Second Child Part 15

"S-Something hit me in the face," Ellen replied. She reached out, her fingers timidly exploring the damp air around her. And then, a moment later, she felt the familiar soft p.r.i.c.kliness of a pine branch. "It was just a branch," she whispered. She started forward again, then froze in her tracks.

Ahead of her, somewhere in the mist, she saw something.

Indistinct, almost formless, it was barely visible.

But it was there.

"L-Look!" she whispered, reaching back to grab Cyndi's hand and pull her forward.

A second later Cyndi was beside her. "What?" she hissed. "What did you see?"

Ellen strained her eyes, peering into the black fog.

Where a second ago there had been something, now there seemed to be nothing. Her heart, which had been racing in her chest, calmed slightly. "I-I don't know. I thought..."

She felt Cyndi's hand tighten on her own as the fog ahead dissipated.

In the path ahead of them a strange form seemed to be hovering a few inches above the path.

A white form, almost shapeless.

"Oh, G.o.d," Cyndi whispered. "What is it, Ellen?"

"I-I don't know," Ellen replied, her voice trembling now with the fear building inside her.

A moment later, as the fog closed in once more, the strange apparition disappeared.

Cyndi, her hand clinging to Ellen's so hard it hurt, trembled in the pathway. "Wh-What are we going to do? Should we go back to the beach?"

Ellen started to nod, then remembered the fog that already shrouded the beach, blinding them completely.

"No," she whispered. "L-Let's keep going. Maybe it's nothing."

But even as she started forward once more through the dank chill of the night, she didn't believe her own words.

They moved onward, and suddenly the invisible woods around them came alive with unseen menace. Everywhere, they could hear tiny twigs cracking and the heavy breathing of invisible creatures. They kept going, uncertain of where they were, but too terrified to stop.

And then, from behind them, they heard a sound, louder than the rest, and different.

A moan, low and anguished, that made them freeze in their tracks.

"Wh-What is it?" Ellen breathed.

"I don't know," Cyndi wailed, her words choking as a terrified sob rose in her throat.

Slowly, Ellen turned around and forced herself to peer once more into the darkness of the forest.

The wind picked up, and once again a rent appeared in the fabric of the mist.

Standing in the path, behind them now, was the distinct form of a girl, her face veiled, in a white ball gown.

The figure didn't move, but simply stood still in the path, staring at them.

Then, slowly, its right arm came up and a finger pointed at them.

Ellen stared at the figure for a moment. Panic welled up in her and a scream emerged from her throat as she turned and fled down the path, ignoring the pine branches that whipped at her face, the tendrils of vines that threatened to entangle her feet.

Only a few feet behind her, struggling to keep up, Cyndi Miller also fled from the terrifying specter that emerged from the fog.

Jeff Barnstable and Kent Fielding were making their way across the broad lawn in front of the Fieldings' rambling shingle-style house when they heard Ellen's scream.

For a moment neither of them was sure where the cry had come from, but then Kent broke into a run. "It was from behind the house," he yelled to Jeff. A second later both boys were racing-through the fog, Kent leading the way, his feet so familiar with the landscaping around his home that he had no need to see where he was going. At the back of the house the blackness of the fog was brightened to a pale gray as the floodlights on the terrace came on. His father, clad in a flannel bathrobe, stepped through the French doors from the living room.

"Kent?" Owen Fielding called. "Is that you?"

"I'm over here, Dad," Kent called back as Jeff caught up with him. "Someone screamed."

Just then, both of them crying, Ellen Stevens and Cyndi Miller staggered up the terrace steps and ran to Mr. Fielding.

"Ellen?" Owen asked, as both girls clung to him. "Cyndi? What's wrong? Was that you screaming?"

Cyndi, regaining her breath barely enough to talk, nodded. "We-We saw something out there," she gasped. "In the woods."

Jeff and Kent, moving closer to the girls, eyed them suspiciously. "What?" Kent asked, exchanging a knowing glance with Jeff, a scornful grin already playing around the corners of his mouth.

Cyndi stared at him. A glimmer of doubt entered her mind as she saw the white running suit Jeff was wearing. Instead of answering Kent's question, she asked one of her own. "Was that you in the woods?"

