Everything went into slow motion.
I had just enough time to scream before the wave smashed into me, knocking me down. For a second, I had that feeling you get at the beach when a big wave unexpectedly pulls you under, and you can’t tell which way is up.
Reed came racing out of Jonathan’s office and down the stairs.
“Willa!” he cried. “What happened? Did you fall? Why are you wet?”
I couldn’t speak. I looked around and saw that, aside from me — as wet as a drowned rat — and the wet patch of rug I had landed on, the foyer looked completely ordinary.
“Um,” I said, as he reached down to help me up, “it’s kind of hard to explain.”
He watched me patiently, and I realized that the way I’d phrased that implied I was still going to try to explain. Which I wasn’t.
Time to retreat.
“I have some stuff going on right now,” I said, looking up at him, trying to make my face apologetic. “My life has a lot of different … aspects. I don’t quite know how to say it, actually. It’s probably better if I don’t.”
“Yeah,” he said. His shoulders drooped slightly. “I know what you’re trying to say.”
“You do?” I asked.
He nodded, then reached out and took my hand. “What happened between us … now’s not the right time. Maybe in a year or two. But there are too many factors in play at the moment.”
He thought I was breaking things off between us? Or was he breaking things off with me? I expected to feel a pang of heartache, but I felt strangely okay. Maybe the fact that a ghost had just sent a tidal wave of water over me distracted me from the memory of Reed’s kiss.
Reed frowned. “But that doesn’t explain why you’re wet. Or why you screamed.”
Well, now that I didn’t have to worry about impressing him, I was free to come up with an explanation that made me sound like a lunatic.
“I fell in the fountain,” I said.
His eyebrows went up.
“And then I screamed because … sometimes it feels good to scream, you know? I didn’t know you were here. Sorry if I alarmed you.”
My words probably confused him even more, rather than clearing things up, but he nodded slowly.
“Do you need a towel?” he asked.
“Nah,” I said. “I’ll go change.”
I gave him the world’s awkwardest smile, took my bag from the table, and sailed up the stairs with my head held high, like this was all part of a typical Monday afternoon.
As I stood in my bathroom, combing out my wet hair, I ran back through what had just happened. I was surprised to realize that I felt not the least bit sad. In fact, I felt strangely relieved.
Was it possible that I didn’t like Reed as much as I assumed I should? Getting the attention of a guy who could easily be cast as the dashing romantic hero in a movie wasn’t the kind of thing you could throw off lightly.
And yet, here I was, throwing it off pretty lightly.
There was no explanation for my reaction.
Well, I thought, maybe there’s someone else you like more than Reed.
I spent the rest of the afternoon following obscure leads online, trying to figure out why the ghost of Diana Del Mar would feel the need to soak me (yet again), and how she could be connected to the murders – if that’s even what the visions were supposed to be telling me. But something major was missing, just like Wyatt had said. By dinnertime, I built up so much frustrated, nervous energy that I knew I had to burn some off or I’d be up all night. So after we finished eating, I changed into my swimsuit and went down to the den, where Mom was sitting on the couch reading.
“Can I go swimming?” The words were a question, but I knew the tone of my voice implied an or else situation.
“Of course,” she said. “Do you want me to sit outside with you?”
“No,” I said. “I’m good. You can spy on me through the windows if you feel the urge.”
The brilliant underwater light sharply defined the tiled floor of the pool, each tiny square casting its own little shadow. I took a good look around for dead bodies and then started to swim.
I pulled myself toward the deep end with long, powerful strokes. I thought it might feel different to be in the water, after talking to Dr. Tilliman. But it was pretty much the same as always. I suppose a rational person would consider my father’s death reason enough to stay out of pools for the rest of her life. Not to mention the last terrifying thing that had happened to me in this very pool. Further evidence of how twisted I was, I guess. I couldn’t stay away. I was drawn to the water.
Maybe it’s human nature to be drawn to the things that have hurt us the most.
