Falter Kingdom (5 page)

In bed, I'm able to feel a little bit safe, but three
A.M
. will arrive, and even if I do sleep, I'll probably wake up.

Becca says, “Keep chatting with me. I'll stay up all night.”

And she would and I tell her how much it means to me, but in fewer than a dozen messages, I think I fall asleep because everything goes blank and I don't wake up until it's morning.

3

I WAKE UP LATE. I'M GOING TO BE LATE FOR CLASS. BUT
maybe that's a good thing. I don't get out of bed, even though I feel like shit, stinking of late-night sweats. First thing I think about is how I was talking to Becca before, I guess, I fell asleep. Thing about that is I don't really feel like I slept at all. I yawn and feel pressure on my forehead—a headache coming on. I look at the laptop at my side, on standby, and press a key to wake it up. I check our chat history.

After around one
A.M
., it's all Becca, mostly saying things like:

“Hunter?”

“Hunter what happened?”

“Hunter you're scaring me.”

I scroll up to the last thing I said: “Something's in this room with me.”

I stare at what I said. I... don't know what to think.

Other messages include more about what happened in the shower, how my phone disappeared and ended up with my dad. The whispers.

And I ask her at one point, “Do you really love me?”

Wow, that's just embarrassing.

Like, really?

Anyway, I look at what we talked about and feel strange because I don't remember any of it. I wonder if this is normal. Does this happen so soon? Another symptom?

Hey, but Becca came through as always. She's going to get this taken care of. This is what I'm talking about, I think. I mean, I despise her most of the time and I wish I could just break up with her and enjoy being single for the rest of my senior year, but that takes so much effort, you know?

I know I think about this a lot. But unlike most things, I don't find it any easier the more I think about it. I don't see it happening. She's there, and she's been at my side for as long as there could be anyone at my side. It helps when you've got someone who does everything for you.

But at the same time I feel bad, because that's also what my mom tries to do, smother me and stuff, and it's kind of like saying,
I'll let her but I won't let you.

But feelings are like that. They are complicated.

I don't know what to feel about what's going on. That's a good example.

Another complicated situation is the shower situation.

No way I'm going back in there.

I'll brush my teeth at school.

I'll use the gym showers during lunch period or something.

I'll boycott that bathroom.

Guess I shouldn't—facing your fears is important, right?

But then I'm rushing to get to school on time because I've been absent a lot.

First period's already started when I pull into my parking space, but she's right there, sitting cross-legged on the sidewalk. I shut the engine off and walk over, sit next to her. She doesn't say anything. I don't say anything. When I try to hug her, she pushes me away.

“It's just...” Then she stands up. “The way you touch me, it's different. Like colder or whatever.”

I guess it's to be expected. She was going to do this.

“Don't be mad, ‘kay? Like, it's just my imagination but I... want us to keep some distance until we get this fixed.”

I shrug. “Sure, whatever.”

“You sound mad.”

I'm not mad but I go with it, because I don't have to even say why I'd be mad, it's all laid out for me. “Maybe.”

“Hunter...” She kneels next to me. “I just don't want to be near
that thing.
And if it's attached to you... if we, like, do anything... even a kiss, it's...”

It's hard to explain, I know.

“You know?”

But in this case, I'll pretend I don't. “Whatever.”

Becca brought to her knees...

“I'm sorry, so sorry.” She hugs me but there's nothing to it. Like she hugs me in a way where her arms wrap around me but there's no feeling.

I sit here until she leaves, swearing that nothing's changed.

But everything's going to change.

I think that long before I even realize.

Walking the halls is different today. But this isn't really surprising. Tell Becca and the whole world will know. That means I need to figure out how to explain it to Jon-Jon. That means I need to get ready to never hear the end of it from Blaire. That also means, ah, shit, Brad being Brad. He's going to be an asshole about it, I'm sure.

But the school, it changes shape. Becca wants to keep her distance and suddenly I walk the halls and people... I don't know all their names, but I think one girl's named Stephanie and that guy saying, “Hell yeah, man,” is named Raul—I think we talked a little when we had summer school that one time back in... junior year? Anyway, word gets around, yeah. And real quick, like anything else.

