The Gateway Through Which They Came (8 page)

Trevor reaches out to touch me, but I pull away.

“We should head out,” I say, desperate for this night to be over. “Trevor, you can drive my car.” I toss him the keys. “Let’s get this over with.”

“Fine,” Evan says, placing the bottle back on the shelf.

Trevor nods sheepishly and follows my lead. We collect our things and head back toward the stairs.

“Oh, by the way,” I say to Evan, eyeing the pool table. “You lost.”

Market Street is bustling with Friday night traffic by the time we make it to the “Black Box.” It’s what they call the 200 Market Building because it’s cloaked in black glass. The entire building is nothing but, and in the daylight it looks as if each window were tinted. As we come upon it now, the Black Box sits ominously in the dark, towering over the streets of downtown Portland.

Rivers Edge Cafe, where we’re going, is one of several businesses located within the building. The cube itself is filled with everything from business to pleasure. It’s also where we find ourselves nearly every Wednesday during the summer when they have free concerts in the plaza.

Student council president, Ebony Murphy, is capable of booking practically any event within the building. Her father runs one of the offices on the top floor, granting her access to the cafe whenever she needs it. I think I speak for most of the school when I say we’re sick of this place.

“Everyone got a breath mint?” Evan asks, checking his hair in the side mirror as we stand outside Izzie. Neither of us is ready to make the first move and follow the other festively dressed students into the building.

It’s seven thirty and the cold hardly makes an impact on my skin considering the alcohol in my system. I shouldn’t be sweating, but the heavy blazer I’m wearing feels like cement against my bones. Everything is weighted, and I blame the thoughts that invade my head, leaving only the image of Koren and the disturbing scene that replays over and over. I can’t stop myself from picturing a group of uniformed men unearthing her body from somewhere deep within the desolate woods. I can only imagine the worst for a girl who’d disappeared, leaving behind no answers to her whereabouts. It sickens me to think she’s alone, cold and afraid, dead and gone, out there where no one would think to find her.

“Do you want to leave?” Trevor asks quietly so as not to attract Evan’s attention.

My mind is hazy. I can only manage a whisper. “No.” I leave him with that, and find my way to the entrance. The shuffling of feet tells me Trevor is helping Evan follow.

Christmas music blares from the speakers within the Black Box, greeting the crowd of customers that await seating at Carafe and Marata, two of the most well-known restaurants in the area. The cafe to the left of us has been decorated with Joseph High banners that indicate a food drive taking place. Four large bins stand outside the door, labeled with food categories to specify which can goes where.

Ebony Murphy greets us at the door. “Food cans?” She cocks an eyebrow, and looks toward our hands where a bag of cans should be.

“We’re just gonna pay the two dollar fee,” Trevor replies, giving her a kind grin.

“The point was to bring actual food. You know, to help people.” She crosses her arms over her chest. She looks beautiful in a simple red dress with a small white bow wrapped around her tiny waist. Her dark complexion is smooth, glowing with a hint of something along her cheeks that only girls can pull off. The shape of her eyes have a catlike effect, and her lashes are so long, it’s hard not to be transfixed when she flutters them at you. There was a time I would have tripped over my words to talk to her, but right now isn’t one of them.

“Just take the money, Ebony,” I mumble.

We each shove two dollars her way and enter into the dimly lit cafe. The tables are the color of avocado, the same color of green used on one section of the wall as you enter, and the rest painted in a rusted red, which fares well for the festivities taking place within it. The obnoxious cheer coming from the others is beyond anything I can handle at the moment. Trevor and Evan are instantly on, talking and mingling with the others, taking the pressure off me. From across the room, I spot Julie Martin waving hello and beckoning me to join her. Before I can wave back or doing anything else, she quickly goes back to her conversation. I blame my pissy mood for not responding, but luckily she’s too distracted to notice. It’s been forever since we’ve had a decent conversation. Not since we spent the summer cleaning the church together anyway.

Avoiding any eye contact with anyone else, I tuck my hands in my pockets and wait it out. Even though Evan always has his blinders on, I know he notices my mood. He gives me a nudge with his elbow, which coming from him means:
Hey man, you okay?
I wave him off and continue to watch my feet. The one time I look up for the sake of looking at something other than the ground, I find Justin Chase sauntering through the cafe entrance. Could this night get any worse?

I roll my eyes and count the minutes. We’re only here to make an appearance, and I remind myself of this every chance I get. All I have to do is make sure Father Williams sees me. Then I don’t have to worry about him hassling me to attend another school function. At least not for another month or so. What is it about these things that people find so important? I don’t get it.

