As Dead as It Gets

by Katie Alender

  But where else would I go?

  I was about to give up and start for home when I heard a sound—a convulsive, high-pitched sound. Was it…crying?

  A woman crying? Or maybe a girl? It was hard to be sure, with the wind and rain and my rumbling engine.

  I used my hand to clear a circle in the fogged-up window, and stared out at the field.

  I didn’t see anyone, but the sound wasn’t in my imagination, that much I was sure of—it was so distinct that I could hear each individual sob.

  A voice in my head said, Get out of here.

  But there was some part of me that needed to defy the voice—or at least second-guess it. As much as I hated Lydia, what I hated slightly more was the idea of being so fearful of her that I let it change me into a person I didn’t want to be.

  And I didn’t want to be a person who ignores a cry for help.

  My body ached with dread at the thought of what—or whom—I’d find…but I got out of the car.

  Standing in the rain again, I could hear the crying as clearly as if the girl were ten feet away.

  I pocketed my phone and walked closer to the crumbling soil at the edge of the field, looking out across the clover.

  She was obviously, like, right there.

  “Hello?” I said.

  It wasn’t a terribly dark night; rather than blocking out the moonlight, the clouds diffused it into an allover glow, with a few stars twinkling through the clear spots.

  If somebody were moving around out there, I’d have seen her already. Which meant she wasn’t moving. She was hurt.

  I took a step out into the dirt. “Hello? Who’s there?”

  The crying stopped, as if the girl hadn’t known anyone could hear her.

  “Are you okay?” I called. “Where are you?”

  The answer was a pitiful sob.

  “Are you hurt?” Three more steps in. I stayed aware of the clear path waiting behind me. “Tell me where you are! I’ll come help you!”

  Silence again.

  What if it wasn’t really a person crying? What if it was Lydia trying to get me to wander out into the darkness? Maybe this was how she’d lured Kendra out of her house in the middle of the night. Looking at the situation objectively, it didn’t make sense at all that there would be a real person out there. Would they find my car the next morning with a yellow rose on the dashboard?

  I took a few more strides forward, blinded by the cold raindrops and my fresh disgust. “We had a deal! I guess now that you’ve let your end go, I can—”

  I was about to turn and leave. But a fresh burst of sobs hit my ears, and I forced myself to stop and reconsider.

  There had been plenty of situations in my life that didn’t make sense—objectively. Just because I didn’t know who was out there didn’t mean it wasn’t a real person.

  If she dies…whoever she is…it will be your fault.

  Again.

  So I kept going. I went cautiously, slowly. Ten feet. Another ten.

  By this time, I was a fair distance from the road, and there was no sign of an injured girl—except for the crying. She still cried, and she still sounded like she was ten feet away. But I’d called out to her multiple times, and she hadn’t said so much as “Help.”

  If I could hear her, surely she could hear me.

  And surely…she would have said something…

  If she was a real person.

  Forget this.

  I stopped and made an abrupt about-face. But as I started back in the direction of the road, I heard the crying again—

  Now it was in front of me.

  Whatever was out here…it wasn’t a girl. Not a human girl, anyway.

  “Stop it, Lydia!” I yelled. “Go away! Leave me alone!”

  The wailing ended abruptly, like it was a recording and somebody had switched it off.

  Just keep going. You’re almost there—

  A laugh. A brilliant, sparkling, musical laugh.

  So close it sounded like the person was right next to me.

  As a flash of lightning lit up the night, I flinched and hunched over, waiting for the clap of thunder. A moment later, I realized that it had never come.

  That wasn’t lightning.

  It was the white light.

  I turned and ran blindly, managing to go about four feet before tripping over the cutoff stubble of whatever had last been harvested from the field. I went flying and landed flat on my stomach, my face splashing into the wet green leaves, but I scrambled up and started running again.

  Almost immediately, something clotheslined me, hitting me hard in the throat. The explosive shock of pain buckled my knees and left me doubled over and gasping.

