Blood Brothers (7 page)

“I . . .” Lucy stammered, “I . . . how come
you're
not?”

“Doughnuts.” Dakota lifted a stack of large, flat boxes so Lucy could see. “I think they're supposed to lull us into a false sense of security.” When Lucy didn't respond, she added, “Father Matt sent me to get them. For the interviews. What's that on your face?”

Lucy's hand went immediately to her cheek. She scrunched down in her coat as Dakota leaned toward her.

“It looks like blood.” Dakota frowned. “Are you hurt?”

“No, I . . . fell . . . someone—”

“You
fell
on someone?”

“No.” What was it she'd told the sheriff earlier? Lucy couldn't remember now—all she could think about was getting away from here and getting back to the church. “I know about Wanda,” she blurted out. “About it not being an accident.”

She made herself meet Dakota's eyes. She thought once more about what Dakota had said to her after the discovery of Wanda's body—
“But then . . . you already knew that, didn't you?”
—and she braced herself for the questions and accusations she felt sure would come.

But there was no curiosity in Dakota's eyes, only that same open acceptance as before. And all Dakota said now was, “Is that why you ran away last night?”

“No.” Lucy shook her head. For one quick moment she actually felt disappointed. For one quick moment she almost wished Dakota
would
confront her. “I didn't know anything about a murder then. Look, Dakota—”

“Well, I guess everyone knows by now. Small town. Front page of the paper.”

“I haven't seen the paper.” Reality was tugging her back again. She had to get back to the church—she had to hurry—
hurry!
But Dakota wasn't moving, so Lucy added, “Sheriff Stark was at the house this morning.”

“Oh. He's a good friend of your aunt's, right?” Dakota didn't wait for Lucy to answer. “He's at school today, too. Everyone's scared and really upset—they can't believe another tragedy's happened. The police want to interview every single student. Behind closed doors, one at a time. So I guess you won't have to go through that.”

“The visit wasn't about sparing me; it was a courtesy to Irene. Heaven forbid her glorious reputation should be smeared. They wouldn't dare arrest me in public.”

“What do you mean, arrest you?”

“I mean . . .” Lucy's words trailed off helplessly. She reached out and touched her friend's sleeve. “Oh, Dakota—”

“What's wrong?” The expression on Dakota's face softened, a knowing and genuine concern. It was all Lucy could do not to open her heart and spill everything out. “Lucy, what is it?”

“It's . . .” But somehow Lucy held back. Somehow she collected herself and squeezed all her emotions into a guilty frown. “About last night, I know I owe you an explanation—”

“You don't owe me anything.”

Dakota, I want to tell you, but I'm afraid!
“Yes. Yes, I do.”
I need to tell you, but I'm all confused about things, and I don't want you to get hurt!
“What you said to me—”

“I wasn't trying to put you on the spot. It was an observation.”

“And why I went back to Wanda that day in the hall—” Lucy couldn't help it, she was starting to babble. If she didn't get out of here soon, she was going to explode.

“You don't owe me anything,” Dakota assured her again. “But there's more blood here on your hand, and I just want to make sure you're okay.”

Tears stung Lucy's eyes. “I don't know. For now, yes, I think I'm okay. But I need to talk to you. Later. Where no one can hear us.”

Nodding, Dakota slowly drew back. “Are you coming to school?”

“I can't right now.”

“I can't right now.”

“Okay. I can call the office if you want. I'm pretty good at imitating your aunt's voice,” Dakota mimicked, just to prove it. “I can say you're sick.”

In spite of herself, Lucy almost laughed. “And if they catch you, you'll get suspended. I'll try to come in later. No use both of us being in trouble.”

“Did you eat this morning? You look really pale; maybe you should eat.” Dakota's voice returned to normal. “Father Matt thinks we'll all cooperate with the police more if we're eating. Thus”—once again she displayed her boxes—“doughnuts.”

The mere suggestion of eating right now made Lucy feel sicker. She started up the engine again and managed a halfhearted wave.

But Dakota wasn't watching. The girl's head was tilted back, her eyes sweeping over the cold dead sky. And Lucy was suddenly very much afraid.

“You sense it, too, don't you?” Dakota murmured. “Something in the air today. Something bad and dark, that's never been there before. Like the whole town's suddenly changed. And that bad thing is waiting. And nobody feels it but us.”

Lucy followed the direction of her friend's gaze. Drawing a slow, shaky breath, she spoke with more conviction than she felt.

“It's just grief, I think. And also shock. Because . . . you know what people say . . . murders never happen in Pine Ridge.”

“Well . . .” Dakota gave an odd little smile. “At least none they know about.”

There
was
an eerie feeling in the air.

As Lucy made her way slowly through the graveyard, she couldn't help shivering—not only from the cold, but also from Dakota's unsettling prophecy. Her ears strained for each subtle sound; her eyes glanced keenly in every direction. But this section of Pine Ridge Cemetery seemed more silent and remote than ever.

The fog of early morning had been replaced by snow. Raw wind sliced between the headstones, and a pewter sky was darkening quickly to the north.

Unconsciously Lucy quickened her pace. She'd had to park the car behind the cemetery and away from prying eyes, which meant a longer, more difficult walk to the church. She felt fairly confident no one would be out here today, but she didn't dare take a chance on being seen. The weight of her backpack made her clumsy. She kept her head down, ducking for cover between lopsided markers and broken statues, using the blankets she carried to block the wind. And she wondered what she was going to do once she got to the hiding place.

Lucy knew if she thought any more about it, she might lose her nerve completely. She checked her surroundings one last time, braced herself for the unknown, and made a beeline for the cellar.

