She gazed into Ivy's eyes, her pupils large with excitement. Ivy could see that Suzanne might have been terrified then, but now found it thrilling and fun to talk about. Her friend was enjoying the memory the way someone delighted in a good scare at a spook house-but Gregory was no papiermache monster.
"Then he dropped his hand, called me a couple of names, got out of the back seat and into the front, and started driving like crazy. He opened all the windows and kept yelling back at me that" I could get out. But of course he was driving so fast and weaving left and right, and I was trying to straighten myself up and kept slamming from one side of the car to the other. He'd watch me in the rearview mirror; sometimes he turned all the way around. It's a wonder he didn't kill us both."
Ivy stared at her friend in horror.
"Oh, come on, Ivy. In the end, when I had my right arm in the left arm of my vest and my hair flopped over my face, he slowed down, and both of us started laughing."
Ivy dropped her head in her hands.
"But when he took me home that night," Suzanne continued, "he said he didn't want to see me anymore.
He said I make him lose control and do crazy things." She sounded pleased with herself, as if she had been given a huge compliment. "But he'll come around by next Saturday. He'll be at my party, you can bet on that."
"Suzanne, you're playing with fire," Ivy said.
Suzanne smiled.
"You and Gregory aren't good for each other," Ivy told her. "Look at you.
You're both acting crazy."
Suzanne shrugged and laughed.
"You're acting like a fool!"
Suzanne blinked, stung by Ivy's criticism.
"Gregory has a terrible temper," Ivy went on. "Anything can happen. You don't know him the way I do."
"Oh, really?" Suzanne raised her eyebrows. "I think I know him pretty well."
"Suzanne-" "And I can handle him-better than you can," she added, glancing sideways, her eyes gleaming. "So don't get your hopes up."
"What?"
"That's what this is all about, isn't it? Ever since you lost Tristan, you've been interested in Gregory. But he's mine, not yours, Ivy, and you're not going to get him away from me!"
Suzanne stood up quickly, brushed off the back of her jeans, and stalked down the hall.
Ivy leaned back against her locker. She knew it was pointless to call after Suzanne and thought about summoning Tristan, asking him to watch over her friend. Maybe Lacey could help them out. But that request would have to wait. Ivy had changed her plans for the afternoon, and if Tristan read her mind, he might try to stop her.
She unfolded the square of paper that had been taped in place of Tristan's picture. The note, signed with Eric's initials, was short and convincing: "Come alone. Five o'clock. I know why you're dreaming what you're dreaming."
Ivy parked her car close to the train bridges. She was in the same clearing where Gregory had stopped months ago, the night Eric wanted to play chicken. She got out and walked the short distance to the double bridges. In the late-afternoon sun, the rails of the new bridge gleamed.
Next to it stood the old bridge, a rusted orange fretwork reaching halfway across the river. Jagged fingers of metal and rotting wood reached back from the opposite bank of the river, but the two halves of the old bridge, like two groping hands, had lost touch.
When Ivy saw the parallel bridges clearly in the sunlight, when she saw the seven-foot gap between them and the long fall down to the water and rocks below, she realized the kind of risk Eric had taken when he pretended to leap from the new bridge. What went on inside Eric's head? she wondered.
Either he was totally insane or he just didn't care whether he lived or died.
Eric's Harley was not in sight, but there were plenty of trees and brush to hide it in. Ivy glanced around, then picked her way carefully down the steep bank next to the bridges, sliding part of the way until she reached a narrow path that ran along the river. She walked as quietly as possible, alert to every sound around her. When the trees rustled she looked up quickly, half expecting to see Eric and Gregory ready to swoop down on their prey.
"Get a grip, Ivy," she chided herself, but she continued to tread softly.
If she could surprise Eric, she might see what he was up to before she walked into a trap.
Ivy glanced at her watch several times, and at five minutes past five she wondered if she had passed the car. But after a few more feet, something flashed in her eyes-sunlight glinting off metal. Fifteen feet ahead, she saw an overgrown path that led from the river to a metal heap.
Ivy worked her way into the brush, keeping herself hidden as she crept closer. Once she thought she heard something behind her, a soft crunch of leaves beneath someone's foot. She turned quickly.
Nothing. Nothing but a few leaves drifting in the breeze.
Ivy pushed aside some long branches and took two steps forward, then drew in her breath sharply. The car was just as Beth had described it, its sunk into the earth, its rear buried beneath vines. The car's hood was ripped off, and its vinyl roof had decayed into papery black flakes. Its scarred doors shone blue-exactly as Beth had said.
The back door was open. Was there a blanket on the seat inside? Ivy wondered. What was under the blanket?
Again she heard rustling behind her and turned quickly around, searching the trees. Her eyes ached from focusing and refocusing on every shadow and flutter of leaf, searching for the shape of a person watching her. No one.
She glanced at her watch. Ten after five. Eric wouldn't have given up on her this soon, she thought. Either he's late or he's waiting for me to make the first move. Well, two can play the waiting game, Ivy reasoned, and crouched down quietly.
A few minutes later her legs began to ache with the tension of holding still. She rubbed them and looked at her watch again: quarter after. She waited five more minutes. Maybe Eric has lost his nerve, she thought.
Ivy stood up slowly, but something kept her from moving any further. She heard Beth's warning as if her friend were standing next to her, whispering in her ear.
"Angels, help me," Ivy prayed. Part of her wanted to find out what was in the car. But part of her wanted to run away. "Angels, are you there?
Tristan, I need you. I need you now!"
She walked tentatively toward the car. When she reached the clearing she paused for just a moment, waiting to see if anyone had followed. Then she bent down and looked in the back seat.
Ivy blinked, unsure for a moment that what she saw was real-not another nightmare, not one more of Eric's jokes. Then she screamed, screamed until her throat was raw. She knew without touching him-he was too pale, too still, his blue eyes open and staring at nothing-that Eric was dead.
Ivy jumped when someone touched her from behind. She started screaming again. Arms wrapped around her, pulling her back, holding her tight. She thought she'd shriek her brains out. He didn't try to stop her, just held her till she went limp, her whole body sagging against him. His face brushed hers.
"Will," she said. She could feel his body shaking.
He turned her toward him and held her face against his chest, his hand shielding her eyes. But in her mind Ivy could still see Eric staring upward, his eyes wide, as if he were quietly amazed by what had happened.
Will shifted his weight, and Ivy knew he was looking over her shoulder at Eric. "I–I don't see any signs of trouble," he said. "No bruising. No blood."
Ivy's stomach suddenly rose up against her ribs. She gritted her teeth and forced it back down. "Maybe drugs," she said. "An overdose," Will nodded. His breath was short and quick against her cheek. "We have to call the police."
Then Ivy pulled away from him. She bent down and forced herself to look long and hard at Eric. She should memorize the scene, she thought. She should collect clues. What had happened to him could be a warning to her.
But as she looked at Eric all she felt was the loss; all she could see was a wasted life.