Tremble (21 page)

My mother has her recipe books strewn out al over the counter. Stray opened cans lying around with crumpled napkins and soggy dishtowels fil up the volume of the kitchen island. If it were anyone else I’d actual y be embarrassed at the state of unrest the house is in, but I’m glad we look like pigs. I hope we scare Marshal off with our unsanitary condition.

Tad walks in, and everyone plays nice while Mia and Melissa help me set the table.

“It’s so refreshing to see your domestic side.” Marshal ’s lips curl into a barely-there smile.

Creepy.

“Skyla? Domestic? Ha!” My mother balks. “You should see her room.”

“Could I?” Marshal gives a sly grin in my direction.

No you cannot, you dunce, I feel like saying.

“I’ve always believed you can tel so much about a person by the natural state of their private space,” he continues.

“Sure, go on.” My mother sticks her head in the oven to check on the chicken. Obviously, she’s insane from the fumes or something.

He’s a teacher—a grown man no less. What the heck has gotten into her? It’s like he’s zapped her with his charm and now she’s defenseless to his every whim.

I sigh and lead him towards the hal . Tad looks at me as though I’ve just sprouted two heads. Even Tad thinks this is a bizarre turn of events.

If Tad and I are on the same page then for sure this whole thing reeks of rotting corpses.

I take the steps two by two, but Marshal beats me to the top anyway and hisses, I win.

I open the door to the united kingdom of colorful underwear and let him take a gander. He steps deep inside before spinning in a long slow circle. Then he walks over to the bed and lies down, prompting me to slam my door shut and lock it.

“Would you get up? What’s this ‘see your room’ business?”

“I was bored.” He sniffs at the sheets. “Just taking in your scent. It’s not like I haven’t been here before, but it’s kind of nice to be invited.”

“You invited yourself.”

“Details.” He lies back and folds his hands across his chest. “Have you given us much thought?”

“No. No, us.”

“How about Gage? You found the poor boy yet?” His hand latches on to the post near the headboard, and he offers his best seductive stare.

“No.”

“Have you checked the excrement around the property? I understand Fems have a powerful y quick digestive system.”

“You’re sick.”

“I can make everything right for you, Skyla. Shal I?” He sits up in anticipation of my answer.

I have to admit, it’s getting more tempting by the minute. Although, however much I feel like sacrificing myself for Gage, I don’t feel as desperate to lose everything for El is.

“Your father would love Paragon.” He gets up and leaves the room.

He’s right.

***

We pretend to enjoy chicken cordon bleu, or black, as it is in its present state. My mother makes a mockery of herself, apologizing profusely for the charred disaster. You’d think she set his mother on fire the way she goes on.

“I’d don’t mind.” Marshal winks over at her. “What’s a little carcinogen every now and again?”

Tad looks appal ed by his comment.

It’s true, though. I’ve always considered my mother’s cooking a slow form of suicide.

Mia and Melissa both seem equal y taken by Marshal , giggling in concert at his brazen exposition.

“Mr. D?” Mia offers up her own nickname for him. “You think you’l stil be teaching when I get to West?”

“No, I’l be old and married by then. But you can visit the horse ranch. Better yet, sign up for lessons at the new school.”

“Yes!” She explodes, nodding to Melissa. Looks like he just scored two pupils without effort from the ad.

“I’m going to have Alpacas shipped in. Isn’t that exciting?” He looks to me when he says it.

“Oh!” My mother saves the chicken from fal ing out of her mouth with her fingers and swal ows hard. “I love Alpacas!” She chugs down a third of her lemon water. “Cal me as soon as they get in.” It’s becoming painful y obvious my mother has joined in on the Marshal Dudley love-fest. She swoons over at him like a star struck schoolgirl, gets so lost in her spaced-out daze while peppering her food she has to sneeze her way back to reality.

She’s openly flirting with me, Skyla. Does that make you the slightest bit jealous? He asks.

“Yes,” I say out loud. Crap. It’s late and I’m tired. Speaking of which, I dart my eyes over to the clock, six-fifty.

“Yes, what?” Tad asks, stymied by my spontaneous affirmation.

“Um, I have to go visit Michel e. Ms. Richards wants the squad to show our solidarity.” Or was it unity?

“I heard al about that.” My mother takes in a deep worried breath.

