Vision (14 page)

At Bobby’s insistence, Coco drove him to school the next morning. After ten minutes, Bobby realized what a huge mistake it was. The doctor had given him a letter to show to the nurse, and of course, he’d lost it.

He could see better than the day before, but the painful glare of the overhead fluorescents seemed to slice through the protective shield of his glasses. The halls were a shifting blur of bodies, pushing and shoving him along with the current, the classroom numbers impossible to read. He cursed himself for refusing Coco’s help. Now he couldn’t find his way to English class. He couldn’t find his way out of a paper bag.

The crowd swept him to the East Wing of the school. Relieved to see the double glass doors of the library, Bobby realized that around the corner was his safe haven—the music and art rooms. He hesitated in the long hall of doorways, wanting to be sure he had the right one.

Mr. Cooper wouldn’t mind if he hid out in his office. He couldn’t face the rest of the day, swept along like a jellyfish in a riptide.

A figure emerged from behind one of the doors.

“Mr. Cooper?”

“No, sir. It’s Pincus. Just cleanin’ up in there for Mr. C.” Pincus, the janitor, was a fixture at Waterbury High. Mildly slow, Pincus was a few years older than Bobby. The school had hired him mostly out of mercy, since he took half a day to sweep a single hallway. The guy always seemed to be lurking in places Bobby least expected.

Bobby winced. Confusing Pincus with Mr. Cooper was not an easy thing to do. Although they were the same height, Pincus had three teeth and hair the color of dirty straw, details that were currently not available to Bobby. “Oh, Pincus. I, uh—Mr. Cooper said I can wait in his office for him. He wanted to see me.”

Pincus tilted his head. “You got a hall pass? They told me I’m supposed to check hall passes.”

“I, uh—I’m not feeling so good, Pincus. Nobody has to know if you don’t tell anyone.”

Pincus paused, his brain slowly ticking through his options. “Uh, okay then, Bobby. I won’t say nothing. Just don’t make a mess. I just cleaned up.”

Bobby sank into the small leather couch squeezed between the upright piano and the bookcases. Here, he would be safe. Mr. Cooper would help him figure out how to deal. He lay there, gazing at the framed Caravaggio print, now full of hazy blobs of light and dark.

He tried to sleep, tried to let oblivion smooth away the rough edges of his worries. But something in the room grated at him, rubbing and irritating him like a pebble in his shoe.

The faint disturbance wouldn’t leave him in peace, drawing him to the same place in front of the piano that had triggered one of the more spectacular migraine attacks of the past week. He picked up the photographs and peered closely, the faces in the snapshots, just smudges of washed-out color, telling him nothing. He probed the backs of the photos, felt behind the piano, carefully skimming his fingers along the sides and the lid to see if anything caused his hands to tingle with the beginnings of a vision or a sign.

He found nothing, but the nagging sense that there was
something
of interest in the room wouldn’t leave him. He closed his eyes and tried again, still unable to pinpoint the source.

As he dragged his hands over the wall above the piano, a sharp pulse of energy shot through his fingers. His head began to throb. He yanked his hand away, fearful of another attack.

But he had to know. Heart pounding, Bobby slid his hand along the wall. The sudden jolt of heat and pain made him recoil. Sickened and dizzy, he stepped back, the vivid images pulsing before him in the red-black dark.

A girl in a black party dress. Throat slit open, bright red blood bubbling from the gash. Gurgling. Choking. Blood spouting in a torrent. Trying to breathe. Drowning. Can’t see. Can’t scream. Mouth and eyes taped shut. Can’t move. Fading. Fading away
.

He had to get out of there before the red blindness obliterated his remaining sight. It stole a little more each time it came and left, like a destructive tidal wave.

Bobby lunged for the office door, fumbled for the knob, and escaped into the hall, letting the door slam behind him.

The red cloud dissolved instantly, the headache lifting. Bobby blinked and adjusted the dark glasses, relieved to have beaten the attack.

