Darkness. Part 3

"But I want to use this one," Jenny complained. "It's not just yours. It's both of ours, and I have just as much right to-"

"Fine," Michael said. "There's the toilet. Go ahead and use it while I finish combing my hair. I don't care."

Jenny's eyes widened with outrage. "I'm going to tell Mom what you said!"

Michael moved to the door, lifted his sister up and put her down in the hall, then closed the door in her face, locking it. As he went back to the sink, Jenny began pounding on the door, wailing indignantly.

Michael, ignoring the pounding and the shouts, gazed into the mirror once again.

The strange image was gone. All that he saw now was his own reflection.

But where had the image come from? Had it really been there at all?

He wasn't sure.

But it wasn't the first time he'd seen it.

Indeed, he couldn't really remember when he'd first seen it. For a long time, it had happened so rarely that often he'd forgotten all about it. But now it seemed to be happening more frequently.

Sometimes he'd barely catch a glimpse of the face; it would be no more than a flicker in the mirror.

Other times he'd see it in his dreams, and wake up frightened.

Recently, he'd begun seeing the face more clearly, and more often.

For a while he'd tried to convince himself the house was haunted. Once, he'd even talked to his mother about it. She'd listened to him, but in the end she'd laughed it off.

"As far as I know, new houses don't get haunted. First you have to have someone die-preferably get murdered. And unless you've killed someone and not told me about it, that hasn't happened here."

He'd argued with her a little, but not much, because the more he'd talked about it, the more stupid the whole thing had sounded. And yet, the face seemed to be coming to him more and more lately.

He studied the mirror for a few seconds, now consciously willing the image to reappear, as if to convince himself that the specter existed only in his own imagination. But except for his own face, the mirror reflected only white, s.h.i.+ny tile.

Leaving the bathroom to Jenny, he hurried down the stairs and out into the heat of the morning. But as he started toward the garage and his motorcycle, he glanced back at the house.

What was the truth of the face he'd seen in the mirror?

Was it in the house, or was it in his own mind?

As he mounted his bike and rode away, he decided that he didn't really want to know the answer to his own question, for one answer was as frightening as the other.

3.

Kelly Anderson sat silently in the backseat of the Chrysler, staring unseeingly out the window. Though the scenery had slowly changed from the red earth and pine trees of Georgia to the marshy flatland of Florida, Kelly had been unaware of it. Her thoughts had been turned inward, remembering the two weeks she'd spent in the hospital.

She hadn't needed to be there-her wounds had healed quickly, and even the st.i.tches in her stomach had been removed after only a week. What they'd really been trying to do was to figure out if she was crazy. She'd convinced them she wasn't, although she herself wasn't at all sure it was true. But the idea of being locked up in a hospital somewhere had terrified her even more than the image of the old man that she'd seen in the bathroom mirror the night she'd tried to kill herself, so instead of telling the psychiatrist about it, she'd made up a story. And the story wasn't really a lie, because she had had been worried about her father not working, and she been worried about her father not working, and she had had felt she could never do anything right. So when she told them she'd just decided that maybe it would be easier for everyone if she weren't around anymore, they'd believed her. felt she could never do anything right. So when she told them she'd just decided that maybe it would be easier for everyone if she weren't around anymore, they'd believed her.

She hadn't told them about the nightmare man-she knew better than that.

She'd talked her way out of telling Dr. Hartman about thinking she was pregnant, too. That hadn't been too hard-she just said she'd been feeling really bad lately, and when she missed her period, she automatically thought she must be pregnant. She even claimed she'd been drinking with some friends one night, didn't remember what had happened, and just a.s.sumed she must have gone to bed with someone. That part hadn't been true at all-she hated the taste of liquor-but they'd believed her.

And they hadn't locked her up.

They sent her home instead, and a week later her mother told her they were moving to Villejeune.

There'd been a long story about the job her grandfather had found for her father, but Kelly knew it wasn't true. Or even if it was, it still wasn't the real reason they were moving.

What they really wanted to do was get her out of Atlanta, and away from her friends.

Her friends, she thought hollowly. It was kind of funny, really, since she never thought of the kids in her crowd as friends. They were just other kids, people to hang out with so she wouldn't have to be by herself all the time. She never really talked to any of them very much.

If she had, they might have found out how crazy she really was.

