by Cat Patrick
Frustrated by the feeling that I’m losing Matt more by the day, I grab a book and jog downstairs. I consider flopping onto the dingy couch in the living room, then turn instead toward the back of the house. Through the picture window, I see a line of trees acting as a fence for the property line. The middle one has a lovely reading spot beneath it. Fresh air calls.
I grab a blanket, bang out the back door, and stomp across the patio and the grass. It’s snowing in other parts of the country and here it’s still seventy degrees out; it’s strange to be in such a season-less place. As I walk farther away from the house, the grass gets more and more overgrown until it’s up to midcalf, just before the tree line. I throw down the blanket and ease to a sitting position, my back against tree bark.
I open my book and try to read, but I’m distracted by everything; the words don’t make sense. After rereading the first page three times, I give up. I set the book down on the blanket next to me, lean my head back, and close my eyes. Right when I’m starting to unwind, my ringtone makes me jump. I pull the phone out of my pocket; my stomach flips when I see that it’s Matt.
“You called back,” I say.
“I said I would,” Matt says softly. “You didn’t think I was going to call?”
“I… no,” I admit.
“I’m sorry,” Matt says. “I’m sorry for not replying or calling. It’s been hard. But I realized after I talked to you earlier that you’re the one person on earth who makes it better.”
I cover my mouth with my fingers and speak through them: “Wow,” I say.
“What?”
“Sorry,” I say, moving my hand back to the blanket. “I said ‘wow.’ I mean… that’s how I feel about you. Like if we could be near each other all the time, it would make it better.”
“I know,” Matt says. “I mean, you have the craziest life of anyone I’ve ever heard of, but you’re the only one who makes me feel calm and sane.”
We listen to each other breathe for a few moments.
“Do you want to talk about Audrey?” I ask.
“Not really,” he says. “My parents are making me go to a counselor. All I do is talk about Audrey.”
“I understand,” I say, wanting to change the subject. “So… are you on your way back to school?”
“Not yet,” Matt says. “I came home to take my mom to an appointment. Her car’s in the shop. After I pick her up I’ll head back. I’ll miss a little of next period, but no biggie. Half of another class after all I’ve missed won’t matter.”
“Yeah,” I say quietly.
There’s a lull in the conversation before he adds: “When my mom calls, I’ll have to go again.”
“Okay, no problem,” I say quickly.
“But I promise to call back,” he says, a hint of playfulness in his voice.
“You’d better.”
Pause.
“So, I know you said you didn’t want to talk about it, but is everything okay with you?” Matt asks. “You guys randomly took off again, and now you’re in… Where are you again?”
“Texas.” I groan. “And yes, I’m fine. Everything’s okay. It’s some heavy stuff, but it’s all going to be sorted out soon. Thanks for asking.”
“Sure,” Matt says. I think I hear a little disappointment in his voice, like he wanted me to open up. Then he moves on. “So, what’s it like in Texas?”
“The lamest,” I say. “At least where we are.”
“I thought Texas was cool?” Matt asks.
“Parts of it, yes,” I say. “But Hayes? Hayes is the opposite of cool.”
“Hot,” Matt jokes. I wipe my forehead with the back of my hand.
“It is definitely hot!” I say with a laugh. “I’m sweating like a pig right now!”
Matt laughs, too, the laugh I love so much it hurts, and for the moment at least, the mood is lifted. We chat about whether pigs really sweat that much and it’s so easy and normal that I blurt out what I really want to say: “I want to be your girlfriend.”
“I want to be your boyfriend,” Matt replies easily, without hesitation.
“What do we do about that?” I ask.
Matt pauses, thinking a moment. “I guess what we just did? I mean, if we want to be together, then we are, even if you’re in Texas.”
“So we’re dating,” I say, trying it on for size.
“Honestly, I think we have been for a while,” Matt says. “At least since that first kiss.” My stomach turns somersaults and I smile a smile that makes my cheeks sore.
