Crescendo

CHAPTER 11

MONDAY AFTER SCHOOL, VEE DROPPED ME off at the library. I took a moment outside the entrance to call my mom for our daily check-in. As usual, she told me work was keeping her busy, and I told her school was doing the same thing for me.

Inside, I took the elevator to the media lab on the third floor, checked my e-mail, browsed Facebook, and scanned Perez Hilton. Just to torture myself, I Googled the Black Hand again. The same links popped up. I hadn’t really expected anything new, had I? Finally, with nowhere left to procrastinate, I flipped open my chemistry text and resigned myself to studying.

It was late by the time I called it quits to go hunt down a vending machine. Out the library’s west-facing windows, the sun was tucked deep in the horizon, and night was closing in fast. I bypassed the elevator in favor of the stairs, feeling the need for a little exercise. I’d been sitting so long, my legs were beginning to tingle with sleep.

In the lobby, I fed a few dollars to the vending machine and carried pretzels and a can of cranberry juice back to the third floor. When I returned to the media lab, Vee was sitting on my desk, her glossy yellow high heels propped on my chair. Her expression was a mix of smug amusement and annoyance. She held a small black envelope in the air, caught between two of her fingers.

“This is for you,” she said, tossing the envelope on the desk. “And so’s this.” She held out a paper bakery bag, rolled at the neck. “Thought you might be hungry.”

Judging by the disdain in Vee’s expression, I had a bad feeling about the card, and took the opportunity to give my attention to what was inside the bag. “Cupcakes!”

Vee grinned. “The bakery lady told me they’re organic. Not sure how you make an organic cupcake, and not sure why they cost extra, but there you go.”

“You’re my hero.”

“How much longer do you think you’ll be?”

“Thiry minutes, tops.”

She laid the keys to the Neon next to my backpack. “Rixon and I are going to grab something to eat, so you’ll have to be your own chauffeur tonight. I parked the Neon in the underground garage. Row B. I only have a fourth of a tank left, so don’t go crazy.”

I took the keys, trying to ignore the unpleasant sting in my heart that I instantly recognized as jealousy. I was jealous of Vee’s new relationship with Rixon. Jealous of her dinner plans. Jealous that she was now closer to Patch than I was, because even though Vee had never mentioned it, I was sure she bumped into Patch when she was with Rixon. For all I knew, the three of them watched movies together at night. The three of them, lounging on Rixon’s sofa, while I sat in the farmhouse alone. I desperately wanted to ask Vee about Patch, but the truth of the matter was, I couldn’t. I’d broken up with him. I’d made my bed, and it was time to lie in it.

Then again, how was one little inquiry going to hurt?

“Hey, Vee?”

She turned back at the door. “Yeah?”

I opened my mouth, and that was when I remembered my pride. Vee was my best friend, but she also had a big mouth. If I asked about Patch, I risked him hearing about it secondhand. He’d find out just how hard a time I was having getting over him.

I pulled on a smile. “Thanks for the cupcakes.”

“Anything for you, babe.”

After Vee left, I peeled back the paper wrapping on one of the cupcakes and ate alone in the quiet mechanical hum of the lab.

I did another half hour of homework, and ate two more cupcakes, before I finally dared a look at the black envelope sitting at the edge of my vision. I knew I couldn’t avoid it all night.

Breaking the seal, I shook out a black card with a small heart embossed at the center. The word sorry was scripted across it. The card was scented with a bittersweet perfume. I raised the card to my nose and breathed deeply, trying to the place the strangely intoxicating scent. The smell of burned fruit and chemical spices stung all the way down the back of my throat. I opened the card.

I was a jerk last night. Forgive me?

Automatically I slid the card an arm’s length away. Patch. I didn’t know what to make of his apology, but I didn’t like the commotion it caused inside me. Yes, he’d been a jerk. And did he think a card from the drugstore could negate it? If so, he was underestimating the damage he’d caused. He’d kissed Marcie. Kissed her! And not only that, but he’d invaded my dreams. I had no idea how he’d done it, but when I woke in the morning, I knew he’d been there. It was more than a little unnerving. If he could invade the privacy of my dreams, what else could he do?

“Ten minutes until closing,” a librarian whispered from the doorway.

I sent my three-paragraph essay on amino acids to the printer, then scooped up my books and wedged them inside my backpack. I picked up Patch’s card, hesitated once, then ripped it multiple times and tossed the scraps into the trash can. If he wanted to say sorry, he could do it in person. Not through Vee, and not in my dreams.

