Don't Scream (9780307823526)

by Nixon, Joan Lowery

  He and I waited until the last light in the Malik house snapped off. Then the watcher slipped away, and I pulled down my window shades and got ready for bed.

  Who was the watcher? If I told Mom or Dad about him they’d call the police. Maybe that was the right thing to do, but I wasn’t sure, because I couldn’t shake the suspicion that the watcher was a guy who seemed so nice—at least Lori really liked him. But Scott was a liar. I knew that for sure. I just didn’t know why he was lying.

  I’d sleep on the problem, I decided. But it took a lot of tossing, and squirming, and beating my pillow into shape before sleep finally arrived.

  CHAPTER

  fourteen

  The next day, Friday, I left early for school. I’d decided to avoid Mark, and I even skipped lunch period in the cafeteria.

  After school, I walked to the hospital’s children’s ward, thinking only about Ricky.

  Mrs. Hopkins met me at the desk. She took my arm and led me toward the ward. “I can’t wait until you see what Mr. Clark brought us,” she said.

  “Mr. Clark?”

  “Your journalism teacher. He’s so impressed with this project and with the story you wrote about it, he made a contribution—two sturdy Boston rockers. Now our parents and volunteers can rock the kids.” She opened the door and said, “Look!”

  A woman cuddling a little girl was seated in one of the rockers. She looked up and smiled at me.

  My heart jumped. “Oh! I’ll wash and put on a gown. Ricky will love being rocked.”

  The gleam went out of Mrs. Hopkins’s eyes, and she placed a hand on my arm. “I’m sorry, Jess, I have some bad news, too. Ricky was sent this morning to the specialists at Texas Children’s Hospital in Houston, because our cardiologist thought he detected a heart problem.”

  “Nothing can happen to Ricky! He’s just a baby!” A rush of hot tears blurred my vision.

  Mrs. Hopkins led me out into the hallway and through the open doorway of an office. She sat next to me on a bench and said, “Ricky will have excellent care. We must be thankful his problem was detected early.”

  I pulled a tissue from the pocket of my jeans and blew my nose. “I was going to teach Ricky to walk. He deserves that.”

  “There are other children who need you, too.”

  “It’s still not fair to Ricky.”

  Her grip on my arm was firm. “Jess,” she said, “you can give unbounded love to these children, but you have to remember, your love is a gift. It’s not an exchange in which the same amount of love comes back to you. And it doesn’t tie the children to you. They come and go from here, some of them healed, some of them not; but they all take with them every scrap of love they can get.

  “If you’re going to give your time to the children, then give your love, too. Give it generously, no strings attached.”

  I nodded because I understood what Mrs. Hopkins was telling me. Maybe Ricky would come back, but until then, or even if he didn’t, I had work to do.

  “On Monday a two-year-old named Rachel arrived here,” Mrs. Hopkins told me. “She needs someone to play with or talk to. Who here has time to read a book to her?”

  I took a deep breath to steady myself, then managed a smile. “Where is Rachel?” I asked. “We can make good use of that other rocking chair.”

  IT WAS NEARLY five o’clock when I arrived home. Mom was in the kitchen as I dropped my backpack on the table.

  “How did it go at the children’s ward?” she asked.

  “Fine,” I said. I remembered Rachel’s solemn stare as I sang to her. She had touched my lips and followed their movement closely. Before I left, I had smiled at Rachel, and in return, the briefest of smiles had flickered over her face like the flash of a lit match, brightening her eyes.

  “Was Ricky glad to see you?”

  “He wasn’t there, Mom.”

  She paused, one hand on the refrigerator door. “Why not?”

  I told Mom what Mrs. Hopkins had said to me. “It hurts,” I said. “It’s been a strange time, Mom. I’ve lost Pepper. I’ve had to deal with all these emotions about things I can’t control. They just happen.”

  For once Mom didn’t say a word. She just wrapped me in her arms. Oh, how I needed that hug! There were tears in her eyes, but she impatiently wiped them away and said briskly, “Jess, life must go on, and you can face it. Now, would you mind taking out the trash for tomorrow morning’s pickup? We’ve got to do the humdrum no matter what.”

