SECOND CHILD
by
John Saul

For Helen Alison, and Marya

Copyright 1990 by John Saul

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When Polly MacIver awoke just before dawn that morning, she had not the
slightest premonition that she was about to die.  as her mind swam
lazily in the ebbing tide of sleep, she found herself giggling silently
at the memory of the dream that had just roused her.  It had been
Thanksgiving Day in the dream, and the house was filled with people.

Some of them were familiar to her.  Tom was sprawled out on the floor,
his big frame stretched in front of the fireplace as he studied a
chessboard on which Teri had apparently trapped his queen.  Teri herself
was sitting cross-legged on the carpet, grinning impudently at her
father's predicament.  There were others scattered around the living
room-more, indeed, than Polly would have thought the room could hold.

But the dream had had a logic of its own, and it hadn't seemed to matter
how many people, strange and familiar, had come in-the room seemed
magic. ready to expand for them.  It was a happy occasion filled with
good cheer until Polly had gone to the kitchen to inspect the dinner.

There, disaster awaited her.  She must have turned the oven too high,
for curls of smoke were drifting up from the corners of the door.  But
as she bent over to open the oven door, she was not concerned, for
exactly the same thing had happened too many times before.  For Polly,
cooking was an art she had never come close to mastering.  She opened
the door and, sure enough, thick smoke came through the small oven and
poured out into the kitchen, engulfing her, then into the dining room
and into the living room, where the coughing of her guests and the
impatient yowl of -her daughter finally jarred her awake.

The memory of the dream began to fade from her mind, and Polly stretched
languidly, then rolled over to snuggle against the warmth of Tom's body.

Outside, a summer storm was building, and just as she was about to drift
back into sleep, a bolt of lightning slashed through the faint grayness
of dawn, instantly followed by a thunderclap that jerked her fully
awake.  She sat straight up in bed, gasping in shock at the sharp
retort.

Instantly, she was seized by a fit of coughing as smoke filled her
lungs.

Her eyes widened with sudden fear.  The smoke was real, not a vestige of
the dream.

A split second later she heard the crackling of flames.

Throwing the covers back, Polly grabbed her husband's shoulder and shook
him violently.  "Tomi Tomi"

With what seemed like agonizing slowness, Tom rolled over, moaned, then
reached out to her.  She twisted away from him, fumbling for the lamp on
her nightstand before she found the switch.

Nothing happened.

Tom!" she screamed, her voice rising with the panic building inside her.

"Wake up!   The house is on fire!"

Tom came awake, instantly rising and shoving his arms into the sleeves
of his bathrobe.

Polly, wearing nothing but her thin nylon negligee, ran to the door and
grasped the knob, only to jerk her hand reflexively away from its
scaring heat. "Teri!" she moaned, her voice breaking as she spoke her
daughter's name. "Oh, God, Tom.  We have to get Teri out."

But Tom was already pushing her aside.  Wrapped in one of the wool
blankets from the bed, he covered the brass doorknob with one of its
corners before trying to Turn it.  finally he pulled the door open an
inch. , Smoke poured through the gap, a penetrating cloud of searing fog
that reached toward them with angry fingers, clutching at them, trying
to draw them into its suffocating grasp.

Buried in the formless body of smoke was the glowing soul of the fire
itself. Polly instinctively shrank away from the monster that had
engulfed her home, and when Tom spoke to her, his shouted words seemed
to echo dimly from afar.

"I'll get Teri.  Go out the window!"

Then with terror, Polly saw the door open wider; a split second later
her husband disappeared into the mouth of the beast that had invaded her
home.

The door slammed shut.

Polly wanted to go after him, to follow Tom into the fire, to hold onto
him as they went after her daughter.  Without thinking, she moved toward
the door, but then his words resounded in her mind.

"Go out the window!"

A helpless moan strangling in her throat, she dragged herself across the
room to the window and pulled it open.  She breathed the fresh air
outside, then looked down.

Fifteen feet below her lay the concrete driveway that connected the
street in front to the garage behind the house.  There was no ledge, no
tree, not even a drainpipe to hang onto.  If she jumped, surely she
would break her legs.

She shrank back from the window and turned to the door once more.  She
had started across the smoke-filled room when her foot touched something
soft.

The bedspread, lying in a heap at the foot of the bed.  She snatched it
up, wrapping it around her body, then, like Tom a few minutes earlier,
used one of its corners to protect her fingers from the searing heat of
the door.  Drawing her breath in slowly, filtering the smoke through the
thick padding of the spread, she filled her lungs with air.

At last, holding with the fear that threatened to overwhelm her, she
pulled the door open.

The fire in the hall, instantly sucking in the fresh air from the open
window, rose up in front of her, its crackle building into a vicious
roar.

Time seemed to slow down, each second dragging itself out for an
eternity.

Flames reached out to her, and Polly was helpless to pull herself away
as panic clasped her in its paralyzing grip.  She felt the burning heat
against her face, even felt the blisters begin to form wherever her skin
was exposed.

She heard a strange, soft sound, like the sizzling of oil in a hot
skillet, and instinctively reached up to touch her hair.

Her hair was gone, devoured by the hungry fire, and she stared blankly
for a moment at the ashy residue on her fingertips.  What had been a
thick mass of dark blond hair only a moment ago was now only an oddly
greasy smudge on the blistered skin of her hand.

Her mind began closing down, rejecting what she saw, denying the searing
heat that all but overwhelmed her.

She staggered backward, the bedspread tangling around her feet as if it
had joined forces with the fire to destroy her.

Faintly, as if in the distance somewhere impossibly far beyond the
confines of the house, she heard Tom's voice, calling out to Teri.

She heard vague thumpings, as if he might be pounding on a door
somewhere.

Then nothing.

Nothing but the hiss and chatter of the flames, enticing her. dancing
before her, hypnotizing her, Backing away, stumbling and tripping, she
retreated from the fury of the fire.

She bumped into something, something hard and ungiving, and though her
eyes remained fixed on the inferno that was already invading the
bedroom, her hand groped behind her.

And felt nothing.

Panic seized her again, for suddenly the familiar space of the bedroom
seemed to vanish, leaving her alone with the consuming flames.

Slowly, her mind assembling information piece by piece, she realized
that she had reached the open window.

Whimpering, she sat down on the ledge and began to swing her legs
through the gap between the sill and the open casement; her right leg
first, then her left.

At last she was able to Turn her back on the fire.  Gripping the window
frame, she stared out into the faintly graying dawn for a moment, then
let her gaze shift downward toward the concrete below.

She steeled herself, and clinging to the bedspread, let herself slip
over the ledge.

just as she began to drop away from the window, the corner of the
bedspread still inside the room, caught on something.  Polly felt the
pull, found herself unreasonably speculating on what might have snagged
it.

The handle of the radiator?

A stray nail that had worked loose from the floor molding?

Falling!   Suddenly she was upside down, slipping out of the shroud of
the bedspread.

Her fingers grasped at the material; it slipped away as if coated with
oil. She dropped toward the concrete headfirst, only beginning to raise
her arms to break her fall as her skull crashed against the driveway.

She felt nothing; no pain at all.

There was only a momentary sense of surprise, and a small cracking sound
from within her neck as her vertebrae shattered and crushed her spinal
cord.

It had been no more than three minutes since she had awakened, laughing
quietly, from her dream.

Now the quiet laughter was over, and Polly MacIver was dead.

Teri MacIver stood rooted on the lawn in front of the house, her right
hand clutching at the lapels of her thin terry-cloth bathrobe with all
the modesty of her nearly fifteen years.  Her eyes were fixed on the
blaze that now engulfed the small two-story house which had been her
home for the last ten years. it was an old house, built fifty years
earlier, when San Fernando had still been a small farming town in the
California valley of the same name. Built entirely of wood, the house
had baked in the sun for half a century, its wood slowly turning into
tinder, and tonight, when the fire started, it had raced through the
rooms with a speed that stunned Teri.  It was as if one moment the house
had been whole, and the next it had been swallowed by flames.

Teri was only vaguely aware of what was going on around her.  In the
distance a siren wailed, growing steadily louder, but she barely heard
it.  Her mind was filled with the roar of the fire and the crackling of
the siding as it curled back upon itself and began to float away from
the framework of the house, venting the interior to the fresh air that
fed the raging flames.

Her parents . . .

Where were they?   Had they gotten out?   Forcing her eyes away from the
oddly hypnotic inferno, she glanced around.  Down the block, someone was
running toward her, but the figure was no more than a shadow in the
breaking dawn.

Voices began to penetrate her consciousness then, people shouting to
each other, asking what had happened.

Then, over the roar of the fire and the babble of voices, she heard a
scream.  It came from the house, seemingly unmuffled by the already
crumbling walls.  The sharp sound released Teri from her paralysis, and
she ran around to the driveway, her eyes wide as-she stared up to the
second floor and her parents' bedroom.

She saw her mother, a dark silhouette against the glow of the fire.  She
was wrapped in something-a blanket, perhaps, or the bedspread.  Teri
watched as her mother's legs came over the windowsill, and a second
later she saw her jump . . . then Turn in the air as the bedspread
tightened around her legs.

Her mother seemed to hang for a moment, suspended in midair.  A scream
built in Teri's throat, only to be cut off a second later as her mother
slid free from the swaddles and plunged headfirst to the driveway below.

Had she heard the sound as her mother's head struck the concrete, or did
she imagine it?

Teri began running then, but as if her feet were mired in mud, it seemed
to take forever before she reached the spot where her mother lay
crumpled and still on the driveway, one arm flung out as if reaching out
to her daughter, as if even in death she were grasping for life.

"M-Mom?" Teri stammered, her hand falling away from her robe to
tentatively touch her mother.  Then her voice rose to an anguished wail.

"M-Mom!   "

There was no response, and as Teri became aware of someone running up
the sidewalk, she threw herself on Polly's body, cradling her mother's
head in her lap, stroking the blistered cheek of the woman who only a
few hours ago had stroked her own before kissing her good night.  "No,"
she whimpered, her eyes flooding with tears.  "Oh, no.  Please, God,
don't let Mommy die."

But even as she uttered the words, Teri already knew somewhere deep
inside her that it was too late, that her mother was already gone.

She felt gentle hands on her shoulders and slowly looked up to see Lucy
Barrow, from across the street.  "She's dead." Teri's voice broke as she
spoke the words.  The admission seemed to release a tide of emotion that
had been locked inside her.  Covering her face with her hands, she began
to sob, her body shaking.

Lucy, her own mind an but numbed by the sight of Polly MacIver's seared
and broken body, pulled Teri to her feet and began leading her back down
the driveway.  "Your father she said.  "Where's your father?   Did he
get out?   "

Teri's hands dropped away from her face.  For a moment her shocked eyes
flickered with puzzlement.  She started to speak, but before the words
emerged from her mouth there was a sharp crack, followed instantly by a
crash.

Lucy Barrow grasped Teri's arm tightly, pulling her down the driveway as
the roof of the house collapsed into the fire and the flames shot up
into the brightening sky.

Three fire trucks clogged the street in front of the MacIvers' house,
and a tangle of hoses snaked along the sidewalk to the hydrant on the
corner.  an ambulance had taken Polly's body away more than an hour
before, but as more and more neighbors arrived to gape in dazed horror
at the smoldering ruins of the house, others would point with macabre
fascination to the spot where Teri's mother had plunged to her death.

The newcomers would stare at the driveway for a few seconds, visualizing
the corpse and imagining, with a shudder, the panic Polly must have felt
as she died.

Did she know, at least, that her daughter had survived the fire?

No, of course not.

Heads shook sadly; tongues clucked with sympathy.  Then the attention of
the crowd shifted back to the smoking wreckage.  Most of the beams still
stood, and parts of the second floor had remained intact even when the
roof collapsed.  Now, as sunlight cast the ruins into sharp relief, the
house looked like a desiccated, blackened skeleton.

Teri, who had spent the last two hours sitting mutely in the Barrows'
living room, unable to pull her eyes away from the spectacle of the
fire, finally emerged onto the porch.  Next to her, Lucy Barrow hovered
protectively, her voice trembling as she tried to convince Teri to go
back inside.

"I can't," whispered Teri.  "I have to find my father.  He-He's-" Her
voice broke off, but her eyes returned to the ruins across the street.

Lucy Barrow unconsciously bit her lip, as if to take some of Teri's pain
onto herself.  "He might have gotten out," she ventured, her quavering
voice belying her words.

Teri said nothing, but started once more across the street, still clad
in the bathrobe she'd worn when she escaped the inferno.  an eerie
silence fell over the block, the murmurs of the bystanders dying away as
she moved steadily through the crowd, which parted silently to let her
pass.

At last Teri came to the front yard of what had been her home.  She
stood still, staring at the chaffed wood of the house's framework and
the blackened bricks of its still-standing chimney.  She took a
tentative step toward the remains of the front porch, then felt a firm
hand on her arm.

"You can't go in there, miss."

Teri's breath caught, but she turned to look into the kindly gray eyes
of one of the firemen.  "M-My father" she began.

"We're going in now," the fireman said.  "If he's in there, we'll find
him."

Without a word, Teri watched as two firefighters, clad in heavily padded
overcoats, their hands protected by thick gloves, worked their way
carefully into the wreckage.  The front door had been chopped away, and
inside, the base of the stairway was clearly visible.  The men started
up, testing each step before trusting it to hold their weight.  After
what seemed an eternity, they finally reached the second floor.  They
moved through the house, visible first through one window, then another.

From one of the rooms an entire wall, along with most of the floor, had
burned away.  as the firemen gingerly moved from beam to beam, they
appeared to be balanced on some kind of blackened scaffolding.  At last
they moved out of Teri's sight as they carefully worked their way toward
her room at the back of the house.

Ten minutes later the fireman with the kind, gray eyes emerged from the
front door and approached Teri, who stood waiting, her eyes fixed on
him.

"I'm sorry," he said, his voice made gruff by the memory of the chaffed
remains of Tom MacIver, which he had found in front of the still-closed
door to Teri's bedroom at the back of the house.  "He was trying to get
you out.  He didn't know you'd already gotten away." His large hand
rested reassuringly on Teri's shoulder for a moment, but then he turned
away and began issuing the orders for Tom MacIver's body to be removed
from the ruins.

Teri stood where she was for a few more seconds.  Her eyes remained
fixed on the house as if she were still uncertain of the truth of what
she had just been told.  Finally Lucy Barrow's voice penetrated her
thoughts.

"We have to call someone for you," Lucy said.  "We have to call your
family."

Teri turned away from the smoldering rubble.  She stared blankly at
Lucy. For a moment Lucy wasn't certain Teri had heard her, but then Teri
spoke.

"My father," she breathed.  "Will someone please call my father?"

Dear Lord, Lucy thought.  She doesn't understand.  She hasn't grasped
what happened.  She slipped her arms around Teri and held her close.

"Oh, darling," she whispered.  "He didn't get out.  That's what the
fireman was telling you.  I-I'm sorry," she finished, wondering at the
helpless inadequacy of the words.  "I'm just so sorry."

Teri was motionless in her arms for a second, then pulled away, shaking
her head.

"N-Not him," she said.  "We need to call my real father." She wrenched
away from Lucy's protective embrace, her gaze returning to the house,
where three men were already working to retrieve Tom MacIver's body. "He
was my stepfather," Teri said.  "He adopted me when I was only four. Now
we have to call my real father."

Bright sunlight flooded the room.  as Melissa Holloway's eyes opened,
she instantly felt a pang of guilt-she'd overslept yet again.  She
started to fling the thin sheet aside-, then remembered.  It was all
right to oversleep today.

Today, this and all the other tiny sins she fell victim to every day of
her life would be forgiven.

For today was her birthday.

And not just any birthday, either.  Today was her thirteenth birthday,
the first day of a whole new era.  Finally, the eternity of being a
child was over.

She was a teenager.

She flopped back on the pillow, stretched luxuriantly, and tried to feel
the difference between the Melissa who existed today and the Melissa who
had endured all the other days of her life.

She felt nothing.  No different at all.

Her feeling of well-being dimmed slightly, but then she decided it
didn't matter that she didn't feel different.  That would come later.

The point was that she was different.

She sat up and glanced around the big room in which she'd spent every
summer of her life.  It would have to change now, she decided.  It
wasn't a teenager's room at all.  It was a little girl's room, the
shelves that lined its walls overflowing with her collection of dolls
and stuffed animals, and a few favorite toys from her toddler years
still tucked away in the corners.  Next to the fireplace was her
enormous Victorian doll house, which would certainly have to go.  After
all, doll houses were for babies.

She frowned, already wondering if perhaps she should compromise on the
doll house.  After all, it wasn't as if it was just any doll house.  It
was big-so big that when she was very small she'd actually been able to
crawl inside it-and it was furnished with perfect miniatures of
Victorian furniture.

"What do you think, Darcy?" she asked out loud.  "Don't you think we
should keep it at least for a while?" Suddenly she clamped her hands
over her mouth, remembering her promise to her father.  Only last week
Melissa had vowed that she would give up Darcy today.

After all, friends who existed in your imagination were only for
children, too.  When you grew up, you gave up the imaginary friends for
real ones. Except that in Melissa's mind, Darcy wasn't really imaginary
at all.  She was almost as real as she herself was.  She lived up in the
attic here in Secret Cove, and never traveled to the city when they were
in the apartment in Manhattan the rest of the time.  Of course, besides
Melissa, there weren't many people for Darcy to talk to-only Cora
Peterson, the housekeeper-but that had never bothered Darcy at all.

Melissa thought that Darcy must be lonely when the house in Secret Cove
was closed up for the winter, but years ago, during one of their long
talks in the middle of the night when Melissa couldn't sleep, Darcy had
told Melissa that she liked being all by herself.  In fact, when Melissa
had confessed to Darcy yesterday that she'd promised to stop talking to
her, Darcy had agreed immediately.  "But I won't stop thinking about
you," Melissa had reassured her friend.

Darcy had said nothing, but Melissa had been certain that her friend
knew exactly what she meant-that was the wonderful thing about Darcy.

Even when no one else understood Melissa, Darcy always did.

Melissa sighed.  It was going to be hard giving Darcy up, even harder
than giving up the doll house.  Well, maybe she'd sort of cheat.  Maybe
she'd keep the doll house and pretend when she was talking to Darcy that
she was really talking to the tiny wooden figures that populated the
house.  Except that even if it fooled her parents and Cora, she herself
would still know she'd been cheating.

"I'll tell you what," she said, unconsciously talking out loud once
again. "You can have the doll house.  I'll move it up to the attic, and
then come and visit it sometimes.  And if you're there when I come,
that's not my fault, is it?"

From far away, in the depths of her imagination, she was certain she
heard Darcy laughing softly.

She turned away from the doll house and went to the window.  It was a
warm morning even in Maine, July wasn't really cool-and the sky was
clear and cloudless.  Tag, Cora's fourteen-year-old grandson, had
already mowed the broad lawn earlier that morning, and Melissa breathed
in the green scent of fresh-cut grass.  The lawn swept down toward the
beach fifty yards away, where the waves that came into the cove from the
open sea were gentle this morning.  They broke with a soft whooshing
sound, then threw a white coverlet of foam onto the sand, smoothing out
the tracks of the birds that skittered in front of the advancing water.

Melissa's eyes wandered over the beach.  It was just the way she liked
it. all but deserted, with only a few people far off to the south,
sunning themselves on the sand that fronted the Cove Club.  Between here
and the club, which perched on the southern point of the cove itself,
there were only five other cottages, none of them quite as large as the
Holloways', but all of them surrounded by equally well-manicured gardens
and lawns. And since most of the other kids hung out at the club all the
time, Melissa thought of the beach as belonging almost exclusively to
herself.

She dressed quickly, pulling on a clean pair of jeans and a T-shirt
she'd talked Tag into giving her last week, then went downstairs to find
her father. The first thing they'd do today, she decided, was go for a
long walk on the beach.  They'd go north, away from the club, and maybe
climb around the rocky point that cut Secret Cove off from the beach
beyond. as she started down the stairs a few minutes later, she'd
already made more plans for the day than she and her father could
Possibly carry out.  Still, whatever they did would be fine with her.

The important thing was that it was her birthday, and no matter how
important his business was, her daddy would spend the day with her, even
if her mother thought it was childish.

Melissa smiled as she remembered the conversation she'd overheard last
Sunday, before her father had gone back to New York for the three days
before her birthday.

"She's going to be thirteen this year, Charles," her mother had said.

"She's not a baby anymore, and it certainly isn't going to hurt her if
you don't get back till Friday night."

Melissa had held her breath, waiting for her father's reply, and hadn't
let it out until she heard the words.  "It's her birthday, and it
doesn't matter which one it is.  I'll be here for her.  She counts on
it."

The conversation had gone on, but Melissa hadn't paid further attention,
for she knew that once her father committed himself to something, even
her mother couldn't change his mind.  Which meant that today was all
hers, and Daddy would do whatever she wanted, even if it were no more
than flopping on the beach and making up stories about what the clouds
looked like.  That was just what they'd done last year, in fact, and her
mother had stared at her at dinner that night as if she were crazy.

Indeed, even after a whole year, she could still hear her mother's angry
voice: "Well, you certainly managed to waste your father's valuable time
today, didn't you?   It was very inconsiderate of you to make him come
all the way out here just to do the same -nothing you do every day."

Melissa, stung, had felt tears well up in her eyes, but then Daddy had
come to her defense.  "I thought having nothing to do was the whole
point of coming here," he'd said.  "And if Melissa had as good a time as
I did, I'd say the day was pretty damned close to perfect."

Out of the corner of her eye Melissa had watched her mother's lips
tighten, but she'd said nothing.  Still, the next day, after her father
had gone back to the city . . . She resolutely put the memory out of her
mind.  This year it was going to be different.

She found her father in the kitchen with Cora, and he grinned at her as
she came in.  "Ready for one of my special chocolate-blueberry waffles?"

Cora frowned her disapproval.  "I swear to God, I don't know where you
got the idea for those things.  I certainly never fed them to you when
you were a boy."

"Want one?" Charles interrupted, cocking an eye at the elderly
housekeeper, who pursed her lips, surveyed the counter full of dirty
dishes her employer had created, then sighed in resigned defeat.

"Well, I suppose just one wouldn't hurt."

"Go get Tag," Charles told Melissa, winking.  "Tell him he's not allowed
to do anything on your birthday except goof off."

Melissa started toward the back door, but the phone jangled loudly and
she paused as Cora picked it up.  A moment later, her face pale and her
hand trembling, Cora handed the receiver to Charles.

"It's Polly," Cora said, her voice quavering as her eyes filled with
sudden tears.  "She's-She and her husband . . . There was a fire She
sank down onto a stool next to the sink as Charles snatched the phone
from her hand.

Melissa stood next to the back door, trying to sort out the fragments of
sentences she heard her father speak.  When he finally hung up, his face
was as pale as Cora's.  "I'm afraid something's happened, baby," he
said, his voice gentle, but choked with emotion.  "I'm going to have to
fly to Los Angeles this morning."

Melissa stared at him, her eyes wide.

"Polly and Tom MacIver have died," he went on.  "There was a fire in
their house this morning."

"Teri," Cora breathed, her eyes fixing on Charles.  "What about Teri?"

Charles's own eyes closed for a second, and his right hand went to his
forehead as if he'd been seized by a sudden headache.  Then he managed a
nod.  "She's all right," he said.  "She got out.  From what they said,
Tom didn't know she'd escaped.  He was trying to rescue her. Polly tried
to go out a window, but fell."

"Dear God," Cora whispered.

Melissa heard the words, even understood their meaning, but till she
shook her head.  "But . . . But it's my birthday." Charles came to her,
put his arms around her and hugged her tight.  "I know, baby," he
whispered into her ear.  "And I know what I promised.
But it can't be helped.  I'm Teri's father, too, and I have to go to
her.  She doesn't have anyone else.  can't you understand that?"

Melissa stood perfectly still for a moment, then nodded.  as Charles
released her, she managed an uncertain smile.  "When you come back, will
you bring Teri to live with us?"  Charles hesitated, not certain what
Melissa might be thinking.

"Guess i have to, won't I?" he asked.  "She's  my  daughter,  and  there
isn't  any  other Place for her to live.  And even if there were, don't
you think she belongs here?"

Trying to sort out the mix of emotions inside her. Of course, she was
sorry about what had happened to Teri's mother and stepfather, but she'd
never met them and didn't really know anything about them at all.  And
she didn't really know anything about Teri, either, except for two
things.

Teri had been born right here in this house.

And Teri was her half sister.

A half sister was almost the same thing as a full  sister,  and  for  as
long  as she could remember, Melissa had wanted a sister more than
anything in the world.

an older sister, someone who would be her friend and answer all the
questions she couldn't ever ask her mother.

That, really, was what she'd always wanted Darcy to be.  Except that
Darcy wasn't real.

Teri MacIver was real.

Melissa's uncertain smile widened slightly.  "It's all right, Daddy,"
she said. "I mean, I'm awfully sorry about what happened, but I'm
finally getting something I always wanted.  I'm going to have a sister,
aren't I?"

Charles bit his lip sharply as his eyes flooded with tears.  "Yes," he
said, " I guess you are."

Melissa floated on her back, kicking her feet just enough to keep them
from sinking, feeling the heat of the sun on her face.  Her eyes were
closed and all she could see was a faint pinkish haze through her lids.

She concentrated hard, trying futilely to focus on the colors that
swirled behind her eyelids, but then gave it up as a shadow passed over
the sun.  She opened her eyes and gazed up at the bank of clouds coming
in from the sea, then rolled over in the water.  A few feet away Tag was
floating on his back, his eyes still closed.  as silently as she could,
Melissa drew an arm back, preparing to shoot a cascade of water over
Tag's freckled face, but just as she was ready to make the splash, Tag
suddenly came to life, flipping over and at the same time flailing his
own arm so that it was Melissa's eyes that stung with salt.

"Got you!" he shouted, then began swimming toward shore as Melissa
hurled herself after him.

A moment later she caught up and her hand closed around his left ankle.,
She pulled hard, felt him slide beneath her, then planted both her hands
in the center of his back and shoved him farther under while maneuvering
and kicking to escape his reach as he tried to grab hold of her, pulling
her down with him.

The fight went on, each of them ducking the other, until at last they
both gave up at once, swimming toward the beach, riding the gentle surf
the last few yards.  Laughing and gasping, Melissa dropped onto the
sand, wrapping her arms protectively around her face as Blackie, the
huge Labrador that only technically belonged to Tag, hurled himself upon
her, his big tongue slurping affectionately at her.  "Down!" she yelled
at last.  Obediently, Blackie dropped down onto the sand beside her,
resting his large head on her lap.  Melissa scratched at the dog's ears,
then glanced over at Tag, sprawled a few feet away.

"What do you suppose she's like?"

Tag understood the question immediately.  "You mean you wonder if she'll
like you?"

Melissa flushed.  "Maybe," she admitted.  "But I mean, I wonder what she
looks like?"

Tag grinned slyly at her.  "Want to see some pictures of her?"

Melissa stared at him.  Most of the day, ever since her father had left
for the airport, she and Tag had been talking about Teri.  Until now
he'd never mentioned any pictures.  "You mean you have some?" she
demanded.

Tag's grin broadened.  "Sure.  Her mom sent one to Grandma every year.

Grandma's got 'em in a drawer."

Melissa scrambled to her feet.  "How come you didn't tell me?"

"How  come  you  didn't  ask?"  Tag  teased,  picking  up  his  beach
towel  and slinging it around his neck.  "Am I supposed to be able to
read your mind or something?"

With Blackie trailing along behind, they crossed the beach, then started
across the lawn toward the small cottage behind the pool house in which
Cora Peterson had lived every summer for the last half century.  They
had almost reached the front door when Melissa heard her mother's voice
calling from the master suite on the second floor of the main house.

"Melissa!

Where are you going?"

Melissa froze, her mind working quickly.  "The pool," she called back.

"We're all covered with salt."

"Well, can't you just take showers?" Phyllis Holloway called back.  "You
know Tag shouldn't be using the pool."

Melissa reddened with embarrassment.  Her mother could see that Tag was
standing right there!   And Why shouldn't Tag use the pool?   Then she
remembered that she and Tag hadn't been planning to go swimming anyway.

"all right," she called back.  She started to Turn away, but once more
her mother's sharp voice cut through the quiet of the afternoon.

"I want you in the house in five minutes!"

"Yes, Mother," Melissa replied.

She quickened her step, catching up with Tag just as he disappeared
around the corner of the pool house.  Though he said nothing, Melissa
could tell by his expression that he'd heard every word her mother had
said.

"We can use the pool if  we  want  to,"  she  offered.  "Daddy  said we
could."

"Sure," Tag replied  sourly.  "And  right  after  we  got  done,  she'd
make  me drain it and scrub it." His eyes rolled scornfully upward.  "Us
servants aren't too clean, you know."

Once more Melissa flushed with embarrassment.  She wanted to deny that
that was what her mother had meant, but what was the use?   It was
exactly what her mother had meant and they both knew it.  "You and Cora
aren't servants," she said.  "Cora's just like my grandmother, too."

Tag rolled his eyes.  "Don't ever tell your mom that." They were at the
front door to the little house now, and instinctively they both looked
back. But from where they stood, Phyllis's window couldn't be seen.

Feeling like conspirators, they slipped inside the house.

"They're in the drawer on the end table," Tag said.  He tossed his beach
towel at the foot of the stairs and moved into a living room sparsely
furnished with a worn sofa and a pair of sagging easy chairs.  A moment
later he handed Melissa a small album.

Melissa stared at the album's  cheap  plastic  cover  for  a  moment,
feeling  a strange hesitancy about looking in it.  Finally, she opened
the book and studied the first picture.

It was of a toddler, no more than two years old, clutching the hand of
an unseen man.  The little girl wore a blue dress with white socks and
paten-leather Mary janes, and her pale blond hair was capped by a wide
ribbon with a bow on one side. The little girl in the picture didn't
look much different from any other two-year-old, and Melissa, suddenly
feeling better, flipped quickly through and stopped, staring at a young
woman whose hair, cut stylishly short to leave her perfect features
unblemished, but shades darker than it had been when she was a baby. Her
features themselves were elegant but delicate, and her blue eyes, spaced
well apart, seemed to gaze out at Melissa with the kind of
self-confidence Melissa herself had never felt. Her eyes  left  the
picture  and went to the mirror that hung from the mantel.  She
silently began comparing her own to those of the girl in the photograph.

She looked at Her hair, an unremarkable brown, that hung limply down her
back. She tried to tell herself that it was only because she'd just gone
swimming, but knew it wasn't true-no matter how much she brushed her
hair, it always seemed unwilling to come to shiny life.

Her own features seemed hopelessly plain-her nose just a little too
large, her brown eyes, almost lashless, a little too close together.

And there was a slight puffiness about her face that she was positive,
no matter what her father told her, was not merely baby fat.

"She-She's beautiful, isn't she?" Melissa managed to say.

Tag nodded.  "Grandma says she looks just like her mother."

Melissa's eyes drifted back to the image in the album.  She studied it
carefully and began to think that maybe things weren't going to be so
bad after all.  Even though she'd never imagined that Teri would be so
beautiful, she could also see that Teri knew how to dress and how to do
her hair.

On Teri, her clothes looked right.

On  herself,  they  always  looked  as  if  they'd  been  bought  for
someone  else.

Maybe Teri could teach her how to do her own hair, and how to pick out
clothes that would look good on her.

And, she reminded herself, no matter how beautiful Teri was, she was
still her sister.

But what if Teri didn't like her?

She flipped the album to the last picture.

Her hart sank.

She  put  the  thought  out  of  her  mind  and  handed  the  album back
to Tag.

"I-I better go back to the house.  Mom said..."

Before she could finish, there was a loud rap at the front door, which
instantly opened to reveal a glowering Phyllis Holloway.

"What are you doing in here, Melissa?" her mother demanded.

"was he?" Phyllis asked, her accusing glare shifting to Tag.  "I don't
like your bringing Melissa in here," she went on.  "I'll speak to Cora
about it."

Without waiting for Tag to reply, she took Melissa's arm and steered her
out of the cottage.  "What am I going to do with you?" she asked as she
led her daughter back toward the main house.  "I know Tag is your
friend, and I certainly don't object to it.  But you have to keep in
mind that he is also a servant, and there are limits."

"But Mother-"

Abruptly, Phyllis dropped Melissa's arm and smiled at her.  "No buts,"
she said.  "And I don't think we ought to fight on your birthday.
Besides, you have to get ready for your party."

Melissa stared at her mother in disbelief.  "What party?" she asked.

"I'm not having a party."

"But I am," Phyllis announced.  "And believe me, it wasn't easy, putting
a proper birthday celebration together at the last minute.  But I knew
how disappointed you were when your father had to leave, so I explained
the situation to some of your friends mothers."  Melissa heard
nothing. Phyllis chattered on about the children she'd invited, but
more. With a sinking feeling, she realized what her mother had done.

The Cove Club.

Phyllis had called all her women friends at the Cove Club and insisted
they send their children over to Maplecrest for Melissa's birthday. And,
of course, after Phyllis had explained what had happened, and Why
Melissa's dad had suddenly left, everyone had felt sorry for her, and
agreed that she should certainly have a party.

And they'd all show up, but they'd do the same thing here that they all
did at the Cove Club.

They'd talk to each other, and ignore her.

"And it's going to be wonderful, darling," she heard her mother saying
as they went into the house.  "You can wear your pink organdy, and I've
even hired a disk jockey so everyone can dance. it will be such fun for
you.  After all, you're a teenager now, and it's time you started doing
more things with the crowd.  What better time for you to start than on
your birthday?"

Though she already felt faintly sick, Melissa knew there was no point in
trying to argue with her mother.

Silently, she went up to her room and started getting ready for the
party.

Melissa sneaked a look at the clock as she escaped into the small powder
room under the main staircase and locked the door.  It was only four,
which meant that the party was going to go on for hours yet-the disk
jockey hadn't even arrived, and the caterers from the club had just
started setting up the buffet on the terrace around the pool.  And yet
to Melissa it seemed as if the afternoon had already gone on for an
eternity.

She'd at least saved herself the humiliation of wearing the pink organdy
dress her mother had picked out for her.  She'd had it on, had even been
ready to go downstairs, when she'd heard a car pull up in front of the
house and seen Brett VanArsdale arrive in the black Porsche he'd gotten
for his sixteenth birthday two weeks earlier.  There were six people
crowded into the little car, and as they untangled themselves, Melissa
had seen what they were wearing.

Tennis whites.

The boys' shirts were still soaked with sweat, and it had been obvious
to Melissa that they'd come straight from the club, not even bothering
to change first.

as she heard the door bell ring, immediately followed by her mother's
voice commanding her to come downstairs, she'd rushed back to her room,
wriggled out of the dress, and pulled on a pair of shorts and a blouse,
which she realized as she fumbled with the buttons had fit fine last
summer but was too tight now.  She'd shoved her feet into a pair of
sneakers and started downstairs, but had to stop to tie her laces when
she tripped and almost fell the last ten steps.  When she looked up from
her shoes, the kids were already in the foyer, staring up at her.

Among them was Jeff Barnstable, on whom Melissa had had a secret crush
for the last two summers.  Next to him-holding his hand-was Ellen
Stevens.

"We already played tennis," Ellen said, pointedly staring at Melissa's
shoes.  "We thought we'd take a swim now."

Without waiting for a reply, the kids had trooped through the house and
out to the pool, where they'd found bathing suits in the pool house.  By
the time Melissa had gone upstairs to change, a game of water polo was.
in progress.

Melissa had stood silently at the edge of the pool, waiting for one of
the teams to invite her to join them.

Neither had.

When her mother had come out to watch a few minutes later, and asked
Melissa Why she wasn't playing, Melissa had insisted she didn't want to.

But she could see clearly that her mother knew the truth.

The next two hours had been more of the same.  Now, Melissa wondered how
long she could stay in the powder room. it wouldn't be long, she knew,
before her mother would come looking for her.

Suddenly  she  saw  the  doorknob  Turn,  the impatient rattling
immediately followed by the sound of Ellen Stevens's voice: "Well, is
this  dismal,  or  what?
First we have to come over  here  for  a  mercy  party, and  now  you
can't  even get into the bathroom."

"Let's go upstairs," Cyndi Miller replied.  "Maybe I can find one of
Melissa's lipsticks."

The powder room echoed with Ellen's sharp laughter.  "Melissa's?   Even
if she has one, it'll be some terrible color.  Why don't we just leave?"

"We can't," Cyndi answered.  "My mother said we have to stay until at
least nine, no matter how bad it is.  Otherwise she'll have to listen to
Mrs. Holloway talking about how rude we were to her precious little
daughter."

Suddenly Melissa had enough.  She pulled the door open and stared at the
two girls, willing her tears not to overflow and run down her cheeks.

"You don't have to stay," she said in a low voice.  "I never wanted you
to come in the first place."

The two girls, only a year or so older than Melissa, glanced at each
other. It was Cyndi who finally spoke.  "You shouldn't have been in
there listening to us," she said.

Melissa felt her self-control slipping away.  She hadn't done anything
to them, hadn't tried to hear what they were saying.  But they'd just
stood there, talking about her.  Why was it her fault?   And then she
saw her mother coming down the stairs, stopping to look at her.

"Is something wrong?" Phyllis asked.

Melissa started to shake her head but was too late.

"I think we'd better go home, Mrs. Holloway,' Ellen Stevens said as if
she were trying to find a nice way to handle the situation.  "Melissa
just told us she didn't want us here."

Seeing the look of cold anger that flashed into her mother's eyes,
Melissa fled up the stairs to her room.  She flopped onto the bed, her
body wracked with sobs, her fists pounding the pillow with frustration.

But soon her sobs subsided and her anger toward Cyndi and Ellen and the
rest of the kids died away.

After all, it wasn't their fault-they hadn't wanted to come any more
than she had wanted them to.  And they wouldn't have, if her mother
hadn't called their mothers and begged.

So the anger dissipated, only to be replaced by fear.  For after what
had happened this afternoon, she was certain that sometime tonight,
sometime after Cora had gone to bed for the night, her mother would come
into her room, for one of her little "talks."

Charles Holloway had the same feeling of vague disorientation that
always came over him when he arrived in Los Angeles.  Part of his
confusion was caused by the fact that all the freeways seemed to run
north and south, even when they crossed at right angles.  But at last
he'd worked his way out into the vast suburban area of the San Fernando
Valley, turning onto the block where the MacIvers lived only a little
more than an hour and a half after leaving the airport in his rented
car.  It was the first time he'd ever seen this part of the valley, and
he knew immediately Why it had attracted Polly.

The houses in this area all had a feeling of permanence to them, their
yards dotted with large shade trees, their gardens having the look of
being carefully tended for decades.  Nowhere here did he see the
too-bright green of freshly laid sod or the patches of "beauty bark"
with which the newer subdivisions were littered.  No, this particular
area had a look of stability to it, a certain middle-class solidity that
would have appealed to Polly.

To himself, of course, it simply looked dull, like a California version
of all the small towns in the East that he had always found unutterably
boring, but to which Polly had always been drawn like an iron filing to
a magnet. "At least they're real," she'd said over and over again in
those first few months of their marriage, when he'd still hoped it was
going to work out. "I just can't stand the idea of raising children in
Manhattan and Secret Cove-it's so horribly insular!"

In a way, of course, Charles had understood what she meant.  Certainly,
both of them had grown up with a lifestyle greatly different from that
of the vast majority of people.  Charles had always simply accepted it,
and when he'd married Polly, he'd assumed that she had, too.  But the
truth, he'd soon found out, was that Polly had resented both the wealth
and position of her birth.  Not that the Porters were as wealthy as the
Holloways.  They weren't, and never had been.  Nor had they thought the
same way as the Holloways and most of the rest of the "Secret Cove
Crowd"-as they tended to think of themselves, complete with quotation
marks-though Charles hadn't really been aware of it when he'd married
Polly.  Oh, he'd known Polly had gone off to Berkeley when the rest of
them had headed for Harvard, Yale, Bennington, and Vassar, but he hadn't
realized how much she'd been affected by the West coast until long after
they'd married.

"But if you didn't like the way we lived, Why did you marry me?" he'd
asked her after the divorce had become final.

"Because it was expected of me," she replied.  "Good God, Charles, we
both knew we'd get married from the day we were born!   And I really
thought it would be alright!   But after Berkeley, the whole thing just
seems so unreal!
I mean, Lenore Van Arsdale not only doesn't know what's going on outside
of Secret Cove, she doesn't even care!"

Charles's mouth dropped open.  "Lenore is your best friend!   You grew
up with her."

Polly smiled ironically.  "I know.  But I grew away from her, and you,
and everything else in Secret Cove.  I can't spend my life planning
parties that cost three times as much as the money they raise for
whatever cause the Crowd has fastened on each year.  I can't keep
spending piles and piles of money on clothes when I know how many people
can barely afford clothes at all."

"So what are you going to do?" Charles had finally demanded.  "Give it
all away?"

To his shock, that was exactly what Polly had intended and exactly what
she had done. After the divorce she'd set up a foundation, picked a
board of trustees that hadn't included a single member of the Secret
Cove Crowd, and then turned over every asset she had to the foundation.

There'd been no one to stop her-her parents had died in a skiing
accident three years earlier, and though Charles had considered at least
fighting her over custody of the infant Teri, in the end he hadn't.

Polly, after all, had never been anything but a devoted mother, and
Charles was less willing to put his tiny daughter through It. a
protracted legal battle than to allow Polly to raise her as she saw fit.

Indeed, he'd even approved of the adoption after Polly had married Tom
MacIver and moved west, where both Polly and Tom had built careers in
the university system.

He, on the rebound from the divorce, had promptly married Phyllis, whom
Polly herself had first brought into their life as Teri's nurse.  Though
not born into the Secret Cove Crowd, Phyllis had at least respected its
values; and the marriage, if far from perfect, had allowed him to
continue the lifestyle he'd grown up with and hoped to die with.  Only a
few months after the marriage, Phyllis presented him with a baby girl
who had quickly filled the void left by the loss of Teri.  For all of
them, things had worked out.

But now, as he gazed at the chaffed remains of the MacIvers' house, he
knew that everything had, changed once more.  Teri was about to be
transported across the country and thrust into an unfamiliar
environment, filled with unfamiliar people.  And he suspected that Polly
had never prepared her daughter for what life would be like in the East.

After all, Why should she have?

He turned away from the blackened pile of rubble and crossed the street
to the house bearing the address he'd scrawled on a scrap of paper
earlier that morning.  It was no different from the rest of the houses
on the block-a small frame structure, modest but substantial-looking. as
he mounted the short flight of steps to its front porch, he found
himself wondering if it would burn as fast as Polly's house had.

He suspected it would.

Charles pressed the button next to the front door and heard a soft chime
sound inside.  A moment later the door opened and a plump woman peered
out at him.  "Mrs. Barrow?" he said through the screen door.  "I'm
Charles Holloway.  Teri's father."

Instantly, the door opened wider, and Lucy Barrow pushed the screen door
open, too.  "Mr.  Holloway," she breathed, her relief apparent in her
voice. "Thank God-I just don't know what to say.  It's all been so
terrible, and when Teri told me to call you-" She broke off and stood
almost still for a moment, her fluttering hands betraying her
confusion.  "I-Well, I'm afraid none of us even knew you existed.  I
mean, Polly and Tom never told us-" Once again she fell silent.

Charles reached out to take her arm, gently guiding her toward her own
living room.  "It's all right, Mrs. Barrow," he told her.  "I understand
what You must have thought.  It's..." And then his own words died in his
throat as they stepped over the threshold  and he saw Teri, huddled in a
corner of the couch, her thin robe wrapped tightly around her slender
body.  Her eyes, wide and uncertain, were fixed on him, and she seemed
to be holding her breath, as if she had been waiting to see if he would
actually come for her.

For a long moment neither of them said a word.  Then Teri stirred on the
couch and got uncertainly to her feet.  Her mouth opened, and when at
last she spoke, her voice was rough, as though she'd spent most of the
day crying. "F-Father?"

Choking with emotion, Charles strode across the room in three quick
steps and slipped his arms around the girl.  She stiffened for a moment,
but then seemed to relax, her face resting against his chest.  He
clumsily stroked her hair, then tipped her face up so he could look into
it.  "It's all right, Teri," he whispered.  "I'm here, and you're not
alone, and I'm going to make everything better for you." He held her
close again, and though he couldn't see her face as she pressed it once
more against his chest, he imagined he could feel a tiny smile breaking
through her grief.

Until this moment, he  knew,  she  must  have  felt  totally  alone  in
the  world.

Alone and terrified.

Melissa sat at the small vanity that stood between the two large windows
of her bedroom, toying with the supper that Cora had brought her an hour
ago.  try as she would, she had managed to eat no more than half of it,
and even that was lying like a lead -weight in the pit of her stomach.

She stared disconsolately at the plate, wishing she could summon up the
appetite to finish the food.  Cora had made all her favorites for her
birthday supper-a small steak cooked just the way she liked it, with
corn on the cob (the white kind, which didn't even seem to get caught in
your teeth) and sugar snap beans she herself had helped Tag plant last
spring in Cora's little garden behind the garage.  And she should have
been hungry-she'd barely eaten anything all day.

She heard a footstep in the hall outside her room and quickly picked up
her knife and fork, certain it was her mother coming to check on her.

But when the door opened, it was only Cora, and Melissa felt herself
relax.  Then she flushed with guilt as the housekeeper eyed the
half-filled plate.  "I-I'm sorry, Cora," she said.  "I just couldn't eat
much tonight."

"Now don't you worry about it, Missy," Cora replied, using the nickname
that Phyllis Holloway had long ago forbidden.  "You just eat what you
want, and save a little room for this." She set a thick wedge of
chocolate cake on the vanity, nodding with satisfaction as she saw a
smile break through Melissa's gloom.  "The way I look at it," she went
on, "what happened at the party's just as well.  None of those kids
would have appreciated my cake half as much as you do, and this way we
got a lot left over.  Tomorrow, you and Tag call poke away at it all day
long."

Abandoning the remains of the steak, Melissa picked up her fork and
Plunged it into the moist bulk of the cake.  But just as she was about
to put the morsel into her mouth, her mother appeared in the doorway.

"Now, Melissa," Phyllis said.  "You know we don't have dessert until
we've finished our dinner."

The brief flicker of eagerness died in Melissa's eyes, and she
obediently put her fork back on the plate.  "I-I guess I'm too full,
Cora," she said, her eyes pleading with the housekeeper not to argue
with her mother- "Maybe I'll be able to eat some tomorrow."

Cora, her own eyes carefully avoiding Phyllis, picked up the plates
containing the remains of Melissa's dinner and slipped out the door.

Without another word to her daughter, Phyllis followed the housekeeper
out, firmly closing the door behind her.

Melissa, left alone once more, moved back to the bed, where she huddled,
waiting for the inevitable.

She picked up a book, tried to read it, but found herself going over and
over the same page, her eyes taking in the print, but her mind refusing
to absorb the sense of the words.  The minutes ticked by, and finally,
when the sound of Cora's voice calling out to Blackie signaled that the
old woman was on her way back to her own house for the night, Melissa
put the book aside. Five minutes later her bedroom door opened once more
and her mother stepped inside.  Wordlessly, Phyllis went to the windows
and closed them.  At last she turned to face her daughter.

"How  dare  you?"  she  asked,  her  voice  quivering  with  the
indignation  she'd been nursing all afternoon.  "Doesn't anything matter
to you at all?   Do you have no appreciation for everything I try to do
for you?"

Melissa shrank back in the bed, her knees drawn defensively up against
her chest.  Her eyes fixed on her mother, and in her mind she began
whispering silently to Darcy.

"What did I do, Darcy?   What!  I didn't do anything to anyone.  Why
can't Mama understand that they don't like me?"

"Your dress, Melissa?" Phyllis suddenly demanded.  "Where is it?"

Melissa was silent for a split second, but as her mother took a step
toward her, she forced herself to speak through her constricted throat.

"The closet," she whispered.

Her eyes narrowing, Phyllis turned and moved to the closet, hurling the
door open with enough force to make it bang loudly against the wall. The
pink organdy dress lay crumpled on the floor where it had lain since
slipping off the hanger Melissa had hastily put it on earlier.  Phyllis
snatched it up, then turned to face her daughter.  "Is this the way you
treat your clothes?" she demanded.  She grasped the dress in both hands,
then jerked hard. There was a tearing sound that made Melissa want to
sob.

Then, as if brought back to life by the violence of Phyllis' action,
Melissa jumped off the bed and rushed toward her mother.  "Don't!" she
cried. "Don't tear my dress!" She reached for the dress but stopped as
her mother's hand snaked out and slapped her sharply across the cheek.

Melissa gasped, and staggered back toward the bed.  as Phyllis followed
her, the torn dress clutched in one hand while the other tightened into
a fist, Melissa cowered back against the headboard.

Help me!   she silently cried out to the room that was empty except for
herself and her mother.  Please, Darcy, help me.  Don't let her hit me
again!

as her mother came closer, Melissa's eyes darted around the room, as if
searching for someplace to hide or for someone to come to her aid.

And then, in the corner of the room, she saw the familiar shadow. Barely
visible at first, the diaphanous form quickly took on the shape of a
girl and moved soundlessly toward the bed.

Stop her, Melissa whispered silently to the strange form she alone could
see.  Oh, please-tell her I didn't do anything.  Don't let her punish
me!" And then Darcy was beside her, whispering softly, directly, into
her mind.

Sleep, Melissa.  I'm here now, and I'll take care of you. just go to
sleep . . .

as her mother came to the bedside, Melissa felt the soft warmth of
Darcy's arms slip around her, cradling her.  She closed her eyes and
listened only to the sound of Darcy's musical voice, crooning to her.

Her mother's angry words died away, and then the familiar darkness of
sleep began to close around her.  She drifted away, leaving Darcy alone
to absorb her mother's wrath.

Phyllis' hand closed on Melissa's arm and jerked her upright.  "Why
shouldn't I rip up the dress?" she demanded.  "Did you pay for it?   Do
you even take care of it?   Will you even wear it?   Of course not!" She
shook Melissa then, pushing her back onto the pillows.  she tore the
dress into two pieces, then ripped it again, jerking the sleeves from
the shoulder seams and flinging them in Melissa's face.

"I don't know what to do with you!" she grated, glaring at her daughter.

Do you know how hard it was to get those children here today?  Do you
think they wanted to come?   And how do you show your appreciation?
You insult them, that's how!"

Her right hand closed on Melissa's shoulder again and jerked her around.

Melissa flopped to the side but made no sound, nor did her arms move up
to ward off her mother's anger.  Her eyes, wide open, stared straight
ahead as Phyllis began shaking her violently, flinging her against the
headboard.

Through it all Melissa remained silent, saying nothing, not even crying
at the sharp stabs of pain in her neck or the hard crack when her head
struck the headboard.

And her eyes, still wide open, seemed to stare sightlessly straight
ahead as her mother's fury finally spent itself.

Panting with her own exertions, Phyllis released Melissa's shoulders,
and let her drop back onto the bed.  Then she picked up the torn
remnants that had been the pink party dress and flung them once more
toward Melissa.  "By tomorrow," she said, her voice low and dangerous,
"I'll expect the dress to be mended and back in the closet."

Glowering darkly at her daughter, she turned and stalked from the room.

as soon as the door closed, Melissa rose from the bed and moved over to
the vanity.  Cocking her head in a faintly curious manner, she gazed
into the mirror with blank and empty eyes.  Her own image stared back at
her, but in the reflection it seemed somehow different.  Her face seemed
thinner, the layer of fat peeled away to expose her bone structure, and
her features had softened.  Tentatively, she reached up to touch her
hair, pushing it back and away from her face, then let her fingers
caress her stinging ears, still sore from the blows they had received
from her mother.  At last, turning from the mirror, she picked up the
pieces of the dress and moved to the door.  Switching off the lights in
her room, she stepped out into the darkness of the hall. She paused,
listening, but the house was silent now.

Carrying the ruined dress with her, she moved down the long hallway
until she came to the steep flight of stairs that led to the attic. Once
more she paused, then went on, carefully climbing the stairs until she
came to the closed door that led to the attic itself.

She slipped inside and closed the door behind her.  The attic was almost
pitch-dark, lit only by a pale glow of moonlight that penetrated the
small dormer windows in the roof.  But Melissa, her eyes never wavering,
moved easily through the gloom, threading her way through the piles of
boxes, the ancient steamer trunks, and the old furniture that had been
consigned to the attic over the years.

Unconscious of her surroundings, she didn't pause as she trod the attic
floor, finally coming to a small room tucked beneath the sloping roof.

Inside there was a worn sofa and a chest of drawers.  On a small table
in front of the sofa there was an oil lamp, and Melissa, putting the
tatters of the dress on the sofa for a moment, struck a match and
carefully lit the lamp.

The tiny room glowed with a soft orange light.

She went to the dresser, and from the bottom drawer took an old wooden
box filled with an assortment of needles, thread, thimbles, and pins.

Carrying the box with her, she returned to the sofa, sat down, and
opened the box. Carefully, she chose a shade of thread that nearly
matched the dress.

Pulling off a length of thread, she expertly slid its end through the
eye of a needle, then began to work.

Her fingers moving quickly, she began to reset the right sleeve into the
body of the dress.  The needle flashed up and down, each stitch tiny and
perfectly even.

Oblivious to her surroundings, she worked steadily and silently in the
flickering light of the oil lamp.

The hours passed, but her fingers never tired, and her arms never ached
from holding the material.

For it was not truly Melissa who worked through those endless hours. Not
Melissa, but some other child, who sewed steadily in the silence of the
night until the first rays of sun began to creep up out of the sea.

Then, her work completed, she allowed herself to sleep.

Cora Peterson woke promptly at five-thirty the next morning, just as she
had nearly every day of her life.  She dressed, then made her bed,
glancing uneasily out her bedroom window every now and then, looking
across the yard and up at the closed windows of Melissa's room.  She
thought about breaking her normal routine and going directly to the main
house to see if Melissa was all right.

Certainly, she hadn't looked all right last night, when she'd been
unable to finish her supper.  The poor child's nerves had been strung
tight as a violin string, and her face had looked positively drawn.  But
perhaps she'd simply been tired, Cora thought, and forgotten to reopen
her windows when she'd gone to bed.  After all, there hadn't been any
trouble at all so far this summer, and so the housekeeper decided not to
worry about it.

She finished making her bed, and rapped sharply on Tag's door before
going downstairs to fix their breakfast.  Of course, it would be a lot
easier for her to make their breakfasts in the big kitchen of the main
house, but the second Mrs. Holloway still thought of Phyllis that way,
even after all these years Phyllis-had her rules, and one was that the
staff cooked for themselves.

"'The staff," Cora snorted to herself as she began scrambling half a
dozen eggs. just like there were a lot of footmen and maids, and maybe
even a butler around.  Well, that had been a couple of generations back,
and even Cora, at seventy-three, could barely remember those days.  Now
it was nothing more than a weekly cleaning crew coming in, which she
herself making do from one day to the next.  Still, she didn't mind.

After all, she'd been taking care of Charles Holloway since the day he
was born, and she'd go on taking care of him and his children as long as
she had a breath left in her'

Thinking about Charles brought back Polly, and for a moment Cora thought
she might cry.  But that wouldn't do any good at all, and if there was
one thing Cora prided herself on, it was her own practicality.  No, she
mustn't dwell on Polly at all.  Instead, she would start thinking about
Teri coming home.

A bedroom would have to be chosen for her-maybe the nice sunny one at
the northeast corner, which looked straight out over the cove.

She paused.  What was she thinking of?   It wasn't a baby who was coming
back to Secret Cove in a few days.  It was a teenage girl.  A girl who
would certainly want to decide for herself which room she wanted.

Her thoughts were interrupted as Tag, wearing only a pair of worn-out
cutoff jeans, loped into the kitchen and sprawled on the chair.  Cora
eyed his clothes archly.  "You planning to take another day off?" she
asked.

Tag shook his head.  "I'm gonna work in the vegetable garden.  Mrs.

Holloway won't even see me."

Cora grunted, and put a plate of food in front of her grandson,
wondering, not for the first time, where his personality had come from.

Certainly not from her son, who had spent almost every day of his
childhood wiggling out of whatever task she assigned him.  And not from
his mother, either, who, as far as Cora had been able to tell, had spent
most of her time in the tavern where Kirk Peterson had met her.  The two
of them had taken off while Tag was still an infant, leaving the baby
with her "for a couple of weeks." The weeks had stretched into months,
and then years.  So she'd raised Tag herself, and been pleased to find
that her grandson was turning out exactly the way her son hadn't.  He
worked hard, never seemed to get angry at anybody, and regarded the
world with a sunny disposition that Cora thought he must have invented
himself, since he hadn't gotten it from anywhere else.  Now, putting her
own plate on the table, she glanced again at his disreputable cutoffs.

"Well, if she tells you to change into pants and a shirt, don't say I
didn't warn you."

Tag  grinned  impishly.  "Come  on,  Grandma. You really think Mrs. H
would show up in the vegetable garden?   I bet she doesn't even know
where it is."

Cora's brows rose slightly.  She thought she should say something about
respect for their employer, but changed her mind.  After all, Tag was
right. Ever since she'd married Charles Holloway, Phyllis Martin had
carefully avoided any reminder of her own humble origins; a farm
somewhere in Pennsylvania, Cora believed.  A farm, as far as Cora could
tell, was nothing but an oversized vegetable garden, and certainly the
high and mighty Mrs. Holloway wouldn't go anywhere near it.  "Well, all
right, but if she catches you dressed like that, don't say I didn't warn
you."

"I won't," Tag promised, then picked up his plate and took it to the
sink, where he began washing the dishes.  Cora stacked her own breakfast
dishes on the sink, gave Tag a quick hug, then headed toward the main
house to start her day.  But as she crossed the lawn, she once more
noticed Melissa's closed bedroom windows.  Entering the house, she
didn't even stop at the kitchen, but went directly to the second floor
and opened Melissa's door without knocking.

as she'd feared, Melissa was not in her bed.

Cora climbed the stairs to the attic slowly, joints aching as she pulled
herself up the steep flight and paused at the top to catch her breath.

The attic gloom was only partially relieved by the sunlight filtering in
through the dormers.  She wove through the clutter, pausing at the door
to the tiny room beneath one of the gables.  At last, taking a deep
breath, she pushed the door open.  Curled up on the dusty sofa, sound
asleep, was Melissa.  "Oh, baby," Cora whispered almost silently.  "Not
again."

She went to the sofa, lowered herself down, and gently began waking
Melissa, taking care not to startle her.  At last Melissa's eyes
fluttered slightly, then opened.  For a moment she smiled up at Cora,
but then the smile faded as she realized where she was.

Gasping, she sat up straight, her eyes darting around the tiny room.

Finally she faced Cora, her face pale with fear.  "Don't tell Mother,"
she begged. "Please?"

Cora took Melissa's hand gently in her own.  "Now, Missy, you know I
have to tell your mother.  If you're going to be walking in your sleep
again, she has to know.  You could hurt yourself."

"But I've only done it once this summer," Melissa pleaded.  "I won't do
it again-I promise!   Please don't tell Mama.  Please?"

Cora rose to her feet, drawing Melissa along with her.  "Well, now,
let's just get you back to your bed, and we'll think about this later,
all right?"

Melissa bit her lip but nodded, and let Cora lead her back through the
jumble of castoffs that cluttered the attic floor.  A few moments later
she was back in her own room and Cora was tucking her in bed. "Now you
sleep for a couple more hours," the housekeeper told her.  "You just get
your rest and don't worry about anything.  What happened wasn't your
fault, and your mother won't blame you.  She just wants to help you."

Cora gently kissed Melissa's forehead, then, before leaving, opened the
windows to let the room fill with the fresh morning air.

When she was alone, Melissa lay in bed trying to remember what had
happened last night.  Slowly, it came back to her.

Her mother had come in and been angry with her.  In fact, she'd been so
angry that she'd torn up her pink organdy dress.  And then she'd slapped
her. After that Melissa didn't remember anything at all.

For after that, Darcy had come to help her, as Darcy always came to help
when her mother was angry at her.

She lay in bed for a few more moments, and her mind went back to the
dress.  She got up and went to the closet, hesitating only a second
before pulling the door open.

The dress was hanging neatly on a hanger.

Melissa stared at it for a moment.  Had she been wrong?   Had her mother
not come in at all?   Had she imagined the whole thing?

At last, her hands trembling, she reached out and took the dress off the
hanger.  Turning the seams inside out, she examined them carefully.

Some of them looked perfectly normal.  But others-the ones that held the
sleeves on, and the one up the bodice-were different.

The stitches were tiny and perfect, but the thread was a few shades
different from the dress itself.

She smiled, then glanced up at the ceiling.  "Thank you, Darcy," she
whispered.  "Thank you for mending it for me."

"For heaven's sake, Cora!   What are you doing?" Phyllis Holloway's
sharp voice startled the housekeeper, and the paring knife in her hand
clattered into the sink.

Her eyes automatically flicked to the large clock on the wall: it was
only nine-thirty, at least half an hour before Mrs. Holloway made her
usual appearance in the kitchen.  She picked up the knife, set it on the
drain board, then turned to face her employer.  "I thought I'd make an
apple pie," she offered.  "You know how Melissa loves my pies."

Phyllis' lips tightened.  "After her behavior yesterday, I hardly think
she deserves a treat, does she?" Cora, knowing the question was purely
rhetorical, said nothing.  "And you have better things to do than make
pies today, don't you?" Phyllis went on.

Cora's brows rose and she quickly reviewed what she'd already done that
morning.  Melissa's breakfast had already been finished and the dishes
washed, and Mrs. Holloway's pot of coffee had been waiting in her room
as usual.  Downstairs, the last of the mess from the party had been
cleared away, and every room thoroughly dusted.  Then she thought she
understood.  "I was holding off on the vacuuming," she explained.  "I
didn't want to disturb you."

"And that was very considerate of you," Phyllis replied, relenting
slightly. But it was Teri I was thinking of.  It seems to me we ought to
start getting her room ready."

Cora felt a wave of relief flow over her as she realized she was going
to be spared one of her employer's tirades over some minor detail she
had overlooked.  "I've been thinking about that," she said.  "I thought
maybe the corner room in the east wing Her voice trailed off as she saw
the dark look that immediately came into Phyllis' eyes.

"The east wing?" Phyllis repeated.  "But that's the guest wing, with all
the best views.  No, I was thinking about the room next to Melissa's."

Cora's brows knit in puzzlement.  Melissa's room was in the corner of
the south wing, and there was nothing next to it except the small
nurse's room, connected to it by a bath.  "Why, I don't know," Cora
began.  "It's awfully small-"

But Phyllis didn't let her finish.  "We'll go up and take a look at it."

"Yes, ma'am," Cora murmured.  She wiped her hands on a dish towel, then
followed Phyllis through the butler's pantry and dining room into the
large foyer.  Upstairs, they turned to the right, and a moment later
stepped into the small chamber that adjoined Melissa's large and airy
room.  Cora looked around doubtfully.  The room was sparsely furnished
with only a small day-bed, a worn bureau against one wall, a table in
front of its single window, and an old wooden rocking chair.  Covering
the hardwood floor was a threadbare oriental rug that Cora knew had
originally been in one of the guest rooms, but which had been consigned
to this room when it had been deemed too frayed for further use.

Except in the servants' quarters.

"It-Well, it's kinda small, isn't it?" Cora asked, then regretted the
question as Phyllis' impatient eyes fastened on her.

"This was my room once, Cora," she reminded the housekeeper.  "I don't
recall complaining about its size at all."

And you didn't stay in it long, either, Cora thought darkly to herself.

When she spoke, she was careful to keep her voice neutral.  "I was just
thinking that for a teenager, with all her clothes and things, maybe we
ought to look for something bigger."

Once again Phyllis's temper flashed.  "Don't be silly, Cora," she said
sharply.  "I talked to Mr. Holloway this morning, and Teri has nothing,
she barely got out of the house alive.  Now, doesn't it seem silly to
put her in some enormous room with empty closets and dressers?  And,"
she added, "I think we have to remember her background.  We want to make
her feel comfortable here, and how is she going to feel rattling around
a room that's the size of the entire house she grew up in?

"There's a lot we can do to make this room more cheerful," she
continued. "In fact, I think in a way you're right.  I always hated the
furniture in here.  I can't believe there aren't some things up in the
attic we can bring down.  Call Tag, and we'll go up and take a look."

Twenty minutes later, with both Melissa and Tag following along,
Phyllis led Cora up the stairs to the attic.  She opened the door,
stepped inside, then stopped short.

Illuminated by a brilliant beam of sunlight, there were clear footprints
in the thick layer of dust that covered the attic floor.  Phyllis stared
at them, then turned back to face her daughter.  "Melissa, is there
something you want to tell me?"

Melissa's eyes widened in sudden fear as she saw the incriminating
footprints in the dust.  Instantly, she turned to Cora in a silent plea
for help.

"Were you walking in your sleep again last night?" Phyllis asked.

Melissa bit her lip but said nothing, and it was finally Cora who
answered. "She was just upset from the party yesterday," she suggested.

"It's the first time it's happened this summer-"

Phyllis' eyes narrowed slightly.  "Is it?   Or is it simply that no
one's told me about it before?" She gazed steadily at her daughter, and
when she spoke, her voice betrayed nothing of what she might be feeling.

"Tell me, Melissa.  Is this the first time this summer?"

Melissa felt a knot of fear forming in her stomach, and wished her
father were here to help her.  What should he say?   Why was it that
with her mother there never seemed to be a right answer?   But as her
mother's eyes remained fixed on her, she knew she had to say something.
"I-I don't know, Mama," she murmured.  "I don't remember doing it at
all."

Phyllis took a deep breath, then slowly let it out, finally turning back
to Cora.  "Very well," she said.  "If she doesn't remember, perhaps you
can tell me what happened, Cora."

as briefly as she could, Cora told Phyllis what had happened.  "But she
was perfectly all right," she finished.  "She just went into the little
room at the back, the one right above her room.  She was sound asleep
when I found her."

Phyllis's eyes bored into Melissa once again.  "I want you to look
around up here," she said, her gaze never leaving her daughter, though
her words were directed to Cora.  "See if you can find anything Teri
might like.  I'm afraid I have to talk to Melissa now."

Grasping Melissa's arm, she marched her down the stairs and along the
wide corridor toward her room.  A moment later, as they heard Melissa's
door close, Tag looked uneasily at his grandmother.

"What's going to happen, Grandma?   What's she going to do to Melissa?"

Cora was silent for a few minutes, then she  heard Melissa  begin to
cry.

In Melissa's room, Phyllis closed the door, her eyes fixing on her
daughter, who stood near the fireplace, her back against the wall, her
hands held defensively behind her back.  Phyllis said nothing, but
simply stared at Melissa until, cheeks scarlet with  shame,  Melissa
turned  away.  At last  Phyllis  moved across to the closet and pulled
open the door.  The pink organdy dress hung on its hanger where Melissa
had left it.

Phyllis lifted the hanger off the rod and took the dress to the window,
where she began carefully inspecting its seams.  At last her gaze
shifted back to Melissa.

"This is very good," she said.  Melissa relaxed ever so slightly, but
her wary eyes remained on her mother.  "Did you do this?"

Melissa hesitated, then finally shook her head.

"If you didn't do it," Phyllis asked, her voice deceptively low, "then
who did?"

The question seemed to hang in the air while Melissa groped in her mind
for an answer that would satisfy her mother.  But in the end she decided
simply to tell the truth.  "D-Darcy," she breathed, her voice barely
audible.

Phyllis' eyes narrowed.  "Who?" she demanded.

Melissa cowered back.  "Darcy," she said, a little louder.  "I'm not
very good at sewing, so Darcy came and helped me."

Phyllis' hands tightened on the gauzy pink material, and for an
agonizing moment Melissa thought she was going to tear it up again.  But
then her mother flung the dress onto the bed.  "But Darcy doesn't exist,
does she?" Phyllis demanded, her voice rising.

Melissa shrank back against the wall, but managed to shake her head.

Phyllis moved across the room once more.  Her hands clamped onto
Melissa's shoulders, her fingers digging into the girl's flesh until
Melissa thought she would cry out from the pain.  When she spoke again,
Phyllis' voice had dropped to a furious hiss.  "Melissa, we've been over
this again and again. Darcy doesn't exist.  You made her up in your
head.  Do you understand?"

Too terrified to speak, Melissa managed to nod.

"You're thirteen years old now, Melissa," Phyllis went on, her grip
never loosening.  "YOU're far too old to be making up people who don't
exist.  And you're old enough to start taking responsibility for the
things you've done.  Do YOU understand what I'm saying?"

Once more Melissa forced a small nod.

"Now, Why did you walk in your sleep last night?"

Once again Melissa's head swam.  She wanted to tell her mother the
truth, that Darcy had come to help her last night, that Darcy must have
taken her up in the attic to work on the dress and that she'd simply
fallen asleep there.  But she didn't really remember it at all. all she
remembered was Darcy coming to help her.  After that, everything was a
blank until Cora had awakened her this morning.  But now, at least, she
knew what her mother wanted her to say.  "I-I was upset about what
happened at the party yesterday.  And when I get upset, I walk in my
sleep."

Her mother's hands relaxed, and the sharp pain in Melissa's shoulders
eased off to a gnawing ache.

"And Why were you upset about the party?" Phyllis pressed.

Melissa closed her eyes tight and summoned up the proper answer.

"Because I was rude to everyone.  It was a very nice party, and I ruined
it for everyone.  It was my fault, Mama."

At last Phyllis' hands dropped away from Melissa's shoulders.  Her
expression softened into a smile.  "That's right," she said.  "What
happened yesterday was your fault, and it was your own guilty conscience
that made you walk in your sleep."

Melissa nodded numbly, then looked pleadingly up at her mother.  "Is it
all right now?" she asked.

Phyllis' smile remained in place, but a cold look came into her eyes
that renewed Melissa's terror.  "We'll see," she said.  "We'll see what
happens for the rest of today."

At a little past noon Phyllis pulled her Mercedes into the parking lot
of the Cove Club and flipped the visor down to examine her hair and
makeup in its illuminated mirror.  A single strand of her pale blond
hair had escaped the severe French twist at the back of her head, and
she carefully worked it back into place, then applied a touch of gloss
to her lips.  At last she got out of the car, acknowledged the valet's
friendly greeting with a curt nod, and walked into the foyer of the
club, pausing for a moment, as always, to admire the view of the open
Atlantic from the picture windows that comprised the entire eastern wall
of the building's main lounge.  She glanced around, almost nervously,
then chided herself for falling victim once more to the uneasy sense
that even after thirteen years she still didn't quite feel as if she
belonged here.  She glanced into one of the fullength mirrors that
covered the huge pillars supporting the roof, and reassured herself that
she was dressed perfectly-the emerald-green suit was made of pure silk,
as was the cream colored blouse beneath it.  Her stockings, with their
fashionably patterned seams, were free of snags, and though her shoes
weren't quite comfortable they went perfectly with the suit.  as the
maitre d' approached, Phyllis, smiled at him with just enough coolness
to keep him gently in his place.

"I hope I'm not the first," she said.  "I always hate sitting by
myself."

"Not at all," Andre replied smoothly.  "The rest of the ladies have just
begun their drinks." He turned, leading Phyllis into the main dining
room where, in the far corner, she could see the other three members of
the club's Social Committee already seated at Lenore Van Arsdale's usual
table.

And then, as she approached the table, her blood froze.

Lenore, and the two other women, too, were all wearing warm-up suits,
their feet clad in tennis shoes or sandals.  None of them wore even a
hint of makeup.  as Andre held Phyllis' chair out for her, Lenore smiled
with what might have been sympathy.  Phyllis was certain it was a look
of amusement "I'm so sorry," Lenore apologized.  "I should have called
and let you know some of us were having a game of tennis this morning
and we'd decided not to dress.  But you look wonderful!   I'd never have
the nerve to wear that color so early in the day-I always save the
really bright things for big parties where I want to be sure Harry can
keep track of me."

Phyllis felt herself flush with humiliation, and hoped the color in her
face wouldn't show under her makeup.  So they'd played tennis but hadn't
invited her.  And how dumb did Lenore Van Arsdale think she was, coyly
suggesting her clothes were too bright. Why shouldn't she wear this suit
at lunch?   Yet as she nervously glanced around the dining room, she
realized Lenore was right an the women in the room were dressed in soft
pastels-simple cotton skirts with expensively casual knit tops.  How
could she have been so stupid?

