“I don’t know, honey,” Jazmin said. “Can you get me a washcloth?”
Riley shuffled in, giving me and the toilet a wide berth as she grabbed a clean towel from the rack and offered it to Jazmin.
“Run it under the faucet first.”
Riley obeyed then handed the towel to Jazmin, stretching her arm out to the fullest length in order to stay far away from me. Jazmin pressed the cool damp towel to my forehead, coaxing me away from the toilet. I slumped over, utterly spent.
“Are you done?” Jazmin asked. She let me lean into her as she wiped off my face. “Is that all?”
I nodded. My stomach stopped roiling once that crap was out of my system. Jazmin flushed the toilet, and the black sludge whirled around the bowl before disappearing down the drain. I looked away from it, pressing my sweaty face against Jazmin’s neck. Riley edged gradually out of the room.
“I’m gonna go,” she said. “I’m in the way. Jazmin, you got this?”
Jazmin cradled my head. “Where are you going?”
“To ski,” Riley replied.
“Right now?” Jazmin asked. “You’ve been gone for two days straight. Aren’t you sick of the cold?”
“No.”
“I’d appreciate it if you could stick around,” Jazmin said. “I could use your help getting Lucia to the clinic.”
Riley shuffled from one foot to the other. “I don’t see how I’m supposed to help.”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah, seriously,” Riley said. “I’m sure if you call the front desk, they’ll send someone up to look at Lucia. You don’t need me. I’ll see you later.”
Just like that, she stepped out, leaving Jazmin to look after me on the floor of the bathroom. Thankfully, Jazmin was a little hard wearing around vomit than Riley was. This wasn’t the first time she’d had to clean up after me, but it was usually too much wine that was the culprit. I’d only had one glass of Nick’s expensive pinot noir last night. Jazmin picked me up from the floor and transferred me to the edge of the tub. She ran the water.
“Can you get in on your own?” she asked. “I’m going to call the front desk to see if someone can come up and look at you.”
“I don’t want to see anyone,” I mumbled, slipping my feet into the water. It was cold, soothing my overheated skin. “Don’t call anyone.”
“Lucia, I’ve never seen anyone throw up the kind of crap that you just did,” Jazmin said. “It was black. You could have internal bleeding or something. I’m not going to let you wait this out. God, what’s the number for the front desk?”
“One.”
“Oh.”
She dialed, turning her back to me as I slid into the sudsy bathwater. “Yes, hello? I’m with Lucia Star in the suite on the top floor. We’re staying under Nick Porter’s name. Can you send up a member of the medical staff? I think there’s something wrong with my friend. Okay, great. Thank you.” She hung up. “Okay, they’ll be here in five minutes, so wash yourself off and put a robe on or something. Lucia?”
I had nodded off. “Huh?”
“You’re not going to slip into the tub and drown, are you?”
“No.”
She disappeared for a second then returned with a chair, which she placed by the door and sat down in. “Just in case.”
After Jazmin had tracked down a maid to change the sheets on my bed, she tucked me in and answered the door for the nurse from the clinic. The woman who responded to Jazmin’s call was about the same age as my mother, but she wore the classic White Oak polo shirt and khaki pants. She set a medical bag on the bed and sat down as Jazmin watched nervously over her shoulder.
“Good morning, Miss Star. I’m Brenda,” she said. “I heard you were sick this morning? Can you tell me what happened?”
“Threw up,” I muttered, sinking beneath the sheets in an attempt to hide. No matter how motherly and caring Brenda was, I didn’t want her, or anyone, to see me like this.
“It was black,” Jazmin added.
Brenda pressed the cold tip of a digital thermometer to my forehead and drew it to the other side. It beeped, and she checked the reading. “She has a fever. Do you know what she ate last night?”
“She went to Porter’s with Nick.”
“Mr. Porter?”
“Yes,” Jazmin said. “She went to Porter’s with Mr. Porter.”
“Hmm,” said Brenda, putting away the thermometer and drawing out a sleeve to test my blood pressure.
“What?” Jazmin asked.
