Authors: Melissa Marr
“Are you ready for this?” Grace asks when Nate goes to the trunk to get out my wheelchair.
“No.”
The trunk closes, shaking the car with the force of it.
“Do you want to go back?” Grace twists in her seat to face me.
“Yes, but I’m not going to.”
Nate opens the back door on the passenger’s side. I sat with my back to the driver’s side door so my broken leg could stretch across the backseat, but I can’t get out that side. Once the door is open, I use my hands on the seat and my left leg to slide myself to the door. I pause at the edge of the seat when Nate asks, “Would it be okay for me to lift you?”
“I can do this. Just make sure the chair brakes are on.”
“They are.”
Grace is standing behind the chair, and Nate is at the open car door. When I start to stand, his hands go to my hips. He steadies me, and I gasp.
“Are you okay?”
“You startled me.” It’s not really a lie. He
did
startle me, but that wasn’t why I gasped. I like him touching me.
“Sorry. I’ll warn you next time,” he says.
He helps me into the chair, and I pull the veil down over my face again.
“You don’t need that,” he whispers. “You’re beautiful, Eva. Remember that.”
He’s so at ease that it’s frustrating. I want him to feel the same adrenaline rush as I do, but he seems completely unmoved by touching me.
I tug at the black gauze, making sure it covers as much as possible, and then I put my hands on the arms of the wheelchair. It still feels a little unnerving to be in the chair, as if it could topple and spill me out. I’m sure Nate is careful, but we’re outside and there are rocks and things.
Grace steps around the side to straighten my skirt. She stays to my side as he pushes me up the path to where the service will be starting soon. It’s a little ridiculous that I’m coming in like some grand old matriarch. All that’s missing are gloves and heavy jewelry.
My nervousness spikes at the sheer sense of exposure I feel in being outside. Not only do I need to face my classmates, but I worry that the person who hit me is here. Logic says that’s unlikely, but in so many of the crime television shows my father likes, the criminal likes to appear at places to enjoy his or her victory. Attending Micki’s funeral fits that. My hands tighten on the arms of the chair as panic wells up in me.
“What if he’s here?” I ask.
“Who?”
“The man who did this to her . . . and to me.”
Grace and Nate are both silent for a moment, but then she says, “We don’t even know if it’s the same person.”
“It has to be,” I insist.
No one replies.
Nate continues pushing me up the path in silence. As we get closer, I can see the awning that covers the rows of folding chairs and the coffin. There are so many flowers that even though we’re outside the smell is cloying.
It’s like an audible ripple when we get near. Even with the veil over my face, there’s no doubt who I am. If the broken leg didn’t give it away, Grace’s presence would. No one approaches us, but there are more than a few surreptitious glances. I’m grateful for the veil. Even without my healing cuts and bruises, I’d still feel uncomfortable at the way people are watching us.
When we reach the chairs, Grace pulls one back to sit beside me, but Nate stays standing like a sentinel behind me until I whisper, “Get a chair, please.”
Mutely, he pulls a second chair back so he’s on my left side. The two of them have flanked me, and we’re in the back of the crowd. I feel like this is as unobtrusive as I could possibly be, but still there are furtive glances.
Nate doesn’t touch me, and neither does Grace. I suspect his reserve is a combination of worry over my reputation and habit in public. Grace’s distance seems odd until I realize that I’d told her that being touched causes the death visions. She’s likely just being cautious.
I reach out and take both of their hands. Nate startles a little at my touch, but I grip his hand tightly so he can’t pull away. He knew Micki, and no one else here is going to remember to offer him any comfort. Grace might not have been friends with her, but she’s had more than a little worry the past couple weeks because of the person who—I believe—did this to Micki and to me.
We are still sitting like that, with me holding a hand on either side, when the service begins, and we stay that way through the whole thing. My hands tighten on theirs when Micki’s coffin is lowered into the ground, but I don’t cry out loud. I can’t here. Despite all the tears I’ve cried lately, today my face is dry.
Afterward, when people are starting to leave, I wish I could run away. They mean well, but as my classmates come toward me, I feel trapped. I don’t ever like to be the center of attention. I reach up to be sure the veil still hides my face.
