The Evil Within (23 page)

“HERE, WEAR THIS,” Ida ordered, bustling in with a very sexy, low-cut emerald green bubble dress, a pair of silvery tights with jewels creating seams up the backs, and yet another pair of arch-stretching heels, this pair silver.

“Dude, she’ll look like a Munchkin,” Claire protested.

“If she wears green, we have to take off her body jewelry,” Ida added. “Or she’ll look like a Christmas tree.”

“Let’s put her back in her dinner outfit,” Elvis said.

“She can’t dance in that,” Ida replied.

“Simple is best,” Marica declared. “American girls get too complicated. We’ll take all these colors away.”

Claire brushed her fingers against my cheek. “We have to leave on her jewels. She’ll look puffy if we take them off.”

They bustled around, and Marica sat on my bed with me for a few moments of quiet. She played with my hair, and then she smiled.

“Listen, Linz,” she began. “I think Troy is very nice, and I think he is trying very hard to let go of Mandy. I think you’ll win.”

“That’s very nice of you,” I said. My voice was a little shaky, and I cleared my throat. “But I’m not so sure.”

“I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve had a couple of little chats with him.” She wiggled her fingers as if to emphasize just how little they’d been. “To speak on your behalf.”

I burst out with a laugh, partly because I was so surprised and partly because of the way she put it, with her beautiful Mexican accent. She smiled gently, as if she knew I was a basket case, and tapped the cut on my cheek.

“We can conceal that,” she suggested.

“It’ll heal faster if we don’t.” I grimaced. “That sounds so deep and philosophical.”

“Don’t worry so much. You’re very beautiful. If you made an effort . . . ” She held up her hands. “Sorry, sorry, I won’t push my luck.” Then she kissed my cheek. “Tonight I think you’ll enjoy yourself very much.”

In the end, they left on my rubies and diamonds and put me in a slinky strapless black dress, no stockings, and strappy black heels. Marica added a silver cuff, which I clasped over my red thread, reluctantly leaving off my Tibetan prayer beads. I insisted on wearing my Doc Martens to the gym. And my too-cute parka from CJ. Suddenly I was determined not to dress to kill. I didn’t care if all these rich kids thought I looked low-rent. I
was
low-rent.

Then the five of us left Grose. I glanced at Jessel’s porch, to discover that Miles wasn’t there, and I wasn’t surprised. It wouldn’t be as much fun if I knew where he was. Or maybe he’d gotten tired of the game and had moved on. In a way, I was almost disappointed. If this was a power play, I wanted him to know not to mess with me. I didn’t want him to think I was scared. Though of course, I was.

As we slid through the snow, I looked at my excited, giggling friends and wondered if I should tell them what was going on. But I was afraid Miles would extract some kind of payback, and if that meant harming any of them—

“You will never guess who I saw lurking around after extracurriculars,” Claire told me. “Miles. He was waiting for Mandy. Who was not around.”

“Where’d she go?” Elvis asked.

“Out to buy some coke and pick up a sailor,” Ida snarked.

“Who cares?” Marica said, sniffing.

I licked my lips. “Miles confronted me. For going out with Troy.”

They all looked at me. Really looked.

“Oh my God,” Ida breathed. “Why didn’t you say anything about it?”

Claire gazed fearfully around. “Where?”

I was ashamed now, and mortified. Why
hadn’t
I told them? I was too used to keeping everything to myself, dealing with it alone. But every time I tried to get some help, my helper paid. Look at Julie. And Shayna.

And Kiyoko.

“I’m sorry. It was right outside Grose.” More staring, more disbelief. “He was all dressed up. I think he’s going to the dance.”

“With a hatchet,” Claire said.

“And a chainsaw,” Ida put in.

“I swear I’m bringing a rocket launcher next year,” Claire muttered. “Or a bodyguard.”

“I’m not coming back next year,” Marica declared. She was looking around, peering at the shadows. “This place is too bizarre. But you should have told us,
chica.
We have a right to know if the Stalker is around.”

I apologized again, and we slid along to the gym, which was brilliantly lit with spotlights outside, the entrance bordered by six-foot-tall ivy topiaries shaped like hearts, festooned with white twinkle lights. Above the door, a vintage large plaster cupid was shooting a red fifties-style neon arrow that flew tick-tick-tick into the center of a glowing white heart. The freeze-frame movements of the arrow pulsed in time to the frenetic, booming beat inside the gym.

