Save Me

by Jenny Elliott

  The rain knocked against Rachel’s window, as though seeking entrance. Cara went to the closet and flung the doors open so they banged against the wall. Rachel sprang up into a sitting position. Around her neck, hanging on a rope of black leather, was a large, white, cone-shaped tooth. Ethan must have given it to her. Cara gritted her teeth at the sight of it.

  From the closet floor, Cara selected a pair of leather Mary Janes and pulled out an outfit to match. “Come on, Rachel. Get ready or we’ll be late.”

  Rachel’s head snapped around toward the doorway.

  Ms. Clark stood inside the door. With shaking hands, she held a thick book to her chest. “Cara wants to go to church with us, Rachel.”

  Rachel’s mouth twisted into a snarl and her eyes riveted on the book her mom now held out, which displayed a large, embossed cross on the front. A low growl that sounded like it originated deep within erupted from Rachel’s throat. Cara dropped the outfit and stumbled around the bed toward the door.

  Rachel hissed and clenched her fists around bunches of bedspread. The room grew colder and Cara shivered.

  “I thought it might be different if you were the one who mentioned church to her,” Ms. Clark said, trembling.

  “Rachel needs serious help,” Cara said, her voice a weak whisper.

  In a daze, she walked out of the Clarks’ house, climbed into her car, and drove off. Beastly images of her friend continued on cinematic display in her mind. Those visions alternated with flashbacks of Rachel from the previous year, when she’d sat on her bed, chatting and giggling as she propped one knee up and bent down to paint her toenails red, white, and blue.

  The idea that Rachel wouldn’t be able to go to church had struck Cara as ridiculous. Yet Garren’s impossible theory had just been reinforced, in a way she never would have expected. Now that she’d seen the most bizarre behavior from Rachel yet, she couldn’t help but start to believe in negative supernatural possibilities, just as she believed in the positive ones, like her connection with David.

  Still, she yearned for a more sensible explanation. So she headed for the best place she knew to seek the psychologically sound and stable.

  * * *

  Cara’s mom took one look at her face as she entered the kitchen, rushed over to put an arm around her, and guided her to the kitchen nook. “You look sick, honey. I thought you were going to church with Rachel. What happened?”

  Her mom sat her down with a plate of cookies, then went to pour them two glasses of milk. She sat across from Cara and waited for her to speak.

  Cara picked up a cookie that shook in her hands, along with her words. “Something’s wrong with Rachel.”

  “Is she still sick?”

  “I don’t know. I could swear she growled at the Bible her mom was holding. And when Ms. Clark mentioned church, Rachel started hissing. It was like she’s possessed.”

  Her mom set her cookie down and clasped her hands together on the table. “Did Rachel tell you she thinks she’s possessed?”

  “No.” Cara took a drink of milk, hoping it would wet her throat enough so she could get words out properly. She decided not to blame the off-the-wall demonic-possession theory on its rightful originator, for fear of turning her mom against Garren. “But don’t you think it’s weird that she reacted like that?”

  “Her behavior does sound like something out of a horror movie,” her mom said. “It’s also not untypical of mental illness. But my guess is Rachel’s probably acting out, wanting attention, or help.”

  “What kind of help do you think she needs?”

  Her mom gave her a reassuring smile. “Let me call Liz and have a talk with her, okay?”

  Cara choked out a “thanks” and took a bite of her cookie. It tasted like gravel. The small, clear voice in her head insisted that whatever was going on with Rachel was something bigger than even her mom could handle.

  * * *

  Cara didn’t mention her failed attempt to drag Rachel to church when she sat on the floor by her locker with Garren for lunch on Monday. She needed time to sort all this weirdness out on her own.

  Surprisingly, Rachel made it to class every day the following week. Not surprisingly, she still resembled the walking dead whenever Cara saw her. She gave no sign if she was upset about Sunday’s events and ignored everyone but Ethan, including the continued stares from other students and teachers, and all attempts Cara made to speak to her.

  Ethan continued his habit of picking Rachel up at the journalism classroom door when school let out. He would glare in Cara and Garren’s direction as Rachel walked over to meet him. Like he worried they might kidnap her or something.

