Phobic (25 page)

“You brought me Superman?” I take the head-on-a-stick candy dispenser and stare at the large S on Clark’s big blue chest.

Todd leans against the bed rail. “You know. Just in case you ever decide to jump out a window again.”

I laugh and grimace at the stab of side-pain at the same time. Todd doesn’t notice; instead, he beams at me. More of that intense vitality forms a line, connecting our gazes, until I get to the point if I look anymore I’ll burst.

I break eye contact and swallow a rickety breath. Just for a distraction, I open Superman’s head, but it’s empty. “No candy?”

“C’mon, Pipes, you know that’s the first thing I do.”

I peer at him through my lashes. “What does a girl have to do to get some candy around here?”

His mouth kinks into a smirk, and he positions himself near my legs on the bed. “That the big kahuna?” he asks, gesturing to my blankets.

I lift them, careful to keep my lower half covered, seeing as how I’m not wearing anything beneath the gown besides zebra-striped underwear.

Todd picks at the tape on my bandage in the same spot the doctor did earlier. My stomach constricts with his fingers so near my skin. “Peel that sucker back, let’s take a look.”

“Not a good idea,” I say, brushing his hand away. “I don’t want to mess anything up.”

Todd gives me this prideful look of ownership that makes me tingle with delight. It clears all other thoughts from my mind.

“I’ve been worried about you,” he says, sliding a chair to my side. I nod and readjust with a wince at the tiny hint of pain. A flash of concern crumples his face.

“You okay?” he asks.

“I will be.”

“Sure you will,” he says. “’Cause you’re coming to my house until your brother gets back.”

My brain hits the brakes, and I catch myself releasing Todd’s fingers when I didn’t know I’d been holding them. That means they haven’t heard from Joel yet. I think Todd can tell what I’m thinking because he cocks his mouth to the side in an apologetic way.

I stare at the blanket. “What if he doesn’t, Todd?”

His expression falls for the smallest second before he pushes his smile back on. “He will,” he says, but it’s unconvincing.

I sigh and flop my head back. Todd glances behind him and then leans in. For the smallest second I think he’s going to kiss me again.

“Piper, what happened with Jordan?” His voice is low, practically a whisper.

I’m not sure where to start. Before I figure it out, Todd goes on.

“He was standing by your body outside, just staring down at you on the grass. Every time I tried talking to him, he said, ‘I didn’t mean to.’ Was he inside? Was he hiding, waiting until I left so he could axe you?”

Todd blinks several times, and I squint to make sure I’m seeing what I think I am. His eyes are wet, and his mouth fidgets. “I almost lost you, Piper,” he says, more tender than a caress. “I swear, if anything had happened to you…if Jordan had—”

The muscles in his forearm stand out, and his knuckles are white. He blinks a few more times and looks away. I reach for his constricted fingers. His palm is damp.

“I’m still here,” I say.

He sniffles and gives out a weak grin. “Yeah. Yeah, you are.”

I pull Todd’s hand so it rests on my stomach—an easier distance for me to reach. I skim my finger along the tip of his nail. “You know that floating door?”

He nods and gives another sniff. “I saw the ladder out there.”

An uneasy feeling tells me not to say any more, but I’m done holding things in. “Jordan hit it with his axe. He meant to smash through it, to see if anything was behind it.”

Todd rears back, disbelief riding on his face. “No way.”

“But when the axe hit, it cut me instead.”

He shakes his head and stares at his knees. His curls froth to the sides of his head like a perfect ice cream scoop. “You’ve told me some stories, Pipes, but now they’re just getting crazy.”

“Don’t call me that,” I snap, thinking of my mother. I shove his hand away. Is that what he’s thinking of, too? I thought he knew me better than this.

He rests his arm on the rail on the side of my bed, and scratches one of his black eyebrows. “We don’t have a lot of time before my mom comes. She decided to go with your wishes and let you come home with us tonight. Can we talk about it later?”

“Do you believe me?”

His gaze drops to his lap.

