Finally I got tired of it. “You know what, Jess, you’re right. This is all a big scheme to dump you.”
“It is?”
“No!” I pounded my fist against the door. Daisy tucked tail and ran. “I’m not doing well, Jess. Can you please try to understand?”
“Oh, I understand fine.” She hung up on me.
Wonderful. Was I wrong to expect a little compassion? Maybe the cords in her head were preventing her.
I slid my phone into my pocket and refocused on finding the nerve to leave my house. I counted to three, then forced myself to walk—more like sprint—to my motorcycle.
I actually liked that it was drizzling. Surely that would discourage metal-bound joggers from taking to the streets.
I drove fast, refusing to look at drivers, but I couldn’t shut out everything. My icy gut churned when I saw spiteful, black-letter graffiti stains on several houses and on the side of a fast-food building.
I passed Jess’s neighborhood, which sank me further into loneliness. I missed her—the old her, with her pretty, unshackled neck and nothing but soft hair hanging from her head.
I made it down the dirt path and parked in the same wooded spot as before, then checked an incoming text. Jess again.
I thought you cared. Have you lost your mind?
There was no right way to answer that.
I charged through the woods, feeling creeped out, but I made it to the clearing unharmed. The sound of the rampaging waters was just as noticeable as two days ago, only now it caused the hairs on the back of my neck to stiffen.
I peered into the well. It was totally dry, the bucket sideways in the dirt.
I wondered what would happen when I drew the bucket up—if it would inexplicably hold water like it had for the old man.
Where was he? I looked around, nervous he’d sneak up behind me again. But I’d welcome the chance to ask him some questions. I had a long list of them.
As I turned the handle, I battled the feeling that I was being watched—spied on by something predatory lurking in the woods. Maybe this was the strange sense Jess had been talking about. Or maybe my schizoid paranoia was flaring up.
It wasn’t easy to shine my cell light into the well and turn the handle at the same time, but I managed it. And there, before my disbelieving eyes, the bucket steadily filled with water. Out of nowhere. Water level rising with every turn of the crank.
I didn’t stand around and marvel. I just scooped water into the plastic bottle I’d brought. I let go of the crank, and by the time the bucket hit the dry well bottom, I was already hurrying across the clearing.
The walk back to my bike was uneventful, apart from the unsettling compulsion to look over my shoulder every two seconds.
I was nearing my neighborhood when I noticed two small boys running up a driveway, having a blast in their swim trunks in the afternoon drizzle. I stared at their bare backs. There was nothing—no chains, no cords. I slammed the brake. Had the poison finally passed through my system?
A lady—I assume their mother—stepped onto the front porch, holding beach towels.
“Ugh!” I rammed a fist into my open palm. She was shackled.
Confusion squeezed my brain like a tight-fitting helmet. The kids had no metal. Why? And how come that lady had two chains while my mother had more than a dozen? And what was up with those big cuffs at the ends?
My aggravation level was near boiling. When I pulled up to a stop sign that had die painted on it, my frustration spiked. I drove way too fast the rest of the way home.
Having a dad would have come in handy my whole life, but never as much as now. I wished I had a father to run to. Not a coach. Not a friend’s dad. My own dad. But he’d walked away when he found out my mom was pregnant. Slammed the door and never looked back.
My mom felt the need to throw that in my face whenever I’d ask about him. It would shut me up. Like she wanted.
What kind of man marries a woman but makes her swear not to get pregnant?
I flung myself on the sofa in front of the TV. Daisy flopped down at my feet. Everything in TV land looked fine.
Whatever.
I was determined to get that water sample to Ms. Barnett, my advisory teacher who taught chemistry. If I came up with a good enough excuse, I was sure she’d help me. The thought of going to school gave me chest pains and shortness of breath, but I wasn’t going to let that stop me.
Only sissy boys get scared. One of my mom’s ex-boyfriends had taught me that. Come to think of it, I’m almost positive it was Charlie Mabry.
