Black Creek Crossing (14 page)

“Then how come it felt like it was my fault?” Angel asked.

Seth shrugged. “How come it always feels like it’s my fault when my dad—”

Abruptly, he fell silent, and Angel stopped and looked at him. “When your dad does what?”

A shadow seemed to pass over Seth’s face. “Nothing,” he said. “Sometimes he just gets mad at me, that’s all.”

That’s not all, Angel thought. But there was something in Seth’s expression that told her not to push, so she didn’t press him, and for the rest of the walk out to the Crossing, neither of them said another word. But when they finally came around the last bend and stood across the road from Angel’s house, Seth paused, cocking his head as he gazed at the structure on the other side of the road.

“Seth? What is it?” Angel asked. “Do you see something?”

Seth hesitated, remembering the strange image he’d seen on his computer—an image he’d been unable to duplicate, even though he’d come back out here half a dozen times since, taking pictures of the house in all kinds of light. But none of the pictures had shown the strange flames bursting from the second story window or the faint shadow, as if someone—or something—might have been inside the house.

Now it looked perfectly normal.

Perfectly normal, and perfectly ordinary.

Seth finally shook his head in answer to Angel’s question. “I was just wondering,” he said. “I mean—is it weird living in there, knowing what happened?”

Angel wondered if she should tell Seth what had happened on her very first night in the house.
Yeah, right. And have him think I’m crazy.
“It’s just a house,” she said, not quite answering his question. “Come on.”

As they went inside, the cat that had followed them all the way from town darted off into the woods.

They were in Angel’s room, their backpacks on the floor, the two of them sitting side by side on the bed, leaning against the wall. Seth glanced uneasily around the room. “This was the girl’s room.”

Angel shrugged. “I guess.”

“I don’t need to guess—this was the room they found her in. Doesn’t it bother you, sleeping in here?”

“Why should it?” Angel countered, a little too quickly, her voice sharper than she’d meant it to be. “I mean, it’s not like there’s—” She hesitated, then went on. “—not like there’s a ghost or something.”

Seth cocked his head as he gazed at her, just like he had when he’d been looking at the house earlier, and Angel felt herself reddening. “What?” he asked. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” Angel said, again too quickly.

“I don’t believe you.” For an instant he thought Angel was going to say something, but then he could see her changing her mind. “Come on,” he pressed. “Tell me. Did something happen?” Now he could see by the look in her eyes that he was right—there was something she didn’t want to tell him. “What is it? You might as well tell me, ’cause I’m going to keep bugging you till you do.”

“It wasn’t anything,” Angel protested. “It was only a dream!”

“So if it was only a dream, what’s the big deal?”

“It isn’t a big deal,” Angel countered. “It was just a nightmare, that’s all. Can’t we just talk about something else?” But when she saw that Seth wasn’t going to talk about anything else, she finally told him about the strange dream in which she’d seen a girl burning in the closet, and what had happened when she finally woke up, when she was certain she could still smell smoke in the closet, even though the fire had only been a dream.

Seth listened in silence until she finished. “See?” she said. “I told you it was just a dream, didn’t I?”

Instead of replying to her question, Seth opened his backpack and pulled out a notebook. From the pocket in the back cover he took an envelope, which he wordlessly handed to Angel.

“What is it?” she asked, holding the envelope gingerly, as if it were hot.

“A photograph,” Seth said, his voice sounding oddly hollow. “I took it a while ago, the day you and your folks came to look at this place. There’s something in the window—something like . . .”

He spread his hands helplessly. “I don’t know—it doesn’t show up real well. Even when I blew it up, I couldn’t really see anything.”

Angel pulled the photo out of the envelope. “How did you know we were looking at the house?” she asked as she studied it. The photo showed the house exactly as it had been the day she and her parents first came to see it. But one window on the second floor—her window—looked strange. Fuzzy, and slightly out of focus. But there seemed to be something behind the glass, something she couldn’t quite make out.

“I saw you. I was across the street when you left.”

And then Angel remembered. It had been just as they were driving away from the house. She’d looked back at the house and seen something—something that looked like the face of a girl looking out the window of her room. Was it possible that Seth had actually taken a picture of it? “Are there any more?” she asked.

