Devil worshippers don’t believe in magic as being either black or white, it just is magic.I was on my way to the library after school today to work with Byron when I bumped into my favourite hottie, Chris LeBlanc. He was grinning like a madman and practically bounced down the hall.
“You look happy,” I said.
“You bet,” he said with a wink. “I’m a happy guy.”
We walked together. I’d like to say we made easy conversation, but it was the first time I’d ever been around him when Roy wasn’t there too, and I had no idea what to say.
When we reached the library, he asked, “Are you going to the Halloween dance?”
My heart skipped a beat and I nodded, dumbly.
“I’ll see you there, then.” He gave a little wave and headed down the hall.
I waved back, my heart soaring. Chris wanted to see me at the dance tomorrow night! He must like me! I watched him leave, smiling so hard my cheeks hurt. When he was gone, I turned and walked right into the glass library door, smacking my nose and chin so hard I saw stars. The librarian rushed to my aid, gushing over me, providing a tissue for my bleeding nose. I took the tissue then waved her off, embarrassed, but also incredibly thankful that Chris hadn’t witnessed that sorry display. I’m such an idiot!
Byron was sitting at a back table when I approached.
“How far did you get with your research today in class?” he asked.
“Hi, Sarah, how are you? I’ve been better, Byron, thanks for asking,” I answered, still holding the tissue to my nose. I dropped myself into the chair across the table from him. “That’s how people have a civilized conversation.”
He leaned over the table, his hood falling back from his face, revealing an eye that was puffy and bruised. “Who said I was civilized?” he snarled.
“Right, I forgot,” I murmured. I flipped open my books and pulled out the little bit of research I’d managed to complete. “How did you get the bruise under your eye?” I asked.
“How did you get the bloody nose?” he snapped back.
We stared at each other. His face was hostile.
“I’ll tell you about my nose if you tell me about your eye,” I said.
“I don’t really care about your nose.”
“I’ll tell you anyway.” So I did. And he actually grinned; so he knew how. “You find that funny?” I asked, pretending to be indignant.
“Yeah.”
“Thanks a lot,” I said, good-naturedly. “Now tell me about your eye.”
He glanced at his watch. “We’d better get working; we have lots to do.”
“Hey, we had a deal,” I protested.
“No, you had a deal,” he argued. “I didn’t agree to anything.”
“That’s cheap, Byron Hopper … if that’s your real name.”
The effect of my words was immediate. His face darkened. “My family’s not in a witness protection program, Sarah,” he muttered.
I knew I’d made him angry but I didn’t really care. I’d just eliminated another false rumour! At this rate, I’d have this case solved in no time. So, if the Hoppers weren’t involved with the Mafia and weren’t in a witness protection program, that only left … devil worshipping and murder. I gulped and tried to focus on my notes. I’d rather be working with someone hiding out from thugs than sacrificing neighbourhood pets and stalking neighbours.
A couple of tedious hours later, we left the library together. In the hall, we came upon a tall, lanky boy dressed all in black, viciously kicking lockers. He looked completely out of place in the after-hours quiet of the school. I was at least three steps ahead of Byron before realizing he’d stopped walking.
“What’s the matter?” I asked.
“Nothing,” he snapped.
“Then, come on.”
We continued to walk. The boy stopped kicking lockers to reach into his shirt pocket and pull out a pack of cigarettes. He picked one out and stuck it in his mouth. That’s when he saw us. “Byron, my man!” he called around the cigarette, waving his arm.
“You know him?” I whispered.
“Unfortunately,” he whispered back. Louder, he called, “What are you doing here, J.D.?”
J.D. was quite a sight. His eyes were outlined in black, and piercings ran all along his eyebrows and in his nose. His black hair stuck up at various angles from the top of his head with longer, greasy pieces falling onto his shoulders. His black T-shirt was torn in various places, revealing a pierced nipple. His tight black jeans were so ripped he might as well have left them at home.
“I’m picking you up, so let’s go,” he said. “Your sister’s waiting out in the car and this place gives me the creeps.” He shuddered as if to prove the point.