There was a knock at the door. No need to ask who was there. No matter who it was, I didn’t know them anymore.
“Owen, it’s me.”
Lance.
It felt good to hear my friend’s voice. I turned the lock and begged the universe to let me see him without anything around his neck.
No such luck. He and his girlfriend, Meagan, stood on my porch, both shackled and chained.
“Hey, dude, we’ve been worried about you. Are you all right?”
I gave him a blank stare. He returned the favor. Meagan squeezed Lance’s hand, looking like she’d rather be . . . well, anyplace else.
“You gonna let us in?”
I was afraid he’d ask me that.
I opened the door and stepped away. Then came the stomach-churning sound of chains scraping the floor.
Lance didn’t hesitate to take charge. “Meagan, why don’t you hang out here while we go upstairs and talk a minute?”
I didn’t allow shackled people in my room, but okay.
Meagan gave him a sweet smile, then took a seat on the sofa. She really was cute, apart from her metal trappings, of course.
Lance followed me up the stairs. It was all I could do not to cover my ears. I sifted through the events of the last two days at hyperspeed, trying to settle on how I’d break the news. I sat stiffly on the corner of my bed. Lance relaxed on the floor.
“You skipped practice to come see me?” I said.
“Coach said it was fine.” Lance reached up and grabbed a sports magazine off my desk and thumbed through it. “I mean, he wasn’t happy yesterday when you missed practice, but when you were absent again today and no one had heard from you, I think he was more worried than mad. Are you gonna be okay for the meet tomorrow?”
About that. How do you run a race while dodging chains and swatting people’s cords out of your face? “I don’t know. I’m really . . .”
He closed the magazine. “Are you down or something?” He was probably worried I’d be number thirteen. His instincts weren’t far off.
“Yeah, I’m down, but it’s not what you think. It’s worse.”
“What do you mean?” He scooted closer. “Did your mom do something?” Since moving to Texas, I’d only told Jess about my mom’s drinking. But Lance had sort of picked up on it after being at my house a few times.
“No. I did something. Something really stupid.”
“Okay . . .”
I rubbed up and down on my face a second, then started spilling my guts. I told him every deranged detail, starting with how I’d drunk water from a well that had made me so sick I’d thought I might die. He asked me if I was feeling better now, so that’s when—after I warned him not to freak out—I told him about the chains and the cords and the graffiti everywhere.
Confessing made me feel lighter, like I was pulling myself out of quicksand. What a relief to have a friend like Lance.
Too bad things tanked from there.
Lance searched my face, a half smile on his. “Chains. Right.”
His disbelief hit me like a cannonball in the chest. “I know it’s ridiculous, Lance, but please try to understand.”
He stood and crossed his arms while I fidgeted with my sheets.
“You’re not making any sense, Owen.”
“I know, but I need you to believe me anyway.”
“Help me get this. Who do you see wearing these chains and stuff?”
“So, what about me?” He licked his lips and grinned. “You see something?”
The longer I said nothing, the less he grinned.
“Do you?”
I sensed this would be a defining moment.
“Yes. On you. Meagan. Jess. My mom. People I don’t know, too.”
He sighed and rubbed his forehead, hard. “Owen, you need to go to the hospital. You got ahold of some bad crap, and it’s seriously twisting your mind.”
“I know—I thought that too. But then something happened this morning, with my mom.” I knew my story was growing even less believable, but I had to keep trying.
He shifted his weight and sighed. “And?”
I explained about seeing the chain cuff with the guy’s name on it and my mom’s reaction when I asked her about him. I hoped Lance was about to help me put together some clues, throw out some possible explanations. Instead, he threw his hands up. “So you see chains on me? Right now?”
I wanted to knock the smirk off his face, but at the same time, I understood it. He was barely wading in the madness I’d been drowning in for two days.
“Yes. You have a shackle around your neck and three chains attached in the back.”
