Nevermore

his hand clasped it. It was as though the door had been painted to blend in with the forest.

“You are her only threat and therefore our only hope,” he said hastily, pulling the door open to reveal rose carpeting and a pink bedspread. He pushed her through and Isobel stumbled over the threshold, into her bedroom. There, in her bed, she saw herself—asleep.

“Learn to awaken within your dreams, Isobel,” he called after her, “or we are all lost.”

Behind her, the door slammed shut.

25 Seeing Double

Isobel stared at the sleeping body in her bed. Her body.

All at once, the digital clock on her headboard twitched to read six thirty a.m. The blaring sound of her alarm erupted, and with it she felt a quick, sharp tug through her middle.

There came a rushing sensation, like the whir of a carnival ride. Her room blurred into smears of color, and then it all stopped too soon in a jarring slam.

She rocketed up in bed, her chest heaving. Wide awake, she stared at the place in front of her door where she had just been, where she had just stood— looking at herself.

Her bedroom door swung open.

“Izzy,” her mother said, leaning in, “I’m glad you’re up on time but really, do you have to go around slamming doors so early? Besides, your father’s already left for the office, so there’s no one here for you to make a statement for. Isobel?” Her tone switched from reproachful to concerned. Isobel tried to focus on her mother’s face, but she couldn’t keep her gaze from wandering over her shoulder to stare down the length of the hallway.

Her mom came into the room and, silencing the alarm clock, placed a hand on Isobel’s forehead. Against her skin, her mom’s hand felt like fire.

“Isobel,” her mom said again, “you look pale. You’re not getting sick again, are you?”

In the hall, Isobel could see yellow light draining out from the bathroom, and Danny’s partially open door.

No trees. No forest. No Reynolds.

26 Freak

“Central control to Cadet Lanley. Do you read me?”

By the time Isobel had reached her locker that morning, she’d come up with a neat and (for the most part) logical explanation for almost everything. The forest had come from Varen’s black-tree CD, the run through the woods had been her subconscious mind reliving her run through the park, and Reynolds . . . well, Reynolds probably had something to do with her dad.

Stick that all in a box labeled “bad dream,” tie it up with a dreaming about dreaming theory, and Isobel thought she had things pretty much figured out. Of course, the only thing she hadn’t been able to play connect the dots with had been the strange white light, the mysterious ghostly woman. Maybe, Isobel mused, it had been a metaphor for Lacy.

The locker beside hers slammed shut with a bang, causing Isobel to start.

“Yeah, hello,” Gwen said, circling a hand around in front of Isobel’s face, as though washing sludge from a window.

“What?” said Isobel. She pushed Gwen’s hand down.

“What my butt! Did you seriously not hear a single thing I just told you? I said, ‘Are you feeling okay?’ You’re all catatonic this morning. And you look a little washed-out.”

Isobel looked away, trying to hide her face behind the locker door. “Yeah, I’m okay. I just didn’t sleep very well.”

Overhead, first bell sounded.

“Hey,” Gwen said, still watching Isobel as though she were examining something in a petri dish. Then her concern softened and melted away, replaced by a wry smile. “Before I forget.” She held out a folded slip of paper with Isobel’s name printed across one side in deep purple lettering. “I only read it once, I swear.”

Isobel gasped and snatched up the note. “When did you see him?”

“Parking lot. This morning. You know, some of us have cars.”

“Don’t rub it in.” Isobel unfolded the note.

Can we meet after school? My house. No parents.

See you in Swanson’s class.

—V

Isobel’s heart thrummed, turning several loop-de-loops. His house?

She grinned, suppressing visions of the Addams Family mansion.

And no parents. No parents?

She reread that line again, suddenly realizing that the thought of being totally alone with him was more than just a little terrifying.

What word had her mother used? Experienced?

She refolded the note quickly.

It didn’t help to look up and see a grinning, brow-waggling Gwen. Isobel rolled her eyes and tucked the note away in her locker. Then, thinking better of it, she pushed the note into the right pocket of her jeans instead. She still hadn’t changed her combination, and it was definitely not a message she wanted Brad to see.

“Hey,” said Gwen, backing away to join the traffic of the crowded hall, “I’ll see you at lunch, okay? My delicate butterfly nature calls on me to table hop, so expect a visit. And don’t look so worried. It’s been my experience that the spooky ones usually know what they’re doing.” Gwen winked, then with a hand cupped around her mouth like a megaphone, called,

“And they’ll only bite you if you let them!”

Isobel shut her locker, then hustled in the opposite direction, away from all the heads that had turned.

She tried not to smile.

The rest of the morning dragged by, with every minute feeling more like five. Isobel found herself unable to focus on what was going on in her classes. Unlike the day before, when she’d been able to zone out and let time slip away, she felt fidgety and tense. She kept watching the clock, and even though she’d decided to stick with her sleepwalking theory, her second dream encounter with Reynolds kept creeping in through the back door of her mind, shadow-playing through her memory. The only pleasant distraction she found was in the thought of seeing Varen in Mr. Swanson’s class and then later that afternoon, though the idea of being alone with him still made her nervous.

After what seemed like nine eternities, fourth period finally rolled around. Isobel stopped by her locker again before heading to class to pick up her English binder as well as the dreaded Poe book. If there was one thing she was looking forward to most about finishing the project, it was not having to tote around Poe’s lifework anymore. Besides being creepy and contributing to nightmares, the thing weighed as much as a cement block.

Isobel found her seat in Mr. Swanson’s class. A moment later, chains clinking, Varen walked in. She looked up, straightening in her chair, his presence never failing to put her on full alert. But a second later her rigidness crumbled into laughter, and she had to cover her mouth. Several people turned in their seats, looking curiously between them. The T-shirt beneath his jacket read HOOLIGAN in Gothic white lettering. It was the term Isobel’s father had used last night. Varen had heard, she realized with a stab of embarrassment.

“Shades off, Mr. Nethers, if you don’t mind,” Mr. Swanson said.