Cici flew to his side, reaching for his fingers. “Let me see!”
Finn already had his phone to his ear and was speaking urgently into it, “… rabid coyote, big son of a bitch, trapped in the bathroom.” He paused and listened for a moment. “Yeah, Dad, I think J.C. was bitten, and I think he broke his friggin’ hand…”
Oh, God…I wanted to pass out.
SEVEN
THE CURSE OF THE CAMELS
BOTH J.C. AND Spencer ended up in the emergency room Saturday night. Spencer was released with a badly sprained ankle, but they kept J.C. to administer intravenous antibiotics. Needless to say, I couldn’t sleep. If I hadn’t gone all emotional over a stupid song, we wouldn’t have met the stupid coyote from hell, and I wouldn’t have worried all night about a freaking stalker. Shit.
But I had no time to brood about Saturday night on Sunday morning. It was the day I’d dreaded since Michael died. My mother was returning home with my grandmother from Bluefield.
When the ambulance turned onto our street, my dad grabbed his sweatshirt off a hook by the door and rushed out to meet it. My sisters followed him. I had the urge to retreat to my room and hide. How could I go out there when I had no idea what to say to her? When I was afraid of what her future held? But I made myself put on a supportive face and followed him out the door, tugging my thick wool sweater tight around me.
After the paramedics transferred Mina to a wheelchair, she looked up and gave us each a tentative smile. Her eyes were sunken in her puffy face, and her usually well-coiffed white hair had yellowed and was matted down on one side of her head. And though my mom warned us about her tracheotomy, it was a shock to see. The plastic tubing that pierced her throat was plugged at the moment, and I wondered why it was still in place.
“I am…breathe…so glad to see…breathe…you girls…breathe…so beautiful…” Recognizing the breathing pattern, my stomach pitched, and then my own lungs began to itch. I knew what it felt like to have to ration your air between words.
Focus, I thought. Steady.
She reached out a frail hand and clasped Cici’s fingers, revealing splotchy, reddish-purple bruises on the inside of her wrist. I stroked my own wrist with my thumb. I knew those bruises, too.
“But I’m sure…breathe…you’re just…breathe…thrilled to see me…” she muttered darkly, dropping her hand. She coughed loud and long, her face flushing a deep rose red before she finished. I fought back tears. The last time I’d seen her, she’d been kneeling in her garden with a trowel in her hand and cursing lustily about her neighbor’s cat pooping in her garden.
“If I see that cat, I’ll shove its tail so far up it’s—”
“Mina!” I’d exclaimed, and she’d looked over at me, smiling guiltily.
“I guess that’s not very grandmotherly,” she’d admitted. No, it wasn’t. But then Mina was not your typical grandmother. She was fun, and she was fierce. And she could drink three Bud Lights and still beat you in a game of Hearts.
“Who wants to be grandmotherly?” I’d asked, grinning back at her.
She’d shaken her sun hat-covered head and laughed and laughed at that. “Not me, I guess. Not me.”
Back on the driveway, Claire knelt down next to her. “How could you say that, Mina? We love you.” But Mina just looked away.
“Come on, Mom, let’s get you out of this cold.” My mom grabbed the handles of the wheelchair firmly. “I can take it from here,” she told the paramedics and then turned and wheeled her up the driveway. The paramedics looked surprised.
“Are you sure? We can—”
“No, I’ve got it,” she assured them over her shoulder. My dad turned to the paramedics and thanked them. They were gone before my mom reached the front door.
After an exhausting struggle to help Mina up the stairs, she was tucked into the hospital bed in Claire’s room. She patted the top of her blanket with her crooked fingers.
“Tom, hand me my…breathe…purse please.”
My dad grabbed the purse off the old plaid chair under the window. As he held it out to her, it fell open, and his expression froze. Seeing the look on his face, my mom pressed her lips together in an angry line and held her hand out.
“Mom, how could you?” she asked, pulling out a half full pack of Camel cigarettes. Cici and I exchanged shocked looks.
“I’m a grown woman…breathe…don’t you tell me…breathe…what to do.”
