The Evil Within (9 page)

”Maybe you’re psychic,” she whispered. “Or maybe . . . you have a spirit guide.”

“Maybe.” It was all I could tell her for the moment. I just couldn’t go there. I wasn’t ready.

“Yo, yo ho.” Rose pounded on the door.

Sighing, Shayna dipped her thumb and forefinger into the chocolate and then pinched the candle flame, extinguishing it. Then she pulled a red string out of the same drawer, pushed my Tibetan prayer beads out of the way, and began wrapping it around my wrist.

“We’ll find out,” she promised.

THE SNOW TURNED TO ICY RAIN as Shayna, Rose, and I shuffled our way to the commons. Last semester, Julie had taught me about black ice, which wasn’t really black, but transparent. It was also especially slippery; combine the two—invisibility and danger—and I thought it should be called ghost ice.

The commons smelled of perfume and wet wool; noisy chatter bounced off the hardwood floors and copper pots dripping with ivy. Our first dinner back. Dressed like Icelandic fashion models, girls were standing in the food lines; parents had been complaining that, at forty grand a year, they did not expect their daughters to fetch their own meals. They didn’t care that the menu had been developed by some world-famous chef I had never heard of. They cared that their girls had to get the food themselves.

“That was fun,” Rose declared, as we three surveyed the room. I was flanked by her and Shayna, feeling a bit like a possession they were each trying to claim. “We should do it more often.” She peered through her lashes and made a show of frowning at me. “Haven’t seen you much since we got back.”

“What are you doing?” I heard Mandy shout.

We turned to look. Seated at the Jessel table, Mandy was staring over her shoulder at Charlotte Davidson, who stood slightly behind her. Charlotte was clutching a hunter-green backpack against her chest, her arms through the straps; and a bottle of what appeared to be vodka was sticking out of the top.

“But I thought . . . you said . . . ” Charlotte stammered. Beneath her multi-colored streaked hair, her face was turning purple. “ . . . To bring . . . ”

“Not into the commons, tea leaf.” Mandy made a show of plunking her elbows on the table and burying her face in her hands. “Charlotte, Charlotte, Charlotte, what
am
I going to do with you?”

“I smell a prank in progress,” Rose muttered.

“Run, Charlotte,” I replied. “You’d think Mandy wouldn’t do that anymore, considering.”

“She’s got to replenish her supply of mindless Mandy-bots,” Rose said. “Kiyoko’s gone, and hey, howdy, you’ve brought Julie back to the light side of the force. So she’s low on worshippers.” She gestured to Julie, who was sitting at Grose’s table, tacitly ignoring the drama at Mandy’s table. “How did you manage Julie’s conversion, by the way? She was totally Mandy’s poodle last semester.”

“Mandy ditched her at break,” I told her. “They were supposed to drive back together, but Julie came up with her parents instead.”

“It never gets old, demeaning the less fortunate,” Rose muttered, as Mandy continued to berate Charlotte for bringing forbidden alcohol into the commons.

Rose was right, though. Mandy did need to replenish her followers. Last semester, she—or Belle—had worked hard to find six girls for her and her dead friends to possess. They had been: Mandy, Lara, Kiyoko, Sangeeta, Alis, and Rose. And after Kiyoko died . . . Julie.

Seven girls had died in that fire. Celia was the seventh. And Celia was . . . me. If Julie was out, Belle would need another. If Rose was free, she’d need two. There was something about having all of the spirits back—Belle wanted to recreate the past, to change it maybe . . . to get her revenge on Celia. She blamed Celia for the fire. She was jealous that the guy she loved had loved Celia instead. So she had tortured Celia. And now she was back from the dead, trying to torture Celia—to torture
me
—all over again.

And along the way, that meant Mandy also got to torture as many other girls as she wanted. It was sick. And now Charlotte was the next target.

I knew that a few intriguing details of the prank would spread through the room during dinner. That was how Mandy maintained interest—our own Marlwood version of Twitter. Girls got status by being in the know and sharing what they knew . . . selectively. By dessert, even the outer rings of the least cool would have learned the nature of Mandy’s challenge to gauge Charlotte’s willingness to suffer for the privilege of being considered for entry into Mandyland. And even if Charlotte passed her ordeal, it was still no guarantee that she was in. It seemed unlikely. Charlotte was a
goth
, after all. Plus, chubby. Mandy was far too wise in the ways of the world to put out the welcome mat for someone who was so blatantly an outcast. Even if she
did
need more followers for Belle’s secret cabal.

Fashionably possessed
, I thought. I hoped Charlotte would fail. I hoped I could restrain myself from leaping onto a table and yelling out everything I knew.

Weighed down by too much to deal with, I went to the food line and got the pasta with vegetables, and some milk, and approached my table. Julie scooted over, making sure I knew she wanted me to sit beside her. She was so sweet.

