Another Little Piece (14 page)

“Oh yeah, that’s right.” Logan cleared his throat, and then looked away from me. “You guys go. I’m gonna clean this up first.”

“Okay.” I nodded and took a step back, relieved it was going to be this easy to get away. Except, of course, it wasn’t, because Gwen stood between me and the door, and she wasn’t ready to leave yet. She had a follow-up question.

“Wait. That prayer card. Your gran gave it to you so you could continue to pray for your dad?”

I tugged at Gwen’s shirt, annoyed that she always had to psychoanalyze. Or maybe I just knew what Logan would say, and I didn’t want to hear it.

“Nah. Never cared about my dad enough to say any prayers for him.”

“It was for Annaliese then,” Gwen said, even though she didn’t need to say it aloud at that point.

“Yeah,” Logan quietly confirmed. “It’s for Annaliese.”

Not
was
for Annaliese.
Is.
Present tense. He was still praying. And things were more hopeless than ever.

DESPAIR

That feeling of despair stuck with me. It didn’t help when, in the middle of my last class, the sun streaming through the window lit up a pretty blond girl sitting nearby and that terrible feeling of hunger came alive inside me once more. It was stronger than it had been the last time. More insistent. Like something was in me, demanding to be fed.

I stared down at my desk and didn’t lift my eyes again until class was over. Even then I tried to avoid directly looking at anyone. I actually ran for the doors, and then through the parking lot until I was safe inside the mom’s car.

“Let’s go,” I said, clicking the seat belt into place.

“Bad day?” Of course, she had to ask, but at least she put the car in reverse while doing so.

“I don’t wanna talk about it. Please.”

There was a long pause, and I could almost hear the mom internally debating whether to force me to talk about it for my own good, or to simply honor my wishes as she slowly backed out of the parking space. The latter must have won.

“Okay, then. Different topic of conversation. I’ve been meaning to discuss your birthday next week. . . .” The mom paused, switching gears from reverse to drive. “Obviously, we missed your seventeenth birthday, so your dad and I were thinking—”

I would never find out what they had been thinking because at that moment a blur on a bike came hurtling between the rows of cars straight at my door.

The mom braked. Hard.

The bike skidded sideways, as if purposely trying to throw its owner beneath the car’s tires. As he fell, I saw a shock of red hair, and I knew. It was him. The redheaded boy. Somehow he had done this on purpose, and I wished with everything inside me that he would be crushed and die. It would be a slow painful death, I was certain, and this only made it better.

But—as Gwen would no doubt be quick to remind me—imagining something doesn’t make it so. We didn’t hit him.

The mom jumped from the car to fuss over him. I just sat there, coating my tongue in a thick layer of breath strips. A few people rushed over wanting to know what was happening, but they quickly drifted away when they realized there was nothing exciting to see. No hideous dents, broken bones, or blood. To their disappointment and my own, the only harm done was a few new scratches on the bike.

The mom helped him off the ground and then, to my horror, into the backseat.

Once he was in the car, I got out. Ostensibly, I was helping the mom fit the bike into the hatchback, and not avoiding breathing the same air as him.

Standing close to the mom, I could see that she was barely holding it together. A tremor ran through her whole body, while the skin on her face looked too tight, especially when she forced her mouth into a smile and announced, “All’s well that ends well,” over and over and over again. I felt bad then for wishing the redheaded boy dead. It wasn’t fair of me. The mom didn’t need blood on her hands just because I was already drowning in it.

“Do you two know each other?” the mom asked as she—more carefully then ever—steered the car toward the parking lot exit.

“I’m just a freshman,” he demurred, easily avoiding the question.

I said nothing, refusing to take part in whatever game he was playing. Maybe the mom interpreted my silence as shock from the accident, because she took up my end of the conversation.

“Well, I don’t see any reason why freshmen and juniors can’t occasionally mix. So Annaliese, this is Eric, um . . .”

“Swanson,” he helpfully supplied.

“Eric Swanson. And this is Annaliese.”

“Oh, everyone knows Annaliese.”

