Brighter, a supernatural thriller Page 20

  Out of breath, she explained her situation, and the professor agreed to write her a letter of reference. He gave her a number where she could reach him, and told her to remind him, because he might forget. While this didn't sound particularly promising, Ramona decided to take what she could get.

  Now she really had no excuse not to tell Maxine, so one day, she entered Maxine's office and told her she was looking for another job. To her relief, Maxine was incredibly supportive. "It's about time you got out of this town," Maxine said. "You've been hanging around here for far too long." And Maxine produced a glowing letter of reference by the end of the day.

  Ramona didn't relish the idea of reminding her professor, but a few days later, she called him. To her surprise, he told her that he'd finished the letter earlier that day and that she could pick it up whenever she wanted. Finally, everything was in place. Ramona could send out her applications and resumes. Of course, she didn't have any stamps, but she'd buy some at the post office when she went to mail them the following day. She showed Heather her envelopes proudly. To Ramona, it felt like she'd just defeated a dragon or reached the end of a quest. She was exhausted, but she didn't know if she'd ever felt prouder of herself for conquering adversity.

  Feeling buoyant, Ramona and Heather decided to celebrate. They'd been so focused on trying to get jobs and on being frightened of the monsters in town that they'd spent most of their time in Ramona's apartment. A change of scenery was in order, so the girls got dressed up and went to The Brass Frog. It was a Friday night; the whole town seemed to be out.

  Ramona and Heather got drinks, but they couldn't find an empty table anywhere. A month or two ago, if Ramona had been out and looking for a table, she just would have sat down with a group of people she knew, but tonight, it seemed like all the tables had at least one person she didn't want to be close to at them. Zane. Craig. Dawn. Fiona. Heather and Ramona stood outside in the garden instead, clutching their drinks and trying to feel celebratory.

  "It will be nice to live in a place that has more than one bar," said Ramona.

  Heather laughed. "Yeah."

  "In a place like that, if you come into the bar, and you see someone you don't like, then you can just leave."

  "Absolutely. And go to another bar."

  "Yeah."

  "We're going to get out of here," said Heather. "You just wait. And it's gonna be awesome. Our lives are actually going to start."

  "You didn't feel like your life had started already?" Ramona asked.

  "You feel like your life is already started?"

  "Well, no. I really don't. But you were married." Ramona instantly realized that she probably shouldn't have brought up the subject of Rick.

  Heather was quiet for a minute. "I miss Rick. And I loved him. I really did. More than anything on earth." She took a long swig of her beer. "But we got married too soon." She looked down at her beer. Began picking at the label. "Sometimes love isn't enough, you know?"

  Ramona didn't know, but she nodded. She watched Heather demolish the label on her beer. "I thought you guys were happy."

  Heather shrugged. "Sometimes, yeah."

  Ramona didn't know what to say. She knew she shouldn't have brought the subject up in the first place. Heather was really touchy about it, and for good reason. Suddenly, Heather turned to face Ramona.

  "Listen," she said with a large gust of air. "I don't like to think about it."

  "I know. I'm sorry I brought it up."

  "No, you don't understand. I don't like to think about it, because, even though I'm devastated, there's like this part of me, that when I found out he was gone, was like...relieved." Heather covered her mouth in horror at what she'd just said.

  Ramona put her hand on Heather's shoulder. And then it happened. Heather started crying. And Ramona pulled her into her arms, and the two of them stood in the garden of The Brass Frog, with the whole town of Elston chatting around them, and they both sobbed.

  They could have gone home after that, because neither of them was entirely in a celebratory mood anymore, but a strange thing happened. People started to approach them. Not a lot of people, but a few. One or two at a time. And all of the people that approached them said things like, "We can't believe Blair is such a bitch. She obviously has it out for you," and, "Sometimes I think something very weird is going on in this town." It wasn't much, but it was enough that Ramona and Heather felt comforted. Finally, it was Olivia who approached the two of them. She guided them to the table where she was sitting. Nick was there and so were Tom and Mark, the guys in favor of polar shifts.

