Absolution (6 page)

What the?!
I couldn’t believe how carried away my thoughts were. I had to stop the anger, or I’d be no better than Albert.

“Give yourself to me now and this will end.”

I shook my head. If I wanted to be rid of him, I had to keep my heart pure. Then, he’d have to leave, wouldn’t he? Wasn’t that why he’d left my parent’s bedroom earlier? The heavy tiredness settling again into my body, dragging me south, shouted I’d better do something fast, or I was going to knock off right there.

I collapsed to the floor, leaned my back against Luke’s bed and sighed.

“Leave.” Matthias had used the word and it had worked to dismiss Albert.

Maybe I could, too.

Albert towered over me, studying me. His face was impossible to read, and, I was too tired to try. Would he wrap that noose around my neck and drag me to hell with him? Matthias wasn’t here, so I figured the answer was no.

Then what was happening?

I looked up at Albert, my eyes growing heavier with each weary blink.

He remained alert, his eyes fastened with mine.

“Leave,” I slurred, sleep clawing through me. I thought of Matthias, picturing his serene face, feeling his calming spirit weave through me. In my weary state, the comfort so completely overcame me that I closed my eyes for a moment—just one—to rest, and when I opened them again, Albert was gone.

Chapter Five

____________________

Someone tapped my shoulder in that annoying way that made me want to scream at them to stop. I didn’t want to move. I was comfortable. Sort of.

My neck hurt. And my back. I was lying on a fluffy blanket, thank you. I needed more sleep.

“Z?”

My eyes opened. Luke’s cocoa Berber carpeting was in my mouth. I lay on my side, neck tweaked, legs twisted like a pretzel. I sat up.

“You slept in my room?” he asked, amused. He had boxers on—ones with fried eggs and ham—and his hair stuck up like an old dried floor mop.

He let out a yawn.

“I guess I did,” I groaned, glanced around. No Albert, thankfully. I stretched, bringing out a myriad of pops from joints and limbs. “Man. What time is it?”

“We need to head in a half hour.” He twisted his back and it cracked.

“You’d better jam.”

I jumped to my feet and scrambled to the bathroom. I didn’t have time to shower, so I ripped off my flannel pjs and cami, sniffed my armpits—no stink, yay—sprayed ten squirts of perfume, then yanked on a fresh pair of underwear, new bra, lavender long-sleeved tee, jeans and threw my hair into a sloppy ponytail.

My reflection in the bathroom mirror made me cringe: thrown together, and that was being kind. I scrubbed away smeared makeup and quickly reapplied some concealer, blush and bailed on any eye makeup. Too time intensive.

The light on my phone blinked incessantly alerting me that I had messages. None from Weston. I tried not to let that bug me, but it did. One from Chase.

u ever hear from krissy? i didn’t

My fingers raced over the keyboard:
yeah tons to tell u

I grabbed my backpack and grimaced thinking about the studying I hadn’t done—with Brady’s funeral and the chilling events that had followed me into the wee hours of this morning I’d hardly had time to catch two hours of sleep much less study.
Oh well
. I skipped downstairs and out the door to Luke’s idling car.

Luke eyed me. “That’s a record for you.” He backed the car onto the street, and the little automobile shuddered in the frosty air. A white sun tried to pierce through clouds over head, but it wasn’t getting the job done and a layer of ice coated every surface, sparkling like sheets of cellophane and diamonds.

“What a night.” I tipped the passenger-side mirror down, peering at my tired green eyes.
Should have brought mascara with me
.

“Yeah.”

Was Luke sorry I’d encouraged him to not relapse? “I’m proud of you, bud.”

“Where’d you put the stuff?”

“Like I’d tell you.” I snickered. But his face remained stoic as he stared out the front window at the street. “I know it’s hard.”

He scrubbed his jaw.

A subject change was in order. “Thanks again for picking up Krissy. I didn’t know you two had a class together.”

“We do?” he asked.

“That’s what she said.”

“Huh. She’s pretty nice. I don’t know.”

“She is.”

“What do you think is going to happen to her?” he asked.

“Nothing legally. But that doesn’t change how bad she feels about all of it. It’s obvious she’s scared.”

