Sheltered

by Debra Chapoton

  Now, to the boys’ bathroom. He found the only stall that locked and left the large bag there, arranged Adam’s boots on the floor, removed one gun to hide under his jacket, and crawled out. He stood at the urinals and looked at the stalls. It certainly looked to him like some athlete was sitting there taking a dump. He cursed himself for not thinking of letting off a stink bomb or bringing some rotten eggs. The cackle that left his lips was otherworldly.

  ***

  Emily played with the strap of her bag all the way to school. She tried . . . she tried to tell Ben that Megan couldn’t go to school. She tried again as soon as they piled into the car. She tapped Megan’s shoulder and murmured the words she needed to hear. At least, she thought she did.

  So Ben had a step-father. More lies?

  When they got to the parking lot Ben pulled up close to the entryway to drop them off. Try again, one last time.

  “Megan . . . you can’t go to school today.” There, that was part of Mrs. Beridon’s message.

  And Megan was nodding in agreement. “I know.”

  She knows. She knows she has to go to court. Of course she would know. That’s why she doesn’t have her school bag.

  ***

  “She’s right,” Megan said as she and Ben watched Emily pull open one of the double doors at the entrance, “I can’t go to school without my books. We left so fast . . .”

  “Well, maybe it’s safe to go back and get it now. We’ll only be a few minutes late. I can afford a first hour tardy, can you?”

  Megan laughed. “I’ve been so good this year that I can afford a first hour skip.”

  “Do you want to go to the Pancake House? I haven’t had breakfast.”

  “Me either.” She re-buckled her seatbelt. “Let’s go.”

  ***

  Cori closed the front door after her pleasant conversation with Mr. Ed Rose. Nice to meet you. Oh, yes, everything’s working fine. There was a sticky doorknob, but my husband fixed it. I’d invite you in, but he just left for work, see the tracks? And I have to finish getting ready, too. Is there a problem? You’re not raising the rent already, are you? Teenagers? Well, my sister’s kids have been staying here. Did someone complain? The Petersons? Really? I’m so sorry. They must be playing that awful music too loud when they come home from school. I’ll talk to them. Yes, you have a nice day, too.

  She watched him drive away. That was fun. It was like she was in a play. She felt like doing a little dance now. Her heart rate had elevated, and the rush, the thrill, was just like shoplifting. She had fooled him so completely she should get an Oscar for that performance. It was so lucky that she hadn’t put her makeup on yet or her chains and jewelry. Maybe she’d go to school like this and pretend she was a substitute teacher. Maybe something from Mrs. Kremer’s closet . . . No. That was stupid.

  The scowl returned.

  She would just skip school. Strange that Chuck had left so early. Maybe he just went to get donuts or something. Boy, that sounded good.

  She tried to concentrate on seeing the future. She definitely couldn’t see herself in school today.

  An image of that tortured nightmare stopped her cold. The blackened face multiplied into thousands of twisted skulls. Goose bumps pocked her skin, her hands began to shake, and her veins pumped fear along with the ice cold blood of dread.

  She clamped her jaw shut, afraid that her screams would bring back Mr. Rose. Her mouth tingled. She wanted to scream, had to scream.

  And then, as quickly and unexpectedly as it had enveloped her, the horrible impression of death left her.

  ***

  Emily headed to her locker with a sense of relief. She wasn’t a total loser. She had meant to tell Megan the message. She should get points for good intentions. But Megan already knew. That must have been the secret that Ben and Megan held between them. Of course. That was all it was. They had left so suddenly. Ben had a car; he would drive her home so Mrs. Beridon could pick her up.

  That thing about his step-dad . . . that didn’t mean what she thought. She could figure this out. What did it mean? Hmm, well, just like her, Ben had family problems, but instead of being abandoned he was running away from them. Yes, that was simple . . . and so like her own story. They abused him. It was probably mostly his mother’s fault. She must have burned him with cigarettes.

