Made for You

by Melissa Marr

  Grace steps around the side to straighten my skirt. She stays to my side as he pushes me up the path to where the service will be starting soon. It’s a little ridiculous that I’m coming in like some grand old matriarch. All that’s missing are gloves and heavy jewelry.

  My nervousness spikes at the sheer sense of exposure I feel in being outside. Not only do I need to face my classmates, but I worry that the person who hit me is here. Logic says that’s unlikely, but in so many of the crime television shows my father likes, the criminal likes to appear at places to enjoy his or her victory. Attending Micki’s funeral fits that. My hands tighten on the arms of the chair as panic wells up in me.

  “What if he’s here?” I ask.

  “Who?”

  “The man who did this to her . . . and to me.”

  Grace and Nate are both silent for a moment, but then she says, “We don’t even know if it’s the same person.”

  “It has to be,” I insist.

  No one replies.

  Nate continues pushing me up the path in silence. As we get closer, I can see the awning that covers the rows of folding chairs and the coffin. There are so many flowers that even though we’re outside the smell is cloying.

  It’s like an audible ripple when we get near. Even with the veil over my face, there’s no doubt who I am. If the broken leg didn’t give it away, Grace’s presence would. No one approaches us, but there are more than a few surreptitious glances. I’m grateful for the veil. Even without my healing cuts and bruises, I’d still feel uncomfortable at the way people are watching us.

  When we reach the chairs, Grace pulls one back to sit beside me, but Nate stays standing like a sentinel behind me until I whisper, “Get a chair, please.”

  Mutely, he pulls a second chair back so he’s on my left side. The two of them have flanked me, and we’re in the back of the crowd. I feel like this is as unobtrusive as I could possibly be, but still there are furtive glances.

  Nate doesn’t touch me, and neither does Grace. I suspect his reserve is a combination of worry over my reputation and habit in public. Grace’s distance seems odd until I realize that I’d told her that being touched causes the death visions. She’s likely just being cautious.

  I reach out and take both of their hands. Nate startles a little at my touch, but I grip his hand tightly so he can’t pull away. He knew Micki, and no one else here is going to remember to offer him any comfort. Grace might not have been friends with her, but she’s had more than a little worry the past couple weeks because of the person who—I believe—did this to Micki and to me.

  We are still sitting like that, with me holding a hand on either side, when the service begins, and we stay that way through the whole thing. My hands tighten on theirs when they lower Micki’s coffin into the ground, but I don’t cry out loud. I can’t here. Despite all the tears I’ve cried lately, today my face is dry.

  Afterward, when people are starting to leave, I wish I could run away. They mean well, but as my classmates come toward me, I feel trapped. I don’t ever like to be the center of attention. I reach up to be sure the veil still hides my face.

  “Oh my God, Eva! Are you okay?” Piper half breathes the words. “I didn’t know you were out of the hospital!”

  She’s reaching out to hug me, but Nate grabs her arms before she can touch me. He raises his voice a little so the others who are now clustering near us can hear him. “Please don’t touch Eva. She still has injuries.”

  No one responds, but I see several people eyeing him and me like they are figuring out some juicy tidbit. Before he can say anything else—like the fact that he’s there as a job—I say, “Thank you, Nate.”

  “I should’ve thought of that,” Piper says awkwardly. “I’m sorry, Eva. I just missed you.” She motions around her. “We all did.”

  I can tell she’s hurt that she didn’t know I was home, so I reach out and squeeze her hand. “I missed you too. Luckily, I slept constantly, so it was easier for me.”

  Nate snorts. Piper smiles at me though, and I see that she believes my little lie. Nothing about this was easy, but I’m here with my friends and I know what they want me to say. They want assurances that everything is fine, so I give it to them. “I’m doing better. Still a little beat up from the accident, and you know”—I gesture at my leg—“a broken bone, but I’m fine.”

  “Do you remember us?” Lisa Mitchell asks from where she stands behind a few people. “I heard you had amnesia.”

