After Obsession

by Carrie Jones

  “Sorry, Alan, there’s not much I can say. Regulations and all.” His face tells me he really is sorry he can’t give me any news. “I promise we’ll do everything we can to help her, though.”

  By now Aimee is off the stairs and standing beside me, her backpack strap held loosely in one hand. I scoop the pack off the floor and throw it over my shoulder.

  “I can carry my own backpack,” she protests.

  “I know,” I say. “But that veggie burger gave me so much energy that my colon said I have to carry your backpack to say thank you.”

  Her dad laughs again and says, “I think he’s going to keep you on your toes, Aim.”

  She gooses me in the side and I can’t help but flinch. “I think I can handle him,” she says. “Now let’s go, Alan. I heard Benji brushing his teeth. Or sharpening them to get whatever Dad left of you.”

  “It was nice to meet you, Mr. Avery,” I say, then open the door for Aimee. She doesn’t seem to consider that an affront to her feminist side, but her dad notices and smiles at me. I give him one more wave, then follow Aimee to my truck.

  I want to put an arm around her shoulders as we back out of the driveway, but instead I ask if she’s okay.

  “I am now,” she says.

  “Well, Aunt Lisa told me Courtney was talking this morning.”

  “She was?”

  I tell her what my aunt reported.

  “Do what needs to be done?” she asks.

  “Yeah. That was freaky.”

  “Do you think she knows what’s going on?”

  “Probably. I don’t know. Maybe. I think she knows there’s some kind of spirit taking possession of her sometimes. Has it told her to stay away from me? Does she know that it believes I’m some kind of threat? I don’t know. From what she said, I think so. I think she senses something.”

  “It might try to hurt you?”

  We pull into the school’s parking lot and I start looking for an empty space. “You mean it might try to throw me across the school cafeteria or something?”

  “Or something worse.”

  “I’m more worried about you.” I ease the truck into a slot between a Camaro and a Saab. I kill the engine and we sit quietly for a minute.

  “I’m not going to be able to concentrate on school today,” she says.

  “Me, neither. But we’re running a little late, so we better do the best we can.” I open my door to get out. We’re almost to the front door when I hear a voice behind us.

  “It’s the slut and her Injun chief who skipped practice yesterday.”

  Aimee and I stop in our tracks. We both know who it is.

  “Ignore him,” Aimee says in a whispery hiss. “He’s not himself. I’m positive. He would never say that, not normally.”

  “Aimee, it’s going to come to fists eventually,” I say. I start to turn around, but her grip on my arm becomes frantic. It turns out that I don’t have to go to them; Blake and two of his friends come around in front of us.

  “What’s the matter, Parson? Your slutty white squaw already got you whipped?” he asks. His friends laugh. I recognize one of the guys from my algebra class. The other one might be in German with me; he’s a bigger guy with broad shoulders and a square jaw. The algebra guy is like Blake, tall and lean.

  “Shut up, Blake,” Aimee says. “I can’t believe you’ve turned into such a jerk. What happened to you?”

  The air vibrates with something hard and evil.

  “Aimee, you just sick of white guys or something?” the algebra guy asks. Blake grins real slow, and I visualize my fist busting those lips wide open. There would be so much blood.

  “You’re being an idiot, Chris,” Aimee says. She whispers to me. “He’s normally nice. Really. They aren’t acting right.”

  “You not speak English today, Tonto?” Blake asks.

  “Don’t do it, Alan,” Aimee warns, obviously sensing the tension in my body.

  “Not here,” I promise. It’s the best I can offer. Getting suspended from school wouldn’t bother me. It’s happened before. But I can’t do that to Mom. Not so soon here in a new place. Not with Courtney in the hospital.

  “He speakum English!” Square-jaw exclaims.

  “Does Lauren know you’re acting like a dumb-ass, Noah?” Aimee asks him. “Or are you just worried she might decide she likes Alan better than you, too? Jealous?”

  “I don’t have to be jealous of anybody, especially some stupid Indian,” Noah says with an edge in his voice that tells us he’s lying.

