The Other Side of Dark

by Joan Lowery Nixon

  Keri clutches my arm, and I feel her tremble as she whispers, “He’s in your backyard! Stacy, what if he gets inside your house?”

  Chapter Eight

  I step back from the window, pulling the children with me, and try to sound calm. “We’ll call the police. They’ll take care of it.”

  “I want my daddy!” Meri is so terrified that Teri puckers up and begins to wail. That sets Meri off, and it takes me a few minutes to quiet them down, so that I can make the telephone call to Detective Markowitz.

  The woman who answers my call tells me that Detective Markowitz is not there, but she’ll get in touch with him, so I explain why I’m calling. She says that she’ll send a squad car out to investigate, then try to reach Markowitz.

  The Cooper children and I huddle together in the living room, where we can press our noses against the picture window and watch for the police car to arrive. Maybe one of us should stay at the upstairs window and watch for the shadow to appear again, but we’re all too frightened. We want to stick together.

  “Let’s call Mama,” Teri says. Her lower lip wobbles, and I hug her tightly.

  “In a few minutes,” I tell her. “It will be safer if the police check things out before your mother and daddy get home.”

  “They said they’d be home by ten,” Keri answers, “and it’s almost ten.”

  “You were supposed to put us to bed at our bedtime,” Meri accuses. “Mama’s going to be mad at you.”

  “So you want to go to bed right now?” I ask her.

  She shakes her head vigorously.

  “I want Mama,” Teri whimpers.

  Maybe I expected sirens and screeching tires, something like what I’ve seen in police movies. But a police car comes quietly down the street and parks in front of the Cooper house. Two policemen climb out. One stays in the yard, studying our house next door, and one comes to the Cooper front door.

  I nearly trip over Teri, who dashes under my feet as I run to open the door, but I manage to hang on to her and tell the officer what happened.

  Teri keeps interrupting, shouting, “I saw him first!”

  “Just stay put and keep the door locked,” the officer says. “We’ll look around.”

  He shuts the door firmly. We rush to the large window again and see him and his partner walk toward our house, flashlights sweeping a crisscross pattern of light ahead of them. In a few seconds they are out of sight.

  “Let’s go upstairs and watch out the bedroom window,” Keri says.

  She tries to squeeze past me, but I grab her arm. “No! We’re safer here. The policeman told us just to stay put. Remember?”

  There’s a little brass clock on the mantel, and it chimes ten times. It’s not just the Coopers who are due home at ten. Dad told me that he usually gets home a little after ten o’clock too. I don’t want them to come now. Not with whoever it was prowling around our house! What if someone gets hurt?

  The telephone’s ring is so shrill that we all jump, and Meri screams.

  “It’s just the phone,” I say, but they cling to me and shove against me as I hurry to answer it. We’re like a pack of puppies, bumping and pushing against each other.

  Just after the third ring I manage to grab the receiver before Keri can snatch it.

  “What’s up?” Markowitz asks me. “Where are you?”

  I fill him in, and he says he’ll be right over. “Tell the officers to stay until I get there,” he adds.

  The sound of his voice is like a pat on the back, an arm around my shoulders. “Everything’s going to be all right,” I tell the girls. “Let’s go back to the window.”

  As we reach the front window and settle against the glass, one of the officers appears, cutting across the lawn. He comes to the front porch and rings the bell just as the Coopers’ car pulls into the driveway.

  “Oh-oh,” Keri says.

  Oh-oh is right. As I open the door Mrs. Cooper flies across the lawn, screeching, “What happened to my children?”

  “It’s all right, ma’am,” the officer says, and at the same time Teri shouts her story at the top of her lungs. Meri rushes into her mother’s arms, crying loudly, and Keri yells that there’s a prowler outside and everybody should get in the house and lock the door.

  The perpetually puzzled Mr. Cooper appears, and Dad, who has also just come home, and the other officer join the scene.

