by Carol Oates
Delia and the Barbies were holding court at one of the outdoor benches near the door to the cafeteria. I could just about see them clearly and the glint of light reflected by the pen in Delia’s hand. Her red journal appeared nothing more than a red splotch on the tabletop, almost like a bloodstain. Maybe my imagination was playing tricks.
A few people approached her, regular kids looking for favors to make the high school experience easier or substances to make remembering not so awful. Now, I realized how brazen Delia was, or perhaps I was simply naïve. I hadn’t known the extent of her business empire. Notes and homework were only the beginning. I wondered if Cheerleader Barbie or either of the Prom Committee Babies were as taken in as I had been.
While I stood, shaking my head at myself I noticed Jonas walking in my direction. His shoulders were stiff again and his head tilted forward. I quickly dismissed it as an act. Jonas wanted people to leave him alone for some reason. A bitter laugh escaped before I could stop it. How ironic. I wanted to be seen, and he didn’t. He was holding what looked like a brown lunch bag. I deduced he was looking for somewhere quiet to eat.
Jonas disappeared under the bleachers. I wasn’t finished trying to figure out this strange boy. Call it distraction, if I stalked him I didn’t need to think about being stuck here. Ignoring the insipid giggles of the girls below me, I climbed down and found Jonas sitting crossed legged, leaning against one of the supporting poles. He was already reading a book and munching on a sandwich. The air in the shade was cooler and his body language had changed. He seemed more like the boy I had seen heading out the exit than the one in class. I edged around slowly and sat down across from him mirroring his position. Over the course of the next few minutes I discovered something I didn’t expect. The way his jaw moved and the slight sheen of perspiration on the skin of his lower throat completely enthralled me. Everything about this boy stood out. As much as Will’s smile caused trembles in my knees, in all the time I knew him, he never quite held my attention the way Jonas Darby already could.
“Please. Stop doing that.” He ground out the words in a British accent, through teeth clenched so tightly his mouth barely moved. For a moment, I questioned if I’d actually heard him. He took a large bite of the half-eaten, wilted sandwich in his hand.
I wondered if I’d lost my mind. Was I disappearing? Was this loosening grip on reality a sign I was moving on? I sighed deeply.
Then Jonas looked straight at me.
I staggered clumsily on my behind using my hands to drag myself backward. Even as I did, I had no idea why. It wasn’t as if Jonas could hurt me—I had no body to hurt. However, I was pretty damn sure he could see me this time.
“What are you doing?” Jonas asked, tilting his head to the side in bewilderment.
It was abundantly clear I understood nothing about being dead. I had no body but I could still feel my heart pounding and smell grass and cheap perfume. I could still feel the rough, dry dirt catch under my fingernails. The one thing I’d been sure about all along was that no one knew I was here. Now, it appeared I was wrong about that too.
“You can see me?” There was a clear tremble in my voice.
“Of course I can see you. I’m talking to you aren’t I?” He had a strong voice with an underlying confidence that didn’t fit with the shy, withdrawn boy skulking along the hallway or across the lawn.
It occurred to me that the simplest answer had to be correct. The guy was new. He must have seen me around school somehow and maybe he thought I was a living student like all the others. I carefully pulled myself up onto my knees but stayed well back.
His eyes fixed on me with a cool scrutiny as if he was waiting for my next move.
Resting my hands on my thighs, I considered my next move. I didn’t want to frighten him away. On the other hand, I couldn’t just sit here and do nothing.
“What exactly do you see?” I asked curiously.
His eyes moved slowly up and down my body. For a moment I felt as if I’d been placed under a microscope. I had the urge to cover myself with my arms, but resisted and waited for his verdict.
“A girl. Average height, doesn’t eat enough, brown eyes, short hair, jeans and too much make-up.”
“I do not wear too much make-up,” I retorted sharper than I meant to. In fact, since I didn’t possess a physical body, I wasn’t wearing any make-up at all.
“You asked.” His eyebrows lifted clearly teasing me. Jonas glanced down to his book before folding one corner and slipping it back into his bag. “I should probably mention the part about you being dead.”
I gasped. “You’re not scared?”
“You are nothing new.” He shrugged, piquing my interest further. I inched nearer.
“There are more like me?”
“Sure,” he laughed. Apparently that amused him.
“And you can see them?”
“Occasionally.” Jonas pressed his lips together as though he wanted to say more. After a second or two he released a harsh breath that came out more of a snort and stuffed the half-eaten sandwich into the brown paper bag.
He stood to go and I leapt to my feet.
“Wait. You can’t just leave me here. You have to help me.” I put myself in his way and blocked him. When he moved, I moved too. Luckily, Jonas seemed unwilling to walk through me. That had happened only once, with a neighbor while he tended his garden soon after I died. It wasn’t a pleasant experience for either of us. It drained me and he vomited into his petunias. I was in no rush to repeat the experience. I presumed Jonas avoided touching me because, somehow, he knew the effect too.
