THIRTY-SIX
I BOUGHT RAY ANNE a cup of Starbucks and brought it to her house for our “mass attack” brainstorming session. We weren’t positive we were right about our theory, but it was the best intel we had. She had note cards, highlighters, two spiral notebooks, a white board, and dry erase markers set out on the kitchen table next to a schematic of the school that she’d found online and printed.
“Really?”
“One more thing.” She set a leather journal on top of the office supply explosion.
“What’s that?”
It took her a moment to answer. “I wrote things in here for my brother, then gave it to him as a gift. I’d like to read some of it to you now.”
I didn’t know what she’d put in the journal, but I figured it had to be important.
She motioned for me to sit down. “All I ask is that for the next few minutes, you listen.”
I agreed and lowered into the chair beside her. She proceeded to explain what she called the plan of salvation, flipping through the journal and reading Bible passages she’d copied by hand. It was like she was the teacher and I was a kindergartner on a story-time rug. Not that what she said was childish —just the way she pointed to the text and moved her finger under each word.
In short, she said I needed a Savior, and if I prayed to receive Christ into my heart, God would forgive everything I’d ever done wrong, and I would glow, like her family.
“It can’t be that simple. Everyone would glow.”
“You would think,” she said, “but not everyone is willing to accept God’s invitation.”
I wasn’t suddenly blown over with faith, and it didn’t add up to me that one prayer could erase every wrong I’d ever done. But out of the two of us, she glowed, not me. So maybe there was something to this. And I was willing to try anything at this point if there was a chance it could save me from afterlife torture.
Problem was, the last time I’d talked to God, I’d shouted that I hated him. If there was a Creator who bothered listening to people’s prayers, I doubted he’d be willing to hear mine. But like I said, I’d try anything.
“Do I need to take my hat off?”
Ray Anne reached for my hands. “You can, but I don’t think a Browning ball cap is going to mess up your prayer.” She was so giddy I thought she might break out into one of her drill-team dances.
“Do you get some sort of award at your church for making a convert?”
“Of course not.” She bowed her head, then looked up again. “Well, I technically get my name in a drawing for a Subway gift card for sharing the plan of salvation, but that’s not why I’m doing this.”
“I know. I’m just giving you a hard time.”
We faced one another, and I clutched her fingers in mine, our knees and bowed heads nearly touching. She led me in a prayer that I repeated after her, admitting I had sinned and committing to give up my old self-centered life for a new one where God would save me and lead me and help me discover his plans for me. It was nice enough, as far as prayers go.
We said amen, then I sat there, staring at my feet, waiting for a burst of light —at the very least, an energizing feeling —to wash over me.
“Well, you’re my witness. I tried.”
For me, the issue was settled once and for all. Religion was not the answer.
Our brainstorming session turned out to be about as productive as that prayer.
The following week, I went to the meeting my mom had arranged with the defense lawyer —“scumbags,” I’d always called them, but not anymore. I told the same story I’d already told the police but added that Walt and Marshall must have ingested something they regretted, then blamed me as their scapegoat. There was the essence of truth in it.
The lawyer agreed to represent me. He said he thought investigators would probably leave me alone for the next month until after I graduated, to avoid a surge in negative publicity. “Your senior class has been through enough, but after graduation, I imagine they’ll come after you. But don’t worry, we’ll be ready.”
I made a fat payment and left.
Over the next few weeks, I spent every second with Ray Anne that she’d let me, and we kept racking our brains about May 23. Her plan for stopping Molek and the Creepers between now and then was to pray every day. Not the most reliable action plan. Not that mine was any better.
I tried convincing people to skip school that day. They just looked at me like I was weird. As usual.
In the middle of May, Ray Anne’s parents went out of town, and I fantasized about her inviting me over and us taking advantage of the privacy. But I knew better. Ray Anne would kick me out of her life before she’d go back on her convictions —something I admired about her but had a hard time liking on occasion. I tried to behave —didn’t want to draw any Lust monsters.
That Saturday, my mom handed me the keys to her SUV and a long list of errands to run. While driving, I got to thinking about how no one would be there to see me at my high school graduation except her. Why should I go? I had new priorities in life now, and long school assemblies weren’t one of them, even if it was the last one.
Along the way, I found a ceramic crucifix in the parking lot of our dry cleaner’s and held it up to a Creeper attached to the guy behind the counter as he handed me my mom’s clothes. The guy stared me down like I was a weirdo, but other than that, nothing happened. Shocker.
On my way home, I turned onto the street with the railroad bridge —the place where Jess had brought me, then taken off with Dan. After I begged her to stay away from him.
Sure enough, I spotted her Mustang parked beside the bridge now, but it was the way she was parked that bugged me. Her car was angled toward the curb like she’d flung it there blindfolded. I had no desire to get in some long conversation with her, but I found myself parking.
At first I didn’t see her, but I took a few more steps along the bridge, and my heart skipped a beat. She’d climbed over the railing and was facing the rushing water some fifty feet below, holding on but leaning over like she might let go at any second.