Everyone at Meadows, including the teachers, knows that I ran the gauntlet and I succeeded.

Meaning, I'm haunted.

But that's kind of the point people are trying to prove when they decide to run. They face the darkness of that tunnel and they face
the fears of Falter Kingdom. They run because, if they do, they'll be remembered for it.

I want to believe that I ran for the same reasons.

I've gone on about this, I think, but it's hard to do much of anything today. The halls are full of faces that congratulate me on what happened.

What did I do, I mean really?

From a sophomore who says he ran it too but lasted only, like, five minutes: “You rule.”

From another senior from last period, Greg I think is his name: “Never thought you had it in you.” I never knew that we knew each other, just saying.

From a freshman new to the high school game: “Like, what was it like? You've got it made if you run and nab a demon. Can you teach me, man?”

From a junior who plays on the Meadows varsity basketball team: “Motherfucker, now that's big!”

From another senior, but someone I don't recognize: “Yo, it's Chris. We know each other from somewhere, right?”

From Blaire, who I meet on the way to the restroom just because I couldn't stand sitting in class anymore: “I knew before even you knew. I want you to know that. Tell that demon to really mess you up, make it count.”

“Blaire!” I try to talk to her, but yeah, trying and doing are two different things. She'll come around eventually. I'm not going to bother. This is what usually happens. Since grade school, one thing sets her off and it's a week of not talking and then, suddenly, it's back to normal.

I wish things would go back to normal.

From the start of the day, it goes on like this. It's overwhelming but also kind of cool. But then lunch happens, and that means Brad.

I'm standing in line for food, not making eye contact, while Matthew, a guy from last period, chats with me, but really it's that he's chatting to me, and I'm not really listening. I'm not even trying to hold a conversation. He's talking about music. A local scene or
something where there's a lot of cool basement shows. He's talking to me about it like he's trying to sell me on going to one.

“We're still auditioning members and shit. Maybe you wanna...?”

Know how that goes. I nod but kind of stare at this space between the sign showing today's “specials” and the back of a person's head.

And then it's Brad's voice from the back of the line, getting closer with every word until he's slapping me across the shoulder. “Bro, I fucking knew it! You liar. JJ's going to have your balls chopped off for this. Dude!” But he's happier than I can be. Same as anyone else, I guess.

“I'll be all right,” I tell him.

“Jetson had you figured. Bro, animals are better at sensing that shit.”

I don't want to talk about this so here's my reply: “Yeah.”

“So, like, is the ‘d' with you right now?”

The “d.” Only Brad would say that. Ugh. I tell him, “How the fuck am I supposed to know?”

Brad looks at the music kid. “Who the hell are you?”

I point at him. “He's recruiting band members for some band.”

Brad gets in the kid's face—“Go recruit somewhere else!”—and there he goes, but Brad doesn't stop. “The demon's supposed to stick around, bro. You feeling disturbed?”

I turn to him. “Man,” I say, “shut up.”

“Bro, I don't know why you're so bummed. This is going to make you. For real, man, you're golden. Your yearbook bio is going to read ‘Winner like a motherfucking sinner.'”

Not listening. The line is moving. Soon: chicken fingers.

“What about the symptoms?”

Even Brad's asking about the damn symptoms. “I'm a little annoyed by all the questions, if you want me to be absolutely real.”

But today Brad's not going to be as big of an asshole. He actually listens to me. I know, it's crazy. “Fine man. You're tired. Bet you're really tired. I bet a lot on the fact that you're... really tired.”

“Not going to be your next wager,” I tell him.

“Cool, it's cool,” Brad says. “We got to see JJ.”

“First, chicken fingers.”

“What's with the chicken fingers, bro? Every day it's those deep-fried strips. You get sick of those or are you eating for two now?” Brad laughs.

I look at him. He seriously stops, animal shot dead in his tracks. Totally dead mid-laugh, maybe even a little standoffish.

“Hey, bro, just playing.”

