Blood Beast (14 page)

“A friend offered me a job involving school work. I became an adviser to a network of counselors. I supervised them, provided them with guidelines, helped out with their problems, organized meetings and conferences. The school network I initially covered was far from here. Then, a couple of months ago, I was given an opportunity to relocate. I knew your school would be part of my new network. To be honest, that’s largely what drew me to it.”

She smiles weakly. “I’ve been wanting to get in touch with Dervish since the day I ran off. I haven’t because of fear, guilt, shame. This was a way to take a step closer. I meant to ease myself into his life, observe from a distance for a while, work up the courage to face him again. Then William Mauch got sick just when you and Billy most needed a compassionate and understanding ear. As his superior I was expected to step in for him. As your friend I felt compelled to. So . . .” She shrugs, embarrassed. “Tah-dah!”

“Dervish will be happy,” I grin. “He missed you.”

Her face creases. “Please don’t tell him. Not yet. Not until I’m ready.”

“But —”

“Please.” She stops me, sharp this time. “I’ll see him soon but not right now. Not until I’ve had time to settle in, get my bearings, and finish what I came here to do.”

“What do you mean?”

She leans forward, eyes warm but serious, and says, “I want to talk about your friend, Loch Gossel.” Puts a small, thin hand on one of my large, knobbly ones. “I want to discuss his death and how that hurt you.”

We talk for almost an hour about my friendship with Loch, what he was like, how he died, what I felt, how I’ve coped since then. I feel awkward at first, but Juni listens patiently, asks all the right questions, never pushy, always sensitive. She doesn’t pretend we’re not old friends, but at the same time she treats me like a patient, the way a professional should. No falseness, no charade, not smarmy. I find myself opening up to her, telling her things I haven’t even told Dervish, about my pain, my nightmares, my loss.

We talk about Bill-E a lot. She spent most of the morning with him and she’s worried. “I can’t tell you everything that we talked about,” she says. “I have to respect his privacy. But I got the feeling there was animosity between him and Loch. Would you say that was an accurate assumption?”

“They didn’t get along,” I admit.

“Did they ever fight?”

I smile. “No.”

“Why the smile?”

“Loch was almost as big as me. A wrestler. It wouldn’t have been much of a fight.”

“But they argued?” she presses.

“Loch . . .” I hesitate, not wanting to say anything bad about my dead friend.

“He teased?” Juni guesses.

“Yeah. He picked on Bill-E. Sometimes he was cruel. I didn’t like that but I couldn’t do anything about it. It was Bill-E’s problem, not mine.”

“Was Loch teasing Billy on the day of his death?” Juni asks. She’s not afraid to talk about death openly. Doesn’t hide behind softer terms like “incident” or “accident.” I like that.

I think about it. “A little bit, yeah. But we were tired from di — I mean, from climbing in the quarry. We were all a little cranky.”

“They didn’t fight?”

“No.”

“You didn’t argue with Loch or try to stop him from teasing Billy?”

“Not really.”

“You’re sure?”

I shrug. “I don’t remember everything that was said. The hour or two before he fell is kind of blank. I’m not blocking it out. I just. . . it’s like, when I look back, I’m looking through a mist. Do you know what I mean?”

Juni nods. “I know exactly what you mean. Part of my job will be to help you pierce that mist.”

“Does it matter that much?” I frown.

“Absolutely. It could be a mist of guilt. If you said something ugly to Loch that you regret now, you might have buried it. If you don’t deal with that, it could lie within you for years, then work its way back to the surface, hurting you, making you feel horrible about yourself.”

“Is that what you’re doing with Bill-E?” I ask. “Piercing the mist?”

“Yes. Although it will be harder with him than you. You’re not the still-waters-run-deep type.”

“Huh?”

“You’re honest and straight. What one sees is what one gets. Loch’s death hurt, but I don’t think it struck you to the core like Billy. You’re made of tougher stuff, Grubbs Grady. Tougher than Billy and tougher than me. I doubt we’ll have any serious problems. You’re too plain to be complex.”

“You might be wrong,” I mutter, annoyed at being described that way. “Maybe I just do a good job of covering up my pain and confusion.”

“Perhaps,” Juni says. “But don’t worry, I make no rash assumptions. If you
are
suffering deep inside, I’ll find out and help. You have my word on that.”

