Then I run at breakneck speed.
As I put the clearing behind me, the woods become so quiet I can make out the noisy clatter of my heart’s beating, my sharp and shallow breathing. I slow down, catch my breath. My adrenaline-induced shivers subside, but the cold sweat remains, covering my skin. I hear a branch snapping behind me and sprint again, jumping over fallen trees and spiraling roots.…
When I collide with something—someone—I yelp as I fall on my back. Whoever I just smashed into swears in surprise. I know this voice. Please, anyone but him.
But, of course, it is him.
I stare up at Shannon as he pushes back his sweatshirt’s hood and leans over me. His towering shape casts a shadow over my face. I expect him to say something snarky or look annoyed, like he did at the blood collection point, but he’s just offering me his hand. I have a moment’s thought to reject it, but I accept.
He pulls me to my feet, but we both underestimate the inertia and I end up chest to chest with him. Caught off guard by our proximity, I’m reminded of Shannon as the boy next door, the way he’s been preserved in my memory: sweet and eager to please, his lips full and eyes innocent. But that picture wavers in my mind, the grown-up version of Shannon eclipsing the young boy from the past.
I take a small step back, but not too far. With only our combined breathing for a soundtrack, we stand facing each other, a too-small space trapped between us. The subtle heat of his breath is on my face. A crazy thought occurs: If I stand on tiptoe, I can kiss him. Maybe I’ll be the kind of girl who kisses a boy first. Though, with Shannon’s earlier hostility, I’m also likely to be the kind of girl who sends the boy running right afterward. My thoughts take me by surprise. What is wrong with me? After my Black Clearing experience, how can I even think about kissing?
I take in Shannon’s appearance. There’s a thin sheen of sweat on his face; his hair is ruffled. He ran here. But why? My question retreats to the back of my mind as I register that Shannon’s still holding my hand. The moment I realize it, I have to make an effort to keep cool. Shannon’s presence makes my earlier encounter in the forest take a dreamlike shape of something incorporeal, something imagined, not experienced.
“What are you doing here?” I ask huskily as Shannon lets go of my hand—a slow movement, our fingers brushing, hesitant to let go.
“I live here. Remember? In the house across the field from yours.” There’s a smile in his voice, but his lips are serious. He doesn’t look unhappy, just curious.
“With Abigail.” I say his mom’s name and immediately wish I hadn’t, because Shannon’s expression turns grave.
“No. Mom doesn’t live there anymore. Just me.”
His tone is a warning: Do not go there. I wonder if I should take another step back, but Shannon doesn’t seem to mind standing so close, and I don’t want to appear intimidated by him. Instead I say, “Sorry I smashed into you.”
“Why were you running like that? It looked like something was chasing you, but there’re no animals in these woods that are going to hurt you. Unless you’re scared of chipmunks.”
“Ha-ha. There are bears around here, you know.”
“Nope. Not this close to town. Not anymore. All big and scary things retreated deeper into the woods a long time ago.”
“Maybe I just wanted to see how fast I could go. Or maybe dashing through the woods like that is the only time I really feel alive. You know how big-city people can get all weird when they’re so close to nature,” I joke, but Shannon looks serious.
“I wouldn’t know,” he says. “Not a big-city person. And it’s unlikely I’ll ever leave this place. You know how small-town people can be. If you don’t leave by the time you’re eighteen, you don’t leave at all.”
“True. And once you do get out, you better stay out. What’s there to go back for, anyway?” I can hear exactly how bad it sounds the moment I say it. I can tell that Shannon hears it, too. “I didn’t mean it like that…” I start.
He interrupts, “I’ll walk you out of here, if that’s okay. So you don’t get spooked by a squirrel and crash into someone else.”
I nod, quickly falling into step with him as we move through the woods. Our silence is tense. Even lost in our own thoughts, we’re acutely aware of each other. I wonder if Shannon saw or heard anything weird in the woods today, but I don’t know how to ask without having to explain my experience earlier. What does he know about Promise, anyway? He’s been here his whole life while I’ve been mostly kept prisoner in Dr. Erich’s office by my overbearing father.