  “Come on, Alan.” Aimee pulls on my arm. I glare at Blake, ignoring his henchmen, and take a reluctant step behind Aimee. Back in OKC the girls I knew would have demanded I fight in this situation. All this is more than a little confusing and frustrating. I know I could take Blake, probably without breaking a sweat.

  Aimee thinks she can push right between them and on toward the school. They move to let her pass, but the three of them close around me and I’m convinced we are going to get physical right here and now, until another voice stops everyone.

  “You young men better not show up in the office needing a tardy slip,” Mr. Everson announces. At some point he’s come out of the school and is just ten yards from us. I see Blake’s face flush up to his hairline. He steps away from us.

  “We won’t,” Blake says. His friends look like sheep caught on a highway.

  Aimee is still pulling at me, so I follow her. We pass the vice principal, who turns and falls into step with us. He opens the door and follows us in.

  The first bell rings and neither of us have our books for first hour. “Go to class,” she says, pushing me away. “I’ll see you in bio. But that was not normal. They’re not usually like that.”

  Focusing on algebra is impossible. Thinking about Blake’s friend sitting three rows over and two desks ahead of me is useless. Keeping an eye on the teacher and my book open to the problems I’m supposed to be working on, I begin writing a note to Aimee, since the algebra teacher is tough on cells.

  We need some things. We need real sage and sweetgrass. And rocks. We can’t use river rocks. Not because they’re from his river, but because river rocks get air pockets in them and can explode when they get hot. Where can we get some granite rocks? And the other stuff ? And we need a place where I can build a sweat lodge and keep a fire going. Like a campsite or something. Any ideas?

  I fold the paper and slide it under the front cover of my biology book, which is under my open algebra book. Then I try again to focus on the math problems. I still don’t see the point of this, but Aimee can’t date a loser who can’t pass his algebra class.

  Back in Oklahoma, my sophomore English teacher made us read a short story called “The Bride Comes to Yellow Sky,” all about how a sheriff in the Old West brings his wife to town and then won’t fight the local bad guy.

  “Man is a barbarian at heart,” Mr. Walker had said. “Women bring a civilizing influence. When a woman enters the picture, men behave differently. Even Scratchy Wilson recognizes that.”

  I hadn’t at the time. It was just a dumb story. But now … I look at the back of Chris’s head and think about how I would have fought him and Blake and the other guy, Noah, if Aimee hadn’t stopped me.

  Finally, the bell rings and we’re free to get out of this class to shuffle off to the next one. I get there before Aimee. She smiles at me when she comes through the door, and I pass her my note as she walks by to sit behind me. I hear her unfold the note, then scribble something with her pen. She hands the paper back to me.

  Craft Barn probably has the sage and sweetgrass. It’ll be dried. People use it to make potpourri and stuff. They might have granite rocks, too. If they don’t, Bergerman’s Lumber sells rocks for people to use as lawn decorations, so they might.

  The bell hasn’t rung yet, so I risk turning around before Mr. Swanson comes in. “Sounds good,” I say. “I also need a tarp, or something like that. Something that will hold in the heat. Heavy canvas.”

&nbs
p; “You’re living in a place where shipping used to be everything,” Aimee says. “I think we can get some canvas like they use in sails. Will that work?”

  “Front and center, Alan,” Mr. Swanson calls. “We’d all like to spend the hour gazing at Miss Avery, but we wouldn’t learn much about photosynthesis that way.”

  “I bet he’s learning a lot of biology from her,” some girl across the room says in a joking tone that gets most of the class to laugh. I don’t laugh, and I know Aimee isn’t laughing. I’m sure she’s blushing.

  “Blake’s going to kill him,” some guy mutters, and then Mr. Swanson gets the class back under his control and begins a discussion about water treatment plants pumping waste water back into rivers.

  “The moral of the story,” he says as the bell rings to end our time together, “is to live as close to the head of the river as you can.”

  I take Aimee’s hand as she gets squished among all the students trying to squeeze out the door. “See you at lunch,” she says before we have to go our separate ways.

