I shuddered violently. Had I really seen what I thought I’d seen? In the few moments before he died, had Michael’s eyes really found mine on this wooded cliff top over a half mile away?
Back down on the bridge, an ambulance, a fire truck and several police cars had arrived, and in the washed-out glare of the afternoon sun, two paramedics stumbled down the embankment with a stretcher. The police directed traffic and held back the crowd that was gathering. I wanted to cry out to the crowd to leave Michael alone. Strangely, I didn’t feel like an outsider. Instead, I felt a deep responsibility for him in my bones. I had this overwhelming need to see that his broken body was borne safely away from its dusty public deathbed.
The paramedics checked his pulse and listened to his chest. They shaded their eyes and looked toward the top of the cliff, shaking their heads. It was obvious there was no saving this one. They waved away another paramedic carrying equipment and tugged a sheet off the stretcher to cover Michael’s body, pulling it up and over his face last.
The police moved in after that, and a short while later, Shawn and a pair of detectives arrived on the scene. One of the detectives went straight for the sheet, lifted it, and paused for a beat, his shoulders slumping. He held onto the corner of the sheet for a moment, gazing at Michael’s face, before letting it fall and going about his business. For the next hour, the detectives asked questions while the police took photos and scoured the scene for evidence. I stayed until Michael’s body was loaded into the ambulance and the vehicle drove away.
The mid-afternoon heat was oppressive, even in the shade, and sweat beaded up around my forehead. Wishing for a breeze, I turned away from the cliff toward the forest and was rewarded with a gentle gust of wind blowing across my back. I sighed, and then headed back along the edge of the cliff and into the woods.
While crossing the footbridge, my eyes were drawn to some writing on the handrail I hadn’t noticed before. Out of habit, I slowed to read it, expecting profanity or some new lover’s pledge. Instead, I found a quote from an amateur philosopher. I reached out to trace the letters, written neatly with a fine point permanent marker:
“God is dead. Where art thou, Ubermensch?”
“Ubermensch,” I murmured, tasting the unfamiliar word on my tongue. Another breeze, stronger than the first, rippled through the forest, lifting the hair on the back of my neck and rustling the leaves. It carried a clean pine and citrus scent, and my head filled with the thought: The wind is changing. You’d better get back.
By the time I reached the field, thunderheads had gathered in the west, their tops reflecting the sun and billowing up like boiling clouds of steam in the sky. Rain was definitely on the way, and my self-protective instincts kicked in, bringing with them the fervent hope that Claire would arrive soon.
She pulled up in the Honda, trailing a cloud of dust, covered in sweat, with the windows rolled down and the radio blasting some overplayed top-forties crap. As I slid into the passenger seat, I impulsively flipped to a new radio station, for the first time praying for a song to add to my Playlist, something to soothe me, something to prove my Playlist was real, but Claire smacked my hand away and switched it back. It didn’t matter. All I’d heard was talk. Instead, I turned my head toward the open window, mouthing through trembling lips:
Are you still there, Angel?
That’s when the impossibly powerful wave of emotion for the boy I hardly knew hit. It came out of nowhere, and I flared my nostrils in a feeble attempt to stem the tide of tears that flooded my eyes. My throat ached. I couldn’t speak.
Claire and I sat mute, side by side, which was normal for her but uncharacteristic for me, and she noticed something was wrong.
“How was your hike? Tree hugging go well?”
“Cate?” More insistent.
“Cate…what’s wrong?”
I just held my hand up. Stop. Don’t go there, it said. She got quiet again, and when we pulled into the driveway, I shoved open the car door, sprinted up the stone porch steps, through the front door, and up to my room.
When the leading edge of his power signature struck, the window pane flexed outward, groaning against the pressure. And like a wall of black smoke disturbed by an uneasy breeze, the crowd of demons parted, allowing another one of their own to enter the room.
The arriving demon flexed his long, slender white fingers and smiled at the Guardian who stood poised and ready for battle before the girl’s bed. The girl had arrived just moments before, grimy tear stains marring her perfect complexion, and crawled under the covers. It was cold in the room and getting colder. He watched her pull the white quilt up and over her head.