Maybe she should have let them lock her up after all. At least that way her mother wouldn't have had to move back to Villejeune. She recalled her mother's words, last week: "I always hated it. It always felt like everyone there was just waiting to die. Nothing ever changed, nothing ever happened. And it wasn't just me. A lot of the other kids felt the same way. Most of us could hardly wait to get out, and a lot of us did. There wasn't any reason to stay-Villejeune was just like all those other little towns on the edge of the swamp. n.o.body had any ambition, n.o.body had any dreams." Then, as Kelly watched, her mother's eyes had wandered over the fading wallpaper in their living room, taking in the worn furniture they'd never been able to replace. She'd sighed, and smiled wanly at Kelly. "Well, I guess my dreams never came true, did they? And your father says the town's changed, so maybe it's time I gave it another chance." She'd fallen silent, as if trying to convince herself that she believed what she was saying, and then she brightened, though Kelly had seen her force the smile onto her lips. "Anyway, it's time for you to have a change, isn't it? Meet some new people, make new friends! It'll be fun." The words had struck Kelly like tiny knives. An overwhelming sense of guilt had descended on her.

It was her fault that her mother had to go back.

"Well, for heaven's sake, will you look at that?"

The words from the front seat startled Kelly out of her reverie. She sat up, focusing for the first time on the landscape beyond the confines of the car, as her father slowed the Chrysler. Ahead of them on the highway was a large billboard, featuring a panoramic vista of a golf course and marina, dotted with houses and condominium units. In bold letters above and below the scene, the legend proclaimed: VILLEJEUNE LINKS ESTATES.

ANOTHER PROJECT FOR GRACIOUS LIVING.

FROM ANDERSON & ANDERSON.

Kelly stared at the sign, uncertain what it meant. Then she heard her father's voice.

"Do you believe it? He never said a word. He just said to keep an eye out for a new project he was starting."

"But-" Mary began, her words instantly drowned out by Ted's delighted laugh.

"He went all the way! He didn't just give me a job. He made me his partner!" He stepped hard on the gas pedal, and the car lunged forward. And when her mother turned to look back at the sign through the rear window, her eyes fell on Kelly.

She winked.

"Maybe this is going to work out after all," she said. "It's starting to look like Villejeune might not be quite the town I remember."

This time, there was nothing forced in her mother's words, and for the first time since the night she'd tried to kill herself, Kelly truly felt better.

Ten minutes later the Chrysler came to a stop in front of Carl Anderson's house. For several long moments Ted, Mary, and Kelly simply stared at it. Ted finally broke the silence: "Not much like the house I grew up in, is it?"

Mary shook her head, but her eyes remained fixed on a large split-level structure that sat well back from the road on an acre of landscaped grounds. There was a wide front porch, with bougainvillea climbing a trellis, and the front of the house was banked with a profusion of azaleas and jasmine. The expanse of lawn was broken by several clumps of palm trees, and near the house were two large magnolias that-judging from their size alone-must have been transplanted from somewhere else. As for the house itself, it had to be at least four thousand square feet, and though its lines were modem, the architect had softened the structure with a shake roof, so that despite its broad expanses of gla.s.s, it had a cozy look to it. Beyond the house she could see the ca.n.a.l that drained the property. There was even a small dock with a motorboat tied up to it.

An image flicked through Mary's mind of the house Ted and his father had lived in when she had first started dating him. A tiny, two-bedroom affair, smaller even than the house they had just left in Atlanta, the Anderson place had always seemed on the verge of collapse, no matter how hard Carl had worked to keep it in repair. The repairs back then had been makes.h.i.+ft, for Carl's work had been so sporadic that he'd never dared spend the money it would have taken to put the old house to rights.

And now-this.

The front door opened, and Carl Anderson strode out. Crossing the lawn as the occupants of the Chrysler scrambled out, he ignored Ted and Mary as he wrapped Kelly in a bear hug. "So you finally decided to come see your old grandpa, huh?" he asked. Before she could answer, he held her away. "Let me look at you."

Kelly felt a wave of self-consciousness, and tried to resist the urge to hide her right hand behind her back, with its still-visible scars as an ever-present reminder of what she'd done. Then she braced herself for whatever her grandfather might say about her pink hair and her black clothes. But instead of criticizing her, he only grinned. "I always wondered what pink hair would look like. It's not so bad. Pink and black was real big back in the fifties, you know."

Kelly felt the unfamiliar sensation of a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "Mom and Dad hate it," she blurted out without thinking.

