by John Saul
Mary-Beth hesitated, then turned around, and a moment later Marguerite caught up with her. Gasping for breath, Marguerite put out a hand to steady herself, but Mary-Beth backed away, and Marguerite almost lost her balance. “Mary-Beth, please,” Marguerite gasped. “You can’t go home now—it’s too dangerous. Come back to the house.”
Mary-Beth hesitated. She knew she’d made a mistake almost as soon as she left the mansion, and the wind had nearly knocked her down. But she’d made up her mind and wasn’t going to change it. She just couldn’t bear to go back to the house now and see the other girls looking at her, teasing her about losing her nerve.
Especially Julie. Julie, who’d come out of nowhere and instantly made friends with all of Mary-Beth’s friends, danced better than Mary-Beth would ever be able to, and then taken Kerry Sanders away from her too. No, she wasn’t about to go back to Sea Oaks now. Not ever. She glared at Marguerite, her eyes flashing with anger. “I’m not going back,” she shouted, her voice rising to carry above the storm. “Never! I hate you, and I hate Julie, and I’m leaving. And no one can stop me!” Once again Marguerite reached out to her, but Mary-Beth twisted away, clutching at the coat flapping around her legs. “I hate you,” Mary-Beth lashed out once more. “I hate all of you, and I never want to see any of you again!” Then she was gone, the storm closing around her.
Marguerite stood in the middle of the muddy road, stunned by the girl’s angry words, fiery pain throbbing in her hip, her heart pounding. Mary-Beth was leaving.
Leaving, and never coming back.
But she couldn’t—she couldn’t do that. She couldn’t just turn away from Marguerite. It wasn’t possible. There had to be a way to bring her back—there had to!
Once more she leaned into the storm, staggering against the wind now, pushing herself on. She had to get to Mary-Beth before she reached the causeway. If she didn’t—
She put the thought out of her mind, unable to accept the idea that one of her girls might, indeed, leave her forever.
Mary-Beth stared at the heaving sea. The waves were huge, surging over the causeway with a raw, terrifying power that made her cringe. She couldn’t possibly make it across. And the wind seemed to have risen even higher, threatening to lift her off her feet and hurl her into the churning sea.
A bolt of lightning flashed across the sky, and Mary-Beth screamed out loud as the crash of thunder rolled over her. She could feel its power against her chest, and clamped her hands over her ears until it had passed on, rumbling away, the sound lost in the screaming wind. She was crying now, wishing she’d never left the mansion, wishing she’d gone back with Marguerite when she had the chance. But it was too late now. She’d never be able to make it back to Sea Oaks—she was too tired from fighting the storm. She had to find shelter, find someplace to wait until the storm eased up.
There was a stand of pines fifty yards away, bending in the wind, a high-pitched keening springing from the trees, storm-lashed needles. If she could just get there, get to one of the trees, get a little protection from the storm. Holding her arms up to deflect the rain, she lurched toward the trees one step at a time.
Then she was there, huddling against one of the tree trunks; even the slight protection it offered a welcome haven from the maelstrom. She leaned against the tree, exhausted, her breath coming in short gasps, her heart still pounding.
Sea spray was mixed with the rain here, and she could taste the sharp tang of salt on her tongue. But at least she was safe.
Another bolt of lightning rent the sky, and a sharp crack—louder than a rifle shot—sounded above her. The tree she was leaning against split along its full length, knocking Mary-Beth to the ground. Almost instantly mud oozed through her coat and clothes, and she felt its cold sliminess against her skin.
She was sobbing now, crying brokenly as she wriggled away from the split tree, then pulling herself up to lean against the trunk of another. It wasn’t just the storm that threatened her now. It was the woods too.
Around her she could hear branches breaking loose in the wind, crashing to the ground.
If one of them hit her—
She pulled herself to her feet. She had to get away, find someplace safe. Or someone—
Tripping, stumbling, she made her shambling way out of the stand of pines. Shreds of moss, ripped loose from the trees and driven by the storm, lashed her face, and once more she held her hands up in a futile effort to protect herself.
