Gilda Joyce: The Ladies of the Lake (27 page)
Read Gilda Joyce: The Ladies of the Lake Online
Authors: Jennifer Allison
THE PLAN:
We’ll meet in the Garden of Contemplation after school tomorrow.
LADIES OF THE LAKE—FINAL ENTRY
Thanksgiving day. Horrible, horrible, horrible.
10:00 a.m.: Priscilla calls, telling me to turn on the news. Dolores’s body was dragged from Mermaid Lake last night.
I feel nauseated and unreal. How can she sound so calm and matter-of-fact as she tells me this news?
“That can’t be right,” I tell her. “That’s not what was supposed to happen.”
“Danielle,” she says, “this is important. You have to destroy all the notes you took during our meetings right now.”
“But shouldn’t we tell someone what happened last night?”
“We didn’t do anything.”
“But she probably wouldn’t have drowned in the lake if it wasn’t for us,” I say. “She would have been at home, doing her homework or something.”
“Maybe she was a little depressed lately. She might have done it on purpose, you know.”
“And if she was depressed, whose fault was that?”
“Destroy all the records to our meetings, Danielle.”
“But if we didn’t do anything wrong, why are you asking me to get rid of evidence?”
“Don’t talk about it; just do it.”
But for some reason, I can’t seem to make myself tear up all the notes I took. At the moment, I feel like writing down the truth is the only thing that’s keeping me from going crazy.
We met after school in the Garden of Contemplation. It was around 4:30, and already getting dark. The sky was a weird color—kind of purple—and there was an icy wind. I remember looking at the tree branches and having this really bad feeling because they reminded me of bony fingers scratching at the sky.
I really just wanted to go home. I think we all did. Nothing about what we were doing was even fun anymore; it was just something we kept doing together like a bad habit that nobody knew how to stop. And because we did it together, no single person was ever to blame, so none of us ever really felt that bad. It’s easy to blame the whole thing on Priscilla, but the truth is, I was right there, participating in every single thing we did.
I’ll be honest: the truth is that some of it was fun. And every time we gave some silly, mean task to Dolores, it made the next thing we did seem like less of a big deal. Of course, we were all starting to feel that things were getting a little
out of hand, and deep down, we wanted to stop. But the game had certain rules, and we felt compelled to keep playing by those rules.
“Dolores, this is your final test,” said Priscilla. “If you succeed, you will become a full member. If you fail, you will leave immediately and we will go our separate ways forever-more.”
Dolores said she was ready, and we blindfolded her with a pink silk scarf that belonged to Priscilla. It was freezing cold, and she wore her pink uniform skirt without tights or sweatpants covering her legs. She didn’t even have gloves. I was wearing gloves, but I didn’t give them to her. Why didn’t I at least give her my stupid gloves?
I wondered why she didn’t just walk away. You can’t possibly succeed, Dolores, I kept thinking. Why don’t you just leave?
But Priscilla has this way of making you feel that you have to do something, and that no matter how weird it is, it’s the right thing to do. In fact, you should be proud of yourself for doing it. She should become an army general, or something.
“Dolores,” Priscilla said, “if something is meant to be, it will be. If you are a true Lady of the Lake, you will find your way to our meeting place in the ruins. Your heart and body will be your eyes despite this blindfold. And of course, it goes without saying that a true Lady of the Lake would never cheat.”
We took her arms and spun her slowly around—once, twice, three times, then released her.
“Good luck, Dolores!”
We quietly scampered away and watched for a moment. We giggled as she groped along, making her way slowly through the maze of hedges in the garden. I remember how she stuck out her tongue like a little kid who’s concentrating really hard, trying to do something difficult. Something in my chest hurts when I think of that now—the image of her tongue sticking out that way.
She didn’t call to us for help. Even after we stood in the cold spying on her for about twenty minutes, she didn’t even try to lift her blindfold once. It was really horrible that she had such complete trust in us—like she couldn’t even TRY to cheat. I think that was the first moment we were all truly scared at what we had done to her.
“What if she actually makes it all the way to the ruins?” Nikki whispered. “She’ll pass the test.”
“Then she’ll become a member of the club, just like we promised,” said Priscilla.
“Are you serious?”
“There’s no way she’s going to make it.”
After a while, we started getting bored with the whole game. Besides, it was really cold outside. When we saw Dolores turn in the wrong direction and head toward the school instead of the path that circled the lake and led to the ruins, we figured she would give up soon. Our own fingers and toes were growing numb, so how could she stand being outside for long? Any sensible person would give up. Besides, we really wanted to go home.
I know one thing: we definitely didn’t set out to kill her.
On the other hand, she wouldn’t be dead now if it wasn’t for us.
So are we murderers?
I’m having a hard time breathing right now. Maybe I’m getting the flu or something. I just need to get through the rest of this day. If I can make it through this one day, maybe I’ll survive. Maybe there will be a time when I won’t feel sick, and everything will seem normal again.
But I doubt it.
D
anielle sat at the dining-room table and tore open the letter from Georgetown University. She read the opening sentence with a feeling of doom in her heart:
Dear Danielle Menory:
The Admissions Officers of Georgetown University are pleased to grant you admission into the freshman class at Georgetown University in Washington, D.C….
Danielle reread the words with disbelief. She had been granted early admission into her top-choice school—Georgetown University! Somehow, she hadn’t believed this was possible. She had been certain that the admissions officers would find her college entrance essay tedious. They would realize that her grades and community-service activities didn’t quite measure up to those of her peers. Or, most disturbing of all, they would somehow perceive her secret guilt. Instead, they had found her worthy of admission.
