Still no Creeper. For now.
My mom and I did the usual—acted like there was no conflict between us and mostly kept to ourselves. She’d spoken with my coach the night before and found out Marshall’s casket would be closed. Given that fact, I decided I’d go ahead and attend the funeral and endure the pallbearer thing. I gave my mother one condition: Ray Anne and her mom would be there, and I wanted to sit by them.
Yes, I wanted Ray Anne near me because I really, really liked her, but also because I’d seen the way she repelled Creepers. And I needed some repellent right about then.
I kept looking outside while getting dressed.
“What is it, girl?”
Daisy remained facing the window, ears pinned back, eyes unflinching. I rubbed her head, but she wouldn’t relax.
It was time to go.
I was headed down the driveway toward my mom’s SUV when I noticed a black Escalade parked across the street. The dark-tinted driver’s-side window lowered, and I immediately stopped. What is he doing here?
“Hello, Owen,” Dr. Bradford called to me. “Hope you don’t mind—I come here sometimes. The house brings such fond memories of your grandparents.”
Of course I minded. It was weird.
He straightened his black tie. “Can I give you a ride to the funeral?”
“I’m going with my mom.”
He nodded, smiling politely, but I could still see the disappointment on his face.
“You ever need anything, Owen, I’m here for you.”
I could only bring myself to shrug. He smiled again, waved, and drove away. I watched him go, trying to shake off the uneasy feeling crawling up my spine.
Finally my mom exited the house. I lowered myself into the passenger seat of her vehicle and flipped on the air-conditioning while she talked in a flirty voice on the phone with Frank. Gross.
We were backing out of the driveway when I glanced up. The word that flew out of my mouth shocked even my mom.
“Owen!” She slammed the brakes and elbowed me. “What’s the matter?”
“It’s . . .” I took slow, controlled breaths. “Nothing. Never mind.” She wouldn’t believe me.
“Don’t scare me like that. And watch your mouth.”
“Just drive, Mom. Please?”
She drank like a sailor but never allowed me to talk like one. If she could have seen what I’d seen, though, she would have been more understanding. That Creeper, Murder, had climbed up our house and was clinging to the brick next to my second-story bedroom window like a venomous insect. The word liar was written above the glass.
Had it been crouched up there all night? My cold belly churned.
My mom and I didn’t talk the entire drive. Just as well; it gave me time to think. Hopefully Ray Anne would come over later. Maybe she could run the Creeper off. If only I knew how to call on some Watchmen to exterminate the thing. Their neglect was troubling. Inexcusable, really.
Marshall’s funeral was at a huge, plush church with more plasma screens than a sports bar. Masses of people were there, just like at Walt’s ceremony. We met up with Ray Anne and Mrs. Greiner, then sat in the middle section together. It was calming to be around some glowing, chainless people. I saw more of them scattered here and there around the sanctuary.
Some preacher took the stage in a trendy dark-gray suit with a skinny black tie. He was baby faced, with blond highlights in his spiky hair, and truth be told, probably making a fortune off that enormous church. And he was glowing.
Maybe this whole thing is about being one of those churchgoin’ types. Certainly Ray Anne’s family fit that description. But how would that work? Follow the rules, endure mindless traditions and guilt trips, drop a few sizable checks in the offering plate, and suddenly your shackle falls off?
Not likely.
Two girls sang the saddest song I’d ever heard, then Marshall’s relatives shared stories about him. All three females next to me were bawling. I struggled to hold it in. Marshall and I hadn’t exactly been close, but he had been my friend. And his death felt personal.
One thing was certain—funerals are miserable, especially when the occasion is your fault.
The preacher stepped up to the podium again, but it was hard to pay attention. For one thing, Jess was there, sitting next to Dan, staring me down the entire time. We still hadn’t cleared the air since the whole convenience-store debacle. And why was she still with him, after the way he had hurt her at lunch?
