October 8-9, 2010
The lunch bell sounds just after third period. The desolate halls quickly fill up with moving bodies of hungry teenagers—all of them shuffling toward two large doors that lead to the school’s cafeteria. In the past months, Abigail had spent most of her thirty-minute lunch break in the library reading the Derrylin Post, hoping for good news. Over the last week, she spent that time on the football field bleachers, alone and deep in thought as she nibbled on a Granny Smith she swiped from the school cafeteria’s ala carte line. Today, however, for the first time in weeks, Abigail was hungry and followed the drone-like crowd as they filtered into the lunchroom.
Nothing in the hot food line looks particularly palatable. Eventually, she settles for a serving of mashed potatoes and brown gravy with a modest side salad. The lunchroom seemed to have quickly filled up as she turns from the salad bar to survey her options. Abigail sighs in relief after spotting Shelly, sitting at one of the many round tables and at the center of attention among a pack of boys from the football team. As Abigail glances around the room, not absorbing any of the strange faces who are moving forward with their lives, unlike herself, she catches peripheral glimpses of prying eyes and takes a deep breath.
The students Abigail always thought were her friends are now keeping their distance. However, she knows she is responsible for putting most of that distance in place. Everyone just seems to be moving in slow motion these days. After Bill died, her life stopped, and Abigail never really expected to pick it back up again. Fearless bravado had given Shelly the strength to hang around as long as she has, or possibly, after nine years of friendship, it is simply that Shelly genuinely cares for Abigail. After glancing around the lunchroom a second time, Abigail realizes that Shelly is now her only real friend, whatever her reasons are for putting up with Abigail for as long as she has.
The crowded tables are preoccupied with the social banter of gossiping teenagers. Abigail refuses to become the topic of that gossip and makes a beeline to where Shelly sits. Occasionally, she would get a sympathetic frown or an upturned nose, but for the most part, it is smooth sailing. As she approaches Shelly, the crowd of boys breaks off almost immediately. One of them, Scotty Bowers, the football team’s quarterback, whispers something in Shelly’s ear that makes her giggle. She then slaps his arm with an embarrassing giddy laugh and Scotty quickly rushes off to catch up to his teammates.
“Hey, B,” Shelly says as Abigail slides in across from her. Shelly wears her emerald and gold-patterned cheerleader outfit with the school mascot, the growling head of a wild cat, centered on the sleeveless top.
“Hey, Shells,” Abigail replies evenly, coming across as emotionally detached as a teenager with a bad case of mono.
“You’re eating today. What gives?” Shelly glances over the contents of her tray. “This is new. Are you feeling okay?”
“Just really hungry… that’s all,” she replies, picking up her fork, and begins raking through the gravy and the mashed potatoes while deciding that being hungry is not the entire story of why she decided to grace the cafeteria with her presence. “Mom is picking me up after school. Apparently, I am seeing a shrink now. So I guess there’s that.”
“A shrink? WTF, bitch.” Shelly looks genuinely disgusted at the thought. “You don’t need a shrink. What you need is for everyone to leave you the f-u-c-k alone.”
“Try telling Mom that.” Abigail repeatedly rakes her fork through the potatoes but never takes a bite.
“Right… Your mom’s never been the understanding type, has she?”
Abigail, absolutely, positively, shakes her head—NOPE!
“Shelly, there’s something I should tell you.” She continues plowing through the mashed potatoes, distracted by thought. “I’ve actually been meaning to tell you about it for some time.” Abigail eases up on the well-raked mashed potatoes and looks Shelly squarely in the eyes. “You have to promise you will at least try to believe me because I don’t really believe it myself.”
“You can tell me anything. You’re my sis.”
“You have to promise.”
“I promise.” Shelly cheekily smiles as if Abigail intended to tell her that she had just unlocked one of the mysteries of the universe.
“No, Shelly, really—you have to promise.”
“All right already, I promise. Spill it, B.”
“Well… last month, I was up in the attic looking through some boxes, trying to find that old football jersey of Bill’s. The one he wore during the district championship.”
Shelly quickly recalls the summer they had spent together before Bill shipped off to boot camp. “Yeah… That smelly old thing you wore all summer at Bill’s aunt’s beach house at Lake Eufaula. That was a great summer.” Shelly immediately stops and bites down on her bottom lip. “But… you didn’t need to be reminded of that. Oh god, Abby, I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. I know what you meant.”
“You’re not planning to put that thing on again, are you?”
Abigail disregards Shelly’s impertinence all together and continues, “Anyway, it was really strange. I’m not even sure if what happened actually happened or I was just subjecting myself to some weird psychosis, but Bill… um… well, he spoke to me in my thoughts.”
