Comes The Blind Fury Part 34

"Playing. But I can't get the merry-go-round to go fast enough. It's too heavy."

"Want me to push it for you?" Mich.e.l.le offered.

Annie nodded, telling herself that it was all right-she hadn't actually asked asked Mich.e.l.le to play with her. Mich.e.l.le to play with her.

Mich.e.l.le opened the gate and limped into the schoolyard. Annie waited patiently on the merry-go-round. When Mich.e.l.le came close to her, she grinned.

"How come you're down here on Sat.u.r.day?"

"I was just walking," Mich.e.l.le said.

"How come you're not playing with anybody?"

"I am. I'm playing with you."

"But you weren't. You were all by yourself. Don't you have any friends?"

"Sure. I have you, and there's Amanda, too."

"Amanda? Who's Amanda?"

"She's my special friend," Mich.e.l.le said. "She helps me."

"Helps you? Helps you what?" Annie kicked at the ground, and the merry-go-round began to move, very slowly. Mich.e.l.le reached out and gave it a push, and it speeded up a little. Annie pulled her feet up and waited until she came around to Mich.e.l.le before she spoke again. "What does Amanda help you do?"

"Things," Mich.e.l.le said.

"What kind of things?"

"Never mind," Mich.e.l.le said, not knowing exactly how to explain Amanda. "Someday maybe you'll meet her."

Annie let the merry-go-round carry her around a few more times, then jumped off.

"How come n.o.body likes you?" she asked. "I think you're nice."

"And I think you're nice, too," Mich.e.l.le said, ignoring Annie's question. "What do you want to do now?"

"The swings!" Annie cried. "Will you push me on the swings?"

"Sure," Mich.e.l.le said. "Come on-I'll race you!"

Annie immediately dashed off in the direction of the swings, and Mich.e.l.le started after her, moving as quickly as she could and making a great show of panting. When she caught up with Annie, the little girl was giggling happily.

"I won! I won!"

"Just wait," Mich.e.l.le said. "Someday, I'll learn to run again, and then you'd better watch out!"

But Annie didn't hear her. She was already on the swings, begging to be pushed. Mich.e.l.le laid her cane on the ground, and stood behind Annie, a little to one side. Slowly, she began pushing the little girl....

Corinne Hatcher sat at her desk, trying to concentrate on the papers she was grading. Ordinarily, she would have ignored them until Monday, and spent Sat.u.r.day with Tim, but this morning he hadn't called her, and she had known that even if he had, she would have found some excuse. Probably, she would have used these very tests.

And they were were only an excuse. She wished she could bring herself to simply call Tim, tell him she wished last night's fight had never happened, and suggest they forget about it. But she knew she wouldn't call until she could pretend it was a matter of business. She even knew she would be deceiving no one but herself, but it didn't matter-she still had to have that excuse, that reason for calling other than to make up. only an excuse. She wished she could bring herself to simply call Tim, tell him she wished last night's fight had never happened, and suggest they forget about it. But she knew she wouldn't call until she could pretend it was a matter of business. She even knew she would be deceiving no one but herself, but it didn't matter-she still had to have that excuse, that reason for calling other than to make up.

Disgusted with herself, she set her red pen down and glanced out the window.

And saw Mich.e.l.le.

Her breath drew in sharply, and she instinctively rose from her chair. Mich.e.l.le was coming into the schoolyard, and Annie Whitmore was apparently waiting for her.

Corinne watched as Annie climbed onto the merry-go-round, and Mich.e.l.le began pushing it She could see the two children talking, but she couldn't hear what they were saying. It didn't matter, though-both of them were smiling and laughing.

Then Annie got off the merry-go-round and started toward the swings, slowly at first, then running. For a moment Corinne was worried, afraid that Annie was mocking Mich.e.l.le, but then she saw that it was a game, and that Mich.e.l.le had apparently started it, for she was making a great show of trying to run, flailing her arms, panting madly, while Annie watched and laughed.

