The Evolution of Mara Dyer (32 page)

“You two knew each other from Croyden, right?”

“Yeah . . .”

“How about Tara?”

Who the heck was Tara?

“Megan?” Dr. Kells asked hopefully.

Megan. Megan of the bizarre phobias. We’d barely spoken to each other, but when I saw her I said hello—I decided to nod in response to Dr. Kells’s question, and tossed out Stella’s name for good measure. Dr. Kells didn’t seem particularly impressed.

“All right,” she said then, and waved her hand at her office door. “You’re free to go. Let’s talk again before the retreat.”

“Actually,” I said, drawing out the word. “I might not be going.” I tried not to sound smug.

“That’s too bad.” Dr. Kells looked disappointed. “Our students tend to find it rewarding. Maybe you’ll join us on the next one?”

“Definitely,” I said before grabbing my bag, thanking her for the chat, and making my escape.

It would have been nice if Anna’s death and Phoebe’s fingernails had been the worst parts of my day.

Dad drove me home and the house was quiet when we reached it—school had started again for Daniel and Joseph, and they weren’t home yet. Mom was probably still working. With Noah in Rhode Island until tomorrow, I found myself confined in the house with nothing to do.

So I settled on research. I passed my grandmother’s portrait in the hallway on the way to my room and resolved to
give
New Theories in Genetics
the old college try, as Daniel had said. Six hundred pages be damned.

But it wasn’t on my bookshelf.

Or in my closet.

I started taking down boxes from my closet shelves, wondering if maybe I put it in one of them to keep it safe and just didn’t remember. But even after I emptied their contents on the floor, nothing.

I grew increasingly frantic until I remembered that the last time I saw it was in the family room before the carnival, and that before I left it there, Daniel insisted on borrowing it. It was probably just in his room. I felt a little relieved and a little crazy for freaking out. Normal people forget things like that all the time.

I went into Daniel’s room and scanned his shelves; there were some books missing from one, leaving the remaining spines slanted against one another at a sharp angle.

I wouldn’t have noticed the composition notebook otherwise. Wouldn’t have noticed the fact that my handwriting was on the front cover. Spelling out my name.

The notebook was completely, utterly unfamiliar to me, and the realization etched my mind with fear.

I remembered Brooke’s words:

“Mara, where’s your journal?”

“I never got a journal.”

“Of course you did. On your first day, don’t you remember?”

I didn’t, but now I was looking right at it. I opened it up.

There was nothing on the first page, and I almost felt relief.

But then I flipped it over.

Panic rushed in, tidal and fierce and tugging me away. My knees almost buckled beneath me. I sat on Daniel’s bed, folding into myself as I stared.

Each line on the second page was filled with words. Hundreds of words on thirteen lines, arranged into the briefest of sentences.

Help me help me help me help me help me help me help me help me help me help me help me help me help me help me help me help me help me help me help me help me help me help me help me help me help me help me help me help me help me help me help me help me help me help me help me help me help me help me help me help me help me help me help me help me help me help me help me help me help me help me help me help me help me help me help me help me help me help me help me help me help me help me help me help me help me help me help me help me help me help me help me help me help me help me help me help me help me help me help me help me help me help me help me help me help me help me help me help me help me help me help me help me help me help me help me help me help me help me help me help me help me help me help me help me help me

The words stopped in the middle of the line. I passed out.

48

BEFORE

Port of Calcutta, India

I
FOLLOWED BEHIND THE
M
AN IN
B
LUE, MY SMALL
legs hurrying to match his long stride. Seven days had passed since he first brought me to the empty village, since I began to live with Sister in the hut. I was happy to be out again. I was happy to see the ships again, standing tall and crawling with men.

But I missed Sister. I wished she was here. I clutched the doll to my chest. I had not yet chosen her name.

The Man in Blue brought me to a big building, and we went inside to meet a white man with glass discs on his nose. The Man in Blue handed him a small black pouch. The white man filled it and then handed it back.

“Is she speaking?” the white man asked in a new language I was beginning to learn. He pushed the glass circles higher on his face.

“Not to me,” the Man in Blue said. “But she speaks in Hindi and Sanskrit to my daughter.”

“No other languages?”

“We have not tried.”

“What’s that, there, she’s holding?” he pointed a bony finger at my doll.

I squeezed it tightly. The white man saw, and wrote something down.

“My daughter made it for her and she will go nowhere without it now. She is attached.”

“Indeed.” The white man wrote something else. His eyes shifted back and forth between the paper and me, until finally, the Man in Blue was allowed to take me outside, back into the smoky sunlight.

“I have business I must do before we leave,” he said to me. “But as long as you do not lose sight of me, you may explore the port.” He extended his arm along the bustling stretch of land near the water.

I nodded. He waved his hand, sending me off.

I ran. I had been confined for too long and I delighted in the freedom. I absorbed every scent—mud and brine, spice and musk—and my eyes drank in the colors of the people and the buildings and the ships.

I ran until I heard a reedy sound repeat itself in a rhythmic, hypnotic melody. It slowed my steps and drew me to the source.

An old man sat cross-legged before a basket, blowing on a long stick that swelled into a bulb. People ringed the basket, staring as a snake rose out of the depths, swaying back and forth. The people clapped.

I did not understand their delight. Did the animal live in the basket? Was it trapped there, to live in the dark?

I crept closer. I was small enough to push through the crowd without being noticed. I drew nearer until anxious whispers rose to a loud murmur, until the old man stopped his music and shouted for me to get back.

