BOOK THREE. THE BLIND FURY

CHAPTER 19


The day had been an ordeal for everyone. Corinne Hatcher glanced at the clock for what must have been at least the sixtieth time. All day, the children had whispered among themselves, their eyes constantly coming to rest, if only briefly, on Michelle Pendleton, then shifting guiltily elsewhere when they realized Miss Hatcher was watching them.

Corinne knew no more than anyone else. She had heard all the speculations. She had been called by several women the night before, all professing their desire to be sure their children’s teacher knew “the truth,” all eager to tell her that they hoped she would “see to it” that Michelle Pendleton was “separated” from the class immediately. Finally, in desperation, she had called Josiah Carson for the true story of what had happened, then left her phone off the hook.

And now, as three o’clock approached, she was still trying to decide whether or not to mention Susan Peterson. But as the last few minutes of the school day ticked slowly away, she knew she would not — there just wasn’t anything she could tell them, and there was certainly nothing she wanted to tell them with Michelle Pendleton present.

Michelle.

Michelle had arrived that morning, as every morning recently, just in time to slip unobtrusively into her seat at the back of the room. Of all the children, she seemed to be the only one capable of concentrating on her lessons: while the others exchanged glances and whispers, Michelle sat calmly — was it stoically? — at the back of the room, as if unaware of what was going on around her. Michelle’s reaction to the situation had set the example for her own. If Michelle could act as though nothing had happened, so could she. God knows, she rationalized to herself, it won’t make any difference to Susan, and maybe, if I ignore the situation, the children will too.

Corinne heaved a silent sigh of relief as the final bell rang, and sank into her chair to watch the children scurry out into the hall None of them, she noticed, spoke to Michelle, although she thought she saw Sally Carstairs pause for a second, hesitate as though she was going to say something, then change her mind and leave with Jeff Benson.

When no one was left in the room but the two of them, Corinne smiled at Michelle.

“Well,” she said as brightly as she could. “How was your day?” If Michelle wanted to talk about it, Corinne had given her the opportunity. But Michelle didn’t want to talk.

“All right,” she replied, her voice listless. She had gotten to her feet and was gathering her books. Just before she started out of the room, she smiled briefly at Corinne. “See you tomorrow,” she said. And she was gone.

As she left the classroom, Michelle glanced down the corridor and, seeing Sally Carstairs and Jeff Benson talking together near the front door, turned the other way.

She emerged onto the back stairs and let herself relax for the first time that day: none of her classmates was in the schoolyard. Annie Whitmore was there, playing with her friends, but today they had given up their jump rope in favor of hopscotch. Michelle watched them for a moment and wondered if perhaps she could do it, jumping on her good leg. Maybe, after the children were gone, she’d try it.

She started down the stairs, intending to leave the schoolyard by the back gate, but as she passed the swings, one of the second grade boys called to her.

“Will you push me?”

Michelle stopped and looked at the little boy.

He was seven years old, and small for his age. He was perched on one of the swings, wistfully watching his friends as they pumped themselves back and forth. His problem was immediately obvious. His legs didn’t reach the ground, and he couldn’t get the swing started. He watched Michelle with large and trusting brown eyes, the eyes of a puppy.

“Please?” he begged.

Michelle set her bookbag on the ground and, with effort, took up a position behind the little boy. “What’s your name?” she asked as she gave him a little push.

“Billy Evans. I know who you are — you’re the girl who fell off the bluff. Did it hurt?”

“Not much. I got knocked out.”

Billy seemed to accept this as perfectly normal. “Oh,” he said. “Push me harder.”

Michelle pushed a little harder. Soon Billy was swinging happily, his little legs kicking out, his childish squeals echoing across the playground.

Sally Carstairs and Jeff Benson walked slowly down the front steps, reluctant to start home, prolonging their comfortable companionship. A bond had formed between them — nothing spoken, but something nevertheless there. If asked, neither of them could have explained it — indeed, neither of them would even have been likely to admit to it. Yet, as they reached the front yard, they lingered.

A car pulled up, and the two children watched as June Pendleton got out. Self-consciously, each of them muttered a faint hello as she passed them, but June didn’t seem to hear them. They watched her disappear into the school.

“I don’t think Michelle had anything to do with it,” Sally said suddenly. They had not been talking about Michelle or Susan, but Jeff knew immediately what she meant.

“My mother said she was there,” Jeff replied.

“But that doesn’t mean she did anything,” Sally countered.

“Well, she didn’t like Susan, that’s for sure.”

“Why should she have?” Sally demanded, the first touch of heat coming into her voice. “Susan was mean to her. From the first day of school, Susan was always mean to her.”

Jeff shuffled uncomfortably, knowing that what Sally said was true, but not wanting to agree with her.

“Well, all of us sort of went along with it.”

“I know. Maybe we shouldn’t have.”

Jeff looked at Sally sharply. “You mean if we hadn’t, Susan wouldn’t be dead now?”

“I didn’t say that!” But Sally silently wondered if that’s what she had meant. “Is it all right if I walk home with you?”

Jeff shrugged. “If you want to. But you’ll just have to walk back to town again.”

“That’s all right.” The two of them started along the sidewalk, then turned the corner onto the street that would take them past the playground. “Maybe I’ll go see Michelle,” Sally said tentatively.

Jeff stopped and looked at her.

“My mother says we shouldn’t have anything to do with her. She says it’s dangerous.”

“That’s silly,” Sally replied. “My parents told me I should be friends with her again.”

“I don’t see why. She can’t do anything anymore. If you ask me, her leg wasn’t the only thing she hurt when she fell. I think she must have landed on her head!”

“Jeff Benson, you stop that.” Sally cried. “That’s just the kind of thing Susan used to say. And look what happened to her!”

Now Jeff stopped, and his eyes fixed on Sally. “You do believe Michelle did something, don’t you?” he asked. Sally bit her lip and stared at the ground.

“Well, it’s all right if you do,” Jeff told her. “Everybody in town thinks she did something to Susan. Except, I guess nobody knows exactly what.”

They were near the playground now, and Sally suddenly felt a creepy sensation, as though she were being watched. When she turned around, she drew a sudden and involuntary breath: a few feet away, just inside the fence, Michelle stood, facing her, gently pushing a swing while Billy Evans laughed happily and begged to be pushed harder.

For a split second Sally’s eyes met Michelle’s. In that instant, she was sure that Michelle had heard what Jeff had said. There was a look in Michelle’s eyes, a look that frightened Sally. She reached out and took Jeff’s hand.

“Come on,” she said, her voice barely louder than a whisper. “She heard you!”

Jeff frowned, then glanced around to see why Sally was suddenly whispering.

He saw Michelle staring at him.

His first impulse was to stare her down, and his eyes narrowed. But Michelle’s gaze never wavered, and her face remained expressionless. Jeff could feel himself losing control. When he finally gave up, and looked away, he tried to act as if he’d done it on purpose.

“Let’s go, Sally,” he said loudly, making sure Michelle would hear him. “If Michelle wants to play with the babies, what do we care?” He started down the street, leaving Sally by herself. She waited a few seconds, confused, wanting to catch up with him. Yet part of her held back, wishing she could somehow apologize to Michelle. Unable to sort it out, she ran off down the street after Jeff’s retreating figure.

Corinne Hatcher glanced up from the tests she was correcting, her automatic smile of greeting fading to a look of concern when she saw June Pendleton framed in the classroom door. There was a haggardness about June as she waited uncertainly at the door, her unease writ plain on her from her windblown hair to her somewhat rumpled skirt. Corinne rose from her chair and waved June into the room.

“Are you all right?” She realized only when it was too late that her words couldn’t help but amplify June’s obvious discomfort. June, however, seemed not to take offense.

“I must look the way I feel,” she said. She tried to smile, but failed. “I–I need to talk to someone, and there just doesn’t seem to be anybody else.”

“I heard about Susan Peterson,” Corinne offered. “It must have been terrible for Michelle.”

Grateful for the teacher’s immediate understanding, June dropped into the chair at one of the undersized desks, then quickly stood up again — the feeling of grossness the tiny desk gave her was more than she could bear.

“That’s one of the reasons I came,” she said. “Did — well, did you notice anything about Michelle today? I mean, anything unusual?”

“I’m afraid today wasn’t one of the better days for any of us,” Corinne replied. “The children were all sort of — how shall I say it? Preoccupied? I guess that’s the best way to put it.”

“Did they say anything? To Michelle?”

Corinne hesitated, then decided there was no reason to keep the truth from June. “Mrs. Pendleton, they didn’t say anything to her. Nothing at all.”

June grasped her meaning immediately.

“I was afraid that would happen,” she said, more to herself than to Corinne. “Miss Hatcher — I don’t know what to do.”

Once again June lowered herself to a seat, suddenly too tired, too defeated by her whole situation to care how she might have looked. This time it was Corinne who drew her to her feet.

“Come on. Let’s go to the teachers’ room and have a cup of coffee. You look as though you need something stronger, but I’m afraid the rules are still the rules around here. And I think it’s time we started calling each other June and Corinne, don’t you?”

Nodding dispiritedly, June let herself be led out of the classroom and down the corridor.

“Do you think your friend can help?” June asked. She had told Corinne what had happened the day before, and how senseless it had all seemed. First Michelle coming home — calm, apparently nothing wrong. And then Cal’s return, and the nightmare beginning.

June recounted everything as it had happened, trying to convey to the teacher the sense of unreality it all had for her. It was, she said at last, as if her whole world had been turned into something out of Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland—the most horrible things happening, and everyone around her acting as though nothing at all was the matter. She wasn’t sure, really, whether she was more worried about her husband or her daughter, but she had decided, late last night, that Michelle must come first.

Corinne heard the tale out, not interrupting, not questioning, sensing that June needed simply to tell it, to externalize the chaos that had been churning in her mind. Now, as June finished, she nodded thoughtfully.

“I don’t see why Tim couldn’t help,” she said. She stood up and went to the coffee pot, thinking while she refilled her cup and June’s. As she turned back to June, she tried to make her voice sound encouraging.

“Maybe things aren’t as bad as they sound.” She hesitated a moment, unsure what to say. “I know it all seems frightening,” she continued gently, “but I think you’re worrying too much.”

“No!” It was almost a shriek. June’s eyes filled with tears. “My God, if you could hear her, the way she talks about that doll. I swear, I think she really believes that Mandy — she calls her Mandy now — is real!” There was a bleakness in her voice that frightened Corinne.

She took June’s hand in her own, and tried to keep her voice confident. “It is frightening, but it will be all right. Really it will.” Deep inside, she wasn’t nearly as certain as she tried to appear. In the depths of her being, Corinne had a feeling — a feeling that whatever had happened to Michelle, it was beyond their understanding. And that feeling terrified her.

Michelle tried to put Jeff’s words out of her mind as she watched Sally disappear down the street. But they lingered there, echoing in her head, mocking her, tormenting her. She was vaguely aware of Billy Evans, calling out to her to push him harder, but his words seemed distant, as if they were coming to her through a fog.

She let the swing die down, and, when Billy protested, told him she was tired, that she would push him some more another time. Then she moved painfully over to the maple tree, and lowered herself to the grass. She would wait a while, until Jeff and Sally were long gone, before she started the long walk home.

She stretched out on the grass and stared up into the leaves of the tree, which were changing colors with the coming of fall. When she was like this, by herself, with no one around her, the loneliness wasn’t so bad. It was only when she could hear them, or see them, their voices taunting her, their eyes mocking her, that Michelle really hated the children who had been her friends.

Except for Sally. Michelle still wasn’t sure about Sally. Sally seemed better than the others, kinder. Michelle decided to talk to Amanda about Sally. Maybe, if Amanda agreed, they could be friends again. Michelle hoped they could — she really liked Sally, deep down. But still, it was up to Amanda.…

From her classroom window, Corinne watched June cross the playground. She thought there was a reluctance about June, a reluctance to disturb Michelle, as if, as long as she was asleep under the tree, she was safe from whatever chaos was going on in her mind. But as Corinne watched, June knelt and gently awakened Michelle.

Michelle got to her feet stiffly, the pain in her hip visible in her face, even from across the yard. She seemed surprised to see her mother, but at the same time grateful. Taking her mother’s hand, Michelle allowed herself to be led around the corner of the building and out of Corinne’s sight.

Even after they had disappeared, Corinne remained at the window, the image of Michelle — her shoulders stooped, her hair hanging limp, her spirit defeated by her crippling accident — imprinted on her mind.

It seemed a long time ago, that first day of school, when Michelle had come bouncing into her classroom, bright-eyed, grinning, eager to begin her new life in Paradise Point.

And now, only a few weeks later, it had all changed. Paradise Point? Well, maybe for some people. But not for Michelle Pendleton.

Not now, and Corinne was suddenly sure, probably not ever again.

CHAPTER 20


It was a crisp afternoon, and Corinne walked swiftly, her mind more on June Pendleton’s visit than on the direction she had taken. It wasn’t until she saw the building ahead of her, tucked in a small grove of trees, its walls covered with climbing roses, that she realized that the clinic had been her destination all along. She paused for a moment, reading the neatly lettered sign, with Josiah Carson’s faded name, and freshly lettered above it, that of Calvin Pendleton. The lettering struck Corinne as sad somehow, and it took a few moments before she realized why. It was a sign of the old order giving way to the new. Josiah Carson had been around as long as Corinne could remember. It was difficult to imagine the clinic without him.

She stepped inside the waiting room, and was relieved to see Marion Perkins sitting at the desk, working on the books. Marion, at least, was still going to be here, smoothing the transition between Dr. Carson and Dr. Pendleton. As the little bell attached to the door jangled softly, Marion looked up.

“Corinne!” Her expression as she recognized the teacher was one of welcome mixed with concern and a little surprise. “You know, I had a feeling you might be by today. It’s strange — well, maybe not so strange, really, all things considered. Nearly everybody’s been here today, wanting to talk about Susan Peterson.” The nurse clucked her tongue sympathetically. “Isn’t it terrible? Such a loss for Henry and Estelle. And of course everyone seems to think that little Michelle Pendleton had something to do with it.” She leaned forward slightly and lowered her voice to a confidential whisper. “Frankly, some of the things that people have been saying, I wouldn’t want to repeat.”

“Then don’t,” Corinne said, tempering the shortness of her words with a friendly grin. “Is Uncle Joe here?”

Suddenly abashed at her near indiscretion, Marion reached for the phone. “Let me buzz him, and see if he’s busy.” She pressed the intercom. “Dr. Joe? A surprise for you — Corinne Hatcher’s out here.”

A moment later, the inner door opened, and Josiah Carson appeared, his arms extended, a wide smile wreathing his face, though for a moment Corinne thought she saw something else in his eyes. A sadness? Whenever one of his patients died, particularly a child, Josiah Carson took it hard. Since his own daughter had died, long before Corinne was even born, Carson had lavished his paternal instincts on the children of Paradise Point. But today there was something beyond sadness in his eyes. Something she couldn’t quite identify.

He took Corinne in his arms in a massive bear hug.

“What brings you down here?” he said. “You feeling all right?”

Corinne wriggled herself loose. “I’m fine. I guess — well, I guess I was just worried about you. I know how you get when something happens to one of your children.”

Carson nodded. “It’s never easy,” he said. “Come on into the office, and I’ll buy you a drink.”

Carson gestured her to a chair and closed the door. He produced the bottle of bourbon from the bottom drawer of his desk, and poured each of them a generous shot, eyeing Corinne carefully.

“All right,” he said, sipping his drink. “What’s up?”

Corinne tasted the bourbon, made a face, and set it aside. Then she met Carson’s eyes.

“Michelle Pendleton,” she said.

Carson nodded, “Doesn’t surprise me. As a matter of fact, I thought you’d be here sooner. Things getting worse?”

“I’m not sure,” Corinne said. “Today must have been horrible for her — none of the children would have anything to do with her. Until yesterday, I thought it was just her limp. But now — well, you know how this town can be. People get blamed for things, even when they aren’t to blame, and nobody ever forgets.” She picked up her drink, sipped at it, then set it aside once again. “Uncle Joe,” she said suddenly, “is Michelle all right?”

“It depends on what you mean. You’re talking about her mind, aren’t you?”

Corinne shifted in her chair. “I’m not sure,” she said. “In fact, I didn’t really know I was coming down here until I found myself out in front. But I guess my subconscious was trying to tell me something.” She paused for a moment, and suddenly drained half of her drink. “Have you heard about Michelle’s imaginary friend?” she asked as casually as she could.

Carson frowned. “Imaginary friend?” he repeated, as if the words had no meaning to him. “You mean the kind of thing very small children do?”

“Exactly,” Corinne said. “Apparently it all started with a doll. I’m not sure exactly what kind, but Mrs. Pendleton told me that it’s old — very old. Michelle found it in the bedroom closet when they moved in.”

Carson scratched his head as if puzzled, then nodded. “I know what it looks like,” he said smoothly. “It is old. Porcelain face, old-fashioned clothes, a little bonnet. She had it on the bed with her when I saw her right after the accident. You mean she’s decided it’s real?”

Corinne nodded soberly. “Apparently. And guess what she’s named it?”

“She told me she named it Amanda.”

“Amanda,” Corinne repeated. “Doesn’t that mean anything to you?” She finished her drink and held her glass out. “Am I old enough for a second drink?”

Wordlessly, Carson refilled her glass and his own. “Well,” he said abruptly. “Apparently she’s heard some stories about the Point.”

