Dark Paradise (16 page)

He pulls me against him. “Damn you! Why did you leave?”

“Damn me? Right back at you, Landry!”

“What's the matter?”

I shove at his chest. “You're psycho! Like multiple-personality, stark-raving nuts if you can't figure out why I'm pissed.”

“Is this about me asking if you killed Lainey? I had to be sure you weren't involved.”

“You're a liar. This whole time we've been together you thought I was guilty. What would you have done if Lainey said yes?”

Landry doesn't answer.

“Oh my God, yesterday in the woods…What did you plan to do if you'd caught me?”

He juts out his jaw. “I didn't.”

“Say I'd tripped and fallen. What would you have done to avenge your sister? Hurt me?”

“I don't know!” He turns in a half circle, then swings back to face me. “It didn't happen. I wasn't thinking straight. I'd barely slept in four days. When I did, I dreamed of Lainey and you. I got all twisted in my head.”

“You're still twisted. Let me go.”

“No! I need to figure out what my sister wants. She left when you walked out. She left with you.”

“I don't care. You and Lainey can go to hell!”

He drops my arm and steps back. I take in a deep breath, looking around at the dilapidated trailers. Crap, not the best neighborhood to storm off in. I gritted my teeth. “I need to get to work.”

When Landry doesn't answer, I snap, “I'm not rich like you. I don't own a cell phone. Give me yours so I can call someone to pick me up.”

Landry crosses his arms, eyes hardening to ice chips. “Who'll come to get you?”

“I have friends, Landry. People who care.”

“Not enough. Does anyone know where you are? Or who you're with? If you disappeared, nobody would suspect me.”

I back up. “You're scaring me.”

“I mean to. Lainey was murdered by your house. We don't know who did it, or why. Mala, it's not safe. You're in danger.”

“From you?”

“No. Not now.” He has the good grace to hang his head.

“Not good enough.”
Not nearly good enough.
“For some stupid reason, I trusted you. I wanted to help you…and Lainey.”

“You can trust me. I swear. I won't hurt you.” Landry trembles with the strength of his emotions. The problem is that I can't read him.

But really, what choice do I have for the time being? He's right. I don't have anyone I can call to pick me up. No Mama. Bessie or George…I meet Landry's eyes. No, I don't even want to try to explain to either of them why I went to see a psychic with Landry.

“Mala—” a faint voice calls, and I jump.

Ruby stands in her doorway. She'd wiped the blood from her face, but a faint hint of crimson stains her too-pale skin. She squints, as if the light burns her eyes, but when she sees me watching, she walks toward us.

I take an unconscious step back, forgetting that Landry stands behind me, and I bump into him. His hands rest on my shoulders, not roughly, but firm and warm. I want to soak up his heat because I can't stop shivering but pull away instead. His touch makes me sick to my stomach.

“Are you okay?” Ruby holds out a shaking hand.

I take it. “I'm fine. What about you?”

Ruby laughs. “I've never had an experience like that before—an opening. That perfect feeling of connection to a departed soul. I've been blessed.”

“More like cursed,” I mutter.

“Don't worry. I'll be right as rain in a couple of hours. My next appointment isn't until twelve. I plan to soak in the tub and regain my equilibrium.” She blinks, and I notice how watery and red her eyes have gotten. No matter how she tries to spin it now, she hasn't recovered from being possessed. She's even forgotten to start speaking in her fake country twang again. “I heard you and Landry,” she says. “I know his betrayal has affected you, but I wanted to remind you of my earlier prediction.”

With a scowl, I cross my arms. “You've already been paid. You can cut the bull.”

“No bull, only truth. You need Landry, and he needs you. You've got to trust each other, or I'm afraid you won't be ready for what's about to happen.”

My heart starts hammering…
Ready.
The word echoes in my mind.
I won't be ready.

“Ready for what?” Landry demands.

Ruby's eyes turn from Landry to me. They've rolled up beneath her eyelids again. Merciful heavens, but that gives me the willies. Her hand tightens around mine. I try to pull free, but she holds tight. Her fingers dig into my skin. “I see fire. I hear screams…blood.”

