Mayhem (16 page)

“You have to choose sides, Jake. It's us or them,” she says.

“Don't tell me what to do,” I yell at her because the howling is so loud I don't think if she was standing right next to me she could hear me.

“Fatima says—”

This time when I open my mouth there's a roar that shakes the ground we're standing on. I feel it then, the darkness. It's
inside me now, from the tips of my toes to the pricks of hair at the base of my neck. I'm full of darkness and rage, and Sasha's in my way of total dominance.

“Don't say her name! Don't say anything to me!”

“Jake, he's using you. He'll kill you once he gets your power.”

“No!”

“Yes, Jake,” another female voice says, and I look over to see Fatima wearing all white, her red hair flying in rivulets behind her. “If he gets the Vortex the light will be swallowed and devoured. He will have all power, the world as you know it will be forever dark.”

“Just like an eclipse,” I say. “Styx creates the eclipse. She is the darkness and I am from her.”

“Styx controls the eclipse, she gave you your power to help you fight when the time came. Charon will take all that you have. He will kill you like he did your great-uncle and your mother. And your grandfather.”

There's a vibration in my head, like two sides of a war going at it no holds barred. Around me the zombies are attacking the black silhouettes. I guess I'm feeling their battle internally. I hear so many voices, feel so much anguish and so much strength I don't know what to do.

My head hurts, my skin burns as it feels like I'm literally splitting in two. The rage occupying one heated half of my body and the swirling coolness of the light holding up the other side.

“My uncle was a Vortex,” I hear myself mumbling.

“In Charon's world there can only be one ruler. He believes it is his destiny to control all the worlds. He was collecting evil souls and demonic powers instead of delivering them to the
Underworld as was his job. Styx found out and cursed him. He vowed vengeance in whatever world he could get it. Here is where he's trying to gain control. You are the only defense on this plane, Styx cannot interfere here.”

I almost sighed but for the chaos going on around me—finally I was getting some answers. But was it too late?

I hear screaming, like something's tearing the very soul from someone. A glance to my right shows me it's Lindsey as she falls to the ground holding her forehead and her stomach. The look on her face is one of anguish or uncontrolled pain. Sasha runs to her side just as I tear my gaze away.

“Listen to what I say, Jake. My message comes to you this time from not only Styx but from your mother.”

“Mom?” I can't help but turn my attention to Fatima at this moment.

“She died so that you could live to choose. Her light could not cover you forever, but she tried. And when Charon came for her she sent you a Guardian to prepare you for this moment.”

“Pop Pop is gone,” I cry falling to my knees. “He's gone. Forever! And nobody cares!”

Somebody touches my shoulder. I think it's Fatima because the touch brings a coolness to that side of my body that was burning with heat.

“I care, Jake,” a familiar voice says as another touch goes to my opposite shoulder.

The coolness spreads through my body as I look up to see Krystal. She's no longer chanting but standing beside me, just like Fatima.

“I care what you choose.”

Lowering my head I feel the rage swirling in the pit of my
stomach. It's too late. What they're saying is too late. Fatima giving me answers is too late. I want to scream my outrage.

But when I look up again I see her.

“Your friend called. She said you needed me so I came. Again.”

This is a voice I also know. One I've missed for the last ten years. As I look into her eyes I feel a clenching in my chest I've never felt before.

“Mom.”

“Yes, baby,” she whispers. “You've grown to be such a good boy, Jake. Good and strong. Now I need you to be strong enough to make the right choice. To fulfill your destiny.”

Overhead it seems the sky is so angry it's breaking in two with bolts of lightning. The black silhouettes are everywhere, with even more ravens dropping from the sky. The heat is intense and pulls at me from every angle.

But as I look from my mother, to Krystal, to Fatima, the coolness overwhelms me. My mother's light coupled with Krystal's touch and Fatima's knowledge cocoon me. My legs tremble as I begin to stand. The tingling in my biceps stops, but I feel confident nonetheless.

Looking up toward the raging sky with my eyes wide open I mutter the words that may seal my fate. No matter, it is as my mother and my grandfather said before, it is my destiny.

“I am the light. I am a Mystyx!”