I swam until I was hot and panting, so tired that I could have curled up on the tile and fallen asleep.
At least the whole thing had gone off without incident.
Until.
Until I climbed the steps and wrapped myself in a striped towel. And noticed something — no, two somethings — a pair of small puddles on the tile closest to the pool. When I angled my head, I saw them for what they really were …
Footprints.
Whoever had left them had been standing at the edge, looking out over the pool … looking at me.
The prints led away. I followed their trail and found myself standing in front of the guest cottage, where they went up the steps and across the small porch. Then they stopped.
I put my hand on the knob.
“Willa?”
I spun around to see Jonathan walking out of the house, at a pace that was a hair too fast to be casual.
“Hey, sorry,” he said, coming closer. “We never talked about the guesthouse, I guess. We don’t go in there, um … ever. The wiring’s very old and I haven’t had a chance to have somebody come and look at it yet.”
“Okay,” I said. Not like I’d really wanted to go in.
“Great. Thanks for understanding.” Then he stood with his hands on his hips for a moment, looking around.
It dawned on me after a few seconds that he wasn’t going back inside until I did, so I stepped down off the porch and walked toward the main house, with Jonathan following a couple of feet behind me.
“Sorry if I startled you,” he said. “I was doing dishes, and I saw you out the window.”
“You didn’t startle me,” I said. I turned to look over my shoulder and saw that — as some part of me had totally expected — the footprints had vanished.
“All right, well … the dishwasher calls.” He made a left into the kitchen, seeming highly relieved to get away from me.
Mom glanced up from her book as I passed the den. “What was that about?”
“Jonathan came outside because he thought I was going into the guesthouse,” I said.
“Oh.” She frowned. “Nobody goes in there.”
I nodded and started for the stairs, thinking, Somebody does.
What’s going on with you?” Marnie asked the next morning. We were sitting on the floor in front of my locker, finishing up some homework before the first bell.
“Huh?” I tore my attention from the Trig assignment and glanced over at her.
“You’ve been acting weird lately,” she said. “Distant. Like you’ve got other stuff going on.”
“Oh, no, Marnie,” I said. “I wouldn’t dream of having a life outside of our time together.”
She picked up on my sarcasm and shot me an annoyed glance. Then she glanced at my work sheet and copied the answer I’d just written onto her own paper.
“Wait a second,” I said, moving my notebook out of her view. “How long have you been cheating off me?”
She ignored the question. “Kas said you ate lunch with Wyatt yesterday.”
“Yeah? Well, I did.”
Neither of us spoke for a minute.
“Do you have a problem with that?” I asked.
“A problem? No …” she said. “I expected more from you, that’s all. I mean, I warned you about him —”
>
“Marnie,” I said, careful to keep my voice even, “I think a lot of what you said about Wyatt was lies.”
“Lies?” She laughed humorlessly. “Okay, sure.”
Not exactly a denial, was it?
I sighed and faced her squarely. I guess if we were going to do this, now was as good a time as any. “I saw the photos; I looked up the blog. You guys were clearly an actual couple.”
She didn’t get angry. She gave me a blank smile. “When did I ever say we weren’t?”
I gaped at her for a second. “At your house, after the premiere.”
She shook her head. “Hm-mm. I don’t think so. You must have misunderstood me. You can be … a little obtuse sometimes. No offense.”
“No,” I said. “I didn’t misunderstand. You said he thought you were going out and it was really awkward for you. But you guys did go out.”
“Of course we did!” she said, exasperated. “We were, like, the It Couple. Why do you think we had a blog?”
Okay. Deep breath. This was veering from uncomfortable to downright bizarre.
“And the balloons,” I said, even though I knew I should stop. “You said he came to your house with balloons, but you were the one who gave them to him.”
There was a moment when our eyes met and there was a laser connection between us, an unmistakable hyperloop of the serious, actual truth. And we both felt it.
