Black Feathers (37 page)

She froze in place, unable to will her legs to move.

Her legs …

She looked down to her feet. Her shoes were dry, her pants completely dry. No trace of snow, no hint of wetness.

But she could still feel the cold.

“What the—”

“Cassandra!”

She almost dropped her backpack at the sound of her name.

Mrs. Murrow was standing on the sidewalk between her and the school, her hands firmly on her hips. “I trust you have a good reason for missing class this afternoon?”

She barely registered the words, turning, looking over her shoulder, looking back—

“Cassandra!”

Cassie snapped around to face her, but she didn’t really see the teacher as she struggled to process what she had just seen.

The street behind her, the street that she had struggled through in the wind and the snow only seconds before, was now bright and clear. Not a trace of snow. Cars parked on both sides. People passing on the sidewalk.

“Miss Weathers, is there something wrong?” She wielded the question like it was a stick. “Miss Weathers—”

She had skipped class?

What was going on?

“I’m sorry,” she blurted. “I was at the doctor.” Survival instincts kicking in, Cassie fell back on the familiar.

Mrs. Murrow smiled a thin, watery smile. “That’s what Laura Ensley told me when I asked.”

Good for Laura,
Cassie thought.

“You have a note from your parents, then?” Mrs. Murrow asked, knowing very well that she didn’t. “Or from the doctor?”

“I do,” she said, too quickly. “It’s just—” Behind Mrs. Murrow, the first school bus pulled out of the parking lot. “It’s in my locker, but—” Cassie gestured helplessly toward the school. “I’m going to miss my bus.”

She seized on it, she knew she could use the bus as her escape.

“Miss Weathers, that doesn’t—”

“I’ll bring you the note in the morning,” she said, already starting to edge past the teacher. “I just can’t miss my bus.”

“Miss Weathers!” Mrs. Murrow barked out her name and Cassie stopped in place, obeying an instinct so deep she couldn’t resist it.

Mrs. Murrow took a single step toward her. “You will bring me that note before school tomorrow, along with your missing assignments, or I’ll have you in detention after school for the next week.” She smiled that thin smile again. “And I will be talking to your parents and letting them know about your behaviour.”

Missing assignments?

The words chilled Cassie as she glanced between her teacher and the school driveway. She could almost hear the clock ticking away.

“Are we clear, Miss Weathers?” It wasn’t so much a question as a demand.

Cassie nodded. She had no idea how she was going to get a note, but that mattered less at the moment than the seconds ticking past.

“Yes, Mrs. Murrow,” she said, rocking on her feet. “Before school.”

Mrs. Murrow’s smile was poisonous. “Don’t miss your bus,” she said, like she would like nothing better.

Cassie ran for it, dodging the crowds on the sidewalk and in the bus pickup area. She made it to the bus just as Mrs. Cormack was about to close the doors.

“Cutting it pretty close,” Mrs. Cormack said with a smile that seemed almost genuine.

“Yeah,” she gasped, breathless.

The bus lurched as it departed, and Cassie had to hold on to the seatbacks to keep from falling as she swayed back to the empty seat next to Laura.

“Where were you?” Laura whispered, twisting in her seat and pulling herself close, so her head was almost tucked against Cassie’s.

That was really the question, wasn’t it?

“Just in town. I went to Schmidt’s, got a Christmas present for my mom.”

Laura looked at her curiously.

“What?” Cassie asked.

“Isn’t it a little early for Christmas?”

“I—” What? Was it? She had no idea when it was. It looked almost like spring outside the bus windows, but downtown had been …

She scrambled. “I was hanging out in Schmidt’s. You know how he gets. I had to buy something.” It was the best that she could do.

Laura seemed to accept the explanation. “Yeah. He’s such an asshole.” She rolled her eyes, and Cassie forced herself to laugh along with her friend.

They didn’t say anything for the rest of the trip, and when the bus pulled up to Cassie’s stop, all Laura said was, “So, are you going to be there tomorrow?”

Cassie thought about the doctor’s note, and the two, now three, algebra assignments. “Yeah,” she said, not really sure how she was going to make it work.

