Comes The Blind Fury Part 19

"Well, why didn't you stop?"

"Why didn't you wait for me after school?" Mich.e.l.le countered.

"I promised Susan I'd I'd walk her home." walk her home."

"And you knew you could catch up with me?"

Jeff blushed. "I didn't say that."

"You didn't have to." There was a silence, and Mich.e.l.le continued on her way, Jeff keeping pace with her. "If you want to go home, you don't have to wait for me," she said.

"I don't mind."

They continued walking. Mich.e.l.le wished Jeff would go away. Finally, she told him so.

"You make me feel like a freak!" she exclaimed. "Why don't you just go on home, and leave me alone?"

Jeff stopped in his tracks and stared at her. His mouth opened, then closed again. His face reddened and his fists clenched. "Well, if that's the way you feel, maybe I will," he said at last.

"Good!" Mich.e.l.le could feel tears welling up in her eyes, and for a moment she was afraid she was going to cry. But then Jeff turned away from her, and began loping down the road. When he was a few yards away, he suddenly looked back, waved, and broke into a run. To Mich.e.l.le, it was like a slap in the face.

Jeff slammed into his house, and called out to let his mother know he was home. He tossed his books on a table and went into the living room, where he flopped down on the sofa and put his feet on the coffee table. Girls! What a pain!

First Susan Peterson, telling him that he shouldn't talk to Mich.e.l.le anymore, then Mich.e.l.le, telling him that she didn't want him to walk with her anymore. It was crazy, that's what it was. He glanced out the window.

There she was, all by herself. Jeff watched as Mich.e.l.le pa.s.sed his house and started past the cemetery. Suddenly she stopped, and stared into the graveyard, as if she were watching something. But there was nothing to watch. To Jeff, the cemetery looked the same as it always did-choked with weeds, gravestones collapsing, deserted. What was Mich.e.l.le looking at?

As Mich.e.l.le drew abreast of the cemetery, the bright afternoon sun faded. Fog began to form around her. She had grown used to it now, and was no longer surprised when the damp coldness suddenly closed in around her, blotting out the rest of the world, leaving her alone in the mist. She knew she wouldn't be alone long: when the fog came, so did Amanda. Mich.e.l.le was beginning to look forward to the fog, look forward to seeing her friend.

There she was, coming toward her out of the cemetery, smiling to her, and waving.

"Hi," Mich.e.l.le called.

"I've been waiting for you," Amanda said as she came through the broken fence. "Was it as bad as we thought it would be?"

"Yes. They laughed at me, and kept whispering to each other."

"It's all right," Amanda said. "I'll walk with you and you can show me things."

"Can't you see things yourself?"

Amanda's milky white eyes fixed on Mich.e.l.le's face. "I can't see anything," she said, "unless I'm with you." Mich.e.l.le took Amanda's hand and started along the path. For some reason, she noticed, it was easier to walk with Amanda next to her. Her hip didn't hurt nearly as much, and she hardly limped at all.

Amanda led her across the cemetery and along the bluff trail. Soon they arrived at the Pendletons', and Mich.e.l.le instinctively started toward the house.

"No," Amanda said. Mich.e.l.le felt Amanda's grip on her hand tighten. "The potting-shed. What I want to see is in the potting-shed." Mich.e.l.le hesitated, then, her curiosity aroused, allowed Amanda to lead her toward her mother's studio.

Amanda led Mich.e.l.le around the corner of the little building, and stopped at the window.

"Look inside," she whispered to Mich.e.l.le.

Obediently, Mich.e.l.le peered through the window.

The fog, thick around her, seemed to have permeated the studio as well. There was a mistiness inside; everything was indistinct.

And nothing looked quite right.

Her mother's easel was there, but the painting propped up on it was not her mother's.

Mich.e.l.le stared at the painting for a second, then a movement caught her eye, and her glance shifted. There were people in the studio, but she couldn't see them clearly. The mists swirled around them, and their faces were invisible to her.

Then Mich.e.l.le heard the sounds.

It was Amanda, next to her.

"It's true," Amanda whispered, her voice constricted into a hiss. "She's a wh.o.r.e...a wh.o.r.e!" wh.o.r.e!"

Mich.e.l.le's eyes widened in fright at the anger in her friend's voice. She tried to pull her hand from Amanda's grip, but Amanda hung on.

"Don't!" she begged. "Don't pull away! Let me see! I have to see!" see!"

Her face twisted in fury, and her grip on Mich.e.l.le's hand became painful.

Suddenly Mich.e.l.le wrenched free. She backed away from Amanda, and as their hands parted, Amanda's sightless gaze fixed on her.

"Don't," she repeated. "Please? Don't go away. Let me see. I'm your friend, and I'm going to help you. Won't you help me, too?"

But Mich.e.l.le had already turned away. She started toward the house. The fog seemed to lift a little.

By the time she reached the house the mist had cleared.

But her limp had slowed her nearly to a stop, and her hip was once more throbbing with pain.

CHAPTER 14.

