Five: Out of the Dark (28 page)

e thought it would be a good idea for Johnathan to stay home from school for a couple of days, in order for him to fully recover. He argued that he was fine, but his body had been through quite a shock, even for a fast-healing lycanthrope. Alec, Seth and I went to school the day after the mutant-Shrek attack, and Johnathan reluctantly stayed home with Halli so he could continue to heal. He wouldn’t admit it, but I could tell by the way he moved that his ribs still hurt.

Our collective goal for the week was to locate the
Sentience
-maker and to find proof that Mr. Jorgenson was behind its manufacture. We not only needed to destroy the contraption, we needed to do something to ensure it wasn’t remade. My goal was to find out who—or what—Mr. Jorgenson truly was. And his motive for manufacturing the horrible drug. It didn’t appear to be for money, because I’d never heard anyone mention selling it. They always just gave it away. I was sure it was made with some kind of dark magic, and that’s never a good thing.

Brendon was waiting next to my locker when I arrived. Relief washed over his face and he smiled when he spotted me coming toward him through the crowd. “Sasha! Where were you yesterday? I was a little worried that you guys decided to ignore my advice and go to that party anyway.”

“Oh … uh, Seth and I both got like this twenty-four-hour flu or something, so our mom kept us home.”

We walked to our first class.

“Well, I’m glad you’re okay. Do you remember Ashley? The girl from Mrs. C’s class that … broke the window?”

I nodded. There was no way to forget.

“I guess she was at the party. The next day she ran out into the traffic on the Pacific Highway and was hit by a truck. She … uh … didn’t make it.” He glanced over at me, eyebrows creased with a worried frown.

He was right to worry, but not for the reason he thought. I stopped in the middle of the hallway so abruptly the boy walking behind me ran into me. I clenched my teeth to keep from screaming out a four-letter word or two. I thought back to the party, and to Ashley standing next to the drug-dispensing tent with a cup in her hands. My fists shook with anger.
This has to stop
, I thought. My mind
tripped
back to the scene in the forest behind the party house. The hallucinations that had been lurking at the edges of my consciousness since that night strained at the walls I’d constructed to keep them at bay. One broke through—
the trees ripped at my arms and legs, their cruel faces laughing—
I dropped my books and barely kept from screaming.

“Sasha? Sasha! Are you okay?” Brendon stood in front of me, holding on to my upper arms.

I blinked rapidly to try to clear away the visions writhing in my head. My eyes wouldn’t focus; Brendon was all blurry standing in front of me.

“Sasha, you’re making me nervous. Snap out of it or I’m taking you to the nurse’s office.”

The mention of the office cleared things up for me. It would not have been a good time for me to run into Mr. Jorgenson—I probably would have killed him, or died in the process. I was angry about the drug and what it had done to so many of these kids. More than that, though, I was mad at myself for not stopping the madness sooner—for at least not trying harder to help Ashley that night. I felt immense guilt as I remembered my vow to put everything else on the back burner until I could figure out a cure for Johnathan.
At least Johnathan is still alive, still breathing, still has a chance to recover from his demons.

I shook my head. “I’m fine, Bren. It’s just so sad. It made me remember some things I’d rather forget.”

“Okay, wow, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have broken the news to you like that, I guess.”

The bell rang before I could respond, which was good because I didn’t know what to say to him. Anger caused a deep, burning pressure that felt like an elephant with hemorrhoids made of flaming emergency flares sitting on my chest. Maybe the hemorrhoids were guilt …

I stomped off to class, leaving Brendon hurrying to catch up to me. I sat in my usual spot; Brendon plopped down one desk over. Chari, the petite redhead who’d tried to help with Ashley that day, wandered in and sat in the desk in front of me. She turned and said, “Hi, Sasha. I guess you heard about Ashley.” Her voice broke. Her eyes were red-rimmed and moist. “I can’t believe this is happening again.”

I was always terrible in situations like this; I never knew what to say and usually ended up saying something stupid or sounding insensitive. I ran through several options of how to respond before settling on one that seemed safe, and might result in some needed information. “Were you friends with her? Did you know her well?”

She shrugged. “We used to be friends … before she started losing her mind. She used to be so fun to hang out with. I
hate
this school! I
hate
what’s happening here and that no one seems to be doing anything about it.”

More kids trickled in to class as the tardy bell rang. Mrs. C. wasn’t there yet. I scooted my desk up so it touched the back of Chari’s chair. I leaned forward and whispered, “I’m going to make an assumption here, so please forgive me if I’m way off base. I assume Ashley started to ‘lose her mind’ after using
Sentience
. Is that right?”

She didn’t seem to be insulted by my words. “Yes. She went to one of those parties about a month ago, even though I thought I’d talked her out of it. She was never the same after that weekend. I tried to help her, but she was just so far gone. She would be fine and act almost normal one minute—and then she would
see
things the next and freak out. The worst time was in this class, on your first day.”

“Do you know if she just used the drug that one time, or did she continue to use it?” I knew the answer, of course, but asked this for two reasons: one, I wanted to know if Chari knew where to get
Sentience
other than at the parties; and two, I wanted to know if Ashley continued to
see things
after just one encounter with the drug.

“I don’t think she used it again for at least a week. I don’t know if it took that long to wear off, or what. Her eyes got all weird, sunken-like and … I don’t know … dull, I guess. She wouldn’t eat, and she had these big, dark circles under her eyes. That was when she confided in me about drinking
Sentience
at the party. She was hysterical and begged me to help her find more. She said she thought she would die if she didn’t get more. I refused to help her. She didn’t need my help, though, she found it on her own.”

