“Um…” The reporter, unsure of where to look, searched the tan interior of the SUV. “That boy who saw the monster is coming out of shock. Doctors think he’s going to speak.”
“A million thanks, sweetheart,” Billy said in a bass-deep tone.
The woman’s light eyebrows shot up in terror. “What’s going on here?”
“Are you hearing voices?” Candace asked sweetly.
The woman nodded.
Candace hit the gas. “Looks like you’ve come to the right place,” she called, cackling as she sped away.
“You guys!” Melody giggled. She couldn’t deny the humor, but practical jokes weren’t exactly the best way to improve the RADs’ public image. “I thought the NUDI goal was to show normies they have nothing to be afraid of.”
“You’re right,” Billy said. “I’ll stop.”
“Fun out,” Candace grumbled.
Melody buried her fists inside the long sleeves of her striped T-shirt and furrowed her brow. Had Candace and Billy just listened to her?
After ten more minutes of nearly running over reporters and gliding past rows of parked cars, Candace ditched the BMW in a spot reserved for Dr. Nguyen. It was either that or park in the lobby.
“Let’s go!” Melody grabbed her khaki backpack and led the NUDIs toward Building E. The video of Jackson was minutes away from destruction. She could practically smell the waxy pastel crayons on his fingers as he held her face and kissed her thank-you. The promise of that kiss made her pink Converse rev.
It wasn’t difficult for two attractive girls to flirt their way past reporters, student vigils, and the cell phone paparazzi. The two beefy security guards on either side of the sliding glass doors, however, didn’t seem quite as charmed.
“Hang back. Let me handle this,” Candace whispered in Melody’s ear. “I have a way with bouncers.”
“Candace, no!” Melody called, but it was too late. Her sister was already approaching the man on the left.
“Is she always like this?” Billy whispered in Melody’s ear. She just nodded in exasperation.
“Press pass or visitor’s pass,” the security guard grumbled, adjusting the curly wire dangling from his earpiece.
“Really?” Melody nibbled her cuticle. This was the psychiatric ward of a hospital, not the Vanity Fair Oscar party. Although she imagined that the two venues weren’t much different.
“Actually, sir, I was hoping you could make an exception.” Candace removed her white sunglasses and smiled with her entire body. Her sleeveless camouflage jumpsuit took the fat out of fatigues and gave her the silhouette of a short Victoria’s Secret model. “You see, I really need—”
The human meatball raised his palm to silence her. “Hold on,” he barked, pressing his sausage finger against the earbud and lowering his eyes as he listened. Candace turned to the other security guard, but his palm was lifted too.
Melody continued nibbling her cuticle. What if they couldn’t get in? What if Bekka didn’t come out? What if she missed the deadline? What if—?
“Maybe you should just give Billy the bag and let him go in alone,” Candace whispered while the meatball listened to… well, whatever they were listening to. “He is invisible.”
“Yeah, but the bag isn’t!” Melody snapped.
“It’s not like anyone will notice,” Candace pointed out. “It is the psych ward.”
“You already used that joke on the reporter. Now can you please be serious? This isn’t a game—”
“Sorry ’bout that,” said the security guard, fixing his attention on Candace. His hardened expression cracked, and out came a grin. It was a transformation Melody had seen a thousand times and had dubbed “Can versus man.” Can always won.
“Hey, Garreth,” he said to the guard on his left, “isn’t this the cute girl you saw driving around looking for a parking spot before?”
“Might be.” Garreth nodded. “Were you driving that green Beemer?”
“Yup,” Candace smiled proudly. “It’s diesel, you know. Good for the environment.”
“Nice.” He smiled. “Can I see some ID?”
“With pleaz-sha.” Candace turned and winked at Melody as she searched her metallic bronze tote. “Here you go.”
He looked at her California driver’s license and handed it over to his partner.
“Candace Carver?” asked the guy on the right.
She nodded proudly. “The first.”
“So you’re not Dr. Nguyen?”
“Huh? No, who’s that?”
“We got her,” he said into his mouthpiece.
“You have three minutes to remove yourself and your diesel from this lot, or we will have you towed.”
Melody lowered her head in her hands.
“Two minutes,” insisted the meatball.
