Chapter Five

 

The memories end, and I am back in Vera’s church. The priest reads the final prayer, and I know the congregation will soon file out, but I can’t wait until the final hymn is sung. I want out, and I want out now.

I don’t want to see Vera anymore. I don’t want to care what happens to her. Caring about other people just brings pain—Ally’s death taught me that. I don’t want to hear priests talk about God answering prayers. Where was He when I prayed to get into DePaul’s Theater School? Where was He all those nights I heard my parents fight until I thought their voices would wear out? Where was He the night I killed my best friend?

Out. I have to get out of this church. I glide up the aisle toward an exit. Through the windows, I see the dark shadows continue to cross the field, but I don’t care if they are out there to get me, or Vera, or anyone else. I want out. The shadows can take me if they want me.

At the exit, though, I stop. Not because I want to, but because I can’t move any farther. It isn’t the closed doors that stop me. I’m stopped a foot from them, but I simply can’t move forward anymore.

I turn around. The recessional song has begun, and a few early birds walk toward me. I try to dodge them, but soon there are too many of them, and I can’t get out of their way. It doesn’t matter in the end, as a couple of them simply walk right through me. Vera walks down the aisle toward me. The desire to flee consumes me again. I fly out over the pews and head for the opposite side of church to use one of the other exits.

But when I get to the other side, I can’t get past any of the other doorways either. In fact, as I near them, I feel an immediate tug behind me. The sensation doesn’t make any sense. I have no body to be pulled, but I’m being yanked nonetheless. My very soul is dragged right through the pews, through the altar, and directly to Vera as if a strong magnet had suddenly been switched on.

The doors of the church open as parishioner after parishioner leaves. The dark shadows lurk in the background. They spin like funnel clouds, but none of them take on the figure of the shadow girl who visited Vera’s English classroom. As the congregation spreads out across the parking lot, the shadowy clouds get pushed farther and farther back. Then I see them. Hundreds of little shimmers of light, like the one in the English classroom, hovering over the people. Some of them are small waves of bright joy. Others are closer in size to the one that came between me and the shadow in the classroom. On the far end of the parking lot, closest to where the darkness hovers, one shimmer of light unfurls its wings.

What are these things? Angels? The Holy Spirit?

I don’t have time to wonder for long. I’m suddenly plunged into the darkness, but the anger of only a few minutes ago has vanished. I feel calm, relaxed. What did those shimmers of light do to me?

 

I follow Vera from class to class, looking for the shimmers of light, but I don’t see any. If they are God’s angels, why weren’t they inside the church? Why only outside? And why don’t I see any here in the high school now? Perhaps the shimmers only appear around those who believe. That would explain why there were so many of them near the parishioners, but wouldn’t there be at least some at the high school?

As Vera moves through her school day, I look forward to English class. I am desperate to see another shimmer, and I’m convinced the one I saw near the English teacher will be there again. I wonder about this teacher, Ms. Kitchin—that’s the name outside the classroom door. What caused her to have a shimmer unfurl its wings to protect her from the shadow girl?

Whatever the reason, I hope it happens again. I realize that on the two occasions I encountered them their presence left me calm and reassured. I long for that same sense of peace I experienced in the church parking lot.

If I still had a body, I would hold my breath as I enter the English classroom. As it is, I can only wait in breathless—and I mean literally, breathless—anticipation. Ms. Kitchin stands near the doorway, passing out slips of colored paper to the students as they enter. No shimmer hovers over her shoulder, and at first I’m disappointed. Then I remember that the shimmers only appeared when the shadowy clouds were around. Perhaps there’s a connection. If the darkness rolls back in, then maybe the light will reappear.

Vera pulls a black slip from Ms. Kitchin’s jar and sits in her usual desk. A few of the other students have black strips like Vera’s, but most of them have red, blue, green, or white strips.

A boy I’ve never noticed before is sitting in the back corner. He looks much too old for this freshman English class. By the stubble on his chin, I’d guess he’s at least a senior, but he could pass for college-aged. His hair is thick and wavy, and he wears a sweater that looks like it’s straight out of the 1950s—v-neck with a button-down shirt underneath. Apparently, he likes retro looks. A quirky smile plays on his lips, and I’m thinking he could break a lot of hearts despite his throwback style. Yes, I definitely would’ve noticed him if he had been in the room before. Did he just move to the district? Or was he transferred here from another class?

The bell rings, and Ms. Kitchin starts class. The students break into groups based on the colored strip they pulled, and Ms. Kitchin directs them to look at the poem on page 345. As the students move their desks, I watch the new boy, but he sits there, watching Ms. Kitchin. She ignores him. I wonder if she’s even noticed there’s a new kid in her class. He has no books. He doesn’t even have a colored strip of paper.

I glide around the room to avoid the students as they move their desks. I know from my experience in the church that they can move right through me, but old habits die hard. Besides, it’s too weird to know people can penetrate your space. When I shift to a new spot out of everyone’s way, I realize the new boy is now looking at something behind me, and the smile that was playing on his lips before has broken into a full-on grin. I turn to see what has caused this amusement for him, but there’s nothing behind me but an empty whiteboard. I turn back. He’s still smiling, and his eyes are fixed on me. I figure there must be some mistake, so I glide a few feet to the right. His eyes follow me. I glide back to the left. His grin broadens even more.

“Do you think I can’t see you?” he says.