"What is it? I can't stand it!" Will said, shaking his head as if he could shake the voices out of him.
Tristan was experiencing more than the voices. He was seeing things he had never seen before-scared animals hiding behind trees; jagged rocks, though they were covered completely by leaves; roots buried deep in the ground.
They were at the clearing now, and he saw the tracks behind the wet screen of trees. As they rushed toward the bridges the high voices grew higher and ore intense, the low grew deep and furious.
"Demons," Will said, trembling, as they came upon the bridges. "It's demons we hear."
As soon as Gregory lunged for her, Ivy turned and ran. There was no way around him on the narrow bridge. As she started running she saw the headlight of the train, like a small sun brightening the fog, rushing through the trees close to the bridge. She couldn't make it to the other side in time-she couldn't beat out the train. But there was no turning back. She had Philip's bright red jacket. If she waved it, the engineer might see her.
Gregory was gaining on her. The whistle sounded again, and Gregory laughed. He was only a few feet behind her, laughing and laughing, as if they were playing tag in the park. He was insane! He didn't care; he'd die with her as long as he could kill her. With each stride he moved closer-she could see him out of the corner of her eye. In desperation, Ivy threw Philip's jacket on the track behind her. It blew and tangled around Gregory's legs. Gregory stumbled. She glanced back and saw him go down on his knees.
Ivy kept going. She could hear the long rumble of the train and ran as hard as she could toward it. If I she put enough distance between herself and Gregory, she could try to find a place to cling to some finger hold beneath the track to dangle from.
"Angels, help me!" she prayed. "Oh, angels, are you there for me? Tristan! Where are you?"
"Here, Ivy! Ivy, here!"
There were voices all around her, calling her name. She slowed down. Were they just echoes in her head, the sound of the wind being twisted by her frightened mind? Then she saw that Gregory had stopped, too, listening for a moment, his face shining with sweat, his eyes wide, their gray centers ringed with white.
Then Ivy heard one voice clearly. "Ivy."
She recognized it. "Will!" she exclaimed.
He was running along the opposite track, calling to her. The other voices rose behind it, and a dark fear rushed over her. It's some trick, thought Ivy. It's all part of Gregory's plan.
Gregory started after her again, and Ivy rushed on.
Will was running with incredible speed along the parallel bridge. He had caught up to her and was three steps ahead of her when he reached the end of the old bridge.
"Ivy!" he yelled. "Ivy, over here! Leap!"
She stared at him across the seven-foot gap. All around her voices called and chattered, the high voices ringing in her ears and making her head feel light, the low voices drawing her down in despair.
"Leap!" he shouted, stretching his hands out toward her.
Even if he caught her, there was nothing to keep him from tumbling over the side with her. She'd kill them both.
"Ivy, leap!" It sounded like Tristan's voice.
"Ivy, leap. Ivy, leap," Gregory taunted. He had topped running. He was walking backward on the track now, watching her, watching the clearing where the train would appear any second, his face flushed and a trickle of blood coming out of his nose. His eyes shone-brilliant, triumphant, insane.
"Tristan!" Ivy called out.
"He's here," Will said. "He'll help us."
But she didn't feel Tristan within her and she didn't see him glowing inside Will.
"Where?" she cried out. "Where?"
˜"Where, where?" the deep voices mocked. The train thundered onto the bridge.
"Tristan, where are you?" Ivy screamed.
"Reach for her, Will. Reach for her!"
Will reached out, and Ivy leaped. For a moment a golden arc shimmered between the two bridges, holding up Ivy and Will. Then they fell onto the old track, clinging desperately to the edge so they wouldn't roll off.
The train rushed along the new bridge, and Gregory started running for the opposite bank. Ivy and Will pulled themselves up and screamed at the train till their throats burned. Their voices were drowned out by a growing wave of dark jabbering, an ominous rumbling of voices so deep they seemed to come from beneath everything that lived.
