“Great! Finally!” he said. He dropped one Amoxicillin, two Motrin and three antihistamine capsules in my hand. I tossed one of the antihistamines back to him, and he sighed. I downed them all with one swallow. I was an expert pill-taker. I could take six or seven at a time back in the days when my asthma was worse.
He took me by the hand and led me out to the sofa in the living room, sat down and pulled me down next to him, wrapping his long arms around me. He felt right, comfortable, and I leaned back against his chest. But when I closed my eyes, I was immediately confronted with an image of Michael, eyes brimming with worry, pacing back and forth just inside the tree line, waiting for me to come back.
I sat back up, swung my feet around onto the floor, and leaned forward on my elbows, my good hand buried in my hair. I felt like I couldn’t breathe. Michael would worry about me all night. How could I have done that to him? What if he left? He wouldn’t…
Jason sat up next to me and put his arm around my back. “What happened to you tonight?” he murmured into my hair. I just shook my head and pulled my elbows in closer.
“Look, Cate. I’m trying to understand, but I just don’t get it. What is it with you and Michael? Why can’t you let it go?”
I wanted to answer him, needed to answer him, and I tried to order my emotions into rational thoughts, thoughts that I could explain. “All these years…we could have watched out for him. We could have kept him safe and gotten him help with school. We could have had him over, like on Christmas or his birthday or the freaking Fourth of July! We could have been there for him! He’d be alive today…” And sitting here next to me instead of you, I thought in the deep ocean of my mind. “But he’s not. My mom stole that from me,” I went on darkly, and I felt Jason stiffen. “I don’t think I can ever forgive her for that.” It was like a cloud of dark ink had poured itself into my soul. I was drowning in it.
My phone rang. I grabbed it off the table, relieved to have something else to concentrate on.
“Hey, Bug,” my dad said.
“How’s Mina?” I asked him.
“She’s in surgery. Her bowel ruptured, and she’s full of infection. It’s a side effect of being on the prednisone for so long.”
“Is she going to make it?”
“The doc’s not sure.”
I sank back against the back of the sofa and covered my eyes with my hand.
Shh…Just breathe…
“Listen, Caty. Cici is sleeping over at Lisa’s, and we’ll be here pretty late. Are you alright on your own?” I looked over at Jason and decided I’d done enough lying for one day.
“I’m not alone, Dad. Jason’s still here.”
There was a long pause on the other end of the line and then my dad growled, “Let me talk to him.”
I rolled my eyes and handed the phone over. “My dad wants to talk to you.”
“Yes, Mr. Forsythe?” Jason was one of those guys who felt perfectly at ease around parents. He nodded and said yes a few more times and then one of course not before hanging up. He looked sideways at it and fought down a grin.
“What did he say?”
“He told me I wasn’t allowed in your bedroom, and then he said that, in fact, I wasn’t allowed in any of the bedrooms, and that I was to keep all of my clothes on and not take any of yours off.”
“He did not!”
Jason stifled a laugh and then forced his face back into a serious expression. He made the adjustment easily. “Okay, okay. He told me to remember you were his daughter, and that he was glad I was here if it made you feel better.” Then he grabbed me by the hand and pulled me back against his chest. He did make me feel better. Whenever I was close to him, touching him, my emotions seemed to settle down.
Jason reached out to wrap his arms around me again, but just before his arms closed protectively around my waist, I noticed two tiny red bruises on the inside of his elbow. He’d had blood drawn recently, and I felt a stab of worry. Was he sick? I was too exhausted to ask.
It was the middle of the night when I was gently shaken awake by my father.
“Time to go, chief,” my dad said to Jason. We both sat up and stretched.
“I’m going to walk him out,” I said, grabbing my dad’s old coat off its hook and plugging my arms into the big puffy sleeves.
It had stopped raining and the moon was out. Everything was slick and shiny, and it felt rudely cold after having been curled up against Jason’s chest. Jason opened his car door, leaned back against it and pulled me into a bear hug, sliding his arms inside my coat and around my back.
