After Obsession (2 page)

“Benji!” I yell at him.

He plops down in his seat, giggling. Gramps is chuckling.

“Men suck,” I say.

“We do not say ‘suck’ in this family,” Gramps says sternly.

I point my fork at him. Some steak falls off. “No, but we say ‘hooters.’ That’s fair. Anyway, I know who Marilyn Monroe is. I just don’t understand what she has to do with the Cheeto.”

Benji rolls his eyes. “She
is
the Cheeto.”

“Reincarnated?” I stab a piece of steak.

“No.” Gramps swipes the bag from Benji and puts it in front of my face again. “Look closely. Doesn’t it look like Marilyn?”

I chew this over. “Um. Well, there are some bumps there.”

Benji points at the top of the Cheeto. “See, that’s her hair. You can see it, can’t you, Aimee? It looks just like her.”

He is all eager cuteness. There’s a big thump upstairs, which makes us jump. I drop my fork. It clanks against the dish.

“Just a book falling down,” Gramps says, which doesn’t get rid of my goose bumps. “Do you see her in the Cheeto?”

“Sure,” I say, picking up my fork. “I see it.”

“
Her,
” he corrects.

“Her. I see her. Wow.” I nod really big. “That’s super cool. What are you going to do with your Marilyn Monroe Cheeto?”

Benji jumps up and down, excited. “Sell her on eBay.”

I choke and manage to somehow say, “eBay?”

“It’s an Internet auction site,” Gramps explains. “Benji, eat your dinner.”

“I know what eBay is.” I put my fork down on purpose this time and say it again just to make sure I understand. “You’re selling her on eBay.”

“Yep!” Benji says. “People are already bidding.”

“Does Dad know about this?” I ask.

“He would if he ever actually came home,” Benji says. His smile is gone. He stuffs more potato into his face. His teeth slam together and he swallows. “I bet we could get a thousand dollars.”

My heart hurts for him.

“What do you think, Aim? How much could we get?” Gramps asks.

“Oh,” I lie, “probably at least two thousand dollars.”

Benji’s eyes light up.

I lay it on harder, like another layer of paint, making it thicker. “Maybe more.”

After dinner I’m in the upstairs bathroom wiping the paint thinner off my size 2 fan brush. There are still tiny flecks of yellow on the handle, but I’m okay with that. It makes it look well used. There’s the faintest sound of footsteps, like Benji’s slipping around or something.

Slowly, I put the brush down and peek out the open bathroom door into the hallway, clutching my paint scraper. There’s nothing there, of course.

My mom taught me a prayer when I was little. She made me swear to say it every night.

“It won’t get rid of the dreams, not completely, but it will help make them better,” she said. “It’s worked for others.”

O God, who made the heav’n and earth,

From dreams this night protect me.

Destroy each succubus at birth,

No incubus infect me.

I say it in bed, but it doesn’t keep the dreams from coming. In them, I’m trapped below water and something evil and bad is sucking my life away. It’s dark. The water weighs on me, heavier and heavier, and in the distance is a wicked, ghostly laugh and a wail that’s me screaming, screaming, screaming. Something reaches for me, lifting me up. At first it’s scary and furry and strong, all muscles and claws and it looks like a cougar, but then it changes into a guy, a huge guy. His dark eyes stare into mine, dark and frightened and wet, but strong somehow, too, determined.

“We have to save her,” he says.

“Who?” I ask him. “Who?”

He goes cougar again and snarls. He is all teeth and noise. I wake up cranky and scared because I know that someone is in danger, but I don’t know who or how to save them, just that I have to find out before it’s too late. Wow, I hate dreams.

•
2
•

ALAN

“What do you mean you don’t have football here?” I ask.

Mrs. Wood, the counselor, is speechless for a moment.

“This is high school. You have to have football.” I look to my mom in the chair beside me. “How can they
not
have football? Did you know about this?”

