Comes The Blind Fury Part 25

Mich.e.l.le finished the drawing, then stepped back. Behind her, she could feel Amanda's presence, Peering over her shoulder at the canvas, breathing softly.

"Yes," Amanda's voice whispered in her ear. "That's the way it was."

Almost reluctantly, Mich.e.l.le put the canvas back into the closet, obeying Amanda's whispered command to hide it deep at the back of the closet, in a far corner, where it wouldn't be found.

Then, leaving the studio as it had been when she came in, Mich.e.l.le started back toward the house.

As they crossed the lawn, Amanda whispered to her.

"They're going to hate you now. All of them. But it doesn't matter. They hated me, too, and they laughed at me.

"But it's all right, Mich.e.l.le. I'll take care of you. They won't laugh at you. They'll never laugh at you.

"I won't let them."

And then Amanda disappeared into the night....

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 Mich.e.l.le 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 Mich.e.l.le Pendleton was "separated" from the cla.s.s 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 Mich.e.l.le Pendleton present.

Mich.e.l.le.

Mich.e.l.le had arrived that morning, as every morning recently, just in time to slip un.o.btrusively 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, Mich.e.l.le sat calmly-was it stoically?-at the back of the room, as if unaware of what was going on around her. Mich.e.l.le's reaction to the situation had set the example for her own. If Mich.e.l.le could act as though nothing had happened, so could she. G.o.d 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 Mich.e.l.le, 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 Mich.e.l.le.

"Well," she said as brightly as she could. "How was your day?" If Mich.e.l.le wanted to talk about it, Corinne had given her the opportunity. But Mich.e.l.le 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 cla.s.sroom, Mich.e.l.le 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 cla.s.smates 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. Mich.e.l.le 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 pa.s.sed the swings, one of the second grade boys called to her.

"Will you push me?"

Mich.e.l.le 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 Mich.e.l.le with large and trusting brown eyes, the eyes of a puppy.

"Please?" he begged.

Mich.e.l.le 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."

Mich.e.l.le 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 h.e.l.lo as she pa.s.sed them, but June didn't seem to hear them. They watched her disappear into the school.

"I don't think Mich.e.l.le had anything to do with it," Sally said suddenly. They had not been talking about Mich.e.l.le 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 Mich.e.l.le," 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 do believe Mich.e.l.le did something, don't you?" he asked. Sally bit her lip and stared at the ground. believe Mich.e.l.le 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 n.o.body 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, Mich.e.l.le 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 Mich.e.l.le's. In that instant, she was sure that Mich.e.l.le had heard what Jeff had said. There was a look in Mich.e.l.le'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!" "She heard you!"

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

He saw Mich.e.l.le staring at him.

His first impulse was to stare her down, and his eyes narrowed. But Mich.e.l.le'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 Mich.e.l.le would hear him. "If Mich.e.l.le 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 Mich.e.l.le. 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 cla.s.sroom 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 Mich.e.l.le."

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 Mich.e.l.le 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 Mich.e.l.le?"

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." 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 cla.s.sroom 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 Mich.e.l.le 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 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 Mich.e.l.le 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 G.o.d, 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 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 Mich.e.l.le, it was beyond their understanding. And that feeling terrified her. 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 Mich.e.l.le, it was beyond their understanding. And that feeling terrified her.

Mich.e.l.le 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 gra.s.s. She would wait a while, until Jeff and Sally were long gone, before she started the long walk home.

She stretched out on the gra.s.s 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 Mich.e.l.le really hated the children who had been her friends.

Except for Sally. Mich.e.l.le still wasn't sure about Sally. Sally seemed better than the others, kinder. Mich.e.l.le decided to talk to Amanda about Sally. Maybe, if Amanda agreed, they could be friends again. Mich.e.l.le hoped they could-she really liked Sally, deep down. But still, it was up to Amanda....

From her cla.s.sroom window, Corinne watched June cross the playground. She thought there was a reluctance about June, a reluctance to disturb Mich.e.l.le, 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 Mich.e.l.le.

Mich.e.l.le 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, Mich.e.l.le 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 Mich.e.l.le-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 Mich.e.l.le had come bouncing into her cla.s.sroom, 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 Mich.e.l.le Pendleton.

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