Phobic (28 page)

“Nasty,” Todd says over the article in his hands. “This guy was found in a dumping yard and all the veins were snipped from his body. This Bandit freak just left him this bloody lump, like whipped cream mushed with Jell-O.”

“Nice image there,” I say, sticking out my tongue at the grossness. I’ll never be able to eat red Jell-O. Ever. Again.

He sets the article down and straightens his leg. I follow the line of his jeans and where they tuck over his boots. I want him to pull me close again. To hide in him.

“No, I’m serious,” Todd goes on with a look of disgust. “Dissecting a frog in class is one thing. But who can be sick enough to do it to a person, let alone while they’re still, you know, alive?”

“Augustus Garrett, that’s who.” I flip to the front where his name scrawls, along with page after page of detailed diagrams of the human body and its various parts.

I stop at another page that has more writing, followed by another odd-looking diagram. Again, I read aloud. “
For most living creatures, time exists on a line, trekking its way from one instance to another
.”

The words nestle above a line labeled
time
crossing the width of the page. Below that sits a circle with crude sketches of hastily drawn people trapped inside, and beside the circle are the words,
deferral of time
. I study the drawing, trying to figure out its meaning.

As if he’s teeming with curiosity, Todd giraffe-necks in to look at the page I’m on, basking me with his heat. My finger traces the line of time, showing him what I’m talking about. His low voice picks up where I left off.

“
But is it possible to suspend a piece of the line? To stretch it, compel it to continue without end
?” Todd’s eyes level with mine. “He suspended time?”

I shrug and take in the final sentence on the page:
Is it possible for occurrences to happen all at once, and we only participate in what
we
can see?

According to this, Garrett is saying everything that has ever or will ever happen on earth is going on all at once. Ancient Egypt, the Civil War, the Great Depression—it’s all happening
right now
. And we’re living parallel, just in our own time periods.

Or is he saying he made it so
his
timeline runs that way? So that no matter what happens in the future or what happened in the past,
his
life will keep running?

“Holy—” I don’t know what, so I don’t finish.

“
Everything has its end,
” Todd reads. “
I’m simply postponing mine.
” Then he shakes his head and places his hand over the open journal in my lap. “So the guy locked himself in like, 1875?”

I flip toward the end where descriptions follow a sequence of numbers.

1.
Eyes. To provide vision into the future.

2.
Ears. To provide hearing.

3.
Brain. Because a man must cognize.

4.
Stomach. To feed one’s hunger in the frozen state.

The list continues, but I refuse to absorb any more details. Because the total number of items is thirteen.

I use his shoulder for major support as I fight the pain spurting up to my ribs and rise to my feet. I clamp the journal so hard it hurts my fingers.

“Ada!” I call at the top of my lungs. I’m not sure she’ll answer, but I go right to the source.

“Piper, what is it?” Todd asks. I ignore him.

The drawn images fight for front-row seating in my brain. Mathematic equations, drawings of different body parts, both skeletal and muscular. Feet on one page, pelvis on another. A skull. A drawing of a strange, metal gadget that looks like an early model of an ear-piercing gun, labeled below as
The Hitch.

“What are you doing?” Todd asks.

“I think Garrett is the Spare-Tooth Bandit,” I say, watching the ceiling and hoping she’ll appear again.

“And this is the guy you’ve been seeing. The past guy who used to live in
this
house?”

Todd’s gaze is intent on me, filled with nothing but conviction. I want to hug him.
Thank you. SO glad you’re believing me.
“Yes.”

He scratches his eyebrow. “But this is all happening
in the past
, right? How do you like, get there?”

I sniff and look around again. “I don’t know. The visions always just kind of
appear
. I think I end up stumbling onto them by accident.”

“Why now? You say it’s been going on for over a hundred years. Why are you just noticing it now?”

It’s such a good point, and one I’ve never really considered before. If all of this is true and Garrett has found a way to freeze his own reality in some time loop—and I’m
positive
it is true—then it’s been working for years, without my noticing much at all. It’s only recently I’ve seen all of this. A thought comes, and it’s too logical to deny it:

“His time loop spell thingie must be wearing off.” I don’t know how, but it’s the only thing that makes sense right now. Maybe it has an expiration date or something. It has been going on for over a hundred and thirty years, after all.

“Just let it wear off, then,” Todd says, throwing out his hands. His mouth gapes as if he’s a genius and has just discovered a diamond mine.

“I can’t, Todd. I think he has Joel.”

“How do you know?”

“Why else is Joel’s car here, but no one’s seen him for days?” I push aside the thought that he’s already dead. He can’t be.

“Can you like, focus on them or something? Can you sense her?”

“I can try. I think I know where to start. Garrett has something awful going on down in the basement. One time I saw Ada carrying a bloody sheet. And the first time I ever saw any of them, Thomas said he’d made Garrett’s arrangements down there.”
Not to mention the invisible bloody table I collided with when you fell.

Todd stands and rests his hands against the marble topping the wash table. “We have to go to my house. We’ve already taken too long. My mom seriously will send someone over.”

The side-aching pain increases, lancing through. I wince and shake my head. Leaving isn’t an option. Not now that I’m finally getting some type of answers. “Ada!” I call again.

I hobble like an old lady and perch on my bed. Breaths pump my lungs hard and fast, and it takes longer for the pain to subside. Only this time it doesn’t completely fade.

“Whoa, Pipes. You okay?” He digs the bottle of codeine from the crinkly bag we picked up at Walgreen’s on the way home, and hands me a small white pill.

“It’s been a while. I’m sure the drugs are wearing off.”

