Hell's Hollow (4 page)

“An eye? An eye?” Gran called out, backing up against the wall as if I was about to peg her with an eyeball. “You keep your eyes to yourself, young lady. I’ve got two of my own and I don’t need any more thank you very much. I once knew a man in San Francisco who could take his eyeball out at will. Made a horrible sucking noise when he smushed it back in, like the sound of the bathtub emptying. Dangerous places bathtubs. I don’t fancy them myself. Fancy is as fancy does, so don’t go getting up on your high horse. Your horse, your horse, of course, of course.”

“It’s okay, Gran,” I promised, trying to unknot my stomach muscles and calm her at the same time. “My eyes are staying in my head.”

“Damn straight they are,” she mumbled, squinting her own at me like she didn’t trust me. “Straight as an arrow on a hot tin roof.” She pushed the chair under the doorknob.

I sat on her bed. “Can I ask you something?” It seemed hopeless given how out of it she was, but I had to at least try, besides maybe it would bring her around.

“Depends. Who told you to ask?”

“Just me. I was wondering about your sensitivity.”

“We don’t talk about that,” Gran parroted. “No siree, your mom says we don’t talk about that. Bad things could happen. We could bring down the
apocalypse
like the horsemen in colors of finery of the finest fine. Just like pine. Do you smell peppermint? Is it Christmastime?”

“No, Gran. There’s no peppermint. Listen, Mom’s out with the nurses,” I said. “She won’t talk about it with me, the sensitivity stuff. Come on, Gran, please?” Hope was trickling away. Some days she seemed so with it, so almost normal, and then some days were like this, where she couldn’t string together a complete thought.

“All right, quick then, what do you need to know?” She sat down practically on top of me, her head swiveling toward the door and back to the window.

“Is there a way to … you know, keep it from making you… I mean, is there some way to control it, to protect myself? Like, is it possible to… give in to it and still stay sane?” I couldn’t believe I’d actually thought it, much less said it out loud.

“Lordy be, if I’d figured that out I wouldn’t be in this joint. But there’s gotta be a way. They’re keeping it from us so we all end up in here with the crazies. It’s mind control. That’s why I won’t let them cut my hair. It’s a terrible waste. My locks protect me from those radio waves Johnny Rocket keeps sending. He thinks he can make me do whatever he damn well pleases. But I’m on to him. Don’t you end up in this trap, you hear me? It’s beastly. Of mice and men. Scattered on the shores like so much garbage. You figure out how to block those radio signals, then come back and spring us. All right?”

I could almost feel the wildness of her thoughts, like a storm wind, reckless and raging. I tried to follow, thinking there must be some logic underlying all the nonsense. But it became so clearly crazy.

Mom returned with the doctor, pushed open the door, the chair squeaking across the linoleum.

“Good day, Magdalene,” the doctor began.

“You keep your cold hands to yourself, Dr. Death. And the name is Rainbow,” my grandmother said.

Mom covered her face with her hand. She shouldn’t have been wasting time feeling embarrassed. She should have been worrying about if these stupid people knew what they were doing.

“When was the last time you took your medicine, uh, Rainbow?” the doctor asked.

“Ask
her
,” Gran insisted, pointing at the lump of Auntie MK.

“Was she helping you out? Taking your meds for you? Did she know about it this time? If you two want to share a room, this cannot happen. It’s dangerous.”

“Dangerous to your career maybe,” Gran mumbled, then ducked as if something were attacking her. “Keep your damn puma away from me!” She cowered, hands over her head, as if the wild cat was as real to her as we were. I tried not to think about Zach, about how real he seemed, about the terrifying possibility that he wasn’t.

“You’re restricted to the nurses’ station for med call,” the doctor said with a controlled kind of calm. He turned to my mom. “I’m sorry about this. When the nurses bring the meds to their room, it’s easier for them to find ways of hiding it. We’ll keep a closer eye.”