“It was an accident,” a tinge of protest was in his tone. “I can’t see her getting reamed for something that wasn’t really her fault.”

She was already getting reamed—by her father. Even though I still didn’t know details, I couldn’t dismiss the worst possible scenarios from flashing in my head. My stomach churned envisioning her dad with his swarm of evil. Brady’s death might not have been her fault, but Krissy had admitted to me—graveside no less—that she’d egged him into hanging longer.

Luke reached over and turned up the heater. “It takes a while for it to work,” he said.

“I know. Thanks.”

At school, Luke pulled the Samurai into a slit of a parking spot. Other students screeched into the lot alongside us. Luke and I got out and joined the throngs trudging up the drag toward the buildings.

I caught glances, and wondered if people were looking at me because Brady’s death was still fresh on everyone’s mind.

Inside, signs had been posted: GRIEF COUNSELORS AVAILABLE

IN THE OFFICE. The tone quieted as students passed the signs. Would Britt be here? Or would she be at home, hung over?

Luke and I parted ways and went to class. During second period, my gaze searched reflexively for Britt. She sat at her desk, black spirit perched in eerie stillness on her shoulders, its back arched.

Britt glared at me.

I crossed to my desk. Out the corner of my eye, her head, and the head of the creepy crawler on her back, turned in sync with my movement.

I sat. My gaze swept my fellow students, but their dipped heads, distracted faces or otherwise bored expressions left me unsure that anyone but me sensed the parasite. Mr. Bringhurst’s voice droned on. I couldn’t tune into his lecture, not with Britt and that thing’s attention locked on me.

Don’t let it get to you.

Britt’s eyes were latched on mine in a heavy, primal dark stare that, if I allowed it, would scare me. Threaten me. Cause me to shrink. But I’d been in the presence of worse. I wasn’t a wimp.

A thousand memories of Britt and me flashed through my head: parties, sleepovers, drives with blasting music, hours shopping together, even more hours opening our hearts to each other.

My heart softened to putty. I wished things were different between us, that we could be friends regardless of what had happened between her and Weston.

For all I knew, Weston would have nothing more to do with me, anyway. After the weird turn of events at the funeral, Weston had told me he needed some space to think.

I can’t compete with an angel.
His words trickled into my thoughts and I closed my eyes for a second, recalling his voice. A pang of longing echoed through me. I missed him. The humanness of him. The mortal comfort and companionship he provided. His dark chocolate eyes. The way he made me feel wanted. Needed.

I opened my eyes. Britt hadn’t moved. The black spirit crouched on her back hadn’t either, its sinewy, slickness shimmering, then turning matte, like the ocean surface shifting beneath the force of wind. Its blank, black eyes never blinked, just stared.

She and I had hung together like conjoined twins for so long, I attributed the look of dull emptiness on her face to the stark realization that she finally understood how alone she was.

Britt crossed her arms over her desk and buried her head. The creature on her back remained fixed, as if it didn’t care that she was miserable, that she’d moved. And I was certain it didn’t care. The vibe of evil oozing out into the air from the direction of where Britt sat was like the scent of death—uniquely pungent, strong and morbid in its determined demise.

Death had its grip on Britt’s soul. That was the bottom line.
Evil is
death.
The thought that my former best friend was dying inside and she probably didn’t know it, at least not that she was capable of admitting at this point in her life, sickened me for her.

What could I do?

I texted her.

im
sorry about everything i wouldn’t hurt u, u know that
I feigned interest in the lecture, faked taking a few notes but glanced at Britt. She sat up, dug into her hoodie pocket and pulled out her cell phone.

She read the text and her nails tapped out a reply.

My cell vibrated.

but
u did hurt me and i can never forgive u 4 taking wes

come on, britt, we’re better than this

The filmy surface on the creature shimmered, then shifted to matte, then shimmered, the motion building in speed.

screw u, zoe
Britt jerked her messy hair of head my direction, sending me a worn-out glare.

I slapped my phone shut.

The black spirit on her back stood on its legs mouth opening and closing around onyx fangs. Britt burst to her feet, her crazed glare on me. “I hate you! You can’t have what you want so you take it from other people.”

