Instinct (20 page)

A knock
thunders on the bedroom door and we break apart, giving each other sheepish
looks as my mother swings the door open gangbusters style and stands there,
hands on hips, a censorious expression on her face.

“My daughter
can’t get laid if I can’t,” she says sharply, and I choke on a wild laugh,
biting my lower lip to keep from getting hysterical. She narrows her eyes at me
and then flushes, guessing at what I must have heard. Clearing her throat to
mask her somewhat lessened righteous rage, she gives me a knowing look. “Just
keep the door open, okay?”

“Sure thing, Mom,”
I gasp, nearly losing it when Cole turns to me in bewilderment. Mom nods and
disappears, giving me the freedom to lose myself in laughter for a moment.

“What’s so
funny? What did she really say?” Cole is asking, amusement spreading across his
features, making everything in my room a little brighter. I just shake my head
and wave the question away. When I finally get myself under control we are both
grinning madly and everything has changed between us.

“So you’re my
girlfriend now, right?” he demands, suddenly serious, his deep blue eyes
searching mine. I give him a teasing nudge with my elbow and he relaxes,
smiling again.

“Why don’t we
just start with going on a date?” I suggest and he laughs, putting an arm
around me again as he leans against the wall.

“Yeah, okay.
But only if it means we get to do this again,” he adds.

“Sounds good.”
I shift closer to him, amazed how different I feel now. The sorrow over Nicole
and what I learned about Miranda is still there, the determination to take
action still intense, but I don’t feel alone anymore. I don’t feel like this is
only my battle, and a warm rush of gratitude flows through me.

“Look, we
still need to talk about some stuff,” I say, knowing beyond a doubt that
telling Cole everything is a good idea.

He sighs and
nods, dropping a kiss on my forehead. “Yeah, I know. I got kind of sidetracked,
but I did come here with a purpose.”

I open my
mouth to interrupt, to tell him what I meant, but Cole doesn’t notice and
starts talking about his father again. Remembering how concerned he was when he
first arrived, I listen, knowing he needs to get this off his chest before I
can ask for his help.

“So I was
telling you about my dad. The day he brought me home, he sat me down and told
me that he knew I was talented and wanted to know what I could do. I was pissed
at him, but kind of relieved at the same time, you know? Knowing it came from
somewhere, it wasn’t just me.” His tone is lighter now, freer, and I suspect
that our new closeness has made it easier for him to talk to me.

“Anyway, I
told him. And then he told me about his ability.” Cole’s expression darkens,
his lips pulling tight and thin. “He has…I guess you’d call it persuasion. It’s
really subtle and he’s good at it. You don’t know what he’s doing until you’re
trapped in some action you didn’t mean to take, and then there’s this
resistance; like pushing against a car that’s slowly rolling down a hill. You
know it’s inevitable, that you can’t hold it back forever, but once you realize
what’s happening, that’s he’s manipulating you, it’s so hard not to fight
back.”

The strain in
Cole’s voice is painful, and I wonder how many times he has pushed back against
his father. I know I got a taste of Geoffrey Wise’s talent today, but then
again, he wasn’t really trying to convince me to do anything. A greasy, dirty
feeling is tangled up in my gut at the thought of being made to do something
against my will. Cole looks at me and I can see the haunted expression in his
eyes. Taking his hand in mine, I kiss his fingers and rest my cheek on his
palm. He sighs deeply and smiles at me, making my heart constrict and swell all
at once.

“The reason
I’m telling you all this is because my dad is interested in you now.” 

I swallow
nervously and bite my lower lip, thinking that I really can’t handle any more
problems just now. Cole must read some of this in my expression because he
shakes his head mournfully, sorry to add to my burdens.

“I’m sorry,
Derry. It’s mainly because of Jake. He’s been…kind of fixated on you for the
past few weeks. He talks about you all the time at home. He and Dad are really
close, and Dad has a way of making you tell him things anyway. It’s why I
didn’t come to see you in the hospital. Dad used his persuasion on me, made me
stay home so I wouldn’t be in Jake’s way. He only let me come to the viewing
tonight because he thought it would look bad for him if I didn’t.

“From the way
Jake talked about you, he had suspected, but when he saw you today, he knew,
right away, that you’re like us. I barely got out of the house once he realized
I was the one you had become friends with, not Jake.” Cole shifts uncomfortably
and I tense, expecting some dire revelation.

