Breaking Glass (12 page)

It’s a long time before I can crawl back to the study where the Vicodin awaits. Crutches, with my balance all shot to hell, are out of the question.

Eventually the pain and shaking subside. I flop onto the daybed, pondering how much of the drugs I need just to function.

C H A P T E R
e l e v e n

Now

Susannah’s Death Book sits on the desk. I wonder if it’s selfish and stupid for me not to tell the police, or at least Dad. But with the police report discrepancy I’m not sure I can trust anyone. Even Dad, who is stuck under Patrick Morgan’s neatly groomed thumb.

It’s just a personal thing, anyway. A cross between a diary and a work of art. And Suze entrusted it to me. Me. Even after admitting that she knows about all my filthy secrets.

She has her reasons, I tell myself.

Probably because I owe her.

My memories flash to that night. I know what I saw and no one can tell me otherwise: Ryan pushing Susannah down in the rain. But, beyond that, I can’t be certain of anything. The memories end abruptly, washed out in the glare of oncoming headlights.

What if Ryan killed her by accident? Maybe her head hit a rock and she lost consciousness. Wouldn’t he call in Big Daddy Morgan to rescue his precious ass, like always? The Morgans couldn’t let a small thing like involuntary manslaughter blemish their golden boy’s future. What would the Ivy League think?

My thinking is clouded. My head isn’t screwed on right anymore.

Somehow, it seems important, but I’m not really sure why.

Susannah’s Death Book is crammed with scribbled notes and doodles, interspersed with pages from actual books. It has one page torn from The Kabbalah that ruminates on how all life is continuous; a passage that insists that the soul never ends is highlighted in bright yellow marker. Scores of other passages from different books allude to the same concept. I wonder how many used-book stores Susannah has raided to cobble this thing together.

Finally, I get the hint. The summoning kit she left for me was no joke.

It is just the beginning.

And then I see it, written in red, a full page of hastily scribbled notes, much sloppier and more rushed than her usual methodical printing.

Jeremy
,

If you have this book then you know I need your help
.

If I could get to you, I’d just ring the doorbell
.

But, I guess, if you’re reading this I can’t
.

Maybe you tried once and your first try didn’t work
.

So you have to try again. To help me find you
.

Please
.

Susannah

What follows are a list of YouTube links, with directions.

Follow these IN ORDER. Keep trying until something works
.

You’ve always been very good at following directions, Jeremy Glass. I hope you still are
.

I swallow and I read on…

First, close your eyes and think of me. Think how you want to see me again
.

I know you do
.

I do as she says and close my eyes, taking slow steady breaths. I do want to see her. I wonder if she’d be repulsed by me now.

No. I can’t believe she would.

Images and scents flood me. The smell of her hair. The few precious times her lips brushed my cheek. The bright green of her eyes in the sun, so vivid against the dusky bronze of her skin. Her slightly crooked front teeth. Her wild snorting laugh when something I said struck her as funny. The thud of my feet hitting pavement, ragged breaths tearing through my lungs as she rode beside me on her bike, keeping pace as I reached for that final mile.

How can she not be here now?

Tears crowd at the backs of my eyes, but never fall. I imagine my leg slowly sinking to the bottom of the Gorge and joining with the other lost things.

I transfer to the wheelchair and propel myself to where my laptop has been gathering dust. I type in the first URL from Susannah’s note and hold my breath as it loads. The link takes me to another YouTube video, this one set as private. At first the screen is black, but instead of one of her animations, this time there’s just a grainy image of Susannah, her hair disheveled. She’s sitting cross-legged in front of a nondescript white sheet she hung behind her, the red Kabbalah string on her wrist, the pendant hanging over her collarbone. Vaguely, I think of Trudy Durban and her crosses.

I stare and try to muster the guts to hit the play button.

Susannah smiles and tosses the flowing bronze waves from her face. Even though her eyes are hollow with dark circles, they flash brightly. It breaks my heart to see her this way, and I know it’s my fault. Somehow, I missed everything. Missed the truth behind her smiles.

“Hi, Jeremy,” she says with a nervous laugh. “I feel a little silly doing this, but I guess this means you found the link.”

Her voice steadies, the expression sharper as she continues. “And if that’s the case, well, that means things aren’t very good for me.”

My spine stiffens, but I force myself to keep watching.

“So, well. But I hope you’re doing okay, carrying on. Running, studying and stuff, the usual Jeremy things,” she says. I almost have to stop as my breath catches, but I let it continue.

