Hellfire

13

Eileen Russell looked at her daughter doubtfully, then shook her head as she slid two perfectly fried eggs out of the skillet onto the child’s plate. “I don’t know. I just don’t like the idea of Peter getting into trouble over it.”

“But Peter won’t get in trouble,” Peggy insisted. “Beth promised. She even said I could go riding with them sometime, if I wanted to. With her and Mr. Sturgess!”

Eileen’s gaze shifted to her son. “Well?” she asked. “Does that sound like Mr. Sturgess to you?”

Peter shrugged noncommittally, but at the pleading look in his sister’s eyes, he nodded his head. “He’s pretty nice, and he takes Beth riding sometimes. I don’t think he’d care if Peg went along.” Then he grinned. “But Tracy’d piss her pants. She hates it bad enough when her dad goes riding with Beth. If Peg was along, she’d shit.”

“Watch your language, young man,” Eileen said, more out of habit than any particular prudery. She turned the matter over in her mind once more. She knew how much Peggy had missed Beth over the last few months, but her main concern was still that nothing threaten Peter’s job. Jobs, particularly in the summer, were scarce, and they needed the money. Her job hostessing at the Red Hen barely covered the bills, and if something should happen to Peter’s job—

Finally she decided to compromise, and call Carolyn Sturgess. Except that even something as simple as that suddenly presented a problem. It was stupid, and Eileen knew it. After all, when they’d been growing up together, Carolyn Deaver had been one of her best friends, and after Dan Russell walked out on her about the same time Carolyn had divorced Alan Rogers, they’d become even closer.

But then Carolyn had married Phillip Sturgess, and moved up to the mansion on top of the hill, and everything had changed.

Still, Eileen had to admit that part of the problem was her own fault. She’d gone up to Hilltop a couple of times, but the very size of the house had made her uncomfortable, and old Mrs. Sturgess had been blatantly rude to her. Finally she’d stopped going, telling herself that from now on, she’d invite Carolyn to her own house.

Except she’d never really done it. She’d tried to tell herself that she just kept putting it off because she was busy, but she knew that the real reason was that in comparison to Hilltop, her house was little more than a slum. And after getting used to the splendor of the mansion, Carolyn would be sure to notice the shortcomings of Eileen’s place. So the invitation had never been issued, and as the months went by, Eileen thought about it less and less.

Still, there was no reason why Peggy and Beth’s friendship should end simply because their mothers’ had withered. She picked up the receiver and dialed the number that was still written in pencil on the wall next to the phone. To her relief, Carolyn herself answered the phone on the second ring, sounding sleepy. With a sinking heart, Eileen realized that there was no longer any reason for Carolyn to be up by seven A.M.

“It’s Eileen,” she said. “Eileen Russell. Did I wake you?”

Instantly, the sleepiness was gone from Carolyn’s voice. “Eileen! It’s been months!”

“I know,” Eileen replied. “And I’m sorry. But — well, you know how it goes.”

There was an instant’s hesitation before she heard Carolyn’s reply, and some of the enthusiasm seemed to have gone out of her voice. “Yes,” she said. “Of course. I … I understand, Eileen.”

“The reason I’m calling,” Eileen plunged on, “is that Beth ran into Peggy yesterday, and invited her to come up to Hilltop this morning. I just wanted to be sure it wouldn’t be any problem.”

“Problem?” Carolyn echoed. “Eileen, it would be wonderful. Beth’s missed Peggy so much, and so have I. You know she’s welcome here anytime.”

Suddenly Eileen felt ashamed of herself. Carolyn hadn’t changed — hadn’t changed at all. Why had she been so sure she had? Or was she herself busy being a snob, attributing to Carolyn airs that she herself would have taken on in the same situation? She had to admit that the possibility existed.

“Okay,” she said. “She’ll be up sometime in the middle of the morning.” She hesitated, then went on. “And maybe this afternoon I could come up myself. We haven’t had a talk for a long time.”

“Could you?” Carolyn asked. “Oh, Eileen, that would be wonderful. What time?”

Eileen thought quickly. “How about three-ish? I have to do lunch at the Hen, but it’s a split shift. I don’t have to be back until seven.”

“Great!” Carolyn agreed.

When she hung up a moment later, Eileen grinned happily at Peggy. “Looks like the drought’s over,” she said. “You can go up anytime you want.”