I quiver beneath her hand. Energy crackles between us. The heat of flames burns my legs. Thick smoke chokes off my breath and stings my eyes. Tears stream down my cheeks, but I can't free my gaze from Ruby's face as it blisters then blackens. Skin sloughs from the bone. Yet her lipless, grinning mouth still speaks. “Run,” she whispers. “You're not ready. Run!”

B
y the time Landry parks across the street from Munchies and comes around to help me out of the truck, anger has replaced fear. I push his hand aside and jump down on my own. I forget to check for traffic until I'm halfway across the street and Landry yells, “Mala, wait.”

The squeal of tires and a thump slows me down. A quick glance over my shoulder shows Landry limping around an idling car. The driver climbs out looking pissed.

“Sorry, I'm okay,” Landry says to the driver, then yells, “Mala!”

I press my hand to my traitorous heart, which flipped when I heard him shout. “Don't say anything else,” I cry, spinning around and running for the building. “I don't want to speak to you again.
Ever.
”

If I'm alone with him, I'll do something I'll regret, like smack him upside the head, or worse, forgive him 'cause I'm a pushover. “Can't hold a grudge longer than a minute,” Mama always teases. And she's right. I'm already softening toward him, which kicks my fury up another notch. Now I'm also pissed with myself for believing his stupid I'm so sorrys.

The lunch crowd fills Munchies. Customers of all ages wait in line at the counter to order their meals, cluster together at tables or booths, and hang out in back playing video games. When I shove open the door, they stop and stare, eager to watch the drama unfold. We must look a sight—Landry chasing after me while I try my best to escape.

Landry blocks my path. I try to edge around him, but he mimics my steps. “I'm not leaving until we have this out. I need you. Please?” he says with a low groan that touches my insides and makes them clench.

Those three words conjure up a variety of dirty thoughts that have nothing to do with the actual conversation. Landry doesn't want me. He wants the power he thinks I have—the power to connect with Lainey. My mouth opens, but before I can say a word, a voice that makes the hairs on the back of my neck curl interrupts.

“Landry, I've been looking for you,
cher
,” Clarice says, walking up behind him with her poseur posse of friends. A frown creases her perfect brow. Did she hear his last statement? I can't tell by the way she ignores me. She threads her arm through Landry's and caresses his forearm. “I've been so worried. You haven't returned my calls. Your mom said you'd left early this morning.”

Landry pulls his arm from hers. Not in a mean way, more just irritated. “My mom has barely said two words since the police told us about Lainey, so I doubt that.”

Clarice blinks, her only show of surprise at the rebuff. “So, where were you?”

“That's none of your business, Clarice. You're not my girlfriend, so stop acting like you are.” Landry's eyes bore into mine as if by maintaining eye contact he can keep me from leaving.

A muscle flexes in Clarice's jaw, and she shoots a glare in my direction. Time to beat a hasty retreat. I turn to head for the employee break room. Landry sprints after me and grabs me by the waist, spinning me around like a top.

I press my hands against his chest to catch my balance. “Stop treating me like I'm your personal Barbie doll. I'm not yours to pose.”

“Please, I'm sorry.” He runs his hands down my back as if soothing an unruly kitten. “Let's talk.”

“No.”

Clarice stands with her hands on her hips. “Seriously, Landry,” she yells. “You're gonna ditch me for that slut?”

I whirl in Landry's arms, fed up. “I'm not the one begging like a bitch for a bone,” I say to her, shaking my head in disgust. “Show some pride. He's obviously not into you.”

Clarice's hand lashes out, connecting with the side of my face. My cheek puffs out a bit of air and begins to burn. The skinny thing slapped me. Slapped, like a girl, and compared to getting walloped by Mama's closed fist, it barely hurts. She must've expected a reaction: crying, screaming, even getting a retaliatory backhand, but instead I stare the girl down. Her eyes widen, and fear fills them. Her friends start whispering.

One of them shouts in warning, “Clarice, she's putting a curse on you.”

“She can't do that,” Clarice says, but she backs up.

Landry keeps a firm grip on my waist as if afraid I'll go after her, but he still puts in his two cents just to mess with the girl I thought was his girlfriend. “You're the one who said she's a witch.”

