Comes the Night (11 page)

She’d never skipped school before, but Maryanne suspected it wasn’t usually this easy pulling one over on Mrs. Betts. What was up with that? Maybe the old girl was just tired this morning. Too tired to argue with students over fake illnesses.

Well, Maryanne could identify with the tired part. She was frickin’ exhausted. Clutching her prop tissues, she’d headed back up the stairs.

She’d met Brooke and Alex on their way down, carrying their backpacks.

Maryanne laid a hand on Alex’s sleeve. “See you both tonight.”

Alex looked down at the hand with a knotted look on her face, as if Maryanne’s touch were burning into her flesh. Maryanne pulled her hand away.

“Yeah,” Brooke answered, smiling. “Right after dinner. Back in the room.”

“And we’ll talk then, right?” Maryanne said, lowering her voice even more.

“With pleasure!” Brooke bounced down the stairs. She tossed her backpack down by the door before hanging a left into the breakfast hall.

By contrast, Alex only nodded at Maryanne before continuing down the stairs. But when she hit the bottom, instead of turning, she walked right out the front door.

Maryanne climbed the remaining stairs and returned to the bedroom.

She flopped back down on her bed. The sun shone through the open curtains, laying an oblong of light across the hardwood floor and warming the room itself. The small bed had never felt so welcoming, the blankets never so soft and cozy as today when she tucked down deep inside them. Man, she needed sleep.

She hadn’t gotten a wink of it last night.

Within minutes of blasting back into their bodies the previous night—Lord, she’d never felt anything like it!—they’d blown out the candles and crept back downstairs. No point hanging around up there any longer than necessary. The longer they were AWOL from their bedroom, the higher the chance their absence would be detected. They’d snuck down the stairs and quietly back through the door that led to the second floor. Without saying a word, they’d made their way back to the small room they shared. Alex and Brooke had buried their snuffed-out candles in their dressers, while Maryanne hid hers behind some books on her headboard shelf.

She hadn’t expected any of them to sleep much that night, if at all, after what had just happened.

But though Maryanne and Brooke had sat up on their beds, practically vibrating with energy and ready to talk, Alex was in no mood for conversation. Nor was she bursting with the same energy and excitement.

If anything, she seemed quieter than ever on their return to the bedroom. Both Maryanne and Brooke had tried to engage her, to no avail. She’d seemed lost somehow, as she lay down on her bed, head on the pillow and eyes fixed on the ceiling. Staring into nothing.

“So tell us,” Maryanne had urged. “What did Connie write in her diary about that scream?”

“Not now, Maryanne, I’ve got a brutal headache.”

Brooke’s response? “Fine. But if
you’re
not talking,
I’m
not talking.”

Maryanne, always the peacemaker, had jumped in before the two could start a war. And she’d also managed to extract a promise from the both of them that they’d meet tonight to talk about it.

Eventually, Brooke had lain down on her bed, and her soft snores were soon filling the darkened room. Not long thereafter, Alex had also drifted off, or so Maryanne had thought, judging from her breathing.

But Maryanne had lain there in bed and stared out the window into the blackness. Not even having to try to fight sleep. Just staring easily into the night that had so lovingly embraced her. She’d felt a freedom out there. An incomparable, wonderful lightness.

She hadn’t wanted that feeling to end, so she’d lain awake in the dark.

But now her lack of sleep was catching up to her. Mentally, she wasn’t ready to surrender to it, but her body had its own agenda. She fell asleep with one thought in her head.
Oh God, don’t let it end
.

She slept for three dreamless hours, until the sunlight made its way along the hardwood floor to fall onto her bed. When she eventually woke, it was to find the sun beating on her tightly closed eyelids. Blinking, Maryanne turned to look at the clock beside her bed. The digital readout indicated it was 11:11.

Make a wish?

She always had on 11:11. Ever since she could remember.

But this time she didn’t have to take a minute to stew over what wish to throw to the wind.

“I wish to cast out again,” she said to the empty room. “Very, very soon.”

Her stomach grumbled as she threw off the blankets. But breakfast/brunch/lunch would have to wait. Five minutes later, Maryanne was in the first unhurried shower she’d had since coming to Harvell House. She let the water smooth down on her back. Washed and conditioned her hair slowly. No one would be pounding on the door for her to hurry; no one would be standing in the hallway tapping an impatient foot and shooting her daggers for taking so long when she came back out.

