at poor Georgia. I thought he’d broken her heart before. He’s smashed it now.” They both looked over to where Mrs. Bossard stood near the dining room table, serving tea, then both looked down into their own cups.
They had a point. Mrs. Bossard looked like a zombie. Not a real zombie. They generally had rotting flesh hanging off them and lurched around trying to eat people’s brains. Perhaps “sleepwalker” would be a better description of Neil Bossard’s mother at the moment. Her face had settled into a stunned expression, her movements seemed automatic and a little jerky as she passed people cups and gestured toward the cream, lemon and sugar.
I shifted farther along the wall. A clump of younger people massed in one of the corners. My best guess is that they were only a few years younger than me, probably friends of Neil’s. I thought I recognized one or two of them from his MySpace page.
“It’s creeping me out,” one of the girls said, swinging her dark blonde hair back over her shoulder. “First Kurt and now Neil? I don’t see how that can be a coincidence.”
Fabulous. I wasn’t the only one who had put those two deaths together. I wondered who else had and why.
“Do you think it was a suicide pact?” another girl asked.
One of the boys brushed the question aside. “How could it be a pact? Neither of them could stand to even be in a room with the other one after they got back. How would they have made a pact?”
Tears filled the girl’s eyes. “I don’t know, but there’s got to be a reason they both, you know ...”
“Offed themselves?” The boy finished for her. He crossed his arms over his chest and glared. “They were a couple of whiney little bitches, is what they where. Only cowards kill themselves.”
“Eric!” The blonde put her hand on his chest. “Don’t talk like that.”
“I’m just telling the truth. First, there was all that skulking around and talking about people looking at them. They both did that. Of course people were looking at them. They’d been gone for six years. Even people who didn’t know what happened knew they’d come back from someplace else. Then all that weird shit about someone cursing them. Nobody cursed them. There isn’t any such thing as a curse. They did it to themselves. All of it.”
Eric turned and stomped away from the group. The blonde started to follow him, but one of the other boys stopped her. “I’ll go.”
So both boys had thought someone had been following them. Both boys had thought someone was cursing them. But why? What had they done? What had happened six years before? Where had the boys gone and why had they come back?
The group broke up. Everywhere else I inched I heard conversations about the weather and real estate prices, both hot topics at most cocktail parties. I thanked my lucky stars I didn’t have to attend many.
I decided it was time to put the riskier portion of my plan into play. It was time to do some actual snooping and not just eavesdropping. I inched my way along to the staircase leading to the second floor.
I was halfway up the stairs when I caught the first faint hum of the vibration. It wasn’t very strong, but it was definitely there. There was something on the second floor. I flattened myself against the wall as two women made their way down the stairs. It gave me a second to evaluate what I might be facing. One of them smiled at me as she went past. “Second door on the left,” she whispered.
I smiled and nodded. It never hurts to know where the bathroom is. Then I refocused my attention on the vibration. It felt like a thing, not a being. Perhaps what I’d delivered to Neil Bossard was still in the house. I made my way to the top of the stairs. I stood for a second, feeling with my senses which way to turn. The room at the end of the hallway felt right. I glanced down the stairs. No one else seemed to be making their way to the bathroom, but with all the tea-drinking going on, I might not
They had a point. Mrs. Bossard looked like a zombie. Not a real zombie. They generally had rotting flesh hanging off them and lurched around trying to eat people’s brains. Perhaps “sleepwalker” would be a better description of Neil Bossard’s mother at the moment. Her face had settled into a stunned expression, her movements seemed automatic and a little jerky as she passed people cups and gestured toward the cream, lemon and sugar.
I shifted farther along the wall. A clump of younger people massed in one of the corners. My best guess is that they were only a few years younger than me, probably friends of Neil’s. I thought I recognized one or two of them from his MySpace page.
“It’s creeping me out,” one of the girls said, swinging her dark blonde hair back over her shoulder. “First Kurt and now Neil? I don’t see how that can be a coincidence.”
Fabulous. I wasn’t the only one who had put those two deaths together. I wondered who else had and why.
“Do you think it was a suicide pact?” another girl asked.
One of the boys brushed the question aside. “How could it be a pact? Neither of them could stand to even be in a room with the other one after they got back. How would they have made a pact?”
Tears filled the girl’s eyes. “I don’t know, but there’s got to be a reason they both, you know ...”
“Offed themselves?” The boy finished for her. He crossed his arms over his chest and glared. “They were a couple of whiney little bitches, is what they where. Only cowards kill themselves.”
“Eric!” The blonde put her hand on his chest. “Don’t talk like that.”
“I’m just telling the truth. First, there was all that skulking around and talking about people looking at them. They both did that. Of course people were looking at them. They’d been gone for six years. Even people who didn’t know what happened knew they’d come back from someplace else. Then all that weird shit about someone cursing them. Nobody cursed them. There isn’t any such thing as a curse. They did it to themselves. All of it.”
Eric turned and stomped away from the group. The blonde started to follow him, but one of the other boys stopped her. “I’ll go.”
So both boys had thought someone had been following them. Both boys had thought someone was cursing them. But why? What had they done? What had happened six years before? Where had the boys gone and why had they come back?
The group broke up. Everywhere else I inched I heard conversations about the weather and real estate prices, both hot topics at most cocktail parties. I thanked my lucky stars I didn’t have to attend many.
I decided it was time to put the riskier portion of my plan into play. It was time to do some actual snooping and not just eavesdropping. I inched my way along to the staircase leading to the second floor.
I was halfway up the stairs when I caught the first faint hum of the vibration. It wasn’t very strong, but it was definitely there. There was something on the second floor. I flattened myself against the wall as two women made their way down the stairs. It gave me a second to evaluate what I might be facing. One of them smiled at me as she went past. “Second door on the left,” she whispered.
I smiled and nodded. It never hurts to know where the bathroom is. Then I refocused my attention on the vibration. It felt like a thing, not a being. Perhaps what I’d delivered to Neil Bossard was still in the house. I made my way to the top of the stairs. I stood for a second, feeling with my senses which way to turn. The room at the end of the hallway felt right. I glanced down the stairs. No one else seemed to be making their way to the bathroom, but with all the tea-drinking going on, I might not
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