the bed until she reached a full sitting position. “I want him here.”
Ms. Clark gave the nurse a terse nod, but blocked Ethan’s access to Rachel. The nurse backed out of the opening in the curtain.
Shoving his hands in the pockets of his black jeans, Ethan faced Ms. Clark. “I’m here to make sure Rachel’s okay,” he said, his voice husky.
“Rachel’s been given some tests to see what’s causing her pain,” Ms. Clark said, her tone clipped. “You wouldn’t happen to know of anything that might show up, would you?”
“I’m fine,” Rachel said.
“Rachel’s not taking drugs, if that’s what you mean,” Ethan said. He and Rachel shared gushy-looking smiles.
Cara shook her head. Maybe Ethan hadn’t given Rachel drugs. And witchcraft seemed too wacky an explanation for her behavior. But no doubt something abnormal was going on.
“I’m leaving.” Cara edged over to the curtain. “Please let me know what the doctors say,” she said to Ms. Clark, who frowned and nodded.
Ethan tossed his jacket on a plastic chair, as though he meant to stay for a while. Hanging from a black leather rope around his neck was a large, white, cone-shaped tooth. It looked an awful lot like an orca tooth.
Cara wasted a glare on him. He and Rachel never took their eyes off of each other.
FIFTEEN
Playing Scrabble on her laptop as she sat on her bed that night wasn’t working to ease Cara’s worries. She called the hospital and asked the receptionist to ring Rachel’s room. Mindlessly tapping her fingers against the side of her computer, she waited through three rings until Ms. Clark answered.
“Hi, it’s Cara. Have the doctors figured out what’s wrong?”
A heavy, defeated sigh sounded from the other end of the line. “No. They’re going to refer her to a specialist for more testing.”
“Is she feeling any better?”
“Not really. They’re giving her a higher dose of morphine, but it doesn’t seem to be having an effect.”
“The medicine isn’t helping her headaches?”
“It doesn’t seem like it, no.”
Cara chased Ms. Clark’s words around in circles in her mind. When Cara had her wisdom teeth pulled, even a moderate pain reliever like Vicodin had knocked her out. Morphine was a much stronger drug. She couldn’t understand how something that potent wouldn’t help ease Rachel’s pain.
“When will she be able to go back to school?”
“In a few days, probably.”
“That’s good. I hope she’ll be back to her old self soon.”
More than ever, Cara needed Rachel’s support. And whether Rachel knew it or not, she needed Cara, too. There had to be a way to help her.
* * *
The next day at lunch, Garren sat next to Cara on the stone wall, where she’d set down half a peanut butter and pickle sandwich on a napkin for him beside a bag of jalapeño cheddar chips. He handed her an apple.
His face was sober. “Rachel’s home from the hospital.” He didn’t make it sound like that was a good thing.
“I’m not sure if she’s home yet, actually.” She explained that the doctors didn’t know what was wrong and that Rachel was being referred to a specialist. “The weirdest thing is that painkillers don’t seem to be helping with her headaches, and no one knows why.” She started in on her apple.
Garren looked up to the sky, then leveled his gaze at her. “Painkillers having no effect is a bad sign.”
“Sign of what?”
He steepled his fingers in front of him, but didn’t answer.
“She’s not in excruciating pain,” she said. “It’s just frustrating not to know what’s causing any of it, or how to stop it. Got any theories you want to share?” Somehow, she knew he would.
He held her gaze again. “I’m concerned that Rachel’s under demonic influence.”
Cara’s jaw fell open, exposing a mouthful of apple. She snapped it shut, quickly finished chewing, and swallowed hard. “You think Rachel is possessed by a demon?”
“Probably. You can do a test if you want, to see if I’m right.”
“What kind of test?” she asked, not bothering to hide her incredulity.
“You can sprinkle holy water over all of Rachel’s clothes. If she doesn’t wear them, you’ll know I’m right.”
This was the most weirdness she’d heard from Garren yet. She waited, hoping for a punch line. He didn’t deliver one.
“Why wouldn’t Rachel wear her clothes if I sprinkle them with holy water?” she asked, playing along.
“Clothes that are blessed with holy water would itch or burn her skin. She would also resist going to church, so you could look into that, too.”
Cara was speechless.
“It’s your cho
ice whether or not to give the blessing of Rachel’s clothes a try.”