“And I’ve got spooky tentacles coming out of my head?”
“More like cords. But I can’t see how many. You’d have to turn around.”
That did it. He gripped my shoulders. “Owen, this is insane!” I don’t think he meant to squeeze me that hard.
“Did you hear what I said?” I stood and pleaded my case. “I see it! Clear as day! And I hear it too. And the name on my mom’s chain cuff—”
“There’s nothing there! Nothing’s hanging from my neck or poking out of anyone’s head.” He pointed to his reflection in the closet door mirror. “See?”
“I understand that you can’t—”
He called me a name I don’t feel like repeating. I sat back on my bed and slouched over. Buried my face in my hands.
Lance moved to the doorway and stared back at me. “Look, man, I’m sorry, okay? Just . . . get some help. I’ll tell Coach you have a migraine or something. Let someone figure out what’s wrong with you, all right?”
I couldn’t hear his footsteps going down the stairs, just the grating racket of his chains. I watched out my window as he and Meagan got in his Jeep and left.
I leaned against the wall and slid to the floor, my fists balled so hard my nails left marks in my skin.
The closest guy friend I had in this worthless town didn’t believe me.
It was depressing, but it only hardened my resolve. I had to get to school in the morning and have that water tested. But how would I survive a crowd?
What else would I see?
NINE
MY MOTHER STAYED IN her room all morning. I put some toast on a plate in the microwave for her. I wasn’t trying to be thoughtful; I just missed my old routine.
If I left in five minutes, I’d have enough time to give my sample to Ms. Barnett, then get back on my bike and off campus before the first-period bell rang. I honestly didn’t care anymore about class attendance or schoolwork or track meets.
No need to factor in time for picking up Jess. I figured she’d be at Emma Lancaster’s funeral this morning, anyway. Hopefully lots of people would. I wasn’t happy the girl was dead, but I did like the idea of the hallways being less crowded.
I promised myself I’d do what I had to this morning without overthinking it, without letting fear get the better of me.
I’d just sat down on my motorcycle when a familiar, sickening sound sent quivers swimming through my body. The female jogger I blamed for triggering this whole psychotic upheaval was jogging past my house again. I was sure it was her. Like I’d ever forget that woman.
I took heart. She still struck me as evil personified, but she didn’t send me into a panicky whirlwind this time. I needed that boost of confidence.
As soon as I turned onto the side street by my school, I could see protesters swarming, only this time there were chains and cords all over the place. My palms started to sweat. It felt like my throat was swelling shut. I pulled off the road and inhaled, long and slow.
The weight of uncertainty sat like a boulder on my chest. But I couldn’t turn back, not until I had some answers. A logical, reliable explanation. And hopefully a cure.
I eased my way back onto the street, giving a thank-you wave to a driver who was nice enough to let me into the flow of traffic. Never mind that she had hardware gripping her neck.
I tried to calm myself. They look like monsters, but they don’t seem out to kill you. My body wasn’t buying my pep talk. I was getting more light headed by the second.
I managed to pull into a parking spot. That felt like a real accomplishment. So did peeling my fingers off the handlebars, one by one. I clutched my backpack straps—my specimen bottle inside—then made up a mantra: “Act like you don’t see a thing. Get to Ms. Barnett. You can do this.”
Somebody slapped the back of my shoulder and about sent me into cardiac arrest. I pulled it together as fast as an unstable person can. It was one of my track buddies. “Hey, Walt.” I slipped my helmet off, mumbling my mantra.
“You’re running in the meet today, right?”
“Um, probably not.” Okay, so I could carry on a conversation while surrounded by metal-clad humanity. Good to know.
“Dude, Coach is gonna kill you.”
That was a very real concern of mine.
“I’ll talk to him,” I said, even though I knew I’d be long gone before seventh period.