“When did they do all that?” Ida wondered aloud, as the anticipation of the dance began to overshadow their collective fear of Miles. “They must have hired some locals to do the set up.”

“There are no locals,” Elvis retorted. “We’re two hours from civilization.”

“Actually, there’s that resort near here.” I caught myself zipping and unzipping my parka. “Very fancy.” I didn’t think they used words like fancy.

“Oh, right, where Troy took you,” Claire said, and I nodded shyly.

We faced the gym. The music was practically blowing back my hair. I didn’t know Dr. Ehrlenbach had it in her, to let her students have a party that was actually teen-friendly.

“So . . . what do we do if Miles is in there?” Claire asked. “Linz, did you bring the crosses and holy water?”

Marica smacked her arm. “That’s not funny. He’s a menace.”

“It’s a public place,” Ida said. “What could happen?”

“I’m going in. I’m freezing out here,” Elvis announced, opening the gym door.

I twisted my little red thread. I couldn’t remember a single word of Hebrew. Or any of the words for any of the rituals for keeping the Devil at bay.

And then, as we swept into the gym, I could barely remember my own name. The vast, plain warehouse-like space had been transformed into a breathtaking fairy forest rich with the scent of honeysuckle. Both real and artificial trees rose to the vaulted ceiling of the gym; the artificial trees were purple, lavender, violet, and gray, with curling, mossy branches from which dangled thousands of heart-shaped leaves, shaking with the pounding bass of the music. Little cupids with wings and arrows darted on filament wires, appearing, reappearing, truly magical. The gym floor was covered with carpets painted with fallen purple and lavender leaves, from which rose fairy rings of giant glass mushrooms glowing with muted colored lights. The room was warm, and everywhere, people were taking off their coats, scarves, hats, and boots as they queued at a bastion of coat check tables.

There was a painted parchment scroll tacked to the nearest tree:

WHOSE WOODS THESE ARE, I THINK I KNOW.
HIS HOME’S ON MT. OLYMPUS, THOUGH . . .

“It’s a little bit mixed-mode,” Elvis said. “Fairy forest, Greek god of love . . . ”

“Maybe it’s Shakespearian,” Claire ventured. “
Midsummer Night’s Dream
. . . in the middle of winter. They definitely spent some major bucks.”

“Speaking of Greek gods,” Ida drawled, elbowing me. “Please, I’m begging you, lose the parka
now
.”

Through the trees, the main center of the gym was unadorned, except for a vast portable dance floor ringed by tables whose glass tops glowed with inset optical filaments. And seated at one of those tables was Troy, alone. We could see him, but he was unaware of us, and as my innocent girlfriends pushed me forward, my heart thundered. Could I have been wrong at the restaurant? Had he been humming a different song, but I was so jacked up and anxious I only thought I heard it?

Maybe Mandy’s been singing it and that’s where Troy picked it up
, I thought, clenching my hands together. I had heard it a hundred times in the last four months. She must have, too.

We passed several glass tables loaded with Marlwood girls and Lakewood guys. I avoided looking at the reflective surfaces, and focused on Troy, who didn’t look like a guy who had broken up with his long-term girlfriend. Was Mandy even there yet? I didn’t see her, or her brother, Mr. Insanity Plea, anywhere. Maybe they wouldn’t show.

Maybe I was dreaming.

As we neared Troy, the girls bunched up behind me, as if they had to keep me from cutting and running. Preparing me for combat, Ida and Claire forced me out of my Doc Martens and into my heels. Then they stripped off my parka, leaving me half-naked in the tight black dress.

“Oh, sweet Jesus,” Claire muttered, examining the parka, “this thing is polyester.”

“Yeah, but Troy is 100 percent natural fibers,” Ida said. “What a fantastic tux.”

“Should we go with her to say hi, or leave our two lovebirds alone?” Elvis wondered aloud.

“Group,” I croaked.

“Why are you so nervous?” Ida asked. “You just spent three hours alone with him.”

“She wasn’t braless,” Marica declared. Then she slid a glance at me. “At least, not that we have heard about. I’ll put these in a bin for you,” she said, peeling off from the herd.

