Comes The Blind Fury Part 35

"It's done," the strange voice crooned.

Mich.e.l.le, knowing what had just happened inside, turned away and continued on her long walk home.

CHAPTER 26.

"I still don't think we should be here," Jeff Benson said. He glanced over his shoulder toward his house, half expecting his mother to appear at the kitchen window, calling him home. If he'd had his way, he wouldn't have come into the cemetery in the first place, but when Sally Carstairs, Alison Adams, and Lisa Hartwick had appeared that morning, he'd gone with them, thinking they wanted to go down to the cove.

But they hadn't.

Instead, they'd wanted to go looking for the ghost. Mostly, he realized, it was Alison and Lisa who wanted to find Amanda, even though both of them claimed she didn't exist. It had been Sally's idea to start in the cemetery, and when Jeff had protested, she'd accused him of being scared. Well, he wasn't scared-he wasn't scared of the ghost, if there really was one, and he wasn't scared of the cemetery. But there was still his mother, and Jeff didn't want to get into trouble with her.

"If you ask me, I don't think there's anything here at all!"

Alison Adams nodded her agreement. She stood in the middle of the graveyard, her hands on her hips. "Who cares about an old gravestone anyway? Let's go down to the beach-at least that might be fun!"

The four children started back toward the Bensons', and the trail that would take them down the face of the bluff. It was Lisa who suddenly stopped and pointed at the figure of Mich.e.l.le, coming slowly toward them on the road.

"Here she comes," Lisa said. "Crazy Mich.e.l.le!"

"She's not crazy," Sally said. "I wish you'd stop talking like that."

"Well, if she's not crazy, how come n.o.body's seen the ghost except her?" Lisa demanded.

"Stop saying that!" Sally was getting angry now, and she made no attempt to cover it. "Just because you didn't see the ghost, it doesn't mean there isn't one."

"Well, if there is one, why don't you get Mich.e.l.le to show it to us?" Lisa taunted.

Sally had had enough. "I can't stand you, Lisa Hartwick! You're worse than Susan ever was!" Sally left the group and started toward Mich.e.l.le.

"Mich.e.l.le? Mich.e.l.le, wait up!" she called.

In the road, Mich.e.l.le stopped and looked curiously at the four children. What did they want? But as Sally came near her, she heard Jeff Benson's voice.

"Hey, Mich.e.l.le-who did you kill today?"

Sally stopped dead in her tracks and turned back to stare at Jeff.

Mich.e.l.le stood still for a moment-, trying to understand what he meant. Then she realized.

Susan Peterson.

Billy Evans.

He thought she had killed them. But she hadn't-she knew knew she hadn't. she hadn't.

She felt tears welling up in her eyes, and fought to control them. She wouldn't let them see her cry-she wouldn't! She started along the road again, moving as quickly as she could. Her hip was suddenly throbbing with pain, but she tried to ignore it.

Where was Amanda? Why didn't Amanda come and help her?

And then Sally caught up with her.

"Mich.e.l.le? Mich.e.l.le, I'm sorry! I don't know why Jeff said that. He didn't mean it!"

"Yes, he did," Mich.e.l.le said softly, her voice quavering with the tears she was desperately trying to hold back. "He thinks I killed them. Everybody thinks I killed them! But I didn't!"

"I know. I believe you." Sally paused, unsure what to do. "Why don't you come over to my house?" she suggested. "We don't have to stay here and listen to him."

Mich.e.l.le shook her head. "I'm going home," she said. "Just leave me alone. I want to go home,"

Sally reached out to touch Mich.e.l.le, but Mich.e.l.le shrank away from her. "Just leave me alone! Please?" Sally stepped back and wondered what to do. She glanced quickly at the three children who seemed to be waiting for her, then back at Mich.e.l.le.

"All right," she said. "But I'm going to tell Jeff Benson what I think of him!"

"It won't matter," Mich.e.l.le said. "It won't change anything." Without saying good-bye to Sally, she began walking away.

Sally watched her go, then started back toward Jeff and the two girls. When she was a few yards from them, she stopped and planted her hands on her hips.

"That was mean and cruel, Jeff Benson."

"It wasn't either!" Jeff shot back. "My mother says she doesn't understand why they don't lock her up! She's crazy!"

"I don't have to listen to you anymore! I'm going home. Come on, Alison."

Her face set, Sally wheeled around and started back toward the road. Alison hesitated for a minute, then started after her. "Are you corning, Lisa?"

"I want to go down to the cove," Lisa whined.

"Then go go to the cove," Alison told her. "I'm going with Sally." to the cove," Alison told her. "I'm going with Sally."

"Who cares?" Lisa shouted to the departing girls. "Who cares what you do? Why don't you go see your crazy friend?"

Ignoring her, Sally and Alison continued on their way. When Lisa saw she wasn't going to get a reaction from them, she shrugged.

