of the porch. It was Miles Winters. How long had he been standing there? Had he seen Mandy and the others go after me? There was no way he could have seen me push his sister . . . could he? The burning tip of a cigarette flared orange as he inhaled, angling light into the hollows of his faintly-stubbled cheeks. He saw me and slowly took the cigarette from his mouth, exhaling, lowering his hand to his side. Smoke and breath mingled and rose around his angular face. His bleach blond hair almost glowed against the night. He didn’t speak. Neither did I.
Then he dropped the cigarette off the porch into the snow, turned, and walked back into the darkness.
FIVE
January 8
I am drowning, they are holding me down, they are killing me. The ice pick burrows in; stop them if you love me, stop them.
My love is like a red, red rose. I love you, of course I do. Let me prove it to you:
The door is locked!
My hair is on fire!
IN MY antique Marlwood bed, I jerked awake and covered my mouth with both hands to stop my scream. Across the room, in the blessed, soft gray of early morning, Julie sighed gently and turned over. Panda, her little stuffed Corgi puppy—a Christmas present—fell off the mattress and landed with a soft poof on the cabbage-rose carpet that separated our beds.
I took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, forcing all the air out of my lungs, down into my abdomen, the way Dr. Yaeger had taught me. I was vibrating all over. Horrible, horrible dream . . . or was it a memory of Celia’s? Some of both? What had happened to her? What had really happened here, at Marlwood, that had caused so much rage and pain?
I had to know, and I wished I could ask Julie to help me find out. When Spider had rowed back for me, Julie had assumed I was afraid to walk back by myself, which was, in essence, true. And my sweet friend had wrapped me in her green Marlwood blanket and given me a hug. She didn’t know how afraid I really was, and I didn’t tell her. She was anxious about the lateness of the hour, and distracted by Spider; she didn’t know I was watching the shoreline, waiting to see if Mandy and the others would reappear.
After Spider had guided the boat to the NO TRESPASSING sign in the inlet behind Jessel, he tied it up and helped us both out. Then he and Julie lingered, and I knew he wanted to say good night to her in privacy. So I began the walk back to the dorm by myself, all my senses alert in case I was being watched . . . or stalked.
Julie hadn’t caught up until I was on Grose’s porch with my hand on the doorknob. She scooted up quietly behind me, startling me; and as I turned my head, I saw the figure in Mandy’s window again. As though it had never moved.
We had crept into our room and got ready for bed in record time. Julie giggled and whispered about how cute and sweet Spider was, while I remained silent. Then as we climbed in our respective beds, she added, “So, Mandy ditched me halfway through vacation. She and Miles went skiing. I’m not even sure if their parents went with them.”
I’d crossed my fingers that this meant Julie was no longer part of Mandy’s inner circle. That she was free. I’d envied her.
I still envied her, asleep with her mouth partly open, looking rosy and childlike and happy. I got out of bed and reached down to pick up her stuffed animal, and I felt icy coldness on the back of my neck. Celia. I whimpered in protest, imagining the ghost actually crawling into me, wearing me like a costume. I straightened, trying to sense if I was still just me, but I really couldn’t tell.
I nestled Panda on Julie’s pillow. Above Julie’s head, on the windowsill, the white ceramic head she had found last semester stared blankly at me. The brain was marked in sections with faded black paint, the way old butcher-shop prints used to delineate pieces of meat—leg of lamb, baby back ribs. Cerebellum, amygdala. The center for processing sensory perceptions, the seat of emotions.
The head
Then he dropped the cigarette off the porch into the snow, turned, and walked back into the darkness.
FIVE
January 8
I am drowning, they are holding me down, they are killing me. The ice pick burrows in; stop them if you love me, stop them.
My love is like a red, red rose. I love you, of course I do. Let me prove it to you:
The door is locked!
My hair is on fire!
IN MY antique Marlwood bed, I jerked awake and covered my mouth with both hands to stop my scream. Across the room, in the blessed, soft gray of early morning, Julie sighed gently and turned over. Panda, her little stuffed Corgi puppy—a Christmas present—fell off the mattress and landed with a soft poof on the cabbage-rose carpet that separated our beds.
I took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, forcing all the air out of my lungs, down into my abdomen, the way Dr. Yaeger had taught me. I was vibrating all over. Horrible, horrible dream . . . or was it a memory of Celia’s? Some of both? What had happened to her? What had really happened here, at Marlwood, that had caused so much rage and pain?
I had to know, and I wished I could ask Julie to help me find out. When Spider had rowed back for me, Julie had assumed I was afraid to walk back by myself, which was, in essence, true. And my sweet friend had wrapped me in her green Marlwood blanket and given me a hug. She didn’t know how afraid I really was, and I didn’t tell her. She was anxious about the lateness of the hour, and distracted by Spider; she didn’t know I was watching the shoreline, waiting to see if Mandy and the others would reappear.
After Spider had guided the boat to the NO TRESPASSING sign in the inlet behind Jessel, he tied it up and helped us both out. Then he and Julie lingered, and I knew he wanted to say good night to her in privacy. So I began the walk back to the dorm by myself, all my senses alert in case I was being watched . . . or stalked.
Julie hadn’t caught up until I was on Grose’s porch with my hand on the doorknob. She scooted up quietly behind me, startling me; and as I turned my head, I saw the figure in Mandy’s window again. As though it had never moved.
We had crept into our room and got ready for bed in record time. Julie giggled and whispered about how cute and sweet Spider was, while I remained silent. Then as we climbed in our respective beds, she added, “So, Mandy ditched me halfway through vacation. She and Miles went skiing. I’m not even sure if their parents went with them.”
I’d crossed my fingers that this meant Julie was no longer part of Mandy’s inner circle. That she was free. I’d envied her.
I still envied her, asleep with her mouth partly open, looking rosy and childlike and happy. I got out of bed and reached down to pick up her stuffed animal, and I felt icy coldness on the back of my neck. Celia. I whimpered in protest, imagining the ghost actually crawling into me, wearing me like a costume. I straightened, trying to sense if I was still just me, but I really couldn’t tell.
I nestled Panda on Julie’s pillow. Above Julie’s head, on the windowsill, the white ceramic head she had found last semester stared blankly at me. The brain was marked in sections with faded black paint, the way old butcher-shop prints used to delineate pieces of meat—leg of lamb, baby back ribs. Cerebellum, amygdala. The center for processing sensory perceptions, the seat of emotions.
The head
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