Then Dr. Ehrlenbach swept into my line of vision. Her dark hair was pulled back as tight as always, her face the same wrinkle-free mask. Red heart earrings of some kind of stone matched a red raw silk boat-neck blouse with three-quarter length sleeves and a draping black skirt that fell to the floor. Strands of sea pearls were wound around her neck like the colors on a barber pole, and I suppressed a giddy laugh at the thought. She was wearing silver cuffs with red enamel hearts on them, like handcuffs.

And she came fully accessorized with Miles.

He stood beside her, his coat and gloves off, in a black nubby sweater, a simple black belt, and black wool pants. Very Eurosophisticated, and the boy version of what I would wear if I had the clothes—off the grid, not quite playing. He wore his white-blond hair in a ducktail, and his icy eyes bored into me with unmasked pleasure. I had to admit there was something breathtaking about him.

“Lindsay,” Dr. Ehrlenbach said, “Miles was telling me about your discussion with him. I think it would be wonderful if you interned with one of their companies over the summer. If you went overseas, you could also do a language immersion.”

Ida made a choking sound. Marica dug her elbow into her side.

“We’ll just go dance,” Elvis announced, and they abandoned me, just like that.

“Dr. Ehrlenbach’s very excited about it,” Miles said, smiling at me.

“It’s very generous of your family.” Dr. Ehrlenbach’s face never changed, but she turned her head toward him; maybe that was her version of a smile. “An affiliation with the Winters name will open doors for our Lindsay.”

I am not yours. I am not.

“Let’s continue that discussion over a tango,” Miles said, coming toward me. He put one arm around my waist and took my other in his hand, ballroom style. His skin was warm and smooth. I had expected it to be cold. He smelled of clove cigarettes and wine.

Dr. Ehrlenbach moved aside to give us space to dance. The music blaring through the speakers was in no way, shape, or form a tango. It was weird and bouncy, and the vocals sounded like French.

“Welcome to my parlor,” Miles said. “You’re not shaking. I’m impressed.”

“I’m getting ready to stomp on your instep,” I informed him, and his smile could have lit up the room.

“Oh, spirited wench,” he drawled, “sarcasm poureth from thy lips as from others, sweet nothings.”

I ignored his joy in mangling Shakespeare. There was no way he could know that
Romeo and Juliet
was my favorite play in the entire world.

“What do you want? And what’s all this bogus crap you’re feeding Dr. Ehrlenbach?”

“Bad words. The weapons of anxiety.” He cocked his head. “No bogus crap. I think it’s a great idea. We’ve got a beautiful building in London. Comes with its own dungeon.”

“Where they keep
you
every full moon.”

He just smiled and moved me smoothly in a circle. I had the sense that we were actually performing some kind of specific dance, but I came from the shake-your-butt school, and I wouldn’t have known a tango from a waltz. Or maybe a rumba. I was aware that other people were watching. I turned my head slightly, looking for someone, anyone to save me. Dr. Ehrlenbach dipped her head in my direction, her seal of approval.

Then I saw Troy—or rather, the back of his head, and I started to pull away from Miles. Miles kept me close, and I glared at him. His eyelids drooped over his chilly eyes.

“Cocky, aren’t you?” he drawled, looking over my head in Troy’s direction. Then he smiled faintly.

I turned around and looked for Troy . . .

. . . Who had just begun to dance with Mandy. She was sleek in a thirties-style black satin halter dress with her hair wound into a smooth bun, and an oversized red rose tucked behind her right ear. And from the way she was smiling, it didn’t look like he was breaking up with her.

With the same cold and triumphant expression on her face, she looked straight at me. My cheeks burned. Then she pressed her bright red lips together and blew a kiss at Miles.

I broke from him and began to walk away, across the dance floor. Tears threatened to spill and I knew I had to get out of there. I didn’t want to go past Miles again, or Troy and Mandy, so I headed for the door that led into the pool room. I lifted my chin, holding my head high, my back to all of them. Let them bask in their dysfunction; let them go around and around in their stupid drama. I was out.

I was so out. When would I learn?

At least I got rejected by someone even cooler than Riley this time
, I thought. But I didn’t think I was being funny.