As if I'd pulled an invisible plug, everything stops. The ravens and black silhouettes disappear, zombies creep back into coffins that fall seamlessly into the ground. The sky is quiet, the wind still. When I look to my mother she is a fading sight but she's smiling and blowing me kisses. Like the six-year-old who boarded the bus as she watched from the curb her last
day on Earth, I lift my hand, kissing my fingers then blowing toward her.

The ache in my chest is slightly lifted because I now know why she left me. Not of her choice but because it was time. I thought it wasn't Pop Pop's time, but looking over my shoulder I see that his casket too has descended into the ground just like the others in the cemetery. It was his time, as well.

And it was my time, to do what I had to do. To play my part in whatever this battle was. I stand strong and clasp the hand reaching out to mine, knowing that I did good. I did what I was supposed to do.

“Mine,” Krystal says, looking up to me with that gorgeous smile.

Lifting her hand to my lips I kiss her fingers. “Mine.”

“Yours,” Fatima's voice interrupts just as Sasha and Lindsey come to stand near me and Krystal.

“The battle is yours, young Mystyx. Charon will not rest until he's either won or lost with finality.”

“Does that mean he'll be back?” Sasha asks with a frown.

Krystal sighs. “He will be back, and the next time he's going to pull out all the stops. I've seen the battle, but I don't know how it ends.”

“With pain,” Lindsey says. “With lots and lots of pain.”

Two weeks
after Pop Pop's funeral Dad and I have an appointment with Principal Dumar and the two officers that came to my house. The minute I walk into the room I know things are not going to go my way.

I'm wearing slacks and a dress shirt. Thankfully I convinced Dad that a tie would be overkill. I hadn't worn a tie since the funeral and before that it was my middle-school graduation. I actually hadn't intended to put another one on until high-school graduation. Judging by the way Dumar's staring at me, that's probably not going to happen, not in Lincoln anyway.

“Why are they here?” Dad asks instantly, nodding toward the two cops.

Dad's wearing slacks, a dress shirt and a tie. He looks distinguished, important. Even if it's the same outfit he wore to the funeral.

“They have some questions,” Dumar says.

Now he's the one who should be consulting a fashion magazine. His suit looks at least twenty years old and is this gray-and-yellow-looking tweed, I think you call it. It looks hot and itchy, and the puke-green shirt he's wearing with it is just awful. I'm not even going to address the tie or the scuffed shoes. Let's just say Dumar could use an extreme makeover.

“My son's not answering any police questions without a lawyer,” Dad tells them.

Dumar holds up a hand. “Then I will be the only one asking questions.”

“That's a lie,” I say, which earns a scowl from Dumar and a warning glare from Dad.

“No. I don't see why they have to be here,” Dad tells them.

I'm proud of him. Not that I haven't been in the past, but in these last couple of weeks Dad and I have grown a little closer, talking a little more. He's on my side. I know this now, not just because he's been saying it over and over, but because I can feel it. Especially now as we stand off against Dumar and the cops.

Dumar looks from the cops to Dad. “Look, I want to get to the bottom of what's going on just like you do, Mr. Kramer. There's been a formal complaint filed against your son by two boys at the school. I couldn't put the police out of this proceeding if I wanted to.”

“Then anything said here is off the record. And afterward,” Dad says, pointing to the cops, “I want to file an official complaint against those boys.”

Officer Butthead scowls, while Officer Mustache just gives a curt nod.

“Fine,” Dumar says and signals for the officers to take a seat. “This is Officer Colter,” he says, returning to Mustache, “and this is Officer Butler.”

The similarity in his real name and my made-up one for him is too funny.

“You think this is a laughing matter, kid?” Officer Butthead…I mean Butler, says.

“His name's Jake,” Dad says.

When we're all finally seated Dumar opens a file. I guess it's a file on me but I've never seen it. “Mr. Kramer, since the first day of school there have been reports of incidents with your son and two other students.”

“Say their names,” Dad tells him. “If Jake has to sit here and be confronted by you and the cops you can say the other boys' names.”

Dumar just nods. “The other students are Mateo Hunter and Pace Livingston. Now, these boys have stellar reputations in this school.”

“Yeah, because they're jocks. Without them Settleman's wouldn't have a chance at the regionals,” I add. Because we're the only high school in town, as far as school sports go, we compete directly with the schools in the next city instead of first competing in a local school district.

“I assure you that does not get them preferential treatment,” Dumar argues.

I just give him a “yeah, right” stare.

