Mayhem (4 page)

“You can beat it. Will couldn't. But you can.”

“Where's Uncle William?” I whisper.

Pop Pop sighs. “Long gone. Lost to the evil years ago.”

We're both quiet after that.

“But you'll do better, Jakey. You'll do better than Will did. I know you will.”

 

That night as I lie in my bed staring out the window, through the blinds into the dark sky, I wonder how Pop Pop can be so sure when I'm not.

It's
the first day of school.

I guess I should be excited about embarking on my junior year in high school. One more year until graduation, then off to college. Yeah, that sounds a lot better than I feel. What I really think about the first day of school is that it sucks.

I stand waiting for the bus on the same corner that I've stood on for two years in a row. With the same couple of kids I've stood beside before. Mostly it's the Goth kids that live down here by the tracks with me. The others in my neighborhood have either already graduated from Settleman's or dropped out. Probably from boredom, but at any rate they're no longer riding the ole yellow bus with me.

The bus pulls up just as I'm thinking about it. I get on, head straight to the back and take a seat by the window. Nobody will sit by me, they never do. I pull my hoodie up over my head anyway and start to stare out the window. For the next twenty minutes the bus makes the same stops it always has, picks up the same kids.

But they look different. New clothes, of course, and some have a new look. Like girls think dying and cutting their hair, wearing more makeup than last year or even shorter skirts is going to make a difference. It doesn't. They're all still stuck in this town looking at the same people day after day.

I wonder how Uncle William got out.

I mean, it's not like I can't just buy a bus ticket and head out of town. I can. I have six hundred and eighty-seven dollars saved in the pickle jar under my bed. I could go somewhere and do something else. But where and what?

I guess Uncle William had a plan. He knew where he wanted to go and he just went. Or did someone take him? That's what Pop Pop said, that Uncle William couldn't handle his power and they got him. They who?

The thing about talking to Pop Pop is that you never know when the little switch in his head that keeps him talking like a real person or reverting to his demented ramblings will kick in. I don't know how many times I've been in the middle of a conversation with him when he starts talking about things like aliens or a marble he lost when he was seven. So I usually try to get as much coherent information out of him as I possibly can.

Now I know that Uncle William is not in the grave and that he couldn't handle his powers. Did the Darkness take him? And where?

Fatima, whom Sasha contacted a couple months back, had introduced us to a new place. Or I guess I should say a new plane, a dimension between Earth and the heavens, she said. Sasha, with her powers, can travel there. But the other Mystyx, myself included, can only hear about it. That sounds crappy and feels that way, too.

Anyway, this other dimension is called the Majestic. It's the home of magical beings. So I guess it stands to reason Fatima would come from there. She says she's a Messenger. Her job is to guide us, the Mystyx, through this journey we have to
take. To tell the truth, I don't have a lot of faith in Fatima and what she says. Mainly because she mostly doesn't say anything.

She speaks in this voice that's like singing all the time and she never really answers a question. It's like she waits for us to figure stuff out, dropping silly clues that just piss me off more.

Do I believe in the Majestic?

Yes. I do. There has to be a place where all this weirdness is considered normal. If we're powerful and we're on Earth, I can't help but believe there are others. We're fighting something, that's for sure. What it is and how bad it is, we only know from Fatima's warnings. And Pop Pop's. He thinks the Darkness is bad, too.

Me, I'm starting to wonder.

“Hey, you. Daydreaming again?”

I smelled her before I actually saw her. I mean, her perfume. It's soft like clouds and baby powder. And it's all around her, in her jacket, her clothes, her hair. It just hovers.

“Oh, hi,” I say, swallowing hard when I finally do manage to look at her.

She takes the seat right next to me. Krystal Bentley, the girl who occupies a permanent place in my dreams.

“They switched the bus routes, so I'm on the same one with you this year,” she says putting her book bag between her legs.

Her hair's in a ponytail but it's pulled around so that it drapes over her shoulder. She's adjusting her purse and stuff and I keep staring at her. From her earrings—dangling silver stars—to her clingy white T-shirt and shiny lime-green vest, she's perfect.