Ivy and Will watched helplessly as the train bore down on Gregory. He'd never make it. He'd have to try to leap to the old bridge. The voices began shriek. Ivy held her hands over her ears, and Will gripped her tightly. He tried to turn her head away, but she kept looking.
Gregory leaped, reaching up, his arms flung forward, his fingers reaching out. For a moment he stretched like an angel, then he plunged into the mist below.
The train rushed past him, never slowing. Ivy pressed her face against Will. They held on to each other, barely breathing. The tumult of voices murmured and ceased.
"Chick, chick, chick," one sad voice sang out. "Who's a chick, chick, chick?"
Then all was silent.
Chapter 19
"One box of tissues," Suzanne said Saturday night. "Help yourself, girls. One large pan of brownies."
"Why are you putting the tissues by us and the brownies by you?" Ivy asked. She, Suzanne, and Beth were sprawled on the floor in the middle of her bedroom.
Beth quickly pulled the brownies closer to her sleeping bag. "Don't worry," she said to Ivy, "I've got the knife."
"Suzanne will use her fingernails," Ivy replied. "Keep the pan between us."
"Now, just a minute," Suzanne said, pursing her I lips. They were paler than their usual flame red. "For the last four days I have been thoughtful, caring, polite-" "And it's really getting to me," Ivy said. "I miss the old Suzanne…
I've missed her for more than the last four days," she added softly.
Suzanne's pouty face changed, and Ivy quickly reached out to touch her friend's hand.
"Uh-oh, tissue time," Beth said.
Each of them reached for one.
"I've cried off more mascara in the last four days," Suzanne complained.
"Let's hit the brownies," Ivy suggested, snatching the knife from Beth and cutting three large ones.
Beth trailed a finger along the inside of the pan, picking up big crumbs as well as her brownie, then grinned at Suzanne. "It's been ages since I've been to a sleepover."
"Me too," Ivy said.
"How long has it been since you've had a good night's sleep?" Suzanne asked Ivy, her eyes still watery.
Ivy moved closer to her friend and put her arm around her. "I told you, I slept all the way through last night."
The other nights had been more difficult for Ivy, but she hadn't had any nightmares. At odd times during the night she would awaken and glance around the room, as if her body, having been on alert for so long, was still conditioned to check that all was well. But the fear she had lived with day and night was gone now, and with it the dreams.
The police had arrived at the bridges almost immediately on Tuesday, Lieutenant Donnelly responding to Ivy's note and to an emergency call for help by Andrew. They found Gregory on the rocks in the river below and pronounced him dead at the scene. A little while later, Philip was released from the shack.
"How's Philip doing?" Beth asked.
"He looks okay," Suzanne observed.
"Philip sees the world the way a nine-year-old does," Ivy told them. "If he can explain things with a story, he's all right. He's made Gregory into a bad angel, and he believes good angels will always protect him from the bad, so he's okay-for now."
But Ivy knew that sooner or later her brother would be asking a lot of hard questions about how someone could act nice to him and still want to hurt him. He'd ask again for all the details.
By the time Ivy and Andrew left the police station Tuesday night, the facts of the case had been sketched out. The lieutenant said the police would inform the family of the girl in Ridgefield,
as well as Eric's and Tristan's parents, regarding the further investigation of the case.
Later that evening the Reverend Mr. Carruthers, Tristan's father, came to the house. He stayed with Ivy and her family for several hours, and remained close by until the memorial service three days later, which he presided over. Now that it was over, both Andrew and Maggie looked fragile and worn, Ivy thought-haunted.
"Of course they do," Beth said, as if she had read Ivy's mind. "They've seen a side of Gregory that they never knew about, and it's horrifying.
They're just starting to understand what you've been through. It's going to take them a long time." "It's going to take us all a long time," Suzanne said, blinking back tears. Then she reached for the kitchen knife. "Do you think there are enough tissues and brownies?"
There's something different about her tonight, Tristan thought as he stared down at Lacey Saturday evening. He found her where he had first met her, lounging on his grave, one knee up, the other leg stretched straight out in front of her. Her spiked purple hair caught the moonlight, and her skin looked as pale as the marble she leaned against.
