Don't Forget to Breathe

by Cathrina Constantine

  “I’m trying. We’ll talk later.” I left out the part of meeting Henry. She’d have a cow and I wasn’t in the mood.

  I tiptoed through the hallway and into the kitchen. Dad was snoring on the couch, a sure symptom of over imbibing, conked for the night. Exiting by the side door, I walked along the sidewalk to Henry’s.

  A flame ignited in Henry’s car, depicting him behind the wheel. I swung open the door and climbed in. The tip of the rolled joint sizzled red as he inhaled, then handed it off to me. “Your parents can see us from here.” I scrutinized the draped windows.

  “Who the hell cares?” He poked the joint at me. “Here, take it.”

  “What’s wrong?” My finger and thumb pinched the joint as the car rocketed from the curb, squealing the tires.

  “My parents, ‘nough said.”

  “I have one of those too.” I inhaled liberally. “Where we going?”

  “Anywhere.” He reached for the smoldering joint. “Let’s take a ride through the Hallow,” he said, “see what’s happening.”

  “We’re too late for the last show at Regal Theater. If you have the munchies we could stop at Earl’s for a doughnut or something. ”

  “Yeah, they have those cider doughnuts at this time of year, don’t they?” He gutted the joint in the ash tray and extracted a second one.

  “Don’t light that for my sake.” I buttoned my jacket. “I still have to study when I get home. Besides, Earl’s is right around the corner, if you want to stop.”

  Exercising the joint like a baton, he twirled it in the air. “This baby will help you concentrate. I get uptight before a test, and after a few tokes, my body relaxes.”

  “You smoke in school?”

  “Doesn’t everybody?”

  I chuckled.

  “I’ll save it for later.” He smiled and tucked it into his pocket.

  My cell resonated with a text. I’d retrieved a message from Nona saying not to forget my uniform for the rival game at Kensington tomorrow night. She’d borrowed her Mom’s car for the day and would be picking me up for school. “I won’t need a ride to school in the morning. Nona’s picking me up.”

  “Where’s the boyfriend?”

  “I don’t know.” I scratched my ear, also pondering that question.

  As we walked past the picture window of Earl’s, Henry’s feet braked. “Kane and Marcy are here,” he announced sounding discreet.

  Surveying the bright eatery, fluorescent lights glinted over his hair like bullion. His spine curved as he leaned on the table. Marcy, her eyes glued to his face was talking nonstop. I performed a hasty spin.

  “What are you doing?” Henry said.

  “Not going in there.”

  “Why, ‘cause you’re jealous of Marcy?”

  “I’m not hungry,” I remarked. It’d been a harrowing day. The solitary spark of goodness was when Becket asked to go out with me. For some reason, I’d taken it for granted that Marcy had wheedled him into taking her to the dance. Now I wasn’t so sure.

  “Now that you mentioned the cider doughnuts, I won’t be able to sleep unless I eat one. I’m going in.”

  A bell tinkled as Henry opened the glass door to Earl’s, and my effort to shrink behind him didn’t work. Greetings hailed from a few kids as we shuffled in line to the counter. Henry ordered two doughnuts and two cups of hot cider, and then turned to check out the seating arrangements. Oh, cripes, he plans on staying.

  Even amid the appetizing bouquet of fresh brewed coffee, a trace of Becket’s yummy aftershave sailed under my nose. Rather than seeing, I felt him standing next to me.

  “Would you and Henry like to sit with us?” his voice was unmistakable. “There’s room at our table.”

  I looked at Becket, who looked at Henry.

  Henry said, “Sure, man.”

  We’d just taken our seats when Mrs. Torkelson arrived with our hot mugs of apple cider and doughnuts. “I’m telling everyone, Earl and I are closing early tonight.” She skimmed her palms down her checkerboard apron. “As soon as you kids are done, skedaddle so we can lock up for the night.” Then threading among the tables, she preceded to repeat her message while shelving dirty plates and mugs into her overflowing arms.

  “Leo, are you cheering in the game tomorrow night?” Marcy asked.

  “I plan on it. What makes you think I won’t be there?”

