Dark Paradise (11 page)

“I'm not apologizing to you.” Landry doesn't back up. If anything, his body hunches toward me. Way too close. I can't even breathe he's so in my space, but it's my own fault since I stepped up to him. I stumble back into an empty table and let out a trickle of air. His eyes go flatter, dull, as he says, “Tell me what happened to my sister.”

“To y-your sister?” My mind scrambles. Why is he asking me about Lainey? She's dead. We saw her body. What's changed between now and the day in the garden other than his shitty attitude. Unless…My eyes widen. Did he hear I found his sister's body?

My mouth opens to ask, then closes. What if I'm wrong and he doesn't know? Or doesn't know all the gory details? I promised to keep my mouth shut. I can't break my word to Bessie and George, but Landry has me cornered. I don't know what to say…truth or lie. I suck at lying.

So I go with the truth. “What do you mean?”

“Stop pretending like you don't know what I'm talking about. Lainey was found on your land. She'd been murdered.” Landry pushes forward. I edge around the table, backing up until my back presses against the wall. I can't escape. “But you knew all that, didn't you? That's why you were really at the autopsy. Tell me what happened to her.”

“Murdered?” I almost choke on the word. “I don't understand.”

“Why do you keep lying to me? Is it because you feel guilty? Did you cut her up and throw her into the swamp like trash?”

“No! No, why would I?” I glare at the crowd gathered around us. “Get him off me!”

“They're not gonna help you.”

He's right. They're all his and Lainey's friends. I'm doomed. How did I get myself into this mess? Oh, right. Found a body, pulled her out of the swamp. I should've minded my own damn business. This so isn't fair.

“Damn it, Landry! Yes, I pulled her out of the water and called the police. I could've left her there, but I didn't. I did the right thing.” Tears burn my eyes; I'm so freaking pissed. The jerk accused me of murdering his sister in front of a roomful of people, and these idiots believe his lies. I can tell by the disgust stamped on their faces. I've got to get him to listen to reason before he ruins my life.

“Nobody told me that she'd been killed. I thought she committed suicide.” I push at his chest, trying to shove him back. It's like pushing a boulder.

“I can't believe I felt grateful to you for comforting me.” He squeezes his eyes shut, breathing hard. “You were so sweet. God, I'm such an
idiot
. I totally fell into your trap. You should've told me the truth.”

“Landry, stop it.” He's lost. He hasn't heard a word I've said. It's like I'm trying to tend to a tomcat with a thorn in its paw. No matter how I try to help, he claws at me. “Please. Get away. I don't want to call the cops.”

His eyes pop open. “What? Not gonna use black magic on me? Or is it just your mom who's a witch?”

My mouth drops open. This is the second time today someone's come right out with the whole your-mama's-a-witch bullshit to my face. He quivers with anger, and his eyes, well, they don't look completely sane.

I grab the arm planted by my head and try to move it, but he resists. “Blaming me for your sister's death won't get you any closer to finding the truth.”

His icy gray eyes drill into mine. They make me feel like I'm skinny dipping in my pond in the middle of winter. Chills ripple across my skin, and when I exhale the breath I've been holding, mist forms between our bodies. Landry stares in shock at the dissipating cloud. From the corner of my eye, I see a shimmer of cobalt blue, and a frigid touch crosses the hand holding Landry's arm. We both look down.

“Do you see that?” Landry whispers.

I move my hand, and he lowers his arm down between us. Condensation moistens the black hairs on his wrist in the image of a handprint.

“Lainey,” I breathe, partly in denial, but the other part senses her presence. If asked, I can't explain how I know it's her spirit. I just do.

Landry knows her too. Horror fills his eyes.

He stumbles back. “No, no.”

“Landry, wait,” I yell. I don't want him to leave me alone with Lainey. She scares me spitless. Her rage settles on my skin like a cloud, dripping with venomous hate so cold I don't think I'll ever warm up. I can't even chalk this experience up to delusions. Not if Landry saw the handprint too.

Unless we've both gone round the bend.

“No!” He spins on his heel and pushes his way through the people who've surrounded us. They stare at him in surprise. I don't think they saw or felt what we felt. I hope they have no idea what just happened.