At the last meeting And then she remembered.  At the last meeting all
the other women had been going on to a large cocktail party.

A cocktail party to which she herself had not been invited.

She came out of her reverie as she felt Kay Fielding squeeze her arm,
and realized that though Kay had spoken to her, she hadn't heard a word
the woman had said.  "I'm sorry," she apologized.  "I'm afraid my mind
drifted."

"Well, I certainly can't blame YOU," R Kay said, her voice filled with
sympathy.  "After what's happened."  Once again Phyllis flushed.  "I can't
tell you how sorry I am," she said.  "I can't imagine what got into
Melissa.  I suppose it was the disappointment of her father having to
leave, but she asked me to apologize to everyone."

Kay's smile faltered.  "Apologize?   For what?"

Phyllis swallowed.  "The-The party yesterday.  I'm afraid Melissa
behaved abominably, and I want you all to know I've spoken to her about
it."

Lenore Van Arsdale's tinkling laughter rippled across the table.  "Oh,
for goodness sakes, Phyllis-what's a child's birthday Party without a
disaster?

And who can blame Melissa for being upset-we all know how she feels
about her father!" Then her expression turned serious and she leaned
forward, her voice dropping.  "Kay was talking about poor Polly.  It's
so ghastly. How on earth could such a terrible thing happen?"

Suddenly the other three women were leaning forward, too, their gazes
fixed on Phyllis.  And for once, she realized, they truly wanted to hear
what she had to say.  Doing her best to remember every word Charles had
told her on the phone that morning, she described what had happened.

When she was done, Lenore Van Arsdale sat back in her chair, sighing
heavily.  "It's horrible," she said.  "Well, thank God at least Teri got
out.  But what's going to happen to her now?"

Once again every eye at the table fixed on Phyllis Holloway.  "Why,
she's coming to live with us, of course," she said.  "After all, she is
Charles's daughter.  Where else would she go?"

Kay  Fielding's  perfectly  manicured  fingers  toyed  nervously  with
her fork.

"We were simply thinking-well, we all know about Melissa's..." Her voice
trailed off for a second as she searched for the right word.
"well, her problems, Phyllis. She's always been such a high-strung
child."

Phyllis felt her face burning, but  forced  a  calm  smile.  "Actually,
I think it Will be good for her to have Teri here," she said. "Sometimes
I think a lot of Melissa's problems are simply a function of her being
an only child."

"Perhaps you're right," Kay Fielding replied, though her voice clearly
indicated she doubted her own words.  Then she brightened.  "And
certainly Teri has all the right genes.  After all, she's a Holloway on
one side and a Porter on the other.  You can't really beat that, can
you?"

Lenore Stevens spoke for the first time.  "Polly certainly managed to,"
she observed archly.  "I mean, can you imagine, giving away every cent
she had?
Her parents must still be spinning in their graves." She shook her head
sympathetically.  "The things that child should have had that her mother
simply denied her.  Sometimes I think Polly must have been crazy."

Lenore Van Arsdale shot Eleanor a disapproving look.  "It was Berkeley
that did that," she pronounced.  "If she'd gone to college at a decent
school, she'd have been fine.  She was my best friend for years, and I
can tell you that there was nothing wrong with her until she went to
California.  But when she came back, she was never the same."

"Well," Kay Fielding said brightly, "at least we're getting Teri back
while there's still time for her to get off to a good start in life."

The conversation went on, but Phyllis was no longer listening.  Instead,
her mind was working furiously.  Until a few moments ago, though she'd
not said a word of it to anyone, she'd wondered what on earth she was
going to do with Teri MacIver in the house.  It was bad enough having
to cope with one teenage girl, especially one as difficult as Melissa.
But two?   The prospect had been almost more than she could cope with.

And yet, she saw now, there was another side to the coin.  These
women-these women who never let her forget for a minute that she was not
really one of them-were obviously ready to accept Teri MacIver back into
the fold, despite the fact that they hadn't seen her for more than
thirteen years.  Teri, she was certain, would be invited to all the
little parties from which Melissa had been excluded.  And there would be
parties at Maplecrest now, too, for it would be up to her to reciprocate
the hospitality that certainly would be showered on Teri.  Yes, perhaps
Teri would finally provide the key to acceptance in Secret Cove that
Phyllis knew had always been withheld from her.

And it wasn't fair.

just as it wasn't fair that she'd always had to live with the knowledge
that if POLLY herself had come back, these women would have accepted her
back into their circle just as if she'd never left at all.

just as if Polly Porter had been as good a wife to Charles as she
herself was.

But at least in her heart she knew it wasn't true.  Polly hadn't been
nearly the eccentric paragon all these women remembered.  Indeed,
sometimes Phyllis wanted to tell them what had really gone on at
Maplecrest before Polly had finally left.  Even now the memories still
burned brightly.

One night, in particular. There was a party scheduled at Maplecrest, and
though it --hadn't been Phyllis' job, she'd done all the planning for
it, working out the details of the menu with Cora, ordering the flowers
from the shop in the village, making certain every aspect of the party
would be perfect.

And all that day Polly, clad in frayed jeans and a sweatshirt, had sat
curled up on the sofa in the library, reading poetry.

Poetry, for God's sake!

an hour before the party was to begin, when Charles had suggested she
might want to start dressing, she'd only glanced indifferently up from
her book.  "Maybe I'll skip it," she'd said.  "It's just the same old
dull crowd, going on and on about nothing."

Phyllis, who had happened to be in the library at the time, had seen the
hurt in Charles's eyes.  He'd even glanced at her, but it hadn't been a
glance of embarrassment she was overhearing his wife's words.

It had been a plea for understanding.

And she had understood.

Understood that Charles needed a wife who would willingly throw herself
into the only life he'd ever lived.

He'd needed a hostess who could entertain his business associates.

He'd needed  someone who understood that the Holloway fortune was
something to be up held and nurtured, not sneered at.

He'd needed her, not Polly.

But none of them-not one of the women who had been Polly's childhood
friends, had ever understood that.  Polly would forever be Polly, whom
they'd known all their lives, and she would forever be Phyllis, the
outsider.

But  now,  with  Teri  MacIver  coming  back, all that might
possibly-finally -change.

as the lunch wore on and the women began discussing the final plans for
the costume party that traditionally marked the middle of the Secret
Cove season, Phyllis managed to pay attention, if not actually
participate in the discussion.  But most of her mind was occupied with
planning for Teri's arrival.  Perhaps she was wrong, after all, about
the small room next to Melissa's.  Maybe Teri should have something
larger.  It wouldn't do, not to welcome the second, unexpected child
properly into their lives.  She made a mental note to talk to Cora again
when she got home.  No, better-to call her perhaps she'd stay after
lunch and enjoy a martini or two out by the pool.  Excusing herself, she
left the table and went in search of a phone.

as soon as she was gone, Lenore Van Arsdale leaned forward again, her
voice low.  "My God," she said.  "can you imagine what Polly must be
thinking now?   Not only did Phyllis manage to get hold of her husband,
but now she's got her daughter, too!"

"What I don't understand," Kay Fielding put in, "is Why Charles stays
with that woman at all.  The way she treats him-!"

"It's Melissa," Eleanor Stevens replied.  "Charles has always been a
decent man, and I simply can't imagine him abandoning Melissa to
Phyllis."

"But he wouldn't have to," Kay protested.  "There isn't a court in the
world that wouldn't give him custody."

"Of course not," Lenore agreed.  "But that's not really the point.  The
point is that Phyllis would put up a terrible fight, and Melissa would
be right in the middle of it.  And knowing Phyllis, she'd drag it on for
years, even if she knew she'd lose.  Charles won't put Melissa through
that, and I don't blame him."

"But to stay with Phyllis." Kay sighed.  "It just seems so unfair.  And
it's not as if it's helping Melissa.  Living with Phyllis would drive
anyone crazy, and poor Melissa just keeps getting stranger and stranger.
It'll be a wonder if-"

She fell silent as she felt Kay Fielding kick her under the table, and
turned her head just in time to see Phyllis herself standing frozen
behind her chair.

Five minutes later, behind the wheel of her Mercedes, Phyllis vented her
cold anger as she slammed the accelerator to the floorboard and heard
the rear wheels screech as they lost their traction.  She shot out of
the parking lot and started down the coast road, rolling the window down
to let the wind blow in her face.

The words she'd heard,Kay Fielding utter as she came back to the table
still burned in her mind: "...poor Melissa just keeps getting
stranger and stranger." No wonder she'd had so much trouble breaking
into the world of Secret Cove.  Everyone in town thought there was
something wrong with her daughter!   And Why shouldn't they?   Ever
since the day she was born, Melissa had been different from the rest of
the kids in Secret Cove.  She hadn't been like Teri at all.

Teri, in the few months during which Phyllis had been her nurse, had
been a perfect baby.  Blond and blue-eyed, she'd never fussed at all,
instead smiling happily up at anyone who happened to be there.  She'd
seemed to watch whatever was going on around her, smiling and laughing,
reaching out for everything and everybody.

Not like Melissa, who seemed to spend most of her time crying, except
when her father picked her up.  And while Teri, even as a baby, had been
so outgoing, Melissa had been painfully shy, refusing to play with the
other babies on the beach, always preferring to be by herself.  Always
shutting herself away.  Behaving strangely.  Making her mother a
laughingstock.

Since the day she was born, Phyllis thought, Melissa had kept her from
being part of the Secret Cove Crowd.

It wasn't fair.  It wasn't how she'd planned it at all.  She'd taken
Polly's place as Charles's wife and as the mother of his child.  It was
only right that she should also have had Polly's place in the Crowd. But
it had never happened.

Except that now Teri was coming, and Phyllis would have one more chance,
if Melissa didn't ruin it for her.  Silently, she prayed that Teri hadn't
changed, that she was still as perfect as she remembered her.

Charles Holloway switched off the television set in his room at the Red
Lion Inn and rolled over, checking the alarm clock on the nightstand. It
was eleven-thirty, and the alarm was set for six.  He punched at the
too-hard pillow that modern hotels seem to specialize in, then picked up
the murder mystery he'd been putting himself to sleep with for the last
month.  So far he'd only managed to get through a hundred pages, which
meant he'd been sleeping pretty well.  But tonight he suspected he'd
read at least twenty-five more.  Well, just a few more days and he'd be
back home.

He read a couple of paragraphs, then found himself distracted by a
muffled sound from the next room.  He listened for a moment, put the
book aside and went to the door that separated his room from Teri's.  A
moment later he heard the sound again.  This time he recognized it.

Teri was crying.

Pulling his bathrobe on and tying the belt around his waist, he opened
the door and slipped into the other room.  The lights were out, but in
the glow of his own table lamp he could see Teri, curled up tightly in
her bed, her arms clutching at the pillow.  He moved to the bedside,
eased himself down onto the bed itself and laid his hand on his eldest
daughter's shoulder.  "Teri?
Honey?   Are you all right?"

Teri rolled over onto her back and stared up at him through moist eyes.

"I -I'm sorry," she said.  "I was just feeling sort of lonely.  I didn't
mean to wake you up."

"You didn't," Charles assured her.  "You should have come in."

"I didn't want to bother you," Teri breathed.  "I mean, you already had
to come all the way out here, and Her voice broke and she choked back a
sob.

Charles gathered her into his arms, rocking her gently.  "It's not a
bother at all, and I don't ever want you to think that.  I'm your
father, and I love you."

He felt Teri stiffen slightly in his arms, and then she pulled away
enough to look searchingly up into his face.

"You do?" she said, her voice tinged with uncertainty.

"Of course I do," Charles said.

"Th-That's not what Mom said."

Charles frowned in the half darkness of the room.  "What do you mean,
that's not what your mother said."

Teri choked back another sob.  "Sh-She said you only loved Melissa now.
She said that's Why you never sent me letters, or presents for Christmas
or my birthday."

Charles froze.  was it possible?   Could Polly really have said
something like that?   But it wasn't true.  "Honey, what are you talking
about?" he asked. "I've always sent you letters, and I never forgot your
birthday or Christmas at all. Every year I've sent you a package. Didn't
you get them?"

Teri shook her head.  "I-I wasn't even sure you'd come today."

"Oh, Lord," Charles groaned, pulling her close once again.  "No wonder
you were crying.  You must have been terrified."

"Y-You don't have to take me home if you don't want to," Teri said.  "I
can stay here-I have friends, and I can get a job."

Charles gently pressed a hand over her mouth to stop the flow of words.

"I don't even want to hear anything like that," he said, feeling a
sudden flash of anger toward his ex-wife.  It was one thing to cut
herself off from her past, but to try to alienate Teri from him was
unforgivable.  No wonder he'd never gotten a letter from Teri, he
thought she didn't want to hear from him. "Now listen to me," he said,
doing his. best to keep the anger out of his voice.

"I don't know Why your mother would tell you something like that, but it
isn't true.  I never stopped loving you, and I never stopped thinking
about you.  And there was certainly never a question about my coming for
you. You're my daughter, and you always have been.  I've missed you
every day you've been gone, and I've hated never seeing you.  as for the
letters and the presents, I can't imagine Why your mother kept them from
you.  Why, just last Christmas I sent you a pearl necklace. it was
beautiful-pink pearls, perfectly matched.  And there were others, too.
Toys when you were little. all kinds of things.  So You mustn't think
you're alone.  You still have a father, and now you have a stepmother,
and a sister, too."

Teri sat up now, propping herself up against the headboard.  Nervously,
she peered at Charles.  "A sister," she whispered.  "What's she like?"

Charles smiled in the darkness.  "You'll love her.  yesterday was her
thirteenth birthday, and she's the nicest girl you'll ever meet.  In
fact, she wanted me to tell you how sorry she is about what happened,
but that the one thing she's always wanted is a sister.  Now she has
one."

Teri shifted uneasily in the bed.  "But-But what if she doesn't like
me?"

Charles reached out and took her hand, squeezing it gently.  "Of course
she'll like you," he said.  "She'll love you just as much as I do."

They talked for a few more minutes, and slowly Teri calmed down, her
sobs dying away.  At last Charles tucked her in and kissed her good
night. "And remember," he said, "if you get lonely again, you come in
and wake me up." Teri nodded.  When Charles left the room, closing the
door behind him, she lay still in the darkness for a few minutes,
thinking.

Thinking about her mother.

Her mother, and her stepfather.

And her real father.

In a way, tonight was no different from all the other nights when she'd
lain awake in her bed, trying to figure out Why her mother had left her
real father. It seemed to her that everything had been Perfect back when
they had all lived together in the huge house by the sea.  Of course,
she couldn't remember it now-she had been so young when the divorce had
come.  But even though she'd been away from Secret Cove for most of her
life, deep inside she still thought of it as her real home, the Place
where she truly belonged.

And now she was going  home again.

If only her mother could be going with her.  Then everything would be
the way it had been when she was a baby.  everything would be perfect.

She determinedly put the thought, out of her mind, refusing to dwell on
the impossible.

She rolled over and tried to go to sleep, but sleep would not come.

Finally, she reached out and turned on the lamp on the nightstand.  Leaving
the bed, she padded over to the closet and reached into the pocket of
her bathrobe. When she went back to bed, she was carrying the only thing
she had taken with her when she'd fled the blazing house.

She held it in her hand, studying it carefully.

It was a string of perfectly matched pink pearls.

She stared at them for a long time, fingering their smooth surfaces,
rubbing them gently against her face.  When she finally went to sleep an
hour later, the pearl necklace was still in her hand.

"Teri?   We'll be landing in twenty minutes."

Teri blinked, then opened her eyes and stretched awkwardly in the first
class seat of the DC-9.  Her mouth felt dry, and though she knew she'd
fallen asleep for a while after they'd changed planes in Chicago, she
felt as if she'd been awake all night.  Her eyes stung and every joint
in her body seemed to be aching.  Her father smiled at her as if he knew
exactly how she felt.  "I hate night flights,' Charles Holloway said
ruefully.  "Especially going east in summer.  You get on when it's still
light, and then it's morning when you arrive, but you don't feel as if
there was any night.  Why don't you go up and wash your face?  You'll
feel better."

Still not trusting her voice, Teri nodded and stepped across her father
to the aisle, then went forward to the tiny lavatory, carrying the purse
her father had bought her two days ago.  She splashed cold water on her
face and tried to comb her hair.  She winced as she looked at her image
in the mirror-her eyes looked puffy, and it seemed as if she'd somehow
lost her tan overnight. The person who gazed back at her had a sallow
look, as if she'd been sick for a long time.  She fumbled with the clasp
on the leather bag and groped inside for her lipstick.  Washing her face
once more, she applied some color to her lips, then looked at her image
once again.

A lime of the puffiness had disappeared, and she didn't look quite as
bad as she had a few minutes ago.  Deciding she'd done the best she
could, she returned to her seat and gratefully took a sip of the orange
juice her father had ordered while she was gone.  Then she raised the
blind on the plane's window and looked out.

They were descending rapidly.  As the plane banked for its final
approach, Teri had a startling view of the Maine coastline, a series of
rugged cliffs broken here and there with coves cut into the mainland,
and an occasional strip of beach.  She searched her memory, trying to
recall any feeling at all of having been here before.

But there was nothing-it was all totally unfamiliar to her.  "I keep
thinking I should remember it," she said, turning back to her father.

Charles offered her a wry smile.  "It would be pretty surprising if you
did," he observed.  "When you left, you weren't even three years old,
and you went in a car."

Teri shook her head.  "But there are things I remember.  Not much, but a
couple.  I remember a big lawn, and a beach."

Charles chuckled.  "Well, there's plenty of big lawns in Secret Cove,
and we certainly have a beach." Then, as he saw Teri nervously take a
small mirror out of her purse to study her face one more time, he was
certain he knew what was on her mind.  "Stop worrying-no one looks her
best after flying all night."

"B-But what if Phyllis and Melissa don't like me?"

Charles took her hand in his and squeezed it affectionately.  "How many
times do I have to tell you that you aren't going to have a problem?   I
talked to Phyllis yesterday, and they've been getting a room ready for
you.  In fact, they've gotten a couple of rooms ready, so you can
choose.  And apparently Melissa hasn't talked about a single thing
except her sister for the last two days."

Teri heard the words but wasn't certain whether to believe them or not.

For the last two days she'd been trying to. convince herself that it was
going to be all right, that her father really did want her, that he
wasn't going to send her away somewhere.

But he'd let her go once, a long time ago, when she was almost too small
to remember.

What if he decided he didn't want her again?

What would she do?

Melissa watched the plane touch down and taxi toward the terminal.

Unconsciously, her fingers went to the sleeve of the white sweater tied
around her neck and began kneading nervously at the knitted material.

"For heaven's sake, Melissa," Phyllis said sharply.  "Don't fidget.  And
can't you leave that poor sweater alone?   It was perfectly clean when
we left the house this morning, and now look at it."

Instantly, Melissa's hands dropped away from the sleeve.  She shoved
them in the pockets of her shorts, then changed her mind.  "What if she
doesn't like me?" she asked.

Phyllis' lips tightened as she gazed down at her daughter.  "Well, I
don't suppose there's any reason Why she shouldn't," she replied.  "If
you'd just make an effort, everyone would like you.  But if you won't
try, you can't expect to have a lot of friends."

Melissa bit her lip, wishing she hadn't asked the question in the first
place. Nervously, she reached up to run her fingers through her hair,
then stopped herself as her mother's words rose up in her mind. "How
can you expect to have nice hair if you treat it like that?"

And then, finally, the plane was at the jet way, and a moment later she
saw her father coming toward her, his leather garment bag slung over his
shoulder.  She darted forward, throwing her arms around him as he let
the bag slide to the floor, and a second later she felt his lips press
against her cheeks.

"Miss me?" she heard him ask, and she nodded vigorously.  Then he gently
freed himself from her hug and turned toward the girl who now stood next
to him.  "This is your sister, sweetheart."

Melissa's breath caught in her throat as she looked at Teri for the
first time.  It seemed to her that Teri was even more beautiful than her
picture. Her eyes were a deep blue, and her hair, combed back from her
face, looked like she'd just washed it, She was wearing a white blouse
and a pair of khaki shorts very much like the ones Melissa herself had
on, but on Teri the clothes seemed to hang just like they did on the
models in the magazines.  "H-Hi," Melissa stammered uncertainly, feeling
even gawkier than usual in front of her half sister.

"The least you can do is kiss your sister, Melissa," Phyllis said,
prodding her forward.  Melissa felt herself flush, and took a step
toward Teri, but then Teri, apparently sensing her self-consciousness,
grinned at her.

"Maybe you'd better not," she said.  "I feel all grungy."

"Well, you certainly don't look grungy," Phyllis declared, stepping past
Melissa to put her arms around Teri.  "Do you remember me at all?   I
used to take care of you when you were just a baby." She hugged Teri
close and her voice dropped.  "We're all SO terribly sorry about what's
happened," she went on. "How dreadfully awful for you."

Teri gave her stepmother a hug but said nothing.  There was an awkward
moment, broken finally by Charles.

"Why don't we get out of here?" he asked, picking up the garment bag
with one hand.  "Where's the car?"

"In the lot," Phyllis replied.  "y don't you and Melissa bring it around
while I help Teri find her baggage."

"I-I don't have any,"
Teri said softly.  "I only have a few things Father bought me.  The
rest..."  Her voice trailed off, and instantly Phyllis put a
sympathetic arm around her.

"Now, don't worry about a thing.  We have lots of wonderful shops in
Secret Cove, and tomorrow we'll start working on putting your wardrobe
back together again."

Melissa fell in next to her father, slipping her hand into his, but she
found herself glancing back at Teri. every few seconds.

Finally her father winked down at her.  "What do you think?"

Melissa shrugged.  "She-She's so beautiful."  she whispered.

Charles squeezed her hand.  "Not as beautiful as you, baby," he told
her, then pulled her close.

Melissa, pressed close against her father's solid strength, felt some of
the tension of the last few days with her mother begin to drain
away.'Her father was back, and for a while, at least, she was safe.  And
now, with Teri here, maybe her mother wouldn't be as hard on her
anymore.  Maybe Teri would offer the same kind of protection her father
did.

Teri stared out the back window of the Mercedes as they turned off the
main highway and dropped down toward Secret Cove, searching the road for
anything that looked in the least bit familiar.  as they wound through
the little village, with its perfectly kept shops, all of them either
built during the last century or carefully constructed to look as though
they'd been, she saw nothing that stirred any sort of memory at all. But
what she saw was fascinating.

Unlike the streets of the San Fernando valley, which ran on for miles
through a borderless morass of fast-food outlets and 7-Eleven stores,
the main road into Secret Cove emerged from a patch of forest, then
twisted through what looked to Teri almost like some kind of park. Every
shop had flower boxes at its windows and gardens in front, and many of
them had apparently once been private homes, their yards perfectly
tended behind black wroughtiron fences.

"It's beautiful," Teri breathed, finally looking over at Melissa.  "Has
it always been this way?"

Melissa nodded.  "Nobody lives in the village anymore.  an the houses
where the year-round people live are on the west side.  But there's all
kinds of rules about what they can do in the village.  There's a
historical society that makes sure no one changes anything." She giggled
softly.  "Cora-that's our housekeeper-says they're trying to Turn the
whole town into a museum, but Tag says it doesn't matter, since most of
the people who live here are fossils anyway."

Teri cocked her head.  "Who's Tag?"

"Cora's grandson.  He lives with her.  His folks ran off and just dumped
him with her.  can you imagine?"

Teri shook her head.  "What's he like?" she asked.  "Is he cute?"

Phyllis' voice cut into the conversation from the front seat.  "He's a
very ordinary boy," she said.  "He does some work around the place, and
I suppose when he grows up he'll marry one of the local girls."

"No, he's not," Melissa piped in.  "He's going to go to college and be
an architect."

Phyllis turned and shot her daughter a dark look. "is he?" she said.
"And how does he expect to pay for all of that?"

Melissa shrugged.  "I-I guess -he'll work, or get a scholarship or
something.  And everybody doesn't go to Harvard or Yale or one of those
places."

"The people who count do," Phyllis replied- "What about you, Teri?
have you thought about college yet?"

Teri shook her head.  "I was going to go to Cal State, I guess.  But now..."
Her voice trailed off again as everyone in the car realized that
any plans she might have made had burned to ashes only a few days ago.

"Well, there's plenty of time to think about it," Phyllis said quickly.
"We can have such fun, looking at schools for you.  Eleanor Stevens is
taking Ellen to Vassar over Labor Day weekend, just to look around.
Perhaps we should tag along."

Charles cast a sidelong glance at his wife.  "Come on, Phyllis-give her
a break.  She's got two more years of high school."

"Well, you can't start planning too early," Phyllis replied.  "The
really  good schools are so difficult to get into, and it doesn't hurt
to begin making connections now."

Teri turned to Melissa.  "Where do you go to school?"

"Prissy Preston," Melissa replied, then grinned at the puzzled look on
her half sister's face.  "Actually, it's the Priscilla Preston Academy
for Young Ladies," she explained.  "I hate it, but Mom says I have to go
there because it's where everyone goes.  It's really old, and kind of
creepy, and they're real strict.  That's Why all the kids Call it Prissy
Preston-because all the teachers are really stuffy."

"It's an excellent school, Melissa, and you should be grateful you're
there."

Melissa rolled her eyes, and Teri grinned at her, and suddenly Melissa
decided that everything was going to be all right after all.  Then the
car turned through the gates of Maplecrest and began winding down the
long drive that led from Cove road to the house.  Teri's eyes once again
fixed on the landscape beyond the car's windows.

They emerged from the woods, and Teri gasped.

And finally something clicked in her mind.

She wasn't certain if it was the size of the house, or its shape, or
only the vastness of the lawn in front of it.  But there was something
about it she remembered.

it loomed ahead of them, an enormous shingled structure, a wide veranda
fronting it, with French doors opening onto the veranda from most of the
first-floor rooms.  There was a large front door in the center of the
house, and as she looked at it, Teri suddenly remembered what was inside
those doors.

an enormous foyer-or at least what had seemed to her like an enormous
foyer when she was tiny-with a staircase that went straight up toward
the back of the house, then split off in both directions to a huge
landing on the second floor.  And then . . .

And then there was nothing, for the staircase was all she remembered.

Charles pulled the car to a stop on the gravel drive that circled around
in front of the house, and Teri almost hesitantly left the car to stand
staring up at Maplecrest.

"It's so big," she breathed, her words barely audible.  "I never
realized.  It -It's a mansion!"

"well, its comfortable," Phyllis told her, using the slightly
deprecating tone she always used when showing the house to strangers, "for
no one can afford those anymore.  They've all been turned into
institutes, or religious centers."

The door opened, and Cora, a fresh apron tied around her waist, bustled
out.  Brushing past the housekeeper with barely a nod, Phyllis marched
briskly inside while Tag, who had followed his grandmother, waited on
the front porch.

Cora hurried down the steps.

"Teri?   Is it really you?   Oh, my goodness, just look at you!" She
wrapped her arms around the girl, pulling her to her ample bosom, then
held her away at arm's length.  "Look at you-all grown up, and the
spitting image of your mother!" Then, as she heard her own words, her
smile faded away.  "Oh, dear," she murmured.  "It's all so terrible, and
here I am, acting like you've just come to visit." Her eyes flooded with
tears and she dabbed at them with a corner of her apron.  "I just-well,
I just don't know what to say, and you must think I'M a terrible ole
fool.  You probably don't even remember me, do you?

Teri shook her head.  "I-I don't really remember much of anything.  It's
been so long.  But it all seems sort of familiar, somehow."

"But your mother must have shown you pictures of the place," Charles
suggested.

Teri nodded.  "But it's different.  It's almost like I've dreamed about
it."

"well, of course you have," Cora told her.  "After all, you were born
here, weren't you?   There's some things you never forget.  Now, come
and meet my grandson." She turned.  "Tag?   Come down and meet Teri."

Tag slowly came down the steps and offered Teri his hand.  "Hi," he
said.

"Hello," Teri replied, smiling at Tag as she took his hand.  There was a
loud barking, and she turned to see a big Labrador lumbering across the
lawn, his tail wagging furiously.

"Come on, Blackie!" she heard Melissa shout.  "Come on, boy!"

The big dog raced up to Melissa and rose up on his hind legs, planting
his forepaws on Melissa's chest and lapping eagerly at her face.

Laughing, Melissa scratched the dog's ears, then pushed him off.  "This
is Teri," she said, turning to her half sister.  "can you shake hands,
Blackie?"

But instead of  raising  up  a  paw  and  holding  it  out  toward  Teri
Blackie growled, a rumble from deep in his throat and shrank back
against Melissa's legs, growling in his throat.

"Blackie!" Melissa exclaimed.  "Is that any way to treat a new friend?"

She glanced eagerly at Teri.  "Come on, Teri.  Let him sniff your hand.
He's scared."

Teri hesitantly took a step forward and reluctantly held out her hand
for the big dog to sniff.

But Blackie bolted away, charging back across the lawn to disappear over
the crest of the low rise that separated the grassy expanse from the
beach beyond.  "Blackie!" Melissa called after him.  "Blackie, you come
back here!"

"It's all right," Teri told her.  "Let him go,"

Melissa glanced once more toward the beach and shrugged.  "Come on,"
she said.  "Let me show you your room."

She led Teri into the house, and as soon as Teri stepped into the foyer,
she stopped.

It was exactly as she'd expected.  The room was paneled in wood, all of
it painted white, and there were French doors on either side of the
broad staircase, leading to the terrace at the back of the house.  Above
the stairs, set into the high ceiling more than two floors above, was a
domed skylight, its curved glass sending a rainbow of colors cascading
down the stairs to splash across the white marble floor.

"I remember this," she whispered.  "I remember the stairs from when I
was a baby.  They looked so big." She giggled.  "They are big, aren't
they?"

Melissa nodded.  "I used to like to slide down the banister.  Cora
always used to say I'd kill myself, and Mama said it wasn't ladylike,
but I did it anyway.  Want to try?"

Teri gazed up at the polished walnut balustrade that curved down from
the floor above and shook her head.  "I think Cora's right.  I'd
probably fall off and break my neck."

"No you wouldn't," Melissa protested.  "It's  fun.  We'll  try  it
tomorrow."

They climbed up the stairs, turning to the right, where the flight split
in two, and finally came to the big second-floor landing.  A mezzanine
encircled the staircase, with broad halls leading to the wings of the
house.

"You get your choice of rooms," Melissa told Teri.  "One of them's
supposed to be a guest room, but Mama says you can have it if you want
it.  It's over this way."

She led Teri toward the eastern corner of the house and opened a door to
reveal a large and airy room with windows in three of its walls.  From
two of the windows the cove and the ocean beyond were spread out in a
broad panorama, while the third window looked out over the terrace
cradled between the two rear wings of the house.  "My room's the one
straight across the terrace," Melissa told her.  "It'S not as big as
this one, and this one has its own bathroom."

"Where's the other room?" Teri asked.

Melissa's smile faded slightly.  "It's not as big as this one," she
said.  "And the view isn't as good."

"can't we go look at it?"

Melissa led the way to the other side of the house, then paused outside
the door to the room her mother had first chosen for Teri.  "It was,
it's hardly even a room at all," Melissa said.  She pushed the door open
and let Teri go in first.

The little room had been cleaned-Melissa herself had helped Cora scrub
every surface until it sparkled, and they'd found some better furniture,
in the attic.  The little chest of drawers had been replaced with an
ornately carved highboy that Tag had discovered in a far corner of the
attic, and they'd found an antique bedstead that Cora remembered from
decades earlier.  The rocker still stood where it had been, but the
cushions on its seat and back had been covered with fresh chintz in a
bright flowered- pattern.

"I bet we could put wallpaper up if you decide you like this room,"
Melissa said.

Caught by the plaintive note in her half sister's voice, Teri turned and
cocked her head slightly.  "What's special about this room?" she asked.
"I mean, it's not nearly as big as the other one, or as nice, either."

"I know," Melissa sighed.  "And if it were me, I'd probably take the
other room in a minute.  But look." She crossed the room and opened the
door to the small bathroom that separated the nurse's room from the
bedroom beyond.  "If you go through the other door, you can get into my
room without ever going out into the hall.  So if you take the little
room, we can sneak back and forth without Mom, and Dad ever knowing."

Teri glanced around the bathroom.  Though it wasn't big by comparison to
the rooms in Maplecrest, it was still larger than the bathroom she had
shared with her parents in California.  And the room Melissa had just
apologized for was still larger than her room at home.

No, she silently corrected herself.  This is my home now.

She moved toward the open door of the bathroom, the one that led to
Melissa's own room, and suddenly she had another of those strange
flashes of recognition.

"Go on in," she heard Melissa say.

Slowly, she pushed the door open.

as soon as she stepped into the room, she knew.

This had been hers.

all of it felt familiar, despite the fact she hadn't been in it since
she was less than three years old.

Even the smell of it seemed to bring back old feelings, feelings of
warmth, security, and of arms cradling her, and images of faces smiling
down at her.

Yes, this had been her room; this had been where she lived when she was
a baby.

She hesitated, her emotions churning.

The other room-the room on the other side of the house-was much larger,
much brighter than the little room next to Melissa's.

But that was the side of the house where guests stayed.

Guests who would come for a few days, or maybe a couple of weeks, and
then leave.

But Teri wasn't leaving.  This was her home again, and she didn't want
to feel like a guest.

And, of course, there was Melissa.

Melissa, the half sister she'd had for so many years but had never
known, was watching her now, anxiously waiting to see what she was going
to do.

She smiled.  "I think you're right," she said.  "I think I'll take the
little room.  The other one's too big, and I'd always be looking over
here across the terrace, wondering what you're doing and wishing I could
talk to you.  If I'm over here with you, it'll be a lot more fun."

Melissa gazed at the beautiful girl who was smiling at her, and suddenly
threw her arms around Teri.

"I know what happened is really terrible," she whispered.  "But I'm so
glad you're here.  I've just been so lonely, and now I'm not going to be
anymore."

Teri hesitated, then let her own arms go around Melissa.

But though her lips smiled warmly as she accepted the embrace, her eyes
-had anyone noticed-betrayed an emotionless chill.

Brett Van Arsdale watched the volleyball arc upward and waited until the
very last second before launching himself into the air, his right arm
stretching above his head, his hand clenched into a fist.  At exactly
the right moment he swung his arm downward, spiking the ball back over
the net and into the sand between Kent Fielding and Cyndi Miller, who
glared accusingly at each other.  Both spoke at the same instant.

"Why didn't you get it?"

"It was coming right at you!"

"Game!" Jeff Barnstable yelled gleefully from Brett's side of the net.

"Anybody want to play girls against the boys?"

"Give me a break," Ellen Stevens groaned.  "You never wanted to play
that two years ago, when we were all bigger than you guys!"

"So?" Jeff countered, grinning impudently.  "Things change.  Got to keep
up, Ellen."

Ellen abandoned the court and flopped down on her beach towel.  "I'll
tell you what," she offered, stretching languidly as she applied another
coat of sunscreen to her arms and felt Jeff's eyes admiring her.  "After
lunch we'll get a tennis court, and Cyndi and I will take you and Kent
on at doubles."

Jeff groaned, dropping down beside her.  "You think I'm nuts?   I'm not
gonna let everyone at the club watch you whip me."

Ellen's brows rose.  "But it's okay if everyone watches you guys beat us
at volleyball?" she teased.  "You're such a sexist creep sometimes."

Jeff picked up a handful of sand, and Ellen rolled away from him,
giggling. A second later Jeff let the sand trickle through his fingers.

"Hey," he said to no one in particular.  "Has anyone seen Teri yet?" ,
Cyndi Miller shook her head.  "It's weird-she's been here two whole
days. Wouldn't you think she'd be on the beach?"

"Maybe she's as nutty as Melissa," Marsha Bradford said, the corners of
her eyes wrinkling with a grin.  "And she's a couple of years
older-maybe they have to keep her locked up in the attic."

Ellen Stevens snickered.  "My mom keeps telling me I ought to call her,
but what am I supposed to do?   Invite her over and not ask Melissa?"

"Why not?" Cyndi countered.  "I mean, it's not as if Melissa likes us.
She actually kicked us out of her birthday party the other day."

"Some party," Brett groaned.  "A game of water polo and some of Cora
Peterson's Ritz crackers with peanut butter.  Big deal.  We could have-"
And then he fell silent, frowning slightly as he gazed up the beach to
the north.

Jeff Barnstable followed his friend's gaze, then nudged Ellen Stevens,
who was stretched out on her back, one arm shielding her eyes from the
sun. "Guess who's coming down the beach?   Melissa and someone who has
to be Teri MacIver."

Ellen uttered an exaggerated groan.  "can't they do something about the
pollution around here?"

Jeff snickered, but as the two girls drew closer with Blackie frolicking
at Melissa's heels, he nudged Ellen again.  "If you ask me, Teri doesn't
exactly look like a lump of tar."

"I didn't ask you," Ellen replied, but nevertheless sat up and blinked
as the sun struck her eyes.  A moment later her pupils adjusted to the
glare and she saw the familiar figure of Melissa, a little too plump,
with her brownish hair hanging limply around her shoulders, walking
along the beach just above the waterline.

But next to her was another girl, and the contrast between the two made
Ellen's eyes widen slightly, for Teri, her perfect figure clad in a
slightly too tight bathing suit that exposed most of her skin to the
sun, was the exact opposite of Melissa.  Her blond hair, brushed back
from her face, had the kind of natural highlighting that Ellen herself
had been struggling for a month to coax out of a bottle from the local
drugstore.  Her tan, a deep glowing bronze that was set off perfectly by
her black bathing suit, was absolutely even, and Ellen found herself
automatically glancing down at the pale patches on the insides of her
own thighs.

"California  girl,"  she  commented,  knowing  even  as  she  spoke that those
words sounded like sour grapes.  She glanced around at her friends, all
of whom even Cyndi Miller-were staring at Teri.  "Come on, you guys
she's not that gorgeous."

"Oh, yes she is," Brett Van Arsdale said.  "Face it, Ellen," he added,
never taking his eyes off Teri, "she makes you look like dog meat."

"That is so gross!" Ellen snapped.  "You're the one who looks like a
dog, Brett.  Your tongue's hanging out and you're practically drooling.
And just because she's wearing a bathing suit a couple of sizes too
small!   Why don't you grow up?"

"I think I just did," Brett sighed.  "How am I going to meet her?"

"have you thought of just walking up to her and saying hello?" Ellen
asked, her voice acid.

"I could have, if you hadn't been so crappy to Melissa the other day."

"Me?!" Ellen shrieked.  "What did I do?"

Brett's eyes shifted over to fix on Ellen.  "Oh, get off it-I heard what
you and Cyndi were saying about her, and she did, too."

"Well, if you're so crazy about Melissa all of a sudden," Ellen
complained, "then Why don't you go ask her to introduce you to her
sister?"

"Maybe I will," Brett said, but made no move to leave the blanket he was
sharing with Kent Fielding.

"well, go on," Kent goaded, giving Brett a shove.  "Why don't you go
talk to Melissa?   First you can tell her how sorry we all are about
her crappy birthday party, and then you can tell her you have the hots
for her sister."

"Aw, jeez," Brett groaned.  "Give me a break, will you?"

"Well, how else are you going to meet her?" Jeff asked.

Brett shrugged.  "Well, I'm sure not going to try with you guys around.
Anyway, she's bound to show up at the club."

Cyndi Miller snickered.  "Right.  Along with Mrs. Holloway and Melissa.
Forget it, Brett-you're not going to get to Teri without getting stuck
with Melissa, too.," She rolled over, turning her back on the two girls,
who had now stopped fifty yards down the beach and were busy whispering
to each other.  "And who cares anyway?   I'll bet she's just as weird as
Melissa."

"But don't you know them?" Teri asked, her head tilting toward the group
of teenagers clustered on the beach next to the volleyball net.

Melissa chewed at her lip.  She knew Teri wanted to meet them, but the
painful memory of her birthday was still fresh in her mind.  "Yes, I
know them," she finally admitted.  "But that doesn't mean I like them.
They're just a bunch of snobby Cove Club kids."

Teri frowned.  "But we're members of the club, aren't we?"

"Yes, but..."

"But what?" Teri pressed.  "I mean, you've been here every summer of
your life.  Aren't they your friends?"

Melissa took a deep breath, then shook her head.  "No, they're not," she
finally admitted.  "Th-They don't like me." Her eyes fixed on the ground
as she spoke the words, unable to meet Teri's stare.

"What do you mean, they don't like you?" Teri asked.  "Why wouldn't
they?"

Melissa shrugged, wishing they hadn't come to the beach today.  But for
the last two days she and Teri had lain around the swimming pool, and
this morning, when Teri had suggested they take a walk up the beach, she
hadn't been able to admit she didn't want to because she was afraid of
running into the kids from the club.  And yet, when she finally managed
to look up at Teri, her half sister wasn't looking at her in that awful
superior way the other kids always did.

"They just don't, that's all."

Teri glanced once more at the group of kids sprawled on their blankets
and instantly understood.  Even from here she could see that all of them
were alike-they all had blond hair, the girls were all slim, and the
boys were all broad-shouldered with deep chests and well-developed
muscles.

They were the kind of kids she'd seen back home sometimes, when she and
her friends took the bus into Beverly Hills to look around, not doing
anything, but just hanging out.  She'd always been able to spot the kids
who lived there-they all looked alike, and they all did their shopping
along Rodeo Drive, and spent their days during the summer lying around
their pools and playing tennis on their own courts.

And when they glanced at Teri and her friends at all, which they
practically never did, Teri thought she knew what they were thinking:
You don't belong here-Why don't you go home?

And yet as she stole another glance at the group of kids on the beach,
she was certain at least one of them was giving her a look she'd seen
before, a look that said he, at least, wanted to get to know her. Unless
he was just staring at the skimpy bathing suit she'd found in the pool
house yesterday.

He was the tallest one of the group-a little over six feet, and when he
grinned at one of his friends, she could see deep dimples in his cheeks.

"Who's that?" she asked Melissa.

Melissa didn't even have to look at the group of kids to know whom Teri
was talking about.  It had to be the boy on whom she'd had a secret
crush for the last two summers.  "Jeff Barnstable," she said out loud.

"Isn't he adorable?   I love his curly hair, and his eyes are just
incredible."

Teri eyed her half sister speculatively.  "You like him, don't you?"

Though  Melissa  shook  her  head  in denial, her flush of embarrassment
belied the gesture.  "Well, maybe I've got kind of a crush on him," she
finally admitted, then sighed heavily.  "But he doesn't even know I'm
alive."

Teri squeezed Melissa's hand sympathetically.  "Well, don't worry about
it," she said.  "I bet if we can just get his attention, he'll notice
you.  Besides," she added, "it wasn't him I was talking about.  Who's
the tan one?"

Melissa covertly let her eyes scan the group of teenagers, and then
understood who Teri was talking about.  "Brett Van Arsdale," she said.

"What's he like?"

Melissa, relieved that it wasn't Jeff who interested Teri, shrugged
indifferently.  "I don't know-he's okay, I guess." She started walking
once more. "Come on just ignore them, and they'll probably leave us
alone."

Side by side they, walked along the waterline, the foam from the gently
breaking waves lapping at their feet.  Teri could feel the eyes of the
teenagers on the beach watching them as they passed, but she didn't look
up.  When they were about a hundred yards farther along, she glanced at
Melissa.  "Let's go for a swim," she suggested.  "I'm all hot and
sticky." Without waiting for an answer, she turned and dashed into the
water, running out until she was knee deep, then diving into a small
wave.  The chill of the water hit her skin with a shock, but she swam
underwater for a few yards, then surfaced, rolling over onto her back.

"Come on in," she called to Melissa.

Melissa hesitated, then waded into the water, stopping when it reached
her knees.  "It's cold!" she called.

Teri laughed and started swimming toward her half sister.  "It isn't
cold it's freezing!   But come on in.  If I can do it, you can do it!
And once you get numb, it's not bad at all!"

as she heard Teri's laughter, Melissa felt a pang of hurt stab through
her. But then, as she listened to what Teri was saying, she realized
Teri wasn't laughing at her at all-she was laughing with her!   Taking a
deep breath, she held her nose, then dropped down into the water, only
to jump up again, screeching with the shock of the sudden cold.  "It's
the only way I can do it," she told Teri a moment later, finally
stretching out into the water and slowly dog-paddling toward the other
girl, with Blackie, who'd plunged happily into the water the moment
she'd started wading in, swimming along beside her. When she came close
to Teri, she rolled over on her back, too, and they floated for a while,
side by side, the warmth of the air on their faces barely compensating
for the ocean chill.

They drifted for a few minutes, enjoying the gentle rise and fall of the
swells, and finally Melissa let her feet drop down and began treading
water. Though they - hadn't been floating more than five minutes, they
were already thirty yards from the beach.  "Teri?" Melissa called. "We'd
better go back the tide's taking us out!"

Teri rolled over and glanced around.  "We're fine.  You go back if you
want to-I'm going to swim for a while."

Melissa hesitated.  Did Teri think she was chicken?   But then Teri
said, "Really-go on back to the beach.  I'll be fine."

Still Melissa hesitated.  "Okay," she said.  "But come in closer, all
right?   If the tide pulls you out of the cove"

"Then I'll drown," Teri finished for her.  With a couple of strong
strokes, she swam over to Melissa, passed her, then slowed down to let
her half sister catch up.  When they were in water shallow enough for
them to stand up in, Teri paused.  "Okay?"

Melissa nodded, then swam on in to the beach, where she dropped down
onto the hot sand, shivering from the freezing water.  A moment later
Blackie trotted out of the water, bounded over to her and violently
shook himself, covering Melissa with an icy spray.  Teri, floating on
her back again, was bobbing once more on the gentle swells.  Melissa
watched her for a few minutes, then a flock of sandpipers, skittering
along the waterline a few yards up the beach caught her attention.  When
Blackie dashed off to chase them, Melissa's concentration shifted from
her sister to the frolicking dog.  The birds fanned out in front of the
lumbering animal, letting him get within a few inches of them before
spreading their wings and leaping into the air, wheeling out over the
water, only to settle back on the sand an enticing few yards away from
the dog.  Melissa watched the game for a few minutes before her
attention was jerked away by a terrified yell.

"Help!   Someone help me!"

Melissa leaped to her feet, her eyes scanning the bay.  A moment later
she saw Teri, fifty yards out now, frantically waving her arms in the
air.  Melissa gasped, and instinctively ran down to the water, but to
the north she saw Brett Van Arsdale already sprinting across the beach.

He dived into the water, and launched himself into a powerful crawl that
took him out to Teri within less than a minute.  Meanwhile Melissa raced
down to the beach to join the group that had gathered at the water's
edge, her feelings about the other kids forgotten.  Jeff Barnstable was
in the water now, too, swimming strongly, but not fast enough to catch
up with Brett before he'd reached Teri.

almost before it had begun, it was over.  Brett, one arm curved around
Teri's chest, was using the other arm in a clumsy backstroke, but after
a few moments Teri said something and Brett let her go.  Side by side,
with Jeff escorting them the last twenty yards, they came back to the
beach.  Teri, shivering with cold, pulled herself out of the water and
dropped onto the sand.  Instantly, the small crowd of teenagers
surrounded her.

"Are you all right?" Ellen Stevens asked.

Teri, gasping, nodded, then spat some saltwater out onto the sand.

"Dumb," she finally managed to say.  "I feel so dumb."

Kent Fielding knelt down next to her.  "What happened?"

Teri shrugged.  "I went out too far.  Melissa warned me what would
happen, but I guess I didn't listen.  The tide caught me, and I
panicked.  I thought I was going right out to sea." She looked up at
Brett Van Arsdale, standing a couple of feet away.  "Thanks," she said.
"I was so scared-I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't been
there."

Brett grinned.  "Nothing to it," he said, holding out his hand.  "I'm
Brett Van Arsdale."

Teri scrambled to her feet.  "I'm Teri MacIver-Melissa's half sister."

The rest of the kids began introducing themselves to Teri, and soon she
was in the midst of the crowd, telling them what had happened.  "I was
just floating with my eyes closed, almost asleep.  And then I decided to
look around and see where I was, and I'd gotten so far out, I just
panicked.  It was really stupid to start screaming like that.  I mean,
it's not like I was drowning or anything."

"Well, you might not have been then," Brett told her' "But if you'd
drifted out of the cove, you could have been in real trouble.  The rips
get really bad out there, and if you drift south, there's nothing but
rocks.  Last summer a guy was surfing out there, and a wave took him
right in.  Tore all the skin right off his chest and stomach.  He was
lucky he wasn't killed."

"Oh, come on," Teri protested.  "I wasn't anywhere near the point.  I
just got scared.  I-I'm really sorry I made you swim all the way out
there."

Brett's face reddened.  "I didn't mind-really!"

"He's not lying, either," Kent Fielding crowed.  "The way he's been
talking about you, we all thought he was going to try to drown you
himself, just so he could save you."

Brett groaned.  "Will you shut up," he said, his blush deepening.

"Jesus, she's going to think I'm some kind of nerd!"

"Well, aren't you?" Cyndi Miller teased,.ducking away as Brett kicked
sand at her.

Melissa watched for a few minutes, and noticed that Teri seemed
instantly to meld into the group, chattering along with them, falling
immediately into their idle banter.  Finally, as the group seemed to
close around Teri, Melissa wandered away, Blackie trailing along after
her.

Ten minutes later Teri, now sitting on a huge beach towel with Brett Van
Arsdale and Ellen Stevens, glanced around.  "Where's Melissa?" she
asked. "She was here a minute ago."

"Who cares?" one of the kids replied.

Teri frowned, and turned to Brett Van Arsdale "What's wrong with
Melissa?" she asked.  "How come no one likes her?,"

Brett's face flushed and his eyes shifted away from her.  It was Ellen
Stevens who answered her question, her voice dark with scorn.

"Oh, come on-just take a look at her.  She's got to be at least twenty
pounds overweight, and she always looks terrible.  I mean, that hair of
hers is so gross-does she ever even wash it?   And she's such a klutz.
She can barely swim, and she can't play tennis at all.  She never even
has anything to say. Everyone thinks she's crazy."

"and her mother!" Cyndi Miller groaned.

Instantly, a tiny alarm sounded in the back of Teri's mind.  "Her
mother?"
she asked.  "What's wrong with Phyllis?"

Cyndi's brows arched in an expression that was older than her years.
"Well, I suppose there's nothing wrong with her," she said in an almost
perfect imitation of her own mother's inflections.  "I mean, if you like
that kind of person.  But she's not one of us, and she never will be."

"You mean because she didn't grow up here?" Teri asked, certain she
already understood exactly what was meant.

"She didn't grow up anywhere," Ellen Stevens replied.  "My mother says
no one knows where she came from or who her family is." Her voice
dropping just the way her mother's did when she was about to say
something cutting, she went on, "And she's always trying to push her way
in, just like she was one of us!"

Teri got to her feet, her mind furiously at work, sorting out everything
she'd heard in the last few minutes.  "I-I better be going," she said.

She started up the beach toward the Holloway house, but turned back when
she heard Brett calling to her.

"Why don't you come over to the club this afternoon?   Maybe we'll play
some tennis."

Teri hesitated, then shrugged.  "I'll see," she said.  Then turning away
from the group of kids once more, she hurried on up the beach.

A few minutes later she found Melissa sitting on the sand, staring out
to sea, with Blackie at her side.  as Teri approached, the big dog
growled softly and Melissa glanced up.  But she said nothing, her eyes
quickly returning to the water.

"Are you mad at me?" Teri asked.

Melissa shook her head.

"You are," Teri said.  "You're mad because I was talking to those kids,
aren't you?"

Melissa shrugged but didn't deny it. Teri plopped down onto the sand
next to her.  "They're not such bad kids,"
she said.  "They're a little bit snobby, but look how they live. They're
all rich." there was a hint of envy in Teri's voice that made Melissa
look at her.

"They'll probably like you," she said, her voice reflecting her pain. "I
mean, you're so pretty, and you look like them.  You'll fit right in."

Now it was Teri who shrugged.  "I don't know," she sighed.  "I sort of
got the feeling that the thing that really counts with them is where
you're from and who your parents are.  And I'm from California."

Melissa finally managed a grin.  "No you're not," she said.  "You were
born right here, and so were your Parents.  So you're one of them."

Melissa shook her head, then took a deep breath, as if trying to make up
her mind to say something she really didn't want to say.

"What is it?" Teri pressed.

"It's Mom," Melissa said.  "Nobody likes her.  She keeps trying to make
them, but they won't.  They talk about her behind her back, and laugh at
her just like they laugh at me."

Teri shrugged.  "I bet they'd stop if you didn't let them know it hurts
you.
just pretend you don't hear.  Like I pretended to be drowning this
morning."

Melissa gaped at her half sister.  "You-mean you weren't?"

"Of course not," she said. "I can swim like a fish.  But there's no
better way to meet boys on a beach than to let them save you. So I let
Brett Van Arsdale save me."

Melissa's mouth dropped open.  "But-But that's like. lying, isn't it?"

"So what?" Teri asked.  "I wanted to meet him, and I did.  If it works,
do it." Melissa made no reply, but as she lay back on the sand, feeling
the warmth of the sun on her face, she was thinking about what Teri had
said.

"if it works, do it.,, It sounded so easy, and apparently for Teri it
was.  After all, it hadn't taken her more than a few minutes to make
friends with all the kids Melissa herself had grown up with but never
fit in with.

So if Teri could do it, Why couldn't she?

But she already knew the answer: even if she knew what it was she was
supposed to do, she still wouldn't be able to do it.

No matter how hard she tried, she'd still mess it up, and once again
people would laugh.  But not with her, like Teri had earlier.  No, like
all the other times, they would laugh at her.

Better not to try at all.

That evening, as dusk was gathering, Teri was in the library with the
rest of the family.  The television was on, but only Phyllis was
watching it. Teri herself was leafing through an old copy of Time, while
Melissa was playing a game of chess with her father. Teri watched for a
moment, both of them intent on the board, apparently oblivious to
everything around them.

She looked around the walnut-paneled room,' and suddenly the walls
seemed to close in around her-she'd been here two days already, and
hardly been away from the house at all, except for a few minutes at the
beach today.

And then she remembered Brett Van Arsdale's words that afternoon, when
he'd invited her down to the club.  She hadn't gone, of course.  Though
Melissa had told her to go by herself if she wanted to, Phyllis had told
her she shouldn't, she was still in mourning for her parents, and what
would people think?

Well, what were they supposed to think?   And how long was she supposed
to wait before she started living again?   Did they want her to spend
her whole life thinking about the past?

And if Melissa had wanted to go to the club, she'd bet it would have
been fine with Phyllis.

Suddenly, she thought if she didn't get out of the house for a while,
she'd go crazy.  "I think I'll go for a walk on the beach," she said,
putting the magazine aside and standing up.

Phyllis' eyes flicked away from the television screen for a moment.

"Don't go swimming-it can be very dangerous at night."

"Want me to go with you?" Melissa asked, looking up from the chessboard
she'd been studying.

Teri shook her head.  "I just want to be by myself for a little while,"
she said.  "I won't be gone long."

A few minutes later, as she walked along the beach listening to the
gently breaking surf, she saw the lights of the Cove Club glowing in the
distance. Faintly, she could hear music-a hard rock beat she hadn't
heard since she'd left California.  Her pace picking up, she started
toward the club, drawn by the music and the lights.

She hesitated as she came to the grounds of the club itself.  There was
an outdoor shower at the top of the beach, with a sign saying FOR THE
USE OF MEMBERS AND GUESTS ONLY, and from the shower an intricately
-patterned brick walkway wound through perfectly tended gardens to a
terrace and swimming pool.  From there a series of steps led up the
cliff to the clubhouse itself, which was perched at the very end of the
point. Even at this distance, Teri could see people inside the
clubhouse, dancing to the compelling beat of the rock music.

She started up the path,  ignoring  the  discreet  but  definite  NO
trespassing sign.  After all, her father, was a member of the club, and
even if he hadn't been, she'd. been invited by Brett Van Arsdale. But as
she came to the pool terrace, she suddenly realized that it wasn't
empty.  Three people were sitting on chaise lounges, quietly talking.

Suddenly feeling like an outsider, Teri stepped off the path and ducked
into the deep shadows of a small grove of pine trees.  as she was about
to slip back toward the beach, she heard a snatch of conversation.

"I still say she won't go."

Teri stopped, recognizing Jeff Barnstable's voice.

"Why not?" Brett Van Arsdale asked.

"Because of Mrs. Holloway," Ellen Stevens's voice chimed in.  "If you
invite Teri to the bonfire, you can just bet Mrs. Holloway's going to
make her bring Melissa with her."

Teri froze.  Were they talking about her?   They had to be!   Moving
carefully, she crept through the trees.

"Well, so what if Melissa comes?" Brett asked.  "I mean, she doesn't do
anything."

"But that's the whole point," Ellen replied.  "She just sits there and
stares at you.  Besides, she's such a little pig-she'd eat all the food
before any of the rest of us had a chance."

"Oh, come on," Jeff objected.  "So she's not perfect.  So what?"

"I don't care if she's perfect or not," Ellen sneered.  "But she's just
not one of us.  Not like Teri, at all."

The conversation went on, but Teri had heard enough.  She slipped back
through the trees, not returning to the beach until she was far enough
from the club that she wouldn't be seen.

She started home, going over and over the conversation she'd just heard.

So now she wasn't going to be invited to a bonfire, just because the
kids didn't like Melissa.

It wasn't fair.  Why should she be left out just because Melissa didn't
fit in?

After all, Melissa already had everything she could possibly want.

And most of it had once been hers.

Melissa had her house.  She even had her old room.

And her father, too.

an image flashed into Teri's mind of Melissa and her father, bent over
the chessboard, concentrating only on each other and their game.

A game Teri hadn't been part of.

And now Melissa was going to keep her from making friends with all the
kids she should have grown up with herself.

No, she decided as she approached the big house above the beach once
again, it wasn't fair.

It wasn't fair, and it wasn't how things were supposed to be at all. And
it certainly wasn't how she'd planned them.

The large clock in the library began to chime the hour.  Phyllis glanced
over at the chess game that had been going on for more than two hours.

Her lips tightened in disapproval-how could her husband and daughter
just sit there, hour after hour, staring at nothing but a bunch of
figures on a checkerboard?

Never speaking, never doing anything.  She got up from her chair and
moved to the table, casting a shadow over the board as she blocked the
light from the floor lamp a few feet away.  "Ten o'clock," she
announced.  "Time for you to go to bed."

Melissa's eyes flicked up from the board, resting first on her father,
then turning on to her mother.  "just a few more minutes?   Please?
I've almost got him."

Phyllis shook her head.  "You know the rules, dear.  You need your
rest."

"But it's just three more moves," Melissa pleaded.  "Look, all I have to
do is back Daddy's king over to the side of the board Her words trailed
off as her father laid his king down on the board.

"It's all right, honey," he said.  "I resign.  When there's no hope, Why
prolong the agony?" He straightened up in his chair, stretched, then
grinned crookedly at his daughter.  "I'm starting to wonder if it was
such a good idea teaching you this game in the first place.  How long
has it been since I've beaten you?"

Melissa began setting the pieces up on the board, placing each man in
the exact center of its starting square.  "You almost beat me tonight,"
she said. "You could have trapped my queen an hour ago."

"How?" Charles asked.

Melissa began moving the men around the board, re-creating from memory
the position that had existed sixteen moves into the game.  Then her
mother's voice stopped her.

"Now we'll have none of that," she commanded.  "You're not going to
replay the whole thing-you'll both be up all night."

Melissa's hand, holding her father's queen, hovered in the air for a
moment as she looked hopefully at him once again, but when Charles shook
his head, she set the piece back on the board, sighing.

Ten minutes later she was in her nightgown, propped up against the
headboard, a book resting against her knees.  A cool breeze blew through
the open windows, and the night air was filled with the sounds of
crickets chirping against the background of the cove's gentle surf
washing up the beach.  Melissa snuggled comfortably into the pillows and
found her place in the book. A few minutes later, though, as her door
opened, she started to slip the book guiltily under the covers.  She
relaxed as her father came in.  He settled on the edge of the bed, then
glanced at the book on his daughter's lap.

"Anne of Green Gables?" he asked.  "How many times have you read it
now?"

Melissa shrugged.  "I don't know-ten, I suppose.  I love it-I'm in the
part now where Anne accidentally dyes her hair green."

Charles grinned, remembering Melissa's rapt attention when he'd first
read the book to her four years ago.  "Is she as mortified as ever?"

Melissa's head bobbed eagerly.  "She doesn't think she'll ever leave her
room again." She giggled, but then her giggle died away.  "It's just the
kind of thing that would happen to me," she said, averting her eyes.

"Every time she gets in trouble, and it's not really her fault, I feel
like I'm reading about myself.  Maybe that's Why I love her so much."

Charles leaned over and kissed his daughter.  "It seems to me," he
observed, "that there is a difference between you and Anne.  For one
thing, you're not an orphan, and for another, you never had to take care
of twins."

Melissa's giggle bubbled up again.  "But I feel like her anyway," she
said. "You know-how she was always trying to do the right thing but
messed it up?   That's what I do." She sighed once more.  "I wish I were
more like Teri," she said, her voice taking on a wistfulness.  "She's so
pretty, and she gets along with everyone.  Like today she didn't even
know all those kids, but she could talk to them like she's known them
all her life.  And I have known them all my life, but I never know what
to say, and I always feel like they're laughing at me."

"Like Anne thought Gilbert Blythe was laughing at her?" her father
teased.

Melissa shook her head.  "I don't have a Gilbert Blythe.  And besides,
at least Anne had a bosom friend. I-"

But before she could say anything else, her father silenced her with a
gentle finger to her lips.  "You have Teri now," he reminded her.  "And
it seems like she's going to be as good a friend as you could want."

Melissa suddenly felt foolish.  "I'm sorry," she said.  "I guess I was
feeling sorry for myself."

"Well, just stop," her father told her.  "You're a very, very lucky
little girl, and you should count your blessings.  And," he added,
winking at her, "if you count them right, they just might help you beat
me at tennis tomorrow morning." He kissed her again, then stood up and
Went to the door.  "Do you want me to leave the light on?" he asked.

Melissa shook her head, putting the book on her night table as her
father turned off the light.  He closed the door, plunging the room into
darkness. Then her eyes began to adjust to the silvery glow of the
rising moon that shone through the window.  She snuggled deeper into the
pillows and watched the shadows of the immense maple outside her window
dance against the ceiling.  When she'd been much smaller, the shadows
had sometimes frightened her, but now she enjoyed them, trying to
imagine them as small creatures that enjoyed playing in her room while
she slept.  Finally, she closed her eyes and was about to drift off into
sleep when she heard footsteps in the hall outside her door.

Her mother's footsteps.

She stopped breathing, silently praying that the footsteps would move
on, that tonight her mother wouldn't come into her room.  Then the door
opened, she knew her prayers were not to be answered.

She lay still, spacing out her breaths in the slow and steady pace of
sleep, but a moment later she felt her mother's hand on her shoulder.

"Melissa, I know you're not asleep yet."

Melissa rolled over and opened her eyes.

Above her, her mother's silhouette loomed against the window.

"You were a bad girl today," her mother said.  Melissa's mind raced as
she tried to remember what she'd done to make her mother angry at her.
And in her mind she silently spoke to Darcy.  "What did I do?   What did
I do to make her mad at me?"

"You were rude to your friends again," Phyllis said, almost as  if she'd
heard the unspoken question.  "They saved Teri from drowning, and all
you did was walk away."

Melissa felt a knot of fear form in her stomach.  That wasn't how it had
been!   It wasn't how it had been at all!   The kids weren't even
talking to her.  They  were only talking to Teri!   But it was like her
birthday all over again-it wouldn't matter what she told her mother.  Her
mother had already made up her mind what had happened.  She said
nothing, only staring up at her mother, waiting for whatever was to
come.  And then, in her mother's hands, she saw the straps.

"N-No," she stammered. "P-Please, Mama, don't make me  wear the straps."

Her mother stared down at her.  Her voice rose and fell in a strange
singsong, as if she were speaking to an infant.  "But you have to wear
them. You've been a bad girl, and when you're bad, you walk in your
sleep.  Give me your hand."

Melissa, fighting back the scream of protest that rose in her throat,
tried to raise her hand in fulfillment of her mother's command, but her
muscles refused to obey.

"Your hand!" Phyllis demanded, grabbing at Melissa's arm and jerking it
so hard that a wrenching pain slashed through the child's shoulder. "How
can you be such an idiot?"

as the pain stabbed through her, Melissa cried out for help once again,
and this time she heard Darcy's silent answer, whispered to her from
somewhere in the shadows of the night.

Sleep, Melissa-I'm here. now, and you can go to sleep.

Even as she heard the words, Melissa relinquished herself to the
darkness that began closing in around her, and left Darcy to accept
whatever punishment her mother meted out.

Phyllis, poised above the bed, drew back her hand, ready to strike her
disobedient child once again- but suddenly Melissa relaxed on the
mattress and her arms came up as she held out her wrists to accept the
thick leather straps.

One at a time Phyllis fastened the bands around Melissa's wrists, then
moved to the foot of the bed to attach the restraints to her ankles.

Finally she connected the free ends of the straps to the bed frame, then
covered Melissa with a thin sheet.

"It's warm tonight," she said, her voice gentle now as Melissa lay bound
to the bed.  "You won't need a blanket at all.  Sleep well."

She leaned down and let her lips brush against Melissa's forehead, then
silently slipped out of the room, closing the door behind her.

In the bed, Melissa slept, though her eyes remained open as Darcy
watched the shadows play silently on the walls.

Teri avoided the beach as she walked back to Maplecrest, instead moving
slowly along a path that wound through the patches of woods separating
the estates fronting on the cove.  as she came to each house, she
paused, gazing up at the silhouettes that seemed to loom even larger in
the moonlight.  Most of them were dotted with brightly lit windows, and
Teri crept across wide expanses of well-trimmed lawn to peer curiously
in at the paneled walls and glowing chandeliers that seemed to fill
every mansion.

Nowhere did she see anything to remind her of San Fernando and the tiny
frame house in which she'd grown up.

all of it, though, had an odd familiarity about it, as if she'd come
back from a long visit to a foreign land.

Here, she knew, was where she belonged.

At last she came to Maplecrest and skirted the tennis court, moving
toward the large swimming pool.  Suddenly, out of the darkness, she
heard a low growl.

She froze for a second, her eyes searching the night around her.  At
last she saw a shadow that was even darker than the rest.

as she stared at it, another growl rose up from the blackness and the
spot moved slightly, edging toward her.

"Blackie," she whispered to herself, feeling a twinge of annoyance at
the pang of fear she'd fallen victim to a few seconds earlier.  as the
dog crept closer, she lashed out at it with her left foot, then felt a
twinge of satisfaction as the Labrador yelped in pain and leaped away
from her.

A second later, though, she heard a voice call out from a few yards
away. "Blackie?   Blackie!"

-The dog, crouched suspiciously on the ground just far enough away to be
safe from another kick, turned slightly toward the sound of the voice
and uttered a sharp bark.  A moment later Tag stepped out of the shadows
of the Pool house and strode down the path, stopping short when he
recognized Teri.

Blackie, his hackles raised, pressed against Tag's legs, and once more a
low growl rose from his throat.  Tag reached down to soothe the dog, and
Blackie yelped softly as his master's fingers touched the spot where
Teri had kicked him.

"What the hell's going on?" Tag demanded, his eyes fixing on Teri.  "Did
you kick him?"

"Why would I do that?" Teri countered.

"Well, something happened to him.  He's got a sore spot.  I can feel it
swelling."

Teri shrugged impatiently.  "Well, what if  I  did?  He  was  growling
at  me."

"Jeez, that's what he's supposed to do," Tag protested.  "He's just
protecting the property."

"Well, he could have bitten me," Teri complained.  "And you should have
him locked up at night anyway-we could get sued if he went after
someone."

Tag's eyes narrowed angrily "He's not going after anyone.  all he ever
does is bark-he's never bitten anyone in his life."

"Well, he sure acted like he was going to bite me," Teri shot back. "And
if you don't do something about him, I'll tell Phyllis!"

Tag said nothing.  He took Blackie's collar and led him away toward his
grandmother's house.  But his mind was seething.  Ever since the minute
he'd seen Teri, Blackie hadn't liked her.  That first day he'd even run
away from her.  And to Tag that meant something-he'd long ago learned
that if dogs didn't like someone, there was a reason.

He paused and glanced back down the path toward the spot where Teri had
been standing, but she was gone.  "Okay, boy," he said to the dog,
releasing his grip on its collar.  "Go on and finish your business.  But
stay away from Teri, huh?   We don't want her telling Mrs. Holloway on
you, do we?"

The dog bounded away into the woods, and once more Tag turned back
toward the main house.  Teri was just disappearing through the back
door.

Satisfied that Blackie would get in no more trouble that night, he
headed home.

Teri glanced at the back stairs that led directly from the kitchen to
the upper floors of the house, but then walked the other way, moving
through the butler's pantry and dining room into the large entry hall,
to go up the grand staircase to the second floor.  The upstairs hallways
were almost pitchblack, lit only at the head of the stairs by a dim lamp
that stood on a sideboard on the landing.  Teri paused for a moment,
listening, but the house was silent, everyone had already gone to bed.

She felt a twinge of anger, couldn't her father have waited up for her?

Apparently not.  But if it had been Melissa out walking on the beach...

She cut the thought short and switched off the single lamp that had
been left for her, then went to her room, not turning on the light until
she was inside and the door was closed. She began taking off her
clothes, but paused as she heard a sound.

A soft, sobbing sound, which almost seemed to come from the attic above
her head.

She hesitated, then went on undressing.

The sound came again, muffled, but clearly audible.

Frowning, Teri pulled on the bathrobe Phyllis had given her and slipped
out into the hall.  She hesitated there, blinded by the darkness, but
then her eyes adjusted to the moonlight that streamed through the
enormous fanlight above the stairs' landing, and she started down the
hall toward the door that led to the attic.

She paused once more at the attic door, then made up her mind.  Turning
the knob, she pulled the door open.

Above her the attic was nothing but a yawning black chasm. Unconsciously
holding her breath, she started up the stairs, not breathing again until
she had reached the top.

Her fingers groped in the darkness for the light switch she knew was
there. Finding it, she snapped on the bare bulb that hung suspended from
the rafters a few yards away.

She choked back a scream as she saw a ghostly white form hovering in the
darkness at the far end of the big chamber beneath the house's eaves.

A moment later she began breathing again as she realized what it was-an
old-fashioned dressmaker's mannequin, draped in an equally old-fashioned
white dress.

She hesitated, getting her bearings, then started through the attic
toward the area above her room.

There, carved out of the main part of the attic, she found a small room
with a single day-bed and a chest of drawers.

The room was illuminated only by the pale moonlight, but as Teri looked
around it, she had a strange feeling that although no one lived here
anymore, the room was not completely abandoned.  Frowning in the
darkness, she went to the chest and began opening its drawers.

there was an old sewing box, still containing its needles and thread,
scissors and thimbles.

Other than that, the chest was empty.

And then, once again, Teri heard the soft sobbing sound.

Only this time it seemed to come from beneath her feet.

She waited where she was, and the sob came again.

as she left the little room and made her way back to the head of the
attic stairs, she carefully counted her steps.  Finally, glancing once
more at the old mannequin with its antiquated dress, she turned off the
light and returned to the second floor.

Once again she counted her steps as she walked down the long corridor.

Before she had reached the area beneath the little room in the attic,
her progress was blocked by a door.

Melissa's door.

Teri gazed at the door for a moment, then tentatively touched the knob.

Her hand closed on it and she twisted it.

The door was locked.

She returned to her own room, closing her door behind her once more,
then went to the bathroom that separated her own small room from
Melissa's much larger one.

She pressed her ear against the door separating the bathroom from her
half sister's room, and a moment later thought she heard the sound
again.

A sob, as if a child were crying but trying not to be heard.

Teri tried the door and found it unlocked.  She pulled it open an inch,
and whispered through the crack.

"Melissa?"

There was no response.

She pushed the door farther open and stepped into Melissa's room.

Moonlight flooding through the open windows cast a silver sheen across
the bed. From the doorway Teri could see her half sister lying on her
back, her eyes open

"Melissa?   Are you all right?"

Again there was no answer.  Her brows knitted into a frown, Teri crept
into the room and slowly approached the bed.  At last she stood next to
it and gazed down at her half sister's face.