Maybe I do deserve to get something I want
, Danielle thought. Deserved or not, she felt happy for the first time in ages.
Danielle’s parents stood together, watching from the doorway with innocent, hopeful eyes.
“I got in,” she said quietly.
“Oh, Danielle!” They rushed to hug her, and for a moment, she was safe, floating on the buoyant life raft of their pride.
I never want to disappoint them
, Danielle thought.
Then, with a hot feeling in her gut, she remembered some thing unpleasant. She knew she had better call Gilda Joyce right away.
“Gilda!” Stephen yelled up the stairs from the living room. “Phone!”
As if in a daze, Gilda trudged downstairs and found the phone left off the hook in the kitchen. She still felt chilled after reading the detailed account of Dolores Lambert’s hazing by the Ladies of the Lake. “Hello?”
“Gilda? This is Danielle.”
Gilda glanced out the kitchen window, half expecting to see the three Ladies of the Lake waiting for her threateningly in the leaf-covered backyard. She noticed Brad’s SUV pulling into the driveway.
“Gilda? Are you there?”
“I’m here.” Gilda felt caught off-guard. She hadn’t had time to reflect on all the information she had just read. What was she supposed to say to Danielle? Why had Danielle shared these disturbing secrets?
“Did you get that stuff I left for you?”
“I just read it a minute ago.”
“Well, what are you doing this evening?”
“Why?”
“I just wondered if we could meet for coffee or something. I think we need to talk.”
Gilda felt nervous. She looked around at her mundane surroundings and picked up a cheese grater that was lying on the counter next to one of Brad’s motivational books entitled
Send Your Sales into the Stratosphere
! In the next room, Stephen sprawled on the couch, watching some bizarre Japanese cartoon. “We were just about to have cocktail hour,” Gilda lied, “but I might be able to meet you for a few minutes.”
“You live in Ferndale, right?”
Danielle offered Gilda a ride to a nearby cafe. As Gilda hung up the phone, she wondered what she should wear. Despite the horror she had felt while reading Danielle’s notes only minutes before, she couldn’t help being flattered by Danielle’s invitation for coffee. After all, it was nearly unheard of for a senior to ask one of the freshman girls to do anything social outside of school.
Gilda ran up to her bedroom. She stared at her closet as if she scarcely recognized her own clothes. She was about to pair a knit skirt with black tights and lavender heels (a look she called “Paris cafe”) but then changed her mind and decided to aim for something more conservative—something that would merit Danielle’s approval. She pulled on khaki pants, a sweater, and boots, then grabbed her favorite black trench coat from the front closet. Glancing in the mirror, she decided with satisfaction that she resembled a young FBI agent. She grabbed her notebook and pen in case she needed to take notes and her dark sunglasses in case she needed a quick disguise. As she
skipped downstairs to wait for Danielle, a disturbing thought stopped her.
What if this is a trap? What if she’s secretly planning to bring Nikki and Priscilla along
?
Remembering her resolution to start carrying a weapon, Gilda ran back upstairs. In her mother’s bedroom, she found an economy-size can of hairspray, which she stuffed into her large shoulder bag, figuring that it could function as a weapon if necessary. She noticed Brad’s razor and toothbrush sitting on the counter, looking very entitled.
Yeah, we LIVE here now
, they seemed to sneer.
So what? Wanna make something of it
?
Something about the sight of Brad’s belongings made her glad that Danielle was picking her up to go out, even if Danielle
was
partly responsible for Dolores’s death. Downstairs, she heard the slamming of cupboard doors as her mother and Brad unloaded groceries.
“That doesn’t go there!” her mother snapped. “More kielbasa? Why did you get
these
?” She was obviously in a bad mood for some reason.
I need to get out of here
, Gilda thought. She headed downstairs to wait for her ride.
“I’ll have an extra-large triple espresso with chocolate syrup,” said Gilda. She and Danielle leaned against the counter at a trendy coffee shop near Gilda’s house. Gilda wanted to ask Danielle a million questions about the notes she had read only an hour ago, but something about Danielle’s cool, sophisticated demeanor made her feel cautious.
“You’re having a
triple espresso
at this time of day?”
“It’s my usual.”
“That would keep me up for days. Oh, I’ll have a decaf latte, please,” said Danielle, placing her order.
Danielle found a corner table while Gilda doused her espresso with cocoa powder. After she had embellished her drink, Gilda sat down and observed Danielle, who was methodically opening and emptying several packages of Sweet’N Low into her latte. She wore a white angora sweater with long sleeves that partially concealed her slender, nervous fingers.
Danielle grimaced as she took a sip of her coffee. “This is awful.” She fidgeted with the long scarf she wore wrapped around her neck, as if she were sitting outside in freezing weather.
“Maybe it needs more Sweet’N Low.”
Danielle wasn’t amused. “Gilda, I have to say that for a freshman, you’re pretty smart.”
“What do you mean ‘for a freshman’?”
“You’re pretty smart, period.”
“Thank you.”
“I don’t know
how
you figured out the things you seem to know. I guess you’re one impressive investigative reporter.”
Gilda felt a rush of gratitude. It was high time someone realized she was impressive! “I’m actually a
psychic
investigator,” she blurted.
Danielle’s eyes grew wide. For a split second, Gilda thought she looked scared. “You’re
psychic
?”
“I investigate psychic phenomena,” said Gilda, feeling that it still might be a bit of an exaggeration to call herself a full-blown psychic. “Ghosts and things like that.”
“So
that’s
how you figured stuff out about the Ladies of the
Lake?” Danielle lowered her voice to a whisper. “You got a vision, or something like that?”