Crossed Out (16 page)

I pinched myself in disbelief. I couldn’t believe a guy like that would be interested in me. No, that honor usually went to girls like Hillary and her group of plastics, the ones who ruled Sutter High and took the cutest guys.

Now I had my own cute guy.

Yes, he might have one weird collection, but I refused to go all squeamish on him. Not if it meant I could help Allison and the other girl get back to the other side.

I yawned. Suddenly the intensity of the last few hours hit me. All I wanted to do was sleep.

Turning from the window, I crashed on my bed. I wanted to keep the memory of Mark’s kiss in my mind. Touching my lips, I replayed the kiss over and over. I couldn’t get enough. My hoodie held some of his woodsy fragrance. What better way to end a crazy day? Now maybe I’d have happier dreams.

Not.

I found myself in a strange place, without Mark. Nothing reminded me of home. I know its lame but I could have sworn I’d fallen into some kooky Kodak Moment. The area around me was so green and flat – nothing marred the perfect landscape, there were no ugly offices, business structures or condo units that seemed to have taken over North Sac.

The grass stretched out for miles. Sunflowers, daisies, and hibiscus peppered the area with a kaleidoscope of lush colors.

I couldn’t resist. I kicked off my flip flops and ran through the grass. The blades tickled my feet. Joy surged through me. Nothing could go wrong.

Out of nowhere, billowy clouds morphed across the sky. Heavy and dark, the clouds blocked out the sun. Something bad was going to happen.

A wind howled angrily, ripping out the flowers. The petals, stems, and grass slapped against my body. I tried to find somewhere to hide.

“Stephanie!” A high-pitched cry caught my attention. A chill went up my spine, accompanied by an unbearable itching at the backs of my legs. I couldn’t resist. I scratched…hard. The welts burned.

Some dead person had once again invaded my dreams. I wished the spirits would go away. Why did they always dampen my joy?

The darkness parted like a curtain and out stepped a young, skinny girl. She must have been around ten years old. An oversized t-shirt hung from her thin frame. Black leggings and worn Converse high tops completed the picture. She looked as if she’d stepped out of a
seventeen
magazine a decade or two ago.

She faced me. My heart missed a beat. A feeling of
déjà vu
came over me. I knew her. But how?

Her long blond hair blew out, exposing her face. Allison!

I tried to ignore the guilt that pulsed through my body. It was because of me she still roamed the Earth. But I didn’t know! It wasn’t as if my job came with a manual. Still this didn’t stop the crushing guilt I felt. Some friend I’d been.

“Allison!” I screamed. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know. Really, I didn’t.”

She cocked her head and opened her mouth. I couldn’t hear her.

Frustrated, I yelled even louder. “I screwed up big time. I can help you. Use something of yours. I still might have….”

Allison violently shook her head. “…No…wrong….”

Wrong? How could she say that? Hadn’t Mark shown me otherwise?

She drew nearer to me. The chaos continued around her, but she repelled the flying debris. Slowly her image changed. One minute she was ten, the next....

She changed into some guy that was tied up; his clothes dirty and torn, exposed, angry red welts across his chest. His head was bowed. His hair looked a lot like....

At that moment, he raised his head. One eye was swollen shut. Purple bruises covered his face.

“Stephanie … help….”

Dylan!

Shocked, I couldn’t turn my eyes away. I felt I was to blame.

The spirit changed back to Allison.

“You have to help him!” Tears fell down her face.

No way. It couldn’t be. Not Dylan.

I couldn’t deal with hurting two friends. I didn’t know that Hell existed, but if it did, I was there right now.

“You have to help him,” she sobbed. “Don’t listen to the monster’s lies.”

Her words scared me. Who’s this monster she was talking about? If it had Dylan, this couldn’t be good. I had to help him, but how?

“Ally, what monster?” I screamed over the howling wind, which grew even more ominous.

She turned to me. “You need to break away. Before he....”

“Before he what?”

Her mouth opened, but I couldn’t hear. The wind drowned out her reply.

Her image crackled in and out like bad reception on Grams’ old TV. I couldn’t let her go. Not before she told me who was hurting Dylan.

“Don’t leave me!” I stretched my hand out to stop her.

She leaned toward me, our fingers only inches apart.

Then I woke up.

