The Well Part 4

"She's looking for you. And, man, she's not happy. I don't know how you could do that, Cooper. I mean, six-month anniversaries are a big-"

"What do you mean, looking for me?" I said, cutting her off. As if I needed a reminder of my screwup.

"She said she was going to your house to find you and tell you what a loser you were. Something about looking for you at the tree or-" Rebecca groaned and gave the two cheerleaders above her a glare. "Ow, Colleen. How many times did you go to the freakin' snack bar today?"

"Shut up. I'm not the only cow here." Colleen Carter shifted her weight, which only made Rebecca's face pinch into the Darth Maul mask.

"My house? The tree?" The words sank in one at a time, like concrete blocks. But Rebecca had stopped paying attention. She and Colleen were arguing about who gave elephants a bad name.

Megan.

The tree.

Which was in the woods. By the- Oh G.o.d. I broke into a run, air sucking into my lungs, this time ignoring the calls of my friends as I broke across the football field like a quarterback on fire, then down the school driveway, and finally onto the sidewalks of Maple Valley, rounding the corners at a skid, stone dust kicking up beneath my shoes, nearly slipping as I shredded rubber to get to Megan.

The tree was in the woods behind my house. We'd meet there sometimes because StepScrooge Sam frowned on my entertaining friends in the house. I had never wanted to go into those woods again, but now I had to get there. Fast.

Every block felt like a mile, every street as long as a runway.

Then, my street sign. My house. My driveway. I ran down the long, long length of bricks, and then, when I hit the gra.s.s, I dropped my backpack. It hit the ground with a thud.

A sickening thud, almost a premonition.

"Cooper!"

I spun around so fast, I was a human top. StepScrooge Sam stood on the deck, his arms crossed over his chest. He was dressed in his golf clothes. White shirt, plaid pants. I snorted. Hard workday for him, apparently. "What?"

"Where the h.e.l.l do you think you're going?"

Whatever answer I gave would be the wrong one. I heaved in a breath, trying not to look like I was in a hurry. When StepScrooge Sam wanted to talk to you, it was now, no later about it. "Nowhere."

He headed down the stairs. Came up within two feet of me. "You're moving awful fast for going nowhere, mister."

I shrugged. I didn't care what he thought.

"Att.i.tude again. You know how I feel about att.i.tude."

"Sorry." Appease him now-maybe he'd shut up.

But no, his voice got louder, his face got redder, and he got closer to me. "You are an ungrateful leech in this house, Cooper. I provide the food on the table, the roof over your head, the clothes on your back, and what do you give me?"

I toed at the ground. I knew the drill. I'd heard it a hundred times before. "Nothing."

"That's right. Nothing. Don't you think you could do more around here? To help out?"

"Yes."

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, sir." The words escaped through gritted teeth. I shoved my hands into my pockets so he wouldn't see them curl into fists.

"Don't you dare run off right now. Because you have ch.o.r.es. Your room is a disaster. The trash needs to be taken out. The garage a"

He went on and on, but I didn't hear him. My brain just kept repeating Megan-Megan Megan like some kind of internal drum. An urgent beat to get the h.e.l.l out of here and find her. Something wasn't right, I just knew it.

"I'll do it all in a little while," I said. "I promise."

"No, you'll do it now." StepScrooge Sam advanced on me, anger flaring his nostrils like a bull. "I don't have time for this c.r.a.p from you. I have a business to run. On top of that, one of the workers didn't show up today and the whole place is a mess. So don't you be adding another ha.s.sle to the pile. You'll do what I say and you'll do it"-he came even closer now, his index finger like a pointer at my chest, punctuating the last few words-"when I tell you."

All of a sudden, Whipple came running out of the doggy door, hurling his little fur body down the deck stairs and into the s.p.a.ce between us. The dog started to growl. The sound was low and guttural, as vicious as a Doberman's. StepScrooge Sam turned toward the dog, glaring, and for a second I thought he might kick Whipple. "What the-?"

"Whipple, quit that," I said. What was wrong with the dog? He'd done that only once before, when I'd come out of the well.

For a second, I considered asking Sam about the well, but then I remembered how long-winded he could get when it came to the history of the Jumel Vineyards. I didn't have time for that now. Besides, he was probably half the reason my mother was going psycho. He made her feel forced to choose between him and her own kids. Whipple was just protecting me from the angry tones in Sam's voice.

The dog backed up, standing beside my feet, but he was still, like a statue. I glanced back at the woods. Was Megan in there? Waiting for me?

And was she okay?

"Cooper, go do your ch.o.r.es."

