Let Him In (Let Him Trilogy) (9 page)

Lacey gave the scooter a little more gas, sighing in relief as the building came into view. The early morning sun crowned the large, brick structure with a bright, golden halo. She never thought she’d use the words
heaven
and
high school
in the same sentence, but paradise was what she saw beyond her squinted gaze and whipping hair.

She had filled the past three days with sleep and long walks, which she hadn’t taken just out of boredom. All she’d been able to think about was how she’d reacted to The Man in the Van, a memory that made her want to pull out her hair. She’d hoped to run into him again so she could show him that she wasn’t the weak, timid female she’d acted like that night and make it clear if he ever messed with her he’d get a personal demonstration of every self-defense technique she’d learned from the classes she’d taken last year. 

Lacey whipped her scooter into the empty parking space next to a cherry-red 1990 Iroc-Z. The burly, shaggy-haired boy reclining in the driver’s seat snorted laughter as he gave her mode of transportation a once over. “Nice moped.”

“It’s a scooter, dumb ass. A moped has pedals.”

The deeply-tanned girl in the passenger seat flicked her platinum-blonde hair as she leaned over the square-jawed baboon who was too engrossed in the double D’s mere inches from his face to take offense. “Bitch.”

Grinning, Lacey slung her purse over her shoulder, scooped up her school books and then gave the scooter’s seat a hip tap to close it. “Flattery will get you nowhere with me,” she said and then winked.

“Fucking weird imports,” the Blonde Bimbo huffed as The Brute cupped her ass with one giant gorilla paw.  “Don’t we have enough of those already?”

Lacey took a deep breath, letting it out slowly as she headed toward the main entrance. A different town, a different high school, a different group of teenagers, and yet everything was the same.  Nothing ever changed.

Nearing the bicycle rack, Lacey spotted Ghost Boy kneeling in front of his dusty BMX, which had a fork protruding from the front tire. He shot to his feet as she passed by, his eyes as wide as eggs. “Darn groupies,” he said, smoothing the front of his Misfits
Legacy of Brutality
T-shirt. “An autograph just ain’t enough these days.”

Damn it, Lacey thought, quickening her steps.
I made eye contact.
 

Keeping her gaze locked on her feet, the trek to her locker turned out uneventful. After shoving everything inside, she looked down at her class schedule as she spun around and damn near fell over the pocket-size brunette beaming up at her.

“Hi!” the girl squealed, dragging the
i
out for so long Lacey feared for the glasses on the bulbous nose of the orange-haired, pumpkin-shaped girl next to her. “I’m Rachel and you must be the new girl!”

“No,” Lacey said, pointing down the hall, “she went that way.”

With a laugh that was as fake as the hair of the Blonde Bimbo in the parking lot, Rachel shoved a piece of paper in Lacey’s face and shook it. “The Halloween dance is less than eight weeks away and we need committee members!”

“What you need is a valium,” she replied.  

Another fake laugh. “You’re funny! So you want to join?”

Deciding to use the tactic that had made everyone at her last school avoid her like a Jehovah’s Witness, Lacey was about to bolt down the hallway screaming “Lawd, Jesus—the demons are a coming out of my soul!” when pumpkin girl’s tree trunk leg thwarted her flamboyant escape. 

“Don’t be such a party pooper,” she whined in a voice that made Elmo’s sound deep. “Where’s your school spirit?”

Lacey arched a brow. “Out by the bicycle stand, totally forked.” 

When Rachel and the pumpkin girl blinked at her in confusion, Lacey released a breath that probably matched the sound Ghost Boy’s tire made after the removal of the fork. “What exactly does this committee do?”

Rachel’s chocolate brown eyes lit up. “Oh, we’re in charge of everything! Music, food, drinks, decorations—”

“Decorations?” Lacey bounced up and down as she clapped her hands. “Well why didn’t you say so? My dad’s a mortician and I’m sure I could smuggle out some really cool stuff from the funeral home where he works!”

“Stuff?” said Rachel in a hesitant voice. “What kind of stuff?”

