The Black Coats

by Colleen Oakes

  “Stand up,” their president ordered. Nixon padded over to the glasses of water, grabbing one for herself before gnashing her teeth into the croissant. “Mmm. These are good. Kennedy is a killer baker.” She wiped her mouth with her hand. “Now, ladies, what went wrong here?”

  “Everything,” Casey muttered. “Also, you had help, which wasn’t fair.”

  “No?” Nixon raised her eyebrows. “It’s absolutely fair that I brought in Sahil. You know why? Because Sahil is part of my team. You know what resource you never thought to use? Your team. You are still thinking like individuals. I never told you that you had to fight me one at a time. In fact, I didn’t tell you any rules at all. You were too worried about being polite. You don’t want to look bossy or say the wrong thing. But here, at the Black Coats, we don’t have time for that timid female crap. You lost badly, but even worse, you abandoned one another as you watched me take down your teammates. One of you at a time, I can take, maybe even two . . .” She winked at Louise. “But all five of you I would not have been able to control. That’s what makes your team so important.” She finished guzzling her water and brushed off her pants. “Now, I want you to try again, and this time, I want you to think and move as if you have five distinct talents.”

  “Some of us do, anyway,” muttered Mirabelle, eyeing Bea.

  Nixon clapped. The girls came closer. Sahil stepped up beside her.

  Thea straightened up. Someone needed to take charge here, and it might as well be her. She had to redeem herself after the awkward scene in the hallway. “Team Banner! Come here.” They clustered around Thea as she dropped her voice to a whisper. “Louise, you take Nixon first—you can keep her occupied for a minute or so at least. Casey, Mirabelle, you take Sahil. You won’t be able to fight him, but you can at least hold on to him, maybe weigh him down? Casey, go for his legs; Mirabelle, you try to hold his arms. Nixon said you were strong—let’s see it. Bea and I will go for the water. We’ll flank one on each side. Okay?”

  The girls nodded, all except for Bea, who closed her eyes for a long moment as her hands fiddled under her long sleeves.

  The girls turned back to Nixon and Sahil, who at the sight of the girls seemed as amused as lions watching antelopes make a plan. Nixon grinned. “Team Banner, are you ready? This time I’d like—”

  Thea shouted “Go!” in the middle of Nixon’s statement, catching her off guard. The girls swarmed forward. Mirabelle tackled Sahil. He was up in a second, but then Casey was waiting for him and pushed him backward, the weight of Mirabelle holding him down. Thea was running. She passed Sahil and was getting close to the table, where Louise and Nixon were fighting hard. Louise was losing fast; Nixon was fighting dirty, and Louise’s martial-arts training had not prepared her for that. Suddenly, Bea appeared in front of Nixon. “What are you doing?” shouted Thea. This wasn’t the plan.

  “Hold her arms, Louise. Behind her. Now,” Bea requested quietly. Louise, confused, twisted both of Nixon’s arms behind her, thrusting Nixon out in front of her, one foot planted in the middle of her back. Bea stepped forward, moving her hands back and forth in front of Nixon’s eyes, like the pendulum of a clock. When she spoke, her voice stopped Thea in her tracks. It was like a river running down a mountainside, a soothing rumble of power, so different from the meek voice Thea had heard earlier.

  They all watched Bea in silence as her hands kept moving back and forth in front of Nixon’s eyes, her voice lulling them into motionless awe. “You will reach out your hand.” Nixon straightened. “Watch my hands. Watch how they move. You are safe with me, Nixon. I am going to take care of you. You can trust me. Are you watching them? Now reach out your hand.” Louise let go of her arm, and Nixon reached out. Casey gasped. “Now press your hand against my hand.” She repeated the order several times. Nixon’s hand began trembling, but finally she did what Bea said, laying her palm across Bea’s. “Now close your eyes. Press on my hand and close your eyes.”

  Nixon’s eyes closed. When they did, Bea jerked her hand away quickly and violently, while at the same time ordering: “Sleep.” As her hand fell swiftly away from Bea’s, Nixon fell sideways, her body following her arm, her face hitting the mat with a soft bounce. “You are falling, deeper and deeper,” Bea whispered as she crouched over her. “Deeper and deeper.” Nixon didn’t move, though the rise and fall of her chest showed that she was, as Bea had commanded, deeply asleep.

