บท 16: Chapter 16: No Longer Alone
Alice sat in the back seat of the van, hands gripping the top of her backpack in a death grip while Evan looked out the passenger window. Betty rounded up the pair of them that morning, insisting on driving them to school. Since it was only a couple of blocks away, Alice figured her mother was enforcing Evan's grounding.
Groggy and out of sorts, she clutched her bag to her, and the precious cargo inside.
After an hour waiting for Evan to come after her, Alice finally crawled into bed and hugged the voodoo doll. When she woke to her alarm, frazzled from little rest, she'd immediately looked down at the doll and felt a jolt of panic.
What if Evan found it in her room? Came snooping when Alice wasn't looking? She'd been locking her door and keeping the key in her pocket, but she would never underestimate her brother's cleverness when it came to torturing her. After a long and agonizing moment, Alice made a space at the bottom of her back pack and slid the doll inside, cushioned from her books by her pencil case.
Knowing it was with her brought Alice a small measure of comfort, carrying her through a horrible breakfast where Betty sighed over and over into the silence and Evan's stare ate a hole in Alice's resolve to stand her ground.
By the time she sank into the back seat of the van, her tension level ran so high Alice thought she might not survive it. Rupture a vein or something. Have an aneurysm. At least if she died she wouldn't have to suffer the anticipation of knowing Evan was going to find a way to punish her.
Betty dropped them off in front of the school, grabbing Evan's arm as he tried to leave. "Home right after school, young man."
Evan rolled his eyes at her. "I have football practice." Betty's jaw tightened. "I said you're grounded."
"Whatever." He slammed out of the van, closing the door so hard the whole thing rocked on its wheels. Betty's hands tightened on the steering wheel, shoulders bunched up near her ears.
Alice stared out the tinted back window, watching Evan lumber away. It took all of the courage she could muster to undo her seat belt and reach for the handle.
"Have a good day, honey." Betty had no idea what she'd unleashed. Or didn't care. Alice muttered something under her breath and stepped out into the gloomy morning, afine mist of rain beginning. The auto-close on the back door slid it shut and Betty left her there.
To face the wrath of Evan alone.
Though, not alone. Not today. Alice patted the bottom of the bag where the voodoo doll lay. She'd slid a pin into her pencil case. At least then, if Evan tortured her too badly, she could hide somewhere and take out her frustrations.
Alice began her slow approach to the school, the crowd of arriving kids blocking her view of the front door. Long enough she was almost there when she realized Evan hadn't gone inside yet.
He waited for her, surrounded by his football buddies, dark eyes glaring holes through her. Alice squeaked out a soft sound, hoping no one heard her, and scurried to the side, out of Evan's reach.
She knew better. Nothing was out of Evan's reach when he was angry. His hand landed on her shoulder just as she slipped past him, jerking her backward. Alice cried out, stumbling, falling to the side of the steps, off the concrete flagstones and into a small puddle created by many feet making a shortcut across the grass.
Alice scrambled to get out of the mud, only to have Evan lean over her. "I hope you're prepared," he hissed. "Your life is about to become a living hell, Lice."
He left her there, turning his back on her, going inside with his friends who laughed and smirked at her. Alice pushed herself up from the ground, hands filthy, backpack at her feet, only to hear more laughter.
"Very smooth, dear cousin." Claire paused, her perfect hair flawless despite the mist. Alice didn't comment, lifting her backpack to her chest, hugging it close.
Claire clearly expected more of a response and, when she didn't get it, merely shrugged her thin shoulders and walked past Alice as though she no longer existed.
The whisper of a sneaker on grass spun Alice around.
"I'm sorry," Peter said, voice soft and full of empathy. "I saw what happened. Are you okay?"
Unable to be angry with her brother or with Claire, at least openly, Alice's rage fixed on Peter. "Leave me alone." Tears threatening, she ran up the stairs to the school and raced to the nearest bathroom, locking herself in a stall while the other girls inside fell silent before whispering and laughing. Alice sat on the back of a toilet, crying quietly until the chatter returned to normal.