“Thanks, Jason,” I murmured into his chest. Jason tucked two fingers under my chin and lifted my face.
“I still care about you, Caty,” he reminded me, borrowing my father’s nickname for me, and then he leaned down and kissed me with urgent tenderness. His lips were like warm wet velvet, and they were softly familiar. They tugged at my thoughts, attempting to lead them back to a simpler summer. I wished I could surrender and follow, but the sizzling chemistry that existed between us last summer had faded.
I pulled away and looked up into his confused eyes. “Jason…I love someone else.” I knew in my soul it was true. My heart beat faster just by saying the words out loud.
Jason pulled back and stood up tall. He was smart. The smartest guy I knew. And his eyes flashed blue fire for a second and then filled with pity.
“I can’t compete with a ghost,” he said. And then he slid behind the wheel of his black Audi and left.
NINETEEN
THE MESSENGER
AFTER JASON LEFT, I crawled up the stairs and into bed, eventually finding my way back to sleep, back to the dark pool in the woods that Michael and I shared in our dreams.
Our moonlit pool was surrounded by snow and wrapped in a thick layer of ice. With my bare hand, I scraped the snow off its surface and punched my fist through the ice into the painfully cold black water beneath. I couldn’t find Michael’s reflection. He was gone, and it was deathly quiet. Only the quiet whoosh of my frosty breath disturbed the night. Then I felt static building up behind me. My scalp prickled a sickening warning as I twisted around to see.
Michael was standing over me, leaning forward, unsteady on his feet. He wasn’t pale and flickering. He was flesh and bone and…dying. Blood ran down his chin and dripped from his fingertips.
“Look what your mother’s done to me,” he moaned then fell to his knees and vomited a fountain of hot arterial blood at my feet. It soaked into the snow, turning pink at the edges.
“Michael!” I cried, reaching for him, but out of the corner of my eye, I caught the lightning flash of a flaming sword slicing toward him.
“Stop!” I screamed, too late. He was rent in two from the left side of his neck down to a point below his right arm, and both halves exploded into massive clouds of brilliant white sparks. The fiery hot concussion knocked me backward onto the ice. I caught a glimpse of the stars above me before the ice cracked, and I plunged beneath the fiendishly cold surface.
As I was sucked down into the deep, someone whispered, “He lies.”
I startled awake in my empty room, gasping, “Who lies?” No one answered, and I collapsed back onto my pillow and curled up on my side.
“I’m sorry, Michael. If I’d known what happened to you, maybe I could have protected you,” I whispered. Tears gathered in my eyes, and with Michael not there to witness them, I let them fall.
The Guardian couldn’t see through the exploding silver flames, but he found the demon’s throat among them, grabbed it and slammed him up against the wall, sustaining a first degree breach burn in the process. Despite the power drain, he squeezed harder snarling, “You lie!”
Six demon blades were drawn and pointed at the back of the Guardian’s neck before their Master hit the wall. The demon could have retaliated. He had the right of first reprisal. But why change tactics in the middle of a war when the ones he was using were working so well? Instead, he glanced at the girl who lay moaning
softly on the bed, her Bright Angel beside her.
“She’s not holding up under the pressure as well as you thought she would, is she?” he mused.
“She’ll make it,” the Guardian spat.
“Are you sure?”
“She’ll make it…” the Guardian repeated, but more to himself this time. A firm, leather-clad hand gripped his shoulder.
“Let him go,” the Dark Angel urged quietly, but the Guardian wasn’t ready yet.
The next morning I woke up to find Cici sitting on the edge of my bed, ready for school, her eyes flashing angrily.
“You lied to me!” she accused.
I blinked the fog of sleep away and grabbed my glasses, which were sitting on the nightstand between our beds.
“What?”
“I told you I thought you were too smart to have that much homework all the time. You said you were going to Jai Ho to study, but then you’d come home and study until after midnight sometimes. I knew you were lying.”
“Cici…” I groaned as I swung my feet over the side of the bed and onto the floor.