My stomach twists, and I fight down the vomit that creeps up my throat. Jelly-legged, I shove through the crowd and enter the bathroom. I stare at the person crossing the room in the mirror. She looks like my doppelganger, a creature who resembles me enough that strangers will accidentally call her by my name. I tear my gaze away, unable to stand seeing the fear twisting my face into a frozen mask. I cup my hands beneath the faucet and splash warm water across my icy cheeks, then look up.

Lainey stares back at me. She presses her hands flat against the mirror. Blood runs down her wrists and drips into the sink.

M
y wrist burns.

Not an I-spilled-hot-soup burn, but the kind you get after taking a dare to see how long you can hold a piece of ice against your bare skin. The ache goes all the way to the bone. The red handprint glows. I wrap my hand around my wrist, pressing it against my chest, hoping nobody will see it.

I've got to get out of here.

I stumble across the room. The door seems to get farther and farther away. That, or it's shrinking, like in a trippy
Alice in Wonderland
way. Floating circles swim across my field of vision. My lungs tighten. With the effort of each step, my breath becomes harder to draw in. I recognize the signs.

“Landry, wait!” Mala's voice vibrates with fear.

I don't stop. Not even when someone steps in my path. I barrel right over them and ignore their cry. I've got to get out of here. Away from Mala. Away from the ghost of my sister who's haunting her…or me? Lainey's voice…I can't escape it. She whispers, her cold breath against my ear, “
Go back.
”

I spin from her voice. “No!” It echoes in my head. The itch in my brain intensifies. Worse than after I fell into a patch of poison ivy. At least then I could scratch. I can't dig this feeling out of my head. I thrust my fingers into my hair, grabbing a handful and pulling hard. The pain clears my head.

I stumble against the door leading out of Munchies. A quick glance over my shoulder shows the wide eyes of all the customers focused on me. Then, almost as one, they turn to Mala, tracking her as she runs toward the back of the restaurant.

My legs barely keep me upright. I press a hand against the brick wall, using it for support. The sun blinds me. Breathing in the muggy air feels like I'm inhaling water vapor.

A hand touches my arm, and I jerk free. “Landry? Stop.”

Clarice.

I suck in a wheezing breath, and her eyes widen. “Oh crap, you're having an asthma attack. Do you have your medicine?”

I shake my head. Squiggly, multicolored spots dance in front of her face.

“Is it in your truck?”

I can't remember. I haven't had an asthma attack in years.

“Maybe in the glove box,” I manage to say. She stuffs her hand into my jeans pocket and pulls out my keys. She doesn't even try to cop a feel, which shows how worried she is. I lean against the wall, then slump into a crouch. I close my eyes and concentrate on each breath.

I can't calm down.

It burns.

I'm not aware of Clarice's return until she grabs my chin to open my mouth and thrusts the inhaler against my lips. I breathe in the shot, then grab the inhaler with a shaking hand and take two more hits. Each time, I'm able to draw in a little more air. Fingers brush sweaty hair off of my forehead, and I duck my head.

“Ungrateful ass,” Clarice snaps, dropping her hand.

I stare at her splotchy face and feel like shit. I scared her.

“I'm okay.”

“You don't look it. Come on. I'm taking you to your parents' house in case you have another relapse.”

“I'll be fine.”

“No way. Your mom would kill me if something bad happened to you. You'll stay there until you're able to drive home.”

I push up off the ground. It takes two tries before I can stand without wobbling. Sweat soaks my shirt. I'm shaky, and my mouth feels like sandpaper.
I need a drink.

Clarice takes my arm and wraps it around her shoulders. I want to pull away, but I'm too unstable. It's worth having her hands on me if it means I don't do a face-plant on the cement. For the first time, I regret the oversize tires on my truck. My legs tremble. I grab onto the bar to pull myself up. Clarice takes advantage of my instability by placing her hands on my ass and shoving me up onto the seat. When I look back at her, she wears a smug smile. I frown down at her, but she gives me a quick wink and slams the door in my face.

Damn. I'm not up for her flirting today.

I lean my head against the passenger seat and close my eyes.

She gets my not-so-subtle hint that I'm not in the mood to chat about what's wrong when I ignore her hesitant attempts at conversation. Takes her a while though. My thoughts jumble together. I try to tell myself I'm confused about what happened in Munchies. That Lainey's ghost didn't come to me. Didn't touch me. But the burning sensation on my wrist is an unwelcome reminder that I can't lie to myself. Not anymore. I keep my arm hidden against my side.