Beside the Guardian, the sapphire eyes of the girl’s bright Angel flashed. The Angel’s own power signature crackled like blue lightning, warning the demon of her inborn drive to protect.
The demon ignored her. He fixed his gaze on another, a much darker Angel who hung back by the wall. “I told you I’d be back,” the demon said to him. “Sorry it took so long. I didn’t anticipate so much…resistance.”
The glare of the dark Angel flared coal fire red. A wicked smile curled his lips. “Decimus,” he hissed. “I got your brimstone barbecue all warmed up for you. Won’t you join us?” Then the staff he carried burst into flames. He took a step forward, but the bright Angel held up her hand.
“Berwyn. Wait,” she said sharply.
“You won’t get near her again,” said the Guardian. He extended the tip of his blade toward the demon’s throat. “If you try, Decimus, you’ll–”
“I have permission. Ask her,” the demon said, his black eyes flashing pointedly at the bright Angel, who hesitated, and then lowered her shield.
“No! I promised—” The Guardian’s protest was cut short by hushed words urgently spoken between the two Angels. As they argued, the Guardian’s jaw tightened as he listened, and then he abruptly sat down on the bed beside the girl. His blade he left unsheathed, lying across his lap.
Eyeing the weapon warily, the demon called Decimus straightened up to his full height and walked casually over to the other side of the bed, trailing his long white fingers over the small curves of her body. “Where to start…” he murmured, “Perhaps a reminder of what she and I once shared?”
The Guardian flinched, his eyes a potent blend of faith and fury.
The demon laughed at him. “Don’t worry. I told you before, this time she won’t even know I’m here.” Then he crawled into bed with her and disappeared.
I woke up in a forest, alone, studying an endless line of pine trees that surrounded me. Night was falling fast, and I could distinguish no path that might lead to a way out. I spun in a circle, listening to the cricket song play, their music skipping every few seconds. The hair on my scalp prickled, recognizing the stutter as unnatural.
There was something evil here.
“It’s only a dream,” I murmured, but my panic grew. My heart crashed about in my chest as I started to hyperventilate.
“Follow my voice, and I’ll show you the way.” The gentle whisper was familiar, and I ran toward it, just barely fighting back my fear of the dark. I found a small brook that emptied into a deep, still pool. I was so thirsty, and I knelt to drink.
My reflection took hold of my heart and squeezed it until it exploded in my chest.
I wasn’t me. I was Michael.
“I need you,” my reflection pleaded. My chin was scraped and my forehead was smeared with dirt. I retched up a forceful stream of slippery clotted blood into the water, obliterating the image. When the ripples stilled, I saw behind me in the crimson water, a distorted, sinuous shadow with flaming black eyes breathing a fog of icy breath down my neck.
And it was laughing.
I sat up in bed and frantically peeled the sheets off my sweat-drenched arms. Shit, I thought, wiping my forehead with the back of my trembling hand. I could still feel the grime that had been there in my dream a moment ago, but my hand came away slick with nothing but sweat. Oh, shit.
>
I hadn’t experienced a nightmare so vivid, so horrifying, since I was five. I shivered, remembering. During that summer’s record heat wave, I’d been terrorized by almost nightly visions of similar creatures, creatures of black smoke and flame, long fingers and velvet voices. And they’d done more than just laugh.
They’d tried to make me do things.
I’d never told anyone, not even Cici, about what happened in those dreams, because I was afraid that talking about them would somehow make them more real. I was afraid I’d be labeled a freak. But that was a long time ago and those dreams were supposed to be over. I hoped witnessing Michael’s death hadn’t kicked off another round. I didn’t think I could go through that again. God, no.
I lay back in bed, feeling sick, and looked out the window, watching the leaves of the maple tree shiver and shake as ominous clouds overtook the backyard.
Cici quietly opened the door and poked her head in. “Cate, it’s thundering. You coming downstairs?”
I was still quivering, but I followed her into the hall, knowing there would be questions if I didn’t. I desperately wanted to avoid that. Something deep inside me urged me to keep the secret of witnessing Michael’s death close. That it was too painful, too intimate to share with anyone. That they wouldn’t understand.
