Coldhearted (9781311888433) (11 page)

She’d slid closer to him in her distress. Now
she was looking up into his dark, gray eyes, pleading for help.

“
Have you ever done
something like this before?” he asked, gesturing at the
page.

She shook her head. “Am I going crazy?”

“
First, don’t use the word
‘crazy,’ all right? Second, we’ll get through this, okay? We’ll
figure this out together.” He clasped her hand. “Have you told
anyone else?”

“
No,” she said, finding her
hand glued to his, their fingers intertwined.

He was comforting and she didn’t want to let
go. With his other hand, he cupped the back of her neck, gently
massaging.

“
Edie, it’s okay. You’re
going through a lot right now; the death of your parents, combined
with moving to a new place, living with a new person, can take a
toll on someone’s mind.”

He pulled her closer and she was nestled
against him, her head into the crook of his neck. He’d stopped
massaging hers, but kept holding her hand.

“
That makes sense,” she
said. “But strange things have been happening to me ever since I
arrived in Grimsby.”

He shifted so he could look at her. “What
strange things, Edie?”

She told him about Lockhart Manor and all the
events afterward. He didn’t seem to believe her, but he didn’t tell
her that she was going crazy, either, which was a positive.

“
Like I said before, you’re
going through a lot,” he said. “The mind is treacherous, Edie. It
can betray us, make us think we see things that aren’t there, hear
things that aren’t there, feel things that aren’t there.” He let go
of her hand and briefly caressed her cheek.

“
But I wouldn’t recommend
you being committed. I think after a few more days of getting
acclimated to Grimsby, meeting new people, making friends, all
these...fears…will just go away.”

“
I hope so.” She finished
the rest of her coffee and almost spat it out; it was freezing
cold. “Yuck,” she said. “Don’t drink yours. It’s cold by now. I’ll
make us some fresh cups.”

When she stood, Russell stood too. “I’ll
help,” he offered.

“
No, it’s okay.”

He smiled. “I insist.” He followed Edie into
the kitchen, and when she went to the coffee machine, he said,
“I’ll do it. You just sit.”

She hesitated but eventually sat atop a stool
at the kitchen island and watched him at work. He made hers first.
She was surprised that he’d known exactly how much sugar and how
much cream to put in it. He made his next, and then grabbed a
stool, adjusting it on the other side of the island, so that they
facing each other across the short expanse.

“
How’d you know?” she asked,
referring to her perfectly blended coffee.

Russell gave her a crooked smile. “I know
everything about you, Edie.”

She almost dropped her mug, panicking, but
she managed to set it down without a spill. “What?” she asked, even
though she’d heard him perfectly.

Russell’s face darkened, resembling a shadowy
mask. She remembered that look all too well. He was staring into
her eyes, and the corner of his mouth was raised, as if he were in
on some great, big secret.

“
I lied awhile ago,” he
finally said. “You really are crazy, Edie. Certifiably insane.
Nuts. Bonkers. A total whacko.
Looooneeee
,” he sang out the last
insult.

Her mouth dropped. “Russell?”

He took a sip of his coffee, set the mug
down, and then came over to stand behind Edie. She was afraid and
kept her back to him. He laid an arm on either side of hers atop
the island, and then he pressed his chest against her back,
trapping her.

“
Edie,” he said softly in
her ear. “Do you know what they do to crazy people?”

She swallowed, afraid, unable to speak.

He sniffed and moaned like
he’d smelled something sensuous. “Oh, Edie, your fear is
intoxicating. I’m just”—he placed his lips against her
ear—“
eating it up
.”
He moved and she felt some relief, but she was still afraid, as he
sat atop the stool next to her. She didn’t turn to face him. “Oh,
Edie?” he called out, and then trailed cold-tipped fingers across
her arm, causing gooseflesh to rise. “Edie, look at me.”

Despite her fear, she managed a slight turn,
and looked into his dark, gray eyes.

He smiled. “That’s better. Do you know what
would happen to you in a mental asylum, Edie? Hmm?”

She refused to answer.

“
Answer me,” he
growled.

She yelped, and then said, “No,” in a weak
voice.

