The Harrowing (4 page)

The pointer suddenly took off, racing across the board Robin watched the letters appear under the cutout circle in the middle of the planchette. The pointer spelled quickly, continuously, with slight stops in the neutral center between each word.

I AM

Lisa read aloud for the others with exaggerated import. “I…am…”

HERE

Patrick made spooky sounds on the floor. Martin glanced over in spite of himself. On the couch, Cain shook his head, flicked his Zippo to light another cigarette. But Robin saw he was smiling.

Lisa’s good,
she thought. The movement of the planchette was smooth, credible—no obvious pushing. The pointer felt like it had a life of its own.

Lisa smiled into the darkness flirtatiously. “Well, hello.” She swept her hair back from her face with a ringed hand before she put her fingers back on the planchette.

The pointer instantly moved to

HELLO

And then it spelled quickly

LISA

Lisa read out with the moving indicator and turned away from the table with childlike delight. “Guys, he knows my name.”

Patrick put his hands to his mouth, mock-shuddered. “It
must
be real.” He was grinning, clearly enjoying himself. He’d stripped down to a tank and now basked bare-armed in the heat of the fire, leaning back on a sofa cushion, watching the girls as if they were his private show. Robin’s eyes traveled up his thighs to the juncture of his legs, remembering the soft thrill of his

lips on hers, his breath hot in her mouth…. Her face flushed, and she was glad for the darkness.

Lisa shook her hair out of her face and raised her voice, addressing the board. “Do you have a name?”

The pointer jerked to life. Lisa read out with it.

CALL ME

The wooden piece hesitated. Robin and Lisa watched it circle aimlessly over the board, as if unsure how to answer.

Patrick chuckled from the floor. “Make it good, Marlowe.”

Then, as if inspired, the pointer spelled out quickly

ZACHARY

Robin felt a tingle up her neck, like fingers brushing her hairline. The candlelight flickered, making the black letters seem to pulse.

Lisa’s eyes jumped to Robin’s, a quick, probing look. Then she shrugged, spoke lightly. “Nice to meet you, Zachary.”

“Charmed,” Patrick drawled over the top of another beer, then belched for emphasis.

The pointer responded instantly, smooth circles and a slight pull between letters. Robin found herself both lulled and impatient at the slow-motion conversation; waiting for the letters was like trying to run in a dream.

THE PLEASURE IS MINE

Lisa finished the sentence triumphantly and looked up from the board. Her eyes were sparkling. “A gentleman.” She glanced sideways at Patrick.

“Those are the ones you wanna watch, hon,” he retorted.

Lisa turned back to the table and beamed at Robin. Robin smiled back, warming to her enthusiasm. So what if it was a game? The fire was blazing, making shadows dance in the corners of the room. The circular swaying of trees through the window, the ebb and flow of the wind, the popping of the fire—all were dreamlike, seductively hypnotic, and Robin decided to play along.
What could it hurt?

Lisa was addressing the board again. “Have you come to tell us anything, Zachary?” The two girls watched the board as it spelled out the letters.

ANYTHING YOU WISH

Lisa smiled secretively in the flickering candlelight. She turned and informed the rest of the room. “He says, ‘Anything you wish.’”

On the floor, Patrick snorted through a swallow of beer. “Ask him who wins the game.”

Lisa seemed about to retort, but the indicator moved instantly, obliging.

ALABAMA

Robin read it out, and Lisa finished the sentence with her.

BY 14

Patrick sat straight up, pleased. “Can I bet on that, dude?” His voice was warm, hazy from pot.

The pointer moved again. Robin and Lisa watched the letters in a little island of concentration, reading out together.

BETTING S CLOSED

The girls leaned over the board to watch the last word forming. As Robin realized Lisa’s joke, she smiled, and they called it out together in perfectly matched, stoned accents.

DUDE

Robin and Lisa broke out in delighted giggling. On the couch, Cain muttered, “Pretty hip ghost.”

