Coldhearted (9781311888433) (39 page)

So she went to his bedroom door and knocked
on it.

“
Come in,” he
said.

She opened the door to the smell of
cigarettes and coffee hitting her full force, but it was
overwhelming and weirdly comforting at the same time. She reckoned
that she felt this way because it reminded her of Uncle Landon; he
was no longer a stranger to her; he was family.

He was sitting up on his bed, fully dressed,
reading from a thick stack of papers. She could barely see his
room. The main light was off and only the lamplight next to his bed
was on. Although it seemed that his room was smaller than hers. She
wondered if her room had originally been his, sans all the lace and
purple. She remembered that it’d been her mom’s favorite color.

“
Hey, what’s up?” he asked,
looking at her over the top of his reading glasses.

She was nervous, but went ahead, and asked,
“Can I sleep with you tonight?”

Uncle Landon’s eyes widened, shocked. He
took off his glasses and let the thick stack of papers that was
being held on by a binder clip slide from his hand.

“
Um, well, why?” he asked
nervously.

“
I’m sad.” It was the truth
without telling him the whole story.

“
Is this about Mason? Your
breakup?” he surmised correctly.

She nodded, and then said, “I don’t want to
talk about it. I just…I don’t want to sleep in my bed tonight.”

If he suspected that she and Mason had slept
together in her bed, he didn’t say anything. Instead he just nodded
and slid over toward the edge of his bed, giving her plenty of
room.

“
Okay, hop on
in.”

She did, under the covers, and then stared
up at the ceiling, after she’d settled in. Out of the corner of her
eye, she saw her uncle adjust his glasses and resume what he’d been
doing, before she’d arrived.

She turned over, facing him. “What are you
reading?”

“
My latest manuscript,” he
replied.

“
Are you done?”

“
Not quite. I’m just
reviewing what I have so far.” He hesitated, and then asked, “Would
you like to read it?”

“
What’s it
called?”

“
The Monster within
Me
.”

“
Sounds scary.”

He smiled. “It’s actually a love story.”

She smiled back. “That’s even scarier.”

He chuckled. “Yeah, I know what you mean.”
He shook his head and his smile faded. “Well, it’s horror, of
course, because that’s what I write, but there’s a love story woven
throughout. Even in the most gruesome tales, there’s love to be
found. Mostly unrequited,” he added. “We’ve all experienced that
powerful emotion that can make us fly when we have it and cause us
to fall when we lose it.”

“
Were you in love with my
mom?” she asked bluntly.

He turned his face away from her, staring at
the manuscript in front of him. “Yes,” he finally admitted. “She
chose Loren over me. I’d spent many years hating my brother, hating
that he had who I wanted. Your mother made us reconcile. We did,
begrudgingly. I visited a few times, never caring to stay for
long.”

Now he faced her, finally able to do so. “On
one particular visit, Corinne was pregnant with you, and Loren was
away. She went into labor and I drove her to the hospital. My
brother came as soon as he could, but I watched you being born. Of
course your mother held you first and you were crying, until she
passed you to me, and then…you quieted, and even held my finger in
your little hand, as if you knew me. I remember Loren, bursting
inside the delivery room. He’d rushed to get there and was
smiling…until he saw me holding you. I still remember that look on
his face.

“
It wasn’t anger. It was
disappointment. He was disappointed that I’d held you before he got
a chance to. Of course I handed you over to him immediately. He was
staring down at you, tears in his eyes, and said, ‘Hello, my little
angel. I’m your Daddy.’ And you opened your eyes for the very first
time, staring up at him with brilliant blues, just like your
mother. You then started to cry. Cora motioned for you to be
returned to her. Loren did. You stopped crying when she held you
close, whispering something in your ear.

“
To this day, I don’t know
what she said, but you’d looked at her with absolute reverence, as
if you understood what she’d said to be the Gospel truth. Loren
came beside her and held out his finger to your hand. You held it,
as you’d done mine, and I think that made him feel better,
especially when you didn’t cry. Quietly, I slipped out of the room,
leaving my brother to be with his wife and newborn
daughter.