Laura smiled. “Cool,” she said. “I thought maybe you had decided to disappear or something.”

Disappear. The word sent a pang through her, but she didn’t know why.

“No, I’m not going anywhere.”

“Okay,” Laura said.

The air was positively warm as she got off the bus. There was no trace of cold, not even a hint of winter in the gentle breeze that blew through the trees along the side of the road, all of them verdant and full. The whole world was green, as far as Cassie could see, leafy and in bloom, the corn in the field across the road almost knee-high, the air thick and sweet smelling.

She was going insane.

Was that it? Was this what it felt like to go crazy?

That’s what it had to be—there wasn’t any other explanation.

Or was there?

She looked up from the dusty verge as the bus roared away. Heather was already far along the lane, her pace quick, her body hunched.

Cassie trudged along toward the house, watching her feet, the tiny puffs of dust they raised with every step. The sun on her shoulders was almost hot; it felt like May, with the end of school in sight, summer lurking just over the fields.

So what had happened in town?

She wasn’t going crazy.

She didn’t know if that was true or not, but that was the assumption she had to make. To consider anything else was too terrifying.

So if she wasn’t going crazy, what was happening?

Then it came to her. The memory of the street, how loud her footsteps had sounded, how sharp the world had seemed when she had stepped out of the store: it had all been like a dream.

Had she been dreaming?

She knew that reality wasn’t to be trusted, that her mind could do strange things without her even really being aware of it. Was that what had happened? Had she fallen asleep, somehow, somewhere?

She reached into her jacket pocket. The knife was there, its weight a vaguely comforting pressure, so she knew that she had been in Schmidt’s. Had the rest of it been some sort of sleepwalking, a waking dream that she hadn’t even known she had been having until Mrs. Murrow had woken her?

The explanation made at least a little sense. She would talk to Mom and Dad about it tonight, maybe see about making an appointment with Dr. Livingston.

She could even tell them that she had fallen asleep in the library, and that was why she had missed class.

She was almost smiling as she turned into the front yard. She hadn’t really solved anything, but having a theory and a possible plan made it less overwhelming.

When she got to the house, Mom and Heather were talking in the kitchen and Cassie took one look at the two of them, leaning together, and kept walking. There would be other time, better times, to talk to her mom.

But there weren’t. First it was making dinner, then doing the dishes, then helping Heather with her homework, then watching TV with Dad: there was no time Cassie could get her mother alone, no opportunity to take her aside without it seeming like a major issue. And then it was bedtime, and she hadn’t said anything.

In the morning, then. She’d talk to her in the morning, get her to make an appointment with Dr. Livingston and ask her for a note for Mrs. Murrow. Yes, that would work.

Cassie finished brushing her teeth, tapped her toothbrush on the edge of the sink and turned off the bathroom light.

She could hear music from Heather’s room as she pulled the blankets to her chin, but she didn’t let it bother her. Nothing bothered her; she was exhausted, and it would all be better in the morning. Mom would know what to do, what to say, how to deal with it all. In the morning. In the morning.

“Cassandra.”

Her eyes flashed open at the voice from the hallway. Her bedroom was dark, a faint silver light glowing behind her curtains, too weak to actually penetrate the room.

“Cassandra.”

She prayed that she was dreaming, but when the voice
came again, there was no doubt, no denial. She stifled a sob, trembled. All she wanted to do was curl into a ball—

She curled into a ball.

She gasped.

She stretched her arm out, just to prove that she could. She balled her hand into a fist. She wiggled her foot, just a little bit, trying to be silent.

She could move.

“Cassandra.”

The doorknob rattled, and the door opened with a creak. The sound cut through her.

She tried to slow her breathing, tried not to pee the bed or throw up. She braced herself, getting ready to scream.

But it didn’t come in.

As the door swung open, she could see it there, a black shadow in the glare of the hall light, unmoving, staring.

But it didn’t come in.

Maybe it knows,
she thought.
Maybe I’m too old. Maybe it knows that I can move, that I’m not helpless.