  “Just about the accident itself.” I smile at her, but realize that between the veil and the distance she probably can’t tell that I’m smiling.

  Robert speaks up then. “Did you decide if you’re coming to the funeral breakfast?”

  He moves to the front of the crowd of about ten people who are still standing here all around me. He lowers his voice as if he’s trying to be confidential, but he’s clearly not because his words are a lie. “Sorry I couldn’t bring you today. I’d already offered to take a couple people. I could give you a ride to the breakfast if you want. They could ride with Grace and Bouchet.”

  Everyone is staring at us, and I want to hit him. I won’t. The cemetery is no place for violence. I can see the pleading in his eyes, the request not to embarrass him, but I’m not going to cooperate. If he had avoided putting me more in the spotlight, I could’ve let it go. He didn’t though. This isn’t what friends do.

  “We broke up, Robert. Why would I want to ride with you?”

  He opens his mouth, but before he speaks, I say, “Don’t. Not here. Not now.”

  He turns and walks away. Everyone else stares at me silently. The already awkward moment grows unbearably tense, and I’m grateful for the veil shrouding my expression—and my scars.

  “Piper, could you do me a favor?”

  “Of course!”

  “Tomorrow or something, come see me.” I reach for her hand again. “I’ve missed everyone.”

  I realize as I say it that it’s true. They’re not perfect, but neither am I. They are my friends though, and if there is a killer out there, I don’t want him taking any more of them from me.

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  HarperCollins Publishers

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  DAY 13: “THE SUBSTITUTE”

  Judge

  I DON’T KNOW WHEN Eva’s presence started making me feel this twist of excitement and anger, but when she showed up at the funeral with Bouchet and Grace, I had to force myself not to go to her. They stayed on either side of her like bodyguards. She doesn’t need them; she needs me.

  I spent the entire time trying not to stare at her; I still want to, but I can’t. They wouldn’t understand. I blame the Jessupites who treat her like she’s special. She’s not. She’s just like me. Once she understands that, she’ll be saved. I’d hoped Micki would teach her. I’d prayed on a clear message, but here she is acting like They want her to act, pretending that some people are better than others.

  Sometimes I felt like Amy understood the truth. She was good that way, but there was a thread of corruption inside her body too. I think her mother created the appetite for filth, but it was fertilized by all of Them. She let so many of Them touch her. They left their own seed behind, and in time, she would have been roiling with corruption.

  When I left her to be cleansed by the water, her body was purified. I smile as I think about saving Amy. I left a flower and even words this time. Sharing the truth is slower than I’d like, but being impatient was no good. Eva is worth slow, steady lessons. I feel like I imagine the best teachers do—considering my lesson plans and hoping that my star student will understand the importance of the material. I have to try different strategies though; I remember that talk we had freshman year on “learning styles.”

  Running over Eva wasn’t clear enough. It wasn’t really a lesson, if I think on it. I was hasty. Killing Micki should have been a clear lesson. I left an amaryllis there. Pri
de goeth before the Fall. We learned that in church and in something we read in school. I sent flowers to the hospital. Now, I’ve written words and left flowers. Each flower is a message. There are words, and flowers, and they say the things I can’t tell her in person yet. Eva’s smart. She’ll see the lessons soon, and then she’ll change.

  “Thy will be done,” I pray. Silently, I add, “By me.”

  From my left, Grayson elbows me. I guess I was talking too loud. If he understood that I can talk to God Himself, he wouldn’t act like that, but he doesn’t know. Someday, maybe I’ll tell him.

  “The funeral’s over,” Grayson mutters.

  I guess he wasn’t reprimanding me for being loud. I let my gaze dart to her, noticing the black veil she wears. I know that her humility is because of my hitting her with the car I’d borrowed from the Phillips Garage. Maybe hitting her was a lesson too. God’s hands guide me in mysterious ways.

  “Thank you,” I whisper silently. I know God listens, and I’ve realized over the past weeks that He speaks, too.

