Deadgirl (22 page)

She didn’t miss a beat. Her bad news dovetailed nicely with the direction of my night. “Tyler is here. Just got here, actually.”

Tyler. Wanda’s obsession and her kryptonite. She wasn’t strong enough to tell that
user
to go away, and he wasn’t cool enough to move on from someone as confused and easily-taken-advantage-of as Wanda. She was a pathetic jerk’s dream—scared, submissive, and lonely. I loved Wanda to death, but she had a target painted on her back.

If Morgan was here, she would have risen up like a mama-bear and would be thrashing the guy’s skin off his bones already. Morgan. I thought of the weird phone call and rubbed my cheek.

“What do we do?” Daphne asked.

“Do?”

“About Tyler?”

“We ride,” I said, and pounded toward the living room.

“Oh shit,” Daphne said. She leaped off her counter stool and bolted after me.

I came through the door with my face put together—calm even. My scan for Tyler didn’t take long—I just had to look for Wanda.

She was leaning against a bookshelf next to the door, one of her hands gripping a shelf at shoulder level with the white-knuckled intensity that only the very angry or the very balance-challenged possess.

“How drunk is she?” I asked.

Daphne made a face I didn’t want to interpret.

“How?”

“Sorry,” she said.

“Daph!”

Daphne scoffed and said, “What? She needs to relax.”

“You’re
really
going to try to defend what you did, aren’t you?”

“I was but I wish I hadn’t.”

Should I even be surprised that Daphne mickied Wanda? I sighed and rubbed my forehead.

Tyler, wearing what looked like a basketball jersey—
seriously?
—stood in front of her, his right palm touching the book shelf behind her. Closing her in, blocking her. It looked like the only one who wasn’t thinking Wanda would try to make a break for it and run away from him was Wanda herself. She looked ecstatic—grateful. My stomach turned, and it wasn’t the booze.

“Double team?” Daphne asked from behind me, her voice electric with excitement.

I pushed through a small cluster of boys talking about girls and tapped Tyler lightly on the shoulder.

He turned. Not much taller than me—average-to-above-average guy height—but he looked down a crooked nose at me. It looked like it had been broken many times or just one really good time, and helped with the thuggish exterior he was projecting. Prominent brow, gaping mouth. The only thing that didn’t scream
Neanderthal
was his eyes. Sharp, alive, and aware. Smart eyes.

I reconsidered, but only for a second.

“Yes?”

“Hey, Luce, how’s it going…?” Wanda whispered, but no one reacted.

I crossed my arms over my chest.

“I don’t think you should be here,” I said, and I hated that my voice trembled. I suddenly had, at least a little, understanding for Wanda. Tyler scared me, too. He knew exactly why I was talking to him. His eyes were confrontational and smug. He wore a sneer to match.

“Oh?” he said, and turned back to Wanda.

“Hey,” I said. “I’m talking to you.”

Tyler sighed—his shoulders flexed with the over-exaggerated movement, and turned back to face me.

“Well,” he said. “You made a statement, and I turned around. You didn’t ask me a question.”

“Ha-you’re-an-idiot-ha,” Daphne said. “Wanda doesn’t like you.”

Tyler smirked. “I don’t know. I think
you
don’t like me. And believe me…I’m not interested in you. So win-win.”

I put my hand on Daphne’s shoulder. She took a step back, but the burning look in her eyes didn’t die.

“We’re done here, Tyler,” I said. “You got your warning.”

“Oooooh,” he said.

Child
.

We both walked away from him through the thickening mass. We emptied out near the back door. I threw the sliding glass slab open and took a step into the orange glow of the back porch. The dark silhouettes of an urban-grown forest leaned toward us. Thankfully, the smokers had dispersed.

Daphne was shaking. She didn’t like to lose, or even stalemate, and our confrontation with Tyler had been at least one of those.

“It’s okay,” I said, and leaned against the stucco wall next to the door. “We’ll head back in when it loosens up a little and watch her. And him.”

“Yeah,” Daphne said, and sat down on a little green garden chair. “Blech. What a little punkass.”

I agreed, and we sat in silence for a while, stewing.

When Daphne went inside to pee, I cupped my cheeks with my hands and leaned forward in my chair, trying to summon my thoughts.

