Graffiti

by J. Fallenstein

  “The army!” Tony bursts out angrily. “They told me they’d take me, ROTC. Then I get one, two bad grades and they take back their offer. Bunch of liars!”

  Jeez, no wonder he seems so angry all the time. “Were you supposed to maintain a certain grade point average?” I ask, tentatively.

  He rolls his eyes, and his face reddens. “They told me I was in! And then they take it away!”

  “Tony . . . ” Patricia strokes his arm.

  Tony shakes off her hand. “People think they can just make a promise and oops!”—he throws his hands up—“change their minds. Well, in this life there are consequences.”

  “It’s okay, T-bear,” Patricia says, leaning in close to his face. It looks like this could turn into another epic makeout session, so I get up to leave. Just then Kasey’s red car pulls up.

  Kasey walks in. She’s been crying again.

  “Hi!” I say.

  “Hey, Lu.”

  “Have you been crying? What’s wrong?” I can’t help but ask.

  Kasey wipes her cheeks. “It’s nothing—I’m fine.”

  I smile at her. “Okay. Well, um, can I talk to you?”

  “Sure.”

  “In private?” I nod at the lovebirds on the couch.

  “Let’s go to my room,” she says.

  We walk to her bedroom, and I pull the door closed and stand with my back to it.

  Kasey sits on her bed with her million teddy bears. Make that a million minus one, I think.

  “Kasey. I know,” I say. My heart pounds in my chest.

  “You know?” Kasey says. “But how? I haven’t told anybody.”

  “The cherry pie, the teddy bear, Alex’s attack, that note on your car. It’s not a curse. It’s you.”

  “Lucia? What are you talking about?”

  “The bridge. The curse. You have been doing all those things,” I say.

  Kasey shakes her head. “Um, no, I haven’t done anything.”

  I keep my voice low so Patricia and Tony can’t hear. “Kasey, listen to me. I am talking to you first because Mrs. Whyse at school knows something’s up, and she’s going to go to the police if you don’t turn yourself in.”

  “The police!” Kasey jumps up from the bed. “Are you crazy?”

  “I’m not crazy,” I say as calmly as I can. She throws her hands up and plops down on the bed so hard that half of the bears bounce up and fall off. I take a large teddy bear and hold it as a shield against . . . I don’t know what. But I feel better holding it.

  “I want to keep the police out of this,” I say. “Kasey, it all points to you. You don’t want Drew to break up with you, so you made up this curse and you’ve been scaring Annie and Alex. You put the red goo on the mirror at school; it was cherry pie filling, wasn’t it? I saw you bake that pie. You drove the dark truck that tried to run Alex off the road. You said so yourself—it was Drew’s uncle’s and you were driving it that night!” I look down at the teddy bear in my hands. “And you stabbed the bear and left it on Drew’s doorstep. I don’t know if you had anything to do with Isobel and Henry’s accident, or why you would do something like that before Drew broke up with you, but if you did it, Kasey, the cops will find out.”

  She stares at me with big eyes.

  “But . . .” Her voice shakes. “There was something wrong with my brakes. The mechanic said so. Why would I cut my own brakes?”

  I take a breath and say in a very nice, soft voice, “Look at you. You’re still crying about him leaving.”

  “You’re wrong, Lucia, about everything. I am sad Drew’s going, but I’m going down to visit him in the spring, and he’ll be back in May.” She gives me a look that I’ve never seen before.

  “No, Kasey, you’re way too attached to Drew, and it’s making you crazy.”

  She rises and points her finger in my face. “You’re dead wrong. I’m not too attached, but I am attached. Plus, I’ve been crying out of happiness.” She turns her hand and wiggles her ring finger. Circling it is a thin, gold band with the smallest diamond I’ve ever laid eyes on.

  “What is that?” I ask.

  “A promise ring.”

  “A promise to what?”

  “A promise to stay together forever.”

  I drop the teddy bear. Did her plan actually work?

  chapter 7

  Thursday

  The next morning is misty, and I try not to look at the bridge as I hurry past it on my way to school. It’s not a curse, it’s Kasey. Still, something makes me turn my head: a dark figure on the bridge, behind the heavy fog. I turn away. This is what happens when you let your thoughts run amok.

