Phobic (34 page)

“I am sorry, Piper. Believe it or not, I have always liked you.” She clasps her hands on either side of my head and looks straight into my eyes. Her icy touch cools the burning crawl under my skin.

“Ada, don’t,” I plead.

“Goodbye, Piper.”

T
he wood fibers are a part of me—like slivers under my skin, rough and gritty with each move I try to make. I’m confined in the inches-thick space between the siding and the framing, nowhere near wide enough to fit me if I were actually here. You know,
in my body
.

Light flickers and turns inside out, like I’m seeing in night vision. The thin lath boards spread like mummy bandages, barring the way to my cage, and plaster oozes through the cracks. The strong smell of ammonia and mold sifts through.

My body. The dirty little snitch stole
my
body! I push against the barrier. Instead of hitting the wall, my arms flatten and elongate, spread the length of it. And the spreading doesn’t stop, even as I touch the corner where the wood branches off in another direction. I pull myself back and taste the granular texture in my mouth, though it just makes me want to vomit.

Oh my gosh, I’m not just inside the walls. I
am
the walls.

I’m fluid, like a standing-up puddle that conforms to the two-by-fours behind the plaster. Claustrophobia takes over; the terror feeling of what I imagine being buried alive might be like. My lungs pump as if they’re trying to take control from my heart. Strange, that I have these sensations, though I don’t actually
have
a heart or lungs anymore.

My father and his fathers wander once more as if lost, unsure of why they’re here. Dad is the only one who shows concern for me. He keeps muttering, “I’m sorry, Piper. So sorry.” I can’t worry about him though. It’s impossible to think about anything else.

I touch a nearby two-by-four, but instead of just feeling the wood at my palm, the sensation stretches me again so I can sense the ceiling though it’s feet away. I’m swaddled too tight like a burrito, like someone holds a chloroform cloth over my face.

“No,” I say, pounding the wood with an incredible sense of entrapment. I strike the walls, but every touch only exaggerates the extending, grainy sensation of wood covering me, invading my breathing canals. A blood-curdling scream rips from my throat, while at the same time, the boards around me let out a massive groan. I keep pounding, keep kicking.

“Screw you, Ada!” I yell, but even the words taste like the rough texture of wood, and I’m the only one who can hear them. They don’t make it past my cage.

“I hate you, do you hear me? I HATE you!” I sink to the floor though I don’t know how because there’s only inches between the lath in front of me and the framework behind.

Tears burn at my eyes but don’t come—I don’t have a body to cry from.

Joel is MIA. Ada has taken my body, and there’s not a thing I can do about it. Stuck here like my father, like my mother’s mind. I am part of my house now. I am my house.

Enraged, I let out another soundless scream and the boards around me creak. At least my mom in prison has room. She may be restricted in a cell, but at least she has a few feet to pace.

Squaring my jaw, I rise to my feet and feel the wood course down my legs as if they’re pegs instead of limbs. I wonder how Ada manipulated things when I can hardly move. She rattled doorknobs, lifted objects, pushed out the wallpaper. If she figured it out, so can I.

There had to be a solution other than this. I don’t see how Ada stood this for so long. Over a hundred years of watching people be tortured—including the man she loves. Not to mention she relived her own awful death over and over. I know how stuck she was.

But just because I understand her logic, that doesn’t mean I’m going to stand by and let her take my body.

I’m not worthless like the kids at school have always made me out to be. My life has value. I’m a talented musician, and I plan on making something of myself. On getting out of this house. Never looking back, never once caring about Sierra or Jordan or any of those other idiots. And maybe having something in the future with Todd, too.

I won’t let Ada do this. Because I love myself, with or without my mother around. I love my life, and I intend on living it.

With a pungent sniff of ammonia and plaster, I think flat thoughts, since I’m part of the panels around me. Tentatively, I lift my feet one at a time. And I don’t fall back to the baseboards. I’m an astronaut, but gravity no longer pulls me to earth. Instead, it bonds me to my house.

Keeping my feet off the ground, I sink, fast, sliding along the two by fours, shuddering as wood fills the emptiness inside me. I pass through the floor joists and feel the cool air in the basement.

I make my way to the darkened room filled with garbage bags where I found Todd when he fell through. Joel lies on his side, coughing up blood as Ada-as-Piper removes trash bags from over top of him.

She hid him from me. I’m ready to scream. He’d been here the whole time, but SHE HID HIM FROM ME.

I clench my fists in attempt to contain my rage. I don’t want her knowing I’m here yet. The sides of Joel’s head where his ears should be are a grisly disarray.

I force myself to stay silent.
Joel, you’re alive
. Thank goodness you’re alive.

“I am sorry I could not prevent this,” AdaPiper mutters. It’s uncanny to watch her as me. To watch
myself
move around, to see myself as others see me. I’m skinny more than curvy, with long arms, and my face is pretty—prettier than I thought.

Joel coughs again and grapples at the substantial gash in his chest. His feet scuff against the concrete, like he’s trying to move away from her. Does he know she’s not really me?

AdaPiper dabs again at his chest. She yanks a long piece of gray cloth from a nearby garbage bag and spreads it over him. Kneeling at his side, she cocks her head. “Still, you are in no fit state to be Thomas’ vessel.”

Joel’s eyes bulge, and his back arches, as if her words cause him physical pain. I grit my jaw, and it takes everything I have not to pound the walls. My voice doesn’t work. But even if it did, I’m still not sure I want her knowing I’ve figured out how to move yet. I’m afraid she’ll do something else to trap me further.

