Fade (5 page)

Angela sighed and clenched her teeth, stalking at the door, moving through it like a gust of air. Mrs. Bule pushed at her cheek with her tongue and closed the door.

The tall redhead stood, arms crossed, lips drawn together, eyes to her direct right. “Yes, ma’am,” she said.

“You can’t talk like that in my class, Angela.”

Black Oaks was a town of less than four thousand people. It was a small place with little to offer, and that, Angela thought, was the main reason she got stuck with subpar, control freak educators like JoAnn Bule who probably never stuck her head more than six hours outside of the woods that were this pointless town. Why her parents chose to subject her to this sort of place was still a mystery to her.

“Listen. I cussed. Apparently that bothered you. I’ll…
be more careful
or something.”

Bule sighed. “What you said was offensive and disrespectful. You want to try that
apology
again.”

“It’s just a stupid word. I can’t believe
this
is how we’re spending the period. Seriously, and I’m not trying to be rude, but I have a straight A average, I’m in cheerleading, and my parents pretty much built our new football field. And we’re talking about a four-letter word.
That’s
offensive to me.”

Mrs. Bule’s face turned very cherry-like. Her words caught in her mouth causing her cheeks to expand. Angela hoped she would slap her or grab her. She would love to wave good-bye as they hauled Bule’s happy ass out of the building.

“You,” Bule managed. “are
not
in my class today. Go sit in the principal’s office. I will be right behind you, Miss Billingsley.”

“Seriously?” Angela said. Her voice rose, her hot pink lips spread in disgust.

“No more.” Bule wagged her finger far too close to Angela’s face for her liking. “You don’t say any more. Go.”

Angela spun on her heel and began marching down the hall, fists clenched. She didn’t need this. She was there to learn—which seemed like a lot to ask—not be yelled at by low-rent people like
that
. Rounding the corner, her shoes squealing on the tile.

“Bitch,” she said, walking past the door to the principal’s office, out the rear exit and into the parking lot, never seeing the thing that had been watching her.

***

Cynthia knew that random act of crotch hockey would mean detention, which was fine, but it would also mean a parent/teacher meeting. This was not fine. Her mom would have to lose sleep to come deal with her deviance. Her mom worked hard enough just keeping them in Cheerios and that lousy apartment.

The halls were empty, and that special shade of gray that doubtless contributed to many a student’s need for anti-depressants. She stomped down the stairs, wondering if Jan had remembered to grab her backpack. She also wondered how long she’d have to wait to talk to Principal Stokes. His secretary always made Cynthia wait at least ten minutes while she pretended to do
important
paperwork, or type on her keyboard like it were a letter to the President, before letting the guy even know she was there. She supposed it was her way of expressing some kind of pitiful authority. Her own little bit of pathetic, secretary-level punishment for the miscreant.

Cynthia rounded the corner, the place where Dalen’s teeth had hit morphed from an ache to a mound of pain. Biting her lip, she stopped to give it a look. He hadn’t torn through her stockings, but he’d given her one hell of a punch with those perfect teeth. (Damn, she wished he hadn’t turned out to be such a douche.) She rubbed the spot, and looked up again. An intake of breath and she was motionless.

It was the shadow one ignored when home alone. The thing that, if one mustered enough courage to investigate, was nothing—that if one cocked their head a certain way would reveal itself to be a coat on a doorknob, or a trick of the moonlight. She blinked. Moved her stiff neck. But it still seemed to stare back.

Then
it
moved.

It was at least thirty feet down the hall, this pale phenomenon. Shaped like a man. But it was no man. Breath caught in her throat. Its silhouette jittered like a poorly received signal. It was near translucent, this thing that now floated toward her.

Cynthia wasn’t panicking yet. Allowing herself to register in full what she was seeing felt risky. All of life’s experience told her that, despite its persistence, it must be that trick of the light or a ghastly reflection of someone inside the office on the glass of the rear doors. She forced herself to breathe—an unhealthy, misshapen gulp of air.

No. As much as she ached for it to be something explicable, no. Like an ink that would forever stain her skin, the sight of it (not what it was, she had no idea of that,) incorporated itself into her. A watery smile wavered on its near featureless face. A scream rose in her chest. It raised an arm, its alien features coming into view, forcing its reality on her. Then the thing was gone.

“Hey!” Jan said.