She’d enjoy the small amount of peace while she could.

Fresh from the shower, she dressed in her faded, most comfortable jeans, and favorite Maple Leafs jersey. She looked out the bedroom window to gauge the weather. Though the day was sunny, a stiff breeze tossed the branches of the trees below, so she threw her fall jacket on too before going downstairs in search of food.

Oh, yuk! She wrinkled her nose at the sight before her in the dining hall, where the remnants of breakfast still lay on the buffet. A pile of soggy, buttered toast. Half empty pitchers of milk. The scene was completed by a couple of happy houseflies buzzing around the table. Oh, man, why hadn’t Mrs. Betts cleared this crap away yet? It was nearly noon. More to the point, what was she going to eat?

Ah! Perfect. One sesame bagel remained, still securely wrapped in its original plastic bag. Maryanne opened a small plastic tub and scraped up the last of the cream cheese. She spread it on the bagel, wrapped it back in the plastic bag, and grabbed a small, unopened bottle of orange juice. She shoved these in her pockets as she left Harvell House.

She didn’t know the town well, but she’d explored enough to know there were a few secluded spots where she could stop to have a quiet lunch and just relax in the fall sunshine. There were a couple of parks within walking distance that probably wouldn’t be too crowded. But even a small handful of mothers with their bundled-up children in swings were more company than Maryanne wanted today.

The cemetery down by the old church... As soon as the thought hit, she knew it was the perfect place.

She’d been there before, on a Jason day when she’d found herself practically stumbling through the streets with tear-filled eyes. It was tucked away behind an ancient-looking little church, set well back from the road and gloriously out of sight. Maryanne had cried her heart out there that day.

But this time as she pushed through the creaky old iron gate and walked to the back of the cemetery, she did so with dry eyes. Today wasn’t a Jason day. This wasn’t a Jason moment.

And Maryanne could finally admit it—the grief had been practically non-existent last night when she’d soared in the night sky with Alex and Brooke.

Oh, the burden of it had been there, but it had been
over there
, somehow. Away. Detached from her the whole time she was out there. Even when she’d shot back into her body, that detachment had persisted.

That’s why she’d pushed herself to stay awake, to enjoy the reprieve. It hadn’t lasted. As the night moved on and morning claimed the sky, it had dissipated. By the time she awoke at 11:11, she’d struggled to hang on to that precious bit of peace.

And now, settling on a cold stone bench at the tree-lined cemetery’s edge, Maryanne just wanted to sit alone, quietly, before the full weight of her remorse crushed her again.

She unwrapped her bagel and popped open her juice. She looked up into the bright blue sky and wished it were night again.

“I want to do it again,” she murmured. “I want to soar.”

And she
had
soared! She had successfully tap, tap, tapped that window and
cast out
. Glided over the town. She felt a twinge of guilt as she thought about scaring the coyotes. Under normal circumstances, she wouldn’t have ever imagined doing such a thing. But the experience of casting out was about as far from normal as you could get. Experiencing that duality—helpless original on the floor and practically boundless cast outside—had been
far
from ordinary.

“So far from anything!”

Maryanne had been apprehensive about reuniting with her cast. After seeing Alex’s crazed re-entry the other night, she figured she had reason to be. Yet she’d been surprised at how easy it was for her body and cast to rejoin. There had been no push through the window. No struggle or even a shrug to get back into her body. As easily as she had realized herself cast out, she had realized herself back inside her body once she’d tapped on the glass.

But it hadn’t been just a ‘tap on the glass’. She’d mimicked Alex’s words out there.

I want in, I want in, I want in.

And that surge that had followed! The force of it had sent them all reeling back, one right after the other—Alex, then Maryanne and Brooke.

All of them had been thrown to the attic’s far wall with the force of the reunion. Thinking of it now, Maryanne rubbed her left elbow that still smarted from banging into an old bureau as she’d flung past it. But at least this time, Alex hadn’t come in to land with her hands around anyone’s throat! Though Alex
had
raced to snatch up Connie’s diary the moment she could move again. But this time, there’d been no rage in her, which Maryanne had been very relieved to see.

