by J. L. Powers
I’m surprised to see that most of the school is there, students and teachers, though the Angels are conspicuously absent. People claim spots on the two tables. Before long, we’ve created a bizarre pattern of pictures and miscellaneous items across their surfaces. People pour libations of various kinds in mugs and goblets and shot glasses. Pink, blue, and yellow sugar skulls dot the tables.
“Where did you get these skulls?” I ask Sophia when she passes by.
“Oh, I asked the kitchen staff to create them,” she says. “Aren’t they great? Very traditional, just like we do in Mexico.” She holds out a short candle. “Would you like one?”
I take it. “Thanks.”
“Who’s your altar for?” she asks.
“My mother. I don’t remember her.”
She smiles. “You can honor your ancestors even if you’ve never met them.”
What does it mean to mourn somebody you never really knew, or at least as much as any four-year-old can know their parent? What was it like for my mother to die, knowing she would never see who I would become? Would the pain of that lead somebody to cling to life and make it harder for them to move across Limbo to the other side? I think it would. I imagine my mother tried to resist. I imagine she tried to stay. To be with me.
Or maybe that’s just wishful thinking, because I want to believe my mother would rather have been with me than to die. But then, I’m more scared of death than anybody I know.
I look around at the altars other people are constructing. My toy train and piece of yellow cloth look meager compared to the things others have brought. Tomás has created an elaborate altar to his great-grandfather, which includes a spiced rum drink, rum-soaked raisins, and a bottle of rum. “My pop-pop liked rum,” he says.
Gabe stands at the front of one of the tables and clears his throat. The buzz dies down. “Normally,” he says, “this is done at our loved ones’ graveyards.”
He holds a large bowl of bread and a bottle of tequila. “This is pan de los muertos,” he says. “Bread for the dead. I’ll pass it around and everybody who wishes to take some can. And tequila if you wish to drink for your loved one.”
I take one of the sugary rolls. Rachel does the same. She grabs two shot glasses and pours them to the brim with tequila.
We all light the candles in front of our altars.
Somebody turns off the lights and we all stand in shadowy darkness. Even in the candlelight, I can see other people’s eyes rimmed red. Principal Armand, standing all the way on the other side of the table from me, wipes his eyes with his sleeves.
Maybe it shouldn’t but it surprises me, I guess, to see grief here, among soul guides. And seeing Principal Armand openly crying makes him seem a little more human. Though after seeing him as a child, locked in the shed . . . huddled against the pile of wood . . . honestly, that made him altogether human.
Suddenly, I feel funny. Woozy, even, though I haven’t touched that tequila yet. The room starts to fade and it’s not just the candlelight. A flicker of a face. The woman on the train. I feel—
Rachel grabs my elbow. “Steady there, cowboy,” she whispers.
“Thanks,” I whisper back. “I almost fainted.” I look at her and something about her face is . . . familiar. The freckles. She and the woman on the train suddenly seem like the same person and I’m overwhelmed with a desire to hug her. No, a need. Like she is the woman on the train. Like she is my mother. I put my arms around her.
She pats me awkwardly on the back. “What is this for?”
“I don’t know. I’m glad you’re my friend.”
She extricates herself from my embrace and elbows me. “Don’t say things like that too often, people will think you’re going soft.” But I can tell from her smile that she’s glad we’re friends too.
Gabe starts chanting in Spanish. The words are similar to Italian so I understand just enough to know he’s saying a prayer for the dead.
People hold their libations high. I carefully take the shot of tequila in hand and Rachel does the same. A few drops spill on the piece of yellow cloth.
It burns all the way down my throat, past where I thought my throat ended and into my chest. The burning is a kind of relief. At least I feel something where the ache of my mother’s absence should be.
I begin to cough and Rachel pounds my back.
“Lightweight,” Sean whispers loudly from across the table, and everybody around us giggles.
CHAPTER 19
I guess life seems charmed for a while. Long enough that I even start to sleep and I don’t end up in the cemetery. I have no more episodes. Everything is just peachy.
