Crossed Out

by Kim Baccellia

  But why couldn’t I forget about Dylan or Mark? Jeez, I didn’t have time to dwell on boys.

  I glanced at the wall clock. One minute past one o’clock in the morning – time to complete my rescue without waking up my family.

  Still I hesitated. It wasn’t just the cold weather outside. Even though I was glad to help the woman in my nightmare, I still felt queasy. I mean, look at my latest track record. Not good. What if I screwed up again?

  Something about the woman – besides the blood and splattered brains – bothered me all day. Her clothing and language seemed familiar. If I remembered right, a bulky nun-like outfit hung loosely from her body. But I knew she wasn’t a nun. Instead of a stereotypical nun’s coif, a colorful silky scarf concealed her hair and highlighted her terrified eyes that reminded me of a deer that stumbled in front of Dad’s SUV last summer in Reno – right before our Chevy smacked into it.

  Anxious to get my rescue over with, I grabbed the extra set of keys from the marble kitchen counter. I tiptoed past Dad’s sleeping form. One of Grandma’s log cabin quilts covered his body. Guilt about my run-in with Mom came over me. Was I the reason for him sleeping in the living room?

  A few empty cans of beer were scattered around his La-Z-Boy.

  I inched along the back wall, careful not to bump into Mom’s collection of Thomas Kinkade prints and knickknacks that lined the counter in the family room. Fastened in the middle of the wall was our new flat screen TV. Gray static filled the screen. The white noise gave me goose bumps and reminded me some people actually believed the dead communicated through off-the-air radio waves.

  I stretched over to turn it off, but decided against it. I glanced at Dad. He snored loudly. Nothing could wake him. Or so I thought.

  “Huh...?” He jerked up, knocking over one of the beer cans next to his chair.

  Major crapola. Ducking down, I looked for a place to hide. My heart pounded so hard I thought for sure he heard it. I hid behind the counter. Please, go back to sleep. Though I loved Dad to pieces, he’d had the hardest time accepting anything to do with the supernatural. I cringed just imagining what he would think of my little excursion this early in the morning.

  His half-closed eyes glanced around the room. He shrugged and went back to sleep.

  Whew. Too close. I waited a few more minutes. When his snoring resumed, I dashed to the door, opened it and left.

  Strands of fog drifted by me, wrapping around cars, houses, and our mailbox out front. Just the right atmosphere for what I needed to do to place the completed cross next to the deserted airbase. I hoped someone had found the woman’s body by now. I so didn’t want to deal with a bloody corpse this early in the morning.

  As I cut across our front lawn, my Nikes squeaked on the wet grass. The moisture soaked through my sweats. I shivered. I made my way toward our old Jetta, parked on the street.

  I knew I shouldn’t be driving, considering I only had my learner’s permit.

  But I had to do this. Hopefully, something would distract Mr. Policeman while I did my job.

  Feeling better, I started the car, wincing at the backfire. Jeez, couldn’t Dad or Mom take the car to the shop? I prayed Dad, or anyone else in the neighborhood hadn’t woken up.

  I drove around the corner and let out a sigh of relief. Good, no one had gotten up to stop me. Maybe this rescue wouldn’t be too hard after all.

  Chapter 11

  As I drove toward the deserted airbase, I made out my school on the hill across the freeway. For a moment I forgot about my rescue.

  Memories of the last few hours came back to me.... Dylan looked so hot on the dance floor. I couldn’t forget how safe and protected I felt in his embrace.

  How I wished I had someone to confide in, someone who understood my fascination with crosses and dead people, someone who would not judge me, or call me strange like they did some of those Goth or Emo kids whose only fashion statement came in black and chains.

  But that wasn’t going to happen any time soon. Knowing my luck, instead of being bumped down to an even worse fate than invisible status at school, I’d get carted off to the local funny farm where everyone saw dead people.

  No, I wouldn’t go there.

  I continued to the old airbase. I got off the I-80, driving down Watt Avenue. Oak trees flashed by my window.

  At the top of the hill, the fog thinned. A few lone strands drifted by my car like bits of broken spider web.

