A Place of Vengeance, page 29
“I can do…”
“It’s okay…I’ve got it,” I said, not letting her finish, and I retreated from the light. The kitchen felt too bright and crowded, even with only Mom, and all at once I wished I had not come downstairs. Darkness was better. Darkness didn’t leave me feeling so exposed. Maybe if I were lucky, the darkness inside me would expand outward until I merged with the deepening shadows, and then I wouldn’t have to answer questions, or think about Kelly, or eat tuna casserole when I didn’t feel up to it.
Moe ended up eating only about half of his kibbles before he padded over to sit with his head in my lap. His dark eyes watched me closely, obviously sensing that something was wrong, while Mom and I spent the whole dinner not talking about Kelly. We talked about other things—or at least Mom did, while I replied with the shortest answers I could think of. Talking was just too hard, the memories of Kelly crowding my brain and making words feel thick and awkward in my mouth. I did manage to eat some of her casserole, though not much, and then spread the rest around on my plate, hoping to make it look like I had put away more than I had. At last, I couldn’t take it anymore and asked if it was okay if I went back to bed. Mom said yes in spite of the concern I could read in her eyes.
I stayed home from school the next day. Mom tentatively poked her head into my bedroom twenty minutes after I normally would have been downstairs. “Are you getting up, Benny?”
“No,” I said, and rolled over. That earned me the concerned look again, but she let it go. Despite sleeping the majority of the previous 24 hours, I still felt impossibly tired. School would have find a way to get along without me. I figured they could manage.
I finally rolled out of bed a little before noon, feeling uneasy after a series of dark, nonstop dreams that I couldn’t remember, and my back stiff from lying in bed so long. My exhaustion had been replaced by an irritating restlessness that stuck with me the rest of the day and through the weekend, and I spent my time taking long walks with Moe whenever there was a break in the rain. When there wasn’t, the only thing that kept me from climbing the walls was to sit in front of the fireplace, where the warmth and dance of the flames was soothing enough to let me relax with my brain unplugged. By Saturday afternoon I had run out of scrap wood to burn, so Mom made a call, and a couple of hours later a big truck pulled up with two cords of split oak in back. The deliveryman asked where Mom wanted it, and after she had him dump the whole load right in the drive, she said the rest was up to me. I found an old wheelbarrow in the barn, and worked until well after dark schlepping load after load to the carriage house out back, stacking it inside out of the weather. Mom must have figured I needed something to keep me moving, and it turned out to be a good call. By the time I finished, my clothes were soaked through by the intermittent rain, my shoulders and back sore from the repetitive motion and lifting. After a shower and a few bites of leftover casserole, I had a dreamless night and woke the next morning feeling fairly rested.
I probably could have stayed home from school the whole next week if I had wanted to, but that would have left me with too much time for brooding. I also knew that the dread I felt about going back would only get worse the longer I dragged my feet. And anyway, school would be a distraction. My thoughts still wandered as the days crept by, making it hard to concentrate, but at least the memory of that pool of blood by the bleachers—with its glistening, still-tacky spot near the center—was no longer constantly on my mind. Mostly I wondered how Kelly had ended up under the bleachers. The only explanation that made sense to me was that someone or something had chased her there, and then retracted the bleachers to crush her. But who…and why? The question wouldn’t leave me alone, and it drove me crazy.
All my friends did their best to be supportive, repeatedly asking if I needed to talk or if there was anything they could do, but I found it next to impossible to engage with them. Almost none of them seemed to understand that their being there was enough—was all I could take, really—but I couldn’t find the words to tell them. I didn’t need any psychic ability to see that they felt awkward and hesitant, unsure of what to do, and it put an unspoken distance between us. And since my gift still had not returned, I felt even more isolated. Without it, even surrounded by everyone at lunch, I was alone and adrift. For the first few days, I held out hope that my abilities would come back, but by the end of the week, I decided that I’d better not bet the ranch on it.
