Which I am, I thought. I could feel myself blushing, and Rose guffawed.
“No way. How old are you?” She took a step forward and kissed my forehead. “I won’t tell anyone. Around here, they’d probably sacrifice you to their dark gods.”
Actually, I thought, they will.
SEVENTEEN
January 20
For two days, more complaints cropped up of someone sneaking around and staring in windows, and Dr. Ehrlenbach hired more security staff. We were told to walk with a buddy, like little Brownie Girl Scouts. Everyone was talking about the Marlwood Stalker.
I never slept. I was afraid the Stalker would come for me. The Stalker might be Belle Johnson, dead for over a century. Or Belle and the other dead girls possessing Mandy and her friends
Or it might be Miles Winters, in the flesh. But I was pretty sure I was on his list of things to mangle. I remembered the morning in the woods, nearly two weeks ago now . . . what he’d said about protecting Mandy.
Then on Tuesday morning, Troy called on the landline, identifying himself as my stepbrother Sam. That codename kept him safe from the wrath of Mandy, or so he hoped. He asked me to meet him tomorrow night in the old library. With all the security, there were few safe places left to meet anyway.
“I think I’ve figured something out,” he said quietly. Then suddenly, “Got to go.”
So I had to go back there. I was afraid, even if Troy would be there. As usual, I didn’t sleep . . . but that didn’t really hold my nightmares at bay.
I got dressed to go running. I accidentally woke Julie up; she took her duty as my “buddy” very seriously, and insisted on going with me.
Naturally athletic, Julie ended up running quite a few paces in front of me. With a little pant and a moan she stopped to get rid of a hitch in her side, and I took advantage of the moment to “catch my breath” in front of Jessel’s privet hedge. I wanted to check in with Troy more privately, on my cell phone. I needed to know what he had figured out before I got to the library. On occasion, we could get cell phone reception if we were in the vicinity of Jessel. Some people said Mandy paid extra for cell phone coverage; others, that since Jessel was rumored to be haunted, the ghostly emanations gave our phones a power boost. Now that I knew what I knew, I thought that both might be accurate.
The once-lush wall of greenery was a fence of frosted twigs as I flipped open my phone and prepared to text. But Troy beat me to it, confirming our . . . date?
2nite library 8 p.m.
I caught my breath and typed back, K.
“Hey,” Julie called from about ten yards up the path, waving to show she was okay; and I jogged to catch up with her. No new snow tumbled down, but the fog boiled up from the surface of the lake and poured into the bowl-shaped valley where the campus was located. I had such a secret; I was excited and nervous . . . and I couldn’t tell anyone, not even Julie.
I slogged through all my classes. Icy rain poured down, so for P.E., we were sent to the gym to do cardio kickboxing. Freezing, I hurried through the door that led through the swimming pool area, and Charlotte followed close behind. Steam rose from the surface of the swimming pool, and I looked over at Charlotte, wondering what had gone through her mind when Shayna had gone crazy during her prank.
“Hey,” Charlotte said, catching my eye. “You will never guess what I did last night.” She waited a beat. “I went to a séance at Jessel.” She puffed up, immensely proud.
No, Charlotte, no, I begged. Don’t let them do this to you.
“We were talking to some spirit who died in a fire,” Charlotte went on.
I worked hard not to react. Then Charlotte took off her black steampunk coat. Gone were her showy drama clothes, and in their place, a creamy cashmere sweater under a dark gray shrug and black pants. It was all too tight.
Her face reddened and she gave her streaked hair a toss. “Mandy gave me these clothes. Aren’t they gorgeous?”
I’m going to free you, I silently promised her.
CHARLOTTE didn’t join Mandy at dinner that night; she sat with the other girls from Stewart, her dorm. Rose chattered away with her; then, as we filed out of the commons, Rose galloped with Charlotte in tow over to me.
“Charlotte went to a séance,” she announced, slinging her arm over Charlotte’s shoulder. Out of Charlotte’s eyeshot, Rose crossed her eyes at me.
“I know,” I replied, feeling a little busted because I hadn’t yet shared the information with Rose. “Isn’t it cool?”
