Nightmare (10 page)

It was entirely possible, though I had no intention ofvoicing the possibility aloud, that Jordin had fallen ill and was languishing
in a hospital somewhere. Or, the much worse possibility ...

And that was a suspicion, I told myself forcefully, that had
nothing at all to do with what I'd seen at Ghost Town amusement park.

"She was having nightmares."

My ears perked up. "Nightmares?"

Carrie nodded, remembering more as she spoke. "Yeah, she
always seemed tired during the day, and she kept mumbling about
this nightmare she was having over and over...."

I carefully filed that away for later.

"Also," Carrie went on with a rather satisfied glare at Derek,
"I think she'd just gotten a tattoo."

Derek looked as if he'd been jolted out of his daydream. "I'm
sorry?"

"That morning before she disappeared, she kept rubbing the
back of her neck like it was sore," Carrie explained. "I got a glimpse
of it when she turned around, and it looked like some kind of
tattoo. I remember thinking it was kinda rude of her to go off
and get one by herself, since that was something all of us could
have done together. You know, to commemorate the trip."

"Jordin would never get a tattoo," Derek whispered under
his breath.

I leaned close to him. "You're sure?"

"She hates them. It's a sin to defile your skin that way."

"So, she hates them, oryou hate them?"

Derek didn't seem to like my tone of voice, and turned away
from me.

So I turned back to Carrie. "What did this tattoo look like?"

"Her hand was covering it so much, she kept rubbing at it," Carrie said, trying to remember. "I never really got a solid look
at it. But it was pretty small and I think it was black."

"And no one said anything to her about it?"

She shrugged. "IfJordin wants to talk about something, she'll
bring it up herself."

Derek rose from his seat, apparently done with this. As he
walked away, he mumbled something so low, I only caught part of it.
Something about ". . . forbid you should be an actual friend ..."

Ten minutes later, after reluctantly giving my cell number
to Carrie in case she thought of anything else, I caught up to
Derek and suggested heading for the school library. I needed to
get online and didn't really want him poking around my dorm
room while I sat at my laptop.

"I assume you have contacted Jordin's `estate' already?" I
commented.

Derek was slow to respond, his thoughts seeming to linger
elsewhere. "If you call her housekeeper Linda her `estate,' then yes,
I did. Jordin's never been comfortable living in her parents' old
house alone. She mainly holds on to the mansion for sentimental
reasons. When she's not in school, she keeps a small condo in
downtown Manhattan. Linda's the only employee still working
at the Cole house, and she hasn't seen or heard from Jordin in
almost a year. Which isn't out of the ordinary."

Derek opened the front door to the library and held it open
so I could enter first. Still he never made eye contact with me, his
features distant and filled with impatience. I thought how glad
I was that today wasn't the first time I'd met him, because I'd be
getting a very poor impression of him if it were.

I found an empty computer in the library and began a quick
search for tattoo parlors in Martha's Vineyard. It was a long shot,
but it was all I had at the moment.

The search pulled up more than three dozen tattoo parlors.

"What was that about back there?" I asked, keeping my
voice just above a whisper to be respectful of the other library
patrons.

Derek sat to my left in a chair he'd borrowed from a nearby
table. "What was what about?"

I knew that he understood exactly what I was asking about.
I kept reminding myself that Derek wasn't himself-he was agitated, worried about his fiancee, and barely keeping control of
his feelings of helplessness.

"You seemed to hold Carrie in a bit of contempt," I said.

Derek feigned shock. "I'm a pastor in training. I'll have you
know I bear nothing but compassion and love for everybody in
the world."

I waited until he sighed and continued.

"It just ... frustrates me sometimes," he explained. "Because
she's wealthy, Jordin tends to attract people who want to be
around her but have very little interest in actually being a friend
to her. Sometimes I think I may be the only real friend she has.
Although for a while, she seemed to consider you one, too," he
added as an afterthought.

That was a strange notion. During our adventures, I'd never
thought of us as close. At best, I merely tolerated her.

Derek seemed to read the confusion on my face. "I think
it's because you didn't fawn over her the way everyone else does.
You told her what you really thought. You never worried about
offending her, and she found that ... invigorating."

My eyebrows popped up. "Was that a compliment?"

Derek frowned, running a nervous hand through his closecropped hair. "Just because I don't agree with your ... shall we
say, `unique occupational history'... doesn't mean I think you're
a bad person, Maia."

I almost smiled, but I think it came off instead as an unintended smirk.

"But you've spent way too much time meddling in things
that shouldn't be meddled in," he added. "It's a dangerous way
of living, and it's going to burn you eventually if you keep at it.
I used to wish I could make you-and Jordin-see that."

My smile turned sour, and I quickly lost interest in hearing
any more of his beliefs about the paranormal. He had no idea
what he was talking about.

"There are dozens of tattoo parlors within driving distance
of Martha's Vineyard," I said, back to business. "We'll have to
contact each one of them individually."

"You really think this is that important?" Derek asked. "I
know my girl, and I don't buy for one second that she would
ever get a tattoo."

