The Unquiet (35 page)

CRAP!

“Myself,” I say, shivering.

“Oh.” Mom smiles a peculiar smile. “I do that, too, sometimes.”

“I didn’t hear you playing last night,” I say at breakfast.

“Good. I tried to keep it down.”

I ask nonchalantly, “So, why do you do that?”

“I can’t sleep.” Mom slumps in her chair like she has no plans to ever move out of it. “In fact, I think I’ll take today off. I haven’t slept in days. Not since Tasha’s funeral.”

And looks like you can’t play the piano anymore, either
.

That niggling sensation kicks my stomach again.

When did Mom start getting so weird? After Tasha died? Or after I stopped taking my meds? If it’s the meds, maybe I’m only imagining her weirdness.

But I didn’t imagine the piano playing. And I’m sure Nate noticed how strange she acted when he dragged me home with my head split open. I’d better ask him to be sure.

Back upstairs, I dial his number. “What?” he barks without asking who it is.

“Well, isn’t that a nice way to answer the phone?” Silence. “You said you’d call me,” I add awkwardly. “You didn’t.”

I wait for him to explain. All he says is, “I know.”

“Nate, I—I think we should talk about what happened at school. And there’s something really important I have to ask you about my mom.”

“Are you back on your meds?”

“What? Yes. Why?”

“Good. Keep taking ’em. Because seriously, Rinn, you’re making
me
crazy now.”

This stings. “How am I making you crazy?”

“This
ghost
shit, Rinn.”

“But you were there. You heard her.” A nasty idea dawns. “Or were you humoring me?”

Nate says curtly, “I’m going to the stable.”

“Wait, what about school?”

“What about it?”

I forget my indignation. “I’ll come with you. Wait for me!”

“No,” Nate snaps. “I don’t want you there.”

He hangs up on me.

Miserable now, I watch from my window as Nate, in a camouflage jacket and that ugly fur cap I tease him about, tosses a rifle into his jeep and roars off down the street.

He’s not going to the stable. He’s going hunting. Why’d he lie?

One thing I know:
I
can’t go to school today, either. I am way too messed up. If I’m hearing voices in my wall, what’ll I do if the blackboards or lockers strike up a conversation?

I also know I can’t stay here with Mom. If I start yelling at Annaliese again, it won’t take her long to figure out I’ve been skipping my meds.

Or will it?

Funny how her hovering used to annoy me so much. Now I miss it like crazy. It’s like she’s been taken over by aliens, like that
Invasion of the Body Snatchers
movie I once watched with Frank. I ragged on the idea that aliens would waste time spinning pods, waiting for people to fall asleep. After all, they’re
aliens
. Why not land, conquer the world, and be done with it?

Because, Frank said, it’s better to do that gradually, insidiously. Then by the time people catch on, it’s too late to fight back.

Forget aliens. What about Annaliese? Why does
she
want to hurt people?

I dig up the worn, crumpled list I started ages ago:

1. Lacy got headaches after she went into the tunnel. Plus she went Rambo on me.

2. Meg’s ears started ringing after she went into the tunnel. She fell on the ground in front of hundreds of spectators doing a stunt she’s done a thousand times.

3. Cecilia lost her voice after she went into the tunnel.

To which I’ve since added the following:

4. Dino died in the pool room.

5. Lacy wrote a nasty letter to Chad, didn’t remember writing it, and lost her baby.

6. Meg stabbed her mom.

7. Tasha dove into that empty pool.

The first three things happened before the séance. The last four, after.

I scribble more:

8. Miss Prout went crazy hanging around that pool.

9. After she dragged Annaliese’s grandmother into her happy medium act, Mrs. Gibbons killed herself.

10. That alcoholic teacher (maybe related).

11. Lindsay McCormick’s cat (definitely related).

12. I ALMOST died in that pool room.

13. Mom doesn’t act like Mom anymore.

14. Now Nate’s changing, too. Why did he lie? Why not SAY he was going hunting?

But Nate wasn’t at the séance. Neither was Mom. Mom doesn’t even use the tunnel; she stays in the office all day and only comes out for lunch. I bet she hasn’t even seen that pool room since high school—

Wait. That’s not true
.

Something claws at my neck.

That damn séance! Who did I run for when they all zoned out on me? I ran for Mom. She did go in there that night, to chase everyone out.

I crumple my list. Oh God. That’s it! Okay, maybe it took a while for Annaliese to “get” to Mom. But my mother’s a strong person. She wouldn’t make it easy.

This time it
is
my fault. But how could I have known?

