The Hollow (10 page)

I turned my back, and stepped out into the rain myself. Then I stopped suddenly. "Caspian!" I yelled. He was farther away than I thought he would be. I could hardly see his outline anymore. "I won't be able to meet you next weekend; we're going to our cabin upstate."

"Don't worry about it, Abbey," his voice floated back to me. "I'll see you again."

Chapter Eight

Short Notice

Something, however, I fear me, must have aone wrons…

"The Legend of Sleepy Hollow"

Unfortunately, school did not start off well on Monday morning. I flunked a test and a pop quiz, and finally got yelled at for falling asleep in study hall.

I tried to stay on top of things-putting extra study time into my homework and really focusing on my project for Kristen, but the nightmares returned. There weren't any hallucinations this time, but I still wasn't getting very much sleep.

Then I started feeling guilty about Caspian.

I shouldn't be happy. Why did I deserve any happiness? My best friend was dead. And instead of telling him about
her,
all I could do was talk about
me.
Me, me, me, all the time. I was an awful friend, and I felt terrible about it.

It was too much, and by Wednesday it all came crashing down on me. I wound up rocking myself back and forth on the floor again, just like before. I tried desperately to hold it back, but a cold feeling came flooding over me, freezing that black void inside and hardening it into a sharp ball of ice.

My heart was covered in tiny icicles that stabbed me with every breath I took. Ripping and shredding, until I was raw and bleeding inside. Nothing more than a quivering, aching pitiful excuse for a human being. That night was a very, very bad night.

I rigorously avoided the river and the cemetery the rest of the week. Taking the longest way home after school each day to avoid any accidental meetings, I tried very hard not to think about Caspian at all. This meant that everything I did seemed to trigger a memory of him.

First, one of my perfume creations smelled exactly like snicker-doodle cookies. I hastily shoved that sample into a drawer to be forgotten. Then there was the three-day repeat of the movie
Great Expectations
on TV. I didn't watch anything for those three days.
At all

I was starting to think that the universe was having a giant cosmic laugh at my expense.

Needless to say, I was extremely happy when school let out on Friday and Dad started loading our bags into the van. Away from all the distractions and reminders, I
might
actually be able to relax. I also had a good feeling about Kristen's perfume. Hopefully, it would all come together at the cabin.

I drummed my fingers impatiently on the armrest beside me, fidgeting in my seat and waiting for Dad to finish with the last of the bags. Once he was done, we both sat ready and restless, waiting on Mom, who was still inside the house. Three car honks and fifteen minutes later she came out the front door holding a briefcase with some papers spilling out the top. She started to lock up, and then suddenly disappeared inside again. When she stepped back out, she had the cordless phone.

"Abbey!" she yelled, motioning for me to go meet her. "There's a phone call for you."

I looked at Dad, but he just shrugged. "I'll try to keep it quick," I said, "and I'll send her out first so she doesn't find a million other things that have to be done before we leave."

He grinned at me. "Good plan. I'll distract her out here." Jumping down from the van, I asked Mom who it was. She shook her head. "I don't know. Some boy."

My pulse raced and my heart soared as I grabbed the receiver. 5
it Caspian? How did he get my number? What should I say?
Mom stood guard over the sink, apparently finding some nonexistent stain that needed to be buffed or cleaned.

"Mom," I said sternly, holding my hand over the phone, "go to the van. Dad needs you out there. He said it was important."

I could see an argument forming on the tip of her tongue.

"Go!" I shooed, turning my back to her but waiting until I heard the front door open and close again before I spoke into the phone.

"Hello?" My tongue swelled, my throat closed up. I prayed that I would be able to form at least one semicoherent sentence.

"Is this Abbey?" The voice on the other end wasn't right. It wasn't him.

"Who is this?" I demanded, jerked out of my sudden euphoria.

"This is Justin Gaines. We go to school together? Uh, anyway, I know it's short notice and all, but I heard you don't have a date yet. So do you want to go to the prom with me?"

That was
so
totally not what I expected to hear. "Wait-what?

What did you just say? Do I even know you?"

