by John Saul
Annie Whitmore was sitting on the merry-go-round in the schoolyard when she saw Michelle coming down the street. Michelle was walking slowly, and Annie thought she looked angry. Annie looked around quickly, wondering if anyone else was there. She wanted to play with Michelle, but she knew she wasn’t supposed to—her mother had talked to her for a long time last night, warning her that from now on, she wasn’t even supposed to speak to Michelle, and if Michelle offered to play with her, she was to come home at once.
But Annie liked Michelle, and since her mother wouldn’t tell her why she was supposed to stay away from her, she decided to ignore the order.
Besides, there wasn’t anybody around to tell on her if she disobeyed.
“Michelle!”
Michelle didn’t respond, so Annie called her again, louder. This time Michelle looked in her direction, and Annie waved.
“Hi! What are you doing?”
“Just walking,” Michelle said. She stopped and leaned on the fence. “What are you doing?”
“Playing. But I can’t get the merry-go-round to go fast enough. It’s too heavy.”
“Want me to push it for you?” Michelle offered.
Annie nodded, telling herself that it was all right—she hadn’t actually asked Michelle to play with her.
Michelle opened the gate and limped into the schoolyard. Annie waited patiently on the merry-go-round. When Michelle came close to her, she grinned.
“How come you’re down here on Saturday?”
“I was just walking,” Michelle said.
“How come you’re not playing with anybody?”
“I am. I’m playing with you.”
“But you weren’t. You were all by yourself. Don’t you have any friends?”
“Sure. I have you, and there’s Amanda, too.”
“Amanda? Who’s Amanda?”
“She’s my special friend,” Michelle said. “She helps me.”
“Helps you? Helps you what?” Annie kicked at the ground, and the merry-go-round began to move, very slowly. Michelle reached out and gave it a push, and it speeded up a little. Annie pulled her feet up and waited until she came around to Michelle before she spoke again. “What does Amanda help you do?”
“Things,” Michelle said.
“What kind of things?”
“Never mind,” Michelle said, not knowing exactly how to explain Amanda. “Someday maybe you’ll meet her.”
Annie let the merry-go-round carry her around a few more times, then jumped off.
“How come nobody likes you?” she asked. “I think you’re nice.”
“And I think you’re nice, too,” Michelle said, ignoring Annie’s question. “What do you want to do now?”
“The swings!” Annie cried. “Will you push me on the swings?”
“Sure,” Michelle said. “Come on—I’ll race you!”
Annie immediately dashed off in the direction of the swings, and Michelle started after her, moving as quickly as she could and making a great show of panting. When she caught up with Annie, the little girl was giggling happily.
“I won! I won!”
“Just wait,” Michelle said. “Someday, I’ll learn to run again, and then you’d better watch out!”
But Annie didn’t hear her. She was already on the swings, begging to be pushed. Michelle laid her cane on the ground, and stood behind Annie, a little to one side. Slowly, she began pushing the little girl.…
Corinne Hatcher sat at her desk, trying to concentrate on the papers she was grading. Ordinarily, she would have ignored them until Monday, and spent Saturday with Tim, but this morning he hadn’t called her, and she had known that even if he had, she would have found some excuse. Probably, she would have used these very tests.
And they were only an excuse. She wished she could bring herself to simply call Tim, tell him she wished last night’s fight had never happened, and suggest they forget about it. But she knew she wouldn’t call until she could pretend it was a matter of business. She even knew she would be deceiving no one but herself, but it didn’t matter—she still had to have that excuse, that reason for calling other than to make up.
Disgusted with herself, she set her red pen down and glanced out the window.
And saw Michelle.
Her breath drew in sharply, and she instinctively rose from her chair. Michelle was coming into the schoolyard, and Annie Whitmore was apparently waiting for her.
Corinne watched as Annie climbed onto the merry-go-round, and Michelle began pushing it She could see the two children talking, but she couldn’t hear what they were saying. It didn’t matter, though—both of them were smiling and laughing.