“Yeah.” Rose brightened. “It is so cool that I want to go to the next one. Do you think Mandy would let me?” she asked Charlotte.
I stiffened. “Rose, no,” I said.
“Rose, sí,” Rose replied, clicking invisible castanets.
Séances were for calling the dead, becoming the dead. I thought of Shayna, how cold and lifeless she’d become. I couldn’t stand it if something like that happened to Rose.
Or to me.
A terrible sense of doom zinged me like an electric current. People really did die. Memmy had died; Kiyoko had died. Maybe that was the source of Belle Johnson’s murderous fury—not that she had died tragically, but that she had died at all. I could understand anger like that. Rather than feel it all, I had broken down instead—that’s what Dr. Yaeger had told me. People who didn’t want to feel their feelings drank or took drugs, or cut themselves, or ate too much or had sex too much, or just had breakdowns.
After dinner, in the dark, I felt even more alone as I stood on the porch of Grose and studied the wall of fog. I didn’t want to walk through the thick white blankets of mist, but I did want to see Troy. My flashlight beam bounced off the whiteness, and I had no idea how I would stay on course for the abandoned old library.
Maybe we should wait, I thought. But Troy was probably already driving from Lakewood to our rendezvous. And I didn’t want to wait. I wanted to see him.
Still, I debated a little longer. And then coldness pressed against my neck, urging me off the porch into the fog bank. I gritted my teeth, and went; I supposed Celia could see where she was going even if I couldn’t, but that didn’t make me feel much better about letting her take the lead. But I reminded myself why I was going—to find a way to stop Belle without hurting Mandy—
—Who was I kidding? Without killing Mandy—
—And so I shuffled anxiously forward, holding my arms out in front of myself like a zombie. There could be anything in the fog—anyone, I thought—and I wouldn’t know until it was too late.
I walked a few steps more, colliding with a swag of what had to be the oversized white chain that hung from the horse-head mouths, and edged to the right. I heard a blare of rock music, then nothing. Laughter, then silence. I turned and walked forward . . . straight into a tree.
“This is stupid. I’m turning around,” I announced. Celia made no reply; I felt no icy hand on the back of my neck. So I stopped and made a half circle, and began to head back toward Grose . . .
. . . Or so I thought. Because I walked straight back into the barrier of Jessel’s prickly twigs again. Snow sprinkled off the desiccated branches and splatted on my face.
“Troy, you will be hung by the neck until you are dead if Ms. Meyerson finds you here,” Mandy’s voice wafted toward me through the fog. Ms. Meyerson was Jessel’s housemother.
“She won’t,” Troy said. “She never has before.”
“That was before someone started skulking around,” Mandy countered.
I had to be the biggest idiot on the planet. Troy had gone to see Mandy first. Of course he had.
I doubled my fists even as a weird sense of shame washed over me—for being so gullible, I supposed. For dreaming that Troy could—would—be honest and true. I tried to swallow down a lump, and it wouldn’t go. Thank God I hadn’t dragged myself across campus to the library.
My first impulse was to get out of there, but I was afraid I might give myself away. And in spite of how crushed I was, it was definitely to my advantage to
spy on them for as long as I possibly could.
“Maybe you’re the Stalker,” she said. “Peeking in all the girl’s bedrooms. Don’t you get enough from me?”
There was silence. Then, “Mandy, don’t.”
Don’t what?
“What’s wrong? You’ve been so weird since break. Why didn’t you come skiing?”
“You know why.”
“Well, Miles likes you.”
“Good for him.”
“We had to go together. It was the only way my parents would let him leave the country. And why do you keep checking your phone?” she demanded. “Are you expecting a call?”
“You know, you could be nicer to me,” Troy replied. “I came all the way over here to see you. Spider’s covering for me. I’m supposed to be at practice. And as for skiing, Mandy, I was in the hospital.”
Taking a deep breath, I shielded my phone inside my army jacket and flipped it open. I had a text message from Troy: don’t come. My heart cracked along the same fissures it had broken before. Jerk, jerk, jerk, jerk, jerk.