Corinne shook her head. “That’s what I thought. But June told me she named the doll as soon as she found it. The very day they arrived.”

“I see,” Carson said. “Then it was just a coincidence.”

“Was it?” Corinne said softly. “Uncle Joe, who was Amanda? I mean, was she real? Or are they just stories?”

Carson leaned back in his chair. He’d never talked about Amanda, and didn’t want to start now. But apparently the talk had already started, as he’d known it must. The thing to do was to direct it.

“She was my great-aunt, actually, or would have been if she’d lived,” he said carefully.

“And what happened to her?” Corinne asked.

“Who knows? She was blind, and she stumbled off the bluff one day. As far as anyone knows, that’s all there was to it.” But there was something in his voice — a hesitation perhaps? — that made Corinne wonder if there wasn’t something more.

“You sound as though you know more than that.” When Carson made no response, she pushed him again. “Do you?”

“You mean, do I believe in the ghost story?”

“No. Do you believe that’s all there was to it?”

“I don’t know. My grandfather, who was Amanda’s brother, believed there was more to it.”

Corinne said nothing.

Carson leaned back in his chair and turned to look out the window.

“You know,” he said slowly, “when the Carsons named this town Paradise Point, they didn’t really have the setting in mind. It was more an idea, I guess you could call it. An idea of paradise, right here on earth.” His voice was filled with an irony that Corinne couldn’t miss.

“I knew the Carsons were ministers,” she said.

Josiah nodded, “Fundamentalist. The real fire and brimstone variety. My great-grandfather, Lemuel Carson, was the last of them, though.”

“What happened?”

“Lots of things, from what Grandfather told me. It started when Amanda lost her sight. Old Lemuel decided it was an act of God, and he tried to pass Amanda off as a martyr. He always made her dress in black. Poor little girl. It must have been hard for her — what with her blindness and all. She must have been a lonely little thing.”

“And she was all alone when she fell off the bluff?”

“Apparently. Grandfather never said. He never talked about it much. I always got the idea there was something odd about it, though. Of course, he never did talk much about the family at all — too many serpents in Lemuel’s paradise.”

“Aren’t there always?” Corinne observed, but Josiah didn’t seem to hear her.

“It was Lemuel’s wife,” he went on. “It seems she had something of a wandering eye. Grandfather always thought it was a reaction to Lemuel’s constant hell and damnation sermonizing.”

“You mean your great-grandmother was having an affair?”

Carson smiled. “She must have been quite a woman. Grandfather said she was beautiful, but that she never should have married his father.”

“Louise Carson,” Corinne whispered, “ ‘Died in Sin.’ ”

“Murdered,” Josiah said softly. Corinne’s eyes widened in surprise. “It happened out in that building June Pendleton uses for a studio. Lemuel found her out there, with one of her lovers. Both of them were dead. Stabbed to death.”

“My God,” Corinne breathed. She could feel her stomach tighten, and wondered for a moment if she was going to be sick.

“Of course, everyone sort of assumed Lemuel had done it,” Josiah said, “but he had the whole town pretty much under his thumb, and in those days an unfaithful wife wasn’t particularly highly regarded. They probably thought she’d gotten what she deserved. Lemuel wouldn’t even give her a funeral.”

“I always figured the inscription on the gravestone must have meant something like that,” Corinne said. “When I was a little girl, we used to go out there, and read the headstones.”

“And look for the ghost?”

Again, Corinne nodded.

“And did you ever see her?”

Corinne pondered her answer for a long time. Finally, reluctantly, she shook her head.

Carson noted her hesitation. “Are you sure, Corinne?” His voice was very soft.

“I don’t know,” Corinne replied. Suddenly she felt foolish, but a memory was hanging in her mind, just out of her reach. “There was something,” she said. “It happened just once. I was out there in the graveyard, with a friend — I can’t even remember who — and the fog came in. Well, you know how spooky a graveyard can be in the fog. I don’t know — maybe I let my imagination run away with me, but all of a sudden I felt something. Nothing I can put my finger on, really — just a feeling that something was there, close to me. I stood perfectly still, and the longer I stood, the closer whatever it was seemed to come.” Her voice trailed off, and she shivered slightly as the memory of that foggy afternoon chilled her.

“And you think it was Amanda?” Carson asked.

“Well, it was something,” Corinne replied.

“You’re right,” Carson agreed sourly. “It was something. It was your imagination. A little girl in a graveyard, on a foggy day, and having grown up hearing all those ghost stories. I’m amazed you didn’t have a long talk with Amanda! Or did you?”

“Of course not,” Corinne said, feeling foolish now. “I didn’t even see her.”

Carson watched her. “What about your friend? Did she feel the same thing you did?”

“As a matter of fact, yes, she did!” Corinne felt herself getting angry. Not believing her was one thing — mocking her was quite another. “And, if you want to know, we weren’t the only ones. A lot of us had the same feeling. And we were all girls, and we were all twelve years old. Just like Amanda. And, in case you didn’t know, just like Michelle Pendleton.”

Carson’s eyes hardened. “Corinne,” he said slowly, “do you know what you’re saying?”

And suddenly Corinne did. “Yes. I’m saying that maybe the ghost stories are true, and the reason everyone says they aren’t is because no one ever actually saw Amanda before. The only ones who even felt her were twelve-year-old girls. And who believes what they say? Everyone knows little girls have wild imaginations, right? Uncle Joe, what if it wasn’t my imagination? What if some of us really did feel her presence? And what if Michelle not only felt her, but actually saw her?”

The expression on Josiah Carson’s face as he watched her told her she had struck a nerve.

“You believe in the ghost, don’t you?” she asked.

“Do you?” he countered, and now Corinne was sure he was growing nervous.

“I don’t know,” Corinne lied. She did know! “But it makes sense, doesn’t it? I mean, in a strange kind of way? If you can accept that there really is a ghost, and that it’s Amanda, who would be more likely to see her than a twelve-year-old girl? A girl just like her?”

“Well, she’s had over a hundred years to find someone,” Carson said. “Why now? Why Michelle Pendleton?” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his desk. “Corinne,” he said quietly, “I know you’re worried about Michelle. I know it seems odd that she’d make up an imaginary friend named Amanda. It seems like quite a coincidence — hell, it is quite a coincidence. But that’s all it is!”

Corinne stood up, truly angry now. “Uncle Joe,” she said, her voice tight, “Michelle is one of my students, and I’m worried about her. For that matter, I’m worried about everybody else in my class, too. Susan Peterson is dead, and Michelle is crippled and acting very strangely. I don’t want anything else to happen.”

Carson stared up at Corinne. She was standing in front of his desk, her back stiff as a ramrod, her expression intense. He began to reach out to her, to comfort her, but before he was halfway out of his chair, she had turned and fled.

Slowly, Josiah sat down. He sat by himself for a long time. It wasn’t going right, none of it. He hadn’t meant for Susan Peterson to die. It should have been Michelle — it should have been Cal Pendleton’s daughter. A life for a life, a child for a child. But not one of his children.

All he could do now was wait. Sooner or later, as it always had, the tragedy would come back to the house, and whoever was living there. And when it did, and the house had avenged Alan Hanley for him, it would be over. Then he could go away and forget Paradise Point forever. He poured himself another shot of bourbon and stared out the window. In the distance he could see the churning waters of Devil’s Passage. It was, he thought, aptly named. How long had it been since the devil had come to live with the Carsons? And now, after all the years, the last Carson was going to use the devil. It was, Josiah Carson thought, somehow poetic.

He only hoped that not too many of his own children — the village children — would have to die in the process.

Late that afternoon, Michelle made her way to the old graveyard. She lowered herself clumsily to the ground near the odd memorial to Amanda and waited, sure that her friend would come to her. But before the now familiar grayness could close in around her, she felt someone watching her. She turned and recognized Lisa Hartwick standing a few yards away from her, staring at her.

“Are you all right?” Lisa asked.

Michelle nodded, and Lisa took a tentative step toward her.

“I–I was looking for you,” Lisa said. She looked almost frightened, and Michelle wondered what was wrong.

“For me? How come?” She started to get up.

“I wanted to talk to you.”

Michelle regarded Lisa suspiciously. No one liked Lisa — everyone said she was a brat. What did she want? Was she going to tease her? But Lisa came closer and sat down next to her. Gratefully, Michelle let herself sink back to the soft earth.

“Is it true you’re adopted?” Lisa suddenly asked.

“So what?”

“I’m not sure,” Lisa replied. Then: “My mother died five years ago.”

Now Michelle was puzzled. Why had she said that? Was she trying to make friends with her? Why?

“I don’t know what happened to my parents,” she ventured. “Maybe they’re dead. Or maybe they just didn’t want me.”

“My father doesn’t want me,” Lisa said quietly.

“How do you know?” Michelle let herself relax: Lisa wasn’t going to tease her.

“He’s in love with your teacher. Ever since he met her, he’s liked her more than he likes me.”

Michelle thought this over. Maybe Lisa was right. Maybe things had happened for her the same way they had happened for Michelle when Jenny had been born. “Sometimes I don’t think anybody likes me,” she said.

“I know. Nobody likes me, either.”

“Maybe we could be friends,” Michelle suggested. Now Lisa’s eyes seemed to cloud over.

“I don’t know. I–I’ve heard things about you.”

Michelle tensed. “What kind of things?”

“Well, that ever since you fell off the bluff, something’s been wrong with you.”

“I’m lame,” Michelle said. “Everybody knows that.”

“That’s not what I mean. I heard — well, they say you think you saw the ghost.”

Michelle relaxed again. “You mean Amanda? She’s not a ghost. She’s my friend.”

“What do you mean?” Lisa asked. “There isn’t anybody around here named Amanda.”

“There is, too,” Michelle insisted. “She’s my friend.” Suddenly Lisa stood up and began backing away from Michelle. “Where are you going?”

“I–I have to go home now,” Lisa said nervously.

Michelle struggled to her feet, her eyes fixed angrily on Lisa. “You think I’m crazy, don’t you?”

Lisa shook her head uncertainly.

Suddenly the fog was starting to close in around Michelle. From far away, she could hear Amanda calling to her.

“I’m not crazy,” she said to Lisa, her voice desperate. “Amanda’s real, and she’s coming now. You can meet her!”

But Lisa still backed away from her. Just before the gray mists surrounded her, Michelle saw her turn and begin running.

As Susan Peterson had run.

CHAPTER 21


They held Susan Peterson’s funeral on Saturday.

Estelle Peterson sat in the front pew of the Methodist Church, her head bowed, her fingers twisting compulsively at a limp handkerchief. Susan’s coffin was only a few feet away, banked with flowers, its lid propped open. Next to Estelle, Henry stared stoically ahead, his eyes fixed on a spot high above the coffin, his face carefully impassive.

A low murmuring began moving slowly through the congregation. Estelle tried to ignore it, but when she heard Constance Benson’s voice cut through the unintelligible sounds, she finally turned around.

Michelle Pendleton, wearing a black dress and leaning heavily on her cane, was making her way slowly down the aisle. Behind her were her parents, with June carrying the baby. For a split second, Estelle’s eyes met June’s. Estelle quickly looked away. Again, she heard Constance Benson’s voice.

“Of all the places for them to turn up …” she began, but Bertha Carstairs, sitting next to her, jabbed her with an elbow, and Constance subsided. As the Pendletons seated themselves in a pew halfway between the door and the altar, the service for Susan Peterson began.

Michelle could feel the hostility around her.

It was as if every eye in the church was on her, watching her, accusing her. She wanted to leave, but knew that she wouldn’t be able to. If only she weren’t crippled — if only she could get up and slip quietly out. But if she tried, things would only be worse. Her cane, tap-tapping along the hardwood floor, would echo through the church, and the minister would stop his prayers, and then they would all stare at her openly. At least while she sat still they tried to pretend they weren’t watching her, even though she knew they were.

June, too, had to force herself to sit still, to keep her face impassive, to endure the endess service. It had been a mistake, coming to the funeral. If Cal hadn’t insisted, she would never have come. She had argued with him, but it hadn’t done any good. He had stonily insisted that Michelle had had nothing to do with Susan’s death; therefore, there was no reason for them not to go to the funeral. June had tried to reason with him, had tried to make him see that it would be hard for Michelle, miserably hard, for her to sit in the church, surrounded by all the children who had been her friends, and listen to the service. Couldn’t Cal see that? Didn’t he understand that it didn’t matter that Michelle had done nothing to Susan? It was what people thought that counted.

But Cal would not be budged. And so they had come. June had heard Constance Benson, and she was sure that Michelle had heard her, as well. She had seen the look in Estelle Peterson’s eyes — the look of hurt, and accusation, and bewilderment.

Finally, the service came to an end. The congregation stood as the casket was borne slowly down the aisle, followed by Estelle and Henry Peterson. As they passed the Pendletons, Henry glared at Cal, his eyes hard and challenging, and Cal felt a tightening in his stomach. Maybe, he thought, June was right — maybe we shouldn’t have come. But then, as the pews began emptying into the aisle, Bertha Carstairs stopped and took his hand.

“I–I just want you to know,” she stammered. “My family and I—we’re so sorry about all of this. It seems like ever since you came to the Point things have — well.…” Her voice trailed off, but she shrugged eloquently.

“Thank you,” Cal said softly. “But it’s all right. Things are going to be all right now. Accidents happen—”

“Accidents!”

It was Constance Benson, with Jeff’s hand gripped tightly in her own. “What happened to Susan Peterson was no accident!” Then, as Cal’s face turned deathly pale, she swept out of the church.

Suddenly, the Pendletons were alone. June looked helplessly around, searching for a friendly face, but there was none. Even the Carstairses had disappeared, lost in the crowd around the Petersons.

“Let’s go,” she said. “Please? We came. We were here. Now can’t we go home?”

Next to her, Michelle stood quietly, tears streaming down her face.

Corinne Hatcher had slipped out of the church with Tim and Lisa Hartwick just before the service ended. It hadn’t occurred to Corinne Hatcher not to go to the funeral, but it had occurred to her that, if she stayed after the service, she might be put in an untenable position. She would be expected — indeed, forced — to recognize that there were many people in Paradise Point who felt that Michelle had “done” something to Susan. Further, she might have to align herself either with the Petersons or the Pendletons. But at last it was over.

“I wonder if Michelle killed Susan,” Lisa said from the backseat of Tim’s car.

“Don’t be silly,” Corinne began, but Lisa promptly interrupted her.

“Well, I think she did. I think the kids are right-she’s crazy.”

“I’ve told you before, Lisa,” Tim said calmly. “Don’t talk about things you don’t know anything about.”

“But I do know about her.” Lisa’s voice began to take on the familiar whine that so irritated Corinne. She turned to look at Lisa.

“You don’t even know her.”

“I do too! I talked to her the other day, out at that old cemetery next to her house.”

“I thought I told you not to go out there.” Tim’s voice was mild, but Lisa did not ignore the reprimand.

“I didn’t go to her house,” she said. “I only went to the graveyard. Can I help it if she was there?”

“And what makes you think she’s crazy?” Tim asked.

“Just the way she talked. She thinks the ghost that’s supposed to be out there is her friend. She said I could meet her, if I wanted to.”

“Meet her?” Corinne frowned. “You mean Michelle thought she was actually there?”

Lisa shrugged. “I don’t know. I didn’t see anything. But when I told Michelle that Amanda was a ghost, she got real mad.” Lisa began to giggle. “She’s crazy.” She began repeating the word in an odd sing-song voice: “CRAA-zy, CRAA-zy, CRAA-zy!”

Corinne had heard enough. “That’s enough, Lisa!” she snapped. As if she’d been struck, Lisa fell silent. Tim glanced at Corinne reproachfully but said nothing until they were in his house and Lisa had gone to her room.

“Corinne,” he said when they were alone, “I wish you’d leave the discipline to me.”

“She’s spoiled,” Corinne shot back. “And you know it. If you don’t do something about it soon, she’s going to wind up in trouble.” The sadness in his eyes made her retreat. The subject of Lisa was just too painful to Tim. And right now, there was a subject of more immediate concern. “I want you to talk to Michelle about this imaginary friend of hers,” she said.

Tim was thoughtful for a moment, then nodded. “An imaginary friend at her age — wherever it comes from — is certainly abnormal. I don’t want to use Lisa’s words, but Michelle could be very disturbed.”

“Tim,” Corinne said slowly. “Suppose Michelle isn’t — disturbed, as you put it, and suppose she hasn’t really made an imaginary friend? Suppose Amanda really is a ghost?”

Tim stared at her.

“But that’s impossible, isn’t it.” His tone left no room for argument.

Michelle closed her book and set it aside. Try as she would, she couldn’t get her mind off the funeral. The way people had stared at her. It had made her feel like a freak. She was tired of feeling like a freak.

She rose awkwardly from her chair, stretched, then limped over to the window. The fall twilight, fading quickly, colored the sea an iron gray, and the sky, its reddish tinge fading to the dark blue of dusk, seemed low tonight. Below her, its outlines blurred in the gathering darkness, was her mother’s studio. Michelle stared at it, almost as if she expected something to happen. And yet, what could happen? The studio was empty — she could hear her parents downstairs, their voices low, punctuated occasionally by Jennifer’s happy squeals.

Jennifer.

Michelle said the name to herself, and wondered how she could ever have thought it was a pretty name. Then she said it out loud, listening to the syllables. She decided she hated the name. Suddenly, as if her hostility had somehow flowed directly into the baby, Jenny began crying.

