Passing Strange (17 page)

S
OME PLACE IN UPSTATE
Maine.” That’s all I had to go on. That, and if I could get it, a latex mask that looked like Tak. Would that be enough to prove that my friends were framed for a murder that hadn’t actually happened?

It was a starting point. It was also, unless I could somehow charm Pete into confessing the whole thing to someone other than myself, all that I had.

My first attempt to steal the mask was a dismal failure. I had it all planned out; I was going to break through one of the basement windows that led to Pete’s bedroom, make a beeline for the dresser I’d seen him take it from, grab it, and maybe take his iPod and whatever small items I could grab, just to make it look like I was there to steal stuff and not to look for evidence. The first part—the window breaking—went reasonably well, but that was about the only thing that did. How was I to know that the house was alarmed?

So there I was, standing in Pete’s room, rooting through his dresser. I found socks, underwear, a large unopened box of condoms, a gold chain, a bundle of letters and cards in an elastic band, a knife, shirts, jeans, a deck of playing cards with some sports-team logo on the back, an empty vodka nip bottle, and a pair of panties I assumed was a souvenir and not Pete’s typical undergarment. No mask, though. Not in the drawer where it had been, not in any of the drawers.

I looked under his bed and found an old pair of cleats. I looked in the closet. There was a red milk crate that held football pads, helmet, and a hockey stick. A couple of porno magazines were wedged behind two stacked shoeboxes, one filled with baseball cards and the other with a pair of shiny leather dress shoes. No mask.

I looked through jacket pockets, under pillows, and behind the headboard. I looked in every drawer in the TV stand and found only video game cartridges and a set of drink coasters made out of cork. He had his own refrigerator and I even looked in there, but there was just a six-pack of Sprite Zero and three cans of beer.

I walked up the stairs, not expecting better luck but not wanting to give up, either. Pete’s house was laid out in a very similar fashion to mine—I think most of the residential homes in Oakvale were built by the same developer, because there are only three or four different kinds of houses in Oakvale.

I bypassed the kitchen to look in the family room, which seemed unused. I thought I’d check out the bookshelves, anyway, when I saw a police car pull into the driveway outside.

Good thing I’m a fast little zombie. I didn’t even hesitate, I just turned around and ran back through the kitchen and into the dining room, which had a big sliding glass door that led to a large deck. I had a little trouble with the lock, but then I had the door open and was running across the deck. Pete had a large backyard, but luckily it was unfenced and bordered in the back by the Oxoboxo woods.

The yard was slippery with the light crust of snow that had been shined to a gloss by the sun, which sat in a blue, clear sky. My shoes crunched through the crust with each step, giving the police a clear path to follow if they wanted, but it couldn’t be helped. I half expected the impact of a bullet to fling me down on my face again, but no bullets came my way.

Maybe the cop went to the front door first and knocked, or maybe he sat in his cruiser while waiting for backup to arrive. Maybe he was too late to see me streaking into the woods, or maybe he thought his first duty was to search the house. I don’t know, because I didn’t wait to find out. I didn’t even look back.

I ran for a while, going on and off the path so that my footprints would be impossible to follow. I hadn’t bothered to take anything when I left the Martinsburg home, which was not a good thing. Although I’d given him no impression that I was a thief, or anything other than a fairly blank but interested girl, I thought that maybe the lack of destruction and theft after the break-in would give Pete the idea that it was me snooping around. I was still thinking this hours later when I was at work.

I was in the back room opening the freight when my cell phone rang. It was Pete.

“Hey.”

“Hey yourself,” I said, trying to activate the telepathetic powers that are by no means reliable. I set my box cutter down gently on the table. I haven’t had an “accident” in a few weeks.

“What are you up to?”

“Oh, you know,” I said, “the usual.”

“You’ll never guess what happened.”

“I’ve never been good at guessing.”

He chuckled. “Zombies tried to break into my house,” he told me. “I’ll tell you all about it. Can you be ready in fifteen minutes?”

