Saturday, October 11, 2014

Another Chapter (10). That is if anyone still cares.

I'm so much busier than I used to be. All I want to do when the kids go to bed is curl up and read a book or watch Netflix. I should probably write or do a thousand pushups, but I'm tired. Last week, I worked in the Middle School front office, which allowed me some time to rewrite a chapter or two. I'll have another one for you tomorrow. That is if anyone still cares. I thought I'd plow through these revisions, but they have come as slow as molasses pours out of the bottle in wintertime.

And I'm still waiting for the edits to com back from my agent so I can sell the other book. The real one that I'm slowing losing faith in. I feel like I'm losing faith in a lot of things. But, that my gentle readers, is another blog post all together.
Warning: There be typos ahead!

Chapter 10

            The next day of school passes without me having to talk to Blake. The student body of Ravines High is made up of about a hundred students, so he does a wonderful job of avoiding me. In English, we start the unit on Shakespeare. To get us excited about our homework, Mr. Long reads long excerpts from various plays, and if I wasn’t so distracted I might look forward to reading Hamlet. But I’m too consumed with my own screwed up life to worry about Hamlet’s revenge plot or the fact that his mother wants to make out with him.

On the way to the cafeteria, I stop at my locker, and I get the briefest glimpse of a boy with short blond hair and a sad smile. I push through the crowd, trying to catch up with the Reaper just to assure myself what I saw was real.

“Hello, Cassandra,” he says when I reach him. Somehow everyone avoids touching him or even noticing he’s there. He leans against the janitor’s closet and suddenly we’re inside the cramped, broom-filled place.

“Reiner,” I say, a little out of breath.

“Reiner,” he says, correction my pronunciation.

“That’s what I said.”

“You are saying it wrong. Reiner. Rei as is in Rhine River in Deutschland.”

           “Reiner as in the Rhine River as in Reiner the Reaper.”                           

He grumbles something under his breath. “Never mind. Your accent is impossible.”

“My accent? What about yours.”

His cold, grey eyes glare at me until I drop it. He’s just as he was on the night of my birthday, tall and blond, and beautiful for a dead guy. In the harsh fluorescent lights of the closet, through the opening of his shirt, I notice the knife scars covering the exposed portion of his chest and the thick, pink line across his throat. I have the strangest urge to run my fingertip over the marks.

“What happened to you?” I ask. I shouldn’t care, but curiosity gets the better of me.

“Would you like to see?” he asks, but doesn’t wait for my response. Like he did in the graveyard, he waves his hand in front of my face.

 

We’re transported to a small cement room, most likely underground by the musty smell of things. Reiner the Reaper is beside me, but Reiner the boy is strapped to a wet wooden chair. At first I think the floor beneath him is damp from the water dripping overhead, but then I realize it’s blood. Reiner’s blood.

Reiner looks much the same as he does now, but his skin has more color in it and he’s a little more muscular. He’s dirty and bruised and his clothes are ripped, but I’m struck at the bright hue of his blue eyes. His head turns toward me, but I soon realize he is looking at who is coming through the locked door behind me, not seeing me at all. I jump aside to let some scary looking guards through, realizing too late that it doesn’t matter if I move because I’m not really here.

The one guard is huge and the other one is bigger. They start speaking a million miles a minute in a language I don’t recognize, but I think might be German. When Reiner doesn’t respond, one of them punches Reiner so hard in the jaw that the chair almost tips over. The other guard rights the wobbling legs of the chair, setting Reiner upright again. Through a bloody mouth, Reiner smiles at him. The guard slaps Reiner across the face, but Reiner doesn’t even flinch. He just trains those blue eyes back on the guard and raises his eyebrows like a challenge.

This time the bigger guard kicks Reiner in the chest with such force that the chair breaks apart as Reiner hits the ground.

The chair broke, but so did the chords around Reiner’s hands and ankles. His injured, but still shoots to his feet with a great deal of agility. Reiner is smaller than the guards, but he choses to rush them both at once. He’s stronger than he looks, and manages to knock both of the guards to the floor. Once they are both down, Reiner grabs one of their guns, and using the butt of the handle, hits each one in the forehead. The guards’ eyes close and the go still, both knocked out. Reiner drops the gun to the floor, and removes a knife from a guard’s holster. Smiling down at the blade, he spins the handle around in his hand with surprising skill.

