by Lily Cahill
“Clay?”
Someone stood at the open door. Her shapely figure was silhouetted in the bright light from the party inside.
“What are you doing out here alone?” she asked with a curious, teasing lilt in her voice.
It was Violet.
“What’s the matter? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
Clayton straightened, covering the patch of earth with his feet. No one could know about this. What would his father say if he had seen that? The thought chilled him.
“It’s nothing. I’m fine,” he said, trying to shake off this new anxiety.
She held out her hand to him. “Well, then, come back to the party. Everybody’s asking about you.”
“Of course,” he said. He took her hand and went inside, more determined than ever to comply with his parents’ wishes. Who knew? Maybe he could even find himself rekindling the flame with Violet. Many things that had seemed impossible only moments ago were suddenly very, very possible.
CHAPTER NINE
Cora
It had been three days since Cora had returned home from the hospital, and she was just now starting to feel like she had a handle on things. She’d had to cancel Mrs. Stewart’s cake order—there hadn’t been enough time to bake it after she’d been released from the hospital. But Mrs. Felder had been kind enough to pay the full amount for her mending even though it was a day late. Thankfully, everyone was very understanding. The incident with the fog had shaken the town, especially losing Jan Clarkson.
Since returning home, she’d avoided Butch as much as possible. Every time he looked her way he seemed to be sneering, or sizing her up. Butch was a sore loser, always had been. And he loved getting revenge. Her only hope was to avoid him long enough for him to forget his beef with her and move on to some other battle.
Bethany had been sticking by her side, too. At first Cora thought that she was frightened of Butch, but eventually she realized Bethany meant to protect her. Butch was less likely to attack if there was a witness.
The whole thing made her nervous. She’d managed to keep Bethany mostly under her brother’s radar until now. Who knew what would happen if she made an enemy of Butch? Cora had taken to shoving her out of the house whenever possible.
Now, for the first time since the fight, she was finally alone. Bethany was off with her friends, and Butch and their father had somehow managed to land a job hauling junk out of a trailer home in Schmidt Park, a place most of the locals called Shit Park.
Cora cleaned the dishes from breakfast and thought about what had happened with Butch and the laundry water. The whole thing was so bizarre it was hard to believe it had happened at all. Part of her was certain it had been a hallucination born of her fear in the moment.
Another part wondered if it was her. She couldn’t have sent that water flying, could she? That was impossible.
But the water had landed on Butch. That was undeniable. The tub was on the ground—and completely upright. She hadn’t tipped it. It hadn’t spilled. The thing was big. It would have been too heavy to lift even if she had tried. Something had happened. Something strange.
The more she thought about it, she came to realize the strange thing maybe wasn’t a “thing.”
Maybe it was her.
Maybe she could move things. Maybe she had always been able to but had never known it. She had read stories about people who could move things. Books about witches or comic books with superheroes.
God, what was she thinking? Could she really believe she was a witch? Or a superhero?
Of course not.
Still, the thing had happened.
Cora saw someone’s leftover breakfast sitting on the counter: a dirty plate and fork and an unfinished glass of water. It wouldn’t hurt to try, would it?
She closed her eyes and concentrated on moving the fork. But what was she supposed to concentrate on? A feeling? An image? She decided the best thing to do was to simply want the fork to move. That’s what had happened last time, hadn’t it? She had wanted the water to hit Butch in the face, and it did.
She stared at the fork until she had a clear image of it in her mind. Then she closed her eyes and concentrated.
She opened her eyes. Nothing had happened.
She closed them again and concentrated harder.
Still nothing.
She took another look at the mess on the counter, at the plate, at the fork, at the glass. What had she done before? What was different? Why didn’t the whole mess just move?
It was then she saw the vibration. But it wasn’t from the fork. It was from the glass. The more she concentrated, the more it vibrated on the counter.
She looked at it, reached out her hand, and focused all her attention on just the glass.
Move.
Move.
Move.
She wanted that water to move.
And it did.
A tiny droplet rose out of the glass. An inch, then five. Just as quickly, it splashed back down, plopped into the glass.
Cora gasped.
She had done it.
She had moved something.
And it wasn’t just something. It was water.
She could move water.
She tried it again, just to be sure. Cora focused all her attention on the water inside the glass, instead of the glass itself.
Immediately, the glass tipped to the floor and shattered. But the water inside it hovered above the counter, a floating globule of pure liquid. Clear and shining and perfect. Cora reached out to touch it, but it splashed back down on the countertop and cascaded to the floor, dotting her dress with wetness.
She tried again. This time, she turned on the faucet and looked away. She willed the water to arc over her head and land on the floor.
Nothing happened.
She looked back at it and tried it while she was looking. This time, the water shot up and splashed the ceiling, showering down over her in a wild rain. It didn’t arc over her head as she’d hoped, but at least it had done something. Perhaps she could only move it if she was looking at it.
She turned her back again. Same thing. The water poured out of the faucet. She could hear it splashing into the sink just like normal. But the moment she caught sight of it, it went up like a geyser—missing the ceiling this time and arcing through space until it landed on the floor.
