by T. J. Jones
"Jesus Christ, Callie, where were you first period? Do you really think Cooper was doing it with Greg Johnson? That husband of hers is the wrong guy to mess with, that's for sure. How the hell did he find out anyway?"
"Come on Chester, there's no way Abby was screwing that turd. I'm sure if she wanted to get laid she could do better than that asshole. I talked to her the next morning after that supper, she really loves Davis. I don't think she'd screw some other guy. Maybe he just ran into Greg and he pissed him off. Greg's a smart ass, maybe he mouthed off to him."
"Even Greg Johnson isn't that stupid. That guy is huge, and you and I both know he isn't wrapped too tight. Have you talked to Mrs. Cooper?"
"No, should I? I mean she's kind of a friend, but I'm her student, would the cops think that's weird, if they have her phone?"
"Wow, how much CSI do you watch? Just text her and say you're worried, because she's your favorite teacher and stuff. I want to know what the scoop is."
"What, so you can gossip with your buddies." Callie glared, suddenly enraged. "Fuck off, if I text her I'm sure as hell not telling you what she says about it."
"Callie, why are you pissed at me for crying out loud." She was half way down the hall and threw him a middle finger as she rounded the corner at her locker. Her phone buzzed with a text from Jenny, asking her to come over, and hurry. She tossed her books in her locker and ran out the double doors to her car. She drove to Jenny's house and walked up to the door, prepared to knock, but heard a wailing noise from inside. She rushed in. Jenny's Mom was sitting on the couch with Jenny's head cradled in her lap. Jenny was holding onto her knees, sobbing uncontrollably, gasping for breath between each new agonizing wail. Callie sat on the couch beside Mrs Mconvil and when Jenny saw her, she shifted over, wailing anew and clinging to Callie's legs. Her mother blinked back tears as well. A genuine dread gripped Callie, but she had to know for sure.
"Jenny, honey, you have to try not to cry so hard, you're going to make yourself sick, or pass out. What is it, Jen, is it Greg?" Jenny picked her head up, looking at Callie. She had never seen such misery in anyone's eyes.
"He died Callie, about half an hour ago. They couldn't stop his brain from swelling, and he never woke up."
Callie barely remembered the rest of that evening. Jenny was devastated by grief, unable to stand at times without becoming dizzy and falling. Callie watched, her own misery inspired by her hand in what had happened. Greg had been a total ass, and a part of her was happy that he was out of Jenny's life for good, but she hadn't intended it to be like this, she hadn't wanted this. She held Jenny through the evening, talking with her softly as the girl managed to stop weeping, trying to make her feel better in any way she could. It tore at her, knowing the letter she had written, had ultimately caused the person she loved most, so much pain. But there was no going back, only forward. Confessing what she had done to anyone, much less Jenny, wouldn't help. She had to know what happened to that letter, that was the important thing now. Her part in this could never get back to Jenny. She helped Jenny into her pajamas and fell into bed, holding her until she fell asleep. Callie finally dozed off too, hours later, dreaming that she and Greg were fighting over something again. Just as she woke up, she realized it was Jenny.
*****
Callie texted Abby the next day. She didn't bother going to school, she wasn't sure there were classes. She kept it generic, just in case she was right about the police looking into their phone history. She asked if she was alright, said that she had heard there was trouble, and hoped she would be back in school soon. She knew it was enough for Abby to know she was thinking of her, and call if she was able. She got no response from Abby, but in the middle of the afternoon a policewoman knocked on the door. Callie knew Shirley, she had been the liaison with the school before being promoted. Now she was the closest thing their town had to a detective. She was apologetic and told Callie's Mom that it was routine stuff, that she could stick around for the interview if she wanted. Callie was scared shitless, but there wasn't much to it. She asked about her relationship with Abby and her husband, asked about Greg, if she had ever seen anything unusual in their interactions. She asked about the supper.