The bell rang, the bathroom emptying. Alice waited longer, until she was certain the room was empty before leaving the stall and going to the mirror.
A quick examination turned up a large brown patch of dirt on the back of her jeans, a wet stain covering most of her butt up to the tops of her pockets. Alice jerked her sweatshirt down over it as best she could, wiping at the mess with damp paper towels until at least most of the mud was gone. She longed to run home and change, but Betty would be there. And though the humiliation of being in school in such a state was powerful, facing her mother seemed the worse of two choices.
Betty would demand to know what happened. And if Alice blamed Evan...could things get much worse for her? Probably. Most definitely.
Another quick check and Alice sighed. Her cleanup job and the hem of her shirt would have to do.
Ten minutes late got her a reprimand from her Ms. Mosley. Like Alice cared. She huddled in her chair and doodled on her notebook, unable to focus. Chemistry was worse, only because Mr. Ranchero wouldn't let her participate in the new lab, just in case of a repeat accident.
Alice found a corner in the back of the music room to eat her lunch, slinking around the school with her Evan radar on high alert. He hadn't acted outside of his initial attack and the tension of not knowing, the anxiety growing inside her, chewed at her until she wanted to be sick. Even her peanut butter and jelly sandwich, a perennial favorite, couldn't entice her to eat, a new thing for her.
The gray closed in, tried to claim her. And she almost surrendered. Hovered at the edge of it, wanting it to take her away. Wondered if she died, here and now, would anyone care.
"Alice?"
She looked up to find Peter standing next to the cloth-draped piano, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed hard. His knees wobbled slightly, long legs stork-like in hisdark jeans. But the caring on his face broke the hold of the gray and, with a sigh, Alice shrugged.
"Hi," she said. "Want some sandwich?"
Peter's lips broke into a smile, eyes lighting with it as he took a step closer. "I brought my own." a brown paper bag, twisted and wrinkled at the top with a dark stain on one side, rustled in his hand as he offered it up. "Want to share?"
Alice slid over, making a space for him between the rack of music and the large case holding the bass. Peter took her silent invitation and sprawled next to her. In a matter of moments they had a little picnic spread out between them and, to Alice's surprise, she found her appetite had returned.
His sandwich was much more elaborate, some kind of flavored chicken with sprouts and shredded carrots. "My mom." He rolled his eyes as he took a bite of PB&J. "She's a chef."
Alice sniffed it, nibbled. Smiled. "It's delicious."
Peter grinned, peanut butter sticking to his teeth. "Glad you like it."
They ate in companionable silence a while before Peter offered her a sip of his water. "I know how you feel, by the way." His hazel eyes widened in empathy and Alice
found she welcomed his concern this time around. There was no one else here to see her weakness.
Peter accepted the bottle back from her, winding on the cap as he bowed his head, red hair catching the light and turning it orange. "My brother, Ben? He's the captain of the football team."
Alice felt her heart constrict for Peter. "That has to suck."
He grinned, the flash of a smile showing his large teeth before his bony shoulders rose and fell. "Ben's a bully," he said. "One of the school's worst. I'm pretty used to it, but it's not always easy."
Alice crossed her ankles, fingers fiddling with the cuff of her sleeve. She didn't want to talk about it. Doing so made her Evan anxiety return. Instead, she focused on the mystery she was living. After all, Peter's house was just down the street. Maybe he knew something that could help her translate the writing. "I know you said my house might be haunted," she said. "But is there any weird history about it?" She hadn't meant for it to come out like that, but Peter perked and nodded quickly.
"That place is super creepy," he said. Paused as his face fell. "Sorry."
Alice actually laughed, surprising herself. "I agree," she said. "But I kind of like it.
So? Any old stories?" The craving to share her secret grew inside her again. Rose's rejection still stung, but Peter seemed willing to listen.
He thought about it a moment. "Nothing specific," he said. "Just that something lives in it. You know. Not alive." He turned to her with wide eyes. "Is it true?"
