The Bullet List (The Saving Bailey Trilogy, #1) (24 page)

We stroll to the park, my dress blowing in the wind, and my warm soda trickling down my scratchy throat.

“Your cast is new,” he says, breaking character.

“Yes, it is. I slipped in the shower and got the last one wet.”

“I see,” he says. “And are things well with you? Did your mother like the cookies?”

“Never been better, and she loved them.”

We reach the park walkway, and he leads me to a picnic table under a tree with ginormous roots. We lie on the table, staring up at patches of sky through the tree limbs.

“What about school?” he asks, fishing for something that could be wrong in my life.

“Good,” I say. If these are the last moments he will spend with me, I want them to be joyful, not troubled. I want to be here as a star, blazing, then in a flash gone. So quick he doesn’t have time to feel any pain as I leave the Earth.

“I don’t believe you, Bails,” he says.

“It’s true,” I say in a tone that I deem convincing.

“Something must be wrong,” he says.
Apparently my convincing tone isn’t fooling him.

“No,” I say.

“
Yes
. Has Miemah started trouble again?”

“Not in the slightest,” I say, and blow away a leaf that has landed on my face. “Do you want something to be amiss?”

“No, it is just hard to believe… I like it though.”

“Me too.” I squeeze his hand.

We fall silent and let the wild things all around us do the talking. A high-pitched
tweet tweet
comes from above. I spot a little black bird. It is perched in its nest, singing away, a group of green and brown speckled eggs under his claws. Suddenly, I notice that amongst the twigs, pieces of yarn, and hair that makes his nest, is a scrap of orange material.
Not orange paper
, I think,
a piece from a cast
.
My traffic-cone orange cast
. I smile at the sight of it; it suits the nest much better than the plaster trunk of my arm.

“Northern mockingbird, they chirp nonstop,” Spence says. “If you listen closely, it sounds as if he is kissing someone.”

I focus my hearing on the song, and I find that it does sound like kissing.

“It is a male,” Spencer says. “But I don’t see his mate.”

“Maybe she died,” I say, my gaze falling on Spencer’s copper eyes, flaked with gold. They shimmer in the sunlight, the same way a golden or diamond ring would if you held it up to the light.

“That’s too bad,” he says.

“Are you a Christian?” I ask at random.

I am mining for any form of confirmation that when I leave this Earth, my body will go to heaven. Otherwise, what is the point in dying? It would be worse to be stuck in perpetual darkness than to be a part of Miemah’s torture.

“Catholic,” Spencer says.

“Do you believe in heaven?”

“Well I guess so,” he says.

“What do you think it looks like?” I persist.

“Like you are standing on a stage.”

“How do you get there?” I ask curiously.

“When you die, and your eyes close for the last time, when your soul leaves your body, you end up in front of thick red curtains,” he says, his eyes leaving mine, staring up to the sky as if he can see this heaven now.

“Like that of a classic theatre?”

“Yes, and when they open, the light shines down on you, and there is an audience of Angels to cheer you on.”

“Then what do you do?”

“You sing, you dance, you laugh, whatever makes you happy. And it doesn’t matter how bad you are at it because the angels will all give you a standing ovation regardless. What do
you
think it is like?” he says, poking me in the side.

“I think it is subjective,” I say. “Green grasses as far as the eye can see, sunny skies that never come to a close, and air sweet and perfumed with the nectar of wildflowers.”

“It sounds lovely,” he says with a sigh. He props himself on his elbow, and stares into my eyes, and I see my smiling reflection.

“I want to ask you something, but first you must promise to say ‘yes,’ ” he says, shredding a leaf between his thumb and index finger.

“How can I say yes, if I don’t know what I’m saying yes to?”

“It’s called faith, Bailey,” he says.

“But what if the question is ‘Can I kill you?’ and I promise yes, then that would be bad.”

He rolls his eyes. “Okay just promise to consider yes more than no, because if you don’t say yes, I will be heartbroken.”

“Go on then, ask it,” I say, likewise propping myself on my elbow, so our faces are close. My hair blows against his neck, he stares at the thin strips of leaf, and says in a low whisper, “Bailey, will you be my girlfriend?”

My face drops, as does his.

“I really, really like you,” he says. “I thought you liked me too. Please tell me I was right?”

“I do like you,” I say, my voice catching in my throat. “But I can’t, Spencer.”

“Why can’t you?”

“I feel expendable, like at any moment I could be gone. I don’t want you to lose two girlfriends, Spencer. You understand, don’t you?”

Unexpectedly, he smiles at me and caresses my cheek. “Oh, Bailey, if you lived to be a hundred, or only an hour longer, my heart would beat for you just the same.”

“Love doesn’t care how long it is attached to a living being, only that it exists.”

