Sudden Death Overtime
?005 The Angst Guy
(theangstguy@yahoo.com)
Daria and associated
characters are ?005 MTV Networks
Feedback (good, bad, indifferent, just want to bother me,
whatever) is appreciated. Please write to: theangstguy@yahoo.com
Synopsis: A pink blossom grows from Kevin Thompson's crutch at
the end of the fourth-season episode, 揂 Tree Grows in Lawndale.?What happened
after that? This horror-story sequel starts
immediately following the blossom抯 appearance, so its beginning is entirely in
canon!
Author's Notes: In April 2005, Richard Lobinske and I took part in a
fanfic-writing competition on PPMB, overseen by Isa Yo-Jo. As part of the
competition, one of the three judges, gearhead, set the following guidelines
for the third round.
Write a fic (length
doesn't matter, but short is obviously better) where Daria attempts to get
revenge on someone and completely fails and is publicly humiliated. This can
take place either at LHS or after, although the revenge must be on an
established character from the series.
This
story was my entry, based on an
unpublished tale begun in May 2003 for a 揻anfic throwdown?contest on the
Scorched Remains MB. James 揅INCGREEN?Bowman had challenged writers to do an
alternate-history story about Jane as a cheerleader (a la 揟he F Word?, and the
first part of the present tale was lifted more-or-less intact from that earlier
version. However, the entire thing about Jane as a cheerleader dropped out of
the story. The tale was greatly revised in October 2003, and one chapter was
published on PPMB under the title 揝udden Death Overtime,?concerning the athletic
(and telekinetic) daughter of Jane Lane and Mack Mackenzie, but this fragment
was never finished. When gearhead抯 challenge came, I took the original story
and finished it per the rules.
Acknowledgements: My heartfelt thanks go out to CINCGREEN, Ruthless
Bunny, and Crusading Saint for the seeds of this story抯 genesis, and to
Isabelle Young-Johnson and gearhead for its final full appearance.
*
牋牋牋牋牋?Only a tricycle needs a third wheel, thought Daria Morgendorffer, sunk into the blackest
of moods. Walking three steps ahead of her was her best friend, Jane Lane,
hand-in-hand with a slumming rich kid named Tom Sloane whom Jane had met only a
few weeks before. They were doubtless aware only of their entwined fingers and
the pounding of their fevered hearts梑ut not in any way aware of Daria.
牋牋牋牋牋?The trio was making a quick escape from Lawndale High抯
football stadium, their ears still ringing from the wild screams and honking horns
celebrating Lawndale抯 27-7 triumph over the Cumberland Woodchucks. It was
Lawndale抯 first football victory since its star quarterback, Kevin Thompson,
recovered from knee injuries suffered in a mishap with his motorcycle. The
Lawndale Lions were once again the lords of the county抯 gridirons.
牋牋牋牋牋?Not that Daria cared. Her concerns were more immediate,
like the loss of her only friend, offbeat artist and fellow junior-year
classmate Jane, to a too-charming, too-cool guy who wore an old gray sweatshirt
and off-white Dockers, affecting the persona of a world-wise Bohemian cynic despite
the solid-gold Rolex on his left wrist. Tom was suitably witty and sarcastic, Daria
conceded, but then so was Hannibal Lechter. And Jane, who once cast clever
barbs at the world with Daria over after-school pizza, was now frequently unavailable
for any activity involving anyone other than Tom (leave a message after the beep,
beep).
牋牋牋牋牋?I, not Jane, should have captured your heart,
Daria thought, glaring at Tom抯 back. And I would have kept it in a jar of
formaldehyde under my bed.
牋牋牋牋牋?揥here did you say that cheerleader buried her boyfriend抯 crutch so she could exorcise a ghost from the high-school抯 girls?room??Tom asked, looking at Jane. 揙r was I hallucinating that part of your story??o:p>
牋牋牋牋牋?揘ope, that was true, and it抯 dead ahead. You get a cookie梐 Jane cookie.?Jane blew him a kiss, then looked back at Daria (her first look back since leaving the stadium, Daria noted). 揝hall we show him the monument of infamy??o:p>
牋牋牋牋牋?揝ure,?said Daria glumly. 揑nfamy loves company.?o:p>
牋牋牋牋牋?Jane laughed. 揧ou won抰 believe what Daria told
Brittany,?she said to Tom. 揃rittany had just finished putting the crutch
upright in the ground after she got it from her boyfriend Kevin, the quarterback棓
牋牋牋牋牋?換uarter-brain,?Daria corrected, still glaring at Tom抯
back.
牋牋牋牋牋?揈xactly,?said Jane. 揝o, Brittany stuck Kevin抯 crutch
in the ground where the Tommy Sherman Memorial Tree used to be, before Kevin
ran into it on his motorcycle and broke the sapling in half, and Brittany asked
Daria, 慦hy isn抰 the crutch blossoming??And Daria said棓
牋牋牋牋牋?揥hoa,?said Tom, looking at his watch. 揇id you still want to catch that matinee at the Megamultiplex??o:p>
牋牋牋牋牋?揇amn, I forgot all about it.?Jane turned around. 揇aria, we抮e going to catch a movie. Wanna come along? It抯 supposed to have this great scene with exploding eyeballs.?o:p>
牋牋牋牋牋?揗mm, no,?said Daria, even more keenly aware of her third-wheel status. 揧ou kids run along and have fun. I抣l find a way through the valley of the shadow of death by myself.?o:p>
牋牋牋牋牋?揝uit yourself,?said Jane. 揑抣l call you tonight.?With
that, she and Tom took off at a trot down a cross street. Daria watched them
go, her glare softening into sorrow. Goodbye,
Jane. Please don抰 forget me. Please don抰 forget about us.
