In Stone (13 page)

My brain is ticking like a bomb. The swelling suspicion inside me takes over, and suddenly I know -- I’m certain, that this guy is here for us. Casually, carefully so as not to spook him, I take a seat on the bench.

“Are you going full circle around the mountains or are you guys spending some time out in the wilderness?”

“Erm…” I look over at Jack. He’s just staring out into the openness. I wonder why he’s not gone all super vigilant on this guy. Whatever. I’m not going to just wait around for the stranger to make the first move. What if he only needs one move? My heart starts running.

“I think we’re heading into the forest for a few days, take in some of the scenery,” I reply while slumping forward. My fingertips pulse as they crawl down my leg to my ankle.

My hand is hot; my arm trembles from the adrenaline shooting down it. The tape is loose. I can jiggle the knife from over the top of my jeans. The Irish guy starts chatting about flora and fauna, or he could be listing animals. I’m not sure; I’m not really listening. My mind and my fingers are too busy sifting through copious amounts of extra denim. Stupid, baggy jeans. Should have worn skinnys.

“What do you think?” Callum asks. My lips do their best to pull into a smile. What do I think about what? I plum for an uncertain frown and a one shoulder shrug. He pulls his neck back. My response must not make any sense, but it doesn’t matter because my fingers are wrapped around the handle of the knife, and I’m pretty certain one sharp tug will free it. I’m ready. My heart is beating like a drum, and I’m drowning in adrenaline. I’m ready to kill this demon before it can kill me.

“Beau, stop!” Jack bellows from the background. I look toward him. He’s marching over to me. The wind has his hair thrashing about like wild, yellow fire. His fists are bricks by his side. I retract my hand, release my jeans, and spring to my feet. And just like that the suspicion fizzes out. It was like a fist squeezing me and squeezing me until I couldn’t breathe. But now I’m released, and clarity is flooding my brain. All I can think is…I just nearly killed someone.

“I THINK WE NEED
to talk.” Jack snatches hold of my elbow and leads me over to the far side of the platform. He looks at me like I just throat-punched a puppy.

The ground begins to rumble, and a pale circle of white light appears in the distance. It’s midnight; the train is coming.

“Do we have a problem?” Jack leans forward and asks into my ear. I step into his chest. To reach his lobe I have to stand on my tiptoes and steady myself on his stomach. This proximity feels hot, dangerous. Hearts are beating fast; breaths are rushing out, heavy.

“I thought he was a demon.”

“You thought?”

“I made a mistake...I,” I begin but have to stop and collect my words. “I could have killed him.” The realization is rocking my core. I lift my eyes over Jack’s shoulder and look at Callum. He’s fiddling with the strings on his guitar. My mind is locked in the horror of how innocent he suddenly seems. A throat-punched puppy. I might cry.

“I...I don’t know what happened. I guess I lost control,” I stammer. “I’m sorry.” The train is getting close, rumbling like a roll of distant thunder. Jack pulls me into his arms then, and rests his chin on my head. He feels safe and sturdy. He chases away the shake that’s ripping through my bones.

“Maybe I was wrong. Maybe the knife is affecting you,” he says, lowering his lips back to my ear. His cheek brushes against mine. A light layer of stubble scratches my skin and the hairs on the back of my neck spike.

“Believe me when I say, I’m getting no wanting-to-rule-the-world vibes. All I want is to get rid of it.”

The track clanks loudly. A bulky mass of oblongs and a gust of wind announce the train’s arrival. The breaks have to work hard to bring the heap to a stop. The squeal it expels sounds painful. Jack and I stand in silence, hugging, blanketed by the heavy burden of our otherworldly secret.

“Driver wants to know if you two are boarding?” Callum calls from the door of the train.

Jack looks at me, his eyes seeking my response. “We okay to carry on?” I nod and we make our way over to the carriage.

The train, much like the station and platform, is hardly recognizable as such. It’s a rust bucket. An old-fashioned hunk of weatherworn, burgundy tin that keeps burping thick clouds of cotton wool.

“Sturdy, huh?” I question.

“As a rock,” Jack affirms, rapping his fist on the metal exterior of the train. There’s something about the shudder, the tremble that runs through the carriages, that makes his words explode into nothingness.