"Of course they do," Carl replied. "That's what parents are for. Half their job is to disapprove of their kids. h.e.l.l, when your dad was your age, I barely even spoke to him. Now, why don't you go up and take a look at your room. It's the big one above the garage." Kelly's eyes s.h.i.+fted back to the house and the windows above the three-car garage. Even from here she could see that the room went all the way through to the back of the house; and through the sheer curtains, she was certain she saw the blades of a ceiling fan. Suddenly she remembered all the hot nights she'd spent in her tiny room in Atlanta, sweltering in the still air despite the fact that she always kept the window wide open. As her grandfather turned his attention to her parents, she started across the lawn.

Maybe, just maybe, things were going to be all right after all.

Dusk was gathering, and Michael Sheffield was getting ready to close up the swamp tour. Everyone else-even Phil Stubbs-had already left, for after the first week it had been apparent to Stubbs that despite the pressure he'd been put under to hire Michael, the boy was the best worker he had. For the first two weeks, before school had let out, Michael had shown up every day promptly at three-thirty, and had not only done what he'd been told, but looked for additional work to do as well. The second day, when Stubbs had told him it was quitting time, Michael had shaken his head. When he'd been feeding the nutrias, he noticed that one of the furry little rodents was about to give birth to a litter, and he was in the process of fixing her a special nest away from the rest of the exhibit. "She'll get nervous with all the people watching her," he'd explained. "I'll just fix her up a box in the storeroom, and after a couple of weeks maybe we can set up a special cage for the babies. Sort of like a children's zoo."

Stubbs had shrugged disinterestedly and let Michael do what he wanted, pretty much forgetting about the whole thing within a few days. But two weeks later Michael had stayed late again, and the next morning Stubbs had found a whole new exhibit next to the nutria cage. Inside a gla.s.s-fronted box were the new mother and her babies, who were now tumbling around like puppies. All around the box Michael had placed a series of neatly-lettered signs describing the life cycle of the little animals, from the period of their gestation to their expected life span, explaining what they ate and what their economic value was, as well as a clear description of their place in the ecosystem of the swamp. Stubbs had frowned at the exhibit, wondering why Michael had bothered with it, but that day he'd noticed that the baby nutrias had attracted more attention than any of the other cages at the headquarters, and on the tours that afternoon, people seemed more interested in the nutrias than the alligators.

By the third week Stubbs had stopped bothering to tell Michael what to do, since the boy was always busy and invariably stayed late, usually saying only, "There's a couple things I still need to do." The next morning Stubbs would find another of the animal exhibits revamped, or new docking lines on the boats, or a fresh coat of paint on whatever had started looking shabby. By now it was simply a.s.sumed that Michael would be the last to leave, and that whatever anyone else forgot to do, he would take care of.

For Michael, the job was the closest thing he could imagine to paradise.

He'd always known there was something different about him, something that separated him from the other kids.

At first, when he was Jenny's age, he'd tried to be like them, tried to join in the spontaneous play of the rest of the children his age.

But his cla.s.smates seemed to sense that Michael was somehow different, and as he'd grown up, he had yet to make a genuine friend, yet to find one single person whom he felt he could tell about the peculiar emptiness that yawned inside him like a vast chasm threatening to swallow him up.

Over the years, he'd learned to pretend that he was like everyone else, laughing at the other kids' jokes, pretending to have emotions he didn't quite feel.

And as long as he could remember, he'd been fascinated with the swamp and everything in it. By the time he was ten, and he'd begun to accept the fact that he was never going to make any real friends, he started going out into the wilderness by himself, poking around among the bayous, watching the animals and identifying the plants. To him, there'd never been anything frightening about the marshes and bogs, nor had he ever gotten lost. Although he knew that for most people the waterways-and the endless tiny islands they surrounded-were a confusing, even frightening, maze, he saw each island as an individual. He knew every bend in the bayous.

Now, thanks to his father, he was being paid to spend even more time in the swamp, with its profusion of fascinating wildlife.

This evening he'd decided to go frog hunting. The big bullfrogs were peaking this time of year, and he'd already set up a terrarium to hold half a dozen large ones. If he was lucky, he might even still find an egg ma.s.s. Then he would be able to set up an entire life-cycle exhibit. Taking a large bucket with a mesh cover, and a flashlight, he got into a rowboat and set out, handling the oars expertly and silently, so that the little boat slid through the swamp without disturbing anything around it. Within a few minutes the dense vegetation closed around him, and his ears throbbed with the soft symphony orchestrated by the insects and frogs that teemed in the wetlands.

Then, slowly, he began to hear another sound, a sound that seemed to beckon to him. Obeying the call that drifted out of the swamp's depths, he pulled a little harder on the oars.

