Soul Corrupted (10 page)

Josh

I’m sort of breaking the rules
by getting involved with Lucy. Mr. Griffith told me to watch, not interact. But
I’ll already be screwed when he finds out I’ve made a deal with my old Boss. At
least this is sort of my job. And I have a good reason to get involved—namely
Ms. Alvarez. Even so, I don’t want to ask permission, because the less I talk
to Mr. Griffith, the less likely he is to figure out what I’ve been up to.

Lucy’s parents have an ad posted online, searching for
a nanny for their three kids, two of whom are in public school for the majority
of the day. It sounds like a dream job. I checked with the local babysitting
company, charming the girl behind the desk so she’d spill their private info,
and it turns out the family has been through every registered sitter. That’s
why they moved on to the internet. When the sitters found out it was the oldest
girl’s disability that scared others off, they were eager to prove they could
be more sensitive, only to quit without explanation days—sometimes as
soon as hours—later.

I’m not convinced that it’s Lucy scaring them away; it
might actually be Ms. Alvarez. Either way, it wasn’t tough to get the sitting
job—I didn’t even need to use glamour.

Lucy doesn’t go to school. I’ve been watching the last
couple of days so I can be prepared for my “first day” today. She stays in the
house, only coming out to the porch to read. She doesn’t even interact with her
parents and siblings, just watches through the window with that filmy gray eye
when they get home from school and work. Sometimes I think she sees me even
though I’m invisible, because the eye will hone in on me and stare.

Her house doesn’t help lighten the creep factor. It’s
dark and smells like mildew and old people even though a young family lives there.
It probably hasn’t been updated since the seventies, judging by the mustard-yellow
and pea-green colors, and lace trim everywhere. I’m surprised there’re no
doilies on the coffee table. Today, I see a teacup with bright-pink lipstick
staining the edge. It must be Mrs. A’s—Grace told me about her
tea-drinking habit.

Lucy’s curled up on the couch beneath a blanket,
reading and ignoring me despite her mother’s introduction. I tell her mother
not to worry, that I’ll just watch until she gets used to me.

Lucy bites at her cuticles as she turns the pages, so
I guess her Satanic book is exciting. When she ignores her mom’s call for
dinner, no one tries again. About an hour later, her mom comes in with a paper
plate full of meatloaf and salad, which she sets before Lucy like an offering
and backs away.

“Don’t forget to eat, Lucy.”

Lucy grunts in response, ignoring her mother.

“I see Ms. Alvarez was here.” Her mother scoots over
to pick up the teacup. “I’m glad to see you finally sticking with a tutor. I
hope you and Josh will get along as well.”

Lucy’s eye rolls independently to stare at her mother,
and, like a deranged doll, the rest of her body turns to catch up. “I hate that
woman,” she says softly.

“Well, at least she’s willing to stick with it,” her
mother counters.

“She’s too stupid to be scared of me, Mother. And I
don’t have high hopes for your newbie over there, either.” Her eye darts to me
and then back.

Her mom’s mouth drops open, then closes again. “Stop
being so rude. I’m sorry, Josh,” she says. Her eyes start to water as she turns
back toward her daughter. “Maybe I should make an appointment with Doctor—”

“No!” Lucy stands suddenly, clutching her book in one
hand, and takes the plate from the coffee table with her other, flinging it at
her mother. Brown-and-orange chunks spring out, peppering the floor and her
mother’s feet with the contents of her dinner. “I said no to seeing a doctor. Leave
me alone, or I’ll curse you!”

Her mother stands there, fighting tears and wringing
her hands like she doesn’t know what to do with herself, and I notice Lucy’s little
sister in the doorway, watching with big, brown eyes.

“I’m going to my room,” Lucy says. “Do not disturb
me.”

I tell her mother not to worry and follow Lucy up the
steps. Her room is at the end of the narrow hall and she slams the door just as
I approach. I’m standing behind her by the time she turns around.