But Marnie recovered and sat back, shaking her head. “I took a chance on you, Willa. When no one else in the entire school would talk to you, I invited you to sit with me. I introduced you to my friends. I even took you to an important Hollywood event, where you proceeded to lie to journalists about —”
“Okay, no,” I said. “Stop. Don’t even finish that sentence, please. We both know who invented Bernadette Middleton and sent that press release.”
“I thought we were friends,” she said, fixing a wide-eyed stare at me. “What are you accusing me of?”
I realized, all at once, that she actually didn’t get it. And then I realized that there was no point in continuing our conversation.
“Look,” she went on, “I realize now that you have a thing for Wyatt. Maybe you’re … I don’t know, threatened by me or something? But believe me, you’re welcome to him. He’s all yours. I’m sorry you got so many wrong ideas. I was only trying to look out for you.”
Staring at her, I felt almost nothing. No anger. No desire to make her admit her lying ways. Only a tiny hint of regret for the loss of the person I thought she had been.
Wyatt was right — Marnie was pathological. But she couldn’t be held accountable. She was a force of nature. A runaway train.
I knew I had a choice now. I could either accept it, and her, or I could spend a ton of energy agonizing over the situation. Spending tons of energy agonizing over things was pretty much my specialty, after all.
I shrugged. “All right,” I said. “Apology accepted.”
Her eyes sparkled and she shot me a brilliant, empty smile. “I knew I liked you. Hey, what do you have for number twenty-two?”
I tilted my work sheet so she could see the answer.
When the bell rang, she got to her feet. “So … I guess you’ll probably want to find somewhere else to stay this weekend.”
Oh, right. I forgot about that. “Of course,” I said, my stomach sinking at the thought of ruining my mother’s honeymoon.
“Cool.” She nodded. “I have big plans anyway. I mean, a thing I’m doing later this week. And then I might have really big news. I just might be too busy to … you know, babysit you.”
Okay, ouch. But I forced myself to ignore the barb. I knew she was being deliberately mysterious, trying to bait me into grilling her. “What kind of big news?” I asked.
“Can’t tell you. Top secret.” She pantomimed zipping her lip. “Anyway, you and Wyatt do whatever —”
“It’s not like that,” I said.
“Suuuure,” she said, in her driest voice. “You talk about him all the time and hang out with him and look up pictures of him online because you hate him so much, right?”
Her musical laugh filled the hallway.
“The world’s full of skeptics. I know — I’m one myself.” She gave me an odd smile. “Just watch out for Wyatt. He’s no gentleman, see?”
Then she walked off, leaving me speechless.
“You look different,” Wyatt said.
“Free?” I asked, setting my tray on the lunch table.
“No.” He studied me. “Annoyed.”
“It’s been an interesting morning.” I started to sit down.
“Wait, don’t get settled here,” Wyatt said, running a hand through his hair. “I have to tell you something. I was thinking we could go out to the courtyard.”
“But it’s raining,” I said.
“Even better,” he said. “More tables to choose from.”
“Why can’t we ever sit and talk like two normal people?”
He gazed at me evenly. “Because if someone hears what I’m about to say, I could go to jail.”
We ended up in a corner of the courtyard, sheltered by a slight overhang. The rain cooled the air, the clouds blocked the sun, and we sat side by side, shivering. I crossed my arms and buried my hands in my dark green Langhorn-issued cardigan, resisting the urge to huddle close to Wyatt for warmth.
“C-can you h-hurry?” I asked. “Before we f-freeze to death?”
“No one had seen Paige Pollan for four days before she was found,” Wyatt said, glancing down at his notebook for confirmation. “Her school assumed she was home sick, and her mother was in Vegas — she worked weekends as a blackjack dealer and sometimes just stayed the whole week there. She had no idea her daughter was missing. But when they found the body, the coroner estimated she’d been dead for less than twenty-four hours — not four days.”
