The Guardian (34 page)

He must be confused and frightened by what’s happening. “I’ll explain everything,” I promise. “Later. Please help Gabriel—go protect the class.”

He looks at me so strangely—that for a moment I think he’ll object—before giving a single nod. “Stay here.”

When I am alone, I take a moment to gather myself.
If I have a gift, then I ought to be able to draw from it. Find strength, get to my feet, and face the demon at the end of the hall. Fight evil. Save my friends.

Concentrating, I try to summon inner strength. In my mind’s eye, I see the halos around me.
Show me my gift
, I plead to anyone who might be listening. I picture the halos. The yellows and whites. The goodness. They reach for me and I begin to pull. I draw until my skin starts to tingle. Until I have the energy to get to my feet. Until I am different.

Stepping into the hall, movement in the opposite direction from English catches my eye—just a black smudge slipping out the door and into the faculty parking lot. But I sense Mr. Creepy—Evil—and I follow.

Gabriel and Derry are not here. They must be with the class. And although I have no idea why the teacher is not with them, I am relieved.
I can protect them,
I think.
And I can end this.
I have no idea what to do—but as the power of my gift courses through me, I have the urgent need to protect. To act!

Sprinting down the hallway, I quietly open the door and step outside. The day is deceptively beautiful, summer perfection.

“What do you think you are doing, Mr. Wilkes?” Mr. Creepy’s authoritative voice carries through the open space from the far end of the lot.

I spin toward the voice in time to see the roiling halo of Jonah Wilkes. He points something at the teacher that stops Mr. Creepy in his tracks. Since it’s the same color as his halo, it takes me a second to recognize the gun in his hand. “Shut up!” Jonah’s voice is shredded with pain. The chaotic charcoal of his halo becomes a swirling vortex around his body. A dark tornado of hate.

But Mr. Creepy is infinitely scarier, and Jonah seems ignorant of his true form. The urge to protect my friend is overwhelming. “Jonah, don’t!”

Surprise causes Jonah to swing the gun in a wide arc. “Alex?” His panicked eyes locate me as I slowly step forward with my arms raised. “What are you doing here?”

Mr. Creepy stands between us. His demon mouths snap ferociously, forcing me to halt. Peering around the evil, I focus on the boy with the gun. “Jonah, you don’t know what you’re dealing with.”

“Get out of here, Alex.”

The door bangs. Out of the corner of my eye I see two forms moving toward me. Two knights.

Before I can stop him, Gabriel reaches for me. With fluid grace, he moves around me to become a barrier between Mr. Creepy and Jonah’s gun. Just like the early days, Gabriel stands in the gap. Derry’s at my side too—I feel his hand grip mine—but he can only see the danger of the gun, not the demon.

Gabriel takes a step forward, hands raised to shoulder height with his palms open. Calmly, while Mr. Creepy’s mouths snarl at him, Gabriel pleads to Jonah, “Put the gun down.”

“You too, Gabriel!” Jonah’s face twists in betrayal. “Derrick, get them out of here.”

Derry’s whole body shakes against mine, but he stands his ground. “Only if you come with us.”

“Sorry, dude. Mr. Abernathy and I have unfinished business.” Jonah turns his attention back to the teacher. Although the hand holding the gun trembles, his halo continues to churn with violence. Noticing that Mr. Creepy has used the distraction to edge forward, Jonah barks, “Step back, you sick fuck!”

Mr. Creepy’s mouths howl in outrage. When he speaks, his voice is a bone chilling monotone. Not one voice, but a thousand raspy voices, a thousand dripping mouths moving in unison. “Whatever you think you’re doing, Mr. Wilkes, we assure you, you won’t get away with it.”

“Shut up, you fuck! Becke’s dead!”

Someone—maybe me—gasps in shock. Although I don’t want it to be true, it somehow fits—the oppressiveness, the omens—the pieces of the puzzle shifting into place. But this is the kind of puzzle that once you solve it, it triggers something terrible and unstoppable, a door opening to release unspeakable horrors. A Pandora’s box.

Shuffling backwards, all I can think is that I should’ve been able to stop this from happening. That I can still stop it—if I can just get my sluggish brain to reengage.
Think,
I tell myself,
think!

