Call Me Grim (11 page)

Kyle is marked—whatever that means—and what’s showing through the inch-wide break in his soul is foul and black and festering.

He scowls as he approaches and pushes by me without a word.

“What’s wrong with you?” I say. Does being marked mean you’re angry? Somehow, I think there’s more to it than that. He’s definitely angry, but my mom was angry the night I left Max alone in the house and her soul didn’t look like this.

Kyle’s back stiffens and he stops walking.

“I don’t know, Libbi!” He whirls around and scorches me with his eyes again. “What’s
your
problem?”

“You’re the one hiding behind trees and avoiding me, not the other way around.”

“You could’ve fooled me.” He reaches in his back pocket for his drumsticks. The black sludge inside his mark pulses.

“What the hell are you talking about, Kyle? I’m not avoiding you.”

“Oh, yeah? Well, first, you were being all bitchy.” He holds up a hand to count off my offenses on his fingers. “Then you refused to talk to me. You kicked me off your front porch yesterday. And last night you were supposed to come to the Battle of the Bands, like you promised, and you didn’t. I mean, what the fuck, Libs? What am I supposed to think?”

Oh my God, I forgot his show. I fell asleep on the couch last night and slept right through it. And I’ve been so wrapped up in Aaron and my impending demise, I didn’t remember that I’d forgotten. No wonder he’s pissed. I suck as a friend.

“Oh, Kyle, I’m so sorry.” I take a tentative step toward him. “Did you win, at least?”

“No.” He doesn’t back away, but he beats his leg furiously with one stick and his eyes remain as dark as the stuff showing through that jagged mark. “You’re my good luck charm, Libs. Of course we didn’t win.”

“I’m sorry for missing the show. For everything. I wanted to come. I just couldn’t.”

“What’s going on with you?” A spark of warmth and concern flickers in his eyes.

“Nothing,” I say, and the spark vanishes. His eyes chill and he starts to turn away. “I mean, something. But it’s no big deal.”

“Bullshit, Libs. I’ve known you since the second grade. Something’s up, and you need to tell me what it is.”

I can’t lie to him anymore. He’ll know if I lie. But I can’t tell him the complete truth, either, so I settle for the safe middle ground and hope it’s enough to make the angry split in his soul disappear again.

“I didn’t come to the show last night because I fell asleep on the couch. I hadn’t slept in two days. Mom and I had a fight about babysitting. It was stupid. But this morning she said Ms. Lena could babysit if I ever needed a break. So it’s all okay now.” I smile, but it’s not okay.

Ms. Lena might babysit Max a lot after today, but not because
I
call her. I fight hard against the lump in my throat. Hot tears shimmer in the corners of my eyes, but I hold the reassuring smile.

“That’s it?” His lips press together and form a tight line. “That’s why you’ve been distracted and jumpy and nasty lately?”

“That about sums it up.”

He shuffles his feet against the sidewalk and looks over my shoulder down the lane. A frown bunches the skin of his forehead together.

“Then who’s this Aaron guy Max told me about?”

I cringe and instantly wish I hadn’t. The name coming from Kyle’s mouth sounds like a swear word. The black stuff within his mark boils.

“He’s just some new guy at school,” I say.

“Max says he’s your boyfriend.”
Ta-tap, ta-tap, ta-tap
against his thigh. “Is that true?”

“He’s not my boyfriend. It’s not like that at all.” Blood rushes to my face and I hope Kyle doesn’t read it the wrong way, like I wish Aaron were my boyfriend. Because I don’t wish that. And even if I did, it doesn’t matter, since I’m about to die. “Even if he was my boyfriend, which he’s not, why do you care who I date?”

“I don’t care,” Kyle says quickly. “I don’t. I just never thought you’d ditch me for a guy you just met. That’s all.”

“I didn’t ditch you. I fell asleep. I swear.”

He slips his drumsticks back into his pocket. For a full, uncomfortable minute, his burnt-wood eyes study me. The tar-filled crack weaves an uneven trail down the middle of his face. “I have to go, Libbi.”

He turns to leave, but I can’t let him go. He doesn’t believe me and he hasn’t forgiven me, and I need things to be good between us before my completely non-romantic date with Death.

“Wait.” My hand darts out and grasps his upper arm. “Will you and Haley be in town this afternoon, around two thirty? I’d really like to go to Foster’s for ice cream, like when we were kids. My treat.”

