The Reaping of Norah Bentley (8 page)

“Well?” he asked, leaning back against the stiff bench.

I stared at my knees, at my fingers kneading the extra fabric of my sweatpants while I tried to decide where to start.

“There was a lot to take in,” I finally said. “And I’m not sure what to make of it. Any of it. I thought I was past it, the doctor’s kept saying… I know they all thought I should have died, and everyone said it’s a miracle I’m still here—that I’m still here walking, talking, breathing—and I
am
here, aren’t I? I mean, I’m seeing all these strange things, but I see the normal things too, and people see
me
. Not like you…you… because you’re like a ghost, right? Is that another death omen? Seeing ghosts? Because I didn’t see that one on any lists, I mean unless you count the doppelgänger, unless you…you…” I trailed off, out of breath, out of direction, out of strength. I laughed an empty laugh. “I’m not making any sense, am I?”

Eli was watching me silently, patiently, from underneath his long lashes. “You’re making about as much sense as anyone in this situation could be expected to make, I think,” he said gently.

“What
is
this situation, though? How can these things possibly be real? And you—what are you, exactly?” He didn’t answer right away, so I repeated my earlier guess: “Some kind of ghost?”

He shook his head. “I’m not a ghost. Ghosts can’t do the sort of thing I’ve done.”

He stared straight ahead as he spoke, and his words sent a chill from the base of my skull down through the very tips of my fingers.

“What have you done, exactly?”

He truly met my eyes then, for what might have been the first time that night. In the silence that followed, I got the sense we both needed these things said out loud, but that we both knew we’d rather talk about anything else. It was like we were in the middle of the most unenthusiastic game of tug-of-war ever.

“Something terrible, I think,” he said. “Something that seemed like a good thing—the only thing—to do at the time. I saved you that night. It was the only thing I could bring myself to do when I saw you in the water, when I saw you lying there on the beach.” There was a rising vigor in his voice towards the end, like he’d started to pull his end of the rope and the momentum had finally caught on enough that he couldn’t stop. “But the doctor’s were right,” he said. “You should have died. It wasn’t a miracle that saved you. A miracle
couldn’t
have saved you.”

“You saved me,” I said quietly.

He laughed; a terse, guttural noise that I might have mistook for a grunt if not for the way his eyes lit up with ironic amusement.

“And I’m no miracle,” he said.

“Why did you save me, if you knew I was supposed to die?” All the other intricacies, the improbabilities of the situation didn’t seem important just then. I just needed to know one thing: “Why am I still here?”

His cheeks turned faintly pink as he stared off into the distance, his eyes following a pair of bikers whose reflective vests flashed through empty spaces in the moss every now and then.

“Eli?”

“Because I’m an incredibly selfish person, I’m afraid.” He dropped his head, and after a few seconds he angled his face toward mine and said, “I…I’m afraid I couldn’t imagine facing a world where you weren’t here.”

I tried to steady myself under the weight of his words.

“…I’m not sure I understand,” I said.

“I’m not sure I do, either.”

“Just answer one thing for me, okay?” I said slowly. “These things…that I’m seeing. All this weird stuff that’s going on. Is it ever going to go away, or…?”

He didn’t say anything, but his eyes told me the answer.

The thought of spending the rest of my life hallucinating and hearing voices was the last thing I could handle, I guess. Because something snapped. Anger, and fear, and confusion all erupted and crashed together in my chest, and I rose slowly to my feet and backed away from Eli. A million insults, and a million more accusations filled my head and I raised a finger, pointed it at him and took a breath to prepare a scream. In the end though, all I managed, in a weak faltering voice, was: “You’re crazy.”

He took the insult placidly, and just nodded to the bench.

“Maybe you should sit down?”

“Why are you telling me all these things?”

“Norah—”

“You are absolutely insane.”

“Please sit down.”

