room until the cops came back from their coffee break to play another round of twenty questions.
"I wonder how Page is doing," He muttered to no one in particular.
They took Page away from the alley in an ambulance, her having not regained consciousness yet.
"I'm fine," a voice said from the doorway. Jackson looked up.
"Page."
She smiled leisurely and came over to have a seat opposite him. Jackson just stared flabbergasted.
"Hi. You’re looking tired," She stated nonchalantly.
"What? You're okay?" He asked.
"I'm back to the way I was. If that's what you mean," Page responded.
"How did you get in here?"
"I walked in," Page leaned back in her seat, plucking at an invisible hair on her shoulder, "by the way; the police are going to let you go. I told them you and I were trying to stop the person who really stole the Urn. Unfortunately, I was knocked out and he got away," She sighed, pretending to be visibly dismayed.
"And they believed you?" Jackson asked.
Page lazed like a cat with a large dose of catnip in its system.
"Yes."
Jackson was started to feel hopeful, everything would go back to normal. The witch was taken care off and he wouldn't be sent to jail after all.
"Why did they believe you?" He asked tentatively.
"I found it convenient for them to do so." Page was grinning now, a look of pure pleasure on her face.
A slight tremor of fear slid through Jackson. There was something wrong with this situation. The police wouldn’t believe the word of a teenage girl who had been unconscious when they found her. He stood up, moving slowly towards the door.
"Uh, I guess I can go then," He said.
"Not quite," Red light bloomed from Page's eyes, “I told you this wasn't over."
Jackson screamed and ran for the door, but he was too slow....
"Wait a minute," Will interrupted.
Jackson was jerked out of his story. He gazed around at the jocks with a confused grimace.
Page was glaring at Will despite herself. The others at the table had smirks on their faces. She wanted to wipe them off.
"What?" Jackson asked.
Will leaned forward with the air of a person having caught someone in the act of lying. "Page can't be possessed anymore. You dowsed her with that stuff, the holy water."
"Well, maybe he forgot to shoot her with a silver bullet," Mike, the guy who had invited Page and Jackson over, said. The rest of the jocks broke out into laughter, slapping each other on the back.
"Oh no, no. You see silver bullets are for Werewolves. Page is possessed with the spirit of a witch, but I did get it wrong. You see ... " Jackson broke off, looking to Page for permission.
She gave the jocks one last glare before smiling at Jackson. "It's okay, go on."
Jackson nodded, and turned back to Will, who was now laughing as hard as the others were.
"You see, I forgot about the properties of water. Holy water is still water, whether it's been blessed or not, and water evaporates," Jackson said meaningfully.
"Yeah," Will said regaining his composure enough to listen.
"Well, even though I dowsed her in the holy water to protect Page, once it evaporated the witch's spirit was able to possess her again. That's how the spirit escaped when the townspeople burned her body. The fire evaporated the water."
Mike was laughing so hard now that he was falling out of his chair. He clutched at his sides, gasping for breath.
"Why ... didn't the spirit carry on with her curse, heh, Jackson?" Will asked, trying to control his laughter.
"Because ... Jackson did interrupt my plans, even if he didn't stop me. I have to wait until the next Spring Equinox," Page responded to Will before Jackson could. She stood up planting her hands flat on the table. His eyes glazed over, Jackson grinned up at Page. She stared down each of the jocks, one by one until they stopped laughing. Mike stood up towering over her small frame.
"You can leave now, we've had a good laugh," Will dismissed them with a wave of the hand.
When Page and Jackson didn't move, Mike leaned forward. "Hey, you don't want this to get ugly." Mike barked.
"Yes I do," She responded. Page leaned forward, her eyes flashing.
Mike backed away, knocking over his chair. The others stood, all talking at once while Page laughed at them. Her eyes were glowing bright red.
The End.
Meredith tapped at the pearly white of her front teeth with one perfectly manicured fingernail, grimacing while she did so. Her husband's tinny voice poured into Meredith's left ear from the phone.
“I'm going to stay late at the office again. That big deal is coming up and I want to really kill the competition.”
