I started sobbing harder. Not Adam! Oh, please! Not Adam!
The next thing I knew, Ms. Skelling was dragging Adam’s body past my pen. I tried not to look. I heard the door to the house open, and she dragged his body inside. I was still sobbing, for Adam, and out of shock and fear and confusion by what Tyler had done.
I heard the sound of wood creaking and looked out. Tyler was squatting outside his doghouse, trying to work a slat from the bottom. He must have been trying to loosen it by kicking from the inside. He noticed me.
“Sorry about that,” he whispered, wedging his fingers behind the loose slat. “I had to divert her attention before she noticed.”
It still seemed like a terrible thing to do, but at least I understood. Tyler pulled harder at the slat and it made a creaking sound.
“She’ll hear you,” I whispered, using my sleeve to dab away the tears.
“So? Better this than just wait here to die. There’s no way she’s just going to leave us behind.”
“How do you know?”
“Because they’re called serial killers, not serial leave-victims-behind-to-help-testify-against-them. Keep an eye on the door.”
Even though my neck still throbbed from the shock, and I was still angry at him, I knew he was right. Tyler managed to work the slat away from the doghouse. It was just narrow enough to fit through the fence around his pen, and long enough to reach to the front of my pen. I couldn’t see what he was doing, but I could hear squeaks and clinks as he tried to undo the latch.
The doorknob started to turn.
“She’s coming!” I whispered.
Tyler had just enough time to pull the slat back through the fence and press it against the doghouse. Before he could crawl back inside, Ms. Skelling was there, eyes narrowed suspiciously. “You’re up to something.” She reached for her belt.
“Ahhhh!” Tyler twisted into an uncontrollable spasm that left him sprawled on the floor of the pen. I could tell from the sound of the shock that it had been much stronger than the one she had given me.
“That should do it.”
“Indeed it should.”
“We’ll have no more trouble from that one.” She went back into the house. Tyler lay on the ground, his chest heaving.
“Are you okay?” I whispered.
“Holy crap …” He groaned hoarsely and tried to sit up. The side of his face was covered with filth from the pen. Suddenly he went pale, leaned to the side, and threw up. “Fricken sadist.” He wiped his mouth with his sleeve, his hand on his neck where she’d shocked him. But a moment later he picked up the slat again and stuck it through the fencing toward the latch on my pen.
I kept my eyes on the door, but now and then glanced at Tyler. His skin was ashen. Despite risking an even more devastating shock next time, he was totally focused on what he was doing.
Clink! The sound that came from the latch on my pen was loud and metallic. Even as Tyler pulled the slat back through the fencing, the door to the house was swinging open. Tyler barely had time to press the slat against the bottom of the doghouse before Ms. Skelling was there, her hand already reaching for her belt.
Zap! Tyler let out a shriek and convulsed on the ground. Meanwhile, Ms. Skelling studied his pen intently, as if searching for a clue as to what he’d been doing. Finding nothing, she finally turned and went back inside.
Tyler lay on the floor of the pen, his chest rising and falling in rapid, short breaths. A burnt scent reached my nose and I recoiled at the realization that it was the smell of scorched flesh. She’d shocked him so hard the skin had burned.
I also realized how Ms. Skelling had come out so quickly. She’d been waiting and listening on the other side of the kitchen door. That chatter about having no more trouble from that one had been a ploy, a setup to try and catch Tyler red-handed.
I waited, not sure what to do. Because of the loud clinking sound, and the way Tyler had started to pull back the slat even before Skelling raced out of the house, I had a feeling the latch on the door of my pen was open. But now what? Did I dare try it and risk making a sound that might bring Ms. Skelling out again? What else could I do? Just sit there and wait for her to kill us all? Still I waited, praying Tyler would come to.
It seemed like Tyler lay on the cold, wet ground for a long time, but maybe it only felt long because of how frightened I was. I kept looking back at the door to the house. Was Ms. Skelling on the other side, still listening? Even if she wasn’t, how long would it be before she came back? In his pen, Tyler’s hands slowly closed into fists. He struggled to push himself up on his elbows, then seemed to lose strength, and collapsed again.
