Chapter Eight

As I dashed into class, Ian sat in his seat fidgeting as usual. Okay, no time like the present. I reached over and snatched a black hair out of the back of his head.

“Ow! What the hell, man?” He looked dumbfounded as we gained an audience of onlookers.

“Oh, suck it up. Just wanted to make sure you were awake.”

“Whatever! I am awake now.” He punched me in the shoulder. I winced, more than it merited, putting an end to our game of macho one-upmanship. Discreetly, I put the hair in an open lunch bag in my backpack, next to the three beer bottles rattling about. I had to be very careful for more than one reason, as beer bottles filled with questionable content would give Hastings cause to suspend me. Somehow I had to find the time and place today to finish the enchantments. Maybe I’d skip the boiler room lunch ritual and go out to my car and seal the deal.

Once the bell rang, I raced toward Olivia’s class and caught her as she left the room.

“Hey, O’,” I said. “Everything cool? Still avoiding Bellman?”

“Yeah, trying to. As much as it’s killing me.” She grinned. I knew asking Olivia to do something against her proud code of conduct was hard for her. But I loved her for trying.

“Wait!” I leaned toward her. “You have something in your hair.” I yanked at a hair and pulled it out. She let loose a surprised yelp.

“What? Did you get it?” She fluffed her hair to wipe away the imaginary debris. “Next time give a girl a little warning, would ya’?”

“Yeah, must’ve been make-up or something.” Okay, two down. I tucked the hair in another plastic baggy with her name on it. “Gotta go. Hey, maybe you should have lunch down in the ‘Dungeon of Dorks’ again.”

Olivia rolled her eyes and made a gagging sound. “Gross.”

Since I invited Olivia to lunch in the boiler room, I thought it best I not blow it off. I’d have to stealthily hit the bathroom to fulfill my protection spells. Quick, quiet, and careful, the only way to go. Melting the candle wax to seal the bottles could be problematic, though.

Josh shared my second hour class, algebra, and I snagged a runaway hair from the back of his turtleneck. Plenty to go around. I carefully placed the hair in the third baggie, mentally celebrating the conclusion of step number one in Operation Witchcraft.

Before lunch, I ran upstairs to the least-used smaller bathroom, nestled between the cooking and home economics classes. I thought it’d be an unlikely place for Bellman to conduct his business. As I approached the farthest stall next to the frosted window, I passed two students. I shut the stall, flipped the latch, and dropped my backpack onto the dirty floor. Carefully, I grabbed Olivia’s bottle and baggy. I pulled the hair out, twisted it into the bottle, and crammed it down with a pencil. I waited until I heard the other two students leave and pulled out a book of matches. My hand shook as I lit a match and held it to the candle, watching the wax drip ever so slowly onto the open bottle lip. I verified the cork was securely sealed and repeated the procedure with Josh’s bottle. I must’ve burnt through six matches for the two bottles. Fingers trembling, I grabbed Ian’s hair, when the bathroom door cracked open. Startled, I dropped the hair. I checked the floor around my feet, found nothing but dirt. Dammit. I’d have to get another hair from him at lunch.

Carefully wrapping up my tools and bottles, I flushed the toilet and scurried out of there, too scared to look at whoever had come in. I rushed down the stairs, ran down the hall, took a left past the gym, and bounded into the safety of the shop class and the boiler room below.

My friends were already there, Olivia in my usual chair. Her arms crossed angrily, she slouched with her feet slung out across the cement floor, while the boys laughed and carried on. Business as usual. Red enthralled his fans by bragging about his car.

“Hey, guys.” I sat on the floor behind Ian. “Sorry I’m late.”

“We were getting worried you ran into Bellman,” said Josh.

“No…ran into bad sushi or something.”

Olivia’s nose wrinkled as if she couldn’t believe the crap she had to endure. “Gross.”

I noticed she hadn’t touched her lunch. I couldn’t blame her. Red’s cavernous environment with his hanging pin-up collection didn’t exactly render it the most appealing place to eat.

I eyed Ian’s back, looking for a fallen hair. No such luck. Why, of all days, did Ian have to be well-groomed today? I spotted a lone spiky hair standing out and gave it a quick tug.

“Goddammit, Tex,” he yelled. “What is it with you and pulling hair today?” Angry, he whirled around, seconds away from snapping.