Despite looking for it, I couldn’t detect any malice in his voice, but the very fact of this statement was enough to shake the mom. For a second I was afraid she might break down crying, and it made me feel oddly protective of her. I didn’t want Eric to see her exposed like that. But the mom pulled it together.

“Oh, of course. That’s, well, with everything, I guess everyone would . . .” She trailed off, and, unable to take it any longer, I stepped in.

“Are we dropping you off at home, Eric?”

“If you wouldn’t mind,” he said in a small voice, and then added with a little sigh, “My mom thought she might get out of work early today, so maybe someone will actually be there for once.”

The mom gasped while I closed my eyes in defeat, instantly understanding how this would play out. There was nothing to be done but for him to come home with us, and his mother would pick him up after work.

And that’s how twenty minutes later, I found myself seated at the kitchen table having an after-school snack of milk and cookies with Eric.

“These are good cookies,” he mumbled around his fifth snickerdoodle. “But chocolate chip are my favorite.”

“Oh mine too,” the mom said. She had regained some color since returning home, and the shakes had tapered off so that there was only an occasional quiver. Still, she looked ready to collapse, and it seemed like she barely knew what she was saying. “But Annaliese can’t have chocolate.”

“Oh no.” Eric practically oozed sympathy, but there was an edge to it. “Are you allergic?”

“I just don’t like it.”

“But it’s so good. The way it coats your mouth and melts against your tongue. It’s so yummy.” His eyes were on me, watching as I had to swallow against the sickness rising in my throat.

Somehow he knew what chocolate did to me. Thrusting another couple of breath strips into my mouth, I hated him more than ever.

“May I use the bathroom, please?” The perfectly polite question was asked with a smirk, but the mom was beyond noticing and simply pointed him in the right direction.

As soon as he left the room, it felt easier to breathe. I couldn’t stand being near him for another minute, and was about to tell the mom that I needed to go lie down, when she started to sway. Jumping up, I caught her right before she fell. As I shifted her onto the chair I had just vacated, her eyes fluttered open once more.

“Oh, dear. I think I’m a bit light-headed.”

“You should lie down,” I told her, giving away my own Get Out of Jail Free card.

“No, no, that poor boy,” the mom protested, but I was already helping her up, and then into the family room toward her favorite sleeping sofa.

“Don’t worry. I’ll stay with him until his mom comes.”

I expected more objections. The selfish part of me even hoped she would rally once more and insist on staying with Eric. Instead she collapsed onto the couch.

“Oh, thank you, sweetheart. I’m just so tired.”

I covered her with a blanket and then, without planning it, pressed a kiss to her forehead. Tears came to the mom’s eyes, and I found matching ones in mine as well.

“Go to sleep. It’s okay.”

Her eyes were already fluttering closed, but she managed to mumble, “I love you, Annaliese.”

She was more asleep than awake; I didn’t have to answer, but the truth came out anyway. “I love you too.”

I turned away, trembling a bit myself, and saw Eric watching from where he lounged in the doorway. Lifting his hands, he made a show of giving me a round of silent applause. My whole body went hot. With fury. But also with shame. Maybe it was all just for show. I couldn’t tell anymore.

I pushed past him, through the kitchen to the living room. Unlike the big fluffy couch and two recliners in the family room, the living room love seat and two upholstered chairs were hard and uncomfortable, which suited me fine right now. As I’d known he would, Eric followed me and sat down in the chair closest to my own.

I glared at him. He smiled back serenely.

“I hate you,” I said, wanting a fight.

“You love me.” A taunt. He was spoiling for a fight as well.

“I don’t believe you. You’re a disgusting, horrible person. Everything about you is revolting. Even if you weren’t in that fat body, you’d be gross.”

His rounded cheeks went red. “It’s baby fat!”

It was a direct hit, if not exactly the one I’d meant to score. Still, I’d found his tender spot, and I dug deeper. “More like cookie fat. How many did you just have?”

A growling noise came from deep in his throat. “I wouldn’t be in this body at all if it wasn’t for you messing up the Annaliese exchange.”

The Annaliese exchange. Like a parcel changing hands. I needed another breath strip. But that was my weakness, and I ignored it. I went after him again.

