Pretty Girl-13

APPARITION




TUESDAY MORNING, GREG WAS ON THE LOOKOUT for you, Angie. In fact, you found him leaned casually up against the wall right inside the school entrance, striking a pose. “Mornin’, beautiful,” he said.

You weren’t beautiful, you knew. Especially not this morning, after spending the whole night tossing, far removed from actual sleep. Much as you usually avoided mirrors, you had actually spent a full five minutes admiring and trying to conceal the puffy circles.

“Mornin’, Greg.” You were surprised that the sight of him didn’t give you any kind of warm, buzzy feelings. In fact, you just felt vaguely annoyed.

“I told her,” he said.

Your mind went blank. Was that supposed to be important?

He stepped up to you and put his hands on our shoulders. He gave you a little shake. “Get it? I told Livvie about us. I was going to tell you yesterday, but you weren’t here.”

“What about us?” you asked.

“Well, not all the details,” he said, pressing close and grinding his hips against you suggestively.

You took a step back so that his hands tumbled from our shoulders. You studied him curiously. Why had you been so attracted to him?

He sensed your distance. “What’s the matter, Ange?” he asked you. “I did what you wanted. I broke up with Liv. Ho, boy. When I saw that senior with his paws all over you at the dance, I nearly lost it. Point made. It should have been me. I get it.” He took a step toward you, a simpering smile on his face.

To his astonishment, Angie, you whirled away, avoiding his touch. “No, Greg. The moment’s gone. It probably wasn’t meant to be, after all.”

You go, girl, we cheered in our silence.

But then Greg grabbed our right arm from behind, squeezing his fingers hard into our bones. “What? You tease! You manipulative tease!” His fingers tightened.

Pain radiated from the grip on our shoulder. A loud rushing sound in your head—the sound of enormous white wings unfurling—nearly drowned out his next bitter words.

“You just wanted to break us up! You played me.” He yanked our arm, hard. “Damn you. Look at me when I’m talking to you.”

With narrowed eyes, you rotated slowly to face him. Our left hand clenched into a fist. A terrible brightness filled your field of vision. You stepped aside, inside, and let another take your place. Angel. We swelled with power and grace.

Greg’s eyes widened in surprise.

Without warning, we backhanded him across the face. Our sharp knuckles cracked against his cheekbone.

He shrieked in surprise. “Shit!”

Greg dropped our elbow and retreated, one hand clasped to his face, bleeding where the ring cut him.

Angel’s deep voice dropped an octave and commanded him, “Don’t you ever touch her again.”

“You’re f*cking nuts!” he shouted over his shoulder as he ran off. “And you’re going to regret treating me like this.”

We laughed at his back. You, too, Angie. You laughed. Together, we were invincible.

Angie rubbed her bruised fingers, wondering what had come over her. She’d never hit anyone before in her life! Still, it felt good somehow, knowing that she’d gotten one over on Greg. Served him right. He’d used her and set her aside until he was jealous. He deserved more than a punch in the face.

It still mystified her what the powerful attraction had been. Probably Little Wife’s desires on top of Angie’s crush had led to … possibly disastrous results. Angie could only imagine what she had done to win Greg, but thankfully she would never have to remember the intimate details. To the end Little Wife had kept to herself exactly what had gone on in Greg’s backseat.

A twinge of guilt and sorrow pierced Angie’s moment of triumph. She felt just a little emptier without the raw energy of Little Wife, the first alter to leave.

The first one. Now Angie had a decision to make. Who next? Tattletale was most bruised, most injured, most betrayed. It would be a mercy to erase those firsthand memories of Yuncle so they could never return, wouldn’t it? And then there was Girl Scout, competent, practical, and actually skilled. Angie almost hated to think of losing her. What about Angel? The protector. It was kind of cool to have a personal protector, a strong friend who stood up for her—except this one was inside, which meant she could stand up for herself.

In the end, the decision was made for her.

Greg and Livvie found their own form of revenge faster than Angie thought possible. During lunch break, they called the press. By dismissal time, a crowd had gathered as close to the school grounds as they were allowed. Two news trucks were parked in the faculty lot. The local five o’clock news anchors were drooling for an interview with the lost girl, now found. They were staked out with their camera crews, just waiting in the cold November afternoon.

The moment Angie walked out the front doors of the school, flashes popped, and a bouquet of microphones unfurled in her face. The questions hit her like a hail of bullets. Who? What? Where? When? Why? And, of course, How do you feel about your ordeal, Ms. Chapman?

She blinked in confusion, blinded by streaks from the flashes. She felt a tug on her arm, and Abraim and Ali were pulling her back into the building. “We know a sneaky way out of here,” Abraim said. They hurried her away to their car, parked right behind an obscure side door that opened off the science lab.

