Comes The Blind Fury Part 27

"Well, that ever since you fell off the bluff, something's been wrong with you."

"I'm lame," Mich.e.l.le said. "Everybody knows that."

"That's not what I mean. I heard-well, they say you think you saw the ghost."

Mich.e.l.le relaxed again. "You mean Amanda? She's not a ghost. She's my friend."

"What do you mean?" Lisa asked. "There isn't anybody around here named Amanda."

"There is, too," Mich.e.l.le insisted. "She's my friend." Suddenly Lisa stood up and began backing away from Mich.e.l.le. "Where are you going?"

"I-I have to go home now," Lisa said nervously.

Mich.e.l.le struggled to her feet, her eyes fixed angrily on Lisa. "You think I'm crazy, don't you?"

Lisa shook her head uncertainly.

Suddenly the fog was starting to close in around Mich.e.l.le. From far away, she could hear Amanda calling to her.

"I'm not crazy," she said to Lisa, her voice desperate. "Amanda's real real, and she's coming now. You can meet her!"

But Lisa still backed away from her. Just before the gray mists surrounded her, Mich.e.l.le saw her turn and begin running.

As Susan Peterson had run.

CHAPTER 21.

They held Susan Peterson's funeral on Sat.u.r.day.

Estelle Peterson sat in the front pew of the Methodist Church, her head bowed, her fingers twisting compulsively at a limp handkerchief. Susan's coffin was only a few feet away, banked with flowers, its lid propped open. Next to Estelle, Henry stared stoically ahead, his eyes fixed on a spot high above the coffin, his face carefully impa.s.sive.

A low murmuring began moving slowly through the congregation. Estelle tried to ignore it, but when she heard Constance Benson's voice cut through the unintelligible sounds, she finally turned around.

Mich.e.l.le Pendleton, wearing a black dress and leaning heavily on her cane, was making her way slowly down the aisle. Behind her were her parents, with June carrying the baby. For a split second, Estelle's eyes met June's. Estelle quickly looked away. Again, she heard Constance Benson's voice.

"Of all the places for them to turn up..." she began, but Bertha Carstairs, sitting next to her, jabbed her with an elbow, and Constance subsided. As the Pendletons seated themselves in a pew halfway between the door and the altar, the service for Susan Peterson began.

Mich.e.l.le could feel the hostility around her.

It was as if every eye in the church was on her, watching her, accusing her. She wanted to leave, but knew that she wouldn't be able to. If only she weren't crippled-if only she could get up and slip quietly out. But if she tried, things would only be worse. Her cane, tap-tapping along the hardwood floor, would echo through the church, and the minister would stop his prayers, and then they would all stare at her openly. At least while she sat still they tried to pretend they weren't watching her, even though she knew they were.

June, too, had to force herself to sit still, to keep her face impa.s.sive, to endure the endess service. It had been a mistake, coming to the funeral. If Cal hadn't insisted, she would never have come. She had argued with him, but it hadn't done any good. He had stonily insisted that Mich.e.l.le had had nothing to do with Susan's death; therefore, there was no reason for them not to go to the funeral. June had tried to reason with him, had tried to make him see that it would be hard for Mich.e.l.le, miserably hard, for her to sit in the church, surrounded by all the children who had been her friends, and listen to the service. Couldn't Cal see that? Didn't he understand that it didn't matter that Mich.e.l.le had done nothing to Susan? It was what people thought thought that counted. that counted.

But Cal would not be budged. And so they had come. June had heard Constance Benson, and she was sure that Mich.e.l.le had heard her, as well. She had seen the look in Estelle Peterson's eyes-the look of hurt, and accusation, and bewilderment.

Finally, the service came to an end. The congregation stood as the casket was borne slowly down the aisle, followed by Estelle and Henry Peterson. As they pa.s.sed the Pendletons, Henry glared at Cal, his eyes hard and challenging, and Cal felt a tightening in his stomach. Maybe Maybe, he thought, June was right-maybe we shouldn't have come June was right-maybe we shouldn't have come. But then, as the pews began emptying into the aisle, Bertha Carstairs stopped and took his hand.

"I-I just want you to know," she stammered. "My family and I I-we're so sorry about all of this. It seems like ever since you came to the Point things have-well...." Her voice trailed off, but she shrugged eloquently.

"Thank you," Cal said softly. "But it's all right. Things are going to be all right now. Accidents happen-"

"Accidents!"

It was Constance Benson, with Jeff's hand gripped tightly in her own. "What happened to Susan Peterson was no accident!" Then, as Cal's face turned deathly pale, she swept out of the church.

Suddenly, the Pendletons were alone. June looked helplessly around, searching for a friendly face, but there was none. Even the Carstairses had disappeared, lost in the crowd around the Petersons.

