Crossed Out

by Kim Baccellia

  “Huh? Oh, nothing. I thought I just saw someone.”

  “Yeah, right.” Cura smiled. “I bet I know who.”

  A chill came over me. No way she could know about Allison.

  “Okay, ’fess up. Who is he?”

  Relieved, I dropped my hand. “Who?” I faked innocence.

  “Come off it, Steph. You know who I’m talking about.”

  “Oh, him.”

  “Yeah, him.”

  “His name is Mark Bennion.” I rushed down the steps and looked for the school bus. Cura trailed behind.

  I know it’s lame, but I still had to take the bus – an added motivation to get my license.

  Others rushed by, either getting into their cars – lucky dogs – or, like me, scrambling to get on the beat-up school bus.

  “Hey.” Cura pulled on my arm. “You’re not getting away that easy. ’Fess up everything about Mr. Hottie.”

  “Wait a minute.” Attempting to change the subject, I turned to Cura. “What were you and Dylan talking about during lunch?” Never mind that both of them remained silent during Hillary’s painful parody of me. Just thinking about that moment made my face flush.

  “Um, mostly about you and....”

  “And?”

  “Something about you flaking out before class.” Cura put her hands on her hips. “Dylan’s worried about you, that’s all.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  “Jeez, Steph. Give him a break.” Cura pointed to Hillary and Stacy on the grass. “Did you hear what happened to Miss-Full-of-It during lunch?”

  Remembering how Hillary had jumped up on the cafeteria table, mocking me, made me want to find a hole and bury myself in it for the next year or so. If Cura remembered the incident, I’m sure others wouldn’t forget either.

  “Uh, Hillary?”

  “Yeah, she ended up eating a bug. I know she’s on a diet, but that’s too much. Bugs? How gross is that?”

  Then Cura turned red. She obviously remembered why Hillary was on the cafeteria table in the first place.

  The loud honk from one of the many Suburbans in the parking lot saved Cura any further embarrassment. Sure enough, her mom’s off-key voice sang along to her Top Hits of the ’80s CD. Talk about being in a time warp. With her overdone Charlie’s Angels’ hair, polyester shirt with sleeve tabs, and bright make-up, she stood out among all the other normal moms.

  Cura covered her face. “Jeez, you’d think my mom would get over her high school days.”

  “I know you miss me, I know you miss me...” Boy George’s voice drifted toward us, even over the other hip-hop and pop songs flooding the parking lot.

  Cura winced. “Puh-lease, Mom. Why Boy George?”

  “Ah, come on,” I said. “It could be worse. She could have named you after him instead of The Cure.”

  “Yeah, right. Don’t give her any more ideas.”

  I would have traded my rescuing of the dead for Cura’s off-key mother any day. At least her mom was fun. Except for my mom’s hidden trips to the local psychic and her obsession with horoscopes, becoming a trustee for the arts council was her number one priority.

  You’d think I’d want to follow in her footsteps. Hang with the popular group, get into a prestigious preppy college, and – don’t forget – be part of a sorority that meant we’d be sisters forever.

  Wouldn’t Mom be proud?

  I felt my face get warm. Maybe that was one of the reasons my last rescue failed. I had to get over my attitude.

  But then again, when did I ever listen to my mother?

  An overwhelming urge came over me to get away.

  “Hey, Cura. I’ll call you tonight, okay?” Luckily, Cura had piano lessons right then, otherwise she would have convinced her mom to drive me home.

  “Okay—” Cura waved to her mom “—don’t forget.”

  As she climbed into her car, I took another peek at the black numbers on my palm.

  Yeah, I’d give Mark a call. My horoscope came back to me: You have a chance to enjoy your best relationship today.

  Hey, why not? Anything was better than the weirdness following me these last couple of days and messing up a rescue.

  Chapter 8

  I couldn’t get Mark out of my mind. After dinner and homework, I went to my room using the excuse that I was going to bed. But that was the last thing on my mind. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t stop thinking about Mark.

  I glanced down at the now slightly smudged numbers on my palm and called.

  He answered on the first ring. My whole body tingled, excited he hadn’t given me a bogus number in an attempt to brush me off.

