"Try the basement. She said something about cleaning out the furnace."
"Okay," Chip said. "Later."
Chip made his way back down the stairs, through the kitchen, and to the door that led to the basement. He didn't expect to find his mother there. Her car wasn't out front.
He opened the door and leaned down the basement stairs. "Mom?" he called down.
No answer.
"Mom?" he called again. She had probably gone to work at the doughnut shop.
Still, Chip decided to investigate further, and besides, he was curious what the basement looked like. They had forgotten to check it out before they had bought the house. A bad thing to forget, Chip realized, considering the history of the house.
Get a grip, he ordered himself. He wouldn't let some wild stories and a few nightmares freak him out.
Chip flicked on the light switch. A single naked lightbulb at the bottom of the stairs glimmered weakly, as if struggling for life, then suddenly went out with a loud pop.
Chip sprang back, startled, then felt foolish for being so jumpy. He made a mental note to buy more lightbulbs as he walked down the basement stairs.
The basement was dimly lit by the little bit of sunlight that found its way in through a grimy rectangular basement window. Most of Al's barbells and weight-lifting equipment had already landed in one corner. The other end of the basement was partitioned off by a wooden wall that had two doors built into it, side by side. Chip felt himself getting spooked again.
A bit of light shone from under one of the doors. Al had probably left it on by mistake the night before. It was probably the furnace room. He walked to the door and listened for any sound from the other side, but he heard nothing.
"Mom?" he called out, even though he knew his mother wasn't in there.
Chip put his hand on the doorknob and turned it slowly till he heard it click. He gave the door a soft push and stood still as the door swung gently away from him.
The door opened slowly, gradually revealing more and more of the room. At first Chip thought the walls were painted dark red. Strange choice of color for a basement, he thought.
It took just a little more light for Chip to realize that it wasn't red paint after all. It looked like a slaughterhouse. The walls of the basement were splashed from ceiling to floor with blood.
Chapter 15
It was a sight suggestive of such grisly brutality that Chip's stomach lurched, and he thought he would be sick.
He was glad he hadn't eaten breakfast yet.
The blood was dry. He didn't need to touch it to know that. But wouldn't the real estate people have handled something like this?
Maybe they couldn't face it.
He felt increasingly dizzy. He put a hand on the door frame to steady himself.
This must be where it had happened. But why all the blood? Hadn't the girls been burned in the furnace? Something pretty gruesome must have happened before their bodies had been stuffed into the flames.
Maybe Alicia would know.
Chip's dizziness grew worse, and he sat down in what could only be an old dentist's chair. This must be old Dr. Hawke's office, Chip realized. Straps hung down off either side of the chair. The examination chair, Chip thought to himself. But why would it need straps?
There were knobs and levers on the back of the chair. Chip pulled a lever and the back of the chair suddenly flopped down flat like an operating table. Maybe Hawke performed eye surgery in this chair, and the straps were to keep the patient from moving around.
Hardly the most sterile conditions he'd ever witnessed.
He yanked the lever in the opposite direction and the chair righted itself.
Chip thought he heard someone call his name. It was so soft, he couldn't know who it was.
"Down here!" he called back, leaving the chair. He flicked the light off on his way out and shut the door behind him. He'd let Al clean out that room.
As Chip crossed the dimly lit basement he saw a long, distorted shadow moving down the basement stairs. He looked up and saw a hooded figure three steps down.
Chip froze.
"Chip? Are you down there?"
It was Alicia's voice. Chip's mood suddenly improved a thousandfold, and he dashed up the stairs two at a time. At the top of the stairs Alicia was tugging her hood off and shaking out her mane of wild, auburn hair. He noticed that her white streak was gone.
"Hi," Alicia said cheerfully. "I thought I saw a light on down here."
"Hi," Chip said. For a moment he felt awkward, standing so close to her on the stairs, not quite sure how to act. Then without thinking about it he ran his fingers gently through her hair where the white streak had been. Her hair felt like silk and smelled lemony fresh. "What happened to your streak?"
