stairs that just didnt belong where they had been built. Biking
past, Helen looked up at the Atheneum and smiled. It was consoling
for her to know that she might stick out, but at least she didnt
stick out that much.
When she got home, she tried to pull herself together, taking a
freezing-cold shower before calling Claire to apologize. Claire
didnt pick up. Helen left her a long apology blaming hormones,
the heat, stress, anything and everything she could think of, though
she knew in her heart that none of those things was the real reason
she had flipped out. Shed been so irritable all day.
The air outside was heavy and still. Helen opened all the windows
in the two-story Shaker-style house, but no breeze blew
through them. What was with the weird weather? Still air was
practically unheard of in Nantucketliving so close to the ocean
there was always wind. Helen pulled on a thin tank top and a pair
of her shortest shorts. Since she was too modest to go anywhere
dressed so scantily, she decided to cook dinner. It was still her
fathers week as kitchen slave and technically he was responsible
for all the shopping, meals, and dishes for a few days yet, but she
needed something to do with her hands or shed use them to climb
the walls.
Pasta in general was Helens comfort food, and lasagna was the
queen of pasta. If she made the noodles from scratch, shed be
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occupied for hours, just like she wanted, so she pulled out the flour
and eggs and got to work.
When Jerry came home the second thing he noticed, after the
amazing smell, was that the house was swelteringly hot. He found
Helen sitting at the kitchen table, flour stuck to her sweaty face and
arms, worrying the heart-shaped necklace, which her mother had
given her as a baby, between her thumb and forefinger. He looked
around with tense shoulders and wide eyes.
Made dinner, Helen told him in a flat voice.
Did I do something wrong? he asked tentatively.
Of course not. Why would you ask that when I just cooked you
dinner?
Because usually when a woman spends hours cooking a complicated
meal and then just sits at the table with a pissed-off look
on her face, that means some guy somewhere did something really
stupid, he said, still on edge. I have had other women in my life
besides you, you know.
Are you hungry or not? Helen asked with a smile, trying to
shake off her ugly mood.
Hunger won out. Jerry shut his mouth and went to wash his
hands. Helen hadnt eaten since breakfast and should have been
starved. When she tasted the first forkful she realized she wouldnt
be able to eat. She listened as best as she could while she pushed
bits of her favorite food around her plate and Jerry devoured two
pieces. He asked her questions about her day while he tried to
sneak a little more salt onto his food. Helen blocked his attempts
like she always did, but she didnt have the energy to give him
more than monosyllabic answers.
Even though she went to bed at nine, leaving her dad watching
the Red Sox on TV, she was still lying awake at midnight when she
heard the game finally end and her father come upstairs. She was
tired enough to sleep, but every time she started to drift off she
would hear whispering.
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At first she thought that it had to be real, that someone was outside
playing a trick on her. She went up to the widows walk on the
roof above her bedroom and tried to see as far as she could into the
dark. Everything was stillnot even a puff of air to stir the rosebushes
around the house. She sat down for a spell, staring out at
the fat, black slick of the ocean beyond the neighbors lights.
She hadnt been up there in a while, but it still gave her a romantic
thrill to think about how women in the olden days would
pine away on their widows walks as they searched for the masts of
their husbands ships. When she was really young, Helen used to
pretend that her mother would be on one of those ships, coming
back to her after being taken captive by pirates or Captain Ahab or
something just as all-powerful. Helen had spent hours on the widows
walk, scanning the horizon for a ship she later realized would
never sail into Nantucket Harbor.
Helen shifted uncomfortably on the wooden floor and then remembered
that she still had her stash up there. For years, her dad
had insisted she was going to fall to her death and forbidden her
from going up to the widows walk alone, but no matter how many
times he punished her, she would eventually sneak back up there
to eat granola bars and daydream. After a few months of dealing
with Helens uncharacteristic disobedience, Jerry finally caved and
gave her permission, as long as she didnt lean out over the railing.
Hed even built her a waterproof chest to store things in.
She opened the chest and dug out the sleeping bag she kept in
there, spreading it out along the wood planks of the walk. There
were boats far out on the water, boats she shouldnt be able to hear
or see from such a distance, but she could. Helen closed her eyes
and allowed herself the pleasure of hearing one little skiff as its
canvas sails flapped and its teak planks creaked, way out on the
gently lapping swells. Alone and unwatched, she could be herself
for a moment and truly let go. When her head finally started to nod
she went down to bed to give sleep another shot.
