Mayhem (7 page)

“Well, for your information, she can only tell us certain things at a time,” Sasha answers.

“Why? We need to know everything now so we can be prepared,” I insist.

Lindsey shakes her head. “I don't want to know everything.”

“Okay, why don't we just calm down,” Krystal says looking from me to Sasha with pleading eyes. “We all want answers, Jake. But maybe there's a reason for Fatima telling us a little at a time. I don't know about you, but I've learned enough new stuff in the past few months to actually last me a lifetime.”

My head's hurting, my temper's boiling now, temples ach
ing as the anxious feeling in the pit of my stomach grows. Slamming my hand down on the table makes each of the girls jump. “We may not have a lifetime to wait! What happens when this darkness attacks? We don't know what to do or how to stop it. Don't you want to be prepared?”

“No,” Lindsey is saying, and she's still rocking back and forth. It sounds like she's chanting the word now.

“Don't you want to know what's going on with Lindsey? I'll bet it has something to do with her power. Why can't Fatima just explain everything at one time?”

Krystal puts a hand on my arm. “Jake, you're getting loud. People will hear.”

“I don't care! I'm sick of sitting around doing nothing.”

And for the first time in weeks I realize it's true. Since the confrontation with the black smoke in the woods with Krystal and Franklin's disappearance and the weird dead bodies found with missing eyes I've been ready to kick some demon butt. We're sitting ducks just waiting for them to make the next move.

They're looking at me like I've lost my mind, but I don't care. And maybe it's because they're girls that they don't mind sitting back and waiting. I don't know, I just know I'm tired of it.

“So what do you want us to do, Superman? You want us to turn into like some demon hunters and go out looking for the Darkness?” Sasha is not happy with me right now. I can tell because she's rocking her head on her neck and leaning over the table like she's about to jump on me. She gets like that when she's getting worked up. I've seen it a couple times before, but never directed at me.

And Krystal's rubbing my arm again. While I normally like
her touch, this is a little irritating. It's like she thinks I'm this fragile kid who needs her guidance specifically. Her touch always calms me down, though, like a mother or a grandmother's reassurance. The last thing I want to think of Krystal as is my mother or my grandmother and I definitely do not want to calm down.

Both my hands are resting on the table and I'm pretty ticked off by Sasha's sarcasm. Heat pools between my palms and the table and my head throbs so hard an implosion seems inevitable. As if that's not bad enough, the cafeteria gets darker, like outside turned more gloomier than it was when we'd come in this morning. All around me the chatter of kids echoes, footsteps of others walking by grow louder. Inhaling deeply, then exhaling—which sometimes helps and is a relaxation technique I read about online—is futile and only succeeds in making me nauseous. Greasy grilled cheese and not-quite-spoiled chocolate milk isn't a good mix. The acuteness of my senses, on the other hand, is even more alarming.

So with all this going on there's no wonder I feel like I'm having a breakdown. I'd like to know if anybody else is feeling like this. The girls are still staring at me, Sasha with a heated glare, Krystal with concern and Lindsey with what looks like pity.

At that very moment I feel a hand on my shoulder and when I turn I see it's Pace. I know what's coming before it comes. It's surprising and satisfying all at the same time. I stand and I shove him, he falls back sliding on the floor until he hits the table where the Goths sit. Mateo is there in like a millisecond, lifting his fist to punch me. But before his fist can connect with my face, I lift a hand to stop it, pushing him back onto the floor.

He looks up at me, clearly shocked at what I'd done. Scrambling to stand up, he's glaring at me, then he spits. It just misses me but I'm seeing blood red now. His blood. Mateo's and Pace's. I swing and punch him right in the jaw. He jerks back like I'd hit him with a bat. The cafeteria is even darker now and as soon as I look around the windows start breaking out. Each one that I look at bursts, sending shards of glass flying everywhere.

Now kids are screaming and getting up trying to get out of the cafeteria. I turn back to my table and Sasha's looking amazed. Lindsey has silent tears streaming down her face. Krystal…she's not at the table. I turn around and around looking for her, for whatever reason needing her to be right there. But she's not.

And then, suddenly, Principal Dumar is.

“Suspended!
It's the second day of school for Pete's sake, how could you get suspended?” Harry Kramer doesn't yell often, but when he does it's loud enough to shake the mountains hundreds of miles away.

Dad picked me up from school, after Mrs. Ratchett, the chicken-faced office secretary, called him. Principal Dumar hadn't even tried to talk to me, just simply gave Mrs. Ratchett a nod and waited until she handed him some papers. I guess that's how you handle the kids like me. After scribbling his name on those papers he pointed to the long bench in the front of the office, what the students referred to as death row. I didn't care, if he wasn't going to ask any questions, I wasn't going to offer any answers. Not that I had any to start with.

