Dreadful Sorry

Title Page

Table of Contents

Copyright

Dedication

Acknowledgments

Epigraph

Lost...

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

...and gone forever

Other Harcourt Novels by Kathryn Reiss

Copyright © 1993 by Kathryn Reiss

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

Requests for permission to make copies of any part of the work should be mailed to the following address: Permissions Department, Harcourt, Inc., 6277 Sea Harbor Drive, Orlando, Florida 32887-6777.

www.HarcourtBooks.com

First Harcourt paperback edition 2004

The Library of Congress has cataloged the hardcover edition as follows:
Reiss, Kathryn.
Dreadful Sorry/by Kathryn Reiss.
p. cm.

Summary: Seventeen-year-old Molly is plagued by nightmares and visions of a girl who died over eighty years ago. [1. Supernatural—Fiction. 2. Reincarnation—Fiction.] I. Title.

PZ7.R2776Dr 1993
[Fic]—dc20 92-38780

ISBN 0-15-224213-9
ISBN 0-15-205087-6 pb

Text set in Bembo
Designed by Lydia D'moch

G H

For my sons,
Nicholas Graham
and
Daniel Geoffrey

Special thanks to
Karen Grove of Harcourt for outstanding editorial assistance; and to Tom Strychacz for generous proofreading, several very good plot twists, and continued loving support.

 

Thanks also to Joseph Molnar for information about fishing boats and stories of the sea, and to Bruce Pavlik for research on native Maine grasses.

"O day and night, but this is wondrous strange.

—William Shakespeare
Hamlet,
act I, scene 5

I know it is impossible, but I'm floating down the hall. The emptiness echoes, the walls press close. I'm drifting along like a ghost in the dark, past closed doors on both sides. My feet skim the floor. I know I am heading for the room at the end of the hall, but why? I know someone is waiting. But who?

All around in the air there's a hum. A buzz like the menace of thousands of bees.

And out of the hum comes a man's deep rumble, right through thé door at the end of the hall. I'll just stretch out my hand—reach for the knob—but wait, what's that?

A high, keening cry. And a trickle of red seeps under the door.

Then a wind rushes out, and I am cold. I must get away, must get away, but the walls press close and my legs pump air and the buzzing is a cacophony...

Somehow I find a staircase. I use the banister to pull my weightless self down. At the bottom of the stairs a
mirror shimmers in moonlight. And there's my face in the mirror, but no, not exactly mine. It is someone else, and she is smiling. There is no escape now, after all.

 

"Molly, breakfast is on the table!"

At the sound of her mother's voice, Molly's eyes flew open. She lay sideways in bed, sheets and pillows all askew. Her muscles were tense from trying to fight her way out of the dream.

"Look, dawdling in bed isn't going to help." Her mother tapped impatiently on Molly's bedroom door and stepped inside. "You've got to pull yourself together." Her frown changed to a look of concern as she saw Molly's face. "Are you sick? What is it?"

Molly unclenched her fists in the sheets and struggled to sit up. "Nightmare city."

"Another bad dream?" Her mother's frown was back.

"Same old, same old." But hadn't something been different this time? Molly pushed her tangled blond hair off her face and glanced at the clock. "Oh, no." She dragged herself out of bed and headed for the bathroom. "I'll be down in a sec."

She turned the cold tap on and bent over the sink. Grabbing a washcloth, she scrubbed her face hard. As usual after the dream, she felt queasy and guilty and soiled.

Then she brushed her hair, peering into the mirror. How was she supposed to go to school looking like such a wreck? She was horribly pale. Maybe some blush?

Then it happened. For just a second, the silvery glass seemed fluid, changed, shimmering as it did in the dream. Molly shook her head groggily.

She opened the small tube of red gel, pressed a dab onto her fingertip, and leaned toward the mirror again.

But before she could dot the blush onto her cheekbones, the mirror shimmered—
glimmered—
again, and the girl looking back was not Molly but someone quite other.