Patrick sat up from the floor, laughing heartily. “You should be charging for this, Marlowe.” He nodded to Lisa.

Lisa shook her head, cascading curls caught by the firelight. “I’m not doing it, I swear.” She smiled across the table at Robin.

Robin found herself wondering. Nothing that Lisa said could be trusted, obviously. It was a game, and it was working. Lisa was the center of attention, which apparently she needed to be at all times, and the boys were mildly amused, enough to keep watching. Robin was aware that even Martin was following the action at the board, not with his whole attention, maybe, but as background noise, like having music or the television on.

At the same time, Robin found a strange thing happening.

She’d played Ouija with slightly older cousins as a nine- or ten-year-old, and even though the candlelit bedroom setting and thrill of inclusion by the older girls had given the game an edge of newness and excitement, she’d also known
she
was the one being played, that Cousin Jeannie had been moving the pointer to spell out slightly racy hints of boys who were madly in love with whoever.

And at first, she’d been quite sure that Lisa was moving the pointer, just as her cousins had. But somewhere along the line, it really felt that Lisa had stopped and something…else…had taken over.

She shivered, and realized that Cain was sitting up on the couch, watching her, a question in his eyes.

Lisa spoke into the darkness with a strange intensity, something more than just playful curiosity. “Who are you, Zachary?”

The question hovered in the air. The planchette was still.

Lisa glanced at Robin, frowned into the silence. “Did you live here in the Hall?”

The planchette abruptly moved under their fingers, and Robin realized she’d been holding her breath. The wooden pointer slid simply to

YES

Robin was startled by a sudden image, very clear in her mind: a young man, pale and dark-eyed, with slightly longish dark hair, slim and tall and, yes, a bit haunted. Hovering at the corners of her imagination, but for a moment quite clear and real.

And then gone. Robin snapped back to the present. The fire beside the table was crackling, almost too hot on her back. Across the table, Lisa was looking at her oddly. Robin realized, mortified, that everyone else was silent, staring at her. Outside, the wind crooned through the trees, a hollow sound between buildings.

Robin leaned forward and addressed the board. “When? When did you live here?”

The planchette jerked and then circled under their hands, as if pondering, a mesmerizing movement.

And then the letters came again, and this time so slowly, almost teasing, that both Lisa and Robin leaned forward and read urgently under their breaths, pushing the letters and guessing each word a little before it was actually completed.

THERE IS

Robin was aware of all three guys leaning forward, too: Cain on the couch, Patrick on the floor, Martin at his table in the back, all riveted, completely captive.

NO TIME

Robin’s breath caught in her throat, and Lisa finished.

HERE

The sentence hung in firelit orange and dark.

Robin and Lisa looked at each other, chilled. Scattered around the room, the guys were still.

Lisa cleared her throat slightly and leaned forward, bracing her elbows on the table. “What do you mean, ‘here’?” Her eyes met Robin’s, glanced away. “Where is ‘here’?”

The planchette jerked and then circled, with no response. The moment seemed suspended; the red yarn on Lisa’s wrist trailed across the letters like blood. Robin could feel the others waiting, leaning forward slightly, perhaps not quite breathing. Her entire attention was on the smooth age-yellowed surface of the board, the formal black letters, the scorch marks.

And then, as if some decision had been made, the word came. Strange and unfamiliar, so that both she and Lisa spoke the letters out individually.

QLIPPOTH

CHAPTER SEVEN

Robin was the first to put the letters together. The word felt alien in her mouth.

“Qlippoth?”

Martin looked up from his back table with sudden interest.

In the hearth, the logs crackled and popped, sending showers of sparks up the chimney flue. The shadows of flames rippled on the walls.

Lisa nodded hesitantly at the pronunciation, guessing rather than knowing Robin was right. The others stared around at one another in the flickering light, mystified.

“Take me to your leader,” Patrick intoned, zombielike. The joke fell somewhat flat, everyone still unnerved.

