All Hallows' Moon Page 13

  But the thought of institutionalization terrified her. What if they kept her longer than two weeks and she became a werewolf in the psychiatric ward? There was a lot of vulnerable prey in the hospital. It would be like setting off a bomb.

  “I’m not crazy,” she whispered.

  Rylie was surprised to see Gwyn crying, too. She didn’t think her aunt could cry. “I know, sweetheart,” she said, hugging Rylie tight. “I know.”

  Fifteen

  Truth

  They admitted Rylie for the day. There wasn’t anybody available to evaluate her until Monday, and after Gwyn’s conversation with a doctor—during which she avoided using the word “werewolf”—they decided to keep her for observation.

  “Observation” was a funny word, because it seemed to mean giving Rylie a room in the hospital and then ignoring her. They stuck her with a girl whose arms were bandaged from elbow to wrist. She refused to talk. That was fine with Rylie.

  She was checked into the hospital in time for dinner, but their idea of food was a roll and reheated pasta with Jell-O. There was one little meatball on the plate that didn’t taste like real meat. Gwyn went out to get a half dozen cheeseburgers and helped her by eating the buns and French fries while Rylie ate the patties.

  “Thanks,” she said. It was the only time she spoke to her aunt the entire time.

  The nurses didn’t make Gwyn leave after visiting hours ended, but there wasn’t space in the room for her, so she slept between two chairs in the waiting room.

  Rylie sat in bed with her knees to her chest, watching the seconds tick by on the clock and wondering what would happen in the morning. The girl with the bandaged arms was clicking through channels on the TV aimlessly for hours.

  What if Rylie was crazy? It was likelier than being a werewolf. She never remembered being an animal anymore, so maybe she was losing her mind on the moons rather than transforming.

  She might have preferred being crazy to being a monster, but that would have meant everything over the summer was a hallucination, too. Including Seth.

  All she had to do to remind herself of the horrible truth was glance in the bathroom mirror. Her eyes used to be blue, and that shade of gold wasn’t natural. The scars on her chest hadn’t come from nowhere, either.

  What would she tell the psychologist? They would think the werewolf thing was a nervous breakdown, too. She couldn’t tell them the truth if she didn’t want to be put in a straight jacket.

  Of course, Eleanor couldn’t get her in a psychiatric ward.

  She managed to sleep fitfully for a couple hours in the early morning, but a nurse woke her up for breakfast. Rylie threw everything in the trash except the turkey bacon. The girl with the bandaged arms had vanished.

  A few minutes later, they took her to be evaluated.

  “I’ll wait right out here,” Gwyn said, squeezing Rylie’s hand.

  She made herself smile.

  The therapist was a smiling middle-aged woman with a pen over one ear and perfect fingernails. The name plate on her desk said Rita Patterson. “Good morning,” she greeted. “How are you feeling this morning?”

  “I don’t like hospitals,” Rylie said.

  “Why is that?”

  “You don’t go to a hospital for anything fun.”

  Rita had a rich, pleasant laugh. “Unfortunately, that’s true. Now, I’ve been told your aunt brought you in because she’s worried about you, so I have a little worksheet for you to fill out. It’s how we assess your risk level.”

  She pushed a paper across the desk, and Rylie looked at the first question: Do you have thoughts of self-harm? It had boxes to check for “yes” or “no.” All of the questions were similar.

  “I’m not suicidal,” Rylie said without touching a pen.

  “No? Do you want to tell me why you came in yesterday?”

  “I told Aunt Gwyneth that I’m a werewolf. She thought I went crazy.”

  “Are you a werewolf?” Rita asked.

  It was kind of a weird question. She wasn’t asking what Rylie thought. She asked if she really was a werewolf.

  “Yes. I am.”

  The room was very quiet. Rylie thought her heart might be pounding loud enough for the therapist to hear it.

  She had decided overnight that the best way to protect herself from Eleanor would be to get locked up. If she could get them to put her in a padded cell, she would be guarded all the time. They probably wouldn’t keep her for very long, but it would be a few days of safety.

