Since Haley seemed unable to answer, Emily twisted around to see what she was staring at. She felt her own mouth open with surprise.
Leaving a beauty parlor across the street was a girl with white-blond, curly hair fanning out around her face.
Emily gasped. “Who is that?”
“Someone trying to be you.” Haley groaned and said, “It’s pink-and-gold Taylor. Only she’s not pink and gold anymore.”
Silently Emily and Haley watched Taylor approach. As Taylor came near she grinned happily. Her face was clean of all makeup.
“Surprise!” she said. “Don’t you love it?”
Still in shock, Emily murmured, “You—uh—look like—like—”
“You!” Taylor said. She was obviously so delighted that Emily was reminded of a little kid at a birthday party.
“Why?” Haley asked.
“I like the way Emily’s hair looks.”
“But what about your one-of-a-kind look?” Haley asked.
“This will be one-of-a-kind when I get home,” Taylor said. “Nobody in my hometown has ever seen Emily.” She happily fingered a curly twist of hair. “It’s cool,” she said. “I picked out a shade as close to your hair color as I could get, and they showed me how to make it look like this with a curling iron. Now I can let it fall in front of my face and hide behind it, just like you do.”
“Why try to look like Emily? Why not just be yourself?” Haley rolled her eyes again.
Taylor threw Haley an exasperated glance. “Come off it, Haley,” she said. “I’m not trying to look like Emily. Only the hair.” She touched her face with her fingertips and giggled. “I feel naked without any makeup. The stylist creamed it off. She said it didn’t go with the light hair. I’ll try to find something else that will work. Maybe rose or light green eye shadow?”
Haley didn’t answer, so Taylor turned to Emily. “Are you mad at me, too?” she asked.
Emily softened at the open hurt on Taylor’s face. “I’m not mad at you,” she answered. “I’m just surprised. The change you’ve made takes getting used to.” She kept her gaze on Taylor as she said, “For the first time I can see what you really look like. You’re pretty, Taylor. Your cheekbones are high, like a model’s. I hadn’t noticed before.”
“Then you don’t care that I copied your hair?”
“I don’t care,” Emily said, although she wasn’t really sure how she felt. It was strange seeing a reflection of herself in another person. No one had ever seemed to think she was worth copying before.
She glanced up to see some of the other kids from their van arriving. A few stared from Emily to Taylor and back again. One of the girls gasped, turning around too late to hide the startled expression on her face.
Emily slumped, letting her hair fall forward, hiding behind it. She should have realized immediately that what Taylor had done would attract attention. She hated being stared at. She hated being noticed. She wished with all her power that Taylor hadn’t chosen to imitate her.
The van drove up and the driver jumped out, throwing the side doors open. Emily climbed into the van, choosing a seat in the back, as far from everyone else as she could get.
Wishing she were invisible, Emily didn’t speak during the drive back to Camp Excel. The others didn’t seem to care. They were all busy talking. Emily heard scraps of conversation about some of the shops in Lampley, about its funny little museum, and once she caught Taylor’s name and her own. As someone giggled, Emily cringed and slid even farther down in the seat.
When the van pulled up to the parking area in front of the central building, Emily, head down, followed everyone out. She started toward the main building but was stopped when Haley grasped her arm.
“Where are you going?” Haley asked.
Emily pulled her arm away and looked at her watch. “I’ve got an appointment with Dr. Anderson at five-thirty. I don’t want to be late.”
Haley gave an impatient shrug. “Oh, that. Big nothing. Because Dr. Lorene Anderson’s the chief assistant to Dr. Isaacson, she writes his student reports. I met with her this morning. She’ll just ask you a bunch of questions about stuff you’re interested in and if you’ve set any goals for yourself. You know. You’ve heard it all before. It won’t take long. I’ll wait for you.”
Across the way Emily saw Taylor enter the dorm. She thought ahead to when they’d both show up for dinner and knew how people would stare and talk. She couldn’t bear it. She’d skip dinner. She’d send word that she wasn’t hungry and stay in her room.
“Em?” Haley asked. “Aren’t you listening? I said I’d wait for you. We can stick around a few minutes, then go in to dinner together.”
