The Lebrus Stone (12 page)

~ * ~

Cray's appearance had made Isobel boomerang back to her senses. The praying had stopped, and her sobs were more like a throat-throttled whine that came and went when she spoke like a sufferer of laryngitis.

"Cray, my boy, come and sit." She sniffed, wiping her nose with her handkerchief which she placed on his clean, ironed shirt. He looked disturbed by it, yet stepped inside and took a seat in the medium sized armchair that was less worn and padded and ready for the reject bin.

His body language signified to me someone who didn't want to sit down at all.

"You, too, Crystal, please sit." Isobel smiled at me, pushing a chair my way me so that I was to sit opposite him.

Oh no. What was she up to now?

Marsi clapped from the corner of the room where she was slumped, eyes a gleam. Cray's fingers sank into the leather upholstery of his armrests.

I gulped. Not knowing which way to go; whether to leave, run, stay, fake a panic attack. None of those options left me with much dignity. It was a no win situation, with zero scope for a solution.

My feet made their way to the chair that felt ten times bigger.

Isobel sat behind her desk, rummaging through her open drawer.

I tried not to look at Cray as I began to hyperventilate discreetly. I could feel his gaze on me, peeling me like a rind, uncovering parts of me I didn't want him to see, discover, maybe even judge like I judged myself.

I concentrated on Isobel who was unclipping a stack of papers. She separated a few pages and attached them to two clipboards, then placed them down beside us along with a pen each.

"Now, please do not create an issue when I ask you to fulfill this one simple task. Take what I have given you."

When neither of us budged, she threw the clipboards onto our laps.

"Take them," she ordered. "The longer you resist, the harder this will become for all of us. Cray, do you understand?"

Here was me thinking this fiasco was all about the family secret and the mystery behind all those deaths. But it was about Cray and me and what I did to him. A part of me was relieved, but another part of me was angry at Isobel for letting the other things slip totally to the way side. A person couldn't just reveal all those things and not bring it up again. And right now, I was afraid of what she was instigating with Cray. I was afraid of her embarrassing me.

Cray's leather chair made squeaking noises, his hands balled up and turned his knuckles white.

"Do–you–understand?" Isobel repeated to him.

Cray tried to outstare her, but she ended up winning.

"Good," she replied as if he had agreed without verbally saying it. "I will ask you both a series of questions, and I would like you to express your answers by way of drawing. That is unless you feel capable of saying what you are blatantly hiding with actual words."

Nothing was said or thrown in protest, so she continued. "I will begin with you, Crystal."

My arms twitched, a pinch began in the back of my throat.

"Please draw or describe the members of this household," she said.

I chose to draw. There were too many ways I could describe some of the Lockes, and none of them were sugar coated or all that kind.

In a way, I was glad I didn't have to speak. That way they didn't have to hear me stammer, hear the nerves unsettling my stomach.

I thought about drawing roses and white doves that pecked with their beaks, but that would have been noticeably a false statement. It looked like I had to be truthful and to the point, if only to get it over with.

Somehow I managed to draw a small circle with my name in the middle, a larger circle around it with their names in bold capital letters. It was nothing too articulate or genius, but hopefully sending out the right message.

I held up my drawing for cross examination and waited, keeping my eyes on a subject of mundane interest: Marsi's slipper.

Isobel inhaled deeply then clucked her tongue. "I see. You feel trapped within a large, distant circle." She considered that lack of a revelation for a few seconds, then said, "Cray, please draw or describe Crystal."

Well, it couldn't have gotten any worse. She may as well have told him to draw a plank of wood. I wanted to take his sheet and draw myself: splintered and brittle, stale white with a depressed infusion of guilt and shame. But then they would have known the real me and what I had to hide.

It was so quiet, I wondered if Cray had fallen asleep.

"Disturbed." His reply made me flinch. He had almost yelled it at me.