  “Let’s all be quiet,” Dad says in a loud, firm voice as he checks out everyone in the group, “so we can find out what’s going on.”

  Apparently Mrs. Cooper has been counting noses, too, and is satisfied with the tally, so she’s ready to listen. Miraculously she is able to quiet her children by firmly saying “Hush.” I wonder if there’s an unspoken “or else” behind it.

  One of the officers explains about my call. “But we couldn’t find anyone in your yard,” he adds to my father. “The windows all seemed to be locked, and both the front and back doors were secured.”

  The other officer speaks up. “Could be your daughter is a little nervous. Can’t blame her. And people sometimes think they see things in the dark, things that aren’t really there. You know, shadows and tree branches moving in the wind, stuff like that.”

  “But we all saw him,” Keri says.

  “I saw him first,” Teri shouts.

  “It was a ‘him’?” Mrs. Cooper asks Teri. “A boy? A man?”

  Teri thinks for a moment. “Maybe it was a monster.”

  There’s a pause, during which the adults all look at each other. Then the first police officer says, “There’s no one there now,” in the tone of voice that implies he doubts there ever was. He turns to Mrs. Cooper. “We checked your yard out, too, ma’am, just to be sure.”

  “Thank you,” she says, takes a deep breath, and immediately begins to order her children inside, ask if they’ve brushed their teeth, why they aren’t in their pajamas, and have they completely forgotten the rule about picking up their toys before they go to bed?

  I just quietly shut the door and leave with Dad and the policemen. Mrs. Cooper didn’t remember to pay me, but it doesn’t matter. I wasn’t a very good babysitter, and I’m not going to baby-sit again—not until the murderer is found and he’s in prison. I don’t know what happened tonight, if anything, but if I’m in any danger, I don’t want to involve anyone else.

  Markowitz arrives and talks to the policemen. They leave, and he checks out the yard himself with a high-powered flashlight. He bends and stoops and examines the ground under each of the windows as Dad and I follow along behind him. “If we’d had some rain, we might have been able to get a footprint,” Markowitz finally says, snapping off his light and tucking one end of it into the pocket of his jacket. He thinks for a moment, then looks carefully at me.

  “Stacy, I think it was a false alarm.”

  “We saw someone.”

  “Male or female?”

  “I don’t know. I couldn’t tell.”

  “Why?”

  “It was too dark. It was just a shadow.”

  He shakes his head and says, “That’s what I mean. It is dark tonight, too dark to know what you saw. I’m inclined to think it was too much imagination.”

  Dad puts an arm around my shoulders and lets out a sigh. “I thought so, but I’m glad to hear you say it. Would you like a cup of coffee, Mr. Markowitz?”

  “No, thanks,” Markowitz says. “This was a long day. I’m beat.” He walks with us to the front door. “Want me to check inside?”

  “Do you think you should?” Dad asks.

  “Nope. Your house was locked up tight. We would have found signs of forced entry if anyone had tried to get inside.” Markowitz smiles at me. “Take care, Stacy. I’ll be in touch with you soon.”

  Dad seems satisfied, and so does Markowitz, but I’m not. “What if—” I begin, then don’t know how to say what I’m thinking without getting Dad all upset.

  But Markowitz knows, and he answers. “Nothing’s going to happen to you, Stacy. W
e’ll watch out for you. You’re our star witness.”

  Is that all he cares about? That I might be able to testify against whoever killed my mother? Maybe that’s all that would matter to me, too, if my job were trying to catch criminals. He’s smiling, but I don’t trust his smile because I don’t believe everything is as simple as he makes it out to be. I know that I saw someone prowling around our house tonight, and nothing Markowitz or the other officers have said is going to make me change my mind.

  I don’t sleep well. In spite of the air conditioning, the air is sticky and clammy, and the sheets are a tangle around my legs. I doze and wake, alert to every little pop and creak of the house. Somewhere nearby the sharp trill of a mockingbird shatters the dark, and my eyes fly open. What is it? What?

