Black Creek Crossing

Chapter 32

YRA SULLIVAN GASPED AS THE FIGURE APPEARED in the kitchen doorway, and the memory of the terrifying specter she’d glimpsed in the living room only a few hours earlier instantly leaped back to the forefront of her mind. Her hand flew to her breast as if to still her suddenly racing heart, then moved on, unconsciously making the sign of the cross as she mouthed an inaudible prayer so deeply rooted in her subconscious that she was barely aware of its utterance at all.

The figure stood still in the doorway. Clad completely in black, a cape falling from its shoulders nearly to the floor, the ghost-white face seemed almost to float like a disembodied object above the body.

The mouth was a scarlet slash, the eyes — enormous in the ghostly face — were circled with black. The lips parted to expose fangs so distended that Myra lurched back a step. Then, just as a scream began to form in her throat, she heard the sound of laughter.

Angel’s laughter!

“Got you!” her daughter crowed, her bloodred lips broadening into a grin. She stepped farther into the kitchen and whirled around so the cape billowed out, and pulled away the black scarf she’d wrapped around her head so her hair fell back to her shoulders. “What do you think?”

“Dear God,” Myra breathed, her right hand still on her breast. “For heaven’s sake, Angel, what are you trying to do to me?”

“It’s my costume!” Angel cried. “What do you think?”

Myra took a deep breath as her pulse began to slow. “I think it’s a little early, don’t you? Halloween’s still a few weeks away. And where on earth did you get that cape?”

“Last year, remember? When you said Zack was going to invite me to his—” She fell abruptly silent as the pain of the invitation that had never come rose inside her. She’d looked forward to it for almost a month, and bought the vampire kit the day the drugstore in Eastbury had stocked its shelves with Halloween decorations.

Even on the afternoon of Halloween, she’d been sure the phone would ring and her cousin would invite her to his party.

It hadn’t happened.

She’d put the costume away and tried to pretend it didn’t matter, and never even asked Zack about it. Now, suddenly, as the pain of what had happened almost a year ago came flooding back, she knew what had happened this year. Nobody had told her the country club was having a costume party tonight, and if she hadn’t overheard Heather Dunne and her friend talking in the dressing room this morning, she would have been the only one to show up without a costume.

And she would have felt even worse this year than she did last, when she hadn’t been invited to the party at all.

But what about Seth? Why hadn’t he told her? But she knew the answer even as the question rose in her mind — no one had told him either. And it was way too late to call him — he was stuck in the golf tournament with his father.

Half an hour later Myra pulled the old Chevelle into the parking lot at the country club, which was mostly filled with Mercedes-Benzes, BMWs, and Lexuses. Myra finally spotted a handful of cars that looked more like the Chevelle than the fancy models parked closest to the front door, and only realized when she was locking the car that she’d parked in the employees’ area. As she gazed at the contrast between her car and those of the members, Myra wondered once more if coming had been a mistake — it still wasn’t too late to get back in the car and go home.

Home, where Marty would be going back to his beer, despite the promises he’d made just before they left. Besides, Joni and her friends had been so insistent that she come, and it would be a great opportunity for Angel to come out of her shell and start making more friends than just that one boy Marty had told her about.

It would be fine.

Less than five minutes later, she and Angel passed through the front doors of the country club and were scrutinized by a hostess who seemed reluctant to tell them that the barbecue was on the patio around the pool. And then they stepped through the French doors out onto the terrace overlooking the pool, she knew she was wrong. It wasn’t going to be fine at all.

There were at least forty youngsters gathered around the pool, ranging in age from ten to sixteen or seventeen.

The boys were wearing khaki pants, polo shirts, and loafers, mostly without socks.

The girls who weren’t wearing clothes almost identical to the boys were wearing skirts with white or plaid blouses, and had sweaters draped around their shoulders that Myra could see were cashmere even from this distance.

Not one of them was wearing any kind of costume at all.

As Myra and Angel stood gazing down at them, the youngsters began looking up at the terrace and fell into silence.

Someone snickered.

Then someone else snickered.

Then the snickering turned into a ripple of laughter.

Then a single voice rose above the laughter: “Ooooh, I’m sooo scared! Is it a vampire or a witch?” A pause, then: “Oh, no — I’m wrong! It’s an Angel!”

As the laughter erupted into a roar, Angel turned and fled back into the shelter of the clubhouse, Heather Dunne’s mocking voice echoing in her mind. By the time she’d found the ladies’ room, tears were streaming down her face.

Now she knew what had happened. Heather had seen her in the store, then followed her into the dressing room area and—

How could she have been so stupid?

A sob welled up in her throat, but she choked it back as she heard the door open. If it was Heather or one of her friends, she wasn’t about to let them see her crying.

But to her surprise, she heard Seth’s voice. “Angel?” he called softly. “Are you in here?”

