by R. L. Stine
“Huh? A valentine?” Erica lowered her eyes to the card. “But why did you sneak in?”
“I—I didn’t want to disturb anyone,” Luke explained, his face still scarlet, his expression guilty, embarrassed. “I mean, I saw you studying so hard and I guessed Rachel was asleep. So I was just going to leave this and scoot.”
Erica studied his face, trying to determine if he was telling the truth. “You scared me to death,” she said, exhaling loudly. “If I was a cat, that would’ve been all nine lives.”
“Sorry,” Luke repeated softly. “I didn’t mean to. Really.”
“You feel guilty, don’t you,” Erica accused, crossing her arms in front of her chest, locking her eyes on his.
“Huh? Guilty?”
“Yeah.” She refused to soften her gaze, even though he looked away. “Guilty. Guilty about Rachel.”
“Give me a break, Erica,” Luke said, pleading.
“Do you know what happened to Rachel after you stopped coming? Do you have any idea how devastated she was?” Erica cried.
“I—I can’t talk about it,” Luke stammered. “I still care about Rachel, but I’m with Melissa now. Here.”
He tossed the valentine at Erica and ran past her out of the den, into the hall and out of the house without looking back once.
♦ ♦ ♦
Across the street Melissa was playing perhaps the most boring game of Scrabble in the history of the universe. “Daddy, can’t we quit?” she begged. “You’re ahead by four hundred points because I’ve had nothing but vowels the whole night!”
Mr. Davis chuckled, leaning over the table, his eyes lowered to his line of letters. “That’s not why you’re losing, Beanpole. You’re losing because I’m a good defensive player. You have to have a strong defense in Scrabble. Most people don’t know that.”
“Don’t call me Beanpole,” Melissa grumbled. “You know I hate it.” She shoved her letters around on the holder, frowning. “Want me to call you Fatso?”
Mr. Davis raised his head abruptly. “Don’t you dare.” He was a big bear of a man, weighing around two hundred pounds, and was very sensitive about his weight.
“I can’t make a word,” Melissa wailed. “All I have are O’s and U’s.”
Mr. Davis glanced at the score sheet. “Okay, Melissa. We can quit. You always were a poor loser,” he teased.
Melissa uttered a cry of frustration and shoved the board across the table causing the pieces to tumble out of place.
“Loser cleans up,” her father declared, grinning. “I’m going to watch the news. It’s nearly eleven.” He pushed himself away from the kitchen table and, after stopping at the refrigerator for a snack, headed into the den to join Melissa’s mom.
Grumbling to herself, Melissa cleaned up the game, then headed up to her room.
Two hours later she was still struggling to fall asleep. Forcing her eyes to remain closed, she tried to think pleasant, soothing thoughts. She pictured Luke. His shy smile. The way his light brown hair curled just above his ears. How cute he looked in his silver-framed glasses.
She tried counting sheep. Fluffy white, four-legged cottonballs. She pictured them hopping over a low fence, just like in the cartoons.
Whoever thought up counting sheep as a way to get to sleep? she wondered. What a dumb idea. Did it ever work?
She tried counting puppy dogs. Then she tried to clear all the animals out of her mind and concentrate on nothing at all. Sheer nothingness.
Clear, white nothingness. Soft nothingness.
She had just about drifted off to sleep when she heard a loud thump outside her window.
“Huh?”
She sat up, instantly alert.
“Hey!”
Am I asleep? Am I dreaming? Melissa asked herself uncertainly.
No.
Someone was there, outside her window. Balanced on a tree limb.
Gaping in fright, Melissa could see someone out there, blocking the light from the street lamp, arms at the sides of her window.
“Who’s there? What’s happening?”
She tried to move, tried to scramble out of bed.
But fear had paralyzed her. She could only raise her hands to her face.
Then her window was pulled open.
A dark figure dropped into her room with a groan, landing heavily on the carpet.
“Oh!”
Melissa opened her mouth to scream, but no sound came out.