“How’d you get in?” she asks. “Never mind. Just get
out. I can curse you, too.”

“You aren’t going to scare me away,” I say, crossing
my arms. She needs to drop the crazy act. She might come off as creepy, but she’s
twelve. Her room’s covered in purple flowers and smells like bubble gum, for
shit’s sake.

She considers me with both eyes in unison for once. “Whatever.
I have a right to privacy and if you don’t leave on your own, I’ll tell
everyone you made me do nasty things.”

I drop my arms to my sides. “I’m not going anywhere
and you shouldn’t want me to. I’m on your side.” I’m hoping my confidence will
call her bluff and she’ll cut the crap.

“Sure.” She says it like she doesn’t believe me.

“It’s true,” I say, scanning the room over her
shoulder. There’s not much here—a bed, dresser, desk, and chair. The desk
has a laptop and is otherwise covered in clutter, but I notice a gold credit
card peeking out from beneath the edge of the computer and I’m betting it isn’t
hers. She spies me looking.

“It’s my mom’s. I figure she owes me, but I only use
it for important purchases. Stuff I can only get on the internet.”

“You can’t keep your mom’s credit card, Lucy.” What am
I supposed to do now? Let her keep it to get close to her? Or do I play tough
cop?

“I knew it! You’re just like the others. You’re going
to rat me out. Well fine. Hurry up and then get the Hell out.”

“I’m not going to rat you out. Relax.” I give her the
winning smile that used to get even the toughest females to open up. Her mom
will figure out where the money’s going eventually. That’s not why I’m here.
“Now tell me about these others.”

Lucy relaxes a little. “No one stays. No matter who
they are or why they’re here. Even my mom thinks I’m completely nuts,” she
says. “She shouldn’t worry so much. I’m not gonna do it again. Not to them,
anyway.”

“Do what?” I squat down so I’m level with her while
she sits on the day bed and grabs one of the fifty throw pillows.

She furrows her brow. “I almost drowned my dad.”

Holy crap. She tried to kill her father? That’s way
beyond a stolen credit card. I don’t know if she’s trying to scare me or
impress me, but she’s done both. I collect my thoughts and try not to act
disturbed. “But you didn’t actually drown him. He’s still around. What did you
do, push him in the swimming pool?”

“No. We don’t have a swimming pool, Einstein. I used black
magic. He choked on water in the middle of the living room.” Her normal eye
lights up and a creepy smile spreads across her face, then disappears. “But it
didn’t last. The spell broke almost as soon as it started.”

I cock my head, trying not to react too strongly. Is
that shit even possible? Maybe she’s hallucinating or has delusions of grandeur
or something. “What are you reading? It’s not what it says on the cover. Show
me.”

Her face goes white as she tucks the book behind her
back. “Get out.”

I don’t have to see it to know it’s bad. But how do I
save her? “Let’s talk about something else,” I say.

“So you’re going to drop it? Just like that?” She sits
up straighter, but doesn’t let go of her book.

It’s my turn to strike a nerve. “Tell me what pushes
everyone else away.”

She straightens. “Can’t you tell? I’m evil. I have the
evil eye.”

“Eyes aren’t evil. People are evil sometimes, but they
choose to be.”

“My eye sees things that other people can’t see.”

“What do you see, Lucy?” I stand, then tentatively sit
on the corner of the bed, still several feet away.

“I see auras. A shadow means evil, I think. And
glowing yellow means good. I can see people no one else can see. I know my eye
is ugly, but I like making people scared.” She leans in. “I want to terrify
them. Hurt them if they make me mad.”

 “Why?” I ask.

Lucy can’t hide her surprise at the question. “I…I
don’t know. What difference does it make?” For the first time she seems
interested in what I have to say. Maybe it’s because she’s narrowing her eyes
and the gray one looks less creepy that way.

“It makes a lot of difference,” I say. “I used to make
bad choices, too. So many that I got into the worst kind of trouble.”

“What happened?” she asked.