Mich.e.l.le let the kitchen door slam noisily behind her, dumped her bookbag on the table, and went to the refrigerator. She was terribly conscious of her mother watching her, and struggled to control the trembling of her hands. It wasn't until she had poured herself a gla.s.s of milk that June spoke to her.

"Mich.e.l.le? Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," Mich.e.l.le replied. She put the milk back into the refrigerator, and smiled at her mother.

June regarded her daughter cautiously. Something was wrong. She looked frightened. But what could have frightened her? June had watched her come along the path, hesitate for a moment, then continue on to the studio, where she had paused briefly at the window. When she had started toward the house, it was as if she had seen something.

"What were you looking at?"

"Looking at?" June was almost sure Mich.e.l.le was stalling for time.

"In the studio. I saw you looking through the studio window."

"But you couldn't-" Mich.e.l.le began. Then she caught herself, and glanced out the window.

The sun was shining brightly.

The fog was gone.

"Nothing," Mich.e.l.le said. "I was just looking to see if you were working."

"Mmm," June said noncommittally. Then: "How did it go at school?"

"All right." Mich.e.l.le finished her gla.s.s of milk and struggled to her feet, her hip throbbing. She picked up her bookbag and started toward the butler's pantry.

"I thought you might bring Sally home with you this afternoon," June suggested.

"She-she had some things she had to do," Mich.e.l.le lied. "Besides, I wanted to walk by myself."

"You mean Jeff didn't even walk with you?"

"He did for a while. He walked Susan Peterson home, then caught up with me."

June looked sharply at Mich.e.l.le. There was something her daughter wasn't telling her. Mich.e.l.le's face was guileless. And yet June was positive she was hiding something, holding something back. "You're sure nothing went wrong?" she pressed.

"It was fine fine, Mother." There was a hint of irritation in Mich.e.l.le's voice, so June decided to drop the subject.

"Want to help me with the bread?"

Mich.e.l.le considered it for a moment, then shook her head. "I've got a lot to catch up on. I think I'd better go up to my room."

June let her go, then returned to her bread dough. As she worked, her eyes drifted outside to the studio.

What was it? What did she see in there? Something that frightened her, I'm sure of it. She pulled her fingers loose from the dough, wiped them off on her ap.r.o.n, then left the house. Whatever Mich.e.l.le had seen, it must still be in the studio....

Mich.e.l.le closed her bedroom door, and sank onto the bed. She wondered if she should have told her mother about the people in the studio. But something had told her not to. What she had seen was a secret. A secret between her and Amanda. But it had been scary. Even as she remembered it, a shiver went through her body.

She got up from the bed and went to the window seat, picking up the doll that was propped there. She raised the doll to eye level, and gazed into its china face.

"What do you want, Amanda?" she asked softly. "What do you want me to do?"

"I want you to show me things," the voice whispered in her ear. "I want you to show me things, and be my friend."

"But what do you want to see? How can I show you things if I don't know what you want to see?"

"I want to see things that happened a long time ago. Things I could never see then...I've been waiting for you for so long-for a while I didn't think I'd ever be able to see. I tried. I tried to get other people to show me, but they never could. And then you came..." ever be able to see. I tried. I tried to get other people to show me, but they never could. And then you came..."

The whispering was interrupted by a sound.

"What's that?" the voice whispered.

"Just Jenny. She's crying." From the nursery down the hall, the wails of the baby increased. Mich.e.l.le waited a moment, sure she would hear her mother's tread on the stairs. Then the voice whispered to her again.

"Show her to me."

"The baby?"

"I want to see her."

Jennifer's cries had turned into a squalling sob. Mich.e.l.le went to the door.

"Mom?" There was no response.

"Mom, Jenny's crying!" When there was still no response, Mich.e.l.le started down the hall toward the nursery. She was sure Amanda was with her, beside her: though she could see nothing, she could feel a presence. She decided she liked that feeling.

She opened the door to the nursery. Jennifer's cries were suddenly louder. Mich.e.l.le picked up the crying baby, cradling it against her chest as she had been taught by her mother.

"Isn't she beautiful?" she whispered to Amanda.

"Do something to her," Amanda whispered back.

"Do something? Why?"

"She's like the others...she's not your friend..."

"She's my sister," Mich.e.l.le protested uncertainly.

"No, she isn't," Amanda told her. "She's their their daughter, not daughter, not your your sister. They love her, not you." sister. They love her, not you."

"That isn't true."

"It is true. You know it's true. You have to do something." The whisper became intense, urging Mich.e.l.le, commanding her.

She looked down into the face of the baby, saw Jenny's tiny features, grimacing with unhappiness, and suddenly, unreasonably, she wanted to squeeze her, wanted to make her stop crying, wanted to punish her.

Her arms tightened, and she pressed Jennifer against her chest.

Jennifer's screams took on a note of pain.

Mich.e.l.le squeezed harder. Jenny's cries seemed to fade away, and the sound of Amanda's voice grew louder.

"That's right," the voice crooned in her ear. "Harder. Squeeze her harder..."

Jenny's eyes began to bulge in her head, and her little arms flailed as she tried to breathe. The wailing was growing softer, turning into a whimper.

"Just a little more..." the voice whispered.