The Unquiet (41 page)

My pen halts in shock.

YES! YES!

I scribble more:

17. Worse, Annaliese makes me hallucinate. I see
my Real Mom but I see a Fake Mom, too. It’s the FAKE MOM who says those things. Annaliese wants people to think I’m crazy. She wants ME to think I’m crazy. She makes me say crazy things. It’s like if she can’t kill me, she’ll do the next best (or worse) thing.

“Why?” I ask Annaliese. “Why won’t you tell me
why
?”

She doesn’t answer, of course. But I imagine a dark, secretive smile.

With a second surge of inspiration, I flip the paper and start a new list, leaving out Meg, Cecilia, and Lacy. I hate to say it, but they’re incidental. Instead of killing them, Annaliese only toyed with them, stealing from them what they loved the most. Did what she steal make her stronger than ever?

I write the names carefully, reverently—

1. Tasha

2. Dino

3. Nate

4. Me

—and try to figure out what we four have in common.

It takes less than five seconds for the winning buzzer to go off.

Trembling, I fill in the blanks:

1. Tasha = Millie Lux

2. Dino = Joey Mancini

3. Nate = Luke Brenner

4. Me = Monica Parker

Mom, Millie, Luke, and Joey.

All of them friends from high school.

You never fooled anyone, Monica
, Luke said last night.
Why don’t you take a good look at yourself for a change?
What did he mean by
that
?

I snatch up my phone. Nate doesn’t answer right away and lets it flip to voice mail, making me suspect he knows it’s me. After four more tries I wear him down; he picks up on his end and breathes into my ear.

“I know you’re there, Nate.”

“You’re relentless, ya know?”

“Sorry,” I say meekly, not sorry at all.

“So what’s so important you couldn’t wait, like, two more hours?”

“Remember what your dad said yesterday, about how my mom thinks she has everyone fooled?” I hope he remembers. He was pretty out of it last night. “Will you ask him what he meant?”

“He’s still at the office.”

“He’ll be home for dinner, right? And he’s coming to the concert? Ask him as soon as he gets home. Then let me know.”

“Well, it’s not the kinda thing you bring up over pork ’n’ beans.” I hiss impatiently, and Nate relents. “Okay, okay. God, you’re
such
a—”

“Pain in the ass,” I finish with an uneasy laugh.

“Yep. See you at school.”

“Good.” Before he hangs up, I add shyly, “Oh, in case you’re wondering? I love you, too.”

“You don’t look much like a rock star in that getup,” Frank notes when I waltz downstairs with my guitar.

“It’s a Christmas concert,” I say coolly.

Mom scrutinizes me, too. “A bit heavy-handed with the mascara, don’t you think?”

Okay—Real Mom. But I can’t let my guard down. “Do you want me to take it off?”

“Of course not. It’s your face.” She clears her throat, maybe sensing my suspicion. “Oh, and I’m washing your scarf. Let me find another one …”

Frank rubs frost off the window. “Whoa, it’s sure comin’ down. Up to fourteen inches tonight, I heard. Tell me again why people live in Ohio?”

Because they kill their grandmothers. And their fathers send them away.

Another time I might’ve said this out loud. Instead, I smile, remembering his hugs. “I better get going. Mr. Chenoweth wants us there early.”

“We’ll be on time,” he promises. He shrugs into his jacket and puts on the hat and gloves he was smart enough to pick up. “Think I’ll head out and shovel the drive so you girls don’t end up snowed in till spring.”

Mom, hunting for my extra scarf, jokes, “You? Shovel snow?”

“Watch me, babe.”

“Well, just do me a favor and don’t drop dead in my driveway.”

Frank growls, Mom giggles, and I burn inside my chest at the familiarity of this. Suddenly all I want is to stay home and hang out with my parents—
both
of them. I want to jam with Frank, to listen to his stories about Billy Idol and Madonna and Bono and Van Halen. Or we could play Scrabble—Mom always wins—or rent a DVD and pop popcorn and laugh till we hurt. All the fun things we used to do together …

Before you got sick
, Annaliese whispers,
and spoiled it all.

I hate you, Annaliese.

Boots on, I clomp into the kitchen, flip open the cupboard—and stop, confused by the empty space on the shelf. “Where are my pills?”

Mom walks up behind me. “It’s only five. Why are you taking them now?”

Because I want to make sure I’m safe tonight.
“I might be tired later. I don’t want to forget.”

“Well, my goodness,” she purrs in my ear. “It looks like they’re not
heeere
.”

I gag on the chlorine that gusts out of her mouth. Cold air radiates from her body, causing goose bumps to ripple over my own.

It’s her: the Fake Mom.

The imposter.

The one who stole my mother’s soul.

I refuse to turn around. “Go. Away.”

“Go where,
hmm
? Back home with Frank? I’d like that. I’m sure we can find a nice place for you, too. A cozy asylum for troubled teens?”

I clench the counter and stare at the aluminum basin. One dried-up noodle rests in the drain. “Mom. Mom, listen. I know what happened to you.”

Her words caress me in the soothing tone she uses when I’m sick, or depressed. “What happened to me, honey? Tell me. I’m interested.”

Don’t let her scare you!

“You—you went into the pool room that night. That’s when she got you.”

Her laughter tinkles, frighteningly Mom-like. It sounds so
much
like her, I almost give in—but I’m too afraid to face her.

