The Dead Ones (Death Herself Book 3) Read online

  I need to get rid of this anger.

  I need to stop being a bitch. I just -

  And then I hear him.

  Just a faint bump at first, but I know it's him. I turn and look at the wall on the other side of my bedroom, the wall that separates my room from Malcolm's. I wait a moment, and sure enough there's another bump from the other side, and I feel a slow, terrified frost starting to spread through my chest until it touches my heart.

  It's him.

  After all this time, I'm finally losing my mind.

  Half a second later, I flinch as I hear a louder bump from Malcolm's room. I remember in the old days before everything went crazy and he did what he did, how I used to hear him shuffling about in there. It's exactly the same sound right now, except obviously I know he's gone. I tell myself that this is just my mind playing tricks on me, that I'm finally going bat-shit crazy, but my heart is pounding and I can't quite believe that I'm weak enough to imagine something so obvious.

  Then again, how would I know?

  I might really, truly be going mad.

  I flinch as I hear a brief scrabbling sound from Malcolm's room. I remember that sound from before, it usually meant that he was searching for something in the vast mess of stuff that he used to keep all over the floor. In a way, the sound is comforting, but at the same time...

  It can't be him.

  There's no such thing as ghosts.

  Getting up, I limp across the room and stop next to the wall. I wait, but right now there's no sound coming from his room. Leaning closer, I place my ear against the wall and listen, and after a moment I realize that I'm holding my breath again. I don't really know what I'm expecting to hear, but after a few seconds I start to notice a faint scratching sound coming from just the other side. I remember that sound, too; I remember when he used to be fiddling with the cables at the back of his computer, muttering curse words under his breath as he tried to get everything set up properly. I don't hear any muttering this time, but there's definitely something going on in there, almost as if -

  Suddenly there's a loud thump on the other side of the wall, and I feel the plaster shudder slightly. I step back, my heart pounding, but now there's only silence. Still, he sounded angry. I used to hear him punch the wall sometimes when his rage was really overflowing. After a moment, I realize I can hear the scratching sound again, but this time it seems to be coming from out in the corridor. Forcing myself to go take a look, I open my bedroom door and lean out. There's no sign of anyone, but finally I spot a hint of movement.

  The door handle to Malcolm's room is slowly turning. I stare in shock as the door shudders slightly, as if someone is trying to open it from the inside, and then the handle goes back to its resting position. Swallowing hard, I lean back into my room and push my door shut.

  I wait, holding my breath, but a moment later I hear another bump from his room. And then, seconds later, a brief, agonized scream fills my ears. Even before the scream has finished, however, I already feel as if it was only in my head. I wait again, but there's no sign of Mom stirring, so I tell myself that I'm just losing my mind and that everything will be fine in the morning.

  And then I hear a scratching sound from over by the window. I turn and take a look, and suddenly I realize that the sound is coming from the shoebox. Making my way over cautiously, I lift the lid and see that little Rudolph is back up and moving around. I guess I must have been wrong the other day when I thought he was dead.

  “Well, hey there,” I say with a smile. “You're a tough little guy, huh?”

  Chapter Six

  “Woah,” Molly says as she puts an arm around my shoulder, “you are not with it today!”

  Flinching, I instinctively pull away. I was listening to the rustle of voices in the back of my mind, the voices that come whenever I have trouble sleeping. I can't even remember the last time I had a proper night's sleep, but I must be running on something like five or six hours' sleep in total over the past week. Definitely not enough.

  “I was calling you from across the street,” she continues with a faint, cautious smile. “Sorry, didn't you hear me?”

  “I must've been thinking about something,” I mutter, turning and continuing my walk to school. My legs are feeling particularly wobbly this morning, almost as if they might give out entirely, but there's no way I'm willing to mention that to anyone. I'll be fine, I know I will, I just need to wait it out. Today is a new day, and the morning sunlight is a sign that a new beginning has arrived. I just have to keep my head together.

