Secrets 01 Secrets in the Attic

by V. C. Andrews

  My mother shook her head and clicked her lips. "To lose two husbands," she said. "It's a wonder she can function."

  It's a wonder she can function? If they only knew what I knew, what Karen had been telling me about her mother, they wouldn't be so sympathetic, but I could hardly say anything about all that now. What was Karen going to say about all this? I wondered. I shouldn't go over there until I had a chance to speak with her.

  "Can we wait?" I asked. "Can we do it next week? It makes me nervous to think about it."

  My father just stared at me a moment and then turned to my mother to see what she thought.

  "It is very fresh, Michael. She's just getting steady on her own feet again."

  "Hmm," he said, but his suspicious eyes made me more nervous. Perhaps I was only stirring up the pot. Perhaps I should just do it and get it over with.

  "I mean, I'll go if you want me to."

  "Michael?"

  "Okay, I'll call her and explain. How about we all go see her on Sunday evening, after we return from New York? Maybe after being away, you'll feel better."

  I tried not to look too relieved.

  "That's a better idea. We could know more about Karen's whereabouts by then," my mother suggested.

  "Yes, that could be. Right now, it's as if she disappeared off the face of the earth. According to Darlene, not a relative, not a family acquaintance, has heard from her. I did learn that she took some money, so she might just be holed up somewhere, some cheap motel or something. Her picture has been well circulated. She can't walk into any bus station or hail some taxi driver without being recognized," my father said.

  To me, it seemed he was saying it all for my benefit.

  "She's only making things worse by hiding like this," my mother added. "No one gets a chance to hear her side of things."

  "If there is a side," my father said. Again, he focused on me.

  "Okay, that's enough," my mother declared. I had the distinct feeling they had rehearsed the entire dialogue and agreed on what each would say. "You can go do your homework, Zipporah. I'll clean up."

  I nodded and rose. Could they tell from the way I stood and ambled out of the dining room that I was on the verge of confessing everything and leading them up the stairs to the attic?

  The moment I left, I heard them start talking about me.

  "Actually, I would have thought she'd want to go over there on her own," my father said.

  "She's very fragile at the moment, Michael. She's under so much pressure at school, from the police, the community, and now us. You shouldn't have agreed you'd bring her over to see Darlene yet."

  My father didn't respond, and I didn't want to remain there eavesdropping. I hurried up the stairs to my room to construct a letter to Karen that I would leave in the book. My mother was on an early shift in preparation for our trip to New York the day after, so I wouldn't have much time to see Karen before we left, and here my father was suggesting our going over to see her mother as soon as we returned.

  As I wrote the letter describing what was going to occur, I considered sneaking up the stairs to the attic after my parents had gone to bed. However, the risk now seemed even greater than it had been. If I did wait until they were asleep, I could try, but the way everything in the house creaked under our weight, especially the attic stairway, would surely sound an alarm. Nothing seemed worse than being caught now, and every passing day that I kept this great secret made it more and more impossible to confess it.

  Falling asleep seemed an impossibility this particular night. Every time I closed my eyes, I was sure I heard something, some noise Karen had made above, and I held my breath, waiting to see if my father or mother had heard it, too. After a while, I felt I was imagining it, but that didn't make it any easier, and in fact, when I did finally fall asleep, I had a vivid dream about Karen being discovered. In my dream, my father was screaming, and my mother was crying so hard, her tears were tears of blood. I woke up in a sweat, my heart pounding, and sat up in bed, listening to see if it had indeed happened. There was just the usual heavy silence interrupted by a creak or a moan in the house, making it seem as though the house were still complaining.

  I tossed and turned throughout the night and slept past the time to rise and get ready for school. I had forgotten to set my alarm clock. Maybe I subconsciously wanted to be late for school. My mother was suspicious of the silence coming from my room and actually had to come in and shake me to wake me.

  "Are you all right?" she asked when I moaned and batted my eyelashes open.

