After Ever (20 page)

“We made it,” she says. Tears stream down her cheeks. I guide her to a lamp post and we stand inside the halo of flight while she pulls herself together. “I am free,” she whispers in wonder. “Winni
fredi
, I am free!”

“That’s great,” I say with as much sincerity as I can muster, keeping in mind the long scratches that still cover my skin courtesy of her raking fingernails. Francesca might not have been herself when she attacked me, but it still hurt. A lot.

“You have saved me,” she says, staring at me with such reverence that I begin to feel a little uncomfortable.

“Uh, I just did what you told me to,” I say hastily before she does something crazy like give me a hug. “I’m sure you would have done the same. Are you okay now? Can we go get Sam?”

“You
saved
me,” she repeats.

“Yes… That has been established.” I cross my arms and slip out of reach, just in case. Even when I was alive I was never a big hugger. I don’t see any reason that should change now that I’m dead. “Do you think we could go save Sam?”

Francesca dries her cheeks with the hem of her sparkly red shirt and sniffs back the rest of her tears. “Yes,” she says firmly. “I will help you save your Sam. Follow me.”

I am more than happy to relinquish the role of leader and stay right behind Francesca as she leads the way into the bowling alley. The double doors swing shut behind me, closing us in. Inside the alley the lighting is dim and it smells faintly of moth balls and stinky feet. Francesca walks forward confidently, as if she has been in here a million times before. Left with little choice I follow her, looking left and right as I go.

The alley looks as if it has been abandoned for years. Bowling balls in a variety of colors rest in the racks collecting dust. All of the overhead monitors are blank. The food court is dark.

I jump when I hear a bowling ball crash against pins. Without warning the very last lane lights up, revealing a shadowy figure toed up to the line.

“SAM?” I yell out his name and the figure turns, too far away for me to make out his face, yet who else could it be but Sam? I try to push past Francesca but she holds out her arm, blocking my path.

“Wait,” she cautions, her forehead creasing. “There is something very odd about this–”

I don’t let her finish. Shoving her arm aside, I sprint to the last lane. My sneakers slap against the hardwood, echoing extra loud in the empty space. The figure straightens and turns, finally stepping into the light, and an enormous grin pushes my cheeks up when I see it
is
Sam. Through his glasses his gray eyes are bright and his lanky gait is unmistakable as he hurries towards me.

We meet in the middle. I am out of breath and suck in air furiously through my nostrils. I don’t want to mess this up. Sam’s fingers close gently around my upper arms. He draws me close, closer than I have ever been before. My knees wobble, just a little.

“You’re here,” I say dumbly.

“I’m here.”

“You’re okay.” I am a regular word genius.

“I’m okay,” he says quietly.

Our eyes meet. I look away first, staring somewhere in the vicinity of his chest. I can feel my cheeks growing hot and I order my body to pull itself together, but it doesn’t feel like cooperating and the blush creeps up across my entire face. Awesome.

I should say something to break the tension between us, except that it’s a nice tension. The kind you get when you sink into a really good stretch. The kind I don’t want to break.

Sam steps even closer. My thighs bump against his. Our hands brush. I tilt my chin up and wonder if I should close my eyes now or right before he kisses me. But what if he doesn’t want to kiss me? Or what if he kisses me and I forget to close my eyes and he thinks I’m weird? What if I do it wrong? What if our teeth hit? Where should my nose go? What if he wants to French kiss? What
is
a French kiss?

The question zip through my mind one after another, until in a span of mere seconds I am so overwhelmed and flustered I start to pull away. Sam’s hand curves around the back of my neck, holding me in place. My mind goes blank. I think my eyes close, but I’m not sure. I forget to breathe.

His head angles to mine. Our lips touch. It is gentle at first. Sweet. A little clumsy. Then the fingers on my neck tighten. My hair catches. The kiss deepens, but it’s too fast. Too hard. I squirm and try to twist my head away. Sam’s nails dig painfully into my skin, refusing to let go. I panic. My right arm swings up and my open palm catches him hard across his cheek. He reels back, his curses filling the air.

And I know I have made a horrible mistake.   

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

“You’re not him,” I whisper, unable to tear my eyes away from the thing that is wearing Sam’s face. Even as I watch the skin that stretches too tight across his cheek bones ripples and bulges, as if it doesn’t quite fit. “You’re not Sam.”

