The Dead Ones (Death Herself Book 3) Read online

  “Don't take this the wrong way,” Yasmine says cautiously, “but some people have been talking, and apparently...” Her voice trails off for a moment. “Okay, you'll totally freak, but -”

  “Spit it out.”

  “Mary Wade saw your brother last night.”

  I stare at her. “What?” I ask finally. I know I should stay calm, but I can already feel a sense of panic rising through my chest.

  “Mary Wade, like, totally saw your brother.”

  “Your brother's dead,” Alison adds.

  “I know,” I say darkly, keeping my eyes fixed on Yasmine. “Which is why Mary Wade didn't see him.”

  “She totally did,” Yasmine replies, her eyes wide with awe. “She saw him running along Fremantle Street at, like, two in the morning or something like that. She said he looked real scared.”

  “Come on,” Molly mutters, pulling on my arm. “I told you this was stupid. We should get out of here.”

  “What was he running from?” I ask Yasmine.

  She shrugs.

  I sigh. “And where's Mary now?”

  Another shrug.

  “But...” She pauses. “A few other people saw him too. Apparently he was, like, running through town, crying for help, really screaming.” Another pauses. “I mean, that's what they said, anyway.”

  “So this is some kind of game to you, huh?” I reply, stepping toward her.

  “Bonnie!” Molly hisses. “Don't!”

  “Do you think this is funny?” Grabbing Yasmine's collar, I force her against the wall. For a moment, all the anger that has been building in my chest threatens to come bursting out. “Let me guess, you all got together and cooked up this story, huh? You thought that seeing as my brother finally died the other night, this'd be the perfect opportunity to come up with some garbage ghost story to send a shiver through your panties and piss me off!”

  “You should let go of me,” she replies. “You're invading my personal space.”

  “I'll invade your face in a minute if you don't shut up!” I hiss.

  “Can someone get help?” she asks, turning to the other girls. “My personal space is being violated and -”

  Instead of letting her finish, I punch her hard in the gut before letting go of her collar and taking a step back. I instantly regret doing that, but as she gasps and bends double I feel as if she left me with no choice.

  “I'm sorry,” I stammer, “I just... You shouldn't say stuff like that about my brother.”

  “Why not?” she gasps. “He was a dumb killer! He deserved to die and he deserved for it to go wrong! He deserved all that pain!”

  I step toward her, ready to punch her again, but Molly grabs my arm and pulls me back.

  “She's not worth it,” she points out.

  “Your brother killed my best friend,” Yasmine sneers.

  “I thought I was your best friend?” Alison mutters.

  “Jenna Cooper used to be my other best friend,” Yasmine continues.

  “You barely even knew Jenna,” Molly points out. “She thought you were a dork.”

  “Shut up!” Yasmine shouts. “You don't know anything about anything! Dumbass!”

  “Hey!”

  Molly lunges at her, but this time it's my turn to pull her back. “She's not worth it,” I tell her, somewhat ironically. “Come on, seriously. Anger issues, much?” I spot Josh and some of his friends making their way past. “Hey!” I call out, but as usual he blanks me, and I feel a flash of regret in my chest.

  “Fine,” Molly mutters, stepping back. “I just don't want this bitch claiming she was Jenna's best friend when they barely had anything to do with each other.”

  “Just tell your brother to stop haunting people,” Yasmine continues, adjusting her collar. “Tell him that, like, people round here are glad he's dead, and the last thing we want is his ass coming back as a ghost. People like him, they should have gone straight to hell when they died.”

  “I'm sure he did,”I mutter, turning and walking away. By the time I get to the end of the corridor, I'm damn near ready to turn around and march back to her, but when I turn I almost bump straight into Molly, who it turns out has been following me. “My brother isn't haunting anyone,” I tell her. “I know he's not. It's just garbage.”

  “Sure,” she replies, but she doesn't seem entirely convinced.

  “He isn't!” I hiss.

