Rest In Peace (17 page)

“Still . . . I think it's sad. It's like she's already decided that Angela's not coming home.”

“It's so dark here
. . .
I can't get back
. . .
”

Remembering the ghostly telephone call, Lucy's shoulders stiffened. “Maybe she
has
to decide that. Maybe it's the only way she can cope.”

“Maybe.” Dakota gave a reluctant nod. “But it sort of makes you understand why Angela's run away so many times, doesn't it?”

But this is the last time
. The thought loomed darkly in Lucy's mind, though she tried to push it away.
This is the last time Angela will ever leave
. . .

 

“Lucy, I'll be leaving for a while. On very important business.”

Irene's announcement had come that morning while she was driving Lucy to school. An announcement that was so casual and matter of fact, that at first Lucy hadn't even realized its magnitude.

“We're experiencing some difficulties with one of our foreign-exchange programs. It's necessary that I go to Paris and help with the reorganization.”

Lucy had waited, not exactly sure what was coming next. Irene had cast her a pensive sidelong glance.

“It's going to take at least two weeks. Perhaps more. And frankly, I'm not sure what to do with you.”

That's when the reality of the situation had begun to sink in. And though Lucy felt stunned and hurt, she'd managed to shrug it off with a forced smile.

“You don't have to worry about me, Aunt Irene. I'll be fine.”

“There's really no one I can think of to leave you with,” her aunt had gone on, as though she found this mildly annoying. “And Florence can't be here full-time; she has a family and other clients to take care of.”

“You don't have to ask Florence. It's not like I need a babysitter or anything.”

A slight frown had settled between Irene's brows. “If you were Angela, I'd have to nag you about being responsible. I'd have to warn you not to let strangers into the house and not to throw wild parties while I was gone.”

Lucy hadn't answered. She hadn't known what to say.

“But you're not Angela,” Irene had concluded.

A pause had settled between them. And to Lucy's astonishment, Irene's eyes had suddenly glimmered with tears.

“And it's not your fault, Lucy,” she'd said softly. “What happened is not your fault. I do not want you blaming yourself for any of Angela's rash behavior.”

For one split second, Lucy had almost leaned toward her aunt. Almost touched her. Almost given her a hug.

But then the tears had vanished, leaving Irene's eyes as cold and hard as before.

“She'll come home. Eventually.” As the car pulled up in front of the school, Irene's tone had suddenly matched her eyes. “When he breaks her heart . . . when she runs out of money. She'll come home like all the times before.”

“Aunt Irene—”

“Don't be late, Lucy.”

Crestfallen, Lucy had gotten out of the car.

She'd stood there on the sidewalk, and she'd even waved good-bye.

But Irene had never looked back . . .

 

“. . . till she gets back,” Dakota was saying.

Lucy looked up from her lumpy macaroni and cheese. The noise in the cafeteria was deafening, and she hadn't realized till this very minute how much her head was beginning to ache.

“Till
who
gets back?” she asked.

Dakota stopped sucking on her orange. She ran one hand slowly through her hair, her eyes fixed calmly on Lucy's face. “We were talking about your aunt.”

“Sorry. I guess I zoned out for a minute.”

“Oh, that's good. I thought maybe it was me zoning.” Dakota slid her tray to the edge of the table. “I was just saying that you could stay with me while your aunt's gone. My parents would be totally okay with it.”

“I couldn't do that. It's really nice of you, and I appreciate it, but . . .”

“But what?”

“But I just couldn't, that's all.”

After a second's hesitation, Dakota reached over and squeezed Lucy's hand. “I don't know everything you've been through, Lucy. And I know this is none of my business. But I don't think you should be alone right now. So promise me you'll at least think about staying over.”

“Yes.” Lucy forced a weak smile. “I promise.”

“When's she leaving, anyway?”

“Next week sometime.”

“Well, you'd definitely start
eating
at my house,” Dakota informed her. “My mom and dad are both great cooks. And I bet you'd sleep, too.”

“I sleep now.”

But Dakota wasn't fooled. Releasing Lucy's hand, she leaned even closer, a wise sadness in her eyes. “Be honest with me, Lucy—when's the last time you
really
slept? A sleep without nightmares . . . a sleep without pain?”

And Lucy couldn't answer.

Because she truly couldn't remember . . .

 

She'd stayed awake till morning.

Still restless from her need to be outside, Lucy had paced her bedroom in the dark, and she'd stared out for hours through the sliding glass doors. She'd sat on the bed with her arms wrapped around her, trying to give herself comfort. And she'd rocked back and forth, back and forth, but it hadn't lulled her to sleep.

As if she hadn't had enough on her mind already.

After Matt brought her home, she'd had more than enough to think about, a whole new set of fears to consider. She'd felt numb and strangely distant, as though her emotions belonged to someone else. For a while she'd held the medallion Matt had given her, turning it over and over in her hands. Then she'd put it in the drawer of the nightstand and collapsed on her bed, shutting her eyes and trying desperately to shut out the rest of the world.

A world she no longer trusted or understood.

A world of questions without answers.

The message in her notebook . . . Byron's face at the bookstore window . . . a series of wrong turns leading her straight to the Wetherly house . . .

And Byron's grandmother . . . Byron's reflection in those sad, dark eyes . . .

Lucy had lain there, too exhausted to move, and praying for sleep. Deep, senseless, peaceful sleep. Kind sleep . . . sleep without dreams.

But of course she hadn't slept.

Not then.

