Dead Spell (13 page)

Brea didn’t know why she wanted to come here, but when she found out it was where they brought Harmony, she needed to be close to her.

She wasn’t the only one.

Charity sat on the stairs of the wrap-around porch with her head in her hand. Her hair was pulled back in a stringy, unwashed pony tail and she was wearing a sweatshirt, hospital scrub pants, and the bracelet issued by the ward.

White wicker chairs lined the porch from one side to the other. There were ashtray stands, too, but Charity used neither, letting her ashes fall to the browning grass and the collection of butts that said she’d been there a while.

Brea hoped she’d notice her walking up the uneven cobblestone. Not knowing whether or not she had meds on-board meant approaching her was with inherent risk.

“Charity?”

She didn’t respond. She just shuffled the black plastic bag at her feet.

“Charity?”

She didn’t even flinch. She kept her head down and sucked on the diminishing cigarette. Her fingernails were nicotine yellow and as Brea got closer, she caught a whiff of skunky marijuana and withdrawal sweats mixed with alcohol.

Brea touched Charity’s bony shoulder and she looked up with the delay of someone pharmaceutically numb. Her eyes were a gray and empty void.

 “I’m so sorry,” Brea said. “Can I sit down?”

Charity lit a fresh cigarette off the butt of the last, stoic, but more level than she’d been in months. “She’s not ready for anyone to see her yet.”

“I know. I mean, I shouldn’t have come. Of course she’s not ready.” Brea looked through the parted front door at the empty showing room. 

“I thought you’d come.” Charity slid the trash bag over to Brea. “She’d want you to have this.”

She flicked her cigarette butt into the manicured bushes and went inside, closing the door behind her.

Brea picked up the bag and turned her head, trying not to smell the smoke.

Jaxon tried to take it from her. “Here, let me help you.” He tugged the gathered plastic top.

 “I got it.”

“Come on. It looks heavy.” He yanked and she let go. Completely.

It was as if he ripped away a security blanket from a toddler. Brea sat down, balled herself up, and cried until she could barely talk.

Jaxon was at a loss. “Hey, I’m sorry. Here.” He held the bag out and she buried her face in her knees. “Brea, what did I do?”

“Nothing.” She wiped her eyes with her stiff cotton sleeve.  “You didn’t do anything.”

“Come on. It’s going to be okay. It has to be.”

He helped her up and to the car, piling the stinky bag in the trunk and opening the windows.

22
.

Reston High had changed and as Brea walked inside dragging Harmony’s things behind her, she wondered if anyone else noticed. The halls were quiet and Jaxon kept his distance, she figured because of the smell. He hadn’t said much since the funeral home which was fine. She wasn’t really in the mood to talk.

“Thanks,” she said, “for taking me this morning and for everything.”

“You don’t have to thank me. It’s what I’m here for. Are you sure you don’t want me to walk you to class?”

The bell rang, flooding the hall with students.

Brea shuddered as they hurried past her, the light and sounds too much under the circumstances. “You’re heading the complete opposite way. I’m okay. It’s fine.”

The one-minute warning rang and Brea ran toward her locker.

Rachael and her posse formed a wall of airheads to block her.

Brea groaned and avoided eye contact. If word was out about Harmony and, with how small Reston was she still wasn’t certain, things were about to get ugly.

She heaved the bag up on her shoulder and tried to plow right through them.

Rachael whistled to call attention and the classroom doorways filled with watchers. “You know what they call a virgin on a waterbed?” She was really making a show of it. “A cherry float.”

The hallway erupted with laughter.

“Grow up.” Brea shoved Rachael aside and saw the word “VIRGIN” written in black permanent marker on her locker. She slammed her fist into the door. Her bones cracked and it hurt like hell, but the pain and the anger kept her from crying.

One of the jocks gestured at his zipper. “Hey, little girl, want some candy?”

Someone told Jaxon what was happening and he pushed his way down the hall to get to her. “Cut that shit out, Mark. Leave her alone.”

“Oh, Brea.” Another boy made kissy faces and smooched his hand.

“F-u-c-k!” she screamed.

As she ran from the school, Rachael shouted after her, “She’s not here to protect you now, is she?”

* * * * *

The wind kicked up a burst of leaves as Brea got off the city bus at the closest stop to Oakwood cemetery. She zipped up her hoodie and shut off her phone. The news of Harmony’s death was out and Rachael had opened season.

“Like things aren’t bad enough.”

She walked between the headstones and hid in Lost Souls.

“I’m so sorry, Harmony.”

She sat on the mausoleum steps and closed her eyes trying to imagine Harmony here.

There were so many things she could have done differently. She should have been less judgmental, listened more to her fears and warnings about Tom. All Harmony wanted was answers and as the corner of the Ouija board poked through the bag and into her leg, she wondered if she had gotten them.