“What? I didn't even notice the bus route had changed.” Which I didn't. It looked the same to me. Well, when I had been looking and not, like she said, daydreaming.

 

My last period was gym, a class that was usually easy for me. But that was before Pace and Mateo joined the class. They were seniors, but because they had some holes in their schedule, of course they opted to take the easiest course ever to pass the rest of their time in high school. And of course make the last hour of my school day hell.

Hell is probably an overstatement, but it's certainly more uncomfortable now that they're in my gym period. Lining up, the gruesome twosome are right across from me. I wish there were pockets in these gym shorts or even a hood on this T-shirt. As it is, I feel exposed, like everybody can see me, see through me. That's not good.

Today is basketball. Why does it seem like Mr. Strickman always falls back on basketball when he doesn't really have anything planned? I had him in ninth grade and he used to do the same thing. But jeez, it's the first day of school, how could he not plan something for the class that day? Maybe basketball is his plan. I chuckle because that's so lame.

Ryan Johnson is a team leader and, wonder of all wonders, star point guard of the school's basketball team. So is Pace. And since Pace is Mateo's friend, that's who his first choice is. Back and forth the choosing goes, a sort of popularity contest for boys. A ridiculous ritual that only segregates the students more, not that the teachers pay any attention to that fact. Just when I think I'm going to be the last one reluctantly selected to be on Ryan's team, Pace says my name, followed by a chuckle that's quickly echoed by Mateo and a couple of the other guys on their team.

I
so
don't want to go over there with them, but what choice do I have? I know they have something planned, I can see
the look in their eyes. But I walk over there anyway, my old beat-up sneakers squeaking across the newly polished wood floors.

Thinking maybe I'm overreacting, I try to calm myself down and focus on playing the game until the bell rings. Shouldn't be too hard, right?

Mr. Strickman blows the whistle, then sits on the bleachers waiting for us to take it from there. I'm on the floor guarding Ryan in what seems like a normal play. But as soon as my team gets the ball and we start to run down court I get this bad feeling. It starts in the pit of my stomach and churns for a minute like I ate something bad. I keep moving, hoping to not look like a pansy in front of the rest of the guys.

“Heads up!” I hear about a millisecond before the ball comes barreling in my direction.

There's nowhere to go and no time to get there.

SMACK!

It actually feels more like a slap in the face as the orange ball painfully makes contact with my nose. I instantly see red.

Beyond the pain there's a quiet hush that falls over the gymnasium. Pace threw the ball. Now he and Mateo are laughing hysterically.

There's a loud ringing in my ears, vibrating throughout my body. The bottom half of my face feels warm, I figure from the blood gushing out of my nose. My eyes fix on them and something inside me is unleashed.

Next thing I know I'm walking toward them. Pace, true coward that he is, takes a step back. Mateo kind of pumps up like he's ready for whatever I bring. But he's not. Neither of them is.

Tingling starts in my biceps, like I can feel the strength
moving through my veins. With each step I'm stronger, deadlier. I'm confident, in control. The power fills me completely, making every breath I take easier, lighter.

With both arms outstretched I push Pace in the chest. He stumbles backward so fast and slams into the wall so hard, air rushed from his lungs through his half-opened mouth. Mateo grabs the front of my shirt, pulling me up to his face.

“You got a problem, tracker?” he asks, his breath hot, eyes cold.

“No. But you do now,” I say and put my hands on his shoulders. I think my plan was to lift him up, toss his wisecracking butt across the gym and see how he liked it. But that's halted by Mr. Strickman, who pulls me back while Ms. Granger, the assistant gym teacher, grabs Mateo.

“To my office, now, Kramer!”

 

Nurse Hilden places an ice pack on my nose and I swear it feels like the room spins. It's cold and it feels better, but I'm dizzy and a little nauseous.

“Tilt your head forward and pinch your nose,” she says in a nasal voice that doesn't go with her wide flat nose and thin lips. Her face looks like a piece of Silly Putty pulled and stretched over bone, twisted in some areas and smooth in others.

