“Get in the car,” he said quietly, through clenched teeth. “Now.”
“Daddy, please. I’m sorry—”
“Now!” he snarled. “You’ve defied me for the last time, Aimee. You can either walk out of here or I’ll drag you—but you are leaving now.”
“Mr. Banfield—” Raphael began.
As soon as he spoke, Aimee felt the grip on her arm tighten. Slowly, her father turned his head toward Raphael, his eyes filled with fire. If she didn’t obey him, Aimee knew, things were going to get a lot worse—especially for Raphael.
“I’m going, Daddy, okay?” she said quickly. “I’m going.” Jack’s grasp loosened and she was able to shrug it off. Slipping past him, she gave Raphael an apologetic glance, but his gaze was locked on her dad’s.
As she headed for the gym doors, she felt so overwhelmed with raw emotion she was almost numb. This was supposed to be the most beautiful, most triumphant night of her life, and it was a mess. Dalton had almost gotten killed, a brawl had broken out, and now she was going to be grounded for the rest of her life. Or worse . . .
Rick stood in the center of the dance floor. He looked a little pale and his injured arm hung at kind of an odd angle. Still, he managed a mocking grin as Aimee approached.
“Well, well, well,” he said, as he turned and walked with her toward the doors. “Daddy’s little girl got busted big time.”
“Shut up, Rick.”
“You know, I think when Dad sends you back to Montana I’m going to have him turn your room into a gym so I can move all my weights up from the basement.”
“I’m not going back to Montana,” Aimee said, and walked faster, trying to leave her brother behind, but in her high heels that was impossible.
Bran Goheen sat in a chair near what was left of the tables with his arms folded over his chest, watching her. The minute she spotted him, he turned his face away from her. He looked sad, she thought, and she felt a pang of guilt. She’d never really agreed to go to the dance with him but she’d never refused, either. She shouldn’t have left him hanging like she had.
When she reached the doors, she turned to look back at Raphael. Her dad was still talking to him. She couldn’t hear the words but cold anger was carved into her father’s face like he was some kind of ice sculpture. She pushed her way out the exit doors and walked out into the night.
The Flatliners crew was gathered around the flashing lights of an ambulance. Dalton sat on the tailgate while an EMT guy pressed on her stomach. When Dalton saw Aimee with Rick, she seemed to understand the situation at once. Waving, she gave Aimee a sympathetic smile as Rick opened the car door, shoved his sister into the backseat, and then slammed it. Aimee leaned her head against the window and closed her eyes. Part of her wanted to kick off her heels, get out of the car and run away before her dad got there, but there was no point. There was nowhere to go. And the person she wanted to run away with was still trapped inside.
Maggie sat on the edge of the stage and watched as the gym cleared out. So much for my glorious reign as homecoming queen, she thought. She’d worn the crown for all of five minutes before a fight broke out, the school collapsed, and the dance ended. She’d lived long enough to know that things in life rarely turned out as she imagined they would, but this couldn’t get more ridiculous. And then she saw her mom and Mr. Chin approaching.
“Right,” her mom was saying to him. “This is from three tapestries ago. You know what’s coming next.”
Chin shook his head. “It can’t be. It’s too soon.”
“My darling, look at you!” Maggie’s mom took her hand, and the look of worry that had been on her face a moment before vanished. “Every inch a queen.”
Maggie laughed bitterly. “It was a disaster,” she said. “Literally.”
“But you were beautiful,” her mom said. She gently stroked Maggie’s hair, and checked to make sure the crown was sitting properly on her head. “And such power. With one word . . . such power.”
What do you mean? Maggie wanted to cry out. What are you talking about? What kind of power? I didn’t do anything.
But she knew exactly what her mom was talking about. One word. That’s all it took from her to bring that wall down.
On top of Aimee.
She had been angry, seeing Raphael and Aimee together on the dance floor, seeing his arms around her, his lips pressed against her hair. Seeing how Raphael protected Aimee when Rick and Bran attacked.