  “Did you talk to your friend?” Mrs. Whyse asks when I come into her office.

  “Yes,” I say. “But she’s still not ready to come in. Can you give me until the end of the day? I have one more thing to check.”

  Mrs. Whyse sighs. “I just don’t think that’s a good idea. Someone else could get hurt.”

  “No one will get hurt. My friend doesn’t even need the curse anymore—she got what she wanted,” I blurt.

  “Lucia,” Mrs. Whyse says, “an overwrought friend is one thing, but if there’s any chance this curse is real, you need to stay away from the bridge.”

  “But I thought you said—”

  “It’s for your own good.” She raises her eyebrows.

  “It’s not a curse, though! It’s my cousin, Kasey: she’s behind all of this, and I can get her to come in.”

  Mrs. Whyse pauses for a long moment, clearly thinking over what I said. Sighing, she gives in and says, “Okay. Five o’clock. But that’s it, no more time.”

  ***

  I’m back in the library trying to see if I can find any more information. I’ve been staring at the articles for a while when the librarian steps out of her office. “Are you okay?” she asks.

  “Billy Jones,” I say. “You said there wasn’t a curse until later. What did you mean?”

  “Well . . . all this nonsense about curses didn’t really pick up until this year. Sure, some weird things happened, like trains getting stuck and the accident with Henry and Isobel. But nothing like what’s been going on this fall—the note in the women’s bathroom, Alex’s run-in with the black truck, and Mrs. Whyse tells me someone left a stabbed stuffed animal at a student’s house! And now”—she shakes her head in disgust—“people really believe there’s a curse.”

  “Both Isobel and Henry said they saw a man on the bridge,” I say. “How do you explain that?”

  “They were in shock. People in shock imagine things. They knew about the old engineer’s story—everyone in town does—and that’s what must have come to mind. Henry had whiplash and Isobel had a concussion.”

  “But—”

  She holds up her hands, not in surrender but in protest. “Look, I’ve lived here all my life,” she says. “This is the work of someone who is a little off-kilter and has a bone to pick.”

  I close my eyes. Does Kasey really have that much of a bone to pick?

  “Anything else?” the librarian asks. “We’ve got some great horror books you could read if you like scary stuff: Dracula, Frankenstein, even some Stephen King.”

  I walk to the door and wave. “No, thanks, I’ve got enough of that in real life.”

  Somehow it all comes back to the bridge, I think. I feel sick because it’s the last place I want to go, but I have to go there in order to figure this out.

  I make it through my last three classes and then head out to the bridge. I manage two steps before the planks wobble and I have to grab the iron handrail. It’s only ten or so steps to the middle. Even in the fall chill, sweat pours from my face and runs down my neck. I take another tentative step, but the bridge seems to sway and my legs go weak.

  I can’t do it.

  I climb back over the barrier. I head down the grassy embankment, but just like in my dream, a force pushes my feet forward and, just like last time, I’m skidding down the wet hill toward the deep, rushing
river. I accidentally slip and slide down the bank into the water. The river gurgles and rushes right below my shoulders, just inches from my head, as I jam my heel against a stone. I’m able to stop and take a long, slow breath. I turn my head slightly, and then I see it.

  Far in the corner under the bridge in gold letters, someone has written Cleo & Mark Antony, one heart, ’til death do us part.

  Cleo. Someone must have finished the paint job that I saw earlier this week. As I pull myself out of the water, I put all my energy into trying to figure out who this Cleo is. Then it hits me: Cleo, as in Cleopatra . . . it must be Kasey! She has an Egyptian box—Cleopatra must be a weird nickname for her or something. But I pause mid-thought as I try to fit the rest of the pieces together. Something isn’t adding up here—Who is Mark Antony?

  ***

  For the second time in a week, I get home soaking wet. Kasey looks up from her book when I get to the porch.

  She barely nods. “Still think I’m out to get people?” she asks.

  “Cleo?” I ask.

  She gives me a confused look. “Who?”

  “The box,” I say. “With the Egyptian stuff on it. Cleopatra, that’s your nickname, right?

  “Mine? No, that’s Patricia. Apparently Tony calls her Cleo, as in Cleo-Patricia, so he got her that Egyptian-themed box or something.” She rolls her eyes. “Corny, right?”

