himself comfortable by burrowing deep into a sandwich of cushions and colorful afghans. It was then that he heard the doorbell ring. He looked in the direction of the front door. He started to rise, then stopped, when he realized that aside from Ayden, there wasn't anybody he cared about enough to warrant the effort of answering the door. Instead, he settled back into the pile of blankets and turned on the TV.
The doorbell sounded again. This time the chime increased from a solitary ring to something that sounded like a pixie's machine gun. The bell rang in such rapid succession that it never even managed to reach the dong portion of the chime. Link tried to tune it out, but it wasn't long before the obnoxious ding, ding, ding, ding overcame his stubborn defiance. Within seconds, the throbbing in his temples returned, worse than ever.
Both annoyed and in a great deal of pain, he made his way to the front door. Who could possibly be so irritating and inconsiderate? He unbolted the lock, opened the front door, and discovered Celia, her finger still bouncing on the buzzer.
"Do you mind?" Link tried to cover his ears.
"About time you answered the door," Celia scolded. "Apparently you're deaf and blind. I've been waiting here for...holy crap! What the fraggle happened to you? Did you stick your head in a blender? You look awful. I bet you can't even see out of that eye at all!" She held up two fingers in front of Link's swollen eye. "How many?"
Link raised a hand to his head and softly massaged his temple. "Is it really necessary to raise your voice?"
"How many?" Celia repeated, this time in the lowest voice she could muster. She spoke slowly and emphasized each word.
"Two. You're holding up two fingers. Now please get your hand out of my face." Link tried to remain calm. "Didn't my dad tell you I'd be staying home today?"
"He called, but I distinctly remember him saying what a swell idea it would be to come and cheer you up. After all, I was in the neighborhood checking up on that poor tree you assaulted this morning anyway. So I figured I'd swing by and check on you."
"My dad didn't ask you to come cheer me up," Link said, beginning to feel the sense of exasperation he experienced every time he spoke with Celia. "And I'm fairly certain he's never used the word 'swell' in his entire life."
"It's called reading between the lines. Duh. Besides, what did he say when he saw your face? Did he happen to mention the, well...you know," she pointed to the ridge of his cheekbone with her index finger in what appeared to be a rare loss of words, "the..."
"The what, Celia? The swelling?" Link could feel himself becoming more impatient by the second.
Celia giggled.
Why wouldn't this girl just leave him alone? "Why are you here, Celia? My head is killing me. The only thing I want to do right now is go back to bed."
In what appeared to be genuine concern, Celia spoke softly. "I just wanted to see if you were okay. That's all." Her large, gold-flecked eyes briefly confirmed this concern. Then she flashed Link a dazzling smile and resumed her customary, perky tone. "I know how rough it can be to make new friends. My family moved here last summer from Denton after my dad's department was downsized." She threw up her hands and produced finger quotation marks to emphasize the last word.
Celia tilted her head slightly and appeared to finally sense Link's discomfort. "Anyway, long story short, sorry you got hurt. Hope you feel better." With that, she bounded off in the direction of school.
Link watched as she disappeared over the hill. Celia put him on edge. That much was certain. On the other hand, she was right. It was lonely here. Though he'd never admit to her, it was nice to have at least one person worried about him, even if that person happened to be the most annoying girl in the entire world.
8
Behind the Wall
Fed up with talk shows and infomercials, Link turned off the TV and searched for something else to do. With his head throbbing, video games and reading were definitely out of the question. He decided the first step was to make the room a little darker. All the sunlight was making him sick to his stomach. When he stepped over the leather ottoman to reach for the curtain, he spied his mother's old Nikon 35mm on top of a short stack of real estate books. Framed in the light that spilled through the blinds, it appeared to have a halo around it.
Link knew he was forbidden to use the camera when his father wasn't around, which was why he resisted a solid two minutes before he gave in to the temptation. With the loving affection of a new mother, he lifted the camera up for a closer look. It was beautiful, perfect in every way but one. It used film.