Maggie wanted Aimee out of the way, for sure. But she didn’t want her dead—did she?
The thought was appalling. Again, she told herself it was impossible. No matter how angry she was, there was no way she could have caused what happened. She knew she had a little magic in her—like the little trick where she could touch a person’s temple and make them do what she wanted them to, but that was nothing compared to this.
She noticed Mr. Chin had gone over to the spot where the wall had collapsed. He was staring at something down in the hole, near the foundation of the building.
Jack Banfield had finally walked away from Raphael and was heading for Principal Innis when he glanced over at Maggie and stopped. He just stood there a moment, staring at Maggie’s mom. Slowly, as if trying to think of what to say, he made his way over to them.
“Violet?”
She turned to find Jack Banfield staring at her. A pink blush rose to her normally pale cheeks. “Jack . . .” she murmured.
“Where on earth have you been?” he asked. “I haven’t seen you in—years.”
“Oh,” she said slowly. “I don’t get out much these days.”
Understatement of the year, Maggie thought.
“You still look beautiful,” he said.
“Thank you,” she replied softly. “And you’re as handsome as ever, Jack.”
“It wasn’t so long ago that you and I were on this stage ourselves . . . king and queen. Do you remember?” Jack almost smiled at the recollection.
“I remember every second of all three years, Jack,” she said softly.
He seemed to lose himself for a moment, staring at Violet. Then, he got himself together. He glanced at Maggie. “Congratulations,” he said, and with a final glance at her mom, he turned and walked toward the exit.
The moment he was gone, Chin hurried up to Violet. “There’s a tunnel beneath the wall,” he said softly.
Violet’s already pallid skin grew a shade lighter.
“Someone’s been digging,” Mr. Chin said darkly.
“Just like in the tapestry,” Violet said, and Maggie noticed that she shivered as if the temperature had suddenly dropped twenty degrees.
Aimee and her dad rode back to Hilltop Haven without a word spoken between them. It was a hostile silence, as constricting as a straight jacket. Aimee knew what that felt like, courtesy of Mountain High Academy.
They pulled into the garage and Jack shut the car off. They both got out and headed for the door leading into the house. As soon as they were inside, he grabbed her arm and dragged her toward the stairs. His hand was around her arm like an iron clamp, on the same spot, already bruised, he had grabbed during the dance.
“Ow! Dad, stop! That hurts!”
Not even looking at her, he pulled her up the stairs and down the hall, and then shoved her through the doorway of her bedroom.
It was too much. Her father stood on her threshold blocking her exit, which made her instantly claustrophobic. Her heartbeat quickened, doing flips in her chest like it used to when she felt a panic attack coming on, and it was getting harder to catch her breath.
“Dad, stop. Please. It was just a dance!”
Her father stared at her, his eyes as cold as a snake’s.
“I asked you to do one thing: to stay away from that boy. And you couldn’t do it.”
She took a deep, measured breath, as her shrink at Mountain High had taught her to do, and tried to remember the quote he’d given her—the little mantra that was supposed to help her stay calm. But her mind was blank. She took another steadying breath and looked up at her father.
“He’s nice to me, Dad! Nicer than anyone else has been since I got back to Middleburg.” Aimee was trying to stay calm, but her voice got louder and sharper with every word she spoke. She felt trapped, and she was having trouble breathing. “He saved my life!”
“You know how many times that kid has slandered me around town, calling me a murderer because his stupid father was careless and got himself killed in my factory? You know how many times he’s attacked your brother?”
“Well, how many times has Rick attacked him?” she shot back, disgusted. “You don’t even care that he got me back from Oberon?”
“That doesn’t give him the right to ruin your life,” he said. “And I’m going to see to it that he doesn’t. I have been to hell and back because of you, Aimee—including losing your mother—and I will not allow you to throw yourself away on some loser from the Flats!”
“He’s not a loser!” she shouted, finding her voice and her courage at last. She was trembling. “Rick is the loser—and you, because all you know how to do is hate. You use people and when they’re all used up, you hate them for it! That’s why my mother left! It wasn’t because of me.”