  The laughter came again, only now it seemed to be surrounding me, coming from every side. I gagged against the pain and tried to catch my breath, managing to suck in a shallow stream of air as I struggled to get to my feet.

  But I’d only taken a few steps when the whole world started spinning like a merry-go-round with me at the center. I tried to take another step, but I couldn’t seem to keep myself from walking in a spiral over the mad obstacle course of the uneven ground. Every turn I made to correct my path went too far in the other direction. I lost my footing and dropped to the muddy ground, trying to find stability on my hands and knees.

  Still, the world looped around me. And when I looked up at the patchy clouds, the rain seemed to be falling in circles. The stars wobbled, swelling and contracting, as the sky itself moved in waves overhead.

  The laughter never stopped. It didn’t sound brilliant and sparkling anymore—it was hard and glinting and cruel.

  Finally, I gave up trying to move and clung to the ground. But even then I seemed to slip forward, like I was falling downhill—or being dragged. My chin scraped against a rough, broken root as my hands groped through the delicate clover for something solid to hold on to, but they only grabbed clumps of muddy earth.

  Wherever Lydia was trying to take me, I didn’t want to go.

  I curled into a ball and covered my face with my arms.

  I give up.

  And then, as suddenly as it had started, the laughter stopped.

  For a minute I lay there curled into a ball, hearing raindrops padding on the soft green leaves around me.

  Then I sat up, on the alert for the slightest hint of Lydia’s demonic laughter, ready to throw myself back down to the ground.

  I glanced up. The clouds were at rest in the sky overhead. The rain came down in soft sheets instead of spirals.

  So I started back for the road on my shaky legs. Once I got some momentum, I upgraded to a slow jog, navigating the slick terrain as fast as I dared.

  My car was just a short walk up the sloping hill. I stumbled the few remaining feet to the grass and fell to my knees, somehow feeling safe now that I was off the soil. But even though I knew the attack was over, I was too frightened to look back out at the field.

  The car was still running, thank God. I got in and checked the clock.

  Five minutes. I’d only been out there for five minutes.

  A racking cough forced its way out of my lungs, and the effort made my throat feel like someone had lit it on fire.

  In the rearview mirror I could see blood mixing with rainwater on my forehead, where something had scraped the skin at my hairline and turned my white hair pink. A red line crossed my throat, and a bright pink semicircle decorated my jaw. I was pretty sure they’d both be revolting purple-and-black bruises before long.

  I couldn’t go home like this.

  THE SOUND OF THE DOORBELL echoing inside the house almost made me dash back to my car. But just as my nerve totally abandoned me, the porch light came on, illuminating me like an actor on a stage. And it was too late.

  Jared stood at the open door, a big confused smile on his face. The edges of his dark hair were still damp from where the rain had crept under the hood of his poncho. His wide brown eyes settled on me.

  Then came the pause I’d bee
n dreading.

  Then: “Alexis?”

  I was too cold to speak, so I stood there dripping all over the welcome mat, pretty sure the blood from my forehead had tinted my entire face pink.

  Jared grabbed me by the arms, and his fingertips squeezed a sore spot on my shoulder, making me flinch. He let go like I’d tried to bite him.

  “What happened?” he asked. “Who did this to you?”

  I opened my mouth to answer, but it felt like there was a wad of cotton blocking my vocal cords.

  “Should I call the police?” Jared asked. “Alexis? Why won’t you answer me? Are you in shock?”

  “No,” I finally managed to say. “I’m sorry.”

  “Sorry? For what?” He looked out into the night as if something might be following me. “Come in—you’re freezing.”

  “I can’t, I’m all wet,” I said.

  He herded me inside, a protective hand on the back of my neck, and led me to the dining room, where he flipped on the light and pulled out a chair. “Sit.”

  A minute later he was back with a washcloth, a roll of bandages, and a bowl of water.

