Uncertainty (4 page)

At the time, I'd brushed off Warwick's words. Of course Hell was close, we lived in it.

But now I realized the phrase had rung familiar at the time. I'd seen it somewhere else. I hadn't made the connection back then, too overwhelmed with my narrow escape from death and the discovery of the girls' bodies. Too much had happened too quickly.

I kicked the piles of unattended laundry on the floor. They were a testament to my utter lack of giving a crap, considering the laundry room was just across the hall. My room was tiny, full of a lifetime of collections I'd started and given up on, and habits I'd broken just to pick up again.

I'd seen the phrase written somewhere. Scrawled sloppily along an uneven surface. I could almost picture the words. Almost.

Scrambling for more details, I shut my sleep-heavy eyes. Who had been there with me? Theo, definitely, but Theo was always around, so that didn't narrow it down. Alex. Before they were dating, as I remembered them snarking at the time, and not in a loving couple kind of way.

And Henry.

Realization hit me and I snapped my fingers. The sound was uncomfortably loud in the sleeping house, and I wondered if I'd wake my parents. Then I realized how unrealistic that was, being as they were two flights above me. Claire may have been observant, but she wasn't the psychic one.

The orphanage. The phrase been spray-painted on the back outside wall of the Dexter Orphanage, and I'd noticed it last year when we sneaked it to do a seance. I had no idea what the connection between Warwick and the orphanage could be, since he told me the place was dangerous and should be torn down.

I dreamed about it for a reason, I was certain. Maybe I was reaching, making something out of nothing, but I wasn't about to entertain that possibility. There was something more to this revelation.

Go back to sleep, warned the logical part of my brain. You can figure this out tomorrow. Preferably with someone sane to bounce ideas off of.

Good luck with that, the much stronger, irrational part of my brain fired back.

3:00 AM glowed bright green on the alarm clock. I yanked the rumpled comforter over the mashed pillows, to give the appearance of someone beneath. This was the only time that I wouldn't have a parent or someone else hovering over me. As unsafe as it seemed to go out in the middle of the night, I had to check it out.

I knew it was a stupid idea. I didn't care.

Rummaging through my disorganized dresser, I pulled out an old black sweatshirt and dark gray pants. Once I had changed out of the school clothes I'd never bothered to take off, I straightened my spine and assessed my physical state. The jitters and nerves had subsided, for the most part. My blood could have been replaced by gallons of Gatorade.

I stopped only for a moment at the french doors, sliding one side open as quietly as possible. I winced when the hinge squeaked a little. But all was silent upstairs. Without another thought, I slipped into the summer night.

Outside, the darkness was all-encompassing and heavy. The buzzing insects combined with the rush of far-off cars on the expressway. Night music. I had only rarely heard it before, through opened windows and on car rides home.

It felt like my world alone, free and dangerous. Once I passed the end of our driveway, it was like a different planet. My footsteps sounded unbearably loud, making me extremely alert. Every shadow seemed to move and breath.

The streets were empty of both people and traffic. Cars rested in driveways. Dark houses stood as silent monuments, silhouettes against the flat sheet of gray clouds. I made my way on the sidewalk, as swiftly as I could. I kept switching to the edge of lawn grass, trying to quiet my deafening footsteps.

Mosquitoes dive-bombed every bare spot of my skin. I swatted my neck, momentarily distracted by another sting. Stupid itchy bites.

The yellow glow of headlights crested a hill in the distance. Panicking, I dove behind a row of scrubby, unkempt bushes. It wasn't thick protection; it was like having a shield full of holes. If the car drove close enough, I'd easily be visible.

My heart beat hard and uneven, and the burning feeling I'd felt in McPherson's office started up on my scalp, like a sunburn. It took everything to keep still, as a wave of my earlier anxiety came back.

Please, please don't let me get caught, I begged soundlessly. I'm so close.

Sanitarium Road, the dirt road on which the orphanage resided, was mere minutes away. The grinding of the car's motor crept closer. Was it my imagination or was the driver slowing down? I thought I heard the squeal of breaks.

I dug my fingers into the dirt on either side of me, and held my breath. You can't see me.

The lone car rolled past my hiding spot and was gone. I stayed in place, still breathing heavily. Still waiting. But I was alone on the road again. The driver hadn't spotted me.

Crouching up from my hiding spot, I brushed dried grass and dirt off my pants and untangled my hair from the spines on the bushes. Sweat trickled off my forehead and I wiped my sweatshirt sleeve across my brow.

I no longer took my sweet time strolling the street. I ran as fast as I could.

The Dexter Orphanage seemed different when I arrived. I couldn't put my finger on the reason why, exactly. But the front of the building, rising out of the dark like a nightmare, seemed more solid. Even with its broken windows and caving roof, it was sturdier. Stronger.

The wrought iron gate gave way. An instantly familiar groan issued from its century-old hinges. A shiver rippled through me, in no way related to the temperature.

A new sign reading SOLD stuck out of the ground on a post. Just last year, whoever had owned it had set up a haunted house. I wondered if the new owners would continue that tradition, or merely tear the old wreck down. It also occurred to me that someone might be inside, watching me trespass. But I realized I didn't much care, and I would be quick.

I was wasting time I didn't have. Hedging around the side of the building, I patted my pocket for my little pink emergency flashlight. I brought it out but didn't turn it on yet. I just wanted to have it in hand, in case something jumped out at me.

My hand brushed against the building's gritty brick. I snatched it back. For a brief second, it had felt like something else. Like rough, calloused skin. Pulling at my sleeve absentmindedly with my teeth, I thought about how alone I was out here. Just me and the old place.

You are ridiculous, Ariel. Although I had no desire to touch the brick again, I forced myself to run my fingers over it. It felt like regular old brick this time, bumpy and dry.