Abigail tries to appear somewhat sane and looks up from her tray to watch Shelly’s immediate reaction. On the surface, Shelly appears as if she had completely disregarded any alarms about what Abigail divulged to her. Under the skin though, probably wrenching and twisting. Abigail imagines that Shelly wants to scream out, “Are you serious you crazy pathetic bitch? Is this how it ends Abigail Josephine Lux? You losing your f-u-c-k, fucking marbles!”
“Abigail, you do realize how crazy you’re sounding, right?” Shelly says.
“I know. I know. It sounds ridiculous. Believe me, you don’t need to tell me, although it seemed so real. It was like his thoughts just literally burst into my head in a loud echo.” Desperately enticed by her own story, she further reveals all of the nail-biting facts. “In an instant, I could see him on a beach or what I thought looked like a beach. I could smell salt water. I could even taste it in my mouth.” Abigail grows frantic. “I swear, I heard seagulls! I don’t know, but I think I remember feeling that Bill was in a lot of pain. Shelly! What if he’s alone and hurt?”
“So is this the reason for all the newspapers and Internet sessions? You truly believe Bill is still alive?” Shelly pauses to digest everything and looks around the cafeteria for prying eyes. “Hmm… Abby, I’m the last person you want to hear this from, but maybe you’re putting too much stress on yourself?”
Abigail drops her fork in her tray, making enough noise to turn a few nosy heads. “No. I’m telling you it happened. No matter what you think, it was not some self-perceived delusion or… or fantasy. I know what I saw and I know what I heard. I wasn’t even thinking of Bill.” She says and pauses, knowing she should clarify that statement. “Well, I’m always thinking of him, just not particularly focused on him. You know what I mean—just thinking. I’m telling you, it went off—suddenly! Like a gunshot. It nearly knocked me over.”
“Okay—” Shelly frowns at Abigail’s obvious meltdown. “What did he say?”
“What?” Abigail looks confused.
“You said Bill spoke to you. So what did he say?”
“It wasn’t like he spoke to me directly. It was more like an impression. He was sad—he thought about how he missed home, his mom and dad, and me. Shelly, I could feel his pain. He was really hurt.”
“And I take it you’ve told your parents about the attic and Bill?”
“Well, no, not exactly, but I guess so. At least, the understanding that maybe I think he’s still alive.”
“Bitch, no wonder why you’re going to a shrink,” Shelly says flatly, and while appearing every bit pretentious, she reaches into her lunch tray and plucks a green grape off its vine, popping it into her mouth. “Honey, you’re going to have to keep thoughts like that to yourself.”
Behind Shelly and two tables over, a few boys from the football team boast arrogantly about the upcoming Friday night game, making it hard for Shelly to formulate exactly what she intended to say next. She plucks another grape and turns to the boys. Taking careful aim, Shelly then tosses it over the table next to her beaming Scotty Bowers, directly in the forehead. She smiles devilishly, somewhat astonished, then looks down meekly and giggles. She takes a second look at her handiwork without directly looking at Scotty, who sits gawking at the back of her head. She then engages Scotty with wide eyes and an expanding smile. “Take a good look at that throw, Scotty Bowers, because you’re not going to see another one fly that straight on Friday night.”
The boy shrugs, embarrassed, as his teammates break out into laughter at his expense. Shelly never looks back at the boy, keeping her satisfied grin and crinkled nose focused on Abigail, who also shares in her witty smile.
“Hey. There’s that smile I love and miss so much.” Shelly winks while plucking another grape and popping it into her mouth. “So are we set for Maggie’s house this weekend? If so, I’m bringing my bathing suit. You should too. It would do you some good to get some sun on those bones. Who knows? Maybe all three of us could lay out or go for a dip in the pool.”
“I don’t know,” Abigail says and seems reluctant to the idea.
“Seriously, girl, you could use a bit of sun.” Shelly frowns at Abigail’s naturally pale complexion.
“Shelly, I don’t think Maggie is up for swimming right now.”
“Nonsense… I think it could be therapeutic for all of us. Bright and warm and at the same time, cool and refreshing—exactly what we need to put things in perspective. Trust me, Abs, you may not realize it now, but it will make you feel a little better and it will make me feel a whole lot better.”
“Yeah, okay, if you think so. I can call Maggie and ask. It does sound nice.”
“So what time is your appointment with the shrink?”
“Mom is picking me up after school, so I guess directly after.”
“Well, you make sure to call me tonight and fill me in on deets. I worry about you, Abs.”
“I will, and I know.”
