Thirteen Days to Midnight

by Patrick Carman

  “Cost me six hundred bucks to fix my car,” said Ethan. “Better crack open that piggy bank of yours.”

  “If you want to go another round, just say so,” said Milo. This elicited a swooning cry of ooh’s and oh’s from the gathering crowd.

  Ethan switched tactics, undoubtedly thinking about the whipping he’d taken from Milo in the Holy Cross parking lot.

  He took a really good look at Oh up close. “You sick or something?” asked Ethan. “You don’t look so hot.”

  I stepped closer to Ethan, a thin rage beginning to take hold.

  “Calm down, bro,” said Milo. “Let’s just finish this and get out of here.”

  That line of reasoning went out the window as Oh passed by Ethan on her way inside. He took her by the arm and pulled her close, started talking about how he’d give her the grand tour, and I don’t know what happened to me.

  Maybe it was the stress, maybe all the pent-up guilt over the Mount Hood Bank Heist thing. Maybe it was the monstrous feeling that had taken up residence in my chest, making me feel darker and meaner all the time. I don’t know what it was, but I let fly a punch that landed squarely on Ethan’s forehead. I’ve never been in a fight, so yeah, my aim was a little off. Milo looked at me with surprised appreciation.

  Ethan doubled over, then looked up at me like he was going to kill me. His forehead was already turning red.

  “I’m really glad you guys came with me,” Oh said, looking at me like I’d lost my mind.

  The school bell went off, and it felt more like the sound of round one at an ultimate fighting match. The whole group of them surrounded us, and all I could imagine was Oh getting hurt in the crush. Milo could handle himself, but these were big guys.

  I was right on the edge of windmilling the whole bunch of them when a teacher pushed the door to the school open and yelled for everyone to get inside. Ethan had his back to the teacher, along with four more wide bodies between them, and he took one good punch at my gut with all he had.

  I should have buckled over. I should have pretended. But I really, really hated Ethan right then. So I took one swing at him, a wide one that missed his chin by an inch and hit Boone instead. Good God it rang, like a book dropped on a marble floor. Boone went down hard, and after that it was mayhem.

  I slipped Oh the diamond, afraid she might catch a wayward punch or dive into the mess to try and break things up, then I curled up into a defensive ball on the ground.

  I was kicked twice before the teacher yelled loud enough that everything stopped. As far as the teacher was concerned, we were troublemakers from a different school tangling with a group of over-aggressive football players. The five of us—Milo, me, Oh, Ethan, and Boone—were marched to the office.

  I’d taken a kick in the back and a punch to the ear, both of which hurt. Milo had fared better, or so it seemed by the grin he couldn’t seem to wipe off his face.

  “You think this is funny, son? Well, it’s NOT funny,” yelled the teacher. Milo stared at the floor.

  Oh held an expression of glowing rage, nostrils flared, eyes alive with the desire to slug Ethan in the side of the head with her pink cast. A good look, a sexy one, but also scary, like she could tear your head off if you got in her way.

  We were sent to the outer office under the watchful eye of the secretary, where each side glared at the other.

  “Enchanted Forest?” whispered Oh. I could barely hear her.

  “What?” I whispered back.

  “It will make me feel better.”

  I knew the place. Anyone who’d been in Salem for more than fifteen minutes knew about the Enchanted Forest.

  About ten minutes later, we were sent packing with a stern warning not to return. Ethan and Boone were suspended for the day, but only after they met with their coach and told him what had happened. I knew this meant two things: We had a head start, and Ethan and Boone were going to be doing a lot of extra push-ups because of us.

  I turned back and saw Ethan being escorted to the gym. The red mark on his head had turned purple and bloomed like an egg right below his hairline. He mouthed the words: You’re dead. I shook my head. Actually, I’m about as far from dead as you can imagine.

  “See,” said Milo, turning to Oh. “You didn’t really want to go to school at South Ridge. We just saved you a lot of time mulling your options.”

  I pulled Milo aside and left Oh standing near the car.

