Angel of Death

by Ferguson, Alane

“But you always seem so . . . upbeat.”

  He shrugged. “I do the best I can. I figure attitude is a choice. So Brad . . .” When he said the name, Kyle faltered. “Brad filled the void. He was like a father to me. The point is, everyone, whether you know it or not, has got problems. And the truth is, you never know what’s really going on in someone’s head.”

  They sat in silence, until he said, “Anam cara. Now you.”

  Once again the words raced though her head, but Too fast, too fast, too fast gave way to Just feel, don’t think, just feel, don’t think. No, you can’t give in, she told herself fiercely. You can’t add another person to your life, not when Hannah’s coming. Yet Kyle had shared his own unhappiness with her, and she’d agreed, hadn’t she?

  Quickly she blurted, “My mother—left me, too. A long time ago. But she’s . . . she’s . . .”

  “She’s what?” Kyle murmured.

  “No. End of story.” Guilt washed over her because she’d been lying for weeks to her father about her tentative contact with her mother. And here in this shadowed place, she’d almost revealed the secret to this stranger. What magic did Kyle possess that had nearly broken through her guard? It was as if she were a snowboarder at the top of a perilous mountain, and he’d gently urged her to slide over the precipice.

  Kyle leaned closer and said, “You’re cautious. I like that. Other girls . . .” He didn’t finish the thought, leaving Cameryn to wonder just how far other girls opened up for Kyle. Touching her face, he whispered, “Can I kiss you, just one more time? Then we’ll go. I promise.”

  He bent close, and his kiss was sweeter this time. As light as petals, his lips brushed hers. The beat of her heart would drown out everything, if she let it. Drawing her head onto his chest, tucking his chin on top, he said, “Now I really am getting cold.” Through the down of his jacket she could hear his heart thudding like a mallet on wood.

  With the kiss, the edge of the snowboard tipped, and then she gave herself a shove and burst into the snow. She was sailing, streaming down the mountainside, and there was no end in sight, the snow burning her skin and eyes, and for once she didn’t care. Careening down where there was no trail—that was something she never did, but that was before, when she listened to the objections that always crowded her thoughts. Raising her head, she put her cheek against his, and then, slowly, softly, her lips found his.

  She’d always used her brain to navigate through life. Now, perhaps stupidly, perhaps mercifully, she let go.

  For the first time in her life, she was flying blind.

  Chapter Ten

  “SO WE CAN go out after school for a bite to eat,” Kyle said. “If you want.”

  Cameryn’s heart brimmed as she nodded. They were walking up the stairs of her venerable old school, the place where she had spent so much of her life both learning and marking time. This Monday morning, though, the building looked different somehow. The brick, which she’d once thought resembled yellowed teeth, now seemed warm, butter-colored. The windows sparkled in the sunrise, reflecting sheets of gold, and the mountain made a perfect backdrop to the school as if holding the building in the cup of its hand.

  “I bet a few people are going to be surprised at the two of us,” Kyle said.

  Nodding, she looked up at him. “Yeah. I mean, it’s— we’ve—been awfully fast.”

  “Good thing I like speed,” he answered, and smiled. His arm draped around her as he tucked her into his side. The blue-and-white letterman jacket, trimmed with academic pins, anchored her; if not for that weight, she felt as though she might float up beyond the rim of pine and straight into the cold November sky. She felt that light, that free.

  Kyle stopped and pointed at the flagpole near the front office. “Look! They lowered the flag to half-mast. That’s got to be for Brad.”

  “It’s our first day back since he died.”

  “Yeah. It’s going to be a rough day. I’m glad I’ve got you,” he said, squeezing her tight.

  “Me, too.”

  And there it was again—the pang that rose up to drown out her joy. The spasm of guilt. Guilt because she felt so happy when so many bad things marched in formation beside her. Fifty miles away, her teacher’s body lay on the funeral home’s steel tabletop, prepped and ready for embalming. While Cameryn snuggled beneath Kyle’s arm, Mr. Oakes’s body would be propped on an incline table to ensure the proper drainage. She knew what came next: Blood from his body would leach out into the Durango sewer system, to be replaced inside Mr. Oakes with a fleshy-pink formaldehyde pumped through tubes inserted at six points: his femoral arteries, the axillaries in his arms, and the carotids in his neck. Cavity-fluid preservative would be poured onto his organs, still left in the garbage bag, and his insides, bag and all, would be sewn into his remains with crude stitches. Mr. Oakes’s jaw would be wired shut. All this would happen to what was left of her teacher while Cameryn was filled with a kind of euphoria that told her no matter what, she was alive and Kyle liked her. It wasn’t right, but she couldn’t help the positive energy radiating from her.

  Her enthusiasm hadn’t gone unnoticed.