Cynthia’s eyes, a swell of black now, shifted in the direction of Jan’s voice, breaking the spell of rising fear. It had been an amulet against the unreality, the proverbial cover over a child’s head that kept away the hungry mouths of hidden things.

“I brought your books. Figured you might need moral support after seeing Herr Fuehrer and getting the…” Cynthia’s stare was pointed at the last spot where the thing had been. “You okay?”

Cynthia shook her head.

***

Nathan, Angela’s date for the evening, arrived at her house right before six to drive her to the party. Her mother called for him to come right in. He looked around a little, nervously. Everything was shiny and looked expensive. He was trying to decide whether he should take his shoes off or not when Angela called out to him.

“Back here!”

A head poked out of the kitchen, a long, wooden spoon in hand, black hair pulled into a stubby ponytail. She looked only a few years older than Angela. “Hi, Nathan. I’m Angie’s mom. Go on straight down the hall.”

He walked the long hallway beside the stairs. There was only one open door in the middle, and he stopped there, his eyes widening. Angela sat in front of a mirror, looking as if she might kiss it, applying lipstick. She wore a frilly, mint pair of panties and matching bra. She cut her eyes his way and tried to smile as she finished, then she jumped up, and ran into his arms. “You ready to party?”

“Your mom’s right in there.”

She furrowed her brow then laughed. “My mom doesn’t care. She’s my best friend.” She smiled sexily. “You saying you don’t like what you see?”

He smiled as much as his nerves would allow. “Nah, just…” his eyes darted behind him.

She pulled back and frowned. “Fine, Mr. Scared.” She threw on a thin robe, leaving it untied, and sat back down, pulling out some eyeliner. “Help me pick out my outfit. Those are the three I’ve narrowed it down to.” Her arm shot behind her, to the bed. “You know, whatever you want to see me come out of tonight.” She giggled.

It was another hour before they left for the party, but it didn’t take long for Angela to make up for any party time they may have lost. She declared how wasted she was and bent an arm, staring at her watch for a long moment, as if it contained a code to be deciphered. “It’s only freaking ten. But…” Angela’s face turned drunkenly serious, “don’t let me drink anymore.”

Nathan wrapped his arm around her. “I can’t promise I won’t take advantage of you though.”

Angela laughed and slapped his knee playfully. “Ooh, someone’s found his courage.” She leaned in closer. “And it’s not taking advantage if I’m willing, silly. Oh!” Angela squealed, feigning pleasure. “My phone’s buzzing.” She lifted her hips off the couch and dug the pink phone out of her jeans. “Ugh. Hope. Why is she
calling
me?” She swiped the phone. “Hey, girl! What’s happening? Why aren’t you at Michael’s party?”

Nathan started to get up. Angela put a firm hand on his shoulder and shrugged, mouthing, “Where are you going?”

“Getting a drink.”

She shook her head and went back to talking, “I know! I’m so drunk!” Her eyes went back to Nathan, “Don’t leave me,” and pursed her lips in disapproval.

Nathan sighed, sitting back down.

“Beer pong!” Someone yelled.

Angela immediately covered the phone. “I’m in!” She giggled back into the cell. “Gotta go, Hope! Beer pong time, baby!” Jumping up, she jogged over to Michael, the host of that evening’s festivities, wrapping an arm around him. “You’re my partner!”

Nathan got up, picked a Heineken out of the cooler and leaned against a nearby wall to watch Angela play. She bent over suggestively, holding the ping pong ball delicately in her long fingers. Michael didn’t hide his salacious looks at the back of her tight jeans. Nathan was less than entertained.

Every time one of them managed to get the ball into a cup of beer Angela jumped into Michael’s arms. Every time he missed, she placed a rubbing hand on his chest and playfully scolded him. Mid-game, Angela grabbed a bottle of wine from someone walking by and turned it up, taking a long draw, then threw her hands up, wailing in triumph. “We’re gonna kick your ass, boys!” She taunted the other team.

“Anytime, baby.” One of them flirted, and then, feeling Nathan’s eyes on him said, “Just kidding, man.”

Michael threw the next ball over the cups and missed. Angela slapped his butt, telling him to get it together with a throaty laugh. She didn’t even notice Nathan turning away, grabbing his keys to leave.

