Twice Shy (11 page)

"Is that cool or what?" Fey asked.

"Man..." Ani replied.
What is wrong with your demented little brain?
"Any idea where Travis is staying?"

Fey shrugged. "I don't keep tabs on the guy. Hope he had insurance."

I hope there's enough evidence to land Dylan in jail.

*  *  *

Ani sat at the grand piano in a full-sleeved black dress that covered her from neck to ankle.
Thank God I don't have to wear a costume.
Two years ago her mother had forged a diagnosis of
erythropoietic protoporphyria
—extreme sensitivity to sunlight. It got her out of outdoor activities in Phys Ed, it explained the discoloration of her skin, and it had the side benefit that Mr. Bariteau let her wear whatever she wanted to concerts, as long as it was "classy." How a man concerned with class could require elf costumes she would never know. Mr. Classy was, of course, dressed as Santa, complete with a fake beard and bushy eyebrows.

Devon was first flute, and, while she had given Ani a look when she walked in, it was more appraising than hostile. Mike sat with the baritones on the chorus risers, and her mom sat in the back of the auditorium, as usual. Fey didn't come—too cheery—and Jake wouldn't be caught dead there. There was no sign of Dylan, who should have been sitting with the tenor saxophones.

The band was first. They played several pop standards—
Winter Wonderland
,
White Christmas
,
Sleigh Bells
—as well as some lesser-known works such as James Curnow's
Christmas Troika
. As an interlude between the band and the chorus, Ani got to show off a little with Tchaikovsky's
The Seasons: December-Christmas
. It was the only thing on the docket that required any real skill, and it was light and upbeat and happy.

She closed her eyes and launched into it, her fingers frolicking across the keys. The acoustics in the auditorium were acceptable but not great. She thought of sledding and cozy fires and happy children, concentrating on getting the emotion of the piece correct. The notes would take care of themselves.

She was two-thirds through and proud of her performance when someone shrieked. Her eyes came open as her mother screamed her name. Mike sprinted at her from the left, his face twisted in hate. She cringed over the keys as he dove, arms wide in a grapple. As he flew over her, his foot caught her shoulder, spinning her from her seat.

She fell to the floor, too stunned to move. Dylan scrambled from under Mike and bolted for the front exit, sobbing. People scattered out of his way. Mr. Clark blocked the door, then raised his hands and stepped out of the way. Dylan swung a pistol toward the crowd, backing them up, and then bolted out of the auditorium. Children wailed.

Ani crawled over to Mike, who lay on his side. She saw the blood pooling on the floor, and screamed, "MOM!" He reached for her face. She slapped his hand away and tore his shirt, exposing a deep gash on his abdomen. A kitchen knife lay under him.

His voice was thick, confused. "Ani?"

Devon knelt next to her as she pressed her hands over the wound, Mike's hot blood flowing through her fingers. It smelled like iron and steak, and she felt her salivary glands pump what little fluid existed into her mouth. She looked down at him, hungry for the first time in weeks, and drowned in his eyes.

"Ani… I thought he was… I couldn't let..."

She heard Mr. Bariteau on the phone with 911.

"Shhh..." she said. "You'll be okay, Mike."

Her mother body-checked her out of the way, latex gloves already on her hands. Ani almost face-planted on the stage floor as her hands slipped in the blood. "Go wash up," her mother said. She looked at Ani, her brow streaked with worry. "Now."

She was escorted to the bathroom by a throng of concerned adults and students on nervous lookout for Dylan. As she scrubbed the blood from her hands, careful to get every trace from under her fingernails, she got them to back off as they told her what happened. The hunger faded to an ember's glow, lingering in the background but under control.

Dylan had come from nowhere. He leaped out of the orchestra pit with a knife in his hand, raised over his head, point down, ready to do... something. Kill her. Kill himself. Nobody was sure.

At last the water in the drain ran clear, and she returned to the stage. The sight of blood spiked her hunger, but it was a distant thing, lurking without strength in her gut. Mike was on a stretcher from the nurse's office, his side wrapped in bandages. Devon covered his face with soft kisses as he murmured to her, and Ani strangled a spike of jealousy. Her mom finished setting up a saline drip, then turned to Ani.