He looked as if she’d slapped him. He went instantly and eerily calm. “You believe that, Aimee,” he said quietly. “If it helps.”
“All I’m saying is, give him a chance. If Mom were here, she would.”
“Your mother is gone. Whatever her reason for leaving, she let her family down—just like you did tonight.”
Aimee recoiled from the sting of his words.
“The Kain boy is out of chances,” he continued. “And so are you. Get packed. You’re going back to Montana tomorrow.”
“No,” Aimee said, but her dad had already stepped out of the room and slammed the door. “No, Dad—I’m not going back!” she shouted through the door, pounding on it with her fist. She tried to open it, but it was locked. From the outside. She was trapped.
The claustrophobia descended on her like a dark, suffocating cloud.
“Dad!” she screamed. “Dad!” But there was no answer.
Chapter Five
Tyler’s parents were out of town. Aimee told her mom she was staying over at Maggie’s house, (Aimee and Maggie were friends back then, in another life) and that was all it took. But instead of going to Maggie’s, she walked down the hill to Tyler’s, near Hilltop Haven’s back entrance. He opened the door for her as she headed up the walkway and when she reached him, she jumped into his arms and kissed him. Hand in hand, he led her to the kitchen where he had two glasses waiting, filled with ice and a funny-tasting, sweet liquid. Tyler laughed at the face she made when she first sipped it. Vodka lemonade.
“Seriously, you never drank before? I thought you were kidding.”
She wasn’t kidding. She was a good girl—back then.
Three vodka lemonades later and the world was spinning. She was in the hot tub with Tyler, and for some reason they started talking about the tunnels. The four Middleburg tunnels through which no trains ran anymore and into which no Middleburg child was ever supposed to venture. Tyler was fascinated with the tunnels and had been ever since she could remember, and she’d known him pretty much all her life.
He pushed a wet tendril of her long blond hair behind her ear and teased her with the warning every kid in Middleburg had heard growing up:
“Keep out of the railroad tunnels
And stay off the tracks
Don’t go into the Train Graveyard
Or the Middleburg Monster will break your back. . .”
Tyler bragged to her that one day he would go into the South Tunnel, the one by the old train graveyard, find the spot where the tracks crossed and take a picture.
They made out in the hot tub for a while but when the heat got to be too much, she pulled away from him and sat on the edge, her feet dangling in the water, his too-big t-shirt (her makeshift bathing suit) clinging to her skin. When he moved close again, she shook her head and took a sip of her booze-laced lemonade.
“What were we just talking about?” she asked. She couldn’t remember how many drinks she’d had.
“Going up to my bedroom?” He said it with a charming, hopeful grin on his face.
She laughed and struggled to bring reason to the situation, but her brain was in chaos. She liked Tyler a lot, maybe even loved him, but she wasn’t ready to go upstairs with him. Not now. Not like this.
“No . . .” she said. “We were talking about the tunnels.”
Tyler nodded, laughing. “Right. You believe your big, tough brother wouldn’t go down there with me? Rick—Mr. Big Tough Quarterback. And he actually wants to be the leader of the Toppers some day? Like that’ll happen.” Tyler laughed and then his eyes fixed on Aimee’s. “Come on,” he coaxed, his words a little slurred. “Come upstairs with me.”
The world was still spinning. Aimee had to grab on to the edge of the hot tub to keep from falling off. Tyler’s hand was on her thigh, moving up.
“Let’s go down there,” she said suddenly.
Tyler looked confused. “Down where?”
“To the tunnels.”
His grin wilted a little.
“You said you could go in and find the spot where the two tracks cross, right? The spot that’s supposed to be cursed or whatever? Let’s go down there and you can go in and take your picture. You could blow it up and stick it on the wall at school. That would be awesome.”
“I don’t know,” he said. “I don’t think I should drive right now.”
“Oh,” Aimee said, playfully. “Not scared, are you?”
“I’m not scared, it’s just . . .”
“Wuss!” Aimee teased, her face an inch from his.
