“Remember what we discussed, Victor,” said Julia sharply.
“Of course,” said Vic. He put a hand on Lily’s shoulder. “I’ll be right back, and then we’ll get on with the game.”
“Okay,” said Lily. She smiled sweetly up at him. “Mommy and I will just wait for you,” she said. She slanted the merest glance at me. Then, as she bent over her pile of cards, she said, “This is the most fun I’ve had in ages.”
Like an automaton, I followed Vic into the living room, and then, at his signal, upstairs. He didn’t look me in the face. “We talked to Lily,” he said. “I know she shouldn’t have been there at all … but she’s only eleven and kids get into stuff … and when she told us what you were doing, you and that girl … well.” He had to clear his throat. “Well. Uh. This is our house, like Julia says, and … well, this is our house.”
I said, “But Raina and I were just kissing—”
“Lily told us what you were doing!” Vic was suddenly beet red with—anger? Embarrassment? Both?
This was awful, but I had to know. “Vic, what exactly did Lily—”
“Enough!” Vic roared. The sound of his own voice seemed to surprise him. He repeated, doggedly, “This is our house. We have a right to … to protect our daughter from any … any bad influences.”
Bad influences. That sounded like Julia. “Why don’t you evict me, then?” I said bitterly, and knew immediately from Vic’s silence that he and Julia had discussed it. Panic filled me. I was surprised by its depth. I couldn’t leave. Where would I go? My parents didn’t want me. They had sent me away.
“Vic,” I said finally. “I have to tell you. Lily was spying on you and Julia, like she spied on me and Raina.” At last I had said it. “I came in one evening and caught her outside your bedroom. She was listening to you and Julia with a glass. You were, uh … She said you were …” I stopped.
Vic’s mouth moved like a fish’s.
I continued. “She’s been really unhappy since Thanksgiving,” I said. “Since you and Julia got back together. That night when she was listening to you both, after I caught her she said some stuff to me …” As Vic listened, everything poured out of me in a great stream. I told Vic exactly what Lily had said about her parents that night in the hallway. I backtracked and told him about the time I’d come across Lily sitting on the stairs, all alone, while Vic and Julia laughed together inside. I said, “It stands to reason she would be sort of screwed up. After seeing Kathy die like that. And then, you know, you and Julia not talking, and Lily carrying messages. Lily’s in trouble. You can see that. Anybody can see that.”
Vic listened so well that I only just barely caught myself before I told him about the humming shadow. About Kathy. About her telling me, Help Lily.
And when I finished, Vic said, carefully, “But Lily seems fine to me. She asked Julia and me to play cards with her today. We were having a good time.”
“She’s faking,” I said positively. I felt hugely relieved, now that I’d told. “Deep inside, she’s very angry. Confused. She needs to talk to a good therapist.”
“Uh-huh,” said Vic. He took a step back, away from me. “I’ll think about this, David. I’ll think about what you’ve said.”
“That’s all I ask,” I said. “Thanks. Thanks for listening.”
“Okay,” said Vic. “Um. Okay.”
He gave me one last look before he left.
CHAPTER 26
The next two weeks were quiet. Too quiet. My initial relief that Vic had at least listened to me faded. In my mind, I replayed the tape of my rant to him, and I was filled with vague doubts. But I had told Vic the truth. He had listened. He had.
Why was it so quiet?
I focused on school. Not wanting to see the Shaughnessys, not wanting to run into Raina even by accident, I started going over to the Cambridge Public Library after school, to study—or sometimes just to look at magazines and things—in the main reading room. Frank Delgado was often there too. We didn’t talk much, but I began to look for him whenever I arrived. I took to giving him a ride home. Two or three times we got slices together at a little Greek pizza place across the street from the library.
Then, on a Thursday night, I got back to a dark house at eight o’clock. Upstairs in Kathy’s apartment, I turned on my computer. Which refused to boot up. It took me a few minutes to figure out that the hard drive had been wiped.
Everything—operating system, programs, data files—was gone.