“I got hurt. Really bad. And it wasn’t just me—I
also hurt someone I care about. She was killed because of me.”

Lucy’s cool, collected mask falters for just a moment and
she looks a lot younger all of a sudden. It makes me wonder if her attempt to
murder her father made her feel guilty. Maybe it was an unsuccessful attempt
for a reason. I can work with that.

“Did you go to jail?” she asks.

“Worse. But I don’t want to talk about me. I want to
talk about you.” I scoot closer, giving her my full attention.

She chews at the corner of her thumbnail. “Mom thinks
I’m crazy. She’s trying to get a shrink to agree so she can drug me into submission.”

“It sounds like your mom is worried about you and
trying to find a way to help.” Lucy scrunches up her face like she’s ready to
close off the connection we made. I need to talk fast. “You don’t know how good
you have it with your parents,” I add. “At least they don’t beat you. And they
aren’t convicts or addicts. Your mom even tried to cook you dinner. I don’t
remember the last time my dad did that.”

“It doesn’t matter,” she says, standing. “I hate them.
They won’t talk to me. Not
really,
because that would mean they actually
have to listen to what I have to say. They want to pretend I’m normal.”

“Sometimes,” I say, stretching out my legs, “people avoid
the truth not because they don’t care, but because they care too much.”

Lucy turns and squints at me. “You don’t have an
aura.”

“I don’t?” I ask, surprised. If Lucy really can see
good and evil, I figured I’d be gold by default. I am technically an Angel. But
then again, I was a Demon for awhile, too.

“I like you.” She sits back on the bed, crisscrossing
her legs and facing me.

“Well, thanks. I like you, too.” I wink. “The name’s
Josh, by the way.”

She offers a hand to shake and I do. “Can you be my
tutor? I can’t stand Ms. Alvarez. And don’t tell me she means well. She’s
doused in shadows.”

I laugh. “I won’t argue there. I don’t trust her,
either. ”

“Why? Are you an ex-student or something?” she asks.

“Something like that.” I shudder. “It doesn’t matter.
I can’t be your tutor because I’m no good at all that. I never even finished
high school. But as long as you do your work and don’t take her too seriously,
don’t worry. I’ll be around.”

Lucy sighs. “Fine. For now, anyway. I’m hungry.”

“How about you go back downstairs, then? I bet if you
tell your mom you’re sorry, she’ll make you a new plate.”

“Ugh. I’m not sorry. Forget it. I thought you
understood.” She grabs her blanket and hugs it, leaning back against her
headboard with a pout.

“Start by saying sorry anyway.” Maybe the feeling part
will come with practice.

“Just lie. Simple, yet brilliant.” She jumps out of
bed and kisses my cheek. “I knew I liked you, Josh.”

She’s out the door before I can stop her and I’m left
in her room, my hand on my cheek, wondering if I’ve just done more harm than
good.

Grace

Kobe huddles by the bank of
the river, dragging a stick through the muck and humming to himself. He doesn’t
wear a jacket even though it’s freezing outside. He has long sleeves at least,
along with torn jeans and dirty sneakers complete with frayed laces. His breath
fogs out in front of him as he hums a haunting tune.

I watch him for awhile, mesmerized by his concentration
as he carves his temporary artwork into the gunk by the Detroit River. Finally,
I draw in courage in the form of a deep breath, approach, and squat beside him.

He doesn’t startle or even look over at me. Instead he
pauses briefly before continuing his complex design of squares and swirls. “You
better get back to where you came from,” he says. “Girl like you’s gonna get
jumped out here.”

I reign in my surprise at his statement. “I’m not
worried about me, Kobe.”

He finally looks over at me, forehead furrowed. “Who
are you?”

“I’m Grace. I saw you drawing and I wanted to know
more about you. What is that design? It’s cool.”

He makes a raspberry sound with his mouth. “How you
know my name?”

Smart kid. “I heard someone call you that.”

“You Jon’s bitch?”

