“Everything froze,” he’d say. “Like when you’re sitting at the top of a slide. It was quiet, and still, and as I stared at her a little voice in my head said, This one. Only this one, for the rest of your life.”
Usually at that point my mother would settle in his lap, and they’d kiss. I’d make the appropriate gagging sounds, secretly thrilled to witness something so mysterious.
“And then came you,” he’d always say, smiling as he extended a hand to draw me into their circle. “And that’s how I’ll always know that little voice was right. Although sometimes, when she makes me clean the garage, I have my doubts.”
My mom would bat him on the shoulder then, still smiling, and we’d all go about whatever we were doing.
The memory gouged me, but not too painfully. Because for the first time, I knew exactly what he meant. At the beach with Daniel, I’d heard that same voice. As soon as he kissed me, I realized this was it; he was my one. No matter what, we were meant to be together.
I sighed and let my fingers brush through my hair, lingering on a few strands the way his hands had earlier. Daniel thought I was special. Remembering the words, and the way he’d said them, made everything inside me trill.
The elevator moaned and jolted to a stop.
I frowned. “What—”
The lights went out.
“Hey!” I yelped, the good feelings chased away by panic. A moment passed, then another. Nothing happened. I took a step forward, and the elevator shifted, swinging on the cables. I froze, then moved more carefully toward the door. The lit panel that indicated the floors had gone dark, too. I fumbled for it with my hand, pressing buttons. Was there one for emergencies? I couldn’t remember.
Light. I needed light. I dropped into a crouch and groped for my backpack. Digging my cell phone out, I turned on the screen. It flared brightly, and I heaved a sigh of relief. I tilted the phone toward the panel: no red one for emergencies, just the buttons for each floor.
And no phone.
That’s okay, I thought. I’ve got a phone right here. Trying to still my shaking hands, I opened the phone app. Then I bit my lip, wondering whom to call. 911? Did they rescue people from elevators? I pictured Marion’s reaction to a battalion of firefighters storming through her house; surviving this would be pointless if she killed me afterward. I realized that I didn’t have mobile numbers for her or Richard, though. Georgina, then? Or John?
I don’t have their numbers, either, I realized with dismay. It was pretty messed up that I had no way of contacting the people I lived with. So instead I drew in a deep breath and hit the button to call Daniel.
The phone didn’t ring. I frowned, examining it: no bars.
“Great,” I muttered. I’d never had issues with cell reception in the house before; it figured that the signal would drop when I really needed it. A text would still send, though, right?
I typed, hey Daniel crazy story, I’m stuck
The screen went dead, hurling me back into darkness. I gasped, then frantically tried to turn the phone back on. It didn’t respond. I realized with mounting panic that all of my obsessive checking for messages had drained the battery.
I closed my eyes, trying to calm down. It’s no big deal, I told myself. Someone will be home soon.
But when? the small voice in my head countered. Minutes? Hours?
“Just relax,” I said out loud. My voice echoed eerily, bouncing off the walls. The darkness felt oppressive and strangling. I drew a deep breath and held it for a count of three. You’ve got a water bottle in your bag, I reminded myself. I hadn’t eaten much today, since I’d felt sick to my stomach ever since dinner last night. But it wasn’t like I was going to starve to death.
Although of course as soon as I thought about the water, I realized that I had to pee. Desperately. And I wasn’t about to do that in the elevator.
Getting up, I felt my way back to the door and pounded on it, yelling, “Hey! Is anyone home? I’m stuck!”
I could’ve sworn I heard footsteps. I pressed my ear against the door; it was cold enough to make me wince. I shouted again, “Is anyone out there?”
A long beat, then a tremulous voice said, “Janie?”
“Nicholas.” I almost collapsed with relief. “Hey, listen. The elevator stopped working, and I’m trapped. Can you please go get Alma?”
Nicholas called back uncertainly, “Um, I’m not sure where she is.”
I squeezed my eyes shut again, forcing myself to be patient; he was just a kid. “Could you go find her? This is really important, Nicholas.”
