by R. L. Stine
A man stepped into the kitchen. A black umbrella hid his face.
Rain ran off the umbrella, splashing at his feet. I could see a dark raincoat over dark slacks. I took a step back, my fist pressed to my mouth, holding back another scream.
He lowered the umbrella slowly, shook it, sending a spray of water over the kitchen floor. Then he raised his face to me.
“Chip!” I gasped. “What are you doing here? Why did you come back?”
40
He stood the umbrella next to the door. He wiped his shoes on the floor mat. He grinned at me, closing the door behind him.
A sick grin. An evil grin.
I stepped back, my body tingling with fear.
Alone in the house with a maniac. All alone.
Abby’s frightened words from yesterday rushed back to me: Not again. He’s doing it again!
I gazed around the kitchen, searching for a weapon—anything I could use to protect myself. The knife holder was on the counter next to the sink. Behind him. I’d never get there.
What could I use? What should I do?
Should I run out the front? He would catch me before I got very far.
He shook his head. “Wouldn’t you know it? I forgot the wine.” He moved toward me, toward a small, white shopping bag on the table beside me containing two bottles of white wine.
“We were already at the party. Abby made me drive all the way back.”
“Abby’s at the party?” I asked. I pictured her lying dead on the side of the road. He murdered her so he could come back and murder me.
“Of course,” he replied.
I didn’t like the way he was moving toward me. I didn’t like the grin on his face.
I slid around him, edging to the sink. If I could grab a large knife from the holder, maybe . . .
Chip grabbed up the shopping bag. The shoulders of his raincoat were soaked. He turned back to me, and his grin faded. “Ellie, you look so pale. I’m sorry. I didn’t scare you, did I?”
Of course you scared me, you creep.
You wanted to scare me.
And now what’s on your disgusting, psycho mind?
“I heard noises—” I blurted out. “Someone tapping on the windows and—”
He set down the wine. “Are you okay? You look so frightened.”
Oh, no. Please, no.
He walked over to me slowly. His wet shoes squeaked on the floor. He placed his hand on my shoulder. “You sure you’re okay?”
His touch made me shudder. He was pretending to be concerned. But his eyes were laughing at me, and his sick grin had returned.
“You heard noises, Ellie? Was it the kids? Did the storm wake them up?”
“No . . . I don’t think so.”
I could smell the gin on his breath. He squeezed my shoulder. He had me trapped against the counter. The knives . . .
Too far to reach.
“You’re shaking,” he said softly. “Are you always afraid of thunderstorms?”
“No. I’ll be okay. Really.”
“Maybe you need a drink.”
“You startled me—that’s all. I’m all right.” I edged closer to the knife holder.
Please take your hand off me.
I glanced at the wood block holder, just a few feet out of my reach at the sink.
When I turned back, I saw that Chip had followed my glance. He was staring over my shoulder, staring at the knife holder.
A chill tightened the back of my neck.
Did he plan to grab the carving knife now? Is that what he had planned for me? To slice off my head the way he sliced poor Lucky?
You twisted bastard.
What if I get to the knives first? Are you thinking about that now? Is that what’s spinning through your sick mind?
He let go of my arm.
“Uh, Abby must wonder where I am. I don’t hear any strange noises now. Do you?”
“No.”
The tapping and knocking stopped when you came in the house. Three guesses what that means.
“At least the kids are sleeping through the storm,” he said, his eyes still on the knives. He picked up the wine bag. “Go back to your movie, Ellie. Sorry I startled you.”
I didn’t move. I stood rigid, pressed against the counter as he picked up the umbrella. He gave me a nod and opened the kitchen door. Then he disappeared back into the rain.
My whole body shuddered. I realized I had been holding my breath. Now I sucked in air, letting it out slowly, trying to calm my racing heart.
Out the window, I saw headlights sweep across the backyard as the car rolled away. Was he really gone?
Did he come back here to kill me?
Did my glance at the knife holder push him back?