“Oh my God, Eva! Are you okay?” Piper half breathes the words. “I didn’t know you were out of the hospital!”
She’s reaching out to hug me, but Nate grabs her arms before she can touch me. He raises his voice a little so the others who are now clustering near us can hear him. “Please don’t touch Eva. She still has injuries.”
No one responds, but I see several people eyeing him and me like they are figuring out some juicy tidbit. Before he can say anything else—like the fact that he’s there as a job—I say, “Thank you, Nate.”
“I should’ve thought of that,” Piper says awkwardly. “I’m sorry, Eva. I just missed you.” She motions around her. “We all did.”
I can tell she’s hurt that she didn’t know I was home, so I reach out and squeeze her hand. “I missed you too. Luckily, I slept constantly, so it was easier for me.”
Nate snorts. Piper smiles at me though, and I see that she believes my little lie. Nothing about this was easy, but I’m here with my friends and I know what they want me to say. They want assurances that everything is fine, so I give it to them. “I’m doing better. Still a little beat up from the accident, and you know”—I gesture at my leg—“a broken bone, but I’m fine.”
“Do you remember us?” Lisa Mitchell asks from where she stands behind a few people. “I heard you had amnesia.”
“Just about the accident itself.” I smile at her, but realize that between the veil and the distance she probably can’t tell that I’m smiling.
Robert speaks up then. “Did you decide if you’re coming to the funeral breakfast?”
He moves to the front of the crowd of about ten people who are still standing here all around me. He lowers his voice as if he’s trying to be confidential, but he’s clearly not because his words are a lie. “Sorry I couldn’t bring you today. I’d already offered to take a couple people. I could give you a ride to the breakfast if you want. They could ride with Grace and Bouchet.”
Everyone is staring at us, and I want to hit him. I won’t. The cemetery is no place for violence. I can see the pleading in his eyes, the request not to embarrass him, but I’m not going to cooperate. If he had avoided putting me more in the spotlight, I could’ve let it go. He didn’t though. This isn’t what
friends
do.
“We broke up, Robert. Why would I want to ride with you?”
He opens his mouth, but before he speaks, I say, “Don’t. Not here. Not now.”
He turns and walks away. Everyone else stares at me silently. The already awkward moment grows unbearably tense, and I’m grateful for the veil shrouding my expression—and my scars.
“Piper, could you do me a favor?”
“Of course!”
“Tomorrow or something, come see me.” I reach for her hand again. “I’ve missed everyone.”
I realize as I say it that it’s true. They’re not perfect, but neither am I. They’re my friends, and if there is a killer out there, I don’t want him taking any more of them from me.
Judge
I
DON’T KNOW WHEN
Eva’s presence started making me feel this twist of excitement and anger, but when she showed up at the funeral with Bouchet and Grace, I had to force myself not to go to her. They stayed on either side of her like bodyguards. She doesn’t need them; she needs
me
.
I spent the entire time trying not to stare at her; I still want to, but I can’t. They wouldn’t understand. I blame the Jessupites who treat her like she’s special. She’s not. She’s just like me. Once she understands that, she’ll be saved. I’d hoped Micki would teach her. I’d prayed on a clear message, but here she is acting like They want her to act, pretending that some people are better than others.
Sometimes I felt like Amy understood the truth. She was good that way, but there was a thread of corruption inside her body, too. I think her mother created the appetite for filth, but it was fertilized by all of Them. She let so many of Them touch her. They left their own seed behind, and in time, she would have been roiling with corruption.
When I left her to be cleansed by the water, her body was purified. I smile as I think about saving Amy. I left a flower and even words this time. Sharing the truth is slower than I’d like, but being impatient was no good. Eva is worth slow, steady lessons. I feel like I imagine the best teachers do—considering my lesson plans and hoping that my star student will understand the importance of the material. I have to try different strategies though; I remember that talk we had freshman year on “learning styles.”
Running over Eva wasn’t clear enough. It wasn’t really a lesson, if I think on it. I was hasty. Killing Micki should have been a clear lesson. I left an amaryllis there.