“Why haven’t the parents of these kids or the police done something about this? They have to see what’s happening here.”

“That’s a good question. It’s like they’re all in denial or something. I tried to tell my mom about it and she just brushed me off. She said, ‘It’s probably just hormones. Teenagers are dramatic, Chari.’ Ashley’s mom came in after the window breaking incident to talk to Mr. Jorgenson. I saw her in the office. She said he called her to come in. I waited around until she left. She looked unnaturally … content, I guess, when she left. Like everything was right in the world.”

Of course Mr. Jorgenson was involved with the parents, too. “Do you know if he’s talked to the other parents? Of the kids who’ve hurt themselves or the ones who are walking around like zombies?”

“I don’t know about all of them. But a lot of them, yeah. I saw Bryson’s parents—he’s the one who stepped in front of a train—they came in the day after he died. His mom was sobbing and his dad just looked like he was still in shock. I was TA-ing in the office that day so I saw them leave. They both looked happy as can be when they left. It was weird.”

Weird indeed. He must be using mind control or hypnosis on them. That would explain the lack of action from the parents and police.

I needed to word this next question carefully, so she didn’t think I was a drug-seeker myself. “Do you have any idea who Ashley might have gotten the
Sentience
from, at school? My dad knows someone on the Seattle Drug Task Force. I could turn them in.” I had no idea if Seattle even had such a task force.

Chari looked around the classroom, nervous, she leaned closer to me so our heads almost touched. She whispered, “I saw her talking to Bubba Peterson.”
Big Lips.
“And he took her to Mr. Davis’s room. I followed them.”

“Who’s Mr. Davis?”

“He’s the Psychology teacher with the creepy eyes; he’s new this year. I peeked through the window on his classroom door, but lost sight of them when he led her through a door in the back of his room. His class is the only one with an extra door like that, that I know of. Anyway, when I saw her later, her eyes were all glossy and she was
staring
at things—on the walls and ceiling, following with her eyes things that weren’t there. She would let out a terrified squeal or laugh randomly. It was just like with Amanda, before she killed herself.”

I remembered Ashley saying something about her dead friend, Amanda, when she told me about her hallucination in Mrs. C.’s classroom. I opened my mouth to ask another question, but I didn’t get the chance. Mrs. C. finally entered the room and shushed us all. We spent what was left of the class talking about our feelings over the passing of another student. There wasn’t much talking from the students; they were all zombied out. Mostly, Mrs. C. talked and cried.

I observed the other students closely. Obviously, many of them had partaken of the drink, but not all of them appeared to be having hallucination issues. Some did, but others were just zoned out. I decided from this that not everyone reacted the same way to
Sentience.
Or they were high on something else entirely.

Mr. Grewa’s class turned out to be anything but boring. At least for me—the other kids may have been bored. He was busy writing on the whiteboard when I walked in but turned to look at me as soon as he heard my books hit the desk.

“Sasha, I’m so relieved to see you here today.”

I believed him. His expression held such genuine concern as he looked into my eyes, assessing my level of
thereness,
I assumed.

“I was worried when you didn’t show up yesterday.”

“Oh, well, I had a touch of the flu or something, but I’m as good as new today.”

“To be honest with you, I was a little worried you’d decided to go check out one of those parties that have been occurring all too frequently as of late. My students have not been returning whole from them—they seem to leave something of themselves behind after participating in the festivities. I’m very worried about the future of this school and my beloved students.” He stared at the wall with a far-off gaze.

He shook his head sadly and returned his gaze to mine. “I’m sorry for blithering on like that, Sasha. I know you can see there’s something wrong here—I can see it in the way you analyze the other students and you’re so aware of your surroundings.”

I decided right then to trust this great man with at least part of my secret. An inside ally was a good thing to have—and some advice from an adult perspective might be helpful, too.

“Mr. Grewa,” I walked over to where he stood and lowered my voice as more students trickled in, “can we talk privately for a minute?”

“Of course, Sasha, just let me get the class started on an assignment and then we’ll go out into the hallway to talk.”

I nodded and left the room to wait for him just outside his door.

I sat on the cold tile floor and rested my back and head against the dingy wall adjacent to his classroom and waited. I closed my eyes and tried to think of what I was going to tell him and what questions to ask him. I was deep in thought when he sat down next to me on the dirty floor. I tipped my head up and sat straighter, a little surprised he would sit on the floor—but not really, because he was just that kind of down-to-earth, cool teacher.

“What did you want to talk about, Sasha?”

“I’m not quite sure where to begin …”

“At the beginning, I suppose, is the best place. Start with what brought you to
this
particular school,” he said.

“Well … I can’t tell you everything, and I’m going to trust that what I
do
tell you will be kept in strict confidence,” I paused and looked at him.

“Of course, and I trust you will do the same with what I tell you.”

I nodded. “Okay, well, I’ll start at the beginning. We—there are four of us that came here, and one more that’s too young for high school, so she’s working some outside angles—we came here for the sole purpose of finding out what’s going on. We read about the unbelievable number of recent suicides and decided we had to investigate.”

“Who
are
you? I mean, why
you
? You’re a teenager, and I assume the others are as well, but I sense something different about you … an ancient aura, a deeper knowledge of the world that surrounds us, the ability to
see
what the rest of us can’t. Who are you, Sasha?”

I cleared my throat and looked down at my worn jeans. I had no idea how to answer that question. I was the daughter of a preacher and his pretty, softhearted wife … but that wasn’t what he was asking, and I didn’t know the answer to what he
was
asking. “I don’t know,” I whispered.