“You can’t come in,” she said, her voice catching on the sob that still threatened to overwhelm her. “It’s the ladies’ room.”

But a moment later she sensed Seth standing behind her, and when she looked up and into the mirror and saw the worried expression on his face, she turned around, wiping her eyes with a fold of the cape. “I’m not going to die,” she told him. “It’s just… just…” Her tears welled up again and her chin quivered. “How could they do that?” she asked. “How come they want to be so mean? What am I doing wrong?”

Seth took an uncertain step toward her and clumsily put his arm around her. “You’re not doing anything wrong,” he said. “They just need someone to pick on. And I guess it’s us.”

Us. Not you. He’d said us.

But he wasn’t wearing a costume. What had they done to him?

Sniffling back her tears, she pulled away from him, and Seth could read the question in her eyes.

“Zack’s really pissed at me,” he said. Then, unable to hold back a grin, he told her what had happened on the eighteenth hole. “And you’re not gonna believe this,” he finished, “but the cat that spooked him on the tee showed up again at the green. It was—”

“It was Houdini, wasn’t it?” Angel breathed.

Seth nodded. “I know it isn’t possible, but—”

“I saw him too,” Angel broke in. “He was at my house.” Quickly, she told him what had happened when she and her mother got back from the store, and what she’d seen.

Or at least what she thought she’d seen.

“I thought I must have imagined it,” she said. “But if you saw him too…” She left the thought unfinished, still not ready to say aloud what she knew they were both thinking. Instead she asked, “What are we going to do?”

“First, we’re going to go out there and show them you don’t care what kind of tricks they pull on you. Have you got your makeup?”

Angel nodded. “I brought it all, ’cause I figured it might start wearing off in the middle of the party.”

“Great,” Seth said. “Okay, first let’s get rid of the cape. Turn it around and put it on backward so you don’t mess up your clothes while you wash some of that white guck off.”

“How do you mess all this up?” Angel fretted. “Besides, I’m not going back out there — everyone else is wearing really expensive clothes, and I don’t have anything but what I have on!”

“Quit worrying,” he told her, eyeing her black sweater, skirt, and leggings. “By the time we’re done, you’re gonna look great!”

As they began to work on her makeup, the door opened and they heard Angel’s mother. “Angel?” she said. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine, Mom!” Angel called out.

Seth jumped into one of the stalls before Myra appeared. “Perhaps we should just go home,” her mother began, but Angel shook her head.

“I’m okay,” she said. “I–I guess I just misunderstood. I’m just taking off this stupid vampire makeup, then I’ll be out.”

“If you’d rather just go home…”

Angel shook her head. “I’m all right.”

Myra still hesitated, then, mentally assessing the contents of the refrigerator — and Marty’s likely alcohol consumption — she shrugged. The barbecue outside was already lit, and she’d seen the cut of steaks they were serving. “All right,” she said. “But if you change your mind—”

“Go find Aunt Joni,” Angel told her. “I’ll be out in a few minutes.”

Fifteen minutes later, Seth led Angel out of the ladies’ room, back through the clubhouse, and out onto the terrace. The black cape was gone — rolled up and stuffed into the black shoulder bag she’d brought to hold the makeup. Most of the white was gone from her face, and the vampire fangs had joined the cape in the shoulder bag. They’d used the makeup kit to put shadow on her lids, and Seth had carefully applied mascara to her eyelashes, which now looked twice as long and full as before. He’d plaited her hair into a single long braid that hung down her back, and the black clothes now made her look thinner. With her hair pulled back from her face and her features accentuated with the makeup Seth had applied, she barely looked like herself anymore.

And nobody laughed.

Nobody except Heather Dunne.

“Well,” Heather said as she and Seth passed. “I guess we know which it is — she’s obviously not a vampire, but she sure looks like a witch!”

Though Angel tried to keep moving, Seth stopped her and turned to face Heather. “Maybe you’re right,” he said. “Maybe she is a witch. But if she is, I’d think you’d want to be a little more careful what you say.” Leaving Heather glaring furiously at him, he turned around and walked away, with Angel hurrying after him.

“Are you crazy?” Angel said when she was sure Heather couldn’t hear her. “What did you want to say that for?”

Seth shrugged. “Maybe I’m just sick of putting up with them all the time,” he replied. “Besides,” he added, dropping his voice, “maybe you really are a witch. I mean, how else did Houdini come back to life?”

Angel gasped. “What are you talking about? I didn’t—”

“But you did,” Seth said. “And we both know how you did it.”

For the rest of the afternoon and into the evening, Angel thought about what Seth had said, and it almost blotted out the whispers passing through the rest of the crowd.

Almost blotted them out, but not quite…

It was as if an inaudible signal went off at precisely ten o’clock. Even though no one actually heard it, the members of the Roundtree Country Club reacted exactly as factory workers half a century earlier had reacted to the whistle signaling the end of the workday. Abandoning the remains of the barbecue around the pool and the dance in the “ballroom”—the main dining room with its tables moved to the walls, and a makeshift dance floor installed over the carpet — the members began their exodus, herding their younger children ahead of them and reminding the older ones that they should be home by midnight.

