“Chase’s mother?”
“Really is an obnoxious, insufferable humanitarian.”
“And his father?”
“Has technically been fired from his position after getting caught in the copy room with the school secretary, but that is not yet common knowledge.”
“Montgomery Falls’ very own soap opera.” I shake my head. “So what are the house rules?”
“Your aunt locks the front door at midnight. If you’re not inside by then, you’re out of luck.”
“You’ve got to be kidding.” Aidan is the only one of the boarders who is a teenager. Heck, Sam has to be older than my father and Aunt Jet. Isn’t half the point of being a grown-up not having to deal with things like curfews?
Aidan nods toward the old porch swing with its peeling paint and rusting chain. “Let’s just say that thing is not the most comfortable of beds. I spent two nights on it last month before I found an alternate way in and out of the house.” He flashes me a grin and then heads down the porch steps as a Honda with scratched paint and brakes that screech in protest pulls into the driveway.
I follow Aidan as the car comes to a stop. One guy sits behind the wheel while another rides shotgun.
“Well,” I say as Aidan pulls open the passenger-side rear door, “I’ll see you around.”
The instant the words leave my mouth, I cringe. Of course I’ll see him around: he lives in the same house.
Aidan raises an eyebrow. “I thought we were going to watch a movie. You have a better transportation option? If so, can you take me with you?”
“Hey!” protests the driver. “There’s nothing better than the Beast.”
“Dude, any car would be better than this thing,” says the guy in the passenger seat. “The taillights don’t work, and it still smells like the old lady you bought it from. We’re going to get rear-ended and that smell is going to follow me into the afterlife.”
Aidan ignores them both. He just stands there, eyebrow still slightly raised.
“You’re going to watch a movie,” I clarify. “I just needed a hall pass.”
“I feel so used.”
“Like you wouldn’t get off on that?” I don’t know where the words come from. They sure as hell don’t sound like me. They’re fast and witty and sultry enough to earn me an appreciative hoot from the guys in the car. They might even be enough to make up for my stupid comment about seeing him around.
“Dude, she has you pegged. Pegged!” says Shotgun Boy.
I wait for Aidan to tell him to shut it or to hit me with a comment as saucy as the one I just gave. Absolutely worst-case scenario, he’ll call me a five-letter word that rhymes with “witch” and we’ll spend the next few weeks awkwardly passing each other in the hall on our way to the bathroom.
He doesn’t do any of those things.
Instead, he adopts an expression that is earnest and angelic, laying it on so thick that it’s hard not to laugh even as his wide gray eyes make things inside of me twist.
Even if I were open to relationships—which I am not for a whole bunch of very good reasons—Aidan is not my type. Sure, he seems interesting and has an appreciation for vintage things, but he’s cocky and pretty. I don’t usually go for guys who are either. That’s always been Lacey’s thing. She always goes after the shiniest one in the room while I secretly crush on artists and geeks. Still, it’s a bit hard to remember that with Aidan standing in front of me, looking at me that way.
“Please.” He takes two steps toward me, invading my personal space without quite touching me, the way he did last night. I get the sudden feeling he does that a lot—steps into spaces to see how far he’s allowed in. “Look . . . Normally, I’m all for duplicity, but I really need my room. If your aunt finds out that I lied for you, she’ll probably kick me out.”
If he knew how desperately my aunt needs the rent checks his parents send, he’d know there’s no way he’d get kicked out over such a small infraction. But if Aunt Jet does put the house up for sale . . . if someone does buy it . . .
I’ve known Aidan for a grand total of thirty minutes—or just over a day if you’re generous and count all of the actual hours since we met—but I believe him when he says he needs his spot in the house. I understand why Jet doesn’t want the lodgers to know she’s thinking of selling, but looking into Aidan’s eyes, it suddenly doesn’t seem fair to keep that information from him.
He mistakes my brief flash of guilt for hesitation. “Come on. It’ll be fun. You’ll meet new people. We’re all harmless.”