  “I'm not saying he is,” she continues, “but... Quite a few people say they've seen him since the night he... Well, since he's been dead. And don't you think it's slightly weird how they all say the same thing?”

  “And what do they say?” I ask.

  “That he's...” She pauses. “That he's scared. That he's running from something, and hiding, like he's being chased.”

  I stare at her for a moment. “Is this because of last night?” I ask cautiously.

  “Last night?”

  “The whole ghost thing in the gym? Are you suddenly a paid-up believer in the supernatural?”

  “You can't deny what happened,” she replies. “What Shannon saw -”

  “Shannon saw what Shannon wanted to see!” I hiss.

  “Shannon saw Jenna!”

  “Then Shannon's a dumb idiot,” I reply, although I immediately realize that I might have been a little harsh. “You know what I mean,” I continue. “She's easily-led, she scares easy, and she gets way over-excited. You saw what happened, she literally soiled herself! Doesn't that suggest to you that maybe she isn't entirely in control of her own reactions to things?” I wait for a reply, but suddenly I realize that Molly is staring in horror at something over my shoulder. “She's not behind me, is she?” I continue cautiously, before turning.

  A few feet away, Shannon is staring at me. And not just Shannon, either. Mr. Dyson is right next to her.

  ***

  “So you actually broke into the school last night?” Mr. Dyson asks as he shuts the door to his office and turns to me. “Bonnie, seriously -”

  “Why am I here?” I ask.

  “I just -”

  “Why did Shannon and Molly and Karen get away with just being told not to do it again,” I continue, “and I had to come here with you instead?” I take a step back, trying not to panic.

  “I thought,” Mr. Dyson says calmly, “that given your personal circumstances, it would be better if you spoke to me. I'm trained to help people who are struggling with specific issues, and obviously the link to the situation with your brother -”

  “There's no link,” I reply, interrupting him. “I think I'd rather be in the principal's office. I don't want special treatment.”

  “How was the execution?”

  “The -” I pause, before realizing that he's just trying to trick me. Usually I'd have anticipated his little games, but I've been so busy lately, I never found the time to plan ahead. “I didn't go.”

  “Yes you did. I saw you.”

  “You were there?”

  “I was watching it online,” he continues. “During the news report, there was a shot of the crowd and I saw you shivering out there in the cold, all alone.” He takes a step toward me. “I damn near drove out there to fetch you, but I knew it was too late. I hope you realize that from a mental health standpoint, going to the prison was a pretty huge mistake. Something like that has the potential to set your recovery back by a significant margin. How did you even get there, anyway?”

  “Bus,” I admit reluctantly.

  “And how did you get back so late?”

  “Bus.”

  “I thought there were no buses after -”

  “Me too, but I was wrong. There was one late bus that I managed to catch.”

  He eyes me cautiously. I know he doesn't believe me, but hopefully he won't push too hard. Sure enough, he comes closer and finally puts his hands on my shoulders. I immediately flinch.

  “You're a uniquely troubled young lady,” he says finally.

  I swallow hard, resisting the urge to pull away. “I am?”
>
  “You're a pariah in this town. A social outcast. People project their feelings about your brother and his actions, and they treat you as if it's somehow your fault. They enjoy being angry, it makes them feel as if they're more alive.”

  “I get by.”

  “You should do more than that,” he continues. “You're being robbed of a normal childhood.”

  “There's no such thing as a normal childhood,” I tell him. “It's all a mess, whichever way you look at it. That's the same for everyone. I'm not special, and I don't want to be treated like some kind of delicate little flower.”

  “Come here.” He pulls me close for a hug, but I resist. “What are you afraid of?” he asks. “Are you so damaged, you can't even handle basic human contact?”

  “I'm not afraid of anything,” I reply, although the stench of his cologne is pretty over-powering. “I just think I should get to class.”

  “How's your mother?” he asks. “Still drinking heavily?”

  “She has her moments.”

  “And your father?”

