Anywhere But Here (10 page)

I couldn’t deny him, even though I doubted that I’d see him much.  “Sure.”

I stayed in the dark house after my parents left and wandered through the rooms like a restless spirit searching for a soul to haunt.  I passed my sister’s closed bedroom door numerous times but couldn’t find the courage to turn the knob.  I’d already sought out her most precious treasures before I had left the first time and they were currently stashed in my orange bedroom at Aunt Franki’s house.

As I sat in the kitchen that night, contemplating the liquor on top of the refrigerator, I wondered if should contact any of the people that I had once considered friends.  Tiara was out of the question as I was sure I’d only ma
ke her uncomfortable. And I didn’t have numbers for the ‘friends’ I’d made that had consoled me with alcohol.   We’d never been that close.

Almost without thinking, I climbed on a chair and grabbed a bottle of vodka from the top of the fridge.  It was nearly three quarters full
with half an inch of dust on the lid, so I figured it was safe.  Dad must be feeding his alcohol habits outside of the house.

I filled a glass nearly halfway and dumped some soda on top before retaking my seat at the table. I sipped my drink with a queer smile, pretending that I was sitting in an elegant cocktail bar with famous people all around me.  Life was normal – somewhat – and people were chatting with me, not in the least bit fussed about my family.

When my fantasy faded, I once again found myself in the dim kitchen, my glass empty.  I refilled my drink, the alcohol already dimming my thoughts, and slurped at it noisily.  Before I could get too sloppy drunk, I twisted the cap tightly and stuck the bottle back on top of the fridge.  Although my parents barely noticed me anymore, I did think that a drunk daughter would garner a lot of attention – and not the good kind.

I finished my drink, washed out the glass
, and stuck it back in the cabinet.  I stumbled my way downstairs to the rec room and collapsed on the sofa.

I almost wished I’d had Damon’s or maybe even Fin’s cell numbers as the silence closed in on me.  It unsettled me that I hadn’t a clue where I wanted to be or where I belonged.  It really sucked and I hated that I wanted nothing more than to be normal.  Why couldn’t I wish and pray for my sister’s safe return?  Why was I only thinking of myself again?

Because you know deep in your heart that Camille is gone forever,
the ugly voice inside of me said.  I cursed it aloud, shivering to the point of nausea.  That stupid voice was the one that chased me away from my family to begin with and I didn’t need it to start taunting me again.

The vodka
soon worked its magic and knocked me into a dreamless sleep.

I woke early Saturday morning and made my way to the kitchen, a dull thud in my head.  I shuffled through the cupboards but the place was empty of cereal or any other breakfast food.  Except toast.  I popped some bread in the toaster and wrapped my arms around my body to shield it from the chill of the emptiness.  I still could not believe that my huge house – the same one that had once been full of laughter from friends that were always welcome - was now so silent and cold.

As I buttered my toast, it unnerved me that I was so confused on where I should be.  Shouldn’t I be home with my parents who needed me or should I be with Aunt Franki and trying to live a new life?  And why was it up to me to decide?  I was only seventeen, for crying out loud.  Wasn’t it up to my parents to decide what was best for me?  Granted, making big decisions was all part of growing up, but this one was too huge for me to handle on my own.

Then another thought began gnawing at my conscience;
had I been too hard on Fin?

The answer to that question was easy enough: yes.  Yes, I’d been horrible to him again.  He’d only been honest with me – hadn’t agreed with the way I’d been treated.  He’d only been trying to help, that was all.  Yet, I’d let the anger-demo
n get the best of me and allowed my swirling feelings to collide.

Sighing, I realized that I owed him another apology.

I nibbled on my toast, not wondering why no one was about.  I knew Dad had escaped to the office – even though it was the weekend.  And Mom, well, she was certainly in the den, working on new posters or in one of her chat rooms, exchanging information with other parents whose children were missing.

Never mind the ones who were still around.