牋牋牋牋牋?Eyes burning, she trudged on toward home, planning to stay
in her room for the rest of that Friday afternoon and evening梐nd probably for
the weekend beyond. It was only by chance that she glanced up as she passed the
spot where the Tommy Sherman Memorial Tree once stood, by the north entrance to
the high school. She looked down at the sidewalk again, then completed the
double-take and stopped dead to look at the crutch that air-headed Brittany had
planted to replace the broken tree.
牋牋牋牋牋?揥hat the hell??she said aloud, her eyes wide.
牋牋牋牋牋?Springing from the top of the crutch was a pink flower with six pedals, perfectly spaced. Two green leaves grew from the stem below. It appeared to be a magnolia blossom, which made its presence all the more absurd since the crutch itself was of white oak. Daria slowly walked up to the tiny fence around the six-foot-square plot of dark mulch that had surrounded the memorial tree before its untimely demise. The blossom appeared to be real, but artificial flower technology was quite advanced, so a closer look was called for. She stepped over the foot-high fence and reached for the flower抯 stem?o:p>
牋牋牋牋牋?梐nd jerked her hand back with a gasp. From the tip of
her middle finger, a bright red drop appeared. She stuck her finger in her
mouth and walked around the bloom, glaring. Thorns梥he saw the narrow thorns
now, growing up and down the stem. One
hell of a magnolia, she thought. With great care, she put out her hand
again and felt the softness of the petals. A strange fragrance reached her
nose, one unlike any scent she抎 ever known: overly sweet, almost cloying,
almost . . . almost like decaying flesh.
牋牋牋牋牋?She wrinkled her nose and moved closer, mindful of the
thorns. What caught her attention then was the base of the stem. It seemed to have
grown directly out of the crutch by cracking through the varnish. The tan wood around
the base of the stem had turned a dark grayish color, the same color as the
bark of the original Tommy Sherman Memorial Tree, which had also been a magnolia.
牋牋牋牋牋?She figured it out, then.
牋牋牋牋牋?揘ice one,?she said aloud. She almost smiled. 揋ood job, Jane. Bet you were hoping Brittany would see it later. The thorns are a little over the top, kind of nasty, but I salute you anyway. No wonder you wanted to show it to Tom.?She did smile, then. 揌e might have grabbed the thorns, too. That would have been priceless.?o:p>
牋牋牋牋牋?Thinking about Tom brought a red edge to her vision, though. The smile was gone in moments. The longer she looked at the blossom, the angrier she got. All these years I抳e waited for a best friend, and she dumps me for a guy. After all we抳e been through, after everything we抳e done together, I thought we were above that. It抯 not like she hasn抰 done this before, though. There was Evan the runner, and that big-headed kid at Brittany抯 party . . . and now this one, the worst of them all, rich and cute and?o:p>
牋牋牋牋牋?The blossom stirred in the breeze, turning in her
direction as if looking at her.
牋牋牋牋牋?Infamy loves
company. Yes, it does.
牋牋牋牋牋?On impulse, she pulled her right arm back a few inches
into her jacket sleeve so that her hand was almost hidden, then reached up,
using the thick cuff to protect her fingers from further injury on the thorns.
Her fingers gently curled around the base of the stem. Tiny needles stabbed through
the fabric into her skin, but she gritted her teeth against the pain and jerked
downward in an instant.
牋牋牋牋牋?The flower and its stem were ripped away from the crutch.
Seconds later, the petals were a pink smear on the sidewalk and the bottoms of
her black boots.
牋牋牋牋牋?She left for home after that, but regret sank in after
she抎 gone only a block farther. Jane had probably worked for hours cementing
the flower to that crutch, hoping to cause a little excitement among the
student body. Destroying her work made Daria feel worse about everything. It
had been a selfish and stupid act. She should have let Jane have her fun. The
cheerleaders would have freaked, for certain. Almost every gullible student at
the high school would have thought the spirit of Tommy Sherman was changing the
crutch back into a tree, for hadn抰 it been Brittany抯 idea to plant the crutch
and appease Tommy抯 揳ngry spirit?after the loss of the original tree? How she抎
gotten the angry-spirit idea in her head, Daria couldn抰 say, but it was a miracle
that Brittany got anything into her head at all. It would have been amusing to
see the havoc the flower wrought.
牋牋牋牋牋?Would have been.
牋牋牋牋牋?In moments, though, Daria抯 shame at ruining Jane抯 work
began to war with another feeling: satisfaction.
The flower抯 appearance would indeed have been seen as miraculous, and contributing
to the belief that Tommy Sherman抯 spirit could work miracles was not something
Daria ever wanted to see happen. It was bad enough that so many people at
Lawndale High mourned the accidental death of the big jerk, a former
quarterback and twenty-something alumni who was struck by a falling goalpost
during a visit to Lawndale High a year ago. Daria remembered Tommy well: a huge,
broken-nosed, sandy-haired, self-centered thug who crudely propositioned every
attractive female student he saw and cast ugly insults at everyone else. The
last two people he had talked to on his way to see the goalpost, coincidentally
named for him in honor of his many touchdowns, were Daria and Jane. It took Jane
days to get over the shock. It took Daria about an hour. Maybe two. She
couldn抰 help feeling he had deserved it.