  “Hey.” His husky voice sounded oh-so-sexy.

  “So this is actually your number,” I said, then wanted to smack myself. Like, duh. Why wouldn’t it be? So I quickly changed the subject. “I enjoyed our talk today. Can’t wait to see you tomorrow.”

  “Yes, me too.”

  “Well....” For once I seemed at a loss for words. “See you tomorrow.”

  “Yeah, tomorrow.”

  I hung up and fell back on my bed. Jeez, was I the biggest ditz or what? Grabbing my pillow, I hugged it close. I couldn’t get the image of Mark out of my head. Not even his leather jacket could hide his cut body. My fingers ached to touch him.

  Well, if I couldn’t do that now, at least I could dream about him.

  I snuggled under my covers, safe in bed.

  Hugging my arms close to my body, I tried to stay warm. My favorite sleeping outfit, an Old Navy t-shirt and baggy cotton shorts, didn’t do much in the warmth department. I glanced at my surroundings, to get a sense of where I was. A chorus of toads croaked in the background. The Sacramento fog swirled around me. Thick and dense, it was hard to find my bearings.

  Snap!

  The sound of twigs breaking startled me. I fell backwards and landed in a patch of dried grass. The weeds scratched my palms. I brushed them off and stopped.

  Where was I?

  I got up and made my way to a barbed wire fence. A rusted sign hung at a crooked angle, black graffiti etched around the corners.

  Rubbing my eyes, I stepped closer.

  ‘McClellan Air Force Base. No Trespassing’

  A cold breeze stirred fallen leaves from one of the many oak trees. The damp, musky smell of rotting vegetation caused me to sneeze. The old deserted base hadn’t been used for years.

  Apparently someone didn’t know how to read. A gaping hole had been cut through the fence. I cast a nervous glance around to see if anyone else was there. In the distance, through the trees lay old, abandoned tin buildings, beat-up cylindrical garbage cans, and God knows what else. Closer to the fence was open country, teasing me forward.

  Curious, I walked to the opening.

  The hole was big enough for me to slip through. I shimmied in, careful not to touch the nasty looking fence. I didn’t want to chance rubbing against the rusted wires. A gnarly looking cut would be so hard to explain to mom.

  A well-worn path stretched out in front of me. The fog had dissipated. I noticed the beat-up Nikes on my feet.

  I hiked up the hill, the path surrounded by tall trees and shrubbery. I almost slipped on some acorns scattered on the ground. I wondered if any squirrels were around. Winter was coming soon and they would so need those nuts. Weird, how, at a time like this, I would be worried about those fearless furry rodents.

  I had the urge to go through the trees. The artwork of the local spiders hung in some of the branches of the oak trees. The beads of early morning dew looked like thousands of diamonds. My legs itched, just thinking about rubbing against the sticky webs. Still I knew I had to go up that path. The grass whispered under my feet.

  I heard voices ahead, and hid behind one of the huge trees.

  “You shouldn’t have left me,” a husky voice said.

  “Please, no....” A woman whimpered, in pain.

  My heart skipped a beat. He’s hurting her!

  I took a quick peek from behind t
he tree. A tall, dark-haired man pointed a gun at a petite woman. A long dress or coat covered her body. A colorful scarf wrapped around her head accentuating her only large frightened eyes.

  “Arjook, Erhamni!” she begged the man. I didn’t have to understand her to know she was pleading for her life.

  A sour expression covered the man’s face. “Ayatoha Al Sakita.” He kicked her to the ground, disgusted. “You slut. How dare you disgrace me?”

  The woman sobbed. “Arjook, Al rahma! Please, have mercy on me.” She grasped his leg, and pulled herself up.

  Anger overcame me. How dare he hurt her! I wanted to scream at the man to stop, but the silver glare reflecting off his gun stopped me.

  Stone-faced, the man ignored her pleas and with one violent kick, the woman crumpled to the ground like an unwanted rag doll.

  He aimed his gun and....

