The Vision (5 page)

“You didn't.” I said it so quietly he might not have heard, except for the silence of the preserve, the wind still as if to be sure neither of us would miss out this time.

Jack didn't say anything and what we'd just admitted hung between us, delicate and scary. Then he reached over, his hand warm, grazing my cheek, lifting my chin. He leaned close, my heart thudding as he whispered in my ear, “Then let's make sure”—his lips brushed my skin—“we don't.” I felt the slight scratchiness of his cheek as he drew back, his lips just barely apart from mine. We hesitated, savoring the seconds that had taken us so long to get to. The closeness of him was almost unbearable. I couldn't think, speak, breathe. I could only want.

And then we kissed. Soft and sweet and hot and tender and as brilliant as the flame-colored leaves we used to play in. Like it was meant to be: fated, destined.

Only maybe it wasn't. Because I was here, seven hundred miles away, in the break room of a funeral home. And Jack was still where I'd left him.

Mr. Ludwig called me to the chapel finally, after the family and mourners had gone. Mechanically, I folded the chairs and tables, hoping work could push away the memories and let me refocus on what I'd seen and heard in the chapel today. The reason I was here and not with Jack.

I forced myself to stand by the now-closed coffin of James Killiam and think of how he'd looked the last time I saw him, whatever part of him still remained. Caked in makeup, wearing a suit he probably hated while alive—clothed in now for eternity. Or at least until bugs ate it away.

If I had seen him with the mark, would I have told? Given him a chance to save himself ? Of course. He was a good man and citizen. He had a family who loved him. He was a doctor and probably saved lives. And there was that tantalizing research.

He shouldn't have died.

For every soul extended days, another is cut short.

Except the letter made the whole equation different.

I texted Jack on the bus ride home, yearning for that day in the preserve, wishing I could go back and live in it forever, far from the mark and its uncertain responsibilities.

“made a new friend at work today. how r u?”

As usual, there was no response.

chapter 6

Liv was waiting for me outside calc. She had Algebra II that same period, right next door.

“How'd it go?” she asked.

“Meh.” I'd studied a little the night before, until Petra convinced me to play Scrabble. I was pretty sure I'd passed the test, but probably not by much. “Not great.”

“I don't know why you signed up for calc, Cassie.”

“Masochism?”

“Must be.” Liv and I began walking down the hall. Usually, she'd start in right away on the crazy-cool outfit Mrs. Steingartner was wearing or what they were working on in art, or at least what she'd done the night before, but today Liv was quiet. And frowning.

“Everything okay?” I asked.

“Huh?” She glanced over, still lost in thought. “Yeah.” Liv scratched her ear, pushed up her glasses, then asked not quite offhandedly, “Hey, you think the restaurant you work at is hiring?”

“Uh … I'm not sure,” I said carefully. The little white lie had been a lot easier than explaining why I worked where I really did. “Why?”

“I was just thinking maybe I should get a job.”

“Really?” In Ashville, all my friends had jobs. Here, none of them did. These kids didn't need to work and their parents didn't want them to. Especially Liv's.

“Yeah.” She shrugged, but didn't look at me, confirming something was definitely up and she didn't want to talk about it. “You think you could find out?”

She glanced over quickly, just long enough for me to see the worry line between her brows.

“Sure.” What else could I say? But I was already cringing at my next set of lies—
sorry, they're not hiring
—and how disappointed she'd be. Maybe I could pick up some applications for her beforehand.

We crossed the hallway and I glanced to the left. Zander's locker was down there, but he wasn't.

Liv changed the subject. “You doing anything Saturday?” she asked. “Erin and I were talking about going to the movies, if you want to come.”

“That'd be great. I have to work but should be done by six or so.”

“And then you'll need to run home and shower,” Liv said, taking the stairs two at a time like Jack used to. “You don't want to smell like a french fry.”

Or a dead person. Which reminded me I'd meant to ask about Ryan. I kept my voice super casual, knowing how Liv pounced on stuff like this. “Hey, do you know anyone at Southridge?”

