Fallen (25 page)

They reached the magnolia tree that marked the lookout point on the lake. The sun left a golden trail on the water as it edged over the forest to the west. Everything looked so different in the evening. The whole world seemed to glow.

Daniel leaned up against the tree and watched her watch the water. She moved to stand beside him under the waxy leaves and the flowers, which should have been dead and gone by this time of year, but looked as pure and fresh as spring blooms. Luce breathed in the musky scent, and felt closer to Daniel than she had any reason to—and loved that the feeling seemed to come from out of nowhere.

“We’re not exactly dressed for a swim this time,” he said, pointing at Luce’s black dress.

She fingered the delicate eyelet hem at her knees, imagining her mom’s shock if she ruined a good dress because she and a boy wanted to dive into a lake. “Maybe we could just stick our feet in?”

Daniel motioned toward the steep red rock path that led down to the water. They climbed over thick, tawny reeds and lake grass and used the twisted stumps of live oak trees to keep their balance. Here, the shore of the lake turned to pebbles. The water looked so still, she felt she almost could have walked on it.

Luce kicked off her black ballet flats and skimmed the lily-padded surface with her toes. The water was
cooler than it had been the other day. Daniel picked a strand of lake grass and started braiding its thick stem.

He looked at her. “You ever think about getting out of here—”

“All the time,” she said with a groan, assuming he meant that he did, too. Of course, she wanted to get as far away from Sword & Cross as possible. Anyone would. But she tried at least to keep her mind from whirling out of control, toward fantasies of her and Daniel plotting an escape.

“No,” Daniel said, “I mean, have you really considered going somewhere else? Asking your parents for a transfer? It’s just … Sword & Cross doesn’t seem like the best fit for you.”

Luce took a seat on a rock opposite Daniel and hugged her knees. If he was suggesting that she was a reject among a student body full of rejects, she couldn’t help feeling a little insulted.

She cleared her throat. “I can’t afford the luxury of seriously considering someplace else. Sword & Cross is”—she paused—“pretty much a last-ditch effort for me.”

“Come on,” Daniel said.

“You wouldn’t know—”

“I would.” He sighed. “There’s always another stop, Luce.”

“That’s very prophetic, Daniel,” she said. She could
feel her voice rising. “But if you’re so interested in getting rid of me, what are we doing? No one asked you to drag me out here with you.”

“No,” he said. “You’re right. I meant that you’re not like people here. There’s got to be a better place for you.”

Luce’s heart was beating quickly, which it usually did around Daniel. But this was different. This whole scene was making her sweat.

“When I came here,” she said, “I made a promise to myself that I wouldn’t tell anyone about my past, or what I’d done to land myself at this place.”

Daniel dropped his head into his hands. “What I’m talking about has nothing to do with what happened with that guy—”

“You know about him?” Luce’s face crumpled. No. How could Daniel know? “Whatever Molly told you …”

But she knew it was too late. Daniel had been the one to find her with Todd. If Molly had told him anything about how Luce had also been implicated in
another
mysterious fiery death, she couldn’t begin to imagine explaining it.

“Listen,” he said, gripping her hands. “What I’m saying, it has nothing to do with that part of your past.”

She found that hard to believe. “Then does it have to do with Todd?”

He shook his head. “It has to do with this place. It has to do with things …”

Daniel’s touch jostled something in her mind. She started thinking about the wild shadows she’d seen that night. The way they’d changed so much since she’d arrived at this school—from a sneaky, unsettling threat to now almost-ubiquitous, full-blown terrors.

She was crazy—that must be what Daniel sensed about her. Maybe he thought she was pretty, but he knew deep down she was seriously disturbed. That was why he wanted her to leave, so he wouldn’t be tempted to get involved with someone like her. If that was what Daniel thought, he didn’t know the half of it.

“Maybe it has to do with the weird black shadows I saw the night Todd died?” she said, hoping to shock him. But as soon as she’d said the words, she knew her intent was not to freak Daniel out even more … it was to finally tell someone. It wasn’t like she had much more to lose.

“What did you say?” he asked slowly.

“Oh, you know,” she said, shrugging now, trying to downplay what she’d just said. “Once a day or so, I get these
visits
from these dark things I call the shadows.”

“Don’t be cute,” Daniel said curtly. And even though his tone stung, she knew he was right. She hated how falsely nonchalant she sounded, when really she was all wound up. But should she tell him? Could she? He was
nodding for her to go on. His eyes seemed to reach out and pull the words from inside her.

“It’s gone on for the last twelve years,” she admitted finally, with a deep shudder. “It used to just be at night, when I was near water or trees, but now …” Her hands were shaking. “It’s practically nonstop.”

“What do they do?”

She would have thought he was just humoring her, or trying to get her to go on so he could crack a joke at her expense, except his voice had gone hoarse and his face was drained of color.

“Usually, they start out by hovering right about here.” She reached around to the back of Daniel’s neck and tickled him to demonstrate. For once, she wasn’t just trying to get physically close to him—this really was the only way she knew how to explain. Especially since the shadows had begun to infringe on her body in such a palpable, physical way.

Daniel didn’t flinch, so she continued. “Then sometimes they get really bold,” she said, moving to her knees and placing her hands on his chest. “And they shove right up against me.” Now she was right in his face. Her lip quivered and she couldn’t believe she was actually opening up to anyone—let alone Daniel—about the horrible things she saw. Her voice dropped to a whisper and she said, “Recently, they don’t seem satisfied until they’ve”—she swallowed—“taken someone’s life and knocked me flat on my back.”

She gave his shoulders the tiniest push, not intending to affect him at all, but the lightest touch of her fingertips was enough to knock Daniel over.