I took one comprehensive look around the apartment and pounded back downstairs, yelling Lily’s name. But no one replied; the second floor was utterly deserted.
Okay, I thought. Okay. I took a deep breath. This was just like before, with Raina; but this time Lily had taken the key to the attic apartment. She had let herself in sometime that day. She had trashed my computer. There was nothing to be done about that. But I could stop her from doing anything else. I could get that spare key from the pantry where all the keys were stored. Then I would talk to Vic again. I would show him the computer.
I went down the hall and into the kitchen pantry. For some reason Vic had not updated the electricity in there; I needed to pull a string hanging from a low-wattage bulb set into the ceiling.
The pantry was filled with shelves from floor to ceiling, each of which was carefully lined with pages of The Boston Globe and fully stocked with canned goods. I counted nearly two dozen cans of lentil soup and a dozen of corn, and that was just to start. On a whim, I checked the top of a can with a finger. No dust. One amazing housekeeper, Julia.
On the left, at shoulder height, a series of hooks had been screwed into the wall; key rings hung there, each meticulously labeled. Cellar, front and back outside doors, Raina’s first-floor apartment, the second-floor apartment, Vic’s car, file cabinet, even tiny keys for luggage. And yes, there was a spare key for my apartment. I grabbed it, and held it in my fist.
There was no sound. I don’t know why I suddenly knew Lily was in the kitchen behind me. I turned slowly and looked at her. I kept my face impassive. Down the hall I could see the open door to her bedroom; it had been closed when I’d come past before. Had she been in there in the dark? I was a fool, there was no doubt about it.
“My parents went out to a movie,” Lily said politely. “Can I help you?”
I did not yell. “Why?” I said to her.
The tiniest smile curled the corner of her mouth. “Why what?”
“You trashed my computer.”
Lily smiled fully. “You’re crazy.”
“Why did you trash my computer?”
“You’re craaazy,” sang Lily. “My parents think you’re craaazy.” She hugged herself.
Involuntarily, my eyes flicked to the row of drinking glasses standing on a shelf. “Spying again, Lily?” I said.
“You’re going to have to leave,” said Lily. “They think you’re nuts. Making stuff up. Imagining things about me. Plus, I’m scared of you. I told them so.”
I looked into her fearless face. Slowly, finally, her words penetrated fully. Crazy. You’re crazy.
I swallowed. The slight unease I’d felt since telling Vic what I thought about Lily filled me again. In my mind’s eye I saw Vic take a step back away from me. I heard him say, Uh-huh.
“You trashed my computer,” I said stubbornly. “Why?”
“Why would I do a thing like that?” Lily leaned a little closer to me, and her voice dropped to a whisper, “I’m just a kid. I wouldn’t even know how.”
“You trashed—”
“What are you going to do?” Lily asked. “Dust for fingerprints?” She rocked, slightly, from side to side.
I clenched my hand on the key. “Get out of my way,” I said. “And keep out of—” I could not say, my place. “Keep away from my stuff.”
For a moment I thought she wouldn’t move, would just go on rocking gently. Then she said, quite softly, “Make me.” Her smile grew wider, became a grin. She whirled and sprinted back down the hallway
, holding her arms out from her sides as if she were pretending to fly, brushing her hands against the walls as she ran, laughing. “Make me!” And her bedroom door slammed behind her. I heard her giggling.
I went back upstairs to fix my computer. I was careful about backups, so it wasn’t as bad as it might have been. I reloaded all my programs and data and put password protection on. I would make backups even more carefully in the future. It was the best I could do.
I pondered what Lily had said. They think you’re crazy.
I would need to talk to Vic again. I had to try, even though I knew it would do no good. It would do no good because, about this, Lily had not been lying. They did think I was crazy.
And when I caught myself looking around the apartment for the shadow, listening hard for the humming, hoping, hoping … well. I wondered if maybe I was.
