by P. G. Forte
Jasmine’s eyes sparkled suddenly. “Well,” she drawled, “Apparently there was a little trouble with the knives they were going to use. They couldn’t find them or something? But luckily, Celeste was here and she was able to lend them hers.”
Marsha glanced sharply at Celeste. She’d dearly love to know what her friend had been up to. Why had she been carrying the ceremonial daggers around with her this morning? But she could sense that Celeste was not in the mood to talk about it.
“They said they’d get them back to you tomorrow, by the way, Celeste,” Jasmine said, grinning widely. Marsha knew her daughter was always pleased when she was able to surprise her. She certainly had this time.
Celeste smiled serenely. “Thank you, sweetie. But it’s like I told them this morning, there’s no rush.”
No rush? Marsha gazed thoughtfully at her friend. Lending out your magical tools was strange enough; being in no hurry to get them back was unheard of. She was concerned about Celeste’s rather odd behavior of late, especially since she’d been unable to sense anything in her aura that would explain it. No big surprise, there. Celeste had probably forgotten more about psychic shielding than Marsha would ever know.
Which reminded her, “Celeste, I’ve been meaning to ask you about something. This morning, when Scout showed up? It was kind of weird. I could sense something strange in the atmosphere, but it was like she was invisible. Do you know anything that could cause someone’s aura to practically, I don’t know, disappear?”
“Hmm.” Celeste frowned in thought. “I suppose it could just be an unusual type of shield. You did say that she had some rather extensive powers, didn’t you?”
Marsha smiled wryly. “Well, yes, but as far as I know, only when she’s in a trance state. I’m pretty sure she was conscious this morning.”
“Well, there is one other possibility, you know.”
Marsha felt the atmosphere go cold once more. Just like it had this afternoon. She had the feeling that, whatever Celeste was about to say, she wasn’t going to like it.
“Sometimes a person’s aura will contract to the point where you can hardly see it. But Marsha? That’s usually a sign of approaching death.”
Yep, just as she suspected, she didn’t like it. She didn’t like it at all. But despite the cold chills running down her spine, Marsha was aware of a steely determination. Scout was not going to die. Not now, anyway. Not if she had anything to say about the matter.
Maybe that was why Scout had come home at this exact time? Maybe safeguarding her friend was to be Marsha’s role in this drama? Maybe, finally, she was being given a chance to atone for her actions all those years ago.
“Hey, Celeste,” Jasmine spoke up suddenly. “Why don’t you come back to our house tonight? The twins aren’t home, so you can stay in their room. Then you and I can go over those exercises again.”
It was getting late, Marsha thought with a start, suddenly recalling the road her friend would have to travel to get to her house. Several miles out of town, winding through one of the many canyons that surrounded Oberon, it was badly lit and fairly treacherous at night. She should have thought to suggest this herself.
“It really would be a good idea, Celeste,” she said. “I wish you would.”
“Well, all right, sweetie,” Celeste answered, with suspicious ease. “I guess it would make more sense than to try and beat the traffic coming back into town tomorrow morning.”
Jasmine smiled at her. “Neat. It’ll be like the old days – just the three of us.”
Marsha thought she could detect the slightest bit of mischief in Celeste’s voice as she murmured. “Yes. Good thing I just happen to have brought some extra clothes with me.”
* * *
If Scout looked one way out the attic window, she could see all the way to the bay. She could just make out the handful of vessels plying the gilded waters; mostly chartered ships offering sunset and dinner cruises to eager tourists. If she turned the other way, she was looking down on the shadowed darkness of the woods next door. And beyond that, on the glowing green gem that was the athletic field of her old high school.
The emotions she felt at the sight of it were more painful than nostalgic. Would things have turned out differently if she and Lisa had not gone to the same school?
There really hadn’t been any reason why they had to send her there, after all. Her father wasn’t Catholic, and he certainly hadn’t raised her as one. Caroline had been, as had Scout’s own mother, but Scout didn’t see how Caroline could have received much comfort from a religion which condemned her for to marriage to Scout’s father.
