The Evil Within (17 page)

It was the same name as had been in the ledger book Troy had found. I examined the face again. Was he the lobotomy doctor? But why would Celia love him then?

I wanted for more response from her. But there was nothing.

I started to put the picture back in the locket; then I heard a noise. Someone was coming into the garden, the footfalls distinct, and rapid.

Had someone followed me into the statue garden?

I got to my feet and darted forward among the statues, looking over my shoulders, seeing only snow and darkness. I kept going, all the way through, the back of my neck prickling. What was I doing out here alone? How did I know that Rose was really on my side? Maybe she had told Mandy I was going to snoop around tonight. Maybe they were following me right now . . . and I would be the next one to die. I hadn’t seen the birds or the cat . . . but I had seen Kiyoko. Her hair, so frozen.

I broke into a run, following the path, which canted down sharply. I flew past the library and the commons, realizing I was headed back toward Jessel. Was I being herded there? Maybe they would be waiting for me; maybe this was a mistake. But I kept going, faster, so fast I almost fell over my feet.

A twig cracked. As I passed beneath a pine branch, it dipped, showering me with snow. Startled, I cried out, and ran into something hard. The impact sent me reeling, and I shouted aloud.

It was just the tree trunk. Eyes welling, I pushed away and kept running. I could see Jessel’s hulking, hunchbacked shape growing larger. I was outside Jessel, in their backyard. But as I whirled around in a circle, I saw no one else. I was alone.

And still alive. With the locket firmly clenched in my hand.

I HEAVED IN, out, lungs bursting. Tears dripped off my chin and I staggered forward. Then my cell phone vibrated, and I fumbled, trying to grab it out of my pocket.

Rose had texted me.

help call.

“Oh no, Rose,” I whispered, as I scanned my surroundings. I saw no one, only the inky blackness of Searle Lake slightly below me. As I headed for it, I texted back, afraid to speak aloud.

u ok?

drunkkkk. ok
, Rose texted back.

Not in immediate danger, then, I translated. Maybe she really did need me, and wasn’t just setting me up to come to Mandy. Or maybe Mandy was bating me, double-thinking as much as I was, seeing if I was going to nibble.

Maybe whoever had followed me into the statue garden had let Mandy know that I had gotten away.

By then, I was at the lake, in the spot where I had found Kiyoko. The flowers that had been left for her had dried up; there was a fresh circlet of roses lying on top of some melting snow. I hurried past, placing the locket and the loose picture in my pocket and calling Rose.

“Linz? Oh my God,” she said, laughing. “I’m so trashed. I can’ neven walk.”

“Where’s Mandy?” I asked.

“Left. I wenna pee an’ they said c’mon an’ I said I’ll catch up inna few but there’s
one
more vodka shot. . . . ” She cracked up. “I’m gonna get expelled. Scholarship . . . ”

Behind me, lights blazed on in Jessel’s living room. The drapes were open; Mandy and Lara appeared. How convenient. Next, the light in Sangeeta and Alis’s room on the second floor went on.

“Troy,” Rose said.

I waited. For about two seconds. “Troy what?”

“Was here. Julie. Spider.”

I blinked. “At Mandy’s séance?”

“She lied. It was jussa party.” Rose guffawed. “A
great
party.” She swore. “I can’ get up.”

Damn it
. I huffed. “Rose, just get up and—”

She snickered. “I’m total rubber.”

I checked the time on my cell phone. It was a little past midnight.

“You have to promise me this isn’t some stupid prank,” I said, warily. “You give me the key to Jessel; then you call me to come help you. And what am I going to do, carry you?”

“Mean, mean, meanie,” she slurred. “Linny, you’re my bes’ frien’.”

“Okay. Okay, I’m coming. Stay on the phone.”

“I’ll sing. Lalalala,” she bellowed. “Lalala . . . ”

A few more steps, and my cell phone cut out. I had left the sacred circle of cell phone coverage. I put it in my pocket and pulled out the picture, walking to the lake, bending over, holding it face down. I held out the locket.

“Did you love him? Did he love you?” I asked loudly.
Is he the man you and Belle fought over?
I remembered what I’d dreamed in the shower a few days back.

I pushed on, picking up my pace as I walked to the lake house, all my senses on high alert. I heard an owl hoot. Birds swooped above the water, then shot back into the air, as if what they saw gave them such a fright that they didn’t want to land.

I heard no voices, no laughter, no cracking branches to give away movement. In dim moonlight, the lake house loomed ahead, just a jumble of boards and disconnected gables hanging over the water as if, at any minute, it might break apart and tumble in. I shined my flashlight over the weathered walls; something skittered away—a raccoon, maybe, or a mouse.

Or a cat.

