Call Me Grim (8 page)

How can I make a decision like this? Either I die tomorrow and miss out on everything, like I was supposed to, or I live a lonely life as a Grim Reaper, watching everyone live their lives without me. Both choices suck. There’s no way I can decide. Not now. I’m too overwhelmed. Maybe my pencils can help, but probably not. This feels too big, even for them.

The moon skims the treetops and ducks behind the large Victorian house on the corner. Diablo Road is deserted, and my footfalls sound hollow against the pavement.

When I told Aaron I needed time to think, he tried to tell me how awesome his stupid job is again, but I told him to stop. Eventually, he nodded and said he understood. Without another word, he got up and crossed Jumpers’ Bridge, leaving me more alone than I’ve ever felt in my life.

I’m almost home now, but I don’t feel any less lonely. I don’t want to stare at the cracked ceiling over my bed. And my sketchpad and pencils will just remind me of what I’ll lose. If I take the job, anything I make will disappear. The sheer waste of that makes my body ache.

I don’t want to see the drawings on my walls as much as I don’t want to see the photos propped on my dresser and taped to my mirror: Kyle, Haley, and me at the beach with humongous sunglasses and goofy grins; Max and Dad covered in pink silly string and laughing so hard I can almost hear them through the glossy paper; me and Mom after I won first place in the art show, her arm around my shoulder, tears shimmering in her eyes.

A tear trickles down my cheek now, and I wipe it away with the back of my hand. If I take Aaron’s dumb job, I only have a week left with my family. And I don’t care how great Aaron thinks being a Reaper is, what happens after I take over for him is awful. How can I sit back and watch Max grow up without me? He needs me. Mom needs me. And what about Haley and Kyle? They’ll get to go off to college and have careers and lives while I’m stuck in this shit town, a perpetual teenager, with no future except death, death, and more death.

But if I tell Aaron no, this will be the last day and a half I’ll have with them at all.

The floorboards creak as I step onto the porch. I stop at the front door and peer through the lacy curtain. The kitchen chair Mom sat in a few hours ago is askew but empty. Weights pull at my limbs, and I’m suddenly very tired.

The climb up to my window is almost as easy as the climb down, but I won’t worry about a psychopathic killer having easy access to me tonight.

I’m already a goner.

***

There’s too much light. I can’t sleep. I lie awake in bed with the covers pulled up to my chin and watch the dull halo on the ceiling—the halo that measures my life. I’m used to total darkness in my room, and even though my aura is dull, it’s still too bright for me to fall asleep.

Most of the night, I stay this way. I watch my halo ripple over the cracks in the ceiling to avoid the pictures. I cry a little, but mostly I just stare.

The screech of the alarm clock in the room down the hall signals Mom’s awake. Ever since Dad left us, she’s worked two jobs, and she leaves for her day job about an hour before I wake Max up for school.

I sit up in bed, overcome with the desire to talk to her. Mom can be my sounding board. She can help me make sense of all this crap. If anyone can help me make a scary, life or death decision like this, my mother can. And even if she can’t, she’ll know exactly what to say to make me feel better.

I swing my bare feet over the edge of the bed and knock over my book bag. It thumps to the floor, and I freeze. The one-inch gap under my bedroom door blazes with the bright light of my mother’s soul. The beam moves across the hardwood floor as she draws closer.

“Libbi?” Mom whispers from the other side of the door. “Are you awake?”

I want to answer her, but I can’t force the air out of my lungs. I shift on my bed and the bedsprings creak, but I keep my mouth closed.

“Well, if you are awake and you’re listening, I want to say I’m sorry for the stuff I said last night. I love you. You just scared me.” She breathes a shaky sigh. “Just promise me you won’t disappear like that again. Okay?”

After a few seconds of silence, she steps away from my door. I draw my legs up and tuck them under me. I don’t want to talk to her anymore. I don’t think I can face her, not if she wants me to promise that. Whether I decide to take Aaron’s job or choose to die, I’m going to disappear.

Daylight and the normal routine of the school day make my problem a little easier to ignore. The sun’s warm rays overpower the glow of the souls a little. That alone almost convinces me last night was a nightmare, and the glow that I’m seeing on everyone is just a symptom of a concussion which, for some reason, is more comforting. But my stiff muscles and grainy eyes remind me that I didn’t sleep last night. Not one bit. It wasn’t a dream. Last night was real.

