Death and the Girl Next Door d-1

by Darynda Jones

  “Hey, Cameron,” I said as I fished a tip out of my bag and turned back to our table.

  “Your friends already left a tip,” the barista said from behind the counter. “See you tomorrow.” She grinned at me, knowing I’d be back. If I remembered correctly, she’d graduated a couple of years earlier and had gone off to college in Albuquerque. Must not have worked out, since she was now a barista in a small-town coffee shop. Or it worked out perfectly, and she’d gone to college to become a barista in a small-town coffee shop. Hard to imagine, but okay.

  “See ya,” I said before glancing at Cameron again. He took the whole brooding thing way too seriously. The glare he’d graced me with could have frozen heck itself. “See you tomorrow, Cameron.”

  He lifted a finger in acknowledgment. I felt oddly honored.

  “What took you so long?” Brooklyn asked as I stepped into the late-afternoon sun. New Mexico was nothing if not sunny, even where we lived in the Manzano Mountains.

  “Did you see that boy?” I asked, scanning the street.

  “Cameron?” Brooklyn asked. If the distaste wasn’t clear in her tone, the wrinkling of her nose would have said it all.

  “No, a dark-haired boy, tall and really, really muscular.”

  Brooklyn jumped to attention and joined me in the search, turning every which way. “What boy? I didn’t see a boy. Especially not a tall, dark, and muscular one.”

  Glitch peered in through the coffee shop window. “I didn’t see anyone either. Maybe you imagined him.”

  “I had a vision,” I said breathlessly, and two sets of eyes widened on me. I knew we’d spend the rest of the evening talking about what I’d seen. If my vision was even remotely authentic, something very dreadful was about to happen to that boy.

  SUPERNOVA

  Three days later, I found myself struggling against both melancholy and euphoria. But if I’d known my day was going to suck like a turbo-powered Hoover, I totally would’ve faked the flu and stayed home. Or chicken pox. Or malaria. Instead, I’d walked to school like it was any other day. Like my heart wasn’t breaking. Like my head wasn’t reeling and my feet weren’t weighted down by the sudden and tragic onset of clinical depression, making each breath a trial, each step a struggle. I totally needed a car.

  I walked along Main Street, past trees and small businesses geared more toward tourists than locals, until my high school came into sight. Riley High was the latest and greatest achievement of the Riley’s Switch Board of Education. It was sparkling and new with stone arches that would’ve looked more at home in an architectural magazine than in a small New Mexico town. Heavy plate-glass windows lined the front with arched pillars at the entrance. The whole thing was topped off with a scarlet dome, like a castle tucked into the mountainside. Several outbuildings encircled the school, including the gym, the agricultural and construction shops, and the cafeteria. I had to admit, when I started here my freshman year, the place intimidated me more than a little. But I adjusted quickly when I realized how much the boys had grown over the summer. High school was a grand place to be.

  I spotted Brooklyn in the sea of students rushing to class and zigzagged toward her. Hugging my notebook to my chest, I took turns dodging a group of wrestlers practicing their chosen profession in the hallway and barely escaping with my life when a linebacker decided to plunge through the crush of bodies.

  Who knew high school could be so dangerous?

  Brooklyn was busy dialing the combination on her locker. She glanced at me between spins. “Hey, you.”

  “Hey.” I leaned against the wall of bright red lockers and asked, “Do you remember what today is?”

  She stopped midspin, her dark visage puckering in soft admonishment. “Of course I do. How could I not?”

  I shrugged and glanced down. It was weird. I figured the tenth anniversary of my parents’ disappearance would be excruciating. Like if I’d broken a leg or gotten a really bad paper cut. Instead, the pain in my chest was more like a whisper bouncing off the walls of an empty cavern. I just woke up and they were still gone. Like they had been every other morning for the last ten years.

