Lulu Dark Can See Through Walls

by Bennett Madison

  No matter, I’d slap her into oblivion with my . . .

  I blanched. My spatula was still on the couch, leaving me defenseless.

  Well, I thought, this is it. At least I’m going to die with my handbag.

  “You!” she spat. She sounded almost scared.

  I stared at the figure before me.

  There Hattie stood, but it was hard to think of her as Hattie. Even I was drawn in by her convincing imitation. She glowered, shoulders thrown back, tapping the toe of her pink cowboy boot—exactly the way I would have if I was in her position. Hattie had Lulu pumping in her veins, but there was one problem. Hattie was a certified lunatic.

  Because the most deadly weapon that Lulu Dark would ever brandish is a spatula, and even that she probably wouldn’t use. Hattie-slash-Lulu, on the other hand, had gone straight for the knife-sharp letter opener that was lying on the desk.

  Crap! Why hadn’t I thought to Hattie-proof the place before putting my plan into action?

  She brandished the thing, keeping it well within my line of sight.

  “Tell me who you are!” she demanded. “Who are you? And why are you doing this to me?”

  Her voice was pure anguish. This wasn’t an act, I realized. Hattie was confused and scared.

  I was defenseless. Worse, I was tongue-tied. Hattie stepped forward, the letter opener gripped tightly in her fist. This was it!

  And then I had a flash of brilliance. Sometimes I surprise myself that way.

  “Wait!” I yelled. As quickly as I could, I reached into my purse and pulled out my brand-spanking new driver’s license.

  “I’m Lulu Dark,” I told her. “And you’re out of your freaking mind.”

  Hattie recoiled like she’d been burned. She stared at the driver’s license. There was my name and my picture.

  You can’t argue with paperwork. There was no mistaking it. I was the real Lulu Dark.

  A panicked look crossed Hattie’s face. She dropped the letter opener, letting it clatter to the floor. I contemplated my next move, but Hattie was ahead of me. She had hoisted open the window and climbed out onto the fire escape. All I could do was follow.

  I jumped out onto the rickety metal structure and started clambering up in the darkness. I could hear Hattie a few flights above, racing up, up, up.

  My eyes hadn’t adjusted and I could barely see. I was feeling my way, stumbling, hoping that I wouldn’t be too late. But too late for what? What was Hattie planning? I didn’t even want to think about it.

  When I finally made it to the roof, I caught my breath. Ten stories up, I found myself nestled in a canyon of lights. Halo City was twinkling all around, above and below. It was beautiful.

  There was a full moon. Hattie stood on the edge of the roof with a crazy look in her eyes.

  “Hattie!” I screamed. She barely seemed to register my voice.

  “My name is Lulu Dark,” she said dreamily. She didn’t make eye contact. She was swaying back and forth on her heels. Slowly I approached her. I had to get her down from that ledge.

  I wouldn’t even want my worst enemy to jump off a building. But the weird thing was, Hattie wasn’t my worst enemy—not by a long shot.

  For one thing, no matter how creepy her obsession with me was, it was also sort of flattering. Hattie thought that pretending to be me, of all people, was going to bring her fame and fortune. And the fact that she was drawn to me, the fact that she was able to impersonate me so flawlessly, had to mean there was a strange connection between us somewhere. An inexplicable similarity. In a way, she was my responsibility.

  “Hattie, please listen to me,” I began to say. I didn’t want to make any quick movements that would freak her out.

  “Hattie? I don’t know who that is,” she snapped.

  “Just come down,” I told her. I took off my glasses and looked her in the eye.

  I thought I saw a crack in her armor, but she didn’t move. Her lip was quivering almost imperceptibly.

  “I’m Lulu,” I told her. “You’re Hattie, remember? You came from Motoropolis in January. Then you were Berlin for a while, but that wasn’t real either.”

  “Stop it,” she said. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Her eyes were watering.

  “Yes, you do,” I contradicted her. “I know these things. I am Lulu Dark. I can see through walls. I can see through you. And you can see through me too, enough to know that I’m not screwing with you.”

  Then she was crying silently, tears streaming down her cheeks. She turned her face away from me.

