My head suddenly weighed a thousand pounds. I couldn't lift it, couldn't get away. But a shadow moved into view, huge like some superhero's, only more foreboding, more ominous, stronger. She stopped singing, obviously aware of it, and started weeping. Disappointed sobs fell out of her rhythmically, like kitten mews, and she beat the forest floor with her bony fist until the earth banged and bumped and started to crumble under its power.
It's me. It's
my
shadow, I told myself.
Mike Mavic will come to save himself.
But Mike Mavic was not powerful enough. This shadow of redemption was somebody else—
***
I shot straight up in the bed, huffing, trying to drown out the earthquakes and cat screeches. The cat turned into RayAnn hollering, "...on earth is going on?"
My vision blacked out totally from sitting up so fast, and I had to wait a few seconds to see her back and shoulders beside me. Last I remembered, she was talking to her dad on the phone, and I was lying here, trying not to spiral. She now sat up with the blanket around her waist, her sweatshirt sleeves fluttering as she stood and moved to the thundering noises.
"Don't answer the door!" I said quickly, realizing that the earthquakes were someone pounding, slowly and methodically.
Lanz kept growling and moved to sniff the door, and catching his long nose in my vision calmed me. He stuck his nostrils right up to the crack in the door, inhaling with great pulls, which he would not have done if it were someone truly dangerous. Dogs know these things.
I rubbed my hair to get the sleep out of my head and moved past RayAnn, who had dropped the blanket, causing me to stumble over it.
"Who's there?" I asked into the door.
"Let me in," a man said. "You want to talk to me or what?"
"Talk to
whom?
At..."
RayAnn finished. "...at four-fifteen in the morning."
"Who are you?" I demanded again.
"The bogeyman."
Ten seconds earlier I might have believed it, but I opened the door a crack and found the face on the other side. It was a kid, his eyes darting madly to one side. I would have pegged him at about thirteen until his eyes found mine, peering around the door. They betrayed years, sharp intelligence, a crusty need for sleep.
"You're Mike?" he asked, his voice less deep this time.
"Yeah."
"Kobe the Creep sent me."
I was already opening the door. Justin Creed lumbered past me as if it were perfectly normal to come into a motel room in the middle of the night without being asked. I remembered tales Adams wrote of Chris's not understanding "boundaries," of Adams punching Chris in the face back in sixth grade for taking his expensive guitar without asking, standing on a desk, and doing an Elvis routine. And then there were all the stories of the Mother Creed barging into the kids' bedrooms without knocking. This "boundary challenge" still seemed to run in the family, but it didn't do Justin much damage. He looked kind of impish and made you want to laugh.
He was short but stacked. He had a neck like a linebacker's, though the rest was covered in a Stockton sweatshirt. He looked all around with energy that spoke of assurance but not invasion. His eyes stopped on RayAnn as she stood by the desk illuminated by the lamp she'd clicked on. He raised and lowered his eyebrows quickly.
"Not much on romantic sleepwear, are you?"
"I call this dorm-wear," she said sleepily, glancing down at her Randolph sweatshirt and sweatpants. I thought it was a pretty good comeback...
considering it was four goddamn o'clock in the morning.
Justin had Chris's alleged undying grin, but with a sharpness to it, though the rest of his framework was his own. The "mean" side of him that Katy and Chan had spoken about earlier tonight either was buried in exhaustion or only came out for cheering onlookers. I figured it was a little of both. He stared, frozen, down at Lanz, whose nose was pressed against his jeans while he sniffed and sniffed.
"If this dog were going to rip off my package, I take it
It's me. It's
my
shadow, I told myself.
Mike Mavic will come to save himself.
But Mike Mavic was not powerful enough. This shadow of redemption was somebody else—
***
I shot straight up in the bed, huffing, trying to drown out the earthquakes and cat screeches. The cat turned into RayAnn hollering, "...on earth is going on?"
My vision blacked out totally from sitting up so fast, and I had to wait a few seconds to see her back and shoulders beside me. Last I remembered, she was talking to her dad on the phone, and I was lying here, trying not to spiral. She now sat up with the blanket around her waist, her sweatshirt sleeves fluttering as she stood and moved to the thundering noises.
"Don't answer the door!" I said quickly, realizing that the earthquakes were someone pounding, slowly and methodically.
Lanz kept growling and moved to sniff the door, and catching his long nose in my vision calmed me. He stuck his nostrils right up to the crack in the door, inhaling with great pulls, which he would not have done if it were someone truly dangerous. Dogs know these things.
I rubbed my hair to get the sleep out of my head and moved past RayAnn, who had dropped the blanket, causing me to stumble over it.
"Who's there?" I asked into the door.
"Let me in," a man said. "You want to talk to me or what?"
"Talk to
whom?
At..."
RayAnn finished. "...at four-fifteen in the morning."
"Who are you?" I demanded again.
"The bogeyman."
Ten seconds earlier I might have believed it, but I opened the door a crack and found the face on the other side. It was a kid, his eyes darting madly to one side. I would have pegged him at about thirteen until his eyes found mine, peering around the door. They betrayed years, sharp intelligence, a crusty need for sleep.
"You're Mike?" he asked, his voice less deep this time.
"Yeah."
"Kobe the Creep sent me."
I was already opening the door. Justin Creed lumbered past me as if it were perfectly normal to come into a motel room in the middle of the night without being asked. I remembered tales Adams wrote of Chris's not understanding "boundaries," of Adams punching Chris in the face back in sixth grade for taking his expensive guitar without asking, standing on a desk, and doing an Elvis routine. And then there were all the stories of the Mother Creed barging into the kids' bedrooms without knocking. This "boundary challenge" still seemed to run in the family, but it didn't do Justin much damage. He looked kind of impish and made you want to laugh.
He was short but stacked. He had a neck like a linebacker's, though the rest was covered in a Stockton sweatshirt. He looked all around with energy that spoke of assurance but not invasion. His eyes stopped on RayAnn as she stood by the desk illuminated by the lamp she'd clicked on. He raised and lowered his eyebrows quickly.
"Not much on romantic sleepwear, are you?"
"I call this dorm-wear," she said sleepily, glancing down at her Randolph sweatshirt and sweatpants. I thought it was a pretty good comeback...
considering it was four goddamn o'clock in the morning.
Justin had Chris's alleged undying grin, but with a sharpness to it, though the rest of his framework was his own. The "mean" side of him that Katy and Chan had spoken about earlier tonight either was buried in exhaustion or only came out for cheering onlookers. I figured it was a little of both. He stared, frozen, down at Lanz, whose nose was pressed against his jeans while he sniffed and sniffed.
"If this dog were going to rip off my package, I take it
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