As I went inside, the hairs on the back of my neck stood straight up. I hated this place; it was haunted and dangerous, and I was alone and vulnerable. The old-time photographs still hung on the walls, faces covered with mold, the glass cracked, picture frames worm-eaten. An old sofa sat beneath a rotted sheet. A real party zone.

“Lalala,” I heard. Rose was in the basement. One way in, one way out—more stairs. I had no idea how I would get her back to Stewart.

I had no idea if she was alone.

I tiptoed across the filthy room and aimed the flashlight down the steep basement stairs, A bluish glow framed the door, which was cracked open. Taking a deep breath, I scooted down as quietly as my big clunky shoes would take me and pushed open the door.

Yikes. There were a couple of mattresses heaped with blankets and low tables cluttered with bottles of wine and a flashlight aimed at the ceiling. The light bounced off spiderwebs and sections of molded tin ceiling cover. I winced at the mattresses, thinking of Julie and Spider, and trying not to think of Mandy and Troy. Then one of the heaps groaned and moved, and I realized it was Rose.

“Oh God,” I whispered, and raced over to her. Rose’s arm was flopped over her eyes. There was a Ouija board and an oval mirror the size of a dinner platter beside her mattress. On the mirror sat six white candles, out, three of them knocked over on their sides. “Are you okay?”

She chuckled low and moved a little. It was so cold in the basement; left there alone all night, she might have frozen to death. I gently took her arm and laid it at her side. Her head was turned and I cupped her chin and turned it toward me. Her mouth was parted.

And her eyes were black.

She was possessed. By one of the girls who had died in that fire a hundred years ago . . . one of the girls who had sworn with her dying breath to exact revenge on Celia Reaves.

I flung myself away from her, grabbing onto one of the tables to push myself up so I could run. It cracked under my weight, and I fell back onto my butt.

“
Celia
,” she intoned. Her slack mouth didn’t move. The voice was coming out of her, but she wasn’t speaking. “
You killed us.
”

“Rose, no,” I said. “Fight it. Fight
her
.”

“
You’re going to pay.
” Rose weakly raised her arm. It fell. I realized she was trying to get up, too, and she couldn’t. She was too drunk. I pushed myself up harder, getting to my feet . . . and saw both our reflections in the mirror, Rose from the back of her head, and me, from the front.

A gauzy white image floated over her body and her face, a white, shapeless gown glowed over her clothes. Her face was bone white, gouged with dark circles for eyes, and a black hole for her mouth. She had two tear-shaped holes for a nose, and no skin.

“
Kill her
,” Celia urged me. “
Stop her.
”

On the mattress, Rose groaned.

I backed away, tripping over an empty Grey Goose vodka bottle, throwing out my arms to maintain my balance. I lost sight of my reflection—of Celia—in the mirror, but I heard her voice in my head.

“
It will be easy, sweet bee. She’s weakened by drink. Just put your hands over her mouth and press. It won’t take long
.”

“No,” I said aloud, as Rose flopped over on her side. Her black eyes glared at me, but she didn’t speak. A white glow shifted and moved around her, and I covered my mouth with both hands, my eyes widening.

“
Then light a candle, and set her blanket on fire.
”

I shook my head, over and over and over; but my gaze shifted to the pillow beside Rose’s elbow. All I had to do . . .

Rose got up on her elbows, staring at me, the rotted face of a long-dead girl superimposed on her features, eyeless sockets focused on me. No black eyes; no eyes at all. Her hands were nothing but bones and as she began to crawl toward me, in a disjointed, inhuman way, they clacked like wind chimes. I heard her sliding over the floor. Her hair swinging, her jaw rattling with two or three loose, decayed teeth. She stared at me with no eyes. She smiled with no lips.

I whimpered.

She kept coming.

“
She’s still down
,” Celia said. “
But she’s going to stand up. And when she does
—”

Rose—the spirit inside Rose—laughed again, low and unearthly, an echo of an echo of an echo. My skin prickled and I whimpered again. Backed away again.

“
Don’t be a coward. Remember that girl in the lake. Kiyoko. They made her do it, because she was fighting them. They killed her. Stop them.
”

Hand flopping down on a plastic cup, Rose crushed it, and kept coming, crawling a little faster, still laughing, a low, nearly sub-audible rumble in what sounded like an empty chest. The expression on her face was pure hatred. I knew Celia was right. I had to do something, or Rose was going to kill me.

Rose’s head lowered to the floor and she pushed back on her elbows, hunching her back as she worked herself onto her knees. Why didn’t I do something? Why didn’t I stop her?

I felt myself take a step forward. And I understood—if I didn’t do something on my own, Celia would
make
me.

“I won’t kill her,” I insisted.

“Lalala,” Rose sang, her face obscured by her hair, laughing low and deep and crazy in her chest.

“Stop it, Rose, stop,” I bellowed at her. She began to raise her head—

“Rose, it’s me,” I said. “Lindsay.”

