Unlocked (17 page)

What if the demons tried to kill Manny the way they'd almost killed me tonight? If I had stayed in my room, the pizza box would have eventually burst into flames, and the whole house would have caught fire. I needed to warn Manny. Make sure he was all right. I pulled my phone from my pocket, but before I texted him, the phone rang.

• • •

Mom startled me awake. The sun had long since set, and the moon dominated the sky.

“What are you doing out here?” Mom asked. “And why on earth is the house wide open?”

“I burned the pizza in the oven. I had to open up the house to let out the smoke.”

She glanced back at the house. “I didn't smell any smoke.”

“What time is it?” I asked.

“After ten. Let's go inside.”

She was right. The house smelled normal. We walked into the kitchen together, and Mom opened the refrigerator.

“You said you burned it?” She lifted an unblemished pizza box from the fridge. I peered at the sink where the damaged box should have been. Nothing. But the barbecue tongs remained on the counter where I'd left them.

Tears streamed down my face. I didn't know how much more of this I could take. It had happened. The smoke in the house. The smoke in my lungs. It was real. I reached down to my shin, but I was wearing jeans . . . and a sweatshirt. I yanked up my pant leg to see the welts. My skin was clean and smooth. No welts. No blood smears. No bites. I examined my fingernails. My manicure looked better than ever.

“Mom, can I sleep with you tonight?” I asked.

Mom set the pizza back in the fridge. Then she leaned her hip against the countertop.

“Hannah—”

“Tomorrow's Jordan's funeral,” I said. “I don't want to be alone tonight.” Because I am freaked out, I wanted to add. I'm afraid to go into my room and see the elephant has reassembled itself. I don't trust myself anymore.

Mom clutched my hand. “Yes, you can sleep in my room. You will recover from this. You need to hang in there until our appointment with Dr. James. I called and moved it to Thursday afternoon. That was their earliest appointment.” Mom hugged me and stroked my back. “It's been a long day for both of us,” she said. “Let's get changed and—”

“Did something happen at the hotel?” I asked.

“Nothing out of the ordinary. We've had a lot of extra work finishing the remodel of the fourth-floor lounge, and today we started auditioning new lounge acts,” she said. “So I'm tired, but it's all fine. Get your pajamas on and meet me in my room.” I nodded, and she left the kitchen.

I picked up the barbecue tongs and sniffed the ends. No residual smoke.

I trudged up the stairs dreading what I'd find in my room. I considered staying out, but Mom had told me to change.

I opened the door to my room, steeling myself for what I would find. But it had reverted to the way I'd found it after school. The bedcovers were on the floor. The dirty clothes rested in the corner. And there was no pink elephant. No stuffing. No charred fur. Maybe I had dreamed the whole incident. If it had been a dream, I didn't want to go back to sleep.

My laptop was closed. Had I even installed Nick's program? I sat at my desk unable to make myself open the laptop and discover that I'd never even checked e-mails. I opened the art book from Rose instead. The tiger-eye was lodged in the gutter, marking the same nasty picture it had that morning. I studied the picture on the page, and a chill ran up my spine. I pinched the stone out of the book and tossed it across the room. Then I grabbed a clean T-shirt and a pair of pajama bottoms from my dresser. My whole body ached as I changed clothes.

In a moment of determination, I opened the laptop and typed in my password. I clicked on Nick's e-mail and installed the program. After I made sure the settings were correct in my computer, I clicked the start icon, angled the laptop toward my bed, and left for Mom's room.

Nothing would happen to me while I was with Mom, because she didn't think anything was happening anyhow. We settled into her king-sized bed; she took the left and I took the right. She reached for her lamp and switched it off, but the lamp on my side still illuminated the room.

“Good night, Hannah,” she said.

“Mom?”

“What?” she rolled onto her side and faced me.

“Could we have the house blessed?”

She scrunched up the pillow under her head.

“Manny's family is religious,” I said, “and his mom thinks it might help to have our house blessed.”

Mom sat up and massaged her scalp.