In the moonlight Melissa's skin took on a deathly pallor, her features
were expressionless as her eyes gazed steadily up at the ceiling.  A
chill passed through Teri.  For a moment she had the feeling that
Melissa had died.

Then she saw the steady movement of Melissa's chest as it rose and fell
with her gentle but steady breathing.

Teri reached out and touched Melissa, prodding her shoulder.

"Melissa, wake up," she whispered.

Her half sister didn't move.

Teri took a step backward, wondering if she should go and get her
father. But then, as her eyes scanned the bed once more, she saw
something.

It looked like a strap, emerging from beneath the sheet that covered
Melissa, its end securely fastened to the bed frame.

Teri stared at the strap for a moment.  Then, her hands shaking
slightly, she reached out and drew the sheet away from Melissa's body.

She gasped slightly as she saw the cuffs that were bound around
Melissa's wrists and her ankles.

For a moment she felt an urge to undo the straps, to release her half
sister from the bonds that held her to the bed, but she changed her mind
as the words of the kids on the beach that afternoon echoed in her mind.
"Everyone thinks she's crazy."  Was that it?   was that Why Melissa was
tied to her bed?
was she crazy?

Carefully pulling the sheet back up so it covered Melissa's shoulders
again, Teri backed away from the bed, then turned and returned into the
little bathroom, closing Melissa's door behind her.

And when she returned to her own room, she made sure she locked her own
door to the bathroom behind her.

She lay awake in bed for a long time that night, thinking about what
she'd seen.

And as she thought, an idea began to form in her mind.

Teri's dream had the perfect crystalline clarity of an autumn afternoon.

In it she awoke just before dawn, far from Maplecrest.  Indeed, she was
back in the small house in San Fernando, the house in which she'd spent
all but the first few years of her life.

The soft chime of her never-before-used travel alarm barely disturbed
the quiet of the night, but she turned it off quickly, then listened for
a few minutes.

The house was silent, her stepfather's soft snoring the only disturbance
to the predawn silence.  She got out of bed, slipped into her bathrobe,
and glanced around the little bedroom.  At last, slipping her hand into
the pocket of her robe to make sure the strand of pearls her father had
sent her last Christmas was still there, she left the room and made her
way silently down the stairs, carefully stepping over the fourth one
from the bottom, the one that always creaked, no matter how careful you
were.

At the foot of the stairs she paused again, listening, but the silence
of the house was still undisturbed.  From here, indeed, she couldn't
even hear Tom MacIver's snoring.

She turned through the dining room, then into the kitchen and out onto
the service porch, where the washer and dryer stood side by side above
the stairs to the basement.  Moving quickly even in the darkness, she
went down the stairs, into her stepfather's workshop.  There was wood
everywhere ready to be put together into a bookcase he was building,
other pieces just scraps, piled here and there against the concrete
walls of the subterranean chamber.

At last she came to the furnace, and, groping in the darkness, found
what she was looking for.

A pile of rags, rags she'd made sure were well-soaked with linseed oil
only that afternoon.  She placed the rags on the floor next to a pile of
wood.

Then she took a match from the box that always sat on her stepfather'S
workbench and struck it.

She held the match to the rags.  A second later the oil that had been
absorbed in the cotton fibers ignited, bursting into flames with a speed
that made Teri lurch backward.  She stared at the fire for a moment, as
if fascinated by it, then shook the match out, tossing it away.

as the flames grew and spread to the wood around them, Teri moved to the
foot of the stairs.  After one more look at the spreading fire, she
hurried up the stairs, back into the service porch.  But instead of
moving on, going out the back door into the yard, she went into the
kitchen instead, then the dining room.

Then she waited at the foot of the main stairs, waited for the fire to
take hold, waited for the flames to begin engulfing the house.

it seemed to take forever, but finally she could hear a faint crackling
in the basement, and then she began to sniff the first faint wisps of
smoke creeping through the floor beneath her feet.

Still she lingered.

At last the floor of the dining room itself began to glow, and then the
fire burst through, spreading quickly.  The flames grew to a roar, and
then, as more flames began to eat through the living room floor, Teri
bolted to the front door.  A moment later she was in the front yard, her
bathrobe clutched tightly around her neck.  She turned to watch as the
flames rampaged through the first floor and began to creep upward.

Around her, lights started to come on in the neighbors' houses, but Teri
was barely aware of them as she watched the flames advance through her
home.

At last she heard her mother scream, the sound instantly lost in the
roar of the blaze.  She moved across the lawn to the driveway, where she
looked up to see her parents' window.

Her mother was there, sitting on the ledge, swinging her legs over the
windowsill.

Then she jumped, and the spread she'd wrapped herself in caught on
something.

She was falling, her head striking the pavement.

Teri ran, screaming, to her mother, and knelt beside her, to take her
mother's bleeding head in her arms.

Only this time her mother wasn't dead.

This time her mother was staring up at her, her eyes accusing her, her
lips forming the terrible words.

"Wh-Why did you do this?"

Rage rose in Teri.  This wasn't the way it was supposed to be!   Her
mother wasn't supposed to survive at all!  Her mother was supposed to be
dead!

Her fury rising inside her like a monster, she raised her fist and
smashed it down into her mother's face.

And woke up, her clenched fist smashing into the pillow where only a
split second earlier her mother's head had been.

She lay still for a few moments, willing the dream to release her from
its grip, the pounding of her heart slowly returning to its normal pace.

Slowly, reality began to creep back into her mind.

She wasn't on the driveway in San Fernando; she was in her bed at
Maplecrest, and the sun outside was shining brightly, and she could hear
the lapping of the surf on the beach.

Her mother was dead, and no one had found out what she had done.

She was safe.

an hour later she awoke once more, this time not from a recurrence of
the dream, but because of a shout from somewhere outside the house.  She
got out of bed and went to the window.  On the tennis court, just beyond
the pool, she could see her father playing tennis.

Playing tennis with Melissa.

A brief spasm of the anger she'd felt in the dream seized her for a
moment.  Her father should be playing tennis with her, not with Melissa.

That was the way it was supposed to be, the way she'd planned it.

She'd dreamed about coming home for so many years; dreamed about the
immense house facing the sea, and the big room she would have, and all
the other things her mother had walked away from.

And she certainly hadn't planned on sharing any of it with a half
sister, especially not one who had taken her home and her father and
everything else she should have had.

Her mind went back to the strange scene she'd witnessed in Melissa's
room last night, and the idea that had begun to form in her head just
before she'd gone to sleep.

Turning away from the window, she unlocked the bathroom door and went
through to Melissa's room.  She glanced around, uncertain of what she
was looking for, but knowing with a deep certainty that somewhere in
here there was something she could use.

She went to the lime vanity that stood against the wall between two of
the windows and began opening its drawers.

In the middle one she found a slim black box, and knew even before she
opened it what was inside.  Still, she opened the box to stare at the
single strand of pearls that lay on its satin bed.

A single strand of pearls that was identical to her own. Another wave of
anger washed over her.  Melissa even had the pearls, even though she was
almost two years younger than she was.  Closing the box, she put it back
where she'd found it, then went through the rest of the vanity.

Nothing.

At last she went to the big chest on the opposite wall and began going
through its drawers.

In the second drawer, hidden beneath a pile of socks, she found what she
was looking for.

It was a small diary, bound in black leather, with Melissa's initials
embossed in gold on its cover.  Teri opened the book and quickly began
scanning its pages.

all the entries in the diary seemed to be written as if they were
letters to someone named Darcy.  But if they were letters to some friend
of Melissa's, Why were they in a diary?

Had she given the diary itself a name?

But then as she began to read, she also began to understand.

Darcy, she was almost certain, didn't actually exist at all, nor was it
a name she'd assigned to the diary.

Rather, it seemed as if Darcy was someone Melissa had made up.
an imaginary friend.

Teri scanned some of the pages quickly, turning several of them at a
time. Much of what she found was almost illegible, scrawled in an
awkward script that looked as if a five-year-old might have done it. But
from what she could decipher, it became clear that to Melissa, at
least,, her friend had become real:

I wanted to thank you for coming to help me last night.  Mom was real mad
at me, and I don't know what I'd have done without you . . .

I hope Mama didn't hurt you too much last night.  I don't know Why she was
so mad, but I guess you know how she is.  Did she hit you?   I hate it
when she does that.  If she ever did it to me, I think I'd die . . .

Teri was still reading, trying to figure out what it all meant, when she
heard the door to the hall open.  She dropped the book back into the
drawer and was about to shut it when she heard Cora Peterson's
apologetic voice.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I thought-" And then her tone shifted as she saw it
wasn't Melissa in the room at all.  "Teri?   Why, what are you doing in
here?"

Teri's mind raced, then her fingers closed on a pair of Melissa's socks.

Turning, she smiled at the old housekeeper.  "I ran out of socks," she
explained, leaning on the drawer to close it.  "I just came in to borrow
a pair of Melissa's." She composed her features into an anxious
expression.  "She won't mind, will she?"

Cora's eyes, which had been fixed suspiciously on Teri, cleared.  "Well,
of course not," she said, clucking her tongue.  "And I'll just speak to
your father -it seems to me you ought to be doing some shopping.  You
can't keep wearing the same clothes over and over again, can you, now?"

Teri suppressed a sigh of relief and smiled gratefully at the
housekeeper. "Would you?" she asked.  "I just hate asking for anything.
I mean, everyone's been so nice to me..."

Cora gently silenced her.  "Now, you mustn't think that," she
admonished. "Why, you belong here just as much as anyone else does, and
you should have everything you need." The housekeeper began making up
Melissa's bed, chattering along as she worked.

But Teri had stopped listening, for she was still reflecting on Cora's
earlier words.

"You should have everything you need."  And I will have, Teri thought to
herself a few minutes later as she left Melissa's room and returned to
her own.

I'll have everything I need, and everything I want.

"Look at that!   Isn't it the most gorgeous skirt you've ever seen?"
Melissa gazed through the shop window at the white cotton skirt splashed
with a flowered pattern in a blue that exactly matched the shade of
Teri's eyes.  It was at least the sixth skirt they'd seen so far that
would look perfect on her half sister, and so far they hadn't even gone
into any of the shops.

They'd been in the village for almost an hour, wandering from store to
store, enjoying the cool shade of the huge maple trees that formed a
broad canopy over the streets and sidewalks.  In almost every window
they'd seen something-a skirt like the one they were looking at now, or
a blouse or sweater, maybe only a pair of shoes-that seemed to cry out
for Teri to try it on. But Teri had so far resisted going into any of
the shops.

"I can't stand to think about how much they must cost," she'd explained.

"Out in California, I used to spend whole days wandering around in the
mall, pretending I could afford anything I saw."

"Well, now you can," Melissa replied, grasping her half sister's hand
and pulling her toward the door.  "Didn't you hear what Mama said?
You're supposed to be buying clothes, not just drooling over them.  Now
come on."

She pushed through the door to the shop.  A moment later the owner, a
chic-looking woman in her thirties, stood up from her chair behind a
small desk toward the back of the store and strode toward them.

"Melissa!" she said.  "I've been wondering when you'd come in.  Your
mother called and told me to let you charge whatever YOU want today."

She winked conspiratorially.  "Stretching out your birthday?"

Melissa flushed and shook her head.  "It's not for me," she explained.
"It's for my sister.  Well, she's not really my sister.  We're half
sisters.  This is Teri MacIver." She turned to Teri.  "This is Polly
Corcoran, but everyone calls her Corky."

Teri smiled and held out her hand.  "I'm very pleased to meet you."

Corky Corcoran's eyes sparkled as she shook Teri's proffered hand.

"Well, there certainly isn't any mistaking whose daughter you are, is
there?" she asked.  Her smile faded away as a sad frown creased her
forehead.  "I always loved your mother so much-I used to pretend I was
named after her, even though it wasn't true.  I-I'm so sorry about what
happened."

Teri's own smile ebbed away as she cast her eyes toward the floor and
managed a slight nod.  "Th-Thank you," she murmured.  "I still can
hardly believe it.  Without Daddy . . . Her voice trailed off and there
was an awkward moment before Corky suddenly clapped her hands together
and forced her expression back into a cordial smile.

"Well, we're not here to dwell on our sorrows, are we?" she asked,
wincing at the false brightness that had come into her voice, but
determined not to make Teri any more uncomfortable than she already had.

"Did you see something in the window you liked?"

Teri nodded.  "The white skirt?   The one with the blue flowers?"

Corky's smile broadened.  "Perfect," she declared.  "In fact I was just
thinking about the very same skirt for you myself." Her eyes expertly
scanned Teri's figure.  "A size four?" Teri nodded, and 'Corky
disappeared into a back room.

While Corky was gone, Teri glanced around the shop. it was set up more
like a living room than a store, with only a few garments on display,
and those laid casually over the backs of chairs or hanging from
mannequins discreetly posed in the corners.

It was exactly the kind of shop Teri had seen before, except today she
was not on the outside looking in.  She felt a shiver of anticipation as
she waited for Corky to reappear with the skirt.

Five minutes later the 'shop's proprietor returned from the back room,
her arms laden with half a dozen items.  "I thought you might like to
try a blouse or two with the skirt, and perhaps a sweater," she said,
spreading the garments on a mahogany library table for Teri's
inspection.  Teri's eyes immediately went to a silk blouse whose color
perfectly matched the blue flowers on the skirt, and as she picked it
up, Corky nodded approvingly.  "I thought you might like that." She
nodded toward a changing room concealed behind a three-paneled oriental
screen, and when Teri had disappeared with the skirt and blouse, turned
her attention to Melissa.  "What about you?" she asked. "I have some
beautiful things that are just your colors."

Melissa hesitated, recalling her mother's words just before they'd left
the house.  "Now remember, Melissa, you're not shopping for yourself.
You have all the things you need-Lord knows your father's bought you
more than you ever wear anyway-and today you're shopping for Teri.  And
for heaven's sake," she'd added, "try not to talk Teri into all the drab
things you like so much.  With her coloring, she can wear all the
wonderful colors that only make you look like you have the flu." Now,
the words still stinging, even though she tried to tell herself her
mother hadn't meant them to sound mean, she shook her head.  "I-I don't
think so," she murmured.

Before Corky could urge her any further, Teri emerged from the dressing
room.  "Well?" she asked Melissa.  "What do you think?   Is it just
perfect, or what?"

Melissa gazed at her half sister, doing her best to put down the
feelings of envy that rose unbidden from somewhere in the deep recesses
of her mind. But when she saw the eager look in Teri's eyes, the feeling
died away.  It wasn't Teri's fault that clothes seemed to fit her as if
they'd been made just for her.  The blouse, a soft blue that seemed to
Turn Teri's blond hair almost flaxen, had full sleeves that were caught
at the wrists with tight cuffs, and its bodice clung to Teri's bosom
with just the right draping to set off her figure yet not appear too
revealing.  The skirt flowed down from her waist in a gentle line to a
point just below her knees.  Altogether it was, indeed, perfect.

"It's beautiful," Melissa murmured.

"How much is it?" Teri asked.

Corky smiled.  "The skirt's only one hundred and sixty, but the blouse
is a bit more."

Teri's eyes widened and she glanced nervously at Melissa.  "How much
more?" she asked, her voice quavering.

"Two fifty," Corky replied.  "It is silk, after all."

Teri's eyes, already reflecting disappointment, shifted back to Melissa.

"It's too much, isn't it?" she asked, and Melissa was sure she heard a
pleading note in her voice.

Melissa turned to Corky.  "can I call Mom and ask her if it's okay.?"

"The phone's on my desk," she said.  "But I already talked to your
mother, and she said anything you wanted was fine.  And if anyone knows
what clothes cost these days," she added, her brows arching slightly and
her voice deepening as if she were taking the girls into her confidence,
"it'S Your mother."

"Then we'll take them," Teri declared, her expression clearing as she
went back to the table and began inspecting another blouse.

Half an hour later they left the shop with two more skirts, five
blouses, and a sweater neatly packed in cardboard boxes, each of them
with Corky's champagne-bottle logo emblazoned on its top in gold foil.

"Let's go back to that other place," Teri suggested as they started down
the street once again.  "The one with the sports clothes.  This stuff's
all wonderful, but I still need tennis clothes and things to wear at the
club during the day."

"You mean PlayThings?" Melissa asked.

Teri nodded.  "They had some great bathing suits in the window."

They walked a block down the street, and soon Teri was busy in the
changing room, trying on bathing suits and shorts, knit shirts and
cotton tops. When she was finally done, a stack of garments lay on the
counter. They had all looked perfect on her, and they all were exactly
the kinds of clothes the other kids in Secret Cove were wearing.  The
clerk finished writing up the bill, then looked up at Teri.  "Will that
be all?" she asked.

Teri was about to nod, then changed her mind as she saw Melissa look
longingly at a magenta running suit with black stripes running
diagonally across the top and repeated in a vertical stripe down the
legs of the pants. "Why don't you try it on?" she asked.

Melissa reddened and shook her head.  "It wouldn't look right on me."

"How do you know?" Teri argued.  "You can't tell anything unless you put
it on." Without waiting for Melissa to reply, she turned to the clerk
"Do you have that, in her size?"

The clerk surveyed Melissa doubtfully.  "Well, I don't know.  She's sort
of an off-size.  But let me take a look." A few minutes later the clerk
returned from a storeroom and handed a hanger to Melissa.  "Why don't
you give this a try?" she suggested.

Two minutes later Melissa came out of the dressing room and stared at
herself dolefully in the mirror.  To her own eye the pants seemed a
little too tight and the top a size too large.

And the color-the color that had looked so wonderful until she'd put it
on, now seemed to give her complexion an odd, almost yellowish hue. "Oh,
she groaned, turning away from the mirror to gaze at Teri. "Why do I
even try?"

But it looks great," Teri told her.  "If we can just get the top a size
smaller, it will be perfect."

"But it won't," Melissa protested.  "Look at me-it makes me look like
I've got some kind of disease."

"Oh, it doesn't, either," Teri declared.  "Besides, remember what your
mom said?   You're not supposed to get anything drab."

"I'm not supposed to get anything at all," Melissa reminded her.  "I
already have enough clothes."

"Well, maybe you do, but they don't look right." Melissa's eyes clouded
with hurt, and Teri instantly. apologized.  "I don't mean they look
bad," she said.  "But they aren't very stylish.  I mean, look at the way
the other kids dress-they always wear white shorts, and polo shirts, and
that kind of stuff."

She moved over to a table stacked high with knit shirts and began
riffling through them, pulling out one in a bright lime green and
another in mustard yellow.  "You could wear these," she said, holding
the green one up against Melissa's chest.

Melissa gazed at the shirts wistfully, comparing them in her mind with
the browns and dark greens she always picked for herself.  But try as
she would, she simply couldn't see herself in any of the bright colors.

"try on this one," Teri told her, pushing the shirt into her hands and
handing her a pair of white shorts.  "And while you're changing, I'll
see if they have the right top in a smaller size."

A few minutes later Melissa emerged from the dressing room and stared at
herself in the mirror.

The shirt seemed baggy on her, while the shorts stretched too tightly
over her hips, making her look even plumper than she already was.  Teri,
reading her eyes, turned to the clerk.

"Don't you have something with pleats?" she asked.

Twenty minutes later, over Melissa's objections, Teri added a pair of
white shorts, two of the polo shirts, a bright red bathing suit, and the
jogging outfit to the pile of clothes already on the counter.

"Can I charge it?" she, asked.  "I'm Teri MacIver-Mr.  Holloway is my
father."

The clerk smiled.  "Of course," she said.  "Mrs.  Holloway called this
morning.  She said you're to have anything you want."

Teri stared at the pile of clothes, then her eyes wandered to a tennis
outfit she'd looked at earlier.  Finally, seeing Melissa's eyes bulge as
she read the total on the cash register, she shook her head.  "I guess
that's all," she said. The clerk wrote up a charge slip for the clothes
and handed it to Teri along with a pen.

Teri gazed at the figure at the bottom of the slip.  Together with what
she'd bought at Corky's, the total came to more than three thousand dollars.  In just
a fraction of a second she thought of the two hundred dollars she'd had
to spend on school clothes the year before.

But that was a long time ago, she told herself, putting the thought out
of her mind.

With a feeling of intense pleasure, she took the pen from the clerk and
scrawled her signature across the bottom of the charge slip.

Phyllis Holloway glared at her husband, her eyes glittering with anger.

"But isn't that what we have lawyers for?" she demanded.

Charles removed his reading glasses and pressed the thumb and forefinger
of his right hand against the bridge of his nose, partly in an effort to
relieve the headache that was growing along with the argument with his
wife, and partly to give himself a moment's respite from that same
argument.  Finally he sighed, put his glasses back on, and picked up a
stack of papers from his desk.  "I've already told you-it's a simple
matter, and I can take care of it myself.  I suppose I could call a
firm in L.A. to handle it, but Why bother?   I am, after all, a lawyer
myself."

"Oh, come on," Phyllis sniffed.  "You haven't practiced a day in your
life, and you know it."

Charles's jaw tightened, and, not for the first time, he wondered Why he
stayed with Phyllis.  He couldn't remember the last time she'd spoken an
affectionate word to him-at least when they were alone.  Of course, in
public, she was the image of the loving wife.  She never failed to stay
close to him when they were out together, never let an evening go by
without telling whomever they were with about her wonderful husband.

But it was all an act for when they were alone together, she rarely spoke
to him at all, except to complain about one thing or another-if it
wasn't one of Cora's shortcomings, or Melissa's, it was usually one of
his own.

Had she always been like this?

He didn't know, for when he'd first met her, when his relationship with
Polly was already breaking up, she'd seemed perfect.

Bright and vivacious, she'd been like none of the girls he'd grown up
with, certainly nothing at all like Polly.  Where Polly had had a
natural sense of reserve, Phyllis had seemed a free spirit, doting on
his daughter but always ready to take time to chat with him.  And after
Polly had left, it seemed the most natural thing in the world for them
to come together, both of them mourning the loss of Teri.

When Phyllis had become pregnant, he'd been more than pleased to marry
her.  And for the first six months, until Melissa was born, everything
had been fine.  Then everything changed.  Indeed, it had changed from
the first moment Phyllis had seen her daughter.  She'd looked down into
Melissa's tiny face, framed by wisps of brown hair, and, her eyes had
filled with tears.

"She was supposed to be blond," Phyllis had said, looking up at Charles.

"I wanted her to be just like Teri."

Charles had picked up the baby, snuggling her close to his chest and
kissing her forehead.  "But she can't be just like Teri," he'd
protested.  "Teri was Polly's daughter.  Missy is ours."

Phyllis had said nothing more, at least not directly.  But over the
years, Charles had always known that for her, Melissa never measured up
to the standards set by Teri.

Nor, apparently, had he met her expectations as a husband.

On the other hand, almost from the moment he'd married her, Phyllis had
changed.

Her effervescence had vanished, and now Charles sometimes wondered if it
had ever been there in the first place, or if he'd simply imagined it,
the desire acting as father to the thought.

Within a year Phyllis had transformed herself from the pretty, if not
quite beautiful, young nurse from Philadelphia, into her own version of
a woman born into the Crowd.

The Secret Cove Crowd.

She shopped at all the right stores and wore all the right clothes.

In New York, where they spent most of the year, she went to all the
right restaurants and served on all the right committees.

When, that is, she was invited to serve on the committees, which, though
he'd never told her and never would, was only after he himself had a few
words with the other women's husbands in the privacy of one of their
clubs.

But although she wore the right clothes and went to the right places,
she somehow had never quite fit in.

Charles, of course understood it perfectly-with the Secret Cove Crowd,
you didn't simply fit in.

You were born in.

And Phyllis hadn't been.

But she'd never stopped trying to find herself a place in the Crowd,
never stopped trying to become the woman his first wife had been.

Nor had she understood that one of the reasons he'd married her was that
she wasn't Polly.

Still, the marriage had endured, for Charles had long ago decided that
he could tolerate any amount of unhappiness in his marriage, as long as
it meant he had Melissa with him.

For Melissa, to Charles, was perfect.

If she had any shortcomings, he didn't see them, or chose to overlook
them.  He found his daughter's almost painful shyness to be an endearing
quality, and if she didn't fit in well with the other kids in the Crowd,
that was all right with him.

Despite what his wife thought, his private opinion was that Melissa
wasn't missing much.  He was sure she would learn a lot more from the
books she devoured than from listening to the idle chatter of a lot of
kids with nothing to do except feel snobbish about their families.

So he tolerated the marriage, rather than risk losing Melissa as he'd
lost Teri.  But sometimes.-times like today-it was not easy.

"But it's so thoughtless of you," he heard Phyllis complaining.  "We've
been invited to dinner at the Stevensen's day after tomorrow, and now
you want me to cancel at the last minute, just so you can fly Out to
California."

"You hardly have to cancel,'!   Charles observed.  "It's not formal, and
you know as well as I do that Eleanor always has extra men around.  I
don't know where she finds them, but they're always there."

Phyllis' eyes blazed with anger.  "So now you don't care who I go out
with?"

A movement outside the window caught Charles's eye, and he saw Teri and
Melissa walking up the driveway, their arms filled with boxes.  "Look,"
he said, "can't we deal with this some other time?   The girls are
coming in, and-"

"No, we can't!" Phyllis shouted.  "How dare you?   Do you know how hard
I've had to work to get that invitation from Eleanor Stevens?   Do you
know who's going to be there?   The governor, that's who!   And I do not
intend to go either by myself or on the arm of one of Eleanor's prissy
decorators!   If I'd known how much trouble all this was going to be-"

Suddenly Charles had enough.  His fist slammed down on the table and his
eyes fixed darkly on his wife.  "That's it!" he exclaimed.  "Look!   all
this isn't my fault-I didn't plan on Teri coming to live with us any
more than you did!   But she's here, and the least we can both do is
make the best of it.  And I'm not just her father, in case you didn't
know. I'm also the trustee of her estate."

"Estate!" Phyllis fairly spat.  "My, everyone knows Polly gave away
every cent she had.  There isn't any estate!"

"There's actually more than you might think.  Tom had some insurance,
and the house itself was worth a quarter of a million."

Phyllis' lips curled into a sneer.  "In California that only buys a
slum., doesn't it?"

Exhausted by the argument, Charles shook his head.  "all right," he
said. "Do what you want.  Go to the party alone or go with someone else.
Or don't go at all.  But I have an obligation to Teri, and I intend to
carry it out.  So just drop it, all right?   It doesn't matter what you
think-I'm  flying  to Los Angeles tomorrow."

Phyllis opened her mouth as if to carry on the argument, but changed her
mind when she saw the look in her husband's eyes.  She knew there was a
point beyond which she shouldn't push him.  But still, the idea of
having to show up at the Stevenses' alone, feeling everyone watching
her, and wondering if Charles was really away on business or had simply
not wanted to come...

They might even think he'd found another woman and was getting ready to
leave her.

No, better not to go at all than risk what the gossip might be.

Silently, she turned her back on her husband and walked out of the room,
not noticing the look of relief that came over his face as she left.

At the foot of the stairs Teri heard the few words of the argument
between her father and her stepmother, a flash of anger burned in her
mind.

an obligation?

was  that  all  she  was  to  her  father?  just  someone  he  had  to
deal with because she was his daughter?

Then she felt Melissa's eyes on her and heard her half sister's, voice,
soft and sympathetic.  "He didn't mean that," Melissa was saying.  "It
was just a fight with Mom.  It-It happens all the time."

Teri carefully took control of the anger within her, and when she turned
to face Melissa, her eyes were damp and her chin quivered slightly.

"It's all right," she breathed.  "I-I just hope someday he'll learn to
love me as much as he loves you, that's all."

Melissa impulsively dropped the boxes she was holding and threw her arms
around Teri.  "He will," she promised.  "I know he will.  He'll love you
just as much as I do."

Teri accepted the embrace in silence.

"I don't see Why we don't use the club, on days like this," Phyllis
said.  It was the middle of the afternoon, and she sat in the shade of
an umbrella next to the pool.  A few feet away Charles was sprawled on
his back on a chaise tongue, reading yesterday's Wall Street Journal.

Teri was stretched out in the sun, while Melissa swam up and down the
pool in a vain attempt to exercise off enough pounds to make her new
bathing suit fit her properly.

She hadn't wanted to wear it at all, but Teri had insisted that it
looked fine, and when she'd finally worked up her courage to leave the
pool house, her mother had agreed with Teri.  "It's so nice to see you
wearing some color for a change.  And if you could just lose five
pounds-"

"She looks fine just the way she is," Charles had interrupted, but the
remark had already sunk in, and ever since then Melissa had been in the
pool, valiantly attempting to achieve at least fifty laps.

"Did you hear me, Charles?" Phyllis asked.

Charles nodded absently.  "What's the point?   Our own Pool's almost as
big as theirs, and not nearly as crowded."

"But all our friends are there," Phyllis went on.  "It seems as though
we never see anyone."

Charles put the paper down.  "If YOU want to go, you're certainly
welcome to. I just can't see putting up with that mob."

The phone in the pool house rang, and he stood up, but Phyllis stopped
him.  "Let Cora get it," she said.  "Lord knows, it's not as if she does
much anymore. i think we're going to have to start thinking about
getting someone else, Charles.  I know how-"

This time it was her own words that were interrupted as Cora herself
stepped out the back door and called across the lawn.

"For you, ma'am.  Mrs. Van Arsdale."

Instantly, Phyllis left her chair and hurried into the pool house, where
she picked up the phone.  "Yes, Lenore?"

"Hello, Phyllis." Lenore Van Arsdale's voice came over the line with a
cool tone of confidence that Phyllis had never been able to master. "The
most awful thing has happened, and I do hope you will forgive me."

Phyllis held her breath, certain she was about to be told she would be
replaced on the Social Committee.

"I suppose you know Brett's having some of his friends for a bonfire on
the beach tomorrow night?"

Phyllis' jaw tightened.  No, she certainly didn't know any such thing.

"Why yes," she said, as casually as she could.  "I think I heard one of
the girls mention it."

"Well, I've just discovered that somehow Melissa's name got left off the
invitation list.  I know it's short notice, but is it too late to invite
her?   And, of course, Brett would love to have Teri Come, too."

Suddenly Phyllis understood- It wasn't Melissa who was being invited at
all.

It was Teri.

She'd barely met the kids, but already they were taking her in,
including her in their group.

almost involuntarily her eyes went to the window.  Teri was sitting up
now, listening to Melissa, who was squatting on the terrace at her half
sister's feet, just like an overgrown puppy dog, her hair, still wet,
hanging limply down her back.  Dear God, Phyllis thought, Why can't she
even learn to sit like a normal person?   Does she have to squat down
like a peasant?  No wonder the Cove kids didn't want her around.

"Right,"  she  said into the telephone.

"I'm sure they'd both be delighted to come tomorrow.  And it's so kind
of you to include Teri."

"i'm looking forward to seeing her again," Lenore replied.  "I
understand she's just like POLLY."

They chatted on for a few more minutes until Lenore finally pleaded
other calls to make and hung up.  But before she went back Out to the
pool, Phyllis found herself gazing once more through the window.

They were still together, side by side.

The  daughter  she'd  always  wanted,  and  the  daughter  she'd
actually had.

perhaps now, miraculously, Teri had come home to her, and things were
finally going to work out the way she'd always hoped they would.

unless Melissa ruined things  for  Teri,  Phyllis  thought,  the  same
way  she'd ruined things for her.

She stepped out into the bright sunlight, and as the two girls glanced
up at her, she smiled.  "You two," she announced, "have just been
invited out tomorrow night."

"What's going on?" Charles asked putting his paper aside.

"Brett's  having  a  bonfire  on  the  beach tomorrow  night,  and
Lenore  wants both our girls to go."

Teri's face lit up, but then her smile faltered as she  heard  her
father's  next words.

"Isn't it a little soon for her to start going  to  parties?"  He  asked
worriedly.

Teri searched her mind for something to say, some way to argue with him,
but then her stepmother came to her aid.  "Apparently, Lenore Van
Arsdale doesn't think so," she said.  "And I can't say I do, either.
It's not going to do Teri any good to sit around here with us.  She has
to start making her own friends."

Charles seemed  to consider  the  matter forever. Teri's eyes fixed on
her father, who  finally nodded. "Well, I don't suppose it can do any
harm." Then, "What do you think, missy?"

"It sounds like fun."

he turned to Melissa.  Melissa bit her lower lip, remembering
her birthday party. The same kids who had been there would be at the
bonfire tomorrow night.

The same kids who had all but ignored her on the beach yesterday.

"I-I don't know," she said  finally,  unwilling  to  tell  her  parents
what  she was thinking.  "I-Well-"

Charles,  sensing  his  daughter's  nervousness,  smiled  at  her
encouragingly.

"If you don't want to go, just say so," he told her.  "just because
someone invites you, it doesn't mean you have to go."

"I-I'd really rather stay home," Melissa stammered.

"Then that's what you'll do," Charles declared.  He went back to his
paper, not noticing the look of annoyance that formed on his wife's
face.

"Perhaps she'll change her  mind,"  Phyllis  said,  her  eyes  fixing on
Melissa.

Though Charles, engrossed in his paper, failed to see his youngest
daughter flinch as his wife spoke the words, Teri did not.

Melissa sat silently at the table that evening, staring at the food on
her plate, willing herself to eat it.  But she kept feeling her mother's
eyes on her, and even though nothing had been said, her mother's anger
still hung over her like a dark cloud, making it impossible for her to
eat.  But she knew she had to finish her dinner-if she didn't, her
mother would make her sit at the table for at least an hour, listening
to a lecture about her bad manners and how she was hurting Cora's
feelings by not eating the meal the housekeeper had worked so hard to
prepare.

She sank her fork into the steak which appeared to have somehow grown
even larger as it sat on her plate, carefully cut a small piece off, and
put it in her mouth.

Her throat seemed to close even as she chewed the meat, and for a moment
she was afraid she wouldn't be able to swallow it at all.  But finally
it went down, and she started on the next piece.  Surreptitiously, she
glanced around the table; everyone else had already finished, and her
father was laying his knife and fork in the center of the plate and
wiping his lips with his napkin.  Smiling at her, he pushed his chair
back a few inches.

"What  does  everyone  think  about  going  to  a  movie  tonight?"  he
asked.

Instinctively, Melissa's eyes flicked to her mother, and for a moment
she thought perhaps everything was going to be all right after all.  But
then Phyllis' eyes met hers, and she saw that she had not yet been
forgiven for saying she didn't want to go to the bonfire tomorrow night.

But what was the big deal?   They didn't even really want her to come,
it was Teri they wanted. So Why couldn't Teri go alone?

Her thoughts were interrupted by her mother's voice.  as she heard the
words, she felt an icy knot of fear forming in her stomach.

Why don't you and Teri go to a movie?" Phyllis said to Charles.  "The
two of you haven't been able to spend much time together alone, and I
think it would be nice if Melissa and I had an evening to ourselves.

just the two of us."

Melissa's eyes darted to her father.  "can't I go, too?" she pleaded.

"Please?"

Before Charles could say anything, Phyllis spoke again, this time
addressing her daughter.  "Melissa, you're being very, very selfish.

You've been absolutely monopolizing your father.  You mustn't forget
that He's Teri's father, too.  And," she added, the hard look in her
eyes belying both her words and her smile, "the two of us will have such
fun together."

Melissa wanted to argue with her mother, plead with her father, but she
knew it would only make things worse than they already were.  Because
once her father and Teri were gone . . .

She forced the thought out of her mind, concentrating instead on making
herself finish the food on her plate.  "Besides," she heard her mother
go on, repeating the words she'd heard so often before, "you haven't
finished your dinner yet, and you know the rules.  We eat what's put
before us, whether we like it or not.  You can't expect to be invited to
nice places if you're going to be rude to your hostess."

Doing her best to shut the words out of her mind, Melissa attacked her
steak once again, cutting the pieces as small as she could, forcing them
down one by one.  When her father leaned over to kiss her good-bye
before he and Teri left for the movie, she wanted to cry, but held back
her tears as she heard his murmured words.

"Your mother's right, sweetheart.  I know it's hard to eat when you're
not hungry, but it's impolite not to finish what's on your plate." He
gave her an encouraging hug, and she wanted to throw her arms around him
and beg him to take her with him, but knew it would do no good.

Her mother had decided she would stay home, and there was no point in
arguing.

Arguing would only make it worse.

Twenty minutes later, under her mother's watchful eyes, she finally
finished her dinner.  Around her the other empty plates still sat on the
table.  She was expected to clear them and then help Cora with the
dishes.  Silently, afraid that whatever she might say would only make
her mother angrier, she rose to her feet.

"What do we say?" Phyllis instantly demanded.

Melissa froze, then remembered.  "M-May I be excused?"

Phyllis nodded curtly, and Melissa gratefully began stacking the dishes.

A moment later she backed through the door separating the butler's
pantry from the kitchen.  Cora, who'd already finished all the dishes
except those that had been left on the table for Melissa to clear, took
the stack of plates from Melissa's hands.  "I guess dinner wasn't very
good tonight, was it?" she said.

"It was fine, Cora.  I just wasn't very hungry."

"Well, I know how that goes." Cora sighed, putting the plates into the
sink.  "Sometimes I have days when the very thought of food just makes
me sick to my stomach.  And it seems to me a body shouldn't be forced to
eat food it doesn't want."

Melissa picked up a dish towel and began drying the silverware as Cora
placed it in the rack on the sink.  Melissa cast a longing eye on the
dishwasher under the counter, but knew better than to suggest they use
it.  On evenings like this, when she was being punished, the use of the
dishwasher was strictly forbidden, even for Cora.

"She has to learn to  work,"  her  mother  had  said  more  than once.

"I  won't have a spoiled child in the house."

Melissa had just picked up the last plate from the drainer when. the
door from the butler's pantry flew open, crashing loudly against the
kitchen wall. Melissa jumped, then froze as she felt the plate slip out
of her grip and shatter on the floor.

There was a slight gasp from Cora, whose eyes instantly went to the door
where Phyllis now stood, staring coldly at her daughter.  "It's all
right, honey," the housekeeper said, stooping down to pick up the shards
of china. "Those things happen to us all."

"Don't, Cora." Phyllis' words, though spoken quietly, held a note of
authority that made the housekeeper straighten up before she'd touched
the broken plate.  "The only way Melissa is going to learn not to be
clumsy is to take responsibility for her own messes." Cora hesitated for
a moment, as if she weren't sure what to do, and Phyllis spoke again.

"That will be all for tonight, Cora.  Melissa will take care of the
rest. You may go."

Wordlessly, knowing better than to argue with her employer, Cora took
off her apron and hung it on a peg by the back door.  A moment later
Melissa, her heart thumping with fear, was alone with her mother.

Phyllis continued to regard her daughter coldly.  "I'm afraid we'll have
to have one of our little talks, Melissa," she said after a silence that
seemed to Melissa to have gone on forever.  "Clean up this mess, then
wait for me in your room."

Her eyes flooding with tears, Melissa began picking up the pieces of the
shattered plate.  She worked as slowly as she dared, but finally the
floor was clean, as were the sink and counter top.

She could put it off no longer.

She went up to her room, and waited for her mother.

as the door opened and Phyllis stepped into the room, Melissa's eyes
went first to her mother's hands.

They were empty.  But then she remembered.  If her mother was going to
bind her to the bed, she wouldn't do it now.  She'd wait until later,
after her father had already gone to bed.

Phyllis closed the door, leaning against it for a moment as she
regarded her daughter, who was cowering on the bed.  She hated using the
word, even to herself.  And yet she knew that that was exactly what
Melissa did.

She cowered.

If the child only had some spirit!

She discarded the thought.  Melissa had never had any spirit and never
would.  But the least she could do was learn to behave properly and stop
embarrassing her mother.

"Stand up, Melissa," Phyllis commanded.

Obediently, Melissa scrambled off the bed and stood up straight.

Phyllis eyed Melissa's clothes with distaste.  Teri had appeared for
dinner that evening in one of the new outfits she'd bought that day, but
Melissa was still wearing the same worn pair of jeans she'd put on after
her swim that afternoon, together with a T-shirt that had long ago lost
whatever color it might have started with.

"Where are the new clothes Teri Picked out for you?" Phyllis asked, her
voice deceptively even as she tried to control the Same anger that
welled up inside her whenever she laid eyes on her daughter.

"I-In my dresser," Melissa whispered.

"What?" Phyllis asked.  "Talk so people can hear you, Melissa!"

"I said they're in my dresser," Melissa repeated, her throat threatening
to close with each word she spoke.

"y didn't you wear them tonight?" Melissa's tongue ran nervously over
her lip's, and her eyes scanned the room as if she were looking for some
sort of refuge.

"I-They don't look right on me," she finally said.  "They don't fit me
very well."

Phyllis' nostrils flared and her lips tightened.  "Nothing fits you very
well, Melissa.  Why do you think that is?"

Melissa quailed from the words, but knew she had to answer.

"I'm too fat," she said, her eyes flooding with tears once again.

"And?" Phyllis pressed.

Melissa swallowed the lump that was rising in her throat.  "And I don't
stand up as straight as I should," she said, forcing herself to repeat
the horrid catechism her mother had drilled into her for as long as she
could remember.

Phyllis' eyes bored into the trembling child.  "And whose fault is
that?"

Melissa stared at the floor, but said nothing.  Phyllis took a step
forward, and Melissa pressed closer to the bed.  "Whose?" Phyllis
demanded once again.

"Mine." The word issued from Melissa's throat like the dying gasp of a
tiny bird, but finally she looked up at her mother.  "It's my fault,
Mama," she went on, the words suddenly tumbling from her mouth in a
babbling stream.

"I eat too much, and I eat the wrong things, and I spend too much time
reading.  I should play with the other kids more, and spend more time at
the club."

"And Why don't you?" Phyllis demanded.  "Why don't you do all the things
the other children do?   Why do you want to make me ashamed of you?"

"I-I don't know," Melissa wailed.  She felt her tears threatening to
overwhelm her now, and wanted nothing more than to throw herself on the
bed, curl up, and close the world out.  But she couldn't do that.

Not now.

Not yet.

She had to stay where she was, and keep facing her mother, and try not
to let the words hurt her.

Help me, she cried out  in  her  mind.  Help  me,  Darcy.  Don't  leave
me  by myself.  Please . . .

"Get your new clothes out of the dresser, Melissa," Phyllis told her.

Silently calling out to Darcy once more, Melissa moved to the dresser
and took out the stack of new clothes that Teri had chosen for her.  as
her mother directed, she placed them on the bed.

"The white shorts," Phyllis finally said.  "Put on the white shorts and
the green top."

Her heart fluttering, Melissa stripped off her jeans and T-shirt, then
pulled the shorts on and struggled to get the knit shirt over her head,
finally managing to pull it down over her chest.

"Now look at yourself in the mirror."

Melissa hesitated.  She already knew what the clothes looked like on
her.

She'd already tried them on twice, first in the store and then again
when she came home.

And no matter what anyone told her, she knew they didn't fit her.

The bright colors made her look funny, and the cut of them made her look
fat.

"Now!" Phyllis commanded.

She moved across to her daughter, her hands closing on Melissa's
shoulders. jerking her around, she propelled her toward the mirror.

"Look at yourself!" she commanded once more.

as Melissa felt her mother's fingers dig into her flesh, and winced with
the pain of it, she suddenly heard Darcy's voice whispering to her.

It's all right, Melissa.  I'm here.  You can go to sleep now.

She felt her mother jerk her toward the mirror, and then she was looking
into the glass itself.

But instead of her own image reflected there, she saw Darcy, her eyes
gentle, smiling at her.  The image in the mirror moved toward her,
reaching out to her.  She felt Darcy's gentle fingers on her cheek, and
closed her eyes as her friend's cool touch brushed away her tears.

The familiar darkness closed around her, and the last words she heard
before she drifted away into the blackness were Darcy's.  I'm here now,
and you can go to sleep.  I'll take care of you.  I'll take care of
everything.

Phyllis felt Melissa's body relax slightly, and eased her grip on her
daughter's shoulders.  "Well?" she demanded.  "Tell me what you see."

Melissa said nothing, and Phyllis' anger rose again.  "Look at
yourself!"

she screeched.  Her grip tightened on Melissa's shoulders again and she
began shaking the girl violently.

Melissa's head jerked back and forth, but no matter how hard her mother
shook her, she uttered no sound.

"You look terrible!" Phyllis hissed.  "You're fat, and you're ugly, and
you don't even care!   Dear God, how can you be my daughter?"

Phyllis propelled Melissa away from the mirror, slamming her into the
chair in front of the small vanity.  "You could be as pretty as Teri, if
you'd just try!   But just look at you.  Look at your hair!   It's a
disgrace!"

She reached out and pulled open the top drawer of the vanity, snatching
up the scissors that lay there.  A moment later she began cutting off
Melissa's hair, hacking at it with the scissors.  Slowly, as Melissa
watched in the mirror with a strange detachment, her hair fell away
until all that remained was a ragged bob.

"there!" Phyllis snapped when she'd finished her work.  "Look!   Isn't
that better?   Isn't it?"

Melissa said nothing, and Phyllis her whole body trembling with rage and
frustration  now,  abruptly  leaned  forward. "Answer me!" she screamed.

"Why won't you answer me!"

Melissa remained silent, sitting quietly on the chair in front of the
vanity, her eyes fixed on the image in the mirror.

"Fine," Phyllis said, her hands again clamping down on Melissa's
shoulders.  "If you don't want to talk to me, then you don't have to.
But I suggest you listen to me very carefully, young lady.  If you want
to spend your entire life all by yourself, I don't really care.  But I
will no longer tolerate you being rude to my friends or their children.
Do you understand?"

Melissa said nothing at all, nor did she acknowledge her mother's words
with so much as a nod of her head.

Phyllis' fingers dug deeper into the flesh of her daughter's shoulders.

"I know you can hear me, Melissa.  You're not deaf.  So keep listening.
I am not going to let you spoil Teri's life the way you've spoiled your
own and tried to spoil mine.  So tomorrow night, whether you want to or
not, you are going to the bonfire.  It was very kind of Mrs. Van Arsdale
to invite you, and you are not going to insult her by refusing to go.
And you are going to be friendly, and polite, and you will not do
anything to embarrass me.  Now, tell me if you heard what I just said."

Melissa remained silent and impassive, staring into the mirror.

"all right, Melissa" Phyllis hissed.  "If you want it to be difficult,
so be it."

She jerked Melissa to her feet once more and propelled her across the
room to the closet.  Opening the door, she shoved Melissa inside, then
closed the Closet again, locking it.  "I suggest you think about it,"
she said through the door.  "I'll come back in an hour.  Perhaps by then
you'll have decided to start behaving the way I raised you to behave."

She started out of the room, but then her eyes fell on the jeans and
T-shirt that were still lying on the floor where Melissa had left them.

Picking up the scissors once more, she cut the offending clothes into
pieces, then flung them on the bed.

At last, her frustration with her daughter finally vented, she left the
room.

It was nearly ten o'clock when Teri and Charles got back from the movie.

Only the light in the foyer was on downstairs, and upstairs they found
Phyllis lying in bed, reading.  She put her book aside as they came into
the bedroom and smiled up at Teri.  "How was the movie?"

"Great," Teri replied.  "It was a horror thing, and I've never been so
scared in my life.  But at least I sat through it-Daddy had to go out to
the lobby."

Charles smiled wryly.  "I'm afraid cutting people up with machetes just
isn't my cup of tea.  But Teri loved every minute of it."

"Well, I'm certainly glad I didn't let Melissa go." Phyllis observed.
"She'd have had nightmares for a month."

"Is she in bed already?" Charles asked, glancing at his watch.

Phyllis nodded.  "We had a nice little talk, and then both of us decided
to Turn in early," she said.  "I think she went to sleep an hour ago."

The three of them chatted for a few more minutes, and finally Teri
kissed her father and stepmother good night and went to her room.  She
paused in front of the mirror on her closet door, admiring her new
clothes once more, then took them off and carefully hung them up.

Pulling on her robe, she went into the bathroom to brush her teeth.  And
then, just as she was about to Turn the water on, she heard Melissa's
voice.

"What am I going to do, Darcy?   What's Mama going to say?   Now she's
going to be mad at me again."

Going to the door, Teri pressed her ear against it, listening.  She
could still hear Melissa's voice, but the words had become indistinct,
and it sounded as if Melissa was crying.

Teri paused, thinking.  Perhaps she should just pretend she hadn't heard
anything at all and go to bed.

And yet she'd distinctly heard the name Darcy, the same name she'd seen
in Melissa's diary early that morning.  was it Possible that Melissa
actually thought she was talking to someone?   Making up her mind, she
grasped the doorknob, turned it, and let herself into Melissa's room.

Melissa was sitting at the vanity in the near darkness of her room,
staring into the mirror.  But as the stream of light from the bathroom
door struck her, she turned, her eyes widening as she saw Teri.

"What are you doing home already?" she asked.  "Didn't you go to the
movies?"

Teri frowned.  "It's after ten.  The movie's over."

Melissa's brows knit in puzzlement.  "But it seems like you just left. I
mean, it seems like it's only been an hour, maybe."

Teri moved over to the vanity.  Her eyes widening as she looked at her
half sister's face, she reached over and switched on the small lamp that
sat on top of the vanity.

She gasped as she saw the ruins of Melissa's hair.  "What happened?" she
breathed.  "What did you do to your hair?"

Her eyes brimming with tears, Melissa peered up at Teri.  "I-I don't
know.  I think Darcy must have cut it."

"Darcy?" Teri asked.  "Who's Darcy?"

Melissa tensed, and her eyes flicked apprehensively toward the hall
door. When she saw that it was safely closed, she seemed to relax
slightly. "promise you won't tell?" she asked.

Teri nodded quickly, her mind suddenly tingling with anticipation.

"She-She's  a  friend  of  mine,"  Melissa said. "Sometimes she comes to
help me."

Teri's brow furrowed- What on earth was Melissa talking about?   "What
do you mean?   Where does she come from?   Does she live around here?"

Melissa shook her head.  "N-Not exactly," she said.  "She-Well, really
sort of like an imaginary friend.  You know, like the one Anne of Green
Gables had, who lived in the mirror?"

Suddenly Teri smiled.  "I know what you mean-I had one when I was a
little girl.  Her name was Caroline, and I used to pretend she was my
maid. She'd do anything I wanted her to.  Clean my room for me, pick up
my things.  all the things I hated to do.  I'd pretend I was her, and
she'd do all the work."

Melissa nodded eagerly.  "That's the kind of friend Darcy is.  When I
get afraid of something, Darcy comes and helps me." Her eyes shifted
back to the mirror.  "Only look what she did tonight," she said, her
voice quavering. "She cut off all my hair.  Mama will be so angry."

Teri's thoughts raced as a series of images began to come into her mind.

The swimming pool that afternoon, when Phyllis had said that she and
Melissa would talk about the bonfire "later."

Melissa, just for a moment, had looked terrified.

And then again, at the dinner table, when Phyllis had suggested that she
and Melissa would have an evening at home together.

Once again Melissa's eyes had filled with panic.

It was her mother who had frightened her tonight.

Jesus, is that what she does?   Teri wondered.  When her mother starts
yelling at her, she just pretends she's someone else?

But then she remembered something else.

The other night, when she'd found Melissa tied to the bed, with her eyes
open.  She'd been sure Melissa was awake, but when she had spoken to
her, Melissa hadn't answered.

And tonight she'd thought Teri hadn't gone to the movies.

She doesn't remember, Teri thought.  She doesn't remember what happened
at all.

Now, as she gazed at Melissa's reflected image in the mirror, she smiled
gently.  "I'll tell you what," she said.  "Let's get a comb and some
scissors, and I'll see if I can fix your hair.  And tomorrow, if
Phyllis gets Mad, we'll just tell her I cut it.  We'll tell her it was
all my idea, and then she can't get mad at you, can she?"

In the mirror, Melissa's eyes met Teri's.  "Would you really do that?"
she asked.  "Would you do that for me?"

Teri slipped her arms around Melissa.  "Of course I would," she said.
"I'm your sister, aren't I?   Isn't that what sisters are for?" She took
the comb and scissors Melissa found in the top drawer of the vanity and
began snipping carefully at her half sister's hair, evening it out as
best she could.  as she worked, Melissa watched in the mirror, her eyes
fixed adoringly on Teri.  But then, as Teri was finishing up the
trimming, her smile faded.

"What are the kids going to say tomorrow night?" she asked.  "With my
hair like this, they'll all laugh at me."

Teri cocked her head.  "I thought you weren't going to the bonfire," she
said.

Melissa was silent for several seconds, but finally shook her head.  "I
changed my mind," she said.  "I had to.  Darcy's afraid of the dark, and
Mama wouldn't let her out of the closet until I said I'd go."

By the time she went to bed twenty minutes later, Teri was certain she
understood exactly who Darcy was.

What she didn't yet know was exactly how she could use Darcy.  But she
knew she'd find a way.

After all, when they'd left the movie earlier that evening, the first
thing her father had said was, "I wish we'd brought Melissa- she loves
movies like this.  They scare her half to death, but she loves them."

Melissa.

Even when he was alone with her, her father still only thought about
Melissa.

as Teri went to sleep, she knew she was starting to hate Melissa almost
as much as she'd hated her mother and stepfather.

It hadn't been hard getting rid of them.

It would be even easier getting rid of Melissa.

After all, "Darcy" would help her, now that Teri knew who she was and
where she'd come from.

She was nobody, and she lived nowhere. Nowhere, except in Melissa's own
mind.

But that would be enough.  as long as Melissa believed she was real,
that would be quite enough.

"Daddy?"

it was the  following  afternoon,  and  Charles  Holloway,  was about to
leave  for the airport and, glanced up the stairs to see Melissa
standing uncertainly on the landing, looking down at him.  "D-Do You
really have to go?" she asked, her voice trembling.  Charles held out
his arms, smiling at her, and she ran down the stairs to fling her arms
around her father's neck.  "I don't want you to go," she whispered into
his ear. "Please, can't you get someone else to do whatever it is?"

Charles gently disengaged himself from his younger daughter's hug.  "I
wish I could," he told her.  "But I really have to do it myself.  It all
has to do with Teri, and there's just so many things that have to be
signed.  If I don't go, it'll drag out forever, and in the end I'll have
to go anyway.  And you wouldn't like that, would you?"

Melissa sighed and shook her head, then pulled away from her father as
he reached out and ran his fingers through her newly short hair. "Hey!"
he protested.  "Where are you going?"

"You're laughing at me," Melissa accused.

"No, I'm not," Charles told her, pulling her close once again.  "In
fact, I like you with short hair.  It makes you look even cuter."

Melissa gazed up at him, wondering if he was telling her the truth.  She
searched his eyes, but saw nothing except the same warm twinkle that was
always there when he looked at her.  "Do you really like it?" she asked
wistfully.  "You're not just saying that to make me feel better, are
you?"

"You know I wouldn't do that," Charles replied.  "If it looked like
straw, I'd tell you." He cocked his head, his eyes squinting critically.

"Actually," he went on, his voice taking on a gently teasing tone, "if
you bleached it out, it might look kind of like straw." He ducked away
as Melissa swung at him, then hugged her once more.  "Tell you what-I'll
bring you a surprise."

"For me?   What?" Melissa asked.

"If I told you, it wouldn't be a surprise."

Suddenly, from the top of the stairs, another voice spoke.  "What about
me?" Teri asked.  "Will you bring me a surprise, too?"

Charles, his arm still around Melissa's shoulders, smiled up at Teri.

"Absolutely," he told her.  "Aren't you going to come down and give your
father a hug?" Teri, moving almost shyly, came down the stairs.  "I-I
didn't want to get in the way," she murmured.

Charles slipped his free arm around Teri.  "You couldn't," he said. "Two
daughters, two arms.  Seems like it works out perfectly." Then his voice
took on a more serious tone.  "Look out for Melissa while I'm gone,
okay?"

Teri smiled at him.  "Sure," she said.  "We'll have so much fun, she
won't even know you're gone."

"Great," Charles replied, giving Teri a quick squeeze, then letting her
go to hug Melissa once more.  "You'll be fine," he assured her once
more.  "And I'll only be gone a couple of days.  Okay?"

Melissa nodded but said nothing.  And maybe he's right she thought a few
minutes later as her father disappeared around the curve in the long
driveway.  Maybe with Teri here, it will be okay.

Darkness fell, and as Melissa sat on the quickly cooling sand, her back
propped up against one of the large logs that surrounded the fire pit on
the beach below the Cove Club, she decided she was glad she'd changed
her mind about coming.  It hadn't been nearly as bad as she'd imagined it
would be.  She'd actually been having fun.  The first few minutes, of
course, had been terrible.  as she and Teri had approached the crowd
already gathered on the beach, she'd had an almost irresistible urge to
Turn around and go back to Maplecrest- But, as if sensing her sudden
panic, Teri had taken her hand.  "Come on-it's going to be fine. just
stop worrying."

It turned out that Teri had been right.  If anyone had noticed that her
clothes didn't quite fit right, no one said anything about it.  Jeff
Barnstable had even told her that her hair looked nice.

"You should have done it a long time ago," he'd said "You always looked
like you were trying to hide or something."

Slowly, as the evening went on, she'd let her guard come down, and even
joined in a game of volleyball.  When they began to choose up sides, she
was sure she'd be the last to be chosen, but then Teri had suggested
they just split up into two teams and let everyone play on whatever side
they wanted to. Except that every time one of the teams scored a point,
the person who scored it had to drop out.

Melissa found herself giggling as she remembered the result, for after
an hour in which all the best players did their best not to score, only
she and Jerry Chalmers were left on the court.  The rest of the kids had
all gathered around, cheering for their last remaining teammate, and for
nearly ten minutes she and Jerry had struggled just to complete a serve.

In the end, when Melissa finally managed to get the ball over the net,
and Jerry-who it turned out was even clumsier than she was-missed it
entirely, everyone, including she and Jerry, were laughing so hard that
no one cared who had won.

When she'd asked Teri where she learned those rules for volleyball, Teri
had winked at her.  "I just made them up.  But it was kind of fun
watching everyone trying to do badly, wasn't it?"

Now, as darkness gathered around them and Jeff Barnstable threw another
log onto the fire, Teri dropped down onto the sand beside her.  "Isn't
this fun?" she asked.  "And we have the whole beach to ourselves.  Back
in California the beach would have been jammed."

From the other side of the fire Brett Van Arsdale grinned at Teri. "What
makes you think we have the beach to ourselves?" he asked.

Teri looked at him.  "But we do-there's no one on it but us."

Brett's eyes widened strangely in the flickering firelight.  "Isn't
there?" he asked, his voice dropping low as he drew the words out.
"Maybe," he suggested, "there is.  Maybe there's someone out there,
watching us."

Despite herself, Teri shivered and scanned the darkness that surrounded
the fire.  "Oh, come on," she said.  "You're just trying to scare me.
And if you're going to tell the story about the man with the hook, don't
bother-I already heard it about a million times."

"Sure," Brett said.  "But I'll bet you haven't heard the one about the
ghost of Secret Cove."

Teri cocked her head suspiciously.  "Oh, come on Tell her," Ellen
Stevens said.  She turned to Teri.  "It'S really weird, and no one tells
it as well as Brett.  "Come on, Brett-tell it for us."

A silence fell over the group, and then, his voice barely audible, so
that Teri had to strain to hear him, he began.  "It was the night of the
August Moon ball.  They'd just built the clubhouse, and everyone was
there.  Everyone, anyway, except the servants.  And one of them was
planning to go, too."

Around the fire the teenagers snuggled closer together as Brett, in a
low voice filled with portent, went on with the story...

It was almost eight o'clock, and the girl peered at her reflection in
the light of the oil lamp that stood on the small table by her cot.  She
looked beautiful tonight-the white dress she'd been working on for two
months fit her perfectly, and with its long sleeves ending in lacy
cuffs, and the fifteen rows of tiny ruffles that covered its bodice, it
looked almost like a wedding dress.

Perhaps, indeed, it might be her wedding dress, except that she was sure
it would be bad luck to wear the same dress at her wedding that she'd
worn at her first big party.

But she could never afford another dress like this one.  She stopped
herself.  Of course she could.  After she married Joshua, she'd be able
to afford anything she wanted.  Surely he would buy her the material so
she could make herself a wedding dress even more beautiful than this
one.

Her eyes wandered to the third finger of her left hand and the small
gold ring set with a single perfect diamond that he'd secretly given her
three months ago.

"We won't tell anyone, " he'd said.  "We will keep it secret until the
ball.  By then I'll tell my parents, and everything will be all right."

And tonight the night of the ball they were going to make the
announcement.  She would stand beside him as he told all his friends that
he'd fallen in love with her and was going to marry her.

They'd be surprised.  he knew that But when they saw how happy Joshua
was with her, they'd all gather around her, and suddenly she'd be a part
of them.  She checked her dress one last time, then blew out the lantern
and left her room under the eaves of the mansion making her way quickly
down the back stairs.  She was about to slip out the door when she heard
the cook's voice speaking sharply to her.

"And where do you think you're going?"

The words made the girl freeze, but finally she turned to face the woman
she'd worked for since she was fourteen. "To the ball."
she said

The cook glared scornfully at her.  "And what makes you think
they'll let the likes of you into a place like that?"

The girl smiled serenely.

"They'll let me in," she said. "I've been invited."

"have you then?   " the cook asked, her skepticism clear in her voice.
"Well if I were you I wouldn't pay any mind to what the boys around here
tell you. They'll say whatever they have to to get into a girl's-"

"Not Joshua!   " the girl exclaimed, her face burning with embarrassment
at the cook's insinuation.  "He's not like that.,"

She scurried out the back door before the cook could say anything else,
and hurried across the  lawn to the beach, carrying her dancing shoes.

she'd spent nearly a week's salary on them.  She hiked up the skirt of
the dress, determined not to let anything stain its hem and started
toward the glowed down the beach toward the bright yellow gaslight from
the windows of the club house located on the southern point of the cove.

She came at last to the foot of the path leading up from the beach to
the clubhouse, and stopped to put on her shoes.  She waited for a few
minutes, for it was here that Joshua had promised to meet her.  Together
they would walk up the path and enter the clubhouse, and people would
know what had happened before Joshua even told them. In her mind she'd
rehearsed the scene over and over again: Looking tan and handsome in his
cutaway jacket his arm protectively around her shoulders, his handsome
feature set determinedly as he announced to his friends that he'd
decided to marry her.  She had even imagined the disapproval she would
see in their eyes for a moment before they realized how much in love she
and Joshua were.  But when they'd seen it for themselves their disapproval
would vanish and they would welcome her with open arms.

A slight breeze came up, and the girl shivered, then looked around once
more for her fiancee.  She looked at the watch tucked into her tiny
beaded bag and saw that it was almost eight-thirty.

She was late.

He must have already been here, and was waiting for her up above, in
front of the clubhouse itself.

She climbed the path, carefully holding her skirts well above the dusty
path.  At  the top she stopped to catch her breath.  Now, through the
windows, she could see everyone dancing.  all the women in their
beautiful dresses, their throats covered with beautiful necklaces,
jewels dangling from their ears, sparkling in the gaslight with all
almost unnatural beauty.

And then, spinning out of the crowd his arms around a beautifully pale
girl in a dress the color of an emerald she saw Joshua.

He was smiling down at the girl and she seemed to be laughing at
something he was saying. Then he looked up and saw her.

Instantly, she saw him recognize her and stop dancing, and she turned
away from the window, heading toward the door, knowing he would be
waiting for her just inside.

She pushed the door open and stepped into the clubhouse, then crossed
the foyer to stand in the immense double doors that opened into the huge
dining room where the ball was being held.

Joshua, still standing with the pale girl in the green dress, was
staring at her.

Then, slowly, the other couples on the floor stopped dancing and began
to Turn toward her as well.

She Paused, Puzzled.  Why wasn't Joshua coming over to her?   Why was he
just standing there, looking at her?

And then she knew.

His eyes looked frightened. as if he hadn't expected to see her.

He hadn't told his parents at all.

She could hear the people around her murmuring among themselves now, and
here and there a soft titter of laughter.  Instinctively, her eyes
locked on Joshua's, she started toward her fiancee.

And then miraculously, he came to life and started toward her.  A moment
later he was there and his hand was on her arm.

And then he spoke.

"I have to talk to you." he said, his voice low.  "In the kitchen."

His fingers closing on her arm like a vise, he steered her across the
room weaving through the crowd, which seemed to draw back to let them
pass. Then they were through the door, standing in the kitchen.

The cooks and waiters, all of them in their uniforms, stared curiously
at her.

"What's wrong?"

Joshua licked nervously at  his  lips,  and  his  eyes  refused  to meet
hers.  "I can't marry you, " he said.  "I talked to my father, and he
said if I marry you he'll disown me."

The girl gasped- This couldn't be happening-it was impossible.

"I have to have the ring back," Joshua told her. He was holding her hand
now, his fingers on the ring.

it wouldn't come off her finger and she pulled her hand away, the girl
tugged at the ring, struggling to pull it off her finger.  "Is that all
it's about?"
" she demanded.  "just money?   You told me you loved me.
You told me-" She choked on her own words, her eyes flooding with tears.

She pulled harder at the ring, but it seemed to have become a part of
her finger.

Joshua his eyes suddenly closed was already turning away from her. "It's
all right " he said, as if talking to a child.  "Why don't you just
leave?  I'll get the ring tomorrow."

And then he was gone, disappearing through the doors to the dining room
not even looking back at her.

She stood stunned, staring at the door through which her lover had gone.

It had been so easy for him-he'd never cared about her, never!

She tried the ring again, but still it refused to budge.  But she had to
get it off her finger-it felt like it was burning her. She had to get it
off and get away from here. Her eyes darted around the kitchen, and then
she saw it On a large chopping table only a foot away, there was a meat
cleaver.

A strangled cry coming from her throat she seized the cleaver in her
right hand, at the same time putting her left hand on the chopping
block.

The cleaver rose above her head, hovered for a split second, and then
she brought it down.

The razor-sharp blade slashed through her left wrist and she froze for a
moment her hand lying severed on the wooden table, blood spurting from
the stump where the hand had been only a second before.

as one of the kitchen girls screamed, she dropped the cleaver to the
floor and picked up the severed hand. A moment later she rushed through
the door into the ballroom.  The dancing had started again, but she made
her way through the whirling couples, her eyes scanning the crowd until
she finally found Joshua.

She stopped, waiting for him to Turn And then, at last he saw her.

His eyes widened slightly as he gazed at her blood-drenched dress.  And
then as she hurled her left hand at him the hateful ring still on its
third finger, he stepped backward

The hand struck his chest then fell to the floor, staining his white
shirt with blood as screams began to fill the ballroom. The girl fled,
plunging out into the night. For her, the ball was over. . . .

Brett's voice trailed off.  For several seconds no one said anything at
all. And then, at last, Teri spoke.  "But what happened to her?"

Brett shrugged.  "No one knows," he said.  "No one ever saw her again.
Or the hand, either.  After the panic died down at the dance, the hand
was gone, and so was she.  She just disappeared.  But they say she's
still around.  They say that sometimes she walks on the beach, or in the
woods, hunting for her hand.  And this year, she's supposed to come
back."

Teri smiled.  "Come back?" she asked.  "But you just said she never
left."

"But this year is different," Brett said slyly.  "The Cove Club opened
exactly one hundred years ago.  This Year's August Moon ball is the
centennial."

"So?" Teri smirked.  "What's supposed to happen?"

Brett leaned forward and once more his voice dropped.  "She's supposed
to come back," he said.  "She's supposed to come back and get her
revenge."

Teri glanced around at the rest of the kids, trying to decide if any of
them believed it.  "What's she supposed to do?" she asked.  "And who was
she?
What was her name?"

"Darcy,"  Brett  told  her.  "Darcy  Manoy."  She  was  a  maid  in your
house."

"Darcy?" Teri repeated.  She turned to Melissa, who was sitting very
still, staring into the fire.  "But that's the name of your friend,
isn't it?" she asked.

Melissa's head turned, and her eyes, large and hurt, met Teri's.  "You
weren't supposed to tell," she said, her voice trembling.  Then, before
Teri could say anything else, Melissa jumped up and darted off down the
beach, instantly disappearing into the darkness.

When she was gone, Ellen Stevens looked over at Teri.  "What do you
mean, her friend?" she asked.

Teri was silent for a moment, but then her lips curved into a faint
smile. "Melissa has an imaginary friend," she said.  "She told me about
her last night.  Her name is Darcy."

Melissa stumbled along the beach, determined not to give in to the sob
that lurked in her throat.  At last, when the bonfire was only a spot of
orange light in the distance, she came to a stop and sat down on the
sand, staring out to sea. she told herself.  So  what  if  Teri  told
them  about  her friend?  It's no big deal, it was she herself who
had behaved stupidly.  If she'd just taken a second to think about it,
she could have laughed it off-even made the story Brett had told better
by admitting that her friend was the ghost.  After all, in a way it was
true-ever since she'd first heard the story of Darcy Manoy when she was
only six or seven years old, she'd thought about Darcy, even gone up to
the attic to the little room where she was certain Darcy must have
lived.

And then, as she'd gotten older and found it harder and harder to make
friends with the rest of the kids, she'd started talking to Darcy, and
imagined that Darcy was talking back to her.

Except her friend wasn't the real Darcy, of course.  Her friend was just
someone she'd made up, someone the same age as she was.

Someone she could talk to about all the things she couldn't talk to
anyone else about.

But now, after she'd been dumb enough to run away, everyone was going to
think she was nuts.  Why had she done it?   Why hadn't she just made a
joke of it?   After all, when she'd been the last one on the volleyball
court, fighting it out with Jerry Chalmers, she'd thought the whole
thing was as funny as everyone else had.  It hadn't been a joke on her.
It had just been a joke, and for once she'd been a part of it.

But now she'd wrecked it by being stupid again.

all she had to do was go along with it.  There were all kinds of stories
she could have made up.

She could have told them she knew who Darcy was going to come for at the
August Moon ball.

Then she thought of something even better-maybe she should have told
them that Darcy had found her hand and was going to leave it on the bed
of her victim the night before the ball.

The sob that had threatened to overwhelm her only a few minutes earlier
suddenly gave way to a giggle and then a sigh.

If the kids were going to laugh at her again, it was her own fault, not
Teri's.  And there wasn't anything she could do about it tonight.

as she got up and started home, she almost wished that Darcy were real.

And if she were She tried to put the thought out of her mind, but as she
neared the house she found herself giggling again- What would the kids
do if they actually saw Darcy?   she wondered.

But they wouldn't, of course, for there was no, Darcy, except for the
friend who existed only in her own mind.

She paused as she neared the house.  In the library all the lights were
on, and she could see her mother sitting in front of the television set.

If she went in the front door, Phyllis would surely hear her, and then
the questions would start.

"Why are you home so early?  Why didn't Teri come with you?  Is the
bonfire over?"

She glanced back.  In the distance the fire was burning brighter now.

Someone must have thrown more wood on it, and even from here she could
see the silhouettes of the rest of the kids, some of them sitting on
logs, some of them standing near the fire, toasting marshmallows.

Her mother would see them, too, and the questions would get worse. "What
did you do?  Were you rude to your friends again?  Did you do something
stupid?"

She backed away from the front of the house, then skirted around it,
losing herself in the deep shadows.  From the back the house was dark,
and as she approached the kitchen door she began to relax.  If she could
just slip inside without her mother hearing her.

And then, out of the darkness, a great shadow leaped at her, and a
moment later Blackie, his tail wagging furiously, rose up to put his big
forepaws on her chest as his tongue licked eagerly at her face.

"Blackie!" Melissa said, doing her best to keep her. voice as soft as
possible. "Will you get down?"

Obediently, the dog dropped back to the ground, and Melissa knelt next
to him for a moment, scratching his ears and rubbing his back. Wriggling
with pleasure, the big labrador pressed against her, his tongue lapping
affectionately at her arms.

"all right," she whispered, rising once more to her feet and glancing
nervously toward the house to be sure no new lights had come on.  "Now
go home.  Do you hear me?   Go home!"

She moved up the steps to the back door.  The dog, after hesitating only
a moment, scrambled after her.

"No!" she hissed.  "You can't come in!"

She felt around for the key that Cora always kept hidden in the large
planter to the right of the door, found it and slipped it into the lock.

There was a loud click as the bolt slid free, and Melissa froze for a
moment.  But then, hearing nothing, she returned the key to its hiding
place and slipped through the door.

as soon as she closed it behind her, Blackie began anxiously scratching
at it, a disappointed whine issuing from his throat.

as the whine grew louder, Melissa uttered a silent prayer that he
wouldn't actually bark.

as she held her breath, Blackie uttered a single sharp yelp.