I kept my eyes pasted to the pavement as Walt and I walked up the steps and into Horrorville—the foyer by the front office. The clashing of hundreds of chains dragging every which way overloaded my senses. And it was freezing.
Walt eyed me. “Hey, you okay?”
“I don’t feel good. But I’ll be fine.” I tried to pull off a grin, but my cheeks were too cold.
Why did my school feel like Antarctica? Walt didn’t seem to notice. No one else did either. But I started to shiver.
Walt gave me a jab on the arm and walked away, but not before I saw three chains attached to the shackle around his neck and four cords hanging from the back of his head.
I dodged through the crowd with my face angled toward the floor, stepping over countless chain links and cuffs before arriving at Ms. Barnett’s classroom. She was talking with a student. I didn’t like seeing my favorite teacher trapped in metal.
I tried to be patient but couldn’t keep from fidgeting.
“Hey, Owen!” Ms. Barnett walked over to me even though the student at her desk was midsentence. She looked me up and down, concern showing in her eyes. “Are you okay? You don’t look good.”
Restlessness, a belly shiver, and ghastly sightings have a way of taking a toll on a person.
“I’m all right,” I lied, wiping my icy nose. “I have a favor to ask. Could you examine this for me?” I handed her the demon water.
“Where’d you get it?”
“A bucket. In my backyard.”
It’s embarrassing to admit, but I had a lifelong habit of lying to keep myself from looking stupid. No premeditation; just a knee-jerk reaction. I mean, what moron drinks from an old, unfiltered, not to mention dry well? The backyard bucket seemed like a better explanation. At the time.
“My dog drank some, and now she’s sick. Acting . . . off. I’m wondering if the water’s contaminated. I figured since you’re a chemistry teacher—”
“Naturally I’d be able to do that cool stuff like on CSI, right?”
“Well, I was hoping you could run some lab tests and tell me if there’s anything in it—toxins or something?”
She stared at the bottle, turning it back and forth. I counted three cords spiraling down through her curly brown hair. “I’ll see what I can do, but I’m really sw
amped right now.”
“So how long do you think it will take?”
“I’m pretty sure I could have some results for you by Monday.”
Four days? For all I knew, I’d be dead by then.
“Could you do it sooner?”
She gave me a tight-lipped, exasperated smile. “Take your dog to the vet, Owen, and I’ll let you know what I find. On Monday.”
I tried to look normal as I backed out of the classroom, but probably failed. The bell was about to ring, so the halls were almost empty—a welcome reprieve. I was nearly to an exit door when Principal Harding stopped me.
“Owen Edmonds, isn’t your first-period class that way?” She pointed to the classrooms on the other side of the hall. Only two cords in her head.
I knew better than to challenge her. I nodded, then walked that direction. My plan was to turn and get out of there as soon as she left me, but the problem was, she never did. She opened my classroom door as the bell was ringing and winked at my teacher. Then she gave me a pat on the back, like she’d done me a favor.
I was really irritated, but I gave in and sat at my desk. I’d leave right after class.
I stared out the window so I could avoid making eye contact with Lance.
The same three oak trees I saw every day remained anchored in the grass, leaves fluttering in the overcast drizzle. Gusts of wind shoved a smashed McDonald’s sack aimlessly along the ground, and I actually felt sorry for it. I could relate.
I craved a normal life more than food and oxygen combined.
Jess’s ex, Dan, started in on one of his dumb rants. Went on and on about how he’d shot the biggest hog in Texas and gutted it himself. Whatever.
Out of habit, I looked over at Lance, but he turned away. I wanted things between him and me to go back to the way they had been, but I didn’t know how to make it right. I couldn’t apologize for what was happening to me.
It took great restraint to keep from jumping out of my skin when the tall girl seated in front of me, Jess’s friend Ashlyn, kept leaning back, waving her blonde-streaked hair and both of her sharp-tipped cords under my nose. I didn’t have to look hard to see a word etched into one of them:
The Delusion Page 6