  “So how are you doing?” she asks, hurrying to keep up with me. “I mean last night, did you... How was it?”

  “It was fine,” I reply, resisting the urge to be sarcastic.

  “I saw the news.”

  “Then there's nothing to talk about.”

  “But are you okay?”

  “Why wouldn't I be okay?”

  “You seem -”

  “I'm fine!” I hiss, turning to her. Before I can get another word out, however, I realize that I'm acting way, way too hyper and wiry. The truth is, after the scream I heard coming from Malcolm's room this morning, I almost went in to see what was happening. There were no more sounds, however, so I chickened out and told myself I could just put it out of my mind. Fat chance. “I just don't want everyone to keep asking me how I'm doing today,” I continue, trying to calm my nerves. “I don't want people giving me weird looks, either. I just want to get through my day without being disturbed.” There are tears in my eyes now, but I quickly sniff them back. “I don't want to talk,” I tell her finally.

  Stepping closer, she puts her arms around me. “It's over,” she whispers.

  “I know,” I whimper, as my bottom lip starts trembling.

  “You went out there, didn't you?”

  I frown. “How did you know?”

  “I guessed. I know what you're like, Bonnie. Sometimes you're your own worst enemy.”

  Pulling away from her, I wipe my eyes. “I had to be there,” I tell her. “I mean, someone had to. Someone from the family. Wouldn't you have gone? Even if it didn't actually change anything, wouldn't you have felt like...” I pause as I realize there's no way I can explain myself. “Where else should I have been?”

  “And how was it?”

  “I don't know.” I pause for a moment as I think back to the road outside the prison. “I think it was okay, except...” Suddenly my thoughts switch to the sounds I heard from my brother's bedroom a couple of hours ago. I should tell Molly, but I know she'd just laugh at me, and I also know there's a danger that I'd be legitimizing my irrational fears. “It's just a weird day,” I say finally. “I think everything'll be fine once it's over, I just need to push on through.” Spotting movement in the distance, I look past her and see that someone is standing at the far end of the street, apparently just staring this way. I squint, but my eyesight isn't exactly brilliant and I can't really make the figure out.

  “What?” Molly asks, turning and looking for a moment before glancing back at me. “Are you okay?”

  “Just that guy, or...” For some reason, I can't shake the feeling that the figure is watching me.

  “What guy?”

  “Over there. On that corner.”

  She turns again. “I don't see a guy,” she says after a moment.

  “Right there,” I reply, pointing toward the figure. “You can't miss him.”

  She pauses, before shrugging. “I don't see anyone.”

  Sighing, I turn to her. “Seriously?” I glance back toward the figure, but suddenly there's no sign of him. Taking a step forward, I look for some sign that he might have suddenly run away, but it's as if he was never there in the first place. “I'm cracking up,” I whisper.

  “No shock there,” Molly says, putting an arm around my shoulder as she starts leading me along the street. “You know you can talk to me, right?” she continues. “Maybe you feel the need to tell everyone else that you're fine, but I'm not everyone else. I'm a good
listener.”

  “There's nothing to say,” I mutter, keeping my eye on the spot where the figure was standing. As we get closer, I can't help feeling a slow gnawing sensation in my gut, and my legs are doing that thing again where they start feeling slightly numb. A moment later, I feel a few more of those painful pinpricks on my arm. “It's done,” I add. “It's over. Malcolm's gone now.”

  She leads me across the street, straight toward the corner where I saw the figure. I feel a little dizzy, but I figure that should pass soon.

  “What your brother did,” Molly continues, “was not your fault. Aside from a few over-excitable assholes, everyone's gonna figure that out soon enough.”

  “Debbie's not an asshole,” I point out, “and neither's Josh.”

  “They must be if they're still ignoring you,” she replies.

