Bad Girls Don't Die (27 page)

She said
Lexi
. I nearly passed out from relief.

“She’s my friend. She wouldn’t hurt me. She promised.”

“She’s evil, Kasey,” I said. “Do you think demons keep their promises?”

“She tried to be your friend too. She would have helped you.”

“Maybe I don’t want to be her friend, did you ever think of that?”

“It’s your fault she’s even here,” she said. “You’re so mean to me. You pretend to like me, but you think I’m stupid. You treat me like a baby. She’s the only one who cares.”

“Is that what she told you?” I asked.

Kasey hesitated. “Yes, but—it’s
true
.”

“You know what she’s planning?” I asked. “You know all the work you’ve been doing for her? She’s going to hurt people. And you’ll be the one who gets in trouble. She’s using you.”

Kasey swallowed hard.

“Do you really want to hurt Mary?” I asked. “And the librarian? And
us
, Kasey, your family? We’re on that list. After you do all of her dirty work, she’s going to kill you too.”

My sister took a moment to consider this, but it didn’t seem to disturb her very much.

I took a step backward.

“Don’t try to run,” she said. “You won’t make it out the door.”

Up to that point I’d managed to convince myself that there was a separation. There was Kasey, and there was Sarah.

But it seemed like the line was blurring.

“Kasey, we’re sisters. Why would you hurt me? What would you do without me?”

No reasoning worked better with Kasey than the “What would you do without me?” argument. If I ever wanted to win a fight with her, all I had to do was say something about how awful she would feel if I died, and she would immediately burst into tears and apologize.

If there was any of that codependent instinct left in her, I wanted it on my side. Maybe I could bring her back through the magic of guilt.

“The thing is, Lexi . . .” She stiffened and took a step closer. “. . . I’d be fine without you.”

She put her hand on my shoulder.

Her touch was like a hundred bees stinging me at once. I tried to back away and stumbled, falling against the wall for support. Still, she didn’t move her hand.

She was drawing the energy—the life?—out of my body. The world spun and my head started to ache. I lost my balance and slid to the ground, landing on my forearms and knees, like a baby crawling. Kasey knelt at my side, her fingers still locked in place.

She’s really going to kill me.

I braced my arms against the rough carpet, trying to keep my head off the floor, as the whole world moved in waves. It was like being on the deck of a boat in the middle of a storm. I couldn’t tell which way was up. My hand hit the bed with a thud.

Nausea rose up inside my throat—I tried to force it back, tried to take a deep breath—

But I couldn’t breathe. I tried again, opened my mouth and attempted to swallow huge, gasping breaths. But even though I could taste the air, sweet and cool on my tongue, I couldn’t force it down my throat and into my lungs.

I was drowning, sinking . . . dying.

“No, stop!”

It was Kasey’s voice. She seemed to swing past me like a pendulum, her wide blue eyes so close to my face, her clawlike grip still burning into my shoulder.

“Stop, you’re hurting her!” she cried.

A memory flashed into my head—the cool, smooth-edged feeling of the heart charm against the skin of my palm.

The heart.

It was the only thing that could help me. My arm thrashed around like a fish out of water, finally hitting the rough knit of the sweater I’d left on the floor. I reached into the pocket and felt the silky length of ribbon.

My fingers groped for it, and my vision started to go gray. A horrible pounding sound echoed inside my head.

Finally, just as I was about to give up, my finger made contact with the smooth metal. I grabbed it and slapped it wildly against the top of Kasey’s hand. She gasped and let go of my shoulder.

Air came rushing back into my lungs.

The throbbing whooshes went silent, and all I could hear were Kasey’s soft sobs. She’d scooted a few feet away and was holding her hand protectively near her body.

I wrapped the ribbon around my hand and thrust my arm forward, the flat of the heart making contact with my sister’s bare foot.

She jerked her head up, stared at me through shocked eyes, and then went limp and passed out, slumping sideways onto the carpet.

Every breath of air was like a piece of sandpaper rubbing against my throat. I had to call Megan and tell her. I had to call out to Mom.

But I collapsed.

Darkness washed over me.

I
AM LOCKING THE BACK DOOR
. I am locking all the windows.

I have closed all the drapes, like she told me to.

“Mommy,” Megan says, “I’m hungry.”

I can’t help but feel annoyed—can’t she see I’m busy?

But then I turn and look at her, and something inside me warms a little. I kneel next to her and take her hands in mine. “I’m sorry, baby,” I say. “I’m almost done, and then we’ll have a snack, okay?”

Megan nods, but then the headache hits, and everything goes black for a moment.

I open my eyes to see Megan watching me, her thumb in her mouth.

KEEP GOING.

“Leave me alone!” I yell, trying to get the sound of it out of my head. Megan cowers. “No, sweetie, no, not you. . . .”

KEEP WORKING!

I’m like a puppet, doing as she commands, going from room to room, locking doors and windows behind me. Megan trails a few feet back, watching me. It has never been this bad before. Megan tries to grab on to the hem of my skirt, but I push her away.

YOU HATE HER.

And for a second, I do. I look at my daughter and feel a burning hatred. But it flares out like a match, and all that’s left is guilt, sorrow, fear. Horrible fear.

A few minutes later the job is done.

