Misfit Page 9
Once Chas leaves, Rob turns to Jael.
“So, was that you splitting early from church?”
“Uh, yeah,” says Jael. “You saw that?”
“Everything okay?”
“Sure, I just . . . wasn’t feeling well. Didn’t want to throw up in chapel, you know?” The lie tastes bitter in her mouth. Rob is just such an honest, open guy, it seems wrong somehow. But what else can she say? Sorry, the demonic necklace I inherited from my mom was about to burn the chapel down? Even though Rob said a lot of open-minded things about magic this morning, the truth would be pushing it. But maybe someday she’ll be able to talk about this stuff with him.
That thought sends a thrill through her. To talk to someone.
To tell her secret. To have just one friend she can be one hundred percent real with. Before this moment, she hadn’t even considered that possibility.
“Hey,” Rob says, “at least you missed the Mons going on forever with the Petitions.”
“Oh, yeah,” says Jael, relieved to be back on familiar topics like complaining about teachers. “Sometimes I wonder if he actually knows anyone who isn’t sick or dying.”
“He’s led a pretty crazy life, I guess. Some of his stories about being a missionary in Peru? That is just some messed-up shit.”
“He hasn’t really said a lot about it to us,” says Jael. “Just kind of hints at it.”
“Yeah, he and I talked a few times. He was trying to get me to come back to the Church and believe again. I guess he thought telling me a few intense stories about being a missionary might spark my interest.”
“It didn’t?” asks Jael.
“Nah. I mean, those Shining Path guys were pretty messed up. They would kill and torture all these people. Not soldiers or anything, just normal people. Hack them up with machetes. But I don’t think it had much to do with them being atheist. I think it was because they were poor, oppressed, and pissed off to the point of insanity.”
“The Mons is definitely old-school religion.”
“But even still, he’s got this weird Zen thing going,” says Rob, “I feel like he’s been through some serious shit and come out on the other side totally at peace.”
“I wish he could give some of that peace to Father Aaron,” says Jael.
“The Mons might be extra holy,” says Rob, “but he can’t do miracles.”
They continue to stay on safe topics throughout dinner, almost like it’s just an extended version of the kind of conversations they have in homeroom. Dinner is heavy on the fried appetizers, and Jael isn’t used to that, so by the time they finish, she feels a little ill. Rob admits that he isn’t feeling great either, so they take their time walking home.
The rainy season has begun, so the sun sets earlier every day. Even though it’s only six o’clock, the sky is dark as they walk through the neighborhood. The cool evening air and a full stomach have finally loosened Jael’s nerves a bit, so she says,
“Hey, I just uh . . . wanted to say how cool I thought it was what you said this morning about chemistry. And, uh, magic.”
Rob shrugs. “It’s my thing, I guess. Other than skating, of course.”
“So . . .” Jael struggles to think how to put it in a way that won’t make her sound completely crazy. “So if you believe all that stuff, do you believe in God?”
“Seriously?” asks Rob. He squints at her in the dim street light.
“Yeah,” says Jael. “I mean, I’m not Catholic or anything, so don’t worry about offending me.”
“Yeah, I figured that,” he says with a little smile. “The way I look at it, it doesn’t really matter if God exists or not. I’m still going to do what I think is right.”
“I guess that makes sense,” says Jael. “Sort of.”
“How about you?”
“When I was a little kid, I used to believe it all,” she says.
“God, the pope and Jesus stuff . . . All of it.”
“Sure, me too,” says Rob. “That’s normal.”
“No, I mean I was into it. Like on Good Friday, when the priest would go around to the Stations of the Cross, talking about Jesus getting whipped, the crown of thorns, all that stuff?
By the time he got to nailing Jesus’ hands to the wood, I’d be crying. Like every time.”
“Whoa,” says Rob, but Jael can’t tell if he’s surprised or impressed. “So what happened?” he asks. “When did you stop believing?”
“I don’t know,” she says. “It’s . . . complicated for me. I don’t know what I believe anymore.”
“I don’t think it matters that much. The stuff you do is way more important than the stuff you believe.”
“But don’t you do things based on your beliefs?”
“I’d say it’s the other way around. You believe things to justify what you do.”
“Huh,” says Jael. They walk on in silence as Jael tries to unravel that statement in her head.
They get to her house and Jael feels like she’s supposed to invite him inside. But she knows her dad wouldn’t like it. He’s already going to be pissed at her for going out without letting him know. And with a boy, even. Best not to push it any further.
“Well,” she says finally, “I should probably get some homework done or something.”
“Okay, okay, yeah, sure,” says Rob.
“Thanks for, uh . . .” She isn’t sure how to phrase it. After all, the word “date” was never officially used, so it’s possible he doesn’t think of it as one. “I had fun,” she says.
“Me too,” says Rob. “So, like . . . does this mean we can hang out again?”
“Yeah,” Jael says. “That’d be cool.” Then she turns to go.
“Hey, wait,” he says.
Jael turns back and the look on his face makes her think that maybe he’s going to ask her if he can kiss her and if he does, she has no idea what she’s going to say.