“But you don’t understand,” Candace pleaded. “We have to get into the hospital.”
“Wait.” The guard turned to Melody. “You’re together?”
Melody shot her sister a soap opera–style leave-now-or-I-will-destroy-you glare.
“Candace out,” she said quickly, and hurried off.
“No, we’re not together,” Melody lied. “I’m, uh, here to interview for the job.” Billy coughed, and Melody jabbed her elbow into the air next to her. She heard a tiny oof!
“What job?” he asked.
“He’s waking up!” someone—a reporter?—shouted from a third-floor window.
The crowd that was keeping vigil cheered. The camera lights flicked on. A stampede of reporters rushed the doors.
“Stand back, people!” called the guard on the right.
“You have your hands full, so I’m just gonna go,” Melody told him.
And for some strange reason, he let her pass with a dismissive wave of his hand.
Managing to outrun the press tsunami by mere seconds, Melody and Billy raced up the dim stairwell to the third floor.
“Is this going to work?” she asked, panting, as the reality (or, rather, the risk) of what they were about to do set in. If they succeeded, this monster hunt would be over, and life would return to normal. But if they failed, Jackson, Frankie, and now Billy too would be in grave danger. And Cleo would be right—Melody would be to blame.
“You’re not getting cold feet, are you?” Billy asked.
“Nah, just blisters,” she lied, taking the last flight of stairs two at a time.
They burst onto the bustling third floor and ducked into the nearest ladies’ room to prep FrankiBilly.
“Let me know if you need any help,” Melody said, sliding her bag under the stall door.
“We’re going live in five,” someone shouted in the hallway.
“Live in five!” other voices echoed, spreading the word.
Minutes later, Billy emerged looking green and gorgeous in Grandma Stein’s lace wedding dress. Melody couldn’t believe how much he looked like Frankie had at the dance. They were even the same height. Aside from the sharp Adam’s apple in his thin neck, he was Frankie.
“Let’s wait until they’re taping,” Melody suggested. “That way everyone will see that the mysterious green monster has been captured, and this whole thing will be over fast.”
“Sounds good,” he said, checking the firmness of his self-adhesive neck bolts.
“Really? Are you sure about this?”
Billy nodded.
Melody put her arm around his surprisingly well-defined shoulders and smiled at the reflection in the mirror: a green monster and a dark-haired beauty. This is what she and Frankie would look like as real friends. Out together, standing side by side, in a public bathroom.
“Definitely worth fighting for,” he said as if reading her mind.
Melody agreed and then fired off a quick text.
TO: Frankie
sept 27, 2:36 PM
MELODY: TURN ON THE NEWS. WE’RE LIVE IN 5.
Melody smiled to herself as she pulled open the bathroom door. After years of asthma and social persecu
tion, she was starting to use her voice again.
And people were going to listen.
CHAPTER TEN
DON’T HATE ME BECAUSE
I’M BOO-TIFUL
A high-def shot of a drowsy boy lying in a hospital bed popped on the Steins’ flat screen. Scrolling text along the bottom read: BRETT REDDING IS REGAINING CONSCIOUSNESS AFTER A SHOCKING MONSTER ENCOUNTER… FAMILY AND FRIENDS ARE STANDING BY, WAITING FOR HIS FIRST WORDS.
“Ahhhh!”
A five-way squeal, nearly powerful enough to spin the steel blades on the ceiling fan, rose up from the putty-colored L-shaped couch and filled the living room.
“Well, I’ll be stuffed!” Blue slammed the cap on her tea tree moisturizer and rested her legs on Lala’s lap. “He looks like a parade float with all those flowers around him.”
“Normies can be so dramatic,” Cleo said, admiring her pedicure from the comfy corner seat.
“Yum. Look at that platter of cold cuts,” Clawdeen said.
“Ew,” Lala winced.
“Are you fur real?” Clawdeen teased. “What a waste of fangs you are. You know what you should be doing with your teeth?” She turned toward Blue and pretended to bite her shoulder. “Paying a little visit to the Outback Steakhouse.”
“Down, girl!” The Aussie chucked her bottle of tea tree lotion at Clawdeen, who howled with laughter.
