Siren's Song (9 page)

Luke's motorcycle peels out from around the cars. He doesn't slow as he passes. I stand there, stupidly powerless and obviously pathetic as he races out into the street beyond. I'm frozen, my heart in my stomach. “What the hell?” I whisper. I swallow and rub my face with my hands. Talk about some non-verbal language. I turn back to the school just as the final tone sounds.

* * *

Rain pelts my dark window. I stare at my reflection, phone to my ear as I sit cross-legged on my bed.

“Well, Matt or Taylin must have said something to him,” Carly offers again.

“I think he punched the wall, hard. What could they have said that made him that mad–at me?”

Silence, exhale. “I don't know, Jule. It's just weird. Maybe you should stay away from the guy. I mean, I know he's hotter than hot, but if he's got anger issues it might not be worth it.”

Easy for her to say. She hasn't kissed him. “Yeah, I don't know.” I walk over to the opposite window that faces Luke's house. It looks like his neighborhood might have had a power outage. With the rain and dark, I can't make out his house, but I know it's there. Is he home?

“Stop staring at his house,” Carly says on the line.

“How…?”

“Of course you're staring at his house. Why don't you spend the night over here? We'll watch stupid movies and eat lots of chocolate.”

I get goosebumps as I think about the secret room Mom thinks is in her house. Should I tell Carly about it? What if Mom hallucinated the whole thing? How should I act then, when no little room opens up and Carly stares at me, questions all over her face? Or what if the room is there and Carly sees that someone in her family is a psycho? “I don't know, Carly.”

“Don't worry, Eric's not home this weekend. I think he has a crush on you.” My heart pounds hard as she laughs. “He asked me if you were seeing anyone at school. And it was kind of weird that he drove you home the other night. Did he say anything bizarre?”

“Um…he asked me out.”

Carly chuckles loudly. “Sorry, Jule. What a moron. What did you say?”

“Not much, but it felt…”

“Creepy?” she chokes on a giggle.

“Yeah, like my brother was asking me out.” A brother with a possible psychotic obsession.

“Well, he's not here, so it's safe. And I'll tell him to leave you alone. If he doesn't, Dad will kick his butt. Or worse, I'll tell Mom. She's tougher than Dad, even though she hides it behind cookies.”

I glance back out the rain-washed window. Of course Carly's dad will be home. God, would I be able to sleep there not knowing if he is the one taking pictures of me?

“Come on over. It'll be fun. Mom's baking. It's a wonder I'm not four hundred pounds.”

“You know, Carly, I kind of feel like just going to bed. I'm tired. It's been a long week.” It really has. God– school, Eric's offer, Mom's revelation, Luke, Taylin and Matt's warning, the audition. I just want to curl up under my comforter and close out everything with a good dream about some hot guy. But what are the chances I won't have a nightmare? I exhale slowly. Lightning flashes across the sky, followed by a crack of thunder. I see the outline of Luke's house. It still exists.

“Mom's miming that I need to get off the phone,” Carly says. “The storm.”

“Yeah, I'd better go. Are you still going to the bonfire tomorrow night?”

“Not with this rain. I heard they're thinking about postponing it until next weekend. It's supposed to rain all day tomorrow.”

Crap
. I'd been hoping Luke would be there. Do I have the guts to confront him after he ran out with me yelling his name? “Okay, well, I'll talk to you tomorrow.”

“Stop staring out the window and go to bed,” Carly advises. “Everything is clearer with a good night's sleep.”

“Yeah, bye.” I hang up and ignore her advice.

* * *

The rain continues through Saturday. Carly and her mom invite me to go shopping, but I decide to visit Mom. After I assure her I'm not spending any time at the Ashe house, we entertain the residents with an impromptu recital. Mom's color looks good and she seems to have gained some weight. Her cheeks don't look so sunken and her eyes have their luster back. She doesn't look crazy at all as she smiles and talks like her old self with the nurse. The staff members seem to gravitate toward her. Who wouldn't? When she's not Paranoid Psycho-Mom, Isabella Welsh is a hoot and a sincerely nice person. Another reason I just can't see her making up some bizarre story about her closest friends. I promise her I'll be safe, and she promises me she'll eat like a pig. We both want her home ASAP.

