Dark Paradise (12 page)

Nefarious, I like the word. It reminds me of a black widow spider that lures its prey and eats its mate.

I grab the bottle of whisky from the closet and down a huge gulp. The liquid burns down my throat, and I breathe out heavy fumes. Warmth burns in my belly and spreads out to relax my muscles. I have to learn the truth from the source. Rumor says the LaCroix witches speak to the dead. If that's true, Mala can ask Lainey why she keeps coming to me.

G
o away! You're not real.” I squeeze my eyes shut, suck in a deep breath, and let it out in a heavy sigh before I crack open one eye. She's still there. Unlike a framed portrait, she seems solid enough that I can reach out and touch her. I bang my palm against my forehead and wince. “I'm hallucinating.”

Lainey dips her finger into the cut on her wrist, then scribbles letters on the mirror in blood.

My stomach heaves, and I back away from the sink. “What're you trying to tell me?”

Lainey slams her fist against the glass. Again. And again.

Cracks spiral across the glass from the impact. The fractures separate my face into red-tinged fragments—wild eyes, mouth open—a jigsaw puzzle. One last hit and the mirror shatters. Jagged shards of glass fly at me.

My hands rise to protect my face as I duck beneath the counter. I curl into a ball, pressing my back against the metal pipes. I can't stop shuddering. Cold settles so deep into my bones. They ache, and the more I shake, the harder I rock back and forth.

“I'm okay. I'm okay. She's not real,” I chant.

I sniff, wiping my face on my upraised knees, leaving a red smear on the denim. My hand flies to my nose. A thick clot of bloody mucus plops from my nostril onto my palm. I must've jammed my nose when I dove for cover. I reach out from beneath the counter and grab a handful of paper towels from the dispenser above my head.

This totally sucks. I'll die of shame if anyone finds me like this—hiding under a sink like I've lost my ever-lovin' mind. I pinch my nostrils shut, roll onto my knees, and crawl out. My gaze skitters sideways, darting to the mirror. The glass is unbroken, but the words Lainey smeared in her rage have been rewritten.
I'm not crazy.
I bite my lip to keep from speaking the words. I don't want to believe I'm imagining the whole thing—but, on the flip side, it can't be real.
Mama's insane. Not me.

Unless she's right? If Lainey's haunting me, it's for a reason. What does she want from me? I draw in a deep breath and hold it.
MIH. DNIF. Doesn't make sense. Stupid ass backward ghost.
I blow out the air in a giant gush.
Backward, duh.
Lainey had written FIND HIM.
Find who?

The ride from town to the bus stop takes forever. I huddle in my seat with my eyes closed and my headphones blasting. Nobody talks to me, not even Dena. Although I know she doesn't try only because my body language screams FUCK OFF!

When the bus pulls up at my stop, I pick up my purse. Liquid drips on my foot, and I glance down to see a spreading yellow stain. I glare at Thing One and Thing Two, the only jerk-offs left in their seats.

“Which one of you pissed in my purse?” I yell.

Carl shrugs and holds up his hands. “Not us. We didn't do nothing. I swear, Mala,” he says, but with a smirk on his lips that itches to be smacked.

God, I wish I really could lay a
gris gris
on them. Twist a curse that'll make the boys' lips swell up or give them the squirts. “I'm sick to death of getting messed with by you two. Keep it up and you're gonna be in a world of hurt. Don't forget, I know where you live. And I know how hard you sleep at night. You won't even hear me coming.”

I stomp off the bus to the sound of their laughter.

“Hold up,” Dena yells. “I'm walking with you.” She jumps off the bus, bypassing the stairs. She lands in the mud and hops out with a laugh. “Guess I need to start looking before I leap.”

The laugh sticks in my throat and turns into a snort. I choke it off with a scowl. “You didn't have to come, I'm fine. No lasting injuries from my run-in with Landry Prince.”