Michelle listened to the sounds for a moment, then, as they quieted, picked up her book and stretched out on the bed. She opened it to the passage she had left a few minutes ago and began to read.

Again, she heard Jennifer squall.

Leaving the book on her nightstand, Michelle carefully maneuvered herself off the bed, and, taking her cane, left her room and started toward the stairs.

• • •

June looked up from her needlework, listened to the sound of Michelle’s cane, then spoke quietly to Cal.

“She’s coming down.” Cal, who had Jennifer on his lap and was playing with her toes, made no response.

As the tapping of Michelle’s cane came steadily closer, June picked up her needlepoint once again. When Michelle appeared at the archway that separated the living room from the entry hall, she feigned surprise.

“Finished with your homework already?” she asked.

Michelle nodded. “I was trying to read, but I couldn’t concentrate. I thought maybe Daddy and I could play a game or something.”

Cal’s face tightened. He remembered the last time they had tried that. “Not now. I’m teaching your sister about her toes.” He ignored the hurt in Michelle’s eyes, but June could not.

“Don’t you think it’s time Jenny went to bed?” she suggested. Cal glanced at the clock on the mantel.

“At seven-thirty? She’ll be up all night, and so will you.”

“She’s up all night anyway,” June argued. “Cal, I really think you ought to take her upstairs.”

She was not going to relent. Cal got to his feet and held the baby high over his head. He looked up into her grinning face and winked at her. “Come on, princess, the queen says it’s bedtime.” He started out of the room, but Michelle stopped him.

“Can we play a game when you come down?”

Still not looking at her, Cal continued toward the stairs. “I don’t know,” he said over his shoulder. “I’m pretty tired tonight Maybe some other night.” Because his back was to her, he didn’t see the tears well in Michelle’s eyes.

June, however, did, and she hastily put her work down. “Come on — why don’t we make a batch of cookies?” But it was too late. Michelle was already on her way out of the room.

“I’m not hungry,” she said listlessly. “I’ll just go back up and read for a while. Night.”

“Aren’t you going to kiss me?”

Dispiritedly, Michelle went to her mother and kissed her on the cheek. June put her arms around Michelle and tried to draw her close, but felt her daughter stiffen.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “He really is tired tonight.”

“I know.” Michelle pulled herself out of her mother’s embrace. Feeling helpless, June let her go. Nothing she could say would make Michelle feel better. Only Cal could give her the reassurance she needed, and June was sure that wasn’t going to happen. Unless she forced him.

When Cal still hadn’t come back downstairs thirty minutes later, June made the rounds of the lower floor, locking up and turning off the lights. Then she mounted the stairs, stuck her head in to wish Michelle a final good night, and went down the hall to the master bedroom. She found Cal already in bed, propped against the pillows, reading a book. Next to him, sleeping peacefully in her bassinet, was Jennifer. For a moment, June found the scene disarming, but she quickly realized what Cal was doing.

“You aren’t that tired,” she announced. Cal looked at her blankly.

“What?”

“I said you aren’t that tired. Don’t pretend you didn’t hear me.” Her voice was quivering with anger, but Cal still only stared at her in puzzlement.

“I heard you. I just don’t know what you meant.”

“It’s simple,” June said coldly. “Half an hour ago, when I suggested you bring Jennifer upstairs — so that you could play with Michelle — you seemed to think it was much too early. And here you are, tucked happily in bed.”

“June—” Cal began, but she cut him off.

“Oh, come on. Do you really think I don’t know what’s going on? You came up here to hide. To hide from your own daughter! For God’s sake, Cal, don’t you know what you’re doing to her?”

“I’m not doing anything!” Cal said, almost desperately. “I just — I just …”

“You just can’t face her. Well, you’re going to have to, Cal. What you did down there was cruel. All she wanted to do was play a game with you. Just a simple, little game. My God, if your guilt is weighing on you so much, I’d have thought you’d be dying to play with her, if only so you could let her win. And then calling Jenny ‘princess,’ Didn’t you realize what it would do to Michelle? That’s always been your nickname for her!”

“She didn’t even notice,” Cal said, his voice sullen.

“How would you know? You won’t even look at her anymore. Well, let me tell you, Cal, she noticed. She almost started crying. I think the only reason she didn’t was that she was afraid no one would care. My God, can’t you understand what you’re doing to her?”

Her anger suddenly dissolving into frustration, June burst into tears and crumpled onto the bed. Cal gathered her into his arms, rocking her gently, his mind whirling with her accusations.

“Don’t, darling,” he whispered. “Please, don’t.”

June forced herself to relax in his arms. He was her husband, and she loved him; what was happening was really no more his fault than Michelle’s. It was something that had happened, that’s all. Something they would have to get through.

Together.

She sat up and dabbed at her eyes with a Kleenex from the nightstand.

“I’ve done something,” she said. “You aren’t going to like it, but we have to do it.”

“Done something? What?”

“Corinne Hatcher’s friend, the school psychologist. I’ve asked her to set us up an appointment with him.”

“Us? All of us?”

June nodded.

“I see.”

The concern that June had seen in his eyes only seconds before faded abruptly, like a curtain being drawn. When he spoke again, his voice was icy.

“Are you sure all of us need to go?” he asked, drawing the covers around himself.

“What do you mean?” June’s voice was guarded; she could sense something coming, but wasn’t sure what.

“I wish you could have heard yourself a few minutes ago,” Cal said smoothly. “You didn’t sound quite — well, rational is the word, I think.”

June’s mouth dropped open in astonishment. For a moment all she could do was stare at him. Was he really saying what she thought he was saying? It didn’t seem possible.

“Cal, you can’t do this.” She could feel her control slipping away from her. Tears were welling up again, and the anger she had thought was dissipated was flooding back.

“I haven’t done anything, June,” Cal said reasonably. “All I did was bring Jenny up, put her to bed, and then go to bed myself. And the next thing I know, you come in, raving like a maniac, insisting that I’m some kind of monster, and telling me I need to go into therapy. Does that sound rational to you?”

June rose from the bed, her eyes blazing. “How dare you?” she shouted. “Have you completely lost your mind? Are you really going to do this? Are you really going to go on defending yourself, trying to pretend nothing’s wrong? Well, you listen to me, Calvin Pendleton. I won’t tolerate it. Either you agree, right now, to go with me to see Tim Hartwick, or I swear, I’ll take Michelle and Jennifer, and I’ll leave you. Right now. Tonight!”

She stood in the middle of the room, waiting for him to speak. For a long time their eyes remained locked in an angry challenge. When finally the moment came, the moment when one of them would have to surrender, it was Cal.

His eyes flickered, then he looked away from her. He seemed to sink into the bed, the tension in his body suddenly released.

“All right,” he said softly. “I can’t lose you, I can’t lose Jennifer. I’ll go.”

Michelle started back to her room, her hip throbbing, barely able to make her crippled leg function.

She had heard the fight, heard her mother screaming at her father. She had tried not to listen at first, but then, as her mother’s shouting suddenly stopped, she had gotten up and crept out into the hall. Still hearing nothing, she had moved painfully down the hall, stopping only when she was right outside their door.

And she had listened.

At first, she had heard only a low murmuring of voices, but couldn’t make out the words.

Then her mother was screaming, threatening to leave, telling her father she was going to take them all away.

Michelle, in the hall, had heard nothing then but the sound of her own heart pounding, felt nothing but the excruciating pain in her hip.

Finally she had heard her father. His words echoed in her ears: I can’t lose you. I can’t lose Jennifer.

Nothing about her.

She crept back to her room and got into bed. She pulled the covers up tight around her neck and lay there, her small body shivering, her mind whirling.

It was true. He didn’t love her anymore.

Not since that day when she had fallen off the bluff.

That was the day the good things had stopped, and the bad things had started.

All she had left was Amanda.

In all the world, there was only Amanda.

She wished Amanda would come to her, talk to her, tell her everything was going to be all right.

And Amanda came.

Her dark figure, like a shadow in the night, moved out of a corner of the room, drifted toward Michelle, holding out her hand, reaching out, touching her.

The touch felt good. Michelle could feel her friend drawing her close.

“They were fighting, Mandy,” she whispered. “They were fighting about me.”

“No,” Amanda said. “They weren’t fighting about you. They don’t care about you. They only love Jennifer now.”

“No,” Michelle protested.

“It’s true,” Amanda’s voice whispered, soft in her ear, but insistent. ‘It’s all happening because of Jennifer. If it weren’t for Jennifer, they’d love you. If it weren’t for Jennifer, you wouldn’t have fallen. Remember how they were teasing you? It was about Jennifer.

“It’s Jennifer’s fault. All of it.”

“Jennifer’s fault? But … but she’s so small …”

“It doesn’t matter,” Amanda whispered. “It will make it easy. Michelle, it will be so easy, and when she’s gone — when Jennifer’s gone — everything will be like it used to be. Can’t you see?”

Michelle turned it over in her mind, listening all the while to Amanda’s gentle voice, whispering to her, reassuring her. It all began to make sense.

It was Jennifer’s fault.

If there were no Jennifer.…

Michelle drifted off to sleep with Amanda close to her, crooning to her, whispering to her.

And when she was asleep, Amanda told her what she had to do.

It made sense to Michelle now.

All of it.…

CHAPTER 22


As the week dragged by, June became increasingly upset. Several times, she was tempted to ask Tim Hartwick to change his schedule, and see her family sooner. But she resisted the temptation, telling herself she was becoming hysterical.

By the time Friday came, she wondered if it was too late. The Pendletons could hardly be called a family anymore. Michelle had withdrawn even further, going off to school silently each day, then returning home only to disappear into her room.

June found herself pausing in the upstairs hall too often, standing outside Michelle’s door, listening.

She would hear Michelle’s voice, soft, barely audible, the words undecipherable. There would be pauses, as if Michelle were listening to someone else, but June knew she was alone in her room.

Alone, except for Amanda.

Several times during those days, June tried to bridge the gulf that was widening between her and her husband, but Cal seemed impervious to her overtures. He left for the clinic early each morning and stayed late each evening, coming home only in time to play with Jennifer for a few minutes, then retiring early.

And Jennifer.

It was as if Jennifer sensed the tension in the house. Her laughter, the happy gurgling that June had grown so used to, had completely disappeared. She seldom even cried anymore, as if she were afraid to create any kind of disturbance.

June spent as much time as she could in her studio, trying to paint, but more often than not she merely stared at her empty canvas, not really seeing it. Several times she started to dig through the closet, to find the strange sketch she knew she hadn’t done. Something stopped her — fear.

She was afraid that if she looked at it long enough, thought about it hard enough, she would figure out where it had come from. She didn’t want to.

When Friday morning finally came, June felt suddenly released. Today, at last, they would see Tim Hartwick. And today, perhaps, things would begin to get better.

For the first time that week, June broke the silence that had lain heavily over the breakfast table.

“I’ll pick you up at school today,” she told Michelle.

Michelle looked at her questioningly. June tried to make her smile reassuring.

“I’m meeting your father after school today. We’re all going to talk to Mr. Hartwick.” “Mr. Hartwick? The psychologist? Why?”

“I just think it would be a good idea, that’s all,” June said.

• • •

Tim Hartwick smiled at Michelle as she came into his office, and gestured toward a chair. Michelle settled herself into it, then surveyed the room. Tim waited quietly until her eyes finally came back to him.

“I thought my parents were going to be here, too.”

“I’m going to talk to them a little later. First, I thought we could get acquainted.” “I’m not crazy,” Michelle said. “I don’t care what anybody told you.” “No one told me anything,” Tim assured her. “But I guess you know what I do here.” Michelle nodded. “Do you think I did something to Susan Peterson?” Tim was taken aback. “Did you?” he asked.

“No.”

“Then why should I think you did?”

“Everybody else does.” There was a pause, then: “Except Amanda.”

“Amanda?” Tim asked. “Who’s Amanda?”

“She’s my friend.”

“I thought I knew everyone here,” Tim said carefully. “But I don’t know anybody named Amanda.” “She doesn’t go to school,” Michelle said. Tim watched her carefully, trying to read her face, but there was nothing to read — as far as he could tell, Michelle was now quite relaxed.

“Why doesn’t she go to school?” Tim asked.

“She can’t. She’s blind.”

“Blind?”

Michelle nodded. “She can’t see at all, except when she’s with me. Her eyes look strange, all milky.” “And where did you meet her?”

Michelle thought for a long time before she answered him. Finally she shrugged. “I’m not sure. I guess I must have met her out by our house. That’s where she lives.” Tim decided to drop the subject for a moment. “How’s your leg? Does it hurt very badly?” “It’s all right” She paused, then seemed to change her mind. “Well, sometimes it hurts worse than others. And sometimes it hardly hurts at all.” “When is that?”

“When I’m with Amanda. I–I guess she sort of takes my mind off it I think that’s why we’re such good friends. She’s blind, and I’m crippled.” “Weren’t you friends before you fell?” Tim asked, sensing something important.

“No. I saw her a couple of times, but I didn’t really get to know her until after the accident. Then she started visiting me.” “Didn’t you have a doll named Amanda?” Tim asked suddenly. Michelle only nodded.

“I still do. Except that it isn’t really my doll. Actually, it was Mandy’s doll, but now we share it.” “I see.”

“I’m glad someone does,” Michelle said.

“You mean some people don’t?”

“Mom doesn’t. She thinks I made Amanda up. I guess she thinks that because they have the same name. Amanda and the doll, I mean.” “Well, it could get confusing.”

“I guess,” Michelle agreed. “Actually, at first I thought they were the same, too. But they’re not. Amanda’s real, and the doll’s not.” “What do you and Amanda do together?”

“Talk, mostly. But sometimes we go for walks together.”

“What do you talk about?”

“All kinds of things.”

Tim decided to try a shot in the dark. “Was Amanda with you the day Susan Peterson fell off the bluff?” Michelle nodded.

“Were you in the graveyard?”

“Yes. Susan was saying mean things to me, but Mandy made her stop.” “How did she do that?”

“She chased her away.”

“You mean she chased her off the bluff?”

“I don’t know,” Michelle said slowly. The thought had never occurred to her before. “Maybe so. I couldn’t see — it was foggy that day.… Mom said it wasn’t, but it was.” Tim leaned forward, and his face grew serious. “Michelle, is it always foggy when Amanda is with you?” Michelle thought a moment, then shook her head. “No. Sometimes it is, but not all the time.” Tim nodded. “What about your other friends? Do they know Amanda?”

“I don’t have any other friends.”

“None?”

Michelle’s voice dropped. Her eyes seemed to cloud over. “Ever since I fell off the bluff, nobody wants to be my friend.” “What about your sister?” Tim asked. “Isn’t your sister your friend?” “She’s just a baby.” There was a long silence, but Tim was reluctant to break it, sure that Michelle was about to say something. He was right.

“Besides,” Michelle added, her voice little more than a whisper, “she’s not really my sister.” “She isn’t?”

“I’m adopted. Jenny’s not.”

“Does that bother you?”

“I don’t know,” Michelle hedged. “Amanda says …”

“What does Amanda say?” Tim urged her.

“Amanda says that ever since Jenny was born, Mom and Dad don’t love me anymore.” “And do you believe her?”

Michelle’s face took on a belligerent quality. “Well, why shouldn’t I? Daddy hardly even talks to me anymore, and Mommy spends all her time taking care of Jenny, and — and—” Her voice trailed off, and a tear slid down her cheek.

“Michelle,” Tim asked gently. “Do you wish Jenny had never been born?” “I–I don’t know.”

“It’s all right if you do,” Tim told her. “I know how mad I was when my little sister was born. It just didn’t seem fair. I’d had my parents all to myself for so long, and then all of a sudden there was someone else. But I found out my parents loved me just as much as they ever did.” “But you weren’t adopted,” Michelle countered. “It’s not the same.” She stood up. “May I go now?” “Don’t you want to talk to me anymore?”

“No. At least, not right now. And not about Jenny. I hate Jenny!”

“All right,” Tim said soothingly. “We won’t talk about Jenny anymore.” “I don’t want to talk about anything anymore!” Michelle glared at him, her face set stubbornly.

“What do you want to do?”

“I want to go home,” Michelle said. “I want to go home, and find Amanda!” “All right,” Tim said. “I’ll tell you what — I have to talk to your parents for a few minutes. Let’s get you a Coke, and by the time you finish it, I should be done with your father and mother. How does that sound?” Michelle seemed about to argue with him, but suddenly her anger dissipated, and she shrugged. “Okay, I guess.” Tim opened his office door for her and smiled encouragingly at June and Cal. “We’re going to get Michelle a Coke,” he told them. “You can go in — I’ll be right back.” “Thank you,” June murmured. Cal made no response at all.

They were waiting when he got back, June sitting nervously in the chair Michelle had occupied a few minutes earlier, Cal standing at the window, his back stiff. Even though his back was to him, Tim could sense Cal glaring. He sat down in his chair and fingered Michelle’s file.

“What happened?” June asked.

“We had quite a conversation.”

“And do you agree with my wife? Do you think Michelle’s crazy?”

“Cal, I never said that,” June protested.

“But it’s what you think.” He faced Tim. “My wife thinks both Michelle and I are crazy.” The expression on June’s face, a combination of exasperation and pity, told Tim everything he needed to know.

“Mr. Hartwick—” June began. Then she floundered.