“I don’t want a ride home,” said Byron. “I’m walking.”
“Too bad. Your mommy told us to get her precious baby boy so he wouldn’t be late for din-dins, so say goodbye to the wench and let’s go!”
J.D. lunged and grabbed a fistful of Byron’s T-shirt, yanking on it so hard that Byron fell forward, arms windmilling wildly.
“Hey!” I shouted, jumping out of the way.
J.D. snorted and made some other awful sounds that might have been laughter. What a creep. I wished my dad was there to put this guy in his place. Unfortunately, Dad wasn’t around and J.D. wasn’t finished. He yanked the knapsack right off Byron’s back and held it out of reach.
“Quit being such a jerk!” yelled Byron.
“Quit being such a girl,” scoffed J.D. “What do ya got in here, anyway? Any drugs? I bet mamma’s little boy’s got some good drugs in here.”
“Give it back!” sputtered Byron, snatching at the bag. I wiped my sweating palms on my jeans and wondered if I could get past them down the hall. Before I could make my move, J.D. ripped open Byron’s knapsack and dumped everything all over the floor, kicking things right and left. Byron swore and rammed into J.D., knocking him onto his butt.
I braced myself for J.D.’s fury, but to my surprise, as Byron stood over him, fists clenched, he laughed. Like he thought what had just happened was hysterical. I looked at Byron, puzzled. He shook his head in disgust. Once J.D. regained some self-control, he stood up and yawned.
“I’m heading for the car,” he announced. “Don’t take too long kissing your girlfriend goodbye, little buddy, and don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” He cuffed Byron on the head before heading down the hall, pausing occasionally for a locker kick.
Byron, his face red and angry, knelt down to pick up his things. I helped him; my hands shook as I handed him his books.
I whispered, “Who was that?”
“That … is my sister’s … boyfriend,” he spat. “J.D., as in Jesse Draker … or Juvenile Delinquent, which suits him better.” He wiped his glistening upper lip, then said, “He’s how I got the black eye.”
My eyebrows shot up. “Oh.” We walked down the hall towards the exit. “Do your parents know that your sister’s boyfriend treats you like that?”
He sighed. “Believe it or not, that was J.D.’s idea of having fun. You heard him, I’m his ‘little buddy.’ He likes me.”
“What does he do to people he doesn’t like?” I asked. “What does your sister see in him?”
“He’s not the type she used to go for,” he said, quietly. “She says she needs him around for her protection.”
“Protection? From what?” I asked.
He didn’t answer.
We stepped outside where a shiny blue car was waiting, engine running. In the front seat, J.D. was furiously making out with an equally zealous Garnet, the windows fogging up around them.
Byron sighed. “I’d better catch my ride. See ya later.” He turned and headed to the car, his back bowed.
I couldn’t help it. I felt sorry for him.
I did a little surfing on the net about devil worshipping. Since Byron told me that his family isn’t in the Mafia or the witness protection program, I figured devil worshipping was next on the rumour list. What I found out was more than a little spooky.
I really hope this rumour isn’t true …
• The term “devil worship” refers to a religious belief in and worship of a devil or devils.
• Devil worship can also be referred to as Diabolatry (from the Greek diabolos, “devil,” and latreia, “worship”), or as theistic Satanism.
• It has been used as a term for those criminals who commit crimes citing the devil as part of their justification.
• Devil worshippers see themselves as the enemies of good and the servants of evil.
• They see the devil as the god of all that is evil. They are reverse Christians.
Devil worshippers don’t believe in magic as being either black or white, it just is magic.
Rituals are considered an opportunity to manifest justice, for example, if someone wronged you. Devil worshippers don’t believe in karma or turning the other cheek.
Creepy. Imagine being a “servant of evil.” Ugh! This doesn’t really sound like Byron, I don’t think. Maybe Garnet? She does do that curse thing on people. Would that be a ritual to “manifest justice” on someone who “wronged” you?
Why couldn’t they have just been in the Mafia?