And yet, with all the possibilities, the question I want to ask him has nothing to do with Promise.
I’m rather impressed with the ability of the human mind to compartmentalize: While a part of me is still reeling from watching my mother disappear into the fog, another part remembers Del’s flirting with Santiago and her full-of-it assurance that Santiago’s so hooked on her charm, he’ll be coming to see her tonight and (possibly, maybe) bringing Shannon along with him.
I give Shannon a long, sideways glance. “What?” He meets my eyes, almost making me trip over another stupid root.
“Just wondering … by any chance, were you thinking of dropping by the Manor tonight?”
“Why? Do you want me to?”
“Can you just answer the question, please? I’m testing a theory here.”
“If I answer your question, will you answer mine?”
“Sure, I guess.”
“Okay then. No, I wasn’t planning on coming by the Manor tonight. Or any night. As a matter of fact, I’m planning to stay away from you and your Manor as much as I can till you leave Promise.”
Mud squelching underfoot, I stop in my tracks. Shannon’s rude words, delivered in a pleasant, polite voice, get the cognitive dissonance neurons firing in my brain, sending me down the rabbit hole.
Shannon doesn’t pause, his steps remaining wide and certain, leaving me no choice but to catch up with him. When I do, my confusion gives way to a kind of self-righteous anger. “What was that about?” My voice is fake-calm, as pleasant as his was just seconds ago.
“That’s your second question, and our deal was for one. Now it’s my turn.”
I don’t spare him a glance. I’m starting to really dislike this grown-up Shannon. “Fine. What do you want to know?”
“Why are you really here, Hayden? What are you looking for?”
“Hmm, that’s two questions. Which one do I answer?”
We step out of the woods then. From here I see the path that will take me all the way to the Manor’s porch.
When I face Shannon again, I hope I look as indifferent as I sound when I say, “I inherited the Manor. I’m here to check it out and see if I should sell it. You’re right, though—there are other reasons for me to be here. You are one of the reasons I’ve always wanted to come back, but since it doesn’t feel like you want me around, I’ll leave you alone. Del’s waiting for me anyway. Have a nice day, Shannon.”
I take a step, eager to move away, but Shannon places a hand on my elbow, sending a shiver over my skin. “What happened to your hand?”
In all the commotion of smashing into Shannon and having my mind shaken up by his rudeness, I forgot about my injury.
“Nothing. I fell.” Calmly, I wrestle my arm out of his grasp.
“You’re bleeding, Hayden. Let me help you.” He searches his pockets, but I shake my head, and, keeping my back ballerina-straight, start on the path toward the Manor. I have to fight the immediate urge to turn around and see Shannon’s reaction.
To my deep-seated disappointment, he doesn’t come after me, doesn’t say anything. When I give up and sneak a look over my shoulder, the space where I left Shannon by the edge of the woods is empty.
* * *
A certain fairy tale tells a story of a girl who is entrusted with a set of keys to a castle upon one condition: not to unlock one special door. Just one.
It is, of course, a test, and the girl fails it. T
he price of failure? Her life.
This bugs me to no end. Why give the girl the key to a forbidden door and then instruct her not to open it?
Is it to ensure she obsesses about what she cannot have, to the point that it kills her?
Or is it to guarantee the girl dies in the end?
Another question I have: Was the girl’s life worth it? Or was her death only a stepping-stone toward a higher plan?
At least the girl died after having solved the mystery.
Let’s see if I make it that far.
