By the Pale Moonlight (Book One of the Moonlight Series) (3 page)

"Right." He brushed past me and down the
stairs.

Bringing him had been a big mistake. I
could've kicked myself for being so stupid.

After we locked up Ty's house and said a
hasty goodbye on my front porch—with very few words exchanged
between us—I went inside. All was quiet, my parents having gone to
bed already. I tiptoed upstairs, undressed and crawled into bed
using nothing but the soft moonlight peeking through my bedroom
windows. I couldn't explain it, but the fear of someone watching
from across the way almost overwhelmed me.

Silly when I knew no one was home.

o0o

Admittedly, I'm not a morning person. When I
woke up the next day, I lay snuggled beneath my comforter, willing
myself to go back to sleep. I could practically count the number of
minutes I'd slept on my hands. What little I managed had been
haunted by a shadow creature that stalked me in the night. The rest
had been spent worrying about Ty.

I clenched my eyes closed, but my body
refused to cooperate. Giving up, I threw back the covers.

With a grunt in the direction of the blaring
TV in the living room, I made a beeline for the kitchen and my
daily dose of morning java. Mom was a fanatic when it came to her
morning exercise shows. She always forgot to turn the blasted set
off, though. With steaming mug in hand, I scanned the room for the
remote and popped the power off. From above, the sound of running
water and my father's sad rendition of Bohemian Rhapsody drifted
down to me.

Some days I was sure I must have been
adopted. How could I be related to these people?

I stepped outside to pick up the morning
paper. The cool air sent gooseflesh spreading across my arms.

Our paperboy had the worst aim in the world.
It took me a few seconds to locate our paper tucked under a bush on
the far side of the driveway. I stooped to get it. A slight
stirring in the trees made me jump back in surprise.

Ty's tousled head popped out of the brush. I
shrieked.

Placing a hand to my racing heart, I glared
at him. "Ty! You scared the crap out of me. What the hell are you
doing out here?" I got a brief glimpse at his full form before he
ducked behind a tree. My skin went warm, from the tip of my toes to
the peaks of my ears. I averted my eyes. "And why in the world are
you naked?"

"Ssh! You'll wake the entire neighborhood
screaming like that."

"It's not my fault."

I craned my neck and caught sight of one of
his hips before he moved further into the shadows.

"You're a pervert, Mac."

My face burned hot, but I couldn't help
trying to catch another glimpse of him in all his birthday-suit
glory. My girlfriends would kill to get such a view. At six foot
two, Tyler O'Neill was the stuff of fantasies. With his thick brown
hair, deep green eyes, and rugged build, Ty made more than a few
hearts skip when he walked into a room. Mine felt like it might
explode at any moment. "That doesn't explain what you're doing out
here...like that."

"Just get me something to put on."

"Fine." I paused mid-stride and crossed my
arms over my chest. "In a minute. First, you have some explaining
to do."

Just one of his green eyes peeked out from
behind the tall maple shielding him from view.

"Make it quick," he blurted out in a stage
whisper.

I pulled my face in line. "Okay. Let's start
with where you were last night."

I sensed his frown more than I saw it. "Since
when have you been keeping tabs on me?"

"Just answer my question." Flames burned high
on my cheeks, but I couldn't make myself speak the humiliating
truth out loud. We hadn't spoken in weeks, and every time we had
crossed paths, it seemed like he couldn't get away from me fast
enough.

I cleared my throat. "Well?"

He hesitated. "I needed to be alone. It's no
big deal."

He was lying. I could always tell.

"And how is it you ended up
outside...naked?"

"Can't we talk about this after you get me
something to wear?"

"Do you promise to tell me?"

"Yes."

"Fine. Don't go anywhere." I half-smiled to
myself as I headed inside.

Mom had thrown in some laundry the previous
evening. I found a pair of my dad's sweatpants and an old Led
Zepplin T-shirt in the dryer.

When I returned, Ty snatched them out of my
hand. "Turn around."

I did as instructed, but as if pulled by a
magnet, my head started a slow turn over my right shoulder.

