"If your father were here…" Mrs. Parker began to say.
"If he were here he wouldn't do nothing. He was a broken-down loser," Al said.
Mrs. Parker's eyes were wide with fury, but she was speechless.
"And he wasn't my father," Al went on. "Any more than Chip's my brother. He probably wasn't even Chip's father, from what I hear."
Mrs. Parker's mouth gaped open. "What?"
Al took another swig of juice and belched loudly. "I've been hearing plenty of stories about who you had an affair with when you lived in Springwood. When you were a teenager, just before you got married. I know who Chip's real dad is." Al's eyes had an odd gleam to them.
"What are you talking about?" Mrs. Parker asked in exasperation. "What affair?"
"An affair with you-know-who," Al said, his eyes growing wide. "I know who Chip's real father is."
"I have no idea what you're talking about," Mrs. Parker said, shaking her head at Al. "Let me smell your breath."
"What?" Al asked.
"Have you been drinking beer?"
"No."
"Where did you come up with this outlandish story?"
"I heard some stuff from a guy who's lived here all his life," Al said. "Some stuff he says his parents told him. He says you were doing it with…"
"Hey, Al! Cool it! Okay?" Chip warned his brother. "That's a lot of bull and you know it. It's okay to kid around with me about it, but it isn't funny with Mom."
"My friend says he knew who my real dad was, too," Al went on, ignoring his brother. "He says he was a fireman or something, died in a fire. It's just too bad he's dead now, because I was dying to meet him."
Mrs. Parker fixed Al with a steady gaze. Al didn't look her in the eyes. He just drank more juice from the jug and stared out the kitchen window, stared at a big, flying bug that kept bashing itself against the glass.
"You know, you need my permission to play football," Mrs. Parker finally said, pointing a sharp fingernail in Al's face.
For a brief moment Chip was afraid Al might snap his mother's fingertip off.
"I can always talk to the principal and have you taken off the team," she continued. "So you just keep running off that smart mouth of yours and see if I don't!" She jabbed her finger in Al's chest for emphasis.
Al didn't flinch, though the fingernail must have hurt. If anything, he seemed to enjoy the pain.
"If you don't want to obey the rules of the house — which are my rules — then you can just leave, just get out. Get out!"
Al snorted. "Big loss that would be. A dump like this."
"Can we all just lighten up a bit?" Chip pleaded. He rose from the couch but had to steady himself on an armrest as a wave of dizziness swept over him.
His mother ignored him. "Go find a job and a place of your own to live!" She was screaming now, her voice several octaves higher than Chip had ever heard it before.
Chip shrugged helplessly. He had had enough. He pulled himself from the couch and headed for the front door as his mother and Al continued arguing, batting angry words back and forth like Ping-Pong balls.
Chip stepped out of the house and gently closed the door behind him. He sat on the front steps and stared out into the starry night. He hoped that after a few more days this old house would seem more like home to him.
A light blue Honda Civic cruised by. Scott looked out the driver's window at Chip. Then he roared away up the street.
A cool breeze tossed dead leaves about the front yard. Chip looked up and down Elm Street. At night there were no signs of life. Not even a stray cat. It seemed like all the neighbors kept their curtains drawn, their windows down, their doors locked.
He rose to his feet and out of curiosity made his way around to the backyard. He hadn't been back there since they'd moved in. As he passed the kitchen window he could still hear his mother and Al going at it, louder than ever, World War III in full swing.
Chip stood at the edge of the backyard. It was totally overgrown, macabre, even, in the square yellow light cast from the big, back kitchen window. At the far end of the backyard there was a white picket fence, and dark woods beyond that. The rest of the yard was bordered by scraggly hedges that poked wildly in all directions. The grass hadn't been mowed in months, and tall weeds grew everywhere. In one corner of the yard, just beyond the reach of the kitchen light, Chip saw what looked like a small clearing. A garden, maybe.
He decided to check it out.
Dead leaves crackled beneath Chip's sneakers as he walked over to the clearing. This corner of the yard was neat and trim, the grass as smooth as a golf course putting green. There were many patches of dirt laid out in a neat and orderly fashion. Chip wondered what they were.
