Johnny Gruesome (28 page)

Footsteps mashed the snow behind him, and he sensed Rhonda looking back.

She squeezed his arm. “Eric—”

Cliff slammed against his back, driving him forward. Arms flailing, he fell face-first into snow, with Cliff on top of him. He heard the rustling of winter fabrics as his teammates jostled for position around them.

“Call it,” Cliff shouted.

Derek said, “Takedown, two points!”

Cliff seized Eric’s right wrist in a two-on-one hold, intending to roll him onto his back.

“Boys!” Henry’s voice rose above the excited shouts.

“It’s okay,” Derek said. “They’re just blowing off a little steam.”

Eric worked his way up onto his hands and knees, his arms straining from the weight on his back. Cliff tried to wrap his right leg around Eric’s, but Eric extended his leg, making that impossible. Then Eric locked his left arm around Cliff’s elbow and rolled, throwing Cliff over him and onto the ground.

Playing referee, Derek danced around them for a better view. Still clutching Cliff’s arm, Eric pivoted on one heel so he faced Cliff and pressed his chest down on his opponent’s.

Derek rolled his hands around each other, then raised two fingers, an incredulous expression on his face. “Reversal, two points!”

The teammates continued shouting, and Eric looked in Rhonda’s direction, expecting to see disapproval on her face. Instead, he saw her cheering him on. Encouraged, he slid his left hand onto Cliff’s shoulder and forced it to the frozen ground. Then he whipped his right arm around Cliff’s neck, using his elbow to raise the back of Cliff’s head off the ground. He arched his back, pinning Cliff.

As Derek crouched low to the ground and slid his hand beneath Cliff’s shoulder blades, feeling for a pin, Eric glanced in Rhonda’s direction again, his chest swelling with pride. A sudden gust of wind blew the fire behind her, revealing the bus beyond it. Eric flinched as if someone had slapped his face, his body going rigid and his blood turning cold. A boy stood on the far side of the fire, his back to The Bus, watching Eric’s contest with great interest.

Not just any boy.

Johnny.

He wore his familiar black leather jacket, which looked worse for wear, weathered and beaten, over a black T-shirt with bright green ribs printed on it. Firelight rimmed his soggy, discolored flesh and watery eyes. The right side of his face bore four deep gouges and sagged on his skull. Grinning, he raised a beer in toast to Eric, then tilted his head back and took a swig.

Jesus Christ no fucking way not possible—

Eric’s muscles melted like cheese on a grill and he lost his grip on Cliff, who sensed his competitor’s distraction and bridged up on his neck.

Derek shook his head and raised two fingers. “Two back points!”

Eric lost all immediate interest in the match. Draped over Cliff’s rising body, he continued to stare in Johnny’s direction. The wind lessened, and the fire returned, blocking his view. Cliff pivoted on his head, dumping Eric onto the packed snow, and climbed on top of him.

Derek rolled his hands again. “Reversal, two points!”

Cliff threw his arm around Eric’s neck and pinned him to the ground. Eric saw only the crackling flames. He heard Rhonda’s voice, shouting with the wrestlers, encouraging him to fight. He rocked his body back and forth, trying to break free of Derek’s grasp.

Johnny!

Too late: Derek slammed one hand on the ground. “That’s it!”

Cliff leapt to his feet, punching the empty air as if he’d just won the state championship for wrestling. “Yeah!
Yeah!
”

Eric stood, his breathing ragged, and brushed snow off his clothes, mud clinging to his jeans. His mother would have plenty to say about that. While his teammates greeted Cliff with victorious cheers, Rhonda came to him. He took a deep breath, filling his lungs with cold air, and his nostrils flared with a familiar scent.

Chlorine …

“Are you okay?” Concern filled Rhonda’s eyes.

“Yeah.” He feigned a smile. “Nothing’s broken.”

“Wrestling is horrible!”

“I’m not too crazy about it myself right now.”

“Can we leave?”

“In a minute. Wait here.”

Eric circled the fire, avoiding the other wrestlers. At that moment, he harbored no interest in them, nor anger toward Cliff. He stood between the flames and the deserted bus, gazing at the woods. Trees bowed in the wind, teasing him with their silence. Johnny had disappeared, if he had ever really been there. Eric inspected the ground where he believed Johnny had stood. Footprints covered the earth—many footprints, which proved nothing.

I imagined it.

Of course he had. What other explanation could there be?

“You okay, Eric?”

He turned around. “Yeah, Henry. I’m fine.”

“I wanted to stop it, but Derek said you guys were just playing—”

“Don’t worry about it.” Eric returned to Rhonda. “Let’s get out of here.” They entered the woods, heat from the fire on their backs.

Johnny
…

D
rip, drip …

Carol lay in the bathtub, her shoulders pressed against the tiled wall and her eyes fixed on the locked bathroom door.

Such a feeble lock.

Earlier, in the bedroom, she had pulled on jeans and a sweater with frenzied movements, only to freeze as she faced the door. What if Johnny still lurked somewhere in the house? She backed away.

Twice she’d picked up the phone and dialed Matt’s number at the station, only to hang up after the first ring each time.

What would she say?

What could she say?
That her recently deceased pupil had returned from the grave and attacked her? That she believed he wanted to rape her? Who would believe such an impossible story?