Instantly, Melissa opened the door again, grasping the dog's collar as
he slipped eagerly through the gap.  "all right" Melissa whispered. "You
can come in, but you have to be quiet, and you can't stay all night."

The big dog cocked his head and peered up at her exactly as if he'd
understood every word she'd said.

Her hand still clamped onto Blackie's thick leather collar, Melissa
scuttled across the kitchen to the seldom-used servants' stairs. Opening
the door to the stairwell slowly, praying that there would be no creak,
she led the dog through.

A minute later she was finally safe in her room.  She'd paused at the
top of the stairs, peeping down into the foyer beneath, half expecting
to see her mother's accusing eyes glaring back at her, but the foyer had
been empty, and she could only dimly hear the sound of the television
drifting up from the library.  Closing the door to her room, she
released Blackie, who promptly bounded onto the bed and curled up on her
pillows.  She glared at the dog. "Isn't it bad enough that you managed
to get in here?" she asked.  "If you mess up my bed, Mama will kill us
both."

Blackie's tail thumped happily against the headboard, and he made no
movement to get off the bed.  Instead he rolled over, his legs in the
air, then stared at her, his huge brown eyes pleading to have his belly
rubbed. Feigning a lot more exasperation with the dog than she really
felt, Melissa flopped onto the bed herself and began scratching
Blackie's belly.  Then, from the open window, she heard Tag's voice.

"Blackie!   Blackie, come!"

Instantly, the big dog rolled over, scrambled off the bed and ran to the
window.  as Tag called out again, Blackie reared up, placed his forepaws
on the windowsill and began barking loudly.

Melissa rolled off the bed and scuttled over to the dog.  "No!" she said
sharply, trying to clamp her hands around the dog's mouth.  Blackie
wriggled free of her hands and once more began baying loudly as Tag
called to him yet again.

"Tag!" Melissa called out the window as loudly as she dared.  "He's up
here!   Stop calling him!"

And then, behind her, Melissa heard her mother's voice, and the lights
in her room suddenly went on.

"Melissa?   What on earth?" Phyllis fell silent when she saw Blackie,
who had spun around and was now crouched at Melissa's feet, a warning
growl rumbling up from his throat.  Instinctively, Phyllis took a step
backward, but her eyes flattened with anger.  "What is that dog doing in
here?" she demanded.

"I-I'm sorry, Mama," Melissa stammered.  "I-He-When I opened the back
door-, he just sort of came in."

Phyllis' eyes narrowed.  "Came in?" she repeated.  "Dogs do not simply
come into houses.  people let them in."

Melissa nodded.  "I'll put him out," she said quickly.  "Right now."

Grasping Blackie's collar again, she attempted to push past her mother,
but Phyllis' hand clamped around her arm.

"And Why are  you home?" she demanded.  "Why aren't you still at the
bonfire with your friends?"

"I-I didn't -feel very good," Melissa lied.

"But you felt good enough to bring that dog up here so you could play
with it, didn't you?"

Melissa, trapped, nodded glumly.  "Y-Yes."

Her eyes still blazing with anger, Phyllis marched Melissa down the back
stairs and watched in silence as her daughter opened the kitchen door
and sent Blackie out into the night.  But as Melissa started back toward
the stairs, Phyllis stopped her.

"Look," she commanded.

Melissa stared at the floor at which her mother was pointing, and her
heart sank.

Across the linoleum, leading from the kitchen door to the foot of the
servants' stairs, were Blackie's muddy pawprints.  Gasping, Melissa
looked at her shirt.

It, too, was covered with brown smudges.  Fearfully, she looked once
more at her mother.

"Scrub the floor," Phyllis said, her tone of voice leaving no room for
argument.  "And while you scrub it, think about Why you left the party
early. And don't tell me you felt sick-I can see perfectly well that
you aren't.  I'll want you to tell me the truth, and then I'll decide
what needs to be done."

Phyllis turned and walked out of the kitchen.  This time, as Melissa
filled a bucket with soapy water and fished the mop out of the depths of
the broom closet, she didn't fight the sob that rose in her throat.  as
she began scrubbing the kitchen floor clean of every trace of dirt that
Blackie had tracked in, she knew that this was the best part of what was
likely to happen tonight.

The worst would be upstairs, where her mother would be waiting for her
in her room.

A cool breeze wafted in from the sea, and the dying flames of the
bonfire leaped back to life, orange fingers reaching upward into the
darkness as if seeking something to feed on.  Teri, sitting next to
Brett Van Arsdale now, his arm resting gently across her shoulders,
gazed into the blaze.  an image of another fire briefly rose out of her
memory, and for a few seconds she could hear once more the crackling
roar and the screams of her mother.

She shivered slightly and put the memory out of her mind, snuggling
closer to Brett.  Then, as the moon began to drop below the horizon, she
glanced at the watch on her wrist.

It was nearly midnight.

"I guess maybe I'd 'better be going home," she said, reluctantly getting
to her feet.

"Want me to walk you?" Brett asked, scrambling up from the sand. Teri
shrugged.  "You don't need to."

"You wouldn't want Darcy to catch you out alone at night, would you?"

Teri said nothing until they'd started down the beach, when she slipped
her hand into his.  "No one really believes that story, do they?"

"Which part?" Brett countered.

Teri glanced sideways at him in the dark.  "Well, all of it."

"I don't know if anyone really believes Darcy's still around," he
replied, then snickered softly.  "Except maybe Melissa." Then his voice
turned serious.  "But most of the story's true.  My great-grandparents
were at the dance when it happened.  Half the people around here used to
keep diaries.  And they all wrote the same thing.  There must have been
fifty people who saw what happened."

"Maybe they made it up," Teri suggested.

Brett peered at her in the darkness.  "What do you mean?"

"Well, I don't know, but it just seems like maybe they all got together
and decided it would be fun to start a ghost story."

Brett chuckled.  "You'd better come over to my house sometime and take a
look at the portraits.  One look at my great-grandfather and you know he
never made up a story in his life.  I mean, he was a lawyer, and some
kind of big deal in the church we go to in New York.  And my grandma
says she can't remember either of her parents ever laughing.  Besides,
I'll bet if you ask your dad, he'll tell you all about it."

Teri shrugged.  "Well, even if it's true, I can't believe anyone really
thinks she's still around.  I mean, it's just an old story, isn't it?
And I'll bet it's always someone else who saw her." She turned to face
Brett.  "I mean, did you ever see Darcy?   Or did anyone you know?"

Brett shrugged.  "No.  But so what?   There's lots of people who've seen
her."

"Name one," Teri challenged.

Brett stared at her for a moment, then started laughing.  "I can't
believe it," he moaned.  "Are we actually arguing about a ghost?   It
was only a story."

They were approaching Maplecrest now, and the house was dark except for
a light in the master suite on the second floor.  "Want to come in for a
Coke or something?"

Brett nodded, grinning.  "Sure.  And then you can walk me home, so
Darcy doesn't get me, and then I can walk you home, and we can go back
and forth all night."

"Forget it,"',Teri said.  "You get a Coke, and then you walk home by
yourself.  If a ghost gets you, tough."

They started across the lawn, then froze as a low growl drifted out of
the darkness.  "What the hell?" Brett said.

"It's just Blackie," Teri told him.  "He's so stupid . . . Blackie!   Go
home!"

She reached down and picked up a stick, then threw it in the direction
from which the growl had come.

There was a yelp, and then Blackie began barking, shattering the quiet
of the night.  A moment later, from upstairs, they heard Phyllis
Holloway's voice.
"Tag!  You get that dog inside!  I will not have him disturbing the
neighbors all night!"

Brett glanced uneasily at Teri.  "I think I'll skip the Coke," he said.
"She sounds pretty pissed off."

"It's okay," Teri protested.  "She really likes you."

But Brett shook his head.  "I think I'll just skip it.  It's pretty
late."

Phyllis yelled at Blackie once more, and then Tag, too, shouted at the
dog. After one last bark at Teri and Brett, Blackie trotted off around
the corner of the house.  A moment later, on the front porch, Brett gave
Teri a quick kiss before starting toward the path that would eventually
take him home.

Teri let herself in the front door and went through the dining room and
butler's pantry into the kitchen to find a Coke for herself.  But as she
did she slipped. When she turned on the light, she saw that the floor
was still damp, as if someone had washed it that night.

Cora?

It couldn't have been Cora, she always left right after supper.

Besides, Cora wouldn't have left it wet.

She fished a Coke out of the refrigerator, opened it, then went back the
way she'd come, mounting the main stairs to the second floor.  When she
got to the landing, she heard Phyllis calling out to her.

"Teri?   Is that you, dear?"

She went to the master suite, whose door was ajar, and tapped softly.,
"Come in," Phyllis said.  Teri pushed the door open, and saw her step.
mother propped up in bed, a magazine resting on her lap.  Phyllis patted
the wide expanse of the bed.  "Come sit down and tell me all about it."

Fifteen minutes later Phyllis smiled happily.  "I'm so glad you had a
good time," she said, reaching out to take Teri's hand.  "And though I
suppose it's really rather unkind of me, given what happened, I want you
to know how happy I am to have you back here again.  I've always thought
you belonged here.  You're-Well, I guess sometimes I used to feel like
you should have been my own daughter.  Is that terrible of me?"

Teri spoke gently to her stepmother.  "I don't think so," she said. "But
you already have Melissa."

Phyllis' smile faded.  "Yes," she said, "I do, don't I?   But Melissa
isn't like you.  Oh, I don't mean I love her any less, but she just
doesn't have your-well, your ability to get along.  I do my best, of
course, but sometimes I'm not sure she really cares about the things
that count.  I mean, like tonight," she went on, her voice taking on a
rough edge of annoyance.  "What must the other children have thought of
her, leaving the party just because she 'didn't feel good'?   Everyone
has times when they don't feel good, but you don't simply leave a party
because' Her words trailed off as she saw an oddly uncertain look come
into her stepdaughter's eyes.  "That was Why she left the bonfire,
wasn't it?"

Teri, her body tingling as she sensed an opportunity, ran her tongue
nervously over her lower lip as if she were reluctant to say anything,
but finally shook her head.  "It-It was the ghost story," she said at
last.  "Brett was telling us the story of Darcy, and it scared Melissa."

Phyllis groaned out loud.  "Are you telling me she ran away over a silly
ghost story?"

Teri shrugged helplessly.  "Well, it was pretty scary.  And nobody
really minded." She cast her eyes carefully-downward.  "But I suppose I
should have gone with her, just to make sure she was all right."

"Don't be silly," Phyllis retorted, her anger at Melissa's childishness
still burning within her.  "The only way Melissa is going to learn
anything is by having an example." She smiled fondly at Teri.  "And I
can't think of abetter one than you.  Besides, there's no reason in the
world Why your good time should have been spoiled by her childishness."

"Then you're not mad at me?" Teri asked, looking shyly at Phyllis once
more.

"Mad at you?   Don't be ridiculous.  I don't think I could ever be mad
at you." She squeezed Teri's hand, then offered her cheek.  "Now give me
a kiss, and run along."

A few minutes later, in the bathroom between their bedrooms, Teri
pressed her ear against Melissa's door.  She heard nothing, and finally
opened the door to slip into Melissa's room.

as before, Melissa was lying on her back, her eyes open, staring fixedly
at the ceiling.  Teri stood by the bed for a few minutes, gazing down at
her half sister.  finally, her voice all but inaudible, she spoke.

"Melissa?"

No response.

"Melissa, are you awake?"

Once again, no response.

Teri pulled the sheet back.  There, fastened securely to Melissa's
wrists and ankles, were the restraints that held her to the bed.

Teri hesitated, and then an idea came to her.  "Darcy?"

Melissa's eyes shifted away from the ceiling and came to rest on Teri.

"Darcy, can you hear me?"

There was a moment of silence, and then Melissa's lips moved.  "Yes, I
can hear you." A slight chill coursed through Teri as she heard the
voice issuing from Melissa's lips, for though it was recognizable, it
had changed somehow. There was a flatness to it, a toneless quality.

almost, Teri found herself thinking, as if a dead person had spoken. "Do
you know who I am?"

Melissa's head moved, and then Darcy's odd voice spoke again.  "You're
Teri.  Melissa told me about you."

"Did she?" Teri asked, suddenly tense.  "What did she say?"

Melissa smiled slightly.  "That she loves you very much."

Teri relaxed.  "Will you tell me who you are?"

A moment of silence, then: "Melissa's friend."

"Where do you live?"

"Upstairs."

Teri glanced upward, her heart beating faster.  "Then Why are you here?"

"Because Melissa needed me."

"Needed you for what?"

"To protect her from her mother.  When her mother's mad at her, I come
and take care of her."

Teri turned the words over in her mind, then spoke again.  "But what
happens to Melissa?   Where does she go?"

"She goes to sleep," Darcy replied.

"What about you?" Teri asked.  "Don't you want to go to sleep, too?"

Darcy was silent for a moment, then shook her head.  "I can't sleep,"
she said.  "When Melissa's tied up, I have to watch out for her."

Once again Teri thought for a while.  And then, working carefully, she
began to unfasten the restraints from Melissa's ankles.

A moment later she'd freed her half sister's wrists as well.  "There,"
she said.  "Now you can go back upstairs."

But Melissa's eyes had already closed, and now her breathing had taken
on the deep rhythms of sleep.

Her lips curving in a dark smile, Teri pulled the sheet back over
Melissa.

Silently, she slipped away, leaving Melissa alone in the darkness.

Alone, and released from her bonds....

The bonfire had burned down to no more than a pile of glowing embers,
and the breeze from the sea had taken on a dank chill.  Wisps of fog
were swirling over the beach, and as she glanced around, Ellen Stevens
shivered slightly. "Let's go home," she said to Cyndi Miller.  From the
other side of the fire pit, his face barely visible in the reddish light
of the fire, Kent Fielding grinned evilly.

"Scared?" he asked.

Cyndi Miller shook her head.  Yet as the breeze died away and the fog
began to thicken, she felt her nervousness increase.

But it was stupid-she'd grown up here, and never felt scared on the
beach at all.  All her life she'd run back and forth between her
friends' houses and her own, threading her way through the patches of
woods with never a second thought.

But tonight, somehow, it was different.

It was the ghost story.

And it was stupid, because it certainly wasn't the first time she'd
heard it. In fact, she and Ellen had been talking about it only the
other day.

Except that when they'd been talking  about  the  ghost  of  Darcy then,
the sun had been shining brightly and they'd been lying around the pool
at the club, surrounded by their friends.

Now it was night, and the fog was closing in around her, and suddenly
everything looked different.

Telling herself she was being stupid, she resolutely got to her feet
and zipped up the light jacket she'd put on an hour ago.  "Why should I
be scared?" she asked, more to hear the sound of her own voice than
anything else.

"Because of Darcy," Kent told her, his grin broadening.  "Look around-it
is just the kind of night she likes.  She can sneak through the fog,
searching for her bloody hand, and no one can see her." His voice
dropped, growing more menacing.  "In fact, she could sneak up behind
you, and reach out..."

Cyndi felt the skin on the back of her neck begin to crawl, as if there
were someone behind her, reaching toward her, but she refused to give
Kent the satisfaction of turning around to look.

"she could grab you by the neck," Kent went on.

And suddenly Cyndi felt fingers closing around her throat.

She screamed, jerked away, then spun around just as Jeff Barnstable
burst out laughing.

"Gotcha!"

Her face flushing hotly, Cyndi glared at Ellen Stevens.  "Did you know
what he was doing?"
she demanded.

Ellen, unable to suppress her own giggles, nodded.  "I'm sorry," she
finally said.  "It was just too good to pass up.  The way you were
staring at Kent.  And he kept talking while Jeff sneaked up on you-"

Suddenly, Cyndi, too, was giggling.  "Well, if Darcy really is out
there, it won't be us she comes after," she said, shifting her glare to
Jeff and Kent. "After all, it's boys she's mad at, isn't it?" She turned
to Ellen.  "Are you ready?"

Ellen nodded, shoving the last of her things into her beach bag.

"Sure you don't want us to walk you home?" Kent asked.

Cyndi eyed him archly.  "I think I'd rather have Darcy chase me than
have to fight you off," she said.

Leaving Jeff and Kent to shovel sand onto the last embers of the fire,
the two girls started along the beach.  A few seconds later, when Cyndi
turned around, the boys, and the fire pit as well, had disappeared into
the thickening fog.

Once again Cyndi shivered and moved closer to Ellen.  "I-I'm not sure I
like this," she admitted, keeping her voice low to make sure Kent and
Jeff couldn't hear her.

"Oh, come on," Ellen replied.  "It was only a ghost story, and there's
no such thing as ghosts."

And yet as she, too, peered into the dense gray mist that covered the
beach now, she felt a tiny flash of doubt.  But that's stupid, she told
herself.  there aren't any such things as ghosts.

But what  else  might  be  out  there,  concealed  in  the  fog, waiting
for  them?

"L-Let's get off the beach," she said out loud, her own voice dropping
to the same level as Cyndi's.  "The fog's never so bad in the woods."

They turned to the left and walked, a few paces, and suddenly Cyndi felt
water swirling around her feet.  "What-" she began, then shook her head
as she realized what had happened.  "We got turned around," she said,
reaching out and taking Ellen's hand.  "Come on."

They turned their backs to the water and started across the beach once
more.

Even the soft lapping of the surf was oddly muffled by the thick, nearly
black mist that had settled around them.  Cyndi found herself straining
to pierce the fog with her eyes, but no matter how she tried, she could
see nothing.  Her foot struck something, and she tripped, nearly losing
her balance.

"Are you ok?"
Ellen whispered.

Cyndi nodded.  "I think these are the steps that go between the
Fieldings' and the Chalmerses'.  How come you didn't bring a
flashlight?"

"Who thought we'd need one?" Ellen countered.  "I mean, there wasn't any
fog last night."

They moved up the wooden steps that led from the beach to the path that
formed the only boundary between the Fielding property and the ten acres
next door that the Chalmerses owned.  They came to a stand of pine
trees, and a few yards farther on, as Cyndi had hoped, the fog began to
thin.  Now they could see the trunks of trees around them, though when
they looked up, the treetops seemed to fade away into nothingness.

"It's weird, isn't it?" Ellen whispered.  "I mean, it's like everything
just ends all around us."

They moved quickly along the path, and after a few moments, off to the
right, they could see the Charmers house looming out of the fog.  Then,
as they watched, the fog grew thicker and the house slowly disappeared,
as if it had been swallowed up by the mists.  A tiny gasp caught in
Cyndi's throat. "Come on," she whispered, her voice taking on a new
sense of urgency. "Let's get to your house."

They scurried along the path for a few more yards, but although they
were moving inland, the fog seemed only to thicken.  And then, like the
cold breath of the living dead, the breeze began again.

It was nearly pitch-black now.  Something slapped against Ellen's cheek.

She yelped with shock more than pain, and as she stopped short on the
trail, Cyndi collided with her from behind.

"What's wrong?   How come you stopped?"

"S-Something hit me in the face," Ellen replied.  She reached out, her
fingers timidly exploring the damp air around her.  And then, a moment
later, she felt the familiar soft prickliness of a pine branch.  "It was
just a branch," she whispered.  She started forward again, then froze in
her tracks.

Ahead of her, somewhere in the mist, she saw something.

Indistinct, almost formless, it was barely visible.
But it was there.

"L-Look!" she whispered, reaching back to grab Cyndi's hand and pull her
forward.

A second later Cyndi was beside her.  "What?" she hissed.  "What did you
see?"

Ellen squinted her eyes, peering into the black fog.

Where a second ago there had been something, now there seemed to be
nothing.  Her heart, which had been racing in her chest, calmed
slightly.  "I-I don't know."  She thought She felt Cyndi's hand tighten
on her own as the fog ahead dissipated.

In the path ahead of them a strange form seemed to be hovering a few
inches above the path.

A white form, almost shapeless.

"Oh, God," Cyndi whispered.  "What is it, Ellen?"

"I-I don't know," Ellen replied, her voice trembling now with the fear
building inside her.

A moment later, as the fog closed in once more, the strange apparition
disappeared.

Cyndi, her hand clinging to Ellen's so hard it hurt, trembled in the
path.  "Wh-What are we going to do?   Should we go back to the beach?"

Ellen started to nod, then remembered the fog that already shrouded the
beach, blinding them completely.

"No," she whispered.  "Let's keep going.  Maybe it's nothing."

But even as she started forward once more through the dank chill of the
night, she didn't believe her own words.

They moved onward, and suddenly the invisible woods around them came
alive with unseen menace.  Everywhere, they could hear tiny twigs
cracking and the heavy breathing of invisible creatures.  They kept
going, uncertain of where they were, but too terrified to stop.

And then, from behind them, they heard a sound, louder than the rest,
and different.

A moan, low and anguished, that made them freeze in their tracks.

"Wh-What is it?" Ellen breathed.

"I don't know," Cyndi wailed, her words choking as a terrified sob rose
in her throat.

Slowly, Ellen turned around and forced herself to peer once more into
the darkness of the forest.

The wind picked up, and once again a rent appeared in the fabric of the
mist.

Standing in the path, behind them now, was the distinct form of a girl,
her face veiled, in a white ball gown.

The figure didn't move, but simply stood still in the path,  staring  at
them.

Then, slowly its right arm came up and a finger pointed at them.

Ellen stared 'at the figure for a moment.  Panic welled up in her and a
scream emerged from her throat as she turned and fled down the path,
ignoring the pine branches that whipped at her face, the tendrils of
vines that threatened to entangle her feet.

Only a few feet behind her, struggling to keep up, Cyndi Miller also
fled from the terrifying specter that emerged from the fog.

Jeff Barnstable and Kent Fielding were making their way across the broad
lawn in front of the Fieldings' rambling shingle-style house when they
heard Ellen scream.

For a moment neither of them was sure where the cry had come from, but
then Kent broke into a run.  "It was from behind the house," he yelled
to Jeff. A second later both boys were racing through the fog, Kent
leading the way, his feet so familiar with the landscaping around his
home that he had no need to see where he was going.  At the back of the
house the blackness of the fog was brightened to a pale gray as the
floodlights on the terrace came on. His father, clad in a flannel
bathrobe, stepped through the French doors from the living room.

"Kent?" Owen Fielding called.  "Is that you?"

I'm over  here,  Dad,"  Kent  called  back  as  Jeff  caught  up with
him.

"Someone screamed."

just then, both of them crying, Ellen Stevens and Cyndi Miller staggered
up the terrace steps and ran to Mr. Fielding.

"Ellen?" Owen asked, as both girls clung to him.  "Cyndi?   What's
wrong?

was that you. screaming?"

Cyndi, repining her breath barely enough to talk, nodded.  "We-We saw
something out there," she said.  "In the woods."

Jeff and Kent, moving closer to the girls, eyed them suspiciously.

"What?"

Kent asked, exchanging a knowing glance with Jeff, a scornful grin
already playing around the corners of his mouth.

Cyndi stared at him.  A glimmer of doubt entered her mind as she saw the
white running suit Jeff was wearing.  Instead of answering Kent's
question, she asked one of her own.  "was that you in the woods?"

Kent's grin faded slightly.  "We were just coming up from the beach," he
said.  "We had to put the fire out, remember?"

Her breathing finally settling back to normal, Ellen looked up at Owen
Fielding.  "We-We saw something in the woods," she said.  Her eyes
shifted to Cyndi, as if pleading for help.  "It-It looked like a ghost,"
she went on, her words sounding hollow now that she was safe on the
Fieldings' terrace, the terrifying darkness and fog held at bay by the
glowing halogen floodlights. "At least, it looked like..."

"It looked like Darcy!" Cyndi Miller said.  Her voice, much stronger
now, had taken on a defiant note as she met Kent's mocking eyes.

"Oh, sure," Kent drawled.  "We sit on the beach and tell ghost stories
all night, and then the fog comes in and the moon goes down.  The two of
you were already so scared you'd have thought a bush was a ghost."

"That's not true!" Cyndi shot back, turning to Ellen.  "Tell them,
Ellen. Tell them what we saw."

"It-It looked like a girl," Ellen said.  "The first time we saw her, she
was in front of us, and we weren't really sure what it was.  It kept
disappearing in the fog.  So we kept going, and then we heard something
behind us."

"It was like a moan, or something," Cyndi interrupted.  "Really scary."

Now Ellen's eyes shifted from Kent and Jeff to Owen Fielding.  "And when
we turned around, there she was.  It was a girl, wearing a white dress,
with a veil over her face."

"She  was  staring  at  us,"  Cyndi  added,  shivering  at  the memory.

"And  then
-And then she pointed at us."

She  turned  away  from  Kent's  skeptical  smirk  and looked instead at
his father.  "It's true, Mr. Fielding," she said.  "That's what we Saw.
You believe us, don't you?"

Owen Fielding, one arm still around Ellen Stevens's shoulders, reached
out to give Cyndi's arm an encouraging squeeze.  "Well, I certainly
believe you believe that's what you saw," he said.  "But before we all
scare ourselves to death, Why don't we go inside and make some cocoa.
And then I'll drive you home." He waited for a moment, and as he'd
expected, the girls did not object to his offer of a ride, although
neither of their homes was more than a few hundred yards away.  "You
guys coming in?" he asked as he steered the girls toward the French
doors.

Kent hesitated, glancing at Jeff, then shook his head.  "I-I think maybe
we'll take a look around," he said.

Owen Fielding chuckled appreciatively.  "have a good time," he said,
"and don't stay out all night.  And be careful," he added with a
mischievous leer before he closed the doors.  "The girls might be right.
Darcy might be out there, and she might be looking for you."

Half an hour later, with the fog so thick they could barely see their
hands in front of their faces, the boys were back.

They had seen nothing.

They had heard nothing.

And yet, as they hurried back toward the glow of the floodlights on the
terrace, both of them had the eerie sense that someone--anyone they
could neither see nor hear-had been watching them.

Phyllis Holloway woke up at six-thirty the next morning, rolled away
from the bright shaft of sunlight pouring through the window, and opened
her eyes.  She'd been dreaming, a wonderful dream in which she'd been at
the August Moon ball, proudly watching her daughter-the most beautiful
girl in the room dancing with Brett Van Arsdale.  an the women she'd
known for years, the women who had made her life miserable with their
deliberate slights and their snubs made only more hurtful by their
subtlety, were gathered around her, complimenting her on her daughter's
beauty and hanging on every word she had to say.

In the dream, Teri MacIver had been her daughter.

She lingered in bed, clinging to the warm comfort of the dream, then
remembering once again the conversation she and Teri had when her
stepdaughter had come home last night.

It had been the kind of talk every mother dreams of having with her
daughter.

And the kind that had been denied her with Melissa, she reflected
bitterly.

Sighing, she threw back the silk sheet and got out of bed, pulling on a
robe before leaving her room to go down the corridor toward her
daughter's room.

She paused outside Teri's door, then tapped softly in the vain hope
that Teri might call her in and she could put off going in to Melissa
for a few more minutes.  But when there was no answer, she went on to
the room next door, giving the mahogany panel only a perfunctory tap
before turning the knob and letting herself in.

She stopped just inside the door, frowning.

Melissa was sound asleep, lying on her side, her right arm curled up
under her pillow.

Her frown deepening, Phyllis strode across the room and pulled back the
sheet that covered her daughter.

The restraints-the leather straps and nylon mesh belts that she'd
carefully secured to her daughter's limbs the night before-were lying
haphazardly across the mattress.

"Melissa?" Phyllis said.  "Melissa!"

Her daughter stirred on the bed, then rolled over, pulling the pillow
with her to cover her head.

Phyllis reached down and jerked the pillow away, then grasped Melissa's
shoulder and shook her sharply.

Startled, Melissa sat up, her eyes snapping open.  as she recognized her
mother, she automatically drew back against the headboard.

"Look!" Phyllis commanded, pointing at the straps that snaked across the
mattress.

Melissa's eyes widened as she stared at the restraints, then her gaze
shifted to her mother.

"I didn't take them off, Mama," she began.  "I can't. I-"

"Then who did?" Phyllis demanded, her voice rising dangerously. Melissa
cowered back, drawing her legs up so her knees pressed against her
chest.

"I asked you a question, Melissa.  I expect an answer!"

Melissa's eyes darted about the room as if searching for a means of
escape, but there was none.  "D-Darcy-" she stammered, then instantly
wished she could retrieve the forbidden name.  But it was too late.

"Darcy.?" her mother repeated, flinging the word back at Melissa like a
missile.  "I thought we were through with that nonsense."

Melissa swallowed hard, trying to free herself of the lump that had
suddenly formed in her throat.  "Y-Yes, Mama," she whispered.

"Then who did it?" she demanded.  "Who took the restraints off you?"

Melissa,  her whole body trembling now, shook her head helplessly.

Phyllis moved closer to the bed, leaning forward so she loomed above her
daughter.  Her hand rose up as if she were about to strike the girl.

From the door, Cora's voice stopped her.

"Oh,  I'm  sorry,  ma'am,"  the  elderly  woman  murmured.  "I didn't
know you were up yet."

Phyllis spun around.  "really.?" she asked.  "Is that what you've been
doing, Cora?   Releasing Melissa's restraints, then sneaking in here in
the morning to put them back?"

Cora lurched back a half step, the accusation striking her like a
physical blow.  "Oh, no, Ma'am," she breathed.  "I wouldn't do that."

"Wouldn't  you?"  Phyllis  cut  in,  her  voice  edged with heavy
sarcasm.
"Well, if you would, it wouldn't certainly be the first time you'd
disobeyed my orders.  I swear, I don't know Why Charles insists on
keeping you here." She strode across the room, and Cora scuttled out of
her way. "We'll talk about this later, Cora," she said as she passed the
housekeeper.

A minute later, as she poured herself a cup of coffee from the urn in
the breakfast room, she was startled by the sound of Teri's voice.

"Is something wrong, Phyllis?"

She turned, then smiled as she saw her stepdaughter, already dressed in
a pair of khaki pants and a white blouse, looking worriedly at her. just
looking at Teri seemed to ease some of her anger.

"Oh, it's just Cora," she said.  "She went into Melissa's room last
night and -" She cut herself off abruptly.

Teri's eyes widened and her right hand rose to cover her mouth.  "Oh,
dear," she breathed.  "You're talking about those straps, aren't you?"

Phyllis stared at the girl for a moment, confused.  "Why-Why, yes," she
said at last.

"But it wasn't Cora who undid them," Teri said.  "It was me."

Phyllis slowly sank into one of the six wicker chairs that surrounded
the breakfast table.  "You?" she asked.  "I'm afraid I don't
understand."

Coloring slightly, Teri's eyes dropped to the floor.  "I-Well, I went in
to say good night to Melissa.  And she looked so uncomfortable, all tied
down like that.  Well I just felt sorry for her, so I undid the straps."

Phyllis' frown deepened for a moment, but then her expression cleared
and the sharp words that had been on the tip of her tongue died away. "I
see," she breathed.

"'I'm sorry if I did something wrong," Teri said, her voice soft and her
eyes still fixed on the floor.  "I didn't mean to-I just- well, she just
looked so miserable."

The last of her anger draining away in the face of Teri's apparent
unhappiness, Phyllis held out her arms to the girl.  "Of course you
didn't do anything wrong," she said.  "You didn't know what the
restraints were for, and you were just trying to help."

Teri brightened.  "You're not mad at me?"

"Of course not," Phyllis assured her.  She sighed, picked up her cup of
coffee and took a sip before going on.  "It's just that-well, Melissa
has had some problems.  She-She sleepwalks sometimes, especially when
she's upset, and I'm afraid she was very upset last night.  So
sometimes, to keep her safe, I have to put the restraints on her."

Teri gasped.  "But I could have hurt her!" she exclaimed.  "If I'd
known, I never would have done it."

Phyllis  reached  out  and  patted  Teri's  hand  affectionately. "Well,
don't worry about it," she said.  "Apparently she stayed in bed last
night, so no damage was done." Her smile faded and she stood up.  "I
suppose I'd better go talk to Cora.  I accused her of doing it, and if I
don't make some show of apologizing, she'll probably ruin dinner."

Taking her coffee with her, Phyllis started toward the kitchen.

Alone in the breakfast room, Teri poured herself a cup of coffee and
looked happily out through the glass at the perfect morning outside.

The sun was shining out of a cloudless sky, and there was no longer even
a trace of the fog that had come in so late last night.

Teri smiled to herself, and wondered if it was too early to call Cyndi
Miller or Ellen Stevens.  She could hardly wait to hear what had
happened after she'd left the bonfire last night.

Thwack. Melissa's tennis racket connected with the ball, and for the
first time that morning she heard the nice solid sound that meant she'd
finally hit the sweet spot.  The ball arced over the net, and she held
her breath as her father backed away from the net, swung at it...
and missed!

The ball sailed over his head, and suddenly Melissa was afraid it was
going to go too far, but then it started falling, dropping onto the
court just an inch inside the baseline.

"Good shot," Charles called to her.

Flushing with pleasure, Melissa trotted back to her own baseline, took a
bead on her father's forecourt, and tossed a ball into the air.  Her
swing was a fraction of a second too late, and the ball drove into the
net.  She saw her father move forward, preparing himself for the easy
job she always used for her second serve.  She waited for him to get
into position, already knowing what she was going to do.

She was ahead 0-15, and even though she was certain her father was
deliberately missing a lot of easy shots, he did it so well that so far
this morning she hadn't been able to catch him at it.  But  this  time,
if  she  were lucky, she'd get a point by really earning it.

She tossed the second ball into the air, but instead of lobbing it
slowly and reasonably accurately-across the net to drop right into the
middle of his court, she put all the force she could muster into her
swing. Thwack!  and the ball shot over the net, straight Once again she
hit the ball low, speeding past her father to strike the forecourt just
inside the line. He stared at her in surprise for a moment, then a grin
spread across his face. "I figured you'd take that risk sooner or
later," he called.  "I just wasn't expecting it right now."

Flushed with her victory, Melissa moved to her backcourt, spread her
legs and waited for her father's first serve.  A moment later the ball
came over the net, but too late she realized he'd pulled the same trick
on her she'd just worked on him.  Instead of his usual fast and low
first serve, the ball was arcing high, and Melissa started running
forward.  But she misjudged the distance, and when she finally got close
enough to the ball to swing at it, she missed completely.

"For heaven's sake, Melissa, her  mother's  voice  called from the
next court.  "How could you miss a simple shot like that?"

Melissa froze, flushing scarlet with embarrassment.  Why couldn't they
have stayed home like they usually did, she wondered, and played on
their own court?   Then at least everyone wouldn't have to hear her
mother criticizing her.

But of course she knew the answer-her mother had decided she wanted to
play today, too, and had insisted the whole family come to the club.

"But you can't get courts on Sunday," Melissa had protested.

Phyllis had shaken her head.  "I called early in the week and reserved
two for us this morning.  You and your father can play, and Teri and I
can play.
Then we can switch.  It'll be  fun."

So far, to Melissa's surprise, it hadn't been nearly as bad as she'd
anticipated.  At first she'd felt self-consciously certain that everyone
was staring at her.  But when she hadn't heard any laughter as she
muffed her first four serves, she finally looked around.
No one was even watching her.

In fact, the few people who were watching the activity on the tennis
courts at all had their eyes on Teri, and after sneaking a few glances
at the next court herself, Melissa  knew  Why.

Teri, looking gorgeous in  her  whites,  had  obviously  played  tennis
before.
And Melissa had had a sneaking suspicion that Teri was giving her mother
almost as many points as their father was giving her.

But  now,  the  match  with  Teri  over,  her  mother  was  watching
her.

all her insecurities flooding back, Melissa took up her position for her
father's serve.

And missed again.

Six serves later, the game, and the set, were over.  Though Melissa had
at least managed to connect with two of her father's serves, her
mother's scrutiny had made her so nervous that she'd blown both the
shots, firing one of them into the net and the other one right over the
fence, where it went bounding around among the breakfast tables that
were set up on the wide terrace between the tennis courts and the swimming
pool.

"What happened?" her father asked as he came around the end of the net.
"You were doing so well."

Melissa shrugged.  "I just fell apart," she said, unwilling to admit
that it had been her mother's critical gaze that had made what few shots
she had crumbled.

Her father smiled at her.  "It's harder when people are watching," he
said, his voice dropping.  "But don't worry about it nobody plays tennis
well all the time."

Melissa grinned.  "I bet Teri does," she said.  "In fact, I bet she
could beat you in straight sets."

Charles glared at his daughter with exaggerated outrage.  "You'd bet
against your own father?   That's treason!"

Melissa giggled.  "Then go on," she urged.  "try to beat her."

"And you," Phyllis chimed in, "can try to beat me!"  Melissa's breath
caught in her throat.  Though her first instinct was to plead that she
was too tired, she instantly changed her mind.  For the last week since
the bonfire, in fact things had been going better.  Her mother hadn't
seemed to criticize her as usual, and Melissa was thinking she knew Why.

Teri had been protecting her.

The day after the bonfire had been the worst, before that morning Cyndi
Miller had Teri to tell her about the ghost the night before.  And when
Teri had told her about it, Melissa had a horrible moment of panic,
thinking that she'd been sleepwalking.

But Teri had insisted she didn't have anything to worry about.  "Even if
it was you, nobody believes Cyndi and  nobody saw anything- And we'll
tell Phyllis it happened before I got home, She'll think you were still
tied to the bed."

Melissa had impulsively thrown  her  arms  around  Teri.  "Would  you
do  that for me?" she asked.

"Of course," Teri replied.  "I'm your sister, aren't I?   You'd do the
same for me, wouldn't you?"

Melissa had nodded, but still hadn't been certain it would work.  But
when her mother finally heard the story, Teri had been as good as her
word.

"But it couldn't have been Melissa," she'd insisted.  "Cyndi and Ellen
left at the same time I did, so it must have happened while you and I
were talking.  Besides, I was reading for at least an hour after I went
to bed, and if Melissa had gone out, I'd have heard her.  She'd have had
to go right past my door, and there's a squeaky board."

To Melissa's relief, her mother had accepted the story.  Since then,
with her mother convinced that she hadn't walked in her sleep, she'd
even been able to sleep without her restraints.  But if her mother got
mad at her now, with her father going back to the city tonight...

She came out of her reverie and forced herself to smile.  "Okay," she
said. "Do you want to serve?"

"Don't be silly," Phyllis replied.

Her mother lobbed the ball directly to her, and she managed to return
it. It came back right in front of her, and once more she hit it back
over the net. But when she'd returned it a third time, her mother
suddenly stepped to one side, chopped hard at the ball, and it shot past
Melissa almost before she realized it was coming.

"my serve," Phyllis announced.

Twenty minutes later, with the first set over and the second set at 3-0,
Melissa felt tears of frustration welling up in her eyes.  So far she
hadn't scored a single point against her mother, and the longer the
torture went on, the worse things got.

On the second court, Teri and her father were hard at it, and her
father, completely occupied with trying to keep up with Teri's game,
hadn't even noticed what was happening to Melissa. Now, as her mother
prepared to serve, Melissa's eyes wandered once more to the second
court.  Teri, playing close to the net, was firing the ball back at her
father, whose shirt was showing splotches of sweat as he darted back and
forth across the court, doing his best to, return his elder daughter's
shots. Suddenly Melissa heard the sharp snap of her mother's racket
hitting the ball, and jerked her eyes away from the other court.  But it
was too late, for just as she turned, the ball ricocheted off the court
a couple of feet in front of her, smashing into her chest with enough
force to make her yelp with pain. Before she could say anything, her
mother's voice, harsh and grating, followed the ball toward her.

"really, Melissa If you're not going to concentrate on the game, I don't
see Why you want to play it at all.  It hardly makes it any fun for your
opponent, you know!"

Melissa's emotions, held in check for so long, suddenly boiled over.

"You knew I wasn't ready," she cried.  Tears, caused more by outrage
than by pain, streamed down her cheeks.  "And it's not any fun for me,
either!  all I'm doing is chasing balls for you!"

On the other court, Charles let Teri's last shot slip past him, turning
toward the sound of his younger daughter's voice just in time to see her
drop her racket on a bench by the gate and rush off the court, her head
down, her shoulders hunched over.

"Melissa?" he called, starting after her.

"Oh, for heaven's sake, Charles!" Phyllis snapped, her voice cutting
sharply through the morning air.  "just let her go!   The only way she's
going to learn to be a good sport is by taking her losses with good
grace.  And she can't learn to do that as long as you throw every game
to her and make up to her every time she bursts into tears."

Charles's jaw set, he started off the court, ignoring his wife's words.

But then Teri spoke.
"Daddy,.?   Aren't we going to finish our game?"

He hesitated, turning to look back at Teri, who was standing on the
other side of the net, disappointment in her eyes.  He vacillated for a
moment, then stifled a sigh, knowing that if he abandoned the game with
Teri to go after Melissa, it would only mean a fight with Phyllis later.

For once Melissa would have to take care of herself.

His hand tightening on his racket, he went back to his game, while
Phyllis settled down on one of the benches to watch.

Tag grasped the machete with both hands, raised it over his right
shoulder like a baseball bat, then swung.  The blade shown brightly in
the sunlight, then struck the main trunk of the ivy that clung to the
east face of the house, slicing almost through it before it lost its
momentum and stuck fast.  He grunted, twisted at the blade, then pulled
it loose, letting it drop to the ground as he paused for a moment to
catch his breath.  He'd been working steadily for nearly two hours, but
it seemed as if there was still almost as much ivy on the wall as when
he'd started.  Still, when his eyes shifted to the Pile of vines that
already lay on the lawn at the base of the wall, he knew he must be
making some progress.  But was it really possible for the ivy to double
its mass as he pulled it off the house?   He wiped the sweat and grime
from his forehead with the right sleeve of his shirt, then picked up the
machete once more.  A moment later, with another swipe of the big blade,
he finished cutting through the vine's thick stem.  Then began the fun
part.

Grasping the stem with both hands, he began pulling it away from the
face of the wall, feeling the tendrils reluctantly give up their grip on
the stones with which this side of the house was faced.  The game he
played with himself was simple-the whole idea was to see how much of the
plant he could work loose before the main stem itself broke and the
whole thing collapsed down on him.

Half an hour ago, working carefully, he'd managed to get everything
loose except a few tendrils that had stubbornly clung to the crevices
around the attic dormer, and when the mass of vine had finally fallen,
it completely covered him.  Blackie, surprised at his master's sudden,
disappearance, began barking madly, then started digging at the tangle,
burrowing in as if trying to save Tag.  In the end he. had spent more
time freeing the wriggling dog from the snarl than in getting himself
loose.

He gave the main stem another exploratory pull.  Near the second floor
the stem split, the larger half of it snaking off to the right.  If he
could work that part free, the weight of the vine itself would pull the
rest of it loose. just as he was about to start working at it, Blackie
began barking, then dashed off across the lawn, his tail wagging
furiously.  Cocking his head, Tag abandoned the ivy for a moment,
turning to watch the dog.

A moment later Melissa, her head down, her hands stuffed in the pockets
of her shorts, appeared at the head of the path that wound through the
woods toward the club.  as Blackie bounded up to her, her hands came out
of her pockets to fend off his leap.  "Stop that!" Tag heard her say,
her voice trembling.

"Melissa?" he called out.  "Hey, Melissa" She glanced over at him, then
turned away.  Frowning, Tag trotted across the lawn, catching up to her
as she was about to duck around a curve in the trail.  "Hey!   What's
wrong.

Melissa was still for a moment, but finally turned around.  Tag could
see she'd been crying-her cheeks were still stained with tears and her
eyes were circled in red.

"You know." Melissa snuffled then reached down to pet Blackie, who was
pressed against her.  "Ok, I guess," she sighed.

Tag's head tilted slightly and he placed his hands on his hips.  Melissa
had been like a sister to him almost since the day she was born, and
she'd never been very good at hiding her feelings from him.  "So if
you're okay, how come you've been  crying?"

"I'm not crying,"  Melissa replied.

"Big deal-you were a minute ago.  What happened?"

She still hesitated, he moved toward her.  "You might as well tell me,"
he said.  "I'll keep pestering you till you do."

almost against her will, a tiny smile crept into the corners of
Melissa's mouth.  "You can't.  You have to get the ivy off the wall, and
if you don't do it, I might tell Mother on you."

"Sure," Tag agreed.  "And I might jump over the moon."

A giggle escaped Melissa's lips, and she fell in next to Tag as they
started walking toward the house.  By the time they came to the tangle
of ivy that was heaped on the ground next to the east wall, Melissa had
told him what happened at the club.  "I know I can't beat her," she
said, sighing heavily. "But how come she has to make a fool of me?"

"Cause she's mean as shit, Tag thought, but decided he'd better keep the
words to himself.  Then, his eyes falling on the machete, he had an
idea. "You want to beat up on her?" he asked.  Melissa frowned in
puzzlement.

"What do you mean?"

"Maybe you should try doing what I do," he said.  "Sometimes, when I get
real pissed off at someone, I start hacking away with the machete, and
pretend whatever I'm hacking at is the person I'm mad at." He handed the
machete to Melissa, and nodded toward the heap of ivy.  "I've got to
chop all that up to get it out of here anyway," he went on.  "try it."

Melissa gazed at Tag for a few seconds, trying to decide if he was
serious. At last she reached out and took the machete from him.  She
grasped it with her right hand, but when Tag released it, she almost
lost her grip.

"Careful," Tag cautioned.  "If You drop it on your foot, you can kiss
your toes good-bye."

Melissa grasped the handle of the huge blade with both hands, eyeing the
Pile of ivy.  "What am I supposed to do?" she asked.  "I feel stupid."

"Who are you mad at?" Tag countered.

"MY . . . MY mom."

Tag tilted his head toward the Pile of vines.  "Then Pretend that's
her," he said.

Melissa stared at the pile of ivy, trying to figure out how she could
pretend that it was her mother.  Then she had an idea.
She pictured the ivy as hair.
Human hair.

Her mother's hair.

And suddenly her rage of a few moments ago, the rage she had carefully
gotten under control as she walked home from the club, welled up inside
her.

"I hate you!" The words erupted from her, and as she spoke them she
raised the machete over her head.  A second later it arched, and as the
blade sliced downward through the tangle of vines, she imagined it was
her mother she was hitting.

She slashed at the ivy again, and inside her she could feel the dam
she'd built around her anger begin to crumble.  Her pent-up fury raged
like a torrent, down into her arms and out the slashing, whacking blade
of the heavy machete.  She kept at it, moving forward a step at a time
as the pile of vines disintegrated under her attack.

She pushed on, chopping at the vines, and as her arms rose and fell, she
kept seeing and hearing her mother over and over again.

Ridiculing her clothes criticizing her figure, correcting her manners.

Standing over her, the dreaded restraints held in her hands.

The machete kept moving, rising and falling, as Melissa slashed away at
the hateful images Then, as suddenly as the rage had built up inside
her, it was gone.

She dropped the machete to the ground and stood panting for a moment as
she stared at the destruction she'd caused.  And then she heard Tag's
voice behind her.
"Feel better?"

She blinked, and turned around to face him.  Her arms were sore from
swinging the blade and she was sweating all over.

But she felt better.

The anger-the simmering fury that had threatened to overwhelm her only a
few minutes before was gone.  A crooked grin spread across her face.

"That's weird," she breathed.  She was silent for a moment.  "But it felt
good. Really good."

An hour later, his match with Teri over and Teri herself already
involved in another-this time with Brett Van Arsdale-Charles sank down
at a table on the terrace and gratefully took a sip of the drink
Phyllis had ordered for him. "I guess I'm not as young as I used to be,"
he said, finally catching his breath. "Whoever taught her how to play
did a good job."

Phyllis, watching Teri volley with Brett, smiled happily.  "She's
wonderful, isn't she?   And isn't this nice, finally being able to spend
a Sunday morning at the club while our daughter plays tennis with her
friends?"

Charles's eyes narrowed.  His voice took on a hard edge.  "In case
you've forgotten," he said, dropping his voice so only Phyllis could
hear it, "our daughter went home in tears, thanks to you. just once in a
while you could give her a break."

Phyllis' smile froze on her lips.  "I'm just trying to do what's right
for her," she countered.  "You're not helping her by constantly letting
her win." She paused for a moment, waving to Kay Fielding, who
nodded back at her, then returned her attention to her husband.  "She's
not stupid, you know exactly what you're doing, and all it does is
undermine her self-confidence even more."

Charles took another sip of his drink while he considered his wife's
words. was she right?   was he spoiling Melissa?   Probably he was after
all, during the summers, he only got to see her on weekends, and even
when they were in the city he was often so busy he only had an hour or
so a day for her.

And he still remembered what Burt Andrews had told him two years ago,
when Melissa's sleepwalking had first manifested itself.  The morning
that Cora had found her in the little room in the attic, sound asleep,
with no memory of how she'd gotten there, neither he nor Phyllis had had
any idea of what to do.  But at last he'd called their family doctor in
the city, who had immediately recommended a psychiatrist in Portland.

And Andrews, if nothing else, had at least eased their worries.

Sleepwalking, he'd told them, was not in and of itself a terribly
serious problem.  He'd suggested a light restraint-just something strong
enough to wake Melissa up when she started to leave her bed at night.

But most of Andrews's advice had been directed at Charles himself: "You
have to be careful, Mr. Holloway.  all fathers have a tendency to spoil
their daughters, and since you gave Teri up to her mother, you're going
to have a very strong tendency to overindulge Melissa.  It's simply a
matter of guilt."

"But I don't feel guilty," Charles had replied.  "I gave up Teri, it was
best for her.  It was either that or drag her through the courts for God
only-knows how long."

"I'm not arguing that," the doctor had interrupted.  "I'm sure you did
exactly the right thing.  But I'm afraid guilt isn't rational, and no
matter how logical your actions were, you're going to have to guard
against spoiling Melissa to compensate for your subconscious feelings
that you abandoned Teri.  It puts both Melissa and your wife in a
difficult position.  Phyllis becomes cast as the disciplinarian, and
Melissa gets mixed messages from her parents, and becomes confused.  And
out of the confusion . . ." His voice had trailed off, leaving the
thought hanging, but Charles had understood it perfectly well.

Whatever Melissa's problems were, the root of them lay within himself.

And Andrews, he supposed now, was probably right.  But still...

"I guess I just don't see how humiliating her in public is going to
help," he began.  Before he could go on, Phyllis cut him off.

"And I don't see how airing our dirty laundry at the club is going to
help anything at all," she said, her voice brittle.

Charles's eyes fixed coldly on his wife, and when he spoke, his voice
had a note to it that told her she had pushed him far enough.  "Then
don't do it," he said.  "If you can't bring yourself to let Melissa have
some fun at tennis no matter how poorly she plays-then don't play with
her at all."

Phyllis' jaw set angrily, but she said nothing, and  for  the  next half
hour the two of them sat at their table, nodding to the people who
passed by, talking briefly with Marty and Paula Barnable when they
paused on their way to brunch.

To each other, they spoke not another word.

"Ready to go home?" Charles asked Teri after she'd finally lost her
match with Brett and joined them at the table.

Teri's brows rose questioningly.  "I thought  we  were  staying  for
brunch."

Charles smiled sympathetically.  "I know, but don't you think we ought
to go see how Melissa's doing?"

Phyllis stirred in her chair, her head turning almost imperceptibly
toward her husband.  "Why don't you go?" she suggested.  "Teri and I
can stay here, and perhaps Melissa might feel like coming back with
you."

"No," Charles said, his tone once more conveying that he would stand for
no argument.  "I can't imagine she'd want to come back here today, and I
don't blame her.  So if you're finished with your drink..." He let his voice
trail off, signed the check, and rose to his feet.

Phyllis,  on the verge of arguing, suddenly changed her mind, but did
her best to smile at Teri.  "When your father makes up his mind," she
said, not quite bringing off her attempt to make light of their quarrel,
"it just doesn't do any good to argue with him."

Ignoring his wife's comment, Charles strode across the terrace, Teri
hurrying after him.  Phyllis, seething silently, followed more slowly,
deliberately taking her time.

Ten minutes later, as they climbed up the gentle rise from the beach to
the edge of the lawn, Phyllis came to a sudden halt.  On the lawn in
front of the house, Melissa and Tag were engaged in a playful wrestling
match, with Blackie doing his best to join in.

"Melissa!" Phyllis called, the sharpness in her voice instantly bringing
her daughter to her feet.  "How many times have I told you you're too
old for that sort of thing?   You're a teenager now, and I expect you to
act like one."

She strode across the lawn, but as she approached Melissa, Blackie put
himself between the two of them, a low growl rumbling in his throat.

Phyllis stopped short, glaring at the dog, then turned her anger toward
Tag.  "This is the last time I'm going to tell you, Tag.  If you can't
keep that dog under control, I'm going to get rid of it.  And as for
you, young lady," she went on, refocusing on Melissa, her eyes raking
the grass stains on her daughter's white shorts and blouse, "I want you
to get upstairs right now and get yourself cleaned up.  Those clothes
you're wearing are brand new, and I'll be surprised if they're not
ruined."

Her happiness while playing with Tag having evaporated like dew in the
morning sun, Melissa turned and fled into the house.

"Very good, Phyllis," Charles said tightly before he hurried after his
younger daughter.  "At this rate, we should have her back to Dr. Andrews
before the end of the summer."

Teri lay restlessly on her bed.  A book was propped on her lap, but she
was no longer even trying to concentrate on its pages.  Instead, her
mind kept replaying the scene where her father had left to go back to
the city for another week.

Once again she'd stood silently to one side while he gathered Melissa
into his arms, whispering into her ear, making plans with her for the
next weekend.  finally, glancing at his watch, he'd turned to Teri,
giving her a quick hug.

"Take care of Melissa for me?" he'd asked.

Take care of Melissa!   What was she?   A baby-sitter?   Wasn't it bad
enough that Melissa had thrown one of her tantrums at the club and
ruined brunch for everyone?   But she'd given her father her sweetest
smile and promised to take care of her half sister.  "We'll have a great
time," she'd said.  "Maybe I'll even give her some tennis lessons."

That, she reflected now, would be a real thrill.  She could picture
herself, standing in the center of the private court behind the swimming
pool, lobbing one easy shot after another to Melissa and keeping up a
steady stream of encouragement, no matter how clumsy her half sister
might be.

"Good, Melissa!   That's a lot better!"

"Great shot, Melissa!   Right past me."

The whole idea of it made her want to throw up, but she could do it-she
would do it, if she had to.

just as long as Melissa kept thinking of her as her best friend.

And by the time Melissa caught on, if she ever did,  it  would  be  too
late.

Far too late.

She shifted on the narrow bed, her hips aching slightly from the
too-hard mattress, and an image of Melissa flashed into her mind, lying
in her own oversized bed in the huge room next door.

My room, Teri thought.  My room, in my house, with my father.

But not for long.

She got out of bed, pulling on her bathrobe as she moved restlessly to
the Open window.  Outside, a thin layer of fog was drifting in from the
sea-no more than a gentle swirl of mist that eddied around the treetops,
blurring their forms just enough to give them an eerie, ghostly look.

Darcy weather, Teri thought to herself.  just the kind of night when a
ghost would be wandering around the beach.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a nearly inaudible whining sound,
followed by a faint scratching noise.

Blackie.

It had to be the dog, sniffing around the back door, trying to sneak
into the house again.

Maybe she should let him in.  She could bring him upstairs and slip him
into Melissa's room.

And in the morning . . .

Her mind shifted gears as another idea came to her.  She thought about
it for a few seconds, playing it out.

It would work.

She went to the highboy next to her closet door and opened the top
drawer, feeling around until her hands closed on the string of pearls
her father had sent her for Christmas last year, the string of pearls
identical to the ones in Melissa's own drawer.  Slipping them into the
pocket of her robe, she went into the bathroom, listening for a few
minutes at the closed door to Melissa's room.

She opened the door a crack, peering inside.

Yes!

it was going to be all right.

Once again Phyllis had left Melissa's bed restraints off, and Melissa
was curled up on her side, her head sunk deep into her pillow.  Teri
could even hear the steady rhythms of her breath as she slept.

Satisfied, she closed the door again, then moved silently back into her
own room, locking the bathroom door behind her.  She switched off the
lamp on her nightstand before going to the door, opening it a crack, and
pausing to listen once more.

The house was silent.

Teri opened her door wider, slipped out into the hall and pulled the
door closed.  Carefully, she inserted the old-fashioned key into the
lock, wincing at the distinct click the bolt made as it slid in.  The
hall was lit only by the small night-light at the head of the stairs,
but Teri made her way easily through the gloom and a few seconds later
was at the foot of the main staircase.  She crossed the foyer and went
through the dining room and the butler's pantry to the kitchen.

Blackie's snuffling and whining At the door was louder, and when he
scratched at the door, the rasping of his claws seemed oddly amplified.

Teri moved toward the door, and for a moment Blackie's whining grew
eager as he heard the approaching footsteps.  But when Teri opened the
door, the whine turned into a low growl.

"It's me, Blackie," Teri whispered, holding the door wide open.  "Don't
you want to come inside?"

Blackie, his tail dropped low to the ground, backed away a couple of
feet, and growled deep in his throat.

Teri stooped down, holding her hand down and stepped outside onto the
back Porch toward the big dog. Blackie hesitated, as if confused by the
gesture, but then stretched his neck out to sniff suspiciously at Teri's
fingers.

"Good dog," Teri whispered.  "See?   It's only me.  You don't have to be
frightened." She rose up from her crouch and moved closer to the dog,
but Blackie backed warily away from her.

For a moment Teri considered trying to grab his collar, but then changed
her mind.  If the dog got frightened and ran off into the woods or down
to the beach, she'd never find him.

an idea came to her.  "Stay," she whispered.  "Stay there!"

Blackie hesitated a moment, his eyes riveted to her, then sank down onto
his haunches.  Leaving the kitchen door open an inch or two, Teri went
back inside and searched in the cupboards until she found a box of Milk
Bones. Taking one of them, she went back to the door.

Blackie was exactly as she'd left him.

Here," she whispered.  "Do You want this?"

Blackie's neck stretched forward and whined pleadingly, but when Teri
reached out to him, he shied away once more, slinking down the steps and
a few yards out onto the lawn.  But as Teri spoke to him again, he
turned back.

Come on, don't you want a cookie?   Don't you see what Teri has for the
nice doggie?"

Once again  the  whine  rose  in  Blackie's  throat,  and  this  time,
as  Teri moved closer to him, he held his ground.  His head came up and
he stretched his neck out to take the treat.

as she gave Blackie the Milk Bone with her left hand, the fingers of her
right hand slipped through his collar.  "Good," she said.  "That's a very
good dog."

Blackie, munching happily on the Milk Bone, wagged his tail.

While he chewed, Teri used her left hand to untie the thick terry-cloth
belt of her robe and pull it free from its loops.

as Blackie finished the Milk Bone, licking the last crumbs from the
closely-cropped lawn, she slipped the belt around his neck.

"That's right," she crooned softly.  "That's such a good dog."

The belt was all the way around Blackie's neck now, and finally Teri
released her grip on his collar to take the other end of the belt.

Blackie looked up expectantly, hoping for another treat.

And Teri, with a sudden jerk, pulled the terry-cloth belt tight around
his neck.

The big dog's eyes jerked wide open as his breath was suddenly cut off.

He tried to twist free from the noose, but Teri lifted him half off the
ground and stood straight up, lifting him so that his forequarters suspended
helplessly from the knotted belt.  His legs lashed out, kicking wildly
as he searched for something to brace himself against, and then his lips
curled back as he bared his fangs. His hind legs, still touching the
ground, clawed helplessly at the lawn as he tried to free himself from
his tormentor, but as Teri began jerking on the belt, yanking it first
one way and then the other, he lost what little traction he had.

The struggle went on, eerily silent in the darkness of the foggy night,
and for a moment Teri thought she might lose her grip on the belt.

But then, with a sharp snap, the battle came to an abrupt end.

Blackie's body, sixty pounds of violently thrashing bone and muscle,
suddenly went limp as his neck broke, severing his spinal cord.

Teri held onto the belt for a few more seconds, until she was certain
the dog was dead.  Then, half carrying Blackie's corpse and half
dragging it, she went back into the house and started up the servants'
stairs.

At first Melissa didn't know what the sounds were; didn't even know when
she'd first become aware of them.  She was sitting alone in the
featureless white room, a room that sometimes seemed so immense she
could barely see the walls that surrounded her.  But at other times
those same walls seemed to press in on her with a terrifying closeness
that made her feel as if she were suffocating.

She didn't  know  Why  she  was  in  the  white  room  or  how  long
she'd  been there.

But she knew it was some kind of punishment, some kind of penance she
was required to suffer for some crime she couldn't even remember having
committed.

But the room had been silent, so silent that the only sound she'd been
able to hear at all was the quiet rasping of her own breath and the
rhythmic beating of her own heart.

It seemed as though she'd been sitting  in  the  silence  forever,  but
at  some point the sounds had begun.

She knew what they were now.

They were footsteps.

They  had  an  ominous  sound  to  them,  and  Melissa  knew  that
whoever was approaching the room was coming for her.

The footsteps would not pass her by and fade away again.  Instead they
would stop, and then she would have to wait.

Wait for the door to open.

The hollow thumping grew louder, and suddenly the wall began to close
in, moving toward her, threatening to crush her.  She looked around,
searching for a door or a window, but there was nothing.

And even if there were a way to escape the room, all that waited beyond
was the walls pressed in yet closer, and suddenly Melissa lashed out at
them, shoving back at them with all the strength she could muster.

She jerked awake, and for a moment didn't know where she was.  Then, as
the remnants of the dream slipped away from her consciousness, the room
began to take shape around her.

Her room.

She was home, and in bed, and . . . Tied up.

Her  heart  sank.  Had  her  mother  come  back  tonight,  after  she'd
gone  to sleep, and put the restraints on?

The familiar panic she always felt at the sight of the hateful straps
boiled up inside her, and in her mind she started to call out for Darcy.

But even as she summoned her friend, her muscles automatically
contracted against the bonds.

And her legs moved.

She wasn't strapped down at all.

Instead, she was tangled up in her sheet, one of her arms pinned to her
side.  She rolled over, squirming, and the sheet released its hold on
her. Working her arm loose, she began tugging the folds of material away
from her body, and finally kicked the sheet away entirely.  She sat up,
reaching for the sheet to straighten it out.

And heard the footsteps again.

Clear and distinct, they echoed in the silence of the night.

Melissa froze, listening.

The footsteps came again, and for a moment Melissa was certain that it
was her mother after all.  She must have cried out as she woke up from
the dream, and wakened her mother.

There was a thump, and then the footsteps sounded once more.

But not from outside  her  room,  not  from  beyond  the  door  to  the
hallway.

From above.

From the attic.

Melissa's breath caught and she unconsciously held it, waiting for the
sound to come again.

It came.  Once, twice, three times.  Then silence.

A moment later it happened again.  Three distinct steps, and then
silence.

Darcy.

Melissa released her breath as the name Came once more into her mind.

But it couldn't be Darcy-Darcy wasn't real.  She'd made Darcy up
herself.

Or had she?

The footsteps echoed from the ceiling once more, and at last Melissa got
up and put on her robe, then found her flashlight in the second drawer
of her desk.  She opened her door a crack and peered out into the
hallway.

Pulling the robe close around her and tying its belt, Melissa crept out
into the hall, leaving her door open.

She moved slowly toward the far end of the corridor, coming at last to
the door behind which lay the stairs to the attic.  She hesitated.

What if her mother woke up and heard the footsteps, too?

What if her mother found her in the attic in the middle of the night?

But it wouldn't be like the other times.  This time she was awake and
knew what she was doing.

At last she turned the knob and pulled the door open- The stairs, the
familiar flight she'd n up and down hundreds and hundreds of times, now
aPpeared steeper.

Steeper, and darker, rising upward into what seemed nothing more than a
black void.

She switched on the flashlight, but its beam barely penetrated the
darkness.

And yet, despite the darkness, the ominous shadows above seemed to be
reaching out to her, beckoning her.  Taking a deep breath, Melissa
started up the stairs.

She came to the top and stepped through the second door, into the attic
itself.  She paused, listening, but the seconds ticked by and she heard
nothing.

She reached for the light switch, and the single bare bulb that, was the
attic's only light came on.

Suddenly Melissa stood in the center of a pool of light, and the
darkness in the far reaches of the attic grew even deeper.  Then, as if
from far away, she heard a faint sound, almost like a soft chuckle of
laughter.

A  twinge  of  panic  grasped  at  her.  Could  there  really  be
someone  up here?

And then she understood.

Teri.

It had to be Teri, playing a trick on her.

The fear drained away from her and she giggled out loud, but cut the
laughter short as it echoed loudly around her.  "Teri?" she whispered as
loudly as she dared.  "Come on, I know it's you."

There was silence for a moment, and then the strange chuckle came again.

Melissa listened, trying to determine from which direction it came.

"Teri?   Where are you?"

She began playing the light around the attic, certain that at any moment
she would catch her half sister in its beam.

A moment later, as she aimed it toward the far end of the musty chamber,
the end above her own room, a figure loomed up in the darkness.

A figure clad in white, its face veiled.

And next to it, suspended from the rafters by a white rope, was
Blackie's corpse.

Even from here she could see the dog's grotesquely twisted head and
bulging eyes, see its swollen tongue hanging over its sagging jaw.

And around the dog's neck she saw something else, something that made
her blood run cold.

It was a string of pearls.

pearls her father had given her for Christmas last year.

She stood spellbound, her eyes fixed on the softly glistening beads as
her mind tried to accept what it meant.

She began moving forward, her vision narrowing until the string of
pearls blotted out all else around it.  She reached out, her fingers
touching the pearls, and then clutched at them, pulling them over the
dog's head.

A split second later a scream erupted from her throat, shattering the
silence in the attic.  Panic welled up inside her, overwhelming her, and
she bolted toward the door, leaving the light on as she pounded down the
stairs. She reached the second-floor hall, turned the corner and hurled
herself through the door of the master suite.  an instant later a light
came on and her mother sat up in bed, staring at her in bewilderment.

"Melissa?   What on earth?"

"It's Blackie," Melissa wailed.  "I saw him, Mama.  I saw him!"

The last vestiges of sleep dropping away from her, Phyllis reached for
her robe.  "What on earth are you talking about, Melissa?   If you've
brought that dog into the house

"But I didn't," Melissa cried.  She was crying now, tears streaming down
her cheeks as she instinctively ran to her mother.

But instead of taking her into an embrace, Phyllis grasped Melissa's
arms and sat her firmly on the edge of the bed.  "Melissa, I haven't the
slightest idea what you're talking about.  Now stop crying and tell me
what's wrong!"

With an effort of pure will, Melissa caught the sob that was rising in
her throat.  "U-Upstairs," she stammered.  "He's upstairs.  He-He's
dead, Mama."

Phyllis stared at her daughter, exasperated.  "Melissa, I haven't the
vaguest idea what you're talking about."

"Blackie," Melissa wailed.  "I keep telling you, Mama.  He's up in the
attic. He-He's dead!"

Slowly, the story coming out in fragments, Melissa tried to tell her
mother what had happened, but even as she repeated what she had seen,
she could tell her mother didn't believe her, finally, when Melissa was
done, Phyllis shook her head.  "Melissa, you know how I feel about the
things you make up.

"But I'm not making it up, Mama," Melissa pleaded, offering her mother
the string of pearls.  "I found these up there."

Phyllis eyed the necklace.  "Your pearls, Melissa?   Why would they have
been in the attic?"

"Th-They were around Blackie's neck," Melissa stammered, her voice
quavering as her sobs threatened to overwhelm her.  "If you don't
believe me, go up and look!"

Phyllis abruptly stood up.  "I will," she said, taking Melissa's hand
and pulling her off the bed.  "We'll both go.  And," she added, her
voice ominous, "I hope for your sake you haven't made all this up."

Phyllis marched her daughter out of the bedroom and down the hall. They
came to the Turn at the main stairs, and Melissa stopped abruptly as she
saw Teri, clad n her pajamas and bathrobe, standing at her door.

"Melissa?" Teri asked, cocking her head as a worried frown creased her
brows.  "What's wrong?   I thought I heard someone scream a few minutes
ago."

Melissa wiped at the tears that still flooded her eyes, and nodded.

"I-it's Blackie' she began, but her mother didn't let. her finish.

"She seems to think she saw that stupid dog up there along with some
kind of ghost.  It's nonsense, of course, but she insists I go see."

Teri's eyes widened.  "can I go, too?" she asked.

Phyllis hesitated, then smiled grimly.  "Why not?"

A few seconds later, with Teri right behind her, Phyllis mounted the
stairs to the attic.  Melissa, still too terrified by what she'd seen to
go back up to the shadowy chamber beneath the roof, hovered in the hall
on the second floor. A few seconds later, though, Melissa heard her
mother's voice speaking to Teri.  "Well, there's the ghost, anyway!" Her
voice rose as she called down the stairs.  "Melissa, come up here."

Melissa hesitated, and Phyllis spoke again, her voice sharp.  "Did you
hear me?   I told you to come up here!"

Melissa crept up the stairs, already certain that something had
happened, that whatever she'd seen, her mother and Teri had not.

"Look," her mother said as she reached the top of the stairs.  "Is that
what you saw?" Melissa's eyes followed her mother's pointing finger, and
she felt an icy stab of apprehension as she saw the old dressmaker's
mannequin.

The mannequin she and Teri had seen only a few days earlier.

The mannequin that still wore an old white ball gown.

The mannequin that, only a few minutes ago, must have looked like a
ghostly figure looming in the shadows.  Her chest tightening, Melissa's
eyes searched the attic for any trace of Blackie.

"Look  around  carefully,"  she  heard  her  mother's  voice instructing
her.

"Where, exactly, did you see the dog.?"

A lump rose in Melissa's throat, and she tried to swallow it.  "O-Over
there," she breathed.  "Right by the mannequin."

Grasping her daughter by the hand, Phyllis threaded her way across the
cluttered floor until they stood only a foot from the mannequin. "Well?"
she demanded.  "Do you see him?"

Melissa shook her head.

"But you said he was right here."

Melissa nodded.

"And now he's not." When Melissa made no answer, Phyllis jerked at her
arm.  "He's not here, is he?"

"N-No, Mother."

"And there's no ghost wearing a veil, is there?" Phyllis demanded.

"N-No."

"Then what happened?" Phyllis asked, her voice taking on a patronizing
tone, as if she were talking to a five-year-old.

"I-I don't know," Melissa whispered, her eyes darting around the attic,
searching for something, anything, that might Prove what she'd seen.

"Well, then, since you don't seem to know what happened," Phyllis went
on, starting back toward the stairs, "Why don't I tell you.  You had a
bad dream, that's all"

"But it wasn't a dream," Melissa insisted, her eyes instinctively going
to Teri for support.  "I heard footsteps up here and came to see what
they were.

"I-I thought it was you. teri."

Teri shrugged, shaking her head. "It wasn't me," she said.  "I was
asleep.  I only woke up when you screamed."

"But-"

"But nothing," Phyllis declared.  "You've been up here-you've seen that
there's nothing here.  If you were up here before and really saw what
you say you saw, then you must have been walking in your sleep again."

The words battered at Melissa's mind.  was it possible her mother was
right?   Could she have been sleepwalking again, and only dreamed the
sounds she'd heard and the things she'd seen?

It didn't seem possible.

She stared once more at the pearls still clutched in her hand.  "But I
found the-" she began.

Her mother cut her off.  "You brought those in hoping to convince me you
were telling the truth.  But it won't work.  You're going back to bed,
and this time you'll stay there."

Melissa felt a chill as she heard the words, for she was certain she
knew exactly what her mother was talking about.  And when they got back
to the second floor, her mother's next words confirmed her fears.

"Why don't you go on down to the kitchen, Teri?" she suggested.  "Put on
some milk for cocoa, and I'll be down in a minute." She paused, her eyes
fixing on her daughter.  "as soon as I get Melissa settled into her
bed," she finished.  But instead of going with Melissa to the room at
the end of the hall, she sent her daughter ahead.

When she came into Melissa's room a minute or so later, the girl
flinched as she saw the straps in her mother's hands.

"I don't like these any more than you do," Phyllis said as she began
fastening the leather cuffs around Melissa's arms and legs.  "But I just
don't know what else to do.  You can't just wander around the house at
night, can you?"

Melissa made no answer, for the moment she had seen the dreaded straps
in her mother's hands, she had called out to Darcy to come and help her.

