The Unquiet (43 page)

My words slip like butter through the bleach in my mouth. On my feet at last, I glance around helplessly. In the glow of that, that
thing
in the pool room, I can see through the tunnel door into the auditorium beyond.

It’s not how I left it. The illuminated red letters of one EXIT sign are plainly visible. So are the beams of the emergency lights, powered by generators, I guess. I hear footfalls. Parents calling for their kids. Kids calling to each other.

Mr. Chenoweth warns: “Walk, don’t run. We don’t need a stampede here, folks.”

I stagger gratefully toward the sounds and make it halfway through the door before that ghastly vacuum sucks me all the way back. I land hard in the threshold of the pool room.

I scream for Mom. For Frank. For anyone who can hear me.

“Give it up. Nobody can hear you.”

“Wake me up, wake me up, oh God, WAKE ME UP!”

“You ARE awake, stupid.”

The one thing more mind-numbing than hearing a ghost speak to you is hearing her so casually refer to you as “stupid.”

“You’re not real,” I say, my words distorted in the heavy air.

“You wish.”
The shining illusion, or hallucination, or whatever she is, drifts closer to the threshold, then away again.
“You said you believed in me. What changed your mind?”

I glance back at the auditorium. The people sounds fade, the doors leading out to the gym clang shut one last time, and now I know they’ve all left me behind. Alarmed, I notice how
the emergency lights don’t reach the pool room; they stop precisely at the tunnel entrance, leaving Annaliese’s sanctuary dark, untouched.

Well, aside from
her
.

She sweeps back and forth across the room, passing easily through the fence. Her fluorescent swirl illuminates the pit of the pool. Droplets of color, sparking up at random, dance like minuscule fireworks around her drifting form.

Transfixed, I watch her drift through the fence one last time, approaching me in careful degrees. Is she as frightened of me as I am of her?

“You didn’t answer me.
”

I forgot the question. Annaliese’s features blur, sharpen, then blur again. Aside from, well, being a ghost this time, I recognize her from the pictures in Millie’s yearbooks.

Not her eyes, though. These are not the same pale, friendly eyes. These depthless black orbs reveal nothing human at all.

I speak without thinking. “The windows to your soul.”

She stops, though her hair continues to float in a misty halo.
“Who told you that?”

“My grandmother.”

“Can you see my eyes?”

“No,” I admit.

She considers this.
“Does that mean I don’t have a soul?”

Either answer, yes or no, might be the wrong one. How easy is it to piss off a ghost? Right now she looks pretty mellow for one of the undead. Or am I thinking of vampires? Zombies?

I clear my stinging throat. “What do you want?”

“Why won’t you answer my questions?”

“Why won’t you answer mine? You dragged me in here.”

“I didn’t drag you in. You came on your own.”

“Liar.” Now
I’m
pissed off. “You could’ve killed me with that trick.”

An air of amusement.
“I guess we underestimated each other, Corinne.”

“You know my name.”

“I know all your names. Lacy, and Dino, and Meg, and …”

“Tasha,” I say stonily.

“Did Tasha’s mom cry at her funeral?
”

“Of course she cried.”

“Good. I hope she cries every day for the rest of her life.”

I wet my lips and spit out bleach. “What did she do to you?”

“Why don’t you ask Monica what they did to me?”

“They?”

Annaliese quivers at that. Again her features waver out of focus, then grow sharper than ever. I see a nose, a chin, and that she’s small, like me, though she appears much bigger with all the surrounding vapor.
“Are you really that stupid, that you don’t know who I’m talking about?”

Of course I know: Luke, Millie, Joey Mancini, and Mom. “Are you going to kill them, too?”

“I didn’t kill anyone.”

“You killed Dino and Tasha. Then you tried to kill Nate.”

“
Nate would’ve done it himself once he realized he’d killed those horses. Or killed you,
” she adds bitterly.

“Same difference.”

