A Soul's Kiss (8 page)

Michael

Friday afternoon

I woke, stretched, and looked at the clock. I let fly a string of curses as my foggy brain interpreted the numbers on the clock: I’d missed the bus to the away game.

“Mom!” I yelled. I couldn’t remember if my car was here or at school. Yesterday seemed like a month ago. I leaped up as she knocked and opened my door. Then I dropped back to the bed and groaned. My vision blurred.

“Are you all right?” She rushed to my side and sat on the bed next to me, felt my forehead, and slobbered over me like a dog.

“I’m okay,” I lied, “but the game . . .”

“Don’t you even think about it. Your coach called. He just wants you to rest and he’ll talk to you on Monday.” She patted me like a baby. I considered burping just to get her to let go, but she released me anyway and pushed me back onto my pillow. “Are you hungry? I can bring you up some dinner in a little bit. Hmm?”

I nodded. Food was always the answer. Maybe it would help with the dizziness.

She started for the door and then blew me a kiss and a smile. I ignored her.

She closed the door and I rolled over. My thoughts swirled around the big event of yesterday. Keith was such a dweeb for losing control. It wasn’t my fault for showing him Emma’s wicked picture.

My phone started vibrating on the night stand and clacked its way into the radio. I checked it: there were over twenty texts, four from Hannah, and two from Emma,begging me to delete all previous messages. I thought about that. She was really the one responsible for the accident. I should make her take the blame. I deleted everything from her except the second picture. If I sent it to my email first . . . no, I stared at it for awhile and then deleted it, too. If Emma asked on Monday I would act confused and tell her I never got anything from her . . . ever. I glanced over at the dresser mirror and practiced one eyebrow up and one down.
Huh? What picture?
Good.

Hannah was another matter. I texted back, told her I’d talk to her tomorrow. Then I texted again and asked her how she was. She answered with the shortest message ever. Two letters. I didn’t get why she’d be mad at me. I’d get the silent treatment now.

But she wasn’t silent for long. Before I could set the phone down she texted again asking:
what if the flower dies?
That was code. We always referred to our victims as flowers when we talked at school. Jessica was the flower. Hannah’s question was a good one, but I didn’t see how it affected us. Keith was driving; he didn’t know about the prank. And Hannah didn’t know about the naked picture that distracted Keith. Keith couldn’t prove it now. I wanted to text back something like:
so what? Flowers die. I’ll get you a new one,
but my mom came in then with a tray of food and I put my phone back on the nightstand.

“Here, sweetheart,” she said. “Oh, and I forgot to tell you one of your friends came by. She said she’d text you.”

“She?” I thought of Emma and glanced at my phone again.

“Oh, what was her name again? Something strange. Like a black girl’s name, only she didn’t look black. Russian maybe.” My mom set the tray on the bed and waited for me to guess names. Russian made me think of Rashanda, but I shrugged my shoulders.

My mom stood there staring at me. “Anyway, it’s nice that your friends are concerned. I suppose there’ll be a huge service if that girl dies.”

“Uh huh,” I agreed. “Thanks for dinner, Mom.” I stuffed a roll in my mouth and kept my eyes down. She took the hint and left me alone.

I had to think about why Rashanda would come to my house. It didn’t make any sense. I got mixed vibes from her the night we pranked her. I couldn’t tell if she was frightened then or excited. Who could figure out girls?

I stabbed at the food on my plate and replayed that night in my mind:

When Brittany brought Rashanda to our car and Hannah showed up, it was a piece of cake to convince Rashanda to get in the back seat with the girls. I drove and when we passed Rashanda’s car I slowed down and let her point out to us the flat tire.

“Well, we could probably change it for you,” I said as I gave the car some gas, “but I’m under orders from my music instructor to be careful with my hands.” I laughed and added, “And Andrew here has to be home in like five minutes.”

“Me, too,” Brittany said.

That was part of the plan, of course. Andrew was already texting in his lap for two of our buddies to get to the park’s back entrance. We dropped him off at his house and then let Brittany out on the next street. Hannah moved up to the front seat and Rashanda sat alone in back. I took the winding way out of the subdivision while Andrew grabbed his car, picked Brittany up, and zipped out onto the main road. I thought I caught a glimpse of his old Grand Am as we pulled out.