“He wants to
meet with you. Basically so he can figure out how to use you. It’s not an
excuse, but that’s pretty much why I got so paranoid about our first kiss. It’s
been a while since I didn’t have to question my motives for doing something
unexpected. I should’ve known better with you,” he insists, his eyes bright with
sincerity. “And now I’m warning you. Stay away from him. I don’t want you
getting mixed up with my dad, or Jake. They’re dangerous.”

He sighs and
seems to deflate slightly, as though he has finally released a last gasp of toxic
air. When he meets my eyes again, his own are diffident, as though awaiting a
verdict he’s not sure will be in his favor.

In answer I
brush a silky strand of hair out of his eyes and lay a gentle kiss on his
mouth. “Okay,” I reply, and his whole body relaxes. “You’re the only Wise…or
Durant, I’ll deal with. Why isn’t your last name Wise? That’s bugged me for a
while,” I ask, hoping I’m not being insensitive.

“You’re kind
of crazy, you know that?” Cole asks incredulously, his lips twitching with
amusement. “I tell you that my father is a scheming, cold-blooded bastard who
wants to co-opt you for his own nefarious purposes and you want to know about
my last name?”

I shrug,
wondering what he expected me to say instead. He shakes his head and raises his
hands palms out in defeat.

“My mom hated
my dad. She didn’t want me to have any part of him. So I took her name instead.
Dad tried to make me change it when I moved in with him, but I held out. It’s
all I have left of her. I won’t let it go.”

 “My dad’s last
name is Romero. When I was old enough to realize he wasn’t coming back, I
changed my name back to my mother’s,” I reveal. Cole squeezes my hand and we
are quiet for a while, but there is solidarity to our silence, making it
lighter, restful.

I glance
across the room and my gaze locks on the journal again, guilt pinching at the
brief bubble of happiness I had with Cole. Sighing, I return to what matters,
what has to be accomplished before I can allow myself any more blissful
interludes like this again.

“Cole, I need
to tell you some things too. Please just…wait till I’m done to say anything.
It’s going to sound pretty out there, but it’s all true.”

He watches me
carefully, his eyes veiled with concern. Gesturing for me to begin, he turns
around so he is completely facing me, his knees brushing against mine, a
reassuring contact.  

So I tell him
everything. I tell him about my conversations with Nicole, her theories about
Phillip. I tell him how my skin is permanently electrified when Phillip’s
around, how I never hear his hidden truth, how I can never tell if he is lying.
I tell him about reading Miranda’s journal for the first time. My voice becomes
hard and brusque when I tell him about Shockey.

And then, with
his arms around me, keeping me warm, I tell him about Nicole’s phone call, how
I ran out into the night so stupidly, how I let her die. I tell him about the
car I saw and how I know in my bones that it was Phillip.

My voice is
nothing more than a whisper when I tell him about the burning knot in my chest,
that I have to destroy Phillip and Shockey, I have to give some measure of
peace to the memory of the lives they ruined so maliciously.

When I am
finished, the fire in my chest is hotter, uncomfortable. I let myself be
distracted. Guilt scalds the back of my tongue.

“God,” Cole
finally says, his eyes soft and vulnerable. “I’m so sorry, Derry. I had no idea
you were dealing with all that.” He tilts his head and sighs. “Poor Nicole. I
should’ve checked on her, tried to find out how she was doing. I just got so
wrapped up in how unfair my life was...maybe if I had been around…”

“Don’t. It
might have helped some, but trust me, Nicole was determined to confront Phillip
one way or another. I should’ve realized it sooner, too. I just didn’t think…I
guess I didn’t really think it was him. When I read what happened to Miranda in
her journal, I thought Nicole was wrong. I thought Miranda did kill herself.” I
rub my eyes, abruptly feeling so exhausted I can barely keep them open. “But I
know better now. There is no doubt in my mind that he killed Nicole.”

Cole sees how
tired I am and eases himself off the bed, grabbing his jacket from where he
dropped it on the floor. “Promise me you won’t make the same mistake. Promise
me you won’t do this alone. Let me help,” he begs. Despite my weariness, I
manage a smile.

“I promise. I
was going to ask for your help anyway.”

Cole nods and
holds his arms open. I jump off the bed and lean into him, listening to the
slow, steady march of his heartbeat, my own pulse striving to match.