As I put down my tray, Elvis said, “You are not going to believe this. The prank is going to involve swimming.
Au naturel
.”

My mouth dropped. “Mandy wants Charlotte to skinny-dip? After Kiyoko drowned?”

“Yeppers,” Ida confirmed. It was the
exact
same thing she’d made Kiyoko do last semester.

“Oh my God, that is unbelievable.” I couldn’t fathom it. Not even Mandy could be so callous. It had to be Belle’s idea.

“You going?” Julie asked me, taking a bite of chicken. She turned to the group. “Linz is a lifeguard.”

“Then you should go,” Claire said.

Images, sensations of the vision in the shower stall swirled around me. Drowning. That frigid body floating on the surface of the lake . . . I couldn’t stop the visual of Kiyoko’s ghastly blue-white face from blossoming in my mind, so like Celia’s. It was the first time I had connected those dots—Celia’s face looked like a victim of drowning’s.

I tried to force myself to speak, but I couldn’t. I stared down at my plate.

“I think someone should tell Dr. Ehrlenbach about this prank,” Marica declared.

Elvis snorted. “Like
she’d
do anything. Did you read the newsletter Marlwood sent out over break? Mandy’s parents are donating a new sports center.”

“They’ve already had one dead student,” Marica countered.

I clenched my jaw and gripped my hands together in my lap. Did I really live in a world where girls like Mandy could do things like this to girls like Charlotte because they were rich? Yes, I did. My hands shook. I was livid. Watching the gossip spread, sensing the eagerness in the room. The thrill of the danger and drama, provided by Mandy and her victim.

Jackals
, I thought. And I’d been one of them, back home. I would have been laughing and murmuring right along with them.

So who was I madder at: Mandy or the old me? I didn’t know, but I felt as if I might pop right out of my skin.

“Lindsay? Are you okay?” Julie whispered.

I looked up into her hazel eyes, filled with concern for me. She put her hand over mine and patted me. It brought me back down. Calmed my inner beast. What if I’d lost it the way I had in the movie theater? Stood up and starting yelling craziness about possessions and victims?

I glanced over at Shayna; true to her word, she was watching me. She dipped her head and looked steadily at me, as if to remind me that I wasn’t in this all alone.

“Yeah, I’m good,” I told Julie. Then I couldn’t help myself; I ticked my glance over to Mandy’s table, where she serenely sipped from her water glass, a little smile playing on her face. The center of our universe. Sleek, blonde, beautiful, vicious, evil. A tremor shook me. She had to be stopped.

Yes
, Celia agreed.
Exactly.

SHAYNA CAUGHT UP WITH ME as I left the commons with the rest of Grose. I slowed and let my dorm mates go ahead; they didn’t notice because they were too busy discussing whether or not we should attend the prank. Last semester no one would have thought twice.

“Remember that old abandoned library?” Shayna asked under her breath. We’d gone there first semester for another of Mandy’s pranks, when she’d transformed the whole thing into a haunted house. “You ‘got’ to go inside.” She made air quotes. “And you told the rest of us that there were a lot of books still on the shelves. About brain surgeries and reforming bad girls and stuff.”

I thought of the forbidding library, a cavernous room bulging with bookcases that reached into the gloom. The shelves were clogged with moldy books. Some of the titles were still visible. Female Behavioral Reformation. Neurological Science. Psychology of Hysterics.

“At least half of them were rotten,” I replied, but I nodded as I spoke. “Which leaves the other half.”

“Which leaves the other half. Let’s skip Charlotte’s mortification and check them out,” she suggested. “Everyone else will be busy watching. It’ll be the perfect time to start researching the unfinished business of the
dybbuks
of Marlwood.”

I considered it. “Maybe I should watch out for Charlotte. Mandy forced Kiyoko to skinny-dip in the lake, and look what happened.”

“She died much later,” Shayna countered. “Not because of the prank. And anyway if we can do something to stop Mandy,
everyone
will be safe.”

I knew that at least twenty or thirty girls would sneak out to watch Mandy’s cruel hazing ritual. If Charlotte got in trouble, surely someone would have the sense to jump in and rescue her. And if Shayna and I were going to do this thing, we should do it. If I could find some way to placate Celia, to free her and Mandy, too . . . if
I
could be free of her, forever . . .

Free of all this. It sounded like a wonderful dream.

“Okay,” I said. “What time is the prank?”

“One would assume it’ll be the same as usual. Elevenish. When all the trusting housemothers will be fast asleep.”

When all the housemothers could
say
they’d been asleep, to deny knowledge that their charges were breaking curfew and risking hypothermia in a pitch-black lake.

“Then we’ll meet in front of the library at eleven,” I said.