It was silent for so long, I assumed he’d gone for help. But then he spoke again, sounding much closer; I was trapped between the second and third floors, so he must have come up a level. His voice shook slightly as he said, “She doesn’t want me to.”
“Who doesn’t, Nicholas?” I demanded, rapidly running out of patience. “Did you find Alma?”
“No, it’s Eliza.”
Gritting my teeth, I said, “Nicholas, honey, you need to listen to me this time, not Eliza. Go get Alma. Now.”
His feet slowly shuffled away. I collapsed against the door, pressing my cheek to it. Good. Someone would come soon. I kept my eyes closed; for some reason it made the situation less frightening.
At least, until I sensed a flicker that was bright enough to penetrate my closed eyelids. It was accompanied by a sudden chill that spiked goose bumps across my bare arms and legs. Slowly I opened my eyes.
There was a tiny light bobbing in the air. As I stared at it, transfixed, it darted up toward the ceiling, then lazily turned in a slow circle, tracing the perimeter of elevator. I shrank back as it came closer, weaving like a firefly. It stopped inches from my nose.
I had stopped breathing. My heart was pounding so hard it felt like it might burst free of my rib cage, and a roar filled my ears. The light hovered, quivering slightly, as if wafting on a breeze. Then it started to grow, increasing incrementally until it was as large as a tennis ball.
I reeled away from it and started pounding on the elevator door with both hands.
“Help! Someone, please!”
Without warning the lights snapped on, striking me blind. I fell back, reflexively raising my arm to shield my eyes. The ground beneath my feet quaked and shifted. Then, with a shudder, the elevator started moving upward.
Almost too frightened to look, I lowered my arm and turned around. The light was gone.
When the elevator doors slid open, I stumbled out, leaving my backpack behind. My whole body trembled, and I felt nauseous. Nicholas was standing there wide-eyed, gripping his bunny Bertha in a chokehold.
“Janie? Are you okay?” he asked uncertainly.
I dashed past him and raced down the hallway, barely making it into my bathroom in time. I bent over the toilet, heaving. Sweat beaded across my forehead and ran into my eyes, mingling with my tears.
“Janie?”
I swiped a hand across my mouth, my gut still churning. Nicholas stood in the doorway, regarding me somberly. “It’s okay, Nicholas,” I gasped. “I’m fine.”
He glanced back over his shoulder as if checking for someone, then leaned toward me and whispered, “Don’t take the elevator. Ever!”
Without waiting for a reply, he scurried away.
Chapter VIII
Reader, do you know, as I do, what terror those cold people can put into the ice of their questions? How much of the fall of the avalanche is in their anger? Of the breaking up of the frozen sea in their displeasure?
“That’s terrible, Janie. We’ll have a repairman check it as soon as possible.”
Mr. Rochester shoveled another bite of lamb in his mouth, gazing at me with what appeared to be genuine sympathy. It was hard to reconcile this version of him with the monster that had terrorized us last night.
I pushed food around my plate
, still too queasy to eat. Without much enthusiasm, I muttered, “Great, thanks,” while thinking, I’ll never set foot in that deathtrap again.
“It’s never been an issue before,” Marion said crisply.
“How would you know?” John demanded. “I’ve never seen you take the elevator.”
Marion’s spine stiffened, adding a half-inch to her already perfect posture. “Of course I take it,” she said.
“I hate that thing,” Georgina declared as she buttered a roll. “It’s like a coffin.”
My throat seized; that’s exactly what it had felt like, a coffin. I saw the strange hovering light again. It was probably just my overactive imagination, but it had seemed to radiate malevolence.
Stop, Janie, I berated myself. Just stop. You imagined the whole thing.
John leaned in and said, “Hey, remember that time Nicholas got stuck—”
“Elbows off the table!” Marion snapped.
He glared at her. At the head of the table, Richard’s eyes narrowed. Slowly, John drew back in his seat. “Sorry, Mother.” Coming out of his mouth, it sounded like a dirty word.