“No. I don’t do that.” The words came out hard with a new malice to his voice.
“You have to,” I pleaded, continuing to get in his way.
He froze, still in the shadow of the bleachers and away from prying eyes. He bent his knees and looked me straight it the eye. It was unnerving after having no one look at me for almost two months. Not to mention, up close, Jonas was more than handsome. There was something about him, almost as if heat pulsed from his anger, consuming all the oxygen around him. I had to fight to keep myself from staggering backward. His body dwarfed me, despite his bent knees, and he radiated power. It was a beautiful and terrifying sight all at the same time, such a bizarre combination that it sent shivers tingling down my spine.
“I do not have to do anything. I didn’t ask for this. I don’t want it. Stop. Following. Me.”
“Why bother talking to me if you won’t help me?”
His nostrils flared and his eyes narrowed minutely; it seemed I touched on a nerve.
“I shouldn’t have. It was a mistake,” he said coldly. “Leave me alone.”
I stepped aside without hesitation. It was abundantly clear that Jonas Darby was not all he appeared to be. With one final scowl he lowered his head. His hair flopped forward and he slouched his shoulders, becoming that other boy, the one avoiding physical contact and appearing for the entire world to be isolated and distracted. In reality, he saw much more than they did. I stared after him as he walked back toward the main building avoiding every person who came near him.
“What else are you hiding?” I wondered aloud.
I spent most of the afternoon shadowing Lottie. I didn’t bother to talk to her. It seemed pointless. The one person I wanted to feel my presence couldn’t and the only person who could, hated me for being dead. Delia’s constant, annoying presence was beginning to bug me. Until today I felt I was still here for Lottie, even though she didn’t know it. Since meeting Jonas I realized I wasn’t. I couldn’t help her if she needed me. What if Lottie figured out Delia’s secrets, just as I did? Jonas made me see I was powerless. Maybe that was my punishment. I let this happen and now I was stuck here to watch it all unfold. I couldn’t sit back and watch history repeat itself. Jonas would have to help me.
~o0o~
I found him in the library after school, sitting on the floor in the mythology and lore section. No one bothered much with this cor
ner of the stacks. It was dark and musty with no natural light. The strip lighting overhead let out a constant low humming and blinked every now and then. Jonas appeared to have his nose stuck in a book… and I meant that literally. Both his forearms stretched over the front of the leather cover and his long fingers hooked around the top hiding the title, but could see the pages were stained yellow with age.
“Hi.” I decided to announce myself this time so he wouldn’t feel I was prying. I needed him.
“Go away,” he said stonily without looking up.
I slid down the shelves facing him with my legs stretched out parallel to his, earning a groan for my unwelcome company.
“So,” I started brightly. “You’re British?”
No answer.
“How did you come to be in Charlton?”
No answer.
“My name is Cathy.”
His lips pursed and pulled up on one side a bit. I knew he was listening even if he didn’t acknowledge it verbally.
“I was murdered.” I spoke the words as straight as I could manage. It was the first time I’d said it aloud and a sharp sting of betrayal that I didn’t expect accompanied it.
“I know,” he replied in a voice I had to strain to hear.
“How?” I questioned with some trepidation. The only people that knew were the ones covering it up.
“Suicides are confused. They can be like young children in some ways. They reach the light much easier than those who are killed or died naturally because they don’t believe they have anything to cling on to. They’ve already let go.” He reeled it off as if it was something he had explained a million times but in a voice so low no-one standing nearby would overhear.
“I’m not clinging onto anything,” I bit back, feeling judged for not moving on. Something else I’ve done wrong.
He closed the book with a snap and placed it front down on his knees. “Of course you are. There is always something, a lover, a child… revenge—”
He cocked an eyebrow taunting me.
“I don’t want revenge,” I cut him off indignantly.
“Of course you do. The question is only who do you want revenge on? Maybe that pretty sister of yours?”
I stood up briskly and crossed my arms over my chest, feeling a little smug that I could raise my voice when he couldn’t. “Don’t pretend to know me. You know nothing about me. I came here to ask you to help me warn my sister.”
He looked down and chuckled darkly earning a scolding hush from a female voice beyond the shelves.
“Protection,” he droned bitterly. “You are the worst kind.”
“What exactly does that mean?”
“It means you should leave me alone.” He stood up, slung his bag over his shoulder and edged past me.
“I tried, Lottie,” I sighed gloomily.
~o0o~
I sat on the edge of the bath later that evening watching Lottie at the sink after her shower. Her damp hair hung down her back and a peach colored towel wrapped around her snugly. Steam clouded the white tile and chrome bathroom leaving the mirror fogged. Lottie reached forward and placed her palm flat on the surface, then dragged her hand sideways revealing her reflection.
I didn’t make a habit of invading her privacy. I believed it was sort of an unwritten rule between the two of us after the hair-cutting incident. I didn’t intentionally get into her stuff and she didn’t get into mine. We shared a womb, we shared a house and we went to the same school. At one time we had been inseparable. I remembered nights spent giggling under a make shift tent made of bed sheets and pegs. Holding hands when our parents fought, drawing strength from each other and whispering secrets in hushed code only a twin would understand. It all changed with a pair of scissors.