Seth nodded, and handed her another envelope. Her pulse suddenly quickening and her fingers trembling, Angel opened the envelope and pulled out another photograph, also of the house, but in this one flames were pouring out the second story window.

Her window.

She stared at it silently for almost a full minute, then tore her eyes away to gaze at Seth. “I don’t understand. If the house was on fire—”

“It wasn’t,” Seth broke in. “It was sunset, and the sun was sort of reflecting in the window, but when I looked at the picture on my computer . . .” His voice died away and he shook his head. “It’s weird, isn’t it? I mean, doesn’t it look exactly like flames?”

Angel’s eyes narrowed, and she was suddenly certain she knew what had happened. “You used one of those programs like PhotoShop, didn’t you?” But as soon as she uttered the words, she could see by the expression in his eyes that she was wrong. “But if you didn’t do it . . .” Now it was her voice that died away, and when she spoke again, her voice held the same hollow note she’d heard in Seth’s a few minutes ago. “So how come you’re taking so many pictures of my house?” she asked, looking once more at the strange image of flames seeming to billow from her window.

Seth shrugged. “I like it. I mean, it’s not like it’s huge or anything, but it’s really old, and—” His eyes shifted away from her. “Maybe part of it is that nobody else usually comes out here.”

“Why not?”

“All the stories,” Seth replied. He glanced around the room, which appeared utterly ordinary with the afternoon sunlight pouring in.

“You mean about the murders?”

Seth nodded. “But there’s other stuff too.” He fell silent again, but looked at her. “You know how kids tell stories about haunted houses?” Angel nodded. “Well, around here, this is the haunted house. I mean, even before that guy killed his family, everyone talked about it.”

“About what?” Angel pressed. When Seth still hesitated, she reminded him that she’d told him about her dream.

“There’s stories about all kinds of stuff,” he finally said. “You know—ghosts and witches.”

“I don’t believe in that kind of stuff,” Angel replied, but even as she said it, her gaze drifted to the photo that still lay on her lap. Was it possible that whatever was behind the window was the strange apparition she’d seen that day they’d come to see the house? She decided then that she didn’t want to talk about it anymore. Getting up, she went to the dresser, turning her back on Seth. But she could still see him reflected in the mirror, staring at her.

“Don’t do that,” she said.

“Do what?”

“Don’t stare at me—I hate it when people stare at me.”

“I wasn’t staring at you,” Seth protested as he put the pictures in his backpack. “But even if I was looking at you, so what?”

Now it was the memory of the kids in Mrs. Holt’s class that rose in her mind:
Who cares if she’s smart—just look at her! Yuck!
The stinging words made her eyes well with tears again. “Because I’m not pretty,” she blurted, wheeling around to face Seth. “I mean, just look at me!” When Seth said nothing, Angel said, “See? Everyone’s right! I’m just
yuck!
”

Now Seth was truly staring at her. “What are you talking about?” he asked.

Finally giving in to the tears she’d been struggling against all day, she said, “What does it matter if I’m smart? All anyone cares about is how I look! And I look awful!”

“You don’t look awful,” Seth protested. “You look—” He stopped, seeing in her eyes that if he said she was pretty, she wouldn’t believe him. “You look interesting,” he said. “So your face isn’t like Heather Dunne’s. Who cares?”

“I care,” Angel wailed. “I don’t want to be ‘interesting.’ I want to be pretty.” She turned around again and was staring at herself in the mirror when Seth appeared next to her. For a long minute the two of them stared at her reflection in the mirror, and then Seth cocked his head slightly and a little smile played around his lips.

“What?” Angel asked, still truculent. “Are you going to try to convince me I
am
pretty? Because if you are, don’t bother—my eyes are too big, and my lips are too big, and my eyebrows—”

“Will you be quiet for a minute?” Seth broke in. “I was just thinking—have you got any makeup?”

“You mean like lipstick and eyeliner and that kind of stuff?” When Seth nodded, Angel shook her head. “My mom won’t let me wear any, except on Halloween. Last year I was going to be a vampire, but—”

“But what?” Seth pressed. Angel said nothing, but Seth thought he knew the answer to his question. “Nobody invited you to a party, did they?” The tightening of Angel’s expression told him he was right. “Nobody invited me to any parties either,” he went on. “So, you still got the vampire stuff?”

