Perception (16 page)

“SHH!” I PULLED GABRIEL BY THE ARM TOWARD THE
bottom of the staircase. I heard the clanging of pots and pans, which meant that Mom was attempting to start dinner in the kitchen. I didn’t need her overhearing the word
stalker
and going into commando-Mom mode.

“Wait here a sec,” I whispered.

I darted over to the kitchen doorway and stuck my head in. “Mom, Gabriel’s here. We’re going to hang out upstairs for a bit, okay?”

She had her nose buried in a cookbook, her brow furrowed in confusion. “Keep your door open,” she said without looking up.

“Yeah, okay,” I agreed and then returned to Gabriel.

“Let’s take this upstairs.”

Perry’s door was shut again. We headed into my room and I closed the door about ninety-nine percent of the way. But not all the way.

“You haven’t told your mother?” Gabriel asked.

I led him away from the cracked door and into the center
of the room. “She went ballistic over Sierra’s death. I had to promise I wouldn’t help with the case or get involved at all.”

“Or what?”

“Or we’d be leaving town until the killer was caught. Which could be never.”

“So if she knew you had a stalker —”

“I’d either never be let out of my room or she’d find a way to get us into the Witness Protection Program.”

He nodded, but said, “I still think she should know.” Then he looked down at the papers in his hands. “And I really think you should read what I printed out.”

“What is it?”

“Well, my father won’t help me with this at all because he’s too busy on the Sierra Waldman case and he said whoever’s doing this to you hasn’t broken any law. Yet. So I decided to look into it myself.”

He laid the papers on my desk and motioned for me to sit in the chair.

But I didn’t want to sit down. I didn’t want to start thinking about the stalker again. “So what did you find?” I asked, standing.

“I did research and printed out all this stuff on stalker types and the psychology behind them.”

I shook my head as he spoke. “I don’t want to read that stuff. It’ll just freak me out.”

“Please?” His eyes were serious, full of concern. “It might help us figure out who it is.”

“It won’t.” I slumped into the chair and leaned forward, elbows on my knees. “He’s too good. He covers his tracks too well. I’m going to just ignore him and he’ll lose interest.”

Gabriel cocked his head to one side. “Has something else happened?”

I felt a thickness in my throat as I admitted, “He sent me a dress.”

“What?” Gabriel blinked in confusion.

“It’s a homecoming dress I tried on at the store with Mallory but didn’t buy. I think the stalker wants me to go to the dance.”

Anger flashed across his face. “So let’s go. Bait him. We’ll go together, be ready, and trap him.”

“No. That would be giving him what he wants.”

Gabriel paced the room, rubbing the back of his neck.

“I’m taking control of this by doing the opposite of what he wants,” I insisted. “I’m staying home.”

“Okay,” Gabriel said, resigned. “Whatever you want to do.” He stopped pacing and sagged against the wall, his shoulders slumped.

“Can we talk about something else?” I said. “How are things going with your mother?”

I was dying to know if he’d made his decision. Or at least which way he was leaning. Ever since the moment I found out he might be leaving, it’d always been in the back of my mind.

Gabriel shook his head. “I don’t feel like talking about that right now.”

I desperately wished I’d inherited my mother’s gift. Even
though I chided her for eavesdropping on people’s thoughts without their permission, I’d totally do that to Gabriel right now.

“What was the thing you wanted to talk to me about anyway?” he asked. “When you called?”

I sighed. I’d been excited before, but now I was all tangled up in multiple emotions again. “Since I can’t go to the dance, I wanted to ask a favor for someone.” I shifted in my seat. “Kendra waited too long and now there isn’t anyone left that she’d like to ask. But I know she’d go with you. She just wouldn’t bother asking you —”

“Because she knows I’d say no. Listen, dances aren’t really my thing. I’d go with you, but that’s it. I have no interest in taking anyone else. Especially someone like Kendra Kiger.”

“You don’t know her whole story, though.”

“And you do?” he asked skeptically.