“Yup. A girl who used to live on my block goes there. Why?”

“Nothing really. Just this guy I met …”

“Ooohhh!” Liv's face lit up and she grabbed my arm, her eyes sparkling. I knew she'd been waiting for this since I told her about Jack and I was glad to see her frown disappear, but I wasn't into Ryan like that.

She'd dragged the story out of me—what little I'd tell—one day at her house. It wasn't long after she'd invited me to their lunch table and we were hanging out, just the two of us.

“Yeah,” I answered. “I had a boyfriend. We broke up before I left. His name was Jack.” Even saying it stung. I'd thought that would stop. Not right away, of course. But it was as bad then as now and each of the eighty-four days in between.

I gave Liv only sketchy details, but she totally saw through my no-big-deal-we-broke-up spiel. I could see her rooting for me anytime I showed any interest in a guy. Like now.

“Spill it!” Liv said, grinning like a madman. “Who is he?”

“It's not like that,” I told her, already regretting the conversation. “I met him at work and was just curious …”

“Name, Cassie. I need a name.”

“Ryan Wilton.”

She shook her head. “Nope, never heard of him.”

I waved my hand dismissively. “Yeah, that's okay …” The sooner this ended, the better. I'd just been hoping to get a better handle on Ryan. What he was like outside the funeral parlor. I'd tried looking him up online, but he wasn't on any of the social sites. Then again, neither was I.

“I can ask my friend.”

“No. Really, Liv, you don't need to. I was just curious, but for real, it's no biggie.”

“Is he cute?”

I shrugged. “Not bad. But I'm not into him or anything.”

“Uh-huh.” Liv grinned, rubbing her hands together eagerly. “I'll let you know what I find out.”

Ugh.

I took the El to the city again, my nerves jangling as I sped closer to Demetria, wondering if today would be the day. I tried to tell myself the whole thing was probably a wild-goose chase, but something wouldn't let me let go of the idea that what I needed was locked inside her.

She was on the itchy tweed couch, in the same spot as the last time. In the same shapeless gown too. I looked around, feeling like I'd stepped into a time warp, but the nurse at the door was different, so were the other patients. Medicine Man was, thankfully, nowhere to be seen.

“Hi, Demetria,” I said, quietly settling into the chair next to her. “It's me again. Cassie.”

Her eyes stayed fixed somewhere beyond me. I sighed, trying not to show my disappointment. Across the room, an old woman sat rocking and staring out the window. Two guys faced each other across a checkerboard with no checkers. If you weren't crazy already, spending a few days here would probably do the trick.

I turned back to her. “You know how last time I was talking about the Greeks at my school? How I'd hoped to meet some when I came here?” Rhetorical questions, though I hadn't necessarily meant them to be. “There's this thing …” I paused, backtracking, not completely ready to be so direct with this girl I didn't know at all. “Well, a strange thing happened to me a few weeks ago. There was this man—an old guy, just sitting out in the freezing cold. I saw something on him. The mark …”

My words—already hushed—trailed off into the quiet of the room. I was at a loss for how to say enough without saying too much. I looked down at my hands, fingers woven tightly together, and took a deep breath, almost started talking again.

But when I glanced back up, Demetria was staring at me.

I inhaled sharply because it wasn't just that her eyes met mine. There was comprehension in them. I could tell she was listening, had heard every word I'd said. Understood them, maybe on a deeper level.

“Demetria?” It was barely more than a whisper.

She didn't speak, but kept staring, an unearthly, penetrating look.

This time I did whisper. “Do you know what that means? The mark?”

Her eyes slowly drifted away from mine, back toward the wall. Her hands lay in her lap, wrists still bandaged.

“Demetria?”

Nothing.

“Demetria?” Her eyes were unfocused, attention clouding over. I was losing her. “C'mon, Demetria, listen to me!”

