“Hello?” she called shakily. “Who’s there?”
Her voice echoed back to her from the bathroom walls. With trembling fingers, she took the paper towel from the back of her neck and got slowly to her feet. One by one, she moved down the row of stalls and opened each door, but they were all empty.
“The first time’s always the worst …”
Without warning a group of girls came giggling in from the hallway. Was one of them the kind-hearted stranger? But none of the girls even glanced her way, so Lucy ran fresh water onto the paper towel and blotted it over her face. Mrs. Lowenthal was right—she was pale—frighteningly pale. Think, Lucy, think! Try and calm down … try to put things in perspective …
Perspective? How could she possibly be calm or rational about all the things that had happened to her in the last twenty-four hours? She was way past confusion now—way beyond frightened. Something had taken hold of her back there in the classroom—something had consumed her back there in the classroom—something she didn’t understand and certainly hadn’t been able to control. Something had crept over her and through her, transporting her to another place and time—she’d seen things, felt things—horrible things, intense and painful and terrifyingly real, and yet …
And yet there’d been no complete picture, Lucy realized. Nothing like a carefully posed photograph or neatly framed painting or smooth sequence of movie scenes running logically through her mind.
No, this had been different.
Just flashes of things, glimpses of things, puzzle pieces spilled helter-skelter from a box. Things without order, things that made no sense, though she felt they should make sense, and did make sense somehow, if only she could put them together …
Frowning, she stared down at her hand. The strange crescent scar stood out sharply against her palm, and there was a faint, lingering ache along her fingertips.
The necklace.
Lucy shut her eyes … opened them again … drew a slow intake of breath.
There was darkness … and death … and it started when I picked up that necklace …
The bathroom door swung shut. As Lucy turned in surprise, she realized that all the girls had left, and that Angela was now standing beside her.
“I’ve been looking all over for you.” Angela gave an exasperated sigh. “What the hell happened back there?”
Lucy couldn’t answer. She watched dully as her cousin leaned toward the mirror and primped at her hair.
“Well?” Angela demanded.
“I … felt like I was going to pass out,” Lucy murmured.
“I’ve never seen anyone shake like that before they passed out,” Angela said, casting Lucy a critical glance. “God, you look even worse now than you did last night. Whatever you’ve got, you better not be contagious.”
“Who’s the guy in class?” Lucy asked tersely.
“What are you talking about?”
“The dark-haired guy sitting in front of me.”
“Byron?”
Lucy nodded, tight-lipped.
“Well, what about him?” Tilting her head, Angela gave her hair one more fluff. “Oh, please. Don’t tell me you’re interested.”
Lucy merely shrugged.
“Right. Another smitten female falls under the spell of the mysterious Byron Wetherly,” Angela announced. Then her lips curled in a dry smile. “Well, yeah, he’s gorgeous. And sexy. And so very, very cool. But … you know … every girl in school is after him.”
She paused a moment, as if considering a matter of great importance. Then she lifted one eyebrow, amused.
“Frankly, Lucy, I wouldn’t bet on your chances.”
Ignoring the remark, Lucy pulled a fresh paper towel from the dispenser. “What do you mean, mysterious? Why is he mysterious?”
“Well, who knows anything about him, really? He keeps pretty much to himself.”
“Maybe he’s shy.”
“He doesn’t talk much. But with a face and body like that … why would he need to?”
“I see.” Lucy played along. “The quiet, secretive type. That’s what makes him mysterious.”
“Not just that. His family, too.”
“So his family’s mysterious.”
“They’re poor.” Tilting her head sideways, Angela studied her profile in the glass. “And extremely weird. I mean, the word is that Byron must be adopted or something—he’s the only normal one in the whole bunch. He lives with his grandmother—well, takes care of his grandmother; she’s an invalid. His mother’s been locked up for years.”
Lucy looked startled. “Locked up?”