  Square-jawed Noah doesn’t say anything to me in our German class. I half expected him to create some kind of problem, but he’s acting calm and normal and kind of looks embarrassed. I guess him, Blake, and Chris must share one set of balls, and it takes all three of them to say anything. Or else Aimee’s right and something really is affecting people—and it’s powerful. Really powerful. Anyway, there are no fights, and we all recite the lines Fräulein Gray feeds us until class is over.

  No one in the cafeteria asks me directly about what happened yesterday, but I see them looking at me and whispering about how my little girl cousin threw me over the railing and onto a table. Then Aimee grabs me by the arm and we join the chow line.

  At the lunch counter, she takes a salad and I hold out my tray for a glob of mashed potatoes and some chicken fried steak fingers with a side of corn. “Maybe I should get an extra helping for Gramps,” I tease.

  “I’ll have you eating healthy eventually,” Aimee promises. “It’s just a matter of time.”

  I think again about the bride going to Yellow Sky and civilizing all the men. I sigh and admit, “Probably so. Seems like I’ll do about anything for you.”

  She only laughs and leads me to an empty table. We sit down and people flow around us. A few wave at Aimee, but nobody makes a move to sit with us. Aimee’s friend Hayley is sitting at a nearby table crowded with people I vaguely recognize from various classes. Are they giving us space? Because they think we’re a couple? Of course not. Because of Courtney. Something’s wrong with her, centralized in her, and they know it. And we’re too close to her. It’s like the thing that has infected her has tainted us, too.

  “Why do we need Court out of the hospital to do this?” Aimee asks. “I mean, why can’t we just go to the river and do … whatever it is you need to do?”

  “The evil spirit has to be focused somehow,” I explain. “Confined. For whatever reason, it picked Courtney. Since she’s the focal point, we have to have her before we can get rid of this thing.”

  “I wonder why it picked her?” she asks as she stabs at a tomato in her salad. She adds, “This time,” before eating the tomato.

  “I don’t know. I think it has something to do with her not accepting that her dad is dead.” I push my tray away. “I can’t eat. I have to fast. I should have remembered. School just makes me feel like a dog that has to do this when one bell rings and do that when the next one sounds.”

  “So you’re just not going to eat anything?”

  “No. Nothing but water. I have to be ready.”

  “You think it’ll be soon?”

  “Yeah, I think so. We should get that stuff today. Can you come home with me after school? I want to check Courtney’s room while nobody else is home.”

  “Searching for clues?”

  “Yep.” I watch her eat a few bites. Her jaw is very sexy when she chews.

  “What?” she asks when she sees me watching her.

  “Nothing.” I smile at her. “I think I’ll go to the bathroom and see if I can text Aunt Lisa.”

  I leave her there and go to the restroom around the corner from the cafeteria.

  Sitting on the toilet of a closed stall with my pants up, I text Aunt Lisa. ANY NEWS?

  After a few minutes I get a response. SHE SEEMS FINE STILL WAITING FOR SOME TESTS STAY AT SCHOOL!

  I write back, WILL DO. I stand up and pocket my phone, then open the stall door.

  The fist that hits me in the face isn’t well aimed, but it’s enough of a surprise that I stagger backward and trip over the toilet. I fall against the wall, and before I can catch myself three of them are in the stall with me, punching at my face and body. I see Blake’s face, so twisted with rage that he barely looks like himself. I can’t get my balance, can’t stand up under the attack. All I can do is cover my face, but I’ve already taken several hits and it feels like at least one of them is wearing a class ring.

  Somewhere far away I hear the call: “Fight!”

  The fists keep coming as people pour into the restroom, yelling and jostling to get a better view of the action.

  Finally I’m able to kind of roll forward and stand up, though it offers my right side to several kidney shots. Fortunately, the confined space keeps them from getting in any really good punches. I shove at the first body I find, then drive a fist into Blake’s face. His nose crumples and blood bursts out of his nostrils, but it’s like he doesn’t even feel it.

  He laughs at me, but it isn’t his laugh. It’s the River Man’s laugh. I’ve heard echoes of it before in the wind.

