It was so strange, seeing him. Seeing both of them. No matter that she already believed all of this. Just looking at them made the skin at the base of her neck prickle with the wrongness of it. They didn't belong here. And yet she was glad they had come. The very air around her seemed ominously heavy, as though there were a storm coming in. Yet the air was dry.
It wasn't that kind of storm.
Ashleigh watched for other cars on Parmenter Road, but there were none. She checked the windows of her neighbors' houses, wondering if irony would surface and she might see the face of Young Will James himself in the corner window of the house next door. But no. No sign of Young Will. Out with Caitlyn still.
The street lamp off to the right was broken, and so as Brian started to push the car again, this time down Parmenter, the two men became shadows. Only then, in the moment when Brian jumped into the passenger's seat and Will started the Toyota up, engine roaring to life, did she remember that dark silhouette in the woods at the edge of her backyard. Her breath caught in her throat now. How could she have forgotten?
Easily enough, she realized. With Will appearing in her window and the shock that had given her, with all the startling things that she had experienced in the last forty-five minutes or so, it had been easy to forget. Now, though, the memory of that shadowy figure chilled her.
Will and Brian didn't want to talk about it, but they were magicians now. For better or worse. This time-travel shit was just one kind of magic. But if the two of them were traveling through time, doing sorcery or whatever, then who had it been back there watching her house? And had he been watching Ashleigh, or watching for Will and Brian? Someone was trying to change the past, hurting people, even killing them.
Ashleigh glanced around, suddenly very cold despite the sweatshirt she had pulled on before climbing down the tree by her window. Without another moment's hesitation she ran back around the rear of the house. Even with the moonlight, the yard seemed black as pitch, and her heart beat so hard she thought it would burst her chest. Her gaze swept to the right and she studied those woods across the yard, gasping several times when she was certain a contorted figure was moving, coming out of the trees at her, only to realize it was the wind, bending branches.
The light in her window was a beacon. She scrambled up the tree to her room faster than she ever had before, scraping the palm of her left hand before at last calming down enough to slip back into her room without making too much noise.
The music was still playing. Madonna.
Ashleigh spun around and knelt before the window again. She reached over to click off the light and then peered out into the darkness, studying the eerie topography of the woods behind the house. Her chest still hurt, and as the minutes ticked toward the moment when, according to Will, Mike Lebo was supposed to die, the only thing on Ashleigh's mind was the question of whether it would have helped them to know what she had seen. Or thought she had seen. Whether it had been important.
She stared out at the nighttime landscape for a very long time.
“TURN DOWN BROOK STREET,” Brian snapped. “Come on, haul ass!”
The clock on the dashboard read nine minutes past ten. The way Will remembered it, Mike had been run down at about quarter past. At least that was what the police report said, based upon statements made by people who heard the squealing tires and the noise of the impact as the car hit flesh and bone.
Six minutes, Will thought. If the clock's right. If the witnesses weren't just rounding off to the quarter hour, or guessing, for that matter.
“Will!” Brian slapped the dashboard. “Turn here! Brook Street. Turn!”
There was a disconnect in Will's mind then. It had been a long time since he had maneuvered his way through the side streets of Eastborough, and Brian's directions didn't make sense. Still, he hit the brakes, tires skidding as he made the corner.
“This doesn't go anywhere,” he said. “Brook just goes to—”
“Juniper Hill School,” Brian cut in. He had the window open and was staring frantically at the street ahead, watching the sidewalk for anyone on foot. “There's that access road at the back that comes in the back of Lebo's neighborhood.”
Will shot him a dubious sidelong glance, adrenaline racing through him, burning his veins with every second that passed. “There's a big fucking chain across the access road. It's a fire lane or something.”
“The chain was always down, remember? It was always down.”
“Maybe,” Will said, speeding up. “Maybe.” If this had been junior year, when the group of them had hung around up here quite a bit before he and Brian had parted ways, he might have been more confident. But senior year . . . He couldn't remember when the fire department had put the chain back up.
The engine roared. Will returned his focus to the road and held tight to the wheel as they rocketed up Brook Street, nearly taking air over the small bridge that spanned the trickle of water that gave the street its name. The road sloped upward and curved slightly, and the tires hugged the pavement as they sped toward the darkened hulk of the school at the top of the hill. As the headlights of the Toyota washed across the face of Juniper Hill School, he felt the memories in his head shuffling again. He drove around the back where there was a baseball diamond and a larger field bordered by a treeline. Will could not breathe.
“My head gets all confused,” Brian admitted, his voice hesitant. “I almost expect to see us playing ball. Or partying.”
Will knew exactly what he meant. Images flickered so quickly behind his eyes as he crossed the parking lot and started to drive down the narrow fire road beside the baseball diamond that it was almost as though he could see the ghosts of their younger selves out there now, laughing around a case of beer.
“Once upon a time,” he whispered.
“Yeah,” Brian agreed. “Once upon a time.”
The chain was down.
Relief swept through Will. He slowed down slightly to bump over the thick chain and then he accelerated again, tires spitting sand up behind the old Toyota. They said nothing more as they tore down Delilah Lane. Brian scanned the street and the sidewalks. This was the route Mike Lebo would have taken walking home. In the dark. Under the influence.