Lisa pressed her ringed fingers into the planchette, spoke into the darkness, her tone falsely bright. “How about in English, Zach?”

The silence was too thick as the planchette circled. Robin could actually feel everyone in the room leaning forward as she and Lisa spoke the words.

THE SHELLS

Robin was peripherally aware of Martin being very still in the back, staring at Lisa.

Lisa looked at Robin. “The shells? Do you mean the
shelves
?”

“The beach?” Patrick guessed. Cain spoke dryly from the couch. “There was a doo-wop group in the fifties—Clam Chowder and the Shells.”

Patrick snickered, partly in relief at the break in tension, Robin thought. Lisa glared toward both boys. Then the girls jumped as the indicator moved again, unbidden.

Again, Robin could feel the guys leaning forward in the silence to hear. Lisa read the words aloud, somewhat short of breath.

NO MATTER I AM WITH YOU NOW

Robin stared down at the board, felt another prickle of foreboding. The pointer moved again, almost jauntily.

AT YOUR SERVICE

The unexpected joke relaxed them all. Robin and Lisa smiled across at each other.

Patrick groaned from the floor. “Ahh, don’t encourage her.”

Lisa laughed, reassured, and flirted back at Zachary. “In that case, at least tell us what you look like.”

Robin could feel a change in the quality of the movement under her hands… a playful sensuality.

THE MAN OF YOUR DREAMS

Lisa laughed again, harder than was really called for. She vamped, a la Mae West. “Well then, come up and see me sometime.”

Always the tease, aren’t you?
Robin thought.
Just can’t help yourself.

Lisa caught Robin’s gaze in the yellow light. Her eyes narrowed, and suddenly there was an edge in her voice, a challenge. “You ask something.”

Robin hesitated, torn between desire and distrust.

Lisa gave her no quarter. “Okay, then I will.” She reached for the pointer, raised her voice. “Zachary, tell us. Is Robin a virgin?”

Robin froze. She saw Patrick choke on his beer…and, behind him, Cain rolling his eyes.

She flushed. “All right, just stop.” She started to withdraw her hands from the pointer, but Lisa put her hands firmly on top of Robin’s, holding her there, smiling wickedly.

The planchette began to move. Robin’s face was hot, but somehow she couldn’t make herself let go. She stared at the letters as they materialized.

I LOVE I BURN AND ONLY LOVE REQUIRE

She jolted, recognizing the bit of poem she had been thinking of as she held the pills in her hand.

Am
I
doing this?
She wondered, disoriented.

Lisa read the sentence out, quirking her eyebrows—whether in mockery or pleased surprise, it was hard to tell.

Patrick murmured from the floor, “Oh, baby.” Robin turned crimson, but through the rush of blood in her ears, she recognized a note in his voice she hadn’t quite heard before: appreciation. Her heart fluttered.
Maybe…maybe there
is
hope
.

Lisa widened her eyes at Robin. She raised her voice brightly. “How romantic of you, Zachary. The rest of you clowns should be taking notes.”

Robin was surprised to detect an undertone of grudging jealousy.
Jealous of what?
Robin stared across at her, her mind racing.
Is she spelling things out? Am I?

Lisa caught her eyes, leaned forward slightly. “See, he likes you. Come on.” She held Robin’s eyes, seductive, appeasing.

After a moment, Robin put her hands back on the planchette, by now far too intrigued to stop.

Lisa looked around the room, reenergized. “Anyone? Questions?”

A moment of silence, then Patrick volunteered, without moving from the floor. “Okay, Zach, old man.” He paused portentously. “Will I pass history?”

On the couch, Cain audibly snorted. Robin heard Martin in the back muttering under his breath, “In your dreams.”

They
were
listening then, just as present as she was.

The indicator jerked slightly under her hands, and she blinked back to the board, staring at the letters as they formed.

WITH FLYING COLORS

Robin was no longer surprised how quickly and smoothly the board was spelling out the messages, it seemed natural, inevitable.