Corinne found herself laughing, too.

And there, she realized, was her excuse to call Tim. If he thought Mich.e.l.le was dangerous, wait till he heard about this-she was actually beginning to parody her own lameness!

She left her room and started down the hall toward the office. But as she started to dial, she had a better idea-it still wasn't noon, and if she knew Tim, he'd still be home, lingering over his coffee.

She wouldn't call him. Instead, she'd go to see him, tell him about Mich.e.l.le. They could spend the day together. As she left the school, Corinne was smiling; today she could even tolerate Lisa Hartwick. She got into her car and started away. As she pa.s.sed the playground she saw the two girls at the swings, Annie swinging, and Mich.e.l.le gently pushing her. It was, Corinne Hatcher decided, a good day after all.

"Push me harder, Mich.e.l.le!"

Annie leaned back in the swing, kicked her little legs up, and tried her best to pump the swing. But she had it wrong, and instead of moving faster, the swing slowed. Again, she called to Mich.e.l.le. "Harder! I'm dying down!"

"You're high enough already," Mich.e.l.le said. "You're doing it wrong-you have to lean back when you go forward, and lean forward when you're going back!"

"I'm trying," Annie squealed. She increased her effort, doing her best to follow Mich.e.l.le's instructions.

"I can't do it. Push me harder! Please?"

"No! The way you're pumping, it's dangerous. When you do it wrong, the chains don't work. See? Every time you get to the top, something happens. They get loose, and you drop a little bit"

"I wouldn't if you pushed harder."

Mich.e.l.le ignored her, and kept steadily pushing, reaching out with her right hand to give Annie a little shove each time she swung past.

But Annie was getting impatient. She wanted Mich.e.l.le to push her harder. There had to be a way to make her. Then she had an idea. Even as she thought of it, she knew it was mean. But still, if it would make Mich.e.l.le push her harder....

"You just can't can't push any harder, that's all. You're crippled, so you can't push!" push any harder, that's all. You're crippled, so you can't push!"

Crippled!

The word hit her as it always did, like a hammer. Her stomach turned over, and she felt dizzy. Dizzy, and angry. word hit her as it always did, like a hammer. Her stomach turned over, and she felt dizzy. Dizzy, and angry.

The fog crashed in on her this time, coming out of nowhere. She could see nothing-only the gray impenetrable mists swirling around her, blocking her vision.

And Amanda.

Amanda, coming toward her out of the grayness, smiling to her, encouraging her.

"You can push her, Mich.e.l.le," Amanda was saying. "Show her how hard you can push her."

The pain in Mich.e.l.le's hip, the constant, nearly unbearable throbbing suddenly cleared up, and she felt that she could move easily, without the help of her cane. And if she needed help, Amanda was there-Amanda would help her.

She stepped behind the swing, and the next time Annie came drifting toward her through the fog, she was ready. She put her hands on Annie's back, and as the little girl reached the apex of her arc, and started backward once more, Mich.e.l.le prepared to push her.

Annie squealed with delight as she surged forward again, and clung more tightly to the chains. This was better-she'd never been this high before. Valiantly, she tried to pump, but she still didn't have the hang of it.

Back she came, and once more she felt Mich.e.l.le's hands on her shoulders. "Harder!" she yelled. "Push harder!" "Push harder!"

Again she shot forward, and her eyes widened as she saw the ground rushing up at her. Then she leveled off, and started the upswing, and the ground was replaced by the sky. What was she supposed to do?

Lean forward?

Kick back?

She leaned back, and as the swing reached its forward peak, she was suddenly unbalanced-the chains, so tight in her hands a moment before, abruptly loosened, and Annie felt herself start to fall.

She screamed, but then it was over-the chains were tight again, and she was on her way back, the weight at the end of the pendulum.

"Not so hard this tune," she said when she felt Mich.e.l.le's hand on her back again.

But if Mich.e.l.le heard her, she gave no sign. Annie found herself shooting forward again, higher than ever. Once more, as she reached the top, she leaned the wrong way and the chains went slack in her hands.

