Angie wasn’t very impressed by the Tarr Memorial Junior High School, but she tried not to let it show as she politely followed Lisa around the building while Lisa chattered on about what went on in each room. After the grand tour, Angie started thinking it might not be a bad idea to head on home. She still got goose bumps whenever she remembered what had happened—and almost happened—to them out at Lisa’s “secret place,” and she didn’t want to roam too far from home.
They were heading out of the school parking lot when Lisa told Angie that Larry’s mother lived only two houses away from the school. Casting a fearful glance at the sky and at the sun sunk low on the horizon, she felt tempted to cruise by the house, if only to see where Larry had grown up; but she also didn’t want to be outside after dark. Not when there was a chance those hobos might be around town.
“How far is it to your ‘secret place’ from here?” Angie asked her, hoping the tension she felt wasn’t revealed by her voice.
Lisa seemed to stiffen as she twitched her head over in the direction of the tennis courts. “Through those woods there, I guess,” she said. “I never really went there from anywhere but my backyard.”
“Do you…?” Angie started to ask, but she cut herself short before she finished her question.
Think those men are still out there? her mind completed the question for her. Goose bumps darted up both of her arms, and her teeth made a rapid little chattering sound.
“Come on,” Lisa said as she swung her leg over the seat. “We can just ride by Larry’s mom’s house and then head home.”
“Okay,” Angie said as she mounted her bike, not thinking it was the best of ideas. They pedaled off together, with Lisa in the lead. Under the shading branches of tall pine trees, they sped down the road, their bike tires whistling in the wind.
“That’s it there,” Lisa said, twisting around and pointing at a house on the left side of the road.
Angie looked up at the modest home, somewhat surprised that it looked so simple. Somehow, she had expected Larry’s home to be—well, different. Certainly, she never thought he had been raised in a mansion or anything, but this house looked too ordinary.
The driveway was filled with cars, and Angie knew Larry’s family was probably gathered after the funeral to share a meal, to renew acquaintances, and to reassure themselves that they themselves were still here. Through lighted windows, the girls could see people moving from room to room.
Angie slowed down and stopped beneath a spreading maple tree on the side of the road opposite Larry’s house. Lisa kept going until she noticed Angie was no longer behind her. She slowed and turned around in a wide circle, rejoining her friend as she skidded to a stop underneath the maple. Still thick with leaves, the tree cast a dark shadow over the girls’ faces as they both looked up at the house.
“Why don’t we go back home now?” Lisa said softly. She could sense that Angie was making herself feel worse, staring up at the house. What she didn’t like seeing was the tears running down her friend’s cheeks.
“Yeah,” Angie said, her voice hitching in her chest. But she didn’t move. She wanted to reach out with her feelings, to touch a part of Larry one last time, and she honestly felt that she could do that if she were close to the place where he had grown up. She imagined that one of those silhouettes on the window shades was Larry’s; she could go up the walkway, ring the doorbell, and Larry, smiling his silly, warm and wide grin, would hold his arms out to her and give her one of his famous bear hugs.
Not anymore, her mind whispered. Not anymore!
“If we don’t get a move on, it’ll be dark before we get home,” Lisa said with sudden agitation. “I think my gram’ll be mad at us if we don’t get a-moving.”
“Yeah, sure,” Angie said, sniffing loudly and wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. But before she started to pedal away, with one last look at the house, she was filled with a sudden image that nearly stunned her in its awfulness. For a flickering moment, she felt certain that Larry really was up there in the house. He was there, with his family, and he and everyone else up there was… dead! Those shadows weren’t cast by real, living flesh and blood people. They were the shadows of dead people!
A twisted, tortured moan began to build in Angie’s chest. She placed her foot on the pedal and leaned her weight forward, but her foot slipped, and her shin scraped roughly against the pedal. But the pain was overshadowed by a panic that flared up within her like a fire urged on by a dousing with gasoline. With a worried glance over her shoulder at Lisa, she started pedaling, and was soon sailing down the street with the wind streaming her hair back.
