Hysteria (4 page)

“I’m ready to go now.” But the words came out quiet and unsure.

She shook her head. “We’ll drive up together tomorrow.”

“I’ve taken the train before, you know.”

“Not that far. You’d have to switch lines in Boston and you’d be all alone . . .”
Her voice trailed off at the word. I’d be
alone
for the entire school year.

“Your father’s at work,” she said.

I tried to think of how to appeal to her senses. “I’m scared,” I said, which, as it
turned out, was the most honest thing I’d said to my mother in weeks.

She stayed silent, doing the staring-off-into-space thing. Then she snapped to attention,
nodded vigorously, and grabbed the keys off the holder next to the front door.

We left.

I didn’t call Colleen. I didn’t leave a note for my father. I didn’t lean my head
out the door and scream, “I’m leaving!” at Brian’s mom, wherever she was. I didn’t
tell anyone. I just grabbed my bags and walked out the front door into the stifling
heat. One last glance toward the kitchen, to the white spot on the floor.

Good-bye.

At the train station, Mom handed me several twenties. Then she leaned across the center
console, a halfhearted attempt at a halfhearted hug. “Be good, Mallory love,” she
whispered into my ear.

It was the type of thing she’d never said to me before. It was the type of thing she
never felt the need to remind me of before.

I felt the hate again, flashing from nowhere. Light off. Light on.

And then I walked away from the car.

My hands shook as I handed the money to the cashier. I didn’t know why. Colleen and
I used to take this train into the city several times a year. And, really, I was glad
to leave. Brian’s mom was always waiting, two hundred yards away. And there was that
thing
in my house, waiting for me. Coming for me.

I should’ve felt relieved as I boarded the train. Free. I was free. I whispered it
to myself, like this whole thing was my idea, and by the time I reached Boston, I
almost believed it.

I transferred to a bus, dragging my luggage behind me. There were so many people,
and nobody paused to give me a second look. Most people here never even gave me a
first look. As I boarded the bus for the middle of nowhere, New Hampshire, I thought
that maybe my parents were right. Maybe a fresh start was all I needed.

Maybe next time I went home the grout between the tiles would be dirty and I wouldn’t
see the outline of Brian’s body. Maybe my parents wouldn’t flinch when I reached for
a steak knife. Maybe Colleen would be allowed to see me. Maybe Brian’s mom would move
away.

I was downright saturated with the hope of the Maybes when the bus screeched to a
halt in the middle of the road a few hours later.

The doors opened and the light flickered on inside, making the dusk outside seem even
darker. “Monroe,” the driver announced, with his finger extended down a fork in the
road. “This is as close as I get.”

I walked down the steps, and he pulled my bags out from the storage area underneath.
“Quarter mile down the road, honey.”

The bus shifted into gear and rumbled away. I couldn’t see anything past the curve
in the road ahead of me.

Maybe.

An engine idled nearby, and though I couldn’t see the car, a horrible chill ran down
my neck and across my shoulders. I was convinced it was pine green. I was convinced
it was waiting for me.

I walked along the shoulder of the road, which wasn’t really a shoulder at all, just
the cracked, uneven edge where pavement ended and the woods began. I walked against
traffic like I was taught, but it probably wouldn’t make a difference. The road was
too narrow and the curve too sudden for a car to maneuver around me in time. So I
walked fast, listening for the sound of oncoming cars. But the only sound I heard
was the idling engine. Waiting.

I reached the corner and rounded it quickly and the car took off, a blur of red taillights
and nothing else. The only thing waiting for me was the gate ahead, the ivy creeping
upward, gripping the iron bars.

The scarlet
M
looming over top, just for me.

Chapter 3

D
usk was darker in the woods than on the coast. Too many trees to see the horizon.
Light filtered through at odd angles, stretching and distorting the shadows. There
were two archways carved into the gate, which made the whole gate thing kind of pointless.

I walked through the one on the left, which was narrower than I’d thought, and I felt
myself shrinking down as I passed through it. In front of me, the brick walkway diverged
into three paths snaking through the trees and the buildings. I couldn’t see where
anything led, so I rested my luggage against the iron bars, took out my cell phone,
and held it toward the sky.

“Come on, come on,” I mumbled. I probably should’ve cleared this with Dad after all.
I’d been so preoccupied with the getting away part that I hadn’t thought about what
to do when I actually arrived. I paced to the other end of the gate, walked back through
it, around it, and finally stood on a stone bench. Still no signal.

The wind blew strongly and I nearly lost my footing on the edge of the bench. Leaves
rustled and a flag whipped around on the top of the building to my right. And then
a vision came waltzing down the middle path. Brown hair, bouncing. Hips swaying. My
heart skipped a beat and I thought,
Colleen.

But it wasn’t Colleen. This girl had a splattering of freckles across her nose and
overarched eyebrows, and when the shadows shifted and the light hit her hair, I could
tell it was more red than brown. I hopped off the bench. And then another girl came
skipping after her. Skinny and blond and all frail boned. Just a wisp of a person.

“It’s a dead zone. Because of the mountains,” said the girl with the curls. “That’s
what they tell us anyway. Seems awfully convenient.” Then she extended a short, manicured
finger in the direction of the bus stop. “About a mile that way I can get some signal.
At the gas station.”

The blond girl shuddered. “Not worth the risk. The locals are inbred.” She opened
her eyes wide and leaned forward, like a warning.

“They just don’t have dental insurance,” Curls said, waving her off.

I smiled at Curls, but neither smiled back. Blond Girl had a fine white scar running
across her chin, and she raised her hand to touch it, like she knew I was looking.