  “Hattie,” I said. “Look at me.”

  Crushed, she stepped down from the ledge and slumped on the pebbly surface of the roof.

  She glared up at me. I could tell she was trying to be defiant, even through her tears. I reached into my purse and pulled out a Wet Nap. I used it to dab at my face—eyes first—taking off my makeup.

  “I’m Lulu,” I repeated. “This is Lulu. The makeup and stuff, it’s nothing. It’s meaningless. You can see through it just like I can, can’t you?”

  I felt a little dishonest there. I realized that I owed it to Hattie to tell her so. “The truth is, sometimes even I have a hard time remembering that the makeup, the cowboy boots, and the fringe don’t matter,” I said gently.

  Hattie stared into my eyes. For a moment I was uncomfortable having her look at me like that—without my eyeliner and everything.

  I bet I look like a little piglet, I thought, and instantly chided myself for being so shallow at the very moment that I was trying to discourage that kind of thinking.

  I may have had my own misgivings, but Hattie was now transfixed, almost hypnotized. Knowing that it was time to strike while the iron was hot, I tossed her my whole packet of Wet Naps and then dug into my purse. I found the nameplate necklace and looked down at it. It glittered in my hand: HATTIE.

  For some reason, I was almost sad to part with it. I’d been carrying it around everywhere, and it had become kind of a talisman. Even though I knew it was stupid, I couldn’t help thinking that it had protected me.

  I walked over to her, there in a heap on the ground. She was dabbing her face, wiping her makeup off just like I had. “Here you go,” I said. I bent down and fastened the charm around her neck.

  Then she was wailing in my arms. I’d never known myself to be such a caring person before, but I was rocking her, rubbing her on the back. Everyone deserves to have someone rub her back while she cries, even if it is her mortal enemy. Marisol and her mother had taught me that.

  “Shhh,” I comforted her. “It will be okay.”

  “No, it won’t,” she sobbed. “It won’t be okay.”

  “Of course it will,” I said. “I don’t get what’s so wrong with being Hattie anyway. For one thing, you’re gorgeous. For another thing, you’re smart, not to mention wily as a freaking alley cat. You have a sister who loves you, and, um, like the sexiest boyfriend in the entire universe. Who is head over heels.”

  “He doesn’t love me,” she cried. “He loves Lulu Dark.”

  “We’ll see about that,” I said. “Let’s go back downstairs.”

  Hattie nodded dejectedly, and shuffled toward the fire escape.

  Remembering something, I quickly whipped out my cell phone and sent Daisy a text message. Then I scampered down the metal stairs after Hattie.

  When we climbed back through the window, everyone was there in Alfy’s living room. Although I’d insisted on confronting Hattie on my own, they’d been just as adamant about waiting in the empty apartment next door—just in case. The message I’d sent Daisy was the signal for them to come out of the woodwork.

  Hattie was still sobbing, and Alfy scooped her up into his arms. “I love you,” he whispered.

  “No!” She sniffed, pushing him away. “You want her instead.” She pointed at me accusingly.

  “That’s where you’re wrong,” Alfy said. He took his girlfriend by the shoulders and gave her the sweetest kiss on the cheek before guiding h
er over to the couch. “You know the note that Lulu had? With my phone number?”

  Hattie nodded.

  “It wasn’t ever for her. In the dark, on the stage, I tapped the wrong person. The message was for you. My roadie gave it to Lulu by mistake.”

  She looked up at him, still tearful but no longer crying. “Really?”

  “Really.”

  I furrowed my brow. For real? I hadn’t heard that part of the story. Now, that was kind of annoying.

  “Ahem.” Helena cleared her throat.

  Hattie looked up suddenly, like she hadn’t even known anyone else was in the room. As she glanced around—from Helena, to her sister, Susan, to Daisy and Charlie—it seemed to dawn on her that she was still in trouble. She was frightened again.

  “I—I’m sorry,” she stuttered. “I didn’t mean to hurt any of you.”

  Helena and Susan wrapped Hattie in a group hug.

  “It’s going to be okay, sweet pea,” Helena soothed. “I’ll be friends with you until my dying day, no matter what you happen to call yourself. I’ve had several names too, you know,” she added with a wink.

