"Hey, Sadie, what're you reading?"
I turned to see Noah standing behind me, pulling his iPod earphones out from his ears.
"Oh, hey…um, nothing," I muttered, trying to hide the book behind my back. I wasn’t sure why I felt the need to be so secretive, but it seemed so ironically cliché to be holding a book about the Salem Witch Trials while in Salem.
Noah laughed and tried to reach behind my back to get a peek at what I was hiding. His hands reached for my hips as he fought to steal the book out of my hands.
"What, are you embarrassed to be seen in a bookstore? Come on, let me see." He tried his maneuver again, unsuccessfully.
"Hey!" I huffed, trying not to yell. "Stop it. I'm just looking around. How'd you know I'd be here, anyway? Are you stalking me?" I joked, trying to remove some of the tension.
"Sorry." He held his hands in the air to indicate a cease-fire and took a step back. "Not stalking, I just saw you in here and wanted to say, hi. Besides, if I was stalking you, you wouldn’t know I was here." He gave a small laugh and flashed me his charming smile.
I began to walk away, shaking my head. I hated that he'd made me blush and I didn’t want him to see it.
"Sadie, wait up. I'm sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. I was just playing around." He caught up to me, and jumped in front of me, so I was cornered in between two large mahogany bookshelves.
"It’s okay, but I have to go." I tried to push past him again but failed. For someone so lanky he was freakishly strong.
"Come on, you can’t be mad at me." He tried to flash me an alluring grin, but I refused to look. Instead, I pretended to browse through a section on travel. Maybe, if I was lucky, I'd find a place to which I could escape.
"I'm not mad at you, I just want to leave." I huffed and kept my head down.
"Look, let’s forget this even happened.
"What are you doing tonight?" Confidence seemed to ooze from him as he stood his ground, refusing to back down.
"Nothing," I responded, allowing the frustration in my voice to shine.
"Well, let’s go get something to eat. You do eat, don’t you? I mean, you're not one of those girls who refuse to eat so she can watch her figure, are you?" He smirked, showing a set of perfectly white teeth.
"Yeah, I eat. You saw me eating with my mom, fifteen minutes ago." I didn’t mean for my voice to sound so cold, I just didn’t want to be bothered. If I stopped for even a moment to talk, I knew I'd get side-tracked and forget all about my mission. "But I am busy, so, sorry."
I managed to push past him so I could continue to walk aimlessly around the bookstore. The shelves were placed around the room, in a way that made it seem like a maze, and I felt trapped, like a lab rat unable to find the cheese.
"Sadie, what is your problem? Earlier you were laughing with me, and now you act like you want to kill me," he said, leaning in closer.
"I don’t have a problem. Look, don’t act like you know me because you don’t." I looked around the maze, trying to find an escape route.
"I know more about you than you think," he stated, matter-of-factly.
"Yeah, I doubt that." I rolled my eyes and pursed my lips. If he only knew he was dealing with a messenger for the dead, he'd go running for the hills.
"Let me try to analyze you: I bet you a hundred dollars that know more about you than you think," he said, blocking me into a corner again. His face twisted into a devilish grin, indicating that he enjoyed messing with me.
"Okay. I'll let you analyze me, but when you're wrong you have to promise you'll leave me alone and let me go." I looked up to meet his gaze.
He smirked and extended his arm. "Deal." He shook my hand like we were best buddies. His demeanor both confused and intrigued me.
I huffed and folded my arms, waiting for the nonsense to begin. I tried hard to hide my smile, but my lips refused to listen. Honestly, I couldn’t wait to tell Amber and Lia about this.
"Let me see," he began, He touched his index finger to his lips. "You're part of the CIA where you're a trained assassin. You're desperately seeking a hot guy like me to accompany you on your top-secret missions." He smiled a naughty smile and then continued. "Oh, and you’re not fooling anyone‒I know you totally like me."
I laughed and shook my head. "Yes, you're correct." He was funny, I hate to admit.
"Well, you got me. I guess I'm just easy to read. So, what about you?" I asked, turning the game around on him.
