Now she was the one to repeat words that meant nothing to her. “Who will I have if I have you?”
“Nicoletta,” he said. “What if you have me … as a thing?”
She did not want to think about that.
“You screamed the first time I touched you. Because I am part of the cave. It’s in me now. I don’t even know why I came here, I could get caught in my other shape. There’s no way out of my other being, Nicoletta.” His sentences, normally so hard to come by, tumbled and fell on top of each other, like hunters in caves. “You told me yourself what your friend Christo wanted to do to me. Shoot me. Or exhibit me.”
“Well, I won’t let him.”
“How many times do you plan to step in front of trucks?”
After the fact, Nicoletta was aware of what she had done. She certainly did not want death. That was what this was all about! She wanted life, and she wanted it for both of them. Life and love, hope and joy. No. She did not plan to step in front of any more trucks. “Jethro, there has to be a way out for us.”
His eyes looked into a deep distance she could not follow. Did not want to follow. Did not want to think about. “Think of rescue,” she said urgently. “We have to work on this, Jethro.” She gripped him with both her hands. “What’s the point of love if we can’t be together?”
His chest rose and fell. She wanted his shirt off, so she could touch his skin and rest her cheek against that beating heart.
His lips moved silently, but she could not read the words. Was he repeating that lovely word rescue? Was he imagining that it really could be done? That there really was a way out?
He said, “Love always has a point. Even if it stays within. Or is hidden. Or is helpless.”
Nicoletta was angry with him. That was stupid. Who would want a helpless love? Who would want a hidden love?
“Okay,” she said, “if you don’t want to try anything drastic, what we’ll do is tell my parents. We’ll explain. They’re wonderful people. We’ll—“
“And think of what could go wrong,” he interrupted. “What if your father fell into the cave? Or your mother? Or your little sister? To be lost forever instead?”
She wanted to joke. My little sister wouldn’t be such a loss. But he knew nothing of jokes. “You don’t even want to try dynamite?” she said.
“How would you get it?”
“My father bought some to blow up stumps in the backyard. But he never got around to it. It’s just there in the garage.”
He shook his head. The silence she had first found fascinating annoyed Nicoletta now. “We have to work out a strategy!” she said sharply. “We need to make plans.”
But he said nothing, keeping his thoughts. Her hospital room darkened, more infected by his bleak hopelessness than her eager love.
A nurse bustled into the room. She was the sort of woman who called her patients “we.” “How are we feeling, dear?” she said, thrusting a thermometer into Nicoletta’s mouth so that answers were not possible. “Let’s take our blood pressure,” she said. She pumped the cuff up so tightly on Nicoletta’s arm that Nicoletta had to hold her breath to keep from crying. She did not want to be a sissy in front of Jethro. She stayed in control by trying to read her blood pressure upside down, watching the mercury bounce on the tiny dial. She failed. “What is it?” she asked the nurse.
“Fine,” said the nurse. “Keep the thermometer in your mouth.”
“But what were the numbers?” mumbled Nicoletta. She hated medical people who kept your own bodily facts to themselves.
Reluctantly, as if answering might start a riot, the nurse said, “One-ten over seventy.”
Nicoletta, who had studied blood pressure in biology last year, was delighted. “I’m in great health then,” she said happily. The thermometer fell out of her mouth and onto the sheets. The nurse picked it up grumpily. Then she placed two cool fingers on Nicoletta’s wrist.
Nicoletta looked at Jethro to share amusement at an old-fashioned nurse. Jethro was not there. A thing, a dark and dripping thing, like a statue leaking its own stone, was propped against the wall. Crusted as if with old pus, it could have been a corpse left to dry.
A scream rose in Nicoletta’s throat. Horror as deep as the cave possessed her. He had changed right there, right in this room. In public, in front of people, he had become a monster. She could not look at him, she could not bear it that beautiful Jethro had turned into this.
“My goodness!” exclaimed the nurse. “Your pulse just skyrocketed. Whatever are you thinking about?”