  “I don’t mind,” I answered.

  I dumped the assorted wastepaper baskets we had around the house into a large black plastic trash bag, hoisted it to my shoulder, and carried it out to the curb. I had no sooner plopped it down than Mrs. Malik drove up and parked her car in front of the Maliks’ house. Mark was with her.

  As they climbed out of the car, I said, “Hi.”

  “Hi, Jess,” Mark said, but his mother looked just as frazzled as she had two days before. “I guess your air-conditioner is still out,” I told her.

  Mrs. Malik nodded. “Problems—they never end, do they?” Her voice was bitter.

  She obviously wasn’t looking for an answer, because she started up the walk to her house. Without stopping to talk, Mark began to follow her. I didn’t blame him, since I’d been avoiding him.

  “Mark,” I said, surprising myself. “There’s something I need to tell you. Someone knocked out the streetlamp twice. Once was last night.” I glanced up at the post and at the broken glass that still clung around the socket.

  Mrs. Malik stopped and turned, bristling as she asked, “What’s that got to do with us? Are you blaming Mark?”

  “No!” I said quickly. “I’m not blaming Mark. Whoever broke the lights was probably the one who was watching your house last night and the night before.”

  Mark looked surprised, but I thought I saw a flash of fear in his mother’s eyes.

  “I didn’t mean to scare you,” I said. “I don’t know who it was. I didn’t get a good look at him, so there’s not much I can tell you that will be of any help. But I thought you ought to know.”

  “I’m glad you told us,” Mark said, and laughed. “You didn’t scare us, Jess, but if we’ve got some Peeping Tom hanging around, I might put a scare into him.”

  They turned and continued up the walk as though they weren’t the least bit concerned, but I stood where I was for a few minutes, wondering if I had done the right thing.

  That evening some of my friends were going over to Gulfgate to hang out in the mall. I decided not to go. I wanted to be home.

  I wanted to know if the watcher returned.

  He did.

  I WAS AT my post at the bedroom windows when the Maliks turned out their lights. But as I waited for the watcher to silently slip away, something unexpected happened.

  The door of the Maliks’ house quietly opened, and Mark sprinted down the steps and across the walk toward the elm tree. Dark as it was, I could make out something gripped in his right hand.

  The tree gave a single shudder and was still, and I stood frozen, almost unable to breathe. The watcher hadn’t glided away and around the corner, or I would have seen him. Mark was going to catch him! I didn’t want Mark, who was carrying some weapon, to catch or hurt anyone.

  As I leaned against the frame of the window, I saw Mark circle the tree, stop as if he were puzzled, and walk around the trunk again. His dark shape moved to the sidewalk, vanishing and reappearing.

  I knew where the watcher was. The shudder that shook the tree had told me. He had climbed the tree and was over Mark’s head, hidden in the blackness of the thick, heavy branches.

  I could tug up the window sash. I could call out and tell Mark. Or I could be a silent bystander.

  Finally Mark went into his house, defeated. A while later, the tree shook again. I saw a human shape drop from it and leap to the sidewalk.

  It turned toward me with its face uplifted.

  I gasped and stepped back. I had thought I was invisible, but from his t
ree perch the watcher had seen me. I glanced down at the pale reflected moonlight on my white T-shirt before I searched again for the watcher. In one brief instant he rounded the corner and was gone.

  LATE SATURDAY MORNING I finished mopping the kitchen floor. I dumped the water from my bucket on the petunias growing in the shade of the back-porch steps and carried the mop and bucket to the garage.

  I could hear Mrs. Malik’s voice, as shrill as a grackle’s, as she argued, “I don’t care! I’ve had enough!”

  “Keep it down, Eloise! You want the whole neighborhood to hear you?”

  The argument went on, but the sound diminished, and I couldn’t make out the words. Feeling like a snoop and knowing that curiosity wasn’t a good excuse for listening to private conversations, I hurried back to the house.

  I grabbed the broom that lay by the steps and was sweeping them clean when a voice from behind made me jump. I whirled around; Scott was standing on our driveway.