  “Any chance I could borrow your car?” I asked. Every bit of fear I’d had during the past weeks about driving to the coast had vanished. I was ready, right now, to get in a car and drive. Especially if it meant getting time alone with Oh.

  “Very funny,” said Milo.

  “Look, Milo, I need your car,” I said. “Please.”

  “You don’t even have a license yet. It seems to me we’re in enough trouble already.”

  “I can drive. You know that. I’ve had a permit for months. I used to drive with Mr. Fielding all the time. I can handle it.”

  “Is this like some sort of hypnotism trick, ’cause I gotta tell you, it’s not working.”

  Milo tried to walk to his car, but I stopped him with my hand on his shoulder.

  “Milo, come on. I really need this right now. Please.”

  Milo looked at me, then at Oh, then back at me.

  “I get it,” said Milo, laughing under his breath. “You’re trading up. No problem.”

  “Milo—” I protested.

  “No seriously, I’m all good.” Milo said. “You want to go for a drive with your girlfriend. Fine by me.”

  “Milo, come on—” said Oh. “You don’t always have to be such a punk about everything.”

  “No, you come on!” he yelled back at her. “Everything was fine before you showed up.”

  “She’s got nothing to do with it. Maybe you’re right; maybe it’s this thing—the power, the indestructibility—whatever it is! It’s screwing everything up.”

  “No, that’s not true,” said Oh. “What we have is a gift.”

  “Some gift. Ever killed anyone, Oh? I have. It’s not as fun as it sounds.”

  “Now you’re just angry—”

  “Yeah! I’m angry!”

  “Guys…” said Milo, glancing back at the school. The teacher who’d busted us had come outside and was standing with his arms folded across his chest, looking at us like we were three angry dogs that needed to be forcibly removed or shot.

  “I’ll give you the car,” Milo said, his voice calm again, if a little hurt. “Let me drive to the store and park around the block. Then you can have it. Just be careful. You can’t protect Oh and yourself at the same time.”

  “He knows what he’s doing,” said Oh, sounding more unfriendly with Milo than I was comfortable with.

  I hadn’t taken the power back from Oh yet, and the strangest thing occurred to me. It didn’t hurt. For once, letting her keep it didn’t hurt. I looked at her, awestruck by what I was feeling.

  We drove to the store and dropped off Milo at the corner. As we passed each other at the busted-up grill of his car, he stopped me and made me catch his eye, then he said something that struck me as very odd.

  “We got Kryptonite. It’s prowling all around us. You realize that, don’t you?”

  “Huh?”

  Milo shook his head in frustration.

  “She’s trouble. I know you don’t want to hear it, but she is.”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Don’t I?”

  I looked through the windshield and saw that Oh was staring at us, looking less tired than she had in days.

  “Leave her out of this,” I said, crossing back to the driver’s side of the car.

  “Don’t let her control you,” Milo said. He’d been quiet before, practically whispering, but this part he said loudly enough for Oh to hear him just fine. Oh turned toward him as I sat down. I couldn’t see her expression, but I could imagine it. I was leaving with her, not Milo.

&n
bsp; She’d won.

  I sat behind the wheel of the parked car thinking about driving. Milo’s car was easy: no stick shift and it was gutless. The gas gauge read an eighth of a tank, enough to get us out to the park and back.

  “You turn the key,” said Oh. “That’s how it starts.”

  I didn’t say anything, just sat there breathing heavy, fogging up the cold, wet windshield.

  “Have you ever driven a car?”

  “Yeah, a few times with my dad,” Oh said casually. “Easy.”

  I’d lost my nerve and couldn’t do it. I couldn’t so much as turn the stupid key with my stupid, clammy fingers.

  “Let’s do that, then. Let’s have you drive us out there.”

  “You okay?”

  I got out of the car without answering, and by the time I opened the passenger door, Oh had lifted herself over the cup holders into the driver’s seat.

  We drove the back roads, avoiding the freeway, Oh totally focused on the task at hand and me sucking in a breath around every corner. I kept looking at her, trying to remember who she was when I’d met her. Vibrant, that was the best word I could think of to describe Ophelia James the first time I’d seen her pink cast. Even in a good mood, she was so different now. Paler skin, deeper eyes, a short fuse.