After the lunch bell sounded, Abigail heads to her locker. The last three hours of school seems to crawl, torturing her as they had every day for the last three months. During Western Civilization, the last period of the day, she nods off while Mr. Hammond lectures his class on the origin of Western culture. Abigail fades off…
* * *
The cave is cold and dank with a constant echo of dripping water. Abigail can smell the stench of salt and seaweed hanging in the damp air. At one point, she realizes she has fallen asleep in Western Civ, so it must be a dream. Behind her, at the mouth of the cave, she can still hear Mr. Hammond lecturing the class. All of her aspirations involve seeing Bill, so Abigail quickly leaves thoughts of school locked down in another part of her mind and focuses on what the cave might reveal.
It is dimly lit either by the fading lights of the classroom or the actual daylight from outside the cave. Neither is important now as she moves forward, careful in her footing. In every direction, all Abigail can see are military crates, patches of thickly overgrown moss, and small depressions filled with clear water that trickle down from lichen-infested walls. She is not entirely sure where to go, but a faint and indecipherable voice off in the distance piques her curiosity.
As Abigail continues to move forward toward the voice, the cave becomes increasingly darker and darker. The passage narrows, and she can barely squeeze through or see her own hand out in front of her face. Jagged porous rock, uneven and protrusive, scuffs the smooth skin of Abigail’s slender arms, but she pushes through the narrow passage and into the opening of a large cavern filled with stalactites and stalagmites.
At its center is a shallow pool of clear water, and it is there that Abigail can see a dark shadow of a thing hunched over, peering into the water; its own reflection rippling through the surface. The creature mutters continuously to itself. Whatever the frail figure of a man is saying, Abigail cannot discern. However, from the tone of its constant animal-like baaing and mumbling, she gets the distinct impression that something troubles it.
“Hello? Are you okay?”
What? she immediately thinks to herself. What the hell. You just can’t go around talking to strange creatures living in dark caves.
Yet she speaks to it again, and this time, Abigail moves even closer to it, although still quite a distance away. “Are you hurt? Do you need help… Bill?”
The figure refuses to acknowledge her presence, seemingly preoccupied with its reflection in the water.
“I can see you there… by the water. Are you okay?”
Okay, Abs, if it kills you and eats your brains, it’s your own dumbass fault, she reminds herself. Just stop it. You are creeping yourself out!
Still, the creature pays no attention to her. She halts within ten feet of the thing as a sudden chill sweeps over her body. Now might be a great idea to start running in the other direction, through the narrow passage, out the mouth of the cave and back to her Western Civ class.
The thing looks subhuman, of skin and bones, with a sparse crop of wiry white hair atop its large bald head that runs down its knotted back. It is too thin and its bones protrude from under stretched leathery skin—especially around the shoulders, hips, ribs, and spine. The thing, which is nude and resembles a twisted nightmarish hobgoblin of sorts, hunches over nude and constantly uses its curved bony claw to break its reflection in the water.
It seems peaceful in its solitude, and although its appearance mortifies her, Abigail decides not to retreat after all. Instead, she further investigates the strange thing. Her footsteps are much slower now and carefully placed in the sand, not on or over anything that will suddenly alarm the creature, so as not to cause it to charge toward her with its nightmarish features shaking in surprise.
“I see you there… by the water. Are you okay?” she speaks soothingly with a slight tinge of restiveness. “Do you need help?”
No, Abigail. You do, she tells herself. You need therapy.
Something about the creature feels familiar to her, but she cannot put her finger on it.
“Please don’t make any sudden movements. I just want to get a little closer to see if you’re all right,” saying this more to herself than to the creature. Before Abigail realizes it, she is standing next to the water. “Hello?”
“Hello,” the creature says in a croaky voice, sounding thoroughly parched.
It turns its burning gaze upon her; yellow orbs of searing, irrefutable hatred set deep in their sockets, paralyzing Abigail with fear. She thinks she might have seen something serpentine slither up into its mouth but is not entirely sure. The creature’s fiery pinpoint eyes captivate her too much to notice anything else.
“Abigail?” it croaks, as if trying to recognize her.
“Bill? Oh my god, Bill!”
The creature extends itself until it is fully erect and towers over Abigail. It then raises its skeletal arm pointing a bony talon at her. “What are the three defining factors that make up Western culture?”
“What… what, Bill?”
* * *
Abigail awakens a moment later to Mr. Hammond’s voice. “No, Ms. Lux. ‘What, what, and Bill’ are not the answers I was looking for.”
