I sprinted in the other direction, running blindly, zigzagging around the gravestones. I was nowhere near the iron gates. I risked a look over my shoulder. He was behind me. Sauntering forward with that abnormal stride.
I veered off the path and ran down a small hill. The crunch of leaves beneath my feet changed to the squish of mud. Tears blurred my vision. I glanced over my shoulder again. He was closer now.
He moved through the tombstones and trees at an impossible speed. He easily closed the gap between us. I ran, dodging gravestones, ignoring the pain of the tree branches slashing my skin. My chest heaved as I gasped for breath.
I felt his hands reach out behind me. Long fingers scraped my back and he pushed me forward. I lost balance. My body tumbled over my legs. I slid over the muck of the ground, leaves and mud splattering my face, and smashed headfirst into a headstone.
The crown of my head met the marble stone with a sickening crack. My skull split with a nauseating rip and warm liquid pooled down my hair. Blood ran down my face and into my eyes.
He grabbed me by the back of my shirt and flipped me over. I shut my eyes. I was too frightened. I didn’t want to see his face. Hands clenched my throat. Long nails dug into my skin. I gasped for air. He tightened his grip around my throat, crushing my windpipe. I clawed at his hands, but he was too strong. This was it.
He was choking me to death.
Some small irrational voice in the back of my mind told me to open my eyes. I should see his face, I should meet my killer.
My arms and legs trembled. Warm tears flooded my cheeks. Hands cupped the back of my neck and I panicked. I tried to break away, but I couldn’t. It took me a moment to realize these hands were different. Gentle. Familiar.
Peter.
I didn’t know where I was or why Peter was with me, but I was glad he was here.
“Can you hear me?” Peter’s eyebrows creased together making his forehead wrinkle.
I was disoriented. Terrified, but I couldn’t remember why. I took in my surroundings. Green walls. Bruins memorabilia. Hockey sticks. Peter’s bedroom. I was safe. It was only a nightmare. Another awful, horrible nightmare. What was wrong with me? Why was I having these dreams?
Gradually, I remembered the nightmare. The Hazel Cove Cemetery, the crunch of dead leaves, the crumbling headstones and that terrible man choking me to death.
Peter held my face in between his hands. “Lex?”
“Peter,” I whispered.
He pulled me against his chest. “It’s okay. It was just a bad dream.”
My throat was raw. “What happened?”
“You were talking in your sleep,” Peter said. “That’s not unusual, so I went back to bed. But then you started convulsing, like you were having a seizure. You were tossing your head around and I couldn’t wake you.”
I bit my lip.
“You were saying something, mumbling, but I couldn’t understand you,” Peter said. “Then you went still—deathly still—and the light exploded.”
I blinked. “The light?”
He nodded to the bedside table. “The lightbulb from the lamp.”
“When you turned it on?”
“No. The light was off when it exploded. It shattered like it was hit with a baseball bat.”
It was hard to see because it was dark, but shards of white glass were scattered all over the nightstand and floor.
“Your eyes flipped open after the light exploded,” Peter said. “They weren’t your eyes, though. They were... wild. Like you were terrified and lost and—”
“What?”
Peter shook his head. “You didn’t recognize me. You wouldn’t say anything. You were catatonic.”
I wrapped my arms around his neck. “I’m sorry.”
“Sorry? For what?”
“I’m sorry I frightened you. I don’t know what happened.” How on earth did the lightbulb explode? Could I have…?
“It was just a nightmare. That’s all. I’m guessing a pretty bad one.” He followed my gaze to the shattered glass on the carpet. “That lightbulb was probably defective.”
Peter looked significantly less distraught now that I was coherent and talking. He scooped me into his arms and placed me in the center of the bed. He slid under the covers next to me. “Tell me about the dream.”
“I can’t remember much. A man was chasing me in the cemetery.” I didn’t want to relive it.
“It’s my fault,” Peter said. “We shouldn’t have talked about that stuff before we went to sleep—murder in the woods, campfire stories—no wonder you had a nightmare.” He wrapped his arm around my waist.
I was still shaking from the nightmare, but Peter held me until the trembling stopped.
“Try to get some sleep, Lex.”
And I finally did fall asleep, securely in Peter’s arms.
Chapter Five
I dedicated Sunday afternoon to chores and homework. I hadn’t started writing my book report for American Literature and it was due on Wednesday. Not to mention I had tons of laundry to do. Maid or not, I did my own laundry, thank you very much.
I was a model of productivity, typing away on my laptop with the second load of laundry spinning in the dryer, when the doorbell rang. I was home alone, so I sprinted downstairs to answer the door.
James was on the porch.
“What do you want?”
“I came to see if you’d help me with the American Lit project. And if I could borrow a book for it.” He lifted the strap of his backpack as proof.
“Lucas and Logan are in that class, too. Why don’t you get one of them to help you? You guys are buddies.” Was James going to act like Friday night never happened?
“They don’t strike me as the sharpest tools in the shed.”
“You’d be surprised at how smart the Cooper twins are,” I said.
“Please? Don’t make me beg, because I will.” A glint of amusement flickered in his eyes.