The tires of her borrowed bicycle hissed on the asphalt as her legs pumped furiously. Even when Lisa called out to her from behind, Angie didn’t bother to look back. She was suddenly very certain that the same men who had been out at the abandoned barn now were in the woods all around them, and if she didn’t get back to Mrs. Appleby’s immediately, something awful was going to happen!
What would it be? she wondered frantically. What would happen? Larry wasn’t up there! He couldn’t be! She watched him get buried just that morning.
Her legs pumped the bicycle even faster, fueled by a raging fear that even now those men were in the fringes of the woods, watching her ride by at full tilt. You’ll be dead, a small voice, like the wind, whispered in her ear. You’ll be dead just like Larry if those men find you!
“Angie!… Angie! Wait up!” a voice called out from behind. In her panic, it took several seconds for it to register that Lisa was calling her. All day Lisa had struggled valiantly with the rattling frame, the rusted chain, and the slick tires of her old bike. Lisa pumped her legs as hard as she could, but she couldn’t keep up with Angie, flying like the wind.
“Come on, Angie!… Wait up!” Lisa shouted, her voice a thin, warbling echo from the gathering darkness. “That’s not fair!”
Her friend’s complaint did, finally, cut through to her, and as Angie neared the corner of Ridge Road and Main Street, she stopped pedaling and, gently squeezing the hand brakes, coasted into the parking lot of Grace Baptist.
I’ll be safe near a church, she thought as she glided in a wide circle. She came to a stop in the shadow of the steeple.
“Angie!” Lisa shouted as she came speeding down the street. “I’m gonna tell your father!” She had her head bent down, and was grimacing as she pumped on the pedals. Even from a distance, Lisa could see the strain registered on Angie’s face.
Angie swung around again in a wide arc, thinking Lisa had seen her; but when she glanced back over her shoulder, all she saw was Lisa’s back, hunched over the low handlebars of her bike. Her rapidly moving legs were a blur as she rounded the corner onto Main Street.
Angie realized Lisa either hadn’t seen her or, more likely, had seen her and was giving her a taste of her own medicine. With one quick, worried look up at the white steeple pointing at the oncoming night sky, Angie pushed off again, confident she could easily catch up with her friend.
They raced down Main Street, the gap between them rapidly closing. Storefronts and houses whizzed past them. The town’s street lights had come on, but Angie took small comfort in their small pools of light. On the stretches between telephone poles, she felt vulnerable, wondering who or what might be lurking there in the darkness, just out of sight:… those men from the barn?… or maybe Larry and his dead family?
“Hey!” she gasped as she came up quickly behind Lisa. “Why don’t you wait up yourself?”
As soon as she spoke, Angie saw the front tire of Lisa’s bike wobble. Her friend turned around with a wide-eyed, frantic expression that silently asked: where the hell did you come from? Angie was still looking ahead, so she saw the danger first. It was only after Lisa’s front tire started scraping along the curb that she sensed trouble as well.
What happened next happened so fast, it seemed to be over before it began. Lisa’s bicycle crashed into the curb at an angle which, at that speed, spelled big tro
uble. There was a loud screech as Lisa stepped back on the pedals, futilely applying the brakes. But the brakes were old and rusty, and they slipped. The impact tore the handlebars from her hands, and with a scream of fright, Lisa flew head first up and over the handlebars.
Angie squeezed both hand brakes when she saw Lisa’s bike fly, “ass-over-tea kettle,” as her grandfather used to say. She saw Lisa flip up into the air, her toes pointing skyward before she plummeted downward. If Lisa had had just a bit more space to fall through, she might have been okay. As it was, her forehead came down onto the sidewalk with a resounding crack, and the momentum carried her in an awkward, twisting flip. Her legs and back tumbled over and hit the sidewalk hard.
Angie was nearly blind with panic as she stopped the bike and let it fall to the ground. She ran over to her friend, positive that Lisa was dead; and with a horrifying jolt, realized that she was the one who had made it happen!
