A crooked mark, p.15
A Crooked Mark, page 15
Knowing Kendrick, he’s an excellent shot.
The phone buzzes again, and I bite my lip and press the green button. “Hey, Uncle Kendrick.”
“Hey there, kiddo.” His voice rumbles through the phone. “Just wanted to see how you’re doing. Anything new?”
“Not really. I’m outside the project’s house right now.” Wondering what they’re having for dessert. “Just checking on things.”
“Good. Keeping your notebook current?”
“Yes. I sent the weekly report too.”
“All right.” A beat of silence follows, during which Kendrick is probably running through a mental checklist of my project. “You’re staying close? Able to watch the girl outside of class?”
“Rachel.” Rae’s given name sounds too formal coming out of my mouth, but maybe it will help him see her as something more than a project. “She tutors me every Saturday. And I drive her to school in the mornings.”
“Good,” Kendrick says. “Any other ways to get closer? You’ve got classes and the running team . . . you’ve both lost a parent. Did you try using that?”
The idea of using Mom as a way to get close to Rae almost makes me drop my phone. We might have talked about her in the graveyard that day, but the painful honesty of that conversation is a far cry from whatever Kendrick has in mind. Even Dad, who would have certainly noticed both Rae and I were missing parents, never suggested I use Mom in that way.
“I think I’m doing okay,” I tell Kendrick.
“You’re doing a great job, Matthew,” he assures me. “But more connections never hurt. Keep it up, and give me a call if you need anything. I’m not far.”
“Okay. Hey, Uncle Kendrick?” I choose my words carefully. “Does the Sweep need to interview me or anything as part of my test? Maybe the leaders want meet me?”
“Nope. I’ve told my mentor about you, and she passed it up the chain. They seem satisfied, especially since you’ve done such good work with your dad.” He pauses. “Why?”
If Kendrick can tell me something that will let me sleep tonight, I have to try. “It’s just . . . I wish I could meet other Sweepers. Maybe swap stories so we know what others have seen. That way, we could be sure”—I gulp and plunge ahead—“that it’s the Mark causing changes in people, and not something else.”
My mouth goes dry by the time he speaks again. “You’re wondering if the whole thing’s real, aren’t you?”
Any response dies in my throat. He goes on.
“That’s all right, son. The solo test always brings out the big question. Your father once asked me the same thing, and I asked it myself years ago. The Sweep is real, Matthew, and so is the Mark. If you let that Evil grow, let it feed on a soul until it becomes too strong, good people die.” He doesn’t mention his wife, though from the bitterness sharpening his voice, it’s clear who he’s talking about. “Don’t wait too long, or that sweet girl just might kill someone.”
The warning in Kendrick’s words makes me take another look at the Winters’ house, its warm light growing colder in the graying dusk. If he’s right, it’s only a matter of time until bodies start falling.
Though if Rae had heard him, she would say he’s nuts.
“Tell you what,” Kendrick says, when my silence stretches too long. “You keep watching and tell me what you see. I know it’s hard, and asking questions is fine—it shows you’re thinking, and that’s good—but the answer is right in front of you.”
“All right,” I say, and we hang up, though the conversation plays in my head the entire way home. It’s the same lesson I’ve heard a million times, and the old beliefs (Watch—Judge—Burn) rise up like embers reigniting. Yet that reasoning turns foggy when I think too hard, and the friendly streets of Mills Creek make it difficult to see the Mark anywhere.
It’s like staring at two versions of the same world, and I have no idea which one is real.
* * *
On Halloween morning, I arrive at the Winters’ house to find Cady sitting outside in the swing. Her feet drag on the ground, and she wears a sweatshirt far too large for her featuring the faded name of an out-of-state university. Judging from the way she rubs her eyes with its sleeve, it’s not hard to guess the person it once belonged to. Rae comes out, slinging her backpack over her shoulder, and pauses. Her own head dips, and she walks to her sister.
