Vicious Little Darlings (20 page)

“You're reading too much into it.”

“I don't think I am, because after I asked her that question, she said the reading was over. I think she saw something terrible in my future, and she knew I was aware of it. If she'd seen good things, she would've said something nice. Anyway, I insisted on asking another question since she didn't answer my first one, and I guess she felt sorry for me because she said okay.”

“What did you ask?”

Maddy bites her lip. “I asked her if there was anything a person could do to extend her life, if she was certain she was going to die young and wanted to change her destiny.”

“You mean, like, cheat death?”

“No, not cheat it, but maybe … delay it for a bit.”

Maddy's words hang in the air. I don't know what she's up to, but her obsession with death seems way out of control. Maybe this is what Agnes originally wanted me to ask Maddy about. But then why did Agnes change her mind?

“So, what did the Gypsy say?” I ask Maddy.

“She said yes and even told me how to do it, but warned me not to. Not like it matters,” Maddy says. “I was never going to do it. I don't believe in tampering with destiny; I was just curious is all.”

“So there's actually a way to extend a person's life?”

She nods.

“How?”

“That's not important, Sarah. I'm not going to do it.”

“I know you're not. I'm just curious.”

“We shouldn't even be talking about it. Besides, I don't remember exactly what she said. It's been so long.”

I study Maddy's face. There's something fixed and unnatural about it, like she's in a trance. A moment later, she snaps out of it.

“To be honest, I'm more afraid of Agnes,” she says. “Ever since the night of the reading, I've been trying to make sense of what the Gypsy said. Then, on the way to the airport, it suddenly became clear to me. The number twenty-one, the end of a cycle, a circle of friends, a betrayal—what all of this means is that I'm going to die before December twenty-first, my birthday, and Agnes is going to be my murderer.”

“That's ridiculous, Maddy. Please tell me you're not serious.” I don't know what to think. Is this another one of her tricks, or has she gone completely mental?

She's staring at her palm, retracing her truncated lifeline.

“Look,” I say. “You can't trust that Gypsy. Or your palm, or any of that stuff. The truth is nobody knows what's going to happen. The Gypsy was unethical. She was probably trying to scare you. She saw you and Agnes, a couple of college girls, no threat to her whatsoever, so she had some fun with you. And she got paid handsomely for it too.”

Maddy shakes her head and continues staring at her palm.

“Okay,” I say. “Let's just say for the sake of argument that the Gypsy actually
could
see the future. She was never specific enough about anything for you to come to any conclusions. She never said you were going to die young. She never said Agnes was going to kill you. Think about it: a circle and another circle and a friend who's going to betray you? For all we know, she could have been talking about
me
!
I
betrayed you with Sebastian.”

“No, because you made it up to me by giving up Reed. Right?”

“Maddy,” I say, rubbing my eyes, suddenly very tired, “it's late. Why don't we try and get some sleep. I'm sure this will all make more sense in the morning.”

Maddy stands up. “You're right. It
is
late and I
am
kind of tired.” Noticing the candles, she bends down to blow them out, then points at the Ouija board. “We'll clean this up tomorrow.”

“Good idea,” I say, hitting the lights.

26

I
toss and turn in bed, tortured by thoughts of Kax, the Gypsy, and Agnes as a potential murderer.

Months ago when Agnes first told me the Gypsy story, I was intrigued but also skeptical. Deep down, I thought the story was a ploy to get me to move in with them, but I guess I was wrong.

Maddy is a bottomless pit of personalities and she seems to be getting weirder all the time. It was strange enough when she thought she was going to die young, but now she believes Agnes is going to murder her? I have to talk to Agnes about this. But what will I say?
Maddy thinks you're going to kill her?
It's too outrageous.

And what about the Ouija board? After seeing what I saw, how can I pretend I don't believe in the supernatural? The indicator moved. And Kax knew that I never had the chicken pox, and there's no neat and logical explanation for that.

I feel someone staring at me. Slowly I turn toward the wall. It's the portrait I drew of Agnes, staring right at me! I get out of bed and stumble toward it. As I get closer, I realize it looks different from before. I don't know if it's the darkness or my mind playing tricks on me, but the portrait looks a little like me now. My pulse quickens. Those are definitely my eyes, and that's definitely my mouth—except I look completely deranged. How could my drawing have changed? Who tampered with it? I must be hallucinating. I tear the drawing off the wall and shove it in the trash. The last thing I need right now is to be terrorized by my own creation.

I climb back into bed, but freeze when I hear the toilet flush. I wait for the bathroom door to open. It opens, and then the floorboards creak as Maddy walks back to her room. When I hear her door shut, I exhale.