“
I saw you a couple of
times after that, on holidays and such.” He smiled. “You knew me
instantly every time. When you could walk, you would always rush
toward me, saying, ‘Lan-Lan’ in that cute, little baby voice of
yours.” He paused, and then continued, “The last time I visited,
you called me ‘Landon.’ You were a miniature version of you mother.
Still are, of course, in a lot of ways, except you’re a little bit
taller than she was.” He reached over and tucked a stray strand of
blonde hair behind her ear. “I never came back after that. It was
too hard for me. When I found out you’d be living me, I didn’t want
you here. I didn’t want to be reminded of Cora. I got over that at
the funeral when I saw you standing all alone in front of their
gravestones. You weren’t crying. You just looked…lost, abandoned.
You didn’t see me watching you, but I saw how helpless you looked.
I knew I had to do right by your mother and my brother, and make
sure you were taken care of.

“
Even after I’m gone, you
don’t have to worry, Edie. I’ve left everything to you.” He cracked
a smile. “Maybe then the upstairs will finally be finished. I’m a
procrastinator in everything, except writing.” He shrugged. “It’s
my refuge, I guess. I create these characters and worlds of my own
imagination where I control everything.” He winked. “And I get paid
for it!” He sighed after telling such a long story. “So…what do you
think about everything I’ve just said? Do you hate me that I didn’t
come and see you? That I was basically a coward, who couldn’t
accept reality?”

Edie slid closer and wrapped her arm around
his chest, snuggling against him. “I don’t hate you. I love you,
Uncle Lan-Lan.”

He chuckled, and then kissed the top of her
head. “I love you too, Edie.”

“
Will you read me your
story?” she asked.

“
Now? Are you sure? You
might have nightmares,” he cautioned.

“
I’m sure,” she
said.

Edie knew whatever he’d written on those
pages was nothing close to the nightmare that was her real life.
But just for precaution, she recited the Lord’s Prayer inside her
head, hoping God was listening, and perhaps he’d send an angel her
way, to look over her.

“
Okay, here goes.” Edie’s
uncle cleared his throat, adjusted his glasses, then rested one
hand on her back, as his other hand held the manuscript, and
began:

“
The reflection in the
mirror isn’t mine. It can’t be mine because this hideous, inhuman
face is a monster, and monsters aren’t real. Monsters don’t love,
and I love a woman, who’s superior to all other women on this
earth. She’s an angel in disguise. If what’s staring back at me
through the looking glass is true, then an angel such as she, would
want nothing to do with a demon, as I’ve horribly
become...”

Edie didn’t know if it was the macabre
story, her uncle’s hypnotic voice and caring touch, the coffee and
cigarettes, God, a Guardian Angel, or just being in a bed not her
own, but she fell into a relaxing sleep, feeling not adrift, but
truly anchored for the first time since she’d arrived in
Grimsby.

Chapter 26

It’d been one of the saddest weeks of Edie’s
life, being near Mason but not being with him.

But she’d managed to stay strong and not run
into his arms, risking his life, so he could hold her again, kiss
her again. They had English together and she hadn’t remembered one
thing that Mrs. Featherstone had taught the whole week.

Though, when Edie had talked to Mrs.
Featherstone after class one day, to see how she’d been doing,
they’d somehow gotten on the subject of family, and Edie had found
out that Mrs. Featherstone was distantly related to the Lockharts.
It’d been then when Edie had realized how Tristan had known about
Mrs. Featherstone’s self-esteem issues: he’d gone inside her mind.
Of course Edie had kept her mouth shut and told Mrs. Featherstone
none of that. There were some truths that weren’t worth
telling.

Other than that, Edie hadn’t been able to
concentrate of anything else Mrs. Featherstone had said,
particularly during class; Mason had been sitting behind her. She’d
felt his despair; it’d been a dark and stormy cloud above her head.
He’d said nothing to her the whole week. Of course everyone had
picked up on that, and before Edie had known it, the whole school
had been aware that she and Mason had broken up. But no one had
known who’d initiated the break and why—no one except Diana,
Madelyn, Jules, even Quinn, and of course, Russell. Edie had
confided in them and them only.