“And I didn’t kill Dino. He slipped, jabbed a link into his leg, and fell back till he was hanging upside down. You should’ve heard him blubber! Crying for his mommy. Then he hung there till he died. Not my fault he was clumsy. Not MY fault he came in here.”
A brief
silence; I guess she wants to let
that
one sink in.
“And Tasha jumped in by herself. Why blame me?”

“Because
you
made it happen. You made all of it happen!” Annaliese doesn’t argue. This surprises me. “Why?”

“What do you care? Besides, I’m almost finished. In fact, just think …”
Her voice takes on a taunting lilt.
“Right now your boyfriend might be cleaning out his gun, or driving around in that nasty blizzard, or—”

Pain shoots to my elbow at my involuntary jerk. “Leave Nate alone.”

“Imagine how Luke’ll feel when he finds Nate with his brains blown out. Or in his car, wrapped around a tree.
Mmm,
blood all over the snow. Maybe a decapitation?”

A shower of sparks punctuates Annaliese’s delight. She moves close enough to cast a glow over my skin. My arm hairs flare.

“Don’t worry. It’s not like you won’t find another guy, right? You’re just like Monica. Not me. I never even kissed a guy till Luke.”
She swells, radiating fury like waves from a furnace.
“But Monica? Ha! She ruined everything.”

Startled by the alien surge of heat, I back into the wall. The blackness lifts with each rising degree, revealing a pool filled with sparkling water. Bright lights. A smooth tiled floor.

The powerful odor of bleach evaporates, leaving only the clean, safe scent of a normal swimming pool.

Not a dream.

Not a hallucination.

“
Watch
,” Annaliese whispers.

The fence disappears, and so does she.

Now I know what Tasha saw the day she died.

She dove into an empty pool, believing this illusion was real. That somehow the pool had been secretly renovated, transformed into something beautiful beyond belief. A rational person would’ve realized such a feat was impossible.

Tasha wasn’t rational. She’d been under Annaliese’s spell.

I stare in dread at the diving board. What does Annaliese plan to show me? Tasha, en route to her grisly death?

Can she force me to watch? Will I see her land this time?

Please. Please, no.

Nothing happens. But the pool remains.

At the unexpected sound of new voices in the auditorium, and no Annaliese in sight, I make a split second decision and bolt out of the tunnel.
Free!

But wait. There are no instruments on the stage, no tiers for the chorus. No puddles of water or abandoned belongings. The stage is lit again, but the curtains look different. Kids sprawl in the hill of seats. I don’t recognize a single face.

I do recognize Ms. Rasmussen, my English teacher who also teaches drama. She’s different, too, thinner, with longer hair, and what’s with the outdated glasses?

As the final bell rings, she says, “Okay, have a great weekend, people. And don’t forget, if anyone’s interested, tryouts for
Hamlet
will be after school on Monday.”

Mumbles of agreement, a few good-byes. Kids grab book bags and folders. Some head for the tunnel, others toward the gym. Unsure of what to do, I head for the gym, too, acutely aware that my right arm is now
fine
—and stop when I spot two girls in a back row.

Mom and Millie?

Yes, it’s them, but much younger versions. Mom’s hair hangs to her waist. Millie, easily forty pounds lighter, displays a mountain of cleavage in her tight pink top.

“You got the camera?” I hear Mom—
Monica
—whisper to Millie. Millie holds up a bulky old Polaroid. Monica smacks it back down. “Don’t wave it around! What’s wrong with you?”

“Chill out,” Millie suggests. “And hurry up. She’ll be here any sec.” As Mom/Monica hesitates, she adds, “Don’t worry. You just take care of Luke. Joey and I’ll do the rest.”

“Cool. I’m outta here.” Mom/Monica hops up, revealing a short demin skirt and funky boots. Smiling slyly, she adds, “Take
lots
of pics,” and squiggles past Millie out of the row.

When she halts in surprise directly in front of me, it hits me:
she sees me, too!

I wait, immobilized.

Mom/Monica narrows the same eyes I’ve known for sixteen years. “What’re you lookin’ at, bitch?”

