Ghost of Spirit Bear (7 page)

“I told you before, fight ’em!” Garvey said. “Just don’t use your fists.”

“I already tried sitting down and not fighting back—that didn’t work,” Cole said. “And we tried using the cell phone—Ms. Kennedy didn’t like that.”

Garvey shook his head. “There are other ways to fight.”

“Like what?” Cole asked, as he and his mother got out of the car.

“You’ll figure it out,” Garvey said. He waved good-bye and backed out of the driveway.

“That man can be such a jerk,” Cole said.

Chapter 6

C
OLE WELCOMED THE
last bell on Friday, the end of his first week back in school. On the island, time had passed with the changing of light and weather. Now it changed with a clock, a calendar, and bells that marked the painfully slow passing of each school day.

Peter met Cole on the front steps. “I’ve decided to find the homeless guy and give him back his carving,” he announced. “Want to go along?”

Cole hesitated.

“You’re scared of him, aren’t you?”

“After seeing him swinging his knife at the police, I’m not excited about going anywhere near him.”

Peter held up the unfinished bear head. “I wanted to keep this, but it’s not mine.” He held out a second carved head, the same size but not as lifelike. “I carved this to give him.”

“Why?”

Peter shrugged. “To show him we’re okay. W-w-we scare him as much as he scares us.”

“I’ll help you look, but what if he’s dangerous?”

“And what if you’re still dangerous?” Peter asked.

After wandering the streets for almost an hour, Cole suggested, “Maybe we can go to the abandoned building and leave the carving in his cart.”

“Okay, but let’s stop by my house and get flashlights. I want to check out the basement,” Peter said.

“You want to get us killed?”

Peter grinned.

Half an hour later, Cole and Peter slipped quietly past the broken doors into the abandoned building. They found the cart of junk had disappeared from under the stairwell. Quietly they tiptoed to the head of the stairs that led down into the darkened basement.

“Hello!” Peter called out hesitantly.

“Anybody down there?” Cole hollered.

Hearing no sound, they snapped on their flashlights and started down the steps. A moldy odor filled the air.

“It’s probably rotting bodies,” Peter whispered.

Cole gave Peter a poke. “Knock it off—you’re giving me the creeps.” He shined his light slowly in a circle. The large room was nearly thirty feet across with cobwebs hanging from the ceiling. An old mattress had been placed in one corner. It was covered neatly with a ragged blanket. A big cardboard box served as a table.

Suddenly footsteps sounded on the floor overhead. Both boys snapped off their flashlights and held their breaths.

The footsteps stopped.

“Let’s get out of here,” Cole whispered, bounding up the stairs. Peter followed on his heels. Emerging at the top of the steps, they stopped cold in their tracks. Barely twenty feet away, the old homeless man stood, crouched as if he were warding off an attack. A deep growl sounded in his throat.

“We’re just here to bring this b-b-back,” Peter stammered, holding out the bear carving. He bent down and placed the carving on the floor. “W-w-we found it the day the police arrested you.” His voice shook as he laid his own carving beside the first. “That’s f-f-for you, too.”

Not waiting for a reply, Cole and Peter backed between the broken front doors, then turned and ran, bumping into each other as they escaped. Not until they were well away from the building did they stop to look back. The old man was standing in the doorway watching them with curious eyes.

“That’s how the Spirit Bear used to watch us,” Peter said. Then he turned and kept running.

Saturday morning, Cole helped his mother carry in potted plants she’d bought at the nursery. Then he headed to the mall to see if Peter was around. It didn’t matter what Peter’s parents agreed to in the Circle, they still didn’t want Peter near him.

Cole decided to enjoy the warm fall day while he waited for Peter. He sat on the grass near the main entrance, listening to the hectic sounds of the city: horns, car engines, sirens, and kids shouting. While he waited, he closed his eyes and relaxed.

A breeze carried mist from a nearby sprinkler onto his face, and Cole imagined a waterfall crashing over rocks into a deep, cold pool. Other sounds gradually melted together and softened. Cole breathed in deeply, enjoying the pungent smell of fresh-cut grass.

