I fumblingly walked away and headed out of the gym.
“Cassie?” called out Gwen.
I didn’t stop. My legs finally regained a sense of stability and I raced off down the hallway to the bathroom. After making sure that no one else was inside, I tore my shirt off and got as close to the mirror as possible. My back was perfectly normal. No scratches. No abrasions. Not even the slightest sign of discoloration. It was official. I was certifiably insane. I had flown over the cuckoo's nest. Sleepwalking. Night terrors. Elaborate hallucinations. What was going on with me? Some delayed post-traumatic stress trigger?
The lights overhead began dimming. I immediately threw my shirt back on and stepped away from the counter. As the bulbs started flickering, I jumped at the rush of hot air that charged at me from behind.
“Get control of yourself, Cassie,” I whispered, looking up at the ventilation duct.
I decided that I had had enough of the Ghost Hunters mind games and exited the bathroom into the silent halls.
“Jesus!” I screamed, colliding into the solid weight of someone who seemed to have spontaneously manifested in front of me.
“No, not exactly.” Jack knelt down and grabbed his English textbook off the floor that I had apparently knocked out of his hands. “But I appreciate the comparison.”
He smiled, but with my nerves sending a chilling pulsation across my body, I failed to return the gesture.
“You okay?” asked Jack, extending a hand out toward me.
“What are you doing here?” I said, recoiling at the thought of his touch.
“You mean, what’s a seventeen-year-old student doing at school, on a weekday? Hmmm, I don’t really think we need to call in the detectives on that one,” he replied, still smiling.
“What I meant was ‘Why are you here so early?’ I didn’t take you as the type that reveled in the idea of embracing the school day so much that you’d come in a full hour before first period.” My words didn’t sound light. They sounded accusatory. What I was accusing him of, I wasn’t really sure, but with the images of last night still seared in the front of my mind, I wanted nothing more than to run as far away from Jack as possible.
“I came in to visit with Miss Tipton. That a crime?” His tone had changed. He now sounded a little perturbed himself.
“You smell like an ashtray,” I said, inhaling the lingering aroma of cigarette smoke coming off his clothes.
“Yeah, I was down at the dive just off Highway 1 last night with a few pals, and one of them ditched the rest of us there without a ride, so we wound up crashing in one of the private gaming rooms till dawn,” he said. “And the walk to the school was a lot shorter than the one back to my house; hence my untimely arrival.”
“Well, I’ve gotta get back,” I said, strategically slinking past him. “I’m helping Gwen.”
“See ya in English then.”
Chapter 17
Superstition
I honestly couldn’t say how long I spent staring blankly at the monitor in front of me before I finally snapped out of my bewilderment and attempted to actually put some effort into completing my biology report. Watching everybody else’s fingers hard at work around me in the computer lab, I tried to get my head back into the focus of my academics, but I wound up again finding myself doing nothing but looking down at the keyboard with no motivation. The only thing I could see was Jack and his petrifying, crimson eyes.
The Baykok. I immediately opened up the internet browser and typed the phrase into the search engine. The only paranormal website that provided any really information on the folklore also included stories of UFOs and Bigfoot, but it was the best I could do.
In Native American culture, the Baykok is said to be a demon created by the blood of war. Similar to the Romanian folklore of the Moroi, a vampiric ghost, the Baykok draws its life source from the energy of the living, sometimes killing those alive to fully obtain the power of those individuals by consuming their spirits through eating their hearts.
Despite the fact that this malevolent specter has not been seen in bodily form for several hundred years, there are still accounts of those plagued by the Baykok while in a dream state, ultimately perceived as an omen for death. Always illustrated with its blood red eyes, the Baykok can be presented to Death’s intended victims in many different forms. Sometimes mistaken for being a Fetch, it can appear as a mirrored image of oneself or that of a loved one...