* * *
I study my face in the bathroom mirror. Do I look any different now that I had my UFO Crash Moment? Does my experience with the amulet vision in the woods mean I’m now willing to entertain a possibility that strange phenomena can have other-than-normal explanations? Regardless, I know that something enormous took place in the woods today and I’ll never be the same. I might’ve seen Mom’s final moments on Earth, and those moments were rough. Like the menacing statement on Elspeth’s old bumper sticker—WE WILL NOT GO SILENTLY INTO THE NIGHT—Mom’s passing wasn’t gentle. I recall my vision again, hoping to commit its sequence of events to memory: Mom cut her arm and opened some kind of portal (in hopes of what? Bringing some mysterious army into this world?), and that’s where things went immediately wrong. Instead of releasing the army, the portal sucked Mom in and blasted the clearing. Okay, so if that solves the mystery of what happened to Mom, it still doesn’t explain the rest of the bizarre puzzle. What about the blood vials? And the finger they found in the woods when searching for Mom? All these questions leave me more confused than ever.
I clean and bandage my hand with some first-aid kit gauze before making my way to the kitchen.
Considering my next steps, the way I see it, I have two choices: I either experiment with this bloodletting business in the woods and then move on with my life when (if?) nothing happens, or I stay the hell away from the woods, return to New York, and somehow try to put Promise behind me.
Once more, the curious scientist in me wins out. I decide to gather more information about my mother’s extracurricular activities before I make up my mind.
* * *
Del’s rumbling stomach demands breakfast. We settle on an omelette and coffee. The latter turns out unusually bitter, but I can’t find any sugar and I used up our last reserves of milk making the omelette. While I’m busy cooking, I consider coming clean and telling Del everything, including my experience with the amulet and finding the blood vials in the basement on our first night here. But as I sneak glances at my friend, I change my mind. Hearing me mumble about experiencing a blast from the past and seeing Mom try to open some interdimensional portal will most likely get Del all freaked out. She’ll think I’m losing it and worry about me. I even wonder if her sudden turn toward a rational perception of the world has anything to do with my abrupt descent into supernatural belief. Maybe Del thinks I’m on the verge of getting my mental wires burned and is trying to counterbalance my nutcase behavior with her aloofness.
Del wrinkles her nose as she tastes my nuclear caffeine concoction, then puts down her cup and suggests we go borrow milk from our neighbors. The way she says it, it’s clear she expects me to do the borrowing. Keeping a straight face, I explain to her that our closest (and only) neighbor is Shannon, and that there’s no way I’m going anywhere near his house, not after my earlier conversation with him in the woods.
With eerie intent, Del listens to a heavily edited account of my meeting Shannon in the woods earlier and shakes her head in disapproval when I tell her about Shannon’s “I’m planning to stay away from you” declaration.
“He’s totally bluffing,” Del concludes, all sagelike as she gulps down her coffee. “You wanna hear what I think?” Clearly not needing my confirmation, she goes on, “He probably spotted you leaving the Manor this morning and went after you so he could accidentally run into you. You know, kind of like when Bolin kept accidentally showing up in my six a.m. yoga class every other day.”
“I dunno.… He sounded pretty certain with his whole I-don’t-like-you vibe. But then there were moments when I could swear he was looking at me with … whatever. What is it with these hot-and-cold guys? Why can’t they just say what’s on their minds? Save us all a lot of guessing.”
Del gives me an incredulous look before breaking into a short laugh. “Wow, Hayden. I think with your recently gained great insight into the intricacies of the male mind and the fact that you’ve read way too many psychology books for someone your age, you’re totally ready to pen the next edition of Men Are from Mars.”
“Seriously? That’s your advice? You’re making fun of me?”
“Didn’t realize you were after advice. Okay. Let me give you a prediction instead: Shannon is totally going to show up here tonight, tagging along with Santiago. I’d bet money on it if I had any to spare.”
I roll my eyes at her cocky certainty, but my head’s already buzzing at the possibility.
“What’s with the arctic winter in here?” Abruptly changing the topic, Del rubs her arms and shoulders. Too busy alternating between thinking about my mother and Shannon, I haven’t noticed what Del’s wearing till now: way too many layers and, for good measure, a blanket spread over her knees. Just looking at her now makes me sweat. The Manor feels toasty to me: I’m certain I left the central heating blasting last night, set on tropical.
“Are you sure you’re not sick?”
“I’m fine,” she says.