  I sat there thinking how strange it was that she was still the most beautiful girl I’d ever seen.

  “Slow down. It’s wet out here.”

  “What are you, my mom?”

  We were on a curvy, out-of-the-way road with wet trees and moss and slick boulders in every direction. Oh stopped the car on the shoulder and rolled down her window. The smell of wet earth, thick and healthy, flooded my lungs.

  “It’s okay you’re afraid to drive,” she said, looking at me. “If I’d gone through what you did with Mr. Fielding on the way to the coast, I’d be afraid to get into a car at all.” She touched my cheek with the warm palm of her good hand. “It’s okay. We’re okay. You don’t have to carry the weight of the world by yourself. The power makes you… I don’t know, do crazy things sometimes. I can help you carry this burden around. I like helping you. It makes me happy.”

  She leaned in and we kissed. I don’t know how many minutes passed, one or ten or somewhere in between. It was timeless and perfect.

  That is, until I rested my hand on her knee.

  “I have to pee,” Oh informed me, pulling back. It made me feel like I’d moved too fast.

  “Can you get your pants down with that cast or do you need some help out there?”

  “I think I can manage it.”

  She disappeared into the woods, and I drank in the cool air, listening to the sound of tires on wet pavement as a car drove by. Then I finally got up the courage and slid over into the driver’s seat. We were on a country road, about as back-road as it gets, and it was time to get this over with. She’d left the keys in the ignition, and I had Milo’s old beater running again before she returned.

  The door opened on the passenger side and Oh peeked in hesitantly, looking more energetic than before.

  “You sure you’re ready for this, Mario?”

  “Yeah, I got it.”

  “Next stop, the Crooked House,” said Oh.

  The Enchanted Forest is what Disneyland might very well have become if it had been opened in Salem, Oregon. But Mr. Tofte, the visionary who created the Enchanted Forest, didn’t have Southern California weather and millions of people on his side. Turns out those things make a lot of difference when you’re starting a theme park.

  “Did you just grab my butt?” I asked. Oh was behind me and we were standing in the claustrophobic interior of a mine where the mechanical puppets of the seven dwarves were busily searching for gold.

  “I did. A little flabby,” she answered.

  I tensed my butt cheeks as hard as I could.

  “Try it again. I’ve been working out.”

  She walked ahead of me and leaned over the rail, where neon-colored water poured into pools of light and little men whistled while they worked. When we came out the other side, the world was a forgotten forest, filled with giant trees and a rolling path.

  “God I love this place,” said Oh, twirling around and breathing in the moist air. It was nice seeing her so happy and carefree. I promised myself I’d bring her back every week.

  Misty rain caught in the trees overhead and pooled until the trees couldn’t hold it anymore. Great blobs of water plopped to the forest floor and we walked, hoodies pulled over our heads, soaked and leaning into each other.

  We’d gone through the Storybook Lane portion of the park, where fairy tales came to life with slides and crawlspaces and crooked walkways. Humpty Dumpty, Little Miss Muffet, the Three Little Bears—it was surprisingly fun and a perfect date. Lots of places to grab a rock-hard butt cheek.

  We held hands all the way through the English Village and bought cinnamon churros from a vendor on the wood-slat streets of Western Town. The Enchanted Forest gets better as you go, which, I suppose, is part of its charm.

  There are not a lot of lines at noon on a Friday in October, and an hour later we’d ridden the bobsled four times, gotten soaked on the log ride, and endured the Challenge of Mondor (don’t ask). There was only one attraction left, and it was by different accounts either the best or stupidest one in the whole park.

  “Are you ready?” Oh asked nervously.

  “You do realize people go in there all the time and never come out.”

  “You’ll protect me,” she said, pulling me up the hill toward a huge run-down psycho house sitting dismally under the sinking sky.

  The Haunted House wasn’t so much scary as it was disorienting. It was big, with lots of puppets that moved and staircases to go up and down. There was just a skeleton crew running the winter season, and the guy taking the tickets out front was, I’m quite sure, the only employee within a hundred yards of the front door. Once you went in, getting out was not his problem.

