The Well Part 13

Amelia.

"You're insane," he whispered. But a part of him heard the truth in Gerard's words. There had been whispers in town among the workers, about why such luscious, profitable grapes grew on this inhospitable land, why the rains fell on these acres and not others. Why the previous owners had had so many years of wealth, but then the old man who lived here had gone insane and sold the land to Edmond for pennies on the dollar. The land was cursed, some said. Blessed, others said.

Magic, his father said.

"No, I'm not." Gerard shook his head, his eyes s.h.i.+ning in the moonlight above. "I've drunk from this vine, and I know the truth now. This land has to have its sacrifice to continue giving its gift of riches and life."

"Sac-sacrifice?" Auguste tried to scramble back, but there was nowhere to go. The vines held fast, held him against the well.

"You, my brother." Gerard picked up Auguste's feet and turned his brother around until he was bent over the yawning ink-black cavity of the well. Auguste inhaled a smell unlike any other.

The smell of death.

"This is a gift," Gerard insisted, just before giving his brother the final shove into the depths of the well. He screamed an apology-a cascade of apologies-but it was too late. The choices had been made. The gift given.

But it was a gift Auguste hadn't asked for. Or wanted.

One Auguste had now waited two hundred years to give to someone else.

I didn't bother to sleep after I got home from the police station. When Sam got called to the hospital, I headed into the woods. I shouted down the well several times.

Nothing.

I slept in the abandoned house that night, hoping Megan might show up there, but she never did.

A few minutes before seven the next morning, I sneaked back into the house and up to my room. Just in time for Sam to knock on my door. "I'm driving you to school. You have twenty minutes."

"Good morning to you, too." Jerk.

As I got ready, I wondered why he wanted to keep such a tight leash on me. It wasn't all that unusual for him to be helicopter stepdad, hovering over my every move, but these were different circ.u.mstances. He'd come down on me extra hard yesterday when he'd handed me a list of ch.o.r.es that would have kept me too busy to do more than breathe. Why? So I wouldn't have time to look for Megan?

Did he think I was involved?

Ora Was he somehow involved?

This was his land, after all. His vineyard. His woods.

Plus, he seemed to hold a special kind of hatred toward me, one I'd never really understood. I'd always figured it was because he didn't like the three-for-one package of kids that had come with my mom.

Could he have something to do with that thing in the well? If that was so, then why wasn't he the one tossing me down there? Why my mother?

That was the part I couldn't get my head around. Sam didn't like me and he had these establish-the-dominant-role issues, but he hadn't done anything homicidal. That had been all my mother's doing. Still a The whole thing bugged me.

I slung my backpack over my shoulder and took one last look out the window. Somewhere in those woods was the well. And maybe Megan. One way or another, I was going to find her.

Sam didn't say a word when I got in the car. He put the Beamer in drive and squealed out of the driveway.

"Where was Mom this morning?" I asked.

"Grocery store."

"Oh." We stopped at a light and waited for a pudgy crossing guard to wave some Dora-toting kindergartners across the street. I s.h.i.+fted in my seat and tried to think of a good way to ask the next question. Didn't find one. So I just opened my mouth and let her fly. "What's that well in the woods for? Like, water or something?"

Sam had been about to step on the gas. He stomped on the brake instead. The car behind him laid on the horn. "Don't go near that thing. It's old. Probably dangerous."

"It, ah, looks pretty cool."

"I said don't go near it. It's Jumel property." His voice was harsh, cold. He gunned the car and the Beamer leaped forward, nearly hitting the crossing guard as she stepped off the curb again. She waved her little red stop sign at Sam, but he was already blocks away.

"But-"

Sam swiveled his gaze toward me. "Don't argue with me, Cooper. Or I'll be sure you regret it."

He stared at me, eyes like laser beams of fury. I could have cut the tension in the car with a chain saw.

I put up my hands and sat back. "Cool."

"Oh, and just so you know, Paolo came back." Sam cut his gaze to the left as he turned the car.

"Really?"

"I had to fire him for missing all that work, but yeah. He's fine."

If that was so, what the h.e.l.l had been in that hat? Whose skull had that been? If not Paolo's, whose?

Sam skidded to a stop in front of my school. I got out, but before I could shut the door, he leaned toward me. "I'll be back to pick you up at the end of the day. You be here. On time."

"Don't you have to work?"

A smile curved across his face. "I'm working at home today." Then he was gone, tires squealing.

That had been weird. Not only was Sam keeping his thumb on me today, but he'd also freaked when I'd mentioned the well. Barred me from going anywhere near the thing. Because he knew about what was in there?