We nodded, and parted. I caught up with my dormies, who were complaining about homework—no fair, we were just back—catching up on what they’d done over break, and expressing their disbelief that Charlotte Davidson would actually agree to swim naked in Searle Lake in January.

“Mandy’s just doing it to be mean,” Ida said, and we all nodded, even Julie.

“Charlotte has to know she doesn’t really have a shot at becoming one of Mandy’s elect,” Claire said.

“But why else would she do it?” Marica argued.

“Because no one else has made her the center of attention?” Julie said. “You know she wants to be. She wouldn’t dress like Countess Dracula if she didn’t.”

“How very sad,” Marica said. And then she ticked a quick glance toward me; I realized maybe she thought
I
dressed like an orphan just to get attention. It was a little embarrassing; she was so rich and exquisitely put together that she truly couldn’t fathom that someone might just opt out of the fashion race because it could not be won, not for someone like me.

The icy rain returned that night, so the prank would have to be delayed. I watched as the word spread, as people got more and more excited as suspense grew. Charlotte basked in the attention for the next two days straight: noticed, selected by Mandy—the kiss of popularity burning like a brand on her forehead. Even if Charlotte didn’t make it to the winner’s circle, she was being given a chance to run the race, and few Marlwood girls had gotten that far. No matter that she might get shot down (probably), humiliated (definitely), or even . . . killed. For a few brief shining moments, she could see paradise.

“Someone should clue her in that she’s just the sideshow,” Julie told me as we looked on over those two days. “She’s not Cinderella. Not to be mean, but it just doesn’t seem like Charlotte is going to turn cool overnight. I guess it wouldn’t matter if we said anything, though. Right?”

It hadn’t mattered last semester to the girls who had vied for spots on Mandy’s team. In fact, I had come to Mandy’s attention—lucky me—specifically because I had made it so clear that I didn’t want to play. My uniqueness made me attractive. A challenge. Not to mention that I was possessed by Celia, and Mandy by Belle. But neither of us had known that when I first arrived at Marlwood.

As the tension mounted, Shayna and I planned our excursion to the old library in more detail. Shayna had a sense of mission, of purpose: avenging her former best friend, Kiyoko. I felt as if I were standing in front of an open grave, a shovel in my hand and a choice to be made—either I handed the shovel to Mandy and lay down in the dirt . . . or I hit her over the head with it and buried the evidence.

Please, please help me find a way out of this
, I silently begged Shayna, at meals, between classes. Walking through the snow, staring at the white horse heads holding the thick white chain links in their mouths. Sitting in my room as Julie chattered obliviously on, while I watched the light shift on the ceramic head—
or was it moving?
—and the frozen figure in Mandy’s window.

Fog swirled, covering our faces, hiding us from one another. Girls started playing tricks on each other, sneaking up, jumping out and saying, “Boo!” Screaming “Marco! Polo!” and talking about ghosts. Marlwood was known to be haunted. Everyone said so. Many, if not most of us, of course, believed it.

THEN THE RAIN FINALLY CLEARED, and it was Prank Night.

That evening, after dinner, Ms. Krige shared some ginger-bread she’d made with her grandnieces in Portland, Oregon, and we brewed some spiced cider. As the evening stretched into Ms. Krige’s bedtime, eyes gleamed and girls grinned secretively to each other. A death-defying Mandy Winters prankapalooza was about to begin!

I had my excuse prepared: I was on probation. So I told Julie I wasn’t going.

“But Charlotte may need a lifeguard,” she argued.

“
You’ll
be there. You’ll watch out for her.”

So as was our habit, Julie went to bed fully dressed, while I put on my camisole and plaid pajama bottoms, pretending to really go to sleep. I was exhausted, but I lay with my eyes wide open, trying to fake being asleep, trying even harder not to stare at the white head, which Julie had transferred to our nightstand because she was afraid it might fall off the windowsill and break. It was angled slightly toward me, and the moonlight glinted off its forehead as Julie quietly slipped out of bed and tested her flashlight.

I heard Ida and Claire giggling and whispering in the hall; someone was creeping down the stairs. Julie mentioned my name. Then silence. They were in the bathroom by then, easing up the sash of the wooden window frame. There was a boulder outside the window, very convenient for climbing down.

I checked the digital alarm clock. It was 10:45 p.m. I got up, dressed in tights and jeans, a long-underwear T-shirt, and my mom’s UCSD sweatshirt over that. Then I grabbed my army jacket, mittens, and a black knitted cap; also my flashlight and cell phone, even though there would probably be no reception. I just felt better having it with me.

I had to walk through the bathroom in the dark in order to get out the window. The five large tubs sat in the center of the large, white-tiled room, between the bank of sinks and the bathroom stalls. The showers were on the far wall, the single window above the large white wicker hamper for our towels. The window was cracked slightly open, making it easier to climb back into the dorm. I crawled onto the hamper, slid open the window, and slung my legs over onto the boulder. Then I dropped into the snow.