At the end of Delilah, Will hit the brakes only long enough to check for oncoming traffic, then tore out onto Hawthorne Road.
“Will!” Brian said.
“I see him.”
A hundred yards ahead of them on the other side of the street, a familiar figure strode along the sidewalk with his hands jammed in his pockets. He was just leaving the dome of light cast by a street lamp, but that pale illumination was enough for Will to be certain. It was Mike Lebo.
Walking into the darkness, toward a telephone pole that would in the coming days be his memorial, decked with flowers and photos and remembrances, candles and tears.
Words came from Will's lips but did not even register on his mind. He forgot to breathe. To blink. His heart forgot to beat. His hands clutched the steering wheel and his right foot pressed the accelerator and the Toyota tore along Hawthorne Road. Will's window was up and he freed his left hand just long enough to crank it down.
“There's a car!” Brian shouted. “Jesus, Will. Look!”
But Will had already noticed the vehicle barreling down Hawthorne toward them. Toward Mike. The headlights were off. The sedan was running completely dark. Of course it would. This was no drunk driver. Mike Lebo's death had been no accident. But Will James was about to set it right.
He gritted his teeth and swerved across the street into the path of the oncoming sedan.
“He's going to beat you there!” Brian said.
“The hell he is!” Will sneered and he floored the gas pedal. His skin felt too tight on his arms and it was too hot, as though he had been sunburned. His eyes ached.
The Toyota tore up the street on the wrong side of the road. The oncoming sedan remained dark, sliding toward them through the night. Drunk as he was, it took Lebo a couple of
seconds to register the roaring of the engines. He started to turn toward the street, to look up.
“Mike!” Will bellowed out the window. “Get back, Lebo! Back up!”
The sedan seemed to surge forward and Will held his breath. This was some fucked-up game of chicken, he was sure of it. Whoever was behind the wheel of that car had to turn aside. The driver wouldn't risk his own life.
“Will!” Brian shouted as the two cars barreled toward one another. “Will, Jesus Christ, turn! I don't think he's going to . . . What the hell?”
There was a queer change in Brian's tone just at the last, from terror to bewilderment. But Will was barely paying attention and certainly had no time to respond. He opened his mouth and let out a kind of roar and kept his fingers wrapped around the steering wheel.
The sedan jerked aside, crossing to the wrong side of the road, getting out of his way. No headlights. No blare of the horn. Not even a screech of tires.
In the very same instant, Lebo stumbled out into the street, right in front of the Toyota. Will heard Brian shouting, heard his own scream as he stamped down upon the brake and the tires began to shriek.
Too late.
There was a thump as the Toyota's front end struck Mike, and another as the car's momentum slammed him against the hood and then against the windshield. Lebo's head hit the glass and a spidery crack splintered through it. Blood ran into the crack as the Toyota skidded to a stop. Mike Lebo rolled limply off the hood of the car and fell to the pavement.
Will was already moving. He popped the door open and jumped from the car, ignoring the warnings that Brian called after him. He had felt before as though his skin were too tight, sunburned. Now he felt like ice. Will staggered around the open car door and went to Mike. He stared down at this handsome, friendly face he had only seen in pictures for a very long time. Blood already matted his hair and ran in a streak down one cheek. It was starting to pool under Mike's head.
Brian grabbed Will by the arm and Will shook him off angrily. But Brian wasn't going to take no for an answer. He grabbed Will by the hair and tugged, forcing him to look around so that the two of them were face to face.
“You're not fucking listening,” Brian snapped. “People will be out here any second, Will. We can't be here! Get in the car!”
Will flinched as if Brian had slapped him. Shit. Oh, shit. We're no one. No identity at all. In a stolen car. Son of a—
He rushed to the car and slipped behind the wheel again. He slammed it into reverse and was moving before Brian had even closed his door. Will killed the headlights in hopes the car would not be identified. As he accelerated and took off down the street, he was well aware of the irony that he was running dark, the same as the car that had been gunning for Mike in the first place.
Mike. Oh, Christ, Mike. His mind was in turmoil, stricken with the idea that he had been responsible. It was me, he thought. But almost instantly his nostrils flared in confusion.
“Why the hell did he do it? Was he that drunk? He saw us coming!”
They were already long gone from the accident scene. Will was sick with the idea that they had left Mike behind, dead on the roadside. But he had been dead already. Nothing good would have come of their staying.
“You think he did that on purpose?” Brian asked.
Will held tight to the wheel and shot him a sidelong glance. “What do you mean?”
“At the last second I looked over at him. He wasn't alone. This guy was there, all in black. Even his face was in black. But it almost didn't look like clothes, Will. It was like the black just clung to him, like moving shadows. He threw Mike out into the street. Like he was waiting for us. Like it was all set up for us to be the . . . to be the ones.”
Will was numb. Oh, Mike, you poor bastard. I'm so sorry. So goddamned sorry. For the moment he could do nothing but drive.
Moving shadows. What the hell have we gotten into here?