Halfway down the aisle to pick up my print job, I reached out to steady myself on the nearest desk. The right side of my body felt heavier than the left, and my balance wavered. I took another step, and my right leg crumpled, as if made of paper. I crouched down, gripping the desk with both hands, tucking my head between my elbows to get blood flowing to my brain again. A warm, drowsy feeling swirled through my veins.

Straightening my legs, I came to a wobbly stand, but something was wrong with the walls. They were stretched abnormally long and narrow, as if I was looking at them through a mirror at a fun house. I blinked hard several times, attempting to bring my vision to a focal point.

My bones filled with iron, refusing to move, and my eyelids sank against the stark fluorescent lights. In a panic, I ordered them open, but my body overruled all. I felt warm fingers curl around my mind, threatening to drag it off to sleep.

The perfume, I thought vaguely. In Patch’s card.

I was on my hands and knees now. Strange rectangles wavered all around, spinning before me. Doors. The room was lined with open doors. But the faster I crawled toward them, the faster they jumped back. Off in the distance, I heard a somber tick-tock. I moved away from the sound, lucid enough to know that the clock was at the back of the room, opposite the door.

Moments later, I realized that my arms and legs were no longer moving, the sensation of crawling nothing more than an illusion in my head. Scratchy, industrial-grade carpet cushioned my cheek. I fought once more to push myself up, then shut my eyes, all light spiraling away.

I woke in the dark.

Artificially cool air tingled my skin, and the quiet hum of machines whispered all around. I got my hands under me, but when I tried to raise myself up, dots of purple and black danced across my vision. I swallowed the texture of cotton thick in my mouth and rolled onto my back.

That was when I remembered I was still in the library. At least, I was pretty sure that’s where I was. I didn’t remember leaving. But what was I doing on the floor? I tried to remember how I got here.

Patch’s card. I’d breathed in the tangy, bitter perfume. Shortly after, I’d collapsed on the floor.

Had I been drugged?

Had Patch drugged me?

I lay there, heart thumping, eyes blinking so rapidly the blinks came one on top of the other. I tried to get up a second time, but it felt as if someone had a steel boot planted in the center of my chest. With a second, more determined heave, I pulled myself to sitting. Clinging to a desk, I dragged myself all the way to standing. My brain protested the vertigo, but my eyes located the blurry green exit sign above the media lab door. I tottered over.

I turned the handle. The door opened an inch, then caught. I was about to tug harder, when something on the other side of the window set in the door caught my eye. I frowned. That’s weird. Someone had tied one end of a length of rope to the outer door handle, and the other end to the handle of the door one room down.

I smacked my hand against the glass. “Hello?” I shouted groggily. “Can anyone hear me?”

I tried the door again, pulling with all my might, which wasn’t much, since my muscles seemed to melt like hot butter the minute I tried to exert them. The rope was strung so tight between the two handles, I could only bring the lab door roughly five inches out of the frame. Not nearly enough to squeeze through.

“Is anyone there?” I shouted through the door crack. “I’m trapped on the third floor!”

The library answered with silence.

My eyes were fully adapted to the darkness now, and I found the clock on the wall. Eleven? Could that be right? Had I really slept more than two hours?

I pulled out my cell, but there was no signal. I tried to log on to the Internet but was repeatedly informed that there were no available networks.

Looking frantically around the media lab, I combed my eyes over every object, searching for something I could use to get out. Computers, swivel chairs, filing cabinets … nothing jumped out at me. I knelt down beside the floor vent and shouted, “Can anyone hear me? I’m trapped in the media lab on the third floor!” I waited, praying to hear a response. My one hope was that there was still a librarian around, finishing up last-minute work before heading out. But it was an hour shy of midnight, and I knew the odds were stacked against me.

Out in the main library, gears clanked into motion as the cage elevator at the end of the hall rose up from the ground level. I jerked my head toward the sound.

Once, when I was four or five, my dad took me to the park to teach me how to ride my bike without training wheels. By the end of the afternoon, I could ride all the way around the quarter-mile loop without help. My dad gave me a big hug and told me it was time to go home and show my mom. I begged for two more loops, and we compromised on one. Halfway around the loop, I lost my balance and tipped over. As I was righting my bike, I saw a big brown dog not far off. It was staring at me. In that moment, as we stood watching each other, I heard a voice whisper, Don’t move. I gulped a breath and held it, even though my legs wanted to run as fast as they could to the safety of my dad.