By ten-fifteen the club was all but abandoned to the staff, and Joni Fletcher found herself waiting with only Jane and Seth Baker on the front porch, facing a parking lot that was empty except for the Fletchers’ Mercedes-Benz, the Bakers’ Lexus, and a collection of battered and rusting old cars that belonged to the staff. “I don’t believe they’re still at it,” Joni said, glancing impatiently at her watch. “If I’d known those two were still going to be playing this late, I’d have caught a ride with Myra.”

“Go get them, will you, Seth?” Jane Baker asked.

The knot of anxiety that had only just begun to release him from its grip tightened again, and for an instant Seth wondered what would happen if he tried to beg off. But what would be the use? His father was already mad at him, and what would happen when they got home wouldn’t get any worse just because he’d brought a message from his mother. Turning away from the porch, he went back into the clubhouse and down the stairs to the pool room in the basement.

Though the club had banished smoking a year ago, the low-ceilinged, walnut-paneled room that housed the club’s single billiard table still reeked of the thousands of cigars that had smoldered in the room over the decades, and Seth almost gagged when he stepped through the door to see his father lining up a bank shot. Knowing better than to utter even a single word before his father completed the shot, Seth waited until the cue had clicked, the ball his father had been aiming at had failed to drop into the far corner pocket, and the cue ball had come to rest in an almost unplayable position against the rail, next to the nearest corner pocket. “Mom says she’s ready,” he said when Blake finally glanced over at him.

“Nice timing,” Blake Baker said, his eyes fixed balefully on his son. “In case you’re interested, what I’m trying to do here is win back the money you managed to lose for me this afternoon.”

“Come on, Blake,” Ed Fletcher said. “It wasn’t Seth’s fault — all he did was make a couple of good shots. Seems to me it was you and Zack who lost the money.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Seth saw Zack Fletcher’s jaw clench and his fingers tighten on the pool cue he was holding. “But Mom said—” he began.

His father didn’t let him finish. “Tell your mother that if she’s in such a hurry, she can catch a ride with Joni. I’ll drop Zack and Ed off after we’re done here.”

“And at the rate it’s going, that might take all night,” Ed Fletcher said. Leaning over his cue, he lined up his shot carefully, then sent the cue ball the length of the table, banking it off the far end so it came back, glanced the six ball into the side pocket, then sent the four ball into the corner pocket that lay only a couple of inches from where the shot had begun. Seth backed out the door, then turned and started back up the stairs. He’d just gotten to the landing when he heard Zack’s voice.

“I want to talk to you, Beth.”

Seth froze. Part of him wanted to run, to dash through the lobby and out the front door before Zack could get to the top of the stairs. But then he realized even Zack wouldn’t dare start something right in front of his mother. And by tomorrow Zack would have told everybody he knew that he had run away.

Run away and hid behind his mother’s skirts.

He thought of Angel Sullivan, staying through the party and facing Heather Dunne, Sarah Harmon, Chad Jackson, Jared Woods, and all the other kids who hadn’t spoken to her but kept talking about her just loud enough to make sure she heard every word they said.

If she could face them, he could face Zack Fletcher.

So instead of running, he waited at the top of the stairs until Zack caught up with him.

And suddenly, having made the decision not to run away, he was no longer afraid. “So what do you want to talk about, Zack?”

Zack hesitated — he’d been sure that Seth would run away from him. And tomorrow he would have had one more story to tell everyone about what a chicken “Beth” Baker was. But he hadn’t run. Instead, Seth was just standing there, looking at him as if he wasn’t scared at all.

“What did you do?” Zack finally asked.

Seth stared at him as if he didn’t understand the question. Indeed, he didn’t.

“This afternoon,” Zack said, his voice rising. “How’d you make all those shots?”

Seth’s mind raced as he tried to think of something — anything — that Zack might accept. But recalling the black cat that had stayed with him all the way through the back nine, watching every shot so closely, as if it was controlling them, he realized what to say.

The truth.

The simple truth.

“It was easy,” he said softly. “I did it the same way I messed up your last putt. I used witchcraft on you!”

Zack gaped at him, then pulled back his fist and smashed it into Seth’s face. Seth jerked aside at the last second, just enough to avoid the full force of the blow, but Zack’s fist still caught him on the jaw and sent him sprawling to the floor. Instead of bursting into tears, however, or trying to scuttle away, Seth only looked up at Zack.

“I don’t think you should have done that,” he said, his voice cold. He picked himself up, and his eyes locked on Zack’s. “And my name isn’t ‘Beth,’ ” he added. “It’s ‘Seth.’ ”

Then he turned around and walked away.