The White Rabbit Chronicles Read online

“You, a girl who doesn’t even have enough sense to stay out of the rain until I can come and get you?”

  As if to emphasize my own stupidity, I sneezed. “Yes.”

  “That’s it. I’m taking you to the doctor.” She tossed her napkin on the table. “You’ve probably given yourself pneumonia!”

  “I’m not sick, Nana. Honest.” Wasn’t like I’d gone to a medical lab, asked for a dish of their tastiest virus and feasted.

  She drew in a deep breath...released...then picked up her napkin. “All right. If you’re without a fever tomorrow, I’ll allow you to teach me how to text.”

  Gee. Thanks. “So what did you do when Mom was late?” I pushed my peas around my plate with the prongs of my fork. “She never had a cell.”

  Pops frowned at me. “Is that what today was about? Scaring us so that we’ll never take away your phone? Really, Ali. That was unnecessary. We wouldn’t do something like that to you.”

  “That wasn’t what happened at all,” I said. “I just felt like walking.” And that was one hundred percent the truth. “With the thunder and the wind and the rain, I knew you wouldn’t be able to understand me if we spoke. Also, I was afraid I’d be struck by lightning and, if the phone was at my ear, electrocuted. Texting was the best option.” Again, truth—only stretched thin with the more pertinent details omitted.

  “Well, don’t walk home again,” Pops said in that scolding voice. Scolding, and worried. Over the past few days, his comb-over had lost a few valiant soldier-strands desperately holding on to his scalp. Because of me? “I’m not trying to— What do teenagers say nowadays?” he asked my grandmother.

  “Get all up in her biznez,” Nana said. Without cracking a smile.

  “That’s right,” he replied. “We’re not trying to get all up in your biznez, Ali.”

  Oh, wow. Okay. They were trying to relate to me right now. Had probably watched a news program about how to communicate with a teenager or something, and I’d bet they’d later spent hours in front of a computer screen, studying urban slang, muttering together as they deciphered words and discussed the best way to use them.

  How...sweet.

  Dang it! Their sweetness made me feel all kinds of guilty.

  “Those woods are dangerous,” Pops continued. “Predators of the four-legged variety roam freely, and animal carcasses are found all the time.”

  I recalled the Bride and Groom of Gore I’d seen. Or might not have seen. Whatever. They were predators of the two-legged variety, definitely, and I never wanted an up-close-and-personal meet and greet with them without my baseball bat firmly in hand.

  “I’m sorry,” I said after another sneeze. “I really am.”

  Nana muttered something else about pneumonia.

  “I missed my bus,” I added, “and I didn’t want to bother you.” Another stretched truth. “It won’t happen again. I promise.” And that was the God’s honest truth, with no evasion. I’d never put them through a worry-wringer again.

  “You aren’t a bother.” Nana reached over and patted my hand. “We love you and just want—” By then her chin was quivering too much for her to continue. Tears filled her eyes, but she swiftly wiped them away with the back of her hand. She cleared her throat. “Now, then.” Sniff, sniff. “You asked about your mother. Once she started dating your father, she stayed in most nights. And if they went out, he always had her home before dark. We were always so impressed by that and failed to realize... Well, never mind.”

  Did they know why? Had Mom? Or had Dad waited to tell her until after he’d bagged and tagged her?

  Oh, gross. Thinking of my parents that way...ick, just ick.

  “Did Mom ever mention a friend whose last name was Holland?” I asked, recalling what Cole had said to me. Or had tried to say to me.

  Nana’s lips pursed as she pondered my question. “Holland...Holland...no, that name doesn’t ring a bell.”

  “Your mom was terribly shy. Didn’t make friends easily, truth be told. Didn’t date much, either,” Pops said, after swallowing a bite of roast. “In fact, your dad was the first boyfriend she ever had.”

  My mom? Shy? To me, she’d always been effervescent, full of life. Just like Emma.

  “Your dad made her laugh and was always convincing her to do such silly things,” Nana said with a soft smile. “One day, they dressed in the most hideous outfits I’d ever seen and went out to lunch. I’m sure people stared, but when they came back, they were laughing so hard your dad actually threw up.”