A glance at Derry’s severe features reinforces the awful suspicions he’s harbored since the morning are confirmed. How could he have possibly known?
And how did I not?

If I’d known—even suspected—I could’ve stopped—prevented—maybe—if I’d—listened to Gabriel—instead of running from my gift.

Suddenly the air’s too dense. A rasping sound creaks from my throat. Derry’s fingers squeeze my hand, nearly crippling me with pain. “Stop it, Alex!” His low growl forces me out of my shell-shocked recrimination. “You can’t fall apart right now.”
He’s right.

Breathing deeply, I angle myself so that I can better focus my attention on the threats in front of us. Inside his swirling, dark halo, Jonah’s quaking. Although the situation is dire, I can see he doesn’t wants to shoot anyone. I’ve failed Becke but maybe I can still save him. I owe it to her to try.

“Jonah, please.”

“Shut up Alex!”

One of the demon’s larger mouths begins to reform into the face of Mr. Abernathy. With a wet sucking sound, it begins to feed on the hate and violence surrounding Jonah. Something twisted, like perverse pleasure, settles just under the surface of its features.

The satisfaction emanating from it causes me to blurt out, “Oh God, what did you do?”

Mr. Creepy answers me in the same stereo monotone, “We don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Reaching his free hand into his pocket, Jonah takes out a piece of lined notepaper identical to the one Becke left on his windshield and the one Mr. Creepy received in class. He tosses it at the teacher. “Read it,” he commands.

When Mr. Abernathy makes no move to pick it up, Jonah makes a stabbing motion with the gun. “Pick it up now and READ IT!”

A mouth snaps before opening wide enough for an arm to protrude and pick up the paper. Mr. Creepy’s eyes silently scan the page. When Jonah growls, “Aloud!” a thousand raspy throats clear before reading in whispery unison:  “
To whom it may concern. Something terrible happened to me. I was raped, but there’s a conspiracy to make me think it’s all in my mind. Even my parents don’t believe me. They want to put me in a place for head cases. But I’m not crazy! I told Alex my boyfriend did it. But I was wrong. I realize that it was someone else. I’m sorry I accused you Jonah. You would never hurt me. I know that now and I’m so SORRY. Now I see everyone will be better off if I’m gone, including me. To whoever finds my body, I’m sorry about that too… Becke.”

Tears roll down Jonah’s cheeks, as his halo continues to circle him in a destructive whirlwind of grief. “She took her whole bottle of pills.”

Eyes narrowing, Mr. Creepy declares, “Miss Finch was a very troubled girl.” His mouth-arm lifts the paper, giving it a shake. “Obviously delusional.”

The teacher’s words cause the tumultuous vortex of Jonah’s halo to thicken into something opaque and chillingly ominous—more black hole than tornado. Stepping forward with the gun pointed at Mr. Creepy’s head, Jonah states, “I broke into your car.”

While the composure of the head that looks like Mr. Creepy cracks, the rest of the mouths begin to wheeze. Though I don’t understand the significance of Jonah’s words, their impact is undeniable.

Jonah continues, “I found your gun—and the handcuffs. The clock on your dashboard is an hour and a half slow. Last week when you drove Becke home, she said you dropped her off at 4:05 but it was really 5:35. What did you do to her in those ninety minutes?”

The wheezing becomes a hoarse chuckle. Cold evil laughter rumbles over everything. The sound causes my stomach to lurch.

“What did you do? Did you drug her?” Jonah gags on the last word, choking down his revulsion.

Rather than answer, the mouths contort grotesquely into a thousand sly smiles. Mr. Abernathy licks his lips. He grins perversely at Jonah but remains eerily silent.

“You fucker! You did! How did you do it?” When Mr. Creepy remains mute, Jonah shouts, “Answer me!”

Suddenly I know.

“The water—” Pushing my way between Derry and Gabriel, I give Jonah the answers he so desperately needs. “He never has any water on his desk during class, but after school he uses a pitcher. He offered some to me when I stayed after, and Becke said when she started to feel sick, he gave her some
more
water. But the water was drugged. It’s what made her sick in the first place. That’s how he does it.” I try to step forward again, but Derry and Gabriel are each gripping one of my forearms, anchoring me in place.