“Um,” I said. This is the way things went with Pete. Half the time I thought I had him completely fooled, buffaloed into thinking that I was a real girl who was crazy about him, and the other half of the time I thought
he
was playing
me
. “Can you make it a couple hours? I’m off at eight.”

“Sure. See you then.”

Maybe tonight, I thought. I’d gotten through the rest of the Christmas season at the mall without being shot at or overwhelmed by the fog, which are accomplishments in themselves, I guess. I’d worked a metric ton of hours at the store, and at no time was my secret identity compromised. Maybe I was getting overconfident.

Tommy’s mother, Faith, came in the store, just in time to overhear Craig yelling at me to go take a break, something he did often (Tamara, on the other hand, got yelled at because the many breaks she took were too long). He said I was trying to get the labor board on him, or something equally goofy, and told me to go get something to eat.

“Hi, Karen!” Mrs. Williams called, and if it was still able to, my stomach would have flipped.

“Oh hi, Mrs. Williams!” I said, taking her arm and leading her toward the door. The last thing I needed was for Tommy’s mom to out me as a zombie. “I was just about to take a break! Bye, Craig!”

He gave a half-hearted return to my wave, a confused look on his pierced face. Craig often looked at me as if he knew something wasn’t quite right. Then again, Craig looked at almost everyone that way.

“Was he trying to be funny about the food comment?” Faith said before we made it outside, and as we got to the threshold of the store and into the brighter light of the mall, she really got a good look at me—the hair, the clothes, the skin. “Karen! Your eyes are blue!”

I rushed her out of there lickety-split, hoping that Craig hadn’t heard her. “Let’s go to the food court, okay, Mrs. Williams?”

“Oh my,” she said, lowering her voice, even though we were now out of earshot. “You’re pretending, aren’t you?”

Supersweet, and supersharp, too. I could tell she thought the idea was pretty funny.

I winked at her. I’d gotten pretty good at it so that my lids didn’t fuse together before separating. “Shhhhhh.”

“How are you getting away with it? Your eyes…” she said, lifting her hand to her mouth to keep her mirth inside.

“Magic,” I told her. “I keep telling everyone that we’re magic, but no one wants to listen.”

“They’re contacts, aren’t they? You have blue contacts.”

I shook my head. “Magic.”

Giggling, she told me how wonderful I looked and how funny her son would think it was. My passing, I mean. But then she got really serious for a minute and held my hand.

“What you’re doing is dangerous,” she said.

“
I’m
in danger?” I said, trying to laugh it off. We took seats at one of the wobbly round tables in the food court. Two tables away, a young woman was trying to simultaneously feed two children in a doublewide stroller, and a third small child on the seat beside her. “Isn’t Tommy in Washington fighting for zombie rights?
Who’s
in danger?”

“I didn’t say you were the only one,” she said, lightly.

I was going to explain, make assurances, etc.—but I realized I didn’t have to. She wasn’t going to try and talk me out of what I was doing any more than she tried to talk her son out of doing what he’s doing. She was making a statement of fact, that’s all, so I agreed with her.

“I worry about Tommy all the time,” she said. “But he’s on a mission, an important one, and I have to swallow my worry and replace it with hope. He really believes that he has a calling to make the world a better place for the differently biotic. He always had such a strong sense of duty and responsibility.”

She was talking about him, but she was also trying to tell me something.

“When I think of the danger he’s putting himself into by going on this trip, I just start shaking. He’s already so far away, and he’s so sad about Phoebe and Adam.”

She smiled, and I saw that the tears I’d been fearing were not going to come. Faith was sad, confused, and maybe a little hurt, but these feelings were tempered by the fierce pride she had for her son.

“He’s not like you, Karen. He would never be stealthy about things, like you are, or bluff his way through.”

“I know,” I told her. “That’s why we all love him. Because if he were me he wouldn’t be tricking people into hiring him. He’d be demanding a job not necessarily because he wanted one, but because one of
us
might want one.”

“I’m not trying to criticize you. You know that, right, honey? I’m not saying your way is wrong,” she said.

I gave her hand a light squeeze. “Hey,” I said. “What would a great leader be if he didn’t have his covert ops?”