  At first their absence had seemed like a dream, but the depth of despair my grandparents fell into convinced me they were really gone. And everyone asked me questions. What happened? What were we doing there? What did I see? Nothing, I would tell them. Again and again, nothing. I didn’t understand why they were asking me questions I couldn’t possibly have the answers to, but they said I’d been with my parents when they disappeared. The police found me unconscious beside our car at the old Pueblo ruins outside of Riley’s Switch. I didn’t remember being there. I just remembered waking up in the hospital days later, my body so heavy, I could barely move, my lungs so thick, I could barely breathe. And no one had any explanation as to why.

  Then came the questions. Over and over until my grandparents, in their state of utter bereavement, ordered the authorities to stop and took me home to grieve. I found out later that the entire town had helped look for my parents. Search parties scouted for days, hunted for clues. Even the FBI showed up, but nothing was ever found. Not a single shred of evidence. As cliché as it sounded, they literally vanished without a trace.

  The official report stated that my parents had wandered off and lost their way back. But they would never have done that. They would never have left me. And yet, because there was no evidence of foul play, the investigation lasted only a couple of weeks.

  And I, the only one who could offer any explanation, could remember nothing. The guilt of that fact weighed on me more and more every year, like a jagged boulder in my chest that grew with each passing moment.

  I’d never told anyone about the guilt except for Brooke.

  Her eyes filled with sympathy. “Why didn’t you stay home?”

  “And wallow in a deep pit of despair alone when I could force you to wallow with me? No, thank you.”

  She nodded. “That’s a good point. I’m pretty good at wallowing.”

  “And,” I said, withdrawing inside myself just a little, “I have something awful to confess.”

  “Yeah?” Intrigue scooted her closer. “How awful?”

  I hugged my notebook tighter and said, “I keep thinking about that boy from the Java Loft. For three days, that boy and that vision.”

  A knowing smile softened her face. “And you feel guilty?”

  “Absolutely. Don’t you think I should?”

  “No.”

  “I mean, here I am, practically orphaned ten years to the day, and my mind keeps replaying that vision over and over in my head. I’ve never seen anything like it. Or felt anything like it, for that matter. He was so fierce, so desperate, and yet somehow not quite human.” I took in a deep breath and refocused on Brooke. “But to think about that on today of all days.”

  She put a hand on my arm. “Lor, I’m certain your parents wouldn’t want you wallowing for their sake.”

  “I know, but—”

  “No buts. I can’t even begin to imagine what it’s like to have your gift, to see the things you’ve seen and feel the things you’ve felt. I understand where you’re coming from, but if you really loved me, you’d describe that boy in much more detail and include pertinent information like chest measurements and white blood cell count.”

  I grinned playfully and leaned in closer. “Well, I did try my hand at drawing him.”

  Her smile widened. “And?”

  After a quick scan of the area to make sure no one was looking, I eased my notebook forward to reveal my latest masterpiece.

  Her stare locked on to the image I’d drawn. The boy from the vision. She inhaled a soft breath. “Oh, my.”

  “I know.” I’d caught only a fraction of his face during the fight. Dark eyes one instant. A strong jaw the next. Lashes, thick and impossibly long. So I didn’t really have that much to go on, but I drew what I remembered.

  “Is the boy in your vision the same one from the hall?”

  “Prob
ably,” I answered. “At least that’s how it usually works. But how could that even be possible?”

  “Beats the heck outta me.”

  “Maybe my vision was a metaphor for something he has to face in his life. Something awful.”

  “Like finals?”

  “Exactly. Only, you know, more life-threatening.”

  A slow nod confirmed her agreement. “Maybe. I know one thing: He’s absolutely gorgeous.” She leveled an approving eye on me. “You are getting seriously good at this stuff. You should sell your drawings on eBay and pay for a trip to the casinos. Put those skills to good use.”

  Brooklyn knew my glimpses into the Twilight Zone didn’t really work that way. I wasn’t psychic like that. I just saw things every so often when I touched people. There were no guarantees that what I saw actually happened, or ever would.

  “I only use my powers for good,” I said, offering her a teasing scowl.

  She threw me a doubtful look. “What about that time the creature whose name shall not be spoken aloud backed her car into Principal Davis’s SUV? You saw that two days before it happened.”

  “Oh, right, well, most of the time. But this vision was different. So much emotion. So much turmoil.”

