Brighter, a supernatural thriller (10 page)

Right then, it didn't seem to matter so much that Garrett was spouting crazy theories and talking about dead people walking around. She gazed deep into Garrett's eyes, and he looked back, whatever argument he'd had for the existence of monsters dying on his tongue. Garrett kissed her.

His lips were soft.

His tongue was softer. Slick-smooth and sweet against hers. And almost immediately his hands were on her, and it felt like they were everywhere. Cupping her ass, stroking her breasts, between her legs. She moaned. She pulled him to his feet, and they stumbled over furniture to her bed. She pulled the curtain closed on the picture window. It felt good.

It had been a long time since Ramona had been with anyone, and that was saying something, because there had been a period of time when Ramona had been slightly promiscuous. It was easy to do in a town this size, where she knew everyone, everyone seemed safe, and alcohol flowed like the lemonade springs in the big rock candy mountains. But lately, she'd been celibate. She guessed she'd been saving herself for Mason. Not anymore. She stopped herself from thinking anymore, because she didn't want to think. She wanted to give in to Garrett and his hands and his tongue.

She lay beneath him, writhing beneath his caresses, arching her neck to meet his lips with her own. He'd settled onto her so that half his weight rested against her. She loved the feeling of him. The warmth. The heft of him. Garrett pushed himself up on his arms, so that he wasn't resting on her anymore, and so they couldn't kiss. He looked down at her. "Is this okay?" he asked.

Was it okay? Was he insane? She pushed him onto his back to straddle him. "This is definitely okay." And she pulled her shirt over her head.

* * *

Garrett was gone when she woke up the next morning. It was early. Still dark. The Grind wasn't even open yet, because she couldn’t hear the music that they started playing every day at the ass crack of dawn. She'd lived in the apartment long enough that the music didn't wake her anymore. Not much did. She chalked up her early rise to the fact that she'd passed out sometime around eight the night before. It had still been light outside. For a few moments, she just lay in bed, staring into the darkness. When she did move, she realized she had the mother of all hangovers.

While pouring water down her throat, she looked around to see if Garrett had left her a note. He hadn't. She thought about calling him, but it was three-thirty in the morning, and she figured he was asleep. Besides, his not leaving a note tended to suggest that he wasn't interested in talking to her anymore. She wasn't entirely sure how she felt about that.

The sex had been phenomenal. Weirdly phenomenal for first-time sex, which was usually a little awkward and strange. Maybe because they'd both been so drunk, their awkwardness had been burned off along with their inhibitions. She wasn't sure. But she did know that she'd had three orgasms, which wasn't normal for her, even if she weren't having first-time sex. Sex with Garrett had been...warm. There was a sweetness to their encounter. It had put her in mind of sex scenes on movies. Like the one in
Top Gun
, with the music in the background and the shadows on the wall. Totally fucking intense. Totally fucking amazing.

And he hadn't left a note. What the fuck?

Maybe it hadn't been nearly as good for him. They hadn't really talked about it. But it had sounded like he was having a good time. And he'd whispered in her ear that she was beautiful. Just thinking about it made her stomach turn inside out. Damn it.

Why had she let this happen? Garrett was weird. Garrett was a social pariah. She had not just had sex with Garrett Hillard. Well, she obviously had, but she really wished she hadn't. It was fucked up. Especially because now she was totally developing feelings for him. Strong feelings. And he hadn't even bothered to leave her a note, because...well, she didn't know why. Maybe he'd call her tomorrow.

She tried to go back to sleep but didn't manage it until about a half an hour before she had to get up for work, which meant that she woke up feeling groggy and almost worse than she had before she went back to sleep. But her hangover was mostly gone, thanks to the copious amounts of water she'd ingested. Trying not to obsess about what had happened to her the night before, she dragged herself to work.

She still had a box of brochures to go through for the project Maxine wanted her to work on, but she really didn't feel like going through them, so she decided to do some research on the internet instead. After wasting as much time as she could on settling in to work (drinking her coffee, checking her e-mail, saying good morning), she finally sat down in front of her computer and pulled up a Google search page. She typed "Elston history" into the search line and hit enter. She scrolled idly through the results that popped up. There were other Elstons in the world. Most of the results pertained to those towns. She hit her back button. Inserted "WV" into the search line and hit enter again. There. She clicked on one of the results and began to skim the article it brought up.