Him again. He never let up. "I will."

Sam glared at me.

"Sir." I sucked in a breath. "Seriously, though, I really gotta exercise the dog first. It won't take long. I swear."

His cell phone chirped, and he let out a curse. He studied me and the phone rang again. "How long?"

The Megan-Megan Megan drumbeat kept sounding in my head, so urgent my feet started shuffling. I wanted to turn and run and not answer my stepfather, but I didn't want him to come down on me with the privileges ax. "I'll be back in ten. Sir."

My mother's car swung into the driveway. Sam looked from the Audi to me, then back again. She called to him, saying something about needing help with groceries, making the decision for him. "Ten minutes," Sam warned, flipping out his cell phone and barking a greeting to whomever was on the other end.

Just before he headed off to meet my mother, I saw Sam shoot Whipple another glower. The dog held his four-legged stiff stance, not relaxing again until Sam was gone.

I didn't care. Megan was in those woods somewhere, and I had to find her. I turned and ran, running harder and faster than I had during football practice, pushing myself further than I ever had in conditioning. I charged down the lawn, and even though it hurt after the two-mile run from school and my lungs burned like kerosene chased by fire, I pumped harder, forcing my arms back and forth like pistons, pushing my aching, screaming legs to keep charging. Nothing mattered but finding Megan. Whipple ran after me, barking like he thought this was a game of chase.

I ignored the dog and shoved into the woods. Branches grabbed at me, long, sharp wooden fingers reaching, stabbing. Roots snaked out to trip my feet, as if the forest didn't want me to find her.

I shouted her name, then tried to run faster, but my body wouldn't cooperate. My lungs and legs had had enough, and they slowed, a train running down. The dog kept pace easily, running circles around my legs, nearly tangling me. I cursed and tried to push him away with my feet, searching all the while for Megan's tall, thin frame. She wasn't near our tree, the huge, ancient oak in the center of the woods that stood taller than all the others.

No. She couldn't have. But some instinct told me, some sickened knot of dread said the worst.

I kept going, deeper and deeper into the woods. Through the trees, I could see the vineyard way off to my right. Whipple barked and jumped at my legs, bouncing off them with his front paws. "Cut it out!"

The dog kept it up. The vines tangled around me, a ropy spider web blocking my way into the cove surrounding the well.

And then, buried between the tall, thick trees, I thought I saw a flash of light blue among the greens and browns. Was it Megan's jacket?

But that flash of blue was close, too close, to the well.

What if a "Megan!" I started running again, calling her name, looking, looking, looking. Not seeing anything but vines and more vines- And then I saw her.

Standing beside the well. She was looking down into it, her hands braced on either side of the opening. I screamed her name again.

Finally she pivoted, slow, dreamlike, as if she were in a trance. I kept yelling her name, a broken record of Megans. Then she blinked and took a step away from the well, and her face began to fill with color, her eyes starting to focus. "Cooper, why are you running?"

"Couldn't a couldn't ."Breathe, breathe a "Couldn't wait to a see you."

A smile crossed her face, but it didn't pack the usual wattage. Dimmed because she was still mad? Or dimmed because of what she'd seen in the well?

She took a couple of steps toward me and I swear the color inked up in her face. Her cheeks flushed, nearly as red as the bandanna holding her hair back. "I skipped practice." A couple more steps, and now her words became stronger, her voice louder. Like the fog was lifting. "Mrs. Parker's probably going to have a coronary, but"-Megan raised a shoulder, dropped it-"I had a personal crisis."

Meaning me. Being a jerk.

d.a.m.n. I regretted all over again standing her up, even if it hadn't been my fault. Me and Megan had a really good thing going, and the last thing I wanted to do was blow it. But what was I supposed to tell her?

She stood there, waiting, I was sure, for an explanation. Me to make nice, play the I'm-sorry card from the loserguy deck.

Instead I stood there like an idiot. Whipple circling me like a hawk, pausing every few seconds to bark, then jump on me. He kept looking over at Megan, as if he was worried.

She shot me the look usually reserved for Thursday's mystery-meat sandwiches. "Well?"

"I had a personal crisis, too." If there was a more stupid answer on the planet, I couldn't think of it.

Megan rolled her eyes. Apparently, she agreed. "What do you mean by that? What kind of personal crisis could you possibly have that would make you stand me up? I mean, we've been going out for six months, Cooper. You can talk to me. Tell me what's going on."

Yeah, about pretty much anything else I could.

"Not about this. I'm sorry, Megan."

She shook her head, disgusted with me.

