Jack smiled broadly. He stole a fleeting glance back at Caitlin. She saw it in his eyes. He was uncomfortable.
Her heart fluttered. A palpable awkwardness had descended on the moment, and Caitlin was suddenly feeling confused. And though Barton seemed genuinely happy to see Jack, she detected a shade of concern in his eyes as well.
A twinge of sadness crossed Barton’s face as he turned to his new bride. “I’m sure you both have lots to catch up on. You should talk. I’ll cover for you with the folks.”
Caitlin’s heart broke as her new husband walked away. Barton obviously knew that Caitlin had crushed on Jack back in high school. But she had only been fourteen years old back then.
Why should he be worried now, after all these years? Then again . . .
Caitlin never had told Barton about her experiences at the Mount Cemetery graveyard in Guildford. She knew he’d think she was a flipped-out psychotic if she did.
Jack took Caitlin’s hand and led her out of the ballroom to a private hallway.
“I don’t understand,” Caitlin said, brushing away the tears.
“I never left,” Jack said. “I swear. Look at me. Being in your world all this time, your sun aged me. I did it for you, Caitlin.”
She shook her head in dismay. “How’s that even possible? I see you now. I just saw Rapunzel. And Cindy. On my freaking wedding day, Jack! What am I supposed to do? What am I supposed to think? How could I have ‘not seen’ you for the last ten years of my life?”
A worried and hunted look crossed Jack’s face.
“A curtain,” Jack said. “The Lord of the Curtain. The Enchanter.”
Her body went cold.
A sudden, strange thought knocked the breath out of her lungs.
I removed my contact lenses before getting my makeup done tonight.
Caitlin had never put her contacts back in. She’d been wearing contact lenses every day for the last ten years.
Had the Enchanter exchanged her lenses at some point ten years ago, after she’d returned home from Mount Cemetery in Guildford? Just like those cursed glasses he had put on her mom that reversed the truth in her mind? A shiver tremored down her spine.
Natalie burst through the ballroom doors and arrived in the hallway. She stormed toward her sister and placed her hands on Caitlin’s shoulders.
She shook her vigorously and shouted, “What did you do, Caitlin? What did you do?”
Natalie had never screamed like that before.
Caitlin clutched at her chest as a river of tears ran down her cheeks.
Jack simply bowed his head, sad.
Rapunzel stood at the far end of the plush-carpeted hallway. She unbound her enormous length of hair and corralled one long braid. She hurled the plait like a lasso toward a dumbfounded Caitlin.
Rapunzel jerked the braid . . .
CHAPTER Two
Caitlin jolted awake. Sleeping Beauty was staring intently into her eyes and rocking her by the shoulders. Caitlin was snuggled under a floral-scented comforter, lying in a soft bed. Beauty rattled her again.
“What did you do, Caitlin? What did you do? Are you not getting this message?”
Caitlin shook her head back and forth, as if trying to shake off a dream. She blinked once. Twice. She squeezed her eyes shut for a third time and kept them shut for several long moments.
Then—
She opened her eyelids again.
A stern-faced Natalie was leaning over her.
Except this was young Natalie, her kid sister, just ten and a half years old. And Caitlin was lying in her own bed back on Royal Street, in Central London. She was fourteen and a half years old. And the morning light was slipping through the slats of the window blinds.
Whoa—what a totally freaky, bizarre nightmare that was!
“What did you do, Caitlin?” Natalie shouted.
“What do you mean?” Caitlin replied.
“You never set the alarm. We’re late for school. You forgot again! You think you’re hot stuff because your blog went viral? Get up off your butt, sleepy sibling, and let’s get to school!”
Caitlin flew out of bed and jumped directly into the shower, where she sudsed her body with a creamy bar of soap and lathered her hair with green tea shampoo. She rinsed off in record time. She hopped out of the shower; dried herself off; wrapped an extra-long and ultra-thick, plush pink cotton towel around her body; did her makeup; threw off the towel; and got dressed. Through it all, Caitlin wondered why on earth Sleeping Beauty, Jack, and all the rest of her ghoul friends had showed up in such a surreal dream within a dream after all this time.
