Crush

by Stefan Petrucha

  But they don’t want you, a voice whispered in his head. The thought startled him with its certainty.

  A tree branch groaned, and its needles hissed. The noise repeated and grew louder. Jonathan snapped his head toward the sound. He saw something moving down the tree. It didn’t glide slowly. Rather, it fell and tumbled, hitting branches hard, until it finally crashed into a thatch of bushes at the tree’s base.

  Ox.

  The phantom was done with the bully. It had smothered Ox and discarded his body.

  Frantic, Jonathan searched the banks for any of the creatures. His foot slipped in the muck, but he righted himself quickly. Maybe he could hold his breath, escape them under the water. Then I can drown instead of suffocate. His mind ran through a catalog of useless ideas. His teeth chattered loudly and his jaw ached from tension.

  The desperation built. Where are they? Where are they? God, what am I going to do? Helpless and cold, he felt certain he’d cry.

  He stood in the lake for another three minutes before his fear and discomfort crystallized into anger. Enough, he thought. Enough. If they were going to kill him, they could kill him, but he wasn’t going to die in this lake like a drowned rat. Jonathan stepped forward, pushing a low wall of water ahead of him. He took another step and then another.

  Jonathan emerged from the lake, and a deeper cold, one he couldn’t believe existed, wrapped around him. His bones and skin ached under this cold.

  “Da-a-a-mn!” he said through chattering teeth.

  He stood on the path, dripping, exhausted, and trembling. If the Reapers were going to attack, it would be now.

  But they didn’t attack. They had come for Ox and Cade, not him.

  Jonathan turned into the mouth of the woods. He jogged into the trees, down the uneven dirt path. Then he ran.

  10

  No one stopped to give him a ride. Whenever the street lit up with the lights of an approaching car, Jonathan turned with his thumb raised, but the cars just sped by, ignoring him, letting him freeze. He ran until his sides ached, then walked for a while. Then ran. He searched the streets, the sky, the yards for signs of a new attack from the Reapers. His mind raced, but every thought was a spark, a mere firefly dashing through his brain, and there were so many of them. It felt like his head was filled with television static. White noise.

  At home he went into the bathroom and stripped off his wet clothes, hung them over the shower rod. He turned on the hot water and climbed in. The spray felt like acid on his skin as the heat confronted the cold that had worked deep into his bones. He stood under the scalding spray for five minutes before adding a touch of cooler water. Then he leaned against the wall and let the shower run over him for another twenty minutes.

  He dried himself, went to his room, and put on a pair of sweat pants and a T-shirt. He put on socks because his feet were still cold. Then he climbed under the covers, pulled them tight to his chin, and stared at the ceiling.

  He didn’t even think of turning off the overhead light.

  The first thing he did the next morning was call Bentley Books and tell Stewart he was sick and wouldn’t be in today. Stewart acted like he didn’t believe Jonathan’s story, but Jonathan didn’t really care what the manager thought. No way was he leaving the apartment. After the call he gathered up his clothes from the bathroom and walked down the hall to the utility closet. Dropped all of the garments, still damp, into the washer. He poured detergent over them and turned on the machine.

  In his room he sat at his desk. He needed to write things down, to make sense of them. He reached to turn on his computer, then paused.

  If he wrote his thoughts on the computer, they might be retrieved. David told him once that nothing was ever really erased from a computer. Jonathan didn’t know if this was true. It sounded impossible, but his fear and paranoia were so great, he wasn’t going to take the chance. What if the police questioned Cade, and he told them about Jonathan being there? They might come to question him, might take his computer. They could misinterpret something. They could blame him for Ox and Toby and Mr. Weaver. It was nuts, but it was possible.

  He pushed the computer keyboard out of his way. On a plain sheet of copy paper, Jonathan began to write.

  Can’t go to the police. What would I tell

  them? They wouldn’t believe a thing I

  said. Reapers? Crap. Cade could tell

  them, but they’d think we both killed Ox

  and made up some crazy story. Mr.

