Crucifax (2 page)

Kevin Donahue and his friends would fight back without hesitation. They wouldn't use their fists because, like Donahue, most of them were very skinny and rather pale. They would use knives and clubs and—Jeff wasn't positive, but he suspected—guns.

Larry Cairte was not smart by most standards, but he wasn't stupid; Jeff was sure he was willing to let a girl, maybe even a couple girls, slip through his fingers to avoid that kind of trouble.

Mallory was fifteen, a year younger than Jeff, and Donahue was her first
real
boyfriend. She'd dated a guy named Rich for a couple weeks the previous spring, but she hadn't slept with him. Jeff knew it was different with Donahue. Mallory had not actually told him, but he could tell.

Their mother knew Mallory was seeing Donahue, but she didn't know anything about what kind of guy he was, nor did she know how serious it had become. She and Mallory weren't talking much these days—their conversations had been fluctuating between flat, polite exchanges and icy periods of silence, occasionally punctuated with a brief time of reconciliation, ever since Dad had left two years ago— and Jeff didn't think it was his place to tell her anything.

"Don't worry about it," Mom had told him over breakfast when he had skirted the subject of Mallory and Donahue a few days earlier. "She'll get tired of that crowd and find another one. I swear," she'd said, ruffling his hair and giving him a smile that seemed wearier than it had two years ago, "you almost sound jealous of your little sister!"

No,
Jeff told himself, flattening his palms against the warm cement wall behind him,
not jealous, really. Just… worried.

But he knew better.

When Donahue had stood Mallory up earlier that evening, Jeff had decided to get her out of the apartment, cheer her up a little, and, if he thought it was appropriate, maybe talk with her about Donahue. He didn't want to sound naggy about it, but it probably wouldn't hurt to drop a few words of caution.

He knew what her reaction would be. She would smile softly, put her hand on his, and say something like, "My knight in shining armor. Are you going to follow me through life, fighting for my honor?"

Jeff fidgeted against the wall, looking down at the sidewalk. He wasn't about to fight for
anything.
He was far from the fighting type. His arms and legs were long and skinny. He had never been any good in sports, mostly because he had never been interested in them—something his father had always resented. Jeff was all too aware of the fact that what he lacked in build he did not make up for in looks. He had straight, light brown hair and a few freckles on his cheeks; he wore tan tortoise-shell-framed glasses for his astigmatism, and, worst of all, he had crooked teeth.

"Even if we had enough money to afford braces for your teeth," his father had told him a few years ago, "there are plenty more important things to spend it on." He'd said it in that clipped way he had of making everything sound trivial and annoying. "It'd be cheaper if you just didn't smile as much."

Jeff lifted his head and watched a laughing couple walk by, noticing how the girl's body moved in sync with the guy's, the way they touched one another at just the right times and in the right places with no clumsy fumbling or bumping. The guy slipped his arm around her waist as he leaned over to say something, and she propped her elbow on his shoulder for a moment, listening; she tossed her head back and laughed, they parted a moment, then she slid her hand beneath his shirttails and tucked her fingers into his back pocket.

It amazed Jeff the way most people were able to be couples so well, as if they had practiced a lot or taken a course. Maybe they were teaching that over at Northridge now. Summer classes.
Introductory Being Together
—
Learn to move right and look good as a couple. You can't be it if you can't do it!

Jeff tried to force a smile, but the thought just didn't seem funny.

"When're you gonna get yourself a girlfriend, Jeffy?" Brad Kreisler had asked him a few days ago, thumbing through a
Playboy
at the Van Nuys newsstand.

"I check the papers every day for sales," Jeff replied, scanning the shelves of magazines.

"Well, pretty soon people are gonna start thinking you're a floater. You want people to think you're a floater, Jeffy?"

Jeff hated being called "Jeffy." "You know it's what I live for, Brad."

"Smartass," Brad laughed. "What about that girl who works at the Cookie Jar? In the Galleria. Lily something? You two seem to get along. Why don't you go for it?"

Jeff said nothing.

