The Haunted (14 page)

Caspian leaned in and put his lips right next to my ear. I fought very hard not to shiver. “You want me to have feelings?” he said. “I already told you that I love you. What else should I say? That I long to be near you every second of every day? I see colors, only around you.… I smell perfume, only around you. God, it’s like… like I’m
alive
again. Sometimes I go crazy just wondering if I’ve imagined it all, and I wait to see when it…
you
… will be taken away from me.”

The sputtering of a dying candle nearby distracted him, and then we were plunged into darkness over in the corner of our little world. The sound of his voice in my ear and the soft
darkness blanketing around us had me biting my lip to hold back a moan. My skin was growing hotter. Aching for his touch, for
any
part of him to fuse with me and make this terrible need go away.

How could I do this? How could I feel this way,
knowing
that nothing could be done about it?

“I feel all these things, Abbey,” he continued on. “Rage that I can’t run my fingers through your hair. Sorrow that I can’t lay my face next to yours. Agony that I can’t steal the breath from your lips. I can’t eat or breathe or sleep for wanting to touch you, and yet I don’t eat or breathe or sleep. I’m just here. Stuck in between.”

A tear rolled down my cheek and I closed my eyes, turning my head away from him. This was too much. I couldn’t handle this longing and emotion. This much pain. I broke too easily.

“I crave your companionship, your friendship, your conversation,” he said. “Do you have any idea what it’s like to go from having everyone see you and talk to you, to having them all ignore you? You’re left with nothing but your thoughts and a whole lot of free time.”

He moved his arms, and the prison lifted. I cleared my throat and tried to find my voice. “I want you to feel those things, Caspian. Feeling means you’re human. Hold on to that. Grab on and don’t let it go.”

He was drawing away from me. I felt it, and I was desperate to make him stay.

“I don’t know if I can,” he said, mumbling. “It’s too hard to pretend. I get too angry.…” He trailed off, and I was lost.

“What do you mean? Does something… happen?”

Caspian laughed bitterly. “Yeah, it’s called my temper. When I first found out what happened to me, I was really angry about it. Pissed off at everyone. And I did some stuff. Stuff I’m not proud of. It’s not like I hurt anyone, but I damaged property and things. I just don’t want to go to that place again. I don’t want to become… destructive.”

My brain was on overload. I’d bounced from confusion to anger to lust and now back to confusion again. I leaned against the wall and massaged my temples. He was watching me.

“I don’t know how to process any of this,” I said. “So I’m just going to leave now and think about it. Can I… will you…
be
here tomorrow? Can I come back?”

“Yes,” he said. “If you want to.”

“I do.” My voice cracked, and I tried again, saying firmly, “I want to come back.”

C
RAZY
B
EAUTIFUL

He would delight them equally by his anecdotes of witchcraft, and of the direful omens and portentous sights and sounds in the air…

—“The Legend of Sleepy Hollow”

W hen I first stepped out of the mausoleum, the bright sun shocked me, rendering me temporarily blind. But now the darkness was fading, and I suddenly felt weary. I put my hands to the back of my neck and massaged the muscles. They were all tense and knotted up, and my head ached. I stopped for a moment to release my hair from its ponytail and ran my fingers through the tangled curls.

I didn’t pass anyone as I exited the cemetery. Not even the landscaper. Everything was still and silent, and I wondered where they’d gone.

The house, however, was
not
silent when I got home.

Mom was talking loudly on the phone, with the TV blaring in the background. I let the back door slam behind me and then angled toward the couch. Plopping down, I stretched out my feet. They were aching too. I picked up the remote and flipped through all the channels twice but there was nothing on. Summer television sucks.

Mom came into the living room, and I turned the TV off. She had that look on her face that said she wanted to “talk.”

“Where did you go?”

I shrugged. “Took a walk.”

She sat down beside me. “Abbey, I wanted to apologize to you for last night. I’m sorry your birthday dinner wasn’t to your liking.”

“You’re apologizing for the
food
? What about the other stuff ?”

She looked dumbfounded. “What other stuff ?”

“Well… how about the fact that you completely embarrassed me and got drunk in front of my friend?”

“I was
not
drunk,” she sputtered. “I only had a couple of sips—not enough to do any damage.”

“Could have fooled me,” I mumbled.

“What’s that?”

I stood up. “Nothing, Mom. I’m going to my room.”

“But don’t you want to hear what else I had to—”

“No. Not interested.”

That was
clearly
the wrong thing to say.

“Fine then… just fine. If you’re not interested, I won’t waste my breath.”

“Okay, Mom.”
Whatever
. I couldn’t believe she didn’t see anything wrong with the way she’d acted.

I left the living room and climbed the stairs, shaking my head the whole way. Once I reached my bedroom, I kicked off my sandals and padded over to the bed. Rolling my head from side to side, I slid down onto the edge and closed my eyes.

I felt all tight and itchy on the outside. I couldn’t tell
what
I was feeling on the inside.

A soft beeping noise sounded, and I opened one eye. My phone was on the desk, its red light flashing to signal that the battery was dying.

Getting up, I grabbed the phone and plugged it into the wall charger. Then I flipped it open and saw I had a voice mail. Hitting the button to connect me to the mailbox, I put it to my ear and listened.

“Hey, Abbey, it’s Beth. I just got back from babysitting the Wilson kids, and I heard that you babysit for them sometimes too. I wanted to let you know that they have this new trick to
lock you in the bathroom. Whatever you do, don’t let Eli show you his magic numbers game.” There was a pause, and then, “So, uh, that’s all. I just wanted to tell you that. You can call me later…”

Beth rattled off her number, and the phone prompted me to press nine if I wanted to save, or seven if I wanted to delete. I hit nine, staring down at the keypad.
How did she get my number?

