Rest In Peace (6 page)

“They won't act like jerks forever, you know,” Dakota said quietly. “It's just because of Byron.”

Lucy was taken aback. Her mouth opened, then closed again, with no words of defense. Dakota shot her a glance of sympathy, leaned back, and tucked both hands beneath the bib of her overalls.

“Everyone knows you were with him in the accident,” she went on matter-of-factly. “They don't care about knowing anything else.”

Lucy could barely choke out the words. “They hate me because he died and I didn't.”

“Well . . .” Dakota seemed to be thinking, rocking slowly back and forth in her seat. “It's more complicated than that. They hate you because the two of you got together. And Byron never got together with anyone.”

“We ... we were just friends, if that's what you mean.”

“That's
not
what I mean. And it's none of my business anyway. It's just that Byron was here for so long—in this town, in this school—and no one really
knew
him. Then
you
come to school for one day, and he actually spends time with you. You make some sort of connection with him that no one's ever made.”

Lucy said nothing, only stared miserably down at her feet.
If only you knew the truth
. . .
if only you knew the whole story
. . .

Dakota stopped rocking, her brow creased in a puzzled frown.

“Guilt's such a weird power,” she mused. “It makes people do crazy things. Mean, hateful things sometimes. And right now everyone's closing ranks, trying to figure stuff out, trying to pretend they were all Byron's friends.” She paused for a moment, her voice growing hard. “Now that he's gone, they're upset and they're missing him. The school's brought in grief counselors to help them deal with it. They've put Byron's pictures all over the place. I mean . . . I didn't know Byron very well either. But I think he'd
hate
all this, all this attention from a bunch of hypocrites.”

For some strange reason, Lucy felt comforted by these words. She watched as Dakota started rocking again, as the girl plucked up one end of her knitted scarf and twirled it between her fingers.

“I think you're right,” Lucy said at last. “I think he
would
hate it.”

Once again, Dakota went still. For a long moment the two girls stared at each other. And then they both smiled.

“You
really
didn't want to freeze to death, did you?” Dakota asked, standing up, holding out both her hands.

Still smiling, Lucy shook her head. She let Dakota pull her off the bench, then fell into step beside her as they headed back across the grounds.

“Do you know Byron's grandmother?” Lucy asked, trying not to stumble over Dakota's trailing muffler.

“I know
about
her—but no, I've never met her. To tell you the truth, I don't really know anyone who's ever been to their house.”

“I heard about his sister. The rumors, I mean.”

“Well,” Dakota shrugged philosophically, “what does
crazy
mean anyway? I saw her around town sometimes, she and Byron—but she's been gone for quite a while. She was beautiful . . . always seemed kind of shy. And you can't believe everything you hear—especially in
this
town.”

“Well . . . actually I heard it from Angela.”

“Even more reason not to believe it.” Dakota stopped in her tracks and looked embarrassed. “Sorry. I shouldn't have said that. I keep forgetting you're her cousin.”

“Not really. More like her stepcousin.”

“Well . . . still . . .”

“We weren't that close,” Lucy admitted regretfully as they started walking again.

“Hmmm. Big surprise there.”

“I mean . . .
aren't
that close,” she corrected herself quickly, as if speaking of Angela in the past tense would guarantee a bad ending.

Dakota threw her a knowing look. “It's okay. You're not jinxing anything by being honest.”

“It's just that . . .” Lucy's voice faltered, “it's bad enough that everyone blames me for Byron. But they blame me for Angela, too.”

“Not all of them, Lucy. Maybe not even
most
of them, in fact. And how could you ever think that anyway?” But at the pained expression on Lucy's face, Dakota's tone softened even more. “Oh. So I guess you
don't
know.”

“Know what?”

“That this isn't the first time Angela's disappeared.”

Now it was Lucy who stopped. “Wait . . . I don't understand.”

“I mean she's run away from home before.
Three
times, in fact—at least that I know of. And each time there's a big search and a big investigation because her mom has a lot of clout in this community. And each time her mom hires some private detective who ends up finding Angela and bringing her back home.”

Lucy felt stunned, her thoughts whirling in confusion. So was
this
all there was to the mystery? Just another of Angela's normal escapes? Another routine act of rebellion—another cry for attention? A selfish game to cause worry and fear—
and the accident—and Byron's death
—

“No,” Lucy whispered, not even realizing she'd spoken aloud.
No, this time there's more to it. The mysterious stranger at the Festival
. . .
and the green necklace
. . .
and stalking shapes and bloodred moons
. . .

Every instinct had told her so then, and every instinct told her so now. This time was different. Dangerous . . . and potentially deadly.

“Deadly,” she whispered again.

“What?” Dakota leaned forward, but Lucy shook her head and took a step back.

“Nothing. I just . . . nothing.”

“Look, I don't mean that something bad couldn't really happen to Angela,” Dakota explained, resting her hands on Lucy's shoulders. “It only takes
one
time to be the
wrong
time. And people can never be too careful.” She thought a moment, then added, “But when I saw Angela at the Festival that night, it wasn't like she was being carried off against her will. She didn't act the least bit scared or upset. When she left me the envelope to give you, she seemed happier than I've ever seen her.”

“So you actually saw the guy who took her away?”

“I was too busy with the kids to really notice. I saw her go off with someone, but it was from the back, and they disappeared into the crowds. The only thing I could tell the police was that he was taller than her, and he had dark hair.”

Lucy shivered, remembering the deep voice, the mysterious presence, that she herself had encountered behind the scarecrow tent. “Do you think it was the same guy Angela met the night before?”