“Hey, he pulled the same crap deal on me earlier today,” said Olivia. “Tex, is there something you want to talk about?” Josh and Red just stared, baffled. “Have you been reading ‘Hair Fetish Monthly’ again?” Red snapped to attention, as if he’d discovered a new unheard of porn magazine.

Olivia’s joke worked to calm Ian down. “Sorry…” I said lamely, “I thought it was funny.”

“Whatever,” said Ian. He threw his hands up resignedly, signifying he didn’t accept my behavior, but would at least tolerate it.

Humiliated, I casually pocketed Ian’s hair and tried to change the subject. “Hey, so, whose house are we hanging at tonight? It’s Halloween, in case you geeks forgot.”

“Zombie-Fest!” Ian pumped a fist in the air. A living dead movie marathon had been born last year, our new tradition. Too old to trick-or-treat and not cool enough to be invited to Halloween parties, we had to make our own fun. Then again, we knew too well what kind of real-life ghouls frequent the popular parties.

“I’ll ask my parents,” said Josh. “Shouldn’t be a major issue since my brothers are at school, and we can hang out in their room.” This suited me just fine. I could stash the bottles on my friends there, maybe even putting Josh’s under his bed. Since it was supposed to be a cold night, I could hide the others in their coats.

“Cool,” I said. “Olivia? Ian? You guys need a ride?”

“Yeah, sure,” said Ian. Olivia enthusiastically nodded. Oddly enough, Olivia enjoyed the gore-fests more than the guys. She reveled in the bloodletting and found it endlessly amusing when one of us turned away in disgust.

“All right,” I said. “Let’s just get through the rest of this day. It’s Friday, and then we won’t have to worry about Bellman all weekend.” Although I’d probably have another encounter with him in gym. “Red, will you be around again at seventh hour? Just in case?”

“Sure. No problemo.” Red grinned, heavy on the charm, and stole a glance at Olivia, who wanted no part of this “boys club.”

“Cool. Okay, let’s meet at O’s locker after seventh hour. Um…cut me some slack if I smell a little ‘gymmy’ after gym, though.” Another nose wrinkle from Olivia. I could do no right by her today.

Once I found out what we were doing in gym, my heart pounded and rocketed up into my throat. Time, once again, for that most honored tradition of gym coach selective sadism, dodge ball. And this meant, we the underclassmen, would be put up as a sacrifice to the opposing team of upperclassmen, led by Bellman.

While the freshmen and sophomores counted off for attendance and showed proof of wearing jock-straps (by pulling the strap out with the thumb), I surveyed the upperclassmen at the opposite side of the gym. I didn’t see Bellman—and he’s hard to miss. Taller than most students, his ape-like form stood out like King Kong among a bunch of chimpanzees. At first, I felt relief, but then a crawling feeling of impending fear crept up on me. And I didn’t understand why. Then it hit me, like a pummeling dodge ball blow to the face. If Bellman didn’t attend gym, where was he? And since Jensen doubled as the upperclassmen gym teacher, he’d surely know if Bellman cut class. Bellman wouldn’t risk anything to miss football practice. Would he?

****

After I opted to use the early exit strategy for dodge ball, I contemplated sneaking into the locker room, but Sowers sat in a folding chair guarding the door. With a warning to make sure we showered, he dismissed us. I pushed ahead of the other students and threw on my clothes with record speed. I felt an urgent need to get to Olivia’s locker as quickly as possible.

As I rushed past the shop class garage, I contemplated gathering Red for a safety escort. But since nothing really’d happened yet, I didn’t want to waste up his goodwill for what may be nothing more than unreasonable paranoia.

My friends had gathered around Olivia’s locker, giddily planning the night’s events.

“Dude, you’re right,” said Ian. “You do smell.” The others laughed, but once they saw how panicked I looked, they stopped. “What’s wrong?”

“Have any of you seen Bellman today?” I asked, my voice a pitch higher than usual.

“Yeah, I saw him this morning,” said Olivia. “What’s going on?”

“Let’s get out of here.” My unwarranted dread rose like a tsunami.

We left by the front door. “Bellman wasn’t in gym class. And since he was here earlier, that scares me.” We walked along the sidewalk running parallel to the gym toward the parking lot.

