It Begins (8 page)

“You mean … like hallucinations?”

“Call them whatever you want—
she
called them
visions.”

Lucy’s heart caught in her chest. She was feeling colder by the second. “What kinds of visions?”

“How would
I
know?
I
never saw her have one.” Angela sounded impatient. “Telling-the-future-and-talking-to-the-dead kinds of visions, I guess. I mean, the girl was
way
creepy.”

“So she never had a vision in school?” Lucy’s voice was scarcely a whisper.

“She didn’t go to school. She didn’t go anywhere, really. I mean, nobody ever saw her.”

“Then if nobody ever saw her … how do you know she even existed?”

Angela gave a sniff of disdain. “Well … nobody
normal
ever saw her. Nobody
I
know
ever saw her. But there were stories, you know?” Leaning closer to her reflection, she rubbed at a tiny smudge of lipstick on her tooth. “Sometimes people would drive past the Wetherly place at night, and they’d see her watching from an upstairs window with bars on it. And sometimes, people just going down that road at night would hear screams coming from inside the house. That’s why they never let her out. She was totally dangerous.”

Despite her uneasiness, Lucy frowned. “Sounds like old wives’ tales to me.”

“Whatever. But she ran away last year, so that was a big relief to everybody.
Especially
to Byron, I imagine. I mean, God, how humiliating—so
not
cool for his social life. Now there’s only him and his grandmother.” She paused, her brow creasing in thought. “Good thing he’s so gorgeous—he certainly doesn’t have good breeding going for him.”

“Then how can you really know him?” Lucy asked tightly. “How can you be so sure he’s
not
like his mother?
Or
his sister?”
How can you be sure he doesn’t stalk unsuspecting victims, or murder girls in cemeteries, or see into a person’s mind …

“Well …” Angela’s look was blank. “That’s just silly.”

“Why
is it silly? You said he keeps to himself … that no one really knows him—”

“God, what is this whole
obsessing
thing?”

“What about his life away from school? What about his private thoughts? What about his feelings?”

Angela made no effort to hide her amusement. “His feelings? Oh, I’d like to feel him, all right—in places
besides
my fantasies. Just like every other female around here.”

She stepped back from the mirror. She ran a slow gaze over Lucy, then shook her head in mock disappointment.

“Poor Lucy … take my advice, okay? Forget about Byron. As a matter of fact, forget about
anybody.
You look like you’ve been run over by a bus. And you just had some kind of weird fit—not to mention nearly throwing up—in the middle of class. I mean, it’s so
embarrassing.
Everyone already thinks you’re a freak, and it’s only your first day.”

It took all Lucy’s effort to compose herself. She wadded up her paper towel, tossed it into
the trash, and carefully smoothed the front of her sweater. “You know what? I’m actually feeling much better. In fact, I don’t think I even need to see the nurse now.”

“Then why’d I waste my time trying to find you?”

Biting back a reply, Lucy followed Angela back to class. Byron didn’t even glance at her as she slid into her seat, didn’t seem to feel her eyes boring into him as she tried to ignore the stares and whispers around her. He was out of his chair as soon as the bell rang, and though Lucy hurried to catch up with him, he’d already disappeared into the crowded hallway by the time she reached the door.

She didn’t see him again the rest of the afternoon, neither in class nor on campus. As though he’d vanished from her life just as quickly as he’d appeared.

By the time the final bell rang, Lucy was never so glad to have a day end—it took every last effort just to drag herself to her locker. Everywhere she turned, there was talk about the big weekend ahead, exciting plans for the Fall Festival, but all
she
planned on doing was
locking herself in her room and staying in bed. She was just rechecking her homework assignments when Angela showed up, greeting her with a sullen frown.

“Hurry up,” Angela complained. “I have better things to do than stand around and wait for you all day.”

“You just got here. You’ve been waiting for—what? Two whole seconds?”

“Do you want a ride or not?”

Lucy slammed her locker door. Lowering her head, she did a quick assessment of her books, oblivious to the kids shoving past her till she felt a quick, light pressure on her arm.