  Bea walked forward and picked up one of the croissants, looking at it for a moment before taking a huge bite. The team watched in silence as she ate the croissant and drank the water, wiping her mouth messily on her sleeve when she was done. Then she turned back to their president, unconscious on the ground. Bea snapped her fingers. “Wake up!”

  Nixon jerked to her feet, her eyes darting from side to side. She looked over at Bea with wonder and pride. “Well done, Bea,” she muttered, wiping a droplet of blood from the corner of her mouth. “Well done, Thea and Team Banner.”

  There was only silence in the room. Sahil’s face was a mix of delight and disbelief.

  “Holy shit,” said Mirabelle.

  Nixon clapped her hands. “Again!”

  After several more tries—some successful, some not—Nixon finally gave them a break. Thea’s legs were shaking, and she was dripping with sweat, but at least she wasn’t alone. The entire team limped toward one of the low tables and collapsed on the long oak benches that flanked them. Finally, they had earned their reward. The croissants were devoured. The pretense that all high school girls ate daintily was sucked down like the clouds of pastry they were shoving into their mouths. Only Mirabelle turned her pert nose away. “Is that real butter on those? I don’t eat dairy,” she griped.

  Thea chewed on the huge piece in her mouth. “Your loss,” she muttered.

  Casey raised her dark eyebrows at Mirabelle. “Are you actually allergic, or is that just the new trend for cheerleaders in Texas?”

  Mirabelle scowled. “Why would you assume I’m a cheerleader?”

  “A lucky guess.” Casey snorted.

  “Well, I’m not. I’m actually the captain of the debate team. Maybe I should guess some things about you, too.” Mirabelle tossed her hair out of her eyes and turned her voice into a pitying whine. “I’m guessing you paint your nails black, just love the Cure, and are biding your time until you can go to Sarah Lawrence.”

  Casey shoved back the bench, rocking Louise and Thea as she went. “You don’t know anything about me.” Slowly, she raised her middle finger in Mirabelle’s direction, nails painted hot pink, then stalked angrily to a table across the room.

  Thea turned to Bea, who was doing her best to disappear into the wall behind the bench. “We have to ask about it, you know. You can hypnotize people?”

  Bea played absentmindedly with her locket. “Yes. If they are willing. Nixon could have very well punched me in the face, but she chose to surrender; she wanted you guys to see what I could do.”

  Thea wiped away the bead of sweat making its way down her hairline and grinned. “It’s like you have a superpower! Where did you even come from?”

  Mirabelle groaned, obviously eavesdropping. “It’s not magic, sycophants. It’s carnival nonsense is what it is.”

  Bea wearily shook her head. “It’s actually neither of those things. Hypnosis is a trancelike state, when people have heightened focus. It’s science and psychology, nothing else. When people are desperate, they are very open to suggestion.”

  Thea rolled her hands up her cool mason jar of water. “You pulled your hand back and she fell. Was that part of it?”

  Bea smiled. “That’s my favorite part. It’s called the shock. It’s a way of hurtling someone forward into the hypnosis.”

  Mirabelle pretended to sneeze. “Ahhh, witchcraft!”

  Bea flinched at the word.

  Thea looked over at Mirabelle’s impossibly blue eyes. “Well, only one of us was able to get to the waters, and it wasn’t you,” she deadpanned.

  “What
is that supposed to mean?”

  Thea leaned forward. “We aren’t at Roosevelt, and you aren’t the queen bee here. You’re just as cool as the rest of us, maybe even less so.” As the words left her mouth, Thea realized that she would probably regret them tomorrow when she saw Mirabelle at school.

  Louise looked up from the end of the table, where she was sitting silently, patting her bruises down with bags of ice that Nixon had provided. “Which, as you may have noticed, is not very cool at all. We suck.”

  “It’s true. For now.” Nixon was standing over them, wiping the hint of sweat off her face. She pointed to Casey’s table. “Casey, get back over here. You don’t leave your team just because Mirabelle said something insulting.” Nixon turned back to Mirabelle. “And you, you need to watch your words. The ‘face’ is the most expendable member of this team, and so far, you’ve done nothing today to convince me that you belong here.”

