“You’re not supposed to be out here,” I tell him tentatively as I approach. He barely glances up.
“So go tell Eleanor.”
His tone is sullen as he mentions my grandmother, but I’m used to that.
My mother said his lot in life has left him grumpy, that I’m to be patient.
I’m more than patient.
I live for every word out of his mouth.
I sit next to him, and even though I try, none of my rocks skip. They just fall heavily into the water.
Wordlessly, Dare reaches over and adjusts my hand, making me flick my wrist as I toss the stone. I watch it skip once, twice, three times before it sinks.
I smile.
“What does ‘lot in life’ mean?” I ask him curiously.
His eyes narrow.
“Why do you ask?”
“Because my mom said you’re grumpy because of your lot in life. But I don’t know what that means.”
Dare seems to turn pale, and he looks away and I think I’ve made him mad.
“It’s not your business,” he snaps. “You’re supposed to be learning how to be a good Savage. And a good Savage doesn’t pry.”
I gulp, because Lord knows I’ve heard Grandmother Eleanor say that a million times.
“But what does it mean?” I ask after a few minutes, ever persistent.
Dare sighs heavily and gets to his feet. He stares into the distance for a minute before he answers.
“It means your place in the world,” his words are heavy. “And mine sort of sucks.”
“So change it,” I tell him simply, because it seems simple enough to me.
Dare snorts. “You don’t know anything,” he tells me wisely. “You’re just a kid.”
“So are you.”
“But I’m older.”
I can’t argue with that.
“Can I hold your hand?” I ask him as we make our way out of the gardens. “I forgot my shoes and I don’t want to fall on the stones.”
I’m lying. I just want to hold his hand.
He’s hesitant and he seems a bit repelled, but he glances up toward the house, then reluctantly lets me cling to his fingers.
“You’ve got to be more responsible, Calla,” he advises me with a sidelong look toward my bare feet. But he lets me hold his hand as we slowly make our way back to the house. He shakes off my fingers before we open the doors.
“See you at dinner.”
I watch the house swallow him up before I follow him in.
As I walk down the hallway, I can’t help but glance over my shoulder every once in a while because even the sunshine can’t keep the shadows away at Whitley. Something always seems to be watching me, hovering around me.
Always.
When I find Finn in the library, I tell him that.
He shakes his head, annoyed, yet clearly concerned. Like always.
“Have you taken your pills today, Calla?”
“Yes.” If I don’t, I see monsters.
I see red-eyed demons and black-eyed serpents.
I see fire,
I see blood,
I see terrible
Terrible
Things.
Finn stares at me dubiously.
“Are you sure?”
I pause.
Then I grudgingly pull the two colorful pills out of my pocket.
He glares at me. “Take them. Right now or I’m telling mom.”
When I don’t rush to do it, he adds, “Or I’ll tell Grandmother.”
That threat bears weight, and he knows it. I hurry to get a drink of water, and I swallow the pills while he watches.
“You know better, Calla,” he chides me, sounding more like a parent than a brother.
I nod. Because I do.
“They taste bad,” I offer by way of explanation.
“That’s no excuse.”
“What isn’t?”
Our mother breezes into the library, red-headed and beautiful, slim and glamorous. If I’m lucky, I’ll look just like her some day.
“Nothing,” I hurry and tell her.
She seems suspicious, but she’s in too much of a hurry to ask again.
“Have you seen Adair?” she asks us both. “Your uncle is looking for him.”
We both shake our heads, but Finn is the only one telling the truth. I’d rather die than tell that monster where Dare is.
“What does uncle Dickie want with Dare?” I ask her as she turns to leave.
She pauses, her face drawn and tight. “It’s grown-up stuff, Calla Lily. Don’t fret about it.”
But of course I do.
Because every time Uncle Richard finds Dare, I hear screaming.
And even though you’d think that was the worst part, it’s not.
The worst part is when the screaming stops.
Because silence hides an abundance of sins.
That’s what my mom says.
And she’s always right.
At least, that’s what my dad says.
At dinner, I mention my dad.
“I miss him,” I tell my mom. “Why doesn’t he ever come with us in the summers?”
She sighs and pats my hand before picking up her shrimp fork.
“He does, Calla. You know that. He’ll be here for the last couple of weeks, just like he always is.”
“But why do we come here every year?” I ask again, and I feel stupid, but it’s a good question. Every summer, year after year. Dad has to stay home in Oregon to work, but we get to come here because mom’s family is rich.
“Because Whitley is also our home, and we have to,” my mom says tiredly. “And because of the Savage name, you have opportunities. The best doctors, the best of everything. But we have to spend summers here to get that. You already know all of this, Calla. I have to make sacrifices for you, Calla. Just appreciate that.”
I do.
I do appreciate that. I don’t understand it, but I appreciate it.
What I don’t want to tell her is that sometimes, what I know blends with what I don’t. It twists and turns and bends, turning into shapes that I can’t recognize. Facts blend with dreams, and dreams blend with memories, and then reality isn’t real.
