The Unquiet (31 page)

We wait forever, till no one’s around and most of the lights have been turned off for the night. We hang out in the wood shop, isolated in the basement, where I carefully choose my weapons. Then we sneak back upstairs and into the tunnel.

“You’re crazy,” he just
has
to say.

“Tell me something new.”

“Where’d you learn how to pick a lock?”

“You probably don’t want to know.”

Breaking and entering is a lot harder than it looks in the movies. I ignore the new DANGER—DO NOT ENTER sign and examine the pristine lock, probably the same one Bennie dropped on his foot. Nate grudgingly keeps lookout while I insert my hooked wire and a tiny screwdriver into the lock. My technique sucks; I bet my old friend Carlos could jimmy this in ten seconds. Whenever I get one pin to pop, another one drops back down.

Twenty minutes later I’ve gotten nowhere. Sweat drips. My knees hurt. At the doorway of the locker room, his impatience
mounting, Nate carries on a soliloquy. “You sure you can do this? Seriously, pick a lock? Who knows how to do
that
? California, my ass. I bet you’re from the Bronx …”

I jam the wire for the ninety-ninth time, cussing the stubborn pins. “I know what I’m doing. Quit distracting me.”
Jiggle, push … jiggle, push
. I’m about to give up when I hear a satisfying click. “Ha!”

“Sweet.” He does sound impressed.

We cringe at the frigid air as the door swings open. I also came prepared with a flashlight and clothesline. Nate watches with distrust as I tie the rope to my belt loop and hand him the other end.

“Whatever you do,” I say, breathless, “do
not
come in after me.”

“I don’t know why you’re doing this,” he snaps. “You were
in
there with Tasha. Did anything happen to you then? No? So what’s the point?”

“I was only there a few minutes.” I know this is true because I gave it a lot of thought. From the time I followed Tasha into the pool room till the moment she sprang off that board—five minutes, tops. It only felt like forever. “I want to make
sure
. So give me, like, fifteen minutes—”

“Ten.”

I decide it’s not worth it to argue. Ten uninterrupted minutes
might
be enough time. “Okay, then. And if nothing happens to me, it’ll prove my theory.”

“If nothing happens, it proves Annaliese doesn’t exist.”

“Whatever. You stay right here and hold the rope. And don’t forget to pull me back if, you know, something attacks me, haha.” My feeble laugh dies at his furious expression.

“One dumb-ass move, you twit, and I’m yanking you in like a walleye.”

“Ooh, I love it when you talk sexy.”

Like an Eskimo stepping out of a warm igloo onto the frozen tundra, I walk into the pool room; I have plenty of rope, twenty feet at least.

“Don’t come in,” I yell back, like I haven’t warned him a dozen times.

“Yeah, yeah.” Nate tugs on the rope. “Ten minutes, surfer girl. I’m timing you.”

Trailing the clothesline, I move toward the fence. The beam of my flashlight dances on the crisscrossed wires, casting light and shadows over the pool beyond.

Pool? Don’t you mean the black pit of death?

Did they make poor Bennie clean THAT up, too?

Nauseated, I pause. Then I swing the beam along, till it touches the hole in the fence.

I swallow hard. I’m not sure I can do this …

No. I have to.

I shine the light on my watch. It’s only been two minutes.

Anticipating a panic attack, I slow my breathing. My fingers stiffen in the chill. My teeth chatter, but to try to stop them will only tense me up. I let them chatter, and keep breathing, and waiting …

Breathing.

Waiting.

My breath billows out, visible in the beam. Senses on high alert, my teeth clanging like cymbals, I move as close as I dare to the missing section of the fence, gazing through it from one end of the pool to the other.

I feel nothing. I smell nothing. I see nothing that vaguely resembles a human form, ghostly or otherwise.

What did Tasha see? What secret was she talking about?

Water drips. I hear faint, intermittent thunks, possibly from the furnace. Wind whistles through the crack in one of the tiny windows. Is that why it’s so cold in here?

