Diary of the Gone (11 page)

“
I cannot tell you where
to find them,” she said listlessly, as if hypnotized. “Their pulse
still vibrates in my chest, but they don’t have much time
left.”

“
So they are
alive!”

She nodded. “But he is too dangerous.
I’m not going back there. If he traps me again, he won’t let me
go.”

Not sure how to comfort a spirit of
the dead, I sat on the floor watching her. She took a step to me,
then flickered like a hologram and vanished.

“
Cynthia?!”

“
I’m here,” she said,
sitting behind on my desk, flipping through the pages of my book.
“I liked him. He was so kind to me at first. I didn’t tell anyone
about his secret.”

“
Secret?” I asked quietly,
but either she was too immersed in her thoughts to hear me, or she
just ignored it.

“
And then…” She shut the
book and tossed it across the room. Lightning flashed as the book
hit the door and crumbled to dust. I stood transfixed by her sudden
outburst of anger.

“
I want you to stop him,”
she said bitterly, tears sparkling in her eyes.

“
Well, many people do, but
how can I if no one tells me what I’m supposed to do.”

She hid her face with her small arms,
her body shaking convulsively with sobs.

“
I’m sorry.” I stood up
and took a step to her. “I didn’t mean to offend you,” I said,
although I had no idea what I was apologizing for.

“
Telling you is the only
thing I can’t do,” she mumbled, sweeping teardrops off her
ash-colored face. “Although I can show you what happened to
me.”

Next moment she vanished, and I was
startled by the sound of the door creaking loudly. A girl entered
the room, leaving the door open. It was Cynthia, but there was
something different about her. As she walked through the murk of
the room into the dim light, a bolt of lightning flashed, and
though I stood in her way, she didn’t seem to notice me right in
front of her.

I took a step aside as she tiptoed
towards the old mahogany desk. Then I cleared my throat, but she
still ignored me.

“
Cynthia?” I
said.

No reaction.

She pulled out the top drawer. “Here
it is,” a soft whisper came as she fished out a small book, then
threw a cautious glimpse at the open door. No one there.

Cynthia sat on a chair and opened the
book to a random page. Together we read the lines scribbled
carelessly as if the person had written them with their eyes
blindfolded, or probably while being in the dark.

“
They come and sit beside
me without saying a word. I don’t understand what they want from
me. I’m sick and tired that no one else can see them. Lucy and Dan
suspect something, and Cynthia keeps asking why I take my diary
everywhere…”

“
Cynthia?” a hollow voice
behind us said.

We both startled and turned. Cynthia
gasped at being cornered like a bird in a cage.

A thin, blond-haired boy stood in the
doorway. Hollow cheeks emphasized his high cheekbones. There was
something menacing about his eyes that scrutinized the girl next to
me. His lips curved down a bit as he clenched his jaws, his
cheekbones protruding even more.

“
I told you not to take
it. I warned you, and you promised you’ll never read it.” Lightning
flashed, reflecting in his blue eyes.

Cynthia stood up slowly and put the
chair between them as a shield.

“
I had to find out what’s
troubling you,” she implored. “You’ve changed, and sometimes I’m
scared of you.”

“
Scared?” The boy titled
his head, entering the room. “Like when?”

“
Like now.” She gripped
the back of the chair with her shaking hands.

“
Now that you know,” the
boy’s voice quivered, “what would you say? Am I crazy?”

“
Who do you see? Who are
you writing about?” she asked.

“
The gone.”

“
Who?” Cynthia asked, her
forehead creased in lines.

“
I call
them the gone.” The boy paused, as if searching for the right words
to choose to tell the story. “They come to me before they die. If I
don’t write about them in my diary, they are going to haunt me
after they’re dead. Oh, and they
always
die.”

My hands and feet went cold, my
forehead beaded with perspiration. “Holy crap!” I said.

The room blurred, then withered to
darkness. A sepia-colored image of Cynthia and the boy walking hand
in hand zoomed in. A faint aroma of the forest wafted into my mind.
The sun sparkled through weighty, thick grids of leaves swaying in
the wind. Birds chirped nearby, hopping from branch to branch and
watching the two with curiosity. Where the Swamps were supposed to
be there were green meadows lush with growth, bathed with warm
sunlight.

Cynthia and the boy strolled towards
the spot I knew too well. That was where I’d found Greg. I followed
them, just a few steps away. “I love being here,” the boy said,
pointing his index finger towards the clearing. “They don’t bother
me here.” He squinted at Cynthia who squeezed his hand
affectionately.

As they stopped and Cynthia squatted
down to smell the flowers, the picture flickered before my eyes,
the scene changing to a lifeless gray. The forest had changed.
Cynthia lay on the ground, the boy over her, pinning her wrists
with one hand while squeezing her throat with the other. Cynthia
thrashed and wriggled, trying to escape the fatal grasp, but he was
stronger, and soon she went still, her eyes forever glazed and
unseeing.

The boy collapsed on her, his hands
coiled around her head as he wept. He cowered in a fetal position,
his body shaking with loud sobs. Then he let go of the dead girl
and stood up, sweeping tears off his blanched face. “You shouldn’t
have touched it,” he hissed through clenched teeth, a murderous
anger flaring in his eyes and twisting his features.

Dark tendrils swirled around us, and
the next moment I returned to my room. I pushed myself from the
floor and flopped down on my bed, hugging my legs as thoughts
rushed through my head.

Cynthia was still sitting on my desk,
brushing her hair with her fingers. “I tried to destroy the diary,”
her melancholy voice broke the silence that pressed against my
skull. “I thought it would help banish the evil from his heart. But
I failed.