  I could not imagine it. To me, he’d always been serious, a little too driven, even in his drunkenness.

  We finished our dinner in silence, then I trudged to my bedroom. It was the only room on the second floor, and I had a bathroom of my own. My mom had spent her teenage years up here. How had she decorated the place? I wondered. After she’d moved out, Nana had boxed up her things and turned the space into first a playroom, then a sewing room and now a guest room.

  Me, I hadn’t done any decorating at all. The walls were as bare as when I’d first moved in. I’d stashed the boxes of family pictures Nana had given me in my closet. I hadn’t opened them, hadn’t hung a single frame. Heck, I hadn’t even glanced at them. The most I’d done was go through my mom’s old things, and only because Nana had dug them out. I think she’d been trying to reconnect with the child she’d lost.

  Reconnect. Something I’d never truly tried, the sadness that came with such an attempt overwhelming me, stopping me. But I should push through that sadness, shouldn’t I? Otherwise, I would forever be a bad daughter and a terrible sister. I mean, I’d built my new life around the concept that my mom, dad and sister had never existed, yet they so deserved better. At the very least, they deserved recognition, a place of honor.

  Time to pull on those big-girl panties.

  I flopped in front of the closet, and with blind eyes and hands no longer operating under my control I burrowed through the box closest to the door. As I withdrew a stack of frames, dust wafted and had me sneezing all over again. But no, I did not have pneumonia or even a cold. And okay, yes, my body grew warmer with every second that passed, as if I was indeed developing a fever, but that stemmed from emotion not a virus.

  Tears I hadn’t realized had formed trickled down my cheeks, and my vision finally cleared. And there was my mother, looking adorable in a metallic gold dress with her hair teased into what could only be called the Rat’s Nest look. But what a lovely, glowing smile she had. And there was my dad, cute and lanky in a black tux, with a spray-painted-gold flower hooked to his lapel, his arm wrapped around Mom’s waist. He had a fierce, get me out of here frown.

  They were so young. Was this prom? If so, that would mean my dad had gone out at night. No wonder he was frowning. But then, Nana had said he’d never taken my mom out after dark. So...maybe he’d refused to take her to prom but had taken her somewhere else, during the day, to make up for his failure.

  Why had I never asked them about their teenage years? Now, it was far too late.

  I continued searching and at last found a picture of Emma. That mass of dark hair hung in silky waves because I’d spent hours curling each individual lock, all because she’d “always wanted hair that looks like yours, Alice.” Somehow she’d convinced my mother to buy her a flower girl dress—when she wasn’t a flower girl. The monstrosity was fluffy, white and belled at the waist, with more lace, ruffles and ribbons than could usually be found under a Christmas tree. But then, Emma could sell the devil a vacation stay in the fiery tropic of Hades.

  Smiling, I traced my fingertip over the glass. I miss you so much, Em. My vision blurred a second time, new teardrops trickling down and landing on the bow at her waist.

  So badly I wanted her to appear. Just one more time. “I met this boy,” I told her photo. “I even talked to him a little without sounding completely idiotic. He’s beautiful and tough and...and I kind of...imagined kissing him.”

  I knew she would have said something like: Oh, gross. Did he slip
you the tongue?

  And I would have laughed and told her that yes, he had, and that I’d liked it way more than a lot, and she would have said, Double gross! And I would have laughed again.

  Now she would never experience her own first kiss. Would never go on a date. Would never drive a car. Never ask me about sex. I’d never get to lecture her the way Mom had lectured me. Make sure you pick someone really special. Someone you love, who loves you in return. Your virginity is a gift, and you can’t give it away twice. And, sweetheart, make sure you wait until you’re absolutely ready, and not just because you’re curious or because the boy will leave you for someone else if you don’t. Here’s a newsflash. If he’ll leave you over something like that, he’s using you and he’ll eventually leave you anyway.