“As in loony bin? As in institution?” Angela pointed to the side of her head and made wide circles with her finger. “As in psychopathic maniac?”
“Yes, Angela, I get it. What’s wrong with her?”
“She murdered her kids.”
“Come on … you’re not serious.”
“Burned down the house with them in it. Oh, for God’s sake, it happened years ago. I’m not sure anyone around here even remembers the woman personally—it’s just something everyone knows about.” Angela paused, thought for a second, then once again faced the mirror. “You know. Like a campfire story. Or one of those urban legends.”
“But what about Byron?” Lucy asked.
“Well, obviously he got out, didn’t he? Him and his crazy sister. Are you finished in here?”
Lucy nodded. She ran some water over the towel, squeezed it out, then pressed it against her cheeks, stalling for a little more time.
“So … is the mom in prison?” she asked.
Angela rolled her eyes. “No, just in a straightjacket for the rest of her life. Poor Byron. I mean, can you even imagine? Everyone knowing your mother’s a cold-blooded killer? And, like that’s not bad enough, that sister of his was turning out just as bad—it was only a matter of time before she got carted off to the funny farm. Lucky for everybody, she ended up leaving town before anything really horrible happened.”
“I guess that was lucky,” Lucy agreed quietly. “So tell me about the sister.”
“She saw things.” Another dramatic sigh. “Well … at least that’s what she wanted people to believe. She saw things.”
“You mean … like hallucinations?”
“Call them whatever you want—she called them visions.”
Lucy’s heart caught in her chest. She was feeling colder by the second. “What kinds of visions?”
“How would I know? I never saw her have one.” Angela sounded impatient. “Telling-the-future-and-talking-to-the-dead kinds of visions, I guess. I mean, the girl was way creepy.”
“So she never had a vision in school?” Lucy’s voice was scarcely a whisper.
“She didn’t go to school. She didn’t go anywhere, really. I mean, nobody ever saw her.”
“Then if nobody ever saw her … how do you know she even existed?”
Angela gave a sniff of disdain. “Well … nobody normal ever saw her. Nobody I know ever saw her. But there were stories, you know?” Leaning closer to her reflection, she rubbed at a tiny smudge of lipstick on her tooth. “Sometimes people would drive past the Wetherly place at night, and they’d see her watching from an upstairs window with bars on it. And sometimes, people just going down that road at night would hear screams coming from inside the house. That’s why they never let her out. She was totally dangerous.”
Despite her uneasiness, Lucy frowned. “Sounds like old wives’ tales to me.”
“Whatever. But she ran away last year, so that was a big relief to everybody. Especially to Byron, I imagine. I mean, God, how humiliating—so not cool for his social life. Now there’s only him and his grandmother.” She paused, her brow creasing in thought. “Good thing he’s so gorgeous—he certainly doesn’t have good breeding going for him.”
“Then how can you really know him?” Lucy asked tightly. “How can you be so sure he’s not like his mother? Or his sister?” How can you be sure he doesn’t stalk unsuspect
ing victims, or murder girls in cemeteries, or see into a person’s mind …
“Well …” Angela’s look was blank. “That’s just silly.”
“Why is it silly? You said he keeps to himself … that no one really knows him—”
“God, what is this whole obsessing thing?”
“What about his life away from school? What about his private thoughts? What about his feelings?”
Angela made no effort to hide her amusement. “His feelings? Oh, I’d like to feel him, all right—in places besides my fantasies. Just like every other female around here.”
She stepped back from the mirror. She ran a slow gaze over Lucy, then shook her head in mock disappointment.
“Poor Lucy … take my advice, okay? Forget about Byron. As a matter of fact, forget about anybody. You look like you’ve been run over by a bus. And you just had some kind of weird fit—not to mention nearly throwing up—in the middle of class. I mean, it’s so embarrassing. Everyone already thinks you’re a freak, and it’s only your first day.”
