For the same queen-of-her-small-realm reason, she was always the one to bring in the mail. He had written to both Jason and Jessie several times, but he felt sure they had not received the letters, because he had never heard back from either of them. When he tried to call them on their cell phones, he got a wonking voice telling him the numbers were no longer in service. Probably their doting mother had upscaled them to BlackBerries or something, and even their own father had no way of finding out their numbers.
“I believe I suggested you should contact a lawyer to help you insist on your parental rights?”
“Um, yeah, but I haven’t done it yet.”
“Why not?”
“I–I want to get past that six-month mark.” Then he’d feel strong enough, he hoped. Damn, probably both the kids thought he didn’t care about them anymore. No way could they have any idea how badly he wanted to contact them if he could just feel a little steadier on his feet. This was Jessie’s senior year. She might very well be her class valedictiorian, and he would be there for her graduation–it was a promise he had made to himself and, although she didn’t yet know it, to her. Plus, he could hardly wait to see Jason again.
Jason. What a son! Strong, and knew what he wanted from the first day he stood on his feet. You could bet Jason had never been bullied the way his father had been. One hell of a wrestler, and the best-looking boy in town, and the kid had probably been in the pants of every girl in the high school by now. Damn, it was hard not to be rooster-proud of Jason, although Mr. Ressler realized guiltily that he ought to worry, to hope the boy didn’t get a girl pregnant or leave a trail of abortions and broken hearts. Because, to tell the truth, Jason wouldn’t care. Jason was about as self-centered as they come, what with the way his mother had spoiled him. Mr. Ressler had seen this, but he’d never had the heart to try to reduce the magnitude of Jason’s ego, so much the opposite of his own. He adored his son. There was something larger-than-life about Jason.
And Jessie adored Jason the same way, but what was more important, Jessie had adored him, her father, when he was still in her life.
The therapist was saying, “Do you really think an arbitrary date will make that much difference?”
“I–I can’t delay much longer, I know, but I need to feel ready.”
“The word ‘stalling’ comes to mind. You may never feel ready. Don’t you think your children love you regardless?”
“I, um, yes, I guess so, but I don’t want to do anything that would make them ashamed of me.”
“Why would you? Weren’t you a good father before?”
“I tried to be.” Especially with Jessie, taking her on father-daughter “dates” to the zoo or a movie, plus ice cream or pizza, trying to make up for the way the little girl’s mother just didn’t take much interest in her. It made him ache to the core when he thought about her, when he missed her and realized how badly she must miss him. And how she was probably still trying her darnedest to win her mother’s love, when the sad truth was there just wasn’t much love there–except for Jason.
Meanwhile, it had fallen to him to parent Jessie. Help her select modest clothes to wear. Buy her classy jewelry, real ruby, her birthstone. Talk to her about boys, how to be careful, how not to get sweet-talked into trouble. His daughter had a real good reputation, and she was smart, a genuine scholar, and even though all that brain was certainly no way to impress her clueless mother, it made Daddy really proud of his little girl, almost as proud as he was of Jason.
His therapist was watching him. “What are you thinking?”
“How much I love those kids.”
“They probably believe you deserted them. When are you going to set the law on your ex and get back in touch with them?”
“Every time I think about my ex, I want a drink.”
“I know how that is. You just deal with it, that’s all.” She paused. “I also know it’s nice to dream about how wonderful it’ll be to see the kids, right? And maybe you’re scared to leave the dream behind and face the reality?”
She was right. In his imagination, Jessie and Jason were just the way he had left them. He didn’t want to think anything might have changed.
“Don’t you think it’s time to man up?” his counselor challenged. “Anything could be happening to your children.”
When school let out, Alisha went straight to the public library to continue her search for W. Richard Ressler, starting where she had left off yesterday. She looked at every photograph on the singles dating sites, but she could not find him. And even if she did, would he be able to bring Jessie back to being Jessie?