“Excuse me?” I fight the urge to stand up and back
away. I have to remember who I’m dealing with. He has both bad and good at war
inside of him. Ignoring Cam’s dark side turned out to be a dangerous mistake. I
never thought he’d try to hurt me. I rub my waist, remembering how he strapped
me into his horrible torture device. If it hadn’t been for Josh… I stop myself
right there. Just the thought of losing Josh hurts worse than anything Cam did
to me.

Kobe gives me a curious look and goes back to etching
his masterpiece. A piece of old coffee cup wiggles at the river’s edge, trapped
partially in the muck as the slow-moving water tries halfheartedly to yank it
free.

“So?” I press. “What is it?” I point at the mesmerizing
design.

He considers it. “It’s the music in my head, if it was
a picture.” He looks surprised that he admitted that to me and quickly tries to
cover. “You probably think I’m crazy, right? Well, I don’t give a shit what you
think.”

“That’s too bad, ’cause you know what I do think?” I
ask.

“What?” he asks, standing up and tightening his grip
around the stick. I shake off the memory of him stabbing his brother as I stand
to meet him.

“I think it’s beautiful. I think it’s amazing that you
have something in your head that looks like that. And I think you’re pretending
to be meaner and dumber than you really are, and I wonder why you’d do that.”

I fold my arms across my chest. I’m still in my old
jeans and shirt, but I have a winter jacket on. The same one I wore when I was
at North Farmington High a few months back. When I met Josh.

Damn it, I did it again. I have to focus on Kobe.

Kobe’s mouth hangs open like he’s never seen anyone
like me before. His grip on his stick slackens and it falls to the ground,
knocking the cup free to flow into the water.

I wait.

“Shit,” he finally says. “You some kind of shrink?”

“I don’t have to be a shrink to know smarts when I see
them.” I shrug. “Why aren’t you in school?”

“Lady, you don’t know much about this area, do you?
Our schools don’t got anything to teach us. No computers, no art classes.
Sometimes I go for lunch, but that’s about it.” He shakes his head like it’s a
lost cause. “Seriously, this isn’t a nice neighborhood. You should get out of
here.”

“Only if you come with me.”

“Where are we going?” he asks, eyes wide. “I know I
look older, but I’m only eleven.”

I laugh. “You’re nine, but you look about eight, and we’re
going to visit your mom and dad.”

“I don’t know my dad,” he says. “I’m not sure my mama
knows him, either. And she’ll beat me if she sees I wasn’t in school.”

I consider whether he’s lying or not. It doesn’t
really matter, I decide. I won’t let her hurt him. “Well, your school got a new
program. They sent me to find you and be your personal tutor,” I say.

“Oh yeah? What’s this program called?” He folds his
arms, too, and narrows his eyes.

I think fast. “GAP. The Guardian Angel Program.” I
offer my hand.

He gawks at me for a minute, then shrugs and takes it.
“If a pretty girl offers me her hand to hold, I’m not gonna say no.”

“Like I said, you’re smart.” I wink and lead him back
toward my bug, which I conjured for old times’ sake. It got me through the
biggest blizzard of my afterlife, so I trust it.

Kobe sinks down in the worn passenger seat and puts
his feet up on the dash.

“Put on your seat belt,” I say in a tone that doesn’t leave
room for argument. He does it, rolling his eyes.

“So, tell me about your mother,” I say as I drive.

Kobe shrugs, but when I remain silent he answers. “What’s
to tell? Between me and my brothers and sisters and work, she doesn’t have time
for much.”

“Where does she work?”

“She’s a ‘
waitress’
.” He says with air quotes. He
leans back against the seat and stares out the window as we pass melted clumps
of snow on the sidewalks. “She thinks she’s got us fooled. Like we don’t know
what a stripper looks like. Stupid bitch.”

“Kobe!” I brake hard at a stop sign. I can’t help
myself. No matter what, she’s still his mother. “Isn’t there something good you
can say about her?” I prompt.

