Truth or Dare (3 page)

Dr. Filstone watched her narrowly for a second, then jotted a few notes down on a pad. “Well, we can try again next time if you want,” she told Caitlin. “But for now”—she tapped the small clock sitting on her desk—“it looks like our time is just about up.” She watched Caitlin for another second. “Are you keeping a dream journal as we discussed?”

Caitlin nodded and stood up. “I am.”

“Good.” Dr. Filstone made another note in her pad. “All right, I’ll see you next week, Caitlin.”

Caitlin gave Dr. Filstone a shaky wave before heading out of the office.

She couldn’t stop rehashing what she’d seen during hypnosis. Was it a memory? She thought of that painted steel train. She’d seen it before somewhere. She was positive. But
where
?

It was what the kidnapping had done to her memory: filled it up with craters so deep she could never reach the bottom. Dr. Filstone called it repression. But to Caitlin it felt more like an invasion, as if somewhere deep inside her brain, a meteorite had crashed. She blew out a frustrated breath.

She wanted to believe what the cops had told her: that there were
no loose ends in the case, that it had been tied up long ago. After she’d been safely returned home, the cops found the DNA of a man named Jack Hudson on her jacket, which had surfaced at the beach. It was just the proof they’d needed, and they’d immediately arrested Jack.

But something about it had felt wrong to her,
off
. When she’d told her parents that, they’d gently explained that she was just experiencing post-traumatic stress. So she’d dropped it.

Then, right before the trial, Jack had killed himself—hanged himself from the rafters of his house. He’d left a note behind, with only five short words on it.
I can’t be this man.
An admission of guilt, according to the cops. As was his suicide, many said. Innocent men didn’t kill themselves. The case was closed.

But sometimes, when Caitlin had one of her nightmares, she got the strangest feeling that they were trying to show her something,
tell
her something. And more and more, she feared that it was about Jack Hudson.

As she crossed through the waiting room, Caitlin was so lost in her thoughts that she almost walked straight into Delancey Crane. Delancey’s huge blue eyes widened at the sight of her. “I’m so sorry, Caitlin,” she gushed, breaking into an eager smile. In a conservative green dress, a matching headband taming her dark, bushy curls, Delancey looked more like she was going to church than to therapy.

Caitlin tried not to wince. Of all the people to randomly run into at Dr. Filstone’s office, Abby Wilkins’s Purity Club cofounder would not have been her first choice. “Don’t worry about it,” Caitlin said. Delancey wasn’t exactly her favorite person—especially the way she was constantly flaunting her gold promise ring like it was a decree of purity—but Caitlin plastered a friendly smile on her face, pretending to be happy to see her. “I didn’t know you saw Dr. Filstone.”

Delancey shrugged. “My mom has decided that therapy is the only way to self-actualization,” she explained. “So here I am. Actualizing.”

Caitlin forced out a laugh. “Sounds like my parents,” she lied. “Well, I’d better run,” she said, giving Delancey a friendly squeeze on the arm. “See you Tuesday?”

“I’ll see you tonight,” Delancey corrected. “You’ll be at Tenley’s, right?”

“Of course,” Caitlin replied with as much enthusiasm as she could muster. She couldn’t believe she’d almost forgotten about Tenley’s party. Tenley had been texting her about it nonstop since she got back into town two days ago. She was calling it the jailbreak party: With practically all the parents in town busy at the Club’s gala, everyone who mattered would be able to break out and join the fun. “See you there.”

Delancey nodded eagerly, and Caitlin gave her a friendly wave before heading out to the parking lot. But even after she stepped into the sunshine, she couldn’t get that hypnosis session out of her mind. She didn’t even know if the flashback, or hallucination, or whatever it was, was
real
. Maybe it was all just the work of an overactive imagination.

That had to be it, she decided as she reached her blue VW convertible.

She’d just started her car when her phone buzzed with a text.
Mani pedis b4 the party?
Tenley had written.
@ Nifty like old times??

Caitlin’s heart gave a little thump. Before Tenley moved away, they had gone to Nifty Nail Salon almost every week. It was a crappy salon in the next town over, with a flickering neon sign and chairs that shook instead of massaged. But it was
theirs
. For a wild second she thought about saying yes. Just skipping out on cheerleading tryouts and driving
straight to Nifty to let the smell of old nail polish and overly perfumed oils chase everything out of her mind. But she knew she could never let Emerson down like that.

