Part 13 (1/2)

It smells vile in here, a mixture of potent chemicals and the underlying odor of forgotten meat, which I pick up despite the room's sterile appearance. No dead bodies, though. Not here on this skinny table. Nope, not in the freezer, either.

Inside the main house it is eerily quiet now, except for the hum of a computer in an office adjoining the vast viewing room that takes up virtually the entire bottom floor.

Oh, here is the dead body. The last time I saw Taylor's body, it was stuck fast to a birch branch, nibbled on by hungry critters, bloated with river water and stone cold blue. I can only a.s.sume the undertaker is a magician, because here she lies in her high-collared, long-sleeved blue dress, looking as though she died peacefully in her sleep instead of being brutally beaten against dozens of boulders.

She looks as though she's made of wax. After seeing three dead grandparents, I know this is pretty common. I also know if you stare at her stomach long enough, it will look as though she's breathing. It's very creepy. Taylor wears the requisite thick layer of beige face powder that undertakers rely on, and you can see little particles of powder clinging to her nose hairs. Other than that, her makeup is much more understated than it ever was when she was alive. There's a subtle sweep of light pink blush across her cheeks and a natural looking lipstick has replaced her usual burgundy lip gloss. No eyeliner. Her acrylic nails have been replaced and painted pale pink, and her hands are neatly folded across her stomach, a pink rose resting between them. The undertaker has taken care to position her so the deep gash by her ear, which is now filled with some kind of beige putty, is not visible from the side the mourners will approach from, and for added insurance, he has tilted her head slightly to the side. She looks tragically beautiful, lying here so absolutely, hopelessly dead.

But I know better. I plunk myself down on the coffin and sit cross-legged beside a spray of spicy-smelling stargazer lilies and wait for the first mourners to arrive. Since Taylor thinks I'm the one who's no longer alive, I should be up here, too.

At five thirty, Taylor's parents and little brother arrive, proving that the aura of grief has many colors. Her brother looks to be about eleven and miserably uncomfortable in his navy suit, starched white s.h.i.+rt, tie, and stiff brown dress shoes. He keeps glancing at Taylor's body as if it's going to come alive and eat him. Taylor's father has zombie eyes. He kneels before her body, professing his love and promising to find the little b.a.s.t.a.r.d who did this to her and make him pay. I can't see Taylor's mother's eyes through all her tears. They drip all over the satin lining of her daughter's coffin as she leans over and kisses Taylor's lifeless cheek. I sigh. And here I am, apparently not alive either, and my mom couldn't be happier.

At six o'clock sharp, the funeral director opens the door and a steady stream of mourners files into the room. Taylor's girlfriends are toward the front of the crowd, and it appears they've consulted each other about what the well-dressed teenager should wear to a viewing-black, black, and more black. They sob and lean on one another for support as they wait for their turn to kneel on the prie-dieu in front of the coffin. I wave to each of them, welcome them by name, and let them know they can take those black sungla.s.ses off anytime now.

As they make their way through the receiving line, I watch the girls cry with Taylor's mother, shake hands with Taylor's father, and kiss Taylor's little brother on the cheek, leaving a bouquet of lipstick marks. I find it odd he doesn't object until I notice him sneaking peeks down their low-cut s.h.i.+rts as they bend to kiss him. After they've all pa.s.sed through, the girls find a cl.u.s.ter of comfortable armchairs which they pull into a tight little circle. They huddle together like a coven of witches and the whispering begins.

Teri and Lisa show up together, looking apprehensive. Teri has apparently never seen a dead body before, and she's afraid to approach the coffin. Lisa looks relieved and they go off to find friends to talk to. Callie comes in shortly after, looking very appropriate in black slacks and a teal blue blouse that looks nice with her olive complexion. After she pays her respects at the coffin and expresses her condolences to Taylor's family, she goes to talk with the rest of the swim team.

It seems just about every student and teacher from Byers/Westover High is here. From my perch on top of the flowers, I study their expressions as they kneel in front of the coffin and pretend to pray for Taylor's soul. It's pretty obvious what they are really doing: they're examining her, looking for the rumored gash in her skull where her brain peeks through.