Her long nails gleamed dark purple. But there was something different about her.
In Lacey's face Tristan saw a wistfulness that made him hesitate before speaking to her, some touch of sadness that was new to her or that she usually kept well hidden.
"Lacey." She looked up at Tristan and blinked twice.
"What's up?" he said, sitting down next to her.
She stared at him and said nothing.
"What were you just thinking about?" he asked gently.
Lacey quickly looked down at her hands, touching fingertip to fingertip, frowning. When she glanced up again, she looked as if she were staring straight through him.
He felt uneasy. "Is something on your mind?"
"Have you been to Gregory's plot?" she asked.
"I just came from-" "Puh-lease, don't tell me he's winging around here," she interrupted, waving her hands dramatically. "I mean, I know Number One Director chooses the least likely, but that's pushing it just a little too far."
Tristan laughed, glad she was acting like herself again. "I haven't seen a sign of Gregory," he said.
"Everything's quiet by his grave and up on the ridge, too."
She dropped her hands. "You've been with Ivy."
"I've been there, but I can't reach her," he said. "Neither she nor Philip sees me, and I can't get inside either of their minds. I need your help, Lacey. I guess you're tired of hearing that, but I need you now more than ever."
She held up her hand, silencing him. "There's something I should tell you, Tristan."
"What?" he asked.
"I can't see you, either."
"What!"
"All I can see is a gold shimmer," Lacey explained, rising to her feet, "the same thing everyone else has been seeing when they look at you." She sighed. "Which means either I'm a living person again… brrrt!"
She made her obnoxious TV game show buzzer sound, only it was a halfhearted effort. "Or you're something angelic far beyond me."
"But I don't want to be!" he protested. "All I want to do is tell Ivy-" "I love you," Lacey said quickly. "I love you."
Tristan nodded. "Exactly. And that I love her so much I want her to find the love she was meant for."
Lacey turned away from Tristan.
"What can I do?" he asked.
"I dunno," she mumbled.
He reached for her to stop her from pacing, but his hand went right through her arm.
Lacey touched her arm where he had tried to grasp it. "You're way beyond me now," she said. "I can't even guess what's happening to you. Do you have any of your old powers?"
"When I came out of the darkness the last time, I had more powers than ever," Tristan replied. "I could project my voice like you. I could write by myself. I was strong enough to hold up Ivy and Will. Now I don't have the strength to do even simple things. How can I reach her?"
"Pray. Ask for another chance," Lacey said, "though reaching her one last time may take everything you have left."
"Is that how it's supposed to end?" Tristan asked.
"I don't know any more than you do!" Lacey snapped. "And you know how I hate to admit that," she added in a softer voice. "All you can do is pray and try. If-if you don't get through, I'll let her know you wanted to.
I'll deliver your message. And I'll check on her now and then-you know, give her some angelic advice."
When Tristan didn't say anything, Lacey said, "All right, so you don't want me giving your chick advice. I won't!"
"Please check on her," he said, "and give her all the advice you want. I trust you."
"You trust me-even if I advise her on love?" Lacey said, testing him.
"Even on love," he said, smiling.
"Not that I know anything about… love," she said.
Tristan eyed her curiously. Then he stood up to get a closer look.
"What?" Lacey said. "What?" She backed away from his probing light.
"That's it, isn't it?" he said with quiet wonder. "That's what you were thinking about when I found you.
You've fallen in love! Don't deny it.
Angels shouldn't lie to each other, and neither should friends. You're in love, Lacey."
"Better dead than never, huh?" she replied. "And now you've got your wish, so you can go on."
"Who is it?" Tristan asked curiously.
She didn't answer him.
"Who is it?" he persisted. "Tell me. Maybe I can help. I know you're hurting, Lacey. I can see it. Let me help."
"Oh, my!" Lacey walked a circle around the grave. "Look who's orbiting in the upper realm now."