CHAPTER 27
Over the next two weeks I became aware that there was something new between Lily and me. I had a peculiar awareness of her. For example, when I was in the house—anywhere in the house—I always knew if she was there too; I even knew where she was. Or, if I saw her face, I felt that—if I just tried—I would be able to read her thoughts. I didn’t try. These feelings unnerved me horribly. But they were absolutely real. And that this awareness was mutual, that Lily felt it as strongly as I did … well, of that I had not the smallest doubt.
It was like that moment just before a summer thunderstorm, when the sky is dark and hot and airless, and you’re waiting for the relief of that first explosive clap. But it didn’t come.
Perhaps it was this tension that caused Lily to take action. More action. I began to find nasty little surprises in the apartment. Lily, it was clear, had another key.
First, the heap of college catalogs disappeared. On the next day, all the frozen dinners were ripped out of their cardboard containers and thrown into the sink. On the next, the battery was removed from my alarm clock. And after that, incidents mounted rapidly, sometimes more than one a day. Several were merely annoying, like when the glasses and plates switched places in the cabinets, or when the ink cartridge from my printer turned up in my dirty laundry. I actually expected the salt in the sugar bowl and the short-sheeted bed. But others were more malevolent: kitchen trash strewn on the floor; the leg of a pair of jeans severed.
They were relatively minor tricks. But cumulatively they upset me even more than the computer incident. Whenever I came back to the apartment, I’d mount the stairs to the attic as if I were approaching a rabid dog. Immediately, I’d search for booby traps; things out of place. Sometimes the Lily-tricks were obvious. But sometimes—like when a rubber band was placed on the spray faucet in the kitchen sink—they weren’t obvious at all.
It got so that whenever I was away, at the back of my mind I’d be worrying about what Lily was up to. And when I was in the attic apartment, I’d be tense, wondering what would jump out at me next. By week two, I’d developed a sporadic tic in my left leg.
I knew I ought to do something. But what? Tell Vic? In my head I kept hearing Lily saying, My parents think you’re crazy. Also, no matter how angry Lily made me, I could not forget that she was only eleven. And that anger was the wrong thing for me to feel. A dangerous thing for me to feel.
I’d been angry at Greg, and Emily had died.
Help Lily, Kathy had said. She was probably right. But she was talking to the wrong guy, in the wrong place, at the wrong time. I couldn’t even help myself.
Surely Lily would get bored? Surely this would all go away if I waited?
But one evening I came home to a prank that really hurt, and I boiled over. I pounded down the stairs and barged into the kitchen, where they were all eating dinner.
The smell of Julia’s roast chicken was strong, almost overpowering. I stood, a few CDs in my hand. For a long, long moment neither Vic nor Julia seemed even to notice me. Vic absently licked his fingers. Julia cut a green bean in half, her knife clinking decisively on the plate. Lily smiled secretly. I knew she knew I was there.
“Vic,” I said. “Julia. I have to talk to you.”
Julia raised her brows. Vic said, a little uncertainly, “Right now?”
“Yes.”
Vic wiped his hands on a paper napkin. “You’ve been so quiet lately. I was saying to Julia a few days ago that it was almost as if you weren’t here …”
“I am here,” I said. There was a little silence.
“What do you want?” Julia said, pushing her chair back.
I didn’t need to look at Lily; I could feel her avid interest. I looked at Vic. I thought of the last time we’d talked. I had believed then that he’d heard me.
I handed Julia the CD cases and she took them reluctantly. Her fingers hesitated over Beck, flinched with distaste at Barenaked Ladies, relaxed in relief on Mozart. She tried to give them back. “I don’t understand—”
“Open one of them. Any one. They’re all the same, and there’s more upstairs.”
“David—” Vic began.
I was too aware of Lily. I said rapidly, “None of the CDs will come out. They’re glued in their cases. Superglued. Ruined.” My voice cracked a little. I steadied it. I looked right at Vic. “Lily did it. I told you, she needs to see a therapist. She’s sick. You’ve got to make her stop doing this stuff.”