  “Or maybe they're right,” I mutter, trying to ignore the fact that my legs feel increasingly heavy. “Even the idiots at school who -”

  As soon as we reach the spot where I saw the figure, my knees give way and I stumble, dropping down onto the sidewalk but just about managing to keep from collapsing all the way. For a moment, just a brief flash, I hear voices shouting in the distance, echoing through my mind. At the same time, I swear I can feel other hands touching me, holding my shoulders and trying to pull my head back.

  “Bonnie?” Molly crouches next to me and peers into my eyes. “Are you okay? You're looking kinda peaky.” She places the back of her hand against my forehead. “Ew, you're all clammy too.”

  “I'm fine,” I tell her, although I feel as if the whole world is starting to tilt a little. I try to get back up, only to fall forward and land hard on my wrists. Taking a deep breath, I try to convince myself that I'll be okay once I've taken some deep breaths. As I try again to get up, however, the street seems to swing violently around and I clatter to the ground, knocking my head against the sidewalk.

  “Help!” Molly shouts, as I slip into unconsciousness. “Somebody help!”

  ***

  I remember the sound of footsteps racing into the school after the shooting. Voices shouting, sirens outside, people sobbing.

  I remember someone touching my shoulder.

  “Are you okay? Can you hear me?”

  I remember trying to answer, but I couldn't. Something was stopping me, holding me back, and I remember feeling as if something was wrong. And I remember sinking into darkness, and then...

  I'm not sure what happened next.

  ***

  “Stress,” Mom mutters, holding her right hand to her lips as if she's smoking an imaginary cigarette. “Great. Well done, Bonnie. Do you have any idea how big the medical bill is gonna be, just 'cause you couldn't handle a little stress? I can't believe you fainted in the street, for God's sake.”

  “You can go outside and smoke if you want,” I reply, still feeling a little woozy as I lean back on the hospital bed. “I'll be fine here.”

  “Are you sure?” she asks, her voice dripping with sarcasm. Getting to her feet, she grabs her bag and then gives me a quick kiss on the forehead. “Try not to pass out from stress again. I'll be back in five, okay? And if anyone comes and says they're gonna give you more tests, don't let them! Just tell them you're fine and you're waiting to get out of here.”

  “Okay.”

  “You understand?”

  I nod.

  “They just want more money,” she continues. “The tests are only -”

  “I get it,” I say firmly. “Don't worry, I won't rack up any more costs. I'll -”

  Suddenly the lights flare all around me, becoming unbearably bright, although they quickly go back to normal.

  “You'd better not,” Mom mutters. “We can't afford all of this.”

  “It's okay,” I reply, still feeling dazed. “I'm okay.”

  She eyes me with suspicion for a moment, as if she expects me to turn traitor and order a battery of expensive procedures, but finally she heads out of the cubicle while rummaging in her bag for a pack of cigarettes. To be honest, I'm relieved once she's gone; her nervous energy can get to me at the best of times, but ever since I woke up she's been hovering next to my bed, questioning everything the doctors say and generally acting like a paranoid lunatic. I guess I don't blame her, in a way. We each had to find a way to deal with what happened to Malcolm. Mom's solution was to become a chain-smoking alcoholic wreck, and mine was...

  I don't know what my solution was. I was only eleven when it happened, so I hadn't really developed much of a personality. Now I just feel blank most of the time.

  “Okay,” the doctor says suddenly as he comes through, “Miss Bromley, I'm glad to see that the color has returned to your cheeks. All your scans look good and I think we can safely say there's nothing too wrong with you.” He sets his chart down and feels my forehead. “Have you been under any stress lately?”

  “Um... Kind of.”

  “Anything in particular?”

  “Well, my brother...” I pause for a moment. This is the first person in a long time who seems to genuinely not know that I'm related to the infamous Malcolm Bromley, and I'd like to keep it that way. “Just some stuff at home,” I tell him as I start to sit up. “Typical teenaged girl stuff.”

  He frowns.

