Dark Companion

by Marta Acosta

“And a first-aid kit.”

  “I’m the only one in the family who needs them.” He placed a cushion under my foot to elevate it and arranged the ice bag so that it covered my ankle. “I’m here because I was thinking about apologizing to you. I shouldn’t have said those things.”

  I looked away from him because I didn’t want him to see my misery. “Those things like calling me damaged and delusional? I’ve been called worse all my life, and I don’t give a damn what you think about me. I don’t give a damn about you!” I struggled to keep my voice cold. “You were right about one thing. BB didn’t have an uncle.”

  “Hattie told me.”

  “Do you tell each other everything?” I said, and my voice caught.

  “Not everything.” He grabbed another cushion and moved to put it under my head. As he was doing this, he touched my shoulder and the scar there throbbed warmly, as it had the day we’d met, when he’d braced himself against me to get on his bike.

  Jack sat on the sofa close to my legs. The pressure of his body next to mine filled me with longing and regret and rage. I wanted him in a fierce way that I’d never wanted Lucky. My desire was primal yet couldn’t be reduced to a calculation or described by pedantic words.

  “Halfling, Lucky will never love you. You’re not for him.”

  His words were a knife twisting in my ribs. “That’s the apology?” My emotions crashed together so violently that I couldn’t distinguish anger from pain from love … I wanted to say something that would hurt him as much as he’d hurt me—but I couldn’t, because he didn’t care for me. “Maybe you’re right, Jack, and no one will ever love me, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to be loved. It doesn’t mean that my heart can’t break, because it can, and it does.”

  “Oh, Halfling,” he said softly. “Please don’t let it break for Lucky. Don’t be in love with him. Because, from the first time I saw you standing there in the grove, I haven’t been able to get you out of my mind.”

  I just looked at him, unable to comprehend what he was saying.

  Jack stared deep into my eyes. “Jane, are you in love with Lucky? Do you and he—because it makes me crazy to think of you and him together…”

  My words came out as a whisper. “I don’t love Lucky. I don’t want him. Why are you saying these things?”

  “Because they’re true. Because whenever I’m away from you, I want to be with you. Because whenever I’m with you, all I want to do is kiss that smart, sexy mouth of yours.”

  Then Jack Radcliffe leaned over and kissed me. His lips were soft and warm and his kiss was firm and eager. His tongue slipped into my mouth and the taste of him was wonderful and sent waves of delight through me. When he took me in his arms, I felt a sense of rightness. I put my arms around him and kissed him, my whole body arching up to him.

  He stroked back my hair and cupped my face in his hands and his lips were on my eyelids, my temples, my brow. Then he held my hands and kissed each fingertip, and even his smallest touch sent astonishing shivers through me.

  I reached under his shirt to feel the smooth skin on his back. I nuzzled my face against his rough chin. His curls tumbled across his face when he bent to kiss me. I wove my fingers in his hair, pulling him tighter to me.

  His teeth tugged at my lower lip in a way that made me groan with desire, and his hands moved over my body, and I could hardly stand the clothing between my flesh and his.

  Suddenly, I was aware that I was kissing my friend’s boyfriend. I shoved Jack away. “No! I’m not doing this to Hattie.”

  “Hattie and I are friends, no benefits.” He reached for me again, but I held off his hands.

  “Why should I believe you?”

  “Don’t. Ask her. She’ll tell you.”

  His fingers laced with mine, and I would have done anything with him at that moment. I knew he wanted me, too, as he pressed against me, because he was looking directly at me as if … as if I were pretty.

  Then Jack’s expression became somber. “Halfling, I need you to leave Birch Grove as soon as you can. Run away—because I’d rather lose you than see you hurt. I’ll give you money if you need it and a ride wherever you want to go. We can go tonight.”

  I felt like he’d lured me to the edge of a cliff and pushed me off. I was falling, falling, falling. I jerked away from Jack and a snarl came from my throat, a sound from the feral child still within me. With my good leg, I shoved at him, until he got off the sofa and away from me.