  Emily closed her locker, checked the time. She didn’t want to get to class too soon. She had several minutes to hang out near the stairwell or sit behind the trash cans or . . . what else could Ben’s mother have done to him? Maybe she didn’t let him eat enough; maybe she gave his food to a younger brother. Or locked him in the closet when he had nightmares.

  She passed the vending machines, the little door to the service room, the trash cans . . . something didn’t feel right. No, something didn’t smell right.

  She remembered the nightmare she shared with Cori. An image of the stiff, burned body formed right before her eyes. She reached her hand out to the wall to steady herself. She could see the strange, sightless eyes. Two became four became thousands. It was too horrible. She couldn’t look away; bony, scorched fingers plucked at her eyes. Look at us. Look at us. It was nauseating; she hated the memory, hated herself.

  And the smell.

  It smelled like . . . it smelled like Chuck’s bedroom.

  ***

  The big man grumbled under his breath, cleared his throat, wiped his brow, and settled into the leather chair behind the mahogany desk. The bailiff, his good friend, had left him an iced tea. Even in the winter it was his beverage of choice. It seemed that he was always sweating. The extra hundred pounds of fat that he lugged around accounted for his loss of breath, high blood pressure, and poor health.

  He gulped down half of the tea and then consulted his calendar. He read his notes and reviewed all that he had prepared for today’s court appointments. He folded his hands and prayed for the wisdom of Solomon, the patience of Job, and the understanding and strength that he would need as he ruled on the child custody case that was first up on this morning’s schedule.

  He had gone round and round as he looked into all sides of this particular case. He had spent too much time on it. Still, he wasn’t sure. He trusted that his instincts would lead him to the correct judicial response once he saw all parties in person. The young mother would most likely win.

  ***

  Megan and Ben held hands as they sat next to one another in a booth. While they waited for their pancakes they teased and laughed and goofed around. A few pointed stares from some senior citizens dampened their mood and quieted their spirits. It wasn’t a good idea to draw attention to themselves since they were skipping school. They lowered their voices and turned serious.

  “Can you believe what Cori did for me – pretending to be Mrs. Kremer? I wish I could have heard the whole conversation.”

  Megan agreed. “I told you she wasn’t so bad.”

  “And she looked incredible. Pretty, actually.”

  “Hey, hey, don’t make a girl jealous.”

  Ben kissed her cheek. “There’s nobody you’d ever have to be jealous of. I just mean that Cori seemed to change pretty drastically. I don’t get what happened to make her transform so completely in so short a time.”

  “Really? Where were you when she was playing puppet master with the bald guy? I think that would make anybody take on a new personality.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  “And look at us. This,” she pointed her finger at him and then herself, “is pretty fast.”

  He gave her another chaste kiss. “I can’t seem to get my head around all this . . . this paranormal stuff, though. There’s got to be an explanation for everything.”

  Megan thought of all the changes she had gone through. Having a baby grow inside you was mind-boggling. Giving birth was unbelievable. But seeing that man float like magic had to be the most inexplicable thing ever. And the Ouija board was scary.

  “What do think of Cori’s claim that she can see the future?” />
  “I don’t know. I wish I could see the future.”

  “Me, too.”

  “Is there something in particular you want to know?” He squeezed her hand.

  “Well,” she knew she wasn’t going to say what he hoped to hear, “I’d like to know what the judge is going to rule . . . in my custody case. I’d like to know if I moved back with my parents if it would all work out. I’d like to see what my life is like in ten years.”

  “Ten years? Wow, that’s a long time. I’d like to see two years ahead. What college will I be in? Will my mom be okay?” He leaned closer. “Will we be together?”

  ***

  Ed Rose drove with one hand and pressed the phone to his ear. An automated message began. It was pre-recorded in the authoritative voice of the principal of Ben’s school. “This is Mr. Mays. Your student has been reported as absent by the first hour teacher. Please call the attendance office before the end of the day to excuse your student. A total of six unexcused absences in a semester may result in reassignment.” The message ended with a quick repetition of the attendance office’s phone number and the ubiquitous ‘have a nice day’. Ed began to fume. That little shit was skipping school.

