“I’m just—I’m not sure,” Em said. She was more than a little freaked out by Drea’s plan. A fire ritual was even more intense than stabbing a snake. . . .
“Trust me,” Drea repeated.
“Don’t take this the wrong way,” Em said, keeping her voice as friendly as she could. “But why should I trust you? Why are you so obsessed with the Furies, anyway? Don’t you think I should have a say in how we deal with them? I’m the one who’s being haunted by them. I’m the one who’s being tortured.”
“Em.” Drea cut her off in a voice of infuriating calm, like she was talking to a child. “The entire world does not revolve around you. I have my reasons.”
“Oh yeah?” Em took a step forward. “You have your reasons? Then please, spill. I’m all ears. Because so far, you haven’t told me jack shit.”
Drea looked away, and for a second Em feared she’d gone too far. Drea would refuse to answer. But then Drea looked back at her, looking gentler and more vulnerable than Em had ever seen her.
“You want a reason?” Drea spoke in a quiet, measured voice, narrowing her eyes. “Fine. I’ll give you a reason. Want to know why my dad hardly leaves the house? Why he can barely get out of bed? He blames himself, Em. He blames himself for my mom’s death—he thinks she killed herself. They had gotten into an argument just before she died. He thinks he was the one making her unhappy.”
A rock of sickness lodged in Em’s stomach. Somehow, suddenly, she knew. It all sounded too familiar. “The Furies,” she said softly. “They were after her?”
Drea nodded. “She was being haunted. I’m sure of it.” She looked around the room, even though they were the only ones there. “After she died, I found an orchid. It was tucked underneath all her sweaters. There were notes, too. Taunting her.” Drea’s voice was barely audible now. “I buried the orchid and the notes in the backyard. And whatever it was they think she did, I’m sure she was innocent. I know it.”
“What happened to her? How did she die?” Em asked gently.
Drea looked at her hands, still picking at her nails and her cuticles. Em could see that the skin around her right pointer finger was starting to bleed. “She worked at the Inland Diner—the one up on Route Four?—and it was a closing shift. The other waitresses and the cook said she insisted everyone go home, that she could handle locking up by herself. They said she seemed nervous, intense—but no one thought anything of it until . . .”
“They found her.” Em murmured.
“The cook . . . the next morning. She was—” Drea swallowed hard. “She was inside the walk-in freezer.” Drea yanked up the hood of her sweatshirt. “There were no wounds, no nothing. She—she just froze to death. She was trapped in the freezer for twelve hours. The inside doorknob had been broken off.”
Em felt like she was about to be sick. “The Furies locked her in the freezer?”
Drea threw up her hands and spoke with a vengeance. “I don’t know. Maybe. Or maybe she was trying kill herself. But it was their fault either way.” Her eyes were shining with hatred. “They might as well have killed my dad, too. Sometimes I wonder how much he knew about the Furies—I have this vague memory of fire. . . . Maybe he tried to cast them out too?”
“Have you ever asked him?” Em said.
“No,” Drea retorted firmly. “He’s suffered enough.”
There was no sound for a few moments, except for the rattling furnace and the faint noise of the television from upstairs. Em didn’t know what to say. She could see Drea’s shoulders rising and falling beneath her sweatshirt. She wanted to hug her. To comfort her. She tried to imagine what Drea had been through . . . and couldn’t. Her mind wouldn’t even let her go there. So instead, she went to touch Drea’s back. But Drea flinched, pulling away.
“We’ll figure this out together, okay?” Em said.
Drea offered a halfhearted smile. “The princess and the punk—whatta team.”
Just then church bells sounded in the distance. Six o’clock.
“Shit!” Em cursed. She was almost an hour late to see Gabby. “I gotta go. I’m supposed to meet Gabby.”
“Go,” Drea said. “I need some time to be alone.”
Emerging from Drea’s basement, Em could see that she was irredeemably late. Gabby had sent several texts: Where are u? . . . and then, We’re gonna miss the movie . . . and then, Are you even gonna come over at all?. . . and then, Well, I guess I’ll just get ready for bed, then. See you in school. . . .