Provex City

by Michael Pierce

  Suddenly, Jeremy jerked and twisted Sasha’s arm. Sasha violently swung around, away from Jeremy, with his arm pinned behind his back. Jeremy kept his grip tight on Sasha’s wrist and placed a hand on his opposite shoulder. Greg’s eyes widened in horror as Jeremy yanked Sasha’s arm further until there was a sharp snap!

  Sasha let out a scream that echoed throughout the school.

  Jeremy then pushed him forward to crash into his friend, but Greg dodged the incoming body. Sasha toppled down the few stairs that led to the quad. The sound of him colliding with the pavement also rang out.

  Jeremy wasted no time and lunged forward. He passed by Greg, held out an arm, and Greg went flying. He was repelled through the air as if from the poles of a magnet, without Jeremy laying a hand on him. Jeremy leapt down the stairs—now out of sight for me—but Sasha’s screaming continued.

  I lay against the lockers fighting the urge to faint. The pain in my stomach was getting worse. My whole body was tingling. The smell of blood was nauseating. Some random girl, kneeling to my right, held my hand. She reassured me that I was going to be okay. I told her not to leave me, but I couldn’t tell if she understood a word I said.

  Maybe I should apply pressure to the wound. Maybe someone else should do it for me since I wasn’t in the right mind to make good decisions. Maybe I should just go to sleep and hope I wake up in a better place.

  “Oliver!” I heard Desiree scream from somewhere in the haze. She broke through—in slow motion, as if from a movie—collapsing in front of me. The girl holding my hand backed off immediately. Desiree quickly shimmied off her backpack and ripped off her sweater. She gently placed it against my stomach, careful to not move the lodged screwdriver, and held it firmly against me to lessen the blood flow. It hurt more, but I didn’t stop her.

  “Are you kidding me!” Desiree yelled at a few students creeping closer to get unobstructed pictures and videos. “Get out of here!”

  Jeremy marched up the stairs and descended on Greg. Still lying on the ground, Greg had his arms up in a defensive position. Jeremy easily kicked his arms away and stomped straight down on his nose. Greg made a little sound and lay still.

  There was more commotion, which seemed to be approaching fast. And then Mr. Gordon appeared. He squatted next to me, across from Desiree, and swiftly analyzed my condition.

  “There is so much blood—I didn’t know what to do,” Desiree cried.

  “Don’t worry, you did fine,” Mr. Gordon said to keep her from hyperventilating. “Can you walk with assistance?” he asked me.

  “I dunno,” I whispered.

  “You’ll be fine very soon, but right now, we need to get you out of here.”

  “Okay,” I groaned. “I’ll try.”

  Mr. Gordon quickly pulled the screwdriver from my stomach and moved Desiree’s hand up slightly to cover the wound with her ruined sweater. I felt the sharp pain leave with the screwdriver. I felt remarkably better, but my body continued to scream from the trauma. I was still sweating, weak, nauseous, and trembling.

  “My phone just died,” someone in the crowd said.

  “Mine, too.”

  “It just went black.”

  “What’s happening? This stupid thing’s brand new!”

  Without waiting for a signal that I was ready, Mr. Gordon, with Desiree’s assistance, pulled me to my feet. I took over covering my wound, and Desiree held my arm to keep me steady. I stumbled forward like a puppet.

  “We need to go around the back of the building. The nurse and Vice Principal Adams are almost here,” Mr. Gordon said, guiding me back toward chemistry.

  “Wait! What about Jeremy?”

  “What about him?”

  “We can’t just leave him here, after what he did,” I said and pulled Mr. Gordon and Desiree to a protested stop. I glanced back and saw Jeremy still standing over Greg’s motionless body. Jeremy looked horrible and terrified. “Come on, Jeremy!”

  “I can’t,” he whispered, which I couldn’t hear, but I still knew what he said.

  I noticed he was crying and I couldn’t help but cry with him.