I was louder than I'd meant to be. The nurse stood up. “Is there a problem, Miss”—she glanced down at her visitors' log—“Renfield?”

Damn! “No. I'm sorry.” Now she'd remember me. And not in a good way. “She just … I thought she was …”

“You can't talk to the patients like that.” She took a step closer, her face stern, reminding me of what I'd promised Petra.

“No, I know. I'm sorry,” I said again, feeling truly ashamed. What was I thinking? I was going to scare Demetria and get myself banned from visiting.

“Keep your voice down or you'll have to leave.” She went back to her table, shooting me one more dirty look. She scribbled something and I hoped it was only an answer to the crossword puzzle she'd been working on.

Demetria seemed not to have noticed, back to staring at the wall.

I leaned closer. “I think you can hear me, Demetria.” I kept my voice low and soft, trying to coax her out. “And if you understand me, if you know what I'm talking about, I can kind of see why you …” I glanced at her wrapped wrists. “Why you're here. It can drive you …” No, don't say crazy. “Um, well, it can make things hard. Really hard.”

She didn't look at me, but she blinked. A sign?

“I need your help,” I told her. “If you know anything about it … please … I'm kind of on my own here.”

She didn't move and her eyes were still far away. In my heart I knew we were done. I glanced back at the nurse, wondering if it'd be okay to touch Demetria, just to get her attention, try one more time to make some kind of connection. That's when I saw him. Zander Dasios. Standing by the window. I was sure of it this time.

Immediately, he stepped out of view.

I looked at Demetria—still out to lunch—then walked quickly to the doorway.

“All done?” the nurse asked.

I shook my head. “Just need the ladies' room.”

I opened the door, my heart pounding at the thought of talking to Zander, but the hallway was empty.

I looked left and right, trotted to one end, then the other. Deserted. I stopped at the nurses' station.

“There was a guy here a minute ago. I saw him looking through the window in the lounge. Did he come back this way?”

The lady at the desk looked up from a stack of paperwork. “Didn't notice.”

“He didn't check out?”

“No. But a lot of visitors don't.”

“Well, can you tell me when he checked in?”

She frowned, but seeming eager to be rid of me, pulled out the log sheet, running her finger down it.

“The last visitor, before you, checked in at 3:06 p.m.”

But it wasn't him. The name next to her finger was Joe Liguori. Zander's name was nowhere on the list.

She saw me looking and closed the book. “Visitor information is confidential.”

“I'm sorry,” I said. “Does everyone who comes up here have to sign in?”

“Everyone,” she answered emphatically. I believed her. I'd never gotten more than two steps onto the floor before someone was asking if they could help me.

I walked slowly back to the lounge, thinking how the brain works in funny ways, taking the unlikely scenario of Zander being here and turning it into the ridiculous. Because the first thing I'd thought—my insides doing a fluttery spin at the idea—was that Zander was here because he'd followed me.

I was embarrassed it even crossed my mind. I mean, really. He'd decided the mental hospital was the perfect place to ask me out? Even though he'd never talked to me at school? Right. I shook my head.

Demetria was being escorted out of the lounge when I returned.

“Visiting time is over,” the nurse said.

“But I just ran to the bathroom.”

“Bathroom's at the other end of the hall.”

“Oh. Yeah, well, I got lost.”

She shook her head. “It's time for her meds. You'll have to come back another day.”

“Okay,” I said, forcing myself not to argue. “Bye, Demetria. I'll be back soon.”

Out of habit, I texted Jack on the train ride home: “visited a friend at the hospital today. she's greek—getting in touch with my roots.”

And I felt like I was. Inching closer to the answers. It hadn't been much, but the way she'd looked at me … I felt sure I'd connected with Demetria.

They say three's a charm. Maybe my next visit would be the one.

chapter 7

I asked Petra about my Zander sighting when I got home that night. It was after eight and she was just starting on a pizza. “Grab a slice,” she said. She didn't need to offer twice.