  Becket tilted into his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. His long legs spread under the table, nudging my feet. My gaze quickened to meet his, a smug smile spilled into his face. Our exchange did not go unnoticed.

  “You’ve missed so many practices.” A palpable snide tone radiated from Marcy. “Rumor has it Mrs. Zweilger is kicking you off the squad.”

  As if I cared. “Was there practice today?”

  “Nona missed it too.” Her lip curled with a snooty nod. “As the team captain, I could persuade Zweilger to change her mind,” she said, acting superior to demean me, “if you still want to be part of the team.”

  “How ‘bout I show up tomorrow and if she kicks me off, well then—I’m off.”

  Marcy appeared offended by my apathetic retort.

  Becket piped up, “There’s only a couple more games left in the season.”

  “Star Hallow is tied for first place, right?” Henry jumped in the conversation.

  Becket nodded. “Kensington’s tough. I’d be surprised if we came away with a win.”

  Marcy took the opportunity to caress Becket’s forearm, then she gave him a firm squeeze. “Oh, you’ll win, honey. No doubt.”

  Unperturbed by her fondling and term of endearment, Becket awarded her one of his beaming smiles. A vein of jealousy needled through me.

  “We’re going to have a good time Saturday night.” Henry flipped the topic. “I heard the school actually doled out money for a decent D.J.”

  “Do you have plans after the dance?” Marcy looked from me to Henry. “Becket and I are driving into the city and staying the night at the Hyatt Regency.”

  Becket shot forward on his chair. “Marcy, I already said no to that.”

  “The plans are made. We can’t back out now.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because everyone’s supposed to chip in for the rooms. You don’t want to screw them, do you? They’ll be pissed.”

  Becket’s composure slipped as he swiped his face with his hands.

  “Leo and I are staying the night at the Lucien place,” Henry surprisingly said.

  Chapter 39

  “When did you plan on telling me?” I responded in wide -eyed wonder.

  “Cool idea, huh?” His head joggled, and his eyebrows arched over the rim of his glasses.

  My mouth parted to deride him in public, but Marcy interjected, “That is a cool idea. Why didn’t we think of that?” Her hand then covered Becket’s which was now clutching the table. “See, Becket, I told you that Henry and Leo were hooking up.”

  “No we’re not,” I said, shaking my head and set Marcy straight. “Henry and I are not hooking up.”

  “The two of you hang twenty-four-seven. We all assumed you’re together. You’re so perfect for each other.” Marcy cast Becket a clever, lipless grin, proof I was lying.

  “Henry, I hope you’re done with that doughnut because I’m going home.” The shoddy day was getting shoddier, and the legs of my chair chafed the tile as I stood.

  Marcy’s comment gifted Henry with a jolly expression which bugged me even more. He issued Becket an, ‘I told you so,’ leer. I restrained my will power not to smack the jolliness from his ruddy face. I turned and stormed from Earl’s.

  Once in the car, I gave him a scathing look.

  “I said that to yank Marcy and Becket’s chain.” A mischievous snicker jumbled from his chest.

  “Not funny. I’d never spend a night with you and certainly not in that haunted house.”

  “Thanks for sticking a knife through my heart.” The snickering died in his throat. “I think Marcy’s ri
ght. We are perfect for each other.”

  “Not in this lifetime.” I’d struck a nerve. Henry’s expression turned ruthless, his nostrils flared and his skin rucked up around his lips.

  He drilled the car in gear and tires smoked on the stony lot. Pebbles hurtled, bouncing off Earl’s brick wall and rebounded onto the car sounding like the ting of bullets riddling metal.

  Henry zoomed around Terrace Circle. The car tilted on its axis, I thought for sure we were going to crash into the village gazebo. My fingers dug into the vinyl seat, a measure of pure survival.

  “Slow down,” I yelped.

  The car whizzed by Westgate Boulevard. “I want you to take me home.”

  He averted his head from the road to me, his eyes fierce. “I didn’t think you were a gullible girl. But you’re just like all the rest of them.”

  “Henry James, what are you talking about? And slow down before you get a speeding ticket.” The car slowed and I breathed easier.

  “You’re a sucker for Kane’s looks. He’s a player.”