Elston was named after Matthew Elston, who'd been the governor appointed to the town by the British government, back when it was still Virginia. That was boring. She read more. Nothing much had happened in Elston during the Civil War. She found the date the college had been founded and jotted it down. The site was a bust. Or maybe Elston was a bust.

As far as historic towns went, it had the most boring history ever. The best thing it had going for it was that it was twenty minutes away from Harper's Ferry, and John Brown had freed a bunch of slaves there or something. Ramona could never remember the story. There was a wax museum in Harper's Ferry, though. She'd been there once. The wax figures were automated, and their mouths moved along with a recorded soundtrack, so it looked like they were talking. Harper's Ferry was a cool historic town. Elston was just fucking weird.

Now she had a song stuck in her head. It was to the tune of "The Battle Hymn of the Republic," but instead of all that "trampling out the vintage" nonsense, the verse just went, "John's Brown's body is a rottin' in the grave, John Brown's body is a rottin' in the grave, John Brown's body is a rottin' in the grave, his truth is marching on." Ramona started to hum to herself. Where had she heard that song anyway? Maybe at the wax museum? Or girl scouts? It didn't matter.

She clicked back and was back at the results page. She skimmed through the links. All of them looked like they were copies of the article she'd just read.

Why hadn't Garrett left her a note? It was rude that he hadn't. Fucking rude. She could understand why he hadn't stayed. Maybe he'd woken up and hadn't wanted to be stuck in her house. After all, she didn't have any rooms, so he couldn't have hung out and watched TV or something. But he should have left her a note. Because she couldn't stop thinking about him. If she didn't intentionally occupy her brain with something else, she would flash onto the way it felt to be beneath him, split open, filled up, pleasure racking her body in waves—

This sucked. On a whim, Ramona highlighted the text in the search line and typed, "Dawn Trimbley," over it. She clicked search.

A list of results popped up. Some were congratulating a Dawn Trimbley on promotions. Some listed her as a doctor, or a lawyer, or a teacher. One link was a missing Dawn Trimbley in Texas. Ramona hovered her mouse over it.

She was going to look at the link. It wasn't because she still suspected Dawn of being a clone or a demon or of stealing the brochure. Because she didn't think any of those things. Garrett was nuts, no matter how good he was in bed. She was going to look at the link because she was bored, and Elston had no interesting history. She'd only typed Dawn's name in because she was curious. It didn't have anything to do with Garrett's crazy theories or with what he'd said to her last night. She didn't believe him. She didn't care.

She pressed down on the button on her mouse. The page loaded, along with a large full color picture. Ramona looked at it for a couple seconds, swallowing nervously. Then she clicked her back button two times, back to the Elston search, and sat back in her chair. She should never have opened that link.

God. Garrett had filled her head with all that nonsense again. Then he'd fucked her, in more than one meaning of the word. And then he hadn't left a fucking goddamned note. And now she was looking at links, which had pictures of girls who looked exactly like Dawn and the girl in the brochure. This was just too weird.

She leaned back up to the computer and clicked the forward button twice. The picture of Dawn filled the screen. "Missing since 10/23/89," read the caption. Jesus Christ. It couldn't be the same Dawn. She looked exactly the same in the picture as she did now. Just like the picture in the brochure. This was weird. This was fucked up. Ramona saved the web site to her favorites. She'd give Heather the address. Then maybe Heather would see that she wasn't losing her mind. And if she ever spoke to Garrett again, she'd have to tell him about it, because he'd want to know. Even if he didn't ever want to have sex with her again, he'd want to know about this.

* * *

"Hi Garrett," said Blair in that sugary-sweet voice of hers. She had draped herself over the library counter top like last time.

Garrett stared into her cleavage, feeling his heart leap into his throat. Where had she come from? How had she snuck up on him like that? He'd been checking in some books, glancing away from the entrance for what he swore could only have been a second, and then here she was. Larger-than-life and creepier than ever. Garrett's throat was dry. He swallowed, but it didn't help much, so his voice came out sort of hoarse. "What do you want, Blair?"

