But it’s Mom’s voice, soft and miserable. “Oh, Rinn. I loved you so much. After you left me, I couldn’t stop crying. I tried to stay busy, like everyone said. I tried so hard to remember the happy times, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t! Honey, you were my whole life.”
“What’re you talking about?” I ask numbly. “Mom, what—?”
“I miss you so much. Why did you leave me? Why?”
“I didn’t!” I scream. “I’m right here!”
“I couldn’t eat, or sleep. I couldn’t even play the piano. I tried, night after night, but nothing came out right. I lost my music.” Mom’s voice cracks. She drops her face into her hands. “My music! The one thing I loved almost as much as I loved you.”
“Mom, you’re doing all that now. And I’m still alive!”
Annaliese scoffs. “Oh, really? Are you sure? Or did they find you dead in that tub? Or … maybe dead on the floor with your boyfriend’s hands on your neck?”
Unthinking, I charge her—and slam into the fence. The thunder of the links deafen me as I scream incoherently at the hateful glow that’s no longer my mother. Annaliese drifts out of range with an uneasy laugh. Even with the fence between us, I think she fears my rage.
“My grandmother suffered when I died, too. I was HER whole life. She tried to find me, in here. But I was weak back then. I couldn’t reach her, not even when crazy Miss Prout tried to help her. So she killed herself. All she wanted was to see me again! And we did see each other, just for a second, and I was so, so happy! But I wasn’t strong enough to keep her here.”
“Yeah, well.” I rub my sore arm. “You look strong enough to me.”
“Ha! I am now. The rats worked for a while, but they’re harder to come by. That cat worked much better. The furnace helps, lots of energy there. Electricity, too, till Bennie got lazy and stopped changing the bulbs. But that’s all right, I found other ways. Easier ways.”
“Like what?” Though I already know.
“Human energy, stupid. Like talent. Like physical strength.” She’s actually listing them like we’re in class or something. “Compassion. Sense of humor. Willpower, that’s the easiest. Health, too. And lo-o-ove, of course.” She draws the word out mockingly. “You all give it up so easily. It’s pathetic, really.”
“We don’t give it up. You take it from us, because you’re evil.” I kick the fence. “And here I was, feeling sorry for you. I almost liked you for a minute. So, yes, I’m stupid.”
A surge of light shoots through her form, temporarily blinding me. I’m noticing now that the madder she gets, the brighter she glows, while the room itself grows colder than ever. Sucking up energy. What happens when she uses it up and there’s nothing left?
Or if someone takes it from her?
“Evil? Monica was evil! She couldn’t believe he wanted me instead. I wasn’t a cheerleader. I wasn’t pretty, or talented, or, or anything, really. But Luke liked me! And Monica couldn’t stand it, so she tortured me. She told lies about me and tried to turn people against me. But guess what? It didn’t work. You want to know why, Corrine? Because I was a nice person. Because people liked me.”
Before I can decide how to reply to this, Annaliese sighs. I know it’s a sigh because of the multicolored sparks that flitter about her face at her whooshing sound. Ghosts breathe? I bet they don’t mention that in Spirit World.
Impulsively I say, “I thought you couldn’t haunt people who take mind-altering drugs.”
“Haunt’s a stupid word.”
“It’s the only word I know. So, can you or can’t you?”
“Not usually. I never could touch Bennie. I didn’t know why till I figured it out with Miss Prout. That’s one of the things they never bother to tell you.”
“They? They who?”
“Just … they,” she says secretively. “You don’t have to know who they are.” She tosses her sparkly hair, another eerily human gesture.
“Then why can you ‘touch’ me now? I’m taking my meds.”
“Because you want me to. You opened that door, not me.”
“You’re so full of it.”
“C’mon, Corinne. People take drugs all the time to keep us out. Then people like you stop taking them, and let us back in again. Every time that happens we hang around longer.”
“Mental illness isn’t about ghosts! It’s a chemical imbalance. The drugs straighten it all out and, and—well, it’s an illness, that’s all. This is the twenty-first century, duh.”
A ghostly shrug. “Whatever you say … Corrr-iiinne.”
She drifts here and there, like she now has more important things on her mind. Trails of color, an electrified rainbow, glimmer in her wake. She fades a bit when she rests and that worries me. What if she tires out and disappears and leaves me here forever? Somehow I’d rather see her angry than indifferent.
“So now what?” I prompt. “Are you finished killing people off? Are you just gonna hang around here and play with shadows? Howl at the moon? Knock over a chair?”
A spiral of light shoots up with her laughter. “You liked that, huh?”
“Not really.”
Silence. I wait.
Then Annaliese muses, “I think the rope might be a good way for Monica to go.”
I clutch the fence. “You can’t have her.” No answer. “Do you hear me? I won’t let you take my mother!”
