Crossed Out (6 page)

I twisted around to notice that the cafeteria was once more normal. Maybe I’d imagined it all?

“You okay?” Mark asked.

“Oh, sorry. My name’s Stephanie. Stephanie Stewart.” I sighed. “Boy, I must be losing it.”

“Yeah, don’t you know they say school cafeteria food can do that to you?” Mark laughed. “Hey, let’s go somewhere else.”

The word stuck in my throat. I tried again and croaked, “Sure.”

Anything had to be better than staying here. At least I was hanging out with the living, for a change.

Chapter 7

Aquarius

Your horoscope for Monday

You’ll get a chance to enjoy your best relationships today.

Boy, I’ll never doubt Mom’s belief in horoscopes again! I used to be embarrassed when she read the
Sacramento Bee’s
daily horoscopes. She claimed this helped her understand the dynamics of our family.

But today she’d happened to be right! About me, that is. What had started off as a day straight from Hell had ended up being extra sweet. Mark had blown off Hillary and shown interest in
moi
. Yeah, me.

I don’t remember much about the day, except the glow of his eyes, his yummy musky scent, and how he got me out of an otherwise humiliating situation with Hillary and the others in the cafeteria. I didn’t just want him, I
craved
him. He asked if I wanted to hang with him later. He didn’t say where, just to give him a call. The added mystery only made him more appealing.

Afterward, I thought it a tad strange that people gave me funny looks in the hallway and in class. To top it off, next to her locker, Hillary and her wannabes whispered their snooty comments about me. For once, I didn’t care.

Ha, ha. You’re just jealous Mark didn’t choose you.

Ah, Mark. My whole body tingled just thinking about him. This was so unlike me. I usually didn’t care what guys thought about me. It wasn’t as if I had time to date, with spirits popping in and out of my life.

Still, I couldn’t believe this hot guy would want anything to do with me, especially when Hillary all but threw her scrawny ass at him.

Note to self:  Don’t give up! What do the magazines know anyway? I always thought guys liked girls with a little flesh on their bones. Hey, look at JLo.

I couldn’t get out of school fast enough! Images of meeting Mark that night cycled through my mind. The suspense all but killed me.

I glanced at the phone number scratched on the back of my hand. His number. For once, my Sharpie pen came in handy for more than just etching down dead people’s names on wooden crosses.

A cold wind swept through the hallway. I looked up and saw Allison. She looked like a little kid among all the rest of the students. But then she’d only been twelve when she’d been killed.

With a sad expression, she pointed at my hand and mouthed, ‘No.’

I glanced down. The only thing there was Mark’s number. Why would that upset her?

“What?” I took a step toward her, but she disappeared.

I felt as if something slammed into my chest, reminding me of Allison’s earlier warning that evil was around. But there was no way Mark could be bad. If anything he was the only bright spot in an otherwise shitty day.

“Hey, what’s wrong with you?” Cura asked. “You look like you’re going to pass out.” She stood next to me on the stairs outside the school. The sun emphasized the burgundy streaks in her brown hair.

“Huh? Oh, nothing. I thought I just saw someone.”

“Yeah, right.” Cura smiled. “I bet I know who.”

A chill came over me. No way she could know about Allison.

“Okay, ’fess up. Who is he?”

Relieved, I dropped my hand. “Who?” I faked innocence.

“Come off it, Steph. You know who I’m talking about.”

“Oh,
him.”

“Yeah, him.”

“His name is Mark Bennion.” I rushed down the steps and looked for the school bus. Cura trailed behind.

I know it’s lame, but I still had to take the
bus
– an added motivation to get my license.

Others rushed by, either getting into their cars – lucky dogs – or, like me, scrambling to get on the beat-up school bus.

“Hey.” Cura pulled on my arm. “You’re not getting away that easy. ’Fess up everything about Mr. Hottie.”

“Wait a minute.” Attempting to change the subject, I turned to Cura. “What were you and Dylan talking about during lunch?” Never mind that both of them remained silent during Hillary’s painful parody of me. Just thinking about that moment made my face flush.

“Um, mostly about you and....”

“And?”