  “Don’t screw around in there,” he said, obviously bored.

  “I’ll do my best,” I offered, and then Oh pulled hard on my arm and we were inside.

  She held my hand tightly in the gathering gloom of the entrance as the door shut behind us and everything went dark. I expected her to giggle or try to scare me, but all I heard was her breathing heavier than she had been, like she’d run up a flight of stairs and was trying to catch her breath.

  “Everything okay?” I asked, but she didn’t answer. She kept pulling me deeper into the darkness, past walls of skulls and floating plastic bats. We were in the darkest part of the Haunted House, truly pitch-black with tiny lights down long hallways, when Oh let go of my hand.

  “Jacob Fielding?” I heard her half whisper in the dark.

  “Yes?” I answered, trying to figure out which direction her voice was coming from.

  “I love you.”

  I heard her steps running away. I just stood there, wobbly legged in the dark. I should have answered her. I should have said I loved her back, but my head was spinning. Something wasn’t right. Why was she running away from me?

  I felt my chest and realized, in a flash, that I didn’t have the power. She had the power. She’d had it all morning, and it hadn’t tried to make its way back to me.

  That could only mean one thing: Something about the power had changed. But what? Had it chosen a new home? And why was she running from me? I began to feel a creeping sense of doubt as Milo’s warning repeated in my head.

  We got Kryptonite. It’s prowling all around us. You realize that, don’t you?

  A hand grabbed my arm and I turned, expecting to see Oh and to laugh off my paranoid train of thought. But the hand was far too big to be Oh’s.

  It spun me around, fast and hard, and there in the blue shadow of a plastic bat floating overhead was Reginald Boone.

  “Hey, Boone,” I said numbly. The fear of being manhandled by a linebacker gripped me like an iron vise.

  “You and your friends should have stayed
where you belonged,” said Boone, anger rising in his voice.

  The fact that I’d never taken the power back from Oh in the South Ridge parking lot filled my mind as his knuckles hit my eye. Taking the power back from Oh never occurred to me. I loved her, everything was going haywire, she might be in trouble, and I didn’t trust what she might do.

  Boone’s fist turned the darkness of the Haunted House into sparks of color as it hit my face and my head exploded in pain.

  “Ethan!” yelled Boone. “I’m done here, man.”

  The world was spinning. The only thing I could focus on was that name. Ethan. He was somewhere in the dark, and so was Oh.

  “Stay put, loser,” Boone said, pushing me down on the floor with the heel of his shoe as he took off.

  “Oh,” I said, but it came out quiet, a crackling whisper. I shook my head, and my brain sloshed back and forth miserably. Clawing at the wall, I managed to find my way back onto my feet.

  I couldn’t take it back. What good would it do anyway? I was like the heart attack victim, already hit with the punch. The damage was done.

  “Oh,” I yelled, my voice returning, but still there was no answer. Stumbling around a haunted house is incredibly frustrating when you’re buckled over in pain. I kept hitting my shoulders against corners and bumping my head on things I couldn’t see.

  Then I heard Ethan laughing. God, I hated the sound of Ethan’s howler. It echoed off the walls, filling the entire house as if it had been recorded and piped in on speakers.

  I covered the eye that had been hit, and it made it easier to see. The sting remained but the blurriness was gone as I swung narrowly around a corner and started up a set of creaking stairs.

  Ethan’s laugh hit a high point and abruptly ended as I reached the top of a stairway and turned down a dark corridor. There was a choking sound, awful and wet, and I screamed Oh’s name as she came into view.

  The end of the hall was lit with an orange bulb that made the corner look soaked in blood. But Oh wasn’t being choked by Ethan or pinned down with her face on the floor. No.

  She was hovering over him, her hands wrapped around his neck.

  Ethan couldn’t stop her. He punched her in the head over and over again, but Oh wouldn’t let go. She was a Doberman, lock-jawed and furious, and it didn’t look to me like she had it within herself to let him live.