Chapter Ten
After school, Jessie hung around in the lobby, pretending not to watch kids gawk at her new car. It was still parked diagonally. Maybe worn out from dealing with Jessie, the office staff hadn’t said anything about it all day. But while the administration ignored the Z-car, some of the kids were practically kissing it. They were still avoiding Jessie herself, and some of them walked past the black beauty trying not to look as if they were eyeing it, but others clustered around it, stroking its sleek hood, stooping to peer into its tinted windows, owlish looks of awe on their faces as they exchanged comments with one another.
Jessie watched, smiled, got bored, idly pulled Jason’s cell phone from her pocket, and flipped it open. The instant it lit up, her heart turned over because she knew she was making a mistake, just asking for grief by snooping to see what her dead brother had on his phone. Turn it off, quick–Wait a minute. It said there were new text messages.
Maybe from the day he had died? Messages he had never answered?
Aching, Jessie knew she had no choice. Pain if she looked, pain and regret if she didn’t. She thumbed the button.
And stared. The phrase “stark, staring mad” shot through her mind, and for an instant she wondered what “stark” meant, anyway.
The messages were not from ten days ago, when Jason was killed. They were received today.
Lcum bak J
Who u think u r
DEB r ded
2nite DEB r u chikn
Scrw u + ur car
Jessie couldn’t tell from the initials who had sent them. Nothing made sense. Why were they texting him? He was dead. Why about Deb? Who was Deb?
Wait. DEB.
Dead End Bend.
Challenge.
Confrontation.
Her brother’s friends daring her to show them that she had a right to go around pretending to be Jason.
Not that it was any of their business, Jessie reminded herself. She didn’t care what anybody else thought. She had never cared what kids in school thought of her. A few times in the past, some imbecile had insulted her to her face, calling her a nerd or geek or whatever. Her response had been to turn and walk away. People like that, no matter how crappy they made her feel, were not worth bothering with.
But these commonsense thoughts did Jessie no good. She felt her heart pounding, her neck going hot, her fists clenching, and she knew why: it wasn’t about her. She was nobody. But Jason was–had been–somebody, and this was about Jason.
Jason’s legend.
Jason’s daredevil legacy.
Jason’s right to a brand-new, expensive black sports car.
Jessie’s blood burned with a new glad-mad defiance even stronger than the anger she had felt in the school psychologist’s office. Yes, she would show up at Dead End Bend tonight. Maybe confronting the challengers would put a stop to some of the ugliness in school, she told herself, but even without that rationalization, she would do it anyway.
And she was looking forward to it. She had never felt so bone-deep excited in her whole polite, boring little life. Thank you, Jason, she thought, because this rush felt like her brother’s gift to her from the grave.
Alisha truly could not think what more to do, but she would not stop trying to locate Jessie’s father. Wandering around town, she started looking for adults about the right age and asking them at random. The guy in
the hardware store: “Do you know where Mr. Ressler lives now? Yeah, Richard Ressler, do you know where he went when he moved out–no? Never mind. Thanks anyway.” Woman in the coffee shop, same thing, guy in the auto-parts store–Alisha realized she was wasting her time, but also it had come to her where she should be asking: the bars.
Not her idea of fun.
Scared her, actually.
But she had to try.
By now it was almost nighttime, and the bars were beginning to fill. As she entered the first one, the bartender took one look at her and said, “Honey, you ain’t old enough to come in here.”
“I’m just trying to find out where Richard Ressler moved to.”
For some reason a few laughs went up from around the room. “Dick? Detox,” one guy said.
“Playboy Bunnyland,” said another.
The bartender said, “Move along, young lady.”
No sooner had she stepped onto the sidewalk outside when her cell phone rang. It was her mother. “Alisha, where the heck are you?”
Tired of lying, she told the truth, sort of. “Downtown.”
“Downtown! What for?”
“Trying to find out where Mr. Ressler is.”
“Find out where Mr. Ressler is? Why?”
