Repossessed (8 page)

A
ll the warmth had left my fingertips.

Bloo-bloo-bloop!

An eternity of wishing to speak directly to my Creator,
I thought in despair—
and
this
is how He finally contacts me? Through AOL Instant Messenger?

But no. “Angel of the Lord”: that would not be the Creator Himself. It would be one of His lieutenants.
Gabriel, Michael, Raphael—someone like that.

That's how you know you're low on the list. When you don't even rate a face-to-face meeting with an underling.

Is that right
? I thought.
“Whom” is a direct object: “I am speaking to whom.”

Yes, that's right
.

I hit
SEND
.

 

“angeloftheLord is offline,” said the little box.

I logged off and shut the computer down. I wasn't about to touch it again. And I wouldn't go to sleep tonight, not until this body zonked out on its own.

They'll have to drag me out of here,
I thought.

Then I realized:
They're going to
.

Strange how one can feel satisfaction, dread, and fear at the same time.

Now I felt as if I were being watched. I reached to turn
off the desk lamp, immersing the room in darkness. It made me feel better, as if anybody trying to find me now would be as blind as I was.

My human eyes adjusted to the lack of light, and shapes began to form as the dark became shades of black and gray. The house was quiet. The bedroom window appeared to be glowing behind the blinds, a lovely muted silvery cast.

I stepped over Shaun's scattered CDs to his window and pulled the cord to raise the blinds. As I did so, a flurry of dust rose into my face.

Immediately I had a tickling in my nose, an odd sensation that the nose was drawing me into action whether I willed it or not. A feeling of inevitability…

“Ahhh-
choo
!”

A sneeze. I'd sneezed! It was as compelling and as irresistible as ejaculation—of course, not nearly as much fun, but it was
physical
. It was something I'd gotten to experience before the Creator sent His Unfallen henchmen for me.

I was happy to feel the tickling again, the dawning need. Another sneeze was coming down the pipeline.

This time I wanted to see if it really was unavoidable. I opened my eyes wide and wrinkled up my nose, fighting it….

“Ahh-
choo
!”

Marvelous!

I waited, but nothing else happened, and as nothing had come out of my nose that required attention, I went ahead and opened Shaun's window. A screen stood between me and the outside, but I could smell and feel the night air.

I dragged Shaun's amplifier over and sat on it, propping my elbows on the windowsill. I immediately saw that the silvery glow came from the moon. It was all reflected light, the hot golden light of day turned cool and ethereal in its windings through space.

Funny how there could be such a difference between air and…
air
. Inside, I could smell specific odors, like Shaun's sweat stains, or Peanut's litterbox, or the greasy smell of the French fries we'd had for dinner. But this night air from outside had a thousand subtle smells to it, most of which I didn't have enough experience to identify. I thought one was the scent of fresh grass. Another might be damp soil.

The rest? I'd probably never know. I'd have to go back before I found out.

Shaun's lungs heaved in and out with
my
breath. A slight breeze from outside teased the tiny hairs on Shaun's arms—but
I
was the one who felt them.
I
felt.
I
saw.
I
heard.
I
tasted.

I
got to experience something besides secondhand misery.

And I loved it.

I sighed, and rested my chin on my elbows. This body was already getting that heavy-eyed, foggy-brained feeling that meant it needed sleep.

Sleep. What a waste. And this time, it was likely that I wouldn't awaken in this world.

The moon, with its pale gray, seemed to blur and dim.

I thought:
Am I crying
?

I darted my eyes from side to side, trying to see tears. The blurriness was definitely there, but when I lifted my fingers to my cheeks, they were dry.

I squeezed my eyes shut and felt the rims and lashes; sure enough, there were a few drops of moisture!
I
did
cry a little
, I thought with satisfaction.

I tried to cry some more, but to no avail. Finally, I stood and shut the window. And as I pulled the shade down, I admitted what I already knew: No matter what happened, this holiday was worth it. It was worth anything to be able to cry real tears, to smell Lane's scent, to feel a cherry tomato burst on my tongue—even having my fingertips slashed added spice and depth, because it led me to feel things, and to think things, that I might not have, otherwise.