“But Spencer, would you be able to go on if you lost me?” I say, tears in my eyes at the thought of his heart being ripped out of his chest and stomped on a second time by losing me.

“Not easily, but I would, and my love would stay as true and strong.”

“If you promise me that you will not give up on life after I have given up, then I will be your girlfriend,” I say.

“You want me to promise that if you die tomorrow, I won’t miss you so terribly that I will take my own life?” he says.

“You said love doesn’t need for me to be alive,” I remind him.

“I promise,” he says with a terse nod.

The sun is setting, and obscuring our features in a slew of warm colors. Spencer looks as charming as ever, as if the sun has given some of its beauty to him.

“Spencer I have to go back home, but first can I ask you one more question?”

“Sure, anything,” he says, his face glowing as the sun fades into an array of pinks and oranges.

“Do good people who take their own lives still get to go to heaven?”

“Well, that depends. It is true that taking away God’s gift to you,
life
, is the greatest sin and possibly unforgivable.”

“What does it depend on?” I ask, holding my breath while I wait for his answer.

Will I shoot myself after going through with my Bullet List, or live on in prison?

“Some people are left with no choice. For example, those who were trapped in the burning Twin Towers on 9/11, it was either die from the fire and smoke, or jump from the building, passing away in the clean air.”

“Isn’t that more like choosing which death you prefer? Not exactly suicide?” I ask.

“If you are going to die either way, then yes, I would say so,” Spencer says.

Then if Miemah is going to kill me either way, it won’t be considered suicide if I shoot myself.
But then, Miemah would be gone, no longer a threat to me,
so maybe it would be suicide?

“Do you think that spending a lifetime in prison is comparable to death?” I ask, digging deeper.

“Yes. Wouldn’t it be miserable to be alive, but not really living? Just existing so you can wake up each morning and stare at your cell wall?”

“Yes,” I agree.

“Does that answer your question, baby?” he asks.

“Yes,” I say. “Thank you, Spencer.”

“You are welcome.”

Chapter 31

A week passes, the air settles, and the sky returns to a vast open cloudless blue, like the calm after a storm. My Bullet List gathers dust in the back of my sock drawer, but now Cecil’s name has a red line through it, because I pity her. I thought about putting Alana on my Bullet List, but I have a picture of her and me as children on my dresser, and my heart broke around the edges when I saw it. She means too much to me, and furthermore, killing Alana would be like killing a five year old, she is so naïve and innocent. The other names stay unchanged; they have not earned their lives back. The only thing they have in their favor is that I often forget about the list now, what with things being so quiet and all.

Quiet
: a word that usually brings about a feeling of satisfaction, of pleasure, and of ease.
In a normal person
, a person who is sitting in the library and is trying to read a book, a person who is watching a bunch of rambunctious children, or someone who is studying a subject that demands all his concentration. But not in me; I feel the word like the point of a dagger against my throat. It is threatening, obtrusive, and unwanted. The ringing in your ears after an explosion, the kind of quiet that makes you think you will never be able to hear again.

Miemah has not been in school since she beat up Cecil. There are rumors spreading like the flu all over school.
Abducted by Aliens, kidnapped, or murdered by her loyal followers
, and other rumors that are just too silly to mention. But I know better when I see her in the hall today with a massive black eye and a fat lip: her dad beat her.

I don’t feel a crumb sorry for her. I went to see Cecil in the hospital, and she is by far the worst job Miemah has done on a person. Broken ribs, broken collarbone, swelling on the brain, face bruised. A grocery list of injuries, but still she spoke to me clearly and concisely.

“Miemah will stop at nothing to kill you,” she said, her broken nose making it difficult for her to talk. “You need to get protection. What about that boy you are always hanging out with?”

“Clad?” I asked.

“Yes, him, he looks strong enough. Have him take you home from school every day, and cling to him whenever you are at school because Miemah is just dying for her chance to sink her talons into you again.”

After that, I give up walking home for the warm AC of Clad’s Toyota. We chat, laugh, and share our favorite songs on the radio. I go on like I have finally pulled my life back together, but my conscious knows that things are brewing beneath the calm surface.

I do not return to the janitor’s closet, because after Chewy started using it and Cecil was beaten in it, I feel that it is no longer secure, though I look longingly at its closed door when I pass it in the hall on my way to class.

Spencer is an amazing boyfriend, and I am fortunate to have been able to be with him for over a week straight without any interruptions from Miemah. He sings still, but now I dance when he does, and he thinks we are the perfect combination.

I spend a great deal of time at his house, cooking with his mom, helping with the chores, and then I come back to my own messy home and sink into my bed, Mom already asleep.