  I squeezed my eyes shut. Oh, please don’t do this. Tears ran down my face. Though I didn’t know this woman, each sob tore through me. Why, God? I didn’t know the purpose of seeing these violent acts. And for a brief moment, in that place, I hated God.

  A loud shot rang through the night.

  I startled awake in my perspiration-soaked bedding. My body trembled.

  I couldn’t get the woman’s cries out of my head. I grabbed my pillow close in a vain attempt to silence the ear-piercing screams.

  After all this time, I’d never gotten over the horror of experiencing each victim’s demise. The real thing was more terrible than anything in those crime shows on TV.

  Sour bile filled my mouth. I ran to my bathroom, kicked the toilet cover up, and barfed. Spasms racked my body, until nothing remained.

  I hugged myself, trying to forget the horror etched on the woman’s face – knowing she was going to die.

  I wanted to grab my phone and call 911. But I knew from past experience no one would believe me. The police might even blame me.

  Okay, Steph. Get a grip. Don’t think about the blood and brains plastered on her body. No, remember where she died.

  A sign flashed in my mind.

  Of course, the deserted airbase.

  I knew where the woman had been killed. Now all I had to do was make my cross and get to the scene of her murder.

  But one thing stopped me. Allison. She’d warned me about danger and even about Mark. But since she was so wrong about Mark being bad, how could I make sense of the other day at Hillary’s, or this?

  What if a cross doesn’t work? What then?

  No. A cross had helped me in the past, it would help now. Maybe I’d just imagined seeing Allison.

  Right, that’s it.

  Feeling better, I put together a plan of action. If I couldn’t help the woman before, I could help her now.

  Chapter 9

  I didn’t want to go. I hated dances. But I knew this would get Mom off my case about making the crosses and then she’d lay off nagging Dad. Poor Dad. I hated him being at the receiving end of Mom’s complaining, especially about me.

  A few hours wouldn’t kill me. I could slip in and out of the dance with enough time to do my rescue. Plus Mom would leave me alone – for at least a little while.

  So I went.

  Once inside the building I almost changed my mind. The piercing music and gaudy decorations – along with Hillary’s wannabe court in their Nordstrom designer dresses – made me want to gag.

  I almost left right then but I remembered Mom’s pissed off face. Anything – even this dumb dance – was better than going back to that.

  I made my way to the refreshment table, which was pushed against the far wall underneath some loose orangey crepe paper. The usual sugary staples filled the table, cake slices, brownies, and Costco Gourmet Chocolate Chunk Cookies. A mixture of 7-Up and lime sherbet filled the punch bowl.

  Cura wandered over to me. Tonight she’d colored a pink stripe in her brown hair. Her combination of layers gave her dress a vintage appeal.

  Cura grabbed a fudge brownie and took a bite. “Oh, my God, I think I died and went to Heaven. Want one?”

  “Nah, that’s okay.”

  “I’m glad you decided to come,” she said, wiping a crumb off her mouth.

  “Beats staying home.”

  “Come on, it can’t be that bad. At least you don’t have a mother who insists on playing her high school oldies 24/7.”

  I laughed. “Yeah, I guess you’re right, although this music isn’t that much better.”

  “Ain’t that the truth.” Cura pointed to the dance floor. “Hey, check out Dylan. Isn’t that sweet? Look, he’s dancing with Linda.”

  I smiled. Dylan might get on my nerves but I had to admit he was being a real gentleman dancing with the thirteen-year-old friend of his sister. Her face glowed, and it had nothing to do with the lights in the hall.

  Then the music stopped.

  “Why don’t you ask Dylan to dance?” Cura nudged me with her free hand.

  “Hey, Dylan, over here!” Cura motioned him over, before I could say anything.

  The artificial light played over his boyish features. My heart raced. Why hadn’t I noticed before how much of a hottie he’d become? And it didn’t hurt that he wore an amazing suit that only accentuated his surfer body – broad shoulders, tight abs, and nice butt.

  “Jeez, Cura,” I muttered, but it was too late.

  “Hey, wanna dance?” he asked with a shy, sexy smile.

  “Sure.” I ignored the urge to grab his hand. Instead I led the way to the dance floor, trying hard not to let my emotions show.

