Moonpenny Island (21 page)

“He didn't mess anything up! You don't know the real story.”

“Yes, I do! Don't go with him. He's dangerous!” Desperate, Flor grabs her sister's arm. In a flash Sylvie tumbles down marble stairs, crumples in a heap on the bottom. A car slams into a tree. Cecilia lies in a coffin, a wild rose on her chest.

“Stop it.” Cecilia's eyes are bright with tears. “I have to live my life!” She tries to pull away, but Flor's grip is iron.

“Hello? What's going on up there?”

Dad. He's standing in the downstairs hallway. Holding the lantern, he peers up at the two of them. His cheeks are raw with wind, his boots and pants caked with mud.

“Are you all right? Cele, are you crying?”

Her eye makeup is all smeared. Now, now he
chooses to start noticing things!

“I tripped in the dark,” she says. “I hurt my arm, but I'm all right.”

She's Cecilia—Dad believes her. He's trudging up the stairs.

“What a night! Every time I thought I could head home, something else went wrong. The ferry landing took a hit—two pilings washed out. Flossie ran out into the storm; Betty Magruder chased her and got locked out of the house. The road to the neck's under half a foot of water, so I had to check on Violet. To top it off, fog's socking us in. It's a good one, too.”

He massages his wind-burned cheek.

“On my way back here, the darnedest thing happened. I lost my bearings.” His features look blurred, as if a giant eraser rubbed them. “It was like a bad dream. I should be able to find my way blindfolded.”

His boots track mud all the way upstairs. Cecilia asks if he's hungry. But no, Queenie gave him a sandwich.

“You lit candles,” he says, sniffing the air, and they don't deny it. Well, he better get outside and start that generator. Back down the stairs he goes,
gripping the handrail, doing his old-man imitation. At the bottom, he turns to look back at them.

“Mama won't be able to get here tomorrow either. Not till the crew can fix that ferry landing.”

“Did you talk to her?” asks Flor, but Dad just keeps going.

Cecilia heads straight to her room and shuts the door. Flor sits on her own bed, flicking the flashlight around, spotlighting this and that—her shelf of books, the fossil from Sylvie and the one from the Fifes, her backpack on the floor. She makes the light jitter across the ceiling like a star having a nervous breakdown.

Suddenly her digital clock blinks red. Minutes later, Dad comes back upstairs. The big bed creaks, he groans, and his snoring could wake the dead.

The world hums and ticks, snorts and groans. Flor slips her two fossils into her pocket. Waits.

And tonight when Cecilia sneaks out, Flor follows her.

T
he fog. In her whole life, Flor's never seen it so thick. It prowls the wet grass, fingers the treetops. Dad got lost out here. Dad! If he can get lost, anyone can.

Flor walks her bike. Lucky for her Cecilia's going slow, like she's thinking things over. Like she still might change her mind and turn back. Once she stops, tilting her head that way she does, listening to her own thoughts. Flor holds her breath. If Cele discovers she's being followed, no way Flor can save her. Because Flor will be dead.

Her sister starts walking again. Picking her way along the edge of the road, skirting the sheets of black water.

Waves of fog, now wispy, now thick. The light on a garage glows like a little lost moon. A stone wall is a beached silver whale. At the bend in the road, a long, dark shape puffs out its own personal fog.

Perry's truck. Idling. Waiting.

Jealousy. Fury. Fear. Twisting and twining, they braid themselves tighter and tighter, turning solid, turning into someone whose name is Peregrine Pinch IV.

Huddled behind a tree, Flor can't see him, only her, and can't hear what they say. Standing beside the truck, Cecilia goes up on her toes and sinks back down. She wraps her arms around herself. Maybe she's telling Perry she changed her mind. It's all over between them. Thanks to her little sister, she's come to her senses. Her sister has opened her eyes at last.

Flor's believing this. She's becoming convinced that she better get home quick, before Cele does, when the passenger door flies open. Her foggy sister climbs in. The door slams hard.

The truck pulls away. Slowly. Flor has never seen Perry drive so slowly. This is terrifying behavior for him. She throws her leg over her bike and starts pedaling.

The dark! While she could still see her big sister, Flor was all right, but now, all alone, her old fear beats up inside her, stronger than ever. The sneaky dark, where invisible things grow and multiply. The snatching, menacing, kidnapping dark. The dark at the bottom of the grave. The dark of her nightmare.

Hard as she pedals, the truck pulls farther ahead, but she can still see its taillights, see it take the turn onto Moonpenny Road. The air in her lungs turns to grit. Sweat rolls down her spine, and her knees become sponges. She knows where they're going.

Her foot slips on the pedal. What are you going to do, Flor? Jump him? He's only three times your size. And those fists. You remember those fists. That hand closing on your arm.

The swim hole, the darkest, most treacherous place of all. Why is he taking her there?

The bones of those lovers, picked clean. Minnows swimming in and out of their skulls.

Something can have no bottom. She knows that now.

Flor leans over her handlebars. Her bike is a speeding train. It's a silver bullet. It's a speeding silver bullet train.

By the time she gets to the quarry, the truck is parked and empty. Flor bends in two to catch her breath. The fog keeps her feet guessing as she goes to the rim, tries to find her way down. Everywhere, mud. Silty, stony mud. Her sneakers are already soaked and her toes curl under, aching with cold. She can make out forms and shapes, but the fog blunts everything.