“
It’s called a lobotomy,” he
informed in a normal tone, then lifted his hand, and jabbed the tip
of his cold finger into her temple. She winced at the pain, but he
ignored her suffering. “They go inside your little brain, and they
remove all the craziness from you.” He pulled his finger away, and
then with his other, formed a pair of scissors in front of her
eyes. “Snip, snip, snip, Edie. That’s what they’ll do. They’ll cut
away all that insanity.” He grinned. “And then, you’ll be as right
as rain.” He threw his hands up in the air. “Your sanity restored.”
He wobbled his hand. “Well, there have been complications…death and
such,” he added, matter-of-fact.

Edie was shivering and her heart was racing.
“Is-is that what you want them to do to me? Do-do you want
me…dead?”

“
No, no, my sweet.” Russell
held her face in his cold hands. “I won’t allow anyone to hurt
you.”

“
Really?” she asked
meekly.

Russell nodded and smiled. “Yes, my sweet,
because you see…I want to hurt you. Yes, I want to pick and probe
and pierce your brain to my fullest desires. And when you’re
broken, so severely broken, then I’ll kill you.” He leaned forward
and kissed her lips. His were cold as the dead. “Now…shall we
begin?”

She found some courageous strength and tore
herself away from his grasp. She ended up falling on the floor.

“
Edie, are you all
right?”

She looked up to see Russell. He was bent
over, staring at her with wide, caring eyes. The shadowy mask was
gone.

“
I…I fell.”

She hesitated at his offer of help, but
eventually accepted it, finding the horror that she’d been
subjected to was gone. Russell’s touch on her skin was pleasantly
warm. He held her in his arms, a most unprofessional thing to do.
Yet she didn’t care and began to sob. She wrapped her arms around
his chest and buried her face against his shirt. He didn’t push her
away, instead holding her closer, massaging her back.

He said softly, “It’s all right, Edie, it’s
all right,” over and over against her hair.

“
I’m…going…crazy,” she said
between sobs.

“
No, you’re not. Don’t think
that. You just need time; time to adjust. I’m here for
you.”

Gently, she pushed him away, and reluctantly,
he let her go. “I am crazy,” she countered. “Earlier, you were
saying the most awful and scary things, but I know you’re not like
that. You’re sweet and good. I imagined it. My mind isn’t mine own
any more, Russell.

Like you said, it’s treacherous and it’s
betrayed me. I should commit myself, have that lobotomy. Maybe I’ll
die. That’d be nice.”

Russell pulled her to him, his face masked in
worry. “Please, Edie, don’t talk like that. What’s this lobotomy
business? Your death? You’re not going to commit yourself to an
insane asylum!” He held onto her, but turned his head toward the
hallway, and said, “Where’s your uncle? He needs to know what
you’re going through.”

She panicked and shook Russell, causing him
to turn his face back toward her. “No, no, please, don’t! Please
don’t tell him or anyone else!”

She reached up and kissed his warm lips.
She’d never kissed a boy before—much less a man—much less her
teacher.

Russell was wide-eyed, shocked. He licked his
lips. “What’d you do that for?” he asked in a husky tone.

She withdrew from his embrace and shrugged.
“I panicked. I guess I did it to…entice you…so that you wouldn’t
tell anyone.” She cringed. “Oh, I’m sorry. Please don’t tell anyone
about that either.”

He licked his lips again. “It’s okay.” He
gave her a small smile. “It’ll be our secret. And not just
the…kiss…well, about everything. I don’t care what you tell me,
Edie, I’ll never get you into trouble.”

She bit her lip, and then asked, “Are you
like this with all your students?” even though she was confident
that she knew the answer.

Russell shook his head. “No, Edie, I…” He
trailed off, raking his fingers through his hair, and then
continued, “I feel a connection to you that I can’t explain. I
noticed it when you first came into my class.”

“
Is that why you kept
staring at me?”

He gave her a shy smile. “Sorry.” His smile
faded. “I just…I saw you and…I know what you’re thinking: ‘he’s a
pervert,’ but no, that’s not it. I just sensed you were in trouble,
needed someone, and I felt this…pull to help.” He raked his fingers
through his hair again. “This is going to be…difficult. I’m your
teacher. You’re my student. People will talk. I shouldn’t come to
your house anymore. We’ll talk but at school with my door open like
I’d intended.” He sighed. “I shouldn’t have come here. I should
leave now.”

