Phobic (18 page)

If he didn’t believe I switched skin with Sierra, then I know it’s no use to tell him about that Ada girl and her fabulous dress.

I need answers, and Joel said he didn’t know. Something is going on with my house. The basement, the library door. Now my skin and that vision.

“Todd, wait up!”

I stomp out, and nearly crash with a kid finishing a set of hurdles. He stumbles but catches himself before colliding with the turf. The sun shines and I have to squint to see anything after being under the bleachers.

“Sorry,” I mutter in passing.

The kid straightens his socks and grumbles something. I jog toward the grass, ignoring him. Sierra and the others head toward the school, but Todd hangs back, hands on his hips.

“People break out, Pipes,” he says without facing me. “It’s a fact of life.”

“I don’t want to talk about Sierra anymore. I need your help.”

I get the notion that it might not be just my house that has freaky power, but
me
. I wished this on her. I did this.

If I did it, I have no clue how to reverse it. Sure, I hate Sierra, and I imagined this happening, but I never actually
wanted
it. First I see Ada, now my skin changes. I scan the events, sorting through to figure out what else changed between then and today. To find what might connect all of this.

“The door. It has to be.”

“What are you talking about?” Todd pivots and squints down at me. Sweat beads around his face.

The sun scorches my neck. “Do you remember playing in the library? You know, before my dad died?”

He folds his arms and huffs, like he wants to get back to getting sweatier. But he doesn’t argue, so I go on.

“You were a pirate, climbing to the second level to save me, and Dad freaked when you used the doorknob as a foothold.”

“So?”

“My dad never let me—anyone!—near that door, and there has to be a reason. He knew! He knew something was up. He knew
why
we weren’t supposed to go in there. Yesterday when I ditched school, I opened it. And since then, things have gone all wonky. Joel won’t tell me anything. I have to find out for myself.”

“But who else can you ask?” Todd asks, and then shakes his head when he sees my face. “No way. No friggin’ way. You know your dad also forbade you to see her.”

“What other choice do I have?”

The bell rings. “Right now, I suggest you choose going to English.”

I laugh, and he turns away from me. On impulse, I grab his arm. Something electric passes from his skin; it travels all the way up my arm and flurries in my stomach.

“Todd, will you…” I’m asking this. I’m
really
asking this. I glance across the empty field, to the cars in the lot between us and the school. “You’ll come with me, right? I mean, if I decide to…”

Go to prison.

He doesn’t even blink. “You know I will.”

M
y mother.

Today is the day I see her.

I avoid Joel as much as possible. I don’t want to risk him asking what I’m up to. I even stayed up in my room instead of joining him for lunch.

I take a slow tour through my parents’ room, sifting through drawers, lying on their bed and staring at the swirling designs in the wooden canopy above. Mom’s clothes still hang in the armoire, and I press my mind, trying to remember her in the pink sweater, the black and white striped dress, the button-up coral shirt with long sleeves. I run a hand down the fabric, dip into the lofty smell of oak now embedded in the material.

I dig through my mind for more memories of her. Something to help brace me for what I’m about to do. For some reason, the only one I can conjure is the fight she and Joel had. And I don’t even know what it was about.

“I’m not your little boy anymore, Mom. And I’m not stupid. I saw it—why won’t you believe me?”

“Just because you think you saw something—”

“Why are you covering for him?”

I wonder what it had been about. What had Joel seen so long ago, and who was Mom covering for? Dad? It had to have happened back when we lived in Shady Heights. And it kills me that she never gave him a straight answer.

“Just because I have answers doesn’t mean you need them on you.”

Whether she wants to or not,
I
will be getting answers out of her today. I have to.

By the time school ended yesterday, I’d talked myself out of going. Fortunately, Todd met me at my locker, and the sight of him sent my pulse into an unsteady rhythm and gave me courage all at the same time. He told me he had practice and that would have put us too late getting to Shady Heights. The prison probably would have been closed to visitors. So we decided to go this morning.

Mom’s jewelry rests in its case by the dresser. I sieve through the glittering gems and necklaces, trying to imagine times when she would dress up enough to wear them. And I pass the wall of photographs. The same one that stole my attention in the parlor downstairs is also on their wall. The girl in it is Ada after all.

I recognize those almond eyes and her rosebud mouth. My stomach lurches with nausea at the thought of her being forced to go with that Garrett guy. I slam my eyes shut at the influx of images and take several shallow breaths before my phone buzzes.

Be there in 10
, Todd texts.

Here we go.

I slip into my shoes and snatch my purse before plodding downstairs. I make it to the bottom step, and Joel strides through the front door, surprising me. I didn’t know he’d gone anywhere. It’s rare to see him in jeans and a T-shirt, but the casual look suits him.

Only he’s not alone. Of all the people who could follow in behind him, it’s Jordan Warren.

“What’s
he
doing here?” I say before I can stop myself.

Joel scowls at me and closes the door behind Jordan.

“Cool it,” Joel says. “He’s just here to pick up something for his dad.”

Jordan, wearing a white shirt and jeans and a cocky sneer, struts behind my brother. My feet seem to be connected to a Lazy Susan, and I spin slowly, not stopping until Joel turns the squeaky knob of the library’s French doors. I can’t fathom what Jordan’s dad can possibly need from our library.

My toe catches the edge of the rug. Shivers creep up my back and into my hair.

