by R. L. Stine
11
“Where—where did she go?” I stammered.
Hannah twirled the wrapper from a straw between her fingers. She gazed at Margie, then narrowed her hazel eyes at me. “Lucy? She wasn’t here, Nicole.”
“I saw her,” I replied sharply.
Margie patted the cushion next to her. “Sit down, Nicole. Are you okay?”
“Lucy was here,” I insisted, ignoring Margie’s request. “I saw her when I came in. The three of you . . . you were arguing over the last slice.”
I glanced down at the pizza tin. Empty except for a wedge of crust.
“No,” Margie insisted softly. “It’s just Hannah and me.
“You let her get away!” I cried shrilly.
“Nicole—please. Sit down,” Margie insisted.
Margie and Hannah were in this together, I realized. Lucy had told them about our switching bodies. Now they were protecting her. They distracted me and allowed Lucy to slip away.
But why were they helping her? I wondered. They were my friends, too.
I crossed my arms tightly in front of me, to hold myself in, to keep myself from exploding. “I know you talked to Lucy!” I cried angrily. “If you didn’t talk to her, how do you know that I’m Nicole?”
They both gaped at me. Hannah’s mouth dropped open.
They couldn’t answer the question. I had caught them in their lie.
“Nicole—” Margie started. She stepped out of the booth and tried to grab me.
But I was too fast for her. I spun away and started jogging down the long aisle to the door. “I know she’s here. I’m going to find her!” I shouted back.
I heard Margie call my name. But I ducked around a group of tough-looking guys in muscle shirts and black denims who were entering the restaurant—and dived out the door.
Lucy is here and she couldn’t have gone far, I told myself.
I crossed the mall walkway to the CD store and peered up and down. It was late, I realized. Several of the stores were closing for the night. Lights were dimming. Salespeople were locking doors.
The mall was nearly deserted. A few late shoppers were making their way to the parking lot.
I turned one way, then the other, trying to guess which direction Lucy had headed.
She must have driven here, I decided. Unless she came with Margie and Hannah. When she saw me enter the pizza restaurant, she ducked out to escape to the parking lot.
Walking quickly, I made my way to the exit. I peered into each store I passed, searching the nearly empty aisles for her.
“Whoa!” My heart skipped a beat as I squinted into the Clothes Closet, one of Lucy’s favorite stores. I thought I saw her in the back of the store, holding up a pink blouse, discussing it over the counter with a salesgirl.
I turned into the store and began running through the aisle, waving and calling her name. I was halfway to the back when I saw the girl’s face clearly.
And realized it wasn’t Lucy.
They turned to me, startled. “Can I help you?” the salesgirl asked.
“No, no, thanks,” I replied breathlessly. “I—I was looking for someone.” I turned and hurried out of the store.
The music cut off as I stepped back into the main walkway. A strange silence settled over the mall. I heard a baby crying somewhere down the aisle. Shouted voices. The clatter of shopping cart wheels.
Without the background music, they all sounded sort of eerie. Too loud. Not normal.
I stepped out through the first exit I came to. The broad parking lot was nearly deserted. A woman in a bright blue halter top and blue shorts was loading shopping bag after shopping bag into the trunk of a beat-up car. Two little kids were jumping up and down in the backseat.
Several cars were easing out of the lot, turning onto Division Street. Bright headlights rolled over me, forcing me to shield my eyes, as I hurried through row after row, searching for Lucy.
No luck. I was too slow, I realized. She got away.
Angrily, I shoved a shopping cart out of my way. It clattered noisily over the pavement, coming to rest against a curb.
I turned and spotted my car two rows down.
“Hey—!” I cried out in surprise when I saw Lucy—in my body—waiting for me at the side of the car.
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“Lucy—hi!” I shouted. “I’m here!”
My sneakers thudded hard over the asphalt as I began running toward her.
“Lucy—you’re here! I—I’ve been searching all over for you!”
Now maybe we can get things straight, I told myself. Maybe Lucy will tell me what’s going on.
Even from a distance, she appeared tense. She had both arms down stiffly at her sides, her hands balled into tight fists. “Nicole!” she called.
Not her voice.
Not Lucy’s voice.
I stepped up beside her, breathing hard.
“Nicole—we have to talk.”
Not her voice. Not her face.
Margie’s face.
Margie grabbed me, squeezing my throbbing shoulders with both hands. She turned and called to a car several rows down. “She’s here, Hannah. Hannah—I’ve got Nicole!”
I blinked several times, willing Margie away. Willing Lucy in her place.
But it was Margie. Not Lucy. My eyes had played a cruel trick on me.
“She’s right here!” Margie called to Hannah. I saw Hannah step around the other car and start toward us.
“No!” I shrieked.
What were they doing here? Why had they followed me?
“I—I have to find Lucy,” I stammered. “I know she told you. I know she told you we switched bodies.”
Margie placed a hand on my shoulder. “Calm down, Nicole,” she said softly, as if talking to a child. “We just want to talk to you. We just—”
“No!” I screamed. The anger roared through my body. “No!”
