Don't Scream (9780307823526)

by Nixon, Joan Lowery

  Books by Joan Lowery Nixon

  FICTION

  A Candidate for Murder

  The Dark and Deadly Pool

  Don’t Scream

  The Ghosts of Now

  Ghost Town: Seven Ghostly Stories

  The Haunting

  In the Face of Danger

  The Island of Dangerous Dreams

  The Kidnapping of Christina Lattimore

  Laugh Till You Cry

  Murdered, My Sweet

  The Name of the Game Was Murder

  Nightmare

  Nobody’s There

  The Other Side of Dark

  Playing for Keeps

  Search for the Shadowman

  Secret, Silent Screams

  Shadowmaker

  The Specter

  Spirit Seeker

  The Stalker

  The Trap

  The Weekend Was Murder!

  Whispers from the Dead

  Who Are You?

  NONFICTION

  The Making of a Writer

  “What part of New York are you from?” Scott suddenly asked Mark.

  Mark blinked. “What do you mean?”

  “It’s a simple question, isn’t it?” Scott asked. “You’ve got the accent. I recognize it. So, what part of New York are you from?”

  “The Bronx. How about you?”

  “Jersey,” Scott said.

  “Where in Jersey?”

  Scott hesitated just a moment. “Galesburg,” he said.

  “I never heard of it.”

  “It’s there,” Scott said, and concentrated on his apple.

  As Scott began to demolish the apple, I studied him. He’s lying, I thought in surprise. I can see it in his eyes. Why is he lying?

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Text copyright © 1996 by Joan Lowery Nixon

  Cover illustration copyright © 1996 by Tim Barrall

  All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Delacorte Press, an imprint of Random House Children’s Books, a division of Random House LLC, New York, a Penguin Random House Company. Originally published in hardcover by Delacorte Press, New York, in 1996.

  Laurel-Leaf Books with the colophon is a registered trademark of Random House LLC.

  Visit us on the Web! randomhouse.com/kids

  Educators and librarians, for a variety of teaching tools, visit us at RHTeachersLibrarians.com

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available upon request.

  eISBN: 978-0-307-82352-6

  First Delacorte Press Ebook Edition 2013

  Random House Children’s Books supports the First Amendment and celebrates the right to read.

  v3.1

  For Carol Gorman,

  a dear friend

  Contents

  Cover

  Other Books by This Author

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  CONFIDENTIAL FYI ONLY

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  About the Author

  CONFIDENTIAL

  FYI ONLY

  To: Director Albert P. Harley, Federal Bureau of Investigation, Federal Witness Protection Program

  From: Agents Harold Brill and Carl Gless

  Notation: Contents of folder to be added to Wayne Arthur Randall file. Last week’s newspaper story included.

  MOB HEAD CONVICTED

  New York: Stavros Grasso, top boss of one of New York City’s largest crime organizations, was convicted today on three counts of felony. The damaging eyewitness testimony was given by a member of Grasso’s crime ring in a courtroom that had been closed to all unauthorized persons in order to protect the identity of the seventeen-year-old witness.

  Two of Grasso’s top employees have been arrested as a result of the testimony. The organization’s widespread activities in the sale of illegal drugs, forged identifications, prostitution, and …

  MEMO: Al, enclosed is the transcript of the tape I made in Judge William Cooper’s chambers. Judge Cooper was angry and less than cooperative. To his credit, Wayne didn’t completely lose his cool. Harold and I see no need to apprise Cooper of the existence of this tape.

  Carl

  TRANSCRIPT OF SESSION

  TO OBTAIN

  JUDICIAL SIGNATURE

  COOPER: Wayne Randall … I look at you in your neatly pressed suit and realize that to anyone who doesn’t know your record, you could easily be mistaken for a model student representing your school.

  WAYNE: I was a model student, in my own way. School was too easy, if anything.

  BRILL: Your Honor, it’s just a matter of signing the papers. If you’d …

  COOPER: Wayne, the psychiatrists who examined you four years ago agreed that you are a sociopath. Do you know what sociopath means?

  WAYNE: Do I know the big words? I ought to by this time, Your Honor.

  BRILL: Careful, Wayne.

  COOPER: It’s the meaning of the word I’m concerned with. A sociopath is a person who is antisocial.

  WAYNE: [Laughs] How about if I change my deodorant?

  COOPER: A sociopath can seem open and even charming, which makes him a successful con man. But he’s unable to live peaceably with others. He’s after self-gratification at the expense of everyone else, because he has no conscience. He doesn’t know the meaning of truth. He can be a constant threat … a danger to those around him.

  BRILL: Not all sociopaths are considered dangerous, Your Honor. There are many who—

  COOPER: Don’t waste your breath, Mr. Brill. I’m well aware that all sociopaths make life difficult for those around them, and those sociopaths with violent histories in childhood will—in most cases—repeat that violence as adults and should be locked up.

  BRILL: Your Honor, it’s late. If I may say—

  COOPER: No, you may not say. You have already said your piece—you and the other federal agents who operate your protected witness program. You’ve made it clear that this is out of my hands. I have no choice but to sign Wayne Randall’s release, although it’s most decidedly against my wishes and better judgment.

