It Begins (2 page)

And dead people can’t hurt you.

The storm clouds shifted, swallowing the moonlight once more. Swearing softly, Lucy ducked her head and ran.

She didn’t have a clue where she was going. She’d never had any real talent for directions, and now she ran blindly, stumbling across uneven ground, weaving between headstones, falling over half-buried markers on forgotten graves. She wondered if Aunt Irene or Angela would be missing her about now—or if they even realized she was gone.

“Or care,” Lucy muttered to herself.

The truth was, she’d hardly seen Angela since their initial—and totally awkward—
introduction. Angela—with her perfectly flowing waves of jet-black hair and tall, willowy model’s figure—had been slumped in the doorway of her walk-in closet, smoking a cigarette and surveying her extensive wardrobe with a petulant frown.

“Angela, for heaven’s sake!” Irene had promptly shut off the CD player that was blasting rock music through the room. “This is your cousin Lucy!”

Angela’s eyes had barely even glanced in Lucy’s direction—huge, dark eyes ringed with even darker layers of mascara. “So?”

It hadn’t been said in a rude way, exactly—more apathetic if anything—but Lucy had felt hurt all the same.

“And get rid of that disgusting cigarette,” Irene had ordered, shoving an ashtray toward her daughter. “You know how I feel about smoke in the house. And would it kill you to be civil just once? On Lucy’s first night here? After all, you two are the same age; you probably have a lot in common.”

Angela hadn’t flinched. “You’re kidding, right?”

“Fine, then. Very fine, Angela. From now on, I don’t care
how
the two of you handle it—you girls will have to work things out between yourselves.”

A careless shrug. “Whatever.”

“Honestly, Angela, you never think about anyone but yourself,” Irene had persisted.

Angela had reached over then … mashed out her cigarette in the ashtray her mom was still holding. She’d raised her arms above her head, stood on tiptoes, and stretched like a long, lean cat.

And then she’d walked very slowly, very deliberately, out of the room …

“Of course they won’t care,” Lucy muttered again.

She hadn’t told either of them she was leaving earlier—she doubted if they’d have understood her desperate need to escape the house where she still felt so lonely and unwelcome. All Lucy had thought about was getting away, and so the darkness of empty streets had felt comforting to her then. But now she felt stupid for being so scared, for getting so lost. She should have gone
back the way she’d come; she shouldn’t have listened to her overactive imagination.

“Damnit!”

Without warning she stubbed her toe and pitched forward, landing facedown in the mud. For a second she lay there, too surprised to move, then slowly, carefully, she reached forward to push herself up.

Her hands met only air.

Gasping, she lifted her head and stared in horror. Even in this downpour, she could see the deep, rectangular hole yawning below her, and she realized it was an open grave. She was sprawled on the very edge of it, and as she clawed frantically for something to hold on to, she felt the ground melting away beneath her fingers.

With one last effort, she twisted sideways, just as a huge chunk of earth dissolved and slid to the bottom of the chasm.

And that’s when she heard the cry.

Soft at first … like the low moan of wind through branches … or the whimper of a frightened animal … faint and muffled … drowned by the rush of the rain.

An abandoned cat, maybe? A stray dog? Some poor outcast just as lost as she was, wandering alone out here in the dark? Lucy’s heart broke at the thought of it.

“Here, baby!” Stumbling to her feet, she cupped her hands around her mouth and tried to shout over the tremor in her voice. “Come to me! Don’t be afraid!”

A rumble of thunder snaked its way through the cemetery.

As Lucy paused to listen, she felt a sudden chill up her spine.

Yes … there was the sound again.

Coming from the empty grave.

As if trapped in a nightmare, Lucy forced herself to peer down into the gaping hole. She was sure she hadn’t imagined the sound this time, certain now that it wasn’t an animal.

The voice was all too frighteningly human.

“Please!”
it was begging her.
“Please…”

Pressing both hands to her mouth, Lucy tried not to scream. For she could see now that the grave wasn’t empty at all, that there was something lying at the very bottom, camouflaged by layers of mudslide and rising rainwater.