When Clarice parks in front of the house and turns off the ignition, her head dips. “So? What happened in there, Landry?”

I hold in my harsh laugh. It rings through my head, bordering on insanity. If I let it out, I'll frighten her. She cares about me. I wish she didn't, but I'm not a complete ass. I won't insult her by ignoring her feelings for me. If I could tell her what I saw…it would be so much easier to have someone to confide in. Someone who understands what I'm going through, but nobody will believe me if I say I'm being haunted by my dead sister. If I tell Clarice, she'll think I'm nuts. She'll tell my parents.

I haven't lost my mind. Yet. 'Cause seeing ghosts isn't crazy, but seeing ghosts will drive me crazy.

Stop thinking.
I clear my throat and twist in my seat. I focus on her rich brown eyes, trying to keep this panic from showing in mine. “What do you mean?”

“Don't play stupid. What did Malaise do to make you freak out? Did she fix a curse on you?”

“A curse?” I run fingers through my damp hair, see the handprint on my wrist, and drop it. I glance at Clarice. She's staring at my arm with a frown. Did she see it? Her mouth opens, but I beat her to the punch. My words come out hard, mean, as I try to distract her. “Are you an idiot? Did you really ask if I've been cursed? Tell me you don't believe in that hoodoo shit.”

Her face crumples. “Don't call me names. It's a legit question. God, Landry. Malaise LaCroix made you scream like a scared little girl and run out of the room. I'd laugh if I didn't see you afterward. You couldn't breathe…”

“I had an asthma attack.”

“Not for years. She fixed a curse on you.”

“That's ridiculous.”

“No, you're being stupid for denying it. Everyone who saw what happened knows she cursed you. Maybe they'll be too embarrassed to admit it out loud, but they'll be thinking it. Just like I am.”

I know.
God, I know exactly how it looked. That's why I'm freaked.

I open the door, not wanting to have this conversation. It's ridiculous for me to even think this way. I don't want to lie. But I can't say the ghost of my sister burned her handprint on my arm. I'd sound nuts. “Thanks for driving.”

Clarice grabs my arm. “Stay away from her, Landry. Please, for me.”

I pluck her hand off my arm and jump out of the truck. Clarice follows. The whole time she stares at me. I won't meet her gaze. Finally, she gives up and walks slowly across the street. I watch her until she enters her house. It's the least I can do after her saving my ass with my inhaler. Plus I'm avoiding going into the house. I'm scared Lainey will be waiting. I don't know what she wants. Maybe she needs something from me or from Mala to put her spirit to rest.

When I finally work up the courage to go inside, I'm surprised. The house is quiet. Peaceful. I pause in the entryway and inhale. The thick aroma of onions, garlic, and spices mingling with rich beef comes from the kitchen. Mom cooked beef stew. It has a distinct odor. Lainey loved Mom's stew. It was her favorite dish. I follow my nose into the empty kitchen, then check the simmering pot. My mouth waters, and I give in to temptation. Heaven.

A figure passes the window as I'm rinsing out the bowl. Mom, wearing a straw hat, pushes a wheelbarrow with an unopened bag of fertilizer toward her rose garden. Her cheeks glow from the heat. Her serene expression lightens my heart and puts a tiny smile on my lips. I didn't realize how worried I've been about her. The way Dad talked, well, I'm glad she's okay. For right now, she seems normal.

I've put off what I need to do long enough.

The stairs creak. Sasha runs up with me, tangling around my feet. I scoop her up so I don't trip and rub her head. The poor cat must be lonely. She slept with Lainey every night. Mom won't let her in the master bedroom. And I'm not living here anymore.

I pause in front of my sister's bedroom and prepare myself for the emotions that will sweep over me once I open the door. The room has become oppressive. Each item contains a memory. An imprint of Lainey. It's intense. I haven't been able to go back inside since the day George told me she died.

Hell, I've avoided coming back home even though Dad begged me to visit Mom. I couldn't do it. My roommate went home for summer break, and I have our place to myself. So I hid out in my tiny-ass apartment for the last four days, drinking and playing video games. Alone. Maybe I should bring Sasha to my apartment. At least we'll have each other.

My hand shakes as I open the door. Sasha lets out a yowl and twists, clawing at my arm. I drop her with a muttered curse. She's a black, furry blur as she darts beneath the bed. Fickle cat. The room hasn't changed. The bed's still made. Her clothes hang in the closet. George searched the room when he was here last. Now I know why. He was looking for clues to her murder. Now it's my turn.