  “And we’ll get this whole Berlin thing figured out,” Susan interjected. “I don’t know how I’ll do it, but I’ll get you the best lawyer money can buy. I’m not going to let them send you up the river.”

  Hattie froze. “Up the river? You mean jail? Just for stealing her driver’s license? And taking her parents’ money and stuff? They can send you to jail for that?”

  Susan furrowed her brows. “Well,” she said. “Berlin is dead, honey. And the police seem to think that . . . well, they just wonder how she got to be dead and how you got to have all her stuff.”

  Hattie looked flummoxed. “I think she had a heart attack or something. I don’t know. I met her on the train. We got to be friends during the ride. And we went down to the pier to see if there was anything fun. When we were there, she just, you know, had a spaz! Maybe she choked on one of the pork rinds I gave her.”

  “Pork rinds!” I exclaimed, remembering what I’d learned from Berlin’s school file. “Those are always fried in peanut oil. Berlin was severely allergic to nuts!”

  “At least we’re not looking at murder,” Helena said optimistically. “There’s only the little issue of fraud. But I’m sure Charlie’s dad, the famous attorney, can make that problem go away.” She looked hopefully at Charlie.

  “Oh, sure,” he said, “that’s my dad’s specialty.”

  “I did push Berlin into the bay and take her stuff,” Hattie admitted sheepishly, shrugging. “But she was already dead.”

  “Well, don’t do it again,” Alfy said. He wedged himself back onto the couch and wrapped his arms around Hattie.

  Daisy gave me a bewildered look. “Isn’t Berlin—I mean Hattie—supposed to be the villain? Why are we all comforting her?” she asked.

  She was right. Hattie had been through a lot, but the pity party was getting out of control. She was still seriously disturbed.

  “There’s also the matter of Hattie trying to push people onto the subway tracks,” I said. “And purse stealing. And identity theft. And letter opener brandishing.”

  Susan picked up on my train of thought.

  “You’re going to have to go away for a little while, Hattie,” she said softly. “To a hospital, though, not jail. You just need to take some time to sort things out. Get better. I don’t want anything like this ever happening again.”

  Hattie buried her face in her sister’s shoulder. “I know,” she snuffled. “Me neither.”

  Charlie looked up, disappointed. “Does this mean we’re not going to get to beat anyone up?” he asked.

  “I guess not,” I said.

  “Rats. I’ve been practicing my karate all day,” Daisy grumbled.

  “I was looking forward to rescuing you,” Charlie teased me. “My damsel in distress.”

  “I’m no one’s damsel,” I said. “Do you see me wearing one of those pointy hats?” Hopefully I wasn’t blushing too hard.

  “So, what now?” Charlie asked.

  “Let’s go roller skating,” Daisy suggested. “The all-night rink is still open.”

  So we did.

  THE END

  IT WAS MY SEVENTEENTH birthday, and I was having the party to end all parties. I had invited everyone—I mean everyone—and to my surprise, they’d all shown up. Even Rachel and Marisol.

  My dad and Theo were there, of course, and Helena, and Alfy Romero, and Jordan Fitzbaum, whose relationship with Rachel had blossomed in the few weeks since the Hattie incident.

  Genevieve was there too, standoffish in a corner with her latest boyfriend, Vince, who, to my delight, seemed to be just as annoyed with Viking’s yapping shenanigans as I had always been.

  But everyone besides the dog seemed to be having a great time, and that included Rachel Buttersworth-Taylor. Marisol confided to me that Jordan had given her an ultimatum: be nicer or else. I had to say I was a little surprised at her for agreeing to such a thing. Yes, being nicer is good, as I’d learned for myself, but still. To change your whole personality just because a boy tells you he’ll dump you otherwise? Someone get Gloria Steinem on the phone, please.

  At least Rachel was following her orders starting with me. I didn’t ever expect to be great friends with her, but at least we could coexist peacefully. Maybe even be friendly. And I’d always be grateful to Marisol and her mom.

