And when I’m not thinking about Dino and Lacy, I’m thinking about Annaliese.
At 4:00 a.m. I give up, turn on my lamp, and pull out her scrapbook.
ANNALIESE GIBBONS: TEN YEARS LATER rehashes the story about how an early gym class found Annaliese dead in the pool. How witnesses saw her walk into the auditorium after school, but no one saw her come out. No one saw her again till they found her dead.
Disconcerted, I read on:
SCHOOL BOARD TO VOTE ON FATE OF H.S. POOL—boring stuff about how the pool room poses a danger because the roof is bad, plus stupid kids keep sneaking in.
VANDALS STRIKE POOL TWICE IN TWO WEEKS—kids again, spray-painting walls, breaking bottles, smoking weed, and most likely fornicating. Because fire regulations won’t allow Principal Solomon to lock the tunnel itself, he puts a fence around the pool, a lock on the door, and threatens disciplinary action to any offenders.
Riiight. Like any of that works.
AFTER ANNALIESE: NEXT GENERATION WONDERS—IS POOL HAUNTED? Interviews of students who believe in “the ghost of Annaliese”: “I never get the flu, but I felt her watching me—and then I barfed!” “It’s so cold in there.” “It smells funny sometimes.” “I can’t explain it but it gives me the creeps.” “I tripped for no reason and broke my nose!”
Last of all, written last spring: STATE OF THE ART MEDIA CENTER TO BE BUILT ON POOL SITE. One staff member interviewed said, “I have mixed feelings. I know it’s useless the way it is—but a child died there! You know, some people believe her spirit lives on. I happen to be one of them. So is Annaliese’s grandmother, my dearest friend. I’d much rather see a memorial built.”
The name of that staff member jolts me: Miss Roz Prout, former school secretary.
“Holy freaking hell,” I whisper.
Maybe it makes sense that Mrs. Gibbons believed that Annaliese’s spirit hung around. Maybe it comforted her. But how many adults believe in ghosts? Did Miss Prout see something, feel something? Is that why she left in such a hurry?
I find Annaliese’s junior-year picture again. She stares, unsmiling, back from the page.
“Ghosts don’t exist,” I tell her. “You’re a joke, like everyone says.”
Whichever way I move my head, her pale eyes follow me.
“You’re dead, Annaliese. Get it? You do—not—exist!”
As I start to close the yearbook, a name jumps out: Unger. Not Bennie, but maybe his older brother. I remember how Mom said Bennie’s been working at RHH for years. He’s there all the time. Early in the morning. Long after school lets out.
If Annaliese’s ghost does exist, would Bennie know?
I tell Mom about Lacy before school. “Don’t say anything, though. Her mom wants to keep it a secret.” Maybe around here they stone you to death or something.
“If she lost it, Rinn, it’s probably for the best,” Mom says after a moment. “Lacy’s young. She has her whole life ahead of her. Believe me, it’d be a disaster.”
I stare, unsure of how to take her un-Mom-like lack of sympathy. Does she regret having me? When she had to drop out of college, did she consider me a disaster?
She’s never said that. But I wonder if she thought it.
Looks like half the student body took a mental health day; the halls are quiet, sparsely populated. A grief counselor, imported from Kellersberg, spends the day in the cafeteria reading Deepak Chopra. Meg, who missed morning classes because of her doctor’s appointment, shows up in time for lunch.
“What’d he say?” I notice how chalky she looks.
Meg stares at the table. “He says my ears are fine.”
“How can they be fine?” Tasha yelps.
“I don’t know, but they are! So he thinks it’s neurological. They’re doing a test on Saturday, an MRI or something. And he won’t give me a note for Coach Koenig because I’m still dizzy.” Meg slaps the table hard. “My mom told him that. I was gonna lie, but she had to open her big mouth!” Tears shimmer on her lids. “If they don’t find out why, I guess I’m off the team for good.”
Gently I say, “But if you are dizzy, Meg—”
“How can I try out for a scholarship if I’m not even on a team? Do you think it’s crazy for me to want to be a professional cheerleader? Like, for the Dallas Cowboys?”
“Well, no,” I say honestly. “Anyway, maybe this’ll just go away.”
“Yeah,” Tasha agrees. “Maybe you just have a bug.”
“I hope so.” Meg swipes at her tears and attempts a smile. “I love you guys.” After a moment she adds, “I called Lacy yesterday. This morning, too. Nobody’s answering at the house.”
“Same here,” Tasha says. “I wonder what’s going on.”
The three of us lapse into uncomfortable silence for the rest of the period. Tasha says nothing about her regionals this weekend, and neither she nor Meg bring up Dino. They pick at their lunches while I finger, discreetly, that piece of pottery through the fabric of my purse. After handing it over to me, Mom never mentioned it again. If I talked to her about it, would she say it’s not my fault? Because that’s how she is. She’s said “it’s not your fault” to me more times than I can count.