Quinn, for the most part, was doing well. As
for his injury, he’d warded off any girl who’d wanted to comfort
him, only allowing Edie and Jules near him.

“
They don’t understand what
I’ve gone through,” he’d said one day. “What we’ve all gone through
and I don’t want their fake pity.”

After some time, the wound on his forehead
had healed, forming a scar that made him look even more handsome
than before, somehow.

Candie—who Edie suspected wrote “I love
Quinn” all over her diary at night—hadn’t been too pleased about
Quinn’s preference of nurses. Candie had gone on the war path
against Edie and Jules, and had tried to enlist Rochelle and
Ravenna, but they’d been smart for once and stayed away. Tristan,
ever protective of Edie in a controlling, twisted way, had made the
fake skeleton in biology class come alive, chasing Candie down the
hallway, as payback for when she’d stuck out her foot and tripped
Edie in front of everyone. Everyone had laughed and laughed, until
they’d screamed right along with Candie at the skeleton, who’d been
shouting curses (profane and hexes) at everyone. Of course Candie
had gone to the principal, claiming Edie had somehow “mechanized”
or “computer engineered” the skeleton to attack her.

One, Edie didn’t know that Candie knew such
big words, and two, if Edie had actually done that, well, she’d be
a shoo-in at MIT after graduation.

If Edie graduated—if she did what Arianna
wanted her to do—what she hadn’t told anyone else—then she’d never
graduate because she’d be dead. And even as a ghost, she wouldn’t
be able to attend her own graduation. She’d be stuck in Lockhart
Manor, playing warden to Tristan, the Mad Ghost of Grimsby.

Why me? What’d I do to deserve such a
fate?

Well, even though Edie had been scared
straight concerning Tristan’s threat against Mason, she was not
well on the path toward enacting her own suicide. She still had
hope, despite the lack of positive results.

Edie had called Jules’s friends and talked
to Rory, who’d told her that the GPS had scoured and scoured, read
books old and new, surfed cyberspace, and even contacted other
investigators, but hadn’t found a way to help her. Rory had
promised that they wouldn’t give up. He’d then invited Edie to some
college party on campus, but she’d turned him down, afraid that
Tristan would take advantage of dozens of presumably drunk and
susceptible students.

No, she couldn’t have a normal life, not
with Tristan around. He was always with her, whispering in her ear,
sending chills up her spine, appearing in mirrors, walking around
half-transparent/half-corporeal. The stunt with the walking-talking
skeleton had transformed more of him into a solid mass. It was only
a matter of time before he became fully corporeal, with the ability
to kill, by simply touching someone: the touch of death.

Edie knew that she had to stop him, but she
was afraid to die. She’d been waiting for someone or something to
come along and rescue her from death, but by Saturday night, it
seemed her calls for help had been denied.

Well, if she were going to die, then she may
as well party like there was no tomorrow.

All throughout the week, she’d been
rejecting Diana and Madelyn’s insistence to go to the Halloween
dance, but by Saturday, they’d peer pressured her enough to even
wear a costume: a red clown nose. She had gotten it from her uncle,
who’d worn it while writing The Bloody Circus; “a horror story with
heart,” it said on the cover and showed a bloody, dripping heart
being clutched inside a clown’s glove, as if it were a prize. If
Edie didn’t know her uncle, she’d swear that he was deranged.

****

“
Cute,” Quinn greeted, and
then gave Edie a warm hug, after she’d arrived.

It was evening and they were standing near
the school’s gym. Or party central.

“
What, the nose?” she asked,
confused.

Quinn smiled. “Yeah, the nose,” he
confirmed.

Something in his voice told Edie that there
were other parts of her body that he found “cute.”

They continued to stand in the cold, waiting
for Jules, Diana, and Madelyn to arrive. Edie was dying—pun
intended—to see their costumes. Quinn, oddly, wasn’t in
costume.

“
You didn’t feel like
pretending to be someone else?” she asked.