“What is it with the eyes again?” Gran shouted, sliding down behind her bed as if to dodge shooting eyeballs. “I’m defenseless here. In the name of all that is holy moly and wild mackerel, can you give an old lady a break? It’s the knees he’ll come after first. That’s how Johnny Rocket cuts you down to size.”

“Come now, you know John Rocklin intends you no harm. He’s here to help.” The doctor turned to my mother. “New orderly on staff.”

I slipped out while Mom gave the doctor her version of a stern talking-to. It always depressed me to come here, but today was so much worse, with Gran so far out of her head and MK completely lost. I escaped into my music, playing my angry playlist — Linkin Park, Paramore, Goo Goo Dolls — too loudly.

The silence between Mom and me on the ride home felt thick and heavy. I switched to my quiet
songs — Joshua Radin, Missy Higgins, Peter Bradley Adams. When we got to the house, I headed for The Hollow.

“Why don’t you come help me get ready for dinner with the boys,” Mom said in a weary voice.

“What’s left to do?” I asked.

“Set the table. I’ll get the chicken going.”

“The table will only take a minute. Can’t I do it when I get back?” I needed to breathe air, to not feel confined.

“Can you just
not
go down there right now?” she asked.

“I won’t
end up like them,” I promised — maybe more to myself than to her, as my gut tightened.

She looked away.

“I feel calmer down there,” I said.

She ran into the house so I wouldn’t see her tears. I should’ve gone in to comfort her. But the thought of being indoors suffocated me. I promised myself I’d keep it short. I turned and went down the path to The Hollow, shoving my headphones into my pocket. I never needed music down there.

How to keep the crazy at bay was the question eating at me. Mom had managed it by ignoring her sensitivity completely. MK hadn’t been able to do the same, the visions she’d had of things about to happen had come to her without permission, with no way for her to stop them.

I remembered sitting on Gran’s bed at Meadowland when she’d first been admitted, the time she’d told me about how MK had lost her mind after she didn’t warn a group of friends about a car accident she’d foreseen on prom night. It was never clear to me if MK didn’t tell them because her friend Franny, one of the girls who’d died, had stolen her prom date, or if it was because MK had misinterpreted the vision. Mom would have flipped if she knew Gran had told me about it, so I couldn’t exactly ask her what she knew.

I climbed over the boulders at the bottom of the hill instead of going around them. I wanted to feel closer to the sky. Gran’s sensitivity, hearing people’s thoughts, would probably make anyone crazy. I wondered if there was enough shielding in the world to block that out.

Jumping off the rocks, I wandered through the dead part of the wood, then into the green of The Hollow. A small tug pulled at me, much fainter than the one I’d felt when Zach was around. Sitting by the sequoia, I tried to ignore the call. I just wanted to relax, breathe in the freedom of the outdoors, feel revived by the power of The Hollow.

A skunk crept up beside me, blood on its tail. I could feel pain behind me, where a tail would be if I had one. Tears welled in my eyes. The poor guy was suffering, and he was so cute, like a striped cat who’d been through a wind tunnel. Fighting against the images of all the diseases carried by skunks, I wondered what would happen if just once I let the healing have its way, do its thing. Would I go crazy instantly, or would it take a few times? It would be so easy to reach out, to give in. The swell of The Hollow rose up in me, urging me to give myself over to it. The skunk whimpered pitifully, the tug yanking at my insides. What if I touched it for one second, just to see? I lifted my hand.

“Seraphina!” Mom screamed.

The skunk startled and sprayed me with its God-awful stench, then took off into the woods.

“What?” I demanded, as if I hadn’t been about to break one, or maybe even two, of her three most basic rules
—
never
use your sensitivity,
never
discuss its existence with anyone outside the family, and
never
touch a wild animal.

The look of horror on Mom’s face shamed me. “What were you about to do?”