  In the next box, I found a journal, bound by scratched black leather. There wasn’t any writing on the outside, but I knew it had belonged to my mother because her perfume wafted from it. Were her secrets hidden on the inside? Reverently I cracked open the binding and read over the first page.

  The battle has begun. The handwriting was neat, but not something I recognized. Maybe not my mother’s, after all. Evil is here, it is real, and if we aren’t careful, we’ll be consumed by it. But it doesn’t have to be that way. We can win. We should win. But too many people are ignorant of the truth and without the truth, we will perish.

  What is the truth? We are spirit beings, those spirits our source of power, and we have a soul...or our logic and emotions, and we live in a body. Evil lurks in that spiritual realm. Some people can see it while they’re still in their body. Most cannot.

  Ugh. I didn’t want to think about the world at work around me, not when I was dealing with so much nastiness in my own. And why did my all-love-all-the-time mother have this, anyway? I closed the book with a snap.

  As I reached into the box to pull out something else, my phone beeped. I propped the journal and the picture of Emma against the wall, gave her one more smile, then strode to my desk. A text from Kat had come in. And, okay, I admit it. I’d dubbed her Meow.

  I read, WTF happened 2 U 2day? A load of dill wrap, that’s what!

  Dill wrap?

  A second text came in. Stupid autocorrect. Bull crap!

  Any other time, that would have amused me. Gulping, I plopped into the chair and typed, Sorry. Went mental.

  Duh! But why??

  How should I respond to that? There was no way to explain the rabbit cloud or my paranoia without sounding, well, paranoid. Just didn’t feel like being in a car.

  Several seconds passed before her response came in. Ah, cars...UR fam. I get it now. U OK?

  After my chat with Nana and Pops? I’m better. And how wonderful to have a friend like Kat. She saw past the surface and liked me anyway. She knew a little about what had happened, but didn’t try to press for more. Didn’t pretend it hadn’t happened, and didn’t heap on the platitudes.

  Good. So check this. I ran in2 Cole after U ditched me.

  What! AND??

  He went after U 2. I take it he didn’t find U either?

  He’d gone after me? Why? Dazed, I stood, walked to my window and settled onto the cushion I’d rigged on the ledge. The storm had passed and the sky had cleared. The sun was in the process of setting, the sky a haze of pinks, yellows and purples—my new favorite color. Because Bridezilla had shown up last night, she would not reappear tonight. She never came two nights in a row, or even three, four or five days after a sighting.

  He didn’t, I told Kat.

  2 bad. I think he would have offered U a ride w/him. Bet U would have been all over THAT. J

  Maybe. Yes. No. Definitely not. I would have turned him down. He might be as tough as nails, but I still wouldn’t have wanted to put him in danger. Stupid rabbit cloud that probably meant nothing.

  So...how would someone with Cole’s forceful personality have handled a rejection? He was used to getting his way. One glance at him, and anyone with half a brain could figure that out. (I barely qualified, I’m sure.) Would he have tried to talk me into accepting? Or just tossed me over his shoulder fireman-style and carted me to his car?

  Better question: Why did that second option make me want to smile?

  Another beep sounded. Or should I say, U would have been all over HIM? Kat had typed.

  No way, I replied. Even if I’d wanted to throw myself at him, I would have resisted.

  Good girl. Make him work 4 it. Oh! Game on Fri & party on Sat. I have idea Cole will show up 2 both just 2 C U. See ya!

  I hit her back with a quick, Really?

  Nothing. No response.

  Kat?? WILL HE BE THERE??

  Again nothing.

  If U don’t answer, Mad Dog, I’ll tell every1 UR nickname is PRINCESS FLUFFY.

  Still nothing.

  We will have serious beef 2morrow! I told her.

  Annnd still nothing.

  Smart girl that she was, she’d probably realized a “beef” with me was more likely to be mashed potatoes. I was mush where she was concerned.

  Distraction time. Sighing, I logged on to my computer, searching for any and all references to Cole Holland.

