The sign slipped from his hand and fell to the wet grass.
She wrapped her fingers around his and blew out the candle. Together they released it and let it fall to the ground. She slipped her arms around Jason and absorbed the pain she had caused him. She just wanted him to stop hurting.
They stood in the rain, holding each other until Mom opened the front door and said, “Why don’t you guys bring it inside? But not in your room!”
Chapter 48
At school the next day, Jason walked Jackie to her locker and kissed her on the lips. “See you in class.”
“Yeah, see you,” she said.
“Jeez, Jackie,” Zeta said.
“What?”
“What kind of kiss was that? I mean, put some heat into it.”
She shrugged her shoulder. “We’re at school.”
“Yeah, right.” Zeta huffed.
“Just leave it alone. Everything’s good.”
“Is it? And what went on at that church? How come I always miss the good stuff?”
“Good stuff? Didn’t you hear about Trish?”
“Did I! Her mother called me last night and blamed me for Trish’s behavior, for like an hour.”
“Was Trish home?”
“She was until the police arrested her. Her Mom said something about taking her to a juvenile detention center. I should have known Trish was losing it when she brought that Ouija board over to Mr. Davis’s house.”
“She did?”
Zeta looked over Jackie’s shoulder. “Hey, jock-face. What are you looking at?”
Jackie turned around. John shot her a sly look and huddled with Sean, Will, and some other jocks in front of the haunted bathroom. They must have heard about the latest Holy Resurrection incident. Her nerve endings tingled, and the hair on the back of her neck rose. They were planning some kind of mob action against her. She knew it.
“Jackie, are you all right?” Zeta asked.
She nodded and took a deep breath, held it, and exhaled, imagining the negative energy flowing out of her body. She did this again until her nerves stopped tingling and she was in control. “Time to deliver,” she said to Zeta. “Wait here.”
Smiling deviously, Jackie walked toward them. “Step aside,” she said. “I have work to do.” They didn’t move, so she pushed her way through them and tore the yellow ribbon that was stretched across the bathroom entrance.
The bathroom was as cold as a mocha frappé and fogged in a misty blue. Standing in two inches of water, she touched the overflowing sink and opened up to the stored energy. Water ran over her fingers, and the mirror moved inward and outward, shrinking and stretching her reflection. Lightheaded and spacey, Jackie struck the mirror to make it stop. Her fist slammed against stainless steel, the pain bringing her back to reality.
She closed her eyes and envisioned Julie Dickenson striking her fist against the mirror and the mirror shattering. The mirror was made of glass. Julie picked up a long, jagged shard and ripped it across each wrist. Blood pouring out her wrists, she panicked and held her wrists under the running water, trying to keep the blood inside.
Julie Dickenson never intentionally committed suicide, Jackie concluded. She was high. She wasn’t thinking logically, and her addiction fed her feelings of hopelessness.
Jackie placed both hands on the sink and immersed herself in Babu’s light. No situation was hopeless, she told herself. With a little clear thinking, there was always a way out. She let feelings of hope filter through her fingers and flow into the water and the porcelain. She imagined it spreading through the sink and water pipes. She did this until the water running out of the faucet slowed to a trickle and then stopped.
When she came out of the bathroom, she startled at the amount of people packed into the hall. They stared at her as if they’d been waiting to see if she’d come out unscathed. She was scared at first, but really, this is what she wanted. Let them believe what they wanted to believe. They couldn’t hurt her anymore.
She ripped the Out of Order sign from the cinder block wall, crumbled it in her hands, and tossed it at Will. He blocked it with his hands, and it fell to his feet. The crowd around him jumped away from the crumpled paper as if it were packed with a curse.
“Tell the janitor the haunted bathroom is back in order,” she said to the crowd. “Oh, and one more thing. If any of you ever pick on Pete again, I swear I’ll curse you with a serious case of dorkdom.”
With a huge grin, Zeta handed Jackie her books. “Way to go!” They walked down the main hall together, laughing at the expressions on everyone’s faces.
