The Pantheon (3 page)

“
I think I left it on the kitchen counter,” Penny said, unaware that anything was wrong.

“
Then you’ll be throwing away spoiled ham when you get home.”

Penny wrinkled her nose. “Uck.”

Celene unlocked her classroom and crossed to her desk. The classroom was at the east-facing side of the school and along the windows were potted plants of various genus and species to study under a microscope. Her own desk was covered in framed photos, a drinky bird, folders, papers, and wilting plants that had been neglected by their student caretakers.

Celene took out her keys and unlocked the bottom desk drawer. As she did this, Penny leaned against her desk and played with the crinkled, dried leaves on a dead passion sprout. Celene dug into her purse and found two dollars.

“
Here you go. Forget your lunch again and I’ll let you go hungry until you get home.” It was an empty threat.

“
Thanks Mom.” Penny said. She shoved the money in the tiny fifth pocket on her jeans. “Gotta go. Study hall is almost over.”

“
You’re lucky I work here,” Celene said.

Penny thought otherwise. The fourteen-year-old let the door swing shut loudly behind her as she rushed out into the hall, a blur of pink and black.

Celene slid into her desk chair and pinched her brow. She retrieved her glasses from the collar of her shirt and slid them up her nose. Everything fell into sharper focus.

She looked suddenly at the plant on her desk. The student in charge had let it become brown and shriveled and then furthered the injury by dropping it and cracking its pot. Now, this same plant was alive. It was five times the size that it had been when Celene had tried to rescue it this morning and the once brown leaves were now velvety purple blending into the lush green stems. She would have noticed if it had been restored when she had entered the room, wouldn’t she?

Celene glanced back at the door before sitting up and touching the crack in the pot to make sure it was really there. She remembered hearing Penny crumple the leaves. It had been dead before she touched it. This fact would have seemed impossible if Celene hadn’t seen it happen before.

Penelope Davis took the same route home from school every day. She was a walker. She and her mother lived in the first floor apartment of a small house two miles from the school. The second floor was owned by an elderly widower who didn’t like noise but appreciated Celene Davis’ garden.

Every day, without noticing, Penny passed by a cement abutment at the edge of a convenience store parking lot. Every day, more than noticing her, Peter Hadley sat on that abutment and waited.

What Penny knew of Peter was this: the other kids thought he was weird. He had a tendency to look just to the left of someone rather than make eye contact and sometimes he laughed for no reason at all. He would stare off into space and when he was connected to the world of his peers he seemed to resent their foolishness. Despite his slight frame and easy to criticize appearance, he remained free from the abuse of bullies. Back in seventh grade he had been a target for a few weeks, but his tormentors had decided to move on to easier prey. Peter Hadley had become too dangerous to bother with when he started fighting back, ignoring the rules of macho man engagement. He bit. He went for the eyes. Once in a fist fight he had stabbed a soccer player with a ball point pen. He was too much trouble.

Today, like every other day, he sat on that concrete ledge, listening to his beat-up, thrift store, portable CD player, staring at seemingly nothing and waiting.

He saw the girl walk past him, dressed in a mix of styles. On one hand, her clothing seemed plucked from the inventory of a Goth wannabe store. The parts that made it unique, made it a style of her own, were the odd feminine touches. She was a Goth in pretty, soft colors. It was like seeing Darth Vader dressed in pink. And it worked for her.

Every day she walked past him on her way home from school. Every day he wondered what her name was, who she was. Today he had new information. Today he’d seen her in Livingstone’s office. She was Dr. Davis’ daughter.

He jumped to his feet, full of new life at the sight of her. He ran and slowed to a walk beside her. Peter suddenly remembered that he was terrible at talking to people-- girls especially.

“
Um... hi.” He slid his hands into his black denim pockets. Penelope stopped and looked at him. His heart beat faster.

“
Hi,” she responded in kind.

“
I’m Peter. I saw you in the nurse’s office today.”

“
Hi. I’m Penelope.”

He just stood there, at a loss for what came next. He’d introduced himself. Peter wasn’t sure what followed in normal polite conversation. South of the Mason Dixon line it was a lot easier. Usually people talked about anything with absolute strangers. In the north, if a stranger was talking to you, he was pushing a political cause or planning to mug you. Florida didn’t exactly fit snuggly into either of these categories, despite its geography. For Peter, neither of these were comfortable choices anyway. North or South, he couldn’t say what came next. This was probably the time to tell her why he was even talking to her but if he said what he wanted to say next, she’d think he was crazy.

He wanted to tell her about a man. There had been a mustached man following her around the school for days now. Peter knew no one else could see him. For some reason, he knew he wasn’t crazy. He had seen other people like this man before. They were usually lost or protective. This one looked like he had something very important to say.

He looked at the man. The man looked back, frustrated. Penelope looked over her shoulder. All she could see were cars. There was nothing else there for him to be staring at.

“
So did you want something?” she finally asked.

“
Can I walk you home?” He returned his gaze to her sky blue eyes. The intensity in his own eyes scared her. They were so dark and his gaze was sharp. He was worried about something.

“
Uh... okay. I guess.” What harm was there in letting him walk with her?

They started moving. Peter kept his hands in his pockets. Neither of them spoke for a while. Peter finally found something to say. “So your mom’s a science teacher?”