“If you weren’t harmless, would you admit it?”
His lip quirks up in another lopsided grin. The girls of Montgomery Falls have probably texted their friends about the precise angles of that smile. “So suspicious. You really are a New Yorker.”
The guy in the driver’s seat leans on the horn. “Dude. She doesn’t want to come. Stop trying to use your charm like it’s a hunk of Kryptonite.”
But maybe Aidan’s smile is Kryptonite, because I find myself stepping past him and sliding into the back seat of the too-hot car. The air inside smells like Cheetos and lavender and hair spray. Aidan slides in beside me and pulls the door closed with a slam.
“That’s Joey,” he says, gesturing toward the driver, “and that’s Chase.” Both boys twist in their seats to get a good look at me. Joey’s thick, black-rimmed glasses slide down his nose, and he pushes them up, absently. He doesn’t smile; he doesn’t even blink. It’s unnerving. Chase, on the other hand, smiles broadly. Given his muscles, backward ball cap, and the fact that he’s wearing a T-shirt with the Riverview mascot on the front, I’m guessing he’s a jock.
A jock whose father, apparently, sleeps with secretaries in the copy room.
“Cat’s from New York,” Aidan says. “Her aunt owns the boardinghouse.”
“Wicked,” says Joey. He still doesn’t smile, but he gives me the tiniest of nods before turning back around and throwing the car into drive.
I haul my seat belt across my chest. “New York?”
“Montgomery House. It’s the fourth most-haunted place in town.”
“What are spots one through three?” I ask.
“University library is three,” says Chase, jumping in. “Fifth floor. A librarian hung herself up there in 1953.”
“Train bridge is number two,” says Joey. “On account of a rail employee who died while a train was crossing. People say he walks the bridge at night with a lantern. They say that if you see the glow, you’ll be dead by morning.”
He sounds so serious that it’s impossible not to laugh. “Somehow, Montgomery Falls doesn’t seem classy enough to have its own banshee.”
Joey’s eyes lock on mine in the rearview mirror. “Banshees haunt specific families.”
“Here we go . . . ,” mutters Aidan.
“And they’re not actually ghosts,” Joey continues, ignoring him. “Amateurs frequently make that mistake.”
“If everyone who sees the glow from the lantern winds up dead, how does anyone know about it?” I counter. I’m pretty proud of my logic, but the look he shoots me is withering.
Chase jumps in before Joey can answer. “People tell people. Joey’s grandpa told his mom he saw lights on the bridge. The next day, he had a heart attack. And Riley Fraser told Amber Preston he saw the light the day before he disappeared.”
“Riley’s missing, not necessarily dead,” says Aidan. He rolls down the back window and drums his fingers on the edge of the door. “And Amber was drunk when she told everyone that.”
“You guys know Riley?” Of course they do, I realize. Montgomery Falls has only two high schools—one English and one French—and neither has more than a few hundred students.
“Everyone knows Riley Fraser,” says Joey darkly. “Varsity athlete. Homecoming king. Center of the universe. Too good for just about everyone and everything.”
Riley? No matter how many years have passed, I can’t imagine Riley as a jock or being comfortable at the cen
ter of the universe. Sure, I had thought the picture on the poster looked like it belonged to someone who could be class president or prom king, but that didn’t mean I actually thought Riley had become the kind of guy who would be either of those things.
He could be so quiet and distant—even with me, and he claimed that I knew him better than anyone. Most of that was just him, I think, but some of it was the OCD. He said it was like having a sort of background noise in his head. A lot of the time he could tune it out, but sometimes it got too loud and pulled his attention inward.
That whole summer, his parents—especially his father—kept pushing him to make more friends. Friends who would still be there when school started in the fall. Friends who would help him fit in. “I don’t need other friends,” he kept telling them. “I have Cat.”
“Other people wouldn’t get it,” he told me. “They wouldn’t get me.”
Because we were both different. Because we both had things that made us different.