  So Rylie would be honest. The truth was crazy enough without embellishment.

  Rita took the pen from its position over her ear and tapped it against her lips. “How did you become a werewolf, Rylie?”

  “I was bitten by another werewolf.”

  “And all of a sudden, you changed?”

  “No,” Rylie said. “I changed slowly. It took three months for me to become a werewolf.” Her voice shook when she said it.

  Slowly, very slowly, Rita set down her pen. She leaned forward to take the risk assessment paper from the desk, and Rylie noticed a glimmer of silver around her neck. The therapist was wearing a necklace with a five pointed star medallion.

  Rita peered closely into Rylie’s eyes.

  “When did it happen?” she asked.

  “Over the summer. I was bitten at Camp Silver Brook.”

  A strange expression flashed over the therapist’s face, and then she sat back. She cleared her throat and typed a quick note on her computer.

  “Well, Rylie,” Rita said. She started writing on the risk assessment worksheet, and Rylie tilted her head to read it. She was filling it out for her. “Well, well. Do you have thoughts of self-harm?”

  “Never.”

  “Do you ever think you would be better off dead?”

  “No. I want to live. But I am a werewolf,” she added, since the therapist didn’t seem to be nearly as worried about that statement as Rylie expected. “I eat cows and stuff. Alive.” Rita still didn’t look surprised. “With my teeth.” A little louder, she said, “When I’m an animal.”

  “I would be very careful who you say that to,” Rita said in a low voice.

  Surprise jolted through Rylie. “What?”

  The therapist pushed a button on her desk, and a nurse opened the door, letting Gwyn into the room while Rylie was still gaping at Rita. Her aunt took the chair beside her.

  “You are a perfectly normal girl,” Rita said. “Stress gets to everyone sometimes. We don’t always make the right decisions, but that doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with us.”

  “But…” Rylie trailed off.

  Did the therapist believe her? Did she already know?

  “What do you think we should do with you?” Rita asked.

  “Admit me to a psychiatric hospital,” Rylie said. “Lock me up. I’m a danger to society.”

  Gwyn’s jaw dropped. “Rylie—”

  “I’m going to recommend that you see a therapist once a week. I know someone with an office in your town who sees patients on Friday afternoons.” Rita took hospital stationary out of her desk and wrote down a phone number. “But I also know someone specializing in your kind of issues, Rylie. Someone who has handled a lot of young men and women just like you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Scott Whyte is a psychologist in California. His expertise should allow him to give you the kind of intensive care you need.”

  “California?” Gwyn asked, voice sharp. “We can’t fly her to California for regular treatment.”

  “Call him and see if you can make arrangements,” Rita said, staring at Rylie as she said it. “Please.” The star on her necklace seemed to attract light to it. “You don’t need to be institutionalized, but you could certainly use some special attention.”

  Rita stood, and that was that. Rylie wasn’t going to get locked up. She twisted her hands in dismay. “Are you sure I shouldn’t be admitted?” she asked as the therapist walked them to her door. “What if
I really am dangerous?”

  “You’re not, Rylie,” Gwyn said. “Calm down.”

  “Watch out for yourself,” Rita whispered when her aunt wasn’t looking. “You and I both know it wouldn’t be safe for you to be in a hospital for very long.”

  She opened her mouth to ask questions, but the door shut, Gwyn filled out some paperwork, and it was time to go home.

  Rylie’s mind whirled. Was it possible that other people knew about werewolves? What did that star mean? She stared at the two phone numbers Rita gave them and wondered what, exactly, Scott Whyte specialized in.

  They didn’t talk on the drive home. Her aunt’s knuckles were white on the steering wheel, and the lines on her face looked deeper than they had before going to the hospital.

  Rylie was afraid the Chevelle or the motorcycle would be parked outside the house when they got back to the ranch, but there was no sign anyone had been there. She took a shower and changed into jeans and a sweater. The weather had grown colder, and Gwyn was starting a fire in their woodstove.