Then Annie got off the merry-go-round and started toward the swings, slowly at first, then running. For a moment Corinne was worried, afraid that Annie was mocking Michelle, but then she saw that it was a game, and that Michelle had apparently started it, for she was making a great show of trying to run, flailing her arms, panting madly, while Annie watched and laughed.
Corinne found herself laughing, too.
And there, she realized, was her excuse to call Tim. If he thought Michelle was dangerous, wait till he heard about this—she was actually beginning to parody her own lameness!
She left her room and started down the hall toward the office. But as she started to dial, she had a better idea—it still wasn’t noon, and if she knew Tim, he’d still be home, lingering over his coffee.
She wouldn’t call him. Instead, she’d go to see him, tell him about Michelle. They could spend the day together. As she left the school, Corinne was smiling; today she could even tolerate Lisa Hartwick. She got into her car and started away. As she passed the playground she saw the two girls at the swings, Annie swinging, and Michelle gently pushing her. It was, Corinne Hatcher decided, a good day after all.
“Push me harder, Michelle!”
Annie leaned back in the swing, kicked her little legs up, and tried her best to pump the swing. But she had it wrong, and instead of moving faster, the swing slowed. Again, she called to Michelle. “Harder! I’m dying down!”
“You’re high enough already,” Michelle said. “You’re doing it wrong—you have to lean back when you go forward, and lean forward when you’re going back!”
“I’m trying,” Annie squealed. She increased her effort, doing her best to follow Michelle’s instructions.
“I can’t do it. Push me harder! Please?”
“No! The way you’re pumping, it’s dangerous. When you do it wrong, the chains don’t work. See? Every time you get to the top, something happens. They get loose, and you drop a little bit”
“I wouldn’t if you pushed harder.”
Michelle ignored her, and kept steadily pushing, reaching out with her right hand to give Annie a little shove each time she swung past.
But Annie was getting impatient. She wanted Michelle to push her harder. There had to be a way to make her. Then she had an idea. Even as she thought of it, she knew it was mean. But still, if it would make Michelle push her harder.…
“You just can’t push any harder, that’s all. You’re crippled, so you can’t push!”
Crippled!
The word hit her as it always did, like a hammer. Her stomach turned over, and she felt dizzy. Dizzy, and angry.
The fog crashed in on her this time, coming out of nowhere. She could see nothing—only the gray impenetrable mists swirling around her, blocking her vision.
And Amanda.
Amanda, coming toward her out of the grayness, smiling to her, encouraging her.
“You can push her, Michelle,” Amanda was saying. “Show her how hard you can push her.”
The pain in Michelle’s hip, the constant, nearly unbearable throbbing suddenly cleared up, and she felt that she could move easily, without the help of her cane. And if she needed help, Amanda was there—Amanda would help her.
She stepped behind the swing, and the next time Annie came drifting toward her through the fog, she was r
eady. She put her hands on Annie’s back, and as the little girl reached the apex of her arc, and started backward once more, Michelle prepared to push her.
Annie squealed with delight as she surged forward again, and clung more tightly to the chains. This was better—she’d never been this high before. Valiantly, she tried to pump, but she still didn’t have the hang of it.
Back she came, and once more she felt Michelle’s hands on her shoulders. “Harder!” she yelled. “Push harder!”
Again she shot forward, and her eyes widened as she saw the ground rushing up at her. Then she leveled off, and started the upswing, and the ground was replaced by the sky. What was she supposed to do?
Lean forward?
Kick back?
She leaned back, and as the swing reached its forward peak, she was suddenly unbalanced—the chains, so tight in her hands a moment before, abruptly loosened, and Annie felt herself start to fall.
She screamed, but then it was over—the chains were tight again, and she was on her way back, the weight at the end of the pendulum.
“Not so hard this tune,” she said when she felt Michelle’s hand on her back again.