“Is that . . . Is that your mom’s necklace?”
“Oh,” says Jael. Her hand goes to her throat. “Yeah.”
“Can I see it?” asks Rob.
“Um . . .” She feels a slow flush creep onto her face. This could be even more uncomfortable than if he’d asked for a kiss and she’s tempted to dodge. But that clear, honest look in his eyes pierces her careful cool, leaves her feeling off balance and open in a way she’s not used to. She nods and holds the chain up so that the gem dangles, turning gently in the moonlight.
He tilts his head to one side and leans in close. So close that she can smell his spicy deodorant.
“Do you know what kind of stone it is?” he asks.
“Uh, no,” she says. She feels so vulnerable with him this close. She can’t decide if she should look at him or look away. “I guess ruby?”
He shakes his head, he eyes still locked on the necklace.
“No, I don’t think so. It’s hard to tell in this light, but I think the coloring is a little dark for a ruby. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything like it.”
“You know a lot about jewelry?” she asks, half teasing.
“Gemstones? Yeah. I know some,” he says casually. Like all boys are interested in jewels. “So,” he says, and returns her teasing smile with one of his own. “You decided to wear it anyway, huh?”
“Oh,” says Jael, leaning away. “I didn’t really . . . well . . .”
“No, no, I totally get it,” he says. “There’s just something about it that’s . . . I don’t know. It’s just cool.”
“Yeah,” says Jael.
“How could you resist, right?” The playful smile again.
“No, really, it wasn’t like that. It was just a situation where it would have been really weird not to put it on.”
“Maybe so,” says Rob. “But you still haven’t taken it off.”
“No,” says Jael. “I haven’t.”
He nods, suddenly serious. “Thanks for showing it to me.”
“Sure,” says Jael.
“Your mom gave it to you?”
“Yeah.”
“Do you remember her?”
Jael shakes her head. “She died when I was a baby.”
“Sorry,” says Rob.
“I used to think it was good that I don’t remember her,”
says Jael. “Because I thought then I’d never miss her. But I was wrong.”
“How so?”
“I do miss her.”
“Missing someone you never knew . . . ,” says Rob. “What does that feel like?”
“It’s hard to describe,” says Jael. “Sometimes, it feels like I’m missing a part of myself.”
He nods, and they just stand there looking at each other.
The yellow streetlight reflects off his blond hair, and his jawline and cheekbones stand out sharply from the shadows.
“What was her name?” Rob asks.
It’s been a long time since anyone has asked her that. It’s been a long time since she’s said it aloud.
“Astarte,” she says, and just like always, she gets a little tingle down her spine.
“Wow,” says Rob. He shivers just a little, like he got the same tingle. “Cool name.”
“Yeah,” says Jael. “It’s a little weird, but I like it.”
“I bet she chose your name.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because you have a weird cool name too.”
She can’t quite look at him as she says, “Thanks.”
He shrugs, and that wide-open grin comes again. “Okay,”
he says, and takes a few steps backward. “See you tomorrow.”
Then he pulls his skateboard from his backpack and coasts down the sidewalk and into the night.
Jael turns smoothly, like there are wheels under her own feet, and glides into the house. As she makes her way slowly through the darkened living room, she decides she has to call Britt. She can almost hear her smug “I totally called that!” now.
But as Jael places her first foot on the spiral staircase, it’s her father’s voice she hears.
“Jael.”
She stops and turns around. He stands in the kitchen doorway. He’s backlit by the harsh bare lightbulb, so she can’t quite make out his expression, but his arms are folded across his chest and she knows that’s never a good sign.
“It’s late,” he says. “Where were you?”
“Dinner with a friend,” she says, attempting a casual tone.
Her father’s head tilts back slightly, so that the light shows his face and she can see just how pissed he is. “I don’t think so,”
he says. “I called Britt’s house. She was there. You weren’t.”
“I do have other friends, Dad.”
He raises an eyebrow, and there’s just a hint of amusement on his face, like he doesn’t believe her. “Oh really?” he asks.
“Who?”
“You probably don’t know them,” she says, shifting her weight back and forth.
“It’s a small school. I’m sure I do.”
“It’s a boy, okay?” She says it quickly, forcing herself to keep both feet firmly on the ground.
“A boy?” The furrows in his brow dig in deep, and he leans his hand on the doorway, like he has to steady himself. That’s when Jael sees that his hand is bandaged. From when he cut himself to contact that demon. For some reason, it’s this tiny little concrete detail that reminds her that she isn’t the only one who needs to be interrogated.
“Jael, we’ve talked about this,” he’s saying. “You are not to date until—”
“What happened to your hand?” she asks, her tone calm.
“Don’t change the subject on me,” says her father, shifting his weight so his hand drops down and out of view. “You deliberately broke one of the few rules—”
“What happened to your hand, Dad?” This time, her tone is sharp, each consonant spit out with precision as cold certainty settles in the pit of her stomach.
“I was fixing something and the screwdriver slipped,” he says. “Now listen—”
“You’re lying!” she says.