At least something shot her down from her cloud.

“I’m headed there, too. I’l give you a lift,” Marshal says.

“I’m going with Briel e.”

“I’l extend the offer to her as wel . We’l be green.” He nods towards my mother. “It’s been lovely. I’l return the favor at the ranch. I’m planning on having a community gathering to celebrate the opening. Of course, I can’t do it without my model in her wings.” He glides into a smile that reeks of sexual gratification.

“I think it’l be a little chil y running around the ranch without any clothes on.” Tad huffs.

Thank you.

“She can wear a body suit.” My mom’s quick to save the moment, anything to please Mr. Studley.

“A body suit sounds disgusting,” I say getting up, and by the look on Marshal ’s face, he agrees. “I gotta get my uniform on.”

“That’s perfect. Who wouldn’t like angel wings on an al American cheerleader?” He asks, pleased with the epiphany.

I can hear my mother agreeing with him, offering to make up posters just for the event.

It’s obvious Tad wanted to badly disfigure Marshal al night—stab him through the eye with a fork or something. Maybe my mother wil end up having an affair with Marshal and that wil end the monkey rein that’s taken over our lives?

That would be total y freaky.

Who knows, maybe some good wil come from Marshal after al .

Chapter Forty-Nine

Stay

Michel e glows under the white-hot spotlight of faux somber attention. She’s magnetized to Marshal in an almost stalkerish way. Her parents and little sister head downstairs for dinner as soon as we arrive, so she could spend a little time with her friends, which is ironic since she only has the two, and the rest of us are glorified room décor.

Ms. Richards makes smal talk before announcing it’s her bedtime. She winks over at Marshal before making a beeline for the door.

Michel e catches on and grows uneasy. Her dark wavy hair rises high above her head in a bountiful birds nest, and her face is sal ow as though she’s been dead a year herself.

“Al I’l need is a walking cast.” She espouses as though it were no big deal.

“Why’d you do it?” Nat doesn’t seem to have her mouth filter on.

I, for one, am glad she had the bal s to ask because I’m dying to know.

“It’s cal ed nocturnal something,” she says it dead serious as though it were an official medical term. “I was sleepwalking, and I got in the car and drove to the cliffs. I must have fal en off.” She fingers the rose around her neck in an effort to stabilize her shaking fingers. “I had a terrible nightmare.” Her lips turn a purplish-blue. She shakes her head. “I miss your class. Am I far behind?” She directs it at Marshal .

I can’t tel whether or not this is something sexual, or if she’s dead serious. Either way, she looks as if she were dropped off at the morgue, and death forgot to claim her.

“I’l excuse you,” he says before nodding in my direction. “In fact, I was going to bring your assignments, but I was having dinner at the Messenger’s home.”

“Your house?” She pins me with her instant anger.

I’m not sure what Marshal ’s motives are, but clearly pissing off Michel e for his sheer enjoyment is one of them.

“My mom…” I glance over at him. “My mom’s doing some work for him. He invited himself.”

“I would never do that.” He straightens.

“Michel e, you’l get so much more rest with your jewelry off. Want me to help you with the necklace?” I offer. Despite the fact she’s a major bitch, I don’t real y want her swan diving, or driving for that matter, in her sleep. Nor do I want to be forced to visit her in the hospital as an integral part of my grade.

“You guys mind leaving me and Messenger alone for a minute?” She doesn’t waver her immovable stare.

The room clears as quick as a blink.

“Dinner?” Her eyes flare up. Her olive skin brightens just beneath the surface of her wrath. “And now you want to steal my necklace?”

“I don’t want your boy-toy, and for sure I don’t want your necklace. But I promise you’l feel better if you take it off.”

She slides the dirty rose along the chain, creating a sizzle of audible tension.

“No. I won’t take this off until the day I die.”

Might be quicker than she thinks. I purse my lips as I remember something.

“Hey,” I open my mouth in a fit of trepidation. “El is was tel ing me…” My stomach drops when I say his name. I keep forgetting he’s gone.

“Um, that night at his party—homecoming last year…he says he saw you walking out of the forest, alone. He thought maybe you might have been the last one to see Chloe Bishop alive.”

“So now you’re accusing me of kil ing Chloe?” She asks as though it were ludicrous.