  “I hate you and your spoiled rich-boy games of messing with me. I don’t know if you do this because you’re bored, or because you don’t think I’m good enough to be Lucky’s Companion. But you’re a liar and you’re cruel because you like to trick me, you like to hurt me. How does it feel? Does it make you feel special to humiliate me?”

  “Jane, let me explain—” He tried to come close.

  I grabbed the closest book on the coffee table and threw it at his head, but he caught it and set it down. “I don’t want to hear another word from your lying mouth! Go now, or I’ll tell everyone that you’re sabotaging Lucky. I’ll tell your parents and Hattie and Ian Ducharme. Get out!”

  He took a step toward the door, then turned back to me. “This is for you, Jane.” He pulled the chain out of his shirt and lifted it over his head.

  The colors in the room dimmed. My voice went flat and my blood was ice. “I don’t want anything from you.”

  He dropped it into my lap and I saw a silver leaf dangling from the chain. “I want you to have it anyway. I’ll lock the door. Keep it locked.”

  When Jack Radcliffe walked out and closed the door, I cried. I cried so hard that something broke in me. I cried because I was missing something, but I didn’t know what it was, and because I was so alone, but I was too afraid to let anyone near me.

  I cried for Hosea, who died so unnecessarily. I cried for Wilde, selling her body to survive. I cried for my mother, whose existence was reduced to a single vague memory.

  And I cried for myself, because losing the possibility of love hurt more than living without love. I cried because my heart was broken. I cried because I was lonely and damaged, and I didn’t think I could ever be fixed.

  And I cried because the world was cruel and capricious, and I was small and poor and powerless and unloved.

  There is no point, among the many incomprehensible anomalies of the science of mind, more thrillingly exciting than the fact—never, I believe, noticed in the schools—that, in our endeavors to recall to memory something long forgotten, we often find ourselves upon the very verge of remembrance, without being able, in the end, to remember …

  Edgar Allan Poe, “Ligeia” (1838)

  Chapter 33

  My ankle was swollen and tender the next morning, Thursday, and my emotions were as deadened as they had been before I’d come to Birch Grove. Colors seemed to have faded overnight and noises were muffled. I hadn’t slept much and my exhaustion helped me feign calmness.

  I was about to leave my cottage when I saw the silver necklace on the sofa, where I’d left it.

  The leaf hanging from it was as delicately detailed as the leaves on the birches. JFR was engraved on the stem. I wanted to remember my mistake so that I would not be stupid enough ever to leave myself vulnerable. I put the chain over my head and hid the medallion under my blouse. The metal heated my skin like Jack’s touch always did, which was just as impossible as believing for those few delirious minutes that he’d cared for me.

  I limped to the nurse’s station before my first class.

  She felt my ankle. “It’s a sprain, but you should rest at home and keep it elevated as much as you can.” As she bound my ankle and foot with a stretchy beige bandage, I noticed the certificates on the walls, which I hadn’t seen since Mrs. Radcliffe gave me a tour.

  “No, I need to go to class. Are all those certificates for Mrs. Mason?”

  “Yes, she was wonderful. Any medical school would have been glad to have her, but she came back to serve us at Birch Gr
ove.” The nurse handed me a packet of Advil. “Take this for the swelling. How did you hurt yourself?”

  “I fell off a chair when I was changing a lightbulb.”

  “Use a ladder next time. Would you like crutches?”

  “No thanks, ma’am. I can get around.”

  I had to hold on to the stairwell banister and hop on one foot to get to the third floor for Chem. Mr. Mason was at the front of the classroom. “Good morning, Jane. Is that a limp?”

  “I sprained my ankle. I’ll be fine in a few days.” I moved my face into a smile. Then I hopped over to take my seat by Mary Violet. Her perfectly arched eyebrows knit in concern, and that made me feel a little better … that someone cared.

  “Good heavens, JW! What happened?”

  “I fell off a chair trying to change a lightbulb. It’s only a sprain.”

  “That is a disappointingly dull accident. My mother is extremely concerned that you aren’t eating proper home-cooked meals and she wants you to come over more. I told her that her gallery of giganto hoo-has upsets your sensitive digestive system and offends your delicate modesty.”