Lacey leaned in close to the two girls and whispered, “Have you ever seen the movie
Night of the Living Dead
?”

“Oh,” Rachel breathed, eyes widening. “That sounds...” Her voice trailed off as she glanced at pumpkin girl. “Um... Natalie?”

Natalie’s head was reared back so far she had three chins instead of a neck.  “What is wrong with you?”

Lacey gasped in mock offense. “Hey, I was only trying to help, just like you’d asked!”

“Thanks anyway,” Rachel said, forcing a laugh as she grabbed Natalie’s beefy arm. “We better get to class.”

Lacey gave them a toothy grin as they scurried down the hall like field mice trying to get away from a barn cat. “You will let me know if you change your minds, right?”

From behind her came an already all-too-familiar voice. “How much?”

This day just keeps getting better, Lacey thought, turning to face Ghost Boy. “I beg your pardon?”

“To teach me your people skills—how much?”

Lacey couldn’t tell if he was being serious or sarcastic. “Don’t you have groupies to elude?”

“Ha, ha, ha! You’re funny, too, a double threat! Do I hear a triple?”

“I can hide bodies well,” Lacey said, charging down the hall. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Ghost Boy bobbing up and down behind her as he struggled to keep up.

“Excellent skill to have. I’m Sammy, by-the-by. And you are...?”

“Antisocial.”

Skidding to a stop, Ghost Boy bent over and began slapping his knee while laughing so loud everyone in the hallway stopped to look at them. “Stop it...please...I can’t take anymore!”

And neither can I.

With a saccharine smile, Lacey faced him. “Are we taping a live television show here, Sammy?”

His dark eyebrows shot up. “Uh—” he glanced around “—no, I don’t think so.”

“Do I look like Tim the Toolman Taylor to you?”

A nervous laughed slipped from between his chapped lips. “Definitely not.”

“Then I don’t have much use for a laugh track or a sidekick, now do I?”

He just stood there, smiling and staring at her. Lacey narrowed her eyes.  “Sammy?”

“Yeppers?”

“Get your freaky, albino-looking ass away from me. Now.”

Ghost Boy’s smile faded in super slow motion as he held her gaze. The sparkle that had been in his sapphire-blue eyes only a few seconds ago was replaced with a hurt so profound Lacey swore she could feel it. Plunging his hands into the pockets of his black jeans, he shuffled down the hallway, his head down, back hunched and shoulders lifted all the way up to his ears as if he was trying to block out the snickers of the students as he shuffled by them.

Lacey’s stomach flopped like a fish out of water as she forced her attention back on the class schedule. The words became a blur in the wake of her trembling hands.  “Oh for Christ’s sake!” she snapped, her sudden, loud outburst evoking a legion of startled glances. 

Fuck this.

Crumbling the paper in her hands, she threw it at the nearest gawker and then stormed out of the school.

The living room window rattled as Lacey slammed the front door. She opened it again. Slammed it harder. Both the living room and kitchen window rattled. Much better.

Whirling around, Lacey darted for the stairs and tripped over the black, plastic bucket in front of the first step. With a startled yelp she pitched forward, arms flying up a second before her elbows slammed against the hard wooden edge of one stair.  “Mother fucker!” 

Lacey flipped onto her back and sat up, whispering every curse word she could think of as she rubbed her throbbing elbows. Her narrowed eyes darted over the cleaning supplies scattered across the floor. A piece of paper was taped to the side of the bucket. She leaned forward and ripped it off.

Kiddo,

Here’s the stuff you wanted. 

Sorry it took so long.

Dad

“So you’re sorry that it took you almost a week and a half to get what I needed to clean this dump, but not sorry that you told me to fuck off after you acted like you were going to beat the shit out of me?” Lacey snorted. “Nice, dad, real fucking nice.”

She balled up the note, threw it across the room. “And not that you asked, but school was a fucking blast! I can’t remember the last time I had that much fun!” 