  "I've been talking to people," she said. "Ever since you told me about Blair locking you in the basement, I've been suspicious. She's just started to seem really weird to me."

  "I think Blair killed Angelica," said Nick.

  "Okay, Nick," said Olivia. "That's insane. I mean, sure she's a bitch, but a murderer?"

  "I don't know," said Nick. "If she's nuts enough to lock Ramona in a basement, who's to say she isn't nuts enough to kill Angelica?"

  "Well, look," said Tom. "It's obvious that she was lying about being raped by Garrett."

  "Yeah," said Olivia. "That was a weird turn of events. One minute she hates Garrett, the next she's making out with him. And, guys, what the heck happened to Owen?"

  "I bet Owen's dead too," said Nick. "She probably just hid his body better."

  "Blair said Owen left town," said Ramona. "But he left awful quick. He didn't even tell Griff at The Grind that he was going."

  "You think she murdered him too, don't you?" asked Nick.

  Ramona and Heather exchanged a look. This was definitely interesting. Usually, Blair controlled the way everyone thought in town. But Ramona liked it. They were using the Elston rumor mill against the girl who used it as her primary weapon. It was awesome.

  "It's all fine and good to turn Blair into a demoness," said Mark, "but you guys are acting like white-trash girlfriends, blaming this entire thing on Blair. I mean, Garrett left Ramona too. He's just as much at fault here."

  "Garrett's different," said Ramona.

  "No fucking kidding," said Olivia. "It's like he's a completely different person. You guys remember when he and Ramona hung out with us that one night, right?"

  Tom nodded. Mark said, "He was really quiet."

  "Yeah," said Tom. "He's not really quiet anymore, is he?"

  The conversation continued for a while, eventually turning to other topics. But before it did, Olivia told Ramona, "Just wait. I'm going to get the entire town on your side. I've been spreading talk like this like a disease. Blair's got it coming."

  Ramona appreciated Olivia's support, but she didn't think Olivia knew exactly what she was taking on. "Look," she said to Olivia. "That's really cool of you. But...you should be careful, okay? Blair isn't entirely what she seems."

  Olivia laughed. "You do agree with Nick, don't you? God. You guys watch way too many detective TV shows."

  * * *

  Ramona pulled the covers over her head and turned over in bed. She and Heather had been out late the night before, and she wasn't going to get up until her alarm went off. She'd set it for eleven, which would give her an hour to get to the post office and get her applications mailed off. Her bed was so comfortable. She snuggled into her pillow. Idly, she wondered what time it was. She guessed it was probably around eight, because she had a hard time sleeping in much later than the time she normally had to get up for work, no matter how late she went to bed. But she wasn't sure, and she was seized with the burning desire to know if she'd guessed right. Knowing she wouldn't be able to go back to sleep if she didn't just look, Ramona pulled the covers off her face and opened one eye to look at her alarm clock.

  Eleven forty-five?!

  What the hell had happened to her alarm? Ramona threw her covers off and leaped out of bed, almost stepping on Heather, who was sleeping on an air mattress right next to Ramona's bed. Damn it. Ramona grabbed a pair of pants and a shirt and ran into the bathroo
m to get dressed. She hurriedly pulled her hair into a sloppy ponytail on top of her head. Grabbing her applications and her wallet, she rushed out of the apartment and down the steps to the front door of her building. She opened it into sheets of rain. It was pouring outside.

  Fuck!

  Ramona charged back up the steps to her apartment and began searching furiously for her umbrella. She overturned clothes, looked behind couches, in cabinets, anywhere she could think of. It was nowhere to be found. Stuffing the letters into her shirt, Ramona grabbed a hooded jacket and threw it over her head.

  She darted back down the stairs and into the rain. The sidewalk was slippery, and she wasn't wearing shoes with good traction, just a pair of flip-flops. Water sloshed over her feet as she sprinted through the rain.