Tyler’s fear hardened into resolve before her eyes. “I’ll get my camera,” he said, and climbed out of the hot tub.
The next thing Aimee knew, she had dried off and dressed and was in Tyler’s car. Treetops passed by the window in a wavy blur. Then, they were walking down the train tracks. Every time she stumbled, Tyler caught her and they laughed—and she stumbled a lot.
At last, the tunnel entrance rose up before them, black, like a window that looked out on outer space. Tyler stood with the flashlight in one hand and the camera in the other, staring into the darkness. Aimee stopped giggling. Suddenly, they were stone cold sober.
“You don’t really have to do this,” Aimee said.
“No, I’m going in,” he said. There was something strange in his eyes.
“Come on—I’m sorry I called you a wuss. It was a stupid idea.”
“Too late to apologize now,” he said, and winked at her. “I’ll show you who’s a wuss.” And he was walking forward, into the tunnel.
She took a few steps off the train tracks and was looking for a place to sit down and wait for him (and maybe a good place to throw up) when she heard it. A faint hiss, and beneath it a low and distant humming sound.
She looked into the inky darkness of the tunnel. Tyler was pretty far in by now—at least two hundred yards away. She could just make out the feeble glow of his flashlight beam. For a second, she thought she saw something else in the beam, too. A hint of movement in the deepest part of the tunnel, a rippling of shadow.
A scream ripped from the tunnel mouth, but it cut off abruptly, replaced by a strange, empty silence. As she watched, astonished and terrified, a weird, reddish glow illuminated the tunnel and a great, black shape, growing and swelling, rose up, taking Tyler with it. Suddenly, the dark, churning mass shot forward with lightening speed until it was only a few feet from her and—this she found impossi
ble to believe later (the police hadn’t believed her when she told them)—Tyler’s limp body was dangling in front of her, held aloft by a shadow. Or a monster. Or a monster made of shadow. It was long and black, thick and massive. It had legs one moment that morphed into squirming tentacles the next. Its eyes were like bowls of liquid fire.
And its teeth . . .
The creature held Tyler, caught in its mouth, high above her, silhouetted against the black, nighttime sky, its two giant fangs running straight through him. But Tyler wasn’t dead. Not yet.
“Aimee,” he whispered hoarsely, his jaw trembling with shock and with his effort to speak. There was blood on his lips. His hand quivered as it reached out to her. There was blood on his fingers, running down from his fingers, dripping onto the tracks.
Aimee knew she should do something, go for help, call somebody—something. But she stood frozen in place, staring up at the beast, and at Tyler, as he writhed in excruciating pain. And as she watched, the creature bit down on him. His final scream choked off and ended in a breathy wheeze.
The beast’s eyes were on Aimee’s now, red and blazing, staring at her, into her, and the old nursery-rhyme warning echoed through her brain, burning into it like a brand, repeating over and over, “. . . the Middleburg Monster will break your back.”
The thing opened its jaws and Tyler’s lifeless body slid down its fangs like a piece of meat sliding off a skewer. It landed with a thud on the ground at Aimee’s feet.
The monster turned away and slithered slowly back into the tunnel, disappearing into the suffocating darkness.
Poor Tyler was staring at the sky, his eyes as vacant as two pieces of broken glass.
Why didn’t it kill me? she wondered vaguely. That was her last thought before she started screaming, her voice stabbing through the heart of that silent autumn night.
She didn’t stop screaming for days.
Aimee stared out her bedroom window at the beautiful nightscape view of Middleburg, nestled below her at the base of Hilltop Haven. Then her focus shifted to her own dark reflection in the glass. It had been over a year since Tyler’s death, and this was the first time she’d let the memory of that terrible night wash over her fully in all its excruciating detail. Although it had been horrible to relive it, it was also liberating. She was no longer too terrified to let herself remember. She’d used her mental exercises to calm herself when her anxiety started to rise and this time, it was different. This time, she didn’t cry.
GHOST CROWN: THE TRACKS TRILOGY - Book Two Page 8