She knew Johnny was dead. She had seen him in his coffin and had seen that coffin lowered into the earth. The thing that invaded her home had been a rotting, unholy creature.

Could she tell anyone what had happened? She would be laughed out of her job, her town, and her marriage.

Perhaps she could lie, tell Matt that someone else had broken into the house and threatened her. A stranger. A living, breathing human being.

No.

Matt would use every resource at his command to learn everything he could about what had happened to her. God only knew what a medical examination would reveal.

How did she know Johnny hadn’t violated her while she was unconscious? She saw no bruises on her body, and she felt no pain. But how could she
know?

She pulled off her clothes and threw them down the laundry chute. She showered, scrubbing her flesh raw, bathed, douched, and bathed again, sobbing all the while. She drained the tub, refilled it with hot water, waited for it to turn cold, her skin wrinkling.

Drip, drip …

The tears came again.

They sat in a booth at the Bomber House, with a window view of the darkened flower shop across the street. Snow fell, obscuring the infrequent traffic. Eric devoured the first of many buffalo wings, atomic hot and dipped in bleu cheese. He picked the bone clean and reached for another wing. Half a pizza sub waited on a separate paper plate.

“Wow,” Rhonda said. “I’ve never seen anyone enjoy a buffalo wing so much. You must really be hungry.”

“I’ve been hungry all season.”

“Why do you guys starve yourselves like that?”

“The theory is that the less you weigh, the smaller your opponent will be. But it never works out that way because everyone on the other team is starving, too.”

“I thought you did great back there. You were winning right up until the end.”

“The end’s all that matters, at least according to Coach.”

“What happened? I saw you look up at me, and then you got this funny look on your face. I hope it wasn’t my fault. Did I distract you?”

He shook his head. “It had nothing to do with you.”

“What, then?”

I saw my dead friend drinking a beer.
“I was thinking about Johnny and Todd and Charlie, and I got caught up in the emotion of everything that’s happened. My mind went blank and Cliff took advantage of it, just like he should have.”

She reached across the table and took his hand. “Are you okay now?”

He met her gaze. I really don’t know; maybe I’m crazy. “Yes.”

The bells on the door jingled, and cold air swept through the dining area. Eric turned to see Gary enter with Karen. A smirk formed on Gary’s face as Eric withdrew his hand from Rhonda’s.

Karen stopped in her tracks, a nervous expression on her pale face. “Hi,” she said in an uncomfortable voice.

Eric said “hi” at the same time Rhonda said “hello.”

Gary came to their table, his combat boots clopping. “How’s it going?”

Eric’s throat tightened. “Everything’s fine.”

“I bet.” Gary winked at him.

Rhonda slid across the bench, making room for them.

“Don’t bother yourself,” Gary said. “We’re getting a pie to go.” He strutted to the counter.

Eric watched Karen join Gary. She didn’t look in their direction again.

Leaning forward, Rhonda said in a whisper, “Are they going out?”

Hearing the surprise in her voice, Eric shrugged and shook his head.

C
liff and Derek left the memorial last. They waited until the last of their teammates had departed, then shared a joint with Henry. Sated, they got into Cliff’s car and rolled onto the dark, deserted road, gangsta rap blasting from the speakers.

“Fucking Carter,” Cliff said. “I fixed his clock.”

Derek said nothing.

“What?”

Derek shrugged. “I don’t think it was necessary.”

“What do you mean?”

“Just what I said. We were there to honor Todd. Eric had every right to be there. You didn’t have to hassle him like that.”

“I don’t care what you say, he had it coming and I gave it to him good. Gimme a brew.”

Derek reached behind the seat, pulled a silver can from a bag, popped the tab, and passed it to Cliff, who steered with one hand.

“Man, can you believe Rhonda was with him?”

Derek shook his head. “Nah, man. I don’t believe it.”

“I’d do her. She’s got that repressed librarian look, but you can tell she wants it real bad. I’d fix her ass good.”

“Too bad Eric’s going there first.”

“Fuck that. He doesn’t even know which end is up.”

“Maybe so, but he left with Rhonda tonight. You’re leaving with me.”

Cliff belched. “Yeah? If I make you get out and walk home, I’ll be leaving alone.”

Staring ahead, Derek didn’t answer. He disliked mean drunks. The black sky divided the trees on either side of the snow-covered road, the Mazda’s headlights providing the only illumination. He thought he saw movement ahead on the right: a shadow detaching itself from the trees. Squinting, he saw a figure cross the snow and step onto the road. “What the hell—?”

The headlights struck the figure as it stepped into their path.

“Look out!”

Cliff spat beer as the headlights illuminated the figure with such intensity that its face glowed bright white. The male figure stopped dead in his tracks. Cliff dropped his beer and jerked the steering wheel to his left. The car swerved off the road, narrowly missing the dark figure. Derek cried out as the car roared straight toward a row of pine trees. Cliff jerked the steering wheel again, in the opposite direction this time, and the car slid sideways through the snow, slamming its passenger side against a thick oak tree. Derek cursed as the impact hurled him at the dashboard and his seat belt snapped him back. A split second later, an air bag inflated, slamming into his face and pinning him against his seat. By the time the car settled on its shock absorbers, the music had cut off, replaced by the blaring horn. The air bag deflated in a cloud of white dust that made both teenagers cough.