Chapter 2 The blinding fluorescent lights above me did nothing to improve the reflection standing in the mirror before me. My short, black hair was as tousled and unkempt as I’d ever seen it, thanks to the lake water. A fresh bandage covered the jagged cut on the left side of my face. The skin around my eyes and mouth had taken on a bluish hue. My right arm was in a cast and in a sling, both graciously signed by Mom just before she started her shift there in the hospital. I looked like shit. But then, hospitals aren’t built to make you look better. Despite the pain that I felt pretty much everywhere in my body, I was happy to be alive. The day after waking up from the worst dream I’d ever had was spent in the drab, plain bed flipping through cable stations. The screen was annoyingly small. The hospital door opened with a clang. The only kid who I had ever truly thought of as a friend stood in the doorway with a grin spread across his ugly mug. I couldn’t help but smile back as he began stepping toward me. He tended to be more energized when he sensed that I needed some cheering up, which according to him was more often than not. Oliver always brought an uplifting presence to the room, especially hospital rooms such as mine where I’d been wallowing in self-pity. The sight of my best friend made me even happier to have escaped the clutches of the ghosts of Demon Lake. He wasn’t swayed by my horrifying appearance. He didn’t hesitate when he saw my casted arm. All he did was take his slow, exaggerated steps toward me, smiling like a fool the whole way. Seconds later he reached me and turned to face the wide, floor length mirror so that we were both now looking at our reflections with him standing to my right. “Dude, you look like roadkill.” I laughed a hoarse, gravely sound. “I was just thinking that to myself.” My voice was worse than my laugh. Oliver looked at me with mock surprise showing on his face. “What the hell was that!?” Another laugh escaped my throat prompting Oliver to howl. Tears began forming in his eyes before he finally caught the look on my face. “Oh don’t be so serious all the time Jamie. You almost died man! You should hear what people are saying about you!” “What do you mean?” “Everyone knows about what happened last night. It’s all over Twitter.” My eyes grew wide. “Oh, great, that’s just what I need.” ”Don’t worry buddy. This is good for your image!” “What do you mean ‘this is good for your image?’ How could drowning look good?” “Don’t you see? People are saying your name. Before long you’ll be on ‘her’ radar.” Shaking my head, I turned away. “Oliver, there are more important things in this life than being on a girl’s radar.” “Nonsense.” Oliver was one of a kind. He was weird, to be sure. His hair was even messier than mine at the moment, but that’s just how he kept it. It fit with his bookish appearance. He never really cared too much about what others thought of him. That was one reason we had hit it off. When Oliver had moved to Angel Grove last year he didn’t waste any time scoping out the social landscape. On his first day in my class he hadn’t even waited for the school bell to ring before professing his undying love for Terra Lawson. She was embarrassed beyond belief and of course stayed as far away from Oliver as she possibly could from that point on. That was the first of twelve incidents in eighth grade alone. Oliver’s cough snapped me back to reality. “You’re doing that thing again man…” “What thing?” Of course, I knew what he was talking about. Oliver was always laughing at me for “zoning out.” Mouth Breather. Oliver never said the name; he knew how much I hated it, but he had no problem laughing in good fun at my habit. I had gone on many adventures in my mind over my lifetime, usually when I was supposed to be paying attention to someone or something else. The worst part was I had no way to keep my mouth closed. So, naturally, some people thought I was an idiot. After all, that is what a mouth breather is, right? Oliver rolled his eyes and chuckled. “Where do you go, bro? What do you think about when you’re not here?” “I imagine I’m thinking about the same sort of stuff as other people think about… Stories, theories, possibilities…” “Dude, most guys our age aren’t thinking of anything but boobs and video games!” “Yeah, I guess you’re right…” I knew Oliver meant no harm, but his words brought on a wave of anxiety. A torrent of thoughts began whirling through my mind. I am different. That’s why I only have one friend. No one wants to be around the weird ones. I’m a weird one, I guess. I’m the outcast. But that’s okay, I suppose. At least I have that one friend. Oliver is a better friend than I could have ever hoped for. Besides, it’s not as if I’m hated or picked on. Bradan is the only one who pushes me past my breaking point. He’s always been the only one who wanted to hurt me. Ever since I knocked him out in sixth grade he’s had it out for me. Maybe I should have just let him drown last night. I wouldn’t have to deal with him ever again if I had done that. But I couldn’t… I’d never be able to live with myself. “Jamie!” I looked up to see Oliver with that silly grin on his face. “Listen, we have to get you out of your own head. How about we go out and do something tonight?” “What do you mean? How am I supposed to go out tonight when I’m literally stuck in?” “You have to stay here tonight!?” Oliver was incredulous. “This is ridiculous!” “The doctor said what doctors always say – something about keeping me for observation.” “Man, I’ve been