The Dead House

I was so stunned by what Haji said that I almost forgot about my dream. Carly was in it. She was standing very still, watching me, and she was in flames. Her eyes wanted to tell me a whole story, but she couldn’t—that much I could see. She lifted her hand slowly and first pointed at me, then to something off to her right.

It was the snake—she was pointing at the snake, and he was writhing in flames too, an inhuman scream piercing the whiteness of the dream. Then I faded backwards, as though something was dragging me far away, and the whole scene suddenly cleared. Both Carly and the snake stood before the Dead House—itself, too, a conflagration of flames. Not the silent, dancing kind on Carly, but a yowling, monstrous beast, hungry for more. It bent and curved, cracked and spat, and the Dead House blackened and submitted beneath it. Not only that… but the Dead House had begun to crumble into the Dead Sea.

Now, here, where things were once so clear and easy to grasp, I look down over the grounds, and I can feel the school. I feel it, Dee, as though, subtly, it has become the Dead House. I almost expect it to move and change beneath me, glide like a serpent into some other form. Then maybe if I close my eyes, I will suddenly be back in the basement, a voice will be telling me you’re mine, and I will happily submit to my eternal encasement.

10:00 am

Been reading C’s diary while the others are in class. Found this:


I don’t know Brett. I don’t recognize him. Not at all. There’s something wrong with him. Deeply wrong. The way he looks at me, I feel like I’m fading away. I wish he would stop. I don’t want to be near him.



What does this mean? Brett?


Brett.





96


Naida Camera Footage

Friday, 28 January 2005, 11:17 PM

Basement



The camera clicks on as Kaitlyn jerks on the mattress, night-vision painting the picture green and white. At that moment, we see that John stands in the doorway, silently watching her. It is uncertain how long he has been there.

Still asleep, Kaitlyn groans, turns her head towards the door, and starts to pant. “Have to,” she murmurs. “Have to…”

John continues to watch, until one violent start wakes her and she begins to cry. He hesitates, then hurries to her side, and she allows herself to be taken into his embrace.

“I wish you would stop this,” he whispers.

She sniffs. “What?”

“You know what, Kaitie.”

She pulls back, looks up at him. “I’m fine.”

“We’re worried.”

“Who’re we?”

“That Brett guy. He came to ask me to talk to you. Get you to leave this Mala-Grúndi stuff alone.”

“Brett doesn’t know anything. He’s an idiot.”

“At least he seems to give a shit about you. You need to stay away from this, Kait. Seriously, stop it. Before something bad happens to you as well.”

Kaitlyn pushes him away, but cries out as her arms make impact. “I have to,” she breathes, “have to save my sister. You don’t know—you never met her. But she’s the better me. You’d like her, you would. I need her, John.” She shakes her head. “I need her.”

“Let her go. Please… I’m begging you. This thing—it’s bigger than us. You could get someone killed. You could be killed. Is she worth that?”

“Yes!” Her eyes narrow as she regards him. “You’re just assuming things will go wrong. But they won’t. They can’t. Trust me.”

“They’ve already gone wrong. Your friend Naida? I’ve never seen anything like that. I think…” His voice trails off, and he looks down at his hands.

Kaitlyn folds her arms over her chest. The gesture comes off as more vulnerable than defiant. “You think what?”

He meets her gaze. “I think you need to contact Dr. Lansing.”

There’s a beat of silence before Kaitlyn whispers, “What?”

“I’m thinking of calling her.”

She’s on her feet in a moment, her hands balled into fists at her side. “Get away from me.”

“Stop this.”

“Judas,” she spits. “Fuck you! Go back to Lansing? Have them lock me up like a dog?”

“I thought you were… I don’t know. Better.”

“Not this again! You told me that I didn’t belong there!”

John gets to his feet too, tries to reach for Kaitlyn.

“You—you,” she yells, “you think I’m crazy!”

“Kaitlyn, I don’t think you’re crazy. But you need… something. I don’t know what. I… this is dangerous for you. You need to leave Carly where she is”—he raises his hands—“and claim your life.”

“No—”

“Listen—”

“I’m nothing without her!”

“Listen!”

“I can’t survive—she’s the best part! I’m nothing on my own—”

“Kaitlyn, stop!”

“You can’t take her away—”

“What about your parents, Kait?”

A ringing silence follows his exclamation, and the dripping water in the distance—drip, drip, drip—seems suddenly louder.

“What… what do you mean?”

John frowns. “The accident? What you told me that night?”

Kaitlyn shakes her head. “I don’t remember. I don’t remember anything that happened.”

“I was there. I was there that night. You told me to come over. We were going to the orchestra, remember? Your dad was playing. You wanted your parents to meet me. Does any of this ring a bell?”