He thinks, sinking farther into the seat. “I guess she
used to be funny sometimes. She’d make me laugh. She also used to watch us walk
into school and spent all her lap-dance money on us kids, but since Martin
died, she hasn’t been the same. Bitch fell apart and now Jon’s in the same
gang. She forgets about me between them and my sisters. She still got time to
dance though. Nothing gonna stop her from having more babies.”

“That’s no way to talk about your mom, even if you’re
disappointed in her behavior. How many brothers and sisters do you have?” I
ask.

He shakes his head, but continues on. “There’re six of
us. Three girls, three boys. There used to be seven, but then Martin got shot.”
He turns on the radio.

“I’m sorry about your brother,” I say.

He shrugs again. “That’s what happens ’round here.
That’s why I’m getting out the first chance I get.”

“Were you close to your brother?” I ask, turning down
the side street he indicates.

“Maybe. I try not to get close to anybody. Not a good
idea.”

I press my lips tightly together. What an awful thing,
to live with fear like that. His mother sounds better than Cam’s, though. And at
least this time it wasn’t Kobe who killed his brother.

“I saw it,” he says, like he’s reading my mind. “I was
in the driveway when he got shot. They weren’t aiming at anybody, but I think
they meant it for him anyhow because we were the only ones out there and they
were part of a gang that hated Martin’s gang. My sister, Izzy, got shot, too,
but she’s okay. She has a scar on her shoulder and she’s always complaining
about how it looks.” He shakes his head as if to say, “girls.”

“Wow, that must have been scary.”

“Not for me. I dropped down behind the bushes and I
wasn’t close enough to get shot at. Jon was pissed though. He swore he’d go
after them. That’s when he joined up with Martin’s gang so he’d have backup. I
think there’re better ways to get back at them, though, than giving your life
to a gang. I’m going to. As soon as I get my hands on Jon’s piece. Here’s my
house.”

Piece? As in gun?

I shudder and pull up in front of the tiny, two-story
home that looks like it’s seen better days. The roof is missing shingles in
places and the walls are brown in spots—likely due to water damage. The
tiny yard is overgrown with weeds, but doesn’t look out of place in the middle
of a sea of neighbors with brown grass and cracked windows. I note that there’re
bars on Kobe’s windows and doors as I follow him up the uneven bricks to the front
stoop.

Inside, a dog barks and I think of Tommy Two, which
leads me to thinking about Josh and the way the corners of his eyes crinkle
when he laughs. Once again, I struggle to keep my heart from falling to pieces
as Kobe leads the way inside.

“Who’s there?” a woman snaps from the kitchen. “I got a
gun.” She comes around the corner carrying a shotgun. Kobe’s mother is
attractive and far too young to have so many kids. “Tired” would be the nice
way to describe her. She’s wearing a simple, brown wrap dress and has a scarf
tied around her head. Her face is slathered in makeup, like she’s going on
stage, but it still doesn’t hide the bags under her eyes. She stares at us both
for a minute, shoulders slumped, then lowers the gun an inch.

“Kobe, what the Hell you doing out of school? I told
you if I caught you skipping again I was gonna skin your ass.”

“Actually that’s why I’m here,” I say, stepping
between them. “I’m Grace Howard and I am a tutor from the GAP program.” I offer
my hand, catching her eyes so I can glamour her.

“A tutor?” She asks, relaxing and letting the gun fall
to her side. She still doesn’t shake my hand, though. “I always knew my boy was
going to make it to college. What about my other kids?” she asks.

“I’ll see to it they get private tutoring and
transportation, too,” I say. I don’t know how Mr. Griffith will feel about it,
but he did send me here and tell me to help, so I plan to do some more
glamouring after I’m done with Kobe for the day. First, he needs a jacket and
some food.

Just chatting with Kobe and treating him with respect
kindles a light behind his eyes that brings a smile to both our faces. Mr.
Griffith was right. Helping Kobe does make me feel better, and despite his talk
of revenge and his disrespect for his mother, in just these first few hours I
can already see a difference in him.