Cici held a flashlight and the phone. “Just in case,” she said. We slipped downstairs through the premature dark to the small sunroom at the back of the house where we always gathered to watch the storms roll in. Claire was waiting for us.
“Hey,” she said.
I nodded, not yet trusting my voice, and dropped down cross-legged onto the woven rag rug that covered the gray tile floor. Claire studied me carefully, but her attention was stolen by a flash of lightning, which lit up her face and made her green eyes glimmer in the dark. I thought I was in the clear, but when the lightning faded, she turned back to me and demanded, “Cate, what are you so upset about? You wouldn’t even look at me in the car today. Is it Mina? Are you worried about her, or are you just mad that I’m the one moving to the basement?”
Her smug accusation and the fact that she was so off base coaxed a choked laugh from my lips. I looked down at my hands and shook my head patronizingly. “Think what you want, Claire,” I replied quietly, picking at the rug’s pale green fringe.
Claire started to say something else, but Cici, still hovering in the doorway, interrupted her. “Leave her alone, Claire. Having Mina move in isn’t going to be easy on any of us.”
Claire closed her mouth and looked back out the window. Lightning split the sky again, followed by a closer rumble of thunder. Her phone rang. She dug it out of her pocket. “This is Claire.”
Pause.
“Oh my God! Who?”
Pause.
Cici asked, “What happened?”
Claire held the phone away from her mouth to whisper, “Someone died. The Bereavement Committee’s looking for mom.”
My heart skipped a beat. My mom was the church secretary and a member of the committee that helped plan the funeral luncheons at Saint Paul, our parish. I knew Claire wasn’t stupid and would put two and two together. I stared out the windows, trying to keep a neutral expression on my face.
“Today? That’s awful! Where?” Claire asked. After a short pause she looked directly at me as she replied, “My mom’s out of town, but she’ll be back Monday. Can you call the next person on the list?” She listened, said goodbye and hung up. Claire was quiet for a moment. Then she fired the question. “Cate, you saw it happen, didn’t you?”
I glanced away, afraid to speak.
“What’s going on?” Cici asked, looking from Claire to me. “Who died?”
Claire’s eyes were still on me, taking the pulse of my mental status, as she explained, “A sophomore at Saint Joan fell off a cliff and died down in the park today.”
“Who?” gasped Cici.
“A boy named Mike Casey,” Claire replied. “Do you know him, Cate?”
This time I flinched, and Claire nodded quietly to herself.
Cici was on her knees next to me before I could answer. “Oh, Cate! I’m so sorry! Did you know? Oh, my God!” Cici had her arm around my shoulders as I nodded, tears spilling over again.
“I think she saw it happen,” Claire said, sitting down on my other side and patting me awkwardly.
“What? How?” asked Cici.
“She was at Lewis Woods today at the time of the fall, and when she got back in the car she was really upset,” Claire explained. “What did you see, Cate?” A huge flash of lightning lit up the whole sky, almost instantly followed by a deep resounding boom. Rain lashed at the wraparound windows of the sunroom. I leaned back against the cold brick wall and shook my head, wiping my eyes stubbornly.
“He fell. He’s dead. Okay?”
“But did you see it happen?” persisted Claire.
“Please…don’t…” I pleaded.
“Cate, you have to tell someone! We should let the police know. They might not have a witness—”
“Lay off, Claire. She knew him, okay? When they were little kids,” Cici snapped.
“It was just an accident,” I whispered.
Claire took a deep breath and then said more gently, “Look, I’m so sorry, Cate. We at least need to call Mom and Dad. They’ll want to know.”
“No!” I was adamant. “They don’t need to know what I…that I…saw him…die.”
“Cate, you have to tell them!”
“Oh, yeah, like you tell them everything? Are you going to tell them about last night’s sleepover with your alcoholic ex-boyfriend?” Claire shot me a warning look, and Cici’s eyes went wide, but I pressed on. “How about the fact you almost failed history? The keg parties? The infected pitchfork tattoo?”