Callum has grabbed a seat at the back of the carriage. Jack and I slip into the first seat we come to at the front. My choice. I want to sit as far away from Callum as possible. Plus, I’m in need of a slight wardrobe shift.

“Whoa,” Jack whinnies when I hitch up my jeans and pull the knife from its tape prison. “What are you doing?”

“I’m putting the knife in my bag.”

“If you’re trying to avoid touching it, that won’t work. You’ll still feel its pull. If it was that easy to avoid, I would have put it in a bag and come here alone.” He still thinks I’m suffering power-hunger pangs. I’m not. I lift my leg and slap it down on to his lap. An angry, red rash bubbles at my ankle. A smearing  of raspberry jam on my skin.

Jack’s nose creases “That’s…”

“A reaction to the tape,” I conclude, stashing the knife into my rucksack. “My relationship to the knife is still one of absolute loathing. Cross my heart.” Firmly, I pull the zip shut on my bag.

A short, rotund guy walks into our carriage, hacking and coughing. He fixes a small, dark stare on us as he takes our tickets. I find myself fighting against that same sense of suspicion.

I don’t think the knife is affecting me. Not in the same way it affects the immortals at least, but I am different, tuned in, astute to people and my surroundings. How can I not be? This isn’t some every-day letter I’ve been charged with delivering.

The ticket guy shuffles off toward Callum. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little relieved.

My stomach sways unnaturally as the train embarks on its first decline, chugging as it picks up speed. I feel and hear the groan of the breaks as they fight to slow the metal beast. The carriage starts rocking. I hear Leah, the summer before we started high school. We’re at the fair, riding the Death Drop. “Hold on,” she said as we reached the top of a vertical climb. She screamed. I clung to my seat.

Finally, the train evens out and all the clunking noises stop. I relax and let my shoulders sink. Callum shifts in his chair, feeling relief too, I suspect. Leaning back in his seat, with his head reclined and his arms folded across his chest, Jack doesn’t seem bothered by the possibility of derailing. I envy him.

A dull thump on the roof of the train seconds later makes us all look up. Jack and I are sharing a puzzled glance when Callum leaps up from his seat.

“Jesus,” he exclaims, backing up into the aisle and staring wide-eyed at the window. He looks back over his shoulder at us. His face is grey; his bottom lip quivers. He points to the window. “I thought ... did you see ... she was …” Viciously rubbing his eyes, he looks back toward the window.

“What did you see?” Jack asks. He speaks slowly and rises up from his seat at the same speed.

“A girl. Fire. She was upside down at my window. She grinned at me. Her eyes were as black as a coal fire back. I swear to God.” Callum has been reduced to a jabbering wreck. That can only mean one thing.

I grab my bag and clutch it to my chest. My heart starts pounding. Like someone has just thrown a fistful of stones on the roof, a succession of lighter bumps run across the top of the carriage.

“I think she’s on the roof,” Callum says, stretching his arms across the aisle and clutching hold of the seats. There’s an ear-piercing screeching sound as metal grinds against metal. Bright orange sparks dance at the windows.

“It’s a demon, isn’t it?” I ask Jack.

Callum’s ears prick up. “It’s a what? What did you just say?”

“I would say so,” Jack replies.

The train stops, sharp. Callum flies forward, stumbling. His eyes dart back and forth across the roof in terrified anticipation. He might be on the verge of crying.

“What the hell’s going on?” He shouts at Jack as he backs away from the both of us.

“Callum, you should come over here,” Jack says in a calm, even voice. Callum isn’t listening. His heads swivels about, trying to locate the source of another set of plink, plink, plinks, darting across the roof.

“Callum,” Jack bellows. Simultaneously, the back door of our tin box is torn from its hinges.

“Callum!” I scream and try to lunge forward in his direction, but Jack’s arm comes out and stops me. Callum’s body tenses. He expels a whimper. Rising up from behind his back is the morning sun, an orange mound of hair. Curling around his neck and waist are milk-white limbs. Lisa, the red head from the plane. Her eyes are inkwells of jet black; soulless, demon. Staring into them triggers a memory that makes my knees buckle. I fall back into my seat.

“Beau?” Jack questions sharply without taking his eyes off the demon.

