The Gateway Through Which They Came (7 page)

They position themselves on the stage and wait for Mr. Townsend’s signal to begin. We were each supposed to come up with a ten minute skit that showcases what we’ve learned so far this semester. Julie’s acting ability makes her a natural. Though, to be fair, she has been performing in plays for the Church of St. Christopher since she was a toddler. She always gets the lead role. Some would say it’s because her uncle is Father Martin, but in reality she’s just that good. Justin, not so much.

“Begin,” Mr. Townsend prompts from the right wing of the stage.

Julie and Justin’s voices carry across the room. From what I can make of it, their skit involves them portraying some old married couple, like Fred and Ethel Mertz from
I Love Lucy
.

“Where was she?” Trevor whispers, leaning on the armrest merely inches from my face.

“In the plaza,” I tell him through the side of my mouth, keeping my gaze on the stage to prevent giving us away. “I think she’s…” But I don’t finish the thought.

It doesn’t take long for Trevor to catch on. “What happened to her?”

“I don’t know. She didn’t look any different.”

“No blood?” he asks with uncertainty. He knows I don’t want to think about how she died, but most of the time the site of blood does give away the fatal blow.

I shake my head once. “None.”

He doesn’t ask what I’ve been asking myself since I saw her. Which is: if Koren’s dead, why doesn’t anyone else know about it?

Trevor leans back into his seat and faces the stage, though we both know our minds are on anything but what’s happening in class. Justin and Julie take their seats and another duo is called upon. I slouch in my chair. How can I possibly get through another thirty minutes of this?

“Hey.” Trevor nudges me with his elbow. When I turn to him, he asks, “Still going to the food drive tomorrow night? You know we have to make an appearance.”

An odd sound comes out of my throat like the very idea of the drive pains me. Which it does.

“Yeah, I probably should. Father Williams will have a shit fit if I miss another school function,” I say.

Before Trevor responds, Mr. Townsend’s voice snaps our heads in his direction. “Mr. Ortiz and Mr. Atkins, will you please give your classmates your attention?”

“Yes, sir,” we say in unison.

We straighten our backs, and refrain from talking any further. I can hardly hear what Rose and Olivia are saying on the stage, because I’m too distracted by the young boy with the torn Joseph High shirt and blood-stained face stepping out from the shadows behind them.

This is the hardest part about what I do. Bleeders aren’t always old, or crazy redheads with some unknown vendetta. Sometimes they’re a kid who was walking across the street after school, who got taken down by an asshole who had too much to drink. Sometimes they’re people who have a family that’s still mourning them, weeks after their passing. And sometimes they’re so scared, the only thing you can do is smile at them to let them know you see them. To let them know that they’re not alone.

riday passes like Thursday, except the rain stops, leaving behind a gray sky and the chatter of birds seeking sunlight. I keep hoping to find Koren in the plaza each passing period. It means going out of my way and being minutes late for some of my classes throughout the day, but I have to keep searching. Bleeders can sometimes find themselves attached to a specific object or area, and for Koren it could be the Statue of Mary, or Joseph High altogether. The thing is, I never really know for sure.

Disappointment sinks into me like a lump of concrete lodged in my chest. I leave campus with Evan in the backseat and Trevor riding shotgun. By the way Trevor watches me, I know he’s reading the expression on my face. I haven’t been able to get my mind off her in months, and now it’s worse than ever. In the rearview mirror, Evan is as clueless as usual, smiling to himself at the fact he lied to his mom about where we were going. He’s always up for defying his mother any chance he gets.

As I turn down Hillsdale Highway away from the school, I ask Evan, “What did you tell good ol’ Pam this time?”

“I told her what any mom would want to hear, that I’m helping student council set up the food drive at the coffeehouse tonight.”

Evan finds his excuse hilarious being that we’re on our way to Trevor’s house to break into his dad’s mini bar. His dad rarely drinks what he stows away. It’s usually there for looks in case they have company. His mom’s a wine fanatic, so she’s always serving that in place of hard alcohol. We’ve been watering down his dad’s whiskey for a while now. It’s never a problem since Evan has somehow convinced his uncle to buy a replacement bottle every now and again. The guy’s a drunk so we only have to pay a little extra so he can get himself a bottle. We’d keep it stashed away at one of our houses, but it would more than likely be found by either my bible-thumping mother or Evan’s nosy little brothers.

“She’s gonna catch you in a lie one of these days, ya know?” Trevor’s always the voice of reason, at least as far as mothers are concerned.

I ignore him and ask, “Has your dad discovered that extra bottle of Jack hiding on his shelf?”

“Nah. He still hasn’t noticed that the seal on his has been cracked. To be honest, I’m not so sure he would care as long as we replaced it.”

“Sure!” Evan says, gripping the sides of the passenger seat and pulling himself toward the center console. “Why don’t you ask him? Let’s find out if you’re right.”

Trevor’s eyes bulge out at his suggestion. “I think I’m good.”

Evan and I laugh, and Trevor faces the window with a scowl on his face.