“Libbi?”

Startled, I swing around in my chair and face Kyle. I hadn’t noticed him sitting there. He studies me from behind his open calculus book, which stands upright on his desk. His skin illuminates the pages like a reading lamp and I restrain a shudder. That glow is definitely real.

“Damn, Libs.” He bounces the eraser of his pencil against the desk in an intricate pattern only a skilled drummer could accomplish. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost or something.”

Well, Aaron’s too solid to be a ghost, but that’s a good start.

“Have you ever heard of a guy named Aaron Shepherd?” I say.

“Aaron Shepherd?” Kyle bites the end of his pencil. “Maybe. The name sounds familiar.”

I knew it. I knew I’d heard his name before. I grip the end of my desk with both hands.

“Do you remember where you heard it?”

“Um, not really. Why?” He frowns, and his hand slips down to his side, closer to the sticks in his back pocket. If we weren’t in class, he’d have them out, I’m sure.

“Never mind.” I loosen my fingers, half-expecting to see my handprints pressed into the wood. “So, what time is the Battle of the Bands tonight?”

“Eight.” He raises his eyebrows. “You’re coming, right?”

“How could I miss it?”

“You know, you’re my lucky charm.” He beams at me.

“Then I’ll be there.”

His deep brown eyes sparkle under his mop of curly blond hair. I return his grin, but I wish mine felt as genuine as his looks.

Kyle goes back to his drum solo on his open calculus book, and I return to my doodle-covered paper and thoughts of Aaron Shepherd. After a few minutes of silence, I nudge Kyle with my elbow.

“Hey, do you think you could do me a favor?”

“What favor?” He puts down his pencil and looks at me.

“Could you watch Max after school for a little bit? I have detention with Winkler.” I roll my eyes for dramatic effect.

“Really? Isn’t flunking history enough of a punishment? That guy is such a tool,” he growls. “Actually, he’s a sprinkler.” He flashes a big, cheesy grin.

“Will you just watch him for me, please?” I ask again, trying to keep the impatience out of my voice, but I don’t think I succeed.

“Yeah.” Kyle frowns. Then he shakes his head and says, “I mean, sure. Anytime. You know I love Max.”

The bell rings. I stand and grab my book bag from the floor, and Kyle touches my arm softly, like a caress.

“Are you sure you’re all right, Libs?” His deep brown eyes search mine. “I mean, there isn’t something you need to tell me, is there?” His voice lowers. “This guy Aaron? Do I need to…” He smacks his drumsticks into his open palm and raises his eyebrows.

“No, I’m fine.” I chuckle for the first time since yesterday. “Really. No need to bloody your sticks. You’ll need them good and clean for tonight.”

Kyle frowns, and I know what he’s thinking. He’s thinking of Will. In the seventh grade, I told him how Weird Will Collins cornered me behind the stage, groped me, and kissed me. Kyle flipped out. He had a “talk” with Weird Will and the creep never tried that stunt again.

“It’s not like Will,” I say seriously.

“Okay, then. No blood.” He tucks his sticks back in his pocket. “But I’m here for you if you need me.”

“I know, Kyle. But I don’t have anything to talk about. Okay?”

“Okay, okay. I get it.” He holds his hands up in surrender. “It’s a girly thing. You don’t want to talk about it with your guy friend.”

“It’s not like that either,” I say.

“All right, Libs.” He smirks.

At the end of the day Mrs. Kraus lets us out fifteen minutes early. Even the teachers get a little antsy for sunshine and warm breezes near the end of the school year.

I didn’t lie to Kyle—well, not completely. I do have to stay after school, but not for Winkler.

I was right. I’ve heard Aaron’s name before, and now that I know Kyle has too, I need to go to the computer lab to do some research. I would do it at home, but I don’t want to risk Max walking in on me. I don’t know what I’m going to find, and Max overheard me tell Mom I went on a date with the guy.

The heavy, floral scent of perfume assaults me as the computer lab door swings open. It clings to the back of my throat and nose, and I sneeze. I take a few deep breaths through my mouth. I don’t need an asthma attack today. I have enough going on.

“Can I help you, Libbi?” Mrs. Lutz watches me over the frame of her black-rimmed glasses as I approach her desk.

I notice the difference in her soul immediately. A fine, dark line divides the light of her face like a crack in a porcelain doll. It starts above her left eye, zigzags over the bridge of her nose, and ends on her right cheek. A fracture in the light of her soul.