“I know enough. Things aren’t as easy for her as I’d once assumed. Her mother’s … well, I don’t want to get into it, but it would really help her out if you’d go with her. As friends, you know. She wants to be eligible for the Homecoming Court and all that.”

He grimaced. “I’d really rather not.”

I stood and stepped closer to him, my hands clasped in front of me. “Please? For me?”

He met my gaze. “She wouldn’t do it for you, you know.”

“Well, I can feel superior for my good deed.” I flashed him a smile. “How’s that for a selfish reason?”

He reached out and softly stroked the side of my face.
“You’re always more concerned about other people than yourself.”

“But will you go?”

“Will you at least come to the bonfire Friday night?”

“If Mom lets me, yes.”

“Okay, then I’ll go to the dance with Kendra.” He hesitated a beat and added, “If you sit with me and go over what I found out online.”

I glared at the papers. Despite how much I wanted to stick my head in the sand and ignore the information, it couldn’t hurt to hear him out. “Deal.”

Gabriel sat in my desk chair and riffled through the papers on his lap. “There are different types of stalkers. I thought we could go through each kind and see if the profile fits someone you know.”

I settled onto the edge of my bed, brought my legs up to my chest, and wrapped my arms around them. “Okay.”

“The most common type is called intimate partner stalkers.”

“What are they?”

“Exes who won’t accept that the relationship is over.” He raised an eyebrow.

“What?” I said.

“Justin?”

I stiffened. “No way.”

“Just think for a minute.”

“No. I won’t even consider it. Next type.”

Gabriel sighed and returned his eyes to the papers. “Well, there are celebrity stalkers and political stalkers.”

“Not me.”

“Yeah.” He stuck that page on the bottom of the pile and held the next one up. “There are also vengeful stalkers.”

Dread settled into my stomach. “Sounds scary.”

“They’re mainly looking to get revenge. Anyone have a grudge with you?”

“Yeah, there’s a line. Tiffany’s at the head of it.”

He considered that for a moment. “The research says that most stalkers are male.”

“But only most, not all.”

“True,” he conceded. “So Tiffany’s still a suspect.”

“Okay, next?”

“The last one is the creepiest.” He paused, as if he didn’t want to read it.

“Go on,” I said. “Just read it.” Now that we’d begun, I just wanted to get it all out there. Get it over with.

“Some websites call them love obsession stalkers. Some call them erotomaniacs.”

“Eww.”

“But most,” he continued, “call them delusional stalkers.”

“Aren’t all stalkers delusional in one way or another?”

“Yeah, but these guys are very dangerous. They believe they are in love with their victims and that they’re destined to be together.”

A foreboding feeling cinched my chest as Gabriel went on.

“They often have a whole fantasy world in their head of how their relationship is going to go. Their perception is distorted. So when they try to bring that fantasy to fruition and the victim doesn’t return the affection …”

“What?” I asked, my throat tightening with anticipation.

“The stalker may become violent or even deadly.”

Lovely. Just lovely.

“And who fits that profile?” My throat was so dry, I could barely push out the words.

“That’s the problem,” Gabriel said. “It could be anyone. Someone who knows you very well. Someone you met once. Or someone who noticed you, but you’ve never even seen.”

Well, that narrowed down the list of suspects.

To the whole world.

I SPENT MOST OF MY ENERGY THURSDAY TRYING
not
to think. When worried feelings about Gabriel’s leaving surfaced, I ate to bury them again. When thoughts about Sierra’s death echoed in my head, I focused on class and homework to shut them up. And when my mind turned to the person who was obsessed with me, I did everything in my power to redirect. I felt as if just thinking about the stalker was giving the person what he or she wanted. My attention. My feelings. Whether positive or negative.

I started to see suspects everywhere. A boy who bumped into me in line in the cafeteria. The postal carrier who stared one second too long when handing me the mail.

