by R. L. Stine
Contents
Prologue
Part One
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Part Two
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Prologue
Reva Dalby admired her reflection in the glass countertop. Only two weeks till Christmas, she thought, smoothing the eye shadow on her left eyelid with her little finger, then adjusting her wavy red hair.
Shoppers crowded the aisles of the brightly lit department store. The Christmas carols jangling out over the loudspeakers were nearly drowned out by the steady roar of voices, of shuffling feet, of ringing phones, crying babies, the whole electric buzz and whir of all large department stores at holiday time.
Reva leaned against the glass perfume counter, ignoring the blur of customers, her purple nails clicking against the glass, a nervous habit she rather enjoyed. She glanced up at the clock. Another hour until lunchtime, when she could escape from her narrow, noisy prison cell.
What am I doing here, anyway? Reva asked herself, tapping her long nails more rapidly against the glass. Why did I ever agree to take this job?
Her cold blue eyes focused on the makeup counter across the aisle, where two salesgirls, blond model types, had scurried to wait on a dumpy woman in a stained, purple sweater-coat, carrying two brown shopping bags.
How tacky, Reva thought scornfully. That woman is beyond makeup. She should go straight to plastic surgery.
And look at the bleach job on the one over there. Or is her hair naturally green?
Reva snickered. Making fun of the customers was the only thing that got her through the day. They were all so pitiful. They just didn’t have a clue.
She glanced up at the clock. It hadn’t moved. I could be out enjoying my Saturday, Reva thought. She rubbed the back of her neck, then pushed her hair into place.
Why do they have to keep it two hundred degrees in here? she wondered, shaking her head. She felt as if she were suffocating. I’m going to talk to Daddy about turning down the heat, she decided.
What was that awful song on the loudspeakers? Not “The Little Drummer Boy” again! Someone should pass a law against playing that song in a public place, Reva thought, covering her ears.
She was startled by a tap on her shoulder. She spun around to see Arlene Smith, or Ms. Smith as she liked to be called, the sales manager for the perfume department and Reva’s boss. She was a short, frail woman who thought she was chic and trendy because she wore men’s suits.
Yuck. Those tacky shoulder pads! thought Reva. Is she going to try out for fullback for the Bears?
“Reva, do you have an earache?” Ms. Smith asked, her face wrinkled with concern.
Reva lowered her hands from her ears. “No. It’s that song,” she explained. “If you hear it once, it stays in your head all day and rots your brain.”
“Well, I really don’t think—” Ms. Smith started to scold.
But Reva interrupted her. “It’s the rum-tum-tums,” she said. “I mean, really, how many rum-tum-tums can a human take in one song?”
Ms. Smith ignored the question. “Reva, I’ll take the floor for a while. The Chanel reorder just came in. It’s all in the back. In the cases marked Chanel. I’d like you to open them up and stock the display shelves, okay?”
“Gee, I can’t,” Reva said, not sounding at all apologetic. “I just did my nails this morning.” She stared hard into her supervisor’s eyes, as if challenging her.
“What?” Ms. Smith’s small gray eyes widened with confusion. She didn’t seem to believe what she had just heard.
“I don’t want to wreck my nails,” Reva repeated, holding up her slender hands, wiggling her fingers to exhibit the deep magenta nails. “Sorry.”
Ms. Smith’s expression turned quickly to anger. She sucked in her breath and drew herself up to her not-very-impressive height, glaring at Reva, obviously trying to decide how to handle this insubordination.
Gee, I hope she doesn’t explode, Reva thought, forcing herself not to laugh. Her shoulder pads might fly off and hit someone.
“Reva, I’m not going to take this much longer,” Ms. Smith said, her hands balled into tight fists at her sides, her voice quivering.
Just two more weeks, Reva thought. Then I’ll be out of here.
She didn’t say anything.
This seemed to make Ms. Smith even angrier. “I really want you to unload those cases and stock the shelves,” she said, saying each word slowly and distinctly.
“Maybe later.” Reva gave her a big phony smile.
“This is really the last straw!” Ms. Smith declared. She glared at Reva, then spun around on her men’s wingtips and stormed down the aisle, heading toward the main-floor office.
Reva leaned against the counter and watched her until she disappeared in a crowd of customers. What’s her problem, anyway? she asked herself.
My dad owns this store. He owns all of the Dalby’s stores. Why should I listen to a stupid salesclerk with shoulder pads bigger than her head?
A scene across the aisle caught Reva’s attention. A woman was leaning over the makeup counter while a five- or six-year-old boy tugged at her skirt. “Mom, Mom, Mom,” he kept repeating, an impatient plea. Then he tugged so hard, he tugged her skirt down to her knees. The woman calmly turned around, pulled up her skirt, and gently paddled the boy across the bottom.
Kids are a riot, Reva thought, chuckling.
“Hey, miss? Miss?” Out of the corner of her eye, Reva saw a middle-aged man in a heavy brown tweed overcoat trying to get her attention.