  “He -”

  “He's gone, Bonnie,” he continues. “I know you don't want to admit it, but I can see it in your eyes. Every time you're forced to acknowledge his existence, you seem lost. Let me guess... Did he skip town, abandoning you and your mother, leaving you to rot?”

  “He...” Pausing, I feel a crackle of pain in the back of my head. “I don't know, he's just... gone.”

  “Gone where?”

  “I don't know.”

  “So he left you.”

  “No!” I say firmly, horrified by the idea. “He'd never do that, he just...” I pause again. Before the shooting, my father was in the house every day. Since then, I don't think I've seen him once.

  “I don't want to talk about it,” I stammer, “I just -”

  Before I can pull away, he puts his arms around me and hugs me tight. I try to struggle free, but his hold is too firm and I tell myself it'd be better to just let him hug me for a few seconds rather than fighting back and causing trouble. After a moment, however, I feel his hand moving down my back.

  “You're not like the other girls here,” he whispers. “You've been through so much. We all have at this school. Even the teaching staff. Do you think the shooting was easy for us?”

  “Can I go to class now?” I ask.

  “You shouldn't have to go to class,” he continues, “not with all those dumb little idiots. You're better than them Bonnie, you deserve to have someone looking after you, someone who can see that you're special. Why don't you stay in here for a while with me? I don't have any other appointments for the rest of the day.” As he leans closer and smiles, a dribble of saliva runs from the corner of his mouth and down his chin. He quickly licks it away. “I think you need some help,” he whispers. “Proper help...”

  I twist and try to slip away, but he pulls me tighter. Reaching up, I press my hands on his soft belly and push, and finally I manage to duck down and get free. I almost stumble as I hurry around the coffee table, but I'm just about able to stay on my feet as I hurry to the door.

  “Bonnie!” Mr. Dyson calls out. “Wait!”

  I glance over my shoulder and see that he's hurrying after me.

  “Bonnie,” he continues, his voice tense with anticipation, “after school this evening, why don't you let me -”

  Before he can finish, a book from his table flies through the air, striking him on the side of the mouth. He lets out a gasp and turns away for a moment, and when he looks at me again I see that his lip is torn.

  “What the hell was that?” he hisses, glancing at the desk.

  “I don't know,” I stammer, “I -”

  Suddenly something else seems to hit him, something I don't even see, but it's enough to send him stumbling forward until he falls against the wall and then slumps down. I step back, shocked, as he lets out a groan and looks up at me.

  “What the hell are you doing?” he gasps.

  “I'm not doing anything,” I reply, taking a step back.

  “What are you -”

  He slams into the wall again, as if some unseen force has crashed against him. As he lets out another groan, I step over to the door.

  “Bonnie...”

  Turning back to him, I watch as he tries to get to his feet.

  “Get out of here,” a voice whispers in my ear.

  I look around, but there's no sign of anyone. At the same time, I recognized that voice even if I know it can't be who I think it was. There's just no way...

  “Get out of here!” it hisses again.

  Opening the door, I stumble out into the corridor, only for the door to immediately slam shut behind me. A moment later I hear another thud from inside the room, and then I turn and run. A few hours later, as school ends for the day, I spot Mr. Dyson limping to his car. We briefly make eye contact and I see several cuts and bruises on his face, but he quickly looks away. When I get to the bus stop, I find no sign of Molly or the others, and I realize that they're most likely in detention.

  “Josh!” a voice calls out. “Hey, Josh!”

  Turning, I see Josh hurrying toward the bus stop, with goddamn Melinda Williams hurrying after him. She's so pathetically desperate, and she's already unbuttoned the top of her shirt so she can flash a little cleavage. I feel my blood starting to boil as she grabs his shoulder.

  “Hey,” she continues, “why don't we hang out tonight.”

  “I can't,” he replies, not even stopping to look at her.

  “I was thinking just the two of us -”

  “Sorry,” he adds, “I'm busy.”

  With that, she finally stops and lets him walk away, as if she gets the message. She mutters something under her breath, clearly frustrated, and re-buttons the top of her shirt as she turns and stomps back to join her friends.