  The mysterious bald man I had seen in our garage—who had done quite the disappearing act—materialized just behind Jeremy. Still looking faded and ghostly, the man put a gentle hand on Jeremy’s shoulder. When Jeremy turned, he was greeted by the pale man’s open embrace. Crying into the shoulder of a dark suit coat, Jeremy briefly made eye contact with me before they both vanished.

  It was just a coincidence that Mr. Gordon and Desiree looked back at the same moment and saw only the traumatized gathering of students and two of the fallen bodies. Everyone with a phone out was staring down at a dead, black screen.

  “Where is he?” Desiree asked.

  “He’s gone,” I said, not understanding what I had seen. But I allowed Mr. Gordon and Desiree to continue pulling me away from the scene.

  12

  Desiree’s Secret

  Once we rounded the back of the science building, I felt some relief. The crowd was now behind us, and the rest of the student body was beginning second period. Mr. Gordon and Desiree carried me to the deserted backside of the school. We stopped, and Desiree and I leaned up against the brick wall. She leaned forward with her hands on her thighs, breathing heavily. Mr. Gordon wasn’t the slightest bit winded. I wiped the dried and crusty tear tracks from my face and let out a long sigh.

  We had escaped everyone, seemingly unnoticed. The backside of the building had no doors or windows; it was just a weathered brick wall. There were random patches of grass, dirt, and fallen leaves. The edge of the school was lined with a chain-link fence and bundles of bougainvillea creeping wildly up and over it. Cars passed just beyond the fence and gave us the noise cover we needed.

  “Thanks, Mr. Gordon. You always find a way to show up when I need you. I don’t know how you do it,” I said, removing Desiree’s bloody sweater from my stomach to hand back to her. I looked at the blood-soaked rip in my shirt and was initially startled to not see a gaping hole in my stomach.

  “Don’t be so surprised. You’ve already seen what I can do,” Mr. Gordon said.

  I lifted my shirt to get a better view, and Desiree examined my stomach, too. Blood was dried around and below where the wound had been, but what was left was a shiny circular scar. I touched it carefully and it wasn’t the least bit tender. It was like it had been there for years.

  “I don’t believe it,” Desiree said, feeling the scar for herself. She stepped back and looked up at Mr. Gordon in awe.

  “You gave me a scar?” I asked Mr. Gordon, remembering when he had sliced his arm open and healed himself perfectly.

  “I didn’t give you a scar. You gave yourself a scar,” Mr. Gordon said. “I wish I could have healed you completely. Your doubt in your ability to be healed prevented me from fully healing you. It just goes to show you, we still have work to do. But all things considered, how are you feeling, Oliver?”

  “I think I’m okay. I thought I was done for back there. I had never felt pain like that. I don’t know what would’ve happened if you hadn’t shown up.”

  “The nurse would’ve gotten a hold of you, and you’d probably be on your way to the hospital right now. But I think this worked out better, don’t you?” Mr. Gordon said.

  “Most definitely. The pain was terrible.”

  “I’m so glad you’re all right,” Desiree said, laying her head on my shoulder.

  “Do you still have it?” I asked Mr. Gordon.

  “Have what?”

  “The screwdriver.”

  “Why?” he asked and pulled the unsuspecting weapon from his back pocket. It was spotless, not a drop of blood left on it.

  I reached out, and he placed it apprehensively in my hand. This tool designed to fix and create had been used against its own nature and almost took everything from me. I didn’t see it as a weapon. I held it out and marveled at its simple beauty. “Can I keep it?” I asked Mr. Gordon.

  “I don’t think
that’s the best idea. Why would you want the reminder of such an awful occurrence? Isn’t the scar enough?”

  “I don’t see it that way. I see it as a reminder that there are two sides to everything.”

  “Ahh. The duality of the physical plane.”

  “Mr. Gordon! What about your class?” Desiree said suddenly.

  “Don’t worry. Mrs. Olson is covering for me. She doesn’t have a second period.”

  “When did you have time to do that?” Desiree asked.

  “Just before I found Oliver. Remember our discussion yesterday about awareness? You could say I was a little ahead of the event.” Mr. Gordon grinned.

  “Then couldn’t you have gotten there like five minutes earlier?” I asked.

