Uncertainty (10 page)

Backtracking several dozen pages, to last June, I didn't find anything out of the ordinary. Then I checked the outbox, but the last message Jenna had sent was addressed to me, asking if I still had her yellow sweatshirt. The one she was now permanently stuck wearing, incidentally.

A hard lump formed in my throat. Jenna is right here, I reminded myself, and forced the lump away. Jenna clicked her necklace against her teeth, otherwise silent and watchful.

"If your mom did have your email, why didn't she give it to the police?" I asked aloud. "Most of these emails have never been read. If the police are investigating this thing as thoroughly as they say they are, this whole thing should have been dug through."

"Rachel's good at lying, too," Jenna said bitterly. "She probably just said that to get people off of her back." I looked at her questioningly. She was glaring at the screen, but there was also a kind of triumph on her face. Then she glanced at me, eyes searching. "Why the police? What did I do?"

"You went missing, remember?" I didn't even tried to mention the fact that she was dead. It would just start a losing argument.

"Is that why so many people have been emailing me?" she pressed, her voice soft.

I didn't want to tell her that after she'd disappeared, she'd become popular with people who barely knew her, people who felt compelled to express their massive grief. Even if they'd barely exchanged a word.

"You were gone for a while. It builds up."

"But see. There's nothing. I told you, I wasn't planning on running away. And if I had, I would have taken you with me."

That stirred a great deal of suppressed emotion in me. "You mean that? I thought you hated me that night you left..."

"Of course! I wouldn't leave you in Hell."

As a last ditch effort, I checked the trash, but that had been deleted long ago. Still, I believed her. There weren't any messages to or from Lainey or Madison, or even Warwick, although I knew the last one was a slim to none chance anyway.

She jumped to her feet, flip-flops snapping against her bare heels.

I checked the local news website idly, hoping to find some information on the birds. They hadn't let up, and only multiplied as the weeks past. Yet no one seemed to be talking about it, as if they didn't notice it. Or as if they thought if they didn't comment on it, they would go magically disappear.

Instead, I found a small article that the old Berhardt Asylum a few towns over was going to be gutted. They hadn't used the place for anything but an outpatient clinic for years, and now St Joseph's Hospital was taking the facility over.

Skimming the article, it reminded me of the medical papers of my grandmother I'd found last year.

Eleanor had been a patient at Bernhardt, though Claire had gone to great lengths for me not to know that, shredding her medical file. I'd only found a few slips of paper, but the fact that she felt the need to destroy it made me very suspicious. Maybe it was time to discover why she'd been so quick to destroy the evidence.

CHAPTER 8

I HEARD CLAIRE
clomping up the basement steps, and I hurriedly put the computer to sleep and scrambled out of the room.

"Did you have a good workout?" I asked her. A towel was wrapped around her neck, her blonde hair slicked back in a bun, face red and moist. She patted her sweat-dampened forehead. Weighted wrist and ankle bands coordinated with her workout gear. Everything she did required an appropriate uniform.

"It was invigorating," Claire said. She looked towards the door installer, who was waiting patiently in the kitchen to speak with her. She went and talked to him, laying on the Claire charm, and wrote out a check. He gathered his things and left.

"When is he going to be able to fix the door?" I asked. It had been covered by thick, frosted plastic sheeting, held in place with masking tape.

"When he gets the glass order in," Claire said, sighing. She poured a glass of water from the faucet and sipped at it daintily. "Could take a week, maybe two. Of course. One more inconvenience."

As was common for us, we stood in awkward silence. We communicated more with clunky pauses than we did with words.

"What do you say we go get Chinese food?" Claire asked, tossing the towel on the counter and resting her hands on her bony hips. She stretched from side to side, tilting her torso at angles.

"Sure."

We got in the car and drove up into town, talking in little bursts of mundane details. Her garden was coming along well, and I talked about the novels I had been reading. It had been a while since I'd ridden with Claire in the car, and I had forgotten that every time she hit the breaks, her arm shot out in a protective gesture in front of me.

She placed an order at the China Gardens while I waited in the car. A lucky gold cat statue lifted its paw out front. After she brought the paper bags bulging with food, the car smelled mouthwatering, like egg rolls and lo mein noodles.

Claire happened to take the long route home. It took us by Jenna's old house, which I realized when the familiar houses started to roll by. There was a sign out front, and no cars in the driveway. The grass was long and unkempt.

"What's going on there?" I asked, craning my head.

Claire glanced briefly over. She knew exactly what I was talking about, I could tell. She drove past before speaking. "Her parents put the place up for sale a few months ago. They're eager to move."

"You knew, and you didn't tell me?"

"There wasn't much to tell."

"Well, I mean, it's pretty final."

"I know it's been hard for you, but you need to let people move on. Jenna's parents have had a hard time of it since...well, you know."

I was glad that Jenna had stayed at home. I didn't think she could take this news now.

My phone beeped in my lap, distracting me. Jerk read the contact. It took me a second to remember that's what I'd changed Henry's contact name to.

When did everything get so ruined? the text read. I dropped the phone like it was hot, feeling a blush spreading up my neck and across my face.

This didn't go unnoticed to Claire. She looked from me to the phone and back again. "Secret admirer?"

"Hardly," I said, my voice catching in my throat and giving me away. "Theo was just sharing some gossip."

I didn't know what to say to Henry, or the motives behind why he was suddenly trying to get in touch with me again. Maybe he'd texted the wrong person by mistake. I certainly didn't want to talk to him, not after the way he treated me. I had no reason to exchange words with someone so manipulative.

