Friday night Rosie sat on the couch with her chemistry book. All of her parking lot studying wasn’t going to fully prepare her for those pop quizzes her teacher hinted at, and it wasn’t like she had friends to hang out with anyway. She’d missed Omar at lunch since she brought up Jack when she drove him home. Apparently he’d stayed home sick for the rest of the week. But Rosie wondered if it was really because he was avoiding her. She’d just gotten settled when someone pounded on the front door. Rosie jumped up. It couldn’t be her dad; he was in the city at a meeting and wouldn’t be back until late.
As she peeked out her side window Rosie glimpsed Omar’s tall frame shivering on her stoop in the dark. She flung open the door.
“Omar!”
“I saw him!” he panted, his face full of terror.
“Saw who?”
“Mackie. He was, was . . .” Omar could barely get the words out through his shivering. “He was running in the woods along Zumbay, past the graveyard, near where it happened.” A crazed look shot across Omar’s face. He grabbed Rosie’s shoulders, his eyes bulging, his face slick with nervous sweat. “He was trying to get me. Rosie, he was coming for me.”
Rosie spoke calmly, trying to look Omar in the eyes. “Why do you think he’s coming after you?”
“Because,” Omar’s voice was high-pitched like he was going to cry. “He wants to change places with me. He keeps telling me to go to him, but when I get to the graveyard nothing happens.”
She put her arm around his shoulders. “Omar, why would he want that?”
A cry escaped his lips. “I don’t know. Maybe I should have died. Maybe it was a mistake.” He rested his forehead on her shoulder. “I would though, Rosie. I would change places with him.”
“Oh, Omar, are you sure it was Mackie that you saw?”
He pulled back and nodded. “He was wearing his jersey. In the woods. Running in his cleats, keeping up with me. Pointing at his eyes, then to me, like ‘an eye for an eye.’” Omar let out a wail and collapsed into her shoulder again. “This time I saw his face!”
Rosie’s back buckled slightly as she tried to keep Omar standing. “Let’s get inside,” she said. “You sit on the couch and I’ll get you some water.”
She ran the faucet. How could Omar have seen Mackie? He saw the jersey, but the face? The only one who looked like Mackie was . . . Jack. She hated to suspect him, but how else could it be explained? Jack did say that Omar should pay for his mistake.
Rosie took the water to the couch. “Drink this.” Shaking, Omar took the glass from her. The rings under his eyes were like graves, deep and dark. “Omar, have you been sleeping?”
Omar shook his head and took a sip of water. “I try but I keep having this nightmare.”
“What happens in the nightmare?”
He took a gulp of air. “I’m at the graveyard and Jack’s there. He’s throwing the football, but not to a person, to Mackie’s grave.” Omar put his hands to his face. “The ball keeps getting thrown back so I walk to the tombstone to see who’s there, throwing the ball, and it’s Mackie, dead in his coffin. But then his eyes open, except they’re all white—no pupils—and he grabs me. Then I’m in the coffin and Mackie turns into Jack.”
“Mackie turns into Jack?” Rosie repeated, confused.
Omar nodded his head. “Yeah, Jack and I are in the coffin and Mackie is standing above us. Only he’s not letting us out and we start sinking farther and farther into the ground . . .” A shudder rocked his body and the water sloshed in the glass.
“I’m going to walk you home now,” Rosie said after Omar’s breathing returned to a semi-normal rate. She took out a flashlight and locked her arm through his. Linked together, they slowly made their way through the misty evening to Omar’s house. The moonlight glowed blue-white on the lawn. “Omar, why were you out for a run if you’ve been home sick?”
“I was rested. I got some sleep. But this . . . anxiety. I needed to move.”
They walked up the steps. Inside Mrs. Arglos stood at the window, so Rosie left him at the door. “Get some sleep and try to relax,” she said.
As Rosie walked down Omar’s driveway a strange sound came from the trees behind Omar’s house. She turned onto the road and shined the flashlight on the still, dark trees. Something moved, big and dark. Someone was hiding in the woods, watching Omar’s house.
“Who’s there?” Rosie tried to sound more confident than she was.
The trees rustled. Someone was there, hiding just beyond the beam of the flashlight. “Cut it out! Jack, if that’s you, stop this. Omar’s been through enough.” Rosie’s voice shook.
The rustling stopped, but a breeze came out of the woods. As it passed by Rosie, a low hiss came from deep in the trees. It sounded like “Heeeelp hiiiim.”