Kent's grin faded slightly. "We were just coming up from the beach," he said. "We had to put the fire out, remember?"

Her breathing finally settling back to normal, Ellen looked up at Owen Fielding. "We-We saw something in the woods," she said. Her eyes shifted to Cyndi, as if pleading for help. "It-It looked like a ghost," she went on, her words sounding hollow now that she was safe on the Fieldings' terrace, the terrifying darkness and fog held at bay by the glowing halogen floodlights. "At least, it looked like-"

"It looked like D'Arcy!" Cyndi Miller said. Her voice, much stronger now, had taken on a defiant note as she met Kent's mocking eyes.

"Oh, sure," Kent drawled. "We sit on the beach and tell ghost stories all night, and then the fog comes in and the moon goes down. The two of you were already so scared you'd have thought a bush was a ghost."

"That's not true!" Cyndi shot back, turning to Ellen. "Tell them, Ellen. Tell them what we saw."

"It-It looked like a girl," Ellen said. "The first time we saw her, she was in front of us, and we weren't really sure what it was. It kept disappearing in the fog. So we kept going, and then we heard something behind us."

"It was like a moan, or something," Cyndi interrupted. "Really scary."

Now Ellen's eyes shifted from Kent and Jeff to Owen Fielding. "And when we turned around, there she was. It was a girl, wearing a white dress, with a veil over her face."

"She was staring at us," Cyndi added, shivering at the memory. "And then-And then she pointed at us."

She turned away from Kent's skeptical smirk and looked instead at his father. "It's true, Mr. Fielding," she said. "That's what we saw. You believe us, don't you?"

Owen Fielding, one arm still around Ellen Stevens's shoulders, reached out to give Cyndi's arm an encouraging squeeze. "Well, I certainly believe you you believe that's what you saw," he said. "But before we all scare ourselves to death, why don't we go inside and make some cocoa. And then I'll drive you home." He waited for a moment, and as he'd expected, the girls did not object to his offer of a ride, although neither of their homes was more than a few hundred yards away. "You guys coming in?" he asked as he steered the girls toward the French doors. believe that's what you saw," he said. "But before we all scare ourselves to death, why don't we go inside and make some cocoa. And then I'll drive you home." He waited for a moment, and as he'd expected, the girls did not object to his offer of a ride, although neither of their homes was more than a few hundred yards away. "You guys coming in?" he asked as he steered the girls toward the French doors.

Kent hesitated, glancing at Jeff, then shook his head. "I-I think maybe we'll take a look around," he said.

Owen Fielding chuckled appreciatively. "Have a good time," he said, "and don't stay out all night. And be careful," he added with a mischievous leer before he closed the doors. "The girls might be right. D'Arcy might be out there, and she might be looking for you."

Half an hour later, with the fog so thick they could barely see their hands in front of their faces, the boys were back.

They had seen nothing.

They had heard nothing.

And yet, as they hurried back toward the glow of the floodlights on the terrace, both of them had the eerie sense that someone-someone they could neither see nor hear-had been watching them.

Phyllis Holloway woke up at six-thirty the next morning, rolled away from the bright shaft of sunlight pouring through the window, and opened her eyes. She'd been dreaming, a wonderful dream in which she'd been at the August Moon Ball, proudly watching her daughter-the most beautiful girl in the room-dancing with Brett Van Arsdale. All the women she'd known for years, the women who had made her life miserable with their deliberate slights and their snubs made only more hurtful by their subtlety, were gathered around her, complimenting her on her daughter's beauty and hanging on every word she had to say.

In the dream, Teri MacIver had been her daughter.

She lingered in bed, clinging to the warm comfort of the dream, then remembering once again the conversation she and Teri had when her stepdaughter had come home last night.

It had been the kind of talk every mother dreams of having with her daughter.

And the kind that had been denied her with Melissa, she reflected bitterly.

Sighing, she threw back the silk sheet and got out of bed, pulling on a robe before leaving her room to go down the corridor toward her daughter's room.

She paused outside Teri's door, then tapped softly in the vain hope that Teri might call her in and she could put off going in to Melissa for a few more minutes. But when there was no answer, she went on to the room next door, giving the mahogany panel only a perfunctory tap before turning the k.n.o.b and letting herself in.