But I didn't forget what I'd felt before.

Rushing around the back, I clicked the flashlight on. This was it; the moment of discovery. A sudden, unbidden burst of excitement rose in me. Maybe the words would be glowing. Maybe I'd find a secret panel or something.

My hopes were dashed the instant I shined the flashlight beam on the wall. The entire surface of the building had been scrubbed thoroughly. Maybe even power-washed, too. Heavy tarps had been stapled at every inch over the broken windows. It was hard to imagine my friends and I had ever used those windows to sneak in.

No graffiti remained. No trace of the paint that had once defaced the wall. I plucked tiny fibers of yellow sponge left behind in the grit. Mission failed.

I couldn't move for several seconds, maybe minutes. I just stood there like an idiot, the flashlight shining a bright circle on nothing. How could my trip have been wasted? I took a foolish risk, walking all the way there, and had nothing to show for it. Why hadn't I made the connection between what Warwick had said and what I'd seen sooner?

At least the mosquitoes had stopped attacking. Now that I looked around, there weren't any insects at all. No signs of life. The trees were still. Even the stars were hidden by the humid clouds, only a few holes from which the dark sky leered.

The lonely feeling became stronger. What had before made me feel free now just made me feel vulnerable. I was so far from home. I turned and slowly began retracing my steps. I had to stop chasing smoke trails, before I stepped into a fire.

Another hole parted the clouds above. The nearly full moon shone a spotlight on me. I froze, about halfway back to the front of the building. The orphanage had no close neighbors, and tall trees lined the fence. But I still worried I'd be seen. There was no sign anyone had occupied the orphanage yet, but I couldn't be too sure.

The dead child's mouth is a screaming hole if I die here today I'll never get out

The awful image, a swirling wasteland of a mouth, intense hungry darkness, had flashed in my brain. I couldn't remember seeing such a thing, yet it was a memory. It must have been from one of the horror movies I'd seen. It must've been.

I was standing parallel to the caretaker's shed. The building was sagging towards the earth, having taken a beating from the Michigan weather. The jackpine that stood guard before it had grown even more twisted and bushy, tangling within itself. Like the tree had lost its mind.

I have got to get out of here. But my legs wouldn't move. Shadows cast by the still-shining moon made it appear that the shed door was cracked. I squinted. It wasn't an illusion. The door was open a sliver.

Almost like it was extending an invitation.

I couldn't stop my feet from wandering over. I peered around me for any sign of being watched, or being caught. But I was still alone. So alone. Always alone, aren't you, Ariel? Even when there are others around...

It was almost like someone else's voice was putting words into my head. I tried to clear my thoughts and focus. I reached out and pulled the door open, stepping inside.

The next thing I knew, I was walking into my basement. I froze with my hand still on the handle. I was just at the orphanage, what felt like literally a second ago. How was I back here?

I tried to think, but it was like a wall had thrown itself up in my short term memory. I couldn't remember anything, after I'd opened the shed door. And it didn't feel like any time had passed. But I was back at my house, like I'd never left.

My head throbbed like crazy. I rubbed the temples with the heels of both hands. I'd never blacked out like this. I'd had a few brief times a year ago when I'd lost moments, minutes of time, one during the seance in which everyone thought (mistakenly) that I'd had a seizure.

But nothing like this. I must have been so tired that I didn't remember walking home. It could have been the benzo withdrawal messing with my memory, I surmised. Not feeling in control of my own brain frightened me.

Outside the glass door panes, the world was beginning to take on the pale shade of approaching dawn. That meant there was at least an hour I couldn't account for. Maybe longer. That scared me even more.

In my room, I pulled the bed spread down and slipped off my tennis shoes. I had to try to sleep. School was in a couple of hours, whether I had rested or not. And I just wanted to forget my stupid night time excursion.

A monstrous thudding erupted, shaking the walls from its intensity. Banging came from every direction at once, yet nowhere in particular. I backed out of the door and into the hallway, my shoulders hitting the drywall. Sliding towards the floor, I cowered and covered my ears. It sounded like the house was collapsing down around me.

Shutting my eyes, I buried my face between my knees. Tiny mewling sounds of fear escaped my mouth. The knocking continued, drilling into my brain. I couldn't take it anymore. If it kept up, I would go insane.

And then the sound swallowed itself up. I brought my hands down and listened. It had become a faint, steady rapping. An ordinary sound, caused by a person. Listening closely, I realized it was coming from the french doors.

Back in the main basement, I couldn't see anything outside. The porch light had burnt out months ago and Hugh hadn't gotten around to replacing it. The early morning fog was impenetrable, hazier with the light of the rising sun.

Unnatural shadows had gathered just outside. Whatever lay beyond was a guess. I swallowed in my dry throat, and crept closer. I threw the lock open. The door slid open with a rush of strange, bitter-scented air.

"Finally!" Jenna exclaimed, marching into the room and regarding me with her hands on her slender hips. "I've been knocking forever!"

CHAPTER 4

AIR RATTLED AROUND
uselessly in my lungs. I was on the verge of hyperventilating, but no matter how deeply I breathed, I couldn't get enough oxygen. I clutched my hands in an unnatural position up by my heart, kneading my knuckles with numb fingers.

Jenna had sprawled on my bed, curly hair like snakes across the lump of pillows. She was currently investigating her nails.

"These hearts took so long to paint, I'm glad they're not chipping," she said to herself.

She looked so real. I was standing just inside the room, and had decided I was officially nuts, medication or not. Commit me now, because this was crazy.

She still wore the same clothes as the night she disappeared, just like when I'd seen her in visions and dreams. But that had felt far away, almost like something out of a fable. The fairy godmother who visits in the night, albeit the goth, spooky version. This was dangerous and up close.