Dena blows a ragged curl out of her eyes. “I'm not doing it just for you. I don't want to get grounded for beating up my baby brothers. Those boys have gotten on my last nerve. 'Sides, I've been thinking. What if the stalker's back?” My glazed look prompts further explanation. “The guy who followed you to the bus stop this morning.”

“Oh hell, with all that's been going on, I'd put that out of my mind. Thanks a lot for reminding me, Dee.”

I pause at the base of the trail through the woods. With the sun shining and birds singing, it looks normal. I can almost convince myself that my experience this morning is a figment of my imagination. Or if it did happen, that someone had just been wandering innocently across our property. Maybe I scared them more than they scared me. But, then again, if Landry had been telling the truth, his sister had been murdered.

I assumed the cuts on her arms were self-inflicted. But no, someone deliberately stole her life and dumped her body in my bayou. I've always felt safe roaming around, but now I get the shivers thinking that someone may be lurking behind a tree watching me. Thing is, I have to know for sure. I can't let fear hold me back from finding a clue if the killer has indeed been stalking me.

“I guess I'm glad you're with me,” I tell my cousin.

Dena bounces up and down on her toes. The girl can't stay still to save her life. “Lead the way.”

We climb the hill and enter the woods. Sodden leaves and thick mud cling to my boots once I move off the trail and into the deeper underbrush. The beaten-down area where the person hid so he could watch me climb onto the bus is easy to locate. “Check it out, Dena. I guess I wasn't seeing things.” I pick up the stick I threw and point to scuffled boot prints in the drying mud. “From the raised sole, I think they're men's hiking boots. Shit!”
What if the murderer is still lurking about?

Dena glances around. “You should report this to the sheriff.”

Not a bad idea. “What about you? Want to come over and have your daddy pick you up?”

“Are you kidding? He'd rather shoot himself in the head then come onto your land. You know how he feels.”

I roll my eyes. “I don't know why he hates me so much.”

“It's not you. He still claims his great-something-great grandma should've inherited the LaCroix land. He'll be perfectly happy to know some crazy stalker is out to get you—” Dena's eyes widen. “I said that out loud, didn't I. Sorry. I swear I'm adopted.”

“Don't say that. I like being related to you.” I bump her hip with mine.

Her grin quickly fades. As much as she'd like to deny her Acker blood, her daddy's DNA doesn't need a test to be revealed. It's obvious in the red hair and freckles his daughter inherited from him. Course, my hair also has the Savoie red highlights.

“I'd better go,” she says. “I'll call you once I get home. Be safe.”

With a wave, Dena turns onto the path that winds around the pond and continues to the Acker homestead. Part of me wants to beg her to stay. I don't want to be alone. Not because I'm scared for her safety but because I fear for mine. Which is totally selfish and wrong. Tears burn in my eyes. I try to hold them in, but they disobey me. I let out a loud sob.
God, why didn't I leave Lainey in the water?
My head aches. My nose feels stuffy. Damn it. I feel terrible.

Shivering, I wrap my arms around my waist seeking comfort that I can't give myself. I sneeze four times in a row. Each one comes out louder and harder than the last. I blink quickly to clear my vision as a shadow moves across it, then yell, “Oh hell, no!”

Landry rises from the porch steps. How did I miss seeing him sitting there in his red T-shirt? It's not like he blends in against the dingy gray of the house. I turn to scamper back into the woods but stop. I'll be damned if I ever run from him. I stride forward, shoving past him to climb the stairs. “Go away, Landry.”

“Wait, I need to talk,” he says, slurring the words. The strong scent of alcohol fills the air.

Panic spurts. “You're drunk.”

“I know.” He vibrates with barely leashed anger, and like our old washer, he looks about one rinse cycle away from shaking apart at the seams. He stalks me up the stairs and blocks the front door. He's so big, so out of control. He scared me earlier, and he'd been sober at the time. I can't begin to predict what he'll do now that we are alone.

“Leave me be, Landry. I know you only did that because you're upset—”

“I
am
upset. Tell me that wasn't my sister's spirit we felt.”

“I can't. I don't know what we felt.”