“See, Corinne? Pills won’t help you. For people like you it’s like swallowing candy. And how do you know those were really your pills? I could be feeding you sugar. I could’ve switched them any time. Or I could be poisoning you. Did you ever think of that?”

I cover my ears. It doesn’t help.

“Would you
like
to go back to the hospital? Remember what it was like, after you slashed your neck? All those kids screaming and crying? You didn’t feel very safe there. Remember how terrified you were?”

Yes. But not as terrified as I am now.

“What about those shots they gave you when you wouldn’t behave? How they tied you down, and all you could do was lie there and scream like everyone else.” Her chuckle skitters like electricity over my scalp. “That’s when you
really
wanted to die. Weren’t you sorry you didn’t do it right in the first place? One millimeter deeper, and bingo! You’d be dead.” A disapproving laugh. “Silly girl.”

My voice returns at last. “Shut up. You’re not Mom. You are
not
my fucking mother.”

Fake Mom clucks. “Oh, here we go again. Should I call Frank back in so you can repeat that for him?”

She leans closer, closer, dripping invisible bleach. I smash my hands over my face to suck in as little as possible.

“I almost forgot. I have a present for you.” I whimper as she pries one hand free and slaps something into my palm. “Keep it safe. Keep it handy. You’re going to need it very soon.”

She folds my fingers over and squeezes hard, only releasing them when I cry out with pain. My hand flies open, revealing a shiny new razor blade. Blood trickles through my fingers, plopping into the sink.

I wrench around to scream, “
Get the hell away from me!
” only to see Mom, with my coat and scarf, walking toward me through the dining room.

She freezes in place. “Honey, what happened?”

The odor of chlorine still permeates the kitchen. It didn’t fade when the Fake Mom disappeared. This can only mean one thing.

It’s coming from the “real” one.

Chest pounding, hiding my hand, I head straight for her and jerk my coat away. Ignoring the scarf, I drop the razor blade into a pocket, grab my guitar case, and slam out of the house into a torrential whiteout. Frank, busy shoveling, doesn’t notice me.

I wonder if he’ll notice the trail of blood in the snow.

I rinse off my hand in the locker room as Cecilia hovers. “You cut it on
what
?”

“A razor blade.” Gingerly, I pick it out of my pocket.

She recoils. “You know we’re not supposed to bring weapons into the building.”

“It’s not a weapon. It’s a means of suicide. My mother gave it to me. Except she’s not my real mother.”

“What?”

Shut up, Rinn. Shut up!

I can’t shut up. I can’t keep it inside me! Cecilia, unfortunately, is the only one around. “It’s hard to explain. She looks like my mom. But she’s an imposter, sort of.”

Cecilia stares. “If she’s not your mother, who is she?”

“I don’t know. But at the Homecoming dance, some of us had a séance, and something—something awful happened. Everyone smelled that chlorine, same as you. Then everyone
froze
. I couldn’t wake them up. Jared and I ran out, because he was fine, too, and my mom went in there to get everyone out. But she hasn’t been right since! Same with Meg and Lacy. Plus it happened to
you
.” My speech picks up speed as she edges away. “And Tasha and Dino—wait!” I shout as she reaches the door. “Listen!”

Cecilia stops, one hand planted on the door.

“Things happened to other people, too. Like Nate. And Miss Prout!
That’s
why she left. To get away from her.”

“Get away from who?”

“From Annaliese!” I explode.

Cecilia waits a beat. “Do you hear yourself? You’re talking crazy.”

“You lost your voice. You
mouth
the words now. I see you do it.” Frustrated at her stubborn headshake, I step forward, blade
in hand. Cecilia’s face crumbles in panic. Quickly, I hold out the razor blade. “Here, take it.”

“I’m not touching that!”

“Please!”
I can’t keep it. I can’t trust myself.

“No.” She yanks open the door. “I don’t know what you’re babbling about. You’re not making any sense.”

“But—”

“I’m not listening to you anymore. Leave me alone.
Get away!
”

So I guess my name won’t be on Cecilia’s Christmas card list. And Nate’s already avoiding me, though he insists it’s for my own safety. How much longer before
everyone
decides I’m a psychotic freak? How long before the whole school hates me?

Why did I think Cecilia would believe me? Seriously, who would?

Nate believes me.

Marginally cheered by that knowledge, I wrap the razor blade in paper towels and tuck it into the pocket of my dress. I hate the idea of strolling around with it, but I can’t leave it unattended in my coat pocket, either. I picture a traitorous Cecilia handing my coat over to King Solomon.
Yep, that girl’s got my number, all right
.

A cacophony of tuning instruments fills the auditorium. Nate’s assembling his drums and cymbals, joking around
with friends. He spots me, finishes up, and cautiously approaches. I must look terrible because he asks, “What happened now?”

“Let’s talk.”

“Okay. But not alone.”

I follow him uphill to the secluded, but not isolated, last row, and immediately burst into tears. I definitely liked it better when I couldn’t cry; the fact that I now cry so easily reinforces my suspicion that Fake Mom was telling the truth—I’ve been swallowing sugar pills. But how can sugar pills look and taste like the real thing?

Annaliese is winning. I’m paranoid beyond belief.

“I’m scared. My mom hid my pills. Then she gave me a razor blade and told me to kill myself.” All color drains from Nate’s face. “Look, I’ll show you—”

“You have it on you?” He stops my hand. “Jesus, don’t.”

My throat aches. “She stole my mother. She’s turning her into someone else. Someone mean! And ugly!”