“Nope,” Petra said flatly, between bites. “No way someone could have gotten on the floor without signing in. Not with the desk right by the entry. They're too strict.”

“That's what I thought. But what if he used a fake name?”

She shrugged. “He could have, but he'd need ID to go with it.”

“Yeah, but it's not like it would have to be anything all that official. I mean, he wasn't trying to buy beer, just visit crazy people.”

“True. But why, Cassie? Why would he bother?”

She had me there. Was I really still clinging to the idea that he'd followed me? I shook my head. It had been Joe Liguori and not Zander after all, though it
had
looked so much like him.

“Unless he's the father of her baby,” Petra said casually.

“What?”

“I saw it when I was checking her file today,” Petra said, leaning forward, her eyes gleaming. Sometimes I thought she'd become a psychiatrist just because she was nosy, the smartest person I knew who still read the
National Enquirer
and
US Weekly
. “It's part of the standard blood work; the results came back a few days ago.”

“Wow.” I let the idea—pregnant—roll around for a few seconds, like a marble toward the chute of a funnel. Being a single teen mother would be bad. The responsibility of the mark was awful. What if the two were combined—Demetria realizing she was about to pass her visions on to someone else?

Petra was nodding, still leaning forward, elbows on her knees. “Demetria hasn't said anything about it to her therapist. Of course, she still hasn't said anything
at all
to her therapist.”

“Are you sure she knows? About being pregnant?”

“The hCG levels in her blood put her at about eleven weeks. That's two missed periods. It's possible she hasn't realized it, but I'm guessing she has. It might even explain …”

“… why she's there,” I finished for Petra.

“Exactly.”

And then what Petra said before came back to me. The part about Zander. She'd been joking, but what if she was right? A player, Liv had called him, as if I'd needed her to tell me that. As if it weren't totally apparent looking at him. Was he the father? That would be a reason to hide his identity. I was disappointed to think he might be exactly what he seemed.

“What about her parents?” I asked, ignoring thoughts of Zander. “Do they know?”

Petra held out the box with the last slice of pizza, pulling it onto her plate when I declined. “I don't think so. I imagine they'd have mentioned it at admission. I think Demetria's the only one who knows.”

“Demetria and maybe the boy,” I corrected.

“Right,” Petra agreed. “And maybe the boy.”

Saturday at the funeral home was a bummer: a wake where almost no one came, the worst kind. The guy wasn't old, maybe fifty. He'd died of lung cancer.

I'd been disappointed, too, that Ryan wasn't around. I'd thought about our conversation a lot, sure he thought I was some kind of weirdo.

But when I went to my locker at the end of the shift, a stack of books was waiting:
Death, Dying, and Religion
;
Coming to Grips with Death
; and
The Ultimate Journey.

There was also a note:

Thought these would feed your non-perverse fascination.

Enjoy.

Ryan

It made me smile.

“How's
My Guy
sound?” Liv asked as I slid into her car, idling outside my apartment building just after seven.

I grimaced. “Horrible.”

She laughed. “Yeah, I told Hannah no chick flicks.
Zombie Queen II
?”

“Much better.”

We were meeting Erin, Hannah, and her friend Pete at the mall. I wasn't a huge fan of the mall. Shopping was fine, but there were always a lot of people there and lots of people meant more risk of seeing the mark.

“So my friend knew that guy you asked about,” Liv said, pulling sharply in front of a car on our left so she'd make the light. Liv was a frightening driver. If I ever saw the mark on her, I'd demand she hand over her keys.

“Oh yeah?” I said casually. I had to hide a grin, thinking of his note on the books. I didn't want Liv to read anything into it.

“Yeah.”

I waited. Nothing. “Well?”

“Oh!” Liv feigned surprise, looking over at me wide eyed. “You want to hear about him?”

“Ha-ha.”

“My bad,” she said, smiling and weaving through traffic way too fast. “I thought you weren't into him or anything.”