Dad shows up at the hospital and I head home. The bonfire is definitely canceled. I dodge the small pond in the hospital driveway, and leave my wipers on heavy-slam to keep a small window of vision open in the downpour. It feels like a long ride home. Slowly, I crawl into our driveway and brake at the end of the stone walkway. Something's different, cheerful. I squint through the rivers blurring the glass. The lights are on—the front porch light, the interior lights. My house is like a beacon in the dark downpour.

I race through the water without a hope of staying remotely dry. Why didn't I bring an umbrella? I stop at the door and stare at the bath towel draped on the doorknob. Oo-kay. I use it to wipe the drops from my face and run it over my hair. I turn the knob, just to make sure, and release my breath when I feel the lock catch. Mica barks inside. I unlock the door and push inside. The lights are on, but not the overhead light that we usually flip on by the door. The lamps cast a warm glow about the room. Mica jumps up on my knees.

“Weird,” I mumble to Mica and scratch her head. I drape the towel around my bare shoulders. My senses are alert. Could someone be in the house? The hairs on my neck prickle and I walk silently into the kitchen—well, as silently as I can with a dog panting and hopping around me.

Everything looks normal, except that the lights are on. Mica runs to her food bowl and I feel my stomach tighten. There's kibble in it, and what looks like little pieces of chicken. Normally this wouldn't be a red flag, but since Mom hasn't been home, Dad barely remembers to put his own pants on, let alone feed the dog and leave lights on for me. It's a wonder Gentec hasn't blown up with Dad mixing chemicals over there in his state of mind. And the towel on the porch? Not Dad.

Mica glances my way, I guess to make sure I'm still there. I turn and follow the trail of lit rooms, checking behind doors and in closets. Nothing. I step up the long flight of worn wooden stairs. The hallway upstairs is lit. I stop before the open door to my room. The lights in my room are off. I stand still, listening for a telltale brush of clothes or the creaky floorboard by my bed. Nothing, just my pounding heartbeat and the rain tapping frantically against the window. Mica's nails click as she trots past me into the room. I follow without light since the switch is by my bed in our pre-Civil War house. My eyes adjust and I scan my small room, finally exhaling at the emptiness. I glance out the window as the wind rattles it.

I gasp. A man stands in the yard, staring at the house.
Oh my God
, did I lock the door? I wipe the fog that's spread from my breath against the water-warped glass. His arms are bare, dark hair plastered to the sides of his head, hands fisted at his sides. He stands in the rain, staring at the front door. In the faint glow of the porch light that penetrates the rain, I see the dark swirls of tattoos along muscular arms. “Luke,” I say and his head instantly raises, his eyes locking on my window. I gasp softly. Could he have heard me, through the rain and the glass? Impossible!

I push away from the window and out of my room. Mica races at my heels as I fly down the stairs and through the house to the front door. I fling it open. “Luke?” But he's gone. I go out on the front porch. “Luke!” I call against the wind. I sprint to the edge of my wrap-around porch and see his back as he runs down the street toward his house. He's almost there. God, he's fast! Like, superhuman fast. I stand staring, numb.
What the hell?

The breeze blows rain into my face and I shiver. Mica shakes water from her coat and trots back to the wide-open front door. The cold dark and the weirdness push me to follow. I lock the door and lean against it. Did Luke turn the lights on in my locked house? Did he feed Mica and leave me a towel, anticipating I'd be soaked? If so, why did he run away?

I rub my temples to press away the ache that's starting to pound with each unanswerable question. My cell chimes, and I jump before I realize it's the oldie, “Lean on Me.” I grab the phone out of my purse.

“Carly, you won't believe what just happened!” There's silence on the other end. “Carly?”

“Um, hey, Jule. I'm just borrowing Carly's phone because mine died.” Eric's voice twists my lungs so I can't fully breathe. Without breath, I can't talk. An awkward silence stretches, and I know it's my turn to say something. I pull in enough oxygen to form words.

“Hey, Eric.”

“It's really pouring out there. Are you driving in this?”

“Um, no.”

“Are you home, then? Carly said you were visiting your mom.”

Do I tell him I'm home? And alone? So he can come on over and attack me? I don't think so. “I haven't left yet. Dad and I will be leaving soon, though.”

