Brighter, a supernatural thriller (20 page)

* * *

When Ramona got back to work that afternoon, Maxine called her into her office. Ramona was definitely not in the mood to deal with Maxine at this particular juncture in her life. She felt like the world was falling apart, and what was more, everyone else on earth thought she was insane. Work was the most inconsequential thing to her at that moment. She was only there because she couldn't figure out what to do.

Ramona plopped down heavily in the chair opposite Maxine's desk.

"Are you okay?" asked Maxine. Real concern was in her eyes.

"I'm having a terrible day," said Ramona. "My boyfriend woke me up at 7:30 this morning to break up with me." That wasn't really why her day was terrible, but it would have to do. It was true as far as it went anyway.

Maxine groaned. "Men," she said, shaking her head. "I'm so sorry, Ramona."

Ramona nodded.

"Listen, I mean this as a friend. The best thing to do when things like this happen is to distract yourself. So, what I'm going to talk to you about is going to help both you and Elston College." Maxine smiled.

Ramona felt like rolling her eyes, but didn't. That really wouldn't have gone over well.

"I haven't seen anything on that brochure you're doing research on," said Maxine.

"You pulled me off the brochure to work on going through applications."

"Well, I need you to get back on the brochure."

Inwardly, Ramona moaned. She did not want to do anymore research on the brochure. "I don't know if it's a good angle. Seriously, Elston is the most unhistorical historical town of all time. Nothing ever happened here. During the Civil War, there were no battles fought here. The only thing going on was that there was a hospital in the public library. It's like this place is a black hole."

"It's the best angle we have. You need to make it work. Why don't you go to the library in town this afternoon?"

"No," said Ramona.

"No? They have an entire section of local history materials. If you can't find them, just ask the librarian."

"My boyfriend—my ex-boyfriend—
is
the librarian."

"Oh." Maxine tapped her forefinger against her lower lip, thinking. "I'm sorry. I know I'm asking you to do something awkward, but frankly, your English major background makes you the best person to do this research. I need it to be you."

"I just don't think that a brochure about historical Elston is going to entice many high schoolers to come to this school."

"Exactly. The type of high school students this school attracts is a problem," said Maxine. "I'm sure you're aware that we almost lost our accreditation four years ago?"

Ramona nodded. Elston College had a huge number of Visual Arts majors—painters, sculptors, graphic designers. It was a really good school for art. The problem was that Elston was a liberal arts school, not an art school. The percentage of art majors to the rest of the school was so out of balance that Elston had nearly lost its accreditation.

"We need to attract more...studious students." Maxine laughed a little. "More students in areas of study like History or English or Math. If we can show these students that they are coming to a place teeming with history and culture, they may see the school in a different light."

So Ramona went to the library. It was only as she was opening the door that she remembered Mason's warning. She wasn't supposed to be alone with any of them. Garrett was one of them. She almost turned around right then. But Maxine was counting on her. And the library was a public place. Maybe she'd be safe there.

Garrett was at his desk, reading. He put down his book when he saw her. "Listen, I'm not really ready to—"

"I'm here for work," she said.

Garrett started to get up.

"Don't move," she said. "We can talk fine from here. Point me in the direction of the local history section."

"Ramona, I know you're angry with me."

"I'm not angry with you. I just want to find the books about local history and do my job."

Garrett got to his feet. "I guess the way that I broke everything to you on the phone this morning was abrupt. I should have done it in person. I'm really sorry."

"Abrupt," she said. "Yes, this has all been rather abrupt."

He started to walk toward her.

"Stop," she said. "Don't come any closer to me." She didn't know if they had to be close to do whatever they did to Garrett, but she was pretty sure they did. After all, Angelica's body had surfaced, so they'd had to kill her. And Garrett had said that he'd seen them kill Blair. Up close and personal. So as long as Garrett stayed away, she should be okay.

"I'm sorry I hurt you," he said.

"Are you really?" said Ramona. "How'd you do it? Did you strangle him? Did you beat him to death? What did you do with his body?"

Garrett took a step closer. "I don't know what you're talking about."

