Dead Spots (Scarlett Bernard #1)(65)
Not for the first time, I deeply wished I had asked Olivia more questions. What would I do when Corrine had questions I couldn’t answer? And I’d never really known anyone who had been assaulted like that—should I mention how sorry I was? Avoid the topic all together? I felt a sudden flood of grief. I missed my mom. She always knew the right thing to say in any situation. I never do.
Get out of your head, Scarlett, I told myself sternly. It’s not about you right now. One thing I knew, beyond hesitation or doubt, was that I had to help this girl. The way Olivia should have helped me.
The Tanger family lived in one of those Wisteria Lane–type suburbs, where the houses are all tidy and large and nearly identical. These lots were small, but every single house on her street looked well cared for, like the people who lived there took pride in their homes. It was a lot like Kirsten’s neighborhood, actually, but with less money thrown around. I took two wrong turns trying to distinguish the different streets, and finally pulled into the Tangers’ driveway a little after seven. When the van was off, I took a deep breath, flexing and unflexing my aching fingers. Will had helped Corrine work up a cover story: I was a math tutor for one of her friends. The friend was sick, so I was picking up her homework and hearing about the day’s lesson. Will said the father is pretty overprotective, but I am young, white, and female. Hopefully it would be enough to get a few minutes alone with Corrine. And hopefully no one would ask me anything about math.
As it turned out, I needn’t have worried. The woman who answered the door was about fifty and had dark hair shot through with silver and the kind of crinkles around her eyes that meant she smiled all the time. She introduced herself as Mrs. Tanger and invited me into the foyer.
“It’s so nice of you to stop by,” she said kindly. “I’m sure Amanda will appreciate getting a head start on the work she’s missed.”
“Um, yeah,” I mumbled.
Mrs. Tanger wore a pale-pink J.Crew sweater set and an actual pearl necklace on top of dark tailored pants. I tugged self-consciously at my dark-green hoodie. There were bleach stains on my jeans. I’d been going for “college student,” but now I just felt like a homeless person.
“My husband is on an overnight retreat to Palmdale, but Corry’s upstairs in her room,” she told me. “It’s straight up the stairs, second door on the left. I’ll be in the kitchen if you girls need anything.” She rolled her eyes good-naturedly. “Corry’s little brother Jonah needs two dozen cupcakes for the school bake sale tomorrow, and of course he just told me now.” She gave me a hurried wave and headed deeper into the house.
Huh. Kind of anticlimactic.
I took a deep breath and climbed the stairs, knocking on the designated door. Just before it opened, I felt an old familiar tug, the water-bending-through-glass feeling of another null in my radius.
Corrine—Corry—must have felt it, too, because her brown eyes were wide when she opened the door. “You feel different,” she said breathlessly. “Like them.” She was a couple of inches shorter than my five foot seven, with a sweet face, a neat blonde bob, and modest teenager clothes—jeans and a simple long-sleeved purple top. She was pretty in an all-American general way, but her eyes were different. There was something tired and broken about them, as though she had resigned herself to just going through the motions, probably forever.
I swear, it didn’t remind me of anyone.
“Uh...Hi, I’m Scarlett. You must be Corrine. Can I come in?”
“Oh, sorry, yeah.” She stepped aside, letting me into the bedroom. I don’t know what I’d been expecting—maybe posters of boy bands and stuffed animals—but the room’s personality seemed to be in transit. There were dark spots on the violet wallpaper where posters had recently been removed, and in the middle of the room, there was a plain cardboard box nearly filled with the kind of junk kids acquire—trophies and battered paperbacks and photo albums. “Everybody calls me Corry.”
“Cool...Are you guys moving?”
“What? Oh, no. I’m just putting some stuff in the basement, for storage. Here, you can sit down at my desk.” She cleared a stack of binders off the desk chair and perched at the foot of her bed. When we were both seated, there was a long awkward moment while I worked up what to say.
Finally, I said, “Corry...Maybe this would be easiest if you told me how much you know. About what you are and what you can do.”
She nodded eagerly, her fingers twisting together in her lap. This girl was just bursting to talk to someone. “Okay, yeah. Um, all I really know is what Jay—that’s the guy—told me.” She took a deep breath. “He said there are evil things in the world, and I can, like, turn off their evil. Sort of save them. He would kill them when they were like that so they could go to heaven...And he said if I helped him, he’d keep Mr. Herberts from ever hurting me again.” Her voice was shaking by the time she finished, and she’d hugged her arms around herself.
I ached for her. “Is there something else?” I asked softly.
“I thought Jay would just, you know, go beat him up, threaten him or something,” she blurted. “I didn’t know...”
“What happened?” I asked, although I knew the answer.
“Jay killed him,” the girl said quietly. “He made it look like an accident in the woodshop classroom, but he died just like all the others.” She paused, and I could see her thinking about the people she’d helped Jay kill. “Were they...Were they really evil?” she asked me, with something like hope in her voice.