“Well, he’s probably at football practice,” said Olivia. “I mean, he loves football more than anything, right? Except, of course, spreading terror and pain to puppy-dogs and kittens.” No one laughed.

Josh darted his head about nervously and popped his skateboard out of his backpack. Probably for a fast getaway, if needed.

Silence fell over us like a death shroud as we sped up, eyeing the Bucket far off in the distance. Since I’d been coming to school later, I had to park in the very last lot, which felt like miles away. Around us, students made their way toward their cars, full of Friday energy. We reached the first grassy island between the lots and continued our slight descent. The Bucket gleamed under the sun like a golden steed, waiting to whisk us away to safety.

We set foot on the second grass-covered island, flanked with large oak trees, all of us determined to reach our target as fast as possible. As we entered the last section, the parking lot had thinned out. Keys in hand, I pointed them toward the Bucket like a beacon.

A sudden squeal of tires shrieked. The revving of a motor blared out like a hideous mechanized dinosaur. A car sped toward us, the huge shiny grill smiling hungrily. I saw Bellman’s awful, green grimace behind the windshield, mimicking the grill.

“Look out!” Josh grabbed my arm and wrenched me toward the safety of the tree-surrounded island. I grasped Olivia’s hand, and the three of us tumbled upward next to a tree. Ian stood in the lot, frozen before the oncoming car. He raised a hand in useless defense, and the right side of Bellman’s car connected with a sickening, wet thud. Ian rolled off the backside of the car and fell to the pavement. Bellman’s car ripped through the parking lot, never slowing, and ratcheted out into the street.

I sat stunned beneath an oak tree’s shadow. Students screamed, cacophonous gibberish. Both of Olivia’s wide eyes were exposed, her hair swept back by our fall. Josh stood up, ambling unsteadily as if going to be sick. Ian sat in the parking lot, rocking back and forth, cradling something in his hand. I ran over to him. The skin from his pinky and next two fingers had been flayed off, hanging limply like a grotesque pink and red banana peel. The damaged flesh scooped up, he cradled it in his now-mangled appendage. Staring blankly at his hand, he appeared to be in a weird mixed state of calm and shock.

Josh buzzed over on his skateboard. He found an abandoned soft drink cup, poured out the remaining soda, and gave it to Ian. “There’s still some ice in there,” he blurted out. “Put your hand in it. Hurry.”

I gripped Ian around the chest and pulled him to his feet as carefully as I could. He stumbled around like a drunk, his legs unsteady. Students gathered in a circle around us, most of them trying to figure out what happened. I unlocked the back door of the Bucket and dragged Ian in. His blood drained onto the cup’s ice at an alarming rate. Olivia crawled in, wrapped her arms around Ian and held him tight.

I pushed Josh into the passenger side and hopped in after him. With shaking hands, I jabbed the key into the ignition and froze in a panic, trying to remember how to get to Clearwell County Hospital. The only other time I’d been there, I had been in a daze, and the Fates were playing a cruel repeat loop on me.

“Go!” yelled Olivia, snapping me out of my shock. I floored the pedal, hit the streets, and ran through every light, lucky not to have been t-boned.

“Ian, are you all right?” I heard Olivia asking, as if from a hundred miles away.

“Hell, no, I’m not all right,” said Ian, the calm tone of his voice belying the seriousness of his situation. “My fingers are in a drink cup.” Amazingly, he chuckled.

“That sonofabitch crazy-ass psycho,” Olivia shouted. “He tried to kill us!”

“Yeah, he did.” The most cool-headed of us now, Josh displayed a surprising knack for calm under pressure. “He’ll get his,” he added quietly.

While I certainly hoped Josh’s statement to be a self-fulfilling prophecy, I didn’t know what to make of his implied vow of retribution. Always the most innocent and kind amongst the four of us, I hated to see crazies like Bellman change Josh for the worst. I didn’t want his world corrupted, and it made me hate Bellman more than I thought possible.

“Let’s just get to the hospital,” said Josh. I turned and looked at him, noticing he had torn his turtleneck, and his arm bled. “Just drive…” he said, trailing off into an unsettling stillness.

****

Miraculously, we reached the hospital ticket-free and alive. I left Ian and the others in the car, burst through the emergency room doors, and shouted at the top of my lungs, “He’s hurt bad! You gotta come get him! His fingers are cut off!” Or something like that…I didn’t really remember, still in shock and running on freaked-out fumes.