I thought my heart was breaking.

DESPERATE to get out of there, I half-blindly pushed open the door on the opposite side of the gym. It read POOL NO ENTRY but no one stopped me as I crossed the threshold, hit by a blast of chlorine smell that mingled with the welling tears in my eyes.

The door shut behind me, and I stood alone in the swimming pool room. The pool lights were on, sending waves of ghostly white illumination through the steaming turquoise water. I thought of Shayna, catatonic. Of Charlotte, chubby and naked like a pathetic cupid, humiliated by the girl now currently dancing in Troy’s arms.

She’s so evil
, I thought, as the tears slid down my face.
She really is.

It was cold, and I was afraid to get too close to the water. I didn’t want to see Celia, for her to tell me she’d told me so. Okay, maybe I shouldn’t have trusted him.

“I should get my head examined,” I said aloud. Bad joke, bitter Fartgirl. I wanted to be done with triangles and Celia and Belle, but I was fairly certain it wasn’t really up to me. Maybe that was the real secret—
I
had unfinished business to resolve before I could really be Lindsay 2.0—a normal girl with a nice boyfriend.

Maybe he
was
breaking up with her. Maybe this dance was their last, and I had jumped to conclusions.

But how long did it take to say, “It’s over”? Jane had given us a little seminar. Key points: You had to go straight for the jugular. You couldn’t try to let them down easy; it was confusing and left too much open to interpretation. The longer Troy hemmed and hawed, the less likely it was that he would pull it off.

It didn’t matter, or so I told myself. I would never die for love, even if it felt like dying.

I smoothed back my hair. I was stuck in the pool room, unless I bit the bullet and went back to the dance. Maybe it would be easier just to kill her.

“That’s just a joke,” I said, so Celia wouldn’t get her hopes up. Then I cleared my throat. “And don’t you think this whole joke’s over? Can’t you leave me? After Kiyoko died, the spirit who possessed her moved into Julie. There’s been some shifting around, yes? I’m not the right one, Celia. Go find someone else.”

“
You’re the perfect one
,” she replied. “
I couldn’t have chosen better.
”

“You
didn’t
choose,” I argued, blinking because somehow, I had walked to the edge of the pool, and I was staring down at Celia. Her eyes were brown. There was color in her cheeks. She was taking on a life of her own. “I brought you into myself by accident.”

“
No. It was meant to be
,” Celia responded, and I moved away from the water. The person most in need of an exorcism was me. Maybe I should just leave now and find somewhere quiet, see if I could make it work.

Coldness poured through me and the icy-hand sensation on the back of my neck made me gasp. After all this time, it was always a shock. The image of Celia crawling inside me bloomed in my mind and I whirled around . . .

. . . And saw a shimmer of whiteness hanging in the air. I jumped away from it, and it hung, unmoving. As I backed away, it thickened and took on a shape—a person shape, my shape, only taller. Like in my cell phone picture; like in my nightmares.

My nightmares: I had forgotten one of them, only jerked awake each time I dreamed it:

I couldn’t move, and it was coming, and it was here. I was panting, screaming, clawing. Sweat rolled off me. The back of my neck was cold but my forehead . . . my forehead, oh God. I couldn’t move and it was crawling toward the bed; one hand was on the mattress oh—

Come to me, come to me, come to me, come to me, come to me. It was on my chest, it was pressing down—

I shouted. I was sprawled on the cement floor, clutching my hand to my out-of-rhythm heart, furiously knocking against my ribs.

Let me out.

Let her in.

Let me out.

Let her in.

Let me out.

Let her in.

I was swamped with cold as it gushed over my skin and rushed into my brain; and I whispered her name, protesting: “Celia, Celia, Celia.”

Trembling, I opened my eyes and stared at the red thread on my wrist. It would be much easier to go crazy, then and there. A birthday breakdown—tempting, enticing—and then none of it would be up to me. But I took deep breaths of chlorine-scented air and forced myself to sit up on the hard concrete floor. No white shape. With a hard swallow, I stepped out of my heels, gathered up the hem of my long dress, and awkwardly stood. Because of the way the light wavered on the surface of the pool, the whole blue room looked like it was tilting.

Then the door from the main gym crashed open, slamming hard against the plaster wall. Troy burst into the room, stumbling backward.