"Oh," Alicia said shyly. "I dyed it this morning."
Chip wanted to ask her if the streak had been some sort of fashion statement, but thought better of it.
"Such beautiful eyes," Chip said softly, not even aware the words were coming out of his mouth.
Alicia moved closer to him.
When he had walked her home the night before, Alicia had been eager for a good-night kiss. As if she was starving for love. And Chip had been more than willing. He liked bold girls who let him know what they wanted. Especially when they both wanted the same thing.
"I missed you," Alicia said in a sexy voice that sent a shiver of excitement through him. Chip noticed that she had on a little more makeup than she'd had on the night before.
Alicia moved closer to him. Chip closed his eyes and felt the magic touch of her soft, warm lips.
Suddenly Alicia stiffened and pulled back. Chip opened his eyes in surprise and saw the meaty hand on Alicia's shoulder.
Al.
"Hi," Al said with a lopsided grin.
Al was dressed in sweats. The wide leather belt he always wore when lifting weights was strapped around his waist. He pumped iron almost every day and loved showing off his muscles.
"Hi," Alicia said in a quiet voice.
"You wanna body build with me?" Al asked Alicia with a straight face.
Alicia gave him a small smile. "No, thanks."
She looked back at Chip, and he could see her nervousness. A lot of girls found Al's tough act alluring, but Alicia was obviously not one of them.
"So, what are you two lovebirds up to?" Al asked, languidly scratching his chest through his sweatshirt.
"I promised Chip I'd help with the housecleaning," Alicia said.
"Good! You can start with my room," Al suggested. "It smells like a cat died in there."
"Probably your dirty socks…" Chip began, then he remembered Maggie. "Hey, have you seen Maggie? I think she might have run off."
"Can you blame her?" Al cracked. He slid past Alicia, who moved against the wall to avoid touching him, then headed down the basement stairs.
"My brother's not a morning person," Chip explained apologetically.
"It's the middle of the afternoon," Alicia pointed out.
"He's not an afternoon person either," Chip said simply. He heard the clank of metal as Al began his workout.
"So… you want the grand tour of the house?" Chip asked Alicia. "In the daylight this time?"
"Okay," Alicia said, turning on the stairs.
Al suddenly grunted loudly, and then they heard heavy metal thud onto concrete.
"But if you don't mind," Alicia said, "I'll skip the basement."
Chapter 16
They ended up in Chip's bedroom.
Alicia sat on the window seat. Chip sprawled on his futon, hoping that Alicia might join him. But she didn't.
"Al likes to get to people," Chip said. "I guess that's obvious. Don't let him bug you."
"I won't," Alicia said weakly. She suddenly shivered, though the room was warm as toast. She gave Chip an uneasy look. "Sorry I'm turning into a drag. Being in this place again just… I don't know… gives me the creeps. I keep hoping I'll get over it. But…" Her voice trailed off.
&n
bsp; "You'll get used to it after a while," Chip said. He hoped he'd get used to it, too.
Alicia swallowed hard. "I don't know about that. I had some friends…" Her lower lip began to tremble. Her hands were clenched at her sides.
"Don't talk about it," Chip said with concern. "You need to take it easy. You shouldn't relive this stuff on my account."
"No — it's okay," Alicia said, trying to calm herself. "I want to talk about it." She choked back a sob, then started again. "I… I had… some friends…" Her voice trailed off. She was looking down at her feet now.
"The ones who were killed?" Chip asked tentatively.
Alicia nodded. "It was horrible… a nightmare — " She stopped midsentence as the bedroom door creaked open.
Chip turned to see who was there, expecting Al or his mother, but there was no one.
Still, the door continued to move as if pushed by an invisible, ghostly hand.
Both stared at the door expectantly.
"Maggie!" Chip exclaimed as the black cat darted in and made a beeline to Chip. "Where have you been, girl?" Chip asked, roughing up her fur and scratching her behind the ears.