Even when it was.
On impulse, I stop at the main office after lunch. This is Mom’s lunch break, I know. I also know Lindsay McCormick fills in for her at this time.
Today Lindsay is buried in a copy of Twilight. With a “Yeek!” she jumps like a hamster when I wham the bell on the counter. “You don’t have to ring that when I’m sitting right here!”
“Sorry,” I say, though I’m not—that was funny. “Is my mom around?”
“She’s at lunch, as you well know.”
“Can I ask you something?”
“No, I’m not breaking into the computer to change your grades.” At my incredulous look, Lindsay explains, “That’s what you guys usually ask me to do.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.” Lindsay relaxes. I wonder if she remembers I’m the person she kicked at the football game. “Sometimes they offer to pay me.”
I point to her book. “Is that any good?”
“Yeah, it’s awesome. You wanna borrow it? I already read it twice.”
“Thanks.” Encouraged, I take it and pretend to rustle through the pages.
Lindsay reverts to her normal, bitchy self. “Well? What do you want?”
I hug the book. “I just wanted to ask you about something I heard. About a kitten you brought to school?”
She scowls. “Don’t tell me you believe that lie that I killed it myself?”
“No. I just want to know if it really happened. See, I’m new here, right? And people sometimes, well, try to freak me out …”
Lindsay twists her mouth down. “Maybe you’re hanging around the wrong people.”
“Just tell me, yes or no?”
Her smirk disappears. She picks a chip of polish off her thumbnail. “Yes.”
Oh, God. She’s messing with me, too.
“He was so cute. Black, with white paws. Coach Koenig wanted to see him, so I came in early and took the tunnel to the locker room. She played with him, but he had fleas, so she changed her mind. So I took him back through the tunnel—my mom was waiting in the car so she could take him back home—and when I came out, he was dead.”
I barely trust my voice. “Do—do you think the tunnel did it?”
“Well, I didn’t do it,” Lindsay says impatiently. “And Coach Koenig didn’t do it. That only leaves one person.” I notice how she avoids saying Annaliese’s name. “And you know how I know? Because when I looked in the box and saw he wasn’t moving, I took him right out. I shook him and stuff, but yeah, he was dead. But—” Lindsay stops. She rubs her arms roughly.
“But what?”
“He was already stiff, like he’d been dead for hours. Stiff and cold. Just like all those rats we keep finding lately.” She nods at Twilight, pressed viciously into my chest. “Enjoy the book.”
I’m
so creeped out by this revolting story, I think of nothing else the rest of the day. I’m still thinking about it after the last bell, when I notice some noisy jocks hanging out in the cafeteria. Yes, Jared’s there, but sitting off to one side, mostly ignoring his obnoxious buddies.
He half rises at my cautious approach. “Hey,” I say.
Jared nods. He doesn’t say hey back. He looks like he wants to run. The cloud of testosterone peaks at a critical level as the rest of the guys notice my presence. The booming laughs and dirty jokes cease. Elbows nudge.
I lower my voice. “I have to ask you something about”—I don’t want to say séance—“that night.”
Jared’s flash of alarm hardens to irritation. “Look, I’m busy here.”
“Aw, jeez, O’Malley!” One of his teammates. “Be nice to the girl. Ya never know when you’ll need a quick piece of—”
“Do you mind?” I snap back. “This is private.”
At that, Jared jumps up and hustles me a safe distance away. A red stain mottles his hefty neck, working its way up to his angry face. “I said I’m busy, so make it fast.”
Forget the preamble. “You saw them, didn’t you? At the séance. You saw what happened to them.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” But his eyes dart.
“You saw,” I insist. “That’s why you ran.” I catch his wrist as he turns—a thick, clammy wrist, cool to the touch. “Jared, it’s okay. I saw it, too. I just had to be sure—”
Jared knits his reddish brows menacingly. He leans close, too close. “Yeah, I saw it. And I’m telling you now, you say one word about it, I’m gonna deny it, okay?” He jerks his wrist free. “Just stay away from me. You and the rest of those freaks!”
As he jogs back to his friends, two thoughts strike me at the same time. One, that this may explain why he broke up with Meg—is he afraid of her? Does he think she’s a freak because she froze in the pool room?—and two, this is exactly the proof I’d been hoping for!
What happened in the pool room was not a joke. Not a hallucination, either.
It happened exactly the way I saw it happen.
I wait for a wave of relief that never comes.
4 MONTHS + 9 DAYS
Friday, November 14
At breakfast Mom says that Lacy’s mom called the school. Lacy’s taking some time off for “health reasons.”
Then she sets a soft-boiled egg down on the table in front of me.
I stare at the cracked white lump, nestled in a ruby-red egg cup. I recognize this cup; Nana gave me a set of four for my thirteenth birthday: “For your hope chest, Rinnie,” like people do that anymore. Three broke. This is the last one left. I don’t even remember packing it.
