Pulse

Chapter 5

Lucie

The classroom burst with stifling heat and eerie silence. In Mr. Davies's class, I sat at the front of the room, at the desk furthest to the right, beside the window. I could see the empty courtyard from here, a few cars drifting by, and I wished I were them, free from the chains of the public school system with my own sense of free will. But, no, I was here, a mostly blank test in front of me, with the exception of a few eraser smudges.

I couldn't focus.

I hadn't been able to focus for a while now, not with Dempsey and with Victor (at least I thought his name was Victor) and that other guy whose name started with a K, or something. I kept picturing Dempsey's last moments, wondering what he'd been thinking, what he'd been feeling. I wondered if he was really gone, if my hope to find him alive was valid or faulty.

Then, of course, there was the thing with the ghosts, which meant both bad and good things. If Dempsey was truly dead, could I see him, somehow, since I now had this odd sixth sense?

My pencil jolted suddenly across my paper. I watched myself rewrite a simplified version of the equation printed there on the math test, but I was not completing the action of my own volition. Confused, I looked up, around. Nothing else was odd; Mr. Davies behind his desk, everyone else working diligently.

My pencil was still moving, but it had stopped forming numbers.

DON'T BE SCARED.

That was the most impossible request at the moment. Realizing what this was, or rather, who this was, I fought with all my might to gain control of my pencil back. I was already distracted enough. I did not have time for some ghost to interrupt me!

The handwriting was shakier, but still the phantom managed to convey his message with the smudging graphite: PLEASE STOP FIGHTING ME. NEED TO—

I started fighting again, but stopped when Mr. Davies shot me a strange look.

NEED TO TALK, LUCIE.

PLEASE

Then, slowly, the letters: V-I-N-N-Y.

Strangely enough, as soon as the Y was written, it felt as if a weight had lifted from my pencil. Now I could move it on my own again, and for a moment I froze, my fingers trembling. I stared at the math problem, then glanced at Mr. Davies, then bit my lip. Even if he was invisible to me now, I felt Vinny (I admittedly felt bad for getting his name wrong) gazing at me, waiting for me to do something.

I'd told him and his brother to stay away from me. Maybe if I just put up with it a little longer, they'd both leave me alone...

Hope you don't mind the girls' bathroom, I wrote.

Vinny's immaterial hand grasping my pencil: LONG AS NO ONE'S THERE.

I raised my hand. "Mr. Davies, may I be excused for a moment?"

Oddly enough, I was alone. I entered the hall bathroom, both the floors and walls a grimy beige that may have been white once. The mirrors were dirtied with soap residue and streaks of lipstick, and the air reeked of urine. I went to the mirror, ignoring the dead cockroach underneath the sink at which I stood. I pulled at my face for a moment; I looked tired, my chestnut skin blanched, plum semi-circles underneath my dark eyes. My lips were chapped, cheeks puffy from crying myself to sleep. I was a mess. I hated being a mess.

I went to rinse my face off, and nearly screamed when I reached for a paper towel. Vinny was behind me, an odd look a little ways off from rueful on his face. I whirled, bracing myself against the sink. "Jesus Christ."