  One heart, ’til death do us part. “So Cleopatra and Mark Antony . . . are Patricia and Tony?”

  She shrugs and gets up to walk back into the duplex. “I guess. Like I said, pretty corny. I have to get go—”

  “Wait! One question—didn’t you tell me Patricia got kicked out of her house?”

  “Yeah,” she says. “Her mom didn’t like Tony, but Patricia promised Tony she wouldn’t break up with him. Something happened, but I don’t know what. Anyway, she got thrown out because of it.”

  Patricia promised Tony. I saw how angry he got when he was thinking about the military breaking their promise to him. And his heated reaction to Kasey and Drew’s breakup definitely seemed a bit strange. Apparently he has a problem with other people breaking their promises too . . .

  Suddenly—finally—everything starts to make sense. It’s not a curse . . . but maybe it’s not Kasey either. Maybe Tony is the one behind these attacks! I already know that Patricia didn’t do anything—at least there was no way that she could have damaged Kasey’s brakes or brought the teddy bear to Drew’s house. Besides, she’s so enamored with Tony that she probably can’t even see how crazy he can be. But before I say anything, I have to be sure it’s really him.

  chapter 8

  Thursday Night

  Mom beeps at me as she pulls into the driveway. She gets out, and I can tell right away she’s tired because her hair is totally flat and her makeup is smudged under her eyes. Mom, raccoon flight attendant, home at last.

  “Hi, Mom!” I call and give her a hug. I am glad she’s home, but I’m not sure how I’ll explain all that’s happened.

  “Did you have a good trip?” I ask as I follow her back into the house. I sit down at the table while she puts the teakettle on.

  “Yeah. I guess. We hit a storm so I didn’t sleep much. Had some great sushi, though. Oh! And I got you this.” She pulls out a bunch of Japanese candy and a necklace. Why would I need a necklace? She knows I don’t take off the eagle pendant, doesn’t she? It was in Dad’s hands, on his key ring, when they found him. The truck must have stalled on the bridge, and he tried to start it.

  I rub the pendant between my fingers. I like to think it keeps part of his spirit always near my heart. Maybe this is Mom’s way of trying to help me move on? “Thanks,” I force myself to say.

  “So, anything interesting happen around here?” Mom asks.

  Um . . . “Not much.” I look at the clock and swallow the lump in my throat. Mrs. Whyse said I had until 5:00 today, and it’s already 4:30. “Except . . .” I start, then swallow again. “Except someone is harassing couples who break up, but only if they’ve written their names on the bridge, promising to stay together.”

  “Woah, what? Harassing?” She drops two tea bags into two cups. “How?”

  “Well, driving too close behind them at night, writing in red something on the wall in one of the girls’ bathrooms, mangling teddy bears . . .”

  “How do you mangle a teddy bear?”

  “Well, you stab it and tear out its eyes.”

  “Oh my,” she says just as the teakettle whistles. She pours steaming water into the cups, and the aromas of ginger and cloves fill the air. “Who’s doing all these terrible things?”

  I take my cup and inhale, deciding on how to explain my suspicions, just as a car pulls up out front. I go to the door. “Mrs. Whyse, my counselor from school, is here to talk about it. We will fill you in.”

  ***

  “So, Lucia,” Mrs. Whyse says as we meet her on the front porch, “is Kasey ready to turn herself in?” She raises her eyebrows at us and crosses her arms.

  Mom looks at me with surprised eyes. “Kasey?” she gasps.

  “Mrs. Whyse, I figured out that it’s not Kasey. I think Tony’s behind it.”

  “Tony? Patricia’s boyfriend?” Mom says.

  I nod. “He’s the only one who seems angry enough about all the breakups to do these things.

  Mom sips her tea. “I’m just glad it’s not Kasey. So, what do we do now?”

  “I think we talk to Patricia,” Mrs. Whyse says.

  ***

  “What’s up, kid?” Patricia says as she comes into our living room. Her face drops when she sees that Mom and Mrs. Whyse are here too.

  “Do you want to tell us about you and Tony, or should I say Cleo and Mark Antony?”

  Patricia looks like she just ate a bug. “What about us? That we wrote our names on the bridge? Big deal.”

