The Delusion

by Laura Gallier

  What also blew my mind was the possibility that the same invisible beings preying on humans today had been doing this for thousands of years—maybe since the beginning of time. Our lives on earth come and go, but from what I was seeing, Creepers never stopped hunting people, one generation to the next.

  Did they have an end goal beyond wrecking us? I stewed over that one.

  Some people at school made a big deal out of it being Friday the thirteenth, but trust me, that date is a cultural superstition with zero significance among dark forces. Creepers did the usual—littered the place with their confusing notes and used people’s faults against them. Sometimes Creepers examined every squirmy cord lagging from a person’s head, then let go and moved on to inspect someone else.

  Made me glad I had none.

  Good news for me, people pretty much steered clear of me—Lance and Meagan included. Neither Demise nor Suicide was attached to her today. That felt like a victory.

  It was a good thing I decided to stop off at the upstairs water fountain after school, otherwise I would have missed him. An enormous Watchman stood in front of the big window at the end of the hallway. His waist was higher than most students’ heads.

  He had glistening, caramel-brown skin and wore a thick, titanium-looking breastplate that probably weighed more than my mom’s SUV. His eyes focused upward, as if gazing into an alternate cosmos.

  He was so bright my eyes watered. I stepped toward him, the hallway steadily clearing as students poured into the parking lot. By the time I reached him, I felt like I’d been pumped full of morphine, all warm and happy.

  His shin guards were nearly as tall as my legs.

  He and I were alone in the hallway now. This was my chance.

  “Sir?” I’d never felt so inferior in my life. But I had to try. “I need your help.”

  Nothing.

  “Can you hear me?” I waited. “Please, my school is in trouble. People I care about. I know you can stop the attacks. I’ve seen it.”

  A slight nod of his flawless head, but not at me. At whatever stratosphere he was caught up in.

  I lowered to one knee, my hands clasped and raised. “If you help me, I’ll do anything you ask.”

  He didn’t budge.

  Desperation took over. I got lower, stretched out on my stomach at his feet. “I’ll serve you.”

  Imagine an atomic bomb, an explosion so loud and hot and bright that your teeth rattle and you can’t see, or hear, or feel your limbs. I don’t know exactly what he did to me, only that when I came to, he was gone and I was on my back, a good ten yards from where I’d been lying. I didn’t hurt, but the exhilarating high was gone. It took me a while to stand and a few more minutes to steady myself and walk out of the building.

  On my way home, I gave up on waiting for Ray Anne to contact me and called her instead. “I learned something about Watchmen today.”

  “You did?”

  “They really, really don’t like it when humans bow to them.”

  Saturday morning, I convinced my mom to let me borrow her car and talked Ray Anne into letting me take her out for breakfast. “So,” I said on the way to The Broken Egg, “have you made a decision about prom?” It was a week away.

  “Yes.” She cleared her throat. “I think we should still go together.”

  I tried to keep it cool and not smile too big. Not because I was getting to go to prom, but because I’d be with her when she wore that red dress.

  “I need you to do something, though.” She turned down the music.

  “Okay?”

  “Look me in the face and tell me you’ll never keep anything from me. Like, purposely hide something.”

  Ugh.

  I stopped at a light and let go of the steering wheel to face her. “I don’t want to keep anything from you, Ray Anne.” My way of being honest. Without being honest.

  She didn’t nod or acknowledge my statement at all. Maybe she was on to me, women’s intuition or something. But she left it at that.

  Breakfast was good, and everything was going fine—better than fine—until we left.

  “You have any errands you need to run today?” I wasn’t ready for our time together to be up. “I can drive you.”

  “How about we head toward our school?”

  That threw me.

  “To the woods, where that clearing is.”

  “What for?”

  “I want to see the water well.”

  My heart went from beating to banging. The thought of her ever drinking from it . . .

  “You said the bucket miraculously fills, right?”