  “Now,” he said, “tell me what happened.”

  I stared at the gleaming surface of the table. “I can’t.”

  But I did let him push back the hood of my sweatshirt and press the warm, wet washcloth against my hairline. “This cut needs stitches,” he said.

  “No.”

  “But it’s going to leave a—”

  “No,” I said again. And then, aware of how utterly childish and ungrateful I sounded, I softened my voice. “Thank you, but it’s fine. It doesn’t matter.”

  He sat back and gave me an incredulous look. Then he went into the kitchen and turned on the faucet. I looked around the room, which was immaculate.

  I hadn’t known anyone could be as obsessively neat as my father and I, until I came to the Elkins house, which hardly even looked like anyone was living in it. At worst, you’d spy a clean dish or two in the drying rack, not yet put away. Pretty impressive for a single dad and a teenage son. Especially since Jared didn’t have the look of a neat freak. He was slightly scruffy; his unkempt dark eyebrows made him look incredibly serious even when he was joking. (To be honest, sometimes it was hard to tell when he was joking.)

  Jared came back and went to work on my face. He put a bandage over the cut on my forehead and gently dabbed at my cheek. “Was it a car accident?”

  “No,” I said.

  “No, I didn’t think so.” He traced his finger in a short line under the smaller cut.

  The simple chandelier over the dinner table was the only pocket of light in the house. Even the kitchen was dark. I felt oddly like Jared and I were the only two people in a hundred-mile radius.

  He sat back and neatly folded the bloody washcloth. “People don’t do this, you know.”

  “I know.”

  “You think there’s something you can’t tell me.”

  “Jared,” I said. “It’s bad.”

  “Whatever it is…” His voice died out. “Alexis…you…you lost someone. I know that.”

  I took a sharp breath. I don’t know if you could say I “lost” Lydia. I’d never had her to begin with—I mean, we weren’t friends, or anything. I just happened to be there when she died a horrible, scary, painful death. And now she was out to destroy me.

  It would probably be more accurate to say I’d lost myself. But how lame is that?

  “What I mean to say is, you’re not the only one who—” He shifted in his chair. “I mean, I feel connected to you because…I know what it’s like.”

  I stared at him, wondering whether he’d gotten his deep brown eyes from his mother.

  He got up and walked out of the room.

  I studied the crisp, white crown molding and waited for him to return. But he didn’t.

  I got up and went into the kitchen. Empty. The blank silence pressed in on my ears as I walked through the kitchen into the living room, which looked like a page from a furniture catalog. But he wasn’t there.

  Where did he go?

  “Jared?” I pulled my hoodie tighter around my body and tucked my hands into the sleeves. I briefly considered leaving. I even started backing toward the foyer. But something stopped me.

  Running out—just as unexpectedly as I’d run in—wouldn’t accomplish anything. It wouldn’t solve the current awkwardness—it would just set me up for double the awkwardness in the future. And possibly cost me the only friend I had left.

  Not only that, but it wouldn’t be fair to Jared. He didn’t deserve to be treated that way.

  Behind me, the refrigerator began to hum, startling me and setting my nerves on a knife-blade edge.

  “Jared.” In the darkness, my voice sounded like the woof of a frightened dog.

  Fair or not, I turned and took another slow step toward the front door.

  Behind me, there was a soft sound—a rustle, like someone had crossed the hardwood floor in socks.

  I spun around. The room was empty.

  A pair of windows overlooked the backyard, which was still buffeted by torrential rain. Lightning struck nearby—and in the brief instant of light, I saw a figure silhouetted against the windows—right up next to them, like it was watching me.

  Then the house was dark again.

  And again, no thunder.

  I was past taking Lydia’s powers for granted. My breath forced itself out in a gasp, and I turned to run, colliding with Jared.

  “Whoa, whoa.” He switched on a lamp that sat on a side table. “What are you doing?”