"Mrs. Cooper, that is Abby and I are kind of friends, I'm an art nut and she's a great teacher. She asked us to come over for supper, just to have someone else around I guess, because Davis was acting weird. He just got back from Afghanistan, so that's probably why. He seemed a little out there, but not crazy or anything. You can't really think that Abby was messing around with Greg, do you?"
"I can't really say what we think, Callie. The boy, Travis, he's your boyfriend?"
"No, just a friend, a close friend. She glanced at her mother who sat stone faced. If Shirley noticed the slight exchange she didn't ask about it. She closed her notebook and thanked them both, then left. Callie's mother looked at her, frowning a bit.
"Callie, is there more to this than you told her? A boy is dead. If you know anything that might help them, if she was messing around with that boy and you know about it, you have to tell the truth."
"Mom, absolutely not, she wasn't fooling around with Greg Johnson, I'm really sure of it."
Callie stayed at home that night. Jenny's mother had given Jenny something to help her sleep, so Callie decided to try to do the same. She'd only had three hours the night before and was exhausted. She stayed in bed for an hour, until her worry and guilt made her give up and go to her easel. She didn't start out trying to paint anything, but somehow, by six in the morning she found herself looking at a portrait of Greg Johnson, bending down over a bleeding, broken Calico cat, with a bright blue collar. She threw her brushes down and showered, then got ready for school.
The funeral was on Friday. Greg's killer stayed locked in jail, charged with second degree murder, there would be no bail. The gossip around Abby Cooper's role in her husband's assault of Greg Johnson had died down somewhat. The police department was poor at controlling leaks of information, and it was generally believed around town that the pretty teacher was innocent of any involvement with the Johnson boy. That didn't explain why Davis Cooper had been at the garage that evening. There were plenty of theories, from drugs, to a random fight. And there were some who still were sure that it was over Abby, that was the more interesting possibility. But there was absolutely no proof of her involvement, at least that's what the guys at the hardware shared with Callie, and they had their sources.
Callie didn't take the word of her Dad's coffee clutch that the police had ended their investigation. She hadn't tried to contact Abby again. It did seem to her, that had the letter she delivered sending Davis after Greg Johnson, been found, someone would know about it. There was too much talk about the whole incident for someone not to know about the letter, unless Davis had destroyed it. It seemed to Callie that was something he might do, extract his revenge, while protecting his wife's honor. She could imagine that kind of logic would fit into a military man's thinking. She hoped so. If the letter were ever found and somehow traced back to her, she knew there would be some sort of legal consequences, for her and for Abby.
What worried Callie the most was the possibility that Jenny would somehow find out. She had spent the last few days with the girl, holding her hand, watching her grieve, while trying to convince herself that it wasn't her fault. She felt like she had made her peace with the fact that Greg was dead. It wasn't her hand that swung the tire iron, it wasn't her twisted mind that thought it was alright to kill people when it suited you. If Davis Cooper was angry and out of control, she could blame the war and the Army for not making sure he came back sane. It just couldn't be her fault, the wracking sobs from her best friend, the girl she only wanted to love and protect. It couldn't be her fault. Callie hadn't slept most of the week, afraid to close her eyes, sure that some fresh terror waited in her dreams. She went with her parents, Jenny, and her mother to the funeral.
They sat near the front, Callie next to the aisle. She had gone up to look int
o the casket with Jenny. Greg wasn't nearly as handsome in death, and Callie stood holding Jenny up, staring at him, afraid he might suddenly sit up and point a boney finger at her. When they went back to their pew, Callie made sure Jenny wasn't by the aisle, afraid she might grab the casket to keep Greg from going into the ground. Callie listened to the sermon, talking about Greg, being in a better place. She wanted to point to the coffin and say, "No dipshit, he's right there, he's dead, in that box, and it's my fault," but of course she didn't. She stood dry eyed through the whole service, an arm around her best friend, trying to slow her tears. Finally, the service ended and the pallbearers, all senior athletes from Greg's team, carried the casket past them, out into the warm spring day. Callie stood watching as Greg's parents and little sister walked by with the rest of the family following.