“I'm just hungry, okay?”

“Cool, cool.”

We wait in line, I get my order, and we make a beeline right for the exit. I don't look at anyone because everyone's busy looking at me. Today of all days, the name on people's tongues is “Hunter Warden.”

I can't get past how Brad reacted a second ago. I wasn't that mad. I mean, I don't think I was that mad. He's just obnoxious, that's all. I can't stand him. But yeah, he didn't need to be afraid or something.

We're talking and people wave. Everyone's like “Hunter, yo!” and “So awesome” and “What was it like?” It's what almost everyone wants to know: What's it like? I mean, it's a common thing right?

People have demons and then they get rid of them.

I ask Brad and he says, “I dunno anyone that did. But there've been a bunch, yeah. Ask JJ. There's a tally going on.”

Another group of people slow down to congratulate me. It's the thespian crew, and they're all like, “You got to be a part of our play before you get rid of it. We'd kill to get some authentic activity onstage.”

Yeah, yeah—everyone wants some part of it.

Brad says, “Bro, you're a celebrity.”

I can't take it at face value. I'm too preoccupied with a previous thought. How many people have gotten a demon while running the gauntlet? But anyway...

I like but also hate what's happening. The reaction. It's great to see that doing something crazy gets a few likes, but at the same time, I'm like,
Do you really care?
I know maybe two in every twenty who I've talked to, but we don't have anything in common. Really we don't. I
like the attention—would be kind of weird not to—but it's also sort of fake. Like Brad being Brad—it's really fake. If I really said anything to them other than “Thanks” and “It was wild,” they'd shut off and not listen anymore.

It's all the effect, I guess, of being one of the, like, 5 percent who actually ran.

Jon-Jon looks up from his phone and actually stands up when he sees me. “Well, well, my demonic friend...”

“Hey, about that...” I start to apologize and explain why, but Jon-Jon won't have anything to do with it. It's like I'm the guy he's trying to, I don't know, swindle... that's a word, right, “swindle”? I'm the guy who's being swindled into some new scheme.

“Jetson sniffed it on you after sixty seconds,” Jon-Jon says as he walks back to where he always sits, picking up a growling, sneering Jetson. He tries to get the dog to stop but gripping on to the dog only makes it worse. He tells two girls, “Walk him 'round back.”

They comply.

He adds, “I'll text you when we're done.” Jon-Jon turns and grins at me. “First piece of advice—stay away from animals. They go right for the jugular.” Jon-Jon taps the side of his neck.

I ask Jon-Jon what I asked Brad.

“Well”—Jon-Jon looks back down at his phone—“it's a short list.”

He holds out the phone and I almost don't want to take it. Jon-Jon rolls his eyes, stands up, and puts it in my right hand, points at the screen: “There's the list. Twelve names. It was eleven until I added your name.”

There I am, number twelve.

“You keep a list?” I ask Jon-Jon.

He laughs, hands going through his stylized hair. “Like I told you before, I could have made a lot of money on you.”

I sigh. “Well, I'm getting the exorcism.”

Jon-Jon nods. “Naturally. When is it?”

Brad chimes in: “Bro, get it soon, but not before, you know, having some fun.”

What fun?

Jon-Jon with that weird grin of his. “We'll plan a few... events. A few parties. We'll make a killing and everyone you know will treat you like a fucking rock star.”

I don't know what to say.

“You like that?”

I guess I was staring at one of Jon-Jon's accessories, a ring on his index finger. Jon-Jon's decked out in a lot of fancy shit. I don't know where to get half of what he's got, but the guy's doing his best to be some character out of a detective flick. I've said it before, yeah, and I'll say it again—every single time I see the guy, he's trying to look the part of a gangbanger.

“Yeah,” I say. Why the hell not?

That grin. “You'll make the dollar signs and buy yourself shit like this.”

Brad says, “Bro, you got to throw a party.”

“I'm not having anything at my house.”

“Shit, man, really?” Brad shakes his head. “Then have it at mine!”

Jon-Jon likes what he's hearing. “It's a start.”