He and Peter had become invisible on the island when they learned to be quiet and blend in with all that surrounded them. The wind, the rain, all living things were part of something bigger, part of the Circle. Sitting on the grass, Cole felt important for being a part of something that was so big and so wonderful. At the same time he felt insignificant, smaller than a speck of dust in the universe.

Cole heard a mother drag a screaming child from the mall and imagined a screaming osprey diving on a fish. The honking of a horn became the hooting of an owl on a dark night. Every sound and sensation around Cole became something natural, gradually melting into something bigger. Before long he was in another world, floating farther and farther away, out into space among the stars with no limitations, no boundaries, and no problems. With each breath, his body dissolved more, finally becoming a part of everything around him. Invisible.

It seemed only minutes before Cole opened his eyes, but a clock above the mall entrance showed that over an hour had passed. A squirrel sat motionless barely two feet away, holding a nut between its front paws and staring at him. Cole sensed another presence. Slowly he looked around. Gone were the waterfalls and osprey. Once again the sounds of honking horns, screaming children, and busy shoppers bombarded the air. Cars maneuvered around one another in the busy parking lot.

And then Cole spotted him.

The homeless man stood across the parking lot near the gas station, his hands resting on his shopping cart of junk. He stared at Cole with calm, penetrating eyes. Cole stared back for a moment and then lowered his gaze. When he glanced up seconds later, the man had disappeared—simply vanished. For several long minutes, Cole searched but saw nothing. Finally he lay back on the grass.

The old man puzzled him, but other things began making sense. Garvey had said that the pond, the ancestor rocks, and the dances were all simple tools. He said that being a part of the Circle was easy because it meant going to a place you were already at.

And that was what had happened today. Today there had been no ritual, no tricks, no tools. Just quietness. That was all Cole had needed. Feeling calm inside for the first time in days, he stood and started for home. He couldn’t wait to tell Peter about this afternoon.

He had only walked a block from the mall when he spotted Keith and his gang coming down the street toward him. Keith walked boldly in front of the rest, a wicked grin on his lips.

At first Cole thought to turn and run, but running would simply delay the inevitable. In a way, not having Peter around made this a good time for a showdown. But how would he fight Keith? He hugged his injured arm close to his bruised ribs and kept walking.

Keith angled across the street, looking unsure because Cole wasn’t avoiding him. “Hey, psycho,” he shouted. “You’re going to get your butt kicked!”

Cole still didn’t know what he was going to do. His mind scrambled as the bullies approached. Garvey had said there were ways to fight without fists.

“You’re history, bush boy,” Keith said. “Where’s your retard friend?”

Cole breathed deeply and for a moment quit trying to think. Instead, he just stared at the boys with a strange sense of calm. And that was when it came to him. He spoke deliberately to Keith. “Before you touch me, you have three choices.”

“And what’s that, bear bait?” mocked Keith. “To kick your butt left, right, or straight ahead?”

The group laughed loudly.

“So what are my choices?” Keith asked sarcastically.

“I’m not going to fight you, so you can either leave me alone—”

“No chance of that,” taunted Keith. “Try again.”

Cole continued calmly, “Or beat me up.”

“That’s a good plan,” Keith said. “I like that one.”

Cole nodded. “Of course, if you choose that one, I will file charges.”

“You squeal on us, we’ll kill you!” Keith said. “What’s my third choice?”

“You just said it—kill me.” Cole met Keith’s stare with his own. “Those are your only choices today. Either leave me alone, beat me up and I file charges, or …” Cole paused for effect. “Or kill me.”

Keith’s laugh sounded weaker.

“I’m serious,” Cole said. “So what’s it going to be? I’m not afraid of you.”

“You think we’re afraid of you reporting us?” Keith said.