She stopped just inside the door, frowning.

Melissa was sound asleep, lying on her side, her right arm curled up under her pillow.

Her frown deepening, Phyllis strode across the room and pulled back the sheet that covered her daughter.

The restraints-the leather straps and nylon mesh belts that she'd carefully secured to her daughter's limbs the night before-were lying haphazardly across the mattress.

"Melissa?" Phyllis said. "Melissa!"

Her daughter stirred on the bed, then rolled over, pulling the pillow with her to cover her head.

Phyllis reached down and jerked the pillow away, then grasped Melissa's shoulder and shook her sharply.

Startled, Melissa sat up, her eyes snapping open. As she recognized her mother, she automatically drew back against the headboard.

"Look!" Phyllis commanded, pointing at the straps that snaked across the mattress.

Melissa's eyes widened as she stared at the restraints, then her gaze shifted to her mother.

"I didn't take them off, Mama," she began. "I can't. I-"

"Then who did?" Phyllis demanded, her voice rising dangerously.

Melissa cowered back, drawing her legs up so her knees pressed against her chest.

"I asked you a question, Melissa. I expect an answer!"

Melissa's eyes darted about the room as if searching for a means of escape, but there was none. "D-D'Arcy-" she stammered, then instantly wished she could retrieve the forbidden name. But it was too late.

"D'Arcy?" her mother repeated, flinging the word back at Melissa like a missile. "I thought we were through with that nonsense."

Melissa swallowed hard, trying to free herself of the lump that had suddenly formed in her throat. "Y-Yes, Mama," she whispered.

"Then who did it?" she demanded. "Who took the restraints off you?"

Melissa, her whole body trembling now, shook her head helplessly.

Phyllis moved closer to the bed, leaning forward so she loomed above her daughter. Her hand rose up as if she were about to strike the girl. From the door, Cora's voice stopped her.

"Oh, I'm sorry, ma'am," the elderly woman murmured. "I didn't know you were up yet."

Phyllis spun around. "Really?" she asked. "Is that what you've been doing, Cora? Releasing Melissa's restraints, then sneaking in early in the morning to put them back?"

Cora lurched back a half step, the accusation striking her like a physical blow. "Oh, no, ma'am," she breathed. "I wouldn't do that. I-"

"Wouldn't you?" Phyllis cut in, her voice edged with heavy sarcasm. "Well, if you wouldn't, it would certainly be the first time you'd obeyed my orders. I swear, I don't know why Charles insists on keeping you here." She strode across the room, and Cora scuttled out of her way. "We'll talk about this later, Cora," she said as she pa.s.sed the housekeeper.

A minute later, as she poured herself a cup of coffee from the urn in the breakfast room, she was startled by the sound of Teri's voice.

"Is something wrong, Phyllis?"

She turned, then smiled as she saw her stepdaughter, already dressed in a pair of khaki pants and a white blouse, looking worriedly at her. Just looking at Teri seemed to ease some of her anger.

"Oh, it's just Cora," she said. "She went into Melissa's room last night and-" She cut herself off abruptly.

Teri's eyes widened and her right hand rose to cover her mouth. "Oh, dear," she breathed. "You're talking about those straps, aren't you?"

Phyllis stared at the girl for a moment, confused. "Why-Why, yes," she said at last.

"But it wasn't Cora who undid them," Teri said. "It was me."

Phyllis slowly sank into one of the six wicker chairs that surrounded the breakfast table. "You?" she asked. "I'm afraid I don't understand."

Coloring slightly, Teri's eyes dropped to the floor. "I-Well, I went in to say good night to Melissa. And she looked so uncomfortable, all tied down like that. Well, I just felt sorry for her, so I undid the straps."

Phyllis's frown deepened for a moment, but then her expression cleared and the sharp words that had been on the tip of her tongue died away. "I see," she breathed.

"I'm sorry if I did something wrong," Teri said, her voice soft and her eyes still fixed on the floor. "I didn't mean to-I just-well, she just looked so miserable."

The last of her anger draining away in the face of Teri's apparent unhappiness, Phyllis held out her arms to the girl. "Of course you didn't do anything wrong," she said. "You didn't know what the restraints were for, and you were just trying to help."

Teri brightened. "You're not mad at me?"