M.I.N.D. (22 page)

“Come on, Cassie, get up. You're acting crazy.”

“I tell you what crazy is,” I say, glaring up at him, my hands full of twigs. “Brendan tries to kill us, and you don't think that's proof?”

“No one would believe us, Cass.” His voice sounds tired. “It's our word against his, and he can't defend himself. The dead don't talk.”

“You got that right.”

We both spin around. It's Brendan, and he has the gun.

***

“Looking for something, Spass?” His face is battered, his right eye swollen shut, his clothes torn and bloody. “Guess what
I
found?” he says, waving the gun like a flag. “You should have taken the shortcut. It was just lying there, on the hill. Shame about Amanda's phone, though. It's swimming with the fishes. Not that I'll be needing it. Not anymore. You should have kept your story straight, Spass. First you tell me it's in your desk, then you use it to call me. Bad move. You should have blocked the caller ID.”

“It was the phone you wanted?” Again, what did I miss? “I don't get it,” I say, shaking my head.

“Still playing games, Spass? Well, you can stop now. The charade's over.” He points the gun in the direction of the river. “Move it.”

Dread spreads through me like fire. So this is it? This is how it ends? I escape death over and over only to take a dirt nap in the woods?

Music is coming from the dining room, a distant melody floating in the night. Even though I know I won't be heard above the band, even though I know that the trees will absorb most of the sound, I open my mouth to scream—but all I can manage is a pathetic squeak. Too numb to even speak, I hang on to Ethan's arm, and with Brendan at our backs prodding us with the gun, we hike through the brush.

If he thinks he can get away with it, he's crazier than I am. This is Amersham, not the Amazon. Does he really think we won't be found? How's he going to explain his torn clothes and sock-puppet face? An escaped convict? A serial killer lost in the woods? Does he even have a plan?

At the hill that spills down to the river, he tells us to stop. To our left, in the opposite direction of the falls, the woods thicken and the terrain slopes upward. He motions to a narrow trail that disappears in the trees, and we begin our ascent. Up, up we climb, laboriously making our way along the twisty path. The ground here is soft under my bare feet, but the trail is steep and tiring. I should also mention that ever since the skydiving incident, I'm not too fond of heights. I can't imagine it's any easier on Ethan, after what he's been through. Brendan, too, for that matter, who's huffing and grunting, bringing up the rear. Finally, we come to the end of the trail, and suddenly I understand. Brendan's plan. Dead Man's Landing.

I glance at the railing, and my skin freezes over. A few bored kids, having a little fun. The three of us have accidents. Only one survives.

No!
I tell myself. This can't be it, not when my life is finally coming together. I'm getting decent grades, I'm talking to my mother, my hair's in control (not at the moment, obviously), I'm making new friends, and last but definitely not least, I (maybe) have a boyfriend. If this is the universe's idea of a joke, it's way too cruel.

Forcing myself to breathe, I turn to face Brendan. And then I see it, an apparition in the woods, creeping up behind him. It first appears as a dot in the corner of my eye, and then legs emerge, then arms, then the rest of his body, a human form sprouting out of the shadows, from a mere speck. And then everything seems to happen at once. The branch in his hand cuts through the air. The gun goes off, the shot whizzing past my ear. The branch crashes against the back of Brendan's head and sends him sprawling on the ground, spread-eagled, staring upward. Blood oozes from his ears, pooling in the leaves.

“Here,” Zack says, tossing his cap at Brendan's feet. “Welcome to the local chapter of the Broken Skull and Crossbones.”

He steps over Brendan and makes a grandiose bow, then grins like he's king of the world; meanwhile, Brendan's hands are moving—and they're reaching for the gun. He picks it up and cocks it. Aims it at the back of Zack's capless head.

Ethan's off like a lit cannon, hurtling through the air. He kicks the gun out of Brendan's hands. In one last feeble attempt, Brendan crawls after it. Ethan grabs him by the ankles and pulls him back. Rolls him over, clambers on top. “Charade's over,” he says, and with a sock to the chin, knocks him out cold.

Ethan scrambles to his feet. He wipes the leaves off his shredded shirt. “Okay, Cass,” he says, taking out his phone. “I think it's time I made that call.”