Cady doesn’t look up, but Rae strokes her hair gently, lips moving with words too soft for me to hear. Her face mirrors the grief on Cady’s, but I can’t tell if it’s for her lost father or the little sister slowly drowning before her. At last, Cady reaches up to wrap her arms around Rae, who coaxes her from the swing and steers her to the porch, where their mother waits. Mrs. Winter gathers Cady close, and the door shuts behind them as Rae climbs into my car.
Her eyes are wet, cheeks damp.
“Are you all right?” My voice rasps, and a grief that should belong to someone else leaks out.
She slumps back in her seat as we drive away. “Dad always used to make this special Halloween breakfast for us. Pumpkin pancakes, sausages wrapped in pastry like mummies . . . Mom offered to do it, but we said no. Cady’s been crying all morning. She misses Dad.” Rae bites her lip as the banner for the Scream comes into view. “So do I.”
I wish I knew what to say to ease the grief shredding those words, but all I can do is reach for her hand. The drive passes in silence, because she is thinking of her dad and I am thinking that even though I keep looking for the Mark, all I see is heartache haunting a girl who deserves better.
Luckily, reinforcements wait at school. Sahana leans against Rae’s locker, and one look at us makes her fold her friend into a tight hug.
“I’ll see you in math,” I tell Rae, and leave them to talk alone before class.
Lunch brings the liveliness of our little group, though Rae’s sandwich sits untouched the entire time. At least she nibbles the cookie Juan insists she take, since his mom sent him to school with enough Halloween sweets even Moose can’t finish them.
“Do you want to go to the Scream tonight?” Juan asks Rae. “We’re up for anything. Just name it.”
“I can pick you up.” Sahana jostles Rae gently. “Want to go see what these guys are dressed like? I think zombies might be an improvement.”
“Hey!” Moose objects. “But that reminds me. Here.” He hands Juan and me packets of ketchup from the cafeteria. “Zombie blood. Just squirt it on tonight.”
Juan groans. “Next year, I pick our costumes.”
A small smile creases Rae’s face. “All right. I’ll go.”
* * *
Halloween night looks like a movie set exploded on the street outside the Winters’ house. Bands of witches, skeletons, and superheroes roam the sidewalk, and honking cars crawl past. I’m parked in my usual spot, though my zombie face stands out more than I’d like. The white and black paints hadn’t been easy to apply—I scrubbed off the first two attempts—but I finally ended up with something that resembled the character on the movie poster. The scar on my leg appears worse than usual thanks to some extra paint and the ripped leg of my pants, and ketchup stains my white apron.
Moose will be proud.
Several costumed figures pass, and I slouch lower in my seat. Behind the masks and shadows, others may also be watching, and they need to see a Sweeper at work. I still don’t know what to believe, which means I need to play both sides until I figure out which is real—the world where I may have to burn Rae, or the one where Kendrick, Dad, and I killed innocent people.
Either way, I lose.
A group of tiny vampires approaches the Winters’ bright porch, and one knocks. Mrs. Winter feigns terror as she opens the door, a large bowl in her hands, and the children holler “Trick or Treat!” before gathering around like vultures in a feeding frenzy. After a quick flurry, they back away, dropping candies into their bags and calling thanks as they head for the next house.
Mrs. Winter leans against the doorframe, rubbing a hand across her face in a way that makes my own eyes blur. Today must be as hard for her as it is for her daughters. Another group approaches, however, and she steadies the bowl and greets the children with a smile.
She’s strong. I guess she has to be.
A yellow VW bug parks just past the house, and Sahana climbs out. She grabs a large pirate hat off the passenger seat and crosses the lawn to Mrs. Winter, who offers her the candy bowl. Sahana plucks one out, and the door closes behind them as they disappear inside.
Except for a few more trick-or-treaters, the house stays quiet for the next fifteen minutes. I send Rae a text I’m running late, but no response comes. Maybe she’s having second thoughts.
My phone finally buzzes with her answer: Me too.