I cannot scream, she thought. People will come. The nurse just has to leave quietly with her little chart and her little cart. I cannot scream.
She screamed.
The nurse followed Nicoletta’s eyes and saw a monster.
In the split second before the nurse, too, screamed in horror, Nicoletta saw Jethro’s eyes hidden beneath the oozing grit of his curse. Shame and hurt filled his eyes like tears. Fear followed, swallowing any other emotions.
Jethro was terrified.
Oh, Jethro! she thought. Your life isn’t a life, it’s a nightmare. Your body isn’t a body, it’s a trap.
Jethro vanished from the room before the nurse could finish reacting. Nicoletta heard his steps, lugging himself out of the room, down the hall, trying to escape.
There was nothing left of him there but a gritty handprint on a pastel wall.
The nurse was made of stronger stuff than Nicoletta had thought. She caught her scream and ran out of the room after Jethro, shouting for security.
No, thought Nicoletta, let him get away! Please let him get away!
She needed to run interference, needed to make excuses, think up lies, anything! Her leg lay on the mattress, heavy and white and unmoving. She literally could not get off the bed.
“Okay, okay,” said a grumpy voice in the hallway outside Nicoletta’s door, “We’ve phoned for security. Somebody will be up in a few minutes. Now what was the intruder doing?”
There was a pause. Nicoletta recognized it. The nurse had no idea what to say without sounding ridiculous or hysterical. “He was—he was just standing there,” said the nurse lamely.
“What did he look like?” said the grumpy voice. “Race? Age?”
The nurse said nothing for a moment. Then she said, “I’m not sure. Ask the patient.”
She’s sure, thought Nicoletta. She knows what she saw. She saw a monster. But she can’t say that. The words won’t come out of her mouth.
Security never came in to ask Nicoletta anything. An aide, not the nurse, arrived later to finish charting Nicoletta’s vital signs. Nicoletta said nothing about an intruder. The aide said nothing.
She thought of Jethro’s journey home. How would he get there?
How could she ever refer to that cave as home?
Home. She knew now that a house was only a house; the building on Fairest Lane was a place to buy and sell, to decorate, and to leave. But a home is a place in which to be cherished. A home is love and parents, shelter and protection, laughter and chores, shared meals and jokes.
Home.
He had none.
And how with that curse upon him, could she bring him home? Find safety for him? Find release?
Her parents and Jamie burst into the room, loaded down with Nicoletta’s schoolbooks and homework, a potted flower, a silly T-shirt from the hospital gift shop, and a balloon bouquet. The balloons rushed to the ceiling, dotting it purple and silver and scarlet and gold.
She wondered if Jethro had even seen a balloon bouquet. Or ever would.
“I’m so glad to see you!” cried Nicoletta. “Oh, Mommy! Daddy! Jamie!”
“You’re even glad to see me?” said Jamie. “You are sick!”
“Darling,” said her mother, hugging. “You look like you’ve had a good long nap. Feeling better?”
“Lots.”
“You come home tomorrow,” said her father. He looked worn and worried. He touched her cheek, as if to reassure
himself that this was Nicoletta, his baby girl, his darling daughter.
“Tomorrow? I just got here.” She thought of a father, years and years go, who left a son inside the earth and never looked back.
“Isn’t it wonderful?” agreed her father. “Then just another day of rest at home and you’re on crutches and back in school. Orthopedic decisions are very different from when I broke a leg. When I broke my leg skiing, back in the dark ages, why, I was in the hospital for ten days.”
They talked about the dark ages: her parents’ childhoods, in which there had been no fast food, no video games, no answering machines, and no instant replays.
Nicoletta thought of Jethro, for whom all ages were dark.
I know what I could do, she thought. I could do what Jethro did for his father. I could offer myself to the spirits of the cave. I could exchange myself for him.
How romantic that would be!
Greatness of heart would be required. She would step down and he would step up. She would take the dark and he could have the light.
Jethro would have his fair share of laughter and love; he would smile in the sun, with no fear of turning to horror and stone. He would have his chances, at last, for life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. The dark ages would end for him.