Tim came to her rescue. “Why don’t you call me Tim? It makes things easier. Dr. Pendleton? Can I offer you a chair?” “I’ll stand,” Cal said stiffly, maintaining his position at the window. June shrugged, her face lifted to his, and Tim understood the gesture immediately. He decided, for the moment, not to press Cal.

“We talked about this friend of hers — Amanda,” he told June.

“And?”

“Well, as far as I can tell, she seems to think Amanda is real. Not necessarily physically real, but definitely a person other than herself. A person who exists independently of her.” “Is that — is that normal?”

“In a small child, say a three-year-old, it’s not that unusual.”

“I see …” June said. “But not for Michelle. Am I right?”

“It may not be all that serious,” Tim began, but Cal had turned away from the window and interrupted him.

“It isn’t serious at all!” he said sharply. “All she’s done is dream up a friend to get her through a rough time. Frankly, I don’t see what all the fuss is about.” “I wish I could agree with you, Dr. Pendleton,” Tim said quietly. “But I’m afraid I can’t. Your daughter is in the midst of some very serious problems, and unless you’re willing to face them, I don’t really see how you can help her.” “Problems” June repeated. “You said problems. You mean more than her adjusting to her — her condition?” Tim nodded. “I’m not even sure her leg is the main problem. In fact, I’m almost sure it’s not. It’s her sister.” “Jenny?” Cal asked.

“Oh, God, I was afraid of that,” June moaned. She turned on Cal. “I told you. I’ve been telling you for weeks, but you wouldn’t believe me!” “Dr. Pendleton, Michelle doesn’t think you love her anymore. She thinks that, because she’s adopted, you stopped loving her when you had a baby of your own.” “That’s ridiculous,” Cal said.

“Is it?” June asked, her voice hollow. “Is it really?”

“It seems her friend Amanda told her so,” Tim said.

June stared at him blankly. “I’m not sure I understand.”

Tim leaned back in his chair. “Well, it’s not really all that difficult to put together. Michelle is having some thoughts and feelings right now that are totally foreign to her. She doesn’t like them. In fact, they’re tearing her apart. So she’s invented Amanda. Amanda, essentially, is the dark side of Michelle’s personality, and Michelle simply transfers all her — how shall I say it? Uglier? I guess that’s a good enough word — she transfers all her uglier thoughts and impulses — the ones she can’t even bear to take responsibility for — onto Amanda.” “Isn’t that what they call projecting?” Cal asked, his voice filled with a hostility that Tim chose to ignore.

“As a matter of fact, yes, it is. Except that this is a particularly extreme form. The term projecting usually implies the projection of one’s own problems onto someone else, but the someone else is usually quite real, A good example would be the faithless husband who constantly feels that his wife is cheating on him.” “I’m aware of the definition,” Cal said.

Tim decided he’d had enough. “Dr. Pendleton, I get the feeling you’d rather not be hearing any of this. Am I right?” “I’m here because my wife demanded it of me. But I think we’re wasting our time.” “Maybe we are,” Tim agreed. He folded his hands placidly and waited. He didn’t have to wait long.

“You see?” Cal asked June. “Even he says we may be wasting our time. If you want to go on with this, you’ll have to do it alone. I’ve heard enough.” He started toward the door, then turned back. “Are you coming?” June met his gaze, and when she spoke, her voice was calm. “No, Cal, I’m not. I can’t make you listen, but I’m going to. If you want, you can wait for me. Otherwise, you can take Michelle, and I can walk home.” Tim, who had been watching Cal carefully, was sure he saw Cal flinch slightly at the mention of Michelle, but he said nothing, waiting to see what Cal would do.

“I’ll wait,” Cal said. He left the office, closing the door behind him. When he was gone, June turned back to Tim.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “He — well, he just can’t seem to face any of this. It’s been terrible.” Tim was silent for a moment, allowing her her anguish. Then he said, very softly, “I think I can help Michelle. She’s under a lot of pressure — her physical condition, for one thing. It isn’t easy for a child suddenly to become a cripple. On top of that, there’s the whole thing with Jennifer. And, of course, the whipped cream on the cake is her father’s attitude. All together, it’s putting Michelle under a lot of pressure, and things are coming loose.” “Then I was right,” June breathed. It was as if a weight was being lifted from her shoulders. “Why does that make me feel so much better?” “It’s always better,” Tim assured her, “to understand a problem. It’s when you don’t know what’s going on that you feel completely lost. And at least, with Michelle, we know what’s going on.” Michelle sat in the teachers’ lounge for a few minutes, sipping at her Coke. She liked Mr. Hartwick — he listened to her, and believed her when she told him about Amanda. He didn’t tell her Amanda was a ghost, or not real, or anything like that. Idly, she wondered what he was telling her parents. Not that it would make any difference. No matter what he said to them, they wouldn’t love her anymore.

She wandered out of the teachers’ lounge and onto the back stairs of the school. Billy Evans was sitting on a swing, kicking at the ground, trying to get the swing going. He was all alone, and when he saw Michelle, he waved to her, beckoning to her. She threw away the empty Coke cup and started down the stairs, leaning heavily on her cane.

“Hi,” Billy said. “Will you push me?”

“Okay.”

She began pushing him. He laughed happily and began begging her to push him harder.

“It’s too high,” Michelle said. “You shouldn’t even be on these swings. You should be on the little ones.” “I’m big enough,” Billy replied. “I can even walk the backstop.”

Michelle glanced out to the baseball diamond, where a makeshift backstop had been constructed from two-by-fours and some wire mesh. It stood about eight feet tall and was some twenty feet long. Michelle had seen some of the older boys, the boys her age, scrambling up it, then walking its length. But the younger boys, the boys Billy’s age, never dared.

“I never saw you,” Michelle said.

“You never looked. Let the swing die down, and I’ll show you.”

Michelle stopped pushing, and Billy let the swing go through its arc once. Then, as it reached its forward peak, he jumped off, landing on his feet and running out toward the baseball field.

“Come on!” he called over his shoulder. Michelle started after him, moving as fast as she could, but by the time she reached him, he was already scrambling up the wire.

“Be careful,” she warned him.

“It’s easy,” Billy scoffed. He reached the top and straddled the two-by-four, grinning down at her.

“Come on up,” he said.

“I can’t,” Michelle said. “You know that.”

Billy pulled one foot up, then the other. Slowly, balancing himself with his hands, he managed a crouching position. Then, wobbling all the way, he rose carefully until he was standing upright, his arms held straight out.

“See?”

Michelle could see him swaying. She was sure he was going to fall.

“Billy, you come down from there. You’ll fall and hurt yourself, and I won’t be able to help you.” “I won’t fall! Watch me!”

He took a tentative step, nearly lost his footing, then regained his balance and took another.

“Please, Billy?” Michelle pleaded.

Billy was moving steadily away from her, inching carefully along the two-by-four, his balance improving with each step.

“I won’t fall,” he insisted. Then, realizing that Michelle was about to insist that he come down, he decided to tease her. “You’re just mad, because you can’t do it. If you weren’t a cripple, you could. But you are, so you can’t!” And he began to laugh.

Michelle stared at him for a second, his laughter echoing in her ears.

He sounded like Susan Peterson, and all the rest of them.

The fog started closing around her, the cold mists that she knew would bring Amanda with them. Billy Evans, his face grinning at her, faded from her vision, but his voice, still laughing, cut through the fog like a knife.

And then Amanda was there, standing behind her, whispering to her.

“Don’t let him do that, Michelle,” Mandy said softly. “He’s laughing at you. Don’t let him laugh at you. Don’t ever let any of them laugh at you again.” Michelle hesitated. Once more, she heard Billy’s mocking laugh, and his taunt.

“You could do it! If you weren’t crippled!”

“Make him stop!” Mandy hissed in her ear.

“I don’t know how,” Michelle wailed. She looked around desperately, searching for Amanda.

“I’ll show you,” Mandy whispered. “Let me show you …”

The laughter, the mocking laughter, suddenly stopped, and was replaced by a scream of terror.

• • •

Billy tried to jump, but it was too late — beneath his feet, the backstop was moving.

He lost his balance, tried to regain it, failed. Then his arms were flailing in the air. He was falling.

A second later there was a silence in the schoolyard, a silence broken for Michelle only by the sound of Amanda’s voice.

“You see? See how easy it is? Now you can make them all stop laughing …” Her voice trailed off, and she was gone. The fog began to disperse. Michelle waited for a moment, waited for it all to be gone, then she looked.

Billy Evans, his head twisted around so that his empty eyes were staring at her, lay on the ground a few feet away.

Michelle knew he would never laugh at her again.

CHAPTER 23


Michelle stared at Billy Evans’s tiny body, lying still on the ground, his face pale and lifeless. Tentatively, reluctantly, she took a step toward him.

“Billy?” Her voice was unsteady, questioning. “Billy? Are you all right?”

But even as she asked the question, she knew he was dead. She took one more step toward him, then changed her mind.

Help. She had to get help.

She braced herself against the backstop and leaned carefully over to pick up her cane. Then, after one more quick look at Billy, she started toward the school building. There was no one left in the yard — no one to come to her aid, no one to do something for Billy Evans.

No one to tell her what had happened.

For Michelle could not remember.

She could remember Billy climbing up the mesh, balancing himself on top.

She could remember him starting to walk, and she could remember telling him to be careful.

And he had laughed.

Then the fog had closed in on her, and Amanda had come.

But then what happened? Her mind was blank.

She started up the back steps of the school.

“Help!” she called. “Oh, please, can’t anyone hear me?”

She was very close to the top when she saw the door open, and her father appeared.

“Michelle? What’s happened? Are you all right?”

“It’s Billy!” Michelle cried. “Billy Evans! He fell, Daddy! He was trying to walk the backstop, and he fell!”

“Oh, my God.” The words were barely audible, strangling in his throat. The visions came back to him, children’s faces flashing in his mind, their eyes accusing him. He began to feel dizzy, but forced himself to look at the playground. Even from here he could see the little boy, motionless, lying in a crumpled heap next to the backstop.

By then, Michelle had reached the top of the steps, and was holding on to him, clinging to him, her eyes brimming with tears.

“He fell, Daddy. I think — I think he’s dead.”

He had to think. He had to act. But it was nearly impossible. “Come inside,” he mumbled. “Come inside, and your mother will take care of you.” He disentangled himself from Michelle and led her inside to the office, where June and Tim Hartwick were still talking. Both of them looked at him in surprise, then, by the expression on his face, knew that something was wrong.

“Call an ambulance,” he said. “There’s been an accident. A little boy fell off the backstop. I–I’ve got to take care of him.” His voice faded. “I’ve got to.…” He turned and shambled out of the office.

As Tim picked up the phone and began dialing, Michelle suddenly spoke.

“Mom?” Her voice sounded dazed, and June took her in her arms.

“It’s all right, honey,” June whispered to her. “Daddy’s taking care of it, and an ambulance will be here soon. What happened?”

Michelle buried her face against her mother and sobbed uncontrollably. As June listened to Tim talking on the phone, she tried to soothe her daughter. Slowly, Michelle regained herself.

Tim Hartwick hung up the phone as Michelle started to recite the tale. He listened intently, observing Michelle as she talked, trying to read the truth of her words in her face. When she was done, June took her once more in her arms.

“How terrible,” she said softly. “But don’t worry — he’ll probably be fine.”

“No, he won’t,” Michelle said hollowly. “He’s dead. I know he’s dead.”

It was like a recurring nightmare.

Cal crossed the schoolyard in a daze, as though his feet were dragging him back, even as he tried to run. The seconds it took him to reach Billy Evans seemed like hours, and his mind was flooded with the sure foreknowledge of what he would find.

He reached Billy at last and knelt by the boy’s limp body. He glanced at Billy’s face, noted the broken neck, then automatically took the child’s wrist between his fingers.

There was a pulse.

Cal thought he was imagining it at first, but a moment later he knew: Billy Evans was still alive.

Why can’t he be dead? Cal silently asked. Why does he have to depend on me?

He leaned over Billy reluctantly, forcing himself to examine him.

He was going to have to move the boy.

He hesitated. Only a few weeks earlier he had gathered up his own child. Now she was crippled. Panic rose in him, and for a split second he felt paralyzed. Then, slowly, his mind began to reason.

When the ambulance arrived, the attendants would move Billy. Perhaps he should wait.

But he was a doctor. He had to do something.

Besides, if he didn’t, he was sure that Billy would be dead by the time the ambulance arrived — he could see the constriction in the boy’s neck, see him slowly strangling. If Billy was to survive, Cal had to straighten out his neck.

He began to move Billy’s head.

As the flow of air passed more freely into his lungs, Billy’s complexion began to change. The blueness faded. Then, as Cal watched, the child began to breathe more easily.

Cal began to let himself relax.

Billy Evans was going to live.

In the distance, the wail of the ambulance started up. To Cal, the sound was a symphony of hope.

• • •

As the sound of the ambulance grew louder, June stood up and went to the window. From where she stood, she could see nothing — only one corner of the backstop, ominously visible, the rest of it blocked from her view by the building.

“I can’t stand it,” she said. Tim, go see what’s happening. Please?”

Tim Hartwick nodded. He started out of the office, then paused at the door.

“I told Mrs. Evans to come here. You’re sure you don’t want me to wait with you?” He glanced pointedly at Michelle, who was sitting on a straight-backed chair, her gaze fixed in midair, her face frozen in an expression of shock.

“If she gets here before you get back, I’ll handle it,” June insisted. “Just find out — find out if he’s alive.”

Half an hour later, only Michelle, June, and Tim were left at the school. The ambulance, with Billy and Cal in the rear, had departed for the clinic, and Billy’s mother had followed, insisting she could drive herself once she was assured that her son was still alive. The small crowd that had gathered in the schoolyard had quickly dispersed, the people leaving in small groups, whispering among themselves, and occasionally glancing back toward the school, where they knew Michelle Pendleton was still sitting in Tim Hartwick’s office.

Tim signaled June to join him in the hall for a moment. When they were alone, he told her that he would like to talk to Michelle.

“So soon?” June asked. “But — she’s too upset!”

“We have to find out what happened. I think if I talk to her now, before she’s had much of a chance to really think about it, I’ll get the closest thing to the truth.”

June’s maternal instincts leaped to her daughter’s defense. “You mean before she’s had a chance to make up a story?”

“That’s not what I said, and it’s not what I meant,” Tim said quickly. “I want to talk to her before her mind has had a chance to make whatever happened seem logical to her. And I want to find out why she was so sure Billy was dead.”

“All right,” June said at last, reluctantly. “But don’t push her. Please?”

“I never would,” Tim said gently. He left June alone in the hall while he returned to Michelle.

“Why did you think Billy was dead?” Tim asked gently. It had taken him ten minutes to convince Michelle that her friend hadn’t died, and he still wasn’t sure she believed him. “He didn’t fall very far — just a few feet, really.”

“I just knew it,” Michelle replied. “You can tell.”

“You can? How?”

“Just — just by — things. You know.”

Tim waited a moment, but when Michelle didn’t go on, he decided to ask her to tell him again what had happened. He listened without interrupting while she recited the story again.

“And that’s all?” he asked when she was finished.

Michelle nodded.

“Now I want you to think very carefully,” Tim said. “I want you to go over it all once more, and try to remember if you left anything out.”

Michelle began going over the story again. This time Tim stopped her occasionally, trying to prod her memory for detail.

“Now, when Billy started walking along the top of the backstop, where were you standing?”

“At the end of it, right where he climbed up it.”

“Were you touching it? Leaning on it?”

Michelle frowned a little, trying to remember. “No. I was using my cane. I was leaning on my cane.”

“All right,” Tim said “Now, tell me again what happened while Billy was walking the rail.”

She told it exactly as she had before.

“I was watching him,” Michelle said. “I was telling him to be careful, because I was afraid he might fall. And then he tripped — he just tripped, and fell. I tried to catch him, but I couldn’t — he was too far away, and I — well, I can’t move very fast anymore.”

“But what did he trip on?” Tim asked.

“I don’t know — I couldn’t see.”

“You couldn’t see? Why not?” A thought occurred to him. “Was it foggy? Did it get foggy?”

For a split second there was a flicker in Michelle’s eyes, but then she shook her head.

“No. I couldn’t see because I’m not tall enough. Maybe — maybe there was a nail sticking up.”

“Maybe so,” Tim agreed. Then: “What about Amanda? Was she there?”

Again, for just a split second, there was that flicker in Michelle’s eyes. But, again, she shook her head.

“No”

“You’re sure?” Tim urged her. “It could be very important.”

Now Michelle shook her head more definitely. “No!” she exclaimed. “There was no fog, and Amanda wasn’t with me. Billy tripped! That’s all, he just tripped. Don’t you believe me?”

Tim could see that she was on the verge of tears.

“Of course I do,” he said, smiling at her. “You like Billy Evans, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Did he ever tease you?”

“Tease me?”

“You know — the way Susan Peterson did, and some of the other kids.”

“No.” Again, Tim thought he noticed a hesitation.

There was more to the story than Michelle was telling him, but he wasn’t sure that he would be able to get it out of her. Something was holding her back. It was as if she was protecting something. He thought he knew what it was.

Amanda.

Amanda, the dark side of Michelle, had done something, and Michelle was protecting her. Tim knew it would be a long time before he would be able to convince Michelle to abandon her “friend.”

As he was wondering what to say next, Michelle suddenly met his eyes.

“He’s going to die,” she said softly. Tim stared at her, not sure he had heard her right. Then, her voice still soft, but very definite, Michelle repeated the words.