Eleven long months had passed since Caitlin last saw Jack Spriggins in the parking lot of Kingshire, on the night of Halloween. He had never called her—not even once. Not during the tedious, cold winter; not during the wet, blooming spring; not during the hazy, humid summer. Jack had never appeared at her window. Never even left a single garbanzo bean on her tenth-story ledge.
Nor did Caitlin ever hear from Cindy, Snow, Rapunzel, Beauty, or even Alice again—except during her bizarre dream.
And what a dream it was. Marrying Barton Sullivan? How outrageous was that? But Sleeping Beauty had wakened me from my dream, asking if I got a message from her.
What—like a text message?
Or a prophetic message?
Am I going to wind up marrying Barton Sullivan one day? Is Jack going to go missing for another ten years? Did that mysterious Deity of the Drapes, or rather, the Lord of the Curtain, somehow pull a wool curtain over my eyes? Has Jack had been trying to contact me all this time?
Caitlin glanced over at her contact-lens case on her nightstand.
Are they enchanted? Is that why I have not seen Jack since Halloween night eleven months ago?
“Let’s go!” Natalie shouted as she slipped on her backpack.
She and Caitlin bolted downstairs to find their dad retrieving two plastic plates of scrambled eggs from the microwave.
“Morning, girls. Late, as usual.”
“Your firstborn daughter never set the alarm,” Natalie said, throwing the firstborn under the bus.
Some things never change.
“Miss Caitlin Rose Fletcher was blogging late into the night. She slept in on purpose. And now I’m late.”
Caitlin glowered at Natalie. “Then get your own alarm, twerp. Stop relying on me.”
Harold Fletcher set the plate of scrambled eggs on the counter. “I had to reheat your breakfast. It’s been sitting here for twenty minutes.”
Caitlin scooped up the plastic plate. Her lips sucked down the eggs like a Dyson vacuum.
“How ladylike,” Natalie quipped. “You have a fear of cutlery now?”
“Let’s get going, girls,” her dad said. “I’m not writing another note explaining why you’re late.”
“Tell your daughter—Miss Mega-Popular Blogger—to stop blogging till all hours of the night,” Natalie said.
Harold Fletcher rolled his eyes. “Caity-Cakes, did you take your meds?”
Caitlin froze. She wasn’t going to lie to her dad again. She hated lying. She had never had to lie to him before.
“I haven’t taken them in weeks. Months. They made me feel awful. And besides, there’s nothing wrong with me.”
Surprisingly—or more likely, not surprisingly—her dad didn’t seem upset. Or miffed. In fact, he seemed to be as conflicted about the meds as Caitlin.
Is he kind of relieved I haven’t been taking them?
“Let’s talk about this later,” he said.
She smiled warmly at him.
Dad is pretty freaking cool, as fathers go.
Caitlin dashed out the apartment door. She ran past the elevator and instead took the stairs ten flights down to the lobby. Some old lady from the fourteenth floor had gotten stuck in the ele
vator for an hour a few months back. Caitlin had avoided it ever since. It was true that her fears no longer ruled her life to the crippling degree that they once had, but she figured it was just plain stupidity to knowingly ride a faulty
elevator when cramped, claustrophobic spaces were not your cup of tea.
* * *
The school day flew by lightning quick. Caitlin had to admit she felt totally awkward talking to Barton after the intensely realistic dream she’d had that morning. They were good friends now. Like in that dream. Along with Erwin Spencer. The trio had bonded over their shared friendship with Jack and their deep longing for him to return ever since he had “moved away” eleven months ago.
The three had been shocked when Jack had literally vanished, never to be heard from again. Supposedly his family had moved to Scotland—the very day after Caitlin and Jack had danced together at the Kingshire masquerade ball.
Caitlin knew Jack hadn’t really moved to Scotland.
But Barton Sullivan and Erwin Spencer didn’t. So they were befuddled when they couldn’t find a forwarding address or a mobile number for him. Erwin, a bona-fide computer nerd and hacker, scoured the Internet and found nothing on Jack.
Meanwhile, that dream had made her wonder if she could ever like Barton Sullivan.
