Fury (28 page)

Em hung back a few feet while Drea grabbed a flashlight and poked her head under the hood, muttering to herself. Em crossed her arms and hopped a little from one foot to the other, feeling the freezing air sear her lungs with every breath. The woods on the left side of Peaks Road were thick and deep, part of the Galvin Nature Preserve, where the boys played ice hoops. She squinted, trying to make out the pond, but she could barely see through one layer of brush.

Drea rattled and cursed under the hood and emerged looking shaken. Then, with an air of resignation, she lay down on the salty, slushy road and slid herself under Em’s car.

“Do you, like, need a hand?” Em asked helplessly. But then Drea was shoving herself back up onto her knees and walking over to where Em was standing. She wiped her hands on her black jeans.

“It really was the brakes, Em. The line looks like it was cut clean.”

“What does that even mean?”

“Um, that you would have died if you’d gone down the Peaks stretch,” Drea said with a shudder. “You would have just
kept picking up speed. Like a roller coaster without a way to stop.” An owl or something hooted in the distance.

“But . . . but . . . how did it happen? I just got my car serviced and everything.” Em’s cheeks burned in the cold. She wasn’t wearing a hat.

“I don’t know how things happen. I just know how to fix them.” Drea smiled grimly. “Jeez. I owe Crow a beer. And you owe
me
, like, an entire bottle of vodka, or your homecoming crown or whatever. I just
saved your life
, Winters.” She got quiet suddenly. Em watched Drea’s guard fall, just for a second, as she turned away, squinting into the dark. “Maybe my track record’s getting better.”

Em thought again of Sasha. “What did you say?”

“Nothing.” Drea turned back to Em. The walls were back up. “I’m just kidding about the crown. It would clash with my snazzy movie-theater vest.”

Em just stared, not really at Drea, not really at her car, just at the unfocused blackness in front of her. The brakes had been cut clean. Suddenly she felt hopeless, resigned. Something bad was going to happen. Something bad was
already
happening. There was no way to stop it.

Drea snapped her fingers closer to Em’s face. “Earth to Em. Can I give you a ride home or something?”

“Sorry. Yes, thank you. I’ll just be a minute, I need to grab my purse,” Em mumbled as she bent into the car to retrieve her
bag. It didn’t even seem like Drea was listening anymore—too focused on packing up her metal tool kit—but as Em came back toward Drea’s little Honda Civic, Drea froze.

Em looked behind her, half expecting to see a moose. But Drea wasn’t looking past her. She was looking
at
her.

“That,” Drea was saying, pointing at her bag. “Where did you get that?”

Em looked down and blood rushed to her head. Instinctively, her hand stretched out, as if to protect herself from the orchid’s glow. She had kept the second one, which Ali had pressed on her in Harvard Square, afraid to throw it away again. Afraid Ali would come back. Drea was staring at it fixedly.

“This flower?” Em felt her breath getting shallow again. “I don’t know. Some girl gave it to me. It’s weird.”

“Weird how?”

Em blew warm breath onto the tips of her freezing fingers. “Weird because I can’t get rid of it. The first time I . . . I watched it get crushed under a train. And then this girl gave it back to me. I’m not even sure who she is . . .” She trailed off, wondering if this was when people got committed to the insane asylum.

But Drea didn’t scoff, as Em expected her to. Instead, she wordlessly grabbed the orchid from Em’s bag. With her other hand, she dug into her black jeans for a Zippo. And then she set the flower, with its many folds, on fire.

She threw it on the ground once its entire body was aflame. It smoldered there.

Drea looked back at Em, the tiny fire casting a candle-like glow on her face. Em had never noticed that Drea’s eyelashes were so long and curled. That, combined with her strong nose, made her really pretty, in an unexpected way. Her prettiness certainly didn’t go with her badass reputation. Em found herself wondering, randomly, whether or not Drea had ever been in love.

“What did you do?” Drea’s voice was soft but forceful. Em realized that she had never before seen Drea Feiffer look scared, not even the time in fifth grade when Carey Wallace threatened to beat her up for being a freak.

“What?” Em swallowed back the sudden dryness in her throat.

“They won’t just show up. What did you do? Why did you get a flower?”