“I know Billy’s going to die.”

June drove slowly, Cal beside her in the front seat, Michelle in the back. Each of them was in his own private world, although both Cal and June were thinking about Billy Evans, lying in a coma in the clinic. Josiah Carson had done as much for the boy as he could, and had given Cal a light sedative. Tomorrow a neurologist would come from Boston. But Cal and Josiah were both sure that the specialist’s findings would only verify what they already knew — Billy’s strangulation had gone on too long; there was brain damage. How extensive the damage was wouldn’t be known until Billy came out of the coma.

If he came out of it.

The silence in the car was beginning to tell on June. She was relieved when she finally had an excuse to break it.

“I have to stop at the Bensons’ to pick up Jenny.”

Cal nodded once, but made no verbal reply. Only when she had turned in at the Bensons’ did he speak.

“I wish you wouldn’t leave Jenny like this.”

“Well, I couldn’t very well bring her with me, could I?”

“You could have called me. I’d have come out and driven you both in.”

“Frankly, I wasn’t sure you’d even be at the school,” June said. Then she remembered Michelle’s silent presence in the backseat. “Never mind. Next time I’ll either call you or bring Jenny with me.” She opened the car door and got out, then held the back door for Michelle. Cal was already on the Bensons’ porch as June and Michelle started up the steps.

Constance Benson must have been waiting for them, for the door opened just as Cal was about to knock. June thought she saw the woman’s lips tighten as she glanced at Michelle. When she said nothing, June decided to wait until they were inside to explain what had happened. But it soon became apparent that Constance Benson had already heard. “I just talked to Estelle Peterson,” she said. “A terrible thing — terrible.” Again, she glanced at Michelle. This time, June was sure there was hostility in her eyes.

“It was an accident,” June said quickly. “Billy was trying to walk the backstop, and he fell. Michelle tried to catch him.”

“Did she?” Constance Benson’s voice was carefully neutral, but June was sure she could hear a hint of sarcasm in it. “I’ll get the baby. She’s upstairs, asleep.”

“I can’t thank you enough for taking care of her,” June said gratefully. Constance was already on the stairs, but she turned back to face June as she spoke.

“Babies aren’t any trouble at all,” she said. “It’s only when they start growing up that the problems come.”

Michelle was standing just inside the door. She took a step toward her father.

“She thinks I did something, doesn’t she?” she asked, when Constance continued up the stairs.

Cal shook his head but said nothing. Michelle turned to her mother.

“Doesn’t she?” she repeated.

“Of course not,” June replied. She went to Michelle, and slipped an arm protectively around her daughter’s shoulders. When Constance reappeared a moment later with Jennifer cradled in her arms, she paused, as if unwilling to deliver the baby to June while she was so close to Michelle. There was a silence, broken at last by Michelle.

“I didn’t hurt Billy,” she said. “It was an accident.”

“What happened to Susan Peterson was an accident, too,” Constance replied. “But I wouldn’t want to try to convince her mother of it.”

June felt herself becoming angry, and decided, quite consciously, not to suppress it.

“That’s a cruel thing to say, Mrs. Benson. You saw what happened to Susan Peterson, and you know perfectly well that Michelle had nothing to do with it. And today, she tried to help Billy Evans. If she could move faster, she would have.”

“Well, all I know is that ‘accidents’ don’t just happen. Something causes them, and you can’t tell me any different!” She handed Jennifer to June, but her eyes suddenly moved to Michelle.

“If I were you, I’d be careful with this baby,” she said. She was still staring at Michelle. “It doesn’t take much of a fall to kill a child this age.”

June’s mouth dropped open in astonishment as she realized the implication of what Constance Benson had said. She searched for a suitable reply. When no words came, she simply handed Jenny to Michelle.

“Take her out to the car, will you, darling?” she asked.

Michelle carefully took the baby in one arm while she used the other to balance herself with the cane. June kept her eyes on Constance Benson, as if challenging her to say anything further. Michelle, cradling the baby in her left arm, started shakily toward the door.

“Will you go with her?” June asked Cal. “I don’t see how she’ll be able to get the car door open, too. But I imagine she could do it if she had to.”

Cal, sensing the tension between the two women, quickly followed Michelle out to the porch. Left alone with Constance Benson, June struggled to control her voice.

“Thank you for looking after Jennifer,” she said at last. “Now that I’ve said that, I have to tell you that I think you’re the most cruel and ignorant person it has ever been my misfortune to meet. In the future, neither I nor my family will bother you again. I’ll find someone else to sit with Jenny, or do it myself. Good-bye.”

She started toward the door but was stopped cold by Constance Benson’s voice.

“I won’t hold that against you, Mrs. Pendleton,” Constance said. “You don’t know what’s happening. You just don’t know.”

Michelle started down the steps, holding Jenny tight against her chest while she used the cane to find her footing. She stayed close to the bannister, so that if she slipped she could lean against it. When she got to the bottom she stopped, and slowly released the breath she had been holding as she made her way down from the Bensons’ porch. “We made it,” she whispered, smiling down at Jenny’s little face. Seeming to understand her, Jenny looked up at her, gurgling happily. A tiny trickle of spittle dribbled from one corner of her mouth. Michelle dabbed it away with a corner of the blanket.

And then, suddenly, the fog started closing around her. She glanced up quickly, seeing the mists coming fast, and hearing the first faint whispers of Amanda’s voice. She saw her father, standing next to the car, watching her.

“Daddy?”

Cal took a tentative step toward her, but the fog closed in on her then, and he disappeared.

“Daddy! Quick!” Michelle cried.

She was going to drop Jennifer.

She could feel Amanda, next to her, prodding her, whispering to her, telling her to let go of the baby, to let Jennifer — Jennifer, who had taken her parents away from her — fall to the ground.

As Amanda’s voice grew more insistent, Michelle felt herself giving in, felt herself obeying her friend’s voice. She wanted to hurt Jenny, wanted to see her fall.

Slowly, she began relaxing her left arm.

“It’s all right,” she heard her father say. “I’ve got her now. You can let go.”

She felt Jennifer being lifted out of her arms. The fog dispersed as quickly as it had come. Next to her, her father stood holding the baby, watching her.

“What happened?” she heard him ask.

“I–I got tired,” Michelle stammered. “I just couldn’t hold her any longer. I thought I was going to drop her, Daddy!”

“But you didn’t, did you?” Cal said. “It’s just like I told your mother. You’re just fine. You didn’t want to hurt Jenny, did you? You didn’t want to drop her.” There was desperation in Cal’s voice, the sound of a man trying to convince himself of the truth of his own words. Michelle, however, was too lost in her own confusion to hear the pleading in her father’s words. When she replied, her own voice was uncertain.

“No. I–I just got tired, that’s all,” Michelle said. But as she got into the backseat of the car, she thought she could hear Amanda’s voice, far away, shouting at her.

Then her mother was in the car, too, and they were driving home. But all the way, Michelle could hear Amanda’s voice.

Amanda was angry with her.

She could tell by the way Amanda was shouting at her.

She didn’t want Amanda angry at her.

Amanda was the only friend she had.

Whatever happened, she couldn’t let Amanda stay angry.

CHAPTER 24


It wasn’t until Tim suggested that perhaps Michelle should be institutionalized, if only for observation, that Corinne lost her temper.

“How can you say that?” she demanded. She tucked her feet up under her in an unconsciously defensive gesture and clutched her coffee cup in both hands. Tim poked at the fire and shrugged helplessly.

“There was something in her eyes,” he said. How many times had he tried to explain it? “I don’t know exactly what it was, but she wasn’t telling me everything. I’m sorry, Corinne, but I don’t believe that Billy Evans fell off that backstop accidentally.”

“You mean you think Michelle Pendleton tried to kill him.” Corinne’s voice was cold. “You might as well say what you mean.”

“I did. You seem to want me to say that I think Michelle Pendleton is a murderer, but I won’t. I’m not sure she is. But I am sure she had something to do with Billy’s fall. And Susan Peterson’s, too, for that matter.”

“You don’t think she’s a murderer, but you think she killed Susan? Is that what you’re saying?” Without waiting for him to reply, she went right on. “My God, Tim, if you’d talked to her just a few weeks ago, you’d know that couldn’t be true. She was the sweetest, nicest child. Things just don’t change that fast.”

“Don’t they? All you have to do is look at her.” Tim ran a hand through his hair in an attempt to keep his brown curls from tumbling over his forehead, but it did no good. “Look, Corinne, you have to face the facts. Whatever she is, Michelle isn’t the same girl who came to Paradise Point in August. She’s changed.”

“So you want to lock her up? You just want to put her away where nobody will have to look at her? You sound just like the kids in my class!”

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it. Corinne, you have to face up to what’s happened. Whatever’s causing it, Susan is dead, and Billy might as well be. And both times, Michelle was there. And we know that something’s happened to her,” Tim said tiredly. They’d been going around and around the subject for hours, ever since dinner, and they hadn’t gotten anywhere. If only, Tim thought, Michelle had given that damned doll some other name. Any other name. It was as if Corinne read his mind.

“You still haven’t explained Amanda,” she said.

“I’ve explained it five hundred times.”

“Oh, sure! You keep telling me that she only exists in Michelle’s imagination. Except you still haven’t explained one thing — how come everyone around here has been talking about Amanda for so many years? If she’s only Michelle’s imaginary friend, why has she been around so much longer than Michelle?”

“Everybody hasn’t been talking about Amanda. Only a few impressionable schoolgirls have.”

Corinne’s eyes narrowed angrily, but before she could begin her argument, Tim held up his hand as if to fend her off.

“Let’s not talk about it anymore, all right? Can’t we just forget about it for tonight?”

“I don’t see how,” Corinne replied. “It’s like a cloud hanging over us.”

The ringing of the telephone interrupted her. Corinne automatically rose to answer it before she remembered that it wasn’t her phone. Tim, using the diversion to try to change the mood of the evening, grinned at her. “If you’d just marry me, you could answer the phone here any time you wanted to.”

He had just reached for the receiver when it stopped ringing. Both he and Corinne waited expectantly for Lisa to call one of them. Instead there was a silence, then Lisa came downstairs.

“That was Alison. I’m going to go over to her house tomorrow, and we’re going to look for the ghost.”

“Oh, God,” Tim groaned. “Not you, too?”

Lisa rolled her eyes in contempt. “Well, why not? Alison says Sally Carstairs already saw the ghost once, and I think it would be fun. I never get to do anything!”

Tim looked helplessly at Corinne. He was about to give his assent, but Corinne stopped him.

“Tim, don’t”

“Why not?”

“Tim, please. Just humor me, all right? Besides, even if I’m wrong, and you’re right, do you know where they’ll be looking for the ghost? Out near the Pendletons’, in the Carsons’ old graveyard. That’s where Amanda’s grave is.”

“It isn’t a grave,” Lisa sneered.

“There’s a headstone,” Corinne said automatically, but Lisa was paying no attention to her. Instead, she was pleading with her father.

“Can I go, Daddy? Please?”

But Tim decided that Corinne was right. Whatever was happening, he didn’t want his daughter near the Pendletons’.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea, sweetheart,” he said. “You tell Alison you’ll go some other time, all right?”

“Aw, Dad, you never let me do anything. All you ever do is listen to her, and she’s as crazy as Michelle Pendleton!” Lisa’s words were directed to her father, but she was staring at Corinne, her face pinched with anger, her mouth in a pout. Corinne simply looked the other way. For once, she was going to ignore Lisa’s rudeness.

“You can’t go, and that’s final,” Tim said. “Now go up and call Alison, and tell her. Then finish your homework and go to bed.”

Lisa silently decided that she would do what she wanted to do, made a face at Corinne, then sulkily left the room. An uncomfortable silence fell in Tim’s living room as both he and Corinne tried to pretend that their evening wasn’t hopelessly ruined. Finally Corinne stood up.

“Well, it’s getting late—”

“You mean you want to go home, don’t you?” Tim asked.

Corinne nodded. “I’ll call you in the morning.” She started out of the room, intent on gathering her coat and purse, but Tim stopped her.

“Don’t I even get a good night kiss?”

Corinne gave him a perfunctory peck on the cheek but resisted his embrace. “Not now, Tim. Please? Not tonight.”

Defeated, Tim let her go, standing alone in the living room as she put on her coat. Then she came back in and smiled at him.

“Now I know where Lisa gets her pout — from her father. Come on, Tim, it isn’t the end of the world. I’ll call you tomorrow, or you call me. Okay?”

Tim nodded.

“Men!”

Corinne said the word out loud, then repeated it, as she drove herself home. Sometimes, she reflected, they could be so damn stubborn. And not just Tim, either. Cal Pendleton wasn’t any better. He and Tim should be great friends, she decided. One of them hanging on to the idea that everything was fine, and the other hanging on to the idea that whatever was happening was only happening in Michelle’s mind.

But it wasn’t. Corinne was sure it wasn’t, but she didn’t know what to do next. Should she talk to June Pendleton about it? She should. Right now. She pulled the car into a sharp U-turn, and headed toward the Pendletons’. But when she arrived, the house was dark. She sat in her car for a few minutes, debating with herself. Should she wake them up? What for? To tell them a ghost story?

In the end, she simply went home.

But, as she went to sleep that night, Corinne Hatcher had a sense of events closing in, as if whatever was finally going to happen was going to happen soon.

And when it happened, whatever it was, they would all know the truth.

She only hoped that, in the meantime, nobody else would die.…

Her hip was exploding with pain. She wanted to stop and rest, but she knew she couldn’t.

Behind her, but getting closer, she could hear people calling to her — angry people — people who wanted to hurt her.

She couldn’t let them hurt her — she had to get away, far away, where they wouldn’t be able to find her.

Amanda would help her.

But where was Amanda?

She called out, begging her friend to come and help her, but there was no answer — only those other voices, screaming at her, frightening her.

She tried to move faster, tried to force her left leg to respond as she wanted it to, but it was useless.

They were going to catch her.

She stopped and turned around.

Yes, there they were, coming toward her.

She couldn’t see their faces, not clearly, but she thought she knew the voices.

Mrs. Benson.

That didn’t surprise her: Mrs. Benson had always hated her.

But there were others.

Her parents. Well, not her parents, but those two strangers who had pretended to be her parents.

And someone else — someone she thought liked her. It was a man, but who? It didn’t matter, really. Whoever he was, he wanted to hurt her, too. Their voices were growing louder, and they were coming closer. If she was going to get away, she would have to run.

She looked around frantically, sure that Amanda would come and help her. But Amanda wasn’t there. She would have to get away by herself.

The bluff.

If she could get to the bluff, she would be safe.

She started toward it, her heart pounding, her breath coming in short gasps.

Her left leg was dragging her back. She couldn’t run! But she had to run!

And then she was there, poised at the top of the cliff, the sea below her, and behind her those voices, insistent, demanding — hurting. She glanced once more over her shoulder. They were closer now, almost upon her. But they wouldn’t catch her.

With a final burst of energy, she threw herself off the bluff.

Falling was so easy.

Time seemed to stand still, and she drifted, relaxed, felt the air rush by her, looked at the sky.

She looked down — and saw the rocks.

Jagged, angry fingers of stone, reaching up to her, ready to tear her apart.

Terror finally engulfed her, and she opened her mouth to scream. But it was too late — she was going to die.…

Michelle woke up shivering, her throat constricted with an unuttered scream.

“Daddy?” Her voice was soft, tiny in the night. She knew no one had heard her. No one, except—

“I saved you,” Amanda whispered to her. “I didn’t let you die.”

“Mandy—?” She had come. Michelle sat up in bed, her fear draining away as she realized that Amanda was there, helping her, taking care of her. “Mandy? Where are you?”

“I’m here,” Mandy said softly. She emerged from the shadows of the room, standing near the window, her black dress glistening eerily in the moonlight. She held out her hand, and Michelle left her bed.

Amanda, holding her by the hand, led her down the stairs and out of the house. It wasn’t until they had reached the studio that Michelle realized she had left her cane behind. But it didn’t matter — Amanda was there for her to lean on.

Besides, her hip didn’t hurt at all. Not at all!

They slipped into the studio, and Michelle knew immediately what to do. It was as if Amanda could talk to her silently, as if Amanda were truly inside her.

She found a sketch pad and set it up on her mother’s easel. She worked quickly, her strokes bold and sure. The picture emerged quickly.

Billy Evans, his small body perched on the top of the backstop, balancing himself precariously. The perspective was strange. He seemed to be very high up, far above the figure of Michelle herself, who stood on the ground, her cane forgotten as she stared helplessly upward.

Near her, clutching the support post, was Amanda, a smile on her face, her empty eyes seeming somehow alive with excitement as Billy started to fall.

Michelle stared at the picture and, in the dimness of the studio, she felt Amanda’s hand in her own. They stood together for a moment in silent closeness. Then, knowing what she must do, Michelle let go of Amanda’s hand, tore the sketch from the pad, and took it to the closet. She found what she was looking for easily, though she had turned on no lights. She took out the canvas, that first canvas she had drawn for Amanda, and left her new sketch — the sketch of Billy Evans, with the one of Susan Peterson.

She set the canvas up on the easel, and picked up June’s palette.

Though the dim light washed the colors on the palette to little more than shades of gray, Michelle knew where to touch the brush to find the hues she wanted.

She worked quickly, her face expressionless. Behind her, watching over her shoulder, her hand lightly resting on her elbow, Michelle could feel Amanda watching in fascination, her milky white eyes fixed on the picture, her expression eager. The picture was telling her the story — soon she would see it all. Michelle would show her everything.