"What about me?" he asked, trying to sound defensive. His lips curved into that wicked smile, and I couldn't help wanting more.
"Let me analyze you," I stated, pointing my finger into his rock-hard chest. As soon as I made contact I felt my breath leave my body. Trying to conceal my sudden change in mood, I quickly retracted my finger from his chest and took a step back.
"Give it a try." He smirked, holding his hands up like he was being frisked by a cop. I couldn’t tell if he noticed my loss of breath when we touched, but from the way he kept joking around, I think my secret was safe.
"Let me see…where to begin? Okay, you're a runaway convict on the loose. You're using a fake name and identity, hoping the cops don’t catch you."
I stepped back, awaiting his reaction, smiling to myself, pleased with my analysis. This little game we were playing was kind of fun. I wished it was all that simple, that I could just erase my real life and pretend to be a normal (or not so normal) teenager.
Noah smiled, stepped back, and bowed. "I defer to your greatness. It seems you have me pegged‒most of it is true, at any rate." He smirked at his last statement.
"Well, regardless, we had a deal. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go." I pushed past him and began searching for the light at the end of the tunnel. Noah ran up to me, walking swiftly in order to keep up with my pace. His sweet cologne reminded me of vanilla and peppermint. "Come on, just talk to me," he begged, remaining on my heels.
I turned around, stopping him in his tracks. "Look, I'm not like the other girls around here. I don’t fall for pick-up lines and desperate attempts to get my attention. Try your games on another girl." I didn’t mean to sound so harsh, but I knew that allowing someone into my world right now would only serve to distract me. And I could tell Noah was someone who could easily distract me.
He stood there a moment, considering what I'd said. "You're right. You're not like most other girls around here."
"Thanks," I mumbled. I pushed grudgingly past him, elbowing him in the side as I did, and pretended to act interested in the books on the shelves, reading each and every title. But really, I was trying to fight down the butterflies fluttering in my stomach.
"Your face isn't covered in a pound of makeup, and I like that. You have a natural glow‒it's quite beautiful." The complement caught me off guard and almost knocked me over, and I turned to look at him. Gone was the pompous smile, replaced by a look of honesty.
"I'm boring. You wouldn’t have any fun with me, so you might as well stop trying now." I had to admit: he was really cute, but the last thing I needed just then was someone else to worry about.
"Now, see? That's where you are wrong. This chase is the most fun I've had all week, with the exception of seeing Mrs. Grumpy the other day, but you’re a lot more fun. Trust me: I can tell you're anything but boring."
I couldn’t help but smile. No matter how hard I tried to conceal the forming of my lips, the smile continued to grow. I held my head down in an attempt to mask the smile. I didn't believe it possible, but he managed to sound endearing.
"What are you so afraid of?" he asked, stepping aside so he once again blocked my escape route.
"I am not afraid of anything," I replied, finally finding a way to breeze past him.
"I don’t believe that." His tone grew serious; all trace of humor had gone.
"Well, you should," I said, trying to sound stern and sure of myself.
I pushed past him and began walking toward the exit door. No matter how hard I tried to escape him, I knew
he wouldn't give up.
Later that night I found myself skimming over the pages of Elizabeth’s journal, searching every word for a sign. Why me? Why now?
I decided the best thing to do was to call Amber. Maybe talking to her would ease my mind and allow me to think of anything else other than the fear in a dead woman’s voice.
Amber answered after the first ring.
"Hey, girl! How’s life in Salem? Meet any witches yet?" She laughed, not knowing how close to the truth her statement was.
"Salem is…different," I muttered.
I wanted to tell her everything, to share my fears about the journal with her, to explain Noah, and share about my new friend, Lucy. Instead, I found myself talking about the weather and my classes. We spent an hour talking about nothing at all. When we hung up we promised to talk the next week and plan a trip for her to visit.
I wasn’t sure why the conversation felt so strange, but I didn’t have the time to worry about it. Instead, I reached for Elizabeth’s diary and continued reading. When I fell asleep hours later, the words from the pages seemed burned into my mind, and I'd lost track of what was my reality, and Elizabeth's story as it continued to unfold on the page.