Molly froze, fingertip poised at her cheek.
This can't be happening.

The face in the mirror gazed back with dark eyes. The hair, too, was much darker than Molly's. The cheeks redder.

It must be a trick of light.

Molly squeezed her eyes shut and slapped both hands against the mirror.
Wake up, idiot!
She felt cold all over, just as she had in the dream, and it was a full minute before she dared look in the mirror again.

What she saw, of course, was her own pale face, and a thin smear of red across the silvered surface of the glass.

"Hey, you've already missed the van, you know," her mother called. "I can drive you to school if you're ready in two minutes. Are you dressed yet?"

"Almost," Molly called back. She shook her head ruefully at her reflection, reached for her washcloth, and wiped off the gel.

Molly hurried back to her bedroom and pulled on her school uniform. She twisted her long hair automatically into a single braid. She left the bed unmade.

"I've got to leave." Molly's mother climbed the stairs and handed Molly a bran muffin wrapped in a paper napkin. "You can eat in the car."

Molly held the muffin awkwardly while she stuffed her homework papers into her backpack.

Her mother headed down the stairs. "One more minute," she said over her shoulder. "This is your last chance."

Last chance?
The words seem to hover on the landing even after her mother had gone.

Molly swung the backpack onto her shoulder and moved reluctantly down the stairs.

"Pinch me so I'll wake up," moaned Molly as she twirled her combination lock and opened the metal door. "This whole week has been a nightmare." She stripped off her school uniform and pulled on the hateful West River Academy regulation swimsuit.

Kathi nodded in sympathy. "It's too bad your mom found out. But, you know, I wish you'd told me you hadn't taken the test. I'd have helped you." She grinned. "I
do
happen to know a little bit about swimming, you know!"

"That's just it. You're such a star, I couldn't tell you." Molly bundled her clothes into the locker and slammed the door. "And now I'm stuck with Coach Bascombe. Listen, can you come in with me? That way, if I start to drown, you'll be on hand to fish me out." She laughed unconvincingly. Kathi didn't know she wasn't really joking.

But Kathi shook her head. "Sorry. Don't you remember my cousin is coming today? His school is already out for the summer. Mom's picking him up at the bus station and then coming to get me. They should be here any second."

"Oh, right." With the blow-up with her mother, all the fuss about swim lessons, and the nights broken by the dream, Molly had forgotten. And yet Kathi had been excited for weeks that her cousin was coming to town for the summer. "Maybe I can meet him this weekend," Molly told her. "If my mother lets me out of the house."

"She's pissed, huh?" Kathi's dark eyes were sympathetic. She picked up Molly's blue towel from the bench and handed it to her. "Listen, I've got to go now. I'll call you later."

Molly hesitated at the door to the pool. "Wish me luck." As Kathi turned away, Molly hugged her blue canvas backpack against her chest. Inexplicably, the long hallway from the dream flickered in her mind.
I wish this were a dream, too!
The lump of dread in her stomach was as hard as the cement bottom of the pool. Maybe she was coming down with stomach cancer.

Now
that
would make a fine medical excuse.

 

"Come on, don't be afraid. Just take a big breath and jump in! If you don't just
do
it, you'll never pass!"

Coach Bascombe's voice rang in Molly's ears, but Molly just stood there staring down at the blue water. Finally she scrunched her eyes shut and edged a cautious foot over the side of the pool. The water, cold and infinitely dangerous, closed over her big toe.

"That isn't good enough, Molly! Jump in! Get a move on!" Coach Bascombe's voice grew sharp. They had been standing around like this for twenty minutes already.

Molly opened her eyes and stepped quickly away from the edge of the pool, the lump of panic heavy in her stomach. "I've told you—I can't." The fear made her voice sullen.

The swim coach put her hands on her hips. "Molly Teague, I just don't know what to do with you! If you don't pass your swimming test, you won't be able to graduate with your class next year. It's as simple as that."