Cora laughed. What else could she do?
This was bizarre.
This was crazy.
She was crazy.
Was she crazy?
She tried it one more time, making the water shoot through the air. For perhaps the first time ever, Cora felt special. She could do something. She had a gift.
Then she heard a noise on the steps out front and her little display came crashing down—all over her head.
The door opened. Bethany stood there for a moment, staring at her. “Cora, what on earth are you doing?”
At first, Cora feared she’d been caught. Had Bethany seen? Then she realized what a sight she must be. She was dripping wet. Everything around her was too, and the faucet was running out of control. She must look like an absolute mess.
“I might have spilled a little water,” Cora said with a nervous giggle.
“A little?” Bethany said. “You spilled more than a little.”
Cora’s giggle bubbled up into full blown laughter as she took in the kitchen. It was the first time she had looked at a mess and felt pride.
“Did that fog get to your brain?” Bethany chortled.
Cora’s laughter died. The fog. Of course. Until Bethany said so, she hadn’t even made the connection.
But of course it was the fog. It had to be. Nothing else in her life had been any different.
A chill swept through her. It wasn’t a gift or a skill, it was a side effect. She was a freak.
What had been in that awful cloud? The cloud that had killed Jan Clarkson. Was she next? If it had killed once, would the same thing happen to her eventually?
“Cora?”
Cora startled. How long had Bethany been speaking to her?
“What?”
“I said don’t you have a doctor’s appointment today? Your follow up with Dr. Pinkerton?”
“Shoot,” Cora said. She had forgotten all about it. She would have to race to make it on time.
“Have you experienced any unusual symptoms since your exposure to the fog?” Dr. Pinkerton asked as he held the stethoscope to her heart.
“Unusual?” Cora said, nerves jumping in her belly. She looked away from the doctor, pretending to be absorbed in the room—in the old white house on the edge of town that the doctor had long ago turned into a clinic.
She shifted her gaze to a shelf and noticed a stack of boxes—condoms. She’d heard it was odd to find them anywhere else, but Independence Falls had been founded by prostitutes—by a very wealthy madam named Mamie Watkins, to be exact. They’d set up shop near the mine and made a fortune. And they knew all about the sort of things that could happen to a woman who sold her body for money. There was a law in town that mandated easy access to birth control for everyone.
Birth control? She was thinking about birth control? That was almost worse than thinking about the weird thing she could do.
She had to clear her head. She focused on a tree outside the window. On the tall hedges that lined the perimeter of the lawn.
“Anything abnormal? Anything different than how you were feeling before the festival? Heart palpitations, shortness of breath, nausea, that sort of thing?”
“No. I feel fine.” Her heart quickened as she told the lie and she tried to force herself to calm down. This morning it had felt like the most amazing thing to be able to control that water. She had felt different, special. But now?
Now she saw the peril in it. She was a freak—a freak who may be in danger.
And that was without anyone knowing about her. What if people knew? What if the town found out? It would be just one more thing to mistrust her over. Have you heard? The Murphy girl is a witch. That’s what people would say. She wouldn’t be surprised if they burned her at the stake.
She realized Dr. Pinkerton was looking at her strangely. He still looked haggard and drawn. The ordeal with the fog must have been hard on him.
“Are you certain?” he asked. “Your pulse is a bit elevated. Anything I should be worried about?”
“Really,” she said as he pulled the stethoscope away. “I’m right as rain. I promise.” She pasted on a big smile—was it too big?—and clasped her hands so they would stop shaking.
“All right, then. We’ll send this off for analysis and let you know if there’s anything to be concerned about.”
Cora ventured a question. “How have the others been? Is anyone else experiencing anything … unusual?”
“You’re worried about what happened to the Clarkson girl, aren’t you?”
“We had the same illness, didn’t we?”
He smiled and put a hand on her shoulder. “It’s hard to say. She was probably already sick with something before coming into contact with that fog. But it’s nothing for you to worry about. As far as we know there’s nothing to worry about at all.”
“And no one else has been having any strange symptoms?”
“No dear, nothing yet.”
“Good,” she said, though she wasn’t completely sure if it was a relief or a disappointment.
“You come straight to me if you’re worried about anything, all right? We’ll get it straightened out.”
“Thank you, Doctor.”
“And I’d like to see you again next week, just to make sure everything is still normal. Just schedule something with Mrs. McClure out front.”
Cora hesitated. Visits to the doctor were expensive, and if she ever wanted to get Bethany away from here she would have to scrimp every penny. But what if there was really something wrong with her? She had to know.
“I will.”
Cora left Dr. Pinkerton’s office with mixed feelings. The early June sun was shining down on her hot and bright. It felt like she had walked out from under one microscope and into another. People glanced at her as she made her way through town, and it was hard to believe they weren’t looking at her differently, staring just a little too long.
On one hand, she was glad to know that Dr. Pinkerton had no reason to worry that she was in danger—or reason to suspect what she could now do. On the other, she wished there were someone else she could talk to about all this.