  Then Mr. Burnham is behind Blake, his arm around Blake’s throat as he drags him out of the stall. Everson is behind him and grabs Chris and Noah by their jacket collars to pull them out.

  “Come on,” Everson says. “You all can have some time off to get over this.” He turns them toward the bathroom door, ordering the spectators back to lunch, then looks at me. “Come on, Alan. You, too.”

  Arguing would sound weak. Mom won’t understand. Even Aimee might not understand. I wipe some blood off my face, feeling the sting of a cut, then follow Everson and Burnham out of the bathroom.

  Aimee’s there, her green eyes wide and concerned.

  “Sorry,” I say as I pass her. I offer her a smile, but it doesn’t erase the worry on her face.

  • 17 •

  AIMEE

  Boys are stupid. That’s all there is to it. Boys are just stupid. Even if the River Man is making people meaner than normal, they had this in them somehow, somewhere, this need to punch.

  When Alan comes out of the bathroom with blood all over his face and the Blake posse with him, I swear I am ready to kill him. But he is so bloody. He’s hurt. I start forward, but Mr. Everson gives me this look that tells me I’m not supposed to interfere.

  “Aimee.” There’s a hand on my arm. Hayley’s hand.

  “What?”

  “Are you okay?” Hayley’s trying to shield me from the crowd.

  “Disperse! Disperse, people!” Mr. Swanson and some other teachers are trying to settle us down.

  “Yeah,” I say, staring into her big brown eyes. “I’m okay.”

  She steadies me. “You’re swaying.”

  “What?”

  “You’re swaying. Your hands are shaking.” She steers me away from the cafeteria and down the wheelchair ramp toward the off-limits elevator. “You need to sit down, away from the idiots.”

  We park ourselves on the floor by the elevator. It’s a nook, really; the only door is to the resource room and it’s shut. The floor is cold on my legs. I lean my head against the wall. It’s cold, too.

  “I never knew Blake was such a racist,” I babble. “And he’s fighting, which is not like him, and … oh … They hit each other. I can’t believe Alan hit him back.”

  “I think it was three on one,” Hayley says, all hard and mean-sounding. And for a second she gets this crazy, bloodthirsty look on her face, but it fa
des away and her voice goes back to singsong sweet. “He had to.”

  “Three on one!” I cringe, thinking about the blood. “He’s hurt. He’s hurt and he’s probably going to get suspended, and I can’t do this … I can’t do this alone. I can’t …”

  “Aimee. Do what?”

  “Be here. Exist. Go to class. It’s all messed up. Courtney. Blake. Alan. Everything.” I lean forward and Hayley rubs my back. Her hand makes little circles. It’s comforting. It’s like something a mom would do. I sniff. “You are so nice.”

  She smiles at me complimenting her, just like Courtney would. If Courtney were here, she’d be the one comforting me right now. Hayley says, “Thanks. So are you.”

  “I don’t feel nice right now.”

  “I swear nobody’s being nice lately. It’s like the whole town is having ’roid rage.”

  For a second I want to tell her everything, about Courtney and the rock and the painting and the tree house craziness. I want to tell her about my mom and Alan and possession, and how sometimes it’s so hard being the only girl in a house full of men. Suddenly something sharp and painful stabs at the side of my head. My hand goes up to my temple. I can always make Benji’s bumps and pains go away; I wish I could do it to myself.

  “Aimee?”

  Hayley’s voice seems so far away. I try to focus on her.

  “Aimee?” She says my name again. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah.” I stand up. My head’s still throbbing. “Yeah. I just figured out something I have to do.”

  Her face is a mess of worry. “You’re white. You’re still shaking.”

  “I’m good. I’m good, Hayley.” I lean in, kiss her cheek. She smells like one of those Victoria’s Secret garden scents. “Thank you for being such an awesome friend.”

  Mrs. Hessler meets me before I even get close to the restroom, which is an essential step in my plan. Her eyes are skittish, nervous. She touches my arm briefly and says, “I heard that Courtney’s in the hospital and that Blake attacked her cousin.”

  I nod and wait. She’s holding me back from what I have to do.