“Now, I don't know what Jake's problem is with these boys but he continues to assault them.”

Dad's shaking his head. “Mr. Dumar, that doesn't even sound right. Why would Jake confront not one but two boys, repeatedly? Don't you think there has to be something else going on here? Something else like bullying?”

“Sure,” Butthead buts in. “Your son's bullying those boys.”

“Right,” I say. “I'm bullying two seniors, pounding on them every chance I get. That makes a lot of sense.” Even though lately I have been getting the upper hand with Pace and Mateo, that's most likely why I'm sitting here now.

Officer Colter jumps up, leaning over the table toward me. “You need to learn to keep your mouth shut, boy.”

Dad stands and leans over the table right back at Officer Colter. “And you're about to be reported to your chief for harassing my son.”

Colter's face turns a girly shade of pink as he sits back in his chair. Dad might not have supernatural powers but he's sure fighting on my behalf.

“Tell him how long they've been bothering you, Jake,” he says and my stomach churns.

I don't want to be a snitch. I just want to deal with Pace and Mateo on my own terms. Unfortunately, that got me kicked out of school, and after having a little time to think about it, I realize getting my education is a lot more important than keeping my mouth shut.

“It started in elementary. Just little stuff like throwing paper at me, calling me names. Just last year it escalated.”

“Escalated how?” Dumar asks.

I shrug. “They'd post a few things in chat groups about me. Name-calling got worse and then they started pushing on me.”

Dumar nods. “And this year you decided to push back?”

“Yeah,” I say, slamming my hand on the table. “I'm sick of them thinking they're better than me, that I should bow down to them because they have more money than I do. They're jerks and I don't care what you say, if they bother me again, I'm fighting back. I'm not ignoring them anymore!”

Dad puts a hand on my shoulder and I shut up.

“It's all right, son. You've got a constitutional right to defend yourself. Just like the school has a right to do something about bullying. And if Mr. Dumar doesn't, I will.”

Dumar drags a hand down his paunchy face. “Now, threats aren't necessary.”

“It's not a threat, Mr. Dumar. I promise you if you and your staff don't do something about this situation I will go over your head. My son shouldn't have to come to school ready to use his fists to fight for respect. He shouldn't be faced with assault charges because some kids think they're better than him. And I'm not going to tolerate it.”

Before Dumar can come up with a response to Dad's stellar argument there's a knock on the door and then it opens. I'm shocked to see Mr. Strickman coming in. He looks right at me and I feel like he's trying to tell me something.

“Excuse me, but I heard this meeting was taking place and I wanted to be sure I didn't miss it.”

“Mr. Strickman, you've already filed your report on the incident that happened in your gym class. There's no need for you to be here,” Dumar says quickly.

It's then that I notice Dumar's sweating. His wrinkly forehead is beaded with sweat and the thin strands of rusty orange hair are sticking to his pale skin.

Mr. Strickman holds up a hand to stop Dumar's words. “I wanted to make sure my report and my comments went on record here. Mr. Kramer, Jake shouldn't be the one expelled. Hunter and Livingston intentionally goaded and assaulted him. I've seen them do this on a few occasions, including the one in the hallway.”

Strickman had been in the hallway that morning? I hadn't seen him. Then again, I wasn't really on the lookout for teachers that day.

“What, are you in cahoots with the trackers?” Officer Butthead asks.

Strickman sort of cocks his head, staring at Butthead like he can see right through him. “Are you in cahoots with them?”

And I don't know, but the way he says
them
has me wondering.

“No. No. Let's just calm down,” Dumar says, huffing like he's run around the track a few times. With fumbling fat fingers he closes the folder he'd opened a few minutes ago. “Look, maybe I do have some of the facts wrong. But I'll get to the bottom of it. This meeting is over.”

“No, it's not,” Dad says. “My son needs to be reinstated. He shouldn't be put out of school for defending himself.”

The cops look at Dumar but Dumar avoids their gaze like an addict steering clear of rehab. He looks at Dad instead. “He can come back tomorrow.”

“And what about those boys?” Dad asks. “I want to know what's going to be done about them. Because if they keep harassing Jake I'll have them arrested.”

Butthead makes a sound under his breath but Strickman adds, “And I'll back up any complaint Mr. Kramer makes with my own.”

Now there are two people on my side, Dad and Strickman. I don't know how to react to this.