“Did you hear something?” Mandy said.
“It’s just the wind.”
“No, it’s something else. Oh God, what if it’s him? Troy, I-I’m scared. C’mon, hold me tighter.”
I swallowed hard, trying not to form the image of Mandy in Troy’s arms. Even though, of course, I’d seen it dozens of times in real life.
“You love to be scared,” Troy said. “I heard about your séance.”
She laughed weakly. It sounded forced. “It was terrifying. We got in contact with these ghosts. Dead girls—”
“Stop. You know I don’t believe in that stuff.” He sounded irritated, a little bored. But also a little . . . uneasy? Was he thinking about the burning girl he had seen in the fog on our drive to school?
“You would believe, if you came to one of my séances.”
“If you’re scared, then why—”
“Sssh,” Mandy said.
There was silence, and I wondered if they were kissing. I shut my eyes.
“So, we should have a party,” she said, changing the subject. “Shake off the freakout. Live life as it was intended.”
“I don’t think I can,” he said gently. “We’ve got all these games—”
“Come afterward. Nothing should get in the way of fun.”
“Not even Jack the Ripper? Jack the cat-killer?”
“You think you’re so hilarious—”
“Not even Miles?” Troy’s tone was low. Angry.
“Miles is gone,” Mandy snapped. “You want proof? Here. Use my phone. Call him. In Hawaii.”
There was silence.
“Call him,” she said. “I swear, Troy, what is wrong with you? You didn’t used to be so jealous. You’re acting like such a jerk.”
No argument there, I thought.
Another silence. “Mandy, I think we need to—”
More silence. Then I heard her moan softly. He was kissing her. My throat clamped shut as I tried to swallow down my protest. I clenched my fists at my sides and turned my head, shutting my eyes. Somehow I’d thought that trying to break up with her included not making out with her anymore. I wondered if they did . . . more.
“That’s better. I swear, all this . . . ‘danger’ is getting on my nerves. Some people around here are trying to stir things up to get attention. Because they don’t have any other way to get it. No looks, no brains . . . it’s sad, really.”
“What do you mean? That all this Stalker stuff is made up? Who would do that?”
“Oh, some poor Cinderella, painting arrows on her forehead,” she sniped. “Or a bull’s-eye on her chest. Someone who really likes being a victim.”
Rose liked to call me Cinderella.
“I don’t know anyone like that.”
“Sure you do, superhero.” She chuckled, and it was low and cruel. “You take in strays all the time. Blink-blink-blink, they flutter their lashes at your dimples. Then they figure out you’re one of the Minears and go all damsel in distress on you—”
“That’s your game.”
My lips parted. He was figuring it out.
“Oh, baby, I don’t need a game.” She laughed. “I’ve got game. I’ve got everything I need. Everything you want.”
“Don’t be so—”
“Face it, Troy. You and I? We can go anywhere. We live in a world most of these girls can’t even imagine. And last I checked? No pets were allowed, not even service animals. They might have fleas. Or rabies.”
Something inside me snapped. Anger just bubbled out of me, exploded, and I was so furious I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from shouting at her. Who the hell did she think she was? She was evil, but it went more deeply than that—she was so rich, and so sure that made her better than . . . me. And maybe she was right. Maybe she was better.
Maybe that was why I hated her so much. It wasn’t just the little things—the clothes, the money, her unshakable security. Nothing Mandy ever did would have real consequences, because her wealth would protect her. But she got perfect grades anyway. She played with girls’ feelings anyway. Not out of any deep-seated need, but because she was a bitch.
I hate her.
If her mother ever got sick, Mrs. Winters would get the best doctors, and round-the-clock care. She wouldn’t die. And the thing that had torn my life to shreds wouldn’t even register on Mandy’s emotional scale, if she even had one.
God, I hate her.
Mandy Winters would never suffer, or struggle, or have a breakdown. I had known that the moment I saw her; I knew it now, deep to the marrow of my soul, as she made fun of me—me, the girl she had tried to kill—in front of the boy who had promised to save me.