“You have it.
Get some rest. I’ll call you tomorrow,” he promises. He pulls me closer and
kisses me, stirring and soothing me at the same time. We say goodnight and I
watch out my window as he walks down the driveway to his motorcycle. He climbs
astride and pauses before putting on his helmet, looking up at the faint glow
that spills across the yard from my light. Raising a hand, he smiles, knowing I
see him.

I stand watching
out the window long after he leaves.

I can feel his
eyes on the back of my neck, fingers stretching out to run one long nail down
the center, slitting the skin just enough to leave a thin trail of red. When he
reaches my spine, I go rigid, paralyzed, knowing without a doubt he has cut the
cord that allows me control over my own body. I shift my eyes to look at him
and my mouth goes dry in horror as he attaches nearly transparent threads to my
wrists, around my knees and ankles. His emerald eyes are vivid, harsh as a
smile creases his plastic face, teeth so shiny they are reflective. Squinting,
I can almost see something there, like images caught in a mirror, pounding at
the glass to get out.

He comes
closer, holding a thick tree branch in his hand, and begins to sway it back and
forth, easily and gracefully at first and then more sadistically, callously until
I realize my limbs are swinging around grotesquely, no longer connected to my
body. The grisly dance intensifies, reeling out of control and in a flash of
light I can see them, the pale redheaded girl and the pinched, accusing face of
the one I let down. They are clawing at the glass wall of his mouth, mutely
screaming until they unravel and nothing is left but their eyes, staring ahead,
begging.

I come awake
with a bolt, my heart pounding and my arms and legs aching. The covers are
tangled around me, the bottom sheet pulled almost completely off the bed. For a
moment I still cannot move, waiting for his direction, waiting for Phillip to
lift his hand and cut the strings.

Gradually the
panic eases and I pull my knees up against my chest, hugging my legs close and
leaning my head against them. When my breathing finally slows and I can think
again, I realize this is the first nightmare I’ve had in weeks. Remembering the
earlier ones featuring Cole before I really knew him, I wonder how my
subconscious could ever have given him the role of the villain. Even now, I
remember the unnaturally green eyes blazing down at me, so unlike Cole’s own profound
blue. It was always Phillip who tormented me; I just couldn’t recognize it
then.

The clock
tells me it’s just after nine a.m., but the light coming in through my blinds
is dim and grey. Shedding the muddle of sheets and blanket, I lurch out of bed
and look outside. Everything is gloomy and hushed, the sky the color of wet
asphalt, menacing and heavy with the threat of rain. The phone rings and I pick
it up absently, still looking out at the moody clouds.

“I’m
uncomfortable talking to you,” a familiar rumbling voice says in greeting.

“Hello, Detective
Radcliffe.” My own tone is less than enthusiastic.

“Did you have
plans to come down to the station sometime today?” he asks a little too
politely.  

“Yes. I just
woke up. Mom and I will be there in a bit.”

“Well, come
down as soon as you can. Someone will be here to take your statement. Shouldn’t
take too long,” he assures me and then says goodbye, keeping our conversation
as succinct as possible. I have serious doubts he will be the one to debrief me.

“Mom, can you
take me down to the station?” I call down the stairs, hearing my mother
puttering around in the kitchen.

“I’m ready for
things to go back to normal,” she answers.

“Repeat,
please!” I yell, finding my patience is already running thin this morning.

“Give me
fifteen minutes,” she replies, a streak of annoyance in her tone. As long as
she’s lived with me, put up with my little quirk, used it to her advantage, I
know she still resents that she is not exempt. She almost always makes me ask
her to repeat her first statement, though she knows better by now. Usually I
just brush it off, but today, maybe because of my disturbed night, I am on
edge.

By the time we
are in the car, I have a pounding headache, the kind you only get once or twice
a year but can last for days. Even the overcast sky is too bright for me, like
staring into a spotlight, and the classic rock station on the radio is close to
making my ears bleed.

“You look
nice,” my mother says placatingly, giving me a warm smile. I glance down at my
well-worn jeans and black turtleneck, wondering what she’s talking about. I
barely looked at my closet when I got dressed.

“Thanks,” I
mutter, unconvinced despite my quiet skin. Mom tosses me an outrageously cheery
smile and I frown, knowing something is up.  “What’s going on? You seem
really…pleased.”