With a gasp, I jerked from my bed. My heart raced. Clutching my chest, I tried to catch my breath.

Something was hurting Dylan. What was I going to do?

Chapter 25

I glanced at my clock and checked the time.
Four o’clock.
Forget that it was still early. I needed to call Dylan. How else would I know if what I’d seen was real or only a bad dream?

My cell phone lay on my bedside table amidst a clutter of candy wrappers, an open can of Diet Cherry Coke, and some school papers.

So what if it was early in the morning? I knew he’d be royally pissed off, but too bad.

I dialed his number.

After three rings, his answering machine clicked on.

Hey, not here. Hit me after the beep.

I hung up and got out of bed. Going to the window, I pulled the curtain aside to see if his beat-up Toyota pick-up was in the drive way. Bright red and blue lights blinded me.

Oh, my God. What’s going on?

A squad of police cars was parked in Dylan’s driveway. Dylan’s mom, in a thick terry-cloth robe, was outside talking to two police officers. I could tell she’d been crying. Dylan’s dad had his arm around her.

I felt my stomach twist into knots.
No flippin’ way.
My dream couldn’t be true – could it? The images in my nightmare slammed back into me. Dylan hurt, in some darkened basement, pleading for my help.

The loud humming of one of the police car radios drifted up to me. I caught a few words. “Teen-aged boy missing.”

As dizziness overcame me, I held onto my window ledge.

“Mom,” I screamed. “Dylan’s gone!”

My door flew open. Mom burst into my room, like that Tasmanian devil from an old Bugs Bunny cartoon, kicking aside a couple of my CD’s and clothes scattered on the floor. “What’s wrong, honey?”

“D-y-lan.” His name came out in hiccups. “G-one.”

“What?”

I pointed to the window. “Go look.” I staggered, collapsing on my bed. Why had I run off with Mark? If I hadn’t, maybe Dylan would be okay. It was all my fault.

Confused, my mother walked over and pulled the curtain aside.

“Sweet Jesus,” she muttered under her breath. She turned back to me, her face an unbecoming white. “Not now,” she muttered.

“What?” I stared at my mother. A chill went up my neck. “Oh, my God. You know, don’t you?”

She stared blankly at me. “You’re not ready,” she whispered.

“Ready?” I frowned. “What are you talking about? What’s that have to do with Dylan?”

She sighed. “This is all crazy. You weren’t ready. Not now.” She dropped the curtain.

A sick feeling gurgled in my stomach. I thought I’d throw up. No way this could be happening. Not now.

“Hey.” Dad stumbled in, dressed in his plaid boxer shorts and an old USC t-shirt. “What the hell is....” He stopped when he saw our expressions.

Dad went to the window and peeked outside.

“Holy crap,” he whispered. “What’s going on at the Van Buren’s place?”

“Dylan’s missing,” Mom said. She then walked over to my bed and sat down next to me. Putting her arms around my shoulders, she said, “We’ll talk later.”

“Talk later?” Dad looked at both of us. “Is there something I need to know?”

“No,” I said. “Can we just go over and see what’s going on?” I tried hard not to hyperventilate. Mom knew something. Figures she’d be tight lipped about it right now. Emotions battled inside me. I wanted to know what she knew but on the other hand it scared me.

“Well, I’m sure Dylan’s mother’s being over-dramatic, like always,” Dad said, dropping the curtain. “Come on, let’s go back to bed.”

“No!” I couldn’t believe my father. Didn’t he care? “You don’t understand. Dylan’s gone. He might be hurt. I gotta go.”

“Go?” Mom’s eyebrows rose. “Honey, there’s nothing you can do! Let the police handle it.”

I didn’t get her. “How can you say that? Especially since you….”

My mother put her finger to my mouth. “I didn’t say I didn’t care. I just agree with your father.”

“Well, I do care, okay?” I pushed my mother’s finger away. “I’m not a child anymore. I’m going. Maybe Mrs. Van Buren knows something.”

“Stephanie, please.” Mom’s usual immaculate hair was spiked up so she looked like a manic porcupine. A tear on the side of her robe revealed a faded scar from an old skiing accident. “Let the police handle it. Trust me on this, okay?”

“No,” I said. The thought that she’d known
something about Dylan made me sick. Then another thought came. Oh, my God. Did she know about my nightly activities?

