Stalking Shadows (Scary Mary) (17 page)

“And why'd they stop?” Mary couldn't help needling Mr. White a little.

“Because of a little thing called retirement.”

“What do you need me to do?” Gran asked.

“Be quiet and sit still.”

Mr. White got up and went to the side of Gran’s chair. He closed his eyes and held his hands out over her head. He waved them slowly in the air over her. Mary didn't know what he was doing, but Gran didn't seem to find it strange. She'd closed her eyes as well and relaxed into the chair. Mr. White didn't ever touch Gran. He kept his hands several inches above her body as he passed over it. He would pause and hold his hands steady at certain spots--like over her chest and oddly, her knees--but never actually touched her.

Mary watched, not sure what was going on. The whole thing seemed vaguely ridiculous to her, but then again, they'd been supernaturally attacked. It wasn't like they could go to the doctor and get checked out. If there was something wrong with them, Mr. White may be the only one who could help them. Eventually he straightened with a creak.

“You're fine. No lingering ill effects.”

Gran opened her eyes and turned to Mary. Mr. White turned to look at her as well. She still wasn't sure about this, but it didn't look like it would do any harm to let him check her.

“Do you want me to sit down?”

“No, it's better if you're standing. I didn't make Helena stand because of her ankle. Just hold still, and I'll take a reading.”

She stood still as Mr. White came over to her. He raised his hands and slowly waved them around her head. His bushy eyebrows were drawn together, and his eyes were shut tight.

“What can you tell?” she asked. She didn't feel anything as he moved his hands around her.

“You're a healthy, young woman with a bit of psychic power,” he said. He ran his hands a few inches above her shoulders and arms. He bent at the waist and waved them through the air by her legs. He straightened and looked her in the eye.

“You're fine.”

“That's it?”

He shrugged. “What did you expect?”

“I don't know, but you spent more time on Gran's knees than on me.”

“She's got bad knees.”

“Oh, I do not,” Gran protested.

“Well, you will.”

Gran shook her head.

Mr. White picked up his hat. He was leaving? She didn't want him to leave. He may claim not to know much of anything about Shadowmen, but he was the closest thing they had to an expert. “So what do we do now?”

“If you leave the lights on and stay vigilant, it’ll move on and not bother you anymore.”

“That’s it? Your advice is get a night light?”

“Yeah, so?”

“So? We need to stop it, not hide under the covers.”

“And have we not established that we don’t know how to stop it?”

“We can figure something out.”

“Just let it go. It probably came after you because you poked your nose into its business. Just leave it alone.”

“We can't give up,” Mary said.

Gran sighed. “We'll keep an eye on the hospital at the least and sleep with the lights on here. Meanwhile, we can keep looking for a solution.”

Mary nodded. They could do that. She could keep volunteering and make sure nothing happened. She hadn't planned on volunteering long term, but she could do it. And Gran could read her Tarot cards and maybe get a clue from them.

“You two are making a big mistake,” he muttered.

“We’ll be careful, Zeke. Don’t worry.”

“Oh, I won’t,” he said, standing and jamming his hat on his head.

“Zeke, don’t go yet. We haven't had a chance to really catch up. I'd like to hear what you've been doing with yourself.”

He shook his head. “No, I best be getting home.”

“May I say, ladies, it was a pleasure meeting you.”

The plastic sword was resting on the coffee table. Mary picked it up and held it out to Mr. White. “Thanks for loaning us Max.”

“Oh, I think he should stay.”

“Stay? But surely--”

“Are you sure?”

“Just in case the Shadowman does come back.”

“Having him here would make me feel better,” Gran said.

“Is that okay with you, Max?” Mary asked, since he'd seemed ready to go.

“I-I suppose. If you ladies are willing to put up with me for a few more days, I'll be happy to stay. Hopefully my assistance won't be needed.”

“I'll let myself out. Helena, call me if there are any new developments.”

“Of course, Zeke. Thank you.”

Once Mr. White left, Mary sat on the sofa and looked over at Gran. “So, what now?”

She shrugged. “The TV works.”

Mary picked up the remote and started flipping through channels.

*    *    *

Rachel and Mary had grabbed seats in the art room during TAB. Neither of them took art, but it was where the different kids congregated. Goths, garage bands, skaters, and of course, artsy folk gathered there away from the Shinies and regular kids. Mary almost felt like she belonged.

“You know, I think we’re really dropping the ball here.”

“What?”

“With Vicky. She’s still in a coma, which I’m not really averse to, but there’s still the Shadowman. What type of superheroes are we if we can’t save one airhead cheerleader? They do it all the time on TV. What’s stopping us?”

Mary gave her a noncommittal shrug. She couldn’t tell her about any of the stuff that had happened Friday night, when she’d stayed at the hospital, or Saturday night when the Shadowman had attacked her. Except for Mr. White's visit, Sunday had been uneventful. She'd vegged with Gran on the sofa. It hadn’t been a productive day, but she felt recharged. Max had hung out. He’d played with Chowder, so the little red ball appeared to fly across the room and bob back on its own. It had been kind of hypnotic to watch.

“We’re scheduled to volunteer after school. We should stop by Vicky’s room to see what’s going on and maybe talk to Mr. White some more.”

“He’s out of the hospital.”

“He is?”

“Yeah, he got discharged a little after Gran.”

“How is she?”

“Grumpy. She had to cancel most of her appointments for the week because of her ankle.”

“Huh. Oh, this should be interesting.” Rachel’s eyes focused past her.

She turned and found Kyle approaching their table. He did not belong in the art room. His letterman jacket and buzz cut head looked out of place among the piercings and rainbow hair colors. “Hey Mary, how’s your grandma?”

