The Chase Page 0,15

should break up."

She had said it to shock. Stunned, she realized he wasn't going to contradict her.

"Better get you home," he said again.

Jenny desperately wanted to take the words back, but it was too late. It was too late for anything, and her pride wouldn't let her cry or speak. She sat frozen as they drove to her house. Tom walked her in.

Jenny's mother was standing on the threshold of the living room.

"And just where have you been?" she demanded. She had dark golden hair and a quick temper.

"It's my fault, Mrs. Thornton," Tom said.

"It is not his fault. I'm responsible for myself," Jenny said.

"As long as you're home," Mrs. Thornton said, with a sigh. Her temper, like Jenny's, flared quickly and died more quickly. "Are you hungry? Have you had dinner, Tom?"

Tom shook his dark head. "I'd better be getting home," he said, avoiding Jenny's eyes!

"Yes, you had," Mr. Thornton said softly but pointedly from his armchair. Jenny's father was a small man, but he had a sardonic eye that could kill from across the room. "I'm sure your parents are expecting you. And next time, be back before dark."

As the door closed behind him, Jenny said with reckless energy, "There probably won't be a next time."

Her mother was startled. "Jenny?"

Jenny turned toward the kitchen, but not before she saw her parents exchange glances. Her father shook his head, then went back to Time magazine.

Her mother followed her into the kitchen.

"Dear one-you can't be upset because we want you home early. We're just trying to keep you and Joey safe."

"It isn't that." Jenny was struggling with tears. "It's just-I think Tom and I are going to break up."

Her mother stared. "Oh, sweetheart!"

"Yes. And I just don't know-oh, Mom, everything's changing!" Abruptly Jenny threw herself into her mother's arms.

"Things do change, sweetheart. You're at the age when everything starts happening. I know how scary it can be, and I'm sorry about Tom-"

Jenny shook her head mutely. She and her mom had talked about growing up before. Jenny had always felt secretly a little smug at how well she was handling it all. She'd had it all planned out: high school with Tom, and then college with Tom, and then, in some comfortably fuzzy future, marriage to Tom, and an interesting career, and a world tour. After the tour, babies. Boy and girl, like that.

She'd already conquered growing up: she knew exactly what it was going to be like.

Not anymore. Her cozy future was crumbling around her.

She drew away from her mother.

"Jenny ... Jenny, there isn't anything you're not telling us-say, about Zach? Because Aunt Lily is really worried. She says he's been acting so different... . He even seems to have lost interest in his photography. ..."

Jenny could feel herself stiffen. "What kind of anything?" she said.

"Of course, we know Zach didn't-didn't hurt Summer in any way. But he wasn't the one who made up this story, was he? And you all believed it because you care about him." It was phrased as a theory, and Jenny was horrified.

"No," she said. "First of all, nobody made up the story." Although Mrs. Thornton continued to face her, Jenny noticed that her mother's golden-brown eyes went shades darker at that, and seemed to wall over. It was how all the parents looked when the kids talked about the reality of what had happened that night. They were listening, but they weren't listening. They believed you because you were their kid, but they couldn't believe you. So they ended up staring at you like polite zombies and making excuses behind their eyes.

"Nobody made the story up," Jenny repeated tiredly, already defeated. "Look-I'm really not hungry."

She escaped to the family room, where Joey was playing a video game-but it wasn't escape. The phone rang.

She reached for it automatically. "Hello?"

Shhshhshhshhshhshhshhshhshhshh.

Chills swept over Jenny.

The white noise went on, but over it there was a whispering. "A ... ishhshhshht..."

"Joey, turn the TV down!"

The breathy whisper came again, and Jenny heard the psychic's voice in her mind. Vanished...

"Van-ishhshhshhed," the voice whispered.

Jenny clutched the phone, straining to hear. "Who is this?" She was suddenly angry rather than afraid. She had visions of the frosted-blond psychic on the other end. But the voice seemed like a man's, and it had a distorted quality to it that went beyond foreign. The word sounded like vanished, but...

The phone clicked, then there was a dial tone.

"What's wrong?" her mother said, coming in. "Did someone call?"

"Didn't you hear it ring?"

"I can't hear anything over