Brenda wrapped the sleeve around my arm and pressed the stethoscope to the inside of my elbow. “Well, my first guess would be food poisoning, but I highly doubt she could’ve gotten food poisoning from Porter’s.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s Porter’s,” Brenda said. “No one has ever gotten sick from the food there. The quality control is unparalleled.”
“Then what’s wrong with her?” Jazmin asked.
“She probably just caught a bug or something,” Brenda said, packing up her things. “It happens. I’d steer clear of her as much as possible until it passes. Wash your hands. Stomach viruses can be highly contagious.”
Jazmin stopped her from leaving. “That’s it? That’s your diagnosis? You didn’t do anything.”
Brenda didn’t take offense. “I’m afraid there isn’t much to do other than keep her hydrated and let the virus run its course. She’ll be back to normal in a couple of days.”
Already, the nausea was wearing off. I scooted up to sit higher against the pillows, feeling stronger. “I feel a little better actually.”
“Good,” Brenda said. “Hopefully, most of it has already worked its way out of your system. I’ll have room service bring up an electrolyte drink and something plain for you to eat. In the meantime, take it easy. Okay?”
“Thanks, Brenda,” I said.
She smiled as she exited. “No problem. Let me know if it gets worse, even if it’s just a little bit. The roads are still pretty bad, and there are a lot of emergency calls going out right now. It could take a while before we could get you to a hospital.”
“That won’t be necessary,” I said.
“We’ll definitely get in contact with you,” Jazmin said. “I’d like you to check in on her again tomorrow.”
“Jazmin—” I said.
“Hush, you,” she commanded. “Thanks for your time, Brenda.”
“Of course. The two of you have a nice day. Get some rest, Miss Star.” She waved over her shoulder. “I’ll let Mr. Porter know about your health. I’m sure he’ll want to check in on you too.”
She left the suite. Jazmin crossed her arms and glared at me from across the room.
“I’m not buying it,” she said.
“What?”
“You’ve been weird ever since we left King and Queens,” she said. “All of sudden you’re throwing up black bile. There’s no way this is just a stomach bug. Does this have anything to do with—?”
“With what?” I challenged.
“You know. The psychic stuff.”
I brushed my damp hair away from my face. “I don’t know. I feel awful. Can you just let me sleep it off?”
She began backing out of the room. “Okay, fine. I’ll leave you alone. But if you need anything at all, don’t get out of bed. Let me know, and I’ll get it for you.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
I was afraid to go back to sleep. The nightmare was too fresh in my head. The most confusing thing about it was that I most certainly had not been Lucia Star. In those few minutes, I was someone else entirely, a child around the age of nine or ten who grew up around the King and Queens resort. It didn’t make any sense. I wasn’t a Watson. Whose head was I in? I had seen that demon before in real life—in the hidden basement at King and Queens. That was the most terrifying part of the nightmare, the reason I’d ripped myself out of unconsciousness. If that thing followed me to White Oak, I was doomed for sure.
An hour or so after Jazmin
had retired to her own room, someone knocked lightly on my door and Riley popped her head in.
“Can I come in?” she asked quietly.
“Sure,” I said.
She sidled in and lingered near the foot of the bed. She wasn’t flushed like she usually was after a ski session, and she also wasn’t wearing any of her gear.
“I thought you went skiing,” I said.
“I was going to,” she replied, perching on the edge of the bed like a parrot on a drunk pirate’s shoulder. “But I couldn’t stop thinking about what happened this morning. I’ve never seen you like that.”
I chuckled. “You didn’t know me before I dropped out of college.”
“This was different. Didn’t you feel it?”
I propped myself up against the pillows, sensing that Riley wanted to tell me something. It was the first time she’d spoken to me in days without sounding like a petty teenager who spited her mother.
“What do you mean?” I asked. “Did you feel something? Are you okay?”
She stuck her pinky finger through the loop of a loose thread in the comforter and began to work it free. “Ever since we left King and Queens, I’ve been feeling really weird. Weak, you know?”
“But you’ve been out on the slopes almost every day.”