He had to. He'd lived there all his life. If he knew, then did he also know what was going on? And was his warning a way of protecting me- Or keeping me from finding Megan?

By English cla.s.s, I still didn't have a clue. I tossed and turned the encounter around in my mind and got nothing. Sam had a regular raging att.i.tude, so I couldn't be sure if it was that or if he had something else going on.

I dropped into my seat, plopped my books onto the floor, and propped my feet on Joey's chair. Joey turned around and stared at me. "What are you doing here, dude?"

I shrugged. "I'm a m.a.s.o.c.h.i.s.t. I like being beaten up by Shakespeare."

Joey leaned in closer. "People think you killed her, man. You need to lie low."

How could people think I had anything to do with Megan's disappearance? Didn't they know how I felt about her? How close we'd been for years, even before we'd started dating? Or was I just getting the auto had-to-be-the-boyfriend guilt-by-a.s.sociation thing?

"Joey, I didn't do anything," I whispered. "I don't know where Megan is."

The rest of the cla.s.s filed in. People s.h.i.+fted away from me, sitting a row back, a row ahead. Whispers started, carrying around the room like a wave. Drue Macy glared at me and huddled in a corner with her female coven.

Mike hurried in just before the bell rang and slid into the chair beside mine. "Coop, you can tell me. Did you do it?"

"No! What is wrong with you guys?"

Mike shrugged. "Hey, I'm just going by what my dad said. Plus, it's all over school."

"Whatever is 'all over school,"' I parroted back with air quotes, "is not true. I had nothing to do with Megan's disappearance.

But I was lying. To them. To myself. I was the whole reason she was gone. I'd been the one to knock on her door Sunday afternoon. I'd been the one to ask her for help. I'd let her go with me to that well.

If I'd just kept my mouth shut- She'd be sitting here right now, and none of this would be happening.

I s.h.i.+fted in my seat. Wished the day was over already so I could duck out of here and get back to the only thing that mattered: finding Megan.

"Sorry, Coop," Mike said after a while. "I shouldn't have said that. I know you'd never do anything to Megan. Forget my dad, too. He's a jerk."

"Thanks." It felt good to have someone in my corner. Behind me, the Drue witch-hunt kept up its whispering and pointing. Probably plotting a way to hang me after lunch.

"Plus, I know what it's like to have people think c.r.a.p about you that you don't have any control over," said Mike. His face was as serious as a judge's for a second, and I knew he was talking about his father. Then Joey turned around, and Mike slipped on the goofy grin again. "Yo, moron. What do you call a blonde with a brain?"

"An endangered species?" Joey said, then laughed.

"Mr. Ring," my father thundered, glaring at Mike. "And Mr. Deluca. Do you two have something you'd like to share with the cla.s.s?"

"Uh a no." Joey slinked down in his seat as if he could disappear.

"Good. Then open up to act five, scene one."

A ma.s.s groan ran through the cla.s.s. "We're still reading this play?" Joey asked. "Why doesn't Hamlet kill himself already?"

"Because he wants to torture you just a little more, Mr. Deluca," my father deadpanned. "Why don't you read the part of First Clown?"

"Do I get to beep my nose?"

My father ignored him and a.s.signed the other parts. Mike as Second Clown, Richard Evard as Horatio, andsurprise, surprise-me as Hamlet. I vowed never to speak up in my father's cla.s.s ever again.

I tuned everything out while people started reading their lines. My gaze went to the window, my mind on the woods two miles away. I didn't even notice it was my turn until my father said, "Enter Hamlet," twice.

"Sorry." I cleared my throat, flipped forward a couple pages, and started to read. I was cool, until I got to the part where Hamlet picks up the skull.

Then I was back in the woods, holding that other skull, the one that could have been Paolo's. But it wasn't, if Sam was telling the truth. The words swam in front of my eyes, and it took a good thirty seconds before I could get my mouth moving again. "That skull had a tongue in it," I read, "and could sing once! how the knave jowls it to the ground, as if it were Cain's jaw-bone, that did the first murder! This might be the pate of a politician, which this a.s.s now o'erreaches; one that would circ.u.mvent G.o.d, might it not?"

Images of Paolo sprang to mind, of his crooked smile and his hat- Oh G.o.d, that hat- I looked down at my desk, relieved nothing green was marching across the top. I needed to get out of here. I swore, this day was never going to end.

Richard sat up in his chair and straightened his gla.s.ses. "It might, my lord." I read the response line, something about a courtier that I didn't get. I read more lines with words like chapless and mazzard that made no sense, my mind on Megan. We went on like that, with me tuning out for several minutes, until Joey piped up with a First Clown line again.