The tumultuous, churning void of Jonah’s halo continues to spiral with impossible speed. So low, that I nearly doubt my hearing, he growls, “Not anymore.” Jonah’s free hand lifts Becke’s phone—barely visible inside the vortex. He’s recording. “Confess!” he demands.

I hear the soft click of the catch on the gun, but Mr. Creepy’s mouths just laugh with perverse glee. “You don’t have the guts,” he taunts. “You’re an impotent little failure—you couldn’t even satisfy your girlfriend, so we had to do it for you.”

A sob wrenches from Jonah’s throat and his halo explodes outward. As it surrounds the demon, the hideous mouths begin to suck—to feed on Jonah’s darkness. I know they will not stop until they consume Jonah’s essence. Until they devour him.

Without thinking, I jerk my hands from their restraints and rush forward. I have to protect him. “Jonah, no!” 

My whole body tingles with borrowed energy, but painful like touching live wires. I see something, not a halo exactly, but something good—pure, white—rushing down my arms and outward toward the evil. It hurts.

My power surrounds Jonah and the demon, pushing at their halos in an effort to get them apart.

As Mr. Creepy howls in fury, Gabriel grabs for my arm. “Alex, stop! You’re not ready.”

Grinding my teeth with effort, I snarl, “I can do this. This is my gift, remember.” Every muscle in my body is rigid with effort as I push at the darkness to save my friend. I’m stronger than the demon. I feel the truth of it in every molecule of my being. I can defeat him.

Closing my eyes in concentration, I pull from the energy around me—from Derry, from Gabriel. Gabriel’s halo comes at me like an earthquake. It rumbles through me and a tsunami, a great rolling wave of righteousness crashes over the demon.

A thousand mouths begin to scream in an ear shattering pitch as the demon is cast out. It retreats, letting go of my friend. But the power I’ve unleashed hurls Jonah across the parking lot. I can’t control it—can’t stop it from happening.

“Lexi!” I hear Derry’s strangled cry in the second before the gun goes off. A deafening blast shatters my eardrums as Gabriel pushes me down. The shot rips apart the atmosphere as I go tumbling into the unforgiving pavement. Everything goes deathly silent.

Lying in a tangled heap, pain radiates from the top of my head to the soles of my feet, as stars dance behind my eyes. I know I’m shot, so I lay still waiting for the excruciating sting of death to sear my body. When it doesn’t come, I wonder if I’m already dead. Except my shoulder and chin throb from being smashed against the asphalt. Derry and Gabriel’s bodies cover me, their warm, heavy weight crushing the air from my lungs until I can’t breathe.

Struggling to sit up, the sounds of bedlam return, assaulting my ears with a mighty roar. Kids and teachers pour from the building. Their shouts of fear and shock echo all around me. Mr. Abernathy—the man—lives. Abandoned by his demon, the slack-jawed shell of the teacher lies in an oil slick. The demon’s long gone, probably seeking another host.

Jonah’s huddled on the ground against a car tire, far away from the gun. One eye is already swollen shut and his right elbow protrudes at an odd angle. Wide-eyed with shock, he babbles an apology, “I’m so sorry Alex. It just went off. I never intended to shoot. I swear!”

I start to tell him that everything’s all right—that I’m not hit—then I feel the slick, warm pool gathering beneath me. Blood.

Derry’s hands pull futilely at my shoulders, trying to get me back on my feet, but I’m still tangled up with Gabriel. Although we’re intertwined, Gabriel’s reassuring hand is nowhere on my body.

The blood is slippery as I struggle to disentangle myself from my boyfriend. The whole time he remains motionless, face down on the pavement. For a moment I freeze—unable to continue—and then I feel Derry scrambling next to me, prompting me to reach forward with violently trembling hands. He stretches across me, and together we carefully turn Gabriel over.

On Gabriel’s chest, a trickle of scarlet gushes in slow motion. There’s a poetry in the way it flows, making it seem not real, a fiction. Numbly I watch, as if from a great distance, as the deadly fountain grows.

Then Gabriel shudders. I hear his breath bubble up from the ragged hole over his heart. The world speeds up as I slam back into the noisy, swirling chaos around me. Gabriel is shot—not me.
Him!
Not me!