  * * *

  “You’re scheduled to assist Captain Rick on the Lookout tomorrow,” Garren said when they settled onto the stone wall for lunch one day.

  He offered up her daily apple. She swapped it for a bag of his favorite chips.

  “How did you know?” she asked, and savored the apple as she bit through its skin.

  “The office has the schedule posted with ‘assistant’ on the days you go out.”

  It would have been a while since he’d seen the schedule, unless he’d visited Liberty Charters since they first met. “Have you gone out on a tour?”

  “I’m planning to go tomorrow, if you don’t mind the company.”

  “Of course not.”

  David was the one she really wanted with her when she went out on the water again. But she was glad Garren was up for the experience. Hopefully the transients had moved on. She still couldn’t shake the fear that crept into her soul every time she scanned the ocean’s surface.

  * * *

  Pitch-black water and giant white teeth closed in on her so frequently in Cara’s dreams that night that, come the next morning, she rolled out of bed with her eyes still shut. She tripped over to her curtains. Dark clouds blanketed a dirty gray sky above whitecapped water. Not good conditions for going out on the ocean.

  She grabbed her cell phone from her backpack and called Liberty Charters. Sherry answered after the first ring.

  “Hi, it’s Cara. Just wanted to confirm that this morning’s tour is going to be canceled because of the weather.”

  “Hey, kiddo. Actually, the dark clouds are moving off pretty fast. We’ve told the customers we’ll go out if the weather calms down in the next hour.”

  * * *

  As Sherry predicted, the gray clouds had moved off by the time Cara reached Liberty Charters. Garren waited for her, in the same spot she’d parked in when they’d met so awkwardly that summer. He leaned against the driver’s door of his white Chevy Silverado, hands in the pockets of his jacket, looking like a fashion model or a movie star.

  She took in his magnificent face and statuesque physique. He was undeniably striking. Yet her body still didn’t react at the sight of him in any way other than to give her heart a soft squeeze that made her want to reach out and hug him.

  They walked to the office together. Light blue sky poked holes in several spots of the overcast canopy above them.

  Sherry winked at Cara when she saw her with Garren. “It’s nice to see you’ve made some friends lately, kiddo.”

  Cara shook her head at Sherry to quit with the teasing. “This is Garren. He’s another newcomer.”

  “We’ve met.” Sherry sighed and ogled him like a hormonal teenager.

  Garren shared his charming smile with her.

  Sherry sighed once more, then set two piles of paperwork before them. “Your tour mates will be the Jeffersons, a father and his three sons.” She tapped Cara’s papers with a pen. “There’s been no sign of those transient orcas, and there’ve been plenty of gray sightings, so it should be a good tour.”

  Cara waited for Garren, and they walked side by side down the stairs to the dock. Rick helped Cara on board and handed over life jackets as Garren stepped over the side tube.

  After making sure they’d both fastened their vests properly, Rick turned to Garren. “Nice to have you aboard—G
arrett, is it?” Rick asked.

  “Garren. Nice to be here. I’m looking forward to meeting these grays Cara loves so much.”

  Cara didn’t recall ever mentioning the whales to Garren. Her focus at school was most often on Rachel and David, and on Garren’s peculiarities. Maybe he just assumed she loved the grays since she volunteered to assist so often. Or Rick and Sherry might have clued him in.

  Rick introduced them to the other passengers, who occupied the second and third rows. Cara gave them her usual rundown. Garren stopped at the front seats.

  Cara had avoided the front row on the last tour with David. But she couldn’t avoid it forever. She walked over and sat in the same spot she had on the day she ended up in the water. Garren sat beside her.

  Like the last time, Rick passed on visiting Seagoer’s Cove. He sped toward Armory Bay, where another harbor housed boats that traveled in and out from fishing and whale-watching ventures. The street above the seawall fronting the bay was lined by a long walkway for observers. On the other side of the road, numerous gift and candy shops, water sports stores, and restaurants enticed tourists.

  At street level, weekend visitors looked down at a giant spouting horn that blew seawater high into the air. The onlookers jumped back too late. They’d already been soaked by the unexpected rush of water.