But I felt better after talking to her, I guess. I felt like I had a real job to do.

We didn’t chat long, and I didn’t want to, in case Pete showed up early. I worked the rest of my shift and he didn’t show up in the store at all.

I thought about calling him, but when I walked out of the mall and into the crisp air, I could see his sleek car gliding my way. He pulled up to the curb and I climbed in.

He leaned over and kissed me, one hand around the back of my neck, holding my head still. The other he placed on my knee.

I felt loathsome. Actually, I’d experienced that feeling with a lot of guys. And I saw a
lot
of guys before and after my brief relationship with Monica.

I didn’t want to be gay. I was too scared to be gay. And so when Monica and I started something that was more than a friendship, I tried to keep it quiet. I wouldn’t let her hold my hand when we went to the movies. I wouldn’t let her kiss me good-bye. And when I saw my name in a heart on the cover of her notebook, we fought. And we kept fighting.

And yet, in my heart, which still beat at the time, I knew I was in love with her. I let the boys hold my hand, and I let them kiss me and more when we said good night, but there was nothing like the spark of electricity that passed between Monica and me when we touched, and there was nothing like the breathless longing I had for her when we were apart. Usually I just felt rotten.

But I was too afraid to do anything else. I thought I’d “come around,” that I’d eventually meet a boy who I’d actually feel something for. I told Monica—and myself—that what we were feeling wasn’t love. It was just really, really strong friendship, the natural intimacy that grows between people who’ve been best friends for years. It wasn’t love. Of course not. We weren’t really gay, we were best friends who let things get a little out of control. Somehow I convinced both of us that all our feelings for each other would go away if we dated boys.

And that’s what we did. I dated frequently and widely, while Monica took her time. But when she finally started, it was just with one person. A handsome boy, someone who was a lot like Adam.

I thought Monica was in love, but the relief I should have been feeling wasn’t there. Instead I felt dead inside.

And soon I was dead, both inside and out.

Pete’s kiss wasn’t a long one, but it was like spending an eternity in the fiery pit for me.

“Jesus, you’re freezing,” he said when he was done. Ironic.

“I went for a walk,” I told him. “I got out a little early.” I half expected him to have the long knife I’d seen in his drawer, but instead he stroked my cheek with the back of his hand.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he said. “But so cold.”

“Sorry.” He was in a good mood. Maybe he was in a good mood because he was considering destroying me, who knows. “What’s this about zombies breaking into your house?”

He turned from me and put the car into gear. “Yeah. Somebody broke in. It’s got to be zombies. I’m thinking they were trying to kill me like they killed the Guttridges. Wink, wink. Good thing I wasn’t home.”

“Okay,” I said. “Now you’ve really lost me.”

“I’m going to get something to eat. You hungry?”

I shook my head.

“You’re never hungry,” he replied, and maybe there was accusation there, or maybe it was my overactive imagination again. “How about some coffee?”

“Sure,” I said. “But Dunkin’ Donuts, okay?”

“Yeah. So anyhow,” he said, “that scar-face zombie was seen again this morning.”

I was so surprised, I almost blurted out Tak’s name. I got as far as saying the T out loud, but then I caught myself and said “Tell me you are kidding.”

“No, he really was. The way the radio said it, he came running out of the woods and scared the hell out of a bunch of grade school kids waiting for their bus.”

I think my near discovery by the police and my walk through the woods must have frozen my brain, because it took me some time to realize that Pete meant that
he
had gone out and scared those kids. Why his smug grin didn’t immediately tip me off, I don’t know, but it wasn’t until the grin began to be replaced with a look of uncertainty that I realized what he was saying.

“You didn’t,” I said, eventually, going for that breathless ohmigod inflection that I’d heard brainless girls at school employ. “Little kids, Pete?”

“No harm done, except maybe their moms will have to do an extra load of laundry. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything as funny as those rugrats falling all over each other to get away. The street was kind of icy, too, which made it even funnier.”

“So this is how you spend your mornings?”

“Nah, this was my first time since…since my poor, poor lawyer bought the farm. This was definitely the most fun, though. You should have heard them howling.”