And she, Nicoletta … she … would inherit the dark ages.
Dark. Forever and ever, world without end.
Dark and all that dark meant. Unknown. Unseen. Things that crawled and bit and flew and slithered. Things that crept up legs and settled in hair. Things that screamed and moaned and wept in the entrapment of their souls.
Could she really do that? Was she, Nicoletta, strong enough to accept darkness and terror, fear and slime—forever?
But it would not be forever, of course. He would come back for her. He would—
He would not.
He would not even remember. He would abandon her. Everybody would abandon her.
She thought of the Madrigals. How quickly they had abandoned her for Anne-Louise. She thought of Ms. Quincy, who had praised her voice for so long, only to abandon her the instant she heard a better one. It would all be like that, she thought. My entire life. Except my life would not have a span. It would not end. There would be no way out. It would be eternal.
Oh, Jethro! Jethro!
I don’t want you caught in your dark ages. I want you here on earth with me.
“Sweetie, don’t cry,” said her mother. “It isn’t that bad of a break. All will be well. I promise.”
She rested on her mother’s promise.
She thought of Jethro going back, and down, and in. To become part of the walls and the fall and the blackness, to live among the spirits he would not describe because they were too awful for her to hear about.
“Don’t cry,” said her mother, rocking. “All will be well.”
Chapter 18
“A SNOW PICNIC?” REPEATED Nicoletta.
“Yes!” said Anne-Louise. “It was my idea. And you’ll be our mascot!”
Your mascot? thought Nicoletta. I get it. You’re the soprano, Anne-Louise. I’m the puppy. The rag doll. The mascot. Drop dead, Anne-Louise, just drop dead.
Christo said, “I’m driving!”
Rachel said, “I packed the sandwiches.”
Cathy said, “But I made them, so don’t be afraid of food poisoning, Nickie.”
Nicoletta had to laugh. She got her crutches. Christo’s van was not large enough for so many Madrigals, but if they really squished and squashed, they could fit in a very uncomfortable but delightful way. The three leftovers followed in a leftover car. Nicoletta felt sorry for them, trailing behind.
Her white packed leg with its scrawls of Madrigal names stuck out in front of her, between the two bucket seats.
Christo said, “We’re going to that meadow you showed me, Nick. I thought I might climb the cliff.”
Anne-Louise gave a little shriek of fright. “Christo! You might fall!”
Christo smiled arrogantly. Falling happened to other climbers. Not to Christo.
“It’ll be icy,” warned Anne-Louise. She patted Christo’s knee excitedly.
Nicoletta definitely knew who had a crush on whom. Well, it was useful in a way. Christo would be deflected. It would free Nicoletta up for Jethro.
“Okay, Nickie,” said Rachel. “The time has come. What is this crazy story Christo keeps telling us about rock people?” The packed singers burst into laughter and the whole van shook.
Christo just grinned. “You’ll stop laughing when I catch it,” he said.
“Actually,” Anne-Louise said, turning to speak clearly, and be sure everybody knew that she knew first, “Christo brought his gun. He’s not going to climb. He’s going to hunt.”
“I’m against hunting,” said Rachel.
“I usually am, too,” said Cathy, “but this is a rock he’s after. The worst that can happen, I figure, is there’ll be two rocks after he shoots at it.”
Nicoletta’s brain felt as solid as the cast on her leg. She had plaster in her skull. What was happening? The cave and Jethro were becoming public territory. There were no taboos, there was no fear, there was no stopping them now. Even Cathy was laughing about hunting. It occurred to Nicoletta that she could not pretend Jethro was against hunting.
In fact, he and his companions in the cave were the most vicious hunters of all. For they hunted the hunters.
“I want a souvenir,” said Anne-Louise, in a little girl singsong voice.
Nicoletta hated her. She hated the flirting, the silliness, the fakery. She hated every single thing about Anne-Louise. Drop dead, she thought. Out loud she said, “It won’t be any fun picnicking there, Christo. Let’s go to the state park or the town lake.”