Without the drinking, and without the abuse, Mom has yet to feel the urge to tidy up, so I let the kitchen go to waste, and the dishes pile up. I escape to Spencer’s house when the clutter becomes too stifling, and breathe a sigh of relief at the cleanliness of his house.

Today I am sitting in Drama with Clad, and I decide it is time to tell him about Spencer.

“Spencer and I are dating,” I say, swiftly ripping the Band Aid.

He laughs, then his face turns serious and he laughs again.

“You are kidding?” he says, unable to gauge from the tone of my voice.

“Nope, we have been dating for a week now,” I say.

“And you didn’t bother to tell me?” he asks his eyes two pieces of jade falling into my lap.

“I didn’t feel the need to,” I say earnestly.

“Didn’t feel the need? Right after we made out, you hooked up with Singer Boy? Does he like my sloppy seconds?”

“It’s not like that Clad. Even when I kissed you I wanted to be with him.”

“So I was just a tease right? Just someone to play around with until Spence popped the question?”

I blink. “It does sound that way, but no. I was confused when we kissed, and we did it in the heat of the moment.”

“I mean so little to you don’t I? You could just throw me away, like a used napkin.”

“No Clad, you mean a lot. The kiss was wrong, it shouldn’t have happened, I’m sorry.”

“My passionate kiss was wrong? My show of affection to you was wrong?” he says, his voice rising like the swells of a tempestuous ocean.

“You think my feelings are just something to be played with? That I will come snapping back like a rubber band after you have stretched me too far!” he says, his thundery ocean voice, swallowing me like I am a tiny ship out at sea.

He rises from his chair, his teeth gritted.

“I wasn’t trying to play you,” I say in my final defense.

“Bullshit you weren’t! Have fun with your gay little boyfriend. Maybe you two can prance around in leotards, singing and dancing like two sideshow freaks!”

He makes a break for it, and where he goes I don’t know. Ashten is lying on her stomach, texting, pretending she didn’t hear the conversation, but I can tell by the laugh she is holding in that she has heard it completely.

“Am I wrong?” I ask her.

“Huh, what did you say? Sorry, I was busy texting.”

“Cut the act, Ashten, I know you were listening,” I say, and cross my arms.

“I just don’t understand why you would kiss him if you don’t like him,” she says.

“Experimentation,” I say.

“That isn’t true, ‘cause you also kissed Trenton, so what could you have been experimenting? How fast it takes to break a guy’s heart?”

“Who asked your opinion anyway?” I say, gnashing my teeth.

She stares at her phone, then back up at me. “Bailey, you did.”

I take off. I look down the halls, and even yell Clad’s name in the boys’ bathroom, but he is as gone as a whisper in a raging heavy metal concert.

I step out to the parking lot, and among the pick-up trucks and old-fashioned sports cars I search for Clad’s Toyota. He must have picked up and left school, deserting me. I go back inside the school, and as I am pushing open the door to enter Drama, Ashten comes out of it.

“The bell rang. Hey have you seen Trenton around? I haven’t seen him in school since first period, Miemah either,” she says.

“Did you have class with them?” I ask her.

“Yeah, and they both left the room together. I just think it is odd how they are hanging out, when they are supposed to be broken up.”

“And you are just now telling me this?”

She shrugs. “I forgot.”

“You forgot that my two worst enemies, who both want to put me on the dicing board, were conversing with one another?” I ask, my voice escalating with every word.

“Yes,” she says, annoyed.

“I doubt they were talking finances, Ashten! Where did they go?”

“How the hell am I supposed to know? I have to go; my mom is waiting for me in her car.”

I grab her arm as she is walking away, “Ashten did they having anything on them?”

“Like what?” she asks.

“Like
weapons
.”

“Miemah had her knife; she was cleaning her fingernails with it. But she always has that doesn’t she?”

“Bye,” I say and release her arm.

My flesh rises in little bumps at the idea of walking home alone when Miemah and Trenton are out to get me. Does she always have her knife? Or is it only for special occasions?
Special occasions where friends who are supposed to protect you get pissy and run off, leaving you to fend for yourself.

I fight the fear and vomit that is rising in me as I step into the sunshine of a beautiful day.
No one could be so keen on killing me when it is such a nice day outside, right?
I walk along the sidewalk passing from the view of the school, beads of sweat form on my forehead, and my palms become slick.
See Bailey, no one here, you are safe,
I say to myself as I reach the retention pond. I turn my head slowly, and from the corner of my eye see Trenton sitting on the tire, with a smoke in his hand.

“Hey Bailey, come over here!” he says.

I shake my head and walk faster.

“I have a deal to make with you!” he yells, jumping up and trailing behind me.

“No, stay away from me,” I say as he catches up, grabs me and pins my arms behind my back.

“Just hear me out, Bailey; I have something to offer you,” he says his hot smoky breath on the back of my neck. “You didn’t join the Allie, did you?”