Peggy, winded from the hike up the hill, paused when she came through the gates of Hilltop, and stared at the mansion while she caught her breath. It still seemed to her impossible that anybody could really live in it. But Beth? That was really weird. Beth should still be living on Cherry Street, where they could run back and forth between each other’s houses four or five times a day. Up here, just the driveway was longer than the whole distance between their houses used to be.

She started toward the front door, then changed her mind, and skirted around to the far end of the house. Somewhere, she knew, there had to be a back door, and all her life she’d been used to using her friends’ back doors. You only went to the front door on special occasions.

Finally she found the little terrace behind the kitchen, and knocked loudly on the screen door. A moment later, Beth herself appeared on the other side of the door. “I knew you’d come around here,” she said, holding the door open so Peggy could come into the kitchen. “Want a doughnut or something?”

Peggy nodded mutely, and Beth helped herself from the plate on the kitchen table, handing one to the other girl. “Come on,” she said. “Let’s get out of here. I want to show you something.” They pushed the screen door open, and let it slam behind them, Beth calling out an apology even before Hannah could admonish her. Then, with Peggy following behind, Beth led her back around the corner of the house, and across the lawn toward the trail to the mausoleum.

Patches snorted, pawed at the stable floor, then stretched her neck out over the half-door, whinnying eagerly.

“Not yet,” Tracy Sturgess told the big mare. “Not till I’m done grooming you.” She gave the horse’s lead a quick jerk, but instead of obediently backing away from the door, the horse only snorted again, and tossed her head, jerking the lead from Tracy’s hand.

“Stop it!” Tracy snapped, grabbing for the lead, but missing. “Peter! Come make Patches hold still.”

“In a minute,” Peter called from the other end of the stable.

“Now!” Tracy demanded. She moved carefully around Patches, then grasped the horse’s halter, and tried to pull her back into the stall. Again, the horse snorted, reared slightly, and tried to pull away.

“What’s wrong with you?” Tracy asked. Then, her hand still clutching the halter, she looked out into the paddock to see what had attracted the mare’s attention. The paddock, though, was empty.

Tracy raised her eyes, and then, past the rose garden, saw the movement that had distracted the horse.

It was Beth, walking across the lawn with someone else, a girl Tracy didn’t recognize. Tracy frowned, then jerked the horse’s lead again. Patches whinnied a loud protest, but a moment later Peter came into the stall, took the lead from Tracy, and gently pulled the animal away from the door. Tracy remained where she was, staring out at the retreating figures of the two girls.

“Who’s that?” she asked, her back still to Peter.

“Who?”

“That girl with Beth.”

Peter shrugged. “My sister. Her name’s Peggy.”

Now Tracy turned around to glare angrily at the stableboy. “Who cares what her name is? What’s she doing up here?”

Peter reddened slightly. He’d known this would happen. Now he’d be in trouble for sure. “Beth invited her up.”

“Who said she could do that?” Tracy demanded. “This isn’t her house. She doesn’t have the right to invite people up here.”

“Her mom said it was okay. She said Peggy could come up anytime she wanted to.”

“Well, she can’t!” Tracy exclaimed. “And I’m going to tell her so!” She stamped out of the stall, leaving Peter to finish the job she’d begun, then ran through the rose garden and around the corner of the house just in time to see Beth and Peggy starting up the trail toward the mausoleum.

She was about to call out to them, and tell Peggy Russell to go home, when she changed her mind. Maybe it would be more fun to follow them, and find out what they were doing.

*

Peggy stood staring in awe at the strange marble structure that was the tomb of the Sturgesses. “Wow,” she breathed. “What is it?”

Beth explained the mausoleum as best she could, then pulled Peggy away. “But this isn’t what I wanted to show you,” she said. “It’s down here. Come on.”

They started down the overgrown path on the other side of the mausoleum, walking carefully, their feet crunching on the thick bed of fallen leaves and twigs that covered the old trail. Here and there the path seemed to Peggy to disappear completely, and several times they had to scramble over fallen trees. And then, just as Peggy was sure the trail was coming to an end, it suddenly branched off to the left. Peggy looked around. At the place where the two paths converged, she spotted a sign, old and rusty, its paint peeling away, hanging crookedly on a tree.

PRIVATE PROPERTY

NO TRESPASSING

“Maybe we’d better go back,” Peggy said, her voice dropping to a whisper as she glanced around guiltily.

“It doesn’t mean us,” Beth replied. “It’s just marking the place where Uncle Phillip’s property starts. It’s for people coming up the hill, not going down. Come on.”

With Peggy following somewhat reluctantly now, Beth started along the track that would lead to the little meadow.

