Beneath Her Skin Gregg Olsen (good books to read .txt) 📖

that hideous frosted slate-gray eye shadow, but she didn’t say anything. She waited. Not everything could be rushed to meet the schedule of a ticking clock.

Hayley opened her eyes. “Something happened last fall,” she said. “I’m not sure what it was, but it was something big. Her mom said she had ‘trust’ issues with Katelyn.”

“Like what? What did she do?”

“I have no idea. She didn’t say, and I didn’t get anything to point us in the right direction—except a reference to last fall.”

“Last fall?”

“Yeah. They said something about last fall,” Hayley repeated.

“What happened? Where was she in the fall?”

“I can’t really think of anything. We didn’t see her much. Remember, she and Starla were always practicing for cheer?”

Taylor nodded. “Ugh, I hated that. With a passion. We could hear them jumping up and down and yelling from our backyard.”

“That’s right,” Hayley said. “I remember it was intense.”

“Maybe it was related to cheer?”

“I doubt it, but there’s one person who might know.”

Taylor gave her sister a knowing look.

Starla Larsen—Port Gamble’s It-girl. She’d be worth a visit. It would have to be at her house, not at school. Since she had picked up her pom-poms, Starla was too cool to acknowledge any of the old Daisy Troop girls she’d known forever.

They were a step way too low on the popularity ladder.

Later that evening, Taylor’s phone vibrated with a text from Beth.

Beth: Saw weirdo over by K’s house.

Port Gamble was not a big town, but it had plenty of weirdos.

Taylor: What weirdo?

Beth: Segway guy.

Taylor: What was he doing?

Beth: dunno. Segwaying. Like always. He gives me the creeps.

Taylor: My dad checked him out. Harmless creep.

Beth: Perv.

Taylor: Not a perv.

Beth: He just hovers round there. Right?

Taylor: What if he was K’s fake bf?

Beth: That’s really gross. He’s like 40.

Segway Guy was closer to fifty, but Taylor let it go. One of Beth’s fortes was her ability to underestimate everything.

Even so, Taylor did think Segway Guy was a little creepy. Seriously, riding around in a Segway without at least a little irony about the spectacle?

Chapter Thirteen

Taylor Ryan filled the old, white clawfoot tub with too much water, nearly sending a small wave over its rolled edges. Since childhood, she always wanted the water as deep as possible—deep enough to dive down and hold her breath. One, two, three. Her record was 177 seconds. Her sister’s was about the same. She was fifteen now, and getting into the water on that night had nothing to do with trying to set a new record. Hayley had tried to find out more about Katelyn’s death, and Taylor wanted to dip her toe into these waters herself.

Literally.

The air in the bathroom was cool, and the steam from the bathwater collided with the mirror. Taylor noticed the circular motions she’d left on the surface of the glass the last time she’d been stuck with bathroom cleaning duty. She undressed, folding her favorite Hollister jeans, pale pink cami, and cream-colored merino wool sweater into a neatly squared stack on top of the toilet seat. Slowly, she stepped into the hot depths of the bathtub. Her hair, no longer as blonde as it had been in the summer, was pulled back in a messy ponytail. As she slid down to cover her body, she could feel the water wick slowly up her backbone, like hot fingers along each of the knobs of her vertebrae.

The water shut out all of her senses. No sound. No air upon her face. No sight. Just the stillness of a blanket of hot water. Taylor let it all go. She had been thinking of Katelyn all day, and her sister had brought them a bit closer to finding out what had happened. That evening, the water, the sensory deprivation, the forced concentration held the answer to questions that she and Hayley had asked over and over since their visit to the Berkley house.

What happened to Katelyn?

Like the flood of images that sometimes came to Hayley through touch, what transpired underwater with Taylor couldn’t be explained—at least not to anyone’s satisfaction. Not that either of the twins ever tried to come up with the reasons for it or how they discovered it. In truth, they really weren’t sure of its origin. It just happened, like the random way things happen in nature.

All on their own.

They talked about it through their bedroom outlet intercom, but only occasionally, and always with great respect—respect that came from the fear of whatever it meant, whatever was happening to them.

Or where it came from.

Sometimes Taylor practiced immersions, but with the discretion that comes with keeping something secret. One time, Valerie came in and found Taylor floating under the surface of the bathtub, and her mother had screamed.

“Are you okay? What are you doing?”

The words came at the girl with a rifle-shot of panic that startled her so much, it had almost made Taylor ashamed of being naked.

Now, she lay perfectly still and dropped below the surface. Quiet. Focused. A surge of feelings that somehow translated into images emerged. What visual cues came at her were never from a memory of her own. These memories belonged to others. Sometimes they came in a steady stream, like swirling orbs linked up in a video shooting gallery game. They moved quickly. So fast, in fact, that she experienced a kind of upper neck pain akin to whiplash. Looking, following, trying to see whatever it was.

Other times the images were more static, without a sense of urgency.

Five seconds into the immersion.

Though her eyes were closed, Taylor felt tears underneath her eyelids. In front of her she saw a horizontal box of white light. Along the left side were tiny rows of black.

Ants on an envelope? That didn’t make sense at all.

Twenty seconds passed.

She turned her head in the water and imagined her eyes open, staring hard at the white block in front of her. The ants had moved. In fact, the ants were moving across the blank field, shifting in and out of focus.

What is it?

Forty-five seconds