“MARI!” Sammy screams from outside.
“Uhhh, shit,” I moan, rolling to my side, pain exploding, tiny white dots taking over my vision.
Buddy barks hysterically, scratching at the screen door.
The voice screams again, a shrilling sound. “GET OUT MY HOUSE!”
Lungs shriveling to raisins, I almost piss on myself as I stare up the dark staircase at . . . nothing. No one is there.
“Mari, get up! Please, get up,” Sammy begs from the porch, reaching for me, rain splattering around him.
There’s soft movement in the shadows and I can’t pull my eyes away. Leaning forward, I try to make out the shape in the blackness, just as something sails down fast toward my head.
“Ah!” I shriek, flipping onto my stomach, a quick dodge as it clatters beside me with a loud smack.
“Mari!”
I roll over, coming face-to-face with a broom head. The same broom Mom was looking for.
“Shit,” I gasp, shoving it away with my foot, scooting back against the wall.
A door slams upstairs, followed by hard footsteps. The house huffs.
“Mari! Mari, come here! Quick!”
Scrambling to my hands and knees, I crawl outside, then I’m up on my feet, limping off the porch.
“Come on! Come on!” Sammy cries, and he’s like a blue streak in the wind he’s running so fast. My muscles manage a light jog down the street until my body feels too heavy to carry. The distant streetlights start to blur, the pulse in my ear the only sound I can hear.
Shit, I’m going to pass out.
“Sammy,” I gasp, swaying to the right, the ground tilting under me.
Sammy doubles back. “What’s wrong?”
With a stumble, I drop to my knees, breath ragged and slowing.
“Mari,” he cries, catching my head before it hits the pavement. He whips around, frantic, and starts to scream. “Help! Heeeeelp us!”
No one will hear him. Not in this rain.
“Sammy, go get Yusef,” I mutter, my eyelids fluttering, the world is going dark.
“Mari! Don’t go to sleep, Mari, please,” Sammy cries, shaking me. “Help! Help!!!”
Buddy circles us, barking and whimpering.
“Next block . . . over,” I slur. “The house with the roses.”
Sammy sniffs, nodding. “Buddy, down. Down, Bud!”
Buddy lies on the wet ground and Sammy softly places my head on him.
“Stay, Bud! Stay! I’ll be right back!”
Sammy takes off running, I can’t tell which direction, the street is so dark. The abandoned houses . . . they seem so large from this angle, as if they grew twenty feet higher, leaning inward, windows like angry eyes staring down at me. Buddy whimpers, his cold nose nudging my face. I close my eyes, the pouring rain kinda relaxing, like taking a cold shower after a hot day of track practice. Not quite, but close enough. Until I feel Buddy tense under me, a low growl deep from his belly.
“Buddy?” I mutter, unable to open my eyes.
He jumps to his feet, and the back of my head slaps the concrete. Crying out in pain, I manage to roll to my side. Buddy stands over me, furiously barking. The kind of ferocious barks he saves for strangers or intruders coming too close. Someone’s here.
“Buddy,” I gasp, opening my eyes.
A set of beaming headlights pop on, blinding me. Footsteps. Hard ones, like the ones from the house.
Oh God, it wasn’t a ghost!
Panicked, I beg my body to move, to cooperate, hand grabbing for anything around me.
“Help,” I croak in between sobbing tears, then think of Sam. He got away and he won’t be here to witness his sister’s murder. A strange relief fills me as my arms give up and I roll over, readying myself.
Then the rain stops. Or I think it stops, it’s no longer hitting my face, but the sound is still surrounding us. I force my eyes open and for a brief second, I see a shadow standing over me with an umbrella. Not a shadow, a man.
Mr. Watson?
Too weak to scream, I gasp before everything fades to black.
“Aye, aye. Cali! Come on, Cali, wake up!”
I’m underwater, Yusef’s voice calling from the surface. My eyes struggle to focus, the darkness still edging as my brain floats, coming up for air.
Yusef is leaning over me, tapping my cheek. “There you go! Open your eyes, come on.”
My head is lying on something soft. And kind of dry. The rough cotton scratches my neck.
“Mari,” Sammy whimpers, and I realize he’s gripping my hand.
I want to say “Don’t cry, Sam” but I can feel myself fading fast again and glance at Yusef.
“The . . . the house,” I utter, my arms limp, trying to point. Piper is still inside.
Yusef scoops me up off the ground, cradling me in his arms before it all fades to black again.
The color yellow is the first thing I see. For a moment, I think I’m staring into the sun. Then I notice how cold I am, how soft the sun feels, and my eyes pop open. A pattern of little red flowers on faded fabric stares back at me. A sofa cushion. My face is on some random . . . sofa?
FACT: Bedbugs have not been shown to cause or spread diseases. Some people will react to bedbugs bites, and excessive scratching can lead to secondary infections.
I sit up quick and the room spins, causing me to lean sideways. Need to get up, need to get up. I could be getting an infection at this very moment. Is that something on my arm? A bite? An egg? Soap, alcohol, bleach . . .
“Yo, hold up,” Yusef says next to me and gently eases me back down. “Not so fast.”
His arm weighs a thousand pounds on my shoulder and I’m too weak to fight him. Doesn’t stop my skin from flaming up, making me want to scrape it off with a peeler. I want to scratch, I need to scratch. I want to smoke. I also want to just be a regular, normal person. Not such a basket case in front of strangers. Tears drench my eyes.
“Hey, Cali, it’s okay,” Yusef says, leaning over me, stroking wet hair out of my face. He smells so good, even in his wet clothes. I cave, softening into him, and for the first time tonight, I feel safe.
“You’re okay,” he whispers, holding me. “Look, Sammy’s right here.”
Sammy, wrapped in a blue towel, sits in Pop-Pop’s recliner, staring at the floor. His face drained of blood, eyes wide and unblinking as if he’s seen something . . . crazy. The same look he had when I woke up in the hospital, puke in my hair, stomach pumped clean. The memory is a knife twist.
“Here, drink some water,” Yusef says, offering me a glass. “How’s the head? Unc says we need to keep you awake. In case you have a concussion.”
Across the living room, Mr. Brown is talking in hushed whispers on the phone, glancing at me every few seconds. By the kitchen, Pop-Pop stands in a blue fuzzy robe and leather house slippers with a suspicious glare. Suddenly, memories of the headlights flood in.
“Hey, where’s . . . where’s Mr. Watson?” I ask, searching the room. “Did he leave already?”
“Mr. Watson?”
“Yeah. He was with me.”
Yusef raises an eyebrow, glancing at Sammy. “Cali, when we found you, you were lying in the middle of the street, knocked out cold. And alone.”
No way . . . the headlights . . . I couldn’t have imagined that.