  I watch as our classmates surround her. Her face is hidden behind a veil, but that’s allowed. It’s modest. So much changes every day. I have to study it all, look for the clues and plan my next messages.

  Teaching is hard.

  If she doesn’t understand the message I left with Amy, I’ll send a gift to her house.

  “Let’s go,” Grayson urges.

  That police officer is standing at Eva’s car, and I duck my head to hide my smile. It would be wrong to smile at a funeral, but I fill with excitement. They found Amy. They saw the message.

  I glance at Eva one more time. I know she’s been taking medicines because I ran over her. It might be making her too confused to understand. I hope not. I hope she understands.

  I wonder if Eva will call me, if she’ll realize that I am her teacher, if she’ll know that I alone can judge the unworthy and worthy. It’s God’s work I do, and by His hand and His secret messages, I’ve chosen her to be my helpmate in this mission. To the rest of the world she’ll be common, but to me—and only me—she’ll be special. I’ll treat her like she deserves, cherish her, protect her, and she will look at me with love.

  “Let’s go out by the lake,” I suggest. “It’s hot enough that maybe there will be some girls we can pick up.”

  Grayson gives me a look of shock. “We’re at a funeral.”

  “So . . . no?”

  “I didn’t say that, just . . . have some respect.” He shakes his head.

  “Micki’s dead, and we should live life to its fullest. She can’t.” I glance toward Eva’s car. “Micki was a virgin; she’ll never get to have that kind of joy.”

  “You’re kind of a freak,” Grayson says, but when we get into his car, he drives us toward the lake. The thought of being with a girl near where I sacrificed Amy makes me repress a shiver of excitement. Maybe someday, I’ll bring Eva to the very spot. We can make love while the water flows over us. Today, though, I imagine the police have it all blocked off while they look for clues I didn’t leave. Today, I’ll find another girl, a substitute for the girl God made for me.

  UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

  HarperCollins Publishers

  ..................................................................

  DAY 13: “THE PICTURES”

  Eva

  “I NEED TO GIVE my respects to Micki’s parents and then go home,” I tell no one and everyone after Robert leaves. Murmurs of acceptance and wishes of health come from my friends, and then Nate is pushing my chair over to the grave where Micki’s parents stand sobbing.

  “Thank you for coming,” Mrs. Adams says.

  I’m not entirely sure what I say to them. It’s as if I’m on automatic pilot at funerals: I say the words that I’ve been trained to utter, and they nod politely. They mention the beautiful flowers my family sent to both the funeral and their home (which I knew nothing about) and the very generous donation in Micki’s memory (I’m not even sure which charity). I realize that the over-the-top donation and flowers were how my mother coped with her willingness to let me go without her.

  I always hate funerals, but this one feels worse than usual. Micki was my classmate, not the grandparent of a classmate. I want to tell her parents that I’m sorry that she died, that I’m not sure why I survived, but there aren’t rules for those admissions. Instead, I reach out and take Mrs. Adams’s hand and squeeze.

  “I’m sorry,” I say as steadily as I’m able. “She was a great person.”

  Mrs. Adams cries more at my words, and Mr. Adams folds her into his arms. “Thank you,” he says. “They’ll find who did this to you two. They have to.”

  I nod because there are no words here that work, and Mrs. Adams lifts her face from her husband’s chest again. She’s a strong Southern woman. Her breakdown is brief. “You be careful,” she orders. “Tell your friends, too.”

  “I will.”

  Another woman is coming over to talk to the Adamses, so Nate wheels me away as they turn their attention to the other mourners. Once we’re a little farther away from them, Nate says, “Let’s get you home.”

  As we near the car, I see Grace standing next to Detective Grant. The look of fear on Grace’s face tells me far more than the impassive expression the detective wears. Something has changed, and for a moment, I’m terrified to find out what it is. My fears increase as Detective Grant says, “I’m here to see you home, Eva.”

  “What happened?” Nate asks.

  “And you are . . . ?”