牋牋牋牋牋?The planting of the memorial tree afterward had stuck in
Daria抯 craw, but she finally adopted a live-and-let-live attitude over it. The
egotistical Tommy was dead and gone, and she knew she couldn抰 control the
popular delusions of the student body (the
stupid body, she sometimes called it). Best to worry about other things,
more important things, like her evaporating friendship with Jane.
牋牋牋牋牋?She walked another half-block, filled with conflicting feelings and emotions, before she stopped, sighed, and turned back in a bleak funk. She knew she could not repair the damage she抎 done, but she wanted to see the crutch one last time and solidify her shame in her mind. Maybe she should steal the crutch and hide it, so Jane wouldn抰 be tempted to try that flower trick again. It could backfire and have highly undesirable?o:p>
牋牋牋牋牋?Her thoughts ran down to nothing when she spotted the
crutch, thirty feet away. Her gait slowed. She stopped after another ten feet
and did not move.
牋牋牋牋牋?Another pink flower bloomed from the top of the crutch, the
stem springing from the same spot where the first one had been torn away. A
chill run down her spine, but Daria forced herself to take step after step
until she was just outside the mulch plot, staring at the flower with an open
mouth. The new flower was slightly larger than the first, which Daria confirmed
with a glance was still smeared over the sidewalk and her boot soles.
牋牋牋牋牋?Had Jane put another flower up? Was she even now watching
and giggling with Tom at Daria抯 shock and discomfort? Daria quickly looked
around, but she saw no one she recognized, and no one was paying any attention
to her. In the distance, she could still hear the joyful riot at the football
field. No Jane, so . . . what just happened?
牋牋牋牋牋?She dared step over the low fence again, moving within two feet of the crutch. The gray area around the base of the stem was wider now, several inches across. How did that happen? What was?o:p>
牋牋牋牋牋?Daria tilted her head, noticing something on the other
side of the crutch. She walked around to get a better view.
牋牋牋牋牋?A leaf had appeared on the end of a short stem that had
broken through the clear layer of varnish over the wooden crutch. As Daria
watched, the leaf unfurled, grew, and reached half the size of her open hand.
She stared, unable to believe she had actually seen that梩hen noticed a
vertical stripe of green on another part of the crutch. Moments later, the
green stripe bulged out from the wood and cracked through the shiny coating. The
top of the bulge sprang away. The new twig thickened, became a fat green roll,
and then unfurled. Another leaf.
牋牋牋牋牋?Daria stepped back, her mouth dry. Her boots bumped
against the low fence, almost tripping herself. A fourth leaf appeared and
broke free. A fifth. Three more at the same time, and another pink flower
opened in her direction. Bad time to forget to bring a disposable camera
along, she thought through a haze of shock. Mesmerized, she did not even
think to run.
?/span>牋牋牋牋牋 When Brittany asked me why the crutch wasn抰
blossoming, I shouldn抰 have told her to take the rubber knob off the bottom. This
is crazy. I was just poking fun at her, I didn抰 actually think that it would
really . . . I never once dreamed that this would . . .
牋牋牋牋牋?Twenty minutes later, the crutch had completed its
metamorphosis and had essentially disappeared. The Tommy Sherman Memorial Tree
was back, though it was now only four feet high instead of six, as the sapling
had been, and it had a wider look. The trunk bifurcated into two limbs about
three inches from the ground, as the crutch抯 frame had, and two branches
reached from one limb to another where the hand grip and underarm pads had
gone, maintaining the shape of the device. Pink blossoms and leaves continued
to appear on branches stretching from the twin branches, though the height of
the tree did not seem to be increasing?i style='mso-bidi-font-style:normal'>unless
it is growing more slowly and normally now, Daria thought. She looked at
the base of the tree where bits of dried varnish and split rubber lay among the
mulch, leftovers from the crutch抯 unnatural mutation into a living thing.
牋牋牋牋牋?Unnatural, not miraculous, was increasingly the word
that came into Daria抯 mind. She instinctively felt that what she had witnessed
was not a miracle. It was instead something wrong, something unwholesome,
something hellish that should never have happened. Tommy Sherman was not a fit
subject to be creating miracles. He had been of another breed entirely.
牋牋牋牋牋?She looked down at her right hand, noticed the reddened
swelling around the spot where her middle finger had been pricked. It was
beginning to itch.
牋牋牋牋牋?Poison梐 weak one, yes, but that was all it could be. Magnolias
did not have thorns, much less poisoned ones. The tree had without a doubt tried
to hurt her.
牋牋牋牋牋?She looked up just as a robin flew down, landed on a
branch of the magnolia, then flew away unharmed. She followed its flight to be
sure it didn抰 drop out of the sky. It didn抰. A bee buzzed into one of the
pink flowers, stayed a moment, and left.
牋牋牋牋牋?It definitely did not like her.
牋牋牋牋牋?She stood and watched another fifteen minutes, but no
further changes occurred. Passers-by glanced at her and the tree and moved on,
saying nothing.
牋牋牋牋牋?A pressing need to escape took control. One last time she
looked the new tree over, then went home. Seven times as she walked away, she
turned around to make sure it hadn抰 moved, that it wasn抰 following her or
sending vines after her or doing something more dreadful.