“Are you going to tell me or not?” she asked. I stretched, and she eyed my bandaged palm. I clenched my hand into a fist, wincing as the stitches tugged painfully.
“Tell you what?” I snapped.
“Where you’ve been going…” She was distracted by the bandage wrapped around my hand. I was glad it was wrapped up securely. No one needed to know how bad the cut was.
“No,” I said, standing up and heading for the bathroom.
She followed me. “Come on, Cate! You know you can tell me anything! What’s going on?”
Feeling trapped, I walked into the bathroom and shut the door in her face. The door creaked as she leaned against it. “I saw the pine needles stuck to your bag,” she whispered. I froze. “Who is he, and where have you guys been meeting?”
I had no sane response to her questions, so I said nothing. What was I supposed to say? Tell me! Somebody please tell me!
“Fine! Don’t talk to me! See if I care!” she finally said, and stomped down the stairs.
I’m sorry Cici, I just can’t.
I got ready for school, swallowing one of the Amoxicillin that Jason had given me along with a couple of Motrin. Upon arriving downstairs, I learned I was on house arrest with no parole date in sight. No surprise there, but hearing my dad say it, sunk my heart down into the pit of my stomach, where it huddled like a lump of melting ice.
How was I going to make it through Christmas without contacting Michael? How could I leave him alone in the woods for that long? Feeling suddenly sick, I shoved my bowl of cereal away, sloshing milk all over the table, and fled to the stairs where I sat with my arms crossed tightly over my stomach until my dad was ready to leave. I followed him into the garage and slid into the passenger seat of the Demon. We were alone in the car. Dad had banished my sisters to the bus so he and I could “talk.” He wasted no time getting started.
“I know it’s been hard on you having Mina move in, but how could you lie to me like that? Over and over?” The sound of the Demon’s engine responding to my father’s hands only made me feel that much more powerless. I looked out the window. He could talk. I wasn’t.
He tried again. “We’re worried. We don’t know what to think. You need to let us in.” Let him in where? They’d never understand. They’d never believe me. No one would believe me.
Then his voice took on a harder edge. “You know you really hurt your mother with your accusations yesterday. She feels terrible.”
“Good,” I growled under my breath, and then I closed my eyes and rested my forehead against the window for the remainder of the ride to school.
On my way to my locker I passed Jason in the hall, but he only glanced my way, pity still filling his eyes. He looked exhausted. Neither of us had gotten much sleep the night before. He was pale with shadowy circles under his eyes, and his dark hair was mussed way beyond fashionable. I wanted to grab him by the arm, ask him if he was okay. I wanted to thank him again. He’d done more for me than anyone could ever expect from an ex-boyfriend.
But I left him alone. I’d already hurt him enough.
At my locker, Meri, Grace, and Spencer were all waiting, looking at me as if someone died.
“Cici called Spencer,” Grace explained when she saw that I was confused by all the attention. I opened my locker and started shoving things around.
“Whatever…” I mumbled into the metallic cave. It was my word of choice for the day. It required no emotional or cerebral input.
“We’re sorry about your grandmother…” Meri said. She grabbed the door of my locker when I tried to slam it shut. “…and about your mom.” There was true compassion in her eyes. I knew my friends cared, but—
“Your mom probably didn’t even know,” she went on, and I felt my empty stomach turn sour. I tugged on the door until she let go. Then I slammed it shut.
See? They don’t understand…no one understands.
“Look, Mer, you don’t know what you’re talking about,” I retorted in a sharper voice than I intended. Her eyes crumpled and then narrowed nastily.
“Well…maybe if you talked to me once in a while, I would!” she said and stormed away toward the Art Annex. I watched her go, wondering if I should chase after her to explain or apologize, but I didn’t have the energy or the will.
Grace and Spencer fell into formation next to me as I headed for homeroom.
“Dude, so…like, you want to talk about it?” asked Spencer, swerving to get out of the way of a crowd of students barreling past from the opposite direction. I shook my head and ducked into our homeroom, taking a seat in the back. They took the seats next to and in front of me. I rolled my eyes and opened a book to bury my nose in.