“Then you’ve been in that fat boy for almost a year. Enough time to lose some weight, I’d think. Ever hear of Slim-Fast?”

He surged to his feet, fists clenched, and I stood as well, ready to plant my knee in his crotch.

Except the doorbell rang, and we froze.

“Annaliese?” the mom’s sleepy voice called out. “What was that?”

“It’s okay,” I yelled back. “Eric’s mom is here, I think.”

The doorbell rang again. Apparently, Eric’s mother was the impatient type.

“Get out.” I pointed in the direction of the front door.

But Eric wasn’t quite finished with me. “In less than a week you move on, and I’ll be right behind you. This will all be dust.” He swept his hand out, taking in the whole room. “Or it might as well be, ’cause you’ll never see it through those eyes again. This will all be over, and you and me—
we
”—I could see him savoring that word, rolling it around in his mouth like a fine wine—“we will be brand-new and together again.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” I said, but the words sounded uncertain even to my own ears. What had the mom said about my eighteenth birthday next week? It had seemed inconsequential in the moment. A year older—no big deal. But if everything I’d been remembering was true, then I would never be a year older, and a birthday was more than a big deal—it was the Ides of March.

“No? And what about the hunger? That need to sink your teeth into someone’s skin? I’m gonna let you in on a little secret. That’s the tip of the iceberg. It gets worse. Let it go too long, and you’ll be so hungry you could tear your own mother’s face off.”

I said nothing. I didn’t have to. My shudder gave me away. And he knew it.

“Why are you doing this?”

He pointed at himself. “I’m not doing anything. The Physician’s the one handing out the little notes with our new names on them. He’s calling all the shots, giving us our marching orders. Always has. Me? I just like playing the game.”

“You keep talking about this Physician. Who the hell is the Phys— he?” I couldn’t say the name twice. There was too much power in it. It made my tongue tingle.

“He scares you, doesn’t he?” Eric laughed. “He should. I’ve only seen him twice. Once when I first started this whole thing, and the second time when I asked him to let you join me. He never looks the same, but he lets you know it’s him.”

“And what about his sisters, the
brujas
? How do they fit in?”

Eric’s eyes narrowed. “What the hell are
brujas
? I don’t know what’s going on in that cracked skull of yours, but the Physician doesn’t have any sisters. Don’t you get it? He’s not a normal person. He’s a god. Or the devil. Or maybe both. All I can say for certain is he knows everything. He can make things happen. And he owns us.”

He took a step toward me. “Owns us body and soul. So if he tells you to go—you’ll do it. You don’t have a choice.”

Eric grinned as he walked away, victorious. But it wasn’t enough for him; he couldn’t resist stopping for one final dig.

“Soon,” he said. I heard his footsteps on the tile of the front hallway and then the sound of the front door yawning open.

“Eric, are you okay?” It was Eric’s mom. She sounded frightened—not for him, but of him.

I went still, listening hard.

“I’m fine. Don’t touch me! I told you what would happen if you touched me again!”

“I’m sorry. You said you’d been hurt, and—”

The door shut, cutting off their conversation. I was grateful for it. I’d heard enough. I didn’t want to think about who the previous Eric had been. About what else had been lost.

Even worse, I could not—would not—let myself contemplate how much more there was to lose. The more I understood, the less I wanted to know. But that was a luxury I couldn’t afford. There was a deadline, and I needed to keep working at putting the pieces together.

A week, he’d said. No, less than a week. The clock was already ticking.

BLOODY

CAN’T SLEEP

Can’t sleep

my mind is a muddle

full of dreams better left

undreamed.

So I sit at the window

staring out at the nothingness

of a sleepy suburban street.

The clock ticks.

It’s so much past midnight

and I should get back to bed.

Instead I turn to the sky

and the single star somehow

shining through the gloom

just waiting to be wished upon.

No cars rushing by

no other windows bright with light.

I may be the only person to see that star

and make my wish only to

watch it

fade.

Sucked into the cloud’s shadow.

Winking away—a burnt-out bulb.

Perhaps the star was never there.

I only saw it for a second.

I want to yell out into

the cold and silent night,

“Hello out there,

did anyone else

see that star disappear?”

—ARG