Alisha heard a screech from her grandmother. “You tell that girl she riling the spirits, riling the spirits! You tell her she sticking her hand in ghost snake’s nest!”
Ignoring this, Alisha pleaded, “Mom, if I could get him to talk to Jessie–”
“If I could get you to mind your own business! You come on home right now!”
Alisha walked toward a bus stop, telling herself that she would try again tomorrow. But she felt like crying, because tomorrow might be too late.
She heard footsteps behind her.
Stiffening, she stopped and turned.
A man was ambling out of the bar. Old guy who somehow reminded her of a white rabbit, maybe because of his white fuzz of beard and hair. Maybe more because of his weak face. Harmless looking. Although never relaxing completely, Alisha stood still and let him walk up to her. He handed her a dirty napkin on which was inked a phone number.
“Rick Ressler’s cell,” he mumbled, his speech a bit slurred, his breath reeking of beer. Clownishly, he smiled. “Didn’t want the guys to see me. Ruin my reputation of being no good for anything.” He meandered down the sidewalk while Alisha stared after him, so surprised she didn’t even think to say thank you.
After he disappeared around the corner, she jumped, coming out of her daze. Muttering “Duh!” at herself, she grabbed her cell phone. With a shaking hand she fingered the numbers.
Right around dark, Jessie got into the black Z-car, revved it, and zoomed off into the twilight, heading toward Dead End Bend.
There had been no need to come up with a story to tell her mother. Jason had always done what he wanted, and Jessie was being Jason. She had just said, “See ya, Mud,” on her way out the door.
Now, driving across town, she kept finding herself getting lead-footed. She kept trying to slow down to somewhere near the speed limit, but it was as if the Z-car had a mind of its own. It wanted to go fast.
Almost out of town, heading through the commercial strip of video rentals, Kwik-Marts, pizza places, and burger joints, Jessie heard a siren bleep, looked in the rearview mirror, and saw the flashing lights of the police car behind her.
She pulled over and stopped at once, thinking with amusement, Going too fast past the fast food. Jessie had never been stopped by the police, and she had always thought that she would just die if she ever got a ticket. But for some reason now she didn’t care. Maybe since Jason was dead, dumb stuff like speeding tickets didn’t seem so important anymore. Jessie felt cool, like this wasn’t even worth getting nervous about, like it might be fun. She pressed the button that rolled her window down, took off her sunglasses, and laid her hands in plain sight on the hub of the steering wheel, but she felt herself grinning.
Another police car pulled in front of her. The first cop had called for backup? Sweet!
Now the police officer parked behind her walked up to her window, and when he looked at her, something seemed to bother him. He stared, his face taut and gray. In robotic tones he said, “Driver’s license and registration, please.”
Jason had no driver’s license, only a learner’s permit, so Jessie handed over her own license along with the pink paper that served as temporary registration for the new car.
The cop looked at her driver’s license, glared at her and said, “You look just like that dead punk, freak me out, and now you hand me a girl’s license?”
“That’s me,” Jessie said in her normal, soft voice. “I’ve changed my hair, that’s all.” But she couldn’t seem to stop grinning.
The other cop had come over. “Wipe that stupid grin off your face.”
Jessie had to wipe it off literally, smoothing both hands across her cheeks and mouth. “Honestly, I’m not trying to be smart,” she said quietly before they could react to the gesture.
“What do you make of this?” The first cop passed her driver’s license to the other.
“Jessie Ressler, huh?” The second cop studied her. “You Jason Ressler’s sister?”
Suddenly Jessie’s throat closed on her voice. She nodded.
The first cop said suddenly, “Yeah, you’re a girl, okay. I see it.” Either he had been checking her narrow shoulders, her barely visible boobs, or he could tell now by the look on her face. “Young lady, I don’t know what to ask you first, why you’re going sixty in a thirty-five-miles-an-hour zone, or why you’re dressed like …”
“Just let it go” muttered the other cop, grudging sympathy in his eyes.
“The speeding, or the cross-dressing?”
“You do what you want about the speeding.”
