James caught my eye and mouthed the word: ‘Sorry.’
Peter peeled out of the cul-de-sac, shifting gears with more force than necessary. The muscles in his arms rippled as he gripped the steering wheel. He was still randomly cursing under his breath, but his features softened when he glanced at me. "You okay?"
"I’m all right." I was shocked and angry, but I was okay.
The road was deserted. I remembered we were out past the newly installed curfew. I hoped we didn’t get caught. We didn’t need any more drama tonight.
Peter frowned.
“What?”
“Where’s your coat? It’s freezing out,” Peter said.
“Where’s yours?”
He rolled his eyes and reached behind the seat. “That’s beside the point. Put this on.” He tossed me a heavy gray sweatshirt with “Hazel Cove High Hockey” written across the front.
I obediently pulled the sweatshirt over my head. Peter’s familiar scent whirled around me. “There. Happy?” The sleeves were too long, so I pushed them to my elbows.
“Yes.” Peter rolled to a stop at a red light. "What in the hell was that all about?"
"I swear I could kill him." My hands clenched in reflex.
"Did you hurt your hand?"
"No."
"That’s good. I think you hurt his face."
I laughed, surprising myself. “Good. He deserved it."
“Who was he? I’ve never seen him before."
"James Van Curen. He moved into the Hallows last week."
"He’s your new neighbor that goes to Hawthorne?"
"Yeah, lucky me."
Peter turned onto Pennington Drive. “That’s the guy from the swimming pool incident? When your principal had the heart attack?”
“He’s the one.”
"You seem really upset. I wish I could’ve hit him. That would’ve made us both feel a lot better," Peter said with a straight face.
Another giggle escaped, but I smothered it. We were coming up on Hazel Cove Cemetery. The cemetery looked even creepier at night, if that was possible, because it was really creepy during the day, too. I said my silent prayer as we drove by the wrought iron gates.
"Why’d he try to kiss you?" Peter asked once we were safely beyond the cemetery.
"I don’t know. Maybe he’s tormenting me because I won’t go on a date with him." Peter’s jaw clenched. “Has he been bothering you? I can take care of it, you know. Want me to do a U-turn?"
He was absolutely serious about beating up James for my benefit. I couldn't help but smile at him. Always my protector.
"Yes, James has been bothering me. But, no, I don’t want you to do anything about it."
Peter made a left on Dogwood Avenue. We were almost at his house.
I patted his hand. “It'll be okay. I’m sure he got the point tonight. He’ll leave me alone from now on."
“He better."
Peter’s house had a cozy home feeling that my house always lacked. A delicious aroma greeted us when we opened the front door. We followed the scent into the bright kitchen. A stack of homemade chocolate chip cookies was on the counter. Peter snatched a handful and waved at me to follow him.
The walls of the narrow hallway were decorated with pictures, mostly of Peter and his younger sister, Anne Marie, during the various stages of their lives.
Our childhood pictures were also on prominent display. A baby picture of Peter and me, in a silver frame, both of us peering out over the playpen—one set of green eyes and the other a clear blue. Next to the baby picture was a photograph of our first day of kindergarten. We were standing in front of the elementary school. A five-year-old Peter held my hand and cheerfully waved at the camera. My hair was in pigtails and tears streamed down my face.
Peter handed me a cookie and knocked on his mother’s bedroom door. He didn’t wait for an answer. He pushed open the door. “You’re awake?”
Lauren LaViollette motioned to the paperback she was reading in bed. “I couldn’t put it down.”
“Thanks for the cookies,” I said.
“You’re welcome, sweetie. I was bored, so I whipped up a batch.”
“Emma should take notes when she’s around you.” My mom never whipped up a batch of anything. Unless you counted martinis.
I tried to change the subject to something more pleasant. “Do you have a costume for the party?”
“No, not yet,” she said. “I can’t come up with any good ideas. What about you?”