And certainly there was no rage involved for Brooke or Maryanne. Quite the opposite. Brooke had come in biting down on her excitement, barely able to contain the laughter that surely would have given them away. Maryanne’s reaction had been very similar. She’d barely managed to hold her exuberance down.

Alex, however, hadn’t seemed to be bursting with the same excitement, maybe because she’d done it before. Whatever the reason, she hadn’t been bouncing off the walls like Brooke and Maryanne. She’d simply sat there quietly against the back wall, appearing deeper in concentration than Maryanne had ever seen her. But it was a disturbed concentration. One that caused her forehead to line and a nervous hand to fly to her face so she could chew on a black-polished thumbnail.

Maryanne looked down at the bagel she’d been eating, deciding she didn’t want the rest of it. The juice, however, she drained. She crumbled up the bagel and tossed it on the grass for the birds to find, recapped her empty bottle and shoved it back in her coat pocket. Then she tucked her hands inside her sleeves—left hand in right sleeve, right hand in left—and leaned back on the bench, snuggling down farther inside her coat for warmth.

The wind was beautiful today, scattering the few leaves around the low tombstones. Maryanne closed her eyes as the wind picked up and blew through her long hair. Somehow, the wind made her feel even more alone. Alone in her own thoughts.

It was dangerous, what she, Brooke and Alex had done. Hell, she wasn’t even sure what it was they were playing with. She wasn’t sure how much even Alex knew, though Alex had read Connie’s diary cover-to-cover. But one thing she did know—if she could escape from the guilt and grief of her life, even for a while, it was worth the risk.

‘Me-anne’
. That’s what Jason used to call her.

Maryanne hadn’t thought of that in ages. Hadn’t allowed herself to remember it. But she thought of it now—how Jason would clap his hands and laugh and call her Me-anne over and over until she laughed and tickled his belly and called him her silly J-bug.

Just like that, the sorrow was back, renewed, heavier. Grief wrapped around her again because of what she had done. Her throat ached and tears stung behind her closed eyelids. Her hands in her jacket clawed—“Goddamn it!”

Maryanne’s eyes shot open, but she didn’t stir at the sound of the man’s voice. She didn’t jump up or say anything. But she saw him and she recognized the older gentleman who stood nearby.

It was C. W. Stanley from Harvell House. The pontificating old benefactor. The one who’d asked if she had any siblings.

What was he doing here?

Okay, then again—what was
she
doing here? That would be the first question Mr. Stanley would pose, no doubt, if he caught sight of her here. The last thing she wanted to do was have to explain herself. Or to have Mr. Stanley raise questions about Mrs. Betts’s chaperoning. Or lack thereof.

Maryanne sat very still, hoping he wouldn’t turn to see her sitting just off to his right.

She felt like a snoop. Like she was invading his privacy. From her own days of visiting Jason’s grave, she knew how personal cemetery visits could be. Still, she felt compelled to watch.

“I’m... I’m sorry. I couldn’t help myself,” he said, his words strangled.

Maryanne held her breath as Mr. Stanley took a seat on the small marble bench placed by an old headstone. It was one of the largest stones in the graveyard, like those she’d seen with the names of many family members written on the front, or one that belonged to a very rich family. He leaned forward to run a hand over the top of the smooth stone then sat back again. From where Maryanne sat, she had only a profile view of his face, but she could still see the sadness in it. He was old; it was no surprise that he’d lost someone. But there was something more than sadness. Something deeper than lonesomeness for a departed loved one.

Anguish.
She knew the label was accurate the moment it came into her mind. That’s what Maryanne saw in the old man’s face as she watched him there.

In less than ten minutes, C. W. Stanley stood. He looked down at the bench, frowned, and lifted a corner to straighten it. The apparently fastidious man, bent to straighten it two more times before he was satisfied. He ran his hand again over the polished stone.

He must care so deeply.

Mr. Stanley drew a deep breath. And somehow he drew his grief deep down inside again. Hiding it, or sheltering it with his public façade. With his back again straight and his arms at his sides, he walked briskly toward the cemetery gate. The wind picked up again as he walked around the last of the headstones and further away from Maryanne.