Probably another reason for the grudge Lisa had held against them.
Giving up her attempts to open the window, Scout resigned herself to the inevitable. The attic was sweltering, and would stay that way. Sighing, she returned her focus to the boxes she had been going through.
It appeared as if her entire adolescence was stored in this attic. It’s like a freakin’ museum. Posters, and records, now warped beyond repair. Stereos and lamps and unidentified neon-colored plastic something-or-others. Lisa’s surfboard. The used, paisley-painted guitar she’d insisted on buying, along with several peasant skirts and a shawl, during her mercifully brief folk music phase.
And the clothes! Omigod, had they really worn anything so hideous?
There were also boxes of books and school papers, pictures and mementos. Her teenage handwriting filled page after page in a series of notebooks. Spiky pen and ink drawings covered the sheets of innumerable sketchpads.
She even found a crushed, half-empty pack of cigarettes in one of the boxes. Jeez. She hadn’t realized Caroline was such a pack rat. It didn’t appear the woman had ever tossed anything out.
Other than her step-daughter.
Scout held the pack close to her nose and took a sniff. They were stale, of course. Incredibly stale. But God! She’d forgotten just how much she loved the smell of tobacco. And the taste. She’d even loved the way cigarettes had felt between her fingers, smooth and cool. Or the way the smoke rose from their tips in long, curling plumes.
She glanced back at the box and a wave of nausea hit her. Two chunky ceramic candleholders, a little glass incense burner, and a bulky old-fashioned tape recorder lay at the bottom of the box. They seemed only vaguely familiar, and she couldn’t remember having seen them before, but the longer she looked at them, the stronger the nausea became. Panic rose in a tide of bile at the back of her throat.
Scout sat back on her heels, breathing hard, shaken by an inexplicable storm of unpleasant emotions. Hardly aware of what she was doing, her hands fumbled with the matchbook that had been tucked in with the cigarettes.
The simple act of holding the match to the end of the cigarette seemed to steady her. She focused her attention on the flame; exhaling slowly, she watched as the smoke spiraled up into the rafters. She wouldn’t think about the past, she decided, as she put the cigarette back to her lips and inhaled again.
She’d stay focused on the present. Do what she’d come here to do. Then get the hell out.
She would not let it get to her. She would not let them win. The past was dead. It was gone. A locked door. A closed book. It could never come back to her, and she could never return to it. It was over. Buried. History.
With much effort, she shook off the depression that threatened to overwhelm her, piled everything but the cigarettes back into the box and went on with her task. She was finally rewarded when, against all odds, she found what she was looking for; a file box containing all the records relating to Caroline’s search for Lisa. Surprisingly enough, it had not been in Caroline’s desk after all.
Scout’s fingers trembled as she unfolded a note written in Lisa’s familiar handwriting. It was the letter Lucy had received from her several days after her disappearance. The words brought it all back. The pain. The disbelief. The sense of unreality.
Do you believe what that bitch has done now? Scout read, with a sinking heart. Wa
sn’t it enough that she slept with Glenn? Did she really have to go and screw the rest of us, too? I swear, this sucks so bad. Did you hear that Ms. B. wanted to talk to us? Jeez. How the fuck are we gonna get ourselves out of this one? Maybe we can figure out a way to blame it all on Scout. Wouldn’t that be a pisser?
Anyway, I’ve decided you were right about stuff. You know what I mean. So, I’m gonna bail. I’ll let you know as soon as I’ve got things arranged. And, yeah, you better believe I’m going to make Glenn pay for it!
You don’t think Scout could really be in love with him, do you? She says she’s not, but she’s up to something, Luce. I know it. I just wish I knew what.
We gotta find a way to get back at her. At both of them. Give it some thought, ‘kay?
Well, later, chica. Via con Dios, and all that crap. I’m so outta here.
Scout put down the letter and struggled to breathe. The memories were too thick. The sense of being hounded by the past was stronger than ever. The creaking and rumbling of the old house, once so familiar, was foreign to her now.
