schizophrenia.
“I have no idea who this Ned guy is, but he certainly doesn’t
live here.”
“I’m sorry. You’re mistaken.”
“I don’t think so.”
“This house belongs to Ned Foster,” he says, his anger now
matching my own. “He built it three years ago.”
I stare at him. “Seriously, you’re insane.”
“I’m starting to think you are, lady.”
“Brush up on your history before you try and lie. The house
was built in the twenties.”
“Exactly,” he says. “Nineteen twenty-two.”
“So…you’re bad at math then?”
“What?”
“Uh, nineteen twenty-two was a little more than three years
ago, wouldn’t you say? More like ninety-three.”
He gives me a blank look. “Ninety-three…”
“Years ago. Nineteen twenty-two was at least ninety years
ago.” I repeat.
“This is nineteen twenty-five, Cassandra,” he says, speaking slowly as if I’m the crazy one. “How could ’twenty-two be
ninety years ago?”
I nod with exaggerated interest. “Oh, it’s nineteen twentyfive, huh? That’s fascinating.”
He says nothing. Only stares. And I’ve officially had enough.
“That’s it. I’m not going to stand here and play games.
I’m leaving.”
“Cassandra,” Lawrence calls as I stride back toward the
house. “Wait.”
He runs up behind me, but I refuse to turn around. He falls
in step with me as I stomp up the beach.
“It’s like you’re a character in some play,” he says, scraping a
hand through his hair. “You show up at my birthday party and
now at my house without an invitation. You wear the strangest, most daring clothes. And now you’re telling me nineteen
twenty-two was ninety-three years ago…”
I push through the bushes. “I don’t know what role-playing
game you’re trying to get started here, but—”
As I turn to shoot him my most imperious parting glare, the
words halt in my throat.
His face, his whole body is…fuzzy. I blink, but he’s still
covered in blur. It’s like someone has thrown a thin muslin
screen around just him. As if I’m seeing him through a lens
with a smudge over the exact place he’s standing. I smash my
fists against my eyes and look again. But he’s looking at me
funny too.
“Cassandra?”
I back away, still blinking to get the crazy blur out of my
eyes. Is this an early symptom of a heart attack or something?
Am I going blind thanks to some sudden, undiagnosed vision
problem?
He walks toward me, speaking, but I only hear a muffled
garble of words. And if possible, he’s getting even more transparent. He’s blending in with the bushes, the ocean, the
sunset behind him. Speechless, I retreat, stumbling onto the
back lawn.
Lawrence sets a foot on the grass. I see his almost translucent
lips form my name, and then he’s gone. Dissolved into the
background.
Chapter 6
Cassandra
stare at the spot where Lawrence disappeared. It didn’t
I
happen. It couldn’t have happened. I must really be
going blind. Or I’m having a stroke.
Maybe I’m dying. Or dead.
I move closer to the lawn where Lawrence had been standing.
One step.
Another.
And then a faint haze of color takes shape in front of the
bushes. My heart is beating against my rib cage as if it’s trying
to escape. I move closer and the colors darken a shade. The
shape takes a recognizable form. Human. A dull mumble
reaches my ear.
“Lawrence?” My voice shakes.
I run toward the bushes and push past the scratchy branches
lashing my skin. The shape ahead of me grows darker and more
vivid with each passing second. The mumble becomes strained,
like bad reception on a cell phone.
“Cassandra?”
“Lawrence!”
I push past the final, overgrown hedge. My foot touches
sand. And I run smack into Lawrence’s chest.
My eyes meet his. He grips my arms, his face pale as a sheet.
“Cassandra!”
I can’t get a good breath. I pull out of his grip, staring
at him, terrified. “What was that? What. In the world. Just
happened?”
He says nothing, his eyes wide.
“What
“I have no idea who this Ned guy is, but he certainly doesn’t
live here.”
“I’m sorry. You’re mistaken.”
“I don’t think so.”
“This house belongs to Ned Foster,” he says, his anger now
matching my own. “He built it three years ago.”
I stare at him. “Seriously, you’re insane.”
“I’m starting to think you are, lady.”
“Brush up on your history before you try and lie. The house
was built in the twenties.”
“Exactly,” he says. “Nineteen twenty-two.”
“So…you’re bad at math then?”
“What?”
“Uh, nineteen twenty-two was a little more than three years
ago, wouldn’t you say? More like ninety-three.”
He gives me a blank look. “Ninety-three…”
“Years ago. Nineteen twenty-two was at least ninety years
ago.” I repeat.
“This is nineteen twenty-five, Cassandra,” he says, speaking slowly as if I’m the crazy one. “How could ’twenty-two be
ninety years ago?”
I nod with exaggerated interest. “Oh, it’s nineteen twentyfive, huh? That’s fascinating.”
He says nothing. Only stares. And I’ve officially had enough.
“That’s it. I’m not going to stand here and play games.
I’m leaving.”
“Cassandra,” Lawrence calls as I stride back toward the
house. “Wait.”
He runs up behind me, but I refuse to turn around. He falls
in step with me as I stomp up the beach.
“It’s like you’re a character in some play,” he says, scraping a
hand through his hair. “You show up at my birthday party and
now at my house without an invitation. You wear the strangest, most daring clothes. And now you’re telling me nineteen
twenty-two was ninety-three years ago…”
I push through the bushes. “I don’t know what role-playing
game you’re trying to get started here, but—”
As I turn to shoot him my most imperious parting glare, the
words halt in my throat.
His face, his whole body is…fuzzy. I blink, but he’s still
covered in blur. It’s like someone has thrown a thin muslin
screen around just him. As if I’m seeing him through a lens
with a smudge over the exact place he’s standing. I smash my
fists against my eyes and look again. But he’s looking at me
funny too.
“Cassandra?”
I back away, still blinking to get the crazy blur out of my
eyes. Is this an early symptom of a heart attack or something?
Am I going blind thanks to some sudden, undiagnosed vision
problem?
He walks toward me, speaking, but I only hear a muffled
garble of words. And if possible, he’s getting even more transparent. He’s blending in with the bushes, the ocean, the
sunset behind him. Speechless, I retreat, stumbling onto the
back lawn.
Lawrence sets a foot on the grass. I see his almost translucent
lips form my name, and then he’s gone. Dissolved into the
background.
Chapter 6
Cassandra
stare at the spot where Lawrence disappeared. It didn’t
I
happen. It couldn’t have happened. I must really be
going blind. Or I’m having a stroke.
Maybe I’m dying. Or dead.
I move closer to the lawn where Lawrence had been standing.
One step.
Another.
And then a faint haze of color takes shape in front of the
bushes. My heart is beating against my rib cage as if it’s trying
to escape. I move closer and the colors darken a shade. The
shape takes a recognizable form. Human. A dull mumble
reaches my ear.
“Lawrence?” My voice shakes.
I run toward the bushes and push past the scratchy branches
lashing my skin. The shape ahead of me grows darker and more
vivid with each passing second. The mumble becomes strained,
like bad reception on a cell phone.
“Cassandra?”
“Lawrence!”
I push past the final, overgrown hedge. My foot touches
sand. And I run smack into Lawrence’s chest.
My eyes meet his. He grips my arms, his face pale as a sheet.
“Cassandra!”
I can’t get a good breath. I pull out of his grip, staring
at him, terrified. “What was that? What. In the world. Just
happened?”
He says nothing, his eyes wide.
“What
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