Believing (23 page)

A cleaver whose deadly blade had undoubtedly been intended for her.

EIGHTEEN

Sunday, September 16
10:43 p.m.

His name, she learns later—much, much later, the next day—is Phil Chase. He’s from Ohio, in his mid-twenties, a store clerk described by his neighbors as a quiet loner.

“Isn’t that always the way?” Odelia muttered when they heard that phrase. “A quiet loner. Those are the neighbors to watch out for.”

Calla couldn’t help but think there weren’t many neighbors of that kind in Lily Dale. Here, people are involved in each others’ lives. They notice each other, care about each other, help each other . . . along with hundreds of people who show up here during the season.

Phil Chase was the one who had abducted and murdered Kaitlyn Riggs and tried to murder Erin Shannahan. When they searched his apartment, they found out that he’d also been stalking a girl named Hayley Gorzynski.

Who is currently rehearsing the role of Sandy in an Akron production of
Grease.

That information blew Calla away.

Now she gets it. Now she has the answer to at least one question about what’s been happening to her. But there are still so many others . . . along with some new ones.

Phil would have undoubtedly killed Hayley and other young girls, Calla among them, if she hadn’t stopped him.

No, she didn’t kill him.

She was certain he was dead when she went barreling next door to Ramona’s, pounding frantically on her door and screaming for help.

Everything after that point was a blur: Ramona calling the police, the squad cars arriving with sirens wailing, the officers who asked Calla, again and again, what, exactly, had happened.

Finally, what seemed like hours later, they stopped asking questions and started answering hers.

That was when she found out she had inflicted enough injury on her would-be attacker to have left him incapacitated and unconscious . . . but alive.

Just like Erin was when they found her.

The police are sure she’ll be able to identify Phil Chase, who matches her description of her attacker. When she does, he’ll be going to jail for a long, long time. Maybe for the rest of his life. He isn’t going to hurt anyone ever again.

“But why did he do it, Gammy?” Calla asks now as she sits in the living room with her grandmother, trying to make sense of all that happened. Gert, purring contentedly, is snuggled on her lap as Calla strokes her soft fur.

“Who knows why he did it?” Odelia shakes her head. “Evil reigns in some souls. We can’t explain it. We can only beware. That’s why you have to be so careful, Calla. You need to learn how to protect yourself so that—”

“I protected myself pretty well,” she can’t help but cut in. “Right?”

The corners of Odelia’s mouth quirk a little, but she keeps her expression stern. “If you don’t think I’m completely alarmed at the thought of you fighting off an armed attacker who had a hundred pounds and at least six inches on you, you’re dead wrong.”

“At least I’m not dead
dead
. Because I protected myself.”

Odelia sighs. “You did. But you need to learn that there are other ways to protect yourself. Not just physically.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning it’s time you learned what you’re dealing with, Calla. Look, I know you went to Patsy’s class yesterday. And I’m glad.”

For a moment, as Calla figures out what to say to that, the only sound in the room is the rumble of Gert’s purring and the ticking of the stately grandfather clock on the far side of the room.

Then the telephone rings. All three of them—Calla, Odelia, and even Gert—jump at the piercing interruption.

Pressing one hand against her heart as if to calm its racing, Odelia stands and reaches for the receiver with the other. “Hello? Oh, Jeff! Hi!”

Uh-oh. Here we go.

At last, Calla faces the imminent answer to the question that’s been on her mind all day: How long will it take Dad, after her grandmother tells him what happened last night, to get on a plane? Or maybe just buy her a one-way ticket out of here?

She’s willing to bet one of them will be packing his or her bags momentarily.

“Oh, we’ve been fine,” Odelia says casually. “It’s been a little chilly since you left, and yesterday it poured all day.”

Wait a minute. Did Odelia just tell Dad they’ve been
fine
? And now she’s talking about the weather?

Shocked, Calla catches her grandmother’s eye. Odelia merely smiles at her and keeps chatting.

“Yes, she actually had a date last night with a nice boy. I’ve known his family for years. Hmm? Oh, he took her to a jazz concert in Buffalo. I know. Yes, she soaks up culture like a sponge, and there’s plenty of it around here. I was thinking of taking her to the Albright-Knox Art Gallery in Buffalo next weekend, actually.”

