Super Dark (Super Dark Trilogy) (12 page)

Rolling onto my back, I stared up at the ceiling. In the past, one of my counselors had told me that I needed to control my temper. Perhaps she was right.

At that moment, I heard the front door slam. I called out, “Mum?”

There was no answer.

“Mum, is that you?” I repeated.

Still no answer.

Slowly, I got up and peeked into the corridor to see where the noise had come from. Perhaps I hadn’t shut the door tightly and it had gotten caught by the wind.

Then I felt an icy draft, as if a massive refrigerator had just been opened.

Cautiously, I made my way to the front door. It was locked and bolted from the inside, which meant it couldn’t have slammed. Trembling slightly, I went into the kitchen to make a cup of coffee. I needed something to calm my nerves.

After a shot of caffeine, I started to feel a little better, telling myself that I was being silly and that there had to be a logical explanation for the noise. Maybe it had been a neighbor coming home. The sound proofing in old houses was never very good. But deep down, I couldn’t shake the ominous feeling I’d had since seeing the black Ford and the sense that I was being watched. Could it be the driver had followed me home?

Then there was a loud crash behind me. I spun round and saw that one of the plates had fallen off the rack and smashed onto the floor. With shaky fingers, I got out the dustpan and swept up the pieces.

I went back to the front door, double checked that it was locked, and then inspected every window of every room of the apartment. When I was satisfied that I was alone, I returned to my bedroom and tried to do some homework, but no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t concentrate. Since childhood, I’d possessed an ability to sense when something bad was about to happen—and I knew that
something
was out there, waiting.

Omen

I
wasn’t looking forward to seeing Becky again. I knew she’d want to discuss what happened at Taffin Carter’s party, and I still hadn’t gotten my story straight. Sure enough, she made a beeline for me first thing Monday morning, as the class waited for Mr. Maine to arrive.

“My god, Sam, where have you been?” she demanded. “I’ve been trying to get through to you all weekend!”

“Sorry,” I said sheepishly. “I was a bit hung over, so I switched off my phone.” I glanced at Frasier’s empty desk. I hoped he was okay. “So how’s your migraine?” I asked, changing the subject. “Hannah said you weren’t feeling well.”

But Becky wasn’t letting me off that easily. “Never mind about that. Hannah said she saw you dancing with Lee at the party. How could you do that to me? You know how much I like him!”

“Hannah’s lying,” I snapped. “We just talked, that’s all, for about ten minutes before Frasier’s accident.”

Concern shadowed her face. “Oh my gosh, I heard about that. He fell down the stairs, right? Is he okay?”

“Yeah, he’s fine. At least, I hope he is,” I said as I glanced again at his seat.

Frasier was now seven minutes late. It was so unlike him that I began to worry. I opened my bag and began unpacking my books and a pen. I could feel Becky’s eyes boring into me like an electric current.

“So, are you saying that you didn’t dance with Lee?” she probed.

“Yes! I don’t know why Hannah told you that. She must be trying to stir up trouble.”

Becky’s face broke into a smile. “It’s all right, Sam, I believe you. I just needed to be sure you were still on my side.”

A wave of relief washed over me as I realized she’d been bluffing the whole time. With all the other crazy stuff going on in my life, the last thing I needed was a major fall-out with Becky.

“It’s a shame you didn’t come to the party,” I said. “It was fun, until Frasier’s accident.”

“I know, I’m so sad I missed it,” she pouted. “I was ready to leave my house when suddenly I got this terrible headache. Honestly, it was so bad that I had to lie down the rest of the night. In the morning I felt fine again. It was so weird. I’ve never had a migraine before. Oh well, I guess it wasn’t meant to be.”

“I guess not,” I said, tucking my hair behind my ear. Then I asked, trying to sound nonchalant, “How are things going with Lee anyway?”

“I’m not sure,” she sighed. “He’s so hard to read. Sometimes he acts like he’s really into me and then he suddenly goes all cold. For example, I’ve asked for his number many times, but he keeps putting me off. He says he lost his cell and is waiting for the phone company to send him a replacement. That was two weeks ago, so I’m not sure I believe him anymore.”

“Yeah, that does sound a bit strange,” I agreed. My thoughts took me back to the party and I distinctly remembered seeing Lee use a cell phone to dial the taxi.
So Becky is right. Lee is lying to her. But why?

Perhaps this was how he got his kicks. Perhaps he enjoyed flirting, playing hard to get, and pitting one girl against another. Whatever his game was, I decided I wasn’t going to play it anymore.

At that moment, Mr. Maine hurried into the classroom carrying a bunch of folders under his arm. His hair was windswept and his clothes di
shevel
ed.

“Sorry I’m late,” he said. “I had to do some photocopying, but I have some good news—at least for some of you. Your grades are back for the Tennessee Williams project.”

Groans reverberated around the room.

“I thought you’d be happy,” he clucked. “Don’t worry. Most of you did fine.”

Frasier darted through the door and collapsed at his desk. “Sorry I’m late, sir,” he panted. He was drenched in sweat and looked like he’d run the whole way.

“Are you all right?” I mouthed.

He nodded stiffly. For a second, his eyes fell on Becky, but then he quickly turned away. I figured he must have felt awkward because of the confession he’d made to me at the party.

“Right, time to put you all out of your misery.” Mr. Maine stalked around the room handing back everyone’s assessment papers. Luckily, I wasn’t in suspense for long. I got a B+, which was better than I’d expected, considering I hadn’t really put that much effort in. Frasier had virtually carried us through the whole presentation, so we had him to thank for that.

