Spooked. Part 7

"Mick, I don't think those things were just in my head. I think they're real."

He looked up from his mug. "Really?"

I sighed. "Okay, don't look at me like I'm nuts, please. I'm serious."

"What exactly did you see?" he asked me, pouring coffee on top of the cocoa.

I frowned. "What are you making?"

"Oh, mochacino. Delicious. Wait until you taste it." He added half and half and stirred the concoction, and then slid the mug to me. "Wait 'til it cools a bit. Don't want you to burn your lips."

Would you kiss them better? I thought. A grin came over my face and I couldn't help it. "Thanks."

"So don't change the subject. What did you see?" he asked, taking another mug out of the cupboard and scooping cocoa into it.

"I saw...black and gray smoke, like dark fog, three times. At the school in the parking lot, in the cemetery, and on the side of the house near the bushes. It seems to be appearing wherever I am today."

He stirred his mochacino, and then turned and leaned against the counter, watching me thoughtfully.

"I also saw a red-haired girl watching us from behind a gravestone."

"I didn't see any of that stuff," he said, sipping carefully.

"I know...I've always been a little different."

He watched me over the rim of his mug.

I pushed out a long breath, thinking of Delia because she was one of two people I could talk to about this stuff.

Wentworth. I made a mental note to talk to him about the crazy stuff I'd been seeing. Maybe I'd invite him over so I could talk to him and Delia together.

Suddenly, it hit me that Delia wasn't home. Though it wasn't unusual for her to come home later, sometimes ten p.m., I didn't think she'd stay away from home for long because of the missing girls. "Delia isn't home yet."

"Is that strange?" Mick asked me, putting his mug on the counter.

I picked up my cell from the counter where I'd left it earlier. "A little, just because of the girls going missing. It's odd that she hasn't at least called or texted me to let me know where she is."

"Maybe she just got caught up doing something. Why don't you try calling her?"

I found her number in my speed dial list and hit Send. No answer. It went to voicemail.

I felt my eyebrows furrow and I nibbled on my thumbnail.

"Text her," Mick said. "I'm sure she'll respond as soon as she gets it."

What if she didn't get it? What if she couldn't?

I felt suddenly cold.

Chapter Eight.

I wanted to trust him. To be able to tell him the truth. But I was still scared. If I could get him to trust me enough to talk about why he wanted his father dead, I might be able to trust him enough to tell him about my special talent.

We sat at the kitchen table, eating frozen mini pizzas that I'd added shredded cheese and extra pepperoni to. They were microwavable, so it didn't take long for dinner to be done.

"So will your parents be worried?" I asked him, not wanting to be too obvious. "Do you need to call them?"

He shook his head. "I pretty much come and go as I like. My mother died a few years ago. Dad's busy with meetings all the time." He took a bite and chewed, rolling his eyes. "Pillar of the community and all."

"Really? I'm sorry; I don't know anything about him. Should I?"

"Depends on who you are, I guess. He's thinking about running for mayor next election."

"Wow," I said, taking a sip of my mochacino. "Is that why you hang around the group home so much?"

He shrugged. "I guess. Just because your parents didn't toss you out, doesn't mean you're not an orphan. You know?"

I nodded. "You feel like an orphan, huh?" Was I an orphan?

"Most days. But I'm fine. I can take care of myself. When Mom died, he didn't exactly pick up the slack where child care was concerned. So he used to drop me off at the group home a lot. I'm closer to those girls and the people who work there than I've ever been to him."

"I'm sorry, Mick. That sucks."

"Yeah. Well." He shrugged, trying to let on that it didn't really bother him. "Could be worse." He started on his second mini pizza. "What about you?"

I stiffened. This was it. Tell him the truth or not? "My father dropped me off at Delia's when I was four. I haven't seen him or my mother since."

He paused before taking another bite. "s.h.i.+t, Lore. That's harsh. Why did he do that?"

I couldn't do it. Not yet. I didn't know him well enough. "I guess they changed their minds about being parents. I don't know. I never asked."

"That's really weak."

"Delia has been great. I love living with her." I eyed my cell phone, which hadn't rang or beeped. Worry twisted in my stomach, making me put the remaining half of my pizza down on my plate. "Where is she?"

"I'm sure you'll hear from her soon. She must've just gotten caught doing something," Mick said, but I could tell he was just trying to make me feel better, hoping she'd show up any minute.

So we sat, making small talk and looking out the kitchen window for Delia's headlights in the darkness beyond, sticking together like two orphans.

Just as I was about to start calling Delia's friends, and then the hospitals, I heard her car come up the drive.

We were leaning back against the opposite ends of the couch, just hanging out-me not wanting to give voice to the fear I felt about why Delia wasn't home yet, and Mick trying to keep me calm. The beam of light from her headlights swept over our faces and I jumped up to look out the window, relief flooding me as I saw her car stop.