Then I hear a tapping at my door. I bury my head under the covers.

“Sarah? Are you asleep?”

No, no, no. Stay away from me.

She opens the door. I feel her hesitating in the doorway while her crème brûlée lotion wafts into the room. With my head still under the covers, I picture her standing there in her silk-and-ostrich-feather robe and bare feet. I will her to go away. I picture a barbed-wire fence around my bed, a moat, a dozen crucifixes.

But she doesn't budge.

A minute passes and then she comes in. She walks to the vacant side of my bed and peels back the covers. I keep my eyes closed. Cold air stabs me in the back while she climbs in. Then it's warm again. She's so close I can smell her mouthwash. For several minutes I don't move, don't breathe, don't think. Eventually, I hear her snore.

Something is jabbing me in the upper arm. I ignore it. Another jab, and then another. I force my eyes open, startled to see Agnes standing over me with a scowl on her face.

“What?” I say.

She points toward my chest.

“What?” I repeat. I look down at my chest, and nearly jump when I see Maddy's hand resting on my breast. I brush her hand away and sit up.

“What exactly have you two been doing?” Agnes asks.

“Nothing. What are you doing home so early?”

“Do I need a reason to come back to my own house?” She looks me in the eye. “What happened last night?”

“Nothing.” I look away. “Maddy must've come in after I fell asleep. She was probably afraid to sleep alone.”

“Uh-huh. Then why was she fondling your breast?”

“Fondling my breast? God, Agnes, what is wrong with you?”

“So you weren't fooling around?” she asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Fooling around? Please.” I reach for my robe.

“Okay, don't get angry. I believe you.” She lowers her voice. “I was worried, that's all. I left Maddy several messages but she never called me back. Finally, I called her aunt, who told me Maddy had decided to stay at school to catch up on her studies. And since that sounded completely ludicrous, I assumed something terrible had happened. So when I rushed back here and found the two of you in bed together … naturally, I overreacted. I'm sorry.”

“You should be,” Maddy says.

Agnes and I both freeze.

“Did we wake you?” Agnes says sheepishly.

“Yes, you did.” Maddy waves a finger at Agnes. “I never knew you had such a dirty mind.”

Agnes turns crimson. “Why didn't you tell me you were coming home?”

“Do I have to tell you everything?”

Agnes looks down at the floor.

Maddy climbs out of bed, naked. God. Why is she naked? She walks across the room, puts on her robe, and then walks out the door.

“I bought doughnuts!” Agnes calls after her.

“I'm not hungry.” Maddy comes back into the room. “Sarah, come downstairs with me.”

I look to Agnes, but she avoids my gaze. Maddy grabs my hand and pulls me toward the stairs. At the last minute, when I'm almost out the door, I snatch Agnes's hand and drag her along with us. At the bottom of the stairs, Maddy drops my hand and I let go of Agnes's.

In the kitchen, Agnes busies herself with making coffee and setting out plates and napkins. I catch her sneaking glimpses at Maddy, but Maddy ignores her, and despite saying she wasn't hungry, she scarfs down two chocolate doughnuts. Maybe Maddy's bad mood is just a cover for her newfound fear of Agnes.

I think the Lutherans were right: Ouija boards are evil. And so are fortune-telling Gypsies.

After breakfast, I help Agnes with the dishes. She washes, I dry. Maddy wanders into the den to watch Saturday morning cartoons, which she's rarely awake for. The minute she's gone, Agnes pulls me aside.

“I need to ask you a favor,” she says.

I hesitate. “What?”

“Could you leave Maddy and me alone for a little while?”

“Sure,” I say, relieved that the favor is so minor. “I'll go upstairs.”

“No. I need you to leave the house.”

I scratch my head. “For how long?”

“Just a few hours.”

“A few hours? All the libraries are closed today. And it's too cold to sit out by the pond.”

“Go to the mall. Or wherever. Here, take the car,” she says, shoving her key into my palm.

“You got your car fixed?”

“No, I bought a new one. Go ahead, take it.”

“Okay,” I say, both puzzled and annoyed that she's so eager to get rid of me. Is she punishing me for having spent two days alone with Maddy? Is she
that
jealous?

The Gypsy seemed to think so.

I look down at my makeshift pajamas—a white tank and red sweatpants. “I need to change first.”

“All right, but hurry,” she says, not-so-gently nudging me toward the stairs.

Upstairs, while changing, I start to panic. What if Agnes does something to Maddy? What if Maddy is in danger?