Em was so surprised by the questions, she couldn’t respond at first. She didn’t like the way Drea was staring at her. Had Drea heard something around school? How could Drea Feiffer know anything about her life? “I—I didn’t do anything.”

Drea pursed her lips, cocked her head to one side, and studied Em. Then she shook her head as though she had come to a decision about something. “Pretending won’t do any good, Em. When you’re ready to talk, find me.” Then she was in her
glove compartment, rooting around. “In the meantime,” Drea said, backing out of the car with something in her hand. “This might help.”

She took Em’s hand and closed her fist around a small gold snake charm—a miniature version of the one Em had seen Drea wearing for years. Then Drea jerked her head, motioning for Em to get in the car. Em looked at her, waiting for more explanation, but Drea was quiet. Other than the pulsing music coming from the car speakers, they drove home in silence.

“Thanks for the ride,” Em said a bit sheepishly when they pulled into her driveway. She knew she wasn’t going inside—it was way too dark in there to be alone, and she knew JD was waiting across the yard.

“No problem.” Under the motion-sensor driveway light, Drea’s eyes pierced hers. “Don’t forget. Come see me when you want to talk. I might be able to help.”

Em didn’t answer as she got out of the car.

JD was frantic when he answered the door. His hair was sticking up at so many crazy angles, it looked like he had been electrocuted. “What happened to you? What took you so long? Are you okay?”

Em whispered fiercely in response: “Are your parents home?”

“Yeah, they’re home. Seriously, Em. What’s going on?”

“What are they doing?” She shouldered past him, dropping her voice to a whisper. She didn’t feel like dealing with Mr. and Mrs. Fount tonight and their inevitable questions about school and SAT prep.

JD raised an eyebrow. “They’re upstairs watching a documentary about blue whales,” he mock whispered back. “Now will you tell me what’s going on?” He tugged at his sweater and looked at her over the tops of his glasses. “You sounded crazy on the phone.”

“I think I
am
going crazy,” Em said, dragging him toward his basement door. She kept talking as they descended his stairs; down in the rec room, there was a ratty sofa that JD called his therapist couch. “My brakes are fucked up. Drea Feiffer rescued me. I think someone is stalking me. I think there’s a ghost stalking me.” The statements came out in rushed staccato, but she stopped rambling at the bottom of the staircase.

Her voice caught in her throat as she saw what JD had prepared: a plate of homemade nachos, two cupcakes, and a little pillow fort on “her side” of the couch.

“JD . . . this is so nice.”

“Well, I’m telling you, I really thought you were going to be carted away. I was worried.” He shrugged, running his hands through his hair. He ducked under a low beam and came over to the couch.

Em collapsed on the couch, breathing in its familiar scent and feeling its knobby pills against her forearms.

“This couch is so uncomfortable,” she said, pulling at one of the little balls of wool.

“Do the ghosts think so too?” He looked at her with a quizzical smirk. “What were you saying?”

“JD, listen. Can I tell you something? Can I tell you everything?” She tried to take a bite of her cupcake but couldn’t.

“Yes.” He hadn’t sat down yet. He was hovering.

“Something weird is going on,” she said, biting her lip.

“Very informative, Em. A lot of weird stuff has been happening around here. Can you be a bit more precise?” he asked, stuffing his hands into his smoking jacket’s pockets.

He was teasing, but she resented it. She fluttered her hands, like she did when she was looking for the right word. “I’m trying, JD. Give me a second.”

“Okay, okay.” He held up his hands, motioned for her to continue.

She put the cupcake back down and stared at him. “Someone has been following me.” She pointed vaguely to the basement window, as though that would help clarify her story. “Remember that day in Boston? She was there then.”

“
Who
was there?” JD sat down now, looking at her with concern.

“This girl. This girl named Ali who’s been showing up
in windows. And on the T, in Boston that day. She’s stalking me, I think, because of something I did . . .” Em trailed off when she saw the way he was looking at her. She’d seen him look at Melissa this way, when she was going on about how Tess Hoover and Brian Rinaldi had cut the line together at the seventh-grade trip to the amusement park and how that meant that they must be boyfriend and girlfriend. Indulgent. Amused. Like . . .
aren’t these kids so cute?

