“Who was it?” he asked again.
Something clicked in Crystal’s eyes, and she said worriedly, “It wasn’t-”
“It was,” Michael said, stopping her short. “Olivia Frazier.”
19. Secrets
“Why’s that important?” Christian asked. “Who’s Olivia Frazier?”
“Olivia Frazier was the last person to check out the library book, and also the last teenager to be kidnapped,” explained Michael. “Coincidence? I doubt it.”
“What does this have to do with us?” Christian asked yet again. “Why do you three all look so worried?”
Brandon ignored him, as did the others. “I don’t know where you’re going with this, Michael, but I can tell it’s not good.”
Michael nodded, studying the creases on his palms thoughtfully. “It’s just a theory of mine, and I haven’t said anything, but now I have to. Since we read that chapter, I’ve been thinking that maybe every pair kidnapped has something in common. Like the kids in 1775, and the kids in 1795. And so on. Those first two were both related to the man who left the Lady. One was his family directly, and the other was his cousin or uncle or something like that. The last girl twenty years ago, and now us, both checked out the book.”
“But we didn’t actually check it out,” Christian said pointedly.
“We read it, we looked at it, we brought it home.” Michael shook his head. “Even without a card, that’s checking it out.”
Brandon rubbed the back of his neck nervously. “True.”
“Another similarity is that girl’s younger brother and his best friend were kidnapped. My younger sister and her best friend were... are missing.”
“So you’re the teenager that’s going to be taken?” Christian asked, his pupils widening with fear. Crystal put a hand over her mouth, looking ready to cry, and dashed over to hug Michael. He did not resist the contact.
While she was hugging him, he looked over her shoulder at Brandon, who saw the expression in Michael’s eyes, and the question. Brandon nodded, and Michael sighed.
“Hold on. I might not be. Brandon’s little sister and her best friend also... yeah. And he helped check out the book. Neither of us used a library card, so I can’t be sure who it counts towards.”
“You talk about it like it’s a jinx,” Christian said. “Like the book is cursed.”
Brandon said, “The book’s not cursed. It seems more like a warning. Now we know who she’s after.”
Me and Brandon have known for a while now, Michael thought to himself.
Crystal stared at him, letting go reluctantly. “Don’t let her. Stay with us. Stay with me.”
He felt despair well up inside of him, and in the perfect world this would be the moment where they kissed. It would be the start of a romantic love, spanning for the rest of their lives, where no witch or stalker could ever disrupt the peace and calmness. But he knew it could not be like that. This was not the perfect world. This was Hardy.
“I can’t. I have to get Lilly back, even if she takes me instead.”
Crystal buried her head in his chest, and he wrapped an arm around her. Her brother looked on nervously, perhaps disapprovingly, but did not dare say anything to either of them. Brandon pulled a chair out from the table and sat down with a thud, thinking only of Grace.
What he had said earlier, when he broke down in front of his friends, was entirely true. The night before everything fell apart, he and Grace had gotten into an argument, although he could not remember what it was about. Something small and inconsequential, for sure, but being in a terrible mood and feeling exhausted, he let loose on her.
It had ended when their parents pulled into the driveway, because they did not dare fight in front of them, but just before slamming her door in his face, Grace had shouted, “I hate you!”
It was something she had never said before, and after calming down she regretted it. Brandon sat in his room, guilty and frustrated, wanting only to make things right. He thought about going in and apologizing, but something kept him glued to the bed.
Only the next afternoon, when Grace came into his room and said she was sorry, had he apologized to her. It was not really an apology, and he regretted even now not saying he was sorry. He avoided that phrase, trying to make up for his anger by watching a movie with her that night, but ultimately even that led to disaster.
Now he was left feeling like it was his fault, and he never got the chance to fully so he was sorry. Life was different without Grace, and not in a good way. His parents only spoke in whispers, never laughing or even smiling. Everything was solemn and it seemed like clouds covered his home. The very air smelled different, felt different, like the kind of atmosphere that was only found in funeral homes.
Even while the police slowly gave up, getting nearer to closing the case file every day, his parents never lost faith, or so they said. To him, kneeling down in prayer and fasting did no good; he wanted answers, he wanted the truth. Now that he had some, he felt as if the ending was closer, but nothing good waited there. It was the conclusion without Grace, and that is why he was scared.
A few days passed after that sleepover at Michael’s house. Things only seemed to grow darker all around the neighborhood. People waved when you passed them by, but no longer was it a friendly greeting. They were waving goodbye, goodbye, goodbye to the good times and the good days. As you passed, you got the strange feeling they had hardly seen you, and sometimes wondered if that was the case.
In Marcy, things were just as bleak. A constant turmoil of rain and wind set the people on edge, keeping them indoors. The city council voted on new laws, and slowly Marcy began to look for expansion, wanting to grow into a larger, more populated city. It was only a matter of time before the streets would be filled with different people, foreigners to the way of life in Marcy. Even Hardy would be overrun by the big-city folk, bringing a new way of life and a new meaning of family. Some people set up small, petty strikes, campaigning against the laws and rules set into action by younger-generation council members. Even the river seemed to be rebelling, flooding massively and sending its water onto the lower streets and gardens, cutting off a few of the city businesses.
