Chapter 24. Tessa
Tessa
We check on Tilly a few times over the next couple of days—she’s now home from the hospital with her parents hovering constantly, adjusting her pillows and bringing painkillers.
She’s safe, albeit shaken up. So, we spend our time practicing scaring each other.
We brainstorm a list of warnings, phrases, threats, things we can say to terrorize Carl.
Reed talks me through the plot of every horror film he’s watched in the last five years.
I’m now an expert on The Shining, It, Hereditary, and the entire Scream franchise, which he says is more funny than scary but can still give us ideas.
We’ll start the hunt for Carl this afternoon, using every tool at our disposal to terrify him.
Through our supernatural powers of persuasion, we’ll show him that it’s far scarier to come after Tilly, or to prey on anyone for that matter, than to give up.
We will spend our remaining days making his life a waking nightmare.
But as Reed and I sit across from our door and its giant countdown clock, taking a breather after our scare attempts, a little voice in the back of my mind whispers, What if it doesn’t work?
Or Carl doesn’t care? With each attempt we lose a day off the door, and with only eleven of them left, we could blow through our remaining chances.
I need a fail-safe.
Some way to know that if all our attempts go bust, I’m not leaving Tilly to fend for herself. If we can’t stop Carl, the amount of danger she’ll be in when we’re gone is staggering. I vow right then not to leave until I know she’s going to be all right.
What about Reed?
My feelings for him have grown deep and complicated, with our lives, deaths, and fates so tethered. Why were we only given this one door? Are we meant to continue on together? What happens if one of us departs before the other?
Reed promised he’d wait for me, that we’d leave at the same time, but I don’t know if I can promise the same. I might not be able to go when he wants.
I glance out the large second-story windows; the mist is back, rolling up the siding, pressing against the seams, itching for a way inside.
Somewhere out there, the smoke creatures must be gathering again.
At least I know we’re safe indoors. They can’t seem to get onto our property unless we invite them inside.
What did that woman at the back gate say to me? “Let me in,” she’d begged. “Please.”
I startle forward as an idea strikes me. If I can’t stop Carl as a ghost, what about stopping him as a fade?
I have no idea if I can help Tilly as a smoke creature, but they seem to have powers I don’t.
Maybe that’s the obvious answer in front of me, my final Hail Mary, and I won’t know until I’m one of them.
If there’s even a possibility of stopping Carl in that form, I’ll make the sacrifice. I’ll do that for her.
But Reed can’t know. He’ll try to talk me out of it. I glance over at him. His eyes are closed, deep in thought, but he opens them slowly and flashes me a genuine, unguarded smile.
He promised Hal he’d hold on to me. I desperately want to hold on to him, too, to stay with him and face whatever comes next together.
It’s almost impossible to admit, but in the secret reaches of my heart, I think I’m falling in love with him.
The thought pulls my breath up short, almost knocking me flat. I shove the feeling back down.
Because if the time comes, and we can’t solve this any other way, I need to do whatever it takes to save Tilly. And I can’t ask Reed to do the same. I can’t be selfish in my feelings for him. I can’t hold him back, even if it hurts.
I have to let him go.
“It’s now or never.” Reed rubs his hands together, a wicked glint in his eye. We’ve practiced and planned as much as we can. It’s time to do some haunting.
“Is it weird to say that I’m excited?” I feel powerful, like we have the upper hand for once.
“I feel good about this, too. It can work. But we need to push ahead, even when we’re reeling from stepping through him. If we drip it out slowly, one scare today, one tomorrow, he won’t take it seriously. So we overwhelm him with an onslaught of terror. Agreed?”
“Yes.” I nod. “But first we check on Tilly one more time. Make sure she’s all right.”
We send ourselves back to the magnolia tree on Tilly’s lawn. It’s around 3:30 p.m. Now that they’ve got her settled at home, Tilly’s mom has taken over her shifts at the shop and her dad is off with his construction company.
“You head inside and I’ll make sure Carl’s not lurking nearby again.” Reed takes off down the driveway, peeking behind cars and trash cans, while I walk through Tilly’s front door.
There’s the faint hum of the dishwasher running in the kitchen and upstairs Tilly is playing Sasha Sloan’s “Dancing with Your Ghost,” which feels oddly appropriate. Before I check on her, I inspect the house.
Carl, thankfully, is nowhere to be found.
I save Tilly’s bedroom for last. It’s still hard to see her injured.
I find her leaning against some pillows on her sky-blue comforter, sitting under the Black Girl Magic poster she drew in art class, her desk stacked high with journalism books.
Her arm’s in a sling, and she’s recovering from a black eye and road rash from where they dragged her out of the car before it tumbled into the river.
I shudder, imagining how her story might have gone if she hadn’t been rescued in time.
Her phone is beside her on the bed, but what she’s looking at is our yearbook, spread open to a photo of us.
It was a fundraising event for the senior class last fall, a masquerade ball.
I was selling tickets when yearbook photographer, Megan Blackwell, gathered us together to snap this picture.
Tilly and I are each wearing elaborate masks.
She’s in a gorgeous bubblegum-pink ballgown, because if it’s colored like candy, she wants to wear it, and I’m in a slinky red lace dress that flares at my ankles.
I remember how excited I was when I found that fabric.
We both have big smiles on our faces, but what I love most about the photo is how our heads are tilted together with our hands raised in triumph.
As student body president, I’m proud of the money we raised, but Tilly …
I don’t know … she just seems happy to be there with me.
Her fingers trace over the picture as a tear runs down her cheek.
“I love you, Tills.” I kneel beside her.
“I know you can’t hear me, but I want to tell you anyway, you were …
are … the best friend anyone could have hoped for.
It may seem like I’ve deserted you, but I’m here.
I’m watching out for you, and—” I lean in close, my words a solemn oath.
“I promise I will make this right. So you focus on getting better, and I’ll do whatever’s needed to keep you safe. ”
For a moment, a brief, hovering moment, she turns her head toward my voice, goose bumps rising on her skin. Did she hear me? But when she stands with a wince and shuffles past me to close the window, I realize it was only the breeze.
“Goodbye, Tills,” I whisper.
In a flash I travel back to the magnolia tree, where Reed is waiting for me, hauntingly beautiful and ready to enact our revenge.