She heard footsteps and looked up to see Adam walking toward her. He was dressed in all black—a black, fitted button down, black tee-shirt, black leather jacket and jeans. His dark hair was combed back and looked wet with gel.

“Hey.” 

“Hey,” she said, a little uncomfortable. “What’re you doing here?”

He sat down on the step next to her and she moved a bit away.

“Scoping a plot. Charity wasn’t going to pay. She’s on and off her meds and when I saw her this morning she was babbling on about how Child Protective Services killed Harmony and is trying to frame her. She says it’s some kind of trap. She doesn’t even care if Harmony gets a headstone, but I can’t let that happen.”

“Wow. She seemed okay when I saw her this morning.”

Adam looked down at the bag. “She give you that?” He lit a Marlboro.

“Yeah, she did.” The silver zippo reminded Brea of the day Harmony bought it at the village-wide garage sale. It had an “A” already engraved on the face.

Adam wafted the air away from her. “Smoke bothering you?”

She shook her head. “No, actually the opposite. It reminds me of Harmony. I’m used to it, but it’s a bad habit.” She smiled.

“It keeps the edge off.” A cloud formed at the corner of his mouth. “Listen, I’m sorry about how I dropped the news on you. It’s pretty much how I got it and it just came out.”

 “There was no good way to say it.” She couldn’t help but notice that this was a completely different Adam; the one that loved Harmony and that Harmony loved, one that she could be honest with. She tucked her hair behind her ear and after a contemplative minute said, “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“What’s your problem with me?”

 “Harmony never told you?” He didn’t seem put-off by the question.

“Told me what?”

“It’s not you, Brea. It’s your family. Your uncle, to be exact.” He sat back down and crushed the cigarette into the granite slab. “Harmony and I are a lot more alike than you think. I was in the system for a while growing up. My mother was
unfit
, too, not too different from Charity. “I also had…” he said and paused, looking into her eyes. He averted his gaze as he continued. “I also had a sister.”

 
Had.
She was afraid she knew what was coming.

“Her name was Melissa and she was fourteen when we ran away from foster. I was sixteen, two years older, and I thought I could protect her but she wouldn’t listen to me once we got out on the streets. There was this guy, Harold, an older guy that took care of her. I thought it was sick and creepy, but she loved him. Your uncle arrested him for kidnapping, which wasn’t at all the case. CPS put Melissa back in the foster house we were getting beat at. She went off the rails, ran away again, this time without me, and by the time I found her it was too late. She ran out into traffic... The driver didn’t see her...”

“Oh my god, I’m sorry.”

“Your uncle was only doing his job. It’s taken me five years to be able to say that. I should’ve protected Melissa like I should’ve protected Harmony.”

Brea hugged him and he hugged her back. “You did, Adam. More than you know.”

“Then why didn’t I see this coming? I knew she was hurting herself and I let it go to avoid a fight. I didn’t think she would choose this.”
He motioned at the headstones. “Cutting was kind of her
normal
.”

Brea wanted to tell him about her fight with Harmony, about Tom, about all of it to alleviate his guilt, but she couldn’t. It was too soon after losing Harmony for it to not feel like a betrayal. She stood, understanding him better than she ever had, and picked up the bag. “If there’s anything I can do or if you need to talk, just call me.” It was a half-hearted invitation. The right thing to say, under the circumstances. “It’s getting late. I have to go before my mother gets home.”

“Can I give you a ride?”

Even now, history made it hard to trust him. “I’m all set, but thanks.”

 “You’ll be there tonight, though, right?”

“I wouldn’t miss it,” she said and played like she was getting a call on her cell.

23
.

O’Connor’s Funeral Home parking lot sat empty except for Adam’s towering beast of a truck which, in context, looked disrespectful and out-of-place. Adam arranged for a family-only service and, in Charity’s condition, she most likely wouldn’t show.

Brea got out of the car and Jaxon held her arm, walking her up the white steps and into the foyer outside the viewing room. It smelled of wood oil and flowers and the only things between them and Harmony were two curtained, glass-paneled doors.

Brea struggled to keep her composure, dreading seeing her best friend dead. Fearful that Tom had a hit list and that she was next. She tightened her grip on Jaxon’s arm.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“I’m a little woozy.”

The room felt like it was closing in on her. There were rows of empty chairs and only one floral arrangement—a heart made of red roses—propped up to the right of Jack O’Connor, the undertaker, who obscured her view of the coffin.

Adam turned around in the front row. He was wearing his usual tight-fitting jeans, a v-neck tee, and military-style boots with the laces dangling. His face was red from crying and he stood to help Brea down the aisle.