"Infected," he continued just as harshly, leaning forward until his jacket zipper grazed the tip of my bare knee. "Damaged goods." His lips minced together, as if determined to make me snap.

I did, and slapped him across the face. His shades clattered to the floor. My hand left a red imprint on his cheek. His right eye was scratched and slightly bruised.

I reached out to touch where I had hurt him, but he blanched, recoiling like he was revolted by my very scent. His eyes were the deepest black I'd ever seen them.

"I'm sorry," I stuttered, getting up and holding my chest. It hurt. Badly. "I didn't mean…" I wheezed, unable to resist the urge to let go and descend into my long buried secrets and blurt them all out; cry like I needed to.

Cray rose and turned to Isobel.

She reached for his hand.

"Happy now?" he snarled, then stomped out of the room.

When the hallway clock chimed six, I forced myself to make my way to the dining room and take a seat at the same place, avoiding Isobel's scrutinizing gaze.

Gal sauntered into the room and sat in his usual place as Syd served chicken with seasoned vegetables. As usual, he grunted when I greeted him, just the way I was beginning to despise.

Zella arrived and went as far as to kiss me on my cheeks. Cray was yet to make an appearance.

My stomach churned as I recalled how he had been holding me last night, how I'd slapped him in the study—even if he had deserved it. I imagined what a freak I must have looked and shuddered. Thankfully, Zella didn't bring it up. I had a feeling Isobel had warned her not to. As for Isobel, she smiled my way too often and kept re-adjusting her napkin.

She had exchanged her black blouse for a deep blue one that matched her tear drop earrings. It made her complexion all the more chalky white against her raven black hair. Still, I was glad she had reverted to the cool, calm and collected Isobel I preferred and was used to. I was glad the events of today had at least taken my mind off the mystery surrounding my mother's family.

It was as I was making small talk with Zella about Old Town that Cray strode into the room and sat in the chair opposite me, still wearing his shades.

I couldn't bring myself to apologize. He still treated me like I was invisible anyway. Isobel didn't bother to say anything. I had a feeling he had warned her not to. I was suddenly sensing a lot of things about the peculiar family.

I ate my meal in silence like everyone else, trying not to stare too openly at Cray. But it was impossible not to. I was drawn to him no matter how arrogant, unfair and rude he acted.

I sighed and I think he heard me. He lifted his head and turned it in my direction.

My insides clenched, despite how short the moment. I was relieved his eyes were concealed. My heart skipped a beat as it was.

He shot up and poured himself a glass of water from a side table.

I concentrated on my food, muttering my thanks to Syd as she placed more of it on the table.

Zella took that moment to tell me about Old Town. "There's a place on Aven—"

"What have I told you?" Gal grumbled. "This table is for eating, not your babbling."

Zella flushed a deep red and picked at her carrots. I pitied her for having such a grouch for a brother. I also couldn't help but look over at Cray again.

He was leaning against the wall with one hand in his trouser pocket and the other holding his glass of water to his mouth. He had style, I noted, once again with bitterness.

Was there any visible flaw?

Today he was wearing black pants, a ruffled, gray pinstriped shirt and what I knew were two-tone Forzieri shoes.

He seemed to be watching the goings-on at the table as if he wanted me to notice. I could have been imagining it, but he also seemed to be smirking behind his glass. My face heated. I told myself it was due to my contempt for Gal's arrogance.

Cray headed back to the table. I was surprised to catch his head turn quickly away from me.

Tingles formed in places I hadn't known existed.

Whatever feelings he was jerking out of me in tantalizing bursts had to stop. Any type of physical attraction was supposed to be unthinkable.

Besides, he was probably going to hate me after today. I shouldn't have wanted the attention of the unattainable; someone callous with my feelings.

He doesn't mean it
, my heart said.

He's bad news no matter what,
my mind quarreled back.

~ * ~

I was lying on the floor of the study, my head on Isobel's lap as she massaged my shoulders.

Did I pass out?

Oh, no.
Who else saw it happen?