  “A player?”

  “He’s one of those guys that likes to have more than one girl at a time. I see how much you idolize him.”

  “I don’t idolize, Becket.” I tugged the collar of my jacket to hug my neck. “I don’t know him that well.”

  “I’m not ignorant.” He browsed the palm of his hand along the steering wheel. “I’ve learned enough about this stinking village in one month than you’ll ever know. You’re a dope, Leo. Kane’s humping Marcy and has you waiting in the wings.” He hesitated, throwing me a repugnant glance. “Unless you’ve already—you and Kane?”

  “Henry, you’re so sick. Even if I was, I wouldn’t tell you.” I didn’t appreciate his smack talk. “Just take me home.”

  “I want to check something out at the mansion.”

  “Henry, it’s late.” I thumped the vinyl seat with my fist. “You promised I’d only be gone for an hour, and it’s past that now.”

  “Appease me…please.” He prevailed, course-plotting onto Lucien Court. “It’ll only take a minute.” Feeling like a kidnap victim, I wanted to jump from the moving car. Then he stupefied me by saying, “Your mom’s picture is back.” Parking, he leapt out.

  Hooked like a stagnant fish, I trotted after him. The place was much easier to get in since the police dislodged the bolted chain. Henry removed a flashlight from somewhere, like he’d charted this little investigation from the moment he called.

  “Why didn’t you just bring me here right away if you’d known about her picture reappearing. Why take the long route to Earl’s?”

  “Before I called, I was driving around and saw Kane and Marcy. I wanted you to see them together, with your own eyes.”

  Was I supposed to be grateful?

  We climbed the all-too-familiar staircase and it groaned under our footsteps like it rejected our presence. My body jolted with the ring of my cell. I fished in my pocket and read the caller name. I glanced at Henry who’d seen his name. His lips twisted. I muted Becket’s call, and continued onward.

  Hearing a ghostly wail, I froze.

  “It’s the wind,” he whispered and linked his arm through mine.

  A dark movement caught my eye. “That’s not the wind.” Henry hacked the light into the extended hallway. Running footsteps and a thud like a hand banged the wall. “Let’s get out of here. The ghosts are restless.”

  “Not until you see this.” He persisted and manipulated an anchoring hold, redirecting us into the shadows.

  “Aren’t we going to the attic?”

  “No, it’s not there.”

  The flashlight scarcely made an impression into the windowless hallway, and exerting it like a machete, chopped through pesky cobwebs. He stopped at a hefty, six-paneled doorframe. “I could’ve sworn I blocked this door open with a pillow before I left,” he whispered more to himself than to me. “It’s in here.” The door squeaked as Henry flashed the light into the room.

  A gargantuan canopied bed commandeered the bedroom, flaunting inlaid carvings on the four pillars, headboard and matching armoire stood on the far wall. Henry pulled me farther into the room and centered the light on Mom’s picture. There it was—relocated.

  “Since we’re here, we can make use of the bed.” Before I had a chance to digest his intent, his arms fastened around me and his mouth suppressed my gripes. Taking me for a body ride, he scuttled backwards to the canopied bed.

  As soon as his grip slackened, I seethed, “I’m going to punch the daylights out of you!”—and shoved him off.

  Henry laughed and loped like a gazelle onto the bed. He compressed the mattress, inviting me to join him. “Spring loaded for lots of pounding. Let’s try it out.”

  “Is this your idea of a come on? Did you hang the picture in here?”

  “No, it wasn’t me, but you can coax it out of me.”

  “You dung heap. It’s been you all along hasn’t it?”

  “I said no. C’mere. Lay with me and I’ll tell you what I know.”

  “Go eff yourself.” I booted the bed frame with my sneaker.

  “That hurt.” He acted mopey. “I knew it had to be here somewhere.”

  Suspicious, I searched his face for the lie. “Why didn’t Dyl tear this place apart?”

  “How do we know he didn’t?” he said and cradled his hands under his head.

  “A trap to cull out the murderer?” Warming up, I unbuttoned my jacket. “Do you think so?”

