Awakening (Lily Dale #1)(41)

Oh. “You met Annie. And you like her. Right?”

“How’d you know? I mean, I tried not to like her, but she was . . .”

“Likable.”

“Lovable. I’m sorry, Calla. I mean, I wish you and my brother would get back together, but since you’re not even here—and now you’ve got two new boyfriends, anyway— well, I hope it’s okay with you that I don’t hate Annie.”

“No, it’s fine.” Calla paces restlessly across the living room. “I’m glad you like her. I wouldn’t want Kevin going out with some loser.” Sure you would. “Is she still down there?”

“No, she went back.” Lisa changes the subject quickly. “Tell me about these two guys!”

Calla does, doing her best to make it sound as though Blue and Jacy are both head over heels about her, and vice versa.

“They sound great. Maybe I can help you make up your mind between them,” Lisa says. “I asked my parents if I can fly up and visit you before school starts and they didn’t say no.”

“They said yes?”

“Not exactly. But they’re thinking about it. I’ll keep you posted.”

Calla wonders if it would be a pleasure or a problem to have Lisa visit. A little of both, she decides, after hanging up with a promise to start checking her e-mail at the Taggarts’.

Odelia won’t be back for at least another half hour. The house feels eerily empty.

But that’s better than eerily not empty, Calla reminds herself uneasily.

She read earlier that spirits don’t hang around just to give people a good scare. They’re usually trying to communicate some kind of message.

Well, whatever it is, I don’t want to know. Not when I’m here alone, anyway.

Maybe she should go next door to use the computer right now, even though she just talked to Lisa and her e-mail can wait. Evangeline is probably home. Some company would be nice. And reassuring.

Pausing in front of the window overlooking the street, she glances out to see if there are lights on next door. To her surprise, someone is out there, standing directly in front of Odelia’s house, facing it. Watching it.

Feeling exposed, Calla immediately reaches toward the lamp, fumbling for the switch. She finds it and flicks it off, making herself less visible, which, of course, also makes the figure more visible. Calla can see now that it’s a female, with long hair. She’s standing just beyond the streetlight’s glow, shrouded in shadows.

Calla’s skin prickles. Is that the girl from Ohio? The one who was here with her mother?

What’s she doing out there now? Why is she staring at Odelia’s house?

I should call the police. Calla hurriedly looks around for the telephone receiver she tossed aside earlier. Finding it, she stands poised with it, wondering if 911 works in Lily Dale.

Then she glances out the window again.

The street is empty. The girl is no longer there . . . if she ever was at all.





TWELVE

“Stop it, Mother,” Stephanie commanded Odelia. “Just don’t say another word about it.”

“Stephanie—”

“Stop!” Stephanie glanced down at Calla, who quickly pretended to be focused only on dressing her new doll. “Just drop the whole thing.”

“How can I drop it? How can you? Don’t you want to know?”

“No, I don’t.”

“That’s unnatural. How can you not—”

“I’m a freak of nature! Is that what you want me to say?”

“Calm down, Stephanie. You’re hysterical.”

“Well, what do you expect?”

“I expect you to want to know what really happened. And the only way we’ll learn the truth is to dredge the lake!”

Calla awakens with a gasp.

The room is dark. Bewildered, she sits up in bed, her pulse racing frantically.

Oh . . . a dream. That dream, the one about Mom and Odelia and dredging the lake. She was having it again, after almost an entire week of sleeping soundly.

They were so angry, both Mom and Odelia, flinging things around the room, glaring and pointing fingers at each other.

With a shudder, Calla squeezes her eyes shut to block out the memory. But she can still hear their shrill voices. Is that how it really happened? Is she reliving the scene in her sleep, or creating it in a dream?

She opens her eyes again and her gaze goes automatically to the bedside table, even as she remembers that she never did set the digital clock. It’s been flashing all week. . . .

Until now.

Bewildered, she notices the time.

3:17.

With a frustrated cry, she reaches over and yanks the cord out of the socket.

Lying stiffly in bed, wide awake, Calla watches the backdrop beyond the window go from blackish gray to bluish gray to just plain ominous gray as dawn creeps into the room, dark and heavy as a storm cloud.

She’s relieved to see nothing but sky out there, yet she can’t shake the memory of the face she saw that afternoon not long after she arrived here.

Who are you? Where are you? Are you coming back?

Calla rubs her eyes, knowing she should try to get some sleep if she wants to function at all later. She’s never done well on little sleep. A yawn overtakes her, but her body is still clenched and tense. Anyway, it’s morning now. Even if she drifts off again, how many hours could she possibly get in?