  As for Hattie, she had left for the rehab center a week ago. And by “rehab,” of course, I mean “the loony bin.” The psychiatrists had prescribed a six-month stay, after which they promised that she’d be able to integrate herself into normal society. Alfy couldn’t wait. He told her he’d visit her every week and send her a letter every day, and he meant it. Sally Hansen, I mean Lisa Whatever Her Name Was, had been wrong about him being a lying, cheating dirtbag. When he fell for a girl, he fell hard.

  The other big news was that I’d gotten a job. No, it wasn’t as an apprentice to Detective Knight. My days as a girl detective were done for. Instead, Helena Handcart was opening her own cosmetics shop, and she’d hired me as a part-time consultant. I couldn’t wait to start.

  The detective thing was still a sore subject because there had been a hugely embarrassing article on the front page of the Halo City Times just that Sunday. The headline had read: REAL-LIFE NANCY DREW SOLVES SHARK GIRL MYSTERY. I was utterly humiliated except for the part of me—the minuscule part, I might add—that was sort of proud. Inside, the Times ran a picture of me, Charlie, and Daisy sitting on a couch at Little Edie’s, smiling.

  No one would leave me alone about it.

  Everywhere I went it was Nancy this, Sherlock that, and Angela Lansbury the other.

  Dad and Theo were the worst culprits, of course, followed by Charlie and then Daisy and Genevieve. Everyone seemed to want to get in on the act—mainly because they could see how crazy it made me.

  Even my mom, who normally would never have noticed such details from my life, called from LA the day the article came out, just to torment me.

  “Honey,” she said in the low, sultry voice that was her trademark. “I have a mystery for you. I can’t figure out what happened to my career. I was hoping that you and your chums could investigate for me. There must be a criminal behind it somewhere, and I suspect it’s my agent. I need you to do me a favor and get him thrown in jail.”

  With my birthday party in full swing and with that conversation in mind, I approached Rachel, who had taken a moment away from Jordan and Marisol to get a piece of cake.

  “Hey,” I said, tapping her on the shoulder.

  “Hey,” she responded.

  “Thanks for coming to my party.”

  “I love parties,” she said. “It’s nothing personal.” She was joking, for once.

  “I—I just wanted to say sorry,” I began haltingly. “For the stuff I said about your mom, I mean. To tell you the truth, my mom’s just as crazy. If not more.”

  “You don’t hav
e to tell me that,” Rachel said, giving me a jocular punch on the shoulder. “I’ve seen that painting your dad did of her peeing in the sink. At least my mom knows what toilets are for.”

  I laughed. Rachel was somewhat hilarious—as long as you took it the right way.

  “Anyway,” she told me, “I’m sorry too. If I hadn’t spilled that stuff on your skirt, your purse never would have been stolen. And the whole fiasco with Hattie would never have happened.”

  “Yes, it would have,” I said. “Hattie-slash-Berlin had been following me for weeks, waiting to make her move. She was starting to run out of cash, plus she had to do something before her not-mom came to visit. So it was just a matter of time.” I thought about it for a second, then decided to make a confession. Just to cement things.

  “Plus,” I said. “You can never, ever tell anyone this, but being a detective was kind of fun. I wouldn’t want to make, you know, an identity out of it. But just for two weeks, I enjoyed it.”

  Rachel smirked. “I bet that’s what they all say—right after they solve the Mystery in the Old Clock.”

  “Okay,” I told her. “That’s enough. And if you ever tell anyone I just admitted that, I’ll track you down and kill you. Either that or put a dead fish in your backpack.”

  “Touché,” Rachel said. Then Jordan snuck up behind her and grabbed her in a bear hug. Rachel squealed and Jordan planted a big smooch on her cheek.

  Gag me.

  I looked around the room. Jordan and Rachel weren’t the only ones having a good time. Everyone was talking to each other and laughing and flirting. Perversely, it made me feel lonely at my own party. I wished I had someone to flirt with.

  My eyes landed on Charlie and my loneliness evaporated. Charlie and I were still somewhere in limbo land after our night in the Dumpster. I’d been dying to ask him about it, but once again words failed me. We’d been hopelessly skirting the issue ever since. He was standing by the sliding door that led to the balcony, hair mingling with his long, perfect eyelashes. When he saw me watching him, he beckoned, and I followed him outside.