She carefully turned the other way, avoiding his eyes.
“Hey, miss? Miss? Please?”
Let someone else wait on him. Where was Lucy anyway? She was supposed to be back from break.
The man wandered off. Reva took out her lipstick from the drawer, pulled off the top, and twisted the tube. She turned the round countertop mirror so that she could see herself better, leaned toward it, puckered her full lips into a pout, and began spreading the magenta lipstick on them.
It took a second for the pain to register.
Then she let out a horrified shriek and dropped the lipstick.
Gasping in pain and surprise, she stared into the small mirror and saw blood pouring down her chin.
Her lips throbbed with pain.
She stood frozen in horror. So much blood! Frantically she grabbed up tissues, mopping gently at her lips.
I’m cut. I’m cut.
I can’t stop the bleeding.
What has happened here?
Pressing a wad of tissues against her mouth, she saw large drips of blood on the glass countertop.
Breathing hard, she bent down and searched the floor for the lipstick tube. It had rolled under the counter. She snatched at it and brought it up to the light to examine it.
Trying to hold the tube steady in her trembling hand, Reva saw at once what had cut her.
A needle. It poked out from the center of the tube.
I’ve used this lipstick before, Reva thought, feeling the warm blood still running down her chin
. And it was perfectly okay.
Somebody put that needle in her lipstick.
But who? Who would do such a vicious thing to her?
PART ONE
ANGRY DAYS
Chapter 1
BROKEN UP
Two Weeks Earlier
Without warning Reva pulled the Volvo over to the curb and cut the headlights. She turned quickly toward the passenger side and watched Hank’s face fill with surprise.
“Hey—” His brown eyes narrowed suspiciously. “What’s the big idea?”
She studied his face as if seeing him for the first time. His hair was blond, short, and spiky. He had large, dark eyes, serious eyes. He wore a diamond stud in one ear. He had a thick football player’s neck. He was big, broad-chested, with powerful arms.
Hank thinks he’s tough, Reva thought.
I hope for his sake that he is.
She’d been going out with Hank Davis for more than six months, but studying him now, he seemed a stranger to her.
He’s not my type at all, she thought. He’s so crude, so coarse. Why did I waste so much time going out with him?
“Reva, how come you parked the car?” he asked.
I guess he was just a phase I was going through, Reva thought.
Or rather, a phase I went through.
She gripped the wheel with both hands and stretched. She had parked under a streetlight, the yellow light filling the windshield, making Hank’s hair appear white, his skin unnaturally pale.
Beyond the streetlight she could see only bare-limbed trees, bending and shifting in a swift, wintry breeze. She must have pulled over near a small park or some woods. She wasn’t sure where she was.
It didn’t really matter.
“We have to talk,” she said, keeping her voice low and steady, staring straight into his eyes. It sounded so cornball. This whole thing was cornball, Reva thought.
She decided to play it out for its amusement value.
“Talk? What about?” he asked, rubbing his face with his hand.
“Us,” she said, making her voice dramatic, trying to sound as if she were struggling to hold back a flood of emotion.
For some reason he grinned at her. “I like that topic,” he said, leaning toward her, reaching for her hand.
But she kept her hand wrapped hard around the steering wheel. Her features tightened, and she fixed him with a cold stare. “I’ve decided you and I are through,” she said.
Mercilessly she kept her eyes on his features. She wanted to enjoy his reaction.
A shock wave of surprise contorted his face. His eyes went wide. His mouth dropped open. “Huh?”
I guess I surprised him, Reva thought, feeling pleased. I just hope he doesn’t make a big deal out of this.
Suddenly apprehensive, she felt the same sense of danger that had attracted her to Hank in the first place. He was a nice guy most of the time, she had to admit—warm, caring, kind of innocent in a way. But she liked the angry side of him too. Once, he’d punched his fist through a screen door because she refused to go to a dumb Arnold Schwarzenegger movie with him.
She had surprised herself by discovering how much she enjoyed watching him explode. Opposites attract, they say, and Hank was certainly her opposite. She was always so calm, so controlled, so thoughtful about everything she did or said.
At times she admired his spontaneity, the way he just acted without thinking. But more and more often lately, she found herself secretly laughing at him. He was just such a Neanderthal.
“Hey—what are you talking about?” Hank asked, rubbing the shoulder of her coat. “You mad at me or something?”
“I wish you’d stop pawing me,” Reva snapped.
“No, I’m not mad at you or something. We’ve just had it. It’s over.”
He pulled his hand away and shifted his long legs uncomfortably. “What are you talking about?” She could see the anger smoldering in his dark eyes.
Maybe I should have done this in a more public place, Reva thought, glancing out at the dark trees. Not a single car had come by the whole time.
What if Hank decides to get violent?
“Let’s not make a big deal out of this,” she told him, rolling her eyes.
“But it is a big deal—to me,” he insisted, a little embarrassed at having to reveal so much emotion.
