The Calling (26 page)

“Denise, come on, wake up.” I stared down into her face. Her skin was soft and creamy, and the place where I’d slapped her was turning red. Her mouth was still open and I could hear her breathing, but it was faint and seemed to be getting even fainter. “Come on, Denise. Goddamn it, wake up. Wake up!”
 

She wouldn’t respond and just lay there, already lifeless in my arms. I opened my mouth and started to ask her why, when suddenly I knew the answer.
 

I’d known the instant I stepped into her bedroom.
 

Her parents were loving but strict, and as all good parents went, they only wanted what was best for their daughter. After all, that was why they’d paid more to have her transferred to Elmira High School, where Mr. Rowe had attended so many years ago and which he believed would be the best place for his daughter. But still, no matter how much and how hard Denise tried, it was never good enough in their eyes. They were the Rowes, one of the wealthiest and most respected families in the county, and their daughter was either going to be a lawyer or a doctor, no ifs ands or buts about it. Denise, while she appreciated her parents’ enthusiasm about her future, wanted to be a social worker, a topic she had regrettably brought up one night two years ago and which resulted in her parents flipping out. Later, when she reviewed the events in her mind, she thought they would have reacted better had she told them she’d become pregnant by a heroin junkie.
 

Five months ago she was accepted into Cornell University, her father’s alma mater, and every day they told her how proud they were of her. Despite their varying views in the past and her foolish idea of social work, her parents had forgiven Denise and now thought they knew everything there was to know about their daughter’s life—when, like most parents, they hardly knew the truth. And the truth was ever since their spat about her future career choices she’d begun hating them, wanting to do whatever she could to hurt them. She’d begun to let her grades, which were normally very high, slip on purpose, as she began hanging out with what her parents would no doubt call the wrong crowd. She started going to parties where she drank and smoked pot and had sex. She was having the time of her life, until just last week when she learned that because she failed her History final she would not be graduating and would have to take summer school. She’d been so flustered and desperate she had actually considered asking her teacher, old Mr. Granato with the harelip, if he would pass her if she gave him a blowjob. But in the end she had chickened out and went home, where she cried herself to sleep. So far she had kept it from her parents, even when they hugged her goodbye before leaving for her father’s business trip, and she knew what kind of wrath she would be forced to bear once they returned and found out.
 

So Denise Rowe, believing she had no options left, decided to take the easy way out. Have a large party, invite all the popular kids, then pop an entire bottle of pills while it was happening, and not only would she not have to face her parents, but then she would forever be remembered too.
 

But it wasn’t her time just yet and that was why I was here, why I’d been called to this particular room on the second floor of this particular house. I sensed the sadness and desperation in her soul, and I knew that deep down Denise Rowe did not want to die.
 

Footsteps sounded again at the door. Only this time it wasn’t the jock with the sandals and expensive shirt, but a girl wearing a black halter-top and glasses. She paused in the doorway, her eyes finding Denise on the bed, and her hands went immediately to her face. She started screaming, “
Oh God Denise no not Denise my God!
”
 

“Hey!” I shouted at her, wanting to break her focus on Denise, and when the girl blinked at me I asked her if anyone had called an ambulance yet. She nodded, her body beginning to shake, and said, “Josh did, yeah. They—they should be here soon.”
 

I turned my attention back to Denise and slapped her face again, told her she had to wake up, told her she couldn’t die just yet. And my attention was so trained on waking Denise and trying to keep her alive that when the girl came and sat down on the bed and took her friend’s hand, I didn’t even notice.

•
 
•
 
•

T
HE
PARAMEDICS
ARRIVED
ten minutes later. And with the paramedics came the police.
 

By then news of what happened had spread throughout the party. Maybe a dozen people came upstairs and poked in their heads, some asking if Denise was okay, others clearly blitzed out of their minds and wanting to only see a possible dead girl. One pothead with long dark hair wrapped in a ponytail actually started laughing and said, “Yo, that’s fucking awesome,” before one of the girls called him a jerk and pushed him out of the room. Mostly all who stayed were Denise’s closest friends, one who even said she was a trained lifeguard and knew CPR. But the girl was too tipsy and reeked of dope, and I knew CPR was the last thing Denise needed right now and told her so. She looked disappointed, called me a prick under her breath, and walked to the corner to sulk.
 

I continued slapping Denise’s face, the spot on her cheek now even redder. I was uncertain if my actions were more harmful than helpful but kept doing them anyway. Once her eyes fluttered and she moaned, said something that sounded like apples, but then she just shifted her body and lay still. One of the girls watching screamed, “She’s dead!” which caused others to begin panicking, and I told them all to shut the fuck up.
 

The dance music continued pumping downstairs. It was faint but the beat could still be felt through the floor. I figured the party was still going on and even though many knew an ambulance was on its way, none of them were smart enough to realize that when an ambulance is called to an overdose scene, the police are dispatched first. This didn’t seem to register for anyone until the music abruptly shut off downstairs, and someone shouted that the cops were busting the place.
 

Out of the half dozen girls and two guys standing watch in Denise’s room, only two of the girls split. The rest looked nervous but knew they were screwed anyway, and wanted to wait it out with their friend. I tried sending this message to Denise through her soul in hopes it would give her more reason to wake up. But she only continued to lay motionless in my arms, her chest hardly rising and falling at all anymore.
 

A deputy stepped into the room a minute later. He glanced suspiciously at everyone, then at Denise on the bed, before motioning two medics inside. A man and woman rushed in, wearing blue jumpsuits and carrying equipment, and the next thing I knew I was pulled off the bed so they could begin working.
 

The deputy had headed back downstairs. A few others had as well. I stood there a moment watching, then turned toward the door when the female medic spoke.
 

