Locked Inside (21 page)

“Skye has friends there, Marnie. Well … what I’m trying to say … it’s not the same as having a family, of course, but you have people in Full Moon, Marnie. People who feel connected to Skye
and to you. I have two sisters…. It’s a small town, maybe a little bit of an odd town. But someday you might want to go there. Meet people.”

The Sorceress whispered a sudden, urgent question to Marnie. Marnie was feeling too numb to do more than repeat it. “My father?”

Max shook his head. “I don’t know, Marnie. That secret she kept.”

Oh
, said the Sorceress.

“Oh,” echoed Marnie.

Max said hesitantly, “You do realize—whoever your father was, it wouldn’t have been a big romantic thing. Your mother knew a lot about love, in a way, but she didn’t seem ever to want to risk an intimate relationship. I think—well … well … well, I don’t know. But—you know?”

“Yeah,” Marnie said softly. Oddly, she was feeling stronger suddenly, as if she’d been transported back to familiar ground. She thought of her old sperm bank theory. “I do know, Max. Don’t worry.”

A pause. And then: “I do worry,” said Max bluntly. “Every minute. Every day.”

Marnie looked at him then. For a split second she had a sensation of what a weight, what a very great weight Max had been shouldering all this time. She raised her chin. “Thanks, Max,” she said, and thought he probably understood.

She wanted, terribly, to be alone. Well, alone with the Sorceress. “Is that all of it?”

Max nodded.

Marnie wet her lips. “I still want a funeral,” she said steadily. “For Leah Slaight.”

After only a second, Max said, “Okay. We can do that.”

“Thanks,” said Marnie. And then, after another long minute, she added: “Max?”

“Yes?”

But found, after all, that she didn’t have words. So she said again, feebly, “Thanks.”

Max stared bleakly at her, and tried to smile.

M
arnie walked back toward her dorm on automatic pilot.
Oh my God
, the Sorceress kept whispering, and Marnie’s churning stomach spoke her agreement. She tried to breathe deeply, to keep from stumbling, while thoughts assaulted her. Now that Max wasn’t present, she couldn’t keep from imagining it, all of it….

Lea, not Skye. Lea. Lea Hawkes, only thirteen. Younger than Marnie was now, and small, and alone. And then that man, whoever he was … In her mind, Marnie could see the back of his head, his hunting jacket, his big hands—but not his face. She swallowed. She didn’t want to imagine his face, and she wouldn’t. She
wouldn’t.

Still, she had to stop for a moment, in the empty hall just inside her dorm, and put out a hand to lean against the wall.

She couldn’t see the man’s face, but she could see
Lea Hawkes’s, and clearly. Expression concealed by shaggy dark hair, behind which watched Skye’s eyes. No, not Skye’s eyes. Not so sad, not so wise, not so loving as Skye’s. Lea’s eyes were bewildered. Scared. Helpless, and aware, very aware, of her helplessness.

Then, in Marnie’s vision, those childish eyes changed. They were wary now. Watchful, missing nothing. Planning eyes now. Planning …

In a quick flash of her imagination, Marnie saw Lea’s thin teenage arm snake out and snatch her foster father’s rifle to hide away.

Marnie leaned more fully against the wall. Oh, little Lea, she thought. Little Lea …

She was brave
, said the Sorceress insistently.
Brave and smart. You see that, don’t you? Not a victim! You see that? Marnie, you see that?

Yes, Marnie saw. But she saw more, too. She put her forehead against the cool painted concrete of the wall. Little Lea Hawkes, smart, brave Lea Hawkes, who had found the sheer guts and nerve within herself to transform from prey to predator.

A necessary transformation? Maybe. Yes. Oh, yes. But what became of a predator once she existed? How did she live?

What she said to me was that this was when she began to change inside, from Lea Hawkes into Skye.

Marnie closed her eyes tightly. I don’t understand, she thought desperately. I don’t understand, but I need to understand.

She felt her breath come out of her in a sob. It was beyond her. It was
beyond
understanding. She didn’t know what to think, what to feel, what to do. She wished suddenly, fiercely, that she were exhausted
enough to drop into a deep dreamless sleep, right here, right now … because in another minute she would scream and scream, and maybe she would never, never stop….

At that moment, a hand fell uncertainly on Marnie’s shoulder. “What’s wrong? You weren’t at dinner …” The voice was sharp, reluctant. Familiar.

And, somehow, hearing Jenna Lowry’s voice brought Marnie back into reality. Breathing carefully, she fumbled for a grip on herself, and got it. Then, when she was ready, she swiped her cheeks with the back of her hand and straightened, defiantly, to face Jenna.