In American Lit class, Jason was already seated when Jackie entered the room. She squeezed his arm when she passed him. His energy was strong and happy, his aura, bright.
Mr. Davis slouched in his chair, looking haggard as usual, his aura, a washed-out purple. He began the lesson by tossing his textbook copy into the garbage can by his desk. Thump! The class fell silent and all heads turned toward Mr. Davis.
“‘The School,’” Mr. Davis said tiredly. “Who read ‘The School’ by Donald Barthelme?”
A few hands flew up immediately. Some hesitantly went up. Mr. Davis leaned his weight onto the arms of his desk chair and stood up. The chair rolled recklessly backward and hit the wall beneath the whiteboard. “Not that it really matters if you read it or not.” He careened to the front of his desk and leaned slovenly against it. He rubbed his unruly beard. His bloodshot eyes stared over the heads of the students. “I mean, the fundamental question here exists whether you read the damn story or not. Is it death that gives meaning to life, or is it life that gives meaning to life?”
Mouths dropped open; eyes grew wide. Jackie sensed that everyone was too frightened by Mr. Davis to answer.
Mr. Davis narrowed his eyes and then stumbled down the aisle. His eyes were focused on Jackie, but he stopped at Jason’s desk. “Hey, you look happy today.” There was a foul odor coming from Mr. Davis’s mouth, like alcohol—a serious amount of alcohol. She could smell it from where she sat. Mr. Davis was trashed. Drunken trashed. “You two are inseparable,” he slurred. “It’s one of the things I’ve grown to count on.” His eyes grew watery.
What on earth was going on with Mr. Davis? He had been nutty ever since they covered “The Yellow Wallpaper.”
And then it hit her.
“Yes,” she said to Mr. Davis.
He glared at her with bloodshot eyes. “Yes, what?”
“Remember when we discussed ‘The Yellow Wallpaper’ and you asked me if I thought objects can have an effect on people?”
Mr. Davis looked at her and squinted.
“The answer is yes.”
He came closer to her, his lips slightly parted like he wanted to tell her something.
Despite his stench, she tugged his jacket sleeve to pull him closer to her desk. “I can make it stop,” she whispered, “if you want me to.”
He laid his hand on her shoulder and nodded. His exhaustion softened her muscles, and a deep sadness settled into her bones.
Chapter 49
At the juvie home, Trish slipped out of the dinner hall, toting, in her hoodie pocket, a mouse she had snatched from the computer room and a black crayon she lifted from the activity center. She smiled curtly at the hall monitor and then hurried to her room to get there before the other girls returned.
Inside the closet, she pulled the tattered string hanging from the light and closed the door. The half shelf in the center of the closet, about twelve inches deep and twenty-four inches long, was perfect for what she needed. She removed the shelf from the brackets and set it on the floor. She slipped the mouse out of her pocket. Holding the mouse and pulling its cord tight, she rubbed the cord over the sharp edge of the shelf bracket, cutting through plastic and working harder to cut through wire. She tossed the cord to the side.
Sitting cross-legged on the closet floor, she set the shelf on her lap and slipped the black crayon from her pocket. Starting at the upper-left of the
board, she wrote the word, “Yes.” In the upper-right corner she wrote, “No.” Then, she wrote the alphabet, A through M in the upper half of the board, and N though Z beneath it. Beneath that, the numbers, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 0. Near the bottom of the board, “Good-bye.”
She placed the mouse on the center of the board and lightly rested her fingertips on its curved surface. The mouse was lightweight and slid easily. Although she couldn’t see through it, it would do the job. She closed her eyes and concentrated on the recipient of her intended message. “Where are you? Show yourself, you two-faced, lying devil.”
She waited for an answer. It was subtle at first, but then she was sure she heard it, the deep-throated, vibrating breathing of her fiendish friend.
“I made that voodoo doll for you,” she said, “just like you told me to.”