"I want you to leave town," she said. "Or didn't I make myself clear two years ago?"

He looked away from her. "What happened that night, anyway?" he asked. "You and I both know I didn't rape you."

Blair didn't say anything, so he looked back at her. She raised her eyebrows. "Got a pretty clear memory of 'that night,' do you?"

Garrett nodded.

Blair didn't look pleased. A chill scampered up Garrett's spine. Hair on the back of his neck stood up. He shook himself, but the feeling stayed. He looked away again. "I don't have anywhere to go," he muttered. "I can't leave."

Blair touched his shoulder, and he flinched. Blair laughed. "Did I scare you?" she asked.

"Always," said Garrett dryly.

Blair snickered. "Good." Languidly, she rose up off the counter and rolled her head on her shoulders. She let out her breath audibly, like she was turned on. Garrett thought he might be sick. Then again, it might have nothing to do with Blair. It might just be because he was really fucking hung over, even in the late afternoon. "Listen Garrett," said Blair. "You absolutely did rape me that night. The fact you've blocked it from your memory only proves you're a crazy, fucked-up piece of shit."

"I did not rape you," said Garrett. "I tried to help you. You were scared, you were running from—"

"Bullshit," said Blair, and the force of her interruption caused Garrett to stumble. Then her sweet voice was back. "Lie to yourself all you want," she said. "I know what really happened, and no one believes you anyway."

"What did really happen?" asked Garrett. "I thought you were dead."

"Get out of Elston," said Blair. "And get away from Ramona Brinks. Just leave her alone."

He knew it. Blair didn't like it that he and Ramona had been talking. He wondered if Blair knew that he and Ramona had done more than just talked. This was actually a good thing. She was coming here and bothering him, because she felt threatened. He had a bargaining chip. He didn't know what he was bargaining over or what the stakes were or why it was important that he struggle for the upper hand, but he knew that he needed to. "I happen to like Ramona," he said. "A helluvalot." This wasn't a lie, either. He did like Ramona.

Blair's eyes narrowed. "Do you have any idea what I could do to you?" she asked him.

Garrett shrugged. "Then why don't you do it?" Truthfully, the thought of Blair doing something to him terrified him. She was like a cobra ready to pounce on him and inject him with poison.

Blair shrugged.

Garrett shrugged back. He was going to have the last shrug if it killed him. He knew now that he had to stand up to Blair. He had a little bit of leverage with his relationship with Ramona, and he had to use it.

"I might," said Blair. "I might go to the police. I might tell them what happened. I might get you sent to jail."

Garrett was confused. He'd thought that when Blair had said what she'd said she was threatening him with...with what? What had he thought? Had he
really
thought she was a clone or a ghost or a monster? Maybe Blair was right. Maybe he was crazy, and he'd blocked out the events of that night. He'd replaced them with something strange and otherworldly when all that had really happened was that he'd— No. He hadn't raped Blair. He could never do anything like that. He wasn't that kind of guy.

Carrie's face flashed in front of him, her eyes full of terror. She was in the corner in their apartment in Austin. He was screaming at her. His hands were clenched in fists and...

He could never do anything like that. Could he?

"Fuck you," Garrett whispered. "Why are you screwing with me like this?"

Blair laughed. It sounded like wind chimes. "Just leave town, Garrett. Leave town, and I'll leave you alone."

"Why?" he said. "What do you care?"

"The sight of you makes me ill," she said, but she smiled when she said it.

If he actually had raped her, wouldn't she be frightened of him? And how could it have happened? How would he have done it? Why would he have...? He shook his head furiously. "I didn't rape you," he said.

"Sure of that?" teased Blair.

He wasn’t. Sickeningly enough, he wasn't entirely sure of anything anymore. He used to think of himself as an okay guy. A nice guy. A solid guy. Someone that people could depend on. Sure, he wasn't the smartest guy in the world, and he wasn't the most talented, but he wasn't an asshole. But after his relationship with Carrie, he didn't feel like such a great guy anymore. He felt like a lit fuse or a time bomb. He was always half-waiting for himself to explode and go crazy.