And then, with the instincts of a trapped animal, she sensed a presence nearby.
She stopped, listening carefully, but could hear nothing but the storm.
“H-Help!” she called out, her words sounding puny against the raging of the wind and crashing of the surf. “Please—someone help me! Please!”
And then, emerging from the storm, she saw a figure approaching her. It was only a faint outline at first, but she began calling out once more. The figure seemed to hesitate a moment, then started once more toward her.
Mary-Beth fell to her knees, exhausted not only by her battle against the storm, but her fear, as well. But in a minute it would be over. Whoever was out there—whoever had come to rescue her—would be with her in a few more seconds, and she would be safe.
She gasped once more, struggling to control herself, to put down the last of the panic that had engulfed her only seconds ago. And then, finally, she looked up.
Looked up, ready to see a familiar face smiling down at her, ready to have the last of the terror fall away.
Looked up to see an enormous rock, held high by two trembling hands, descend down upon her, crashing into her face.
She never knew whether the last sound she heard was the sharp crack of a branch breaking above her head or the equally sharp crack of her own skull, splitting and caving in under the force of the stone as it smashed down upon her.
Julie flinched as yet another bolt of lightning slashed across the sky and the house trembled under the force of the thunder that followed immediately after. She tried not to show her fear as she gazed at Jennifer Mayhew, who seemed completely un worried by the fury of the storm. “Where are they?” she asked. “Shouldn’t they have been back by now?” Though it seemed to Julie as if an eternity had passed since her aunt, followed a few minutes later by her father, had gone out into the storm to search for Mary-Beth Fletcher, it had actually been no more than thirty minutes.
But Jennifer didn’t seem concerned. “They’re fine,” she said. “We get lots worse storms than this. Wait till later on, when the hurricanes come. That’s when it really gets scary.”
Tammy-Jo Aaronson rolled her eyes. “If it gets any worse than this, we’re going to blow right into the ocean,” she said. Nervously, she glanced into the shadowy corners of the dim living room. “I wish the lights would come back on. I hate it when this happens.”
The other two girls in the room snickered softly. “Afraid Miss Helena’s going to get you?” Allison Carter asked, her voice mocking. Instantly, Julie’s eyes shifted to Allison.
“Why did you say that?” she asked, her voice quavering as she remembered the tale Ruby had told on the morning after her grandmother’s funeral.
Allison grinned wickedly. “Everyone knows about the Devereaux ghosts,” she said. “They always come back, and I heard that they’re worst of all during storms. And when it gets real bad, they come up out of the cemetery and creep around in the house.”
Jeff, who had been sitting quietly on the end of a sofa, stared at Allison, his eyes wide. “Wh-What do they want?” he breathed.
Allison turned to Jeff, and her voice dropped to a hoarse whisper. “Little boys,” she said. “Little boys like you. And you’ll never know when they’re going to come. In fact,” she added, letting her eyes dart toward the corners of the room, “they could be here right now, just waiting for you to wander away by yourself.”
“Stop it!” Tammy-Jo Aaronson demanded. Then, as her friends all began giggling at the fear apparent in her voice, she tried to put on a
brave face and managed to force a laugh. “That is so stupid—” she began, but then fell silent, her face draining of color as the French doors rattled loudly.
“Wh-What’s that?” Jeff stammered, sliding off the sofa and edging closer to Julie.
Another bolt of lightning flashed. Outside the French doors, silhouetted against the thin curtains stretched over the glass, they could see a figure working at the handle.
One of the girls uttered a strangled whimper, and Jeff pressed up against his sister, his arms sliding around her waist. Then, as the thunder faded away, they heard a voice call out.
“Julie? Darling, unlock the door. I’m going to drown!”
The tension in the room broke instantly as they recognized Marguerite’s voice. Julie ran to the door, twisting at the lock, then holding the door against the wind as her aunt slipped inside, her mackintosh dripping wet.
“The front door was locked, and I forgot my key. Didn’t you hear me ringing the bell?”