The door soon opens, and Sahana appears. Rae follows slowly. Her pirate costume looks great, but her steps are heavy, and she reaches for the car as Mrs. Winter jogs toward her. Rae turns, and her mother wraps her in a gigantic hug. They stand locked together for a long moment, neither speaking, and wipe each other’s cheeks when they finally let go. Rae climbs into the car with Sahana, and I blink hard, let a few others drive past, and follow them to the park.
By the time I arrive, several texts from Moose light up my phone.
Where ru?
Zombie trio means 3 not 2 so sad
No candy for u!
U ok?
Almost there, I write back.
I wind through the park, squeezing between groups of people and keeping my eyes open for Rae and Sahana. Finding them feels impossible in the costumed crowd, and the scattered lights leave too many pockets of darkness. Moose texts that he and Juan are waiting near the tables full of jack-o’-lanterns, and I head that way. Hopefully, the girls are doing the same.
“Sorry I’m late,” I say when I reach them. “Which pumpkin’s yours?”
Moose shakes his head. “None. I refuse to lobotomize squash. Juan, however, has no problem with it.”
“You’re just jealous.” Juan points to a jack-o’-lantern with an intricately carved snarl. “You’re looking at first prize. I’m calling it right now.”
“Oh yeah?” It’s Sahana, hefting her own jack-o’-lantern. She chose a scene instead of a face, and the cat arching its back will definitely give Juan a run for his money. “Don’t count on it.”
“Ooh, pumpkin smack talk.” Rae is right behind her, with her smile back in place. I have to hand it to Sahana; whatever she did in the car worked. “I love it.”
“Nice costume,” I tell Rae. She’s certainly the best-looking pirate I’ve ever seen. Her jeans are tucked into tall brown boots, and the red sash at her waist complements a frilly white blouse. A thick rubber band fastens a stuffed parrot to her shoulder, matching the green bird perched on Sahana.
“You too,” Rae says. “Excellent face.”
“Pirates versus Zombies!” Moose’s eyes light up. “Who would win?”
“Give me that cleaver”—Sahana points at his cardboard weapon—“and let’s find out.”
Rae shakes her head, but her lips twitch. “You guys are ridiculous.”
“I’m not the one wearing a parrot,” Juan says, waving his mace at it. “Polly want a cracker?”
“Actually, Polly does.” Rae jabs him with her plastic sword. “Let’s get something to eat.”
We make our way through the park, checking out booths full of food and games as ghostly music plays. Dusk turns the corner to night, and the landscape becomes the perfect Halloween playground, with shadows and haloed lights and people moving in and out of darkness. Judging from the crowd, at least half the town is here. I’ll never be able to pick out a Sweeper, and every mask stares back. The police roam the park as well, and Rae nods politely at a tall, uniformed woman with dark brown skin and a polished badge that says “Walsh.”
“Hi there, Rae,” the woman says. “I love your costume.”
“Thank you.” Rae’s cheeks redden, and she looks down at her boots. “And thanks for helping Cady with her—crimes.”
“I call them mistakes.” Captain Walsh pats the parrot on Rae’s shoulder. “You should too. Hang in there, okay?”
Rae looks up. “I will. Thanks.”
“Tyson’s mom?” I ask as we join the others in a line for ice cream.
She nods. “Mom reached out to her about Cady’s spray-painting. Captain Walsh was really great; she talked to the store owners and convinced them not to press charges as long as we pay to have the walls repainted. Cade is going to volunteer at Mom’s work to help earn the money, so it’ll keep her out of trouble as well.”
“That’s smart.” At least I won’t have to worry about Cady painting the town anymore. Hopefully, Dad will forget about it as well, along with Rae’s imagined dark influence.
Though he’ll probably find something else to blame on her.
A voice booms over the speakers, announcing the start of the costume contests, and we get our cones and gather around a stage in the middle of the field. Music blares as the first contest begins, sending miniature monsters and cartoon characters parading past. The speakers call “Pets!” next, and people line up their costumed animals in a flurry of fur and tails.