Please get up, Tyler, I prayed. Please!
As if he heard me, he once again struggled to his elbows. The effort seemed to exhaust him, and he stayed like that for a while. Then he slowly sat up and looked at me. His eyes were glassy and dull. His dirty cheeks were streaked with tears, and blood dripped from the corner of his mouth.
“You’re bleeding,” I whispered.
His forehead bunched. He pressed the back of his hand against his mouth and it came away red. “Bit my tongue pretty bad.” His words were garbled, as if he’d just come from having a tooth filled at the dentist.
“Now what?” I whispered.
Tyler blinked rapidly as if he needed a moment to remember where he was. His eyes focused. “Go get help.”
Just get up, push open the gate, and run? It was questionable whether I’d be able to get away without Ms. Skelling seeing me. And even if I did, by the time I got to my car, found someplace where I could call for help, and waited for help to come, she was sure to have noticed I was gone. And then she would kill Courtney, Tyler, and Ethan—if he wasn’t already dead—and quickly take off.
Tyler stared at me and again urged, “Go!”
Trembling with fear, I shook my head. I didn’t want to go. I didn’t want to die, but I wasn’t sure I could live with myself if I ran away.
“What are you doing?” Tyler whispered. He must have been incredibly frustrated that I wasn’t going for help after he’d suffered so much pain to win my freedom.
“I don’t know,” I whispered back, my eyes filling with tears of fright. “I don’t want to go. She’ll catch me. And even if I get away, she’ll kill you and Courtney and Ethan.”
“What good is staying going to do?” Tyler asked.
“I don’t know.” I was racked with confusion and fear.
“You can’t fight her,” Tyler said. “The second she sees you, she’ll zap you.” But even as the words came out of his mouth, his eyes changed as if he’d just thought of something. “Why didn’t I think of this sooner?” he muttered and pointed at my doghouse. “Tear off a piece of shingle. A thick piece, about an inch square. Slide it between your neck and the prongs. Then cover it with your hair.”
I did as I was told. The shingles were old and crumbly. It was easy to tear off a corner. “Now what?” I whispered.
There wasn’t time for Tyler to answer. The door opened and Ms. Skelling came out again. She saw us facing each other in our pens and must have instantly suspected we were hatching a plan. She reached for her belt and Tyler cried out and was sent sprawling. Then she turned to me.
The pressure of the jolt was like someone slapping me on the neck with a ruler but nothing more. Still, I let out a yelp and sprawled on the ground as if the shock had hit me full force. The piece of shingle felt hot against my neck. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched Ms. Skelling continue down the pens and open Ethan’s.
I looked across at Tyler. His face lay against the dirt, eyes closed, blood dribbling out of his mouth. I had to do something, but what? I looked back at the house. The shovel and hayfork were leaning against the wall.
I heard a grunt. Ms. Skelling was backing out of Ethan’s pen with her arms under his shoulders, dragging him. My heart was racing, my forehead felt tight and hot, and my breaths were so shallow and fast that I felt light-headed. I don’t think I ever felt so sc
ared. But what was the point of waiting? I opened my pen gate as quietly as possible, then rushed toward the house.
The wooden handle of the hayfork felt heavy and cold in my trembling hands. I turned and went back into the kennel. Still dragging Ethan, Ms. Skelling had her back to me. I stopped and waited, holding the hayfork out in front of me. As Ms. Skelling dragged Ethan past my pen, she saw the open gate and stopped. She twisted her head around.
She stared at me with the slightest scowl, as if wondering how I’d managed to escape. My heart was banging out of control, and I was trembling. I’m sure she saw that. Her scowl slowly became an evil, knowing smile. She let Ethan drop to the ground, and reached for her belt.
I felt a light jolt at my neck and the shingle grew hot. Ms. Skelling frowned deeply and pressed the button again. Another jolt and the shingle grew so hot it practically burned my skin, but I knew I couldn’t take it away. Ms. Skelling sneered and reached for the pipe.