saying it for months now: These aren’t real doctors! I mean, they know your injuries aren’t life threatening, so in reality they’re just using this whole “observation” thing as a way to get you to stay here so that their vampire overlords can come in the night and suck your blood!!” “Oliver…no. Just…no.” “Okay, be the skeptic, but I’m telling you that something about this hospital, hell, this whole town, doesn’t add up. Something smells fishy. I’m not trying to flog a dead horse by bringing this up again, I’m just addressing the elephant in the room!” Another husky laugh escaped my throat. “Have you ever heard of “overdoing it”? That’s too many metaphors in one sentence.” “But look, you’re already a little happier. I’m going to head down to the cafeteria here and snag a coffee, do you want one? You look as tired as a fat kid after 45 pushups and 2 rounds in the ring with a chicken.” This time my laughter quickly became a fit of coughing. “What the hell does that mean?” It seemed that talking and laughing with Oliver was clearing my throat a little – I didn’t sound as bad as I had when he had first arrived. “Oh you know what it means, he said with an overemphasized wink. “I’ll go grab those coffees.” When Oliver left the room I looked back into the mirror. Was it worth it? I know I did the right thing, but was it worth all of the trouble? I almost killed myself trying to save the only person that I know that hates my guts… A knock at the open door caused me to jump. Doctor Khatri stood just outside the room with a smile on her face. “Hey Jamie, how are you feeling?” The faint lilt of the words as she spoke them was undeniably Indian. Her voice was soothing in a way that reminded me of someone else… “I’m good, Doc. Well, as good as I can be after nearly drowning in a haunted lake…” “Haunted? Is that what they say about…what was it called again…Demon Lake?” “That’s the story. They say that some people are drawn to it as if they hear the call of the spirit world. They say that no one comes out of that lake alive.” The doctor gathered her long, glossy black hair and pulled it over her right shoulder. It stood in stark contrast to the extreme white of her lab coat. “Well I suppose that “they,” whoever “they” are, haven’t met someone of your caliber, Jamie.” The reddening of my cheeks was noticeable as I laughed quietly at the irony. “Sure, I was trying to do something noble, but I didn’t survive because of my “caliber,” I survived because of Bradan’s lackey jumping into the water and pulling us both out. I’m just thankful that there was one from that group that wasn’t a coward.” “Don’t be so hard on yourself, Jamie, not many people would have risked death to save someone that they hate.” “It’s not that I hate Bradan, it’s just that he does idiotic things. He doesn’t like to be made to look stupid, which is something I’ve done more than once in the last three years.” “You know what I mean. You shouldn’t deflect praise by changing the focus to someone else. This is about you.” The furrow in her brow told me that Doctor Khatri was the littlest bit bothered by my way with words. “Accept the kind words with gratitude and know that this time, against all odds, you gave your maximum effort to doing what was right. But also remain humble and know that next time it could be different.” “What do you mean, Doc?” “I’m trying to say that being a good person, someone that you can be proud of, isn’t a one-time choice. You will have to make that difficult decision many, many more times in your life. It is often simple to do the right thing when the stakes are small. It is much more troublesome to do what is honorable when you have something to lose. This time, you did that. Next time, you...
Chapter One The sound of my feet dragging along the sidewalk, while bothersome to others, had become something of a comfort to me. Just as the steady “tch…tch…tch” was soothing, so too were the newly dead corpses of once vibrantly green leaves. The sidewalk under the great oaks was littered with them, but the street to my left was practically clear of them, thanks to the work of the street sweeper. In the darkness of night, with the light from the street lamps reflecting off of the rain soaked road, I was reminded of a painting by Leonid Afremov I had once seen. That particular painting portrayed a colorful autumn night and a man and woman walking together with their dog. The similarity was not complete, though. After all, there was no beautiful girl walking with me tonight, and Missy, my pit bull, was at home. As the wind picked up and the chill in the air deepened, I lifted the hood on my black, zipped up rain jacket. The memory of that painting, and watching her eyes light up at seeing it, was one that I doubted I would ever forget. Of course, she didn’t know that I even had this memory of her. It felt to me as though I had taken something that didn’t really belong to me, but the memory was important regardless of that; or maybe because of it. I hadn’t gone up to her that night, as I wanted to do. I was too afraid. Seeing her in my mind’s eye was but a short respite in the torrent of thoughts and emotions that came down on me more relentlessly even than the heaviest autumn rainfall in North Texas My uncle Rob, who had been overseas for the last seven months somewhere in the Middle East, had been declared MIA. When Mom had called earlier today to deliver the terrible news I could hear the sorrow in her voice. She was barely able to get the message across through choked back sobs and quick, short