Lisa read out the words, and Cain half-laughed. “The cosmic fortune cookie.”

But Robin noticed that he had been intent on Lisa’s words. His magazine lay forgotten on the floor beside the couch.
You’re into it. Not a complete cynic after all.

Patrick was speaking, and she was instantly attentive again as he called out, “How, Zach? You gonna take it for me?”

And Robin realized that something had changed. The tone of Patrick’s voice was easy, companionable; he was talking to the board the way he would talk to a person.

And there was something else, as well. She could feel the
house
listening. As completely absorbed in and amused by the conversation as the rest of them were.

You’re stoned
, she told herself.

The planchette was moving under her hands, and Lisa read with it.

AS YOU WISH

Patrick pointed a little hazily at the board, his words slurred. “You’re on, dude. Eleven o’clock next Friday, right, Rob?”

The pointer jerked simply to

YES

And Robin felt a stab of apprehension.

Across the table, Lisa’s eyes were bright, almost feverish. She saw Robin looking at her, and looked away quickly, as if caught. She turned in her chair to speak to the room. “Someone ask something none of us would know,” she demanded. There was a dark sense of urgency under her words.

Patrick lolled his head back against the edge of the couch, swigged his beer. “What’s my mother’s maiden name?” he offered.

Behind him on the couch, Cain rolled his eyes again. “It’s not an ATM machine.”

The board was already spelling out a name.

COLE

Lisa spoke it. “Cole.”

Patrick sat up. “Hey. That’s right.” The others looked around at one another. Now Patrick actually stood, struggling to his feet, swaying a little as he crossed to the table. He looked down at the board, then at Lisa. “You’ve been checking up on me, Marlowe.” But his voice didn’t have its usual tone of light banter.

Lisa tipped back in her chair and looked up at him, defiant. “I don’t know your
first
name, cowboy.”

Patrick looked at Robin now. His smile was broad, but there was uncertainty in it, too. “Okay, Robin— you wormed it out of Waverly.”

Robin shook her head. Her eyes met his, and for a moment she saw something.
Fear?

Patrick laughed a little weakly.

Lisa turned in her chair, looked over at Cain, challenging. “Your turn. Ask.”

Robin had expected a protest. Instead, it was rather dizzying how immediately Cain spoke. His voice was flat, but there was an urgency beneath.

“How did my mother die?”

Robin’s eyes jumped to his, startled, and she saw his set gray gaze for an instant.

It’s started. It’s got us.
Quick wild thoughts…

Then the pointer jerked to life. Across the board, Lisa sounded the words out.

WANT ME TO SAY ?

Robin drew in a sharp breath. On the couch, Cain was very still. The shadows from the fire leapt wildly on the walls.

Then Cain spoke softly, and the fury of his words dug into Robin’s chest. “That’s fucking clever, Marlowe.”

Lisa shoved back her chair. “Hey. I don’t know what that means.”

Cain looked angry and lost all at once, and Robin knew.
It’s true, then. Something really bad happened. How did Lisa know?

And if Lisa
didn’t
know?

Robin looked at the board. The indicator was still, poised above

?

She shivered, chilled. Something had changed. There had been a sudden turn of corner.
What’s happening?

Her eyes drifted to the edge of the board, the burn marks there, as if somewhere, sometime, the board had burst into flame.

Lisa pushed her hair back, her bracelets clinking faintly. “Somebody ask something else.” She stared around at all of them.

Patrick stood in front of the fireplace, legs braced. “Okay, Zach. What am I thinking right now?”

Even before the planchette started to move, Robin felt a pull of something—fathomless.
No!
she thought—but too late. Lisa was leaning forward, edgy and tense, breathing out the letters as they came.

ABOUT KILLING

Robin gasped as she realized the message.

YOUR FATHER

The logs popped in the hearth, showering sparks. Patrick towered over them, swaying with alcohol. He spoke quietly, dazed. “Who’s moving that?” Then rage swept through him like wildfire. “I said, Who the fuck is moving that?”