I was no longer trembling. Now I was shaking, almost uncontrollably. I felt the urge to cry for help. That’s what I’d been able to do all my life, and someone—my mother, my father, a friend—had always come. But what good would crying for help do now? I wanted to drop the hayfork and run, but I knew I wouldn’t get far. And that left only one choice. I had one chance, and that was to stand and fight. It wasn’t much of a chance. I’d managed, my whole life, to avoid fighting. But now this hayfork was all I had. It was all that stood between me and certain death.
Ms. Skelling came toward me. She was bigger and stronger, and she had no reluctance about using that pipe. There wasn’t a doubt in my mind that she was looking forward to using it in the most horrible ways imaginable. I gripped the handle of the hayfork. One more step, I thought, and you have to do it.
For Courtney, and Lucy, and Adam.
And all the others.
And for yourself.
She took that step. We locked eyes. Hers were wide but strangely blank, almost as if someone were operating her body by remote control.
I squeezed the handle of the hayfork and—
Just at that moment, Ms. Skelling fell.
I heard the thud and the grunt. Ms. Skelling was on her hands and knees just a few feet away. On the ground just behind her was the slat from Tyler’s doghouse.
He’d used it to trip her. Still sprawled on the ground, he looked up at me, his face contorted with pain and covered with dirt and blood.
Ms. Skelling also looked up at me. The pipe had flown from her hand and lay on the ground between us.
“Madison, do it!” Tyler rasped.
Shaking, more terrified than I’d ever been in my entire life, I took a step forward, gesturing threateningly with the hayfork. The sharp prongs were less than a foot from Ms. Skelling’s face. But it felt like an empty, feeble gesture. It was one thing to defend myself if she were attacking, but now her weapon was gone and she was on her hands and knees.…
“For God’s sake!” Tyler pleaded.
Ms. Skelling looked up at me, her eyes no longer blank. Now they were filled with reason and sincerity. “Don’t listen to him, Madison. You don’t have to do it. I’ll let you and your friends go. Just give me a few hours to get away. You can give Courtney water. Just promise me you’ll give me a few hours. You’re a good girl, Madison. I know you’d never break a promise.”
She was lying, and we both knew it. She wasn’t about to let me go.
“I swear to you,” Ms. Skelling said. “You have my word. Let me go and nothing bad will happen to any of you.”
I glanced at Tyler. He lay on the floor of the pen, his eyes filled with terror and his mouth open, either too exhausted or in too much pain to speak. I looked back at Ms. Skelling and said, “You’re not going anywhere. I want you to give yourself up. We’re going to find a phone and call the police.”
Ms. Skelling hesitated, then said, “All right.”
“I want you to get up … very slowly.”
Ms. Skelling stared up at me. Hands still on the ground, she started to rise, pulling her feet under her. Suddenly her hand darted toward the pipe.
I jabbed the hayfork forward, stopping just inches from her face.
“I won’t!” she gasped, jerking her hand back. “I’m sorry. Really! I can’t always control it. If I could, I wouldn’t be this way in the first place.”
Still trembling—from the cold, the fear, the terrible thought of what I might have to do—I held the hayfork level with her eyes. Crouched on the ground, Ms. Skelling stared up at me, a puzzled, almost curious expression on her face, as if she didn’t understand why I didn’t just do it.
She slowly started to rise. “You don’t want to do it, do you? You don’t want to hurt me. You’ve never wanted to hurt anyone. That’s why everyone likes you so much, Madison. It’s why I like you, too. It’s why you were never one of the ones we singled out. It’s why I won’t hurt you now. I swear you can trust me, Madison. I know what we’ve done is terrible and evil. I know we’re sick. Horribly sick.”
She was standing now. I held the hayfork, aimed at her stomach. Ms. Skelling’s right hand began to slowly move toward the tines of the hayfork and gently but firmly pushed them aside. “You see?” she said calmly. “We’re not going to hurt you. And we’re not going to hurt your friends.” She placed her hand on the handle of the hayfork. “You can let go, Madison. It’s all right.”
I felt her take hold of the hayfork handle, could feel her start to ease it away from me. I didn’t want to kill her. I wanted her to give herself up.