“They found out about most of it, some of it I told them,” she mumbled, on the retreat now.
“Uh huh…and how well did that go?”
“It always blows over.”
“Unlike some, I don’t want to be the hurricane that needs to blow over!” I snapped back. That stung. I could see it in her eyes. “Look, if it makes you feel better you can tell them if you think I’m losing it or something.”
“What about the police?” Claire countered.
“If they don’t rule it an accident, I’ll come forward.” I said.
“And you won’t tell Mom about last night?”
I shook my head, sealing the deal just as Claire’s phone rang again. It was lying on the floor in front of me. I snatched it up this time. “Hello?”
“Hey, Caty Bug! How are things on the home front?” It was Dad.
My jaw tightened for a second and then relaxed. “Fine, Dad. It’s storming though—a good one.”
“Power out?”
“No, but it’s raining pretty hard. Have you heard from Mom? How’s Mina?”
“She’s okay, Bug, but it was a rough day. They put her on a ventilator for a while.”
My stomach dropped. “But she’s better now?”
“She’s a fighter, Caty. Can I talk to Claire?”
“Sure,” I said, reluctantly handing over the phone.
Claire listened for a few moments and then said, “Hey, tell Mom the bereavement committee called. A sophomore died in the park today—fell off a cliff.” Silence, then, “No, Cate really didn’t know him that well, so…”
I whispered, “Thank you” and then leaned back against the brick wall and closed my eyes while Claire finished talking to him. I listened to the pounding rain soften to a hushed drizzle, sprinkling on the roof like fine sand through an hourglass. The storm was over, the danger past, and it was late. Cici locked her wrists with mine, hauled me up off the cold floor, and we all crawled into bed. For better or worse, the person I was most likely to confide in and the person I was least likely to confide in were now partners in my grief.
“It really sucks, Cate. How could something like this happen?” Meri asked on the bus Monday morning. I hadn’t been able to br
ing myself to tell them I’d seen Michael’s accident, but the news of his death had traveled fast enough.
Leo glanced over his shoulder, rolling his eyes.
Grace shot him a nasty look.
“What’s your problem?” I asked him. My mood was already black. I didn’t need Leo making it blacker.
Leo shrugged. “Look, I’m really sorry this happened to him, Cate. No one deserves it. It’s just…” He stopped there. Leo had known me forever and could tell when my temper was rising. It was.
“Just what, Leo?”
“If you really want to know, this isn’t the first time Michael’s gotten himself into trouble.”
“And how would you know about that, Leo? Been hanging out at the rumor mill again?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Oh…nothing. It’s just that it would have been nice if my best friend’s brother hadn’t filled the whole school in on an embarrassing little incident that happened at the pool with Jason last week!”
“Cate, I didn’t…” he stopped, frustrated, and turned back around, saying calmly, “If you don’t want people talking about your temper, you should watch it next time.”
“Forget about him, Cate,” Meri said. “He’s just being the jerk big brother that he is.” Cici and Grace nodded their agreement.
My black mood didn’t improve when we got to school, and I realized I shouldn’t have been so quick to discount Leo’s opinion. Rumors were flying that Michael had put someone in the hospital and run away from home. They talked about the forbidden tattoo, as if none of them had ever considered getting one. But, by far the most disturbing assertion was that drugs were found near his body. I wondered if any of it was true. And if so, was Leo right? Was Michael just an accident waiting to happen? The suspicion squirmed in my stomach and insinuated itself into my memories of him.
Traitor, I berated myself, but I couldn’t erase the damage the rumors had done.
Michael’s wake was held Monday evening at the Belle Grove Funeral Home, a lavishly furnished building with a pink box of tissues on every table.
Wearing a soft black sweater set and skirt, my hair smoothed back under a wide velvet headband, I walked through the archway into Michael’s viewing area. Inside, I was shocked to see Zoe and the whole newspaper staff milling about, trying to look solemn and whispering to each other. They’d spent the whole day fanning the gossip flames at school, and now they’d come to see the train wreck first hand. It made me sick.
The Guardian's Playlist Page 6