"It's superficial," she said, drawing Ani's gaze from Mike, her face in full-on doctor mode. "Painful, but a few stitches and he'll be fine." She lifted Ani's hands one at a time, examined them, and then let them go. "How are you?"

"I'm okay, Mom. Just a little shaken up." Her mom held her gaze. "I'm fine. Really."

"Okay," she said, and pulled Ani to her chest, squeezing tight. Ani's stomach lurched at the proximity, but she held strong. "We'll get him, Ani. The police will find him, and they'll lock him in a padded room forever."

Chapter 14

They stitched up Mike, held him for observation, and released him the next morning with a prescription for painkillers and bed-rest. Whatever connection Ani thought she might have made with Devon had disappeared, killed and eaten by psychotic, hormone-crazed jealousy. Ani avoided her when she could and used Fey for cover when she couldn't.

That night the phone rang, interrupting her mom's dinner. Ani didn't recognize the number, but it was local. Her mom was mid-chew, so Ani hit 'Send' and put it to her ear.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Sarah?" The voice was female but she didn't recognize it.

"It's Ani. Let me get—"

"Oh, Ani, thank God you're alright! This is Mrs. Johnson. Dylan's mom." Ani’s bugged out eyes glared at her mom, who was eavesdropping. "I'm so, so sorry. I don't know what came over my little boy." She started to sob.

Ani held the phone and waited, with no idea what to say.
It's okay? I hope the cops catch him soon?

"Are you there?"

"Yeah, I'm here," Ani said.

Mrs. Johnson sniffled. "Well I just wanted to say I'm sorry for everything."

"Okay," Ani said. "Thank you for calling." She hit 'End' and set the phone down. Her mom took another bite of mashed potatoes. "That was weird."

Mrs. Johnson called again the next day, and the day after that she stopped by with a plate of cookies.

*  *  *

Aside from nervous waiting for some word from the police, the only excitement was when Ani's five-week grades came out on the 23rd—and it wasn't the good kind of excitement. Even though she had done all of her work, her test scores were a shambles. It was hard to concentrate with the thought of Dylan appearing behind her, knife in hand. Even moving her seat to the back of the classroom, where she had a full view of the door and windows, didn't help. Her mother remained firm—she was grounded. Not that she had a job or a life, or was allowed to go see anyone in the first place.
Like grounding a houseplant.

Still, come Christmas Eve the house smelled like cinnamon and nutmeg and the pine wreath over the mantle, Bing Crosby crooned on the stereo, and their fake plastic tree twinkled with colored lights and ornaments.
Things could be a lot worse.

The doorbell rang.

Ani looked at her mom. "I got it," she said. "Maybe it's the police." Her mom moved over to the couch as Ani checked the peep-hole. "It's Mike!"

Her mom
tsk-
ed and moved back to her desk. Ani schooled her face blank, then undid the double deadbolts and opened the door.

"Merry Christmas," she said. "Come on in."

She stepped aside so he could do just that, shut the door behind him, and re-set the locks.

"Merry Christmas, Ani." He handed her a small box wrapped in gold paper. "Merry Christmas, Mrs. Romero."

"Miss. Or Doctor." She smiled at him. "Merry Christmas to you, too. Make yourself at home."

Ani set the gift on the piano while Mike removed his boots.  "Do you want something to drink?" she asked. He shook his head.

"No, I'm good," he said. She sat on the couch, and he sat next to her, then glanced at the present.

"I didn't get you anything," she said.
Dammit, dammit, dammit.

"That's okay," he replied. "I wasn't expecting anything."
Neither was I, but I should have gotten you something anyway.

They sat in awkward silence, thighs touching, him staring at the floor while she stared at the shuttered window. Her mom scribbled in a notebook, and the pencil scratching across the paper was the loudest thing in the room.

Mike cleared his throat. "Hey, I got my mom a keyboard, a Yamaha DGX-530. Got it used on Craigslist."

Ani smiled, trying not to stare at him. "Wow. That's a nice machine."
Expensive.
"I didn't know she plays."

Mike returned her smile.
Why is it so hard to breathe when I don't even have to?
"She doesn't, but she's always wanted to. I was hoping you'd give her some lessons."

