The Unquiet

by Jeannine Garsee

  Well, aside from her.

  She sweeps back and forth across the room, passing easily through the fence. Her fluorescent swirl illuminates the pit of the pool. Droplets of color, sparking up at random, dance like minuscule fireworks around her drifting form.

  Transfixed, I watch her drift through the fence one last time, approaching me in careful degrees. Is she as frightened of me as I am of her?

  “You didn’t answer me.”

  I forgot the question. Annaliese’s features blur, sharpen, then blur again. Aside from, well, being a ghost this time, I recognize her from the pictures in Millie’s yearbooks.

  Not her eyes, though. These are not the same pale, friendly eyes. These depthless black orbs reveal nothing human at all.

  I speak without thinking. “The windows to your soul.”

  She stops, though her hair continues to float in a misty halo. “Who told you that?”

  “My grandmother.”

  “Can you see my eyes?”

  “No,” I admit.

  She considers this. “Does that mean I don’t have a soul?”

  Either answer, yes or no, might be the wrong one. How easy is it to piss off a ghost? Right now she looks pretty mellow for one of the undead. Or am I thinking of vampires? Zombies?

  I clear my stinging throat. “What do you want?”

  “Why won’t you answer my questions?”

  “Why won’t you answer mine? You dragged me in here.”

  “I didn’t drag you in. You came on your own.”

  “Liar.” Now I’m pissed off. “You could’ve killed me with that trick.”

  An air of amusement. “I guess we underestimated each other, Corinne.”

  “You know my name.”

  “I know all your names. Lacy, and Dino, and Meg, and …”

  “Tasha,” I say stonily.

  “Did Tasha’s mom cry at her funeral?”

  “Of course she cried.”

  “Good. I hope she cries every day for the rest of her life.”

  I wet my lips and spit out bleach. “What did she do to you?”

  “Why don’t you ask Monica what they did to me?”

  “They?”

  Annaliese quivers at that. Again her features waver out of focus, then grow sharper than ever. I see a nose, a chin, and that she’s small, like me, though she appears much bigger with all the surrounding vapor. “Are you really that stupid, that you don’t know who I’m talking about?”

  Of course I know: Luke, Millie, Joey Mancini, and Mom. “Are you going to kill them, too?”

  “I didn’t kill anyone.”

  “You killed Dino and Tasha. Then you tried to kill Nate.”

  “Nate would’ve done it himself once he realized he’d killed those horses. Or killed you,” she adds bitterly.

  “Same difference.”

  “And I didn’t kill Dino. He slipped, jabbed a link into his leg, and fell back till he was hanging upside down. You should’ve heard him blubber! Crying for his mommy. Then he hung there till he died. Not my fault he was clumsy. Not MY fault he came in here.” A brief silence; I guess she wants to let that one sink in. “And Tasha jumped in by herself. Why blame me?”

  “Because you made it happen. You made all of it happen!” Annaliese doesn’t argue. This surprises me. “Why?”

  “What do you care? Besides, I’m almost finished. In fact, just think …” Her voice takes on a taunting lilt. “Right now your boyfriend might be cleaning out his gun, or driving around in that nasty blizzard, or—”

  Pain shoots to my elbow at my involuntary jerk. “Leave Nate alone.”

  “Imagine how Luke’ll feel when he finds Nate with his brains blown out. Or in his car, wrapped around a tree. Mmm, blood all over the snow. Maybe a decapitation?”

  A shower of sparks punctuates Annaliese’s delight. She moves close enough to cast a glow over my skin. My arm hairs flare.

  “Don’t worry. It’s not like you won’t find another guy, right? You’re just like Monica. Not me. I never even kissed a guy till Luke.” She swells, radiating fury like waves from a furnace. “But Monica? Ha! She ruined everything.”

  Startled by the alien surge of heat, I back into the wall. The blackness lifts with each rising degree, revealing a pool filled with sparkling water. Bright lights. A smooth tiled floor.

  The powerful odor of bleach evaporates, leaving only the clean, safe scent of a normal swimming pool.

  Not a dream.

  Not a hallucination.

  “Watch,” Annaliese whispers.

  The fence disappears, and so does she.

  Now I know what Tasha saw the day she died.

  She dove into an empty pool, believing this illusion was real. That somehow the pool had been secretly renovated, transformed into something beautiful beyond belief. A rational person would’ve realized such a feat was impossible.

  Tasha wasn’t rational. She’d been under Annaliese’s spell.

  I stare in dread at the diving board. What does Annaliese plan to show me? Tasha, en route to her grisly death?

  Can she force me to watch? Will I see her land this time?

  Please. Please, no.

  Nothing happens. But the pool remains.

  At the unexpected sound of new voices in the auditorium, and no Annaliese in sight, I make a split second decision and bolt out of the tunnel. Free!

  But wait. There are no instruments on the stage, no tiers for the chorus. No puddles of water or abandoned belongings. The stage is lit again, but the curtains look different. Kids sprawl in the hill of seats. I don’t recognize a single face.