  I parked my car on the shoulder of the old asphalt road, near a dilapidated warehouse. From my window I could make out ‘Aircraft Engine Test’ on the building. Litter covered the dry forgotten grass. Rusted metal containers lay on their sides.

  I slid from my car and opened the trunk. An old quilt covered the cross. I removed it, careful not to smudge the pen artwork. Moonlight embraced the wood, draping its approval around it.

  I walked to the crest of the hill.

  Thousands of stars filled the sky. Without man-made lights or fog, I could see all of Sacramento spread out in the basin below.

  I turned away. I had no time to admire the sights. The woman I needed to rescue only had a few more hours left before her chance to cross over passed. Then she’d be left to wander the airbase forever.

  And I’d be responsible. I shuddered, remembering my failure at Hillary’s house.

  I’d already screwed up one rescue. I hated to think what would happen to me if I didn’t do this one right either.

  The ominous barbed wire fence separated me from the ghostly base inside. A cold breeze lifted loose leaves and debris. A few runaway tumbleweeds rolled by the empty airplane hanger.

  Everything about the area was the same as in my nightmare – the old battered sign, the decrepit airbase, the gaping hole in the fence.

  The hairs on the back of my neck rose. I whirled around, expecting to see someone. I could have sworn someone was watching. A whiff of a woodsy scent drifted my way.

  Okay, I don’t have time for this. I shrugged off the uneasy feeling that someone was stalking me. Right. As if Mark didn’t have anything better to do than to follow me and hide out at an old airbase this early in the morning.

  Once at the fence, I nudged the cross through the opening. Thump. The cross hit the ground. I winced. A little too noisy for comfort.

  I scanned the area. Satisfied no one heard me, I crawled through.

  I picked up the cross and hurried forward. Enormous oak trees and serviceberry crowded close together, their branches looking like malevolent guards, trying to keep intruders out. Piles of dead leaves blanketed the grass.

  An owl hooted. Startled, I ran right into a spider web. A sticky string clung to my skin. Ew. I pictured some humongous garden spider crawling up my arm.

  I brushed away the offensive cobweb and almost missed the sign: ‘Caution Crime Scene Do Not Enter’.

  Yellow and black tape wrapped, like a big morbid bow, around two oak trees. So someone had found the dead woman.

  I tiptoed toward the murder site. The body was gone. A sense of déjà vu came over me and an image of the woman on her knees pleading for her life flashed through my mind. What had she said? Anjook … something. Though I’d seen the murder in a vision, actually being at the site gave me the creeps.

  I knew better then to mess with the crime scene. I laughed. Like shoving a wooden cross into the ground wasn’t disturbing.

  I thrust the cross into the damp grass, outside of the tape. The earth rumbled underneath me. I lost my balance and fell backwards.

  Brilliant light burst from the cross and poured into the grove of trees. This always happened right before the dead appeared. The cross became a sort of beacon, guiding spirits to me.

  Sure enough, I saw the woman in my dream. She drifted toward me. She no longer wore a scarf; her dark hair fell below her shoulders. One side of her head was smashed in, with one eyeball pushed upward. It was totally gruesome. Her face reminded me of a bruised apple, the rotten part destroying the overall symmetry of the fruit. I held
my breath and resisted the urge to barf.

  She stared at me, confusion etched on what remained of her face.

  “Who are you?” Her husky voice sounded just like in my dream.

  “I-i-i-i-t doesn’t matter who I am. Just follow the light.”

  “The what?”

  “Just follow the light.” I nodded my head toward a stand of oak trees to my right. “C’mon you’re dead. You’ve got to know you have to follow the light.”

  She glanced at the cross. Curvy lines ran up the beam. I had to admit my black marker did wonders for the otherwise boring wood.

  “What are you doing?” she whispered.

  “Oh, this?” I tried to act nonchalant, but my hands shook. “Just something to help you pass to the other side. But really, you need to go before it’s too late.”

  Brightness swamped the area, bathing the darkened woods with its own version of some kind of massive light show. I could have sworn I heard the trickle of a water fountain.