God. If she could only believe him, she could return to sanity. But... "I told you to stay back," said Ramona.

"Ramona, that stuff I told you. I made it all up. You saw Angelica. That was it. None of that other stuff happened."

"Sure," said Ramona. Really? Had he really made it up? It would be easier to believe that, but deep down, she knew it wasn't true. Deep down, she knew this wasn't Garrett. "Listen, I think I'm just gonna go look for the local history books on my own. The library's not that big. I bet I can find them." She started past him into the stacks.

He grabbed her by the shoulder. She tried to shake him off, but his grip was too tight. Ramona started to panic.

"Why are you afraid of me?" Garrett asked. His voice was the same deep, personal voice he used when they were in bed together. It was his vulnerable voice. "I wouldn't hurt you."

"Then let go of me," said Ramona.

"You know me. I wouldn't—"

"I don't know you. I knew Garrett. Garrett's dead. Now let go of me." Garrett
was
dead. And she wasn't crazy. She didn't think she was anyway.

Garrett dropped his arm. "I'm not dead. And I'm sorry I contributed to this delusion of yours. I never realized that you were taking it so seriously. It was just a game to me. I'm so, so sorry." He pointed to the back wall. "The local books are back there. Do yourself a favor, Ramona. Go talk to a therapist or something."

Chapter Fourteen

The Brass Frog was packed. People were lined up three to the bar to get drinks. Outside in the garden, where Ramona sat alone at a table, nursing a beer, conversation was a roar that almost drowned out the sound of the crickets and the clock tower striking twelve. The air was humid and a little sticky. Ramona couldn't see the stars in the dark sky because it was blanketed in a thick carpet of clouds. Ramona knew that she should go home. She had to work in the morning. But she hadn't been home today. Oh, she'd stopped in to change clothes. But pretty much right after work, she'd come to The Frog and started drinking. Maybe it wasn't the healthiest thing to do, or the right thing to do, but she couldn't handle being alone. Oddly enough, however, she couldn't handle conversation either.

Brighter Roan, the band that was playing at the bar, was on a fifteen-minute break. Brighter Roan was a popular local band. They drank pretty heavily. Their fifteen-minute breaks usually lasted a half hour. They never started playing on time either. If Ramona's life hadn't been what it was, she would have been with the rest of the kids in Elston, packed in front of the band, dancing until her hair was pasted sweaty to her forehead. It was an activity she usually engaged in. One that brought her joy. She loved Brighter Roan, whose music sounded like a cross between Nirvana and the Traveling Wilburys. Raw and powerful, while at the same time folky and easy to connect to. But she couldn’t dance tonight. She couldn't talk. She couldn't be alone. All she could do, it seemed, was drink. And, having been drinking for nearly six hours, Ramona was quite inebriated.

Her beer was empty. Ramona didn't relish the idea of fighting through the crowd at the bar to get another drink, but she also wanted more beer. She'd been lucky enough to snag this empty table. If she left it, it would be taken by the time she got back. She'd have to stand somewhere or sit on the ground. Ramona considered for a little while. She really liked having somewhere to sit. Eventually, however, she stood up, swaying a little bit on her feet. She really was quite drunk.

She staggered more than walked to the front of the bar, wondering if she looked too drunk, if the bartender would cut her off and send her home. But when she got to the front, he didn't even give her more than a glance, just got her another beer. Ramona paid, but she didn't know if she could handle the walk back to the garden, so she stayed at the bar for a few minutes, clutching it to keep her balance. Eventually, she turned around and rested her back against the bar.

This way, she could see the rest of the room. The empty stage was in front of her, but Brighter Roan was actually climbing back onto it, slinging on their guitars. Eager dancers swarmed the area in front of the stage, cheering. Ramona attempted to clap, but she was holding her beer, so she just ended up spilling it. She needed to go home. She was way too drunk. She was going to be far too hung over to function at work the next day. But the voice in her head that was telling her this was getting fainter and fainter. Ramona thought the music would drown it out once the band started playing again.