Now I thought about it, Lottie always seemed one-step behind me, a pesky fly I couldn’t swat. I didn’t stop to admit she looked out for me. She let me make my mistakes and took my punishments more than once, never saying a word. Delia was one mistake I didn’t want her to pay for.
Lottie’s collarbone protruded distinctly through her milky skin and her arms appeared fragile, as if the bones might crack under the slightest force. Come to think of it, I couldn’t remember the last time I saw her eat.
“I wish you were here to help me with this,” she uttered quietly to her own reflection—her mirror image.
She was talking to me. I smiled. In spite of the horrendous situation, at least she was talking to me.
“I am here,” I told her, getting up to stand behind her shoulder. When I stared in the mirror, I only saw Lottie. “I am here,” I said again, this time more for my own benefit.
Lottie pulled open the drawer on the vanity unit under the sink and withdrew a small pair of scissors. She held the scissors in her hand, rolling the double sharp point against the tip of her middle finger. It bit precariously into the soft flesh and she glanced up at her reflection from under wet eyelashes.
“I was never brave like you. I stayed in your shadow,” she told her reflection—me. “I should have...” Her words trailed off leaving her thought floating in the air unfinished.
While I looked on in shock, she slipped her thumb and index finger through the holes in the scissors and clutched a lump of her long hair. With a determined glare, Lottie began to cut away the thick, clustered strands and drop them unceremoniously in the sink.
Panic swept through me. “No, Lottie.” My voice cracked.
What the hell was she doing? This couldn’t be part of the normal grief process. Another tuft of hair fell and then another. Unlike me, Lottie loved her hair. I couldn’t watch… I just couldn’t.
~o0o~
I walked down the street and kept walking with no direction until I couldn’t smell the magnolia trees that grew in our garden and along our street. The reason behind Lottie’s actions baffled me. Why would she want to look like me? Why would she want to copy me in anything I did? I’d made a mess of my life. I should never have gotten involved with Delia. Now, Lottie was headed down the exact same route.
“What is it I’m not saying clearly enough for you?” Jonas Darby demanded.
I jumped, startled by his voice and just in time to move out of his way as he trudged his way moodily along the pavement.
“You flatter yourself,” I laughed blackly.
“I don’t need to.” As much as Jonas attempted to hide it, I saw his lip twitch at the corner and the tiny crescent line forming.
I wondered what he must have been like years ago, before he withdrew so far into himself and left only this scared, bitter husk for the world to see. I knew there must be a before because a hint of someone else remained and slipped out every now and then. I decided Jonas had probably been cocky, turning those soulful blue eyes on a gaggle of swooning teen girls, serenading them with eloquent thoughts stirred up by the old books he seemed to prefer. A trail of broken hearts long enough to stretch twice around the world probably followed him wherever he went. I spun on my heels to follow him. “Where are you going?
“Home.”
“Where’s home?”
“Around.”
“Around where?”
He halted abruptly. “Look. Here is the shortened version,” he growled directly into my face. “I’m not like the other idiot boys in school that you can bat your pretty eyelashes at and twist around your finger. I come from a long line of seers. I’ve moved around my entire life and lost every single person I love because of what I can do. I have seen stuff that would make your hair curl and I’m sick of it. I. Cannot. Help. You.”
“You think I’m pretty?” I asked. It was inappropriate considering what he had just told me and I had no idea why it came out. Maybe it was a nervous reaction, because I wasn’t thinking clearly after Lottie, or simply because I didn’t know what else to say.
“What?” Jonas’s eyes scrunched up, apparently mystified by my question.
“You said Lottie was pretty earlier.” I pointed out hesitantly, moving back a little to put som
e distance between us. “Just now you said—“
“What’s your point?” he broke in. His pushed down hard on his bag and the strap cut into his shoulder.
I stood there wide-eyed. I didn’t have a point but I was having a bizarre reaction to stress. I paused for a moment to silently recount his words before my outburst.
I’ve lost every single person I love because of what I can do.
“I’m sorry,” I breathed in a low voice. I meant it. For the first time today I could understand why Jonas may be reluctant to speak to me.
He bit the side of his lip and we stayed there on the deserted street staring at each other. Gradually his face smoothed. Five minutes must have passed before he visibly relaxed and angled his head.
“Come on,” he instructed.
“Where?”
“All it takes is for one nosey neighbor to look out their window and see the crazy new boy shouting at thin air,” he joked half-heartedly.
I got the distinct impression it may have happened before.
I followed him down the street in silence until we came to a small one-story house with whitewashed walls, a manicured garden and pretty flowerbeds along the pathway leading to the door. He opened and held the door for me to pass through first. The inside was in stark contrast to the outside, there was no furniture that I could see. Boxes were stacked everywhere making the place look more like a warehouse.