  She expected Gwyn to confront her about the werewolf story, but she pulled on her boots to go outside immediately. “Do you have any homework to finish?” she asked.

  Rylie nodded. “I have a paper to write for English, and a project with Kathleen.”

  “Then I reckon you should get to work.”

  And just like that, they were supposed to be back to normal.

  Rylie couldn’t relax knowing Eleanor was onto her secret. She kept expecting her to make another kidnap attempt. At least Abel had been obvious about stalking her—Eleanor was much sneakier, and a thousand times more frightening.

  She dreamed of hands snatching at her hair and woke up on the floor more than once, having thrashed her way out of bed in the middle of violent dreams.

  All she could think about was running away. She packed a bag with spare clothes and hid it under her bed so she could leave at a moment’s notice, but Gwyneth never let her out of sight long enough to make a break for it.

  In truth, Rylie felt better having her aunt nearby. As crazy as Eleanor was, she was pretty certain she wouldn’t make another abduction attempt until she was alone. And since Abel wasn’t coming in for work anymore, they had a lot more to do around the ranch.

  “I wonder where he went,” Gwyn said. “He hasn’t shown up at all this week.”

  Rylie wondered how she would react if she knew her niece had bitten him. That might actually get her locked up this time. “I can call the newspaper and place another ad,” she suggested.

  “Yeah. We should probably do that.”

  Her sixteenth birthday came and passed. Gwyneth bought her a cake from the bakery in town and put Rylie’s name on it with candles. As a present, she gave her a new diary with a leather cover and a gold ribbon.

  “I remember you used to always be writing in one of these. I thought you might like a new one.”

  “Thank you,” Rylie said. She had lost her last one at camp the night that Jericho attacked everyone and hadn’t written in it since. The memory of it was painful. She wasn’t sure she wanted to start a new journal.

  “Have you thought more about going for a ride on Butch?” Gwyn asked. “He could sure use the exercise.”

  “I don’t think I can.”

  “Suit yourself.”

  Her aunt didn’t ask again.

  Rylie saw Seth at school, but she avoided him so she wouldn’t have to tell him what his mom had done. She wasn’t sure how he would react.

  Kathleen met her at the library during lunch, and they worked on their project together. At least, that was the official story—they couldn’t seem to tolerate each other long enough to get anything done. They couldn’t even pick a topic.

  Their project was due in a week, but while most of the other groups had a rough draft, they were still stuck on the brainstorming phase. The worksheets the teacher had given them were still blank. And Rylie’s patience had met its limit.

  “That’s a stupid idea!” Rylie snapped after Kathleen proposed the same topic for the sixth time. “I already told you, I don’t want to do a project about that. Nobody cares about the settlers!”

  Kathleen slammed her book shut. “Maybe you’re just too stupid for history class.”

  She shoved her chair back and stood, snatching the books from the table. “I’ll just write this stupid paper on my own!”

  “Fine!”

  Rylie stormed out of the library.

  Eleanor was waiting in the parking lot.

  She was in the driver’s seat of Abel’s Chevelle, and her stare was colder than the autumn breeze. Her hand was pressed against the glass like she wanted to reach through and grab Rylie again.

  Rylie dropped the books in shock. They spilled across the sidewalk, and she dropped to her knees to grab them.

  By the time she looked up, Eleanor was gone.

  She spent the rest of the afternoon hiding in a locked bathroom stall. Every time the door opened, she thought it would be Seth’s mom, but it was always another student.

  “What’s wrong?” Gwyn asked when she picked Rylie up that afternoon. “The way you’re twitching, you look like you’re getting attacked by flies.”

  “Nothing is wrong,” she said, forcing a smile.

  It didn’t look like Gwyn believed her, but she wouldn’t have believed the truth either, so Rylie kept smiling as they headed home. It made her cheeks hurt.

  “I made you an appointment with a therapist.” Gwyn handed her a slip of paper with a date and time on it.

  “Is this the specialist?” Rylie asked.