“Sadie and I went to Kitty’s the other day, but I didn’t find anything. Sadie is going as a mermaid.”
“That’s cute.”
“All right ladies, sorry to interrupt, but it’s late.” Peter tugged me out of his mom’s bedroom. “Night mom.”
“Goodnight Mrs. LaViollette,” I called out over my shoulder.
“Night kids.”
Peter’s room was at the end of the hall. The walls were painted dark green which contrasted nicely with the thick off-white carpet. His bed was pushed against the far wall, next to a couch that pulled out into a bed.
“Is your mom okay? She looked a little un-Mrs. LaViollette like.” I tried to kick off my shoes without unlacing them. It was an unsuccessful attempt. I gave in and bent down to untie them.
“She’s stressed out. She caught Anne Marie sneaking out the other night. Needless to say, Anne Marie is grounded.”
“Hence the muffled angry music coming from down the hall.”
“You’re quick.”
“Better than being slow.”
Peter flipped off his shoes—without unlacing them. “You have quick reflexes, too.”
“Yeah?”
“You should have seen it from my point of view,” Peter said. “James swoops in to kiss you, your right hand shoots up… and bam!” He smacked his hands together.
The noise was almost the same sound that my hand had made on James’s face. I’d left a red imprint on his cheek. I couldn’t believe I actually hit someone.
Peter saw me blush. He hid a grin and changed the subject. “I bought your birthday present today.”
I always forgot about my birthday. It usually slipped through the cracks in the excitement of Halloween and my parents’ costume party. Of course, Peter never forgot.
“What’d you get?”
“I’m not telling you. It defeats the purpose of it being a present.”
“Please?”
Peter sat down at his desk to check his e-mail. “Nope.”
I shrugged behind his back and mechanically walked around the bedroom, searching for places where he could’ve stashed my present. It had to be here somewhere. I quietly opened the closet door.
“Lex, what are you doing?”
“Looking for my birthday present,” I admitted.
“Oh, okay. Well, you’re extremely cold.”
I closed the closet door and walked to the bed. My eyes were glued to Peter, waiting for his next clue. I liked this game.
“Warmer.”
I knelt down to the carpet.
“Hot.”
I pulled up the bed skirt, but Peter interrupted me before I looked under the bed. “Cold.”
“Cold? What do you mean cold? I was just hot! Peter, you can’t go from hot to cold that quick!”
“Whose rule is that?”
“It’s not here, is it?”
Peter grinned. “Do you honestly think I’d hide your birthday present in my room? When I knew you were staying over?”
“Fine,” I said.
I pulled out the bottom dresser drawer, where Peter let me keep extra clothes, and grabbed my pajamas. When I stood up, the three pictures on top of the dresser caught my attention.
The first one was a great close-up of us on top of the Empire State Building in New York City. It was cold and windy and we were huddled together trying to keep warm.
The second picture was of his mother and his sister.
The third was of Peter and his dad, John, when Peter w
as about twelve years old. He was the spitting image of his father—same light brown hair, same big smile.
John died two years ago from kidney failure. He fell sick and was fortunate enough to receive a kidney transplant. However, a few years after the transplant the kidney unexpectedly failed and John passed away. I missed him dearly and he wasn’t even my father. I couldn’t imagine how hard it was for Peter and his family.
I didn’t realize I was touching the picture until I felt Peter watching me. I pulled my hand back. A sad smile claimed Peter’s face. He snapped out of it quickly, because after a second, he flung a pillow at me.
Once I changed into my pajamas in the bathroom, washed my face and brushed my teeth, I crawled into Peter’s bed. Whenever I spent the night (which was often), Peter insisted that I sleep in the bed. He, in turn, took the uncomfortable pullout couch.
Peter went to the bathroom to brush his teeth. When he walked back into the bedroom, it looked like he was searching for something. I couldn’t tell for sure because I was way too distracted. Peter was wearing basketball shorts.
Only basketball shorts.
