The Vanishing Game (9 page)

Moving closer to the mirror, I recalled the sharp pain as I'd rolled from beneath the cellar stairs. I stared at it and all my terror during those minutes rushed back.

Outlined in clear purple bruising was a giant bite mark.

The road twisted away like a white-gray ribbon, the landscape heavily draped in nighttime shadows. Our truck rattled along as we drove near the edge of a steep cliff. Above us the moon was a lopsided orb and the sky shimmered with stars
.

My mind couldn't process all my worries. Our mother, Melody, was muttering to herself in partial sentences as she drove, blurting out bits and pieces of regret, anger, self-satisfied revenge, and heartache. Sometimes she laughed with vengeful derision, at other times she wept or sang odd little songs that weren't musical. During the years past, even in all the bizarre ranges of her emotions, I'd never seen anything like this. It scared me. Even more frightening—Jack was sick and couldn't help me with her
.

He was slumped against the passenger door, asleep with his head resting on the window, his breathing shallow. His fever was so high that his forehead was red. I wished he would wake up and be himself again, because he was the one who knew what to say to Melody
.

Jack was always the calm voice of reason who managed to keep our mother's dark fears away. I was only the witty jester who tried hard to make Melody laugh. When she did laugh, and when she was happy, it was better for all of us
.

The old pickup shuddered at the high speed and jerky turns. Peering through the cracked windshield, I noticed red rust on the hood that seemed to be inching closer. A chill went up my spine as I sat between sleeping Jack and pitiful Melody. It was now clear that the red on the hood wasn't rust at all, but blood. The dented hood was stained with it, and that stain was coming at us like creeping fingers. The air we rushed through picked up a drop, which then hit the windshield. Another followed, and then more, until it was like red rain splattering the dirty glass
.

Melody didn't slow her one-car chase, but she screeched louder, more determined than ever for us to keep going. She turned on the squeaky wipers, smearing the blood until we were driving blind. The truck started to shudder as if it had a sudden heart attack, and the tires whined as they hit the shoulder. We flew over the edge of the cliff, out into the black night. I opened my mouth to scream, but my terror was so high pitched that no sound came out
.

The dream jerked me awake. I lay still with my heart thrumming away as it always did following that nightmare. After a few deep breaths, my pulse started to calm. It was morning. Light filtered through the ivory curtains. The sky had cleared and cheery larks performed in the nearby trees, a total contrast to my dark dream.

I crawled out of bed and headed for the bathroom. All my aches and pains made me wince. After downing more ibuprofen, I took a long shower and sluiced away the sweat caused by the bad dream. The shooting from last night went through my mind again, more terrifying than my nightmare, and once more I wondered who the dark man at the end of the alley was. How had he happened to be there just as Georgie's knife was ready to rip into me, and why had he killed him?

There seemed to be no answer. I sighed in frustration and shut off the water. Toweling myself dry, I checked out my face. It looked a little better but not great. Then I examined my other bruises and scrapes and the mark on my arm. A night's sleep hadn't made it look any less like a bite, and I tried to remember when I'd had my last tetanus shot. My guess was about four or five years ago.

I decided to worry about it later and got dressed in my same sage-colored shirt and wrinkled jeans. More than ever I missed my luggage and my stolen car. I had worked for months to earn enough money to buy that battered little Civic, and I wondered if I'd ever see it again. Plus what would my foster parents think when they found out? I hadn't planned to tell them about this trip upstate, but now I'd have to. They would be upset that I'd come here on my own, and disappointed in me for lying about going camping with my friends. Disappointment from Marilyn and Brent was worse than being grounded.

I left the bathroom and followed the smell of food and
the sound of Noah's voice. The smell was delicious, the voice angry. I found him in the kitchen. His boyhood interest in cooking had obviously continued, and for some reason I found this comforting. The Noah from my past had spent a lot of time preparing meals, sometimes even taking a double shift, and we were always glad when it was his turn to cook. Seeing him working at the stove made it seem like the old Noah had come back, at least until he swore and then shouted into his cell phone.

“I said I'd take care of it!” He disconnected, shoved the phone in his pocket, then turned and caught sight of me. His scowl deepened. “Eavesdropping?”

“My favorite hobby.”

He pointed to the table, which was set with purple plates and glasses filled with orange juice. I sat down as he scooped scrambled eggs into a shallow bowl and came to the table. Seeing the strips of bacon on a plate close to me, I understood what the delicious smell had been. Bacon was another food Melody never let us buy. It was sweet revenge that because of my height, which she'd only made fun of, I could eat whatever I wanted and not worry about weight the way she had.

I took several pieces of bacon, some toast, and a helping of eggs. After one bite I said, “Delicious. I'm glad to see you still like to cook.”

He didn't answer, just chewed in silence, and I wondered if he was mad because of the phone call or mad at me for listening in. There sure wasn't much of the boy I had once known left in Noah. He seemed so much harder.
Not only that, but when we were kids, I'd been slightly taller. Since we'd been apart he'd grown and actually had a couple of inches on me now. He had also filled out in the chest and arms, with muscles I hadn't seen five years ago.

As kids, there were two things about Noah that had always intrigued me. The first was the low sound of his voice, which had mellowed even more now that he was older. Even when he was angry, the tone of his voice drew me to him. The other was his eyes; they were intelligent in a thoughtful way, and the color was amazing. I'd noticed them that very first day at Seale House, even before he came down to the cellar and the three of us became friends.

