The Unquiet (40 page)

As she moves about, rattling mugs and spoons twenty feet away from me, the first Mom grips my shoulder. “I should
let
Frank take you back to California.” I wriggle away as Mom # 2 runs water into the kettle, calling, “Honey, why don’t you lie down on the sofa? This’ll only take a minute.”

Surrounded by chaos, I scream THE TRUTH at her—and promptly fall out of my chair.

Why did I think people only faint in the movies? I just did it twice in less than an hour.

I wake up on the sofa, draped in an afghan. Voices drift from the kitchen:

“… he said it was an accident, that he was sleepwalking.”

“It happens.” It’s Frank. “I’d give him the benefit of the doubt. Did she hit her head?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Then why’d she pass out?”

“I don’t know! She started screaming at me, saying I’m not her mother, that I’m driving her crazy, and trying to kill her, and that she’s
on
to me now and—oh, who knows what she said!”

I swallow delicately.
God, that hurts
.

“Frank, she thinks furniture moves in her room. She tore up that wall. She never sleeps. She sneaks around the house all night—one night she even
left
—and I hear her talking to herself. What
else
am I supposed to think?” Mom finishes hysterically.

You’re supposed to think I’m crazy. That’s what Annaliese wants
.

I open my eyes when Frank towers over me. “How ya feeling, darlin’?”

I touch my scar, surely bruised by now. “Please don’t let Mom call the police on Nate.”

“She won’t.” Frank smooths the hair off my sweaty forehead.

Nearby, Mom lets loose with a long, throaty chuckle.

“Did you hear that?” I whisper, every muscle wired. “It’s not me, it’s her! There’s something wrong. Can’t you see it?”

His puzzled face tells me he doesn’t know what I’m rambling about, that he didn’t even hear that terrible laugh. Only
I
can hear her. Annaliese planned it that way.

“Your mom loves you, Rinn,” Frank says thickly.

“Not anymore.”

“You remember what I said on the phone? We’re going to help you. You’re gonna be
fine
. You believe me, right?”

Why should I believe him when he refuses to believe me?

Hopeless, helpless, I make myself nod because it’s the answer he expects.

Friday, December 19

Nate totally, absolutely, avoids me in school. Maybe he’s afraid Mom’ll make good on her threat to have him arrested for assault.

I hate her. I hate Frank, too, in a way, for not believing me.

Most of all, I hate myself because I can’t convince them about Annaliese.

Against my better judgment, I tried once again to explain it last night. Mom and Frank got all quiet and shifty eyed—cardinal signs that they believe I’ve lost my grip on reality.

Today Cecilia nudges me in the lunch line. “What happened to your neck?” Because in spite of my usual turtleneck, Nate’s bruises glow purple on the underside of my jaw.

“I tried to hang myself last night.” Dumbfounded, Cecilia almost drops her tray. I don’t know where those words came from or why I said them. My heart skips two beats. “Sorry. Bad joke.”

Cecilia grabs her plate of tacos and escapes without another word. I send hateful vibes to Annaliese, wherever she is. Probably quite close, enjoying every minute of her game

I cut PE and hide out in the library so I don’t have to parade my purple neck in front of the class. It’s
cold
today in school—problems with the ancient furnace, according to the homeroom announcements—and I keep my extra sweater buttoned all the way up. Rooting curiously through the paranormal section, I stumble upon a book called
Spirit World
. Luckily Mrs. Harper, the librarian, is too absorbed in the
National Enquirer
to hear my stifled exclamation.

I bury myself between the shelves, skim the index, and flip to page 126.

One of the greatest myths about ghosts is that they are stationary. While it is true the majority of spirits remain “at home” so to speak, there are also recorded instances of ghosts traveling from place to place. While traditional spirits may attach to one location and remain there for years, even centuries, a more stubborn spirit will occasionally attach to objects, animals, or people. Because of this phenomenon, moving away from a “haunted house” is no guarantee one will no longer be haunted. One such incident involves a family in Greenwich, Connecticut …

I slam the book shut. This time Mrs. Harper notices. “Rinn Jacobs. Don’t you have gym at this time?” It’s sad when even the librarian knows your schedule.

I do not check out the book.

So tonight’s the concert. Although my voice, by some miracle, is perfectly fine, I’m so jittery and depressed I’d like to skip the whole thing. I doubt Mr. Chenoweth would let me live that down.

I beat Nate to the main doors after the last bell and plant myself in his path.

“Rinn,” he says sorrowfully. “Just go away.”

“No.”

“Jesus Christ! Did you forget about last night?”

“You were sleepwalking.”