The dog’s ears pricked and he started toward me in an aggressive lope. I shivered with fear but kept my feet rooted. The closer the dog came, the more I wanted to run, but I knew the moment I moved, the dog’s animal instinct to chase would kick in. Halfway to me, the dog lost interest in my statuelike body and took off in a new direction. I asked my dad if he’d heard the same voice telling me to hold still, and he said it was instinct. If I listened to it, nine times out of ten I’d make the best move.

Instinct was speaking now. Get out.

I grabbed a monitor off the closest desk and threw it against the window. The glass smashed, leaving a huge hole in the center. I snatched the three-hole punch off the community work desk just inside the door and used it to knock out the remaining glass. Then I dragged a chair over, climbed up, braced my shoe on the window frame, and jumped out to the hall.

The elevator hissed and vibrated higher, passing the second level.

I covered the hall in a sprint. I pumped my arms harder, knowing I had to reach the stairwell, adjacent to the elevator, before the elevator rose much higher and whoever was inside saw me. I tugged on the stairwell door, expending several precious seconds as I took the time to close it noiselessly behind me. On the far side of the door, the elevator ground to a halt. The retractable door rattled open and someone stepped out. I used the railing to propel myself faster, keeping my shoes light on the stairs. I was halfway down the second flight when the stairwell door opened above me. I stopped mid-stride, not wanting to alert whoever was up there to my location.

Nora?

My hand slipped on the railing. It was my dad’s voice.

Nora? Are you there?

I swallowed, wanting to cry out to him. Then I remembered the townhouse.

Quit hiding. You can trust me. Let me help you. Come out where I can see you.

His tone was strange and demanding. At the townhouse, when my dad’s voice had first spoken to me, it was soft and gentle. That same voice had told me we weren’t alone and I needed to leave. When he spoke again, his voice was different. It sounded forceful and deceiving. What if my dad had tried to contact me? What if he’d been chased away, and the second, strange voice was someone pretending to be him? I was struck by the thought that someone could be impersonating my dad to lure me close.

Heavy footsteps descended the stairs at a run, jerking me out of my speculations. He was coming after me.

I clattered down the stairs, no longer worrying about keeping quiet. Faster! I screamed to myself. Run faster!

He was gaining ground, barely more than a flight away. When my shoes hit the ground level, I shoved through the stairwell door, crossed the lobby, and flung myself out the front doors and into the night.

The air was warm and quiet. I was running for the cement steps leading down to the street, when I made a split-second change of plans. I climbed the handrail to the left of the doors, dropping ten or so feet to a small grassy courtyard below. Above me, the library doors opened. I pressed back against the cement wall, my feet stirring trash and tumbleweeds.

The minute I heard the slow tap of shoes descending the cement steps, I raced down the block. The library didn’t have its own parking; it shared an underground garage with the courthouse. I ran down the parking ramp, ducked under the parking arm, and swept the garage for the Neon. Where had Vee said she’d parked?

Row B …

I ran one aisle over and saw the tail end of the Neon sticking out of a space. I rammed the key into the door, dropped behind the wheel, and cranked the engine. I’d just steered the Neon up the exit ramp when a dark SUV swung around the corner. The driver gunned the engine, heading straight for me.

I thrust the Neon into second gear and stepped on the gas, pulling out in front of the SUV seconds before it would have blocked the exit and boxed me inside the garage.

My mind was too frazzled to think clearly about where I was going. I floored it down another two blocks, ran a stop sign, then veered onto Walnut. The SUV accelerated onto Walnut behind me, holding my tail. The speed limit jumped to forty-five, and the lanes doubled to two. I pushed the Neon to fifty, switching my eyes between the road and the rearview mirror.

Without signaling, I yanked the steering wheel, cutting onto a side street. The SUV razed the curb, following me. I took two more right turns, circled the block, and got back on Walnut. I swerved in front of a white two-door coupe, boxing it between me and the SUV. The traffic light ahead turned yellow, and I accelerated into the intersection as the light flashed red. With my eyes glued to the rearview mirror, I watched the white car roll to a stop. Behind it, the SUV came to a screeching halt.

I took several sharp breaths. My pulse throbbed in my arms, and my hands were clamped tightly around the steering wheel.

I took Walnut uphill, but as soon as I was on the back side of the hill, I crossed oncoming traffic and turned left. I bounced over the railroad tracks, weaving my way through a dark, dilapidated neighborhood of single-story brick houses. I knew where I was: Slaughterville. The neighborhood had earned its nickname over a decade ago when three teens gunned one another down at a playground.

I slowed as a house set far back from the street caught my attention. No lights. An open, empty detached garage stood at the far back of the property. I reversed the Neon up the driveway and into the garage. After triple-checking that the door locks were engaged, I killed the headlights. I waited, fearing that at any moment the SUV’s headlights would swing down the street.