“I don’t know,” he says. He stands when his mom enters the room. Mrs. Dawes hands me a floral, Mary Poppins-looking carpet bag.

“I brought you some of Janessa’s clothes, Piper. What do you say we get going?” She smiles as if she’s doing me a huge favor.

A set of scales alternates in my mind, weighing back and forth between the balance of:
Wait here and wonder what’s going on, or Go to Todd’s.
I can’t stay at their house, but she’s right, taking care of myself is out, too. I accept the bag holding Todd’s older sister’s clothes. Using his help, I rise to my feet. To my horror, the back of my hospital gown flaps wide open. I keep my back to the bed, lips tucked between my teeth.

Mrs. Dawes catches on. She takes Todd’s arm and leads him toward the door.

“We’ll pick up your prescription on the way home,” she says and then points to the bathroom. “Get dressed.”

Fortunately, Todd’s sister not only has a decent sense of style, but his mom also brought a pillow for me to tuck between my stomach and the seatbelt. And since I’m wearing his sister’s clothes, Mrs. Dawes agrees to let Todd help me get a few of my own things from my house before heading over.

Like a gentleman, Todd helps me climb out of their Honda Pilot.

The warm air snuggles in around my skin, and I do my best to shuffle over and slant against their open garage door. Those few steps alone steal breath from my lungs, and I pant and flinch at the pain simple breathing brings.

Mrs. Dawes motions Todd over to her side of the car. She sneaks a look over to me before speaking under her breath. “Don’t take too long or I’ll send your brother over.”

My eyebrows leap from my forehead. For reals?

“What do you think we’re going to do?” Todd mutters, slamming the car door behind his mom. “She just got out of the hospital.”

Mrs. Dawes stammers like she doesn’t know what to say, then heads into the garage entrance to their house, right beside a rack of bikes. I take in the faint smell of exhaust and try to pretend I didn’t hear the last part of their conversation.

“Thanks for your help,” I call to her. Keeping her back to me, she gives a small wave and closes the door behind her.

The minute she’s gone, Todd slips his arm around my waist and pulls me close to him. Warmth radiates from him, and he smells like soap.

“Another sleepover,” he says, resting his chin on my hair. “I could get used to these.”

“Under different circumstances,” I add, leaning into him as we cross the grass, past the double-level, gray tower on the front corner of my house. I look for signs of what happened that night, for the ladder or the axe, but Jordan cleaned his traces well.

The gash in the siding I noticed earlier is still there, like the paint is
bleeding
off. But just above that, at the floating door I
saw
Jordan whack his axe into, not a scratch can be seen.

I dig my nails into Todd’s arm. “Todd—what is that?”

The floating door looks like it always does. Even and gray, embellished with purple around its border. Most of all, untouched. Sure, the house heals itself, but a swelling instinct in my chest tells me that’s not the case this time around. Not when there’s nothing to heal.

My head blanks out, and Todd catches me.

“Hold up—you okay?”

“My mom,” I say, trying to catch my scrambling thoughts. I look to my forearm, where long red gashes dug in from her fingernails. I watched my skin
bleed
the minute her nails left me. But my skin—like everywhere else aside from the nice gash in my stomach—is completely smooth.

Oh my gosh.

The ground in front of me inverts like I’m standing on the bough of a ship, rocking over water. I clasp Todd’s shoulders. “The house—it’s me.”

“What are you talking about?” Todd’s gaze skims all over me, like I’m a book he’s trying to speed-read.

“It’s connected to me somehow.”

My blood runs a marathon in my veins. Todd’s hands brush along my arms, and he continues lugging me toward my front door. Joel’s car perches in the same spot it was two days ago. I don’t understand how they haven’t gotten ahold of him after all this time.

“Okay,” Todd says after a few seconds. “Let’s—we’ll just get your stuff. You’ll be all right.”

I think back to what Mom said. I thought her senseless babble was just that. Senseless. But there’s a chance it could mean something after all. It must be important, if it’s continually on her deranged mind. The thirteenth what? And the walls, what do the walls know?