“Miss Walker, what is going on?” our teacher demanded.

The class rustled. Stared. Britt remained standing, breath heaving in and out. She pointed a finger at me, her skin blanching red from her neck up to her forehead. Her mouth opened, and two black spirits oozed out, joining the female resident on her back. Together, they whirled around Britt’s head, torso and legs, their mouths gnashing, talon limbs stimulating. “You’ll pay for this!”

“Miss Walker!” Mr. Bringhurst’s voice boomed. “You need to sit down.

Now.”

“Go to hell,” Britt ground out. She grabbed her backpack, swung it over her shoulder and marched to the door.

“Miss Walker—”

“I’m leaving!” Britt shouted. The partying creatures on her back leapt and swirled, their mouths agape, fangs gleaming. The door slammed behind her.

My day was starting well.

At lunch, I caught Weston at his locker. He was alone, pensive. Our gazes met across the busy hall as we stowed books. At least I didn’t sense complete rejection from him. His was a more contemplative expression, filled with confusion unmasked by candid admiration.

I bit my lower lip, and kept my gaze on his.
I care about you. I hope you
see that. I hope you believe that I care about you a lot.
Too bad Weston couldn’t read my thoughts like Matthias, he’d feel better and I’d feel better.

He seemed to weigh the unspoken message I was trying to give him during the time we spent studying each other, then he shut his locker and continued down the hall, in the direction of the parking lot.

Lunch. Alone.

I hadn’t spent lunch alone since my first year of junior high. I fought insecurity worming its way into my system.
It’s just lunch and I don’t have to
care that I’m here at school instead of jumping into a car and heading to the Purple
Turtle or some other place to hang. Who needs to be seen, anyway?

I grabbed an apple from the ala carte section of the lunchroom and headed out of the building and into the warming winter sun. Snow blanketed the ground, but I found a dry iron bench and sat, content to be alone with my thoughts.

I bit into the apple and crunched the flesh between my teeth.

“Wow, you never stay around for lunch.” Luke sat down next to me.

“Yeah, well. Things change. I don’t have a car, remember? It’s pretty hard to leave when you don’t have a ride.”

“What about Brittany? Or Weston?”

“Britt and I aren’t hanging anymore and Weston needs some space.”

“Well, you want me to drive you somewhere? That’s not all you’re eating, is it?”

“I’m okay. What about you? Where are your friends?”

He sat back, shifted his backpack from his back to his lap and sighed.

“They’re around. I don’t know, I’m sick of them.”

My insides leapt for joy even though I remained calm and took another bite. “It can be like that, yeah.”

“I gotta have something to eat. I’m gonna go to the drive thru at Wendy’s. Want to come?”

“Sure, why not.”

We stood and strolled across the snow-caked grass toward the drag, where cars were filling with students eager to race off to the lunchtime offerings a few blocks away from the high school.

Luke and I got into his car and drove through the buzzing parking lot toward the street. “Hey, isn’t that Krissy?” Luke asked.

Sure enough, Krissy, dressed in her denim jumper, hair in standard ponytail mode was walking alone in the city park adjacent to Pleasant Grove High School. Luke pulled the car close to the curb and tapped the horn.

Krissy looked over.

Luke rolled down his window. “You wanna come?”

Krissy stopped. Her sober face lit just enough to nearly break my heart for her. Regardless of her brief moment dancing round the raunchy pole of high school partying, she was still an innocent. Maybe even a victim.

She started in our direction. I patted Luke’s shoulder. “Nice.”

His gaze never left her, but he nodded, his baby face softening with compassion.

Krissy got in the backseat and Luke drove on.

“Thanks,” she said, her voice timid.

“No problem.” Luke’s gaze flicked from the street to his rearview mirror so he could see her.

“Your hair looks great up
and
down,” I observed. Before the party, she’d been brave enough to try wearing her hair to her shoulders. Once. She had gorgeous, thick sandy blond hair and I figured—like everything else in her life—her return back to the ponytail was her father’s idea.

Krissy’s eyes dipped to her lap.

“So, how’s it going?” I asked, perching so I half faced her.