"Mac."

I whipped forward, disappointed he had chosen
to put the sweats on first. "You ready to tell me why you're out
here?"

"No."

I turned to see him thrashing through the
trees. I pursued him, managing to get ahead of his fast pace to
block the path. "Come on, Ty. What's going on?"

He glared down at me. "Leave me alone."

My mouth dropped open. "You ass. You
promised."

"I lied."

"But..." Something around his collar caught
my attention. "Jesus, you're bleeding!"

I reached out to inspect the damage and he
pushed my hands away. "It's nothing."

"Let me look." I pulled the shirt down and
cringed at the bloody sight before me. Deep cuts gouged into his
neck and down the smooth slope of his chest. The skin was puffy and
raw. I bit down revulsion. "What happened?"

He wouldn't look at me. "Nothing."

"Obviously." I let out an impatient sigh. Why
was he being like this? "You should go to the hospital—that needs
stitches."

"Dammit, Mac! Just leave me alone."

"But..."

"No. I'm fine." His words cut off any further
protests. His hands balled into tight fists when he saw my
reaction. "I'm sorry. But, I'm fine—really."

"At least let me clean it for you." The words
were out before I could stop myself.

He clenched his jaw, apparently weighing his
options. "Fine."

Oh God
. It was too late to change my
mind now. "Let's go to my house."

"No." He nodded in the direction of his
father's tool shed. The building was just visible through the
trees. "I'll meet you in there. Don't tell anyone."

Too stunned by the morning's events to
protest, I went back inside to retrieve our first aid kit from
under the kitchen sink. Luckily, my parents hadn't come down
yet—there would be no easy way to explain this situation.

I sneaked back the way I came. Once outside,
I sprinted through the trees separating our houses, keeping to
their cover until I was within a few feet of the building set at
the back of the O'Neill property. With a quick scan of the yard to
make sure no one saw me, I ran inside and closed the door.
"Ty?"

"Over here."

He sat on a small workbench in the back of
the building. I threaded my way around his father's numerous tools
and opened the kit on a nearby table. "You'll need to take that
off," I said, indicating his T-shirt.

With gauze and antiseptic in hand, I watched
as he pulled the T-shirt over his head. I gasped. Five gashes ran
parallel down his torso, from his shoulder to just a few inches
above his belly button. His normally tan skin seemed pale against
the gaping wounds. He cringed slightly as the top of the T-shirt
pulled away from his neck.

"Oh my God," I whispered softly. "What the
hell happened to you?"

His head emerged through the neck hole and he
surveyed the area for himself. He balled the T-shirt and threw it
on the table, ignoring my question.

I touched the area around the wounds and he
took in a sucking breath. I bit my lip in sympathy. "Sorry."

I soaked the gauze in alcohol and gently
dabbed at the cuts. He closed his eyes and clenched his jaw tight,
paling under my ministrations.

"Are you in trouble?" I asked, coughing
lightly at the pungent smell of the disinfectant.

"No."

"You can tell me anything, Ty. You know that,
right?"

A hint of a sad smile played around his lips,
but it didn't reach his eyes. "I'm not involved with a gang, if
that's what you're thinking."

"Actually, I was guessing a grizzly got the
better of you."

That got half a laugh, but he tensed when I
accidentally applied a little too much pressure. "Sorry," I
whispered.

He growled low in the back of his throat.

I made sure to be careful after that. I felt
faint a couple of times, especially while working on the area on
his upper chest and neck where the cuts were deepest. Even though I
pressed lightly, warm blood soon soaked through the cloths, oozing
from the wound. Somehow I made it through without passing out. It
was one of the greatest accomplishments of my young life.

"You need a doctor," I said.

"I'm fine."

"Stop saying that." Without stitches, the
wounds would never heal. I did my best to bandage the area, threw
my remaining supplies back into the box, and slammed it closed.
"This is stupid. We're going to the hospital."

"No." He stood and shrugged back into the
T-shirt.

"If you won't go, then tell me what
happened."

He cut me off with a warning glance. "It's
none of your business."