He starts toward the exit, ready to make his escape, but then a man, who looks a lot like an older version of Reiner, appears in the doorway. He is dressed in a full Nazi uniform, taller, and a little darker blond, but I instantly know he’s Reiner’s father.   

“Nein!” Reiner yells. “Papa, nein.”

The man knees Reiner in the stomach, causing him to drop the knife. Taking Reiner by the collar of his torn shirt, the man drags him out of the room. Reiner fights against his father the whole time, kicking and punching, but can’t get free of him. They travel down the dark hallway until it opens up into a large, sunny field filled in a crowd of thousands. Swastikas banners are strung everywhere and everyone is heiling Hitler.

I knew Reiner looked like he was from the World War II era, but it’s still shocking to realize he’s really that old. If he was still alive today, he’d be as old as my granddaddy. I don’t want to admit it, but I’m attracted to a senior citizen.

The crowd cheers as Reiner’s father marches him into the center of the stage, and straps him to a table turned on its side that looks like something out of the dungeons from the Dark Ages. His father takes the knife Reiner had dropped earlier. He looks Reiner in the eye before stabbing him in the chest, right over his heart.

Now if I was the one getting stabbed, I would have screamed and cried and probably would have peed my pants, but not Reiner. He stays stoic, with his eyes on the people cheering at his torture. The knife plunges again and again, so many times that I can’t count. Blood rushes out of his mouth and dribbles down his chin. His front is so red that I can’t tell were on wound starts and the other one ends.

I think Reiner must be dead. Any normal person would have died from the first stab, but I notice the slight rise and fall of his chest. Reiner’s blue eyes pop open and he goes off in some German diatribe. I have no idea what he’s saying, but even in his extreme pain, he is passionate. Blood trickles from the corner of his mouth, but he doesn’t let that stop him. He goes on and on and the jeering crowd stills and listens.

They stay transfixed until his father comes back to Reiner and stabs the knife into the side of his neck. Reiner spits blood in the man’s face. Not even taking time to wipe the spit from his face, the man, tilts Reiner’s head up and slices through Reiner’s throat.

Because I can’t watch anymore, I turn my head away.

 

“Cassandra.” When Reiner says my name, I realize we’re back at school.

“You were fighting the Nazis,” I say.

“Yes.”

“Then why were you ever sent to Purgatory?”

“Because I was a one of them.”

I don’t know what to say to this. I have a crazy, ex-Nazi Reaper trying to kill me. This can’t turn out well.

“Who was the man who killed you?” I ask.

“My father.”

And I thought I had daddy issues. I study his pale, haunted eyes, and for the first time since I met him, I see him as more than a scary, yet hot Reaper. He was a boy before this, with a life I’ve read about in history books, a life he didn’t want and was fighting against. “You were very brave,” I say.

“No,” he says, his words heavy with accent. “There is much more to my story that you have not seen. I did too much wrong before I did what was right.” He sighs as he readjusts the golden sickle attached to his belt. “Pay close attention to your dreams, Cassandra.”

“Do you know where Brittany is? Can you help me?”

“No. You are the only one who can save her. I am not allowed to intervene. I am not even supposed to speak with you on this matter. ” He’s suddenly very close, his lips right next to my ear. “I will see you soon.”

I close my eyes, but when I open them, he’s gone and I’m standing alone inside the janitor’s closet. Nothing else exciting happens until P.E. When I’m dressing out for gym, someone crying in the shower stall catches my attention. The tears are hollow and echoing, so I know they belong to the dead. I debate going in to check. I don’t want to deal with this at school, where there might be a few people might not know about my abilities. And to be honest, dealing with the dead is tedious and trying. 

I lace up my shoes, determined not to go in, but the pleas of the dead are hard stomach, desperate, depraved, and always determined. They won’t give up. Like good little ghosts, they will harass you until you do what they want.