“Hi Kyle, she’s fine. All she did was sprain her ankle. She’s home now.”

His eyebrows rose. “How’d she do that?”

“She tripped on some stairs. I was worried over nothing.”

He looked at his shoes and didn’t say anything immediately. Other students were starting to look at him curiously, and Rachel and Mary were being included in that curiosity. If he didn’t leave soon, Mary dreaded what the rumor mill might come up with.

“Is that it, Kyle?” she asked to prod him along.

Rachel gave her a light kick under the table. “Kyle, do you wanna sit down?”

Sitting down would be even more suggestive to the rumor mill. She shot Rach a look. She doubted Kyle would want that type of talk. He was a jock. They dated cheerleaders, though she hadn’t seen him with anyone since his early Vicky infatuation, but he was definitely a jock. Jocks dated cheerleaders. They were genetically predisposed to each other. He might be nice to Mary, and Rach might have the misguided idea that he liked her, but that would all change if people started whispering about them. To her amazement, he pulled up a stool and sat down.

“What’s really going on with Vicky?”

Rachel opened her mouth, and Mary kicked her this time. But she may have kicked a little too hard, judging by Rachel's yelp. Her friend moved her stool away from her.

Ignoring Rachel's scowl, she asked, “What do you mean?”

Kyle looked at them. She knew her little spot of violence had ruined any chance of lying successfully to him, but she wasn’t going to tell him the truth, and she wasn’t going to let Rachel, either.

“I know something’s up with Vicky, and you two are involved. Suddenly volunteering at the hospital, visiting her mom, something’s up.”

“Coincidence,” she said and didn’t elaborate. Keep the lies short, simple, and don’t waver--that was how to shut someone out. She felt bad about doing it to Kyle, though.

“And your grandma getting hurt at the hospital?”

“She’s old and frail.” Kyle’s lips thinned at her answer. He’d met Gran. She might be up in age, but she was not frail.

“Fine. You don’t have to tell me anything. I just wanted to offer my help, but obviously you don’t want it. See ya. Hope your grandma feels better.”

He stood up and strode out of the room. She had to restrain herself from calling him back, because what could he do? How could he help? She didn’t like the idea of him being upset, though.

Rachel blew out a puff of air in frustration. “You’re never going to get asked to prom at this rate.”

“Good. Corsages are stupid.”

She shook her head. “Seriously Mary, couldn’t you have told him something?”

“Like what? ‘Hey Kyle, Vicky’s been visiting me in my dreams, and there’s a monster attacking her. You wanna help me destroy it? I have no idea how, but it’s sure to be a good time, except for the screaming and the death. Those are a bit of a bummer.”

“He could handle it. He already suspects anyway. Cy doesn’t care.”

She knew it was pointless to try and defend Cy. He really didn’t want to know about or have any involvement with the paranormal. He refused to even allow for the possibility of it. Kyle, on the other hand, hadn’t rejected the possibility. He could’ve stuck his head in the sand and refused to believe that he’d been possessed by a ghost, but instead, he'd accepted it and had thanked them for getting rid of Ricky.

“I just want to keep this thing to as few people as possible. You, Vicky, Gran, and Mr. White are already involved. No need to bring in anyone else.”

Rachel shook her head. “You’re keeping secrets from a lot of people. I hope you can keep straight who knows what.”

Mary tried to chuckle at her comment, but it got caught in her throat. If Rachel only knew what she was keeping from her, she wouldn’t like it.

“So, volunteering after school today?”

Mary nodded. With any luck, she'd find the Shadowman had returned there, though she didn't think that would be exactly good luck.

*    *    *

Mary was again pushing the hospitality cart while Rachel knocked on doors. They’d left Vicky’s room until last.

“Do you know how many brownie points this is getting me with my mom? If I’d known how much she’d like me doing this, I would’ve signed up sooner.”

“So you’re going to keep doing it after all this is over?”

“Yeah, it’ll be even better once Vicky's gone. You’re going to keep doing it too, right?”

Mary flashed on the morgue and felt a shiver go down her spine. She shook her head. “No, once Vicky’s awake, that’s it for me. I’m never going to be good with hospitals.”

Rachel’s glance was full of disappointment. Mary could only shrug her shoulders. Hospitals would never hold any appeal for her. She couldn’t see continuing, but if Rachel wanted to do it, that was fine. She would just have to do it without Mary.

They came to Vicky’s room. The door was ajar. Rachel tapped on it before peeking in. Mrs. Nelson was inside. She smiled and waved for them to come in.

“Girls, it’s so good to see you.”

“How’s Vicky?” Rachel asked.

Mary fixed a cup of coffee and brought it to her. Mrs. Nelson looked a little better today. The bags under her eyes weren’t as pronounced, and her hair was tidy. Mrs. Nelson took a sip of coffee before speaking. “The doctor says there’s improvement. She’s responding to noises, and she moved her hands a few times.”

“That’s great,” Rachel said.

Mary stood by quietly and looked at Vicky. She couldn’t see any change, but then, she wasn’t a doctor.

Rachel continued, “You know, Mrs. Nelson, I was reading an article in a science magazine that said there’d been a study that proved leaving a light on with coma patients really helped with the recovery.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, Mary, you read that article, too, didn’t you? Didn’t it say that?”

Did they need to worry about the Shadowman anymore? Mr. White seemed confident that it wouldn't return to the hospital or her home. But she may never be able to sleep without a nightlight again, especially if they never dealt with the one Shadowman that they knew about. She had to figure something out, but what exactly remained firmly elusive. She didn't want to be afraid of the dark for the rest of her life. It was a childish fear, like the monster under the bed. She wasn't six years old.