I wheeze as a flurry of cold enters the room and the figure I saw in the library joins us. Thomas’ remnant is just as handsome as he was in color. It’s the first time I’ve seen his ghost since that night.

“Is he ready?” Thomas asks, nearing AdaPiper. She faces him, her eyes brimming with tears. Green eyes. Not my blue.

“I do not think it will work. I must find someone else.”

Thomas’ ghostly hand reaches for her arm as Joel sputters again on the concrete.
Help him, dang it! Don’t let him die!

“We are running out of time,” Thomas says, his voice spookier than it was in the flashbacks. “With Garrett gone I can already feel myself fading. It won’t be long now until I dissipate.”

“Blast his connection,” Ada says to herself. “How long do you think we have?”

Thomas lowers his head. I zone in on him. He does seem
lighter
, somehow. Bleached out. “Minutes. Not hours.”

She composes herself, a soft smile on her face. I wonder if it’s weird for Thomas that she’s
me
. “Don’t fret, my love.” I goggle at my purple shirt and jeans and the fact that she just said the word
fret
. “I know someone who may be a better alternative.”

Thomas narrows his eyes at her. “How can you get to him in time?”

“He is her friend. He will come at my command.”

My heart squeezes like it’s being sucked through a straw. Oh no.
Todd
.

AdaPiper holds a hand to his stonewashed cheek. Her palm nearly goes through his face, and she has to pull herself back.

“How I long to touch you,” she says before leaving the room.

T
he three of them stand behind Jordan’s black Escalade. The setting sun dims light from the sky, letting shadows slowly clothe the street. Todd closes the journal, feeling as though he’s just delivered a really strange discourse on extraterrestrials or some other ludicrous made-up notion. Then again, up until he’d seen the evidence with his own eyes, he had thought time loops and haunted houses were fictitious too.

“Whoa,” Sierra says, touching her skin again in that way she’s been doing, like it bugs her. The way your tongue can’t seem to stop worrying at a canker sore. Her hair is still frazzled from being electrocuted, and she looks paler than usual.

Jordan watches her. “Did you see something else?”

She shakes her head, whimpering.

“So what do we do?” Jordan asks Todd, glancing through the window of his car to the house across the street.

“You mean you still want to help?”

“Yes!” Sierra practically shouts. “If it means being back to normal, then yes!”

“We kind of owe it to her,” Jordan adds, still glancing through the car window. Then he leans in and lowers his voice. Sierra copies, completing the small huddle.

“Look man, in spite of these vision things she’s been having, Si got a huge shock from what happened to your girl. Seeing her all bloody and fall out the window—she couldn’t even sleep that night, man. Neither could I. I never meant to hurt her.”

Sierra’s attention is unblinking. Jordan’s gaze is equally measured. What feels like warm embers slide down Todd’s throat and settle in his chest. He’s heard Jordan say this several times, but this is the first time he actually believes him.

“And just between you and me,” Jordan mutters, “I think she’s having one of those epiphany things and wants to make up for all the crap she’s given Piper. Given lots of other people.”

“Hey!” Sierra’s mouth drops and she smacks Jordan’s arm. Hard.

Jordan holds out his hands like stating a plain and simple truth. “Look, I love you, but you’re not exactly nice.”

“Oh,
I’m
not? What about—?”

“You want to hash this out later?” Todd interrupts. Of all the things he could hear right now, he definitely does
not
want details on anything they could possibly bicker about. Besides, they’re losing focus. “We need a plan or something.”

Sierra huffs and folds her arms, while Jordan nods. “Right. That thing say anything about stopping it?” He gestures to the journal.

“Not that I’ve been able to tell,” Todd says, holding the worn leather in his hands again and flipping open to a page he’s never seen before. “If it did, Piper’s mom probably would have found it.”

Sierra can’t seem to help her curiosity—she butts Jordan out of the way and peers down.

“It says something here about—” But she cuts off, gagging, literally choking on the words. Her whole body sags like she’s carrying a massive beanbag, and she groans. “Oh no. Not again. Not—again!”

Jordan’s quick to grab her before she collapses. She trembles in his arms, staring up at the sky though not really seeing it. Her eyes are more white than brown.

Todd’s heart spikes so fast he’s sure it’s in his throat. Piper. “What do you see?” Then to Jordan: “What does she see? This been happening a lot?”

“Not the passing out thing,” Jordan says, struggling to hold her, “but since the zit thing she’s been like, I don’t know, poutier. But nicer.”

“So why the passing out?” Todd asks, dying to know what she’s seeing, what’s going on with Pipes. If only he could tap in somehow, record it.

“I don’t know, man. I don’t like it.” Jordan acts like he’s not sure whether to put her down or punt her. Sierra moans, her back arching backward, brown hair ruffling in a long sheet across his arm. Moaning turns to thrashing, like a wild animal, until Jordan can barely hold her.

“What the—?”

Todd lunges in, helping to support her weight as her thrashing breaks to screams. Incomprehensible phrases, throat-scraping wails as she stands via some unseen force while passed out, like something possessed.

“Nooo!” she finishes before collapsing.

This time Todd cradles her, but not out of affection. He brushes hair from her face and tries to force her upright. Jordan’s frantic—dancing around, running hands through his slicked-back blond hair, pulling out his phone and putting it back in his pocket. Muttering things about the police and how they can do nothing and his girlfriend is psycho, but he can’t dump her for this, can he?