Jenna, ponytailed, was wearing sweats and running shoes. She took in Marnie’s face and her eyes widened. She opened her mouth.

Marnie found words first—casual words, designed to tell Jenna she was pretending everything was normal, and to suggest that Jenna ought to do the same. “Hi, Jenna. Going running?” Her voice shook on the greeting, strengthened on the question.

Reflexively Jenna nodded. She hesitated, shrugged, and half-turned away. Then she snapped back around to face Marnie. “You—uh—should I go get—”

Marnie was staring at Jenna’s worn running shoes. She meant only to cut her off, firmly and definitely. But the words she actually said shocked herself, instead. “Can I come with you?”

The moment she’d said it, she knew that she—Marnie Skyedottir, superslug—wanted nothing
more passionately right now than lengthy, hard physical exercise.

Jenna’s mouth had dropped open.

Marnie added, “Please? It’ll only take me a couple minutes to change.”

She knew Jenna didn’t want her. She knew it.

“Okay,” said Jenna. “I’ll wait outside.”

“I’m doing a three-mile loop this evening,” Jenna said as they stretched. “But you shouldn’t do that much; you’re not used to it. A mile is plenty. There’s a turnoff at around half a mile where you can double back. And another at one and a quarter.”

Marnie nodded, but she knew she wouldn’t use the turnoffs. Adrenaline pulsed through her veins. She fell into step beside Jenna and they began to jog. When Jenna picked up speed, her longer legs stretching out, Marnie matched her stride.

They ran in silence, leaving the campus behind and heading away from town on a secondary dirt road. Their feet pounded steadily. Overhead, trees were beginning to leaf, and the air was warm as the sun moved steadily toward the horizon. Within a few minutes Marnie slowed long enough to pull off her sweatshirt and tie it around her waist. Then she caught up again to the more lightly clad Jenna.

“The first turnoff’s coming up,” Jenna said after several minutes. “You want to loop back?”

“No,” Marnie panted. She felt, rather than saw, Jenna’s shrug. Distantly, as if it were happening to someone other than herself, Marnie was aware that her legs were already sore, her lungs laboring in the
early-evening air. But it didn’t matter. She could go on. She wanted to go on. Without noticing, she sped up a little, and Jenna kept pace.

They reached the second turnoff. “You still okay?” asked Jenna.

Marnie thought she would have an asthma attack. Her left calf was screaming; the right one merely moaned. “Yes.” She barely got the word out, but she picked up the pace again anyway.

They ran on. Marnie could hear her breath wheezing in and out of her lungs. Her heart was pounding twice as fast as her feet. Jenna kept stealing looks at her but she ignored them. Kept on, kept on. There was a horrible pain in her left shin but she ignored it. She kept perfectly in pace with Jenna. Mind over matter. Remarkable. Everything had disappeared from her mind and body but the pain, and it was wonderful. Wonderful. She had no idea how much time had passed, how far they’d come….

“Marnie, this is ridiculous!”

With difficulty, Marnie pulled herself out of her semitrance. “Can’t. Talk.”

“Well, you might hurt yourself. Let’s walk awhile, okay?”

Marnie kept running. So did Jenna. Marnie wondered vaguely why she’d never been interested in this kind of thing before. Finally she’d found a way to make her mind just shut up. It was thoroughly occupied with alarm about her legs and lungs … with pain … lovely pain, numbing pain. Gasping, she increased her speed again.

Jenna grabbed her arm and skidded them both to a halt. “Marnie, stop it! I won’t be a party to this.”

Marnie wrenched free and ran on. She heard Jenna shouting after her but ignored it. After another minute, Jenna raced up beside her.

“Stop it! You utter bitch, just stop already! … Would you stop … you
have
to stop!” This time Jenna grabbed Marnie with both hands, and when Marnie tried to pull free again, Jenna threw herself on top of her. They tumbled to the ground. “Stop it!” Jenna said again, desperately. She rolled so that she was on top of Marnie’s legs. “What’s wrong with you? Stop it, stop it, stop it!”

Marnie’s cheek lay in the dirt of the road. Her legs cramped violently. She suddenly stopped struggling and lay still. Her heart was beating wildly. She could hear it, feel it, almost taste it. For a moment she thought that only the fact that she was sprawled flat on her front would keep her heart from exploding out of her chest.

“I hate you.” Jenna was crying now. Marnie could hear it. She closed her eyes and concentrated on her breathing. After a while she felt Jenna roll off her. As soon as she did, Marnie curled into a ball, trembling.