Her eyes flit
over to me nervously before she shrugs nonchalantly and rolls her eyes.
“Nothing. I’m just glad to see you getting out.”

My skin
twitches at the untruth. “Mom,” I say dryly, knowing she will cave.

Her lips purse
tightly in annoyance before she answers. “Well, if you must know, Geoffrey
called last night and asked me to dinner.”

I stop
breathing for a moment, panic clutching my lungs. “Why?” I ask sharply, earning
an offended look from Mom.

“Shocking
though it may be to you, Derry, I believe he finds me attractive. He said I
needed cheering up. You won’t mind if I go out for an evening sometime this
week?” she asks casually, her mind clearly not on me.

A stab of hurt
runs through me. For the past couple days she’s been unusually thoughtful,
checking in to see how I’m feeling, making my favorite meals. Telling me she
loves me.

I can feel
that sweetness melt away with her words, hot water dumped on an ice cube. I
guess the guilt and worry she has been feeling since I got home from the
hospital is past its sell-by date.

“Yeah. I’ll be
fine,” I mumble, noticing all too clearly how she barely registers what I say.
Back to normal it is.

She comes into
the station with me, but sits out in the lobby while a patrolman takes my
statement. I don’t change anything, leaving the accusations against Phillip
standing, hoping that it will prevent them from just sweeping Nicole’s death
under the rug the way they did with Miranda’s. I don’t see Radcliffe anywhere.

Just as I am
leaving, a flash of teeth catches the corner of my eye. With a sense of the
inevitable, I turn around and see Phillip exiting an office at the left side of
the long, open room that serves as the heart of the station. He is watching me,
a disturbingly broad grin stretching his features. Even from a distance I can
see that his eyes are cold, emotionless. He nods at me and his eyes sharpen
into the nightmare version of Phillip from the night before, but the moment
passes and he turns to shake hands with Detective Radcliffe as he comes out of
the conference room. A man and a woman follow, obviously Phillip’s parents,
their features oddly bland when compared with the crisp good looks of their
son. The man glances my way and frowns, turning to Phillip to whisper something
in his ear. Phillip looks at me again and nods once, the smile gone.

Turning
sharply, I head out to the lobby, wanting to be out of the building before
Phillip and his parents catch up. That’s a conversation I don’t want to have
right now.

We return home
and I spend a few hours trying to catch up on some of the homework I’ve missed.
Amazing how thoughtful my teachers have been about providing me with lots of
complicated assignments to distract me while I’m traumatized. I finish most of
them by the time Mom yells up at me to put on something nice, it’s almost time
to leave for the funeral. I sit staring at my laptop, wishing I was still sick
enough to give me an excuse not to attend.  The thought of seeing Nicole’s parents
again, being forced to witness her body being finally interred makes it
difficult to breathe.

Putting off
reality for as long as possible, I surf the Internet for a bit, not really
looking at anything in particular, hardly registering the pages my cursor
drifts over. Before I realize what I’ve done, I have opened up the
Daily
Holler’s
website, which I haven’t done in weeks. Looking at the archive for
the past week, I am uncomfortably aware of how many stories must have been
written about me finding Nicole. I glance down at the links until I find
Householder’s byline and open up the article.

Pretty Sure Nicole
Sharp Was Murdered

I held my tongue when
the other girl was found in the river, but two girls dying so similarly in such
a short time can’t be a coincidence. I talked to my source at the coroner’s
office, and he said that it was unlikely that Nicole’s neck would have broken
in the way it did from a fall off the bridge. There were splinters of wood in
the head wound, probably from a pine tree. I talked to the detective in charge
of the investigation and he’s suspicious too. He called in the state police to
do forensics, and though he wouldn’t tell me much, it was clear that based on
where Nicole’s body was found, the current would not have carried her from the
bridge from which she was supposed to have fallen. Though he wouldn’t say more,
I definitely got the impression that the police believe that her body was
dumped where she was found and that she was attacked elsewhere. I keep trying
to get in touch with Derry MacKenna, but her mom has been blocking me.

I stare at the
screen, stunned at the information. Suddenly Phillip’s presence at the police
station and his parents’ hostile glares makes more sense. A punch of relief hits
my chest. The task of bringing Phillip to justice seems a little less
impossible now; instead of having to convince the police of the possibility of
his guilt, I’ll at least have fertile grounds for any evidence I can find.