“What if evil spirits are haunting me?” I asked.

“There are no such things as evil spirits.” She reached across the bed and held my hand. “You feel guilty for the car accident. You feel guilty for disliking Jordan, and now he's dead. Your mind is trying to work through these emotions. You will be okay. This doctor will help you get better. I will help you. But you have to take responsibility for your own emotions and not blame what's happening on evil spirits.”

“So my mind will keep playing these tricks on me while it works through the emotions? Honestly, Mom, what am I supposed to do?”

“If you're interested I can show you how to meditate. That may help you cope with the trauma of the accident.”

“How?”

“You can strengthen your mind and strengthen your will through meditation.”

We sat crossed-legged facing each other and joined hands. “Close your eyes,” she said. “Fill your lungs with—”

I opened my eyes. “How is this different than hypnotism?”

“I won't tell you what to do, think, or feel. I'll show you how to relax and find the place within your mind where you can deal with these emotions from a place of safety.”

“Okay.” I closed my eyes and followed her instructions. Her meditation routine resembled Rose's exercise in art class, which made it easier for me to follow. I had already built the foundation within my mind. I found the cabin and added new details around it: colorful flowers, rolling hills, and a grassy patch beneath large cottonwood trees. A wisp of black smoke curled up from the top of the cabin, but before I had time to investigate it, Mom brought the meditation to an end.

“As you practice this on your own,” Mom said, “you can face your emotions from within your protected space. Nothing can hurt you there. Things will improve with time.”

“But it's getting worse with time.”

“It's only been a few days.” She patted my hands. “Now get some sleep.” She scooted back down under the covers and rolled in the other direction. Maybe she was right. Maybe the hallucinations were just my mind's way of working through the tough emotions. I flipped off the light and settled into the bed.

Mom jiggled my arm. “You need to get up and get ready,” she said.

I squinted at the clock on my nightstand: 6:45
A.M
.

I jerked upright.

“I slept in your bed last night,” I said.

“No,” Mom said. “You haven't slept in my bed since you were a child. And I wonder how you slept in yours.” She pointed at the mattress. It was bare.

“Not again,” I whispered and drew my knees up to my chest. Exasperation pumped through my veins. I wanted to tell Mom my version of last night, but even a hint of disappointment in her eyes would crush me. I ignored the sense of dread and focused on steadying each breath, in and out.

“Come on, Hannah,” Mom said. “If you're late, I can't drive you. I have too much going on at the hotel.”

“Please let me stay home,” I said. “Today is Jordan's funeral, and I can't imagine being at school while it's happening. People will ask why I'm not at the service.”

Mom perched on the bed next to me and remained quiet for several seconds.

“Please, Mom.”

She wrapped an arm around me and said, “You can stay home, if you promise to go back tomorrow.”

“I promise,” I said.

“And you need to call me if anything unusual happens.”

“I will.” Maybe. Probably not.

She stood and stroked my hair. “You can spend the day picking up your room and catching up on your laundry.” She smoothed her blazer and stepped over the various land mines in my room. “Don't wait up for me tonight. I'll be late.”

I sat and listened to her leave; the front door opened and closed.

Blankets and sheets snaked across the carpet. My mattress had been stripped bare. Clothes were strewn about the room. Dresser drawers dangled open. Papers speckled the remaining spaces. And at my desk, shredded pages from Rose's art book stuck up from the gutter of the binding.

“No, no, no!” I jumped off the bed and ran over to the desk. I drew my finger along the feathered edges of the pages. Every single one had been ripped out.

“Who would do this?” I whispered.

Someone must have been in my room last night. I moved over to my window. Not only was it unlocked, but it also hung wide open, the screen gone. I leaned out and spotted it two stories below in the grass. Mom backed out of the driveway and talked on her cell at the same time. She didn't see me leaning out the window or the screen lying below on the grass. I lifted my gaze to the ancient oak tree, and my jaw dropped open.