"Well, uh, we have math together…"

"And?" I prompted.

"And… tha-that's it," he stuttered.

And yet my bafflement didn't cease. "So let me get this straight. We only have one class together, and you've never spoken to me before… correct?"

"Uh, yeah." His voice sounded slightly queasy.

"Okay, so one class, no actual conversation… And what would be the basis for you to ask me to go to the prom with you?"

Something else he had said suddenly clicked into place. "And who
exactly
told you that I don't have a date?"

There was complete silence on the other end.

"Hello? Justin?" I had moved beyond confused and was now in the realm of pissed off.

"Shana Williams," was his quiet reply. "She told me that I should ask you, as a favor to her, since… you know."

"No, I do not
know',"
I spat into the phone.

"Since, you know, Kristen Maxwell died. And since she was a friend of yours. The girls told me about the prom committee thing. Then Shana suggested that I ask you. Since no one else probably would."

Now the silence was on my end.
The cheerleaders are setting uppity dates for me?
It doesn't get any worse than that.

"A-Abbey? Are you still there?" It sounded like a full-blown vomit party was on the way.

"Justin," I said sweetly, "thanks ever so much for calling, but the next time you see Shana Williams, you can tell her to go to hell."

"Okay, so is that a no?"

"Yeah, that's a big fat no." I pushed the off button and stared at the phone in my hand. Clearly it would have to be burned. The weirdness had spread to it.

The shrill sound of it ringing again made me jump a mile. Did he not understand the word "no"? I pushed the TALK button. "Listen, I told you
no."

"Uh, is this Abigail Browning?" another male voice asked. "It's Trevor McCreeless. I'm calling about the prom."

I rubbed my temples fiercely. I was getting a killer headache.

"Let me guess," I sighed. "One of the girls from the cheerleading squad suggested you call?"

"Well, yeah, Erika did. How did you-?"

"I'm psychic," I barked out, cutting him off "The answer's no." I slammed the phone back onto the charger and turned the answering machine off I
definitely
didn't need Mom to hear God knows how many more messages from strange boys asking me to the prom. She would
never
let me get out of that one.

Besides, there was only one prom date I would ever dream of saying yes to.

I grabbed the house key from my pocket and rushed to the door. The phone started ringing again; how many people did those girls know? But I ignored it and locked up. I only hoped that Mom and Dad couldn't hear it from the car.

"Who was it, honey?" Mom asked the instant I sat down and shut my door. Curiosity was written all over her face.

"Just someone from school. He needed to know something from the prom committee." It wasn't technically a lie, since Shana and Erika
were
on the prom committee, and they
had
suggested he ask me out.

"See?" She beamed at me. "Aren't you glad you made the right choice, Abbey? I told you it was a good idea to join the prom committee." She didn't wait for my answer but started talking to Dad about something spectacular she had done when she'd been on the prom committee in high school.

I just slid my headphones on and tuned out their conversation. The soothing rhythm of a slow song relaxed me while I watched the trees pass by. I closed my eyes and concentrated on the music, feeling my body gradually drift toward sleep.

When we arrived at the cabin and I took my first step inside, memories from the last time we had been there overwhelmed me. The details of that terrible phone call came rushing back, and I needed a moment to steady myself. I struggled not to lose it right then and there…

"I'll get it," Mom said, finishing off the last of her coffee. 'Wouldyou pour me another cup? And then tell me more about that dream you were talking about. " She hurried into the living room to reach the phone in time.

"Never mind about the dream, Mom. It was nothing. Really, just forget about it." I raised my voice so that she would hear me as I got up to get the coffee refill.

I heard the muffled "Hello" and then a low murmur of conversation. I couldn 't make out the words, and I wasn 't really listening anyway as I went through the motions automatically to get the coffee ready.

I took a sip
…
Needed more milk

My mind drifted back to that strange dream from the night before. Something about it really bothered me. Something in the back of my head that I just couldn 'tput my finger on.

