The Haunted (32 page)

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I waited until Mom was all the way in the house before talking to Caspian.

“Do you want me to stay?” he said. “I can.”

I wanted him to… I didn’t want him to… I was so confused by everything. “I don’t know.…”

“It’s okay. No pressure. If you want to talk about Aubra, you know where to find me.”

I gave him a half smile. “Thanks for coming to check on me.”

“I’ll always be there,” he promised, walking out into the darkness.

“I know you will,” I whispered to his retreating form.

In my bed that night I rolled back and forth, trying to find a comfortable position. Tossing one arm above my head, I counted sheep and went through the names of all the vice presidents. Twice. But nothing was working. I couldn’t sleep.

I thought for sure I’d drift off and have nightmares about Kristen. But I wasn’t dreaming at all, because I wasn’t sleeping at all. A fact that became all too evident with every half hour that passed on the clock.

By two thirty I gave up. It was useless to stay in bed any longer.

Sitting by the window, I mulled everything over. Moonlight streamed around me and turned my arms and hands silvery gray. Back and forth I went, worrying the subject like a dog with a bone.
Is Vincent Kristen’s D.? Why else would he tell me a different name? And how did they meet?

It didn’t make any sense. No matter how hard I tried, I just couldn’t picture
him
being the secret boyfriend Kristen had lied to me about.

I sat there for another hour, not even realizing it until I looked at the clock again. “Screw this,” I muttered. I had to go talk to Caspian. My head was going to explode if I kept it all jumbled up in there much longer.

I donned jeans and sneakers, zipped up a hoodie over my tank top, and climbed out the window. After dropping carefully to the ground, I pulled the hood up over my hair and shoved my hands into my pockets. The streets were quiet, and I kept my head down as I walked, contemplating how best to tell Caspian about Vincent.
I hope he’s in his mausoleum and not roaming again. We really need to work out some kind of system for how I can find him at times like these.

Headlights shone at my back as I walked up the hill to the cemetery, and I turned around for a split second. The lights blinded me, and I kept walking, willing the car to hurry up and
pass. Instead it slowed down and kept a steady distance.

Just when I was about to turn around again, it veered off onto a side street. My heart thumped erratically, and I waited to see if the car would come back.

It didn’t.

Hurrying to the cemetery, I crossed the street to slip in by the main gates. As I was squeezing through, I heard the sound of a car approaching. Flattening myself on the inside of the cemetery gate wall, I held my breath. Something told me that it was the same car that had followed me, and I had a sinking suspicion as to who was in it.

Taking a chance, I poked my head around the gate and saw a black Ford Mustang cruise by. Under the streetlights I could make out the dark hair of the driver. His left arm was hanging out the open window.
Vincent
.

I slammed back around.
Did he recognize me? Did he see me enter the cemetery?

Palms pressed tight against the wall at my back, I tipped my head and looked up at the night sky. It was completely black. No stars were out, and fear stole over me. A fear like I’d never known before.

The darkness closed in on me, encroaching on my personal space. The misshapen tombstones and gnarled tree branches
were grotesque, beckoning me to come closer… or stay away.

I imagined that this must have been how Ichabod Crane felt, passing by the cemetery and seeing that fateful bridge. If I were able to look over the high cemetery wall, I’d see that ominous covered bridge waiting for me too.

My breath started coming faster and faster. Deep gasps and painful hitches pulled at my chest and raked my sides.
What was that?
I strained my ears.
Footsteps?
Hoofbeats?
Behind closed eyelids I saw fiery breath, a missing head, eyes that glowed red in the dark, and—

And then I opened my eyes.

There was nothing out there. No footsteps. No menacing horseman. Nothing coming after me.

I eased my grip on the wall, and my body relaxed. The cemetery changed back into a peaceful resting place, and the moon came out of hiding, revealing the path in front of me. Clear and unobstructed.

I took a deliberate step away from the wall. And then another. All I had to do was make it to Caspian. And if he wasn’t there, I’d go find Nikolas and Katy.

My feet knew the way, and I walked quickly. It was surprisingly cool for an almost-end-of-July night, and a shiver went up my neck. I turned for a second to make sure the shiver wasn’t
there for any
other
reason, but the cemetery was empty.

I was almost there when I heard it.

A faint
clink
. Metal against stone.

I stopped.

The clink turned to a scratching noise. Someone started whistling.

Turning slowly, I saw a grinning Vincent coming up the path below me, from the Old Dutch Church section. He must have parked his car at the church down there.

The clinking and scratching continued.
Paused
. Continued.

He was walking past a row of tombstones, and in his outstretched hand was a set of keys. With each stone he passed, he set the keys to granite, dragging them slowly across the surface.

The sound set my teeth on edge. So did the whistling.

I took a step toward my destination,
away
from him, and he kept advancing until we were in this bizarre advance-retreat dance. Glancing over my shoulder, I saw that Caspian’s crypt was only a couple of feet away. I prayed for his Spidey senses to start tingling.

Vincent wagged a finger at me like I was a naughty child. “Now, now, now. What are you doing in a cemetery at night, Abbey? Talking to the graves?” He struck a mock prayer pose
and clasped his hands together piously. “Or are you visiting a dearly departed friend?”

Rage welled up inside of me, momentarily pushing aside the fear. “What do you know about that, you bastard?”

Vincent laughed. “
Spicy
. I didn’t think you had it in you.” He looked me up and down. “No, I
really
didn’t think you had it in you. Then again, redheads are more my type.” He licked his lips slowly and smiled.

“So it was you!” I said. “You were Kristen’s secret boyfriend!”

“Boyfriend.”
He shook his head like he was amused.