  "What? Oh. Yes," I said. "Thanks," I told her when I looked at my clock.

  She remained there, looking at me with her face twisted in worry.

  "I had a hard time falling asleep," I admitted. "And I forgot to set my alarm."

  "Your father shouldn't have promised Darlene Pearson anything," she said. "Or at least told you before you were going to bed."

  I was afraid they'd argue about it.

  "No, that's okay. I should go see her. He's right. I will," I said.

  "We'll see how you are on Sunday," she decided. "You need some oatmeal for breakfast, soothe your stomach."

  I smiled at how she prescribed things, how she was always the nurse.

  "Okay."

  I rose quickly, showered, and dressed. My father was reading a brief at the breakfast table, but I could see and feel the tension in the air. They had obviously continued a sharp discussion about me and the prospective visit to Darlene Pearson. They barely spoke to each other before my father rose and said he, had to get going. He gave my mother a halfhearted kiss, as if he thought he'd burn his lips on her cheek, and then he left, grunting a "See you later."

  "I have a nurses' meeting today," my mother told me, still looking in his direction. "I'll be home about five instead of three, but you call the hospital if you need anything."

  "I'm fine, Mama. Really," I said.

  "Sure you are," she told me. She smiled and brushed my hair. "What a terrible thing to have your best friend involved in something like this. No one can or should blame you for being upset."

  Oh, God, I heard myself cry inside. My heart was shattering in my chest. My mother's love for me and her desire to protect me made what Karen and I were doing seem that much more terrible. My guilt, my nervousness and fear, was being misinterpreted, and I was letting it be. All the sympathy and affection my mother had for me at this moment was being accepted under false pretenses. It made me feel dirty.

  "I can't help it that I liked Karen so much," I said. It was the closest I could come to a confession.

  "You shouldn't feel guilty about it. You can't feel you're responsible for what happened, honey, just because you were good friends. Of course, you should be very sad. If you weren't, I'd worry more about you," she concluded, and kissed me on the forehead, both to show me how much she loved me and to check to be sure I had no fever. I knew her little tricks.

  "I've got to get myself going," she declared, and hurried out. "I'd take you to school, but I'm running late."

  "I'm okay with the bus. Don't worry."

  I had barely enough time to get myself together and out to meet it. She left just before the bus arrived, and for those few moments, I seriously considered turning around and going back inside. Could I get away with cutting school? Normally, I might have tried it, but considering the way everyone was centering attention on me, I didn't dare risk it. There was a strong possibility my parents had asked the principal to request that my teachers keep a close eye on me, and if I weren't in school, the principal might just call either my mother or my father to see how I was. He might even suspect I had cut.

  Karen would read my letter, anyway, I thought, and she would be prepared to talk during the hour or so we would have before my mother returned from the hospital. When the bus pulled up, I looked up at the attic window and saw the curtain parting. I had just a glimpse of her face, but it was enough to tell me how sad and trapped she felt. She was a bird in a cage. I had to help h
er. I had to help find a way to set her free--and, in doing so, set myself free as well.

  My school day was remarkably normal. It amazed me to see how quickly everyone had slipped back into the normal interests and concerns. There was a lot of chatter about an upcoming school musical and an important baseball game, as well as the end-ofthe-year school party. The student government held three big parties, one on Halloween, one right before the Christmas holidays, and one in the spring right before the school year ended. The day was peppered with announcements, banners going up on the corridor walls, and much louder chatter and laughter between classes. I wished I could be part of it, just submerge myself in everything and be like the zeros Karen called mindless teenyboppers.

  To be sure, there were still questions and curiosity about Karen and what was happening, but it wasn't on everyone's front burner anymore. She was as good as dead and forgotten to most of the girls who disliked her, anyway. Only Dana Martin pursued me with vigor about it. Once again, he sat with me at lunch. If his old girlfriend's eyes could launch the darts in them, I'd be punctured with so many holes I'd look like someone who had broken out with the measles. She sat with her friends two tables away, aiming her fury at me.