“I'm not,” I answered, gripping the seat. “But since your friend went to the trouble and all, you might as well tell me.”

“Riiight. Well, for starters, his family owns a funeral parlor.” Liv paused dramatically. “And he works there.”

“Uh-huh.”

“You knew that.” She sounded disappointed.

“Yeah, I did.”

“But I thought you said you worked with him.”

I had, hadn't I? “Uh …” I could see that playing out the lie about my job was about to get trickier than just telling her they weren't hiring. I liked Liv and decided to come clean instead, hoping she'd understand. “I
do
work with him.”

She glanced over, frowning. “So … he works at a restaurant too?”

“No.” I paused for a second, wondering if this was really a good idea. “Actually, I don't work at a restaurant.”

“You don't?”

I shook my head. “I work at a funeral parlor. The one Ryan's dad owns.”

“Huh?” Liv looked over, her nose crinkling as she squinted at me. Totally confused. I wished she'd put her eyes back on the road.

“I didn't tell you guys because I thought you'd think it was gross.”

“It
is
gross.”

“Yeah, it is kinda,” I admitted. “But it's good money and it's actually sort of interesting.”

“Um … once you get past the dead bodies and stuff ?”

“Right.”

Liv was quiet and I wondered if she was mad, freaked out, or both. Or maybe trying to decide whether to take me home or just drop me by the side of the road. At least it was suburbia. I could definitely get back to the apartment from here.

“Liv?”

“Yeah?” She was still frowning, but her voice wasn't angry.

“I'm sorry I lied. I wasn't sure how you guys—Hannah and Erin especially—would take it. A restaurant sounded like a more normal job.”

“It is.” Liv flicked her turn signal. Left, toward the mall. I guess she wasn't going to dump me off just yet. “I don't think I'd tell them about your real job.”

“No, probably not.”

“They'd think it's creepy, for sure.”

“But you don't?” I asked hopefully.

“No, it's creepy all right.” Liv stopped at the light just before the mall and grinned at me. “But where else would I get to hear about dead bodies and hot guys all in the same place?”

I smiled back, more relieved than I would have guessed. I wasn't here to make friends, but as I'd learned in Kansas, being in a new place is hard enough. Being there totally on your own is a lot harder. I would have missed Liv.

“I guess this means you can't hook me up with a job, huh?”

“Well, I don't know,” I said, trying not to smile. “I could talk to my boss …”

“Kidding!” Liv shrieked. “I do
not
want to work there!”

I laughed. “What? Dead bodies, hot guys, what's not to like?” She was laughing too and I decided to ask. “So why the sudden job search anyway?”

Liv's smile vanished immediately. She sighed, hesitating long enough that I thought she might not answer. Then she said, “My dad lost his job.”

“Oh no.” I kicked myself for bringing it up, but that hadn't occurred to me at all. I'd thought maybe she wanted something her parents wouldn't buy. Although, having seen her room, it was hard to imagine what that might be. “I'm really sorry, Liv.”

“Yeah, thanks,” she said. “It's not like we're going to be destitute or anything. I just … I don't know. I thought maybe I should try to help out.”

“I bet that'd mean a lot to your parents,” I said, surprised by her thoughtfulness. I probably shouldn't have been. Liv was quirky and fun, but she wasn't shallow. “If you want help applying and stuff, I could make the rounds with you,” I said. “I actually already started a list of some places you could try …”

“Since your
restaurant
wouldn't have hired me?” she said pointedly.

“Yeah. Exactly.”

She smiled. “That'd be cool. I've never done it before, so some help would be great.” Liv looked over, biting her lip. “About my dad, though … I don't really want everyone to know.”

“Don't worry, Liv,” I said quickly. “It's totally between us.”

“Thanks.” Neither of us said anything for a minute, the silence not awkward, but not really comfortable either, the way it is when you find yourself somewhere a little more intense than you meant to be.

“Sooo,” I said finally, “want to go back to talking about hot guys?”