Now we're home, sitting in the kitchen. Well, I'm sitting at the table, Dad's towering over me with his bushy eyebrows meeting in the middle of his forehead, making him look even angrier than I guess he already is.

“What do you have to say about this, Jake? How could this happen? I thought we were square on what your purpose in school is.”

The words come out automatically, like I'd pushed Play on a tape recorder. “Get an education, get out of Lincoln and make something of myself.”

Even though this is the correct answer, Dad doesn't look pleased. “The principal said those boys reported you earlier today for picking on them,” my dad says, pulling a glass from the cabinet and slamming it down on the counter.

He's probably going to get a glass of juice when he really wants something stronger. Dad never drinks liquor in front of me. Sure, I know he drinks because I've seen the bottles of vodka come and go. Not on a regular basis, but still, I put the trash out so I see when the bottle was finished and disposed of.

But I never see Dad actually take a drink or drunk for that matter. All I see is Dad going to work and Dad coming home. Truth be told, I don't know if he did anything other than that. I wish he would; I mean, he could have a better life. He could meet a nice woman; get married again. I know some people don't like stepparents, namely Krystal, but I think it'd be kind of cool to have a woman around the house again. At least then I'd know my dad was being taken care of, instead of him always taking care of us.

I feel bad that he had to leave work to come and get me from school. But I feel worse that he has no clue what's been going on with me for the last few years. That's probably my fault, not wanting to stress him any more than he was. Dad would often ask how was school, who were my friends and stuff like that. I think he had a list or something that he went down the line and asked questions from. Either way, I guess it was still thoughtful of him to ask. I just never answered.

“I don't pick on them,” I say quietly.

“Then tell me what happened. And I want the whole truth, Jake.”

I sigh and sit back in my chair. He really doesn't want the
whole truth. I keep saying that's what I want but as the bits and pieces roll in, I'm not so sure. Whatever happened this afternoon was because of me, that was the truth. I broke those windows out, I pushed Pace first. I punched Mateo. And it made me feel good.

“Those two bother me all the time. I guess I just got tired of it today. So when they approached me in the cafeteria I just struck first.”

“Some boys have been picking on you and you didn't tell me?” Dad looks startled, then hurt, then really pissed off. I guess I should have told him.

“I didn't want to worry you with silly stuff.”

“Somebody bullying you is not silly, Jake.”

I shrug. “I just figured you had better things to worry about. But it's cool, I don't think they'll bother me anymore.”

“It's not cool,” Dad says. “Bullying is never cool and you should have said something sooner.”

“I should have said what? That two guys are picking on me because I'm poor?” The minute I say that I feel like dirt.

Dad comes over, cups a hand on my shoulder and looks me straight in the eye. “We are not poor, Jake. We have all the money we need to do the things we need to do. Just because we don't live in the better neighborhoods or drive fancy cars doesn't mean we don't have anything. Besides, we've got each other, and that counts more than anything material.”

He's hurt by my words and I'm made just a little sad by his. I want to believe him, I want to take the same stance he has about our life. But I can't. Not today. Not when I finally got a taste of having the upper hand.

“I'm going up to that school first thing tomorrow to take care of this.”

“No!” I yell and stand up. Then Dad's stern look sits me right back down. “I mean, it's okay. I think today may have handled it.”

“No, Jake. I think today may have opened the door for more than you think. I saw the broken windows. The principal doesn't know how but he thinks you're responsible for that. Now, I'm gonna ask you straight out and I want an honest answer, did you do that, too?”

I could lie to him. I guess I could. If I look away or down at the table I could shake my head no. But that seems so cowardly and I'm tired of taking the coward's way out. “Yeah, I did it. You already knew I had power.”

Dad sighs and shakes his head. He's the one to look down at the table, then back up at me with a slow steady stare. “You have no idea what you're playing with. These powers are so much more than you think.”

“How do you know?” I ask, because I want to know what makes him think he can tell me about a power he doesn't possess and barely wants to acknowledge.

“I've seen what they can do, Jake. Firsthand. I've watched that power destroy lives. I won't watch it destroy you.”

Suddenly I don't want to hear anymore. I don't want Dad's answers. I just want to get away from here. I don't know if it's what he's saying in that somber voice with the sad eyes or what he's not saying that's shaken me up. But I can't stand it in here anymore, seems like I'm choking on the air. I stand up slow.

“I know what I'm doing,” I say, and start to walk out of the kitchen.

“You don't know. Think about that, Jake, think about ev
erything you don't know about this power and then tell me if it's worth throwing your life away for.”

My back is to my dad and that's probably better for what I'm about to say. “It doesn't matter. It's my power and I have a right to use it.”

“And it's my job as your parent to keep you safe,” he says solemnly. “I will protect you, Jake. Whether you want me to or not.”