As a sliver of lightning split the clouds, she saw the girl’s head strain upward, lips gasping for air. And then the girl’s arm, lifting slowly … reaching out to her …

“Please
… is
someone there …”

Lucy stood paralyzed. She watched in horror as the girl’s head fell back again into the mire, as water closed over the anguished face.

“Oh my God!”

She didn’t remember jumping in. From some hazy part of her brain came vague sensations of sliding, of falling, of being buried alive, as the earth crumbled in around her and the ground sucked her down. She lunged for the body beneath the water. She tried to brace herself, but her feet kept slipping in the mud. Dropping to her knees, she managed to raise the girl’s head and cradle it in her arms.

“Help!” she screamed.
“Somebody help us!”

Was the girl dead? Lucy couldn’t tell, but the body was limp and heavy and motionless now, the eyes and lips closed. She could hardly see anything in this darkness—only brief flashes of the livid face as lightning flickered over the girl’s delicate features. Ghostly white cheeks. Dark swollen bruises. A scarf wound tight around her neck—

“Somebody!
Somebody help us!”

Yet even as she shouted, Lucy knew no one would hear her. Not through this wind and rain,
not in this place of the dead. With numb fingers, she worked feverishly at the scarf, but the wet material was knotted and wouldn’t budge. In desperation, she smoothed the girl’s matted hair and leaned closer to comfort her.

“Hang on, okay? I’m going to get you out of here, but I have to leave—just for a little while—and get help. I’ll be back as quick as I—”

Something clamped onto her wrist.

As Lucy’s words choked off, she could see the thin, pale hand clinging to her own … the muddy fingers lacing slowly between her own fingertips …

They began to squeeze.

“Oh, God,” Lucy whimpered, “stop …”

Pain shot through the palm of her hand.

Pain like she’d never felt before.

Waves like fire, burning, scalding through every nerve and muscle, throbbing the length of her fingers, pulsing upward through her hand, her wrist, along her arm, piercing her heart and her head. Pain so intense she couldn’t even scream. Her body began to shake uncontrollably. Her strength drained in a dizzying rush. Through a blur of strange blue
light she saw the girl’s head turn toward her … saw the scarf slip easily from the fragile neck. She saw the jagged gash across the girl’s throat … the raw, stringy flesh … the glimmer of bone …

Lucy pitched forward. The girl’s body was soft beneath her, cushioning her fall, and from some great distance she heard her own voice crying out at last, though she understood somehow that this was only in her mind.

“Who did this to you? What’s happening?”

Listen
, the girl whispered. Had her lips moved? Had she spoken aloud? Lucy didn’t think so, yet she could
hear
this girl, could hear her just as clearly as two best friends sharing secrets.

Dazed and weak, she managed to lift herself onto one elbow. The girl was staring at her now, wide eyes boring into hers with an intensity both chilling and compelling. Lucy was helpless to look away.

Tell no one
, the girl said, and her lips did
not
move, and Lucy could only gaze into those huge dark eyes and listen to the silence.
Do you understand? Promise me you understand …

Lucy felt herself nod. Tears ran down her cheeks and streamed with the rain over the girl’s cold skin. The hand holding hers slid away; the dark eyes shifted from her face, to something far beyond her, something Lucy couldn’t see.

If you want to live
, the girl murmured,
you mustn’t tell anyone … not anyone … what you’ve seen here tonight.

“Don’t die,” Lucy begged. “Please don’t die—”

Promise me.

“Yes … yes … I promise.”

The girl’s eyelids slowly closed.

But for one split second, Lucy could have sworn that she smiled.

She didn’t remember climbing out of the grave.

She didn’t remember running or even finding her way out of the cemetery—but suddenly there were lights in the distance and muffled voices and the wild pounding of her own heartbeat in her ears.

Lucy stopped, gasping for breath.

She realized she was standing on a low rise, with a sidewalk about thirty yards below her. She could see streetlights glowing fuzzy through the rain, and beyond that, the watery reflections of headlights from passing cars.

Oh God, what should I do?

She couldn’t stop shaking. She couldn’t get warm, couldn’t think. Her knees felt like rubber, and it was all she could do to force herself the rest of the way down the hill.