Link had never understood the reasons behind his mother's insistence on using 35mm. In the past, whenever he had broached the subject, she had given him some cryptic response such as, "Film is a gateway. Make sure you capture both sides of the light, or you will come to regret it." A splinter of resentment punctured his chest as he remembered how strange she had become in the final days. No wonder people had labeled her a loony. The more he thought about it, the more frustrated he became.
He set the camera back atop the stack of books, making certain to return it the same way he had found it. Then he headed to his room to retrieve his own camera. Forgetting to temper his movement for a moment, the familiar lightning strike of pain in his head returned. This time, right when the pain hit, Link saw the outline of a rat scurry next to the TV cabinet. The suddenness of it caused him to jump.
He turned to use his better eye and examined the ground where he had seen the shadow. The rat was gone. In fact, the more he searched the baseboard, the more convinced he became that he'd imagined it.
Perhaps he was suffering some sort of post-traumatic stress disorder from his collision with the tree and all he needed was more aspirin. He paused in front of the porcelain sink and gazed with irritation at his swollen cheekbone and forehead. His goal of blending in with the shadows at his new school had just gotten way more difficult.
He grabbed the handle of the medicine cabinet and tugged, but it wouldn't budge. He pulled harder. Again, nothing happened. Screw it. He was pretty sure his father kept some aspirin in the kitchen. He'd just use those instead. Half way there, he noticed his mother's camera had somehow moved to the couch.
Had he carried it with him to get the aspirin? He didn't think so. He picked up the camera and returned it to its perch on top of the books and continued to the kitchen.
As he did, he glimpsed something moving. A chill moved down his spine and he whipped his body around to face his attacker. Of course, there was no one attacking him, other than the surge of pain that now pulsed in his head. Link forced an awkward laugh in an attempt to calm his jangled nerves. He had almost succeeded at laughing off his concerns when he noticed that the medicine cabinet in the bathroom was now wide open.
What? Link refused to consider any of the crazy conjectures about ghosts and ghouls that popped into his head. He hurriedly left the room and headed for the kitchen, wondering if a concussion could cause hallucinations. He was pretty sure that he'd read something about that somewhere.
Link spied the familiar yellow label of the Aspirin bottle and picked it up. He unsealed the childproof cap, palmed three tablets, and threw them in his mouth. Then he stuck his head under the spigot for a swig of water. The steady stream of water trickled over his lips, and Link heard a faint whisper similar to the ones he had heard the other night while searching for Ayden. At first the voice was so soft Link could not make out the words. Then goose bumps spread across his skin as he understood.
"I know you killed her," the voice whispered. A ghastly giggle followed that chilled Link to the core.
Before he could swallow, Link shot up, nearly impaling his eye on the kitchen faucet in the process, and searched for the sound. He really needed to take a look at the sort of books he was reading. Clearly some of the scarier books were beginning to mess with his head. With no way to explain what he had heard, Link decided the best thing to do was pretend it didn't happen.
He bent over once again, took a quick sip of water, and do
wned the Aspirin. Then he casually walked to his bedroom door without even glancing in the other room, even though every fiber of his being screamed for him to look over his shoulder. Thanks to all the horror movies he'd watched, he knew what became of people who investigated creepy voices. It was a lose-lose scenario. If he saw nothing when he turned around, he would feel even more like a wuss than he already did. On the other hand, if there really was a monster, the only reward he was likely to receive was a rusty axe to the head. Nope. This was clearly a time to keep on walking. Feeble reasoning perhaps, but it was all he had.
Once inside the stairwell, Link slammed the door and stood behind it. He listened for any more strange noises. He thought about placing his head on the door to hear better, but he quickly rejected the idea. He was no dummy. The instant his ear reached the door, the axe would undoubtedly come crashing through it. He needed to stay the course. Just ignore the noises, and they would go away.
For a time, Link did exactly that. He sat on the stairs and waited. It was during this period of idle sitting that Link discovered another painful truth about himself. He hated waiting. He was rapidly coming to the conclusion that an ax to the head might be better than sitting on the stairs doing nothing. At least it would end quicker.
He tapped his foot a few
The Broken Page 6