It doesn’t last long, of course. I get a bad feeling one night after dinner on my way to the barn. It comes and goes quickly, the clenching of the stomach, and I hurry to reach the light pooling out onto the porch.
Inside, evening festivities are already in progress. Tomás and his cousin Agwe are playing darts in the corner, and Zachary and Emily are playing pool. When I walk in, Zachary looks up and says, “Just the man I was looking for! I was telling Emily here that we can demolish you and Sean at a game of pool. You in?”
Sean shrugs so I say, “Okay.”
As I take up the cue stick, I look back outside. I could swear I see a black shadow passing across the moon but it’s gone before I can even blink.
I stay up with the last of the revelers, playing pool until the girls have gone home and Sean’s fallen asleep on the sofa, his mouth open, snoring gently. Tomás puts a finger to his lips, then uses two fingers to pinch Sean’s nose shut.
Sean snorts and his eyes fly open. “You. Guys. Are. Not. Funny.” He stomps off to his room as Tomás and I howl behind him.
Then I head to my room and the black Thing I’ve been trying to ignore begins to press against my thoughts again. I open and close my door quickly, locking it, as if that could keep Her away.
I brush my teeth and lie down on the bed, leaving the light on. Panic oozes in around the edges, yellow, slick, and ugly. I try to calm down, breathing deep, following the techniques they taught me in meditation class. One. Two. Three. Breathe.
Dark clouds and the cemetery flash before my eyes and then . . . And then a young woman with dark eyes and long, curly black hair cascading down her back stares at me across a meadow surrounded by snowcapped mountains. The sun and the blue skies are startlingly bright. A Spanish-style hacienda in the distance. An adobe, like the kind you see in New Mexico. She’s holding a horse by the mane. When she sees me, she pats the horse on the rump and it runs away. She advances toward me, slow, keeping her eyes on me all the way. Her shadow is like that horse, skittish and ready to run.
Wouldn’t it be amazing if this could be my nightly dream? Then I’d be taking Ambien every day and night, instead of popping caffeine pills. Could this girl be real? I sure hope so.
“Who the hell are you?” she calls. “You’re not supposed to be here. This is my—”
Her words are cut off midsentence, her mouth a perfect round O. My stomach drops about a million floors as the familiar rotten-vegetable smell reaches me. I whirl around to see wisps of black smoke spinning around Her fish-white face as She floats toward us. The vast blue skies of this world suddenly collapse into low-lying clouds and mists of heavy rain across a blackened sky.
I turn back around to the beautiful girl. She looks like she’s ready to fight but her shadow is about to get the hell out of here.
“You should leave,” I say, my voice shaky. “It’s dangerous.”
She glares at me. “Fuck no,” she declares. “This is my Limbo. I belong here. You and that Thing—whatever it is—don’t. I’m going nowhere. But you? You and that Thing? Get out. Get out now.”
Suddenly, I’m back in my room, sitting straight up. What was that?
I start taking deep breaths to calm myself. Was that girl real? Was she really so amazing that she expelled me from her Limbo? I hope She left too. I hope the girl wasn’t left alone facing Her.
&nb
sp; I get up and decide to go back downstairs. Somebody’s bound to be awake and I can hang out and hold onto this lovely feeling, the face of the girl, her indomitable spirit, the way she controlled everything in her space.
Out in the hall everything is quiet. The moon is shining in through the loft window, the one I climbed out of. It’s irrational but I start thinking that if I got out of that window, She might be able to get in. The chair’s still sitting there so I climb on it, jump, and grab the windowsill, pulling myself up to see if I can lock it. I hear a loud bang right before the window slams open, hitting my face.
I jump backward, tumbling off the chair.
A foot appears in the window, followed by a pair of legs, and then a head with long, dark hair. A girl. Not one of the other students. She balances on the edge of the windowsill and looks down at me. “Are you going to help me down from here or what?”
I recognize her immediately. Golden-brown skin. Dark, curly hair. A gold ring in her nose. Her shadow a band of wild horses swimming across a rushing river.