“Forget it,” said Cathy. “He’s told us and told us about this place, how romantic and weird it is, what strange things we’ll see. We’re on. This is it, Nickie.”
They turned into the lane that said DEAD END.
They drove past the few houses and the high, winter-tired hedges.
They drove right up the dirt road and came to stop where the ruts were too deep for a suburban van. “How will we ever get through all this snow?” cried Anne-Louise, pretending fear. “How will we ever find our way in those woods?”
“Not to worry,” said Christo, comforting her. He was completely sucked in by her acting.
Nobody except Nicoletta seemed bothered by Anne-Louise. The altos, tenors, and basses piled out, the leftover car with its leftover people caught up, the boys hoisted the coolers and then they were faced with the problem of Nicoletta’s cast and crutches.
“See?” said Nicoletta. “I really think the town lake would be a good idea. That way you can prop me up on a bench right near where we park, and we’ll still have a good view, and yet we—“
“Nickie,” said Rachel, “hush. The boys are going to carry you. This is the most romantic moment of your life, so enjoy it.”
Christo and Jeff made a carrying seat of their linked arms and David helped her sit. With David holding her cast at the ankle as if she were a ladder he was lugging, Christo and Jeff carried her.
They went past the boulder.
Straight as folded paper, the path led them through the snow-crusted meadow. Weeds from last summer poked out of last week’s snow, brown and dried and somehow evil. The weeds tilted, watching the trespassers.
The two lakes were free of ice. They lay waiting. Tiny waves lapped the two shores like hungry tongues.
“Ooooh, it’s so pretty!” squealed Anne-Louise.
The sound of their crunching feet was like an army. Jethro was surely hidden safely away; he would have heard them coming.
I couldn’t stop them! Nicoletta thought at Jethro. It isn’t my fault! I wouldn’t have come, but I have to keep an eye on them.
The air was silent and the cave was invisible. They stopped walking. Only Anne-Louise found the place pretty. Rachel swallowed and wet her lips. “The water looks dangerous,�
�� she whispered. “It looks—as if it wants one of us.”
Nobody argued.
Nobody said she was being silly.
Nobody tried to walk between the two lakes, either.
The boys set Nicoletta down. They set the big cooler down, too, and Nicoletta used it for a chair.
Ice had melted on the side of the cliff, and then frozen again. It hung in thin, vicious spikes from its crags and outcroppings. There was no color. The stone was dark and threatening. The day was grim and silent.
Christo’s voice came out slightly higher than it should have. “I’m walking between the two lakes,” he said, as if somebody had accused him of not doing it. “The cave is over there. When the thing came out and attacked Nicoletta, it came out of there.”
“Nothing attacked me,” said Nicoletta.
“It touched you,” said Christo.
“There was nothing here,” said Nicoletta.
“I believe you, Christo!” sang Anne-Louise. “I know there was something here. I’ll go with you, Christo!”
Anne-Louise and Christo walked carefully as if they were on a balance beam. The water reached up to catch their ankles. A moment passed before Rachel and Cathy and David and Jeff walked after them. Did they not see the cliff snarl? Did they not see the hunger of the cave, how it licked its lips with wanting them?
“There is a cave!” cried Rachel. “Oh, Christo, you were right! Oh my heavens! Look inside. It’s beautiful!”
No, thought Nicoletta. No, Rachel, it’s not beautiful. Don’t go in, don’t go in.
But now her tongue was also plaster and did not move, but filled her mouth and prevented her speech.
No one went in.
A cave gives pause. Even with walls shining like jewels, the dark depths are frightening and the unknown beyond the light should remain unknown.
The Madrigals posed at the entrance, as if waiting for their cue to sing, needing costumes, or a director to bring them in.
“Anne-Louise,” said a voice, “you go first.”
Chapter 19
THE SCREAMS OF ANNE-LOUISE were etched in the air, like diamond initials on glass. Indeed, glass seemed to separate the safe from the fallen.
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