“You're with your dad? Good.”

Now that my heart is slowing, my lips purse and I realize that I'm pissed. “Why are you checking up on me?”

“I…uh…I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“Look Eric, about what you mentioned the other day. I really just see you as a…well, a brother.”
A psycho stalker brother, maybe
. “So you don't…don't check up on me, okay?”

I slide to the floor, my knees up to my chin as I clasp the phone in both hands.

I hear someone in the background. “How's your mom, Jule?” he asks.

The switch in topics throws me for a few seconds. “Fine. Better. She'll be coming home soon.”

“Good. Um…has she said anything about us?”

My heart starts to pound again. “No, why?”

He pauses and I hear Patricia say something in the background. “She just won't take any calls from my parents.”

“Well, I don't think she's allowed calls from people other than family.” I have no idea if this is true or not.

“Oh. Well, send her our best. Mom says she's keeping her in her prayers. She'll make some chocolate cake for you to take to her.”

“Thanks,” I mumble. “Is Carly there?”

“Yeah, I think. She's upstairs in her room.” He pauses, waiting.

If Eric wasn't creeping me out so much, I'd just think he was an idiot. “Can I
talk
to her?” I say with the edge of sarcasm I'm trying to subdue. No need to piss off the schizoid.

“Yeah, but don't tell her I called you, okay? She'd be annoyed that I used her phone.”

“I won't lie to my best friend, Eric. But I won't mention it.”

I hear him rap on a door. “Carly, Jule just called.”

“Hey, Jule. What's up?”

Your creepy brother just called me and wants to know if I'm alone. Oh, and he might have a room full of pictures of me
. Instead I say, “Hey, Carly. You won't believe what just happened.”

* * *

I try to keep my breathing normal as I walk down the corridor toward my locker. It's Monday morning. Will Luke show? His motorcycle was gone all Sunday, although it might have been in the garage. I watched on and off all day from my window. Talk about the stalkee turning stalker. Around noon, Matt's blue BMW pulled up out front. He stayed for about an hour and left alone. I could have walked down there, but I was chicken.

“Hey, Jule,” Derek swings an arm around my shoulders. I just about jerk out of my skin. “Whoa, there! You on edge or what?”

“Derek,” I breathe. “Don't sneak up on me.”

I round the corner. The wall of lockers is shut flat. No Luke. Derek walks along, congratulating me on winning the part of Christine. He's already checked out the cast list hung on Ms. Bishop's door.

“I wanted to play Raoul, but Ms. Bishop needs my strong cords,” he points to his throat, “to sing the lead.”

I spin my combination and jerk the door open. The lilacs are still inside, wilted and browning. Nothing's moved. I brush them out into a little pile of dying flowers on the floor and stash my books. I'll carry them to class to throw out.

“What's with the flora?”

“I like the smell when they're fresh.”

“Yeah–they smell like you,” Derek says and smiles. I get a weird vibe. “You know, we could…get together sometime to practice.” Derek's voice drops with his line of sight. His eyes are now on his un-scuffed loafers. He looks up to meet my eyes. “Outside of school. We could eat first, then go over lines.”

Is he asking me out?
Seriously?
Like I need this right now. I stare at him with wide eyes while he shifts from foot to foot. We didn't work out before. What makes him think it will work now? I breathe deep. Maybe I've got it wrong.

“Uh, yeah, maybe. I'd better get to homeroom.” As if fate is tossing me a bone, the tone peals above my head. I look apologetic and turn. “See ya.”

Thank God Derek isn't in my homeroom. I rush inside and head to my usual seat in the back. Disappointment presses in on my chest because Luke isn't there. Just as Mrs. Rozinski starts to close the door, Luke slides in.

“Cutting it close, Mr. Whitmore,” she says.

“Just cleaning up a mess outside my locker,” he says, and I blush. I stare straight ahead and hold my breath. But he doesn't walk back to his usual seat near me. He doesn't even glance back, but sits along the far wall.

Did I frickin' insult him without knowing it?
He stares at my house in the rain. Probably turned on the lights for me and left me a towel. Filled my locker with my favorite flower and now won't even look at me. I huff.
Whatever
. Maybe he's nuts, too. I am surrounded by them. Maybe Summit is mutating into Crazytown.