A sudden rush of feeling washed over me. Pain came fast, clenching my insides. Sharp and stabbing. It was intense, and overwhelming. I was going to be sick

I put down the coffee mug and headed back to the table to sit for a minute. Resting my forehead on the tabletop, I took several deep breaths, but the pain didn 't go away.

"Mom," I croaked, then took another deep breath and tried again. "Mom! I think something's wrong. "
/
turned my head and rested it on the side. The tabletop was cool against my cheek. Breathing slowly, I tried to concentrate. Another sharp pain came. This time it took my breath away, and I doubled over.

I was never going to drink coffee again.

As I sat there hunched over the table, the sharp pains eventually receded, bat they left behind a terrible stomachache. All I wanted was some Pepto-Bismol and my bed, ASAP.

Opting for the bed first, Pepto second, I stood slowly, trying not to move too fast. The last thing I needed was to be throwing up all over the kitchen. I hobbled over to the living room to let Mom know that I was going upstairs. Her back was turned to me, and she was still on the phone.

Leaning against the doorframe, I tried to get her attention. "Mom, I think I'm sick. I'm going to lie
-"

"Yes. Okay… I understand. I'll call the
-
Hold on, let me call you back"

That must have been when she heard me.

She hung up the phone and turned around. The first thing I noticed was that her makeup, usually so perfect, had started to smear a little. She was always very careful about things like that. "Abbey. " She spoke calmly, in a low voice. "Abbey, I need you to listen to me…It's Kristen. They don't know how it happened… It's her mom…I'm sorry, honey. "

I didn't understand.

"What? What happened to her? Did something happen to Kristen's mom?"

She shook her head back and forth and grabbed a tissue from the box on the desk "It's not Kristen's mom." She still spoke calmly but was now carefully dabbing under each eye to fix her makeup. "It's Kristen, Abbey. It's Kristen. "

It's … Kristen…It's … Kristen …

I heard the words rhythmically, like the slow thud of a heart-beat.

It's … Kristen … It's … Kristen …

I forced back the memory and fought to regain my composure. Dad didn't even bother to unpack the bags from the car but suggested we go get some pizza instead. We drove around searching for anywhere that was still open, and found an old game arcade from the fifties that promised THE FUN IS FREE! When we got back to the cabin that night, I stumbled into my room and collapsed onto the bed, falling into a restless sleep.

The next morning Mom asked me if I wanted to make chocolate chip cookies. Even though all I really wanted to do was stay in my nice warm bed, I knew she was trying to help me replace the bad memories with good ones, so I agreed.

After dragging myself out of bed, I helped her get the kitchen ready, and dug through several cabinets to find a couple of mixing bowls. "Where are the measuring cups?" I asked, with one of my hands stuck in the junk drawer.

"I think we put them in the cabinet over the sink," she replied. Then she pulled out some eggs and butter from the fridge. "Do you remember the last time we baked together here? I think you were, what, eight or nine?"

"Ugh, that's right." I grimaced. "You told me I'd actually
like
banana bread."

She laughed. "Well, you used to love bananas when you were a baby, so I thought you'd love banana bread."

"Liking mushy bananas when you are two years old and liking bananas and bread mixed together when you are eight years old are two entirely different things," I retorted, and then I shuddered. "I
still
can't eat regular bananas to this day because they make me think of banana bread. And I hate the color yellow because
it
reminds me of bananas!"

She looked shocked. "Really? I had no idea that's why you won't eat bananas."

"Yup, you scarred me that badly when I was a child. I'll never eat bananas again." Striking a dramatic pose, I put one hand to my forehead and tried to look neglected. But I couldn't keep a straight face.

Mom tossed a dish towel at my head, and I caught it one-handed. "Get to work, banana hater," she ordered with a teasing srin.

* * *

I spent the rest of the day working on Kristen's perfume, and wrote down the last couple of notes I would need for the project. It was a bittersweet moment, to finally finish it here at the cabin, but I was overwhelmingly relieved. I bid a silent farewell to the ghost of old memories as we drove away.

We were halfway home before I noticed the worried looks Mom and Dad kept passing each other. When I caught Dad looking anxiously at me for the fifty-third time in the rearview mirror, I knew that something was going on.