The mouse moved with a force beneath her fingers, a force greater than her unconscious mind could maneuver. Trish opened her eyes and breathlessly read each letter: C-H-I-L-D-S-P-L-A-Y.
“You promised me Jason. It’s not my fault the young priest saved her.”
Y-O-U-F-A-I-L-E-D
“Let me try again. Just get me out of here. You need me, you know.”
N-O-T
She whipped the mouse against the closet door and then crossed her arms and pouted. “You’re not getting one over on me,” she seethed. “I’ll get the whole Vatican on your ass if I have to.”
But until she got out of here, she was stuck. And there was no way she could warn Jackie—even if she wanted to.
Chapter 50
On her way to Mr. Davis’s house, Jackie decided to stop by the rectory. Maybe a bad idea, but she needed to tell David not to bother talking to Sandra. Now that she had this evil Jackie persona working for her, she didn’t want him blowing her cover. Maybe, too, she just wanted him to know where she stood.
She rang the rectory doorbell, but no one answered. She was just about ready to phone David when he opened the door.
“Jackie,” he said, barefooted and sounding pleasantly surprised. His black shirt was misbuttoned and half tucked into his black slacks.
“Your shirt’s misbuttoned,” she said, trying to hide the fact that he had her ruffled.
He looked down at his shirt and then smiled at her sheepishly. “Sorry. I was not expecting company. With Father Dmitriev gone, I have been a little lax on my dress code inside the rectory.”
She held up her hand. “No problem.”
“Come in, please. I was just going through bills in Father Dmitriev’s office. The Bishop is in the process of finding a new rector. Until then, I need to, how you say, be man of ship.”
She smiled. “Yeah, that’s it.”
He directed her to the sofa. “Sit down, please. I am slowly figuring out where Father Dmitriev keeps things.” David unbuttoned the first misaligned button on his shirt.
Her mouth went dry. “Well, it’s good practice for when you become a… priest. Is that still on?”
His fingers worked to button his shirt. “Father Dmitriev’s recorded confession was all the church took seriously.” Correctly buttoned, David sat down in the winged chair. He leaned forward, resting his arms on his thighs and entwining his fingers, his bare feet planted solidly on the floor.
Her stomach back flipped every time she looked at them. Shouldn’t he have to have those covered up?
“Why’d you risk it?” she asked. “After I chose, what you call, the dark side.”
“Because through God I was able to save you from Satan. I still have faith in you.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Thanks, I guess. But really, it was so surreal, to be burning because of a stupid doll. I must have been reading Trish’s mind, her fantasy of me burning. That’s what Father Dmitriev did to me when I was twelve. He was thinking about what he was going to do to Stephanie, while giving Holy Communion. I read his mind.”
“But how did the burning stop? This time, I mean.”
“Maybe when Jason pulled the doll out of the flames, Trish no longer believed I was burning, and I read her mind.”
“What about when you were a child? How did the burning stop then?”
“I don’t know. I remember Babu holding me and praying and...” She swallowed. “Well, maybe it was Babu’s love that saved me. And maybe, when you, well, it was your…” she lowered her eyes. “Well, you know… your Godly compassion for me that made me quit thinking that I was burning.”
“I suppose there will always be logical answer. That’s why believing in God is a matter of faith.”
“I have faith in myself now. We’re square on our bargain, aren’t we?”
David nodded.
“Oh, and forget about talking to my friend about me. I don’t care what people think anymore.”
David narrowed his brow and studied her.
Feeling awkward, Jackie stood up and fought the urge to take one more look at David’s gorgeous feet. “Good luck with being the man of the ship.”
“Wait, Jackie, there is something I need to ask you.” He walked over to her. “I was wondering, what are your plans when you graduate high school?” He sounded nervous.
Holy shit. Where did that come from? Did her mom put him up to this? “Actually, no plan yet.”
“You are graduating this year? Yes?”
She glowered. “Yeah.”
“You must have put some thought into it?”