“No—not at al . It’s just that…I don’t know if you know, but El is is missing. They think it might be the same people that took her. You know, they might be responsible.”

Her face bleeds out al color. Her chest ceases to rise and fal . She’s completely stopped breathing.

“Michel e?”

She looks wearily towards the door and pul s the sheets up to her chin.

“I can’t sleep alone. Promise me you’l stay with me.”

“What? What about Emily or Lexy? Or your mom?” Al far more logical choices.

“Em and Lex can’t know I’m afraid.” She shakes her head in a panic. “They’l never let me live it down, and my mom and dad won’t stay. They said I was a big girl and laughed at me for asking.”

“I have school tomorrow.” Plus, I need to be in L.A. and back before first period.

“You’l stay, or I’l tel everyone you’re sleeping with Mr. Dudley.”

“Everyone is sleeping with Mr. Dudley.” Except me, but I choose to excise the truth because apparently that’s how I rol these days.

“I’l tel them you’re pregnant. I’l tel them you had an abortion—ate your baby. Doesn’t matter, they’l believe anything I want. Understand?”

“I’l stay under one condition.”

“What?” Her teeth chatter, her voice is marked with a clear tremor.

“Tel me what you saw that night.”

“I saw…” Her eyes widen as she loses focus, just before she turns a hideous shade of grey and passes out.

Chapter Fifty

L.A. Lady

The nurses decided Michel e is better off in ICU for the night where they can monitor her breathing, and not so unfortunately for me, that meant no overnight visitors.

I get straight to bed and feel myself sailing off into the past. I’ve become a master of heading off into whatever timeframe I want—master of disaster is a bit more accurate.

I give a hard blink and check out my surroundings. I’m in my cluttered up room back in L.A. Everything’s disheveled like before and the window’s shattered.

I bolt up and check down on the grass for signs of El is.

He’s there! He’s lying in a pool of silver glass with his hand up over his head like he’s trying to figure out what the hel just happened.

A chipped lattice trel is adheres to the wal outside my window. I climb out and try crawling down. It splinters under my weight and I dive two stories straight down, landing with my left leg below the knee splayed out unnatural y to the side.

A series of low gurgling moans escapes my throat as I try not to pass out from the sheer freaking horror of it al . Just the sight of my severely disjointed leg weakens me to the point of wanting to zoom back to Paragon.

“Is that painful?” El is says from over my shoulder.

This can go two ways as far as I see it. I panic and scream or man up and pop it back into joint—so I do both. I scream so loud it hardly sounds human. The tendons behind my knee feel severed, and the area swel s instantly like a bal oon. I pul back my jeans just enough.

This can be healed, I tel myself placing my hands over my knee with the utmost care. Maybe al I have to do is believe this is going to be OK?

I wait, but the swel ing only seems to increase, and the adrenaline effect is wearing off, sending hot searing pain straight into my chest.

“Spit on it.” He commands.

“What?”

“See if that works. Spit on it.”

I spit in my hands and rub them over the hot spot on my leg. The swel ing decreases a bit. My leg softens, and I can extend it again.

“It sort of worked. How’d you know that?”

“I didn’t. I just wanted to see if you’d spit on yourself.” He gives a tiny smirk of satisfaction. “Let’s get Gage and get the hel out of here. It feels like I’ve been down here for days.”

“More like years,” I say, attempting to get up on my feet and letting out a yelp. Stil injured.

A loud thump emerges from inside the house, and my dad cal s out my name.

“Come on.” El is takes me by the elbow, and we round out to the back of the house with me hobbling severely.

The side gate is wedged in dirt. We never used this gate, so it doesn’t surprise me. El is kicks it down, and helps me climb over the wreckage. The whole house has been destroyed—decimated. Just as my thoughts turn to what my neighbors might be thinking, a siren pierces through the thick humid air.

“Shit!” I mutter. “Gage!” I scream so loud it’s barely distinguishable. “Gage?”

The landscape darkens. Three moaning bodies with obvious knife wounds lie in the yard—al three of them male with long unkempt hair sporting dreadlocked beards of varying lengths. Pools of crimson spread beneath them. It’s so gruesome I can’t bear to look anymore.

A choir of hissing erupts.

“Time to go.” El is clasps onto my hand.