Free Haunted by Lynn Carthage Page B

it did.”
    He looked again at the pages. “You couldn’t have written this.”
    â€œBut how can it be real?”
    â€œHow can it be real,” he repeated. Some dawn of understanding showed in his eyes, and he looked sympathetic.
    I was on the verge of telling him I’d screamed in front of my mom while she was putting a Band-Aid on Tabby, and she hadn’t reacted. I wanted to tell him about seeing Madame Arnaud in the old part of the house, that she’d turned the doorknob and stalked me step by step. That I thought she had bent over my sister in her crib and maybe even . . . done what he’d said. Drank her blood.
    â€œI get the feeling you’re reluctant to trust your senses,” he said.
    â€œThat—that is true,” I said. “That is the most true thing I’ve heard in a long time.”
    He smiled at me. “I believe you. And I believe this,” he said, gesturing to the pages.
    â€œIf she’s real,” I said, “my sister is in real trouble. She’s only two.”
    â€œJesus,” breathed Miles, his face growing serious instantly. “You didn’t tell me you had a little sister.”
    â€œWell, and there’s something even worse,” I said. I took a deep inhale and plunged in. I had to tell someone—someone who would actually listen. “This morning Tabby had some kind of injury on her arm.”
    â€œFrom what?”
    â€œI think from Madame Arnaud. I was there. I kind of saw it. I saw something. She came into my sister’s room and she . . .”
    â€œShe what?”
    â€œI don’t know. I couldn’t watch.”
    â€œYou mean . . . you think she was . . . ?”
    I nodded.
    â€œDid you show it to your parents?”
    â€œMy mom’s convinced it’s from an exposed nail on the crib.”
    â€œBut you told her what happened?”
    I hesitated. “Miles.” I wasn’t sure I could bring myself to admit that either my mom had purposefully ignored me, or I had experienced a full-blown hallucination. Both options were devastating.
    â€œYes?”
    â€œMy family doesn’t seem to listen to me anymore.”
    A big silence fell.
    â€œThey’re punishing me for something that happened back in California, before we moved,” I said.
    â€œPunishing you by ignoring you?”
    It sounded barbaric, and completely unlike Mom and Steven. So, possibly the other thing was true. I swallowed hard, blinking back tears.
    â€œMy parents do it, too,” he said.
    I looked bleakly into his beautiful sapphire eyes, the same color as a ring I’d begged Mom for (unsuccessfully) when I turned sixteen.
    â€œWhat the hell?” I protested weakly. “How could you do that to your own kid?”
    â€œI thought at first they were just preoccupied. Then I figured out it must be some new parenting technique. They always read books and magazines to figure out how to handle me. I guess I was a little bit of a firecracker when I was younger.” He grinned, and the change was like a gift from the gods.
    I seized on this explanation, seized on his mood. “Yeah, maybe it is some kind of fad,” I said. “I remember Mom and Steven going to a lot of group meetings with other parents right before we moved.”
    â€œThey’re ganging up on us,” he said. “Maybe we should ignore them back.”
    I laughed.
    â€œBut they probably wouldn’t notice,” he added. His eyes were so beautiful, crinkling at the edges as he laughed, his upper lip slightly crooked over his fantastic smile. I realized that not only was he very handsome, but that I liked him. In that way.
    My breathing became shaky. I wondered if the way I was looking at him had changed, that he could tell what I was feeling. My stomach contracted, and I felt a lurch in my chest. He looked away.
    â€œI have an idea,” he said abruptly. “Don’t laugh, but we could go to the