He hesitates for a moment. The mark hasn’t disappeared, but at least the black sludge inside it has settled down a bit. “Yeah, I guess. But I don’t know about Haley. She’s really mad at you.”

“I know. Winkler’s a douche. But you know how to sweet-talk her. Can’t you make sure she comes? Say whatever you have to, just get her there. Please? I need to see her today, Kyle. I need both of you.”

I give him the most pathetic set of puppy-dog eyes I can muster and pray he isn’t too mad for them to work.

He stares at me for a long time and then sighs in defeat.

“All right,” he says. “I’ll try.” He turns and walks away.

“Thanks, Kyle,” I call to his back, but he doesn’t even lift his hand this time. He strides to the end of the block and is gone.

The treetops sway against the bruised sky as I walk up the sidewalk and back to my car. A gust of wind yanks the car door out of my hand and plasters my shirt against my body. Thunder rumbles in the distance, and the air grows thick with the scent of ozone. It won’t be long before fat drops polka-dot the sidewalk.

I check my phone as I duck into the car—11:40—and chuck it onto the passenger’s seat.

My keychain jingles as I stuff my key in the ignition, but I don’t start it up. I just sit and stare out the windshield.

The tufts of purple flowers on the lilac bushes lining the driveway sway in the wind. Any other day, I’d try to figure out how to replicate that color on a canvas. Today, I don’t really see the flowers at all. Instead, I see Kyle. I see the angry set of his jaw and his hard eyes.

Lightning splits the sky, followed by the low growl of thunder, but instead I see the black gash across his face. The first drop of rain plops on the windshield and begins a slow trail down the glass, but instead I see the swirling, boiling sludge bubbling inside Kyle’s mark.

Aaron said the crack in Mrs. Lutz’s soul means she’s broken. Is Kyle broken too?

Did I break him?

I need to talk to Aaron. Jumpers’ Bridge is only a few minutes away, and it’s practically on the way to Camp Constance. If I stop at the bridge first, I should have plenty of time to drive out to see Max and back before I meet Kyle and Haley for ice cream.

If I hurry.

Raindrops pelt my cheeks. My feet slap the hard-packed dirt of the bike trail and splash muddy water over the toes of my tennis shoes. Wet branches whip my face, but I don’t care. I don’t have time to waste. I’ll run as fast as my feet can move, because once I reach the railroad tracks, the uneven ties and gravel will force me to walk.

Aaron might not be there.

The thought scatters my focus. What will I do if he’s not there? He said he lives close to the bridge, but I have no idea where. The woods surrounding the falls are too thick to explore, especially if I have no clue where to start. If Aaron’s not at the bridge when I get there, I’ll have no choice but to wait until he shows up for my death to talk to him about Kyle’s mark. I hope I’ll have time to ask before I die.

The bike path u-turns around an elm tree, but instead of following it back to the parking lot and my waiting car, I push through the trees and follow a different trail. Kyle called it a deer trail when we first discovered it. That was before we knew it already had a name: the party trail. It ends at a steep, gravel incline.

The railroad cuts through the trees in both directions, stretched like parallel silver snakes, shiny and slick with rain. I climb the incline and follow the tracks, skipping from rail tie to rail tie.

Carroll Falls rumbles ahead. The wet, mineral smell of it surrounds me. I’m close.

Around the bend in the tracks, Jumpers’ Bridge waits, a skeletal giant suspended over sheer cliffs. The muscles in my legs twitch, ready to run, to move faster, but I hold back. I don’t want to trip and bust my head open or break my neck. Lying unconscious and bleeding beside the railroad tracks is hardly as nice of a way to go as choking on ice cream. And I wouldn’t be able to say good-bye to anyone.

The curled back of the bridge comes into view and the rain abruptly stops, like God turned off the faucet and turned on the sun. Glittering sunlight breaks through the clouds as I skip-hop the last curve of track. Without the cooling rain, the air is muggy and oppressive. I peel off my soaked hoodie, tie it around my waist and wring out my ponytail. Attractive.

Dripping wet, I stand at the mouth of the deserted bridge, exactly where Haley and Kyle stood hand in hand at the beginning of my dream. The wooden ties are intact for the entire length of the bridge and no black hooded figure with bloody fingers lurks beneath the metal truss. I turn and scan the forest and the railroad tracks behind me. Nothing. I’m alone.