Her sardonic laughter rings, echoless. “I don’t want your mother. It’s you I want. If I take YOU, I’ll get to Monica. Same way I got to Millie with Tasha, and Joey with Dino. I almost got Luke, too, that day with the horses.” Another glittery sigh. “Too bad you butted in. Luke would never get over it! Neither would you, I bet. Pills. A razor. Whatever’s handy, I guess.”
“I’d never do that to my mom.”
“You tried it before.”
“That was different.”
“Different how?”
My arm hurts so bad it’s making me cranky. No, she’s making me cranky. I’m sick of talking to her.
Softly enticing, Annaliese continues. “Why don’t you do it right now? You still have the razor blade, right? In your pocket?” She delivers a ghostly smirk as I try to hide my surprise. “Please. You’re so pathetically transparent.”
I switch tactics. “Look, why can’t you die for real and go be with your grandmother?”
“I can’t reach her,” is her sullen reply.
“Oh, really? Is that because she knows what a conniving bitch you are? Is that why she doesn’t want anything to do with you anymore?”
My words strike a chord. Enraged, Annaliese trembles; the floor vibrates, and I imagine it splitting under my feet. Her human form fades, disappearing into a dazzling white vortex. I start to shout “WAIT!” but stop as the radiance morphs into a different shape, one I recognize before it fully takes hold.
An old woman, her long gray hair haphazardly bunched on her head. Reading glasses dangle from a chain. She’s wearing a plaid nightgown and chenille robe—the same clothes Nana wore the night of the fire.
She floats unhurriedly along the tiles. The remnants of mist trailing beneath her on the floor lengthen and solidify to form perfect human feet.
I know it’s not Nana. But how can she seem so, so real?
Real enough for me to smell the scent of her favorite soap.
Real enough for me to notice the missing button on her robe.
Real enough for me feel her grandmotherly warmth as she smiles at me with the light of a thousand stars.
But you’re not real. YOU’RE NOT REAL!
“She tells me you did it on purpose, Corinne.” Nana bobs her head toward the black abyss of the pool, as if indicating a lurking Annaliese. “I don’t believe her. ‘My granddaughter,’ I said, ‘would never do that. She’d never lock her door, set a fire, and leave me alone to die.’”
Tears roll off my chin to fizzle in the lingering mist.
“Did you watch from a distance?” she asks.
Mute, I stare.
“Did you call for help?”
I know it’s not Nana because the voice isn’t quite right; I hear Annaliese’s cruel undertones creeping insidiously to the surface. Still, I whip my head back and forth in denial.
“Did you hear my screams?”
You never screamed. You died from smoke inhalation. You never felt a thing. Mom promised!
Unless she lied to me. Unless she’d wanted me to think Nana died peacefully, not screaming in agony while the flames roasted her alive.
She’s screwing with your mind. She did it with Mom and now she’s doing it with Nana.
Nana approaches, holding out hands that look exactly like I remember. Her wedding ring, loose on a bony finger. Bulging blue veins. Dirt caked around her nails like she’s been gardening again … gardening in Heaven.
I stare hard at those hands, groping for the words. “It wasn’t my fault.”
She stops.
“It wasn’t my fault,” I repeat. “IT WASN’T MY FAULT!”
Something peculiar charges the air. My hair blows in an unfelt breeze and the floor shakes harder under my shoes. My arm hairs stand on end again, zapped with an electricity that can’t possibly exist in this void.
Nana raises her palms, fingers spread. “I miss you, Rinnie.”
It’s her voice this time, not Annaliese’s.
And she called me Rinnie, not Corinne.
Only Nana calls me Rinnie.
Vapor rises around us, crackling with fury. Before I can react, Nana steps briskly out of the fog to yank me away from the sinister swirl. She hugs me hard, and no, it’s no trick—I recognize this hug! I sob out loud at the familiar contours of her body. Even her hair’s the same, all heavy and smooth against my cheek.
“I miss you, too,” I whisper, ignoring the swelling mist, the sparkling embers. I’m too overwhelmed to feel frightened, and it makes no attempt to come closer. “I love you so much! And I’m sorry, really sorry—”
“There’s nothing to be sorry for.” Nana strokes my hair. “And you know I love you, too.”
Behind her, the column of vapor spins upward. Intermittent flashes of Annaliese’s features mingle with a black O that forms in the mist, mutating at last into a tremendous mouth. “You don’t belong here!” it shrills. “Go away! GO AWAY!”
Walls shudder with volcanic force. The tiny windows blow out, shooting glass through the air like crystalline daggers. Chips of the ceiling hammer down, followed by torrents of what I imagine to be ice. Distantly I’m aware of some kind of pain, but I’m too safe, too comfortable in Nana’s arms, to care.
She rubs my back. “Don’t be afraid. It’s over. You have the strength now, Rinnie.”
“What do you—?”
Another thunderous crash cuts me off. I hang on to Nana as Annaliese, enraged, flares toward the ceiling like a luminescent tornado. Sparks rain down, burning like dry ice—
—and then the suction begins to drag me backward again. I watch, powerless, as my fingers slide through Nana’s … away … away … till I have no choice but to let go.