Rummaging through my purse, I dug out my cell.

“Hey,” Vee answered.

“Who else touched the card from Patch?” I demanded, the words rattling.

“Huh?”

“Did Patch give you the card directly? Did Rixon? Who else touched it?”

“Want to tell me what this is about?”

“I think I was drugged.”

Silence.

“You think the card was drugged?” Vee repeated doubtfully at last.

“The paper was laced with perfume,” I explained impatiently. “Tell me who gave it to you. Tell me exactly how you got it.”

“On my way to the library to drop off the cupcakes, Rixon called to see where I was,” she recounted slowly. “We met up at the library, and Patch was riding shotgun in Rixon’s truck. Patch gave me the card and asked if I’d give it to you. I took the card, the cupcakes, and the Neon’s keys inside to you, then went back out to meet Rixon.”

“Nobody else touched the card?”

“Nobody.”

“Less than a half hour after smelling the card, I collapsed on the library floor. I didn’t wake up for two hours.”

Vee didn’t answer right away, and I could practically hear her thinking everything through, trying to digest it. At last she said, “Are you sure it wasn’t fatigue? You were in the library a long time. I couldn’t work that long on homework without needing a nap.”

“When I woke up,” I pushed on, “someone was in the library with me. I think it was the same person who drugged me. They chased me through the library. I got out, but they followed me down Walnut.”

Another baffled pause. “As much as I don’t like Patch, I’ve got to tell you, I can’t see him drugging you. He’s a whack job, but he does have boundaries.”

“Then who?” My voice was a little shrill.

“I don’t know. Where are you now?”

“Slaughterville.”

“What? Get out of there before you get mugged! Come over. Stay the night here. We’ll work this out. We’ll figure out what happened.” But the words felt like an empty consolation. Vee was just as perplexed as I was.

I stayed hidden in the garage for what must have been another twenty minutes before I felt brave enough to go back on the streets. My nerves were frayed, my mind reeling. I opted against taking Walnut, thinking the SUV might be cruising up and down it right now, waiting to pick up my tail. Sticking to side streets, I ignored the speed limit and drove in a reckless hurry to Vee’s.

I wasn’t far from her house when I noticed blue and red lights in the rearview mirror.

Stopping the Neon at the side of the road, I planted my head against the steering wheel. I knew I’d been speeding, and I was frustrated at myself for doing it, but of all the nights to get pulled over.

A moment later, knuckles rapped the window. I pushed the button to lower it.

“Well, well,” Detective Basso said. “Long time no see.”

Any other cop, I thought. Any other.

He flashed his ticket pad. “License and registration, you know the drill.”

Since I knew there was no talking my way around a ticket, not with Detective Basso, I didn’t see the point in putting on any pretense of contrition. “I didn’t know detective work included filling out speeding tickets.”

He gave a razorthin smile. “Where’s the fire?”

“Can I just get my ticket and go home?”

“Any alcohol in the car?”

“Have a look around,” I said, spreading my hands.

He opened the door for me. “Get out.”

“Why?”

“Get out” —he pointed at the dashed line bisecting the road— “and walk the line.”

“You think I’m drunk?”

“I think you’re crazy, but I’m checking your sobriety while I’ve got you here.”

I swung out and slammed the door shut behind me. “How far?”

“Until I tell you to stop.”

I concentrated on planting my feet on the line, but every time I looked down, my vision slanted. I could still feel the effects of the drug pecking away at my coordination, and the harder I concentrated on keeping my feet on the line, the more I felt myself swaying off into the road. “Can’t you just give me the ticket, slap my wrist, and send me home?” My tone was insubordinate, but I’d gone cold on the inside. If I couldn’t walk the line, Detective Basso might throw me in jail. I was already shaken, and I didn’t think I could handle a night behind bars. What if the man from the library came after me again?

“A lot of small-town cops would let you off the hook like that, sure. Some would even take a bribe. I’m not one of them.”

“Does it matter that I was drugged?”

He laughed darkly. “Drugged.”

“My ex-boyfriend gave me a card laced with perfume earlier tonight. I opened the card, and the next thing I knew, I passed out.”

When Detective Basso didn’t interrupt me, I pressed forward. “I slept for more than two hours. When I woke up, the library was closed. I was locked in the media lab. Someone had tied the doorknob….” I trailed off, closing my mouth.

He gestured for more. “Come on, now. Don’t leave me at that cliffhanger.”

