Blue Moon (12 page)

The back of a hand touched her skin.

"You are. Todd? Focus the camera on her forehead. Look at the beads of perspiration. Lori? For comparison purposes, can you pick up that thermometer and bring it over, so we can tape the temperature?"

For a time nothing more happened. Then, one of the objects set her shivering so badly she had to be held down, and another made her limbs rise uncontrollably, sticking out so stiffly no one could force them back until the cause had been removed.

The next one did nothing, nor did the two after that.

The last one, though, set her screaming, keening over and over as every nerve ending came alive and the touch of her clothes, the feel of the hands that reached to help her, the motes of dust in the air burned like fire.

She ripped the blindfold off and sat up. Something fell from her stomach, and the agony stopped. She looked on the floor and saw what had caused it all—a stone, pale sickly-green and rough. On a tray next to her bed were rocks and gems of all descriptions, laid out like a display at a nature store, a half-dollar and a small rubber ball. A ruby as broad as three fingers, oblong and faceted, stood out like a beacon.

"Are you alright?” Dr. Seward asked. Lori looked frightened, Todd derisive.

"I think so."

"I don't know what the big deal is,” Todd said. “I mean, she has to be faking."

Libby stared at him, but Lori saved her from trying to think of a properly scathing reply.

"Her reactions match the reactions in the books. And she couldn't have known which stone we were using."

"She said on the questionnaire that she wears jewelry. If she reacts this way to stones, how could she?"

"Nothing I own is real,” Libby said. “Except for sterling silver. But mostly I wear beads and, you know, fake stuff."

"Well, in any case, we'll have to repeat the experiments,” Dr. Seward broke in. “Attach some monitoring devices."

"No."

"No?"

"We're quits, Doctor,” Libby said, tucking her shirt back in. “I don't know what just happened, but for some reason I react to these stones in ways I don't want to ever feel again.” She crossed to where her belongings were and put on her coat. She was still shivering, weak from pain. “I'm a senior. Right now, I have a four-point-oh GPA, and I'm not going to risk it. I can't afford to."

Lori nodded slowly, and Todd sneered.

"Libby...” Dr. Seward began.

"I'm sorry. I didn't volunteer to be put through pain like that. And you don't know what other stones might do to me.” She shrugged apologetically, shouldered her backpack and left.

At the union, she chewed and swallowed four aspirins in hope they would cure the resounding headache she'd gotten from all that nonsense. She didn't feel better with food in her stomach, so she dug out the date book where she'd carefully written down just how many skips she was allowed for each class. She was relieved to see she didn't have to go to her next one.

She gave in to her addiction to email only long enough to see if anyone had sent her anything then took the elevator to the fourth, “quiet” floor of the library and settled into a chair. While she hid out, wrapped tightly in her coat, she kept thinking that she ought to go home, but she hated the idea of being alone. She kept remembering the pain—not reliving it but reliving the fear of it—and a strange feeling that she had called unwanted attention to herself, that something knew what she really was and was now watching her. Which was silly, because she was nothing, unremarkable, unremarked upon.

She shook her head. “Goofy,” she muttered, scanning the spines of what books she could see from the chair. Everything hurt, like with a bad case of the flu.

She had two papers to do, but she wouldn't need to do any more research for them until they were underway. She scanned the fiction shelves, picked up a couple of books that looked like fun and promised herself she'd work really hard all day tomorrow and Sunday, but tonight she'd veg out in front of the TV and read. She hadn't rented a movie in ages, and the idea appealed to her.

When they called her later, asking her to come in for just a few more tests, she politely said no and hung up. Soon, she began screening her phone calls, standing over the machine while each took a turn trying to convince her.

Then Dr. Seward called while she was out and said the one thing that could change her mind.

"There's a reason why you reacted the way you did during the tests, Libby. I need you to visit the office, come talk to me and let me explain. Forget the study for now, just let me tell you what I know."