“Where are you going?” Peggy asked.

“You’ll see,” Beth replied. “Don’t worry.”

“But what if we get lost?” Peggy argued. “How do you know which trail to follow?” More and more, she was wishing they hadn’t come down here at all. It seemed to her that the woods were closing in around her. She wished she were back up on the top of the hill, where at least everything was open.

“I’ve been down here before,” Beth replied. “Mom and I came down here one day, and Uncle Phillip and I came out here on the horses. Stop being chicken.”

Peggy hesitated, wondering what to do. Maybe she should turn around, and try to find her own way back. But if she did that, she’d have to go by herself.

Making up her mind, she followed Beth. They had gone only about a hundred yards when Beth stopped. “Look,” she said softly. “Here it is.”

Peggy stared around the little meadow. Saplings stood here and there in the clearing, and the underbrush came nearly to her waist. But there didn’t seem to her to be any difference between this meadow and any of the others that dotted the woods around Westover.

“What’s so special about this?” Peggy complained. “It’s just a clearing, isn’t it?”

Beth shook her head, and led Peggy across the meadow to the place where she’d found the small depression last time she had been there.

She pointed to it silently, and Peggy frowned in puzzlement. “What is it?”

“It’s a grave,” Beth said.

Peggy’s eyes widened. She glanced around nervously, wishing she were somewhere else. “H-how do you know?” she breathed.

“I just know,” Beth replied. “I found it the other day.”

“Whose is it?” Peggy whispered, her wide eyes fixed on the odd depression. “Who’s buried here? Is it one of the Sturgesses?”

Beth shook her head. “They’re all buried up in the mausoleum. I think—” She hesitated, then took a deep breath. “I think this is where Amy’s buried.”

“Amy?” Peggy repeated blankly. “Who’s Amy? What’s her last name?”

“I … I don’t know,” Beth admitted.

The two girls stood silently for a moment, their eyes fixed on the odd sunken spot.

“Maybe it isn’t a grave at all,” Peggy suggested. “If it was a grave, wouldn’t there be a headstone or something?”

Beth’s eyes flicked up the hill, toward the spot where the mausoleum lay hidden in the woods. “There isn’t any headstone because they didn’t want anyone to know,” she said in a whisper. “They didn’t want anyone to know who she was, or that she’s even here.”

“But who is she?” Peggy pressed.

Beth turned to look at Peggy, and there was something in her eyes that made Peggy feel suddenly nervous.

“She’s my friend,” Beth said.

“Y-your friend?” Peggy repeated. “But … but I thought she was dead.”

“She is,” Beth agreed. “But she’s still alive, too. She lives in the mill.”

“The mill?” Peggy echoed. Suddenly she felt a small knot of fear forming in her stomach.

Beth nodded, her mind racing now. “I think she must have worked there,” she said, her voice quiet. “I think something terrible happened to her, and they buried her up here. But she’s not up here. Not really. She’s still in the mill.”

Peggy watched Beth warily. Something seemed to have come over her now. Though Beth was looking at her, Peggy wasn’t sure her friend was seeing her. And what she was saying didn’t make any sense at all.

In fact, it sounded crazy.

“B-but what’s she doing in the mill?” Peggy finally stammered. “What does she want?”

Beth’s eyes darkened. “She wants to kill them,” she said at last. “Just like she killed Jeff Bailey.”

As the words sank into Peggy’s mind, the knot of fear grew, reaching out into her arms and legs, making her knees tremble.

“Why?” she whispered. “Why would she kill Jeff?”

Beth heard the words, and as her eyes remained fixed on what she was now certain was Amy’s grave, she began to understand. She remembered the party, and the way Tracy and her friends had treated her.

She remembered the humiliation, and the pain.

“Because he was mean to me,” she said softly. “He was mean to me, so she killed him.” The words became the truth in her own mind even as she spoke them. For her, Amy was real now. “She’s my friend, Peggy. Don’t you understand? She’s my best friend.”

Peggy felt her heart beating faster. “But she’s dead, Beth,” she protested. “She’s not even alive, and you don’t even know who she is. How can she be your friend?”

But Beth wasn’t listening to her. In fact, Peggy wasn’t even sure Beth could hear her anymore. Slowly, one step at a time, Peggy began backing away. If Beth noticed, she gave no sign, for her eyes were still fixed on the depression in the ground that she had decided was a grave.

But it wasn’t anything, Peggy told herself. It was just a little dip in the ground where the grass seemed dried up, not bright green like the rest of the meadow, and there wasn’t anything there. Nothing at all.

