Wraiths of Winter (The Haunting Ruby Series Book 3) (26 page)

“I know!” Rachel said. “Doesn’t seem possible, does it?
But I figure if Crimson put her—”

“Don’t!” I blurted out. “I’m already picturing Crimson
doing her best Cirque de Soleil moves—I don’t need any help
in visualizing it! Let’s skip the description. What happened
afterwards?”

“They basically decided that they wanted to give their
relationship another shot. Crimson asked Drake to drop her
off at her apartment downtown.
She told him she had to
make another trip back to Los Angeles to wrap up production
on NeverMore’s first album but that she would get together
with him before she left.
The other girls in the band said she
never made it home and they’re the ones who called the
police.”

Wow. So similar to what happened to Allison. Was
Rachel a fool for believing that Drake wasn’t guilty? I mean,
what were the odds of something like that happening to an
innocent man
twice
?
I had to dig
for more information
without sounding accusatory.

“Where exactly did he drop her off? And what
evidence did they find in his car?”

“He dropped her off in front of her apartment at about
two in the morning. What they found was DNA left over from
their encounter and
the
shirt Crimson was
wearing
that
night—with blood on it.” Rachel made that statement
nonchalantly like the bloodstained clothing of missing girls
wound up in the backseat of everyone’s car on a routine basis.

Geez! Could she be any more naïve? “So, how does
Drake explain
that
?”

 

“Ivy scratched her during the fight and dug her nails in
pretty good. He gave her one of his hoodies to wear home.”

Possible, I suppose. But with all of the other strikes
against him, I still wasn’t buying it. “Is that all the police have
against him?” I had a sneaking suspicion that she was holding
back on me.

“Well,” she drawled, “There
are
the eye witnesses that
saw them driving around town while they were still arguing.
But that was early in the night—no one claims to have seen
them after midnight. And it doesn’t help that no one at the
party remembers the blood on her shirt.” Rachel dug into the
bag of pretzels and grabbed a handful. “Other than that, the
police have nothing.”

I stared at her in awe as she munched on pretzels
oblivious to the fact that what she just said was absurd.
Of
course Drake was guilty! Boone’s brother or not, he was a
raging psychopath!
He really did seem sad about Allison’s
death—maybe
he
had undiagnosed multiple personalities.
Anything was possible, right?
Anything except Drake being
innocent, that is. Rachel was
way
too trusting. I would never
believe a story
that
full of holes.

“So now all we have to do is find out who killed
Allison,” Rachel declared.

Yeah, that was going to be easy—I already found him.
What scared me most was
that with
Drake behind bars,
Crimson was tied up somewhere and starving to death. What
was I thinking?
Too much time had already passed. She was
probably already dead. Hopefully, her ghost would be more
like Clay and less like Allison.
Where should I even start
looking for her?

Rachel snapped her fingers in front of my face to bring
me back to the conversation. “Hello? Where were you just
now? We need to focus!”

“You’re right,” I said. “How was rehearsal Saturday
and Sunday? Any more falling fixtures?”

She shook her head no. “Boring actually. I ran my
lines with Brian—that’s the guy playing Roarke. Lucas wasn’t
exactly at the top of his game.”

Really?
Did what happened Friday night affect him
that
much? “Oh, why’s that?”

 

“I don’t know—he seemed preoccupied by something.
He didn’t talk much. I thought maybe you would know why.”

 

“Me? How should
I
know? I wasn’t there, remember?”

 

“Right,” she said suspiciously. “So are you coming
back this Friday now that you know that Allison’s harmless?”

I didn’t have a choice did I? Now I would be risking
my own life to find Crimson who was already dead so that I
could prove that a guilty man was innocent. FML.

“Sure, I wouldn’t dare miss it!” Who
wouldn’t
want an
invitation to their own funeral?
Sudden weird thought. Did
my ability to see ghosts make me more likely to become one
myself?
And if so, what kind of ghost would I be?
I certainly
didn’t want to haunt Zach and make him miserable for the
rest of his life or anyone else, for that matter. I made up my
mind—if I ended up like that, I would simply hang out at
Grimes and Loeffler with Clay. Not my first choice of how I
would want to spend eternity, mind you, but totally the lesser
of all the evils.