breaths. At the time I had been standing at the edge of the lake behind the new high school. It didn’t seem to me that it was as big as a lake should be, really, but that didn’t make it any less damaging to my cell phone. The shock of the news had caused me to drop it right into the water. I knew that I should go straight home but I just couldn’t imagine seeing Mom in such a sad state. I was already in a dark enough place as it was without that. And besides that I knew she would just break down as soon as I walked in the door. So, instead of facing her, I had been walking, for what seemed like a very long time, around Angel Grove. It was early autumn, about two-and-a-half months after the start of freshman year. The days were warm enough, and the nights nice and cool. This night, with the constant drizzle soaking me to the bone, it was especially cold. The biting wind made it worse by numbing my face and causing my nose to run. Still, though, it was preferable to seeing Mom sad. Not only would she be sad but she would likely be furious. I hadn’t bothered to go into the water after my cell phone. I hadn’t asked someone else to use theirs, either. I had simply begun walking. It was all I could do not to run and keep running. I wanted to leave this town full of bad memories and at fifteen years old I considered just taking off for good on my own, but I couldn’t do that to her. She needed me and truth be told, I needed her. We were all each other had in the world, save for Uncle Rob. And now he was gone. Just like my father – gone. It made me angry. I was pissed that he had decided to reenlist when he had a family, albeit not really a normal one, that loved him and needed him back in Texas. I knew that Rob was nothing like my biological father, he was a much better man, but that didn’t make his absence any easier. If anything it made it much worse. He was also the only thing like a father that I had ever known. Rob had told me that he and my father had been close when they were kids. Rob was the younger of the two brothers by 18 months and the brothers hadn’t actually grown apart until I was born. After my birth it was said that my father had changed. They said that it was because my parents were so young when they had me. They said that 20 years old was too young. In reality I knew it was because he was nothing more than a selfish asshole. Uncle Rob, in many ways, felt the rejection by his older brother just as much as I did, maybe more. The snap of a twig behind me gave me a start as I realized that my mouth was hanging slightly open. I snapped it shut defiantly. “Hey, Mouth Breather.” The voice, colder even than the chill night in which we stood, was all too familiar. I despised the boy to whom that voice belonged nearly as much as I hated the name “Mouth Breather.” That nickname had been earned a few years ago after the owner of that voice had noticed my bad habit of leaving my mouth open while in thought. And I happened to be lost in thought quite often. The term was basically synonymous with “idiot” and more than anything I hated being called an idiot. I was no genius but I was far better off than most kids I knew in that department. I turned around unhurriedly. It was never good to show your enemies that you were afraid. Rob had taught me that. The boy’s red hair framed his sinister looking face in a way that made my skin tingle. The expression he wore could freeze boiling water. This kid had been taunting me for years, but I had learned to put up with it. Now, though, I was in no mood to be bothered by him or anyone else. “What do you want, Fish?” I knew that Bradan hated that insult of a nickname just as much as I hated the name “Mouth Breather.” The sneer that came to my face on the tail end of my words seemed to make Bradan’s face contort slightly, a dangerous look passing through his eyes. It was gone as quickly as it came. “I heard what happened, with your uncle. That’s a real shame.” That lack of concern in Bradan’s voice made it clear that he didn’t care at all about what had happened to my uncle. “You know, he probably got shot by those terrorists over there. That’s what happens to weaklings. Weaklings like you and your uncle make me sick.” I wasn’t sure how I had maintained my composure through that little speech, but I knew for certain that I was going to make Fish sorry he had ever met me. I took a step toward Fish, committing to a bloody resolution. Another step and my fists were clenched. The third step stopped me in my tracks. The shadows behind Fish were shifting right before my eyes. At first I didn’t understand what was happening but it quickly hit me with unrelenting force that it wasn’t shadows moving, it was people. Three boys, two of which I didn’t know, stepped out from a small stand of maple trees. Fish leaned back against the maple nearest him, chuckling softly. “You know what we do to weaklings, Mouth Breather, and the way I see it: You’re the weakest of them all.” I flashed back to that afternoon in sixth grade when Fish had been bullying that younger girl, Lisa. The vision of leaving Fish knocked out on the ground, less one tooth and some blood was vibrant. “I don’t think you’re going to make it out of here on two feet, Mouth Breather.” Fish was the kid that everyone else steered clear of. He wasn’t unusually large, a couple inches taller than me, but most were afraid of him anyway. He had an air about him that reeked of emotional instability. His willingness to hurt anyone necessary to get his way attested to that instability. I wasn’t