It’s strange to think that the first boy I ever kissed, the boy who said he didn’t need anyone other than me, had turned into someone who would be a stranger.
“You haven’t asked about spot number one,” says Aidan, drawing my attention back to the boys in the car.
“What’s spot number one?”
“The textile mill. Because of a fire.”
“And the girl,” interjects Chase. “Three kids found a dead girl up there five years ago.”
“She knows about the girl, idiot,” says Joey as he slows for a red light.
And just like that, not thinking about that last entry in Riley’s book becomes impossible.
Going to the mill that day had been my idea. I had been wanting to go ever since I overheard someone talking about how chimney swifts roosted in the old buildings. You could see groups of them in town all day long—small, soot-colored birds that rose and fell on the air like puffs of smoke—but at the mill, you could supposedly see thousands of them. So many that they blocked out the sun. So many that the sound of all of those wings was like thunder.
Noah overheard us planning. He didn’t rat us out and he didn’t try to stop us, but he insisted on coming. “It’s dangerous,” he had said, like the extra years he had on us made some sort of difference.
We hiked up to the mill and slipped through the fence. Riley spotted a small, silver medal with the initials NMK engraved on the back in the weeds. He bent down to pick it up and fell behind.
NMK.
Nora Michelle Knight. A history major at the university who had wanted to get a look at the brickwork at the old mill. She hadn’t known she had a heart condition. A time bomb in her chest that went off when she was alone.
I spotted her first, then Noah.
He grabbed me and spun me around as he told Riley, still behind us, not to come any closer. He pulled me to his chest and told me not to look, even though it was already too late. Her eyes had been open, and there had been something crawling on her cheek. That’s what I remember—but I’ve never been entirely sure if those were details I actually saw or if they were things I picked up from Noah when he touched me.
Riley hadn’t listened. Over Noah’s shoulder, I watched as he drew closer. He drew closer, and in the distance, thousands of swifts filled the air like smoke
The light turns green and the car jumps forward.
Chase is staring at me. “Right. Montgomery. You were there. You’re the girl who was with Riley and Noah Fraser.”
One of the joys of small towns: find one dead body and that information will follow you around forever.
Joey pulls into a parking lot and kills the engine. To our right is the town’s lone coffee shop. To our left is a row of stores crowded so closely together that they might as well be a strip mall. A pharmacy sits at one end, an old video store at the other. I shake my head, unable to quite believe video stores actually still exist.
We all climb out of the car. “So you guys are what? Like those people on TV who run around hunting ghosts?”
“Nah,” says Chase. “Just horror fans. We’re organizing Montgomery Falls’ first horror film festival. And by ‘festival,’ I mean a double feature in the town square on a Tuesday night because that was all they’d give us permission for.”
“I’m not just a fan,” mutters Joey.
Chase rolls his eyes. “Okay. I’m just a fan. Joey is also into local hauntings and writes horror movies. He’s been working on one about the town, but he won’t let anyone see it.”
“Performance anxiety,” Aidan says to me in a stage whisper. “Hey—Cat’s dad is a hotshot writer. Maybe she can give you pointers.”
I open my mouth to make some excuse about how I don’t really know anything about writing, but before I can get a single word out, Joey says, “Elliot Montgomery. Everyone in town knows who he is. And my screenplay is a work in progress. It’s not ready to be seen.”
There’s a snide, arrogant tone to his voice that’s grating.
“Hey,” he says, “did you notice anything while you were up at the mill that day?”
“You mean aside from the dead girl?”
“Right. Any unexplained phenomena? Supernatural activity or hostility? I’ve been wondering if the presence of a Montgomery would trigger any of the ghosts of the men who died in the tunnels.”
“You think the ghosts are angry at us?”
“Of course. Wouldn’t you be pissed?”
He and Chase launch into a debate about the best angry ghost movies with Aidan interjecting. None of them notice when I fall back. They just keep walking until they reach the video store and then disappear inside.