“Cassandra.”

The voice was like fingernails on a chalkboard, and she clenched her eyes shut, tried to shut it all out.

“Cassandra.”

When she opened her eyes again, the figure was stepping away. One step. Two. Then it stopped again.

Waiting.

She didn’t know how she knew, but she was sure that the shadow was waiting for her.

“Cassandra.”

Was that a beckoning tone in the voice now? Did it want her to follow?

She wouldn’t. She just wouldn’t. She would fight. She would—

She stood up, dropping the covers to the floor with a soft thud.

“Cassandra.”

The thing seemed to float in front of her, a black hole in the world, a darkness in the bright hallway.

And she followed.

She didn’t want to, but she had no choice.

And what terrified her, more than anything, was knowing that if she turned around, if she looked back, she would see herself still in bed, staring back.

“Cassandra.”

She followed the shape down the stairs. She could hear her own footfalls on the carpet, soft thuds, but no sound from in front of her.

Light seemed to follow them through the house. All the lights were off except the single faint bulb over the kitchen sink, but the shape always seemed to have light around it, in front of it.

Then she realized: the shape needed the light. Without light to create it, the darkness didn’t exist.

The darkness.

The words echoed in Cassie’s head as the figure stepped through the open door at the top of the basement stairs.

She froze in place in the middle of the kitchen.

No no no. I won’t. Not there. I won’t.

But she didn’t have any choice: her feet followed of their own accord.

With each step down, each rough, unpainted stair, her heartbeat quickened, her breath coming in shorter and shorter gasps.

No no no.

But the figure didn’t stop, didn’t slow as it led her down the
stairs, into the basement. The concrete floor was blisteringly cold under her feet, but she barely noticed.

All she could feel was the heat of the fire on her face, coming from the doorway on the far side of the room.

The doorway seemed to glow orange as the figure moved toward it.

No no no.

She couldn’t resist the figure’s pull, couldn’t fight the power driving her to follow.

No, Daddy.

The figure turned to her as she stepped into the room. It smiled at her with her father’s face, twisted almost unrecognizably, his mouth wide, a gaping black hole under his burning red eyes.

It was the face she only saw here, in this room, when it was just the two of them.

But this time he wasn’t alone.

There were other people in the room, standing in a rough semicircle around the wood stove, its door open to reveal an orange, hungry maw of jumping, roaring flames.

Her mother was there, standing behind the stove, Heather standing beside her, both of them staring at Cassie. Laura was standing next to Heather, holding her hand.

On the other side of her mother, Alicia, the waitress from the Lakeview, and beside her, Mrs. Murrow.

“Hey, little girl.”

Bob and his friends appeared in the wavering light, the cold of his eyes bright sparks in the heat.

No one moved. All of them just stared at her, the only sound the roaring crackle of the fire.

Until Laura laughed.

Raising her free hand, she pointed directly at Cassie and laughed.

Cassie’s heart stopped.

Then her mother laughed, a low, guttural laugh.

Mrs. Murrow snorted, then everyone joined in, the tiny room ringing with laughter, everyone pointing at Cassie.

Her knees faltered, almost gave out, and she just about fell, catching herself on the woodpile closest to the door.

That was when she caught a glimpse of herself, realized with a sudden clarity that she was naked.

But—

As she fumbled to cover herself, everyone was laughing louder, Alicia pointing at her emphatically.

Bob just looked at her, his grin widening, showing his teeth.

“Cassandra.”

“Cassandra.”

She woke with a start, the sound of laughter echoing in her ears, a cold shiver running through her.

It took her a moment to understand where she was, and as the picture came into focus she shuddered and swayed. Only grabbing the doorknob kept her from falling.

Doorknob. Ali’s doorknob.

She was standing in Ali’s bedroom, at the head of her bed.

Ali was asleep, on her side, facing Cassie, facing the room, her face soft, relaxed, calm, one bare shoulder showing above the edge of the blankets.

The bed beside her looked rumpled, tousled, as if someone had just gotten up.

She couldn’t remember going to sleep, but she must have.