Sierra Waldman’s cause of death had been released. Strangulation. The police were running down tons of leads in the case, from sex offenders in the area to rumors of gambling debts Sierra’s father owed. But every time I started to think about how I could help, my heart sank as I remembered there was nothing I could do. Despite how obligated I felt to use my gift, Mom kept my hands tied.

I used loud sound — music, television, movies — to quiet
all these thoughts. Mom had gotten a big order for her dresses, so she’d been busy in her sewing room. I was thankful for that, at least.

By Friday, I was starting to feel a little better. I hadn’t heard anything else from my stalker, so perhaps Operation Ignore would work after all. School had been relatively drama free. Mallory was delighted to have a date for her very first dance, however platonic it was. Kendra needed a little nudging, not wanting to accept a “charity date” from me at first. But they were both pretty happy, and doing something good for them warmed the cockles of my little black heart.

It was finally bonfire night and Mom had agreed to let me go as long as I was with a group. Since I was boycotting tomorrow night’s dance and I’d rather stab myself in the eye with a pen than go to tomorrow’s football game, I was excited to at least partake in this small part of homecoming weekend. Like I was a regular girl in high school.

I sat on the couch, waiting for my ride. The bonfire was on Town Beach, close enough to walk, but Mom didn’t like that idea, and Mallory was pumped to drive anyway. Mallory’s parents had bought her a car so she could be more independent. Mallory had said it was more of a
please get out of your depression so we can get back to our regular lives
bribe, but it worked. Mallory with her car was like a girl with her first crush; she wanted to be with it all the time. But at least it lifted her spirits and got her thinking about something other than Sierra.

The house was quiet. Perry was playing video games in his room with his headphones on. Mom was in the back room
working on her dresses. I’d already said good-bye to her. Now I just needed Mallory to get her butt here already. The silence was driving me nuts. Every little sound startled me. A sudden whir of the sewing machine. The click of the furnace turning on in the basement.

I needed to get out of there. Be with a big group of people. Laugh, flirt, gossip. Do normal things. I chugged a Diet Coke and stared out the window.

Just when I thought I was about to peel out of my skin, Mallory’s bright yellow compact slid into the driveway. I’d never seen a car so small and so garish, but Mallory didn’t care. She didn’t even mind that it was like eight years old. It was all hers and it was freedom. That’s all that mattered to her. And to me, as I bolted down the walkway and pulled open the passenger-side door.

“Why are you so late?” I asked, the words sounding much whinier than I intended.

Mallory rolled her eyes, her head, and her shoulders in one big annoyed movement. “My parents descended on me like the demon spawn of Oprah and Dr. Phil.”

“For what?”

“To make sure I’m all right. You know, with the whole Sierra thing. Apparently, my mom got her hands on some book about teens dealing with grief, and they’re all worried I’m going to off myself or something.”

Mallory pulled into the line of traffic as casually as she mentioned death and suicide.

I stared at her. “
Are
you all right?”

“I’m as good as I’m going to get for right now. Grief doesn’t disappear overnight. It’s going to take some time. They need to understand that.”

“Parents worry.” I shrugged. “That’s their job.”

“They complained that I wasn’t opening up to them, but it’s hard to open up when it’s more of an interrogation than a real conversation. I felt like any moment they were going to lock me in a broom closet with a heat lamp and a lie detector.”

I chuckled. “Imagine what it’s like living with a telepath for a mother. I have to focus on mundane things or stuff she hates, like zombies, when I think she’s trying to sneak a peek inside my brain.”

Mallory let out a little laugh-snort. “Yeah, I guess you have it harder. But what’s cool about your mom is that she’s around when you need her. My parents only want to have these so-called important talks when it’s convenient for them. The day I stayed home from school, they both went to work, leaving me alone all day. But now tonight, because Mom read a stupid book, they decided to have this big talk. I told them I had places to go, people to see, but they said this talk was important and had to happen now. You know why? Because they had time for me now.”

There were no street spots, so Mallory slid into a spot in the parking lot beside the beach. The lot was full, and crowds of people milled about, sipping colored drinks from clear water bottles.