“It’s just junk!” Angel protested. “It’s not makeup.”

“Sure it is,” Seth told her. “I bet it’s the same stuff they sell in the cosmetics section of the drugstore in a different package. Get it out.” Angel didn’t move. “Oh, come on—it can’t hurt just to try something, can it?”

Still not sure what Seth was up to, Angel rummaged around in the bottom drawer of her dresser until she found the unopened package that contained not only the makeup kit for the vampire, but the teeth and a black cape as well. “This is stupid—” she began, but Seth had already taken the package out of her hand and began ripping it open.

“Cool!” he said, shaking out the cape and throwing it around his shoulders, then gazing at himself in the mirror over Angel’s dresser. Then he opened the box that contained the makeup. “ ‘Dead white,’ ” he read off one of the labels. “And they have ‘bloodred,’ ‘bruise purple,’ and a bunch of other stuff. Put it on,” he told her.

Angel reddened. “I—I don’t know how,” she finally admitted. “I’ve never put on makeup before.”

Seth rolled his eyes. “Then I’ll do it,” he said. “Come here.” He pulled her over so she was standing in front of him. “This is going to be fun,” he said. “Like painting a picture on your face.”

Angel glanced sourly at her reflection in the mirror. “You can’t fix my face with makeup,” she told him.

“Bet I can,” Seth retorted. “Besides, I don’t want to fix anything—I’m going to make everything bigger.”

Angel’s eyes widened. “Are you crazy?”

“Be quiet,” Seth told her. “I’m just going to try it, okay? I mean, what can it hurt? No one’s here but me, and if it doesn’t work, we can just take it off.” He held up a small jar of cold cream. “See? They even put it in the kit, in case the sight of blood makes you sick.”

Angel made a face. “That’s disgusting. And besides—”

“Stop arguing,” Seth said. “Let’s see what happens.”

Angel reluctantly turned back to Seth, but still couldn’t believe he was actually going to try to make her features even bigger. Everything was already so large!

“First we’ll do your eyes,” Seth said. Opening the purple eye shadow, he began carefully applying it, first to her eyelids, then below her eyes.

“How’d you learn to do this?” Angel asked.

“I was in a play last year—Mr. DeBerg showed us. Now be quiet—every time you say something, your whole face moves.” Finished with the shadow, he found the black eyeliner and began outlining her eyes, pulling the line outward on both sides so her eyes seemed to be a little farther apart, just like the drama teacher had showed him.

When he was done with the eyeliner, Angel turned to look at herself in the mirror. Her eyes actually did look even bigger, but somehow, with the color Seth had added, they looked deeper too.

“Is that so terrible?” Seth asked.

Angel shook her head.

“Then let me do the rest.” Seth set to work, accentuating every feature Angel had spent her life hating, making her cheekbones look higher and more pronounced, her nose longer, and finally applying “bloodred” to her lips. “Cool,” Seth pronounced when he was finally finished. Turning Angel toward the mirror, he stood beside her as they gazed at his work. “Nobody’s going to say ‘yuck’ when they see that!”

Angel stared silently at her own reflection, and as she slowly got used to what Seth had done, she found herself thinking that maybe she actually
did
look a little better.

And then the bedroom door suddenly opened, and Angel turned to see her father framed in the doorway. His eyes fixed on her, shifted to Seth for a moment, then came back to her. “What the hell’s goin’ on in here?” he demanded, his slurred words telling Angel that he’d been drinking.

“Nothing, Dad,” she began. “Seth and I were just—”

“Nothing?” Marty Sullivan repeated. “I come home and find my little Angel painted up like some whore, with a boy in her bedroom? Don’ tell me nothin’s going on.” His malevolent gaze swung back to Seth Baker. “Get out, you little punk.” Abruptly, he lunged forward, grabbed Seth by the shirt, jerked the vampire cape off his shoulders, and began propelling him toward the door. Seth barely had time to grab his backpack before Marty pulled him out of the room.

“Dad!” Angel cried out, but Marty Sullivan didn’t even hear her. He was already half dragging Seth down the stairs.

A moment later Angel watched from the window as her father shoved Seth off the front porch. “You stay away from my girl, you hear?” she heard him yell. Then the front door slammed shut, and she saw Seth run across the yard and disappear down the street.