“I don’t believe you,” I said. “All this time you knew, didn’t you?”

“Okay, what’s going on?” Dad asked. “Apparently more than the Van Buren boy being missing.”

Mom stared at me. Her eyes softened. “Later, I promise.”

She then turned back to Dad. “Let’s go over and see what’s going on. Maybe we can help.”

Dad studied both of us as if we were strangers. “Since both of you are so insistent, let’s all go over,” Dad said. “I don’t want Stephanie getting into trouble.”

“Dad, this isn’t the ’70s, okay? The police aren’t always the bad guys. No one’s hauling my rear to jail.” I so didn’t need this. “I just want to find out what’s happening.”

“Still.” Dad crossed his arms over his chest, “I don’t want you over there alone. I’m going with you.”

“Fine.” I grabbed my hoodie from my chair. “Whatever.”

“Why are you dressed?” Dad asked. It must have finally dawned on him that I was still dressed from last night. “Are you sure there isn’t something you should be telling us?”

“We’ll discuss this later,” Mom said, pointing to me. “One thing at a time.”

Normally I would have wilted under her gaze, but not now. I didn’t care. Only one thing mattered and that was Dylan.

I ran outside, not waiting for my parents. The misty air made me pull my hoodie closer. The grass shushed under my feet.

When Mrs. Van Buren saw me she stopped talking to the police officers. Dark circles ringed her eyes. A pair of fuzzy blue slippers peeked from under her terry robe.

“Stephanie,” she cried. “Thank God! Maybe you know where our son is.”

“Are you Stephanie Stewart?” The police officer quit writing in his notepad and glanced at me. He wasn’t that old and was really cute. But I pushed that thought aside.

“Yes,” I replied. “Is this about Dylan?”

My father came up behind me and touched my shoulder. “Excuse us officers, but my daughter is just concerned about what’s going on. Right, honey?”

I ignored him. “Well, is it?”

“Stephanie, do you know where Dylan might have gone?” Mrs. Van Buren asked. “He said something about helping you. What did he mean?”

“Help me?” I frowned. “I don’t need help.”

The police office turned a page in his notebook. I noticed the name Perez on his badge. “Can you tell us what you were doing yesterday?”

“I went to school and then came home. Nothing big. Why?”

“Please, Stephanie,” Mrs. Van Buren begged. “If you know something, anything, tell the police.”

“Wait a minute here.” A weird realization hit me. “You don’t think I have something to do with this?”

“Okay, that’s it,” my father said. “Is my daughter under investigation, officer? Because if she is, you’ll have to speak to our lawyer.”

Crap.
I couldn’t believe Dad. I know he was only trying to make things better, but now the police probably thought I was hiding something. Which I was, but it had nothing to do with Dylan – or did it?

“No, sir, she isn’t. But it might be a good idea to stay close by, in case we have any questions.” Officer Perez shut his notebook.

Another officer rushed out of the house. He had a book in his hands. “Do you know anything about this?”

“Where did you get that?” At the sight of the book, Dylan’s mom went psycho. She lunged at the officer, trying to grab it out of his hands.

“Carol, please,” her husband cried as he tried to hold her back.

The book fell to the ground next to me.

I glanced at it. The name Katherine Van Buren was written on the front.

Dylan’s grandmother. The one who now was a resident of the loony bin over the hill.

“Why was Dylan looking through this book?”

Mom’s face went white.

My earlier hunch that my mother knew something hit me.

“Apparently your son was interested in this.” Officer Perez picked up the journal. “Do you know why?”

“Give me that!” Mrs. Van Buren elbowed her husband and grabbed for the journal. It fell to the ground and opened.

One page seemed to have been ripped out. I picked up the book and looked.

His grandmother’s cursive writing was large and easy to read. The combination of police lights and the front porch light didn’t hurt either.

…hazy lights – look for weak spot

Whoa, did Grandma Kate read auras, too? I started to put two and two together. Considering how ultra-conservative Dylan’s family was, this might explain the reason she was confined to a mental hospital.

“You have no right,” Mrs. Van Buren yelled at me. “It’s none of your business!”

“Come on, honey let’s go.” My dad took the journal out of my hands and gave it to Officer Perez. “Sorry, officers.”