I expected them to look at Lily then, but they didn’t. They looked at me. They kept looking at me. There was no sympathy in their expressions, and I panicked. “Lily did it,” I said again. “She ruined my CDs. And she wiped my computer’s hard drive, too. And she …” I knew it was a mistake. But I couldn’t stop myself. I related each of Lily’s recent acts of terrorism. With each accusation, I watched for a reaction from Vic and Julia that simply did not come.
At the end I stared, finally, straight at Lily. And she stared right back at me.
She heaved a great sigh. She pushed herself away from the kitchen table, and then at last her parents did turn to her—fondly. She took her plate to the sink. Then she said to her parents, “May I be excused, please?”
“Yes, run along,” said Julia and Vic, simultaneously.
Lily edged past me in the doorway and, sheltered from her parents’ sight by my body, rapidly and harshly rammed her elbow into my lower back. And with that stab, any hope I’d had of being believed left me.
Lily was too clever for me.
She was right, too. I did look nuts.
We heard the soft sound of Lily’s bedroom door closing. Vic stood up. He said cautiously, “Are you mad at Lily, David? Or at us? Because of the girl downstairs, maybe? You don’t seem to be seeing her anymore.”
I gathered my thoughts. There had to be a way to retrieve the situation. Now that Lily wasn’t there, maybe I could make them understand … “It’s true I haven’t been seeing Raina. But this isn’t about her, it’s about—”
Julia interrupted, but not to speak to me. “Victor,” she said to her husband, “we talked about this. I told you my feelings. It should be very clear now that I’m right.” Her chin was up. Her mouth was set tight.
“Dear …” Vic’s voice faltered. Slowly he nodded.
Julia turned to me decisively. “David,” she said, “the only way for this to work is for you to simply lead your own life. We must see as little of you as possible.” Her voice grew fierce. “And you must keep away from Lily. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
The injustice of it took my breath away.
“Do you understand?” Julia insisted.
“Oh, yes,” I said. I could not keep the bitterness from my voice. “I understand.”
Julia’s mouth tightened. “I had my doubts to start with, but I let you come here, because—despite what your mother would say—I am not without family feeling. But now I’m beginning to think …” She stopped. She looked at me then like Emily’s parents had, when the trial began. With hate.
Hate, not fear. Fear I would almost have understood. Fear was what I felt every day. “Think what, Julia?” I sa
id quietly.
“That you made your own troubles,” said Julia. “Like your mother.”
I began to turn away then, but she grabbed my arm. “One thing more,” she said. “And listen, because I mean it. If you keep it up—if you keep making trouble here—then you will need to leave this house. Immediately. I will not tolerate any nonsense.”
I ought to have expected it, but I hadn’t. I felt as if the floor had just dissolved beneath my feet. I did not like this house. I had never wanted to be here. And still my stomach lurched as I panicked. What would I do? What would my parents say?
“Now, now, Julia, don’t overreact,” Vic was saying. He turned to me. “I’m sure that things won’t get to that point. Now that we’ve all talked, and we understand each other.”
At that moment my peculiar awareness of Lily kicked in again. She was in her bedroom; I could almost see her. She was seated cross-legged on her bed, and she could hear us perfectly. She was not smiling. She was holding her breath as she waited for my next words.
So when I spoke, I spoke not to them, but to Lily. “If you think that things would go back to the way they were, just because I’m gone, you’re wrong. They won’t. They never do.”
There was a silence. And then Julia said, “I believe that you—not Lily—would benefit from consulting a therapist.”
I couldn’t help it. I didn’t mean to do it. But I burst out laughing, and I didn’t even really know why. They stared at me. For a few seconds I was truly out of control, and I wondered if I would be able to stop. But then I did.
“Julia,” I said, and I wiped my eyes. “If it would help, I’d be on the couch right now. But my personal problems”—I looked at Vic then—“have nothing to do with Lily’s. Don’t you see that? She really does need help.”
They kept staring. Implacable.
Finally I shrugged. I turned and went back upstairs, to Kathy’s attic apartment.
CHAPTER 28
Still, it itched at me, what Julia had said. Was there some truth in it? Did I make my own troubles? Was I crazy? It seemed—I don’t know—it seemed plausible.