They pulled Ian out of the car, lifted him onto a stretcher, and wheeled him through the doors as he still held his hand—and parts of it—in the soda cup. Helpless, I stared as if caught in a bad dream. They ushered us into a waiting area where we sat and tried to make sense of what had just happened.

“That son-of-a-bitch was going after me,” I said. “And he got Ian…who has never done anything to him.” Pissed off, my anger helped to cover up what I really felt. Guilt. If not for me, Ian wouldn’t be lying in there right now.

“Tex…” said Olivia, “you’ve never done anything to Bellman either. He’s just…crazy. You can’t blame yourself.” She leaned up against me and laid her head on my shoulder. “It’s not your fault.”

While I knew this to be true, I couldn’t be totally blasé about it. Or, I could blame the damned Fates, who just seem to have it in for me and my loved ones. I mean, what possible life lesson is there to take away from this? Life sucks, try to get through it, some don’t make it very long, look out for monsters, and then you die?

Josh paced the floor like a nervous, expectant father, when Ian’s parents arrived, pale and breathless. Mrs. Stapleton had been crying, her eyes red-rimmed and swollen.

“How is he? What do we know?” Mr. Stapleton’s jowls quivered slightly like those of a basset hound.

“He’s in surgery,” I said. “He’s been there for forty-five minutes. We really don’t know anything yet.” It had been Josh’s idea to call Ian’s parents. Those in charge at the hospital probably put a call in anyway, but Olivia and I couldn’t even think straight enough to realize it needed to be done.

“What happened, Tex?” asked Mrs. Stapleton, on the verge of tears again. I wanted to remain calm, to keep her likewise. Sometimes tears are as contagious as vomiting…once you see someone do it, the floodgates open.

“This crazy kid at school…” I halted, wondering what I should tell and what I shouldn’t. Bullshit. Bellman tried to kill us. No way would I hold back from ratting because of some misplaced code of school ethics. That bastard exhausted the statute of limitations long ago, and I should’ve gone forward after he tried to choke me half to death. Right now, a suspension seems minor while my friend remains in terrible condition.

“His name’s Bob Bellman,” I continued. “And he tried to run us down in the parking lot. He actually tried to kill us. He’s a…bully. And he’s crazy. Ian didn’t do anything to him, and this Bellman kid was after me. I’m sorry…Ian just was in the wrong place at the wrong time.” This sounded a lot worse—and cold—once I said it.

Mrs. Stapleton unleashed the tears again. And I joined her, needing that release after caging it for the last hour and a half. I hugged Mrs. Stapleton awkwardly, sloppily sobbing, and saying, “I’m sorry…I’m so sorry,” over and over again. I let go and sank back down beside Olivia, hiding my head in shame between my hands. I couldn’t tell if Mr. and Mrs. Stapleton blamed me or not, but it didn’t stop my guilt.

****

Thirty minutes later, a doctor came out, tugging at her mask. “Mr. and Mrs. Stapleton?” she called out. Sweating profusely, dark stains covered her blue scrubs. Mr. Stapleton bounced out of his seat, pulling his wife behind him. The doctor led them away into another room. Through the glass windows we watched, hoping to catch a sighting of good news.

“Too bad we can’t read lips,” said Josh.

“I hate waiting,” I said. It seemed like that’s all we’d been doing. “Waiting Room” should be changed to “Waiting Really Long Room.”

The doctor left the room after shaking hands with Mr. Stapleton. Ian’s dad hugged his wife, shook his head tiredly, and approached us.

“Well, Ian will be all right,” he said, staring down. “But they’re not sure about the extent of damage to his left hand. They sewed what skin they could salvage back on him as best they could, but there’ll be more skin grafts.” He looked me in the eye with sadness and relief. “They’re not sure if he’ll ever recover the full usage of his fingers…or the amount of muscle damage yet. Time will tell the full story. He’s also bruised badly and broke a couple of ribs, but that’s the least of our worries. He’s going to be in rehab for some time and looks like he’ll be missing quite a bit of school.” Well, there’s the silver lining, I thought.

His glassy-eyed gaze took us all in turn. “The doctor did say that whoever had the good sense to put his fingers on ice may have helped him out immensely.” We all looked at Josh. “So…thank you, son,” he said, offering his hand.