The boat slid faster through the water...

Kelly sprawled across the bed in her new room and stared for a moment at the large fan that turned slowly above her. Enjoying the feel of its breeze on her skin, she looked around the room once more, still scarcely able to believe it was hers. It had windows on three sides, and her very own bathroom in one corner. And the best part was that there were two doors-one leading to the rest of the house, the other opening onto a small deck with a flight of stairs down to the backyard. Her grandfather had told her that it was supposed to be a guest room, but since it had turned out that he rarely had guests, he'd decided it should be hers. "Girls your age need their own bathroom," he'd told her. "That way you can spread all your junk around without getting in anyone's way. But no sneaking out at night," he'd added, glancing meaningfully toward the door to the deck. "I wouldn't want your mom to make me nail that shut."

Kelly had blushed, wondering if her grandfather had actually been able to read her mind, and promised him she wouldn't.

Not that it was a promise she intended to keep, since she'd been going out in Atlanta whenever she felt like it for two years now. Of course, so far it didn't look like there was anything to do in Villejeune anyway. As they'd come through the town that afternoon-if you could really call it a town-she hadn't seen any interesting-looking kids at all. In fact, they'd all looked like the kind of boring jerks she'd laughed at in Atlanta.

The kind of boring jerks who'd never bothered to speak to her.

Putting the thought out of her mind, she finished unpacking her clothes, which didn't come close to filling the walk-in closet, and filled the medicine cabinet with all the cosmetics that had been stuffed in the top drawer of her dresser back in Atlanta. Finally, she unrolled a couple of the posters she'd peeled from her walls at home; but when she held them up against the brightly flowered wallpaper, she changed her mind and stuffed the whole bunch of them into the wastebasket. The room, she decided, was just perfect the way her grandfather had done it.

She went to the window, gazing out across the lawn and the ca.n.a.l toward the swamp. The daylight was beginning to fade, but there was still an hour before it would be completely dark. Maybe she should go out and take a look around. She started toward the door, then remembered her grandfather's words.

I'm just going outside, she told herself. It's not like I'm meeting someone. Why would they forbid her to go out for a little while?

Leaving the room through the interior door, she went down the stairs to the main level, and found her parents and grandfather in the den. "Is it okay if I go for a walk?" she asked. There was a brief silence as her parents looked uncertainly at each other. Kelly was sure she knew what they were thinking.

Where is she going?

What is she going to do?

Is she going to get into trouble?

Is she going to try to kill herself again?

The good mood she'd been feeling all afternoon evaporated, and she turned away. "N-Never mind," she murmured, starting back out of the den. Her grandfather's voice stopped her.

"What the h.e.l.l's going on?" she heard him ask. "She's sixteen years old. Can't she go for a walk at seven o'clock in the evening?"

She froze, then slowly turned around. Her mother was staring at her grandfather, her face pale, her eyes frightened.

Her father was licking his lips nervously.

For what seemed to her an eternity, no one said anything.

Then her grandfather looked straight at her.

"You planning to do anything stupid?" he asked. "Like jump in the ca.n.a.l?"

Kelly's eyes widened at the shock of his words.

"Dad!" Ted said sharply, but Carl Anderson held up a hand to silence his son.

"Now come on," he rumbled. "We all know what happened, and I don't see how it's going to hurt to ask a simple question. If you're planning to try to watch her every minute of every day, then maybe you should have locked her up."

"Carl," Mary began, "you don't understand-"

"No, I don't," Carl broke in, his voice much gentler. "I don't understand at all. But I know you brought Kelly down here to give her a chance at a new life, and it seems to me you might as well start right now."

Mary hesitated for a moment, her eyes never leaving her father-in-law's face. It was a strong face, unlined, looking at least twenty years younger than its sixty-four years. His hair, the same burnished chestnut as Ted's, showed not a hint of gray, and his blue eyes were as bright as those of any young man just starting out in the world. That, she supposed, was the result of his ultimate triumph-he'd hung on, and finally made a success of his life, and it had given him a strength she'd never really noticed before.

The words he'd just spoken, she realized, had the ring of truth. They were here to start over again-all of them-and they might just as well start now. She turned to her daughter.

"How long will you be gone?"

Kelly felt a surge of hope. "N-Not very long. I just thought I'd walk along the ca.n.a.l and look at all the houses Granddaddy built."

Mary took a deep breath. "All right. But come home before it gets too dark, okay? And stay away from the swamp."