Brighter, a supernatural thriller (11 page)

That was why, even though he liked Ramona, he hadn't allowed himself to wake up next to her. He liked Ramona. He liked her a lot. And she deserved a better guy than he was. He knew what would happen if they got involved. He wouldn't mean it to happen, but it would. He'd only want to keep her from getting away. Want to keep her safe. Want to be with her. But he'd get fixated on it. And he'd intend...but soon it wouldn't entirely be about safety or caring about her or anything like that. It would just be about controlling her. Because it would be too scary if something so important to his life as his relationship would be out of control. He wasn't good for Ramona. He needed to stay away from her.

And hell, maybe he could have raped Blair. Maybe if he'd gotten drunk. He'd been so angry that night about that stupid job. He'd felt like punching in a wall or bashing his boss' skull in. The anger had been like a fog. It had been hard to see through it. Maybe he wasn't sure of what he'd done. Maybe he'd made up all this stuff about monsters because he couldn’t deal with his guilty conscience. Maybe there was nothing here. No conspiracy theories, no dead girls, no ghosts.

"You aren't sure aren't you?" said Blair. "You don't remember doing it, but you think you could have. Maybe you don't remember other things, Garrett."

He shook his head dully. Everything in the library seemed to be getting dimmer and Blair's voice seemed to be getting brighter. It echoed in his head. It tore a path between his eyes and into his brain. It lodged there and reverberated throughout his bones.

"Like Angelica. You remember you met Angelica right before she died? Do you remember that?"

Garrett nodded. Angelica. Pretty hippie chick. Scared off by Owen. Then found in a shallow grave a few nights later. He remembered.

"Do you remember when you killed her?"

Garrett furrowed his brow. That wasn't right. He didn't kill her. He'd never
killed
anybody. "I didn't—" he started.

"Are you sure?" Blair interrupted.

"I..."

"Leave town, Garrett," said Blair. "Leave town or I will destroy you."

She turned slowly, giving him a slow view of her swaying hips, and sauntered out the library door. Garrett watched her go, feeling lightheaded and strange. He blinked hard and rubbed his forehead. His head was starting to hurt. He needed a cigarette.

* * *

Ramona hadn't been able to stop thinking about the missing Dawn Trimbley in Texas. She also hadn't been able to stop thinking about Garrett. After an afternoon of obsession, she was able to convince herself that the discovery of Dawn's missing twin was a good enough excuse to bother Garrett at work. She told herself that she wouldn't even mention what had happened the night before, since she wasn't entirely sure if it even meant anything. Ramona was no stranger to one-night stands. They happened. And usually, she was pretty good at being friends with the people she had them with afterwards. She wasn't always good at being friends with her ex-boyfriends. She hadn't talked to Ben in years, for instance. But guys she'd just fucked, those guys she could keep in touch with no problem.

Ramona was in such a rush to get to the library to see Garrett that she tripped over one of the roots of the oak tree growing in front of the building and went sprawling on the sidewalk. After lying there for a few seconds, contemplating how ridiculous she must look, she got to her feet and began to brush herself off. She'd scraped her knee. Great. The blood was coming through her cream trousers, which were dirty, but miraculously not torn. The blood would ruin them. There was no doubt. Ramona stared at her knee—red blossoming through her pants. She swore under her breath and debated just going home for a band-aid. Maybe it was a sign. She shouldn't talk to Garrett. Maybe he'd think she was smothering him. Maybe he'd be rude.

"Ramona, are you okay?" said a voice.

Ramona looked up, and Blair was coming out of the front door of the library. Ramona immediately thought of Garrett's story about Blair the night before. Was Blair a ghost? A clone? A monster? "Jesus, you saw that?" Ramona asked. "I'm so embarrassed."

"You're bleeding," said Blair. Her voice softened in concern.

"It's nothing," said Ramona. "I'll be fine, even if my pants aren't."

"Are you sure?" said Blair. "It looks like it's bleeding pretty good."

"Yeah," said Ramona. "I guess I should just limp on home now."

"Were you going into the library?"

Ramona nodded. Wasn't that obvious? She hadn't come over here just to trip over the oak tree root. Blair wasn't an idiot, was she?

