Second Thoughts (10 page)

As I set the table in the dining room, Melinda made tea. She brought in mugs for each of us before returning to the kitchen to check on dinner. I'd never seen the mug she gave me, an old one with a fading picture of a bear, clearly well-loved and probably from the back of the cabinet. It was the perfect vessel for something hot and soothing, which seemed perfect right about then. With no thought for the steam clearly rising from it, I took an eager sip.

And unceremoniously spit it all over the table in front of me. Simultaneously, I dropped the mug, which hit the edge and split in two, spilling hot tea all down my front. I yelped, and Melinda came rushing back into the room just as I jumped up from my chair and tried to mop up the damage with my tiny napkin. “S…sorry!” I stammered. “It was hot, and I burned myself, and then I dropped my cup which just made it worse…”

“Oh, you poor thing!” She grabbed another napkin to help, but since most of the tea had been absorbed by my shirt, she told me, “You go clean up. I'll bring you something to put on and then we'll take care of this.”

I made it to the bathroom before I started to hyperventilate, but just barely. I sat down hard on the toilet lid and put my head in my hands, willing myself to take deep breaths. The tea had been hot, true, but that wasn't what caused me to spit it out and drop my cup. No, it was the vision of another cup of tea that had been served in that mug.

The one that killed Mark Penrose.

It lasted only a second, the vision, but long enough that I saw Carter's father sipping from that same mug while reading a newspaper. I knew instantly that there was poison in the tea and that Mark Penrose would not live out the day. But that was all I saw before I dropped it.

I didn't know how the poison had gotten there or by whose hand. It could have been Mark's own, for all I could be sure. Carter had said he died of a broken heart. Maybe he decided he couldn't live with it anymore. Maybe it was a terrible accident at the tea manufacturer. I wanted to believe that one, but I knew that wanting to believe something and it being true were two very different things.

I also knew that maybe neither of those scenarios was true. Maybe the poison had been added by someone else, even someone who lived
here still. I didn't want to believe
that
but I knew better than to rule it out. I couldn't rule
anything
out until I got my hands back on that mug.

A soft knock on the door jolted me out of my thoughts.

“Lainey? You okay, honey? Do you need to go over to the infirmary? I brought you a shirt to change into,” Melinda's slightly muffled voice said warmly. I roused myself and opened the door a crack.

“Thanks.” I reached out to take the shirt from her. “Most of the damage was to my T-shirt, but I…I think I burned my stomach. Let me help you clean up, and then yeah, maybe I should go over to the infirmary to have them check it.” In actuality, I was fine—the damage was entirely within my mind—but I
really
needed to get out of there for a while.

“Oh, don't worry about cleaning up,” she said. “It's already done. You just go ahead back to campus. I'll tell Carter what happened.”

“Thanks,” I repeated.
Shit!
I said in my head. I changed as quickly as possible and raced back to the dining room, but I was too late. Melinda had indeed finished wiping up my mess and the broken mug was already gone, along with my chance to read more from it. Melinda was in the kitchen, so it wasn't like I could pick through the trash on my way out. Unable to do anything else, I apologized and thanked her again before escaping downstairs and across the street to my room.

Later I called Carter to give excuses for not coming back for dinner, half of which were true, because I did have a lot of homework and I
wasn't
hungry. As much as I wanted to see him, to take comfort in him, I just couldn't, not tonight. And not about this.

I couldn't sleep either. After tossing and turning for too long, I quietly slipped out of our room and down to the porch. Technically, I was breaking curfew, but I needed the fresh air. I settled into one of the pair of antique reed-back rockers and pushed the checkers around the board that rested on the low table between them.

I sat there for I didn't know how long, listening to a chorus of owls charm the night around me. Owls were supposed to be wise birds, and I hoped maybe I could learn from their refrain. In a matter of days, my head had become crowded with things I'd rather not know and their burden was heavy. Sharing them would lighten their load, and Carter and I had even promised each other that we would, but when I thought about telling him, my stomach formed a cold, tight ball.