Terror and humiliation struck me with that thought.  How dare I be so selfish?  How dare I expect special attention from my parents just because I was here and Camille was not?  Who did I think I was?  And I’d once accused Fin of being arrogant.  That was the pot calling the kettle black for sure.

I hated myself.  I absolutely loathed the person that I was and no amount of counseling with Roberta would change it.  None.

My cell rang, startling me out of my thoughts.  It was Franki.

“Hi,” I said without much luster.

“Honey,” she said in a gentle voice.  “Damon and his friends have been here.  Ian Finley has been here.  What is going on?”

“What did you tell them?” I panicked.

“That you had to go home and see your family, that’s all,” she said.

“Oh.”

“The school called and said you’d missed your last classes,” she continued.  “But I told them you were ill and called me.  They said next time go see the nurse, first.”

“Thanks,” I said.

“I won’t cover again, Rena,” she said in an unusually firm voice.  “I want you here with me and I’ll help you, but I won’t lie.”

“I just…freaked,” I tried to explain in a feeble, weak voice.  “I’m sorry.”

“I know, sweetheart,” she said.  “That’s why I wanted you here.  That’s why I wanted you to see Roberta.  I want you to get help.  I don’t want you living with some sort of ridiculous guilt.”

I wanted to rail against her and try to explain that the guilt wasn’t ridiculous but I knew I wouldn’t get through to her.  She believed in me for some unfathomable reason.  And she obviously loved me, which was more than I could say for my parents at that point in time.  So, it was a little clearer where I needed to be.  That didn’t necessarily mean I
belonged
there – just,
needed
to be there.

“I’ll be…home…in the morning,” I said tearfully.

“Okay,” she said and hung up.

I moped about the house all day while my father remained at work and my mother locked herself in the den, typing furiously on the computer while maintaining a vigilant eye on the telephone.  I’d tried to sit with her, looking over her shoulder a
nd feigning interest in her new online friends.  She’d regaled each of her friends’ stories – the horrors they, too, were dealing with in the search for answers to what had happened to their children.  It turned my stomach and was more than I could bear so I made an excuse about seeing old friends and left her to her world.

I drove around listlessly, perusing my old haunts but hiding when I’d see a classmate or someone I recognized.  I didn’t want conversation but that big house in the neat little subdivision was suffocating me.

I left Sunday morning without any sort of fanfare - without even a mere goodbye.  My parents were too wrapped up in denial to notice their other daughter packed up more belongings and pulled silently out of the driveway.

No, I didn’t belong here, either.

The swirling snowflakes that melted once they hit my windshield did not delight me as usual on Monday morning.  I parked behind the school and trudged inside full of dread.  I didn’t want to face Fin because then I’d have to give him t
he apology I owed him when I didn’t even want to speak.  I just wanted to curl up deep inside my body and let guilt and despair swallow me whole. What right did I have to live any sort of life when Camille was out there somewhere – dead or alive?

I barely noticed the pointed looks and veiled whispers as I visited my locker.  My apathy toward the school and the town returned so that I could disappear behind my shield of not caring as I shut my locker and concentrated only on the first class I had to endure.

“Where were you all weekend?” Fin demanded as he grabbed my arm and spun me around to face him.  Something in my expression or in my eyes must have softened him because his hold gentled and his face fell.

“Home,” I muttered as I wrenched free.  “Sorry, again. I was wrong. Um, I have to go.”

But he wouldn’t let me off that easy.

“Rena, what is going on?”

I stopped to glare at him.  “Look, I’m not interested in getting revenge on Gina or whoever put the syrup in my locker and I think I was right in the first place when I said I didn’t need any friends.  So leave me alone, okay?”

He shook his head fervently.  “No, I’m not going to leave you alone.  Something is so wrong with you and I want to know what.”

“It’s not your business,” I said in an even tone.  “Now go away.”

I turned my back on him and headed to Calculus.