“Is this some kind of joke to you?” I glanced anxiously around, as if the accomplices to his great practical joke might be hiding in the bushes just waiting to see if I’d figure out the punchline for myself. “Because it’s not funny,” I said. “Not even a little.”

“I’m not laughing either,” he said quietly.

“Good. Because it’s not funny,” I repeated, collapsing back onto the bench. “I mean my God, who jokes about things like that?”

“Not me,” he said.

“Don’t you think I’ve had enough to deal with these past few weeks?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t need this. I was doing just fine going crazy on my own, thanks— I didn’t need your help, ghost-boy.” My voice was starting to rise; it was biting, and I regretted it an instant later when Eli got to his feet.

“Do you want me to leave?” he asked. His voice was terribly even. It almost made me angrier, but I forced myself to swallow that anger. I couldn’t drive him away now.

“No,” I said quickly, getting halfway up myself. “God no; don’t leave me alone. Please. I’m sorry. I’m not making sense again.” I settled back and drew my knees up against my chest, rested my chin on them. “None of this is making sense.” My voice sounded hollow.

“Give it time,” Eli said, stepping closer. “It will make more sense. I’d be lying if I said it will ever make complete sense, but…”

I looked up at him, but I wasn’t sure enough of myself to speak anymore. The silence stretched on for a few minutes before he spoke again.

“I…I didn’t handle that as well as I would’ve liked, maybe,” he said, conversationally now. He shuffled where he stood in my gaze, kicked at a pebble on the ground.

“What?”

“How do you tell somebody they’re supposed to be dead?” he mused without looking at me, pacing the length of the bench with his hands in his jean pockets. “I’ve been wondering. Not like I just did, obviously; I didn’t mean to upset you so much.”

I went back to staring at my knees.

“Stop saying that,” I said. “Stop saying I’m supposed to be dead.”

“I’m sorry.”

He seemed content to remain quiet, but I suddenly realized I wasn’t.

“How do you know, anyway?” My eyes stared vacantly at a trickle of water running down the concrete fountain while I waited for him to answer.

“It’s my job to know,” he said after a moment of hesitation. I looked up, searching for more; but he continued in a quick, borderline-desperate voice: “I can’t tell you anymore than that. I shouldn’t have told you that, and I shouldn’t be here; I shouldn’t have done a lot of what I’ve done these past few weeks.” He frowned, and in a mutter he added, “I’ve already pissed a lot of people off.”

“What people?”

“Norah, please…” He sat down beside me on the bench and took my hand in his. “I’m sorry. But please don’t ask me anymore questions right now.” His fingers stroked the back of my hand, in and out along the rise and fall of my knuckles. “Can we just sit here a minute?” His voice sounded weak all of a sudden, and it stirred something inside me— something that didn’t like the thought of causing him any pain, even though my own heart was aching. I didn’t really understand it; I just nodded and wrapped my fingers around his and held them still. He leaned his head back, turned it so his chin hovered just over my shoulder, and closed his eyes for a minute.

It was the first time, maybe, that I’d looked at him. Really looked at him, I mean. At his narrow face. The curve of his strong jaw. How the longer strands of his hair just barely skimmed the tips of his eyelashes, and the way his dimples grew a little more pronounced every time his thin lips quivered with breath.

And my own lips were trembling, suddenly; the side-effect of the battle raging in my head, between wanting to curl up in his arms and wanting to get up and run, to leave this craziness all behind. In the end I did neither.

My phone rang. Saved by the bell—or, in this case, the “Hey Jude” refrain that served as my ringtone. I glanced down at the lit up screen, and couldn’t stop a sigh from escaping my lips. Maybe “saved” wasn’t the right word.

“What’s wrong?”

I held up the phone so Eli could see the words on the screen for himself:
Incoming Call From Luke.
And beside the words, Luke making one of his many goofy faces. I don’t think I had a single serious picture of him. Normally, the picture that came with his call made me laugh, but right now I could hardly even bring myself to look at it.