“No, well, a little, I guess. I thought maybe I’d be a photographer, but I kind of had reservations since I have a hard time being around people. I mean, I thought I’d keel over if I had to deal with all the emotions bombarding me at a wedding or some other major event. My second choice was recluse. But, I have a lot more options now that I know how to control myself. I just haven’t thought about it.”
His fingers tensed. “In the spring, I will have finished my internship here.”
“Congrats. Glad to hear someone’s on a career track. You’re probably glad to finish with school.”
“Actually, I am not.” He flexed his thumbs.
“You one of those people who enjoy being a lifetime student?”
He shook his head. “It’s just that, when I am finished, I will be ordained.”
“I thought that was a good thing.”
“It was, until…”
“You found out the truth about Father Dmitriev? That must have been a real downer to your faith in the religion.”
He stepped closer to her. “No. My faith in the church and God is strong.”
His eyes were desperate, and she was sensing emotional pain.
“As an Orthodox priest, I can marry. As long as I do it before I am ordained.”
Oh, shit! She swallowed. “You’re having second thoughts?”
“I want to be a priest, but I can’t help but feel… it is very strange, but—”
Her cell phone rang, scaring the hell out of her. “Sorry.”
She read the display. It was Jason. She walked over to the window and peeked out to see if Jason had followed her. There was no sight of him or his truck. Good. He didn’t need to know where she was.
“Hey, Jas.” Her voice cracked. She cleared her throat. “What’s up?”
“Hey, I thought maybe we could stream a movie tonight?”
“Sure. Your pick this time.”
David was listening to her conversation. She hoped he wouldn’t say a word. All she needed was for Jason to hear David’s voice, and her relationship with Jason would be over in a heartbeat.
“Come over at seven,” she said. “I need to pay Mr. Davis a visit first. I’ll pick up some snacks on the way home. Love you,” she whispered. She ended the call and turned to David. “Sorry. That was Jason.”
“I heard.”
She reached out her hand. “Thank you for your help. If it wasn’t for you, I never would have learned the truth.”
He looked at her hand as if contemplating whether to take it. Then, he gently touched his fingertips to hers. She wondered if
Russian men didn’t shake hands with women. Embarrassed, she pulled her hand away, but he took it, and in one deft move, he pulled her to him and pressed his lips to hers.
She was about to have a coronary. Spitting the Eucharist onto the church floor wasn’t enough. No. She was lip-locked with a seminarian in a church rectory. What an encore. Cleansing breaths and zipping up were totally out of the question.
With her lips pressed to his, a candle’s flame lit in her mind. She tried to shake the image.
Think about what you’re doing. You cannot do this!
The image faded. The blood in her body started to circulate, and the neurons in her brain began to fire. She shoved him. “Stop,” she yelled.
She was shaking. What the heck was with him—his energy, the image?
“I am so sorry,” he said. “I cannot control how I feel about you... I cannot explain…I… I think I am in love with you.”
“No. You can’t be. You’re going to be a priest.”
“But I can’t help but think that we were brought together by a divine force…”
“We don’t belong together.” She stepped back several feet from him. “I am what I am. I can’t change.”
“In time…”
“I won’t.”
A pensive look washed over him. “I understand.”
Relieved, she sighed. “Good.”
Before stepping out the door, she turned to him. She had to know. “So, what are you going to tell the congregation about me?”
David’s eyes slightly brightened. “That there’s still hope.”
She bit her lip and turned away. She quickly descended the rectory steps and didn’t look back.
“I’m Jackie Turov,” she said to herself. “A psychic and a healer.”
With chin raised, she walked to Mr. Davis’s house on a mission.
Chapter 51
Mr. Davis opened the door in a rumpled T-shirt and a pair of plaid boxer shorts. “Jackie.” He stared at her. The bags under his bloodshot eyes and the skin around his jaws were sagging—the effects of no sleep and large doses of alcohol, no doubt.
Possessed (Pagan Light Book 1) Page 22