  During the ensuing hour, I learned that Cole did not have a Facebook or Twitter page. Or, if he did, he hadn’t used his real name. None of the girls had sent me that link to YouTube, so I could only surmise the body slam was another “true story.” The only articles that mentioned him were those about the deaths of his friends, the ones who’d died from the disease Kat had mentioned. Antiputrefactive Syndrome, it was called. There were no mentions of him on the school webpage. He wasn’t part of any clubs, teams or committees.

  Nothing on his ex, either. And I’d tried every avenue available to find something, anything.

  I didn’t know Frosty’s or Bronx’s real names, so searching for them was out.

  On a whim, I searched my own name, just to see what others could learn about me if they did a little recon for themselves. First thing to pop up? Articles about the accident and the tragic teenage girl who’d lost everything.

  With far more force than necessary, I shut the computer down. I hated that anyone in the world could read those things and pity me.

  Now, needing a distraction from my distraction, I showered, dressed in a tank and cotton shorts and dried my hair. The girl staring at me from the mirror surprised me.

  There were bruises under her too-bright blue eyes. Her cheeks were hollowed, though flushed. Her lips were puffed from being chewed so often. She looked fragile. Breakable. Suddenly Cole’s words about the fairy tale made sense. He hadn’t been complimenting me. He thought I was a Cinderella in need of a fairy godmother and couldn’t hold my own against Mackenzie. And he might be right. A strong wind might break me in half.

  I had to start exercising. I had to start sleeping. Something. My mom would have been horrified to see me like this. My dad wouldn’t have noticed unless someone told him—he would have been too drunk—but he would have sat me down at the dinner table and lectured me. If you don’t keep your strength up, how can you protect yourself from the monsters? would have been the first words out of his mouth. Emma would have worried—had worried, in my vision of her—and more than anything in the world, I had hated worrying her.

  I stalked to my window to close my curtains. No watching the forest tonight, I decided. No jumping at every eerie whistle of wind, every writhing shadow. I’d say my prayers and try to sleep. If bad dreams tried to consume me, I’d read.

  Before I could fit the dark material together, my skin began to tingle and burn, the fine hairs on the back of my neck rising—as if someone was watching me. My heart drummed erratically as I peered out, frantically searching.

  There was no sign of Bridezilla and the Groom of Doom. No sign of life whatsoever, in fact. Shaking now, I sealed the crack, blocking out the night completely. But I didn’t walk away. I stood there for one minute, two, trying to get my body under control.

  Gritting my teeth, I jerked the cur
tains apart. Saw movement to the left. I zeroed in on it and thought I saw a tall, muscled body dressed in black. Thought that body stopped, turned—and glowing violet eyes met mine.

  * * *

  Will anything ordinary ever happen to me? I wondered the next morning as I trudged onto the bus. After maybe or maybe not seeing Cole, I’d gone to sleep, as planned, but bad dreams had awoken me. I’d tried to read but had ended up pacing and obsessing about those violet eyes.

  Had I seen them, or had I imagined them?

  Imagined, surely. Cole would never have stood outside my house, simply watching me. Plus, he didn’t know my address. I hadn’t even given it to Kat.

  As lost in thought as I was, I didn’t remember to keep my head down and my gaze averted. At the back of the bus, I spotted Justin Silverstone, with his dark hair and puppy dog brown eyes.

  He gave me a warm smile and waved me over. I couldn’t leave him hanging; his feelings would be hurt. And I couldn’t hurt his feelings because I kinda owed him. As I lugged my thousand-pound backpack to the end of the bus, I noticed that the dark-haired girl who sat across from him was glaring at me. I didn’t know her and had no problem ignoring her.

  Justin slid to the window, making room for me. I eased down beside him. “Hi,” he said. He smelled nice, like some kind of fruity cereal and toothpaste.

  “Hi.” His hair wasn’t brown, as I’d assumed. The morning sun cast bright rays through the glass, highlighting the strands. He was a redhead. In fact, the strands suddenly looked as if they were on fire.

  “I’m Justin.”

  “I know. You kinda made an impression in the cafeteria, and the girls filled me in. I’m surprised you don’t go by Ace or Killer, though.”