I decide to give them a few minutes—long enough, hopefully, for Joey to forget all about the mill and his questions. Pulling in a deep breath, I run a hand through my hair. As I do, the bracelet on my wrist—just a cheap, braided cord with some beads—catches on a tangle and breaks. The cord falls to the ground at my feet, but the beads scatter.
Only then do I realize that I’m not alone.
A guy stands just to the left of the pharmacy door, a small paper bag in his hand. He must have come out just as Chase, Joey, and Aidan walked by. There’s something vaguely familiar about the sweep of his dark hair over his forehead and the tense set of his shoulders and the way he holds himself. But he’s older now—five years older—and it takes a moment for it to click. When it does, my stomach drops
Noah. Noah Fraser.
It feels slightly surreal, seeing him. For a moment, the two Noahs overlap—the one standing outside the drugstore and the one who exists in my memory—but then I blink and the illusion shatters.
Noah bends down and picks up one of the beads from my broken bracelet. He straightens and holds it out to me.
There are angry red marks on his knuckles. Cuts that have scabbed over. He used to play the piano, I remember suddenly as I look at his hand. On warm summer nights, the sound of his playing would drift through the Frasers’ house and out into the yard. It’s one of those tiny, insignificant details that lodges itself in the back of your mind, buried until something small dredges it to the surface.
I cross the space between us and then hesitate. There’s no way for me to reach out and take the bead without risking skin brushing skin. Instead, I form a cup with my palms and wait for him to drop the bead inside.
As he does, I have the ridiculous urge to ask if he still plays the piano, if he can tell me the name of the song he was playing that afternoon before we went to the mill. I want to tell him about the classical music concert Lacey’s mom took us to—Ludovico Einaudi—and how one of the songs felt like seeing a thousand birds in flight. How I had to get up and leave. How I locked myself in a bathroom stall until it felt like I could breathe again.
The silence between us goes from awkward to oppressive.
Eventually, it becomes too much. “I don’t know if you remember me.” The words come out strained and halting. The idea that he could forget me seems impossible, but five years
is a long time—especially when I was in his brother’s life for only a handful of months. “I used to hang around with Riley.”
Noah switches the small paper bag from one hand to the other. It rattles softly with the unmistakable sound of pill bottles.
“Cat,” he says finally. “Cat Montgomery. I remember you.”
His voice is different. Older and deeper. It no longer breaks in the middle of sentences.
Someone calls my name. Turning toward the video store, I see Aidan and Chase standing outside. Noah glances toward the sound, then gives me a small nod and starts to walk away as the boys head toward us.
I spend most of my days trying not to accidentally touch people, but without thinking, I reach out and grab Noah’s sleeve, forcing him to pause and turn back. “I’m sorry about Riley,” I blurt out, knowing he must have heard those words a hundred times, but needing him to hear them from me, too. Not because they’re the words you’re supposed to say—the words everyone says—but because I really, really mean them. Despite everything that happened between Riley and me, I really do mean them. “I hope they find him.”
Noah’s shoulders stiffen. When he speaks, there’s a sharp edge to his voice. “I don’t.”
This time when he turns to walk away, I don’t try to stop him. I’m too stunned.
I’m still staring after him when Aidan and Chase reach me.
Six
THE IDEA OF PHYSICALLY RENTING MOVIES SEEMS ARCHAIC. I’m sure the video store must have been here the last time I was in town—it seems like the kind of place that’s been in the same spot forever—but I don’t remember it. Given how big I am on vintage stuff, you’d think I’d be in heaven as I wander the aisles, but my idea of paradise still includes streaming.
Not that I’m paying all that much attention to my surroundings; my run-in with Noah has me so thrown that I’m not sure I can pay much attention to anything.
“They just keep a handful of cult movies that haven’t been released on DVD or online,” says Aidan as he plucks a bulky VHS case from my hand. “The university has a surprisingly active—and discerning—film club.” He sets the video back on the shelf and studies my face for a moment. “Are you all right?”
You Were Never Here Page 5