If my fleeting vision last spring had been correct, I only had a limited amount of time left before he killed me, and I
still
hadn't been able to see why. Could this be it? How
did
one tell the boy she loved—loved so madly that she risked her death daily to be near him—things like his father didn't die of natural causes and his uncle, whom he idolized, was really
her
flesh and blood? For all I knew, I'd just discovered the keys to my own demise.

What I needed was more information. To find it, tomorrow I'd visit a place I hadn't been since I'd killed a girl there.

W
hat are you doing here?!” Amy and I said at almost the same time. It was Monday afternoon, right after classes ended, and I'd just opened the door to our room to find my roommate frantically rummaging through a dresser drawer. Usually she was at her work hours during this time. We were both surprised, and not entirely pleased, it seemed, to see each other. I decided to answer first.

“My study group got changed to later tonight.” I didn't mention that
I'd
asked to change it. “What are you looking for? And why aren't you at work?”

“I, uh, spilled something on my pants,” she said sheepishly, “but I can't find the ones I wanted to change into.” And it was true, I suddenly realized, that she was not wearing pants. Thankfully, her long sweater covered everything I didn't want to see, but the problem was, she was searching through her underwear drawer. And, on further inspection, it wasn't
her
sweater she was wearing. I eyed her messy hair and slightly flushed cheeks.

“Is he in the bathroom?” I asked. For possibly the first time ever, Amy blushed as deeply as I usually did, which answered my question
for me. I didn't even wait for a response. “Caleb,” I called, “if you're not wearing pants either, please stay where you are.” I heard him chuckle from the other side of the bathroom door.

“Sorry,” Amy said, pulling out her underthings and holding them behind her back. She eagerly shared all of the details with me after the fact, but apparently being almost-caught in the act wasn't as fun.

I looked at the clock and did some mental math. Classes had ended not even ten minutes ago. “Did you guys skip final hour?” I asked, even more surprised about that than finding the two of them in our room. Amy was on her way to being Valedictorian. It wasn't at all like her to skip classes, not because she was totally against the idea once in a while, but because she actually enjoyed going to them.

“It was just test review,” she muttered.

I finally let out the laugh I'd been holding in and turned around so she could get dressed. “Right. Now could you please put some pants on? And we seriously need to get a ribbon-on-the-door system or something, so this doesn't happen again.”

“If you'd gone to your study group like you're supposed to, we wouldn't need a ribbon!” Caleb shouted from the bathroom and Amy giggled. “And Lane, are you staying? ‘Cause I really need to get out of here…”

I laughed again. “Only long enough to change my shoes. Keep your pants on…”—I spied his jeans half-hidden under Amy's bed—“or not for a minute.”

“Where are you going?” a now fully clothed Amy asked as I sat on my desk chair to put on my sneakers.

Shit. I had no excuse, because I hadn't thought I'd need one. “A walk,” I finally said. It was the truth and, also, the only thing I could come up with.

She eyed me speculatively, but all she said was, “Okay, then. And I am sorry, Lainey.” For some reason, she was more embarrassed about this than she should have been. I'd ponder that later.

“It's okay,” I assured her. I grabbed my keys, phone, and earphones. “See you at dinner. You too, Caleb.”

“Bye,” I heard her say, with a muffled, “Later!” coming from the boy hiding in the bathroom, as the door closed behind me.

S
INCE IT WAS
the middle of the afternoon on a regular school day, I had to be extra careful sneaking off campus. I'd already been wearing leggings and an Academy sweatshirt—not my best fashion day—so I took off at a light jog, as if I were just going for a run. Being on the track team in the spring, and dating Carter, it was something I did with enough regularity that it wouldn't seem strange to see me trotting past the ponds and through the gates.

I turned left on Main Street and continued running past the bookstore on the other side of the street, hoping no one would notice me. “No one” mostly meaning my boyfriend. The bookstore was usually empty this time of day, and it would be just my luck that he'd look out the front windows as I ran past. When I reached a particular spot in the trees that lined the street, I stopped as if to stretch but really just to make sure I was alone. Seeing no one, I darted into the woods.