“But, you’re—”
“Dying? You can…breathe…say it! So why the…breathe…hell should I give them up now?” I could see my mom’s jaw tighten as they stared each other down. Mina turned her sunken hazel eyes away first, and then my mom handed me the pack, asking me to please throw them away.
I headed down the hall, but instead of going downstairs to toss the pack in the trash, I made a detour into my room. I have no idea why I did it, but I stuffed the Camels into the back of my underwear drawer, and then sagged down on my bed. My mom was right. How could Mina keep smoking when the cigarettes she was smoking were suffocating her? I shivered. I couldn’t imagine a worse way to die.
I couldn’t sleep that night. Not with the constant coughing and whir of machines next door. I stole down the stairs to the dining room with my computer to do a little web surfing to settle my mind, but after midnight, I was still restless. I needed something safe to occupy my thoughts, and my mind wandered around until it found its way to the pine forest I’d once counted among my favorite places on Earth. Then my fingers moved swiftly with a mind of their own.
UBERMENSCH
Online Dictionary
Main Entry: Ubermensch
Pronunciation: ue-ber-mench
Function: foreign term
Etymology: German
: Superman, Overman, Demigod
: Philosophical term for a new and advanced order of man
Wikipedia
The Ubermensch (German; English; Overman, Superman) is a concept in the philosophy of Friedrich Nietzsche. Nietzsche posited the Ubermensch as a goal for humanity to set for itself in his 1883 book, Thus Spoke Zarathustra.
I leaned back in my chair and stretched out my arms, then interlaced my fingers behind my head.
“Ubermensch,” I whispered. It was the word I’d found scrawled on the Lewis Woods footbridge the day Michael died. So, somebody hiking through the woods was looking for a demigod? A “super” man? I released the stretch and smiled grimly to myself. I wasn’t the only one who was delusional.
I turned off the computer and headed upstairs, intent on going to sleep this time. But my grandmother’s door was cracked open, and the light that spilled into the hall was broken by the shadow of someone moving about. I crept forward to see what was happening. My grandmother, her eyes panic bright, was choking on the phlegm in her lungs.
My mom peeled open a small sterile package, and then her hands disappeared into blue plastic gloves. When she pulled a length of plastic tubing from the packet and removed the plug from the tracheotomy hole in Mina’s throat, I guessed immediately what she would do next and withdrew to my room. Then the gurgling began. It sounded like some slimy swamp thing was being sucked, kicking and screaming, out of Mina’s lungs. Five seconds. Ten seconds. Fifteen seconds. Then it was over, and the peaceful hissing of her oxygen equipment refilled the night. Now I knew why the tracheotomy was still in place. Mina needed to have that phlegm sucked out of her lungs, or she’d die.
I felt my own lungs closing up at the thought. My next breath was tighter. A barely audible wheeze eased out of my lungs. I glanced at the inhaler resting on my nightstand, not wanting to use it.
Focus, I thought. Slow your breathing down and focus. My mom used to tell me that when I was little to keep me from panicking during an asthma attack. She’d power up my nebulizer machine, rub my back and breathe with me until the attack passed.
I still did that, slowed my breathing
down and focused when I couldn’t get to my inhaler right away. But it was available now. Shit. I grabbed it, used it and tossed it back, wondering how long Mina would have to live like that—feeling like she couldn’t breathe, before she died.
I snatched my little iPod from its charging dock and plugged my headphones into my ears. I didn’t want to know.
“Try to keep it down,” my mom requested early the next morning. “Mina had a rough night.” Bags hung beneath my mom’s coffee-charged eyes.
I wanted to say, “And how about you?” But I didn’t think she’d want to talk about it. I wouldn’t want to talk about it. I rolled over onto my back and realized my nose was cold. Definitely October, I thought, then shoved myself off the bed and muddled through my morning routine.
