Death Thieves (3 page)

I finally shrugged and put on the ruffle-necked shirt, just in case Mother Theresa came in to check on me. Then I sank back into bed and wrapped myself in the luxury of my blankets.

When we were seven, someone donated handmade quilts to the state for kids in the foster care system. By giving us the quilts, it allowed us to have something familiar as we moved around from place to place—something we could call our own. The square patches on my quilts all had suns on them. Winter’s was covered in various phases of the moon. The quilts worked exactly as they were meant to. Everywhere we went, the quilts went with us. We would cut off our own hands and leave them behind before we ever left one of our quilts.

I woke up several hours later, the bruising on my body almost hurting more than before I went to sleep. My stomach rumbled a reminder of missed breakfast while I showered. If we weren’t on time at Theresa’s table, we didn’t eat until the next meal.

I stood for several minutes longer, letting the hot water run over me until it turned tepid, and grabbed a towel and my robe. I met Theresa in the hall on my way back to my room.

“Oh good, you’re up, which must mean you’re feeling a little better.” She had a hawkish sort of nose, and eyes too small and spaced too close together to make her comfortable to look at for any length of time.

“I’m feeling a little better.” I pretended to shiver and pulled the worn collar of my bathrobe higher so it covered the bruise on my neck. “I’m just really tired and have a lot of body aches.” No lies there. I ached. Oh, how I ached.

She put her hand to my forehead. “Hmm, maybe the flu. We’ll do soup for dinner and see if that helps. Make sure to drink plenty of water so you stay hydrated.”

I nodded. And shivered again. Theresa believed soup cured disease. The black plague wouldn’t have stood a chance against her garlic soup. Theresa really did seem nicer when she thought we might be sick.

Once in my room, I heard the garage door opening and closing. The low whine in Theresa’s car engine that made it easy to identify as it backed out of the driveway. Saturday errands. The perfect time to get my painted, bloody clothes cleaned up before she noticed.

I hurried to the closet, flipped on the light, and shoved aside the hamper lid to dig around in the basket. I frowned and dug deeper, finally removing every stitch of clothing piece by piece until the hamper was empty.

Panic.

The clothes were already gone.

She found them. While I showered. She came in here and found them. She knows I’m faking.
“I’m so busted.” Talking to the hamper didn’t help.

I made my way back downstairs. “Wineve?” I called Winter by the pet name I’d given her when we were barely old enough to talk.

“What’s wrong?” She turned.

“My clothes!” The words came out in a hiss between my teeth since I had to keep my voice low. Theresa’s husband, Paul, could have been anywhere, and having him hear my confession of sneaking out guaranteed Theresa would also hear about it. Paul was a good guy, and he definitely liked Winter and me, but his ultimate loyalties went to Theresa.

Winter shook her head—not understanding. “Your clothes?”

“Missing. Gone. She must’ve found them.”

Winter snorted. “She hasn’t been in our room this morning. You are so paranoid sometimes. She didn’t even come upstairs all morning except for that one time to check on you. If she’d have found them, you would’ve heard—she’d be mad enough the whole neighborhood would’ve heard.”

All this made sense. Theresa never put off scolding or punishment for later. She believed swift action helped us understand the importance of penance. “I put them in the hamper, but they’re gone.”

“Well don’t look at me. I didn’t take them. It’s
your
week for laundry.” She turned me toward the stairs and walked with me, keeping her voice low as well. “They’re probably still there. You just didn’t look hard enough.”

She helped me look when we got back to the room. Together, we tore the room apart. The clothes were missing.

I expected war when Theresa came home, but she bustled about the kitchen, humming and making garlic soup.

The clothes were missing, but no one had taken them.

Monday at school, Nathan nearly tackled me in his excitement to see me. “You gotta talk to your aunt. Three months being grounded is lame.”

I pulled myself away from him so I had a view of something more than his Orting High Cardinal Pride shirt and shrugged. “It’s almost over,” I said. Talking to Theresa about loosening her rules would be like asking a lemon to produce grape juice. Besides, after her mothering me with my fake sickness over the weekend, I felt a little softened toward her. She really could be a decent person when she set her mind to it.

“Isn’t that Winter’s shirt?” he asked.

“Yeah, so?”