  “Jess,” he said quietly, “I’ve got to talk to you.”

  I motioned for him to come in, but he shook his head.

  “I see the floor’s wet, and I’d just get it dirty again. I’ll only be a minute.” He squirmed uncomfortably, staring down at his shoes, before he went on. “I meant what I said about staying out of the woods. There’s no ancient cemetery to hunt for.”

  “That’s what you told us at lunch period.”

  “But you didn’t believe me. I could see it in your eyes.”

  It was my turn to look away, embarrassed. “You weren’t telling the truth.”

  “It is really important that you trust me. I know how curious you are, Jess. I can’t reveal any more. All I can say is, please don’t go prowling around the woods by yourself.”

  “That’s all you can say? You’ve asked me to trust you before. Why should I? It didn’t mean anything. If something weird is going on, I’m willing to listen.”

  Scott sighed. “I can only tell you what I’ve told you.” He shook his head.

  “I have just one simple question. Where were you last night, Scott? And the night before?” I asked him.

  “Home,” he said. “Where else?”

  I tried to penetrate his eyes. “Tell me the truth,” I insisted. “Trust me, Scott. Where were you?”

  “You ask too many questions, Jess,” he answered. He abruptly said, “I was home.” Then he turned and walked to the sidewalk.

  As I watched him turn the corner in the direction of Dale Street and his apartment, I thought about his warning not to go into the woods. What was in the woods that I shouldn’t see?

  It was bright daylight. I could take a quick look inside the woods and be home in a short time. It wouldn’t exactly be breaking my promise if I didn’t go far into the woods. I walked into the kitchen and called out, “Mom! Dad! I’ll be back in a few minutes!” Then I hurried down the steps and across two streets to the entrance Lori and I always took into the woods.

  Shade cut off the sun, puddling the ground under the trees with a soft, speckled blue haze. This time I didn’t turn toward the bay. Instead I walked silently over the spongy ground into a darker, more heavily wooded area, cautiously moving from clearing to clearing.

  I hadn’t gone all that far when I stopped short, startled at the sight of two small mounds. They lay close together, and a large, square floor tile of red clay rested on each. On the surface of each tile something had been written in what looked like black paint. Holding my breath, I forced myself to step closer.

  On one tile was written “Peaches” and the date she had disappeared. On the other was printed “Pepper,” the date, and the inscription, “Here’s a little ghost for you.”

  I shuddered, my body twitching as though it would never stop.

  Hands gripped my shoulders. I jumped. Scott’s voice said, “I tried to keep you from seeing these.”

  I jerked away in horror and whirled to face him. “You followed me again!”

  “I knew you’d come.”

  I took a step backward. “Telling me to stay out of the woods was your way of luring me here?”

  Scott shook his head. “I shouldn’t have said anything about the woods, but your neighbor Mark Malik forced the point. He wanted to set a date to explore.”

  “These are graves for Pepper and Peaches. How did you know the graves were here?” I demanded.

  “I—I accidentally came across them.”

  “Do you really expect me to believe that?” I said furiously.

  Scott’s glance shifted to the pair of graves, and he spoke in a whisper. “This was the way I buried my cousin’s cat.”

  In a panic, I backed away. “You … you did this?”

  “Jess, I …”

  Scott raised his eyes to look at me, and in the gathering dusk they seemed dark and fearful. I blocked out whatever he was telling me and turned to run.

  Tripping, falling, and staggering to my feet, I rushed from clearing to clearing and fought to keep my sense of direction as I groped through the undergrowth and vines that clung to the trees and hung in curling strands like twisted snakes.

  Twice I glanced over my shoulder, terrified that Scott would catch up with me. When I caught a glimpse of his white T-shirt through the undergrowth, I cried out in fear.

  The patch of white vanished, and from that moment on there was no sign of Scott. It didn’t matter if I could see him or not. I instinctively knew that he was silently following me.

  By the time the woods had thinned out and I could see the houses ahead, I was gasping, choking, and gulping in air.

  I was vaguely aware that someone was running toward me. He grabbed me and held me tightly, saying over and over again, “Calm down, Jess. Take it easy. You’re all right.”