“Something about you flaking out before class.” Cura put her hands on her hips. “Dylan’s worried about you, that’s all.”

“Yeah, right.”

“Jeez, Steph. Give him a break.” Cura pointed to Hillary and Stacy on the grass. “Did you hear what happened to Miss-Full-of-It during lunch?”

Remembering how Hillary had jumped up on the cafeteria table, mocking me, made me want to find a hole and bury myself in it for the next year or so. If Cura remembered the incident, I’m sure others wouldn’t forget either.

“Uh, Hillary?”

“Yeah, she ended up eating a bug. I know she’s on a diet, but that’s too much. Bugs? How gross is that?”

Then Cura turned red. She obviously remembered why Hillary was on the cafeteria table in the first place.

The loud honk from one of the many Suburbans in the parking lot saved Cura any further embarrassment. Sure enough, her mom’s off-key voice sang along to her
Top Hits of the ’80s
CD. Talk about being in a time warp. With her overdone Charlie’s Angels’ hair, polyester shirt with sleeve tabs, and bright make-up, she stood out among all the other normal moms.

Cura covered her face. “Jeez, you’d think my mom would get over her high school days.”

“I know you miss me, I know you miss me...”
Boy George’s voice drifted toward us, even over the other hip-hop and pop songs flooding the parking lot.

Cura winced. “
Puh-lease
, Mom. Why Boy George?”

“Ah, come on,” I said. “It could be worse. She could have named you after him instead of The Cure.”

“Yeah, right. Don’t give her any more ideas.”

I would have traded my rescuing of the dead for Cura’s off-key mother any day. At least her mom was
fun
. Except for my mom’s hidden trips to the local psychic and her obsession with horoscopes, becoming a trustee for the arts council was her number one priority.

You’d think I’d want to follow in her footsteps. Hang with the popular group, get into a prestigious preppy college, and – don’t forget – be part of a sorority that meant we’d be sisters forever.

Wouldn’t Mom be proud?

I felt my face get warm. Maybe that was one of the reasons my last rescue failed. I had to get over my attitude.

But then again, when did I ever listen to my mother?

An overwhelming urge came over me to get away.

“Hey, Cura. I’ll call you tonight, okay?” Luckily, Cura had piano lessons right then, otherwise she would have convinced her mom to drive me home.

“Okay—” Cura waved to her mom “—don’t forget.”

As she climbed into her car, I took another peek at the black numbers on my palm.

Yeah, I’d give Mark a call. My horoscope came back to me:
You have a chance to enjoy your best relationship today
.

Hey, why not? Anything was better than the weirdness following me these last couple of days and messing up a rescue.

Chapter 8

I couldn’t get Mark out of my mind. After dinner and homework, I went to my room using the excuse that I was going to bed. But that was the last thing on my mind. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t stop thinking about Mark.

I glanced down at the now slightly smudged numbers on my palm and called.

He answered on the first ring. My whole body tingled, excited he hadn’t given me a bogus number in an attempt to brush me off.

“Hey.” His husky voice sounded oh-so-sexy.

“So this is actually your number,” I said, then wanted to smack myself. Like,
duh
. Why wouldn’t it be? So I quickly changed the subject. “I enjoyed our talk today. Can’t wait to see you tomorrow.”

“Yes, me too.”

“Well....” For once I seemed at a loss for words. “See you tomorrow.”

“Yeah, tomorrow.”

I hung up and fell back on my bed. Jeez, was I the biggest ditz or what? Grabbing my pillow, I hugged it close. I couldn’t get the image of Mark out of my head. Not even his leather jacket could hide his cut body. My fingers ached to touch him.

Well, if I couldn’t do that now, at least I could dream about him.

I snuggled under my covers, safe in bed.

Hugging my arms close to my body, I tried to stay warm. My favorite sleeping outfit, an Old Navy t-shirt and baggy cotton shorts, didn’t do much in the warmth department. I glanced at my surroundings, to get a sense of where I was. A chorus of toads croaked in the background. The Sacramento fog swirled around me. Thick and dense, it was hard to find my bearings.

Snap!

The sound of twigs breaking startled me. I fell backwards and landed in a patch of dried grass. The weeds scratched my palms. I brushed them off and stopped.