When I was ready, I bounded down the stairs and, on a hunch, veered toward the front door, opened it, and stuck my nose out. The grass was coated with thick white frost. Days like these reminded me why I really hated to wear a uniform. The gray plaid skirt left my lower legs exposed, and its thin fabric did nothing to keep my thighs warm. I trudged back up the steps and dug through the pile at the bottom of my closet, found a pair of old gray sweats and pulled them on under my skirt.
During breakfast, Spencer called and asked for a ride. He was on crutches, and he knew my dad worked at the auto repair shop near the school. My dad said yes, and that meant a ride in the Demon for all of us.
My dad surprised us in the garage by going to the Demon’s passenger side and holding out the keys to me. The look on Claire’s face was priceless when she was forced into the back seat.
“Remember the power,” Dad advised.
“I know,” I said. I did, and I loved it.
Spencer lived in an apartment complex within walking distance of the school. His mom worked at the local Dodge dealership, and she always drove the coolest cars, which made me a little nervous about showing up in the half-finished Demon, but the look on Spencer’s face when he hobbled out on his crutches was anything but disappointment.
“Sweet car!” he said as he folded his huge frame into the backseat next to Cici. “Hey, Cici,” he said, giving her one of his flirty grins. Definitely love struck. I shot him a warning glance over my shoulder as I pulled out of the driveway. He gave me a “what gives?” look, and I realized he probably didn’t even know he was falling for her yet.
Still early, the halls of the school were dark and deserted when my dad dropped us off. Cici headed left toward the freshman hall, while Spence and I cut through the cafeteria on the way to our lockers. Spencer’s locker was down the hall and around the corner from mine, but before he left me, I grabbed his arm.
“You know she’s only fourteen, Spence,” I reminded him. He smiled from ear to ear, and I knew then that he was more aware of his feelings than I gave him credit for.
“Dude,” he said, “she’s hot, and if she’s anything like you, she’s nice, too.”
“She’s nicer than me,” I said, knowing it was true.
He laughed. “Yeah, probably.”
“Seriously. She’s fourteen,” I repeated.
He looked sideways at the French bulletin board on the wall and picked at a loose staple with his fingertip.
“Yeah, I know.”
“So?”
“I’ll be good,” he promised. I nodded and then started hiking up my skirt to pull off the sweat pants. He laughed again, held his hands up and backed away. “I’ll let you strip in private!”
“Pervert,” I mumbled as he disappeared around the corner. And he just said he’d be good. I guess there’s only so much a big sister can do.
I slammed my locker shut, and then I made my way through the empty halls to my homeroom, considering what, if anything, I needed to say to Cici about Spencer. I was deep in thought when I entered the partially-darkened classroom, and was completely unprepared for the wave of citrus and pine fragrance that hit me full in the face. I staggered back a few steps and looked around the room. Shawn Fowler was the only one there, and he was sitting in the teacher’s chair with his feet propped up on her desk.
“Shawn?” I whispered.
“What,” he said, his expression hard, as if whatever I was about to ask was none of my business. My mind reeled for a moment, processing the fact that there was nothing at all sinister in the room. No rabid coyote. No Ax-toting Freak. No invisible stalker. But it was definitely the same scent I’d smelled in the woods Saturday night, and it drew me forward. I walked the rest of the way up to the teacher’s desk. Yeah, it was his cologne, and he must have sprayed it on thick that morning.
“Uh…Shawn?” He crossed his arms across his chest. “Um…what’s that cologne you’re wearing?”
“What the hell do you care for?” he snapped.
Then a crazy thought occurred to me. Had he been following me Saturday night? That was insane. Why would he follow me? But I had to ask, no matter how idiotic I sounded.
“Where were you Saturday night?”
He shot up out of the chair, shoved it roughly back against the chalk tray and glared down at me. “I’ll say it again. What the hell do you care for?” At that moment, there was a staccato shout from the doorway.
“Hey!” It was Spencer. He was standing in the doorway, leaning on his crutches. The crutches slowed him down as he hobbled toward me, but they added to his bulk, making him look bigger. When he slid into place behind me, Shawn retreated immediately to the other side of the teacher’s desk.
“What’s the problem?” he asked me, keeping his eyes on Shawn.