Monday dawned clear and blue, a pristine October morning complete with a chill in the air and frost on the grass. A lot of seniors wouldn't be caught dead riding the bus, but Ashleigh didn't mind. Especially today. Her mind was elsewhere. She sat in the rear of the bus with her head leaning gently against the window, bouncing slightly when the bus rumbled through a pothole. Her breath fogged the glass, but not so much that she could not see the houses they passed, the pumpkins already on the front steps and scarecrows propped in front of lampposts.
Ashleigh loved October. There was something in the air this time of year, something she could smell and even taste on the breeze that came in through the slightly open bus window. But today there was no lift in her spirits, no sigh of contentment.
She shivered and hugged herself and let her eyes go unfocused as the fog of her breath made the glass more opaque, as though it had suddenly become colder on the bus. And perhaps it had.
Sunday had been a hellish day for her. Sometime during the previous night Will and Brian had returned her father's car, a fact she only discovered when her father shouted for her to come outside. Ashleigh had walked out in her sneakers and sweats, essentially the same outfit she had worn to sneak out the window last night. The moment she got a look at the Toyota she froze, mouth open in that silly little O she thought people only made in the movies, and held her breath.
The windshield was cracked. Not just cracked, but run through with splinters like a spiderweb. Her father had stood in front of the car in his bathrobe, with the plastic-bagged Sunday Boston Globe dangling from one hand. His bare feet must have been freezing on the driveway, but he hadn't even seemed to notice.
“I just came out to get the paper,” he said, almost comically mystified, his thinning hair wild from sleep. But when he glanced at her and she saw the storm in his eyes, there was nothing funny about it at all. “Ashleigh, do you have any idea how this happened?”
Gaping at the car, she'd shaken her head. “Not a clue. God, look at it.”
“I am looking!” he'd snapped, then sighed in frustration, trying to show her that it wasn't her he was angry at. “Must've been some little punks in the middle of the night. Can't believe it didn't wake me up.” Her father had glanced around, probably searching for whatever had been used to crack the windshield. “Did you? Hear anything, I mean?”
Ashleigh had moved closer to the car. “No. Nothing.”
Her mind had been elsewhere, however. She had been, in her way, as mystified as her father. Ashleigh knew who was responsible for what had happened to the car, but had no idea how it had happened. She only hoped that Will had left her key under the floormat like he promised.
You dicks, she thought. Should've woken me up. But she had realized a moment later that they had done the right thing. There was nothing she could have done, and waking her would have been too much of a risk.
All day long the curiosity had eaten at her. Every time she left the house, she hoped she would see one of them. That night while she was going to bed, every time she heard a noise she got up to peer out the window, wondering if they had returned. More than anything Ashleigh wanted to know what had happened. Had they saved Mike? How had the windshield gotten broken?
Nothing.
They hadn't made contact at all, and in spite of herself, strange doubts had begun to creep into Ashleigh's mind. Was she really certain these men were who they said they were? She believed, and yet she could not help feeling some hesitation as their absence drew longer and the events of Saturday night continued to be a mystery.
Now Monday morning had arrived. It was the perfect October day, and she ought to have been excited. Homecoming weekend was coming up, and Halloween the week after. There was so much to think about, to look forward to. Yet the events of Saturday night and Sunday morning had cast a shadow over her heart that she could not shake.
She rode the bus, cold and silent, and when it pulled into the parking lot at Eastborough High and she gazed out the window, the only thing she was looking for was some sign of Will or Brian. Not her classmates, but these myster
ious men who claimed to be their future selves. She squinted, head aching with all of the thoughts and doubts and fears in her. Will—her Will—would have ridden to school with Danny Plumer. Ashleigh could have caught a ride with them this morning, but that was the last thing she wanted.
Her friends could not be avoided forever, though. Not even for long.
Only seconds after Ashleigh had made her way through the chaos of the second-floor corridor and reached her locker, she heard Danny's boisterous, arrogant laugh. Most of the time she could take him, even liked him, despite the amount of swagger in the guy. Today Danny's voice made the hair stand up on the back of her neck and her shoulders hunch.
Her boyfriend, Eric, nearly always arrived at school at the last minute. They never had time together before class. Most of the time it didn't bother her, but today, God how she wished that Eric were here. Not that she would have told him anything. Not Eric. He was smart and sexy but had about a thimbleful of imagination. If he couldn't understand why she would spend her time reading something like Dragon Rigger, there was no way in hell he would believe any of this. Nothing frightened her more than the thought that he would laugh at her. Or, worse, think there was something wrong with her.
For the first time, Ashleigh had a moment of clarity in which she understood just how deeply she loved Eric DeSantis and how vulnerable it made her. The knowledge frightened her, and she buried it away inside her heart.
No, she could not have told Eric. But he would have sensed she was upset and he would have held her. Just held her. Ashleigh needed that. The only other person who could comfort her right now was Will, but she didn't think she could confide anything in him without spilling it all. The difference was, Will would believe her. Even if he hadn't already been fooling around with magic, he would have believed. It was who he was, and who they were to each other.
The Boys Are Back in Town Page 23