牋牋牋牋牋?Once home, she lay on her bed with her injured finger
smeared with antibacterial ointment and wrapped in a bandage. Jane had not
called to leave a message. The house was quiet. She remembered the moment a
year ago when she found Tommy Sherman leaning against her locker at school.
牋牋牋牋牋?Do you know who I
am? Tommy asked her when she tried to get him to leave. A crooked grin
played over his face. He dropped a hint: Tommy
Sherman?
牋牋牋牋牋?I know the whole
school抯 turning itself inside out because of some egotistical football player,
Daria had replied, thoroughly steamed. Her cup of venom ran over, and the words
poured out. And I抳e seen you insult or
proposition just about everyone you come across. So my guess is that you抮e the
football player guy. Congratulations. You must have worked very hard to become
a colossal jerk so quickly.
牋牋牋牋牋?Her little speech took him aback, but he recovered
quickly. You know what Tommy Sherman抯
going to do now? he said, pushing away from her locker. He抯 going to go out onto the field and
check out his new goal post. He抯 going to read the plaque and think of all the
people who admire him. But you wouldn抰 know anything about that. You抮e one of
those misery chicks. Always moping about what a cruel world it is, making a big
deal about it so people won抰 notice that you抮e a loser. He drew that last
word out, sticking it in and twisting it. And with that, he left.
牋牋牋牋牋?I don抰 think he
likes you, Jane said, watching him go.
牋牋牋牋牋?That doesn抰 bother
me, Daria replied. She was accustomed to people not liking her. That he
undoubtedly thought she wasn抰 attractive was fine with her, too. What bothers me is that jerk is going to be
treated like a hero for the rest of this life.
牋牋牋牋牋?Jane shrugged. Well,
she said, maybe he won抰 live that long.
牋牋牋牋牋?And he hadn抰. He was dead less than a minute later,
killed by his own goalpost.
牋牋牋牋牋?Dead.
牋牋牋牋牋?Daria remembered the way the leaves had unfolded as they
broke free of the crutch, how the pink flowers of the accursed magnolia burst
open from tiny buds and grew to the size of the palm of her hand while she
watched, paralyzed by the monstrous spectacle.
牋牋牋牋牋?It wasn抰 a miracle. It was demonic.
牋牋牋牋牋?What if someone
else came by the tree and touched it?
牋牋牋牋牋?Her finger throbbed.
牋牋牋牋牋?What if Tom and Jane came back by the tree after the movie, and?o:p>
牋牋牋牋牋?Though she was in a terrible hurry, she stopped in the
garage before she left to get what she needed. She hoped it would do. No one in
the family saw her go, her parents and sister absorbed in their own
Friday-night worlds. She reached the school out of breath twenty minutes later,
slowed by rush-hour traffic. The post-game party had broken up, but dozens of cars
full of jubilant teenagers honked and shouted and waved beer bottles as they
drove past.
牋牋牋牋牋?One car caught her eye, a red Jeep driven by Kevin Thompson, Brittany Taylor in the seat beside him. Her arms were raised over her head as she shouted at Daria in her mania. 揥e won, Daria! Did you see it??o:p>
牋牋牋牋牋?In Brittany抯 blonde hair, tucked over her right ear, was
a pink, six-petaled blossom. Daria stared as the Jeep drove away, the vehicle wobbling
from side to side while Kevin honked the horn.
牋牋牋牋牋?Brittany had picked one of the tree抯 flowers梐nd lived.
And she looked quite happy to boot.
牋牋牋牋牋?After she regained her composure, Daria continued on to
the tree on the north side of the school. A boisterous crowd of students was
just leaving it, pink blossoms in their hands. Pink petals and leaves were
scattered everywhere on the mulch and the grass and the sidewalk and even into
the street.
牋牋牋牋牋?The tree did not lack for flowers or leaves, however. She
watched it and soon understood why. It was growing them back at a fantastic
pace. And no one but her seemed to notice.
牋牋牋牋牋?It began to make sense. Tommy had always thrived on
popularity. All he抎 ever wanted was to be the center of attention, to have
enough power to get whatever he wanted梥ex, money, unearned respect and
advancement, all the good things in life with no further effort required than a
grin and his name. And his new form in the afterlife offered him much the same
thing. Girls wore the flowers in their hair, attracted to their beautiful pink
color, even stuffing them down the front of their dresses. Boys poured beer on
the ground under the tree as victory offerings and sang the school song in
Tommy抯 name. No one seemed to mind the sickly sweet odor of rot in the air. Did
Daria alone notice it?
牋牋牋牋牋?And why was no one else being hurt by the tree?
牋牋牋牋牋?You抮e one of those
misery chicks. Always moping about what a cruel world it is, making a big deal
about it so people won抰 notice that you抮e a loser.
牋牋牋牋牋?She was the last person on earth he had spoken to before
he died. Jane had thought it was her off-the-cuff comment that Tommy might not
live long that had magically jinxed him; she抎 worried she had in some
mysterious way been responsible for his death. No, no, Daria realized now, it
had been her, Daria Morgendorffer,
who had done the trick. She had been Tommy抯 misery chick all along, his angel
of death. Were it not for her cutting comments and his need afterward for a
little ego-boost, he抎 be drinking and shouting and rutting with the rest of
them. He抎 still be alive.
牋牋牋牋牋?And maybe . . .
牋牋牋牋牋?. . . just maybe . . .
牋牋牋牋牋?. . . he still carried a bit of a grudge about that.