I reach out to touch her forehead, but she wiggles out of my reach. “I said I’m fine.”
“Okay. Don’t bite my hand off.”
She stares at me, her eyes unblinking, suddenly unfocused. “Sorry. Had bad dreams last night. Still feeling weird. And really cold.”
“After breakfast I’ll look at the central air. Maybe something’s off with it.” I doubt that’s the case, but I can’t think of another explanation for Del’s discomfort except for her coming down with a fever.
Del rubs her arms some more, and I pick up on a few other telltale signs of her being unwell: Her skin’s lost some of its glow and reddish, dark half-moons have formed under her eyes.
When we sit down to eat our modest breakfast, Del mechanically consumes her share. I wonder if she even senses the food’s flavor. After she finishes and washes her plate, she tells me she’s going to work on her group project in her bedroom.
* * *
Whenever my mind’s about to go into overload, I have two choices: Recite Mom’s lullaby till I calm down, or busy myself with some menial task. At this point, after everything I learned about the weird happenings of Promise and after having seen (Felt? Experienced? Was it real in any sense?) the amulet’s dark message, I find the lullaby too spooky to use as a calm-me-down technique. So I distract myself with the task of fixing the possible heating problem, grabbing the ring of house keys just in case.
I look at the controls, which are on the wall in the living room. They seem fine, but I bring the temperature a few degrees higher and shut the thing closed.
While I’m on handywoman duties, I take a walk along the perimeter of the Manor’s first floor, wondering what other surprises lie dormant in the building. Not quite sure what I’m looking for, I feel the keys dangle from my hand as I move. I count them, memorizing their shape and features in my mind. Anything not to think about Mom and her riddles.
Key number one is a cylinder, its cuts sharp like shark’s teeth. One unlocks the Manor’s front door.
Two is for the Manor’s back door. To an untrained eye, two is one’s twin, but if you look closer, its cuts are smaller, less pronounced.
Three looks like something you’d dig up at an archaeological site. A voided key is the proper term for it, because a key like this is designed to open a pre–Industrial Revolution pin lock. My educated guess is that three opens the cellar door outside.
Four is for the basement. Though unlocked now, I remember the times when that door was always shut tig
ht.
And here’s five, so mundane in my hand but maybe the most important. Five opens the chest containing the vials of blood. Blood Mom wants me to spill in the woods along with my own.
And six? It has an uneven surface roughed up by rust. Where do you fit, little key? What door do you open?
My aimless stroll through the Manor becomes a search for the sixth lock. Once I finish circling the Manor’s first floor and finding nothing, I head upstairs. My legs carry me toward the master bedroom. Six keys sing melodically, in sync with my hurried pace.
The master bedroom is empty, expect for a bare mattress on the floor and what looks like a desk hiding under a dust-covered white sheet.
Besides the entrance, there are two other doors: a built-in closet and a bathroom. The latter reveals nothing of interest. The former seems oddly sinister to my inflamed mind.
In anticipation of a Narnia moment, I slide the closet door open, exposing the dark interior to the weak light. The bandaged cut on my palm tingles, and without thinking about what I’m doing, I begin reciting Mom’s lullaby in my head. No! Stop that. I don’t need to calm down right now. I need to focus, to be fully present.
I step into the closet. Its claustrophobic space is scarcely lit. It smells of old wood, dust, and something else … paper? Like a whiff of a library. Hmm … My hands explore the closet’s paneling. I don’t know what I’m looking for till my fingers sense a pulsing ping: The back wall’s surface feels like it vibrates in response to my touch.
Something’s in there, behind the thin layer of wood. I slide my hands in a wide arc, going down, until … Bingo! My fingers land on a … keyhole? Painted, inside and out, the same gray as the rest of the closet’s back wall, the keyhole is virtually undetectable unless someone’s looking for it.
Keys on the ring clacking against one another, I slip the sixth key in and turn it. A hesitant click.
Bluebeard’s room is unlocked, ready to reveal its ghastly secrets.
What the Woods Keep Page 16