“What if I wasn’t?”

I eye him. “You said you didn’t remember.” Nate shakes me off, forcing me to chase him to the sidewalk. “You
said
you didn’t remember jumping on me.”

He sags against a utility pole. “Rinn.”

“What?
What?
”

“I lied. I do remember.”

He sinks down to the icy curb. I do the same.

“I remember,” he repeats. He tucks his hands into his armpits and stares across the street at the no-longer-green village green. Snowflakes gather on his lashes. “I remember everything. Waking up. Seeing you. Throwing you on the floor.”

“But—”

“I remember choking you. I—I remember how your neck felt in my hands, and—and how I wanted, I dunno … to
break
you, I guess.” Nate bows his head, his words muffled by the splashing tires of a car picking its way along. “So, no, I wasn’t asleep. I was awake. I was awake the whole time.”

My hand touches what I know are the imprints of Nate’s fingers on my neck. I try to ask, “Why?” but nothing comes out.

He understands. “I don’t know why. But I meant to kill you, or at least hurt you really bad. And
then
”—he swallows hard enough for me to hear—“I’d do it.” One fist smashes his palm. “What I said I’d do to myself after I shot the horses.”

When his shoulders quiver I realize he’s crying. It breaks my heart, yet I’m too afraid to touch him, to comfort him in any way.

He meant to do it. He meant to hurt me
. He’d have succeeded, too, if Luke hadn’t heard the commotion. The same way he would’ve shot Xan and Ginger and other horses if I hadn’t decided, on a whim, to head out to the stable that day.

But why? Supernatural or not, everything has a reason.

Nothing in life is as random as we’d like to believe.

The answer rams me like a wrecking ball. Forgetting I’m supposed to be afraid of him, I clutch his arm. “You’re supposed to die. You’re meant to die.”

He doesn’t acknowledge this. He doesn’t argue, either. Maybe he already figured it out.

Nate is
meant
to die, the way Dino was meant to die, and Tasha was meant to die.

And maybe the same way
I’m
meant to die.

Now that kids are walking around us and throwing funny looks, I prod Nate up off the curb. I speak rapidly on the way home, my brain in overdrive. “It’s not enough for Annaliese to hurt us like she did Lacy and Meg and Cecilia. Something’s
different
about us. She really wants us dead.”

Nate mumbles, “Man, I gotta stay away from you,” which makes me wonder if he’s listening. “I can’t trust myself.”

“You have to resist her.”

“I want to. I’m trying. But I
don’t know how
!”

I stomp my foot. “What goes around comes around.” Dino’s dad said that.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means there’s a lot more to Annaliese that we don’t know about yet. We know she’s after us, but why? What does she gain?”

Nate thinks. “Strength. You said strength.”

“She doesn’t have to kill us for that. She can get it from anyone. Even from a
cat
.”

He kicks at the snow. “Maybe there is no Annaliese. Maybe it’s only us.”

“No!” I say fiercely. “I saw your face when you were choking me. And your eyes—” I break off, nauseated at the memory of those unearthly black holes. “Nate, it wasn’t
you.
”

We stop in front of my house. Snow hurls down so hard and fast I can barely see my front door. There’s a storm warning in effect, Mr. Solomon said. Mr. Solomon, who fired Bennie when everything that happened was Annaliese’s fault.

I wrap my arms around Nate. After an uncertain moment, he holds me, too. No matter how hard I hug him I can’t stop him from shaking. “They’re supposed to tear out the pool soon. If that’s her home base, or whatever you call it, do you think she’ll just leave?”

“Maybe. Or maybe it’ll piss her off more.”

The idea of Annaliese being “more” pissed off is the last
thing my frazzled nerves can endure. We don’t even know why she’s pissed off
now
.

Nate bends down for a quick kiss. “Look. I’m sorry. But we can’t be alone together. Not anymore.” He twists away from me. “I love ya, surfer girl. But please—don’t trust me.”

“Nate!”

“I mean it. Stay
away
.”

Dressed in the black vintage frock I wore to Homecoming—who says you can’t wear the same prom dress twice?—I throw myself down at my desk. I have to figure this out. I am
not
losing Nate!

Chewing my lip, I copy over all my notes about my friends and what happened to them. Then I add my most recent ideas:

15. Nate loves me. Yet he tried to kill me so he could kill himself. He did the same thing with the horses. Annaliese wants to steal what he loves the MOST. That way he will want to die.

16. First, Mom couldn’t play the piano. Then she started smoking, staying up all night, etc. Then she started saying terrible things to me. SHE CHANGED! Is this Annaliese too? Is she stealing my mother?