On a day I didn't care to remember for other reasons, Carter had shown me this shortcut into the seemingly endless trails that zigzagged through the vast forest bordering campus. Carter knew them all like the back of his hand, but even after my summer of exploring them, I could still get lost. I did, however, easily know my way to the trail that led even farther off campus, into the cemetery where Carter's parents were buried. Where Jill had tried to kill me, but I'd killed her instead.

It was a good mile and a half from where I'd entered the woods to the Penroses' grave, but I didn't mind the walk. And I did walk, dropping the facade of my jog as soon as I was hidden in the trees. The fresh air and moving slow were good for me, helping me clear my head for what I planned to do next. Instead of dwell on Mark Penrose's death while I walked, I thought about my roommate.

I was confused about what was up with her. Amy was always so happy and solid, much like Carter. The two of them really had a shocking number of things in common; it was no wonder they made such good friends. But her behavior today—her embarrassment and skipping class, not to mention her suspicious inquisition the other day—was so out of character, I couldn't help but be concerned.

It definitely had something to do with Caleb, but as far as I could tell, he seemed perfectly normal. Something was going on, possibly only in Amy's mind, and I determined I'd get to the bottom of it. Right after I figured out who killed my boyfriend's father.

I paused where the trail opened into the large St. Cecilia's cemetery, with its acres of neat graves amidst manicured, park-like grounds. It was undeniably beautiful, in a melancholy way, and I was surprised how reluctant I was to enter. There was nothing sinister about the place, except for my memories. I fought the urge to turn and run, instead taking a deep breath and stepping out of the forest.

It was sunny out and the grounds were lovely in the fall. I suddenly wished I'd brought flowers, but all I had were my own regrets. They would have to do. I picked my way over to the Penroses' grave slowly. I'd only been once, but it wasn't hard to find. I imagined I could find it blindfolded, it was so indelibly etched in my mind. Sometimes I swore I could still feel where it dug into my back as Jill had kicked me again and again.

Their headstone was a smooth, pearlescent gray marble, simple and elegant. PENROSE was carved in the center, with BELOVED WIFE and

B
ELOVED HUSBAND
the only other inscriptions below their names and the dates of their too-short lives. Geneviève Marie Gosselin was buried on the left. Markham Loughran on the right. I made a silent apology and sank to the ground on his side of the grave.

I had no idea what to do, or even if this had a remote chance of working, but I had to try. I had no other plan. Without asking, I didn't know of anything else in Carter's apartment that would have a connection to his father's death. So, I closed my eyes, put my hands to the ground, and opened my mind, praying my Diviner sense could reach the thread of Mark's past.

Nothing happened. Not even a tingle or a hint of dizziness. I moved my hands and tried again. I touched the headstone. I even laid down on the cool grass over the length of the grave. Nothing. Clearly, I was not close enough to Mark Penrose, and I certainly couldn't get closer.

With a resigned sigh, I got up. I touched the headstone again in a brief goodbye and started back to campus.

A
BOUT HALFWAY BACK
to school, without warning, someone grabbed me around my waist. I was so surprised, I didn't even scream.

Finally—
-finally!
—my instincts kicked in and my years of martial arts classes paid off. I used my elbow and foot simultaneously, to break the hold, sending us off balance. But I was rusty, and the arms around my waist only loosened as we fell toward the ground.

We hit with a thud and I tried to roll away. During the fall, the headphones pulled from my ears, and I thought I heard a familiar voice, cursing roundly. I landed on top of my attacker and hands grabbed my wrists from behind. I kicked out with my foot once, twice more, connecting solidly with a knee.

The person groaned again, before a definitely familiar voice, in a mix of pain and exasperation, shouted, “Fuck, Lainey! It's
me.
Stop kicking me!”

I whipped my head around. Sure enough, it was Carter beneath me, still holding my wrists and pulling me tight against him. I struggled once more, just out of instinct, as I waited for my heart to slow and my brain to recognize that I wasn't really in danger.