Exorcising Aaron Nguyen

There's Totally Room for a Satantic Altar

"Someone hurt you, girl?" the janitor grunted, his voice as old and worn out as the gnarled hand on the door's press-bar.

My breath came back in short, dizzying gasps and my face flushed as my number one suspect in Aaron Nguyen's murder shoved open the side door. His off hand clenched tight around his mop handle, ready to fend off whatever I'd been running from. Was he protecting me? What if he was just trying to make sure we were alone?

"I'm okay," I wheezed, inching away from the open door. I imagined pale fingers gripping it, wrenching it aside with superhuman strength. I imagined him turning, slamming that broom handle across my head. Would it be strong enough to bash it in, like Aaron Nguyen's?

The janitor looked at me, then glared back at the dusk-veiled courtyard and let the door shut. I swallowed and took a step back, but the ball chain peeking out of his coverall glinted in the dim florescent lighting. Dog tags? My uncle wore them-a relic of his time in Vietnam. Shame entered the cauldron of feelings bubbling inside me and my throat tightened. This guy was a veteran. He was probably somewhere in his sixties, which meant he should be retired, relaxing in a recliner somewhere and yelling at the TV, not emptying bathroom trashcans and scrubbing up vomit in a school full of people who thought he was a likely murder suspect. Like me.

My eyes burned, and his bushy gray eyebrows drew together as he scanned my face. He nodded at me. "Next time, you holler. Someone hurts you, you holler loud as you can. Too many kids getting hurt round here."

I blinked, and my brain flashed the image of the dead girl. In my head, I heard the creak of the rope and the sound of blood dripping on the leaves. Tap. Tap. Tap. My whole body trembled. I was glad the trashcan was right next to me, in case I needed to throw up.

"Georgia?" A familiar voice echoed from dark end of the hall.

The janitor jerked his head toward the noise, lifting his mop in front of him as Hiroki jogged toward us under a line of flickering florescent lights. The Janitor lowered the broom slowly, then reached for his wheely cart and adjusted it in front of him, as if Hiroki might suddenly launch himself at us.

"Sorry," I said, dabbing quickly at my eyes and-no doubt-running mascara. "There was-"

"Are you okay?" Hiroki said, easing around the cart but keeping his eyes on the janitor. I was suddenly embarrassed, because Hiroki was looking at the man with the same suspicion I had all year.

The grizzled man nodded at us and sniffed once, settling his mop into his cart. "You take care'a her, son. Someone's gettin' after her." He pushed his cart around Hiroki and down the hallway awfully fast for an old guy.

"Thank you," I said, too late to be polite. He raised his hand, but didn't look back, even when he turned the corner and down the hallway toward the chapel.

"He didn't do it," I choked.

"Georgia," Hiroki said. "What-"

"He didn't kill Aaron Nguyen. He's just an old man. He tried to help me. He thought-" I couldn't finish. He probably thought the same thing that had happened to me in middle school was happening here. Oh, if only I'd had some nice old man to help me then, maybe I wouldn't-

"What happened?" Hiroki interrupted, leaning forward on the balls of his feet and ducking his head to peer up at me. "Why did you scream?"

The dead girl.

"Oh my God! Hiro, there's a girl in one of the trees. Like, she's hanging, and bleeding! We have to get someone. I think there's been another murder." My voice remained steady, but I couldn't keep the tears from burning and swelling over. They spilled down my face, no doubt running tracks through my makeup.