“I'll take care of it,” Dumar says. “Don't worry. I'll handle it all.”

Dad stands and I follow his lead. “Good. I expect you to. Come on, Jake.”

As I follow Dad out of the room we're stopped in the hall by Strickman. He's wearing khaki pants and the school's white polo shirt. He looks like a college student instead of a teacher. He extends his hand to Dad and says, “I'm Dan Strickman. I've got Jake for gym last period.”

Dad nods and shakes Strickman's hand. “Thanks for what you did in there. I just hope it helps.”

Strickman smiles. “I think it will. See you in class tomorrow, Jake,” he says to me.

He's got that look again, like he's saying something to me but not in words.

I just nod. “Yeah, sure.”

Dad and I leave the school and instead of going home we head to Maggie's, where we share some burgers and conversation that has nothing to do with school or supernatural powers.

“How're you holding up?” Dad asks when he's almost finished his burger. “I know you've been through a lot and learned a lot these past few weeks.”

I shrug, then think better of giving him a blasé answer. It's time I start trusting my dad a little more. After all, he's all the family I have now. “I guess I'm coping. I miss Pop Pop.”

He nods. “I know. I do, too.” Then Dad takes a couple fries into his mouth, chewing while he seems to be thinking of something else to say. “I miss your mom, too.”

I can't believe he just said that. “How did she die?” I ask.

“All she ever wanted was to keep you safe until you grew up and she could explain everything to you. She wanted to teach you about the powers herself. But she didn't get the chance.”

“I don't know how he found you, but she left me a note that morning after I'd gone to work that said things didn't look good but that you were the priority. That no matter what, Pop and I were to look out for you. Then she was gone.”

His voice hitched then he cleared his throat. “I never even had a body to bury.”

“Just like Uncle William.” I sigh. “You think that's what happened with Pop Pop?”

“Pops was old and he was sick. But he also had knowledge
of this other world that I could never understand. There are some humans like that, you know. They know about that place and the ones that live there. Pop knew and he believed with all his heart. I think the one that wanted you knew that. I think he may have played a part in Pop's last moments, sort of giving him a supernatural push. But Pop's time on Earth was almost over anyway.”

“That's why we had Pop Pop's body to bury?”

“Maybe. Or maybe it's just because he wasn't from that other world. Maybe they can't just take a human body. I don't know.”

Then Dad reaches across the table, touching my arm.

“What I do know is that I love you, son. And I'm behind you in this mission you have. Although I'm not from that place, never doubt my commitment to you.”

I nod, feeling closer to Dad than I ever have before. “I won't.”

“Now,” he says, picking up his burger and pausing before taking a bite. “Tell me about this girl you're seeing. Is she like you?”

I think about Krystal and all I can say is, “She's great.”

Dad knows a lot about girls, some of which was a little weird hearing from him, but it's nice to be able to talk about everything with him, the good and the bad.

So even though this day started out a little shaky, it's ending kind of cool.

I wonder how long that will last.

 

“I'm getting my license in a couple of weeks,” I say to Krystal as we're walking from the bus stop toward Sasha's house. We're meeting there again.

They invited me, so I guess that means things are back to normal. I'm still a little irritated that they were talking about me behind my back, but I guess if they thought I was in danger of becoming evil they didn't really have a choice.

“Cool,” she says.

We're holding hands as we walk but she's looking the other way, kind of like she has something else on her mind.

“I've got some money saved. Dad says he'll match it and I can buy a car. Nothing fabulous, just something so I can stop supporting the public transportation system.” I laugh a little, trying to get her attention.

“That should be nice,” she says. But she's been strangely quiet today.

“Is there something wrong?”

She looks at me. “No.”

I keep looking at her, knowing she's not telling me the truth.

“Well, yes. I mean, I've just been wondering how it felt. To like, be almost evil, how did it feel?”

Great, she's still thinking about that, too. I guess I should have expected it. I'd probably have more questions, too if I were her. “It feels weird and scary,” I say honestly. “It's no fun not knowing who you are or what you're meant to be.”

“Do you know now?”

A car drives by, adding a little noise to the otherwise quiet afternoon. I shrug. “I guess.”

We walk a little farther and I ask a question that's been burning in my mind for days. “My mom said my friend called her, that day in the cemetery. Did you call her?”