Oblivion (24 page)

By candlelight, I read the hands of John’s watch. It’s almost two in the morning. Something won’t leave my mind—something I felt on the way to my appointment with Dr. Ewing, something I remember seeing in my mind before I fell asleep at school:

My mother’s pregnant belly.

Palmer’s hand pressed against it.

When I close my eyes, I feel the icy pelting of rain on my back, dirt encrusted under my fingernails, wood planks beneath my feet.

There’s a door buried in the loam.

A crimson door.

I wedge the blade of the shovel beneath the door.

My breath catches in my throat, and my eyes snap open.

I listen hard, but only the hum of neon lights buzzes in my ears. It’s a far cry less comforting than the sounds of Lindsey’s feet swishing beneath her covers.

F
uck.

It’s an overcast day. No bright sunrise awakened me. I’m going to be late to school.

And double fuck, I’m still in possession of only one Carmel skirt, which is too short for me. If I keep screwing up at school, I’m going to be in deep shit with the Hutches.

After an ice-cold shower, I suck it in to zip the skirt, and use a rubber band to secure the button to the buttonhole. Damn Lindsey and her tiny waist. Why can’t she have a plump ass like the rest of us?

Lindsey.

Despite everything she’s said about me, I miss her. If I’d
never slept with John Fogel, Lindsey and I would be laughing over Pop-Tarts right now. I’d be cautioning her about her tendency to overuse eyeliner, and she’d be braiding a small section of hair across the crown of my head.

I unplug my phone from the charger. I have to find a ride to school. I missed the Pace bus.

A text from Elijah greets me:
c u at harbor 2nite
.

Good. I’m glad he’s coming. I have a few hundred questions to ask him. I reply:
will b here
. Then I dial the other man in my life.

John answers on the first ring: “Well, good morning, beautiful.”

“Have you left yet?”

“So, it’s official.”

I flinch when I hear Lindsey’s voice at my back. I turn from my locker to face her. She is flawlessly made up, wearing false eyelashes and my Pinkalicious lipstick. Both make her look like she belongs on the cover of a fashion mag. “Hi.”

“Is it true?”

“Is what true?”

“That you and Jon are a couple.”

“Who’s saying that?”

“Everyone saw you get out of his car this morning.”

“Relax.” I pull my calc text from the shelf and stifle a yawn. “He just drove me to school.”

“Why don’t you ask your own man to drive you to school?”

“Why do you insist on claiming someone who doesn’t want you?”

“You bitch!”

“I’m a bitch?” I kick my locker door shut and lower my voice to a whisper as I hone in on her space. “You’re telling people I’m a pregnant lesbian slut, and I’m a bitch?”

“I’ve never said anything that isn’t true. People draw their own conclusions. If the shoe fits, Calliope …” She smirks up at me, only inches of air separating us.

“Hey, cool it!” John nudges his way between us and physically separates us, pressing me toward my locker and my sister a few feet farther into the hallway.

Lindsey sneers at him. “Do you like taking my clothes off her body?” She then turns back to me. “Does he know you’re wearing my clothes to seduce him?”

“He knows you used my words to snag him,” I retort.

“How hot do you think she’ll be in rags, loverboy?”

“Cool it, Lindsey,” he says.

“Fuck you, Fogel.” She glances down at his fly. “Truth is, if it was worth anything, I’d probably be missing it right now, but it was so small I don’t remember feeling it.” She grins, tosses her hair over her shoulder, and heads to homeroom.

My head spins. “What did she say?” I meet John’s glance. “Did she mean that you …”

“Are you okay?” John drags a finger along the contour of my cheek.

I feel like someone dug a bottomless pit in my stomach. “Did you … did you sleep with her, too?”

He brushes a hair from my forehead, his gaze focused there, and his jaw is set and determined.

“Did you?”

His shoulders drop and, at last, he meets my stare. “Callie …”

I shove his hand away and walk to homeroom.

“Callie, come on.”

Instantly, the desire to rip the rosary from my neck and his watch from my wrist comes over me. I should slip them off and drop them to the floor the way he just dropped my trust.

I have to see my mother. I’m going, I decide. Immediately after school today.

When today’s orderly opens the door, my mother is turning cards and humming. I can’t place the song, but I think she used to sing it to me when I was small.

A sly smile turns up her lips when she sees me, but she quickly turns back to her cards.

Once we’re alone, I clear my throat. “Hi, Mom.”

She raises a finger to delay me and lays out the last cards in a formation I’ve never seen her use before. This one is more an H than a cross. Her eyes shift over the cards as she
studies the supposed meaning hidden there.

“My, my, Calliope.” She shakes her head and at last meets my glance. “What have you gotten yourself into?”

Instantly, my mouth feels dry.

“I see two male figures, but neither is competent. One of them is lying to you. The other is hiding something big.”

I burst into tears. Shoulders shaking, and with a heavy head, I find support only in the wall behind me. I lean against it and sink to the floor.

“Callie.”

I sniffle and take in breath enough to reply. “Yeah.”

“Look at me.”

I lift my head, but it hurts too much to hold it high. Instead, I rest my cheek on my knee and hold my mother’s stare.

“I love you,” she says.

“I love you, too.” I can tell she wants to ask me what I’m hiding from her.

She tilts her head and raises an eyebrow, but her expression is soft. She’s looking at me the way she looked at me after the first time Palmer whipped me, the first time Drake and I kissed. She’s looking at me as if she’s sorry for putting me in this position.

