A Whispered Darkness (8 page)

“I’ll be there. You go ahead.”

Haven paused, his face flushing. “Look, if you want, come sit with me at lunch.”

“Thanks,” I told him. “I really appreciate that.”

He nodded and headed out of class. I noticed the two girls who left after him gave him wide berth. Beside me, Bryan cleared his throat. “I hope you’re not developing a soft spot for Haven.”

With an unladylike grunt, I hefted the over-filled bag over one shoulder. “Bryan, there is no reason why I can’t be nice to people.”

“I know I’ve probably screwed things up, but there are things you don’t know about him.”

I stopped in the doorway and glared over my shoulder. “There are a lot of things I don’t know about you.” Without giving him time to argue, I headed out the door, waving a hand over my shoulder. “See you later.”

I made a beeline for the girls’ bathroom. Neither of them would follow me there, and I needed a few minutes alone. Being in the midst of so many people drained me. I’d forgotten what it was like to be a high school student. I spent the last half of my previous high school year in tutoring with doctors, psychiatrists, and my parents watching my every move. All because of one mistake. One huge mistake. Even though I guarded against it now, the weight of their thoughts and dreams and energy gripped me

The important thing, and the thought which made me happiest, was that I’d controlled myself. With very little thought or effort, I had kept things together. Before I got to school, I couldn’t admit how scared I’d been I wouldn’t be able to do it. But I had, and my confidence soared.

I dropped my book bag on the floor, used the bathroom, and washed my hands. I checked my hair, my cell phone, and after a few more minutes had passed, I had no other reason to avoid the crowded cafeteria. So I hauled the book bag on my back again and headed toward the smell of food and the loud, raucous noise of the lunchroom.

When I walked in, the long tables were mostly full. Only a few small round tables, set off to the side, remained open. A group of pastel-clad, overly perky girls I assumed would be cheerleaders and the popular crowd filled one. Another, set even farther apart and almost shoved in a corner, was empty except for Haven.

After everything this morning, I knew sitting there would be a poor social choice. But I moved across the lunchroom and stopped in front of the chair across from him.

“Can I still sit with you?”

“Sure,” he waved me to the chair next to him, but no smile crossed his lips. “I have to warn you though, sitting with me is sort of like joining a leper colony.”

I slid another chair out and put my book bag on it, pulling my lunch bag from a side pocket. “Well, if I’m going to do something, I’m not going to do it by halves. You don’t seem like the ax-murderer type to me.” I resisted a frown when he stiffened. “Or are you?”

“No.” He relaxed, sitting back in his chair. “No, not an ax murderer.”

I unwrapped my sandwich and tilted my head. “Poison, then? No, wait, you seem like a ‘lead-pipe-in-the-library’ kind of guy.”

To my surprise he laughed, and amusement broke across his face. “That’s it. You’ve learned my deep, dark secret.”

“I knew it. I pride myself on my uncanny mental powers.”

He saluted me with his soda, and we fell into an easy conversation about the school and our classes.

A few minutes later, Grant fell into the chair next to Haven. He stuck out one hand. “Hi. I’m Grant.”

“I remember.” Haven shook the hand my brother offered. “Haven.”

“Are you okay?” I asked. Grant looked like he’d been run over by a bus.

He slouched farther into his seat. “My last class nearly killed me.”

“Who was it?” Haven balled up his trash, chucking it into the large trashcan sitting ten feet away.

“Mrs. Malone, for Biology.”

Haven nodded. “Sorry to tell you, but it doesn’t get better.”

Grant groaned and slapped a hand across his face. “I knew you would say that.”

“How are the other classes?” I finished the last piece of brownie and gathered my trash together.

His response began to fade into the background as I looked up, my eyes straying to a pale, gaunt figure walking past the cafeteria windows across from us. They were floor to ceiling, and showed the man clearly. At first, I thought he was a janitor. He wore blue denim pants and a blue button-up shirt. Light brown hair stuck in messy clumps around a thin face with a scraggly goatee. When my gaze hit his knees and the pant legs thinned and faded into nothing, my stomach dropped. The ghost turned, as if he suddenly realized I saw him, and his mouth opened into a preternaturally wide scream.