His eyes were a shade of brown that wasn't chocolate or coffee, unless you added a whole lot of cream to the cup. But saying they were light brown didn't explain them at all. Maybe if I could only pick one word, I'd say
warm
. He could be angry or upset and scowling like a murderous vampire, but still that color called to me in a dozen different ways. I've never seen anyone with eyes like Noah's.

“Jocey, if I help you out with a bus ticket, will you go back home?”

I pulled my gaze away from him and looked down at my plate, dismayed to see I'd eaten nearly all my bacon and hardly tasted it.

“That eager to get rid of me? You're the one who insisted I come back here last night.”

“I'm not trying to get rid of you. It just seems like your grief over Jack is keeping you from thinking straight.”

“I get it. To you I'm just a big problem. Maybe that's all I ever was. Jack's annoying sister who tags along.”

“You know that's not true.”

“Third freak, third wheel.”

Instead of denying it, Noah smiled and shook his head.

“What?”

“Not a freak anymore, are you? Remember how those girls at school teased you?”

A quick memory took me back to the misery of my school year in this town. “Nessa, Monique, and Tabby? And who was that other one … Geena?”

He nodded. “If they could see you now, I guess they'd shut up fast. You're prettier than any of them ever dreamed of being.”

“Why are you acting so nice?”

“Not nice, just honest. We were always straight with each other, weren't we?”

“Yes.”

“So when I tell you to go home and deal with your grief, you can see I'm being honest.”

“Do you think the envelope from Jason December is a fake? Like some sort of sick joke?”

“I don't know what to think.”

I put down my fork and stood. “Listen, Noah, I appreciate your putting me up here for two nights and cooking this breakfast. But I need to keep looking for Jack.”

“How will you do that with no car or money?”

He was right, and though I hated to ask for help, it
didn't seem like I had much choice. “Any chance you'd give me another loan? I'll pay you back when I get home. I have a small savings account.” I showed him my crystal watch with its turquoise jelly strap, the only thing of value on me. “It cost almost a hundred, new.” I didn't add that it had been an early graduation gift from Jack.

“It's not my style.”

“Okay. Thanks anyway.”

“Giving up so easily?”

“What do you want from me, Noah? Just to keep on playing some stupid game? Because if that's all you want, I'm tired of it.”

“Calm down.”

“You talk about trust, but trust is the last thing you're willing to give. You don't believe the Jason December envelope is from Jack. But I promise you I didn't make it up.”

“I never said you did.”

“Then who sent it to me? Did you?”

“No. Of course not.”

I didn't say anything else, just stood beside the table and stared down at him. At last he shook his head and shrugged. “I've tried to think who sent it. I can't figure it out.”

“Did you tell someone else about the Jason December codes?”

“No.”

“There are only three people who knew that name: you, me, and Jack.” Grabbing the envelope out of my pocket, I threw it on the table. “Look at the facts, why don't you? It
has a Watertown postmark, mailed to me in Troy. That's why I dropped everything to drive up here. What else could I do? I had to try and find out if he might still be alive.”

“He's not. I read a copy of the accident report that ISI got from the police.”

“Which could've been faked.”

“But why?”

“Maybe he's in serious trouble but can't contact us directly. He sent me that envelope for a reason. I have to figure out why.”

Noah seemed to be going over my points, putting the facts together. He picked up the envelope and examined the postmark. I almost held my breath, hoping so much that he would accept what I'd told him.

He pushed away from the table and stood. “Okay. What do you want?”

“I need to go back to Seale House. If Jack left me a message, it'll be there in his hiding place.”

“What hiding place?”

“One that only Jack and I knew about.”

His eyebrows drew together. “I thought we shared everything.”

“Not this.”

“So the two of you had a secret I didn't share. No big surprise, I guess. Tell me something, and don't lie. If you look there and find nothing, will you accept Jack is gone for good?”

“Guess I'll have no choice.”

“All right then, I'll help you.”

Relief washed through me. “I need some cash for a taxi, a flashlight, and a screwdriver.” I went over to the counter, grabbing a knife from the butcher block. “And this.”

“Put that away. Hell, Jocey, you're making me nuts!”

“Please don't swear.”

Noah crossed the room, standing beside me and encircling my wrist with his fingers before taking the knife away with his free hand. The warmth of his touch startled me. For a couple of electric seconds he stared into my eyes and neither of us said anything.

He let go of my wrist, turned to the counter, and put the knife back in its block. “Tell you what. I'll drive you to Seale House myself and we'll both look in your secret hiding place. When you see there's no message from Jack, you go home. Deal?”

“Sure.”

“But no knife. And you help me do the dishes before we go.”

“Just so you know, I think it's a mistake not to take a weapon with us,” I said as Noah parked his Jeep Cherokee in front of Seale House.

“Try not to let your childhood fears get to you.”

He turned off the ignition and we got out of the car. Overhead, a white jet stream left a swelling gash across the cheek of the sky. Wind whipped my hair in my eyes and made me grateful for the lightweight fleece jacket Noah had loaned me. He wore a similar one but in a different shade. It made us look like one of those disgusting lovesick couples who show their commitment by dressing alike.

We walked up to the wide porch. The memories of Seale House seemed even more alive to me than yesterday. There were so many children, like Georgie, who dotted the landscape of my Watertown past. But besides Jack and
Noah, there were three who stood out most in my mind: the one I feared, the one I feared the most, and the one I feared the most for.