“You said ‘Lainey.' I heard you.” He moves in front of me. His gray eyes squint with anguish. “She's haunting you. Why? What do you know?”

“I said I don't know anything!”
Why, oh, why did I think I wanted to talk to him about Lainey?
The saying “Be careful what you wish for” echoes in my head.

“Liar.” He stalks forward. “I felt her hand on my arm. So did you.”

I hold my hands up, warding him off as I back across the porch. I don't dare turn my back on him; I'm afraid he'll grab me. “Please, leave me alone. You're not thinking clearly.”

“I am.” Landry matches my retreating steps. He shoves aside the rocking chair that I push in front of him with a swipe of his hand. I'm cornered quickly. I can only see one way to escape, but if I try to jump over the flimsy porch railing, I'll probably land headfirst.

Saints, Mala. What happened to not running from him?
I straighten my shoulders and step forward. His chest brushes against mine when he draws in a ragged breath, but I don't back off. “What more do you want from me, Landry?”

His eyes lift to meet mine. I expect to see anger, but instead confusion swirls in the gray depths. “Ask my sister who killed her.”

“What?”

“She'd know, right?” His hands land on my shoulders, squeezing. “So ask her.”

The boy's lost his mind.
“She's dead. How am I supposed to ask her anything?”

“You're a witch. Talk to her spirit.”

“That's stupid talk. Let me be clear: I. Am. Not. A. Witch.” And even if I were one, I'd never admit it to him. To anyone, not even to myself, without them thinking I've lost my mind. “Okay, I get it now. This is some kind of twisted joke.” I shove him, and he stumbles a few steps back. I scan the empty yard. “Where are your friends hiding? Is that bitch Clarice out in the woods recording this to make me look like a fool?”

The door slams open, and Mama runs out of the house. I've been so focused on Landry that I didn't notice her truck parked in the driveway. I sag against the wall as she inserts her tiny body between us.

“What's goin' on? Why're you attackin' my daughter?” Mama stands with her shoulders back and her head held high. In my eyes, she towers over Landry's much larger form.

“Mala knows how to find out who killed my sister. But she won't help me,” Landry tattles, and then, to my surprise, he buries his face in his hands and begins to cry. Not something a manly guy like Landry would do if his friends plan on posting the video online for the world to watch. This will be reputation destroying if it goes public.

Mama and I share the “look.” We each take one of Landry's arms and maneuver him into one of the three rocking chairs sitting in the east corner of the porch. If Landry turns squirrely, I want to be able to move away quickly. But I doubt he'll be capable of doing anything soon. A dam burst inside of him. He bawls, body shaking, snot dripping, crying as if his world has shattered. And maybe it has. I've never felt as helpless in my entire life as I do watching him.

And Lainey, damn her restless soul, comes back to comfort him, which makes the situation worse.

The air temperature around his body drops, and when he breathes out, a cloud of mist hovers in the air, catching his attention. He looks up in surprise. The tears on his face crystallize. I can't help myself. I brush a finger across the frozen layer on his cheek, and the ice flakes away.

Mama gasps, falling heavily into the other rocking chair. “Is that Lainey?”

“Yes,” Landry and I say together. Our eyes lock. Heat rises in my chest then spreads through my body, and my breath catches. I tear my gaze free.

“Well, I'll be…And she's been hauntin' you since you found her body?”

I squeeze into the rocker between Landry and Mama and trace my fingers over the smooth surface of the table, trying to decide how much I want to share with them. The words Lainey wrote on the mirror float in front of my eyes.
Find him.
Did she mean for me to find Landry? Should I tell them about Lainey trying to communicate with me in the bathroom?

No way.
They already stare at me as if I've grown a second head. If I tell them about the ghostly visitation, their suspicions will be confirmed.
I'm not a freak.

“I've had nightmares,” I say. “I couldn't remember them after I woke up. Then today when Landry came to me at Munchies, it's like she wanted us to stop fighting and talk. We both felt her, like now.”