"Uh..." Ani said. Her mom frowned at her from across the room. "Um..." Her mom shook her head. She looked at Mike.
I can't say no to those eyes.
She held up a finger. "Don't go anywhere. I'll be right back."

She rushed to the study, pulled a Christmas card from the file, and wrote in it.
This card good for ten hours of lessons at Ani's house.
She popped it into an envelope, sealed it, walked back to the couch and held it out to Mike. "Give her that."

He took the envelope, looked at it, then looked at Ani. "Okay, thanks." She stood in front of him, and they stared at each other. He looked at his knees. "Um, I got to get going." She took a step back as he stood. She noticed him wince as he got to his feet.

"Thanks again, Mike. For everything."

He hugged her, and held it for a bit longer than was proper for a boy with a girlfriend. His whisper in her ear was fierce. "They'll catch him, Ani." He stepped back, put on his boots, and was gone.

The moment the door closed her mother slammed the notebook shut. "You are not going to that boy's house for piano lessons."

Ani suppressed the urge to roll her eyes. "I know, Mom. I'm giving her ten hours of lessons here. I had to do something."
I wanted to do something.

Her mom frowned at the door. "Yes. I suppose you did."

Ani approached the gold-wrapped box like it was a rattlesnake. She picked it up, bit her bottom lip, and looked at her mom. It was light and made no noise when she shook it.

"Oh, sweetie, you're a basket case. Christmas Eve is close enough."

She tore off the wrapping paper, revealing a white box. She pulled off the lid and a card fell to the floor. Underneath was a pewter ring of tiny skulls with red glass for eyes. Engraved on the inside it said,
For Ani. Forever your friend. Mike.
She put it on her middle finger and held it out to her mom, who smiled up at her.

"It's vile," Ani said. "I love it." She put a hand to her mouth, reached down and picked up the envelope. Inside was a handwritten note on plain stationery.

*  *  *

Dear Ani,

I didn't realize how much you still meant to me until last week. I'm so sorry I couldn't hold on to him. I'm sorry that I pushed you away. I'll call you tomorrow. Please don't show this to anyone.

Forever your friend,

Mike.

*  *  *

Her mom held out her hand, and Ani handed her the note. Her eyes scanned it twice, three, four times. Finally, she looked up. "I know that look, Ani. Be smart."

Ani swallowed. "I will, Mom."

"I mean it."

"So do I." She almost believed herself.

*  *  *

Christmas morning, her mom unwrapped her presents. She seemed to enjoy the sweater and the earrings Ani had made in art class.
How do you shop for someone whose only hobby is cutting off parts of her daughter's flesh and performing experiments?

Ani shredded the pink wrapping paper on her gift from her mother and pulled the top off the cardboard garment box. Inside was a strapless mini-dress in her favorite color: Barbie Dream-House Pink. She ran her hands down the smooth satin, then lifted it out of the box.

"What's this?"

Her mom's smile was fierce. "That is a promise, from me to you. You will be able to wear that dress to graduation, in front of everyone, because you will be beautiful, you will be confident, and you will be symptom-free."

*  *  *

Mike didn't call on Christmas day. Or the next day. Or the next. A quick walk by his house—with Fey, Jake, and pepper spray in her pocket, and a promise to her mother that she wouldn't be gone more than an hour, and all of this after an hour of begging that she was going crazy and just needed to get outside for a while—revealed Devon's car in the driveway, but not his mom's car. Ani didn't think Fey noticed her looking.

*  *  *

She got home and moped in her room while her mom ran to the store.
He said he'd call.
She picked up the phone, dialed his number, and hit END. She put the phone back in the cradle and went back to reading.
More like holding a book and sulking.
She gave up after a half-hour. She looked at the phone.
Maybe I'll paint.

She grabbed her brushes, easel, and canvas, tucked her box of paints into her right elbow, and walked out into the hall.

Her head rang.

The world slowed, smeared.

Paint brushes like spilled spaghetti onto the floor, beautiful in their simplicity. Tiny paint cans bumbled and bustled their way over the railing, a suicide of color trapped in chrome.

The world hazed red, and she crumpled to the floor.

Something grabbed her shoulder and rolled her onto her back. Several figures in black stood above her, looking down, swimming in and out of each other. As they knelt, they resolved themselves into a single shape.