"I have another year before I graduate," murmured Molly. This whole mess was so embarrassing. "I can learn over the summer..."

"Learn now and get it over with," continued the coach, warming to her pep talk. "You don't have to be a strong swimmer, but you must jump into the water and swim from one end of the pool to the other. Breaststroke, backstroke, the crawl—any way you like. Just do it!"

Molly reached for the blue towel she had dropped by the side of the pool and draped it across her thin shoulders. She fingered a strand of hair that had escaped from her braid and bowed her head under Coach Bascombe's strident voice and reasonable words.

"For goodness sake, Molly, there's not a soul on earth who can't swim. Babies, old people, people with disabilities! And here you are, a junior at West River Academy—which just so happens to have the finest swim team in the whole state—and you've only managed to stand in water up to your thighs." The coach reached up and adjusted her cap with an exasperated snap of rubber. "You're probably the best student in the whole school—academically, that is." Her tone made it sound as if academic ability wasn't worth quite as much as athletic ability. "Think of what people will say if you don't graduate with your class."

Molly remained silent. Last night's bad dream flickered in her memory like ripples across water. The way she moved, nearly floating, down the long hallway.
Almost like swimming.
She took a deep breath and heard the coach's voice again, echoing now off the high, tiled walls.

"West River's reputation was not built by students afraid to try, Molly. Now, come on. Don't be so silly. I'll be right next to you in the water the whole time." Coach Bascombe spoke firmly. "What could possibly happen?"

"I could drown," said Molly, then bit her lip, dropping the loose strand of hair. She turned away.

"Drown?" Coach Bascombe laughed. "With me swimming right next to you? I assure you it won't happen." She glanced at the big clock on the tiled wall and sighed. "Look, we still have twenty minutes left. Your mother is paying extra for these special sessions, you know. Let's not waste her money." She pointed to the water. "In you go. And this time get more than just your legs wet."

Molly glanced at the water and saw her pale face reflected in the blue surface. She edged toward the locker room. "I told you," she murmured. "I just
can't.
"

"You mean you
won't,
Molly. That's quite different."

But Molly slipped through the swinging door and walked through the empty locker room. All the other girls had left school an hour ago. She pulled off her suit with trembling hands, avoiding her reflection in the mirrors on the wall by the showers. The last thing she needed now was to catch sight of the face from the dream. She grabbed her underwear and school uniform—the white blouse and blue cotton skirt and vest—and dressed quickly. She slung her backpack over her shoulder, expecting Coach Bascombe to appear any second to haul her back to the pool. She couldn't believe she had just walked away from a teacher.

Hurrying now, Molly bypassed the regular pool exit and slipped out the door that led into the back hallway behind the gym, passing a row of hair dryers attached to the wall. They were no use to her; not a single drop of the blue pool water had touched her hair.

She intended to keep it that way.

The corridors of West River Academy were empty, and Molly's footsteps echoed as she ran, her sandals slapping the polished wood. She kept glancing back over her shoulder to make sure Coach Bascombe was not in hot pursuit. It would be just her luck, the way things were going, to get suspended the last week of school for running away. After the uproar over the swimming test, Mrs. Higley, West River's headmistress, wouldn't be surprised at any new crime Molly committed. She remembered the headmistress's sorrowful face last Monday when she summoned Molly to her office in the middle of chemistry. Molly's mother, Jen, had come to school for the end-of-year parent-teacher conference, happy and proud at all the praise about Molly's academic performance. She was perplexed, though, when Mrs. Higley said that Molly would be graduating with honors next year—right up at the very top of her class—provided that she fulfilled the swim requirement.

Jen pointed out that Molly had passed the test a year ago. Molly had brought home a note from the headmistress herself attesting to that fact.

Then it was Mrs. Higley's turn to look puzzled, and she sent the school secretary to bring Molly to the office for a little chat. The whole chemistry class was buzzing at her summons to the headmistress. Molly Teague in trouble? It boggled their minds.