“Do you know how many she took?”
 

I shook my head, told her I had no idea. But in my mind I knew there had been eighteen pills in the bottle when she emptied it, though I wasn’t about to say that aloud, I could just imagine the stares I’d receive.
 

I went downstairs into the frenzy of running drunken teenagers. Melvin Dumstorf ran past, the front of his green polo splattered with vomit, and judging by the hurried expression on his face it didn’t look like he was in the mood to do any of his freestyling or ninja skills anytime soon. Through the open front door I saw one of the deputy’s cruisers parked in front of the house, the ambulance right behind it. Two more cruisers were up at the end of the extended driveway, blocking any escape. One girl asked me if Denise would be all right. I shrugged and told her I didn’t know, but it was a lie.
 

I knew.
 

I knew that in the next two minutes the medics would cause her to throw up the Valium. I knew that she would spend the night in the hospital (a floor above the one Joey had been on) and that in the morning she would have to face her parents, who would fly home a day early from their trip. I knew how difficult it would be for her to tell her parents why she tried killing herself, and confessing to them how she would not be graduating on Saturday.
 

Almost everyone now had concluded that they weren’t going to run away, though a few had taken off through the back, up into the trees. Others simply waited for the deputies to come to them. One big kid wearing an Elmira High football jersey, number 79, walked outside the front door with his hands in the air. Between his lips was a fat unlit joint. Someone shouted, “You go, Boomer, you show ’em who’s boss.” I knew I was sober enough to pass the motions—especially after the rush I’d just had upstairs—but passing the Breathalyzer would be next to impossible. For the first time I thought about John and his friends and wondered just how they were faring.
 

I went to step outside toward the bright red blue and white flashing lights when a hand gripped my arm and spun me around.
 

“Well hello there, nephew,” my uncle said. He was dressed in his uniform, the PISTOL EXPERT pin flashing in the light. “Funny seeing you here.”

•
 
•
 
•

W
E
DROVE
DOWN
13 in silence. We passed Harvey’s Tavern, its parking lot moderately filled with pickups and cars, then eventually made a left onto Mizner Road. I knew we had about another five minutes until we reached The Hill. I was beginning to think we could go the entire ride without a single word when Dean spoke.
 

“She’ll live, you know. One of the medics told me they reached her just in time. Another five minutes and she would have been gone for good.”
 

We came up over a rise and our headlights splashed a deer three hundred yards ahead of us, the animal stopping and staring, its glassy eyes reflecting the light, before hurrying into the trees.
 

“You know, you’re the last person I expected to see there tonight.” Dean shook his head, seemed to have to force himself not to look at me. “How’d you get there anyway?”
 

“Does it matter?”
 

He emitted a low heavy laugh without smiling. “You just don’t know when to stop, do you?”
 

“What can I say? I’m incorrigible.”
 

This time he shot me a glare, one that suggested it’d be best to stop being a smartass. “Mom doesn’t know where you’re at, I’m guessing.”
 

“I didn’t tell her.”
 

“Do you realize how she lost it when she found your little note yesterday? I never thought she’d stop crying. Chris, you have to stop doing this.”
 

“Doing what?”
 

He shook his head. “I’ve been talking to Steve. We both think it’s a good idea if you went back to Lanton. To stay for good. Too much bad stuff’s been happening up here, and ...”
 

“Yeah? And what?”
 

“And you seem to be right in the middle of everything.”
 

“That’s bullshit.”
 

“Is it? Then explain to me why you and Moses Cunningham are such good friends all of a sudden. Mom tells me she’s seen you hanging out in his trailer and going places with him. Am I the only one who finds it odd that after his son gets abducted, the kid refuses to speak to anybody but you? Then after he dies you’ve got nothing to tell us but yet you’re hanging around with his old man?”
 

I was silent for a long time. Then, “So what do you want me to say?”
 

“Nothing. I don’t want you to say a goddamn thing, because to be honest, I really don’t want to know. But I have off on Saturday. I’ll take you back to Lanton then. I know you’ve made the trip already by yourself, but I’d just feel more comfortable if I went too.”
 

Silence again. I couldn’t wait to get out of the car. I’d been sitting in it ever since Dean placed me there two hours before. He’d told me to get in, and I waited while nearly everyone else got citations for underage drinking and even arrested for possession. I wondered when I was going to get mine, too, when Dean got in without a word and we started off toward The Hill.
 

“I would like to know one thing,” he said as we passed by a dark and empty-looking Shepherd’s Books. “How did you know about Denise?”
 

“I didn’t. It was an accident. I opened the door and found her there, and knew she needed an ambulance.”
 

“Don’t bullshit me, Chris. Steve told me about what happened back home, at that guy’s farm. He said you ... that you almost sensed what was about to happen.”
 

“And you believe him?”
 

He glanced at me once more, as we slowed down to make the left into the trailer park. “Let me tell you a story. Back about twenty-five years ago, I had just graduated high school. I was dating this girl then, her name was Susie, and we were in love. She was going to college close by—nearly all our friends were, even my best friend Tom—and she wanted me to come along too, said it’d be the perfect place for me. But I wasn’t sure. Instead I followed after my old man and joined the army. I asked Susie if she’d wait for me and she said she would.
 

“I spent five years in the service. I tried writing Susie as much as possible. Occasionally I’d get a letter from her, or she’d answer when I called. But pretty soon her letters didn’t come as often, until they didn’t come at all, and every time I called she wasn’t there. Not until I got back to Bridgton did I find out she was already engaged to somebody else. And the ironic thing about it is she was engaged to Tom. The guy who got us together in the first place. My best friend.”