And if, after I was done, it turned out that I had attracted the notice of the Creator, that would indeed be a fitting end to a lovely vacation.

I headed down the darkened hall to the bathroom, feeling an odd mixture of joy and sadness. There were so many things I still longed to do. Small things, like hot baths and soft carpets and sex.

I just wanted to stay, that's all—just a bit longer. I'd barely been here one day. It wasn't enough.

Not nearly enough.

…and the evening and the
morning were the second day…

T
he first thing I became aware of was infinite darkness.

Second thing: I could not move. I was captured, trussed. My arms and legs bound.

My
arms
?

My
legs
?

I opened my eyes, and the darkness became forest green paint.

I was still here. I was in Shaun's bed, lying on my side, staring at the wall.

I looked down. The sheets had become tangled around my limbs in the night.

I got to see another morning!

“Woo-hoo!” I shouted to Peanut, who sat on the dresser, watching me. This time I didn't care who heard me.

Peanut just stared, expressionless.

“The repo men haven't come yet,” I told him. “Get it?
Repo-
ssession? Although technically this wasn't a possession in the first place. But you know that, right? You're a very sharp cat.”

Peanut remained unimpressed.

He didn't move, but watched as I got dressed.

My removal was imminent. But now that it was morning, an irresistible idea began to bubble up.

It looked to me like I might have a chance to quickly slip in one or two tiny nudges to this plane before I left.

I bet I could manage it, too—just leave a couple of small marks, nothing that would hurt anyone, nothing that would interrupt the space-time continuum. Just a few teensy asterisks that would linger after I was gone, the way a boy deep in the woods carves an initial in a tree trunk that no one will ever see:
KIRIEL WAS HERE
.

I'd have to think what I wanted to do exactly, but I knew I wanted to try
something
.

I kept my distance from Peanut so as not to annoy him, but when I was fully clothed I moved a
little
closer to him—not much—and studied him curiously. His paws were white, as was the front of his chest and his throat. The rest of his fur had appeared to have smooth, perfect brown stripes, but now I could see that the stripes blurred and overlapped at the edges, looking both soft and jagged
at the same time. I longed to put out a finger and touch them.

But I didn't.

When I went into the kitchen, Shaun's mom was digging in her purse. A small mound of Kleenex and papers and makeup supplies lay heaped on the counter next to it. “Morning,” she said, adding a wallet to the pile. “You're up a little early.”

“Indeed I am.”

She found what she was looking for—her keys—and pulled them out of the purse. “Did you have a bad dream this morning?” she asked, stuffing everything else back in. “I thought I heard you calling out.”

“No, no bad dreams. I slept well.”

“That's good. Listen,” she said in a lowered voice, with a glance over my shoulder, “don't forget about inviting Jason to Bailey's.”

Oh. Right. “I won't forget,” I told her.

“And would you remind him to take his meds when he comes in?”

“Okay.”

She beamed, and headed for the back door. “Wonderful. Have a good day, all right?”

“You, too,” I said, but she was already gone.

I proceeded to get two bowls and two spoons out. I poured myself some Froot Loops, and Jason some
Cinnamon Toast Crunch. The individual pieces of cereal seemed to blur as they slid into the bowl.

As I was pouring the milk, Jason appeared, fully dressed, although with untied shoelaces and mussed hair.

“Here.” I handed him his cereal. He grunted something unintelligible, but took it and carried it over to the table, where he grabbed the spoon and dug in, eating silently.

I took the seat next to him. I'd quite been looking forward to more Froot Loops, and today I tasted them one by one, testing to see if each color had a different flavor. It did, so I sorted and pushed the pieces with my spoon until I was able to shovel a whole pile of yellows into my mouth at once.

This took a bit of time, and Jason was finishing up before I remembered to ask him, “Hey, you want to come to Bailey's with me after school today?”

Jason shrugged.