She backed up another three steps, then turned and fled from the meadow back into the woods, hurtling back along the path toward the “No Trespassing” sign. But when she got there, she didn’t turn right, up the hill toward the mausoleum.

Instead, she turned left, and began thrashing her way down the hillside toward the river below.

Beth stood rooted to the spot, staring at the grave. Unaware that Peggy was gone now, she began telling Peggy about the dream she’d had — the dream that was like a memory.

“I saw it,” she said. “I was in the mill, under the stairs. And I heard something, and waited. And then Jeff came down the stairs, and he … he died. But it wasn’t me that killed him. It was Amy. There’s a little room under the stairs, and that’s where Amy lives. But she came out of the room, and she killed Jeff. And I wasn’t scared,” she finished. “I watched Amy kill Jeff, and I wasn’t scared at all.”

And then, as she tore her eyes away from the grave and looked around for Peggy, the silence of the forest was shattered by the sound of laughter.

Tracy Sturgess stepped into the little clearing, her mocking eyes fixed on Beth.

Beth, her own eyes suddenly clearing, felt herself flushing red with humiliation. Had Tracy just gotten there, or had she been following them all along, listening to them and watching them? “How long have you been there?” she asked, her voice quavering now.

Tracy laughed cruelly. “Just long enough to find out you’re crazy!” she said.

“I’m not crazy,” Beth flared. “There’s a grave here, and Peggy saw it too! Didn’t you, Peggy?” She turned around, and discovered that Peggy was no longer there.

Tracy snickered. “She left. And you better get out of here, too. If you don’t, the ghost might get you!”

Beth looked frantically around, searching for Peggy, but there was no sign of her. “Where is she?” she demanded. “Where’s my friend?”

“She isn’t your friend.” Tracy sneered. “When she found out how crazy you are, she ran like a scared rabbit.” Then, her mocking laughter echoing strangely in the bright morning sunlight, she disappeared back into the woods.

Beth stood still, her eyes flooding with tears of anger and humiliation. Then she sank down into the coolness of the grass, drawing her knees up to her chest.

They didn’t believe her. Peggy didn’t believe her, and Tracy thought she was crazy.

But it was true.

She knew it was true!

Her sobs slowly subsided, and finally she sat up. Her eyes fixed on the small depression in the earth, and she tried to figure out how she could prove that she was right.

But there wasn’t any way. Even if she dug up the grave and found Amy’s bones, they still wouldn’t believe her.

Almost unconsciously, her fingers began probing at the soft earth, as if looking for something. And then, a moment later, her right hand touched something hard and flat, buried only an inch below the surface.

She began scraping the dirt away, exposing a weathered slab of stone. It was deeply pitted, its cracks and crevices packed with the rich brown soil, and Beth at first had no idea what it might be. But then, as she scraped more of the earth away, the slab began to take shape.

One edge was rough and jagged, but from that edge, the stone had been worked into a smooth, clean semicircular curve, its edges trimmed in a simple bevel. After a few minutes, Beth had cleared the last of the dirt off its surface, and managed to force her fingers under the stone’s edge. When she tried to lift it, though, it held fast, and all she succeeded in doing was to break a fingernail, and bare the knuckles of her left hand. Wincing with pain, she wiped her injured hand as clean as she could, then held the smarting knuckles to her mouth. While she waited for the pain to ease, she searched the clearing for a stick, and finally found one that looked thick enough lying a few feet from the mouth of the trail.

She picked it up, and returned to the stone slab. Forcing one end of the stick under its edge, she pressed down on the other end. For a moment, nothing happened. Then the stone came loose. Dropping the stick, Beth crouched down and turned the slab over.

The other face had been polished smooth, and Beth knew immediately that her first feeling about it had been right — it was the top of what had once been a headstone.

With growing excitement, she rubbed the dirt away from the shallow engraving just below the upper curve. The letters were fuzzy, almost worn away by the ravages of time. But even so, she was able to read them:

AMELIA

There was nothing else, nor could she find the rest of the broken gravestone.

But it was enough.

Amy was real.

Beth thought about Tracy, and her mocking laughter.

And Peggy, who hadn’t believed her, and had run away from her.

But she had found the proof. Now, no matter what they said, they wouldn’t be able to take Amy away from her.

If they tried, she knew what would happen to them. Amy would do to them what she had done to Jeff Bailey.

For Beth and Amy were friends now — best friends — and nothing would ever be allowed to come between them again.