  "Too bad you're going to the city this

  weekend," Dana began.

  "I don't think it's too bad. I'm very excited about it."

  "I could come by your way tonight," he suggested. "You're not going to the city until tomorrow, right?"

  "We're leaving early. My parents would rather I stay home," I said, even though I hadn't brought up the subject with them.

  "Okay. You're back Sunday. How about I come by Sunday night?"

  "I don't know what time we're coming home, and I have to be somewhere Sunday night. Actually," I said, thinking this might discourage him, "we're paying Karen's mother a visit."

  "I heard a rumor last night," he said, undaunted by my excuses and reasons not to see him.

  "I'm sure there are lots of rumors."

  "This one came from a reliable source in the police department. They think Karen's mother knows where she is but isn't telling."

  "That's stupid. Why wouldn't she tell them?"

  He leaned toward me as if he were afraid someone was listening nearby. No one could hear what we were saying, especially in this noisy place. He was just trying to be dramatic.

  "They think Karen and her mother were in cahoots."

  "What?" I smirked and squeezed my nose up so hard it actually hurt for a moment. "That's the dumbest . . ."

  "Look at what she has now. Look at what she's inherited. Look at what she was married to before, or stuck in," he offered confidently. He nodded. "They'll come up with some good excuse for what she's done. You'll see. Wherever Karen is, her mother knows," he insisted. "You and I had better get together soon and compare notes. Who knows? Maybe they'll find a way to involve us and spread the blame just because we knew her better than the rest of the kids here."

  "That's ridiculous. How can they do that? You're just making it all up to come up with some excuse to meet."

  He shrugged and smiled at me. "Do I really need an excuse to meet you?"

  The warning bell rang.

  "I don't know what you need," I said, gathering up my books.

  "Yes, you do," he called to me as I started away. "You need the same thing."

  I glanced back and saw him still smiling.

  Can someone be so handsome that he scares you as much as someone who's so ugly? I wondered. What frightened me was how much I wanted him to come around, and how inadequate and unprepared I felt I was for such a rendezvous. All I could think Was that I needed Karen now more than ever to give me advice and guide me through this.

  She was waiting for me as soon as I got off the bus and opened the front door of my house. Wearing one of my skirts and blouses, she stood by the stairway. In her hand was the letter I had left in the book. Her hair looked as if she had been running her hands through it for hours. I was sure that after reading what I had written, she had been frustrated having to wait for me to come home.

  I closed the door quickly. "Anyone driving by who glanced our way could have seen you through the doorway standing there, Karen. Why are you being so careless?"

  She waved the letter at me instead of

  answering. "This is just like her," she said, turned, and started up the stairway. About midway, she paused and looked down at me. "Well, don't just stand there. Come on up."

  I hurried after her. She went directly up into the attic and flopped onto the sofa, her arms folded under her breasts. I glanced at my watch and entered.

  "Before we start, Karen, my mother's coming home in less than an hour. Do you have everything you need for tonight? We'll be leaving early in the morning, but . ."

  "Oh, forget all that. I have everything I need. When did she call your father?"

  "Yesterday, I think."

  I moved in slowly, set my books down on an old dresser, and looked at her.

  "She's going to put on some act for you and your parents. You sure they're going, too?"

  "My mother said so. I didn't write it in my note to you, but we've heard that she is not going to sell the drugstore. She has already started to advertise for a pharmacist, and she's telling people she would never want to leave here."

  "Oh, don't worry about that. She's pretty smart. She's going to get the drugstore up and running again as quickly as she can before she puts it up for sale.

  The money is made on the drugs, not the toys and ice cream, cards, and sundries. She was always right there when Harry did his books. She knows exactly what's what when it comes to that place."

