Chapter Six Raine
Chapter Six
Raine
I curled into a ball on the waiting room couch. The sharp armrests angled my neck in a painful way. My ribs still ached. But wine—still swirling in my system—dragged me under.
My brain drifted back to Hale House seventeen years ago.
Dad was dead. A stroke had left my mother with a fear of darkness and an aversion to noise or bright lights. The once-lively house had turned cold and silent. Like a tomb.
Mom needed full-time care. And that meant strangers were constantly coming and going during the day.
At night, Mom got really confused. And she couldn’t stand being around anyone but me.
I’d lie in my bed and listen to her footsteps as she paced her room. I eventually asked the afternoon caregiver to sedate her more. That helped a little. But the footsteps never stopped. I needed more help because school was starting, and I had to be out of the house during the day.
My first day in public school was a disaster.
I was late. Mom’s caregiver hadn’t shown up. I’d given Mom her morning meds, knowing they would knock her out until the midday shift arrived. When she’d fallen into a deep sleep, I’d thrown the exterior latch on her door and left.
When I walked into my first period class, the morning bell was ringing. I searched for a seat. The teacher reminded me of timeliness.
I could’ve gone for public school casual, but I opted for vintage distressed jeans, a Coachella T-shirt, and Tory Burch flats. A cheeky, “entitled bitch” vibe that was the norm in the private schools I’d always attended.
I welcomed the stares. Better hated than pitied.
My lunch was at eleven a.m. Too early for Maria, who had a different schedule. No one was waiting to welcome me. And the girls looking my way weren’t smiling.
I grabbed a banana and a soda from the cafeteria line. Most of the shaded sidewalk spaces skimming the outside wall along “the Pit” were taken. No one moved to make room.
That’s where I first saw her. Amy. Sitting alone in the last sliver of shade. Back against the wall. Eating a PB and J, her backpack blocking the space beside her.
She looked up and moved her backpack, and I took the sunny edge beside her. I peeled my banana—grateful to have something to do.
“Times must be tough,” Amy said.
Words. Directed at me. Imagine.
“You aren’t welcome, either?” I asked.
“Nope.”
She wore jeans so worn the right knee had ripped open. Her black graphic tee, washed too many times, read The Joker. Mousy brown hair hung limp around her face. Her right ear displayed four studs and a hoop. Cheap beaded bracelets ringed thin wrists.
She pulled a crumpled pack of cigarettes from her pocket. “You’re trying to piss everyone off, aren’t you?”
I sighed. “I am.”
“It doesn’t take much.”
“Swarming sharks.”
She lit her cigarette. “Why are you here? You’ve got money.”
“Figured I could use the change,” I quipped.
Smoke drifted from the glowing tip. “Right. And I live in a mansion when I get tired of the trailer.”
“Two peas in a pod.”
A smile curled her lips. “Doubtful.”
Despite our differences, I liked her. She looked enough like me, so Mom would probably accept her more easily. “Are you looking for a job?”
“Doing what?”
“Looking after my mother. Weekends. Nights.”
“Why?”
“She had a stroke. She’s still often confused. Sometimes she wanders.”
“Where does she go?”
“Family cemetery. But not anymore.” I paused, picturing Mom’s white nightgown drifting across the back lawn as she rushed to Dad’s tombstone. “She doesn’t leave the house now.”
“You have a family cemetery?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s some kind of rich.”
“They’ve always been there. I never thought about it.”
“Who’s buried there?”
“My dad. Grandparents. Great-grandparents. A hundred and fifty years of Hales.”
“Any ghosts?”
“No.” Except for the footsteps. “The house is old, but it’s not that different than any other house.”
“Oh, it’s different,” she said. “No one lives like that.”
“I have people during the day. But nights and weekends are harder.” Even if money wasn’t a thing, few liked the house’s moans and groans.
“Afraid of the ghosts?”
Her grin eased something in me. “I guess.”
“I like ghosts. They’re cool.”
“It’s small pay but includes room and board.”
“I don’t have a car.”
“I’ll drive you to Hale House after school and bring you back in the morning. We also have a spare car for emergencies.” I looked at her. “You look a little like me.”
“I do not.”
“You do. Mom could think you’re me, so she’d do whatever you said.”
She looked a little flattered. “How much does it pay?”
“Ten dollars an hour.”
She inhaled, smoke trickling over her lips. “I’ll think about it.”
A hand settled on my shoulder. I startled awake.
My neck screamed from the crooked slant. The pain jolted me back to the moment Pete had strangled me. My fists clenched.