“Where did you get the watch?”

“It belongs to John Fogel.”

If she’s ever heard the name, or if she remembers him from the Vagabond, no recognition lights in her eyes. “Can
I see it?” Slowly, she approaches me, crouches to my level.

I hold my hand out to her.

She trails the pad of a finger beneath the face of the watch and smiles. “This boy … he’s good for you. Better intentions than that boy from County.”

Elijah never slept with my best friend.

“Elijah’s there for me when no one else is. I know you don’t like him, Mom, but I love him. I always will.”

She presses her lips together and stands.

“Mom?” I lick my lips and straighten. “Did Palmer take Hannah Rynes?”

“I know he’s capable. He took you from me, didn’t he?” She shrugs a shoulder and turns back to her cards. “There’s uncertainty here. Warning signs. Death.”

“You think she’s dead?”

This time, when my mother glances up at me, her eyes are vacant. “It doesn’t matter, baby. She’s gone.” She twists a few cards on her snack tray. “Every time I read for you, key cards are upside down.” She picks one up and shows it to me. “The World. Your world is upside down.”

I wonder what her first clue was.

“Do you remember John Fogel?”

She’s busy with her cards. If she heard me, she isn’t letting on.

“You met him at the Vagabond. You described his watch. Told him about the rosary.”

At this, her head shoots up. “Do you have it?”

I hesitate, but nod.

“Where is it?” She shoves aside her tray and takes a few steps toward me.

There’s a gleam in her eye. Maniacal. For the first time, she looks as crazy as they tell me she is. I press my hands against the wall and use it to push myself to my feet. I glance at the button near the door, the one that will ring an orderly when I’m ready to leave. But I don’t need it, do I? She’s my mother. She won’t hurt me.

But if that’s true, why am I so scared?

“Calliope!”

My heart is kicking up pace, as if I’m running. In the periphery of my mind, I hear the crunch of stones beneath my feet, feel the scratch of juniper branches against my arms, taste holy water. Words scrawl in the air before me. I pull my notebook from my bag and write:

bubbling into oblivion bubbling into oblivion bubbling into oblivion.

“Callie.”

“You wanted me to have it, didn’t you?” My words are shaky.

“Of course. It’s yours. Where is it?”

Slowly, I pull the scarf from my neck and expose the crucifix.

“Something about it is supposed to help me remember.” Her hands close around my biceps; she squeezes too tightly as she stares at the pendant, or maybe at my baby ring
beneath it. “You shouldn’t have gone digging. Palmer … he’ll be waiting. Watching.”

“No, Mom. John gave it to me. Do you remember him? You met him at the Vagabond.”

She’s shaking her head. Her grip gets tighter.

“The boy with the watch,” I remind her. “You told him he’d know me—”

“By your voice. Yes.” Slowly, she loosens her grip on my arms. “One of them listened.”

“One of them?”

“You know how it works. Read the aura, hook the prospect. I gave the same reading to all of them.”

“Every one?”

“The spiel about the watch, the thing with the rosary, the voice, she’ll look like me … I told them all, hoping one would listen. And this one did. Did he find the door, too?”

I’m dizzy. “The door?”

“Didn’t he tell you?”

“Mom, why don’t you tell me? Why did you plant the information with strangers instead of just telling me?”

“I kept you safe.”

“From Palmer? He’s gone now—”

“He’s never gone.” Her index finger lands gently on my lips. “You could run a thousand miles, and he’ll always come for you. You don’t know what he’s capable of.”

“But I’m starting to remember, Mom. It’s only a matter
of time until I do, and time is of the essence. If there’s any chance Hannah is alive—”

“Alive or dead, she’s gone, baby.”

“What, according to the cards? Stop pretending you believe in that bullshit, Mom. No one knows she’s gone until we find her. No one but the person who took her.”

“It’s over, if you have your rosary. Something about it’s supposed to remind me … of something …”

“Where did you get it? Did you make it?”

“Maybe. I don’t remember.”

“Did you make it for a girl named Lorraine?”

“Maybe.”

“Do you know who Lorraine is?”

“Who?”

“It’s etched on the back. Lorraine Oh.”

She gives her head a minute shake. “I don’t remember.”

“Is she someone you knew before, maybe?”

“It’ll help you find your family.”

“You’re my family!”

“Your other family.”

“The Hutches? Mom, this is important. Hannah’s life—”

“It’s over.” She applies more pressure with her finger against my lips, and her eyes glow with insanity. Her lips peel back, baring her teeth, like a tiger about to pierce my jugular. “Shh!”

Her forearm is braced across my neck.

“I want you to listen to me. You have to stop this,
Calliope. Let it go. Go home, baby, get far away from here, and let this place go.”

“Where’s home? The Hutches’?” I’m prying at her arm, but she won’t move it from my neck.

I can’t breathe, but I don’t know if it’s because she’s choking me, or because I’m starting to hyperventilate in nervousness. I reach toward the button. Depress it madly as if it flings the paddles of a pinball machine.

“Where’s home?”

“It’s where you came from. Don’t forget where you came from.”

“I don’t know where I came from! You won’t tell me!”

“I can’t remember.” Her voice is more a hiss than a whisper. “Whatever you do, don’t take that rosary from your body. Keep it on you at all times. It’ll keep you safe, when I can’t. It will take you home.”

I hear my sobs, smell her antiseptic breath, taste the salt of my tears.

“You don’t want to remember what you’ve forgotten,” she says. “Ignorance is perpetual bliss.”