“Fine. Come in, but I don’t have a lot of time.”
He slid past me. “Nice pajamas. Expecting company?”
I pointed the way to the den. James was not coming up to my bedroom. I was probably going to regret letting him in the house.
James tilted his head back at the three-storied foyer. “Your house is incredible.”
“Thanks. Victor and Emma are always remodeling.”
“Your parents?”
“Yes.”
“You call your parents by their first names?”
“Is that strange?” I asked.
“A little.”
I shrugged.
James sat in the overstuffed leather chair. I sat across from him on the matching couch. We stared at each other—well, I glared—waiting to see how long it would take for him to broach the subject.
I grew impatient. “So?”
James raised his eyebrows.
“Friday night,” I said.
A dimple appeared. “About Friday….”
“Why would you do that?”
“It wasn’t that horrible, was it?”
“You did it because of Peter,” I said.
“He seemed pretty upset.”
“Why?”
James stretched his hands above his head. “Is he your boyfriend?”
“No. He’s not.”
“He’s very protective of you.”
“That’s none of your business, but yes he is.”
“Interesting.”
“You’re avoiding my questions. Why’d you do it?”
James shrugged. “To be honest, I don’t know. Maybe I didn’t like the way he looked at you, like he owned you or something. I didn’t really think about why I did it, I just did it. By the way, you have a pretty strong right.” He rubbed his jaw.
“I should have shown you my left, too.” I had enough of this discussion. I obviously wasn’t going to get an answer or an apology from him. “What do you want to know about the book report?”
“I haven’t seen him around scho
ol,” James said.
“Who?”
“Peter.”
“Are we still on Peter? Of course you haven’t seen him at school. He goes to Hazel Cove High.”
“Oh. If he isn’t your boyfriend, then what is he?”
“He’s my best friend,” I said. “We grew up together.”
“I see.” James looked around the room. “It’s quiet in this big house. Where are your parents?”
I had to think for a second. Where were they this time? “Um, Manhattan.”
“Frequent travelers, I take it?”
“Like you wouldn’t imagine.” I could feel James drag me into conversation. I didn’t mind, as long as he acted semi-normal.
“How’s your book report coming?” James asked.
“Okay, I guess. I was working on it earlier.”
“What was it on again—group psyche?”
“Yeah, and the decrease of individuality in extremely religious societies.”
“That’s a mouthful,” James said.
“It’s basically mob mentality. Whenever there is a large group of people, there is a greater tendency to lose one’s sense of individuality. When people are in a group, they do and say things they wouldn’t normally do or say if they were alone.”
James leaned forward in the chair. “But wasn’t your book The Crucible? Isn’t that about witches?”
“Yes, but mob mentality doesn’t relate to witches. It relates to the people hunting witches.”
“The magistrates?”
I tried to explain. “The Crucible is about the Salem Witch Trials. The town of Salem was deeply religious—they were Puritans, you know—and once someone whispered the word witchcraft, it spread like wildfire. The town was in complete chaos. It was a witch hunter’s paradise.”
“Go on, you’re cute when you’re in teacher mode.”
I ignored the comment. “Salem in 1692 was the perfect example of mob mentality. Once you get a group of people together like that, no one thinks for themselves anymore. They follow mechanically, doing whatever the leader says. It’s incomprehensible. All those poor people in Salem that were killed for the crime of witchcraft—they were innocent. But no one was rational enough to see that. They had all lost their sense of individualism.”
“Wow,” James whistled. “So, no witches in Salem?”
“No witches,” I said. “Come on, I’ll help you find a book.”
Mahogany bookshelves lined the walls of Victor’s library. They were so tall that you had to use the rolling ladder to reach the top shelf. Two large leather couches faced each other on top of a green oriental rug.
“I’ve never seen so many books in someone’s house. You could probably give the Hazel Cove Public Library a run for their money,” James said.
“Which American author do you want to do your report on?”
“I don’t know. Who do you have?”
I walked to the far shelf. “Poe, Hawthorne, Irving.”
“What did Washington Irving write again?”
“The Legend of Sleepy Hollow.”
“That sounds good. I’ll do Irving. Now, I need a topic,” James said.
“Can’t help you there.” I crouched down to read the spines of the books. They were separated in categories and then alphabetized by the author’s last name. It didn’t take long to find the Legend of Sleepy Hollow.
James ran his hand across the rows of books. “Lots of legal books….”
“He is an attorney,” I reminded him.
“He has books on everything: whale hunting, candy manufacturing, the occult, the 1978 Miami Dolphins, the Mafia, witchcraft, karate, culinary finds of Prague, electrical engineering, sheep herding. Not to mention hundreds of biographies, most of the classics and a nice collection of fiction. It’s endless.”
James sounded in awe of Victor’s book collection. He pointed to a picture on the desk of Victor and a few of his fraternity brothers at a college football game. “Your dad went to Harvard?”
“Obviously, you’ve never had a conversation with Victor.” Harvard was Victor’s number one conversation topic. He lived and breathed Harvard.