“Can you smell that now? Can you? That’s the same cologne I smelled Saturday night just before that coyote almost bit J.C.’s hand off.” Spencer and Shawn both looked at me with baffled expressions on their faces. “He might have been there, Spence!” I realized how stupid I must sound, but Spencer was my friend, and so he asked the question anyway.
“Okay. So like, is she right, Shawn?” He relaxed his stance a little.
“I don’t know what the hell she’s talking about!” Shawn shouted. “She’s a freaking lunatic!”
“Then where were you Saturday night?” I repeated.
“I was at my aunt’s house in Erie,” he answered. “Okay? God!”
In my peripheral vision, I saw a shadow move across the smeary sunlit windows, and I jumped, startled.
“Shawn, you know the rules about taking the name of the Lord in vain.” It was our homeroom teacher. “Report to Sister Lawrencia at once, please.”
“Aw…but I was just minding my own business when—”
“No excuses, Shawn,” she said. “Go.”
As he left the room, I called after him, “I’ll be checking on what you said, Shawn.”
“You do that,” he growled back.
“I will.” Only I knew I couldn’t. What was I going to do, ask his mom? Call his aunt? I’d probably be the one slapped with a stalking complaint.
After we took our seats, Spencer leaned over and whispered, “Are you sure that’s what you smelled Saturday night?”
I nodded briskly.
“Well…he can’t be the only guy who wears that cologne. Besides, why would he want to follow you around anyway?”
I had no idea.
At lunch, I found J.C. alone at our usual table. There was a huge pile of books stacked up in front of him, AP Spanish on top. He stared morosely at them as I set the six small glass jars I was carrying gingerly down on the table and took the seat across from him.
He eyed the jars. “Let me guess. Mr. Rath?”
“Water chemistry,” I replied, faking a grimace. “I need to collect samples from a local body of water a couple of times over the next few months and then present my findings to the class.” Most of the kids were complaining, but secretly, this was something I liked to do.
“Crap. I’ve got him next,” he grumbled, wrinkling up his nose. “I’ve already got papers due in Spanish and History.” He tried to scratch his forehead, but his hand was all wrapped up and spl
inted. I reached across the table and scratched it for him.
“I’m really sorry about your hand J.C.,” I said.
“It’s not that bad.”
“Yeah it is. If I hadn’t freaked out—”
“If you hadn’t freaked out, any one of you girls could have walked into that bathroom and been torn to pieces.” He paused and took a breath as if he was going to say something else, but remained quiet and looked away.
“What? What were you going to say?” J.C., like Cici, was unusually observant, and I wanted to know what was on his mind. Instead of answering right away, he hunched down in his chair, grabbed the salt shaker and started unscrewing the lid. I waited while he collected his thoughts. When he was finished, he set the silver lid carefully back on top and shoved it away from him. Then he straightened back up and looked me in the eye.
“I think someone was looking out for you Saturday night,” he said. I hadn’t thought about it like that. I tried to replay the events again in my head, but everything had happened so fast. Could it have been Shawn? Unlikely, but I thought I’d mention it anyway.
“This morning I found out Shawn wears the same kind of cologne I smelled Saturday night.”
“Cate, none of the rest of us saw or heard…or smelled anyone. Besides…” he stopped and leaned back in his chair, avoiding my eyes. “I didn’t mean…a person.” I saw where he was going, but despite all my inner feelings and fantasies on the subject, God and Angels were not something friends generally talked about in the school cafeteria. I just couldn’t do it. It was too personal.
“J.C.—”
“One of you could have been killed or scarred forever. It could have been you…or Cici. Something was—”
“I think you were looking out for me Saturday night,” I interrupted him. “I don’t know how you held on to that door. If you’d let go…” I remembered the mouthful of fangs fighting to get out.
“Hey. I didn’t want to get torn to shreds either.”
“But…you’ll be okay, right? Did the coyote have—” Finn and Grace arrived before I could finish my question and set a hot dog and fries down in front of J.C.
The Guardian's Playlist Page 9
