Forty-Four Book Six: 44, #6

PROLOGUE

Red.

I stared, in shock.

Red, like an apple.

Like a scarf wrapped on a snowman. Like a fire engine. Like lights on a Christmas tree.

Red, the color bright in my black and white world.

Bright against the fat flakes falling all around.

Red, gushing from her neck, soaking the snowy ground beneath her.

I forced my eyes away from all the blood and dropped to her side. 

Hang in there, I whispered, taking her icy hand. You’ll be all right.

But her eyes were already vacant and still, lost in the sky above.

A church bell rang in the lonely night.

I didn’t have much time.

More blood gurgled up from her mouth, bubbling over her dark lips, running down her chin.

You’ll be okay, I said, my heart drumming in my ears. Help is on the way.

But I knew.

It was too late.

Again.

CHAPTER 1

I dribbled hard, then just before crashing into him faked right and went left, leaving him in the dust. I took the shot.

Sweet! I yelled, watching the ball drop through the net. I believe that’s game, dude!

Throwing my hands up like a young Sylvester Stallone and humming the Rocky theme, I jogged around him slowly in the cold air.

Damn, Jesse said. Have you been practicing or something?

No, I said casually. Just soccer and lately a little racquetball with Dr. Krowe. But I guess there’s a first time for everything.

He tossed me the ball, a determined look in his eye. I crossover dribbled it back and forth in front of him like he always did when he was gloating.

I looked around as I waited for him to say something. It was only a little after four, but already it was getting dark, the sun weak and falling fast from the sky. Jesse’s silhouette faded in and out of the fog that had started creeping in around us.

Let’s go again, he said, calling for the ball.

He took what looked to be a wild shot from just inside half court, but it hit nothing but net. I missed one from the paint and he hit another three. Before I knew it, he was up by double digits. My carriage was turning back into a pumpkin.

You have your snow tires on yet? he said.

Nope.

Better do it soon.

I didn’t know if it was global warming, but it had been a super mild autumn. Still, it was just a matter of time before the snow came.

So what’s with you and Dr. Krowe playing racquetball? he said.

He thought we could kill two birds by combining our talks with a little exercise, I said. Sometimes it’s easier to talk about stuff when you’re doing something else. Plus, he’s pretty bad, so that part’s kind of fun.

I know exactly what you mean, he said, smiling and blowing around me for a slam dunk.

I backed in on him, shielding the ball with my body, and bumped him hard on purpose.

Ouch.

"No harm, no foul, padre," I said.

We played for a few more minutes, but my shooting touch had disappeared somewhere in the mist.

So what are you doing later on this fine Saturday night? he asked.

Not too much, I said.

Jesse stared at me. I sighed.

He’s still thinking about things, I said softly. There’s a lot to think about, I guess.

Or he’s just really, really slow.

It had been more than a month now and Ty and I were still in the same spot. Not together, but not quite apart either. At first we talked on the phone. But as the days grew shorter and the last of the dead leaves disappeared from the trees, the time between our conversations got longer. And when we did talk, we found less and less to say.

I was tired of it. Tired of feeling this way. When I thought about it rationally, I couldn’t blame Ty. I’m not sure I would do any better if the shoe were on the other foot. If he was the one who saw ghosts. If he was the one still in love with someone who had died four years earlier. And it wasn’t him being jealous or paranoid either. I had said it. I had a raging fever at the time and was weak from my encounter with Clyde Tidwell, but I had said it. I said that I loved Jesse.

And Ty, taking care of me there at my bedside, had heard it all. I tried to explain. But it was the truth. I loved Jesse. And I loved Ty.

Anyway, it’s time for you to head home, unless you brought the headlamps, Jesse said, putting the ball under his arm. We’ll have to finish this game next time.

I looked around. We were alone. It was completely dark. All the park lights were on, but dull in the fog. A chill blew through me. I hadn’t meant to stay out so late, especially here.

All right, I said.

We walked to the bench where I had left my bag. I wiped down my face and put on my Barcelona soccer sweatshirt, pulling up the hood. I didn’t want to leave Jesse, but he was right. It was time to go.

It’s a good place to stop, he said. That way you go home a winner.

I smiled and we walked over to the Jeep, the only car left in the lot.

So did you at least have a good Thanksgiving? he asked. You haven’t said too much about it.

Sure. Kate made the pies, but I did the rest. Turkey, gravy, stuffing, sweet potatoes, cranberry sauce. The works.

Who showed up?

Paloma and her sister, David, Erin, and a few other reporters. It was nice. Everyone got along well.

"But he didn’t come," Jesse said.

I shook my head and faked a smile. I hoped Jesse hadn’t noticed the water in my eyes. If he had, he pretended not to.

He went back to Montana for a few weeks. He was able to get some time off. He’s still there actually.

Man, I tell you what. I wouldn’t have missed your Thanksgiving dinner for anything. I would have been there and had six plates.

You mean if you could eat, I said.

No, I mean if I had been invited.

Come on. You’re always invited. You know that, I said. Almost everybody knows that I talk to you. You might as well come to the parties now and mingle. They would all love that.

