Envy

body, she could feel the water wick slowly up her backbone, like hot fingers along each of the knobs of her vertebrae.

The water shut out all of her senses. No sound. No air upon her face. No sight. Just the stillness of a blanket of hot water. Taylor let it all go. She had been thinking of Katelyn all day, and her sister had brought them a bit closer to finding out what had happened. That evening, the water, the sensory deprivation, the forced concentration held the answer to questions that she and Hayley had asked over and over since their visit to the Berkley house.

What happened to Katelyn?

LIKE THE FLOOD OF IMAGES that sometimes came to Hayley through touch, what transpired underwater with Taylor couldn’t be explained—at least not to anyone’s satisfaction. Not that either of the twins ever tried to come up with the reasons for it or how they discovered it. In truth, they really weren’t sure of its origin. It just happened, like the random way things happen in nature.

All on their own.

They talked about it through their bedroom outlet intercom, but only occasionally, and always with great respect—respect that came from the fear of whatever it meant, whatever was happening to them.

Or where it came from.

Sometimes Taylor practiced immersions, but with the discretion that comes with keeping something secret. One time, Valerie came in and found Taylor floating under the surface of the bathtub, and her mother had screamed.

“Are you okay? What are you doing?”

The words came at the girl with a rifle-shot of panic that startled her so much, it had almost made Taylor ashamed of being naked.

Now, she lay perfectly still and dropped below the surface. Quiet. Focused. A surge of feelings that somehow translated into images emerged. What visual cues came at her were never from a memory of her own. These memories belonged to others. Sometimes they came in a steady stream, like swirling orbs linked up in a video shooting gallery game. They moved quickly. So fast, in fact, that she experienced a kind of upper neck pain akin to whiplash. Looking, following, trying to see whatever it was.

Other times the images were more static, without a sense of urgency.

Five seconds into the immersion.

Though her eyes were closed, Taylor felt tears underneath her eyelids. In front of her she saw a horizontal box of white light. Along the left side were tiny rows of black.

Ants on an envelope? That didn’t make sense at all.

Twenty seconds passed.

She turned her head in the water and imagined her eyes open, staring hard at the white block in front of her. The ants had moved. In fact, the ants were moving across the blank field, shifting in and out of focus.

What is it?

Forty-five seconds elapsed.

Her lungs were beginning to strain a little. It had been a long time since she’d held her breath for a minute or more.

I’m not ready to stop, she thought. And just what are those nasty ants doing?

Her hands floated toward the surface, a reflex to grab onto the edge of the tub and pull herself out. Taylor ignored the impulse and willed her body to stay just where it was.

A minute and fifteen seconds.

They weren’t ants, but letters.

Okay, Taylor thought, what are they saying?

Seven words spun by and she grabbed at them. The first five were easy, but she kept failing on the last two.

LEWD

HOT ROD

KOALA

FURL

Three minutes underwater. Taylor’s lungs were going to explode. She strained as hard as she ever had.

I’m not giving up, she thought as she fought the physical compulsion to rise up and breathe. Katelyn’s dead. She’s got a messed-up family. She didn’t need to die. I need that last part of the message. She wants me to have the words! Give me those words, Katelyn!

The last two pounced at her.

SELF

IVORY

Taylor clawed at the surface of the water, her eyes open with the kind of fearful look that beach lifeguards know all too well. She wasn’t drowning. Even so, more than three minutes without a breath underwater was frightening beyond words. Coughing, choking on oxygen, Taylor pulled herself to the side of the tub and tried to breathe.

What was Katelyn telling her?

chapter 14

THERE WERE WAYS TO FIGURE OUT what messages Katelyn had left behind. That was if, presumably, the words transmitted under the waters of the bathtub were truly from her. Taylor knew that the seven little words she had received underwater probably didn’t mean what they said. They were only a clue to put her on the right path. Figuring it all out was the hard part.

When Hayley and Taylor had first started receiving messages, they played around with index cards. Even with a half-dried Sharpie, Taylor had better handwriting, so it was she who wrote down each word in crisp black printed letters. Whenever they’d unscrambled the true meaning of each message, they tore up the cards and flushed them down the toilet—despite the historic district’s rule against the disposal of anything other than toilet paper and “personal waste,” as it taxed Port Gamble’s sewage system.

“Isn’t this personal waste?” Taylor asked, looking down at the confetti of index cards.

Hayley nodded. “It is personal—though we’re not always sure what person we’re hearing from. And it is waste, but I think we could come up with a more eco-friendly way.”

“E-occult-friendly. I like that. We should copyright that one.”

Hayley gave her sister an irritated look. “It has nothing to do with the occult.”

“Kidding,” Taylor said.

“I hate it when you make comments like that. It makes all of this seem so ugly.”

“Maybe it is.”

“It isn’t ugly. It comes from someplace good. I feel it. So should you.”

“I’m not like you, Hayley.”

The comment was funny, and both girls laughed.

After that, they had settled on using their parents’ Scrabble game, a handmade relic from their mother’s childhood, to twist around and rearrange the letters that came to them. Kevin and Valerie shared a deep love of words. Whenever the twins were lying on the thick, powderblue Oriental carpet in the parlor playing Scrabble, it brought a smile to both parents. They could see that their daughters were engrossed in a different version of the game, but in a day of video-this and Internetthat, they didn’t say a single word about how they played.

Flames crackled in the fireplace, and the smell of their parents’ nutmeg-laced eggnog wafted through the drafty house. It was the last gasp of leftover cheer in a holiday that had pulsed with an undercurrent of sadness. The family dog, Hedda, was curled up between the girls and the fireplace.

“You girls want some company?” Kevin asked as he entered the room, mug in hand.