At some point, Gina moved into the cafeteria chair where Kelly used to sit. I wasn’t sure exactly when that started—maybe Tuesday, maybe Wednesday—but I didn’t see that it mattered. I was not consciously noting details like that, not even on Thursday, when Les suddenly stopped sitting with us at lunch. Someone smart probably would have seen the connection there, but not me. The only thing that vaguely registered was that one day the chair beside me was painfully empty, and the next day it wasn’t. Gina was there, keeping enough of a physical and emotional distance not to be intrusive, yet still close enough to prod me into eating something now and then, or throw out gentle remarks or questions that kept me at least partway connected to the conversation at the table.
About the only other thing I noticed (and only because it was impossible not to) was that the more care and attention Gina showed me as time went on, the more scowly and withdrawn Darren became. Of course, when it came to moods, Darren was a one-trick pony, and his act had gotten so old and tiresome that I no longer had the patience for it. Maybe that should have worried me, things being what they were, but my give-a-crap factor was at an all-time low.
A conflict raged inside me that I wrestled with every day. The objective part of my brain—what was left of it, anyway—reminded me annoyingly that I still had no concrete idea whether Darren was the cause of things or not. It was the part that realized I had absolutely zero real proof, that I had never witnessed Darren actually doing anything, and that all my suspicions were built entirely on his family history and evidence that was purely circumstantial. Even more, part of me still felt sorry for Darren, as I had from the start, instinctively feeling that the only reason he pushed people away was because he had been an outcast for so long and had been hurt too many times. The hours we had spent playing D&D together had shown me there was more to him than the abrasive, disagreeable side that he chose to show the world. I couldn’t help but feel that, deep down, there was a regular guy in there who just wanted to be liked and accepted like everyone else.
On the other hand, underneath all the numbness was part of me that smoldered with pain and anger. It wanted Darren to be responsible, and some days it was all I could do to not provoke him with sullen glares of my own…daring him to do something, just so I could finally know one way or the other. Wanna hit me with Voldemort’s death curse? I challenged him inwardly. Knock yourself out, pal. Bring it, and see what happens. It would be a relief to finally have someone I could blame and hate.
Every day, that internal tug of war left me exhausted by the time school was over.
As the weeks passed, Gina started spending time at the house. At first, she would only drop by for a few minutes every two or three days to see if I needed anything. Then, during one visit when I asked if she could help me make sense of our geometry homework, she started staying longer. Maybe her heart was just that good, or maybe it was because she had once been so isolated herself, but whatever the reason, she seemed to understand exactly what I needed. On nights when I felt like talking, we would talk—never about Kelly (it was still too soon for me), but about whatever random subject occurred to me at the time. When I didn’t, Gina would just sit on the opposite end of the couch; a silent, comforting presence while I stared into the flames. I was still struggling with loss, and while I could not honestly say I had begun to heal yet, Gina at least helped stop some of the internal bleeding, and I was grateful for it. Even Mom remarked several times that Gina was going above and beyond, and that I was lucky to have her for a friend.
The only one who didn’t seem to appreciate her was Moe. I could tell that he knew I was hurting, but did not understand why, and it made him wary and protective. When Gina came over, he would make a low warning sound that was not quite a growl, and then stick close by my side while keeping us both under a watchful gaze. It bothered Gina at first, until I pointed out that he would probably act the same way with anyone who wasn’t Mom or me. I told her to wait until the next time one of our other friends was around, and she would see it wasn’t anything personal.
At last I felt able to think about Kelly’s death without being drowned in a flood of emotions, and could finally consider whether Darren had had anything to do with it. The only thing I knew for sure was that Kelly had definitely not committed suicide, and the weirdness of it all made her a prime candidate for the growing list of curse victims. At the same time, I had to wonder how that could be. After all, everyone else who had suffered an unexplained accident was someone Darren either didn’t like, or with whom he’d had some past conflict—Riley included. As far as I could remember, I had been with Kelly every time she had been around Darren, and I couldn’t recall a single angry word ever passing between them. Assuming that Darren was truly responsible, that alone should have kept her off his curse radar, right? So, had some other, unrelated chain of events caused Kelly’s death? Or had there actually been something hanging between Kelly and Darren, maybe an incident from their past that I wasn’t aware of?