I braced myself for the fireworks, expecting Mandy next, but instead, Spider charged over the threshold. He was wearing a tux, and his face was a mask of rage as he took a swing at Troy.

“You bastard!” Spider shouted, and Troy ducked away. Spider’s words slurred; he had been drinking.

Dressed in a fuchsia gown with bronze criss-crosses across the bodice and a bronze half-jacket, Julie appeared behind Spider, crying, trying to grab his arm. It didn’t seem to register to Spider as he swung again, staggering from the momentum, spreading his legs wide to keep from going down.

“Lindsay!” Julie cried. “Lindsay, help!” She ran toward me, her gold high heels clattering on the cement. “Stop them!”

She ran into my arms, hugging me, then took my hand and dragged me toward Troy and Spider, just as Spider’s right fist connected with Troy’s chin. I heard a crack as Troy’s head jerked backward; he clutched his jaw and wobbled out of Spider’s reach.

“Oh my God, oh my God,” Julie choked out.

“Stay back. Stay away from them,” I told her, yanking on her arm. “Why is he doing this?”

“I told him,” she said, “about th-the attack. And he thinks Troy is the one who . . .
the guy
,” she said. She looked as if she were about to throw up.

“
What?
”

I could barely hear her over the yelling and the music as the door opened again. Mandy, Lara, Charlotte, and Rose rushed in, and everyone froze for an instant, like in an opera, staring at Troy and Spider. Lara was wearing a tux, and Rose had on a black satin top with white ruffles and a wide black skirt stretched over half a dozen fifties-style black petticoats with black lace hems showing. Black footless tights and ballerina flats finished off her prom beatnik look.

Charlotte’s black dress was elegant and boring. All the colorful streaks had vanished from her hair. More boring.

Troy wasn’t hitting back; he was trying to deflect Spider’s attack without hurting him. But Spider was going crazy, pummeling the air, battering Troy, and Julie burst into more tears.

“I didn’t touch her at the party!” Troy yelled.

“You’re a liar!” Spider shouted, landing another punch, this one on Troy’s chest. Troy grabbed Spider’s arm and pushed him backward. Spider was drunk enough that he lost his balance and staggered, barely staying on his feet.

“Spider, I would never do that,” Troy replied, stepping forward and shoving Spider hard. Julie’s fingers dug into my shoulder and I winced but kept quiet; then Spider swayed for a couple of seconds and landed hard on his butt. The wind was knocked out of him and he groaned, loudly.

Troy was panting, his face tight, red, and angry. I looked from him to Mandy. She went white, and her eyes welled.

“What’s going on?” Lara shouted.

“Troy tried to rape Julie at that party at the lake house,” Spider announced. “And I have proof.”

The girls gasped and looked at each other, then at Julie, and then at Troy, who stood with his hands balled at his sides, staring in disbelief.

“That’s
insane
,” Mandy said, coming up beside Troy. She took his hand as though she were trying to keep him calm. “He was with me the whole time.” Her cheeks glowed bright pink. She was lying. I suddenly felt a cold wash of certainty. “He didn’t leave me alone for one second, right, Lara?”

But I remembered seeing Mandy and Lara return to Jessel after the séance, the night I’d gone to find Rose, the night Julie was attacked. Mandy was lying. Troy had no alibi.

Fingering her black cummerbund, Lara nodded hard. She kept nodding, as if the more she did it, the truer the lie would be.

“Charlotte? You saw him. Couldn’t keep his hands off me,” Mandy pressed, her voice shrill. Lara stood beside Mandy and crossed her arms like a bar bouncer. On Mandy’s other side, Troy clenched his jaw. He looked furious. He looked . . . like someone else.

Charlotte stared at them both, her forehead wrinkled with confusion. She glanced over at the pool, as if remembering what Mandy had done to her.

“I don’t remem . . . ” Charlotte began, but she wasn’t brave enough to go through with it. “Oh, yeah, right. He came back and hung out with us. Yeah,” she said.

Mandy looked as if she wanted to hit her for her less than halfhearted attempt at backing her up. I wondered if Charlotte was doing it on purpose, so we would know she was being badgered into it.