Am I supposed to like him? I mean, who wouldn’t like him?
She almost admitted to herself that there had been more than a few moments over the past year when she had suggestive imaginings about him. Perhaps suggestive was too polite a word. But to fully admit this brought forth pangs of guilt, because of Jack—not because she was going on fifteen.
Jack. A fictional fairy-tale character. How insanely absurd am I?
Caitlin had also felt a twinge of jealousy when Piper and Barton had begun dating back in January.
Okay, a fierce and severe pang.
With Jack gone from Kingshire, Piper had wasted no time cornering the hottest dude left. In truth, she actually played it appropriately cool and balanced in the beginning, the right blend of hard-to-get aloofness mixed in with her seductive art of flirtation in just the right dosage. Barton had quickly showed serious interest and by their third date, Piper had prepared an official but private list of “Barton Dos and Don’ts” for him, which someone at Kingshire posted on Instagram in Piper’s name, thereby making the private missive public.
The Barton Sullivan Dos and Don’ts
Don’t download any dating apps.
Delete all your existing dating apps.
Make a list of all the girls you dated previously.
Delete all the girls you dated previously from all your social media accounts.
Make a list why you prefer me to them.
Don’t ever ignore any of my texts.
Don’t flirt with girls anymore.
Don’t friend any new girls on Facebook.
Don’t make jokes about blonde girls—or any beautiful girls, for that matter.
Don’t look twice at the same girl.
Don’t joke with your friends about other girls.
Some kids are passive-aggressive. Piper turned out to be hyperpossessive-aggressive, on the verge of stalker. It was not that she was just trying to keep her new beau on a tight leash. No. Piper had dispensed with the whole idea of a leash. Instead, she kept the snap hook and collar firm and tight around Barton’s neck—and superglued the leash handle to her palm.
It didn’t take long for Barton to gently break it off with her. He made up a long list of fake reasons Piper gave him the boot, in her voice. He pretended it also had been leaked, and he posted it on social media. Fake news. But a gracious deed. Barton’s chivalrous act helped Piper save face. The only person on planet Earth who knew the truth was Caitlin. And she was happy for that, because Piper just couldn’t help herself.
Lots of girls behaved like that when they found themselves in similar circumstances. Obsessive thoughts and fears about a relationship could hold one prisoner. Girls and guys often confused obsessive infatuation, possessiveness, and jealousy for feelings of genuine affection and love.
Caitlin had similar issues involving her panic attacks in the past. Unhealthy thoughts and obsessions attacked her without warning. And they would never stop until there was a response. Like the time she had left her bottom dresser drawer open just a crack. It had gnawed at her brain throughout breakfast. She was determined not to respond by giving in and closing it. But halfway to school she just couldn’t take it anymore. The relentless thought had finally compelled a response. She had turned around and traveled all the way back home just to close the drawer properly. She had been scared to death that the thought of an open drawer would stick in her brain all day, all week, or maybe even forever if she didn’t respond!
Responses were quicksand. They made you fall deeper into the obsessions. Closing drawers and cupboards all the way had become a constant habit. Sometimes she had closed a drawer twenty times or more until it closed just right. Thankfully, she had learned to conquer a lot of her anxiety and OCD.
As she hurried home after school, Caitlin realized she had other issues to contend with now. She still had deep feelings for Jack—the boy who might not be real. But he had to be real. He had attended Kingshire. Barton remembered him. Barton admired him. Erwin totally appreciated Jack because he had saved Erwin from getting pummeled by bullies. All the kids dug Jack.
But was it in the realm of possibility that she might have hallucinated the entire episode of decaying kingdoms in another universe? Just as Dr. Kyle had said she did? Were the zombified characters from the world of children’s books just a figment of a troubled mind, born of repressed pain relating to her mom’s disappearance and eventual death?
Natalie remembered zilch about that night.
And now Jack was gone, never returning as promised. Not keeping promises and not showing up seemed uncharacteristic for Jack. His mysterious absence had left a decisive hole inside her. The hollowness that ached was painfully real.
Which means Jack has to be real.
