Rest In Peace

by Richie Tankersley Cusick

  “Lucy—”

  “How did he find me, Matt? Why is he doing this?”

  But before Matt could answer, Lucy pushed past him and ran outside.

  “Lucy, wait!”

  She was already halfway across the lawn. Even though she knew in her heart it was useless; even though she knew that when she looked inside the car, there would be no evidence whatsoever of her ordeal in the cave, not a single trace of Byron’s untimely death.

  Lucy yanked open the door. Her eyes made a desperate sweep of the empty front seat, the empty floor. With a choked cry, she fell inside and started rummaging beneath the seats. Then she popped the latch and stumbled around to the trunk, lifting the cover, staring stupidly into one more empty space.

  She should have known. Of course she should have.

  “It’s a trick,” she mumbled. She wasn’t even aware of Matt standing there now, reaching for her shoulder, trying to pull her away. “A trick,” she kept mumbling. “A trick . . . a trick . . . how could anyone be so mean . . .”

  “Come back to the house,” Matt urged quietly. “Come back and get warm.”

  “But it couldn’t be a trick, could it? No one else would know these things . . . no one else would have these things . . . so it must be real . . . somehow . . . it must be real—”

  “Come on, Lucy. Please.”

  Lucy stepped back from the car. Through misty eyes she watched Matt close the trunk and slip out of his jacket. He threw it around her shoulders and led her back inside.

  “Is the kitchen this way?” he asked her.

  She wasn’t even sure if she nodded. Every inch of her—body, mind, soul—had gone numb. She tried to think of Byron. Tried to remember all the things he’d told her, all the things he’d warned her about. Things about Katherine . . . powers and visions . . . the green necklace. Things about death and evil, and being stalked. Things about her life never being the same . . .

  “I’m not crazy,” Lucy whispered.

  She realized they were in the kitchen now, that she was being pushed into a chair. Had the light been on in here before? She couldn’t remember. Had the person who’d been in the car also been in the house tonight? Turning off the electricity, creeping through the halls? Leaving his mark on Angela’s answering machine . . . watching Lucy while she slept?

  “I’m . . . not . . . crazy.”

  But she felt like she was drowning. In a bottomless sea of darkness. Beneath crushing waves of despair. As though the entire world had gone black and swallowed her alive.

  “Lucy,” Matt said softly.

  When had he crouched down beside her? When had he eased his coat from her shoulders and draped it over the back of her chair? And when had he taken both her hands between his, rubbing them gently, trying to warm them? She could see his lips moving ever so slightly. Speaking silent words, with his head bowed and his hair windblown in long thick strands across his forehead.

  “What do you do,” Lucy murmured, “when nothing in your life makes sense anymore?”

  Matt made a perfunctory sign of the cross. Then his eyes lifted calmly and settled on hers.

  “Why don’t you tell me what’s wrong.”

  “And I don’t mean just make sense,” Lucy went on, as if he hadn’t spoken. “It’s more than that. Things that can’t be explained. Things that are so bizarre and so unbelievable, they actually defy reality. Except they are real. They are happening. And there you are. You’re . . . you’re just trapped there, in the middle of it. With no one who can understand. With no one who could possibly help.”

  Matt’s gaze never wavered. “I’m not here to push you, Lucy. And the last thing I’d ever want to do is interfere where I’m not wanted. But I would like to help you. Whatever this is, you don’t have to face it alone.”

  “You can’t,” Lucy whispered even lower than before.

  “Why not?”

  “You just can’t help me.”

  “Then if I can’t, I’ll find someone who can. But you’ve got to tell me what’s wrong.”

  I have powers, she longed to tell him. And my world isn’t like everyone else’s, and nothing will ever be the same again, and I’m not even sure what’s real anymore, I’m afraid I’m losing my mind.

  But instead she told him, “Even if I could . . . you wouldn’t understand.”

  “Try me. You might be surprised.”

  “I don’t want any more surprises tonight.”

  Matt hesitated, seemed to consider a moment, then slowly released her hands. “Where’s the tea?” he asked.