  I do recognize Ms. Rasmussen, my English teacher who also teaches drama. She’s different, too, thinner, with longer hair, and what’s with the outdated glasses?

  As the final bell rings, she says, “Okay, have a great weekend, people. And don’t forget, if anyone’s interested, tryouts for Hamlet will be after school on Monday.”

  Mumbles of agreement, a few good-byes. Kids grab book bags and folders. Some head for the tunnel, others toward the gym. Unsure of what to do, I head for the gym, too, acutely aware that my right arm is now fine—and stop when I spot two girls in a back row.

  Mom and Millie?

  Yes, it’s them, but much younger versions. Mom’s hair hangs to her waist. Millie, easily forty pounds lighter, displays a mountain of cleavage in her tight pink top.

  “You got the camera?” I hear Mom—Monica—whisper to Millie. Millie holds up a bulky old Polaroid. Monica smacks it back down. “Don’t wave it around! What’s wrong with you?”

  “Chill out,” Millie suggests. “And hurry up. She’ll be here any sec.” As Mom/Monica hesitates, she adds, “Don’t worry. You just take care of Luke. Joey and I’ll do the rest.”

  “Cool. I’m outta here.” Mom/Monica hops up, revealing a short demin skirt and funky boots. Smiling slyly, she adds, “Take lots of pics,” and squiggles past Millie out of the row.

  When she halts in surprise directly in front of me, it hits me: she sees me, too!

  I wait, immobilized.

  Mom/Monica narrows the same eyes I’ve known for sixteen years. “What’re you lookin’ at, bitch?”

  I’m looking at you. At my mother, at my age. And I don’t like what I see.

  “N-nothing,” I stammer.

  “N-n-nothin’,” she mimics, jarring me with her unfamiliar drawl. I bet Mom worked really hard over the years to get rid of that. “I don’t know you. You new?”

  “Y-yes.”

  “So what’s your name?”

  “Corinne.” I wait breathlessly, but she shows no recognition.

  “Nice name,” Mom/Monica muses. “I like it.” She hefts her book bag and lifts her chin. “Now do me a favor and get your ass outta here … Corinne.”

  I don’t need to be asked twice. With a last look at Millie, all huddled down like she’s hiding, I hurry out to the gym. Funny how only a few minutes ago I thought I’d be killed by a ghost. Now I’m wondering how I ende
d up twenty fricking years in the past—and how, or if, I’ll make it back to my own time in one piece.

  Unless Annaliese’s making me hallucinate, too, the way she made Tasha hallucinate the pool. Did Annaliese “bring” me here to kill me off, after all?

  I’m afraid to budge. The next step I take may be the last move I make.

  When Monica emerges behind me, I come alive and duck behind the open door. She passes without notice, sharing a significant look with a young, buff, and menacingly cute Joey Mancini.

  “Luke’s on his way,” he mutters sideways. “Go get him, princess.”

  Monica springs off, her long hair flopping, and Joey saunters into the auditorium. Which one should I follow? The decision is made for me when I step away from the door and instantly stumble, knocked off-balance by another deadly sear of suction.

  Annaliese isn’t letting me go anywhere. What she wants me to see is here.

  So I follow Joey. He and Millie exchange urgent whispers, and lapse into silence when someone else walks in.

  Annaliese.

  Not the ghost Annaliese. The girl Annaliese.

  She strolls down to the front row. I flatten myself into the back wall, praying for invisibility, as Joey lopes down to join Annaliese. Millie, camera in hand, then sneaks down the side aisle, prowling catlike toward the stage. I tiptoe behind her as closely as I dare. If Mom/Monica can see me, maybe Millie and Dino can, too.

  Joey’s talking to Annaliese. She’s so much prettier than her yearbook pictures. Not head-turning beautiful, not like my mom. But there’s something, I don’t know, genuine about her. Like, if you found yourself in the lunch room with no one to talk to, Annaliese would totally invite you over. She’s so startlingly normal and so good somehow, I almost forget about that evil vapor in the pool room.

  Annaliese jumps as Joey advances. “Leave me alone. I’m waiting for Luke.”

  “Want some company?” he cajoles.

  “No. I don’t even like you, Joey.”

  “Sure you do.” Fast as a whip, Joey kisses her.

  Click … buzz. Millie’s camera shoots out a photo. She whips it out and places it on the edge of the stage.

  “What are you doing?” Annaliese shouts, dodging Joey’s persistent mouth.

  Click … buzz. Click … buzz. Millie presses the button each time Joey’s mouth hits the mark.

  What the hell? No longer caring if they notice me, I open my mouth to shout my own protest—but the air turns to syrup, deadening my limbs, silencing me.

  Then, bellowing curses, Joey stumbles away from Annaliese’s fist with a bloody nose.

  “Get away from me, you sick freak. Both of you!” Annaliese adds to Millie, now several yards away.

  Millie calls merrily, “Hey, we’re just gonna take some pics for Lukey baby. Y’know, so he’ll know what a slut you are.”