I realized a moment too late that I’d just incriminated myself. I’d put myself at the library, tonight, in the media lab. First thing tomorrow, when the library opened, they were going to report the broken window to the police. And I had no doubt who Detective Basso would come looking for first.

“You were in the media lab,” he prompted. “What happened next?”

Too late to back out now. I’d have to finish and hope for the best. Maybe something I said would convince Detective Basso it wasn’t my fault—that everything I’d done was justified. “Someone had tied the door to the media lab shut. I threw a computer through the window to get out.”

He tipped his head back and laughed. “There’s a name for girls like you, Nora Grey. Crazy makers. You’re like the fly that nobody can shoo away.” He walked back to his patrol car and stretched the radio out the open driver’s-side door. Radioing dispatch, he said, “I need someone to swing by the library and check out the media lab. Let me know what you find.”

He leaned back against his car, eyes flicking to his watch. “How many minutes do you think it’ll take for them to get back to me? I’ve got your confession, Nora. I could book you for trespassing and vandalism.”

“Trespassing would imply I wasn’t tied inside the library against my will.” I sounded nervous.

“If someone drugged you and trapped you in the lab, what are you doing here now, roaring down Hickory at fifty-five miles an hour?”

“I wasn’t supposed to get away. I broke out of the room while he was coming up the elevator to get me.”

“He? You saw him? Let’s have a description.”

“I didn’t see him, but it was a guy. His footsteps were heavy when he came down the stairwell after me. Too heavy for a girl.”

“You’re stammering. Usually that means you’re lying.”

“I’m not lying. I was tied in the lab, and someone was coming up the elevator to get me.”

“Right.”

“Who else would have been in the building that late?” I snapped.

“A janitor?” he offered easily.

“He wasn’t dressed like a janitor. When I looked up in the stairwell, I saw dark pants and dark tennis shoes.”

“So when I take you to court, you’re going to tell the judge you’re an expert on janitorial apparel?”

“The guy followed me out of the library, got into his car, and chased me. A janitor wouldn’t do that.”

The radio popped with static, and Detective Basso leaned inside for the receiver.

“Finished walking through the library,” a man’s voice crackled through the radio. “Nothing.”

Detective Basso cut cool, suspicious eyes to me. “Nothing? You sure?”

“I repeat: nothing.”

Nothing? Instead of relief, I felt panic. I’d smashed the lab window. I had. It was real. It wasn’t my imagination. It—wasn’t.

Calm down! I ordered myself. This had happened before. It wasn’t new. In the past, it was always a mind game. It was someone working behind the scenes, trying to manipulate my mind. Was it happening all over again? But … why? I needed to think this through. I shook my head, ridiculously wishing the gesture would shake out an answer.

Detective Basso ripped the top sheet off his ticket pad and slapped it into my hand.

My eyes brushed over the balance at the bottom. “Two hundred and twenty-nine dollars?!”

“You were going thirty over and driving a car that doesn’t belong to you. Pay the fine, or I’ll see you in court.”

“I—I don’t have this kind of money.”

“Get a job. Maybe it’ll keep you out of trouble.”

“Please don’t do this,” I said, injecting all the pleading that I possessed into my voice.

Detective Basso studied me. “Two months ago a kid with no ID, no family, and no traceable past wound up dead in the high school gym.”

“Jules’s death was ruled a suicide,” I said automatically, but sweat tingled the back of my neck. What did this have to do with my ticket?

“The same night he disappeared, the high school counselor lit your house on fire, then did her own disappearing act. There’s a link between these two bizarre incidents.” His dark brown eyes pinned me in place. “You.”

“What are you saying?”

“Tell me what really happened that night, and I can make your ticket go away.”

“I don’t know what happened,” I lied, because there was no alternative. Telling the truth would leave me worse off than having to pay the ticket. I couldn’t tell Detective Basso about fallen angels and Nephilim. He’d never believe my story if I confessed that Dabria was an angel of death. Or that Jules was a descendant of a fallen angel.

“Your call,” Detective Basso said, flicking his business card at me before folding himself inside his car. “If you change your mind, you know how to reach me.”

I glanced at the card as he roared off. DETECTIVE ECANUS BASSO. 207-555-3333.

The ticket felt heavy in my hand. Heavy, and hot. How was I going to come up with two hundred dollars? I couldn’t borrow the money from my mom—she could barely afford groceries. Patch had the money, but I’d told him I could take care of myself. I’d told him to get out of my life. What did it say about me if I ran back to him the moment I hit trouble? It was admitting he’d been right all along.

It was admitting I needed him.