“I’m sorry, Alan,” the counselor says. She really seems upset. She keeps glancing at my mom. “I thought I’d mentioned that.”

“Mom? You knew, didn’t you? You knew they didn’t have football and you made me move up here anyway. Didn’t you?”

“I’m sorry, Alan,” she says, crossing her legs. “I did.”

Back home, in Oklahoma City, a lot of my friends would have cussed out their moms right then and there. As mad as I am, I still can’t do that. I just slump into the chair like a balloon suddenly emptied of air.

“Alan was second-team all-state in Class 5A last year,” Mom explains. “He’s really good at football. He’s a running back.”

“Is there another school that has football?” I ask.

“Not within fifty miles. We have soccer, cross-country, and wrestling,” Mrs. Wood offers.

“Soccer? I can’t get a football scholarship to OU playing soccer.”

“Alan has wanted to play football for the University of Oklahoma forever,” Mom explains before turning her attention back to me. “Alan, let’s make the best of this.”

It wasn’t my idea to come to Maine.
Maine?
Really, who moves to Maine? Besides my mom, who brought us up here to live with my aunt and cousin now that they are husband- and fatherless. Nobody came to live with us just because I was fatherless, and I’ve been that way all my life.

“Whatever.” It’s the best concession I can offer. “Put me in cross-country. Do you at least have track in the spring?”

“Yes.” Mrs. Wood almost fist-pumps, she’s so happy. She puts me in cross-country and track as the computer vomits out the page that is my schedule of classes.

“Thank you.” Mom is all consolatory smiles. “We just got here over the weekend. My sister’s husband was recently killed—well, lost at sea, I guess. He owned a fishing boat and …”

“Oh, the
Dawn Greeter
.” Realization fills Mrs. Wood’s dark eyes. She looks at me and asks, “So, you’re Courtney’s cousin?”

“Yeah.”

“She’s a sweet girl,” Mrs. Wood promises. I don’t really know if she is or not. I saw Courtney for a few minutes last night, but other than that we’ve only met twice in our lives. “It was a citywide tragedy when the boat was lost. All the crew was from here in town. Three of our students, including Courtney, lost fathers.”

“That’s horrible,” Mom says. “I never understood how Lisa dealt with Mike going out to sea every day.”

“Well, it’s a lifestyle here.” Mrs. Wood’s eyes slide around her office for a moment, looking at pictures of ships and a brass bell mounted above the office door. “I’m sure working men face some kind of danger every day back there in Oklahoma, too.”

“Yes, but at least there’s usually a body to bury if something happens.”

“True.” Mrs. Wood starts to say more, but a bell rings and the hallway outside her office fills with teenagers. “First hour’s over. As soon as things settle down, Alan, I’ll have our office aide show you your locker and give you a quick tour of the school. Then he’ll take you to biology.”

I watch the flow of students but try not to be obvious about it. I see that a lot of them are looking through the glass window at me. The differences are pretty obvious and I know they’re taking it in. My dusky skin and long black hair are very different from anything I see in the stream of humanity outside the office. The father I’ve never known is Navajo. I steel myself for the usual crap that comes with my emphasis on my Navajo heritage. They’ll call me “chief,” make reservation jokes, ask for cigars and wooden nickels until I lose my temper and kick some ass. After that there might be some grudging respect.

Another bell rings and the last couple of students in the hall run for open doors where teachers wait. A tall guy with short black hair comes into the counselor’s office and drops some books on a small desk set off to the side.

“Blake?” Mrs. Wood calls. “This is Alan Parson. Today’s his first day. Will you show him around?”

“Sure,” Blake says. I watch him look me over, then nod at me. I nod back.

I follow him out of the office. Mom calls “Bye” behind me but I only wave, still mad about the football issue. Blake is a little taller than me, and he walks fast. He’s wearing a blue T-shirt with GOFFSTOWN HIGH SCHOOL CROSS-COUNTRY printed on the back.

“You’re in cross-country?” I ask.