Josh stood up and accepted it uncertainly. He stammered a bit. So often overlooked, this little bit of human kindness and gratitude felt alien to him. “Well,” he said shyly, “I only did what I expect any of us would do.” Absolutely not true, as Olivia and I had been in such shock, we couldn’t even speak, let alone act. “I guess all those hours watching E.R. paid off.”

Mr. Stapleton drew him in and hugged him tightly. “Thanks again, Josh.”

“Can we see him?” I asked.

“No,” Mr. Stapleton replied sternly. “He’s going to be in recovery for a couple of hours, and then it’s family only.” Okay, I thought, he’s mad at me. He shut his eyes for a moment and sighed. “Try tomorrow…I’m sure he’ll want to see his friends.”

“Okay, thanks, Mr. Stapleton. And I’m sorry, for what it’s worth.”

He stared at me. “Fine, Tex…but I want all the details. I’m going to prosecute this kid.” I’d never seen Mr. Stapleton angry before. I wondered if Ian inherited his manic-depressive state from his father. His face burned bright red, his clenched teeth bared like a challenged dog. If I didn’t know him to be a civilized man, it wouldn’t surprise me if he went over to Bellman’s house with a shotgun. Scary-angry.

For once, I welcomed the sudden appearance of a teacher. “Tex,” Mr. Jensen said from across the waiting room. He waved and quickly propelled his huge mass toward us. “How is Ian doing?” Mr. Stapleton introduced himself to Mr. Jensen and filled him in on Ian’s questionable condition.

“I’m so sorry for this…” said Mr. Jensen. Slowly, he wagged his head back and forth. “I’ll make sure Bellman gets expelled. And this time, Hastings won’t be able to prevent it. There were too many witnesses, and Bellman’s gone too far.” I couldn’t believe Mr. Jensen jumped out on that limb—especially in front of Mr. Stapleton—and blatantly dissed Hastings.

“Expulsion’s too easy for this…this kid,” said Mr. Stapleton. “I want this guy to go to prison for what he did. And I’m going to see that he does.”

Mr. Jensen grimaced. “Mr. Stapleton, I don’t know how to tell you this. Bob Bellman is…in the eyes of the courts…still a kid. He’s seventeen years old. Chances are he’ll get off with a slap of the wrist and put on probation.” Mr. Jensen placed a large hand on Mr. Stapleton’s shoulder, half for comfort, I thought, and half for protection, in case things got out of hand.

Mr. Stapleton’s nostrils flared. “Well, Mr. Jensen, we’ll see…we’ll just see.” He stormed off, leaving behind a trail of curious observers behind him.

Mr. Jensen turned back to me. “They already pulled in Bellman, and he’s sitting in a jail cell now.”

“Where’d you hear that?” It sounded too good to be true.

“From the horse’s mouth. He actually had the balls to call me and wanted me to bail him out.” He smiled in a painful way and shook his head. “Can you believe that? I asked him what he did, and he told me they ‘accused’ him of running over ‘some kid.’ I told him I hoped they kept him in there and he should call his father.” Bellman didn’t care enough about what he did to even learn Ian’s name, apparently. “I’m sorry, Tex. The good news is that I’m not backing down on this one. Bellman will be out of your life soon enough.”

How I wish that were true.

****

“Oh, crap.” I spun on my heels and looked at the clock on the waiting room wall. Five fifteen. I completely forgot about picking Dad up. I ran outside, dug out my cell phone and called his work number.

“Dad?”

“Son, is everything okay?” The nerves in his voice came through loud and clear. Both of us had been programmed to hate getting phone calls from one another because it usually signified something bad. “You’re late…”

“Dad, Ian’s been in an accident. He’s going to be all right, but there’re some complications with his hand.” I told him the story.

“My God.” I could picture Dad, his eyes closed, concentrating, while thinking how he could “fix this.” “Do you want me to come to the hospital? I could get a ride.”

“No, Dad, it’s all right. Ian’s not allowed visitors tonight anyway, so we might be coming home soon. Is there any way you can get a ride home tonight, though? I don’t know how steady I feel to be doing a lot of driving.” I hoped his co-workers hadn’t already started piling out to begin their weekends.

“That shouldn’t be a problem. But be careful…as always.”