“I’m okay,” I assure him. I am okay, I tell myself. I have to be okay. What I saw in my reflection on the plane wasn’t real. There’s no way. I’m pretty sure that if my eyes had morphed into soulless pits, Jack would have mentioned it. It was just a hallucination brought on by a cocktail of airsickness and all the crazy shit that’s been going on. My knees stop shaking and I stand up. Lisa purrs as she runs the back of her hand up and down Callum’s cheek, stroking him as if he were a pet. Callum’s eyes are shut tight. He’s probably trying to wish himself away from her touch. We have to help him. She’s here because of us. She has him because of us.

“Trade you?” Lisa grins. “This one for that one.”

“We have to help him,” I whisper to Jack. Lisa’s head flicks, and she fixes a stare on me.

“Nah ah,” she almost sings. “Choose, Gargoyle. This one or that one. You can’t save both.”

Jack’s arm shifts at my side. His hand claps hold of mine and squeezes tight. Lisa sees it. She clicks her tongue as if he’s done something wrong. Then like lightning her and Callum both vanish off the back of the train. Their exit leaves smudges in the open space, like when heat rises off the concrete on a hot day. Callum’s scream echoes in the distance. It cuts through me like a knife.

“You have to do something.” I turn to Jack in a flurry. The image of Callum’s horrified face is burnt into the back of my eyelids.

“No. I have to stay here with you and the knife,” Jack reasons, but his features twist with torment.

“No. No, you can’t just let her take him.” Callum’s screams still linger on the air. “Please. Jack. You have to help him. This is our fault. We did this, and if anything happens to him I’ll never forgive myself.”

“What if it’s a trap? What if she comes back for you while I’m saving him?” Jack asks as he walks over to the gaping hole in the back of the train. The outside is pitch, and the cold air is creeping into the cabin. Lisa’s eyes; cold and pitch. Relentless, remorseless.

“I have the knife.” The words explode out of my mouth. “As long as I have the knife  I’m safe. Top of the food chain.” I smirk and force my eyebrows to wiggle. He thinks for a second, uncertain. He needs more. I need to get rid of the desperation in my voice. Be confident, be brave. Be warrior-Beau.

“Come on Jack.” I strut over to him. “This isn’t my first demon-destroying rodeo. I’m not afraid of her. “But…” I hold on to his arm and bat my eyelashes. It can’t hurt to throw in a bit of flirt. “I am afraid that Callum is going to die because of this, because of what we’re doing.”

“If she comes back…”

“I won’t hesitate. Hit her first before she hits me. It only takes a scratch.” Time ticks on a beat.

“Don’t wait for her to come at you,” he warns, heading over to the window. He snatches hold of one of the heavy velvet curtains and rips it down.

“I got it,” I reply. “What’s the plan?”

“Stay here. Don’t hesitate,” he says, planting a kiss on my forehead. His lips leave a warm, tingly sensation in their wake.

“I meant what’s the plan with you?”

He doesn’t answer. Holding the curtain in both hands, the crazy son of a gun throws himself out of the big, black hole in the back of the train.

“Jack,” I scream out into the night. It’s too dark. I can’t see anything. Oh God, oh please, don’t let anything happen to him. Please.

I’M ON MY KNEES
, silently praying to the night sky to bring Jack -- to bring both of them back safe, when I hear a shift, material brushing against material, behind me. Like a tornado I spin to confront the source of the sound while grappling with the zip of my bag. My plan was to dive inside and snatch the knife, but the damn zipper won’t budge. Stupid, crappy zipper.

Thankfully, I’m not faced with danger. It’s just the stumpy train driver peeking at me from behind the safety of his door. He smiles nervously at me, but then his gaze wanders up and over my shoulder. His eyes swell and his bottom jaw drops. He starts stammering in his native tongue and ushering me toward him with his hands. I feel her behind me. Approaching me like a predator. Calmly, I start pulling at the zipper, but it’s no good. It’s caught up in material and refusing to move. What kind of time is this to have a wardrobe malfunction? If I make it out of this alive Jack is going to kill me. She moves behind me. Her hands slip around my torso and her bony chin come to rest on my shoulder. She buries her nose in my neck and sniffs my skin.