Death and the Girl Next Door (10 page)

I pursed my lips at him. “You know what this is called, don’t you?”

His expression turned wary. “No, what?”

“It’s called the Stockholm syndrome. You know, where the captive identifies with the captor?”

He shifted uncomfortably and glanced out his window. “I’m not your captor, Lorelei.”

“Then what are you?” I knew he wouldn’t give me a straight answer, but I had to try.

He continued to stare out his window. “I’m the same guy you’ve known since kindergarten.”

“Dude, you may be many things, but one thing you are not is the same guy I’ve known since kindergarten.”

He lowered his head. “I know. I just wish I were.”

I needed to lighten the situation again. I liked it better light. And I needed a shower. Bad.

“Well,” I said as I opened the door, “at least you don’t have vomit aftertaste in your mouth.”

He chuckled. “And at least I’m not covered in blood.”

I gaped back at him. “Have you even looked at your face?”

He frowned and glanced in the mirror.

I couldn’t help but laugh as I jumped out of the pickup and ran into the apartment.

Grandpa must have been out running errands or at the church. I sighed in relief, quietly so Grandma wouldn’t hear me. With that miraculous stroke of luck, I managed to make it to my room unnoticed.

After sliding past the full-length mirror by my bed, I paused and stepped back for a better look. The shock that jolted through me caused a sharp intake of breath. Dried blood caked my hair and stained my skin and clothes. The back of my shirt hung in tattered strips, probably shredded when I landed on the street and slid into that lamppost. I lifted one ragged strip. The skin underneath remained unmarred.

And it hadn’t hurt.

Jared had promised it wouldn’t hurt, and it hadn’t.

With a start that caused a wave of nausea to wash over me again, I realized I had been hit by a truck. A huge green delivery truck. I didn’t actually remember being hit by a huge green delivery truck, but the knowledge was there nonetheless. I had been hit, no doubt about it. One minute I was at the light, the next I was lying under a lamppost a block away. An entire block away.

The realization set my world spinning again. Drained both physically and mentally, I suddenly felt exhausted to the point of delirium. The world darkened as it had when the eighteen-wheeler missed hitting Jared by a heartbeat. Only this time I couldn’t stop it. The bones in my legs dissolved, and the floor tilted beneath my feet, rising to meet me as I lost all track of consciousness.

*   *   *

In what seemed like moments later, I found myself struggling to wake up, fighting my way out of the dark. My senses reemerged—thick and fuzzy around the edges—and I tried to open my eyes.

My lids, however, were not cooperating. Clearly they’d learned nothing from all those years in the Girl Scouts. I sucked air into my lungs and tried again, harder this time. Conjuring every ounce of strength I had, I managed to pry open one eye but only for a split second before it slammed shut again.

The room had darkened. In that instant, I did get a glimpse of my surroundings, and the room had definitely darkened. I must have been out longer than I thought.

“She’s waking up.”

Brooklyn?

“We need to call an ambulance.”

Glitch? No, Glitch, don’t call an ambulance.

“I don’t think any of this blood is hers. I can’t find a scratch on her.”

“But her ribs are really bruised. They could be broken.”

“Lor, honey?” Brooklyn smoothed a warm damp cloth along my brow. It felt wonderful. “Can you hear me?”

I tried to speak, but words just wouldn’t budge. A dry, scratchy sound erupted from my throat instead.

“Oh, my god,” Glitch said, “they’ve turned her into a frog!”

Despite my predicament, I laughed. Leave it to Glitch to lighten even the darkest situation. I finally managed to pry open my eye again.

“A one-eyed frog! What kind of monsters—”

“Glitch!” Brooklyn said impatiently.

“All right,” he acquiesced.

But it was too late. I was giggling. I saw a flash of pearly whites on Brooklyn’s face as she propped me up with a pillow. I was on my bed with no memory of how I got there.

“I know, I know,” she said. “What would we do without him?”

Glitch brought me some water. “Seriously, what’s up with your eyes?”

I tried to shrug, but my limbs felt weighted, like someone had filled them with lead when I wasn’t looking.

“Okay, never mind. We have about seven thousand questions. You up for it?”

I grinned behind the glass and finally pried the other eye open. “What time is it?”

“A little after nine,” Brooklyn said.