“Hey, can I ask you for a tiny little favor?” Rachel
asked as she twirled a strand of hair around her finger.

Oh no. What now? Wasn’t I already in enough danger
as it was? “What is it?” I asked with as much enthusiasm as I
could muster which was very little.

My lack of fervor went unnoticed. “I was just
wondering if you would help me learn my lines,” Rachel said
with every ounce of her usual enthusiasm. “I tried doing it
alone but I just couldn’t concentrate on it. I need a partner to
keep me in line. Lucas was my first choice but he’s busy
tonight. He felt bad about not being able to help me but he
gave me the brilliant idea to ask you instead.”

“Sure, I’ll help you.” Finally—something constructive
that I could do to take my mind off of Lucas without putting
my life in danger in the process. “When do you want to get
started?”

“How about right now?” she said, pulling her script
out of her bag. “We can start with Scene One. Jonas expects
us to have it memorized by Friday.”

I helped her with her lines until it was time for bed.
By the time we were done, I knew her lines better than she
did. Too bad my own life couldn’t be broken down into nice,
neat little scenes.
If it could, I would be ready to take the
stage. As it was, it felt like I was getting my first look at the
script on opening night. Lights, camera…panic.

19. Blackout

Bad things always seemed to happen when I broke my
promises but I decided to risk it anyway. I mean, hey, why
start making sane, rational decisions now, right? It was way
too late for sane and rational. I promised not to go near the
Bantam Theater again until after Rita had more information
about wraiths. When Friday evening arrived and I still hadn’t
heard anything from her, I had a decision to make. And as
always, I made the wrong one.
I was confident until the
Bantam was right in front of me then, as usual, I started to
question my own sanity.

Lucas was the main reason I decided to go against
Rita’s warnings. He wasn’t in school all week and we hadn’t
spoken since he told me he loved me. I had to see him—there
wasn’t a ghost in this world that could stop me. Scare me,
sure. Stop me, never.

I didn’t know if it was because I was away from it for a
week or if what I was experiencing was real, but the theater
seemed even more run down than it did the last time I was
there.
The lights were dimmer, the floorboards squeakier.
Allison was stronger. The scent of death was so thick in the
air that one breath nearly choked me.
It was going to be a
rough night.

As Rachel and I approached the front of the theater, I
spotted Lucas in the front row.
He was sitting off to the side,
about five seats away from the rest of the group with his head
down and running his lines quietly to himself, I couldn’t tell
what kind of mood he was in. But I was about to find out.

It wasn’t until Rachel called out “Wait for
me
!” that I
realized I was now a full five steps ahead of her in my haste to
see Lucas. Slow down. You can’t look too excited to see him.
He may get the wrong impression. But what exactly
was
the
wrong impression? Why did I want to see him so badly? Was
it possible to be in love with two boys at the same time? I was
about to find that out, too.

“Hey,” I said as I sank down into the seat beside him.
That was casual enough, right? I was dying to find out why he
wasn’t in school all week but I didn’t want to sound too
desperate for information.

He looked up from his script and tossed his hair out of
his eyes. “Hey,” he replied warmly, “I was afraid you weren’t
coming back. I thought maybe you were avoiding me.”

My heart melted.
I spent all week thinking
he
was
avoiding
me
! “Never,” I responded emphatically.

“Good—I wouldn’t want that. Ever.” He reached out
as though to take my hand but stopped suddenly.
Not quite
quick enough, though.
As his hand brushed lightly against
mine, a shiver shot up my arm. It wasn’t electrifying in the
literal sense like when Zach and I first touched but there was
definitely an emotional current involved.

Before I could ask Lucas where he was all week, Jonas
took the stage. “Tonight, I want to start with Act Two, Scene
Three. This is the scene where Erik kidnaps Kira and locks
her away beneath the theater.
I need Lucas and Rachel on
stage now and Brian, I want you and Gavin to practice your
lines together at the back of the theater. Your scene’s up
next.”