Without realizing it, I bend over the desk for a closer look, and she leans away, eyes wide.

“Can I help you?” she repeats, but this time she’s less bored and more irritated.

“Um, yes.” I straighten up and clear my itchy throat. I feel like I’m drowning in a pool of her perfume, but I ignore it. “I just need a computer for resear—”

“Research?” She cuts me off with her squeaky, grating voice. “Is it for a new painting? You know, I never told you congratulations on your win the other night. You deserved first place.” She smiles brightly and I can’t help but smile back. “Anything I can help you with?”

“No, I don’t think so.” My tongue sticks to the top of my dry mouth. “Unless you know something about Aaron Shepherd.”

Mrs. Lutz’s hand thumps to her desk and caramel liquid sloshes over the lip of her mug. The coffee’s sweet aroma overpowers the floral perfume for a moment, but not long enough for me to catch my breath. She holds me with her gaze, and I force myself not to gawk at the crack in her face.

“Who?” she says.

“Aaron Shepherd?” I repeat and swallow. If I don’t get away from her perfume soon, I will have an asthma attack, no matter how hard I try not to have one. I restrain a cough.

“Aaron Shepherd, huh?”

“Yeah.”

Her eyes dart to the window then back to me. She leans across the desk and I can almost see sickening pink tendrils of odor wafting off her skin. My vision blurs as my eyes fill with water.

“Uh-huh.” She taps her temple with her forefinger, leans back in her chair, and crosses her arms over her ample chest. She thinks I’m screwing with her. “You know, I knew him.”

“You knew him?” I swallow against the itching in my throat.

“Yeah, I knew him before he disappeared. We were in the same class.” She leans over the desk toward me and lowers her voice to a whisper. “I don’t care what the stories say; I know he didn’t do it. Aaron couldn’t have done something so awful.”

Preparing to ask what Aaron didn’t do, I suck heavily perfumed air into my lungs. I can’t get the question out. My throat’s too dry and itchy.

I have to leave. Right now. If I don’t get away from Mrs. Lutz’s obnoxious perfume, the itching and dryness will turn into a full-blown asthma attack.

My legs wobble like they’re made of noodles, but I manage to turn around and rush out of the computer lab. I drop down on the wooden bench outside the door and hungrily inhale several clean breaths of air. The tightness in my chest eases a little, and I’m able to focus on what Mrs. Lutz said.

She knew
Aaron. She knew him before he disappeared and became a Grim Reaper. But what did he do? Even if Mrs. Lutz is convinced he didn’t do it, it must have been pretty awful for his name to sound familiar to both Kyle and me, forty years later. Was that the reason he took his job? Was the Grim Reaper path a good way for Aaron to hide?

I shake my head to clear my thoughts. I have to go back in there and talk to Mrs. Lutz. She knows something and I need to find out what it is. Screw her fractured face and toxic perfume.

Determined not to let my asthma control me, I stand up and march into the computer lab. I take one breath of the floral-scented death air, turn around, and march right back out. I can’t do it. There has to be another way to get the information I need.

The library.

It’s directly across the hall. I blame my stupidity on the perfume clouding my brain and cross the hall to the door. I hope the school keeps records from that long ago. If they don’t, I’ll have to wait and go to the community library tomorrow morning. Between babysitting Max and Kyle’s show, I won’t have time to go tonight.

Ms. Weese looks up from her computer when I walk into the room, but my eyes automatically glance up to the striking still-life oil painting over her head.

Ever since Ms. Weese hung it a few months ago, I’ve envied the artist. On first glance, it’s a simple still-life of a group of apples. Two of the apples are red and sliced into quarters. Offset from those two, another apple sits by itself. It’s whole and green and has a paring knife jammed into it up to its hilt. The last apple, a yellow one, is mostly hidden under a black cloth in the background.

When I get up close and really look at the painting, however, it becomes more than a still-life. It tells a story. The paint strokes on the red apples are sharp and angry, and the color used is as deep as blood. In contrast, the paint strokes on the green apple are soft and careful. A single drop of juice trickles down the side of this apple, like a teardrop, from where the knife has penetrated the flesh. The apple covered by the black drape is too hidden to see much more than its shape, but there’s an almost unfinished quality to the small, yellow sliver peeking out from under the cloth.