Lying
on my bed hours later I can't think of anything else but my dad's words. What did he mean? What was he planning to do? I don't think there's anything he can do. He doesn't have any power, he wasn't chosen by the goddess. I was. And I'm really starting to like that fact.

On the beat-up old desk that holds my computer my cell phone vibrates. I don't want to answer it but I guess I should. I know it's only one of the girls, they're the only ones who ever call me. They probably want to know what happened after Principal Dumar called me into his office. I didn't see any of them after that. It stops ringing and I sigh, resigned to keep staring at the stained ceiling and thinking. But it rings again.

Rolling off my bed with a string of curses running through my mind, but thankfully not falling out of my mouth, I pick it up.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Jake. It's me.”

And “me” would be Krystal.

“Oh, hey,” I say, wishing I hadn't been so agitated and had looked at the display screen. I didn't want to sound grouchy to her.

“Are you busy?”

“No.”

“Are you punished?”

That was a good question. Dad hadn't said so either way. So I guess the answer is no.

“No.”

“Can you come out?”

I hesitate.

“I'm right in front of your house.”

Well, I guess that answers the question for me. “Sure. I'll be out in a minute.”

 

“Hi,” Krystal says as soon as I step out the front door.

My street's really dark, especially at nine o'clock at night. There's a breeze, too, a cool one that taps the bare skin of my face and arms like some sort of wake-up call.

“What are you doing all the way down here at this time of night?” I ask instantly. “Your mom doesn't know you're out, does she?”

She shakes her head. This is the first time I've seen her with her hair all out. It makes her look older. I like it. She's wearing old faded jeans and a white Old Navy shirt with dark blue letters. I look away because I realize I'm paying a lot of attention to how she looks.

“She thinks I'm still at the church. They were having some youth rally there tonight. You know the cops are still looking for the rest of those kids from the bus.”

“So the church is looking for them now, too?”

“No,” she says sticking her hands into the small pockets of her jeans. “The grown-ups are gathering all the kids they can for prayer.”

“And what do they think that'll do?”

Krystal gives me a funny look and I think maybe I've said the wrong thing.

“They think it'll help bring solidarity to a town that's frightened and thinks a serial killer might be on the loose.”

“Why don't they just band together to fight?”

“Some don't believe that fighting back's the answer. They look to a higher being, you know, they have faith that it'll be taken care of.”

We'd started walking down the block, like it was broad daylight outside. “Do you think we're the higher being?”

She chuckled. “Goodness, I hope not. But I guess it's like we're looking to Styx to tell us what our purpose is.”

“And she's ignoring us. I hope whomever they're praying to down at your church is listening.”

“I think He is,” Krystal says quietly. “So what's going on with you, Jake?”

That's a loaded question if ever I've heard one. Again I find myself wanting nothing more than to tell her everything, to just let the floodgates loose. But I can't. I don't want to be judged anymore, and certainly not by Krystal of all people. I just want people to accept me for who and what I am without all the questions. And that's ironic, since I have so many questions of my own.

“I'm cool.”

“I know Mateo and Pace have been giving you a hard time.”

I shrug. “No biggie.”

“Bullying's a big deal, Jake. So big that even movie stars and politicians are getting in on trying to stop it. You should say something to somebody about what they're doing to you.”

“They're not bullying me,” I say, and figure that at least after today they won't be.

“Yeah, they are. You can tell me. I thought we were friends.”

And she says that in a voice so quiet and so, well, sweet, I feel like a total butt for brushing her off. “You still consider Franklin your friend?” With that said I'm so far beyond my prior estimation of myself. I didn't mean to ask her that, or I guess I did. It's something that's been on my mind a lot, and since she's talking about us being friends, it should be okay to ask.

“Franklin's gone,” she says, and sounds farther away than I like.

“I know that, but you still think about him, right? I mean, you were his girlfriend.”

“I was.” She sighs. “I guess if he was here we'd still be friends.”

“Would you still be his girlfriend?”

“I don't know,” she says at first. “Probably not. Were you mad that I was his girlfriend?”

“No,” I say quickly, then decide that if I want her to be honest, I should be, too. “Kind of, I guess. I just couldn't figure out what you saw in him. What he had that I didn't.”

She starts shaking her head immediately. “There's no comparison. I mean, I never compared him to you.”

“Yeah,” I sigh. “I figured that.”

We keep walking. It's quiet except for the normal night sounds—a car in the distance, crickets chirping from wherever they're hiding. The cool breeze is steadily blowing but I'm not cold. I don't know if Krystal is. She might be because she pulls her hands out of her pockets and crosses her arms over her chest.

“I like you, Jake,” she says suddenly, and I stop right there in my tracks.

“What?”

She stops and turns to face me. “I like you. I mean, I know we were sort of thrown together because of the Mystyx thing, but I want you to know that I'd like you anyway. You know, if we were normal.”