  Near the ocean floor, waves ran beneath lava beds and built up pressure to create the spouts. They were usually only visible when seas were turbulent. This spout must have been a residual effect of the storm that had passed.

  After a few minutes of trolling the area in search of any grays, Rick gave up and headed to Seagoer’s Cove. Cara figured he thought she’d be ready to face it again by now. Hopefully she would be.

  “This is where you fell overboard,” Garren said. She knew he wasn’t being insensitive by saying so. He was just being matter-of-fact.

  “How did you know this was the spot?” she asked. Actually, she wasn’t certain how he even knew she’d fallen overboard in the first place.

  “You’re tensing up.”

  True. She took a deep breath and pulled out her binoculars. Rick slowed the boat and surveyed the water. Garren pointed to a spot to the right, near the cove’s wall, almost exactly where Crossback and Bobbi had approached the boat on her tour with David. Two heart-shaped spouts, one higher than the other, blew into the air.

  The other passengers hooted and snapped pictures. Cara hopped up and focused her binoculars on the grays. Bobbi’s tail flukes rose out of the water and Crossback’s markings showed before her hump raised and she and her baby dove underwater. Cara handed the binoculars to Garren.

  “That was Crossback and Bobbi,” she told him.

  She couldn’t help wishing David was the one beside her, and that she could be free to cuddle close to his side, and then to go somewhere private later, where she could feel the warm softness of his lips. Thoughts of David caused a tickle in her chest that spread throughout her body.

  Just then, Garren gave her a teasing smile that made her think he knew her thoughts had strayed from the whales to something that excited her in an entirely different way. She cleared her throat and looked back toward where the whales had descended.

  “Crossback and Bobbi are a mother and calf that came to the area this spring,” she said, in what she hoped sounded like her normal voice. “They’ll probably be back up within five minutes. You can get a better look with the binoculars.”

  Seconds later, the grays rose out of the water next to the Outlook and spyhopped like they had on the tour when Cara and David had touched Crossback. Cara instinctively glanced around, looking for any sign of the transients. From the surface, there was no sign of any other whales.

  She turned back to the grays and found Garren kneeling before Bobbi, stroking his face. The family of four guys crowded in on Garren’s sides and took turns touching both whales.

  “Your turn,” Garren said to Cara, and made room for her to kneel beside him.

  Cara sank to her knees and ran her hand over Bobbi’s face, while Garren petted his head. The calf blinked like a dog that had been rubbed in just the right spot. It was the first time Cara had ever touched such a young whale. This was every bit as amazing as when she and David had touched Crossback. Except there was no providential connection between her and Garren.

  After petting Bobbi one last time, Garren moved away. The grays dove underwater, Bobbi waving good-bye with his tail. Rick turned the boat around to head back to the harbor. Cara looked once more at the area where they’d seen the grays. She could swear she caught the tip of a gleaming black dorsal fin. When she blinked, it disappeared.

  SEVENTEEN

  Cara was counting on Rachel not being anywhere near her house when there was a chance her mom might drag her to church. Sure enough, Rachel’s car was gone when Cara pulled up that Sunday. Ms. Clark stepped out in her Sunday best to greet Cara as she reached the front porch.

  “I’m sorry, Cara, but Rachel’s not here. Do you want me to … have her get in touch with you?”

  Ms. Clark obviously meant to be polite, but Cara knew there was little chance Rachel would suddenly become open to communication. “It’d be better if I left her a note. Do you mind if I leave one in her room?”

  “Of course not, sweetie.” Ms. Clark opened the door wide for her to enter and turned to face her in the hallway.

  “Rachel doesn’t seem like she’s feeling much better?” Cara asked, shutting the front door behind her.

  Ms. Clark wrung her hands. “She says she is. But she’s still not herself. I’m sure you’ve noticed?”

  Cara nodded.

  “What do you think of Ethan?”

  Cara opened her mouth to say something negative, but didn’t know what to say exactly. Finally she said, “I don’t know him.”

  “I can’t keep Rachel away from him. I’m worried he’s gotten her involved with drugs.”