I took another deep breath. Then I opened the fridge and pulled out a beer. I popped the top, tilted the can to my mouth, and took a long drink.
I could use a few of these.
I carried the beer into the living room and, still shaky, dropped into the armchair.
And heard a loud knock at the front door.
41
I set the beer down on the table. I didn’t move from the chair. I sat still, my body tensed, listening.
I heard the patter of rain. The clink of the ice maker in the kitchen fridge.
And then another knock on the front door. Harder, more insistent.
I forced myself out of the chair. Moved on tiptoe to the living-room window, and peered out. I couldn’t see the front stoop. But I saw a dark station wagon parked in the drive.
Someone pounded hard on the door. The doorbell rang.
I stepped up to the door. “Who’s there?” I had to shout over the steady rush of the rain.
“Ellie, it’s me! Open up!”
I pulled open the door. “Teresa! Hi!”
She probably wondered why I threw my arms around her wet rain poncho and hugged her. But, hey—I’d had a long night.
I pulled her into the house. She had three friends with her from her house, two girls and one of the guys I’d met at the club, either Bob or Ronnie, I couldn’t remember which.
“We thought maybe you’d come out with us,” Teresa said. “We’re going to this bar in Hampton Bays. The Drift Inn. It’s supposed to be a wild scene.”
“I can’t,” I said. I motioned upstairs. “The kids.”
“Hey, I love this movie,” one of Teresa’s friends said. She dropped down on the couch. “Check it out. It’s the best scene. They’re at the Empire State Building.”
Bob-or-Ronnie and the other woman moved to the TV. Teresa took a sip of my beer, then pulled me aside. “Are you okay? You look kinda weird.”
“No, I’m not okay,” I whispered. “I tried to call you. I—I have to go. I mean leave. Right away. I already told Abby.”
Teresa’s eyes widened in surprise. She brushed wet tangles of hair off her face. “Omigod. What happened?”
“It’s too long to tell. I—I’m not safe here, Teresa. I’m very frightened. It was Chip. The whole time. I told Abby, and she said, ‘Oh, no—not again.’ He’s a psycho. She admitted it.”
“Oh, wow. Oh, Ellie. I’m so sorry. You’ve got to get the hell out of here. Why are you still here?”
“Abby promised to protect me. She needs time to make arrangements for the kids. I’m going to leave Monday probably.”
“But where are you going to stay?” Teresa didn’t give me time to answer. “You’ll stay at my apartment. May Lin is moving out in September. She’s going to live with her boyfriend. So there’ll be a room for you.”
“But . . . how will I pay the rent?”
“You’ll find a job. No problem.”
I hugged Teresa again. “You’re the best!” I told her. “You’re saving my life. Really.”
I begged them all to stay for a while. I really needed company tonight. But they were meeting some guys at the bar in Hampton Bays, so they had to go.
“Listen, Ellie, call me on my cell,” Teresa said, lingering at the front door.
“And get that look off your face. Everything will work out. You’ll be outta here in two days.”
Yes, in two days, I thought.
I can keep it together for two days, can’t I?
42
Sunday morning, the storm had passed and the sky was sunny and blue, marred only by a few puffy clouds. Gazing out my bedroom window, the whole world appeared glittery and green and fresh, the tree leaves, the shrubs and grass, even the sandy ground sparkling from the rain.
Abby and Chip were having their breakfast on the deck. I grabbed a plain bagel and gulped down a cup of coffee in the kitchen. Then I herded the kids to the beach as early as I could.
No way I wanted to hang around the house and run into Chip.
As I led the kids down the stairs, Abby and Chip were reading the Sunday Times, laughing together about something they’d read.
Abby’s doing a good job of acting normal, I thought. Better than I could ever do. No way Chip could guess that she’s on to him.
From my first day in their house, I thought they had an odd relationship. She treated him like a naughty kid. She was always scolding him about his drinking and his general laziness, lounging around on the deck, never doing anything.