“No,” Emily said. “Don’t wait. I don’t want you to wait.” She ran from Haley into the cool, air-conditioned building, shivering at the sudden drop in temperature.
The lobby was empty, so she relaxed a little, standing still, closing her eyes, and taking three deep breaths. For a moment she knew she’d been close to panic, and panic wouldn’t help any situation.
What difference would it make if people stared? she asked herself. It shouldn’t really matter to me what people think.
But hadn’t she always felt afraid to be noticed, to be the focus of staring eyes? Wasn’t she more secure in back rows and quiet corners, hidden behind her curtain of hair?
Why have I always been like this? Emily wondered. She ached to know the answer, but there was none.
Slowly she walked down the hallway. There were names on a few of the doors. She passed Dr. Lydia Hampton’s office and, across the hall, the office and clinic run by Maria Jimenez, the nurse.
The next door was about twenty-five feet farther down the hall, and it stood ajar. Dr. Kendrick Isaacson’s name was on the door and, as she approached, Emily couldn’t help glancing inside. The floor was covered in the same neutral wall-to-wall carpeting as in the rest of the building, but the mahogany desk against the far wall was immense, with deep carvings on either side. A burgundy-red leather chair sat at an angle behind the desk. No one was in sight, so out of curiosity Emily took a cautious step inside the room. On the left side of the large room was a credenza on which a massive bowl of fresh flowers rested. A small tapestry hung above it.
At the far right of the room was a grouping of comfortable chairs around a low table. Behind the table were two large framed portraits. One was of Dr. Isaacson, and the other …
Emily stared at the second portrait, frozen, feeling the blood drain from her face. She reached out blindly, trying to grasp something—anything—to steady herself. Unable to breathe, she gulped frantically for air. The woman … the smiling woman in the portrait … it was the same face that over and over and over again thrust itself into Emily’s nightmares. Glassy eyes in a photograph … eyes in a dead, bloody face … same eyes … same person.
Darkness smothered Emily’s vision and swirled into her mind. She felt herself falling.
Emily awoke to find herself on a cot in a white, sterile-looking room. She struggled to sit up, but Mrs. Jimenez stepped into her vision. Her firm hand pushed Emily back onto the cot, and she said, “You’re in my clinic, sweetie. You passed out. How are you feeling now?”
Emily took a deep breath. “Okay,” she said.
Mrs. Jimenez took Emily’s pulse and said, “Everything checks out. No temperature. You haven’t got a sore throat, have you? Sick to your stomach? Anything like that?”
“No,” Emily said.
“Ever fainted before?”
“No.”
“Is it that time of the month?”
“No.”
“Your color’s good. Here. I’ll give you a hand. Let’s see if you can sit up.”
Emily swung her legs over the edge of the cot as Mrs. Jimenez helped her to a sitting position.
“Dizzy?” Mrs. Jimenez asked.
“No.”
Mrs. Jimenez pursed her lips as she thought, then asked, “When did you last eat?”
“At lunchtime
,” Emily answered.
“And probably not much at that,” Mrs. Jimenez said. “You girls are always either eating junk food or dieting. Well, stay here a few minutes. Dr. Anderson wants to talk to you.”
“Oh!” Emily said. She looked at her watch. Fifteen minutes to six. She could imagine the looks of disappointment on her parents’ faces that she’d been at camp only a day and had already blown it. “I’m late for my appointment.”
To her surprise, Mrs. Jimenez smiled. “Don’t worry about it. If you can’t go to Dr. Anderson, she’ll come to you. Stay here. I’ll go get her.”
Emily leaned back against the wall, closing her eyes, seeing once again the portrait of the woman on the wall in Dr. Isaacson’s office. Who was she? And why did she keep showing up in Emily’s dreams?
“Are you asleep?”
Emily’s eyelids flew open, and she struggled to sit upright. Still concerned, she said, “Dr. Anderson, I’m sorry that I didn’t keep my appointment on time.”
“There’s no need to apologize,” Dr. Anderson told her. “What happened was beyond your control.” She smiled as she pulled up a white metal chair to sit facing Emily.