Marion’s features were still taut. “Georgina, don’t forget your appointment tomorrow for the fitting. I’m afraid you’ll have to miss your riding lesson.”
Georgina brightened. “Like I’d forget that.”
“I really wish the two of you would speak properly,” Marion scolded, but the corners of her mouth relaxed.
“You’re taking Janie, too, right?” Richard asked. His tone was casual, but there were steel rods underpinning the words.
Marion jerked her head toward him. “Janie? Why?”
“Because she’s a member of this family,” Richard said slowly, glowering at her. Now that I knew what to watch for, I could see the storm clouds brewing. His cocktail had been refreshed twice already, and there were two high, bright dots of color in his cheeks. The rest of the family regarded him warily, like one would a dangerous dog.
“I’m sorry,” I said hesitantly. “What are we talking about?”
Marion flashed me a look of contempt, and Georgina said with exasperation, “The cotillion next month. My dress just came in from London, and it’s being altered.”
“Oh.” Follow-up question, I added silently. What the hell is a cotillion?
“It’s a debutante ball,” John explained, as if guessing my thoughts. “The social event of the season. And Georgina is being brought out this year. In white, ironically enough.”
His sister scowled at him. “I wonder if they’ll even let you in. Aren’t you banned or something?”
“Like they’d dare keep a Rochester out,” he scoffed.
“Enough.” Richard’s voice maintained the same low timbre, but the threat was clear. He shifted to look at Marion, who shrank from his gaze. “You’ll make sure Janie is dressed appropriately for the occasion.”
Marion opened her mouth as if to protest, then pressed her lips back into a thin line and nodded curtly. After folding her napkin, she started to rise from her chair.
“I didn’t say you could leave,” Richard growled.
Marion slowly sank back down.
Georgina and John stared at their plates. I was reminded of the way geckos freeze when you come upon them unexpectedly, attempting to hide in plain sight.
As much as I loathed Marion, I felt a flare of anger. Richard Rochester had no right to use me as an excuse to intimidate his family. My mom always said that bullies only have the power you give them. And I refused to be pushed around. After all, what was he going to do? Hit me? If that happened, I’d be on the phone to the cops and Mr. Briggs and whoever else would listen before he could lower his hand. “I really don’t have to—”
“You’re going,” Mr. Rochester mumbled, moodily sloshing the nearly melted ice cubes in his tumbler.
I wanted to press the issue, but John caught my eye and subtly shook his head.
Fine, I thought. I was too tired and woozy for a fight, anyway. Probably better to discuss it another time anyway, preferably when he was sober.
We sat there as the clock tortuously ticked off the minutes. Richard Rochester polished off his dinner, ignoring the fact that the rest of us had stopped eating. When his plate was clean, he swiped a cloth napkin across his mouth, gulped down half of the fresh drink that had been set in front of him, and then abruptly got to his feet, saying, “I have work.”
We all listened as he made his way toward the den. I caught a few muffled curses, followed by the sound of heavy objects being jostled. Finally, the door slammed behind him. Everyone at the table sagged—myself, included—as if the strings holding us upright had been snipped.
Marion left next.
I rose to follow her.
“He’ll make you go to the cotillion whether you want to or not,” Georgina said without looking at me.
I turned. She was still pushing food around her plate. Now I understood how she managed to stay so skinny. “I don’t get why he cares,” I grumbled.
John snorted. “Are you kidding? You make the rest of their charity work look like nothing.”
At that, something inside me snapped. “You know what?” I snarled. “You’re all just . . . just . . . awful, miserable people. You think any of this matters? The parties? The special schools? It’s all bullshit. The rest of the world could give a crap. The truth is, I feel sorry for you. Because at the end of the day, your lives suck. And being able to buy whatever you want doesn’t change that.”
Georgina gaped at me.
John, on the other hand, looked bemused. “You’re right,” he said. “We are all miserable. And you’re one of us now.”