  Next to the punch bowl, Cura gave me a thumbs up.

  The loud rock music changed to a familiar love song that I’d often fantasized over. It felt weird to be with Dylan during this song. My gosh! He’s my friend, not my boyfriend.

  Dylan must have felt the same way. He stepped back when the music started, a panicked expression on his face.

  “Don’t worry, I don’t bite.” Taking his hand, I placed it on my lower back. I stepped in closer. My satin dress rustled against his chest.

  Emotions surged through me. What was going on? He’s only my friend. I kept repeating this, but deep down I wished it weren’t true.

  Hey, didn’t that one chick on TV end up with her next-door neighbor? Why couldn’t that happen to me? Dylan was a lot cuter than that actor too.

  I leaned into him, enjoying the moment. I didn’t want the music to stop. Somehow being within his arms I felt so safe. And for a moment, I forgot about rescues and pissed off mothers.

  I glanced up. Up close, he was even cuter.

  Dylan opened his mouth to say something, when the music stopped.

  “Can I have this dance?” Out of nowhere, Mark appeared. A rock classic song blared with his arrival.

  His black leather jacket and blue jeans looked especially hot. His cross necklace sparkled in the light. Mark beckoned me closer with his eyes. I obliged.

  “Hey, man,” Dylan growled. “Do I know you?”

  “Dylan,” I hissed, “don’t be rude.” I glared at him.

  “Sorry, dude.” Mark shrugged. “I didn’t know you two were together.”

  “As if.” I laughed. “That would be like dating my brother. We’re just friends.”

  Even in the dark hall, I could have sworn Dylan looked hurt. He clutched his hands to his side. At that moment, I felt like such a traitor.

  “Later, dude,” Mark said, with his hand on my lower back. He guided me to the dance floor.

  I couldn’t resist looking back at Dylan. He stood on the dance floor, alone. Cura shook her head.

  The guilt rammed into me hard. Some friend I was. I wanted to go back, and be with him.

  “Hey,” Mark said.

  I glanced up, and all memory of Dylan fled. All that mattered was being with Mark. This time he wore an intoxicating sandalwood scent. I couldn’t help myself. I leaned closer, wanting more.

  “How did you get in dressed like that?” I pulled away, motioning to his outfit, which so wa
sn’t in keeping with dress standards.

  “Don’t worry about it. The point is, I’m in. Heard about the dance and thought I’d drop in.”

  “I’m glad you did.”

  “Me too.” He smiled. I felt my heart miss a beat.

  He pulled me back into his embrace. The whole world disappeared and it was just me and him on the dance floor. I wondered what it would feel like to kiss him. I moved my head a little to the right, until our noses were only inches away. Closer. Just a little closer.

  The music stopped.

  He pulled away, a frantic look on his face. “Gotta bail.”

  And just like that he was gone. Was it something I said? I stood on the dance floor, wondering how Mark managed to just pop in on me. Then I glanced at my watch.

  Oh, my gosh. I needed to go. Now.

  Only a few more hours to do my rescue. I felt so guilty. Here I was enjoying myself while a poor spirit needed my help. I couldn’t have another repeat of the other night at Hillary’s house.

  Next to the wall, Dylan stood with Cura, his arms folded. He looked disappointed.

  Should I go to him? Jeez, I couldn’t deal with this.

  No, I had to do my rescue. Still, I couldn’t deny the mixed emotions swirling inside me. First Dylan. Then Mark.

  What was going on with me?

  Chapter 10

  I pushed aside the mini blind to glance outside. Jeez, could it be any colder? I snuggled inside my brother Ricky’s old American River College sweatshirt, trying to get warm. My breath frosted the window. The street lights vanished in the dense fog, painting the world a dreary gray.

  With my cross, the spooky atmosphere, and a wandering spirit, this night had all the makings of a cheap horror flick.

  I’d come home early from the dance, more confused than ever. Mom didn’t say much. But I could tell she was happy I’d left the garage and my handmade cross. Little did she know the truth – that I’d be sneaking out later with the very cross she hated, to do what I did best – help the dead find the light.