“Oh, God! Oh, Jesus!” she wailed as she ran up to where Lisa lay, face up on the sidewalk, her legs splayed awkwardly. A passing car had seen the accident but had not stopped.
Tears streaked Angie’s face as she knelt down beside Lisa, her hands fluttering wildly in the air, frantic for something to do. There was a street light nearby, and in its yellowish glow, Angie could see a small, dark pool of red.
Blood! her mind screamed. I’ve killed her! Oh my God, I killed her!
She was so lost in a whirlwind of panic, she only vaguely noticed a stirring on the ground in front of her. What brought her to was a low, bubbly moan from her friend as she opened her eyes and tried to sit up. Finally, with a near-superhuman effort, she did sit up.
“What the hell happened?” Lisa said. She had her head bowed and was shaking it slowly from side to side. Pinwheels of light cut like meteors across her vision, and there was a ringing sound in her left ear that modulated wildly up and down the scale.
“You’re not dead!” Angie shouted, unable to believe what she was seeing. For a panicky moment, she was filled by the blinding fear that Lisa was dead, she just didn’t know it yet.
Lisa gradually straightened up, moving stiffly and trying each limb, one by one, to make sure everything was still working. Thick ribbons of blood were gushing from Lisa’s forehead, painting her face with wide, dark red stripes.
“You’ve cut yourself,” Angie managed to say, as soon as the initial shock started to fade. “It looks pretty bad.”
Frowning, Lisa put her hand up tentatively to her forehead, and when her fingers came away sticky with blood, her eyes rolled up to the back of her head, and she fainted. Luckily, Angie caught her before her head hit the sidewalk a second time. It was just then that a passing motorist saw the girls and stopped to help. All Angie could think was, Thank God for good Samaritans!
II
Dale and Donna felt as though they had lucked out in at least one regard: when they got to the police station, Winfield’s shift had already ended, but he was still at his desk, shooting the breeze with one of the other policemen.
“Have you got a minute?” Dale asked, interrupting a roaring gale of laughter inside the office.
Winfield, still shaking with laughter, looked up. His expression immediately sobered when he saw Dale in the doorway.
“Uh, yeah, sure,” he said, getting up from his desk and coming over to the door. The other policeman nodded to Dale and Donna, then exited without another word.
“We’re not bothering you, are we?” Dale asked as he stepped aside for Donna. They entered the office and Dale shut the door behind him. They sat down in the chairs next to the desk.
“No, not at all,” Winfield said, as he sat back down at his desk. “Ernie, there, was just telling me a joke he heard. What can I do for you? Is this an official visit?”
Dale nodded. “Yeah, sort of.” His hand went to his jacket pocket, where his fingers glided over the microcassette. Right after visiting Winfield, they planned to go buy some fresh batteries so they could play the tape.
“Well, I see you two have hit it off,” Winfield said, still chuckling. “You’re not here to ask me to give the bride away, are you?”
Donna flushed, and Dale cleared his throat. Winfield coughed with embarrassment and started twiddling with the pen on his desk.
“Oh, and by the way,” Winfield said, “I haven’t had a chance yet to go out to your folks’ house and have a look around. I’m off-duty now but I could swing by before heading home.”
Donna shrugged. With all the excitement out by Casey’s Corner, she had forgotten all about the suspected problem out at her old home.
“I guess it could wait ’till tomorrow,” she said.
Winfield nodded. “I may take a spin by tonight, anyway. So, what can I do for you?”
“Actually, we’ve got a complaint and a question for you,” Dale said. “We had a little run-in with someone out on Route 2-A.”
“What do you mean, a run-in?” Winfield asked. His voice suddenly tensed, and he sat forward in his chair. The grip he had on his pen tightened.
Dale quickly told Winfield what they had done after Larry’s funeral, how they had gone out to Casey’s Corner and then been chased by someone. Winfield listened attentively. It looked like he was taking notes, but in actuality he was merely doodling as he listened.
“You never got a good look at the car though, huh?” he said when Dale was finished.
Dale shook his head. “No, but it was big and bulky.”