His bare chest was sculpted like a marble statue. His arm muscles rippled and he wasn’t even flexing. The veins and tendons bulged underneath tan skin. Each ab in his stomach was distinctly present, forming a tight six-pack. Or maybe an eight pack, I didn’t want to stare and count.
I gulped.
He didn’t notice my gawking. I was grateful he hadn’t, because I was sure I looked ridiculous.
Two things simultaneously popped into my head. First, when did that happen to Peter? I knew he was always muscular, he was a hockey player, but this was… amazing. Second, why was he walking around with his shirt off in the first place? Of course, he didn’t wear a shirt when we went swimming or something like that, but he never walked around half-naked when we were hanging out.
I definitely didn’t mind.
“—have you seen it?” Peter looked at me like I had four heads.
“What?” I bit my bottom lip. I was embarrassed that I let myself get caught up in his shirtlessness.
“My cell phone, Lex. Have you seen it?”
“Your cell phone?”
Peter opened his mouth and then abruptly shut it. “Yes. I can’t find it. What’s the matter with you?”
I was disoriented. “Oh. Um, no.”
He eventually found his cell phone and plugged it in to charge the battery. I watched him pull out the sofa bed and grab the extra pillow and blanket from the closet. Apparently, he wasn’t wearing a shirt tonight.
Peter sat next to me on the bed. “What’s going on, Lex?”
Good question. What was going on? Why was I feeling weird around Peter? I kept my eyes on my hands folded across my stomach. I didn’t want to get caught staring at his chest.
“Nothing, I’m sleepy,” I lied. A warm feeling spread over me. I felt myself blushing. I pulled the comforter up to my nose.
“All right silly, goodnight.” He kissed my forehead and switched off the bedside lamp.
My mind was racing. So much happened tonight. Why did James try to kiss me? It was obvious he was trying to make Peter angry, but why? How did James know who Peter was? James knew a lot about me. I wasn’t sure if I should be flattered or creeped out.
Then there was Peter. His reaction toward James was natural—Peter was only trying to defend me. He’d do the same to anyone who threatened me or upset me. But it seemed like he really disliked James. And why was Peter walking around with his shirt off? Even more importantly—why was his shirtlessness having such an effect on me?
Peter’s voice interrupted the questions swirling around in my head. “Lex?”
“Hmm?”
“Did you have a good time tonight? I mean, bar the ending when you beat up that James guy.”
“It was okay.”
“Doesn’t sound like it.”
“It was fine until Logan brought up Megan Lackey.”
“Typical Logan behavior,” Peter said.
I wanted to tell Peter about my nightmare. The dream had been weighing on me since I learned of her murder. I needed to tell someone and there was no one better to confide in than Peter.
“Do you want to hear about something weird that happened to me?”
“Lots of weird things happen to you,” Peter said.
I rolled on my side to face him, even though it was too dark to see his face. “I’m being serious.”
“Lex, I was joking. What happened?”
“That detective came to your school the other day, right?”
“Yeah, he gave a speech about Megan. Didn’t he go to Hawthorne, too?”
“He did,” I said. “He told us about the case, you know—she was murdered in the woods near her home, she had on a white tank top—basic stuff like that.”
“He gave us the same speech.”
“Then tonight at the clearing, Logan and this girl were talking about how Megan died.”
“Yeah?”
I was sitting up now. “They said she was involved in some weird things.”
“Like?”
“Witchcraft.” I whispered it like it was a curse word.
Peter was silent.
“What?” I asked.
“I heard that, too,” Peter said.
“Right, but see… I already knew that.”
“Knew what?” Peter sounded confused.
“Everything about the night she was murdered.”
“How?”
“I saw it in a dream.”
He was quiet, but only for a moment. “Lex, it’s been all over the news—Megan’s disappearance, her murder—it must have subconsciously seeped into your dreams.”
“No, it couldn’t have. I had the dream on Monday night, the night they found her body. Before everyone knew she was murdered.”