“Rena!” he called but I only waved over my shoulder.

I made it through the morning with only minor incidents – I hadn’t cut any of these classes on Friday.  I was still somewhat aware of the whispering going on around me but I couldn’t muster enough energy to care.

When lunch rolled around, I played the coward and hid in my car until it was time for Creative Writing.  I couldn’t ditch again so I reluctantly reentered the school and went to class.

Fin ignored me when he took his seat
and for that I was grateful.

“Today we’re going to work on word exercises,” Mr. Ellis announced, clapping his hands together.  His eyes swept my face but he didn’t acknowledge me or my absence.  F
or that, I was also grateful. I’d have to see him after class and find out if I owed him any assignments, but I’d deal with that then.  I’d already fabricated an excuse to give my teachers should they ask what happened Friday and I’d rehearsed it so much Sunday night that even I was starting to believe it.

“I want you to pair up,” he said, indicating that the students in the first row should partner with their neighbor and so forth.  My heart fell as I closed my eyes.  Of course I’d be stuck with Fin.  “I’ll hand out a sheet of words and I want you to work together and come up with at least five synonyms without using your thesauruses.”

Fin grabbed the corner of my desk and yanked until it butted with his.  He took me totally by surprise so that I wasn’t able to shoot him a dirty look.  He accepted the sheet of paper from Mr. Ellis and dug a pencil out of his backpack.

“I’ll do it myself, if you want,” he grumbled. 

“No, I’m perfectly capable of helping,” I said, stung.  “I’m not totally stupid.”

“Never said you were,” he replied as his eyes raced over the list of words.  “The first one is ‘happy’.”

I snorted.  “Ecstatic, delirious, on cloud nine…”

“Hold on,” he complained as he scribbled quickly.  He added a few of his own and I waited for him to read the next word.  “What the hell?  Does he think this is some sort of therapy session?”

I blanched, panic seizing my heart.  Did Fin know?  Did Mr. Ellis?  Maybe the whole school – that would explain the looks.  “What?” I choked.

Fin shoved the paper under my eyes.  “Look, every word is a feeling.”

My heart slowed as I glanced at the list.  I released a weak giggle.  “Maybe.”  I pointed at the second word.  “Sad.”

“This class,” he said, drawing
a tiny smile to my face.  He winked at me and my heart vaulted to my throat.  “Depressed.  Unhappy.”

“Miserable, gloomy, blue,” I added, a little too easily.

Fin merely glanced at me as he scrawled the words on our paper.  “Angry.”

My fists clenched but my anger-demon was the one to roll its eyes.  “Livid. Furious.  Incensed.  Outraged. Irate. Fuming. Mad.”

“I got it, I got it,” he said, shooting me an apprehensive look.  “You okay?”

“Fine,” I said, my teeth clenched.  I took in air through my nose, hoping to calm my thundering heart.  “What’s next?”

“Useless.”

“Is he trying to tell us something?” I asked, the exercise grating on my raw nerves.  Sweat collected on the back of my neck, behind my hair, and in my palms, which had relaxed,
and started to shake.  “This is stupid.”

“I told you that I’d do it,” he reminded me, his voice soft.

“Inept, hopeless, bleak, impossible,” I began. 

But instead of writing, he stared at me, his eyes digging into mine.  “Rena…”

“Just write,” I ordered, turning my head to avoid his eyes.  I noticed the other pairs in the class either laughing or grimacing, all concentrating on the simple assignment.  It wasn’t a drill from the pits of Hades for them so why should it be for me?  Why was it that Mr. Ellis seemed to know exactly how I was feeling?  Why was he insisting that I jot down every emotion I’d experienced in the past five or six months?

When class ended, I escaped as quickly as possible, not even bothering to talk to Mr. Ellis.  I just wanted to get to my free period and rest my head
. I was desperate to beat back the impending headache I could feel forming behind my eyes.