“Are you going to answer it?”

I’d wanted him to call me so badly earlier. But now my finger just hovered over the accept button. It stayed there for five seconds, ten seconds, twenty seconds—

The ringing stopped.

“Guess not,” I said. God, I was such a coward.

“Maybe he’ll leave a message.”

“Yeah. Maybe.” I doubted it, though. Luke hated leaving messages. He always felt awkward talking to no one, he said.

Eli sat up again, his eyes fixed on the flat silver phone in my hands.

“How well do you know that boy?” he asked. Something about his tone didn’t make me feel any better about ignoring Luke’s call.

“That boy
is my best friend,” I said.

“For how long?”

“I don’t know. Pretty much since the day he moved here, I guess? Right before we started fifth grade. Why?”

“Just wondering.” He glanced up at me for a split second, then back to the phone. “And you trust him?”

“Of course I do.” The phone vibrated, actually lighting up with a new voicemail message. I stared at Eli, confused for a second, but then turned my full attention to the phone and started jabbing at the keys.

“What kind of a question is that, anyway?” I said, putting the phone up to my ear. “I’d trust Luke with my life.” At the voicemail lady’s prompt, I entered my password, pressed pound, and in a second heard Luke’s rambling voice:

“Yeah, it’s me…Um, I don’t know why you’re not answering…maybe you don’t have your phone with you or something. I know you’re out, because I saw you walking by the house, and I just…I mean I’m not trying to be nosey or anything but I was wondering why you…I mean, that doesn’t matter. Well anyway, just wanted to say sorry for all the texts earlier. I’m worried though, so just call me back or something. …Or you know maybe we should meet up? I mean because I can’t sleep either and I need to talk to you, and I was thinking about taking a walk myself, so…um…I guess I’ll just head the way you were heading, and maybe we’ll—
beep!”

The voicemail lady came back on and gave me my options.

“To save this message, press one. To delete this message, press two…”

I hit ‘end call’ and slid the phone down the side of my face, let the hand clutching it fall to my lap. I’m not sure why, but there was a sinking feeling settling in my chest. Luke hadn’t sounded especially upset— he’d just sounded like he really wanted to see me. So why did the thought of going to meet him fill me with dread? The thought of Luke complicating things was weird; he was always the one who untangled all the knots I managed to get myself tied up in. But this time the sound of his voice alone somehow managed to pull the knot tighter.

“Norah?”

“Luke is looking for me,” I said quietly. “He saw us when we passed his house.”

Eli nodded but didn’t say anything right away. He got to his feet and held out his hand, which I took.

“He must be worried,” he said, his voice devoid of emotion. “We shouldn’t keep him waiting.”

Eli trailed a little behind me on our walk back into downtown, but still close enough that his fingertips brushed my elbow every now and then with a light touch of reassurance. My walk was more like a march again, one foot and then the other, and in my head I was trying to sort things out, trying to rehearse what I would say. I kept messing up my lines, though. Forgetting them. Changing them. It was all pointless, really; Luke was the actor, not me. I was going to mess this up no matter how many times I rehearsed it.

That thought alone was enough to make me eye the dumpster of McAlister’s Café that we were walking by, and seriously consider running and hiding behind it. There was so much going on that I didn’t understand, with me, and with them—with Eli and Luke. There was tension there, anybody could see that; I didn’t get it but I perceived it. And it was enough to make anyone want to run and hide the first chance they got.

“Is this the only way he would have come looking for you?”

Eli’s sudden voice startled me a little. He’d been quiet since we left the park. I’d been wondering the same thing, though; I’d tried to call Luke back, but he wasn’t picking up for some reason, so me and Eli decided to just retrace our steps, hoping we’d run into Luke along the way. Well, maybe not hoping. Not that it mattered either way, though, because it was probably going to happen—downtown Sutton wasn’t exactly a sprawling metropolis. You could stand on one side of it and spit to the other.