Most Likely To Die. Lisa Jackson
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she double-checked every possible entrance.
“Safe and sound,” she said at last as Marmalade, bored with the attention, squirmed in her arms. Kristen let her hop to the floor, where she took up a favorite position on the back of the couch and began grooming herself. The message light was blinking on the answering machine and Kristen hit the Play button.
“You have two messages,” a mechanical voice advised her.
“Hi, Kris, it’s Aurora. I called on your cell and left a message there, but I’ll tell you again. I think the meeting went well. Wasn’t it a hoot to see some of the old gang again? And Haylie…puh–leez, what’s with her? Anyway, I forgot to mention that I think you should use some of your pull at the paper to advertise, well, for free, of course, the reunion. Maybe we’ll reach some classmates who we’ve lost track of. I’m thinking even if they’re still not in town, their parents or grandparents or cousins or somebody might be. And since St. Lizzy’s is giving up the ghost, oh, er holy spirit”—she chuckled at her own joke—“it could make some great human interest stories. Maybe you can interview some of the old nuns who were there when we were. Sister Clarice still lives in the convent, can you believe that? And remember Sister Mary Michael? She’s there, too. Wouldn’t it be great to interview them? Just a thought. Call me later!” She hung up with a click and Kristen deleted the message. The mechanical voice took over again, reminding her of yet another message. The damned thing aggravated her. She’d been threatening to buy a new one but hadn’t gotten around to it. “Next message,” the automated voice said.
“Mom, please, please, please come get me.” Lissa’s voice was a desperate whisper and for a millisecond Kristen’s muscles tightened in fear for her daughter. “I can’t stay here with Dad,” Lissa went on. “It’s just too weird.” She hung up abruptly, probably because her father had walked in on her.
Kristen leaned back against the cupboards, her pulse slowly returning to normal. She was totally spent but she managed a smile. Let the two of them work things out. She wasn’t buying into Lissa’s heroine-in-peril ploy. She was with her dad, for God’s sake. It was time the two of them got reacquainted.
Nerves still a bit jangled, Kristen poured herself a glass of wine, turned on the tap in the tub, added bubble bath, then wound her hair onto her head. After finding her favorite Eagles CD and pushing it into the player, she stripped off her clothes and sank neck deep into warm, frothy water.
She closed her eyes.
Listened to the music.
And, for the moment, pushed all thoughts of Jake Marcott, the marred photograph, the recording of the dance, and anything else that had to do with St. Lizzy’s out of her mind.
Tomorrow she’d deal with everything.
Tonight, after all, was supposed to be her night off.
Her heart was pounding out of control, her body drenched in sweat. Where was Jake? Where? The night was black, the moon hidden by clouds, a thin, rising fog dimmed her vision. Branches slapped her in the face, brambles pulled at her dress. Her feet were bare and the grass was cold and frosty. She stepped around the final turn of the maze and she saw him though the mist. He was slumped, drooping from the tree, an arrow glinting as it impaled him and fastened him to the oak’s thick trunk. His dark hair spilled over his face; his skin was as white as the marble of the statue of the Madonna placed beneath the spreading, brittle branches of the oak. The statue appeared to be crying, a reddish liquid oozing from her eyes.
“Jake!” Kristen cried, running toward him, nearly tripping on an unseen root.
Blood poured from his wound, stained his clothes, trickled down to pool at his feet.
“Jake, oh, God, Jake, what happened? Answer me, oh, please, please!”
Horrified, she reached his sagging body and yanked on the arrow, her hands slipping with the slick warmth of his blood. “No, no, no,” she whispered, pulling harder, her muscles straining.
She heard footsteps. Turned, her hands still clenched over the arrow’s unbending shaft. “Help!” she cried. “We need help! Oh, God, somebody help!”
Looking wraithlike, Lindsay Farrell stepped from the fog. Her eyes were round as saucers, her pupils wide and dark as the night. “You killed him, Kristen,” she accused. “You.”
“No, Lindsay…Please, he needs help. An ambulance. Call 911.”
“This is your fault, Kris, leave him be. I love him. Me.” She cradled Jake’s head in her hands and tenderly kissed his lips. Tears rained from her eyes, mingling with his blood, and he seemed to twitch a little, as if there were still life in him.
Was it possible? Kristen saw his fingers move and she gasped. Could it be? Could Jake still be alive? She reached for her cell phone, but her purse wasn’t with her…She’d left it in the car, the car with the awful note on the windshield.
Backing up, scarcely believing her eyes, she stared at Jake. Lindsay ceased kissing him and both of them turned to stare at her. Their blue eyes were black, and blood smeared Lindsay’s dress. Jake smiled, that incredible, devilish smile that she’d known since she was a child.
“Why, Kristen?” he asked, as if he weren’t in pain, as if nothing were wrong. “Why did you do this to me? I thought we were friends.”
“We were…are…We’re all friends.” As the words passed her lips, everyone who had been at the dance that night and others who hadn’t appeared in the mist. They walked toward her like zombies. Rachel, pale as death, was there along with April. Mandy joined them, her tattered dress falling off her shoulder where a hand, Boyd’s hand, was connected. They were mumbling, whispering, louder and louder until it became a deafening roar, “Why, Kristen, why?” Chad, Nick, Bella, DeLynn, Martina—all advancing upon her as if in slow motion, blood on their hands, no life in their fixed stares. From behind the tree and out of the maze came more people she knew, all dressed in tuxedos and gowns, their faces ashen, blood smeared upon cummerbunds and white shirts and staining red across lace, silk, and satin.
“I didn’t…Jake, I wouldn’t…I love you…” Kristen said, backing up as more kids showed up…Aurora and Dean…then Haylie, holding hands with a smiling, very pale Ian.
Oh, God, oh, God…no, I had nothing to do with this, Kristen tried to say and then she saw Ross…oh, thank God, he was here! She tried to run to him but her feet were stuck and she couldn’t move…Only then did she realize she was sinking in a bog, a mire deep in the maze, and the bog itself was running red with the blood of all the people closing in on her.
“Ross!” she cried, hoping he would save her. “Ross!”
Kristen’s eyes flew open. Panic ripped through her as she blinked into the darkness before realizing she was in her own bedroom. The digital alarm clock glowed the time in a steady bright blue, the numbers blinking out the time: five-forty-five in the morning.
“Oh, Lord,” she whispered, realizing she was covered in sweat though the room was cool. She let out a long tremulous sigh, grateful to have awakened from the dream, relief flooding through her.
“Only a dream, just a damned dream…no, only a nightmare,” she muttered as she snapped on the bedside lamp and heard the sound of rainwater running in the gutters. The light made her wince and she heard a soft meow of protest. Marmalade, who had been curled on the foot of the bed, lifted her tawny head, stretched, then inched upward to press her pink nose against Kristen’s. The cat usually slept with Lissa but had obviously given up hope that she would return. Sometime in the night, Marmalade had slunk into Kristen’s room. “Any port in a storm, eh?” Kristen said, glad for the bit of company. She petted Marmalade’s soft fur as the dream replayed through her mind, all the people, all the accusations, all the guilt. Twenty years of guilt. Once more she thought about that night and how, if she’d done just one thing differently, the tragedy might have been avoided and Jake would be alive today.
If only she’d looked for Jake sooner.
If