He smiled.

I don’t think they would all love that, he said.

No, that’s probably true.

So when’s he coming back? Or did you scare him away for good?

I don’t know. Figures though, right? It took me all that time to find him and it lasted for like three seconds.

We got to the Jeep. I unlocked the door and threw my bag in the backseat.

Hey, I would do anything to have those three seconds with you again in this world.

Jesse looked at the ground. I stood on my tiptoes and kissed his cheek. Then our eyes met. At moments like these my heart wished for those things my mind knew could never be.

I closed my eyes and wished them anyway.

Thanks, I said. And for everything else.

Jesse didn’t like talking about Clyde and never said too much about what had happened that day when they fought. And he never did tell me what happened in the weeks that he had disappeared. All I knew was that it had been a long, hard battle, but a fight that Jesse had eventually won. He told me that Clyde would never be back and that I didn’t have to worry about him again.

But I suspected there had been a price that was paid. It was just a feeling, or maybe it was the look that flashed across Jesse’s face whenever I mentioned those awful days when Clyde took over my body. There was also that strange, black scar on the inside of Jesse’s forearm that told me that there were things I didn’t know about.

We had been in my room listening to the new Titus Andronicus album one day when I first saw it. Even though he was a ghost, Jesse liked to stay current when it came to music.

These guys are bad ass, he had said, rocking his head up and down. "It is so us against them!"

He caught me staring at the small oval shape where he had pulled up his sleeve. It was raised, like it had been written in braille.

It’s nothing, he said.

I ran my fingers over it and felt the heat. It was like his white, ghostly skin had been branded and singed.

Take it easy, Craigers. I’m fine.

But what is it? I asked.

It’s a reminder. It reminds me that you’re safe. And it reminds me how close you were to slipping away into that black abyss. It’s good to remember that. I don’t mind the mark at all.

I still don’t remember most of it, I said. I mean, I don’t remember saying all those terrible things people have told me I said. And I don’t remember being in the backyard and telling Kate that I was digging her grave.

That’s good too, he said. Let me do the remembering. It doesn’t even matter now anyway. He’s gone for good.

He was right. All that mattered was that we had gotten through it, that we survived.

Now don’t forget about those snow tires, Jesse said, leaning up against the Jeep. I still didn’t want to leave him and stood by the open door, lingering.

He smiled and gave me a long hug.

Later, Craigers, he said.

Bye, Jesse.

I got in and cranked the heater while I watched him walk away, disappearing into the trees. I sighed and then whispered thank you out through the darkness.

He was still here, my light in this world.

CHAPTER 2

It was 20 minutes before opening, still dark outside, a cold rain coming down. There were already a few people standing around out on the sidewalk with their hands in their pockets. Whatever Mike had wanted to talk to us all about must have been important. He usually didn’t keep customers waiting like that.

Okay, everybody, before we open let’s gather round, he said. I have an announcement to make.

We huddled in a small circle near the counter as Mo shuffled in, yawning loudly. She had switched to mornings because she decided it was easier to just stay up and get her shift done after her gigs at the local clubs and then crash in the afternoons. She reeked of cigarette smoke and beer and spent adrenaline. Mike didn’t seem to notice or care. She was kind of a diva around the café, with a regular following of groupies who came in just to say hi and drink her coffee.

First off, great job on the decorations, Mike said, looking over toward the Christmas tree in the corner. It looks awesome in here. By the way, who made the ornaments?

David nodded at Lyle.

Mo shook her head, but Lyle really had done an amazing job. Every ornament on the ten-foot tree had something to do with Back Street Coffee. He stayed late three nights in a row, set up in the back with a glue gun and jars of glitter and clay. He made little figurines of all of us. Mike with a goatee and tiny glasses, Mo with a guitar and an angry expression on her face. David was skinny and holding a skull in one hand and a miniature book in the other. I wore a Barcelona jersey and had a soccer ball at my feet.

They’re very special, Lyle, Mike said.

Yeah, very special, Lyle, Mo repeated with mock sincerity.

He’s also making a Back Street gingerbread house, David said.

Can’t wait, Mo said.

Lyle took it in stride, not letting it ruffle his large white man afro.

Anyway, on to other matters, Mike said. "I’d like us to start volunteering some hours over at the Bend Community Center to help with their Feed the Hungry program. Anyone who volunteers—and I hope you all do—will get paid their usual wages. I think it’s a good opportunity and a good time of year to help people who could use a little help. It’ll involve setting up, serving, clean up, and whatever else they need. It’s probably not so different from what we do here."

That’s cool, Mo said. It sucks to be hungry.

Yeah, count me in, David said.

Great, Mike said. I’ll leave the sign-up sheet here on this clipboard by the counter. Just sign up for dates and times and then I’ll schedule you here at the café around those shifts.

The decaffeinated zombies outside were getting restless, one of them trying the locked door every few minutes.

All right, Mike said. Let’s sell these folks some coffee before we have a riot on our hands.

CHAPTER 3

David was supposed to pick us up at my house at ten