  “You didn’t!”

  “Yes, and I wrote the poem I promised. It’s called ‘Ode to an Innocent.’ I’ll recite it to you later. It’s dreadfully poignant, but you inspire me.”

  I saw the affection on her face and wished I could tell her everything.

  “Class, may we begin?” Mr. Mason directed the comment to Mary Violet and she took out her pen with violet ink.

  * * *

  When I got a message during history that Mrs. Radcliffe wanted to see me, I thought Jack might have started some trouble.

  I hobbled miserably to the administrative offices, and the school secretary told me to go right in.

  Mrs. Radcliffe, sitting at her desk, placed a folder in a drawer. “Good morning, Jane. Please close the door behind you.”

  I lowered myself onto the chair opposite her desk. “Is anything wrong, ma’am?” I smiled. Adults liked it when you smiled.

  She returned my smile with her own serene one. “Nurse said you’d sprained your ankle changing a lightbulb. I wanted to make sure you’re feeling all right.”

  “The bulb didn’t even need changing. I screwed it in tighter and it was fine. I’m fine.”

  “I’ll have one of the staff take a stepladder to you and I’m sure you’ll be more careful from now on. Lucian needs you to be careful.”

  “Yes, ma’am, I’ll be more careful.”

  “Wonderful. Hattie says you’ve rehearsed your lines for the initiation.”

  “I have, but my pronunciation isn’t very good.”

  “Your best effort will be good enough, Jane. How are things between you and Lucian?”

  “Everything is going well. I think we’ll be very good friends.”

  “He’s said the same.” Then her brow wrinkled. “Jacob has been so moody lately, and he’s usually my sunny one. Maybe he feels left out, but he hasn’t expressed any wish to participate in Lucky’s Companion initiation.” She tapped a silver pen against her desk. It was the first time I’d ever seen her fidget. “He seems to have a … an affinity with you. Has he said anything to you about … what could be bothering him?”

  In chemistry, affinity was the force of attraction that could bind dissimilar substances. “No, there’s no affinity—I’m just close by and he’s bored.” I willed myself to keep my expression even. When I looked at the headmistress, I wondered what she really knew about BB’s disappearance. “Sorry.”

  She sighed. “Well, I’d like to take you to brunch on Saturday. We can go over everything that will happen at the initiation that night and have some one-on-one time.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Are you tired, Jane, or nervous? We can use the injury as an excuse to postpone your midterms so you can rest and relax.”

  “Thank you, but it’s important to me to keep up with my classwork.”

  “That’s the right attitude, Jane.”

  I could barely function through the day that didn’t end until the Birch Grove Weekly was put to bed. I hobbled to my cottage and wished I could slow down everything—including the initiation that would connect me forever to Lucky … and to Jack.

  A ladder was leaning against the railing by my front door, and a box wrapped in gold paper was on the chair on the porch. I picked up the box and went inside. A gift card was slipped under the red satin ribbon and it said, “Best wishes, the Radcliffe Family.” When I opened the box, I found an embroidered white robe and a beautiful long ivory dress made of fine, gauzy material. It was the sort of dress a girl would wear to her first special event. I put the dress and the robe in my closet, not wanting to think of the initiation.

  I had no appetite, so I did my homework until almost midnight. My Latin translations were accurate and my trig equations balanced perfectly: I could control this part of my life, and becoming a Companion would ensure my success. Time would heal my broken heart, just as it had healed the wound in my shoulder, leaving thick scar tissue in place of a child’s delicate skin.

  When I went to the bathroom, I saw the plaster wreath sitting on the sink counter. I decided to put it back on the ceiling so no one would know what I’d been doing.

  I lugged the ladder inside the cottage, banging the door and furniture as I maneuvered it to the bathroom. I placed the plaster piece, screws, and screwdriver on the ladder shelf. My ankle hurt as I climbed up. I was higher now than I had been on the chair. On impulse, I put my arm into the opening of the ceiling and felt around.