“Hey!” Grant waved a hand in front of my face. “Earth to Claire! What’s wrong with you?” He turned, following my gaze and then raised an eyebrow, concern slipping into his tone. “Claire? Everything okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just zoned out for a moment.”

Haven’s brow furrowed and he glanced back as well. When he turned around, he stared at me. One finger rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Do that often?”

“Sorry. Just sleepy. All that moving and new place and all that.” I laughed a little too brightly. “What did you ask me?”

“I asked how your classes were going.” Grant said.

“They’re all right. But it’s only the first day.”

I slipped out of the chair and threw away my garbage. Haven’s speculative look unnerved me. This time, things were going to be different. I was determined.

When I sat back down, Grant leaned over. “What I really want to know is what you’ve done to piss off Bryan.”

I made a face. “He thinks I need his advice about who to hang out with.”

Haven sighed. “In his defense, I’ve got a reputation.”

“For what?”

He paused. “It’s better you find that out on your own.”

Grant grinned and looked at Haven. “Dude, I’m totally on your team.”

Haven’s lips twitched. “Thanks. You two have tripled the size of my ‘team’ in one day.”

The bell rang and Grant got to his feet. “We’re usually on the underdog’s side.”

“How does the underdog usually come out, in your experience?” Haven asked.

Grant’s gaze flicked to mine. “Jury’s still out.”

Friday morning, our second week of school, I stood in the hallway with Bryan. Because I’d gotten confused the first couple of days, he decided I was incapable of remembering anything about navigating high school. I’d joked about it the first three days, but now it irritated me.

As Bryan asked me about where I’d be after my last class, my temper snapped.

“I’m not an idiot, Bryan. You know where I’ll be, and so do I. Now leave me alone and let me get to class.”

I stormed off, pleased at the way his mouth dropped into an astonished “O.”

The pleasure at surprising him faded into guilt as I took my seat in English.

Haven sat on the other side of the room. I couldn’t really escape him in a school this small. We pulled out our books, and I bit my lip. Truth was, I had a huge crush on him. Not that I’d admit it out loud. He didn’t seem interested in more than friendship, and I wasn’t going to make the first move. I focused on the assignment Mrs. Hamilton discussed at the front of the room. A creative writing activity, based on a field trip we’d take at the beginning of next week. Permission slips came down the rows, and I stared at the location.

Riverview Cemetery
.

“Cemetery?” I gaped.

The girl in front of me rolled her eyes and slid the paper in her binder. “She takes a group every year, though the assignment changes each time. Mrs. Hamilton’s got a morbid side to her.”

At least most graveyards didn’t have ghosts. Given the choice, a spirit was more likely to hang around their house or some other place of strong emotion. Cemeteries didn’t hold such connections for most of them. I hoped this would be a quiet one. I’d spent the last two weeks keeping an eye out for the ghost I’d seen in the hall. So far, he had only made one other brief appearance.

For the rest of class, Mrs. Hamilton gave us a preliminary creative writing exercise. We had to take an event from our summer vacation and retell it as a flash fiction story, with a bit of embellishment. An educational form of the “two truths and a lie” icebreaker.

My pen hovered over my paper. A smile I couldn’t contain slipped out. I had quite a few topics I could choose from. Should I write about my parents’ divorce? The blond who had more plastic than Mattel and aspirations to be our stepmother? We lived in a seriously creepy haunted house that gave my brother nightmares and growled at me. How would I write that one down?

I picked the move. Toned it down so most of my story was pure fiction, but it sounded mundane enough to be reality. When I finished, I slouched back in my chair and read it over. Sometimes I wished my reality were more like the story.

I switched with the guy beside me, marked two spelling mistakes and a comma error and proceeded to doodle on my notebook while he finished. He hovered over my paper with a pen, intent. After a few minutes, he scribbled a couple words at the bottom and handed it back with a smile.

“Nice.”

I mumbled something inane and handed his back as well. Mrs. Hamilton had us pass up papers, and then the bell rang. Haven caught my eye as I slung my book-bag over my shoulder. The speculative look was back on his face, and I wondered what he thought he saw.

“See you later, Claire.” He said, and headed for the door.