  “The thing is,” Lucy went on, oblivious, “if I could only have taken those things to the police, maybe then they would have taken me seriously. But I can’t tell them about it now. If I do, I’ll look less credible than ever.”

  “Am I close?” Matt was rummaging his way through every door and drawer in the kitchen. “Am I in the general vicinity? Can you at least give me a clue?”

  “Sometimes, when things like this happen, then I start thinking maybe they’re right. The police and the doctors and even my aunt . . . then I start thinking maybe I really am crazy.”

  “You’re not crazy.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Ah!” Matt sounded pleased with himself. “Orange spice tea. Smells good, too. Now, let’s see ... cups.”

  “But I know what I saw in the car. I didn’t imagine what I saw.”

  “I’ll just zap these in the microwave.”

  “It couldn’t have been a flashback, could it? I mean . . . Dr. Fielding said things can come back to you when you’ve gone through a trauma.”

  “Done,” Matt announced. “Sugar? Lemon? Cream?”

  “Sugar and lemon.”

  “Ah, a woman after my own heart.”

  Another patient exploration, this time through canisters, the refrigerator, the silverware drawer. Finally Matt set her hot tea in front of her— complete with spoon, sliced lemon, and sugar bowl—and took a seat directly across the table.

  The silence went on for minutes. Lucy stared morosely at her steaming cup.

  “If you can’t tell me everything,” Matt suggested at last, “then tell me what happened with the car tonight. At least just that.”

  After another lengthy pause, Lucy nodded. Slowly stirring her tea, she related the whole incident to him without once looking up. When she was finished, silence fell between them again.

  “You don’t believe me,” she finally whispered.

  Frowning slightly, Matt leaned toward her across the table. “I didn’t say that. The thing is . . . why would someone have Byron’s jacket? You said Byron was wearing it when you crashed, so it was obviously . . . destroyed.”

  Lucy winced at the thought, and his expression softened.

  “And even if it hadn’t been, I can’t imagine anyone taking it from the scene of the accident. There were only emergency people there, right? Police, firemen, paramedics?”

  Lucy gave a reluctant nod. She knew Matt was right—it was next to impossible that Byron’s jacket could have survived the fire in any way, shape, or form.

  “And what about this blanket?” Matt persisted.

  Lucy paused, frowning. She hadn’t told Matt any details of her horrific ordeal; she’d kept her account to the barest minimum. For just an instant she actually considered confiding everything to him. But then, taking a deep breath, she opted to keep quiet. And tell a white lie.

  “The heater was broken in Byron’s van so he gave me a blanket to keep warm. When I woke up after the accident, I didn’t know where I was, and I tried to find help. And then I lost the blanket when I was running.”

  “Oh. I see.”

  Lucy’s heart fluttered. Matt’s face was carefully composed, but she had an uneasy feeling that he hadn’t believed a word of her story.

  “So what was all that panic about earlier?” Matt asked her now. “You wanting the police to find fingerprints and DNA?”

  Lucy hedged. “Is that what I said?”

&n
bsp; He continued to watch her. Lucy quickly took a sip of her tea, relieved when he let the subject drop.

  “So who knew about the blanket?” he asked instead.

  “The police. The doctors. Irene, of course.”

  “Well, there you go,” Matt said reasonably. “You’ve got to remember, Pine Ridge is a small town. From what I’ve been told—and am definitely starting to witness firsthand—everyone eventually ends up knowing everyone else’s business.”

  Lounging back, he rested one foot on his opposite knee, and settled himself more comfortably in his chair. He didn’t look at all like a priest tonight, Lucy noted, not in his faded jeans and flannel shirt and scuffed hiking boots. She waited while he placed both hands around his cup and stared down into the steam, his expression thoughtful.

  “Dozens of people could’ve talked about that blanket—or overheard someone else talking about it.”

  Lucy pondered this. “So . . . what are you getting at?”

  “Have you ever considered that someone’s just trying to scare you?” Matt asked. “Deliberately upset you? Just plain mess around with your head?”

  “Guilt’s such a weird power . . . It makes people do crazy things . . . Mean, hateful things sometimes . . .”