The door is open.

I’ve been upstairs all morning, and Joel was gone. Neither of us could have opened it—I can’t think who did. The first few wooden steps within are visible across the room, making it all too easy to picture the rest of them climbing up only to be blocked off without leading anywhere.

Joel hasn’t noticed, and I’m too speechless for the moment to say anything. Plus, I don’t want to draw attention to it. The last time one of Jordan’s group was in my house, word leaked about my mom and they created a horrible profile about me. Who knows what a mess he’ll make this time.

I fold my arms, digging my nails in.
Stay calm
. It’s all I can do to not dash over and shut the door. Joel bends at Dad’s desk and digs through drawers. After a few moments, he stops.

“It’s not in here,” he says. “Hang on, I’ll be right back.”

“Where are you going?” I ask, wondering if he’s trying to find a deposition or something.

“I bet it’s with the stack in my room.” His steps thunder up the stairs, serving me to Jordan on a platter. Of course Joel doesn’t know about our mutual hatred. Why would he?

“I’ve never been inside your house before,” Jordan says, brushing a hand along the back of a leather armchair.

I force my lids shut. The last time I talked to him was when he handed me that beer, right after asking about the floating door outside. He’d been somewhat nice then. Might as well not sully his good record. Besides, I just want him out of here.

He gives Dad’s globe a whirl. “Doesn’t it creep you out that you’re living in the house where your mother murdered someone? That you eat above the trap door where they found his body?”

“Can you just
not
talk?”
Come on, Todd. Hasn’t it been ten minutes?

Jordan’s mouth fidgets, like he knows he’s bugging me. “Is it true? Do you really have a staircase leading to nowhere?”

“Who told you that?”

In spite of myself, my eyes drift to the open door in the crevice beneath a sort of bridge on the second level of the library. I give Joel a mental urge to hurry up.

Jordan’s stupid face breaks into a grin. “Is that it?” He points and heads toward the open door.

“Uhh, that’s probably not—”

I dart over to block his way, but Jordan is too fast. Prickles skim the base of my neck, but I stand behind him and peer over his shoulder.

It’s all dark wood—the walls, the ascending steps, even the ceiling amputating the top stair. And the stairway’s narrow ascension gives me the feeling of going someplace without the hope of ever returning.

I want to ask how Sierra is. To ask something that will distract him. Instead, the words pour from my lips, and I voice the fear I’ve felt my entire life.

“What if it really leads somewhere?”

“Have you ever gone up it? Wait, who am I kidding? You won’t even leave the porch when we party.”

He mounts the first step, and with the
clump
of his heel, the faded golden haze shifts on like someone changing a slide in an old projector. Jordan’s hand rests on the wall, but in the aged flashback, the stairs are unfinished, not yet reaching the top.

Mr. Garrett, with his graying brown hair and a hammer in one hand, kneels on the fifth or so step up. Blood stains his white shirt, and the sleeves are rolled to his biceps. The room spins. I glance at Jordan, wondering if he can see this.

Moans sail on the air, and I support myself on the door. The darkness beyond clears enough for me to realize someone is in there. On the
other side
of those unfinished steps.

Thrashing noises join the moans, and Mr. Garrett holds up a flickering lantern, illuminating the space behind the steps he’s building. A girl’s face comes into view.

I gasp. “Ada!”

Jordan glances behind his shoulder at me. “You say something?”

Ada bites against the gag tied across her mouth, and my jaw quivers. “Wait, Jordan. Don’t.”

“What, scared?” My eyes stray from Jordan in the present, to the ghostly, flickering images of the unfinished stairs. He’s there in the middle of it, nearly to where Garrett kneels! He’s got to see it.

“Yes, I am, actually.”

Ada crouches in the corner, her wrists tied, tears staining her pallid cheeks. For a small second I wonder if
she
was the ghost I saw in the library the other night.

“Maybe you should come with me so you’re not alone down there,” Jordan says. My brain hurts. I can hardly grasp his climbing while watching Mr. Garrett in the past, lifting another board and hammering it in place.

“I’m serious. Come back. Please.” The door supports me now. Sweat pools in my palms, and my knees shake. Garrett sneers and I jolt at the smash of his hammer against a new set of nails. “Holy crap,” I say with realization. “She was boarded up alive!”

“What? Who?”

My dad must have known. No wonder he forbade Joel and me from opening this door.

Jordan keeps his attention on me, but I hardly care about him because Mr. Garrett speaks.

“You sealed your fate, Miss Havens.”

Ada whimpers through the gag in her mouth. Her eyes cry out to him.

“Don’t,” I say. “Stop it!”

Garrett stops for a swig from an old glass bottle. Steam rises from the opening, and then he chucks it, shattering the glass on his half-finished stairs. I jump at the impact.

“Even in death you shan’t be rid of me,” he growls at Ada.

In a rush the vision disappears, and I gasp for air and sink to the floor, letting my senses readjust. Jordan stares at me like I’m loony. He shakes his head and turns to climb.

“Are there really thirteen stairs?” he asks.

“Jordan, stop!”

“One…two…”

Voices pound in my skull and blood pops along my veins. I sense every step he takes, like the soles of his shoes sink into me instead of the wood.

I dash up the stairs and pull him down so hard he trips. The two of us roll and hit each stair edge like bumbling barrels.