She looked at her watch. It was early afternoon. Maybe he'd still be around his office? So, she grabbed her purse and headed for campus, thinking that if she didn't go to him now, maybe she'd never get around to it.

She cut around some bushes and across the green, in a hurry because she wanted to know what he was going to say. She slipped on the wet grass, but strong, warm hands saved her from falling. She turned to thank her benefactor and found herself looking into eyes like golden wine. He was incredibly handsome, tall, slender, poetic. Golden straight hair and a beautiful smile—seeing his smile, she followed his example. One of his hands was still on her arm, and that slight contact made her feel flushed, filled with heat.

So, she went to lunch with Sabin instead. It was fortunate, for if she had made it to Dr. Seward's office, she might have been killed with him.

October 19

Rita has finally come back from her latest spate of wandering the world. Dad insists that she live with me. He thinks that if she's introduced to the college atmosphere, she'll fall in love with it and decide to get her degree. I'm less than thrilled. I love Rita, I really do, but I like being alone, and Rita's kind of hard to take when you're trying to study. She likes constant noise and constant attention.

But, Dad's paying the bills, and I don't want him to repeat that awful thing he said once, that I was jealous of Rita's vibrancy. I'm not, of course. I'm not really his daughter, but Rita is. I've gotten used to being something Mom brought with her to the marriage, not an actual part of it. And I was so grateful that he sent me to college, and so glad to get away from home, where Rita is the petted and coddled symbol of their union, and I'm the accidental get of her asshole ex-husband.

And lest future generations think I'm a jerk, let me remind you all of the time I got slapped for having a boy in my room. We weren't doing anything, just talking and listening to music. Alright, he did kiss me once...?

But Rita gets caught naked, straddling the guy, and she gets birth control pills!

So now I have to live with Rita, who loves to make trouble with Dad, who steals my clothes and has impromptu hash parties. I would be nicer about the whole thing, if dear old Dad hadn't told me that if he caught me having any parties here, I'd be looking for a place of my own.

I know. I sound like such a brat. Like I said, I am very grateful that I have this little apartment, that I'm getting to go to school. So I never say these things out loud. I just write them here, and then I feel better, and I can behave myself.

October 22

I can't tell if I'm in love with Sabin or not. When he's not here, I pretty much forget him. But when I'm with him, I feel like I'd do anything he asked.

I've never been with a man, but when I see him, I need him so desperately I can't think. So, since Rita has gone home for the weekend, I think I'll invite him up.

On the Dr. Seward front, the police don't seem to know what happened. I wish I'd gotten to talk to him, find out what he knows. I found some stuff in Kunz's
The Curious Lore of Precious Stones and Jewels
. I can't find Lori or Todd anywhere on campus.

She waited hours and hours for him to come, then gave up and went for a walk. Later, she would have no recollection of how she ended up where she did.

She rounded the hedge and saw them on a bench. She recognized Rita's giggle before she saw her. Her sister's back was to her. A man sat on the bench, and Rita straddled his hips. She threw back her head and laughed, and Sabin looked into Libby's eyes over her sister's shoulder. He smiled.

Libby ran.

She wonders, dimly, in the back of her head while she experiences this dream, if the fact she wished so profoundly in that moment for her sister to drop dead was the cause of all the trouble to follow.

Libby came out of the dream regretful. She had rarely viewed her sister in a good light, but Rita could be really great. Especially if she'd been away from home for awhile. There was a month where they'd lived together that had been the most wonderful time in the world.

She would carry the guilt, not for her sister's death but for feeling she hadn't tried hard enough, been nice enough, for the rest of her life.

She looked over at the alarm clock and realized the electricity was out and the white noise of her existence—the refrigerator, the heater, the clock radio she sometimes left playing—was gone, leaving only the skitter of leaves across the roof, the click of dog claws on the floor, the bumping and gnawing of rats or squirrels chased into the walls by the first real cold of fall.

