Oh my gosh! This is from my dad’s accident. The other three are clippings of a missing West Paragon High School girl. Chloe. Another one from last October, about this house being haunted.
I scramble putting everything back together the way I found it and shut it back in the tiny compartment.
I get up and start heading out the room, and run smack into Tad himself.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Secrets
“Get a small bottle or plastic bag and collect some of the moisture.” Logan instructs me over the phone.
I consider this a moment. Perhaps calling Logan with the odd news of what I discovered on Tad’s side of the closet wasn’t the best idea. Plus I had a mild heart attack when Tad walked back in to get his wallet. I told him I was just borrowing my mom’s hairspray and he didn’t bat an eyelash.
“You don’t get it.” I say. “The clippings were just weird. He’s psycho! I’m living with a lunatic.”
“I agree with you. The clippings are strange. But Skyla, listen to me—go right now and find something to capture that moisture. I’ll give it to my uncle and he’ll analyze it.”
“Analyze it? It’s water.”
“It may be something more than that.”
“Like ghost water?” OK, that made no sense.
He expels a heavy sigh into the phone.
“I’m sorry.” I whisper.
“You did nothing wrong. Listen, I’m coming over.”
“You can’t come over. My parents will kill me.” And it kills me that I just referred to my mom and Tad collectively as, my parents.
The line goes dead.
***
Logan arrives seemingly on foot. He parked somewhere below Brielle’s driveway and appeared at the backdoor of the kitchen.
I give a small yelp when I see him waving. My hand flies up to my throat as I jump backwards into the sink.
“You know I’m afraid to look out this door.” I scold, as I let him in. Mia and Melissa are in the back practicing how to play spin the bottle for a party they’ve been invited to. I’ll have to teach them later how to manipulate it just perfectly, so the bottle lands square on the boy you want to kiss.
Logan and I head upstairs. He pulls a small glass vial from his pocket just like the one he took my blood in.
“You get a bulk discount on those?” I say sarcastically.
“With you around I might have to.” He gives a slight grin.
I take him straight into my parent’s closet, turn on the light and orient him to the exact area. It’s not so unearthly cold in here anymore. Before I can ask if it’s good. I hear my mother shout from the bottom of the stairs.
“Help unload the car please!” Her voice carries up the stairs.
Without thinking, I bolt out of the room and head downstairs in an effort to keep them from heading up. It would have been nice if I informed Logan of my plan. But he’s a bright boy. He’ll figure it out.
“Don’t just stand there like a statue. Get out there and grab some groceries.” Tad barks as he heads through the door.
A part of me wants to listen and run out to the minivan, but it’s parked so far away, and by the time I get back Tad might already be upstairs changing.
Mia and Melissa each come in with an armful of bags. Funny, I don’t see Drake in the familial equation. He’s probably upstairs with Brielle, bathing, or playing hide-and-seek or whatever the hell it is they do. Drake is clearly the golden child who can do no wrong.
“Hey, young lady.” Tad snaps his finger towards the van.
“Oh God.” I mouth as I sprint down to the open trunk and grab the last of the paper bags. I make a mad dash up the porch and spill half the contents of a bag full of loose fruit. Who puts loose fruit in a paper bag?
I run the bags to the entry and place them on the floor in an effort to bolt back and gather the rolling apples, and pears. I spot a bunch of bananas that have managed to fall under the slotted stairs. Shit! It’s going to take an entire millennium to scurry up the slope and retrieve them. I decide to ignore them and head inside.
I unload my bags onto the kitchen counter as mom and Tad bitch about the lousy job the guy at the grocery store did of bagging up their stuff. Little do they know there are much bigger things to bitch about, such as the boy I left stranded in their bedroom. I toss the fruit in a glass bowl mom has set out with a few heavily puckered apples already in it.
I fold the paper bags neatly and put them away, then stretch my hands out and yawn dramatically.
“I think I’ll catch a nap.”
“And where the hell are the bananas? I know I put them in the cart.” Tad complains as they both ignore my spontaneous monologue.
I take the stairs two by two and head straight into their bedroom. It’s not cold anymore. In fact the air is stuffy and stale like it usually is in here. I whip open their closet.
“Logan?” I hiss.
Nothing.
I take a peek in their bathroom, and that’s when mom and Tad decide to walk in. He’s got his hands cupping both her breasts outside her shirt, and she’s laughing like she actually enjoys that perv touching her.
It’s a real deer in the headlights moment, with Tad’s hands dropping straight to his side as the expression falls right off mom’s face. A small bit of vomit rises to the back of my throat.
“Just borrowing the hairspray.” I say, afraid the image will engrave itself in my brain as I walk past them.
Too late—already has.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Passage
He couldn’t have left, I would have seen him—someone would have seen him.
I lock my bedroom door. It looks as though there’s a body underneath my covers, but then again it always looks like that because I never make my bed.
“Psst?” I hiss walking carefully as though he might pop out at me. “Logan?”
A small sliver of light emerges from the line under my closet door, and I head on over.
I find Logan inside sitting Indian style, reading a book. Everything about him is perfectly serene. You could easily exchange the surroundings for a library and he would fit right in.