“
They found me soon and
accused the Crosby boy of my murder. Before that Aiden had taken my
purse and hid it somewhere in Oliver’s room. The police searched
every house for evidence. When they found the purse, no one had any
doubts…”

“
Wait!”
I nearly screamed. “You said
Aiden
?” I cowered in fear, curling
my toes. “Aiden Blackwell and Oliver Crosby, the headmaster of
Olden Cross School?” I smacked my forehead, everything before my
eyes gradually coming into focus.

Cynthia stopped brushing her hair.
“Seems like I’ve told you enough,” she said with a mirthless smile.
“Now it’s time for me to go.”

“
No, wait!” I sprang up
from the bed towards her, but she disappeared. “Damn it! Why are
you leaving?”

Through the dark I rushed out of the
room. The house was as quiet as a grave, but I didn’t care that Mom
or Beverly might hear the floorboards creaking under my
weight.

The walls of the corridor closed in on
me, bile reaching my throat. I needed more space. I needed more
air. I wished the darkness would swallow me and take away my pain,
but it got only worse.

Can it be
true?
I panicked.

Finally I reached the end of the
corridor and frantically probed the wall for a switch. It clicked
and I entered the bathroom, squinting at my reflection in the
mirror. I’d never seen myself so scared before.

I knew the boy from Cynthia Abbott’s
memories, even though I’d never met him. As I peered at myself in
the mirror I recognized some of the features of that boy’s face
etched into mine: the high cheekbones, blond hair and pale skin.
That’s why mother never wanted to speak about him. I reminded her
of Aiden.

It was my father who had killed
Cynthia. Like me, he had a diary he used to ward off the
dead.

What was worse was that he was the one
who had killed Greg Thornby and kidnapped Nathan and Audrey. Most
probably it was he who had taken my diary.

The Aiden Blackwell I’d pictured in my
mind was nothing like the boy Cynthia had shown. I remembered
writing in my diary about how I wanted to get to know my father. If
I had it with me I’d tear it to pieces so that he’d never read
those lines.

Chapter 10

I still can’t believe that
my father could do that to Cynthia and my friends. Cynthia said
Nathan and Audrey were alive, but there’s little time left for
them. I need to do something quickly. Greg and Cynthia didn’t say
much about where I may find Aiden.

P.S. Vivian is my new
classmate. She’ll be here till the end of the school year. And she
sits with me. We don’t talk much though. Maybe she’s still sulking
that her aunt didn’t let her stay in the library. But I like it
even more when she sulks.

I woke from cold,
5:37
am
glowing
on my alarm clock. A couple of hours till school.

The stillness in the house seemed
absolute. It was too early to get up, but I knew I wouldn’t be able
to fall asleep. It was cold; I rubbed my arms, only causing a
shiver to travel down my body.

Bedsprings croaked as I slid off the
bed and pushed my feet into my slippers. I sat with my head hanging
low, still too sleepy to make my body work properly.

I mustered my will to stand, then
shuffled to the window, pulling back the curtains. Light streamed
in, and I squinted at the first snow that had covered the ground
with a soft blanket.

It made the world a bit more inviting,
concealing the imperfections under a layer of white.

Strangely, when I thought a storm was
coming—with too much going on in such a godforsaken place as Olden
Cross, an eerie silence had settled.

Uneventful and gray, days dragged like
boring movies, although I knew that for Nate and Audrey they must
feel like an endless horror story which might not have a ‘happily
ever after’.

The morning skies reflected my
despair, a gray pall with heavy, purplish clouds pushed by a strong
wind.

I’d gotten so used to writing in my
diary, that now that it was gone I felt incomplete. The other day,
when Bev had gone on another date, I pilfered a small notebook from
her. Fortunately, the pages in it were blank—no girlie stuff
there—so I didn’t feel bad about jotting down a few lines to ease
my inner tremor.

Nathan’s been missing for
eight days. Audrey for five days. The hand stopped haunting me when
they dug up Greg Thornby’s body. It doesn’t make me feel any better
though.

I started drawing circles below, then
added a few triangles, and the numbers 2/7 that I’d seen on Greg’s
right hand. Why would Aiden cut these symbols into his victim’s
flesh? What was the number supposed to mean?

I shut the notebook with a sigh.
Writing helped me relax and pour some of my anxiety onto the paper,
but the questions still bothered me.

I heard steps down
the corridor.
Must be Bev.
I hid the notebook under my pillow. A lazy yawn
followed behind the door.
Yep, it’s
her.
Her steps followed down the stairs,
farther from my room. I retrieved the notebook from under the
pillow then shoved it in between my comic books in the bottom desk
drawer.

As the bathroom was free, I went there
to wash and brush my teeth. A few strands of my hair stuck out of
place, no matter how much water and gel I put on them. Cursing at
my reflection, I gave up and returned to my room to drop a few
books into my bag.

Bev welcomed me with a scowl, and this
time I had no idea what I’d done wrong. Then I realized it was a
smile on her face.

“
Looks nice,” she said,
sipping her tea and eyeing my hairdo.

I checked the strands; they stuck out
again. I cursed internally.

“
Glad you like it.” I
forced myself to stay calm. After an uncomfortable silence, I
plopped into a chair opposite her. “Where’s Mom?”

“
Went to town. Will be
back late,” she said matter-of-factly, raising a note.

I didn’t like the sound of it. Mom had
never left for town without warning us and giving a million
instructions of what to eat, what to do and what not to do, who to
talk to and so on.

Though I’d told Nathan that I wasn’t
scared of Bev, I did have something roiling in the pit of my
stomach when I was left alone with her. The uncomfortable silence
didn’t make things easier for me.

“
Bev, why can’t we be
friends? We are brother and sister. We don’t go anywhere
together.”