  Weaver. Toby. Ox. What about Emma? Did

  those things attack her? Knock her down

  the stairs? She had no permanent damage,

  so why did Mrs. Vierra have to perform

  CPR? Why wasn’t Emma breathing?

  This is about me. It’s totally mental, but

  I know it’s about me. But who? It can’t

  be David. Yeah, he digs horror movies

  and supernatural video games, but so

  do a billion kids. They’re just games.

  They aren’t real. But who else would do

  this? Who else could do this? Kirsty? This

  was her first year. The trouble started

  when she came to school. But why? She

  doesn’t even know me. Not really. Why

  would she do this? People are dead.

  David is smart. He could have found

  something in a book. He had that book.

  That occult history book. He said it was

  for a class, but what if…David saved

  me before. When the Specials had me

  cornered at Coffee. He showed up and

  got me out of there. David would try to

  help me. Wouldn’t he see killing these

  bullies as helping me? What about

  Emma, though? She never hurt me.

  Maybe it was just an accident. This is all

  crazy. David wouldn’t kill anybody. He’s

  my best friend. He’s not psycho. I’d totally

  know if he was psycho.

  I have to figure this out.

  Jonathan turned the sheet over. He shook out his hand. He needed all of these thoughts out of his head. He needed to make sense of things or else he’d never be able to stop it.

  Magic. Witchcraft. These things aren’t just

  appearing on their own. They have a

  purpose. If it were random, I’d be dead.

  They’d have killed me in the lake. What

  are they? Ghosts? Demons? Something

  else? They wrap around a person. They

  hold them until the person suffocates.

  They must be strong. Strong enough to

  hold Ox. Strong enough to lift him

  twenty feet off the ground. They tried to

  get Cade, but he locked himself in his

  truck. They couldn’t get to him, couldn’t

  magically pass through the glass or the

  door. They are solid…I think. Is Cade

  still alive? Did he go to the police? Would

  the police believe anything he said?

  Would he blame me? Jesus, he’d probably

  blame me. The cops would know I couldn’t

  do that to Ox. I’m not strong enough.

  They’d know that, wouldn’t they?

  What if I am doing this?

  Maybe I have some power I don’t even

  know about. Is that possible? Is it me?

  No. It can’t be. It’s about me but I’m not

  doing this. Am I?

  No. No. NO!

  It’s David. Or it’s Kirsty.

  It has to be.

  Jonathan flipped the paper over and read it from the beginning. He let the words sink in, and they helped untangle his thoughts.

  David.

  Kirsty.

  He stood from his desk and took the paper with him. In the kitchen, he lit the edge with one of his mother’s matches and watched the sheet burn. He dropped it in the sink and kept h
is eye on the paper as it blackened and curled. Once it was reduced to ash against the metal basin, he turned on the water and doused the char. With a paper towel, he scooped the mess out of the sink and threw it in the trash.

  “Where are you?” David asked.

  Jonathan sat in the living room, ears peeled in case his mother returned.

  “Something happened last night,” Jonathan said. “Can you talk?”

  “Yeah. I’m hiding in the poetry section. It’s totally empty. So what happened?”

  “I can’t really get into it right now, not over the phone.”

  “Then calling me about it seems kind of pointless,” David said, humored.

  “It’s not about that. Well, it is, but not exactly. We need to talk. Can I come by your place when you get off work?”

  “Can’t,” David said. “I’m on stud duty. The woman and I are seeing a movie.”

  “Kirsty?” Jonathan asked.

  “She’s the only one for now.”

  “David, we have to talk before you guys go out.”

  “I already know the facts of life, Jonny Boy, but thanks for offering.”

  “David, I’m serious. Damn serious.”

  There was a long silence. Jonathan thought David had hung up on him, but a deep breath, like a sigh scratched through the speaker at his ear.