  “It wouldn’t prove who killed your mom.” He looked content on the bed. “An admirer could’ve put it here, someone like Kane.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  He snicker-snorted. “You’d be shocked what I dug up on him.”

  “Put it to rest. Becket and my mother—No way.” I rubbed an itch on the side of my nose. “But, you might be on the right track. Why would the killer memorialize her like this?”

  “A real sicko, that’s who.”

  “Detective Dyl thinks her killer is connected to Dave and Skip.”

  “He told you that?” Henry rolled to the border of the mattress.

  “He said it was confidential. I wasn’t supposed to say anything.”

  “I’m like your best friend. Best friends kind of confide in one another.” He looked testy. “I bet you told Nona.”

  I didn’t want to argue. “Let’s get out of here. Something’s not kosher. I’m going to call the detective and tell him what we found.”

  “He might think we planted it here.”

  “Oh-h, I never thought of that.”

  Suddenly, the hefty, six-paneled door slammed shut.

  Chapter 40

  Henry bounced off the bed. “Who’s out there?” He shined the flashlight on the door.

  Neither one of us moved, though, my body jiggled like a bowl full of jelly.

  “Probably a draft,” he whispered.

  “It’d be some draft to heave that door.” I thought of hiding underneath the bed. “I think someone’s in here. Those were real footsteps we heard earlier.”

  “Whoever it is doesn’t want to hurt us.” The beam of light juddered on the door, Henry’s hand was trembling.

  “What makes you say that?” My voice wavered. “I feel pretty vulnerable right now, like a sitting dead duck.”

  “He shut us in to make a getaway, probably.”

  “If you’re right,”—sounding inconclusive—“we wait here.” We stood like perpetual statues, though, Henry ruined the stillness.

  “He has to be gone.”

  “What makes you so sure?”

  “The guy would have to be a bumbling cripple not to be gone by now. Let’s go.”

  “He could be hiding in any one of the dozen rooms.”

  “If he’s hiding, then he’s not after us. We’ll run. Don’t stop.”

  “Don’t worry,” I stated, “even if Lucien and Monique get in my face, I’m breezing right through them.” Creeping like conjoined Siamese twins; Henry broke th
e seal of the door. Together, we peeked around the frame, and he shone the light along the pitch dark passage.

  Utilizing his arm like a crowbar, Henry applied leverage to dislocate my clinging body. He pushed me into the hall.

  “Run,” he said in a hush.

  “Are you shitting me?” I gaped, feeling like the sacrificial lamb.

  “You go first,” he said, “and I’ll follow.” He shone the light on my face, exposed and at risk for anyone to see.

  “Why should I go first?”

  “I have your back.”

  “Fine.” My hand darted, robbing him of the flashlight. “I’ll take this.” And I took off like my life depended on the sixty-second dash. If only Star Hallow’s track and field coach could see me now, soaring over the stairs. I didn’t slow until I skittered beside the car.

  A chuckle split my mouth as Henry implemented a windmill finish, his arms oscillating. He plowed into the hood of the car and his glasses slid to the tip of his nose.

  “Hilarious,” he wheezed, winded. “Get in.”

  When I arrived home the lights were off and Dad wasn’t on the couch. His bedroom door was shut, and more than likely he’d checked my room and discovered I wasn’t home.

  I interred the past hours into the recesses of my cranium while toiling over homework and studied for the upcoming science test. During my session, three times I keyed in Nona’s number and three times I hesitated. If Nona was having relationship problems with Reggie, we could discuss it in the morning along with my newest adventure.

  I hated lying in bed exhuming memories that streamed through my brain like a percolating tempest. There had been someone in the mansion tonight, Mom’s killer. I was sure of it. Wired and bewildered about life, I sprung up. My arms knotted as I plodded into the bathroom and downed a prescribed sleeping pill. Waiting for it to kick in I foraged through my closet searching for a dress to wear for the dance. Hooking onto the jumper I’d worn for Becket, I ripped it from the hanger, dropped it on the floor and gave it a good kick.

  My head felt soupy with revolving thoughts of Becket’s jeweled eyes and his tasty kisses. I ditched the dress notion and burrowed under the covers, sinking into a timeless abyss—