"We should call Dr. Lutnis," Isobel said fretfully during the sound of crunching.

I was afraid to open my eyes and find she was speaking to Cray.

"Nonsense," came a reply. "It's just a panic attack."

I sighed. It was just Marsi. For once, I was glad to hear her whiney voice.

"Panic attack?" Isobel shrieked, halting her unhelpful massage.

"Of course. Have you never watched an episode of Medical Mind?" The crunching grew louder, sounding like someone munching on potato chips; it ached my bones.

"What could be the cause?" Isobel asked, all the more shocked.

"Trauma, stress, drug abuse…"

"Drug abuse?" The drill of Isobel's voice was fully awakening me.

"Oh, there are many triggers, Issy. I'm not Dr. Zhivago. I can't give you a full diagnosis. Why, she could be an ex-prostitute or heroin addict. Perhaps even a recovering alcoholic. We don't know anything about this stranger you have allowed into your home."

"She is not a stranger," Isobel lashed back. "She is Sophia's child. How could you say such a thing? I disagree. This girl has suffered trauma, yes, but not in the surfeit ways in which you so wrongfully suggest."

"Suit yourself, Issy, just explain that to your children. They need to be warned of her instability."

My eyes fluttered open. My heart thumped in my throat. "I…I…wa," I gagged on phlegm.

"Don't speak, Crystal," Isobel said. "Just rest. You are not well." She eased me forward to pat me on the back like a baby; a weak, inoperative inadequacy, failing to be strong.

Marsi marched over to me. Her knock knees stopped at my nose and her fingernail dug under my chin. "Are you high?" she asked. "Are you o-d-ing?"

"No," I blurted, trying to move my arms.

"Her pupils aren't dilating," Marsi said.

"What does that mean?" Isobel asked, sounding encouraged. I felt like a puppet on strings, allowing myself to be a subject of ridicule.

"It means, dearest Issy, that you have a crack head on your hands. It explains the hallucination, the aggression. It's all evident in her behavior."

My blood boiled. "I-I'm not a crack head," I stuttered, trying to stand.

"I know, dear," Isobel said, lifting me by the armpits. "Marsi, that is enough. Alert Sydney, she must return and take charge while I call Dr. Lutnis."

"No," I cried. "I'm fine."

I leaned back against the desk, appreciating the recharge of energy supplying circulation to each of my cramped muscles. I had come to the study after dinner to get away from all the stress of being so disliked and unwanted by Cray and Gal, to get away from the memory of the dreams taunting me throughout the day, and from everything Isobel had revealed only to sweep it under the carpet.

Sure, I preferred to stick to logic, but Isobel didn't have to leave it at that. She could have helped me figure out what had really happened. And Cray…for some reason, it was Cray getting to me the most.

I remembered getting short of breath and then the shakes. I knew what had been coming, but it had been a while since I'd had a panic attack. I figured it would pass. I couldn't believe it when it happened again after all these years. I thought I was stronger.

The realization that I might not be, made me want to run to my room and sulk for the rest of the night. Hell, the entire summer

"I'm going to my room," I muttered, deciding I could do just that and not care what they thought. "Please don't follow me."

"Sydney, there you are!" Isobel bellowed.

Syd was standing at the doorway with bags of groceries. She almost dropped them as she entered. "What's happened?"

"She's coming down," Marsi said.

Syd froze and frowned.

"From a shoot up," Marsi added, clarifying what she meant.

"I'm okay," I explained. "I just had a…dizzy spell."

Marsi snorted. "That's right. A spell of the ganja leaf."

Syd frowned again. But I didn't have the strength to argue.

"Crystal is right," Isobel said. "Sydney, please take her to her room to recuperate."

With a nod, Syd stuck out her elbow for me loop my hand through. I was glad she was back. She didn't look at me like a freak or a washed out birdbrain, only concern wrinkled her eyes; kind eyes that always made me feel right at home.