  He didn’t really care. Except, if Ben was wasting gas, bombing around on slippery roads, flaunting the fact that he was not even in school when he should have been grounded from using the car . . .

  His anger seethed. He scanned the other cars on the road, looking for Ben’s car. At the intersection he swiveled his head in all directions. Where would Ben go? He decided to drive by the skating arena, the fast food joints, any other hang-outs he could think of. That little good-for-nothing was going to be sorry he even thought of skipping school.

  ***

  Cori pulled out one of the boxes from under her bed. Attic dust left a trail, but she ignored it. She glanced upward to check that the paper she had taped over the hole in the ceiling was still doing its job. That creep, she thought. She had considered Megan’s statement that Chuck was sick, but couldn’t quite let go of the disgust, revulsion, and loathing she had cultivated.

  And what was he mumbling about this morning? He had a gift for her? What the–.

  Time to do her own spying. This box could wait. She had the house to herself and there was no time like the present.

  She stood up and swayed. There it was again. That memory. That nightmare. Eyes floated toward her, dull, blank, like someone had sucked the life out of them. No gleam. No glint. Hollow, empty orbs.

  She couldn’t lift an arm for protection or a foot for escape.

  Bodies swirled around and taunted her with their pointing fingers. Cackling laughs turned to silent screams then burst into deafening whistles of pain, teeth grinding, throats groaning, bones breaking.

  And then it stopped.

  She was afraid to think of Chuck again. She saw the connection now. Just a little while ago, in the living room, she had thought of Chuck and then experienced that nightmare again, a clear hallucination. It was the same now. Chuck crossed her mind and then spirits crossed her soul.

  Like a warning.

  ***

  The leg spasms had eased, the tighter muscles had loosened, and Chuck’s hiding place remained undisturbed. He wasn’t worried that he’d be seen, but someone might hear him; the jitters could give him away, his tapping feet were like tiny drums. He needn’t have worried. The halls were hectic right up until the final tardy bell rang. The noises sheltered him. Protection. That’s all he ever wanted.

  Maybe he should stay right here in this very spot, so close to where . . . where it happened.

  Where what happened? His brain was muddled, his mind disguised the faces, and his memory stole the names, cloaked and veiled them. What if he didn’t recognize them?

  Adam? Talk to me, please. What if they’re wearing camouflage? What if I don’t know them anymore?

  Who will pay?

  Does it matter?

  Adam . . . I’ll join you. I’ll be with you. We’ll be inseparable. Twins.

  He fingered the trigger of the gun, ran his thumb along the barrel. Maybe, maybe there was an easier way.

  How long before class change? How long before the halls crowded with chaos and confusion? How many bullets before he could command both pandemonium and order?

  ***

  Ben paid the check and waited by the glass front door while Megan was in the restroom. They barely had enough time to swing by the house and pick up her books; they still might be late to second period even if they hurried. He stared at the blue salt that was scattered on the icy steps as he thought about the quickest route back.

  An SUV exactly like his step-father’s pulled into the parking lot. It was his step-father. The SUV slowed as it passed Ben’s car. Ben had backed into a parking spot so his license wasn’t visible, but the high school parking permit was clearly displayed on the dashboard. He watched Ed eye the car, hesitate, then look for an empty spot. He wasn’t here for pancakes.

  ***

  Cori felt a little hypocritical that she intended to go down the basement to trespass. She also felt afraid. She wished she had a weapon. But what for?

  I’ll tell you what for, she thought, remember last weekend when you came down here? You were alone in the house and that man broke in.

  I proved I can take care of myself.

  But this seems different.

  She reached the bottom step. Chided herself for having an inane dialogue. Cursed Chuck. Walked into his neat and clean room.

  “What the–” she broke off the curse to stare. “So where’s my present?” she asked the empty room. She half-expected burnt and bony fingers to point the way, but she knew without a doubt where to look.