”It's on this side,” I tell everyone and point, but of course, n.o.body can hear me or see me. For a fleeting second, I consider surging into view, just for fun and to see what people would say, but then I decide this is a stupid idea. What would it prove? I have a feeling Taylor will bring enough attention to my life.

Rei comes in at about six thirty, wearing beige-colored chinos and a crisp-looking white polo s.h.i.+rt. His hair is damp and combed neatly back away from his face, which makes his eyes look even darker and more intense as he scans the room. He sees Callie and they exchange a wave, but then he sees a group of Seth's wrestling buddies and chooses to join them instead of approaching the coffin or Taylor's family. I don't blame him. The receiving line is out the door now, and the viewing room, foyer, and front porch are packed with at least two hundred people, congregated in small, closed circles whispering hushed conversations.

Gee, I wonder what everyone is saying!

I take a break from my place of honor and drift around, eavesdropping. Even though people are trying to keep their voices respectfully low, I have to zoom in pretty close to filter out all the chatter. I think I make people uncomfortable. Some of them s.h.i.+ver a little when I get close. Some stop talking for a few seconds and look around suspiciously. Some just take a step back. I try not to take it personally. Funeral homes are supposed to be creepy.

Most of the conversations center around rumors the students and faculty have heard about Seth and Taylor, although I do hear several people defend Seth. They are all careful to keep Rei and Taylor's parents in sight so they can stop talking if necessary, but Rei hasn't moved from his group, and he manages to keep their conversation centered on wrestling.

At about seven o'clock, I notice Taylor is just standing in the doorway, like Cinderella arriving at the ball. Rei catches and holds sight of her out of the corner of his eye as she makes her way to the coffin. She stops about eight feet away and bursts into deep, dramatic sobs.

All conversation stops, and everyone stares at Annaliese Rogan, who is making a colossal fool of herself in front of the entire school.

Both Rei and Callie excuse themselves and hurry over to Taylor's side.

”Anna?” Callie asks tentatively. ”You okay?”

”I've got this, Callie,” Rei tells her. He takes Taylor's arm and leads her away. It's obvious to me he is trying to save some last shred of dignity for me, bless his heart. His voice is low and persuasive as he brings her out into the foyer. ”You don't have to do this. Do you want me to take you home?”

Taylor shakes her head, sobbing.

Rei pulls a few tissues from one of the many tissue boxes parked around the room and tries to hand them to her. ”Come on, let me take you home. Please?”

She shakes her head. ”No! I want to see my ... Taylor's parents.” She finally takes the tissues out of Rei's hands and scrubs her black tears away. ”I'll be right back,” she sniffles and heads to the ladies room.

Rei sits alone on the couch, waiting, drumming his fingers on his knee.

When Taylor finally comes out, the black tear streaks are gone and her face is calmer. ”I'm going in now,” she tells him in a stiff voice. ”If you still want to drive me home after, you can.”

”I'll come with you,” Rei offers.

”Suit yourself.” She swishes her hair behind her shoulder, walks in slowly, and kneels on the prie-dieu. The effort it takes to control herself is clearly visible on her face, and in spite of everything, I do feel sad for her. It's bad enough watching myself walk around, but I can't imagine seeing myself lying dead in a coffin, like she is seeing herself now.

She reaches out tentatively to touch her own dead hand, but then changes her mind. Several shuddering breaths later, she stands and approaches her parents.

”Mr. Gleason? I'm Annaliese Rogan.” She offers her hand, and my name sparks some obvious recognition.

”You're the girl who witnessed Taylor's murder!” he declares, still holding on to her hand.

”Yes, I did,” her voice cracks. All of the conversation in the room fades to a murmur, and it sounds as if someone has just handed Taylor a microphone. ”And as soon as they find that monster, Seth Murphy, I'll be there to testify against him so he can't hurt anyone else!”

Rei's face shows no emotion, but his aura looks like raw steak. Taylor doesn't seem to notice everyone is eavesdropping. ”I am sooo sorry.” Tears spill down her cheeks, and Taylor's mother gives her a hug.