  “So much hot guy flesh,” Brooke added.

  I studied the picture and realized I did focus on the guy’s muscles a bit, but that was mostly what I saw.

  “So you didn’t see his whole face?” she asked, commenting on the fact that I’d only drawn his dark eyes with long lashes and the barest sliver of his pout.

  “No.” I sighed in frustration. “I got bits and pieces. It was like a puzzle I couldn’t quite solve.”

  “And you’re not very good at puzzles.”

  “True.” I fixed a contrite look on her as she analyzed the picture. “Sorry I called you so late last night.”

  “Are you kidding? I would’ve been upset if you hadn’t called me. Being stalked sucks,” she said, referring to the fact that for the last three days, ever since I’d seen him in the Java Loft, Cameron Lusk had been following me. Just out of the blue. For no comprehensible reason whatsoever. Every time I turned a corner, every time I looked up from whatever I was doing, there he was. Glaring. “Maybe what you saw in your vision was a manifestation of your worry over Cameron.”

  “Maybe.” I hadn’t thought of it that way. I was pretty new to the whole stalking thing.

  She opened her red locker door then halted again. “Well, let’s think about it. You had that vision the same day Cameron started following you.”

  I nodded, letting my eyes wander back to the picture. Even with my amateur style, the boy appealed to every cell in my body, drawing me in like a magnet.

  “And Cameron’s been your constant shadow for three days now, right?”

  I nodded again, running a fingertip over the corner of his mouth, barely visible.

  She shrugged. “Makes sense to me. Your subconscious is reaching out for someone to save you. You obviously have genuine feelings of vulnerability.”

  “True, but I had the vision before I saw Cameron.”

  “Oh, well, that does throw a wrench into our parade.”

  “Still, it’s not a bad working hypothesis. You’re good at analyzing things.”

  “That’s because I have an anal retentive personality,” she said in complete seriousness.

  I tried not to laugh at her as I peeked around the wall of bright red lockers to see if stalker boy was nearby.

  “And on that note,” she said just as I spotted him, “I need to ask you something.”

  “Shoot.”

  “Okay, so I was wondering, if Cameron kidnaps you, kills you, then buries your lifeless body in a shallow grave in the desert where your remains lay decomposing for several decades until they’re accidentally discovered by some guy on a journey to reawaken his spirit at the Salinas Pueblo Missions, can I have your iMac?”

  I gaped at her. “You’ve really thought this out.”

  “I love your iMac.”

  “I love my iMac too, and you’re not getting her.”

  “But you’ll be decomposing,” she said, her voice more whiny than usual.

  Fighting a bubble of laughter, I shook my head. “I had to save a whole year for iPrecious. She stays with me no matter what state of decomposition I’m in.”

  “Well, I hate to be the one to tell you this,” she said, clearly enjoying the task, “but that’s a ridiculous name.” She rifled through her books. “I mean, iPrecious? Seriously? You sound like the Apple version of Gollum.”

  I smiled even though evil butterflies had started dive-bombing the lining of my stomach the moment I spotted Cameron. Being stalked was wreaking havoc on my innards.

  “Is he there?” she asked.

  “He’s there, all right,” I said through slightly gritted teeth, my voice tainted with a combination of resignation and fear. Cameron stood leaning against the trophy case, ice blue eyes smoldering as usual. Anger radiated off him, white hot and tangible. Despite his crystalline gaze and shoulder-length blond hair, his features were forever darkened by it.

  “Well, crap.” Brooke closed her locker door, then nudged up behind me to look over my shoulder. “That boy needs a hobby.”

  “Stalking is a hobby.”

  “So is serial killing.”

  My stomach clenched tightly in reflex. I’d never really thought of Cameron as a serial killer, but I’d never thought of him as a stalker either. “Aren’t you supposed to make me feel better? Isn’t that what friends are for?”

  “Lorelei, friends don’t let friends get killed by serial killers.” She paused to take inventory of her belongings, cursed under her breath, then marched back to her locker and spun the combination wheel again. “Seriously, what if your grandparents had seen him? I mean, who does that? Who stands outside someone’s window all night long in the freezing rain?”