“You should really consider putting a nice comfy chair in here. It’s a great place to take your mind off things and relax.” He tosses the book behind him. “Maybe a bean bag?”
“Funny.” I slide a pile of shoes to the side with my foot. “How are we going to get you out?” I well up with fear at the prospect of Logan becoming forever trapped in my closet.
“Don’t worry.” He hits the air brakes with his hand. “I’m sure you’ll bring sustenance when needed. And we can do this.” He pulls me down over him and presses in with a long hot kiss. “I want to show you something.”
“What?” I rub the palms of my hands across his chest in a series of small circles. The scent of laundry softener lights up my senses.
“Not that, but it’s a good idea for later.” He pulls us both to our feet. “Up there.” He points to the top shelf towards the back. “You have a chair we can stand on?”
I haul in the rolling desk chair that glides around like it’s on ice.
“I’ll hold it.” I offer.
Logan climbs on and reaches up towards the wall. His feet engage in a full swivel in both directions as my fingers slip off the back.
“Oops sorry.” I say.
“There might only be two of us left, Skyla. Please don’t try and kill me.”
“Really are there only two of us left?” If we were the last of the Celestra then it would be our genetic duty to produce offspring—lots and lots of offspring.
“No, but at the rate they’re killing us, we might get there soon.” Something snaps and the wall comes off in his hand.
“It’s a façade!” I don’t know why this thrills me.
“Most things are.” He hands it down to me, and I place it upright between my winter jackets. A sliding panel door bumps back, and there’s a two and a half foot wide opening. “Co
me on.” He urges me to climb up there.
“What is it, the attic?” I take his hands and let him help me up into the narrow dark opening.
“It’s,” he grunts as he pushes himself in after me. “It’s a locked off portion of it. Chloe didn’t know it was there until just a few months before she… discovered it by accident.”
“Oh.” A pinch of jealousy stirs hot inside me. “Were you trapped in her bedroom and in need of a way out?”
He doesn’t bother with a laugh. Instead he gropes around above me and a small bare bulb goes off.
I suck in a lungful of air. It’s beautiful. The walls are covered in a million paper butterflies—large, small, every color of the rainbow. It must have taken her hours, weeks, maybe even months to fill in all the bare spaces.
“This was her getaway. I was here once, and that was because she kept something I gave her, here.”
“You came to check on it?” I can’t help but bite into him a little each time he mentions her. I guess I am the jealous type, and I don’t really care if he knows it.
“I came to get it back.” His eyebrows give a gentle rise.
“So you have it?” I don’t even know what it is, but I love the fact it was something akin to the breakup collection agency more than it was a secret rendezvous.
“No she never gave it back.” His gaze wanders past the wall into oblivion, reliving the moment.
“What was it?”
“A pendant that belonged to my grandmother. Chloe said she wanted to give it back. And then she went missing and that was that.”
“I thought you said she let you in here, and she was going to give it to you?”
“I never said that. I said I’ve only been here once. It was after she was gone. Brielle took me up here when I told her Chloe had something important of mine.”
“Oh. Maybe she was wearing it—you know, when they took her.”
“She wore it for a little while, then she wanted to prove she didn’t need it. We had a fight and I never saw her wear it again. She told Brielle she was keeping it in her diary.”
“Strange place to keep jewelry.” My eyes narrow in on him. “Maybe she got rid of it, or pawned it. Do you believe her?”
“She couldn’t lie to me.” He says serious.
Of course she could lie to him. Anybody can lie to anybody. It’s part of the rules of this game called life. Not that it feels good or it’s right or that anybody should do it, but it is possible. It’s like he thinks she was perfect. He has a serious case of a Chloe based messiah complex.
“She could lie.” I match his over serious tone to the T. It’s comical, both of us here in a paper butterfly sanctuary created by his dead ex girlfriend, having a spat over, of all things, the virtues of his ex.
“I think I like you jealous.” His lips curve into a delicious smile. He leans in and bites gently on my lower lip causing a full-blown meltdown in my stomach. We spend the better part of an hour making good use of the gorgeous surroundings—the inflexible sturdy floor. I don’t think I could ever stay mad at Logan.
A hard thump comes from below. I can hear my mother muffling something through the door.
“Just a minute.” I shout. “I have to go.” I hop back down into the closet.
“I’m leaving.” Logan whispers, hitching his thumb behind him.
I don’t ask questions, just throw a whole mess of clothes up there and pretend the butterfly room never existed.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Lost
I wait until well after dinner, when my mom and Tad retire to their bedroom to do whatever freaky things it is they do back there, before barricading myself in my room. I not only take the routine precautions of locking the door, I slide the dresser against it to ensure no one will dare try and pound their way in. Next, I turn on the shower and let the water run in the event someone should come bang away, they might hear the water and figure I’m indisposed.
I don’t know what excites me so much about having a secret passage in my bedroom. My room is easily a hundred times the size of the tiny space embellished with butterflies, so it must be the secrecy of it all. I climb in just barely able to pull myself up on the shelf. I definitely need more upper body strength. Maybe this could be a weight room or something? I could do yoga or palates. Then again the lack of fresh air and circulation might become an issue, already it’s so dank and muggy up here.