With a swift movement, the same as tossing my medication away, I deleted the text and shoved the phone in my pocket.

At home, after I'd stuffed myself with enough fried rice and sweet and sour chicken that I felt like I would explode, I went down into my room. I maneuvered around the bed to the side table, pulling open the drawer.

Rooting through old magazines and paperclips, I dug out what I was looking for. The notecard with Henry's handwriting, Assassin's Apprentice written out with effortless, lovely strokes. I'd kept it all this time. I ran my thumb over the words, then tore the card into pieces.

I'd kept out of the library since the day I'd seen Henry there, sending Hugh once to pick up the books I'd needed.

"What, do you think the place is haunted?" he had complained.

Not unless Henry counted.

But I was sick of being cooped up in the house. There was a string of days when it poured outside, and I couldn't even go in the backyard. There were only so many internet forum discussions about cat pictures and adjective-choked stories I could take.

Jenna had no interest in following me to the library, much like in real life. She declared it gloomy, and stayed at home.

Callie wasn't there; instead, a mean-looking old woman with a tattered patchwork knitting bag on her lap sat behind the counter. Knitting needles clicked and glinted — it looked like she was making a very large pink diaper. Her nametag read Stickler. She caught me looking at her, and glared at me like I'd done her a personal disservice. I hurried away.

I picked up more books off my summer reading list pretty quickly, but I had some time to kill. I wandered over to the nonfiction section, since I normally was a fiction girl. I hadn't made much of a dent in the cookbooks and craft how-tos.

The library was busy with afternoon drifters, a bunch of them occupying the study tables. There were a lot of college students with their laptops open. Some people had just wandered out of the rain and were milling around. The light that filtered in through the windows was blue, like there were aquariums built into the walls.

Perusing the titles, I turned the corner into the paranormal and metaphysical section. As I should have expected from our town's history, the section was packed. I wasn't really looking for anything in particular, but I ran my finger over the spines.

I hadn't been reading or watching as much spooky stuff, since my own experiences, which was a complete change for me. Horror and ghost stories had always been my bread and butter, my go-to source of entertainment no matter the source. It all seemed a little too real now.

On the top shelf, there was a short, oddly fat book tucked in between a few others. It was the color of deli mustard, and had no dust jacket. Other Worlds read the fading silver scrawl on the spine.

Reaching up on my tiptoes, I pulled the book down, yanking it out of its comfy crevice. There was no author name, and I flipped open the cover. None on the inside either, not even a publishing company listed. The binding had begun to fray.

I realized more time had passed then I thought, so I took my books to the counter. Stickler was still knitting her ghastly incontinence aid. She silently started checking my books out, but she stopped when she reached Other Worlds.

"You can't take this book out," she bleated in an unpleasant voice.

"What?"

"This book can't leave the library," she reiterated impatiently, her eyes beady behind her reading glasses. She flipped the book so the spine was facing out and tapped a tiny oval sticker that read FOR REFERENCE ONLY.

"So there's no way I can check it out?" I asked.

She just glared at me like I was stupid.

"No, young lady."

There wasn't much I could do. She finished checking out my other books and handed them to me, putting Other Worlds behind the desk in case I might try to take it anyway. Yep, I'm just going to snatch it and run. You have me all figured out. Hoodlums and their baggy pants.

As I walked out, someone was coming in. It only took one glance to see it was Henry, a hideous but well-tailored plaid raincoat draped on his shoulders. My heart did its usual leap into my throat move, but I steered past him.

"Ariel," he said.

"I'm just leaving," I said under my breath, keeping my eyes averted.

"Did you get my text?" he asked.

"No. Changed my number. Goodbye, Henry." His name tasted odd in my mouth, metallic, harsh.

Theo's mural debuted right on schedule, despite her concerns. July had come, only amping up the heat. I hadn't seen Theo since the tense moment in her backyard, except for glimpses at night of her up in her room, busy concentrating on her easel like it held the secrets to life itself.

We were up at Erasmus, the newly installed lights giving the place a sense of depth and character. There were lots of people there, chatting with glasses of white wine as they waited for Theo's debut. Hugh had meant serious business when he advertised for the showing, ads in all the local papers.

Jenna wasn't there, and it was weird being back with flesh and blood people. I kept glancing around for her to pop up.

"Do I look nervous?" Theo asked, grabbing my forearm. Her voice was several octaves higher than usual, her green eyes ballooning like a cartoon mouse begging a cat not to kill it.

"A little," I admitted. "But this is your night. They're going to love you, Theo."

"I'm not so sure about that," she said. She pulled the gray turtleneck she was wearing away from her throat. Between that and pressed black slacks, she looked very mature. Even her glitter was a little subdued behind her tortoiseshell glasses.

"Well, I am," Alex assured her, putting his hands on her shoulders. Even he was dressed up, in khaki pants and a blue button-down shirt.

Theo tugged at her turtleneck again. She'd touched up her roots, and her hair was twirled together in a high bun with paintbrushes holding it in place. I was almost mad at her for doubting her own abilities. How could someone so talented not realize it?

Theo pushed her glasses up, clearing her throat.

"Mom insisted on the turtleneck. I hate turtlenecks. I look like Mr. Rogers and I feel like I'm being choked."

"You look great. Anticipation is always the hardest part," I said. "Just think, soon we'll be home, this will all be over, and we'll be gushing about what a great night this turned out to be."

A lopsided grin met her lips for my benefit. "So imagine it all over? Kind of nihilistic advice. I'll take it."