With that, I bolted upright. “Nine? Nine o’clock? Nine o’clock at night?”

“Oh yeah, she’s just fine.”

“Glitch, believe it or not, your comments are rarely helpful.” Brooklyn tried to ease me back down onto the pillows. “Yes, nine o’clock at night. We got here about six and found you sprawled all over the floor. Lor, what happened?”

“Oh my gosh, did my grandparents see me?”

“No, you begged us. Don’t you remember?”

“I begged you? When was this?”

“When we got here. You begged us not to tell your grandparents. You said you were fine, that Jared had saved you and not to call an ambulance. We helped you to your bed, then you passed out again.” Brooklyn tucked the blanket around me. “It’s a good thing your grandma can’t get up and down those stairs very easily. She didn’t even know you had come in.”

“And you’ve been here this whole time?”

“Yeah,” Glitch said from behind Brooklyn, “and so has the sheriff.”

Once again, I bolted upright. “The sheriff? Here?”

“He’s come by a couple of times,” Brooklyn said, biting her lower lip. “But we told your grandparents you weren’t feeling well. He’s supposed to come back at … well, now. And your grandmother’s making you chicken soup. We didn’t tell her you’ve been unconscious for the last three hours.”

“Why?”

“Because you begged us not to,” Glitch said as though I were simple. “Are you paying attention at all?”

“No, I mean the sheriff. What does he want?”

“I don’t know,” Brooklyn said, concern lining her eyes, “but he’s been looking for you since this afternoon. Since right after that earthquake.”

I choked on a half-swallowed gulp of water and coughed a good minute before I could speak again. “An earthquake?” I asked between gasps for air. “They’re calling what happened on the streets of Riley’s Switch this afternoon an earthquake?”

“I knew it wasn’t an earthquake!” Glitch raised his arms triumphantly and did a victory stroll around my room. It was a short stroll. My room was tiny. “It was a tornado.” He turned back to me in question. “Am I right?”

“In a way,” I said, squirming to find a less lopsided position. “Only there were two tornadoes. One named Jared and one named Cameron.”

That snapped them both to attention. Brooklyn gazed at me wide-eyed, a mixture of worry and curiosity in her expression.

“Okay, I’ll tell you everything,” I said, “but you have to keep an open mind. That means you too, Glitch.”

He scoffed as though offended. “When has my mind ever been anything but open? And don’t even bring up that whole turtles-are-innocent-and-kind thing. That doesn’t count.”

“All right,” I said. “Do you remember this morning…”

And so began the tale of my most improbable, most impossible Tuesday. I told them everything I remembered in great detail, finding no need to elaborate. The story itself pushed the limits of human comprehension.

When I finished, both Brooklyn and Glitch sat staring at me. For a long time. A really long time. They were either absorbing the information I’d just imparted or sleeping with their eyes open. I wasn’t sure which.

With tears sparkling beneath her lashes, Brooklyn spoke at last. “You mean, that truck really did hit you?”

“You heard about that?” I asked, my voice squeaking.

“Yes. Well, no. Kind of. One of those cameramen from the Tourist Channel burst into the café while we were sitting there. He said he could have sworn a truck hit a young girl with long auburn hair. He said you were gone, but he literally went around to all the customers and asked them if they’d seen anything. He said the town looked like an earthquake had hit it.”

“I don’t understand, Lor.” Glitch sounded hurt. The look on his face proved it. “How could this happen? Any of it? You could have died.” He stood and looked out the window. “You could have died.”

My heart swelled. My two best friends in the world had sat with me for three hours. Their concern warmed me. Their very presence made me feel new again. Well, maybe not new. Maybe more like a really good-quality secondhand. But still.

“I
was
dying,” I admitted.

“Don’t say that,” Brooklyn said, visibly shaken by my story.

“No, I was. Jared brought me back. I felt a life force surge through my body. I felt it.”

“What did it feel like?” Brooklyn asked.

“I don’t know exactly. Warm. Strong.” After a moment, I confessed with a whisper, “It felt like him, pushing inside me, healing.” I shook out the memory of his majestic touch with a forlorn sigh. “All I know is I was leaving and he brought me back.”

“Then why did Cameron try to kill him?” Glitch was angry now, and I had to keep him calm. The last thing I needed was another angry male to contend with. Even a short one.