It’s the girl. The one I just saw. The one who kicked me—and hopefully Her—out of her Limbo.
I see the shock of recognition in her eyes too. And then a sudden decision, resolve. She grabs the top of the windowsill and pulls herself inside.
How in the world did she do that? I mean, that window is super high off the ground. No way she came that way. And having used it to climb onto the roof, I can’t imagine reversing that journey.
I must be staring because she stares back until I look away. “I need to hide,” she whispers.
We slip inside my room and I close the door behind us.
“Sorry to barge in on you.” She slings a backpack onto the floor and collapses on the desk chair. “I’m Liliana. Liliana La Muerte.”
“You’re Liliana?” I blurt like an idiot. No wonder Sean’s been crushing on her since she was twelve. “What are you doing here? I thought you were expelled.”
“Yeah? So?” She stares at me, long and hard, until I drop my eyes and look at the floor. It’s wooden. The floor, I mean. “Who are you?”
“Adam.”
“Okay, Adam. Thank you for letting me into your room.”
I finally get enough courage to look at her again. Her shadow prances around the room, nervous about being cooped up.
“I’m sopping wet. Can I use your bathroom, dry up, maybe sleep on the floor?”
“Sure?” I don’t mean for it to come out as a question. I just—I can’t believe she’s here.
“And yes, I was expelled. But it wasn’t my fault. I passed my Limbo test.” Her eyes bore into mine. “Somebody’s lying. Somebody doesn’t want me to become a soul guide. Probably lots of people. I’m not exactly welcomed by all soul guides. Bastard child, you know. Unclaimed by my paternal family. So, nothing I’m not used to, but I never expected dirty play here at the school.”
“Really? You’ve felt like an outsider all your life and you thought things would be different here at school?”
“Youthful idealism,” she says. “Stupid of me, I know.”
“So who are you hiding from?”
She sighs loudly. “Everybody. But specifically, tonight, at this exact moment, I’m hiding from that dangerous Thing that somebody let loose on the island.” She keeps staring at me.
“What dangerous Thing?” I swallow the confession. It tastes sour around the edges.
“You tell me. I was sleeping in the boathouse—that’s where I’m hiding out while I figure out how to prove I’m right about corruption here—when that Thing showed up. A dark spirit of some kind. So I decided to make myself scarce. I’m going to impose on your hospitality until it goes away, okay?”
My tongue cleaves to the roof of my mouth. “That Thing is probably coming here, to my room,” I confess. Only it comes out as, “What if they check our rooms?”
“What, you going to narc on me?” Her look has enough venom to poison the heartiest of souls.
My heart bottoms out in my stomach. “I’m not a narc. I was just asking.”
She leans forward, legs spread slightly, one hand on each knee. “Well, stop asking then.”
I peer into her beautiful brown eyes, gold-flecked, and even though it’s clear she doesn’t trust me, not one tiny bit, I can see all the warmth and humor that sparkle somewhere back in there, deep, deep inside, and I think I fall in love with her a little bit, maybe. Can she hear the beating of my heart? Drumbeats on the wind. “I wouldn’t narc,” I say. “No matter what.”
She yawns. “I know. You’re not the narc type.” This girl can flip a switch so fast, it’d make me tired if I wasn’t already exhausted. “Listen? Mind if I use el baño?”
I fidget while she uses the bathroom. She comes out wearing these pink flannel pajama bottoms and a hoodie on top. I can’t help noticing how cute she looks in them.
“Dibs on the floor.” She unrolls a Therm-a-Rest. There’s just enough space for her to sleep, her head at the desk, her feet at the bathroom door.
I give her an extra blanket, turn the lights out, and slide into bed.
We’re silent for a little while. I wonder what would happen if they did a surprise check tonight. I imagine trying to explain Liliana’s presence. Wide-eyed innocence. Girl? What girl? Oh, that girl. You mean we can’t have random girls spend the night? I thought that was how things happened here, strange girls popping in to sleep on the floor. How should I know better? I don’t even know what clan I’m from. She was expelled? You don’t say.