“Excuse me?” he says, his eyes wide in disbelief.
“That’s not how it happened, Dad. And I’m starting to think you lie to me a whole lot. You told me we’re hiding from demons.
So why were you talking to one last night?”
“How did you? . . .” He looks horrified. And for some reason that makes her feel really good.
She pulls the necklace out from under her shirt. “This necklace showed me. The one you said wasn’t safe. I guess you meant it wasn’t safe for you.”
“You put it on?” says her dad. “Jael, I told you never to—”
“Stop it! It’s over, Dad. I’m done playing your little game.
You always tell me I’m too young to understand. You’ve been saying that since I was eight. When are you going to get it through your head that I’m not a kid anymore? Whatever it is, I can handle it.”
“It’s not as easy as that, Jael,” he says. “And if you had obeyed me in the first place, you—”
“What, Dad? I’d still be in blissful ignorance? Well, let me tell you, it’s not that blissful. I’m sick of it. Stop bullshitting me and tell me what is really going on!”
She juts her chin out and braces herself. She’s never sworn at him like that before and she expects him to get pissed. But instead, his face softens. His eyes fill with an anguish that’s so painful to see, she wants to take it all back.
“Oh,” he says in little more than a whisper. Then he looks away, his hand groping for the doorway again.
“Dad?”
“You just . . .” His voice is hoarse. “I just saw it for the first time. How much you look like her.”
“Dad . . .” This isn’t what she wanted at all. To hurt him like this.
“Your mother . . .” His eyes stare off at nothing and his voice is hollow. “You want to know something true? About your mother?”
“Look, Dad,” she says uneasily.
“I told you she died in childbirth. That was a lie,” he says.
“The truth is that she died when you were three months old. She was murdered.”
A silence settles in as that last word penetrates.
“Someone . . . killed my mother?” she asks finally.
“Yes. There. Some truth.” He looks at her at last, his face bitter. “Are you happy now?”
“No!”
“Truth does not bring happiness, Jael.” He turns away again. “Now, go to bed and let’s forget all of this.” He waves her off. “No punishments. No blame. We’ll act like tonight didn’t happen.”
For just a second, she feels a strange sort of relief. Like, Oh, good, we can go back to the way things were. But then she thinks he must be insane.
“There’s more, isn’t there, Dad? What’s so bad about being a . . . halfbreed?”
Her father flinches at the word but says nothing.
“Is that what they call me?” she asks. “The demons?”
“Yes,” he says.
“So what’s all that about halfbreeds being forbidden by Heaven and Hell? Should I be worried about something?”
“Jael, please, can we at least just talk about this tomorrow?”
He reaches out to her. It’s a gesture he rarely does and it’s so hard for her to resist. But she steps away.
“I have a right to know,” she says.
“It’s just . . .” He’s losing and he knows it. “Jael, I can’t just .
. .” His face is pleading with her, but this time the weakness only pisses her off more.
“If you can’t tell me, maybe someone else will. Like that fish monster in my necklace. What was his name?”
“Jael, don’t do that—” This time he’s the one who backs up.
“Dagon, or something, wasn’t it?” she asks, like she’s taunting him.
“Jael, stop this right now!”
She stares hard at the necklace. “Dagon, are you in there?
I’m rea
dy to hear the truth!”
“You . . . have no idea what you’ve just done,” he says quietly.
Something shifts behind the easy chair. At first it just looks like a shadow. But the darkness slowly gathers and grows larger and more dense. That’s when Jael starts to wonder if she really did just do something very stupid.
The darkness solidifies into the massive, hulking fish creature she saw earlier in the necklace. But there is a big difference between seeing it inside a gem and seeing it towering above you with gleaming black shark eyes and rows of glinting, needlepoint teeth that splay out in all directions. Her mind goes completely blank as she wails and stumbles toward the door.
“Jael, wait!” calls her father.
Something strong closes around her waist and stops her.
She struggles to break free and screams so loud and long that it feels like she’s going to pop a blood vessel.
“Help!” she wails. “Oh God oh Jesus HELP ME!”
Her father’s voice: “Be careful with her!”
“I am! I am!” snarls the creature. “She’s wriggling!”
“Jael, listen to me!” her father shouts over her screams.
“Please, just calm down! Just listen!”
She can’t, though. All she can think about is the demon that has her by the waist, its rotten stench gagging her as it lifts her off the ground. She screams and sobs. She thrashes her body, swings her fists, kicks her feet. This lasts for several minutes until she finally runs out of steam. Her voice trails off into a faint moaning whimper and she droops over like a wilted flower.
“There now,” says the creature. “That’s better.”
She’s slowly turned around until she stares into the face of the demon. Its black, lidless eyes reflect her own terrified, tear-stained face.
“It’s OK,” says the demon around its mouthful of savage teeth. “I’m not going to hurt you.” Then it carefully, almost gently, places her back on the ground.
Her legs are wobbly, and she has to brace herself against the wall with her hand to keep from falling over. Her father stands next to the monster with a look of weary resignation.
“Who . . . ,” she says, her voice hoarse from screaming.