“That’s exactly what I intend to find out.”

“Well, I don’t think you’re the only one.”

I glanced back at Brooklyn in question. “What do you mean?”

She looked at Glitch, then back at me. “After the cops came roaring through town this afternoon, we went back to the café. We kept trying to call you to make sure you were okay.”

“Oh, right, sorry. I turned my phone off. I was going to the library.” I fished it out of my pocket and turned it on. The screen was broken. Darned big green delivery truck. My grandmother was going to kill me.

“Well, that reporter was there, the one from the Tourist Channel doing the story on the hotel who kept asking everyone if they’d seen anything. He was sitting at the booth behind us, talking on the phone for-like-ever while we were trying to track you down. He kept going on and on about how this was it, about how he had found what they’d been looking for, and how he had it all on tape.”

I inhaled sharply. “He got it on tape?”

“Not everything,” Glitch said. “I think he was talking to some big-time producer. He said the tape screwed up right when the truck was about to … about to run you down.” His voice faltered, proving the subject upset him. For some bizarre reason, I felt guilty.

“Yeah,” Brooklyn said. “He was so excited, he was shaking, but I could tell the tape thing pissed him off. He argued with one of his technicians, told her to fix it or find another job. He had such an attitude.”

“He did,” Glitch agreed. “And he was saying that after the truck screeched to a halt, he saw this one kid, a blond, drag this other kid through the glass that just happened to shatter for no reason, then through the gravel on the street like he weighed nothing, while this girl,
the
girl, who should be dead, is following alongside them arguing with the blond guy and fussing over the dark-haired one, and that they were all covered in blood and—”

“In other words,” Brooklyn said, interrupting, “someone else knows and is more than interested in what happened today. He said he would get the evidence, that he just needed more time.”

“He seemed very determined, Lor,” Glitch warned.

I nodded. Whoever he was, he definitely wanted the story. This was getting worse by the minute. “What did he mean, he found what they’d been looking for?”

“I have no idea,” Brooke said. “He was like a dog with a bone.”

“Darn. I’ll just have to figure out this whole thing before Mr. Butthead Reporter does. But this time, I need some help.” Both Brooklyn and Glitch perked up at that thought. “I don’t suppose either of you would be up for an investigation of sorts?”

“Investigation?” Brooklyn asked, her eyes brightening. “I was born for it.”

“And I was born for fame and fortune, but that’s beside the point. I’m in.”

I smiled and felt for the necklace Glitch gave me in memory of my parents. It wasn’t around my neck. “My necklace is gone,” I said, glancing around in alarm.

Brooke and Glitch scanned the room as well before Glitch said, “You know, you were hit by a truck. There’s no telling where it is now.”

My shoulders deflated in disappointment. “I really liked it, Glitch.”

“I can get you another one,” he said with a shrug. “My dad made it for you.”

I pulled in a soft gasp. “Your dad made it?” Now I really felt guilty.

“Yeah, but now he has the mold. It won’t take him any time to make another.”

But I wanted that one. The first one. The one made just for me and my parents. I tried to brush my hair back with my fingers, but they got tangled in the blood-caked mess on my head. Gross. “Okeydokey, it’s definitely shower time.”

HYBRID

“In a million years I never thought I would say this, but … are you sure we should be skipping?”

Brooklyn and I both turned to Glitch, our faces a snapshot of surprise. We were in his sad excuse for a Subaru, heading to the spot where Jared had disappeared. I didn’t know where else to start, so retracing my steps seemed the most logical thing to do.

“Glitch,” I said after the shock of his statement ebbed, “have you gone mad? You skip for any reason under the sun.”

Brooklyn laughed in remembrance. “I especially liked the one where the nightmare about the giant turtles made him too tired to concentrate on his schoolwork, and he felt he would be a distraction to the rest of the class, so in the interest of everyone’s educational experience, he should be allowed to go home.”

I snickered. “That was a good one.”

“Yeah,” Glitch said, “but the sheriff wasn’t looking for me on turtle-nightmare day.”

“And he’s not looking for you today either. He’s looking for me,” I said. I had managed to wiggle out of my talk with the sheriff once again the evening before, complaining to my grandmother that my stomach was upset. Unfortunately, I hadn’t been lying. Though her chicken soup did help. It always helped.