I swallow, then do it again because the first time didn't really help me figure out what I want to say in response. My heart's beating a serious rhythm in my chest and there's little bits of sweat beading on my forehead. The cool breeze hitting it makes me shiver.

“I, ah, I like you, too.” The words finally stammer out of my mouth. “But what about Franklin, did you, like, love him?”

Krystal shakes her head quickly. “I don't think so. I mean, I've never been in love but I assume I'd know when I was. Franklin was nice and sort of helped me get through a rough time. I mean, so did you guys. But Franklin changed, even before he fell in the lake he was changing. He wanted things that I wasn't ready for.”

I nod my head, remembering the day we found out Lindsey was a Mystyx. The day Lindsey read Krystal's mind and inadvertently told all of us that Franklin had been asking her about sex. I had a headache for the rest of that day thinking about Franklin putting his hands on Krystal in any way. It made me sick to my stomach to think somebody else could be with her. Then he disappeared and I hoped…

“He shouldn't have done that.”

“It's over now,” she says, then extends her hand to me.

I take it and we start to walk again. Now holding hands like we're boyfriend and girlfriend.

“Would you like me if I wasn't a Mystyx?” she asks.

“Sure,” I say instantly. “I liked you before I knew what you were.”

She smiles and I swear everything inside me warms up. I love the feel of her hand in mine, the feeling I get when she looks at me and smiles, like it's just for me alone.

The breeze picks up a bit and my chilly arm rubs against Krystal's.

“Being a Mystyx is kind of scary,” she says.

“I'm not afraid.”

“Really? We don't even know what we're up against and you're not afraid?”

I shake my head. “Nope. I can handle anything. And you shouldn't be afraid either, I'll protect you.”

“You don't know what you're protecting me from.”

And the minute she says that, the raven—my raven—swoops down in front of us.

Krystal screams, jerking back as the raven flies close to her face, its beak wide open, a screech echoing through the night escaping. Instinctively I push her back behind me, hoping the raven would see me and go back to its usual post of just watching. But that doesn't work. There's some kind of disconnect. A little while ago I felt like the raven was a part of me, hanging around as some sort of animal friend. This time it seems angry and violent and out for something. Out for Krystal.

It circles around us, because I'm blocking Krystal, but it keeps dipping back behind me, screeching as if yelling its fury and poking at Krystal. She's crouched down a bit, huddling
her head in my chest while I keep my arms around her, trying to shield her with my entire body.

“Go away!” I yell. “Get out of here!”

But the raven doesn't listen. It screeches louder, swooping down and grabbing chunks of Krystal's hair. She's shaking in my arms, sobbing. I want her to stop, to smile up at me again. I don't like her this way, hurt and afraid. My helplessness quickly turns to anger.

“I said stop!” Yelling I look up at the raven and catch its intense red-eyed gaze with my own.

If it were possible the bird halts right there, like it's caught in midair or in freeze-frame. The noise of screeching and crying stops, the air is now still. But I hear something else.

Footsteps.

Someone's coming.

My arms tighten protectively around Krystal. Her head's still buried in my chest so she can't see what's going on around her. That's probably a good thing. I'm just saying, the lunatic bird had her trembling in my arms. Seeing the larger-than-life blob of black smoke moving steadily toward us would probably have her running scared within minutes.

The night had grown darker, streetlights mysteriously going out at just the precise moment the raven appeared. And now this, the Darkness that we've been leery of these past few months is coming right at me. And although I can hear footsteps as loud as the thumping of my heart, the blob of smoke doesn't touch the ground. It just hovers above it. The top of it looks like a body, head, shoulders and all, but from the waist portion down it's just smoke, thick, black smoke.

“She's holding you back. You must let her go.”

It speaks to me, not in my head like the other entity I'd
been entertaining lately, but out loud, like it's a real person. Krystal keeps crying as if she has no idea what's going on. I hope she doesn't.

“Get away from us,” I say first, then think of something better. “Why don't you stop slinking around and just do whatever you came to do?” I don't know where those words come from and would probably regret them in the light of day, but as for now, the strange empowerment is moving over me again.

“You feel it growing inside. I know you do. He said you would. But she'll hold you back. She's trying to keep you from choosing what's right for you. You must let her go.”

“No!”

“She won't understand.”

“Go back to hell where you came from!” I don't know what else to say, I just want him, it, whatever, gone. My words have the same effect as they did on the raven, freeze-frame and the Darkness is like frozen. He hovers there for just a moment then shrinks down as if he's being sucked back into a space and disappears.

At that exact moment Krystal lifts her head. “Is it gone?”

I'm not sure how much of what just happened she's aware of so I ask, “Is what gone?”

“That freaky bird” is her reply.

I'm relieved that's all she mentions.