I could look one more place before I give up and drive to Camp Constance, but I don’t think Aaron’ll be there. He’d have to jump off the bridge to get down to the river. But, in the interest of being thorough, I’ll check.

I lift my foot, and the thought of crossing Jumpers’ Bridge, of standing in the same spot where I watched my best friends die in my dream, stops me. I know I’m being superstitious and stupid, but I back away from the bridge entrance and scramble down the gravel, off the tracks.

Fifty feet from the bridge, a scrawny tree clings to a patch of dirt near the edge of the cliff. Maybe, if I use the tree as support, I could see the riverbed from there.

Terrified the dirt will crumble under my weight, I inch up to the tree. When I’m close enough, I throw my arms around the trunk and wait for my heart to stop playing leap-frog with my lungs. I lean out as far as I can without letting go of the trunk, but I can’t see the river if I’m hugging the tree. I say a silent prayer, grip the closest branch with both hands and lean over the rim.

Holy crap, I’m high. Wind whips my ponytail back over my shoulder as I watch the sharp boulders slice the foaming, white water far below. The only living thing I can see down there is a blue heron perched on a fallen tree branch, watching for fish at the surface of the water.

Aaron isn’t down there. He isn’t here at all. I’ve wasted twenty minutes of the last three hours of my life for nothing.

I tighten my grasp on the tree branch and pull myself back. Gulping air as my heart rate slows, I seize the tree trunk and look back to the bridge. From this angle, I can see between the metal supports of the bridge. And I see Aaron.

He stands in full view, barefoot and bare-chested, feet balanced on top of the safety railing at the mid-point of the bridge. His eyes are closed and he grips the bridge supports on either side of him. It’s hard to see from this distance, but his chest and belly look strange, discolored in places. Maybe it’s the mist drifting up from the falls.

But what the heck is he doing up there, hanging onto the bridge with nothing but air and four inches of railing between him and the boulder-strewn riverbed? Does he have a death wish, or something?

The breeze ruffles his dark hair as he leans out and dangles his body over the abyss. Tempting the wind to blow him off. Daring Death. His toes curl around the railing, but that won’t keep him from falling. Only his firm grip on the steel support bars keeps him from plunging from the bridge now.

“Oh my God, Aaron!” I scream. “What are you doing?”

If he hears me, he doesn’t show it. He smiles and turns his peaceful face up to the sky. And he lets go of the bars. His body drops through the misty air in an arch, plummeting below the ridge of the cliff where I can’t see him.

“Oh my God!” I let go of my tree and race along the edge of the cliff. “Aaron! Aaron!”

I have to get to him. There must be a way down. I can’t swim, but if I could get down there, I could find a branch and fish him out. If he isn’t unconscious or already dead, that is. On the other side of the bridge, a steep path littered with empty beer cans and liquor bottles leads down the cliff face to a flat boulder near the bottom.

I can get down to him, if I cross the bridge.

I’ve always been mildly afraid of heights, but that fear isn’t what’s holding me back now. It’s the stupid dream. I need to suck it up and cross the damned bridge. Aaron could be bleeding to death down there.

“Hey, Libbi.”

I yelp and spin around as Aaron steps from the bridge entrance, a huge grin plastered to his face. His shoes are tied together by the laces and slung over one shoulder. His shirt is back on, and he’s completely dry.

Add two more to his list of superpowers: death-defying swan dives into boulder-filled rivers and teleportation. He skids down the gravel embankment and saunters toward me.

“What the hell was that all about?” I ball up my fist and whack his arm. “You just scared the shit out of me!”

“What? You were watching me?” His cheeks flush crimson as he rubs the spot where I punched him.

“I thought you were trying to kill yourself, you know. I was about to jump in after you.”

His face goes slack for a moment, then he shakes his head and smirks. “So you were going to jump off that cliff and save me then?”

“Maybe I could have…well, no.” My cheeks burn. I brush invisible dirt from my pants and shirt until the fiery sensation goes away. “What the hell were you doing, anyway? It almost looked like you wanted to…” I sweep a hand out toward the bridge. “I don’t know.”

“I was just having a little fun, that’s all,” he cuts in before I can say any more. But, I don’t really buy it. That peaceful smile right before he let go of the bridge told me it was more than “just a little fun.”

He nudges my elbow and gives me a playful smile that causes my knees to wobble and makes me forget for a moment that he’s Death incarnate.