  BRILL: Surely Your Honor understands that if Wayne were to retain his own identity, Grasso’s crime “family” would retaliate. The least we can do is give Wayne what we’ve given other protected federal witnesses—a new identity and a new life.

  COOPER: What about the lives of others? Wayne Randall has killed before. Without a conscience to stop him, there’s every chance in the world he’ll murder again.

  WAYNE: It wasn’t murder, Your Honor. The charge was dropped to manslaughter. I was only thirteen. I was too young to know what I was doing.

  COOPER: You knew what you were doing. According to the court records, you robbed the boy, then stabbed him.

  WAYNE: That’s just part of what happened. I mean, there were so many lies told about me, about how I had planned to stab him. But I hadn’t. It was self-defense on my part. And the jury agreed.

  COOPER: Self-defense? Do you expect me to believe that? I’ve dealt with enough sociopaths to know they can be quite
disarming and skilled at telling convincing lies.… Mr. Brill, from the time Wayne was nine until his last arrest at the age of fifteen, he compiled a long record of arrests for burglary, shoplifting, animal abuse, and—what worries me the most—brutality against other children.

  BRILL: Sealed records, Your Honor. Records for juvenile offenders are—

  COOPER: But we have no record of any arrests during the last two years. Why is that?

  BRILL: We—uh—have no actual knowledge that Wayne participated in any criminal activities during this time. He was with and—uh—was … he was protected by Grasso’s organization.

  COOPER: This report mentions an older brother. What about the brother? What type of work does he do for Grasso?

  BRILL: Boyd worked as a bodyguard. He was shot and killed six months ago during a drug bust.

  COOPER: Let’s get this straight, Mr. Brill. In exchange for Wayne’s testimony, you’re sending him to live in another state. You’re giving him a new identity and inflicting him on innocent people who will have no idea that there’s a dangerous sociopath in their midst.

  BRILL: You’re only assuming that he’s dangerous. We have the full cooperation of his aunt, who’ll be with him. Wayne knows that if he violates the conditions of the Federal Witness Protection Program, he’ll be back to square one. We have every hope that his future behavior will—

  COOPER: How do his parents fit into all this?

  BRILL: They’ve never been able to deal with either of their sons. They’re completely agreeable to the arrangement, Your Honor.

  GLESS: If you’ll just sign the papers, Your Honor, we’ll be on our way.

  End of transcript

  MEMO:

  To Al: Here’s the wrap-up. Judge Cooper signed the papers and shoved them at us. Carl and I thanked him and left with Wayne.

  It probably means nothing, but just for the record the hallway was empty, except for a male (age and statistics indeterminate) seated on a bench far down the hall.

  Neither Carl nor I first paid much attention to him, but we realized, as we left the building, that he had risen to his feet and was walking in our direction. We do not believe he was following us because we didn’t see him enter the parking lot. All reasonable security precautions were taken.

  Wayne is now established in his new identity and location. Total information is included in enclosed sealed envelope.

  Harold

  CHAPTER

  one

  As I plopped down in a shady spot on my front porch steps, cuddling Pepper, my gray-and-white-striped cat, I watched a trio of moving men struggle with the furniture they were delivering to the house next door. They were sweating in the September heat and breathing heavily the pungent odor of salt from Galveston Bay.

  I noticed that the furniture was new, but not expensive and not especially good-looking. I was curious. Would these new neighbors be crabby, like old Mr. Chamberlin, who lived at the end of the block? Or maybe young, and have kids?

  I sighed. I couldn’t help thinking about the kids in the noncontagious children’s ward at our county hospital. Little towheaded Ricky had held up his arms to me, begging to be picked up. He’d burrowed his face against my own, making little mewing noises like a kitten. If only … But when one end of a pine chest of drawers came down with a crash and the man who had dropped it let out a yell, my attention turned back to the movers.

  Last week the For Rent sign had disappeared from the front lawn of the house next door. Yesterday the real estate’s cleaning crew had gone through the house. Today was Saturday and my shift at Bingo’s Burgers didn’t start for another three hours, so I gave way to my curiosity.

  A puff of breeze swirled around my shoulders, and I lifted my long, dark hair away from my neck. Darn, it was hot!

  An old gray Chevy sedan, which had collected its share of dents, pulled up in front of what had been the Corcoran house, and I watched a middle-aged couple and a guy about my own age climb out. I was shocked—the guy was tall, with broad shoulders, dark brown hair, and a nice face. He wasn’t exactly a ten, but so close to it that I stood up and deposited Pepper on the step. I sauntered across the dusty grass.

  The three newcomers were reaching back inside the car. As they turned, their arms filled with sacks of groceries and an ice chest, I stepped up. “Hi. I’m Jessica Donnally. Welcome to the neighborhood.”

  Only the guy smiled. The woman, who I assumed was the mother of the family, looked totally stressed out. She glanced at our house and then her own before she nodded at me.