James leaned forward to get a better view of the photograph. One of the guys standing next to Victor was holding his hands up in the Greek symbol for Gamma. “What year did Victor graduate?”
“Um, 1982…why?”
“I wonder if he knows my dad. He went to Harvard, too.”
“Probably. Victor knows everyone. Especially if they are a Harvard alumnus.”
* * *
“A haunted house? Again?” The word itself brought me to hysterics.
“This Saturday. Don’t you remember?” Lucas shook his head at me. “I’ve told you like twenty times.”
He very well might have. I tended to tune out conversations that involved me screaming for my life. We were at my car in the school parking lot. Lucas, Logan and James cornered me while I was trying to leave campus. Now they were bullying me into participation.
“Not after last year,” I said to Lucas in a whisper.
Lucas hesitated. Then his face lit up. “I’ll attach you to me.”
“What?”
All eyes went to Lucas.
“You know, with one of those baby leashes,” Lucas said. “I’ll hook one end around your wrist, or your waist, and the other end to my belt loop. We won’t lose you this time. Promise.”
I shook my head in disbelief. I wasn’t sure if he was joking or not. On second thought, knowing Lucas, he was probably serious.
“Lose you?” James said.
“It’s nothing,” I said. “We had a little incident last year.” I didn’t want to have this discussion right now.
“It’s almost Halloween. We have to go to a haunted house.” Lucas pleaded.
“Now that you mention it, I did hear about last year.” Logan said.
I glared at Logan. Then I shifted my glare to Lucas for telling his brother about last year’s incident. “Why can’t you go without me?”
“Come on, Ramsey,” Lucas said. “It’s no fun without you.”
“None of the other girls will go unless you go,” Logan said logically.
I wasn’t too sure of that. Olivia wouldn’t miss an opportunity to spend hours in a haunted house with James.
After about ten minutes, I realized the boys weren’t going to leave me alone until I conceded. “Fine, I’ll go. Now move, before I run you over. I’m late.”
The waiting room at Victor’s law firm was stiff and academic looking—hardwood floors and wooden walls with old-fashioned oil paintings. The secretary, Diane, informed me that Victor was on a conference call and that I should take a seat and wait for him to finish since I didn’t have an appointment. I must have missed the memo that said I needed an appointment to see my father.
Diane sat behind a desk and never once looked up from her laptop. I grabbed a magazine from the coffee table and thumbed through it. I started thinking about the plans for this weekend and got the urge to call Peter.
“I was just about to call you,” Peter said when he answered. The radio blared in the background. He was probably driving home from school.
“Sure you were,” I said.
“Do you want to get something to eat? I think I could go for a bacon cheeseburger.”
“I can’t. I’m at Victor’s office, waiting for him to get out of some stupid telephone conference.”
“Why on earth are you there?”
“Emma wants me to pick up some menus for the Halloween party. The caterer mailed them to Victor’s office instead of the house.”
I glanced at Diane. Nothing. It was as if I wasn’t even in the room.
“So Victor and Emma are back in town,” Peter said. I could hear the annoyance in his voice.
“For the time being. Hey, do you have plans this weekend?” I would feel a hundred percent better if Peter went with us to the haunted house.
“I do. I have to work Friday night and I’m leaving for Ma
ine on Saturday. We have a hockey game up there. Why, what’s going on this weekend?”
“I got suckered into going to a haunted house on Saturday. I was hoping you’d come with me,” I said.
“Again? You hate those things.”
That was an understatement.
“Don’t you remember what happened last time?” Peter laughed out loud.
Last year, Peter, Sadie, Lucas, Peter’s friend and hockey teammate, Sage, and me went to a haunted house. It had long dark, winding halls with “scenes” along the way: a man in an electric chair, mummy rooms, a cemetery, etc.
Well, somehow I became separated from the group.
I groped the walls in the dark, trying to find my way out, when someone jumped out behind me. It was a werewolf. I knew it was only a man in a costume, but it made no difference, because at that moment I was absolutely terrified.
Sensing a frightened customer, the werewolf, growling and snarling, chased me. I ran in a panic. I could hear him only steps behind me. I glanced over my shoulder to gauge how close he was.
And that’s when it happened.
I crashed into a wall—or at least what I thought was a wall. It was actually a large piece of plywood, painted black, propped up by a folding chair. Apparently, it was a way for the owners to create a maze-like scenario inside the building. They must have assumed that no one was dumb enough to walk straight into it. They figured the folding chair was sturdy enough to hold up the false wall. Obviously, they didn’t know Alexandria Ramsey.
I ran forward in the dark and crashed through the wall, into the next “scene”—a mad doctor operating on his victim. The entire room was splattered with fake blood. And there I was, sprawled out on the floor, right in the middle of the “scene” and completely covered in fake blood.
That was also the exact moment Peter and Lucas found me.
The mad doctor pulled off his mask and said to the werewolf: “Dude, she broke our wall!”
Once Peter and Lucas helped me off the floor (at this point, I was covered in fake blood: in my hair, my clothes and all over my face), the now unmasked mad doctor and werewolf escorted me and my laughing friends off the premises.