With Mom not at school to realize
I’m
not, either, I decide to hike over to Rocky Meadows myself. Nobody’s there to mind, only a caretaker who now knows me by sight. Exhausted after the two-mile walk, I stumble when I notice Nate’s muddy jeep. He’s here, after all? I thought he went hunting.

Unnerved, I slog up the long driveway. What’ll he say when I show up uninvited, and undoubtedly unwelcome? I don’t understand why he’s so mad at me in the first place. Like it’s
my
fault there’s some lunatic ghost on the loose?

I walk through the stable, glad to be out of the wind and muck. Every stall stands empty. No shuffling of hooves or munching of grain. No welcoming whinny from Xan. Funny, Nate never turns them all out at once; not every horse gets along with the others. Ginger, for instance, loves to bite Xan’s hindquarters if she gets right up behind him, and he’s twice her size.

No sign of Nate in the stable. I leave by the rear door, squinting in the sunshine flashing through a patchwork of gray clouds. When I hear the distant, restless nickering coming from the fenced-in paddock behind the barn, I stop.

Something’s wrong. The horses know it, too.

Heart thumping, I dodge into the barn and tramp through
the carpet of dirt and sawdust. Then, as I duck back outside, I hear a horrific sound: the metallic slam of a rifle being loaded.

I’m already running when the
CRACK
splits the air, followed by the acrid smell of gunpowder.

Nate snarls, “
Damn!
”

Panicked whinnying. The rustle of massive bodies. Stomping hooves and snorts of alarm. Desperate to escape the danger, the horses crash about the paddock in a brownish blur. Nate, over by the fence, slams another round of ammo into the rifle and then points the barrel at the creatures.

The shotgun explodes a split second before it leaves his hands. My flying body slams him into the mud, knocking the breath out of us both. Nate, first to recover, flips me over and pins me to the ground, screaming obscenities.

“Stop it!” I scream back into his damp scarlet face. “
Nate, stop!
”

He shuts up and stares at me. His hot, ragged breath reeks of bleach. Sweat rains down as he violently shakes his head, and then abruptly releases me. He rolls away and flings an arm over his face.

Side by side we lay on the cold earth. Mud splatters us through the fence, kicked up by hooves. I imagine the horses, with indignant snorts, discussing the incident among themselves. Wondering what would possess the boy who loves them so much to try to do such an unthinkable thing …

Possessed
.

Slowly, I turn my head to the side. Aside from his heaving chest, Nate doesn’t move, and the rifle’s a safe ten or twelve feet away.
This must be a dream. It can’t possibly be real life
.

As minutes pass, and wetness leaks into my jacket and jeans, Nate’s panting slows so much I wonder if he’s breathing at all. I whisper his name, afraid to touch him. His arm drops away from his mottled face. Tears trickle into his ears. “Nate, get up.”

He
could
get up. He could jump up, grab the gun, and shoot the horses, anyway.

Or shoot me.

He could do anything he wants, something totally unexpected—because
he is not Nate Brenner!
Nate would never do this.

Squelching my fear, I shove his head. “
Talk
to me, Nate.”

Nate blinks at the sky. Then, very slowly, turns to face me. Will he hurt me? Should I run? No, because then I’d have to take the rifle with me, too. And if I can’t outrun him …

“Rinn?” He says my name, softly, wonderingly, like he thought I was dead and now he’s shocked to see I’m not.

Sobbing, he reaches out to touch my cheek with his icy hand.

“You know what would’ve happened after I shot them?”

I’d started a sort-of fire in the fireplace in the lounge, but the puny flame does nothing to warm us. Nate’s teeth chatter so hard I can barely understand him.

“You have to get out of those clothes,” I say bossily, poking the logs.

Nate wrenches the poker away and grips both my hands. He’s so cold, so cold, his fingers don’t feel human. I shiver as he transfers the chill to me. “I would’ve shot myself. I had it all figured out. I’d put the gun in my mouth and hit the trigger
with my toe. Right over there.” He nods at the couch. “I was gonna write you a note, but then I thought, maybe not.” I wince as he squeezes my hands harder. “Maybe it’d be better if I—”

“Shut up! You didn’t do it. You’re still alive.”

“Am I?” A dead, flat whisper.

Twisting free, I dig two musty blankets out of a bin and dump them on the floor. “Take your clothes off,” I order, “and sit
down
.”

Rigid, Nate gazes wordlessly into the growing fire, so I pull off his sodden jacket and unbutton his shirt myself. When I reach for his belt buckle, he pushes me away, kicks off his muddy jeans, and sits down like a good little boy. Nearly faint with cold, I strip down to my underwear, too, then kick the mangy bear rug aside and spread our clothes out to dry. I can’t figure out why we’re both so cold, why the heat from the fireplace hasn’t reached us yet.