Cara turned this kooky idea around in her head a few times. Crazy though Garren might be, this plan sounded harmless. “Sure, I’ll do it. I’ll try to find a way to sneak into Rachel’s closet. If you can get the holy water.”
“I will.”
Cara watched him closely, once again hoping he’d break down laughing and tell her he was joking. No such luck. “You’re really not kidding that you think Rachel’s possessed?”
“Demonic possession is nothing to joke about.”
“But I don’t understand. Why would God allow that to happen to Rachel?” Strangely, she felt confident Garren would have an answer to that question, though surely an outlandish one.
“Humans are free to make their own choices. And those choices have consequences.”
“That doesn’t make sense. Rachel didn’t choose to be possessed by a demon.”
“Unfortunately, Rachel has made innocent choices that nevertheless have consequences. But mostly she’s suffering from the consequences of other people’s choices. Still, she’ll also benefit from having a good friend like you who chooses to help her.”
* * *
“I hope Rachel’s feeling better,” David said, catching Cara’s eye as she was leaving the journalism classroom.
They exchanged concerned frowns.
“I hope so, too.”
Mr. Cutter looked over from the teacher’s desk. She met his gaze. He tugged on his chin, then turned back to his laptop.
David walked with her to the classroom door.
She stopped to face him. “Rachel probably won’t be back to school until next week.”
“Unless I’m imagining things, she’s been acting pretty strange lately.”
“You’re not imagining anything. Hopefully the doctors can figure out what’s wrong with her.”
Or not, if Garren’s right and she’s under attack by a demon.
“How about you? How are you feeling?” he asked.
Her lips parted, but she didn’t answer right away, not entirely sure what he meant by his question. He had to know she was devastated that he was her teacher and they couldn’t be together. Maybe he worried she was at risk for using drugs or something.
“I’m doing all right. I’m going whale watching again this Saturday.” Hopefully he’d take that as an invitation.
“That’s good.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “I’m going home to visit my dad,” he said with a slight shrug of his shoulders.
Shoot. She enjoyed one last moment of nearness before she said, “Have a nice trip,” and walked off.
* * *
That night, Cara leaned against her headboard with her laptop and typed the words signs of demonic influence in a search engine bar. She could hardly believe she was doing it.
The first site listed under the search results was titled “Signs of Satan.” It included an article outlining clues that people had opened themselves to demonic influence. Cara shook her head as she read:
They disobey their parents.
They want to stay up all night and sleep all day.
They walk around in bathing suits.
They see UFOs or aliens.
Ridiculous. She hit the back button. The next site she clicked on was “Demonic Attacks.” She skimmed a list of causes and symptoms of demonic influence, pausing when something seemed reasonable:
Irrational fears, phobias, and anxieties
Deep depression
Low self-image
Conflicts with authority figures
Reasonable or not, all of those signs could apply to any number of teenagers. And none of them reminded Cara of Rachel.
Again, Cara clicked the back button. The next site that caught her eye sounded the most promising: “Signs of Demonic Possession.” The signs listed resonated more than those listed on the other sites. And the list was provided by a Roman Catholic exorcist.
Changes in personality. (CHECK)
An aversion to religious objects and church. (NOT SURE)
Changes in the way a person dresses. (CHECK)
Occult materials in the person’s living environment. (POSSIBLY)
Long periods without blinking and not looking people in the eye. (POSSIBLY)
Appearing catatonic. (CHECK)
She lingered on the next sign.
A person’s eyes may turn almost black, like a shark’s eyes. (LIKE AMBER’S EYES)
What most surprised Cara about all the sites she visited was how the authors took it for granted demonic influence was real, and noted that it happened more often than people realize. The author of the last site pointed out that the listed signs could signal the beginning of drug use or could be due to psychiatric or psychological changes, or cries for help.
Cara printed out the list of signs and zipped it in a compartment of her backpack. She was just as uncertain now about what was wrong with Rachel as she had been before she began her search.
Sipping on a soda and staring out at peaks of waves resembling fluffy egg whites against the dark sea, she thought of casual, confident David, with his lopsided grin and his enchanting green eyes, of how, when she looked into those eyes, a warm, magical energy connected them.