“I have absolutely no idea. Angela would flirt with anybody. I'm not surprised she'd go off with a total stranger.”

“That evening before we left the house, she actually dropped some hints about running away. But I didn't catch on. It didn't hit me till later.”

Dakota nodded understandingly, her hands sliding from Lucy's shoulders. The two of them picked up their pace as the bell rang for class.

“I have to help out at the bookstore tonight,” Dakota told her as they approached the side entrance. “My family's bookstore, actually—Candlewick Shop. It's kind of a dumpy little place in the old part of town—but you can drink coffee there and probably find every used book in the universe. So, if you feel like company later on, why don't you come over?” She dug into one of her pockets and pulled out a card. “Here's the store number; my home number's on the back. My dad doesn't believe in cell phones. He says they're just an expensive way to annoy the people around you, and he can do that for free. Anyway, if you need a ride, just call me, and I'll come get you.”

“Thanks. I just might.”

They jogged the last few feet to the building. Before Dakota could reach for the door, however, it burst open, and a giggling trio of cheerleaders pushed past them. As one of them jarred Lucy's arm, Lucy immediately froze.

The girl with her friends didn't notice. She hurried with the others toward the gym, but Dakota turned and stared at the stricken expression on Lucy's pale face.

“Lucy? What is it?”

Lucy didn't answer. As she gazed after the cheerleaders, Dakota followed the direction of her shocked stare.

“Lucy?”

“That girl . . .” Lucy's voice was scarcely a breath, and Dakota moved closer to hear.

“Lucy, what's wrong?”

Lucy pointed to the girl in the middle of the threesome. “That girl . . . there . . .”

“Who? The one with the really short hair? Wanda Carver?”

“She's going to die on Thursday.”

6

For a second the world went dark.

It was as though a thick black cloud had settled in Lucy's line of vision, blotting out the entire rest of the world.

And then slowly, a glimmer came through. It parted the shadows in her brain and began to glow, sending light and sensation into her body once more. With a gasp, she blinked her eyes and saw Dakota peering anxiously back at her.

“What did you just say?” Dakota murmured.

Lucy gave herself a mental shake. Her head hurt, and her legs felt as though they might crumple at any second. “I . . . I said . . .”

Sweat dripped from her forehead, though her whole body was chilled. She stared back at Dakota with a blank frown.

“I said ...” What
had
she said?
Something about a girl
. . .
something about dying
. . . Lucy put a trembling hand to her temple and pressed gently.

“You're white as a sheet,” Dakota informed her. “Are you going to be sick? Do you need to see the nurse?”

Lucy managed a nod. She felt Dakota take her arm and steer her through the door, and as they walked together down the hall, she tried desperately to replay what had just happened outside.
Dakota and I were talking
. . .
someone bumped my arm
. . .
and then
. . .

And then
. . .
what?

A vision?
Yet she didn't recall actually
seeing
anything in her mind, no flashes, no pictures, only a frightening sense of . . .
of what
?

“Falling,” she whispered, and Dakota tightened her hold on Lucy's arm.

“You feel like you're going to fall?” the girl asked worriedly.

And Lucy nodded again, because she didn't know what else to do, or why
falling
had swept through her brain, or what she could possibly do to understand it or stop it or make it go away—
falling
. . .
a rush of breathless surprise
. . .
a slow-motion horror of no escape
. . .

“—lie down for a while?” a nurse was asking, and in total confusion Lucy stared up at her from the edge of a cot. She could see Dakota next to her, could see the girl's lips moving, forming soundless words that Lucy could somehow hear—
“Do you want me to stay with you?”
—but the nurse said no, that Lucy would be fine, that she had specific instructions from Lucy's doctor and that Dakota should go on to class.

“I'll see you later then.” Dakota's voice was normal now, as real as the concern in her eyes. “I hope you feel better, Lucy.”

Lucy didn't answer. She lay on the cot and gazed at the ceiling, her body numb, her mind vacant. As though the emotions she'd experienced only minutes ago had shorted out and entirely disconnected.
Something about falling
. . .
something bad
. . .
a girl is going to fall
. . .
going to die
. . .

“Are you feeling any better, Lucy?” The nurse was there again, her manner efficient but kind. “I tried to call your aunt, but she's out of her office at the moment.”

“You don't need to bother her. Maybe I could just lie here a few more seconds?”

“Rest as long as you'd like. Dr. Fielding has already talked with us, so don't be afraid to stop in here anytime you need to. It's very important not to rush your recovery.”

Lucy watched as a curtain was drawn around her cubicle. She closed her eyes and tried to relax, but the message in her head began to filter through at last, crystal clear and knife-sharp.
“She's going to die
. . .
She's going to die on Thursday.”

My God, where had that
come
from?

Dakota had given her such a strange look when it happened.
Did she hear what I said?
Lucy honestly couldn't be sure—but then again, she wasn't even sure now if she'd actually spoken the words out loud.
Maybe I didn't say anything
. . .
or maybe I said something different, something I don't even remember.

“Memory lapses,” she reminded herself, fighting for calm. “The doctor said I might have memory lapses. He said they were perfectly normal.”

But
Byron
had said things to her, too—
proved
things to her, too; warned her about feelings and powers and circumstances she'd be helpless to control.

So what if those powers were getting stronger? What if she was starting to turn into Katherine?

Exhausted, Lucy took a deep breath and slowly let it out. She could hear someone coughing in the next cot. She could hear the distant rumble of the marching band as they practiced on the athletic field. And then she heard a low exchange of voices just outside the curtain to her cubicle.