Looking around, I notice I’m the last girl in the locker room. No one will see me. No one will know. I rush across the tile, toward the low moans of misery. My shoes squeak as I stop short at the sight of the girl sitting in the corner of a shower stall. The cuts across her wrist are proof of her crushing life. She’s sliced so deep, I can see tendons. The black blood trickles across the white tile. For the moment, the blood is real, pliable, and I almost slip. 

The spirit doesn’t notice me at first, but I can’t help but be drawn to her. I know something about sadness. I kneel next to her. “What’s your name?” I ask.

She doesn’t respond.  Her head falls down, her chin hitting her chest. This is a first, the dead ignoring me. I should be excited, but all I can think of is how I want her to stop hurting.

“I can help,” I say.

She shakes her head. “No. You can’t even save yourself.” Then she disappears.

“Well, that was rude,” I say to no one.

After, I’m too depressed for bound ball, so I change back into my shorts and tank top, and sit on a bench in the locker room until the bell rings. At the end of the day, I load my backpack with books, and head off to the parking lot to find Ruby.

            “Where have you been all day?” she asks. “You barely said two words during English class. You abandoned me in gym. I got into a line dispute with one of those jock girls. You should have heard her. She kept yelling, ‘in, out, in, out,” while pointing at the line with her big, ugly Nikes. I could have used some back up when I had to crack skulls.”

“You didn’t get into a fight,” I say.

“No. But I could have if you would have been there.” She pauses to take a deep breath. “And worst of all you were M.I.A. at lunch. I had to eat with the nerds at table seven! They kept talking about the chemical properties of water vapor. I almost passed out in my mashed potatoes.”

            “I have a lot on my mind.”

            “You mean you have Blake on your mind.”

            “A lot more than that.” I stop to think about what I’m about to tell her. I know I was just complaining about people knowing my secret, but Ruby seems different, someone I could tell anything to and she wouldn’t judge. Besides, she’ll find out sooner or later. People are just dying to tell everyone else my business.

I look around to make sure no one is in earshot of us, and then I say, “You know the missing girl?” I tell her about everything, glossing over growing up with the death everywhere. Her eyes go wide for a moment, like she might bolt, but to Ruby’s credit she hugs me, and prompts me to continue. I tell her about finding the purse a few days ago, discovering Brittany is missing, and talking to the police yesterday. I leave out the part about Blake being Brittany’s ex-boyfriend and a person of interest, though. Even I don’t want to look at those facts.

            “For once, the gossip was true?”

“You knew about me?”

“Well, of course. This is Ravines and people talk.”

“You were still my friend.”

“Duh. My best friend has super powers. Why wouldn’t I like that?”

“I don’t have super powers.”

“Yes, you do. What did the police say? Do they think Brittany dead?” Ruby asks.

            “They’re treating the case as a missing person.”

            “Do you think she’s dead?”

            “If I’m seeing her, she’ll be dead soon.”

            “You’ll tell me if you have a vision that I’m going to die, right?”

            “Of course.”

            “Because if you don’t, I’ll haunt you until you die,” she says, poking her long red fingernail into my chest. I believe her so I promise again. I even cross my heart.

“Could these powers be like a premonition? Could I actually be psychic?” She closes her eyes. “What am I thinking right now?”

            “I don’t know. My abilities don’t work like that.”

            “I’ll give you a hint. It has something to do with shoes.”

            “Ruby, I don’t know.”

            “Fine. I was thinking I can’t believe you wore flip flops to school. Again.” I roll my eyes at her. “What about the lottery? Why don’t you have a dream about the numbers and we’ll split the money. We’ll buy a beach house in Hawaii and spend all day sipping fruity drinks out of coconuts and perfecting our tans.”

            “If a person who is going to die is also going to win the lottery, then maybe. Back to our current problem. I’ve seen Brittany get abducted, knocked unconscious, and tied to a bed. I have to do something to help her, but I don’t know what.”

            “We should talk to the police again.”

            “And tell them what? They already think my entire family is nuts. Besides, I have no evidence.” 