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She was standing on rocky, hilly terrain, blasted so hard by the
sun that the bone-dry air wriggled and shook in streaks, as if
parts of the sky were melting. The rocks were pale yellow and
sharp, and here and there were angry little bushes, low to the
ground and lousy with thorns. A single twisted tree grew out of
the next slope.
Helen was alone. And then she wasnt.
Under the stunted trees crippled limbs three figures appeared.
They were so slender and small Helen thought at first they must
be little girls, but there was something about the way the muscles
in their gaunt forearms wove around their bones like rope that
made Helen realize that they were also very old. All three of them
had their heads bent, and their faces were completely covered by
sheets of long, matted, black hair. They wore tattered white slips,
and they were covered in gray-white dust down to their lower
legs. From the knees down, their skin grew dark with streaks of
dirt and blackening blood from feet worn raw with wandering in
this barren wilderness.
Helen felt clear, bright fear. She backed away from them compulsively,
cutting her bare feet on the rocks and scratching her
legs on the thorns. The three abominations took a step toward
her, and their shoulders began to shake with silent sobs. Drops of
blood fell from under the skeins of rank hair and ran down the
fronts of their dresses. They whispered names while they
cried
their gory tears.
Helen woke up to a slap. There was a prickly numbness in her
cheek and the steady note of a dial tone whining in her left ear.
Jerrys face was inches away from hers, wild with worry, and starting
to show signs of guilt. He had never hit her before. He had to
take a few shaky breaths before he could speak. The bedside clock
read 3:16.
You were screaming. I had to wake you, he stammered.
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Helen swallowed painfully, trying to moisten her swollen tongue
and closed-off throat. Sokay. Nightmare, she whispered as she
sat up.
Her cheeks were wet with either sweat or tears, she didnt know
which. Helen wiped the moisture away and smiled at her dad, trying
to calm him down. It didnt work.
What the hell, Lennie? That was not normal, he said in a
strange, high-pitched voice. You were saying things. Really awful
things.
Like what? she croaked. She was so thirsty.
Mostly names, lists of names. And then you started repeating
blood for blood, and murderers. What the hell were you
dreaming?
Helen thought about the three women, three sisters she thought,
and she knew she couldnt tell her father about them. She shrugged
her shoulders and lied. She managed to convince Jerry that
murder was a pretty normal thing to have nightmares about, and
swore that she would never watch scary movies by herself again.
Finally, she got him to go back to bed.
The glass on her nightstand was empty and her mouth was so dry
it felt tender and sore. She swung her legs out of bed to get water
from the bathroom and gasped when her feet touched the hardwood
floor. She switched on her lamp to get a better look, but she
already knew what she was going to see.
The soles of her feet were cut deep and peppered with dirt and
dust, and her shins were scratched with the hatch-mark pattern of
thorns.
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UNCORRECTED E-PROOFNOT FOR SALE
HarperCollins Publishers
.....................................................................
Chapter Three
In the morning when Helen woke up and looked at her feet,
the cuts were gone. She almost believed that she had imagined
themuntil she saw that her sheets were dirty with
dried, brown blood and grit.
In order to test her sanity, Helen decided to leave her
sheets on the bed, go to school, and see if they were still dirty when
she came home. If they were clean when she got home, then the
whole thing was an illusion and she was only a little crazy. If they
were still dirty when she came home, then she was obviously so
crazy that she was walking around at night and getting dirt and
blood in her bed without remembering it.
Helen tried to eat a bowl of yogurt and berries for breakfast but
that didnt work out very well so she didnt even bother to take her
lunch box. If she got hungry she could try buying something more
tummy friendly like soup and crackers later.
Riding her bike to school, she noticed that it was unbearably hot
and humid for a second day in a row. The only wind was the breeze
created by her spinning wheels, and when she locked her bike up at
the rack she realized that not only was the air still, but it was also
lacking the usual insect and bird sounds. All was unnaturally
quietas though the entire island was nothing but a ship becalmed
in the middle of the vast ocean.
Helen arrived earlier than she had the day before, and the halls
were crowded. Claire saw her come in. When her face broke into a
smile, Helen knew she had been forgiven. Claire fought the flow of
traffic to double back and join her on the walk to homeroom.
As they made their way toward each other, Helen suddenly felt
like she was trying to trudge through oatmeal. She slowed to a
stop. It seemed to her that everyone in the hallway vanished. In the
suddenly empty school Helen heard the shuffling of bare feet and
the gasping sobs of inconsolable grief.