“What?” Startled, she looked up. Angela was standing several feet away, watching her with growing impatience.

“What?” Angela echoed.

“Did you just touch me?” Yet even as she asked, Lucy knew it hadn’t been Angela. Somehow, in that precise moment, she
knew
it was the girl who’d come to her aid in the bathroom.
That’s impossible … how could I know that?

“What are you talking about?” Angela frowned.

Immediately Lucy stood on tiptoes, anxiously
scanning the corridor. It was packed with students eager to start the weekend, but none of them seemed to be paying any attention to her.

This is just crazy.

“Someone touched my arm,” Lucy insisted. Puzzled, she turned to Angela, who was now making an exaggerated show of checking her watch.

“You
think?”
Angela threw back at her. “I mean, there’re only about a
million
people around here bumping into each other.”

“No, but …”

“But what?”

“This was different. It wasn’t an accident. She …”

“She, who? She,
what?”

She wanted me to know.
The realization came to Lucy with warm, calm clarity.
She did it on purpose because she wanted me to know she was here, that she was
real,
that I
didn’t
imagine her—

“You’re not gonna have another fit, are you?” Angela was regarding her warily. “Because if you are, I’m leaving.”

“No,” Lucy murmured, taking one last
puzzled look around. “No … I’m ready.”

“Then let’s go.”

For once, Lucy didn’t mind Angela’s music blaring—in fact, she hardly even noticed it at all. While her cousin sang loudly off-key all the way home, Lucy leaned her head against the window and tried to sort out all the troubling events of the day.
Explanations? None. Logic? None.
Worry factor?
Definitely rising. And Byron …

She could still see those dark, dark eyes searching hers … hear the edge in that low, deep voice … feel those strong hands on her shoulders. It was his ominous warning that had finally convinced her
not
to report the dead girl … at least not yet. She’d been frightened of him, still
was
frightened of him—only now that fear was tempered with an almost fascinated curiosity. He had answers—she was sure of it—but answers to things she
wasn’t
sure she wanted to pursue. As the car pulled into the driveway, Lucy wished she could ask her cousin more about Byron—but she didn’t dare. Her life was complicated enough already without having Angela any more involved.

The house was empty when they went in. As
Lucy shut herself in her room, she thought she heard Angela scrolling through the messages on the answering machine … thought there might be one from Irene, though she couldn’t make it out. She stood for a moment with her back against the door, eyes closed, weary relief flooding through her body.

And then her eyes opened with a start.

What’s that smell?

A very faint fragrance … and pleasantly sweet … yet nothing she recognized, nothing she could recall ever having smelled before …

Frowning, Lucy dropped her stuff on the desk and walked to the sliding glass doors. She opened them all the way, letting in crisp fall air, then she stepped out onto the balcony and stared off across the lengthening shadows over the lawn.

The woods still looked menacing, even in the last few hours of daylight. A slight breeze was blowing, and as Lucy gazed into the trees’ shifting patterns of darkness and fading autumn colors, a shiver crept slowly up her spine.

That feeling again …

That feeling of being watched …

“Bad habit,” Lucy muttered. “Get over it, for crying out loud.”

Irritated with herself, she turned back into the room.

She took a few steps, then stopped abruptly by the bed.

That’s strange …

Despite the fresh air blowing in, she could still smell that aroma … delicate … sweet … and …
something else …

Lucy tilted her head. Breathed deeply and long.

The fragrance flowed down easy … soft and smooth as wine … velvet in her veins …

Intoxicating.

Yes … that’s it. Intoxicating.

Light-headed, Lucy reached out a hand toward her bed. She sat down unsteadily, then lay back and closed her eyes.

The scent floated from the covers.

Like an exotic perfume, it rose up around her, enveloped her from every side—sheets, blankets, pillows, comforter—even her nightclothes, which she’d carelessly tossed across the headboard that morning in her hurry
to dress. It seeped into the pores of her skin, and brushed softly across her eyelids, and tingled along the fingertips of her right hand …

And that’s when Lucy realized.