“Yeah, I can ski still,” Riley said. “But I mean my head is tired. Or my energy. I don’t know how to explain it.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
She pressed her lips together so tightly it looked like they might crack.
I sighed and kicked the blankets off my legs. I was starting to overheat again, and that was the last thing I needed while I was running a fever. “Listen, Riley. I know you haven’t trusted me ever since you heard what Stella said about my father, and that’s completely valid.”
She twirled the thread of the duvet round and round, concentrating on the purple embroidery rather than our conversation.
“I want you to know that there’s more to the story,” I continued. “I was a kid. It was a difficult situation, but I didn’t—I couldn’t—”
I trailed off with a frustrated groan and buried my head in my palms. Though my nausea had subsided, the throbbing headache remained, but every time I closed my eyes, the demon from my nightmare made its way into my head.
“You didn’t what?” Riley asked quietly.
If Stella was here, she’d probably tell me to stop being a wimp and come clean to Riley about what happened all those years ago with my father, but I couldn’t do it. Riley used to have such a high opinion of me. She used to trust me and confide in me. I couldn’t help but feel like she didn’t anymore. In addition, it didn’t feel like she ever would again, but telling her the truth about my past would only make it worse.
“I don’t want to talk about it, okay?” I said. “Maybe one day, I’ll tell you the whole story, but I can’t right now. It’s too much. But just keep in mind that it’s not quite what it sounds like. You’re safe with me. I’m here to protect you.”
She finally yanked the thread out of the duvet and flicked it onto the floor. The end of the seam threatened to unravel. “I know that.”
“Good,” I said. “Now that’s out of the way. Do you think we’re having the same issue? Headaches, nausea, general fatigue. The medical staffer said it was probably a stomach virus. Highly contagious too. Maybe you caught it from me and it hasn’t ramped up yet.”
“No, it’s not like that,” Riley said. “And if it were so contagious, Jazmin would have it too. That stuff spreads like wildfire. Half the resort would be barfing.”
“So you think it’s just us?”
She nodded. “I don’t think we’re out of the woods yet. You’re still seeing Stella and we both feel like crap. It can’t be a coincidence. It feels like someone or something is draining my energy.”
“Me too,” I agreed. “Like something’s feeding on me.”
“What could it be?”
The demon from the basement flashed in front of my eyes again.
“I don’t know,” I said. “But we’ll figure it out together.”
In the afternoon, I felt decent enough to get out of bed, and since the boredom of lying around was starting to get to me, I got dressed and ready to head downstairs. Riley had left to ski again. She said it helped clear her head, but I was worried that she might wear herself out if she kept it up at this pace. At the very least, we were on better terms again. She wasn’t quite as open with me as she used to be, but at least we were speaking again. I hated the idea of losing touch with Riley, lest it become a repeat of what happened between me and my mother.
That was another thing to deal with. My mother. Earlier, she’d knocked on the door to the suite, demanding that I open up, but I stayed quiet and pretended like no one was home. Sure, Stella had encouraged me to open up about my past, but it would take more than a few days to build the confidence to do so. Besides, I deserved some time to collect myself. Not only did the ordeal at King and Queens wipe me out, but this illness was really taking it out of me.
Jazmin wasn’t around either despite her promise to watch over me for the rest of the day. I couldn’t remember hearing her leave the suite. I tried calling her cell, but when the call went straight to voicemail, I began to worry. Jazmin always answered her phone. She was practically glued to the damn thing. If she didn’t pick up, it usually meant something was wrong.
I pulled on an oversized sweater to keep the chill out and left the room. The top floor was quiet, but when the elevator took me down to the first floor, the lobby was far from silent. It was another perfect day at White Oak. Excited guests hurried to and fro, getting ready to ski or make use of the resort’s additional facilities. I scanned the lobby for Jazmin, but she was nowhere to be found. Where would my best friend go in the middle of the afternoon? My gut said she’d want coffee and a scone. That meant the Slopes Café at the bottom of the mountain. I hovered by the front door, shivering every time someone came in or went out. It hadn’t snowed since the storm, and the ice on the ground had been crushed into dirty, half-melted slush. I had no desire to walk through the cold to the café, but letting Jazmin out of my sight for too long felt like a mistake. With a deep breath, I joined a crowd of skiers and took the plunge.