She kept her headlights on and the motor running.

I frowned. This was definitely out of character. Where else could she be going at this time of night? It was ten o'clock.

"What is it?" Mick asked me, noticing the look on my face.

"She kept her car running," I said.

"She must be planning to go somewhere else. Maybe she just stopped back to check on you."

"Where else would she be going? It's too weird." I watched as Delia climbed out of her car. She stood stiffly for a moment, as if she'd forgotten what to do next, and then she slammed the door, too hard. She began making her way up the walk, her movements slightly awkward and stilted, like her limbs wouldn't quite work right. I involuntarily took a step backward, apprehension blooming in my chest. Something wasn't right.

Mick pushed himself off the couch, watching me warily, his face growing alarmed. "s.h.i.+t, Lore. What is it?"

I shook my head and we listened to the key moving in the lock. "Something is off. She's not right."

The door opened and Mick and I stood watching each other, round-eyed.

"Lorelei." The voice sounded raspy and too low, as if Delia hadn't used her vocal cords before.

My heart leapt into my throat. I spoke low, so only Mick could hear me. "That is not her."

His eyes widened. He barely whispered, "Who the h.e.l.l is it?"

"It looks like her but that is definitely not her," I said under my breath.

Delia's footsteps thumped loudly, slowly, up the stairs.

"Looooooreleeeeeeeeiiiiii," the voice rasped, sounding like sand spinning through a blender.

"We have to get to the door," I said.

He nodded, held a hand up, palm out, in a gesture telling me to stay put.

I nodded, stepping back.

He moved toward the stairs and stood at the landing, looking down at Delia, whose head was bobbing just above the railing as she climbed the next step.

"Hi Delia!" Mick said cheerfully. "I'm Mick. I'm a friend of Lorelei's. She isn't here right now."

Delia stopped dead in her tracks. I squatted down.

"Where is she?" Delia croaked.

He paused. "She had to go down to the police station to answer questions about Kerry," he said. "She asked me to stay here and let you know when you got home."

Only the sound of heavy breathing could be heard, a deep rattle from an endless well.

Then the smell hit me. Fetid, like something dead. Rotting.

I felt myself shaking, and was afraid I'd fall over. I leaned against the couch to steady myself. I squeezed my eyes shut. Oh, please go away. Whatever you are, just go away.

Without another word, Delia's footsteps began descending the stairs. I knew without looking, and with mounting horror, that she was going down them backwards.

A drop of sweat rolled down my neck and between my shoulder blades. I hoped that the Delia thing couldn't smell fear.

Whatever it was, it wasn't human.

"You can't stay here, Lore." He stood at the window, making sure Delia didn't come back while I sat, stunned, on a chair away from the view from the window. "She's definitely coming back when she finds out you aren't at the police station."

"She walks into that station, the cops are going to know something is up," I said, looking up at him. I was still trembling. "That thing is not Delia."

He looked back at me. "She didn't look right, Lore. Her eyes...they looked...black." Mick wrapped his arms around himself. "I could swear I saw something dark swimming behind them." He stared at me with haunted eyes. "It was the spookiest thing I've ever seen."

Fear sat heavy in my belly, making it cramp. I moved a hand over my abdomen and leaned over slightly, waiting for the cramp to subside. I chewed my bottom lip.

"Are you okay?" Mick moved forward, crouching in front of me, his hand on my knee.

"I will be. I'm just really freaked," I said, my words made breathless from the pain. "Something got her. Changed her."

"I've never seen anything like it. I hope I never do again. Some strange s.h.i.+t is going on in this town," Mick said. "Do you have any family you can stay with until things...go back to normal? a.s.suming they go back to normal."

I shook my head. "I haven't seen my parents in over a decade. I don't really know them."

"Okay," he said, kneeling in front of me. "Pack a bag. You're coming to my house."

"What will your dad think of that?"

"He's gone out of town on business again. For a week." He gave a humorless chuckle. "I don't even know where. He goes so often the house is practically mine."

"Will anyone at the home worry about you? You haven't been there in a while."

"I'll check in with them. Make sure everything is normal."

We stared at each other for a long moment, the same eerie thought hitting us both at the same time.

If Delia had changed, others might've changed, too.

"Why is she looking for me?" I asked, more of myself than of Mick.

We had pulled up to his house, a huge monstrosity of pale brick and several turrets. The beautiful home made it difficult to believe that anyone living in this place could be unhappy. I guess money can buy you happiness, but it depends on how you define happiness.

"Good thing it's dark out," I said. "Can't be seen going into a place the likes of this. No self-respecting creepy girl should be seen walking into this place. I have a reputation to uphold. What would people say?"