Julie stared at her aunt for a second, then began to giggle. “How could we hear it?” she asked. “The electricity’s out, remember? There isn’t any bell. But where are Dad and Mary-Beth?”
“I couldn’t make Mary-Beth come back,” Marguerite said. “I tried to talk to her, but she wouldn’t listen. She—” She cut her own words off and stared at Julie. “Your father?” she asked. “Why would I have seen him? Isn’t he here?”
Julie shook her head. “He went after you,” she explained. “He was worried about you being out in the storm and—”
Before she could finish, the front door opened, then slammed shut again, and Kevin, his clothes soaked and smeared with mud, appeared in the wide double doors between the foyer and the living room. He stared at Marguerite, his chest heaving as if he’d been running. “You’re here,” he finally managed, his voice gasping. “My God, I feel like I’ve been all over this island. Where were you?”
Marguerite frowned. “On the road, of course. But Mary-Beth wouldn’t come back. She said she wanted to go home.”
“In this?” Kevin asked, gesturing toward the storm outside. “My God, nobody could get across the causeway right now. It’s completely flooded.”
The girls exchanged nervous glances. “But then where is she?” Allison finally asked. “If she’s not on the island, and she couldn’t get off …” Her voice trailed off as she slowly realized the implication of her words.
“Now, let’s not get ourselves worked up,” Marguerite said quickly as she saw the girls’ fear increase. “Kevin couldn’t have searched the whole island—he hasn’t had time. And she might have been able to get across. We—well, we’ll just have to wait here, won’t we? We’ll wait here, and the storm will pass, and then we’ll find out what’s happened.”
“I bet I know what happened,” Jeff said, his eyes staring up at his father. “I bet the ghosts got her. I bet the ghosts came and found her and took her away.”
Kevin stared quizzically at his son. “Whatever made you think of that?” he asked.
Jeff turned to stare at Allison Carter. “She told us,” he said. “She said all the Devereaux ghosts come when there’s storms.”
Allison laughed out loud. “But I was only kidding,” she told Jeff, and turned to Kevin. “Really, Mr. Devereaux, it was just a joke.”
“But what if it wasn’t?” Jeff asked. “What if it’s true? What if Grandmother came back and took Mary-Beth? What if she killed her?”
A shocked silence fell over the room. “That’s a terrible thing to say, Jeff,” Marguerite said, her voice taking on a hard edge that made Jeff shrink back. “You should be ashamed of yourself, even thinking such a thing!”
Jeff stared at his aunt for a moment, blinking, then burst into tears and fled up the stairs.
CHAPTER 12
The storm was over, and a strange calm had settled over Devereaux Island. Everywhere, the land was littered with fallen branches and wind-scattered debris. The sea, still heaving in the aftermath of the storm, was covered with white-caps, and a heavy surf pounded steadily at the wide expanse of the beach. But the sky was clear, a deep blue tinged gray only to the north, where the storm was receding over the horizon. The wind had dropped to a stiff breeze, but even that was waning, and already the familiar heat was beginning to build. Steam rose from the land in a misty fog as the rainfall evaporated beneath the power of the sun.
Alicia Mayhew had come and gone, and the mansion was empty now of the girls who had waited out the storm for four long hours. Thirty minutes earlier, just as Alicia had arrived, the electricity had come back on and the phone began to work again.
Kevin had stopped Alicia on the veranda, just as she was ready to leave, and asked her if she’d seen Anne anywhere in the village, or perhaps their car.
Alicia had shaken her head. “But if I’d been her,” she told Kevin, “I’d have headed inland.” She shook her head in wonder as she remembered the power of the storm that had kept everyone in Devereaux shut up in their homes for most of the day. “I’ve seen squalls before, but that one was something else.” Her eyes took on a look of worry. “I hope Mary-Beth is all right.”
Kevin managed a grin. “From what Marguerite said, she must have been okay. She was mad about something, and she wasn’t about to come back here.”