He ignored the remark. "Who is it? Does he know you're here for him?"
She laughed, then dropped her chin and silently shook her head.
"Look at me," he said gently. "I can't see your face."
"Then we're even," she said quietly.
"I wish I could touch you again," Tristan told her. "I wish I could put my arms around you. I don't want to leave you hurting like this."
Lacey grimaced. "That's about the only way you can leave me," she replied softly, then looked at him with a full and steady gaze, her dark eyes shimmering with his own golden light. "Unless…," she said, "unless I leave you first. Good idea, Lacey. No sighing, no crying," she said resolutely.
Then she turned and started walking down the cemetery road.
"Lacey?" Tristan called after her.
She kept on walking.
"Lacey? Where are you going?" Tristan shouted. "Hey, Lacey, aren't you even going to say good-bye?"
Without turning around, she raised her hand and wiggled her fingers in a bright purple wave. Then she disappeared behind the trees.
Like the windows of the sleepy town Tristan had passed through on his way back from the cemetery, like the windows of his parents' house that he had looked through one last time, every window in the big house on top of the ridge was dark. Tristan found the three girls asleep on the floor of Ivy's bedroom: Beth with her round, gentle face bathed in moonlight, Suzanne, her mass of black hair flung like shiny ribbons over her pillow, and Ivy in between her friends, safe at last.
What the girls didn't know-or at least had pretended not to notice-was that Philip had crept into Ivy's bedroom and was asleep now in her bed, his head at the lower end where he could listen to their secrets.
Tristan touched him with his golden light. Only Ella was missing from the quiet scene, he thought.
He sat for a long time, letting the peace of the room seep into him, reluctant to disturb Ivy's sleep, reluctant to bring the time left between them to an end. But it would end, he knew that, and when the sky began to lighten, he prayed.
"Give me one last time with her," he begged, then he knelt beside Ivy.
Focusing on the tip of his finger, he ran it along her cheek.
He felt her soft skin. He could touch her again! He could sense her warmth! Ivy's eyes flutte
red open. She looked around the room, wondering.
He brushed her hand.
"Tristan?"
She sat up, and he pushed back a tumble of golden hair.
Her lips parted in a smile, and she reached to touch her hair where he had touched it. "Tristan, is it you?"
He matched that thought and slipped inside.
"Ivy."
She rose quickly and walked to the window, wrapping her arms around herself. "I thought I'd never hear your voice again," she said silently.
"I thought you were gone forever. After that moment on the bridge, I didn't see your light anymore. I can't see it now," she told him, frowning and gazing down at her hand.
"I know. I don't understand what's happening, Ivy. I just know that I'm changing. And that I won't be back."
She nodded, accepting what he said with a calm that surprised him. Then he saw her mouth quiver. She trembled and looked as if she would cry out loud, but she said nothing.
"I love you, Ivy. I'll never stop loving you."
She leaned against the window, looking out on a pale and glittering night. She looked through tears.
"I prayed for one more chance to reach you," he said, "to tell you how much I love you and to tell you to keep on loving. Someone else was meant for you, Ivy, and you were meant for someone else."
She stood up straight. "No."
"Yes, love," he said, softly but firmly.
"No!"
"Promise me, Ivy-" "I'll promise you nothing but that I love you," she cried.
"Listen to me," Tristan pleaded. "You know I can't stay any longer."
The pale, glittering night was raining now, and fresh tears gleamed on her cheeks, but he had to leave.
"I love you," he said. "I love you. Love him."
Then Tristan slipped out and saw her standing at the window in the early-morning light. He stepped back and watched her as she knelt down and rested her arms and face on the sill. He stepped back again and saw her tears dry and her eyes close. When he stepped back a third time, Tristan thought the sun had risen behind him, shattering the pale night into a thousand silver fragments.
He turned suddenly to the east, but the brilliant circle of light was not the sun. There was no knowing what it was, except that it was a light meant for him, and Tristan walked swiftly toward it.
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