I gave the well another glance. I tried not to inhale. Tried not to smell that smell again, but it was there, lurking on the fringes of my nose.

Whipple rustled in the leaves around the well, nosing at something. He barked. I looked down and saw a khakicolored hat, the wide kind with the band around the rim. I knew only one person who wore a Grandpa hat like that.

"Hey," Megan said. "Isn't that Paolo's hat?"

Paolo was this guy who had worked at the vineyard forever. One of those guys who was everybody's friend. He'd been at Sam's house for Christmas parties and let Megan and me borrow the Mule, which was like a glorified golf cart, for joy rides when Sam wasn't looking.

"Yeah." I swallowed hard. Bent forward, picked it up. And immediately wished I hadn't.

"Oh my G.o.d." Megan pressed a hand to her mouth. "I think I'm going to be sick. That's not a that's not what I think it is, is it?"

"I don't think so." But I was lying and I knew it. I turned the hat away from her, so she couldn't really see it. Whatever was inside made the hat heavy in my hand. "I think, like, an animal crawled into it and died or something." Then I took a look inside, curiosity shoving common sense into a closet, and almost screamed.

I had to breathe through my mouth so I wouldn't upchuck. Because when I looked into Paolo's hat, I didn't see leaves caught on the inside. Or dirt. Or an animal.

I saw gray matter. Blood. White hairs.

Like his head had exploded in there.

I glanced at the well and couldn't even let my mind go there. No freakin' way. Impossible.

I threw the hat to the ground and backed up, way fast. Told myself I didn't know what the h.e.l.l a brain looked like. That it was some decayed squirrel.

Yeah. Dead squirrel.

Or dead guy.

Oh my G.o.d.

Had the thing in the well done that? To Paolo? Was that what would have happened to me if- If I hadn't escaped that day?

The knot in my stomach was so tight, I could have bounced an airplane off it. "Megan, we gotta get out of here. Now."

Megan ignored me and pivoted back toward the well. It stood three feet out of the ground, its rough stone walls covered in moss. From here, it looked as innocent as a newborn, but I knew better. "So, what's this thing? I don't think I've ever noticed it before. It's kinda cool. Looks really old." She took a few steps closer, reaching out a hand to the stone ledge that ringed the top. Whipple started barking as though he'd gone insane.

I lunged for her. "Don't touch that! Don't go near it!" I grabbed her arm, pulling her back just as she was moving to peer down into the well's inky depths.

She let out a shriek of protest and stumbled back. She gave me the Crazy Uncle Earl look-for that one guy at the family get-togethers who kept a piece of foil under his Red Sox cap just in case the aliens came calling. "Cooper, what are you doing?"

"I told you to stay away from that. It's a dangerous."

Yeah, like hand grenades were dangerous toys.

"I'm not two. And you're not my mother." She glared at me. "In fact, you're not my anything. I thought we had something going, and then you start backing off. For days, no calls. No notes. Then you make this big date, tell me it's going to be a big, fancy thing, and I get all excited, Cooper, thinking we're back to normal. Back to you and me. And what happens? You stand me up-no phone call, no nothing. Again." She shook her head, a glimmer in her eyes that sliced me like a knife. "Just get away from me, Cooper."

She flung off my arm and moved forward. I yanked on her sleeve again, as if she were a yo-yo. "Stop, Megan."

I didn't want her to go, but what was I going to say? How could I explain the distance I'd put between us? How my home life kept getting in the way of everything I had that was good?

"Why should I do anything you say?" Her face crumpled like a tissue, and I knew I'd hurt her. Megan. The one person in the world I didn't want to hurt. "What happened? Everything was fine, we were fine, and all of a sudden, you just cut me off. What did I do?"

The well stood a foot away from her, so close, still too close. The stench of death-those rotting pigs, maggots swarming over their bodies, feasting on the decaying skin, and for one second, the image of decaying skin became Megan's skin and I nearly barfed-almost overpowered me. I kept one eye on the well, afraid that the web of green would start climbing over the edge, reach out for Megan, drag her down there.

With Paolo?

G.o.d no. That hadn't happened. Hadn't freakin' happened.

And those weren't his brains in that hat. No way. Impossible.

Yeah. Was there such a thing as being a pathological liar to yourself?

Nothing moved; nothing came crawling over the edge. And one look at Megan's face told me she didn't smell the same scent I did.

I swallowed. Just tell her, my inner voice whispered. Megan, of all people, would understand. I looked into her blue eyes, eyes the color of a spring-new sky, and started to speak- When I heard my name.