“Well, we both escaped and we’re here now,” I said. “Let’s have fun.”

“Deal.” Mallory turned off the ignition and pocketed the keys.

I hoped venting for a few minutes had made her load lighter and that she’d be able to loosen up and enjoy the night.

I left my coat in the car because I knew the fire would be warm. But as we walked through the lot, I cinched my sweater tighter around me against the bitter breeze swooping in off the ocean.

“Wow, look at that,” Mallory said as we stepped onto the hard-packed sand.

The bonfire in the distance was raging high into the air, flames licking at the night sky. A sea of people in red crowded around it. I looked at Mallory’s black hoodie and my gray sweater and realized we’d forgotten to wear the school colors. Oh, well. There was always my hair.

We walked briskly toward the fire, passing clumps of current students, alumni who were home from college, and townies who got into the football spirit a little too much, if you ask me. A few old guys sat in beach chairs, sharing stories about when they were on the team and all those great plays that I’m sure have been exaggerated in their minds over the years. A couple cops stood sentinel to make sure the fire or the crowd didn’t get out of control.

By the time we reached the center of it all, the band had packed up their instruments, and the cheerleaders and football players were mixing about. We’d missed the pep rally. But that was fine by me. I didn’t even know who we were
playing against in the big game. Though I’d guess their mascot was a bear of some kind because the football team kept tossing stuffed teddy bears into the fire.

“So what do we do now?” Mallory asked. “I’ve never come to this before.”

“Me neither,” I admitted. “We missed the rah-rah, so I guess we just hang out and talk with people?”

I scanned the crowd for friendly faces, but everyone looked alike in the semidark. Everyone wore red Eastport shirts or sweatshirts. As the flames danced, orange shadows morphed the faces in the crowd. I wouldn’t know anyone until they were up close.

The energy was contagious. Now and then someone would just roar, “EASTPORT!” and everyone would cheer in response. I couldn’t get into the whole sports thing. But I was enjoying the fresh air, the distraction from stalker-thoughts, and being out of the house and away from Mom’s worrying and Perry’s gloom.

Someone tossed a fresh plank of wood on the fire. Smoke and ashes billowed out toward the crowd. We jumped back, coughing and waving our hands in front of our faces. After a moment, the fire consumed the new timber and we all inched forward again, hands reached out for warmth. I stared at the dancing flames, relishing the heat on my face.

“Clare.”

My head snapped up. I thought I heard someone say my name, in almost a whisper. Just one little innocent word, but
it was said with almost teasing venom. My nerves prickled as I felt the now familiar sensation of being watched.

I looked around, but no one stood out. No one was looking directly at me.

I leaned against Mallory. “Did you hear that?”

“What?” Mallory yelled over the noise.

“Someone passed by and said my name.”

She shrugged and stuffed her hands in her pockets. Her eyes were mesmerized by the fire.

I could have imagined it. There were a million conversations going on at once, and people were streaming by constantly. Heck, my name could have even come up in one of those conversations. Or a passing person said something that sounded like
Clare
…

Bear
. Yeah, the other team. We were burning bears tonight.

Suddenly, that Diet Coke I’d chugged didn’t seem like the greatest idea. I’d have to make a visit to the porta-potties to pee. A Bud Light can lay in the sand by our feet. I made a mental note to use that as a marker so I could find our spot again.

I looked at Mallory, who was still lost in the flames, and said, “I’ll be back in a few. Wait for me.”

I scrambled through the sand and the crowd toward the bathrooms. Some guy ran by with no shirt on, a big red
E
painted on his chest. I finally reached my destination and, of course, there was a line. I stuffed my hands in my pockets and watched the bonfire from a distance. It was beautiful,
really. Long flames snapped up, like arms trying to steal the stars. Orange embers flitted through the air like fireflies.

Minutes later, I made my way back to the bonfire. I pushed through the throngs of people, eventually finding the beer can, still half buried in the sand.

But Mallory was gone.