And Darcy had responded, sending Melissa instantly to sleep while she
herself stayed awake to endure the terror of the bondage.

Half an hour later Teri came back upstairs with Phyllis, kissed her
stepmother good night, and returned to her room.  She waited until she
heard the door to the master suite close, then went to the bathroom
door, unlocked it, and moved through the bathroom itself to Melissa's
door. She paused, listening, and heard nothing.

finally, she opened the door and slipped through it into the darkness of
Melissa's room.  Her bare feet padding silently across the floor, she
went to the bed and looked down into her half sister's face.

Melissa lay on her back, her eyes open, staring at the ceiling.

"Melissa?" Teri whispered.  "Are you awake?"

There was no answer.

Teri smiled in the darkness, her lips curving upward in an expression of
hard cruelty.  "They're going to think you're crazy," she whispered.

"They're all going to think you're crazy, and they're going to lock you
up."

Laughing silently to herself, she returned to her room and quickly
drifted into a deep and dreamless sleep.

Teri awoke a second or two before the alarm on her nightstand went off,
her hand clamping over the little clock before its soft buzzing reached
full volume .  She peered at the clock's dimly glowing hands; it was
four-thirty, and outside her window the sky was still black.  She lay in
bed for a few minutes, listening to the night sounds, but there was
nothing out of the ordinary; only the chirping of crickets and frogs
against the backdrop of gentle surf lapping at the beach.

The house itself was silent.

She slipped out of bed, pulled her robe on, and went to the window.

Beyond the pool, Cora Peterson's house was no more than a shadow against
the dark mass of the woods at whose edge it sat.

Next she crept into the bathroom, where she listened at Melissa's door
for a moment.  But Melissa wasn't a problem, for Teri knew that she had
at least a couple of hours before Phyllis would come in to take the
restraints off her half sister.

And all she needed was a few minutes.

Going back into her own room, she dressed as quickly as she could,
fumbling only a little bit in the darkness.  At last she found her
sneakers, exactly where she'd placed them last night, right next to the
night table.  She slipped her bare feet into them, pulled the laces
tight and tied them.

She crept to her door, listening once more before she opened it, but the
house was still as silent as a tomb.  A smile of satisfaction curving
the corners of her mouth, she pulled her door open, slipped through it
and shut it silently behind her.

She crossed the broad landing around the head of the staircase, brushed
past her stepmother's door, then turned right into the guest wing.

At the end of the hallway she came to the closed door of the servants'
stairs.

She opened the door, stepped  through it into the pitch-black shaft and
pulled it shut behind her.  Now, blinded by the total darkness, she was
operating only by her memory of her earlier climb up these stairs, when
she had been carrying Blackie's corpse up to the attic.  The moon had
still been up then, and there had been enough light coming in the
skylight at the top of the stairwell to see the turns in the stairs.

Now, though, she had to feel her way along, carefully counting the steps
as she went.

If she stumbled on the way down . . .

She put the thought out of her mind.  So far, almost everything had
worked perfectly.

The only bad moment had been when Melissa, instead of running screaming
from the attic the moment she saw Blackie, had taken the pearls from his
neck first.  She hadn't counted on that happening.  She'd assumed that
the sight of the dead dog would be enough to send her half sister into
hysterics. But Melissa had crossed the attic, almost as if she didn't
believe what she was seeing.

And then she'd taken the pearls.

Teri, hidden behind a trunk a few feet away, had almost panicked when
that happened.  But even as Melissa had run screaming back to the
stairs, she'd figured out what to do.  Untying Blackie's body, she'd
stuffed it into one of the trunks, then hurried back down the servants'
stairs to the second floor. By then Melissa was already in her mother's
room, blubbering out her story, and Teri had slipped by unnoticed in the
darkness of the hallway.

She'd unlocked her room and gone through the bathroom into Melissa's
room.  Melissa's pearls were exactly where Teri had found them a few
days before, and she'd been back in her own room, the pearls hidden away
in her own chest, long before Phyllis and Melissa had started up to the
attic.

The whole thing had worked perfectly.

She came to the top of the stairs and pushed the door open.  Its unoiled
hinges squealed in protest, and Teri froze, but then reminded herself
that she was at the other side of the house.  No one could possibly have
heard the faint squeaking noise.

She began threading her way through the attic, groping in the darkness,
until finally she came to the trunk in which Blackie's body lay.  She
opened it, lifted the dog's dead weight out onto the floor, then eased
the lid back down.

Five minutes later, the corpse heavy in her arms, Teri emerged into the
kitchen.  She went out the back door, making her way across the lawn to
the shelter of the Pool house.  A faint glimmer of light was showing on
the eastern horizon now, and above 'her the night sky was losing its
inky blackness.

Taking a deep breath, her arms already beginning to ache from the weight
of Blackie's corpse, she started across the patio around the pool.

And froze.

From somewhere in the darkness, eyes were watching her.

But it was impossible-the house was dark; everyone was asleep.

She turned, scanning the house once more.  The windows were all dark and
everything seemed peaceful.  But then, as she turned away once more, a
flicker of movement-barely visible caught her eye.

The attic.

Had someone been at the small dormer window in the attic, looking out at
her?

She paused for a moment, thinking, her eyes fixed to the window.  But as
the sky began to brighten further, she decided she'd been mistaken.

There was nothing there; no eyes were watching her.

She was safe.

She skirted the pool house, then paused once again, gazing intently at
Cora's house before crossing the lawn toward the old potting shed behind
the garage.

"But what's it for?" she'd asked Melissa only a few days ago, when
they'd come across the crumbling lean-to while her half sister was
giving her a tour of the grounds.

"It's where the gardeners used to grow flowers.  They'd plant the seeds
in pots in here, so when they went into the garden they were already
blooming. But nobody's used it for years."

"Why don't they tear it down?" Teri had asked, gazing at the sagging
walls.  "It looks like it's about to collapse."

Melissa giggled.  "It is.  But every time Daddy says he's going to have
someone pull it down, Mom tells him she's going to use it for something.

Once it was going to be an art studio, and another time she was going to
do ceramics.  But she never does.  She never even comes near it."

Which was Why Teri had thought of it tonight.

Dropping Blackie's corpse to the ground she pulled the door open.

Inside, just as she remembered when she'd peered into the shed before,
were the loose floorboards.  It only took her a moment to lift three of
them free.

She went back outside, picked Blackie up for the last time, and carried
him up the steps.

Less than a minute later it was over.  The floorboards were back in
place and the crumbling shack was exactly as she'd found it.

Except that now it concealed  Blackie's  body  in  the  space  beneath
its  floor.

"It's all right," Darcy's voice whispered.  I'm going away now, and it's
all right for you to wake up.

Melissa came awake slowly, her eyes fluttering for a moment, finally
opening as Phyllis loosened the last of the straps that held her to the
bed.  She felt a flash of panic as she saw the restraints, but a moment
later her mind cleared and she realized the night was over.  It was
morning, and a stream of bright sunlight was pouring through the window.

"What, time is it?" she asked.

Phyllis' brows rose slightly.  "Oh, so you've finally decided to speak
to me?" Melissa gazed blankly up at her.  "Oh, please, Melissa.  Why do
you always do that?"

D-Do what, Mama?" Melissa asked, her voice wary.  was it possible she'd
already done something wrong this morning.?   But she'd just awakened a
second ago And then the memory of the scene in the attic last night came
flooding back to her.  was her mother still angry about that?   But it
wasn't fair.

She had seen Blackie up there, and Phyllis' sharp voice broke into her
thoughts.  "Do you think I don't notice?" her mother demanded.  "You
don't fool me, young lady.  I know you're always awake when I come in."

Awake?   What was her mother talking about?   "But I wasn't," she began.

Her mother silenced her with an angry look.  "Don't lie to me, Melissa.
I know you hate the restraints, but they're for your own good.  How do
you think it makes me feel when I come in in the morning and you just
stare at the ceiling, then pretend to be asleep when I start taking them
off?   If you don't want to say good morning to me, fine.  But don't
insult my intelligence by pretending to be asleep."

Suddenly Melissa understood.

It wasn't she who had been awake when her mother came in.

It had been Darcy, watching over her, letting her sleep through the
night.  She shuddered slightly, wondering how Darcy could stand it,
remembering the panic she herself always felt when her mother came in
with the horrible straps.  But Darcy didn't seem to mind them at all.

"I-I'm sorry, Mama," Melissa murmured.  "I just-I guess maybe I wasn't
quite awake yet."

Phyllis, slightly mollified by her daughter's apology, nodded.  "all
right," she said.  "It's almost eight.  Teri and I have already had
breakfast, and we're going to the club."

Melissa nodded automatically, and a moment later her mother was gone.

Melissa went into the bathroom, stripped off her pajamas, and took a
shower. as she was pulling on her favorite pair of faded jeans a few
minutes later, she heard Tag's voice drifting in through the open
window.

"Blackie!  Here boy!   Come on, Blackie!"

Melissa's heart leaped.  She must have been wrong last night after all.
if Tag was calling Blackie.  But then she remembered the pearls.

Instantly, her eyes went to her nightstand, where she'd put them last
night.

They were still lying there, exactly as she'd left them.

She pulled a T-shirt, on over her head and ran to the window.  Tag was
moving along the edge of the lawn that bordered on the woods, calling
out to the dog every few yards.  She watched him for a moment, her
throat constricting as she realized what she had to do.

She shoved her feet into a pair of sandals and hurried downstairs. Cora,
alone in the kitchen, smiled at her, tilting her head toward a glass of
orange juice on the counter.  "Your mama and Teri are already gone," she
said.  "I saved you some juice, and I've got some bacon in the oven. And
I could fix some eggs."

Melissa shook her head at the offer, and Cora looked sharply at her. "Is
something wrong?   You look-"

"Blackie's gone, isn't he?" Melissa asked.

Cora  caught  her  breath.  "Well,  now,  I'm  not sure you could say
that, but-"

"But he is, isn't he" Melissa insisted, reading the truth in Cora's
expression.

"Well, he didn't come in last night," she admitted.  "But like I told
Tag this morning, that's right normal for a dog.  I mean, all it'd take
is one female in heat, and you have to expect him" . . ." Her words
trailed off as Melissa dashed out the back door, running across the lawn
toward Tag, already calling out to him.

"Tag Tag!"

He was just about to go into the woods when Melissa's words stopped him.

He turned around to see her trotting toward him.  A few minutes later
she was beside him.

"He's gone, isn't he?" she asked, her breath coming in quick pants.

Tag's brow furrowed slightly.  "How'd you know?"

Melissa hesitated, remembering once more the look on her mother's face
last night when she'd told her about seeing Blackie's body hanging from
a rafter in the attic.  Would Tag look at her that way, too?   "I-I saw
him last night," she said.  "Anyway, I think I did."

Tag cocked his head uncertainly.  "What do you mean, you think you saw
him?"

"Well, I don't know," Melissa went on.  "Mama said I had a nightmare, or
made the whole thing up.  But I didn't." Slowly, she told him the whole
story, starting from when she'd awakened and heard the footsteps in the
attic. When she was finished, Tag's frown deepened.

"And there wasn't anything there at all when your mom took you back up?"

Melissa shook her head.  "Nothing but a dumb old mannequin with a dress
on it," she told him.

"Well, mannequins don't make footsteps," Tag replied.  "Maybe we should
go up there and see what we can find."

Melissa's eyes widened slightly.  "Do you think we should?"

"Why not?" Tag asked.  "I mean, it's your attic, isn't it?   Did your
mom tell you not to go up there?"

Melissa shook her head, and the two of them started back toward the
house.

Twenty minutes later their search was over.

The mannequin still stood in the  attic,  but  there  was  no  sign  of
Blackie.

"But it still  could  have  been  a  dream,"  Tag  insisted  as  they
went  back downstairs.

"It wasn't!" Melissa insisted.  "I wasn't dreaming, and I wasn't
sleepwalking.  I know what I saw!  Besides, what about the pearls?
They were around Blackie's neck!"

"Hey, take it easy," Tag protested.  "I wasn't accusing you of lying.  I
just meant-Well, you do walk in your sleep sometimes.  Maybe----Well,
maybe you took the necklace up there yourself."

Melissa's eyes darkened.  "I didn't!   I wasn't sleepwalking, and I know
what happened."

Tag backed away a step or two.  "all right," he said, his voice rising
in the face of Melissa's anger.  "Then you tell me what happened!   What
did you do?
Kill him yourself?"

Melissa's mouth dropped open.

But she could say nothing more, for suddenly she realized that what Tag
had just said was exactly the same thought that had been lurking in the
back of her own mind.

It had been her necklace around Blackie's throat.

If she hadn't put it there, then who had?   Nobody else even knew where
she kept it.

was it possible that she had been sleepwalking.?

Could she have done it and not remembered?

The footsteps.

What about the footsteps?

What if she hadn't heard them at all?   What if they had only been part
of the dream she'd had?

Suddenly she felt as if her head were stuffed with cotton.  Nothing made
sense anymore. She couldn't figure out what was real and what had only
happened in her own mind.

She felt as though she were going crazy.  Her eyes welled with tears and
a sob rose in her throat, threatening to choke her.  "Y-You really think
I could have killed him?" she finally asked, her voice trembling in
spite of her efforts to control it.

Tag groaned.  "Aw, come on.  Why would I think that?   I just Said it
because you were acting like you were mad at me.  Of course you didn't
kill him. Why would you have?"

"But if I didn't, where is he?" Melissa countered, her voice breaking as
the tears in her eyes finally began running down her cheeks.  "Where is
he, Tag?"
she repeated.  "What if I killed him and don't even remember it?"

Without waiting for an answer, she fled into her room, slamming her door
behind her.

Teri lay stretched out on a chaise longue, her eyes closed against the
brilliance of the morning sun.  She felt good-she'd played a set of
tennis with Phyllis, which she'd managed to let her win, then beaten
Ellen Stevens in straight sets.  After that, she and Ellen had gone for
a swim, and ever since then she'd been lying by the pool, enjoying the
warmth of the sun and the babble of voices around her.

A shadow fell on her face, and she opened her eyes to see a dark
silhouette looming above her.  She squinted, trying to make out who it
might be, and was just about to sit up when a splash of icy water hit
her legs.  Gasping at the shock, she jumped off the chaise, then spun
around to see Brett Van Arsdale standing at the edge of the pool,
grinning at her.  "You looked like you might be burning, so I decided to
baste you," he said.

"Oh, really?" Teri replied.  "well, how's this for a basting?" With a
quick shove she pushed him into the pool, then dived in after him,
hitting the water just as he broke the surface.  Grabbing his shoulders,
she shoved him under again and pushed away, twisting out of his grip as
he reached for her.

He caught up with her halfway across the pool, and she barely managed to
snatch a breath of air before he pulled her below the surface.  She
struggled for a moment, freed herself, then shot away, finally
slithering out of the pool a fraction of a second before he caught up
with her.  By the time he'd scrambled out of the water, she was already
drying herself off with the towel one of the pool boys had brought her
the minute she'd appeared on the terrace.  Finished with it, she handed
it to Brett, then stretched out on the chaise again.  A moment later
Brett dropped down on the one next to her.

"You going to the dance next weekend?" he asked.

Teri cocked her head.  "What dance?" she asked.

"The costume party," Brett replied.  "It's next Saturday, and if you're
not going with anybody His voice trailed off, and Teri grinned
mischievously at him.

"You mean you want me to go with you?" she asked.

Brett flushed, nodding.  "If you want to."

Teri was about to accept his invitation, then hesitated.  What about
Melissa?   Would she be allowed to go if no one asked her half sister?

She glanced over to the table where her stepmother was sitting talking
to Brett's mother. After this morning, she suspected that Phyllis
wouldn't care whether Melissa went to the dance or not.

But what about her father?   In her mind she heard his words once again.

"Take Care of Melissa for me, okay.?"

And then, once more, an idea began to take shape in her mind.

"It sounds like fun," she said, smiling at Brett.  But then she let her
brows form into a frown.  "But-Well, what about Melissa?"

The grin that had spread across Brett's face wavered.  "Melissa?" he
repeated.  "What about her?"

Teri's eyes shifted demurely to her lap.  "Well, it would be kind of
mean of me to go without her, wouldn't it?   I mean, I just got here,
and hardly know anyone.  How would she feel if I went with you, and no
one asked her?"

Brett's tongue ran nervously across his lower lip.  "What am I supposed
to do?" he asked.  "Find a date for her, too?"

Teri looked up at him, her expression a perfect mask of surprise. "Could
YOU?" she asked.  "Could you really?"

Brett swallowed.  Now what had he gotten himself into?   Who did he know
who would be willing to go anywhere with Melissa Holloway?   "I-I don't
know," he hedged.

Teri's smile faded away.  "Well, then I don't see how I can go, either.
I just don't think it would be right for me to leave her sitting at home
by herself."

Then, as if she'd just thought of it, she brightened.  "What about Jeff
Barnstable?"

Brett stared at her.  "Jeff?   What made you think of him?"

Teri hesitated, then lowered her voice.  "if I tell you a secret, will
you promise not to tell anyone else?" Brett nodded.  "Melissa has a
crush on him," Teri went on.  "If you can get him to ask her, then I'll
go with you."

"What if I can't?" Brett asked.

Teri shrugged.  "You can," she said.  "You'll find a way."

an hour later Brett found Jeff Barnstable sprawled out on a towel on the
beach in front of Kent Fielding's house, a pair of earphones on his head
and a magazine in his lap.  Kent himself was stretched out on his
stomach, apparently asleep.  Dropping down on the sand next to his
friend, Brett turned the volume on the Walkman all the way up, then
snapped it off.  Jeff jumped at the sudden blast of sound in his ear,
then glared up at Brett.

"Hey, man, what the hell'd you do that for?"

"I've gotta talk to you.  I've got a problem."

"Melissa?" Jeff howled after Brett explained what he wanted him to do.

"Gimme a break, man.  You think I'm going to ask Melissa Holloway for a
date?   Do I look crazy?"

"Aw, come on," Brett replied.  "What's the big deal?   What about that
cousin of yours I went out with last year?"

Jeff rolled his eyes.  "It's not the same thing.  My cousin is at least
human."

"Barely," Brett shot back.  "Besides, what's so terrible about Melissa?
She wasn't so bad at the bonfire the other night-"

"Right," Jeff drawled.  "Until she got all upset and went running home
to her mommy.  Of course," he added, his voice taking on a sly note, "if
you want to make a deal He let the words hang in the air.  "What kind of
deal?" Brett asked suspiciously.

"The Porsche.  Let me drive the Porsche Saturday night and all day
Sunday, and I'll think about it."

Brett hesitated.  He'd only had the car six months, and so far he hadn't
let anyone else drive it at all.  And then, unbidden, an image of Teri
came into his mind.

She was smiling at him, and in her eyes . . .

"all right," he said, agreeing to the deal before Jeff had a chance to
change his mind.  "We'll call them this afternoon.  Okay?"

Jeff, who'd been almost certain Brett would Turn the deal down,
hesitated. But then he saw himself behind the wheel of the black sports
car, speeding along the road that wound in a series of hairpin curves
along the coast.  Surely he could put up with Melissa for a couple of
hours, he decided.  And maybe he could even figure out a way to bribe
some of the other guys into taking her off his hands every now and then.

"Okay," he agreed.  "I'll ask her."

Kent Fielding rolled over and sat up, blinking in the sun.  "And you
might get lucky," he suggested, grinning at Jeff.  "I mean, you could
always get sick on Saturday night, couldn't you?"

Jeff and Kent stared at each other for a moment, and then both of them
burst out laughing as they imagined the look on Melissa's face if Jeff
were to stand her up.

"It's perfect," Teri declared, her eyes reflecting her excitement as she
examined the dress she'd just found on the rack at the back of the
Historical Society thrift shop.  "Don't you just love it?"

Melissa's brow furrowed as she tried to see the dress through Teri's
eyes, but to her it looked like exactly what it was-an old prom dress,
maybe from the fifties, with a princess waistline and puffed sleeves.

The skirt, made of satin, had a stain on it, and its hem was partially
ripped out.  Over the satin was a layer of tulle that might once have
appeared to float like a cloud around the dress but now hung limply, its
netting badly snagged.  It might once have been pink, but its color had
faded badly, and was now a sort of uneven peach.

Melissa's eyes shifted from the dress to her half sister.  "It's
horrible," she said.

"It isn't, either," Teri protested.  "Let me try it on." Without waiting
for an answer, she disappeared behind a curtain that was hung across the
door of a makeshift dressing room, and Melissa went back to picking
through the racks of discarded clothes in search of something that might
pass for a costume.

She still wasn't sure she really wanted to go to the dance on Saturday
night.  In fact, when Jeff Barnstable had called on Monday afternoon,
she'd been certain he was playing some kind of joke on her, and told him
she'd call him back.  But when she'd asked Teri about it, Teri had
insisted that the invitation is real.
"We're to double date," she explained.
"We're going with Jeff and Brett."

Melissa had looked at Teri suspiciously.  "Whose idea was it?"

"Well, I don't know," Teri had hedged.  "We were just talking about it
at the club this morning, and we all sort of decided it together."

Melissa had still hesitated, but then Phyllis came out to the terrace
where they were sunning themselves.  "Decided what?" she'd asked, and
before Melissa could stop her, Teri had told her mother about the
invitation.  "Well, of course you'll go," she said.  "It's just perfect
for your first date."

"But I don't-"

"Not another word," Phyllis told her, and though she'd kept smiling, her
voice had taken on a hard edge that warned Melissa that she would
tolerate no argument.  "After all, I am on the Social Committee this
year.  How would it look if my own daughter didn't go?   And Teri can
help you find a costume. Besides," she'd added, "it will give you
something to think about other than that dog."

Melissa had said nothing, certain that whatever she might say about
Blackie would only make her mother angry.  Besides, what could she say.?

She and Tag had searched everywhere they could think of, walking through
the woods, calling out to Blackie, but there had been no sign of him.

And Melissa had only become more confused as they searched.  If she'd
really seen the dog in the attic, then Why hadn't they been able to find
his body?

was it possible that the whole thing really had been a nightmare, that
she had, after all, been walking in her sleep?   Could she have seen the
whole thing only in her mind and only awakened when she screamed?

She hadn't dared talk to anyone about it except Teri, and even Teri
hadn't been able to think of an answer.  "He probably just ran away,"
she'd said. "Then she'd grinned mischievously.  Or maybe Darcy got him."

Darcy.

Melissa had been thinking about it ever since, trying to figure it out.

was it possible that Darcy had done something to Blackie?   But how
could she?

Darcy didn't exist, except in her own mind.

Did she?

What if she did?

What if she were real?

A slight shudder ran through her, and then she jumped as a hand touched
her shoulder.  She spun around to see Teri, clad in the old pink formal,
gazing at her curiously.  "Hey, what's wrong?"

"N-Nothing," Melissa stammered.

"Well, didn't you hear me talking to you just now?" Teri said, turning
around.  "I can't get the stupid zipper up."

Her fingers trembling, Melissa pulled the zipper up, and Teri turned
around once more.  "I can fix the hem and we can put a whole lot of
sequins and rhinestones on the overskirt- Then we can make a wand and I
can go as a fairy godmother.  It'll be perfect."

Melissa frowned, perplexed.  "But what about the stains?"

"Who cares about them?" Teri asked.  "It's a costume party, right?
Everybody will be digging around looking for old clothes." She giggled.
"I bet half the people there wind up looking like their own
grandparents.  Now let's see what we can find for you." She disappeared
into the dressing room, coming back out a few moments later with the
dress over her arm.  Together they began searching through the old
clothes for something that might be converted into a costume  for
Melissa,  but  every  time  Melissa  found  something, Teri had an
objection:

"It won't fit you right.  See?   We'd have to let out all the seams."

"It's falling apart!   We don't want your clothes to fall off you in the
middle of the dance, do we?"

"It's miles too big-we could never take it in in time."

finally, Melissa found an old-fashioned tuxedo, complete with a top hat,
that seemed to be in a boy's size.  "How about this?" she asked
hopefully.  "I could be a magician, or Charlie Chaplin, or something."

But once again Teri shook her head.

"It's just not right.  We need something really spectacular."  She glanced
around the shop, looking for a corner they hadn't yet searched.  But
they'd been through everything.  "Why don't we go get a Coke?" she
suggested. "Maybe if we stop hunting, we'll come up with an idea."

Melissa took a last longing look at the tuxedo.  She was certain it
would fit, and if they could make a cape . . .

"No," Teri decreed, as if she'd read Melissa's mind.  "It's just not
right for you.  Anyway, if we can't think of anything better, we can
always come back for it."

Melissa hung the tux back on the rod and followed Teri to the front of
the store.  She was passing a case full of antique costume jewelry when
a bright sparkle caught her eye.  Lying on the top shelf of the case was
an old tiara, all of it thickly encrusted with rhinestones.  "Look!"
she cried out.  "It's your crown!"

Teri gazed at the tiara, then shook her head.  "It's perfect," she
agreed. "But how much is it going to cost?"

"Mrs.  Bennett?' Melissa called to the manager, who came over and went
behind the cabinet to take the tiara out.  "How much is it?"

Freda Bennett peered at the price tag.  "Seventy-five dollars," she
said. "It's an antique." She placed the tiara on Teri's head, and Teri
turned to look at herself in a gilt-framed mirror that hung on the
opposite wall.  Sighing, she took it off and handed it back to Mrs.
Bennett.  "It's perfect, but I can't afford it."

"We'll take it," Melissa said just as the shop manager was about to
return the tiara to the case.

Teri turned to look uncertainly at her half sister.  "But we can't," she
protested.  "I don't have the money."

"But I do," Melissa replied, grinning as she groped in her purse for her
wallet.

Teri stared at the wad of bills stuffed into the wallet.  "Where'd you
get all that?" she breathed.

Melissa shrugged.  "It's from my allowance.  an I never buy paperback
books, and Daddy gives me money practically every weekend, but I never
spend it.  So you pay for the dress, and I'll buy the tiara for you."

"But-"

Melissa shook her head.  "I want to buy it for you.  It'll make your
costume perfect.  Please?"

Teri smiled, and let Mrs. Bennett wrap up the tiara.

Half an hour later, as they were about to leave the drugstore, the door
opened and Brett Van Arsdale, followed by Kent Fielding, came in.  A
grin spread across his face as he saw Teri.  "Hey, there you are. just
the person I've been looking for."

Teri cocked her head.  "Me?"

Brett nodded.  "Kent's dad is going to let us take their boat out this
afternoon.  I just thought you might want to go along."

Teri glanced quickly at Melissa, who seemed suddenly to have become
fascinated with a display of magazines just inside the door.  "Who all's
goine.  " she asked.

"Everybody," Brett replied.  "Us, and Jeff, and Ellen.  Maybe Cyndi and
a couple of others.  You want to come?"

Teri turned to Melissa.  "What do you think?" she asked.  "Should we
go?"

Melissa turned around, her cheeks flushing, certain that Brett hadn't
meant to include her in the invitation.  "I-I don't know' she
floundered. "If you want to go-"

Teri nodded eagerly.  "Of course I want to go!   What kind of boat is
it?" she asked, turning back to Brett.  "Is it a sailboat?"

Brett nodded.  "It's not much, just a thirty-two-foot Lord Nelson." His
eyes involuntarily flicked toward Melissa.  "If Melissa doesn't want to
come-" he began.

But Teri cut him off.  "Why wouldn't she want to?" she said.  "What time
shall we meet you?"

Brett glanced at Kent, then shrugged.  "I don't know one o'clock?"

The time agreed to, Teri and Melissa left the drugstore and started back
toward Maplecrest.  as soon as they were gone, Kent glared at Brett.

"Smooth move, Van Arsdale.  Now we're going to be stuck with Melissa an
afternoon."

"We!, what was I supposed to do?   She was standing right there.
Besides, what's the big deal?   it's not like she's your date or
anything." Then, as a thought occurred to him, he snickered.  "Jesus,
it'll be worth it just to see the look on Jeff's face when she shows up.
He'll think we did it on purpose."

Kent rolled his eyes.  "You really got it bad for Teri, haven't you?   I
mean, so far you've asked her out twice, and both times she's dragged
Melissa along. What are they, Siamese twins?"

"Well, what's she going to do?" Brett countered.  "She barely got here,
and she's already got more friends than Melissa.  She's just trying to
be nice to her sister, that's all."

"So all the rest of us have to put up with her, too?" Kent groused.
"Shit, next thing, you'll be trying to get me to take her out."

Brett gave his friend a punch on the arm.  "Who knows?" he teased.  "You
might fall for her." He ducked away quickly as Kent took a swing at him,
then darted out the door.

But as Kent fell in beside him again, he wondered what was really going
on. was Teri ever going to go out with him without insisting that
Melissa go along?

Well, he'd wait until after the dance Saturday night and see what
happened.  After that, she couldn't insist on him finding dates for
Melissa if no one would go out with her.

Still, that was one of the things he really liked about Teri-she always
seemed to care about what other people were feeling.

Even people no one else cared about, like Melissa Holloway.

He turned to  Kent,  grinning.  "She's  really  nice,  isn't she?" he
asked.

Kent cocked his head.  "Who?"

"Teri," Brett replied.  "You know what?   I think she's about the
nicest girl I've ever met."

Melissa's step slowed as they approached the small marina tucked in
behind the leeward side of the point that formed the south boundary of
the cove.  "M-Maybe I'll just stay here," she suggested to Teri, her
eyes nervously scanning the whitecaps that were scattered across the
surface of the sea beyond the protection of the cove.  "What if I get
seasick?"

"Why would you do that?" Teri asked, though she remembered perfectly
well the conversation they'd had one day last week, when they'd been
sprawled out on the beach watching a regatta of boats wheeling around
the cove.

"How come we don't have a boat?" she'd asked.  Melissa had giggled.

"Because Daddy and I both get seasick.  He took me fishing for my tenth
birthday, and we both barfed our brains out.  It was really gross.  I
don't care if I never get on a boat again."

Now, her eyes widening as if she'd just replayed the conversation, Teri
looked at Melissa apologetically.  "Oh, God.  I forgot." But then she
brightened.  "But that was along time ago," she said.  "You'll be fine.

Besides, look at the water.  The cove's perfectly flat-Why would you get
sick?"

Melissa rolled her eyes.  "I'm getting sick just thinking about it."

They were on the dock now, and Melissa came to a complete stop.  "Would
you be real mad if I didn't go?" she asked, her voice anxious.

"Of course not," Teri assured her.  "If I'd remembered, I wouldn't have
told them we'd go at all.  But what are we going to tell your mom?"

M-Maybe we don't have to tell her," Melissa suggested.  "I could just
wait here till you get back, and she wouldn't know I didn't go."

Teri shook her head.  "She'd find out. She's coming to the club this
afternoon, and you know how she is.  She'll be talking about how we're
both out on the Fieldings' yacht and acting like it's a big deal.  And
if anyone spills the beans that you didn't go . . ."

Melissa groaned, knowing Teri was right.  She could already hear her
mother, furiously telling her how rude she'd been to accept an
invitation and then not go.  And then later tonight, after she'd gone to
bed . . .

And besides, she thought, Teri's right.  If I concentrate real hard and
stay up in the fresh air, I'll be fine.  And if I don't go, I'll just
look like I chickened out.  "You're right," she said, making her voice
sound a lot more confident than she felt.  "Why should the kids like me
if I won't ever do what they like to do?"

Teri gave her arm a reassuring squeeze.  "Good for you," she said.  "And
it'll be all right-you'll see.  It'll be fun."

They walked down the dock and found the boat, Zargo?; its varnished teak
gleaming in the sun, the rest of the kids already on board.  Teri and
Melissa stepped onto the deck and down into the cockpit as Jeff and
Brett loosened the dock lines and Kent started the engine.

Teri looked at him uncertainly.  "I thought we were sailing."

"We are," Kent replied.  "But the wind's all wrong to try to sail away
from the dock.  We'll go out into the cove and put the sails up there."

Jeff and Brett cast the lines off, then jumped aboard as Kent pulled the
boat away from the dock.  "I'm opening Cokes," Ellen Stevens called from
below.  "Anyone want one?"

"I'll come down and help," Teri replied, ducking her head as she made
her way down the narrow companionway into the cabin.  A moment later she
emerged, holding three cans of soda.  She passed them out, giving the
last one to Melissa, who shook her head.

"You better drink it," Teri urged her.  "It'll help keep your stomach
settled."

Kent's eyes shifted over to Melissa.  "Oh, no," he moaned.  "You don't
get seasick, do you?"

"Once," Teri told him, as Melissa's face turned crimson.  "She only got
sick once, and that was years ago.  She'll be fine."

"Well, she better be," Kent shot back.  "Dad'll kill me if she pukes all
over the boat."

Melissa bit her lip as her eyes welled with tears, but then she forced
herself to stay calm.  all she had to do was sit still and keep her eyes
on the shoreline and she'd be fine.  But still, she took the Coke from
Teri, who gave her an encouraging grin.

Kent took the boat out into the middle of the cove, cut the engine, and
signaled to Brett to raise the main sail.  Brett began hauling on the
sheet and the canvas lifted upward, snapping loudly as it caught the
breeze.  A minute later Jeff Barnstable began hoisting the jib, while
Ellen and Cyndi manned the lines.  With the sails set, Kent brought the
boat around, and suddenly the sails filled and the boat heeled over.

Melissa, caught by surprise by the sudden shifting of the hull, almost
dropped her Coke, but grabbed it just before it spilled onto the deck.

"This is great!" Teri sighed as the boat began to pick up speed.  "Don't
you love it?"

Melissa, sitting rigidly in the cockpit, hanging onto the gunwale so
hard her fingers ached, forced herself to look away from the beach a
couple of hundred yards away and face her half sister.  Teri was
stretched out on the opposite side of the boat, her hair blowing in the
breeze, her face tipped up to catch the sun.

"Relax," Teri told her.  "just stretch out and enjoy it."

The boat cruised smoothly northward, the only noise the gentle swishing
of the water as the hull cut through the cove.  Ellen Stevens and Cyndi
Miller came up from the cabin, moved forward, and stretched out on the
foredeck, while Brett came back to the cockpit to drop down next to
Teri.  "What do you think?" he asked.  "Like it?"

"I love it," Teri replied, shifting her legs to make room for him.

"Where are we going?"

Brett shrugged.  "I don't know.  Where do you want to go?"

Teri glanced out to the open sea.  "can we go out there?"

"Sure," Brett replied.  "Hey, Kent.  can I take the helm?"

Kent slid out from behind the wheel at the stern, and Brett took over.

"Ready about," he called out, and Jeff quickly released the jib sheet on
the port side and handed it to Melissa.

"Do you know what to do?" Jeff asked, and Melissa shook her head.  Jeff
rolled his eyes impatiently.  "just hang onto it, and let go when Brett
calls out "coming about,' okay?" Without waiting for an answer, he
crossed to the starboard side and took the other sheet.

"Coming about," Brett called out, spinning the wheel.  Melissa dropped
her line and the jib Rapped in the wind.  A second later Jeff hauled in
on the sheet, and then, as the main swung over, the jib filled again and
the boat ,heeled over the other way, its bow pointing out to the open
sea.

Five minutes later they passed through the opening to the cove, and
almost immediately the swell increased and the bow of the boat began
rising and falling.  A moment later, steadying themselves with the
boat's lifelines, Ellen and Cyndi came back from the bow and settled
into the cockpit.

Melissa felt the first faint beginnings of queasiness stir in her
stomach, and reached for her can of Coke.  She drank deeply, but the
sweet liquid didn't seem to help.

No, she told herself.  I'm not going to get sick.  I'm going to be all
right.

Brett adjusted the tack and trimmed the main sail, and the boat gained a
little speed.  The wind picked up, and more whitecaps appeared.  They
were in a heavy swell now, and Melissa glanced nervously at Teri.  But
her half sister, sitting up on the gunwale, seemed oblivious to the
pitching of the boat.

The queasiness in Melissa's stomach got worse, and finally she turned to
Brett.  "M-Maybe we better go back," she said.  "I don't think I feel
very good-"

"Go below," Brett told her.  "just lie down for a few minutes.  You'll
be fine."

Melissa hesitated.  The last time she'd gotten sick, when she and her
father had been out on the fishing boat, the captain had told her to
stay up on deck. "It's a lot better," he'd said.  "The dizziness isn't
so bad if you can see where you're going." She hesitated, and then Brett
spoke again: "Will you go down below?   If you're going to start
throwing up, at least there's a head down there."

Melissa stood up, almost lost her balance as the boat pitched once more,
and grabbed at one of the bars next to the hatch.  She made her way down
the steps into the cabin and sank down on the sofa, the queasiness in
her stomach growing into a sharp pain.

Two minutes later she knew she was going to be sick.  She got up,
lurched toward the head in the bow, but lost her balance as the boat
rolled to port.

Staggering, she dropped down to her knees, and then the seasickness hit
her with full force.

The vomit rose in her throat.  She tried to fight against it, but it was
too late.  as she began gagging and choking, her mouth opened and a
stream of bilious liquid spewed out onto the floor.

"Oh, Jesus," she heard someone groan a few feet away.  She looked up,
vomit dribbling off her chin, to see Jeff Barnstable staring at her with
an expression of total disgust.  Her heart sank.  Of all the people who
had to see her this way, Why did it have to be Jeff?   He'd never take
her to the costume party now-never, He'd probably never even want to see
her again!   And then, from behind Jeff, she heard Kent Fielding's angry
voice.

"What the hell did you have to do it down there for?" he demanded, then
turned away.  "Let's go back," she heard him telling Brett.  "The little
creep's puking her brains out, and she didn't even go into the head."

The nausea subsiding slightly, Melissa struggled to her feet and looked
for something with which to clean up the mess on the floor.  She found a
roll of paper towels on the galley counter and pulled off a handful,
then got down on her hands and knees once more.  But the smell of her
own vomit filled her nostrils, overwhelming her, and suddenly she was
retching again.

This time the mess spilled down her shirt and onto the white pants she'd
put on especially for the sail.

Sobbing with humiliation, she forced herself to keep working at the mess
on the floor, doing her best to sop it up with the paper towels.

Half an hour later they were back at the dock.

Melissa stayed below as long as she dared, but at last she could wait no
longer.  Her legs weak, she made her way up the companionway and emerged
from the hatch.

They were all standing on the dock, staring at her.

There was a long silence, finally broken by Kent Fielding.  "Why the
hell did you come at all?" he asked.  "If you were going to get sick,
Why didn't you just stay home?   No one even wanted to ask you in the
first place."

Melissa's eyes flooded with tears, but anger suddenly flared up inside
her. She hadn't wanted to come-she'd even tried to get out of it.  And
did they really think she'd gotten sick on purpose?   She climbed off
the boat and started up the dock, but then whirled around.

"I hate you," she screamed at the six kids who were watching her.  "I
hate all of you, and I hope you all die!"

Then, her tears overwhelming her, she ran up the dock and began
stumbling along the beach toward home.  For a moment, just a moment, she
wanted to Turn back, to tell Jeff, at least, that she hadn't really
meant what she'd just said.  But she couldn't, for her humiliation was
still scorching inside her.

If she had turned back, she might have seen the smile on Teri's face.

The  smile  that  would  have  told  her  she'd  done  exactly  what
Teri  had hoped she would.

Phyllis Holloway glanced at the clock on her husband's desk.  It was a
little after three, and she had a committee meeting at the club at half
past, which meant she just had time to brush her hair and touch up her
makeup.  She glanced down at Cora's account book, her lips tightening as
she regarded the housekeeper's nearly illegible scrawl.  The least the
old woman could do was make her entries in the book clear enough so a
person could read them. It was bad enough that she had to spend half the
day going over them once a week-the fact that she had to translate each
and every entry from Cora's scribble into English made the job nearly
intolerable.

And, of course, she got no help from anyone else.  She couldn't even
count how many times she'd talked to Charles about Cora's sloppy
records, but his response was always the same: "Why bother with it at
all?   Cora's been doing the shopping for the family since before I was
born.  Father always said he trusted her more than he did his own
lawyer."

"Did he?" Phyllis had replied archly the first time she'd talked to him
about auditing.  Cora's expenses.  "Well, I can't say I'm surprised.

I've always been amazed at the people who let their help steal them
blind.  When I was working at' She had cut herself off abruptly, for
even with Charles she did her best never to discuss her life before
she'd married him.  "It's the principle of the thing," she'd insisted.

"If the staff knows you're not watching them, they'll take advantage.

Not that they don't anyway-I hate to think how much of our food
disappears into Cora's house every week."

Charles had merely shrugged.  "Who cares?   Even if she stole everything
they eat-which she doesn't-it wouldn't be enough to get upset about. But
if it makes you feel better, go ahead and ask her to keep an account
book. just don't ask me to go over it-I'd feel like I was asking my own
mother to account for her expenses."

Phyllis had seen the resentment in the housekeeper's eyes when she'd
first given her the ledger more than a decade ago and explained what it
was for, but the woman had known better than to complain about it.

Instead she dutifully filled it in every day, presenting it to Phyllis
every Wednesday morning for the weekly audit.

And then Phyllis had to spend most of the day going over it, matching
receipts against the scribbles in the book, even spot-checking to be
sure that what Cora had bought was actually in the house.  She'd rarely
found any discrepancies--and those she had discovered had been minor-but
in her own mind she was certain that only her Wednesday labors were
keeping Cora honest.

Sighing, she closed the ledger and glanced out the window.  Far across
the lawn, past the tennis court, Tag was emerging from the woods.

Phyllis frowned and her eyes swept the hedge on the north edge of the
property, which she had specifically told Cora to have tag trim that
very morning.  Even from here she could see the uneven growth along the
top of the row of hawthorn that separated the property from the estate
next door.

Irritated, she picked up the phone and pressed the button that would
allow her to page the entire house.  "Cora, come to Mr. Holloway's
study, right away."

She dropped the phone back on its cradle, her fingers drumming
impatiently on the desk until Cora bustled in half a minute later.

"Yes'm?" the housekeeper asked, gazing uneasily at her employer.  She
was certain the accounts had balanced perfectly this week-she'd stayed
up until midnight last night going over them herself.

"What is Tag doing.  " Phyllis demanded, her eyes going once more to the
window where the boy was still visible, moving slowly along the
perimeter of the tennis court.

Cora's fingers twisted nervously at the hem of her apron. He's looking
for Blackie, ma'am," she admitted.

Phyllis swung around to fix  her  eyes  coldly  on  the  servant.  "And
what about the hedge?" she asked.  "Are we expected to simply let the
property go wild while Tag chases after a runaway dog."

Cora's jaw tightened and she looked up, meeting Phyllis' eyes squarely.

"He doesn't think the dog ran away, ma'am.  He thinks something's
happened to it."

"Happened to it?" Phyllis echoed.  "And just what is it he thinks might
have happened?"

Cora hesitated.  "I-I don't like to say, ma'am."

"You don't like to say?" Phyllis echoed, her voice shrill.  "Well, I
think you'd better decide you do 'like to say." Her lips curled into a
mocking smile.  "What does he think happened?   Has he decided he
believes Melissa's story of a ghost in the attic?"

"No, ma'am," Cora muttered.  "He thinks-well, he thinks Teri might have
done something to the dog."

Phyllis' jaw dropped.  "Teri?   What on earth-"

"He saw Teri kick the dog one night.  She was coming home and-"

Phyllis' expression hardened.  "That's enough, Cora.  I don't know what
could have made Tag suggest such a thing.  Teri MacIver is one of the
nicest young ladies I've ever met, and I won't stand for Tag suggesting
that she-" Her words were interrupted by the slam of the front door
and the pounding of feet running across the foyer.  Stepping out of the
study with Cora following her, she saw Melissa starting up the stairs.

"Melissa!" she snapped, her voice sharp.  Her daughter froze on the
stairs but didn't Turn around. "How many times have I told you not to..."

Her words trailed off as she saw a dark stain on Melissa's white
pants.  "Melissa, Turn around." Melissa didn't move for a moment, but
then took another tentative step up the staircase.  "Did you hear me?"

Phyllis demanded.  "I asked you to Turn around, and I expect you to obey
me!"

Melissa, doing her best to stifle a sob, turned around to face her
mother. Phyllis stared at the smears of vomit that covered Melissa's
blouse and pants. "What in the world." she began, but Melissa burst into
tears.

"I got seasick," she wailed.  "I didn't want to go at all, but everyone
wanted me to, so I went.  And I threw up all over the Fieldings' boat,
and..." The humiliation of what had happened flooding over her once
again, Melissa fled up the stairs.

"The poor child," Cora murmured, starting after Melissa.  "I'd better go
up with her."

"You'll do no such thing," Phyllis snapped, stopping Cora in her tracks.

"I'm quite capable of taking care of my daughter myself.  The last thing
she needs right now is coddling from you." She was about to go on, but
the front door opened again and Teri came in.

"Did Melissa come through here?" she began.  "I've  been  trying  to
catch up with her, but-"

"She's upstairs," Phyllis told her.  Then, as Teri started toward the
stairs, Phyllis spoke again.  "Teri, darling, Cora has something to tell
you."

Teri paused at the bottom of the stairs and turned to the housekeeper,
whose already ruddy complexion had turned beet red.  "Please, ma'am,"
she said, her fingers once again working at the hem of her apron.  "I
didn't mean for you-"

Phyllis silenced her with a look.  "Cora tells  me  that  Tag  thinks
you  might have done something to his dog."

Teri's eyes flashed toward Cora for the tiniest fraction of a second,
but then she recovered herself.  "He thinks what?" she asked, as if
unable to believe she could have heard her stepmother's words correctly.

Phyllis, her expression a hard mask of anger, turned to Cora,
"Tell her," she commanded.  "Tell her what you told me."

Cora took a deep breath and faced Teri.  And suddenly she remembered the
day a couple of weeks ago, right after Teri had arrived at Maplecrest,
when she'd found her in Melissa's room, claiming she was hunting for
socks. There'd been a look about her then-nothing Cora had been quite
able to put her finger on, just a sort of furtiveness-that was reflected
in her expression now.  "He thinks you might have done something to
Blackie," she said, her voice gaining strength.  "He says he saw you
kick the dog one night."

"And you believe him?" Teri asked, her tone freighted with an
incredulity that Cora almost found herself accepting.  Teri turned to
Phyllis, her eyes glistening with sudden tears.  "Phyllis, you don't
believe that, do you?   I couldn't- I liked Blackie!"

Phyllis held out her arms to the suddenly crying girl, and Teri buried
her head against her stepmother's breast.  "It's all right, darling,"
Phyllis crooned. "Of course I don't believe it, and no one else will,
either." Her voice hardened again as her eyes shifted back to Cora.  "I
don't want to hear another word about this, Cora.  I think you'd better
tell Tag that it's time for him to get back to work and accept the fact
that dogs sometimes just run away.  And if you can't do that," she
added, "perhaps you'd better think about whether YOU and Tag want to
stay on here.  I don't see how we can tolerate keeping you if Tag is
going to start spreading rumors about my stepdaughter."

The color drained out of Cora's cheeks, and for a moment she thought her
legs might buckle beneath her.  But then she took another deep breath
and nodded quickly.  "Yes, ma'am," she said, almost inaudibly.  "I'll
talk to Tag."

Turning away, she hurried out through the French doors, leaving Phyllis
and Teri alone together.

Teri, wiping her tears away, her stepmother. looked beseechingly at her.
"Y-You don't believe him, do you?" she pleaded.

Phyllis gave her one more reassuring squeeze.  "Don't be silly.  I'd
hardly take the word of a servant over yours, would I?   Besides, I
think I know you a lot better than Tag, and I can't imagine you harming
anything." Her tone changed slightly and her eyes moved toward the
stairs, up which Melissa had fled a few moments ago.  "Now, what
happened on the boat?" she went on.

Teri shook her head sadly.  "It was awful.  It's all my fault, really.

She didn't want to go, and-"

Phyllis held up a hand.  "That's very generous of you, dear, but there's
no need to make excuses for Melissa.  just tell me what happened."

Slowly, almost reluctantly, Teri told the story.  "I don't know Why she
went down into the cabin," she finished.  "If she'd stayed up on deck,
she probably would have felt better."

But Phyllis had already turned away, quivering with anger.  Now, because
of her daughter's weak stomach, she was going to have to miss her
committee meeting.  She could already see the patronizing look in Kay
Fielding's eyes when she tried to apologize for the mess Melissa had
made on the boat.  Well, this would be the last time Melissa would make
a fool of herself in public.  Her anger growing steadily, she stormed up
the stairs.

Teri, feeling a tingle of excitement run through her body, let her voice
trail off, and silently followed her stepmother.

Melissa sat on the toilet in the little bathroom she shared with Teri,
her head bent down almost to her knees.  The sour smell of her own vomit
filled her nostrils, and sobs racked her body.

Why had she gone on the boat?   She'd known what was going to happen,
known it right from the very beginning- And it had happened, just the
way she'd known it would.

just the memory of it seemed to trigger the nausea again, and she slid
off the toilet, crouching on the floor, her head above the toilet bowl
as the retching started again.  as the water in the bowl turned brown
with the last of the Coke she'd drunk, she reached up and groped for the
handle, then felt a cool draft on her face as fresh water surged into
the bowl from the tank above.

Another spasm struck her, and she retched once more, but this time only
a thin dribble of foul-tasting spittle ran down her chin.  And then she
heard her mother's voice as the doorknob rattled loudly.

"Melissa?   Melissa, unlock this door and let me in!"

Melissa coughed, spat into the toilet, then raised her head slightly.

"Leave me alone," she wailed.

Outside, Phyllis' lips tightened and she rapped loudly on the door.

"Didn't you hear me?" she demanded.  "I told you to open this door!" She
grasped the handle once more, jerking on the door so hard it rattled on
its hinges.

"I'm all right," Melissa called, her voice  muffled  by  the  heavy
door. "just go away and leave me alone."

Her anger inflamed into fury by her daughter's words, Phyllis turned to
Teri.  "You have a key to this door, haven't you?" she demanded.

Teri hesitated.  Why didn't Phyllis just go around to the other door?

But even as she asked herself the question, she knew the answer-Phyllis'
fury had robbed her of reason.  Teri shrank away from her stepmother's
anger and hurried to her room.  A moment later she was back. Wordlessly,
she handed Phyllis the key.

Phyllis, hands trembling with anger, fumbled for a moment, then got the
key into the lock and twisted it.  Turning the knob once more, she
jerked the door open to find her daughter curled up on the floor, her
hands clutching her stomach, staring up at her.

"Get up!" she demanded.  Reaching down, she grasped Melissa's arm and
yanked her to her feet.  "My God, just look at you!" Phyllis hissed.

Melissa shrank away from her mother, but Phyllis twisted her arm,
spinning her around to face the mirror.

Melissa stared at herself, her eyes red and puffy, her blouse stained
with vomit, her hair damp with the perspiration that had accompanied the
nausea, plastered to her scalp.

"How could you do such a thing?" Phyllis hissed.  "If you knew you were
going to get sick, Why did you get on that boat?"

Melissa's eyes widened with fear.  "I didn't want"  she began.

But her mother squeezed her arm so hard her words dissolved into an
incoherent squeal of pain.  "Didn't want to?" Phyllis repeated, her
voice harsh and mocking.  "Didn't want to?   If you didn't want to, then
Why did YOU?"

"I-Teri said-"

"Stop it!" Phyllis screeched.  "Stop trying to blame Teri!   I won't
have it!
Do you hear?   I won't have you blaming anyone else for your own
failings!"

Melissa gasped as her mother's hand clamped down on her arm once again,
then felt a wrenching pain in her back as Phyllis spun her around.

Suddenly, her mother's hand released her arm and reached for her blouse.

"Look at your clothes," Phyllis hissed.  "They're ruined!   Take them
off!"

Grasping the front of Melissa's blouse with both hands, Phyllis jerked
at the material and the buttons ripped loose, scattering over the floor.

With another jerk, Phyllis spun Melissa around again and stripped the
blouse off, hurling it into the far corner of the bathroom.  "Now take
off those pants," she ordered, suddenly letting go of Melissa to turn
the water on in the shower.  "Do you hear me?" she shouted when Melissa,
apparently rooted to the floor, didn't move.

Teri, who had been standing in the open doorway, watching the scene in
silence, took a step toward Melissa, but Phyllis shook her head.  "Don't
help her," she snapped.  "She has to learn to take responsibility for
the things she does." Her hands dropping to her sides, Teri stepped back
again.

The bathroom began to fill with steam as the stream of water pouring
from the shower head turned hot.  Phyllis glared angrily at her
recalcitrant daughter.  "Take off those pants," she repeated, her voice
quivering with anger.

Numbly, Melissa fumbled with the button at the waistband of her pants,
and a moment later they dropped to the floor.  She kicked her feet loose
from them, then stripped off her underwear.

"Get in the shower," her mother commanded.

Melissa stared at the billowing cloud of steam filling up the bathroom.

"I-It's too hot," she whimpered.

Phyllis ignored her words, grabbing her daughter's arm again, then
twisting it around her back into a clumsy hammerlock.  "I said, get in
the shower!"

Tightening her grip on Melissa's arm, Phyllis pushed the girl forward.

Melissa reached out to brace herself against the wall, but Phyllis
knocked her arm aside and grabbed her hair, yanking her head back,
"No!" Melissa cried out.  "Please, Mama, no," But it was as if her
mother didn't even hear her words, and Melissa stared at the steam,
wide-eyed, as her mother forced her into the shower.  The first drops of
the scalding water struck her skin and she gasped.

Then, in her mind, she screamed out one more time.

Darcy!   Darcy, help me!

And out of the mists of steam she saw a face coming toward her, smiling
at her.  Then she felt the presence of her friend and heard her voice.

It's all right Melissa.  I'm here, and it's all right just go to sleep.

She let the comforting blackness close around her, and listened only to
Darcy's gentle voice.  That's right . . . go to sleep . . . just go to
sleep . . .

as Phyllis forced Melissa's head under the shower a moment later and the
scalding water struck her daughter's face, she felt her child relax in
her grip. "Stay there," she said.  She reached for a rough washcloth and
a bar of soap, and a moment later began scrubbing furiously at Melissa's
skin.

Melissa stood still, oblivious to it an, lost in the strange sleep to
which she had retreated.

Teri,  still  watching  the  macabre  spectacle  from  the  bathroom
door, saw the change come over Melissa's face, saw her features suddenly
relax, saw her eyes go oddly blank.

At last, as Phyllis continued to scrub Melissa's skin, Teri turned away.

She smiled to herself as she started down the stairs to spend the rest
of the afternoon lying in the sun by the pool.  It had been fun watching
Phyllis torture Melissa.

almost as much fun as it was torturing Melissa herself.

"What do you think?" Teri asked.  It was Saturday afternoon, and she was
in Melissa's room, staring critically at her reflected image in the
mirror on the closet door.  The two of them had spent most of the
morning attaching rhinestones to the tulle netting on the pink
dress-hundreds of them, it seemed, which their father had brought with
him when he'd flown up from New York the night before--and now, as the
sun streamed through the window, the whole dress sparkled with myriad
colors as the tiny prisms refracted the light.

"It's fabulous," Melissa breathed.  "Put on the tiara, too."

Teri picked up the tiara from Melissa's vanity and carefully placed it
on her head.  finally she picked up the "magic wand," a piece of wood
cut from an old broom Cora had found in her cleaning closet, which
they'd wound with pink ribbon and capped with a tinsel-covered Christmas
tree finial that -had been Phyllis' contribution to the costume.

"Well?" Teri asked, pirouetting in front of the mirror, then touching
Melissa's shoulder with the "wand."

"It's perfect," Melissa breathed, smiling at her half sister. "You're
going to be the most beautiful girl there."

"Who is?" her father asked from the door to the hall.

Melissa turned.  "Look" she said proudly.  "Isn't she gorgeous?"

Charles uttered a soft whistle of approval.  "That's some tiara," he
said. "Where'd it come from?"

"The thrift shop," Teri replied.  "Melissa bought it for me.  I told her
not to, but'-"

"But it's perfect," Melissa broke in.  "Without the tiara, it's just an
old dress - Nobody'd know what you were supposed to be."

Charles cocked his head at his younger daughter.  "So we know Teri's
going as a fairy godmother.  What about you?"

Melissa's grin faded.  "I-I don't think I'm going to go," she said.

Charles frowned.  "What do you mean, not go?   Why not?"

What could she tell him?   That she was sure Jeff Barnstable wouldn't
show up tonight?   But Why would he, after what had happened on the
Fieldings' boat Wednesday afternoon?

Even now she could still feel the embarrassment of it.  She'd stayed
home yesterday and the day before, unwilling to risk the stares she was
sure she'd get from anyone she might run into.  She could picture the
kids playing volleyball on the beach.  They'd start laughing at her,
bending over with their fingers down their throats, making gagging
sounds and pretending to throw up on the sand.

"No they won't," Teri had insisted when Melissa had told her Why she
wouldn't go to the club, or even the beach.  "It wasn't your fault you
got sick.
Why would anyone laugh at you?"

Melissa hadn't been able to answer her.  How could she explain it to
Teri?

Teri was beautiful, and everyone liked her, and no one ever laughed at
her. How could she explain what it felt like to know people were talking
about you behind your back, and making fun of you?   If it had never
happened to you, you couldn't know how it felt.

"I-I just don't want to go," she said now.  "can't I stay home?
Please?"

Charles's shoulders rose in a small shrug.  "Well, I think you'd better
see what your mother has to say," he suggested.  "After all, you did
tell Jeff Barnstable you'd go with him."

"And she most certainly will go," Phyllis declared, appearing in the
doorway, frowning at Melissa.  "There isn't a problem, is there?" she
asked.

Melissa felt suddenly weak under her mother's icy gaze.  "But I don't
have anything to wear," she pleaded.

Phyllis brushed the objection aside.  "I'm sure Teri can figure out
something for you," she Said.

Teri nodded, taking off the tiara and reaching up to pull the zipper of
the dress down her back.  "Help me get out of this," she told Melissa.

"Then we'll go up to the attic.  There's got to be all kinds of neat
things up there."

But in her own mind, she'd long ago chosen the costume Melissa would
wear that night.

A few minutes later, as Teri led the way up the stairs to the attic,
Melissa found herself hanging back.  In her mind's eye she still had a
vivid image of coming up these stairs when she'd seen Blackie, a rope
around his neck, hanging from one of the rafters.

But it hadn't been real-it had only been a dream.

all week she'd been repeating the words, trying to convince herself that
what she'd seen hadn't been real.  But the image was so vivid...

And Blackie was still gone.  Even Tag had finally given up looking for
him yesterday.  "I don't know what happened to him," he'd said.  "I
guess maybe your mom's right.  He must have just run away."

Her reverie was broken by Teri's voice.  "Come on," her half sister was
urging her.  Then, smiling as if she -understood what was going through
Melissa's mind, she reached out and took the other girl's hand in her
own.  "It's okay she said.  "Remember when we were up here the other
day?   There's nothing here but a bunch of old junk."

Melissa took a deep breath, then determinedly put her fears aside.  Teri
was right-it was just an attic.  There was nothing in it she needed to
be afraid of.

Teri opened the door and stepped inside, and a second later Melissa
followed her.  She looked around and felt herself growing a little
dizzy.  Now, with sunlight coming through the small dormers, the attic
didn't look nearly as scary as it did at night, when the single bulb
left most of it lost in seemingly endless shadows.  Now only a few
corners were still dark, and even they didn't have that horrible,
threatening blackness to them.  She giggled self-consciously, looking
around, but her laughter died abruptly on her lips as she spotted the
dress on the mannequin. Yet now, in the muted daylight, the dress seemed
only to be exactly what it was-a long-discarded garment, put on the
mannequin for some planned alteration and then forgotten.

"Where shall we start?" she asked Teri.

Teri looked perplexed.  "Do you know what's in the trunks?"

"all kinds of stuff," Melissa replied.  "A lot of it's stuff for winter,
in case we come out here for Christmas.  You know-quilts and blankets
and things."

She started moving across the attic, stepping around some of the larger
pieces of discarded furniture, pausing here and there to show Teri
something. "Daddy keeps threatening to get rid of all this junk," she
said, staring at an old sofa whose rotted upholstery had finally given
way, letting a spring pop through.  "He says if we keep bringing more
stuff up, the whole house is going to collapse.  This one was my
grandmother's." She pointed to a tattered wing chair.  "Daddy says she
put it up here when he was our age, and every time Grandfather wanted to
get rid of it, she'd say she had plans for it." She chuckled again,
poking experimentally at the fabric, which crumbled under her touch.

"Daddy says she had plans for it right up until she died, and after that
Grandfather wouldn't get rid of it because he was afraid of what
Grandmother would say when he met her after he died."

Teri shook her head.  "But there's so much of it," she said.  "I bet
it's worth a lot of money."

Melissa shrugged, her eyes shifting over to the corner near the
mannequin. "Let's look over there," she suggested.  "I think there's
some old stuff in those trunks."

They crawled to three large steamer trunks lined up in one of the
dormers, and Melissa fumbled with the catch of the first one for a few
seconds, then swung its door open.  There was a scuffling noise, and a
second later a mouse darted out, disappearing into a crack between two
of the planks on the floor. Melissa jumped back, recovered from the
shock of the sudden movement, then reached out and thumped the trunk.

finally she shook it a couple of times, and when nothing else scampered
out of its depths, began pulling open its drawers.

Except for some old shoes-their leather so dried out it had begun to
crack and peel-the trunk was empty.

The second trunk yielded another mouse, and a collection of linen
tablecloths and napkins that were yellowed and riddled with holes.

The third trunk, though, turned out to be full, and when they opened it,
both girls simply stared silently at its contents for a moment.

"It's weird," Teri finally breathed.  "It looks like someone came back
from a trip and never bothered to unpack it."

Melissa gasped and her eyes widened.  "Great-Aunt Dahlia," she said.  "I
bet it was Great-Aunt Dahlia's."

Teri glanced at her half sister out of the corner of her eye.  "Who was
she?"

"Grandmother's sister, I think.  Daddy says she was really strange.  And
I bet this stuff is hers." Melissa's eyes left the trunk and met Teri's.

"She went on a cruise somewhere, and she just disappeared.  Nobody ever
found out what happened to her."

Teri's lips twisted into a crooked grin.  "Come on," she said.  "Nobody
just disappears."

"Great-Aunt Dahlia did," Melissa insisted.  "Everybody thinks she
probably jumped overboard.  Anyway, I bet this is her stuff.  I bet they
sent it back, but nobody ever unpacked it."

The two girls began to sort through the clothes.  There were several
dresses, all of them in the style of the 1930s, along with silk blouses,
several jackets, a coat, and several pairs of lounging pants.  In the
small drawers that filled half the trunk, they found a collection of
underwear, stockings, lingerie, and half a dozen pairs of shoes.

Melissa pulled one of the dresses out and held it up.  Teri giggled. "No
wonder she killed herself," she said, gazing at the folds of material
trailing on the floor at Melissa's feet.  "She must have been six feet
ten."

Melissa sighed with disappointment, knowing there was no way the dress
would fit her.  And then she saw Teri staring speculatively at something
behind her.

Turning, she once more saw the old white dress, covered with ruffles and
bows, hanging from the mannequin.  A moment later she understood what
Teri was thinking.

"That?" she breathed.

Teri  nodded.  "Why  not?"  she  said,  grinning. "You could go as
Darcy."

Melissa stared at her, trying to decide if she was kidding.  "But I
couldn't," she started to protest.

"Why not?" Teri asked.  Moving around Melissa, she began carefully to
unbutton the back of the dress, and a moment later pulled it off the
mannequin.  "It'll be fun.  And after what happened at the bonfire, you
can prove to the rest of the kids that you're not afraid of Darcy.  And
we won't tell anyone..." She suddenly fell silent as Melissa, eyes wide,
stared at the bare floorboard, now exposed, that the skirt of the dress
had covered only a moment before. Frowning, Teri let her own gaze follow
her half sister's.

On the floor near the base of the mannequin lay a worn leather strap.

Fastened onto a metal ring near the buckle at one end was a small
plastic tag. A single word was etched in white on its dark blue surface.

BLACKIE.

Trembling, Melissa reached down and picked up the dog's collar, then her
eyes went to Teri.  "I was right," she breathed.  "I did see him up
here."

Teri stared at the collar silently for a moment, finally shifting her
eyes to her terrified half sister.  "But what did you do with him?" she
asked.

Melissa felt a wave of dizziness come over her.  "D-Do with him?" she
repeated.

Teri nodded.  "Don't you see?" she asked.  "If he really was up here and
you really did see him, you must have done something to him."

Melissa's head slowly swung back and forth.  "N-No," she stammered.  "I
didn't..."

Teri reached out and took the collar from Melissa's hand.  "I didn't say
you did it on purpose," she said.  Then, as if she'd just thought of it,
she spoke again, seeming to formulate the idea while she talked.

"Maybe-Maybe it wasn't you at all," she suggested.  "Maybe it was
Darcy."

Melissa gasped.  "D-Darcy?"

"But it has to be.  You know how she comes to you at night, to help you
when your mom straps you down?"

Melissa tried to swallow the lump of fear rising in  her  throat,  and
managed a slight nod.

"Well, maybe she came that night, too.  Maybe she came and let you go to
sleep, and then did something to Blackie.  And when you woke up, YOU
remembered parts of it and went upstairs to see."

"But I saw-" Melissa protested.

"Maybe  you  didn't  see,"  Teri  suggested. "Maybe you just remembered
what Darcy did."

Melissa had begun to tremble, her mind spinning as she tried to cope
with Teri's words.  was it possible?   Could Darcy have done something
like that?

She didn't know.

"Wh-What am I going to do?" she breathed, her terrified eyes fixing on
Teri.  "If Mama finds out-"

Teri reached out and took Melissa's hand.  "She's not going to," she
said. "If Darcy did it, it's not your fault, is it?   So we'll just act
like nothing happened.  We'll get rid of the collar and not tell
anyone."

Melissa blinked back the tears that threatened to overwhelm her. "You'll
do that for me?" she whispered.  "You won't tell Mama?"

Teri smiled.  "Of course not,"  she  said.  "Why  would  I  want  to  do
that?"

Taking the dress with her, she led Melissa out of the attic.

Charles glanced at his watch.  It was almost seven, which meant they
were going to be at least thirty minutes late for the buffet dinner at
the Barnstables'.  Not that it mattered, really.  During the summer no
one really cared if you were late for a buffet.  He glanced in the
mirror, adjusting the black cummerbund of the tuxedo that he'd finally
agreed to wear.  "I'm not putting on a costume," he'd told Phyllis when
she tried to convince him to go as George Washington. "I'll put on my
tux and go as a waiter, but that's the limit."

Phyllis, knowing better than to push him, had mentally shifted gears,
deciding on a flapper costume from the twenties.  It wouldn't be as
elaborate as the gown she'd originally planned, but at least it wouldn't
look out of place next to Charles's tuxedo.  Now, hearing his impatient
sigh and seeing him glancing at his watch yet again, she checked her
makeup for the last time and stood up from her vanity.  "Ready," she
announced.  "And we won't be more than forty minutes late, which is
fine." She smiled happily.  "shall we check on the girls?"

Together they walked down the hall to Melissa's room, but just as they
were about to go in, Teri stepped out, pulling the door closed behind
her. You can't see Melissa," she said.  "We're planning a surprise, and
we don't want anyone to see her before the party."

Charles arched his brow.  "Well, that'll make it interesting," he
observed. "What are you going to do?   Throw a blanket over her when
Brett and Jeff arrive?"

"Well, of course, they'll see her," Teri retorted, then spun around so
her father and stepmother could see her dress.  "Well?"

"You look lovely, dear," Phyllis told her, bending over to give Teri's
cheek a kiss.  "You'll be the belle of the ball."

Charles smiled proudly at his eldest daughter.  "And I think the fairy
godmother idea's perfect," he added.  "You've certainly been one to
Melissa. Without you . . . well," he finished, feeling suddenly
self-conscious, "let's just say I suspect she wouldn't be going to the
party at all." His eyes shifted nervously to the closed door.  "How's
she doing?"

"She'll be fine," Teri told him.  "Now go on to the Barnstables' so we
can finish getting her ready."

Kissing her good-bye, Charles and Phyllis started down the stairs, but
Charles abruptly turned back.  "I'm leaving a camera on the table in the
foyer," he said.  "Don't forget to take pictures.  This is Melissa's
first date, and-"

"I know," Teri replied- "You already told me three times.  I won't
forget."

Waving one last time, she turned and went back into Melissa's room.

Melissa, clad only in her underwear and a slip, was looking doubtfully
at the dress, which now lay across her bed.  "What if it doesn't fit?"
she asked.

"We'll make it fit," Teri told her.  "And look what I found at the
thrift shop," she said, opening a bag she'd refused to let Melissa peek
into since she'd brought it home from the village late that afternoon.

Reaching inside, she pulled out a long blond wig.  "And I found all the
right makeup, too," she said.  "Now let's get the dress on you.  The
guys will be here in an hour."

Melissa stood up, and Teri slid the dress over her head, holding the
sleeves while Melissa worked her arms into them.  finally she pulled the
dress down and began buttoning it up the back.

It was a little too large, but not nearly as bad as the dress Melissa
had found in the old steamer trunk, and Teri started to drop to her
knees, but changed her mind as the yards of pink material that formed
her own dress began to crumple beneath her.

"Stand on the stool."  , she told Melissa.  "I  can't  get  down  on the
floor,  and I have to pin the hem."

Melissa gathered the skirt up and climbed onto the stool in front of her
small vanity.  "What if it comes loose?" she asked.

"It won't.  I got safety pins, and the skirt's got so many ruffles they
won't even show.  just hold still."

She began working, folding the hem up a few inches and securing it with
a neat row of safety pins.  After fifteen minutes she straightened up
and stood back, eyeing her work carefully.  "Turn around," she told
Melissa.  She made a few adjustments, then told Melissa she could get
off the stool.

The hemline, almost perfectly even, hung only an inch off the floor.

"Now let's do the back." Teri began folding the material over on itself,
carefully pinning the temporary pleat as flat as she could.  "Well, it's
good enough," she said.  "Now let's see what you look like."

Hesitantly, Melissa moved over to stare at herself in the mirror.

The dress was the right length, but the bodice was way too loose and the
left sleeve kept falling off her shoulder.  "Oh, God," she sighed.  "I
look awful, don't I?"

Teri snickered.  "Well, it's not great yet, but give me a chance, Let's
get some socks to put in your bra."

Melissa stared at her.  "We can't-" she protested.

"Sure we can," Teri replied.  "Why can't we?   What's the big deal?   I
mean, Darcy must have been at least eighteen, and you're only thirteen."

She went to Melissa's bureau and pulled out two pairs of white socks,
handing them to Melissa.  "Go on.  try it!"

Feeling foolish, Melissa stuffed the socks into her bra, then looked
into the mirror again.  To her surprise, her chest seemed to have filled
out, and even when she looked closely, the ruffles along the bodice of
the dress concealed the socks completely.

And there was something  else,  something  she  couldn't  quite  put her
finger on.

She felt different.

She grinned crookedly at Teri.  "Did you  ever  do  this?"  she  asked.

"I  mean, before you-"

"Of course," Teri replied.  "I started doing it when I was twelve.  an
the boys thought I had the biggest ones in the world.  Except they were
only there once in a while.  Boys are so dumb-they never figure anything
out. Now come on.  Let's get the makeup on."

Melissa sat at the vanity, staring at her image in the mirror.  "Wh-What
are you going to do?" she asked.

Teri smiled at her.  "I'm going to make you pretty," she said.  "I'm
going to make YOU just as pretty as Darcy must have been."

She began working, applying a base of light makeup to Melissa's skin,
then adding color.  First she worked on Melissa's cheekbones,
highlighting them carefully so they appeared to stand out slightly. Then
she began shadowing Melissa's eyes, finally using a pencil to line the
lids and draw the corners out slightly, so they appeared to be wider
than they actually were.

as Melissa watched, an image slowly began to emerge.  It was still her
face, but somehow it had changed.  Her features seemed to have taken on
a new definition.

And inside she felt different, too.  as she watched her face develop,
she began to feel a strange sense of confidence grow inside her.  And
then she knew what was happening.

I'm not me anymore, she thought.  I'm turning into someone else. Someone
. . . pretty!

She held perfectly still, hardly daring to move while Teri worked.

finally, after what seemed to Melissa to be an eternity, she stood back.

"There. How's that?"

Melissa stared at her image in the mirror, hardly daring to breathe.