Her temples screamed out in pain, and she reached up automatically to rub them.

I wish
, she wrote back.
But got cheer tryouts. Give me an A….

She gunned the engine and pulled onto Art Walk, making her way slowly through the crowded downtown area. There was a quicker way to get to school, but it meant crossing through Dreadmore Cliffs, or the Dread, as everyone called it, and Caitlin tried to do that as little as possible. There was something about the Dread that made her nervous. Its closely packed apartment buildings, maybe, or the thin layer of rust that seemed to settle over everything.

Keeping one hand on the wheel, she switched the radio to her favorite hip-hop station. It was completely counterintuitive, but somehow blasting bass helped get rid of her headaches. The pain had just started to improve when the music suddenly faded, replaced by the DJ’s gravelly voice. “And now for WMVR’s daily update on the Lost Girl trial,” he announced. “Just minutes ago, Nicole Mayor’s parents finally received their justice when Wesley Hamm was officially convicted of their daughter’s murder. For the first time, justice has been served for one of Echo Bay’s Lost Girls. But here’s what I want to know—and I bet many of you are wondering the same thing. Is the so-called Lost Girl Curse finished, or will the ocean take another beautiful young woman from us during this year’s Fall Festival?”

Caitlin quickly turned the radio off, but not before her head began to pound all over again. This whole summer she hadn’t been able to turn on the TV or the radio without hearing about the case to convict Nicole Mayor’s killer—or the Lost Girl Trial, as it had been dubbed.
The whole story was awful. Years ago, Nicole, a popular Winslow junior, had taken her parents’ boat out for an early-morning spin during Fall Festival weekend, only to end up losing control in the windy weather. She’d fallen overboard, and died trapped between the Phantom Rock and the hull of her boat.

It was declared an accident: a case of a young woman who hadn’t known her own boating limits. But her parents had held firmly to the belief that their daughter hadn’t been out there alone. They were sure someone else had been with her—and killed her by pushing her overboard. Now, almost six years later, thanks to a new advancement in DNA testing, they’d finally been able to prove they were right. Her boyfriend, Wesley Hamm,
had
gone boating with her, and had left behind signs of a physical struggle. After an intensive, three-month-long trial, it was official. He’d killed her.

One year after Nicole’s death, almost to the day, another girl had drowned, and Echo Bay’s historical society had canceled the Fall Festival indefinitely. But five years later, the Festival was back. And Caitlin was one of the people working on it.

Caitlin’s head was pounding so hard by now that she nearly missed the turn into Winslow. She quickly forced all thoughts of Nicole Mayor and the Lost Girls out of her mind.

“I’m so glad you’re here!” Emerson squealed when she reached the field. Emerson was wearing her white cheer uniform and her skin was flawless and glowing; she’d obviously spent the day tanning at the Club. Or
practically
flawless. Caitlin caught a glimpse of red on Emerson’s neck, peeking out from underneath a layer of cover-up, but she pretended not to notice. The last thing she needed right now was tension between her and Em over a hickey from
him
. Emerson’s secret older boyfriend was a touchy subject. When Caitlin had hinted that
she wasn’t sure the relationship was such a good idea, Emerson had gone on the offensive. After that, Caitlin had adopted a new motto when it came to all things Mystery Man: Steer clear.

“How was the big bad brain doctor?” Emerson said it teasingly, but her hazel eyes flashed with worry. For all her cracks about Dr. Filstone, Emerson could fret with the best of them when it came to Caitlin.

“You know, breathing,” Caitlin said.

Emerson snorted. “I could tell you to breathe.” She grabbed Caitlin’s hand, pulling her over to where a bunch of girls were stretching. “Come on, stretch with me.”

Emerson dropped to the ground, bending over her legs, and Caitlin followed suit, turning her head so she could watch the runners circling the track. She hadn’t run in weeks and she suddenly found herself wishing she could go join them, let her legs pump furiously as the miles melted away beneath her. But she wasn’t here to run, she reminded herself. Thanks to an injury to her ankle last year, a jog was the fastest she could go now. Which meant track was officially out of the picture. This time, she was here to cheer.

