Part 5 (1/2)

Not even my name, really, just something that croaked two syllables out in a long, screechy whisper, the kind that sounded like nails on a chalkboard, only worse. I stumbled back a step, looking around.

Cooper.

”What's the matter?” Megan asked.

I spun in a circle. Whipple barked and backed up, his body low to the ground, a growl rumbling in his throat. ”Did you hear that?”

”Hear what?”

Come on down, Cooper.

This time louder, like that guy on The Price Is Right. Inviting me to play the game.

”That voice.” But even as I asked her and the whisper built in volume, I knew.

Knew it was only in my head. Knew it was meant only for me to hear.

I looked at the well. Felt everything inside me fall to my gut with a sickening realization.

Come back. Bring her with you. Paolo's already here. We'll have a party.

There was something in that well. And it wanted me. What was worse a it wanted Megan, too.

Megan's eyes were wide, her face pale. ”Cooper. You're freaking me out. What's going on?”

”Don't touch me!” I took two more steps back, hands going to my ears, but it did nothing to block the sound, to keep it from crying now, like a wolf on a hill.

”Cooper?” She sounded truly alarmed now.

I shut my eyes and swallowed hard, even as the voice kept calling me, its tone changing now. It was taunting me. Laughing. I had to get Megan out of here, get her away from me, because anyone who came near me was in as much danger as I was.

I kept my eyes shut because I knew I couldn't look at Megan and do this. ”Megan, just leave. Get out of here, d.a.m.n it. I a I don't ever want to see you again.”

”You a” Her voice broke. ”What? How could . .

But she never finished her sentence. By the time I opened my eyes, Megan was gone. Whipple scuffled forward in the leaves and pressed his little body to my legs in sympathy.

The voice had stopped calling my name, and all that was left was the trailing of its laughter in my head. I bent over, picked up a rock, and hucked it into the well.

The laughter stopped.

For now.

Twenty-four hours later and I still had no solutions.

Megan ignored me, like I'd told her to. But still, the cold shoulder stung really badly.

I told myself it was for the best, even as everything within me hurt like h.e.l.l and I missed her as if I'd had part of myself amputated. I might have ruined the best relations.h.i.+p I'd ever had, with the person I cared most about in the world.

Keeping her away from me was right, though, until I figured out what to do. Had a plan. A solution. Or woke up from this nightmare.

Still, it hurt. Every minute of every day. And a hundred times over, I wanted to call her, write a note, apologize. Just to see her smile again. Instead I suffered.

Faulkner was out with Sh.e.l.ley, at some senior yearbook planning thing, leaving me to fend for myself at home. I hadn't been able to come up with an excuse to leave and sleep somewhere else, so I stayed in on Tuesday night, figuring I'd stick to my room and lock the door if I had to. But so far, all had seemed pretty normal.

Joey showed up a little after eight. StepScrooge Sam grudgingly let him in, and only because Joey said he was there for homework help. Joey burst through my bedroom door, cursing my father's name. ”Dude, you gotta help me write this paper. If I fail English this quarter, my parents will keep me on house arrest for the rest of my life.”

”I thought you had a date,” I said.

Joey shook his head. ”Lindsay bailed on me.”

”Joey, I don't want to-”

”Coop, I'm begging you here. Besides, you owe me.”

”For what?”

He stared at me, face blank. Thinking. Something Joey tried not to do too often. ”Uh, maybe it's the other way around. Doesn't matter. We're both failing, and you want a new cell phone, right? So you can have a link to the free world, like the rest of us?”

”Yeah.”

”Then man up and let's get this paper done.”

Translation: Joey would sit on my bed while I did all the work. I was in no mood for that, so I pointed at my computer. ”Do a Google cruise on Hamlet and see what you get.”

He shrugged. ”All right. First, I gotta check my vitals. My mother's got my parental block up so high, all I can visit is Mickey Mouse.”

I flopped onto my bed, picked up a Hacky Sack, and tossed it from one hand to the other, waiting while Joey ran through his Mys.p.a.ce page and his e-mail. I pretended to listen to Joey's rambling account of life as an online stud. Finally, he managed to stumble onto the website for the CliffsNotes. ”It's got, like, four sentences on that stupid play,” Joey said.

I flipped open my copy of Hamlet and skimmed the pages of act three. The words swam before me, a mountain of Old English gibberish. A ghost appearing before Hamlet, terrifying him and telling him someone was out to kill him. Then the play, mimicking murder. Murder. I didn't want to think about that. English wasn't a good alternative, but it was the only one I had right now. I ran a finger down the page, looking for something that would make sense.

”The whole play would have been a lot shorter if someone had just told Hamlet to quit whining and do something already,” Joey said.

I laughed. ”Yeah.”

Joey read some more, clicking from site to site. ”Hey, what's this supposed to mean?” he asked. ”They keep mentioning this in the Google stuff. 'The lady doth protest too much.' What's the big deal about that line?”

”I think it means that the queen in the pretend play keeps on saying how innocent she is, and when you keep saying it over and over, that means you're guilty.”

Joey thought for a minute. ”Like when Melissa Felton kept telling me she wasn't doubling up with Eric Brown. Every time we were out somewhere, that girl was totally shoulder surfing, always looking for someone else when she should have been looking at me.”

”Yeah, like that,” I said, not really listening as Joey kept going on about Melissa and his broken heart. ”Joey. Joey.”

”What?”

”Dude, we should write this paper.”

”No, we should go back to my house and get buzzed. I know where there's some bonus beers from when my parents had a cookout on Labor Day. Back of the fridge in the garage. They're Heinies. My dad hates those. He'll never miss *em.”

”No. I don't feel like it.”