In a way it reminded him of a miniature graveyard.
Then something caught Chip's eyes. It looked like a tiny arm, poking out from beneath a fresh patch of dirt.
Afraid of what he might find, but too curious to ignore it, Chip picked a small, dead tree limb off the ground and poked the clump of dirt away.
Chip shivered at the sight of the thing. Some kind of weird doll. But with its internal organs showing. Bizarre, Chip thought. And totally repulsive. It even had hair.
Chip kicked some dirt back over the thing. He didn't want to look at it. Something about the doll reminded him of someone, but he couldn't put his finger on it. He kicked more dirt over the doll, covering the bits of fuzzy auburn hair on its head. Then more and more dirt, caught up in a frenzy, his foot powered by some out-of-control force.
Something snagged Chip's foot and he felt his knee snap. He tried to tug his foot free, but it only became more entangled in the vinelike thing that was trying to wrap itself around his entire leg. Panicked, he struggled frantically as the vine wrapped around his waist. He lost his balance and fell to the ground.
A shadow fell over him. Chip looked up and saw a hooded figure by a hole in the hedge at the end of the yard. Something glinted in the dim light — a switchblade?
"Help!" Chip yelled, hoping Al or his mother would hear him over their arguing. "Help!" he yelled again as the hooded figure loped across the yard headed straight toward him.
Chapter 28
"Are you all right?" said a raspy voice. "Lemme give you a hand."
Chip held out his hand and a sandpapery palm pulled him to his feet. The weeds that had trapped him fell away as if their job was done.
Chip was face-to-face with an old man. His worn, leathery face was full of concern. "I heard you yell for help. Is everything all right?"
"Uh, yeah. Thanks." The man wore an odd-looking hat with fishing lures sticking out from it — a hat that Chip had first thought was a hood. The old man held a cigar — not a knife. The moonlight glinted off its cellophane wrapper.
"Name's Nick Murphy," the old man barked. Chip shook his outstretched hand, surprised by the old guy's incredibly strong grip.
"Chip Parker," Chip said, pulling his hand back.
Mr. Murphy peeled the cellophane from his cigar. "I'm your neighbor. I live alone in that house over there." Mr. Murphy gestured to the house beyond the hedge. "Mrs. Murphy died quite some time ago."
Mr. Murphy pulled a large wooden match from the grimy front pocket of his red-and-black plaid lumberjack shirt. He flicked the match head with a gnarly fingernail and the match burst into flame. He held it to the cigar tip and puffed vigorously, squinting at Chip the entire time. Then he flicked the match away.
Chip had a brief vision of his backyard suddenly exploding — but nothing happened.
"I saw you moving around back here from my upstairs bedroom window," Mr. Murphy said. "And I thought for a moment you were my grandson, Johnny."
Johnny Murphy — the guy Alicia had told him about! The guy she thought had murdered Ellen with the red dragon switchblade knife. The guy she thought was one of Al's Red Dragon brothers.
"I could have sworn I saw him running through your yard the other night. Saw him looking in my kitchen window, too, when I was drinking my
tea. It was hard to tell, though, with that hood pulled up around his face. If it were him, and if I caught him, I'd wring his blasted neck tighter than that noose he used to hang himself."
Chip's mouth gaped open. "Johnny hanged himself?"
"Yup," Mr. Murphy said, with more than a small note of pleasure. "Over at that loony bin where his parents locked him up. But as usual the boy couldn't do even that right. They found him and cut him down and took him to the hospital where some young hotshot doctor pulled him back to life. Waste of time and money if you ask me." Mr. Murphy puffed on his cigar, sending a blue plume of smoke into the cold night air.
Then Mr. Murphy narrowed his eyes at Chip. "That weren't you, was it? In my backyard, playing around, trying to scare an old man?"
"No, sir," Chip said firmly, but he wondered if it might have been Al.
Mr. Murphy pulled off his fishing hat and ran a big, rough hand through a surprisingly thick patch of snowy white hair. "Johnny wasn't a friend of yours, was he?" Mr. Murphy asked.
"No, sir," Chip said, shaking his head.