  I opened my mouth, but nothing came out at first. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “Why not?”

  Slow exhale. “The fewer people who know where to find it, the better.”

  “I won’t tell.”

  On the off chance that she would drop it, I didn’t say anything. A minute later . . .

  “You don’t trust me?” Her eyes weren’t straying from my face.

  I had to put an end to this. I pulled over and shoved the car into park. “I need you to trust me on this, Ray Anne. You can’t go near there. No one can. Ever.”

  “But I only want to—”

  “Please. Don’t ask me again. Okay? It’s serious.”

  Most people would have copped an attitude at that point. Ray Anne just got quiet.

  I pulled back onto the road. I didn’t like being the cause of Ray Anne’s heavy-eyed look of disappointment, but I’d rather see that than risk seeing her in a casket with her eyes glued shut.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  WHEN I WOKE on Sunday morning, I found a bright-yellow package on my nightstand, a milk chocolate bunny inside. My mom gave me one every Easter.

  I got dressed and headed to church.

  Yes, church.

  I parked my motorcycle in a shady spot under an oak tree, across the street from the big sanctuary where Marshall’s funeral had been held. The church that was supposed to have someone call me but never did.

  I watched the people, mostly coming, some going, all dressed in their Sunday best. I wished I could capture people’s shackles on camera so I could show Ray Anne how wrong she was—not to rub her face in it, but to get her to stop pushing her faith on me. I didn’t resent that she believed; I just wanted her to accept that I didn’t. And this stakeout helped prove my case.

  Yes, there were glowing people at the church, admittedly a higher number than usual. But there were lots of shackled people too, carrying Bibles, shaking hands with the smiling ladies at the doors, making an effort to sit through church just like the Lights.

  I’d started referring to shackle-free people as Lights, by the way. Just made things easier.

  I also noticed that within families, some members were shackled and others weren’t. There were shackled husbands whose wives were Lights and the other way around. Also shackled young people whose parents weren’t, and occasionally shackled parents whose kids were Lights.

  Clearly being a Light was not inherited.

  I sat there spying, thinking about how, to everyone else, there was no difference from one person to the next. But through my eyes, it was night and day.

  Freedom and slavery.

  Then there was me. No shackle. No light. An exception to a rule I still couldn’t figure out.

  The church marquee read: “Prayer Changes Everything.”

  But how? Speak a request into the universe, and the universe processes it and actually rearranges itself for you? Hey, I’d try just about anything if it meant gaining an advantage over evil. So there, alone in the shade, I gave the prayer thing a whirl. Even bowed my head.

  “Whatever or whoever is listening right now, if anyone is listening, I ask that you keep the Creepers off my mom, Jess, Meagan, Ashlyn—the people I care about.” I felt like a moron, like I was baring my soul to my handlebars. “And please stop the suicides. The end.”

  The next day, the vibe at my school was differ
ent, like a heightened intensity was stirring among the Creepers. There were more of them around, if you can imagine that, and they were all spastic and restless and linking up to twice as many people as usual.

  I saw Jess in the hallway, still bound to Regret.

  So much for prayer changing things.

  My mom came home around six o’clock in a great mood and asked me to go to dinner. I wasn’t expecting that. We sat at a booth at a Mexican place and couldn’t stop laughing about a guy who was singing in the mariachi band. He kept shaking his hips . . .

  Guess you had to be there.

  Anyway, I was trying to enjoy myself but battling the urge to warn my mom yet again. Such a helpless feeling, knowing someone important to you is being terrorized by evil on a regular basis—and is completely clueless about it.

  After finishing our meal by plowing through a batch of sopaipillas, she pushed her plate to the side and leaned on the table. No more laughter. “Are you doing okay, Owen? I need you to be honest with me.”

  I put my fork down. “Sure.”

  She gave a dejected nod, the same kind I gave her when I knew she was lying. “You’ve made some outlandish statements lately, and you seem on edge. And I’ve noticed Lance and the guys aren’t coming around. What’s going on? I know Walt and Marshall’s deaths were difficult for you, but what else is it?”

