Nancy Holder - The Evil Within: A Possessions Novel

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Table of Contents

Pain and separation kill time.

Gackt, Dybbuk

DEDICATION:

For John Waterhouse, who had faith in me.

THE RETURN

Battle not with monsters
lest ye become a monster
and if you gaze into the abyss
the abyss gazes into you.

Friedrich Nietzsche

True love is like ghosts, which everybody talks about and few have seen.

Francois De La Rochefoucauld

ONE

December 24

possessions: me

(as if objects, things, mattered. but theyre proof that im a real person, in the real world)

a suitcase of the clothes i humiliated myself with at
Marlwood, including:
black top from Julie
army jacket from cousin Jason
left the too-cute parka from CJ there
threw out my ruined clothes. except Converse high-tops
(caked with mud and ash, but i will never throw them
out: proof )
was going to leave all the textbooks, but CJ saw my home
work list so i packed:
American lit
Spanish II
trig book
six half-filled regulation Marlwood Academy notebooks
embossed with crest
ditto logo pencils
ditto logo coffee cup for CJ (present, she saw it in the book
store before we left)
ditto logo highlightersthese guys are into serious logo
usage
Tibetan prayer beads, which i am wearing down w/ prayers,
not in Tibetan
Jasons St. Christopher medal (maybe it worked!)
Dads socks. the ones i knitted. still too big. but still his.
the digital camera Jason gave me
the memory of seeing Kiyoko Yamato dead

haunted by: what happened
listening to: myself whimpering
mood: terrified

possessions: them

everything they want, whenever they want it. proof that
their version of the real world is a different planet:
designer clothes, made just for them, with fittings in Paris,
New York, and Tokyo
family jewels: pearls from the French Revolution; Daddys
Skull and Bones fraternity ring
techie gear like the CIA
free passes no matter what they do, including killing Kiyoko
and trying to kill me
amnesia
God, i wish i could forget just as easily. maybe they buy
drugs for that.

haunted by: are they still possessed?
listening to: Christmas carols and Hanukah songs and
the roar of their private jets as they fly as far away from
Marlwood as they can, as fast as they can, because they
can.

mood: if you buy it, is it still a mood?

I HAD ESCAPED. I was alive.

So why was I still shaking so hard?

Shadows stretched across the setting sun as my stepmom, CJ, drove me to Fashion Valley Mall to meet up with Heather Sanchez, my former best friend. The radio of our old Subaru was playing Here Comes Santa Claus, and trim, freckly, strawberry blonde CJ was humming along. My heart pounded; and I couldnt stop staring at the bone-colored clouds that stretched across the December sky like the heavy fog far away at Marlwood Academy. That fog, so thick I couldnt see my own hands, much less anyone stalking me and trying to kill me.

Four days ago, I almost died, I thought, and it seemed so unbelievable. But then, my life had become unbelievable. All of it.

Last October, I had ditched my entire messed-up life in San Diego to escape to Marlwood Academy, located in the isolated mountains of Northern California. I had gotten a late acceptance on full scholarship into the super-posh private boarding school to the rich and famous, opened again this year after being closed for over a hundred years. It should have stayed closed, forever, but of course I didnt know that, then. I doubt anyone knew, not even Mandy. Especially not Mandy.

They almost killed me, I thought. Mandy Winters and her psycho-packmates.

With no idea of the thoughts barreling through my head, CJ pulled off the freeway, wound around the perimeter of busy Fashion Valley Mall, and rolled to an idling stop beside the escalator that trundled up three stories to the multiplex and the food court. The elaborate Christmas lights cast colored bubbles on our windshield. Inside, I was screaming; outside, I tried to smile.

Youll have fun, Linz, she said, wrinkling her slightly turned-up nose. She was cute, in an athletic gymnast kind of way. She knew Heather and I were making up. I thanked her and got out, and she waved and drove away.

I stepped onto the escalator, feeling dizzy, digging my fingers into the rubber rails. It was a warm night. Christmas Eve in San Diego wasnt about snow-covered meadows and hushed forests; it was about surf reports and guys in Santa hats and board shorts. Silver bells, seashells. The mall was bustling with last-minute shoppers and kids like me, whod managed to get permission for a few hours out of the house.

At the top, Heather paced on the other side of the patterned cement breezeway. The mall-bouquet of cinnamon buns, scented candles, lattes, and popcorn wafted between us. Heather had cut her hair about two inches short and gelled it; she used to be all long curls and pastels, but now she was more urban grunge, like me. Heather 2.0. She had on black pencil-leg jeans, nicer than my raggedy, dark-blue flares, and a black baby-doll top with silver polka dots and cap sleevesmore polished than my charcoal-gray T-shirt over a black long-underwear shirt with the sleeves rolled halfway up my forearms. I had forsaken my high-tops for flip-flops. Heather was wearing eye makeup and lip gloss, while I was bare from my madwoman hair to unpolished toes.

Hey, Heather said, seeing me as I approached. She didnt hug me, but she did hold up two tickets. Feliz Navidad, Fea. It felt good to hear her say it. Fea meant ugly in Spanish. That was her nickname for me. Not Linz, like everyone else. And not because I was actually ugly or anything; I just wasnt obsessed with looks... or hadnt been, back in the day. Everything had changed when Id befriended Jane.

I wasnt sure if Heather really had forgiven me for treating her like slime last year. She was definitely on her guard. If we could just get past the weirdness, maybe wed be us again. But how did you just forget and move on? I was hoping to learn.

How you been? I asked her.

She semi-smiled. Well, you know.

I didnt know. She changed the subject by opening her backpack and showing me two cans of Diet Coke. She waggled her brows. I unfastened my little boho bag and displayed my Jolly Rancher yuletide stash, stolen from the brass sled-shaped candy dish on the coffee table in our foyer.

Sweet, she said.

We still didnt hug, which was not us, if you skipped over my season of insanity and remembered us back when. I had been so mean to her. I desperately needed to get past that.

I like your hair, I told her, still trying to connect. She had gone through some major changes since I had left. The Heather I knew had been more bouncy and out there. This Heather kept things in close.

Remember when you said I looked like Miley Cyrus? she asked. There was a hint of bitterness in her voice, and I knew why, because I did remember. I had said it to dis her, to make Jane laugh, back when Id first started hanging out with Jane. Now I swallowed, and Heather snorted in response.

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