Then Jack’s voice echoed in the corners of my mind. “Mors venit ad vos.” I immediately punched it into the computer after backtracking to the search engine. Nothing definitive came up, but each link had something in common. One word. Latin. I entered in a new request, finding a Latin-to-English translator, and typed in the phrase again. My hands slid off the keys as I gaped at the monitor disbelievingly.
Death cometh to you.
How could this be? I didn’t know Latin. My subconscious couldn’t have possibly conjured that up, yet there was something about it that I couldn’t quite put my finger on. I looked back up at the phrase I had typed in. Mors venit ad vos. Removing a notepad from my book bag, I scribbled the letters down, and it hit me like a freight train as to why it looked so damn familiar.
M-O-R-S-V-E-N-I-T-A-D-V-O-S.
With a simple reshuffle, I had it. That night in the library. The Ouija board.
A-D-V-O-S-M-O-R-S-V-E-N-I-T.
The pen rolled out of my grasp as my hand went limp. This wasn’t possible. I suddenly closed down the window and opened up a fresh search engine screen. One that didn’t make mention to my untimely demise.
Remember why you’re here. Biology. Osmosis and diffusion. Not because you’re crazy.
Nothing could be done about my new conundrum right now, so I put on my mental-blinders and charged forward in all determination to conquer the task in front of me. Over thirty minutes went by before my concentration was broken.
“Psst!”
With my nerves already tensed and my vigilance on high alert, I immediately jumped at the sound. I whirled around and looked between the rows of bookshelves behind me. In the third aisle closest to the backdoor, Gwen’s ruby locks hardly made her a being of indiscretion.
“What?” I mouthed.
She beckoned me over, but I simply pointed at the computer monitor to indicate I was working.
“Foster!” she hissed, catching the attention of a few other students nearby.
I again motioned to the screen. The last thing I wanted was to deal with more of Gwen’s problems or conjured conspiracies. I had enough on my plate, with Death and all. My eyes refocused to my research, and I pretended not to notice her continued presence.
“Get your boney ass over here,” Gwen finally sneered, her voice carrying just a little too far and loud.
She was given several harsh looks, along with a chorus of classmates telling her to shush.
“‘Shh’ yourselves,” she snapped back.
Everyone turned their expressions of annoyance to me.
“Can you get rid of her, please?!” one student remarked.
I finally kicked my chair out from under the desk and dragged my feet across the carpet the same way a pouty six year old would when throwing a hissy fit.
“This better be good,” I whispered.
“Grab your things,” Gwen replied. “We’re getting out of here.”
“We? No, I’m going back to finish up my report, then I’m going to study hall. I can’t afford getting caught ditching school, especially when there’s not that much left in the day.”
“You walk away and I tell Ben you’re dying to go to Homecoming with him,” Gwen remarked.
“Beg pardon?” I queried. “Alright, if we’re going to descend to threats, then I’ll rat you out for cheating on Mr. Rothenberg’s bio exam last week.”
“I’ll tell everyone that you did sleep with Ian,” she quickly countered.
“At least I won’t have to resort to slander, like when I let everyone know that you made out with
Parker at Lacey’s last party,” I said with a baleful whisper.
“Hey, that wasn’t me! That was the Jack Daniels and three beers acting out,” Gwen fired back.
“You know Trish has the whole thing on video, don’t you?”
Gwen’s eyes practically bulged from her head. “You’re kidding, right?”
I shrugged my shoulders with amusement, knowing that I had secured the upper hand.
“Okay, before we end up being the trending topics on every local social media site, not to mention my ass in detention for the rest of my life, I say we call a truce,” said Gwen.
“Agreed.”
“Now go grab your things,” she promptly said.
I almost snorted with laughter. “Clearly, you need to brush up on your vocabulary, because the definition of ‘truce’ doesn’t mean that I surrender to you.”
“Trust me, this is worth it. And don’t worry. Everything’s already been taken care of, and time really is of the essence here.”
“Why? Is Macy’s having a blowout sale for your dress or something?” I mocked.
