Crescendo

Outside, I sloshed barefoot through the icy mud after him. The rain continued to pour down, and I had to walk carefully to avoid slipping. I wiped my eyes and saw the man’s cape disappear into the line of trees at the edge of the forest.

I stumbled after him, hesitating at the tree line. Cupping my hands to hold back my wet hair, I peered into the deep shadow ahead.

There was a flash of movement and suddenly the man in the cape was running back toward me. He tripped and fell. The branches snagged his cape; in a frenzy, he struggled to untie it from his neck. He gave a high shriek of terror. His arms flailed wildly, his whole body twisting and jerking convulsively.

I shoved my way toward him, twigs scraping my arms, rocks stabbing at my bare feet. I dropped to my knees beside him. His hood was still mostly drawn, but I could see that his mouth was slightly open, paralyzed in a scream.

“Roll over!” I ordered him, yanking to free the fabric trapped beneath him.

But he couldn’t hear me. For the first time, the dream took on a familiar edge. Just like every other nightmare I’d ever been trapped in, the harder I struggled, the more the very thing I wanted slipped out of reach.

I grabbed his shoulders and shook him. “Roll over! I can get you out of here, but you have to help.”

“I’m Barnabas Underwood,” he slurred. “Do you know the way to the tavern? That’s a good girl,” he said, patting the air as if he was patting an imaginary cheek.

I stiffened. There was no way he could see me. He was hallucinating about another girl. He had to be. How could he see me if he couldn’t hear me?

“Run back and tell the barkeep to send help,” he continued. “Tell him there is no man. Tell him it is one of the devil’s angels, come to possess my body and cast away my soul. Tell him to send for a priest, holy water, and roses.”

At the mention of the devil’s angels, the hairs on my arms rose.

He snapped his head back toward the forest, straining his neck. “The angel!” he whispered in a panic. “The angel is coming!”

His mouth twisted into distorted shapes, and it looked like he was fighting for control of his own body. He arched back violently, and his hood was flung all the way off.

I was still clutching the cape, but I felt my hands reflexively slacken. I stared at the man with a gasp of surprise caught in my throat. He wasn’t Barnabas Underwood.

He was Hank Millar.

Marcie’s dad.

I blinked my eyes awake.

Rays of light blazed through my bedroom window. The pane was cracked, and a lazy breeze rustled the first breath of morning across my skin. My heart was still working in double time from the nightmare, but I sucked in a deep breath and reassured myself it wasn’t real. Truth be told, now that my feet were planted firmly in my own world, I was more disturbed over the fact that I’d been dreaming about Marcie’s dad than anything else. In a hurry to forget it, I shoved the dream aside.

I dragged my cell phone out from under my pillow and checked for messages. Patch hadn’t called. Drawing the pillow against me, I curled into it and tried to ignore the hollow sensation inside me. How many hours had it been since Patch walked out? Twelve. How many more until I saw him again? I didn’t know. That was what really worried me. The more time passed, the more I felt the wall of ice between us thicken.

Just get through today, I told myself, swallowing the pebble in my throat. The strange distance between us couldn’t go on forever. Nothing was going to get resolved if I hid out in bed all day. I would see Patch again. He might even stop by after school. Either that, or I could call him. I kept on with these ridiculous thoughts, refusing to let myself think about the archangels. About hell. About how scared I was that Patch and I were facing a problem neither of us was strong enough to solve.

I rolled out of bed and found a yellow Post-it note stuck to the bathroom mirror.

The good news: I convinced Lynn not to send Scott over this morning to pick you up. The bad news: Lynn is set on the tour of town. At this point I’m not sure saying no is going to work. Would you mind taking him around after class? Keep it short. Really short. I left his number on the kitchen counter.

X OX O —Mom

P.S. I’ll call you tonight from my hotel.

I groaned and lowered my forehead to the counter. I didn’t want to spend ten more minutes with Scott, let alone a couple of hours.

Forty minutes later, I’d showered, dressed, and consumed a bowl of strawberry oatmeal. There was a knock at the front door, and I opened it to find Vee smiling. “Ready for another fun-filled day of summer school?” she asked.

I grabbed my backpack off a hook in the coat closet. “Let’s just get this day over with, okay?”

“Whoa. Who peed in your Cheerios?”

“Scott Parnell.” Patch.

“I see the incontinence problem didn’t go away over time.”

“I’m supposed to give him a tour of town after class.”

“One-on-one time with a boy. What’s to hate?”

“You should have been here last night. Dinner was bizarre. Scott’s mom started to tell us about his troubled past, but Scott cut her off. Not only that, but it almost seemed like he was threatening her. Then he excused himself to use the bathroom, but ended up eavesdropping on us from the hall.” And then spoke to his mom’s thoughts. Maybe.

“Sounds like he’s trying to keep his life private. Sounds like we might have to do something to change that.”

I was two steps ahead of Vee, leading the way out, and I came up short. I’d just experienced a flash of inspiration. “I have a great idea,” I said, turning around. “Why don’t you give Scott the tour? No, seriously, Vee. You’ll love him. He has that reckless, anti-rules, bad-boy attitude. He even asked if we had beer—scandalous, right? I think he’s right up your alley.”

“No can do. I’ve got a lunch date with Rixon.”

I felt an unexpected stab in the vicinity of my heart. Patch and I had lunch plans today too, but somehow I doubted they were happening. What had I done? I had to call him. I had to find a way to talk to him. I wasn’t going to end things like this. It was absurd. But a small voice that I despised questioned why he hadn’t called first. He had just as much to apologize for as I did.

“I’ll pay you eight dollars and thirty-two cents to take Scott around, final offer,” I said.

“Tempting, but no. And here’s another thing. Patch probably isn’t going to be a happy camper if you and Scott make a habit of this exclusive time. Don’t get me wrong. I couldn’t care less what Patch thinks, and if you want to drive him crazy, more power to you. Still, I thought I’d raise the point.”

I was halfway down the front porch steps, and my footing slipped at the mention of Patch. I thought about telling Vee that I’d called things off, but I wasn’t ready to say it out loud. I felt my cell phone, with Patch’s picture saved on it, burning in my pocket. Part of me wanted to hurl the phone into the trees on the far side of the road. Part of me couldn’t lose him that quickly. Besides, if I told Vee, she’d inevitably point out that a breakup made us free to date other people, which was the wrong conclusion. I wasn’t looking elsewhere, and neither was Patch. I hoped. This was just a snag. Our first real fight. The breakup wasn’t permanent. Caught up in the moment, we’d both said things we didn’t mean.

“If I were you, I’d bail,” Vee said, her four-inch heels stabbing down the steps behind me. “That’s what I do whenever I find myself in a jam. Call Scott and tell him your cat’s coughing up mice intestines, and you have to take it to the vet after school.”

“He was over here last night. He knows I don’t have a cat.”

“Then unless he’s got overcooked spaghetti for brains, he’ll figure out you’re not interested.”

I considered this. If I got out of giving Scott a tour of town, maybe I could borrow Vee’s car and follow him. Try as I might to rationalize what I’d heard last night, I couldn’t ignore the nagging suspicion that Scott had spoken to his mom’s thoughts. One year ago I would have brushed the idea off as ridiculous. But things were different now. Patch had spoken to my thoughts numerous times. So had Chauncey