The cop who had stopped Jessie asked her, “Did you know how fast you were going?”
“Yes, sir. I can’t seem to help it. This car just wants to go fast.” Jessie was starting to smile again.
“Kid like you shouldn’t be driving that car. You know I ought to give you a citation. You could end up with a big fat fine and points on your driving record.”
“I know. It’s okay.”
“Okay? What do you mean, okay?” The cop was getting worked up.
“I just mean I take responsibility.”
“For the speeding or the cross-dressing?”
The other cop put in quietly, “She’s dressed like her dead brother. Might be some sort of coping thing.”
“Well, I can’t cope with it! This whole thing’s too damn Twilight Zone for me.” He thrust Jessie’s license and registration back at her. “Girl, I’m letting you off with a warning. I don’t ever want to see you again. Shut your mouth, don’t say a word to me, and get out of here.”
Jessie did as instructed. Although she did not actually lay a patch, unmistakably she exhibited excess speed as she pulled away. And she managed to get only a short distance down the road before laughter exploded from her. Driving fast, faster, she laughed and kept laughing, louder.
Chapter Eleven
Shane already had things set up down at Dead End Bend. He had stuck a homemade bright-red bandanna flag in the shoulder of the road on the downward slope, and directly opposite on the upward slope, another flag. Distance between the flags, exactly half a mile. The turn was so tight that both flags could be observed by one guy with a stopwatch who stood in the middle of the vacant field in between. The contestant’s speed in miles per hour around Dead End Bend could be figured by the time it took him to do half a mile between the two flags. They didn’t teach math at school for nothing.
Shane was of course the guy with the stopwatch, and Alisha stood nearby. In fact, Shane had brought her down there with him in his pickup truck. Alisha had been standing near the bus stop but not quite at it, not wanting to go home and face her mother’s anger and her grandmother’s voodoo pits full of ghost snakes, when Shane had pulled over
and offered her a ride.
“Thanks,” she had said, getting in, and then, because it mattered so much she had to tell somebody, she blurted, “Guy from the bar came after me and gave me the phone number.”
“Huh?”
“Jessie’s father’s phone number. I called him about five times.”
“Jessie’s father!”
“Yeah. But he’s not answering. I keep getting his voice mail, and it cuts me off after about three seconds. Not that I know what to say to him anyway.”
Amazingly, Shane seemed to follow. “I don’t know what the hell anybody can say.”
Alisha wondered if Shane had any clue about Jessie’s crush on him. Jessie had good taste. Shane seemed like a super-nice guy as well as a hunk. Jeez, just when Alisha thought life couldn’t get much weirder, here she was in Shane’s pickup truck. Poor Jessie; she would be jealous if she were in her right mind.
Alisha said softly, “I have to try to call again. Later tonight. I have to try to do something.”
At Dead End Bend, standing in the bed of Shane’s pickup truck parked in the field, Alisha watched others arriving. Word had gotten around even faster than usual. There were plenty of kids interested. Like, really interested, wanting to see whether Jessie would show up. Those who planned to compete waited along the roadside uphill from the starting flag. Those who wanted to watch bumped through a ditch and over ruts and grass to park in the field. Whoever owned this land had put up fences that had been torn down, placed concrete barriers that had been pushed away, and had finally given up trying to keep the kids out. The people in the few neighboring houses had likewise gotten tired of calling the cops, who never showed up in time anyway. This night, this wasteland, this unobstructed view of Dead End Bend belonged to the teenagers.
Kids sat on the hoods or tops of their cars, talking, joking, flirting, or play-fighting, drinking soda or beer, smoking cigarettes or joints. Some, like Alisha, kept a watch on the cars lining up to compete, more or less visible in the glare of one another’s headlights. When Alisha saw the Z-car blacker than the night coming down the hill, she was not the only one who exclaimed aloud. But she was the only one who took off running, running out of the field and up the road to try to talk with her best friend.
Possessing Jessie Page 5