“Absolutely!” Liv grinned, tires squealing as she swung into a spot and shut off the car. “Hot guys who work with dead people.”

“Okay.” I sighed in mock exasperation. “Tell me what your friend said about Ryan.” Having Liv tease me about my supposed crush was a lot better than having her think too much about the whole dead-bodies thing. Or about how I'd lied. Or about the problems with her dad.

“She said he's a brainiac—AP classes, Scholar's Bowl, that sort of thing—but he's got an awesome bod.” Liv raised an eyebrow, looking devilish. “True?”

I thought of how he'd felt behind me at the chapel door; strong arms, broad shoulders. The way he moved, both athletic and graceful. “Yeah.” I nodded, getting out of the car. “He's not bad.”

“Well, he's not seeing anyone,” she yelled over the roof, slamming her door shut against the wind and motioning me to hurry. “She said he spends a lot of time working, which of course she thought was weird. You know, because of
where
he works.” Liv nudged my arm as we jogged toward the mall.

I nodded. “It's not that bad when you get used to it.”

“Uh, okay.” We'd reached the entrance. Liv paused with her hand on the door handle and turned to me. “So, did he ask you out or what?”

“No! Nothing like that,” I said, opening the other door to walk in ahead of her. “I told you I was just curious. I'm not into him or anything.” Not really. Though he was interesting. And maybe a little hot.

“Oh.” Liv paused, biting her lip. “So I shouldn't have told my friend to let him know you'd asked?”

“What?” I stopped dead, turning to face her. “You didn't.”

She laughed out loud. “No. I didn't.” Liv started down the mall again. “Let's go, we'll miss the previews.”

It was an hour and a half of totally ridiculous brain sucking and shambling. The dead people and brains didn't even look realistic.

Afterward, we stood outside the theater. Erin and Liv were talking to some guy, Nick, from their art class, but Hannah dragged me away, rolling her eyes. “We'll rescue them from Loserville later,” she said. Instead I got to listen to her friend Pete talk about his car. At excruciating length. I couldn't have been happier when he glanced over my shoulder, stopping in midsentence to yell “Max!”, gave us the barest of “see ya's,” and trotted over to a dark-haired girl by the music store.

“He's had a crush on her forever,” Hannah said petulantly, staring after him. “Maxine Perkins. She goes to Wexford Academy.”

“Oh yeah?” A group of guys and girls came out of the store, sauntering toward where Max and Pete were laughing and talking. I started to ask Hannah if she wanted to grab some ice cream when I saw Zander Dasios at the rear of the group. I felt heat rising to my cheeks immediately.

“Let's go over and talk to them,” Hannah said, her mouth set in a tight “I'm going to get my guy back” line.

“Oh, I don't know.” I took a step backward, the idea of coming face-to-face with Zander a little overwhelming, but Hannah already had her arm hooked through mine, pulling me relentlessly toward them.

Zander looked up as we approached. Our eyes met and a smirk caught the corner of his lip. I looked away, my mind spinning. I'd never spoken to him, never been closer than across the hall at school, yet somehow I felt he knew things about me. He was that kind of guy, overly aware of the effect he had on girls.

I stood by Hannah's side, a fake smile pasted on my lips, cringing at how she forced herself into the conversation, loud and too happy. I couldn't see Zander but knew he was near, sensed him somewhere behind me.

I turned, casually glancing over my shoulder to find him leaning against the wall, ten feet back, with his head cocked slightly to the side. Watching me.

I looked away, my heart pounding. He wasn't really looking at
me,
I thought. Just at the group—all of us—wondering when his friends would be done, ready to get ice cream or have a cigarette or whatever types like him did. I tried to ignore that he was there and focus on the conversation, but Pete's words were meaningless gibberish, my mind completely occupied with the way it had felt to have Zander's eyes connect with mine.

I knew I shouldn't, that I'd look like a fool, but I couldn't resist. Stupid, stupid, stupid, I thought even as I did it: turned my head to glance back over my shoulder.