"One that was a woman, sir," he said, pausing to turn and look over his shoulder at me. "But, rest her soul, she's dead."

Several people started whispering. A few snickered. Drue let out a gasp.

I wanted to sink into the floor. But my father stood at the front of the cla.s.sroom, looking at me and waiting for the next line. His face had that pinched look, as if he'd started this and wished he hadn't. Yeah, thanks, Dad. I did my part and tried to ignore everyone, ending with the line that asks the clown how long he'd been a grave maker.

But it got worse.

The clown, a.k.a. Joey, started in on lines about why Hamlet had been sent away by his mother and stepfather. "Why, because a' was mad," Joey said, then added a little cackling laugh. "A' shall recover his wits there; or if a' do not, *tis no great matter here."

A few more lines, and then we were back to dead bodies, with me reading a piece asking the clown how long it took a man to rot. Not long, I wanted to say, when there was a flesh-eating creature waiting to lick its bones clean.

Then I was holding another imaginary skull, this time of Hamlet's court jester, Yorick. But in my head, I was seeing Paolo's skull again, and my deepest fears were telling me in a few days I might be seeing Megan's skull, and no way could I take that. I was reading, and trying to hold on to my sanity, until I got to "Here hung those lips I have kissed I know not how oft."

That was it. My breaking point. My throat cut off. I shook my head.

The whole cla.s.s went silent. Waiting for me to belt out a confession? For me to break down crying? I didn't know. I didn't care.

Then I heard it. The laughter, carrying on the breeze coming through the open window. Better hurry, Cooper. Megan misses you. I think she's been crying.

Megan-alive? At first I was excited, and then dread hit when I realized what that voice meant-and where she had to be.

I felt a hand on my shoulder and looked up.

My father was there. He gave me a single nod. "I think that's enough Hamlet for today. Take out your grammar books, please."

I guess there was more than one person in the room in my corner. It was enough to get me through the day.

The police still hadn't gotten a search warrant for the Jumel property, but Sergeant Ring kept an eye on me as promised. He was parked in his cruiser in the cul-de-sac in front of the house. I looked out every now and then and saw him sipping from a s.h.i.+ny flask. As soon as dark fell and he drove away, I ran up to my room, snagging Faulkner's cell phone off the charger on the hall table as I did. He'd be p.i.s.sed, but I figured if I could handle six hours in a police station, I could handle my older brother. Then I locked the door, turned on my stereo, grabbed a backpack, and started filling it.

The knife. A flashlight. A flat-head screwdriver I found in the pen holder on my desk. Megan's bandanna. I held it for a long time, then stuffed it inside.

I scanned my room, looking for a Well, a monster-killing miracle. Yeah, nothing popped up. Big whoop there.

I packed a bag of Doritos I had hidden in my nightstand along with a half-empty bottle of Mountain Dew. Another Sam rule-no food in our rooms. Faulkner and I found ways around that. We called them drawers and closets.

I climbed out my bedroom window, then onto the little roof beneath. My Vans slipped on the s.h.i.+ngles, sending one foot sliding off the edge and my heart somewhere down to my knees.

I grabbed the downspout and inched to the left, the backpack sc.r.a.ping against the roof. I froze, sure Sam and my mother had heard the sound.

I listened hard. I heard their voices floating up from the first floor. They were on the deck, looking out toward the woods. "Cooper seems so stressed," my mother said. "I'm sure he's worried about Megan. I can't imagine where she went to. She's not the type to run off."

"Megan's probably fine. Staying at a friend's house for a few days and all this was just an overreaction. Cooper needs to quit spending his time moping around here and get his priorities straight," Sam said.

I ducked back, plastering myself against the house. "You shouldn't be so hard on him right now," my mother re sponded. "Remember, he's a teenager with a lot on his mind." She sighed. "I worry about him."

That was closer to the mother I knew. The mother I remembered. The one I kept hoping was still in there. Except a I never knew when this one was in there or when the other one was going to come blasting out.

"Come back in, honey. I'll get you a gla.s.s of wine-" He stopped when his cell phone went off. A minute of conversation, then he was back. "Sorry, honey, but I have to go to the hospital. The Moreaux twins are ready to come into the world. Why don't you go relax, and I'll be home before you know it."

My mother let out a sigh and went inside. I heard the door shut. A breath I didn't even know I'd been holding exploded out of my lungs.

I looked down, then realized how high up the second floor was. Like, twenty feet. That's where that first-floorcathedral-ceiling c.r.a.p got you. From here, the ground looked very far away. Very hard. And very bone-breaking.