Michelle had no sense of time as she worked. When she finally set the palette aside and stepped back to look at the canvas, she wondered why she didn’t fed tired. But she knew, really — it was Amanda, helping her.

“Is it all right?” she asked shyly.

Amanda nodded, her sightless eyes still fixed on the picture. After a few seconds, she spoke.

“You could have killed her this afternoon,” she said.

Jennifer. Mandy was talking about Jennifer, and she was angry at Michelle.

“I know,” Michelle answered quietly.

“Why didn’t you?” Mandy’s voice, silken but hard, caressed Michelle.

“I–I don’t know,” she whispered.

“You could do it now,” Amanda suggested.

“Now?”

“They’re asleep. They’re all asleep. We could go to the nursery.…” Amanda took Michelle’s hand and led her out of the studio.

As they crossed the lawn toward the house, a cloud drifted across the moon, and the silvery light faded into darkness. But the darkness didn’t matter.

Amanda was leading her.

And the fog was coming in.

The wonderful fog that cuddled Michelle, shutting out the rest of the world, leaving her alone with Amanda. Whatever Amanda wanted, Michelle knew she would do.…

June woke up in the darkness, some maternal sixth sense telling her that something was wrong. She listened for a moment.

A cry.

Muffled, but a cry.

It was coming from the nursery. June got out of bed, grabbed her robe, and crossed the bedroom.

The nursery door was dosed.

She distinctly remembered leaving it open — she always left it open.

She glanced at Cal, but he was sound asleep, his position unchanged.

Then who had closed the door?

She pulled it open and stepped into the nursery, switching on the light as she passed through the door. Michelle was standing by Jennifer’s crib. She looked up, her face puzzled, as the room filled with light.

“Mother?”

“Michelle! What are you doing up?”

“I–I heard Jenny crying, and when I didn’t hear you, I came in to see what was wrong.”

Michelle carefully tucked the little pillow in her hands under Jennifer’s head.

Her crying was muffled!

The thought slashed through June’s mind, but she immediately silenced it.

The door was closed, she told herself. That’s why I couldn’t hear her. The door was closed!

“Michelle,” she said carefully. “Did you close the door between here and our bedroom?”

“No.” Michelle’s voice was uncertain. “It must have been closed when I came in. Maybe that’s why you didn’t hear Jenny.”

“Well, I suppose it doesn’t matter.” But it did matter, and June knew it. Something was happening — something she didn’t want to think about. She went over to the crib, and picked Jenny up. The baby was sleeping now, making little mewling sounds. As she picked her up, Jenny coughed a little, then relaxed in her mother’s arms. June smiled at Michelle. “See? All it takes is a mother’s loving arms.” She looked more closely at Michelle. Her eyes were clear, and she didn’t look as though she’d been asleep only a few minutes ago.”

“Couldn’t you sleep, honey?”

“No. I was just talking to Amanda. Then Jenny started crying, so I came in here.”

“Well, let me get her settled, then we’ll have a little talk, okay?”

Michelle’s eyes clouded over. For a moment June was afraid she was going to refuse. But then Michelle shrugged. “Okay.”

June tucked Jennifer back into the crib, then offered Michelle her arm to lean on. “Where’s your cane?”

“I left it in my room.”

“Well, that’s a good sign,” June said hopefully. But as they went down the hall, it seemed to her that Michelle could barely walk. She said nothing, however, until Michelle was settled in her bed, propped up against the pillows. “Does it hurt badly?” She touched Michelle’s hip gently.

“Sometimes. Now. But sometimes not. When Amanda’s around, it’s better.”

“Amanda,” June repeated the name softly. “Do you know who Amanda is?”

“Not really,” Michelle said. “But I think she used to live here.”

“When?”

“A long time ago.”

“Where does she live now?”

“I’m not sure. I guess she still lives here.”

“Michelle — does Amanda want something?”

Michelle nodded her head. “She wants to see something. I’m not sure what it is, but it’s something Amanda has to see. And I can show it to her.”

“You? How?”

“I–I don’t know. But I know I can help her. And she’s my friend, so I have to help her, don’t I?”

It sounded to June like a plea for reassurance. “Of course you do,” she said. “If she’s truly your friend. But what if she’s not your friend? What if she really wants to hurt you?”

“But she doesn’t,” Michelle said. “I know she doesn’t. Amanda would never hurt me. Never.” As June watched, her daughter’s eyes closed, and she fell asleep.

June sat with her for a long time, holding her hand, and watching her sleep. Then, as the first faint light began burning through the darkness, June kissed Michelle lightly and returned to bed.

She tried to sleep, but her thoughts, so carefully banished, came back to haunt her.

She hadn’t heard Jenny cry because the door was closed.

But they never closed the door.

And Michelle had been holding a pillow.

June left her bed once again, and went back into the nursery.

Carefully, she locked the door leading to the hall and put the key in the pocket of her robe.

Only then was she able to sleep, and she hated herself for it.

CHAPTER 25


Saturday morning.

On any ordinary Saturday morning, June would have awakened slowly, stretched luxuriously, then rolled over and slid her arms around her husband.

But it had been a long time since she had done that, on Saturday morning or any other morning.

On this Saturday morning, she was wide awake, and tired.

She glanced at the clock — nine thirty.

She turned the other way, to see if Cal was still sleeping.

He was gone.

June lifted herself into a sitting position, about to get up, then let herself lean back against the pillows. Her gaze wandered to the window.

Outside the sky was leaden, and the trees, their remaining leaves having lost their sparkle in the gray light, were beginning to look thin and tired. Soon the leaves would be gone entirely. June shivered a little, anticipating the coming winter.

She began listening for the familiar sounds of morning — Jennifer should be crying, and she should be able to hear Cal, banging around the kitchen, pretending to be fixing his breakfast when he was really only trying to wake her up.

But this morning, there was a silence hanging over the house.

“Hello?” June called tentatively.

There was no answer, so she got out of bed, put on her robe, then went to the nursery.

Jennifer’s crib was empty, and the door to the hall stood open. June frowned and went through the nursery to the hall. When she got to the top of the stairs, she called out again, louder.

“Hello! Where is everybody?”

“We’re down here!” It was Michelle, and as June heard her, she felt herself relax. It’s all right, she told herself. Nothing’s happened. It’s all right. It was only when she was halfway down the stairs that she realized how worried she had been, how much the silence of the morning had frightened her. Now, as she entered the kitchen, she assured herself that she was being silly. Last night’s imaginings fled.

“Hi! Everyone’s up so early.”

Cal glanced at her, then went back to scrambling a batch of eggs. “You were dead to the world this morning, and someone had to fix breakfast. And Michelle helped me, so it shouldn’t be a total loss.”

Michelle was setting the table. She looked tired, but as June winked at her she smiled slightly, apparently happy to be doing something with her father, even if it was only setting the table.

“Did you sleep all right, honey?” she asked.

“My hip was hurting pretty bad, but it’s all right this morning.”

There was a good feeling in the house, and June knew the reason for it — Billy Evans hadn’t died. Cal had saved him, not hurt him, and now, she was sure, everything was going to be all right. She wanted to say something, comment on the pleasant atmosphere, but she was afraid that if she did, she would destroy it. Instead, she went to the bassinet where Jennifer was sleeping peacefully.

“Well, at least I wasn’t the only one who slept in,” she said as she picked the baby up. Jenny opened her eyes and gurgled, then went back to sleep.

“She was up earlier,” Cal said. “I gave her a bottle about an hour ago. Do you want these on toast?”

“Fine,” June said absently. With Cal making breakfast, Michelle finishing with the table, and Jennifer asleep, she felt suddenly useless. “Do you want me to take over?”

“Too late,” Cal said. He served the eggs, added a couple of slices of bacon to each plate, and carried them to the table. As he sat down, he glanced at his watch.

“Do you have to go already?” June asked.

“The neurologist should be in by ten. I really ought to be there.”

“May I go in with you?” Michelle asked. Cal frowned, and June immediately shook her head.

“I think you’d better stay here today,” she said, carefully avoiding any mention of Billy Evans.

“But why?” Michelle asked. Her face started to cloud over, and June was sure there was going to be an argument. She could feel the comparatively relaxed atmosphere of the morning slipping away. She turned to Cal.

“Cal? What do you think?”

“I don’t know. I don’t suppose there’s any reason why she shouldn’t go along, really. But I don’t know how long I’ll be there,” he added, turning to Michelle. “You might get bored.”

“I just want to see Billy. Then I could go to the library. Or I could walk home.”

“All right,” Cal gave in. “But you can’t spend the whole day hanging around the clinic. Is that clear?”

“You used to let me,” Michelle complained.

Cal’s eyes shifted uneasily. “That was — before,” he said.

“Before? Before what?”

When he made no answer, Michelle stared at him, then she realized what he meant.

“I didn’t do anything to Billy,” she said.

“I didn’t say—” Cal began, but June interrupted him.

“He didn’t mean that,” she said. “He meant—”

“I know what he meant,” Michelle shouted. “Well, I don’t want to go! I don’t want to go anywhere near your old clinic!” She stood up from the table, grabbed her cane, and started out of the kitchen. The back door had slammed behind her before either June or Cal had recovered from her outburst. June stood up and started after Michelle, but Cal stopped her.

“Let her go,” he said. “She has to learn to deal with things herself. You — you can’t protect her from the world.”

“But I shouldn’t have to protect her from her own father,” June said bitterly. “Cal, why do you do things like that? Do you think those things don’t hurt her?”

Cal made no reply, and June, knowing whatever pleasantness the morning had promised was now destroyed, picked up the bassinet, and walked out of the kitchen.

Annie Whitmore was sitting on the merry-go-round in the schoolyard when she saw Michelle coming down the street. Michelle was walking slowly, and Annie thought she looked angry. Annie looked around quickly, wondering if anyone else was there. She wanted to play with Michelle, but she knew she wasn’t supposed to — her mother had talked to her for a long time last night, warning her that from now on, she wasn’t even supposed to speak to Michelle, and if Michelle offered to play with her, she was to come home at once.

But Annie liked Michelle, and since her mother wouldn’t tell her why she was supposed to stay away from her, she decided to ignore the order.

Besides, there wasn’t anybody around to tell on her if she disobeyed.

“Michelle!”

Michelle didn’t respond, so Annie called her again, louder. This time Michelle looked in her direction, and Annie waved.

“Hi! What are you doing?”

“Just walking,” Michelle said. She stopped and leaned on the fence. “What are you doing?”

“Playing. But I can’t get the merry-go-round to go fast enough. It’s too heavy.”

“Want me to push it for you?” Michelle offered.

Annie nodded, telling herself that it was all right — she hadn’t actually asked Michelle to play with her.

Michelle opened the gate and limped into the schoolyard. Annie waited patiently on the merry-go-round. When Michelle came close to her, she grinned.

“How come you’re down here on Saturday?”

“I was just walking,” Michelle said.

“How come you’re not playing with anybody?”

“I am. I’m playing with you.”

“But you weren’t. You were all by yourself. Don’t you have any friends?”

“Sure. I have you, and there’s Amanda, too.”

“Amanda? Who’s Amanda?”

“She’s my special friend,” Michelle said. “She helps me.”

“Helps you? Helps you what?” Annie kicked at the ground, and the merry-go-round began to move, very slowly. Michelle reached out and gave it a push, and it speeded up a little. Annie pulled her feet up and waited until she came around to Michelle before she spoke again. “What does Amanda help you do?”

“Things,” Michelle said.

“What kind of things?”

“Never mind,” Michelle said, not knowing exactly how to explain Amanda. “Someday maybe you’ll meet her.”

Annie let the merry-go-round carry her around a few more times, then jumped off.

“How come nobody likes you?” she asked. “I think you’re nice.”

“And I think you’re nice, too,” Michelle said, ignoring Annie’s question. “What do you want to do now?”

“The swings!” Annie cried. “Will you push me on the swings?”

“Sure,” Michelle said. “Come on — I’ll race you!”

Annie immediately dashed off in the direction of the swings, and Michelle started after her, moving as quickly as she could and making a great show of panting. When she caught up with Annie, the little girl was giggling happily.

“I won! I won!”

“Just wait,” Michelle said. “Someday, I’ll learn to run again, and then you’d better watch out!”

But Annie didn’t hear her. She was already on the swings, begging to be pushed. Michelle laid her cane on the ground, and stood behind Annie, a little to one side. Slowly, she began pushing the little girl.…

Corinne Hatcher sat at her desk, trying to concentrate on the papers she was grading. Ordinarily, she would have ignored them until Monday, and spent Saturday with Tim, but this morning he hadn’t called her, and she had known that even if he had, she would have found some excuse. Probably, she would have used these very tests.

And they were only an excuse. She wished she could bring herself to simply call Tim, tell him she wished last night’s fight had never happened, and suggest they forget about it. But she knew she wouldn’t call until she could pretend it was a matter of business. She even knew she would be deceiving no one but herself, but it didn’t matter — she still had to have that excuse, that reason for calling other than to make up.

Disgusted with herself, she set her red pen down and glanced out the window.

And saw Michelle.

Her breath drew in sharply, and she instinctively rose from her chair. Michelle was coming into the schoolyard, and Annie Whitmore was apparently waiting for her.

Corinne watched as Annie climbed onto the merry-go-round, and Michelle began pushing it She could see the two children talking, but she couldn’t hear what they were saying. It didn’t matter, though — both of them were smiling and laughing.

Then Annie got off the merry-go-round and started toward the swings, slowly at first, then running. For a moment Corinne was worried, afraid that Annie was mocking Michelle, but then she saw that it was a game, and that Michelle had apparently started it, for she was making a great show of trying to run, flailing her arms, panting madly, while Annie watched and laughed.

Corinne found herself laughing, too.

And there, she realized, was her excuse to call Tim. If he thought Michelle was dangerous, wait till he heard about this — she was actually beginning to parody her own lameness!

She left her room and started down the hall toward the office. But as she started to dial, she had a better idea — it still wasn’t noon, and if she knew Tim, he’d still be home, lingering over his coffee.

She wouldn’t call him. Instead, she’d go to see him, tell him about Michelle. They could spend the day together. As she left the school, Corinne was smiling; today she could even tolerate Lisa Hartwick. She got into her car and started away. As she passed the playground she saw the two girls at the swings, Annie swinging, and Michelle gently pushing her. It was, Corinne Hatcher decided, a good day after all.

“Push me harder, Michelle!”

Annie leaned back in the swing, kicked her little legs up, and tried her best to pump the swing. But she had it wrong, and instead of moving faster, the swing slowed. Again, she called to Michelle. “Harder! I’m dying down!”

“You’re high enough already,” Michelle said. “You’re doing it wrong — you have to lean back when you go forward, and lean forward when you’re going back!”

“I’m trying,” Annie squealed. She increased her effort, doing her best to follow Michelle’s instructions.

“I can’t do it. Push me harder! Please?”

“No! The way you’re pumping, it’s dangerous. When you do it wrong, the chains don’t work. See? Every time you get to the top, something happens. They get loose, and you drop a little bit”

“I wouldn’t if you pushed harder.”

Michelle ignored her, and kept steadily pushing, reaching out with her right hand to give Annie a little shove each time she swung past.

But Annie was getting impatient. She wanted Michelle to push her harder. There had to be a way to make her. Then she had an idea. Even as she thought of it, she knew it was mean. But still, if it would make Michelle push her harder.…

“You just can’t push any harder, that’s all. You’re crippled, so you can’t push!”

Crippled!

The word hit her as it always did, like a hammer. Her stomach turned over, and she felt dizzy. Dizzy, and angry.

The fog crashed in on her this time, coming out of nowhere. She could see nothing — only the gray impenetrable mists swirling around her, blocking her vision.

And Amanda.

Amanda, coming toward her out of the grayness, smiling to her, encouraging her.

“You can push her, Michelle,” Amanda was saying. “Show her how hard you can push her.”

The pain in Michelle’s hip, the constant, nearly unbearable throbbing suddenly cleared up, and she felt that she could move easily, without the help of her cane. And if she needed help, Amanda was there — Amanda would help her.

She stepped behind the swing, and the next time Annie came drifting toward her through the fog, she was ready. She put her hands on Annie’s back, and as the little girl reached the apex of her arc, and started backward once more, Michelle prepared to push her.

Annie squealed with delight as she surged forward again, and clung more tightly to the chains. This was better — she’d never been this high before. Valiantly, she tried to pump, but she still didn’t have the hang of it.

Back she came, and once more she felt Michelle’s hands on her shoulders. “Harder!” she yelled. “Push harder!”

Again she shot forward, and her eyes widened as she saw the ground rushing up at her. Then she leveled off, and started the upswing, and the ground was replaced by the sky. What was she supposed to do?

Lean forward?

Kick back?

She leaned back, and as the swing reached its forward peak, she was suddenly unbalanced — the chains, so tight in her hands a moment before, abruptly loosened, and Annie felt herself start to fall.

She screamed, but then it was over — the chains were tight again, and she was on her way back, the weight at the end of the pendulum.

“Not so hard this tune,” she said when she felt Michelle’s hand on her back again.

But if Michelle heard her, she gave no sign. Annie found herself shooting forward again, higher than ever. Once more, as she reached the top, she leaned the wrong way and the chains went slack in her hands.

“Stop!” she yelled. “Please, Michelle, stop!”

But it was too late.