Once again, she found herself imagining things.
“Scout.”
The whispers seemed to call her name. Warning her, threatening her, caressing her – she couldn’t tell which. And desperately cold though she was, her eyes and throat felt parched and dry, as if she were sick with a fever.
“Scout. Scout. Scout!”
She scrambled downstairs, lit a fire in the fireplace, and curled up on the couch, wrapping herself in one of Caroline’s afghans. Then she lit another cigarette and read and reread the letter until she could have recited it by heart. The amount of anger that radiated from the single sheet of paper shouldn’t have surprised her – it wasn’t anything new, after all. And it didn’t really change anything, either. But it did prove one thing; lisa hadn’t planned on staying out of touch forever.
Which made it even more likely that she’d met with some tragedy, fairly soon after leaving town. Made it even more necessary that Scout keep searching for answers. More necessary, and more likely painful, as well.
Why, oh, why had she ever thought this would be easy?
Back to Top
* * * *
Chapter Six
* * * *
“Thanks, cuz.” Nick smiled, as he took the coffee mug from Lucy’s hand. It was after dinner. Dan and Seth were out on the lawn, playing keep-away with Mandy and Kate while the dog ran around, barking madly and getting in everybody’s way.
Lucy went back for her own mug and then returned to the porch and sat down in the chair next to his. “You had enough pesto, right?” she asked. Then, more hesitantly, “Is everything okay with you these days?”
Nick sighed. “You know, Luce, that’s only about the third time tonight you’ve asked me that. What gives?”
“Nothing.” Lucy’s shrug looked casual enough, but she was drumming her fingers on the wide arm of her Adirondack chair. A sure sign she was either upset or holding something back.
“Is everything okay with you?” he asked.
Lucy looked searchingly at him for a moment. Nick got the distinct impression she was trying to make up her mind about something.
“Yeah. Sure. Of course. Things couldn’t be better.” She turned her eyes back to the game on the lawn.
Watching the way her expression softened when she looked at Dan, Nick felt a small pang of envy. He doubted his ex-wife had ever looked at him that way. It must be nice.
“So is Kate upset about missing the camping trip?” Lucy asked, rather abruptly, as though she were anxious to change the subject.
“Sure. But what are you going to do? Leave it to Lauren to schedule her vacation for the next two weeks.” Leave it to Lauren to try and turn anything that had to do with Kate into a contest between the two of them.
“She had to know you guys were planning this, right? I mean, we’ve been doing it the same week every summer for years.”
Nick shook his head wearily. “Of course she knew, Lucy. She pulls stuff like this all the time. Speaking of which, I’m going to have to meet up with you at the festival tomorrow afternoon to pick up Kate. I’m supposed to get her to Lauren by 6:30.”
“At the festival? Tomorrow? You’re kidding me, right? Christ, Nick, you sure know how to pick ‘em, don’t you?”
Nick glanced at her, surprised by the anger in her voice. Like the rest of his family, Lucy had always seemed completely taken with Lauren – or taken in, as he sometimes thought – no matter what she did. What was going on with his cousin tonight? And what the hell was up with the plural, anyway? It wasn’t like he’d been married more than once. He wasn’t that fucking stupid.
Lucy pushed herself out of her chair and stood up. “I’m getting more coffee. You want some?” Nick handed her his mug wordlessly, and watched her stalk back into the house.
Something was up, all right. Lucy had been on edge all evening and Nick was getting the uncomfortable impression that whatever was bothering her, it had something to do with him. But what the hell could he have done?
It always struck him as funny the way that Lucy, the youngest of their generation, had taken on the role of Family Matriarch after her parents and his mother had moved to Arizona. Nick knew she worried about him, and about her brother, Joey – almost as if they were both still Seth’s age. Which got to be pretty damned annoying at times. Still, he and Joey just naturally gravitated to her house at holidays. Or maybe it wasn’t so funny after all. Lucy had a gift for family, he thought, not for the first time. Despite having some pretty sharp edges, she was instinctively nurturing. She just couldn’t help taking care of the people she cared about, and she was fiercely loyal.