He advanced toward her, arms stiff at his sides, a shadow moving in shadows.
As he came near, his face loomed out of the darkness. His eyes were cold, his features set.
“Dave!” Melissa cried in a tight, frightened voice. “Dave, stop! What are you doing?”
Chapter 25
THE REAL KILLER
Breathing hard, Dave stopped beside Melissa’s bed. His dark eyes glared down at her. In the dim light from the window, she saw that he was even thinner, his scraggly hair falling past his shoulders now.
“Melissa,” he whispered, still trying to catch his breath. “You look so scared.”
“You—yes—” she stammered, finally finding her voice. She gripped the covers and pulled them up to her shoulders.
“So you think I’m guilty too,” he said, his voice filled with menace and disappointment.
“No, Dave—”
“That’s why you’re scared, huh?” he asked, leaning over her, so close she could smell onions on his breath. “You’re scared of me because you think I killed Josie?”
“No,” Melissa replied angrily. “I’m scared because you broke into my house. I’m scared because you climbed in my window like—like a burglar or something!”
He snickered. “Sorry.”
Melissa climbed out of bed and crossed the room to her closet, keeping her eyes on Dave. Feeling around in the dark closet, she found her robe, and pulled it on, struggling with one sleeve.
“Why’d you climb in here like that, Dave? What are you doing?” she demanded, clicking on the ceiling light.
They both blinked under the sudden brightness.
Dave looked terrible, she saw. His eyes were red rimmed, with dark circles under them. His hair was greasy and disheveled, his sweater and jeans wrinkled and filthy.
“I always wondered if you believed me,” he said, ignoring her questions. “I always wondered if you thought I killed Josie. If you thought I stabbed Erica. You said you believed me. But I always wondered.”
“I did believe you!” Melissa insisted, keeping her back against the wall, edging nervously toward the doorway. “You know I believed you.”
“I don’t know what I know,” he said bitterly.
“Dave, what are you doing here now? What do you want?”
“I just happened to be in the neighborhood,” he replied, snickering at his own joke. He dropped down wearily on the edge of her bed and wiped his forehead with the dirty sleeve of his sweater. “That tree isn’t easy to climb,” he muttered.
“Dave, why did you run away from school? Your mother called me. She—”
“She did?” He slapped his forehead. “She spoiled my surprise?”
Melissa groaned impatiently. “Dave, she sounded very worried about you. Very frightened.”
“You know Mom,” he replied dryly, rolling his eyes.
“Dave, why?” Melissa insisted. “Why’d you come back?”
“Okay, okay. I’ll tell you why I’m here,” he said, suddenly turning serious. “I didn’t come here to scare you, Melissa. I’ve missed you, you know.”
“I-I’ve missed you too,” Melissa said awkwardly, leaning back against the wall, relaxing a little and sighing.
“I heard about you and Luke,” Dave said flatly, without any expression at all.
“Well . . .”
“I was kind of surprised,” he said, his cheeks flushing pink.
“Me too,” Melissa confessed. “But you didn’t come here because of Luke, did you?”
“I think I know who th
e real killer is,” he said abruptly, staring up at her, his dark eyes flashing to life. “I’ve had so much time to figure it out, so much time to think about it. I can’t get it out of my mind. I’m obsessed with clearing my name, with finding the real killer.”
“That’s why you’ve come back to Shadyside?” Melissa asked.
He nodded. “I want to prove that I’m not a killer. I want to prove it to you. To everybody.”
“Then why did you send me those disgusting valentines?” Melissa snapped, the words bursting angrily from her.
“Huh?” He jumped to his feet in surprise. “What valentines? What are you talking about?”
“Don’t act innocent,” Melissa said sharply. “You know what valentines. The ones with the ugly threats. Just like you sent to Josie.”
“Huh?” He scratched his greasy hair, his eyes studying her face. “Melissa, you don’t think that I—”
“Come off it, Dave,” Melissa shouted. “You sent them to me. They’re in your handwriting.”