“How’d you know it was about me?” she asked.

Abraim took her hand. “I must admit, I Googled you after the dance. I wondered how I could have missed seeing you around all these years. When I realized you were the legendary missing girl and there was no public commotion about your return, I thought maybe it was deliberately suppressed. Are you in witness protection or something?”

Angie slipped into the backseat and buckled lying down. “I have an identity crisis, but not that kind of identity crisis. Everything I know about those missing years is secondhand. I don’t actually remember any of it. So even if I wanted to, I couldn’t answer their questions. Can you get me home without anyone seeing me?”

“Sure. That was the general idea.” Abraim peeled out and took the side streets to Angie’s neighborhood. “Oh my,” he said as he pulled close. “You’ve got police protection.”

Angie popped up. Two squad cars were parked in her driveway. No news vans. She felt a sudden tightness in her chest. The timing was too close. They probably weren’t here about the press, or they would have shown up at school. “Just drop me off, guys. You’re the best.”

She walked into the house to find Detective Brogan and both of her parents home in the middle of a work day. Three other officers stood uneasily in the kitchen, shifting their weight from foot to foot, hands clasped behind their backs. Brogan was in a suit, all serious.

“Hi, everyone,” Angie said as normally as possible. Her pulse was just a little too fast. “What’s up?”

Brogan replied without a pause. “We’ve had a major break in the case.”

“That’s great!” Angie said with joy—at least, she meant to say it with joy. Suddenly her heart felt incredibly heavy. It was hard to catch her breath. “What … what is it?”

“We found it,” Brogan said. “We found the cabin.”

While Angie had been fighting her way toward normality, Detective Brogan had been pursuing the thin leads that her alters had offered. Not much to go on, but he was a man who didn’t miss much, as Angie had already realized.

In therapy, Girl Scout had given a good description of the rustic cabin where she had lived—the physical cabin, that is. She had recalled some landmarks along her home-bound route. And she gave Dr. Grant permission to pass on the information. It was enough.

The two Forestry Service special agents assigned to the Angeles National Forest had finally located the site of the remote hand-built cabin deep in the thousand square miles of the San Gabriels. The cabin was off the grid and far from any known trails, farther still from the fire access roads that crisscrossed the mountains.

Brogan was sober as he told her, “A sophisticated scrubber was attached to the chimney to conceal evidence of smoke. Without that, we might have found you years earlier.” Regret deepened his voice.

“We’ve found positive forensic evidence of your presence there, Angie. Matching hairs and fibers. Ropes and shackles. We’re sure it’s the right place.”

Her hair and fibers. Bits of herself. Left behind. Angie felt queasy instead of elated.

Brogan went on, unusually oblivious. “Judging from the dust and cobwebs, it’s been abandoned for weeks.”

Mom gasped. “So he’s gone? Just vanished?” She sank into a chair and buried her face in her hands.

Brogan rested a hand on her shoulder and squeezed gently, like a friend.

It occurred to Angie how much of a lifeline he must have been for her mom during the last three years.

Dad threw his arms up in dismay. “That’s it? No arrest? No trial? No punishment?” he roared right in Brogan’s face. “That guy should hang for what he did!”

“This is far from over,” Brogan assured him. “Now we switch to a manhunt. No personal information was found in the cabin, so we’re searching the area for more clues as to the identity of the abductor. Hang in there. I’m sure we’ll soon have all the answers.”

Ropes and shackles. Scabs and skin. Angie’s stomach lurched. Mom yelped and reached for her. But it was too late. She found herself covered in vomit.

“Oh, no,” she said. “I’m sorry.” She spun as her legs threatened to buckle underneath her. She breathed slowly through her nose, trying not to let the dizziness knock her down.

Brogan patted her back and pulled out a clean white handkerchief. He offered it to her lamely. “My fault, Angie. I’m sorry. Too much, too fast. I wasn’t thinking.”

Mom reached around Angie’s waist. “If that’s all, Phil, I’ll take Angie upstairs to clean up.”

Angie glanced back to see Brogan watching her with sad eyes. His shoulders heaved once with a deep breath. Then he dropped to the mess on the carpet and began dabbing at it with his handkerchief.

Mom started the shower running. “I’ll wash your clothes, hon. Just hand them out to me.”

Angie stripped off her sour-smelling jeans and sweater and passed them through the cracked door. She locked it tight, against intruders, against the world. Her stomach still churned like an epic battle was taking place inside her body.

The mirror wasn’t steamy yet, and she couldn’t help being drawn to it. She stared herself in the eye, except it wasn’t herself she was looking for. “What do you guys know?” she asked the reflection. “I know you’re holding out on me. Why?”

She thought about the derelict porch where everyone had gathered for the moments before Little Wife was shut off. The walls between them had been down for just a few minutes. It had felt like total honesty. Now they’d walled her off again.