Pride goeth before the Fall
. We learned that in church and in something we read in school. I sent flowers to the hospital. Now, I’ve written words
and
left flowers. Each flower is a message. There are words, and flowers, and they say the things I can’t tell her in person yet. Eva’s smart. She’ll see the lessons soon, and then she’ll change.
“Thy will be done,” I pray. Silently, I add, “
By me
.”
From my left, Grayson elbows me. I guess I was talking too loud. If he understood that I can talk to God Himself, he wouldn’t act like that, but he doesn’t know. Someday, maybe I’ll tell him.
“The funeral’s over,” Grayson mutters.
I guess he wasn’t reprimanding me for being loud. I let my gaze dart to her, noticing the black veil she wears. I know that her humility is because of my hitting her with the car I’d stolen from the Phillips Garage. Maybe hitting her
was
a lesson, too. God’s hands guide me in mysterious ways.
“Thank you,” I whisper silently. I know God listens, and I’ve realized over the past weeks that He speaks, too.
I watch as our classmates surround her. Her face is hidden behind a veil, but that’s allowed. It’s modest. So much changes every day. I have to study it all, look for the clues and plan my next messages.
Teaching is hard.
If she doesn’t understand the message I left with Amy, I’ll send a gift to her house.
“Let’s go,” Grayson urges.
That police officer is standing at Eva’s car, and I duck my head to hide my smile. It would be wrong to smile at a funeral, but I fill with excitement. They found Amy. They saw the message.
I glance at Eva one more time. I know she’s been taking medicines because I ran over her. It might be making her too confused to understand. I hope not. I hope she understands.
I wonder if Eva will call me, if she’ll realize that I am her teacher, if she’ll know that I alone can judge the unworthy and worthy. It’s God’s work I do, and by His hand and His secret messages, I’ve chosen her to be my helpmate in this mission. To the rest of the world she’ll be common, but to me—and only me—she’ll be special. I’ll treat her like she deserves, cherish her, protect her, and she will look at me with love.
“Let’s go out by the lake,” I suggest. “It’s hot enough that maybe there will be some girls we can pick up.”
Grayson gives me a look of shock. “We’re at a
funeral
.”
“So . . . no?”
“I didn’t say that, just . . . have some respect.” He shakes his head.
“Micki’s dead, and we should live life to its fullest. She can’t.” I glance toward Eva’s car. “Micki was a virgin; she’ll never get to have that kind of joy.”
“You’re kind of a freak,” Grayson says, but when we get into his car, he drives us toward the lake. The thought of being with a girl near where I sacrificed Amy makes me repress a shiver of excitement. Maybe someday, I’ll bring Eva to the very spot. We can make love while the water flows over us. Today, though, I imagine the police have it all blocked off while they look for clues I didn’t leave. Today, I’ll find another girl, a substitute for the girl God made for me.
Eva
“I
NEED TO GIVE
my respects to Micki’s parents and then go home,” I tell no one and everyone after Robert leaves. Murmurs of acceptance and wishes of health come from my friends, and then Nate is pushing my chair over to the grave where Micki’s parents stand sobbing.
“Thank you for coming,” Mrs. Adams says.
I’m not entirely sure what I say to them. It’s as if I’m on automatic pilot at funerals: I say the words that I’ve been trained to utter, and they nod politely. They mention the beautiful flowers my family sent to both the funeral and their home (which I knew nothing about) and the very generous donation in Micki’s memory (I’m not even sure which charity). I realize that the over-the-top donation and flowers were how my mother coped with her willingness to let me go without her.
I always hate funerals, but this one feels worse than usual. Micki was my classmate, not the grandparent of a classmate. I want to tell her parents that I’m sorry that she died, that I’m not sure why I survived, but there aren’t rules for those admissions. Instead, I reach out and take Mrs. Adams’ hand and squeeze.
“I’m sorry,” I say as steadily as I’m able. “She was a great person.”
Mrs. Adams cries more at my words, and Mr. Adams folds her into his arms. “Thank you,” he says. “They’ll find who did this to you two. They have to.”
I nod because there are no words here that work, and Mrs. Adams lifts her face from her husband’s chest again. She’s a strong Southern woman. Her breakdown is brief. “You be careful,” she orders. “Tell your friends, too.”