  Yesterday morning, while kneeling at St. Patrick’s, she’d seen parishioners around her bent with grief. As the priest chanted a prayer for Mr. Oakes, Cameryn’s mind was somewhere else. It replayed her kiss in the cemetery and how it had ended with Kyle pulling her to her feet, her neck craning back as he kissed her again and again until she’d told him it was time to go. She remembered the warmth of his cheek as he pressed it next to hers. Savoring this memory, her mind dwelled not on her teacher’s death but on her own new life. Something must have shown on her face, because a moment later her mammaw had whispered into her ear, “Stop that smiling. It’s unbecoming under the circumstances, ” and the next words had been a hiss beneath Mammaw’s breath: “You’re losing your head over a boy when you should be praying for your poor teacher.”

  “I am,” she’d whispered back. “Look, I’m saying the rosary.” She’d held up the beads, still wrapped around her hand. The crucifix swayed beneath her fist.

  “You’re not fooling me,” her grandmother muttered.

  “And you’re not fooling God.”

  Lyric had called right after Mass, wanting to know everything that had happened after the restaurant. How long had they kissed Saturday night? Cameryn tried to tell her, but in truth she couldn’t remember. Ten minutes? Twenty? She had no idea, because time had melted away as she held on to him beneath the silver moon and the shadow of the graves, and she’d thought how perfect it was, to have something begin where most things ended.

  “Just don’t move too fast,” Lyric warned. “He’s a great guy and all, but you’re going through a lot right now and maybe you’re streaking along with Kyle because you don’t want to leave space in your head to think about your mom coming back.”

  “Don’t psychoanalyze me,” Cameryn had shot back.

  “Just let me be happy.”

  “Fine, fine, then happy I will be. Congratulations!”

  So Cameryn was riding the tsunami of emotion, and she didn’t care if it ever stopped. Just ride the wave, she told herself.

  With his left hand Kyle pushed open the school door. Inside, the halls smelled of new wax. Light, streaming from high windows, caught the dust in angel beams. She saw a teacher hurry by with a black armband around her upper arm. It was too tight, and it caused the flesh to bulge.

  “I should get me one of those,” Kyle said softly. His face clouded with emotion as he added, “Brad Oakes was the best teacher I ever had. He taught me to write.”

  The Silverton High School building churned with Monday-morning activity as they made their way inside. Kids crammed the hallway, slamming lockers, hurrying before first bell.

  “Hey, Scott,” Kyle said, raising his chin in greeting.

  “Hey, Kyle.” Scott Charlton’s blue eyes widened, almost imperceptibly, as he took in the fact of Cameryn. “Wow,” he said, seeming to register it all. His eyes slid do
wn past Cameryn’s plain blue jeans to her scuffed boots, and then back up again to her black pea coat with the large plastic buttons. “Looks like you’ve had a busy weekend, Kyle.”

  “Yeah. You could say that,” Kyle replied.

  “I guess you heard about Oakes and the remembrance thing they’re doing for him today. There’s some assembly scheduled for first period. I’ll save you a seat.”

  “Save two,” Kyle called out as Scott hurried down the hallway.

  As they walked toward the classrooms, kids moved aside. Kyle, like a boat unaware of its wake, parted them effortlessly. “I’m sorry, I didn’t even ask you. Is that okay? That we go together, I mean? I’ll come to your class—you’ve got Ward, right?”

  “Yep, I start my day with biology,” Cameryn replied. “And I’d really like that. I’ll wait for you outside of class.”

  With a quick kiss on the top of her head, Kyle left her at her homeroom.

  The remembrance ceremony for Mr. Oakes was exactly what Cameryn had expected it would be: girls crying unashamedly while a few boys, dry-eyed, turned red with emotion, shifting from foot to foot as they awaited their turn at the microphone. Snuffling teachers, the principal, the janitor, all streamed up to the front to say a few words while soft strains of John Denver’s “Rocky Mountain High” played in the background. When the adults were finished, the students came next. Kids walked up, hesitant, afraid of the microphone, but determined to eulogize their teacher. Cameryn noticed that a few townspeople had crashed the service as well, hovering in the corner, waiting their turn. She recognized Dwayne Reynolds, his mustache drooping. He held his floppy hat in his hands. The skin on his forehead was ghostly white. She’d never seen Dwayne without the hat, and it made him look naked somehow.

  Seated in a section where she hadn’t sat before, Cameryn realized that from up here she could see it all. The football team always picked the highest bleachers on the top row, which allowed them to rest their backs against the painted wall. She saw Lyric and Adam down in the second row and waved, a little sorry she wasn’t with them but even more glad to be sharing the time with Kyle. Both Adam and Lyric waved back.

  Dwayne Reynolds had made his way to the microphone. His voice shook as he spoke. “Brad Oakes was the finest man I ever knew. An old soul. I just wanted you kids to know that.” It was all he said. After that, Dwayne walked away from the microphone and straight out a side door.

  “They were really close,” Kyle said softly. “They were always together.” He straightened in the seat, his back pulling away from the wall. “You know what? I’ve got to go down there. I’m the one who found him and . . . I need to say good-bye. Do you want to?”