We make it to Trevor’s house in time to see his mom lugging a load of groceries from the trunk of her Infiniti. She’s got the same round face as her son, but her big brown eyes give off a completely different vibe than Trevor’s. Where his eyes are more knowing and sincere, hers are flirty and, well, hot. She’s a few years younger than Mr. Atkins, but not in that beautiful-woman-married-to-an-old-man kind of a way.

Her straight, blonde hair swivels against her back as she turns toward the sound of Izzie coughing her way up the driveway.

“Hey, boys! Care to help an old lady with her groceries?”

If by old lady you mean smoking hot mom, then yes.

I give her a super smooth, nonchalant shrug as I exit the car. “Sure.”

Trevor isn’t a fan of us drooling over his mother, and I get that. I don’t even want to think about someone finding my mother attractive. The only problem is, Evan doesn’t understand boundaries.

“You bet!” Evan replies with too much enthusiasm, or what I like to call raging hormones. He gives the passenger seat a hard shove, smashing Trevor against the dashboard as he fumbles his way out. “I think I could help a beautiful lady such as yourself.” He struts toward her.

“Oh, for Christ’s sake,” Trevor says to himself, placing the passenger seat back where it belongs.

“I bet you’re quite the helper at home,” Mrs. Atkins says to Evan, giving him that flirty smile I’m not even sure she’s aware of.

Evan takes more than he can handle, trying to impress her with his strength and failing. We watch as she leads him into the house, her face a little concerned with the fact that Evan’s arms are weighted to the ground, and he’s already breaking a sweat.

Trevor closes the door to Izzie and says, “I’m gonna kill him.”

After practically shoving Evan into the basement before he embarrasses himself any further, we kill some time before the food drive by sipping on whiskey and playing pool. Mr. Atkins runs a local contracting company, giving him more than enough money to afford this swanky house and turn the once dingy basement into a game room. It has everything from a pinball machine to card tables and foosball, which I finally admit that I suck at. The smoky gray tiled floor reflects the marquee of lights that cover the entire ceiling, illuminating the mini bar that stands in front of a row of mirrors lining the wall. Under the lip of the counter are two padded leather stools, which match the black leather couch near the adjacent wall. We come down here so often, we practically broke in the leather ourselves. With the chic black coffee table, and the bar counter glistening with black marble, the entire place gives the appearance of an IKEA catalog. It’s so classy that I’m sure if we played the stereo we’d find Sinatra cued up and ready to belt out “Come Fly with Me.” That’s pretty much all Mr. Atkins listens to down here.

“Eight ball, corner pocket,” I tell Evan, who’s not listening ‘cause he’s too busy peer pressuring Trevor as usual. I don’t quite get the attraction. What does Trevor see in him?

“One shot, dude. That’s all I’m asking.” Evan stands behind the bar, pours a glass of whiskey, and shoves it toward Trevor. I take this moment to make the shot, closing one eye as I focus, balancing the stick between my fingers. The room is tilted slightly off kilter, and the distraction of their voices sends the eight ball sailing into the air and smacking hard against the tile. That’s gonna leave a mark. I cringe at the sound and look to find neither of them notices.

Trevor turns the stool away, pushing his hand forward to fight Evan off. “One of us has to stay sober tonight. Who’s gonna drive?”

“We could take a cab!”

“Right. How do you suggest I explain that to my parents? Oh, don’t worry, Mom. We’re calling a cab because we’re too drunk to drive. You always told me to be responsible. See ya!” Trevor pantomimes this, waving his hand and smiling at nothing. “Brilliant idea, Evan.”

“You’re such a killjoy, man,” Evan slurs under his breath, taking the shot for himself.

“I’m sorry I care,” Trevor says, his voice low.

I quietly find the rogue eight ball and place it in its rightful place, the corner pocket.

Evan slams the shot glass down for dramatic effect. “Did you guys hear anything about Koren Banks today?” he asks.

Her name floats in the air, strange and heavy coming from Evan’s lips. Trevor’s mouth is agape as he watches Evan, and I nearly fall over myself to get closer. We wait for him to say more, but he doesn’t. He just stares into the pit of his glass in a daze.

“What about her?” I try not to sound demanding, but I can’t help the tinge of desperation in my voice. “Evan!” I snap my fingers in his face.

He jolts, blinking back at me. “Oh. Um… I can’t remember exactly. I heard some girls whispering about her in the hallway. I think they found her or something.”

“Who? Found her where?” Trevor asks.

Evan’s eyes gloss over, the alcohol taking its toll. “I have no idea.”

I want to reach out and shake him, but it would be useless. Found her? I can’t believe I missed it. Did they find Koren’s body? Is that why I can see her now? It’s possible for a Bleeder to become fully aware of itself once it’s been awakened, or rather, when their body is found or exposed. I’ve seen this before with murder victims who have been disposed of and later discovered by authorities. I’m sure something that big would have flooded the news by now. It’s possible we may have missed it during school. But even so, wouldn’t the rumors have spread? The walls of the game room begin to sway and I can’t tell if it’s from the blow Evan just delivered or the alcohol flooding my veins.