I do as she says, closing my eyes to keep from staring up at her matte red lipstick and huge mousy-brown curls.

“Now can you tell me what was going on out there?” Strickman asks in his casual, try-to-be-stern-teacher voice. He's wearing khaki shorts and a white polo shirt with the collar turned up. On his arm are two of those rubber bracelets that are for different causes like cancer and so on. His are
blue and black, but I don't know what they stand for. And he must have spent the summer at the beach because he's so tan he looks a bit like burnt leather, which is a little freaky.

I don't answer him right away because I'm still trying to concentrate on not letting my brains leak out through my nose. The gushing and light-headed sensation didn't hit me until Strickman rushed me back into his office. From the time the ball hit me until I got my hands on Mateo was pure adrenaline. It rushed through my body like an oil spill, tainting everything inside me so that all I wanted to do was crush both of those jerks. And I could have. With a jolt I realize I could have truly hurt them both.

The thought felt good. Amazingly good.

“I don't think it's broken, but you might want to have your dad take you to the emergency room tonight to have it looked at,” Nurse Hilden says. As she finally steps away from my face, the smell of her old outdated perfume thankfully dissipates.

“Sure,” I mumble, knowing that's not going to happen. We have health insurance that Dad complains costs just as much as the rent for our house. But I'm not going to be the one using it. That was for Pop Pop, because he needed it more than I did.

Hilden finally left the room, but I could feel Strickman still staring at me.

“Is there a problem between you and those boys?” he asks seriously.

I could say yes, but then Mateo and Pace would be called to the office and told to leave me alone. I'd look more like a wuss than they already think I am. There's a window in Strickman's office with a stained and faded shade that is half
pulled down. I direct my attention there because I don't want to look at Strickman. Not when I'm about to lie to him.

“There's no problem,” I mumble.

“So you just stepped in front of that ball?” he asks suspiciously.

“It was a mistake.”

“That's why you ran across the gym to hit them?”

I shrug. “Guess I overreacted.”

Strickman sighs heavily like he's tired of talking to me, and I've only been in here about ten minutes. That's okay, though, he can just let me go. I didn't ask to come in here and be questioned like I'm the one who started the trouble. I just wanted to play basketball and get this first day of school over with. Obviously that isn't going to happen.

He doesn't understand you.

That's an understatement.

I answer the voice in my head without a second thought. Not speaking out loud because that would have alerted Strickman to the fact that I'm just as weird as the others think I am.

“Listen, Jake, if you ever want to talk, I'll listen. I'm not like the other teachers here, I see what goes on between the students.”

He puts a hand on my shoulder, I guess to get my attention. It works as I turn to look at him.

“I really see what goes on,” he says, and I almost chuckle.

Strickman has no idea what's really going on around here. No idea at all.

There's a tapping at the window that only I can hear. The raven is back. Its red eyes watching me.

Intense doesn't begin to describe what it feels like to be
caught in that gaze. In this moment it has my complete attention. Like I'm in a trance, I can't stop staring at it.

I understand you, Jake. I know you.

Who are you?

I am you.

What the hell?

“Jake? Jake? Do you understand what I'm saying? Do you need me to call the nurse back?”

Strickman's talking and he's shaking my shoulder. I must look like a space cadet to him. But I don't care. I'm more worried about who's in my head and why I feel so close to this voice, so connected and so enthralled by what it's saying.

“No. I'm fine,” I say hurriedly. “Can I just go now?”

Strickman sighs again and lets his hand fall from my shoulder. He sits back in his chair, the whistle on the long chain at his neck moving from side to side. “Sure. Go. But if you have any problems with these guys again I want you to come to me directly. Do you hear me, Jake?”

I nod and the tissues that Nurse Hilden had stuffed in my nostrils to stop the bleeding fall. I scoop them up and toss them in the trash as I stand up and walk toward the door.

I am with you, Jake. Do not be afraid. Do not ever be afraid.

The voice leaves with me, follows me with every step I take. I should be freaked out by this, but I'm not. It's like another part of me—another part I feel myself welcoming.