The Reaping of Norah Bentley (2 page)

No. I hadn’t done it on purpose. I didn’t know why I’d done it. One second I’d been standing on the shoreline, staring out at the boats in the distance and wishing I could’ve been on one of them. Then I was in the water, fighting for my life.

Then almost losing it.

There were other things trying to scramble into the memory of that day, too; the sound of bells tinkling, of high-pitched, almost inhuman screams. The image of wispy flames flashing on the water, their light beckoning me to follow. The flames in particular burned vividly in my mind, but the impression they left there was hazier.

Was I making them up?

Sometimes I was sure I must have been, but other times they seemed like the only way to explain why I’d swam so far out. Almost like the lights had cast some sort of spell over me. The thought was unsettling, made me squirm in my chair even more than Helen’s sharp gaze. And what about the boy who’d saved me? He was somewhere in-between real and imaginary, too. For some reason, I didn’t like to think he might not be real.

I forced my attention back to Helen. She was silently sipping her coffee, watching me over the rim of the mug. Probably wondering what sort of crazy schizophrenic thoughts I was having.

“I was only trying to help, you know,” she said after a few seconds, “by talking to Darlene. She’s an incredibly nice, thoughtful lady—really Norah, if you’d just give her a chance to help you then maybe—”

“I don’t need help.” Not help facilitated by Helen, anyway.

“Sweetie, you almost
died
.” She said it like she was telling me about some story she’d read in the tabloids, like she just couldn’t wait another second to share this juicy bit of gossip. When my eyebrows rose in annoyance, she quickly added, “So it’s understandable that you do. Nobody will think you’re weak if you need to talk to somebody about it.”

“I don’t need to talk to anybody.”

“Your father thinks you should talk to somebody, too.” There was a slight hint of compassion in her voice when she mentioned Dad, but it was gone almost as quickly. I wondered if I’d imagined it.

“Then why hasn’t he mentioned anything to me about it?” I asked.

“Because.” She reached for the spoon in her coffee, stirred it so fast that some of the milky brown liquid sloshed out onto the vinyl tablecloth. “You know how he is.”

Silent, that’s how he was. At least to me. If nothing else, Helen was a go-between for me and Dad, the only reason either of us knew the other existed. I was used to the arrangement, and it usually didn’t bother me all that much. I guess last night’s dreams had made me touchier than usual, though. Or maybe I just needed another cup of coffee. Because right now, the thought of Dad talking to her instead of me about this was almost maddening.

I balled my hands into fists, crammed them into the pocket of my hoodie and got to my feet. “I’ve got to go. I’m going to be late for school.”

“You’re going like that?”

I’d been planning on changing, but just to get another shocked look of disapproval out of her, I glanced down at my baggy sweats and shrugged.

“Yeah. Why not?”

Helen stirred her coffee again, slow and deliberate this time.

“No reason. You look really classy,” she said.

I snatched my half-empty coffee mug, carried it over and dropped it in the sink. It clattered against the stainless steel and the metallic ringing echoed through the tiny kitchen.

“Fine,” I said. “I’ll go change into some jeans.”

Fifteen minutes later, I was out the door and on my way down Westminster Street. Sutton High was about ten blocks away— about a thirty-minute walk if I was moving at a normal pace. At the rate I was going, I’d be there in about two hours. Maybe.

It was a nice morning, still a little on the cool side but not cold enough to make me wish I’d taken my car. The sun was almost up, its rays lending a splash of grapefruit color to the lower half of the sky, and the smell of burnt leaves—my favorite part of fall, maybe—filled the air. There were a few more drivers out on the road now. Most of them waved at me as they cruised past, and I waved back absently without looking hard enough to recognize any of them.

I must’ve been walking faster than I realized, because suddenly Oakwood Cemetery was to my left, and directly across the street was town hall. I drug my fingers along the cemetery fence, curling the tips and catching each of the cold wrought-iron bars for just a second as I walked by. I slowed to a stop at the entrance, wrapping my hand around a thicker bar that curved up into the archway. At the top of the arch, the iron twisted into intricate patterns that wove around the centerpiece: a polished slab of granite with a relief of a robed, angelic-looking figure with an upturned face.