Branches pierced my ruffled emerald blouse and my rhinestone jeans like fish speared in the ocean. I closed the window and yanked the drapes across it.

I sidestepped obstacles to make my way to the closet. Inside, scattered across the carpet, were my family snapshots. And splayed open in the middle of the mess was my family album. I fell to my knees and picked up the pictures: Dad holding me on his hip when I was a baby; Mom, Dad, and me on the boardwalk in Atlantic City when I was four; me burying Dad in the sand at the beach. I scooped all the photos back into the brown box and set the album on top of them. I cradled the box in my lap and rocked back and forth. What was happening to me? Was I schizophrenic like my dad? I snatched the lid off the floor, covered the box, and then stashed it on the shelf behind a pair of tennis shoes.

Wiping tears from my face, I returned to my desk and plopped down in the chair. The drawers of the desk had been emptied onto the carpet, but the caricature from Disney World hung on the wall again. I traced the edges of the closed laptop.

“Leave it,” a voice whispered. “Like it never happened.”

I clenched my teeth, unplugged my laptop, and picked up my cell. After another quick glance around the room, I left and slammed the door behind me. Downstairs, I set my laptop on an end table, and then I opened the blinds and curtains in the kitchen and adjoining family room. I flipped on all the lights. I needed brightness. No lurking darkness.

My heart beat faster as I stared at my laptop across the room. I scratched at my cheeks and debated whether or not to open it. There had to be a recording on it, but I would come entirely unhinged if I watched a video showing me tearing apart my own room. Proof positive that I'd become a complete nutcase.

My cell buzzed with a text from Plug: I'm heading to your house. See you soon.

I replied: Don't need a ride.

He messaged back: Remember to bring lunch today.

I texted: I'm not coming.

I tossed my phone on the couch and reached for the computer, but my hands trembled. I tightened them into fists and paced the room, too chicken to do it alone. Resigned, I foraged through the kitchen cupboards. Sugar and caffeine would help keep me awake.

With two cans of Dr. Pepper and a bag of chocolate chips, I curled up on the couch. I emptied the first can of soda and half the bag of chips while Manny and I texted back and forth. But then he left for the funeral. Everyone I knew was going. Would they notice my absence? Would they talk about me? I let out three enormous burps in succession. Then I popped the top on the second can of Dr. Pepper. At least Manny felt well enough to go, which suggested his ribs were healing. And that meant he'd be back at school soon.

Last night Manny had said Lily regained consciousness. I snatched my phone and dialed the hospital.

“Hello?” Lily said.

“Lily!” I sat up straight. “Is it really you?”

“Hannah? Are you calling from the funeral?”

“No, I'm at home.”

“Oh”—Lily cleared her throat—“because Jordan's mom slapped you? Did you really brag to her about going to the mall?”

“I didn't brag. I wasn't thinking straight. I said stupid things.”

“I still can't believe he's dead.” Lily's voice diminished.

“I never meant for any of it—”

“I know,” Lily said, “but Hannah, are you okay?”

“I only have bruises.”

“No, I mean—”

“What?”

“Chelsea told me you punched her in broadcasting—”

“She stole my anchor chair.”

“She said Mr. Arnold asked her to fill in—”

“Don't believe Chelsea's lies.”

“Are you saying you didn't punch her?”

“I swung at her, but I never actually touched her.” I suddenly realized how petty I sounded when Lily was stuck in the hospital. “I'm sorry. I shouldn't be ranting about Chelsea when I called to find out how you're doing. Are you in pain? What do the doctors say?”

“Yeah, I'm in pain. The doctors say I'll be here a while. Something about internal damage and a traumatic head injury. They shaved off my hair.”

“It'll grow back,” I said.

“I wish Jordan could come back as easily,” Lily sobbed into the phone.

I cried along with her. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

“No. A grief counselor is supposed to visit me sometime today. My mom's worried that I'm depressed. What else would I be? I just woke up and found out that my boyfriend is dead!”

“I'm so sorry.”

“I know, Hannah,” Lily said. “I should go, but can you visit soon?”