He’d just grin and act as if it were all a joke.
Sometimes it seemed to me that she didn’t care enough about Chip to take him seriously. She wasn’t very affectionate—at least, not that I could see. He was in the city most of the time, and she never commented that she missed him.
It was like when he was away, she only had two kids to deal with, not three. Whenever he left, she went off to the spas and had her massages, and her manicures, and her facials—sort of like a celebration. She was definitely happier.
Of course, I had no way of knowing all that she had gone through with Chip earlier. How she had stuck with him when he had gone psycho before. How she had somehow managed to live a normal life, knowing he could explode again at any time.
Of course, everything I’m saying is probably total bullshit. How can you ever really know anything about a couple? There are always so many secrets between them.
The ocean waves were high and frothy, still wild from the storm last night. They crashed like thunder against the beach. Heather grabbed my hand. “Don’t be scared,” I said. “We’ll find a nice place high up on the beach.”
Brandon lingered behind as usual, dragging a slender tree branch, making a long line behind him in the wet sand like a snail’s trail. He seemed even more glum than usual. When I asked him a question, he refused to raise his head.
We were approaching the public beach when my cell phone rang. I pulled it from the beach bag and read the caller ID.
Clay?
I clicked it on. “Listen, Clay,” I snapped. “We said good-bye, remember? I want you to delete this number from your phone. Do you—?”
“Ellie, I just called to apologize,” he said softly. “Give me two seconds. I want to apologize. Then I’ll never bother you again. Promise.”
“Clay, I’m on the beach with the kids. I can’t talk.”
“But, Ellie—”
“I can barely hear you. The ocean—”
“I’ll make it quick, Ellie. I’m so sorry. That’s all I want to say. I’ve been a total asshole—I admit it. I don’t know what happened. I just snapped or something. It’s not like me. Really. So before I go back to the city, I just wanted to say I’m sorry. I’d like to come over and we could say good-bye in person. You know. As friends.”
“I don’t think so, Clay. But thanks for the apology. And have a nice life, okay? I—”
“What did you say? It cut off. Ellie? I can’t hear you. Should I come see you? I can’t hear.”
“Clay? Can you hear me?”
Now it cut the connection completely. I clicked the phone off with a sigh and dropped it back in the bag.
Clay had sounded sincere, and I guess it was decent of him to call. I felt a little guilty for accusing him now that I knew the truth. But why couldn’t he just go away and disappear? How many times did we have to say good-bye?
“Courtney! Dee Dee!” Heather saw her friends, the Lewis girls down the beach, walking with pails, collecting shells that had washed up in the storm. She let go of my hand and took off, waving to them, her bare feet kicking up clods of wet sand.
Maggie was struggling with a beach umbrella. I hurried to help her. The powerful waves crashing onto shore sent up a fine spray of cold mist over the beach. The sun felt strong, but the wet air off the ocean carried a chill.
“That was a whale of a storm last night,” Maggie greeted me. “I had both girls in my lap, don’t you know.”
“My two slept right through it,” I said. We forced the umbrella into the hard sand and managed to push it open. “Did your power go out?”
Maggie nodded. Her red hair blew behind her like a pennant in the wind. “For nearly an hour. The girls liked walking around with candles. Now they want to do it every night.”
I watched Heather walking with the two little girls, bending to find shells for them. And Brandon? Where was Brandon? Sitting by himself high on the beach, in the shade of a low dune, poking his stick into the sand and pulling it out, again and again.
How much fun can that be? I asked myself. Poor guy. What is his problem? If only he would speak to me.
And then I reminded myself that I was leaving tomorrow. I would never find out what troubled Brandon Harper. I would never hear him speak.
I watched him for a moment, shielding my eyes from sand blown up by the wind. And then I saw a young guy jog past Brandon. I saw legs at first, then black bike shorts, a white, sleeveless T-shirt, and then blond hair over pale skin.
