I didn't have the heart to do any more investigating after that.
Church flowers tomorrow, I thought glumly. What a waste of a Saturday today had been. I shoved all the grief and guilt and stress over Grace to the back of my mind, squashing my fear down on top of it. Giving Grace time to cool down would be best. I would try talking to her again …later.
I coaxed Amy up to my bedroom, asking her to turn pages for me while I practised. I doubt she was fooled. Everything I played, I already knew from memory. It gave us something to do that wasn't connected to arguments or darkness or Mum's death. Suicide. Call it what it is.
Even in three days I'd got slacker. Amy couldn't tell the difference but then she wasn't a musician. When she'd forgotten to turn the page for the third time in a row, I morphed Bach into a jazzy version of 'chop sticks', playing it with exaggerated concentration and studied poise. Amy laughed until she was doubled over. I snickered too but quit mid chord.
I was glad she felt better but there was an unhealthy edge to that laughter. It sounded just a bit too close to tears. Sometimes it was easy to forget that Amy was just thirteen. Sometimes it was easy to forget that she had lost her mother too. Grief is selfish like that. How much had I considered Amy in my misery? I hadn't considered Grace at all. I wondered for the first time, what it was like to come back to an empty house on your nineteenth birthday, like Grace did, and find out that your whole family is at the hospital. And no, they're not alright. I wondered if Dad even left her a note or if she waited and waited until she got anxious enough to phone around…Why had I never asked Grace about any of this? It burned like caustic when I thought about it. I was a white-bleached tunnel of shame, hollow and colourless.
I'd spent too much time trying not to feel anything to consider anyone else's feelings.
No more thinking. In need of a distraction, I reached for my violin which I hadn't picked up in a week.
"Oh no," Amy said in alarm, laughter giving way to hiccoughs. "If you're going to murder the cat up here, I'm gone. It takes you at least a week to get back into that horrible instrument!"
I grinned at her unflattering description. Her face was blotchy-pale but she sounded like her old self. Edge of hysteria gone. I set the violin under my chin as Amy beat a hasty retreat. As I brought the bow down across the strings, the tiny detail that had been nagging at me slotted into place. The book. I’d forgotten about it after the cold girl had grabbed me but what if it was important? A possible hint. Someone or something had taken down one of Mum's books and opened it. Maybe it was a clue.
I would need Amy's help since I couldn't read it by myself. Later, after dinner maybe. No point calling her back now. I didn't bother trying to play anything specific. I drew an eerie scream out of the violin, which made me smile. Amy wasn't kidding about my aptitude. Mum could play your heart out of your chest. It didn't come easily to me. I played for over an hour without really playing anything at all. Just banshee cries of anger and loneliness. By the end I was wrung out and exhausted but also calm. As though I'd exorcised my turmoil in horrible noise. Made the violin say all the things I couldn't.
Half an hour spent untangling my hair and I wanted to wail myself. Next time I was going to dry it properly before going off to fight the forces of darkness. Not that I'd gone looking for Haze exactly. I shuddered at the thought of those clinging shadows. Shrugging off the creeping feeling of being watched, I pulled my hair back and found a clean pair of jeans. I wondered if dinner would be long. Amy was cooking tonight so it should be edible. I felt a twinge of guilt. I should have offered to help after everything that happened today. I shouldn't have got so involved in my music. Maybe there was still time?
I bounded down the stairs, straight into the cold spot.
It swallowed me like an ice-aged cave. I opened my mouth to drag air into my frozen lungs but nothing came. My eyes flared wide but I couldn't see the staircase anymore.
Or…I could…but it wasn't the same staircase. It was newer…and occupied…
There is a girl blocking the stairs in front of me, her voluminous skirts and out-spread arms make passing her impossible. She has a clever, pretty face with a petulant mouth; Huge, dark eyes and elaborately styled chestnut curls. I don't like the expression of narrow calculation on her face. I feel strange. Disconnected. I'm here but…I'm not alone. Not the only one here, in my body. I'm being shoved to the back of my own mind. I'm fluttering with panic but I can't grip anything. Can't even grip myself. I listen in horrified wonder as my mouth opens and words that aren't mine come out.
"Now Miss, is it right to be playing off your mischief on me? I've a task or two to be about tha’ knows."