"Let's go," she said. "Please? We came. We were here. Now can't we go home?"

Next to her, Mich.e.l.le stood quietly, tears streaming down her face.

Corinne Hatcher had slipped out of the church with Tim and Lisa Hartwick just before the service ended. It hadn't occurred to Corinne Hatcher not to go to the funeral, but it had had occurred to her that, if she stayed after the service, she might be put in an untenable position. She would be expected-indeed, forced-to recognize that there were many people in Paradise Point who felt that Mich.e.l.le had "done" something to Susan. Further, she might have to align herself either with the Petersons or the Pendletons. But at last it was over. occurred to her that, if she stayed after the service, she might be put in an untenable position. She would be expected-indeed, forced-to recognize that there were many people in Paradise Point who felt that Mich.e.l.le had "done" something to Susan. Further, she might have to align herself either with the Petersons or the Pendletons. But at last it was over.

"I wonder if Mich.e.l.le killed Susan," Lisa said from the backseat of Tim's car.

"Don't be silly," Corinne began, but Lisa promptly interrupted her.

"Well, I think she did. I think the kids are right-she's crazy."

"I've told you before, Lisa," Tim said calmly. "Don't talk about things you don't know anything about."

"But I do know about her." Lisa's voice began to take on the familiar whine that so irritated Corinne. She turned to look at Lisa.

"You don't even know her."

"I do too! I talked to her the other day, out at that old cemetery next to her house."

"I thought I told you not to go out there." Tim's voice was mild, but Lisa did not ignore the reprimand.

"I didn't go to her house," she said. "I only went to the graveyard. Can I help it if she was there?"

"And what makes you think she's crazy?" Tim asked.

"Just the way she talked. She thinks the ghost that's supposed to be out there is her friend. She said I could meet her, if I wanted to."

"Meet her?" Corinne frowned. "You mean Mich.e.l.le thought she was actually there?"

Lisa shrugged. "I don't know. I didn't see anything. But when I told Mich.e.l.le that Amanda was a ghost, she got real mad." Lisa began to giggle. "She's crazy." She began repeating the word in an odd sing-song voice: "CRAA-zy, CRAA-zy, CRAA-zy!"

Corinne had heard enough. "That's enough, Lisa!" she snapped. As if she'd been struck, Lisa fell silent. Tim glanced at Corinne reproachfully but said nothing until they were in his house and Lisa had gone to her room.

"Corinne," he said when they were alone, "I wish you'd leave the discipline to me."

"She's spoiled," Corinne shot back. "And you know it. If you don't do something about it soon, she's going to wind up in trouble." The sadness in his eyes made her retreat. The subject of Lisa was just too painful to Tim. And right now, there was a subject of more immediate concern. "I want you to talk to Mich.e.l.le about this imaginary friend of hers," she said.

Tim was thoughtful for a moment, then nodded. "An imaginary friend at her age-wherever it comes from-is certainly abnormal. I don't want to use Lisa's words, but Mich.e.l.le could be very disturbed."

"Tim," Corinne said slowly. "Suppose Mich.e.l.le isn't-disturbed, as you put it, and suppose she hasn't really made an imaginary friend? Suppose Amanda really is a ghost?"

Tim stared at her.

"But that's impossible, isn't it." His tone left no room for argument.

Mich.e.l.le closed her book and set it aside. Try as she would, she couldn't get her mind off the funeral. The way people had stared at her. It had made her feel like a freak. She was tired of feeling like a freak.

She rose awkwardly from her chair, stretched, then limped over to the window. The fall twilight, fading quickly, colored the sea an iron gray, and the sky, its reddish tinge fading to the dark blue of dusk, seemed low tonight. Below her, its outlines blurred in the gathering darkness, was her mother's studio. Mich.e.l.le stared at it, almost as if she expected something to happen. And yet, what could happen? The studio was empty-she could hear her parents downstairs, their voices low, punctuated occasionally by Jennifer's happy squeals.

Jennifer.

Mich.e.l.le said the name to herself, and wondered how she could ever have thought it was a pretty name. Then she said it out loud, listening to the syllables. She decided she hated the name. Suddenly, as if her hostility had somehow flowed directly into the baby, Jenny began crying.

Mich.e.l.le listened to the sounds for a moment, then, as they quieted, picked up her book and stretched out on the bed. She opened it to the pa.s.sage she had left a few minutes ago and began to read.

Again, she heard Jennifer squall.

Leaving the book on her nightstand, Mich.e.l.le carefully maneuvered herself off the bed, and, taking her cane, left her room and started toward the stairs.

June looked up from her needlework, listened to the sound of Mich.e.l.le's cane, then spoke quietly to Cal.