Callie turned to Jenny for a second as the aisle emptied, started to speak, then turned back toward the front of the church. Jenny glanced at her, suddenly aware that the blue had faded from her eyes. Before the redhead could react, Callie's eyes rolled back and she collapse, convulsed, would be more accurate. As her legs fell away from under her, she pitched forward quickly, as if trying to catch herself, but her arms hung limply at her sides and she slammed her face into the back of the hardwood pew in front of them. Then, as Jenny reached for her, she jerked back and to the side. Barely conscious, she tried to stand but instead fell into the aisle, landing on her back and slamming the back of head onto the carpet covered concrete floor. She was vaguely aware that her nose was bleeding and that people were rushing around her, then it was dark.
Chapter 9
Callie wasn't sure if she was dreaming, or dead. Greg Johnson stood in front of her, smiling and waving. He held a leash in his hand and was leading the Calico Cat with the blue collar away with him. Callie knew she should stop him, but she was tired and wanted to lay still. The bell on the collar rang loudly, repeatedly, and wouldn't stop.
She woke suddenly, in a hospital room. The window was open, letting in the warm fresh air of an early Minnesota spring. The clanging noise that she'd heard in her dream was a garbage truck, backing up to empty a dumpster. It had to be directly below the window, from the sound of it. She lay still trying to remember what had happened to her. Her head was wrapped with some sort of bandage that circled above her eyes, covering her forehead. It felt like there was a cover over her nose as well, and she could barely see around all the gauze. She tried to sit up slightly, but fell back quickly, sickened by the pain in her head. Her mother sat in the corner of the room, sleeping in a chair. Callie realized there were wires attached to her head, running under the bandaging, and that she had tubes protruding from everywhere. She wondered vaguely how long she had been unconscious, slowly piecing together the fact that the last thing she could recall was Greg's funeral.
The door swung open and Jenny backed into the room, carrying a small carton with two coffees and some pastries. Callie was suddenly aware that she was very hungry. "Hey, are one of those muffins for me? I could eat a whole cow right now." Jenny nearly dropped the tray and let out a happy cry. Her mother stirred awake then stood quickly. They both rushed to her bedside and were soon crying and smiling simultaneously, like she had just returned from the dead. "Jesus, you guys, calm down. I just banged my head, and my nose hurts like hell. When can I get out of here?"
"Callie, relax, you have a bad concussion, and you broke the shit out of your nose. You've been out for two days. They were worried you were going to slip into a coma." Her mother said as she reached out to hit the call button on the monitor. A nurse appeared within seconds and smiled when she saw that Callie was awake, then went to find a doctor. Callie looked around, still confused.
"How did I get so fucked up? I remember being at the funeral, did Greg wake up and kick my ass?" Her mother laughed briefly.
"I'll overlook the language for now. The knock on the head didn't change your disposition I see. I'm going to run outside and call your father, he went home to sleep for a few hours. My stupid phone doesn't work in here. Jenny, sit on her if you have to, but keep her from moving around."
"Will do." Jenny giggled and pulled a chair up next to the bed. She reached out and stroked the only portion of Callie's arm that was exposed and didn't have tubes coming from it. She stared at Callie for a bit then bit her lip as tears began running down her cheeks. "Callie, I was so scared, first Greg, then you, I couldn't lose you too."
"I'm sorry about Greg, Jenny. You know he wasn't my favorite person, but he didn't deserve what happened."
"You just need to rest, Cal, and don't worry about me. You took care of me, now it's my turn. Travis came by to see you, and Abby Cooper, they both stayed quite a while. I better call them so they know you're okay." Callie lay still, vaguely wondering where her cellphone was, and if there were messages from the Art teacher on it.
"Did you yell at Abby? About Greg, I mean?"
"I know she didn't have anything to do with that. She's a mess too, just because of the fact that it was her crazy husband that did it. Now the cops are saying they think it was just a random fight, that Mr. Cooper just flipped out. Greg was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Fate's a bitch, I guess."