Second, I kept looking at Marshall’s devastated parents. For a moment, I considered confessing my crime and begging their forgiveness. But the moment passed.
And third, the casket.
I wanted the preacher to hurry up so I could get my pallbearer duties over with.
What were the odds? Me, the guy who led Marshall to the fatal water, about to escort him again, toward burial.
I pulled one of the envelopes from a little box attached to the back of the chair in front of me and started aimlessly folding it into squares.
“Allow me to remind you,” the preacher said, “of what the Bible says in Ephesians, the sixth chapter and twelfth verse. It says that in this life, our fight isn’t with other people, but against the wicked spiritual forces in the heavenly, unseen world—the rulers, authorities, and cosmic powers of this dark age.”
The hairs on the back of my neck rubbed against my shirt collar.
“That’s why verse thirteen tells us to put on God’s armor, so that when the evil day comes, we can resist and withstand the enemy’s attacks.”
“That’s what I’ve been talking about,” Ray Anne whispered.
It was the closest description yet of what I’d been witnessing.
The preacher asked us to bow our heads. I complied. My mom kept hers up. He prayed, then the other pallbearers and I came forward. We’d been instructed to carry the casket down the center aisle and out the front of the church.
I hoisted up my end of the coffin, and grief grabbed hold of me, compressing my insides, pressuring me to snap. I knew by now that heartbreak is more than figurative—sadness physically injures the body. And there’s no quick way to medicate the wound. Well, unless you turn to mind-numbing addictions, but that was for lowlifes.
I had a choice: drown in despair or cling to determination. I sided with determination. And if I ever figured out how to dispel Creepers and free people, I’d never stop doing it. That was my vow, a kind of memorial in my soul to Walt and Marshall.
We made our descent down the aisle. It was twice as long as I’d thought and was lined with row after row of dejected, teary-eyed mourners. Under a sunny sky, we slid the coffin into the glistening black hearse, then I watched an elderly man with shaky hands shut the door. An old man. Something Marshall would never become.
I turned my back on the hearse and tried not to think about it—how Marshall’s body was about to be six feet under, beyond the reach of sunlight, oxygen, or human touch. Forever.
I hated myself all over again.
My mom turned onto our street, and I leaned forward, straining to look at our house. Murder was still there, towering, proud, on top of the roof now. And he wasn’t alone. My mom pulled into the garage, and I hurried to the driveway, looking up. Accuser, my mom’s assailant, was with Murder.
Some tag team.
Ray Anne had agreed to come over, but she wanted to change first. I drove my mom’s SUV to her house and waited—no way her parents would let her ride on my motorcycle. I used the downtime to make a phone call. The receptionist answered, and I asked if I could talk to the man who’d just spoken at Marshall’s funeral.
“Pastor Newcomb,” she said. “I’ll transfer you.”
His assistant answered, and I repeated my request.
“Okay, what is this regarding?”
“Just some questions.”
“Give me a second, please.” She hummed a high-pitched melody. “I’m sorry, he doesn’t have availability for at least five weeks. Are you a member here?”<
br />
“No. I was Marshall’s friend.”
“So you’re in high school?”
“Yes.” Never mind that I hardly went anymore.
“I tell you what. How about I have Scott call you? Our student director?”
I reluctantly agreed and gave her my number. For all I knew, Scott was shackled.
Waiting in the car, it didn’t take long to relax into the headrest and let my eyes drift shut, drained inside and out from back-to-back funerals. Naturally, when Ray Anne’s mother tapped on my window, I jumped. Then rolled it down.
“We’d love to have you and your mother over for dinner tonight. What do you say?”
My mom and I had never been anyone’s dinner guests before. “Thanks, Mrs. Greiner. I’ll check with her.” I was pretty sure she’d pass.
Ray Anne eventually got in the car, still puffy eyed and sniffling. “I hate funerals.”
“Not as much as I do.”
She fastened her seat belt, then pulled a new pack of Mentos spearmint gum from her purse and handed it to me.