“So, where do you live?” I asked Rashanda. She told me, but of course I’d already checked the route on Google maps—she lived close to school. It was up to Hannah now to keep her talking so she wouldn’t notice the wrong turns.

The bumpy dirt road gave it away, though.

“You missed my road,” Rashanda said as she sat forward. I could smell her. She was like a flower. That’s when I thought of the code word, flower, for victim.

We drove around a curve and slowed for the potholes.

“Isn’t your street just beyond the back entrance to Stony Park?” I said in my most innocent tone.

“No, but if you keep on going you can turn left on Wilson and cut through Pine Hills.”

“Okay,” I said, but I continued on my route. The back entrance was just ahead and I flicked my right blinker as a signal.

Just like we rehearsed it, Andrew was sprawled half onto the road with one hand raised weakly. This was like a bad movie that has a guy crawling across a road or lying in the middle. Road kill. A zombie. Bait.

Hannah spoke her lines a little too loud. “Hey! Is that a deer? Wait. Stop, Michael, it’s a person.” She sucked in her breath and began to open her door as I rolled to a stop. We both jumped out expecting Rashanda to follow. We kneeled at Andrew’s back and Hannah whispered, “She didn’t get out.”

I looked toward the blinding headlights and waved her to come, then bent back over Andrew. The shadows changed around us as she walked in front of the beams.

“Is he dead?” she asked. Her voice was all wavy sounding. I remember thinking that was a good effect I’d have to try to mimic.

“He’s got a pulse,” I said. That was the cue for the other three to leap out from the bushes. They were wearing all black, had ski masks on, and were holding paintball guns which looked awesomely real in the dark.

Andrew leaped up, too, and pulled a mask over his face in one cool move before he faced us. He’d been lying on his gun and now he pointed it at me and Hannah. Hannah dove for my arms, as planned. Rashanda stood frozen. The headlights rimmed her silhouette and made me think of angels.

“What do you want? Money?” I said. “The car? Just take it.”

Andrew deepened his voice and growled, “Walk down that lane.” The four of them waved their guns at us and Rashanda finally moved. I pushed Hannah in front of me and I reached for Rashanda. Her hand was ice cold and shaking. She squeezed mine like a vise.

One of the masked girls, Brittany probably, got in the car and followed us. The beams from the headlamps bounced up and down the trees. It was more than enough to see our way toward the old Quonset huts until she parked and killed the lights.

“What do you want?” Hannah kept crying and asking the same question. She’d gotten pretty good at sounding afraid. I squeezed Rashanda’s hand and pulled her closer to me. That’s when we reached the hut. Andrew kicked the door open and ordered us in. They already had a battery camp light glowing in the corner.

“Not you, sweetheart,” Andrew growled. He yanked Hannah back out through the door and closed it. We could hear Hannah’s sobs and then a stifled scream. More muffled screams came then faded, but I knew it was only Hannah holding her own hand over her mouth and walking to the car to get the camera.

For a moment I thought I blew it. I should have been battling for my girlfriend, putting up a fight, swearing at least, and not holding another girl’s hand. I was so mad at myself for forgetting my lines, but it didn’t matter. The look on my face must have been enough to fool Rashanda.

“Are we locked in?” she said and started toward the door, dropping my hand. I lunged in front of her and faked a struggle with the door, like it was bolted and wouldn’t budge. I gave it a final kick as I leaned against it. Perfect. The first time I’d practiced that move last summer it had bounced back toward me. There’s a lot to be said for rehearsals; I ought to know, I was the lead in the school play.

I kicked again, this time at one of the bottles that were lined up with some other empties. It knocked against two beer cans and stirred up a little dust that floated in the low beam of the camp light. Rashanda was eyeing the mattress that lay littered with newspapers, a fluorescent pink beach cover-up, and an empty bottle of Johnson’s Baby Oil. It really did look gross. I wondered if some bum had used this place to crash since the last time we pranked someone. I could see a pink bathing suit scrunched under the far edge of the mattress. That spurred another memory—a prank that went too far.

“Sit down,” I said.

“Not a chance,” she answered. Her lip curled. “I left my purse in your car. My phone’s in it. Do you have yours?” Man, she seemed a lot less frightened, like she had some super self-control.