On the hilltop, where previously there had only been a few scattered neighborhoods and an occasional restaurant, more houses were planned and more commercial industries opened. Marcy was expanding from the river valley, crawling up the walls of its cavern, and tumbling over the sides in waves of progress, some welcome some detested.
It was on one of those days -when still another home was being built for the flocks of people expected to come to Marcy- that Michael stood by the window of his room, staring out across the landscape.
“Dreary,” he muttered. “Just like that night.”
Rain splattered from above, collecting in puddles and forming miniature streams that would dry up in a few weeks’ time. The clouds were thick and dark, not expected to leave anytime soon.
Outside, he imagined the front steps of his house, soaked and slippery, just like they were on the night he ran outside towards Lilly. That was the last sight of his sister, soaking wet with rain and holding the hand of that terrible lady.
Lilly. Come home. Lilly, Mom misses you. I miss you. We need you, Lilly. This is your home. We’re your family. Come back to us. Come back to me.
He thought the words over and over again, wishing they would act like some magic spell, capturing his sister and carrying her back. He worried about his mom constantly now, every moment of every day. She was looking worse, and he doubted whether she had showered in weeks. Rarely eating, and never letting go of the bottle, she was taking many turns for the worse. Some days, he wondered if she was too far gone, and whether Lilly could actually save her from the nightmare that had captured her. Those thoughts were just another pile of worries on top of his landfill.
Across town, Brandon was at his home, listening to rain drumming on the roof. He and Michael were alone now, and it was a scary thought. Christian
and Crystal had gone with their mom and dad to Tennessee where their grandparents lived. Well, they were forced to go.
Now that it was just the two of them, he had a sickening feeling in his gut, telling him something was going to happen. Whether it was just being paranoid or not, he spent every day since they left gnawing on his fingernails, wishing he was stronger, more athletic. Maybe if he was more of a man, he could have saved Grace, could save her now.
All around, the plain room mocked him with no limitations. His army men pointed at him with their guns while they laughed, asking, “What kind of teenager still has army men set up?” His radio stood not far, the antenna bent over and pointing as well, stabbing at his mind. It said, “Your other friends don’t listen to gospel music. They listen to hip-hop and rap. What kind of teenager are you?” Everything in his room seemed to scream at him, the noise erupting and echoing, bouncing off the walls straight into his skull.
Piercing silence. It was torture to sit here and listen. The world was spinning now, walls flying by in a blur of colors, and just between them all he could see Grace’s face, dressed up and hair braided for Sunday morning. She smiled and waved, her tiny, pearly teeth just peeking out at him, while her cute little cheeks curved and dipped into dimples. The walls whipped past his eyes quicker, so that her face seemed solid as the blurs mended together.
Then it was gone.
“Come get dinner,” his mother yelled.
Everything disappeared, and he was left in a room with nothing interesting, a family with no joy, and a house without a little girl named Grace. He groaned and sat up, feeling a headache surging through his temple. It was just another handful of pain on top of his landfill.
At the same time across town, Michael took one last glance out of his window, across the empty soybean fields, and backed up to sit on his bed. It was time for dinner now, but he was not hungry. A good appetite was hard to come by nowadays. There would be no dinner, anyways, unless he made something.
He collapsed onto the bed, head nearly smacking against the wall. His hair brushed it, but he laid down anyways, not caring if it would hurt him. The ceiling was white above him, with little ridges poking out like mountain ranges all across the barren white plains. It swam as the blood rushed to his brain.
Closing his eyes, he could imagine the lady from that night standing just across the street, with two children holdings her hands, one on each side. Lilly was there, in her princess-themed pajamas and headband holding back most of her wild curls. She waved at him, fingers sparkling as if with glitter.
And then he fell asleep, nightmares cascading down onto him from whatever horrible realm they come from.
On the street outside his house, a lady walked down the road. She was soaked and tired, but those were normal conditions for her. Just a few miles down this road and she would be back to the forest. She stopped in front of Michael’s house, though, and looked up through the window. He was up there somewhere, sleeping possibly. She smiled a terrible, rotten-toothed smile, knowing something he could only have nightmares of.
He thought the end was near. He expected this to be the climax and the moment when he came in riding like a hero to his sister’s rescue.
He was mistaken. So wonderfully, deliciously mistaken
What a story...
20. Fields
Everything was dark in the room around Brandon. His sheets curled and uncurled with the sudden movements and jerks of his body, which tossed back and forth in the bed. Coming close to the edge but never falling off, he slammed against the mattress in a frenzied state. One of his hands flew out and smacked against the wall, but he did not wake. In his nightmare, every step seemed too real, and every breath like ice scraping from his lungs.
All the lights in his house had extinguished long before, when his parents went to bed. He stayed up much later, laying down without a movement. The ceiling was an unmoving, uninteresting sky about him as he had drifted off to sleep.
But not a peaceful one. Now, he was in the throes of fear and agony, running from a danger he did know and towards a fate he did not want. It was a nightmare, but it was his life. No matter where he strayed, it followed. She followed.