I heard something crunch in the backyard—it sounded like a twelve-foot kid eating a mouthful of giant cornflakes. My heart jumped, but either horror or curiosity made me hold my place and my tongue. The inky blackness of Benny’s backyard jungle stirred, and I saw something moving. My first thoughts ran to werewolf—weird, I know, but inexorable—and then to the man-in-white.

I thought of smoky-black eye-pits, of a face twisted like taffy. I slammed back against the sliding glass door with a whimper that I wasn’t too proud to take credit for, and my fingers dug for the stun gun in my purse.

“Luce?”

I froze…and a wide smile split my face in half when the figure came into the orange-amber light of the back porch.

“Morgan?”

I thought of her phone call. Was this about Benny? I remembered quickly that I was angry at her, even through the light haze of alcohol.

“What’s going on?”

Morgan shook her head. Her arms were tight to her sides, and her hands curled into balls at her hips. Her eyes darted from me to the door behind me.

“What is it? Is this about Benny or something?”

I took a step off the porch and reached for her hand.

“Morgan, what is it?”

“I’m so sorry, Luce,” she said, her blue eyes wide. “I didn’t know what to do.”

The hairs on my neck saluted.

She took a step back, and the leaves crackled beneath her. I took another step forward.

“Morgan,” I said. “What the hell is up?”

She bit her lip, her eyes darting again to the sliding glass door. I looked over my shoulder but saw nothing but oblivious party-goers. I turned back to her.

“He found me…he told me…actually I guess he showed me,” she shook her head. “He had to speak to you.”

The man-in-white. I stared into the black curtain behind her, trying to sort shapes out of the shadows. I had to help Morgan, somehow, but I couldn’t—

“Wait,” Morgan said. “He doesn’t seem dangerous. Just…kind of weird, actually.”

My hand froze.
What?

The figure standing behind and to the side of her walked forward. Tall, lanky, old and sprightly. Identically dressed, as before, in his  worn tweed coat. He bowed deeply, and his rakish smile turned his wrinkles and dimples into canyons.

“Puck,” I breathed. “You’re alive!”

He held one hand up, sighed, and made a see-saw gesture.

Chapter Twelve

When It All Fell Apart

I leaped down from the back porch and tackled him. He caught me with surprising strength and squeezed me hard in his thin arms. When he set me back down again, he flashed Morgan an apologetic look. When I glanced at her, I watched her tense posture and terrified expression deflate into something more like weary confusion.

“Lucy,” Morgan said, and leaned back against a dead-looking tree. “You owe me a hell of a lot of explanation.”

“I know,” I said, and turned to Puck. “I’m so glad you’re okay.”

And I was. Puck had saved me from the monster-in-white, and more importantly, he had convinced me I wasn’t alone and spiraling into madness. The grey beach was real, or realish, and my condition wasn’t…internal.

I looked up at his boyishly old face, but he gave me nothing but an understanding smile. Then I knew.

“You really can’t talk, can you? Not even here?”

Puck shook his head apologetically. I sighed and covered my face with my hands.

“What?” Morgan asked. “What does that mean, not even here?”

I glanced at her, then back at Puck.

“It means…it means we need to talk,” I said. My legs went rubbery. “But first just…listen.”

Morgan frowned.

“I need to ask Puck a few things and I’m gonna sound…well, like a nutjob.”

Puck pointed at me and nodded to Morgan. Her face cracked a smile.

I glanced at Puck and raised an eyebrow, “But, um, how do we do this, exactly?”

Morgan made a face at me, turned to Puck, and made a gesture with her hands. I didn’t catch the quick movement, but Puck did. He made something like a fist, his palm toward Morgan, and bobbed his knuckles.

“You know sign language?” I asked them both.

Puck bobbed his fist in time with Morgan's grin.

"My cousin Lance?" Morgan said.

I bopped myself on the forehead. I’d completely forgotten that her cousin was deaf—still, she’d never mentioned the fact that she knew sign language. Figures. Tall, gorgeous, sporty philanthropist. And me, well I’m…not that.
Moving on
.

Puck smiled at me and touched my shoulder. He had an uncanny ability for setting me at ease.

“He isn’t deaf,” Morgan said. “He just can’t speak.”

A revelation popped in my head.

“Did you get Morgan because you knew she knew sign language?”

Puck laughed without sound and clapped his hands together once. He nodded furiously, and something akin to pride beamed from his face. Morgan, standing next to him, looked more freaked out than anything.