”Thank you, Annaliese,” she murmurs. Taylor clings to her mother and sobs. Her little brother looks at her as though she's sprouted antlers.

After several awkward seconds, Rei steps forward and takes Taylor by the arm. ”Okay, Anna,” he says in a tight voice, ”there are other people waiting.”

”So let them wait,” Taylor is indignant, but it's so crowded that once Rei moves to the side, someone else steps up to talk to Taylor's mother. Rei makes his way with Taylor to the door leading to the front porch. ”Why did you pull me away?” she demands to know.

”Because you were making a scene,” Rei responds without looking at her. ”And I know you think Seth had something to do with this, but you need to keep your opinions to yourself. He's innocent until proven guilty.”

”Bulls.h.i.+t! He's guilty.” Taylor insists as they reach the exit. It's several degrees cooler outside and Rei's colors fade to orange. Briefly. Taylor yanks her arm from Rei's grip. ”And stop holding on to my arm so tight. What is wrong with you? One minute you're all nice, and the next, you treat me like c.r.a.p.”

”I'm not treating you like c.r.a.p. I'm just sick of hearing you accuse Seth of something he didn't do,” Rei shoots back.

”Look, Rei, you need to make up your mind. Either you're on my side, or you're on his side. Decide.”

Wasn't she just crying two minutes ago? Now she looks ready to punch Rei in the face. Rei must know that either way, he will lose something in this argument. ”I'm not choosing one friend over another. But,” his voice softens, sweetens, ”you and I have been friends for a long time. We don't want to throw that away.”

”I'm not interested in being just your friend.” Taylor wears four-inch heels and she uses that extra height to her advantage. ”If you want to be friends with me, Rei, then you need to be with me.”

Rei folds his arms in front of his chest. ”We already talked about this.”

”And we can talk about it some more when you drive me home.” She grabs the bra.s.s door handle and pulls hard. ”I'll be out in a few.”

Rei leans against the railing, standing as far upwind from the smokers as possible. After he calls my mom to tell her he'll drive me home, he closes his eyes, and his breathing becomes slow and deep.

I watch Taylor work her way through the crowd. Even though I never spent much time looking in the mirror, I know what I look like, and this isn't it. She's trimmed my hair, plucked my eyebrows, covered my face with makeup, dressed me up in a low-cut s.h.i.+rt and black miniskirt and she walks with a certain swagger I'm certain I never had before. It looks like she's stuffing my bra, too.

Her old friends are still sitting in their little snake pit, hissing to each other. By this time, they've all pushed their sungla.s.ses up onto their heads and kicked off their high heels. The look of collective surprise is priceless when Annaliese Rogan confidently infiltrates their circle and sits on the padded arm of Vienna Beaulati's chair.

”Hi. I'm not sure if you know me,” Taylor says smoothly. ”I'm Annaliese, and I just want to tell you all how sorry I am to hear about your friend, Taylor.”

It's like someone pushed a b.u.t.ton: all their eyes and mouths go pop at the same time. If they know anything about me, it's probably that I'm one of the shyest girls at school, more shadow than substance. As soon as the initial shock wears off, they are trying to figure out not just who I am, but what I am.

”Weren't you on the gymnastics team in ninth grade?” asks Olivia Farrell. Yes, for all of six weeks. I picked up a lot of tumbling skills just by hanging around with Rei and Seth during their ninja-wannabe days in fifth and sixth grade, and by the time we got to high school, I was pretty decent. Rei sweet-talked me into trying out for the girls' team by spewing some c.r.a.p about how it would be good for me, that it would get me out of my sh.e.l.l. G.o.d gave some of us sh.e.l.ls for a reason-ask any snail. I did it to make him happy, but more to prove to him that I could. Unfortunately, most of the compet.i.tions were at least an hour away, and I hated mooching rides off my teammates almost as much as I hated performing in those claustrophobic gyms in front of hundreds of people. Taylor didn't even live here then, so how would she know that? She ignores the question.