Meredith stopped tapping, “Darling, you’ve stayed late at the office every night this week. Give the competition a break tonight,” she whined into the receiver. Her voice held the now familiar tone she used to get Jack's attention, having practiced it over the course of many years. She frowned at Jack's very audible sigh. “I know Meredith, but I can't keep you up in that house if I don't bring in the big fish at the office.”
Meredith pursed her lips, “Fine, don't stay out too late though.”
“I'll see you later Meredith,” Jack said.
Meredith could almost hear the smile in her husband's voice. She whispered goodbye and hung up the phone. An image of him sitting in his office about to give dictation to that short brunette of a secretary flashed into Meredith's head, the one with the enthusiastic smile and a brand new baby. She shook her head to clear the image and turned to look out the living room’s bay window.
Back in the kitchen of the ancient brownstone she shared with Jack, a lump of half-cooked roast beef sat in the oven. Several pearl onions, baby carrots and new potatoes laid in a pool of half-melted butter waiting to be cooked to a mushy tenderness. The flour and drippings for a roux to make gravy cluttered the small, organized space of the counter’s blue indigo tile.
The urge to shove the partially prepared meal down the disposal came into her head. What would the waste matter to Jack? He was used to eating out anyway. He spent so much time at work ... But, it mattered to her.
Outside, the day was ending and golden rays from the sleepy sun spread across the concrete and brick building as it stretched one last time before bed.
Mattie, the neighbor's son was kneeled over a pair of rollerblades several sizes too large. Meredith watched as he struggled to stay upright while pulling the Velcro tighter around his ankles, his tongue stuck out in concentration.
The rollerblades were his older brother's, but Meredith knew little Mattie kept sneaking into his room while he was at Jamestown high school during the day and stealing them from his older brother's closet. Meredith could see he was going to try to copy one of his older brother's stunts today.
He stood up and wobbled over to a section of sidewalk that had been dug up by the city a week earlier. Meredith called the city when the construction crew left a huge hole in the ground at the end of the day, but they just told her they were planning on coming around next Monday to fill it in. He pulled the bright orange cones surrounding the gap to the curb of the sidewalk and dropped them in the gutter where they threatened to kamikaze into the road and the path of oncoming motor vehicles. He skated around the gap tugging away the long plastic caution strip from four wooden stakes placed at each corner of the rectangular hole. Mattie let go of it once it was freed and it fluttered back and forth helplessly in the breeze.
Mattie wheeled back a few yards from the gap and steadied him in position. Meredith's breath caught in her throat as the boy started full tilt towards the gap, quickly building speed. He hunched down low, his arms held straight at his sides and slicing the air in pendulum-like motions. It reminded Meredith of one of the Olympic speed skating events she saw once and she found herself again rooting for the other team.
Mattie was at the p
recipice; the wheels of the rollerblades left the ground. He was flying, flapping his arms in a comically unfunny fashion. For second, Meredith thought that Mattie had made it across, but the tip of his left rollerblades caught the opposite edge of the sidewalk. He hit the concrete hard.
“Mommy!”
Meredith resisted the urge to heed his loud, sobbing call. She watched her neighbor, Susan, come running out the door of another brownstone part scolding, part worried. She rushed to the crumpled boy. After examining his skinned arms and kissing them to make his owie's better, Susan helped him stand and they walked in or in Matt's case, slowly rolled to the front door. They went inside.
The door closed, leaving Meredith behind with a sense of finality. The street returned to its previous calm, birds chirped their evening song, and the soft rush of wind blew over the passing cars. It all made Meredith want to scream.
She opted instead to turn away from the view and go finish dinner.
Meredith strode through the living room with its steel walls and white furniture. If Jack wasn't going to come home for dinner … Fine. She would make the best damn pot roast in the state and throw out the leftovers. He could eat with his secretary and her kid. Jack would never know what he was missing.
Meredith entered the kitchen intending to beat the crap out of the roux and turn it into a quivering mass of gelatinous flavored fat, but she stopped short. Meredith blinked once, a second time, then she screamed.
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