  Every time I close my eyes I see the screen door open, the hand raise the gun, the face—I can’t see the face! I know I’m trying too hard, but I’ve got to be able to see it.

  At breakfast the next morning I tell Dad I’m going to make an appointment to talk to the counselor at Glen Creek High School, and I tell him about the party tonight.

  Dad looks uncomfortable. “When Donna was your age, your mother took care of those things,” he says. “I can’t remember all the questions I’m supposed to ask.” He thinks for a moment, then brightens. “Who will you be going to the party with?”

  “Jan and B.J.”

  “I know Jan, but who’s this guy B.J.?”

  “Dad, B.J. is a girl. You met her—a long time ago. And it’s not the kind of party where you have to come with a date.”

  “Will this party be supervised?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Well, do you know where it will be?”

  “Tony Maconda’s house.”

  “Do you know him?”

  “Sure. I’ve known him since kindergarten. His family used to live just a couple of blocks from us, and then his father got to be vice-president or something in the oil company he worked for, and they moved to one of those big houses near the bayou.”

  There’s something else I should remember about Tony, something nagging my mind, but for now I can’t think of it. I do remember that he got caught shoplifting once, and there was one day when he bragged he had marijuana in his locker, only that time he didn’t get caught. I used to think Tony was a creep. But then, I thought Bick was, too, and Jan says he’s wonderful. People change a lot in four years.

  I tell Dad, “Tony’s short and plump and—” I lean back in my chair. “Oh, Dad, I don’t know what he looks like now!”

  “Okay, Stacy. I know who you mean. I’ve met Tony’s parents. They seem like reasonable people.”

  He stares at the table, and I know he’s trying to think up the other questions he’s supposed to ask, but I’m tired of this. I hadn’t wanted to go to the party, but now it’s become a challenge. There’s no reason why Dad shouldn’t let me go with Jan.

  “At seventeen I should be old enough to make up my own mind about going to a party!”

  “It’s just that you’re not quite used to the world as it is now,” he says. “There’s a problem with drugs and—”

  “Daddy!” I interrupt. “Kids were taking drugs when I was thirteen! And you don’t have to worry about me. I’m not dumb enough to take drugs.”

  He reaches across the table and takes my hands. “Stacy, I wasn’t intimating that you’d take drugs. I was—oh, honey, I want to protect you, and I don’t know how to do it.”

  I squeeze his fingers and smile at him. “Daddy, you’re doing a good job of protecting me. Just don’t overdo it. I’ve got to be allowed to grow up.”

  He nods and tries to smile back. “Well, you’ll be with Jan. She’s a good girl. And I know where you’ll be. What time are you leaving for the party?”

  “Jan’s going to be here at seven to help me get ready.”

  He looks puzzled. “Do you need something special to wear?”

  “No, Dad. It’s informal. I’ll wear my jeans. Jan’s going to help me with my makeup.”

  “I feel so lost,” he says. “I wish your mother were here.”

  I fight back the hot pressure behind my eyes, answering, “I wish she were here too,” and adding quickly, “but you’re doing a great job, Dad. And Jan will be glad to see you.”

  He carries his coffee cup and empty cereal bowl to the sink. “Not tonight, I’m afraid. I almost forgot to tell you. I’ll get a hamburger for dinner because we’ve got to go over some reports that came in from one of the branches. It’s going to mean that I’ll be there later than usual, maybe until eleven or even midnight.”

  “I may get home before you do,” I tell him.

  He bends down to kiss my forehead. “Have a good time at the party, Stacy.”

  “Thanks,” I answer, wishing I didn’t have to go.

  In the afternoon a delivery truck comes with an exercise bicycle.

  The moment the deliveryman leaves the telephone rings. “Is everything all right, Stacy?” It’s Mrs. Cooper’s voice.

  “Yes. Everything’s fine.”