Alice shrugged. "Not so far," she said. Hesitated, heart beginning to speed up. "I did find something." The doll's little form flashed in her mind, but she shoved that aside. No one would find out about the doll. But the writing...she needed to know what it meant.
What it was for.
Alice withdrew her netbook from her backpack and opened it. The main screen flickered to life. Her fingers hesitated over the keys as she again remembered how Rose reacted. But Peter looked so eager, bending close to see what she had to share, so Alice double clicked the file and waited, a little breathless, for it to open.
For Peter's reaction.
Rather anti-climactic, actually. Alice wasn't sure what she expected from him, but it wasn't a little frown and a shake of his head.
"Is that Creole French?" He bit his lower lip. "I can't read it, sorry." Alice sighed and closed the file. "Me either."
Peter perked, grabbing her hand. "But I think I know someone who can. Come on!"
Alice grabbed her bag, tossing it over her shoulder, stuffing the last of her trash into a bin on the way out, netbook still gripped in her other hand. Peter wasn't taking no for an answer and, honestly, Alice was so happy to find out if his idea would tell her what she needed to know, tied up in his new excitement, she let him lead her down the hall and to a half-open door. The little sign above it read 204 French.
Alice almost kicked herself. Why hadn't she thought to ask the French teacher? A man in jeans and a suit coat sat behind his desk in the empty classroom, sipping a cup of coffee, looking up as Peter, towing Alice, entered. His heavy glasses shaded his eyes,thick beard and mustache making his face look gruff, but he smiled at Peter and when he spoke, it was with a cultured French accent.
"Bonjour, Monsieur Beauregard." He sat back with his coffee balanced on the soft round of his belly. "And mademoiselle...?"
"Mr. Pascal, this is Alice Blunt." Peter smiled easily, setting Alice at ease.
"Ah!" Mr. Pascal's smile warmed his face, made him look less Grizzly Adams and more kindly uncle. "I hope to have you in my class next semester."
Alice bobbed her head, not sure what to say.
Mr. Pascal looked back and forth between them. "I can only assume you're here for a reason. What can I do for you, Peter?"
Peter turned to Alice and nodded. "Show him."
A great, heavy reluctance settled on Alice's shoulders, even as Peter reached for the netbook and set it on Mr. Pascal's desk.
"Alice needs a translation, please, sir," Peter said.
Mr. Pascal chuckled. "I should make the two of you figure it out on your own," he said. "How else are you going to learn?"
Alice stood frozen, staring at the screen as the computer woke, the text appearing. Mr. Pascal's eyes dropped, gaze fixing on the writing. But instead of teasing them further, he frowned and leaned closer.
"This is Creole," he said. "But not a dialect I'm familiar with." The teacher looked up, caught Alice's eyes. "Where did you find it?"
"In my house." The words came out in a dull whisper.
He nodded slowly. "There is some kind of shorthand to it. Some of the words are true French. Like this one." His thick finger jabbed at the screen. Alice leaned closer despite her frozen state, feeling herself ease a little as Mr. Pascal's attitude remained friendly. "Sécure means safe." Peter bobbed his head and Alice mimicked him. "And nuire means harm." Mr. Pascal's frown deepened. "And this one..." he sat back and met Alice's eyes. "Maudire."
Alice trembled under his gaze. "Curse," Peter whispered. "If I were to guess," Mr. Pascal said, "I would say this was some kind of magic charm, created by a voodoo priestess or priest. To protect from harm."
Or a curse. Alice shivered. "Thank you," she whispered.
Mr. Pascal smiled and stood as the warning buzzer sounded. "My pleasure."
Alice left with Peter, in a bit of a daze, more questions than answers spinning in her head.
"Did that tell you what you wanted to know?" Peter's face pleaded with her, his need to please her striking the just the right chord.
Please her? She'd never had anyone want to make her happy before. Alice's smile was as real as her amazement.
"Perfect," she said.
***
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