I watched the slender young man as he passed behind Brandon, jogging slowly, hands swinging at his sides. And when he turned, and I glimpsed his face through the mistlike sand, it took me a few seconds to recognize him.
Will.
I heard Maggie gasp as I took off running. I think I kicked sand on her. But I didn’t turn back to see.
I had my eyes on Will, who jogged past the volleyball net, tilted from the storm, and kept trotting past the parking lot. And I knew this time I would catch him.
This time I would stop him. Turn him around. Make him look at me.
After seven years, make him look at me. And say, “You’re alive! Oh, Will, how are you alive and jogging on this beach when I killed you seven years ago?”
I grabbed the wheel, and I killed you. And you have lived only in my mind for seven long years.
But now here you are.
How did you come back? And why are you always running from me? Don’t you see me? Don’t you remember me?
Here you are, Will.
And I’m catching up to you. This time, you won’t outrun me. You won’t vanish into thin air.
This time, I’m going to catch you and make you look at me and talk to me. And tell me how you came back.
“Hey!” I came up behind him, running hard, and grabbed his shoulder.
He let out a startled cry. His shoulders flinched. He stumbled to a stop. Then, breathing hard, sweat rolling down his face and hair, he turned to me.
“Hi, it’s me,” I said in a breathless whisper.
43
He squinted at me, his mouth open, still breathing hard. He wiped a thick strand of blond hair off his forehead.
“Omigod.”
My mouth dropped open. I wanted to scream, but I felt too weak.
Too stupid and fucked up.
Too crazy.
It wasn’t Will.
He looked a lot like Will. He could have been Will.
But he wasn’t Will.
“Do I know you?” His eyes—not Will’s eyes at all—studied me. I could see him struggle to remember me.
“No, I’m sorry,” I choked out. I took a step back, retreating, retreating from my stupid dream. “I saw you jogging. I . . . thought you were someone else.”
He shook his head. “You nearly
tackled me. I thought maybe you were in trouble or something.”
I am in trouble, I thought. After seven years, I’m still chasing after someone who is dead.
Dead. Will is dead, Ellie.
You didn’t see him after Teresa’s party on the beach with Jackson that night. And you didn’t see him walk out of the hardware store in Sag Harbor.
You saw other blond-haired boys. Because Will is dead.
Maybe this will convince you once and for all.
“I’m really sorry,” I said. “You’re not hurt or anything, are you? I shouldn’t have grabbed you. I just thought—I thought you were this other guy.”
“No problem,” he said. But he didn’t smile or anything. He still stared at me as if I were crazy.
“Well—have a nice day,” I said. So fucking lame.
“Yeah. Have a nice day.” He turned and trotted away.
“You’re not eating,” Jackson said, gazing down at my plate. “Your omelet is getting cold.”
“I’m not hungry,” I said, pushing the plate away. “My stomach is all knotted up. I feel like a big rubber band—all twisted and ready to snap.”
He raised his fork and began eating the home fries off my plate. “Well, I’m pretty hungry,” he said. “You know. Tough day at the bike store.”
He grinned at me. He was trying to make me laugh, trying to cheer me up. Not an easy job.
We were in a small booth at the Driver’s Seat, a popular restaurant-bar in Southampton. It was a warm, clear evening and most people were eating out back on the patio. But I had pulled Jackson into the darkness of the tall wooden booths inside, where we could talk more privately.
I’d called him at the bike store that afternoon and practically begged him to meet me for dinner. I wanted to spend as little time at the Harpers’ house as I could.
When he picked me up in the red Passat, I was so glad to see him, I kissed him and thanked him a dozen times. He got a wry, lopsided grin on his face and said, “Hey, seeing you isn’t exactly a hardship, you know.”
But his grin faded as I began to tell him why I was leaving the Hamptons, what had been happening to me since I arrived. He kept shaking his head, his eyes on the road, muttering, “I don’t believe it,” under his breath.