“Get real,” he muttered, shaking his head. “You’re messed up. Really.”
She glared at him angrily but didn’t reply, waiting for him to drop the innocent act and confess.
“Show them to me,” he demanded. “Get them. I want to see.”
“Fine. Here.” She pulled open the top drawer of her desk, grabbed the two valentines, and tossed them at him.
They fell to the floor beside his muddy sneakers. He bent to pick them up. Then holding them close to his face, he examined them carefully, reading each one again and again, squinting as he studied the handwriting.
When he finally finished and set the cards down on the bed, Melissa saw that he was breathing heavily, his eyes glowing with excitement. “Now I know who the killer is!” he exclaimed, leaping to his feet.
“Who?” Melissa demanded.
He didn’t seem to hear her. Lost in his own thoughts, he hurried to the open window, and pulled his knees onto the windowsill as he reached for the tree branch.
“Who?” Melissa repeated. “Who is it, Dave? Tell me!”
Without replying, without a goodbye, he dropped out of view, scrambling down the tree trunk.
“Who is it? Who?” she called after him, leaning out into the cold, still night.
But he had disappeared into the darkness.
Chapter 26
LONG RED HAIR
“Where is Erica?” Rachel asked.
Melissa took Rachel’s hand and led her down the driveway. “Erica is at school,” she replied. “She had to stay late today. She’s rehearsing a play. She asked me to take care of you.”
“I go to school too,” Rachel said, smiling.
“It’s such a pretty day,” Melissa said, holding Rachel’s hand as they walked. “I thought it might be nice to take a walk.”
“I’m very smart in my school,” Rachel said proudly.
The late-afternoon sun, still high over the winter-bare trees, felt surprisingly warm. The soft breeze more like spring than early February.
Abruptly Rachel pulled her hand out of Melissa’s. “I can go outside by myself,” she said crossly.
Melissa smiled at her, concealing her surprise at Rachel’s sudden anger. “Really? Do you go out by yourself a lot?”
Rachel didn’t reply for a long while. They descended the driveway and turned right, walking up Fear Street, which was silent and deserted except for the excited cries of a group of children playing some kind of game in a backyard down the block.
“I can,” Rachel insisted suddenly. “I can go outside by myself.”
“That’s nice,” Melissa told her as a wave of sadness swept over her. Poor Rachel, she thought. She used to be so terrific, really popular, smart, a great student, a great friend.
She was still beautiful, though, as beautiful as any fashion model. But there was something missing behind her eyes. She became more and more like a dreamy child.
“Oh, look!” Rachel cried suddenly.
“Wait!” Melissa called.
Rachel ignored her and ran full speed toward a big mound of dead brown leaves near the curb. Laughing gleefully, Rachel dove into the pile, thrashing her arms wildly as if swimming in them.
Melissa had to laugh, watching Rachel’s innocent joy.
Flopping around in the leaf pile, Rachel was having the time of her life.
It was so sad, so tragic, and so touching all at the same time.
“Hey Rachel—make room!” Melissa cried. She took a running dive into the pile too. Rachel laughed gleefully. The two of them had a rousing leaf fight, rolling around, tossing handfuls of leaves, laughing together.
About half an hour later Melissa and Rachel were in the front yard playing catch with a large rubber ball when Erica arrived. “Hey, what’s going on?” she asked Melissa, surprised to find them outdoors.
“It was such a pretty day,” Melissa said, smiling. “Rachel and I have been having fun.”
“You have to watch her really carefully outdoors,” Erica said nervously.
“I can go outside by myself.” Rachel insisted.
“No, you can’t,” Erica scolded. “You have to wait for someone to take you outside. Remember?”
Rachel frowned and didn’t reply. She dropped the ball to the ground and kicked it toward the house.
“It was nice of you to watch her so I could go to rehearsal,” Erica told Melissa. “I hope she wasn’t too much trouble.”
“No trouble at all,” Melissa replied. Then she added, “I saw Dave last night.”