She can hear the snickers and laughter of her classmates and quickly snaps back to reality. Thoroughly humiliated, Abigail lowers her head, allowing the bangs of her hair to conceal her embarrassment and then begins to spin the tip of her pencil on her open notebook. Mr. Hammond addresses his question to the eagerly raised hand of Kristen McCabe.
“Go ahead, Kristen. What are the three defining factors that have been said to make up Western culture?”
Kristen, who still has her arm raised since the very instant the question was asked, puts her arm down and sits up attentively at her desk with her hands folded in front of her. “In an article written by Jack Rowan, Jack specifies the three factors that make up the Western civilization are classic Greek and Roman Culture, and Western Christianity.”
“Correct, Kristen.”
Kristen, pleased with herself, smiles brightly toward Mr. Hammond and then smiles back mockingly at Abigail. Abigail replies with a disdainful sneer.
The bell sounds a moment later and the students close their books, collect their things, and then shuffle energetically out of the classroom, glad about the end of the school day. Before making it to the door, Mr. Hammond reminds them to read pages seventy-four through eighty-five. He also warns that he will be administering a pop quiz about the pages the following Monday.
Abigail ducks out of the classroom with her head lowered. She makes her way down the hallway to her locker and retrieves her backpack. The day is over for most, but it is only beginning for her as she is starting to feel insecure about her appointment with Dr. Steinman. She isn’t sure if she should mention her dreams or the voices she had been hearing. The last thing Abigail needs is to be medicated or falsely diagnosed because her shrink thinks she might suffer from delusions, or a more severe condition—schizophrenia. The way Abigail’s life had taken such a swift turn in the last few months, she felt anything tragic was possible.
* * *
Jeannie reaches over and gives her a hug as Abigail climbs into her mom’s black 2007 Ford Fusion—the four-banger engine and not the V6 model. Walter thought it would be better on mileage in an otherwise fully loaded vehicle. Apart from a casual greeting, Abigail remains quiet for most of the trip. She turns on the radio to calm her jitters and tunes into a local pop rock station that always features pop songs from the eighties during that time of the day. After a few moments, Jeannie begins humming lines to The Human League’s 1981 hit single Don’t You Want Me. As she mistakenly feels confident she has the song’s catchy melody memorized and that she remembers most of the lyrics, Jeannie begins to sing along in what sounds like a poor and untrained voice. Abigail immediately turns off the radio.
“Hey, brat, I like that song.” Jeannie appears disappointed and switches the radio back on.
“I like my sanity too, Mom.” Abigail shoots her a rare smile.
“Don’t you want me, baby… Don’t you want me now…” She intends to torment Abigail, singing louder and more obnoxious than before.
“Okay, mom, I get it. I think the whole neighborhood gets it.”
“Before your time, my darling, it was before your time,” she tells her daughter with a smile. Jeannie then reminisces back to her younger days as she makes a left turn toward the town square.
“Momma, you should know… you and dad shouldn’t to be so worried about me. I totally understand how I have been acting lately. It’s just… a lot has happened and it’s the way it happened.”
“We know that, Abby. We understand you feel mixed up right now.”
“Then… you guys don’t think I’m losing my mind?”
“Oh, honey, of course not. Why would you think that?” Jeannie turns the radio off, disappointed when the song ends.
Because, Mom, I’ve been dreaming about monsters again, Abigail thinks to herself, and I have it on good authority that my presumed dead boyfriend has turned into one.
“It’s just that sometimes, I really do hear his voice or see his reflection in passing, and he sounds and looks so real to me. But I want you to know, I have it under control.”
Sure you do. You have it under control about as much as a loony locked up in the loony bin.
Jeannie chokes back tears that are beginning to build. She is exhausted with the pain Abigail has been enduring. Even if she might think of her daughter as extremely brave, as Abigail stares at her, searching her mother’s eyes for hope, she only sees a vulnerable child sitting beside her. Although both Walter and Abigail were both skeptical concerning Dr. Steinman, Abigail trusted her mom when she said the therapist would be able help.
“I know without a reason or a doubt that you love Bill. He was your first real boyfriend, and you both spent a lot of time together. Under the circumstances, I truly believe what you are experiencing is natural. But until you can find it in your heart to let Bill go, you’re going to continue feeling this way… and it will only get worse without help.”
Abigail is silent, saying nothing more. She knows her mother is right, at least partially. She isn’t ready to let go; this much was true. Still, there is something else going on between Bill and her, but she doesn’t know how to explain it. Abigail only hopes that Dr. Steinman could fill her in on the missing information, the stuff that scared her.
Both Jeannie and Abigail are quiet for the rest of the short drive to Dr. Steinman’s office. They are thinking deeply about their own troubles and each other. Abigail is growing nervous.