Back and forth she flew, ever higher, and each time the slack in the chain took longer to tighten again.

And then, inevitably, it happened.

The chain went loose in Annie’s hands, and she plunged straight down, her body lying across the seat of the swing, her eyes closed tight in terror.

And then there was no more chain.

As the seat of the swing reached the bottom and the hard links of the chain snapped taut, Annie Whitmore’s back broke.

A stab of pain shot through her, but it was over almost before it had begun — her head smashed against the ground, the momentum of her fall crushing her skull. She twitched spasmodically, and her broken body fell in a heap at Michelle’s feet.

“See?” Amanda whispered. “You can push as hard as you want. After a while, they’ll learn. They’ll learn, and then they’ll stop laughing.”

She took Michelle’s hand and began leading her out of the playground.

By the time they reached the street, the fog had lifted.

But Michelle didn’t look back.

• • •

Corinne opened the door to Tim’s house without knocking and let herself in.

“Tim? Tim!”

“In the kitchen,” Tim called.

Corinne hurried through the house and found Tim at the sink, elbow deep in dishwater.

“Guess what?”

Tim looked at her curiously. “Well, it must be something special, or you wouldn’t be here. And it must have something to do with Michelle Pendleton, since that’s who we were fighting about. You don’t look particularly upset, so it can’t be anything bad. So, you must have seen Michelle, and she must be better.”

Deflated, Corinne poured herself a cup of coffee and sat down. “You know what? You know me too well.”

“Then I was right?”

“Mmm-hmm. I saw Michelle today. She was in the schoolyard, playing with Annie Whitmore. And she was actually making fun of her own limp! Tim, you should have seen her. She was dragging her leg along, flapping her arms, panting like crazy, and all just to make Annie Whitmore laugh. What do you think of that?”

“I think it’s great,” Tim said. “But I don’t see what all the excitement’s about — it had to start sooner or later.”

“But I thought — last night you said—”

Tim dried off his hands and came to sit with her. “Last night I was doing a lot of wild speculating, and I might have said some things I didn’t mean. And you might have, too. So, shall we have a truce?”

Corinne threw her arms around him. “Oh, Tim, I love you.” She kissed him thoroughly, then grinned. “But isn’t it exciting? About Michelle, I mean? It’s the first time I’ve ever seen her do anything like that. She’s usually so self-conscious about her limp, and if anyone tries to talk to her about it, she just clams up. But she was making fun of it!”

“Well, before you declare her a perfectly adjusted child, let’s see what happens, shall we?” Tim cautioned her. “It might not have been what you thought it was, and it might have been just a momentary thing.” Then he grinned mischievously. “And what about Amanda? Have you forgotten all about the famous Amanda?”

“No. Well, not really. Oh, let’s not talk about her,” Corinne said. “I’ll just get all upset again. I was probably overdoing it last night too, and you’re probably right — she probably is only a figment of my imagination.”

“Well, in that case, Lisa’s going to be pretty upset.”

“Lisa?”

Tim nodded. “I’m afraid I changed my mind. I mean, we did have a fight, after all. So this morning, when Lisa started in on me, I gave in. She’s out hunting ghosts.”

Corinne stared at him.

“Oh, Tim, you didn’t!”

Tim’s smile faded at her expression of consternation.

“Well, why not?” he said irritably. “She’s with Alison and Sally. What can possibly happen?”

It was at that moment that Billy Evans died in the Paradise Point Clinic, as Cal Pendleton, Josiah Carson, and the neurologist from Boston looked helplessly on.

If any of them had glanced out the window, they would have seen Michelle, standing outside, staring into the room in which Billy lay, a tear running slowly down her cheek.

Amanda’s voice whispered in her ear.

“It’s done,” the strange voice crooned.

Michelle, knowing what had just happened inside, turned away and continued on her long walk home.

CHAPTER 26


“I still don’t think we should be here,” Jeff Benson said. He glanced over his shoulder toward his house, half expecting his mother to appear at the kitchen window, calling him home. If he’d had his way, he wouldn’t have come into the cemetery in the first place, but when Sally Carstairs, Alison Adams, and Lisa Hartwick had appeared that morning, he’d gone with them, thinking they wanted to go down to the cove.

But they hadn’t.

Instead, they’d wanted to go looking for the ghost. Mostly, he realized, it was Alison and Lisa who wanted to find Amanda, even though both of them claimed she didn’t exist. It had been Sally’s idea to start in the cemetery, and when Jeff had protested, she’d accused him of being scared. Well, he wasn’t scared — he wasn’t scared of the ghost, if there really was one, and he wasn’t scared of the cemetery. But there was still his mother, and Jeff didn’t want to get into trouble with her.

“If you ask me, I don’t think there’s anything here at all!”

Alison Adams nodded her agreement. She stood in the middle of the graveyard, her hands on her hips. “Who cares about an old gravestone anyway? Let’s go down to the beach — at least that might be fun!” The four children started back toward the Bensons’, and the trail that would take them down the face of the bluff. It was Lisa who suddenly stopped and pointed at the figure of Michelle, coming slowly toward them on the road.

“Here she comes,” Lisa said. “Crazy Michelle!”

“She’s not crazy,” Sally said. “I wish you’d stop talking like that.” “Well, if she’s not crazy, how come nobody’s seen the ghost except her?” Lisa demanded.

“Stop saying that!” Sally was getting angry now, and she made no attempt to cover it. “Just because you didn’t see the ghost, it doesn’t mean there isn’t one.” “Well, if there is one, why don’t you get Michelle to show it to us?” Lisa taunted.

Sally had had enough. “I can’t stand you, Lisa Hartwick! You’re worse than Susan ever was!” Sally left the group and started toward Michelle.

“Michelle? Michelle, wait up!” she called.

In the road, Michelle stopped and looked curiously at the four children. What did they want? But as Sally came near her, she heard Jeff Benson’s voice.

“Hey, Michelle — who did you kill today?”

Sally stopped dead in her tracks and turned back to stare at Jeff.

Michelle stood still for a moment-, trying to understand what he meant. Then she realized.

Susan Peterson.

Billy Evans.

He thought she had killed them. But she hadn’t — she knew she hadn’t.

She felt tears welling up in her eyes, and fought to control them. She wouldn’t let them see her cry — she wouldn’t! She started along the road again, moving as quickly as she could. Her hip was suddenly throbbing with pain, but she tried to ignore it.

Where was Amanda? Why didn’t Amanda come and help her?

And then Sally caught up with her.

“Michelle? Michelle, I’m sorry! I don’t know why Jeff said that. He didn’t mean it!” “Yes, he did,” Michelle said softly, her voice quavering with the tears she was desperately trying to hold back. “He thinks I killed them. Everybody thinks I killed them! But I didn’t!” “I know. I believe you.” Sally paused, unsure what to do. “Why don’t you come over to my house?” she suggested. “We don’t have to stay here and listen to him.” Michelle shook her head. “I’m going home,” she said. “Just leave me alone. I want to go home,” Sally reached out to touch Michelle, but Michelle shrank away from her. “Just leave me alone! Please?” Sally stepped back and wondered what to do. She glanced quickly at the three children who seemed to be waiting for her, then back at Michelle.

“All right,” she said. “But I’m going to tell Jeff Benson what I think of him!” “It won’t matter,” Michelle said. “It won’t change anything.” Without saying good-bye to Sally, she began walking away.

Sally watched her go, then started back toward Jeff and the two girls. When she was a few yards from them, she stopped and planted her hands on her hips.

“That was mean and cruel, Jeff Benson.”

“It wasn’t either!” Jeff shot back. “My mother says she doesn’t understand why they don’t lock her up! She’s crazy!” “I don’t have to listen to you anymore! I’m going home. Come on, Alison.” Her face set, Sally wheeled around and started back toward the road. Alison hesitated for a minute, then started after her. “Are you corning, Lisa?” “I want to go down to the cove,” Lisa whined.

“Then go to the cove,” Alison told her. “I’m going with Sally.” “Who cares?” Lisa shouted to the departing girls. “Who cares what you do? Why don’t you go see your crazy friend?” Ignoring her, Sally and Alison continued on their way. When Lisa saw she wasn’t going to get a reaction from them, she shrugged.

“Come on,” she said to Jeff. “I’ll race you down the trail!”

Michelle hobbled painfully up the front steps and across the porch. She opened the door, stepped into the house, and stood still for a moment, listening.

There was no sound, except for the soft ticking of the clock in the hull.

“Mom?”

When there was no reply, Michelle started up the stairs. In her room, she would be safe.

Safe from Jeff Benson’s terrible words.

Safe from his accusations.

Safe from the suspicion she could feel all around her.

That’s why her mother hadn’t wanted her to go with her father this morning.

Her mother thought the same things Jeff Benson thought.

But it wasn’t true — she knew it wasn’t true.

She went into her room, dosed the door, and moved to the window seat.

She picked up her doll and cradled it in her arms.

“Amanda? Please, Amanda, tell me what’s happening. Why do they all hate me?” “They’re telling lies about you,” Amanda’s voice whispered to her. “They want to take you away, so they’re telling lies about you.” “Take me away? Why? Why do they want to take me away?”

“Because of me.”

“I–I don’t understand.”

“Because of me,” Amanda repeated. “They always hated me. They don’t want me to have any friends. But you’re my friend, so now they hate you, too. And they’ll take you away” “I don’t care,” Michelle said. “I don’t like it here anymore. I want to go away.” Michelle could see Amanda now. She was only a few feet from her, and her eyes, pale and shining in the gray light of the overcast day, seemed to be boring into Michelle.

“But if you let them take you away,” she heard Amanda saying, “we can’t be friends anymore.” “You can come too,” Michelle suggested. “If they take me away, you can come with me” “No!” Amanda’s voice was suddenly sharp, and Michelle instinctively stepped backward, clutching the doll close to her chest. Amanda moved toward her, her hand out.

“I can’t go with you. I have to stay here.” She took Michelle’s hand. “Stay with me, Michelle. Stay with me, and we’ll make them all stop hating us” “I don’t want to!” Michelle protested. “I don’t know what you want. And you always promise to help me, but something always happens. And they blame me for it. It’s your fault, but they blame me for it! It isn’t fair! Why should they blame me, when it’s you?” “Because we’re the same,” Amanda said quietly. “Can’t you understand that? We’re exactly the same.” “But I don’t want to be like you,” Michelle said. “I want to be like me. I want to be like I used to be, before you came.” “Don’t say that,” Amanda hissed. Her face, furious now, was twisted into an expression of hatred. “If you say that again, I’ll kill you.” She paused, and her milky eyes seemed to blaze with a light of their own, “I can do it,” she said softly. “You know I can.” Michelle shrank away from the black-clad figure, terrified. She wanted to run, but she knew she couldn’t. She knew that Amanda was telling her the truth.

If she didn’t do what Amanda wanted her to, Amanda would kill her.

“All right,” she said. “What do you want me to do?”

As she said the words, the rage seemed to drain from Amanda’s face, and she smiled. “Take me out to the bluff,” she said. “I want to go out on the bluff, out by the cemetery.” She took Michelle’s hand once more and started to lead her out of the room.

“This is the last time,” she said softly. “After this, it’ll all be over, and they won’t laugh at me anymore.” Michelle wasn’t sure what Amanda was talking about, but it didn’t matter. All she knew was that it was almost over.

This is the last time, Amanda had said.

Maybe things were going to be all right after all. Maybe after she’d done whatever Amanda wanted, things would be all right.

She left the house and began walking slowly toward the cemetery.

June stood very still, staring at the canvas on her easel.

How it had gotten there, she didn’t know.

Yet there it was, terrifying her. She had been staring at it for a long time — it was as if the picture had trapped her in some kind of hypnotic trance.

It was the same picture she had found in the closet.

Only it was finished now.

She stared at it in utter horror, unable to fully comprehend it.

The sketch was now a complete painting.

There were two people, a man and a woman.

The man’s face was still hidden from view, but the woman’s face was not.

It was a beautiful face, with high cheekbones, full lips, and a perfect widow’s peak at the forehead.

The eyes, green and sparkling, were almond-shaped, and they seemed to be laughing.

It would have been a beautiful picture, except for two things.

The woman was bleeding.

From her breast, and from her throat, blood was gushing, spilling down the woman’s body, dripping to the floor. In contrast to the serene expression on the the painted face, the blood had a grotesque quality to it. It was almost as if the woman didn’t know she was dying.

And scrawled across the picture, in the same crimson as the blood pouring from the dying woman, was one word: Whore!

It was hard for June to look at anything in the picture except for the woman’s face, but as she stared at it, trying to fathom it, she began to realize that the background of the picture was familiar.

It was the studio.

The windows were there, and the ocean beyond. The two figures were on a couch. June slowly moved across the studio until her perspective on the windows and the sea was the same as that on the canvas.

She glanced around, trying to place the couch in the picture. It would have been a little to the left, standing out from the wall about five feet.

She realized where it would have been before she really looked.

The stain.

The ancient stain she had tried so hard to clean up.

She forced herself to look at the spot.

“No!”

She screamed the word, then screamed it again.

“Dear God, no! It’s not happening!”

Across the floor, from no apparent source, a stain was spreading. June stood transfixed, unable to tear her eyes from the spot.

It was blood.

“No!” She uttered the word once more, then, calling on all her willpower, she fled from the studio.

Jennifer, lying in her bassinet — forgotten by her mother — began to cry. Softly at first, then louder.

At the clinic, Josiah Carson and Cal Pendleton sat quietly in their office, waiting for the neurosurgeon to finish his autopsy.

The moment Billy Evans had died, Cal had taken the responsibility for his death upon himself.

“I moved him. I should have waited.”

“You had to move him,” Josiah told him. “You were just too late, that’s all. If you had only gotten to him sooner—” Carson let his voice trail off, let the words sink into the distraught man across from him, sure that Cal was remembering the panic that had gripped him yesterday. Then, when he was sure Cal understood him, he made his voice soothing. “By the time you got to him, the damage was already done. It’s not really your fault, Cal.” Before Cal could make any reply, the phone rang. Carson picked it up. He recognized June Pendleton’s voice, knew she was crying.

Something had happened.

She was sobbing, nearly incoherent, but Josiah understood that she wanted them to come out to the house immediately.

“June, calm down,” he said. “Cal’s right here, with me. We’ll get there as soon as we can.” He paused, then: “June, is anyone hurt?” He listened for a moment, then told her to stay where she was. Cal stared at him as he replaced the receiver on the hook.

“What’s happened? Josiah, what’s happened?”

“I’m not sure,” Carson replied. “June wants us out at the house, right now. Nobody’s hurt, but something’s wrong. Come on.” He stood up, but Cal hesitated.

“What about—?”

“Billy? He’s already dead, Cal. There’s nothing we can do for him. Let’s go.” Cal reached for his coat.

“She didn’t say what was wrong?”

Carson ignored the question and led Cal out of the office.

As they left the clinic, Josiah Carson realized what was happening. It was all about to come together. He didn’t know how, but he was sure. June Pendleton had found something.

Something that was going to explain everything.

Or make it worse.

June had just put the telephone down, and was wondering what to do next, when it suddenly began ringing. He’s not coming, she thought. It’s Cal, and he’s not coming. He’s going to tell me he’s busy, and he can’t come. What am I going to do?

She picked up the phone.

“Cal?”

“June? It’s Corinne Hatcher.”

“Oh.” June’s voice faltered. “I’m sorry. I was just talking to Cal. I–I thought maybe he was calling me back.” “I won’t keep you long. Look, this may sound crazy, but have you seen Lisa Hartwick today? I’m with Tim, and we’re trying to find her. She and some friends — well, it sounds silly, but they were going ghost-hunting.” June had heard nothing except that Corinne was with Tim Hartwick.

“Corinne, can you and Tim come out here?” She tried to keep her voice calm, reasonable. “Something strange has happened.” Corinne was silent for a moment. Then: “Strange? What do you mean?” “I can’t begin to describe it,” June said. “Please come.”

There was an edge of panic in her voice that made Corinne say, “We’ll be right there.” Sally Carstairs and Alison Adams crossed the street and began walking toward the schoolground, intending to take the shortcut across it to Sally’s house on the other side.

“We shouldn’t have left Lisa,” Sally was saying. “When Mom finds out, she’ll be mad.” “There isn’t anything we could have done about it,” Alison replied. “Lisa’s like that — she always does whatever she wants to. If you want to do it too, fine, but if you don’t, tough!” “I thought you liked her.”

Alison shrugged. “She’s okay, I guess. She’s just spoiled.” They walked along in silence for a moment, then a thought occurred to Alison. “I thought you were her friend.” “Whose?”

“Michelle’s. Before she got crippled, I mean.”

“I was.” Sally smiled, remembering how Michelle had been only a few short weeks ago. “She was nice. She probably would have been my best friend. But ever since she fell, she’s sort of stayed by herself.” “Do you think she’s crazy?”

“Of course not,” Sally said. “She’s just — well, she’s just different now.” Alison suddenly stopped short. Her face turned pale. “Sally!” she gasped. “Look!” They were near the swings, and Sally quickly saw what Alison was pointing at.

Annie Whitmore’s body lay twisted in the dirt, one leg still hooked over the seat of the swing.

Jeff Benson’s words rang loudly in Sally’s ears.

Who did you kill today?

She remembered last week, when Michelle had been playing with Annie Whitmore.

Who did you kill today?

She remembered Michelle, walking along the road, coming from town.