Fortunately, she never depended on electricity for her security. She rolled over, rescued a pillow from disappearing under the headboard and willed herself back to sleep. She wanted nice dreams tonight.

She relived the nice time she'd had with Alex. He was the first man she'd wanted to be with in years. If she wasn't careful, she'd fall hard for him.

She was just settling into a comfortable doze when she heard the first melody from his pipes, high and reedy then low as if whispering secrets. She sat up, shivering, as he played just outside where the bedroom window had been.

"Libby,” he whispered, “I'm waiting."

She sat in the darkness and stayed very quiet, hardly daring to breathe.

"Soon,” he said softly, and began to play again. She listened as the sound went farther and farther away, shivering and very, very afraid.

There was a click, and she heard the refrigerator come back on; the clock by her bed began to flash. She crossed to her wind-up clock and turned on a light so she could see the time and reset her alarm. She knew she wouldn't sleep the rest of the night but pore over old books instead.

"Something's about to happen, Dashiel,” she said. “Too many odd things are going on.” She looked down at him. “Do you know of anything?"

He just stared intelligently up at her.

She sighed and went into the living room, turning on lights as she went. Her tote bag of mail was on the couch, and she dumped the contents, pulling the wastebasket closer. She wasn't expecting anything, but mail often brought her a package or two. She threw out some circulars and opened an oversized padded envelope. It was an advance copy of a romantic suspense novel, the author's name one she didn't recognize. There was a press release and a letter.

"Dear Ms. Halstead,” it read, “I was hoping you would read the enclosed book. You have been a huge inspiration to me, and..."

Libby smiled and folded the letter in half and placed it in the book. She put the book on the table, promising herself to try and get to it right away. The woman would be hoping for a blurb for her jacket, which Libby was always happy to give if the book was good but often didn't have time to do.

She opened up another mailer, expecting something similar. Instead, she found a plain brown cardboard box. She opened it with slight trepidation, since only her agent knew her address—the book and letter had been mailed there and forwarded.

This was not a book. It was a bracelet made of colored glass gems in square settings. The settings were connected in a chain—a purple stone, then a black, then a green stone, and so on from clasp to clasp. She picked it up dazedly and held it in her hand, the lamplight catching the facets.

She had first seen this bracelet at a flea market on a table of new jewelry. Her sister had fallen in love with it at first sight. Libby had bought it for her, and Rita had bought her one almost exactly the same, except the stones were oval. She could still smell the sun on the grass, the scent laced with cigarette smoke.

She went to her jewelry box to make sure. At first she didn't see it, because it had slid under her dragon pin. She picked it up, comparing the two chains, and they looked the same, save for the shapes.

She hadn't told anyone of this, nor written of anything similar in her books. Had her mother mentioned it to a friend? But, no, her mother could barely speak her older daughter's name after the police had considered her a suspect in Rita's murder.

It wasn't surprising she was the first person they looked at. It was her apartment, after all. But lack of evidence forced them to drop the idea.

A bit of dirt clung to the backs of the settings. She washed the bracelet off carefully and wrapped both together in a scrap of velvet. She put them in the box, perplexed.

Sierra knew Sabin, although she often wished, dreaming odd, fragmented dreams that did not always feel like they belonged to her, that she did not.

She was awakened by the eerie keening of a flute. It was a soft, wailing sound, like a weeping child. She got up and drew on a robe. She was shivering, and could not kid herself it was from the chill of the room.

She crossed to a window. It took her a few moments to nerve herself to touch the curtain, to pull it back just a little. It can't be him, she thought, he wouldn't know where to find me.

She peeked through, looking at the yard below. There was no one there, but the tune continued. It was his tune, so simple a thing, so terrible. She could hum along to it, she knew it so well; she could sing the words if she had the courage, for he'd taught them to her long ago.

Come, come, my lassie

Come ye to me.

Come, come, my lassie,

We'll drown in the sea.

We'll drown in the sea, my love,

Drown in the sea,

And you can be with me, love,