I still wasn’t ready yet, and even thinking about it was almost more than I could handle. Worse, without my gift, what could I even do? It was the only advantage I’d had, and without it I was useless. Darren or not, how was I supposed to face someone—something—that could kill without leaving a trace behind? Just the same, I realized I couldn’t stay on the sidelines forever, not after people had died, and knowing that filled me with a dread so deep it felt bottomless.
Whether I wanted to or not, though, sooner or later I would have to get back to work.
THIRTY-SEVEN
It was the night before Kelly’s funeral, and I had lost track of the hours I had sat in front of the fire that now burned low in the hearth. It was not the bright yellow that came from newly added wood, crackling cheerfully as tongues of flame licked at exposed grain, but the darker glow of logs deeply charred and mostly burned away. It was the part of a fire that I liked best, when the golden light dimmed to shades of darker red. Sometimes, when I looked deeply enough, the flames down between the logs were same dark auburn as Kelly’s hair.
I noticed that the ashes under the grate needed cleaning out again, but that could wait until morning. I also noticed that it was time to throw on a couple more logs, but I could give that a few more minutes, too. The fire was the only light in the otherwise dark family room, and I liked it that way. It drew my focus deeper into the red glow, quieting my mind.
I had thought the funeral would have been much sooner, but it had been delayed—first by the coroner’s office, where a careful examination determined that there was nothing else to find beyond the fatal trauma, and then by Kelly’s mom, who had gone a little off the rails. Wendy insisted that her daughter receive an open-casket funeral, so everyone could look at her one last time when they said goodbye, but there wasn’t a single mortuary for miles around that would agree to it. Wendy had cried in my arms when I went to see her, telling me the damage to Kelly’s face and body was apparently too great, and all the morticians agreed that it would be impossible to make her appear natural.
I tried not to think about that part.
Personally, I was grateful that things had dragged out so long. It gave me more time to process my own grief, and I was now 95% sure I could get through the service and burial without turning into a wreck. That was good. Much as I didn’t want to, I knew that I had to let her go eventually if I ever expected to move forward again, and I hoped the next day would bring some of the closure I needed.
Headlights swept across the front windows and I frowned, wondering what was up. Mom had left a little over ten minutes before for a yoga class—her first in a while—and afterward she and some of her friends planned to stop somewhere for coffee or a bite, so I hadn’t expected her back for at least a couple of hours. Maybe she had forgotten something.
Moe raised his head and growled just as I heard footsteps on the front porch, and then I knew it wasn’t Mom. I was halfway to the entry hall when the knock came, and I turned on the porch light before opening the door. Gina stood just outside, wearing a long coat that was belted at the waist and her hair sparkling from raindrops that had caught in it. Behind her, the Lynch’s old Chevy pickup sat just behind my car, Gina’s usual parking place when she came to visit, and it was close enough that I could hear the rain drumming softly on the metal.
“Hey,” she said, smiling.
“Hey,” I replied, holding open the screen door and trying not to sound as disappointed as I felt. I wasn’t in the mood for company, but she had come all that way, so not inviting her in would have been rude. Hopefully she won’t stay long, I thought.
Gina stepped into the entryway; the night air trapped in the folds of her coat making me shiver as she passed. “I didn’t see any lights on, so I almost went back home.”
That would have been fine with me, but I didn’t say so. And since she did not seem to be expecting an answer, I didn’t offer one. I wished that I could sense what she was feeling so I could guess how long she planned to stay, but I was still flying blind, and it annoyed me.
I followed her into the family room, watching while she warmed herself in front of the fire for a minute. The flames glowed red against her legs, and then faded to deep shadow above her waist. “So, what’s up?” I asked. “I didn’t know anyone would be stopping by, and I was planning to hit the rack soon.”