“Well, anyway, I have a satellite phone,” said Blond Girl. Curls blinked heavily and
shifted her jaw back and forth.

“Early arrivals need to check in with Ms. Perkins. Housemaster.” Curls pointed up
to the top of the building with the whipping flag.

“On the roof?” I asked.

Curls cocked her head to the side and pulled her lips into a hideous grin. “Oh look,
a funny one.”

And then they left.

I dragged my luggage into the building on the right. A dorm, I guess. But for the
money my parents were spending, I expected a little more. Automatic doors instead
of the heavy wooden ones that creaked when they opened. Fancy artwork instead of wood-paneled
walls. For Christ’s sake, the lobby didn’t even have a television. Just a handful
of couches tossed haphazardly around the room. I wouldn’t have been surprised to see
a moose head mounted on the wall.

Through the window on a thick wooden door, I saw a hallway stretch down to my left,
door after door after door. Like some asylum. There was a staircase at the back of
the lounge, wall sconces illuminating the way up and down.

I left my bags and went up, my flip-flops slapping at the steps. The stairs ended
at the third floor with a single door.

A woman not much older than me in sweats and a ponytail answered when I knocked, looked
me over, and pushed her glasses up onto her nose. “You must be Mallory,” she said,
with no inflection to her voice whatsoever. I must’ve look surprised that she knew
who I was, because she said, “Your father spoke with the dean of students earlier
today.” Then she nodded and said, “Very well then,” like she was playing some part
and going back to her script. She pulled a blue stretchy bracelet with a key attached
off the table along the entrance wall. “Room 102. Do you have a laptop?”

Was I supposed to have a laptop? “No.”

“You’ll get one tomorrow during orientation. And the cellular service is appalling.
There’s a pay phone in the hall and vending machines in the basement. The cafeteria
doesn’t open until tomorrow, I’m afraid.”

I slipped the key bracelet onto my wrist.

“If you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask.” And yet, as she said it, she slowly
closed the door in my face.

My steps echoed throughout the stairwell as I descended. Fresh start, like hell. Like
this place could be anyone’s fresh start. Full of snotty people and arrogant buildings
and way too many trees. God, there were so many freaking trees.

I entered the barren lobby, void of all sound except the low hum of electricity buzzing
from the lights, and I felt it.

It.
Him. Here, hundreds of miles from home. Here, in this emptiness. It was here, like
a suffocating fullness to the room, humming along with the electricity.

I didn’t understand. There was no reason for his soul or presence or whatever to be
here. He’d probably never set foot here in his life. This place meant nothing to him
—
to us.

And then I backed slowly into the stairwell again. Because I realized that whatever
it was
—
a ghost, a soul, a ripple in the atmosphere
—
it wasn’t tied to my kitchen. It was tied to me.

I took shallow breaths so nothing could really register in the pit of my gut. Colleen.
I needed Colleen. I stumbled down the last flight of stairs, and I kept casting glances
over my shoulder but there was nothing there. Except every time I turned back around,
I felt something, or this
almost
something, pressed up against my back, mirroring my every movement as I scampered
down the hall past the vending machines.

But every time I looked there was nothing, like it was in my blind spot. Just out
of sight. But there.

I ran into the laundry room, where everything smelled like dryer sheets and felt like
excess heat, and that muffled the feeling a little, though it was still there.

Everything was coin operated. I ran my bills through the coin machine until my bag
was half full of quarters because I had no idea how much it cost to call New Jersey
from the middle of nowhere, and the sound of the money sloshing around made me feel
a little better, for no reason at all, really.

But not that much better because my hands were still shaking when I inserted half
the contents of my purse into the pay phone upstairs. And that feeling was practically
on top of me, like someone was pressed up against my back, eyes on the back of my
head, arms at my sides, deciding what to do.

The phone rang three times and Colleen picked up, breathy and quiet. “Hello?” she
said. And the feeling retreated for the moment.

“Colleen?”

“Oh my God, Mallory?”

“In the flesh. Well, not really.”

“What the crap? Caller ID said unknown caller, New Hampshire. You’re already there?”

“Yes. And I’m on a pay phone in my dorm. A pay phone!”

“They still make those?”

“Are you ungrounded?”

“No.” Her voice dropped lower. “The parental unit is in the shower.
Was
in the shower.”

“Colleen?” a voice in the background asked.

“Shit. Okay, give me the number. I’ll call it when I can.”

I found the numbers on top of the keypad. “603-555
—
”

“Colleen Elizabeth, hang up this instant.”

“One sec, Ma. Okay, 603-555 . . . ?”

“23
—
” And then I heard a dial tone. I listened to the tone for a minute, willing the numbers
across the connection.

I went back to the lounge and grabbed my luggage. The feeling was gone. All that was
left was me and my luggage and the faint hum of electricity. I pulled my bags down
the hall to room 102
—
the corner room, next to a secondary staircase, narrow and dark. I let myself into
my room and I swear I could smell concrete. Because that’s all there was. White walls,
two standard-issue twin beds with white linens that blended into the background. White
on white, just like home. Minus the home part. There were desks in each corner, a
light oak. But with the poor lighting, they almost looked the same color as the rest
of the room.

I opened the closet door and found a low dresser shoved into the bottom. Brown and
worn. Like the unseemly stuff was hidden from sight here.

I turned on the overhead light, but it was yellow and dim. So I flung open the shades,
but the room faced the woods. And all that was out there now were dark shadows against
a darker sky. So I propped the door to my room open with my bag and let the fluorescent
light from the hall shine in. And even after I didn’t need the light anymore, I kept
the door open, waiting for Colleen to call back. It didn’t matter that I couldn’t
get the number to her. She’d figure it out.