GO TO THE KITCHEN.

I do, although I don’t know why.

GO TO THE OVEN.

BLOW OUT THE PILOT LIGHT.

No—no—

But I can’t stop myself from obeying.

TURN ON THE BURNERS. ALL OF THEM. TURN ON THE OVEN. OPEN THE OVEN DOOR.

And I’m crying, and Megan is crying because I’m crying, and she’s patting my back and I’m terrified because I feel pulsing hatred for her. I’m disgusted by her touch.

I shy away from her and look down at her little arm. I see the bracelet Mom gave her, the half of a heart, the one that fits together with mine. I reach out and touch the bracelet. I lift her wrist toward my mouth and kiss her hand.

Then I stand up and take her by the arm and drag her to the foyer, and she’s screaming and crying and trying to get away and asking me, “Why? Why? Why?”

NO, says the voice.

But for once I’m stronger than the voice, and I unbolt the front door and push Megan outside.

“Mommy!” she screams. Her face is red and splotchy and she’s crying so hard because she doesn’t understand.

“I love you, baby,” I say. “I love you so much.”

And then I close the door and dead-bolt it and fasten the chain and crawl back to the kitchen. The air is heavy with the smell of rotten eggs. I take the stack of doll photographs from my pocket and start tearing them to tiny pieces. Close-ups of her face, her mangled hair, her chipped hands, her stained underclothes. She’s hideous. Why did I ever think she was beautiful?

Megan thumps on the door and knocks and knocks, but I can hardly hear it because the voice in my head is screeching at me, cursing me.

I HATE YOU, I HATE YOU, YOU ARE NOT MY FRIEND, YOU DON’T LOVE ME. . . .

When the photographs are shredded, I crawl to the trash can and drop them inside.

I take a deep breath, and the voice gets lower and lower and finally disappears. The burning green eyes that have watched me so closely for such a long time go dim.

The last thing I think of is how beautiful Megan looked the day she was born, when they placed her in my arms for the first time, and I realized at that moment that I would lay down my life for this tiny person. And then I take one last deep breath and fall asleep. Forever.

TAP TAP TAP

Mom’s knock.

I’m alive.

“Alexis, are you awake? You’re going to be late for school.”

She tried the doorknob, but it was locked.

I’m on the floor.

“Honey, time to get up.”

I turned my head, feeling the carpet fibers drag against my face—but that was nothing. I had a headache that was like a thousand little mallets pounding on every part of my skull.

“Alexis?”

“I’m good, Mom,” I croaked. “I overslept.”

“I have to leave for work now.”

I pictured her standing on the other side of the door, her hair neatly blown dry and pinned back, her clothes tidy.

“Where’s Kasey?”

“I haven’t seen her. I guess she’s still asleep.”

“Okay, love you,” I said, rolling onto my back and pressing my palms over my throbbing temples. “Good luck today.”

“Thanks, sweetie,” she said. “Love you too.”

I waited until I heard the car pull out of the driveway, and then I forced myself to get up off the floor. I had some serious time to make up. I slipped on my jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt, and reached into my sweater pocket for the heart.

That’s when my dream came rushing back to me.

“Shara,” I whispered, putting it close to my lips. “I know you saved her life.”

I had to find Megan and tell her the truth about what happened that night.

And I needed her necklace. If just one half of the heart had scared Sarah off, two might be sufficiently powerful to hold her at bay—at least long enough for me to find the doll.

I went across the hall to the bathroom and flipped the light switch.

Add to the list of things I never knew about almost suffocating: it can cause blood vessels under the surface of your skin to burst, forming bruises. The girl staring back at me when I looked in the mirror had disheveled pink hair and two black eyes.

I opened the medicine cabinet, took out a bottle of Tylenol, popped one in my mouth, and swallowed. It stuck in my throat, but I forced it down.

I ducked into my bedroom and closed the door. Then I picked up the phone and dialed information.

“St. Margaret’s Hospital,” I said, and waited for the call to be connected. When the receptionist answered, I asked for room 412. It rang three times before Dad picked up.

“Hello?” All of a sudden there was a lump in my throat. “Hey, Dad, it’s Alexis.”

“Hi, honey!” he said. “Thanks for checking on the old man. When are you gonna make it over here?”

“Um, soon,” I said. “I just was thinking about you, though, and I wanted to call.”

He was quiet. “Lex, is everything okay?”

“Mostly,” I lied.

“Listen, sweetie. Being in this accident . . . I’ve been thinking. And I want you to know that you and Kasey and Mom are the most important things in my life. Maybe sometimes I act like I don’t feel that way, but . . . I’m going to try to be a better dad.”

“You’re a good dad,” I whispered.

“So . . . yeah, well, you should skip that stupid parade and come see me.”

I swallowed hard. “I wish I could.”

I wanted to go see him at the hospital, give him a hug, tell him I missed hanging out with him.

But there wasn’t time.

“Hey, Dad? I better go.”

“Okay, sweetie. I’m glad you called.”

“Me too . . . I love you.”

“Love you too.”

I hung up.

It took a few deep breaths to regain my composure, but finally I pressed my shoulders back, held my chin up, and opened the door.

Kasey, her hair mussed and her eyes glazed over (but blue), stood at dazed attention, like a zombie prison guard.