I’m looking at you. At my mother, at my age. And I don’t like what I see.

“N-nothing,” I stammer.

“N-n-nothin’,” she mimics, jarring me with her unfamiliar drawl. I bet Mom worked really hard over the years to get rid of that. “I don’t know you. You new?”

“Y-yes.”

“So what’s your name?”

“Corinne.” I wait breathlessly, but she shows no recognition.

“Nice name,” Mom/Monica muses. “I like it.” She hefts her book bag and lifts her chin. “Now do me a favor and get your ass outta here …
Corinne
.”

I don’t need to be asked twice. With a last look at Millie, all
huddled down like she’s hiding, I hurry out to the gym. Funny how only a few minutes ago I thought I’d be killed by a ghost. Now I’m wondering how I ended up
twenty fricking years in the past
—and how, or if, I’ll make it back to my own time in one piece.

Unless Annaliese’s making me hallucinate, too, the way she made Tasha hallucinate the pool. Did Annaliese “bring” me here to kill me off, after all?

I’m afraid to budge. The next step I take may be the last move I make.

When Monica emerges behind me, I come alive and duck behind the open door. She passes without notice, sharing a significant look with a young, buff, and menacingly cute Joey Mancini.

“Luke’s on his way,” he mutters sideways. “Go get him, princess.”

Monica springs off, her long hair flopping, and Joey saunters into the auditorium.
Which one should I follow?
The decision is made for me when I step away from the door and instantly stumble, knocked off-balance by another deadly sear of suction.

Annaliese isn’t letting me go anywhere. What she wants me to see is
here
.

So I follow Joey. He and Millie exchange urgent whispers, and lapse into silence when someone else walks in.

Annaliese.

Not the ghost Annaliese. The
girl
Annaliese.

She strolls down to the front row. I flatten myself into the back wall, praying for invisibility, as Joey lopes down to join Annaliese. Millie, camera in hand, then sneaks down the side aisle, prowling catlike toward the stage. I tiptoe behind her as
closely as I dare. If Mom/Monica can see me, maybe Millie and Dino can, too.

Joey’s talking to Annaliese. She’s so much prettier than her yearbook pictures. Not head-turning beautiful, not like my mom. But there’s something, I don’t know,
genuine
about her. Like, if you found yourself in the lunch room with no one to talk to, Annaliese would totally invite you over. She’s so startlingly normal and so
good
somehow, I almost forget about that evil vapor in the pool room.

Annaliese jumps as Joey advances. “Leave me alone. I’m waiting for Luke.”

“Want some company?” he cajoles.

“No. I don’t even like you, Joey.”

“Sure you do.” Fast as a whip, Joey kisses her.

Click … buzz.
Millie’s camera shoots out a photo. She whips it out and places it on the edge of the stage.

“What are you
doing
?” Annaliese shouts, dodging Joey’s persistent mouth.

Click … buzz. Click … buzz.
Millie presses the button each time Joey’s mouth hits the mark.

What the hell?
No longer caring if they notice me, I open my mouth to shout my own protest—but the air turns to syrup, deadening my limbs, silencing me.

Then, bellowing curses, Joey stumbles away from Annaliese’s fist with a bloody nose.

“Get away from me, you sick freak. Both of you!” Annaliese adds to Millie, now several yards away.

Millie calls merrily, “Hey, we’re just gonna take some pics for Lukey baby. Y’know, so he’ll know what a
slut
you are.”

Joey wipes his nose on his
Hawks
sweatshirt. Then he grabs Annaliese, one hand in her hair, the other mashing her breast.
Click … buzz
. Millie lines the photos up side by side.

Then Annaliese breaks free. “Go ahead, take more. Get one of Dino’s bloody nose! When Luke sees it, he’ll
know
it wasn’t my idea.” She backs up, hair wild, eyes flashing danger. “He’s on his way now. You better leave me alone!”

“Oh, really?” Millie taunts. “I don’t think so. He’s busy with
Monica
right now.”