afraid of him. I knew that Fish was just another kid with a sad story. Everyone had a sad story. I wasn’t afraid of Fish. But this wasn’t just Fish. This was a four-on-one fight and I had no weapon to defend myself with. The adrenaline had been pumping through my body since the snap of that twig, now it felt as if my body were in overdrive. I had learned about the fight-or-flight response in school and now I knew exactly what it meant. I wouldn’t be able to hold off all four of these boys and I knew that if I tried I would likely end up in the hospital. Or worse. There was only one thing left to do: run. Fear. My heart pounded heavily as my lungs screamed for air. The sound of my feet pounding the pavement echoed down the empty streets and through the dark corridors between houses. I had been running for at least three blocks and I didn’t know where I was or how much longer I could stay ahead of Fish and the others. The pain was becoming too much. Pain. If only I had been paying more attention while walking around Angel Grove! I might then have had some inkling as to where I was or which direction to go to more easily get away! I could hear the grunting and heavy breathing of the boys behind me. Stopping wasn’t an option. I noticed another cross street racing swiftly toward me. I darted to the left down another long, dark road. My lungs and legs were on fire but I couldn’t quit. I had to do something quickly or this night was going to get a whole lot worse for me. Angel Grove High was just coming in to view as I followed the curve of the road around the end of a row of houses. The monolithic library rose into the night sky on the south side of the school. The high school was the only building on this stretch and I knew that if I didn’t make it there and figure out some way to lose these guys or someone to help me then I would be caught. Their panting was now louder than ever and their curses growing more violent. It felt as though the school was pulling away from me as I put everything I had into reaching it. As dark as it was it seemed as though my vision was growing even darker. All I...
PROLOGUE 6th Grade Blood pumping. Fists flailing. The boy in front of me had no idea what he was doing. He had been picking on a fifth grader - and a girl, no less. Boys shouldn’t pick on girls. Not because they are girls, but because nine times out of ten they are physically weaker than the boy doing the bullying. My uncle had taught me that preying on those weaker than you was dishonorable. I ducked. The boy had almost landed a punch. I saw the perfect opportunity as my legs began pushing my torso back into an upright standing position – and I took it. I let fly a hay-maker. I had seen men do it on YouTube, and it usually brought a lot of pain to whoever was hit by it. The boy had no idea what he was doing. It wasn’t as if I was a Kung-Fu warrior or anything but I knew how to throw a punch which was apparently something lost on the red haired kid in front of me. Connection. The boy’s pale face contorted in shock and with the force of the blow landed. His freckles seemed to dance in the twisting of his expression. Before I knew it I was looking at the boy’s back. Blood was slowly dripping from his mouth as he lay on the ground unconscious, a single tooth resting a few feet away. Heart beating wildly, I almost couldn’t believe what I had done. I stood under the Texas sun with eyes wide open. A wind picked up just then, rustling the green leaves on the huge oaks that had been planted randomly by some kids back in the sixties. The summer air smelled of sweat and blood. I heard a thunder clap from miles away. My mind began working rapidly trying to figure out what to do next. Should I leave? Should I call a teacher? Should I call my mom? Oh, no - Mom. What would she think? She was probably going to be furious with me. She was always saying that I had to avoid fighting. She said that fighting and being aggressive could end up causing me more pain than it was worth. But what else could I do? I had to do something! The red-haired boy was going to hurt that girl. The girl. I turned around to see her standing about ten feet behind me with her back against an oak. Tears were pouring down her face and she looked frightened. When she saw me turn toward her she looked directly into my eyes. The words “thank you” were uttered, but so silently that I only knew of their existence by the movement of the girl’s lips. She turned and darted off, ponytail bouncing back and forth as she ran. I looked back at the boy lying face first in the dirt. The boy’s red, shoulder length hair rested across the upturned side of his face, obscuring the bruise that was already forming there. The boy had been so angry. I didn’t know why he had been picking on that girl or why he had been furious at me for telling him to stop. I wondered why he had suddenly begun swinging at me madly without any sense of where he wanted to hit. I checked once more behind me, looking for the girl. She was nowhere to be seen. Regardless of the consequences, I knew I had done the right thing. Bullying others, especially those weaker than you, was wrong and it showed how weak you were. My uncle taught me that internal weakness, weakness of character, was much worse than being physically weak. Before the boy could come to his senses, I grabbed my now dust-covered backpack, heavy with my school books. Hoisting it over my shoulder and with one last glance at the boy on the ground, whose face was now resting in a small pool of blood, I walked away.