It took all Lucy’s effort to compose herself. She wadded up her paper towel, tossed it into the trash, and carefully smoothed the front of her sweater. “You know what? I’m actually feeling much better. In fact, I don’t think I even need to see the nurse now.”
“Then why’d I waste my time trying to find you?”
Biting back a reply, Lucy followed Angela back to class. Byron didn’t even glance at her as she slid into her seat, didn’t seem to feel her eyes boring into him as she tried to ignore the stares and whispers around her. He was out of his chair as soon as the bell rang, and though Lucy hurried to catch up with him, he’d already disappeared into the crowded hallway by the time she reached the door.
She didn’t see him again the rest of the afternoon, neither in class nor on campus. As though he’d vanished from her life just as quickly as he’d appeared.
By the time the final bell rang, Lucy was never so glad to have a day end—it took every last effort just to drag herself to her locker. Everywhere she turned, there was talk about the big weekend ahead, exciting plans for the Fall Festival, but all she planned on doing was locking herself in her room and staying in bed. She was just rechecking her homework assignments when Angela showed up, greeting her with a sullen frown.
“Hurry up,” Angela complained. “I have better things to do than stand around and wait for you all day.”
“You just got here. You’ve been waiting for—what? Two whole seconds?”
“Do you want a ride or not?”
Lucy slammed her locker door. Lowering her head, she did a quick assessment of her books, oblivious to the kids shoving past her till she felt a quick, light pressure on her arm.
“What?” Startled, she looked up. Angela was standing several feet away, watching her with growing impatience.
“What?” Angela echoed.
“Did you just touch me?” Yet even as she asked, Lucy knew it hadn’t been Angela. Somehow, in that precise moment, she knew it was the girl who’d come to her aid in the bathroom. That’s impossible … how could I know that?
“What are you talking about?” Angela frowned.
Immediately Lucy stood on tiptoes, anxiously scanning the corridor. It was packed with students eager to start the weekend, but none of them seemed to be paying any attention to her.
This is just crazy.
“Someone touched my arm,” Lucy insisted. Puzzled, she turned to Angela, who was now making an exaggerated show of checking her watch.
“You think?” Angela threw back at her. “I mean, there’re only about a million people around here bumping into each other.”
“No, but …”
“But what?”
“This was different. It wasn’t an accident. She …”
“She, who? She, what?”
She wanted me to know. The realization came to Lucy with warm, calm clarity. She did it on purpose because she wanted me to know she was here, that she was real, that I didn’t imagine her—
“You’re not gonna have another fit, are you?” Angela was regarding her warily. “Because if you are, I’m leaving.”
“No,” Lucy murmured, taking one last puzzled look around. “No … I’m ready.”
“Then let’s go.”
For once, Lucy didn’t mind Angela’s music blaring—in fact, she hardly even noticed it at all. While her cousin sang loudly off-key all the way home, Lucy leaned her head against the window and tried to sort out all the troubling events of the day. Explanations? None. Logic? None. Worry factor? Definitely rising. And Byron …
She could still see those dark, dark eyes searching hers … hear the edge in that low, deep voice … feel those strong hands on her shoulders. It was his ominous warning that had finally convinced her not to report the dead girl … at least not yet. She’d been frightened of him, still was frightened of him—only now that fear was tempered with an almost fascinated curiosity. He had answers—she was sure of it—but answers to things she wasn’t sure she wanted to pursue. As the car pulled into the driveway, Lucy wished she could ask her cousin more about Byron—but she didn’t dare. Her life was complicated enough already without having Angela any more involved.
The house was empty when they went in. As Lucy shut herself in her room, she thought she heard Angela scrolling through the messages on the answering machine … thought there might be one from Irene, though she couldn’t make it out. She stood for a moment with her back against the door, eyes closed, weary relief flooding through her body.
And then her eyes opened with a start.
What’s that smell?