"She's coming down." Cal, who had Jennifer on his lap and was playing with her toes, made no response.

As the tapping of Mich.e.l.le's cane came steadily closer, June picked up her needlepoint once again. When Mich.e.l.le appeared at the archway that separated the living room from the entry hall, she feigned surprise.

"Finished with your homework already?" she asked.

Mich.e.l.le nodded. "I was trying to read, but I couldn't concentrate. I thought maybe Daddy and I could play a game or something."

Cal's face tightened. He remembered the last time they had tried that. "Not now. I'm teaching your sister about her toes." He ignored the hurt in Mich.e.l.le's eyes, but June could not.

"Don't you think it's time Jenny went to bed?" she suggested. Cal glanced at the clock on the mantel.

"At seven-thirty? She'll be up all night, and so will you."

"She's up all night anyway," June argued. "Cal, I really think you ought to take her upstairs."

She was not going to relent. Cal got to his feet and held the baby high over his head. He looked up into her grinning face and winked at her. "Come on, princess, the queen says it's bedtime." He started out of the room, but Mich.e.l.le stopped him.

"Can we play a game when you come down?"

Still not looking at her, Cal continued toward the stairs. "I don't know," he said over his shoulder. "I'm pretty tired tonight Maybe some other night." Because his back was to her, he didn't see the tears well in Mich.e.l.le's eyes.

June, however, did, and she hastily put her work down. "Come on-why don't we make a batch of cookies?" But it was too late. Mich.e.l.le was already on her way out of the room.

"I'm not hungry," she said listlessly. "I'll just go back up and read for a while. Night."

"Aren't you going to kiss me?"

Dispiritedly, Mich.e.l.le went to her mother and kissed her on the cheek. June put her arms around Mich.e.l.le and tried to draw her close, but felt her daughter stiffen.

"I'm sorry," she said. "He really is is tired tonight." tired tonight."

"I know." Mich.e.l.le pulled herself out of her mother's embrace. Feeling helpless, June let her go. Nothing she could say would make Mich.e.l.le feel better. Only Cal could give her the rea.s.surance she needed, and June was sure that wasn't going to happen. Unless she forced him.

When Cal still hadn't come back downstairs thirty minutes later, June made the rounds of the lower floor, locking up and turning off the lights. Then she mounted the stairs, stuck her head in to wish Mich.e.l.le a final good night, and went down the hall to the master bedroom. She found Cal already in bed, propped against the pillows, reading a book. Next to him, sleeping peacefully in her ba.s.sinet, was Jennifer. For a moment, June found the scene disarming, but she quickly realized what Cal was doing.

"You aren't that tired," she announced. Cal looked at her blankly.

"What?"

"I said you aren't that tired. Don't pretend you didn't hear me." Her voice was quivering with anger, but Cal still only stared at her in puzzlement.

"I heard you. I just don't know what you meant."

"It's simple," June said coldly. "Half an hour ago, when I suggested you bring Jennifer upstairs-so that you could play with Mich.e.l.le-you seemed to think it was much too early. And here you are, tucked happily in bed."

"June-" Cal began, but she cut him off.

"Oh, come on. Do you really think I don't know what's going on? You came up here to hide. To hide from your own daughter! For G.o.d's sake, Cal, don't you know what you're doing to her?"

"I'm not doing anything!" Cal said, almost desperately. "I just-I just..."

"You just can't face her. Well, you're going to have to, Cal. What you did down there was cruel. All she wanted to do was play a game with you. Just a simple, little game. My G.o.d, if your guilt is weighing on you so much, I'd have thought you'd be dying to play with her, if only so you could let her win. And then calling Jenny 'princess,' Didn't you realize what it would do to Mich.e.l.le? That's always been your nickname for her!"

"She didn't even notice," Cal said, his voice sullen.

"How would you know? You won't even look at her anymore. Well, let me tell you, Cal, she noticed. She almost started crying. I think the only reason she didn't was that she was afraid no one would care. My G.o.d, can't you understand what you're doing to her?"

Her anger suddenly dissolving into frustration, June burst into tears and crumpled onto the bed. Cal gathered her into his arms, rocking her gently, his mind whirling with her accusations.

"Don't, darling," he whispered. "Please, don't."

June forced herself to relax in his arms. He was her husband, and she loved him; what was happening was really no more his fault than Mich.e.l.le's. It was something that had happened, that's all. Something they would have to get through.

Together.

She sat up and dabbed at her eyes with a Kleenex from the nightstand.

"I've done something," she said. "You aren't going to like it, but we have to do it."

"Done something? What?"

"Corinne Hatcher's friend, the school psychologist. I've asked her to set us up an appointment with him."