  I’d called Brooke late last night and again the minute I woke up this morning. Cameron had been outside my house when I went to bed and was still there when I woke up this morning, even though it’d rained all night. Stalker Boy was nothing if not dedicated.

  “I don’t get it any more than you do. Cameron Lusk hasn’t said two words to me since he stopped Joss Duffy from pasting my eyelids shut in kindergarten.”

  “Joss Duffy tried to paste your eyelids shut in kindergarten?”

  “Only that one time. So why—?”

  “With actual paste?”

  “Yes.”

  “Wouldn’t it take a really long time to dry?”

  I’d lost her. “Brooke,” I said, placing a hand on her shoulder to steer her back to me, “please try to focus.”

  She blinked out of her stupor. “Sorry. That just seems really counterproductive. Superglue, on the other hand—”

  “So why,” I said, picking up where I’d left off, “after years of living in the same town, going to the same schools, sneaking into the same drive-in theater, has Cameron all of a sudden decided to stalk me?”

  “Most likely because he’s nutty as a PayDay.” She grabbed the notebook she forgot, a matte rust-colored thing that just matched her sweater.

  “Least he’s committed,” I offered.

  “Or needs to be. Lorelei, we have to do something. I mean, yeah, today you’re alive and abduct-free. Kudos. But who knows what the guy is capable of?”

  The situation definitely sucked. Brooke would get no argument from me there. “I thought about putting a contract out on his life.”

  She closed her locker again and offered a dubious grin. “That’s a great idea.”

  “Yeah, but I don’t know where to find that kind of contractor.”

  Her enthusiasm wilted. “Me neither. But we have to do something. I mean, what if this whole stalking gig evolves into kidnapping? Or worse? Do you even watch the news?”

  “I know.” I turned back to Cameron, the little stalker that could. “I suppose I’ll just have to talk to him.”

  “Well,
you can’t do it now. The tardy bell’s gonna ring any second,” she reminded me. “We’d better get to class.”

  Class was the furthest thing from my mind. I probably should’ve been grateful that, for the first time in three days, stalker boy was glaring at something other than me, but his glaring had me curious. He looked totally pissed. Okay, he always looked totally pissed, but it was the way he was staring, like a raging fury lay just behind those icy blues. Even at his most intimidating, he’d never stared at me that way, thank the heavens. So what had him so riled?

  I craned my neck and peered across the hall. Most of the kids were already in class.

  “You go on ahead,” I said. “I’ll be there in a jiff.”

  “You’re gonna be late.”

  “I’ll be right there,” I promised, looking back at her. But her mouth slid into a doubtful smirk. I raised my hands in surrender. “Two minutes, tops. I swear.”

  “Fine, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.” She gave a sassy toss of her hair as she headed to class. “And don’t even think I’m going to cover for you.”

  I couldn’t help but smile as I turned back to figure out what Cameron was spending so much energy frowning at.

  Then I saw him, a boy, leaning against the wall opposite Cameron. The two were staring each other down, gazes locked like predatory wolves on the verge of battle. The boy was tall—as tall as Cameron—strong and solid and … breathtaking.

  Suddenly the boy’s piercing glare darted toward me. I was still hiding behind the lockers, but in that instant before I could duck back, his angry eyes fixed on mine.

  I had never seen eyes so dark, nor a face so perfect. As I pressed my back into the red metal lockers, I slammed my lids shut. A mental image of his flawless face materialized in my mind.

  Was he angry with me? Had I done something to offend him? Or was he just annoyed with stalker boy? Something we had in common. Of course, I had been staring. Maybe he didn’t like being stared at.

  “The bell rang, people.” Principal Davis stepped out of the front office in his usual brown suit and browner tie that matched his brown hair and browner mustache to a tee. He was tall and broad and built more like a professional football player than like a high school principal. But I could see where the bulk would come in handy. Several of our students were built like professional football players as well. I risked another peek as he spurred students to class with a practiced snarl. “Let’s get to class. Move it.”