“I’ll never be one of you.” I whipped around and practically ran from the room. Behind me, I could hear John laughing hollowly.
I tore up the stairs, my exhaustion forgotten, then pounded down the hall toward my room.
I stopped on the threshold.
Nicholas was sitting on my bed, clutching something in both hands. He raised a tear-streaked face to me.
I was about to yell at him to stay out of my room, but when I saw his expression the words died on my tongue. He looked like someone had just killed his best friend.
Stepping closer, I realized that wasn’t too far off the mark. He clutched what remained of Bertha. The bunny had been shredded, every limb torn off. Stuffing spilled from dozens of rips. He was trying to clasp the pieces together, as if he could make her whole again by simply wishing it so.
“Eliza hurt Bertha,” he wailed. “She’s so angry at me for helping you.”
I bit my tongue to keep from pointing out that he hadn’t helped, not really. Instead, I settled on the bed beside him and gently took the mangled rabbit. The damage wasn’t irreparable. “Nicholas, can you find me a needle and some thread?”
He nodded, still sniffling.
“Great. I’ll sew her up.”
“Good as new?” he asked, a thin sliver of hope in his voice.
“I’ll do my best.” Sewing wasn’t one of my strong suits, but my mom had been amazing at it, and she’d taught me a few tricks.
“Right away?” he asked, eyeing the bunny doubtfully. “Because I need Bertha tonight. She watches over me while I sleep.”
Crap. Now that my rage had dissipated, I barely had the strength to change into pajamas and brush my teeth. All I wanted was to bury myself in the covers; but Nicholas’s big blue eyes shone bright with tears. And the look he was giving me, like I was a cross between a saint and a superhero . . . I sighed. “Yes, tonight. Now go get me that sewing kit.”
“Okay, Janie!” He scurried from the room.
I fell back against the pillows and closed my eyes. Richard Rochester was a drunk. Marion was a shrew. Georgina was a narcissist. John was a creep. And Nicholas was so messed up that he destroyed his favorite toy, then conv
inced himself that his dead twin was responsible. “My new family,” I said aloud. It suddenly struck me as funny.
Nicholas returned to discover me rolling around on the bed, consumed with hysterical laughter.
•
“The cotillion isn’t so bad,” Daniel said, popping a fry in his mouth.
“You’re kidding, right?” I said, cocking an eyebrow at him. “Because it sounds horrible.”
We were sitting in a leather booth at Barney’s, a burger place near school. I inhaled more of my coffee, still wiped out. Last night, it had taken nearly an hour to coax Bertha back into something that remotely resembled a rabbit. I’d fallen asleep fully clothed on top of my blankets, with Nicholas tucked against my shoulder like a sad puppy.
I’d forgotten to set the alarm, slept through breakfast, and barely made it to school on time. So I’d had to wait until my first free period to dig up information on the cotillion. What I’d discovered was pretty awful, at least as far as I was concerned. John hadn’t been kidding; this was the ball to end all balls. Based on the photos (most of which came from a snooty local society paper, The Nob Hill Gazette), Cinderella would’ve been considered underdressed.
There were ranks of boys and men, their tuxedos stiff as straitjackets. They seemed to serve solely as a backdrop, like potted palms strategically placed to compliment the real finery.
The girls mainly wore white, although the variety was impressive considering the monochromatic palette. Ten-foot-long trains. Hairstyles that must’ve required a small army to assemble. Rigid smiles and coquettish head tilts and perfectly applied makeup. Despite their blatant attempts to outshine each other, I got the sense that layering the photos would form a single, perfectly bland girl.
As if to compensate for what I’d already decided to call “The Virgin Army,” the older women wore startling shades of plumage. Their smiles were as fixed as their Botoxed foreheads, and their jewelry was insane. Necklaces with gemstones the size of babies’ fists. Earrings so layered with diamonds, it was hard to believe their earlobes could handle the weight. Bracelets and tiaras and, in one case, what appeared to be an actual crown.
Unearthly Things Page 11