But there wasn’t. She couldn’t tell anyone.
In fact, she’d have to be very careful. Not a soul could know about this. Even Bethany. Especially Bethany. It was just too dangerous. She would just have to be content in the knowledge that she was different. Maybe, maybe she could use her new skill when no one was looking, to get through the dishes or the laundry faster. Maybe if she practiced, her speed would even convince her last few customers not to switch to the new automatic washers. But that was it. She couldn’t ever risk anyone seeing her.
Cora wiped a bead of sweat from her brow. She needed to be alone, to think about this. What she longed for was a cool spot of shade, or a dip in ice cold waters.
That’s what she would do, she resolved. She’d go for a swim. There were plenty of places near the lake where she could be alone, be hidden. And besides, there was something she wanted to try.
CHAPTER TEN
Clayton
Clayton parked on the old dirt road that led up to the cliffs, and his buddies piled out of the car. Will had joined them, since Meg was busy that afternoon planning the next charity ball. Frank was here too, having overheard their plans to hang out and invited himself along. There was also Charlie—the far more serious ex-baseball star who seemed to be in one of his moods today.
They had all decided that this Saturday had become too hot to stay indoors, and too hot to be outdoors as well. It was one of those days where the only thing that seemed right was a good dip in the lake.
But the beach looked crowded when they passed—full of children and families splashing about everywhere. Now that they’d received the new polio vaccine and the parents were no longer terrified of dooming their children to paralysis, the waters were suddenly packed with children who had never before experienced the joys of a long summer swim. The now-famous virologist Jonas Salk had given the vaccine to his own children, hadn’t he? They wouldn’t have let the study proceed if it wasn’t safe.
Clayton pulled off his shirt and tossed it on the driver’s seat. Perhaps the swim would get his mind off things, too. What had happened at the party last night had shaken him. He didn’t know what to make of it. All he could do was hope it would never happen again. But he had no guarantee of that, and it was worrisome. More than worrisome. It terrified him. What he needed was a good time, a distraction.
Clayton and his friends had been going to the cliffs since they were children. He’d been only eight when Will—a much older and wiser ten—had dared him to dive off the cliff’s edge into the cool waters nearly fifty feet below. Not wanting to be called a pansy, Clayton obeyed and had been enjoying the thrill ever since. A bit of adrenaline racing through his veins was just what he needed today.
Clayton waited for Charlie, who moved slower than the rest of them. He’d been injured in a car accident a couple years ago that had killed his girlfriend, Angela, and left him with a lame leg. They’d all loved Angie, and it was hard to see him like this—struggling for the simplest things while the rest of them seemed stronger than ever, in their prime.
“Need some help?” Clayton offered, watching Charlie try to navigate out of the backseat and hold on to his cane at the same time.
Charlie glared back. “I’m not helpless. You don’t need to treat me like a child.”
“Sorry,” Clayton said, turning away to give the man some privacy.
Will looked over and rolled his eyes at Clayton as if to say, ‘Don’t bother.’ None of them knew how to treat Charlie anymore. It seemed like w
hatever anybody said it was always wrong. Clayton tossed his keys through the open top of the convertible and made his way into the trees with Will to give Charlie some privacy.
As soon as they had disappeared out of Charlie’s view, a grin curled on Will’s face. He took off running. “Race you in,” he shouted over his shoulder at Clayton. He was already several paces ahead.
Clayton dashed toward his brother, unbuckling his trousers as he ran. But as they rounded the corner of the trail that led them to the best spot, they saw they weren’t the first with the idea.
A woman was there, lifting her arms to dive in, clad only in a slip, her clothes in a neat pile on a nearby rock. And not just any woman. Clayton knew the curve of that neck, recognized the dark tousle of soft waves. It was Cora.
He opened his mouth to say something, but before he could, she dove in—and head first too. He had never seen a woman do that. He wasn’t sure he’d ever seen a man do that. He’d only done it once himself and it had scared the life out of him.
“Who was that?” Will asked.
Clayton turned to his brother with a frown settled on his brow. “Cora Murphy.”
“You’re kidding,” Will said. “Well, she’s got guts, doesn’t she?”
They looked down and saw the swirl of froth where Cora had gone in. But it suddenly seemed like too long that she’d been under. Clayton scanned the waters beyond, widening the boundaries of where he thought she could pop up. His heart started to beat faster as the moment stretched longer and longer.
She wasn’t surfacing.
“Hello?” Clayton shouted. “Anybody down there?” Maybe they had missed her. Maybe she was already on shore, climbing the rocky terrain back up to where they stood. “Did you see her come up?”
“No,” Will said.
Frank and Charlie had finally caught up to them and stifled their laughter as they saw the serious expression on Clayton’s face.
“What’s going on?” Charlie asked, Frank quiet at his side.
“How long do you think she’s been under?” Will asked.
The look on Will’s face was enough to convince Clayton he wasn’t the only one worried.