“
She is now. She used to do drug research.” Penelope picked a flower off a branch near the sidewalk. The magnolia tree clearly belonged to someone else. She took a moment to smell the blossom before she held it out to Peter. He smelled it and then he sneezed.

“
Bless you,” she chirped and tucked the flower in her headband.

“
So what does your dad do?”

“
He died when I was nine.”

“
Oh.” His eyes flickered to her right again. The man looked at her with sadness in his eyes. Those same sky blue eyes that Penny had. Peter was sure of whom he was now.

Penny started up the steps to her apartment. When the door was open she turned around to say goodbye. It was one thing to let him walk her home, it was another to let him in her house.

“
So your dad... glasses? Mustache? Blonde?” Peter wasn’t looking at her. He was looking at that spot again. Penny stood frozen. She wasn’t sure if this was a joke. Peter nodded and looked back to Penny. “Is Sparky your mom?”

Penny grabbed the door, pushed it shut, and ran up the landing stairs. Peter put his foot in the way and his shoulder into it to stop it from clicking shut. He ran into the strange apartment and grabbed her arm. “Wait, please. Just let me talk to him. I think it’s important.”

“
Get out of my house!” She pushed him off her. Penny hoped that if she screamed, the old man in the apartment upstairs would hear her.

“
He wouldn’t be here if there wasn’t something wrong.” He grabbed her hand again. “He’s been following you for a week.”

“
You’ve been following me for a week?”

“
No, just watching when you walk by my spot. It’s not as creepy as you think.”

“
You just forced your way into my home and now you want to talk to my dead father! I’m sorry, it’s a little creepy!” She twisted her wrist, trying to get free.

“
Please,” Peter let go of her. He knew holding her there, making her feel trapped, was the worst way to gain her trust. “Ten minutes.”

Penny’s light blue eyes traveled over Peter’s form, trying to assess him as a threat. He looked desperate. “Fine, then you get out or I’ll scream. The guy upstairs is home, he’ll call the police.” Penny watched him intently. What was he going to do?

Peter looked to the right of her again. Her father stood next to her. He had thin black glasses and a fluffy mustache. To Peter he looked very real but he knew Mr. Davis was dead.

“
I’m Peter. I think I’m the only one who can see you.”

“
I’ve made that deduction myself,” he replied. “I’m Richard. You scared my little girl.”

“
I didn’t mean to... sir.” Peter could tell Penelope was starting to get anxious so he tried to speed things along. “Why are you here? Why are you following her?”

“
She needs to know she’s in danger. You are too.” He put his hand on Penelope’s shoulder. Peter wished, for her sake, that she could feel it.

“
How are we in trouble?” Now that Peter was part of this equation and not just an interpreter, the stakes were higher. He stepped closer. Penny stepped away.

“
You’re all in danger. They’re already here and when they realize that they need you, they’ll change their plan. You need to stop them before they use your own tricks against you.”

“
That’s not very specific!” Peter snapped.

“
It’s fire this time,” he said calmly. There was never much urgency for the dead. “But the others will follow. Forethought and afterthought are already here.”

“
Fire?”

“
Tell Pooh Bear I miss her.” Mr. Davis was gone.

“
Shit.” Peter wished he’d gotten more.

“
Okay, so what? Is he still here?”

Peter shook his head, “He had to warn us. Me. You. He said ‘all of you’.”

Penny didn’t want to believe him but she couldn’t help it. She was so little when her father had died and part of her had always wished he’d just walk through the door one day, coming home from a long trip, and everything would be normal again.

“
About what?” she asked.

“
I don’t know. Fire. He wants you to know he misses you.”

There was a long silence, a pause that stretched for eternity. She wasn’t kicking him out and he wasn’t leaving.

“
You believe me?” he asked after the quiet had gone on too long.

“
I shouldn’t.”

“
No, you shouldn’t.” Why did he suddenly resent her? He had never told anyone and he’d been seeing them for a year. Why did she tear down his guard without even trying?

“
But I do,” she said.

He was shocked. “Why?”

The doorknob turned before she had to answer that. Peter’s head snapped to look down the hall. Dr. Davis was home.

“
Penny,” she looked from her daughter to the boy. The sight of them alone together made her uncomfortable and Penny looked distressed. “Hello, Peter.”

“
Peter was just walking me home. There was... well I tripped and hurt my wrist so he carried my books.” She should have told Peter to get out. She shouldn’t have covered for him.

“
Are you okay?” Celene set her purse on the floor and examined Penelope’s wrist. It looked red, but from the struggle, not from falling. “We should get some ice on that and get it checked out.”

“
It’s fine, mom, it’s just a little sore.” She pulled her arm away. Penelope hoped it wouldn’t bruise. Even more she hoped that if it did, it wouldn’t look like Peter-sized finger marks. “Thanks Pete.”

Pete. There was a nickname that made him grit his teeth. “Yeah, no problem.” He couldn’t leave it alone. “And just Peter. Bye, Dr. Davis.”

Peter left the apartment as fast as he could without looking suspicious. Now he’d spoken to her. Now he knew it was real, the way his blood pounded in his ears when he saw her. Even more distressing was the warning. It wasn’t so much a warning as a riddle. Peter was kicking himself for not being able to find out.

Someone wanted to hurt them. Someone was going to use fire and their own tricks to hurt them. That could have meant a thousand things. All Peter knew was that it had to be serious for a ghost who had passed so many years ago to make the trip back to warn them. Who was trying to hurt them? And who were the others?