  Once again, Dakota’s warning came back to her. As Lucy listened to Matt repeating the very same theory, she didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

  “Kids at school?” she managed at last. “Is that what you mean?”

  “Well . . . I just know how cruel kids can be. Especially at an overly emotional time like this.”

  Lucy wanted to believe him—wanted so much to believe him. It made perfect sense that anyone in town could have overheard specific details of her post-accident experience. And of course it was entirely possible—and probable—that some of those who blamed her for Byron’s death could have staged something simply to frighten her.

  “But why the car?” she asked. “And why tonight?”

  Matt shrugged. “Convenience? Maybe they’ve been waiting for a chance, and opportunity finally presented itself. Everybody knows Angela’s car—and it was the only one in the parking lot this afternoon. Maybe they tried to break in then, but couldn’t. Anyone could’ve followed me here. Watched where I put the key. Planted the blanket and jacket, then taken them out again after you went inside.”

  “But it was Byron’s jacket. It was the same blanket.”

  “Lucy, you had a flashlight and that little dome light in the top of the car. There’s no way you could’ve seen anything clearly. And you panicked. And I’m sure whoever did this was counting on exactly that.”

  Should she tell him about the telephone call, too? About the terrified voice—Angela’s voice—that couldn’t possibly have come through during the power outage? While Matt continued his speculations, Lucy debated what to do. She opened her mouth, then shut it again, and realized she was afraid. Afraid of the answer. Afraid she’d only imagined it. And even more afraid that she hadn’t.

  “Lucy?”

  Matt’s voice pulled her back again. Taking another sip of tea, Lucy tried to focus.

  “Look,” Matt was explaining, “I’m not saying that any of those kids really did anything. I’m just saying they could have. You’re in a very fragile state right now, and the worst thing you could do is jump to conclusions.”

  Lucy squeezed more lemon into her cup. No, I have to bring it up, she decided. I have to ask him.

  “Do you think—” she began, but Matt had stood up and pushed back his chair, the scraping sound on the hardwood floor drowning out her attempted question.

  “When will your aunt be home?” he asked, rinsing out his cup in the sink.

  “I don’t know. She works a lot.”

  “So you’re here by yourself most of the time?”

  She nodded, though his back was still to her.

  “Well, you may be by yourself, but you’re never alone.”

  His reply startled her, caught her off guard. “What do you mean?”

  Matt turned around, drying his hands on a dish towel. A faint smile touched his lips. “What do you think I mean? You always have the power with you.”

  Lucy’s heart skipped a beat. Power? No one knew about her power—only Katherine, only Byron—nobody else—how could Matt possibly—

  “His power’s always with you,” Matt said, tossing aside the dish towel, leaning against the counter, folding his arms casually across his chest.

  “Oh.” Lucy could hardly swallow. “You mean God.”

  Matt shrugged, still smiling that faint smile.

  “To tell you the truth, I don’t think God’s been around for a while.” The bitter words were out before she could stop them. She saw Matt raise an eyebrow, and she added quickly, “If God were here, He’d make things better, right? If God were here, He’d . . . He’d make things not hurt so much.”

  Matt lifted one hand, thoughtfully stroked his chin. “Yeah,” he finally told her. “Hurting really sucks.”

  They stared at each other for several long moments. In spite of herself, Lucy almost smiled. “Did they teach you that at priest school?”

  “Actually, I figured it out all on my own.”

  Grinning, Matt picked up his jacket and walked over. He reached out and playfully ruffled her hair.

  “I’ve got church stuff to do, Lucy. But I don’t feel right about leaving you just now.”

  “It’s okay,” she assured him. “I’m fine.”

  As Matt looked deep into her eyes, she could read the reluctance in his own. He seemed to be waging a fierce battle with his conscience.

  “Go,” Lucy insisted. “Irene’s bound to be home before too much longer. And I’ll lock up the minute you’re out the door.”

  “Swear?”

  “Swear.”

  But deep down Lucy wished he wouldn’t go. She wasn’t fine, and she was afraid to be alone after all that had happened tonight.