            “We better get some. It’s a good thing my mom makes me watch all those dumb cop shows with her. I’ll crack this case!”

Ruby drives us to my house, parks in the driveway, and follows me up the walk. “What are we doing here?” Ruby asks. “I thought we were on the search for evidence.”

“I need some real food. I haven’t had anything to eat today besides Snowballs from the vending machine at school.”

“You mean those pink marshmallow things? I didn’t think anyone ate those but me.”

“I love them. But right now I need a salad.  I figure if I eat something healthy, the Snowballs will cancel themselves out.”

“Girl, I like the way you think.”

When we enter the house, we are engulfed in noise. Anna, wearing just a cowboy hat and boots, streaks through the kitchen with Mom on her heels.

“Your mom has style,” Ruby says, noticing Mom’s plum warm-up suit and tennis shoes. Where do you even get purple running shoes?

“Or she’s insane,” I whisper.

“She just has a signature style like Ruby.”

Mom scopes Anna up, and stops in front of us. “Hello. I don’t think we met. I’m Judy.”

“Ruby. Love your outfit.”

“Love yours.” Ruby is stuffed into a short blue skirt and a matching glittery halter top. After mom leaves, Ruby says, “Girl, you didn’t tell me your mom was such a fashion diva. I should go shopping with her.”

“No, you shouldn’t. Whatever you do, don’t encourage her.”

“Are you dissin’ my outfits?” She plants a fist on her rounded hip.

I’m a good liar and I use the skill to my ability, because I know not to ever tell Ruby what I think of her style. “No. Your clothes are amazing. I could never pull off the outfits you do. I just think my mom needs to diversify a bit more.”

Ruby goes to the pantry, she says in search of rice cakes. “What are all these little bottles?” she asks. “It’s like a spice rack exploded and then had some babies.” She picks up a glass vile. “Wolfsbane? Is this to ward off werewolves?”

“No, werewolves don’t exist. It’s used for healing injuries from ghost attacks.”

She nods, accepting my explanation. “What are these?” She picks up one of Mom’s leather conjure bags.

When she goes for the chord keeping the bag closed I say, “Don’t open it.”

“What’s inside?”

“Clippings of hair. A ring. A pencil eraser. Belongings of someone we love who is dead. We have the conjure bag to keep a part of them with us, and in case we need to get a hold of them after they’re dead. It’s like a direct line to the Afterworld.”

“And you just keep these bags in the pantry?”

“Better than in the living room where Anna might play with them like they’re bean bags.”

She picks up another vile. “Ghost water? What the heck is ghost water?”

“Spring water you leave on a gravestone at midnight, during a full moon.” It sounds so ridiculous when explained to someone who isn’t familiar with my world. “It’s sometimes used to raise the dead.”

“Are you sure you’re not a witch? Not that there’s anything wrong with that,” she adds, like she’s afraid she has offended me.

“I’m positive I’m not a witch.” But I’m not positive at all. I haven’t exploded anymore lights, but I can still feel a new found power, buzzing just below the surface, working its way into my veins. I should talk to Gran, see if I’m really a witch, but it’ll have to wait until after I find Brittany and deal with the Reaper.

“Too bad because I would love to hex my ex-boyfriend,” she says.

“If I was a witch, I would have hexed Blake by now.”

“What did he do?” she asks. “I thought y’all were happy and in love.”

“We’re not in love. And we got into a fight. I think I hurt his feelings by accusing him of kidnapping Brittany and possibly murdering her.”

“Ouch,” Ruby says. “Do you really think he had anything to do with her disappearance?”

I ponder that for a moment. I have my suspensions, but like he said, I know Blake. He’s coincided and sometimes selfish, but he’s not a murderer. “No, I don’t think it’s him. Not really. I just have a feeling that whoever has Brittany is her boyfriend, and Blake was her boyfriend.”

“But they’re broken up now. He’s with you.”

“They very recently broke up,” I say. “They were still dating when we got together and when we kissed last year.”

“You’ve kissed him before?” she asks.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” I reply. In the fridge I find donuts, cheesecake, and carrots. I take the carrots and Ruby takes the cheesecake.