“Just come, Pipes, you’ll be fine,” Todd says, supporting my waist to help me inside. “Don’t worry so much about this old house.”

“You don’t understand. Take me to the kitchen.”

“But—”

“Take me to the kitchen. Please.”

Todd helps me in, and I hobble in pain and reach for a knife in the bamboo block on the counter. One knife is already missing from the slots.

“I know you have to see something to believe it,” I say, gearing myself for the pain. That Russell Crowe guy in
A Beautiful Mind
didn’t know he was schizo until the end. I wonder if I can be crazy and not know I am.

Only one way to find out.

Todd’s brows crease. “What are you doing? Piper—wait!”

I grit my teeth and slice the knife across my palm. The house groans even louder, and though I feel the sting from the blade, it subsides, my palm healing instantly. Todd rushes to me and snatches the knife.

“What the heck are you doing?”

I force my palm to his face. He watches as the skin of my hand finishes healing, seals up before his eyes. Almost immediately, the house makes an intense groaning sound. The floorboards tremor beneath our feet, banging like a heavy bass line. A wide chunk of plaster drops from the kitchen wall and breaks apart like a snowball on impact, revealing the thin lath boards underneath.

“No way,” Todd says, bracing himself on the countertop and glancing all around.

“It’s true,” I say.
So glad that worked. That means I’m
not
crazy
. The fridge gives off a low hum, and Todd stands there and blinks.

“Say something,” I prod, unable to stand the unnerving silence.

Mouth dropped, his glistening eyes meet mine. “I think I believe you now.”

At his words, a shimmery, bleary sheen of gold dusts over everything. It frays the objects in the room with what looks like tampered sunlight. The china hutch stands in the same position, but one of its glass doors hangs open, and a few dishes are missing from it. Dread fills me. Another vision.

Ada crouches before the fireplace with a basketful of logs and kindling. She wears the same black dress from the night she kissed Thomas, but stains smatter her disheveled apron, and a few stray hairs escape from her tight bun. Using a long metal poker, she stokes the hissing fire several times and adds one more log. Her hands brush the white apron, leaving a smear of ash.

A black teapot whistles on the old stove—the stove now in the basement—diagonal from the hutch. Ada scurries to retrieve a cloth, and using the cloth as a hot pad, reaches for it.

“Miss Havens,” calls a gravelly voice from the adjacent dining room. Ada and I both jerk at the interruption. Todd scowls toward the stove, his eyes roving though I’m sure he’s unaware anything else is happening. His glance stays on the stove while Ada looks at the cloth in her hands, sets it down, and crosses into the dining room.

“Piper, what’s wrong?” he asks, still watching the cooktop.

His words part my mind in two halves and I struggle. I don’t want to ignore him, but I refuse to miss a second of the vision.

“Just—gimme just a second.”

I shift to find Mr. Garrett perched at a clean version of our dining table, no longer smothered with papers. Instead, it holds overdone place setting with plates, a bowl to the side, and at least five utensils. A napkin is tucked into the collar of his white, high-necked shirt.

“You called, sir?” Ada asks.

Garrett sets his fork down and offers a stubby hand. Uncertainty rests on her face, but Ada takes the gesture, and in one quick lurch, she’s pulled onto Garrett’s lap.

I don’t know much about the 1800s, but I’m pretty sure stuff like that wasn’t cool. And the fact that it’s that psycho Garrett guy makes my stomach squirm, especially after I watched him board her up under the stairs.

“Really, sir,” Ada says, her back straighter than a fencepost. “This is quite out of line.”

She moves to stand, but Garrett’s lip snarls, and he holds her dress in his fists, keeping her in place. The color drains from her face.

“Have you thought more of my offer, Miss Havens?”

The black teapot continues singing at a high pitch. Her throat is tight; a muscle leaps in her jaw, and she twitches. “Please, sir. Release me—the kettle will soon boil over.”