"Stop!" she yelled. "Please, Mich.e.l.le, stop!"

But it was too late.

Back and forth she flew, ever higher, and each time the slack in the chain took longer to tighten again.

And then, inevitably, it happened.

The chain went loose in Annie's hands, and she plunged straight down, her body lying across the seat of the swing, her eyes closed tight in terror.

And then there was no more chain.

As the seat of the swing reached the bottom and the hard links of the chain snapped taut, Annie Whitmore's back broke.

A stab of pain shot through her, but it was over almost before it had begun-her head smashed against the ground, the momentum of her fall crushing her skull. She twitched spasmodically, and her broken body fell in a heap at Mich.e.l.le's feet.

"See?" Amanda whispered. "You can push as hard as you want. After a while, they'll learn. They'll learn, and then they'll stop laughing."

She took Mich.e.l.le's hand and began leading her out of the playground.

By the time they reached the street, the fog had lifted.

But Mich.e.l.le didn't look back.

Corinne opened the door to Tim's house without knocking and let herself in.

"Tim? Tim!"

"In the kitchen," Tim called.

Corinne hurried through the house and found Tim at the sink, elbow deep in dishwater.

"Guess what?"

Tim looked at her curiously. "Well, it must be something special, or you wouldn't be here. And it must have something to do with Mich.e.l.le Pendleton, since that's who we were fighting about. You don't look particularly upset, so it can't be anything bad. So, you must have seen Mich.e.l.le, and she must be better."

Deflated, Corinne poured herself a cup of coffee and sat down. "You know what? You know me too well."

"Then I was right?"

"Mmm-hmm. I saw Mich.e.l.le today. She was in the schoolyard, playing with Annie Whitmore. And she was actually making fun of her own limp! Tim, you should have seen her. She was dragging her leg along, flapping her arms, panting like crazy, and all just to make Annie Whitmore laugh. What do you think of that?"

"I think it's great," Tim said. "But I don't see what all the excitement's about-it had to start sooner or later."

"But I thought-last night you said-"

Tim dried off his hands and came to sit with her. "Last night I was doing a lot of wild speculating, and I might have said some things I didn't mean. And you might have, too. So, shall we have a truce?"

Corinne threw her arms around him. "Oh, Tim, I love you." She kissed him thoroughly, then grinned. "But isn't it exciting? About Mich.e.l.le, I mean? It's the first time I've ever seen her do anything like that. She's usually so self-conscious about her limp, and if anyone tries to talk to her about it, she just clams up. But she was making fun of it!"

"Well, before you declare her a perfectly adjusted child, let's see what happens, shall we?" Tim cautioned her. "It might not have been what you thought it was, and it might have been just a momentary thing." Then he grinned mischievously. "And what about Amanda? Have you forgotten all about the famous Amanda?"

"No. Well, not really. Oh, let's not talk about her," Corinne said. "I'll just get all upset again. I was probably overdoing it last night too, and you're probably right-she probably is only a figment of my imagination."

"Well, in that case, Lisa's going to be pretty upset."

"Lisa?"

Tim nodded. "I'm afraid I changed my mind. I mean, we did did have a fight, after all. So this morning, when Lisa started in on me, I gave in. She's out hunting ghosts." have a fight, after all. So this morning, when Lisa started in on me, I gave in. She's out hunting ghosts."

Corinne stared at him.

"Oh, Tim, you didn't!"

Tim's smile faded at her expression of consternation.

"Well, why not?" he said irritably. "She's with Alison and Sally. What can possibly happen?"

It was at that moment that Billy Evans died in the Paradise Point Clinic, as Cal Pendleton, Josiah Carson, and the neurologist from Boston looked helplessly on.

If any of them had glanced out the window, they would have seen Mich.e.l.le, standing outside, staring into the room in which Billy lay, a tear running slowly down her cheek.

Amanda's voice whispered in her ear.