“Nothing. I wasn’t…” But we both knew I was. I didn’t even understand why. The Hollow had felt so strong, almost like I couldn’t resist it. I wasn’t going to let it take me over. I was only going to touch it, just to see what would happen.

“Get up to the house and get in the bath,” she said. “The boys will be coming soon.”

While I soaked in the claw foot tub, she called out new descriptions of diseases carried by skunks she was finding on the Internet.

I wasn’t paying attention, though. I was busy wondering why she’d come down there, how she could’ve possibly known
what I was about to do.

Chapter Four

“What’s black and white and red all over?” the youngest of my three older brothers, Gabe
, asked as we sat around the wood dining table. He’d been letting his hair grow out, probably trying to copy Luke’s look, but instead of smooth bangs hanging in his eyes, his wiry curls sprung out from his head.

“Ha ha,” I said.

“What
was
the answer to that one?” my oldest brother, Michael asked, pushing his glasses up his nose. He was looking more and more like the accountant he was training to be – button down shirt tucked into khaki pants, hair slicked back.

“A skunk with a diaper rash,” Gabe replied.

“Now, boys,” Mom said. “Leave her alone. It’s not as though none of you have ever been sprayed.”

“Yeah, but she’s a girl, and she’s been hit more than any of us,” Gabe teased.

“Only by skunks,” my middle brother, Luke, warned, lifting his hand in threat. I smiled. He winked at me, his dimpled smile reassuring. “What’d you do to freak it out?”

Without meaning to I glanced at Mom, who busied herself with the mashed potatoes.

“Skunks are filthy animals. You should be more attentive,” Michael said.

“Thanks for the newsflash,” I muttered.

“Did this happen down below?” Michael asked. “Aren’t you a little old to be spending your free time down there? I don’t think Dad would have approved.”

“Well that’s something we’ll never know, will we?” Luke replied. “Since you’re not him, I mean. You did know that, right?”

Michael raised his fist as if he was going to throw a punch at Luke.

Luke jumped up. “Oh, it is
on
, bring it, baby.” He put up his fists.

“Boys!” Mom shouted. “Can we please have a meal without any fighting?” She looked tired.

Luke sat. Gabe shoveled food in his face. Michael picked at his plate. I tried to busy myself with the chicken. But the pungent smell of skunk spray was making me ill.

“I wonder why Mikey’s got no appetite,” Gabe giggled.

“Shut up,” Michael whispered.

Mom set down her fork. “Is there something you boys would like to share?”

Michael’s eyes held Gabe’s — a warning. But Gabe, as usual, couldn’t help himself. “Mikey’s got a girlfriend.” Gabe spluttered, trying to hold back a laugh.

“And why is that so funny?” Mom asked. “That’s wonderful, honey,” she said to Michael.

Gabe pressed up his nose, bucked out his teeth, and snorted.

Luke laughed, choking on his chicken.

Michael swatted Gabe in the head. “Shut up!” he yelled. “Just shut up! She does not look anything like that. She’s smart and kind and sane, which is more than I can say about this family.” He stood up and headed for the door.

“For heavens’ sake, can we
try
to eat together without all this childishness?” Mom begged. “Michael, please, I made pies.”

“Sorry,” he said, and bolted.

Suddenly we all were silent, staring at our plates.

“Gabriel, really?” Mom said.

“I was just messing around,” he replied. “I didn’t think he’d be so sensitive.”

Luke got up and started clearing the table. I joined him.

“She really look like an oinker?” Luke asked, wielding his charming smile so that even Mom giggled, covering her mouth with her napkin.

“I don’t know,” Gabe said. “I never met her.”

For some reason, that sent us all into hysterics. Mom brought out the pies — apple for Michael and Gabe, blueberry for Luke and chocolate for me.

“You didn’t have to make all of them,” I said, noticing again how tired she looked.

“Whose would I leave out?” she asked, slicing into them.

The chocolate was thick and rich and creamy. I couldn’t imagine choosing a fruit pie over chocolate.