Pain gnaws at my side more and more, even when I hold still. I’m sure all this movement isn’t helping. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

“Lemme get you some water—”

“I got it,” I say, choking back the chalky pill. It sticks in my throat, but I keep swallowing. I gape at the broken dollhouse pieces, at the old newspaper articles, feeling like something is completely off only I don’t quite know what it is.

I need to talk to Ada.

After several seconds of Todd staring at me like I’m a taxidermied animal on display, I smack my hands against my knees.

“Guess we better get to your house,” I say. I try to stand, but the drugs haven’t quite kicked in yet, and I let out a moan.

“Stay put,” Todd says, ripping open the jaws of the Mary Poppins bag his mom brought for me. “What do you want to bring over?”

“The basics,” I say through my teeth. “Clarinet. Toothbrush. Jammies.”

Todd gives a little bow and heads toward the bathroom down the hall. His steps sink into me like Jordan’s did on the stairs to the ceiling. My skin crawls, displacing itself from my bones like it’s trying to avoid the sensation.

This is getting me nowhere. I know one thing—I’m not going with Todd. But he can’t stay here with me either. Not with what I need to do. There’s a reason Dad didn’t want me going down there. And I have to know what that is. But alone.

If something happened to Todd down there, I couldn’t stand it. Plus, his family. What would I tell his mom? Better that he stays out of it.

“Your luggage,” he says, giving me his goofy grin.

Pain shouts at my side, but I stand. My clarinet case sits on the chair at my desk. I grab it and the journal and shuffle into the hallway. Todd offers me his hand, but I shake my head. I want to do this on my own.

“I got it. Thanks.”

The silhouette clusters out from the walls, shuddering out to goose my flesh from behind. It forces my steps. Ignoring the pain, I take the stairs two feet at a time like I remember doing as a child when my leg span wasn’t wide enough. I need to get Todd to leave without me. I’ll tell him to go reassure his mom, and I’ll follow him in a few minutes or something.

Not going to happen.

We reach the door, and the street outside gleams through the large, circular pane of glass. Sunlight hovers low on the air like a dimmed light.

“Here,” Todd says, taking my case. He reaches for the journal, too. I let him take it.

He pushes open the screen and holds it, waiting for me to join him on the porch. He grins, enjoying the chance to be chivalrous. Or maybe he’s just
that
excited to be getting the crap out of my house.

The thin edge of the door wedges in my palm. This is it. The point of no return. The smile drops from Todd’s face, instantly replaced with realization and hard determination.

“Wait—don’t—”

“I’m sorry.”

I slam the door, blocking him from me. I flinch with discomfort, but before I can do anything, the lock clicks on its own, blocking him out for good. I feel bad, but I need answers. I’ve got to find Joel before it’s too late.

“Piper!” Todd cries. His fists pound on the wood outside, jarring my nerves and hitting
me
. The doorbell rings several times, and he calls my name just as many.

One hand at my side, I lean my forehead against the varnished wood. The pain is abating, thanks to modern meds. It helps me relax a little more, though everything in me tells me to open the door and scram along with him.

“I told you,” I whisper. “I can’t leave.”

I do my best to block out Todd’s pleas, the heavy clomping coming from his boots as he tromps over to the window. His face gritted, he lifts the wicker chair as if he’s about to crash through. Dismay smashes over me in a giant swoop.

I scuffle over and wave my arms. His chest puffs like a storm, but he lowers the chair. I pull out my phone and call him. I could just shout, but yelling is an ab workout all on its own, and my stomach isn’t happy with me as it is. He answers, meeting my gaze through the glass with full-on anger in his expression.

“Todd, stop! If you do that it will only hurt me.”

“What do you think you’re doing? Let me back in.”

“No.” I close my eyes so I avoid the hurt in his. “Just go home.”

His breaths wisp over the phone for a few seconds, and he scoffs at least twice. “Let me in,” he growls. “At least let me help you.”

“I’m fine, I promise.” Huge lie. “Just go home.”

Todd points to the wicker bench. He trots over and plunks down, giving me a stern glare. “I’m not leaving.”

“Then you might be sitting there for a while.”

I tap
End
and lower my phone. Todd hangs his head against the window and pounds a fist against the side of the house. The punch knocks
me
, socking the air from my lungs and slashing at my stitches. I shriek at the impact and hang onto the curtains for support.

Todd springs to his feet. His face widens with panic, and he gropes the glass. “Oh man, I’m sorry!”

I take a few breaths and compose myself. I text him.
It’s ok. Brb

“Piper,” he calls through the glass. “Piper!”

The chandelier dangling over me tinkles like someone ran their fingers through the crystal pieces. The golden haze settles back, and shouts filter up from the kitchen, almost like they’re taking place
below
me. I take in a shaky breath. Time to go.

S
he did not just do that.

Todd stands with the psycho’s journal in hand, staring at her porch. The knob won’t budge, the wood quakes under his boots, and he knows there’s no way in hell he’s getting back through that door without Piper herself opening it. Maybe not even then.

“Dammit, Pipes!” he groans, gripping the phone in his other hand. The phone he’d just spoken to her on. He grimaces, ready to chuck the thing as far as he can. A lot of good that will do.

He can’t shake the image of her after he’d hit the house. Gasping for air, she’d crumpled over at the fist that somehow struck
her
instead.

Suddenly that whole Jordan-axe situation becomes clearer. Jordan’s axe hitting the wall really did cut her. Live wires replace all of Todd’s veins, and the fury turns to shaking, reminding himself far too much of his father. Wherever the jackwagon is, he should only stay there.

Without thinking, Todd runs to the back and tries the door that always remained open for him, but the knob doesn’t so much as click; it remains solid, almost like it’s carved out of the same wood of the door. He jars a few of the windows. Nothing.