“What I could see of it,” Donna added, “it looked like it might be a black, or dark blue, limousine. The headlights were wide apart, and when we first saw it, it wasn’t quite night, but the car was a dark color, real dark.”
Winfield leaned back in his chair, scratching underneath his chin as he looked up at the ceiling. “And you think this someone in a black limousine was out there to stop you from looking around at the crash site?”
“Have you got a better explanation?” Dale asked sharply. He hadn’t mentioned finding Larry’s dictating recorder yet; he wanted to listen to it first, before Winfield or anyone else heard what was on the tape.
Winfield shrugged. “No. Not really.” His eyebrows were furrowed, casting his eyes into shadow as he pondered.
“So,” Dale said after the silence had grown uncomfortably long. “Who do you know around town here who drives a black limo?”
Winfield opened his mouth, about to say something, then clamped his lips shut and sat back. He sighed shallowly, shook his head, and brought the back of his hand to his mouth.
“I, ummm,” he hesitated. Winfield fell silent for a moment before continuing. “The only person I know is someone you know, too,” he said at last. When he saw Dale react, he quickly leaned forward, tapping his forefinger on his desk. “I don’t want you to go jumping to any premature conclusions, now,” Winfield said, his voice harsh, commanding.
“Rodgers,” Dale concluded. There was a note of conviction in his voice that told Winfield he had already suspected it was Rodgers, and that he had just been waiting for confirmation.
“Well, it’s pretty thin ice, if you ask me,” Winfield said. “We’re talking about very flimsy circumstantial evidence.”
“That car, no matter who owns it, almost ran us off the damned road!” Donna said. In her voice, there was still an echo of the stark fear she had felt.
“But I can’t very well go arresting someone just because you think it was a dark limousine, now, can I?” Winfield said. He was thinking, if it had just been Dale Harmon alone, he might have been less likely even to listen; but he had known Donna her whole life, and he liked and respected her. If she confirmed it, that put a whole new light on the matter!
“Is there anyone else in town who you might think would do something like this?” Dale asked intensely.
“I’m not saying there is or there isn’t,” Winfield replied. “Granted, I may not be Rodgers’ biggest fan in town, but I certainly don’t intend to go over to his house and ask him where he was this afternoon. Yo
u have no evidence.”
“Why?” Dale asked. “Why can’t you just question him?” He paused, and in the awkward silence that followed, quickly added, “You could probe a little deeper than you did yesterday.”
Winfield tossed both hands into the air. “Because I happen to know where Rodgers was the same time you say you were out on the road.”
“Oh?” Dale said. He couldn’t deny a wave of disappointment that Rodgers might somehow wriggle off the hook.
Winfield was nodding his head with assurance. “Yes sir. There was a harvesting accident up on Bates Ridge this afternoon, and a fellow named Reginald Perry was taken into the hospital in Houlton. After he was treated for his injuries, he seemed to be doing all right, but sometime late this afternoon, he got a blood embolism and died. I think it was just around sunset that Franklin Rodgers drove to the Houlton hospital and picked up the body.”
III
Mrs. Appleby nearly fainted when she saw Lisa, Angie, and a woman she didn’t immediately recognize coming up the walkway to the house. The blood on Lisa’s face had dried to thin, brick-red flakes, but she still looked more dead than alive.
“You have to keep in mind that head wounds look a lot worse than they really are,” said Joyce Carter, the person who had been driving by and had stopped to help. “There are a lot of blood vessels in the scalp, so there’s going to be a lot of bleeding.”
Mrs. Appleby thanked her profusely for helping the girls get back home. When she left, Angie left with her to unload the bicycles from her trunk, where they had stuffed them for the short drive up Main Street. The night was cool, almost downright cold. Overhead, the stars glittered with a sharpness Angie had never seen before, and directly over the house, the rippling glow of the Northern Lights swung like heavy curtains. She felt cold and alone and miserable as she wheeled the bikes up to the garage one at a time. She wished her father was around so she could talk to him, but lately, since Larry died, she had found him distant. She thought it was because he was spending so much time with the woman he had met, Donna LaPierre.
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