A very faint fragrance … and pleasantly sweet … yet nothing she recognized, nothing she could recall ever having smelled before …
Frowning, Lucy dropped her stuff on the desk and walked to the sliding glass doors. She opened them all the way, letting in crisp fall air, then she stepped out onto the balcony and stared off across the lengthening shadows over the lawn.
The woods still looked menacing, even in the last few hours of daylight. A slight breeze was blowing, and as Lucy gazed into the trees’ shifting patterns of darkness and fading autumn colors, a shiver crept slowly up her spine.
That feeling again …
That feeling of being watched …
“Bad habit,” Lucy muttered. “Get over it, for crying out loud.”
Irritated with herself, she turned back into the room.
She took a few steps, then stopped abruptly by the bed.
That’s strange …
Despite the fresh air blowing in, she could still smell that aroma … delicate … sweet … and … something else …
Lucy tilted her head. Breathed deeply and long.
The fragrance flowed down easy … soft and smooth as wine … velvet in her veins …
Intoxicating.
Yes … that’s it. Intoxicating.
Light-headed, Lucy reached out a hand toward her bed. She sat down unsteadily, then lay back and closed her eyes.
The scent floated from the covers.
Like an exotic perfume, it rose up around her, enveloped her from every side—sheets, blankets, pillows, comforter—even her nightclothes, which she’d carelessly tossed across the headboard that morning in her hurry to dress. It seeped into the pores of her skin, and brushed softly across her eyelids, and tingled along the fingertips of her right hand …
And that’s when Lucy realized.
That’s when it hit her full force that someone had been in here today.
In her room …
And in her bed.
11
“Lucy! What the hell are you doing?”
Lucy could hear Angela shouting at her from the bathroom doorway, but she didn’t care. She didn’t care, and she didn’t stop—she kept right on stripping the linens from her bed.
“Lucy! Did you hear me? You know we have a cleaning lady who does that!”
“I don’t care about the cleaning lady—I don’t
want to wait for the cleaning lady. I want these off now. I want them washed. I want clean sheets. I want a new bedspread. I want—”
“Have you totally lost your mind?” Angela yelled. “Florence was here today! Everything already is clean!”
Lucy froze. She stood there like a statue, then very slowly turned around.
“Today?” she murmured. “You mean … the cleaning lady—”
“Florence, yes, our cleaning lady. She always comes on Fridays—”
“That’s not true. My room’s different. Someone was in my room.”
“You’ve hardly come out of your room since the first day you got here,” Angela reminded her sharply. “Irene told Florence not to go in there till you felt better. So today she cleaned it.”
No … that’s not right.
Lucy stared at her cousin with a puzzled frown. Of course it made perfect sense … of course it must be true …
“There’s … a smell,” she finished lamely.
Angela came farther into the room and sniffed.
“Well, yeah—probably air freshener. Or furniture polish. Or stuff she puts in the carpet. Florence always sprays everything around here. Especially when we’ve been sick or something.”
No! That’s not right!
“You are so weird.” Angela glowered at her. “Didn’t anybody ever use air freshener where you came from?”
Lucy didn’t answer. She sank down on to the foot of the bed and gazed in bewilderment at the sheets and blankets piled around her on the floor.
“Put on something warm,” Angela said then. “We’re going to the Festival.”
“What?” Lucy looked up just in time to see her cousin disappear into the bathroom. “We’re doing … what?”
“Going to the Festival!” Angela’s voice hollered back to her. “It’s Friday night—I can’t stand to be here one more second!”
“But you’re not supposed—” Lucy began, then stopped. Not a good idea to let Angela know she’d eavesdropped this morning, that she’d heard Irene grounding the girl. But not a good idea either, aiding and abetting a criminal …
Your choice. Get out or stay in this creepy room.
She heard the shower running, so she went over and shut the door. Then she crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back against the wall, studying her bed as though it were some unwelcome alien dropped in her midst.
It Begins Page 6