“Where are you?” she whispered. “Please.” A presence stared at her from her own eyes, and behind her back, a shimmer in the shower mist suggested that a larger person stood behind her. Hallucination?

She blinked hard, and the mist was only mist. She climbed over the edge of the tub, pulled the curtain, and let the hot water cascade over her shoulders. Then she sat on the rubber shower mat, closed her eyes, and invited the water to rain down on her. Heat flowed over her like caressing arms, and she had the strongest feeling now that someone was willing to talk to her, to meet her on another plane. Eyes tight, she dived back into the image of the porch. She summoned up her memory of the railing, the pillars, the rough, splintery floor. The patter of the water faded away. Birds were singing, faraway song sparrows and warblers.

“Who’s here?” Angie asked, trying to focus.

Gray wood, chipped boards. A porch. They gradually resolved into a setting Angie recognized.

Girl Scout raised tearful eyes from her sewing and glanced toward the empty spot where Little Wife’s rocker used to sit. Tattletale was nowhere in sight. “She’s too young for this,” Girl Scout explained. “I sent her to ride. I have to leave too. Angel’s coming now.”

A sound like trumpets and wings broke the stillness, and the terrible whiteness of Angel arrived. His cheekbones were cut from crystal. His brow was tall and smooth, a halo of thick black hair rising from it. Snowy wings closed behind his back, and at his side hung a jeweled sheath. The gold handle of a short sword rested close to his waist. His black eyes held pinpoints of flame that settled on Angie. She trembled inside. What was this magnificent creature doing in her head? Surely he hadn’t come from her.

“Angela, Pretty Girl, you cannot call me to your aid again,” he scolded so gently.

“But … but I didn’t call you,” she protested. “You just … you just came when I needed you.”

His lips tightened into a grim line. “Then you must destroy me.”

Angie gasped. “No. I could never do that!”

“You will,” he said firmly. “You must. You will do to me what you did to the other one, the Little Wife.”

Angie felt compelled to argue. “But you’re so strong and beautiful. I need you. I don’t want to delete you. Can’t you stay with me? Forever? You’re my inner strength.”

The angel shook his dark curls. His voice was pure music. “You have your own strength and beauty and beyond that, innocence. I am only a danger to you now. It is far better if I go unremembered.”

“But why?” Angie demanded. “Because of Greg? That’s ridiculous. He had it coming.”

Angel stood glowing before her. He didn’t reach for his sword this time. His hands were tucked behind his back, hidden in his folded wings. “Angela, our Pretty Girl, please listen. Girl Scout and the Little Wife suffered much, and for so long. Then the lonely one called me into existence. It was finally unforgivable, what the man had done. She called me out of herself, out of her pain, out of the strength of her love. She sat and rocked in the dark, alone, locked in. She rocked and sang and sobbed and prayed.

“I was the answer to her prayer, her avenging angel. When I appeared before her, she said only, ‘Save us.’

“And I replied, ‘Arm me, and my hands are yours.’

“From the folded blanket on her lap, she pulled a sword of silver brilliance. ‘Save us,’ she said again fiercely. ‘Swear it.’

“I held the sword high and gave her my oath. Strength filled my arm. Sun shone around me, and I spread my wings in the heat of the day. I had no heartbeat drum to follow yet, or eyes to truly see. I was only her thought, but it was good to be alive. It was nearly my time.

“I waited while the others won his confidence, so he would never see my black eyes watching him from within, planning salvation. Girl Scout, so clever, won some release from the shackles. I put a glow on her pale cheeks, which he believed a glow of love. Little Wife made him happier, more secure in her love. He slept so deeply the night I came for him. And what Little Wife told you was true. She never woke as I severed her bonds.”

Angel stopped speaking, and the rainfall patter of the shower grew louder again.

She felt the weight of her body enclosing her. “What did you do?” she asked.

But Angel was fading away. His eyes were large and full of remorse.

“Come back,” Angie called. “Don’t leave. Please.” She reached for him, grabbed for his sword belt to hold him.

“No!” His wings unfurled, impossibly huge and white. He thrust out his hands to push her away. Blood dripped from his fingertips.

“What the hell did you do?” Angie cried out in her mind. “Oh God. What?”

The musical voice became hard and brittle as porcelain. “You can’t be allowed to know. If you know, then they will know. Before the questions come, before the walls come down, I have to die.”

Abruptly, the presence was gone and an icy-cold sensation took its place. Chill all around her. Chill raining down. Angie shivered, aware again of her surroundings.

Oh, the shower. The water had run cold. And she’d lost her connection.

With a regretful sigh, Angie opened her eyes. A shocked moment later, she screamed. The water lapping around her legs was red with blood.