"It-It's weird," she whispered at last.  "I mean, I don't even feel like
myself anymore. I feel like-like someone else."

"That's the way you're supposed to feel," Teri told her.  That's the neat
thing about costumes and makeup.  When You put them on, you can be
anybody you want.  I mean-" The doorbell rang, and Teri glanced at the
clock on Melissa's bed table.  "Oh, God," she said.  "It's already after
eight. They're here." She handed Melissa the wig.  "Put this on while I
go let them in, and I'll come back to comb it for you."

She hurried out of the room, and Melissa fingered the wig for a moment,
her eyes still fixed on the image in the mirror.

The image that wasn't her but was still familiar.

She started to put the wig on, then hesitated as a strange thought
drifted into her head.  Once the wig was on, once her own hair was
covered, the transformation would be complete.

The last vestige of her real self would be gone and she would become
someone else.

Who?

Darcy?

But Darcy wasn't real, she told herself once more.  Darcy was only a
story, and a friend she'd made up.

Taking a deep breath, she put the wig on her head and let the long blond
hair cascade down over her shoulders to frame her face.

And now, in the mirror, she was looking at a stranger.

But it was a stranger who was familiar to her, a stranger whom she had
met before.

She  picked  up  the  brush  on  her  vanity and began stroking it
gently through the mass of blond hair.

And with every stroke, she felt the personality in the mirror, the
personality that was not her own, gaining strength inside her...

Teri pulled the front door open, smiling at Brett Van Arsdale, who was
wearing a black matador's costume trimmed in a pink that matched her
dress almost perfectly.  She grinned at him and pulled the door wider.

"How did you know?" she asked.  "Did someone tell you what I was
wearing?"

Brett cocked his head.  "Maybe I'm psychic."

Teri rolled her eyes, but then as she looked outside at the empty black
Porsche sitting in the driveway, her grin faded.  "Where's Jeff?"

For a split second she thought a guilty look flashed through Bretts
eyes, but then he shrugged.  "He got sick," he said.  "He called me half
an hour ago and said he was barfing all over the place."

Teri's eyes narrowed.  "If you're making this up" she began.

Brett held up both his hands in a protesting gesture.  "Hey, is it my
fault if Jeff got sick?   I got him to ask Melissa, didn't I?   And that
was the deal-if I got him to ask her, you go with me.  But if he got
sick, what am I supposed to do?   I mean, I can't make him go, can I?"

Teri thought quickly.  How was she going to get Melissa to go to the
dance if Jeff was standing her up?   She could already see the tears
streaming down Melissa's stupid cheeks.  She'd probably throw herself on
the bed and have a tantrum or something.  But then, as she thought
about it, the answer came to her.

It would be just like the story.

She grinned at Brett.  "Do me a favor, okay?   I'm going to tell her
that something happened and that Jeff's going to meet us at the club. if
I don't, she won't come."

Brett snickered.  "So what if she doesn't come?" he asked.  "Nobody'll
care."

"Oh, yeah?' Teri asked, her grin turning into a sly smile.  "The way she
looks tonight, nobody at the club's going to want to miss her. just wait
here."

She hurried up the stairs to Melissa's room, already  working  out  the
details of the story she would tell her half sister.

But when she got there, Melissa's room was empty.

Quickly, she  searched  the  second  floor,  then  went  up  and  looked
in the attic.  But Melissa seemed to have disappeared off the face of
the earth.  At last she went back downstairs where Brett was waiting by
the door.

"She's gone," she said.  "She must have heard us talking and taken off."

"Taken off?" Brett repeated.  "Where would she go?"

Teri rolled her eyes once more.  "Who knows?" she said.  "But you know
Melissa-when something gets to her, she runs away."

"Yeah," Brett agreed, his grin widening again as he opened the door and
led Teri down the steps to the Porsche.  "And maybe this time we'll get
lucky. Maybe this time she won't come back."

Teri said nothing, but as the Porsche sped down the driveway, she
glanced back at the house.

And, as she had on the night she'd taken Blackie's body out to the
potting shed, thought she saw a flicker Of movement in one of the attic
windows.  But she'd looked in the attic and Melissa hadn't been there.

Or had she?

Jeff Barnstable lay on his back staring at the ceiling.  The television
on his desk was on but he was oblivious to it, concentrating instead on
the rock music blaring directly into his ears from the headset of his
Walkman- His right foot moved in a steady rhythm, keeping time to the
beat, and every now and then his arms swung wildly as he smashed at an
imaginary percussion set.

The tape came to an end, the last chord fading away, and Jeff reached
for another one, glanced at the label, then tossed it back on the night
table. Getting up, he wandered over to the window and gazed out into the
gathering dusk.  In the distance the lights of the Cove Club were
beginning to glow brightly on the tip of South Point.  A small frown
furrowed his brow as he imagined his friends all dancing to the music of
a live band.

Still, when he'd awakened this morning and thought of actually taking
Melissa Holloway to the dance, just the idea of it had almost made him
sick to his stomach, and by the time he'd made up his mind to follow
through on Kent Fielding's idea of pretending to be sick, he wasn't even
sure it was a lie anymore.  Now, though, an hour after the time he was
supposed to have picked up Melissa, he felt fine. In fact, maybe he'd
change his clothes and go to the dance after all.  By then it would be
too late to go get Melissa-knowing her, she'd be in the middle of a
crying fit anyway and wouldn't want to go even if he showed up at her
house.

He grinned as he imagined himself showing up at her door, all dressed
up, maybe even with a bunch of flowers from his mother's garden.  And
there she'd be, her eyes an red and swollen, staring at him.  She'd
probably slam the door in his face, and then he'd get credit for
actually trying to take her to the dance.  But what if she were just
sitting there, waiting for him?   Then he wouldn't have any excuse at
all for getting out of it.

The soft buzzing of his parents' party, still going strong downstairs,
suddenly increased as his bedroom door opened.  He turned around to see
his mother, standing with her back against the jamb, her face set in an
expression of disapproval that always meant she'd caught him doing
something wrong.

"Feeling better?" Paula Barnstable asked, her voice neutral but her eyes
betraying her anger at her son.

Jeff started back toward the bed, doing his best to look sick again.

"I-I just needed some fresh air," he stammered.

"It seems to me," Paula said slowly, "that perhaps you need some fresh
manners, as well."

Jeff dropped down onto the bed.  "I'm not feeling so good-" he began.

But his mother didn't let him finish.  "I suppose I should have known
you were up to something when you said you didn't feel well this
afternoon.  It isn't really like you to skip a party, is it?" Jeff
glanced uneasily at his mother but said nothing.  "How do you think I
felt when Phyllis Holloway told me how nice it was of you to have asked
Melissa out tonight?" Paula went on. "Aside from the fact that I knew
nothing about it, I also knew you were up here, 'sick.' " The last word
flicked from her lips like a whip, and Jeff cringed, knowing he was
indeed in trouble.

"But I was sick," Jeff began again.

"I don't want to hear it, Jeff," she told him.  "I don't want to know
what led up to this, and I don't want to hear any excuses.  What I want
to know is if it's true.  Did you invite Melissa to the dance tonight?"

"Y-Yes, but-"

"Then you'll go," Paula informed her son.  "I can't imagine Why you
invited Melissa, but I can tell you right now that since you did, you
will take her.  Aside from the fact that there's nothing wrong with
Melissa that getting out from under her mother's thumb wouldn't cure,
there's the matter of simple good manners." Her voice dropped, a sure
sign that she was angry. "You don't make a date with no intention of
keeping it, Jeff.  It's not only rude, but it's cruel, and no matter
what you or anyone else thinks of Melissa or her mother, you have no
right to be cruel to her."

"But'-"

Paula shook her head.  "No buts," she said.  "If I'd known you had a
date tonight, I'd have called the doctor this afternoon.  And if you'd
been sick enough to warrant it, I'd have called Phyllis and Melissa
myself and explained the situation.  But now," she went on, her voice
dropping further, "if you're really sick, I'm sorry for you.  Because
you're going to get off that bed, get dressed, and go get Melissa.

You're going to take her to that dance, and you're never going to leave
her side.  And if you don't, believe me, you're going to have a very
lonely summer, because there will be no more parties, no more days at
the club, no more days on the beach.  You'll sit here and think about
what it means to go back on your word." Without waiting for her son to
reply, Paula turned and left his room, silently closing the door behind
her.

Jeff sat on his bed for a moment as if paralyzed, his mother's words
echoing in his head.  He should have known he'd get caught-he'd been
stupid even to think he could get away with it.  Sighing, he pulled
himself off the bed and went to his closet.  It was too late to figure
out a costume now.  He'd just have to wear a sports jacket and make the
best of it.

But he could already hear Kent Fielding laughing at him when he showed
up with Melissa on his arm.  as he finished dressing a few minutes
later, though, another thought occurred to him.  He'd made a deal with
Brett Van Arsdale, and if he had to make good on his part of it, then
Brett had to make good on the rest of it.

Pausing as he went out the front door to drain a nearly full drink that
someone had left on the table in the entry hall, he headed along the
trail toward the club to get the Porsche from Brett Van Arsdale.

Cora lifted the heavy tray of hors d'oeuvres, still covered with a layer
of Saran Wrap, then backed through the kitchen door into the butler's
pantry. She nearly dropped the tray as she turned around in the cramped
quarters, but recovered herself and went on into the dining room where
she added the tray to the three others already on the big oaken table
that Tag had lengthened to its full twenty-four feet earlier in the
evening. She paused for a moment to catch her breath, then began
arranging the silverware in the difficult crescent pattern her mistress
always insisted using-and always inspected to be certain it was perfect.

Momentarily, she wished she'd taken Tag up on his offer to help her this
evening, but quickly decided she'd made the right decision, her grandson
worked hard enough during the week without having to spend his Saturday
night setting up a party he couldn't even go to.

She glanced at the French  doors  to  the  terrace,  reminding  herself
to  Turn on the lights before she went back to the kitchen, and was
about to begin arranging the napkins, when she thought she heard a sound
from upstairs. She paused in her work, her eyes automatically gazing
upward as if she could see through the floor.

The sound came again, barely audible, and a frown creased the old
woman's brow.  The house was empty-she'd seen the mister and misses
leave long ago, and heard the roar of Brett Van Arsdale's Porsche as it
sped up the drive just before she'd come in to start setting up the
after-dance party the Holloways were hosting.

So the house should be empty.

Her frown deepening as the faint sound came again, she abandoned the
napkins and walked into the foyer, mounting the stairs a moment later.

Coming to the second-floor landing, she paused, listening, and then
heard the sound again.

It was still coming from above, in the attic.

A moment later she was, certain she knew the answer.  It had to be Tag,
taking advantage of the fact that Mrs. Holloway was gone to search the
attic for the missing dog once again.  "I just think he must be up
there," he'd told her only that afternoon.  "If Melissa says she saw
him, I believe her."

Cora had done her best to talk him out of it, explaining once more about
Melissa's tendency to sleepwalk.  "I'm not saying she was lying," she'd
finished.  "But sometimes she has dreams that are so, vivid she thinks
they're real."

But apparently she hadn't convinced the boy, and now, as the sound she'd
heard before, sound that was now clearly that of footsteps coming from
above, she started toward the attic stairs.

At the top of the flight she found the door standing ajar, but the
lights were off.  What was Tag doing?   Hunting through the attic in the
dark?   But it was almost nighttime now, and even the windows in the
dormers were all but indistinguishable in the darkness of the attic.

"Tag" she called.  She reached for the light switch, but as her eyes
adjusted to the darkness in the chamber beneath the roof, she saw a
faint glow of yellowish light coming from the far end.  Her lips
compressing into a thin line of annoyance, she flipped the switch and
started through the attic.

The pool of light from the single bulb faded quickly as she moved away
from it, but she could still make out the flickering light ahead of her.

It seemed to be coming from the little room where she'd found Melissa a
couple of times, sound asleep on the cot which was almost its only
furnishing. At last she was in front of the room's door.  Like the door
to the attic itself, it was standing slightly ajar.  She reached out and
pushed it open, fully expecting to see Tag, looking guilty, Turn to face
her.

Instead she saw a figure in a long white dress standing at the window,
staring out into the quickly gathering darkness.  She gasped, her hand
automatically going to her breast as her heart fluttered at the strange
vision in the room.

The  figure  turned,  and  for  a  moment  Cora  felt  as  if  her  legs
would give way beneath her.

in the flickering glow of an oil lamp, a face appeared-a face as pale as
death-framed by long blond hair that dropped almost to the eerie
figure's waist.

Instinctively, Cora reached out to steady herself against the doorknob.

And then, as the strange specter picked up the oil lamp and moved toward
her, she recognized the face.

"Melissa?" she asked.

The figure stopped moving and its head tipped slightly.

"What on earth are you doing.?"

"I'm going to the dance," Melissa replied.

Cora's eyes narrowed slightly, for there was something odd about
Melissa's voice.  It wasn't that it didn't sound like Melissa-just that
it was different.

"The dance?" Cora repeated.  "But didn't the boys come for you an hour
ago?   I heard the car."

"I wasn't ready," Melissa said.  "But now it's time."

Melissa moved toward her once more, and instinctively Cora drew back
slightly, for again there had been that strange note in Melissa's voice.

Melissa brushed past her, but instead of turning toward the bright pool
of light around the attic door, she went the other way, toward the
long-disused servants' stairs.

Cora followed close behind her, and a moment later Melissa started down
the steep flight that led eventually to the kitchen.  "Melissa?   Are
you all right?" Cora asked when they were downstairs.  Melissa was
standing quite still, her eyes scanning the kitchen, her expression
oddly puzzled.  as Cora spoke, she turned once more, and this time she
smiled. But it wasn't quite Melissa's smile, just as the voice with
which she spoke wasn't quite Melissa's voice.

"I'm fine," she said.  "Isn't it a perfect night?"

Cora took a step toward her.  "Something's wrong,' she said.  "You don't
sound right.  And what are you dressed up as?   My Lord, you're pale as
a ghost-"

And suddenly she understood.  It was the costume party!   And Melissa
was going as Darcy.  The tension in Cora's body broke and she chuckled
softly. "Well, aren't you a sight, though.  an dressed up in that dress.
When I first saw you, I almost fainted dead away.  My goodness, I hope
nobody sees you on the beach tonight.  You'd scare the life right out of
them." She moved closer to Melissa and held out her arms, but instead of
accepting Cora's embrace, Melissa moved toward the door.

"Don't," she breathed.  "It'll get wrinkles in my beautiful new dress."

Setting the flickering oil lamp on the counter, she smiled once more at
Cora, then stepped out the back door into the night.

Cora, nonplussed by Melissa's last words, hurried to the door.  New
dress?

What was she talking about?   The dress was ancient.  And her voice!

It hadn't sounded like Melissa's voice at all.  It had sounded older,
somehow.  And curiously toneless.  She came to the back door and peered
out into the darkness.  Melissa, already halfway across the lawn, had
all but disappeared from sight, and all Cora could see of her was an
indistinct blur of white floating against the black background of the
night.  She hesitated for a moment, wondering what to do.

Should she call Mrs. Holloway at the Barnstables'?

She discarded the idea instantly, knowing what her mistress's reaction
would be to being called away from a party simply because Melissa was
acting strange.

She would be furious, and she'd take it out not only on her, but on
Melissa, too.

Besides, maybe there wasn't anything wrong with Melissa at all.

Maybe she'd just been using her imagination, and was trying to act the
way Darcy herself might have that night when she'd gone to a dance at
the club.  In her mind, Cora ran over the details of the legend she'd
heard for the first time nearly fifty years ago, when she'd originally
come to Secret Cove.

If it was true that Darcy Manoy had really lived in this house, then the
room in the attic might well have been hers.  And she was supposed to
have been seventeen or eighteen that night almost a hundred years ago.

Cora smiled now as she remembered Melissa's face.  With the pale makeup,
the makeup that had given her face that strange ghostly cast, she might
have  been seventeen.

And her voice had taken-on a more mature tone as well.

Yes, that was it.

Melissa, caught up in the spirit of the costume, was playing the role of
Darcy as well as wearing the clothes.

And she's doing a pretty good job of it, too, Cora added to herself as
she went back to her work.  She sure fooled me.-for a minute I'd have
sworn she really was Darcy.

Jeff Barnstable twisted the key and listened to the Porsche's powerful
engine leap into life.  He gunned the motor a couple of times, dropped
the transmission into low, and releasing the hand brake.  Popping the
clutch, he stamped down on the accelerator and the tires emitted a
satisfying shriek as they lost their traction for a second.  The car
shot forward, accelerating rapidly as it roared up the drive toward the
highway.  He was doing nearly fifty when he came to the tight curve that
would take him onto the road skirting the cove, and when he spun the
wheel, all four wheels suddenly tore loose from the pavement. Instantly,
he corrected his steering and the tires caught again.  He slowed down as
he came to the main highway, turned and headed down the road that led
around the cove and eventually into the village.  He came around another
tight curve, then gunned the engine once more as he hit a long
straightaway, the speedometer peaking at eighty-five before he began to
slow for the Turn into the Holloways' long driveway.  Less than two
minutes after he'd left the club, he stopped the car on the gravel drive
in front of the house.  Leaving the engine idling, he ran up the steps
to the porch and rang the bell.

When nothing happened, he rang again, then heard Cora Peterson's muffled
voice calling out from inside the house.  "Hold your horses.  I'm
coming." The porch light came on and the door opened.  Cora looked out
at him, opened the door wider, but said nothing.

"Is Melissa here?" Jeff asked.  "I came to pick her up."

Cora pursed her lips.  "Pick her up?" she repeated.  "Well, you're
a little late, aren't you?"

Jeff felt a flush of heat in his face and hoped it didn't show in the
light on the porch.  "I-It took me longer to get ready than I thought,"
he said.  "Then I had to get the car from Brett."

Cora's eyes moved to the Porsche.  "Since when are you old enough to
drive?" she asked.

"I have a learner's permit," Jeff told her.  "Besides, all the kids
drive around here.  The cops don't care."

Cora's brows rose.  "Maybe they don't, if they don't catch you," she
retorted.  "Anyway, I guess it don't matter, since Melissa's gone."

"Gone?   What do you mean?"

"She left maybe five or ten minutes ago.  all dressed up in her
costume."

She eyed Jeff suspiciously.  "She didn't act like she was expecting to
be picked up."

Jeff swallowed nervously, wondering if he should try to catch up with
her. If she got to the club and he wasn't with her . . .

But it was all right.  When he'd left his house, his mother's party had
still been going, and people had just started leaving for the club.  He
still had time to get the car back and then go find Melissa.

"Which way did she go?" he asked.

Cora shrugged.  "How should I know?   I s'pose she was taking the trail.
I don't think she'd want to go on the beach and risk getting her dress
all dirty."

"Okay," Jeff said, starting back down the steps.  "I'll find her."

Leaving the door open, Cora stepped out on the porch.  "Well, you get
rid of the car first.  I don't want my girl running around in a car with
anybody that doesn't know how to drive."

"I know how," Jeff called back, sliding once more behind the wheel of
the Porsche.  He put the little car in gear, let the clutch out, and
slowly went on around the circular drive until he was back to the
driveway itself.  Then, just to show off, he hit the gas pedal hard, and
a satisfying rain of gravel shot up from the car's rear.  Laughing as
Cora shook her fist at him, he raced up the driveway toward the main
road.

Melissa, eyes wide and unblinking, moved along the trail, her skirt
raised so she wouldn't get the hem of her dress dirty.  The strange
feelings that had begun to come over her when she'd first put on the
dress-then grown stronger as Teri began to change her face with the
makeup-held her firmly in their grasp now.

She wasn't Melissa at all anymore.  She'd sent Melissa to sleep
somewhere deep inside her, and it was Darcy who was now on her way to
the dance, everything looked strange to her.  She'd barely recognized
Cora, and when she'd gone through the kitchen, it appeared different,
too.  It had looked older than she'd remembered it, and the icebox had
disappeared.  There was something new in its place-a big white box, made
out of metal.  And the lights in the kitchen had been brighter, too.

She'd been glad to get out of the house and into the more familiar
darkness outside, and she'd started for the trail through the woods
immediately. In the woods everything was the same as she remembered it.

The path felt soft and spongy beneath her feet, and the twists and turns
were the same as they'd always been.

But then, through the trees, she got a glimpse of the Cove Club.  Like
the kitchen in the house a few minutes ago, its lights were brighter
than she remembered-almost as bright as day.

She moved on, and a few minutes later came to a bend in the trail she
didn't recognize.  The trail had a new fork, and above her was the
road.  She looked uncertainly at the other fork for a moment, but had no
idea where it might lead.  But if she went up to the road, the club was
no more than a three-minute walk away.

Jeff slowed the car down, steering into the last curve before the short
Straightaway leading to the coast road.  Suddenly, in the glow of the
head lights, a figure clad in white appeared along the side of the road.

For a split second the memory of the story of Darcy leaped into his
mind, but then he realized it had to be Melissa, on her way to the club.

He slowed the car, expecting her to Turn around any second, but when she
didn't, an idea came into his head.  If he killed the lights and crept
up on her, then blasted the horn . . .

He reached down and turned off the headlights, then slowed the car even
further, until the idling engine was almost silent.  finally, when he
was no more than ten feet behind the pale figure by the side of the
road, he blasted the horn, and as the figure jumped and spun around to
face him, switched the lights back on.

And gaped.

It wasn't Melissa at all.

Instead, he saw a ghostly face staring at him, a face framed with
straight blond hair hanging almost to her waist.

The memory of the ghost story flooded back to him once again, and
without thinking, Jeff jammed his foot to the floorboard and the
powerful engine roared back to life.  The car leaped forward, its wheels
screaming against the pavement.  Jeff's eyes left the road ahead to
stare into the rearview mirror.

The grotesque figure in white still stood by the side of the road,
staring at him.

His eyes flicked away from the image in the mirror and then widened in
horror as he saw the safety rail of the coast road looming ahead of him,
no more than twenty yards away.

A scream of terror building in his throat, his foot left the accelerator
and smashed down on the brake pedal.  The tires screamed once more as
the wheels locked under the force of the brakes, and the car sloughed
around, all its traction gone.

A moment later the Porsche slammed into the metal guardrail.

The force of the blow ripped the rail loose from the concrete pilings to
which it was attached.

The car shot out over the edge of the cliff, seemed to Jeff to hover
there for a single agonizing second, then dropped downward.

It turned as it fell, and for a moment Jeff stared straight down at the
rocks that seemed to be rushing up at him.  And then the car struck the
rocks, and Jeff felt the windshield explode into his face...

Melissa, snapped awake by the blare of the Porsche's horn, stared at the
car as it shot through the barrier and disappeared over the cliff.  For
a moment she was stunned, uncertain of where she was or how she had
gotten there.

The last thing she really remembered was being in her room, putting on
the wig and staring at herself in the mirror.

Staring at the image that hadn't quite been her own.

But now, as she began to come fully awake once more, she knew whose
image it was she'd seen.

It had been Darcy's image.

Tonight, as she put on the dress, the makeup, and the wig, Darcy had
come to her, unbidden.

Darcy had come to her, and sent her to sleep.

She gazed numbly at the twisted wreckage of the barrier and tried to
remember what had happened.

But there was nothing there.  Only the memory of the noise that had
awakened her, and the image of the car racing away from her.

A black car.

A black car like Brett Van Arsdale's.

Gasping, she pulled up her skirt and ran the forty or so yards to the
coast road.  She darted across, and stared down into the darkness below.

On the rocks, just out of reach of the pounding surf, she could barely
make out the wreckage of the car.

A scream welled up in her throat and she turned away, rushing toward the
bright lights of the Cove Club.

Phyllis paused by the swimming pool, gazing up at the brilliantly lit
clubhouse on the promontory above.  She'd hated leaving the Barnstables'
party early, but in the end hadn't been able to resist her urge to get
to the dance itself and make certain all her careful plans had worked
out.  Now, with the strains of music drifting out the open windows to
fill the warm summer evening with a gentle melody, she began to relax.

At least the orchestra had arrived, and she could see a few costumed
figures already moving around the dance floor.  "Look," she said to
Charles, slipping her hand through his arm. "See the Japanese lanterns?

I had them put on every single bulb on the chandeliers.  And look at the
light."

Charles's gaze followed his wife's and he smiled, partly at the rainbow
of color that danced on the dining room's white ceiling, and partly at
his wife's pleasure at the effect she had created.  So far, at least, it
appeared the party was going to be a success.  "There's no point in just
standing here," he said, taking a step forward.  "Let's go inside." He
led Phyllis up the steps from the terrace, but suddenly felt her fingers
tighten on his arm.  He glanced at her questioningly.

"I keep having a funny  feeling,"  she  said,  hesitating  once  more on
the front steps of the clubhouse itself.  "I have this awful feeling
that something is going to go wrong."

Charles chuckled.  "Of course you do," he said.  "But it's just nerves.

And besides, even if something isn't perfect, there's not much you can
do about it now.  And whatever happens, it can't be as bad as the year
Eleanor Stevens was chairman."

Phyllis groaned.  "Don't remind me."

"Of course I'm going to remind you," Charles replied, his chuckle
growing into a booming laugh.  "What could be worse than having the
whole refreshment table collapse?   especially when the whole staff had
warned you it was going to happen?   Eleanor didn't have anyone to blame
but herself, and I have to say the look on her face was worth the mess
it made."

almost in spite of herself, Phyllis found herself laughing, too.  She
could still see Eleanor staring at the wreckage, then looking around for
someone else to blame.  But everywhere she looked, people seemed only to
be gaping at each other's ruined costumes, and then, out of the silence
that had fallen over the room, Eleanor's husband had finally spoken: "Is
this your idea of crashing a party, dear?"

Eleanor, speechless for probably the first time in her life, had fled
the room and not been seen for a week.

"You're right," Phyllis conceded.  "Nothing could be worse than that."

With Charles beside her, she walked up the steps and into the clubhouse,
handing her wrap to the coat-check girl.  At last, feeling a final
thrill of anticipation, she stepped through the doors into the ballroom.

Her eyes swept the room quickly, checking the decorations.  Around the
perimeter a series of tables had been set up, each of which held a
perfect centerpiece of roses nested in Queen Anne's lace surrounding
three tan candles.  Along the wall to her right were the tables of hors
d'oeuvres, and even as she watched, a waiter expertly combined two
half-filled plates of shrimp and replaced the empty one with a full one
from the kitchen.  Farther along was the bar, with another one serving
only soft drinks opposite it.  Outside on the terrace overlooking the
sea there was another bar.

The room was already half filled, and Phyllis smiled as she watched the
collection of costumed figures drift across the floor.  There were
angels and devils, three rabbits, several hoboes, and even a scarecrow,
who, as Phyllis watched, lost a sheaf of straw from his left pant leg.

In the center of the room, dancing with Brett Van Arsdale, she saw Teri,
and once more her fingers tightened on Charles's arm.  "There she is,"
she whispered.  "I told you she'd be the most beautiful girl in the
room."

And indeed, as Charles watched his eldest daughter move gracefully to
the rhythm of the slow waltz the band was playing, Phyllis was right.

The pink dress that only a few hours ago had looked tired and worn-out
now glittered brilliantly, the rhinestones covering the dress catching
every ray of light the chandeliers emitted, refracting them into a
rainbow that seemed to shimmer around Teri, dancing attendance on her as
she spun across the room.

Suddenly spying her father and stepmother, Teri stopped dancing and
hurried across the floor, her eyes sparkling almost as brightly as her
dress. "Isn't it all beautiful, Daddy?" she asked.  "Aren't you proud of
Phyllis?"

Charles's smile broadened.  "But none of it is as beautiful as you," he
replied, his eyes scanning the room once more.  "Where's your sister?
I don't know how much longer I can wait for the big surprise."

Teri's eyes lost some of their sparkle.  "Sh-She isn't here yet," she
stammered.

Phyllis smile faded away.  "But didn't Jeff come to pick her up with
Brett?"

Teri's mind raced.  If Phyllis didn't know that Jeff had tried to stand
Melissa up . . . "He did," she said, nothing in her voice betraying the
lie. "But Melissa wasn't ready.  So we came ahead, and Jeff took Bretts
car back to get her."

"Jeff?" Charles said, frowning.  "But he's. not old enough to drive."

Teri composed her features  into  a  mask  of  concern.  "He  isn't?  I
just-if I'd known"

"But you didn't," Phyllis assured her.  "And I'm sure it'll be all right
It's not even a mile to the house, and Jeff will be careful." She turned
to her husband.  "And if he's already gone, there isn't much we can do
about it now, is there?   By now they're probably on their way back."

Charles's frown deepened.  "I think I'd better call-" he began.

But Phyllis took his hand and pulled him toward the dance floor.  "I
think you'd better dance with your wife," she told him.  "If they aren't
here within the next five or ten minutes, then we can start worrying."

She slipped herself into his arms, and after only a moment's hesitation,
Charles whirled her away into the crowd.

Five minutes later, as the last chords of the music died away and the
babble of voices rose once more around her, Phyllis smiled at her
husband. "I've done it," she whispered softly enough so that only he
could hear her words.  "Did you hear?   Even Eleanor Stevens said it's
the most beautiful midsummer ball we've ever had.  And the August
Moon ball will be even better.  I've been thinking about it, and I
think this year we'll forget all the fan colors.  They're such a cliche,
and . . ." Her voice trailed off as she realized that around her the
murmuring voices had died away.  She glanced around, searching for
whatever might have distracted the party goers from their conversations,
and for a moment saw nothing.

But then, realizing that everyone was facing the large double doors to
the foyer, she turned around.

And gasped.

Standing in the doorway was a strange figure clad in white.  Phyllis
gazed blankly, her first impression being that it almost appeared to be
a ghost out of the past. it was a girl wearing an old-fashioned white
dress, with long blond hair dropping well below her shoulders, partially
covering her face.  But what little of the face showed was deathly pale
and streaked with tears.  And then, her breath catching in her throat,
Phyllis recognized the dress.

She had seen it only a week ago, hanging on a mannequin in her own
attic.

And now it was on her daughter, who stood absolutely still in the
doorway, tears streaming down her face, staring at her.

Phyllis' heart sank.  She'd been right-"everything had been too perfect,
everything had been going too well.  And she should have known from the
moment it began what the source of her misgivings was.

Melissa.

Once more her daughter was going to humiliate her, and this time on the
one night she'd hoped would be her moment of glory.  Her hand tightened
on her husband's arm, and when she spoke, her voice was a barely audible
hiss emerging from her clenched jaw.  "Do something," she demanded.
"can't you-" But it was too late.  Melissa suddenly came alive, rushing
through the mob of people who had been staring at her and who now drew
back as she passed by as if they were afraid even of her touch. Ignoring
her mother, Melissa threw herself into her father's arms.

"Missy.?" Charles asked- "Honey, what is it?   What's 'wrong?"

"A-A car, Melissa  stammered She looked beseechingly up into her
father's face.  "It went off the road, Papa," she went on, her voice
trembling as she tried to choke back her sobs.  "It wasn't my fault.  I
didn't do anything-"

Her words were suddenly drowned out by a rising tide of voices, and then
the crowd in the room began to move, surging toward the doors.

"the car?" Charles asked.

Melissa swallowed.  "A black one," she said.  "Like Brett's."

Phyllis flinched at the words.  "Bretts?" she repeated.  "But weren't
you-"

Charles cut her off.  "Not now," he said, his voice carrying an urgency
that silenced his wife.  "Let's just find out what happened." Holding
Melissa's hand tightly in his own, he turned away from Phyllis and
pushed through the crowd toward the doors.

The scene above the rocky shore upon which Brett Van Arsdale's ruined
car lay had a surreal quality to it.  Cars lined the road, their
headlights on, and a grotesque ballet of strangely clad beings seemed to
be under way as the guests from the ball, still in their costumes, moved
from one spot to another, whispering the latest news from the beach to
each other before moving on, weaving in and out of the odd spotlights
created by the automobiles headlamps.

Melissa, her tears abated for the moment, pressed close to her father,
holding onto his hand as his arm lay protectively around her shoulders.

"Not Jeff," she breathed.  "It can't be Jeff...It was Bretts car..."
Her voice trailed off as she tried to accept what had happened. But
it wasn't real-it couldn't be.  Jeff was the last person she'd want to
hurt.  Choking back the sob that formed in her throat, she huddled even
closer to her father.

A spotlight had been brought from the clubhouse, connected by a series
of long extension cords that wound down the driveway to the nearest
electrical outlet. its brilliant halogen bulb cast a powerful flood of
white light down onto the beach below, where seven people were working
frantically to cut Jeff Barnstable loose from the wreckage of the black
Porsche.

"I'm  going  down  there,"  Charles  said, withdrawing his hand from his
daughter's grasp.

"No," Melissa protested.  "Please?   Don't leave me alone!"

"But  you're  not  alone,"  Charles  replied.  "Your  mother's  here,
and Teri.
You'll be fine."

Melissa couldn't say  anything  else,  he  hurried  away  and  began
working his way down the steep face of the cliff, following the same
route the police and paramedics had taken only minutes before.  At last
he came to the rocky shelf at the base of the cliff and picked his way
carefully through the maze of tide pools until he reached the wreckage.

One of the policemen glanced up at him, nodding a greeting, and a moment
later, when the light from above caught the man's face, he recognized
him.  Tom Mallory had grown up in Secret Cove, joining the police
department right out of high school.  "What's the situation?" Charles
asked.  "Is he going to make it?"

Mallory shook his head.  "They're- still working, Mr. Holloway, but it
doesn't look good.  His chest is pretty smashed up, and they think his
back's probably broken, too."

Charles's eyes drifted away from the cop.  A man with an acetylene torch
was crouched by the driver's door, cutting away the crumpled metal as
quickly as he could.  The tide was. rising, and as Charles watched, a
wave broke offshore and a cascade of foaming water rushed toward him,
churning around the rocks, momentarily engulfing the roof of the car in
an inch or two of water.

His heart froze as he heard a muffled sound come from within the car
itself.  "Jesus," he muttered.  "He's not conscious, is he?"

Mallory said, "We're not sure.  If he is, it's just barely.  He's moaned
a few times, but we don't know if He's heard anything we've said to
him." Then the cop's voice turned grim.  "But if they can't get him out
within the next few minutes, it'll be too late-the tide's coming in
fast."

"What about moving the car?" Charles asked.

"It's already taken care of,  Mr.  Holloway.  We've  got  a  tow  truck
on  the way, but we're not sure it'll do any good.  What we need is a
crane to lift the car straight up."

"Then get one," Charles said, unconsciously using a tone that told
Mallory he expected his order to be obeyed instantly.

The police sergeant snortted impatiently.  "You  think  we  haven't
tried?  But the nearest one is fifty miles away. it's on its way, too,
but by the time it gets here it'll be too late.  Either they get him out
in the next ten minutes or..." He shrugged eloquently as his head
shook in hopelessness.

A moment later one of the Paramedics spoke sharply.  "Sarge?   He's
definitely awake now.  I think he's trying to say something.,, Mallory
moved quickly to the side of the crumpled car, crouching low so his head
was close to the window.  Behind him, heedless of the water swirling
around his feet, Charles Holloway hunkered down as well.  "Jeff?" he
said. "It's me . . . it's-" Mallory silenced him with a look.  "It's
gonna be okay, son," he said, his voice low and calm, there was  no
trace left of the tension that had been apparent only seconds ago when
he'd been talking to Holloway.  "We're gonna get you out, Jeff- you just
take it easy and we'll have you out of here in just a few more minutes."

Jeff's eyes flickered, then opened, and even though the boy's face was
in deep shadow, Charles had an instant and unshakable impression that
the boy already knew he was going to die.  Jeff's eyes moved, flicking
toward him for a moment, returning immediately to the policeman.

Another wave crashed out to sea, and a moment later water once more
flooded over the shelf of rocks.  Charles felt a surge of helpless
impotence as the water surged into the car, rising ominously,
threatening to flood Jeff's nose and mouth before suddenly peaking and
ebbing away again. when the water had receded once more, Tom Mallory
reached out and gently wiped Jeffs face with a handkerchief.

as the boy's eyes opened once more, his mouth began to work, too, and
both Mallory and Charles Holloway leaned forward.

For a second there was only silence.

And  then,  as  yet  another  wave  broke,  a  single  word  drifted
from Jeff Barnstable's lips.

"Darcy..."

it came almost like a breath, and Charles thought or imagined that he
saw Jeff shudder slightly. And  this time The water suddenly rose around
and flooded into the car, rising quickly, submerging Jeff's face
completely. There was sympathy for the boy, and Charles found himself
holding his own breath in braced himself  for  the  spasm of  coughing
that  was  bound  to  rack  Jeff's broken body as soon as the water
retreated.

But when it finally drained away, there was only silence in the car,
and for several long seconds Charles found himself still holding his
breath as he stared into Jeff's empty eyes.

Mallory reached into the car and gently closed Jeff's eyes.

finally, he straightened up, drawing Charles erect, Issuing orders to
stop cutting the smashed door. Mallory started slowly toward the base of
the cliff. just before he began climbing, he turned back to face
Charles.

"Did you hear what he said?" he asked.

Charles hesitated, then reluctantly nodded.  "Darcy."

"Darcy," Mallory repeated.  "Any idea what he could have meant by that?"

Charles said nothing for a moment, but at last nodded again. "I think I
do," he said.  "I wish I didn't, but I think I do." Feeling numb, he
followed the policeman back to the road where his family waited.  His
eyes went to Melissa, who stood where he had left her. "Come on,
darling," he said, putting his arms around her and holding her for a
moment.  "I'll take you home."

The crowd parted,  as a scream  pierced the night.  He led Melissa away
from the silence of the night.

Paula Barnstable had just learned  that  her  only  son  had  died,  and
heard what his last word had been.

"Darcy."

Teri MacIver, who had been silently watching and listening to everything
that had happened since Melissa had appeared at the door to the ballroom
less than an hour before, smiled softly to herself.

Jeff's last word, she was certain, would be enough.  For already she had
seen how people were beginning to look at Melissa.

After all, everyone knew there was no such person as Darcy.

There was only Melissa Holloway.

And it would  be  Melissa  they  would  blame  for  Jeff  Barnstable's
death.

Teri's smile broadened in the darkness of the night, but no one saw it.

Except that, oddly, Teri once more had that peculiar sensation that she
was being watched.

She turned, and peered into the darkness around her.

There was no one there.

But still, the feeling of unseen eyes watching her, looking right inside
her, persisted.  A slight shiver ran through her as she finally hurried
away from the bluff over the sea.

"Mallory thinks she's crazy."  Phyllis said as a sergeant, in Holloways'
library went over the story again with Melissa.

after Phyllis had listened in silence, after objecting only a few
minutes ago, Mallory  arrived and said that Melissa  should  say nothing
more until their lawyer could get  there.

"I hardly think that's necessary," Charles had told their lawyer.

Phyllis interjected, but Charles ignored her interruption.

"The fact of the matter is that Melissa wasn't in the car.  So how can
she tell them what she saw?"

Melissa whimpered.  "all I remember is hearing a horn honking- I no
more than turned as It  raced past me and went right around me, and
then the car went through the rail."

"But what were you doing there?" Phyllis had demanded.

Melissa still wore the old ruffled dress, but her face had been wiped
clean of the pale makeup that had given her a pallor of death.  She
squirmed uncomfortably in her chair, her eyes fixing on the floor.  "I-I
don't know," she'd breathed.

"You don't know?" Phyllis demanded.

Melissa shook her head unhappily.  "I was in my room, getting ready for
the party.  I put the wig on, and then . . ." Her voice had trailed off
and a tear trickled down her cheek.  "It's like I went to sleep or
something.  I don't remember what happened until Jeff honked the horn at
me."

Now, with Mallory gone and Cora sent home, Phyllis' eyes fixed angrily
on her daughter.  "You were sleepwalking again, weren't you?" When
Melissa made no reply, Phyllis repeated the question.  "Weren't you?"

Melissa shook her head and her eyes shifted to her father, pleading with
him to help her.

"Why don't we just leave it alone for tonight, Phyllis," Charles said,
glancing pointedly at his watch.  "After what she's been through, you
can't expect her to-"

"Been through?" Phyllis screeched, her voice rising.  "What she's been
through?   What about Jeff Barnstable?   My own daughter decides to get
dressed up in that-" she floundered for a moment, her eyes fixing
balefully on the dress-"that rag, and goes out and scares him to death!
Why?" she demanded, suddenly turning on Melissa and bending down so her
furious eyes were only a few inches from her daughter's face.  "What
possessed you?
How could you do this to me?"

Melissa began, but the fear and confusion in her own mind suddenly
overwhelmed her, and she buried her face in her hands.

"That's enough, Phyllis!" Charles snapped.  "Stop badgering her.  For
God's sake, can't you think of someone besides yourself for once?   What
about Melissa?   And what about Paula Barnstable?   Her son is dead!"

Phyllis whirled around, her eyes glittering with fury.  "Yes," she said.
"He is!   And our daughter may have killed him.  can't you understand
the simplest thing?   It doesn't matter what happened out there-it's
what people think."  She began enunciating her words with exaggerated clarity,
as if talking to a three-year-old child.  "Jeff thought he saw Darcy,
and it scared him so badly he ran off the road.  And there is Melissa
Melissa dressed up like a ghost!   Do you understand?   Am I getting
through to you?   We'll be lucky if anyone in the cove ever speaks to us
again!"

Charles, the veins of his forehead standing out starkly from his pale
skin, raised his hand.  "Stop it," he roared.  "Don't you think Melissa
feels bad enough without You accusing her of-" He bit off his own words,
silent for a moment as he regained control over his fury toward his
wife. "We're going to bed," he announced.  "There won't be another word
said about any of this tonight." His eyes fixed on his wife.  "Is that
clear?"

Phyllis' mouth opened for a second, then closed again, her lips pressing
with barely suppressed rage.  Taking Melissa's hand, she pulled her out
of the chair and led her from the room.

"Where are you going?" Charles demanded.

Her hand tightening on her daughter's, Phyllis turned back to face him.

"I'm putting her to bed," she said, her voice cold.  "That is what you
wanted, isn't it?" Without waiting for an answer, she spoke to Teri who
had been sitting in a chair by the fireplace, silently listening to her
father and stepmother.  "I think I could use some help," she said.

Instantly, Teri rose to her feet and followed her stepmother out of the
room.

Ten minutes later, with her mother and half sister watching her, Melissa
struggled to pull her arms out of the sleeves of the dress.  Teri moved
forward to help, but before she could touch the dress, Phyllis stopped
her.

"Let her do it.  She can't keep on expecting people to do everything for
her the, rest of her life.  She's thirteen-the least she should be able
to do is undress herself!"

Fumbling with the tiny mother-of-pearl buttons at the cuffs of the
dress, Melissa finally succeeded in undoing them.  At last she pulled
her arms free and the dress dropped to the floor.  Phyllis glanced at it
distastefully, then shifted her eyes to Teri.  "Get rid of it, will you,
dear?"

Teri picked up the dress.  "What do you want me to do with  it?"

"I'm sure I don't care, as long as none of us ever sees it again.  Put
it in the trash, I suppose.  Cora can burn it in the morning."

Teri  hesitated,  seeming  about  to  speak,  then  apparently  changed
her mind.

Carrying the  dress  with  her,  she  left  the  room.  When  they  were
alone  together, Phyllis spoke once more to Melissa.

"Put  on  your  pajamas  and  get  into  bed,"  she  said.  "I'll  be
back in a minute."

Melissa stared at her mother, her eyes widening slightly, a cold knot of
fear already forming in her belly.  "Wh-Where are you going?"

Phyllis smiled coldly.  "To get the restraints, of course."

"But-"

"You did say you'd been sleepwalking earlier, didn't you?"

"No," Melissa protested.  "I didn't go to sleep!" She fell silent. How
could she explain to her mother what had happened?   She could imagine
the look that would come into her mother's eyes if she tried to tell her
how she'd felt as she'd gotten ready for the party.
That she'd felt as though she were changing into someone else.

"Who?" her mother would demand.

And when she told her mother she'd had the feeling she was turning into
Darcy . . .She put the thought out of her mind.  Her mother's fury would boil over,
and the restraints might be the least of what would happen.

"I maybe did walk in  my  sleep,"  she  breathed,  her  words  all but
inaudible.

"What?" Phyllis demanded.  "I couldn't hear you."

Melissa forced herself to look at her mother and speak the words again.

"I said, maybe I did walk in my sleep."

"And how do we stop that?" Phyllis pressed, her voice as relentless as
her eyes.

Melissa tried to swallow the lump rising in her throat, threatening to
choke her.  "no-The straps," she finally mumbled.

"Yes," Phyllis rePeated, "The straps.  And it would make it a lot easier
for both of us if you'd simply accept that they're for your own good.

Now get ready for bed.  I'll be back in a moment."

She left the room, and Melissa slid out of her underclothes, then pulled
on her pajamas.  Then Phyllis returned, the dreaded leather and nylon
restraints over her arm.

But as she was beginning to fasten them to the bed, Charles appeared in
the doorway.  "I just came in to say" he began, but the words died on
his lips when he saw his wife.  "Jesus Christ, Phyllis, what are you
doing?"

Phyllis glanced up at her husband.  "I'm strapping her down, of course,"
she said.  "We can't have her wandering around in her sleep, can we?"

"Well, we're certainly not going to indulge in that kind of barbarism,"
Charles replied, his voice harsh.  "I told you we weren't going to use
those things, and I meant it."

Phyllis froze. "it's just for tonight."

But Charles shook his head.  "Not  tonight,  and  not  any  other night,
either.
I won't have my daughter strapped down.,,"

"But Dr. Andrews said-"

"We haven't talked to Burt Andrews in months- And we certainly didn't
talk to him tonight." He moved in and gently stroked his daughter's
cheek.

"It's all right, sweetheart," he soothed.  "Don't be frightened.
Nothing's going to happen." He gazed into Melissa's eyes and recognized
what he saw there. Terror. And something else.

There was an oddly blank look, almost as if she'd sunk  far into  her
fear so afraid of the restraints that she wasn't even aware of his
presence.  His eyes shifted Over to Phyllis.  "have You been using
these?" he asked.

Phyllis gasped.  "Of course not," she said.  "Not until tonight-Why
would I?"

Charles's eyes narrowed slightly.  "I don't know," he said.  "And I hope
I don't find out 'that you have." His gaze went back to Melissa, who was
now looking up at him eagerly, the fear and the peculiar blankness
ebbing away. "Are you all right, Missy?"

Melissa nodded.

"have you had to wear  the  restraints  before?"  he  asked.  "I  mean,
this summer?"

Melissa hesitated, but just before she was about to speak, she saw her
mother glaring furiously at her over her father's shoulder.  And
tomorrow night her father would be leaving for the week.  Her heart
pounding, she shook her head.  "No., Daddy," she whispered.  "I-I didn't
even know we still had them."

Charles put his arms around his daughter and hugged her.  "And after
tonight," he assured her, "we won't.  I promise you." He glanced up at
Phyllis.  "I want you to get rid of them," he told her, his tone closing
the  argument.
"I want those things out of this house tonight!"

Phyllis' jaw worked as she struggled to keep her fury in check. finally,
taking the restraints with her but saying nothing at all, she left
Melissa's room.  Within five minutes the restraints were buried deep
inside a cedar chest filled with blankets that was kept in Charles own
dressing room.

It was, she knew, the last place he'd look.

Teri stood behind the door that separated Melissa's room from the small
bathroom the two of them shared.  Through the heavy wooden panels she
could hear the soft murmur of her father's voice as he comforted her
half sister, and once or twice she thought she heard Melissa laughing
quietly.  At last, when she finally heard Charles saying good night to
Melissa, Teri returned back into her own room, leaving the hall door
slightly ajar, and slipped into bed to wait.

In a minute her father would come in to say good night to her, too.

The minutes ticked by, and finally she heard Melissa's door being closed
and her father's footsteps as he came down the hall.

She waited for the door to open and her father's face to appear.

Instead, a shadow passed by her room, and her father's footsteps faded
away as he crossed the broad mezzanine above the stairs and turned into
the wing in the opposite corner of the house, where the master suite was
located.

as the house fell silent, Teri lay staring at the ceiling, her anger
growing steadily.

She'd been perfect tonight-everyone at the club had thought she was the
prettiest girl there.

She'd even seen the pride in her father's eyes when he'd watched her
dancing in the center of the ballroom with Brett Van Arsdale.

But then Melissa had shown up, tears streaming down her face, and Teri
herself had been instantly forgotten.

And from that moment her father had barely left Melissa's side, fawning
over her, hugging her, kissing her. Loving her.

And ignoring Teri as if she didn't exist.

The longer she thought about it, the more her anger grew.

In her own room, Melissa lay wide awake, trying once more to understand
what had happened that night.

She let her imagination run free, and after a while it all began to make
sense to her.

It had been Darcy's dress she'd put on that night.  until now she hadn't
been sure, but as she thought, about it, the certainty of it grew in her
mind.

Perhaps it was even the dress she'd worn that night when her fiancee had
thrown her over.

But no, that couldn't be right-that dress would have been all covered
with bloodstains.  And besides, after the ball at the club that night,
Darcy had never been seen again.

And then it came to her.

The dress had been intended for her wedding.

After all, the dress she'd worn tonight had no stains on it.  It had
been dusty, and yellowed with age, but as she'd put it on she had the
feeling it had barely been worn at all.

And that was Why Darcy had come to her, even though she was wide awake.

She'd known where Melissa was going, and had wanted to wear her
beautiful dress-her wedding dress-just once.

She got out of bed and went to the window. it was a clear night, and the
moon, half full, was high in the sky.  The ocean glinted with a silvery
light, and the foam of the gentle surf on the beach glowed with an eerie
phosphorus.

She almost imagined she could see Darcy out there even now, a pale
figure almost lost against the ghostly light in the churning waters.

What had truly happened to her tonight?

Until tonight she'd never actually believed that Darcy really existed,
except within her own imagination.  She'd simply made her up, and used
her to face the world when things became so painful that all she herself
could do was run away.

And until tonight Darcy had only come when she had called her.

But tonight she hadn't called Darcy at all.   Tonight, as she'd put on the dress and the
makeup, Darcy emerged out of nowhere.

Creeping in.

Taking over.

She shuddered, although the night was warm.  Could it be possible?   Had
Darcy actually come and possessed her?

And if she had, what did it mean?

The story she'd heard on the beach kept running through her head.  was
it true?   was Darcy coming back this year, a hundred years after she'd
disappeared into the night?

Her  thoughts  were  interrupted  by  a  sound.

A sound from above her.

The sound came again, and this time she was certain what it was.

it was a sob, and it was coming from Darcy's little room in the attic,
directly above her own.

A chill ran through her, and she tried to decide what to do.  But even
as she thought about it, she knew she had no choice.

She had to go upstairs and see if Darcy were truly there.

Her heart already beginning to race, she pulled on her robe and, taking
her flashlight, went to the door.  She listened for a moment, but save
for the muffled sobbing from above, the house was silent.

She moved quickly down the hall, not turning on the flashlight until
she'd reached the door that opened into the attic stairs.  finally she
grasped the doorknob, twisted it, and pulled the door open.

Its hinges squealed loudly, and Melissa froze for a moment.  Then she
cast the beam up into the dark gloom above.

A figure stood there, clothed in white, its face veiled, its arms
concealed behind its back.  A scream rose in Melissa's throat but was
strangled into a terrified gasp as the specter's right arm rose.

And then, as a gale of maniacal laughter erupted from the specter's
mouth, an object flew toward Melissa, bouncing on the stairs, landing a
moment later at her feet.

She stared at it, her eyes wide, her heart pounding.

It was a hand, glistening redly with fresh blood.

Moaning as her gorge rose and nausea threatened to overwhelm her,
Melissa had simply turned and fled down the hall, her feet pounding the
floor as she raced to her parents' room.

She burst through the door, hurling herself onto her father's bed, her
sobs of terror rattling in her chest, cutting off her breath.

Charles, suddenly wide awake, snapped on the light and stared at his
daughter's ashen face.  "Missy!  What is it?   What's wrong?"

In the other bed Phyllis, too, stirred, then sat up.  When she saw
Melissa clinging to her father, her expression darkened.  "Oh, really,
Melissa," she started, but Charles silenced her with a look.

"What is it, sweetheart?" he asked again.

"D-Darcy," Melissa stammered, her voice quavering.  "I-Daddy, I saw her.
She-She threw her hand at me." Her sobs overcame her once more,
and,Charles held her close, cradling her against his chest.

"No, honey.  It was just a nightmare.  You just had a bad dream."

"But it wasn't a dream," Melissa insisted.  "Daddy, I saw it!" Even as
she uttered the words, she realized they were an almost perfect echo of
the words she'd spoken to her mother the night Blackie had disappeared.

Instinctively, her eyes shifted to her mother, and her hart sank.

Her mother's face was a mask of anger.

But then she heard her father's soothing voice.  "Of course you saw it,
honey," he told her.  "The things we see in dreams always look real. But
it doesn't mean they're really there." He reached over to his nightstand
and pulled a kleenex from the box that always sat there, then gently
wiped the tears from her eyes.  "Now let's get your face washed and get
you a drink of water." While his wife looked on with open disapproval,
he got out of bed and led Melissa into his bathroom.  He ran cold water
in the sink, then soaked a clean washcloth and mopped Melissa's face.

as the cold water touched her skin, Melissa began to feel the terror
she'd experienced only a moment ago start to loosen its grip, and she
let herself relax slightly.  But as she wiped her face on the towel her
father handed her, her eyes darted furtively toward the door.  "Mama's
mad at me," she whispered- "She-She thinks I made it up."

"Well, if she does, she's wrong," Charles assured her.  "A nightmare can
be more frightening than anything else, and if you're scared, you have
every right to come in here." He handed her a glass of water, waited
until she'd finished it, then spoke again.  "Now, what do you say you
and I go take a look at the attic stairs and see what we can find?"

Melissa nodded, and followed her father out of the room.  A moment later
the two of them stood at the foot of the stairs to the attic.  The hall
lights were on, and even the shadows at the top were all but washed
away.

Melissa stared at  the  floor  where  only  a  few  minutes  ago  the
bloody  hand had lain.

There was nothing there.

She frowned.  was it possible?

Had she truly imagined the whole thing?

But it had been so real, horribly real.

She stooped down, running her fingers over the dark-stained wood of the
floor, then looked at them closely, uncertain whether she hoped to find
traces of blood or not.

But  again  there  was  nothing.  Except  for  a  little  dust,  her
fingers  were clean.

"Do you want to go up and look at the attic, too?" Charles asked.

Melissa shook her head.  "I-I guess I must have been wrong," she
breathed.  "But it was so real, Daddy.  I was so sure I didn't dream
it."

Charles slipped his arm around her and guided her back to her room, then
tucked her into bed.  "Do you want me to leave a light on?" he asked
after he'd kissed her good night.

Melissa shook her head.  "It's all right.  I'm not afraid of the dark."

"Okay.  Sleep tight, and if you have another bad dream, don't be afraid
to wake me up." He shut off the light, closed her door, and returned to
the master suite.

Phyllis, still sitting straight up in bed, arms crossed, began talking
the moment he walked into the room.  "She was sleepwalking again.  If
you'd let me use the restrain'-"

Charles glared at his wife.  "Those goddamned things aren't a solution
to the problem.  She's so terrified of them, they've become part of the
problem itself!   I'm calling Dr. Andrews tomorrow.  I want him to talk
to her."

Phyllis' head came up.  "Oh, perfect!" she spat.  "Everybody in town
already thinks she's crazy, and now you want to pack her off to that
psychiatrist!"

"For God's sake, Phyllis," Charles shot back, his own voice rising to
drown out his wife's words.  "She's been through a lot the last couple
of weeks.  She's had to adjust to Teri's arrival, and tonight she
watched a boy die!   She's in shock, and she's got to be feeling
confused and frightened.  But tying her to the bed isn't an answer, and
it won't hurt any of us to talk to Burt Andrews again'"

"And what about me?" Phyllis demanded, her voice rising to match her
husband's.  "Do you think any of this has been easy for me?   The only
good thing that's come out of this summer is Teri!   She's been an
absolute angel to me, and to Melissa, too.  And what does Melissa do?
Dresses up like a ghost whom she apparently thinks is real-and goes out
and scares one of our friend's children literally to death!   She's not
crazy-she knows exactly what she's doing, an it's just to embarrass me!
Well, I won't have it.  I tell you-" Her tirade stopped abruptly and she
stared at Charles in stunned shock.

For the first time in their marriage, he'd slapped her.

Burying her face in her hands, she began to cry.  Charles, stunned for a
moment by his own action, stood frozen, then turned away.  "I don't
suppose I should have done that," he said with an ominous mildness as he
got back into his bed.  "But quite frankly, you deserved it."

He reached over and switched off the light, then rolled onto his side,
turning his back on his weeping wife.

Teri, who had been listening in the hall outside the master suite, crept
away, then hurried back to her room, where she opened the bottom drawer
of her chest and removed an object wrapped in a handkerchief.  Carrying
it to the bathroom, she made certain the door to Melissa's room was
locked, then unwrapped the object and placed it in the sink.

It was the hand from the mannequin in the attic, and now, as she washed
the catsup she'd used for "blood" off the plaster, she looked it over
carefully.

One of the fingers was chipped and another had cracked when she'd thrown
it down the stairs.

But the trick had worked perfectly.  Melissa, as she had the night she'd
found Blackie hanging from the rafter, had instantly run to her parents'
room, all  Teri had time to do was to stow  it  away in one of the
trunks, and clean the few drops of catsup from the stairs before
returning to her room, fully prepared to "wake up" if Melissa started
screaming.

Instead, it had been her father and stepmother who started screaming,
and she'd listened to every word of the fight.

A psychiatrist.

She smiled as she thought about what the psychiatrist would say when
Melissa told him about Darcy.  With any luck at all, they'd lock her up
right away.

She dried the hand off,. then left her room and went back to the attic,
where she fitted it back onto the mannequin.  At last, turning off the
attic light, she returned to the second floor and her own room.

as she turned off the light and climbed into bed, she glanced out the
window.

Across the terrace, beyond the pool, she could see Cora Peterson's
little house.

And in one of the windows on the second floor, she saw a figure dimly
lit by the moonlight.

It was Tag.

She frowned, wondering how long he'd been there. And how much he'd seen.

Burt Andrews leaned back in the chair behind his desk, his eyes
wandering to the calendar, where his regular Tuesday-morning golf game
had been scratched out and the name "Holloway "scribbled in its place.

When Charles Holloway had called him on Sunday morning, Andrews had
tried to put him off until the following week, when one of his regular
clients had canceled.

But Holloway had kept after him, and finally. reluctantly, Andrews had
agreed to reschedule his golf game.  Now, listening to Charles
explaining what had happened, his eyes flicked toward Melissa who was
sitting quietly in a chair between her parents, her hands folded in her
lap, her head down. So far she hadn't said much of anything at all, and
Andrews was certain he knew Why.

Phyllis.

Though she'd done her best to appear as if the only thing on her mind
was her daughter's welfare, she hadn't been able to pull it off.  What
was really bothering her, Andrews was certain, was not what might be
wrong with Melissa, but what her friends in Secret Cove might think was
wrong with the child.  "all right," he said, leaning forward once more.

"I think I have a grasp of what happened.  Now I think it's time I
talked to Melissa alone."

Charles rose to his feet immediately, but Andrews didn't miss the
flicker of wariness that came into Phyllis Holloway's eyes, and he made
a mental note to try to find out from Melissa what was really happening
between mother and daughter.  Then, as quickly as the furtive look had
crossed Phyllis' face, it was gone, and she stood up, too.  "We'll be in
the waiting room, dear," she said, bending down to give Melissa a peck
on the cheek.

Andrews's expression reflected nothing as he saw Melissa unconsciously
shrink away from her mother's lips, nor did he speak until her parents
had left the room.  But as the door closed, he leaned back again and
smiled encouragingly at the girl.  "Sounds like it hasn't been the
greatest summer in history," he said.  "Are things bad between you and
your mother?"

Melissa hesitated, but finally said, "It seems like she's mad at me all
the time."

Andrews smiled sympathetically.  "Don't you just wish you could
disappear sometimes?"

Melissa sniffled and looked up.  How did Dr. Andrews know that?   But
then she remembered the last time she'd seen him, almost two years ago.

At first she hadn't liked him at all.  His beard had hidden his face,
and she'd always felt like she was talking to someone she couldn't see.

But as she'd gotten to know him, and begun to understand that he
wouldn't laugh at her no matter what she said, she'd started liking him.

In fact, now that she was actually here, she realized she really wanted
to talk to him.  Except for Darcy, he was about the only person she
wasn't afraid to talk to.  She nodded.  "I wish we didn't come here in
the summer at all," she said.  "I like the city a lot better."

"You have a lot of friends there?"

Melissa shrugged.  "More than out here, anyway."

"What about Darcy.?" Andrews asked.

Melissa shifted in her chair and her eyes clouded slightly.  "Wh-What
about her?" she asked.

Andrews  cocked  his  head  slightly.  "Well,  she's  always  been  your
best friend out here, hasn't she?"

Melissa hesitated, but finally nodded.  "B-But  she's  not  real.  I
made  her up."

"What  if  you  didn't?"  Andrews  suggested,  his  brows  lifting
slightly.
"What if she's a real person?"

The cloud in Melissa's eyes darkened.  "But she can't be.  I mean,
there's the ghost story, but . . ." Her voice trailed off as she
remembered the vision she'd seen at the top of the attic stairs late
Saturday night.

"I'm not talking about the ghost story," Andrews told her, leaning
forward toward her. "But it seems to me that Darcy might be something
more than someone you just made up.  Maybe she's someone who helps you
out when things get so rough you just want to disappear."

Now it was Melissa who cocked her head, her brows furrowing deeply.

"Darcy. You mean like when my mom's really mad at me about something?"

Andrews felt a tingle of excitement, for there was something in
Melissa's voice that told him he'd struck close to home.  "What happens
when your mother gets really mad at YOU?" he asked, deliberately echoing
Melissa's exact words.

Melissa's tongue ran nervously over her lower lip, "Sometimes," she said
hesitantly, "well, sometimes Darcy comes, and lets me go to sleep.  And
then when I wake up, it's all Over."

Andrews nodded.  "I see." He picked up a pencil from his desk, twining
it idly.  "What about when your father's home, on the weekends?   Does
your mother get as mad at you then?"

Melissa glanced unconsciously toward the door, then shook her head.

"It's quieter on the weekends," she admitted.

Andrews nodded almost absently, as if the words held little importance
to him, then smiled.  "How would you like to try an experiment?"

Melissa looked at him cautiously.  "What kind of experiment?"

Andrews grinned at her.  "How would you like to be hypnotized?"

melissa's eyes widened and she looked almost frightened.  "It would be
just like going to sleep," Andrews assured her.  "Like when Darcy comes.
Only this time I would be the one who puts you to sleep.,"

"Why?" Melissa asked, her eyes wary.

Andrews considered  his words  carefully.  He didn't want to frighten
Melissa, but he didn't want to lie to her, either.  "Well," he said,
"I'd like to find out what happens when you go to sleep, and the easiest
way for me to do that would be to talk to Darcy."

For several seconds Melissa said nothing, and when she finally spoke,
there was a slight tremor in her voice.  "W-will it hurt?"

Andrews laughed out loud. "of course it won't hurt," he replied.  "In
fact, it might not even work.  But if it does, you'll just feel as
though you're going to sleep, but you won't really be asleep."

Melissa still seemed to hesitate.  "If you talk to Darcy, will you tell
me what she says?"

Andrews nodded.  "Of course." He talked to her for a few minutes more,
explaining to her what he was going to do, and finally she nodded.

"Do I have to watch a pendulum or something?"

"Nope. just listen to what I'M telling you, and try to concentrate on
nothing except the sound of my voice.  I'm going to talk to you, and
you're going to get sleepy.  You're going to find your eyelids getting
heavy, and you're going to want to close them.  Now your arms and legs
are going to get heavy, too.  So heavy you won't be able to lift them.
And you're going to get sleepier and sleepier, and now you're going to
go to sleep . . ."

His voice droned on, and after a few moments Melissa's eyes finally
closed.

"Melissa, can you hear me?" he asked.

"Yes."

"Open your eyes, Melissa."

The girl's eyes blinked open, and she sat still in the chair, staring at
him.

"Raise your right arm, Melissa."

Melissa's arm rose up until it extended straight out from her shoulder,
where it remained, held so steady it could have been suspended by wires
from the ceiling.  He kept talking to her, his voice still droning
quietly, and finally, when he was certain she was deep in a hypnotic
trance, he told her to lower her arm.

"Now I want you to close your eyes," he went on, "and then I want you to
go to sleep so I can talk to Darcy."

as he watched, her arm settled  back  onto  the  arm  of  the  chair and
her  eyes closed once more.

"Darcy?" he asked softly, "Darcy, can you hear me?"

There was no reaction from Melissa  at  all.  She  simply  sat  in  the
chair,  her eyes closed, unmoving.

Andrews kept talking, urging the second personality he was almost
certain resided within Melissa to come forth.  "I need to talk to you,"
he said.  "I need to talk to you about Melissa.  Wouldn't you like to
talk to me, too?"

There was no reaction from Melissa, not even a flicker of movement from
her eyes.  And yet, from what she'd told him, he was sure that somewhere
within her subconscious, the "Darcy" personality was there, if he could
only reach it.

In his mind he reviewed what he knew of the multiple personality
disorder, in which a single individual literally divided the various
aspects of his personality into separate entities, each of which reacted
to the outside world in a specific manner.  If he was right, then Darcy
personality - equipped to deal with Phyllis Holloway's unending criticism
and anger toward her daughter-might see no reason to come forth now.

Indeed, if she feared discovery might lead to something that could harm
Melissa, it could be very difficult to reach her.  finally, he decided
to try a different tactic.  "Melissa," he said. "can you hear me?"

"Yes."

"I want you to talk to Darcy for me.  can you do that?"

There  was  a  momentary  silence,  then  Melissa  uttered  a  single
word. "No."

Andrews frowned.  He'd been so sure.  "Why not?" he asked. "Why can't
you talk to her?"

"Because she isn't here."

Andrews's frown deepened.  "Where is she?   Do you know?"

Melissa hesitated but finally spoke again.  "Yes," she breathed.

"Tell me where she is, Melissa."

There was a long silence, and then Melissa spoke once more.  "She-She's
at home," she breathed.  "She's in the attic."

Andrews probed a little further but could find out nothing more.

Apparently the Darcy personality was buried so deep that Melissa
couldn't contact it unless she were under stress.  But in time, Andrews
was sure, that would change.  Or perhaps he was completely wrong and
Darcy didn't exist at all.

Five minutes later Melissa blinked, opened her eyes, then cocked her
head. "When are we going to start?" she asked.

Andrews grinned at her.  "We already started," he said.  "In fact, we're
all finished."

Melissa's eyes widened in surprise.  "We are?   How come I don't
remember what happened?"

Andrews chuckled.  "Well, for one thing, not much happened.  I tried to
talk to Darcy, but I don't think she trusts me yet.  She wouldn't talk
to me at all." Melissa seemed to shrink into the chair slightly.  "Did I
do something wrong?" she asked, her voice anxious.

"No, of course not," Andrews hastily reassured her.  "It will just take
some time, that's all.  But you could do me a favor." Melissa gazed at
him questioningly.  "When you talk to her, you could tell her it's all
right for her to talk to me."

"But if she doesn't want to-" Melissa began.

Dr. Andrews shrugged.  "If she doesn't want to, she doesn't have to," he
said.  He leaned back in his chair, then another thought occurred to
him.  "Do you ever talk to Darcy in the city?"

Now Melissa looked completely baffled.  "How can I?" she said.  "She
lives out here."

Andrews nodded.  And out here, he thought, your father isn't around all
week.  Out here, you're left alone with your mother and that's when you
need Darcy most.  He reached out, pressed a button on his intercom, and
a moment later Charles and Phyllis Holloway Came in.  "That's it for
today," he told Melissa.  "I'll just talk to your parents for a minute,
and then you can go home."

Melissa's eyes once again flicked toward her mother, but she said
nothing, scurrying quickly out of the office.

When he was alone with her parents, Andrews gave them an encouraging
smile.  "Well, I think we have a few problems, but nothing we can't
handle. Melissa's been under considerable stress the last few weeks."

"We've all been under stress, Dr. Andrews-" Phyllis interrupted, but
Andrews held up a hand.

"Of course you have," he agreed.  "But at this point I'm not certain
what's happening with Melissa.  I have a couple of theories, and I'd
like to talk to her again."

"Theories?" Phyllis demanded.  "What kind of theories?"

Andrews sighed, and forced a smile.  "I'm afraid that until I have a
better grasp on things, I really can't go into it.  I don't want you to
worry when there may be nothing at all to worry about."

"But what are we supposed to do?" Phyllis pressed.  "If she keeps
walking in her sleep-!"

"I'm not sure that's what's happening," Andrews broke in.  "There are
several possibilities I want to explore.  For now, the best thing you
can do is simply let her rest.  She's been under a lot of strain, and
it's affecting her."

His eyes fixed on Phyllis.  "just let her be herself," he said.  "try
not to pressure her."

Phyllis's's eyes narrowed.  "I don't," she said.  "I give her guidance,
which is my job, since I happen to be her mother.  I just want her to
fit in with all her friends.  But the way she's been behaving, the
things she thinks she ses..."

"Melissa and I will be delving into that, too," Andrews said, rising to
his feet and moving toward the door.  "But the best thing you can do
right now is simply be patient with her, She's going through a lot of
changes."  Phyllis' expression hardened.  "That's easy for you to say,
Dr. Andrews. But what about the rest of us?   What about Teri and me?
Perhaps-Well, perhaps we ought to send Melissa away for a while?"

Charles, stunned by the words, stared at his wife, but before he could
say anything at all, Dr. Andrews spoke.

"That might be something to consider later on," he said.  "But right now
I don't see that it would accomplish anything except make her feel more
insecure than she already is.  The best thing you can do, Mrs. Holloway,
is let her know that you love her and approve of her just the way she
is.  If she does things that annoy you, try not to show it. She's very
frightened, particularly of you.  She wants your approval, but doesn't
know how to get it.  So just show her that you love her.  Do you think
you can do that?"

Phyllis smiled tightly at the doctor.  "She knows I love her," she said.
"And she knows I want only the best for her.  But I don't believe in
letting children run wild.  I believe they need to be trained.  I shall
train Melissa for what needs to be done." Without waiting for Andrews to
reply, she stalked out of the office.

Charles hesitated by the door, then offered Andrews his hand.  "I'll
talk to her," he promised.  "I know she tends to be overcritical of
Melissa, but I can deal with that.  If I have to, I'll take some extra
time out here this summer."

Andrews nodded.  "I think that would be a good idea," he said.  "And the
question isn't whether you can deal with your wife's attitude toward
Melissa. The question is whether Melissa can."

Teri stepped back and surveyed herself in the mirror on her closet door.

The dress she'd chosen for Jeff Barnstable's funeral was navy blue, with
a wide red belt that wasn't quite bright enough that it could be
criticized. She'd also found a pair of earrings in the exact same shade
as the belt, but decided against wearing them.  In a couple of months,
though, when she had moved back to the city with her family, the
earrings would set the outfit off perfectly.  In fact, if she could find
a string of beads in the same color . . .

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of muted voices, and after a
last satisfied glance at her own image, she left her room.  The voices
were clearer now, and she knew where they were coming from.

The master suite, where her father and stepmother were also getting
ready for the funeral that afternoon.

She glanced at Melissa's closed door, then moved quickly past the
staircase, pausing to slip off her high-heeled shoes, since their
tapping echoed loudly against the hardwood floor when the voices of her
parents fell silent for a moment.  Carrying the shoes, she padded down
the hall to the door to the master suite.  Though it was closed, she
could hear the argument clearly enough.

Inside, Charles glared at his wife's image in the mirror as she sat
making final adjustments to her makeup.  "Is that what you want us to
do?" he said, his voice heavy with anger.  "just lock her up somewhere?"

"Of course not!" Phyllis snapped back, leaning forward to apply a touch
of mascara to her eyelashes.  "it has nothing to do with 'locking her
up,' as you put it.  But if she needs a rest, I don't see any reason Why
we couldn't find her some nice place to go.  Like a summer camp, or
something."

"A summer camp!" Charles exploded.  "What the hell are you talking
about?  If she's having a hard time coping with kids she already knows,
how the hell do you think she's going to do suddenly being thrown in
with a bunch of strangers!"