“Ruffles aren’t your thing.” He picked up one of the ruffles between his two fingers and gave it a little flip as though amused by my choice of clothing.

I didn’t explain about the bruise looking like a hickey, feeling pretty certain he’d take it as a challenge to give me something real. Growing up the way I had made me wary of guys who marked up their girlfriends like a dog would mark his territory. Too many men had marked up my mother.

“Makes me wonder if I’ve got the right sister, that’s all.”

“Trust me. We don’t pull switches like that. Besides, you’re not her type.” The last time Wineve and I pulled a switch turned into a full-blown disaster. The same day the cheer team did pictures for the year book, Winter had found an open audition for some acting company in town. Hollywood had come to Washington to film some huge blockbuster. She asked me to cover for her so she could do the audition. After all, the cheer team was only taking pictures, and I did have her face. At a technical level, the switch should have been easy. And it was—right up until they decided to do the picture in a pyramid with the cheer captain on top.

Yeah, easy. It looked like a demolition car pileup full of red cheerleader skirts and arms and legs. As everyone untangled themselves, no one doubted my true identity. Aunt Theresa received a phone call, and I got into big trouble for trying to be someone I wasn’t. Winter ducked out of trouble since she got the part and, with it, her Screen Actors Guild card. Theresa and Paul took us to dinner to celebrate.

Nathan hung his arm over my shoulders as we walked to the lockers. “We’re meeting everyone at the Corner Café for lunch. Come with.” He crossed his arms over his school pride shirt and leaned against Winter’s locker.

“It’s risky. I’m so close to being not grounded.” I pulled out my biology book and stuffed my English book onto the shelf. “And I usually eat with my sister.” He knew this, which is why it bugged me to have to remind him.

“There’s room in the car. Bring her.”

“I’ll think about it.” I slammed my locker shut and swirled the combination dial so it wouldn’t open for random sluffers who raided lockers during class time. “Gotta go.” I swept a quick kiss on Nathan’s lips and hurried to class, sliding into my seat just as the bell rang. Winter shot me a look and flexed her arm while she crossed her eyes. This was sign language for, “The brain-dead monkey man made you late, didn’t he?”

Before I could defend Nathan or ask about lunch, Mr. Ware started class.

Biology. We were learning about genetics and DNA. It was the only class that interested me lately. I liked the nature versus nurture argument and hoped that not everything depended on either nature or nurture since both were in short supply in my life. I hoped, somehow, my own free will factored into the equation, too.

“Want to go to lunch?” I asked as soon as the bell rang.

“Go? Where?” She stuffed her book into her already bulging bag.

“Nathan and a few of his friends are meeting at the Corner Café for lunch. He said we could ride with him. We won’t be late coming back because he has art class right after lunch. You know how he is. He’d never miss that.” I tried to make it sound fun and non-troublemaking.

Winter stood and slung her bag over her shoulder, making me cringe just imagining lugging all that weight around. “I don’t—”

“Aw, c’mon, Wineve. Just come with me.”

She shook her head. “I just don’t think we should today.”

I raised my eyebrows. “What makes today different from tomorrow?” I followed her as she filed out of the room behind the rest of the class.

The crowd of teenagers buffeted against us as we made our way to Winter’s next class. My next class was on the other side of the school, but I couldn’t wait until lunch to debate whether or not to go. Time would be short enough as it was.

“I just have a bad feeling about it, that’s all.” Her face looked determined. “I’m not going. You shouldn’t, either.”

“Okay, now you’re being weird. It’s five blocks. What’s gonna happen?”

She’d arrived at her classroom door. “I don’t know. I just don’t feel good about it.” She faced me, her eyes fixed on mine. “Don’t go, Summer. It feels wrong.”

I snorted. “Don’t get all mystical on me, Wineve. It’s just lunch.” Still, she looked so worried and terrified, I gave her a hug. She held me longer than normal, and when I tried to break away, she held a little tighter. “Stay with me, Summer,” she whispered.

“I’m fine. Five blocks can’t kill me.” I laughed and pulled away.

She called after me from down the hall, “Please!”

I turned around, walking backward, since I couldn’t afford the time to stop altogether. “You’re being paranoid! But I love you! Wonder twin powers!” I didn’t wait to hear if she answered back “activate.”