“You wanna talk waste?” Lala shivered, wrapping herself in a black cashmere scarf. “What you wax off in one day would keep me warm for an entire year.”
“Harsh!” Giggling, Clawdeen whipped the bottle at Lala.
“What about Jordin Sparks over there?” Lala whipped the lotion at Frankie’s butt. It landed on the rug with a thud. “She wastes Vegas amounts of electricity.”
“Nice one!” Cleo slapped her a high five. “The vampire strikes back!”
Everyone cracked up—except Frankie. She stood in front of the TV transfixed by the sight of Brett tucked under a blue-and-brown plaid comforter. His Neutrogena-clear skin was the ideal backdrop for his bloodred mouth, denim-blue eyes, and spiked black hair—a white canvas for the vibrant colors of his face.
Frankie’s lips tingled. Her heart space swelled. It was the first time she’d seen Brett since their ill-fated kiss—a kiss that had ripped off her head, landed him in the psych ward, and threatened the future of Salem’s RADs. The very sight of him should have filled her with fear. Shame. Anger. But instead her insides buzzed with longing.
D.J. who?
“Did we miss it?” Viktor asked, hurrying in with his wife. The tangy smells of sweat and metal wafted from his lab coat. The scents of gardenia and waxy makeup wafted from hers.
“Where’s Billy?” Viveka asked.
“Shhh,” Frankie hissed, standing before the TV with zombielike deference. “Brett’s regaining consciousness. He’s gonna speak.”
The camera shot widened to reveal the hospital room. Lemon-yellow walls were covered in get-well cards. A window offered a view of the parking lot. And Bekka—who stood next to Brett’s mother—was wearing a WHITE IS THE NEW GREEN tee and a hopeful expression.
Frankie gasped. “How offensive is that shirt?”
“How offensive is her face?” Cleo said.
“Fur real,” Clawdeen agreed.
“I’m glad Grandma Stein isn’t around to see those tacky imitation hairstreaks,” Viveka said to her husband.
“Shhh,” Frankie insisted as the camera zoomed in on Brett. His beautiful lips were beginning to move.
A reporter hovered at Brett’s bedside with a microphone and squinty concern. “It appears as if Brett is trying to speak,” the man said in a deep voice that clashed with his boyish features. His name—ROSS HEALY—appeared at the bottom of the screen. “B-man, can you hear me?” he asked.
“Whashe,” Brett mumbled.
Bekka and Brett’s mother leaned closer.
“B-boy, can you hear me? It’s Ross. Ross Healy from Channel Two News—you know, ‘It’s all true on Twoooo,’ ” he sang.
“Whashe,” Brett mumbled again.
“He said ‘Mommy’!” Mrs. Redding sobbed joyfully, her black chin-length curls bobbing for joy. “Did you say ‘Mommy,’ sweetie?”
“I’ve got your mummy right here.” Clawdeen lifted Cleo’s hand.
The girls giggled.
“Whashe!”
“He said, ‘Where is she?’ ” Bekka explained, elbowing Brett’s mother aside. “He wants me. He’s looking for me.” She twisted the top of his hair, spiking it up even more. “Aren’t you looking for me, Brett?”
“Get outta there, ya crazy Sheila!” Blue shouted at the TV. “He wants Frankie. Not you, ya shonky yobbo!”
“Bekka?” Brett managed, and then coughed weakly.
A nurse hurried over with a beige cup of ice chips. Brett filled his mouth and reached for his girlfriend’s hand. The instant their hands touched, his face brightened. Hers beamed. Frankie’s dimmed.
“Are you okay?” he asked, his denim-blue eyes searching Bekka’s hungrily.
Bekka nodded. “I am now.”
A symphony of retching sounds burst forth from the L-couch. Frankie smiled on the inside.
“I was so worried about you,” Bekka said, dabbing his wet lips with a tissue.
“Are you kidding?” Brett sat up. “I was worried about you.”
“Isn’t this amazing?” said Ross in a hushed voice, like some wildlife documentarian witnessing a giraffe birth. Frankie wanted to rip out her neck seams and strangle him. Now, that would be amazing.
“Bekka, I thought I killed you.” Brett broke into a sob. A giant snot bubble burst from his nose.