She speaks in the darkness: “So, listen? How’d you get into my Limbo?”
The little panic demon starts pummeling my heart again. She’s going to figure out who I am. She’s going to figure out what’s wrong with me.
“I know you know what I’m talking about. You came to my Limbo. The mountains? The horse? The blue skies? How’d you get there? You’re not supposed to go to somebody’s Limbo unless they’re dying and . . . I sure hope I’m not dying—unless you know something I don’t. So don’t lie to me. Am I dying?”
“Noooooo,” I say.
“Then how’d you do it?”
“I don’t know. It surprised me too. I just went to sleep and there I was . . .”
“Hey! You’re a sleepwalker! That’s dangerous!”
I reach down and grab her arm. “Please don’t tell anybody.”
“Ow. Let go.”
I release her quick.
She rubs her arm. “I’m not going to tell anybody, asshole, okay?”
“Thanks.”
“But.” She settles back comfortably on her bedroll. “Maybe this is a skill we can use. Maybe you can help me prove I should still be here, in school. If you can get into other people’s Limbos—”
“No way. I am not volunteering to go into other people’s Limbos.”
“I have some time to work you over.” She yawns again and rolls over. “Look, maybe it’s stupid, but I trust you’re not going to kill me. So good night.”
I lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, glancing from time to time at the beautiful girl sleeping peacefully on my floor.
* * *
Despite all efforts to prevent it, I fall asleep. When I wake up, I’m following Dad’s long legs through the cemetery.
Feeling lightheaded, I do what I always do: trudge after my father. Wisps of black smoke curl around the grave and Dad shoves me behind him, muttering.
The figure dressed in rags turns her head toward me, burnt holes where she should have eyes and a mouth. Throws back Her head. Cackles hollowly.
Dad picks me up and starts running through the cemetery, graves whipping past us as She slithers in the air behind us, in hot pursuit, blackened arms reaching out for my shadow.
And then I’m falling in darkness. I slam hard into Her. Her serpentine body coils around mine, cool scales leaving a slimy residue. She begins to glow in the dark, Her mouth close to mine, stretching upward in a toothless grin.
“Adam!” The whisper is loud and h
arsh, fingers gripping me painfully in the darkness. “Wherever you are, get back to the here and now. Now.”
I jerk to, cold and oily, covered in Her slime. Liliana’s huddled beside me, holding me upright. When she takes her hand away, she wipes it on a towel, leaving a smear of something shiny and gross on it.
“Somebody’s trying to get in your room,” Liliana whispers. “I’m going to hide in the bathroom.”
I stagger over to the door. The hallway is empty. But just as I go to close it, something cold and dark slithers past me into the room.
“Adam!” Liliana yells from inside the bathroom. “Get out!”
We run out to the hall, slamming the door behind us. We slide to the floor, backs against the door. The doorknob rattles.
“Okay, let’s make a run for it,” she whispers. “On the count of three.”
“Don’t count out loud. In case She can hear us.”
“She? That Thing is a She?” Her shadow rears up like a cobra, tongue flicking, ready to strike. “Apparently, She is following you around. I knew from the moment I saw you, I shouldn’t trust you.”
“Could’ve guessed that,” I hiss, “from the way you were snoring peacefully on the floor of my bedroom.”
“Shut it.” She holds up a finger. One. We crouch into a kneeling position, backs still holding the door.
Two. The door feels like an icicle on my back. Who said hell was hot? They obviously never met my personal wraith.
Liliana grabs my hand. She jerks her head to the left, toward the back stairs and a door at the bottom, to indicate the direction we’re going.
Three. We scramble down the hall, Liliana pulling me behind her.
My door bangs open, swings off its hinges. I look back for one second and out of the corner of my eye, I see Her, face bone-white. Fists clenched.
I run to the top of the stairs and glance back again. The hall looks empty now. Even though it isn’t.
We jump down the stairs, two at a time. Doors crash open, and a cacophony of voices soars above the pounding of my heart. “Hey!” Zachary yells from somewhere. “Who’s making all the racket? It’s five effin a.m. Shut up!”