“As always,” I said. “Thanks, Dad.”

****

As my shock finally waned, my mental processing grew more clear-headed. I saw Olivia and Josh talking to Mr. Jensen and ran down to my car.

I buried Olivia and Josh’s protection spell bottles deep within their backpacks. As an afterthought, I grabbed Ian’s bottle—fat lot of good it did him—and tucked it into my jacket pocket.

I went back inside and asked if Ian was still in recovery.

“We just got word he’s being moved to room 411,” said Mr. Jensen. He noticed my look of uncertainty. “That’s a good thing, Tex…it means he’s on the road to recovery.”

“Okay,” I said. “Looks like there’s not much more for us to do here tonight, so why don’t I get you guys home?”

Both Olivia and Josh looked somewhat relieved to hear this and sprang to their feet. “So, I guess Bellman canceled Halloween this year,” said Olivia.

“Yeah, I guess we can add that to his list of crimes.” I figured none of us felt much like celebrating, and it almost felt like a betrayal to hold Zombie-Fest without Ian. “We’ll hold a ‘Post-Halloween Zombie-thon’ once Ian gets out.”

I drove Josh home first and then dropped off Olivia. For the most part, a quiet drive as we all tried to sort through and make sense of the terrible events of the afternoon. At seven o’clock, I turned around and headed back toward the hospital.

****

I saw a sign stating visiting hours ended at nine p.m. I walked past the night nurse, nodded at her as if I had every right to be there, and took the stairwell up to the fourth floor.

I opened the door to the hallway. Room 411 was situated at the far end. I wandered down the sterile hallway, gazing at the floor, adopting a concerned relative’s demeanor, when Ian’s door opened. Mrs. Stapleton came out, wiping tears from her face with a well-used tissue. Quickly, I ducked into the closest bathroom. Once again, I staked out the farthest stall and quietly perched on the toilet, latching the swinging door back into place. It seemed like I’d spent a lot of time performing covert operations in public toilets lately.

My legs wavered with weakness once nine p.m. finally arrived. I stood up, stretched, and waited another ten minutes. Peeking into the hallway, I saw the overhead lights snap off one by one like falling fluorescent dominoes. I crept out the door and walked past the nurse stand in the center of the wing. A young, pretty nurse narrowed her eyes at me curiously. I smiled weakly and said, “I left my phone in my brother’s room. I’ll just be a minute.” I didn’t pause for her rebuttal, self-consciously humming a nonsense tune to display my innocence.

Opening Ian’s door, I shuttled past someone sleeping, snoring loudly. Too loud to be my friend. In the bed closest to the window lay Ian, a broken toy soldier, his arm in a cast and attached to a series of wires and props. An I.V. hooked up to his good arm.

I took out the bottle and placed it stealthily underneath his pillow. He stirred, moaned. His eyes opened slightly.

“Tex?” he whispered, so far removed from the Ian I knew, all his fight and fury gone. Memories rushed back of Mom at her weakest in the hospital. How I hated this place.

“What’s up, Ian? Just doin’ a quick drive-by…see how you’re doing. That one nurse is hot, you lucky bastard.”

He laughed once and then coughed. “Not so lucky…I’m going to have an ass-hand…”

“You’re not going to have an ass-hand.” I had to laugh. “They’re not going to take skin from your ass…at least, I don’t think so. Just make sure you keep it clean.”

He laughed again and then winced in pain. “How is everybody?

Anybody else hurt?” Undoubtedly on some sort of strong pain reliever, he didn’t have good recall at the moment.

“Josh cut his arm, but we’re okay.” Ian’s roommate’s horrible snoring stopped and turned into a droning wheeze, very similar to what I thought of as a death rattle.

“Hey, I’ve put something under your pillow, and it’s very important you keep it with you at all times. Don’t ask questions, just do it, okay? I know you’ll probably not remember everything I’m telling you, but you’ve got to try. Ian? Do you understand?”

“Keep under pillow…” he sighed, sleepiness overtaking him. “Goddamn tooth fairy, Tex…” With that, he conked out. I brushed the hair lightly off his forehead.

“Sorry, Ian,” I whispered.

I sped past the night nurse, patted the phone in my pocket, hollered, “Got it, thank you, good night,” and ran the hell out of there and into the night.