It took several minutes to loosen the chain, another few minutes of struggling to pull open the heavy doors. Taking a flashlight from her pocket, she squatted on the top step and shone the light down, guiding it slowly from wall to wall.

Something moved.

Without warning, something dark and shapeless jerked back from the beam of her flashlight and vanished into the shadows.

A scream caught in Lucy's throat. Whatever had moved, had moved quickly; she hadn't been able to make out a single detail. In fact, as her brain struggled to compute, she wasn't entirely convinced that it
hadn't
been a shadow after all, just one among many, distorted by the sudden burst of her flashlight and the gray flitter of snow through the opening behind her.

“Hello?” she called softly.

Whatever
she thought she'd seen, it wasn't moving now. The cellar was as quiet as a grave.

“Jared, are you here?”

She held her breath to listen.

She could hear the tripping of her heart, but nothing else. Her grip began to tighten on the flashlight.

“It's me. Lucy. I came alone, like I promised.”

Was that a draft of wind she'd felt just now? Like an icy hand wrapping slowly around her ankle? She gasped and lost her footing, sliding down several steps and dropping the flashlight. As she flung out both arms to catch herself, a sliver of wood gouged deep into the palm of her right hand.

Lucy cried out, from surprise as well as pain. The blankets tumbled down the stairs, and the flashlight rolled across the floor, its single ray skipping over a pile of bloody clothes.

“Shut the doors,” Jared said softly.

Despite the sudden chill up her spine, Lucy managed to keep her voice steady. “Where are you?”

“Please don't look at me.”

She hesitated, unsure what to do. Then she reached up and drew down the doors, plunging the cellar into darkness.

It took several minutes for her eyes to adjust. The flashlight had finally come to a stop, angled directly into a corner, and as Lucy picked it up, she couldn't help but follow the direction of the light.

Jared was lying there, watching her.

Lying on the bed where she'd left him, except that the improvised bandages were gone, discarded with other blood-soaked belongings in that dirty heap on the floor. He wore only jeans now, low and tight around his hips, and still damp with his blood.

Lucy gazed at him in confusion.

She could see the gauntness of his face, the tight clench of his jaws, the feverish glow in his eyes. Sweat shone on his bare chest and along his brow.

She shifted the beam of her flashlight.

The burned tattoo on his arm stood out in sharp relief against his skin—but not
pale
skin, Lucy realized with a shock—not that ghostly white pallor of death he'd had before.

“Don't do this,” he whispered. “Turn away.”

But she
couldn't
turn away, any more than she could keep herself from lowering the flashlight and redirecting its beam onto his wound.

The light shook in Lucy's hand. It settled on the left side of Jared's body, and she stared in utter disbelief.

His wound had grown smaller.

Where a raw, bloody hole had gaped so hideously before, now small sections of flesh appeared to be shrinking and closing up. Protruding bones seemed to have pulled back toward the shattered rib cage. And the skin, hanging in hopelessly tattered shreds, actually looked as though it were starting to reattach.

“My God . . .”

The flashlight clattered to the floor. As if from some far and distant place, Jared's words reached out to her.

“It's not complete yet, Lucy. The pain won't stop till then.”

“No. No . . . it's impossible . . .”

She wasn't conscious of backing up . . . of stumbling over her own feet as she tried to escape. But suddenly there were voices—voices coming from outside—and Lucy froze, halfway up the stairs.

“I
know
I saw someone!” a woman insisted.

Lucy recognized her voice at once. Mrs. Dempsey.

“Just as I got here for work—just as I parked my car! I'm telling you, I
didn't
imagine it! Someone was sneaking around behind the church!”

“Do you have any idea where they went?” a man asked.

Mrs. Dempsey sounded indignant. “How in heaven's name should I know that? But there's some crazy murderer running around Pine Ridge, and I want you to check out
every inch
of this place!”

Lucy didn't see the swift movement behind her. She didn't even have time to react as the hand clamped over her mouth, as she felt herself being half lifted, half dragged back into the corner.

She tried to struggle, but only for a second.

Only till Jared's whispered warning in her ear.

“I don't want trouble. Stay still and keep down.”

The flashlight snapped off. Jared pulled her to the floor as the cellar doors flung open.

“Someone must be in here!” Mrs. Dempsey exclaimed. “See? Just look at this chain!”

A brilliant beam of light swept around them, over walls and ceiling, arcing above their heads.
Help so close, and yet so far away
. Lucy wanted to yell, to break free, but she was pressed so close against him, and he was holding her so tight. She could feel his bare chest . . . his breath on her neck. His arms were surprisingly strong.

“Well if there
was
someone here, there's no one here now,” the man announced. “Look, Mrs. Dempsey, you better get inside now—this snow's really coming down.”

“As if I'll have any peace!” the woman fumed. “I've got my cleaning to do—I can't be worrying about some maniac breaking in and throwing me down the basement steps!”

“Well, lock yourself inside the church—
no
one could break through those doors. I'll put this chain on good and tight, but you'd better get a padlock, just to be sure.”

No!
Lucy's hopes sank. Once more she tried to pull away, but again found it impossible. She could hear the chain being secured on the outside doors; she could hear the voices arguing, then fading off.

Time hung suspended in the darkness. Thoughts of death and murder spun crazily through her brain. The air in the cellar was much too warm, squeezing her, suffocating her, Jared's skin so hot with fever, Jared's lips burning as they lowered to her hair . . .

It seemed an eternity that he held her. An eternity before he finally whispered to her again.

“When I let you go, you'll be very quiet. You won't scream. And you won't tell anyone I'm here. Understood?”

Lucy nodded. There was a razor-sharp edge beneath his soft-spoken words. And a faint but unmistakable quiver that he was struggling hard to conceal.