  “That’s maybe all you did. But not Tony. He’s behind the ‘curse.’ He attacked Henry last year and probably caused their accident. He wrote LIAR in red goo on the bathroom wall, followed Alex in the truck, stabbed the teddy bear, messed with Kasey’s brakes, and wrote the note Kasey found on her car.”

  She swallows and drops onto the couch. “What are you talking about? It couldn’t have been him.” She blinks slowly, her face losing all color.

  “Why not?” I sit right next to her.

  “Good question,” Mrs. Whyse says.

  Patricia turns to Mom and Mrs. Whyse and says, “Because I was with Tony when all of that happened.” She pulls out her red sparkly phone. “I’ll show you.” I watch as she types in her password, five-six-eight-three, chanting “L-O-V-E” under her breath. Ew.

  “Where was Tony the night Alex was almost run off the road?” I ask.

  Patricia shifts on the couch. “He’d called in sick to work, so I went to his house to bring him soup.” She holds her phone up and shows a picture of her and Tony on the couch, eating soup. “I took this that night.”

  “That only takes a few minutes,” I say. “He could have left later.”

  “No,” Patricia says, “because I stayed with him for the rest of the night watching movies and I didn’t leave until past midnight. So it couldn’t have been him.”

  “You’re sure of this?” Mrs. Whyse says.

  Patricia stands up. “Yes. And I will testify in court that it wasn’t him.” She storms out the door.

  Mrs. Whyse clasps her hands together and says, “Good—she may have to.”

  chapter 9

  Saturday

  My cell phone rings at eight in the morning. Who calls at eight on a Saturday? It’s Mrs. Whyse, who says she’s coming over to talk to Patricia again. I think about going back to sleep, but I just had that cliff dream again and almost fell right out of bed. I can hardly believe the events of yesterday. It has to be Tony. He even said when he got angry about the army rescinding his ROTC scholarship that people who break their promises should suffer the consequences.

  Just after nine Mrs. Whyse pulls up.
Mom is sound asleep and snoring, so I close the door to her room. I can handle this myself.

  Mrs. Whyse and I walk to Patricia’s side of the duplex. Patricia meets us at the door wearing a pair of sweats and a pink hoodie—the same clothes she wore yesterday.

  “Can we talk to you for a moment?” Mrs. Whyse says.

  Patricia shrugs and steps out onto the porch.

  Mrs. Whyse says, “You swear you were with Tony the whole time the night the truck tried to run Alex off the road?”

  Patricia’s hair is mussed and dark circles show under her eyes. She casually leans in the doorway, a hint of a sneer appearing on her face. “Well, no. I wasn’t there the whole time.”

  “I knew it!” I blurt.

  Mrs. Whyse shoots me a look, and I cover my mouth with my hand.

  “He left in his truck, was gone for about an hour, and then came back,” Patricia says.

  “What was he wearing?” Mrs. Whyse asks.

  Patricia confidently puts one hand on her hip. “Jeans and a black hoodie.”

  “All black?” Mrs. Whyse asks.

  “Yeah,” Patricia says. “Except for a skull and crossbones on the back.”

  “I’m going to the police,” Mrs. Whyse says.

  Just then, Tony’s truck roars up the driveway.

  “Oh no,” I say. “We have to get out of here.”

  Patricia, straightens up, smirks, and crosses her arms over her chest. “That’s a great idea,” she says, rolling her eyes. “Maybe I have to get out of here too.”

  Mrs. Whyse tries to talk some sense into her: “Patricia, you might not be safe yourself.” We hear Tony’s door slam. “You need to stay away from him!”

  I look to see Tony leaning against his truck, the engine still running. He has his arms crossed and a cruel grin on his face.

  “Well, well,” he says, “looks like a party. Unfortunately, we’re just leaving.” He nods his head in the direction of Patricia, and I see she’s hastily throwing clothes in a suitcase.

  “You don’t have to do this,” Mrs. Whyse tries to reason with her. “We can keep you safe, I promise.”

  “Yeah right,” Patricia laughs. “Just like my parents, you can’t see the truth. Don’t you get it? I’ll always be safe with Tony.” She hustles past us, dragging her suitcase behind her. Tony gets in the driver’s side and puts the truck in reverse. Just as Patricia opens the passenger side door, she stops and turns to us.