They were trying to stop me, trying to hold me there, trying to help Lucy get away.
I shoved Margie out of my way, shoved her with all my strength.
She uttered a surprised yelp and stumbled backward, over the curb. She toppled to the hard surface.
Turning, I saw Hannah running toward us. “Wait! Wait!” she called.
But I didn’t wait. I pulled open the car door and dived inside. Margie was back on her feet. She reached for the door—as I slammed it.
“Nicole—!” She pounded on the window with both fists. “Nicole—wait! Please!”
I found the key in the ignition. A bad habit of mine. But now I was glad.
I started the car.
Margie pounded on the window. Then she made a grab for the door handle.
I clicked down the door lock.
I shoved the gearshift into Reverse.
Glancing in the rearview mirror, I saw Hannah step up behind the car to block my path.
Wow! I thought. They really want to stop me from getting to Lucy!
Hannah waved both hands, signaling for me not to back over her. I stared at her in the rearview mirror. Her cornrow braids blew wildly around her face. Her eyes were wide with fright.
Why were Hannah and Margie so frightened? Why were they so desperate to keep me here?
Had Lucy threatened them?
Had Lucy threatened to murder them, too, if they didn’t help her escape?
Margie pounded on my window. Hannah waved wildly from behind the car, blocking my escape.
Uttering a cry of rage, I pulled the gearshift into Drive and slammed my foot down on the gas pedal.
The little Civic let out a roar as it bumped over the curb. My head snapped back as the car jumped onto the narrow square of concrete dividing the rows.
Margie made a last frantic grab for the door handle. Missed. Stumbled back.
I bounced down into the next row. The car shot forward.
I could still hear the two girls shouting my name as I roared away.
I drove around town, trying to calm do
wn, trying to think clearly. But my thoughts circled aimlessly round and around, much like my little car.
So many questions crammed my brain. So many questions that I didn’t have answers to.
But Kent can help me.
The words flashed into my troubled mind.
Kent can help me.
The thought swept the questions away. I made a wide U-turn and pressed harder on the gas, heading to Kent’s house.
Lucy took all of her clothes, I remembered. That meant she planned to go somewhere. Probably somewhere far away from Shadyside.
She wouldn’t leave Shadyside without telling Kent, I knew. Lucy and Kent were so close. I knew she confided everything to him.
Kent wouldn’t talk to me the first time I visited him. But this time, I told myself, I will make him talk. I will make him tell me everything. I will force him to tell me where Lucy went.
I thought about my first short meeting with him, hours before. He saw that I looked like Lucy. But he believed me when I said I was really Nicole. And now that I think about it, Kent wasn’t shocked at all. That meant he knew that Lucy and I had switched bodies.
That meant he had talked to Lucy this afternoon or evening.
Before Lucy murdered her parents?
Or after she had murdered them?
I’ll force him to tell me this time, I vowed.
I pulled the car to the curb in front of Kent’s house. I gazed over the smooth, sloping lawn to the familiar redbrick house.
Lights were on downstairs. The porchlight was on.
I stepped out of the car and carefully closed the door, careful not to make a sound.
I had decided to surprise Kent, to catch him off guard. To frighten him—just enough to make him tell the truth.
I started up the driveway, keeping in the shadows, away from the square of light that washed onto the lawn from the porch. As I made my way past the front walk and along the side of the house, crickets began to chirp shrilly, as if warning Kent I was coming.
Their whistle grew louder and louder. It sounded deafening to me. I heard every sound, clearer than normal. The scrape of my sneakers on the driveway. The rustle of the wind through the trees along the drive.
As I crept onto the back stoop, the crickets stopped their chirping, as suddenly as they had started. I peered into the window on the kitchen door. A dim light over the stove provided the only brightness.
I turned the knob and pushed. The kitchen door slid open easily.
Leaning on the knob, I pushed the door open all the way, and slipped into the house. The linoleum floor squeaked under my weight.
I stopped. Listened.
I could hear music in the front of the house. Loud rock music from the den.
Good, I thought. It probably means Kent is home alone. He wouldn’t be playing the music so loud downstairs if his parents were home.
My eyes darted around the kitchen. They stopped at the knife holder above the white Formica counter.
I crossed the room, studied the knives in the holder, and pulled out a long-bladed kitchen knife.
I’ll scare him with this, I told myself.
I’ll raise the blade high. I’ll back him into a corner.
I’ll frighten him into talking. I’ll make him think that I plan to use it on him—if he doesn’t tell me the truth about Lucy. If he doesn’t tell me all that he knows.
The knife felt heavy and uncomfortable in my hand. I adjusted my hand around the handle. I always teased Lucy about her tiny hands. I always told her she’d have baby hands for the rest of her life.
Now I wished I had my own hands back. My big, long-fingered hands were stronger. They would have held the kitchen knife more comfortably.
I took a deep breath, edging my way to the front of the house. Thinking hard about how I would play this.
I’ll act crazy, I decided. I’ll act out of control. I’ll raise the knife. I’ll scream at him. I’ll make him tell me where Lucy went.
