Michael Griffo - Unwelcome

“I don’t know what happened to me.” Showered and dressed, Michael needed to get away from the continued chatter and was staring out the ice-covered windows that encased the far wall of the gym, gazing at what could be seen of The Forest. When he thought about how dumb he acted, how reckless, he was embarrassed and confused and could hardly look at Ronan.

“You got a little carried away, it happens,” Ronan said, knowing full well the temptation to want to use one’s power, show it off, especially when it’s new. “But you have to be careful.”

Michael understood, he got it. He just didn’t want to hear it at the moment, so he cut Ronan off. “I know.”

Ronan allowed the silence to continue for a while; he knew Michael was upset with himself and he wanted to choose his words carefully. “C’mon, let’s go home.”

Just as Michael turned, he finally realized what the windows reminded him of. They were covered with large patches of ice that made them look as if they were being encased, protected, until the time was right for them to rejoin the world. Just like a cocoon that was about to burst open and unleash a new life. Michael knew exactly what that felt like.

From inside, it appeared as if the sun was winning. Despite the frigid temperature and the dark gray clouds that hovered over the grounds of Double A, one ray of light after another pierced the locker room windows to create a long row of sunshine. Dr. Lochlan MacCleery, sitting on one of the narrow wooden benches, his back facing the light, felt the warmth penetrate his tweed jacket and spread out across his hunched shoulders, down his back, up toward the nape of his neck. But despite the sunlight’s heat, he still felt the chill. It wasn’t the outside cold that made him shiver, it was Alistair’s note.

Evil walks among the angels. The children must be protected. It must have been the fiftieth time he read it and he still couldn’t imagine what the words meant. He had known the former headmaster for many years, the entire time he worked at Archangel Academy, and not once had he spoken so cryptically, so fantastically. No, Alistair was a logical man. Like me, he thought, someone whose mind had a firm grasp on reality. But could it be possible that Alistair discovered that their reality had changed, shifted in some horrific way?

“How can I protect the children if I don’t know what I’m protecting them from?” Lochlan muttered to himself. He had started that habit about a month ago when it became clear that Alistair wasn’t returning to his post, that he had decided to seek out a new life or was being held captive somewhere against his will or something equally preposterous, and he would have to ponder this mystery alone. Many times he wanted to reach out to someone for help, share this unwanted information in the hopes that perhaps a more fanciful mind might be able to uncover its meaning. But who could he possibly turn to?

He was tempted to confide in one of his colleagues even though he usually kept personal matters private, but he couldn’t think of anyone he could fully trust. And he knew it would serve no good to turn the note over to the police, they would simply file it away as proof that Alistair was delusional, at best formally deem the abandonment of his post as the action of an academic in the throes of a midlife crisis, either way forever ruin his reputation. Lochlan knew that’s what most people already believed, a dozen rumors were circulating among the students and the faculty, but gossip isn’t as concrete as evidence, and for some reason the doctor felt that he needed to protect his friend’s reputation. Because the more he dwelt on it, the more he was convinced Alistair would not willingly desert his students. “But what the hell happened to you?”

“Practicing your speech, MacCleery?”

The voice startled Lochlan so much that he sprang up from the bench with such force, he would have knocked it over if it wasn’t bolted into the floor. “Whoa there,” Blakeley said, raising his two hands in front of him as if Lochlan were a horse that needed taming. “If public speaking makes you this nervous, why’d you demand that you be the one to give the speech?”

Because I need to clear my friend’s name, he thought. “Because I felt like it,” he replied, trying to look and sound disgruntled and not panicky.

“Well, you hardly look like you fancy talking in front of a bunch of out-of-control kids,” Blakeley observed. “Go out wearing that face and those juvies will make you wish you were back in med school slicing open cadavers.” Lochlan never liked the gym teacher; he found him crass and loudmouthed. Now he disliked him for a new reason; he was also perceptive. Try as he might to put forth an earnest façade, an enthusiastic expression, he was clearly unsuccessful and couldn’t fake that he was not only terrified to speak in front of such a large group of students but highly uncomfortable speaking about things he didn’t fully understand.

“Don’t waste your time worrying about me,” the doctor hissed. “Try to figure out how to make something out of that miserable soccer team of yours.” Now it was Blakeley’s turn to look unnerved. A good insult always made the doctor feel better, so when he walked out onto the gym floor, he felt more confident than he had in days. But then he made the mistake of looking up into the bleachers and he felt the familiar chill slither down his spine. Every student of both Archangel Academy and its sister school, St. Anne’s, was seated in the stands, looking directly at him, waiting for him to speak, daring him to say something important and profound. Before he got to the microphone, he cursed Alistair under his breath. “You better have a damn good reason for putting me in this position.”

Michael leaned over to Ronan and whispered, “I didn’t know this was going to be a health seminar.”

Ronan smiled, thankful that Michael was in a better mood than yesterday. “It isn’t supposed to be.”

“Then what’s MacCleery doing headlining the event?”

“I don’t know,” Ronan replied. “I think this is the first time I’ve ever seen him out of his office.” Ronan was just as confused as Michael and because he never trusted anything the doctor said or did, he was also suspicious.

As Lochlan stood before the podium, adjusting the microphone so it was closer to his mouth, Michael surmised, “I guess we’re about to find out why.”

“Hello.” Lochlan’s voice echoed loudly throughout the gymnasium, followed by a shrill screech.

“Nice reverb, doc!” one of the rowdier students shouted, causing ripples of laughter to emerge from various spots among the crowd.

“Sorry,” Lochlan mumbled. He glanced at the notes he had prepared, the words he had written about his friend that he wanted to share with the students so they could understand their former headmaster better, but when he looked down at the paper, he didn’t see his handwriting. All he saw was the phrase that had been playing in a loop in his brain for the past several weeks: Evil walks among the angels. The children must be protected. He couldn’t very well shout that into the microphone, so he remained quiet, which only caused the students to fill in the silence.

“What’s up, doc?” Fritz cried out, causing Phaedra, who was sitting between him and Michael, to slap him on his knee. Fritz enjoyed hearing his schoolmates laugh at his outburst, but he was happier that Phaedra was getting more comfortable with him. Her touch felt deliberate and pronounced, not so light and airy as before.

“One of these days that mouth of yours is going to get you into trouble,” she whispered.

“Too late for that!” he replied, not quite as softly.