Alicia’s brows arched knowingly. “That girl’s always mad about something. This time I suspect it had to do with your daughter. Mary-Beth’s had a crush on Kerry Sanders for months now, but since he met Julie, he hasn’t had eyes for anyone else. Well,” she finished, glancing at her carful of teenage girls, “I’d better get home. Let me know when you hear from Anne, will you?” she added as she started down the steps. “I’d love to hear what she thinks of our little squalls.”
Kevin shrugged ruefully, “I’m afraid it’ll just add fuel to her fire. She’s determined not to stay down here, and after this, I can’t say I can blame her too much.”
Alicia Mayhew turned back, surprised. “Stay here? You mean you’re thinking of moving back?”
Kevin nodded. “It’s all up in the air right now, but there seem to be a lot of good reasons to stay. It all depends on Anne.…” His voice trailed off, but Alicia nodded with instant understanding.
“She thinks we’re living in the back woods, and that we’re culturally deprived, right?”
Kevin reddened slightly, but nodded.
“Well, I can’t blame her,” Alicia sighed. “I guess we were, for a hundred years there. But things have changed.” She smiled encouragingly. “Why don’t I talk to her?” she suggested. “Maybe I can convince her at least to give us a try.”
“I’d appreciate that,” Kevin replied, as the phone in the entry hall rang shrilly. “I’d better get that. It might be Anne now.” He waved to Alicia, and as she hurried down the steps, he went into the house and picked up the phone. “Hello?”
“Kevin? It’s Muriel Fletcher. Is Mary-Beth still there?”
Kevin felt a tightening in his stomach. Mary-Beth should have been home hours ago. Then, speaking from one of the extensions upstairs, he heard Marguerite’s voice.
“Muriel? You mean Mary-Beth isn’t home yet?”
“No. She’s there, isn’t she?”
“N-No,” Marguerite replied, and Kevin could hear the sudden worry in her voice. “She—well, I’m afraid she refused to stay. She was upset about something, and decided to walk home.”
“Walk?” Muriel sounded shocked. “In that storm? My God, Marguerite, how could you have let her do something like that?”
Marguerite’s voice was trembling. “I tried to stop her, but I couldn’t, Muriel. She just put on her coat and walked out. I followed her and tried to talk her into coming back, but I couldn’t. She—well, she ran away from me.”
“Oh, Lord,” Muriel groaned. It wasn’t surprising, really. Her daughter had always had a short temper, and even Muriel had had problems keeping her under control.
“I tried to find her again, but by the time I got to the causew
ay, she was gone,” Marguerite went on. Then her voice took on a more hopeful note. “It didn’t look too bad, really. The storm seemed to be letting up a little. But she must have gotten across. Otherwise, she would have come back to the house, wouldn’t she?”
Muriel hesitated, trying to put herself into her daughter’s mind. “No,” she said at last. “She probably wouldn’t. Not if she was angry. She’d have stayed outside by herself before she admitted she’d made a mistake.”
“Well, I’m sure she’s all right,” Marguerite insisted. “Perhaps she went to see one of her friends.”
There was another short hesitation, but when Muriel Fletcher spoke again, Kevin could hear her concern. “Maybe so,” she said. “Anyway, I’ll call around. And Kevin? Are you still there?”
“I’m here,” Kevin replied.
“Would you mind taking a look around the island? I know it’s a lot to ask, but—”
“Of course I will,” Kevin replied. “I’ll call you back in an hour or so.”
He hung up, and a moment later heard his sister’s irregular step as she made her way down the second-floor hall to the head of the stairs. She looked down at him, her face a mask of worry. “I shouldn’t have let her leave, Kevin,” she said. “If something’s happened to her, it will be my fault. I shouldn’t have let her leave.”
“Hold on, Margie,” Kevin replied, unconsciously using the nickname he’d called her when he was a child. “We don’t know that anything’s happened to her at all. I’ll go out and have a look around—” But before he could finish, he heard a car door slam outside, and a moment later, the sound of heavy feet on the veranda. The bell rang just as he pulled the door open.
On the veranda, his expression somber and his eyes grave, stood Will Hempstead. Instantly Kevin knew something was drastically wrong, and he instinctively took a step backward.