***

Exhausted, Ethan and I plop down in the dirt and lean back against the low brick wall. Behind the wall is the railing, and behind that, the six-foot-wide ledge that gives Dead Man's Landing its name. I can't look down. Not just yet.

“What are you doing here?” I ask Zack, who's standing over Brendan. He picks up the cap and dusts it with his sleeve. Ethan's got the gun in his lap, just in case, but it doesn't look like Brendan is going anywhere anytime soon.

“I saw you follow that creep out,” Zack answers, arranging the cap back on his head. That's Zack for you. Even in a suit, he's not fully dressed without his skull-and-bones. “Then when Vardina told me you were missing, I got worried. Figured you could use some help. I thought maybe he took you to that make-out place in the clearing, but only his car was there. So then I thought maybe you went to the dock, and that's when I saw the three of you at the bottom of Dead Man's Trail. No offense, but you and Ethan aren't exactly the adventurous type, so I figured something was up. Since Brendan was there, I knew there'd be trouble.”

I say a silent prayer, grateful he decided to come after me. Grateful he doesn't hold a grudge forever.

“You can do better than that scum, Cass.”

“I know,” I say, looking at Ethan.

We keep trying 9-1-1, but there's no signal. You'd think the altitude would be a plus, but it seems the hilly terrain and all that foliage make this place a dead zone. (This can't be what Ethan meant by “enhanced” 9-1-1, can it?) Since my legs have cramped up and Ethan won't leave my side, we remain here watching over Brendan while Zack goes off to make the call.

“I know how hard this is,” I say once Zack is out of sight. “You wanted proof. Concrete proof. And we still have nothing.”

“Oh, I think we can convince them.” Ethan exhales loudly. “And if no one agrees, I'll just offer up a sample of Amanda's DNA. It'll match what they took from the Porsche. That should get them sniffing at Brendan's door.”

I shift my position, tugging at my dress. “I still don't understand about the phone. I checked all her messages. Twice. I was looking for proof,” I explain, all defensive. “But there was nothing. What are we not getting?”

“Beats me. I checked too. It was the first thing I did when I got it back. The school found it on the bus—I was her emergency contact. I wanted to find out why she snapped, but like you said, there was nothing.”

“Well, it doesn't make any difference now. Even if the phone surfaces, it'll probably be in pieces. Waterlogged, for sure.” Staring into the night, I say, “Speaking of messages, you were right about those symbols. You know, in my…vision? It's all a matter of interpretation. I thought the phone meant she was trying to tell me something, but the phone
was
the message.” I look back at Ethan. “What if I was wrong about the fire? For all I know, Brendan's a pyromaniac. And I'm still not sure about the sun-in-the-moon thing. What's that about? Hope, maybe? A new tomorrow?”

He looks at me sideways. “You never mentioned the sun and the moon.”

I shrug. “I guess I didn't think it was relevant. Not everything in a person's mind is earth-shattering, you know.”

“A circle sun and a crescent moon,” he says slowly. “It's a charm, Cassie. A charm on a long silver chain. Astrologically speaking, the sun represents masculinity, the moon, femininity.”

I roll my eyes. “Now that's helpful. Besides, it wasn't a necklace. It was a huge orange ball in the middle of the moon.”

“Huh,” he says. “Now
there's
a cosmic twist.”

“What is?” I ask, searching his face in the darkness. Though frankly, I've just about had it with the universe's sense of humor.

“After I checked her messages, I went through her pictures. There was a shot of Brendan in the driver's seat of a car. I just glanced at it briefly—I thought it was his BMW. But guess what was dangling from the mirror? A chain with that celestial sun-and-moon charm. Ten to one the Porsche had that same charm.” He smacks his forehead. “You know what else? He was wearing a cap. And he
never
wears a cap. I couldn't make out the logo, but I'll just bet it was that skull-and-bones. You were right,” he says somberly. “He was trying to frame Zack. But not for the hit-and-run, not at first. He got pissed off when Zack left the carnival with Amanda, so he devised this whole joyriding scheme to get him into trouble. He had plenty of time to buy a cap at the mall. Plenty of time to get to the country club.”