“Nope, we’re going to Arlington,” declared Gwen. “And we have to get there before the end of their school day, so get a move on.”
My hands instinctively hooked to my hips with exasperation. “And what business do you have at Jack’s old school?”
“I’ll explain on the way. We’re burning precious daylight here, sweetie. Trish already agreed to cover for us by telling Mr. Randall that we’re both helping her in the news office,” said Gwen. “Now, move!”
“I can’t leave until the end of the hour without a hall pass,” I said.
“How do you think I got in? The back door is cracked open.” She spun me around and pushed me forward. I tossed my belongings around the computer station into my book bag before logging off.
I casually followed behind her as she crouched and hustled toward the back of the library down a long aisle. “Why are you walking like that?”
“It’s called being inconspicuous,” she whispered, still hunched.
“No, it’s called being a dork. No one can see us from here, and the librarians aren’t armed with Tommy Guns,” I said with a hushed chuckle. “You won’t be shot trying to make a run for it.”
“I thought you were afraid of getting caught.”
“I am, but creeping around like you’re in the midst of breaking out of Alcatraz isn’t helping. If anything, it looks more obvious. We’re still in the Philosophy section. Normal people don’t skulk about when they’re looking for Nietzsche or Plato.”
She dispiritedly straightened up. “Do you always have to be so-”
“Logical?”
“Boring?” she corrected. “Come on. Didn’t you ever play spy games when you were a kid? Forgive me, but if I have the opportunity to feel the cheap excitement of a low-grade Mission: Impossible knockoff escape plan, I’m taking it.”
“My apologizes,” I laughed. “Direct the way, Tom Cruise.”
She motioned me forward and we scampered quietly along until we reached the end of the aisle. Gwen poked her head around the corner, checking to see if the coast was clear, and then she turned to me with a series of hand gestures that looked like she was trying out to be a catcher for a baseball team. She then motioned to the door.
“What?” I whispered.
She started the sequence all over again before I interrupted.
“I don’t know what the hell any of that means, not to mention that I’m standing right beside you! Vocals, Gwen. They’re always of abundance, so don’t let them fail you now,” I whispered.
“What did I just say to you? Covert operation. Spies always use hand signals to convey their route for escape, especially when silence is key,” said Gwen.
“There is no route. It’s a ten foot pace to the door to our left,” I pointed out.
She gave a snort of derision. “Just wait for me to give you the signal.”
“What’s that look like? You gonna break out into the funky chicken for me?”
Her elbow jabbed sharply into my arm as she returned her attention to the door. After about twenty seconds, she waved her hand forward and made a beeline to the exit. I followed after her a bit more lackadaisically than I should have, but I reached the door just the same. No tactical assault teams rushed out at us. No high security alarms whaled. Not even an underpaid rent-a-cop demanding that we face the wall and interlock our fingers behind our heads.
“We’re home free,” said Gwen, pushing on the handle.
To her surprise, nothing happened. She tried the door again, only to realize that it was locked.
“You’ve got to be kidding me!” she said, looking down at the triangular wooden block by her feet. “One of the faculty members must’ve noticed.”
“Well, 007, it was nice knowing you, but I’m gonna return to my report,” I said, mockingly throwing my hands up in surrender.
“Oh, come on, where’s your sense of adventure? This is nothing more than a minor hiccup in the plan. Just watch,” Gwen assured. “Look, someone’s coming down the hall. We’ll just get them to open the door for us. It’s unlocked from the outside.”
She pressed her face against the windowpane on the doorframe, and as footsteps approached, she tapped the glass lightly to catch their attention. It was Alicia, along with a couple of other girls I was still unfamiliar with.
“Can you open the door?” Gwen mouthed, pointing down at the handle.
Alicia smiled rather wickedly and tossed the hair off her shoulders, continuing her saunter down the hall with her posse following behind her.
“That’s the ugliest F-ing blouse I’ve ever seen!” Gwen hissed back as she passed by.