“Really?”
“Yes,” I said.
“Do you want to tell me about it?”
“I think I saw what she saw. I was in a house—her house, I think—sitting on the floor with all these chalk drawings and black candles. Then I heard someone coming. I jumped out of the window and escaped into the woods. Three men chased me, I mean Megan. It was horrible.”
“You relived it?”
“I think so. I saw everything.” I waited for him to say something. I knew how ridiculous I sounded.
He didn’t hesitate, not for a single second. “I believe you.”
“You do?”
“Of course I do.” Then he quickly added, “I wouldn’t go around telling everyone in Hazel Cove, but for what it’s worth, I believe you.”
I let out a sigh of relief.
“What do you think it means?” Peter asked.
Goose bumps prickled down my arm. “I have no idea. I never even met the girl.”
“Lex?”
“Hmmm?”
“You have to be extra careful. Whoever killed Megan is still out there.”
He was right. Lucas had also pointed that out at the clearing: killers were on the loose in Hazel Cove. I was grateful Peter was only a few feet away.
“I’ll be careful,” I said.
And then I drifted off to sleep. Deep into another nightmare.
I knew I was in the Hazel Cove Cemetery, not because of the hundreds of jagged tombstones scattered in the tall grass, but because I was near the stone wall.
The giant wall, standing over eight feet tall and constructed of irregular shaped stones, encircled the cemetery. The wall was famous in Massachusetts, built by the settlers of Hazel Cove, stone by stone with their own hands. The protective enclosure was erected to keep wandering spirits from leaving the cemetery.
The sun was setting, casting the sky into a brilliant shade of crimson. The wind tangled my hair around my face as I turned in a complete circle. Why was I here?
There was only one way in or out of the Hazel Cove Cemetery and that was through the elaborate wrought iron gates. Unfortunately, the gates were at the front o
f the cemetery, in the contemporary section. I, for some reason, was in the historical section—where tombstones dated back to the early 1600s. I’d have to cross the entire length of the cemetery to get out.
I said a quick prayer for all the souls resting around me. I wished the sun would set. Darkness would be better than the eerie blood red sky. I walked around the crumbling headstones, conscious not to step on the graves. The ground crunched under my feet as I stepped over a blanket of dead leaves.
A shadow in the trees caught my eye. I froze. When I finally built up enough courage to look in that direction, I didn’t notice anything unusual near the small cluster of trees.
It was nothing. My eyes were playing tricks on me. I headed toward the gates. The crunching of leaves ceased as I found the gravel path that coursed through the cemetery. The path would lead to the gates and then I would be safe. Well, at least safely out of the cemetery.
The shadow moved again.
A twinge of fear fluttered in my stomach. Someone was there. I closed my eyes, inhaled deeply and turned to face whoever was lurking in the darkness.
I saw only the deep shadows from the cluster of trees. The blood red sky had changed to an inky black, making it harder to see. I squinted, willing my eyes to see in the darkness. Nothing. No movements. No monsters hiding. Only the wind blowing the scattered leaves. Yet, I knew something was there. I could feel it. It was watching me.
I pushed the hair away from my face. My instincts told me to run, but I couldn’t. Something beckoned me to stay.
Finally, a small flicker of movement. The shadow stretched as a figure slowly melted away from the trees. Legs. Arms. Shoulders and a head formed, but it was too dark to see anything but the outline of the man now standing behind a tall headstone.
We stood motionless, facing each other.
He took a step. His features were shadowed. I could only see his outline. He took another step. And then another quick step forward, until he broke out into an unnatural trot. He glided through the piles of leaves and around the crumbling tombstones.
He was coming for me.
Run. My brain was screaming at me to run, but I couldn’t peel my eyes away from his unnatural stride. The rapid, jerky way his limbs moved. A ferocious snarl erupted from him. He was only a few feet from the gravel pathway. He would reach me in a matter of seconds.