He leers openly, his lips drawing back to reveal even white teeth. Sam’s teeth, but not Sam’s teeth. Sam’s mouth, but not Sam’s mouth. Sam’s voice, but not Sam’s voice. “I am now, sweetheart,” he says.

Bile rises in the back of my throat. I swallow it down and gag on the taste. Francesca is at my side in an instant, gripping my arm, holding me upright. Her eyes flash with ill disguised revulsion as she glares at the Unknown that has taken over Sam’s body.

“
Craven
.” She snarls his name like it is the foulest word imaginable. Which it is.

“Yes,” he says. “You’ve caught me. Long time no see, sweet thing.” He reaches for her face and she spits at him.

My first instinct as I watch saliva drip down Sam’s cheek is to yell at Francesca. Why would she do that to Sam? Sweet, funny Sam who never hurt anyone. Sweater vest Sam who sacrificed himself to protect me. But this isn’t Sam standing in front of me. This is the thing that took him. The thing that is wearing his face like a Halloween mask.

“Where is he?” I growl, ripping free of Francesca’s grasp to stand toe to toe with Craven. It is hard, harder than I ever imagined anything could possibly be, to stare into Sam’s gray eyes and see through to the monster lurking beneath. To look past his familiar smile and know it isn’t him smiling back at me.

“Be careful,” Francesca says.

“Where is he?” I repeat.

“
Where is he
?
Where is he
?” Craven mocks in a high pitched voice. “You don’t really want that pathetic excuse for a boy, do you sweetheart? He was a waste of a good body. I did you a favor kicking him out of it. All things considered you should really thank me.”

I wish I knew what to do. Standing here trading insults with Craven is getting me no where. I should have paid closer attention to when Sam was explaining the Unknowns. What happens if I can’t get them switched back?
How
do I get them switched back?

“Well this has been fun,” Craven drawls, quirking one eyebrow, “but you’ll have to excuse me. I have things to do. People to see. Places to haunt.” He winks at me and it takes all my strength not to punch the smug look right off his face. It might not be Sam pulling the strings, but it is Sam’s body, and when I get him back into it – which I will do – I don’t want to have to explain why his jaw is broken.

“You’re not going anywhere,” I say.

“Oh no? And just what are you going to do about it?”

It is difficult to imagine this… this
thing
using Sam’s body is the same thing that chased us through the school. Without the mashed up face and the grunting and the wrench as big as my leg, it is almost easy to forget Craven is a monster. He is arrogant, smooth, and almost… charming. As I imagine most serial killers come across in the beginning. It doesn’t exactly help that he is wearing Sam’s face. Sam, who I would never want to hurt in a million years. Sam, who is stuck somewhere in Craven’s rotting corpse.

“I’m going to stop you,” I say. It is a bold prediction. Only time will tell if I can make it come true.

Craven snickers, amused by my attempt to sound like a bad ass. “I’m shaking in my penny loafers.”

“You should be,” says Francesca. She steps up beside me and I feel every muscle in her body vibrating with tension. Like a wolf who has sighted its prey she is poised for the kill. After watching her wield the knife on Peter I have no doubt she could take Craven down bare handed if she was so inclined and suddenly I feel much better knowing I have her on my side.

Craven clucks his tongue. Something flickers in his eyes as he looks at Francesca, something I can’t decipher. There is history here, between these two. Belatedly I recall Francesca’s fierce reaction to the mere mention of Craven’s name when I first brought it up in her bedroom. Where has she met him before? And what effect will it have now?

“You could not save your Demetri,” Craven says.

Beside me Francesca goes stiff as a board. Alarmed, I wrap my fingers around her arm. “Francesca?” I hiss urgently. “What is it? Who is Demetri?”

 “Shall I tell you how he went mad?” Craven continues. His eyes gleam knowingly as he studies the dawning horror on Francesca’s face. “Tearing at his own flesh, ripping out his eyes, screaming like a–”

“STOP IT!” I cry, still looking at Francesca. “Just stop it.”

Too late. As if Francesca has been delivered an invisible knock out punch all of the fight leaves her body. Her shoulders slump. Her gaze drops blindly to the floor. She is defeated. Son of a bitch.

