The Dead Girls Club - Damien Angelica Walters Page 0,88
we could talk to my mom.
“What do you want me to do?” I said, my voice still thick.
“Nothing yet. It isn’t the right time, but soon.”
“I don’t understand,” I said. I wanted to go home. Hide underneath the covers and pretend I hadn’t come here, hadn’t seen Becca this way.
“I know. I’ll tell you everything, but not now. And you can’t help me here. It has to be at the house.”
I shook my head. “No, uh-uh. I’m not going back there.”
“We have to,” she said. “That’s where we have to finish it.”
“Finish what? You’re not making any sense.”
“The ritual.”
I groaned. “But we did it already. I don’t want—”
“This is a different one. One that’ll fix everything. You have to trust me, okay?”
Next to me, the Red Lady stared up from a torn scrap of paper.
“Fine,” I said. “But after this, we’re done with her, okay? You have to promise me. When this is over, no more drawings or telling stories about her. We go back to the way things were.”
“We can’t ever go back.”
But when I opened my mouth, she held up one finger. “No more drawings or stories, okay. You should go home now. I have some stuff to do, and if Lauren comes home early, I don’t want her to see you. She’ll get mad. Meet me at the house Friday night after your parents go to bed.”
She practically pushed me down the stairs. I stood on her porch with my arms crossed, thinking maybe she’d open the door, telling me it was all a joke and I fell for it. I waited, but the door stayed shut. I should tell my mom, but Becca was my best friend. I wanted everything to be okay. I wanted her to be okay. I’d do anything to make that happen. I’d do almost anything at all.
That night I changed into my pajamas early. My mom was in the bathroom, taking off her makeup, and I stood in the doorway, wiggling a little.
“I have to pee,” I said.
“Come on in. You won’t bother me.”
When I finished, she moved aside so I could wash my hands.
“You okay?” she asked. “You’ve been awfully quiet tonight.”
“I’m fine,” I said, looking down at the water in the sink, not at her.
“All right. Hey, next weekend we’ll go school supply shopping.”
“Ugh.”
“And after, we can stop at Friendly’s and get ice cream sundaes, like we did last year.”
But it wouldn’t be like last year. Becca had been with us then, and we’d eaten so much ice cream our stomachs hurt for hours. My mom probably wanted to wait until after payday, but I wondered, too, if she wanted to give me more time, in case I wanted to ask Becca to go. I thought about her bruises. Wondered if her mom would take her shopping or not.
“Hey, Mom?”
“Uh-huh?”
“I …” Pain darted my side, one fast jab gone almost as quick as it began. I swallowed hard. Turned off the faucet. “Never mind.”
She passed me a towel. “If you want or need to talk to me, I’m here. Oh, and before I forget, your dad will be working late for the next couple of weeks because they’re running behind at the job site. They still haven’t even filled in the hole where the other man fell. So you and I will have plenty of girl time, just in case you decide you do want to talk.”
“Okay,” I said, hanging up the towel and going back into my room before I could break my promise to Becca, no matter how much it hurt.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
NOW
I drive back to the office in a daze. My patient is waiting, and although I’m not even that late—it’s not my fault they arrived early—her mother gives a look so full of disapproval I feel as though I’m a student with incomplete homework. Having had no time to fully prepare for the session, I do my best to ask the right questions and listen, but when the hour’s over, patient delivered back to her mother, I sink down in my office chair.
It’s not Lauren.
It’s not her.
Was it ever? I thought her timidity at the hotel was an act, but what if it wasn’t? What if she had no idea why I was there or what I wanted? What if she never did anything to me? Never did anything but try to salvage what was left of her life?
So who’s behind it all? I’m back to square one, which is even worse now, because it made