Looking over
the real article, I am not surprised that Householder didn’t mention his
suspicions, although he did mention the inclusion of a state police forensics
team. I think back to Phillip’s expression at the station, trying to remember
if he had looked at all worried.

I don’t think
he did.

Glancing at the
clock, I shut down my computer and start getting dressed, all the while mulling
over the possibilities the article has opened up for me. Making a mental note
to pay Householder a visit to get more details, I pull on a 50’s era knee-length
black silk dress. For the first time in a week, I actually take care with my
hair, pulling it into a clean chignon, making sure that no stray hairs escape.
The mirror presents me with a severe reflection, the image of someone harder,
more resolute than I’m used to. Taking heart from the thought, I go downstairs
and join my mother, gritting my teeth against the evening ahead.

The funeral is
brief and nondenominational.  It is the first funeral I’ve ever been to.

I always
thought people had funerals in churches, but apparently Nicole and her parents
weren’t religious. Instead we are packed into a slightly larger room than the
viewing parlor in the same funeral home. Once again, I am stunned by the number
of people who attend. Mom and I are squished against the wall, forced to stand
since all the chairs were claimed by the time we made it to the room. Phillip
is here, sitting near the back with his parents. He looked at me once when I
first came in, giving me a polite nod before assiduously returning his
attention to the funeral director’s welcoming statement.

Ranger
Shanholtz stands near the back, giving me an encouraging smile when he catches
my eye.

Cole and Jake
are sitting in the second row with their father, all very solemn looking in
black suits and slicked back hair. The resemblance between them is unsettling.

“And so we
will miss our beloved Nicole, who was a friend to many in our community. It is
always a tragic loss when someone so young passes, but those who remain should
find comfort in our memories of this bright, smiling girl.”

My skin has
been buzzing through the entire ceremony, the funeral director’s
well-intentioned but insincere remarks ringing hollow and over-rehearsed. I
don’t understand why someone who knew Nicole wasn’t chosen to speak, someone
that could have done her justice.

Not me, not
those who failed her.

There is a
short smattering of applause and the funeral director steps down to make room
for Nicole’s father as he drags his steps up to the podium, his face drawn with
exhaustion and deeply etched sorrow. I bite my lower lip to hold back the tears
threatening to overtake me as I remember how Nicole once said that she would
never kill herself. That it would destroy her parents.

Mr. Sharp stands
quietly, breathing deeply for a moment before he begins.

“I don’t think
I’ll survive this,” he whispers, though only I hear the heartbreaking truth in
his words. He clears his throat before he continues, voice gaining firmness.
“Her mother and I want to thank all of you for your continued support through
this…difficult time. We know that Nicole,” he says, voice wavering uncertainly
before he takes another deep breath. “Nicole would have been glad to know how
much she will be missed.”

Out of the
corner of my eye I watch Phillip’s reaction to the father of the girl I know he
murdered. Phillip’s face is a mask of sympathy; the slight frown, downturned
lips, the sober bearing is all a perfect mimicry of a mourner. But under my
vigilant gaze, the muscles of his face are shifting and stretching beneath the
mask, as though it is only with great effort he can hold his pose. 

The intensity
of my scrutiny is rewarded when Mr. Sharp breaks in his speech, obviously
overcome by grief, and is led away by the ever present funeral director. My
eyes are locked on Phillip and I imagine I am the only one who catches the
fleeting smile, the crinkle of amusement at the corners of his eyes.

Phillip is
laughing inside.

“I’m worried
you’ll embarrass me,” Mom whispers harshly, pulling my attention away.

“What?” I ask
quietly. She huffs a sigh and grabs my arm.

“I said you’re
shaking like crazy. Do you need to step out?” she repeats and I glance down at
my hands which are trembling so violently even my mother’s hand is shaking
where she touches me. I take a deep breath, forcing myself to calm down, to
focus on what needs to be done. The shaking subsides and Mom releases me, her
cheeks red with embarrassment, though as far as I can tell no one has noticed.
Clenching my jaw in irritation, I focus on the rest of the service, listening
absently to the funeral director describing how to get to the graveyard where
Nicole will be buried. Finally it ends and people begin to shuffle out the
door, most of them headed for home. Only close friends and family will be at
the gravesite.