  “Rachel was tested for drugs, wasn’t she?”

  “She passed all the tests she’s been given. But I can’t help but wonder if some drug isn’t being detected.”

  Drugs might be the best explanation for Rachel’s recent behavior. Or maybe, like Cara’s mom had said, Rachel was just acting out, trying to get attention. But that small, clear voice in Cara’s head told her something completely different was going on.

  Cara shrugged. Ms. Clark bowed her head and continued down the hall. Cara let herself into Rachel’s room and noted that the décor had once again changed since her last visit. Photos no longer covered the vanity mirror. Patches of tape were the only evidence the pictures had ever been there. Rachel had stripped away years of memories between the two of them. Cara’s heart slipped down a notch.

  On the vanity top, Rachel’s makeup and perfume were still pushed off to the side. There were a few new candles—two white, and one blue. The shells and black mirror sat near the center, along with one new item. A silver chalice, similar to ones she’d seen on TV that were used as Communion cups in churches, held a central position on the vanity.

  The items looked regal and ritualistic, hauntingly beautiful. But Cara couldn’t help but see them in a sinister light. A chill tickled her scalp as she mentally checked off one more sign of demonic influence: occult items in living area.

  She dipped her fingers in the white substance that filled one of the shells and touched her fingertip to her tongue. Salt. She plucked a tissue from its box and spat in it. The bitter taste remained in her mouth, so she grabbed another tissue and scrubbed her tongue clean. Then she pulled a soda bottle from her backpack and washed the nasty bits of cotton down her throat with the soothing fizz of carbonation.

  Her gaze fell on the stack of books and magazines on the corner of Rachel’s vanity. The selection was innocent enough, mostly textbooks and assigned English literature. The latest issues of Allure and Seventeen rested on top. But the magazines appeared untouched. The Rachel Cara knew pored over her magazines the moment they arrived.

  Cara set her ba
ckpack down and ran her hands along Rachel’s unmade bed. She shook out the comforter and peeked under the pillow. She checked under the mattress, too. Nothing.

  Rachel’s closet, which was normally a jumbled rainbow of colors, was now organized by shade. Rachel’s white and brighter-colored clothes hung on hangers on the left. Various shades of newer, primarily black and gray tops, hung on the right. Another heap of dark clothing lay on the floor. The items in that pile were pieces of outfits Cara remembered seeing Rachel wear in the past week.

  Garren didn’t say if laundering the clothes after they were sprinkled would eliminate the holy water’s effect. Not that she believed the holy water would have an effect anyway. Digging the bottle from the bottom of her backpack, she kept still for a moment, listening for any sound of Ms. Clark approaching. Too bad there wasn’t a lock on Rachel’s door.

  After a few seconds of silence, Cara opened the bottle and used her thumb to cover the top, as she would to squirt water through a hose. She quickly gave the pile of clothes on the floor a liberal dousing. When she touched them, they felt damp.

  It could take a while for the clothes to dry. Rachel wouldn’t wear them if they were wet or smelled mildewy. But Cara had told Garren she’d do this and she planned to finish what she started. She lightly covered the clothing on the floor, then sprinkled the dark clothes on the right side of the closet, as well as the white and colored tops, though she couldn’t remember seeing Rachel wear anything light or bright since that first lunch with Ethan.

  Working quickly, she sprinkled Rachel’s pants and the sweaters and sweatshirts lining the closet shelf. Thinking it would be overkill and wanting to get this over with before she got caught, she spared Rachel’s underwear and shoes.

  She snuck out of Rachel’s room and down the hall toward the bathroom, which doubled as a laundry room. After she splashed the last of the holy water in the washing machine, she soft-footed back to Rachel’s room and sat on the small stool in front of the vanity.

  Looking in the mirror, Cara watched a mixture of emotions cross her face: first a smirk, then a scowl, a frown, and finally a blank slate, which made the most sense, because she didn’t know if she wanted to laugh, yell, or cry. Here she was in her best friend’s bedroom, performing some loony test to determine whether Rachel was demonically influenced. Meanwhile, that same friend gallivanted around with her oddball boyfriend, not giving Cara a second thought.