"Good for you," Mr. Murphy said. "That boy's a bad influence."
Can't be worse than Al, Chip thought. "We just moved here from Middleton, so we don't know a lot of people yet," Chip said, trying to make conversation.
Mr. Murphy's gaze moved across the desolate yard to Chip's house. His expression was a mixture of dread and revulsion. "Why in hell did you move into that place? If you don't mind me asking."
"Well, my mom got a good price on it, and it's near the store she's renting. She's opening up a doughnut shop. And since my dad died…"
Chip heard a loud crash from the kitchen. Both he and Mr. Murphy looked toward the sound. Chip could see the outlines of his mother and Al through the partially pulled kitchen shade, their arms slicing through the air as they gesticulated wildly.
Chip turned back to Mr. Murphy and saw that the old man was giving him a sympathetic look. "Family problems?" Mr. Murphy asked casually.
"Yeah," Chip said glumly. "It's kind of a weird situation with my mom and my brother."
"Can't be any weirder than that last family that lived here," Mr. Murphy said with a chuckle.
"So I heard," Chip said with a rueful smile. A cool breeze blew a tangle of dead weeds over his feet and away into the night.
"Johnny killed the blond-haired girl," Mr. Murphy said suddenly. "Helen, Ellen, or whatever her name was. Beautiful girl. The police blamed it on the Walker boy, but I know it was that punk Johnny."
Chip eyed the old man closely. Alicia believed the same thing. "How… can you be so sure of that?"
"That he killed the girl?" Mr. Murphy asked.
Chip nodded.
"I saw him do it," Mr. Murphy blurted out. "Snatched her right off the street and murdered her. Right outside my house. I saw the whole damn thing!"
Chapter 29
The side door of Chip's house slammed loudly, startling Chip.
Then he watched as Al stormed out of the house, jumped into his van, and tore out of the driveway, leaving twin patches of smoking rubber.
Seconds later he heard the van screeching around a corner somewhere down Elm Street.
Chip gave Mr. Murphy an apologetic look. "I'm sorry, sir, but I think I should be going."
"Sure thing, kid," Mr. Murphy said in an understanding voice. "I'll be seeing you around. I hope everything works out for you and your family in your new home. At least I hope it works out better than it did for the previous owners." Mr. Murphy chuckled woefully.
"Thank you, sir."
"And stop calling me sir."
"Yes, sir," Chip said distractedly as he hurried toward the side door.
He saw his mother through the back kitchen window, a dark outline, sitting at the kitchen table with her head in her hands, her chest heaving.
Chip rushed into the kitchen and found his mother convulsing in sobs. He pulled a chair up next to her and wrapped his arms around her. "It's all right, Mom. Don't worry about Al. I think this old house is creeping him out a little bit." And me, too, Chip said to himself.
"You don't think it's a dump, do you?" his mother asked him stifling a sob.
"Not at all," Chip said in as sincere a voice as he could muster. Haunted maybe, he thought, but they had lived in worse dumps than this.
Mrs. Parker cried a bit more before managing to compose herself. Chip gave her a gentle squeeze on the shoulder and busied himself around the kitchen cleaning up jagged shards of glass. Al had apparently smashed the empty juice jug on the floor.
"I think Al's bummed out about moving. Maybe he misses his friends," Chip said.
"You mean those hoodlums?" Mrs. Parker asked with a sniffle, not really expecting an answer.
Yeah, those friends, Chip thought. The Red Dragon brotherhood. Except that maybe they had a chapter here, a chapter that was led by Johnny Murphy till he went bonkers and was shipped off to the crazy house. "I can't believe Al would imagine that anybody but Mike Parker was your father." Mrs. Parker shook her head forlornly. "I know he often says things just to be mean, but that is the most unusual thing I've ever heard. Who could be putting those thoughts in his head? Do you know, Chip?"
Chip only shrugged. "Like you said, sometimes Al just says things to be mean."
"I'd still like to know who is filling his head with such awful thoughts. I'd give him a piece of my mind," his mother said sternly. She rose from the kitchen chair, wiping her tear-streaked face with the sleeve of her dress.