I did have my phone in my back pocket. I patted myself like I wasn’t sure and then I said, “It’s in the cup holder in the car.” I kicked at another bottle and kept my backside toward the wall. “Hey, what’s that?” I whispered. Maybe I could distract her.

She looked where I pointed and stepped toward the hole in the side of the hut. The rippled metal had been peeled back a few inches and dirty gray insulation drooped out. I knew what she’d see next and I was ready for her panic. One of the team stuck the end of their gun through the hole and shouted, “Take off your clothes!” I almost laughed, it sounded so cheesy. I started unbuttoning my shirt.

“You’re out of your mind,” Rashanda said. “We’re not taking off our clothes.” She didn’t speak loudly. She was speaking only to me.

“Hey, it could be fun.” I moved toward her, held my hand out and got the shock of my life. I still don’t know how she did it, but one second I was standing there and the next second I was on the filthy mattress. She ripped the door open and ran. I was two seconds behind her.

The memory of that escape haunted me now. I thought of the entire episode as I finished the meal my mom had brought up to me. I gulped the last of my drink and mulled over Rashanda’s escape. I never found out how Rashanda got home that night or if she figured out that Hannah and I were in on it.

For some reason all I could see now was Jessica’s face. I could see
her
in the hut. I could hear my own voice telling
her
to lie down on the mattress. I could feel
her
chasing after me as I ran down the dark path behind Rashanda. It was as much a part of the memory as anything else, but I know it didn’t happen. I know she wasn’t there.

I took my last bite of dinner and thought about Jessica. I could clearly remember her sitting in drama class, standing on the stage next to Kayla in the auditorium and passing me in the hallways. But now I could also remember her standing in front of me in the Quonset hut. Yet she hadn’t been there with us. How could memory and imagination seem the same? I tried to invent something like imagining Emma taking off her clothes in my bedroom. Nice. Then I compared the real memory of Hannah doing that with what I envisioned with Emma. No difference. They were stored in my mind’s eye in exactly the same way. Indistinguishable.

I thought again of the prank with Rashanda and listed the entire incident in my mind’s eye. The flat tire, the drive, Andrew in the road, the abduction. No Jessica. But when I thought of the Quonset hut, the mattress, running out, then Jessica was part of that memory. I could not recall the rest of the incident without seeing her face there, too. It was too strange to comprehend.

I put the tray on the nightstand and went looking for some aspirin.

Tyler

Friday

Rashanda startled me. I thought I was alone in the waiting room and I was trying to get comfortable on a row of armless chairs when she came out of the unisex bathroom next to the coffee machine. “Hey, Tyler, how’s Keith doing?”

“Oh, hi, Rashanda.” I straightened up as she came and sat next to me. “He’s okay, I guess. A little drugged up still, but,” I tried not to sound girly and stifled a sigh, “not as bad as Jessica. Have you heard anything?” I took my ball cap off and ran my fingers along the edges.

“She’s in recovery. They had to remove her spleen but she’s still in a coma.” Rashanda looked at her shoes and mumbled something.

“What?”

“Oh, um . . . you’ll think I’m crazy if I tell you.” I didn’t know what to say to that. Crazy? Like me? She could tell me Jessica had been abducted by aliens and I would have bought it.

We sat in silence for a while and I tried to think of something to say. “They released Hannah and Michael.”

“I know. I went to Michael’s house. I didn’t see him though.”

“You’re friends with him? I didn’t know that.” Some guys got all the luck.

Rashanda gave one of those snort-laughs and shook her head. “No way, José. I will forever stay far away from those two and their friends. If you only knew . . .”

I
did
know. After hearing some of the stuff Keith said I was suspicious about a couple of things. “Tell me,” I said. “I can keep a secret.” I crushed my cap and stuffed it in my back pocket. I smirked a little, thinking about Jessica, and Rashanda caught on.

“I know, Tyler, but this is . . . it’s just unbelievable. Promise you won’t tell?” I nodded and she went on. “And don’t laugh.” She waited for me to shake my head no. Then her words came out in a rush, “I followed Jessica to Michael’s house, picked her up, and brought her back. Her spirit, that is, I guess. It was really weird. And she gets in my head, too . . . in my dreams.”

I didn’t laugh, as promised. “I heard her at school this morning,” I said.