“Aw, chunder!” Blue shouted. “Did you see that bush oyster?”
Bekka’s beaming grin sank faster than a time-lapse sunset. “What do you mean, you thought you killed me?”
“Everyone, stand back,” ordered a young male doctor with the word INTERN on the back of his scrubs. He rushed to Brett’s side with a loaded syringe. “He’s experiencing a post-traumatic hallucination.”
“What?” Brett pushed the intern away. “I’m not hallucinating!”
“Yes, he is,” Bekka insisted.
The intern stepped forward.
“I’m not.”
The intern stepped back.
“He is.”
The intern stepped forward.
“Let him speak!” Mrs. Redding shouted.
Everyone stepped back.
Brett tossed another ice chip into his mouth and turned to his mother. “Remember my tenth birthday party?”
She nodded tearfully. “We made a haunted house in the basement. You wanted a scary cake, so I baked a stick figure and we stabbed it with plastic knives and then topped it with a cherry compote drizzle.”
“Yeah… well…” Brett scraped a chip of black nail polish off his thumb. “When I blew out the candles, I wished that…” He scraped some more. “I wished that I would…”
Scrape. Scrape. Scrape.
“It’s okay, B-man,” Ross whispered. “No one is here to judge you.”
Brett took a deep breath. “I wished that I would turn into a monster.” He exhaled. “And I did, Mom. I did!”
The intern stepped forward again. Mrs. Redding pushed him aside.
“Good gosh, Brett. Don’t even joke!” his mother cried. “You’re not a monster.”
“How can you say that when I ripped my own girlfriend’s head off?”
“What?” Viktor and Viveka cried out at the same time.
“Golden!” Cleo laughed. “He thought Frankie was Bekka!”
“They were in the same costume,” Clawdeen pointed out.
“This is great!” Lala said. “You’re off the hook!”
Frankie managed a convincing smile, because technically Lala was right. This was great. If Brett had no idea she existed, how could she possibly be blamed? His ignorance was a gift! A blessing! A get-out-of-jail-free card!
Then why does it hurt m
ore than getting my head ripped off?
Different feelings rose and fell inside Frankie like painted horses on a carousel: relief, embarrassment, vindication, gratitude, melancholy, freedom, loss.… But the one feeling that remained constant—the carriage seat that was bolted to the wood and didn’t budge—was insignificance.
“You think that was my head?” Bekka asked.
Brett nodded.
“My head?”
“Yes!” He shouted at his hands. “I’m pure darkness!”
“Brett!” his mother gasped. “Don’t ever—”
“It’s true, Mom. Only someone truly twisted would try to kill a girl during the best kiss of his life.”
Did he just say the best—
“Ahhhh!” The girls jumped off the couch and raced for Frankie. They hugged and squealed as if she had just won American Idol.
“Settle down,” Viktor boomed. “This is my little girl he’s talking about.”
Viveka comforted him with a loving shoulder squeeze.
“That was the best kiss of your life?” Bekka asked, her green eyes sad and blue.
“Of course.” Brett chuckled. “Come on. Admit it. You felt it too.”
“Turn off the cameras!” Bekka screamed so loudly that her freckles quaked.
“Absolutely,” Ross said, winking at his camera operator. “Okay, they’re off. Continue.”
“Brett, that wasn’t me!”
“Yes, it was. I’m not crazy, you know,” he insisted. “I was Frankenstein and you were my bride. I remember everything.”
Frankie stepped closer to the TV. Her friends followed.
“Brett, that wasn’t me! It was a monster. A real monster.”
He laughed. “Who’s the crazy one now?”
“It was me!” said FrankiBilly, barging into the room dressed as Grandma Stein on her wedding day.
The entire city of Salem gasped at the same time.
Brett’s face brightened. Frankie’s beamed. Bekka’s dimmed.
“VOLTAGE!” Frankie jumped up and down, applauding. Raucous cheering and applause filled the Steins’ living room.
“Fang-tastic!” Lala laughed. “He looks so much like you, Frankie!”
“What is this?” Bekka stammered—one part suspicious, two parts scared. “What’s going on?
The Ghoul Next Door Page 8