"Well, you know, if you keep hanging around with your sister"—Brad replaced the magazine and held out a hand, palm down, tilting it back and forth—"people are gonna think something funny's going on."

If you keep hanging around with your sister…
keep hanging around with your sister
…
hanging around with your
—

The theater doors opened, and the crowd spilled out onto the sidewalk, most of them grumbling about the movie. As Jeff stepped away from the wall he heard Brad Kreisler's voice rise above the others.

"Whatta shitty movie!" he barked, taking his pack of Yves St. Laurents from one of the big pockets of his blue shorts and lighting up. "And where's the fuckin' rain? I thought it was gonna
rain!
"

"I wanna go back to Oregon," Bobbi Cheever whined, brushing plump fingers through her short, orange-tinted hair as she shouldered through the crowd. "It's cooler, and I think the movies are better."

"Yeah," Nick Frazier said, a step behind her, "but you'd have to stop shaving your legs again."

"Fuck off and die, Nick!" she snapped.

They had been fighting all week, and Jeff figured they would break up before school started on Tuesday.

"Where's Mallory and Tina?" Jeff asked.

Brad jerked his head back toward the theater, tossing his red curls, and said, "Bathroom."

The sidewalk became congested as the theater emptied, and the Bible-carrying man in the suit stepped forward. Still smiling, he gently touched his fingertips to the perfectly straight part in his hair and said loudly, "Friends, just as this long and miserable summer is coming to an end, so is the long and miserable existence of this sin-sick planet. Every headline and every newscast is a road sign, and our journey is almost over. Our Lord Jesus Christ is preparing for His return, and He wants all of us to be ready, friends,
all
of us."

A boy in bermuda shorts and a torn T-shirt shouted over his shoulder as he walked away from the theater, "I'm not your fucking friend!"

Jeff glanced at the preacher; the man blinked as perspiration trickled down his forehead, but his smile did not waver.

"My name is Reverend James Bainbridge," he went on, holding up his Bible, "and these young people are the Calvary Youth. They have been set free by the Truth, friends—free of the addiction to drugs, free of the deceptive promise of sex and the seductive beat of rock and roll. They've brought that Truth to you tonight."

He nodded without turning from the crowd, and, in unison, the Calvary Youth stripped the rubber bands from their stacks and began passing out the pamphlets. Most of the crowd ignored them.

A small hand came to rest on Jeff's shoulder, and he turned to Mallory. "I think I'd like to go home now, Jeff," she said quietly, the glaring light from above softened as it was reflected in her golden hair.

"Why don't you come down to Tiny's with us for a bite to eat?" he said. "You haven't eaten anything all day."

"I don't think so." She had a tight look around her brown eyes, as if there were a pebble in her shoe or something. That look always made Jeff want to take her hand.

"C'mon, just for a while. Then, if you want to go, I'll take you home."

She shrugged indifferently.

Tina Shephard came out behind Mallory and went to Brad's side, snaking a thin arm around his waist.

"We going to Tiny's?" she asked.

"Yeah," Jeff said, putting his hand on the back of Mallory's neck and squeezing encouragingly.

"… don't have much time," Reverend Bainbridge said, his voice fuller than before, the Bible held high over his head. "The Bible says He will come like a thief in the night, and our world is
now
in its
darkest
night! Just look
around
you, friends, and what do you see?"

"Nocturnal emissionaries!" Someone laughed.

Brad took Tina's hand, and they led the way down the walk to Tiny Naylor's. Bobbi and Nick walked with a couple feet of cold space between them.

"I really don't want to stay very long," Mallory said. "If you want, I can walk home."

"No, I'll take you." Jeff had to slow his pace so he wouldn't leave her behind. "I just thought if d be better than hanging around the apartment."

"… bled on the cross for
our
sins…" Reverend Bain-bridge droned on, his voice fading behind them.

"Yeah," Mallory smiled up at Jeff. "I guess so."

She stopped.

Her smile fell away.

Jeff stood beside her, frowning, although he wasn't sure why. He looked ahead at the others; they had stopped, too, and were looking around.