I always feel too silly to ask anyone but Finn what is real and what is not.
They’d think I’m crazy.
I’m not.
Dare kicks me lightly beneath the table and I glance at him quickly.
He grins, his familiar, ornery grin and I love it. Because it always seems like he’s daring me when he smiles.
Daring me to…what?
He leans over.
“I’m going to the garden tonight after dark. Wanna come?”
I hesitate.
It’s dark out there. And the moors. And at night, they growl.
Dare notices my hesitation.
“Are you scared?” he whispers mockingly.
No, of course not. I shake my head. Accusing someone of being scared is the worst insult possible, I think.
He smiles again.
“Then sneak out and meet me at midnight. You know Finn will be surrounding himself with his Latin books. I know you won’t want to join that.”
No, of course I don’t. Latin annoys me, but Finn has developed a fascination for it, and spends every free second studying it.
“You know you want to,” Dare adds.
“Fine,” I agree, trying to sound grudging, but chills run up and down my arms in anticipation, because what does he want to do out there in the dark?
He’s so… rebellious. It’s hard to say.
True to my word, I sneak out of my bedroom and slip out of the house at midnight. I run as fast as I can down the paths because I swear there’s something chasing me.
Something dark,
Something scary.
But when I glance over my shoulder,
There’s never anything there.
I burst through the garden gates, and Dare is already here.
&nbs
p; He smiles, and his teeth are pearls in the night.
“Hey,” he greets me casually, like it’s not midnight and we’re not breaking rules.
“You’re not supposed to leave the house,” I remind him.
He shrugs. Because he’s Dare and he’s a rule-breaker. “So?”
It’s a challenge and I don’t address it. Mainly because I don’t have a good answer.
I don’t know why he’s not supposed to leave the house. It’s never made any sense to me. It’s not fair. But then again, Uncle Richard has never been fair to Dare.
“You and I are alike, Calla,” Dare tells me, and the night is quiet and his voice is soft. “I’m in prison here, and you’re in prison in your mind.”
“No, I’m not,” I protest stoutly. “I’m medicated. I’m fine.”
Dare shakes his head and looks away. “But you know what it feels like.”
I do. I have to admit that I do.
“No one knows what it’s like to be me,” I whisper. “Not even Finn. It’s lonely.”
“I know what it’s like,” Dare finally answers. “You’ll never have to explain it to me. You’re not alone.”
While we sit and examine the stars, our shoulders bump into each other and absorb each other’s warmth, and I think that might actually be true.
Dare and I are the same. When I’m with him, I’m not alone.
“Why are you a prisoner?” I ask after a few minutes, broaching a forbidden topic, hesitant and afraid that he’ll snap at me. But he doesn’t.
His shoulders slump and he closes his eyes and he lifts his face to the moon.
“It’s not anything you should worry about,” he says with tired words. “They don’t want you to know.”
“But why?”
“Because.”
“Because isn’t an answer.”
“It is right now,” Dare tells me. “Someday, you’ll probably know. But for now? All that matters is this. We’re breathing, and there are stars, and we had chocolate cake for dinner.”
He’s right. It was a good dinner.
And it’s a good night.
I’m alone with Dare in the garden.
We’re breaking rules,
And that feels good.
* * *
Water creeps up around me, over me, drowning me. I twist and turn, fighting to break the liquid bonds encircling my hands and feet. I can’t move, I can’t breathe, and there are black eyes staring at me from the surface.
I see them, peer into them, fear them, as they blur then disappear.
Down,
Down,
Down I go.
Away from him.
My savior.
My anti-Christ.
“It’s your fault,” I whisper, and the words are swallowed by the water, stuck in my throat. Am I talking to him or to me? It doesn’t matter. My lungs fill and fill and fill, and there isn’t any air. There is only a void where my heart should be.
“This isn’t real, Calla.” I hear Finn’s voice, but I know he’s not here. No one is, I’m submerged and the water is murky and dark. My fingers clutch at something, at nothing, at everything.
Focus.
I narrow my eyes and I breathe, a deep breath like they taught me. I fill my body with air like I’m filling a chalice, starting at my belly, then my diaphragm, then my throat, then my mouth. I exhale slowly, like I’m blowing through a straw, I push it at out, expelling it until there’s nothing left, just me and my withered empty lungs.
I do it again.
And again.
And when I’m done, I can see again. I’m in the hospital, and I’m not a little girl anymore. I’m Calla Price, and Finn is gone, Dare is gone and I’m alone.
I close my eyes because this is not a reality I want.
The darkness behind my eyelids flickers and wavers and moves, and I know that I’m not in a hospital at all. I’m in a box, a casket. I’m alone and there is a satin sheet pulled up to my waist and there are calla lilies in my hands. White ones. They smell like they’re wilted because they are. Dying flowers smell the sweetest.
I release them and push my lifeless hands against the pleated silk lid, pushing with all of my strength. It doesn’t budge. I hit it, over and over and over, but to no avail. I’m locked in. I’m stuck, I’m stuck, I’m stuck.