Qualities that were conspicuously absent in his ex-wife. Why had it taken him so long to see that?
Lucy returned with two steaming mugs and a bottle of anisette, which she plunked down on the arm of his chair. Nick poured some into his coffee and took a sip, savoring the sweet licorice flavor it added. “Mmm. Thanks. You want me to pour you some, too?”
“Already got it,” Lucy said, taking a long sip, her eyes once again following the action out on the lawn.
“So how’s Mandy feel about Kate missing the camping trip?” Nick probed gently.
Lucy shrugged. “Oh, well, you know how it is. She’s still got Steffi, at least. And thank God for that. But it’s not the same. She and Kate are really best buds.”
“I know. It’s really nice to have a cousin you’re that close to,” he said, his eyes on his daughter. “Especially when you don’t have any siblings.”
“Yeah. Not so nice when you’re worried about them screwing up, though, is it?” Lucy muttered.
Uh oh. “Uh, Lucy? Are you upset with me about something?”
“What? No. Jeez, of course not!” Lucy turned to glare at him. “God, Nick, don’t be so conceited. Do you always think everything’s about you?”
“Uh, no?”
“Well, good. Just... let’s enjoy our coffee. Okay?”
* * *
When Robyn returned to the house late that night, Scout was huddled on the couch, lost in thought. A cigarette still burned in the ashtray beside her.
She tensed slightly as Robyn moved a step further into the room, perhaps with the intention of having a chat. But Scout couldn’t be bothered playing polite. She took no notice of her, other than to sigh quietly in relief as she felt her retreat.
The day wound down. Once again, the night air stole through the house, and the dog settled down by Scout’s feet. Once again, the cats arrayed themselves around her. Their eyes, as watchful as her own, glowed like embers in the night. Once again, it was just before dawn when she finally allowed sleep to claim her.
Only to dream...
Of Caroline’s face, pale and drawn with worry, as she ushered Scout out of the school building and into the car without a word.
“Scout honey, are you all right?” she asked as they pulled away from the curb. “How are you feeling?”
&
nbsp; “I don’t know.” Scout stared out at the bleak landscape. Trees loomed on either side of the road, dark and foreboding, half hidden in the fog. Ghostly wisps of vapor drifted out across the black tar surface of the road. She shivered. I hate this drive. I want to go home. I want to be home. Now. “I don’t even know what happened today. No one’s told me what I did, or anything. Do you think there’s something wrong with me? Like maybe a brain tumor or something?”
“Oh, Scout, honey, no! I’m sure it’s nothing like that.” Caroline spoke soothingly, but Scout saw the worried glance she shot her way. “Sweetie, did you eat anything at school today? I mean, besides your lunch. Did anyone give you something? Or, did you maybe take a sip from someone else’s drink? The Sister said something about drugs—”
“Oh my God!” Scout ground her teeth. “Sister Francis thinks everything’s about drugs. She’s totally obsessed. She thinks songs like Peace Train are about drug trafficking! I’m not on drugs, Caroline. I swear I’m not!”
“I know that, sweetheart. But I thought someone might have—”
“I told you,” Scout repeated grimly. “I don’t know what happened.”
Not yet, she didn’t. But she meant to find out.
* * *
“First you gotta promise you won’t get mad,” insisted Lucy later that afternoon.
Scout regarded her angrily. It had been about ten minutes since she’d heard her friends and step-sister arrive home from school. They hadn’t even had the common decency to stop by her room to see how she was doing. They’d gone straight to Lisa’s room. Or maybe they just hadn’t had the guts to face her.
Arms crossed over her chest, chin thrust out aggressively, Lucy stared back at her. For a moment, Scout wondered if she could be imagining the guilt that seemed to cloud her friend’s brown eyes. But no. Whatever else was going on, she certainly hadn’t imagined the events of the afternoon.
Marsha had pretty much admitted to knowing something about what happened. And now they wanted her to make promises? “No way. If you guys are hiding something from me, I’m already mad. Now, tell me!”