“Oh
no
,” Craven coos. “Is our little warrior too sad to fight? Is she –
oomph
!”

His breath escapes him in a muffled exclamation as I launch myself at him. My hands wrap around his neck choker style. I sink my nails into his skin for leverage, squeezing as the momentum of my body flips us backwards and we crash into a console.

Craven punches me in the side. I don’t even feel it. Hitting, growling, kicking we roll off the console and onto the floor. He catches my chin in an upward jab hard enough to rattle my teeth. I bring my elbow down on his nose, sending Sam’s glasses skittering across the lane. My knee plows into his stomach. He grabs a fistful of dread locks and rips my head back until I see stars. Pain envelops me like a shroud, but it is nothing compared to the furious haze of anger that has taken hold.

By taking Sam’s body Craven didn’t only take Sam away; he stole my only chance at seeing my family again as well. Without Sam to guide me through the After I am lost; a sitting duck for all those other Unknowns out there looking for an easy target. And now somehow he has taken away Francesca as well – the only other person in this miserable place I could consider a friend. Angry doesn’t even begin to cover it.

I fight like someone possessed. My fingernails rake across Craven’s cheek, peeling back layers of flesh. Blood pours from his nose, covering his shirt and mine in a sticky coat of red. A blow to the side of my face catches me off guard and I reel to the side. Together we roll down the lane, our gasps for air and muffled curses punctuating the air.

Struggling to get to my feet I rear up on my knees, but the lane is slick with grease and blood and I slide forward on my belly, ducking my head to escape a punishing hit intended for my face. Craven dives after me and grabs my ankle. I try in vain to kick him off. The heel of my sneaker connects with some part of his body, but he doesn’t let go. With a hard yank he pulls me towards him. My hands skitter across the slick floorboards, trying desperately to grab onto something, but there is nothing to grab.

A hard shot to my back just to the left of my spine renders me immobile. My mouth gapes open. No sound comes out. There isn’t a sound in the world that could do justice to the pain that slices through me like a jagged knife. I think the bastard ruptured one of my kidneys. Do you need two kidneys when you’re dead? Do you need
any
kidneys? Probably something I should have found out before I decided to go one on one with a cold blooded killer.

Catching my breath I flop over, intending to use my legs to push Craven away. Mistake. He is on me in an instant. Skin slides against skin. Blood mixes with grease to create a thick syrup that stains everything a dull red.

His knuckles glance off my cheek. I sink my teeth into his hand. Another punch catches me in the ribs. I arch off the floor and this time I do scream, long and loud. My limbs flail. My fist bounces off the side of Craven’s head but it is a half hearted attempt. I have reached the end of my physical limit.

Sensing I am spent, Craven grins down at me in triumph. “Nice try, Sweetheart. I can see why Sam–”

I jab my thumb in his right eye and twist. Craven howls and falls backwards. I scramble to my hands and knees, slipping and sliding across the floor, reaching for anything that could be used to the turn the tides of a fight I will otherwise lose. By some miracle my fingers close around the top of a bowling pin. The pin is heavy – at least now I know why I suck at bowling – and my arms tremble as I swing it around, intending to knock Craven unconscious, but at the last second he brings his arm up to instinctively protect his face and it’s too late to pull back.

The pin smashes into his forearm. We both hear the bone shatter.

“BITCH,” Craven screams, his face a tight mask of agony as he clutches the broken arm to his chest and writhes on the floor. “I just got this body.”

Dizzy with pain, high on adrenaline, I lean weakly against the back board and smile down at Craven with grim satisfaction. “Then it’s time you gave it back.
Bitch
.”

“Winni
fredi
!” Francesca teeters down the next lane and steps gingerly across the gutter. Her face is still pale, but her eyes are filled with determination. “Here,” she says, shoving something heavy and cold into my hand.

My fingers close around the gun. I stare at it blankly and it doesn’t immediately register why Francesca would be handing me a deadly weapon. Not until Craven’s weak laughter fills the air.

Using his one good arm he manages to reel into a sitting position. Blood continues to run from his nose and the deep grooves I have scratched in his face. One eye is stained an ugly red courtesy of my thumb. I know I must not look much better. The adrenaline that pumped through my veins in the midst of the fight is already fading, leaving me to feel every kick and punch my body suffered. The pain is nauseating and I waver on my feet as my vision blurs.