牋牋牋牋牋?No one else was around for the moment. Steeling herself, Daria
walked toward the tree. It had grown since earlier in the afternoon, she saw
with disquiet. It was now as tall as she was, just over five feet. It was
probably still growing, powered by its otherworldly connection to its undead
namesake.
牋牋牋牋牋?This is nuts. This
is totally, completely nuts. I ought to see a psychiatrist.
牋牋牋牋牋?But before I go to
la-la land . . .
牋牋牋牋牋?She glanced down at her right hand. A plastic two-liter
bottle with a screw cap dangled from her fingers. It had no soda in it now. Just
kerosene.
牋牋牋牋牋?Fifteen paces from the tree, a breeze seemed to stir the
branches. She stopped, took a deep breath, then moved in with a rush. The
bottle抯 mouth tipped, aiming for the ground at the base of the tree, as her
other hand fumbled with the cap to unscrew it and drive it into the mulch
upright, the kerosene to gurgle down into the soil afterward, into the roots,
poison for poison, an eye for an eye.
牋牋牋牋牋?It went wrong in an instant. Branches lashed at her face
and pain signals swamped her brain. Razorlike thorns raked her cheeks,
forehead, mouth, nose, and neck, tangling her hair. Whiplike branches tried to
force their way past her glasses to get at her eyes. She let go of the bottle
and forgot it, flailing at the branches with her arms as she tried to scream
and backpedal, but she hit the low fence around the tree and fell, thorns ripping
away her hair and skin and glasses. The slashes across her face caught fire.
She rolled and made incoherent noises and clutched her face with blood streaming
down her hands, and when the screams came out they did not stop even when the
bystanders got to her.
*
牋牋牋牋牋?揇o you remember what happened??her mother asked when her family arrived at the Cedars of Lawndale emergency room. 揇id you run into that tree? Have you been drinking, Daria? Tell me the truth, were you out drinking??o:p>
牋牋牋牋牋?揥hat抯 wrong with a little cuttin?loose, Helen??her
father interjected. 揝he probably just went out with some friends and had a
little too much to棓
牋牋牋牋牋?揝he doesn抰 have any friends except Jane, Jake! And look at her! Just look at her! Stay out of this! Daria? Just tell me what happened to you, okay? Daria? Talk to me, damn it!?o:p>
牋牋牋牋牋?Daria said nothing, shivering from the burning agony that
covered her face. Who would believe her? What was the use?
牋牋牋牋牋?Most of the injuries to her face and hands were
superficial, but a few were deep enough that she was warned they might leave
scarring later. The scratches were inflamed and swollen, hurting until Daria
thought she would go mad, but the doctors gave her a shot and a prescription
for pain pills and an ointment that helped a little. The students who brought
her in had brought her glasses, too. The lenses were scratched in a hundred
places.
牋牋牋牋牋?After two hours in the ER, she was sent home with her family.
Her sister was so grossed out by her dreadful appearance, she covered her eyes
and wouldn抰 even look at her. When they got into the house, Daria went to her
room and locked the door and said nothing to anyone about what had happened. She
threw out her glasses and used her spare pair. For two days, she came downstairs
only for meals, staying in her room on the bed in a pill-induced fog otherwise.
Her mother gave up trying to find out what had happened, but she made it clear
she wanted to talk with Daria about responsible drinking use later, even if the
doctors said Daria had no trace of alcohol in her bloodstream.
牋牋牋牋牋?No one mentioned the bottle full of kerosene. It had
probably been disposed of as trash. The attack had been a failure from start to
finish.
牋牋牋牋牋?And Jane didn抰 call.
牋牋牋牋牋?Until Sunday night.
牋牋牋牋牋?揌ey, Daria!?Intermittent knocking came from her bedroom
door. 揑t抯 me. Come on, open up, Daria. Your mom said you got hurt, and I came
right over. Okay, okay, I抦 sorry I didn抰 call before now, I screwed up!
Please open up. Daria? I know you抮e in there, so come on. Okay, that抯 it, I抦
going to sit out here and tell Tom stories until you棓
牋牋牋牋牋?Daria unlocked and opened the door.
牋牋牋牋牋?Jane gasped and put her hands against her own face, shocked
speechless.
牋牋牋牋牋?After a moment, Daria left the door open and went to sit
on the edge of her bed. Jane came in after a beat, shut the door, and rolled
the desk chair over to the bed. She sat facing Daria, their knees almost
touching.
牋牋牋牋牋?揥hat happened??Jane抯 quick wit had deserted her. She
spoke softly and urgently. 揟alk to me, amiga.
Did you do something because Tom and I were棓
牋牋牋牋牋?Furious, Daria shook her head violently and almost got
up, but she restrained herself and only looked away.
牋牋牋牋牋?揙kay, sorry! I had to ask! I抦 sorry. Okay, was it an accident??o:p>
牋牋牋牋牋?No response for a while, then a shake of the head. No.
牋牋牋牋牋?Jane抯 voice was very low, almost a whisper. 揇aria, amiga, did someone do this to you? Did someone hurt you??o:p>
牋牋牋牋牋?Daria opened her hands and looked down at the scars over
her fingers.
牋牋牋牋牋?揇id someone hurt you, Daria? Will you talk to me about it??o:p>
牋牋牋牋牋?Daria closed her hands, then got up from the bed, got a
tablet of paper and a pencil, and returned to sit again. She wrote two words on
the top page and handed it over to Jane.