“I need more calcium in my diet,” she says. “I need strong bones if we are going to find and fight this lousy kidnapper.”

After we eat our afternoon snack, I show Ruby out the door, and we make our way through the dense woods to where I found the purse.

“What are we looking for?” she asks.

“A clue.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. I’m just hoping something pops out at me.”

What I’m hoping to find is the kidnapper’s driver’s license, directions to his house, and a photo of him abducting Brittany. That is what I will need to get Sheriff Michaels to listen to me.

To cover more ground, Ruby and I separate at the drainage ditch. I kick around leaves, but come up with nothing more than dirt. I start to think about Blake and how I wished things between us wouldn’t have gotten so screwed up already. But our fake relationship is the last thing I should be worrying about right now.

I close my eyes as I try to imagine Blake and Brittany together, hoping to latch on to some memory shared between the two of them, something to clear Blake, but I see nothing. A scream startles me out of my forced daydream, and a second later, Ruby, with her long, thick legs pumping, rushes toward me.

            “Red and yellow kill a fellow! Red and yellow kill a fellow!” Ruby yells, running away from the creek. “Good Lord Almighty! A snake! A snake!” Ruby stops running and leans against a tree. She places her head between her knees and takes in deep, gulping breaths. “What is wrong with this place? It’s like the jungle.”

            “It’s like Blake’s backyard, Ruby.”

             “I tell you, the snake was out to get me. It was fifty feet long!”

             “Ruby, it was just a snake. This is Florida, not the Anaconda.”

            “That was not just a snake. It looked like at the devil himself. You remember the part from the Bible about the Garden of Eden? The devil came in the form of a snake. So I don’t trust snakes.  If I see one, I run.” A fine sheen of sweat coats her body and her breathing is still labored.

            “Didn’t you grow up in Atlanta? Don’t they have snakes there?”

            “Not in the apartment we lived in. The only snakes we have there are the men-kind. Have you had enough evidence hunting for one day?” she asks. “If there are snakes out here, then I’m done with this.”

“I think so. I haven’t felt anything, and I’m quite sure our detective skills are lacking.”

            “What now?” Ruby asks.                                  

            “I don’t know. It’s about to rain. There’s not much else we can do.”

            “We’ll just wait for you to have another dream.”

            “You’re really okay with the fact that I see things? With the witch’s brew in the pantry?”

            “My crazy Aunt Pearl practices voodoo. She throws around chicken bones and sees people’s future. Why can’t you see things, too? At least your skills don’t involve dead birds.”

“Guess there’s an upside.”  I won’t mention the jar of crushed dove bones on the top shelf of the pantry. I adjust my ponytail, moving the heavy hair away from my damp neck.

            “How do you do raise the dead besides the herbal remedies? Blood ritual? Sacrificial lambs?”

“When I need to call the dead, yes, I offer blood. But I don’t usually have to call them. They find me.”

“Sounds gloomy,” she observes. She has no idea how right she is. She checks her watch. “I better go. My mamma has got to be wondering where I am by now. Let me know if you see anything else. Or Blake the Jerk calls.”

            After Ruby drives away, I go back to the house and eat more carrots. I wipe down the kitchen, but I pause when I see The Book of the Dead. I swear the book moans every time I open the cover. A part of me wants to chuck the big, fat thing in the garbage. The other side is intrigued. I often wonder how I would feel about the sprits, if this gift hadn’t be pushed on me but if I had chosen it.

I flip through the pages, hoping that part of the prophecy about me loving and hating the Reaper will reappear, but it doesn’t. I close the book with a thud from the heavy lid, and put it back into the pantry.

The house phone rings, but I let the answering machine pick up.

“Cass, hey. It’s Sheriff Michaels.” He waits a beat, probably hoping I’ll answer. When I don’t, he continues. “I convinced Agent Travis to allow the police department to start searching for Brittany. She’s been gone too long.” He pauses again. “We’re meeting at first light tomorrow morning. If you can come, I could use your help. Meet us where you found the purse.”

He hangs up, and I stare at the silent phone for an hour, shocked that he actually believes me.

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