Blair turned around and peered inside the window into the library. "Doesn't look like anybody's in there," she said. "Let's go in, though. Maybe we can find a first aid kit somewhere."

"Isn't Garrett in there?" asked Ramona. "I came to see him."

Blair shrugged. "He was when I was in there a minute ago, but I don't see him now. Don't worry, though. I'm sure we can find some band aids."

It wasn't a terrible idea. She just didn't know if she wanted Garrett to see her talking to Blair. Maybe he'd feel betrayed or something.

That was stupid.

"Okay," said Ramona.

Blair opened the door to the library, and Ramona felt the cool rush of the air conditioning wrap itself around her legs and arms, pulling her inside. She followed Blair into the building. The room was still. No one was behind the counter.

"No one's here," said Ramona.

"I think Garrett's here somewhere," said Blair. "I think he went into the basement."

"Should we get him?"

Blair shook her head. "I don't think he'll mind." She made her way back to the room where the steps were. There was a little break room with a table and a sink and microwave. Ramona had always thought it was a little awkwardly placed, because library patrons had to walk right through it to get to the steps upstairs. But the library was an old building, like most buildings in Elston. Old buildings often had character. That's what the break room was. Character. Ramona followed Blair. Blair began opening cabinets and riffling through their contents. Canned spaghettios, paper towels, plastic silverware.

"Sit down," said Blair, gesturing to a seat at the table. Ramona did. "I'm going to go look in the bathroom. Wait here. I'll be right back."

Ramona looked at the stain on her knee. It had grown. It clung to her leg. These pants were definitely done for. She'd never get the blood out. Blood didn't come out of fabric easily. It took cold water and soap and scrubbing. Easier just to throw them away. They were ruined.

Blair returned, carrying bandages and antibiotic ointment. "Jackpot," she said. "Lift up your pants leg." She started to kneel in front of Ramona.

"Oh, don't be silly," said Ramona. "I can do it."

Blair settled on her knees. "Are you going to lift it up, or am I going to have to do it?"

Ramona rolled up the leg of her pants, wincing a little. The scrape wasn't bad, but it was bleeding a lot. It hurt. Blair mopped at the blood with a wad of toilet paper. She wasn't gentle about it. Ramona bit her lip. "Really," she said. "I can do it."

"I've got it," said Blair, scrubbing away at Ramona's knee. "It's not deep or anything. I think you'll be fine."

"I know," said Ramona.

Blair smeared antibiotic ointment on the wound. "I just didn't want you going all night without getting this bandaged."

Huh? Ramona wrinkled her nose in confusion. "I was going to put a band-aid on it as soon as I got home," she said.

"Oh," said Blair, as if realizing she'd said something she hadn't meant to say. "Of course you were. But now you won't need to." She opened a large band-aid and laid it over Ramona's scrape, pushing down on the sticky parts. "There," she said. "Good as new."

"Thanks," said Ramona.

Blair got to her feet, crumpling the bandage wrapper in her hand and looking around for a trashcan. "You're welcome," she said. Finally, she spied one in the corner, crossed to it, and tossed the wrapper inside. "So you came here because you were looking for Garrett?"

"Yeah," said Ramona.

"I've seen you two hanging around a lot," said Blair. "I don't get it. That guy is bad news."

"He's okay," Ramona muttered.

"He's a jerk," said Blair. "I wish you'd stay away from him."

"Well, I just wanted to talk to him for a second," said Ramona.

Blair shrugged. "If you must. He's down in the basement." She gestured.

The door to the basement looked like a huge, black mouth to Ramona. Ready to swallow her up, like the big, bad wolf or the whale in the story of Jonah. She didn't want to go down there. "I'll just talk to him another time," said Ramona.

"He's been down there for a while," said Blair. "You should probably check on him."

Ramona inched toward the door. At the doorway, she stopped. The door to the basement was an old one, like the ones in farmhouses. It didn't have a knob, it had one of those wooden latches that slid into a matching groove on the doorframe. "Garrett," she called into the darkness.

No answer. She turned to Blair. "Are you sure he's down there?"

Blair nodded. "I saw him go in."