I peer at my watch again. I’m at the five-minute mark.

I take one step closer to the gaping hole, shuddering as I remember how it grabbed my jacket, how I couldn’t get away, how Bennie couldn’t get past me …

Shut up. Don’t think about Tasha. Concentrate on Annaliese.

“Annaliese?” I whisper. “Are you there?”

“Rinn?” A faraway Nate, waiting in the tunnel. “Time’s almost up.”

No it’s not. I have at least four more minutes. Annoyed, I flap the rope to show him I’m alive—
stop bugging me, farmer boy
—and turn back to the pool. “Annaliese? Are you real? Are you in there somewhere?”

Drip … clank … drip
.

Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

“Rinn! RINN! Get back NOW!” He jerks the rope so hard, my belt loop snaps. The clothesline sails away from me, whipping through the air like a John Wayne lariat.

Angry, I trudge back to the tunnel. “You said I had
ten
minutes—”

He yanks me through the door without a word. I trip and land on my hands and knees. Disregarding my choice of words, he lifts me up again and heaves me into the locker room.

I forget to be quiet.
“What the hell are you doing?”

Nate slams the door. “I said let’s go!”

I balk, but he hustles me through the locker room, the gym, and the cafeteria so fast, all I see is one big blur. Finally, in the main hall, I free myself, resisting the urge to kick him into Christmas. “What is
wrong
with you?”

“Why didn’t you come when I called you?”

“You didn’t have to assault me!”

Livid, I start for the doors, but remember I left my book bag behind. I whirl around and bolt back the way we came, with Nate thundering close behind. It occurs me that heading into a confined area with a maniac on my heels might not be the smartest move in the world.

“Don’t touch me!” I snarl when he catches up in the gym.

Shocked, he raises his hands in surrender. “God, Rinn. What’s
with
you?”

“You’re chasing me. When people chase other people, it usually ends badly.”

“I’m sorry, but—just don’t go back there.” He moves forward. I step back at the same time. “I’m not gonna hurt you.” Panting, we glare at each other. Then Nate asks carefully, “You didn’t hear it, did you?”

“Hear what?”

He gestures toward the locker room. “If you’re screwing with me, Jacobs …”

“I’m not! I didn’t hear anything. What did
you
hear?”

“I’ll tell you outside. Let’s go.”

“My book bag!”

“Get it tomorrow.”

“No! My name’s all over it. I am not getting kicked out.”

Torn, Nate hesitates. “Okay. But
I’ll
get it. You wait here.”

“Don’t forget the rope. And my flashlight!”

He dashes off, stranding me in the shadows. I hop from foot to foot, eyes glued to the wall clock with the big red second hand.
Sixty seconds … two minutes … five minutes … seven.

What’s taking him so long?

Why did you let him go back there alone?

Finally I can’t stand it. I take off, and bump right into him as he veers out of the locker room. Aggravated, he thrusts my book bag into my chest. “All your junk fell out, by the way.”

“I hope you got it all,” I pant as we race back. “I hope you didn’t leave something behind with my
name
on it.” No answer. We rush to the main doors where Nate collides to a stop. “What’re you doing?”

“You seriously didn’t hear it?” I shake my head. He eyes me for an eternity. “I couldn’t tell what it was. It was kind of a voice, but not
really.
It—it’s hard to describe.”

“What did it say?”

“Nothing. It just kind of … howled.”

“You mean like a dog?”

“Maybe wail’s a better word. Like it was trying to scare us away.” Nate cracks his knuckles smartly. “But not like a person.
Jesus
, Rinn.” He rakes impatient fingers through his hair, and then stops, astonished, and stares down at his hand.

His fingers are wet.

With my heart punching the walls of my chest, I stand on tiptoe to examine his hair.

Ice crystals, like crushed glass, coat the top of his head.

Tuesday, December 2
“Experiment: Day #1”

Drugless, I make it through the school day without a glitch. All I notice is that when 2:00 rolls around, I’m awake, not groggy, and my brain works faster.