Michael and him are crashing through a cornfield. The sky above them is pitch black, like some unearthly power poured dark oil into the world and sealed the lid tight. All around them corn scratches and bites, whipping at their flesh and occasionally drawing blood. Heavy breathing and the buzzing whisper of insects fill their ears, while the stench of dirt mangled underfoot and corn long past ripe invade their nostrils. There is no horizon to be seen, and nothing at all out in the distance. Trees are absent; rivers are unheard of. Only rotten decay and foul death remain, both chasing them and hanging near.
Ahead of them a figure runs swiftly, almost flying through the endless sea. A gut feeling tells him that this it the lady, the one who has Grace. Brandon focuses more intently, plunging with a greater urgency, ignoring all the unpleasant, painful sensations coursing through his body. One takes over them all, becoming the master of his blood. Is it love or is it hate? There is a thin line between the two, and sometimes none at all.
A sudden break in corn is a welcome relief to their itching legs and scratched foreheads. He and Michael stumble out of the sea, landing in a muddy, circular clearing. They stand up. In the dark are the faint shadows of three tall, thin structures. It seems they are crosses of some sort, but the purpose is unknown.
“Where are we?” Michael whispers.
Brandon longs to answer, to hear his own voice and know they are close, ever so close, to the end, a happy end. But he cannot. As if being controlled by a witch’s spell, he is not able to move or speak, and when he moves is not able to stop until some unseen force allows it.
“Welcome,” says a slightly hunchbacked, cloaked figure, stepping out of the shadows like from behind a wall.
Michael recognizes what is happening. He yells out, “Give me her back! You witch!”
Slithering, shrill laughter fills the air, like the choke of a dying snake. She raises one hand towards the sky, and a scream penetrates his ears, louder than possible and unnervingly close behind him. It is Grace’s scream.
With a snap, Brandon woke up, his eyelids jolting open. All he could see was the wall right in front of his face, nearly rubbing against his nose as he faced towards it. Sighing in relief -it was just a dream after all- he rolled over onto his back.
His eyes adjusted to the darkness, and there she was, the lady from his nightmares, towering over him like a phantom of the night. Her forehead rested only a few inches above his own, as she leant down and smiled, showing all of her rotten teeth and breathing warm, putrid smells onto his face.
Wanting to scream, Brandon felt his chest seize up and for a moment it was like being paralyzed. In that moment of pure terror, his heart did not beat any faster, and his breath remained the same, but in his mind it was as if an alarm sounded. He was an icy statue, glued to the bed, helpless against her power.
“He is mine.” Her slithering, revolting voice faded, leaving a moment of silence, in which Brandon realized the dream was so much more. She had Michael. She took Grace and now she had Michael.
Something snapped inside of him, and Brandon leapt up from his bed, arms sprawling forward in a desperate attempt to lock onto her. With one swift movement, she stepped back and he landed face-first on the ground, his nose crunching uncomfortably and elbow smacking against the dresser. Despite the injuries, he jumped to his feet.
He would chase her. He would end it.
Brandon saw the movement of her cloak around the door, leading to the hallway, so stumbling like a drunk man he followed. When he got into the hallway, he toppled slightly before catching his balance and looking around.
She was nowhere to be seen. He looked in all of the other adjoining rooms, and found nothing still. His parents were asleep directly underneath his room on the first floor, so trying carefully to be noiseless he tiptoed back into his roo
m.
Immediately throwing on his shoes and tightening the strings, he whispered, “This is it.”
With Christian and Crystal out of town, only they could stop her. Like Michael had said, even if it was a trap, it was still their only chance. But to have any shot at getting their sisters back, they needed to be together when they faced her.
Plunging his arms into the sleeves of a jacket, Brandon crept out into the hall and down the stairs. Michael’s house was up on Country Road, not far away. He had to check there first, seeing if the lady was lying. His first instinct was to chase after her, when she said she had Michael, but first instincts were often wrong. If there was a slight chance Michael was not taken yet, he had to try. Everything was going to happen tonight, so a detour to Michael’s house could only be helpful. Even if it took a while to get there, Brandon had no doubt where to go, and where she was.
Easing the front door shut, he stole around to the driveway, where his bike rested against the house. Folding the kickstand and putting up his hood, Brandon hopped on. He rode down the driveway, feeling like an escapee from prison, and turned right onto Park Road.
He traveled in silence, tightening the drawstring of his hood many times. His bike rode smooth, cutting across the dry pavement. Park Road led him right through the center of Pine Tree Park, under the cover of trees, which had not seen rain for nearly a week. The weather had changed from storms to a drought with a speed that only ever happened in the Ohio River Valley.
Tension built up in his stomach, threatening to bubble over. Sweat ran down his cheeks, mixed with salty tears. For the first time in so long, he had a chance to save her. Despite all of the fighting, despite all of the terrible name calling, despite his mistakes, he now had a chance to make everything right. It all would be okay, he assured himself. Things would go back to normal. Life would be good, and more appreciated than ever.
Everyday life seemed wonderful and full of harmless adventures; those who dreamed of better things would only have nightmares.
She Page 14