That’s when it hit her full force that someone had been in here today.

In her room …

And in her bed.

“Lucy! What the hell are you doing?”

Lucy could hear Angela shouting at her from the bathroom doorway, but she didn’t care. She didn’t care, and she didn’t stop—she kept right on stripping the linens from her bed.

“Lucy! Did you hear me? You know we have a cleaning lady who does that!”

“I don’t care about the cleaning lady—I don’t want to
wait
for the cleaning lady. I want these off now. I want them washed. I want clean sheets. I want a new bedspread. I want—”

“Have you totally lost your mind?” Angela yelled. “Florence was here
today!
Everything already
is
clean!”

Lucy froze. She stood there like a statue, then very slowly turned around.

“Today?” she murmured. “You mean … the cleaning lady—”

“Florence, yes, our cleaning lady. She always comes on Fridays—”

“That’s not true. My room’s different. Someone was in my room.”

“You’ve hardly come
out
of your room since the first day you got here,” Angela reminded her sharply. “Irene told Florence not to go in there till you felt better. So today she cleaned it.”

No … that’s not right.

Lucy stared at her cousin with a puzzled frown. Of course it made perfect sense … of course it must be true …

“There’s … a smell,” she finished lamely.

Angela came farther into the room and sniffed.

“Well,
yeah
—probably air freshener. Or furniture polish. Or stuff she puts in the carpet. Florence always sprays
everything
around here.
Especially
when we’ve been sick or something.”

No! That’s not right!

“You are so weird.” Angela glowered at her. “Didn’t anybody ever use air freshener where you came from?”

Lucy didn’t answer. She sank down on to the foot of the bed and gazed in bewilderment at the sheets and blankets piled around her on the floor.

“Put on something warm,” Angela said then. “We’re going to the Festival.”

“What?” Lucy looked up just in time to see her cousin disappear into the bathroom. “We’re doing … what?”

“Going to the Festival!” Angela’s voice hollered back to her. “It’s Friday night—I can’t stand to be here one more second!”

“But you’re not supposed—” Lucy began, then stopped. Not a good idea to let Angela know she’d eavesdropped this morning, that she’d heard Irene grounding the girl. But not a good idea either, aiding and abetting a criminal …

Your choice. Get out or stay in this creepy room.

She heard the shower running, so she went over and shut the door. Then she crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back against the wall, studying her bed as though it were some unwelcome alien dropped in her midst.

I don’t believe you, Angela. Why don’t I believe you?

Lucy was beginning to think Angela might be right—that maybe she truly
was
losing her mind. Some sweet-smelling air spray had sent her into a complete tailspin—she’d jumped to the most ridiculous conclusion. Someone in her room? Well, of
course
someone had been in her room—
Florence
had been in her room, simply doing her job!

And yet …

Lucy chewed mercilessly on a fingernail. Something inside her—
deep
inside her—still felt uneasy … uneasy and unconvinced.
Why?
She’d always been so sensible, so logical, always prided herself on her levelheadedness. But that was before the cemetery, she reminded herself now. Before the girl in the grave … before all the
other
crazy things that had happened to her,
before I started jumping at every shadow and letting my imagination spin entirely out of control—

“Florence,” Lucy said firmly to herself. “Florence, Florence, Florence. Florence the cleaning lady.”

But,
no
, her mind answered her, without the slightest hesitation …
No, not Florence …

Someone else.

“Lucy!”

Startled, Lucy looked up to see Angela glaring at her from the doorway again.

“Irene has a very important meeting tonight that’ll last till at least eleven. If we leave now, we can beat her home.”

Lucy couldn’t resist. “And why would we want to do that?”

“I’ve been having some car trouble.” Angela didn’t miss a beat. “I promised her I wouldn’t be out on those dirt roads after dark. Just, you know, in case something should happen.”

“I see.”

“So if we’re back early, she won’t have to know about it. I mean, I wouldn’t want her to worry.”