I flick on the light and drag up a spare throw pillow I plucked from off my bed and take a seat on it. Even the floor is unique, made of some kind of soft black vinyl, speckled with silver flecks. It feels like I’m sitting on stars, like I have the entire galaxy at my feet.
I pick on a loose thread on the side of the pillow. I’m getting so sleepy. It’s been such a long day.
I shift and lie down. It’s so easy to relax up here. I close my eyes and drift off to sleep.
When I wake up I have this weird feeling in my brain like someone opened my skull and poured in a can of soda. Carbonated—it feels carbonated.
The light is off, which panics me into reaching for the pull cord and thankfully it illuminates the cozy room once again. I turn to leave out the crawl space and the exit is blocked.
Shit! I’ve been sealed in, probably by Tad.
I fudge it a little and it slides right open, but the façade is back on.
“What the?” I push it out and it falls to the floor with a whimper. Besides, I pushed a five hundred pound dresser over the door and…wait—the water’s off.
I head out of the closet, and immediately notice the furniture’s been reconfigured. A brass bed sits where my bed was last, but it’s not mine, and neither is the dresser or the rug or the desk—or the girl sitting at the desk!
I slap my hand over my mouth.
Don’tpanic—I plead with myself as I step back into the closet. She’s got her ear-buds in and she’s spinning a pencil between her fingers.
It must be Chloe. It is Chloe. I recognize her from the pictures, the dreams. That must mean…oh God no. I can’t time travel. I don’t know the rules. What if I’m stuck here forever? Technically I already am here, safely tucked in L.A. And if it’s over two years ago so is dad. I could catch a flight and go home and save him. I could be my own long lost twin or something.
I peek back out into the room. Her cell must have gone off because she picks it up and starts speaking into it.
Wait a minute…if she’s talking, why can’t I hear her? Oh my gosh. I’m broken.
A rush of panic flushes through me. I try to will myself to hear. Logan said all the gifts could be learned, but I had to believe—no doubt allowed. I can do this. I can hear Chloe.
I peer back out in the room at her. Great she’s laughing.
I squeeze my eyes shut and repeat, I can hear her right now. Over and over again until something pops in the atmosphere and I hear a cackle come from outside the door.
“You think I care what kind of car you drive? You could ride a bike and I wouldn’t care.” She purrs into the phone. “Get white.”
White? As in truck?
“Tell him to get black, silver’s way too close.”
She’s bossing them both around. I shake my head in disbelief.
“I can’t. I have practice. But I’ll take a rain check. If I make tryouts I’ll let you buy me something nice.” She laughs again. “And if you make varsity, I’ll buy you something nice.” She laughs. “Me? I’m partial to jewels. Family jewels.” The sound of her chortling makes me wish I were deaf again.
She was joking. She threw in some stupid double entendre, and he gave her his grandmother’s pendant. And where did she put it? Her dumb diary.
I go to climb back on the chair and there isn’t one.
No chair!
Chloe passes right by me and I straighten stiff as a board against the frame of her closet—er, my closet. Whatever.
I hear the bathroom door shut. Impulsively, I dash out and snatch the chair from beneath her desk, which is ten time
s as heavy as the one I own, probably because her mother insists on buying something of quality and not succumbing to the ultra thrifty ways of her miserly new husband.
A silver sparkle catches my eye and I pause on my way back to the closet. A round filigree pendant with a cut blue stone in the middle sits off to the side of her notebook.
He’s already given it to her. I reach over and pick it up. It’s so heavy.
The toilet flushes.
I tuck the pendant in my jeans, and hightail it back to the closet with the chair. It takes me less than ten seconds to hop back in the hole and into the butterfly room.
Now what?
I start plucking at the butterflies while tears of frustration burn behind my lids.
Maybe I just need to sleep?
Chapter Forty
Found
My eyes flutter open. There’s a hand on my shoulder shaking me, and for a minute I think it’s mom, and that I’m in my own bed.
“Five more minutes.” As the words slip out of my mouth I can sense the stifled acoustic of my own voice smothering in the tiny space.
I bolt up and scoot back. I hit the wall so hard it feels like the pins holding up the butterflies have pressed through my flesh, and I let out a yelp.
“Shh!” She brings her finger up over her mouth as her eyes narrow in on me, hard. “Who are you?”
She doesn’t seem at all alarmed—annoyed, yes, alarmed, no.
“Skyla.”
“Skyla.” She turns her head to get a better look at me as her expression dims. “And you’re from the past or the future?” She looks down as though she’s about to cry.
“How did you know?” I soften a bit. At least I don’t think she’s going to call the cops or kill me for sport.
“Doesn’t matter.” She fills her lungs with a hopeless breath. “Which one?” She seems more than curious, like it matters on a larger scale than I can comprehend.
“Future.”
She gives a hard blink. Chloe isn’t at all harsh and bitchy like I had imagined her. In fact she’s, I hate to say it—pretty nice.