  Ramona was forced to slow down as she headed up the block. If she didn't, she was going to fall down. She walked as fast as she possibly could.

  She turned at Duke Street, right by the library, its windows glowing yellow light in the rain, looking so welcoming, and began walking the two blocks to the post office.

  At the end of the first block, she had to wait for several cars to pass on the street. They splashed dirty water onto her pants.

  Ramona was nearly soaked through when she arrived at the post office. She pulled open the door and braced herself as the frigid air conditioning bit into her wet skin.

  She was too late. The door to the office was closed. Locked. She wasn't wearing a watch, but she didn't think it could be that much past twelve. Ramona pounded on the door to the office. Nothing happened.

  Fucking postal workers. Couldn't cut a girl a break, could they? Ramona surveyed the open part of the post office, numbered boxes lining its walls.

  And then, she saw the stamp machine!

  Aha! Success! They actually had an automated machine that sold stamps. She could put money in it, and it would give her stamps. And she could mail out her applications after all.

  Ramona dug her wallet out of her pocket and opened it up. She didn't have any cash. She'd planned to purchase her stamps with her debit card. Of course, the machine didn't take debit cards.

  Ramona dug all the change she had out of her change compartment. Twelve cents. Seven cents of it in pennies. Damn it all to hell.

  There was an ATM two blocks down at the bank, but it only gave twenties. The machine took twenties, but it would probably give her change in quarters.

  She could walk another block to the convenience store and get five dollars cash back. Or she could just wait until Monday to send her letters.

  Ramona looked out at the blinding sheets of rain. Either way, she was just going to get wetter. She squared her shoulders and went back out into the rain.

  On the way to the convenience store, she had to walk through a puddle the size of Lake Eerie. At this point, her pants were soaked up her knees. Her hair was falling in wet strands into her eyes. The only place that did seem to be somewhat dry was the place in her shirt where her letters were. Ramona was thankful for that at least.

  At the convenience store, she had to wait in a line for what seemed like five hours. The guy ahead of her bought at least forty-five lottery tickets. Finally, she got to the register and bought a pack of cigarettes. She got her five dollars cash back and stepped out into the rain once more.

  She dragged herself back to the post office, shivering the entire way. The rain was cold rain, and there was heavy wind that was kicking up, blowing right in Ramona's face. The rain was now raining sideways, hitting right at the place in which her letters were stored in her shirt. Ramona tried to adjust them so that they were under her armpit.

  She struggled against the gusts of wind, which were so strong, they threatened to knock her over. Her teeth chattered.

  When she got back to the post office, she took the letters out of her shirt. They were a little damp, but none of the writing seemed to have smeared. Ramona bought her stamps, affixed them on her letters, and dropped the letters into the appropriate mail slot.

  Then she walked back to the door, prepared to trudge back through the rain to her apartment. To her astonishment, the rainstorm had passed. Outside, it was bright and sunny. As she swung open the door to the post office, she heard a cacophony of birds chirping their heads off. To Ramona, it sounded as if they were taunting her.

  * * *

  Heather was ushering the last of the patrons at the bar out of Applebee's. She and the bartender, Regina, were the last people still working. She'd sent everyone else home once they finished their cleanup. Heather was tired, and she didn't relish the twenty-minute drive back to Elston. One thing was for sure. It had been a heck of a lot easier to get home from Applebee's when she lived here in Freeburg with Rick. She wondered what was going on in her house. She hadn't been back, even though she'd left everything she owned there. Luckily, she and Ramona were about the same size, so she'd been borrowing Ramona's clothes. And she had been able to salvage some money from the joint checking account she and Rick had. Plus, she still had a savings account in her name. She was glad she'd never switched that over to a joint savings account. She and Rick had talked about it a couple of times, but she'd never actually done it. It had been a good idea, it seemed.

  "You want a drink?" asked Regina.