She spun around in time to see a dusty white figure, her
shoulders slumped and quivering, disappearing around a corner.
Helen realized that the sobbing woman had passed behind
someonea real person staring back at her. She focused in on the
figure, a young girl with olive skin and a long, black braid trailing
over one shoulder. Her naturally bright red lips were drawn into an
O of surprise.
Then the sound switched back on and the corridor was full of
rushing students again. Helen was standing still, blocking traffic,
staring at a glossy black braid swinging against a tiny girls back as
it vanished into a classroom.
Helens whole body shook with an emotion that took her a moment
to recognize. It was rage.
Jesusmaryandjoseph, Len! Are you gonna faint? Claire asked
anxiously.
Helen made her eyes focus on Claire, and she took a wobbly
breath. She realized that she was drenched in cold sweat and shivering.
She opened her mouth but nothing came out.
Im taking you to the nurse, Claire said. She grabbed Helens
hand and started to tug on it, trying to get her to move. Matt, she
called out over Helens shoulder. Can you help me with Lennie? I
think shes going to faint.
Im not going to faint, Helen snapped, suddenly alert and aware
of how strange she was acting.
She smiled bashfully at them both to try to take the sting out of
her words. Matt had put his arm around her waist and she patted
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his hand softly to let him know he could release her. He gave her a
doubtful look.
Youre really pale, and youve got circles under your eyes, he
said.
I got a little overheated riding my bike, she started to explain.
Dont tell me youre fine, Claire warned. Her eyes were flush
with frustrated tears, and Matt didnt look much happier. Helen
knew she couldnt brush this off. Even if she was going crazy, she
didnt have to take it out on her friends.
No, youre right. I think I might have heatstroke.
Matt nodded, accepting this excuse as the only logical one.
Claire, you take her to the girls room. Ill tell Hergie what
happened so he doesnt mark you late. And you should eat
something. You didnt eat any lunch yesterday, he reminded her.
Helen was a little surprised he remembered that, but Matt was
good at details. He wanted to be a lawyer, and she knew that
someday he would be a great one.
Claire drenched Helen in the girls room, dumping cold water all
the way down her back when she was supposed to just wet her
neck. Of course they wound up having a gigantic water fight, which
seemed to calm Claire down because it was the first normal response
shed had out of Helen in a few days. Helen herself felt like
she had passed an exhaustion barrier and now everything had become
funny.
Her
gie wrote them hall passes, so the two friends took their time
getting to their first classes. Having a hall pass from Mr. Hergeshimer
was like getting one of Willy Wonkas golden ticketsa student
could go anywhere and do anything for a full period and not
one teacher would put up a stink.
In the cafeteria they got oranges for Helens low blood sugar, and
while they were at it they split a chocolate chip muffin. Helen
choked it down and miraculously started to feel better. Then they
went and stood in front of the six-foot-tall fan in the auditorium to
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cool down, taking turns singing into the whirling blades and listening
to each others voices get chopped into a hundred pieces until
they were both laughing their faces off.
Helen felt so giddy after playing hooky on a Hergie hall pass and
eating raw sugar on an empty stomach that she couldnt even remember
what class she was supposed to be going to. She and
Claire were casually strolling down the wrong hallway at the wrong
time when the bell signaling the end of first period rang. They
looked at each other and shrugged as if to say, Oh well, what can
you do?, and burst out laughing. Then Helen saw Lucas for the
first time.
The sky outside finally exhaled all of the wind that it had been
holding for two days. Gusts of stale, hot air pushed through every
open window into the sweltering school. It caught loose sheets of
paper, skirt hems, unbound hair, stray wrappers, and other odds
and ends, and tossed them all toward the ceiling like hats on
graduation day. For a moment it seemed to Helen that everything
stayed up there, frozen at the top of the arc, as weightless as space.
Lucas was standing in front of his locker about twenty feet away,
staring back at Helen while the world waited for gravity to switch
back on. He was tall, over six feet at least, and powerfully built, although
his muscles were long and lean instead of bulky. He had
short, black hair and a dark end-of-summer tan that brought out
his white smile and his swimming-pool blue eyes.
Meeting his eyes was an awakening. For the first time in Helens
life she knew what pure, heart-poisoning hatred was.
She was not aware of the fact that she was running toward him,
but she could hear the voices of the three sobbing sisters rise into a
keening wail, could see them standing behind the tall, dark boy she
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