  “Hey? You there?” Jonathan asked.

  “Yeah, I’m here,” David said. “Look, I figured something like this would happen.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “TAJ, man,” David said, as if it was obvious. “Total ass-faced jealousy. You figure that now that Kirsty and I are together, you’re going to get frozen out. Like we won’t hang anymore or something. It’s totally not like that. I mean, we can’t be kids for…”

  “Ox was murdered last night,” Jonathan said to shut his friend up. “Okay? I saw it. He and Cade dragged me down to the lake. They decided to memorialize Toby by throwing me in. Then…” He didn’t know how much he could say without sounding completely nuts, but he had to convince David. “These things came out of the woods. I couldn’t see them real well. They just showed up. They chased Cade off, but they killed Ox. They left his body in the bushes by the lake.”

  “No way,” David said. “You saw it?”

  “Yeah,” Jonathan said. He struggled against the memory of Ox being engulfed and yanked into the air by a black sheet. “I saw it.”

  “Did you call the cops?”

  “I couldn’t. I don’t know how to explain it to them. It’s all really screwed up.”

  “You said ‘things’ came out of the woods?”

  “I can’t explain it,” Jonathan repeated. “Not over the phone.”

  “So, what does this have to do with Kirsty?”

  “It’s just a feeling I’ve got. It all started happening this year, after she started school.”

  “You don’t even know her,” David said, suddenly on the defensive.

  “I know. But she’s like always there. She saw what these guys were doing. I can’t think of anyone else,” Jonathan said. Unless it’s you.

  “Apparently Special K isn’t just for breakfast anymore.”

  “I’m not high, David.”

  “You have to be. Think about it, Jonathan. A girl you don’t even know is going around and killing people because they pick on you? Does that sound balanced? Does that sound even remotely two plus two? I mean…Jesus…it’s not like she’s dating you!”

  “David, listen…”

  “I can’t believe you’re being such a dick about this. Look, man, it’s not my fault you don’t have other friends. Okay? It sucks, but it isn’t my fault. Kirsty and I are having a good time, and you feel left out. Well, tough. I can’t believe you’d make up this kind of crap just to get in the middle of it.”

  “I’m not making anything up.”

  “Then you’re nuts. You’re paranoid and deluded, and you need to get yourself some meds. And Jonathan, don’t you dare try to implicate Kirsty in any of your paranoid crap. Okay? I’m warning you. Just keep your mouth shut, or you’re asking for a whole lot of trouble.”

  “Are you threatening me?” Jonathan asked.

  “Just don’t push me, Jonathan.”

  The phone line went dead.

  11

  From The Book of Adrian, Mon. Oct. 17

  Knowing whom to trust is like the fable of the two doors. Behind one door is a paradise, lush with comfort and sustenance; beyond the other is a ravenous tiger, aching to rend flesh and fill her belly. Every person one meets is a door—do they offer safety or savagery?

  Given time, we could erode the door’s surface and peer through to see what awaits us. Friends may be exposed as false. Those who first seem to be enemies may be revealed as saviors. But what if there is no time and a door must be chosen? In such situations we are at the mercy of fate—the 50/50 chance that our trust will be wasted and our lives further damaged.

  Isn’t that right, Jonathan?

  Saturday afternoon Jonathan dozed on his bed. Groggy and exhausted but too frightened to actually fall asleep, he tried to rationalize the conversation with David, tried to see it as anything but a threat. He couldn’t. Not really. Every time he thought about David’s words—“Just don’t push me, Jonathan”—he pictured Ox being smothered against the trunk of a tree. The two things were inexplicably connected in his mind.

  When the phone rang, he was drifting down into a shallow sleep. The noise startled him, sent his heart to ticking like a stopwatch. He looked around his room, confused at first as the remnants of sleep crept from his head. The phone rang again.

  David? Let it be David. I don’t want to believe what I believe.

  “Hello?”