Erica paled at the sound of his name. She raised her eyes to Melissa’s, her expression troubled. “What did he say? What did he want?”
“He says he knows who killed Josie,” Melissa told her. “He’s come back to clear his name.”
“Who?” Erica demanded eagerly. “Who killed Josie? Who? Who stabbed me?”
Melissa frowned. “He wouldn’t say. He just said he knew.”
Rachel laughed suddenly, a loud, mocking laugh. “Someone hates Erica,” she sang. Then she began to chant it over and over. “Someone hates Erica. Someone hates Erica. . . .”
“Come on,” Erica said, putting an arm gently around Rachel’s slender shoulders. “Let’s get you inside. Say goodbye to Melissa.”
Melissa called goodbye, then turned and jogged across the street to her house. The sun was a glowing red ball now, lowering itself behind the trees. The air had taken on an evening chill.
“Hey!” She was startled to find Luke coming around the side of the house.
“Hi,” he said somewhat shyly.
“Hi,” she repeated, staring at him curiously. “What a nice surprise.”
“Well, yeah. It’s a surprise for me too,” he said, an odd grin spreading across his face. His glasses glinted, catching the red glow of the sun. “Guess what I did?”
She stopped and stared at him. “You won the lottery?”
He laughed dryly. “Guess again.”
“I can’t guess. Why do you look so sheepish?”
“I locked myself out,” he explained with a shrug. “I must have left my keys in school or something.” He rolled his eyes. “Dumb or what? I couldn’t get into my house, so I came over here.”
“Well, I’m glad you’re dumb!” she replied, grinning. “I’ve been taking care of Rachel. Now I guess I’ll have to take care of you!”
She reached into her coat pocket for her keys. Not finding them, she reached into her other pocket. Then, a disconcerted look formed on her face as she searched her jeans pockets.
“Guess what?” she wailed, holding up her empty hands. “No keys. I’m dumb too!”
“We’re both dumb,” Luke agreed, smiling.
“Come here, Dummy.” Melissa put her arms around his neck and gave him a long, enthusiastic kiss. “We make a good team,” she said, leaning against his chest.
She kissed him again, wrapping her arms around his waist.
When the kiss ended, she raised her eyes to his. “You kno
w, I really do think we make a good team,” she said seriously.
Melissa felt very happy. But to her surprise, Luke seemed very embarrassed and more than a little troubled.
♦ ♦ ♦
A little after eleven that night, Melissa was studying up in her room. Hunched over her desk, the small desk lamp casting a circle of light onto her open textbook, she struggled to concentrate.
She yawned and rubbed her tired eyes. She stretched her arms high over her head.
Then she heard sounds down in the front yard.
A thud. Followed by rapid footsteps. Followed by the clang of a metal garbage can toppling over onto the drive.
Startled, Melissa leapt to her feet, knocking over the desk chair as she scrambled to the window.
Is it Dave again?
That was her first thought.
Is he climbing up to my room again?
Has he fallen out of the tree?
It was such a warm night, she had left her bedroom window open.
Tingling with fear, Melissa peered out. The roof over the porch blocked her view of the driveway, but she could see a figure running away from the house. Running toward the street.
“Who is that?” Melissa cried out loud, squinting into the darkness.
Melissa couldn’t see the face of the girl running across her front yard. All she could see was the long red hair trailing behind her.
Chapter 27
“NOT LUKE”
“I don’t believe it!” Melissa muttered, squinting against the darkness.
She heard a car roar away, its tires squealing.
I saw Rachel, she told herself, the night air cold against her hot cheeks. I saw Rachel running across the yard.
But that’s impossible.
And whose car sped away? Did Rachel get into it? Rachel can’t drive.
And why would Rachel drive anyway? She lives right across the street.
Feeling confused and upset, Melissa moved away from the window. Her heart was pounding. She suddenly felt chilled all over.
Rachel? Running outdoors? By herself in the middle of the night?