A gust of wind blew past, creaked the right gate open a few inches. I got the feeling that I’d just stepped into a cheesy horror flick, and I was about to laugh at the thought when I lowered my gaze and saw what was on the other side of the iron bars.

It was a dog. Shaggy black with pin-prick ears and a curled tail that wagged hesitantly when our eyes met. It was a little bigger than our German Sheppard, Maggie, and probably only weighed half as much; it was terribly skinny, nothing but fur and bones with legs like spindly tree limbs. It didn’t have a collar.

“Hey buddy,” I said. “What’re you doing in there?” I glanced around, like I might see its owner, even though it was pretty obvious this little guy didn’t have—maybe had never had—anybody to take care of it. If it was a stray though, it still seemed pretty used to people; it gave a happy little bark at the sound of my voice and spun several circles in the grass, and I couldn’t help but smile.

“I wish I had time to play,” I said, “but I’m about to be late for school.”

The dog gave a friendly but insistent growl, like it wasn’t about to take no for an answer. I pulled my cell out and checked the time again.

“Really don’t have time for this,” I said. But I was already pushing the rusted gate open just enough to slip through—I mean, a person could only be so stubborn when it came to cute, fluffy animals. I’d just pet the dog real quick, I decided, and then I’d get out of there and haul ass to school. I probably wasn’t going to make it by the first bell, anyway. Luckily, Mr. Davis really didn’t care as long as you made it to homeroom by the second.

The gate was weighted, so it swung shut behind me as I stepped inside and crouched down, held out my hand to the dog. It took baby steps forward, suddenly timid, and sniffed my hand, bumping its cold, wet nose against my knuckles.

“It’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you.”

Its tail wagged stiffly, uncertain again.

“I swear. I’m a friend.” I crab-walked my way closer to the dog, reaching to scratch between its ears. My foot caught the corner of a rock and I pitched forward a little, and my cell slipped out of the pocket of my hoodie and hit the ground, throwing up a cloud of dust.

“Shit…” I reached for it, but the dog was faster.

“No!
Drop it!
” The dog just wagged its tail, looking pleased with the new toy. I winced at the sound of its teeth crunching down on the touch screen, just before it turned and bounded off through the rows of headstones.

“Are you frickin’ kidding me?” I shouted. “I come in to pet you, and this is the thanks I get?” The dog was already nothing but a blur of speed in the distance, and my voice didn’t slow it down any.

“I am going to be so late,” I groaned, climbing to my feet and starting after it. What else could I do? That phone was expensive—had taken me about six months of begging to get it— and my parents would kill me if they found out I lost it. I had to at least try and get it back.

So I pumped my short legs as hard as I could, trying to ignore how creepy and possibly disrespectful it was to be running over so many dead people, but it wasn’t long before I lost sight of the dog completely. The autumn air suddenly seemed a lot colder. It bit at my lungs and burned icy hot down my throat, making it hard to catch enough breath to calm my pounding heart. Still, I stumbled on in the direction the dog had disappeared into, telling myself that it couldn’t run forever, that it might be just over this little hill, or just past this group of headstones…

I thought I caught a flash of black straight ahead, jetting behind a tree. A fresh dose of adrenaline pumped through me, and I sprinted forward so fast I almost collided—not with the dog, but with the person who suddenly stepped out from behind the tree. I stumbled back, and a hand on my arm was the only thing that kept me from falling.

I steadied myself and glanced up. And for a second I thought I might fall again. The grip on my arm didn’t relax, as if the boy in front of me could tell how unstable I was. I might have been shaking. I don’t know. All I really felt was a quick and ruthless numbness.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to startle you like that— I was just trying to save you some energy.” He lifted his other hand and waved my cell phone at me. “I think you were chasing after this?” The sunlight gleamed off a fresh crack in the screen, but I wasn’t even worried about that right now.

