She broke the silence. “I guess you heard I’m going to prom with Dan.”
“Impressive choice.”
“Well, what was I supposed to do? You don’t want anything to do with me, and he’s been begging me to get back with him.”
I tried not to get so frustrated that I offended her before I’d made my point. “Have you forgotten, Jess? How mean he was to you?”
“He’s on meds now. He’s doing a lot better.” She pulled a ponytail holder off her wrist and tied her hair back. “You know his dad’s a doctor, right?”
I didn’t know if she meant that as a jab, but it put me on the defense anyway. “So what? Pills don’t fix abusive.”
She had to know I was right. Maybe that’s why she changed the subject. “I get that you’ve been sick or whatever, but you never did explain why you ran away from me the other day. Or what’s been going on with you.” Her tone was kind.
She wrapped a pinky around mine, and that was all it took. My feelings for her came flooding back.
“Jess, I don’t blame you for moving on. I just wish you’d rethink who you’re moving on with. Dan is no good. He doesn’t care about you.”
“He told me that he’s been out with lots of girls since we broke up, but it’s different with me. He loves me.”
“And you believe that?” I looked into her face. “He’s manipulating you.”
She sighed. “I know what I’m doing, Owen. He’s cared about me for a long time.”
“Didn’t you tell me he yelled at you so bad one time you had your worst asthma attack ever? Ended up in the ER?”
She kept her eyes down. “At least he hasn’t rejected me.”
I couldn’t believe it. I was the bad guy now, and Dan was the knight in shining armor.
She turned and walked the rest of the way down the bridge. I followed her. “Jess, I was never gonna dump you for that Cindy girl. And I’m sorry I ran from you the other day.”
We made it to the end of the bridge, then she sat in the grass. I lowered myself beside her and tried to explain. “I’m going through something really, really serious.”
She eased onto her back in the grass, looking up at the clouds. “Why won’t you tell me about it?”
I lay next to her. Stared at the clouds too. “I have to figure things out on my own.”
“Is there something I can do?”
I turned onto my side and leaned on my elbow, my face inches from hers. “You can stay away from Dan Bradford.”
She grinned. “You’re jealous.”
“It’s not funny. And I’m not jealous. I’m seriously worried about you.”
“I can take care of myself.”
There she was, shackled and surrounded by three chains and four cords, bragging about her independence.
I brushed the back of my fingers over her cheek a few times, and she let her eyes drift shut. She sank deeper into the grass, as if the weight of the world were pressing down on her. I reached up and stroked her hair, unable to resist sneaking glances at her cords.
unforgiving
self-hating
insecure
defiant
I felt like a stalker, like I’d just picked the lock on her diary. I had to admit, though, knowing Jess like I did, the descriptions were spot on. She tried to come off as confident—better than others, even—but it was all a mask. I was no psychologist, but I’d always known Jess had a hard time liking herself.
“Your shoes are coming untied.” I moved toward her feet.
“No they’re not.” She grinned.
I pulled her laces loose, then tied them again, scanning the open cuffs at the ends of her chains.
bill edwin thompson
Her dad. Weird.
Her mother’s name was on the next cuff. Weird again.
The third chain:
jeffrey joel thompson
Another relative, I figured, but who?
I went back to my spot next to her in the grass, our shoulders touching. I hesitated, then . . .
“Jess, has someone hurt you? A family member, maybe? Done something . . . unforgivable?”
She bolted up like I’d jabbed her with a cattle prod. “What do you mean?”
I sat up too. “Just wondering.”
Her eyes glossed over, like she couldn’t see anything but the thoughts inside her head. “Well,” she practically whispered, “my dad has done some things. And . . .”
I got the feeling she wanted to tell me more, but she was scared.
“You can trust me, Jess.” I meant it.
She looked almost catatonic for a moment, then snapped her head around at me. “Why would you ask me that? Slightly personal, isn’t it?”
“Well, yeah, I just thought—”
“One minute you don’t want anything to do with me, and the next, you want me to tell you my deepest, darkest secrets?”
She had a point.
I motioned for her to lie back down beside me, but she wouldn’t.
I studied her face. “I have an idea.” When she quit breathing so hard and relaxed her shoulders, I shared it: “What if you come clean with me, and I come clean with you?”
She thought about it, plucking up blades of grass and flicking them aside. “Fine, but you have to go first.”
I wasn’t thrilled about her counteroffer, but I was willing to go along with it, under one condition. “Promise me you’ll try to believe me.”
“Fine. Go.”
Deep breath. “You know how I told you I drank some water in the woods, then started feeling weird and, uh, seeing things?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, I’m still feeling weird and seeing things. Terrible things.”
She turned toward me. “What did the doctor say?”
“I didn’t—” Oh, yeah. My lie had caught up with me. “He wasn’t any help. So I got the water tested, but the results came back clean. Nothing abnormal, Ms. Barnett told me.”
“If you’re seeing things, why haven’t you, like, gone to a psychiatrist?”
I sat up. “Well, it’s complicated, Jess. At first I assumed I was hallucinating, that I was totally delusional and needed psychological help. Serious help. But now, I’m not so sure. Some of the things I see actually seem to add up.”