Even in her staff uniform Dr. Anderson was attractive, Emily thought. Her brown hair was short enough to curl around her cheeks, and at the moment her green eyes looked warm and sympathetic. She was probably about the same height as Emily, and every bit as slender, even though she had to be close to fifty.
“Do you know why you fainted?” Dr. Anderson asked.
I can’t tell you. I can’t tell anyone, Emily thought. Trying to sidestep the question, she said, “The door to Dr. Isaacson’s office was standing open. I was curious. I stepped inside to take a good look.”
“Did you like what you saw?”
“Yes. It all looks important, the way I suppose the office of the director of an educational center should look.” Emily cleared her throat before she added, “That’s an impressive photograph of Dr. Isaacson on the wall over the chairs.”
Dr. Anderson gave a brief nod and another smile but didn’t speak.
Again Emily cleared her throat. “The other picture—who is the woman?”
“Dr. Amelia Foxworth,” Dr. Anderson said. “She and Dr. Isaacson were partners. They founded the educational center together.” She smiled as she added, “With the help of a handpicked staff, of course. Myself, Dr. Hampton, Dr. Bonaduce, Mrs.—”
“Where is Dr. Foxworth?” Emily interrupted.
“She’s no longer with us,” Dr. Anderson said.
“Do you mean she moved away?”
“No. She died.”
Emily steeled herself to ask the next question. “How?”
Dr. Anderson hesitated a moment, studying Emily. Then she answered, “Dr. Foxworth died in a fall.”
Emily’s head began to hurt. “When?” she managed to ask.
“About seven … no, eight years ago, I think. Why do you ask?”
“I—I just wondered,” Emily said. As she leaned back against the wall she closed her eyes and shivered. The face in her nightmare had imprinted itself on her brain.
Moist leaves and curling tendrils of honeysuckle vines plastered her face as she poked her head from the tunnel of green. Ahead of her, at eye level, lay bright blue water and gleaming tiles, but in the background two discordant voices thrummed high and low, shrill and angry, like string instruments being tuned before a symphony. Suddenly a body slammed to the tile of the pool, half in, half out of the water, eyes staring, holding Emily’s gaze as though she were hypnotized. A blinding flash of light broke the spell, and Emily squirmed back into the tunnel. She could hear a frantic, demanding voice calling from far away: “You! Little girl! Don’t leave! Come back here!”
Then something else. What was the voice saying?
The green tunnel threatened to smother Emily as she clawed her way back through the branches and tangles. And the voice …
“Emily?” she heard Dr. Anderson saying. “I asked if you knew why you fainted. Can you tell me?”
Emily opened her eyes. Dr. Anderson was studying her with concern. In the doorway Mrs. Jimenez also looked on. Emily remembered what Mrs. Jimenez had said. “I guess I was hungry,” she answered.
“See? What did I tell you?” Mrs. Jimenez spoke up. “Dieting. These girls are always dieting. They don’t eat enough to keep a bird alive because they want to be skinny. Then they get a cheeseburger with double fries and don’t count it because they also order a Diet Coke.”
Dr. Anderson didn’t respond to Mrs. Jimenez’s excited tirade. She didn’t take her eyes off Emily’s face. Finally she stood and said, “It’s about time for our regular staff meeting. If you need me, Emily, if you have any problems you want to talk over, just let me know. I’m here for you.”
“Thank you,” Emily said, relieved that there would be no more questions—at least for now.
Dr. Anderson left, and Mrs. Jimenez stepped forward. “The dinner bell is going to ring in just a couple of minutes. Some food will be good for you. Do you feel up to walking into the dining room?”
“No, I don’t,” Emily said quickly, leaping at this chance to avoid Taylor and the others. “I’m still kind of shaky.”
“Then I’ll call for a tray to be sent here,” Mrs. Jimenez said. “Just lie down until it arrives and take it easy. I’ll shut the door and let you rest.”
Emily did as she was told. Through the closed door she heard Mrs. Jimenez’s voice on the phone in her office, a soft up-and-down buzz like a fly against a window screen. The cotton blanket on the cot was soft and soothing as Emily pulled it up to her chin. Mercifully, the face in her mind had left, and suddenly she was very tired. As she rolled onto her side, curling her knees to her chin, she decided to do as Mrs. Jimenez had suggested and rest, if only for a minute. Within seconds she was asleep.