I placed the phone back on the charger and pulled my hand away, but I accidentally knocked into a large bottle of apricot-kernel oil that was sitting on the desk. I tried to reach it in time but couldn’t. It fell, and the loose cork top bounced off.

Liquid started to seep across the papers that were scattered there.

“Damn it! Those are my notes for the Ashes Turned Bone perfume,” I said.

Lunging to sweep my papers out of the way, I hit a test tube, and it fell too, splintering into a dozen pieces. Quickly righting the apricot oil bottle, I held the damp notes to my chest with one hand and reached down to the floor with the other, groping blindly for something I could use to clean up the mess. My hand struck what felt like a crumpled T-shirt, and I threw it down on top of the puddle slowly inching its way across my desk.

I carried the papers over to my bed and used the corner of a pillowcase to dab at the excess oil as I spread them out to dry. Then I went back over to clean up the broken glass.

I picked up my garbage can along the way and carefully deposited the fractured glass into it. It didn’t look like there were any small splinters to worry about, but as I picked up the last piece, it sliced across my thumb. Immediately, blood welled up, and I wrapped my finger in the bottom of my tank top to stop the bleeding.

Only after my hand started turning white from applying so much pressure did I look down to assess the damage. My tank top stuck to the wound, and when it finally pulled free, it was spotted with bright red splotches of blood.
Lots
of blood.

I felt a curious sense of detachment as I gazed down at it. Blood had never bothered me before, and it was almost like I was looking at someone else’s injury. More bright beads welled to the surface of my thumb, and I shuffled over to the bathroom. First-aid kit was in there.

I opened the medicine cabinet one-handed and pulled out a small plastic container, then flipped the latch and grabbed some antibiotic ointment and a large square bandage. I squeezed a line of thick ointment across the cut. The gel clotted with the blood, tinting the mixture pink. After peeling back the white
plastic strips of the bandage, I wrapped the sticky ends first around one edge of my thumb and then the other.

Satisfied with my patch-up job, I stuffed the antibiotic ointment back into the first-aid kit and returned it to the medicine cabinet. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror then and stared at my reflection. I was a mess.

Blood speckled the bottom of my shirt, while apricot oil stained the top. My hair was ratty and tangled, and my cheeks were bright red. I turned to the left and checked out my exposed shoulders. They were red too.
Sunburn
. The indent left behind by my thumb turned white and then red.
Ouch. That’s going to peel.

Feeling all sticky and dirty, I stripped out of my clothes and jumped into the shower. It hurt my shoulders at first, but after a couple of minutes they grew numb to the stinging sensation. I reached for the shampoo bottle and turned it over, preparing to squirt some of it into my palm. My thumb had bled through the bandage in a small crimson circle, darker at the edges and lighter in the middle. The spray of water was making it soggy, and I wondered if it would bleed again when I replaced the bandage after the shower.

My mind jumped to Caspian. Did he bleed? He was dead, so the logical answer should be no. Yet he was solid in some
ways. Could his skin crack or peel? What would be underneath? Could he feel hot and cold? Did he shower?

Water drummed off the edge of the shampoo bottle, forcing my attention back to what I was doing. I had so many questions for him. Which ones would he answer? Which ones
could
he answer?

I turned off the water, wrapped myself in towels, and grabbed a pair of gym shorts and a new T-shirt. It felt
so
good to be clean again.

The sunlight in my room was shifting and changing, slanting away from me and toward the walls. I stopped at my desk to finish cleaning up the rest of the mess.

Pushing the crumpled T-shirt once more over the sections where the oil had spilled, I noticed that several dark stains had bloomed. The spots felt smooth and slick, not wet, under my finger, and I knew the wood had absorbed the oil. Sighing, I threw the ruined shirt into the garbage.

On impulse I picked up the phone and decided to dial Aunt Marjorie’s number. She answered right away.

“Hey, Aunt Marjorie, it’s me.” I glanced at the clock. “I hope I didn’t interrupt dinner.”

“You didn’t interrupt anything that can’t be heated up later. You know that. It’s good to hear from you. How did the bridge ceremony go?”

“It was okay. There were a lot of people there, but I managed to make it through the whole thing. Other than that I’m just making up some science work with a friend from school who’s tutoring me.”

“They’re making you do
more
homework?” She sounded outraged, and I smiled. “But the whole time you were here, practically all you did was school stuff.”

“I know. But my science grades really suck. I have to take this big test at the end of summer and pass it, or else I’ll fail for the year.”

“You can do it,” she said. “I have complete confidence in you.” Then she turned serious. “Summertime is for having fun. Are you having fun, Abbey?”

I looked out the window by my desk, thinking hard about my answer. “I don’t know. Saturday was my birthday, and it was hard without Kristen here, you know? But my friend Ben came over; that was kind of awkward. And I just… I don’t know. I have a lot to think about.”

“Oh! I have your birthday card here somewhere. I’m sorry it’s late.”

“Hush,” I said. “You don’t need to worry about that.”

“So what’s the
real
reason for this phone call?” Aunt Marjorie asked.

“I wanted to talk to you about something. You didn’t question why I came to stay with you, and believe me, you’ll never know how grateful I am for that. But what if the reason I had to leave here isn’t valid anymore? What if I’m not as broken as I thought I was? Is that even possible?”

“I’m not sure I understand what you’re saying, Abbey. Whatever your reasons were, I’m sure they were valid. That doesn’t mean that things can’t change, get better. Maybe part of realizing where you are now is all because of where you were three months ago.”

“So you think…
what
? That I had to… experience what I experienced to get better?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “Just don’t be too hard on yourself for working through whatever needed to be worked through. You don’t have to carry it around with you forever, you know.”