Shawn Fowler, smelling of stale cigarettes and powdered donuts, rolled in right before the teacher called the class to order and took the seat next to mine. He ignored me or studied me threateningly by turns through the entire class. What was it with people refusing to leave me alone, today?
I coasted through my next three classes, barely present, and was desperately relieved when my lunch period began. I went to my locker and grabbed my coat and the peanut butter sandwich I’d packed, and headed to the one place in the school I knew no one would be on a dismal day like today.
The flagstone courtyard was cold and empty. All of the dead flowers had been mown down and the bushes had been cut back to their stumps. It was snowing lightly and there was a speckled dusting of flakes on the ground.
“Hey, Saint Joan,” I said to myself and to her, I guess. Maybe she was listening. “Do you mind a little company?” I settled down on one of the benches near the saint’s statue, wrapped my scarf another time around my neck and took a bite of my sandwich, which I chewed and swallowed with effort.
“How did you do it?” I impulsively asked the long dead saint, but my voice was strained. “How did you not go freaking out of your mind when it was only you hearing the voices of God’s Angels and Saints?” A layer of sparkling snow was accumulating on the statue’s mottled green head like a halo. I stood up and walked over to stand in front of her, my throat constricting. I took another bite of my sandwich, but it wouldn’t go down.
“Shit,” I mumbled with my mouth full. “I don’t know what the hell to do, now! I need to get a message to him, and I don’t know how!” I looked up at the sky helplessly.
“Can you pray for me, Joan? Ask God to send me some kind of a sign?” My nose was beginning to run. I forced the bite of sandwich down my throat only to have my stomach turn over when it hit bottom. “Crap. I can’t eat this.” I shook my head disgustedly and turned around, looking for a trash can.
“Hey,” said J.C. quietly. He was standing just inside the courtyard with his hands in his coat pockets and his glossy black hair tucked warmly under a navy blue Cleveland Indians hat.
“You’re not an easy chica to find,” he said, eyeing me and then the statue. “I can come back if y
ou’re not finished with your…uh…conversation.”
My heart heaved itself into my throat. “Ahh…how much of that did you hear?”
“Hmm…” He came over to stand next to me in front of Saint Joan and clasped his hands behind his back. “Enough to tell you that you probably shouldn’t go cussing at a saint if you want her help.”
“Crap,” I said.
“That’s a better word choice, but…” he teased, fighting back a grin.
I rolled my eyes. I wasn’t in the mood. “What the hell do you want, anyway?”
He cleared his throat and took an infinitesimal step away from me. “Um…okay. Finn wanted me to tell you that Meri told him that she’s pissed at you. He also wanted me to tell you that Meri has turned his life into that of a forty-year-old virgin.” He glanced up at the saint and back-pedaled. “Only between you and me and Saint Joan, they’re nowhere near close to doing it anyway, and he wants you to make up with her. I think that’s it.”
I really needed to talk to Meri. “Tell Finn to get in line. My dad’s pissed. My mom’s beyond pissed. Cici’s…”
“Cici’s just mad you won’t tell her what’s been bothering you. She’s mad at your mom, too,” he said.
“When did you and Cici become best friends?” I’d missed more than I thought.
“We’ve been…texting…” he said evasively. Great. They’d been talking about me. The two most observant people I knew.
“So what’s the message?” he asked. He reached out and peeled a slimy brown leaf off Saint Joan’s arm. “Maybe I can take it.”
I blinked. I blinked again. Then the hair stood up on the back of my arms under my coat. I looked at the statue of Saint Joan and then up at the sky again, only not so helplessly this time. Had she prayed for me? Had God answered her prayer? Of all my friends J.C. was probably the least likely to drag me kicking and screaming to an insane asylum if he knew what was really going on in my head. After all, he was the one who suggested someone was looking out for me the night the coyote attacked.
The Guardian's Playlist Page 27