"This is Maggie," Chip told Alicia. "I think you sort of met her last night."
"Hi, Maggie," Alicia said softly. "Sorry for stepping on your tail."
The cat looked up at her with curious green eyes.
"Did I tell you that Evan — the boy who used to live here — collected stray cats?" Alicia asked.
"Yeah, you did. Last night when I was walking you home."
"He must've had dozens of them."
"Why?" Chip asked.
Alicia shrugged. "They were his friends, I guess. His only friends." She paused. "Evan was a strange guy. He wasn't easy to get to know."
"You sound like you knew him pretty well," Chip said.
Again Alicia shrugged. "Better than most, I guess."
"Why… why did he do it?" Chip asked. Why did Evan murder those girls and stuff them into the furnace? "Do you know?"
"I don't know that he did," Alicia said.
"But the papers said…"
"The papers don't know everything!" Alicia said angrily, jumping to her feet.
"But you do?" Chip asked.
"The only thing the forensic experts could prove was that Ellen had been killed by a stab wound that penetrated her brain. In fact, the knife was still in her skull when they found it."
"Awful," Chip said, making a face.
"It was a switchblade with a red dragon design on the handle," Alicia said meaningfully.
It took less than a moment for that information to sink in. "Whoa. Time-out. You don't really think my brother or one of his gang members had anything to do with that girl's murder, do you?" Chip glanced at the bedroom door Maggie had pushed open. He didn't want Al to hear any of this.
Alicia knelt on the edge of the futon now and locked Chip in with her eyes.
"The knife belonged to a kid named Johnny Murphy. And I'm pretty sure Johnny and your brother are in the same gang or brotherhood or whatever you want to call it."
Chip glanced at the door again, then turned back to Alicia. "The Red Dragons are just a bunch of juvenile delinquents. Guys who drink beer and try to act cool and occasionally rip off someone's car to go joyriding in. They're not murderers."
"I think one of them is," Alicia said simply.
"You mean… Johnny?"
She nodded.
"So where's Johnny now?" Chip asked. He hoped he didn't live on Elm Street.
"He went crazy. After the police let him go, he kept having nightmares and tried to kill himself, so his family had him committed to a mental hospital."
Nightmares…
Al stepped into the room. Smirking.
"Don't you ever knock?" Chip snapped at his brother.
"I didn't know your friend was still here," Al said, dabbing his eyes with his sleeve. His sweatshirt was covered with dark, sweaty spots and perspiration was streaming down his forehead. "I came up here to see if you wanted to pump iron with me. But I see you're trying to pump something else, so I'll just wish you the best of luck."
"Get lost, Al!" Chip shouted, his temper finally loosed. But Al was already gone.
"What's with him, anyway?" Alicia asked, shaking her head. "Why is he such a creep? It's like a full-time hobby for him."
"I don't know," Chip said, shaking his head in disgust. "He's been worse since Dad died."
"How'd your dad die?" Alicia asked.
"My dad…" Chip was always embarrassed to admit his dad was a janitor. "My dad worked at the school I went to. He was in the basement when a boiler blew up and scalded him to death. Al was the one who found the body."
"Oh, wow. No wonder he's weirded out," Alicia said, her eyes growing wide with disbelief.
"Yeah," Chip said, gloomy at the memory. "He said the steam scalded Dad's face so bad the skin had peeled right off…" Chip's head dropped into his hands, heavy as a cannonball. "Al hated Dad, he hates Mom, and he hates me."
"Why?" Alicia asked.
"Because he's adopted. He thinks my parents favored me. Which I guess they did," Chip admitted. "Or at least my father did. My mom always seemed to be working and wasn't around most of the time. But that's not my fault. I've always tried to treat Al like a real brother. I guess I've always felt sorry for him."
"Maybe he can sense that and it bugs him," Alicia said. "Or maybe he's just jealous. He'll get over it someday."
"I wish," Chip muttered.
"Does he know who his real parents are?"