His fall took her so much by surprise, she accidentally lost her own balance and landed in a tangled heap on top of him. Daniel was flat on his back, looking at her with wide eyes.

She should not have told him that. Here she was, on top of him, and she’d just divulged her deepest secret, the thing that
really
defined her as a lunatic.

How could she still want to kiss him so badly at a time like this?

Her heart was pounding impossibly fast. Then she realized: She was feeling both of their hearts, racing each other. A kind of desperate conversation, one they couldn’t have with words.

“You really see them?” he whispered.

“Yes,” she whispered, wanting to pick herself up and take it all back. And yet she was unable to move off Daniel’s chest. She tried to read his thoughts—what any normal person would think about an admission like hers. “Let me guess,” she said glumly. “Now you’re certain I need a transfer. To a psychiatric ward.”

He pushed himself out from under her, leaving her lying practically face-first on the rock. Her eyes moved up his feet, to his legs, to his torso, to his face. He was staring up at the forest.

“That’s never happened before,” he said.

Luce got to her feet. It was humiliating, lying there alone. Plus, it was like he hadn’t even heard what she said.

“What’s never happened? Before what?”

He turned to her and cupped her cheeks in his hands. She held her breath. He was so close. His lips were so close to hers. Luce gave her thigh a pinch to make sure this time she wasn’t dreaming. She was wide awake.

Then he almost forcibly pulled himself away. He stood before her, breathing quickly, his arms stiff at his sides.

“Tell me again what you saw.”

Luce turned away to face the lake. The clear blue water lapped softly at the bank, and she considered diving in. That was what Daniel had done the last time things had gotten too intense for him. Why couldn’t she do it, too?

“It may surprise you to know this,” she said. “But it’s no thrill for me to sit here and talk about how thoroughly insane I am.”
Especially to you
.

Daniel didn’t answer, but she could feel his eyes on her. When she finally got the courage to glance at him, he was giving her a strange, disturbing,
mournful
look—one in which his eyes turned down at the corners and their particular gray was the saddest thing Luce had ever seen. She felt as if she’d let him down somehow. But this was
her
awful confession. Why should Daniel be the one to look so shattered?

He stepped toward her and leaned down until his eyes were gazing directly into hers. Luce almost couldn’t take it. But she couldn’t make herself budge, either. Whatever happened to break this trance would have to be up to Daniel—who was moving closer still, tilting his head toward hers and closing his eyes. His lips parted. Luce’s breath caught in her throat.

She closed her eyes, too. She tilted her head toward his, too. She parted her lips, too.

And waited.

The kiss she had been dying for didn’t come. She opened her eyes because nothing had happened, except for the rustling sound of a tree branch. Daniel was gone. She sighed, crestfallen but not surprised.

What was strange was that she could almost
see
the path he’d taken back through the forest. As if she were some kind of hunter who could pinpoint the rotation of a leaf and let it lead her back to Daniel. Except she was nothing of the sort, and the kind of trail that Daniel left in his wake was somehow bigger, clearer, and at the same time, even more elusive. It was as if a violet glow illuminated his path back through the forest.

Like the violet glow she’d seen during the library fire. She was seeing things. She steadied herself on the rock and looked away for a moment, rubbing her eyes. But when she looked back, it was just the same: In just one plane of her vision—as if she were looking through bi focals with a wild prescription—the live oaks, and the
mulch beneath them, and even the songs of the birds in the branches—all of it seemed to wobble out of focus. And it didn’t just wobble, bathed in that faintest purple light, but seemed to emit a barely audible low-pitched hum.

She spun back around, terrified to face it, terrified of what it meant. Something was happening to her, and she could tell no one about it. She tried to focus on the lake, but even it was growing darker and difficult to see.

She was alone. Daniel had left her. And in his place, this path she didn’t know how—or want—to navigate. When the sun sank behind the mountains and the lake became a charcoal gray, Luce dared another glance back at the forest. She sucked in her breath, not sure whether to be disappointed or relieved. It was a forest like any other, no quivering light or violet hum. No sign of Daniel’s ever having been there at all.

L
uce could hear her Converse sneakers beating hard against the pavement. She could feel the humid wind tugging on her black T-shirt. She could practically taste the hot tar from a freshly paved portion of the parking lot. But when she flung her arms around the two huddled creatures near the entrance to Sword & Cross on Saturday morning, all of that was forgotten.

She had never been so glad to hug her parents in her life.

For days, she’d been regretting how cold and distant things had been at the hospital, and she wasn’t going to make the same mistake again.

They both stumbled as she plowed into them. Her mother started giggling and her dad thwacked her back in his tough-guy way with his palm. He had his enormous camera strapped around his neck. They straightened up and held their daughter at arm’s length. They seemed to want a good look at her face, but as soon as they got it, their own faces fell. Luce was crying.

“Sweetheart, what’s the matter?” her father asked, resting his hand on her head.

Her mom fished through her giant blue pocketbook for her stash of tissues. Eyes wide, she dangled one in front of Luce’s nose and asked, “We’re here now. Everything’s fine, isn’t it?”

No, everything was not fine.

“Why didn’t you take me home the other day?” Luce asked, feeling angry and hurt all over again. “Why did you let them bring me back here?”

Her father blanched. “Every time we spoke to the headmaster, he said you were doing great, back in classes, like the trouper we raised. A sore throat from the smoke and a little bump on the head. We thought that was all.” He licked his lips.

“Was there more?” her mom asked.

One look between her parents told that they’d had this fight already. Mom would have begged to visit again
sooner. Luce’s tough-love dad would have put his foot down.