“I don’t want to be a part of a gang. I’m not exactly thug material,” I say my voice under control, while my body is losing it.

“Okay, fair enough, it is your choice to make.”

“Are you going to let go now?”

“No, by choosing not to join the Allie, you have chosen
death
.”

My heart drops.
This is it, Bailey, you are going to die. Right here, right now
.

He edges me closer to the thicket of trees.

“Okay, what are you gonna’ do, shoot me?” I ask in an attempt to regain my composure.
If I’m going to die, then I want to know how.

He slowly shakes his head.

“That would be too quick,” Miemah says, and steps out from behind a tree.

“You sound brave though,” she says, pressing the tip of her knife blade into her finger, drawing blood.

“You wouldn’t mind getting shot?” she says with a devilish smile.

“No,” I say defiantly. “Would be better than dealing with you.”

“Smartass,” she says, and stares at the blood on her finger as it trickles down her hand. “Wise-cracking won’t help your case, Bailey, so I’ll give you one tip, only because I’m so nice. Keep your pretty little mouth shut!”

I try to wrestle out of Trenton’s grip, but he is too strong.

“Tie her up,” Miemah says, and tosses a roll of rope that has been hanging off her shoulder to Trenton.

This is when I begin to scream, sharp and loud, so loud that the birds fly from the trees in a black mob.

“Cover her mouth!” Miemah commands Trenton.

He places his hand over my mouth and nose; I bite down hard, forcing blood out of his palm.

“She bit me!” he screams, as Miemah pushes me down to my knees, and ties my feet together.

“Don’t worry, we’ll make her pay for that, won’t we boyfriend?”

He pushes my face in the dirt. “Yes.”

I scream again, though it is muffled by his hand and the mud. I imagine that knife in Miemah’s hand ripping into me, slicing me open like a gutted pig. Then the worse thing happens: a blind-fold is tied around me eyes pitching me into darkness.

“Trenton let go of her mouth. If she screams I’ll deal with her,” Miemah says.

Trenton removes his bloody hand, and I scream, at first it is without sound, the way you scream in a nightmare, then in an Earth-shattering shriek for help. Something slams down onto both my hands – three times – and I lose my breath from the pain.
Steel-toed boots
, I think,
breaking my hands
.

“Scream again,” Miemah says, and I bury my face further into the dirt so she can’t see the tears streaming down it. “Tell me why I hate you.”

I am crying too hard to speak, so she kicks me in the stomach, making me sing out in pain. “Why do I hate you?”

“I don’t know Miemah. I’ve never known!” I yell at her.

“Take her blind-fold off,” she directs Trenton. He loosens the knot, and it falls like a scarf around my neck.

She makes eye contact with me and for a split second I see remorse and sympathy in her black stony eyes, then they flash back to their maleficent appearance.

“What could I have possibly done?” I ask, breaking our gaze.

She pulls up her shirt and shows me her stomach, the skin patchy with scars.
Burn scars
, like the kind on Ashten’s arms.

“Follow along, Bailey, pay close attention. You will take this story with you to your grave,” she says.

I rub my arms up and down, loosening the ropes that bind them.

“Stop crying for a moment, be silent. I’ve been waiting ten years to tell you this story.”

I sniffle.

“Think back,” she says, toying with the knife, and pacing around the trees, speaking casually, as though over the phone to a friend. “To first grade, one day in art class, do you remember we had art class together?”

I say nothing.

“Answer me!” she yells, coming at me with the knife.

“Yes! We had every class together!” I shriek, confused.

Trenton is resting his back against the tire, his mind lost in thought: useless.

“You, Clad, and I,” she says. “We were all painting a replica of Van Gogh’s
Starry Night
. My masterpiece was nearly finished when all of the sudden, your hand slipped knocking over the cup of water we were using to clean our brushes, and spilling it on your painting and mine.”

“Are you serious? You are going to kill me over something that happened in the first grade?!” I bellow at her.

My arms are loose from the ropes now, but I keep them on as a decoy.

“Shut up! This is my story, Bailey, let me finish, and then I will finish you! Now where was I? Oh, yes, you ruined our paintings, and I was furious. I stomped right up to the teacher and told on you. What happened next? You say it.”

I try to remember, but the moment is lost in my mind, and the pain in my hands overshadows everything.

“I don’t know,” I sob.

She kicks the side of my head, and I curse as the blow causes me to fall sideways and hit a tree.
Double whammy
. A thick glob of blood streams from the wound made by the sole of her boot.

“Trenton,” I bawl. “Are you just going to sit there?”

He looks me over, his eyes glazing at the sight of my blood.

“You can’t pretend my crying doesn’t bother you,” I say.

“Go on,” he instructs Miemah.