Ramona put one foot on the first step, feeling along the wall for a light switch. It was so damned dark down there. She shivered. She couldn't find a switch. Maybe it was at the bottom of the steps. Sometimes the light switch was at the bottom. She took a few more steps, clutching the railing since every step she took down took her farther from the light. She didn't like the way the basement smelled. It smelled like mold and age and decay. As she reached the bottom, she could hardly see. She collided with several spider webs, and she thrust them away from her skin, shivering.

She felt for a light switch again, but couldn't feel anything. "Garrett," she called. She turned back to Blair. "I don't think he's—"

And she broke off, because the door at the top of the stairs was closing. She heard the latch click closed, locking her in. And she realized that if Garrett were actually down here, he would have turned on the light himself....

Chapter Nine

Ramona gulped in dark, musty air. She hadn't moved since the door at the top the stairs had closed. She still craned her neck in that direction, the imprint of the ever-narrowing sliver of light burned into her vision. She didn't think she quite believed what had happened. She hadn't been locked down here, had she? In the blackness? In the musty, close, suffocating blackness? No. NO. NO.

Ramona wanted to scream, but as much as she tried to gulp air, she couldn't. Her lungs had ceased to work. Her hands went to her neck, fluttering in the darkness.
Breathe
, she willed herself. But she knew it was no good. She wouldn’t be able to. She was freaked out, worse than she had been in a long time.

Ramona was claustrophobic, and the close mustiness of the cellar had triggered all her worst fears. She gasped soundlessly, reaching out in the direction of the door, and then her legs fell out from beneath her and she collided with the last step. She hurt her already skinned-up knee, but she couldn't cry out. All she wanted right now was to be able to breathe. Air. That was it. Just...air. Blindly, Ramona clawed at the steps in front of her, and her fingers felt purchase. In a clamoring frenzy, she wrenched herself up the stairs, using only her arms, as her legs seemed to have stopped working. She only knew she was at the top when she collided with the door. Ramona began to bang at the door with the flat of her hand. Her movements became more and more decisive, banging harder and harder, until her hands clenched into fists and she was punching at the door as if she could break it down.

She remembered doing this before.

When Ramona was four years old, her favorite game on earth was hide and go seek. Ramona didn't have any siblings, but she played with her parents, especially her father, who always hid in obvious places and then seemed astonished that she could find him. Similarly, no matter where she hid, her father would search for her in the most ridiculous places, calling out things like, "Where's Ramona? Is she inside the coffee pot? No. Is she underneath the television set? No. Where could she be?" Generally, she giggled so much in delight that her father found her, or she popped up from her hiding space and said, "Daddy, I'm here, silly!" As she'd gotten a bit older, her ability to hide had gotten better.

That particular afternoon, she'd accosted her father as soon as he'd come home from work, demanding that he play hide and seek with her. Her father had patted her on the head and said, "Maybe later, honey. Daddy's tired." Ramona had persisted in begging her father to play, until he'd gotten angry and told her that if she didn't stop pestering him, he'd never play hide and seek with her ever again. Ramona knew this was an empty threat. He'd made it before, and nothing had ever come of it. She figured this was just a jumping off point for negotiations. So she'd told her father that she was going to go ahead and hide, and he could come looking for her whenever he was ready. She'd skipped off, barely listening to her father calling after her, "Ramona, do not hide! I am not coming to look for you! Ramona! Do you hear me?"

Ramona had crept through her house, looking for places to hide. She wanted to pick a very good spot this time, but she'd played hide and seek so many times in her house that she'd used most of the good spots. She debated and rejected several places. Not the shower. Not underneath her dad's bed. Not behind the curtains in the living room. After all, her mother was in the living room watching TV, and she always gave away Ramona's hiding places. Then she spied the door to the hall coat closet, which was slightly open. Perfect! She slid inside, scooting aside some boots that were stored on the floor and pulled the door closed after her. Then she waited.

She waited a long time. Finally, she called out for her father to come look for her. Maybe he'd forgotten that she was hiding.

More time passed. Ramona began to think that perhaps her father had actually been serious in his threat not to play hide and seek with her ever again. She was disappointed. But she was also getting hungry, and she thought it couldn't be too much longer until it was time for dinner. So she decided to leave the closet. Maybe if she was very good, her father would play with her the next day.