“Yeah. Do you run?”

“I guess I do now,” I say. “I can’t believe you guys don’t have a football team. In Oklahoma, every high school has a football team, even the little country schools.”

“Football just isn’t a big thing here,” Blake says as he leads me up a hallway. “Plus, it’s an expensive sport, and, in case you haven’t noticed, this isn’t a rich school. We have sports that don’t cost much.”

“Oh.” I hadn’t thought about the cost. “Is the cross-country team good?”

“Pretty good,” he answers. “I was all-state last year. We had two guys and three girls make all-state individuals. We’ll get the whole team in this year.”

“That’s cool.” At least it was something.

“Here’s your locker,” he says as we round a corner. He points to a tall yellow door. “Give the lock a try.” As I spin the dial to the numbers I’ve been given, he asks, “So, you’re from Oklahoma?”

“Yeah.”

“Why’d you come to Maine?”

While I tell him why I left Oklahoma, I close the door and face Blake again. “Oh, Courtney. Yeah, that sucked about her dad,” he says.

I follow Blake up and down hallways while he points out restrooms, the auditorium, classrooms, and the cafeteria. He offers commentary about various teachers as we walk, and I soon realize he’s one of the kids teachers love. Any negative thing he says about a teacher is followed with a positive. “Mrs. Bailey’s classes are hard, but she’s really cool. She brings cookies on Fridays.”

Finally we come to a classroom door where Blake knocks. A guy sitting near the door jumps up and looks out at us through the narrow window before opening the door. He and Blake bump fists in greeting, and then Blake turns his attention to the teacher.

“Mr. Swanson,” Blake says, “this is Alan Parson. He’s new here. He’s in your class for second hour.”

More than a dozen pairs of eyes bore into me, watching, judging, making up stories about why I’m here. Mr. Swanson is a tall man with a thin white goatee and whitening blond hair. His eyes seem to sag, and he moves at a very leisurely pace as he comes to stand before me.

“Hello, Alan,” he says. “Why don’t you take a seat right over here? I was about to give an assignment. Once I get everyone else working, I’ll get you caught up.”

I go to the desk and sit behind a guy who needs a diet and in front of a redheaded girl who’s vigorously chewing gum. I settle into the desk and wait, forcing my hand to stay off the medicine pouch I wear under my shirt. Usually I wear it outside my shirt, but that’s back home. For now, the medicine pouch stays hidden.

Back home I’d be in Coach Baldwin’s Street Law class right now. I suppress a sigh and try to pretend people aren’t staring at me instead of their books.

I survive an awkward bus ride home and get off at the stop when Courtney does.

“Sorry I didn’t sit with you,” Courtney says as we walk up the driveway. “Mom says I need to make you feel welcome.”

“Don’t worry about it.” I look her over for the first time, really, since getting to Maine late Saturday evening. She’s short, maybe four feet ten inches tall, and very thin and pale. Her brown hair hangs straight and limp and she lets it fall mostly over her face. Behind her glasses, she wears too much eyeliner. She has on a black AFI hoodie and faded blue jeans. I guess she’s trying to be emo. I wonder if she cuts herself.

“Did Mom give you a key to the house yet?” she asks. I shake my head. It’s a nice house. I have my own bedroom. “She will.”

There are no vehicles in the driveway. I wonder if my mom is inside. She was supposed to have a job interview at the mill where Aunt Lisa works.

“Mom says you’re going to live with us for a while,” Courtney says. I can’t tell if she thinks that’s good or bad, or if she even cares.

“I guess so. You okay with that?”

“Yeah. I don’t know,” she says. “It’s been really strange since Dad left. Mom was afraid she’d lose the house until Aunt Holly said you guys would come live with us and help out.” We step onto the porch and Courtney pulls a key from her pocket to unlock the door. “I’m glad we won’t lose it.”