“You don’t believe me, do you?” she said dully.

JD sighed. “Em, I know this is hard for you.” The pity in his eyes had only gotten deeper. “I don’t know what you’re talking about with this stalker stuff, but I know you’re upset about Chase. I know you’d been talking and hanging out a little bit, but you have to remember that none of it is your fault. You couldn’t have changed anything.” He put his hand on her leg and patted it. She jerked away, as though his touch were scalding.

“No. That’s not what I’m talking about. That’s not what this is about.” Em shook her head violently.

“Look, people’s imaginations go into overdrive after a tragedy, you know. I read that somewhere. So if you want to tell me your stories, I’ll listen. I just don’t want you to scare yourself like this.”

“JD. I’ve spent a lot of time trying to blame this on my
overactive imagination
,” she said, her voice tinged with anger now.
“It’s not that. It’s more than that. I mean, it does have to do with Chase, but . . .” She broke off, trying to collect her thoughts.

JD leaped in. “Exactly. This all just goes back to Chase. Dying. Probably even Sasha, too. It’s been a fucked-up time. No wonder you’re freaking out.”

“No, JD. I’m
freaking out
because I keep seeing the same girl over and over and because she gave me a regenerative red flower that
happens to be
the same thing that was in Chase’s hand when he died and because someone just cut my brake lines and apparently sorry’s not enough and that’s why I’m
freaking out
.” By the time she finished her diatribe she was halfway up the basement stairs, fighting back tears, struggling to put on her coat with dignity, which was difficult when her vision was so blurry she couldn’t even see the arm holes.

JD looked blindsided. “Where are you going?”

“I’m going home,” she spat out. “I’m going home. At least my pillows aren’t condescending.”

But those couldn’t protect her, either; she knew that. She’d have to do that herself.

She heard JD running up the stairs behind her, and she whirled around at the front door.

“Em,” he said. “What did I do?”

“You judged me, as usual.” She glared at him. “Why don’t you try having a life of your own before you make decisions about other people’s?”

“I have a life,” he said quietly, his face dark.

“Right. Driving me around everywhere and telling me what to do. Nice life,” she said, feeling the cold air hit her face as his front door slammed behind her.

It was hard enough not knowing what the hell was going on, who to tell, how to stop it. But something about the fact that JD didn’t understand made Em’s heart hurt in a way she’d never felt before.

Forever and always, JD had been the one she trusted. When she was scared to jump off the dock at Galvin’s Pond when they were ten, he did it with her—even though there was goopy pond grass floating nearby. When she told him stories, she never felt like she had to edit out the weird stuff—the strange places her brain went, the seemingly nonsensical connections she made between things. When she’d told him about Zach, even . . .

But now she felt like she was behind a wall. If JD didn’t understand, who would?

His texts started up the moment she was back in her house.

Em. I’m sorry. Come back and talk to me.

Or I can come over there?

Hello? Emerly? Silent treatment?

She powered off her phone without responding. She felt humiliated; she’d exposed herself to him, and he had treated her like a child. She trudged upstairs, leaving the kitchen light on. She noticed her parents had left a note saying they’d gone out for dinner. They would be home in a few hours.

In her room, Em flipped open her laptop.

There he was again, trying to chat with her now.

Em? I can see you’re online. Can we just talk?

I’m sorry if I was a jerk. I don’t even know what I did.

What’s going on???

She shut her laptop with a bang. She thought about turning on her iPod but there wasn’t a single song she wanted to listen to. She pulled off her jeans and changed into her UMaine sweats. She shut off the light, then thought better of it and switched on her desk lamp.

She’d had enough of the dark.

Then she slumped into bed without even brushing her teeth. She lay there, listening to the clacking radiator, rolling from one side of the bed to the other. She couldn’t get comfortable. In a fit of frustration, she dumped all her pillows onto the ground, keeping just one for her head. Finally, her eyes
felt heavy. And just as she might have fallen asleep, Em heard frantic, furious knocking at the front door. She jolted awake.

It couldn’t be her parents; even if they’d forgotten their keys, both sets, they would have dug around for the spare, hidden under a rock beneath the deck. It had to be JD, coming to apologize and talk in person.