“I miss that kiss. And the other ones, too.”
“Me, too.”
“But, Matt?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m glad we didn’t… you know…”
“I know,” he says. “Not that it wouldn’t be awesome,” he adds quickly. “I’m just glad we didn’t do something so huge on a day that was so bad. The experience would always be a little bit… tainted.”
Matt’s words are exactly what I need to hear. I want to run to him, but I have no way to get there. Instead I settle for telling him I love him, because suddenly I need to say it out loud—so he can hear me this time.
The moment I open my mouth, Matt’s phone beeps.
“Hold on a sec,” he says. “I bet it’s my mom.”
“Okay,” I say. He switches over to the other line and I consider how I should say it—Matt, I love you, or I love you, Matt—while I move my feet to the beat of his hold song. A fly buzzes near my exposed ear and I brush it away lightly. Feeling airy, I sing quietly along with the song, wondering what he and his mom are talking about right now. It’s been a few seconds but I don’t mind. I’ll wait all day for him.
Just then my other line rings, too. I switch over excitedly, expecting Megan and wanting to update her on the good news with Matt before I have to flip back over.
“Hello?” I say enthusiastically.
“You should keep your room tidier, Daisy.”
I hear the lisp immediately; it sends chills down my spine.
“Who is this?” I say, feigning bravery despite the terror surging through me.
“Give it a think, Daisy,” the voice says. “I’m sure you know.”
“Is this…” I stop. “Is this God?”
He laughs a low, thin laugh. I suck in my breath.
At once I’m thankful for Mason’s keen instincts: He whisked us out of Omaha and hid us in Texas, away from everyone, even God. And he was right to do it: God’s clearly lost it if he’s rummaging through my bedroom right now.
I feel myself relax the tiniest bit… until he speaks again.
“I’ve just finished reading the heartfelt letter from your dead friend,” he says. “So sappy, and yet so touching.”
My safe little world comes crashing down.
“You’re in Texas?” I ask.
“Oh, no, no,” God says, laughing. “I don’t do heat. But I have eyes everywhere, Daisy.” His tone changes to an evil hiss. “Don’t for one second think that you’re alone.”
I stand abruptly, panicked. The fly buzzes my head again and I brush it away. I look up to the house and am horrified to see a silhouette in one of the windows. My window.
“Who is that?” I ask, staring.
“I guess you could say that it’s Jesus,” God says lightly.
“What’s happening?” I ask.
“Silly girl, I think you know,” God says. “Mason’s headed to D.C. to ruin my life, thanks in large part to you. We’re hitting the road, but first I thought I’d gather some supplies. And, of course, return the favor.”
I don’t want to know what he means by that, so I focus on something else: Mason’s not here to protect me, but Cassie will be back from the airport soon. All I have to do is stall him until she can get here.
“Where are you going?”
“Daisy, you’re not a stupid kid; why do you ask such stupid questions?” he says. “But you know, I could live anywhere. I could be anyone.”
“I know wh
o you are,” I say, taking a huge chance.
“You’re lying,” God says. “You have no idea who I am.”
“Yes I do,” I say. “I talked to you at the Omaha Aquarium.”
The line is silent for so long that I start to shake with fear. He could tell Jesus to come right out here and kill me on the spot.
“Nice try,” the voice says.
I know he’s lying. He can wear all the disguises in the world, but he can’t shake the lisp. I can hear it crystal clear, just like that day. Still, I don’t provoke him. In fact, I don’t say anything for a moment. I cover the phone with my hand so I can take a few deep breaths and try to calm my racing heart. As I do, I watch the window for movement. Then I hastily look around the wide-open acreage, trying desperately to remember in which direction the closest house lies. I take a step to the right, considering running….
“Daisy?” the chilling voice addresses me again.
“Yes?” I ask hoarsely.
“Jesus is excellent at many things,” he says. “Sharpshooting is one of them.”
I freeze. There’s a pause: I think I hear the tap of a keyboard.