But he had to get to Coco. He had to tell him what he’d seen. Had to tell him everything.

The dead girl in his vision was Dana.

B
obby squinted, peering down the hall. A blockade of massive bodies huddled near the library entrance. Football players, Bobby’s least favorite people in the school. Some of them enjoyed harassing him and Coco, calling them gay hick lovers and whatever other insults their pea brains could invent.

“Look, it’s Pendell. Thinks he’s one of the Blues Brothers.”

Bobby kept walking, trying to appear nonchalant, which wasn’t easy with his hand trailing the lockers. The group laughed merrily when, with a giant thunk, he plowed into a trash receptacle.

“Way to go, Pendell. Maybe if you took off the dark glasses, you could find another dead body.”

Shadowy forms surrounded him.

“Dude’s a vampire. That’s why he’s got the shades. Heard he jumps into Dumpsters looking for victims.

“Bet he even sparkles in sunlight.”

“I heard if he takes off the glasses he’ll catch on fire.”

Bobby put his hands up defensively.

“Wanna fight, Pendell?” Someone shoved him hard against the lockers.

Bobby kicked out wildly, having a good idea where his targets were. His foot made contact with something soft.

“Ow. Damn! Now you’re gonna get it, shithead. Take the fucker’s glasses.”

Bobby swung again, but the glasses were ripped from his nose. He threw his arm across his eyes to block the light, but it was too late. The searing pain was unbearable.

“See? He is a vampire.”

“I don’t think he’s faking. Dude’s a freak. You smell smoke? He’s going to burst into flame any second.”

Bobby didn’t dare move his arm away from his eyes. He was frozen; the pain was pure agony.

“Dumb ass. Look at him,” one of them said. “He’s having some kind of mental breakdown. Pathetic. Just leave him. Here’s your shades, weirdo.”

Bobby heard the
clunk
of his glasses bouncing past his feet. When the voices and laughter receded, echoing down the empty hall, he got to his knees to feel around for them, eyes squeezed shut.

“Here, Bobby,” said a soft voice, placing them in his hand. A very familiar soft voice.

Bobby went rigid. “Dana?”

She helped him to his feet. “That was cruel. Are you all right?”

His glasses back in place, Bobby blinked, the fuzzy outline of Dishwater Dana’s slight frame right there in front of him. Alive, not dead with her throat sliced open.

“Are
you
okay, Dana?”

“Why wouldn’t I be okay? You’re the guy that almost got the shit beat out of him. You look pale, like you’re sick. Your eyes still bothering you?”

“Never mind. Do you know where Coco is? I need to talk to him.”

“We kind of had a blow-up,” she said in her small voice.

“Sorry, but do you know where he is? I was going to ask him to take me home.”

“He’s probably all tied up with his calculus final and his debate club. I can sign out and take you home, if you want. You look pretty bad.”

“That’s nice of you. I kind of wanted to talk to him first.”

“Can’t you call him later?”

“I’ve been having trouble with that these days.”

“I’ll tell him to call you.”

“Thanks, Dana,” Bobby said. “If you drive me home, what were you planning to do after?”

“Huh? Are you asking me out? It’s not like Coco and I broke up.”

“N-no, of course not! I was just concerned with that killer on the loose. You should be very careful. It’s dangerous out there.”

Bobby could feel her stiffen. Cold crept into her voice. “Are you trying to scare me or something? Because it’s not funny.”

“No, I—”

“Daddy’s been telling me to stay away from you. That there’s something off with you. He’s never been too happy about me hanging around with you and all. He thinks your dad is a low-life. I always told him how he’s wrong about you—but people have been talking, you know, with that weird body-finding episode. Daddy says you know more than you’re saying.”

Bobby pressed his palms to the cold metal lockers, a thin sheen of sweat filming his lip. “Jeez, Dana, I was… I just thought you should be cautious. Everyone should be cautious with a killer on the loose.”

“Thanks for your concern,” she said coolly. “I’ll just tell Coco to come get you. Wait in the library for him until he’s done.”