Chapter Nine
After my run-in with Noah, I decided to stay in Sunday to spend it relaxing while watching old movies with my mom. I awoke Monday morning to the sound of my alarm clock ringing, the hideous noise bringing me tumbling back to earth from my nightly downtime. I felt the beads of cool drops of water cascade down my forehead and realized I was in a cold sweat. I'd fallen asleep dreaming of Elizabeth’s journal. I fancied I could see the faces of her family members, but more than anything else, I'd envisioned her face.
I dreamt I was standing on my front porch, gazing at my house, the front door wide open, and not a soul in sight. When I stepped into the house it looked much different. Smaller wooden furniture had replaced my mother’s large formal, floral stuff. The walls had been painted off-white, rather than the maroon and cashmere my mother had painted the kitchen and other living spaces.
An icy cold hand reached out to grab me‒it was Elizabeth, standing behind me, a stale expression on her face. She took my hand, lead me up the winding staircase, and into my bedroom. She never spoke or showed any sign of emotion, her face remaining expressionless throughout, like a blank page in an unwritten diary.
We stopped in front of my bedroom door. Fear had taken hold of my body and I was unable to move. Elizabeth stepped in front of me to stand in front of the bedroom door, the door crept magically open, without a single touch from either Elizabeth or myself, and she glided into the bedroom as if she were on an invisible conveyor belt.
My bedroom looked odd, not at all like I'd remembered it. Her bed was in the same place as mine, but her dresser stood on the opposite side of the room, next to the large window. A small desk and chair had replaced my dresser. A journal lay on the top of the desk, open to a blank page. It looked the same as the journal I'd discovered only a few short days ago, but it was different, too. The cover was of the same brown leather, but it was fresher and cleaner.
Elizabeth suddenly she spoke, though her porcelain features remained motionless: "Save me; same my family," she whispered. Her eyes glistened, capturing my attention with her powerful gaze, and I was mesmerized and unable to speak.
Words tried to escape from my mouth and I stuttered at first, and then mumbled. I let out a gasp, and then my mouth gave in to my needs. "What do you want from me?" was all I could manage to say. I continued to stare at the petite figure before me as her mouth widened, but just as she seemed about to speak, my alarm clock rudely awoke me.
What had she wanted from me? Why me? What could I possibly do to help her? Why couldn’t she just tell me what she needed from me, like the rest of them?
My stomach growled and hunger pangs shot through my midsection‒I desperately needed a shower and something to eat. I got out of bed and searched through one of the nearby boxes to look for a bookmark, which I placed in the journal (it was still in my bed when I fell asleep last night) and then returned it to its secure hiding place.
In the shower I allowed the warm water to rush over me. Heat filled the air, pushing away the cold. I stood under the running water for what seemed like an eternity, thinking about Elizabeth and trying not to think of Noah. All I wanted to do was to rush back into my room and continue reading, but I, unfortunately, had to go to school and listen to my boring teachers ramble on all day.
Once I'd finished in the bathroom, I ran to my room, threw on my favorite pair of dark denim jeans and black lace top, collected my backpack, and met my mom in the kitchen. She'd prepared a hearty breakfast for me‒a large plate of pancakes sat in the center of the breakfast table; a huge, blue bowl filled to the rim with scrambled eggs sat next to it; next to that was a plate piled high with bacon and sausage.
My dad peered over his newspaper and greeted me with a smile. "Good morning, Sadie. Come and eat breakfast with us. Your mom's been up and cooking for hours."
I grabbed a plate and sat down next to my dad. My mom placed two large golden pancakes on my plate and drowned them in sweet, warm, maple syrup. I took a large bite and closed my eyes as I chewed; the pancakes seemed to virtually melt in my mouth. They were delicious and fluffy, just the way I liked them.
"Sadie, I went to bed around midnight last night and your light was still on. Were you up late studying?"
