Tess Gerritsen - Bloodstream

“What was?”

Vince flipped to another photocopied page. “The one for Mrs. Gow’s mother.

‘Althea Frick, age sixty-two, slain early last week, was buried November thirtieth at a combined graveside service for the Theodore Gow family. Born in Two Hills, she was a daughter of Petras and Maria Gosse, and was a devoted wife and mother of two. She was married for forty-one years to Donat Frick, who drowned this past spring…“ Vince’s voice suddenly faded, and he looked up with startled eyes at Lincoln. “… in the Locust River flood.”

They stared at each other, both of them stunned by this confirmation. At Vince’s feet, a space heater hummed on, its element glowing bright orange. But nothing could penetrate the chill Lincoln felt at that moment. He wondered if he would ever feel warm again.

“A few weeks ago,” said Lincoln, “you mentioned the Penobscot Indians. You said they refused to settle anywhere near Locust Lake.”

“Yes. It was taboo, as was the lower half of Beech Hill, where the Meegawki Stream runs. They considered it an unhealthy place.”

“Do you know why it was considered unhealthy?”

“No.”

Lincoln thought it over for a moment. “The name Meegawki-I assume that’s from a Penobscot word?”

“Yes. It’s a bastardization of Sankade’lak Migah’ke, their name for the area.

Sankade’lak, loosely translated, is their word for stream.”

“And what does the other word mean?”

“Let me look it up again.” Vince swiveled around and took down from the shelf a battered copy of The Penobscot Language. Quickly he flipped to the appropriate page. “Okay. I’m right about Sankade’lak. It’s the Penobscot word for ‘river’ or ‘stream.”

“And the other?”

“Migah’ke means ‘to fight’ or… “Vince paused. He looked up at Lincoln. “To slaughter.”

They stared at each other.

“That would explain the taboo,” said Lincoln softly.

Vince swallowed. “Yes. It’s the Stream of Slaughter.”

"Fat ass,” whispered J.D. Reid from the trombone section. “Barry's got a fat ass!”

Noah glanced up from his music and sneaked a peek at his stand partner, Barry Knowlton. The poor shrimp was tightly gripping his saxophone, trying hard to concentrate on staying with the beat, but his face had turned red, and he was sweating again, which was what Barry did whenever he got stressed. Barry Knowlton sweated in gym. He sweated while conjugating verbs in French class. He sweated whenever a girl just spoke to him. First he’d blush, then little droplets would bead up on his forehead and temples, and before you knew it, Barry would be dripping like an ice cream cone in a heat wave.

“Man, that ass is so fat, you could launch it into space and we’d have ourselves another moon.”

A drop of sweat slid down Barry’s face and plopped onto his sax. He was gripping the instrument so hard his fingers looked like bare bone.

Noah turned and said, “Lay off him, J.D.”

“Ooh. Now skinny ass is jealous of all the attention. I got some view back here.

Fat ass and skinny ass, side by side.”

“I said, lay off!”

The rest of the band had suddenly stopped playing, and Noah’s lay off seemed to shout out across the abrupt silence.

“Noah, what is going on back there?”

Noah turned to see Mr. Sanborn frowning at him. Mr. Sanborn was a cool guy, one of Noah’s favorite teachers, in fact, but the man was blind when it came to seeing what was happening in his own classroom.

“Noah’s trying to pick a fight, sir,” said J.D.

“What? He’s the one trying to pick a fight!” protested Noah.

“I don’t think so,” jeered J.D.

“He won’t let up! He keeps making stupid comments!” Wearily Mr. Sanborn crossed his arms. “What comments, if I may ask?”

“He said-he said-” Noah stopped and looked at Barry, who was tensed up like a bomb about to explode. “Insults.”

To everyone’s shock, Barry suddenly kicked the stand over and it clanged to the floor, scattering sheets of music everywhere. “He called me a fat ass! That’s what he called me!”

“Hey, it’s not an insult if it’s true, is it?” said J.D.

Laughter erupted in the band room.

“Stop it!” yelled Barry. “Stop laughing at me!”

“Barry, please settle down.”

Barry turned on Mr. Sanborn. “You never do anything! No one does! You let him screw around with my head, and no one gives a shit!”

“Barry, you have to calm down. Please go into the hail and cool off.” Barry slammed his saxophone down on the chair. “Thanks for nothing, Mr. Sanborn,” he said, and walked out of the room.

“Ooh. Full moon receding,” whispered J.D.

Noah finally snapped. “Shut up!” he yelled. “You just shut up!”

“Noah!” said Mr. Sanborn, whacking his baton against the stand.

“It’s his fault, not Barry’s! J.D. never lets up! None of the kids do!” He looked around at his classmates. “All of you, you’re always screwing around with Barry’s head!”

Mr. Sanborn’s baton was now whipping the stand furiously.

“You’re all jerks!”

J.D. laughed. “Look who’s talkin’

Noah shot to his feet, every muscle tensed to lunge at J.D. I’m gonna kill him!

A hand grabbed Noah by the shoulder. “That’s enough!” shouted Mr. Sanborn, hauling Noah backwards. “Noah, I’ll deal with J.D.! You go cool off in the hallway”

Noah shook him away. The rage that had peaked so dangerously was still pumping through his body, but he managed to wrestle it under control. He shot a last look at J.D., a look that said: Cross me again and you ‘re toast, and he walked out.

He found Barry standing by the lockers, sweating and sniffling as he struggled with his combination. In frustration, Barry punched the locker, then turned and sagged back against it, his weight threatening to buckle the metal. “I’m going to kill him,” he said.

“You and me both,” said Noah.

“I mean it.” Barry looked at him, and Noah suddenly realized, he does mean it.

The bell rang, signaling the end of the period. A flood of kids spilled out of the classrooms, eddying into the halls. Noah just stood there, staring as Barry walked away, a sweating blimp swallowed up in the crowd. He didn’t notice Amelia until she was standing right beside him. Touching his arm.

He gave a startled jerk and looked at her.

“I heard about you and J.D.,“ she said.

“Then I guess you heard I’m the one who got kicked out of class.”

“J.D.’s a jerk. No one’s ever stood up to him before.”

“Yeah, well I’m sorry I did.” He spun his combination and opened the locker. The door swung open with a bang. “Not worth opening my big mouth.”

“It is worth it. I wish everyone was brave enough.” Her head drooped, the golden hair sliding across her cheek. She turned away.

“Amelia?”

She looked at him. So many times before, he had sneaked furtive glances at her, just for the pleasure of looking at her face. So many times, he had fantasized about what it would be like to touch that face, that hair. To kiss her. He’d had opportunities, but had never mustered the courage to actually do it. Now she was gazing at him with such quiet intensity, he could not stop himself. His locker door hung open, concealing them from the hallway. He reached out, took her hand, and gently tugged her toward him.

She came willingly, her eyes wide, her cheeks flushing as she leaned close.

Their lips brushed so softly, it was almost as if it didn’t happen. They looked at each other, a wordless confirmation that it had not been long enough. That they were both willing to try again.