I search beneath her bed and inside her dresser drawers. The walk-in closet holds a trove of personal information. Lainey kept a diary ever since she learned how to write. The old ones are still stored in a trunk in her closet, but the newest diary is missing. A whole documented year of her life has disappeared. It has to be here. Where else would it be?

In one of her tennis shoes, I find a key with a tag: #101. It's too big to be for a locker…maybe it's an apartment or hotel room key. It must be important if she hid it in her shoe, right? I stuff it in my pocket and keep searching. In the farthest corner of her closet, beneath a pile of clothes, I find a bottle of whisky.

Oh yeah!
I take a shot directly from the bottle—a silent toast.
To Lainey. Thanks for caring enough to beat my ass with a shoe after catching me drinking in high school. And for not telling Mom and Dad. Love ya, sis.

After a few more shots, I'm ready to tackle the big job. The bookshelf's one of those floor-to-ceiling, custom-built jobs. My sister liked to brag about reading a book a day. A couple hundred books line the shelves. I start pulling them to see if one may be the diary in disguise.

Lainey liked to do that. Hide her diary in the dust jacket of another book. She was tricky, but I still knew all of her secrets. Mainly because when I was a kid, I didn't care that her diary was off limits. To counter that, she started writing in French. She knew I was too lazy to learn another language.

“Landry?” Mom stands in the doorway. Her eyes widen as she looks around the room. “What are you doing?”

I follow her gaze. I've trashed the place. Crap!

“Mom, I'm sorry. It looks bad, but I swear I'll clean up after I'm done.”

“Do you know how long it took me to clean up your sister's mess? I wanted this room to be perfect.” Her blue eyes bore into mine. They're filled with confusion. Her hands shake. “What are you doing in here?”

Her words filter in. It took a while. I guess I drank more of the whisky than I thought. My tongue feels thick in my mouth. “Lainey's diary. It's missing. Did you find it when you cleaned the room?” I drop the romance novel I'm holding onto the pile on the floor.

Mom lets out a tiny wail when it hits, and the pile slides to the floor. She staggers forward to collapse onto the bed. Her dirt-encrusted hands rub her face, leaving mud streaks on her perspiration-damp forehead. “Why are you doing this to me?” she mumbles.

I go to her side and sink down beside her. “It's important, I think. Finding it.”

Her hand rises to cup my cheek. “Son, this is no longer your home. You can't barge in here doing as you please.”

“I
said
I'll clean up. This is important.”

“Your sister doesn't want you in here messing things up and neither do I. Get out of my house, Landry. And don't come back unless invited.”

I rear back, shocked. “Wait…you're kicking me out?” My heart thunders. She doesn't mean it. I'm her son. She'd never kick me out. Not for real. She loves me. “Mom, don't be like this. Please.”

“Go,” she hisses. She shoves my chest, and I fall backward. She rises. Her eyes flick over me. “Stop by the barber shop. You need a haircut. You're getting shaggy.”

What the hell?

Her lightning-swift mood change sends a chill down my spine. Her eyes are cold. They used to be so warm. Filled with love. Now it's gone. No wonder Dad wanted me to stop in to check on her. She's not handling Lainey's passing well after all.

Hell, neither am I. Most people would say seeing your sister's ghost means a psychotic break from reality. I'm going crazy. Mental illness clusters in families, so why couldn't I be nuts if Mom keeps flipping the switch on her sanity? My shoulders slump once Mom walks out of the room. The jittery prickles on my arms fade with each step she takes down the stairs.

I kick the pile of books, wishing I had the guts to go full-on temper tantrum and trash the bedroom. A random key, a missing diary, a bottle of whisky, and the privilege of getting booted out of my parents' house like a teen delinquent who smokes pot all day. Obviously, this search for clues is an epic fail.

Why did I think I'd find anything here anyway? It's obvious Lainey's trying to send me a message. What? I don't know. But Mala saw the imprint of Lainey's hand on my wrist too. She spoke Lainey's name. She breathed in the cold spot and felt the icy energy coat her lungs. Does Mala know why I'm being haunted? Did she purposely sacrifice Lainey in some hoodoo ritual and trap her spirit on earth for nefarious purposes?