Where was I?

I got up and made my way to a barbed wire fence. A rusted sign hung at a crooked angle, black graffiti etched around the corners.

Rubbing my eyes, I stepped closer.

‘McClellan Air Force Base. No Trespassing’

A cold breeze stirred fallen leaves from one of the many oak trees. The damp, musky smell of rotting vegetation caused me to sneeze. The old deserted base hadn’t been used for years.

Apparently someone didn’t know how to read. A gaping hole had been cut through the fence. I cast a nervous glance around to see if anyone else was there. In the distance, through the trees lay old, abandoned tin buildings, beat-up cylindrical garbage cans, and God knows what else. Closer to the fence was open country, teasing me forward.

Curious, I walked to the opening.

The hole was big enough for me to slip through. I shimmied in, careful not to touch the nasty looking fence. I didn’t want to chance rubbing against the rusted wires. A gnarly looking cut would be so hard to explain to mom.

A well-worn path stretched out in front of me. The fog had dissipated. I noticed the beat-up Nikes on my feet.

I hiked up the hill, the path surrounded by tall trees and shrubbery. I almost slipped on some acorns scattered on the ground. I wondered if any squirrels were around. Winter was coming soon and they would so need those nuts. Weird, how, at a time like this, I would be worried about those fearless furry rodents.

I had the urge to go through the trees. The artwork of the local spiders hung in some of the branches of the oak trees. The beads of early morning dew looked like thousands of diamonds. My legs itched, just thinking about rubbing against the sticky webs. Still I knew I had to go up that path. The grass whispered under my feet.

I heard voices ahead, and hid behind one of the huge trees.

“You shouldn’t have left me,” a husky voice said.

“Please, no....” A woman whimpered, in pain.

My heart skipped a beat. He’s hurting her!

I took a quick peek from behind the tree. A tall, dark-haired man pointed a gun at a petite woman. A long dress or coat covered her body. A colorful scarf wrapped around her head accentuating her only large frightened eyes.

“Arjook, Erhamni!” she begged the man. I didn’t have to understand her to know she was pleading for her life.

A sour expression covered the man’s face. “Ayatoha Al Sakita.” He kicked her to the ground, disgusted. “You slut. How dare you disgrace me?”

The woman sobbed. “Arjook, Al rahma! Please, have mercy on me.” She grasped his leg, and pulled herself up.

Anger overcame me. How dare he hurt her! I wanted to scream at the man to stop, but the silver glare reflecting off his gun stopped me.

Stone-faced, the man ignored her pleas and with one violent kick, the woman crumpled to the ground like an unwanted rag doll.

He aimed his gun and....

I squeezed my eyes shut.
Oh, please don’t do this.
Tears ran down my face. Though I didn’t know this woman, each sob tore through me.
Why, God?
I didn’t know the purpose of seeing these violent acts. And for a brief moment, in that place, I hated God.

A loud shot rang through the night.

I startled awake in my perspiration-soaked bedding. My body trembled.

I couldn’t get the woman’s cries out of my head. I grabbed my pillow close in a vain attempt to silence the ear-piercing screams.

After all this time, I’d never gotten over the horror of experiencing each victim’s demise. The real thing was more terrible than anything in those crime shows on TV.

Sour bile filled my mouth. I ran to my bathroom, kicked the toilet cover up, and barfed. Spasms racked my body, until nothing remained.

I hugged myself, trying to forget the horror etched on the woman’s face – knowing she was going to die.

I wanted to grab my phone and call 911. But I knew from past experience no one would believe me. The police might even blame me.

Okay, Steph
.
Get a grip.
Don’t think about the blood and brains plastered on her body.
No, remember where she died.

A sign flashed in my mind.

Of course, the deserted airbase.

I knew where the woman had been killed. Now all I had to do was make my cross and get to the scene of her murder.

But one thing stopped me.
Allison.
She’d warned me about danger and even about Mark. But since she was so wrong about Mark being bad, how could I make sense of the other day at Hillary’s, or this?

What if a cross doesn’t work? What then?

No. A cross had helped me in the past, it would help now. Maybe I’d just imagined seeing Allison.