“Is that a hamster?” Sahana squints at the stage. “We need a new rule. If we can’t see your pet, it can’t be in the contest.”
“How many categories are there?” I ask. This could go on forever.
“A lot. But the best are at the end. We”—Moose raises his cleaver—“are in ‘Spooky.’ ”
The parade of pets ends, and the speakers spark to life again.
“Family Costume Contest!”
Parents and children make their way to the front. One family wears matching baseball uniforms, and another joins together to form a caterpillar. They gather by the announcer, eager for their walk across the stage.
Last year, the Winters had been part of that group, full of grins and giggles as they arranged themselves into their graham cracker s’more. They assumed they’d be back this year with a new theme. New costumes.
Same four people.
Beside me, Rae ducks her head—an island of misery in the cheering crowd. Sahana wraps an arm around her waist, and Moose and Juan draw close, biting their lips as the first family strides jubilantly onto the stage. My own chest aches, an echo of the sadness pouring off her.
She doesn’t need to watch this. I tug her hand gently. “Let’s go for a walk.”
Rae nods without looking up.
I catch Sahana’s eye and motion that we’ll be back. Concern lines her face, but she gives Rae a final squeeze and lets go. I guide Rae to the edge of the park, find an empty picnic table, and pull her down to sit beside me. When she lifts her head, tears stain her cheeks.
“I miss my dad, Matt.” She draws a shaky breath. “I miss him so much.”
Her pain cracks something inside me wide open, and I forget to even check for watching Sweepers before putting my arms around her and pulling her close. “It’s okay,” I murmur over and over again as she cries, even though we both know it’s not.
Her sobs soon quiet. She stays in my arms, her face buried against my chest.
“What did your family dress up as?” I ask. I don’t want to make it worse, but talking sometimes helps. “I know about last Halloween, but what about before?”
She tells me about the years of Mrs. Winter’s rabbit with three carrots, of milk and cookies, of cardboard boxes turned into a fleet of race cars. “Dad would stay up late working on the costumes. Mom always said it was silly, but I think she liked it just as much as the rest of us.” She sighs, and her body shudders against mine. “I hope she’s okay.”
I run my hand through her hair, wishing I could brush some of her pain away. “She’s probably thinking the same thing about you.”
Rae tilts her head, and her eyes catch mine. Tears trace down her cheeks, and I wipe them away gently. Her nearness steals my breath and sets my heart pounding, and the sounds of the Scream recede to faraway chatter. My fingertips graze her skin as she lifts her chin, lips parting slightly, and I lean forward to close the space between us.
At the last possible moment, she looks away, and my nose bounces off her cheek.
“I can’t.” Rae speaks so softly I would have missed it if my face hadn’t been hovering centimeters from hers.
“You don’t have to.” I pull back, my skin hot with embarrassment. “It’s fine if we don’t. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. It’s my fault.” Her body sinks a little with those words, and she pulls her hand from mine. “It’s all my fault.”
The lines of I’m sorry flash before me. “What are you talking about?”
Her voice comes in a strangled whisper: “The accident.”
Guilt thickens those two words, and despair clouds her face. She turns away, but I catch her chin, drawing her gaze back.
“Rae, no. It wasn’t. It was the other driver. He was drunk, and he hit you.” Her desperate expression doesn’t change, so I keep pleading, trying to make her understand. “You have to stop blaming yourself. Your dad would want you to be happy—”
“He wanted me to drive!” The words burst out in a torrent, and she doubles over, tears spilling down her face with each ragged breath. “He asked me to drive that day when he picked me up. I was supposed to be practicing; I had my permit. But I told him no, I was tired and didn’t feel like it, so he didn’t make me. I hardly even talked to him, I was on my phone the whole time, and then that car hit him so hard . . .”
“Rae, stop. Please,” I beg, but she can’t hear me, not over the sobs racking her body.
“I always drove home. I should have been in that seat.” She jerks away from me and lurches to her feet. “That should have been me!”