  “Barnes?” The voice was quiet and nervous, but it wasn’t David’s. It was Cade Cason’s.

  “Good-bye,” Jonathan said.

  “Come on, man. I just want to talk for a minute.”

  “Leave me alone, Cade.”

  “Fine,” Cade said. “If that’s what you want. We’re cool, right?”

  “Whatever,” Jonathan said. “Just stay out of my face.”

  “But we’re cool, right?” Cade sounded desperate like a henchman trying to please his master. “I did what you told me, man. So I want to make sure we’re cool.”

  Did what I told him?

  “Just tell me what you want.”

  “Yeah. Right,” Cade said, all but babbling. “It’s just. I mean…Is it cool to talk?”

  “Go ahead.”

  “Yeah. It’s just that after last night, I got to thinking, and you totally don’t have to worry. I didn’t tell anyone anything. Okay? I mean, maybe you’re right, and Ox had it coming.”

  “I didn’t say that,” Jonathan said, disgusted by the implication. Ox was murdered. No one deserved that, no matter how much of a jerk they were.

  “Whatever, okay? The thing is, I think we can help each other. Right?”

  “Help each other?”

  “Right. I mean you don’t really fit in at school or anything, and I can totally help with that. No one’s going to bust your ass anymore, okay? You can hang with me, and I’ll introduce you to the Specials, and things’ll be cool.”

  Jonathan listened to Cade’s prattle. With everything that was going on, did Cade really think Jonathan was interested in popularity?

  “And it’s not like you have to do anything,” Cade said. “I mean…it’s just…I’ve got this uncle, right? And you know, he lives alone and stuff. But he’s full-on Hilton rich. I’m way up in his will, okay? So, I’m thinking if something happened to him, we could both make out good.”

  Jonathan wasn’t sure he was hearing Cade right. Was he really asking him to commit murder? Was Cade that sick?

  He thinks I controlled the things that killed Ox, and now he wants me to kill his uncle so he can inherit the guy’s money.

  “Are you insane?”

  “Dude, I’d totally cut you in. Right? I mean, it’s
not like the police are going to be able to put this together or anything. Those things are untraceable. And I turn eighteen in like a month, so it’s not one of those trust-fund things I can’t touch.”

  “Jesus,” he hissed.

  “Look, dude, I know it’s full-on cold-blooded, but think about it. We’d be set for life, and he’s a total ass. I mean it. He’s like a seriously unkind bitch.”

  Sickened by Cade’s proposal, Jonathan pulled the phone from his ear and was about to hang up when he remembered something Cade said.

  “You said you did what I told you?” Jonathan asked.

  “Totally, man. I haven’t said a word about Ox to anyone.”

  “When did I tell you this?”

  Cade laughed nervously. “What do you mean? Last night, man. When you called to tell me to keep quiet.”

  “Okay, Cade. But the thing is, I didn’t call.”

  “Dude, it’s cool,” Cade said. “We’re tight, okay? You don’t have to screw around with that mysterious stuff anymore. I mean nobody else was out there last night. We’re the only ones that saw what happened, and I’m totally keeping it quiet like you said. So we’re cool.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Right,” Cade said with a laugh. He didn’t believe Jonathan at all. “Where’d you come up with that name, anyhow? It’s cool.”

  “What name?”

  “Adrian,” Cade said.

  Adrian? Who the hell was Adrian?

  “I don’t know anyone named Adrian,” Jonathan said evenly.

  The phone line was silent for several heartbeats as Cade processed Jonathan’s words. “You’re telling me you didn’t call last night?”

  “Did the caller sound like me?” Jonathan asked.

  “I don’t know, man. You disguised your voice.”

  “But it was a guy?” Jonathan asked, desperate for an answer. David?

  “Damn,” Cade said. “I wasn’t supposed to say anything. I’m screwed. I’m so screwed. He said I shouldn’t say anything. Oh God. I gotta get out of here.”