Despite the sounds of the traffic, the boulevard suddenly seemed quiet, and everything around him seemed to slow to a liquidy, dreamlike crawl. There was a low, almost imperceptible buzz in Jeff's head, as if the roots of his crooked teeth were vibrating. The skin on his back tingled as a gentle balmy breeze began to blow, and when Jeff looked back at the Calvary Youth, he saw them standing oddly still as the pamphlets slipped from their soap-scrubbed hands and skittered down the sidewalk.

The stragglers still coming from the theater slowed and looked around at the dazed teenagers.

Reverend Bainbridge paused, lowering his Bible hand, and then raised it again, speaking even louder than before, trying to regain what little attention he'd had.

"There will come a time of trouble as no man has known before, my friends, and that time has already started," he said. "The clock is ticking and… and…" He leaned toward one of the young women who had dropped her pamphlets and was slowly turning her eyes upward. "Pick them up!" he hissed.

She did not respond.

Mallory tilted her head back.

So did Nick and Bobbi, Tina and Brad.

And the Calvary Youth.

Jeff looked up past the lights and the buildings to the dark and cloudy sky and saw nothing.

There was a break in the clouds, a narrow, crooked opening, like a crack in a giant plaster ceiling. Something flickered. Jeff couldn't tell if the flickering was in the clouds or somewhere deep inside his head, way behind his eyes.

He squinted, shaking his head.

A plane, maybe?
he thought. The Burbank Airport was nearby, and planes flew over all the time, their lights blinking.

A shriek came from the group of young Christians, and a girl squealed, "It's
near!
It's
coming!
The
end
is
coming!"

Lightning,
he thought, craning his head forward. But when he closed his eyes for a moment, the flickering seemed to continue.

"The Holy Spirit is
here,
my friends!" Reverend Bainbridge shouted. "These young people have been moved by the Holy Spirit to come to you tonight—"

Eyes open again, Jeff thought,
It probably
is
lightning, and it's finally going to rain, and I wish that guy would shut up!

"—
not
by personal gain,
not
by pride—"

Maybe the rain will make Mallory feel better, and then maybe, then maybe this guy would shut the fuck up because
—

"—or a need for recognition, but by the soft murmurs of the voice of God Himself!"

—
because there
is
no God; if there was a God, there wouldn't be any heat waves, and
—

"They are here because they live in fear for the souls of their friends, their families, and the souls of each and every one of
you!
"

The voice faded a bit and, in the edges of his vision as he looked upward, Jeff thought he noticed a dimming in the lights of the boulevard—

Maybe… maybe it's a helicopter or
—

—and a cold hand slid into his brain and began to rummage around.

—
or assholes like my
father,
there wouldn 't be any of
those
if there was a God, and there wouldn't be any slutty sisters, no slutty sisters with revolving doors between their
—

Jeff's head jerked back suddenly as if dodging a swinging fist. His eyes stretched open wide, still on the sky but seeing, for a heartbeat, his sister's warm smile. Guilt sliced through his chest like a just-sharpened razor.

Then it was gone.

The clouds were dark.

A car horn honked as the traffic slowed for another red light.

Jeff turned to see the Calvary Youth slowly moving about, picking up their scattered literature; one of the girls was on her knees, bent forward, her hands clasped before her face, rocking back and forth as she mumbled frantically into her hands. One of the pamphlets whispered over the cement and came to rest at Jeff's feet as the breeze gently backed off.

"… Spirit is
speaking
to you through these young people, my friends," Bainbridge was saying, pointing to the girl with his Bible, "for a little child shall lead them, and if you ignore the Word…"

Jeff looked at Mallory; she was still staring at the sky. Her mouth was open and her brow was creased, but it was more a look of wonder than a troubled frown.

She whispered, "Did… you… see something?"

Jeff looked up again. Nothing but clouds and darkness. A knot had tied itself in his stomach, and a dull ache was coming up in his head, like mud from the bottom of a stirred-up pond. His hands were trembling, and he wasn't sure why.

The others were moving haltingly toward Tiny Naylor's; they took a few steps, stopped, looked up; Brad shook his head, Tina folded her arms across her breasts, Bobbi grumbled something, and they moved on.