"Are you going to
make
me play the
parent card?"

A fire ignited in his eyes and he moved
toward me quickly; I retreated until I bumped into the table behind
me.

"Stay out of this," he said.

I cringed beneath his hard stare. "Are you
threatening me?"

His face softened for a split second, but
soon he had it pinched back in line. Without a word, he thrust the
kit into my hands and pushed me toward the door. Too stunned to
protest, I went, my thoughts a jumbled mess.

"And Mac?"

I paused in the doorway.

"Don't ever bring David into my house
again."

Sitting in AP Biology on Monday, I watched
David walk an embalmed frog across the dissecting tray in a weird
marionette dance.

He sang along. "Walk this way, talk this way.
I told you to..."

"You're going to get us in trouble." I eyed
Mr. Varner, our grey-haired teacher. He made his way around the
room, hand tucked into the pocket of his brown tweed jacket,
stopping at each station to check on students' progress. Good thing
he was hard of hearing.

"Chill, Mac. I'm just messing around."

His brows drew together, small indentations
growing just above his nose. He looked like a young Brad Pitt
turned mad scientist as he tore into the frog with a scalpel.

Slick insides flew all over the place. I
pressed a hand to my mouth as my stomach lurched. I should've
skipped lunch that day; it kept threatening to come up to humiliate
me in front of half the senior class. Definitely not a good move
for someone who hoped to win Homecoming Queen.

"This is so cool." With a flick of his wrist,
David popped one of the frog's eyeballs out. It rolled across the
tray, and I swore it looked at me.

I gagged and coughed into my hand. "You're
sick."

David grinned and continued the evisceration.
He hacked off one of its legs and waggled it in front of my face.
"Hungry?"

The overpowering smell of formaldehyde hit my
nose, and hot bile rose in my throat. I scrabbled off my chair and
made tail out of the room, brushing past a stunned Mr. Varner. Once
outside, I gulped deep mouthfuls of air. With one hand against the
building to steady myself, I closed my eyes and planned how I would
kill David.

Breathe. In. Out. In. Out.

At last my insides calmed. I started to
return to class, hoping no one had noticed my rapid—and very
embarrassing—departure. That's when I saw her.

Perhaps it was the tense line of her
shoulders that caught my attention. Or maybe it was the grim frown
on her face. Either way, I knew immediately something was
wrong.

Mrs. Kramer, always the epitome of
perfection,
appeared
completely unruffled. Her light grey
suit didn't have so much as a wrinkle and not a hair of her sleek
bob was out of place. But she walked past me without acknowledging
my presence.

Something was definitely wrong. A student
outside of class always draws the attention of a school principal.
Always.

"Is everything okay, Mrs. Kramer?" I
said.

She rounded on me, eyes unfocused. She didn't
seem to recognize me. Tucking a strand of dark brown hair behind
her ear, she at last snapped out of it. "Oh, Ms. Wilhelm. I didn't
see you there. Why aren't you in class?"

"Just getting a little fresh air." Warmth
spread across my cheeks. "I'm a little queasy from our dissection
today."

"I see."

Her eyes swept the courtyard. I wondered if
she had heard my reply.

"If you'll excuse me," she said.

I watched her go in bewilderment. With a
shrug, I went back inside, glaring at David until he backed off
with the frog part clenched in his fingers. For the rest of the
period, he continued the dissection while I tucked my nose in a SAT
prep book and did my best to ignore the sights and smells around
me. The test was on Saturday and I was determined to make top
marks.

Near the end of the period, the crackle of
our PA system springing to life interrupted the squeals and rowdy
laughter around the room. Marking my place with a finger, I lowered
my book and stared up at the speaker over the door. In my four
years at the school, I'd never once witnessed it being put to
use.

Mrs. Kramer's warbled voice came across the
system. "May I have your attention, please?"

Static cut through her words. Mr. Varner
shushed the class and craned his good ear toward the sound.

"Classes are canceled for the remainder of
the day. I request all students return home immediately. Any
student without transportation should report to the office where
rides will be arranged."