Unhooked(7)

But Olivia’s not acting like there’s anything at all strange about the girl. She’s not staring at the girl’s teeth or backing away from those predatory eyes. And she doesn’t seem to notice that the air around us feels suddenly alive with dangerous electricity.

You are overreacting, I tell myself. Not that it helps.

I can’t make myself pretend that everything is fine. I want to get away from the girl. I need to get away from her. Now.

“Come on, Liv,” I say, tugging at her sleeve. “We need to go.”

Even as I speak, I can feel the eyes of the blonde on me, sharp as needles digging into my skin.

Olivia pulls away. “But she was just telling me—”

“We’ll figure it out on our own,” I say, tugging at Liv again. The prickling across my skin is suddenly sharper, more painful, and when I look up, the blond girl is staring at me openly now. Her eyes are such an unnatural black that panic spikes in me, and my heart feels like a winged thing trapped in my chest. It’s enough to spur me on, and with another sure tug, I finally get Olivia to follow me toward the main path.

“What’s gotten into you?” Olivia asks, pulling her arm away.

Now that I’m away from the blonde, the panic I’d felt in the girl’s presence has eased some. “I don’t know,” I say honestly, glancing back to make sure we haven’t been followed. “I just had a feeling about her.” I know it’s weak as explanations go.

“A feeling?” she says doubtfully.

“I can’t explain it. I just—” I falter, unsure of how to explain what I felt without sounding like I’ve lost it completely. I’m still not sure whether what I saw or felt was even real. I settle on an apology instead of an explanation, but before I can even get the words out, the pricking sense of danger I felt near the blonde returns.

All at once, the air smells of ozone, that almost electric scent that signals a storm is near. But it isn’t rain I’m sensing. There’s something more dangerous sifting through the air around me, brushing its cool fingers against my skin and ruffling the hair at the nape of my neck.

Then I hear something.

If I wasn’t already on edge, I might have missed it completely. The sound is faint at first, like the rustling of dry leaves kicked up by the wind. But there is no wind. The fog hangs undisturbed in the air around us, even as the sound grows.

“Do you hear that?” I ask instead of giving Olivia the explanation she was expecting.

Though she looks confused at the abrupt change in subject, she doesn’t question me. She listens for a moment before shaking her head. “I don’t hear anything. What does it sound like?”

I stare at her, willing her to hear it too. Because the sound is so loud now, I can practically feel it vibrating against my skin.

But it’s clear Olivia doesn’t hear anything. Just like she didn’t see the girl’s teeth.

“Are you okay?” She steps closer, examining me with a concerned expression. “You look even more pale than usual.”

I swallow hard. All around me, the sound has taken on a metallic edge and grown louder, like whatever is making it has surrounded us. “It was probably just the wind,” I force myself to say, but the words come out stiff and an octave higher than I intend. “Can we just get back to the house?”

She cocks her head and narrows her eyes at me. “What’s going on, Gwen?”

“Nothing,” I say, trying to pull myself together. “It’s been a long day, and I just got a little spooked or something.” I try to laugh it off, but I can’t force out anything but a dry cough. Not with the danger I still feel filling the air around us, not with the steady thrum of the metallic buzz surrounding me. I take a deep breath and make myself meet her eyes. “It’s probably just jet lag. Can we go?”

She studies me for a minute longer, but she doesn’t push. “Sure,” she says, giving me space. Because she knows I’ll tell her when I’m ready, like I always do.

Except this time I know I won’t.

What could I possibly say? That I think I might be starting to see things and hear things, just like my mom? No way. I’ll get some sleep and enjoy the two weeks we have before Olivia goes back to her life in Westport. If I’m starting to lose my mind, Olivia never has to know.

I force myself to follow Olivia down another block and then over one, the sound buzzing in my ears as I walk. It’s all I can do to keep moving. When we get to the house, she takes the stairs two at a time, but when I go to follow her, the sound goes completely silent, and my steps falter.

Olivia turns back in time to see me catch myself. Her brows draw together. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

No. “I’m just tired,” I say, but I can tell Olivia’s not buying it. My whole life, I’ve seen people look at my mom the way Olivia is looking at me right now—like she doesn’t quite know what to do with me. “I’m fine,” I lie, glancing away.

Olivia’s not stupid, though. She gives me a pointed look before she opens the door.

As I follow her up the crooked steps to the porch, I look once more at the darkening streets for some sign of movement, for some indication of the danger that felt so real. Nothing is there, but that doesn’t make me feel any better somehow.

Stepping into the heavy warmth of the old house, I try to leave the cold panic and all my stupid worry outside, but it doesn’t work. Unease still clings to me like a cobweb, sticky and thick. It follows me inside and trails behind me as I take the flight of steps up to our flat. As I climb, the memory of that sound scratches in a dark corner of my mind, like it’s trying to unearth something.