Just as I settled into my seat to watch Lucas and
Rachel, Jonas approached me.

 

“I’m sorry, I don’t think I caught your name,” he said
towering over me.

“Ruby Matthews,” I answered, uncomfortably. I was
trying not to attract attention, to fly under the radar. After all,
my purpose there went far beyond stage hand.

“Ruby—that’s a lovely name. Well, Ruby, I have a job
for you.
I have some costumes in my van.
I need you to
retrieve them for me and hang them in the back. I’ll have
Jackson show you where to put them.”

Jonas dug into his pocket, produced a set of keys and
handed them to me. “My van is in the alley out back—just out
that door and to the right,” he said pointing to one of the fire
exits. It should be the only vehicle parked out there.”

Simple enough—though I certainly could have done
without help from Jackson. That man was super creepy.
At
the mention of his name, he stepped out of the shadows to
gawk at me as I crossed the theater to the exit.
He was
studying
me like a hawk studies
a mouse—like prey.
I
squeezed my hand into a tight fist around Jonas’s keys, ready
to use them as a weapon if Jackson decided to swoop in for
the kill.

Once in the alley, I waited momentarily by the door
until I was certain he wasn’t following me. When the door
didn’t open, I walked briskly toward the van. Snow was
falling from the sky in large wet flakes and the wind howled
hauntingly
through the
narrow alley.
According
to the
weather report, a snow storm
was
supposed to hit after
midnight—long after we would all be safe in our beds. But
the
forecast
was
incorrect.
That
storm
was
swiftly
approaching.

I picked up the pace, wrapping my scarf tightly around
my neck to keep out the chill. A stinging sensation in the palm
of my hand reminded me that I was still clutching Jonas’s keys
in a death grip.
I unfolded my fingers and found a curious
indentation in my skin. It was the image of a mask—a mask
like the one I’d seen in my dreams so many times. It was the
mask of the Phantom.

Zach or Lucas—which one fit that role best? In some
ways, Zach felt like the character of Roarke but in some ways
so did Lucas.
Roarke was the comfortable, safe choice for
Kira, someone she’d known her whole life. Sure, I’d just met
Lucas but he looked exactly like Lee—my best friend for so
many years.
But Zach and I grew so close so quickly that
mere months felt like years, too.
On the flip side, they both
had dangerous streaks, streaks of unpredictability.
If I could
only figure out which role they each played in my life, then
maybe I would know which one should be my leading man.

I rubbed at my palm until the impression faded then
inspected his keychain to see what made the indentation in
my skin.
It was a small charm in the shape of a mask,
fashioned from silver and red enamel. Jonas probably bought
it in
New York City
as
a souvenir from
the
Broadway
production. If I hadn’t blown off that trip to the Big Apple to
spend a day alone with Zach, I would have totally brought one
of those home for myself. At least Jonas had good taste.

Cracking
open the back of the van, I found
the
costumes and an empty rack to hang them on. I lifted out the
rack and placed it on the snowy ground and then slung the
costumes over the bar. Once I secured the back of the van, I
headed toward the theater amazed to see that the falling
flakes had already erased my earlier footsteps. The storm, it
seemed, was upon us.

I burst back in the door covered in snow and shaking
from the cold.
Jackson was still standing in the spot where I
last saw him, waiting eagerly to show me to the back.
He
cracked a lecherous smile, revealing that half of his teeth were
missing and the other half were yellowed and rotting.
He
didn’t speak to me—he
just pointed to a doorway and
disappeared inside.
I tossed Jonas his keys and followed
Jackson’s lead.

The hallway was dim and gloomy, lit only by sconces
that cast no more light than candles. The wheels of the rack
squeaked along the floor as I followed him past multiple
doorways until he came to a stop at the far end. He pointed to
the door on the right and waited for me to step inside. As I
passed his outstretched arm, I caught sight of his finger nails,
ragged and black like he’d dug a grave by hand. A foul odor
hovered around him, too—a strange combination of ammonia
and motor oil.