"Because she's never done something you wouldn't approve
of," I shot back. Instantly I wished I could take the words back.

Derek ground his teeth, though he was working to hide it.
"Your excursions with her would be the sole exception."

I sighed. "Look, if she really did get a tattoo, and if the person that gave it to her was one of the last people to see her, then
it could be important, yeah," I said. "But if you have any other
leads, I'm listening."

He didn't reply.

"All right, then," I said. "Now, most tattoo parlors don't require identification for the procedure. So they're not likely to
recognize her name. Which means we'll have to give a physical
description ofJordin and hope it rings a bell with someone. The
more specific we can be, the better. Jordin's a tall, lovely blonde.
I'm sure they see plenty of those, so we need to give them details
that aren't as common."

Derek looked at me, thoughtful. I thought he was going to
ask me something else about tattoos, but he had other things on
his mind. "Carrie said Jordin was never around in the evenings
in Martha's Vineyard. Was she ... was she doing what I think
she was?"

"Probably. Martha's Vineyard is very old," I acknowledged.
"It has tons of locations believed to be haunted. Jordin must've
been sneaking out each night to investigate. By herself. She was
still chasing the paranormal."

"What was she thinking?" Derek's expression turned hardedged, but he was silent for a long time. Finally he said, "She was
really obsessed with this stuff, wasn't she?"

I remained silent. That was one question I wasn't eager to
answer.

I fell asleep quickly that night, feeling content that the day
had been well spent. We hadn't found Jordin but we'd narrowed
the search, and I believed it was only a matter of time until we
turned up some new information about her.

And cracking a missing persons case while still in college
would look killer on my job application.

I woke up around midnight when someone rapped loudly
on my door. Worried it was Derek with dire news aboutjordin, I quickly jumped out of bed. But when I opened the door, nobody
was there. The lights were on out in the hall, as they always are,
and I could hear other residents behind their closed dorm doors,
listening to music or talking and laughing. But no one was in
the hall.

I figured someone was just being stupid and trying to get a
rise out of me. I went back to sleep.

By two a.m., I was dead asleep again. Yet for no reason I could
identify, I sat up with a start, opening my eyes wide and looking
around my room.

At the foot of my bed stood the outline of a human figure. I
had all the lights out and the curtains drawn, so I couldn't make
out any features. Just a silhouette.

I was startled, but quickly my experience in the paranormal
kicked in, and I studied the apparition as best I could, staring at
the spot where its face should have been. Part of me wondered if
it might be Jordin, come to bring me another ghostly message.

Then I blinked once, and the figure was gone.

I was sure it had happened, that it was real and not a dream.
Yet the more time that passed after I lay back down, the more I
was inclined to think I was just over-tired and seeing indistinct
shapes in the shadows that my mind tried to form into a familiar
pattern.

I eventually fell asleep again.

Less than two hours later, I awoke once more.

Surrounding my small bed were five dark, hazy figures.

My first thought was that this whole night was probably
some kind of hazing. Someone in my dormitory had learned
about my past and cooked up a prank as some kind of senior
year rite of passage.

But then I realized that I could see through all five figures.

As before, they vanished almost as fast as I laid eyes on them.
But at the same moment my bed raised up off the floor by an inch
and then slammed back down. Every muscle in my body clenched,
and I didn't know if I should get out of the bed or stay put.

Loud, clomping footsteps echoed across my small room's
floor. My bedside lamp flew off the nightstand and shattered
against the front door on the other side of the room. Books
from my desk flew open, their pages fluttering. My small television, mounted atop my chest of drawers, came to life and began
changing its own channels. Faster and faster the channels went
by as I watched, until the TV finally let out a giant spark and
fizzled out.

The room fell completely silent, and I sat up a little straighter.
My familiar surroundings had just become hostile territory, and
I didn't feel safe. For ten, twenty, thirty seconds I remained still
and the room stayed quiet. It seemed the activity had ended.

I finally decided to get out of the bed, swinging my legs out
over the side, when every single object in my room-every piece
of furniture, every book, article of clothing, snack food, every
appliance-leapt into the air like a jumping bean and came back
down. I couldn't hold back a scream as I crawled backward on
my bed until my back was against the wall.

Sheets pulled out from under me, flying into the middle of
the floor, followed by my pillows.

I sat there and waited, somehow knowing that wouldn't be
the end.

I heard an inhuman laugh, and everything in the room
jumped again.

And again.

And again.

Suddenly I knew. The rhythm. Everything was slamming in
time to my heartbeat.

My heart gave a thunderous bang against my ribs at the realization, and everything in the room jumped again.

Again and again it happened, keeping up with my heart rate,
which now pulsed faster with fear. Bang. Bang. Bang. Quicker and
quicker and then I could hear people shouting, wondering what
was going on. Someone even rattled the doorknob at one point,
but the door wouldn't open.

And I hadn't locked it.

With one final heartbeat, everything jumped higher than
before, and I was tossed from the mattress to the middle of the
floor. I crashed, burning my hands and knees on the carpet.