***

“Somebody give me a cigare—” Angela’s face contorted into an awful grimace. She pushed through the crowd, almost slipping on the floor. The bathroom door was closed. She did a one-eighty toward the front door. She barely made it outside before that big gulp of wine, three shots of Grey Goose, two shots of Patron and innumerable beers cried freedom and painted Michael’s mom’s azalea bush.

“Nathan!” She moaned, wiping her mouth. Instead, another girl from the cheer squad placed a hand on her shoulder and rubbed.

“Ugh,” she whined, “where’s my Nathan?”

“I’m… not sure, sweety. I’ll see if I can find him.”

“And some water.”

“And some water.” The girl closed the door behind her and Angela sat alone on the front steps, staring at the various cars and trucks in the yard only illuminated by a fingernail moon and a security light. Then the light flickered out of existence in the far corner of the drive. She thought about how crappy she suddenly felt, and how much of a jerk Nathan was for disappearing when she needed him. Hugging her stomach, she scrunched her face up in pain. “Naaathaaan!” she moaned.

A slow bit of movement caught the corner of her eye and she looked that way, but saw nothing. She was just heading back to feeling sorry for herself when she saw it again: a pale blur of light and dark. This time she gazed intently into the dark as she got to her feet. Aside from a yard full of vehicles, she saw nothing. The thrum of bass from inside reminded her that if someone wanted her, her screams would be all but useless. Reaching behind herself, fumbling, she found the knob and staggered back inside, calling out again for her missing date.

FIVE

T
he bus smelled of sweat and diesel mixed with cheap perfume and white bread in paper sacks. It was an odor that Lucy barely noticed anymore on the bus ride to school. She tried not to notice much of anything as she slid her backpack into the seat next to her. Rolling laughter and conversations combined to make an unintelligible bedlam. She closed her eyes and tried to block it out.

The bus lurched over a speed bump and she opened those gray eyes to see a tall building of a man standing at the front of the bus. He wore jeans with a suit jacket and tie. His hair was cropped short, and a red patch capped his right eye, thick scars creeping out from around it like flesh-colored spider legs. So many things about his presence confused her.

He moved slowly, every so often kneeling down and speaking to one of the other riders. He seemed to stare
into
them with that one, cold eye. Then he would reach out, brush their shoulder with long, thick fingers and stand. Perhaps, she thought, he was a cop looking to bust someone with drugs, or whoever had spray-painted the wang on Principal Jackson’s car the day before. But his demeanor, his whole being, made her think that he was no one good or anyone who might be seeking justice. Bending down once more, he spoke with a short, orange-haired boy. After a moment, the kid’s head wagged from side-to-side, and the man rose again to his full, mountain height.

He looked at her, a smile cracked his hard face. She shivered as he lumbered toward her. The mountain of a man knelt, just as he had with the others, smelling of an old cedar chest. His smile was one of extreme satisfaction.

“Hello, child. My name is Alastor. I look for people. Perhaps a person like yourself.”

“What are you doing on our bus?” She swallowed hard.

“As I said, I am looking for someone,” he stared at her with that one stone eye, “You, perhaps.”

“I didn’t do anything.”

He forced her hand into his, holding it for a long moment. She wanted to pull away, but couldn’t. Lucy felt a pinprick of pain in her palm and jumped. He smirked, letting it go. “You’re a victim of your lineage. But there’s blood on your hands nonetheless.”

“What are—”

“Silence… would be befitting this moment.”

And she was silent.

He stared at her for too long before speaking again. “You’ve hidden like a coward. But I found you. I always find you. All of you.”

Her throat seemed to constrict when she opened her mouth to speak, but he had interrupted her before she could force any words out.

“You were not as easy to find as the other two. Your kind is always harder,
even when you’re not trying
. But I finally smelled your coward bones.” His eye narrowed, and his cool demeanor cracked a little. “You think you’re better than me. Than all of us. I was told not to make a fuss or I’d take you right now no matter who saw.” His composure returned. “But I’ll wait. And you’ll die with the rest of them soon enough. Aern will have that pleasure himself.” He leaned in close. Lucy was shivering, whimpering. “If I could just do it with my own hands.” He rose at once, seeming to be listening as if she were talking. He smiled again, nodding. “I have him, too,” he said, sounding like it made his mouth water. “You wake now. Enjoy your final moments. Repent to your gods if you have them. Let everyone leave this vehicle, but you stay. I’ll make sure they don’t notice.” He smiled, stood to his full height, and began to fade away.