She ushered him to a seat in the library and left.

About a half-hour later, Coco plopped in the seat across from him. “What exactly did you say to Dana to get her so upset? She said you acted all weird and suspicious.”

“I just told her to be careful. That there’s a killer running around.”

Coco drummed his fingers on the table.

“Not for nothing, Bobby, but those glasses make you look like the Night Stalker.”

“Funny. Ha-ha.”

“You should be careful how you talk around Dana. You know who her dad is. He raised her to be a paranoid neurotic. And you may think she doesn’t talk, but she does—a lot.”

Bobby shifted in his seat. Maybe it wasn’t the right time to tell Coco about his horrible vision. What if he was wrong this time? Or maybe the girl in his vision only looked like Dana. He didn’t need to pour fuel on the fire.

Dana was fine. He decided to keep his mouth shut before he got Coco mad, too. And, at the moment, he needed every friend he had. “Got it. So can you take me home? I should have never come. It’s pointless.”

At home, Bobby took Pete out for a run, then came back inside and made spaghetti for him and Coco, nearly scalding his hands. But, somehow, it got done and they had a decent lunch.

His eyes weren’t that bad, he told himself. He was getting used to the low-vision, light-sensitivity thing. He’d report to work and show Max Friend he was still the same capable employee he’d always been. Now, at least, he wouldn’t be as distracted by Gabe, unless she came right up to him and whispered in his ear.

He dressed like usual and finally convinced Coco to drive him to work. He punched the clock and felt, rather than clearly saw, Max Friend giving him the eyeball.

The place was still empty, so as always, he filled the condiments. He just needed to look a little closer to see the tiny holes in the bottles. He smiled at the customers, navigated the tables, piled the dishes on his arms, and brought them to the dish conveyor, just like always.

If people were whispering about his dark glasses, he couldn’t be sure, but he was certain that, unless his eyesight got any worse, he could do his job just fine.

After about two hours, he felt a hand on his shoulder. “Nothing can keep you down, eh, Terminator? I heard you took refuge in my office and left school early today.”

“Mr. Cooper! I kind of got tired of wandering the halls, lost. Here, I know my way around. At school, I got harassed over these glasses, and I can’t do the close work anyway.”

“The school owes you an education,” said Mr. Cooper, bristling. “I wish you’d waited to speak to me. By federal law, the school has to provide accommodations for you, and I hope you don’t mind that, with your dad in the hospital, I took it upon myself to speak to your guidance counselor and explain your situation. She promised she would do her best to have everything set up for you next week.”

“Thank you, Mr. Cooper. You’re really the best, but I should be getting back to work. I see the party at table eight just left.”

Mr. Cooper still had his hand on Bobby’s shoulder. “I know you’ll fight me every step of the way, but you can’t stop me from doing everything in my power to help you succeed in life, Bobby. You have too much talent to let it go to waste.”

Bobby hesitated a moment, then moved on. He didn’t want to admit it, but he was exhausted. His eyes hurt from squinting and looking so closely, and his head throbbed, but he didn’t want to think about what quitting would mean for the Pendells. He didn’t want to think about the future at all.

A wisp of perfume came up behind him. Gabe.

“I see you’re feeling much better. Just for the record, you’re doing a commendable job.”

“Commendable?”

“You’re making an amazing effort.”

“Effort. Which means I’m not quite cutting it.”

“Bobby, Dad wants to talk to you about something important. In his office.”

Bobby swallowed. Here it came. The moment of truth—

delivered with a kiss. Either Gabe had spilled about their close encounters, or his busboy skills were not up to par. Or both.

His throat tight, Bobby made his way down the long hall to his boss’s office. The light came from a single stained-glass lamp, throwing the rest of the room into shadow.

“Have a seat, Bobby,” said a voice from the pool of darkness behind the desk.

Sweat beaded his forehead. “Is there, uh, something wrong, Mr. Friend?”

“Not at all, Bobby. Not in the least. You’ve been doing a fine job. Under the circumstances.”