Why the hell did I say that? And what am I wearing? Heavy skirts brush my ankles. Something tight winds around my waist and back. Coarse cloth rasps on my skin. Where am I?
"But Helen I need to know. What answer should I give?" The girl is twisting her hands in her skirts.
"How would I know? Watching you the past few months I'd have thought you meant to encourage just such a question from him!" I feel a tart sense of self-righteousness that is utterly alien to me. It's Helen’s feeling, not mine.
But who is Helen? Why is she here? I throw myself impotently at whatever is holding me, reaching desperately for control of my own body. Both girls ignore me. I'm not sure they even know I'm here. Maybe today was too much. Maybe my mind has finally snapped.
"Don't be so tiresome, Helen!" The girl is vexed and raises a hand as if to strike Helen - and me.
I want to move to avoid the blow but Helen stands her ground. I have no choice but to stand it with her. "I'll have none o’ that, Miss, if you please! And I'll thank you to keep me out of your business with your young men. It's clear one will have a broken heart by you and I'd rather have none to do with it!" Helen says with asperity.
"Oh, you are hard!" The girl twists her mouth as if to cry but Helen is not deceived. "I've given an answer but I must know if it is right!"
"If you've answered already then your word is given and nothing I can say will help…" Helen says, relentless and unsympathetic. I make one final lurch for freedom. A moth rending its wings, pulling free from a spider's web…
I was on the next step down. Spat out of the cold spot. There was no finely dressed girl. No Helen. Only dizziness and nausea. It felt like hours had passed. In reality, it was only a minute or so.
I had just been somebody who died years ago. Centuries if the clothes were anything to go by.
My head swam. I managed to totter into the kitchen and collapsed in a chair before I fell. Black spots danced before my eyes. I was cold again. Would I never be warm in this wretched place?
"Emlynn? You ok?" Amy's voice felt like it was coming from centuries away. I pasted on a wan smile.
"F-f-fine. Just hungry I guh guess. That b-b-breakfast didn't duh do me much guh good d-did it?"
"Dinner will only be twenty minutes. Lasagne and garlic bread." Amy grinned impishly. "Actually you would have absorbed most of your nutrients before you spewed so…"
"Guh gross!" For someone so bright, Amy's timing sucked when it came to talking about vomit. If there ever was a good time. My stomach rolled threateningly. "Wuh what did you d-do this afternoon?"
"Finished unpacking. It doesn't look as good as your room." Amy glanced at me.
"W-want help?" I could take a hint.
"Please!"
I decided to keep the latest episode of weirdness to myself. I didn't want to think about it. Or scare Amy. Bad enough that I'd have to see Grace at dinner. I squirmed as the bleached feeling washed through me again.
As if she was reading my mind Amy said, "Do you think Grace is still mad?"
I shrugged. Actually I did think she was still angry. She'd been angry for the last eight months. She just hit boiling point this morning. I didn't know what to do to change that. Especially since our last conversation went so well.
I had no illusions about Grace heeding my warning abou
t Haze. She'd see him again if she got the chance. Sisters aren't supposed to shop each other to their parents. Or Dad in this case. But Haze was dangerous. I had been wrong about a lot lately but I wasn't wrong about him. I would wait and see. Grace might not do anything. Or I might get another chance to talk to her. I'd worry about telling Dad if the time came.
Dinner was even more cheerless than last night. Grace wasn’t angry though. Just distant, distracted. I watched her narrowly until she caught me staring. She gave me a poisonous glare and turned her back on me. Amy had been forgiven. I had not. Hungry as I was, I couldn't swallow past the lump in my throat. No one mentioned the argument. It was a miracle dad didn't hear us shouting at each other earlier.
I shrugged, telling myself I didn't care what Grace thought, as long as I kept her away from Haze. Dad only remembered to speak to me once. A reminder about the church flowers. I bit my tongue. Despite everything that had happened today, it still irritated me. I didn't need any more drama so I just nodded. After today, getting away from the house for a few hours was probably a good idea.
It wasn't until I was drifting off to sleep, that I remembered the book. I'd forgotten to ask Amy to help me. Tomorrow. My thoughts were muzzy with impending sleep. Amy must be asleep by now anyway. Tomorrow was soon enough.
I Belong to the Earth (Unveiled Book 1) Page 10