She might or might not be on a path when she hits a slick patch, and that's it. Her feet fly out from under her, and now she is Flor, the human toboggan. Her bottom bumps over rocks, and her hands snatch at nothing till finally she comes to a stop, lodged between two scratchy junipers. Did she yell out? Maybe. Chest heaving, she stares up at the blank sky, braces for footsteps and angry voices.

But nothing. Nobody comes.

Scrambling to her feet, she rubs her arms and looks around. She's never been down here at night.
Of course she hasn't! The rocks feel alive, fog swirling between them like stony breath, or ancient thoughts suddenly made visible. All the creatures trapped in those rocks for millions and billions of years—what if they really came alive now, like toys after the toy shop closes? They'd recognize her, their fellow islander, and the fossils in her pocket. They'd circle around and protect her.

Flor shakes her head. Crazy! Crazy
loca
! But still. She slides her hand into her pocket to touch her fossils, her bits of this island's secret buried heart. They make her feel less alone. Less afraid of what she can't see.

It's what she will see she's afraid of.

The squish of her sneakers is too loud. Never mind the thump of her blood in her ears.

Nothing moves.

Slowly, she makes her way toward the swim hole. And for the first time, the fog parts enough that she can see clearly. There are the cattails, haunted and trembling. Whispering among themselves.

Something trips her, yanks her to her knees. Flor flings out her arms to break her fall, and a spike rams her open palm. Gasping, she realizes what it is. The
grid she and Jasper measured out—she's stumbled into the center of it.

Voices.

“You can't. I'm not letting you.”

Perry's anger slams into Flor like a fist. Cecilia says something she can't catch.

“I made up my mind,” Perry answers. “There's nothing to say.”

Flor wobbles to her feet. Her ankle throbs. As quietly as she can, she parts the cattails, slips between them. Cecilia and Perry stand on the slick, flat rocks beside the swimming hole. Fog swirls on the water's surface. Cold as she is, the sight of that yawning black water makes her colder. Slices through her, picks the flesh off her own bones.

“Please.” Cecilia's voice is small. “You've got to listen to me!”

It's true! She's trying to break up with him! Trying to tell him it's all over, and he has to leave her alone. But he won't. Of course he won't! When Cecilia lifts her arm, Perry catches it by the wrist. Her delicate hinge of a wrist. He could snap it without blinking.

“We're done talking.” His voice is low and tight.

Flor bites the insides of her cheeks to keep from crying out.

“No more talking,” he repeats. “No more arguing. You hear me? We're done with that.”

Cecilia starts to cry. She rams her head into his chest, making him lose his footing on the wet stones, and they topple close in a horrible dance. They're much too near the edge now. Doesn't Cele see how close she is to falling into that hungry, greedy water?

Flor goes light-headed. Her dream! Her dream of teetering on a high, treacherous edge. But tonight, Flor's eyes are wide. She's awake. Awake.

“Come on.” He's got her elbow. “Let's go. It's late.”

“Don't do this to me,” begs Cecilia.

Flor's body forgets how to breathe. Forgets how to breathe.

“Let's go, Cele!”

“No!”

“YOU HEARD WHAT SHE SAID! SHE SAID NO! LET GO OF HER!”

The words roar out of Flor, and she's flying forward like a balloon with its air gushing out. Perry and Cecilia fling their arms over their heads. What? Flor's
twisted ankle collapses under her, and by the time she understands exactly how slippery the smooth, wet rocks are, it's already too late. Her sneakers scrabble and Cecilia tries to grab her, but nothing can stop Flor's headlong slide. Jet propelled, screaming to wake the dead, she's on her way down. The swimming hole opens its freezing jaws and swallows her whole.

C
old can hurt like fire, and dark hides a million colors. The black water sucks her down, down, piercing her skin, exploding into nightmare fireworks. Flor kicks her feet and flaps her arms, but every part of her is heavy and bulky and made to sink. The hole has no bottom. The water presses in on all sides

Far away, someone calls her name. The voice wants to catch her—she's a fish and it's trying to reel her in. Flor's so numb, the wall of water is so dense, which way is up? She can't tell. Her lungs beg for air. Her fingers slide across a rocky ledge. The voice calls
again, tugging and pulling. Does she really hear it? Or just imagine it?

Flor! Flor!

The water's got other ideas. No way will it let her go, no no no. It's been way too long since it got a victim in its jaws. The cold burns. The darkness blazes.

Flor!
The voice won't give up. It's like Thomas, saying the same thing over and over, trying to make it come true.
Flor!
Is it a real voice? Or the voice of a ghost?

Lungs bursting, Flor follows it. Her legs kick back the hungry water, her hands slap it, and now the voice grows louder.

Come on, Flor!

Almost in her ear.

Please, Flor!

Her head breaks the surface, who knew water could be so hard, hard as cement, but she breaks it, and in her struggle to breathe she swallows more water, and goes under again. She's sinking deeper, deeper and deeper yet, but now the tip of her foot glances off something solid. Is it a skeleton, turning to stone, becoming part of the island forever? Or
can it be the bottom? A bottom after all? Flor's foot searches for it, finds it again, pushes against it, and it pushes back, she feels it help her, boost her, send her kicking and fighting back toward the surface, where a pale light grows brighter. Her body's so tired, it's like she's pulling two people up, like she's the rescuer and the one getting rescued. Just as she thinks she can't make it, the water gives way, makes way. Arms reach for her and she reaches back, hands grasp her, pull her, and here's her sister's face, only inches from hers. Cecilia's crouching, panting, sobbing, but Flor's swooping upward, light as a silver minnow. Other hands have her, hard fingers dig into her with such force she squawks and struggles. The big hands lower her. Her feet touch ground.