“Me, too,” I say. Sure, I’m probably losing my future as an Oklahoma Sooner running back, then going pro, but at least Aunt Lisa and Courtney will get to keep their house. “Why didn’t you guys just move to Oklahoma? Your mom grew up there.”

Courtney gives me a look that says I must be the stupidest creature to ever stand on two legs. “My dad is lost, get it?
Lost
. He might be on some island waiting for help. He could get rescued and come home tomorrow. What if we weren’t here? What if he came home and we were gone?”

I feel myself blink at her a couple of times as I try to comprehend that she really believes this. Could it be true?

“Does that happen?” I ask. “Do people get lost in storms, then turn up later?”

“It could happen,” Courtney says, her voice suddenly shrill. She spins away from me and runs through the living room to the stairs, leaving me holding the front door open.

A sudden wind blows across the porch. It’s cold, but gone as fast as it came. I look at the old leaves it blows past me as they scatter off the edge of the porch. There’s a shadow racing with the wind. Strange. I hear a bedroom door slam upstairs.

Above me, something seems to scratch in the space between the inside and outside walls of the house. I don’t bother to look up. Mice are mice, whether they live in the Great Plains or on the East Coast.

I do my homework because there’s nothing else to do and Aunt Lisa only has basic cable. I’m just finishing up my science reading when Aunt Lisa’s car rumbles into the driveway.

“I got the job,” Mom yells as she enters the house. There are yellowish wood shavings still clinging to her sandy-blond hair and her face is glowing as she pushes past her sister and comes to me for a hug.

I hug her back, but not with a lot of enthusiasm.

“You could have let us know,” I say in a teasing tone.

“I left a message on the machine,” she says, pointing behind me to the telephone. A red light on the answering machine is blinking.

“Oh, I didn’t think I should listen.” Never mind that I hadn’t even noticed.

“Don’t be silly, Alan,” Aunt Lisa says. “You live here now. Mia casa is you-a casa.”

This is the first thing I’ve heard Aunt Lisa say that wasn’t tinged with sorrow, so I force a chuckle at her butchering of Spanish.

“Okay, I’ll remember that. Congrats on the job, Mom. I guess you started today, huh?” I pluck a curly shaving from her hair. It looks like pine.

Mom laughs and puts her hands in her hair to shake it. “You told me I got it all out, Lisa.”

“You’re such a rookie, Holly,” my aunt says as she walks by Mom and snatches another shaving from her hair. She asks me, “Did Courtney make dinner?”

I hesitate, wondering if I’ll be getting my cousin in trouble if I tell the truth. They’re going to find out anyway. “No. She went upstairs as soon as we got home. I haven’t seen her since. They gave me a ton of homework.”

“You can handle it,” Mom says. “Is Courtney okay?”

“I think so.” I’m no shrink, but believing your dead father may return after his boat was lost in the North Atlantic doesn’t seem okay to me. I saw
Titanic
. I know people can’t survive for long in cold water, especially during a storm.

“Well, I think we should go out to dinner to celebrate your mom’s new job and you guys moving to Maine,” Aunt Lisa says.

Celebrate moving to Maine? Yeah, right. Mom claps her hands and says that’s the best idea she’s heard in weeks, that she’s dying to try some fresh seafood.

“Sure,” I say. “Why not? I’ll go up and get Courtney.”

Courtney’s bedroom is at the end of the hall, just past my new room. The hallway seems very dark, even though the overhead light is on. I know there’s something wrong. The hair on my arms prickles as I come to Courtney’s closed door, and I feel cold, like I’m standing in front of a freezer with a leak.

“Courtney?” I knock on the door. The scratching noise comes again, right beneath my feet. I consider stamping my foot to silence the mice, but don’t. Why point out to Aunt Lisa that I know she has rodents in her house?

“Courtney?” I knock again, louder.

The cold air around me vanishes. It’s been sucked back under Courtney’s door. She still doesn’t answer, so I turn the knob and push. For an instant, there is resistance, then the door opens easily.