My mom always had a way of running around a question. She knew me well enough to know I was up reading and not studying, only, she had no idea that instead of reading some teen romance novel or classic fairy tale, I was reading a real-life account of a persecuted witch.
"Oh, yeah. I fell asleep reading last night. Sorry. I hope the light didn’t disturb you," I said, praying they'd change the subject. I tried to look apologetic, but I felt as if I wasn't succeeding.
"No, that's fine, you didn’t disturb us. So, what were you reading?"
My dad had placed the newspaper in his lap and decided to jump into our conversation. Great. Now I had to think of something to say. I couldn’t just tell them, "Oh, hey, Mom and Dad, I found this dead girl's journal. She was killed because people thought she was a witch."
I didn’t believe that story would go over well with anyone, let alone the parental units.
"Um…well, I read something for English class, then I called Amber," I said.
Yes. This story would work. My parents knew how close Amber and I were back home.
"Well, that sounds nice Sadie," my mom said. She sat down across the table from my dad and fixed herself a plate. I finished my breakfast quickly and announced that I was going to be late for school.
I grabbed my backpack, took my car keys from the kitchen counter, and ran out the front door. A cold breeze that wrapped its arms around me from the moment I stepped outside and wouldn’t let go.
I spent my day at school in a trance and didn’t hear a single word any of my teachers said. At lunch, as Lucy chattered away about her day, I nodded my head and remembered to smile every so often so she'd think I was paying attention.
Noah remained true to his promise‒he didn’t give up on the chase, and over the following days, my resistance grew weak. I allowed myself to let him in, but only as a friend. It didn’t matter how much I liked him, or that I was secretly waiting for him to sit next to me in class or find me in the cafeteria. My priority was to uncover Elizabeth’s secrets so I could try to find my way to a normal life.
At lunch, Noah sat quietly next to me, playing with his food. He tore his sandwich into small, uneven squares. I felt his eyes burning a hole through me. He wanted to speak‒I felt the intensity of his desire‒but he remained silent. All I could think about was the journal waiting for me when I got home.
During my last period class, my legs began to tremble. The anticipation was more than I could control as I watched the clock above the door slowly tick the seconds down. It felt as if time itself had slowed, like the univers
e was playing a cruel joke on me. When the final bell rang, I jumped from my seat and ran to the parking lot.
Noah had been in the habit of walking with me to my car, but today I didn’t have time to wait for him. I'd have to apologize tomorrow for my break from our daily routine.
Fearing a fatality or speeding ticket, I tried to pay attention to the drive home. I kept my hands precisely at ten and two on the steering wheel, gripping the black leather of the wheel tightly enough to cause my hands to ache.
When I reached my street, I glanced around for small children on bikes or pedestrians. Determining that the coast was clear, I gunned the engine and raced down the street to my house. Thankfully, my parents had gone, so I wouldn’t have to explain my insane entrance into the driveway.
I rushed into the house and up the stairs to my room, ran in, shut the door quickly behind me, moved my dresser, and opened the secret door where I grabbed the journal and retreated up to my secret oasis. Once I was comfortably sitting on the floor, I found the place I'd marked and held my breath as I jumped back into the story.
The writing was hard to decipher as the ink had faded over the centuries it had lain untouched in my home, to the point where I had to strain my eyes to read the tiny handwriting:
As I glanced at the trees, they seemed to be reaching down for me, trying to capture me in their scrawny limbs. The sound of a woman chanting became more vivid to me, and as I walked through the woods it grew louder and louder. I soon smelled smoke and saw a gray fog rising from behind a group of trees. The smell was intoxicating. I slowly made my way through the trees, pushing limbs out of my way. There was a clearing, and I darted out of view and behind a group of trees along its perimeter. In the center of the clearing was a small cottage, no larger than a single room. A candle in the window provided all the light I needed to see into the house, where a frumpy, older woman with silver hair stood hunched over a large fire, heating an ash covered cauldron in which she stirred something with a wooden paddle.
Wicked Cries (The Wicked Cries Series Book 1) Page 6