I roll my eyes, too honest to play along, regardless of the satisfaction I'd gain by freaking her out. “I'm not a witch, Clarice. If I were, I'd wish that all your hair would fall out and that you'd break out in itchy hives.”

Clarice gasps. “Stay away from me.”

“I'm not doing anything. You hit me first.”

“This isn't Mala's fault, Clarice.” Landry moves in front of me. Defending me against Clarice is one more clue added to my long list that he's just plain crazy. Hellfire, they're both twisted. And I'm stuck smack in the middle of their insanity. It's his fault I got slapped in the first place, since Clarice got pushed over the limit at seeing me in his arms. I don't blame her for being mad. Hitting me is another matter entirely. I won't forgive her for this. She's going down.

I step around him. “I fight my own battles, Landry.”

He stares hard into my eyes.

“He's mine,” Clarice whispers.

I don't break eye contact with Landry as I tell her, “I don't want him.”

Landry winces. The hurt darkening his eyes almost makes me call him back when he turns and walks out the door, but I bite down on the impulse. Once he's gone, I glance back at Clarice and say, “Like I said, I don't want him. But if I change my mind, there's
nothing
you can say or do to stop me from getting him.”

“This isn't over.” She runs her hand through her hair. Her eyes widen when she sees the strands sticking to her fingers.

“No, it isn't.” I pluck a hair from her palm. She watches the strand float to the ground with wide eyes. “It's just begun, Clarice. You should've kept your hand to yourself.”

Part of me feels sorry for the girl who continues to run her fingers through her hair and whimpers slightly under her breath every time a strand clings to her fingers. That's the problem with believing in superstitious nonsense. Once an idea gets stuck in your head, you make it come true through your belief. You start seeing shadows that aren't there or, in Clarice's case, a normal shedding of hair as a curse. I wonder how long it will take before she breaks out in nervous hives.

Clarice gathers her friends and leaves. She's probably chasing after Landry. The fool. She can have the lying ass. I catch Tabitha staring at me from behind the counter. She'll report this to the manager. I'm so busted. I want to hide in the bathroom. Instead, I slink through the crowd to find Maggie, Tommy, and Dena seated in our usual booth. Maggie jumps up and makes me squeeze in between them. Surrounded by my friends, the knots in my neck loosen as I drop my guard. I slump sideways and lay my head on Maggie's shoulder. “I only have ten minutes before my shift starts,” I say with a sigh. “I suppose you saw what happened.”

Dena wriggles in her seat, shooting looks at Maggie. “Everyone saw you fix that curse on Clarice.”

Maggie snaps, “How many times do I have to say that curses are a bunch of superstitious nonsense?”

Dena remains focused on me. “You told her that her hair would fall out.”

“I said I
wish
it would fall out.” I shrug defensively. “I was angry. She slapped me.”

“After you cursed her,” Tommy says around a bite of his foot-long hot dog.

My stomach growls. I haven't eaten all day. Maybe that's why it takes a while for his statement to sink in. “Geesh, Tommy. She slapped me before I said it. And it's not a curse.”

Tommy finishes chewing. “'Cause I also heard you put Landry Prince under a love spell.”

“Who've you been listening to?” I turn to Maggie. “Seriously, you need to limit who Tommy's allowed to talk to. His friends are corrupting his mind.”

“It's not just his loser friends, Mala,” Maggie says softly. “Everyone's been talking about it since yesterday. This blow-up only made the rumors worse. Tim just texted me that Clarice's friends plan on jumping you after work.” She pats my thigh. “Don't worry, I'll call Mom. She'll pick you up after your shift.”

I nod, feeling icky inside.
My life sucks.

After my shift ends, I run for my locker. Bessie will arrive soon, and I'm ready to get the hell out of Munchies. A strange smell comes through the vent, like I've forgotten to take my lunch out and it's gone rotten, but when I open the door, I learn it is so much worse than a moldy sandwich.

The stench hits me first. I gag then scream at the sight of the bloated possum carcass hanging from the hook by a shoelace wrapped around its flattened neck. Entrails dangle, and maggots crawl through the holes where the possum's eyes used to be.

The night shift manager, Annabel Jenkins, runs into the break room. When she reaches my locker, she backs up, covering her nose. Her pale face turns blotchy. “Merciful Jesus, why would you do such a thing?”

