Free The Yanti by Christopher Pike

gazing at a living mask. There was no reality in the woman’s expression. It could be changed in an instant, to fit any occasion.
    As Sheri sat beside Judge Lincoln, close to her lawyers, Ali allowed her own gaze to deepen, to probe beyond the layers of Sheri’s façade. Simultaneously, she felt the Yanti beneath her blouse begin to warm. As the heat grew, Sheri allowed hergaze to fall on Ali. Ali felt a sudden pressure in her head and heart, but it was not unbearable. Sheri knew she was being examined, and was sending back the message that she did not like it. However, she was not truly trying to stop her. It was almost as if she said aloud,
Fine, have a look, if you can
.
    Then the façade suddenly crumbled, as the Yanti’s heat swelled, actually blistered Ali’s skin. For several seconds she was given a clear vision of the woman.
    Sheri was hideous. She was scars. She was burnt flesh. She had one eye, the right, but it was almost buried beneath a mound of seared skin. It was still green, though, and there was a dull light to it; a power that hinted at something inhuman.
    Pain smoldered in its depths, and Ali recalled the many things Hector Wells had told her before the meeting, and thought she understood why.
    The horrific vision wavered like a computer screen crackling in an electrical storm, then it settled back to the blond loveliness Sheri normally presented to the world. The heat of the Yanti halted, but the memory of what it had revealed stayed with Ali. Sheri was neither blond nor redheaded. Her bald skull was a pitted moon that had traveled too near a flaming sun. Thirteen years ago—at last Ali was convinced—the fire of Hector’s car accident had burned away all her beauty.
    Ali no longer questioned whether Sheri Smith had been Lucy Pillar.
    However, the feeling swept over her that she was missing something obvious.
    The way Sheri grinned at her, it was as if the woman were thinking to herself:
Yes, Alison Warner, baby sister, childish foe, you see my face, you may even know a piece of my past, but you do not know me. You will never know me. Because I am beyond you
.
    That was her subtle message. Her greeting.
    Ali was disappointed when Judge Lincoln let Garten start the meeting. The cop was a nightmare from the word go. He acted as if he were presenting facts, but he put such a spin on them, Ali felt as if she were listening to a well-rehearsed speech that had been created by a committee of everyone who hated her.
    Officer Garten began five weeks ago, with Karl Tanner coming home and telling his parents he was going on a camping trip with Alison Warner, Cindy Franken, and Steve Fender. Garten listed the dates and times, described the equipment Karl brought with him—making it clear that he brought a warm coat and an extra sleeping bag, for one or more of the others.
    Garten played the drama king. Jumping three days forward in time, he leapt from his chair and boldly paced the room.
    “Then Ali, Steve, and Cindy returned to Breakwater, without Karl!” he cried. “That’s a simple fact, ladies and gentlemen. The three kids reappeared, went back to their daily lives, like nothing wrong had happened. They acted like they had not a clue where Karl was. Worse, they acted like they didn’t care. I remember those days well. At the behest of Mr. and Mrs. Tanner, I questioned the three of them many times. They refused to admit they’d even gone hiking with Karl. But it was clear they were lying. How could I be sure? For one thing, they initially denied they had even gone hiking during the time I described. Then, when they were confronted with the proof, that yes, they had been up on the mountain, they started to mouth the same lies over and over again. They just decided to go camping, they said. They hiked partway up the peak, stayed out two or three nights. They couldn’t remember for sure how long it had been, but they had lots of fun. No, they didn’t see Karl. No, they never invited him on the trip. No,