The afternoon sun warmed my pink cheeks, but it wasn’t enough to take the chill out of the air. The wind bit at my skin right through my sweater, so I hurried down to Slopes as quickly as I could without slipping in the ice. The café was a little slower today. It was the middle of the week, and a lot of guests had finished up their vacations and gone back to work. I liked the sleepy version of White Oak better than the busy version. It was more relaxed and laid back, and Slopes was warm at least. At first glance, I didn’t spot Jazmin at any of the tables. To ease my aching head, I ordered a spearmint tea and waited at the counter for the barista to brew it. When I accepted the steaming cup and turned toward the door, I finally spotted Jazmin’s bright copper hair. She sat at a table in the dimmest corner of the café, farthest from the window, deep in conversation with none other than the rude journalist, Lourdes Calvo.
The mug of tea threatened to spill as I strolled over to their table. Jazmin’s eyes widened in panic when she saw me, and she hurriedly leaned away from Lourdes as if to make it look like they hadn’t been immersed in dialogue with each other this whole time. Lourdes, on the other hand, didn’t bother to hide her agitation at the interruption
“Lucia,” Jazmin said. “Why aren’t you upstairs? You should be in bed. You’re going to make yourself worse.”
“What the hell is going on here?” I demanded.
Lourdes hooked an elbow over the back of her chair and assumed a lazy posture that opened up the front of her body, like she wanted me to take a swing at her. “Relax, Lucia. We ran into each other in the lobby and decided to talk. That’s all.”
“Oh, that’s all?” I said. “Journalists never just talk. They record everything. Jazmin, what are you doing? I thought you were
on my side.”
Jazmin tried to take my hand. “I’m always on your side.”
“Then explain to me what you’re doing down here with the cub reporter,” I said, jerking my thumb at Lourdes. “Last time we met her, you were pretty adamant about laying low.”
“It’s just coffee,” Jazmin insisted. “We’re not planning anything.”
Beneath the table, Lourdes nudged her overstuffed bag—most likely full of camera, laptop, and other journalistic equipment—into the shadows. The movement was discreet, but I still noticed it. She was definitely up to something.
“If it’s just coffee, what were you talking about?” I challenged.
“You know, you sound like a jealous girlfriend,” Lourdes commented airily. “Is Jazmin allowed to have her own life or are you constantly dogging her like this?”
“Lourdes, don’t,” Jazmin warned. “She’s had a rough couple of weeks.”
“A couple of weeks that I’d like to know all about,” Lourdes said as she fixed me with a penetrating stare. “What’s wrong, Madame Lucia? Ghosts got you down?”
My hands curled into fists. “You’re a real piece of work, aren’t you? The best journalists don’t make adversaries out of their stories. Shouldn’t you be trying to buddy up to me? Getting me to trust you so I’ll tell you everything?”
“That’s not really my style,” she said. “But you’re not a journalist, so you really wouldn’t know the best way to get a clean story, would you? Unfortunately, the stories you embellish for your YouTube channel don’t exactly count.”
“It’s performance art,” I growled. “It’s not meant to be factual.”
“But what happened at King and Queens was fact, was it not?” Lourdes probed. “Jazmin told me you were sick. Did something happen to your psychic energy?”
Jazmin sheepishly diverted her gaze from mine.
“You told her?” I asked quietly. “Jazmin, what is going on with you? Why are you talking to some random college student about me? This stuff is none of her business or anyone else’s.”
“You talked to Nick,” she pointed out.
“I didn’t tell him about any of this,” I said. “And the only reason I went to Porter’s with him was because we need to keep him in the loop if we’re going to work all of this out. Riley might very well end up in some stranger’s home if we don’t play our cards correctly. Nick has an influence on these people. He can help us take her home.”
The Haunting of Riley Watson Page 46