  Mirabelle bit her lip, and Thea thought she saw a flicker of tears in her eyes before she stood up and stormed out of the Haunt. She slammed the wood door behind her so hard that even Sahil, standing nearby, gritted his teeth.

  Thea regarded Nixon. “Should I go after her?”

  Nixon seemed unfazed. “Not now.” She whirled on the remaining team members. “The rest of you can head home. That will be all for today—at least, after you do the dishes.”

  Casey’s head jerked up from where it was lying on the table across the room. “Dishes?”

  Thirty minutes later, most of Team Banner was clustered together in a small area in front of a large silver tub, each of them wearing yellow rubber gloves and scrubbing small, delicate china plates. Thea held up her dish, admiring her work. “This is really not what I pictured when I imagined my life of vigilante justice.” She sighed. “More Batman, less cleaning.”

  Bea smiled as she scrubbed. “So, Nixon’s terrifying.”

  “And yet, you made her fall asleep with your hand.” Casey shook her head. “That was amazing.” She coughed. “It’s too bad it wouldn’t have worked on Mirabelle.”

  Louise made a face. “Ugh, Thea, I can’t believe you have to see her at school every day.”

  “Yeah.” Dread slithered its way through Thea. Mirabelle could make her life a living hell at Roosevelt.

  “The sad thing is”—Casey laughed, a bright smile dissolving her normally scowling face—“she was totally right about the Cure. I love them so much.”

  Team Banner erupted into laughter. “We’re a motley crew,” pronounced Bea, plopping the last dish into the sink. “I mean, we pretty much have nothing in common except . . .”

  Silence enveloped the group as they each recoiled at her words, each girl suddenly plunged into the darkest corners of her own mind. Finally, Thea spoke up, a small tremble in her voice. “Except the fact that we all lost someone, or had something horrible happen to us.”

  Bea added, “Even Mirabelle.”

  The moment was broken as Nixon popped her head around the swinging kitchen door. “Girls. How long does it take to wash dishes? There are four of you. Wrap it up.”

  Thea turned to Nixon, speaking quietly as the team finished the dishes. “I’m so sorry about the hallway, ma’am, with Ms. Westing. It won’t happen again. Sometimes, when I’m caught off guard, I just . . .”

  Nixon knowingly put her hand on Thea’s shoulder. “Sometimes it’s a smell or a song, or perhaps a memory that shakes its way loose at the worst possible time. You can’t predict it, and if you could, you still couldn’t control it. Grief is fighting an invisible tidal wave.”

  Nixon had lost someone, too. That made sense.

  Thea nodded. “Yes. It’s just like that.”

  “I understand, Thea, but I need you to do something for me in return.”

  “Of course. Anything.”

  “I need you to make sure that Mirabelle comes back tomorrow.” Anything but that, Thea thought, but she nodded all the same.

  Eight

  Later that night, after she scarfed down her mother’s chicken casserole, Thea limped up the stairs to her room. The soreness of muscles that hadn’t been used in a long time roared back at her. Upon entering her room, she saw her backpack and shook her head with a chuckle. “I actually have to do homework now. Fantastic.”

  Thea was reaching for her backpack when she heard the shout of a male voice outside. She sprang over to the window and flung open the dual panes. The windows pushed out into the branches of the large tree that dominated their lawn. She looked up and down the street in front of her house and thought, No, it couldn’t be.

  In front of Natalie’s house sat a white pickup truck, the same kind that Cabby Baptist drove. Thea inhaled sharply, the very sight of it painful. She reached for the phone, but as her hand curled around it, one of the painters came around from the rear of the house and threw a ladder in the back. As he walked toward the driver’s seat, Thea noticed a thin green stripe running around the bottom of the truck and the logo on the driver’s-side door. It wasn’t even the same vehicle; in fact, now she could see it wasn’t even the same model. The painter climbed into the truck and drove off.

  Thea sat in front of the windowsill, clutching at her heart, her breaths coming hard and fast. Then she stumbled to the bathroom and clumsily opened her medicine cabinet, reaching for the orange Xanax bottle. One tiny blue pill fell out into her hands. Thea shoved it into her mouth and swallowed without thinking.

  “Calm down. It was nothing,” she murmured to herself, crossing the room and slamming the window shut.