"Oh, really, Charles." Phyllis dropped the mascara brush onto a small
tray and turned to face him.  "It just seems to me that we have to think
of Teri, too.  How is it going to affect her if we have to spend all our
time catering to Melissa's whims?   Considering what she's been through'

"So now it's Teri, is it?" Charles broke in.  "Let's see-so far you've
said we ought to send her away for her own good, and Teri's good.  Now,
what about you?   It would make it a lot easier for you, wouldn't it?
You could spend even more time than you already do lying around the pool
at the club trying to impress all those bitches that wouldn't give you the time of day!"

Phyllis, quivering with rage, rose to her feet.  "How dare you?" she
demanded.  "How dare you talk that way about my friends?   Lenore Van
Arsdale is one of the finest people I've ever-"

"Lenore Van Arsdale is a crashing snob, which you should be the first to
realize, since she won't even speak to you if she can find a way out of
it. Christ, sometimes I think Polly was right.  The only thing that
seems to count around here is 'fitting in' with the 'right people.' Not
that any of them do anything-most of them spend their lives bragging
about what their grandparents did and spending the money they inherited.
Half of them couldn't do a real job if they had to."

"And what  about  you?"  Phyllis  shot  back.  "What  makes  you  think
you're any different?"

Charles snorted derisively.  "Who said I am not a real lawyer-I only
went to law school because that's what Holloway men do.  And what have I
done?   What's the biggest contribution I've ever made?   I've figured
out a few loopholes to keep myself and my friends from paying our fair
share of taxes."

A brittle laugh escaped his lips.  "that's a life, huh?   And that's the
way you're bound and determined that Melissa will lead too?   Frankly, I
think she might be better off growing up and marrying Tag Peterson than
one of the spoiled brats our friends have raised."

Phyllis' expression turned livid.  "I don't want anything but the best
for her," she hissed.  "We've given her everything!  And what thanks do
I get?
She humiliates me!   She embarrasses me in front of our friends!   And
now she pulls a stunt that kills someone, and claims she doesn't even
remember what happened.  Maybe she should be locked up!   Maybe she is
crazy!"

For just a moment Charles was certain he was going to slap her again, as
he'd slapped her on Saturday night.  But then he regained control of
himself. "That's what you want, isn't it?" he said, his voice suddenly
devoid of emotion.  "You want her to disappear, now that Teri's here."

Phyllis bridled.  "Teri has nothing to do with'-"

"Oh, don't bore me with that," Charles told her.  "I'm not stupid, you
know.  all Melissa has ever been to you is a replacement for Teri.  When
Polly took her away, I think it hurt you even more than it did me.  But
when Melissa came along, I loved her for what she was.  all you could
ever do was try to Turn her into another Teri."

"That's not true-"

"Of course it is.  And now that Teri's back, YOU don't really have any
further use for Melissa, do you?   you got polly's house, and her
husband, and her friends.  Now you've got her daughter, too.  So what do
you need your own for?" He turned and moved toward the door, then faced
his wife again.  "But I won't have it, Phyllis.  I won't send Melissa
away, and I won't have you making her life miserable anymore. just let
her be who she is.  Because if you don't, I swear I'll send you away
before I send her away."

By the time he opened the door and left the master suite, Teri was
already halfway down the stairs.  But she'd heard enough.  Phyllis was
already convinced.

Soon, her father would be, too.

"You're sure you can handle this?" Charles asked Melissa twenty minutes
later.  "If you don't want to go, you don't have to.  I'm sure everyone
will understand."

For a split second Melissa was tempted to seize the opportunity to stay
home from Jeff's funeral, but even as she opened her mouth to speak, she
remembered her mother's words an hour ago: "You will go to the funeral,
and you will behave yourself.  Not going would be as much as admitting
you knew what you were doing Saturday night.  It's bad enough that
everyone already thinks you're crazy, they think you did it deliberately,
none of us will ever be able to hold up our heads here again!"

Now, as her mother glared darkly at her from her position a few feet
behind her father, Melissa swallowed the words already on the tip of her
tongue and managed a nod.  "I want to go," she breathed.  "I-I always
liked Jeff."

But an hour later, as she sat in the small Episcopal church which was
supported primarily by the Cove Club crowd, she wished she'd stayed home
after all.

From the moment she'd walked into the church, her father beside her,
she'd felt as if everyone there were watching her, staring at her,
silently accusing her.

She'd tried to ignore it, sitting quietly in the Pew between her father
and Teri, her eyes glued to the little memorial the usher had handed her
on the way in.  But now, as the minister finished the eulogy and began
the final prayer, she looked up, glancing around uncertainly.

Most of the people in the church had their heads bowed, but here and
there she saw eyes watching her.

Cyndi Miller was staring right at her.  But at least when she looked at
Cyndi, the other girl looked quickly away.

Ellen Stevens, on the other hand, glared at her, and it was Melissa
herself who immediately shifted her eyes from Ellen's accusing gaze.

But I didn't do anything, she told herself once more.  I was just
walking along the road.

Or had she been?

She still couldn't remember anything at all, not from the time she'd put
the wig on until the blast of the Porsche's horn had sounded in her
ears.

What if it had been Darcy.?

She had to put the question out of her mind, had to stop thinking about
it. If she didn't she'd go crazy.

Unless she already was.

But she didn't feel crazy, most of the time.

Suddenly she felt Teri nudging her, and came out of her reverie.  Ahead
of her the row of people were already on their feet, moving slowly into
the side aisle and walking up toward the front of the church where the
open casket sat on the catafalque.

Melissa felt a chill of panic creep over her.

Did she have to do that?

Did she have to look at Jeff's face?

Next to her her father stood up, and she numbly got to her feet.

I won't look, she told herself.  I'll go up there, but  when  I  pass
the  coffin, I'll close my eyes.

She edged sideways, following her father into the aisle, and a moment
later felt a twinge of panic as more people crowded in behind her.  She
glanced around, searching for a means of escape.  But the side doors
were all closed, with an usher standing in front of each of them, and
she couldn't bear the idea of scurrying across one of the empty pews,
then running down the center aisle.

She was at the front of the church now, and she could hear the people
ahead of her sighing softly, or muttering a quiet good-bye as they
looked down into the coffin.

And then she was in front of the coffin herself.

Instead of closing her eyes, as she'd silently sworn to do, she gazed
down into Jeff Barnstable's face.

He didn't look dead at all.

His eyes were closed and his face wore a peaceful expression, as if he
were merely sleeping.  Instinctively, she reached out and gently touched
his face.

His flesh was hard, and cold as marble.

She gasped, and  the  panic  that  had  been  building  inside  her
burst  forth.

"Nooo," she moaned.  "I didn't mean to-I didn't-"

Her tears overwhelmed her then, and she buried her face in her hands.

Instantly, her father's arm slid Protectively around her and he hurried
her down the aisle, threading his way quickly through the crowd of
people.

The crowd of people who were staring at her.

Staring at her, and whispering among themselves.

She  could  almost  hear  them,  accusing her.

"No!" she screamed.  "I didn't do it!   it was Darcy!   It was Darcy who
did it!"

A moment later she was out of, the church, in the bright sunlight of the
summer afternoon.  She blinked and looked up to see her father gazing
down at her, his eyes sympathetic, his gentle hand stroking her hair.

But then she saw her mother.

Though Phyllis said nothing, Melissa shuddered as she felt the fury that
emanated from the angry slits that were her mother's eyes.  Terrified by
her mother's silent rage, Melissa didn't notice the small smile of
satisfaction on Teri MacIver's face.

as her father gently steered her to the car, a wave of hopelessness
swept over Melissa.

I've done it again, she thought.  And this time, she'll never forgive
me.

"I don't understand how she could have done that," Phyllis complained.

They'd arrived home an hour before, and after calling Dr. Andrews,
Charles had gone into the village to pick up a prescription for a
sedative.  Now Melissa was upstairs in bed, where Charles had sat with
her until the medicine had begun to take effect.  When she'd finally
dropped into sleep he'd come back downstairs to find Phyllis, her
features set angrily, pacing restlessly in the library.  Teri, still
dressed for the funeral, was perched nervously on a chair.

"Well, it doesn't surprise me at all," Charles replied.  "Frankly, I
can't imagine Why she went in the first place, the way she's been
feeling."

"She went," Phyllis interjected, "because she knew it was the right
thing. to do.  And it would have been fine, if she'd simply managed to
control herself.  But to make a scene like that Her voice trailed off
and she shook her head hopelessly.  Then, after glancing at the clock,
she sighed heavily and seemed to pull herself together.  "I suppose we'd
better get going. The graveside service should be over, and-"

"Going?" Charles stared at his wife, almost unable to believe what she
was suggesting.  "You're not seriously suggesting we go to the
reception, are you?"

Phyllis met her husband's gaze for a moment, but turned quickly away.
"Of course I am," she said.  "And the last thing I need from you right
now is an argument.  What else can we do?   After Melissa's performance
at the service, the least we can do is apologize for her.  Didn't you
see the look on Paula's face?"

Charles's jaw set.  "I don't give a damn about Paula Barnstable, or any
of the rest of them.  Right now all I care about is my daughter.  If you
think I'm going to leave her alone now'-"

"You're not," Phyllis broke in.  "Teri says she'll stay with her."

Charles shifted his gaze to his older daughter, who smiled at him
sympathetically.  "I really think Phyllis is right, Daddy," she said. "I
saw the way some of the people were looking at Melissa.  And if none of
us goes to the reception, won't it just make, things look worse?"

Charles cocked his head.  "Nothing happened except that Melissa got
upset," he began, but frowned as he saw Teri and Phyllis exchange a
quick glance.  "Is there something I don't know about?"

Teri shifted in her chair, as if reluctant to speak.  "I-well, a lot of
the kids are talking about Melissa," she said at last, her eyes
studiously avoiding her father's.  "well, some of them think she's kind
of-" She hesitated a moment, as if searching for the right word. "well,
they think she's kind of strange."

"You mean they think she's crazy," Charles said bluntly.  "I know how
kids are-I was one myself once."

"I didn't say that," Teri hastily replied.  "But-Well, I just think
Phyllis is right.  Wouldn't it be better if you went and explained that
Melissa was just upset, but that she's all right now?   I mean, if none
of us goes, it's just going to make it worse for Melissa, isn't it?
Everyone will think we were afraid to leave her alone."

Charles was about to protest once again, but then changed his mind.

Teri, after all, was right-all that had happened, really, was that
Melissa had burst into tears.  If he let himself overreact to it, in the
long run it could only make things worse.  In fact, he could almost hear
the kids talking now:

"They had to take her home and lock her up.  She was so hysterical no
one could even leave the house."

"I knew she  was  weird,  but  at  the  funeral  she  went  completely
nuts.  They had to put her in a strait jacket."

None of it would be true, of course, but that wouldn't stop the kids'
talk.  If he and Phyllis went to the reception, explaining that Melissa
had simply gotten upset but was fine now, it might put a damper on the
worst of the wagging tongues.  "all right," he said at last, still not
completely certain he was doing the right thing, but having no stomach
for a further argument with his wife.  "We'll go." He went over to Teri
and put his arm around her, giving her a quick hug.  "You sure you don't
mind staying with Melissa?"

Teri shook her head, her lips compressing into a sad smile.  "I-I really
don't like funerals.  I'd rather stay here with Melissa."

Ten minutes later, after checking once more on his younger daughter and
finding her fast asleep, Charles hurried down the front steps to the
car, where Phyllis was waiting impatiently.

From the porch, Teri waved good-bye.

Twenty minutes later Cora tapped at Teri's door, then pushed it open.

"I'm goin' into the village," she said.  "I'm gonna make a lemon pie for
Melissa, and there's a couple things I need."

Teri glanced up from the magazine she was reading.  "So?"

Cora's lips compressed into a tight line as she heard the insolence in
Teri's voice.  "So I just wanted to know if there was anything you
needed." Then, realizing that Teri was still wearing the dress she'd put
on for the funeral, she shook her head in disapproval.  "You're going to
ruin that dress, lying around in it that way.  It's linen, you know."

Teri shrugged.  "If it gets wrecked, I can buy a new one.  We're not
poor, you know."

Cora took a deep breath, the temptation to give Teri a lecture on the
value of money rising inside her.  But then she changed her mind.  She'd
been watching Teri closely over the last few weeks and come to the
conclusion that Phyllis's's daughter wasn't quite what she pretended to
be. In fact, she'd decided she didn't really like Teri very much.  She
was certain it had been Teri who decided to get Melissa all dressed up
as Darcy for the costume party, and a fine mess that had turned out to
be. And despite Teri's words of sympathy for Melissa, Cora had a
distinct feeling that she was actually enjoying Melissa's unhappiness.

"Fine," she said now.  "Suit yourself.  I'll be back within the hour."

A few minutes later, after she heard Cora's car grind down the drive,
Teri got up and finally took off the dress, dropping it in a heap on the
floor.

Stripping off the rest of her clothes, she put on a bathing suit and
wandered down to the swimming pool.  She was about to dive into the cool
water when she saw Tag.

He was standing twenty yards away from her, his head cocked oddly,
staring at something.

The potting shed.

Teri froze for a moment, thinking quickly.  Then, dropping her towel on
one of the chairs that surrounded the pool, she crossed the lawn.

"What's wrong."
she asked.  "What are you staring at?"

Tag glanced at her, sniffing at the air.  "Do you smell something.?" he
asked.

Teri inhaled, and a rancid odor filled her nostrils.  "Yuck," she said.

"Where's it coming from?"

"I think maybe it's the potting shed," he said, moving forward.  Teri
fell in beside him, and together they approached the crumbling shed
behind the garage.  The closer they got, the worse the smell became.

"Jesus," Tag said, wincing at the foul odor.  "It smells like something
died in..." He fell silent as he heard his own words.  "oh, God," he
breathed softly.  He hurried forward and pulled the door open,
reflexively backing away from the cloud of flies that boiled out of the
shed.  But a moment later, holding his breath against the putrid odor,
he stepped inside and glanced around.  Except for a rusty shovel, the
place was empty.  But as he scanned the floor, he spied the loose
boards.  He let his breath out, then gagged as he took in a lungful of
the fetid air that drifted up from beneath the floorboards.  Coughing,
he darted out of the potting shed, took another lungful of the fresher
air outside, and held his breath once more.  Going back in, he reached
down and lifted one of the loose floorboards.

Bile rose in his throat as he gazed down into the space below the floor.

Blackie's body, bloated with rot and crawling with squirming white
maggots, was barely recognizable, but despite the putrefaction, Tag knew
instantly what it was.  He recoiled from the sight of the corpse, his
eyes moistening with tears. "It's Blackie' he gasped, turning to Teri so
quickly she didn't have time to erase the twisted smile that had come to
her lips as she watched Tag discover his pet.  His eyes widened as he
saw the cruel smile, and he stepped back. "You!" he breathed.  "I was
right."

"Don't be stupid," Teri said, her smile vanishing as she fixed her
eyes contemptuously on the boy.  "Why would I want to kill your dog?
Don't you see?   Melissa must have done it!"

Tag shook his head.  "She wouldn't have.  She loved him even more than I
did." His mind raced, and suddenly he remembered Saturday night, when
he'd gotten up late and looked out the window.  He'd seen Teri, moving
around in the house.  A light had gone on in the attic, then gone out
again, and a few minutes later come back on.  Then it had gone out
again, but after that he'd seen Teri moving back and forth between her
room and the bathroom she shared with Melissa.

"What are you doing.  " he asked.  "What are you doing to Melissa?" But
even as he spoke the words, he knew.  "It was you," he breathed.  "It
was you she saw in the attic Saturday night.  And you killed Blackie,
too."

as he took a step toward her, a look of pure hatred came into Teri's
eyes and she hurled herself forward, shoving Tag backward.  He staggered
under the force of the shove, tripping on the steps that led to the
potting shed stoop.  Flailing wildly, he tumbled over backward.  He
reached out with his left arm to break his fall, but his hand dropped
through the space that had been occupied by the missing floorboard and
sunk deep into the moldering corpse below.  He tried to roll over, his
right hand searching for something to grab onto, but it was too late.

Teri, her eyes glazed over with hatred, seized the shovel that leaned
against the shed's wall, grasped it with both hands, and raised it high.

A second later its blade flashed down, smashing into Tag's face.

He felt a searing stab of pain as the shovel's blade crushed his nose,
and instinctively he tried to roll away from the next blow, but it was
too late.

The shovel rose again, then smashed down on the back of his head.  He
twitched for a moment, then lay still.

Teri, breathing hard, stared at Tag's body for a moment, her mind
already working.  She hadn't really meant to kill him, she told herself.

If he'd only mentally realized that Melissa had killed the dog, it would
have been accepted as though Melissa had killed Blackie.  But  then he'd
remembered  Saturday night and  figured out  what  he'd seen.

So she'd had to kill him-he hadn't given her any choice.

Instinctively, she scanned the grounds beyond the potting shed door, but
saw no one.  And Why should she?   Everyone would be at the Barnstables'
except for Melissa and Cora.

Cora wouldn't be back for at least forty more minutes.

And Melissa was in her room, sound asleep.

Asleep.

as she repeated the word to herself, she knew what she was going to do.

She knelt down and gingerly touched Tag's neck.  For a moment she felt
nothing at all, but then a pulse beat weakly under her fingers.

He wasn't dead after all.

At least not yet.

She rolled him over and looked at his face.  Blood was oozing from his
smashed nose, and his eyes were closed.  She could hear his breath now,
an uneven rattling sound in his chest interspersed with coughing as his
own blood threatened to choke him.

Leaving him where he was, she ran back to the house, hurrying up to the
attic, where she took the old white dress out of the trunk in which
she'd hidden it late on Saturday night.  Taking it with her, she went
back outside, but instead of going back to the potting shed, she went
into the garage where the pruning tools were kept. There, leaning
against the wall, was the machete she'd seen Tag using to hack away the
ivy on the north wall of the house.  Smiling to herself, she picked it
up.

Back in the potting shed, she removed more of the floorboards and rolled
Tag over once more, letting his unconscious body drop onto the decaying
corpse of the dog.  Then she gripped the machete, raising it high.

Without so much as a second's hesitation, she brought the enormous blade
down, feeling a slight shock as it struck Tag's skull, split it, then
pierced through to the brain below. jerking the machete free, she hacked
at Tag's body twice more, then finally put the machete aside.

Using the ancient white dress as a rag, Teri wiped up as much of the
blood as she could from the floor, then reached down to sop up more from
the body below.  Standing up, she shook the dress out and smiled
contentedly as she saw the red stains that now covered its front from
the bodice to the hemline. She once more replaced the floorboards over
the Joists. Flies hovered over the floor, and even as she watched, a few
of them crept down through the cracks to feed on the feast below.  But
with Tag's body now covering most of Blackie's corpse, the foul odor
seemed to fade away.

Taking the dress with her, Teri returned to the house and went once more
to the attic, where she returned the bloody dress to its hiding place.

Cora let herself in the kitchen door, glancing at the clock.  She'd been
gone a little over an hour, but she still had plenty of time to make the
pie for Melissa and get the Holloways roast into the oven before going
home to start supper for herself and Tag.  She unpacked her bag of
groceries, put away everything that she wasn't going to use immediately,
and was about to start preparing the pie when she realized that neither
Tag nor Teri had shown up even to say hello to her, much less to offer
her a hand with the groceries.  Not, of course, that she expected any
courtesy from Teri.

She frowned, pursing her lips as she thought about it.  She remembered
Tag saying something about going out to look for Blackie some more, but
what about Teri?   Surely she hadn't gone off and left Melissa by
herself.

She pushed open the swinging door to the butler's pantry and called out.

"Hello?   Anybody home?" there was a brief silence, then she heard
Teri's voice.

"I'm in the library."

With a small sigh of relief that at least she hadn't left Melissa alone
in the house, Cora plodded through the dining room and across the entry
hall, then down the short corridor to the library.  Teri, clad in a pair
of jeans and a white blouse, was sprawled on the red leather sofa
watching television, her sneakered feet propped up on one of its arms.

"I can't believe your mother didn't teach  you  not  to  put  your  feet
on  the  sofa,"  Cora  commented,  but Teri ignored her.  "Is everything
all right?"

"Of course everything's all right," Teri replied.  "Why wouldn't it be?"

"Well, you might have come and offered me a hand with the groceries,"

Teri shrugged.  "I didn't hear you come in.  Besides, it's not my job,
is it?"

Cora, her jaw setting angrily, said nothing  but left the library and
started up the stairs, nearly certain that anything could have happened
to Melissa while she'd been gone and Teri would neither have noticed nor
cared.  But when she got to Melissa's room, the girl was still curled up
in her bed, sound asleep.  Feeling mollified, Cora returned to the
kitchen and began putting together the pie.

Twenty minutes later, with the pie in one oven and the roast in the
other, she went out the back door and crossed the lawn toward her own
house.  She stepped into the little entryway and called out to her
grandson, but there was no answer.  "Tag?" she called once again. "Where
are you?"

She listened again, then glanced at the heavy man's watch that was
strapped to her wrist.  It was past six, and Tag was never late coming
home. She moved down the short hall to the kitchen and searched for a
note, but there was nothing.  Puzzled, she finally returned to the 'main
house and went once more into the library.

"have you seen Tag?"

Teri reluctantly tore her eyes away from the television screen.  "Why
would I have seen him?" she countered.  "was he in the house?"

"if I knew that, I wouldn't be asking, now would I." Cora replied
tartly. "But he's not home, and I was just wondering if you might have
seen him."

Teri shook her head.  "Maybe he went off to see his friends," she
suggested.

Cora sighed heavily.  "He said he was gonna look for Blackie-" she began,
but cut off her own words as Teri rolled her eyes scornfully.  "And his
best friend is Melissa," she went on a moment later.  "Seems to me he
might have come in to see how she was doing, that's all."

Now Teri groaned audibly.  "If his best friend's Melissa, -he's  even
stupider than I thought."

Cora's ruddy face grew even redder.  "Some people," she said, "sure
aren't anywhere near as nice as they make themselves out to be, are
they?" she asked.

Teri smiled with exaggerated sweetness.  "And some people," she said,
deliberately mimicking Cora's tone, "might not be working here anymore
if they don't show some respect for their betters."

The two of them stared at each other for a long moment, but in the end
it was Cora who finally looked away.  Turning abruptly, she left the
room, pulling the door closed behind her with a loud thump.

Teri, snickering at the housekeeper's impotent fury, turned her
attention back to the television.

Melissa woke up an hour after midnight, her mind still fogged by the
sedative she'd taken that afternoon.  For the first few moments she felt
confused, but then it all began to come back to her.

She'd gone to Jeff Barnstable's funeral and felt everyone watching her.

And when she'd looked into the coffin, and touched him...

Even now she shuddered at the memory, and instinctively drew the covers
closer around her.  But it was all right, she told herself.  She was
home, and in her own bed, and her mother hadn't tied her down.

Nothing bad had happened.

She rolled over and felt something tangled around her legs and feet. For
just a second she felt 'a moment of Panic-had her mother tied her down
after all?

But no-her hands and feet were free!   It was just the sheet.

She jerked at the bedding, trying to kick it, and the sheet pulled away
from the foot of the bed.  But her feet were still tangled in something.

Turning on the lights, she sat up and threw the bedclothes back.

And there, tangled around her legs, was the dress.

Darcy's dress.

The dress she'd worn on Saturday night, when Jeff Barnstable had died.

And now, on the day of his funeral it was in her bed, wrapped around her
legs.

And covered with stains.

Blood-red stains.

She gasped, her heart pounding.  It wasn't real-it was  another
nightmare. it had to be.

Then She closed her eyes tight, then opened them again with a vain hope
that the dress would have disappeared.

It was still tangled around her feet, and the stains seemed to have
spread even in the moment she'd closed her eyes.

A squeal started from her, but she clamped her hand over her mouth. And
then the door to her bathroom opened and Teri, wrapped in a bathrobe,
came in. "Me?" she asked.  "Are you speaking" She stopped as her eyes
came to rest on the  dress.  "Oh, Melissa," she breathed.  "What have
you done now?" Melissa's eyes widened and she cowered back against the
headboard, finally managing to kick free from the folds of material.

"N-Nothing," she whispered, her voice reflecting the desperation she was
feeling. "I just woke up.  I felt something, and-" She tore her eyes
from the dress and looked beseechingly at her half sister.  "Teri,
what's it doing here?"

Teri crossed to the bed and picked up the dress.  Holding it almost
gingerly, she turned to face Melissa.  "Don't you remember?" she asked.

"R-Remember?" Melissa stammered.  "Remember what?"

Teri closed her eyes for a moment, shaking her head sadly.  "Oh, God,"
she breathed.  "I thought you were awake.  But you weren't, were you?"

Panic rose inside Melissa.  It wasn't possible, was it?   Surely she
hadn't been sleepwalking again.  "What are you talking about?" she
begged.  "I've been asleep."

Teri dropped the dress and sat down on the edge of the bed, taking
Melissa's hands in her own.  "You went out," she said, her voice taking
on a pleading note.  "You must remember-you have to!"

Melissa mutely shook her head.

"It was-I don't know-maybe an hour ago," Teri told her.  "Tag was
outside, calling you.  He woke me up, too.  I told him you were asleep,
but then you came out the back door." Her eyes flicked to the dress,
then back to Melissa.  "I thought you were wearing your bathrobe.  You
know-the white terry-cloth one?   But-But . . ." Her voice trailed off.

"Where did it come from?" she asked.  "Where did you get it?"

Melissa shivered, despite the warmth of the night.  "I don't know," she
wailed.  "I thought it was gone-I thought you got rid of it."

"I did," Teri lied, her eyes meeting Melissa's.  "I took it out to the
trash.  I thought it was gone, Melissa.  They came and took the trash
away this morning."

Melissa swallowed.  If Teri had thrown it away, how . . . Her mind
reeled.  It wasn't possible-it had to be some kind of a nightmare.  None
of it could be happening.

"You went off with Tag," Teri said.  "I thought you must be going to
look for Blackie."

"No," Melissa moaned, covering her ears as if she could shut out Teri's
words.  "I was asleep!   I didn't go anywhere!"

"But I saw you," Teri insisted.  "If I'd known you were walking in your
sleep, I'd have come and gotten you.  But I  thought you were awake.
Whatever happened, it's my fault, too."

"H-Happened-What happened?" Melissa echoed.  "What.... The blood," Teri
said.  "It must have come from somewhere. . . ."  Melissa buried her
face in her hands, willing herself to wake up from the nightmare.  But
when she looked up again, Teri was still sitting by her bed. "Wh-Where..."
she breathed.  "Where did we go?"

Teri shook her head.  "I don't know-you were going out behind the
garage."

"But there's nothing there," Melissa moaned.  "just the old potting
shed."

Teri stood up.  "We'd better go see," she said.  "Where's your
flashlight?"

Melissa shook her head.  "NO-I don't want to."

"But we have to," Teri insisted.  "We have to find out what you did.
Don't you see?   If you've done something-"

"No," Melissa wailed again.  "I couldn't have-"

"But you must have," Teri pressed.  "Come on!"

She pulled Melissa off the bed and helped her into her bathrobe, then
turned off the light after she'd retrieved Melissa's flashlight from the
drawer in her night table.  Silently, she led her half sister downstairs
and out the French doors onto the terrace.  The night was bright, with
the moon high, and Teri instinctively ducked into the shadows close to
the house.  They skirted their way along the bath house, then dashed
around the pool behind the bathhouse.  A few seconds later they stood in
front of the potting shed.

"Oh, God," Teri whispered, sniffing at the air.  "It smells like
something died in there."

Melissa's eyes widened and she felt a chill Pass through her, but when
Teri pushed the door of the potting shed open and stepped inside, she
followed, almost as if in a trance.  Closing the door behind them, Teri
turned the flashlight on and shined it around the little room.

The beam caught the machete, its blade still glistening with blood.

Melissa gasped as she saw it.  "Wh-What's it doing in here?" she
breathed. "Tag keeps it in the garage.', Teri shifted the beam of light
and played it over the floorboards, where more bloodstains showed.

"Look," she said softly.  "They're loose."

Dropping down to her knees, she lifted one of the floorboards and shined
the light into the space below.

A scream rose in Melissa's throat as she saw Tag's body sprawled out
beneath the floor, his head split open, maggots already nibbling at the
dead tissue of his brain.  But then, before any scream could erupt into
the quiet of the night, she felt Teri's hand clamp over her mouth.

"Don't scream," she heard Teri say.  "If anyone hears you, there won't
be anything I can do. -They'll know what happened, and they'll send you
away." The scream died away in Melissa's throat, to be replaced by a
wrenching sob.  It was all impossible-Tag couldn't be dead-it was, all
just a horrible dream, and she'd wake up.

She'd wake up and be back in her room and everything would be all right.

She wrapped her arms around her half sister, her sobs overwhelming her.

"I  didn't  mean  to  do  anything,"  she  sobbed.  "It  wasn't  my
fault. I wouldn't have hurt Tag.  I wouldn't have" Teri, smiling in the
darkness, gently stroked her half sister's hair.  "It's all right," she
crooned.  "I'm here, and I won't let them do anything to you.  I'll
think of something.  You'll see.  I'll think of something to get you out
of this. Besides," she added, her voice dropping even lower, "it wasn't
really you that did it, was it?"

Melissa, startled by the words, gazed up at Teri,  her  breathing  still
choked by her sobs.

"Don't you understand?" Teri asked.  "It wasn't  you  at  all.  It  was
Darcy."

And  suddenly  it  all  came  together  in  Melissa's  confused  mind,
and  she understood what had happened.

Darcy had come to her once again, come to her while she slept.

Come to her, and possessed her.

And this time, while she had slept, and trusted Darcy, Darcy had killed
her best friend.  Her anguished sobs overcoming her once again, she sank
back into Teri's embrace.

But it was going to be all right.  Teri was  with  her,  and  Teri would
figure out what they should do.

Teri would save her.

Cora stirred restlessly in her chair, and a moment later her eyes
blinked open.

She felt disoriented for a moment, but then realized where she was.

She'd been sitting up, waiting for Tag to come home, but must have dozed
off. The book she'd been reading lay open in her lap, and her small
living room was lit only by the reading lamp behind her chair, which
she'd turned on as the evening light began to fade.

She felt stiff, all her joints aching from the hours she'd spent in the
chair, and she slowly began stretching her limbs as the, last vestiges
of sleep released their hold on her.  At last she peered at her watch.

almost one A.M. She must have slept for nearly four hours.

She hauled herself to her feet and started toward the stairs, but then
stopped.

The house had an empty feeling to it.  She was almost certain that Tag
still hadn't come home.

The knot of worry that had been growing within her all evening now
congealed into fear-Tag had never stayed out this late, and certainly
never disappeared for so long without telling her where he was going.

And surely, if he'd come home, he'd have seen her in the chair and
wakened her.

Maybe not, she told herself, refusing to give in to the panic she could
already feel creeping furtively around the edges of her mind.  Maybe he
saw me and just decided to let me sleep.

She climbed the stairs, one hand pressing against her left hip, which
was sending a sharp stab of pain all the way down to her toes with every
step. Perhaps, she reflected, it was time for her to move downstairs.

She could convert the little dining room, which she and Tag never used
anyway, into a bedroom, and at least be done with the stairs here.  Not,
of course, that it would help with the stairs in the big house.  She came
to the landing and reached for the light switch, but knew even before
the brilliant light blinded her for a moment that Tag was not up here.

The door to his room stood open, just as it had been when she'd come
upstairs a few hours ago.  Still, she moved on, checking both bedrooms
and the bathroom.

She went back downstairs, going automatically to the kitchen, where she
put a pot of water on the stove to make a cup of coffee.  Then, as she
waited for the water to heat, she tried to decide what to do.

Her first impulse was to go to the main house and wake up Mr. Charles.

But if she did that, she would awaken Phyllis as well, and even as she
stood at the stove, she could see the look on Phyllis' face and hear her
words.

"You woke us up simply because Tag didn't come home?   really, Cora, I
can't understand how you could be so inconsiderate!   I've had a
terrible day..." And it would go on and on, until finally Mr. Charles put on
a robe and the two of them went downstairs together.  But tomorrow
Phyllis would still be angry at having her sleep interrupted, and she
wouldn't take it out only on Cora.

She would take it out on Melissa, too.

No, talking to Mr. Charles would have to wait until morning.

What about the police?

She almost grinned as she imagined their response.  They'd think she was
turning dotty, reporting a teenage boy as missing when he'd actually
only been gone a few hours and it was still only a little after one in
the morning.

And maybe they'd be right-maybe there really wasn't anything to worry
about.  After all, how many nights had Tag's father stayed out all night
when he was the same age as Tag was now?

She couldn't even remember, it had happened so often' And usually he
came home-if he came home at all-so drunk he could barely stand up.

The teapot began to whistle, and she put a teaspoon of instant coffee
into a mug, then filled the cup with hot water.

Maybe  all  that  was  happening  was  that  Tag  was  finally  growing
up, she told herself.  Maybe he'd just decided it was time for him to go
out and have some fun.

But even as she tried  to  convince  herself  that  was  all  that  had
happened, she knew she didn't believe it.  Tag wasn't at all like his
father, and never had been.

She stirred the coffee, then took a sip, wincing as the nearly boiling
fluid scalded her mouth.

Taking the mug with her, she went back into the living room.

completely??  alone in the house for the first time in nearly fifteen
years, a strange feeling came over her.

She felt lonely.  Lonely, and vulnerable.

She glanced around uneasily; the black rectangles of the windows seemed
to gaze back at her, and she suddenly had a crawly feeling that there
were eyes outside, watching her.  Setting the mug down, she, moved from
one window to the other, closing the drapes.

Her eyes went to the wood laid in the hearth for a fire, and she toyed
with the idea of lighting it.  But it was midsummer, and the night was
already warm.  Though the flames themselves might make her feel better,
the heat of them would quickly become unbearable.

She went back to her chair and picked up her book once more.  Perhaps if
she could concentrate on reading, she could put her worries out of her
mind. But as she tried to focus her eyes on the words, she only became
more and more conscious of the emptiness of the house.

And she also had a strange feeling that something was wrong outside the
house.

She 'tried to assure herself that she was letting her imagination get
the better of her, but the harder she tried to ignore the uneasiness,
the stronger it got.

"You're a foolish old woman," she finally muttered to herself as she got
once more to her feet.  "You've got yourself all worked up over what's
probably nothing at all, and now you're going to scare yourself half to
death, imagining things that aren't there." But despite her words, she
moved to the front door, switched on the light, and stepped out on the
porch.

The blackness of the night hung all around her, seemed to close in on
her, and the uneasy feeling blossomed inside her.  Her first instinct
was to go back into the house and lock the door behind her, but she
determinedly put her fears aside.

If something was wrong, a voice inside her whispered, it almost surely
involved Tag.

She stepped off the porch and out of the bright circle of light from the
lamp next to the door.

Teri stared at Melissa in the dim moonlight that streamed through the
potting shed door.  Her eyes were open now, and fixed once more on the
grisly corpse beneath the floor.  But she'd stopped crying, and a calm
seemed to have come over her since she'd uttered her strangled plea for
Darcy to help her.

Suddenly Teri understood.  It was just like that night when she'd found
her half sister strapped to the bed, gazing blankly at the ceiling.  And
now it had happened again.  Melissa's own personality had shut down, to
be replaced by the "friend" she'd invented to shield herself from the
reality of what was happening to her.

It was perfect.

Even more perfect than Teri had hoped.

A light suddenly came on-the light on Cora's porch shining brightly in
the night, and Teri instantly snapped off the -flashlight and drew back
into the deep shadows of the shed.  A moment later she saw the
silhouette of a figure against the brightly lit wall of the
housekeeper's cottage.

Cora still awake, still waiting for Tag.  If she came this way . . . But
it was all right; Cora seemed to be going the other way, circling around
her house.

"Wipe the machete off, Melissa," she whispered as loud as she dared.

Melissa remained where she was, unmoving, as if she hadn't heard Teri at
all.  And then Teri remembered.

"Darcy?" she asked.  Melissa's head moved slightly and her strange,
vacant eyes fixed on Teri.  "You want to help Melissa, don't you?
Isn't that Why you're here?"

Melissa's head slowly nodded.

"Then clean off the machete," Teri whispered again.  "Pick it up and
wipe the blood off the blade."

as she watched, Melissa obediently reached out and took the weapon in
her hand, wiping at the blood with a rotting rag that was lying in a
corner of the floor.

"That's right," Teri whispered.  "Now drop the rag in the hole."

Moving like an automaton, Melissa obediently dropped the rag onto Tag's
body.

"Now help me," Teri went on.  "We have to get the boards back in place."

She picked up the end of one of the floorboards and shifted it into
position over the hole in the floor, and Melissa silently repeated her
motions at the other end.  Seconds later all the boards were back in
place, the gap in the floor had disappeared, and the machete was once
more leaning against the wall of the potting shed.

"You have to go back to the house now, Darcy," Teri whispered.  Her eyes
smiled the Pool of light in front of Cora's house, but the old woman was
still nowhere to be seen.  "You have to take Melissa back to her room
and put her back in bed." Melissa said nothing, but again her head
bobbed obediently- "Go around the bathhouse, so if anyone sees You, they
won't know where you're coming from."

She searched the darkness once more for any sign of Cora, then nudged
Melissa gently through the door.  Melissa, her eyes staring blankly
ahead, moved through the darkness toward the bathhouse.

Teri herself, after checking the potting shed one more time, hurried
back around the garage, ducked into the deep shadows by the walls of the
house and slipped through the French doors, locking them behind her.

Cora finished her circuit of the house, having seen nothing, and was
about to go back inside when a flicker of movement near the Pool caught
her eye. She shaded her eyes against the glare of the porch light, then
reached inside and flipped the switch.  A moment later, as her night
vision returned, the figure by the pool emerged clearly out of the
darkness.

A figure, clad in white, moving silently toward the back door of the
house. A gasp escaped Cora's lips as she instinctively remembered an the
tales she'd heard of Darcy.  A moment later her reason returned, and
with it, the certainty that she knew who the figure was.

Leaving the porch still dark, she moved quickly down the steps and
crossed the lawn, slowing as she approached the pale figure.  She could
see it 'clearly now, and nodded to herself as she realized she'd been
right.

It was Melissa, her eyes open, her arms hanging limply at her sides,
moving toward the house.

Moving toward the house, but sound asleep.

Instantly, Cora remembered the instructions she'd received when
Melissa's sleepwalking had first begun.

"The doctor says the most important thing is not to frighten her,"
Charles had told her.  "It'll probably never happen, but if you ever
have to deal with it, try not to wake her up.  She might wake up anyway,
and if she does, just tell her she's all right, explain what happened,
and get her back to bed.  But you might be able to get her back to bed
without waking her up at all. just talk softly to her and try to guide
her back to her room."

Taking a deep breath, Cora caught up with Melissa and gently took her
arm.  "It's all right, darlin'," she whispered.  "It's just Cora, and
I'm gonna get you back to your bed."

She paced herself to match Melissa's somnolent stride, gently
restraining her for a moment at the back porch while she fished in her
pocket for the key to the back door.  as she opened the door and
guided Melissa inside,  she reached for the light switch.  But stopped
herself just in time, realizing that the light might awaken her.  Cora
guided her across the kitchen to the butler's pantry door, and up the
stairs that she knew so well.

At the second-floor landing Melissa paused, then started down the
corridor in the exact opposite direction of her room. Cora's brows knit
into a puzzled frown for a moment, but then she understood.

The attic.

as she had so many times before in her sleep, Melissa was heading once
more  for  the  tiny  chamber  beneath  the  eaves  of  the house.

"No, darling," Cora whispered.  "Not tonight."

She moved around to block Melissa's way, and the girl stopped, staring
with a puzzled look that was for all intents and purposes a totally
vacant look.

"You're safe inside, now. It's all right," Cora assured her.

"Darcy."

Melissa's lips moved and a word, barely audible, drifted from them.

"Safe?"

"Yes," Cora whispered.  "You're perfectly safe.  Your mother's sound
asleep, and no one knows what happened."

A sigh escaped Melissa's lips, and then her eyes closed.  For a moment
she stood perfectly still, and then her knees buckled under her and she
collapsed onto the floor.

when she opened her eyes and looked up at the dim glow of the nightlight
illuminating her face, the old woman could see the panic in her eyes.

They flicked around  taking in the corridor like an animal who was
petrified.  "C-Cora?"

"I'm here darling.  You're ok now."

Melissa felt completely disoriented, and then a memory surged up to the
front of her brain. She remembered being in the potting shed, and
looking down into a hole in the floor, and seeing...

She choked back a sob as the rest of it came back to her.  But what had
happened?  Why was she in the hall?

Why was Cora with her?

How had she gotten here?

Wordlessly, she stared up at Cora  who was reaching out to help her back
to her room.

"It's all  right,  sweetheart,"  Cora  told  her. The housekeeper's mind
raced.  She could see how terrified Melissa was-if only she'd kept
sleeping another minute, she'd have had her back in her bed.

"Wh-Where . . . how did I get here?"

"Hush, child," Cora said, her mind still working, searching for a way to
keep from frightening Melissa any more than she already was.  "It's all
right.  I -I just couldn't sleep, so I thought I'd have a glass of warm
milk.  And wouldn't you know, I'd run out.  I came into the kitchen to
get some, and heard you tramping around up here." She forced a smile.

"Lord knows, you were loud enough to wake the dead.  But Your mother
didn't hear you, so it's all right.  We'll just get you back to bed. all
right?   Or maybe you'd like to come downstairs with me.  We could both
have a glass of milk." She knew she was rattling on, knew that if
Melissa thought about it, her words wouldn't make much sense.  But as
she looked at Melissa, she wasn't sure the child had even heard her. Her
frightened eyes had taken on a Puzzled look, as if she were still trying
to figure out what had happened.

"You were walking  in your sleep  again, darling," Cora said now,
guiding her toward her room.
going up to the attic again.  But it's all right.  I caught you in time,
and no one need be the wiser.  Let's just get You back to bed."

they were in front of Melissa's door now, and suddenly Melissa froze.

The dress.

She and Teri had left the bloodstained dress lying on the floor of her
room. And when Cora saw it...

Cora pushed the door open and snapped the light on, and Melissa's eyes
instantly went to the spot where the dress had lain.

It was gone.

Cora was helping her out of her robe.  Barely aware of what was
happening, she Numbly, allowed Cora to guide her into her bed. with
confusion, she let Cora tuck the covers around her. "There," she heard
the housekeeper whisper.  "all back in bed, an safe." She felt Cora's
lips brush her cheek, felt her gentle fingers stroke her brow.  "just go
back to sleep," Cora told her. "everything's all right now."

A few minutes later, after Cora had gone, Melissa got out of bed and
went to the window.  Outside, barely visible, she could see the corner
of the potting shed sticking out from behind the garage.

Had she really been out there?   Or was it possible that the whole thing
had been a dream?

No. The memory of it was too vivid, too real.  She and Teri...

Teri.

Teri had gone with her.  It must have been Teri who retrieved the dress.

But there was still that gap in her memory, from the, time she had seen
the horrible sight beneath the floor of the potting shed, when she had
called out to Darcy for her friend to come and help her-to the moment
she had come awake in the hall outside her room.

It was gone, a blank void in her mind, gone just as surely as if it had
never existed at all.

Turning away from the window, she slipped into the bathroom between her
room and Teri's, then tapped softly at the door to Teri's room.  When
there was no reply, she turned the knob and gently pushed the door open.

In the dim moonlight she could barely make out Teri's sleeping form,
sprawled on the bed, covered by a sheet.

Hesitantly, almost shyly, Melissa crept across to the bed and knelt
down. "Teri?" she whispered.  "Teri, are you awake?"

There was no response from her half sister.

Melissa reached out and touched Teri's shoulder.  Teri moaned softly and
rolled over, turning her back to Melissa.

Melissa's hart raced.  How could Teri be this sound asleep so quickly?

Only a few minutes ago they'd both been out in the potting shed.

Unless...

Inhaling sharply, she grasped Teri's shoulder and shook her.  "Teri!"

she whispered loudly.  "Teri, wake up!"

Teri rolled over and sat up.  Her eyes blinked a few times, then she
squinted at Melissa in the dim moonlight.

"Melissa?" she asked, her voice sounding thick with sleep.  "Wh-What
time is it?"

"I-I don't know," Melissa stammered.

"Well,  what  are  you  doing  in  here?"  Teri  asked.  "Why  aren't
you asleep?"

Melissa's eyes widened in the darkness.  "The-The dress," she said, her
voice faltering.  "What did you do with it?"

Now Teri reached over and snapped on the lamp on her nightstand. Melissa
shied away from the brilliance of the light, but in a few seconds her
eyes adjusted to the illumination and focused on Teri's face.

Her half sister was gazing at her, her expression puzzled.  "What
dress?"
she asked.  "What are you talking about?"

Icy fingers of panic reached out to Melissa.  It was an impossibility
It couldn't have been a dream-it couldn't have!   "The white dress," she
whispered. "The one from the attic, that I wore to the dance.  It was in
my room tonight!"

Teri frowned and shook her head.  "It couldn't have been," she said.  "I
threw it away that night, after we brought you home."

"But you couldn't have," Melissa insisted.  "Don't you remember?   You
saw it tonight.  And we went out to the potting shed."

Teri's frown deepened.  "Melissa, what are you talking about?   We went
out to the potting shed?  When?"

Melissa's eyes flooded with tears.  "just a little while ago.  We-We
found Tag out there.  D-Darcy did something to him...."

Teri shook her head once more.  "Melissa, I don't have the slightest
idea what you're talking about. just tell me what happened."

as best she could, choking back the sobs that threatened to overwhelm
her, Melissa pieced the story together.  "But after I saw Tag," she
finished, "I -I don't remember anything else.  The next thing I remember
is waking up in the hall.  C-Cora said I was going up to the attic."

Teri groaned and flopped down on the pillow.  "Oh, for God's sake,
Melissa, Why don't you grow up?" 

Melissa drew back from her half sister.  "But-"

"It was a nightmare, Melissa," Teri declared.  "Isn't it obvious?   You
had a nightmare and started walking in your sleep, and Cora found you!"

"But it wasn't a nightmare," Melissa insisted.  "You were with me!"

Teri shook her head.  "I haven't been anywhere, Melissa.  I went to bed
a little after ten, and I've been asleep ever since." Her lips twisted
into a scornful smile.  "If you can't even tell when you're dreaming,
maybe you're as crazy as the kids say you are.  Now go back to bed and
let me go back to sleep, all right?" Without waiting for a reply, she
turned the light off again and rolled over once more, pulling the covers
up over her head.

But when Melissa was gone, she kicked the covers off, flopped over onto
her back and clamped her hands against her mouth.

The last thing she needed right now was for Melissa to hear her
laughter.

"It's time to wake up." Charles Holloway shook his daughter "Hon, it's
time to get up." Finally she rolled over and opened her eyes, closing
them instantly against the bright morning sun that flooded through the
windows.

"D-Daddy.?" she asked.  "What time is it?"

"almost nine, sweetheart," Charles replied, sitting down on the edge of
the bed and taking Melissa's hand in his own.  "I've got to go back to
the city, but I didn't want to leave without saying good-bye to you."

Melissa barely heard the words, for as she came fully awake, the memory
of the night before leaped into her mind.  She felt a cold chill of
panic run through her and sat up, her arms snaking around her father's
neck.  "N-No," she begged.  "Don't go.  Please?"

Charles hugged her close for a moment, but then gently disengaged
himself from her embrace.  "Hey, it's only for today.  I've got a couple
of things to take care of, and I'll be back tonight." He grinned at her
encouragingly.  "It's only a few hours.  I'm going to fly down, go to a
lunch meeting, and fly back. And if I don't get going, I'm going to miss
my plane.  Okay.?"

Melissa, her mind still filled with the horrible images from the
previous night, stiffened.  She wanted to tell her father what had
happened, beg him to go out to the potting shed with her right now and
look under the floorboards.

But then she remembered the night she'd seen Blackie in the attic, and
the night Darcy, standing at the top of the attic stairs, had flung her
hand down at Melissa's feet.

Both times, when she'd insisted that one or the other of her parents go
and look, there had been nothing there.

And the memories of what she'd seen those nights were every bit as vivid
as the memory of seeing Tag's body in the dim moonlight that had shined
through the potting shed door.

Could it have been nothing more than a nightmare?

It must have been, for the next thing she could remember after staring
at the carnage in the pit was waking up in the house.

In  the  house,  only  a  few  feet  from  her  own  room.

And  even now she could remember Cora's words.

"You were walking in your sleep again, darling.  I thought, you were
going up to the attic again."

Cora had been in the house-she'd been downstairs.  If she'd really been
outside, wouldn't Cora have seen her come back in?

It had to have been a nightmare.

"Y-You won't be gone all night, will you?" she asked, her voice
trembling.

"Of course not," Charles assured her.  "I told Dr. Andrews I'd take more
time out here, just to be with you, and I meant it.  But I just can't
get out of this meeting.  You understand, don't you?"

Melissa managed a nod, but as her father stood up, she clung to his
hand. "I-I had another nightmare last night Papa," she breathed.

Charles hesitated, then sank back onto the bed.  "Another one?"

"T-Tag was dead," she said, her voice quavering and her eyes moistening
with tears.  "He-"

Charles's arms went around his daughter once more and he cradled her
head against his chest.  "Hush," he crooned.  "It was only a dream,
Missy.  I'm certain Tag's all right-" Melissa gasped and pulled away
from her father, her eyes wary.  "Isn't he here?" she asked.

Charles  wished  he'd  thought  before  he'd spoken. "He went off
somewhere yesterday afternoon," he reluctantly admitted.  "And he hasn't
come back yet."

A tiny wail escaped Melissa's lips.  "Wh-What if-" she began, but her
father silenced her by pressing a finger to her lips.

"Now just stop that," he told her.  "You had a nightmare, and that's all
there was to it.  You were pretty upset at Jeff's funeral yesterday,
remember?   I wish I hadn't let you look at him at all.  God knows,
looking at dead bodies is a barbaric custom, and I don't know Why anyone
still does it.  I remember the nightmares I had when I was your age and
had to look at my grandmother.  I woke up every night, sure that I'd seen
her after she'd died.  For the next few weeks I saw her.  She was dead,
but her eyes were open and she was staring at me. just watching me, as
though I'd done something to her.  And that's all that happened to
you-you saw Jeff Barnstable's  yesterday, and in your dream it changed
to Tag's.  But it wasn't real, honey." His eyes met hers and his voice,
dropped slightly. "You have to start understanding what's real and
what's not," he told her.  "Dreams are just that. Dreams.  Some of them
might mean something, but it still doesn't make them real."

Getting to his feet once more, he smiled fondly at her, "Tell you what,
why don't you just stay in bed today and take it easy.  And then, when 
I get home, you and I will spend the whole evening together.

"we'll go out for dinner, and maybe go to a movie.  Does that sound like
fun?" though she'd barely heard the words. Melissa nodded automatically,
if Tag was gone...

No, she told herself once more.  It was just a nightmare.  But no matter
how hard she tried to convince herself, she knew she didn't believe it
It hadn't been a dream.

Melissa heard the familiar crunching an hour later, still lying in bed,
Of the gravel on the driveway as Cora backed her car out of its stan
behind her house and left the estate on her way into the village.  Cora
had brought some breakfast up to her a little while ago, but the tray
still sat untouched on her vanity.  She'd asked Cora about Tag, but
although Cora had  to assure her that he'd probably be back any minute
now, Melissa could tell the housekeeper didn't believe her own words.

She'd started to tell Cora about her nightmare, but Cora had refused to
listen.

"I don't want you even to talk about it," she'd said.  "You should just
forget about bad dreams.  If you let them get you all upset, they'll
just come back over and over again.  They're like demons, that's what."

She'd chattered on, but Melissa had stopped listening.  She could not
force her mind away from the horrible images she'd seen the night
before.

Now, with her mother and half sister long since gone to the club to play
tennis, and the house completely empty, she finally got out of bed,
pulled on a pair of jeans and her favorite T-shirt-the one Tag had given
her and shoved her feet into a pair of worn sneakers.  Though she still
had no appetite, she forced herself to drink the glass of orange juice
Cora had brought her, then took the tray downstairs.

The  house  had  a  strange  silence  to  it,  an  oppressive  emptiness
that  made Melissa want to run outside.  She started to do the dishes,
but as she ran some water into the sink, she suddenly knew she could
stand it no longer.

She had to go out to the potting shed and look for herself.  If what had
happened last night had truly been only a nightmare, at least she would
know, and finally release herself from the terrible fears that had held
her in their grip since the moment she'd awakened.

But if it hadn't been a nightmare...

She put the thought out of her mind.

Abandoning the dirty dishes and leaving the sink half filled with water,
she opened the back door and stepped out into the sunlight, but even the
heat of the morning couldn't penetrate the cold knot of fear that had
settled into her belly.

She crossed the terrace and skirted the pool, unconsciously retracing
the path she'd followed the night before, while lost in the sleep to
which Darcy had sent her.

At last she came to the potting shed, and a wave of trepidation broke
over her as she examined its broken door.  She felt her legs tremble and
for a moment wanted to Turn back.  But she knew she couldn't.

She had to know.

She forced herself to move forward, and reached out to push
the door open.  The first thing she saw, the morning sun glinting brightly on its
blade, was the machete.

Her eyes fixed on it, willing it to disappear, to return to its
accustomed Place against the wall inside the garage.

It remained where it was, silently accusing her.

And then she noticed the scent.

The sickening sweet fumes of decaying flesh assaulted her nostrils, and
as her lungs filled with the noxious odor, the images leaped back into
her mind with a new clarity.

With  shaking  hands  she  reached  down  and  lifted  one of the
floorboards.

Her mind reeled at the sight she beheld.

Flies covered Tag's corpse, a black undulating mass of feeding insects
that swarmed upward as the floor opened above them.  Beneath the flies
were  feeding on the ragged edges of Tag's wounds.

Her throat constricted as her eyes fixed on the grisly scene, a stream
of vomit spued from Melissa's mouth, but she was unaware Of what was
happening to her body, for her mind--stretched finally too taut-was at
last beginning to rend asunder.

Silently, she screamed out for help, screamed out to the only friend who
had never abandoned her, never failed her.  HELP me, DARCY.  PLEASE help
She knew She felt the familiar blackness closing around her, felt all
the sights she could no longer bear to witness fade away.

Sleep.

She had to sleep.

And this time she hoped never to wake up again.

This time she wanted to fall away into the black abyss and simply remain
there, submerged forever in the soft darkness of forgiving sleep.

No one was there to see the change that came over Melissa now, no one
witnessed the strange transformation as the personality of Darcy emerged
once more, coming for the first time into the light of day.

Her eyes, only a moment ago clamped shut against the horror at her feet,
now opened, and she gazed steadily, almost curiously, at the carnage
beneath the floor.  

Teri's words, words that in her memory had been uttered only a few
minutes ago, drifted into her mind.

"...it wasn't really you that did it, was it?"

Why was she here?

She had gone back to the house.

She'd gone back to the house to put Melissa to bed.

But someone had sent her away.

Someone  had  started  talking  to her, and Melissa had finally heard
them and awakened.

And  now  she  was  back  in  the  potting shed, and Teri was gone, and
somehow it was daylight.

She  gazed  once  more  at the corpse beneath the floor. Had Melissa
done this?

She didn't know.  But she had never known Why Melissa was in trouble.

all she'd ever known was that when Melissa was being punished, it was up
to her to take care of her.

And if Melissa had done this, surely she would be punished.

Darcy knew what that meant.

She turned away from the gaping hole in the floor and walked slowly back
to the house.  Ignoring the dirty dishes in the sink, she passed through
the kitchen to the old servants' stairs and climbed quickly to the
second floor.

Emerging from the door at the end of the guest-wing hall, she walked
down the length of the corridor until she came to the master suite.  She
opened the door and went inside, going directly to the cedar chest in
Melissa's father's dressing room.

In the bottom of the third drawer, hidden beneath a stack of sweaters,
she found what she was looking for.

At last she went to Melissa's room and pulled back the covers on the
bed.

She began attaching the thick nylon straps of the restraints to the
frame of the bed, and, when she was done, took off her clothes and
dressed in a pair of Melissa's pajamas.

At last she got on the bed, stretched out her legs, and began fastening
the leather cuffs to her ankles.

When she was finished, she used the fingers of her right hand to fasten
another cuff to her left wrist.

At last, the final strap, the one she'd been unable to fasten to her
arm, held firmly in her hand, she lay stretched out on her back.

Once more she would endure Melissa's punishment.

Tom Mallory unconsciously tapped the eraser of his pencil against his
front teeth as he scanned the report Cora Peterson had filled out.  At
last, dropping the pencil on his desk, he shifted his eyes from the
report to Cora herself, perched nervously on the hard wooden chair on
the other side of the desk. "Well, if it was anybody else but Tag," he
observed almost reluctantly, "I'd have to say there isn't much we can do
for another twenty-four hours or so. But I don't know . . ." He sighed,
leaning back and folding his hands over his stomach.  "I guess I tend to
agree with you.  Tag's never given anybody in this town a speck of
trouble,-and ever since he was knee-big to a grasshopper, he's been more
grown up than half the men we got on the force here."

For the first time since Tag had disappeared, Cora felt a little of the
nervous tension ebb from her body.  "Then you'll look for him?" she
asked anxiously.

Mallory nodded.  "I'll have all the boys keep an eye out, and get copies
of his picture made." He held up the snapshot of Tag that Cora had
brought with her.  In the picture, Tag was grinning happily, wearing a
baseball cap that Tom Mallory himself had given to him only last summer.

Mallory shook his head sadly.  "I just can't see anyone wanting to hurt
Tag," he mused almost to himself.  "There isn't a soul in town who
doesn't like that boy."

Cora nodded.  "That's Why I can't understand it.  He was right in the
middle of his chores when I came to town yesterday.  And when I got
back, he'd just vanished."

Mallory shrugged.  "What about that dog of his?   It ever show up?"

Cora shook her head.  "But that's different- Dogs run off all the time."

"Well, I think the first thing we better, do is have a few people check
out the woods around the cove, and maybe that stretch of rocks up north.

If Tag was out hunting for the dog, he could have  had some kind Of
accident.  If he was trying to climb some of those rocks..." He let his
voice trail off as the color drain from Cora's normally ruddy face.

"He wouldn't have done that," she said.  "He knows how dangerous the
bluffs can be."

"Now, take it easy, Mrs. Peterson.  I didn't say anything had happened
to him.  But it seems to me that right now the best thing we can hope
for is that he fell somewhere and maybe broke a leg.  and if he did,
he'll be all right. We'll find him."

But Cora still wasn't convinced, and now she shifted uneasily in her
chair.  There was something she'd left out of the report, something she
hadn't yet told Tom Mallory about.  But it had been gnawing at her ever
since yesterday. all night-as she'd lain awake listening every minute
for Tag to come home -she kept thinking about Teri MacIver.  But even
now it seemed . . . well, it seemed just plain disloyal to talk to the
police about Charles Holloways'  own daughter. Mallory, sensing her
sudden discomfort, leaned forward once again.  "Is there something else,
Mrs. Peterson?"

Cora took a deep breath and made up her mind.  "Well, yes," she finally
admitted.  "I-I hate to even bring it up, really. it-well, it's Teri.
Teri MacIver."

Mallory nodded.  "Beautiful young lady.  Looks just like her mother."

"Well, she certainly doesn't act like her mother," Cora observed
tightly. Now that she'd finally broached the subject, her words tumbled
from her lips in a swift torrent.  "Nothing's been the same since that
girl came into the house.  Oh, she acts just as sweet as pie when
anyone's around.  Acting like she's Melissa's best friend, and all.  But
I don't believe it, and neither did Blackie!"

"Blackie?" Mallory echoed.

Cora nodded emphatically.  "The minute he saw her, he backed away from
her.  Oh, she tried to make up to him, but he always snarled at her.  A
dog can tell about people, you know.  If a dog doesn't like some one..."
Realizing she was starting to ramble, she cut her words short.  "Anyway,
Tag saw her kick Blackie once.  And ever since she's come, Melissa's
problems seem to get worse and worse.  The nightmares, and the
sleepwalking . . ." She shook her head, her tongue clucking
sympathetically.  "I just can't help thinking Teri's doing something to
her."

Mallory held up a hand.  "Hold on," he said.  "Are you saying Melissa
walks in her sleep?"

Cora paused, flustered.  She hadn't meant to say that, hadn't meant to
say that at all.  But now that she'd made the slip, she couldn't take it
back. Reluctantly, she nodded.

Mallory  frowned deeply. "How come nobody told me that Saturday night?"
He asked.-"Could that be Why she didn't remember going up to the road?
When the Barnstable kid had his accident?"

Cora gazed at him uncertainly.  "Well, I don't know," she said.  She
thought back to that night, when Melissa, all dressed up in her costume,
had come through the kitchen on her way to the club.  Now that she
thought about it, Melissa's eyes had looked strange.  In fact, they'd
had that same strange vacant look as last night.  "But now that I think
of it," she went on, "there was something a little peculiar about her
that night.  She was acting kind of odd.  I thought maybe she was just,
you know, sort of pretending to be someone else, the way you do when you
put on a costume."

"all right," Mallory told her.  "I'll tell you what I'll do.  I'll have
some of the guys start looking around, but I also want to come out to
Maplecrest myself. just to talk to people - find out when the last time
they saw Tag was - that kind of thing." And I also want to find out
what's going on with Melissa Holloway, he added to himself.  Saturday
night, when he'd been talking to the whole family, not one of them had
mentioned that Melissa had a problem with sleepwalking.  Instead, they
an especially Phyllis-had insisted that the shock of the accident had
simply caused a loss of memory.

But if it was something else...

was it possible that she had, after all, caused the accident, rather
than simply witnessed it?

He didn't know, but he intended to find out.

It was close to noon when Phyllis and Teri finally returned from the
club. as soon as they came into the house, Phyllis went to the kitchen,
her jaw setting angrily as she saw that Cora had only just begun to
prepare lunch. "really, Cora," she said.  "I told you we'd be back by
noon and that I expected lunch to be, ready.  If you can't follow the
simplest-"

"It's almost ready, " Cora broke in, pulling a platter of sliced melon
from the refrigerator.  "Won't be more than ten or fifteen minutes.  I
had to go into the village to tell the police about Tag."

Phyllis' eyes rolled toward the ceiling.  "Cora, he's barely been gone
twenty-four hours!   He's a teenager, for heaven's sake.  You know how
kids these days are."

"Not Tag," Cora declared, turning to face her employer.  "And Tom
Mallory agrees with me.  Fact is,", she added, a rare feeling of
spitefulness rising within her as she shifted her gaze to Teri, who had
followed her stepmother into the kitchen, "he'll be coming out here to
talk to everyone." She kept her eyes on Teri, but remained uncertain
whether the girl had reacted to her words at all.  "He'll be wanting to
know-" And then she caught herself.

Why let Teri know what the police were going to ask?   "well, he'll just
be wanting to talk to people, that's all."

Phyllis shrugged dismissively.  "Well, I'm sure he's welcome to talk to
us," she said.  "But what could any of us possibly say?   None of us has
any idea where Tag went."

"Maybe," Cora said, her eyes still on Teri.  "And maybe not." This time
she was almost certain she saw a flicker of apprehension in the girl's
eyes, but then Teri smiled warmly.

"Where's Melissa?   Is she up yet?"

Cora shook her head.  "Her papa told her she could stay in bed all day.
I guess she's doing it.  I haven't seen her since I took her breakfast
up this morning."

She nodded toward the dishes that were still stacked on the sink.  "Some
people," she added pointedly, "at least help me tidy this place up
sometimes."

But Teri was already on her way out of the kitchen.  "I'll go up and see
if she's awake," she called back over her shoulder.

Upstairs, Teri tapped at Melissa's door, then let herself into the room.

Melissa lay on her bed, her eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling.  And
then Teri saw the straps.

Frowning, she stepped into the room and went to the bed, knowing the
instant she looked into Melissa's eyes that she was seeing Darcy.

"Darcy?" she whispered.  "Is that you?"

Melissa's eyes shifted, focusing on Teri's face.

"She went out to the potting shed, didn't she?"

Melissa's head moved in a barely perceptible nod.

"Do you know what happened?"

Silence.

And then, from the open window, Teri heard the sound of tires crunching
on the gravel drive.  She turned away from the bed and hurried to the
window.

A black-and-white police car was coming up the drive, disappearing a
moment later as it pulled around to the front of the house.  Teri's mind
raced.

She had to find out what Darcy remembered; how much she knew of what had
happened in the potting shed.  And after she found out, she had to Turn
Darcy's knowledge against Melissa herself.

She hurried back to the bed and looked down once more into her half
sister's strangely vacant eyes.  "You want to help Melissa, don't you?"

Again, that almost imperceptible nod.

Working quickly, Teri began removing the cuffs from Melissa's left arm
and her legs.  Then, grasping her arm, she pulled her half sister up.

"Come on," she said.  "If you really want to help Melissa, I know how
you can do it."

A few seconds later, in the attic, Teri began  helping  Melissa  into
the  dress once more.

"You have to tell them what you did," she whispered softly.  "If you
don't, they'll blame Melissa.  You don't want them to blame Melissa, do
you?"

Melissa shook her head slightly.

"Then you know what you have to do, don't you?" Teri crooned, fastening
the last of the long row of buttons on the back of the dress.  "You have
to take the punishment, so they won't blame Melissa."

She heard Phyllis' voice calling up the stairs to her, and pulled the
wig from its hiding place in the steamer trunk.  Placing it on Melissa's
head, she smiled.

"Wait," she said.  "just wait here, until I come for you."

Leaving Melissa standing silent and motionless in the attic, Teri
hurried down the stairs.

"Is this going to take much longer?" Teri asked.  She was in the
library, sitting on the sofa next to her stepmother, the nail of her
right forefinger picking nervously at a crack in the red leather with
which the couch was covered.

Tom Mallory glanced up from his notebook.  Over the last half hour, as
he'd talked with both Phyllis Holloway and Teri MacIver, he'd had a hard
time making up his mind which of them he disliked more.

Phyllis had been barely civil to him, making it eminently clear that as
far as she was concerned, his visit was an invasion of her home and her
privacy.  "I really can't understand Why you want to talk to us at all,"
she'd said after keeping him waiting in the library for more than ten
minutes before finally appearing.  "I have a great deal to do today."

"I'm sure this won't take much of your time, Mrs. Holloway," he'd broken
in. "But the fact of the matter is that Tag Peterson is missing."

Phyllis' brows rose skeptically.  "Don't you think Cora is overreacting
to all this?   The boy hasn't even been gone twenty-four hours."

Mallory had shaken his head.  "There're quite a few kids I can think of
that I wouldn't worry about if they took off for a day or two.  But
Tag's not one of them, Mrs. Holloway.  Now, if you could just try to
tell me when the last time you saw him was" Phyllis shrugged helplessly.

"Well, I really don't know, Lieutenant."

"Sergeant," Mallory automatically corrected.

Phyllis' eyes narrowed slightly.  "Sergeant," she repeated as if the
word were distasteful to her.  "Of course.  At any rate, I'm not sure I
could tell you the last time I saw Tag.  He's just simply around, you
know.  We pay him for odd jobs he does, of course, but he's Cora's
responsibility, not ours."

"If you'd just tell me when you last remember seeing him, Mrs.

Holloway?"

Phyllis had sighed heavily.  "Well, I suppose it was after the funeral
yesterday.  I seem to recall he might have been working on the lawn, but
I can't be certain.  yesterday," she added pointedly, "was a difficult
day for all of us, you know."

A few minutes later Teri MacIver had come in, and when he'd posed the
same question to her, she'd simply shrugged her shoulders helplessly.

"I'm not sure, really." She'd paused, and then frowned as if trying to
remember something.  "actually," she went on, "I was in here most of the
time Daddy and Phyllis were gone.  But it seems to me I remember hearing
him calling Melissa."

"Melissa?"' Phyllis repeated.  "But she was in her room, sound asleep."

Teri had shrugged once more.  "well, I didn't really see him, and I
might be wrong.  But I'd almost swear he was calling her.  I thought
they might be talking through the window, or something."

Cora Peterson, who had been listening silently from the doorway, eyed
Teri suspiciously.  "Seems to me you might have gone to take a look,"
she observed.  "I mean, knowing Melissa was supposed to be asleep and
all."

"Where is Melissa?" Mallory had asked then, shooting Cora a look that
clearly said he could take care of the questions himself.

"She's asleep," Phyllis replied a little too quickly, giving the
policeman the distinct impression she didn't want him to talk to her
daughter.  Sensing her mistake, she did her best to recover.  "She had a
very bad day yesterday.  I'm afraid she became a bit hysterical at Jeff
Barnstable's funeral.  The doctor's recommended that she get a lot of
rest."

"But she's not ill?" Mallory pressed.

"W-well, no, not exactly," Phyllis stammered.

"Then if you don't mind, I'd like you to wake her up, Mrs. Holloway.  It
won't take but a minute or two, but if she did talk to Tag, I'd like to
know what was said."

Phyllis had vacillated, as if weighing her options, but finally left the
room.

The moment she was gone, Teri's attitude had changed drastically.  "I
don't see what the big deal is," she had complained.  "I mean, so Tag's
gone.  So what?  Kids take off all the time, don't they?  And it's not
like Tag had any friends here.  all he ever did was mow the lawn and
trim the hedges, and he didn't even do that very well.  He probably just
got fed up with it."

"Now you see here, young lady." Cora began, but Mallory silenced her
with an upheld hand.

"Now let's all just take it easy, okay?"

That was when Teri had fixed him with angry eyes and demanded to know
how much longer the interviews were going to take.  "I have a couple of
friends coming over to go swimming."

Cora's eyes narrowed.  "Today.?" she demanded.  "It seems to me you
might have thought about how your sister's feeling."

Teri smiled at her with exaggerated sweetness.  "Maybe I did," she said.
"And maybe I thought it might be nice for her to have some company."

"And maybe you didn't think at all," Cora grumbled, but before she could
go on, Phyllis appeared in the library door.

"She's not in her room."

"But she has to be," Teri replied, her insolent smile instantly replaced
with a look of grave concern.  "I was just up there and she was sound
asleep-" She cut her own words off and her hand flew to her mouth, but
then she quickly dropped her hand to her side.

"What?" Phyllis demanded.  "She was there, wasn't she?"

"Y-Yes," Teri said.  Then, as if repeating a thought that had just
popped into her mind that instant, she went on, "But-Well, she came into
my room last night.  She-She said she'd been sleepwalking." She turned
to Cora.  "She said you found her going up to the attic."

Cora licked her lips nervously, her mind working quickly.  "Yes," she
said. "That's true.  But what-"

"Well, maybe she did it again," Teri suggested.  Her eyes went to
Phyllis. "I mean, it wouldn't be the first time, would it?"

an expression of grim anger came into Phyllis's's eyes as she realized
her daughter's problems were about to be aired in public.  Cora, at
least, had never talked about Melissa to outsiders.  But now, she felt
dizzy as she imagined the field day this policeman would have with the
story: "The kid's crazy as a bedbug-wanders around the house in the
middle of the night-hallucinates-the whole ball of wax.  They shoulda
locked her up years ago."

And he'd be right, too, Phyllis rejected darkly.  It made her furious
the way Burt Andrews had simply brushed aside her suggestion that
Melissa be sent away.  But if he'd only listened - if Charles had only
listened, too Melissa wouldn't even be here now.

I-Well, I suppose . . ." she floundered.

Why  don't  we  go  up  and  take  a look around, Mrs. Holloway," Tom
Mallory suggested, then firmly took Phyllis' arm and led her out into
the hallway.

Less than a minute later the four of them were gathered at the foot of
the stairs to the attic.  "But this is ridiculous," Phyllis protested.
"It's the middle of the day.  She's never-"

Her words were cut off by a sound from above.

It was a footstep.  A second later, it was followed by another.

And then, as the four people gazed up toward the door at the top of the
stair, the door itself opened and a figure appeared.

It was Melissa, clad in the white dress, her eyes glazed over.

She paused for a moment, and then her head moved slightly and her vacant
eyes stared down at them.

"I did it," she said, her voice hollow.  "It wasn't her fault.  I did
it."

She started down the stairs, and as the light from below finally fell on
the folds of white material, they saw the bloodstains for the first
time.

From the bodice to  the  hem  the  dress  was  stained  a  dark  reddish
brown.