I wonder how long it’ll take.

All day I wait for Mr. Solomon to scream over the PA that someone broke into the pool room again. Yes, once you pick a dead bolt you can’t relock it, of course—a fact I forgot about till it was over and done with. But I know Nate shut that door; nobody’ll notice it’s unlocked unless
they
try to get in. With Bennie MIA, that might take a while.

I doodle Annaliese’s name on a folder.

I have no plan. Shouldn’t I have a plan?

I print her name a second time, and then smear it with my thumb before anyone sees it.

Annaliese. Where are you?

How will I know when it’s time to find you?

Wednesday, December 3
“Experiment: Day #2”

In my dream, Annaliese is playing the piano, and I’m sitting there watching her like it’s the most natural thing in the world …

Then I open my eyes, and it’s dark, and the music is real, not part of my dream. I peek at my clock. Why is Mom playing the piano at 4:00 a.m.?

I smell cigarette smoke.

I sneak downstairs. Mom fumbles a few notes, and backs up again. She misses. She tries again, and again. Not once does she get the tune right.

“Mom?”

Ignoring me, or possibly not hearing, Mom continues to bang out the same awful notes. I walk up behind her and touch her shoulder. She slams her hands on the keys with a thunderous crash. “My God, Rinn! Don’t ever sneak up on me in this house again!”

In this house?
Would sneaking up on her be less heart-stopping in any other house?

“I didn’t sneak up. You just didn’t hear me.” I point to her overflowing ashtray where smoke drifts up from a smoldering cigarette. I spy the pack: Millie’s brand. I said nothing the night she smoked with Luke, but now I feel I have to. “Why are you smoking? You were doing so good.”

She grinds out the cigarette. “Don’t nag me. I needed one. It’s been a hellish week.”

Wisely I don’t point out that she likely smoked twenty, not one. She absolutely reeks, and she looks tired and haggard. “Why are you up so early?”

“I couldn’t sleep. And I can’t seem to get this piece
right
anymore.” Querulously, she shakes the sheet music as if to wake it up. “Make me some coffee, will you?”

So I make the coffee, the whole time listening to Mom struggle with the tune. I wonder,
Did I dream about Annaliese because I heard Mom playing in my sleep? Or is Mom playing the piano because I dreamed Annaliese was playing?

It’s a funny thought, though not out-and-out “crazy.” Wondering if I should keep track of these weird ideas, I swallow my birth control pill and wash the psych meds down the sink.

I know what to watch for. I’ll pay very close attention. Nate promised to help me.

I’ll be perfectly fine.

Thursday, December 4
“Experiment: Day #3”

We get our schedules for next semester. I make some changes, like switching two classes so Nate and I have the same lunch period. This eating alone depresses me. Today I sat with two girls from PE, but all they wanted to talk about was Tasha: “You were there, right?”
Like they’re blaming me
. “Did you see her fall?”
Like I want to talk about that
. “You guys were friends. Didn’t she say anything? How could you not know she wanted to kill herself?”
Like I knew she planned it, which she didn’t, and I never said a word.

Rinn—everything that happens is not your fault.

Then why do I feel like it is?

Because you’re crazy, Rinn. It’s what crazy people do.

I jump up in the middle of their conversation—and mine—and throw my lunch away.

Friday, December 5
“Experiment: Day #4”

I’m sad about Tasha. I’m missing Meg like mad. But I’m not nervous, I’m not
lethally
depressed, and the only Voice I hear in my head is my own. Either I don’t need those stupid meds, after all, or I haven’t been off them long enough to make a difference.

Think about it, though: what if I’m
not
bipolar? What if it simply went away? If you believe what you read, or those TV evangelists, people are cured of terrible illnesses all the time.

Why not me?

This morning, again, Mom doesn’t set out my pills or remind me to take them. Does she
really
trust me?

Or does she no longer care?

Either way, the pills go down the sink.