"Come on," she said to Jeff. "I'll race you down the trail!"

Mich.e.l.le hobbled painfully up the front steps and across the porch. She opened the door, stepped into the house, and stood still for a moment, listening.

There was no sound, except for the soft ticking of the clock in the hull.

"Mom?"

When there was no reply, Mich.e.l.le started up the stairs. In her room, she would be safe.

Safe from Jeff Benson's terrible words.

Safe from his accusations.

Safe from the suspicion she could feel all around her.

That's why her mother hadn't wanted her to go with her father this morning.

Her mother thought the same things Jeff Benson thought.

But it wasn't true-she knew it wasn't true.

She went into her room, dosed the door, and moved to the window seat.

She picked up her doll and cradled it in her arms.

"Amanda? Please, Amanda, tell me what's happening. Why do they all hate me?"

"They're telling lies about you," Amanda's voice whispered to her. "They want to take you away, so they're telling lies about you."

"Take me away? Why? Why do they want to take me away?"

"Because of me."

"I-I don't understand."

"Because of me," Amanda repeated. "They always hated me. They don't want me to have any friends. But you're my friend, so now they hate you, too. And they'll take you away"

"I don't care," Mich.e.l.le said. "I don't like it here anymore. I want to go away."

Mich.e.l.le could see Amanda now. She was only a few feet from her, and her eyes, pale and s.h.i.+ning in the gray light of the overcast day, seemed to be boring into Mich.e.l.le.

"But if you let them take you away," she heard Amanda saying, "we can't be friends anymore."

"You can come too," Mich.e.l.le suggested. "If they take me away, you can come with me"

"No!" Amanda's voice was suddenly sharp, and Mich.e.l.le instinctively stepped backward, clutching the doll close to her chest. Amanda moved toward her, her hand out.

"I can't go with you. I have to stay here." She took Mich.e.l.le's hand. "Stay with me, Mich.e.l.le. Stay with me, and we'll make them all stop hating us"

"I don't want to!" Mich.e.l.le protested. "I don't know what you want. And you always promise to help me, but something always happens. And they blame me for it. It's your fault, but they blame me for it! It isn't fair! Why should they blame me, when it's you?"

"Because we're the same," Amanda said quietly. "Can't you understand that? We're exactly the same."

"But I don't want to be like you," Mich.e.l.le said. "I want to be like me me. I want to be like I used to be, before you came."

"Don't say that," Amanda hissed. Her face, furious now, was twisted into an expression of hatred. "If you say that again, I'll kill you." She paused, and her milky eyes seemed to blaze with a light of their own, "I can do it," she said softly. "You know I can."

Mich.e.l.le shrank away from the black-clad figure, terrified. She wanted to run, but she knew she couldn't. She knew that Amanda was telling her the truth.

If she didn't do what Amanda wanted her to, Amanda would kill her.

"All right," she said. "What do you want me to do?"

As she said the words, the rage seemed to drain from Amanda's face, and she smiled. "Take me out to the bluff," she said. "I want to go out on the bluff, out by the cemetery." She took Mich.e.l.le's hand once more and started to lead her out of the room.

"This is the last time," she said softly. "After this, it'll all be over, and they won't laugh at me anymore."

Mich.e.l.le wasn't sure what Amanda was talking about, but it didn't matter. All she knew was that it was almost over.

This is the last time, Amanda had said.

Maybe things were going to be all right after all. Maybe after she'd done whatever Amanda wanted, things would be all right.

She left the house and began walking slowly toward the cemetery.

June stood very still, staring at the canvas on her easel.

How it had gotten there, she didn't know.

Yet there it was, terrifying her. She had been staring at it for a long time-it was as if the picture had trapped her in some kind of hypnotic trance.

It was the same picture she had found in the closet.

Only it was finished now.

She stared at it in utter horror, unable to fully comprehend it.

The sketch was now a complete painting.

There were two people, a man and a woman.

The man's face was still hidden from view, but the woman's face was not.

It was a beautiful face, with high cheekbones, full lips, and a perfect widow's peak at the forehead.

The eyes, green and sparkling, were almond-shaped, and they seemed to be laughing.

It would have been a beautiful picture, except for two things.

The woman was bleeding.

From her breast, and from her throat, blood was gus.h.i.+ng, spilling down the woman's body, dripping to the floor. In contrast to the serene expression on the the painted face, the blood had a grotesque quality to it. It was almost as if the woman didn't know she was dying.

And scrawled across the picture, in the same crimson as the blood pouring from the dying woman, was one word: Wh.o.r.e! Wh.o.r.e!

It was hard for June to look at anything in the picture except for the woman's face, but as she stared at it, trying to fathom it, she began to realize that the background of the picture was familiar.

It was the studio.