Winter’s worry worried me, too. The curse of twins—what bothers one of us will bother both of us, whether we want it to or not. Still, I held firm that five blocks couldn’t kill me. Unless Theresa found out, then it would as good as kill me.

Nathan had already pulled up to the curb by the door leading to student parking. He revved his engine when he saw me. I got in and buckled my seatbelt, giving an extra tug to make sure the strap held tight, grumbling about Winter’s paranoia.

We were off. I let out a small breath of relief when we got to the Corner Café without anything catastrophic happening, and chastised myself for giving in to Winter’s delusions. Half the art club filled nearly every seat of the diner.

Nathan kept a close eye on the clock while we ate and rushed us out exactly on time. I stared out the car window as we drove back, trying not to feel drowsy from my full stomach, when I sat up straight. My throat closed off, choking out any noise I might have made. I pointed at the window, my fingers tapping violently against the glass trying to get Nathan’s attention.

It was the face, the gray guy—he stood pale and ominous on the sidewalk, his long black cloak swirling around his legs in the wind, his eyes locked on mine. He gave a small nod.

“Nathan—” I turned to tell him about the guy. That’s when I saw something far more alarming. Barreling toward the driver’s side was a canary-yellow truck. It had run the red light. I screamed. “Nathan! Look out!”

Everything went quiet. Nathan’s mouth moved, yet no sound came out. The guy in gray suddenly appeared by Nathan’s window. I wanted to yell at him to move but couldn’t. As I threw my hands up in front of me to brace myself against the impact, the guy’s face shimmered through my vision again, only this time he was right in front of me. He unclipped my buckle, and I felt a pulling from my midsection.

My heart thumped faster in the mire of the moment. The pulling sensation stopped, and I found myself outside the car, standing on the sidewalk.

The crunching of metal and shattering of glass filled the silence, making me jump in alarm and shock. Nathan’s car flipped and skidded across the road. Pieces of windshield rained down, glittering in the sun as they fell to the ground. My hands ran over the length of my body.
How am I staring at Nathan’s car? I’m supposed to be inside that car.
I’d yelled to Nathan about the truck. It was going to hit us. We didn’t have time to avoid it, but I’d yelled—yelled and stared at the oncoming truck, unable to close my eyes to the horror of impact. Yet, here I stood,
not
in the car.

“Nathan!” I screamed. “Nathan!” I tried to run to the car, but something held my arms, making any forward motion impossible.

My breath came in sporadic bursts. My head spun as if I’d been turning in circles for an hour. I looked down at my arms, trying to comprehend what held them pinned at my sides.
Hands
held me.

I turned, every inch of me shaking and convulsing with shock. And there he was—the face. “Wh—what happened?” My voice sounded foreign and hollow.

He stared at me, his ashen features hard with lack of emotion, measuring me before he took a deep breath. “You’re dead, Summer Dawn Rae.”

That was it. His entire explanation swept over me in an icy wave of five words.

“No. I’m not—” I couldn’t say the word.
Dead.
My legs buckled, and I fell to my knees. In an odd moment of detachment, it occurred to me that the action hurt me. Blood pooled under my right knee. The wound from the cave ripped open on impact of the cement.
Yes. That hurts. Do dead people hurt?

I tried to stand, but my watery legs refused to obey my brain’s commands. “If I’m dead, why am I bleeding?”

He did look concerned then, and swiftly bent to pick me up. His muscles tensed under my weight. “I’ll get you medical care for your wound.” In the movement of being picked up, I felt a pulling at my middle again. I squeezed my eyes shut against the vertigo. When I opened them, he appeared to have actual color in his face. He no longer looked like a human made of gray thunderclouds. His eyes seemed like hard blue ice crystals, chipped from glacial ice. His brown hair was darker than mine, something Winter would have called henna-brown. Compared to the pale ghost of a person he’d been before, he now looked like he might have been blushing.

“What are you?” I’d meant to say,
who are you,
but
who
didn’t sound right. “The angel of death?”

He looked down into my face again. His blue eyes flickering with a warmth so brief, it could have been imagined. He jerked his head back up and began walking, seeming entirely unhindered by carrying a girl around. “I am the furthest thing from an angel that I know. Your heart still beats. You’re only dead to everyone who knows you.”