I’m buried alive, I’m alone, I’m cold, I’m dead.
Images flash around me, in front of my eyes, in my eyes, behind my eyes.
Tires squealing in the rain, screaming, metal.
Water.
Drowning.
Me.
Finn.
Dare.
Everyone.
Are we all dead?
My eyes startle open and I am in the hospital.
The walls are white, my hands are warm, I’m alone,
And I must be
Crazy
Crazy
Crazy.
Chapter Seven
Dare stares at me from across the library and I have to physically stop my feet from twitching.
His mouth turns up. He’s thirteen and I’m ten and he thinks he’s so much bigger.
“Calla, are you paying attention?”
My mother draws my attention away from Dare, and I try to focus on her words. What had she been saying? She sighs because she knows I have no clue. What she doesn’t know is that even now I feel Dare’s stare on me, it’s on my skin, it’s warming me, it’s warning me, it’s…
“Calla, you have to listen to Sabine more. She’s here for your benefit. She knows what is best for you. She’s been telling me that you hide your pills, that you don’t want to take them.”
I gag from the mere memory of how my pills get stuck in my throat, their waxy coating sticking on my tongue.
“They taste awful,” I say defensively.
My mother looks sympathetic, but she is still firm.
“Calla, do you know that if you’d been born even a hundred years ago, you’d be the village lunatic? You’d run raving your madness down the streets and no one would be able to help you. But since we have the benefits of modern medicine now, you’re going to be able to live a completely normal life. Don’t piss that away, my darling.”
Her voice is kind, which softens the sharpness of her words, words in which I can hear the striking influence of my grandmother Eleanor. Mom bends to hug my shoulders, and I inhale Chanel and cashmere. I want to cling to her, to linger in her thin arms, but I know that’s impossible. She’s got a lot to do. She always does when we’re at Whitley.
She pulls away and pushes her shoulders back, looking at my brother.
“Finn, I want you to come to town with me today. Father Thomas wants to speak with you about being an altar boy.”
I giggle at the look on Finn’s face because we hate mass.
Absolutely without any kind of equivocation.
Hate.
It’s so gloom-filled and harsh, so repetitive and boring.
I know Finn wants to be an altar boy about as much as I want to take my meds every day, but he obediently disappears with my mother and Dare and I are left alone. He looks away from me almost pointedly, and I feel cold because of it.
“What do you want to do today?” I ask him, shivering, my fingers tracing out the design of the elaborate oriental rug beneath me.
Dare looks away. “Nothing.”
He’s stretched out in a window seat, his head resting against the glass. He stares aimlessly at the grounds he’s been forbidden from.
I refuse to take no for an answer, because I’m bored, because I know he’s bored, and because if we don’t get out of this stuffy house, I might die.
“Wanna go out to the garden?” I ask hopefully. “Sabine put new koi in one of the ponds. We can go feed them.”
“You know I’m not supposed to,” Dare tells me roughly, without even looking in my direction.
“Since when do you care about that?” I ask him in confusion, and I see that his hands are curled int
o fists at his sides. What in the world? We’d only arrived here two weeks ago for the summer, but Dare has been acting like a completely different person than he was last summer, more subdued, quieter. I don’t like it.
“I care about it today,” he snaps, and I’m hurt by his tone. He’s so abrupt, so…mean.
“What’s wrong with you?” I whisper, almost afraid to know because he seems like he’s angry with me, like he doesn’t like me anymore.
His fist seems to shake as it rests against his leg, his face pale as he so adamantly avoids looking at me.
Finally, he sighs and turns his face, his dark eyes meeting my own.
“Look, Calla,” he says tiredly. “You’re just a kid, so you don’t get it. I’m not the same as you. If I mess up, I pay for it. It’s not worth it to do what I want anymore. It’s easier to just do what they say. It doesn’t matter anyway. None of it will matter.”
The complete look of resignation on Dare’s face startles me, because that’s never been him. He’s always been rebellious his whole life. He’s always given me hope, he’s always made me believe that my opinion matters, that my dreams matter, that anything is possible.
But now?
He looks so sad and alone and hopeless.
“Don’t say that,” I tell him. “Of course it matters. You can do what you want to do. You don’t have to listen to them.”
“Don’t I?” His question is soft. “Did anyone ask me to be an altar boy like Finn? No. Because I don’t matter, because my last name is DuBray and not Savage. I only matter that I have a purpose, and that purpose isn’t going to be good for me. I’m a lost cause, Calla, and they know it.”
He’s right about that.
I’ve heard them whispering. Just last night, I heard Grandmother Eleanor and my mother whispering in the shadows.
Should we bring in another tutor?
I don’t see the point.
It’s all for nothing. Richard is right.
I’d wanted to spring out of bed and confront them, because they weren’t being fair.
Yes, Dare bucks the rules. But why shouldn’t he? Richard is horrible to him for no reason. His rules are too strict, too impossible, and any other kid Dare’s age would rebel. It doesn’t make him a lost cause.