  The tidied closet still smelled bad. Chuck’s presence lingered, pungent. She tore the poster off the wall and revealed the hole. It was stuffed with clothing and other things. She didn’t want to touch anything, but she held her breath and pulled each item out.

  Ah, this must be it. A shoe box all wrapped up in notebook paper. Little hearts around the edges. Couldn’t he have stolen some of Emily’s Santa Claus wrapping paper? This looked like the work of a child. The tape was torn in places, as if he had unsealed and then resealed his handiwork. The paper, though decorated, was scrappy looking. Something had been erased. Four lines. A poem? How pathetic.

  The box was heavy, too heavy for shoes.

  She pulled the tape off the sides and lifted the lid.

  ***

  Mrs. Beridon thought she saw some movement in the house, and a light flicking on, as she pulled into the driveway. Good. Megan got the message. It would be awful if she didn’t know that she was picking her up.

  She honked the horn lightly and waited.

  ***

  Cori jumped as much from the nearby car horn as from the sight of an oily pistol resting on crinkly tissue paper. There was a note under the gun addressed to her. Two poems . . . about her. This was absolutely, positively creepy.

  She didn’t want a gun, knew she couldn’t pawn it. Where did he get it? Was it from the attic? Were there more?

  A sudden cold sweat chased away the tingling adrenaline rush. She put the lid back on and carried it out of the room.

  She could have fainted when she reached the landing and someone knocked.

  ***

  Mrs. Beridon knocked again. She could see a female shape within, but it was a girl larger and perhaps older than Megan.

  “Hello? Is Megan ready?” she hollered, rapping again on the window pane.

  The door opened and a fresh-faced teen screwed her face into a frown. “Megan’s not here. Who are you?”

  “Megan’s not here?” She pulled back her coat sleeve and checked her watch. “Did she go to school? I thought she got the message.”

  “What message?” Cori contorted her face even more. “Is it about . . . her baby?”

  “Yes. The judge is ruling on the issue of custody this morning. Megan has to be there.”

  “She w
ent with Ben and Emily . . . to school. I don’t think she got any message. Here, come on in. You can call the school.”

  Mrs. Beridon stepped inside. “Thank you. I don’t think I’ve got the number in my phone.”

  Cori set the box on the counter and looked up the school’s number in the phone book. She dialed it and handed Mrs. Beridon the house phone.

  As it rang Mrs. Beridon introduced herself and Cori responded more politely than usual.

  “Hello, I’d like to get a message to a student . . . No, I’m not. I’m her social worker. She’s an emancipated teen . . . that’s right. Her name is Megan Blakeney . . . Tell her Mrs. B will pick her up in ten minutes. She has to be in court . . . yes, that’s right. Thank you.” She handed the phone back to Cori with a whistle of relief. “Whew, that was close. She absolutely has to be there.”

  “You’re a social worker?”

  “Yes.”

  “What would you do if you thought someone, maybe, had taken guns to school?”

  Mrs. Beridon searched Cori’s face for the truth and slowly advised, “I’d call the school right away.” She waited a beat to see if Cori had anything to add, then asked, “Do you think Megan has guns?”

  “Hah! No, no way. I was just asking.”

  Mrs. Beridon put her hand on the doorknob and waited again. “Anything else you want to ask?”

  Well, uh, do you believe in demons? Do you do exorcisms? She had lots of questions she wanted to ask, but she shook her head no instead.

  Mrs. Beridon noticed then the empty piercings, didn’t want to judge the girl, knew that some signs meant nothing. “I can stop back later and we can talk. All right?”

  Cori twisted her face again. Was she a mind reader? “Okay, sure.”

  Chapter 21

  Emily kept her head rigidly facing forward. Her teacher would pick on her the second she rested her head on her desk. Her stomach was unsettled and she ached all over. There was a weariness that made her feel fifty years older. She couldn’t stop thinking about that smell. Right by the vending machines. Maybe something, a mouse, had died there.