“Yes, you’re scared stiff. And if you do kill me, one of you will rat out the rest and you will all spend the rest of your lives behind bars. It won’t be with other cheap punks. It’ll be with real killers and rapists. So what are you going to do?”

“You sure talk tough,” said Keith, punching Cole hard in the gut. “I’m tired of your talk, motor mouth.”

“Now I’m filing charges against you,” Cole gasped, and then turned to the others. “Who else wants charges filed?”

“Oh, we’re really afraid of you,” Keith taunted, giving Cole a hard shove that sent him stumbling backward. Keith looked back at his friends. “What’s wrong? You guys afraid of this loser?”

“You’ve already dug your grave,” Cole told Keith. “Maybe your friends aren’t as stupid.”

“You’re pissing me off,” Keith shot back. “We’re not afraid of you!” He swung hard at Cole and knocked him to the ground.

Cole sat up slowly, rubbing blood from his nose and mouth. “You
should
be afraid,” he said calmly.

Keith looked back at his friends. “Are you losers going to just stand there staring?” he shouted.

“I’m not getting in trouble with the police,” Eddy said. “My dad will kill me.”

“Me, either,” announced Alex.

Keith’s four friends backed slowly away from Cole. “Just leave him be,” one said. “He’s crazy.”

Keith gave Cole an angry kick in the chest. “Chicken turds!”

Cole spit blood on the sidewalk and rubbed his ribs. “You might as well kill me now,” he said. “I’m going straight to the police department. This is assault.”

Keith looked uncertain, glancing up the street as if watching for the police. “Hey, look, can’t you take a joke?” he said suddenly.

Cole stood and pointed at the sidewalk. “If this blood is a joke, I’m not laughing. Unless you plan to kill me, I’m headed to the police station.” Cole turned and started walking.

“You squealer! You rat!” Keith shouted after him. “I’ll tell everyone at school you ratted on me!”

Cole kept walking.

Cole’s mother gasped, holding her hand over her mouth when he entered the house with a bloody face and torn clothes. “What happened?” she cried.

Cole told how he’d been beaten up by Keith. “I’m filing charges,” he announced. “Will you go with me?”

“Okay,” she said, grabbing a wet washcloth. “But let’s wipe that blood off your face first.”

Cole pushed her hand away. “I want the police to see what Keith did.”

When they arrived at the police station, Cole’s mother helped to file the report and press charges. The officer on duty took pictures of Cole’s face and chest.

Afterward, Cole wanted to stop by Garvey’s.

“Can’t that wait?” his mother asked.

“No, I want him to see what happened, too. He’ll be proud I didn’t fight back with my fists.”

Fifteen minutes later they pulled into the drive of Garvey’s small home near the Interstate. Garvey was working in the yard but threw down his rake when Cole climbed from the car holding his ribs, blood still smeared on his cheeks. “What the devil happened to you?” Garvey exclaimed, running over.

As Cole explained, Garvey examined his face and bruised ribs. “Did Keith do all this to you?”

Cole nodded. “I told him he’d better kill me ’cause I was pressing charges. And I did. We just came from the police station—that’ll teach him to mess with me.”

Garvey let out a slow breath. “He’ll leave you alone now only because he’s afraid of you.”

“Good,” Cole said, “’cause I had no other choice.”

“You always have other choices,” Garvey said.

“How would you have kept from getting beat up?” Cole shot back, frustrated. “And don’t say, ‘I’ll figure it out.’”

Garvey shrugged. “Some days are just bad days. When bullies corner you, you’re having a bad day—not much you can do about changing that.” He shook his head slowly. “What’s important is if you behave in a way that preserves your dignity and helps make tomorrow better.”

“I did that!” Cole snapped, feeling his smoldering anger grow.

Garvey closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead as if he had a headache. “Filing charges used the same tool the bullies used—fear.”

Cole threw his hands in the air. “Nothing I do will ever satisfy you! I’m not supposed to fight with my fists. Ms. Kennedy didn’t like us using the cell phone. Sitting down didn’t help. Now I’m not supposed to use my head.”