Who did you kill today?

Grabbing Alison’s hand, Sally Carstairs began running across the playground — running home, running to tell her mother what had happened.

CHAPTER 27


Michelle walked slowly along the trail at the top of the bluff. A light rain was beginning to fall, and the horizon, indistinct against the steel gray sky, faded away. But Michelle, listening to Amanda’s murmurings, was oblivious to the day.

“Further,” Amanda said. “It was a little further.”

They took a few more steps, and then Amanda stopped, her brow creased, her expression uncertain.

“It’s not right, It’s all changed.” Then: “Over there.” She drew Michelle a few yards farther north and stopped near a large boulder that stood precariously balanced above the beach.

“Here,” Amanda breathed. “It was right here …”

Michelle looked down to the beach below. They were directly above the spot where only a month and a half ago she had picnicked with her friends. At least, they had been her friends at the time.

Now the beach was empty; the tide was out, and the litter of rocks, worn smooth by centuries of flowing water, lay exposed to the threatening afternoon.

“Look,” Amanda whispered. She was pointing to the far edge of the beach, where the retreating sea had laid bare the shelf of tidepools. Michelle could make out two figures, indistinct in the rain.

One of them she recognized at once: Jeff Benson. And the other one — who was the other one? But suddenly she knew it didn’t matter.

Jeff was the one.

It was Jeff Amanda wanted.

Who did you kill today?

His words rang in her ears, and Michelle knew Amanda was listening to them, too.

“He’ll come this way,” Amanda purred. “When the tide comes in, he’ll come this way. And then.…” Her voice trailed off, but a smile wreathed her face. She kept one hand on Michelle’s arm, but with the other she reached out and touched the boulder.…

June was still sitting by the telephone when Cal and Josiah Carson arrived.

She heard them come through the front door, heard Cal calling to her.

“In here,” she replied. “I’m in here.”

Her voice was dull, and she was pale. He went to her, kneeling down by her chair.

“June, what is it? What’s wrong?”

“The studio — it’s in the studio.”

“What is? Has something happened? Where are the kids?”

June stared at him, her face uncomprehending. “The kids?” she echoed. Then it hit her. “Jenny! My God, I left Jenny in the studio!”

Her torpor was gone. She stood up, but a wave of dizziness struck her and she sank back into her chair. “Cal, I can’t do it — I can’t go out there. Please, go out there, and take Dr. Carson with you. Bring Jenny back with you.”

“You can’t go out there?” Cal asked. His expression reflected bewilderment. “Why not? What’s happened?”

“You’ll know. Just go out there, and look. You’ll see.” The two men started out of the room, but June stopped them. “And Cal? The picture — the picture on the easel: I didn’t paint it.”

Cal and Josiah exchanged an uncomprehending look, but when June said nothing else, they started for the studio.

They could hear Jenny crying before they were halfway there. Cal broke into a run. He dashed inside, glanced hurriedly around, but ignored everything except his daughter. Scooping the howling baby into his arms, he cradled her against his chest.

“It’s all right, princess,” he crooned, “Daddy’s here, and everything’s going to be fine.”

He rocked her gently for a moment, and her howling quieted. Only then did he look at the painting on the easel, the painting that June had made such a point of saying she hadn’t done.

He stared at it, frowning slightly. At first, it made no sense. And then he realized what it was — a woman, dying in the act of making love, her expression a combination of rapture and — and something else. But what was it?

“I don’t get it—” he began, his voice puzzled and uncertain. But then he saw the expression on Josiah Carson’s face, and his words faded in his throat.

Carson was staring at the picture, a look of comprehension slowly taking shape on his face.

“So that’s it,” he whispered. That’s what happened.”

Cal stared at the old doctor. “Joe, what is it? Are you all right?” He took a step toward Carson, but the old man waved him aside.

“She’s done it,” he said. “Amanda finally saw her mother, and she killed her. A hundred years later — she killed her. Now she’ll be free. Now we’ll all be free.” He turned to Cal. “It was right that you came here,” he said quietly. “You owed it to us. You killed Alan Hanley, so you owed it to us.”

Cal looked wildly from Josiah to the picture, then back to Josiah. “What the hell are you talking about?” he shouted. “What’s going on? What is it?”

“The picture,” Carson said softly. “It’s all in the picture. That woman is Louise Carson.”

“I–I don’t understand—”

“I’m trying to tell you, Cal,” Carson said. His voice was reasonable, but a strange glint shone in his eyes. “That woman — it’s Louise Carson. She’s buried out in the cemetery. My God, Cal, June went into labor on her grave — don’t you remember?”

“But that’s not possible,” Cal said. “How would June know—” Then he remembered: I didn’t paint it …

Cal moved closer to the painting, studying it carefully. The paint was fresh, barely dry. He stepped back again. Only then did he realize that the setting of the picture was the studio. It gave him an eerie feeling. His gaze left the canvas to sweep over the room. He was vaguely aware of Josiah Carson, behind him, muttering indistinctly.

“She’s here,” Carson whispered. “Don’t you understand, Cal? It’s Amanda. She’s using Michelle. She’s here. Can’t you feel it? She’s here!”

He began laughing then, softly at first, then louder and louder until Cal could stand it no longer.

“Stop that!” he shouted.

It was as though a spell had been broken. Carson shook himself, then glanced once more at the picture. With an odd expression of victory on his face, he started for the door. “Come on,” he said. “We’d better get back to the house. I have a feeling things have just begun.”

Cal was about to follow him when he saw the stain on the floor. “Jesus,” he whispered.

It was as it had been the day they moved in. Reddish brown, thick, caked with dust, almost unidentifiable. But it had been cleaned up. He remembered it clearly, remembered June, on her hands and knees, chipping at it.

And now it was back.

Once more, he looked at the painting. The blood, dripping from Louise Carson’s wounded breast, gushing from her open throat.…

It was as if somehow the past, so clearly depicted on the canvas, was alive again in the studio.

Tim Hartwick and Corinne Hatcher arrived as Cal and Josiah Carson returned to the house. June, still pale, hadn’t moved from her chair in the living room. The group gathered around her.

“Did you see it?” June asked Cal. He nodded. “I didn’t paint it,” June repeated.

“Where did it come from?”

“The closet,” June said vacantly. “I found it in the closet a week or so ago. It — it was only a sketch then. But today, when I went out there, it was on the easel.”

“What was?” Tim broke in. “What are you talking about?”

“A picture,” June said softly. “It’s in the studio. You might as well go look at it — it’s what I wanted you to see.”

Mystified, Tim and Corinne started out of the room, but paused as the telephone rang. Though June was closest to the phone, she made no move to pick it up, and it was Cal who finally answered.

“Hello?”

“Dr. Pendleton?” The voice at the other end was shaking.

“Yes.”

“This is Bertha Carstairs. I–I wonder, is Joe Carson there with you?”

Cal frowned slightly. “Yes, he is.” He looked questioningly at Carson, half-expecting him to refuse the call. But Carson seemed to be himself again, as if the strange scene in the studio had never happened. He took the phone.

“This is Dr. Carson.”

“It’s Bertha Carstairs, Joe. Something terrible has happened. Sally and Alison Adams just came in, and they told me that Annie Whitmore is in the playground. Joe — they think she’s dead.

“She’s under the swings. Sally said it looked as though she’d fallen off. Like it was an accident or something …”

Her voice trailed off, and Carson knew she was holding something back.

“What else, Bertha? There is something else, isn’t there?”

Bertha Carstairs hesitated, and when she spoke again, she sounded almost apologetic.

“I’m not sure,” she said slowly. “It might not be important — it might not mean anything at all — but, well.…” She paused a second, then her words came clearly over the line. “Joe, Sally saw Michelle Pendleton today. She was walking along the road, coming from town. And Sally said that last week Michelle and Annie were playing together quite a bit, and what with Susan Peterson, and Billy Evans — well, I don’t know. I hate to say it …” Again, Bertha’s voice faded away.

“I understand,” Carson said. “It’s all right, Bertha.”

He hung up the phone and turned to the four people who were watching him. “It’s Annie Whitmore,” he said. “Something’s happened to her.” He told them what Bertha Carstairs had said, leaving out nothing.

“Dear God,” June moaned when he was done. “Help Michelle. Please help her!” Then her eyes widened and she leaped to her feet.

“But where is she?” she cried. “If Sally saw her coming out this way, she must have been coming home.” Her eyes suddenly wild, she ran toward the hall. “Michelle? MICHELLE!”

They heard her repeat her daughter’s name as she ran up the stairs. Suddenly there was a silence, then they heard her coming back down again.

“She’s not here. Cal, she’s not here!”

“It’s all right,” Cal told her. “We’ll find her.”

“Lisa!” Tim’s voice was choked, but only Corinne knew what he meant.

“She was with Sally and Alison,” she said. “Uncle Joe, did Mrs. Carstairs say anything about Lisa?”

Josiah Carson shook his head. Tim grabbed the phone. “What’s her number?” he demanded. “Quick, what’s the Carstairses’ number?”

Snatching the telephone from him, Corinne dialed. The phone rang once, twice, then twice again before Bertha Carstairs’s harried voice came on the line.

“Mrs. Carstairs? This is Corinne Hatcher. What about Lisa Hartwick? Was she with Sally and Alison? Did she come home with them?”

“Why, no,” Bertha said. “Just a minute—” There was a silence, then Bertha came back on the line.

“She stayed out at the Bensons’. She and Jeff were going down to the cove. I wish the kids wouldn’t play down there — the currents are so dangerous—”

But Corinne cut her off. “Never mind,” she said. “I’m out at the Pendletons’, and I’m sure we’ll find her.” She hung up the phone and turned to Tim.

“She’s out here somewhere. She and Jeff Benson were going down to the beach.”

“It’s that doll,” June suddenly screamed. “It’s that damned doll!” They stared at her, but only Josiah Carson understood what she was saying. “Don’t you see it?” she cried. “It all started with that damned doll!” Once again June rushed up the stairs and burst into Michelle’s room. She looked around frantically, searching for the doll.

Amanda!

It was all Amanda’s fault.

If she could just get rid of the doll!

And then she saw it, propped up on the window seat, its glass eyes staring emptily out toward Devil’s Passage. She crossed the room and picked it up. But as she was about to turn away from the window, a flicker of movement caught her eye.

She stared out, trying to see through the rain-blurred glass.

Out by the bluff, north, close to the cemetery.

It was Michelle.

Standing on the bluff, leaning against a boulder, staring down toward the beach.

But she wasn’t leaning against the boulder.

What was she doing?

She was pushing it.

“Oh, no,” June gasped. Grabbing the doll, she dashed out of the room.

“She’s outside,” she called. “Michelle’s outside! Cal, go get her. Please, go get her!”

The fog was gathering quickly around Michelle, and the beach had disappeared. All she was aware of was Amanda, standing close to her, touching her, whispering to her.

“They’re coming. I can see them, Michelle. I can see them! They’re coming closer … they’re almost there.… Now! Help me, Michelle. Help me!”

Michelle reached out, touched the rock. It seemed to vibrate under her fingers, as if it were alive.

“Harder,” Amanda hissed. “We have to push it harder, before it’s too late!”

Again, Michelle felt the rock move, then watched as it teetered. She wanted to pull away from it, but couldn’t. She felt it slip, lurch a little, then come free.…

It was a low sound, almost lost in the crashing of the surf, but Jeff heard it, and looked up.

Above him.

The sound had come from above him.

Then he saw it, plunging toward him.

He knew the rock was going to hit him, knew he had to move quickly, jump to the side — backward — anywhere. But he couldn’t move. His mouth quivered, and his stomach tightened. He was going to die — he knew it.

But he was frozen. Only at the last second did his muscles suddenly obey him. Too late.

The boulder, four feet across, hit him. He buckled to the ground, feeling the crushing weight of it, and he thought he could hear it, grinding him under its mass.

And he could hear something else, too. Laughter.

It floated over him as he died, and he wondered where it was coming from. It was a little girl, and she was laughing at him. But why? What had he done?

Then Jeff Benson died.

Michelle heard the laughter, too, and knew it was Amanda. Amanda was pleased with her, and that made her happy. But she wasn’t sure why Amanda was pleased.

The fog began to clear, and Michelle looked down. She could see the beach again.

There was a girl on the beach, standing still, staring at the fallen rock. It could have hit her, Michelle realized. But it hadn’t.

Then why was the girl screaming?

It was the boulder. Something was sticking out from under the boulder. But what was it?

The last traces of the fog drifted away, and Michelle could see clearly.

It was a leg. Someone’s leg was sticking out from under the rock.

And Amanda was laughing. Amanda was laughing, and saying something to her. She listened carefully, straining to hear Amanda’s words.

“It’s done,” Amanda was saying. “It’s done, all of it, and I can go now. Good-bye, Michelle.” She laughed once more, happily, and then the sound of her voice faded away.

There were other voices now. Michelle could hear them. Voices calling to her, shouting at her.

She turned. There were people running toward her, calling her name.

She knew what they wanted.

They wanted to catch her, to punish her, to send her away.

But she hadn’t done anything. It was Amanda who did it. All she had done was obey Amanda. How could they blame her? But they would — she knew they would.

It was like her dream.

She had to get away from them. She couldn’t let them catch her.

She began running, her lame leg dragging at her, holding her back. Her hip throbbed with pain, but she tried to ignore it.

The voices were getting closer to her — they were catching up with her. She stopped, just as she had in the dream, and looked back.

She recognized her father, and Dr. Carson. And there was her teacher, Miss Hatcher. And that other man — who was he? Oh, yes, Mr. Hartwick. Why was he after her? She had thought he was her friend. But he wasn’t, she knew that now. He had been trying to trick her. He hated her too.

Amanda. Only Amanda was her friend.

But Amanda had gone.

Gone where?

She didn’t know.

All she knew was that she had to get away, and that she couldn’t run.

But in her dream she had gotten away. Desperately, she tried to remember what she had done in her dream.

She had fallen.

That was it.

She had fallen, just like Susan Peterson, and Billy Evans, and Annie Whitmore. And like Jeff Benson, fallen under the rock.

That was the answer.

She would fall, and Amanda would take care of her.

As the voices closed in around her, shouted to her, Michelle Pendleton stepped off the bluff.

But Amanda didn’t come to take care of her. Just before she hit the rocks, she knew.

Amanda was never going to come again. The rocks reached out to her, as they had in the dream. Only this time, she didn’t scream.

This time, Michelle welcomed their embrace.

There was a quiet in the living room of the Pendletons’ house, but the silence offered no peace to the four people who sat stiffly around the fireplace. June seemed almost impassive, her eyes fixed on the fire that she had lit early in the day, lit only so that she could burn the doll. And burn it she had, and then, as if by unspoken consent, the fire had been kept alive.

They still didn’t know what had happened.

Josiah Carson had gone home, refusing to tell any of them what he had been talking about in the studio. Cal had tried to repeat Josiah’s garbled mumblings, but they seemed to make no sense, and finally, sometime in the afternoon, Tim had gone out to the studio. He had stared at the strange painting for a long time, then begun searching, not knowing exactly what he was looking for, but knowing that somewhere there would be something — something that would give him an answer.

He had found the sketches and taken them into the house. They had studied them, and seen with their own eyes how Susan Peterson had died, and how Billy Evans had died.

And each of them, at one time or another, had drifted out to the studio to look once more at the crimson-streaked painting that still rested on the easel, a mysterious link with a past they didn’t understand.

It was Corinne who first noticed the shadow.

It was indistinct, nearly lost in the vivid violence of the picture, but once she had pointed it out to them, they all saw it From one corner of the picture, a shadow appeared to project across the floor toward the dying Louise Carson.

It was a silhouette, really. A silhouette of a young girl, wearing an old-fashioned dress, and a bonnet. One of her arms was raised, and in her hand there seemed to be some kind of an object.

To each of them it was clear that the object in the child’s hand was a knife.

They all knew that Michelle had done the sketches and the painting. Tim insisted that it was the dark side of her personality expressing itself. She must have seen a picture of Louise Carson somewhere, and the image had remained in her mind. And then, as she began to invent “Amanda,” she had begun to take the stories of Paradise Point, the legends of that other, long-dead Amanda, and weave them together. For her, the ghost had truly been real. Even though it existed only in her own mind, it had been real.

Lisa Hartwick had been given a sedative and put to bed. When she woke up she felt confused, then remembered where she was.

She was in Michelle Pendleton’s bed, in Michelle Pendleton’s house.

She got out of bed, and went to the door. She listened, and heard the sound of voices murmuring downstairs. She opened the door and called to her father.

“Daddy?”

A moment later Tim appeared at the foot of the stairs.

“I can’t sleep,” Lisa complained. “Well, that’s all right.

We’ll be going home soon, anyway.”

“Can we go now?” Lisa asked. “I don’t like it here.”

“Right away, honey,” Tim promised, “You get dressed, then we’ll go.”

Lisa returned to the bedroom, and began dressing. She knew what they were talking about downstairs.

They were talking about Michelle Pendleton.

Lisa wanted to talk about her too, and tell everyone what she had seen on the beach.

But she was afraid to.

She was sure that if she told them, they would think she was crazy, too.

As she started down the stairs, she decided that she would never tell them what she had seen. Besides, maybe she hadn’t really seen it at all.

Maybe there really hadn’t been anybody up there with Michelle. Maybe what she’d seen hadn’t been a little girl in a black dress, wearing a bonnet.

Maybe it had only been a shadow.

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