  But the woman seemed oblivious to it all. She gazed at the cross in my hands.

  “Why are you putting that here?” She seemed pissed off.

  Jeez, you’d think that I killed her.

  “It’s a cross,” I said. “You know, to help—”

  “I can see what it is. That won’t help me.”

  “Why not?”

  “Leave me alone,” the woman snapped then knocked the cross over.

  Early morning dew spattered on my cross. I watched the design I’d worked so hard on blur into a big blackened mess.

  At the same time the vision of Heaven vanished. It seemed as if the other side didn’t agree with her harsh treatment of the cross.

  “Why did you do that?” Confused, I stared at her. Or what remained of her. Her body grew more transparent. I saw the forest through her.

  “I don’t need help from you.” Sobbing, she ran toward the deserted airbase until she faded into the darkness. Her chance to go to Heaven was vanishing with each passing minute.

  But if I thought that was the worst part of the evening, I was mistaken.

  “Stephanie, what’s going on?” Dylan rushed through a parting in the oak trees, barely missing the upset spirit. When he looked at me, his eyebrows shot up in surprise. I’m sure a bazillion questions went through his mind.

  Crap. And double crap.

  How did Dylan know I would be here? And worse yet, how could I attempt to explain the reason I was here at two in the morning?

  Where was Dr. Anthony when I needed him?

  Chapter 12

  Emotions flooded my body, and for a moment, I felt sick. How did Dylan know I’d be here? I thought he’d be in bed, after the dance. I couldn’t believe my dumb luck. First the spirit with the bad attitude, now this. I wanted to run, hide, or disappear. Anything would be preferable to explaining my current situation to Mr. Righteous.

  Boy, talk about being royally screwed.

  I scooted in front of my ruined cross. I didn’t want him to see it – well, not yet anyway. A soft crackle came from the wood. Then silence.

  Dylan jogged over to where I sat.

  “What are you doing?” He touched the crime scene tape. As he read the tape, his eyes widened. “At a crime scene?”

  I didn’t know what to say. I mean, where would I even begin? Well … I was waiting for this woman, who happens to be like, dead, so I could drive a cross in the ground and release her soul to Heaven.

  The last person I wanted to think I was a nut case was Dylan.

  “Whoa, Steph.” Dylan pushed away what remained of the tape. He whistled the Twilight Zone tune. “You’re in big trouble messing with this.”

  Duh, like I didn’t know that.

  “It’s not what you think. Really.” I continued to block the cross with my body.

  “Uh, huh.” He squatted next to me. Close up I saw concern in his hazel eyes. “Why are you out in a deserted area so early in the morning? Not the brightest move, Steph.”

  “If I told you, you’d never believe me.”

  “Try me.” Horror crept on to his face. “Unless of course, you really did something…. You didn’t, did you?”

  “No, I didn’t kill anyone, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

  “You have to admit, this doesn’t look good.”

  My heart missed a beat. I wanted to tell Dylan the truth, really I did. Memories of the only time I’d trusted someone with my secret held me back. I could still feel the humiliation of my visit to the loony bin and the ridicule of everyone, including my own family.

  No, I refused to let that happen again.

  “Help me up, will ya?”

  Dylan extended his hand to me. With my other hand I grabbed my now-ruined cross.

  Dylan’s eyes blinked in surprise. “Is that a cross?”

  “Well, it was before....” I shook my head. “Forget it.”

  “Boy this is getting weirder by the minute. I feel like I’m in the middle of an X-File episode.” He narrowed his eyes. “You sure you don’t want to tell me what’s going on?”

  I grew impatient with Dylan’s version of Twenty Questions. Each minute he drilled me meant less time to help that poor woman. I didn’t want to unload on Dylan about the real reason I’d come to the airbase. But I knew I had no choice. I had to fix my botched rescue.

  So I decided to throw him a bone. I wouldn’t be giving out the whole scoop, just a little info. Enough – I hoped – to satisfy Dylan until I contacted the counselor. Maybe, he’d help me out of this mess.

  “I really need to call Dr. Anthony.”

  “Who?” Dylan asked.