Don’t let her …, a voice in my head said. I saw Lucy, Adam, and Courtney. My mother and father. They all knew. It was their voices I heard. My hands tightened on the handle.
Ms. Skelling felt the resistance. Her eyes narrowed and suddenly she pulled hard, trying to yank the hayfork out of my grip. But I didn’t let go.
It was a tug-of war-now, with Ms. Skelling holding the hayfork handle near the tine end, and me on the other end. Ms. Skelling yanked. “Let go!”
But I held on. For dear life.
“I said, let go!” Ms. Skelling yanked again.
“You have to give yourself up,” I said, still holding tight.
“Yeah, right,” she scoffed.
“I mean it!”
“You couldn’t hurt a fly, you wimp!” Ms. Skelling snarled and pulled hard on the hayfork.
This time I didn’t resist. I jabbed the hayfork as hard as I could.
Ms. Skelling stumbled backward and slammed into one of the pens.
The hayfork kept going.…
Ms. Skelling’s eyes widened and her mouth fell open. She stared down at the hayfork buried deep in her middle, at the red stains growing around the tines. Then she looked up at me.
“You … little … bitch.”
“Damn right,” I said.
chapter 22
I CALLED 911, then brought water out for Courtney. Ethan was still unconscious on the kennel floor, but his heart was beating. When the police arrived, I was sitting with Tyler’s head in my lap, just holding him.
The police would eventually establish that Joyce Carol Alberti—age 47, aka Mary Louise Smith, Rhonda Petersen, Carol Skelling, and IaMnEmEsIs—was responsible for at least seven deaths in five states. All the victims were considered popular kids and all lived in “nice, safe, well-to-do” suburbs like Soundview, the last places on earth where anyone imagined something like that happening.
But it indeed happened, and more sadness would follow. Lucy’s funeral was held three days later. Adam’s, two days after that. School closed and everyone went and cried for days afterward. Even today it’s still indescribably sad. Life in Soundview will never be the same.
The blow to Ethan’s skull caused some slight brain damage. His parents took him back to Shawnee Mission, and he’s getting all kinds of treatments and therapy. We send each other a Facebook message now and then, and he tells me he’s getting better.
Courtney recovered completely. Her mother came back from
India. They fight a lot about her curfew.
Maura hasn’t come back to school, and I’ve heard she’s moving away. I sent her a message saying that it wasn’t her fault and nobody blames her. But she didn’t write back.
At low tide, the seagulls picked up clams and dropped them on the seawall behind my house. It was a cold, clear December afternoon, and I sat on a bench in our backyard, watching the gulls and enjoying the warmth of the sun on my face.
Suddenly I felt the presence of someone behind me.
Tensing, I swiveled around.
It was Tyler. The momentary fright drained out of me, and I smiled.
“Your mom said I’d find you back here,” he said.
I patted the bench beside me and he sat down, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. For a few moments we watched a gull peck at a clam in a broken shell.
“I always think seagulls have to be pretty smart to break open clams by dropping them,” I finally said.
“Not as smart as the ones in Kansas City,” said Tyler.
“Why’s that?”
“In KC they just hang around in the parking lot at McDonald’s.”
I glanced out of the corner of my eye at him. “Are there really seagulls in Kansas City?”
“I can let you know, if you’d like.”
I felt my heart sink. He’d come to say good-bye. He was going home. “What about finishing high school?”
“I graduated two years ago, Madison.”
Yes, I thought sadly. I should have guessed. “I always thought you seemed more mature than other guys. Didn’t your parents wonder where you were?”
“I told them I was living in the city, staying with friends and working as a bartender. That’s the funny thing about cell phones. People never really know where you are.”
A gull dropped another clam. We watched the small white dot drop against the blue sky background and shatter on the wall. “Bull’s-eye,” Tyler said.
“I have another question,” I said. “If Ms. Skelling taught at your school, didn’t you know her?”
He shook his head. “She must have started there the year after I graduated. I guess you’ve probably figured out by now that I’m not the kind of guy who’d go back to visit.”
Wish You Were Dead Page 18