“Is that a yes or no?”

He shrugged again. “I know I'm not as good as you guys,” he said, not looking at me.

I thought about it for a moment. He must be referring to the video game the three of us had played together.

“You're better than I am,” I told him truthfully.

“No, I'm not.”

“You were yesterday.” I didn't add that he always
would be, from now on. “And you beat Bailey once, too.”

Jason gave no indication that he'd heard. He pushed his chair back with a screech and got up. He took his empty cereal bowl to the sink and dropped it. There was a brief clatter as it hit the stainless steel, punctuated by another, rather alarming sound that might have been chipping glass. He hesitated, and I saw him dart me a furtive glance.

“Don't forget your medicine,” I told him.

Jason moved quickly away from the sink, as if he had nothing to do with anything that lay there, and grabbed a small brown plastic bottle from its place on the counter. It was always on the counter, because Shaun's mom said that Jason had a better chance of remembering it if it was in plain view. He was quite the expert at taking pills—he had one out of the bottle and down his throat, no water, in less than two seconds.

“So,” I said as he recapped the bottle and set it down, “I'll see you after school.”

“Okay,” he said with a shrug.

He certainly didn't utilize much facial or vocal expression in communicating with other people. He didn't even use many words. I could see now, after having been here a while, how people would think he didn't care about things.

I thought he
did
care, though. His methods of communication were smaller than other humans', but that
didn't mean they weren't there. I thought,
If he speaks to me again—if he actually says good-bye to his brother before he leaves the house—that means he's experiencing some camaraderie
.

So as he moved across the kitchen, I said nothing, just sorted and ate my Froot Loops. But I was listening.

“See you,” Jason muttered as he walked out the door without looking around.

I didn't bother speaking; he was already gone. But I detected some facial movement and put my fingers up to my face.

No teeth were uncovered. But the corners of my mouth had risen slightly. Not a grin. Just a small smile.

 

“You're kinda quiet, dude,” Bailey said on the bus.

“Uh-huh,” I said. I
was
quiet. I had a lot to think about, and quickly. There were things to be attempted—
K
's to be carved—before I was dragged out of this existence. “I guess I'm tired,” I lied, hoping that Bailey would let it go.

He did. He pulled out a handful of index cards with writing on them and began flipping through, staring at each. I recognized them as English vocabulary.

I settled into the seat, thinking. There was only a short time left, and I was unwilling to play havoc with Shaun's
friends and family. I wanted to leave only subtle, but satisfying, traces behind.

There were three main tree trunks I thought I could put a
K
on.

So. First “tree.” “There's something I want to ask you,” I told Bailey.

“Go ahead,” he said absently, frowning over his cards.

“If anything ever happens to me, would you watch out for Jason?”

Bailey looked up.
“What?”

“If I—um, got hurt. Or, you know, if I…if I
died,
would you do me a favor and just kind of keep an eye on Jason? Help him out, check up on him?”

Bailey was looking at me so steadily now that he reminded me of Peanut. “Is there something going on I need to know about?”

I thought he sounded suspicious, so I deliberately turned to face him and made full eye contact.

“No,” I said.

“You're not, like, sick or anything?”

“No.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. It's just a favor, that's all.”

“That's a really weird thing to be asking.”

“Okay, but will you?”

“Yeah, sure.” He turned back to his vocabulary cards. “Whatever.”

Death was not something Shaun or Bailey had discussed before. My guess was that Bailey had seldom even thought about it. Now he seemed thoughtful and a little sober as he stared down at the cards in his lap.

So. I'd begun with Jason; there was nothing more I could do at the moment. Now I would immerse myself in the matter of Lane.

“Shaun?” I heard Bailey ask in a somber voice.

“Yeah?”

“If anything ever happens to me, would you do me a favor?”

“Sure.”

“Would you make sure they bury me with my bobble-head collection?”

“I'll make sure,” I solemnly promised. Feeling terrible, because of course I wouldn't be around when Bailey died.

Then I saw that Bailey was smirking at me.