Lacey snapped her fingers. “Oh, wait—yes I can! Kindergarten. I faced my fear of the jungle gym, just like you told me to do. Climbed all the way up to the top, I did. Was so proud of myself I started fist-pumping the air. Boy, was that a mistake.” She flicked the tip of her tongue over the tiny, moon-shaped scar right below her bottom lip and then sighed, the disappointment of missing the school’s dog show that day as fresh as the ache in her battered elbows.

Aw, boo hoo—want a tissue, crybaby?

With an angry grunt, Lacey pushed herself to her feet. Picking up the overturned plastic bucket, she was about to gather up the cleaning supplies when she remembered Clint’s stash. Nerve tonic is what he called it, and if anyone’s nerves needed tonic-ing it was definitely hers.

No—that is not the answer.
   

“Just a taste,” she said, pulling a brand new bottle of whiskey from the side pocket of Clint’s beat-up recliner. “One little sip.”

It won’t help
.

Lacey stared at the cap. “It can’t hurt.”

You don’t believe that.

Closing her eyes, Lacey took a deep breath. She let it out slowly as she shoved the bottle back into the recliner’s pocket. 

What was wrong with her today? First, excitement about going to a place where she’d be forced to interact with the people she normally was desperate to avoid. Second, sympathy for a complete stranger who, in less than six months, she’d never see again. And now this. What the hell was next? Spending nights alongside her father playing detective? Sharing a couple drinks with him afterward while discussing strategy for finding her mother’s alleged kidnappers?

“I’m losing it,” Lacey breathed as she picked up the cleaning supplies. “For real this time.”

She dropped the bucket outside the bathroom and then stripped down to her undergarments before going inside. After placing the items on the toilet seat, she filled the bucket with hot water, added half a bottle of bleach and then tossed in a sponge. Slipping on a pair of bright yellow rubber gloves, she stepped into the bathtub.

Lacey tried to focus on nothing but the grime, scum and mold caked on the shower tile, but Ghost Boy’s hurt-filled eyes kept popping into her head and breaking her concentration. 

Sammy...his name is Sammy.

“I don’t give a rat’s ass what his name is,” she barked, quickening the up and down movement of her arms while pressing harder with her hands. One of the cracked tiles she was assaulting broke in half, and the slimiest piece landed on top of her foot. “Get away from me!” she ordered, kicking it off. The tile bounced off the side of the bathtub and landed on her other foot. “Aargh!” 

Lacey flung the sponge, which made a less-than-satisfying splat as it hit the opposite wall and then plopped onto the floor. She ripped off the rubber gloves and threw them at the sink. Another splat. She snatched the piece of tile off her foot and slung it into the hallway, instantly feeling a little better when it broke again as it hit the wall.

Casper jumped a foot into the air and then darted under the bed when Lacey burst into her bedroom. “Sorry,” she mumbled, trading hard stomps for soft pats as she walked to the window. Resting her forehead against the cool glass, she stared into the place solely responsible for turning her into a mental and emotional mess.

There was nowhere to go, nothing to do. No libraries with computers so she could play games on the internet, or movie theaters with discounted matinees, or bowling alley
s
with pinball machines. If Clint had rented them an apartment in Woodstock she would’ve had all that and more, but he had to choose an unincorporated community where livestock outnumbered people probably 10 to 1. 

Lacey shuffled backwards. When her calves touched the bed she fell back on it.  Staring up at the ceiling, she breathed as loud as she could in a desperate attempt to drown out the deafening silence surrounding her. No such thing living in town—lots of people and traffic equaled constant noise. She even missed the relentless yapping of Chi Chi, her last neighbor’s annoying little tan and black Chihuahua.

Clenching her teeth, Lacey slammed her fists down on the bed. She was going to be in Hermit until the end of February, and if she didn’t get a grip—and fast!—she would be leaving in a damn straight jacket.  “I control what I think and feel,” she said in an assertive tone as she walked over to the desk. “Me. No one and nothing else. Just me.”

After loading one of her 80’s music CD’s, Lacey decided to give cleaning one more try. She had just stepped into the hallway when she heard the not-even-remotely creepy intro to the song
Ghostbusters
.  “You have got to be fucking kidding me!”