Phyllis gasped as she stared at her daughter in shocked horror, and her
hand instinctively grasped Teri MacIver's arm.

Cora, her eyes fixed numbly on the grotesque figure descending the
stairs, felt her knees give way and would have collapsed to the floor
except for Tom Mallory's quick movement to support her.

Teri MacIver simply smiled quietly to herself.

"I still don't see Why Teri wanted me to come, too," Kent Fielding said.

The two of them were on the beach, heading up toward the Holloways'
house.  "You're the one she likes."

Brett Van Arsdale grinned mischievously at his friend.  "Maybe she's
decided to set you up with Melissa," he replied.  But then his smile
faded as he remembered Jeff Barnstable.  "What do you suppose really
happened the other night?" he asked.  "I mean, how could Melissa have
walked all the way from Maplecrest and not even remember?"

Kent shrugged.  "She's nuts, that's Why." Then a thought occurred to
him. "Hey, remember after the bonfire, when Cyndi and Ellen claimed they
saw Darcy wandering around in the woods?"

Brett nodded.  "I've been thinking the same thing.  But she acted so
scared when I was telling the story."

"Yeah, but she was really pissed off when Teri spilled the beans about
her thinking she's friends with Darcy.  Man, that's just too weird. But
maybe she went home and put on that old dress, then went out trying to
scare people."

Brett chuckled.  "Well, if she did, it sure worked.  Or maybe," he went
on, "Ellen and Cyndi weren't lying.  Maybe they really did see Darcy."

Kent glanced at Brett out of the corner of his eye.  "Oh come on. Nobody
actually believes that old story.  And after what happened to Jeff, you
know it had to be Melissa the girls saw."

"Wouldn't you think they'd finally figure out Melissa's a nut case and
lock her up?" Brett mused.  "I mean, even if she didn't remember what
happened, she looked so scary, you can't blame Jeff for going off the
road.  Shit, I would've lost it myself."

They turned away from the beach and started up toward the big shingled
house.  "You sure you want to come?" Brett asked, turning to snap his
beach towel at Kent, then backing quickly away before the other boy
could-retaliate. "I mean, what if Melissa gets a crush on you like she
did on Jeff?"

Kent's brow furrowed into a dark scowl.  "Jesus, Brett, that's really
gross.  I mean, whatever happened, I just can't believe she meant for
him..." And then his voice trailed off as his eyes, looking beyond Brett,
caught a glimpse of a strange figure coming out the back door of the
Holloways' house.  "Holy shit," he breathed.  "What the hell's going
on?"

Startled by the sudden change in Kent's voice, Brett turned around to
see what his friend was staring at.

Even from where he stood he knew immediately that the figure in white,
with long blond hair streaming down over her shoulders, was Melissa.

"What the hell's she doing" he whispered.  "She's got that stupid
costume on again."

Both boys broke into a trot, hurrying across the lawn toward the house.

But they stopped short when they suddenly saw that Melissa wasn't alone.

Behind her, watching her silently, were Tom Mallory and Phyllis
Holloway. And behind them, emerging from the house just as they came to
the steps to the terrace, they saw Cora Peterson and Teri MacIver.  The
boys froze where they were, uncertain what to do.  And then Kent saw the
stains on the front of the dress and nudged Brett.

"Look at that," he whispered.  "It-It looks like blood."

Tom Mallory was the first to spot them.  Instantly, he left Phyllis'
side and hurried over to them.  "Get out of here," he told them, his
voice low but carrying an unmistakable note of authority.  "Right now.
Don't say anything, and don't move fast.  just back away."

Brett and Kent glanced at each other, and Brett's mouth opened, but then
he changed his mind.  Grasping Kent's arm, he backed away from the
strange spectacle of Melissa, who seemed not to have noticed them at
all. She was moving across the terrace now, heading toward the swimming
pool.

Mallory, their  presence  already  all  but  forgotten,  turned  away
and caught up with Phyllis.

"What'll we do?" Kent whispered as the bizarre procession moved across
the terrace, then turned to follow Melissa around the pool toward the
bath house.

"Well,  I'm  sure  not  leaving,"  Brett  replied.  "Whatever's  going
on, I'm gonna see it."

They moved forward again, staying well behind the group following
Melissa, but not letting them out of their sight.  "She looks weird,"
Brett whispered a moment later as Melissa, her pace slow and stately,
turned around the corner of the bathhouse and started toward the garage.

"She looks like she's sleepwalking or something."

A moment later Melissa came to a stop in front of the old potting shed.

She stood perfectly still for a moment, and then her right hand came up
and she pushed the door open.

A few flies were hovering in the air inside the shed.  as the door
opened, a foul stench drifted from within.

Though the others instinctively drew back from the odor, Melissa seemed
not to notice it at all.

She stepped inside.

And once again her right hand came up.

This time the forefinger of her right hand pointed directly at the loose
floorboards.

"There," she said.

The word seemed to hang in the air for a moment, and then Tom Mallory
moved inside, knelt down, and pulled up a floorboard.

"Jesus," he whispered, closing his eyes for a moment against the sight
of Tag's mangled body sprawled out beneath the floor.  He paused for a
moment, regaining control of his churning emotions, and then stood up.

Ignoring Phyllis and Teri, he went directly to Cora and put an arm
around her shoulder.  "It's Tag," he said softly- "I'm sorry, Cora.  I'm
so very sorry."

He turned and strode toward the house, already mentally organizing his
investigation team.

Not, of course, that the team would have much to investigate.

Melissa, after all, had already confessed.

Burt Andrews pulled his BMW up in front of Maplecrest, sliding it into a
narrow gap between an ambulance and one of the police cars.  there were
three black-and-whites there now, plus an assortment of other vehicles,
ranging from a dirty Volkswagen with a press sticker on the windshield
to a RollsRoyce convertible with New York license plates that read
simply LENORE.

He hurried up the steps and walked through the open door into the foyer.

For a moment he had an eerie feeling that the house was empty, despite
the number of cars in the drive, but then he saw a cluster of people on
the terrace behind the house, and more scattered in small groups on the
lawn that rolled away from the terrace toward the woods.  From where he
stood, it appeared that half the population of Secret Cove had already
gathered here.  He was about to step through the French doors when a
voice from the stairs stopped him.

"Dr.  Andrews?"

He looked up to see a tan blond woman, clad in a white blouse and
brightly colored cotton skirt, gazing down at him.  Despite what had
happened here, she had an air about her of perfect control.  as she came
quickly down the stairs, she extended her hand toward him.  "I'm Lenore
Van Arsdale," she said.  "I'm a friend of the Holloways."

Andrews took the proffered hand for a moment, but quickly released it,
his eyes automatically shifting to the stairs.  "Where are they.?"

"Phyllis is in her room," Lenore Van Arsdale said.  "Teri's with her,
and Melissa is in the library, with Dr. Chandler.  They wanted to take
her somewhere, but when Teri told me about you, I suggested they wait."

Andrews's brows lifted a fraction of an inch, a gesture Lenore Van
Arsdale didn't miss.  She smiled thinly.  "I have a reputation for being
indomitable, and today I decided to use it." The smile faded away.

"Melissa seems to be in a state of shock.  I'm not sure she has the
slightest idea of what's happened, or even where she is.  It seemed to
me there was no point in taking her anywhere until you got here."

Andrews nodded, starting toward the library, and Lenore fell in beside
him.  "What about Charles?" he asked.  "Has anyone gotten hold of him?"

"He's on his way, Lenore told him.  "He's the first person I called.  He
chartered a plane out of LaGuardia.  He called a while ago from the
airport in Portland.  He's driving out right now."

"What about Phyllis?" Andrews paused outside the library door and turned
to face Lenore.

For just the slightest moment he thought he saw a flicker of hesitation
in her eyes, but then they cleared and she shook her head.  "She's
upset, of course," she said.  "But I have a feeling that what's
upsetting her most has nothing to do with what's happened here.
She-Well, she keeps asking what people are going to think." Her voice
took on a note of icy disapproval.  "I'm afraid her main concern is
whether this is going to ruin her socially.  But then it's always been
my opinion that she never really cared much about Melissa, or anyone
else."

This time Burt Andrews's brows arched high.  "You don't like her much,
do you?"

Lenore shook her head.  "I never have, and I never will.  I'm civil to
her because I grew up with Charles and I feel sorry for him.  And I feel
sorry for Melissa, too." She sighed heavily.  "Maybe-Well, perhaps all
of us here should have done more.  We knew the pressures Phyllis put on
Melissa-"

"Let's not blame anyone just yet, Mrs. Van Arsdale," Andrews
interjected, "Until we know what happened."

"But we do know," Lenore broke in.  "Apparently, Melissa confessed."

Andrews shrugged.  "Didn't you just say she doesn't seem to know what's
going on?"

For a split second Lenore Van Arsdale's cool facade seemed to crack, but
she recovered herself.  "You're right, of course," she said.  Then: "can
I get you anything.?"

Andrews shook his head.  "I think I'd better have a look at Melissa.,."

Lenore Van Arsdale lingered for a moment, almost as if she expected to
accompany him into the library, but she finally turned away.  Andrews
let himself into the library, closing the door behind him.

Melissa, still wearing the bloodstained dress, sat stiffly on the edge
of the sofa, her hands folded demurely in her lap, her eyes fixed on the
fireplace. Fritz Chandler, a silver-haired, slightly overweight man of
fifty-odd years whom Burt Andrews had known for better than a decade,
heaved himself to his feet as the psychiatrist entered the room.

"Burt," he said, automatically dropping his voice to the level he
habitually used when making rounds at the local clinic.  "Let me tell
you, I'm glad to see you.  I've seen some strange things in my life,,
but this one..." His voice faded away as he shook his head helplessly.

"have you given her anything.  " Andrews asked.  "Anything at all?"

"Not a thing.  I've checked her over, and I'm telling you, Burt, I just
don't get it.  Looking at her eyes, I'd have said she was in shock, but
she doesn't show any other symptoms.  Pulse, blood pressure, reflex
everything's normal.  But she hasn't said a word.  She was standing
outside when I got here, just standing by that goddamn potting shed,
like she was waiting for a bus or something.  Jesus..." His eyes,
which had been fixed on Melissa, suddenly moved to Burt Andrews.  "have you
been out there?" Andrews shook his head.  "Well, let me tell you, buddy,
it's one hell of a mess.  It's not just the Peterson kid, whose head was
damned near split in two with a machete. There's a dead dog, too, which
has been rotting in the heat for about a week, near as I can make out."

His eyes shifted back to Melissa.  "And she was just standing there, as
if she didn't notice any of it."

Andrews nodded, his own eyes fixing on Melissa now.  "What happened when
you brought her in here?" he asked.  "Any problems?"

".None. all I had to do was tell her what to do.  I know she hears me,
and I know she understands what I'm saying, but she hasn't said a word."

"all right.  Let's take another look at her."

He crossed to Melissa and knelt down in front of her.  If she even saw
him, she gave no sign at all.  Her eyes remained fixed on the empty
fireplace, her face expressionless.

"Melissa?" Andrews asked.  "Melissa, it's me.  Dr. Andrews.  can you
hear me?" There was silence.  Andrews took her wrist in his right hand,
his fingers feeling for a pulse.  He'd expected to find her skin cold
and slightly clammy, but instead it felt perfectly natural.
Except that she seemed totally unaware of his touch.

as Chandler had told him, her pulse was perfectly normal.

He examined her quickly, rechecking for the symptoms Chandler had
expected to find, but as the older doctor had said, they simply weren't
there. Were it not for the vacant look in her eyes, and her total
silence and stillness, Melissa would have appeared perfectly normal.

Except, Andrews began to realize as he studied her face more closely,
something else had changed.

He knew he was looking at Melissa's face; an her features were perfectly
recognizable.  But somehow, in some subtle way he couldn't quite put his
finger on, those features had changed.

And then he understood.

It wasn't Melissa he was looking at at all.

"Darcy.  " he asked.  "Darcy, can you hear me?" Melissa's head swung
around and her eyes gazed at him with no sign of recognition at all.

"I'm Dr. Andrews," he went on.  "I'm a friend of Melissa's.  Has she
ever told you about me?"

Something changed in Melissa's eyes.  Andrews was almost certain he saw
a hint of a smile around the corners of her mouth.  But still she said
nothing.

"Where is Melissa, Darcy?  May I talk to her?"

For a moment the girl simply sat staring at him.  Then, very slowly, she
shook her head and uttered a single word.  "Asleep."

"Melissa's asleep?" Andrews asked.

Melissa nodded.

"can you wake her up?"

Melissa shook her head once more.  "She doesn't want to wake up.  She
never wants to wake up again."

Andrews took the girl's hands in his own and leaned closer.  "Darcy, do
YOU know Why she doesn't want to wake up?"

Melissa smiled.  "She's afraid.  She's done something bad, and she's
afraid she'll be punished."

Suddenly the door to the library opened and Charles Holloway strode into
the room.  When he saw Melissa sitting on the sofa in the bloody dress,
he stopped short, the color draining from his face.  "M-Melissa?" he
breathed.

Andrews stood up quickly, and as Charles started once more for his
daughter, the doctor put out a restraining hand.  "Don't try to talk to
her, Charles.  There's something I've got to explain to you first."

Charles started to push past the psychiatrist, but as his eyes fixed on
Melissa's face, he paused a second time, for he, too, could see the
change that had come over Melissa's features.

He stared at her for a moment, and then his eyes shifted back to
Andrews. "What is it?" he asked.  "She looks-she looks different."

"She is different, Charles," Andrews  told  him  gently.  "This  isn't
Melissa at all.  This is Darcy." Charles  eyes  widened  with  shock.

"Darcy.?" he repeated.
Charles was angry. "What the hell are you trying to say?  There isn't
any Darcy."

"But there is," Andrews explained.  "Darcy is another personality that
Melissa's been using to protect herself.  And this is she.  She says
that Melissa's gone to sleep and doesn't want to wake up."

His legs suddenly threatening to collapse beneath him, Charles sank onto
one of the wing chairs.  "Wh-What does it mean?" he asked, though he had
a sick feeling deep inside that he already knew.

"It means we have a lot of work ahead of us," Andrews told him, resting
a sympathetic hand on the distraught man's shoulder.  "Somehow, I'm
going to have to find a way to reach Melissa.  But' if she doesn't want
to be reached..." He fell silent, leaving the words hanging in the
air.

Cora Peterson stirred on her bed and hefted herself into a sitting
position. Elsie Conners, who'd come over from the Fieldings' the minute
she'd heard what had happened, got up from the chair next to the window
and moved to the bed.  "Now you just take it easy, Cora," she said,
using the tone of voice she ordinarily reserved for disciplining her
employer's son. "The doctor said you should lie down."

"Well, I'm not going to lie down, Elsie," Cora retorted, swinging her
feet off the bed and standing up, automatically smoothing the wrinkles
out of her dress.  "I've lost both parents and a husband without coming
all apart, and I don't think Tag would want me to start falling' apart
now."

"But the doctor-"

"Doctors don't always know  everything,"  Cora  groused.  "Now,  if you
want to help me, fine.  But if all you're gonna do is jaw at me, you
might just as well get on back to the Fieldings'." She went into the
bathroom she shared with Tag and reached for her hairbrush, but as her
eyes fell on Tag's own brush and comb set-the one she'd given him just
last Christmas, with his initials engraved on the back of the brush-she
felt a sob rise within her.

Now, none of that, she told herself.  Firmly checking her emotions, she
ran her brush through her hair, then quickly washed her face.  The cold
water felt good, and when she was finished, she took a deep breath.  For
the last hour, while she'd been lying on her bed fighting off the
sedative Dr. Chandler had given her, she'd been thinking.  And the more
she thought, the more convinced she'd become that something was terribly
wrong.

Over and over again she'd tried to imagine Melissa killing Tag, and no
matter how she Put it together, she couldn't make herself believe it.

She hadn't seen Tag yet-someone had taken her away from the potting shed
right after Tom Mallory had told her what he'd found beneath the
floorboards.  But now, she knew, she had to look at him, no matter how
painful it might be for her.

She had to know what had happened to him, had to see for herself the
wounds that had been inflicted.

Had to make up her own mind whether Melissa could have done it.

She started down the stairs, with Elsie Conners fluttering after her.

"Cora, where are you going?  There's no reason for YOU-"

"I'm going to see my grandson, so I can see for myself what happened."

Elsie gasped in horror at the  very idea, but Cora silenced  her  with a
look.  "Don't argue with me, Elsie Conners. I know what I'm doing.  And
there's more than Tag to think about.,There's Melissa, too." 

"Melissa!" Elsie burst out, her voice quivering with outrage.  "Cora
Peterson, have you gone clean out of your mind?  Melissa Holloway killed
Tag!
What are you thinking about, worrying about her?  If it was up to me-"

"It's not up  to  you,"  Cora  snapped-  "And  thank  God  for  small
favors."

She pushed open the front door, pausing abruptly as a memory of the
night before came into her mind.

Melissa, walking in her sleep.

walking from . . . The potting shed?

It was possible.  She chewed thoughtfully at her lower lip, reviewing
every detail of the previous night.

Melissa had been wearing her bathrobe.

A white terry-cloth bathrobe.

And there were no stains on it.

Today, Melissa had been wearing the old dress from the attic, and it had
been covered with blood.

She took a deep breath and started down the steps, then began threading
her way through the clusters of people who had gathered on the lawn. She
heard words of sympathy being offered to her, but never paused even to
acknowledge them, let alone respond.  finally, after what seemed to her
an eternity but could have been no more than half a minute, she came to
the potting shed.

A gurney had been set up in front of the crumbling shack, and even as
Cora arrived, four men came out, carrying Tag's body, which had already
been discreetly covered with a sheet of opaque plastic.  For a moment
Cora's resolve weakened, but then she stiffened her back and moved
closer.  Behind the four men, who were now placing Tag's body on the.
stretcher, was Tom Mallory.  He paused in surprise when he caught sight
of her.

"Cora, there isn't any reason for-"

"I want to see him, Tom," Cora said, her voice steady.  "I want to see
my grandson."

Mallory shifted his weight uneasily.  "There's no reason for you to put
yourself through that, Cora."

"I have my own reasons, Tom.  I want to see him."

Mallory hesitated, scanning the old woman's face for signs of hysteria.

But her gaze was steady as she looked back at him, and he felt the
determination emanating from her.  "all right," he said quietly, nodding
to the man at the head of the stretcher.

as Cora approached, the medic folded the sheet of plastic back and Tag's
head was exposed to her view.  She gasped as she saw his smashed nose
and split skull, but then once more regained control of herself.  "all
right," she breathed, shifting her eyes quickly away from what she'd
seen as the man once more covered Tag up.

"What happened, Tom?" she asked.

Mallory shook his head.  "Cora, you don't need to put-"

"Tell me, Tom."

A sigh escaped Mallory's throat, but he reached into his back pocket and
pulled out his notebook.  Flipping through the pages, he found the
information he was looking for.  "There'll be an autopsy, of course, but
it looks like he got hit in the face first.  His nose was broken and
there was a lot of bleeding, which wouldn't have happened if he'd
already been dead.  It looks like he lay on the floor for a long while,
and then she split his head open with the machete."

"Who?" Cora asked.  "Who hit him?  Who split his head open?"

Tom Mallory gazed at the housekeeper in bewilderment.  "Melissa," he
said.  "Melissa Holloway."

Cora shook her head.  "No," she said softly.  "I don't believe that."

"Cora, you were there.  You heard her.  There really can't  be any
doubt. I'm sure when we examine it, we'll find her fingerprints all over
that machete." He reached out to touch her, but Cora stepped back.

"I don't care what she said.  I don't care what you find," she told him
stolidly.  "I know Melissa.  I've known her since she was a baby.  And
Tag was her best friend.  She wouldn't have done that to him, she
couldn't have, Tom.  She doesn't have a mean bone in her body."

Turning away, she started toward the house, once again ignoring the
people around her, who were now staring at her in shocked disbelief at
the words she'd just uttered.

She came into the house just as they were bringing Melissa down from her
room, where her father had taken her a few minutes before.  She was out
of the hideously stained dress now and wrapped once more in the bathrobe
she'd been wearing the night before, when Cora had found her out by the
pool.  Cora watched her silently as she came down the stairs, her eyes
searching the robe for any signs of blood.

There were none.

Only a few smudges of dust or dirt, which could have come from anywhere.

as Melissa came to the bottom of the stairs, Cora moved toward her and
said, "Baby," she murmured.  "I know you didn't hurt Tag, and I won't
let anything happen to you." Then, feeling the strange lifelessness in
Melissa's body, she drew back slightly and looked into the girl's face.

Darcy's empty eyes stared back at her.

"Dear God," Cora gasped, turning to Charles, her eyes finally flooding
with tears.  "What's wrong with her?   What have they done to her?"

Charles slipped his arm around the elderly woman.  "They haven't done
anything to her, Cora," he said.  "She-She's had some kind of a
breakdown,"

"But-But she didn't do anything," Cora insisted.

Charles squeezed Cora's shoulders.  His own eyes were red-rimmed with
tears.  "It's all right, Cora," he managed to say.  "They're not going
to hurt her.  They're taking her to a hospital.  Nothing's going to
happen to her. They're just going to make her well."

Through it all Melissa stood completely still, her unseeing eyes staring
ahead, her face expressionless.  The two doctors, one on each side of
her, led her unresisting form toward the front door.  But suddenly, as
one of the ambulance attendants opened the door, she turned, her eyes
fixing on her father.  Her face contorted, as if some kind of internal
fight were going on within her.  With a flood of tears streaming down
her face, she uttered one more word.

"pearls." Everyone in the room stared at her in silence.  Then Charles
suddenly understood.  "Her necklace," he said.  "She wants her
necklace."

Bolting up the stairs, he went into Melissa's room, pulled open the
drawer in which she kept the necklace he'd given her the previous
Christmas and fished around under her sweaters until he found it.  A
moment later he was back downstairs.  Very gently, he fastened the
string of pearls around his daughter's neck, kissed her on the cheek,
then spoke softly to Burt Andrews.

"They're her favorite thing," he said.  "Will they let her keep them at
the hospital?"

Andrews hesitated, then nodded.  "I'll see to it," he said.  "It's a
good sign that she asked for them." Charles gazed uncomprehendingly at
the psychiatrist.  "It was Melissa who spoke just now," he went on.
"Couldn't you see the change in her face?   She wanted the pearls so
badly she was willing to wake up for them.  And if she'd wake up once,
we'll find a way to wake her up again."

But as they led his younger daughter out of the house to the waiting
ambulance, a desolate thought came unbidden into Charles's mind.

Why.?   Why wake her up at all?

Why not just let her sleep?

A sob rose in his throat as he realized he might never see his Melissa
again.

It was nearly midnight, and Maplecrest was silent.  Cora had long since
gone back to her little house beyond the pool, quietly refusing
Charles's offer to her to spend the night in the big house.

"I don't expect to sleep tonight," she'd said.  "But at least I can be
in my own house, and feel Tag around me." She'd looked up at Charles,
her eyes dampening once more.  "I don't rightly know what I'll do
without him," she'd said.  "I can't remember ever living in an empty
house before.  But I'll get used to it, I suppose.  A body can get used
to anything, if it has to." She'd reached out and taken Charles's hand.

"And don't you worry about Melissa," she went on.  "Deep in my heart, I
know she didn't do anything to Tag.  She loved him just as much as I
did."

Charles didn't try to argue with her-he still wasn't sure how to explain
to Cora what had happened.  Indeed, he still hadn't grasped the full
meaning of it himself.  That there could have been another individual
whole separate personality-living within Melissa, was almost beyond his
comprehension.

"I'm not sure we'll ever know exactly what happened,' Andrews had told
him after they'd taken Melissa away.  "Right now, the Darcy personality
seems to be in full control of her, and until I can make contact with
Melissa again, I can't even begin working on trying to integrate the two
of them.  But I might be able to find out more about what's been
happening to Melissa over the years.  There will be things that Darcy
knows that Melissa isn't even aware of.  And if I can get Darcy to trust
me enough to talk to Melissa, this isn't the time to be talking about
that, is it?"

eventually, the house had emptied out entirely, the neighbors returning
to their homes, the police investigators finishing their jobs.  At last
there had been only the three of them left.

Finally now at midnight, Phyllis and Charles had finally gone to bed.

Teri MacIver was the only one still up.

She moved around the darkened rooms restlessly, experiencing each of
them as if for the first time.

For now, tonight, with Melissa finally gone, Maplecrest truly felt as
though it belonged to her.

She lingered on the first floor, putting off the moment she was most
looking forward to.  finally, she could wait no longer.

Going silently up the stairs, she paused outside the closed door to the
master suite, listening for any sign that her father and stepmother were
still awake.

She heard nothing.

At last she went back to the other side of the house, but instead of
going into her own room, she passed it by, opening Melissa's door
instead.  She slipped into the darkened room, closed the door behind
her, and switched on the light.

The bloodied dress, which had been lying on the floor only a few hours
ago, left there when they'd taken it off Melissa, was gone.  Cora must
have taken it away.

Or perhaps the police had taken it, to be sure the blood on it was
really Tag's.

Not that it mattered.  Melissa was gone now, and Teri had no further use
for the dress.

It had, after all, served its purpose.

She lay on the bed, stretching out across its luxurious expanse, and
began visualizing what she would do with the room.

Melissa's things-all of them-would go up in the attic.  And then the
room would be redone.  She looked at the wallpaper with distaste.  Maybe
she'd have it done in silk.  She'd seen pictures of silk walls, and
always, when she'd lain in bed in the house in San Fernando, thinking
about Maplecrest, she'd pictured her room here with silk brocade on the
walls.  Emerald green, with white trim.

She tried to visualize it, and just the image of it made her smile.  She
snuggled deeper into the soft mattress and felt a comfortable sleepiness
come over her.  She gazed up once more at the ceiling, picturing the
little room above it, tucked under the house's eaves.  "Thanks, Darcy,"
she said, snickering quietly to herself - "You've been a big help."

as she drifted off to sleep a few minutes later, a sound drifted into
her ear, almost unidentifiable.  Maybe it's Darcy, she thought.  Maybe
she's laughing, too.

It was the kind of perfect afternoon that the members of the Cove Club
had come to expect as their due on the day of the August Moon ball.

Through July and most of the following month, a stultifying heat had
lain over the coast, and the pace of life had slowed to a crawl.  By
nine o'clock on most mornings the tennis courts had been all but
abandoned, while the few who braved the morning sun gathered around the
pool to huddle under small patches of shade offered by umbrellas over
the tables.  The luncheon buffet was set up every day, but as the heat
increased, more and more people chose to remain in the cavernous cool of
their own homes, leaving the food in the club's dining room untouched
beneath its net coverings.  Only in late afternoon would the members of
the Cove Club finally venture forth to sit on the terrace around the
pool, sipping tall drinks and solemnly swearing that the weather
patterns were changing, and by next year Maine was going to Turn into
Miami.

But finally, toward the end of the month, the heat wave had broken, and
today-the Saturday before Labor Day-the weather was perfect.  The sky
was clear, a soft blue that seemed to insulate the cove from the outside
world, and even the humidity appeared to have taken a day off. A
freshening breeze was wafting in from the ocean, and a tingle of
excitement had replaced the lassitude of the last eight weeks.

Even the tragedy of Melissa Holloway was fading into little more than
the major memory by which this summer would be marked.  The Barnstables
were gone only a week after the funeral, Paula had insisted on putting
their house on the market.  Despite the fact that it was the first house
on the cove to become available to "outsiders" in three generations, it
hadn't sold yet, and there was talk of turning it into a historical
museum.

"Who would buy it?" Lenore Van Arsdale had asked Eleanor Stevens only a
couple of weeks ago.  "After all, everyone on the East coast knows we're
inbred to the point of degeneration.  We've become an anachronism."

we can't be too degenerate if we can still use words like that," Lenore
had observed, but still a sigh of resignation had come to her lips. "But
you're right, I suppose.  Who would want to come in here at this point,
and listen to all of us reminiscing about the good old days, three
generations back?"

Kay Fielding had chuckled hollowly.  "can't you just hear people fifty
years from now?   'Oh, them.  They bought the Barnstable house the year
of that terrible business with Melissa Holloway.  Maybe next year we'll
vote them into the club.'"

They'd all laughed softly, and yet they all knew it was true, and
privately most of the members of the club had begun to consider the idea
of spending their summers elsewhere.  There had been a rent in the
fabric of their lives this year, and rather than mend it, they were all
considering simply replacing it with something new.

But a sense of normality had slowly begun to come back to them, and
today the air was alive with excitement about the ball.  all day
florists' trucks had been arriving, the doors to the dining room
remaining closed, the curtains drawn over the windows.  The theme of the
party, known only to the committee, had remained a secret, although
practically everyone had done his best to worm it out of one of the
members.

Early this morning a large unmarked truck had arrived, and all day a
crew of men had been working, but none of them were willing to answer a
single question.  Now, lying on the patio around the pool with Brett Van
Arsdale and a few of their friends, Teri was still trying to figure it
out.  She glanced up at the truck still parked in the lot next to the
clubhouse and groaned with exasperation.  "Hasn't your mother said
anything?" she asked Brett for at least the third time that day.  "I
mean, what's she wearing?"

"How should I know?" Brett replied, not even turning his head to look
at her.  "Why don't you ask Phyllis?"

Teri rolled her eyes.  "I have," she said.  "Every day for the last
month.  But she won't say a word.  I even tried to get her to tell me
what color dress to look for, but she just told me to suit myself."

Brett snickered.  "I'll bet she wouldn't have said that to Melissa."

Teri's smile faded and a frown creased her brow.  "That's not very nice.
It isn't Melissa's fault she cracked up." Ever since the day they'd
taken her half sister away, she'd carefully defended Melissa against any
criticism, insisting that whatever had really happened, it wasn't
Melissa's fault.  "Anyone can have a breakdown," she'd steadfastly
insisted.  And though she'd never given any sign of it, she'd thoroughly
enjoyed the admiration she received for her loyalty to the half sister
she'd only known for a few short weeks.

"If she really did," Brett replied, voicing the idea that had been
whispered around the Cove over the last few weeks.  "I mean, maybe she's
just faking it so they won't put her in prison for the rest of her
life."

Teri rolled her eyes impatiently.  "That is so stupid.  If you could see
her-"

"I know," Kent Fielding groaned, quoting everything he'd heard at least
a dozen times before.  "She doesn't say anything at all.  She just sits
there, staring at nothing." He shuddered exaggeratedly.  "She sounds
like a zombie to me."

"Well, at least we don't have to worry about Darcy anymore." Cyndi
Miller giggled.  "If she's busy possessing Melissa, she can't bother us
tonight."

"Oh, please," Teri complained, "can't we talk about something else?
Come on, Brett, let's go in for a swim."

She got up from her chaise and started down toward the beach.  Brett
followed, catching her hand in his as they reached the bottom of the
steps and started across the sand.

"It's just talk," he said by way of an  apology.  "No  one  really means
anything by it."

"Well, it's mean," Teri grumbled.

"So it's mean," Brett replied, shrugging.  "But everyone isn't as nice
as you are.  I mean, no matter how weird Melissa got, you always took
her side."

Teri looked up at him.  "And I always will," she said.  "She's my
sister, and no matter what she did, I'll always love her.  So now can we
just drop it?"

Letting go of his hand, she ran down the beach and 'into the water,
ignoring the shock of the cold against her skin.  finally she plunged
through a wave, surfaced, and rolled over onto her back.  "Come on,
chicken," she yelled to Brett, who was still on the beach.  "It's
great!"

"It's cold." Brett yelled back, but finally took a deep breath, steeled
himself, and dove in after her.  He swam toward her underwater, but at
last his breath ran out and he surfaced.

Teri, laughing, was twenty yards away.

Brett set out after her again, falling into the steady rhythm of a
strong Australian crawl, but Teri proved to be a stronger swimmer than
he'd thought, and it took him almost five minutes to catch up.  Finally
coming abreast of her, he began treading water.  "Hey," he gasped. "What
gives?
When you first got here, you could barely swim at all.  Remember how I
had to pull you out that first day?" But as Teri grinned at him, a
thought came into his mind and he cocked his head, squinting at her in
the sun.  "Or were you faking that day?"

Teri's lips curved up into an enigmatic smile.  "I guess you'll never
know, will you?" she asked.  Then, as Brett grabbed playfully at her,
she kicked away from him and started back toward shore.

Phyllis, dressed in a pair of khaki pants and a white blouse-smudged
here and there with blotches of paint-stood back and surveyed the banner
that was finally ready to be put up over the orchestra stand at the far
end of the dining room.  She ran a hand through her hair, remembering
too late that there was still some wet paint on her fingers.  But
instead of feeling a flush of humiliation as she saw the smile on Lenore
Van Arsdale's face, she only chuckled ruefully.  "Maybe I better call
the hairdresser and have him stock up on paint thinner."

Lenore, almost to her own surprise, found herself joining in Phyllis'
laughter.  Three months ago, she was certain, Phyllis wouldn't have been
in this room at all-or if she had, she'd have shown up dressed for a
formal luncheon and imperiously handed out orders to the workmen.  But
for the last three days Phyllis had been there with the rest of them,
working hard to make the room exactly as they wanted it for tonight. all
day yesterday, and through this morning, she'd painstakingly worked on
the banner,, determined that every letter, executed in a brilliant red
edged with gold, be perfect.  "My father was a sign painter," she'd
explained and she'd announced she'd do the lettering herself.  "From the
time I was in kindergarten, he taught me everything he knew.  In high
school, when all the other girls were working as waitresses, I was
painting signs.  I hated it, but I was good at it."

The other women had glanced at each other in surprise, for even after
almost fifteen years, this was the first time any of them had found out
what Phyllis' father had actually done for a living.  "He was in
advertising," was the most she'd ever said before, then quickly changed
the subject.

But a lot about Phyllis had changed over the last weeks.  In the first
days after the doctors had led Melissa away, she'd barely been seen at
all, staying behind locked doors, emerging from the house only to drive
to the hospital where Melissa had been taken.  But after a week-a week
in which Teri had told Brett that all Phyllis was doing was brooding in
the library all day with the curtains closed, Lenore had finally taken
pity on her and gone to talk to her.

"I don't know what to do," Phyllis had reluctantly admitted.  "I know
everyone thinks it was all my fault, that I was too hard on Melissa, 
but..." Her voice had trailed off and her eyes filled with tears.  Lenore's
years-old grudge against the woman had melted away in the face of
Phyllis' selfrecrimination.

"Nonsense," she'd replied, though privately she believed that most of
what Phyllis had said was true.  "I'm sure you did the best you knew how
and no one can blame you for what's happened.  If you sit here in the
dark for the rest of your life, you won't have much of a life left and
you'll never be of help to Melissa or anyone else.  Now let's get you
dressed and go have some lunch."

"But I couldn't," Phyllis protested.  "I couldn't face anyone.  What
will I say?   people will stare at me!"

"people will certainly stare at you if you try to Turn into a hermit,"
Lenore replied.  "Now, come on."

She'd taken Phyllis upstairs, gone through her closets and selected a
deep maroon suit and a simple blouse.  "Wear this.  It's not gaudy, but
on the other hand, if you wear navy blue or black, it will look like
you're in mourning."

Phyllis had winced.  "I-I feel like I am," she'd stammered.

Lenore sighed heavily.  "Well, you're not.  Everyone in town knows what
happened, and they know Melissa isn't dead.  So you can't act as though
she is. It will only make things worse than they already are."

Phyllis had echoed the sigh, "I suppose so.  At least that's what Teri's
been telling me.  But I just haven't known how to act."

Lenore, for the first time in her adult life, had spoken literally
without thinking.  "Well, she's absolutely right.  Let's face it,
Phyllis-you've never known how to act.  You've spent a whole decade
trying to pretend to be something you're not, and it hasn't worked.
So Why not give it up and just try being yourself?"

And over the last weeks it seemed that was exactly what had happened.

Phyllis had begun showing up at the club again, but more and more often
it was with Teri.  And instead of pushing their way into whatever group
happened to be there, Phyllis and Teri had usually taken a spot by
themselves.

Inevitably, people had begun to drift over to speak to her, at first
simply out of adherence to the Cove Club Crowd's strict sense of duty,
but eventually because they discovered that Phyllis had changed.

She was quieter, and seemed to listen more, and, somewhere along the
line, had lost her sense of desperation.  She seemed to have mellowed.

Perhaps, out of Melissa's tragedy, the people of Secret Cove decided,
some slight amount of good had emerged.

Now, giving a few final instructions to the workmen, the two women
emerged from the dining room just as Teri was approaching the door.

"Caught you," Phyllis told her.  "Thought you could sneak a look, didn't
you?"

Teri grinned at her stepmother.  "Well, you can't blame me for trying."

"I can, but I won't," Phyllis replied "Come on.  We're going to be late
for our hair appointment." She turned to Lenore.  "How about if we meet
you there?" she asked.  "Charles is going to the hospital, and I have
something I want him to take to Melissa."

Lenore's countenance softened into an expression of sympathy.  "How is
she?   Has there been any change?"

Phyllis compressed her lips into a resigned smile.  "I wish I could say
there has," she said.  "But Dr. Andrews seems to think it could take a
long time."

Lenore shook her head sadly.  "If there's anything I can do..."

"I wish there were.  But it seems as though there's nothing, really,
that any of us can do.  And who knows?   Perhaps she's better off just
the way she is.  I know it's a horrible thing to say, but if she does
get better, what's it going to be like for her?   The things she'll have
to face..." Her voice trailed off, but then she straightened her shoulders.
"Well, I simply cannot dwell on it, can I?   After all, I have Teri to
think about, too.  And you," she added, turning to her stepdaughter,
"have a lot to do today, or Brett's going to wind up going to the ball
alone."

"Oh, no He's not," Teri assured her.  "The one thing I am is prompt."

The two of them said good-bye to Lenore and started away.  Lenore
watched them leave.  It was remarkable, she thought, how well stepmother
and daughter got along.  For each of them the other seemed to have
replaced the person they'd lost this summer, and both seemed to be
better for it.

Perhaps, after all, she and her friends had been far too hard on 
Phyllis over the years.  Perhaps, after all, Phyllis hadn't been pushing
Melissa too hard.

Perhaps Melissa's madness had been there all along, and,Phyllis had only
been doing her best to keep it under control.  It must have been awful
for her, all those years, coping with a child whose grip on reality had
been so tenuous.

Yes, Lenore decided as she got into her Rollsroyce, it had probably all
ended the only way it could have.  In all likelihood, Phyllis was right.

Perhaps it would be better if Melissa never remembered what had happened
at all.  Perhaps it would be better if she simply stayed in her world of
fantasy and let everyone else's scars heal as best they could.

as they walked along the beach toward Maplecrest, Teri reached Out and
took her stepmother's hand.  "How's it going.?" she asked.  "Are you all
right?"

Phyllis was silent for a moment, but finally smiled at her stepdaughter.

"I'm fine," she assured her.  "And you were right-they'll do anything
for you, as long as they think you need help.  all those years I tried
to be just like them, and they treated me like dirt.  But now I do what
I want and say what I want, and they'll forgive me for anything.  It's
as if they've decided I'm a saint."

"Well, aren't you?" Teri asked, her voice reflecting perfect innocence.
"I mean, I just don't see how you did it an those years.  With Melissa
getting weirder and weirder, and you doing your best to help her.  It
must have been even worse for you than it was for her.  I mean, she
didn't know she was going crazy."

"Well, I didn't  either,  "  Phyllis  replied.  She  began talking,
letting herself ramble on.  It was so easy talking to Teri-Teri always
seemed to understand how she felt about things.

Especially how she felt about Melissa.

After that day when they'd taken Melissa away, she hadn't known what to
do. She'd been certain everyone in town was talking about her, and all
she'd wanted to do was hide.  But then Teri had begun talking to her,
explaining that none of it had been her fault.  "You didn't know what
was happening to her," she'd insisted.  "No one did.  So how can anyone
blame you?"

"But they do," Phyllis had replied.  "They've always thought I 'was too
hard on her."

Teri had shrugged.  "Then tell them that," she suggested.  "Tell
everyone you see that it was all your fault.  And see what happens."

And to Phyllis' surprise, it worked.  all she'd had to do was summon up
a few tears for Lenore Van Arsdale, and suddenly a woman who'd snubbed
her for more than a decade had turned into her best friend.

And the rest of them-an the people she'd thought were so smart-had
fallen right into line.

She smiled silently to herself.  all those years, when Melissa had
humiliated her in front of everyone . . . Now, with Melissa finally out
of her way, she was at last getting the recognition she deserved.

And, in Teri MacIver, she had the daughter she deserved as well.

Her life, finally, was turning out exactly as she'd planned it that
first day she'd arrived at Maplecrest and recognized Teri as the perfect
child she'd always wanted.

Now they were together, the two of them, and life was just the way it
was supposed to be.

She  squeezed  Teri's  hand  affectionately,  dismissing  Melissa from
her  mind.

Everyone, after all, was better off with Melissa gone.

Charles Holloway pulled up to the Harborview Clinic and nodded to the
guard, who pressed a button that allowed the large wrought-iron gate to
swing slowly open.  At either side of the gate a cyclone fence,
discreetly screened with tan shrubs, stretched away into the distance.

The fence completely surrounded the fifty landscaped acres on which the
clinic sat, but as Charles drove up to the mansion that housed the
insane patients within, he had no sense of being in a prison.  Rather,
the clinic still looked exactly like the estate it had once been, and
though he'd been shown the security systems when it had been converted
to a private mental hospital, they'd been so cleverly concealed that he
could see none of them now.

Charles parked the Mercedes on the apron in front of the main building
and hurried up the steps.  The receptionist, sitting at a small antique
desk just inside the front door, smiled welcomingly at him.  "We can
always count on you, can't we?" she asked.

Charles nodded an acknowledgement of her words, but his eyes shifted
immediately to the day room.  The receptionist's smile faded as she
understood what he was looking for.

"Not yet," she said.  "They brought her down again this morning, but she
did the same thing she always does.  She seems to feel safest in her
room."

Charles felt the faint hope he'd been nursing all day die within him,
but he made himself smile.  "Well, maybe tomorrow." He mounted the
stairs to the second floor, where a duty nurse sat at another desk
almost identical to the one downstairs-placed at right angles to the
wall on the landing.

"You can go right in, Mr. Holloway," the nurse told him.

Charles strode down the west corridor, pausing outside the third room on
the left.  He peered through the small window in the door and, just as
he had yesterday and the day before, saw Melissa sitting in a chair by
the window, her hands in her lap, staring straight ahead.

Staring at nothing.

No, Charles told himself as he turned the knob on the door and went
inside.  She sees something.  She's looking at something she only sees
in her mind-something she can't understand.  But she'll figure it out,
and when she does, she'll be all right again.

"Melissa?" he said,  pulling,  a  straight-backed  chair  close  to
his daughter.

it's me.  can you hear me?"

There was no response from Melissa at all.  It was as if she hadn't
heard his words, wasn't even aware of his presence.

"But  it  doesn't  necessarily  mean  she  doesn't  hear  you,"  Andrews
had assured him only last week.  "Melissa's personality is still there,
even though we don't see it." He'd paused for a moment, searching for a
simile.  "Maybe you should think of it as a game of hide and seek.  You
can't see Melissa, and you can't hear her, but she's somewhere nearby,
and she might very well be listening to you.  You have to remember that
she'S a very frightened little girl, and it's quite possible that She's
so terrified of what might happen to her that she simply won't expose
herself."

"But Darcy says she's asleep, doesn't she?" Charles had asked.

"Andrews had nodded.  "But Darcy probably doesn't know the whole truth,
any more than Melissa did.  Melissa knew Darcy existed, but had no
knowledge of what Darcy experienced.  We have to assume Darcy's the same
way

"Has Darcy told you what happened?"

Andrews shook his head.  "as I said, it's quite probable that she
doesn't know.  all I can say for sure is that she's protecting Melissa.
Or at least she thinks, she is."

It had taken Charles several weeks simply to adjust to the reality of
his daughter's dual personalities, and though he'd finally been able to
accept it enough to discuss Darcy with Andrews, he had been unable to
bring himself to talk to the strange and silent girl who seemed to have
simply appropriated Melissa's body.

And so on his daily visits he sat next to Melissa, holding her
unresponsive hand in his own, talking quietly to her, sometimes telling
her about what he'd been doing, but more often reminiscing about the
past, about the good times they had together.

Today he stayed with her for nearly an hour.  finally, he glanced at his
watch.  "I have to go now," he said apologetically.  "It's a big night
at home. Your mother's been spending all her time getting the club
ready, and she hasn't even told me what the theme of the party is.  But
from the look on her face the last few days, I'd bet it's going to be
something special."

He leaned forward, taking both Melissa's hands in his own.  "I wish you
could be there," he said softly.  "Remember what I always promised you?
The summer you turned thirteen, I'd take you to the August Moon ball and
dance the first dance with you."

For a split second a flicker of interest seem to spark in Melissa's
eyes, and he felt his heart suddenly race.  "Missy.  " he asked. "Missy,
did you hear me?"

But as quickly as it had come, the spark died-away.  Charles reluctantly
got to his feet.  Kissing her gently on the forehead, he left the room,
but even after he closed the door, the image of that strange brief light
in her eyes stayed with him.

He turned back and gazed once more through the glass panel in the door.

Melissa, though, sat as she'd been sitting before, her eyes staring at
nothing.  Then, just as he was about to Turn away, her right hand came
up and gently fingered the string of pearls around her neck.

Charles's eyes flooded with tears as he remembered her words when she'd
opened the box containing the pearls.

"I'll wear them to the August Moon ball," she'd breathed.

But she wouldn't be going to the ball.  Not tonight.  Perhaps not ever.

Wiping the tears from his eyes, Charles turned and hurried away.

Teri tightened her arm around Brett Van Arsdale's neck and let her head
rest against his chest.  Her eyes were closed, the slow music of the last
dance of the evening enveloping her in its gentle melody.  all around
her other couples were moving just as slowly, as if by slowing their
steps they could prolong the perfect evening.

And it had been a perfect evening, ever since the doors to the dining
room had been thrown open at precisely eight-thirty.  By then most of
the club members had gathered in the large foyer, and when Phyllis
Holloway and Lenore Van Arsdale had finally stepped forward to unlock
the huge double panels of polished mahogany, the crowd had unconsciously
held its breath Collectively, they gasped in amazement as the doors were
thrown open to reveal a nearly perfect re-creation of the dining room as
it had been a century ago.  Temporary panels had been placed against the
walls, covered with a redflocked wallpaper that was the closest anyone
had been able to find to the original.  The chandeliers-never replaced
over the past century-had been freshly gilded for the occasion, and new
bulbs put in that imitated the flickering of the original gas jets.

Along the walls, mounted to the temporary panels, were real gas sconces,
their flames lending the room a glow that seemed to wipe away the
passage of time.

Potted palms filled every corner of the room, and on the orchestra stand
there were no microphones.  Tonight, the orchestra would play without
amplification.  Above the orchestra the banner that Phyllis herself had
so carefully lettered, announced the theme of the ball.

Full Circle Back To Our Beginnings And, indeed, the whole evening had
felt as if the intervening century had never taken place at all.

Phyllis had thought of everything. Each of the women had a dance card,
tied around her wrist with a velvet ribbon.  The music, all of it, was
from earlier era, the orchestra playing from yellowed sheet music that
had been culled from almost every attic in Secret Cove.

Pictures were on display-faded daguerreotypes from another era-but
nearly everyone who had been at that first August Moon ball a century
ago had a descendant present at the party tonight.

Brett, after absorbing the spectacle, had swept Teri out onto the dance
floor, and pulling her close, whispered into her ear.  "It's almost
creepy. You don't suppose Darcy is actually going to show up, too, do
you?"

A chill had run through Teri.  She'd quickly shaken it off, and yet, for
the first hour of the dance, it seemed to her that the same thought must
have crossed other people's minds, for time after time she saw people
glancing furtively toward the door, then reddening lightly as they
realized what they were doing.

But as the hours had passed, the crowd had relaxed, and now, as the last
strains of the final waltz faded away, a ripple of applause passed over
the room.

The guests began drifting toward the doors, all of them pausing to
congratulate Phyllis and Lenore on the success of the evening.  Phyllis
listened to the compliments, the words of praise sounding far sweeter
than the music itself could possibly have been.

At last Teri and Brett, their hands entwined, approached the door.  Teri
leaned forward to kiss her stepmother's cheek.  "It was perfect,
Mother," she murmured.

Phyllis, her eyes dampening at the word Teri had just used for the first
time, Pulled back slightly, wondering if it had been a slip of the
tongue.

But Teri was smiling at her.  "It's how I feel," she said.  "I just
feel as if you've always been my mother.  And I think you're as perfect
for me as the ball was for everyone else."

Phyllis felt her heart swell with pride.  "And I feel the same way," she
whispered, holding Teri close.  "I feel just as if you're the daughter I
always wanted.  And now I have you."

A few moments later Teri and Brett stepped out into the night.  It was
warm and balmy, as if the weather itself had conspired with Phyllis to
make the evening perfect, and when Brett started toward the parking lot,
Teri stopped him.  "let's walk," she said.  "Let's go home the way they
would have that first night."

They descended the steps to the pool, then on down to the beach, Teri
pausing to remove her shoes before stepping onto the cool sand.  The
moon was high, the sea glittering with silver light, and as they walked,
Teri slipped her hand back into Brett's.

She sighed.  "Wasn't it just wonderful?" she said.  "Sometimes I wish
I'd lived back then.  I mean, when everyone had a big staff, and an the
houses were full of guests all summer.  Don't you think it would have
been fun to live then?"

Brett made no answer, but slipped his arm around her waist and pulled
her closer.  They walked silently, coming at  last to Maplecrest.  When
they were on the porch, he put his other arm around her and pulled her
close, kissing her.  "Why don't you invite me in?" he whispered.  "Your
folks are at my house, and won't be back for at least a couple of
hours."

Teri said nothing for a moment, instead pressing herself close to him
and kissing him once more.  But then she drew back, shaking her head, a
tiny smile playing around the corners of her mouth.  "Not tonight," she
whispered.  "It's a hundred years ago, remember?   Nice girls didn't do
that kind of thing."

Before Brett could protest, she'd slipped out of his arms and through
the front door, closing it silently behind her.

The lights in the foyer had been left on, and Teri paused in the
entryway for a moment, resting her weight against the front door,
feeling the house surround her.

It felt like home.

as each day went by, the past slipped farther and farther into the
recesses of her memory, until now she could almost believe she'd never
left here at all, never been taken away from the casual luxury of these
immense rooms to grow up in the cramped confines of the tiny house in
San Fernando.  Suddenly, unbidden, an image of the fire that had been
the first step to bring her here leaped into her mind.  She shuddered
involuntarily before quashing the memory, locking it away with all the
other memories of the things she'd done.

None of it, she told herself, was true.  The only reality now was that
she was back in her rightful home, with people who loved her.

Or who at least loved the image she had so meticulously built and so
carefully presented to the world.

She sighed contentedly, slipped off the thin silk wrap she'd bought
especially for tonight, and climbed the stairs to the second floor.

Going into her room at the end of the hall, she hung the wrap in her
closet, then dropped down into the chair in front of her vanity to
admire the room once more.

It was exactly as she'd always pictured it, every trace of Melissa
finally removed.  Cora had packed up her half sister's things, storing
them away in the attic, and then the decorators had come in-the same
decorators who had turned back time at the club tonight.

They had rolled back time for her, too, giving her the room she'd
dreamed about since she was a little girl, the room she still felt a
tiny thrill in every morning as she woke up.,The 'walls were covered in
all emerald green that was the exact shade she'd envisioned, and, more
of the shimmering material was swagged around the four-poster bed she
and Phyllis had found in an antique shop in Portland.  Melissa's chest
was gone, banished to the little room beneath the eaves.  That had 
been Teri's own idea, to  put Melissa's bureau in what Melissa had
thought of is Darcy's room.  Now an ornate hand-carved armoire stood in
its place, with its matching night tables flanking the bed.

All of it exactly as she'd imagined it.

She was absorbing it all in the mirror when she heard the first faint
steps from upstairs.

She frowned slightly, then shook it off. Surely the noise had been
nothing more than a branch brushing against the walls.

It came again.

A soft, whimpering sound.

as if someone were crying. Teri's  frown deepened. the nearly
unnoticeable sobs died away and the house was silent Until the footsteps
began.

She heard them distinctly, moving across the ceiling above her with a
slow and stately tread.

She thought she heard a door open, then close again with a soft click.

Then silence.

She listened, her. flesh tingling, the fine hairs on the back of her
neck standing on end.

She  was  imagining  it.  The  house  was  empty.  She  knew that She'd
seen the lights in Cora's living room, even seen the old woman herself
dozing in her chair.

She had begun to relax when she heard the steps again.

Now they were on the same floor she was on, moving slowly down the hall
toward her closed door.

Gasping, she hurried to the door, twisted the key in the lock, then went
back to her vanity.

The footsteps grew  louder,  and  now  she  could  sense  a  presence
just  outside her door.

Her heart was beating rapidly, and icy fingers of panic were reaching
out toward her.

Once more she insisted to herself that it was nothing, that it was only
her mind playing tricks on her, as she had played tricks on Melissa,
making her half sister believe she saw things that weren't there.

Her lock on her memories suddenly snapped and all the images of what
she'd done poured forth, looming before her, horrifying her.

was this how the rest of her life was going to be?

These terrible visions of her own guilt sneaking up on her, leaping out
of their hiding place to torment her?

She turned away from the door, but the images in her mind followed her,
mocking her.  She closed her eyes for a moment, but then, as she heard
the sound of a key turning in a lock, her eyes reopened, and she stared
into the mirror.

Behind her the door that had been locked only a moment ago, the door
she'd locked herself, stood slightly ajar.

Trembling  with fear but unable to resist, she turned around.

as she watched, transfixed, the hinges groaned and the door swung slowly
open.

A figure in a white dress, its face veiled, stood framed in the doorway,
staring at her.  Though she could see nothing of the face beneath the
veil, her own terrified mind filled in its features.

Polly MacIver's -her face contorted in a mask of death as she lay in the
driveway after having fallen from the second-story window.

Tom MacIver's features-the flesh of his face burned. away, the hollow
sockets of his eyes gazing accusingly at her.

Tag Peterson's face-the features bloody and crawling with maggots.  Tag
was hidden beneath the veil, too, and she could see his eyes clearly,
watching her, gazing at her as if he could see right through her.  She'd
had to kill him there hadn't been any choice.  He'd known what she was
doing, and he was going to stop her.

Even Jeff Barnstable  face-he was there, too, and now, in this terrible
moment of clarity, in which all her victims had risen from the dead to
confront her, she knew that she'd killed Jeff as well.  Perhaps not with
the cold deliberation of the others, but in the end, the responsibility
for what had happened to him was hers.

And finally, gazing at her almost pityingly through the heavy mesh of
the veil, she was certain she could see Melissa Holloway.

Melissa, whom she'd hated for years before she'd ever met her.

Melissa, whom Teri had finally succeeded in exiling from her life and
her home.

She could see them all in the veiled figure, and as the cold hands of her
own guilt closed around her, she knew that whatever this figure demanded
of her, she would do.

The figure raised its left arm' to point at her accusingly.

But there was no hand at the end of the arm.

Only a bloody stump, the flesh and tendons curling back from the severed
bones, so that it was white, glistening bone that pointed at Teri.

She rose, knowing already what she had to do, and followed the grisly
figure as it turned and led her from the room.

In her room in Harborview, Melissa came slowly awake in her bed.  Even
before she opened her eyes, she sensed that she was not in her room at
Maplecrest.  No, she was somewhere else.

A hospital.

She was in a hospital where they'd brought her after...

Her eyes flew open and she sat straight up in bed as the floodgates of
her memory suddenly opened.  The memories tumbled over one another as they
struggled to capture her attention.

Some of them were familiar-familiar, and horrible.

The vision of Tag, his mutilated body lying under the floor of the
potting shed.

And Blackie, a string of pearls around his neck, hanging from a rafter
in the attic.

Some of them were strange.

She saw an image of herself in the shower, scalding water pouring over
her skin while her mother scrubbed her roughly, screaming at her.

Lying in her bed through endless nights, the cuffs around her wrists and
ankles chafing at her.

Teri, her face looming over her in the darkness, talking to her.

No--not talking to her.

Talking to Darcy.

Talking to Darcy ...

Her mind shifted suddenly, and she remembered the night of the costume
ball.  But now she remembered all of it.  She remembered putting on the
wig and going up to the attic.  She remembered going down the back
stairs and moving through the strangely unfamiliar kitchen.

And the path that seemed somehow to have changed.

an the blank spots in her memory were suddenly filled in, and for a
moment a great fear filled her.

Instinctively, she called out to Darcy.

There was no reply.

There was no reply, for Darcy had gone away.

No, not gone away, not exactly.

Rather, Darcy had become a part of her, finally adding her own memories
to Melissa's.

She sat still in the bed, looking around the room.  There was nothing
strange about it; indeed, she. found that she knew every nook and
cranny, every slight imperfection in the wallpaper- And yet it was
also as if she'd never seen it before.

Her eyes wandered to the night table and the string of pearls that lay
on it. She picked them up, felt the familiar texture of them in her
fingers.

But something was wrong'

One of the pearls-the third one from the end-should have had a slight
imperfection in it, just the tiniest bump that you could barely feel.

Frowning, she examined the pearls more closely, and her eyes fell on the
necklaces golden clasp.

The clasp that was engraved with her initials, in letters so tiny and
fine they were hardly legible.

She brought them  close,  straining  to  read  them,  looking  for  the
familiar M.J.H.

But what she found were other initials.

T.E.M.

Teresa Elaine MacIver'.

But it was impossible.  They were her pearls!   Her father had given
them to her last...

And then she remembered.

These were the pearls she'd removed from Blackie's neck the night she'd
found him hanging in the attic.

For a long time she sat perfectly still, absorbing the meaning of what
she'd found on the necklace's clasp.

The memories-all of them, hers and Darcy's - take a logical shape.
They began to fit  together  and At last, as tears flowed down her face-more for
pity for the people who had died than for herself. she pressed the buzzer
that would summon the night nurse.

Charles and Phyllis let themselves into the house, and Phyllis
impulsively threw her arms around her husband and hugged him.  "Wasn't
it wonderful?"

she asked.  "How could it have been more perfect?"

It would have been Perfect, Charles silently thought, if Melissa had
been there.  But for tonight he wouldn't mar Phyllis's joy with his own
sadness.  He would let her enjoy her moment of triumph, let her go on
basking in the glow of her success.  Time enough tomorrow for her to
begin dealing with reality once again.

For he knew she'd been avoiding it, was all too aware of the excuses she
was making to escape having to visit Melissa in the hospital.

But Melissa was still her daughter, and she still had a responsibility
to her, no matter how distasteful that responsibility might be.

as if sensing his thoughts, Phyllis released him from her embrace, her
happy smile fading away.  "Couldn't you put her out of your mind even
for one night?" she complained.

Charles shook his head.  "I'm sorry," he said.  "But I can't.  It hurts
so much not to have her with us tonight.  She'd been looking forward to
it for so long."

Phyllis sighed with impatience.  "She doesn't even know she missed it,
Charles.  Dr. Andrews said-"

Charles held his hands up in a gesture that pleaded for peace.  "Not
tonight," he said.  "I didn't even mean to bring it up.  Now, Why don't
you go up and say hello to Teri.  Her light's still on, and I can't
believe she's gone to sleep yet.  In fact, Why don't you bring her
downstairs?   I'll fix us a nightcap, and she can have a Coke or
something."

Her momentary anger forgotten as quickly as it had welled up inside her,
Phyllis hurried up the stairs.  The moment she reached the landing, she
knew something was wrong.

Something in the house didn't feel right.

"Charles?" she called.  "Charles, come up here!"

Charles hurried up the stairs to find Phyllis staring at the floor.  His
own eyes following hers, he saw a trail of dark red staining the
hardwood floor.

He frowned, following it to the open door to Teri's room.

With Phyllis following him, he hurried down the hall.  "Teri?   Teri,
are you ok?"  The room was empty, but lying in the middle of the floor, a
shapeless crumpled mass of brilliant green material, was the dress Teri
had worn to the ball that night.

He stared at the dress uncomprehendingly . then quickly crossed to the
bathroom.

It, too, was empty.

Leaving the bathroom, he strode out of the room and followed the trail
of blood in the opposite direction.

Phyllis, her breath already coming in choking sobs, stumbled after him.

At last they came to the base of the attic stairs.

That door, too, was open.  Charles, with Phyllis clutching  at  his arm,
stared up into the darkness above.  At last, taking a deep breath, he
started up the stairs, but Phyllis's hand tightened on his arm.

"N-No," she whispered.  "I-I don't want to."

Charles's voice rasped through his clenched jaw.  "We have to," he said.
"If she's up there..."

He left the sentence incomplete, hanging in the air, and once more
started up the flight to the attic.

He came to the top, his hand grasping his wife's, almost pulling her
along behind him.  Then, when she was standing beside him on the
landing, he reached into the dark cavern of the attic and switched on
the light.

They both saw it at the same time.

Fifteen feet away, Teri, clad in the bloodstained white dress that
Melissa had worn the day she'd led the police to Tag Peterson's
butchered corpse, was hanging from one of the rafters, a thick rope
knotted tightly around her neck.

The dress itself glistened redly in the harsh light of the naked bulb.

There was a pool of blood beneath Teri's feet.

Her left arm, ending in a-stump that was still dripping fresh blood,
hung at her side.  - the floor, directly below Teri's lifeless form,
gleamed the blade of a meat cleaver.

Phyllis stared at Teri's contorted face, the eyes bulging outward to
gaze at her accusingly, a grimacing smile of death twisting her lips.

Then, screaming once, she collapsed to the floor, sobs racking her body.

Charles, stunned for a moment by the grisly sight, felt his gorge rise
inside him, but then seized control of his roiling emotions.  Turning
away, he bolted down the gaits and ran to the master suite and the
telephone on the bedside table.  Grabbing the phone with one hand and
turning on the light with the other, he started to dial the emergency
number.

And froze.

The phone dropped back onto its cradle as his eyes fixed numbly on the
object on his pillow.

It was Teri's severed hand.  In its blood-soaked fingers was clutched a
string of pearls.

The pearls, he slowly realized, she'd sworn she never received.

He was still staring at them a moment later, trying to absorb what they
meant, when the phone jangled loudly at his side.

He wanted to ignore it, to shut . the insistent buzz out of his mind
while he tried to comprehend everything he'd seen in the last minutes.

But the phone kept ringing, and finally he picked it up.

"H-Hello?" he asked, his voice shaking badly - it was barely intelligible.

There was a momentary silence, and then a voice, a whispered voice
almost as shaky as his own, spoke from the other end.

"P-Papa?   This is Melissa."

Melissa felt a shiver run through her, but wasn't certain whether it had
been brought on by fear or anticipation.  Though she said nothing at
all, Charles Holloway sensed his daughter's sudden unease and glanced
over at her from his position behind the wheel of the Mercedes.  "It's
not too late to change your mind, honey.  There's no reason we have to
do this at all."

Melissa shook her head.  "There are all kinds of reasons, Papa," she
said. "We can't just pretend nothing ever happened here."

It had been five years since either of them had been back in Secret
Cove, and when she'd first suggested to her father that they go to the
August Moon Ball this year, his reaction had been a flat-out refusal.

"I can't imagine Why you'd want to go, nor can I imagine anything in the
world that would make me go," he'd told her.  But she'd just grinned
knowingly at him.

"How about if I asked you?"

And so they were here.  Cora had stayed in New York, shaking her head
dolefully when they'd told her where they were going.  "Not me," she'd
said. "If you two want to go stir up all those memories, I don't suppose
I can stop YOU.  But I've had my share of grief, and it's all tied up
with that place." Her eyes had fixed on Charles.  "And that place never
brought you much rest, either."

Melissa had been adamant.  "I want to see it," she'd insisted, trying to
find the right words to explain her feelings about both Secret Cove and
Melissa.  "I don't want to live at Maplecrest again-I don't think I even
want to spend a night there.  But I want to know that I can go there.  I
hid from too much for too long.  I don't want to hide from anything
anymore. And," she added, "believe it or not, I still want to go to the
August Moon ball.  So you have to go with me, because you promised to
dance the first and last dances with me, remember?"

And so here they were, pulling into the village for the first time since
that terrible summer five years earlier.

Now Charles lifted his right eyebrow a fraction of an inch. "We both
managed to pretend nothing was happening for years," he observed.  "So
Why not go on?"

Melissa reached out to squeeze her father's hand affectionately.  "If
you don't want to go, you don't have to," she said.  "I can drop you off
in the village and go by myself.  I'll look at the house and go to the
ball and you can sit in a bar and drown your troubles in booze."

Charles put on an aggrieved aggression- "I never did that, and you know
it."

"well, you had a right to," Melissa replied.  "How you could have stayed
married to Mother all those years-" She cut her words short.  They'd gone
through that too many times to bring it up again.  The subject of her
mother was still painful enough for both of them that they rarely
mentioned her anymore.

Now, as they passed through the village, Melissa gazed curiously around.

"It never changes, does it?" she asked.

Charles shook his head.  "That's always been. its appeal.  Something to
count on in a changing world."

Five minutes later they pulled up in front of Maplecrest, but neither of
them made any move to get out of the car; Instead they simply sat
silently staring at the house in which both of them had spent every
summer of their lives until five years ago.  But unlike the village,
Maplecrest had changed.

It had the look of abandonment peculiar to an unused houses, a look that
went beyond peeling paint and unkempt grounds.  There was a lonely aura
to the structure, as if it was consciously aware that no one wanted to
live in it anymore.  At last they got out of the car and let themselves
into the house. They wandered silently through the stuffy rooms whose
furnishings had long ago been covered with sheets, each of them
preoccupied with their own memories.  At last Melissa went upstairs to
the room that had been her own.

But it was hers no longer.  The furniture Teri had chosen was still
there, and nothing about the room seemed familiar to Melissa.  And that,
she decided, was just as well.  If she ever came back to Maplecrest,
again, at least this room wouldn't haunt her, wouldn't bring the past
too close for her to deal with.

The things of her childhood were gone, stored away somewhere in the
attic, she knew.  Perhaps some other time she would return again and go
through them.  But not today.

Today it was enough to know she could walk into the house without a
sense of fear and foreboding.

The memories were there, but the past was dead and buried.

At eight-thirty that evening Charles pulled the Mercedes up in front of
the Cove Club, hurrying around to the other side to help Melissa from
the car.  In the lobby several people were gathered in front of the open
doors to the dining room, talking quietly among themselves.  A silence
fell over them as they recognized Charles and Melissa Holloway.

Charles had changed little over the past five years, his hair had grayed
at the temples, and permanent creases were etched into his forehead.

Melissa, however, had grown up in the years since these people had seen
her last.

She was as tall as her father now, and her figure was shapely elegant,
the fat of her childhood long gone.  Her face had an enigmatic beauty to
it, with high cheekbones and a jaw that was wide and strong. But it was
her eyes that people always remarked upon.  Large and dark brown, they
sparkled with curiosity and good nature, yet there was and wisdom to
them that was far beyond her years.

Tonight, she'd worn a deep red dress that complemented her coloring
perfectly and accentuated her figure to its best advantage, she could
feel people staring at her.

Staring at her, but not laughing at her.

She felt her father's hand tighten on her arm.  "Are you all right?" he
asked, his voice so low that only she could hear it.

She smiled at him.  "I'm fine," she said.

an hour later she knew she truly was fine, The first few minutes after
she and her father had entered the ballroom and the silence they had
expected had indeed fallen over the crowd, she had felt a few
misgivings. But, determined not to back away from the mass of surprised
faces, she had moved forward her hand extended, smiling warmly.  And it
had been all right.

Now, as the first strains of a slow waltz began, she felt a presence
behind her and turned to see Brett Van Arsdale, even handsomer in his
twenty-first year than he'd been when she'd last seen him.  He was
smiling at her uncertainly, and when he spoke, there was a slight tremor
to his voice.  He feels the way I used to feel, she thought.  He doesn't
know if I'm even going to speak to him.  But as he almost shyly asked
her to dance with him, she nodded immediately and slipped gracefully
into his arms.  He danced her into the crowd and for a few minutes said
nothing at all.  finally, he pulled away from her slightly, just enough
so his eyes could meet hers.

"I don't know how to tell you how sorry I am," he said, his voice
trembling once more.  "I mean, it's not just me--everyone feels terrible
about the way we used to treat you.  I know it's too late to make it up
to you, but-  Melissa pressed a finger against his lips.  "It's not too
late," she said.  "And I know how everyone feels. I've seen it in
everyone's eyes all evening.  But we don't need to talk about it,
Brett. The past is the past, and all the ghosts are gone."

Brett was silent for a moment, but then his head cocked.  "Would you
tell me something?" he asked.

Melissa smiled mischievously.  "Maybe.  What is it?"

Brett hesitated, then finally spoke the words that had been in  his
mind  for five long years.  "It's about Darcy.  Do you think . . . well,
do you think she was real?" Now it was Melissa who was silent for a long
time.  At last she nodded. "For me she was.'She was part of me. And in
the end, I think she was real for Teri, to."

Brett frowned.  "But Teri killed herself."

"Maybe she did," Melissa said, her voice solemn.  "But maybe she didn't.
Maybe Darcy killed her."

They danced on, letting the strains of music envelop them, and then, as
they slowly walked off the floor when the dance was over, Brett asked
one more question.  "What about your mother?" he asked.  "What happened
to her?"

Melissa felt a slight chill come over her for a moment, but quickly
shook it off.  "I don't know," she said, her voice firm.  "And I really
don't want to know, either." And it was true.  Finally, tonight, the
last of the past was truly behind her.

Three thousand miles away, in a mansion high in the hills west of Los
Angeles, Phyllis Holloway sat nervously on the edge of a chair, watching
the Young woman who was even now reading over the last of her
references.  as the woman looked up, smiling, Phyllis breathed a silent
sigh of relief.  It was going to be all right.

"Well, everyone certainly seems to be happy with your work, Mrs.
Holloway," she said.  "And I think you're exactly what we're looking
for. shall we go upstairs and introduce you to our baby?"

Phyllis' heart fluttered with anticipation- From the moment two hours
ago when she'd first walked into this house, it had felt right.  Large
and airy, it occupied two full acres on the very crest of the hills,
with a panoramic view of Los Angeles on one side and the San Fernando
Valley on the other..There was an Olympic-size swimming pool and a pair
of tennis courts, along with perfectly tended formal gardens that
reminded her of home.

Home.

Except that Secret Cove and Maplecrest home anymore, would never be home
again.  Indeed, she'd had to promise never to return to the East coast
at all in exchange for Charles agreement not to prosecute her for child
abuse.

as if she'd abused Melissa just the thought of it was still enough to
make her blood boil.

all she'd ever tried to do was teach Melissa proper behavior.  And what
had she gotten in return?   Not a trace of the gratitude to which she
was entitled. Far from it. he'd  dismissed her from the house as if she
were no more than a servant, divorced with a settlement that hadn't been
enough to support her for more than a year, and forbidden ever to see
Melissa again.

But she was a survivor, and this job, With a middle-aged Squire and his
young wife, was perfect.

She would have her own suite of rooms on the second floor, right next to
the nursery, and live here as a member of the family.

And eventually, when the marriage inevitably failed, She put the thought
out of her mind as the woman-what was her name?
Emily - Emily opened the door to the nursery.  A soft gurgling sound
emerged from the crib.

A pair of dark brown eyes, bright and luscious, stared up at her from
the crib. The tiny face was almost perfectly round, but with a deep
dimple in the center of its chin.  "Well, aren't you just the most
precious thing I've ever seen," Phyllis crooned.  She lifted the infant
out of the crib, cuddling it securely.

almost instantly, the child began to cry, and Emily hurried across the
floor to take it, but Phyllis remarked, "He has to learn that someone
else has to hold him once in a while.

The baby kept crying for a moment, and then, as if sensing some sort of
unseen danger, turned silent.  But its eyes, wary now, remained fixed on
Phyllis.

Phyllis smiled reassuringly at the nervous young mother who was still
hovering a couple of feet away.  "You see?" she asked.  "It's going to
be fine, and you aren't going to have to worry about a thing.  I'll
treat her just as if she were my own." She was silent for a second or
two, then spoke once more, barely audibly, almost to herself.  "Yes,"
she said.  "I'll treat her just as if she were my second child."