“Jess!” I hurried to her. “What you are doing?”
Even before I made it to her I could see how hard she was crying, her chest expanding and collapsing with every gasp. Her asthma working against her.
I reached out to her. “Take my hand!” We both knew she couldn’t swim.
Her cheeks were flushed, and she gazed out at the turbulent water like it was her best friend now. “Leave me alone.”
“What happened?” I started to climb over the railing, but she raged at me.
“Don’t! I’ll jump!”
I’d never seen her like this. So volatile. So shattered.
I stopped climbing but pleaded with her to tell me what was wrong.
“You were right, Owen. I’m pregnant.”
“Jess . . .” I slid my hand down the rail toward hers, but she loosened her trembling grip. “Please!” I yelled. “Don’t do this. We’ll figure things out.”
She shook her head, still fixated on the river. I noticed her clothing was torn, her skirt ripped up her thigh. I got a sick feeling.
She winced, and another downpour of tears fell from her chin into the current. “I told him no this time, but . . .”
I’d felt anger countless times before. Fury, even. But this was something else entirely. Like hatred and vengeance igniting in a blazing furnace lodged inside my rib cage. I’d been willing to kill in self-defense, in order to save a life. But I’d never wanted someone dead.
Until now.
“I want out.” Jess closed her eyes. “Life’s too hard.”
She had no way of knowing what her words had just done, who she’d instantly summoned across paranormal airwaves.
Suicide came crawling out from the nearby trees, but before it could pounce on Jess, the Lord of the Dead arrived, stopping Suicide in its tracks. Molek rose up out of the water without a drop on him and hovered midair, his spiteful face looming in hers. His lips formed a gruesome, reeking smile.
I knew what was coming —I’d been through this with Meagan and lost to a less powerful Creeper than this one. But I wasn’t going to abandon Jess to him.
He tilted his head and pressed his decaying lips to her ear.
I made an effort to drown out his voice with my own. “Whatever thought goes through your head, Jess, don’t listen!”
“You’re so stupid,” he said to her.
“You tried to warn me about Dan,” she said. “I’m so stupid.”
“No.” I reached out again. “Give me your hand.”
Molek injected more poison into her mind. “You’re a used-up piece of —”
Before he could even finish, she bought into it. “I’m a used-up piece of trash.”
“It’s all lies, Jess. From someone who despises you.” Molek bolted toward me at warp speed and growled in my face; surely there’s no worse stink on earth than what came out of his festering mouth. No eyes more petrifying than his. But I stood my ground. “I’m here, Jess. Take my hand.”
Molek flew back to Jess. “You can’t,” he hissed into her ear.
“Yes, you can.” I swung with the only weapon I had —my words. “The truth is, you can.”
“You’re better off dead.” He lowered his gaze to her abdomen, then dragged his hand over it, smearing that familiar grungy dust over the tiny light. “So is that.”
I spoke before she could quote him. “You’re meant to live, Jess.” I swallowed hard. “You both are.”
Molek placed his contaminated hands on her shoulders.
“Jess!” I cried out.
Too late. She let go. The same instant, he pulled her from the rail and plunged her down into the water.
Without hesitation, I was over the rail and in the river. But where was she?
I called Jess’s name again and again while being carried downstream by the unyielding current, rocks slamming and puncturing my legs through my jeans. I searched underwater, but there was no sign of her.
I came up for air, and water clobbered me in the face, making me choke. It had to have been over a minute now since Jess had jumped. How long could she hold her breath? Would she even bother?
I managed to keep my chin above the tide even though my feet barely touched the bottom, and I called out to her as loud as I could.
A growing sense of defeat was exhausting my hope at the same time that my arms and legs started burning from exertion. I used what strength I had to turn myself against the tide and look back toward the bridge.
There she was, flailing on top of the water —floating, but it wasn’t the water holding her up.
An armored Watchman cradled her, so tall the river only came to his waist. So bright he rivaled the sun.
He waded through the river toward me. Jess thrashed her arms and legs, whimpering and fighting to stay afloat. She didn’t know it was impossible for her to sink.
Within seconds, he brought her to me. It was the first time a Watchman had looked me in the face —the first time I’d gotten an up-close glimpse at the gleam in a Watchman’s eyes.
He extended his arms, and when Jess saw me, she cried out and latched on to me so tight, I knew she no longer wanted to die.
“It’s okay, Jess. I’ve got you.”
That fast, and he was gone. Vanished like a rainbow behind the clouds.
It was hard to get us both onto the riverbank, but I did it. Once on the grass, she clung to me and sobbed. “As soon as I let go, I knew it was a mistake.”
She hugged me even tighter, both of us waterlogged and shaking. “Thank you, Owen.” She kept saying it as if I’d saved her life. But I knew the truth.
This time, I didn’t wonder why the Watchmen don’t intervene more. I wondered how many times they do, and it goes completely unnoticed.