“What do you mean?”
Better to keep it vague. “I can see certain things about people—what they’re struggling with. And who they’re struggling with, I think.”
She leaned away from me. “So that’s why you asked if there’s someone I can’t forgive? You think that’s my issue?”
“Well, yeah.” I said it as nicely as I could. “It’s one of your issues.”
I obviously wasn’t nice enough. She stood and slapped the grass off her legs. “What about you, Owen? What are your issues?”
“Mine?”
“Yeah. You’re so aware of what everyone else needs. What about you?”
“Well, actually there are some of us who don’t appear to have any issues.” I knew it sounded arrogant, but it was true.
“How convenient. Looks like you’re already a doctor, aren’t you? You know everyone’s problems and exactly how to fix them.”
She stormed off, refusing to listen as I tried to explain that I actually had no idea how to help anyone. I called out to her, but she kept moving. She pounded out a text on her cell, hitting send as I came close to her.
I pleaded with her to come back—to at least let me drive her to my house to get her car, but within minutes, there was Dan, speeding up in his spotless red truck.
She hopped in, then rolled down her window. “You’re psychotic, Owen.”
Dan snickered, then gassed it, leaving me standing in the middle of the street.
My heart was stampeding like a herd of cattle. So much for trying to believe me.
I pounded the pavement back to my bike, then sped toward Ray Anne’s neighborhood, my teeth clenched the whole way. I could have predicted that Jess had a defiant cord withou
t ever reading it. I’d told her my personal stuff, but she’d shared nothing—and then insulted me.
I pulled out my cell to send Jess a text, but since I had nothing but hateful things to say, I didn’t bother. The longer I drove, the more tense I got.
But by the time I finally spotted Ray Anne’s house, I’d cooled off some. No doubt that the house was hers—there was a drill-team yard sign with her name on it.
It was a modest neighborhood. Mostly one-stories. I was ready to go straight for the kill—walk up to the door and knock. But something in the cul-de-sac caught my attention.
There were several small children chasing each other. Like the two boys I’d seen before, they didn’t have shackles or anything abnormal, but when they faced me head-on, I could see a blinding, concentrated, colorful light near each child’s heart, piercing through their clothing. It was like a blazing star, completely captivating.
It was similar to the illumination I’d seen on Ray Anne and the others at my school, only this was brighter and filled one tiny spot in their chests instead of shining around their feet. I stood there awhile, strangely comforted.
I snapped a picture with my cell, but everything extraordinary was missing from the image.
Eventually I faced Ray Anne’s house again, walked up, and knocked on the door. Her mother answered—a short, plump lady with an apron on. She glowed too. Interesting.
“Hi. I’m Owen Edmonds.” I reached out and shook her hand. I thought I’d feel some sort of sensation when making contact with a glowing person.
Nope.
“Is Ray Anne here?”
A minute later, she was on the front porch with me.
“Hey, Ray Anne.”
She looked at me like I was wearing a dress or something.
“Owen.” I pointed to myself like a preschooler, then slid both hands into my pockets.
“I remember your name. Are you okay?”
I was trying to act normal, but obviously failing. “Yeah. Absolutely. Look, I just want you to know that I’m sorry about what happened, with Jess, in the hall the other day.”
She shrugged. “It’s no big deal.”
“So, what are you up to tonight?”
“Well, it’s laundry night, so . . .”
“Awesome.” We stared at the doormat and fidgeted. Crickets were chirping. Literally.
I took another stab at it. “Hey, you wanna go out tomorrow, you know, get to know each other?”
Her eyebrows pressed together. “You mean a date?”
“No. Just, like, me and you, going to dinner and talking.”
Great. The textbook definition of date. I wouldn’t have blamed her if she’d slammed the door in my face.
“Um . . . I can’t tomorrow. But I can Friday night.”
“Cool.” I sighed, hugely relieved.
“But what about Jess? She’s your girlfriend, right?”
“Oh, that’s over. Completely.”
“Sorry.”
“No, it’s . . . never mind. So, like six o’clock Friday? I’ll pick you up. My treat.”
“Sure. Um, tell me again why you want to go out?”
“Uh, I just want to get to know you. Like, yeah, get to know you better.”
She blinked. And blinked. “Okay, yeah, sounds good.” An eye roll, but followed by a playful smile. “Just so you know, my parents will want to meet you. You’ll need to come in and talk to them before we go out, on our not-a-date.” She chuckled.
“Yeah, of course.” A bit old fashioned, but I could respect it.
We exchanged cell numbers, then talked a minute about how awful things had gotten at school.
She didn’t know the half of it.
She was easy to talk with and even easier to look at, not only because she was cute but because her neck was shackle-free, and there was nothing but pretty blonde hair coming out of her head. I also noticed that her eyes were a striking light blue—not sure how that got past me before.
Funny how girls like Ray Anne could get so lost in the crowd at school. Pretty didn’t cut it. Sexy got the job done.
I tried not to stare, but it was kind of hard, especially with someone who was glowing.
It was dark by the time I left. I hadn’t planned to be out after sunset.