We talk a while longer about Loch’s teasing and what I thought of it. Then a bit more about the day he died, how long I held him, my efforts to keep him alive, my feelings when I realized he was dead. I cry at that point. Juni makes no move to comfort me, just sits, watching, waiting. When I recover, she hands me a tissue to wipe my cheeks dry, then moves on.

At the end of the session she stands and shakes my hand. When I try to pull away, she grips tight, pink eyes finding mine and holding them. “Billy promised not to tell Dervish about me. If you can’t make that promise or feel strange about it, please say so. I want to be the one to tell him I’m here. I’d rather do it later, when I’m ready, but if you feel like I’m putting you in an awkward position, I’ll do it now.”

“No.” I smile. “I’ll keep it quiet. He doesn’t take much of an interest in school life. If he asks, I’ll tell him some nutty dame replaced Misery Mauch. I bet he won’t even ask for your name.”

“Thank you.” She releases me. “We’ll talk again tomorrow if you don’t mind.”

“I’d like that.”

She smiles broadly, then ushers me out, leaving me to wander back to class, head buzzing, lips lifting at the edges, feeling for the first time since Loch’s death that there might be a touch of silver to what previously seemed to be a bleak, black beast of a future.

Home Visit

B
ILL-E improves over the next few days. He starts talking again, loses that faraway look in his eyes, stops moping around like a zombie. He sings Juni’s praises whenever we meet. Tells me how closely she listens, how she understands him perfectly and says the right things at exactly the right moments.

“I never saw her in action in Slawter,” he says as we trudge out of school, Thursday afternoon. “I didn’t realize how cool she was. I thought it would be weeks, maybe months, before I could smile again. But look at me!” He grins widely. “She’s a miracle worker.”

I smile, slightly strained, ridiculously jealous. I’ve seen Juni every day but our sessions have been brief. She’s spending far more time with Bill-E than me, and when we meet, she talks more about Bill-E’s feelings than my own.

“I feel like I can say anything to her,” Bill-E gushes. “She’s like . . .” He stops. We’re about to turn a corner. There’s a bum sitting on the pavement, his back against the wall, head low, face hidden by a bushy beard and straggly hair. Bill-E reaches into his right pocket, then his left. Finds some change and holds out his hand. The tramp doesn’t respond immediately, then reaches out without looking up. Bill-E drops the coins into the bum’s hand and smiles. The guy doesn’t smile back. Bill-E shrugs and moves on.

“Where was I?” he asks.

“Discussing the miracle worker,” I grunt.

“Oh, yes!” And he’s off again, Juni this, Miss Swan that. I want to snap at him to shut up, he’s driving me crazy with his fan talk. But that would be cruel and childish of me. And I’d only be saying it because I envy the hours and secrets they share.

Friday. I try getting Juni to take more of an interest in me. I tell her about my parents and Gret, what my emotions were when they were murdered and how I felt after all the killing in Slawter
.
I run her through a few of my grislier nightmares. I expect her to jump at this fresh information and pump me for all the juicy details. But I expect wrong.

“That’s ancient history,” she says. “I don’t think it’s relevant now.”

“But I thought it was all linked,” I sputter. “The past. . . the present. . . that what I felt then influences what I feel now.”

“Of course,” she says. “But I believe you’ve dealt with the past adequately. Your nightmares are natural, a healthy way of releasing tension and confronting your fears. I see no reason to reopen old wounds. Don’t you agree?” She waits, one eyebrow raised.

I shift awkwardly in my seat, blushing.

“It’s not a contest, Grubbs,” Juni says quietly. I stare at her uncertainly. “My time isn’t something you need to fight with Billy for. My relationship with Billy in school is the same as with you — purely professional. I spend more time with him because he needs me more. There are others who need me too. I’ve met with several students over the past week, including Loch’s sister, Reni, at her home.”

“You’ve met Reni?” I ask, startled.

Juni nods. “Like I told you on Monday, I’m not an ordinary guidance counselor. My work takes me outside the classroom. Reni is really suffering. But she’s coping. She’ll be back in school next week. And when she comes, I’ll be spending time with her here. Which means I’ll have even less time for you. That can’t be an issue.”

“Of course it isn’t. I never. . . I didn’t . . .”

“It’s all right,” she smiles. “Jealousy is normal, even in a boy your age.”

“I’m not jealous,” I huff.