  “Mark!” I gasped, trying to catch my breath. “Pepper … Peaches … in the woods.”

  “You found the graves,” he said.

  “Yes, you knew?” I was shocked but still so shaken that all I could say was, “I’ve got to tell Mom and Dad … and Mr. Chamberlin.”

  “And I’ll help you,” Mark said. “We’ll tell Mr. Chamberlin first.”

  “No, not first,” I said, almost crying.

  I tried to pull away, in the direction of my house, but Mark’s grip was firm. “I was just with Mr. Chamberlin. He needs you, Jess.”

  “He needs me?”

  “Yes,” Mark said.

  He took my hand and led me across the grass and up the steps to Mr. Chamberlin’s. The front door was open, so we walked inside.

  The living room was dark and chilly, shades drawn against the September heat and the air-conditioning set low—too low. I hugged myself, wrinkling my nose at the horrible, sour smell that clogged the air.

  “Is he ill? Did you call the doctor?” I asked.

  “A doctor won’t help,” Mark answered. “Mr. Chamberlin drank some iced tea, and soon afterwards doubled over with cramps.”

  “What …?” I began, but then I saw the pitcher of iced tea. It rested on the table in the small dining alcove and was in the shape of a green-and-gold glass parrot with a yellow beak. “Mark, I saw that pitcher in your kitchen. You brought the tea to Mr. Chamberlin.”

  “Yes,” Mark said. “You look hot and tired, Jess. I’ll pour you a glass of tea, too.”

  “No, you won’t! You’ve put something into it, haven’t you? Mark, what is going on? Why were you with Mr. Chamberlin?”

  Frightened, I backed against the wall, my shoulder pressing against the button that would make the outside light flash on and off. It was still daylight, and the light wouldn’t be as visible as in the dark, but it was the only thing I could think of to do.

  Mark, unaware of what I had done, grabbed my arm and jerked me forward until we were in the dining alcove. There on the floor, in a puddle of stinking vomit, lay Mr. Chamberlin.

  CHAPTER

  fifteen

  I pulled away from Mark and dropped to my knees, feeling Mr. Chamberlin’s neck for a pulse.

  “He
’s still alive,” I said as I got to my feet. “I’m going to call an ambulance.”

  “No, you’re not,” Mark said. “The phone’s unplugged.”

  “You’re going to let him die?”

  “It’s his own fault, Jess. It’s not mine.”

  “What do you mean it’s not yours? You poisoned him with … what?”

  “Oleander. I didn’t know it was poisonous until Lori told us. So I guess it’s partly her fault, too.”

  I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “You poisoned him. How can you say it was Mr. Chamberlin’s fault … and Lori’s?”

  “He talked about me. He said he saw evil in my eyes. He said he saw me capturing your cat.”

  “You?” I tried to edge out of the room, but Mark caught my shoulder, gripping it so hard I cried out.

  “Mark! Mr. Chamberlin didn’t know who he saw! I told you that.”

  “He would have thought more about it and figured it out. I couldn’t take any chances. I’m supposed to have a perfect record, be a model student, a good citizen.”

  I felt as though I were in the middle of a nightmare. Mark wasn’t making sense. “Why did you kill the cats?” I asked.

  Mark smiled, which was more chilling than if he’d snarled at me. “I told you, Jess. I have a temper. I don’t like being yelled at, and I was angry at your attitude about the children’s ward project. The credit, the glory—what good would it do you? It would have meant a lot to me.”

  “You’d kill for it?”

  “Who cares about a couple of stupid cats?”

  I thought about the tiles that rested on the graves. I thought about Scott’s words, “This is how I buried my cousin’s cat.”

  I tried to stay calm. “Are you the one who buried the cats?”

  “Yes.” He chuckled. “How did you like their headstones?”

  I realized I was breathing in shallow gasps. I wasn’t going to let myself hyperventilate and pass out. I forced myself to calm down. As soon as I could breathe evenly, I asked, “Mark, you’ve killed animals before, haven’t you?”

  “Only for a good reason.”

  “Did you bury them the way you buried Pepper and Peaches? Did you make headstones for them?”