On the outskirts of the crowd in front of the stage, Ramona spied Garrett. He was with Blair. He had leaned down to her, and she was whispering in his ear. Over Garrett's shoulder, Blair caught Ramona's eye. They stared at each other for a moment. Garrett straightened, and Ramona could see Blair more clearly. She smiled at Ramona. Waved. Then she grabbed Garrett by the neck and pulled him down to her face to kiss him.

Ramona faltered and grasped the bar for balance. Where was Owen? He was Blair's boyfriend. Her eyes swept the crowd, but she didn't see him. And Griff had said Owen hadn't been at the coffee shop this morning.

Someone put a hand on Ramona's shoulder. Ramona turned, sloshing a little beer onto the person's shoes. It was Olivia. "Sorry," said Ramona, struggling to keep her voice from slurring. "I'm a little drunk."

"Yeah," said Olivia. "I can see why. That bitch."

Ramona nodded. "Yeah."

"I don't believe her. She does this smear campaign on the guy, saying he's a rapist and that we should run him out of town. And now she's making out with him?"

"She's not really a person," mumbled Ramona.

"She doesn't act like one," agreed Olivia. "Look, sweetie, I'd offer to buy you a drink, but it looks like you've taken care of yourself in that area. How about you just call me sometime, okay? When you feel like shit about this after the sting is fading into an ache? And we'll make a dart board out of their faces or something, huh?"

Ramona felt like crying out of gratitude. Sometimes people were so nice. "Thanks," she said.

"You were right about Blair. I thought she was a victim. I thought she was my friend. But she's clearly just fucked in the head."

"Where's Owen?" Ramona asked.

Olivia nodded thoughtfully. "Forgot about him. Yeah, where is he? I thought he and Blair were living together."

"They are."

"Bet he's pissed."

* * *

"Absolutely not," said Rick.

Heather was draining potatoes over the sink. She jumped at the force of his words and almost spilled boiling water on herself. Several potatoes fell out of the pot and into the sink. Heather swore and set down the pot. She reached for one of the potatoes in the sink, intending to wash it off and put it back in. It was hot. She recoiled, swearing again. She turned on her husband. "What is your problem?"

"What is
my
problem? I get home from work, and you tell me I have to leave. And I'm the one with the problem?"

Heather turned on the cold water, dousing the stray potatoes. "That is not exactly what I said."

"Yes, it is. I walk in the door, and you tell me that I need to get the fuck out."

"No, I said that Tom has been calling you to hang out, and you could go see him this evening, because I know you said you wanted to catch up with him—"

"Yeah, because you don't want me to be here."

Heather tentatively touched a potato. It was cooler. She picked the potatoes up and put them back in the pot with the others. "No, it's not that I don't want you to be here."

"I can't believe you're cooking."

She rolled her eyes and went past him to the refrigerator for some cream. "Occasionally, I do cook."

"Yeah, for Ramona."

"Oh, God, Rick. She's my best friend. I've been trying to get her to come see me for months, and she's coming over for dinner. What do you expect me to do, feed her Ramen noodles?" Cream carton in hand, she went back to the stove.

"I just think it's fucked up that you never cook for your husband, but when your best friend comes over, you're preparing Thanksgiving dinner."

She poured cream into the potatoes. On the way back to put it into the refrigerator again, she said, "I'm making chicken. Not turkey."

"You never cook for me."

"I work."

"I work too."

"And you don't cook either." Heather began to mash the potatoes as if they were Rick's face. She could not believe he was being such a dick.

"Sometimes I do."

"Well, sometimes I cook too. Like now."

"But I'm not even allowed to stay. I have to go see Tom."

"I just didn't think you'd want to be around while we were talking. I thought you'd be bored. Jesus!"

"The one night you're off. The one night where you and I could actually spend some time together, you invite Ramona over."

"Oh fuck you. That is not fair. We spend lots of time together."

"I never see you. I never see my own wife. And she doesn't even cook dinner for me."

"Welcome to the goddamned twenty-first century. Women have jobs and friends and their lives don't revolve around their husbands!"

"Don't pull that shit. That feminist shit. Because that's not even what this is about."