I mumbled something non-committal as I waited for the other people in front of me to slide out of the row of desks. Grant lounged against the wall outside, his head bent and dark circles around his eyes. The frown that seemed to have become a permanent part of his face was deeper than normal. Grant was struggling with the social aspects of high school. Usually that was my job, but our roles had reversed this time around. I wished I knew how to help him, but I preferred the loner role. Grant was a social creature.

“Did you have as much fun as me today?” he asked.

“Doubt it. You look like a barrel of laughs.”

One side of his mouth rose. “Yeah, yeah. I know. I’m the life of the party.”

I snorted and we headed for the front doors. Mom’s car wasn’t at the curb. A glance at my watch confirmed we were running late. Only a few more minutes and the buses would leave.

“She’s not coming.” Grant’s voice was flat.

“Think positive.”

“All right. I’m positive she’s not coming.”

I glanced at my watch once more, then back at the buses. With a groan, I snagged Grant’s elbow and we sprinted to our bus, jumping on right before the engine roared to life. It wasn’t crowded. Most kids caught rides or stayed after for an activity.

Grant slouched against the green pleather seat and turned his head to stare out the window.

“You know how Mom gets with her projects. She probably lost track of time.” Even as I said it, I wiped sweaty palms on my jeans and tried to ignore the sinking feeling in my gut. I’m not even sure why I bothered trying to defend her.

He didn’t even turn to look at me. “Let’s face it, Claire. Mom’s so devoted to making the house into her dream home, she forgot to get us.”

I wanted to protest, but knew when we got home she’d be in the back rooms. And thirty minutes later, after we’d trudged up the driveway when the bus dropped us off, I discovered I was right.

“Mom?” Grant yelled. He flung his book bag into the corner of the foyer so hard a picture bounced and nearly shot off the wall.

There was rustling, and then her head appeared around the corner of the door in the back room. Her hair was bound with a red handkerchief, and dirt smudged her cheeks.

“Oh, God, I’m so sorry guys. I got caught up in what I was doing and lost track of time. You won’t believe what I’ve found in here. Come and see!”

Grant snorted. “Like hell.”

She frowned at him, but he was around the corner and upstairs before she lodged a real protest. My throat ached with the effort of keeping my own angry words in.

“Aren’t you leaving for work soon?”

Panic flickered and she leapt to her feet. “What time is it?”

“Almost four.”

She ran past me upstairs, cursing under her breath. At least the house didn’t seem able to keep her from remembering all her duties. Only the ones involving Grant and me. Bitterness brought tears to my eyes, but I shoved the emotion aside.

I headed up to my room, dropping my book bag next to the desk. Dull, repetitious bass thumped through the wall between Grant’s room and mine. Loud angry music and a shut door. Universal signs he was pissed at Mom.

In another world, she’d have gone and nagged him through the door until he opened it and they talked about whatever was wrong.

That was then, and this was now.

I wasn’t going to stand at his door. Instead, I’d opt for the more subtle way to Grant’s heart—food.

As I left my room, I paused. The temperature dropped, and I turned my head toward the tower library. The door was open, and inside, the wheelchair that had freaked me out sat in the center of the room, the empty, cracked seat facing the door. When my eyes rested on it, the wheels squeaked forward a few inches.

My heart leapt in my throat. The cold latched on to my skin, freezing me to the spot. I didn’t want to see anything. Willed myself not to, but it was too late for that. A bit of darkness broke off from the shadows at the back of the room. The shape flickered and bent like light through water. An old movie screen version of a small girl with pinafore and ringlets bounced up behind the chair, until just her eyes were visible over the back.

Dark, black orbs that glinted despite the foggy quality of the ghost. A high-pitched giggle echoed around me and the hair on my nape rose. The small face rose behind the chair, a smile plumping cherub cheeks before her lips parted and revealed needle-like teeth. I shrieked, and the door to the room slammed shut.

Mom’s head popped out of her room. “What happened?”

“I—” The words didn’t want to come out of my mouth.

Mom’s brow furrowed and she took in the closed door. Her mouth curled at the corners like she enjoyed a private joke. “You must have seen the doll I found in there earlier. I didn’t mean to startle you.”