Part 23 (2/2)

Box of Crayolas.

Blue eyes.

Her smile.

”Cooper! Run!”

I opened my eyes, and there was- My mother. Holding the lighter I'd dropped earlier in one hand and a thick sheaf of branches in the other, the leaves aflame. She used the homemade torch to hit the trees, forcing them back. It was enough to clear a hole and let her in. Then she lunged at the monster, flames first.

Fire licked at the creature's body and he cried out, loosening his grip. At the same time, Whipple leaped onto Auguste, biting one of his arms. Auguste went to smack the dog, which gave me just enough time to jerk away from the creature.

Sam wheeled toward my mother and raised the switchblade. He screamed his hatred with a burst of expletives.

He was going to kill her.

I dove for Sam's knees, trying to tackle him as I'd tackled a dozen soph.o.m.ores and juniors in football, knowing if I hit him hard and low, I'd take him down. When I plowed into him, Sam teetered backwards, staggering several steps.

But he wasn't a high schooler. He was an adult. A very angry, very determined adult, who recovered his balance and started toward my mother again. I was still on the ground, too many seconds from another tackle.

I kicked out, sending the closest thing I saw sailing under Sam's feet. He stumbled, then began to go down, tripping and falling- Right over the skull I had left there a few days before. Way to go, Paolo.

Sam, with his arms pinwheeling, turned, reaching for someone, something to help him, but there was no one there. No one who cared. ”Auguste! Grab me, you idiot!”

”I don't need you anymore, you hideous troll,” the creature said, then reached for Sam and yanked him onto the edge of the well.

Sam's eyes widened in surprise, then anger. ”If I die, you die!” He grabbed Auguste around the neck and plunged the knife into the creature's heart. The two of them hung there for a moment on the edge of the well, caught in the vines' hold. The creature clawed at Sam and Sam stabbed him back, each of them roaring in fury and agony, before the vines finally gave way and they both disappeared, falling down, down, down, into the inky darkness of the well.

Silence. And then the call of a bird. The flutter of wings, the scuffle of squirrels in the trees. The world slowly coming back to life in the forest.

I looked around. The trees had gone back to their places, the disruptions in the earth looking like freshly turned soil. A few branches and leaves smoldered in piles here and there, quickly becoming ashes. My mother stood beside me, breathing hard. ”Are you okay, Mom?”

”Yeah. Are you?”

I nodded.

She drew me to her side and breathed in the scent of my hair, placing a soft kiss on my forehead. ”I love you, Cooper,” she said, her voice the one I knew, the one I remembered. ”And I'm so, so sorry. For everything.”

I leaned into her. This was my mom. Really my mom. Whipple came up beside us and pressed his body to our legs, giving his seal of approval. ”I love you, too, Mom. And it's okay. It's all okay.”

We stood like that for a long moment. I think one of us cried.

”Do you think that thing is gone?” my mother asked.

I took the torch she'd fas.h.i.+oned out of branches, feeling a hundred times more grown up than I had two weeks ago. ”Let's make sure it is.” I walked over to the well, lighting all the champagne-colored grapes that grew along the perimeter, then firing up the vines crawling over the edge, letting the flames carry down and into the dark depths. Then together we grabbed a second branch, lit it afire, and threw it down, watching its path. We saw the flames flicker, then go out. And we heard a Nothing.

No laughing. No scratching. No movement.

Then we laid the torch to more dry autumn leaves. Just as they began to catch and turn the woods to bright orange, my mother took my hand and together, with Whipple trailing behind us, we ran home.

It was over.

Mr. Ring.” My father let out a sigh. ”Tell me you have something intelligent to say.”

Mike grinned. ”I can tell you that, but it doesn't mean it's true, Mr. Warner.”

My father rolled his eyes and went back to the chalkboard. He started writing, causing a mini snowstorm to start falling onto his shoes. ”Don't forget your final papers for Hamlet are due tomorrow-”

Collective groan.

”And since you all loved Hamlet so much, I thought we'd do another Shakespearean cla.s.sic for our next selection.” He wrote seven letters on the board in his precise script. ”Macbeth.” Then he turned back to us and beamed, as if he'd announced we'd be reading comic books.

”Dude!” Joey said, elbowing me. ”Will you talk to your father? Get him some happy pills or something? The guy is torturing us.”

I smiled. ”Joey, you don't know my dad that well. He is happy right now. He could be a walking ad for suns.h.i.+ne.” Lately my father had been singing in the shower, cooking pancakes in the morning, smiling on the way to school. And all because my mother was back home. Things were back to normal, which meant Faulkner barely talked to me, my parents read the paper together every night, and we all lived in the house near the playground and down the street from Megan.

It was as if the past two years had been erased. Almost, anyway. When I went to sleep at night, I could swear I still heard laughter and my name being called, but those were nightmares, and what was happening during the day was just too perfect to worry about a few leftover bad dreams.

Joey shook his head. ”You are so weird lately. What has gotten into you?”

”Nothing.” I traced the outline of ”Ken Luvs Lisa 4-Eva” on my desk with my fingernail. They still loved each other, and that meant the world was still all right. I tugged a pencil out of my backpack, and beneath Ken's permanent declaration, I leaded one of my own.

Cooper Luvs Megan.

Forever.

”Mr. Warner?”

I popped my head up. ”Yeah?”

”Do you have anything meaningful to add to this conversation?” my father asked.

I thought for a second. ”Does Macbeth end better than Hamlet? I'd like to see the good guy live in this one.”

My father grinned. ”You have a point.” He turned back to the chalkboard and swiped away the seven letters. ”Let's rethink that choice, shall we?”

My eyes met my father's. He might not be my dad by blood, but heck, when had that ever counted? Where it mattered was where it mattered. In my head, in my heart. ”Yeah, Dad. Let's do that.”

Joey slapped me on the back, called me a hero.

He had no idea.

After cla.s.s, Megan caught up to me. She slipped her hand into mine. Her touch felt right, perfect. I squeezed her hand and gave her a smile.

”Hey,” she said.

”Hey.” I grinned. Like an idiot. But come on, I was still a high school freshman. I hadn't exactly grown a lot of new brain cells overnight. ”Megan, I need to ask you something.”

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