But if Michelle heard her, she gave no sign. Annie found herself shooting forward again, higher than ever. Once more, as she reached the top, she leaned the wrong way and the chains went slack in her hands.
“Stop!” she yelled. “Please, Michelle, stop!”
But it was too late.
Back and forth she flew, ever higher, and each time the slack in the chain took longer to tighten again.
And then, inevitably, it happened.
The chain went loose in Annie’s hands, and she plunged straight down, her body lying across the seat of the swing, her eyes closed tight in terror.
And then there was no more chain.
As the seat of the swing reached the bottom and the hard links of the chain snapped taut, Annie Whitmore’s back broke.
A stab of pain shot through her, but it was over almost before it had begun—her head smashed against the ground, the momentum of her fall crushing her skull. She twitched spasmodically, and her broken body fell in a heap at Michelle’s feet.
“See?” Amanda whispered. “You can push as hard as you want. After a while, they’ll learn. They’ll learn, and then they’ll stop laughing.”
She took Michelle’s hand and began leading her out of the playground.
By the time they reached the street, the fog had lifted.
But Michelle didn’t look back.
Corinne opened the door to Tim’s house without knocking and let herself in.
“Tim? Tim!”
“In the kitchen,” Tim called.
Corinne hurried through the house and found Tim at the sink, elbow deep in dishwater.
“Guess what?”
Tim looked at her curiously. “Well, it must be something special, or you wouldn’t be here. And it must have something to do with Michelle Pendleton, since that’s who we were fighting about. You don’t look particularly upset, so it can’t be anything bad. So, you must have seen Michelle, and she must be better.”
Deflated, Corinne poured herself a cup of coffee and sat down. “You know what? You know me too well.”
“Then I was right?”
“Mmm-hmm. I saw Michelle today. She was in the schoolyard, playing with Annie Whitmore. And she was actually making fun of her own limp! Tim, you should have seen her. She was dragging her leg along, flapping her arms, panting like crazy, and all just to make Annie Whitmore laugh. What do you think of that?”
“I think it’s great,” Tim said. “But I don’t see what all the excitement’s about—it had to start sooner or later.”
“But I thought—last night you said—”
Tim dried off his hands and came to sit with her. “Last night I was doing a lot of wild speculating, and I might have said some things I didn’t mean. And you might have, too. So, shall we have a truce?”
Corinne threw her arms around him. “Oh, Tim, I love you.” She kissed him thoroughly, then grinned. “But isn’t it exciting? About Michelle, I mean? It’s the first time I’ve ever seen her do anything like that. She’s usually so self-conscious about her limp, and if anyone tries to talk to her about it, she just clams up. But she was making fun of it!”
“Well, before you declare her a perfectly adjusted child, let’s see what happens, shall we?” Tim cautioned her. “It might not have been what you thought it was, and it might have been just a momentary thing.” Then he grinned mischievously. “And what about Amanda? Have you forgotten all about the famous Amanda?”
“No. Well, not really. Oh, let’s not talk about her,” Corinne said. “I’ll just get all upset again. I was probably overdoing it last night too, and you’re probably right—she probably is only a figment of my imagination.”
“Well, in that case, Lisa’s going to be pretty upset.”
“Lisa?”
Tim nodded. “I’m afraid I changed my mind. I mean, we did have a fight, after all. So this morning, when Lisa started in on me, I gave in. She’s out hunting ghosts.”
Corinne stared at him.
“Oh, Tim, you didn’t!”
Tim’s smile faded at her expression of consternation.
“Well, why not?” he said irritably. “She’s with Alison and Sally. What can possibly happen?”
It was at that moment that Billy Evans died in the Paradise Point Clinic, as Cal Pendleton, Josiah Carson, and the neurologist from Boston looked helplessly on.
If any of them had glanced out the window, they would have seen Michelle, standing outside, staring into the room in which Billy lay, a tear running slowly down her cheek.
Amanda’s voice whispered in her ear.