  Mr. Gordon laughed it off, but I thought it was a serious question. We all took a seat, leaning against the wall.

  “What’s gonna happen to Jeremy?” I asked.

  “It’s hard to tell. It’ll probably depend on how injured those other boys are. It’ll be pretty hard to get away with self-defense.”

  “Especially since I’m healed.”

  “That’s very true.”

  “And what are you going to tell people who saw you get stabbed?” Desiree asked.

  “I don’t know if anyone actually saw it happen. The focus was on the aftermath, then on Jeremy, and then you guys showed up and snuck me away. I think most of it was a blur.” I flipped the screwdriver over in my hand.

  “People will believe what you tell them. So what happened?” Mr. Gordon asked.

  I thought for a moment about what I would tell people and it came to me quickly. “I was punched in the stomach and fell back into the lockers. Jeremy showed up and got into it with them. End of story. I was barely involved. I was just lucky Jeremy was there to get me out of the line of fire.”

  “That’ll work fine.”

  “Wasn’t there blood on the ground?” Desiree asked.

  “Good thinking, Miss Behring. I’ll take care of that on my way back to class,” Mr. Gordon said.

  “And what about pictures and stuff they took on their cell phones. There’s probably already evidence on Facebook,” Desiree said.

  “Check your cell phone,” Mr. Gordon said.

  Desiree did and became immediately frustrated with what she discovered. She punched at the keys and tapped the device against her leg. “It’s dead,” she whined.

  “Yeah, I did a blanket electronics blackout of the whole vicinity,” Mr. Gordon said. “I didn’t have time to be precise. But all the evidence should be wiped clean. Let me see your phone.”

  Desiree handed it over, and when Mr. Gordon returned the device to her, it seemed to be back in working order.

  “All your media should still be there,” he said.

  “And everyone else’s?” Desiree asked, gazing down at the illuminated screen.

  Mr. Gordon shrugged.

  “I need to help Jeremy,” I said with a growing sense of guilt, starting to feel the full weight of the situation. “He’s in a lot of trouble—all because of me,”

  “How did he know?” Desiree asked and put her phone away.

  “I don’t know. I barely ever see him at school.”

  “I’ll find out what I can and see what I can do,” Mr. Gordon said. “Oliver, you should probably take the rest of the day off. Relax. Clear your head. I’ll tell Vice Principal Adams you left, that you were stunned and not hurt.”

  “Won’t he want to speak with me?” I asked.

  “Most likely, but that can wait until tomorrow. I don’t want to put you through any more stress for one day. You can hop the fence right over there so you don’t run into anyone. Desiree, why don’t you go with him?”

  “Really? I get to take the rest of the day off, too?”

  “I’d feel better if Oliver didn’t walk alone. And I’m sure he could use a friend.”

  “I appreciate that,” I said and put the screwdriver in the small pocket of my backpack. “Thanks, Mr. Gordon.”

  “Next time we meet, we need to talk about how to keep you out of trouble. This is twice now.”

  “I know. I’m responsible for what happened.”

  “Not fully, but you’re learning. We need to get you on a plane of consciousness that’s a little safer because I can’t always be there,” Mr. Gordon said, half serious and half joking, but the half that was serious sounded ominous and almost prophetic.

  Desiree and I thanked Mr. Gordon again and headed for the fence. The morning was chilly, but we kept warm by our brisk pace. I was looking forward to a night without homework, but I worried how Mom and Richard would take the news of my second sick day and Jeremy’s schoolyard brawl. I hoped I could talk to him first.

  We walked quietly most of the way home. When we reached our intersection Desiree asked, “Don’t you want some company? I don’t want to go home yet. And besides, you need a friend, remember?”

  That was true. I did need a friend. We walked back to my house, and I led her in through the side door.

  “Mom?” I called, as we walked in through the laundry room. There was no response, but Frolics came skidding into the kitchen, with his tail slamming into everything. But as soon as he saw unexpected company, he let out a low growl.

  “Yeah, Desiree’s so threatening. Quiet, Frolics. Be nice,” I scolded him.