牋牋牋牋牋?Jane read the note, blinked, and looked up. 揇aria . . . he抯 dead.?o:p>
牋牋牋牋牋?Looking at her hands, Daria nodded in agreement.
牋牋牋牋牋?Jane abandoned that line of inquiry. It was too crazy. 揅an I do anything to help you? I抣l do anything, Daria, just tell me.?o:p>
牋牋牋牋牋?Daria reflected on this, then wrote a sentence and gave
over the pad.
牋牋牋牋牋?搼Stay away from Tommy Sherman抯 tree??Jane read. 揥hat
are you talking about, that new tree Ms. Li put in, the dumpy looking one? I
think she had it done Saturday. Someone took Kevin抯 crutch, and there抯 this棓
牋牋牋牋牋?揝tay . . . away . . . from it,?Daria said, gritting her teeth against the pain. Her entire face hurt if she spoke a single word. She took back the pad and carefully drew something on it, then tore out the sheet, folded it up, and handed it to Jane. 揔eep . . . this.?o:p>
牋牋牋牋牋?After a moment of hesitation, Jane took the folded paper and put it away. 揙kay, I抣l keep away from it. I promise. Are you going to be in school tomorrow??o:p>
牋牋牋牋牋?A shrug. Daria looked at her lap, her face aching
fiercely.
牋牋牋牋牋?Jane took Daria抯 hands and looked at them. Most of the scars ran across the backs. She tried to imagine what could have done that, other than running through briars. What the hell happened to her? 揥ill you call me if you need anything? Or make someone around here call me? Seriously, Daria. I won抰 blow you off. I抣l be here if you need me, Tom or no Tom. I抣l be here.?o:p>
牋牋牋牋牋?A shrug, then one grateful nod.
牋牋牋牋牋?揥ill you promise to tell me what happened, when you think you can??o:p>
牋牋牋牋牋?Daria started to shake her head no, then shrugged and
made other bodily gestures that left the issue ambiguous.
牋牋牋牋牋?Jane bit her lip. She stayed for a half hour more, making
small talk before she gently hugged her friend, which she抎 never done before,
and headed for home to finish her much-delayed homework.
牋牋牋牋牋?When she was alone again, Daria shut her door and lay on
her bed. She thought for a long time about her friendship with Jane. It was a
relief to know that Jane had not forgotten her, even if it took her a while to
remember. Jane still cared. They still had something.
牋牋牋牋牋?But . . .
牋牋牋牋牋?Jane had been the second-to-the-last person to speak with
Tommy Sherman, before he died. Tommy Sherman had hinted Jane might make a suitable
bed partner if he was drunk enough. Revolted, Jane had offered to throw up on
him in return.
牋牋牋牋牋?Tommy might have a little grudge against Jane, too.
Perhaps Jane抯 comment did have a little affect on the cosmic wheel of fate. If
Tommy Sherman could be reincarnated as a poisonous magnolia, anything could
happen. Anything at all.
牋牋牋牋牋?She looked at her hands, remembered what her face had
looked like in the mirror with the bandages removed before her mother put fresh
dressings on.
牋牋牋牋牋?And she knew she had something she had to do. Unfinished
business.
牋牋牋牋牋?Weed control.
牋牋牋牋牋?It was hard not to think of Stephen King抯 The Dead Zone. The memorial tree was on
school property. Bad things happened to people who pulled crazy stunts on
school grounds. She could be looking at a long time in jail or a psychiatric
hospital away from Jane and family, if she survived.
牋牋牋牋牋?It could not be helped. The unfinished business was more
pressing.
牋牋牋牋牋?This is revenge for
myself, but it is more. It is revenge for all those you abused and hurt in
life, but it is more. It is revenge for what you might have done to Jane, but
it is more. It is revenge for all you might yet do, to Jane and to others, but
it is more.
牋牋牋牋牋?The Rune of Saint Patrick began to run through her head,
but for some reason the last few lines came out differently.
牋牋牋牋牋?I place myself
between my only friend and the powers of darkness. You will come no farther.
You will harm no more.
牋牋牋牋牋?She checked something on her computer, printed off a
page, wrote a note, then went to bed and slept fitfully until the alarm got her
up. She washed herself with a small cloth, dried off, dressed, brushed out her
hair, collected her notes and books and put them in an old, ratty backpack, then
slipped out of the house, ignoring the messages her mother left ordering her to
remain in bed for another few days until her next doctor抯 appointment. She
went straight to school without stopping first at Jane抯.
牋牋牋牋牋?The tree was now over seven feet high. Tens of thousands
of pink petals were scattered up and down the street from it. Half the student
body wore flowers in their hair or had them sticking from shirt pockets or in
the cleavage of their blouses. The air was thick with the odor of death. No one
but Daria noticed.
牋牋牋牋牋?Everyone noticed Daria, however. She ignored the boys?cries of alarm and their laughing catcalls, the girls?screams and whispers and
disgusted looks, the way her sister and friends ran the other way when she
appeared. She wasn抰 just an outcast now. She was the crazy half-blind girl who
got drunk or took drugs and ran into Tommy Sherman抯 Memorial Tree Friday night
and scratched herself up worse than Frankenstein抯 monster.
牋牋牋牋牋?It didn抰 matter. It would all be over soon, or made worse
by a thousand times, so it didn抰 matter.