  Oh, just great. Now I had to confess I saw a counselor. But right now I didn’t really care.

  “You know the other day, when I had an appointment? Well, my mother made me see this counselor. Shrink. Whatever. Anyway he told me things….”

  “What are you talking about? What does a counselor have to do with you messing around with a crime scene early in the morning?”

  “A lot, okay? Just let me call him.”

  “Jeez, Steph. Now sure is a funny time to bother a shrink. Don’t you know it’s two in the morning?”

  “Maybe he’s up doing something right now,” I reasoned. An image of the cross and bloody cloth in his room flashed through my mind. “It’s not like he’s a normal human being with a life or anything.”

  Dylan threw his hands in the air. “I don’t get you, Steph. If you’re not gonna tell me, let’s just leave. Maybe you’ll come to your senses tomorrow.”

  “You can go, but I need to make that call.”

  I stormed ahead of him, struggling to carry my heavy cross without looking like a total idiot. My tennis shoes squeaked in the wet grass.

  “Here, let me take that.” Dylan grabbed the cross. “Whoa, did you make this?”

  “Yeah, some people knit. I make crosses. What’s so weird about that?”

  “Oh, nothing, if you’re Catholic. Which last time I checked, we weren’t – unless of course you’re thinking of converting.”

  “You sound just like my mom.” I rolled my eyes. “Just chill out, okay?”

  With Dylan beside me, the old airbase didn’t seem so forbidding. The barbed wire fence emerged up ahead. I climbed through, Dylan followed.

  We continued down the hill toward the cracked asphalt road. It seemed strange to see only two cars in the huge, deserted parking lot. Dylan had angled his old ’91 Chevy pick-up truck close to my Jetta.

  I flung open the door to my car and grabbed my Dooney & Bourke handbag, hidden under the passenger’s seat. I fished inside for my cell phone and Dr. Anthony’s phone number. I prayed he was up preparing for whatever it was that guides of rescuers did.

  “Are you serious? You’re really going to call him?” Dylan shook his head in amazement.

  “Yeah, why not? I know he can help.” Then I couldn’t resist. “It’s not like you haven’t been caught in a similar situation.”

  “What’s that have to
do with anything?” Dylan said in disbelief. “The last time I looked, you were the one sitting by a crime scene. Not me.”

  “Fine. Whatever.” I rummaged through my cluttered bag, cursing to myself for not cleaning it out sooner.

  Then I found it.

  I looked at the crumpled paper Mom had given me last week. I flipped open my phone and dialed the numbers.

  He answered after the second ring.

  “Hello.”

  “Um….” I gulped. “Dr. Anthony?”

  “Stephanie? Is that you?”

  “Yeah. Something major came up. And....”

  I turned and noticed Dylan’s face pressed against my car window, and I lowered my voice. I took a deep breath. “Can I just see you? Like – now?”

  “Of course,” Dr. Anthony said. “I’ve been expecting your call. Why don’t you meet me at my office? I’m at home now, but I can be there in ten minutes.”

  “Man, this is just unbelievable.” Dylan thumped the car window with his palm. He took a step away from my car and glared at me. “Unbelievable.”

  “Stephanie?” Dr. Anthony broke through the awkward moment. “Is someone with you?”

  “Um…a friend.” How could I lie? I was sure he’d heard Dylan’s tantrum. Even so, a shiver tiptoed up my spine. Or had he known Dylan would be here?

  “Good, I’ll see both of you in a few minutes.” He hung up before I could say anything more.

  “What was that all about?” Dylan asked.

  “Nothing big. I mean—”

  “Stephanie, I don’t feel good about this. We really need to talk.”

  “Dylan, I can explain, really. But now is not the time.”

  “You can’t just blow me off, Steph.” He pressed the cross close to the car window “Not with this and me finding you at a crime scene in the middle of nowhere.

  “And what’s this with calling a counselor this early in the morning? Are you two hiding something? I think you at least owe me an explanation.”

  I looked at my cross and back at him. I was sick of fighting. For a brief moment I seriously considered spilling my guts. Maybe he’d believe my predicament and help me with this rescue.