I understood him but did not listen. What did I have to fear from snakes? I marveled at the animal’s soft armor, at the ruby tongue that flicked out to taste my scent. As I extended my arm out to touch it, it arched its long body back—

“Stop!” the Man in Blue shouted. My skin stung from his slap. He grabbed my sore wrist and led me quickly away. My arm hurt in his grasp, but after a measure of distance, he let me go.

“Are you mad, child?”

I did not know how to answer.

He softened at my confusion. “You like animals?” he asked, his voice warm, now. Gentle.

I nodded. Yes.

His cheeks folded into a smile and his grip on my wrist loosened. He fit his fingers in mine and led me down the length of the port. We came to a stop before one of the great ships, but that was not what stole my breath.

Hundreds of animals were trapped inside a row of gleaming cages. “Keep your hands away from the bars,” he said, as we passed chattering, screaming birds that beat their wings but couldn’t fly. A sullen monkey, large and brown, gripped the bars of its cage with human fingers. Stared at me with human eyes. A giant snake was tucked into a ball, withdrawing from everything, withdrawing from life.

The sight refused to make sense. I was born watching monkeys skip through treetops. I was lulled to sleep by the sound of a bird’s call. They did not belong here, in this place of smoke.

We were not the only watchers. A cluster of jeering boys rattled long sticks along the biggest cage. A snarling tiger paced inside, its orange and black stripes rippling behind the bars.

The tiger threw its powerful body against the cage, at the boys, but they laughed and danced back.

“Now,” the Man in Blue said, kneeling down. “You must stay here. The animals will entertain you?”

Entertain.
I did not know the word.

“I will come back shortly. Do not cause trouble,” he said, then left.

I edged over to a thin boy with small, darting eyes at the fringe of the group.

“Help me,” I whispered to him.

His black eyes considered me warily. Maybe he did not understand? I tried another tongue. “Help me,” I said again.

“Help you what?” he asked.

I pointed to the animals. “Get them out.”

49

W
HEN
I
OPENED MY EYES,
I
WAS IN MY
brother’s bedroom, still holding the notebook as he knocked on his door.

“This is kind of backward,” he said, clearly wondering why I was there.

The contours of the dream-memory-blackout shivered in my mind. I tried to hold on to it.

“Mara?”

I blinked and it blurred away. I couldn’t remember where I’d gone.

“Yeah,” I said, standing woozily. I was still holding the notebook—I couldn’t have been out for long. Maybe minutes?
Seconds? I was sweaty, and my clothes stuck to my skin.

“Did you take the book?” I asked my brother, trying to keep my voice even. “I was looking for it.”

“The genetics one? Yeah.” Daniel went to his closet and opened it. “Sorry, I put it in here; I didn’t want it to get mixed up with my things. You okay?” He peered at me.

Fake smile. “Yes!”

Strange look. “You sure?”

I hid the composition notebook behind me. Why had I put
that
in his room? “No, yeah, I really am,” I said, standing up. “Can I have the—”

“Is that the story?” Daniel said, glancing at the notebook behind my back.

What story? I looked down at it. “Um.”

“How’s the assignment going? Constructive? Cathartic?” He winked.

Ah. He thought it was the Horizons story. The assignment that I invented to get his help. I looked at the notebook, then back up at Daniel. I had no idea why I’d put it in his room or when, but I was lucky he hadn’t noticed it, considering what was inside. My insides twisted. I needed to talk to Noah.

But my brother was waiting for an answer. So I said, “She’s not possessed.”

Daniel waited. Listened.

“Someone else is—there’s someone else with a—a
power,” I said. “And he never played with a Ouija board.”

Daniel pondered this for a second. “So the Ouija board was a red herring.” He nodded sagely. “Hmm.”

“Gotta go,” I said, darting for the door.

“The book.” Daniel extended his hand and offered it to me; it dragged down my arm. I smiled before fleeing to dump
New Theories
and my notebooks in my room. Then forced myself to walk calmly to the kitchen, where I grabbed the phone and took it to my room and dialed Noah’s number with trembling fingers. He picked up on the second ring.

“I was just about to call you—” he started.

I cut him off. “I found something.”

Pause. “What?”

I couldn’t bring myself to open the notebook. “So, at Horizons, they gave me a notebook to use as a journal.”

“All right . . .”

“But I didn’t
remember
them giving one to me.”

“Okay . . .”

“But I just found it in Daniel’s room. The cover had my name. And I wrote in it, Noah. It was my handwriting.”

“What did you write?”

“‘Help me.’”

“I’ll be back tomorrow morning. I’ll come straight to you—”

“No, that’s what I
wrote,
Noah. ‘Help me.’ Again and again for almost a full page.”

Silence.

“Yeah,” I said shakily. “Yeah.”

“I’ll try to get a flight tonight—” He paused. I could imagine his face; his jaw tight, his expression careful and calm, trying not to show me how worried he was. But I could hear it in his voice. “There are only two more flights out of Providence today, and I won’t make either of them now. But there’s one from Boston to Ft. Lauderdale at midnight. I’ll be on it, Mara.”

“I’m feeling—really . . .” I couldn’t finish the sentence. I struggled for words but nothing else came.

Noah didn’t patronize me by telling me not to panic, or saying that everything would be okay. It wasn’t, and he knew it. “I’ll be there soon,” he said. “And John just checked in with no news. Everything else is fine, so just stay with your family and take care of yourself, all right?”

“Okay.” I closed my eyes. This wasn’t new. I had blacked out before. Lost time. Had weird dreams. This wasn’t new. I could live with this.

I could live with it if I didn’t think about it. I changed the subject. “You were going to call me?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“I just . . . missed you,” he said, a lie in his voice.