And there was other evidence. Her signature butt-length, cinnamon-colored hair had been lopped off when she had woken up at the cemetery last Halloween night. A dream, no matter how realistic, cannot physically trim the locks off your head and give you a stylish and totally rocking Taylor Swift pixie haircut. Unless Caitlin was schizoid and she had cut off her own hair, then buried the scissors and her long bangs in her backyard and repressed the memory.
Perhaps I went off the meds too soon?
Then again, what about the extraordinary popularity she had experienced since that crucial night? And all the wonderful changes taking place in high schools around the world as a result of her blog?
All these thoughts danced in her head as she arrived home from school. She changed clothes, slipping on her favorite distressed jeans with the rips above the knee, a loose sweater, and black Converse sneakers.
Instead of taking the Tube as she normally did, Caitlin jumped on her bike and rode off along Royal Street toward Dr. J. L. Kyle’s office.
Dr. J. L. Kyle—my freaking psychotherapist with the smug Brit accent and condescending attitude!
CONFIDENTIAL TRANSCRIPT OF
CAITLIN’S FIRST THERAPY SESSION
Dr. Kyle:As I understand it from your guidance counselor at Kingshire and from your father, you had quite an unusual experience on Halloween night a few months prior?
Caitlin:I did.
Dr. Kyle:Something about a fairy-tale universe overrun by the supposedly undead?
Caitlin:I suppose something like that.
Dr. Kyle:Cinderella, Snow White, Rapunzel, and other such characters from our childhood bedtime books were gradually decomposing into flesh-eating ghouls? Have I got it right thus far?
CaitlinTheir decay wasn’t gradual. It was pretty freaking fast. And it wasn’t all of them.
&n
bsp; Dr. Kyle:Oh? Well then, let’s begin right there, shall we? Not all of the literary characters degenerated into the purported living dead?
Caitlin:What I mean is, those born of nobility, of royal blood—they didn’t dine on flesh. Some of them just ate hot peppers.
Dr. Kyle:Peppers, you say?
Caitlin:Jalapeños.
Dr. Kyle:Why would a ghoul prefer a jalapeño pepper over human flesh?
Caitlin:The burn of the jalapeño curbed the burning hunger for flesh.
Dr. Kyle:Why would that be?
Caitlin:You’d have to ask a zombie chemist.
Dr. Kyle:And why were they even attempting to tame their appetites? I would assume a zombie to be a thoughtless, remorseless, and tenacious fiend.
Caitlin:Royal-blooded zombies were beautiful inside as well as on the outside. They still retained their beauty and, along with it, their self-control. They had decency.
Dr. Kyle:Resplendent zombies that preserved a modicum of decency?
Caitlin:The princesses, yes.
Dr. Kyle:That’s some feat, young lady.
Caitlin:It certainly is. But the rest were blood-eyed ghouls, grotesque and dangerous, as one might expect. But why do I get the feeling you think I’m either making this up or just plain mad?
Dr. Kyle:Let’s move on. Tell me about your mum.
Caitlin:She’s dead.
Dr. Kyle:Yes, I am aware of that. Please tell me about her.
Caitlin:Her name is Evelyn. Married name Fletcher. Maiden name Blackshaw. How far back would you like me to go?
Dr. Kyle:I was referring to your relationship with her.
Caitlin:Oh. Well, she’s interred at Mount Cemetery, in Guildford, so that makes it somewhat difficult to maintain a relationship with her. I was in denial about her death for many years. Deep-seated emotional wounds. Suppressed feelings. That sort of thing.
Dr. Kyle:Perhaps we should leave the analysis to me; just tell me about your mum.
Caitlin:About Mum? Okay. Well, I love my mom. It was hard as hell when she first disappeared. Sorry for curse word, ahem [throat clearing]. I had thought that maybe she had left my dad. But she hadn’t. She was murdered. In a graveyard, of all places. I didn’t want to believe that, so I clung to the false hope that she had just abandoned our family. I was forced to confront the truth as a result of my journey into that other world. But now I have come to accept her passing. And I do feel so much better. May I go now?
The Lord of the Curtain Page 2