  Joey wipes his nose on his Hawks sweatshirt. Then he grabs Annaliese, one hand in her hair, the other mashing her breast. Click … buzz. Millie lines the photos up side by side.

  Then Annaliese breaks free. “Go ahead, take more. Get one of Dino’s bloody nose! When Luke sees it, he’ll know it wasn’t my idea.” She backs up, hair wild, eyes flashing danger. “He’s on his way now. You better leave me alone!”

  “Oh, really?” Millie taunts. “I don’t think so. He’s busy with Monica right now.”

  Annaliese pokes her nose up. “Liar.”

  “Wanna bet? You’re so stupid. Why do you think he’s not here? We told you Monica’d get him back.”

  Taking advantage of Annaliese’s palpable surprise, Joey catches her blouse. “Don’t touch me!” she screams, and punches Joey—POW! POW!—with both fists this time.

  Joey, enraged, yanks her closer and then slams her forcefully against the wall of the stage. The sickening thump echoes. Air huffs out of her lungs.

  Spellbound, I watch Annaliese slump to the floor.

  Millie drops the camera. “What the hell’d you do?”

  “I dunno,” Joey mumbles, dazed.

  Millie bounds over. The two of them stand, face-to-face, over Annaliese’s motionless form. Blood from Joey’s nose drips onto her clothes.

  He wipes his face with a frantic slash. “Is she okay? Can you tell?”

  “I don’t know. She’s not moving.”

  “Is … is she d-dead?”

  “I don’t know!” Clutching her head, Millie stomps in circles. “Omigod, you stupid shit. How could you let this happen?”

  “She hit me. Twice,” Joey says plaintively. “It was a reflex, okay?” Then he regains his bravado. “Hey, this wasn’t my idea. It was you and Mo, remember?”

  “We told you to kiss her! Maybe grab some tit!”

  Silence. What are they thinking now? That not only is Annaliese dead, but she’s also covered with Joey’s DNA? I wonder if they can test for that yet. If so, he’s screwed. And I doubt he’ll go down alone.

  Or maybe they’re thinking: If Annaliese isn’t dead, what happens to them when she wakes up?

  I don’t know whose idea it is. I don’t see who makes the first move. But Joey, without a word, hoists Annaliese off the floor while Millie rushes ahead of him to open the tunnel door. Annaliese’s head strikes the wall as Joey maneuvers her limp body through the doorway. The hollow thump turns my stomach to stone.

  The farther away from me they move, the more I can move. I guess Annaliese wants me to see what’s happening, but only from a certain distance. Wading through nonexistent sand, exactly the way I did at Nana’s wake, I trudge after them to the pool room.

  I hear the splash as they dump Annaliese into the water.

  “Chlorine kills evidence, I think,” Millie says nervously. “It’s, like, bleach or whatever.”

  “No shit.” Joey stares at the water. “Um, what’re we gonna tell Mo?”

  Millie folds his dissolving hand into her own. “Easy. She never showed up. We never saw her tonight.”

  Then they’re gone. Just like that.

  Annaliese stays behind, floating facedown. Lazy bubbles burble up through strands of her hair.

  She drowned, they say. Which is true.

  But only because Joey and Millie threw her into the water alive.

  Around me, the atmosphere chills and darkens. My new blast of panic stifles all reason, and I bolt back out of the room, running like crazy. What happens if I keep going? Will I be stuck here forever?

  Then what?

  My toe kicks Millie’s camera, sending it spinning. With one swipe I gather the photographs from the edge of the stage—no one can know!—and, screaming senselessly, rip them to bits. I’m still tearing at them when that lethal grasp seizes me again, and hurtles me off into a stifling black fog.

  Annaliese’s words stir the air. “Luke promised he’d meet me there. He was going with me, now, not Monica. He dumped her for ME! And if he’d shown up like he said he would, I’d still be alive. But, nooo, he was with Monica. Like I was nothing. Nobody!”

  Curled up on the floor, I rasp, “My mom didn’t do it. She never even knew what they did to you.”

  “She knows now. Millie told her.”

  “When?”

  “I guess when Millie couldn’t stand the guilt anymore,” Annaliese snarls. “She knows why Tasha died. And she knows why I did it.”

  That day in the kitchen. Oh my God. No wonder Mom’s not speaking to Millie. “But you can’t blame my mom. Not when they lied to her.”

  “Monica kept him away. It was her idea to take those pictures, to make him think I was hooking up with Joey. She wanted him back, but he wanted me instead. Me! He knew she was a bitch. That’s why he dumped her.”

  “I want to go home,” I say miserably. That last unplanned trip through the air did me in. “I’ll tell them what really happened. Isn’t that what you want?”

  “Nobody’ll believe you.”

  “My mom will.”

  Annaliese snorts, a peculiarly human sound. “You think?”

  Silence …
<
br />   … silence …

  … silence …

  Then Mom calls, “Rinn?”

  I push up with my good arm. I see her then, wrapped in the pale ghostly swirl that, seconds ago, was Annaliese. “Mom?” It can’t possibly be her. It’s one of Annaliese’s tricks.