“Yeah, that’ll entice her to help,” I commented.
“Please, like she would’ve helped anyway. I figured it was at least worth a shot. The girl comes from the same evil gene pool as Stacy. Lending a hand to others is a foreign practice to them,” said Gwen. “Wait, someone else is coming. Yes! It’s a guy.”
Sure enough, Gwen put on her best flirtatious face, batting eyelashes and all, and beckoned for him to help. It was Danny Owens, a fellow junior who shared P.E. with us.
He immediately chuckled in amusement once he saw Gwen. “You seriously think I’m gonna set you free, Meyer? I don’t wanna be responsible for letting a lioness like you out of her cage,” he teased.
“Just open the door, or I’m gonna be using your head for target practice during dodgeball next week,” she said, immediately dropping all playful behavior once she realized he wasn’t going to help.
I pushed Gwen away from the window. “Please, Owens. For me.”
“Foster?” He looked rather stunned by my attempt at delinquency, so he reluctantly opened the door and held it just enough to let us slide out.
“Thank you,” I said.
“I figure whatever it is that has you of all people bending the rules, it’s probably worth it,” Danny replied.
Gwen rolled her eyes. “Yeah, she’s a real angel. Whatever. Now, we really have to go.”
She yanked me by the sleeve and dragged me down the hall. We cut through the weightlifting room, which was thankfully vacant, and took the back stairwell to the side exit door leading out to the football field.
Gwen’s phone started vibrating.
“WARNING: KURTSPATRICK IS ON DUTY! SHE’S COUNTING CARS. -TRISH.”
“I told you this was stupid,” I said. “Come on. Let’s just get back in there before we get busted.”
“Where’s your sense of adventure?”
“Gwen, there comes a time to admit to failure. This is it,” I said.
Her confidence deflated for a moment as she pondered her options, but a light bulb suddenly went on in her head. “No, there’s still one final play in the book. We don’t need my car. Your dad left you the Buick, right?”
“Yeah, but that’s just so I have a car if I need it for when he’s working at the bar later. Plus, I’m not hoofing i
t all the way to my house. It’s a ten minute trip when driving. It’ll take forever on foot.”
“Unless we get another car to take us to yours,” she said mischievously. “Follow.”
High powered tools screeched and roared over the blaring radio inside the Woodshop & Automotives Building, which was actually just a massive garage with paint and varnish stained sheets hanging in the middle of the space to divide the departments. I cautiously maneuvered around the stations, watching drills effortlessly penetrate and band saws swiftly cut planks of wood with sparks flying from every direction. Needless to say, in my state of fear and sensitivity, being around death provoking machinery was at the bottom of my list of things that I wanted to introduce into my day.
“What are you girls doing here?” asked Mr. Peterson, the woodshop teacher.
“We’re here to do a quick survey among randomly selected students for a newspaper article, and we were wondering if we could speak to Joe Feldman?” replied Gwen in the most professional manner.
“Yeah, sure thing. He’s in the back, working under the Taurus,” Peterson said, tossing each of us a pair of protective eyewear. “Just make sure you’re careful.”
“Will do, sir.”
Making our way over to the automotive station, Gwen kicked the jean legs of the individual whose upper body was under a blue car.
“Hey, Welch, hand me the wrench!” called out Joe from beneath the frame.
“It’s Gwen!” my friend corrected.
Joe wheeled himself out, and lit up at the sight of her presence. “What in hell brings you here, Meyer?”
“I need a favor.”
“Speak it,” Joe replied. “And I’ll consider.”
“We need a car,” said Gwen. “Kurtspatrick is watching the parking lot, so she’ll report us for leaving.”
“And you expect me to do what exactly? Give you one of the other students’ cars?”
“I was thinking maybe I could take Maude,” Gwen said.
“Who?” I asked.
“You’re not taking the Driver’s Ed car,” he said. “If something happened to her on my watch, it would be my ass.”
Divine Vices Page 18
