Don't Scream Part 8

Brynn should know better than to come barging into her office first thing in the morningor anytime, for that matterparticularly with a toddler in tow.

Anyway, this isnt the time or place to discuss what happened in the past ten years ago, or yesterday.

Then her friend looks up at her with those big puppy dog eyes of hers and says, Im scared, Fee.

Fionas irritation dribbles away.

So am I,she wants to admit.

The more I think about it, the more Im sure its just Tildy or Ca.s.sie playing a stupid and totally unfunny joke, she a.s.sures Brynn instead.

Really?

No.

I mean, who else can it possibly be? she asks Brynn, but her attention is focused on Jeremy, reaching for the tall Lladro figurine on her desk.

It depicts a mother and child; Deirdre sent it from Spain as a gift for Fees first Mothers Day.

Fiona was stuck at home with a newborn at the time. For her, the beautiful porcelain figure was less a testament to new motherhood than it was a symbol of her lost freedom.

She had never been to Europe then. Saddled with a baby and a husband whose salary barely covered the rent, she probably never would get there or so she believed at the time.

She pulls the Lladro slightly closer to herself, out of Jeremys grasp.

Brynn doesnt seem to notice.

I can think of someone else it can be, she says, and Fionas heart skips a beat.

Who?

Think about it, Fee.

Iam thinking about it. Who are you talking about, Brynn?

Rachel, comes the unantic.i.p.ated reply, just as Jeremy grasps the figurine and drops it onto the hardwood floor, where it shatters deafeningly.

The Dave Matthews Band was on the portable CD player, drowning out the night sounds.

Go for it, Fee! Tildy commanded and Fiona, standing on the crest of The Prom, facing the lights of Cedar Crest in dazzling array below, popped the champagne bottle with two thumbs. The cork shot out into oblivion; then they heard the faint rustle of its landing in the thicket far below.

Woo-hoo! Tildy reached to take the bottle from her.

Um, shouldnt Rachel have the first sip? Brynn spoke up. Since shes the birthday girl?

Oh, thats okay. Rachel reached into her sweater. Ive got something better.

She produced a pint-sized mason jar.

Whats that?

Grain alcohol. Uns.c.r.e.w.i.n.g the lid, Rachel took a swig, made a face, and offered the jar to the others. Who wants some?

Are you kidding? Tildy wrinkled her cosmetically perfected nose. Whered you get that? Somebodys disgusting bathtub?

No, from my stepbrother, over the summer.

Which stepbrother? Fiona asked. Rachels family was a blend of full-, half-, and step-siblings as well as former and present stepfathers and stepmothers.

Which one do you think? Ive only got two steps, and Joshua is only in fourth grade.

That would leave the older stepbrother, whose father had married her mother briefly a few years ago. Their parents had long since gone their separate ways, but Rachel was still close to him. He had graduated last May from Morgantown University in West Virginia; now he was living and working in New York. The sorority sisters were planning a road trip to Manhattan later in the fall, and Rachel said they could stay with him.

So where did your brother get grain alcohol? Ca.s.sie asked, after a delicate sip from the champagne bottle.

Where else? This came straight from the mountains of West Virginny.

Hey, Rach, that hillbilly tw.a.n.g is about as believable as your fake English accent, Fiona told her.

Yeah, but at least its a lot better than her fake Southern drawl, Brynn put in teasingly.

Hey, my drawl was pretty good, Rachel protested. That guy I met in the Rat the other night believed me when I said I was from Mississippi.

Yeah, up until you told him your name was Scarlett, Tildy said with a snort.

You guys were in the Rat the other night? Fiona asked.

They exchanged guilty glances.

Sorry, Fee, Brynn said. You were working that night anyway.

Whatever. Just because I cant set foot in there until Im twenty-one doesnt mean you all have to stay away.

But she didnt sound as though she meant it.

And she added a bit sharply, Just dont go in there when Pats tending bar. He knows youre underage. He can get busted if he lets you stay.

Somebody changed the subject to the upcoming Rush Week before anyone could point out that Pat had seen them there and looked the other way, plenty of times.

Fiona had some funny hang-ups about being the lone townie among them. It wasnt easy for her to watch the rest of them hit the popular local bars with their fake IDs.

Sure you guys dont want any? Its homemade. Rachel brandished the jar of grain alcohol as though she was proudly referring to a tray of decadent brownies.

Still no takers.

Rachel shrugged and swigged, going about it almost grimly when she thought n.o.body was paying much attention.

But they wereeach of the four, in her own way.

They all noticed there was something off about Rachel that night. As the night wore on, her voice vacillated between somber and shrill, but she didnt really say much of anything.

Nothing that would strike any of them, later, as having shed light on her strange mood.

Youd better go easy on that stuff, advised Ca.s.sie, who took her pre-med studies seriously. Youre so pet.i.te, Rachyou cant handle that much. It can make you sick.

Its my party, and Ill barf if I want to, Rachel sang to the tune of the old Leslie Gore song.

They all laughed at first.

But their amus.e.m.e.nt faded as the four of them pa.s.sed around the bottle of champagne while Rachel guzzled the contents of the mason jar, clearly h.e.l.l-bent on getting trashed.

There was no joy in it; it was clear to them even then that this was no celebration.

Something was troubling their friend.

Brynn even pulled her aside and asked her, at one point, what was wrong.

If I could tell you, I would, Brynnie. But I cant.

And sweet, pretty Rachel Lorent carried her secret to her death that night or so they all believed.

Ca.s.sies cell phone rings a few minutes after she turns it on, just as she slips behind the wheel of her car in the hospital parking lot.

Its probably Alec. She left him a message earlier saying that he shouldnt come over tonight; that she feels as though shes coming down with something.

h.e.l.l probably insist on coming anyway, with chicken soup or ginger ale or flowers. Thats the kind of guy he is.

A great guy.

And I dont deserve him,Ca.s.sie tells herself, not for the first time.

Why is she consumed by a familiar urge to drive straight to the barn, climb on her horse, and gallop off as fast as she dares ?

Where? Where would you go?

Anyplace other than here, in my life.

Because it doesntfeellike my life.

She reluctantly presses theSEND b.u.t.ton on her ringing phone.

Ca.s.sie?

Its a female voice. Unfamiliar But only in that first instant.

h.e.l.lo? Are you there? the caller asks, and Ca.s.sie realizes, with a quickening pulse, just who it is.

Brynn?

Oh, youare there. I heard a click a second ago and I thought youd hung up.

No, Im here.

Can you talk? I mean you know Is anyone around?

At her furtive words and hushed tone, Ca.s.sie understands why she must be calling.

Yes, she says reluctantly. I can talk.

Did you get one, too?

Ca.s.sies heart erupts in a wild pounding.

Yes, she says simply.

So it wasnt just me.

So did Fiona.

Then what about Tildy?

Maybe I have a voice mail from her,Ca.s.sie thinksthough there wasnt one the last time she checked, on her lunch break.

Listen, were meeting at one tomorrow afternoon, near Springfield, to talk about it. Can you be there?

Whos meeting?

Me, Fee, Tildy and you.

You talked to Tildy?

Fiona did. She tracked her down at work.

So she got one, too? Tildy?

And why didnt she call me back last night?

All four of us did. Can you be there tomorrow?

Tomorrow? No, I cant Youre working?

At her hesitation, Brynn says firmly, Ca.s.sie, you have to come.

But You have to.

Brynn is right.

Ca.s.sie dutifully writes down the directions to the meeting place.