This is the first Calla’s heard of that, and if she weren’t so edgy, she’d have to smile. Odelia is laying it on thick.

Yeah, and now she’s outright lying: “No, she’s not here right now. She and Evangeline are out shopping with Ramona . . . Yes, from next door. Okay, I’ll tell them you said hello. Of course I’ll give Calla your love. Sure, I’ll have her call you back tomorrow since it might be too late when she gets back tonight. What? Oh, right, the time change. Well, sure, I’ll try to remember to tell her. You know how forgetful I can be, though, so don’t worry if you don’t hear from her until tomorrow . . . Okay, ’bye, Jeff.”

She hangs up, looking pleased with herself.

“Why did you do that, Gammy?”

“Because it was necessary. I thought you might be too exhausted to take a phone call right now.”

“When are we going to tell him what happened?”

“Who’s going to tell him? Not me.”

“So, you want me to do it, then?” Calla asks slowly, trying to wrap her mind around the situation. “Is that it?”

Odelia tilts her head. “Do you
want
to tell him?”

“Are you kidding me?” Calla frowns. Does she dare believe her grandmother is going to keep this a secret? That’s too good to be true.

“Look, if we tell him,” Odelia says matter-of-factly, “he’ll pull you out of here so fast your head will spin. He won’t understand that with that horrible man in jail, you’re as safe here as you are anywhere.”

Calla exhales shakily. Odelia is right. The danger—that particular danger, anyway—is past.

Dad definitely won’t see it that way if he finds out, though.

Which he won’t, if she and her grandmother don’t tell him. After Phil Chase was able to track her down thanks to the
Dispatch
article, the authorities promised to keep the press out of it this time. Calla was assured that her name, and any identifying details about her, won’t appear in the papers.

“The thing is,” her grandmother goes on, “it would be much more dangerous for you to be removed from Lily Dale and thrown into a world where you’ll have no spiritual guidance whatsoever. Here, I can keep an eye on you and you can begin with Patsy’s class and learn how to use your psychic abilities responsibly.”

“So, you want me to stay, then?”

“Of course. But more than that . . . you
need
to stay.”

“I thought you were going to be angry with me because . . . well, because I didn’t tell you about those visions I was having. With Kaitlyn. And that I called the tip line about Erin.”

“And saved a life.” Odelia sighs heavily. “Listen, I know what it’s like to see things you don’t understand . . . and to hide those things from everyone else because you don’t know what they mean, or you’re scared out of your mind, or you’re embarrassed and you think you’re some kind of freak. I need to set you on the right path. When I think about what might have happened to you . . .”

“But it didn’t happen.”

“But it could have,” Odelia says firmly, and holds her close. “And it’s partly my fault. I kept feeling it—that you were in some kind of danger—and what did I do?”

“It doesn’t matter. I’m okay.”

“It does matter. You almost weren’t okay. But you’re going to be safe here from now on, Calla. Lily Dale is the place for you right now and I’m going to do everything I can to see that you stay for as long as you need to. Now go get some sleep.”

In her mother’s old bedroom, Calla quickly changes into her pajamas, realizing she hasn’t slept in almost two full days.

Catching sight of her reflection in the mirror above the dresser, she notices that her face looks gaunt and drawn, with deep circles under her bloodshot eyes.

Oh, geez. You’ve definitely looked better,
she tells herself, quickly turning away.

Her gaze falls on the jewelry box. She hesitates for a moment, then opens the lid for the first time in days.

The remnants of that haunting tune spill out in hesitant, tinkling notes as the brass key on the bottom winds down.

She doesn’t bother to rewind it. She doesn’t care if she ever hears that melody again.

The emerald bracelet is still tucked inside the box.

Well, of course it is. Where else would it be? This is where you left it, remember?

Yeah.

She also remembers that the bracelet seems to have a life of its own, popping up out of nowhere in the night. Who’s to say it won’t disappear again?

Frowning at the thought, Calla snatches it and wraps it securely around her left wrist, snapping the clasp. She tugs it gently a few times, and it holds. Good.