She didn’t argue, knowing it was the right
decision. She couldn’t take any more accusations, not after what’d
happened with Rochelle and the scarf.

“
I’ll see you tomorrow,” she
said.

“
Don’t forget, pop quiz,” he
said with a smile. “Don’t tell the others.”

She smiled back. “It’ll be our secret.”

They both frowned at that, realizing
something very problematic.

Russell said, “I just hope our secrets don’t
ruin us.”

“
Me too,” she
agreed.

****

Her uncle still hadn’t come out of
hibernation.

She ate a light supper of two pieces of
toasted bread, and then retreated to her room. Uncle Landon must
have smoked an entire carton of cigarettes by the time Russell had
arrived and left. The whole house was how she imagined a bar
smelled like, mingled with a 24 hour coffee house, if such a place
existed. The cigarette smoke was the most potent. That was why
every morning, she doused herself from head-to-toe in perfume, so
she wouldn’t smell like a pool hall when she went to school. Of all
the things to accuse her of (e.g. murder) she hadn’t been accused
of smoking.

In her room, she heard her uncle pad to the
kitchen. He grumbled something, poured the cold coffee out into the
sink, and then prepared a new pot. The machine growled and hissed,
and her uncle kept mumbling about people she didn’t know. She
assumed that they were the characters in his story.

She strained her ears to listen and heard a
man possessed with a dark imagination:

“
Jenny goes up the stairs
even though the reader knows you shouldn’t go up the stairs…that’s
what makes it all so nerve-wracking…her boyfriend, Khalid, is the
prime suspect—he’s been acting weird lately—but he’s just the
misdirection for the real killer…someone from Jenny’s past…someone
she’d never expect…someone who’s altered his appearance…someone
who’s waiting for her…just around the corner...”

Jeez, Uncle Landon!
Where do you come up with this stuff?

She heard her uncle pad back to his room,
mumbling still, and then his door closed. A few seconds later, the
sound of his fingers flying across the keyboard could be heard.

Unfortunately the upstairs part of the house
was being renovated, and Edie lived downstairs, as did her uncle.
Fortunately she had an iPod, so she plugged in her ear buds and
cranked up the music, drowning out her uncle’s nightmarish
fiction.

She was sitting on her bed, copying Russell’s
lecture into her notebook. She’d already removed
the-you’re-going-crazy-page and had thrown it into the trash. It
was evidence of her insanity and she didn’t want to look at it
anymore. She wished that she could throw away the kiss she’d given
Russell too. It hadn’t been bad, as kisses go. She thought that
Russell’s lips had even moved against hers, kissing her back.

Nah, that was ridiculous. He wouldn’t do
that. He was her teacher. She was his student. Yet…she remembered
his lips on hers; warm, comforting lips.

Before, when she’d obviously been
hallucinating, his lips had been cold, unfeeling, and threatening.
The things he’d said—or what she’d imagined he’d said—were so
awful, it was hurting her head just thinking about them. Mental
asylum. Lobotomy. Snip, snip, snip. Kill. That hadn’t been Russell,
and as far as she knew, Russell wasn’t suffering from a multiple
personality disorder. She was the one with the mental illness.

Russell had denied that was true, but it
seemed to be the only explanation for all the crazy events that’d
happened to her. After she’d lost her parents and had moved to new
town, her mind must have snapped. She had gone off her rocker, off
the deep end, loony, psycho, in la-la land. Now she was adrift, a
boat with a paddle, and she didn’t see anyone rescuing her anytime
soon. She’d have to manage her insanity on her own, hoping and
praying it would go away like a bruise that eventually faded.

She sighed and was startled to see her own
breath. She looked down at her arm and saw gooseflesh. She’d
already finished copying her psychology notes, and she pushed the
notebook and papers aside. Shivering, she wrapped another blanket
around her.

Out of the corner of her eye, she thought
that she saw someone. She was afraid to look, but did, and
discovered that there was no one in her room. She thought that she
saw another movement above her head. She looked up to see the
little chandelier swaying like someone had gently pushed it. She
removed her blanket and stood up, trying to balance herself on the
bed. When she was satisfied that she wouldn’t fall, she reached up
and steadied the chandelier.