Maybe it didn’t really happen. Maybe I Jell into a hole back there and knocked myself out and started hallucinating.

She wanted to believe that. Wanted to believe that with every fiber of her being, because to accept what she’d just seen in the cemetery was too horrifying to deal with. Nothing seemed real anymore, not the rain beating down on her or even the nice solid feel of the pavement as she finally reached the curb and peered to the opposite side of the street. There was a gas station on the corner, lights on but pumps deserted, and the voices she’d heard were actually coming from loudspeakers playing country music.

Again Lucy stopped. She glanced behind her into the darkness, into the hidden secrets of the graveyard, and her mind whirled in an agony of indecision.

I promised. I promised her.

And yes, it
had
been real, and there was a girl, a girl maybe her own age lying dead, and no matter how sacred a promise, Lucy knew she couldn’t just leave her there all alone in the rain …

“If you want to live … you won’t tell anyone.”

The girl’s words echoed back to her, chilling her to the bone. Maybe it wasn’t really a warning, she argued to herself, maybe it didn’t mean anything at all. She knew people often said strange things when they were dying, when they were out of their heads from pain and confusion and that final slipping-away from the world.
Like Mom was at the end. Like Mom was—

“No,” Lucy whispered to herself. “Not now.”

She took a deep breath and shut her eyes, but she couldn’t shut out the image of those
other
eyes, those pleading, desperate eyes gazing up at her from the girl’s bloodless face. Without even realizing it, she flexed her hand inside her jacket pocket. There was a vague sensation of pain, but she was too preoccupied to give it attention. As she stared over at the gas station, she suddenly noticed a drive-by telephone at one end of the parking area, and she knew what she had to do.

Keeping her head down, Lucy hurried across the street. Someone was working under the hood of a car inside the garage, but the lot was still deserted and the phone was far enough away that she didn’t think she’d be noticed. She
grabbed up the receiver and punched in 911, telling herself she wasn’t
really
breaking her promise. It was only a compromise.

“911. What is your emergency?”

Lucy froze.

“You won’t tell anyone …”

“911. What is your emergency, please?”

“Promise me …”

“Hello? Please state your emergency.”

“Yes,” Lucy whispered. “Yes … I—”

Without warning a horn blared behind her. Lucy slammed down the receiver and whirled around as a red Corvette screeched to a stop about three feet away. Then one of the windows slid down.

“You picked a hell of a night to run away,” Angela greeted her blandly.

Lucy shook her head. Despite the fact that it was Angela, she felt an immense sense of relief. “I’m not running away.”

“Oh.”

She was sure her cousin sounded disappointed. The thought actually occurred to her to just turn and leave, but then she saw Angela nod toward the passenger door.

“So get in, already. Don’t you know enough to come in out of the rain?”

With a last glance at the phone, Lucy hurried around the car and climbed into the front seat.
What am I going to do now?
Anxiously she wiped one sleeve over her wet face, then held out both hands to the heater.

“Look at this mess.” Angela rolled her eyes. “You’re dripping all over everything.”

“Sorry.” Scooting back, Lucy angled herself into the corner. She clamped her arms tightly around her chest, but the shivering wouldn’t stop. “Do you have a towel or something?”

“No, I haven’t got a towel. God, look at my floor.”

“I got lost,” was all Lucy could think of to say.

Angela grumbled something under her breath. She plucked a lighted cigarette from the ashtray, took a long drag, then blew a thin stream of smoke out through her nose.

“Irene’s freaking out,” she said at last.

“I’m sorry. I just wanted to take a walk, but then I got all turned around in the storm. I didn’t mean to worry anybody—”

“Oh, she’s not
worried
about you,” Angela
seemed mildly amused. “She’s freaking out ‘cause you’ve made her late for a meeting.”

Lucy bit hard on her bottom lip. She could feel a lump burning in her throat, anger and tears mixed bitterly together, but she was determined not to cry.

“Well,” she managed to whisper. “Of course she would be.”

“You should’ve known better.”

“What?”

Angela rolled her eyes. “If you think wandering off like this is gonna get you
any
attention or sympathy from Irene, then forget it. You don’t know her.”