"What? What did you just say?" Jenny repeated it, and Callie closed her eyes. Had to be a coincidence. "I haven't talked to Chester since last Tuesday, I remember I yelled at him."
"He was a mess too Callie. We were all afraid you weren't going to wake up, like Greg." Jenny started to cry again and put her head down on Callie's hip. Callie stroked her hair gently, at a loss for words. The doctor came walking in, smiling in their direction. He looked at the red head, who had tears running down her face.
"Alright Jennifer, no need for tears, it looks like Callie is on the mend. The fact that she woke up on her own is a very good sign. I just need to do a quick exam, but I'll bet things are looking good." The doctor checked out the monitors, then took out his small flashlight, shining it in Callie's eyes. She jerked back at the sudden brilliance, then winced again as the movement caused her head to throb. "Your eyes look a little odd Callie, but they're responding to stimulation and your pupils are both the same size. Concussions take time to resolve, but I like what I'm seeing. We did an MRI yesterday and there was no sign of the brain bleeding, so this should resolve itself with some time. You did a job on your nose, but it isn't severely twisted so the best bet there, is to just keep it covered. We'll pull the packing and splint in a few days. The fact that you didn't wake up until today is a little worrisome. You're going to be here for a few days, no arguments! I'm going to let the neurologist from Abbot have a look at you this afternoon, he consults here twice a month, so you got lucky there."
"Yeah, I feel lucky as shit. My whole head feels like it's going to explode, I have fucking tubes coming out of every orifice in my body, and you're telling me I have to stay like this? Jesus Christ, I just want to get the hell out of here." Jenny's eyes widened and she looked at the doctor cautiously, he winked at her.
"Is she always this combative? We may have to keep her even longer, for observation."
"You're a laugh a minute Doc." Callie said dryly, wincing as she moved a little.
"Callie, I've known you all your life, and you have always been outspoken, since you were old enough to talk. But you really do need to stay here for a few days, it's what's best for you. We can make you more comfortable, you should be able to eat and get to the bathroom, with help, not by yourself. After the neurologist looks at you we can start something for the pain. You're going to be pretty uncomfortable for the next few days and have a headache. Your eyes and face will be very black and blue from that broken nose. But you should make a complete recovery. You'll be your cheerful, pretty self in no time." Callie winced, then frowned.
"Stop flirting, you old bastard." He chuckled at that, made a notation in her chart and left the room. Callie moaned a little bit after trying to move again. "Don't look so shocked Jenny, I've known Doc Nelson forever, we always give eac
h other shit. Are you looking at my face? Is it totally fucked up?"
"No, it's fine. Okay, what I can see looks like one giant black and blue mess, but I'm sure it will be fine. Want some water? It's got a bendy straw."
"Thanks, I'm going to close my eyes, okay?"
*****
Pretty uncomfortable didn't cover it as far as Callie was concerned. She spent the day in and out of sleep. When all the tubes and monitors had been removed she was allowed to get up, use the bathroom, and eat some semi-solid food. The neurologist had her touching her nose and ears, and trying to stand on one leg, none of which pleased Callie. He shook his head when he looked into her eyes with some sort of scope, and made notations in a notebook he had in his pocket. When Callie asked what he had seen, he muttered something unintelligible, then left the room when Callie unloaded with a string of obscenities. She was finally allowed some pain medication, which quickly put her to sleep.
The medication didn't stop the dreams, it seemed to enhance them. She still knew she was dreaming, but there wasn't the slightest bit of control. Thankfully, Greg made no appearances, and the soldiers in the rocky desert were gone. But she was assaulted by a myriad of new images and situations she had never seen before. She found herself in the alley repeatedly, sirens blaring, and the tall dark-haired woman was pulling at her. She felt something else, through all of the drug induced confusion, a foreboding. The eyes were there again, watching her cautiously. They seemed closer, or stronger somehow, as if they were trying to direct her. She was certain she was beginning to hear their voices.