Had he been
joking
?

I tried to picture it: Bailey lying in a long box with his arms crossed, surrounded by dozens of bouncing large-headed figurines.

It
was
a joke.

“Very funny,” I said.

“Man, you thought I was serious.” Bailey snickered,
bending over his cards again. “What an ass. It's quite salient to me,” he added, eyeing his cards, “that you're a reprehensible and credulous ass.”

He'd misused “salient.” I shook my head and turned to stare out the window.

“Tree” number two: Lane.

I was quite looking forward to achieving sexual gratification with her—but after giving it some thought, I also felt that I could tweak the situation to do double duty.

Yes, I would use her as an instrument to fulfill my desires. But I would be
her
desire-fulfilling instrument as well.

I would make Shaun Simmons one of the best experiences of her life.

Lane didn't know how lucky she was. Unlike many teenage boys, I had the knowledge necessary to create a sublime first sexual experience for a girl. It wouldn't be any trouble; indeed, it would likely increase my enjoyment as well.

So. It had to be after school. There would be no opportunities at school to consummate our love. I would get her alone. Then I'd do everything just the way she'd written it in her diary. We'd follow one of her already imagined scenarios and fall into each other's arms. Then we'd have intercourse, and when we were finished, she'd be left with a lingering memory that she'd recall with joy
for the rest of her days.

Let's see, what
had
she written in her journal? It was hard to remember; there had been several versions. There was one where Shaun asked her to a school dance—that was out of the question, of course, because there was no school dance to go to. There was one where Shaun said nothing, but smiled at her with “sparkling eyes.” I didn't know how to do that. It sounded exciting, though. I made a mental note to keep watch for sparkling eyes today, in case I could see how it was done.

There was the version where Shaun told her she was beautiful.

Oh. That was the one.

Bailey's lips moved silently as he read over his cards. I realized that the bus had come quite a way, but I hadn't noticed the landscape going by. I had been looking out the window the whole time, but hadn't
seen
anything. It was as if concentrating heavily on something else had made my brain skip over all visual input.

Now I focused, and the first thing I saw was a church. I knew it was a church because there was a sign out front:
FIRST METHODIST
.

I hadn't seen it yesterday. I must have been looking out the other side of the bus when we passed. The building was rather blockish, and seemed to be made of a featureless white cement.

Was it truly a holy place? Was the Creator there more than He was in other places? Did He use it to achieve a connection with humans that was denied to other beings?

I turned and watched it disappear into the distance.

 

I spent English figuring out the logistics of my afternoon with Lane. I'd go to her again as she passed from her geometry class to her science class. I'd smile as much as possible, since she seemed to like that. I'd ask her to come to my—to Shaun's—house after school. I'd make sure Jason was busy with his video games. I'd take Lane into the bedroom, tell her she was beautiful, get both of us stripped down, then launch into a union of heart and body that would be awe inspiring in its scope and intensity. Simple enough.

Yes, I was quite looking forward to it.

The bell rang, and I gathered up Shaun's things. As I was passing the teacher's desk, he called to me.

“Shaun. Can you stay a moment?”

I said nothing, still being deep in thought, but I obediently went to him.

“I started grading yesterday's quizzes,” he said, “and I want to talk to you about yours.”

“All right.”

He reached down and picked up a stack of papers. “You made a
one hundred
on this quiz,” he said, looking at the paper on top.

“Yes, I see that.”

“I have to admit that I find it a little odd, since you've barely managed to pull low C's all year.” He tossed the papers back onto the desk and folded his arms. “I'm going to be moving your seat, Shaun. Away from Mindy Parsons.”

“All right.”

He stared at me. “Shaun. Be honest. Did you read the play?”

I started to say that technically speaking, no, I did not read it. But I saw that Mr. Collins suspected Shaun of cheating and that this entire interview was pointless, since Shaun was not here and I already knew the contents of the play.

“Yes, I did,” I told him. Shaun actually died without having read the play, but no matter. I wanted to leave this room and go about my business.