  I wanted to tell her everything, to collapse into her arms like boys do with their mothers when they’re little, but I couldn’t. Telling the truth would only make things worse.

  “Is this about your father?” Her tone was high and soft.

  I stared at her. Was she kidding? This was the only time in my entire life that she’d ever brought him up. I wasn’t about to miss this opportunity. “I want to know about him, Mom. Anything.”

  She looked away and tipped her wineglass at our server.

  “There’s not much to tell you. I thought Robert was a good man, that he loved me and we’d be together for life, but . . .” That’s all it took for her eyes to well up.

  I waited for the server to refill her glass. “I don’t understand, Mom. Why would he leave just ’cause you got pregnant?”

  She chewed the inside of her cheek. “Owen, do you know what I want from you? For you?”

  I shook my head.

  “I want you to get back what was taken from your childhood. A happy family. A marriage that lasts. Children who look up to you, grow up under the same roof as you.” She dabbed a napkin under her eyes.

  I sipped my tea, then took a turn. “You know what I want from you, Mom?” She put her glass down after having lifted it halfway to her mouth. “Quit giving in to negative thoughts that pile up until you cave.” I purposely avoided looking at her glass. “And quit drinking. It’s a worthless addiction.”

  Her chin sank into her chest, and she got way too emotional for a public setting. “Don’t you think I’ve tried?”

  That’s when I decided I’d go for it after all. “You’ll never get better until you realize that your struggles aren’t just with yourself. You’re being oppressed, intentionally made to fall down and fail.”

  “You think Frank is holding me back?”

  “No, Mom.” I moved my plate out of the way and leaned forward. “This has nothing to do with Frank. It’s something else. Even worse . . .”

  “What?”

  “I told you before. I call them Creepers.” She squirmed in her seat. “I think they might be demons.”

  That’s when I lost her.

  “Don’t you dare bring that stuff up with me!” She asked the waiter for a to-go cup, her way of letting me know the conversation was over.

  I drove us home, hoping we wouldn’t get busted for having open alcohol in the car. By the time we turned onto our street, she’d put the whole experience behind her and was quizzing me to see if I knew the meaning of the Latin root word acidus.

  Duh. It’s where we get the English word acid.

  When we pulled up to the house, Ray Anne’s mom was knocking on our door. My mom stuffed her Styrofoam cup into my hand, then approached her.

  “Hey, Susan.” Mrs. Greiner smiled, then after some small talk she said, “I’m hosting a prayer meeting at my house at ten o’clock tomorrow morning. Some moms are getting together to pray for the Masonville High students and our community. I realize your workload may conflict, but I want you to know you’re invited.”

  Really? Hadn’t Ray Anne told her mom not to bother inviting my mother?

  My mom pulled off a polite smile. “Thanks for the invitation. I’ll be there if I can.”

  Yeah, right.

  More small talk, then Mrs. Greiner left, and my mom and I went inside our graffiti-stained house. I flipped on the TV but kept the volume down so she could hear me now that she’d gone into the kitchen.

  “Mom, I know you’d never go to that in the morning, but just in case you feel obligated, let me assure you, it’s a total waste of your time. I know for a fact that prayer doesn’t work.”

  My mouth hadn’t closed yet when my dog started barking like I’d unleashed a herd of cats into our living room. Then I understood.

  And jumped up.

  A Creeper charged at me through the wall, stopping so close to my face that I had to lean back to read its infected scar:

  faithless

  The putrid thing began to circle me. I froze, hands up, determined not to freak out. What was it trying to do? Even though I didn’t have cords or chains, around and around it went, eyeing me like a wolf sniffing a slab of meat, frothing at its filthy mouth.

  I didn’t move—until it let out an ear-shattering growl. I couldn’t help it—instinct kicked in, and I sprinted out the door to my motorcycle.