  “No, we don’t have the money for that, and I’m sure you’re not as bad as that Rita seemed to think. This one should be good enough. You’ll start going once a week for a little while.”

  “Oh. Okay.”

  “That day is this Friday.”

  The day after the full moon. “Cool,” Rylie said. She couldn’t make herself sound grateful at all. “Thanks.”

  Gwyneth followed her inside when they got home. “We need to have a talk. You got a few minutes?”

  “What is it?” she asked, dropping her knapsack by the door.

  “I’m leaving for a couple of days. I meant to tell you a few days ago, but…”

  “Leave? Why?”

  “You know how there’s some things I haven’t told you about? Like why I didn’t go to Brian’s funeral? This is part of that.”

  “Does it have to do with my dad?” Rylie asked.

  “Not at all. Look, I want you to trust me. I want you to feel like you can tell me anything—including the truth about what happened at summer camp. But you can’t trust me until I trust you. I’m going to let you stay at home alone. You understand?”

  She nodded slowly. “I think so.”

  “You need to go to school every day and come home like normal. You’ll have to see if you can get a ride in with John Frank’s kids—they’re the farmers three miles up the road. The ranch hands have everything covered here, so don’t worry about keeping everything running. Make sure to feed the chicks.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “I’ll tell you when I get back,” Gwyn said. “You’ve got some stuff that’s so awful you can’t talk about it, and I do, too. I’m not ready to share. That’s going to be a long, hard talk. Can I trust you?”

  Rylie nodded. What else could she do? “Yes.”

  She helped her aunt get all the clothes off the line and fold them into suitcases. Rylie tried to keep up a conversation, but after seeing Eleanor, it was hard to think about anything else.

  Once her aunt was gone, she would be alone and vulnerable. She was sure Eleanor would attack. She could feel the huntress drawing closer, like the jaws of a tiger were closing in on her throat.

  Rylie couldn’t be at the ranch when they came for her.

  “Call Jessica if you need help, or ask Jorge if you need something small. We should have plenty of food. I’ll be back on Saturday. It won’t be long at all
,” Gwyn said, throwing her suitcases in the back of the truck.

  “Okay.” Rylie hugged her, and Gwyn felt thinner and more fragile than before. “I’ll miss you.”

  She stood at the top of the hill and waved as her aunt’s truck receded. Dread settled over her shoulders as it grew smaller in the distance.

  As soon as she was gone, Rylie ran inside to get her bag.

  Since she had already packed, there wasn’t much to do but grab some food and a little cash. Money wouldn’t be a problem in the long term. She had inherited plenty of money from her dad when he died. But she didn’t have access to it yet, and she couldn’t buy a bus ticket with stocks.

  Whenever they went shopping, Gwyneth got a wad of bills out of her bedroom. She never used a credit card, so she had to keep cash somewhere in there.

  Rylie stood with her hand over the doorknob to her aunt’s room as she struggled with an internal debate. Gwyn had said she wasn’t allowed in her room a hundred times. She didn’t want to steal, either.

  She would pay Gwyn back. She would just borrow it for now.

  Rylie pushed the door open.

  Her aunt’s sheets were rumpled at the foot of the mattress. Clothes were piled in a hamper next to an old TV sitting on a dresser with its drawers open. Rylie hung by the door uncertainly. When she was a little girl, she used to take naps in Gwyn’s bedroom, and she remembered it being clean and organized. What changed?

  There was a desk under the window and a jewelry box on the bedside, half-hidden behind a bunch of pill bottles. Rylie guessed it would be in one of those places.

  She snuck inside like she was intruding on Sunday mass and opened the jewelry box. Some of her late grandmother’s necklaces and rings were nestled in the velvet lining. Gwyn said Rylie could have it all someday, so they were as good as hers, but she couldn’t make herself take anything.

  There wasn’t any money hidden in the jewelry box, so she opened the small refrigerator next to Gwyn’s bed and looked inside. It was populated with more bottles of medication. Rylie turned them over to look at the labels.