But Rose put her hands on her hips and bombastically shook her head. Her skirt and petticoats swayed like the plunger of a washing machine.

“You guys ditched us,” Rose said. “You weren’t even there.”

“You don’t even remember half of what went on,” Mandy said shrilly. “You were drunk!”

Mandy was losing control, not the smooth I-am-Queen-of-the-World diva I knew and loathed. It occurred to me to wonder if she was handling this badly because Troy had just dumped her back inside the gym.
Had he?

“You were trashed,” Mandy said to Rose, and the look she threw at Troy blazed with fear. I didn’t know how to read it—was she afraid that he
had
hurt Julie? Or afraid that it was really, truly over between them?

“He was with me,” Mandy said again, putting her arms around Troy, then easing his arms around her. Caged by her, Troy looked over her head.

At me.

Looked, but didn’t let go of her.

Spider got to his feet. “Today I rowed over and Julie and I met at the lake house. To be alone.”

To have sex
, I filled in.

“And we found Julie’s skirt,” he continued. “Someone tore it off her that night.”

Another gasp from the girls. Julie kept crying. Her fingers were gouging my shoulder.

Spider pointed at Troy. “It was all wadded up, on the shore. Troy’s ID bracelet was snagged on it. Then I found out that he rowed back after he dropped me off. He never mentioned it. And nobody remembers seeing him. Except Mandy, who’s lying. And Julie.”

I looked at Julie. She blanched. “I remember a little. His eyes . . . ” She looked down. “His eyes,” she whispered. “I’m sorry, Lindsay.”

“You’re sorry,
Lindsay
?” Charlotte blurted. Then, “
Oh.
”

The non-Grose girls looked at me with new eyes. Figuring it out. I had a thing for Mandy’s boyfriend. I was a boyfriend thief.

“Troy?” I said.

His lips parted in shock. He saw that I doubted him. That in my mind it was possible that he had done—or tried to do—this terrible thing to my best friend.

Spider took a menacing step toward Troy but Mandy shifted, making a show of placing herself between them.

“
I
know he didn’t do anything,” Mandy declared, staring straight at me. “I know him better than anyone in this room. He would never, ever do something like that.”

Then and there, she won. She had declared herself. I couldn’t explain myself—that I thought he might be possessed by a hateful, murdering butcher who
could
do something like that. In agony, I kept silent, and Troy stared at me in disbelief.

“Then why do I have
this
?” Spider yelled, and he pulled a simple ID bracelet from his pocket. “TAM. That’d be you, huh?”

He threw it at Troy. It landed on the concrete with a clink.

Spider’s footfalls echoed as he stomped over to Julie and me; ducking her head in abject humiliation, she let go of me and took his hand.

Was I wrong? I made a list as I trailed after them, knowing that if I walked out the door, I would lose Troy:

The dark eyes at dinner.

The song.

His inability to pick between Mandy and me.

And now . . . this horrible accusation.

They all pointed to one thing: He
was
possessed by David Abernathy. Celia was right. It was all coming to a head.

Troy grabbed Mandy’s hand. “Come on,” he said.

She narrowed her eyes at me. “I know what you tried to do,” she said. “I know
everything
.”

Then the two of them swept from the room, back through the door into the gym.

No one called for them to stop. I stared, open-mouthed, and then I turned and ran out the other door, the one that led directly outside, into the snow.

“Lindsay, wait!” Julie cried, but I kept going, letting the door bang behind me. It was snowing again, and the crystal flakes stung like whips.

I ducked down my head and walked between the topiaries, the cupid display casting red globules of light against the snowy walkways. This night. This night was beyond me. It was easier when you were positive that someone had cheated on you; when you opened your parents’ bedroom door and there he was, tucking in his shirt. It was like my late start leaping into the pressure cooker of Ivy League college apps; I was a minnow among barracudas.

The hem of my dress was soaking wet; I gathered it up as a bone-hard sob erupted from my chest and—

—I was in the statue garden.

The blank marble faces of the gods and goddesses stared mutely at me. Just like Marlwood, and Troy, I had blundered in, not paying attention to where I was going, only focused on where I didn’t want to go. And now I was there, among Edwin Marlwood’s rock-hard, six-pack, semi-pornographic pantheon. It was so amazingly absurd that I began to laugh.