"No. But he's always going on about how great his father is anyway. He says his father is better than mine. And he's never even met the guy. I wish someday he would meet his father just so he'd shut up about it." Chip had never confided in anyone this way. And now that he had started, it was hard to stop.
"You know what else bugs me about Al?" Chip continued. "He's always going on about how my father isn't my real father, because I don't look anything like him and because my mom didn't have any more children after me."
"I'm an only child, too," Alicia reassured him.
"So Al's always going on about how Mom… get this… had an affair with Freddy Krueger when she lived in Springwood. He says they were secret lovers. Al found a crime book that had a picture of Krueger in it. He says I look just like the guy."
"Did… you see the picture?" Alicia asked.
"Yeah, I saw it," Chip said.
"And…?"
Chip shrugged. "I guess he did look like me. But so what? Anyway, Al says that moving to Elm Street was fate. That we actually moved here so I could meet my real father."
A soft breeze blew a dead leaf through the open window. It scuttled across the bare wooden floor and stopped at the side of Alicia's sneaker. As if in a daze, Alicia picked it up by the stem.
Then, abruptly, Alicia stood up, and without another word, walked out of the room.
"Alicia? Wait up. What's wrong?" Chip said as he ran after her.
Al came out of his bedroom and stood at the top of the stairs, effectively blocking Chip from going any farther. Chip tried to push Al aside, but Al stood his ground.
"Trouble in paradise?" he said. "Did the lovers have a spat?"
"Get out of my way," Chip yelled, but Alicia was already out the front door.
Chip turned around and went back up to his room. He sat on his futon and noticed Maggie crouched beneath the stove. "Hey, Maggie. What's up?" Chip asked.
The cat meowed softly.
"Alicia's strange," he said to the animal. "Strange as hell."
He fell back in frustration.
Chapter 17
Chip went to bed early that night, but he couldn't sleep.
He couldn't get Alicia off his mind.
He had walked down Elm Street earlier that evening and stopped by her house, but she wasn't home. A woman in a flimsy housedress with curlers in her hair had answered the door.
Alicia's mother. She told him Alicia wasn't home,
then slammed the door in his face.
Strange woman.
Strange daughter.
Everything was strange on Elm Street.
Chip lay prone on his futon and tried to empty his mind. He had moved his bed away from the stove, and decided he liked it better that way. He tried to relax, using the little bit of yoga he knew, systematically relaxing muscle after muscle from toes to head until he was about to slip off to sleep.
Then a noise distracted him. A tapping noise. Chip had no patience for this.
"Get out of my room, Al," he yelled as he sat up on the futon. "Now!"
Then he located it. It wasn't Al. It wasn't even human! It stared insanely from behind the stove. It opened the stove door and flames leapt out, licking the thing's face, but it didn't even care.
Chip was numb with fear. He had no weapon, no way to defend himself. He started to kick off his covers, but the hooded figure stepped forward and put his foot down on the end of Chip's blanket.
The face beneath the hood was horribly disfigured. A long, straight gash ran diagonally across from cheek to jaw, and several teeth were missing. One eye hung limply out of its socket. The other eye was filled with malice and hatred, and was staring right at Chip.
Its right hand was a club.
Chip sat frozen in ice-cold sweat, his heart pounding so hard it threatened to explode right through his chest. He opened his mouth to scream, to cry for help, but no sound came out.
Move! Chip willed himself. Move now or die. Chip scooted backward across the futon and smacked his head against the wall.
His picture of Bernie Kosar fell off its tack and dropped onto his head.
Chip threw the poster aside and kept trying to move back, despite the wall that blocked him. He smashed his head against it, trying irrationally to knock out a hole through which he could escape. He banged it again and again until the exploding pain in his head forced him to stop and made the room swirl around in dizzying patterns.
When his vision became focused again, the hooded figure had vanished.
For a long moment Chip stared at the open window. A gust of wind blew into the room, and the rain that had threatened to fall earlier that afternoon fell now.
Fatal Games Page 5