Life was unfair. It was unjust. My mother had been good, and funny, and kind. And she died anyway. It was unfair, and if Mandy knew it, she didn’t care, because the balance was tipped entirely in her favor.
I hate her so much. Panting, I balled my fists, feeling as if I were flying out of my body and into the foggy black night, soaring with nothing to hold me back. No barriers, no restraint, no fear, no remorse. If I could tumble from the sky just then, let go and fall on top of her, crushing her . . . God, I wanted to hurt her. I wanted to . . . yes.
I was grimacing like a demon, my lips pulled back from my teeth, my eyes so wide they might pop out of my sockets.
I wanted to. Longed to. Couldn’t wait.
“Yes,” Celia said inside my head. “Yes, you hate her enough. You really do.”
I was heaving. My chest rose and fell, expelling fog, pushing out my hatred and fury, and sucking them back in.
“Whatever, Mandy,” Troy snapped. “I have to go.”
“No, wait, damn it.”
“I am going!” Troy yelled at her.
There was rustling, and I remembered almost too late that there was a wooden gate in the hedge. I heard the creak of hinges. Footfalls passed close by; they stopped, as if someone—Troy—sensed that I was near. I took a step forward.
If it’s Mandy, I’ll—I’ll crack open her skull, I thought. I pictured hurting her, doing unspeakable things to her . . . and I loved it. Loved it.
“Troy,” Mandy called.
From just a few feet away, I heard more footsteps. Shortly after that, my phone vibrated.
“Fine.” She threw the words at him. “Just go.”
More footfalls sounded on the concrete path leading to Jessel’s front door; then the door opened, and slammed shut. Mandy had made her exit. For a second I thought about letting Troy know I was there. I didn’t know if he was headed for the library after all; if that was the text message he had sent me. I hid my phone inside my jacket again, and looked at the new message in my inbox. sorry couldn’t make it. found something very weird.
I opened my mouth to call out to him; then I heard another voice. It was a man, singing, and his song chilled my blood:
My love is like a red, red rose . . .
Inside me, Celia s
creamed. I heard her shrieks over the man’s voice, which was also inside my head . . . at least, I was fairly certain that it was.
My love . . .
Screaming “No no no! Oh God, oh God, help me! No no no no no—”
With a sharp gasp, I sank to my knees and put my hands over my head, shrinking into a tiny ball on the wet, snowy earth.
“Oh God, oh God,” I whispered. “God, help me.”
Then I went limp as my rage flew back up into the fog; my body fell face-first into the snow, and everything turned black.
HOWLING AND SHRIEKING, like dying cats . . . in the fire, in the water; the reformatory walls hiss into steam; the girls are screaming. My friend Lydia is running down the corridor, racing for her life. Rage is boiling over; and terror—
My skin is peeling right off my bones—
Who locked the door?
EIGHTEEN
SOMEONE WAS CRYING, but my eyelids were too heavy to open to see who it was. Fingertips brushed my hair off my forehead and cupped my cheek. It was Memmy. As soon as she knew I was awake, she’d bring me chicken noodle soup and a turkey sandwich with the crusts cut off. She’d read aloud to me: “The woods are lovely, dark, and deep . . . ” We’d listen to Beethoven’s “Ode to Joy” and cry with happiness that we were alive to hear it.
Her kiss on my cheek was feather-light. I heard her whisper, “I love you.”
You didn’t die, I thought.
“Of course not,” she whispered. “You love me.”
Then I opened my eyes.
“Hi,” Julie said. She was leaning over me, and I was in a metal hospital bed. Colorful posters about AIDS and STDs served as wallpaper behind her; and there was an ebony clock with Roman numerals for the hours between two dark wood doors. It said one o’clock; judging by the subdued lighting, I guessed it was one in the morning, not in the afternoon.
The smell of rubbing alcohol stung my nose and my stomach clenched, hard. That smell, that horrible smell . . .
Dr. Ehrlenbach came up beside Julie, with Ms. Simonet, our school nurse. I sneezed. I felt warm and toasty; an electric blanket was spread across me. My forehead hurt.