  Figuring that this is my chance, I hurry past the parked cars and make my way to the bus stop, where Josh is already counting through his change.

  “Hey,” I say as I reach him. I feel a sliver of fear in my chest, but I know I've put this off for far too long. “I was thinking maybe we should talk.”

  I wait for him to reply, but he doesn't even look at me.

  “So it's been a while,” I continue, with a lump in my throat. “We never actually broke up, not technically, although I kinda got the message when you stopped replying to my messages and started blanking me like this. It's been a while, though, and I was just thinking maybe we could talk... Maybe we can just be friends, like we were before things got serious?”

  Again I wait, but he simply looks straight past me, watching for the bus.

  “I need a friend,” I tell him. “I need someone to talk to. Please, Josh...”

  He checks his watch, just as the bus comes into view.

  “I get the rest of them,” I continue, with tears in my eyes, “but I thought you were different. Do you really hate me this much, because of something my brother did?”

  As the bus slows, I see that it's the number 18, which only goes to the hospital. The doors open, and to my surprise Josh gets onboard, still without acknowledging me at all.

  “Can we please talk?” I ask, even though I hate begging like this. “I don't know who else to turn to, Josh. I feel like I'm cracking up and -”

  Before I can finish, the door swings shut. I look up and see Josh taking a seat, just as the bus drives away.

  “Everyone hates me,” I whisper finally, wiping tears from my eyes as I watch the bus rounding the next corner. For a moment, I feel as if I'm about to start sobbing, but then I feel a fresh burst of anger in my chest. “Fine,” I mutter, turning to start the long walk home. “Be like that. I don't need other people anyway!”

  Chapter Eleven

  “So this is new,” I point out, standing by the fridge and watching as Mom pours the last of her vodka down the sink. “Are you turning over a new leaf?”

  “Just shut up,” she mutters, her hands trembling as she pours the last from the bottle. Once
she's done, she drops the bottle into the trash and then takes a long, slow drag on her cigarette. I don't know exactly what happened to bring about this change, but I can see the fear in her eyes.

  “Did last night's bender finally tip you over the edge?” I ask.

  No reply.

  “How's the hangover today? Did you -”

  “I told you to shut up!” she shouts, turning to me and raising her right hand.

  I step back, just in case she decides to hit me again. I've had enough of that, lately.

  “I'm sorry,” she stammers, stepping closer and then pulling me into a sudden, somewhat ungainly hug that I don't particularly want. “I'm so sorry, baby. Please, you have to know that I love you. Whatever happens, I love you so much.”

  “Um...” I wait for her to let go, but if anything she actually pulls me even tighter. “Sure. I, uh, love you too, Mom.” Again, I wait. This behavior is so unlike her, I'm actually starting to worry that she's having some kind of stroke or aneurysm. “Is something wrong?” I ask finally. “Are you sick? Are you dying?”

  She kisses the top of my head.

  “Do you have cancer?” I ask, feeling a flash of fear.

  “Of course not, honey,” she continues, “I just... Oh God. Oh Jesus Christ, oh God...”

  It takes a moment, but I manage to slip out from the hug. When I see her face, I find that she's staring over my shoulder. I glance back to make sure that there's nothing there, and then I turn and see that she seems lost in thought.

  “Okay, spill,” I say finally. “You're acting weird, Mom.”

  “It's nothing,” she replies, swallowing hard.

  “You're a terrible liar.”

  Turning, she looks toward the hallway.

  “Did something happen last night?” I ask, feeling a hint of genuine curiosity. “When you kicked me out, you seemed all fired up for a major drinking session, but when I got back you'd passed out in Malcolm's old room and -”

  “Quiet!” she hisses, turning back to me.

  Staring at her, I can't help realizing that she seems genuinely terrified of something.

  “Have you seen him?” she whispers.

  “Seen who?”

  “You know who!” She takes another drag on her cigarette. “In that room, Bonnie! If you've been in there, haven't you seen him? Or heard him?”