She opened her eyes to a darkened room with only a night-light gleaming at the base of one wall.
“Well, it’s about time,” Haley said from the chair where Dr. Anderson had been sitting earlier. She stood up and flipped on the overhead light. “When you didn’t come in to dinner, I went looking for you. Mrs. Jimenez said you fainted because you hadn’t been eating enough.”
Emily didn’t say anything. If that excuse seemed to satisfy everyone, she’d let it ride.
“Have you got your potion with you?”
Emily touched the pocket of her shirt and felt the small vial still in place. “Yes,” she said. Sitting up, she swung her feet to the floor. “What did everyone say about Taylor’s hair?” she asked.
“Taylor didn’t show at dinner, either,” Haley said. “I think she wanted to make a dramatic entrance with you. Maybe she went looking for you, too.”
Swept by guilt, Emily said, “I wish she hadn’t picked me to imitate. At first I didn’t mind, but when everyone—”
The loud wail of a siren drowned out the rest of her words. As it went into a continuing short burst pattern, Emily asked, “Fire drill?”
“No one warned us about a drill. Maybe it’s the real thing,” Haley shouted over the noise. “Let’s get out of here.”
There was no sign of fire or stench of smoke as they stepped into the hall and strode quickly toward the main door of the building.
Emily pushed it open as one of the other campers rushed past.
Another, coming up from the lake area, grabbed the camper’s arm and cried out, “It’s that girl with all the white hair—Emily! Somebody found her in the water. I think she drowned.”
CHAPTER 12
It had to happen.
Ending her life was an unpleasant task, but it couldn’t be avoided. I suppose most of the staff believed that story that Emily Wood fainted because she hadn’t been eating, but I know better. She fainted because she recognized Dr. Foxworth in the portrait. She remembered. She knew. And before long she would have told.
But now there is no more need to worry. It’s over.
CHAPTER 13
Haley stare
d at Emily, her eyes wide with horror. “Taylor?” she whispered.
Emily didn’t answer. Dizzy and sick with guilt and fear, she raced toward a cluster of people who were staring down at the ground. Of course it was Taylor. It had to be Taylor. Why hadn’t she objected when Taylor tried to copy her? Why hadn’t she warned Taylor about Loki and the danger?
What am I thinking? Shocked by her thoughts, Emily told herself, There is no Loki. There are no magic stones. What happened to Taylor can’t be my fault!
As she reached the circle of onlookers, Emily frantically shoved two of them aside and burst into the inner ring.
“Hey! Watch where you’re going!” someone complained, but Emily ignored him.
Taylor, her clothes soaking wet, her hair hanging in sopping strings, sat on the ground. Mrs. Jimenez sat with her, her left arm supporting Taylor. With her right hand and a thick pad of bloodstained cloth, she applied pressure to a gash at the back of Taylor’s head.
“Move along, everybody. Stay out of the way,” Coach Jinks kept saying, but no one paid attention to him.
Taylor hadn’t drowned! She was alive! Everything began to come back into focus for Emily, who stood still, sucking in deep breaths, willing herself to calm down. She became aware that Dr. Isaacson stood nearby with Dr. Weil and Mrs. Comstock, matching frowns of concern on their faces as they watched Mrs. Jimenez administering aid to Taylor. Oddly, Dr. Isaacson’s right arm rested on Maxwell’s shoulders, but Emily didn’t try to figure out why. All that mattered was that Taylor would be all right.
The fire alarm stopped abruptly, the sudden silence jarring. Then from the far distance came the wail of sirens.
Emily dropped to her knees beside Taylor. “How badly is she hurt?” she asked Mrs. Jimenez.
“She may need a couple of stitches,” Mrs. Jimenez said. She glanced in the direction of the road to the camp. “But she’s not going to need the pumper and ambulance they’re sending. That’s for sure.”
“Pulling the fire alarm was the best way I knew of to get help in a hurry,” Maxwell said.
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