Mr. Maine turned to the whiteboard and wrote the words SCARLETT O’HARA in big, bold letters. “Today, we’re going to compare Blanche Du Bois with Scarlett O’Hara from
Gone with the Wind
. It could be argued that Tennessee Williams picks up where Margaret Mitchell left off. Both Blanche and Scarlett are headstrong Southern belles fighting for survival in treacherous new landscapes …”

As he continued to ramble, my eyes kept flickering back to Frasier, who was sitting two rows ahead. He definitely wasn’t his usual self. He seemed so subdued, almost vacant. I wondered if something was wrong.

“What are you doing after school?” Becky whispered, forming her words around a wad of gum.

“I’m not sure,” I replied, trying to conjure up an excuse for what was coming.

“A few of us are going to the All-Star. Wanna come?”

“I’d love to, but I’m kind of broke at the moment.”

“Don’t worry, I can lend you a tenner,” she said with a smile. I opened my mouth to protest but she silenced me. “I won’t take no for an answer. It’ll be fun. I love hanging out with you.”

“A little less talking girls!” Mr. Maine snapped.

Reluctantly, I admitted defeat and agreed to go to the All-Star for an hour. After my clandestine “date” with Lee, part of me felt guilty, and Becky was holding out an olive branch. I would have been a fool not to take it. When the bell finally sounded, the class dispersed quickly, but I lingered to speak to Frasier.

“You seem a bit distant today,” I said.

He looked at me funny. “Meet me behind the science department at lunch,” he said softly. “I need to talk to you.”

“What about?” I asked.

“Later,” he said simply. “We’ll need some privacy.”

Without another word, he gathered up his books and rushed out the room.

Thoughtfully, I ambled down the shadowy corridor toward my next class, a knot of anticipation twisting in my belly. What could Frasier have to tell me that was so mysterious?

The rest of the morning seemed to drag. My mind was buzzing and I could hardly think straight. All I could see was the expression on Frasier’s face.

At one o’ clock, I found him waiting for me at the designated spot, sitting on a bench and eating a rye bread sandwich. I sat beside him and he offered me a bite, but I declined, although it did look tasty.

“So what’s this all about?” I asked eagerly. “What did you want to tell me?”

Frasier chewed methodically for a few agonizing moments, then turned, looked me straight in the eye, and said, “It’s about Lee.”

“What about Lee?”

“That night at the party, something weird happened,” he said, swallowing the last bite, “and I haven’t slept for days trying to figure it out.”

“Can you please stop being so cryptic and just tell me what’s going on?” I demanded.

He sighed. “Okay, it’s like this. Remember when I fell down the stairs?” As I nodded, he continued, “Well, I hurt myself pretty bad. I’m talking a broken bone. When I tried to get up, I could actually feel the fracture. I think it must have been broken in two places.”

I winced. “Go on.”

“But when Lee touched me, I felt a spark of energy, sort of like electricity, and though I know you won’t believe this, but when I stood up, I was completely healed. No pain, no nothing. I felt like I was on morphine or something.”

“Are you serious?”

“I’ve never been more serious in my life. Somehow, Lee healed me with his hands.”

I sighed deeply, trying to think of the right words. Finally, I said, “Look, you were pretty tipsy that night, so you weren’t thinking clearly. You can’t seriously expect me to believe that Lee could heal a broken leg with just a touch.”

“Why is it so ridiculous?” Frasier said indignantly. “I ran a search on faith healers online this weekend and there are people in China and India who can cure sickness using nothing but the power of their minds.” As I rolled my eyes, he added, “This isn’t some hocus-pocus, Sam. In China, they call it the Healing Tao.”

In spite of myself, I burst out laughing. “Oh, please, Frasier. There’s no such thing as faith healing.”

“How do you know?”

“I just do, okay? You can’t heal someone with just your mind. That’s the craziest thing I ever heard.”

“But it makes perfect sense,” Frasier protested. “Lee told us his family spent time in China and India. Maybe that’s where he learned how to do it.”

“I think I’ve got a better explanation,” I said, shaking my head. “You had too much to drink, you hit your head harder than you thought, and you imagined the whole thing.” I put my hand on his arm gently, as if I was talking to a child. “Listen to me. Lee may be a lot of things, but a faith healer he isn’t. Stuff like that only happens in fairy tales.”

Frasier raised a bottle of water to his lips, took a long gulp, then huffed, “I thought you’d at least listen to what I had to say. I guess I was wrong.”

My voice softened a little. “I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings. I didn’t mean to. On a different note, could you please can you come to All-Star tonight? Becky invited me and I don’t want to go alone.”

“Yeah, okay,” he said dismissively.

We sat for a long moment in silence, and despite my repeated assertions to the contrary, I wasn’t wholly convinced there might not be some truth to what Frasier had said. The idea of Lee—or anyone else—being a faith healer was preposterous, yet there was
something
that didn’t sit right with me.

I thought back to the incident and played the image in my mind like a slow-motion movie clip. The fluidity of Lee’s movements and the ease with which he’d lifted Frasier up had seemed uncanny—and there was something else, too. As he was lifting Frasier, his movements had suddenly slackened, almost like he was deliberately toning down the level of his strength.

I told myself I was being silly. Lee was young and fit and clearly thought of weight lifting as more than just a hobby. Surely that alone could explain his remarkable strength. Then again, I was tipsy that night, too, so my memory couldn’t totally be trusted, either.