  My hand hit something solid and rectangular. I dragged it to the opening. It was a jewelry box. I climbed down awkwardly and took the box to my desk to examine it.

  Glued-on rhinestones formed the letters BB. I opened the lid and took out programs from student plays, birthday cards from Birch Grove girls, wristbands from parties, and a dried rose corsage. These were atop a framed family photo of the Radcliffe men. Lucky could have been a model, but my heart ached at the sight of Jack. Mr. Radcliffe was smiling and had his arms around his sons.

  When I took out the photo, I saw a thick stack of cash, mostly twenties, but also tens and several fifties, bound by a rubber band. A lock of golden hair was tied with a red satin ribbon. At the bottom of the box was a passport. I opened it and saw a photo of a smiling girl. Breneeta Justine Browning was ordinary-looking, like me, the sort of sad, broken girl who had fantasies of love. The passport’s pages didn’t have any travel stamps.

  None of the items mattered as much as the money. No one who’d grown up poor would ever leave so much cash behind. Which meant that something terrible had happened to BB.

  I needed to do something, but what?

  There was one person who knew about the Family and had always been understanding. I thought I could trust him to help me now. I got my new phone and scrolled to Albert Mason’s phone number. I called him and when my call went to voice mail, I said, “Mr. Mason, this is Jane Williams. I really need to talk to you. I’ve learned something disturbing about … I really need to talk to you. It’s about Breneeta Browning. Call ASAP.”

  When the phone rang a minute later, I answered it without looking at the incoming number. “Mr. Mason!”

  “It’s Jack.”

  I ended the call.

  He called again, and then a third time. I answered his fourth call. “What?”

  “Is Lucky there?”

  “No.”

  “He’s not answering his phone.”

  “Maybe he doesn’t want to talk to you. I know I don’t. Don’t ever call me again.” I hung up and then stared at the phone, even though Mr. Mason was probably asleep.

  Ten minutes later, I got a text from my teacher. “I’m in the lab. Come see me now.” He must have forgotten about my sprain. I texted him and called him, but he didn’t answer, so I left my cottage with the jewelry box under my arm. The birches shifted and swayed in the wind. A sturdy branch was lying near the path, so I used it as a cane.
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  The main building was dark except for the lights on in the third-floor chem lab. I went around to the only unlocked entrance, a side door by a stairwell. I was tired and, as I climbed the stairs, I frequently leaned against the wall to rest.

  The lab room door was ajar and I went in saying, “Mr. Mason?” The windows reflected the room and I saw someone moving behind me. I spun around as the door slammed shut and then there was a click.

  The woman who stood there was about forty, wearing navy slacks, a blue sweater, and sleek mahogany pumps. Her hair was in a low ponytail and she wore gold and ruby teardrop earrings. She had style so it was easy not to notice that she was ordinary-looking under the discreet makeup. Her smile was friendly, but her expression made me uneasy.

  “I’m meeting Mr. Mason here,” I said.

  “You must be Jane. Mr. Mason is indisposed right now.”

  I noticed a stack of papers and a phone on Mr. Mason’s desk. His phone? “Does he know that I called? I can talk to him tomorrow.” I edged toward the door.

  She smoothed back her hair with a hand and I saw the gold and red stone ring on her right hand. A gold bracelet set with red stones glittered on her wrist. “Don’t you want to know who I am, Jane?”

  “You’re Claire Mason.”

  “The Companions are always so bright! That’s why they pick us, of course. What has your agile little mind figured out so far?”

  Locate the danger. “Nothing,” I said, trying to cover BB’s box with my arm.

  “‘Nothing’ and that’s why you came to see your chemistry instructor at midnight?” Her laugh had a manic edge. “By the way, the door is locked and I’m faster than you. You look uncomfortable. Take a seat.”

  I needed to rest my ankle so I dropped into a chair close to the door and kept the branch in my hand.

  “What do you have there?” Claire pried away the box, took it to the desk, and dumped the contents out. “Nice find, Jane. I searched all over for BB’s stash.”

  Don’t panic. “It was in the bathroom ceiling. Where is she?”