牋牋牋牋牋?She had fifteen minutes before homeroom started. She went to the science lab. Ms. Barch was shouting at the boys in her homeroom class, but she turned and hurried to Daria when she appeared. 揙h, my heavens! Does it hurt much? Can I do anything for you? Hey! You young Neanderthals in back梥hut your faces or I抣l take you to the office right now!?o:p>
牋牋牋牋牋?Daria had her note prepared. Ms. Barch read it, and her heart turned to mush. 揥hy, of course! I had no idea you were thinking about a career in teaching! Why you抎 take up such a thankless job dealing daily with hoodlums and morons is beyond me, but certainly you can take a look through the storage room and my books and梙ey! I told you young thugs to shut your faces! Now! Stuff a sock in it right now if you want to see tomorrow!?o:p>
牋牋牋牋牋?Ms. Barch left her alone in the chemical storage room.
Daria worked quickly. Ms. Barch was nothing if not efficient, and all the
contents were alphabetized on the shelves. Ms. Barch was also not one to keep extremely
unsafe chemicals, however, and item after item on Daria抯 list of potentials failed
to turn up. She was near despair when she found a small dusty jar with a faded
label, hidden behind the others, a forgotten legacy of the days when school
chemistry labs kept things they should never have had access to in the first
place. The last sweep by the school抯 staff had missed it. Lucky me.
牋牋牋牋牋?When she left the science lab, the jar went in the
backpack with her. Her textbooks stayed behind to make room. She didn抰 wear
her backpack on her back, but held it in her arms instead. Her green jacket was
inside, wrapped around the deadly prize.
牋牋牋牋牋?揌ey, amiga!?o:p>
牋牋牋牋牋?Daria jumped and turned, her heart in her throat.
牋牋牋牋牋?揇ifferent look for you today,?said Jane, eyeing Daria抯 amber T-shirt closely. 揓acket went in for dry cleaning??o:p>
牋牋牋牋牋?A quick, frightened nod. Jesus Christ, Jane, keep away from me! You don抰 know what I抳e got
here!
牋牋牋牋牋?揂re you okay??Jane leaned closer, concern written large
over her face. A passing student brushed by. Daria looked around, saw how many
people were near, knew she had to get away from here immediately.
牋牋牋牋牋?揇aria??o:p>
牋牋牋牋牋?She looked up into the eyes of her only friend. I have to go. I hope I see you again when
this is done. I forgive you for Tom. I forgive you for everything.
牋牋牋牋牋?The first bell rang, deafening them both. Daria jumped
again, unnerved.
牋牋牋牋牋?揥e抎 better get to class,?said Jane. Her gaze dropped
to the backpack. 揥hy are you carrying your books like that? I know you love to
read, but棓
牋牋牋牋牋?揓ane,?Daria croaked. Her face began to catch fire as
the wounds pulled open. 揑 will . . . catch up . . . in a minute.?She clenched
her teeth and fought down the pain.
牋牋牋牋牋?Jane抯 gaze went to Daria抯 face and settled on her eyes.
They looked at each other for a long moment.
牋牋牋牋牋?揑t抯 about that tree, isn抰 it??Jane said softly. 揑 saw it this morning.?A beat. 揟he trunk does look like a crutch, like in your drawing. Is this about that??o:p>
牋牋牋牋牋?揑 . . . have to go.?She flinched from the pain. 揝ee you.?o:p>
牋牋牋牋牋?揇aria棓
牋牋牋牋牋?揚(yáng)lease.?She took a shaky breath. 揕et . . . me go.?o:p>
牋牋牋牋牋?Jane searched her face, came to a decision. 揙kay,?she said softly. 揌urry back, amiga.?o:p>
牋牋牋牋牋?Daria nodded and turned and walked away as quickly as she
could. She did not notice a determined Jane following at a distance. The second
bell rang. She went downstairs and out the north door of the school. It was a
warm day with light clouds and a hazy sun. Street traffic was very light. No
students were around.
牋牋牋牋牋?The Tommy Sherman Memorial Tree was on her left, waiting.
The branches stirred, the flowers turning in her direction. There was no wind.
牋牋牋牋牋?She marched toward it and stopped fifteen feet short, well
out of limb reach, and sat the backpack on the ground with care. The jacket
came out, and she put it on after checking it over. It would offer a little
protection, but very little. The only thing left in the backpack was the water-filled
glass bottle with the waxy-looking whitish lump on the bottom. Delivery was the
only problem left. She had to open the bottle, get it to the trunk, and get the
hell out of there, all within the space of two or three seconds. She could not
leave the bottle behind like the soda bottle full of kerosene. It had to go to
ground zero, lid off, water out, boom, in one shot. It was the only way.
牋牋牋牋牋?This game should
have ended long ago. We抮e in overtime now.
牋牋牋牋牋?揌ey, Tommy!?Daria called to the tree, ignoring the facial pain. She reached down, unzipped the backpack, and caught the jar by the lid. 揢p for a little . . . football??o:p>
牋牋牋牋牋?She started to step closer to the tree to get a better throw
after she unscrewed the jar抯 lid梑ut she could not lift her feet. She looked
down and saw the problem. Black roots crawled over her boots like glistening
pythons, anchoring her feet to the ground. More roots crawled upward toward her
bare legs. She screamed and tried to run, but she couldn抰 move an inch to save
herself梐nd saving herself was everything.