No, magical reminded her of Rachel and Ethan. The best word for Cara’s and David’s connection was providential. David had used that word to describe his idea of why he ended up in Liberty. It was hard to fathom how something so providential could be wrong.
* * *
Garren sat down by Cara next to her locker the following Monday at lunch and offered up his most far-fetched advice yet. “You should try to cut down on your diet soda consumption. Moderation is key.”
She laughed before he’d even finished his statement. “Don’t hold your breath waiting for that to happen. Diet soda is my sole source of caffeine.” She held up her soda bottle before taking a drink.
He shook his head. “I guess we can’t win all our battles.”
Whatever he meant by that, he was probably right about the soda. Come to think of it, he’d been right about a lot of things. Little things, anyway. Big, bizarre things like her best friend being possessed by a devil—the jury was still out on that one. But she wasn’t in a rush to cut back on diet soda.
She handed him a bag of jalapeño cheddar chips.
“I hope I’ll have better luck with this.” He handed her a full, transparent bottle of water.
No way was she going to give up soda for water. And she hoped this wasn’t a new offering to replace those delicious apples. Still, it was sweet of him to worry about her.
“Thanks.” She took the bottle and uncapped it.
He set down the bag of chips and eased the bottle out of her grasp. “It’s not to drink.” He held out his hand for the cap.
She gave it to him and he recapped the bottle before he handed it back.
“This is the holy water to sprinkle on Rachel’s clothes,” he said, his tone serious. He pulled an apple from his bag and handed it to her, along with the bottle.
Tilting the plastic bottle back and forth, she watched the water slosh around inside while she took a bite of the apple. She’d hoped he would have come to his senses. Since he obviously hadn’t, he’d probably overreact if she shared the results of her Internet search with him.
“You still think I need to do that?”
“I do. But it’s your choice.”
“I want to do it if it could help.”
“It could help.”
She couldn’t say no, regardless of how crazy Garren’s plan was. For some reason, he’d chosen her as his one-and-only school companion. She never got the feeling he wanted more than friendship, though she also couldn’t consider him a close friend. He was caring, but shared next to nothing with her. Still, she sensed that he only meant to help her with the bits of advice he offered.
She stuffed the bottle in her backpack and tried not to think about it.
* * *
When Cara and Garren entered the journalism classroom that day, Cara was surprised to see Rachel was back. When Cara drew near, Rachel jolted upright in her chair, her eyes wide and dark. Cara couldn’t find the right angle to see if they looked black. Then Rachel went limp and stared straight ahead again. There was that catatonic thing going on.
“Rachel, are you feeling any better?” Cara reached over and touched the sleeve of her black, long-sleeved shirt.
Rachel snatched her arm away and didn’t look Cara’s way for the rest of the period.
SIXTEEN
Rachel continued with her zombified stare during journalism over the next week and a half. Cara was awkwardly aware of the whispers of other students who noticed the huge change in her normally outgoing friend. Rachel, however, didn’t seem to notice—or at least to care—about anything that went on around her. More often than not, Rachel skipped class anyway. When Cara saw her in the halls or at lunch, she clung to Ethan, who held on to her possessively and skittered off with her anytime he saw Cara or Garren.
Cara knew she had to do something to try to help Rachel. So she came up with a plan—one that would debunk Garren’s ridiculous demonic-influence theory and would also be good for Rachel’s soul. She phoned Ms. Clark and suggested the two of them drag Rachel to church that Sunday. It seemed simple enough.
“I like your idea, but I’ve already tried to get Rachel to go to church.” Ms. Clark’s tone was light, but Cara sensed her uneasiness. “When I even mentioned things related to it, she spewed all kinds of sacrilegious garbage. Then she locked herself in the bathroom and wouldn’t come out until she was sure services were over.”
Garren had mentioned Rachel’s not wanting to go to church as one of the signs that she was under demonic influence. Cara had also come across aversion to church in her online search. But Rachel had always seemed to enjoy going.
Ms. Clark ended their phone call by saying she wouldn’t stop Cara from trying.
* * *
Sunday morning, dark clouds opened up and pounded Cara with pelts of rain as she stepped onto the Clarks’ porch. Ms. Clark let her in, whispering that Rachel didn’t know about the plan. Shaking the wetness from her hair, Cara walked down the hall to Rachel’s room where her friend lay asleep in bed.
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