Maybe you should start wearing it again after all,
she tells herself.
Maybe it’ll help you feel closer to her.

She runs her fingers over the glossy green stones and can’t help but notice that they seem to feel oddly warm. Almost as if . . .

Okay, now you’re delirious.

It’s been such a long, difficult day.

But it’s over now,
she tells herself, yawning deeply as she folds back the quilt made of fabric squares from her mother’s childhood dresses.

A sense of calm begins to seep into her aching body as she slips into bed.

You can relax now.

Yes. At last she can escape, if only for a little while, the lingering memory of what happened to her last night.

She runs her fingertips over her mother’s emerald bracelet, trying to clear her brain.

All she needs to do now is go . . . to . . . sleep . . .

But she can’t.

A telltale chill is creeping into the room like an unwelcome night visitor.

Oh, no,
Calla thinks wearily, reluctant to open her eyes.
Please, no. Not tonight. I’m so exhausted.

She burrows deeper into the covers, hoping that if she ignores it—whoever,
whatever
it is—it will go away.

But she can feel persistent goose bumps raising the hair on her arms, and the air is quickly becoming saturated with a presence determined to make itself known.

Finally, Calla allows her eyes to open.

A figure is clearly visible in the darkened room, a few feet from the bed, watching her.

Calla recognizes the apparition in a flash: Kaitlyn Riggs.

But this time, for the first time ever, she’s smiling. Their eyes meet and she gives a little nod at Calla.

Thank you.

Kaitlyn’s heartfelt words echo in Calla’s head as she begins to fade.

“You’re welcome,” Calla whispers, and she adds one last “Good-bye” before Kaitlyn disappears entirely.

Knowing she’ll never see her again, Calla feels a twinge of sadness, yet mostly just relief.

She yawns and allows her body to relax once again, her right hand wrapped comfortingly around the bracelet on her opposite wrist. The stones really do feel warm.

It’s just the heat of your skin,
she tells herself drowsily as she drifts off.
That’s all . . .

Her mother is waiting for her in a dream.

Stephanie is in the professionally decorated, tropical-hued master bedroom in their house back in Tampa, getting dressed for work.

Watching her, a conscious part of Calla’s brain is aware, somehow, that her mother thinks she’s alone in the house . . . yet she isn’t.

A helpless voyeur, she watches her mother slip into a familiar pencil-slim charcoal gray skirt, then the matching suit jacket. Mom hums to herself as she fastens the row of round, shiny black buttons, then steps into a pair of high-heeled black Gucci pumps.

Turning to her bureau, she reaches for the bottle of Calvin Klein perfume she always wore—she called it her signature scent. Calla sees the label on the bottle: it’s called Eternity.

Mom sprays it, and Calla’s nostrils fill with the unmistakable smell of lilies of the valley.

But how can that be? It doesn’t make sense,
Calla thinks fuzzily. Eternity smells spicy, almost fruity. Nothing like lilies of the valley.

That’s because you’re dreaming. Dreams don’t always make sense.

Then again . . .

This doesn’t feel like a dream.

At first, it was almost as though she were watching a scene in a movie. But now, wrapped in the familiar floral scent that couldn’t have come out of a Calvin Klein bottle, Calla is gradually understanding that it’s all too real.

She can vividly see every detail in the bedroom; can hear the far-off sound of the sprinkler system hissing across the lawn two stories beneath the closed window; can feel her feet walking in those tight, tall shoes.

Yes, suddenly, she, Calla, is actually in the scene. Living it. She has morphed into her mother, has gone from bystander to experiencing the action through her mother’s eyes.

She reaches toward the king-sized bed and lifts the edge of the Caribbean-blue quilt. Her fingers probe deep into the crevice between mattress and box spring. At last she finds it and pulls it out.

A manila envelope.

For a moment, she just looks at it, shaking her head.

Then she whispers aloud into the empty room, “I’m sorry. I have to do this.”

Leaving the room with the envelope in hand, she moves down the hall past the slightly open door to Calla’s room, toward the stairs.

Only when she’s passed the bedroom and reached the head of the stairs does it occur to her that Calla’s door should be closed. Puzzled, she starts to turn to look back.