“I...you…” I felt like I’d swallowed an entire desert’s worth of sand, sand scorched by the mid-day sun and now its heat was radiating from my chest and folding over me like a wave. Making me feel faint. Delirious. And positive that this boy must have been a mirage.

I thought I would have been more prepared for this. Part of me had been so convinced that he’d been real, so sure I couldn’t have imagined what he’d done. So why was a voice inside my head screaming that this was all wrong? That he belonged in my dreams, not here? Not here where he looked so completely real and completely solid, his eyes dancing between every shade of blue imaginable as he stared into mine.

“Are you okay?” he asked, handing me the cell phone. I couldn’t seem to get my arm to reach for it, and after a minute he just let his hand fall back to his side, still holding it. “That dog,” he said, still looking at me uncertainly, “You should probably stay away from him. He…he’s been hanging around here a lot lately. I’ve seen him get pretty mean—he almost bit some little kid last week.”

His words didn’t make much sense, and I didn’t try to force any kind of sense on them. His voice was the only thing that mattered. Quiet, but at the same time commanding; the kind of voice you’d still be able to hear even if he was whispering to you in a room crowded with people. It brought me back to the first time I’d seen him, to that moment of ultimate peace.

“It’s you,” I finally managed to whisper, still staring him up and down in disbelief.

Wavy strands of dark hair fell from behind his ears and into his face as he tilted his head forward in a nod. “I’m sorry I’ve been away for so long,” he said. “I would have come to you in the hospital…I wanted to make sure you were okay. But I had some things I had to take care of first.” A faint tinge of pink washed over his cheeks, brightening his otherwise fair complexion for a few seconds. He looked, and sounded, deeply ashamed by his three-week absence; I was just deeply confused.

I swallowed, tried to unstick my tongue from where it had lodged in the back of my throat. “It’s not like I was expecting you,” I said slowly. “I…I didn’t even think—I didn’t know—if you were real. Real like this, I mean. Everyone I told about you, they all thought I was crazy, thought I was—”

“You’re not crazy,” he interrupted quietly. “Obviously.” His voice was so confident that, for a second, I wondered why I’d ever doubted myself to begin with. Of course I wasn’t crazy. Of course he was real. If he wasn’t real, I wouldn’t be standing here right now. I’d be dead.

Part of me still wanted to deny him, though, because he was like a walking, breathing testament to that day —to the fighting, the waves, my lifeless body. To all those things I’d been trying to forget had ever happened.

“Why did you save me?”

I’m not sure where the question came from myself, and he seemed taken-aback by it.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“Why me? You don’t even know me.”

“I have to know somebody before I can keep them from drowning?” His lips parted into a small smile. “Would you rather I had introduced myself first?” He spoke easily, like we were just old friends catching up in a graveyard. Because that’s totally normal, right?

“No…I mean…Okay. That question came out wrong,” I said. “I’m glad you did, I just meant that it was kind of weird. Everything that happened that day was kind of weird.”

There was a long silence between us, weighted down with a million possible questions. I wanted to ask them all. A need was growing, pulsating in my chest and getting more demanding by the second—a need to know everything about this strange boy in the cemetery. I don’t know why. It wasn’t like me to pry, or to even think about introducing myself to new people. But suddenly questions were pouring out before I could stop them.

“Who are you? And what are you doing in here, anyway? In Sutton Springs, of all places? Are you stalking me or something?”

“I’m not stalking you. I have family here in Sutton.” I must have still looked nervous, because he went on: “Do you know Harold Greene?”

“The cemetery caretaker Harold Greene?”

“Yes.”

“He lives just down the street from us,” I said.

“He’s my uncle. He was telling my mother about you, about the story that was in the newspaper about you almost drowning, you know? And I put two and two together, assumed it was you and decided I had to see you again. So I came for a visit.”