“Maybe not. But if you are, it’s OK. We can’t help irrational feelings. The important thing is to recognize such feelings and not allow them to fester. I don’t want a rift to develop between you and Billy.”

“I don’t know what you’re —”

“Grubbs,” she interrupts, “I’m being blunt because I respect you. This is how I’d address an adult. If you want, I can treat you like a child and tiptoe around these issues. But if —”

“OK,” I cut in, angry but cool. “It’s no big deal. I understand. I can keep a handle on my . . .” I scowl, then spit it out. “My jealousy.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” Juni smiles, patting my right hand. “Now that we have that out of the way, let’s talk some more about Billy and what you, as his best friend, can do to help him manage his pain.”

Marching home, thinking about what Juni said. She saw through me as if I was made of glass and knew exactly how to deal with me. She’s in a different league from Misery Mauch. Every school should have a counselor like Juni Swan, someone who can really connect with —

A man steps out in front of me and I almost crash into him. I have to take a quick step back. It’s a homeless person. He’s standing in the middle of the narrow path that leads from Carcery Vale to my home. He’s staring at me with small, dark eyes. Very hairy. Smells bad. Dressed in shabby clothes that are thirty or forty years out of date. Wears a small bunch of flowers in one of his upper buttonholes. They look ridiculously out of place.

“Excuse me,” I mutter, trying to inch my way around him. He doesn’t react. I take a more cautious look — we’re alone, nobody in sight, flanked by trees. My warning senses kick in. I prepare to run or fight if I need to. But the man makes no threatening moves. Just stares at me, saying nothing, hands by his sides, eyes steady.

“Could you. . . ?” I make a sign for him to move over. But he still doesn’t budge. Sighing, I step off to the side, trampling down a patch of weeds. I wave sarcastically at the clear path. The bum nods at me slowly, then walks past.

Shaking my head, I get on the path again and head for home. I’ve taken no more than five or six steps when I remember the bum from yesterday, the one Bill-E gave money to. I turn to give him the once-over, wondering if it’s the same guy. But the path is empty. No sign of him. He must have slipped back into the forest. It’s like he disappeared.

Homework. Struggling with a complicated chemistry formula when somebody knocks at the front door. I gratefully close my textbook and go see who’s there, happy for an excuse to take a break.

It’s Juni.

“Hello, Grubbs,” she says nervously. “Is your uncle in?”

“Yeah. But. . . um. . . I thought you didn’t want to see him yet.”

“I didn’t.” She laughs lightly. “Then, on my way to my hotel, I found myself taking a left instead of a right and I ended up here.” She shrugs. “I guess the part of me that makes the big decisions thinks that it’s time.”

“Do you want me to call him, or would you rather go find him yourself?”

“Call him, please. It would be more polite.”

“Dervish!” I bellow, then gesture for Juni to enter. “May I take your coat?” I ask as she steps inside.

“Thank you.” She takes it off and passes it to me. Her fingers tremble as we touch. I think about taking hold of her hand and giving it a friendly squeeze, but before I can, Dervish comes trotting down the stairs from his study.

“There’s no need to roar,” Dervish grumbles. “I’m not deaf. I can. . . ”

He sees Juni. Comes to a complete halt, left foot in midair. His jaw slowly, comically drops.

“Hello, Dervish,” Juni says, waving awkwardly. “I’m back.” And they blink at each other like a pair of startled owls.

Two hours later. Dervish and Juni have spent the time shut inside the TV room. I’ve been in the kitchen, where I’m still stuck on the same chemistry problem. Not that I’ve been trying hard. Most of my thoughts have been devoted to Dervish and Juni, and the things they might be discussing. Part of me wants to creep to the door and eavesdrop but that would be sneaky and unfair. I’d hate it if somebody did that to me, so I’m not going to do it to them.

About half an hour after that, when Juni’s gone to the bathroom, Dervish pops into the kitchen. He puts the kettle on, prepares two mugs, grabs some cookies, then sits beside me. He’s grinning softly. “You should have told me,” he says, but there’s no anger in his voice.

“She asked me not to,” I reply.

“I know, but . . .” He chuckles. “No. It doesn’t matter. Maybe it was better this way. The shock was nice. I’m just glad I didn’t fall down the stairs and break my neck.” He looks at me. “Juni told me about the counseling — without revealing any of the confidential details. Said you’re doing great, all things considered. She thinks you’re a marvel. Said if everyone had your powers of recovery, she’d be out of a job.”