“Oh, God,” Jenna whispered. “Marnie! Marnie, you have to get hold of yourself, we’re miles from school. Marnie …”

Marnie thought of the Rubble-Eater, pounding its head against a wall. Leah Slaight, she had thought. But now …

“Marnie …”

Jenna sounded frantic. She was leaning over Marnie now. Shaking her. Saying all kinds of things that didn’t penetrate, about school and trouble-making bitches and no excuses, intermixed with pleading diatribes about people who worried even though Marnie didn’t deserve it, some babble about boyfriends and sonnets, and, of course, one frantic cry of that perennial favorite phrase of faculty and staff alike, who-the-hell-did-Marnie-think-she-was. And then Jenna pulled back her right hand and slapped Marnie hard, right across the face.

And then again. “Get a grip on yourself!” she yelled.

Marnie stared into Jenna’s alarmed eyes. She sat up with difficulty and then touched her cheek. It stung. Her whole body … She felt something moist on her hand. Blood? She pulled down her hand and looked at her palm. No … there was more moisture on her cheeks; she could feel it. More and more. She blinked hard, but it didn’t help. She stared at Jenna. She felt her shoulders begin to shake. Jenna was staring back, horrified, reaching out. “Marnie—”

Marnie buried her face in both her hands. Her shoulders shook even more. She heard a distant, low gasp and knew it had come from her own mouth. And then another, another. She couldn’t stop shaking, she couldn’t, couldn’t, couldn’t—

And then Marnie could feel Jenna’s arms. Tight, warm, soothing, desperate. “I don’t want to cry!” Marnie wailed.

“Tell someone who cares,” said Jenna grimly. But
she held on. Marnie could feel Jenna’s chin on her head. And then Jenna said something else, low. And then kept saying it over and over and over, with a catch in her own voice.

“I know. I know.”

M
arnie felt shame and humiliation steal over her as soon as she stopped crying. She shook herself away from Jenna. Her legs ached so much that she wondered, remotely, if she’d even be able to get up. Her face felt swollen and blotchy. Her ears rang so that, when Jenna spoke, at first she thought she hadn’t heard properly. Then she knew she had.

“We’ve got to stop meeting like this.”

Marnie cautiously turned back toward Jenna. “Ha ha,” she said huskily.

Just for a second, Jenna’s face brightened with relief. Her eyes scanned Marnie’s for clarity and found it. “You all right now?”

Marnie found she couldn’t lie. She shrugged. “Well. Probably not.”

Remarkably, Jenna flushed. “Sorry. Stupid question.”

“No,” Marnie found herself saying. “It’s
…” She paused, thinking how inadequate the English language truly was. “It’s okay. I mean, well …”

“Yeah, I know,” said Jenna.

Silence. Marnie concentrated on massaging her calves. Jenna was keeping her distance now, which was good, but Marnie could feel her watching. Even feel her thinking. And when Jenna finally spoke, it was as if the words burst from her. “I know there’s a lot going on with you—I mean, my God, being kidnapped and nearly killed and all—but I can’t help wondering … just now … I mean, I know it’s not my business, but I—was it your boyfriend? Something he … I’m sorry.” She averted her face. “Not my business.”

Somewhere in the middle of all this, Marnie had looked up sharply. Her boyfriend? Did Jenna mean the Elf? Er, Frank? But how would Jenna know—why would she assume … And then Marnie remembered Jenna crying that night … like Marnie now …

I know
, Jenna had said. She didn’t, but … but she
thought
she did.

Suddenly Marnie had to know. “Jenna, what
exactly
happened with hockey boy?”

Jenna looked bewildered. “Hockey boy?”

“Your boyfriend or whoever. You spent that weekend with him, right?” Marnie’s voice was still husky, but somehow also peremptory. “Then you came back crying. And now you ask me about—anyway. What happened with hockey boy?”

Jenna’s mouth had fallen open. Her hands reached to clutch her own arms. “I don’t see why it’s your business.”

Marnie’s voice went quieter. “I know it’s not. I’m just asking. I want—that is, I—I could listen. If you want.” And from somewhere, she knew to add: “And not tell anyone, ever, if that’s what you want.”

Jenna’s chin was up. “Did you—are you … ?” She paused, searching for words, but Marnie didn’t need them. Maybe this was what was meant by mind reading. When you were utterly focused on someone else, watching the tiny movements of their fingers, their eyebrows, the way they turned their head, and you knew even a little bit about them, you could tell what they were thinking … almost….