“My favorite. How’d you know?”
She smiled. “You had some the night we went out.” I smiled back at her.
“How’s your mom?” she said.
“My mom? Fine. Why?” I managed to peel my eyes away from Ray Anne’s long legs and make the turn off her street.
“She seemed pretty uncomfortable today.”
“Yeah. Church weirds her out.”
“Why?” Ray Anne could never resist probing.
“Her parents. In public, they were devout, religious people. At home, really abusive. At least that’s what she says.”
“Oh. That’s terrible.”
“Yeah, I don’t think . . .”
I would have let my statement go if she hadn’t stared at me with those blue eyes, pulling it out of me. “I don’t think I could ever become religious. I mean, I don’t mind doing good things for people, and I could probably sit through church once in a while. But I could never see myself being a person who prays before meals and goes around talking about God all the time, like his existence is a reality. I doubt that’s why you glow, but if it is, then there’s not much hope for me. And seriously no hope for my mother.”
“Well, maybe if you’d—”
“Religion is a farce, Ray Anne. A myth invented to give people hope. False hope. I’m the type of person who needs proof—reliable evidence, not wishful thinking.”
“Funny, you of all people, needing more proof.”
“Is it too much to ask that God would prove himself?”
She looked away but didn’t mince words. “Sounds to me like what you really want from God is an apology.”
“What?”
“For all the bad that’s happened. Especially to your mom. And you.”
The urge to get defensive shot up in me like a rocket, but I managed to diffuse it. “I suppose if God poked his head through the clouds and apologized to me, I’d accept that as proof of his existence.”
She shook her head.
We turned into my neighborhood, and I caught her up on things—Walt’s shocking appearance the day before and how Murder had been tracking me ever since.
“Why do you think it’s after you?”
I never intended to keep feeding Ray Anne lies, but . . .
“I don’t have a clue. All I know is he’s on my roof right now, along with another one called Accuser. I thought maybe you could come over and . . .”
“What? You think I’m, like, Creeper kryptonite?”
I grinned. “Something like that.”
“I’m here to help, but I am not climbing on your roof.”
I loved that she was keeping a sense of humor. Mine had all but shriveled up and died.
I pulled up to my house. Ray Anne opened the pack of gum she’d gotten me and shoved a piece in her mouth before handing me one.
“That was interesting today,” I said, “the pastor’s comments. About forces of wickedness.”
“I’m telling you, that’s what’s going on, Owen.” She chomped down on her gum twice as fast as I did.
“What do you know about it?”
She sighed. “Well, it’s not like I know everything. My church hardly talks about it. But I do know evil has been defeated.”
“Really?” It took great restraint not to belly laugh. “Could’ve fooled me.”
She quit chewing, stared me down, then pulled the fluorescent gum from her mouth. “Here.”
“You—want me to hold your gum?” I wrapped it in a Kleenex.
She was out of the car already, charging up my driveway, mumbling something. Praying, I assumed.
I wondered how brave she would be if she could actually see what she was up against. I followed but not as fast. The two Creepers began to stir, bumping into each other.
I caught up and watched her, how her eyes scanned the rooftop. I could have stared at her all day.
“What’s happening now?” she asked.
I glanced at the Creepers. “They look agitated.”
“Good.”
She took a big step forward, and they hissed. Another step, and they scurried to the edge of the roof, their heads facing the opposite direction from their decrepit bodies.
“Now?” She was amazing.
“They seem really bothered by you. I think they’re leaving.”
Murder and Accuser did an eerie maneuver, arching and contorting their backs, then fell backward and floated down. Their nasty feet made contact with the grass, but instead of running, they sank into the earth up to their waists, their torsos and heads still above ground. Then they defied more laws of nature by traveling backward in the opposite direction from how they were facing, until they were gone.
“Have they left?” Ray Anne was wide eyed, fully engrossed in what was happening.
“No.” I couldn’t resist. I stepped back, shielded my head. “They . . . they’re coming! Right at you!”