“Angel!”

Caitlin looked up at the sound of the nickname she’d earned back in elementary school, after being voted “Class Angel” in the school yearbook. Jessie Morrow, the captain of the cheer squad, was waving at her from over by a large bin of pom-poms. Jessie was one of those small girls who managed to make everything she did seem supersized. She moved extra-fast, tumbled extra-high, smiled extra-wide. It was as if she’d been made for cheering.

“Emerson said you were coming today,” Jessie exclaimed. “But I told her I’d believe
the
Angel Thomas wanted on the squad when I saw
it. But you’re here!” She nodded at Emerson as she pulled her brown ringlets into a high ponytail. “Nice going, Em.”

Emerson gave her a tight smile. Emerson had never been a huge fan of Jessie’s, and after Jessie made squad captain instead of her, things had gotten even tenser between them. Emerson had a theory that Jessie had somehow bribed Coach Laurel into making her captain. “Well, I saw the new uniforms,” Caitlin said quickly, trying to fill the awkward silence. “And I just couldn’t resist.”

Jessie laughed. As she headed off to distribute pom-poms to the team, Caitlin quickly rubbed her temples. When would this stupid headache go away?

“Hey.” Emerson hit her on the shoulder, shooting her a concerned look. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, fine. I just…” Caitlin trailed off. She… what? Felt like her head might detonate at any second? She cleared her throat. “I guess I’m just a little nervous.”

“Well, you’re going to be great,” Emerson assured her. She looked over at their friend Tricia, who was stretching a couple of feet away. “In fact, I think your only real competition is Trish,” she whispered, giving Tricia a friendly wave as she said it.

“Mmm,” Caitlin murmured noncommittally. She spread her legs into a V and bent down to stretch her hamstrings. As she did, an image suddenly flashed through her head: a painted steel train. Her chest tightened. Why couldn’t she shake that memory?

Her chest tightened even more, and she tried to focus on something—anything—else. What she was going to wear to Tenley’s party tonight. The hours she needed to log at the animal shelter tomorrow. Her class schedule for Tuesday, waiting on her desk to be scrutinized. Her chest
tightened even more. Everything just made her feel worse. The panic she’d been holding at bay for so long crept in around her.

“Be right back,” she mumbled to Emerson. Righting herself, she hurried toward the locker rooms at the edge of the field. Inside, she let the door slam shut behind her. She sagged against it as she fumbled through her purse, her hands closing around a small bottle.

For emergencies
, Dr. Filstone had told her. Well, this was an emergency. Popping one of the pills into her mouth, she cupped some water from the sink and swallowed it back.
There
. She took a long, slow breath, picturing the pill swimming its way into her stomach, numbing her insides as it went. Just knowing it would kick in soon made her feel better.

By the time she made it back to center field, Jessie was calling for everyone to line up. Emerson gave Caitlin a thumbs-up as she joined the line of girls trying out. There was only one spot open on Varsity, and six girls vying for it. But as the pill began to loosen up her muscles, Caitlin felt her nerves dissolve. It was like Jessie had said. She was
the
Angel Thomas. She had this.

“We’re going to start with an easy cheer,” Jessie announced in the kind of peppy voice that made it sound as if she’d just downed three energy drinks. “The team and I will demonstrate, then you guys will mimic. Okay?”

Without waiting for an answer, Jessie, Emerson, and the rest of the squad flew into a short routine, making it look effortless. They finished with a cheer: “We’re Echo Bay Lions, and when we
roar
, you’ll hear our echo forever
more
!” They slid into identical splits, arms raised high.

“Okay!” Jessie exclaimed. She leaped up, clapping her hands together. “Your turn, girls.”

A few of the girls stumbled as they tried to imitate Emerson and
Jessie’s moves, but Caitlin felt herself catching on quickly. As she jumped into a perfect toe touch, she caught Jessie nodding approvingly in her direction.

After two more runs through the routine, Jessie blew on her whistle. “All right, ladies, that was great. Now how about we take this up a notch? I want you all to try a basket toss,” she explained. She stepped aside, letting several squad members demonstrate the move. “Then, if you know how, a front handspring.” She smiled brightly at Caitlin. “Caitlin and Tricia, you two seem the most advanced. Why don’t you guys go first?”