The hair on the back of my neck prickles. Sudden chills slither down my spine, ignoring the heat within my whiskey-polluted blood. I lift my head and blink back the dizziness. My eyes can hardly focus as I take in the scene around me. So many faces talking at once, my mind can’t process their words. It’s like one big surge of sound crashing into my ears.

I squeeze my eyes shut once more, and concentrate. Something is burning into me, and I turn in the direction of the source. In my current state, the Gateway senses are heightened. It’s happens every time I get this way, like I’m somehow more sensitive to the world around me. I use this instinct to direct me where I need to go, but a hum of another Gateway’s presence intrudes my focus. I ignore it for now, to seek out the itch at the back of my neck that won’t quit. I feel the Bleeder through a sea of faces and glittering lights from the decorated tree in the corner. When I sense I’ve met my mark, I open my eyes to a silhouette of a girl standing alone behind the tree’s branches. Her wide eyes peek from between the pine needles, the blue of her eyes staring directly into mine.

My feet stumble forward. I’m only inches from the face I’ve begged to see. I want to reach out for her, to call her name. But even I can’t stop the swimming feeling in my mind as a whiskey-induced nausea sends me crashing to the floor of the Rivers Edge Cafe.

revor manages to get me on my feet and to the bathroom before I spill my stomach contents in front of everyone. He makes up some elaborate lie, and since it’s Trevor, everyone believes him. The drive back to his house is a blur. I can vaguely remember him and Evan getting my hot mess to the car. Luckily for me, they take care of my drunk ass throughout the night, but that doesn’t hold well the next day.

I spend the majority of my Saturday hugging the toilet. It’s not a pretty sight and I’m ashamed I let myself get to this point. Thankfully I have my own bathroom to hide in, but that doesn’t stop Mom from checking on me every thirty minutes. She doesn’t believe the food poisoning story for a second.

“What did you say you ate again?” She’s clearly on to me.

I don’t have to come up with a lie, because the very thought of food makes me vomit more, which in turn, forces her to leave me to my own demise.

Despite that my insides are still on fire, thanks to my old pal Whiskey, I pull myself together the next morning to attend church. (And, yes, my mother is still making me go to church regardless of my current condition.) I manage to crawl my way from my bedroom to the car, the Sunday morning sun a little too bright for my liking.

Along the way, as we drive down Hillsdale Highway toward the Church of Saint Christopher, a glimpse of red hair flashes in my peripheral. I snap to look at it and whip my head so fast, I practically face plant the passenger window.

“Aiden! What the—? Are you all right?” Mom tries to drive straight and check my vitals at the same time. She might be overreacting a little, but I’m used to it.

“Yeah,” I answer, rubbing the area of my forehead that is now slightly pink.

She gives me that wide-eyed, overly-concerned look, and turns back to the road.

I may not be a fan of Redhead, but I can’t deny that I wish it had been her. Like if I saw her, just once, maybe then what I did wasn’t a big deal. That maybe I hadn’t really done what I thought I did. What exactly I did? I still have no clue.

Redhead’s shattered face manifests in my mind during the remainder of our ride to church. Her empty eyes, her gut-wrenching scream. She was a real person once. And I did something to her that I could never take back.

I have to find the answers before it happens again.

This, along with my food drive fiasco, is what forces me into confession, even though the whole ordeal makes me uncomfortable. Not only do I have to confess the lies and my illegal drinking, which is bad enough, but the confession box makes me claustrophobic. And despite all that, I still have this aching urge to speak to someone about what’s happening to me. But I can’t. Not yet, because how do I explain something even I don’t understand?

“I sense a change in you, Aiden,” Father Martin says, when I remain silent. “Maybe we should continue our weekly meetings. You need guidance.”

It’s unsettling the way he uses my name, especially since technically, I should be anonymous in this stupid, shell of a box.

“I’m fine, Father.” Is it too soon to confess that lie?

I fidget with my fingers, uncomfortable with the idea that Father Martin may know. Know what? I’m unsure. Can he sense the monster inside me that I’ve tried so hard to forget? With Koren taking up every second of my thoughts, the thing inside me—the thing Redhead awakened when she touched me—has gone to rest. If only I could ignore it, forget it all together, maybe it would simply stop existing.

My knees readjust along the kneeler. The padding isn’t thick enough for such a long confession. They normally take only a few seconds, in and out. I worry someone will notice the time. It’s been way longer than five minutes. What would Mom think?