The reluctant host offers a casual remark, hoping his guest will take the hint.
Gina didn’t. She took a step back from the fire, turning toward me. The glow from the hearth now illuminated the lower part of her face, and I could see her frown. “You’re still losing weight, Ben,” she observed instead. “Did you eat today?”
I couldn’t remember. “Sure,” I told her anyway. “Porterhouse steak, loaded baked potato, and a huge salad.”
She made a face. “You suck at lying, you know that?”
There was nothing to do but shrug. “So I’ve been told.”
Gina gave a low laugh, moving to sit on the far end of the couch, and I grit my teeth in frustration. It looked like she planned to stay awhile. Resigned, I dropped back into my spot, stroking Moe’s fur as he watched her.
“I…” she began, and then frowned, looking down to inspect her folded hands, “I don’t know exactly how to bring this up. So don’t get mad, okay?”
“Okay.”
She took in a deep breath, and then let it out. “Are you planning to go to the funeral tomorrow?”
I sat back, a little surprised. “Of course,” I answered, thinking that it should have gone without saying.
Gina hesitated again. “Are you sure that’s such a good idea?”
What the hell kind of question is that? I thought, fighting back irritation. Instead of answering, though, I just gave her a puzzled look.
“Kelly’s gone,” she went on, “and I know it’s been killing you. I can see you slowly coming back to your old self, though, which means you’re starting to heal.”
“Oh, is that what you think?” There was a flatness to my tone that I didn’t bother trying to hide. Where was this going?
“Yes,” Gina answered, meeting my gaze. “I know this isn’t what you want to hear, and I’m sorry. But honestly, what good will it do you to be there? Will that help you to get past this? Or will you just be picking at a scab?”
“Jeez…are you actually asking me this?”
“I really think you shouldn’t go,” she declared, her voice sounding firm. “That’s not what you need right now.”
I was starting to get angry. “Oh, and you know all about what I need, is that it?”
She nodded. “Yes. Yes, I think I do.”
I glared at the dying flames, trying to keep my temper under control. I was still trying to think of something to say that would keep the discussion from going further south when Gina stepped in front of me, causing me to look up.
“I know exactly what you need, Ben…because I need it, too.” She opened the front of her coat, allowing it to slide off her shoulders to the floor. Underneath it, she wore only a short nightie of dark satin. Stunned, I was still trying to process what was going on as she grasped Moe’s collar and pulled him off the couch. He retreated with a growl of protest as Gina then straddled my lap, facing me. “Gina, I…” But then her lips were pressed against mine, softly at first, but then with more urgency. Her tongue brushed tentatively against my lips, and then eased into my mouth just before I pulled away, finally catching on. Gina sat back, breathing hard as she crossed her arms in front of her to draw the nightie up and over her head, dropping it to the floor. Beneath it she was naked, and I froze in astonishment as she leaned forward to kiss me again.
I pushed her roughly aside, scrambling to my feet and crossing to the fireplace. I leaned against the mantle, struggling to sort out my feelings and get my breathing under control. “No, Gina,” I said after a moment. “This isn’t gonna happen.”
I never heard her move up behind me, and sucked in a breath as her hands reached beneath my arms to clasp my chest. She pressed herself against me, her breasts full and soft against my ribs. “But why, Ben?” she asked breathlessly. “We’ve both been through so much. Me losing my parents…you losing Kelly. We’d be good for each other. I need you. You’re all I’ve thought about since the first day of school.”
Her left hand began to drift slowly down my stomach, but I didn’t do anything about it. Most of me wanted her to stop, but part of me didn’t. Right then, part of me just wanted to lose myself in her lips and body…to forget about how much my soul hurt, even if only for a little while. And she’s a nice girl, right? I rationalized inwardly. Even Mom thinks so. And after the shit-show my life has been lately, don’t I deserve a break? Would that really be so wrong?