I nearly ran over a kid on a skateboard. He wore an “I survived a semester at Masonville High” T-shirt—my new life motto.
By the time I reached my street, the only light was in small patches under streetlamps. Wouldn’t you know it, I picked up on a rancid stench. Then I saw it: a Creeper lurked in a driveway a few houses ahead.
I came to a stop and spied on the creature, observing its jerky movements. A man pulled his car up next to it. The guy was on his cell, fumbling with his keys as he meandered toward his house. The Creeper followed, then hunched down and selected a chain. By the time the man went inside, it was rummaging through his squirming cords.
I raced home.
As best I could tell, these hateful beings used a person’s messed-up relationships and crappy attitudes to torment and manipulate them. I couldn’t figure out exactly how it worked, but I believed they tricked people into feeling so bad that they acted out. Like, the Creeper with hopeless on its forehead worked to make Riley feel hopeless, and the one sporting accuser threw accusations at my mom until she felt horrible and self-destructive. All without them knowing it.
Think about it. What better strategy is there to destroy an opponent than to go stealth? To do your most damaging work under the cloak of invisibility? And even if some cursed soul like me happens to discover what’s really going on, the truth is so far fetched that no one will believe it. My stories sounded more like the plot of some crazy novel than real life.
And I was sure that was exactly the way the Creepers wanted it.
They despised the human race, but why? What had we ever done to them? Seemed to me they were attacking us without cause—like we were victims of their inability to do anything but hate.
At first I thought maybe they were out to take over Earth, to extinguish humanity and repopulate our planet with their debased species. But the more I observed them, the more it appeared like they were content to let us be here as long as they could abuse and assault us—but to what end?
I seldom gave much thought to God, but the Creepers seemed to be pretty concrete proof that he didn’t exist. No loving, just deity would let these things run free.
The only “higher power” overseeing humanity was an army of invisible thugs.
The next morning, first period was miserable, not just because Dan was there, but because that nasty Lust monster was still tied to him. Like usual, Dan ran his mouth, rubbing it in my face that he was with Jess now.
Whatever. At least I didn’t have a nine-foot ogre chanting spells into my soul.
Between first and second period, I noticed three Creepers huddled together in a dim corner. They paid no attention to me as long as I didn’t say what was written on their faces. Interestingly, all three of these Creepers had the same name:
violence
They looked at each other as if communing—like soldiers in the same bloodthirsty troop, strategizing—but they verbalized nothing. They just nodded now and then.
One of them opened its massive hand and zigzagged a jagged fingernail across the surface of its palm. It shoved its palm in the other Creepers’ faces. Then it flicked its wrist awkwardly, causing a thin layer of skin to fling off and float toward the floor.
I kept my eye on the grotesque thing.
The piece of skin sailed through the air, ushered across the hallway by the students’ oblivious movements. I followed it all the way past the science wing and into the language arts pod, where it lodged on the floor against a locker. The bell rang. Finally, the hallways cleared.
I dropped to my knees and took as close a look as I could. It reminded me of elementary school, when my friends and I would paint our palms with Elmer’s glue, then peel off a thin layer of what looked l
ike dead skin. Only this really was skin. And it had an inscription:
523SGM
I extended my finger, and the instant I made contact, the corner touching my skin deteriorated. I pulled my hand away.
A girl I didn’t know turned down the hallway.
“Hey, will you come here, please?” I said it as politely as I could, then pointed. “Are you able to see that? It’s not a piece of paper. It’s something else.”
“Yeah. What is it?”
“You see it? Are you sure? What does it say?” Could there finally be some proof of my sanity? I held my breath.
She crouched on the floor next to me. “I think it says five-two-three, then S-G-M.”
“Yes! That’s it!”
“Okay . . .” She got up. “So?”
My surge of excitement fizzled. What was I supposed to say? “A Creeper wrote this note on its hand, then flung it to the floor”?
Yeah, right.
“It—uh—someone dropped it.”
She leaned over to pick it up. I freaked out. “No, don’t touch it! It’ll dissolve.”
“Whatever.” She walked off.
I felt almost euphoric. I didn’t know how much that note could prove to anyone else, but it was crucial evidence for me. What I was seeing was real.
I took a picture of it, and there it was, in my photo stream, clear as day.
An assistant principal caught me on the floor. “I dropped something. I’m going to class now, Ms. . . . um . . .”
I left the note and ran to class.
This was a breakthrough discovery, for sure, but there was still a ton I needed to uncover about the Creepers. What was their mission? What were those numbers and letters about?
Most important, how could they be defeated?
I knew I should look for weaknesses, search for a vulnerability I could exploit, but I was afraid they had none. Creepers were clearly at the top of the food chain, the most vicious of hunters with no one brave enough or big enough to hunt them.
Or so I thought.
THIRTEEN
I WAS STILL MAD AT JESS, and my friendship with Lance was definitely strained, but I tossed my backpack on the sofa and texted each of them anyway: Can you come over?
I felt compelled to tell them about my latest finding. I knew they weren’t likely to believe any of it, and I was probably making a huge mistake, but I wanted them to see the picture of the Creeper note. Maybe this time they’d at least give my claims some thought.
The Delusion Page 9