  I don’t think I touched the brake one time on the way to Ray Anne’s. I ran to her porch and pressed the doorbell twice, straining to catch my breath. But I gasped again when I saw Faithless charging up the driveway, coming for me.

  I called Ray Anne’s name and pounded the door with both fists. It opened, and I practically jumped into her arms. Faithless got to the doorway, then stopped suddenly like it had slammed into a concrete wall. It wouldn’t—or couldn’t—trespass into Ray Anne’s light.

  She shut the door, and I clung to her the whole time that I explained things. Had her parents overheard me, I think they probably would have called 911. Or the guys in white coats.

  “What were you doing when the Creeper showed up?” Ray Anne acted like she was an investigator tasked with solving a crime.

  “I was talking to my mom.”

  “What did you say right before it appeared?”

  I had to think about it. “I told her I know for a fact that prayer doesn’t work.”

  She gave me that stare I was getting to know too well. “Way to go, Owen.”

  “What?”

  “Don’t you get it?” She dropped her hands onto her appealing hips.

  It took me a second. “You think I summoned the thing?”

  “Your comment led it right to you.”

  It was possible, I guessed.

  But the next day, the impossible happened.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  I KNEW IT WAS ONLY A matter of time before Faithless came back—maybe even teamed up with Murder—which didn’t help my insomnia one bit. And for the record, I determined to be way more careful about what I let come out of my mouth.

  I realized that if being faithless was evil, it had to mean faith was good, but I couldn’t help that I didn’t have anything to put my faith in. The Watchmen hadn’t exactly proven dependable. And God? Even less so.

  When I got to school on Tuesday morning, I learned there’d been another suicide. A freshman kid who was in the marching band. Thankfully I hadn’t known him, but I still took the news hard. Another casualty of an invisible war.

  I felt like I’d failed him somehow.

  As an eerie twist, “number fifteen” was ranked fifteenth in his class.

  There was talk about yet another sui
cide, but it turned out to be a false alarm. A girl was really sick, but rumor somehow had it that she’d hung herself. How the facts can become that twisted is beyond me, but then again, we’re talking about high school.

  I saw Meagan in the hallway, and Lance was a distance away with his back to her, talking to someone. I seized the moment.

  “Hey, Meagan, how have you been?”

  She was Creeper-free, and on top of that, had a cheerful grin on her face. I hadn’t expected that.

  “You look . . . better,” I told her.

  She grinned bigger.

  “Thanks for coming by the other day and talking to me.”

  “I just wanted to help.”

  She put her hand on my shoulder. “You did, Owen.”

  I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt that relieved. Had I actually managed to ward off Suicide?

  Sure enough, Demise came creeping along the ceiling above our heads, alerted to our conversation through that maddening eavesdropping ability Creepers had. And as if one wasn’t bad enough, there were now two Creepers spying down on us, both named Demise.

  Still, Meagan seemed much happier today. Her old self.

  I stepped closer to her. “You know if you ever need anything—”

  “What’s this?” I hadn’t noticed Lance approaching. “I thought I told you to stay away from us.”

  “I was just saying hi.” I cleared my throat. “And reminding her that she’s an awesome person with an amazing future. Lots to look forward to in life.”

  Lance looked me over like I had a skin disease, then grinned at Meagan. “I know who’s got my vote for most likely to succeed—at being weird.”

  I don’t know if Meagan stood up for me or not—I walked away at that point.

  Ray Anne was ecstatic when I told her about Meagan’s improvement.

  After that, the day carried on like a sad song. Creepers wrote on everything like psychopaths. There wasn’t a wall, a row of lockers, or a window left untainted by their vicious black words.

  I was on my way to fourth period when a refreshing scent blasted through the hallway. I looked but didn’t see anything. I ran up two flights of stairs, stopping halfway to type out a text to Ray Anne: Watchmen are here. I was sure of it.