“Where to start…let’s see. Everyone probably thinks I ran away again, right? Do you think so, Jeremy? Well, I didn’t. The main thing I need you to do right now is figure out exactly what
did
happen. Let’s call that your job. But you’re not going to be able to do it alone. You’re going to need help. And the only person who can help you, who knows where all the secrets are, is
me
.” Pause. She furrows her brow and taps her chest. “Are you still with me, Jeremy?”

Susannah stares at the camera, as if waiting for my response. I nod, unconsciously, as if she can see me, feeling like a complete fool.

“I thought so. So, the first thing you need to do is find me, Jeremy. Not my body, but
me
. The
me
that is everlasting, that transcends death—like the Kabbalah teaches. Yeah, I know you consider that spiritual stuff junk, but think of how you wanted me, Jeremy. I know you did.” She laughs, and turns her head to the side in a coquettish pout. Involuntarily, a thrill runs up my one leg to my groin. I shudder, ashamed and freaked out. Getting it up for a dead girl while she talks about her eternal soul. Sicko.

“C’mon, Jeremy. You are the
worst
actor of all time. Every time we were together I caught you undressing me with your eyes.” She giggles and lowers her cami, just a little, revealing the tops of her breasts. Oh God. Oh
shit
. Dead girl porn.

“But Jeremy,” her voice softens. “I know you. Beneath all that was more. Much, much more.”

A relieved smile breaks on my lips. So she knew that, too, at least.

“And I was the supreme idiot, chasing after an even bigger idiot. Ryan Morgan.”

Susannah sighs and pauses to sip from a glass of water. “I chose to ignore all the signs.
Chose
. Even though I knew it was killing you. Killing me, too. I was too scared. Scared that if I loved you back I’d ruin it and lose your friendship, your devotion. I couldn’t risk that, Jeremy. You were my lifeline. Do you understand?”

Sorrow turns to shock.
What is she saying?

“I love you, Jeremy. Maybe even more than you loved me.”

I pause the video. I want to throw the laptop through the window and stomp it to bits with my crutch.

I’ve never hated anyone more than I hate Susannah right now for what she’s done to both of us.

I hate myself, too, for not seeing it. Not taking a chance and calling her on it.

Fuck us both
.

But I press play and continue. I can’t stop myself now.

“I know. You’re probably pissed. I never really showed it, so how would you know? I’m a master of disguise. A crippled girl with a diseased heart. But that’s all over now. All that’s left is the essence. The part you loved. Think of it as Susannah Nectar.”

I can’t listen any more. I pause, wanting to douse her words in a vat of vodka.

The pantry. There’s got to be more in the pantry. My phone rings, but I ignore it. It isn’t her. I know that can’t be possible.

A moment later the house phone rings. I hear my father’s voice on the answering machine.

“Jeremy? I heard what happened with Marisa. It’s okay. Just call me and let me know how you are. I’m stuck here at the office, or I’d come home to see you right now.”

No way. Let him sweat. Let
him
talk to me.

I wheel into the pantry and root through the boxes there. Dad’s done a pretty thorough sweep. All I find is the mostly empty bottle left from the last bender I went on. I screw off the cap and chug down the remains. It’s not enough to blot out reality entirely, but it’s enough to slow the shaking in my hands.

I return to Susannah.

“Did I upset you, Jeremy? I’m sorry. I know you’re a sensitive guy and sometimes I lay it on a bit too thick. What I mean by my nectar is my soul. The best part of me. The part I always wished I could give you, but that was too clogged with gunk. Anyway, before we get to that, there’s still some life crap we have to talk about.”

Susannah cocks her head and stares intently at the camera. “If you can handle it.”

My heart starts to pound. There’s a jump in the video, and Susannah reappears with her hair pulled back, a T-shirt now replacing the cami.

“Well,” she says. “I’ll bet you’re just dying to know what I mean, aren’t you? You always were a nosy guy, Jeremy, with your head buried in all those history books. I mean, the way I see it is—what’s history, anyway, but a shitload of other people’s gossip? I guess it’s just special gossip that goes with the important stuff. Well, here’s a piece of history, or as you would call it—a primary source—for you.”

She lifts an eyebrow, a half smile forming on her lips. I shiver, and pause it. It’s the same expression she’d wear when we’d get into one of our mind-bending philosophical loops that usually ended in extreme silliness, her punching me in the stomach and making faces.