EIGHT
I THREW ON A SHIRT and jeans and my American Eagle baseball cap and grabbed my mom’s spray bottle of Mace from her nightstand, just in case.
Time to hop on my bike and drive to the woods behind Masonville High —easier said than done. My new agoraphobia threw a major kink in my plan.
I stood at the front door squeezing my keys, waiting for the fear to subside. It didn’t. I leaned and stretched from side to side and rolled my neck in circles, trying to loosen up and get a grip. Then my cell phone rang, and I jumped, hurling my keys in the air.
Calm down!
I looked at my phone. Jess. I couldn’t ignore her forever.
“Hello?” I already wondered if answering was a mistake.
“Wanna tell me what’s going on?” That’s the clean version.
“I, uh, don’t feel good.”
“Well, I’d like to be there for you, Owen, but you won’t let me. Why did you run away from me yesterday? And why aren’t you returning my texts?”
“I’m dealing with something. I drank some water in the woods, and everything’s been messed up since.”
“What?” She sounded even more annoyed now.
I took a deep breath. Here goes nothing. “Jess, I’ve been seeing things. I thought it was all in my head, but then something happened this morning, with my mom, and now I’m not sure. Does that make sense?”
“Um . . . no. Have you gone to the doctor?”
“Yeah.” So I lied. Like I was going to admit I’d done nothing but hide under my covers.
“You sure this isn’t about prom?”
“What?”
“I’ve heard from, like, all these people that you’d rather go with Cindy Rosenberg. Is that it? You’re ignoring me ’cause you’re too scared to tell me?”
Seriously? Jess was still in high school world. I wanted to tell her how ridiculous she was being, but all I could come up with was, “I barely know Cindy.”
“Well, Stella said she heard you say you’d much rather go with her. Prom is in a month, Owen. I can’t believe you’d pull this.”
Nothing about the prom scene was even remotely appealing at this point, but I promised over and over that I wanted to go with her, not Cindy. It didn’t matter, though.
Finally I got tired of it. “You know what, Jess, you’re right. This is all a big scheme to dump you.”
“It is?”
“No!” I pounded my fist against the door. Daisy tucked tail and ran. “I’m not doing well, Jess. Can you please try to understand?”
“Oh, I understand fine.” She hung up on me.
Wonderful. Was I wrong to expect a little compassion? Maybe the cords in her head were preventing her.
I slid my phone into my pocket and refocused on finding the nerve to leave my house. I counted to three, then forced myself to walk —more like sprint —to my motorcycle.
I actually liked that it was drizzling. Surely that would discourage metal-bound joggers from taking to the streets.
I drove fast, refusing to look at drivers, but I couldn’t shut out everything. My icy gut churned when I saw spiteful, black-letter graffiti stains on several houses and on the side of a fast-food building.
I passed Jess’s neighborhood, which sank me further into loneliness. I missed her —the old her, with her pretty, unshackled neck and nothing but soft hair hanging from her head.
I made it down the dirt path and parked in the same wooded spot as before, then checked an incoming text. Jess again.
I thought you cared. Have you lost your mind?
There was no right way to answer that.
I charged through the woods, feeling creeped out, but I made it to the clearing unharmed. The sound of the rampaging waters was just as noticeable as two days ago, only now it caused the hairs on the back of my neck to stiffen.
I peered into the well. It was totally dry, the bucket sideways in the dirt.
I wondered what would happen when I drew the bucket up —if it would inexplicably hold water like it had for the old man.
Where was he? I looked around, nervous he’d sneak up behind me again. But I’d welcome the chance to ask him some questions. I had a long list of them.
As I turned the handle, I battled the feeling that I was being watched —spied on by something predatory lurking in the woods. Maybe this was the strange sense Jess had been talking about. Or maybe my schizoid paranoia was flaring up.
It wasn’t easy to shine my cell light into the well and turn the handle at the same time, but I managed it. And there, before my disbelieving eyes, the bucket steadily filled with water. Out of nowhere. Water level rising with every turn of the crank.
I didn’t stand around and marvel. I just scooped water into the plastic bottle I’d brought. I let go of the crank, and by the time the bucket hit the dry well bottom, I was already hurrying across the clearing.
The walk back to my bike was uneventful, apart from the unsettling compulsion to look over my shoulder every two seconds.
I was nearing my neighborhood when I noticed two small boys running up a driveway, having a blast in their swim trunks in the afternoon drizzle. I stared at their bare backs. There was nothing —no chains, no cords. I slammed the brake. Had the poison finally passed through my system?
A lady —I assume their mother —stepped onto the front porch, holding beach towels.
“Ugh!” I rammed a fist into my open palm. She was shackled.
Confusion squeezed my brain like a tight-fitting helmet. The kids had no metal. Why? And how come that lady had two chains while my mother had more than a dozen? And what was up with those big cuffs at the ends?
My aggravation level was near boiling. When I pulled up to a stop sign that had die painted on it, my frustration spiked. I drove way too fast the rest of the way home.
Having a dad would have come in handy my whole life, but never as much as now. I wished I had a father to run to. Not a coach. Not a friend’s dad. My own dad. But he’d walked away when he found out my mom was pregnant. Slammed the door and never looked back.
My mom felt the need to throw that in my face whenever I’d ask about him. It would shut me up. Like she wanted.
What kind of man marries a woman but makes her swear not to get pregnant?
I flung myself on the sofa in front of the TV. Daisy flopped down at my feet. Everything in TV land looked fine.
Whatever.