  “We’re the Maliks. We’ll have to get acquainted later. It’s been a long drive. Then we wasted hours in that realtor’s office. There’s so much to do.” Her words were rapid and clipped and angry. I had to think a moment before they registered.

  Mrs. Malik pushed a strand of dirty blond hair away from her face and walked toward the rented house, her hips straining against a skirt that was a little too heavy and much too tight. Her husband, short and stocky in a rumpled madras shirt and khaki pants, simply followed.

  “Don’t mind them,” the guy said with an unfamiliar accent. “Mom didn’t want to move to Texas. She’s mad at Dad and at me … at the whole world, I guess. She needs time and she’ll come around.”

  He grinned, and it was so contagious I grinned back. “I’m Mark … Mark Malik,” he said. “You said your name is Jessica?”

  “Everyone calls me Jess.”

  “Hi, Jess. I suppose we’ll be going to the same high school.”

  “Since we’ve only got one high school—Oakberry High—you’re right! Where are you folks from, Mark?”

  His smile was warm, but instead of answering, he said, “We’ll talk later. You can fill me in on what I’ll need to know.” He shifted the load in his arms and headed up the walk.

  I went back across the grass into my house. Taking the stairs two at a time, then flinging myself across my bed, I snatched up the telephone and dialed my best friend, Lori Roberts. She answered on the second ring.

  “Guess what!” I said. “New guy at school. He’s cute.”

  “You’re right. He is,” Lori said. “I saw him registering in Mrs. Shappley’s office late this afternoon.”

  I gave a bounce, and the bed creaked noisily. “You won’t believe it! He moved in next door to me.”

  Lori groaned. “How come you get all the luck?”

  “Wait a minute,” I said as I suddenly realized what Lori had told me. “You said you saw him registering at school. You couldn’t have. He just got here. His mother was complaining about the long drive.”

  “The guy I saw is blond—hair about the same color as mine—and he’s medium tall,” Lori said. “By the way, Mrs. Shappley put him in our English lit class.”

  I shook my head at the phone. “Mark Malik isn’t blond. He has dark brown hair. It’s almost as dark as mine.”

  “Two new guys.” Lori’s smile warmed her voice. “Life is looking up!”

  When Mom got home from her job at the bank and Dad walked into the kitchen, damp and sticky from the lessons he gave as a golf pro, I told them about the new neighbors.

  Dad gulped down half a glass of cold water, wiped a hand across his mouth, and said, “Frank and Eloise Malik.”

  “How’d you know?” I asked.

  “Elmer Butler told me. He’s the one who rented them the house.”

  “Where are they from?”

  “New Jersey, New York, someplace like that,” Dad answered. He polished off the water and asked, “Does it make a difference?”

  I shrugged. “I just wondered.”

  Dad smiled as he reached over and tousled my hair. “I swear, Jess, you’re as curious as a cat.”

  “If you’re comparing me to cats, leave out Pepper,” I told him. “He’s not the least bit curious. All he does is eat and sleep.”

  “Jess,” Mom said as she kicked off her shoes, “you peel the potatoes. Phil, why don’t you get the grill going outside? I can put together something for our n
ew neighbors.”

  Mom, her short, dark hair curling damply around her face, changed from her tailored skirt and blouse into shorts and a T-shirt. She decided to bake a Lazy Daisy sheet cake with a caramel-coconut broiled frosting. It’s quick, it’s easy, and it’s Mom’s specialty. She’s well known for it at church suppers and school bake sales. No one in Oakberry has ever been known to turn down a piece of her cake.

  After we’d finished eating supper, she wrapped the still-warm cake pan in a kitchen towel and handed it to me. I was about to leave, already wearing my red-and-white-checked apron and cap—the uniform for my evening shift at Bingo’s.

  Mom grinned and said, “From what you told me about the Maliks, I suspect that you’d like to deliver this.”

  I grinned back, at ease with her teasing. Sure, there are problems between us at times, because Mom doesn’t just say something, she goes on and on about it, as if I can’t figure out things for myself. But sometimes she’s great.

  “Mark Malik is kind of cute, Mom. He’s tall. Taller than me. It’s not always easy to find really tall dates. Except for Eric, it’s almost impossible.”

  “Eric?”

  “You remember Eric Dodson. I picked him out in seventh grade because he was the only boy in my class taller than me.”

  “Than I.”

  “Yeah. Taller than you, too.” I giggled, then sighed. “Eric has always had possibilities. I even thought I had a chance until he fell in love with a computer. He hasn’t been interested in anything else since then.”

  “When I was your age I had the same trouble finding tall dates,” Mom said. “When I went out on dates I wore ballet slippers.”

  “But you lucked out. You met Dad.” I pretended to frown. “All those tall genes. No wonder I ended up five feet ten.”

  “Look at the bright side,” Mom kidded. “Just think—you’ll always be able to reach the top shelves.” She looked at her watch. “Mrs. Malik isn’t going to feel like seeing company right away. Just drop this off on your way to work and tell the Maliks we’ll do our neighboring later.”