When Kent has told me what I need to know, I’ll apologize, I told myself. I’ll ask for his help. I’ll confess how eager I am to get my body back.
He’ll understand. He’ll help me. I know he will.
The music blared louder as I made my way along the front hallway.
I raised the knife and stepped into the den. “Kent? It’s me. Nicole. I have to talk—”
I lowered the knife to my side as I stared down at the gruesome sight on the den floor.
Kent’s body lay on its back on the tile floor, arms and legs outstretched.
His head had been sliced off.
Puddles of bright red blood had streamed from the neck.
The head stood upright a few feet from the body, propped against the leather couch.
The mouth was frozen open in a wide O of horror. The blue eyes stared lifelessly up at me.
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The room started to spin.
I dropped onto the floor. Into a sitting position. I shut my eyes.
When I opened them a few moments later, Kent’s blue eyes still stared at me. As I stared in horror, one eyelid slowly drooped, drooped until it closed, leaving Kent’s face with a hideous wink.
I swallowed hard, forcing down my nausea.
I shut my eyes. Blinked several times. Hoping, praying that when I looked back, the head would have disappeared. Would have returned to Kent’s body.
Sobbing, I raised myself to my knees. “Kent . . .” I murmured his name.
The head had been sliced off. A jagged line across the throat.
The body stretched out calmly over the floor, as if taking a nap. The head stared blankly at its own body.
First the Kramers. And now Kent.
Had Lucy murdered them all?
It made no sense. No sense at all.
Without realizing it, I had climbed to my feet.
I turned away from Kent’s headless body. I gazed at the window.
“Oh!” I cried out when I saw the two faces on the other side of the glass. The two grim faces of the gray-suited police officers.
They stared in at me. Stared at the headless corpse on the bloodied den floor. Stared at the kitchen knife still clutched tightly in my hand.
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The two faces vanished from the window.
I let the knife fall from my hand. It clattered onto the floor, landing beside Kent’s outstretched arm.
They saw me, I realized.
They saw me standing over Kent, holding the knife.
As I backed out of the den, my entire body trembling, I heard the front door click open.
“Don’t move!” one of them shouted.
“Nicole. Stay right there.”
They knew my name. They knew it was me. Not Lucy.
“But Lucy murdered them all!” I wanted to shout. “You don’t want me! You want Lucy!”
But I was too terrified to make a sound.
“Don’t move.” The police officer repeated his instruction.
I turned and bolted to the back door.
I reached the kitchen in time to see the other officer step into the kitchen doorway. “Nicole—don’t run away,” he said softly. He lowered both hands to his sides. Did he have a gun? Was he about to raise it?
“Nicole—where are you?” His partner’s voice from the front.
“No!” I cried, spinning out of the kitchen. Into the narrow back hall. Down the basement stairs two at a time.
I knew this house. I had spent many happy hours at Kent’s parties. I knew I could get away. If I was fast enough.
Their shoes clambered heavily down the wooden stairs.
But I was already across the basement. Through the narrow passageway that led to the furnace room.
I heard a crash behind me. Heard one of them utter a shouted curse.
He must have banged his knee or run into something, I figured.
Breathing hard, I plunged into the old coal room. The floor still black and dust-covere
d from the days when coal was stored here to stoke the furnace.
Up the old coal chute, my sneakers slipping and sliding. I knew the double wooden doors at the top were never locked. With a great heave, I shoved open the doors with both hands.
Cool night air rushed in at me.
I scrabbled out. Scraped my knee on the doorframe. Ignoring the pain that shot up and down my leg, I took a deep breath and gazed around the dark backyard.
Could I make it to my car in front on the street?
Probably not. They’d catch me before I could get inside and start it up.
I turned and began to run.
I was fleeing across the backyard. Climbing over the fence at the back.
Running. Running through dark backyards. Keeping low. Keeping hidden as much as possible.
A trembling, frightened figure fleeing through the darkness.
But where could I go? Where could I hide?
I leaned my back against the wall and struggled to catch my breath.
There was no one following me. I was sure of that. I would have heard them in these silent woods.
I had run all the way to Fear Street. Run blindly, the world a blur, through backyards and alleys, across empty streets, past familiar houses that now seemed strange and unfriendly.
The whole world appeared unfriendly to me now. Worse than that. Threatening.
And so I didn’t even hesitate when I reached the Fear Street woods. I ignored the stories I had heard since childhood, the horrifying legends of the street and these woods. Those stories held no fear for me now.
What could be more frightening than my own life?
I plunged into the tangle of trees and shrubs and twining undergrowth. Listening. Listening as I ran for the sounds of my pursuers. The two grim-faced men who wanted to capture me and bring me back—to arrest me for murders only my body committed.
My body. And my friend Lucy.
My best friend.
Somehow I had found the wall. The Changing Wall. The ugly stone structure that had started my troubles.
As it rose up before me in the darkness, I felt my strength ebb away. I knew I couldn’t run any farther.
I dropped down, gasping and panting, in front of the wall. I rested against it, closing my eyes, waiting for my breathing to slow, for my pulse to stop pounding.