It was so not a game anymore. Patrick was beyond drunk, and so angry, a tidal current of fury. Lisa and Robin both sat frozen at the board.
He’s so big
, Robin thought, unfocused, as if seeing it for the first time.
Steroids. Football
. She felt suffocated, unable to breathe.

Cain spoke carefully from the couch, not moving. “Take it easy, man.” His voice was so balanced, Robin leaned into the sound with relief, immediately surrendered the situation to him.

Patrick didn’t seem to hear. His face was ruddy, his accent lower, like an older man’s, thick and snarled, almost incomprehensible. “Marlowe, I swear to Christ I’ll make you eat that board.”

Robin jumped as he started toward the table, tossing a chair out of his way.

Cain was instantly on his feet, faster than Robin would have thought possible, blocking Patrick. She felt a wild rush of fear.

And then Martin’s voice came calmly from the back of the room.

“Actually, that was obvious.”

Patrick wheeled around.

Martin sat very still in his chair. Candles flickered over the books in front of him.

Patrick’s eyes narrowed. “What kind of shit are you talking—”

“Oedipal conflicts run high in the South. Competitive sports are a classic battleground.” Martin tipped back in his chair, nonchalant, almost lofty. Robin’s pulse spiked with alarm.
Oh, careful
.

But then Martin shrugged, and spoke softly. “And who hasn’t thought about it?”

Patrick stiffened. He looked at the smaller boy with laser eyes, but everyone knew Martin had given him the courtesy of the truth.

The fire simmered in the hearth. The room was very quiet, everyone looking at Martin. When he spoke, his voice was hypnotic in the moving firelight “You’ve got two intelligent women there. Astute enough to pick up on emotional clues.”

Now that the danger was past Lisa came to life again, shoved back in her chair, agitated. “Except that
I’m not moving that piece of wood
.”

Martin half-smiled, tolerantly, gestured with his pen. “Your subconscious is. That’s the whole point, isn’t it? Induce a high state of concentration, and seemingly uncanny thoughts come out.”

Is it?
Robin wondered.
Is that all there is? Could one of us have known—somehow, intuitively—that Patrick wanted to kill his father, that Cain’s mother died badly?

She looked at Lisa. Lisa caught her eyes, looked quickly away.

Lisa is smart. Under all that posturing, she doesn’t miss a thing
.

Cain moved forward, his face tense in the half-light. He looked at Robin, then Lisa. “Ask, then. Ask what’s doing it.”

Lisa scooted her chair back to the table, put her hands on the indicator. After a moment, Robin did, too. Lisa spoke into the dark. “Zachary, are you…reading our minds?”

Robin tensed as the pointer jerked under their fingers. It circled dreamily, not stopping on anything.

Teasing
, she thought.

And then at once, decisively, it began to spell. Lisa leaned over the board to read, her hair falling around her face. The pointer scraped through the silence.

NO ONE WHO CONJURES UP THE MOST EVIL

Martin’s sharp voice interrupted Lisa’s reading. “I want everybody to come back here.”

Patrick turned on him, growling. “What the hell—”

Martin spoke over him. “Just do it.” His face was flushed, excited.

Patrick stared back at him in mild disbelief, bristling. Cain stood still; even Robin was surprised at the authority in Martin’s voice. But after a moment, everyone stood and walked across the long room to the table beside the bookshelves.

Martin pointed to the psych text lying open on the tabletop. “Go on, look at the book. And someone read the passage at the top of the page that it’s open to.”

They all looked at one another, then Robin stepped to the edge of the table and read the small print. “ ‘No one who, like me, conjures up the most evil—’“ She stopped, startled.

The others crowded in closer behind her to see.

Robin glanced at Martin, who nodded. She looked back down at the page and read the whole passage out, more slowly.

“ ‘No one who, like me, conjures up the most evil of those half-tamed demons that inhabit the human breast, and seeks to wrestle with them, can expect to come through the struggle unscathed.’ ”