Reva yawned. “It’s nothing personal,” she said, glancing at the clock on the dashboard: 8:06.
I’ve got to get this over with, she told herself. I promised Daddy I’d pick him up at the store at eight.
Daddy will be pleased that I’m breaking up with Hank, she thought. He never could understand why I went out with him in the first place.
“But why?” Hank was pleading. “At least tell me why.”
Honey, you’re too big to whine like that, Reva thought cruelly. I like you so much better when you’re macho and tough.
“Hank, please—” she started, acting as if she were the injured party. “Give me a break—okay?”
“But why do you want to break up with me?” he insisted, his voice shaking as he started to lose control.
“I just decided to start the new year with someone more interesting.”
What a zinger! Reva thought.
She’d been rehearsing that line all afternoon. At the last minute she had decided it was much too cruel. But—she couldn’t resist.
Hank dropped back against the seat as if he’d been shot. “Whoa!” he said sadly. Then unexpectedly he lunged toward her and grabbed her shoulder angrily. “Reva, don’t—”
Was he going to hurt her?
Was he going to fly out of control? Let her have it the way he gave it to the screen door?
She decided to beat him at his own game. “Let go of me!” she screamed at the top of her lungs.
Her outcry worked. Startled, he let go.
“You’ll be sorry about this, Reva,” he said, his voice trembling. He turned and stared straight ahead, unable to look at her, unwilling to let her see the emotion on his face.
Oh, brother! Reva groaned to herself. If he starts to cry, I’ll puke.
“You’ll be sorry,” he repeated, still peering out through the dark windshield.
She popped the automatic door locks.
This wasn’t as much fun as I thought it would be, Reva thought, brushing back her hair. I thought he’d at least come back at me with some arguments. I didn’t think he’d sit there sniffling like a wimp and threatening me in that whiny voice.
A surprising thought crept into her mind: Maybe he really cares about me. She dismissed it quickly.
Who cares?
What do I need him for?
“Reva, you can’t do this to me,” Hank said, facing her finally, his features tight with anger.
“I’ve got to run,” she said coldly. She reached across him, pulled the handle, and pushed his door open. “Take a walk, Hank.”
He hesitated, staring at her with his dark eyes, angry eyes. She could see that he was thinking hard, trying to decide what to do, what to say to her.
“You’ll be sorry,” he said.
“Take a walk,” she repeated cruelly, pressing her foot down impatiently on the gas pedal, gunning the engine.
He glared at her one last time, then slid out of the car and slammed the door behind him.
Reva switched on the headlights and shifted into Drive. She started to pull away, then stopped and slid down her window. “Oh, Hank! Hank!” she called to him.
His hands buried in the pockets of his leather bomber jacket, a grim expression on his face, he jogged slowly up to her door. “Yeah? What?”
“Happy holidays!” she said cheerfully. Then, laughing, she floored the gas pedal and roared away, leaving him standing in the street like a total fool.
A total fool!
The car hummed smoothly toward town, warm air billowing up from the heater vents. The trees gave way to brightly lit houses, many of them already decorated for Christmas.
Fe
eling relieved and very pleased at how it had gone, Reva relaxed, enjoying the feeling of freedom, of being by herself, of moving so smoothly, so effortlessly through the night.
I’m free, she thought. As free as the wind.
She scolded herself for having such cornball thoughts. But it was true, she realized. For the first time in six months she was free to go out with anyone. With everyone!
Who would she like to go out with?
She didn’t have to ponder the question for long. Mitch Castelona. She’d been thinking about Mitch for quite a while.
Mitch is really cute, she thought, picturing him. His thick mop of black hair. The adorable dimples in his cheeks when he smiled. Mitch was a good tennis player. Maybe she’d invite him to the indoor tennis club she belonged to.
Yes. Mitch Castelona. A good prospect.
I’ll bet I can take him away from that drippy Lissa Dewey, Reva thought with a smile.
She clicked on the radio and immediately recognized the song that came on. It was “Silent Night,” a lush instrumental version. Turning onto Division Street, stores and offices rolling by on both sides, Reva began to sing along.
Such a beautiful song, she thought.
Singing loudly, she tried to block out her thoughts about Hank, but couldn’t. He was having a silent night right then. He was walking all the way home in silence!
Thinking about it made her laugh again.
She was still chuckling when she reached Dalby’s and pulled the silver Volvo into the executive parking lot.
♦ ♦ ♦
The store had closed at six. Reva entered through the security guard’s door. The uniformed guard was seated at a low table with his feet up, concentrating on a basketball game on the radio. He raised his eyes and, recognizing her, gave her a nod and returned to his game.
Tough security around here, Reva thought scornfully, hurrying through the narrow back corridor toward the main floor. As she stepped into the vast, empty store, dark except for a row of dim night-lights against one wall, her old fear returned.
Just chill out! she scolded herself. You’re supposed to be tough.
But she couldn’t control the heaviness in her stomach, the tightening of her neck muscles, the constriction of her lungs.