  “Thea, everything okay?” It was her mom’s voice, always concerned. Thea was reassured by it.

  “I’m fine, Mom. I just dropped my book bag.” Thea climbed up into her bed, leaving her homework undone. Instead, she let her mind wander to places it shouldn’t, the Xanax calming her breathing but not much else. Her mind swirled like a tornado. A white pickup truck: the object she saw in her nightmares. A trigger, the grief counselor had called it. The last car Natalie had ever seen had been a white pickup truck.

  Thea climbed into her bed, helpless as the disputed facts of Natalie’s murder flooded her vulnerable mind.

  Her cousin had just wrapped up her first year of college when she announced plans to visit. Thea was elated. It was the first year the cousins had been apart, and it had taken an obvious toll on their friendship. While Thea was happy that Natalie was loving college life, the simmering jealousy she felt at Natalie’s new adventures with new friends made it hard to talk to her on the phone.

  She had felt left behind, and suddenly the previously insignificant gap between their ages was now as wide as the ocean. Thea had friends, but she missed the one who had been an extension of her own body. So when Natalie had come home that weekend, Thea had practically tackled her on the front lawn, both of them shrieking with laughter in a moment of pure joy. It was short-lived, however, as they struggled with normal conversation as the day wore on.

  Thea had tried not to care about Natalie’s weird political rants and her dismissive attitude about Thea’s high school problems, but it didn’t work. Natalie announced she wasn’t going to come to Thea’s practice meet because she was going camping, and that had left Thea bitter and stung. The weekend was awkward, and then, before she knew it, Natalie was leaving. Thea had watched Natalie pack up her car as she stood awkwardly next to it with her arms crossed and heart aching. But just before she left, Natalie had paused and walked over to her, pulling her cousin into her arms. “Hey, girl,” she had said. “I’m sorry I can’t come to the meet. I’ll call you in a few days, and we’ll plan for you to come up next month. It will just be us. We’ll be okay.”

  Thea had looked away, knowing she was being ridiculous. But then as Natalie had turned back to the car and stretched out her lean body, Thea had felt a jolt go through her as her cousin’s shirt rose up. Natalie had a belly button ring. She hadn’t even told Thea about it. For some reason, seeing that winking jewel broke something inside her. Tears gathered in Thea’s
eyes, uninvited and babyish. Her heart gave a painful twist at the knowledge that they didn’t know everything about each other anymore. Natalie had moved on.

  “I’ll see you later, Thea,” she had said.

  Thea had turned her head away. “Whatever.”

  The last thing she had said to Natalie was “Whatever.”

  Thea had headed home, and Natalie had taken off for her weekend in Sam Houston National Forest with her new friends.

  A few days later, Thea was stretching her legs on the track, curly hair pressed up against her shins, when she heard a familiar voice. She looked up to see her mom standing next to Coach Vaughn. Her mom’s face was twisted in pain, and her coach was covering his mouth, his eyes leaking tears. When Thea started walking toward them, he turned away to give them privacy, and that was when she knew something was very wrong. A sob caught in her throat. “Mom! Is Dad okay?”

  Her mom nodded once. “Dad’s okay. But . . .” Her mom pulled her aside and they sat down on the benches, the blindingly hot Texas sun simmering above them. Her mom stared at Thea for a long moment before she pulled her daughter close. “Thea, something happened to Natalie.”

  Thea looked at her mom’s face, knowing the truth even before she asked it. “Is she going to be okay?”

  Her mom shook her head, her voice so high-pitched that it was almost a wail. “No, baby, she’s not.” That’s when Thea broke, when the shell that was her happiness collapsed and exposed her raw to every shitty feeling a person could ever have.

  Thea drifted through life in a fog for the next few days as details about her cousin’s death gradually emerged. They had found Natalie floating in a muddy creek seventy-two miles outside of Austin. Lying facedown beneath a cluster of cypress trees, the top half of her body was almost submerged under their rotted roots, her back coated with wet leaves. The official cause of death was ruled as asphyxiation, most likely involving strangulation, as evidenced by the contusions on her neck. The back of her head showed a large laceration and there were signs of blunt-force trauma as well as multiple bruises on her face. There was no evidence of sexual assault.