  “Sorry, no way.” Cameryn shook her head. “I’m not one for public speaking. Say good things for the both of us.”

  Kyle picked his way down the wooden bleachers and stood in the line, which by then had thinned out. It took only a few minutes for him to get to the mike. For some reason, Cameryn’s heart was in her throat as Kyle stepped up to speak.

  The crowd hushed. He cleared his throat and looked up to where Cameryn sat, and when their eyes met, he straightened. “In a world short of heroes . . .” he began. His voice sounded higher than normal, but she doubted others would notice. “Mr. Oakes was the greatest of heroes to me. He taught me to love words and to love nature. He was my Scout leader, and he showed me the beauty of our mountains and how to survive outdoors. He taught me to think, to understand both nature and life.” Taking a wavering breath, he looked at Cameryn, locking onto her eyes as if he was speaking only to her. “In his class, we read F. Scott Fitzgerald. Mr. Oakes told us that Fitzgerald said, ‘Show me a hero, and I’ll write you a tragedy.’” Kyle’s voice cracked as he finished. “Mr. Oakes, losing you is a tragedy to each and every one of us. I’ll never forget you. None of us ever will.”

  And then, as Kyle walked away, the room did something it hadn’t done for anyone else who spoke. It erupted in applause. Cameryn swelled with pride as she understood this tribute to both their teacher and to Kyle. He had said what they were all thinking, only better. Kyle had put words to what none of them could express.

  Later, they all crowded in the lunchroom, where the other kids revealed what was really on their minds: they wanted to know about the death. Every gory detail.

  Cameryn was sitting next to Kyle in a section dominated by the team, but this time Lyric and Adam had joined them, too. It was an odd mix but one that seemed to be working. The overarching theme was death, a canopy that encompassed them all, despite their usual habitat in different social strata.

  Scott Charlton took a bite of cold pizza. “So, Cameryn,” he said between chews, “you work with your dad, right? Does that mean you were at Oakes’s autopsy?”

  The eyes of everyone at the table suddenly turned onto her, and there was a hush. Here they were, the cheerleaders and the jocks, with their attention trained exclusively on Cameryn. She was holding a breadstick, and she felt her hand slowly drift back to her plate. She felt the full weight of the obligation. This is what they’d been waiting for, she realized: the real story. As assistant to the coroner, she was the show after the commercial break. Panic welled inside her, but Kyle put his hand firmly on her knee. He was pressing strength into her through his strong fingers.

  “I was there,” she admitted. “But before you ask, I can’t get into it. It’s still an active case.”

  Nodding, Scott said, “That’s cool. But I heard some pretty weird stuff about the way the body looked, like . . . he didn’t have any eyes.” Scott held up a hand and fluttered his fingers as though they were lashes. “All I want to know is if you have any idea about what killed him?”

  “Nope.”

  “His eyes were blown out, right?”

  She hesitated.

  “We already know. Kyle told us.”

  “Yes, but—”

  She didn’t get any further. Everyone at the table erupted with theories of what had happened to their teacher. Jessica, a thin girl with a model’s face, said, “I think it’s something like a rare kind of disease from South America or Africa. Since the rain forests have been cut down, all kinds of nasty stuff’s gotten out.”

  “No,” another voice protested, “he never traveled there.”

  “He flew, didn’t he? Maybe he caught a disease on a plane.”

  “The last trip he took was, like, last spring. A disease wouldn’t take that long to show up.”

  “I’m wondering if it was a ball of lightning that went right into his room.”

  “My dad said the sheriff put up crime-scene tape. Do you think he was murdered?”

  “Who would murder Mr. Oakes? He had, like, a ton of friends. Everyone in town loved him.”

  “You never know.”

  “Wait, I have a theory, and it’s a really good one,” a voice said, one Cameryn finally recognized. It was Lyric. She had the floor, and she looked as though she was enjoying it. This wasn’t a group that usually paid attention to her.

  Lyric slid her fingers through her blue hair and then squeezed it at her crown, fluffing the locks so they fell in ringlets. Her eyes danced as she announced, “Okay. Here it is: spontaneous human combustion.”

  Cameryn groaned.

  Lyric was sitting four people away, so she leaned forward to swivel her head toward Cameryn. “No, Cammie, I’m serious. It’s a real thing. Adam and I looked it up on the Internet, and there’re tons of articles about it. There’ve been people all over the world who, like, just”— she snapped her fingers—“burn up, right in their own beds and stuff, without any reason at all. Their houses aren’t on fire or anything, not their sheets or their walls or anything around them. Go look it up if you don’t believe me.”

  “I know all about spontaneous human combustion,” Cameryn replied.

  “Then you know they just find the bodies with the torso all burned up, and maybe an arm or a leg left in a pile of ash. I think maybe that’s what happened to Mr. Oakes.”

 
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