  “Nathaniel Bouchet, a friend,” I supply for him.

  “And caretaker,” he adds. “Mrs. Tilling hired me.” He reaches past the detective to open the car door. “Grace, grab the crutches from the trunk.”

  It’s almost funny how quickly Grace goes to do as he asks. I don’t need the crutches, but she needs a focus in the midst of whatever panic is riding her right now. I’m not sure if it’s the detective’s presence or if something was said before we reached them.

  Detective Grant stares at Nate appraisingly for a moment, but she doesn’t say anything. She simply stands near us. I realize, though, that her attention is not on us directly. She’s scanning the area, studying the lingering mourners, and I know that whatever she’s going to tell me includes confirmation that the accident wasn’t really an accident.

  Once Detective Grant elicits Nate’s assurances that he will drive us straight to my house, she adds, “I’ll follow you. Give me a minute to get in the car.”

  Grace and Nate are silent as she walks away. Whatever she knows now is obviously reason enough for her to decide that I need to be escorted to my home. Of course, talking about an ongoing investigation in a cemetery would be strange and awkward. More so because the funeral that just ended was probably for a victim of the same criminal.

  “Did she say anything to you, Grace?”

  “She just asked where you were, who you were with, and that was it really.” Grace twists so she’s able to look over the seat at me. “She relaxed when she spotted you. Something has to have happened.”

  “It could be that she was just not wanting to talk at the graveside. Bad taste and all.” I flip my veil up finally. I’d become so comfortable with it that I’d almost forgotten about it.

  Nate looks into the rearview mirror, and I meet his gaze. “Don’t play stupid, Eva. Not with us.”

  Immediately, Grace opens her mouth to object, but I say, “Sorry.”

  He’s right. I do that. I pretend to be a little less smart, a little less observant. It lets me blend better. I take a breath and say, “Fine, I’m betting that they got their lab results back or a witness or some sort of proof that my accident wasn’t an accident. She is escorting us home. That’s a little bit of a clue that there’s more going on than worrying about bad manners.”

  We’re quiet again. I lean forward a little to touch Grace’s hair, and she reaches back to close her hand over mine. I’m a little surprised at how quickly
she’s adjusted to my “let me touch you first” rule, but she’s my closest friend. She trusts me even when I seem a little crazy.

  When we reach my house, my father immediately comes outside. The trepidation I was already feeling spikes. Unlike the detective, his face is very readable right now. He’s at the car door almost before the engine is off. I look past him to see Mrs. Yeung standing with my mother on the porch too.

  “The General’s here,” Grace says from the front seat. “This is worse than we thought.”

  Dad opens the door. “Slide over here. I’m going to carry you inside.”

  “I can—”

  “No.” He motions me forward with his hand, and there’s something in his expression that makes me decide not to argue further. He turns his head to the side and says, “Grace, go inside now.”

  The Southern male attitude that says girls need protecting is in full force right now, and I realize that my father is afraid. It’s not a familiar look on him. “It’s going to be okay,” I whisper as he scoops me up. “Whatever it is. It’ll be okay.”

  He says nothing, but his lips press together tightly like he doesn’t believe me.

  As soon as we’re inside, Mrs. Yeung grabs Grace into a fierce hug.

  My mother and Mrs. Yeung both look like they’ve seen something horrible, and my mother is reaching out toward me. I quickly put my hand on her arm before she can touch me. I think it’s that first contact that matters, and I cannot bear seeing her death, especially right now when everyone is so tense. My falling apart like I seem to when I have those visions would be the last thing they all need.

  Nate walks in behind my father, and Detective Grant follows him. I hear a click, and look back to see that, oddly, my mother has thrown the bolt on the door. I don’t think I’ve ever known her to do that during the day.

  “If you let me know what time to come tomorrow, I can get out of the way,” Nate tells my mother in a low voice.

  “You need to stay, Nathaniel.” My father is using his no-nonsense voice now, and I’m getting more freaked out by the moment.