I gazed over at Jessel. The figure in Mandy’s window was still there, and chills washed over me as I looked away. I didn’t think that it was Celia’s reflection, but I didn’t know who—or what—it was. And I wasn’t about to investigate just then.

I hurried through Academy Quad toward the buildings with our classrooms. There was the commons, and behind it, our old gym, with its frieze of naked Grecian male athletes, scheduled for demolition during the summer, when it would transform into the Winters Sports Complex. I’d seen the watercolor sketches in Dr. Ehrlenbach’s office. Very lavish, very modern, looking nothing like the rest of the campus. I wondered if they’d keep the old Greek statues in the sculpture garden behind the gym. I hoped not; they creeped me out.

You won’t be here next year
, I reminded myself. And I shivered, hard; because what if I
was
here next year? What if I still wasn’t free by the end of the term?

It began to snow again lightly, big, powdery flakes that at least weren’t a repeat of the earlier icy rain. I felt awful for Charlotte but also annoyed—she’d asked for her own torture, after all. I gritted my teeth and zipped up my army jacket, still unused to the cold weather. If it ever snowed in San Diego, it made the national news.

I skidded along another path, remembering to slow down because of the black ice. The blank, staring horse heads observed me as I turned left, moving into the edge of the forest, tracing the route to the library from memory. I thought of Charlotte, who was slightly overweight, a major infraction among our skinny, toned student population. Mandy had probably targeted her because of it. Undressing in front of so many size zeros and twos would just add to Charlotte’s humiliation, and Mandy would like that. A lot.

Troy, you’re such an idiot for dating her
, I thought. But when I even thought of his name, I went warm inside. Maybe that was proof that
I
was an idiot, too.

Or recreating a love triangle so powerful it had lived beyond the grave? Belle had tried to kill Celia over a guy. And Celia wanted
me
to kill Belle—but in self-defense, right? Because Mandy, possessed by Belle, was stuck in the same pattern?

Finally, I reached the old library—it reeked of dirt and decay. There was a light glowing in one of the upstairs windows. Shayna had nerves of steel, I thought, if she was brave enough to go upstairs alone. I reached the threshold of the front entrance, to find the splintered, moldy door canted against the rotting wood, leading to a pitch-black entryway. My Doc Martens sank into a pile of dust and trash, and I aimed my flashlight, sweeping up, down, seeing spiderwebs overhead, and dusty, broken beer bottles strewn across the floor. Last semester, Mandy and friends—and I, so very much not a friend—had tromped up and down the same hallway; it hadn’t taken long for it to revert back to its abandoned appearance.

Above my head, I heard a hollow, knocking sound, like a very loud footfall, or, more likely, someone moving furniture. I wondered if Shayna had found something interesting. Images of operating tables and scalpels flashed in my mind; goose-bumps rose over my skin, as if someone had just walked over my grave.

I had decided to tell her everything that had happened, and everything I knew: about the fire, and Belle, and my visions and/ or nightmares. I would trust her, and she would help exorcise not only Mandy and company, but me as well. No murders, no more deaths, just . . . life.

And maybe, Troy.

“Hey?” I called. “It’s me.” My voice seemed to echo around me, too noisily. I winced; we needed to keep our mission on the downlow.

Another hollow sound. I shone my flashlight into the dark, deciding to wait for her to come to me. As a cold gust of wind blew behind me, I jumped and checked over my shoulder. It wasn’t the same cold hand-like pressure that was Celia’s trademark, I assured myself. Just . . . wind, making the spiderwebs dance.

I shifted my weight; I was cold and my nerves were starting to fray. I thought of Charlotte. I hoped she had come to her senses and told Mandy to go to hell. Or better yet, that Charlotte had pushed Mandy into the lake. Or best yet . . . just walked away. You did not want to be a target for Mandy Winters. You didn’t want to be on her radar at all.

Another footfall. What was Shayna
doing
? I pulled out my cell to check the time, and I was shocked to discover that it was nearly eleven thirty—we were supposed to meet at eleven. How long had I been standing in the dark waiting for her to appear? Had she already come and gone?

There was a creak on the floorboard directly behind me, and I jerked my finger, accidentally taking a picture. The flash went off, blinding me; I blinked rapidly and whirled around, expecting to see Shayna.

But there was no one there.

“Hey, can you hurry up?” I said loudly—too loudly; actually, I shouted—and then I was so freaked out I scooted out of the library and onto the snow, turning to look up at the upstairs window where I had seen the light . . .

. . . But all the windows were dark.

“Shayna?” I whispered. It was the loudest sound I could make. Because suddenly, I was more than afraid. Something was wrong. I could feel it. Fear chilled me; or maybe it was Celia, serving as my spirit guide, warning me, as she had in the woods. I was in danger; I knew it.