I breathed on my hands and then tucked them inside my sleeves. “So she skipped school, hung out at home for a few days, and then killed herself?”
He shook his head. “She had a goldfish. It was dead when the police found her. People who are planning to kill themselves — I mean, people who don’t do it in a moment of passion — do it because they think the world will be better without them. They don’t let their pets die just because they feel depressed.”
I didn’t know exactly what Wyatt was hinting at, but I was pretty sure I wasn’t going to like it. “Maybe the fish died accidentally — goldfish are pretty delicate, right?”
“All that,” he said, “I could rationalize away. If it were only that. But then I found this.”
He handed me his notebook, where he’d written out a paragraph.
I’M SORRY. I HAVE BEEN VERY LONELY AND STRUGGLED WITH A LOT OF THINGS. NO ONE UNDERSTANDS THE FEELINGS I’VE HAD. NO ONE IS ON MY SIDE. IT’S LIKE I’M COMPLETELY ALONE. I REALIZE THIS IS THE COWARDLY WAY OUT BUT I CAN’T STOP MYSELF FROM BEING A COWARD. MY WHOLE LIFE IS LIKE A BAD DREAM.
THE KIND OF DREAM YOU DON’T WAKE UP FROM.
PAIGE
I read the words over and over until they swam in front of my eyes.
“It’s her suicide note,” Wyatt said, a mite unnecessarily.
The kind of dream you don’t wake up from.
Suddenly I didn’t even feel the cold. “Paige saw the script,” I said. “Somehow she knew that line.”
“It makes sense, in a way,” Wyatt said. “We know she was a fan of Diana Del Mar.”
“But that line,” I said. “What are the odds?”
“The odds of any of this happening are astronomically slim,” he said. “I don’t think we should worry about odds anymore.”
I turned to him. “You said you found that. How is that possible? I want the truth about where you get your information.”
“Right. That’s why I brought you out here.” He cleared his throat nervously. “My dad’s a crime-scene consultant for the LAPD. Sometimes I take his security pass and access evidence storage. And occasionally I look at investigatio
n information online.”
“You … what? Is that even legal?”
Wyatt sat back uncomfortably. “Not by the remotest stretch of the imagination.”
“Does your dad know about this?”
Wyatt shook his head, his lips pursed.
“How do you get in?” I asked.
He took a second to answer. “I know the guy who controls the access.”
“You know the guy who controls the access …?” I said. “Wait, do you mean you bribe the guy who controls the access?”
Wyatt sighed deeply. “He knows I’m not going to abuse the information I find. Listen, it’s not immoral — I’m not even sure it’s unethical. It’s just illegal. Don’t judge me, I don’t want to hear it.”
I shook my head, shocked. Perfect, precise, by-the-book Wyatt, breaking into the police archives and accessing information illegally.
Okay, it was pretty scandalous, but it was also kind of … audacious and cool.
Imagine that.
“That’s why you have to write everything down in your book,” I said.
He nodded. “When I go there, I leave my phone at the desk, and I can’t photocopy anything because it would show up on my dad’s records. So I copy it all out by hand.”
“Wow,” I said, trying to picture it. “And your dad has no idea?”
“None.” Now Wyatt looked extremely unhappy. “If he found out, he’d … I don’t even know what he’d do. Can we go back to talking about Paige, please?”
“Sure,” I said. “She obviously knew about the movie, right? Is it so hard to believe that she would use the line in her suicide note? If she liked Diana Del Mar enough …”
“She must have liked her a whole lot,” Wyatt said. “Diana Del Mar was found dead after taking sleeping pills and falling asleep in a full bathtub. Paige Pollan died the exact same way.”
“Like … in tribute?” I shivered, not because of the cold.
Wyatt frowned and didn’t answer.
“It’s not right,” I said. “I know there’s something we’re not connecting.”
“But we’ll keep working on it.” He looked at me, his expression somber. “Remember when you asked me when I’d be done, and I told you I felt like a piece was missing?”
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