“There we go,” he says. “That’s better. Now sit back down on your pretty little blanket. I do want you to go in out of the sun and meet my friend, but not yet. Wait for my word, will you now, dear?”
“Yes,” I say, trapped.
“And stay on the phone with me,” God says. “I’m loving our little chat.”
I drop to my knees, then sit. I think of clicking over to Matt, screaming into the phone for help, but it’s been too long. There’s no way he’s still holding for me. He’s probably on his way to pick up his mom right now.
The fly that won’t go away buzzes close this time, and when I brush it away, the back of my hand makes contact. The fly is too big to be a fly.
I freeze again, for another reason.
I hear what I didn’t before: the hum in the background.
I look up, and there it is.
On a branch directly above me, I see it.
The hive.
“I have to move,” I say into the phone.
“What’s that?” God murmurs. It sounds like he’s preoccupied with something else.
“I said I can’t stay where I am,” I say. I’m not sure what he’s planning for me, but it might not be death. That’s more than I can say for the bees.
“Why not?” God asks curiously. “Just a moment.” I hear tapping, then nothing for a few seconds. I watch the silhouette appear in the window, then disappear again. A few seconds later, I hear two more taps, and then a small laugh.
“Oh my goodness,” God mutters to himself, amused. “That is too good. Ironic, if you think about it.”
“I’m moving, okay?” I say, standing slowly. “I’m walking toward the house. Tell your friend not to shoot me or anything.”
There’s a long, drawn-out pause. I can hear him breathing into the phone, through my ear and into the fear control panel in my brain.
“I told you to sit still.” His voice is humorless and frigid. Terrifying.
“I can’t,” I say. “The bees will sting me.”
“I assure you that worse will happen if you move,” God says.
In the end, I don’t debate it that long. Rationalizing that God would have instructed his lackey to shoot me in the beginning if he’d wanted me to die that way, I take a step.
Then I take another.
I hear tapping.
“Bad move,” God says. “What a colossal waste of Revive you were.”
Ignoring him, I take one more step, and the silhouette—Jesus—appears in the window. He props open the glass, and even from this great distance I can see the weapon aimed in my direction. I close my eyes and hold my breath, willing it to be quick.
There’s a funny sound behind me, like a pebble hitting a pillow. Confused, I turn to look. And that’s when I realize what he’s done.
Jesus didn’t shoot me; he shot the hive.
Angry bees spill out of the gaping hole in their home, seeking vengeance on anyone stupid enough to be standing nearby. I turn back to the house and see that Jesus is gone from the window. Even though I’m unsure where he is, there’s no question now that I have to move. I take three steps before I hear the bees swarming above my head. Tears fill my eyes and fall down my cheeks; I don’t move to wipe them away. In fact, other than my feet, the rest of my body is still. No. Sudden. Movements.
Step.
Inhale.
Step.
Exhale.
It’s not that far.
It’s not that far.
It’s not that far.
I realize that the phone is still pressed to my ear. I’m afraid to move my arm, but I’m not going to sit on the phone with God while he and his puppet watch me die. With my thumb, I hit the call button; miraculously, I hear hold music.
I’m still on hold with Matt!
The music drives me to take another step. And another.
I don’t think I’ve been stung yet, but the adrenaline in my body could be masking the pain. A single thought runs through my head: Reach the EpiPen. There’s one in my bag, in the kitchen. All I have to do is cross our yard and the patio and go inside. It’s right there. I can do it.
Don’t think about the man in the house. He doesn’t know where it is.
I can grab it before he knows better.
More and more bees swarm my body. Carefully, I step onto the shorter crunchy brown grass and start across. It can’t be more than fifteen steps to the patio. Then only a few more to the door.
My mind jumps to the morbid thought that I’m trying to push away: There is very little Revive in the house, and surely Jesus has already taken it to boost God’s stash. Even if there was a spare syringe, there’s no one sane to administer it. I’m alone.