W-what?
I stare at her, breathing hard.

Annabel slams the locker closed. “Go get something to clean up this mess. I'm telling Ms. March.”

My stomach curdles. “Are you crazy? I didn't do this!” I swallow the mouthful of saliva filling my mouth and grimace at the taste. This smells worse than the autopsy. Probably because this is up close and oh so personal. And the way Annabel stares at me… “How could you accuse me of defiling my own locker, Anna? I thought we were friends.”

Her face twists with a savage glee. “All of the employees put up with you working here because you're Ms. March's favorite, but we know what kind of person you are and where you come from. Trash! Just like your mama.”

Bitch lost her mind.
My hand lashes out.

“Mala, no!” a voice yells.

I pull the punch inches from connecting with her cheek, spinning around. Our boss, Ms. Marcheline Dubois, walks toward us. Her wide eyes focus first on my hands and then circle from Annabel to the locker, then back to me. I shove my hands into my pockets and step away from Annabel, breathing hard.
Shit! I'm getting fired for this.

“Did you see?” Annabel cries. “Did you see her almost hit me?”

Ms. March's pale face has turned blotchy. “I saw and heard everything.” She faces me. “Are you okay?”

Surprised, I nod.

“Annabel, go call the Sheriff's Office to come take a report. Let them know they'll need to contact animal control.”

“But, Ms. March, she—”

“I said call them. Then meet me in my office.”

Annabel's lips tighten. She gives a jerky nod and stalks out of the room. She's going to make my life hell if one of us doesn't get fired or quit. I'm rooting for her to get the boot. It's been a long time since I've struck someone in anger. Not even being slapped by Clarice pushed me over the edge. I think it's because Annabel and I have worked together for three years. We never hung out or anything, but I never saw any indication from her that her smile hid such a spiteful hatred. It hurts.

Ms. March fluffs her silver curls, a nervous habit she falls into whenever stressed. “Mala Jean Marie, what exactly is going on? Do you know how many calls I received this afternoon about you? I had to come in early, now this…Honey, this is my business…” She blows out a puff of air. “Take this weekend off, okay?”

I shiver and hug myself.
Does she hate me too?
“Why? Am I being punished? I didn't do anything wrong.”

Her dark eyes study my face, and her shoulders slump. “I know, but people do insane things when they're afraid, and half the town seems to be terrified of you right now.” She gives me a quick hug, and I inhale her baby powder scent. “You're not safe here. Go on home, sweetheart.”

I'm shaky, almost sick, and every time my hair swings across my face, I inhale the stench of decomposition. I walk to the front doors and press my forehead against the cool glass for a minute to catch my breath. The heat radiating off my skin fogs up the glass. I can barely see the patrol car parked out front when I run outside, so it takes a second to register it's not Bessie climbing out of the car but George. I slow my pace to a quick walk while taking a couple of deep breaths.
I can handle this. I'm not freaked out.

“Mala, you okay?”

I give a jerky nod. My voice only shakes a little when I say, “I'm fine. Are you here to take the police report?”

“No, Bessie put me on protection duty. Between the threats to jump you and the roadkill in your locker, you'll be safer with a police escort.”

I frown up at him. “Then who's taking the case? Andy? Don't I need to stick around to give him my statement?”

“Aunt March said she'll take care of it.”

I nod again. My legs feel wobbly. If I had to go back inside and smell…Ugh, thinking about it makes me want to vomit.

George studies my face for a moment. “Damn it. You're not all right, are you? Why do you always play the tough girl?” Before I have a chance to protest, he pulls me into a hug. He pats my back, trying to comfort me. Which scares me more than a dead possum ever could.

My arms hang stiffly at my sides. What should I do with them? Hug him back? Pull away? Friends comfort one another when upset, but this is so…public. It's not professional behavior. At all.

George squeezes tighter. “You'll be okay, Mala Jean. Andy will find out who vandalized your locker, and I won't let anyone hurt you. I swear.”

“I believe you,” I mumble into his shirt, but I'm lying as much to myself as I am to him. No matter how hard I try, nothing changes. Not in Paradise Pointe. The faster I accept the fact that I'll always be known as the witch's daughter, the better off I'll be.