“Hey, dude, I need you in the booth tomorrow,” Ned said, sounding his usual combination of frazzled and pumped. “One of the soundboards is on the fritz and I’m running rehearsal, so there’s no one else to check it out.”
Ned was directing this spring’s student play, some Greek drama, and JD had promised to help out. He’d done lights and sound on a few previous shows—the engineering part of it came naturally to him. Plus he loved the calm, remote darkness of the booth, high above the stage, where you could see everything and everybody, but no one could see you.
“Yeah, that’s fine,” JD responded. Couldn’t hurt to have some distractions lined up. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” He ran upstairs, replaced his gray suit with a more comfortable pair of jeans and his favorite yellow-and-black woolen flannel, then came back to retrieve the food from the kitchen.
It took about one minute to walk from his back door to the Winters’ front stoop; it was just enough to remind him of the last time he’d set foot in Em’s house: the day he left her flowers and a bar of chocolate. And a note. Always, JD. He could still picture the way Mrs. Winters had looked at him—like she had known that the gift was more than just an apology. That it was a confession, too, and a pledge.
He still didn’t know exactly what Em’s reaction had been to the gift.
“JD! What a nice surprise,” Em’s mom said when she appeared at the door.
“My mom thought you might want some casserole,” he said, holding up the dish.
“Oh, how sweet of her,” Sue said. “Let me take this into the kitchen.” Then, with only a second of hesitation, she added: “Em is resting upstairs. I’m sure she’d love to see you, hon.” She turned and walked down the hallway toward the kitchen.
JD took a deep breath as he started up the stairs. This was it. His chance to come clean, to start over, to start something.
Em’s door was partly open; he knocked softly and, hearing no response, entered. Em was lying on her bed, still wearing her clothes from the memorial service, having fallen asleep while reading. Her dark hair was splayed across a mountain of white pillows, and her eyelashes fluttered ever so lightly from dreams JD hoped were good.
He felt a pang of disappointment and also relief. And, deeper than that: love. Plain and simple. She was so beautiful. He moved quietly across the room to turn off the lamp. As he did, he caught the title of the book she’d been reading: Conjuring the Furies. The book was old and worn, and JD could see that it was heavily flagged with Post-its.
Curious, he picked it up and flipped through the dusty pages. Mostly Greek and Roman mythology, probably for the independent English project that all of Mr. Landon’s students were working on in his absence. The former Ascension English teacher had been found dead last month, and the long-term sub had assigned semester-length research papers. Or maybe Em was planning to get involved in the school play?
JD stopped short at page thirty-eight: a detailed drawing of a bleeding snake. The caption read: Eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth. Only blood will bring them back. He felt a sudden surge of nausea. He remembered the night he’d found Em in the graveyard, covered in mud, holding a dead snake. He’d been scared, worried, and disgusted all at once. She was grieving—going crazy because of all the deaths. That’s what he’d told himself at the time.
It was warm in the Winters’ house, but he shivered involuntarily. Creepy stuff. He’d bet money that this book wasn’t grief-counselor-approved. Should he mention it to her parents?
He turned the page to a new chapter: “Justice versus Revenge.” He adjusted his glasses and began to read.
Once summoned, the goddesses of vengeance don’t know when to stop—nor do they want to. They can’t distinguish between appropriate punishment and malevolent retaliation. The desire for revenge is subsumed by its evil underpinnings, leaving tortured victims in its wake.
JD felt like throwing the book across the room, or burying it. He didn’t go for energy and juju stuff but he could swear he felt bad vibes seeping from its pages, like toxins. Before he could close the book, Em stirred sleepily and opened her eyes. He could tell she’d been crying, but she managed a small, tentative smile. He smiled back, closing the book quietly and placing it down on her bedside table.
“Hi,” she said. Her voice sounded small.
“Hi,” he said. He felt awkward standing above her; he kneeled down next to the bed so their eyes were level. “My mom sent over some food, a casserole and—” He cut himself off before he could start to ramble. “Listen, Em, I know you’re having a hard time right now. And I wanted to tell you . . . I wanted to make sure you know . . . that I forgive you. I’m not mad at you anymore. I’m here for you. Always.”