Free Rest In Peace by Richie Tankersley Cusick Page B

it. Blood pounded in her ears, and her body jolted with every terrified heartbeat.
    â€œGuilt’s such a weird power . . . It makes people do crazy things . . . Mean, hateful things sometimes . . . ”
    Hadn’t Dakota tried to warn her? Hadn’t Dakota tried to warn her just today?
    Lucy’s head spun wildly. Maybe Dakota wasn’t really who she seemed to be; maybe she wasn’t a friend at all. Maybe her warning had all been part of this huge, sick joke she and her real friends had already been planning to spring on Lucy . . .
    Calm down. Breathe. Think.
    Lucy’s palms pressed flat against the door. Her spine was rigid. Her vision blurred, then focused. Her eyes made a slow, thorough sweep of the shadows. The sliding glass doors were still shut; no invisible presence alerted her instincts to danger. Long minutes crept by. Finally she forced herself over to the nightstand and took the flashlight from the drawer.
    The bright beam of light was a lifeline.
    Still shaking, Lucy went into the bathroom and locked the connecting door to Angela’s room. Then she sat down on the edge of her bed and gripped the flashlight to her chest.
    Damn them! How could anyone be so mean, so heartless? Hadn’t she been through enough? Would guilt and blame cling to her for the rest of her life?
    Yet she couldn’t figure out how they’d done it, how they’d managed to rig the whole scenario. Even with high-tech knowledge, wouldn’t someone have had to get into the house to pull it off? Maybe they’d caused the power outage, too. But how had they managed to bypass such a sophisticated security system? It just didn’t make any sense.
    Unless . . .
    Lucy’s breath caught in her throat. She squeezed the flashlight tighter, so tight that her fingers ached.
    No! No, what happened back there in Angela’s room couldn’t have had anything to do with psychic powers or gifts or curses. Her body hadn’t signaled her like it so often had in the past. She hadn’t seen visions; there hadn’t been a feeling or impression or a warning too overwhelming to ignore. What had happened just now wasn’t like anything she’d ever experienced. So, no. No! It couldn’t have been just me .
    Yet no matter how much she argued with herself, she couldn’t quite shut out the whisper in her mind. The persistent little whisper that kept nagging her, trying to get through. What if it’s not a joke? What if it’s real? What are you going to do?
    Moaning softly, Lucy lowered her head and cradled it in her arms. No, no, there’s a logical explanation, it’s a horrible trick, and Florence just forgot and left the window open! Because she couldn’t bear to think otherwise. Because the sound of Angela’s voice and the prospects of Angela’s fate were just too chilling to imagine.
    Imagine? Maybe I did imagine it. Maybe I had a memory lapse or blacked out or hallucinated. One of those things that people with head injuries are supposed to do .
    Helplessness engulfed her. She couldn’t call the police—they’d never believe her. She couldn’t tell Irene—her aunt would put her straight into the hospital. So who? Dr. Fielding with his comfort-coated skepticism? All Lucy knew for sure was that she couldn’t stay here a minute longer. She had to leave, and she had to leave now .
    Leading with the flashlight, she hurried downstairs, yanked her coat from the closet, and stopped to check the battery backup on the security system.
    And that’s when she remembered she didn’t have a car.
    What time is it anyway?
    She looked at her watch, surprised to see that it was after seven. Surely Matt should have been here by now—surely he would have rung the doorbell when he dropped off the car.
    Lucy pulled aside the front curtains and peered out at the driveway. The red Corvette was sitting there, parked about halfway down, covered with a thin layer