“
Celia
,” she said, stumbling to the left. “
Kill you
.”

“You have no reason to kill her.” I started to cry. “She didn’t do anything to you.”

“
Fire. The fire
.” She threw back her head and I saw her black eyes. “
Set us on fire
.”

I didn’t know if that was true. But I knew that
I
hadn’t done it.

“Rose. You’re Rose Hyde-Smith, and you like me,” I insisted. “Rose, listen to me. I know you’re in there.”

She went silent. And then I heard a strange, wheezing, rushing sound—as if a heavy wind gushed out of her and rushed around the room. She heaved hard, and threw up, turning her head and groaning.

“Oh man,” she said, in her own voice. “I’m so sick.”

I crossed the room and shined my flashlight on her face. Her eyes were normal.

“Rose?” My voice shook.

She threw up again. “Jesus,” she said, gasping, “I’m freezing.”

I grabbed a blanket as she wiped her mouth with a paper napkin and dropped it on the littered floor. Afraid to touch her, I did it anyway, wrapping the blanket around her shoulders and easing her up the stairs.

“Bad dream,” she muttered. “Vodka’s evil.”

“Yes, very evil,” I agreed.

We had to walk through the scary upstairs room again. I made a vow to myself that I would never, ever come back here again. Rose stirred, muttering something about her purse.

“Oh, God, did you leave it downstairs?” I asked her shrilly.

“No, when I wenna pee,” she said. “By the shed.”

I didn’t know about any shed. “Show me,” I said.

We staggered onto the porch, off the stairs, and then she turned left and wove to the back of the lake house, where I had never been. A plain wooden shed stood beside a rotted rowboat. The door was open, and I examined it with my flashlight. There was another mattress, fresher looking than those downstairs, and a Lakewood Academy blanket. And a brown hobo bag.

“Yeah,” Rose said. “My purse.”

“You go in there,” I said. “I’m not.”

“I didn’t pee in there,” she huffed, doing as I asked. She tottered inside.

And at that exact moment, I heard a horrible scream. It was Julie.

“Julie!” I shouted.

“Lindsay, oh Lindsay!”

“Rose, stay here,” I said, pushing her onto her butt. “Stay.”

I ran to my right, into the dark trees, flinging frost-covered branches of needles out of my way. The earth cracked and crunched beneath my heavy shoes. I heard running and crashing, and crying.

“Julie! Where are you?”

Trees shook to my left; then Julie staggered out. She was half-naked, one sleeve of a dark sweater torn away at the shoulder and draped halfway down her arm, wearing leggings and flats but nothing else. Her hair was a rat’s nest and her face was scratched. She stumbled toward me and fell into my arms, sobbing.

“What’s wrong?” I demanded. “What happened?”

She sobbed against me, smelling of pine. I stared in the direction of the lake house and drew her away. “Is someone after you?”

“There, he was there,” she cried, pointing into the trees as she backed us both away in the opposite direction.

Taking her hand and pulling her toward the beach, I shined my flashlight over the laced branches and thick trunks. Wind made the boughs lift and fall as if they were breathing. The moonlight played tricks—was that a hand? A face?

“Where? Who?”

She half-ran, half-staggered toward the water, crying, trying to hold her clothes on. I charged after her, taking off my army jacket and slinging it over her shoulders. She didn’t even notice. I stopped her from grabbing at her top and made her hold onto the jacket. The scratches on her cheeks and chin were superficial, but in the moonlight they looked like black stitches on white, dead skin.

“Oh, Lindsay,” she wailed. “Oh God. I was supposed to meet Spider—”

“
He
did this?” I was shocked.

“No. Well . . . ” She kept weaving, kept crying. “It was so dark. The moon was gone and I got lost. And someone came up behind me, a-and put his hand on me, so I thought it was . . . Spider.”

She nearly fell over. I caught her arm and steadied her, grabbing my jacket. She was hiccupping with sobs.

“But his voice was lower.”

“He talked to you?”

“He whispered. He said, ‘Come to me.’”

I sucked in my breath. “He said that?”

“And I felt his breath on my neck, and his grip was too tight; it
hurt.
And I said, ‘Stop,’ but he was clutching my shirt and I tried to pull away. And he ripped it.”

She pulled her shoulders in tight inside my jacket, weeping, terrified. Her eyes were practically spinning. “I begged him to let me go. I thought . . . I thought he was going to
rape
me. And then I screamed and you came.”

“So he’s still out here,” I finished. She nodded mutely, and my heart pumped even faster. We were in danger.

Maybe he’s watching us right now. The Marlwood Stalker.

“Was it Miles?” I asked.

Her teeth were clenched and tears created rivulets of black down her cheeks. She looked as if someone had tattooed spiderwebs underneath her eyes, which were hazel. Normal.