“Mackenzie, I want to talk to you.”
“We don’t always get what we want.” I hold up another bottle of wine. “If you don’t get off my property in ten seconds, I’m shoving this one somewhere unpleasant. I’m counting. One.”
“I don’t think I can climb over the wall from this side,” he points out, a little petulantly. “And if I open the front gate you’re going to be swarming with reporters.”
“Two. Hope you’ve lubed up your asshole.”
Eli throws up his hands. “You run away from me at school, you ignore my texts. I didn’t know what else to do.”
“Three.”He’s Jace. That’s the only explanation. Which means that for some reason, thirteen-year-old me didn’t want anyone who might pick up my phone to know I was talking to Eli. I want to ask him about that, but I can’t, and that pisses me off.
“I thought you were dead.” His voice cracks on the words, and the pain on his face is open and raw. “All these years I’ve tried to find out what happened to you, but you justvanished. I couldn’t evengrievefor you because my fucking parents would figure it out. And then you just show up and act like you don’t know me. Why, Mackenzie?”
No. no no no no no. This can’t be true. Eli’s talking like we used to be an item. But that was four years ago. Eli has girls falling all over him now. Why does he give a fuck about a girl he knew when he was thirteen? The way his face twists – he has feelings for me. Or, at least, for the old Mackenzie. For the Mackenzie who’d never been buried alive in her own coffin, who had her life stolen and her memories tainted forever.
I checked every last corner of my room. There was no mention of a guy, no loose ends I needed to tie up. I had to be sure of that or Antony and I never would have risked me attending Stonehurst. Yet somehow we missed both NoahandEli.
I watch Eli’s face twisting with pain, and it hits me.
Iknow.
I know why Eli seems familiar to me, even though there’s no way I’d remember him from before.
The realization punches me in the gut, and I stagger back under the shock of it.
He’s one of the faces I’ve seen peering through the gate, staring up at the windows of my old bedroom. He’s been here several times over the years. I thought he was another thrill-seeking ghost-hunter. But he’s not. He’s been looking forme.
“Mackenzie?” Eli pleads. “I promise, I’ll leave you alone if that’s what you want. But can’t you just tell me if you’re okay? Are you in danger? Is it your dad? Is that why you won’t talk to me?”
Iwantto tell him everything. And it’s that wanting that gives me pause. Because I don’t know this guy, but hefeelsso familiar to me, so safe. Iwantto trust Eli, and that’s dangerous.
“Go away.” I slam the window shut, palming the bottle as I head back downstairs. I am going to need it.
15
Mackenzie
Iwatch from the ballroom window as Eli pushes lawn furniture against the wall and clambers up. His shoulder muscles heave with the effort of pulling himself over, and he’s not the only one hot and bothered by the end of it. I contemplate going out there and offering him a drink just as he disappears over the other side.
Instead, I chug the entire bottle of New Zealand’s finest vintage while I tear my old room apart. I rip the heads off all the creepy dolls and poke around inside their stuffing. I stab at the wooden cupboards with the knife Antony gave me for my tenth birthday, looking for hidden compartments. Finally, I take the knife to the expensive mattress, tearing away strips of foam and sending springs flying in all directions.
Finally, I find it.
I’d hidden it well, shoved into the bunting on my headboard through a cut I hid behind a fold of fabric. No wonder I missed it during my last search. I wrap my hands around the tiny notebook and tug it free, holding it under the light as I inspect the cover.
It’s pretty nondescript as far as notebooks go – the cover decorated with watercolor flowers, a dent across the corner, and several pages crinkled from being constantly handled. I grasp it in shaking hands, knowing without knowing that I’m holding the key to unlocking the secrets of my life before, of memories that don’t feel like they belong to me.
I crack the front page and begin to read:
Happy eighth birthday to me! Eli got me this diary. He slipped it into my bookbag when no one else was looking. His note says I should use it to tell the truth, because I never get to tell the truth any other time. I think it’s dumb because no one will ever read this. I have to keep it secret or Daddy will be upset with me. But maybe Eli will read it. Maybe I’ll say nice things about him here, just in case.
Mommy and Daddy gave me a new doll for my birthday. She has a porcelain face and beautiful long fingers and a dress with pink ribbons. They took me out to a fancy dinner at an Italian place on the boardwalk. I accidentally knocked over my glass, so Daddy refused to let me order a meal. I watched him and Mommy eat and drink and enjoy slices of pink birthday cake all to themselves.
The next entry starts with:
Some workers came to empty the pool and repair the tiles today. Mommy caught me talking to one of them. He was just asking me about my dolls, but Mommy made me sit on the bottom of the pool while she sprayed me with the hose. She made me stay down there until it was dark. My fingers are so cold I keep dropping the pen.
Fuck. That’s dark.