  “I saw—” I looked back toward the window. “I mean, I thought…”

  There was another flash of lightning, a real one. This time all I saw was the yard. No eerie figure looking in.

  You’re imagining things, I told myself. You’re seeing what you expect to see. There was a tall shrub that waved and swayed under the falling rain.

  See? That’s all it was. A shrub.

  Not Lydia.

  He glanced at the window, then held out a bundle of fabric. “I brought you some dry clothes.”

  “Thank you. That’s sweet, but I can’t wear those home.”

  He cocked his head to one side. “You don’t have to leave yet, do you? Put them on for now.”

  I hesitated, then took the clothes and headed toward the bathroom, where I had a chance to look at my injuries in the light.

  The bruise on my jaw was a well-defined purple line, but I could probably cover it with makeup. The line across my throat could be hidden with scarves or turtlenecks. The gash on my forehead would be under my bangs. And the cut on my cheek was really just a glorified scratch—I could say I’d petted an unfriendly cat or something.

  It wasn’t great, but it was manageable.

  Jared had given me a pair of plaid flannel pajama pants, a T-shirt, and a baggy sweatshirt. The idea of changing out of my wet jeans into warm, comfortable clothes for a little while was too delicious to pass up. After I was dressed, I balled up my own clothes and carried them back out to the living room.

  Jared was sitting on the arm of the sofa, staring into the yard. He jumped up when I came into the room. “I’ll take those,” he said, gesturing to the bundle under my arm. “If I put them in the dryer, you should be able to wear them home.”

  “I should probably shake them out,” I said. “They’re covered in dirt. I should have thought about that before I came into the house.”

  “I’ll take care of it.”

  “I can go outside and—”

  His brown eyes flashed with hurt. “Alexis, please.”

  So I handed my clothes over. He went past me to a door in the hallway, and his footsteps thumped down a flight of stairs. A minute later, I heard the whoosh and tumbling of the clothes dryer.

  He came back, closed the door behind him, and sat down on the chair next to the couch. I faced the yard. He faced the wall. We studiously avoided looking at each other, and for a long time, neither of us s
poke.

  Finally I found my voice and said, “Thank you.”

  “No.”

  I looked up in surprise.

  Jared raked his fingers through his hair. “No. You don’t do that! You don’t show up here looking like you got jumped in an alley and refuse to tell me anything and then thank me. I don’t want your thanks.”

  I didn’t have any fight left in me. Besides, he was right. I drew in a breath.

  “Stop.” He held up a hand. “I don’t want an apology, either. I just want…”

  I knew what he wanted—the truth. But that wasn’t an option.

  “I just want to know you’re okay.”

  Oh.

  He stared at me, at all my bruises and cuts. “I’m trying so hard to understand what’s going on. Just tell me, please…are you okay? Are you really okay?”

  “Yes,” I said. And I was, in the way he meant.

  Beyond that, who could say?

  He sighed. The air settled around us.

  “I’ll leave if you want me to,” I said. It was more of a question.

  “You think I want you to leave? God, Alexis.” Jared shook his head and looked at me. “Just hang on for a minute, all right?”

  He disappeared, and I heard the sound of liquid pouring into a glass. Then drinking and the clatter of the glass being set on the counter.

  A second later, he came in, rubbing the back of his neck, and sat down. The room filled with silence again. We didn’t talk, because we had nothing to say. I laid my head on my arm and closed my eyes.

  I heard movement, and I felt Jared’s weight press on the sofa cushion next to mine.

  I leaned into him and felt his arms wrap around me. It was a friendly gesture, although I could feel the tension in his muscles.

  “Jared?” I said, looking up at him.

  “What?”

  I felt the weight of my unspoken apology like an overfilled water balloon. But he didn’t want to hear it, and I wasn’t in a position to impose. So instead I said, “What happened tonight…”

  How could I explain it?

  Suddenly, my whole life seemed like a never-ending succession of things I couldn’t explain.