“She’s staying with relatives in Columbus,” Mom adds.
“Why?”
“I’m sure I don’t know.”
Disturbed, distracted, I try to peel my egg. I don’t like soft-boiled eggs, and I have no clue why Mom, out of the blue, bothered to cook me one. Guess I’ll stall till she leaves and pitch it down the sink.
Silent, Mom sponges down the counter while I toy with bits of shell. She rinses her fingers, picks up a towel, and halts to nod down at my inedible breakfast. “What are you eating?”
I pretend to study it. “Hmm. Looks like a soft-boiled egg to me.”
“You hate soft-boiled eggs.”
Confused, I ask, “Why’d you make it for me, then?”
“I did?” She glances at the stove, at the pan of murky warm water. “Oh, well.” Playfully she fluffs my yet-unbrushed hair. “See you at school.”
I throw the egg in the trash.
Something weird is going on.
“Do you ever ask your dad about Annaliese?” I ask Nate on our way to school.
“Ask him what?”
“Well, anything. Did he know her? Did they hang out? Was he around when she died?”
Nate stops walking, though he hangs on to my hand. “Is this all you can talk about?”
“It’s not all I talk about,” I protest, wondering if it is.
“Excuse me. Maybe only ninety percent of the time, then.”
I shake my hand free. “Sorry I’m so bor-ing lately.”
“C’mon. Don’t do this.”
“What am I doing?”
“You’re obsessing.”
“I’m not obsessing. I’m interested.”
“Well, I wish you’d get over it.”
“Why? Am I not paying enough attention to you?”
Nate’s jaw tightens. His chestnut hair blows straight up in a gust of wind, or maybe with fury. “I’m just sick of hearing about Annaliese, Annaliese. I’m sick of hearing about ghosts. Can’t we talk about something normal?”
“Normal?”
“Yeah, normal.”
Coldly I reply, “If you want normal, Nate, you really picked the wrong girl,” and march off ahead of him.
Ugh, what a day. Meg’s home sick. Tasha’s on her way to Cincinnati for her regionals tomorrow. Cecilia ignores me again. Plus I forgot about the history paper due today, because—I admit it—I can’t get Annaliese out of my mind.
After PE, when everyone gathers to race through the tunnel, I lag back for the first time. Only when the echo of hysterical giggles fades away do I wander over, alone, to the tunnel entrance.
It’s just a dumb corridor.
How scary to think that we all walked through here the other day, not knowing Dino was there on the other side of this wall, hanging upside down, dead for hours.
I gasp when a lightbulb noisily fizzles out. Like Nate said, these lights always pop out. Bad wiring, maybe. Amazing that this place doesn’t go up in—
Don’t even think it.
I step close to the pool room door, trying to ignore the chill penetrating my sweater. “Annaliese?” I whisper through the crack.
Pipes clank. I hear a scrabbling sound near the bottom of the door. Another rat?
“Annaliese?” The scrabbling stops. “Hello?”
Silence.
I back away. There’s nothing in there, nothing in there, nothing in there …
My left shoe sticks to someone’s discarded gum. Bricks pass in a blur as I walk rapidly to the opposite end of the corridor, counting the burned-out lightbulbs: seven in all. When I reach the cafeteria door and the reassuring chatter beyond, I jubilantly leap out and blink in the light.
There—I did it!
Take THAT, Annaliese.
With my stomach knotted up all morning, thanks to the egg episode, plus my fight with Nate, I decide to skip lunch and seek out Bennie Unger.
I discover him scarfing down a sandwich in the custodian’s closet.
“I know you,” he says through a mouthful of bread and bologna. “You’re Corinne.”
“How do you know my name?”
“I know everybody here.” He pops open a Thermos, digs a couple of pills out of his pocket, and washes them down with whatever’s in that bottle. It smells like V8. “I get fits sometimes,” he explains. “I gotta take medicine so I don’t fall out.”
I fidget, hoping he doesn’t fall out anytime soon.
He pulls off his ever-present knit cap and points to the dent in his skull. “They took out a piece of my brain. I was puttin’ on a roof with my brother and I fell right off.”
Stifling a shudder, I wait till his cap’s back on. “Can I talk to you?”
Bennie doesn’t seem surprised. In fact, he acts like he expected me to show up here today. This, in itself, is spooky weird; I’ve barely exchanged five words with him, ever. Not that I’m a follow-the-herd kind of girl, but it’s supremely uncool to hang out with the school janitor.
I dive right in and explain everything. How Lacy clobbered me. How both Meg and Cecilia felt that oily, smelly air creep down their throats. I explain about the séance, and the wax, and how everyone froze up. “I think something happened. I think we …” Unleashed something?
“You think you all called her u
p,” he states matter-of-factly. “That Annaliese girl.”
“You do believe in her. That’s why you told us that day—‘there’s nobody there now.’ Right, Bennie?” Half of me hopes he’ll say no.
The Unquiet Page 18
