The Unseen 2 Rest In Peace

With thoughts to sort out and homework to catch up on, taking a nap was the last thing she could afford to do.

But she’d been exhausted after Matt dropped her off. Exhausted and completely drained. So once she’d changed clothes and lain down across the bed, she’d fallen asleep so fast, she didn’t even remember closing her eyes.

Nightmares like this one, that trapped her in Byron’s van and in hidden caves, abandoned in the darkness and surrounded by dangers too terrible to imagine. Something was holding her down, something was making her burn, and through it all, someone in the background kept sobbing, “She’s going to die on Thursday . . . on Thursday.”

A frightened cry woke her. As Lucy lay there, groggy and disoriented, she tried to figure out where the sound had come from, then decided she must have made it herself. Bad enough to suffer the nightmares . . . even worse when they encroached upon reality.

Her mind drifted back to school. To the girl coming out of the building, to the image of someone falling. Was she meant to give Wanda Carver a warning? How could she possibly approach a complete stranger like that? Offer some dire prediction that might be nothing more than the result of a head injury?

Just thinking about the consequences made Lucy shudder. Popular cheerleader Wanda Carver would tell the entire school. As low as Lucy’s status already was, this bit of gossip would annihilate it completely.

Feeling depressed and defeated, Lucy sat up in bed. Why even bother telling anyone anything? She’d tried to tell people about the cave. About her escape through the woods, about the unknown stranger who’d rescued her. She knew how much people doubted her; even worse, she’d started doubting herself. She knew she couldn’t prove anything about her terrifying experience, but that didn’t make it less real. As real as these stitches on her head, these bruises fading from her face, the cuts and scratches healing along her arms and legs.

Somewhere along the way, the fragile boundaries between Real and Unreal had shifted. Somewhere along the way, the boundaries between Seen and Unseen had begun to unravel and disappear.

In fact, she distinctly remembered turning it on when she’d come in earlier, right before she’d changed clothes. And she’d been staring at the lampshade, too, right after she’d stretched out on the bed.

She jiggled the switch back and forth. But when no light came on, she swore under her breath and fiddled with the lightbulb. Still no luck.

She realized then that dusk had fallen. She could see snow outside the sliding glass doors, drifting onto the little balcony. The house was very quiet. A vast, empty quiet that told Lucy she was still alone. Nervously she got up, closed the curtains, and went out into the hall, rubbing her arms against the chill. The house felt even colder now than it had that afternoon.

The light in the hall didn’t work either. As Lucy felt her way to the top of the stairs, she could see only darkness below. Irene had had automatic timers installed in every room—the whole first floor should be glowing with lamps by now.

Lucy stood on the landing, trying to think. It wasn’t the first time the house had lost power, but it usually happened only during storms. Maybe it was something simple, like a fuse in the circuit breaker. Maybe that’s why the house felt so cold.

Cautiously she reached out to grip the bannister. She’d have to go down and check the fuse box. She’d have to go all the way down to the basement. Anger flared inside her, mixed with fear. Why did Irene always have to work so late? Why couldn’t she stay home and care even a little bit about Lucy’s feelings?

Lucy forced her thoughts into a more positive direction. No need to panic. She’d reset the security system after Matt left; she was completely safe. Not even a fly could get in; isn’t that what Irene had promised her? Everything was fine. Everything was normal. She’d fix the circuit breaker, and then she’d turn on every single light in the house.

Taking a deep breath, she turned and headed for her bedroom. There was a flashlight in her nightstand drawer, one Irene had insisted she keep there for emergencies. In fact, Irene had flashlights stored all over the house, if Lucy could only remember now where they were. She could always call 911 if she got really scared. Quit being such a wimp—it’s not like this is any big deal.

Yet Lucy’s heart was pounding as she groped her way back along the corridor. And this time, her hand just happened to touch the door of Angela’s room.

For a second all she could do was stand there in the dark. The chill in her fingers shot all the way up through her arm, all the way into her head. She was too stunned to move; it was too black to see. Yet her eyes stared straight ahead, straight at Angela’s door.

As though Angela and everything about her must be sealed away from Irene’s disapproval and the constant demands of Irene’s busy life.

Angela’s window was open. Lucy could see it from where she stood on the threshold, though the room was thick with shadows. The curtains fluttered like restless ghosts, and snow had swirled in through the screen, lying still unmelted upon the carpet.

It didn’t make sense. She couldn’t imagine that Irene had come in here and opened that window. And Florence came to clean only on Fridays. But maybe Florence had done it—opened the window to air out Angela’s room and then forgotten to close it again. Yes, that’s it, Lucy told herself firmly. That must be it—what else could it be?

But as rationalizations swept through her mind, she began to be aware of something else. It came through to her slowly and faintly, and it took her several moments even to realize what it was.

Lucy couldn’t move. With mounting fear, she strained to listen, and her brain struggled to compute. Yes . . . definitely a ringing sound . . .

Goose bumps crept along her spine. Angela’s telephone was ringing, and as Lucy turned reluctantly toward the sound, she heard Angela’s answering machine kick on. “Hi,” purred the sultry voice. “This is Angela. If you think you can handle me, leave a message.”

Wrong number, Lucy thought frantically—everyone knows Angela’s missing—no one who knows her would be doing this!

Yet she felt herself walking toward the phone. Maneuvering through the darkness, as the silence on the answering machine stretched on and on and on . . .

Frantically, Lucy began pushing buttons, but there was no voice, no dial tone, and after several more seconds, no noise at all.