Not while those questions and conjectures had continued to rush blackly through her mind, like bats swarming at dusk from their cave.

Byron must have mentioned her, she'd decided.

At some point, Byron must have mentioned Lucy's name to his grandmother—or described her, maybe—and that's how his grandmother had known.

Yet how could Lucy explain the rest of it? Like her tire going flat, so conveniently near Byron's house? And Byron's grandmother recognizing her from countless other blond-haired, blue-eyed girls who might have happened to knock on her door?

“
Mrs. Wetherly was propped up in bed, almost as if she'd been waiting for us. She didn't even look surprised. Just so sad
. . .
calm
. . .
resigned, almost.
”

Matt's words had come back to her then.

Matt's account of the night Byron died—when Matt and Father Paul and the sheriff and doctor had all gone to tell Byron's grandmother the news.

Yielding reluctantly to her memories, Lucy had opened her eyes and stared hard at the ceiling. Byron had told her once that his grandmother had psychic powers, the ability to “know” things other people weren't privy to. Could it be that Mrs. Wetherly had
expected
Lucy to show up there?

Could it be that she
led
me there
deliberately
?

The idea had been too chilling to contemplate.

So Lucy had gone into the bathroom and run a hot shower. She'd stood there under the steamy spray, but her mind had continued to fret.

And even beneath the soothing flow of the water, Lucy had felt bruised and battered by indecision.

Lucy had leaned her head against the shower wall, picturing Byron's house again. The second-floor windows had been dark, she remembered. Windows where Katherine had stared out at an unsympathetic world . . . windows that had become Katherine's prison.

And suddenly her heart had ached for Katherine.

Ached and cried for Katherine.

Not only for the girl's heartless death, but for the life she'd been denied. Denied because of her powers. Denied because of her gift.

“A gift sometimes
. . .
but also a curse,” Byron had called it.

And now it belonged to Lucy.

And as the shower washed away her tears, she'd wondered about her own life and the strange direction it had taken.

And she'd asked herself—as Dakota had asked her in the bookstore that night—just what
did
she believe in?

 

“Hope,” said Dakota, and once again Lucy looked at her friend in total bewilderment.

“What?” Lucy asked.

“The candlelight vigil. As an expression of hope.” Dakota was standing up now, closing her knapsack with a tolerant smile. “Lucy, I'll be glad to go over all this again when you're back on the planet.”

“I'm sorry. I'm just so out of it today.”

“Candlelight vigil,” Dakota repeated patiently. “For Angela. Tomorrow night in front of the school.”

“Whose idea was this?”

“Some of her friends on the cheerleading squad. At least that's what I heard.”

“Does my aunt know about it?”

“I'm sure someone plans on telling her. Do you think she'll come?”

Lucy shrugged. “I've given up thinking what she might or might not do.”

The two headed off to class. They were just rounding a corner near the office when Lucy spotted several of the cheerleaders standing together, handing out flyers.

“Those are the notices,” Dakota mumbled. “For the vigil tomorrow night.”

As they got nearer, Lucy's heart began to quicken. She recognized one of the girls as Wanda Carver, and she stopped uncertainly in the middle of the hall.

“What?” Dakota stopped, too, her expression puzzled. “What is it?”

“Nothing. I'm okay.”

“You sure?”

Lucy nodded. But her heart was beating faster now, and she could see Wanda starting toward her, one hand extended, passing Lucy one of the printed announcements.

Lucy stood frozen. Wanda was looking at her strangely, as strangely as Dakota was, and Lucy couldn't move, couldn't move even though she wanted to, even though she wanted to turn and run and never touch that paper that Wanda was touching . . .

But Wanda thrust the flyer into her hand, and Lucy had to take it. Had to take it and pretend nothing was wrong, while the quick, sharp flashes of danger strobed darkly through her brain.

“Lucy? You did this last time—what's wrong?”

And she could hear Dakota's voice so close to her as she whirled around and started away, away from the curious stares and away from the feeling of tragedy . . .

“I have to go back,” Lucy said.

Breaking from Dakota's grasp, she pushed her way through the packed corridor. Wanda didn't even see her coming, not till Lucy was right beside her and leaning in close to her ear.

“Be careful,” Lucy whispered. “Be careful tomorrow. Please.”

The girl jumped back, completely startled and completely annoyed. “Hey, what do you think you are doing?”

“You could get hurt. You could fall and get hurt. Just please be careful.”

“Get away from me! Are you
crazy
?”

Lucy pulled back. Wanda and her friends were staring at her with undisguised contempt, and Lucy's cheeks flamed in embarrassment.

“Sorry,” she mumbled. “I just . . . It's a mistake. Sorry.”

Turning on her heel, she ran to catch up with Dakota. But her heart was still pounding.

And the images in her mind had gone hopelessly black.

23

She and Dakota had almost been late for class.

Which is a good thing
, Lucy reminded herself wryly.

There'd been no time for Dakota to question Lucy's strange behavior, no time for Wanda Carver to mortify Lucy more than she already had.

Still, by the end of the day, Lucy couldn't help noticing more curious stares and secretive whispers aimed in her general direction.

She wished she could just go straight home and hide, but she'd already had to beg a ride from Dakota. Angela's car was waiting at Glen's Repair, and after that, Irene had asked her to pick up some dry cleaning.

“We can do that first,” Dakota offered, coaxing her truck from the school parking lot. “It's right next to the soup kitchen where I volunteer.”

Lucy was impressed. “Do you really? I've always wanted to do that. What's it like?”