  "I guess I never realized how much you dislike her," I said. I didn't intend to, but it just slipped out because of how bitter and venomous she sounded.

  She looked at me strangely for a moment and then smiled, but it was an icy smile, her eyes more like frost-covered marbles.

  "You didn't? How would you like a mother who ignored all that I described happening to me? Well?" she asked before I could breathe. "How would you?"

  "Of course, I wouldn't."

  "You're darn right, of course, you wouldn't. I don't dislike her," she added after a moment. "I just don't like her as much as I should. Actually, I'll probably become just like her as I get older. Harry was always saying the apple doesn't fall far from the tree unless the tree is on the top of a hill, whatever that means."

  "Rolls down."

  "What?"

  "The apple falls and then rolls down."

  "Brilliant. I knew what he meant, but it was just another one of the stupid things he would say to me. He was always trying to make me think I would amount to nothing if I didn't listen to, him and obey him. He made it sound as if he provided the very air I breathed. But I've told you about all that, or most of it."

  She shook herself as if to shake off a chill.

  "Okay," she said, pulling her legs up and under as she often did, "let's think about it. My mother might grill you about me, about what I might have told you.

  She'll probably want to see if you know the truth. She might not come right out and say it, but she'll make suggestions. She's probably worried it will get out, and people will know how she neglected me. Then she'll try to discover if you know where I am. Be careful, because she can be very tricky, very subtle. She'll seem so hurt and in so much pain, and then she'll slip in a question like that, and you'll blurt something out. S0000," she added, smiling, "what you'll do is turn the tables on her right from the start."

  "How?"

  "You'll be the one who is full of pain and hurt and be unable to talk, even to sit in that house. Out-act her."

  "I am full of pain and hurt and unable to talk. I don't have to act."

  "Good. Cry, and look down, and keep shaking your head. Your parents won't let it go on too long once they see how disturbed you're getting. Of course," she added, "by then, you'll have made the call from New York, and she'll be thrown off course, anyway. Things will s
ettle down even more, and then I want to sneak back into the house."

  "What? Why?"

  "There are things I want that I shouldn't have left behind, but I wasn't exactly taking my time about it. There's jewelry and more money."

  "But won't that be very dangerous?"

  "Not if we do it carefully. I know how to get into the house even if it's all locked up. Harry has a rusted lock on the exterior basement door. It just looks locked, but it's not. My mother doesn't even know. We can get in through the basement and up into the house."

  We? I thought.

  "Okay," she said, waving away the whole idea. "That's for later. For now, tell me about your day. Did you see Dana?"

  "He tried to get my attention in the hallway all morning, but I didn't stop to talk to him. Then he sat at my table again in the cafeteria at lunchtime."

  "Brilliant. I couldn't have teased him any better."

  "I wasn't teasing him, Karen. I was too nervous."

  "If the result is the same, it's all right," she said. "You'll get over that quickly, anyway, as soon as you see he's like any other boy with feet of clay. It's our own fault for romanticizing them so much. The truth is, they're all so predictable."

  "What do you mean by predictable?"

  "They all want the same thing, to get to the same place. Some take one route, and some take another, that's all. There are those who will talk so much about everything else you'll forget what it is they're after, and, voila, find yourself trapped and wonder how you got there. And then there are those who will tease and torment you like a cat teases and torments a mouse, until you're the one who's pushing toward that moment."

  "How do you know all this?" I asked, amazed. Until now, our talk was so much fantasy and so little reality when it came to romance.

  "I've had some experiences, and I've read a lot and don't forget. I've been brought up in the shadow of a real pro, my mother." She sat back, smiling. "I remember how she fished in Harry, the little things she would do in the drugstore to get him hooked. I was there, watching her accidentally brush her body past him, pressing her breasts against his arm, his shoulder, bringing her lips so close to his neck he surely felt the warmth of her breath. And those little smiles and movements with her eyes she gave him I think he had orgasms preparing antibiotics for customers."