“It’s done,” the strange voice crooned.
Michelle, knowing what had just happened inside, turned away and continued on her long walk home.
CHAPTER 26
“I still don’t think we should be here,” Jeff Benson said. He glanced over his shoulder toward his house, half expecting his mother to appear at the kitchen window, calling him home. If he’d had his way, he wouldn’t have come into the cemetery in the first place, but when Sally Carstairs, Alison Adams, and Lisa Hartwick had appeared that morning, he’d gone with them, thinking they wanted to go down to the cove.
But they hadn’t.
Instead, they’d wanted to go looking for the ghost. Mostly, he realized, it was Alison and Lisa who wanted to find Amanda, even though both of them claimed she didn’t exist. It had been Sally’s idea to start in the cemetery, and when Jeff had protested, she’d accused him of being scared. Well, he wasn’t scared—he wasn’t scared of the ghost, if there really was one, and he wasn’t scared of the cemetery. But there was still his mother, and Jeff didn’t want to get into trouble with her.
“If you ask me, I don’t think there’s anything here at all!”
Alison Adams nodded her agreement. She stood in the middle of the graveyard, her hands on her hips. “Who cares about an old gravestone anyway? Let’s go down to the beach—at least that might be fun!”
The four children started back toward the Bensons’, and the trail that would take them down the face of the bluff. It was Lisa who suddenly stopped and pointed at the figure of Michelle, coming slowly toward them on the road.
“Here she comes,” Lisa said. “Crazy Michelle!”
“She’s not crazy,” Sally said. “I wish you’d stop talking like that.”
“Well, if she’s not crazy, how come nobody’s seen the ghost except her?” Lisa demanded.
“Stop saying that!” Sally was getting angry now, and she made no attempt to cover it. “Just because you didn’t see the ghost, it doesn’t mean there isn’t one.”
“Well, if there is one, why don’t you get Michelle to show it to us?” Lisa taunted.
Sally had had enough. “I can’t stand you, Lisa Hartwick! You’re worse than Susan ever was!” Sally left the group and started toward Michelle.
“Michelle? Michelle, wait up!” she called.
In the road, Michelle stopped and looked curiously at the four children. What did they want? But as Sally came near her, she heard Jeff Benson’s voice.
“Hey, Michelle—who did you kill today?”
Sally stopped dead in her tracks and turned back to stare at Jeff.
Michelle stood still for a moment-, trying to understand what he meant. Then she realized.
Susan Peterson.
Billy Evans.
He thought she had killed them. But she hadn’t—she knew she hadn’t.
She felt tears welling up in her eyes, and fought to control them. She wouldn’t let them see her cry—she wouldn’t! She started along the road again, moving as quickly as she could. Her hip was suddenly throbbing with pain, but she tried to ignore it.
Where was Amanda? Why didn’t Amanda come and help her?
And then Sally caught up with her.
“Michelle? Michelle, I’m sorry! I don’t know why Jeff said that. He didn’t mean it!”
“Yes, he did,” Michelle said softly, her voice quavering with the tears she was desperately trying to hold back. “He thinks I killed them. Everybody thinks I killed them! But I didn’t!”
“I know. I believe you.” Sally paused, unsure what to do. “Why don’t you come over to my house?” she suggested. “We don’t have to stay here and listen to him.”
Michelle shook her head. “I’m going home,” she said. “Just leave me alone. I want to go home,”
Sally reached out to touch Michelle, but Michelle shrank away from her. “Just leave me alone! Please?” Sally stepped back and wondered what to do. She glanced quickly at the three children who seemed to be waiting for her, then back at Michelle.
“All right,” she said. “But I’m going to tell Jeff Benson what I think of him!”
“It won’t matter,” Michelle said. “It won’t change anything.” Without saying good-bye to Sally, she began walking away.
Sally watched her go, then started back toward Jeff and the two girls. When she was a few yards from them, she stopped and planted her hands on her hips.