“How’d you know she knew?”

Puck took a deep breath, looked at Morgan, then began signing.

“He says… ‘I know more about you than you think, Lucy. I mean, in a not-creepy kind of way. We had an exchange…’”

Morgan couldn’t have looked more perplexed. She glanced back at Puck for confirmation. Puck smiled softly and re-signed the end of his sentence.

“...I think he said ‘we had an exchange in the Grey. You know about me, too, if you try hard enough.’”

Morgan looked at me sharply, “What the hell? An
exchange
?”

I held out a palm to her, effectively hushing her. I only had time for one ridiculous thing at a time, thank you very much.

“Just…wait. I know—”

Her mouth turned into a white line, and she flashed me a glare that could peel paint.

“I know I’m being an asshat,” I said. “But something…abnormal happened to me last Friday. And Puck knows more than I do.”

Morgan’s lip twisted, and after a beat, she nodded. She didn’t look happy about it, but she did turn to watch Puck’s hands.

“Oh…of course. What’s your name, Puck? Your real name.”

He made four sharp gestures. Morgan laughed.

“P-U-C-K,” Morgan said.

I glared at him.

“‘You knew my name the same way I knew your friend knew sign language,’” Morgan translated.

My eyes popped open. So I hadn’t made up the name—was that possible? I’d picked up on his thoughts without even trying? Or his memories, maybe?

“‘The things we do…are even easier with each other.’”

Morgan frowned, “Are you like…a superhero?”

Puck laughed silently again and shook his head. I rolled my eyes at Morgan.

“Well, I don’t know,” she said. “This sounds like two freak-show psychos to me. If I hadn’t known you since diapers, Lucy D., then I would have already fled for my life and called the cops.”

“Fair enough,” I said.

I thought of the one question that mattered, and the one I didn’t want to ask him. Especially not with Morgan there. I didn’t have a choice though, did I? I took a deep breath, trying to still the spiky nervous feeling pricking at my skin.
Do it. Just do it, Lucy.

“Puck,” I said, trying not to look at Morgan. “Am I…did I die?”

“What?” Morgan said, and jerked toward me. “What does that mean? What happened to you?”

“I don’t know—”

Puck began signing, but neither of us were looking at him. After a beat he clapped his hands together, and Morgan and I swung our heads around toward him. He pointed behind us, turned, and bolted into the shadows.

“Puck!”

The sliding glass door trundled open. Morgan and I snapped around to see Sara standing in the doorway. Behind her, the press of people were frantic, moving as one toward either the front of the house or the living room.

“Luce?” Sara asked, tentatively, staring into the dark.

I jumped up onto the porch, and I heard Morgan crunching behind me.

“What?” I asked.

“Morgan?” Sara asked.

“What’s going on?” Morgan asked.

Sara looked confused by Morgan’s presence, but she shook it off and pointed over her shoulder.

“Everything. Benny and Tyler are fighting.”

Morgan and I exchanged glances and raced through the door. Sara grabbed my hand, and I grabbed Morgan’s, and the three of us plowed through the stumbling mass.

It was like charging into a cattle drive. The press of bodies ground together, threatening to throw me off my feet, bouncing me between the unintended shoulder-checks of a dozen strangers. From the front, Sara’s baseball-bat grip welded our hands together, but from behind I almost lost my grip on Morgan three times. She eventually grabbed my wrist with both of her hands.

Everyone shouted, blaring everything from words of encouragement to insults to well-meaning but ridiculous-sounding critiques.

“Fight, fight, fight!” A classic, and I allowed myself the indulgence of wondering who the first person
ever
to say it was. Probably a testosterone-drenched caveman, witnessing a brawl between two forehead-heavy fellows over who will rule the Clan of the Cave Bear.

“Queer! Fucking fight him! Punch him, come on!”

Sara yanked us out of the press of people, into the eye of the storm. Benny lay on the floor, holding both arms crossed over his face. Tyler, easily fifty-percent bigger then Benny, squatted on his chest, raining fists into Benny’s struggling defenses.

Sara ran forward, and I heard Morgan behind me. Sara made it two steps before another thug, dressed remarkably similar to Tyler stepped out from the crowd and shoved Sara with both hands. She stumbled and collided with an end-table, and the guy turned and grabbed both of my shoulders and pumped. Surprising strength took me back, throwing me into Morgan, knocking her into the crowd.