  “You know what I mean,” I add.

  “I have two of my own at home,” he replies, “so I know exactly what you mean. The only thing is, I've never met a teenaged girl who ever described herself as typical.”

  “Sorry.”

  He smiles, before frowning and reaching into his mouth. Pulling out a tooth, he examines it for a moment before setting it on the counter.

  “Don't worry about that,” he says with a faint, cautious smile.

  “Could stress cause hallucinations?” I ask.

  “What kind of hallucinations?”

  I pause, thinking back first to the guy in the street and then to the sounds coming from Malcolm's bedroom this morning. “Seeing people,” I say cautiously, “and maybe hearing them too. I haven't been sleeping well, I guess maybe that was the cause, but sometimes the voices seem really close.”

  “Do you want to give me an example?”

  I stare at him for a moment. “Nothing special.”

  “Do you hear them now?”

  I pause for a moment, but in truth I don't hear anything at all, not even the normal sounds of a hospital. No announcements, no-one being paged. It's almost as if, beyond the curtains that surround this cubicle, the hospital itself isn't really there.

  “And how many times have you experienced the visual hallucinations?” the doctor asks.

  “Two times so far. Both very close together.”

  “I see.” He stares at me for a moment, before spitting another tooth into the palm of his hand and setting it on the counter. “I don't think I'm going to jump the gun on this, Miss Bromley. I think you've experienced a stress-related incident that hopefully won't recur. Believe it or not, that kind of thing can happen to all of us, but the important thing is that you find a way to relax and get some sleep. Do we have a deal?”

  “I...” Pausing, I finally realize that he's probably right. “Deal.”

  “But if I see you back here any time soon,” he adds, “then we'll have to think about running some tests. An M.R.I. scan, maybe, and -”

  “Oh no you don't!” Mom hisses, hurrying into the room and grabbing my arm, damn near pulling me off the bed. “No more tests!”

  ***

  “They're all the same,” she mutters a short while later, as she struggles to get the car started. “Jesus Christ, they're like vampires. There's nothing wrong with you. If you faint again, don't let them put you in an ambulance.”

  “I was unconscious,” I point out.

  “Well, don't be!” She takes a long drag on her cigarette, filling the car with a cloud of smoke as she tries the engine again. “That's what happens if you go around being unconscious. People take advantage of you.”

  “I'll try to remember
that,” I reply with a frown.

  “Stupid car,” she continues. “I swear to God, every time it's supposed to be fixed, it's a little worse.”

  “It's been like this forever,” I point out.

  She mutters a few curses under her breath as she tries the ignition again and again.

  “I went to the prison last night for Malcolm's execution,” I say suddenly.

  She freezes, before slowly turning to me.

  “I know I shouldn't have,” I continue, “but -”

  Before I can get another word out, she slaps me hard on the side of the face. I pull back, shocked.

  “Mom -”

  “Get out!” she shouts.

  “Mom, listen...”

  “Get the hell out of this car!” she hisses, leaning over me and opening the door on my side. “You can walk home! I told you a long time ago, we don't talk about that! We don't think about it, we don't let it into our thoughts at all, and we sure as hell do not talk about it! That's the only goddamn rule I expect you to follow!”

  “I'm sorry, I just -”

  “Is that why you fainted?” she continues, leaning back and taking another drag on her cigarette. “Jesus Christ, girl, you know how to create drama.”

  “Malcolm's dead!”

  “Bonnie -”

  “Is there going to be a funeral or -”

  She tries to slap me again, but this time I duck out of the way and stumble out of the car before turning to her.

  “One more word,” she sneers, “about any of that, and there will be very serious repercussions for you, young lady!”

  “So we're just never going to talk about it?” I ask.

  “We're never, ever going to talk about it,” she continues, her eyes wild with anger. “Seriously, as far as this family is concerned, it never even happened. You are an only child -”

  “Liar!” I shout.