I nod. “And when he hit that car, he already had his fall guy. Which explains the fire. It was about destruction, not transformation. He had to get rid of that photo. Weird, though. I went through her pictures too. How did I not see it?”

“The picture was there,” Ethan says. “You were looking in the wrong place.” He gives me a crooked smile. “The phone might have drowned, but the cloud is waterproof.”

I know this look, and it has nothing to do with kinesics. When we were kids, he'd get this look whenever he was itching to tell me a secret, like where he'd stashed Amanda's Barbies, or what he'd bought her for Christmas. “What are you getting at?” I ask when he doesn't continue. Fine, I confess. I'm a technical dinosaur.

“It makes perfect sense,” he says as though thinking out loud. “Amanda was always taking pictures. But this was one shot he couldn't let her keep. He probably got mad and made her delete it. Which she did, from her phone. But not from her cloud drive.”

Finally, understanding sets in. The picture isn't gone. It's alive and well, floating on the Internet.

Brendan rolls over and moans, and every muscle in my body tenses as though in preparation for flight. “Here's what I think,” I say when he finally stops stirring and I can breathe again. “That day on the bus, she told him she wanted to go to the police, but he said he'd deny everything. Without proof, it would be her word against his. After all, she left the carnival with Zack, not him. But then she said she still had the picture, and he got scared.”

“Which explains the break-in,” Ethan says, glancing in Brendan's direction. “He was looking for either her laptop or her phone. He knew she never locked them, and either one would get him into her account. He had to get rid of that picture. He might even have gotten away with it, if my neighbor hadn't seen him climbing in through the window.”

In my mind, I see him in a hooded sweatshirt, searching through the house, digging through her things. Then I see him lurking in the hospital corridor, and a shiver runs down my spine. He's wearing that same sweatshirt, its hood drawn over his head. “And when that failed, he decided to pay her a visit at the hospital. He couldn't risk her waking up.”

Ethan nods. “Then he heard she was brain-dead, and he thought he was safe. He figured, if the photo ever surfaced, no one would know what it meant. Except we came along, and it was back to square one. He had to remove us from the picture, so to speak. We knew too much.” His eyes turn weary. “Like I said, the dead don't talk.”

I meet his gaze, and my heart squeezes. He's not just talking about the two of us. He's accepted what he's been fighting ever since the bus crash: Amanda isn't waking up.

We both fall quiet, and once again, I think back to the day of the bus crash. Amanda is watching me from across the parking lot, standing there and studying me, looking frail and lost. If I'd gone over to talk to her, I think with a fresh pang of guilt, would she be where she is today?

Ethan takes my hand and tangles it with his. “Want to know the real cosmic twist? That picture couldn't get erased, no matter what he did. Once something's been out on the cloud, you can bet there's a copy somewhere.”

Welcome to cyberspace, I think. It goes on forever. Like a person's mind, it never gets erased. It just moves on.

The scene in my head shifts again, and I see Amanda in that place, standing on the riverbank. She's wearing a bright red dress, and around her neck is the silver locket. She hands me a rose and it turns into a dove. I toss it into the air and it flies away.

I realize then why I felt so compelled to help her move on. Yes, she was once my friend, and yes, I felt guilty. But that wasn't all of it. I was stuck, just like her. In her, I recognized myself. By helping her free her spirit, I freed myself as well.

I lean into Ethan, and he wraps his arm around me. Tears stream down my face, but I don't wipe them away. They're
my
tears and no one else's, and I feel them completely. Tears of sadness, tears of love. Tears of gratitude for life itself. Eventually we all move on, but sometimes we get lost along the journey. Sometimes we let fear stand in our way and never really live at all.

A light rain begins to fall. It's a soft rain, a warm rain, like silk against my skin. I tilt my head up and get a whiff of lilac. It's coming from the yard at the club. This time it's real; I'm not going anywhere. One thing about being your own rabbit, you become aware of how you feel, like how you don't mind the rain after all.

Help arrives and we prepare to leave. I look over the railing, out toward the river. Even from this height, you can hear the hum beneath the roar. But it doesn't scare me. Not anymore. I guess, in some ways, I'm waterproof too.