“What did you do to her?” I exploded. I didn’t care who heard me. “She loved you, and you took advantage of her!”

He spread his hands wide. “I didn’t take anything she didn’t freely offer.”

“Bullshit.”

He stepped close, and I flinched involuntarily, remembering the last time. He smiled a beautiful smile, then grabbed my wrist and flipped it, palm side up. “My mark. You still have it. That makes me happy.”

I yanked my hand out of his grip.

Studying me carefully, he said, “You know, you and I… well, I wouldn’t go as far as to say that we’re
alike
, because
we’re not.… But we do have… common interests, shall I say? We’re both connoisseurs. Collectors.”

Vincent held up a finger. “
You
collect scents. Oh yes, I know all about you. And me?” His face grew sublime. “I collect noises.”

My eyes flickered over to the mausoleum door. Was it my imagination? Or did it move a little? “Noises?” I said.

“Oh, yes. There are any manner of noises that one might
think
would be the ones to collect. The soft coo of a happy baby.” He looked disgusted. “Or the satisfied grunt of a man who has just had a beer and a babe brought to him at some local titty bar.”

The door moved a little more. I was sure of it.

“Are you
list-
ening,
Ab-
bey?” Vincent jerked on my arm, and I nodded, trying not to cry out. “Good. Now, sounds. Did you know that the female body makes a certain sigh—a gasp, an intake of breath—when it is entered?”

I drew back from him, horrified.

He looked blissful and dreamy. “It is especially so the first time. An involuntary reversal of noise.” His eyes turned cold. “Your friend, Kristen? She made the
best
noise.” He leaned over to whisper in my ear. “De-licious.”

Without even thinking about it, I hit him.

The slapping sound echoed off the tombstones, surrounding us.
We were both clearly shocked by my behavior, but I found my voice first. “How do you like
that
noise?”

An instant later the door behind us scraped full force and opened wide.

“Let her go,” Caspian ordered in a deadly voice. I knew it wouldn’t do any good—Vincent couldn’t hear him—but I’d never been so happy to see someone in my whole life.

Then I saw the large chunk of marble in his hand.

“Did he hurt you?” Caspian asked me. I was too shocked by what he might do to answer. “Did. He.
Hurt
.
You
.” Caspian said again. I shook my head no, but he advanced anyway.

Vincent licked his lips and stared me down. “Like I said, I didn’t think you had it in you.”

“I have a lot more than that in me,” I retorted.

“This is D., I presume?” Caspian asked, standing directly behind him now.

I nodded. “You were there that night, weren’t you, Vincent?” I said. This might be the only chance I had to get answers, and I didn’t want to waste it.

He looked angry, and then his face smoothed over. “I see now that Kristen was a mistake. The wrong one for me.”

“So what, you led her on and then lured her to the bridge to finish her off ? Did you push her in? Did you leave her
there to die, all alone?” I had to know. The need to find out was ferocious.

He shook his head and put up his hands in a gesture of surrender. “I came back to see her. Things ended… badly. Is it
my
fault she slipped?”

“It
is
your fault if you broke her heart and left her there to cry. It
is
your fault if you saw her slip in after she reached for you and begged you to come back. It
is
your fault if you turned away and did nothing.”

Murderous rage seeped through me, and I thought, just for the tiniest of moments, about letting Caspian hit him in the head with that stone. To let him bash Vincent’s head against that rock so he could feel what Kristen felt. “If you did
any
of those things… then you’re a murderer.”

Vincent’s eyes filled with an unholy fury, but his voice was calm. “Such accusations, Abbey. You have no idea if any of them are true.”

I took a step toward him. “I
know
you did those things.”

“Careful, Abbey,” Caspian warned. “Don’t get too close.”

“He
killed
her, Caspian! He was the reason she was at the bridge that night.”

“I know, but—”

Vincent suddenly turned to face Caspian. “Could you just shut up?
All this back and forth is really confusing. I’ll get to you in a minute.”

Caspian’s jaw dropped open.

So did mine.

“You can
see
him?” I asked. “Who
are
you?”

“Not
who
,” Vincent said, a tone of sheer entitlement in his voice. “
What
.”

T
HE
R
EVENANT

This is perhaps the reason why we so seldom hear of ghosts except in our long-established Dutch communities.

—“The Legend of Sleepy Hollow”

I’m a Revenant,” Vincent said.

“A what?”

“A
Rev-e-nant
,” he repeated the word slowly, breaking up the three syllables. “What, you’ve never heard of me? I’m hurt.”

Caspian came to stand beside me, and Vincent eyed him coldly. “I wouldn’t get any ideas if I were you.”

“I don’t have
ideas
,” Caspian replied. “I have plans.”

Vincent’s face changed, almost faster than I could tell what was happening, and it was like looking at a rapidly flickering movie screen. His features pulsed and faded, as if they were being broadcast across a blank canvas. He reached across me in
the same instant, grabbing Caspian by the throat. “You may be dead, but that doesn’t mean I can’t hurt you.”

Vincent lifted Caspian off his feet and tossed him against the mausoleum door like a rag doll. He hit with a sickening crack and slid to the ground. His eyes were closed.

I screamed, clenching my fists in panic.

“Interesting,” Vincent said.

I tried to push past him, tried to rush over to Caspian, but he grabbed my shoulder and held on tight.

“Let me go you, bastard!” I yelled. “Oh God, if you hurt him…”

“What do you think I was
trying
to do?”

A sob escaped me, and Vincent looked around. “Unfortunately, now is not the time or place. But I will
take
what is
mine
.”

I raised my hand to slap him again, and he thrust me aside. “I’ll be seeing you, Abbey.”