"Al really is getting out of hand. I just hope he can make it through the school year without getting into any more trouble. Then he's on his own," Mrs. Parker said with a resigned air. "I did the best I could raising him."
Chip watched his mother cross to the stove. She lifted the lid on the curry and stirred it with the big wooden spoon. A spicy aroma filled the kitchen. "There's plenty to eat here if you're hungry, Chip."
"Okay, Mom," Chip said. His mother's vegetarian dishes weren't his favorite. Chip guessed that Al was already on line at McDonald's for his dinner.
"Well, I think I'll be getting back to the shop," Mrs. Parker said. "There's still so much to do."
"How are things over there? Do you need some help?"
"They're coming along fine, dear. Thanks for offering. But I can take care of it myself. Don't worry."
"Okay, Mom."
She pulled the odd-looking cape thing she wore as a coat off a wooden hook in the foyer and headed for the front door, patting her dress pocket lightly to make sure her car keys and wallet were in place. Chip intercepted her at the door and gave her a hug.
"Don't you worry either, Mom," Chip said.
"Thanks, hon, I needed that," she said. She closed the door behind her and waved.
Chip returned to the kitchen to finish cleaning up.
He plunged his hands into the dishwater.
And then he heard his mother scream.
Chip dashed through the living room and headed for the front door, choking back his panic. He realized for the first time that he believed his brother was capable of murder.
He pushed open the front door with a trembling hand. A pale moon floated low in a purple sky, and beneath the moon Chip saw his mother standing with her hands on her chest.
Standing in front of her was a dark, hooded figure.
Chip thought his heart might explode.
And then he heard his mother laugh. An embarrassed laugh. "You gave me such a fright," she said to the hooded figure.
"I'm sorry. I was just looking for Chip," said a familiar voice.
Chip hurried down the front steps as a wave of relief swept over him. "I'm right here."
His mother turned and stepped to the side and Chip saw Alicia looking back at him with an awkward smile. She was wearing a dark hooded sweatshirt over a pair of polka-dot leggings.
Chip pulled up short. He didn't know exactly how to greet her. She had left under such strange circumstances before.
"Hi, Chip," she said wit
h a little wave.
"Hi."
Mrs. Parker fixed Chip with a bemused expression. "Aren't you going to introduce me to your friend?"
"Oh…" Chip said, snapping out of it. "Mom, this is Alicia. Alicia, my mom."
"Glad to meet you, Alicia." Mrs. Parker said with a wide smile. "Do you go to Springwood High with Chip?"
"Not exactly," Alicia said. "I'm a neighbor."
"Alicia came over Saturday to help me clean the house," Chip said, thinking it was only a small lie — she had come over to help clean, but they had just never gotten around to it.
"Oh, how nice," Mrs. Parker said in a cheery voice. "It's wonderful to have such friendly neighbors." She dug into her pocket for her car keys. "Hi-ho, hi-ho, it's off to work I go," she sang, jingling her keys. "It was nice meeting you, Alicia." She turned to leave.
" 'Bye, Mrs. Parker. It was nice meeting you!" Alicia called after her.
Mrs. Parker walked to her station wagon parked out front beneath the pale shining light of the street lamp.
Chip watched his mother drive away.
"I like her," Alicia said, fixing him with those eyes that never ceased to amaze him. Day-Glo eyes that gleamed brightly in the moonlight.
Incredible, unusual eyes.
"You wanna talk?" Chip asked.
"Okay," Alicia said softly.
Chip took her hand and they walked to his house. Chip held the door open for her, but Alicia hesitated. She glanced past Chip. "Is your brother home?" she asked.
"No. He went out. I don't think he'll be back real soon."
Alicia turned to look over her shoulder and shuddered.
"What's the matter?" Chip asked.
"I had the weirdest feeling — like someone's watching me. It's been going on for days. I can feel eyes boring into my back, but when I turn to look, there's no one there. I guess I'm just being paranoid." She tried to shrug off her uneasiness, but Chip could see the fear in her eyes.
"After all," Alicia continued, "who would be following me? Why would someone want to spy on me?" She looked past Chip, still searching for the person she thought might be shadowing her.
Fatal Games Page 9