牋牋牋牋牋?揇aria!?o:p>
牋牋牋牋牋?She turned, almost losing her balance. Jane was coming
out of the north door, the white visible all around her blue eyes as she stared
at Daria抯 boots and the monstrosity that pinned her in place.
牋牋牋牋牋??i style='mso-bidi-font-style:normal'>Run, Jane!?Daria shrieked. She nearly fell a second time. The jar was in her hand, the
backpack overrun on the ground with roots and rootlets. Cold, moist serpents
wound around her thighs and slithered toward her underwear.
牋牋牋牋牋?She forced herself to stand steady, ignoring everything
else, and twisted the thick lid. It didn抰 turn. A surge of hysterical energy
went through her, the lid came loose, and she flung the jar at the tree as hard
as possible. The jar spun like a football through the air, the water flying
out, then shattered on impact against the upper trunk. The waxy white lump stuck
for a moment to one of the limbs, then dropped to the ground at the base of the
tree. Then the lump and everything it had touched began to smoke.
牋牋牋牋牋?Daria felt Jane grab her from behind, then heard Jane
shriek as the thick slimy roots snagged her boots as well. Flailing at the
tentacles under her skirt, Daria tried to turn so she could pull Jane free.
牋牋牋牋牋?A light brighter than the sun flared out of the smoke
whirling around the base of the tree. Tommy Sherman抯 Memorial Tree shivered and
twisted, its branches violently lashing the air. The roots withdrew into the
ground. The two girls fell, then scrambled to their feet and fled in panic,
hand in hand. Their shadows were thrown out clear and sharp on the sidewalk ahead
of them, and the blast-furnace heat struck their backs from the pillar of white
fire that rocketed into the sky, consuming all around it.
牋牋牋牋牋?And fire with all
the strength it hath, thought Daria, a fragment of Saint Patrick抯 Rune. I place myself between my only friend and
the powers of darkness. You will come no farther. You will harm no more.
牋牋牋牋牋?Behind them in the blinding fire, Tommy Sherman died a second
time.
*
牋牋牋牋牋?Covering it up was the first order of business for the
school抯 principal. There was no way Ms. Angela Li would let it be known that
her prize science teacher had failed to dispose of a bottle of pure white
phosphorus in the science lab抯 storeroom. The penalties for both of them would
be far too high. Before the fire department began its investigation after
extinguishing the blaze, the two girls were brought in (identified on a tape
shot by a remote camera at the north door) and an alibi was worked up. They
each then received month-long, in-school suspensions and after-school work
cleaning the cafeteria for being tardy to class and leaving school grounds. Their
punishments were announced over the intercom, to the vast amusement of the
student body, as well as the news of their cowardly flight when the Tommy
Sherman Memorial Tree was destroyed after someone (probably from a rival
school) threw a fire bomb at it. Neither was able to offer useful information
on the man who did it桵s. Li made sure they had their stories straight before
they were interviewed separately by the police. The tape from the north door
was destroyed, its VCR being 搊ut for repairs?and unable to help the
investigation.
牋牋牋牋牋?The meeting in the principal抯 office afterward was brief. 揑 should have you both thrown into prison, and I still could. You抎 both be behind bars until your hair was gray.?Ms. Li was so angry, she didn抰 even glare. She was beyond that. 揑f you didn抰 like the damn tree, you could have just written a letter to the school paper and complained about it. This was going too far.?o:p>
牋牋牋牋牋?揑t wasn抰 Jane抯 fault!?Daria began for the fiftieth
time. 揑棓
牋牋牋牋牋?揝hut up! On
the good side, I抦 going to milk this for all its worth in the media. The story
will be, 慙awndale High was wronged.?We抮e going to suck up sympathy like we
never could before. I bet I can get the superintendent to double our budget for
repairs. I could use the extra cash in special projects. This might work out
better than I thought. And Janet Barch loathed that tree anyway, since it was
for Tommy and she hated his guts, but we抮e not going to go there. You抮e going
back to class, you抮e going to work like dogs for me for a month, we抮e going
to pretend this never happened, and the next time I have any serious trouble
with either of you棓 She drew a finger across her throat.
牋牋牋牋牋?Daria and Jane mumbled agreement. They could tell when
sarcasm would be suicidal.
牋牋牋牋牋?揋ood. Get out of here.?The girls left, and Ms. Li sat
back in her chair and rubbed her eyes under her glasses. Those damn girls had balls to pull this off, she said. I抎 better be on them like a hawk from now
on. And Janet Barch had better keep her damn storeroom under lock and key from
this day forward, or she can clean the hallways with the janitors. Damn her for
laughing about this anyway. It isn抰 funny at all.
牋牋牋牋牋?A stray thought came to mind, though, and Ms. Li
chuckled. It was kind of ironic, in the end, how it turned out. The original
Tommy Sherman Memorial Tree was gone forever梑ut once the burned grass was
replaced, the landscaping contractors she had hired would get to work. The
Lawndale High School campus was getting a makeover.
牋牋牋牋牋?She turned in her chair and smiled at the sun streaming
in through the window. It had been a smart thing for her to take so many
cuttings from that beautiful magnolia before its untimely destruction. Come
this time in a few years, twenty
little magnolias would be in bloom.
牋牋牋牋牋?揟he Tommy Sherman Memorial Forest,?she said aloud. It
had a nice ring. Maybe Miss Morgendorffer would return to her old alma mater
one day, and then let everyone see how she liked that!
Original: 08/05/05
FINIS