A bee lands on my forehead as I step onto the concrete patio. I can feel it crawling across, finding the perfect spot to inject its venom. I manage to stay calm until, suddenly, a person appears behind the sliding door. The sun is reflecting on the glass so I can’t see more than a shadow, but still it terrifies me. I gasp and stop moving.
And that’s what sets them off.
Bees on my arms, cheeks, head, and neck start stinging at once, like they’re synchronized. In the second before I close my eyes, the reflection on the door shifts and I realize that it’s Cassie.
She’s home!
A wave of relief rushes through me despite the fact that bees are wreaking havoc on my body.
“Cassie!” I scream. The bees try to crawl in my mouth, so I slam it shut. I walk, covered with bees like a beekeeper but without the protective gear, two more steps.
Elated that I’ve reached the door, I extend my hand to open it.
Cassie reaches over to help.
I hear the lock click shut.
Baffled, I try the door. It’s definitely locked.
Confused, through blurred vision, I stare at Cassie. Maybe she doesn’t understand. Maybe she thinks she unlocked it. Except…
Her face is normal. Neutral. Robotic. But there’s also a hint of curiosity.
I realize that Cassie’s actually typing something into her phone. How can she be working at a time like this? My other line beeps. Even though I know who it is, I decide to answer, hoping God will show me mercy. I flip back over.
“Now you see the error of your ways,” God says, enjoying this. When I don’t speak, he continues. “Well, I guess the cat’s out of the bag now,” he says jovially. “Daisy, meet Jesus. You might also know her as Cassie.”
My eyes widen as I look in disbelief at the woman I’ve lived with for six years. The woman I’ve pretended to love like a mother. I get it now: She’s been in communication with him. Today. Maybe always.
Fruitlessly, I tug at the door again. Cassie shrugs a shoulder at me and smiles. Then, like it’s nothing, she turns and walks away, my school backpack slung over her shoulder and cases in both hands.
“
Don’t feel bad, Daisy,” God is saying in my ear. “The problem is that you’re too smart for your own good. You and Mason were never going to survive this day. The bees just gave us some extra fun. Enjoy!”
God disconnects and the rage rushes out of me: I scream as loud as I can. A bee stings my tongue. More sickened by that than by the external bites, I chomp down hard and spit it out. Desperately, I flip back to Matt, but he’s not there. I drop the phone and run over to the garden hose. Somehow, through already puffy eyes, I manage to turn on the water and scare off the majority of the bees.
But it’s too late.
They’ve done their worst.
I fall to the concrete, wheezing and swelling, dropping the hose next to me. I cry out even though my face, tongue, and neck are expanding, making it increasingly difficult to speak.
“Cassie!” I shout. “How could you do this?”
I know it’s fruitless; she’s already gone. I try to shout a generic “Help!” to draw in the neighbors, but I’m wheezing now and the word is nothing but a whispered “hup.”
Then I stop trying, and I know it won’t be long.
Seconds later, my throat closes up completely.
And just before the bright day goes dark, I think of Audrey.
forty-one
I open my eyes, but not all the way.
My field of vision is limited. It’s as if I’m looking through my hands curled into O’s, like mock binoculars. I hear movement and have to turn my head because I have no peripheral vision.
Mason is sitting in a chair next to my hospital bed.
I blink at him. He smiles and takes my left hand, and in his hand mine feels funny. Not numb, but… wrong. I look down at my arms: They’re bloated like they’ve been pumped with air, red and blotchy. My left arm is attached to an IV and I can’t help but wonder how they found a vein through all that marshmallow skin. I don’t have to look in a mirror to know that my face looks the same way; instinctively, I touch my puffy cheek.
Mason’s eyes are watery, and he’s blinking like he’s trying not to cry.
“Hi, Daisy,” he says warmly. I look around, squinting, trying to make my eyes work properly. Mason takes it as me not knowing where I am. “You’re at the hospital. You were attacked by bees, but you’re okay now. You’re safe.”