No, I reassure myself. Agnes would never hurt her. If only the Gypsy understood how much Agnes cares for Maddy.

I lock the front door and walk toward the driveway, wondering how Agnes is going to explain my sudden disappearance.

In the driveway sits a shiny new black Mercedes S500—a clone of the car Agnes had before the accident. The fact that Agnes bought the exact same car doesn't surprise me a bit. She could have bought any car, but when Agnes likes something she likes it to death.

I open the door, slide into the buttery seat, and inhale the intoxicating new-car scent. I flip through the CDs in the side pocket of the door, hoping to find something other than opera or classical music. I find nothing, and decide to go back into the house for my CDs.

I walk stealthily into the house. Maddy's cartoons are still on full blast. I poke my head into the den and what I see literally makes me jump back. Maddy is lying on her back on the couch with her feet in Agnes's lap, and Agnes is giving her a foot massage. An actual foot massage.

Didn't Agnes once say that a woman's feet and the small of her back were areas meant for lovers only? They certainly look like lovers right now. It's the most intimate I've ever seen two people interact outside of intercourse.

But why is Maddy even letting her do it? Especially after last night. I thought Agnes was supposed to be the enemy. I don't get it. Normally Maddy won't tolerate even the slightest display of affection from Agnes, and now they're acting like a couple. Maybe they're secret lovers. Maybe they've been playing musical beds behind my back all this time. How could I have been so naive?

“Not so soft. You're tickling me,” Maddy coos, the same way she used to coo for Sebastian.

“How's that?” Agnes asks in a low voice.

“Too hard,” Maddy whines. She's trying to be cute. “There. That's good. Keep doing that.”

I tear my eyes away and tiptoe upstairs. I riffle through a pile of CDs next to my bed. Grabbing Nico, I bolt out of the house.

I get in the car and drive, and before I know it, I'm parked outside of Reed's apartment. Forcing myself out of the car, I walk toward his door and knock on it. No answer. I'm such an idiot. I had someone who loved me, and I totally fucked things up. If only I knew some of Reed's friends. Then I could call them up and ask where he is. But I've never met any of them. Maybe I should stay in the car and wait until he comes back.

I walk back to the car and turn up the stereo. Depressing Nico is perfect for depressing times like this. I listen for a while, then climb into the backseat and close my eyes.

27

W
hen I open my eyes, the sky is a cool black. An entire day napped away. I smooth my hair and climb out of the car. Then I walk toward Reed's apartment again and knock on the door, firmly, calmly.

There's no answer.

I wait a few more minutes before heading back to the car. And then I drive, dreading what's waiting for me at home.

Maddy and Agnes are sitting at the dining table looking surprisingly normal, not all lovey-dovey like before. Agnes is stabbing a salad with her fork, and Maddy is picking at what looks like a microwaved potpie. I guess Agnes was too “busy” to cook dinner. They didn't even wait for me.

“We called you,” Agnes says. Is she gloating? There's color in her cheeks and an actual gleam in her eyes. “We called you, Sarah,” she repeats.

“I didn't have my phone with me,” I mutter.

“How was work?” Maddy asks, and then Agnes gives me a look that says I should play along.

“It was … okay,” I say.

“You left so suddenly,” says Maddy. “I thought you were going to tell your boss you were sick.”

“Oh,” I say, “I forgot to call him, and anyway, I felt better today.”

Maddy smiles at me, but there's something artificial about it. I look away. When I turn back I catch her glowering at me, though her lips are still upturned. She's mad at me? Why?

“So, what did you guys do today?” I ask.

Canoodled, of course.
An awkward silence follows. Agnes avoids my gaze and says, “Nothing much. Come eat.”

“I'm not feeling very well.” I place Agnes's car key on the counter. “I'm going to go lie down.”

Agnes looks up at me. “I'll check on you later.”

“Get some rest, Sarah Bear,” Maddy chirps.

I go to my room, close the door, and crawl into bed. I'm not tired at all. In fact, I'm so overly rested that I have a headache. So I get up, fluff my pillow, and toss the pillow Maddy used last night onto the floor. Then I go to the window and open it. I lean over the sill. What if I jumped? I could do it; I could end it all. If things ever got that bad. Of course, two stories isn't exactly high enough.

I close the window and scold myself for being so melodramatic. I don't want to die. Even if I did, I certainly wouldn't choose a dramatic death. Pills maybe, or gas like Sylvia Plath, but nothing gory, ugly, or painful. Death should be beautiful, even if life isn't.