I was determined to get that water sample to Ms. Barnett, my advisory teacher who taught chemistry. If I came up with a good enough excuse, I was sure she’d help me. The thought of going to school gave me chest pains and shortness of breath, but I wasn’t going to let that stop me.
Only sissy boys get scared. One of my mom’s ex-boyfriends had taught me that. Come to think of it, I’m almost positive it was Charlie Mabry.
There was a knock at the door. No need to ask who was there. No matter who it was, I didn’t know them anymore.
Lance.
It felt good to hear my friend’s voice. I turned the lock and begged the universe to let me see him without anything around his neck.
No such luck. He and his girlfriend, Meagan, stood on my porch, both shackled and chained.
“Hey, dude, we’ve been worried about you. Are you all right?”
I gave him a blank stare. He returned the favor. Meagan squeezed Lance’s hand, looking like she’d rather be . . . well, anyplace else.
“You gonna let us in?”
I was afraid he’d ask me that.
I opened the door and stepped away. Then came the stomach-churning sound of chains scraping the floor.
Lance didn’t hesitate to take charge. “Meagan, why don’t you hang out here while we go upstairs and talk a minute?”
I didn’t allow shackled people in my room, but okay.
Meagan gave him a sweet smile, then took a seat on the sofa. She really was cute, apart from her metal trappings, of course.
Lance followed me up the stairs. It was all I could do not to cover my ears. I sifted through the events of the last two days at hyperspeed, trying to settle on how I’d break the news. I sat stiffly on the corner of my bed. Lance relaxed on the floor.
“You skipped practice to come see me?” I said.
“Coach said it was fine.” Lance reached up and grabbed a sports magazine off my desk and thumbed through it. “I mean, he wasn’t happy yesterday when you missed practice, but when you were absent again today and no one had heard from you, I think he was more worried than mad. Are you gonna be okay for the meet tomorrow?”
About that. How do you run a race while dodging chains and swatting people’s cords out of your face? “I don’t know. I’m really . . .”
He closed the magazine. “Are you down or something?” He was probably worried I’d be number thirteen. His instincts weren’t far off.
“Yeah, I’m down, but it’s not what you think. It’s worse.”
“What do you mean?” He scooted closer. “Did your mom do something?” Since moving to Texas, I’d only told Jess about my mom’s drinking. But Lance had sort of picked up on it after being at my house a few times.
“No. I did something. Something really stupid.”
“Okay . . .”
I rubbed up and down on my face a second, then started spilling my guts. I told him every deranged detail, starting with how I’d drunk water from a well that had made me so sick I’d thought I might die. He asked me if I was feeling better now, so that’s when —after I warned him not to freak out —I told him about the chains and the cords and the graffiti everywhere.
Confessing made me feel lighter, like I was pulling myself out of quicksand. What a relief to have a friend like Lance.
Too bad things tanked from there.
Lance searched my face, a half smile on his. “Chains. Right.”
His disbelief hit me like a cannonball in the chest. “I know it’s ridiculous, Lance, but please try to understand.”
He stood and crossed his arms while I fidgeted with my sheets.
“You’re not making any sense, Owen.”
“I know, but I need you to believe me anyway.”
“Help me get this. Who do you see wearing these chains and stuff?”
“Everyone.” I left off the part about not seeing it on the little kids. That was too much to explain right now.
“So, what about me?” He licked his lips and grinned. “You see something?”
The longer I said nothing, the less he grinned.
“Do you?”
I sensed this would be a defining moment.
“Yes. On you. Meagan. Jess. My mom. People I don’t know, too.”
He sighed and rubbed his forehead, hard. “Owen, you need to go to the hospital. You got ahold of some bad crap, and it’s seriously twisting your mind.”
“I know —I thought that too. But then something happened this morning, with my mom.” I knew my story was growing even less believable, but I had to keep trying.
He shifted his weight and sighed. “And?”
I explained about seeing the chain cuff with the guy’s name on it and my mom’s reaction when I asked her about him. I hoped Lance was about to help me put together some clues, throw out some possible explanations. Instead, he threw his hands up. “So you see chains on me? Right now?”
I wanted to knock the smirk off his face, but at the same time, I understood it. He was barely wading in the madness I’d been drowning in for two days.
“Yes. You have a shackle around your neck and three chains attached in the back.”
“And I’ve got spooky tentacles coming out of my head?”
“More like cords. But I can’t see how many. You’d have to turn around.”
That did it. He gripped my shoulders. “Owen, this is insane!” I don’t think he meant to squeeze me that hard.
“Did you hear what I said?” I stood and pleaded my case. “I see it! Clear as day! And I hear it too. And the name on my mom’s chain cuff —”
“There’s nothing there! Nothing’s hanging from my neck or poking out of anyone’s head.” He pointed to his reflection in the closet door mirror. “See?”
“I understand that you can’t —”
He called me a name I don’t feel like repeating. I sat back on my bed and slouched over. Buried my face in my hands.
Lance moved to the doorway and stared back at me. “Look, man, I’m sorry, okay? Just . . . get some help. I’ll tell Coach you have a migraine or something. Let someone figure out what’s wrong with you, all right?”
I couldn’t hear his footsteps going down the stairs, just the grating racket of his chains. I watched out my window as he and Meagan got in his Jeep and left.
I leaned against the wall and slid to the floor, my fists balled so hard my nails left marks in my skin.
The closest guy friend I had in this worthless town didn’t believe me.
It was depressing, but it only hardened my resolve. I had to get to school in the morning and have that water tested. But how would I survive a crowd?
What else would I see?