  Frolics stopped a few paces from us, with his head low and the hair on the back of his neck raised. I walked up and grabbed his scruff, forced him to sit, and knelt beside him. Desiree stayed back. I wasn’t sure how comfortable she was with dogs, especially a dog with the power to take her knees out from under her.

  “He may sound threatening when he’s protecting his home, but he’d never hurt anyone,” I said.

  His tail was beating against the floor again, and I let him go. Frolics ran up to Desiree, nudging her with his nose and licking her hands. Desiree’s apprehension subsided, and she seemed to enjoy the attention.

  “Mom?” I called out again and searched the house. “Jeremy?” I walked back into the kitchen to find Frolics still pummeling Desiree. “I guess no one’s here. I’m gonna change. I’ll probably have to burn these clothes. Make yourself at home.”

  I quickly threw on some fresh clothes and hid the bloody ones under my bed. When I returned to Desiree, I found her in the living room looking at family pictures on the bookcases.

  “So this is your mom and stepdad?” she asked, pointing at a wedding picture of the four of us. “Your mom’s really pretty. How old were you here?”

  “I was twelve, and Jeremy was fourteen. We were ushers. That’s the day we knew we were stuck with Richard.”

  “That’s not very nice.”

  “Okay, that’s not exactly what I meant. Richard’s a good guy and all, but that’s when it hit us that it was permanent.”

  “I don’t see any pictures of your dad.”

  “You wouldn’t. We don’t have any. I never told you about the fire?”

  “No! You never told me about a fire!” Desiree said, accusatorially.

  “Okay. Well, when I was five or six or something, a fire started somehow in the middle of the night. I was told it was electrical. My mom got me and Jeremy out of our house safely—and it was right after we’d gotten Frolics, who was just a puppy—but we lost everything else, including all the pictures of my dad.”

  “That’s terrible,” she said softly and continued glancing at the other pictures. “You are surrounded by bad luck, aren’t you?” She paused. “What was it like?”

  “I don’t remember. I don’t remember the fire or anything before it. I guess I blocked it out. But, what sucks even more is, I lost the rest of my memories, too. I don’t know. I’ve always wanted to know what my life was like before that happened ’cause I was like two or three when he died. Maybe I would have remembered something about him.”

  “If it makes you feel any better, I don’t have many memories from when I was that young.”

  “But you have picture
s to remind you.”

  “True. But they’re just that—pictures. I don’t always feel like I was there,” Desiree said with a shrug.

  “I guess.”

  Desiree looked back at the pictures on the bookshelves. “I lied to you earlier…and I don’t like doing that.”

  “Oh?” I said, confused.

  “TJ and I had attended the same schools since elementary. His family had lived here as long as mine. He was a year older. I had known him most of my life.”

  “Desiree, I’m so sorry.”

  “He was my friend.”

  “Did you see it coming?”

  “When you look back and analyze everything to death…” she stopped for a moment, probably realizing her choice of words, “…you see what you missed in the moment. I should have seen it coming, but I didn’t at the time.”

  “It’s not your fault. You can’t blame yourself for him being a coward and opting out—”

  “He wasn’t a coward!” Desiree snapped.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

  “I should have had more compassion. I never even got to say goodbye.” Desiree was supposed to be the one supporting me, and here she was nearly in tears. I took a step toward her, not sure if she was emotionally asking for a hug.

  “You still can, you know. He’s here…”

  “I don’t know. I don’t know if I can,” Desiree said, shaking her head. “I don’t know if I can handle it. I wasn’t around when it happened. Maybe if I was, I could have done something.”

  Her guilt and regret, and the onslaught of unexpected information, crashed into me like a tidal wave. This was a vulnerable side of her I had never seen. Her sadness made her look so young. So wounded. So broken. So not like Desiree.

  I felt more connected to her than ever.

  “TJ was in drama at school. At home, he played the violin. Do you know how much time and dedication it takes to learn to play the violin well?” She paused again. “I could listen to him practice for hours. It was so beautiful. I would lie on his bed and drift away while he played. There was nothing like it.”