Still antsy, I pace my room. Part of me wants to go downstairs and confront them, demand the truth. The other part just wants to go downstairs and be with them and pretend that everything's normal. Why are they shutting me out? If they truly are lovers now, then I'll be the third wheel and this living arrangement will never work. Things will only get more complicated and strange.

I need to start focusing on classes again, preparing for finals, not spending all of my time consumed with Maddy and Agnes. Maybe I should move out—not now, but next semester. First, I'll fly to California for Christmas. I've saved enough money from my job to buy a plane ticket, and even if Nana doesn't want me there on my own, there's nothing she can do to stop me. I have a key and she still is my legal guardian. After the holiday, I'll make a new start. I'll move back into Haven House and try to make new friends. I'll see Maddy and Agnes less and less, and talk to them less and less. Gradually I'll be free.

But why does the thought of moving out fill me with dread? Why do I get the feeling that
I
will be the one who can't let go?

There's a knock at my door. I stash my back issue of
Star
under the bed and pull the covers up to my chin.

“Come in,” I say.

The door opens brusquely and Agnes, wearing her granny glasses, enters my room with a bowl of chicken soup on a tray. She sets the tray on my nightstand.

“How are you feeling?” she asks.

“Better,” I say. “Where's Maddy?”

“She went to bed.”

Agnes motions for me to sit up, and I watch as she transfers the tray to my lap.

The steam from the soup ignites my appetite.

She sits down at the foot of the bed and turns toward me. “I hope you don't mind that I told Maddy you went to work today.”

“No,” I say, taking a spoonful of soup, “but why did you say work?”

“I didn't know what else to say. I didn't want her to call your cell a million times. And I had no idea you were sick.”

I nod.

“So, where did you go?” she asks.

“Does it matter?”

She shrugs. “You were gone a long time.”

I take another spoonful. “What were you and Maddy doing that was so private?”

She looks away. “I just wanted to talk to her. Alone. We had an argument the day before Thanksgiving, on our way to the airport.”

“She never told me.”

“That's probably because … it was about you.”

“Me?” I say, slightly rattled. “What did
I
do?”

“You didn't do anything. It was a misunderstanding.” Agnes lowers her eyes and begins picking at her cuticles. “I thought Maddy was ignoring me. I thought she didn't want to be my best friend anymore. I'm ashamed to say this, but I was jealous of all the time
you
were spending with her.”

Our eyes lock. She's out of her mind. When have I ever spent time alone with Maddy? I can't think of a single time before this weekend.

“But everything's fine now. Maddy reassured me that she still wants to be my best friend. You're our friend too, of course, but Maddy and I have history.”

Agnes slides off the bed and begins to pace. So she really
is
jealous. Maybe the Gypsy was right. Maybe she
is
dangerous.

“I'm not trying to take Maddy away from you,” I say.

Agnes looks at me like she's amused. “I know.”

“You're Maddy's best friend and I'm totally fine with that. I'm not trying to replace you or come between you guys or—”

“I know, Sarah,” she says, more insistent this time.

“Are you sure? Because it's important to me that you understand that.”

“Yes, I get it. You don't have to keep saying it. Let's change the subject, okay?”

“I just have one more question,” I say. Agnes meets my eyes. “Are you sure what you feel for Maddy isn't more than friendship?”

She swallows visibly. “What are you implying?”

I muster the courage to bring up the foot massage. “I saw you guys earlier. On the couch. I came back to get a CD and I saw you.”

“And?”

“And I know what's going on,” I say, aware of the nervous edge that's crept into my voice.

“And what's that?” she asks.

“Come on, Agnes. Don't pretend you don't know what I'm talking about.”

“But I
don't
know what you're talking about.”

“You want me to say it out loud?”

“It would certainly help.”

“I saw you giving Maddy a foot massage.” Now, suddenly,
I
feel ridiculous.

“And?”

“And, I want to know if you and Maddy are … in love. I live here, so I think I have a right to know if you guys are a couple now.”

“A couple?” Agnes laughs. “You're very funny, Sarah. I wasn't giving Maddy a foot massage. She had a cramp in her foot. I was helping her to get it out. In love?
Please
.” She laughs again, more condescendingly this time. “You really have a vivid imagination.”

I look away. Why, why, why does she always make me feel like I'm overreacting? And why does she have a logical explanation for everything? I know what I saw and yet she's making me doubt myself. I don't know whether to hate her or admire her for it.

“Well, I guess I'll say good night.” She walks toward the door, stops halfway, and turns around. “Unless you have any other theories you'd like to share with me.”

I roll my eyes.

“Okay, then, see you in the morning,” she says, closing the door behind her.