  She told Matt good-bye at the door. She watched from the window as he got in his Jeep and drove away. Then, telling herself not to be such a coward, Lucy marched upstairs and went straight to Angela’s bedroom.

  Matt’s right. I couldn’t see clearly in the car.

  She turned on all the lights. She closed the window and locked it.

  Everything Matt said makes perfect sense.

  She forced herself to take the telephone from the desk. She lifted the receiver and listened to the dial tone. She checked for messages, but there were none at all.

  But I answered the phone, so of course the call wouldn’t have recorded anyway.

  Lucy replaced the receiver and stepped back.

  The room was still cold, neat as a pin, everything organized and perfectly in place. Not like Angela’s room at all.

  And it struck Lucy then. How vacant it felt in here, despite all the furniture. How impersonal and abandoned.

  Like an empty shell.

  Or a body without a soul.

  As if Angela would never come back to it again.

  14

  “She told you to take a cab home?” Dakota was clearly puzzled. “No one ever takes cabs in Pine Ridge, except for really old people. And we only have two cabs.”

  Wincing slightly, Lucy shifted her backpack to her other shoulder. “She said she couldn’t leave work to pick me up. And I think she was upset that I asked her to drive me this morning. But the thing is, I’ve never driven in snow before.”

  “Two inches? Believe me, this is nothing—it’s already starting to melt. You haven’t even begun to see snow yet. Just wait a few weeks.”

  “Does it snow a lot here?”

  “Not nearly as much as I’d like it to. And it’s not that hard to drive in. They’re pretty good about keeping the streets plowed, and I could help you practice. And till you feel more confident, you can just ride with me when it snows.”

  “That’s really nice of you. Thanks.”

  Dakota watched closely as Lucy drank from the water fountain. “You sti
ll seem a little unsteady. Are you sure you should even be here today?”

  “Doctor’s orders.” Lucy gave a wan smile. “And Irene’s. Anyway, I’m behind enough in my classes as it is.”

  “If you don’t mind coming to the bookstore, we could study together.”

  Before Lucy could answer, the first bell rang. There was an immediate chorus of voices yelling, locker doors slamming, and feet pounding up and down the nearby stairs.

  “I meant to stop by last night.” Lucy tried to speak over the commotion. “But I fell asleep. I guess I was more tired than I thought.”

  “Well, after what you’ve been through, who wouldn’t be?”

  The two of them started down the hall, shouldering bravely through a surge of fellow students. Lucy tried to convince herself that no one was pointing or staring at her today, but her senses told her otherwise.

  “What exactly are people saying I’ve been through?” she asked Dakota cautiously.

  Dakota shrugged. The knitted cap she was wearing this morning matched her long, trailing scarf and was at least three sizes too big for her head.

  “That you were in an accident and then disappeared for three days. And that some good samaritan found you and left you at the emergency room, but you can’t remember what happened in between.”

  “Well,” Lucy gave a thin smile, “that about sums it up.” She waited for Dakota to grill her for more details, but the girl merely pointed at a series of large colorful posters hanging along the corridor.

  “I don’t suppose you’d be interested in being on my team?” Dakota asked.

  Lucy drew a blank. “What team?”

  “The Holiday Treasure Hunt. It’s a scavenger hunt, really. The whole senior class divides into teams, and we all compete for prizes. Very big tradition here at Pine Ridge High.”

  “And is this tradition as important as the Fall Festival?”

  “Well, it depends on what you’re into, doesn’t it?” Dakota proceeded to wrap her muffler numerous times around her neck as Lucy followed her into homeroom. The two took their desks near the window, and Lucy turned her attention to the snowy landscape outside.

  It had taken herculean effort to shut off her mind, to not rehash again and again the disturbing events of last night. Luckily, Irene had gotten home within twenty minutes of Matt’s departure, but Lucy still hadn’t been able to sleep. She’d tossed and turned for hours, trapped in answerless questions and startled at every sound. When she’d finally gotten up and seen herself in the mirror—ghost-white skin and tired hollow eyes—she’d actually found herself wondering if she’d been in another wreck.