Dirty Secrets

Part 51

When Darcy stopped at the curb after the mall excursion, Lyla was paralyzed by an alarming image of Clover standing barefoot in a puddle at the end of her driveway. Clover's wet hair clung to her emaciated face, her sorrowful eyes fixed on Lyla.

"You're not familiar with the concept of tact?" Richie bickered with Darcy.

"You wanted my opinion."

Obviously, they didn't see Clover, though she remained only a few feet from the car.

"So no filter. You straight-up said the shirt was ugly."

"I've forgiven myself. Now I'm over it," Darcy replied.

Lyla pushed open the door, her eyes on the apparition.

"Fino al nostro prossimo incontro," Richie said in a lilting voice as she climbed out of the car.

"What is that?" asked Darcy.

"Until we meet again," he replied.

Giving Clover a wide berth, she scooted up the driveway past her dad's parked car, and crossed the line of salt.

"I thought it was hasta que something nuevo," said Darcy.

"That's Spanish."

"What're you saying?"

"Italian."

"Since when do you speak Italian?"

"Girl, please."

Lyla unlocked the front door and said as she stepped inside, "I already ate at the mall."

Her dad slumped, sound asleep on the couch in front of the TV.

"Sorry," she whispered and started up the stairs. At the top of the staircase, she entered her dad's room, went to the window, and peeked out. Both Darcy's car and Clover were gone.

As she exited into the hallway, she noticed a light flickering in her bedroom. She approached cautiously then poked her head into the room. In the corner, on her desk beside the bowl of salt, was Clarisse's ornate candle, the flame undulating. The full-bodied scent of sandalwood filled the room.

Wait. Wait a minute. I thought she was dead.

Lyla peered around the room, her nerves on edge. Other than the candle, there was no sign of the psychic. She leaned out into the hallway and found no one there.

"Clarisse?" she called quietly.

Guardedly, she entered her room, slipped her bag from her shoulder, and tossed it onto the bed. The flame elongated and danced, beckoning her. With her eyes darting back and forth, she approached the candle cautiously.

The flame dipped low on the wick, pulsing blue and orange in a puddle of paraffin.

Now, a short distance away, she closed her eyes and blew out the candle.

When Lyla opened her eyes, she found herself outside the football field squinting against a furious wind, jolted by the sight of the peculiar little girl with the pale complexion and head full of ringlets standing on the sidewalk a few feet away.

Behind her, Lyla heard crying. She spun around and saw Clover sitting on the sidewalk, her arms wrapped around her knees drawn to her chest. She looked up at Lyla with a brokenhearted expression on her pale face, brushing the tears from her striped cheeks as the wind whipped her hair.

Lyla's breath hitched in her throat when she spotted Geno the janitor shuffling slowly up the sidewalk, dragging his feet, his head lowered in despair. Dried leaves swirled on the sidewalk around his weathered boots.

"They're lost," came a familiar voice. Startled to see Clarisse standing beside her, Lyla backpedaled. Clarisse leaned closer and raised her voice against the wind. "You must listen." She clasped Lyla's hand in hers.

Lyla squinted, peering into Clarisse's kind brown eyes. 

"They've lost their way on their journey to the afterlife." She gestured toward Clover. "Some were desperate to end the pain. Foggy thinking drew them over the edge and now they're lost." She looked from the peculiar little girl to Geno. "Others can't let go. They can't accept that their earthly lives have ended. And so they wander."

"Where are we?" Lyla asked.

"There is no name. This is the in-between. This is where he finds them, where he keeps them."

She didn't need to ask, she knew Clarisse was referring to Keenan.

"He is a master manipulator in death as he was in life. He preys on the weak, the lost. His power has always come from his ability to use others."

Lyla nodded, ashamed to admit that she too had fallen prey to his persuasive powers. 

"He brings them back for brief visits to their familiar world as his messengers. He gives them just a taste, but they always return here. Trapped. If you wear that ring, if you should give yourself to him, this is where he will keep you. Forever."

The smokey gray ceiling above them flashed and grumbled. The sidewalk beneath their feet shook.

"He's coming, isn't he?" Lyla asked, her lip quivering.

A sinister smile tightened the face of the peculiar little girl.

"There's only one way you can lock him out and break his connections to the living world. You must salt and burn his cursed bones."

"I don't know..."

Clarisse shouted, "Read the letter."

Overhead, the swirling charcoal canopy pulsed from the lightning of an approaching, raging storm.

"You must do it. It's the only way."