  "No thanks," said Heather. "I'm driving."

  She and Regina were friends, not just because they worked together, but also because they shared an interest in the supernatural. Regina was Wiccan. Heather had studied the religion but ultimately didn't think that it was for her. Still, she respected other people's religious choices, and Regina was pretty cool. So far, she hadn't told Heather about trying to do any spells or anything like that. It wasn't that Heather didn't have an open mind about those kinds of things. She believed in the possibility of magic, but she had to admit, she was pretty skeptical about it. Anyway, Wiccans weren't the kind of religious where they were always and forever trying to recruit people. Heather liked Regina, and she had no problems whatsoever with her religious choice.

  "We're both driving," said Regina. "I thought you just lived up on Orchard Ave, anyway?"

  "I did," said Heather.

  "But not anymore?" asked Regina.

  "No," said Heather.

  "How come?"

  Heather debated. Regina was pretty cool and open minded. She might be able to tell her what actually happened. But she wasn't sure. If she freaked Regina out too badly, it could undermine her authority as manager. "My husband...got really different," she said finally.

  "Different? Like he told you he was gay?"

  Heather laughed. "No. Like, he started acting like a different person. He, um, tried to strangle me. I left and didn't go back."

  "Jesus," breathed Regina. "I don't care what you say, you need a drink." She began concocting something behind the bar that involved multiple bottles. Heather started to protest but then gave up. She guessed one drink couldn't hurt. She hadn't had anything else to drink that night. She'd probably be fine. "So, where are you staying now?"

  "With a friend. In Elston."

  "Elston," said Regina. "I hate that place. People think it's so cute and quaint and everything, but it's got a really dark energy. Like if a town had an aura, that place would be black." She handed Heather the drink she'd mixed. It was bright green.

  "What's this?" asked Heather.

  "Try it," said Regina.

  Heather took a tentative sip. It was excellent! "That's really good."

  "You don't have to sound so surprised. It's the melon liqueur. That's what makes it so tasty."

  "Well, it's really good. Thank you."

  "Do you like living in Elston?"

  "Not really. I'm planning on moving soon."

  "And going where?"

  "Virginia, I think," said Heather. "It depends on where my friend gets a job. But you're right about Elston. It's...dark there. Like evil."

  "You might think I'm crazy," said Regina, "but sometimes I get these sort of...like mental images that sort
of superimpose over what I'm actually seeing. Most people don't believe me when I tell them this..."

  "No, no," said Heather. "I believe you. I mean, that kind of thing is definitely possible."

  "Well, I've seen this kind of stuff ever since I was a little girl. I used to tell my mom about it, and, at first, she thought it was my imagination, but then once I saw an image of my grandmother lying down dead when I saw her. I was upset, and I told my mom. My grandmother died the next day. My mother suddenly didn't think it was my imagination. From then on, anytime I'd mention it, she'd just yell at me. I learned to keep my mouth shut."

  "But you have a gift," said Heather. She was pretty sure she believed Regina. Pretty sure.

  "Or a curse, depending on how you look at it. It's not always bad stuff, like death. Sometimes it's good. Like love or children or money. But a lot of times, it's bad. I used to try to tell people when I saw something. I guess I thought maybe they could change things if they knew. But people never thanked me for it and nothing ever changed. So, I usually don't say anything about it at all. But I like you, Heather. You seem to be pretty open to the universe."

  "Thanks. I try."

  "I wouldn't stay in Elston any longer than you had to. Something about that place is just...evil. It's like rotted death. You know the creepiest place in Elston?"

  "What?"

  "The library. The first time I saw that place, I was driving through Elston with some friends, and I got one of my images. Really clear, crystal clear. And there was sound. I never hear things that aren't there. I just see things. But when I drove past that library, I saw this throng of people, all gathered together in a tiny room, and they were all screaming these really shrill, chilling screams. I still have nightmares about it. Just be careful while you're there, okay, Heather? Be careful."