I thought she’d run. Instead that girl stepped even closer to my house and planted her feet apart, shoving her arms straight out like a cop stopping traffic.
“No weapon formed against me will prosper!” She yelled it twice. “What are they doing now?”
I covered my mouth, exploding on the inside.
“They’re trembling, aren’t they?” She raised her fists in the air like a boxing-ring champion. “Aren’t they?”
I was laughing too hard to talk.
“What’s going on?” she huffed, dropping her hands onto her hips.
I finally came clean and told her she’d run them off minutes ago.
“Next time Creepers come crawling, don’t call me.” She turned away, only mildly mad as best as I could tell. I turned her around and hugged her.
Man, it felt good.
My mother actually agreed to go to Ray Anne’s for dinner, but I’d asked her in front of Ray Anne, so she pretty much had to say yes. She even brought a loaf of freshly baked bread. Store bought, but still warm.
Mrs. Greiner ushered us into her home like the star of an HGTV show, proud to show off her small but well-decorated house. My mom did the half-smile thing, looking uncomfortable. She was allergic to kindhearted women. Don’t ask me why.
There was quite a spread on the table. Place mats, cloth napkins, covered dishes. Ray Anne didn’t seem to think much of it.
Mr. Greiner barged into the room like a cannonball, his voice loud and enthusiastic. “Well, hello! I’m glad you could join us.” His smile was on par with Santa’s. My mom glared at me like I’d forced her into this. Which I kind of had.
Ray Anne stood by her parents for a moment, and there it was again, a splash of that sweet scent I’d smelled the first time I’d come over.
We took our seats around the table, and when I finally got my napkin unwound, my set of silverware crashed to the floor. Nice.
About the time Mr. Greiner started raving about his wife’s irresistible twice-baked potatoes, the unbelievable fragrance hit me
again.
“What?” Ray Anne tapped me with her foot under the table.
“Nothing.” I didn’t feel comfortable announcing that, as best as I could tell, when a glowing family comes together, they give off a really spectacular scent.
Mr. Greiner offered to pray over the meal, then they all joined hands, reaching toward my mom and me. It was the third time in five minutes my mom made her uncomfortable face—the second was when I’d dropped my silverware.
The food was delicious. Pot roast and carrots cooked to perfection. Once we got past the heavyhearted discussion about our friends’ funerals, there was lots of small talk. At one point, Mrs. Greiner mentioned her deceased son, Lucas, and Ray Anne narrowed and rolled her eyes at her mother. I didn’t get it. Then the subject changed, and my mom contributed to the conversation better than I’d thought she would. Prom came up. “Owen, you already have a date, right?”
“Um, no, Mom. That fell through.”
“You know, Ray Anne doesn’t have a date either.” Mrs. Greiner grinned like a kid who’d just found a chocolate bar. She clarified that several guys had asked Ray Anne, but she’d turned them all down for one reason or another.
It took all of about fifteen seconds for my unruly mom and Mrs. Manners to start giggling back and forth, making plans like Ray Anne and I couldn’t think for ourselves.
“So how about it?” Mom looked back and forth between Ray Anne and me.
“It’s only two weeks away,” Ray Anne said. “I don’t have a dress.”
“What about that one at the mall you liked?” Mrs. Greiner was already reaching for her wallet. “You could buy that one.”
I rarely saw my mom so happy, but I was still annoyed. It wasn’t the idea of an evening with Ray Anne that bothered me. I was totally up for that. But a stiff tux, crowded dance floor, and Creeper-ridden prom scene? No thanks.
“What do you say, guys?” My mom practically mouthed the word yes.
“Sounds great,” I said.
“Yeah,” Ray Anne said.
Mrs. Greiner burst into applause, and my mom bounced in her chair.
Whatever.
Seconds later, Ray Anne and I were out the door, on our way to the mall. Even if I had known what was about to happen, there would have been no way to prepare myself.
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