Whirling on Annaliese, unafraid of her towering mass, I throw myself forward. Slivers of light grip my hands with monstrous force. I squeeze her back, shocked I can touch her, that she feels like a mixture of ice, fire, and flesh. With every ounce of energy I have left, I drag her down close to me, pulling harder … harder …!
As the vapor consumes me, Annaliese’s hideous black mouth widens, in terror this time. My pull, she knows, is far more powerful than hers. She writhes under my ferocious pants like I’m exhaling pure fire.
“Leave me alone!” I scream. Clouds of my breath swirl in and around those awful, empty eye sockets. “Go back where you came from and leave me alone!”
My toes fly up the ground as Annaliese shrieks with fury. For one sickening instant I can’t think, can’t move, and all I can see is white. My own screams echo hers as I realize we’re fused together, that I’m trapped in this violent whirlpool of ice. Weightless, scrambling for my safety plane, I watch the sparkling colors mushroom up from below us and consume the vicious, spinning mist that is Annaliese.
In excruciating slow motion, Annaliese shrinks, absorbing the colors. Her form darkens to yellow from that infinitely painful white, and then to amber, scattering dull sparks. Her hideous eyes shrink to pinpoints, while her black mouth stretches into a monstrous cavern, growing bigger … bigger … till it devours what’s left of her.
First, darkness and silence.
Next, an earth-shattering explosion.
“Nana!” I scream.
Then I’m falling again.
SATURDAY, DECEMBER 20
(NO LONGER COUNTING)
They have to dig me out.
Flat on a table under a glaring light, I hear words like “hypothermia” and “right Colles’ fracture.” Then more familiar terms—delusional, psychosis—spoken in skeptical, secretive tones.
Mom and Frank hover. My arm’s on fire. I can’t stop babbling.
Mom says, “Rinn, please settle down and let the medication work.”
Frank says, “Oh, Christ, let her come out of this.”
Then Nana says sternly, “Hush now, Rinnie. Do you WANT them to think you’re crazy?”
That’s when I shut up.
MONDAY, DECEMBER 22
Blood tests show my drug levels are “therapeutic,” proving to the powers that be I’ve been taking my meds. A temporary psychosis, the doctor claims, brought on by a concussion. The pool room roof, buried under tons of ice and snow, collapsed in the brutal fifty-mile-an-hour wind.
On the ride back to River Hills, Mom doesn’t once light up. The ashtray looks as pristine as the day Frank drove the SUV home from the dealer.
I sniff discreetly. “Did you quit smoking again?”
“Yes. And buckle your seat belt,” Mom adds snappishly. “I don’t want my last memory of you to be with your bloody head sticking through a windshield.”
I obey. “Is Frank still here?”
“No, he flew back this morning. We told you he was leaving.”
I know. But I’d hoped the cast on my arm and my gauze turban might persuade him to hang around till Christmas. “Do you … do you think you guys’ll get back together?”
Mom exhales. “I don’t know. I kind of like being on my own. I can’t make any promises.” My stab of disappointment fades a bit when she adds, “He wants you to stay with him next summer. Though I’m still not sure that’s a great idea.”
I steel myself. “Why not?”
“Because I’d miss you, Rinn.” She takes one hand off the wheel to reach for mine—the one minus the cast. “Oh, honey. When we couldn’t find you after the power failure, I was out of my mind! Then when that roof caved in, and we didn’t know where you were …” She squeezes my fingers. “I am never letting you out of my sight again!”
Somehow I don’t think she’s joking.
I watch the scenery for a while, absently picking at my cast. Okay, I know Nana warned me not to bring Annaliese up. But, as usual, I can’t keep quiet.
“I tore up the pictures,” I blurt out.
“What pictures?”
“Millie’s pictures.”
The pictures that never existed. After Millie told Mom what happened, did she tell her about the pictures? That for some sick, twisted reason she’d hung on to them all these years? Probably. She’d already admitted the worst.
Mom’s hand tightens on the wheel. She stares directly ahead. “I know what happened to Annaliese,” I say softly. “Just don’t ask me how I know.”
Mom replies, just as softly, “Thank you, Rinn.”
I find the broken wall in my room repaired and repainted. Nate did it, Mom said, over the weekend. My room is tidy. My guitar is safe and sound.
I’m so glad it’s winter break. My arm hurts. I’d take a pain pill, but it might knock me out, and no way do I want to let my guard down tonight. With my iPod plugged to my ears, I stare at the Hanging Beam as David
Gilmour sings about how there’s no way out of here. That, once you’re in, you’re in for good.
I think I’m safe.
I think Annaliese is gone.
It’s funny how I feel, well, grateful to her. Grateful that she let me have Nana back for a minute, never mind that she tried to trick me at first. I’m just happy I got to see her. To touch her. To let her know one last time how much I love her.
The Unquiet Page 32