  “Well, you know how it is in a neighborhood—everyone checking on everyone else, and I saw a delivery truck, so I thought—” She interrupts herself to tell me about some friends who had a delivery truck parked in their driveway, and none of their neighbors thought a thing about it, except it really wasn’t a delivery truck, and most of their furniture was stolen.

  “This one was a real delivery truck, and it brought my exercise bicycle,” I tell her.

  “I guess I’m just being too careful,” she says. “But one thing and another, like that excitement last night and that same car that seems to be cruising this street, although my husband says I’m just looking for trouble, and—”

  “What car?” I have to interrupt.

  “I don’t know,” she says. “Just a car. Next time I see it I’m going to write down the license number.”

  “How often have you seen the car?”

  “Oh, three or four times.”

  “What kind of car is it?”

  “Goodness, I have no idea.”

  “What color is it?”

  “Plain. You know.”

  “Brown? Blue?”

  “Yes. Something like that. Nothing special.”

  There’s no point in asking her any more questions. Besides, the car she saw is probably no more a threat than the delivery truck that brought my bicycle.

  “One more thing.” Mrs. Cooper continues by telling me she’s sorry she forgot to tell me about the girls’ bedtime, and she’s sorry we all got so excited. She forgot to tell me that Teri has an overactive imagination, and she apologizes for forgetting to pay me for babysitting. If I come over tonight or tomorrow, she’ll have the money for me. By the time we end our conversation I feel like gasping for breath.

  I climb on the bicycle and follow all of Mrs. Montez’s instructions, working up a real sweat. Next comes a steamy, hot shower. I feel good, really good.

  As I turn off the shower I hear the telephone ringing. Wrapping the towel around myself, I run to answer it. How long has it been ringing? Whoever is calling must know that I’m home. Maybe it’s Donna or Dad.

  “Hi,” I gasp into the receiver.

  A whispering voice hisses, “What do you remember, Stacy?”

  “Who are you?” The whisper is weird, but I’m too shocked to be frightened.

  “It’s been a long time,” the voice says. “Why don’t you just forget? It would be safer for you to forget.”

  I hear my own voice as though I’d stepped outside my body and were looking and listening to someone else. I expect to be afraid, but I’m not. It’s as though I were made of glass, with a red, churning anger bubbling up inside me. Words drop like chunks of molten glass as I ask, “Are you the one who killed my mother?”

  The whisperer doesn’t answer for a while, so I ask again, “Are you?”

  The voice over the telephone is softer now. “I heard that you don’t remember my face.”
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  “But I will,” I say.

  “Then I’ll have to do something about it.”

  “Not if I find you first.”

  There’s a pause, then a chuckle. It sounds almost as though he were talking to himself. This guy is weird. I can’t make out the first few words, but I hear him say, “… have a friend.”

  I interrupt. “What are you talking about? What friend?”

  “You haven’t got a chance, Stacy,” he whispers.

  There’s a click as the line goes dead. Slowly I put down the receiver. I didn’t know that hate could be this strong. He has torn up my life. He’s destroyed four years that belonged to me. And most horrible of all, he’s taken my mother away from us. I shiver as I realize I actually hate him enough to kill him.

  Chapter Nine

  The late-afternoon sun is rapidly being swallowed by dusky shadows, so I hurry through the room, fumbling with trembling fingers, turning on a couple of lamps. The light helps. And the movement brings everything back to normal. I think about the person who made that telephone call. Why did he laugh and talk to himself? He might have been high on something, some weird character who was playing games. Our telephone number’s in the phone book, easy for anyone to find, and there are a lot of crazy people who might think a call like that was funny. No. I’m sure he wasn’t the murderer. The murderer wouldn’t call me. Of course, he wouldn’t.

  The doorbell rings. Hesitating long enough to take a deep breath, I open the door. Jan stands there beaming at me.

  “Here we are, right on time and ready to make you gorgeous!” Jan announces. She steps into the entry hall, B.J. behind her. Jan looks super, but I stare at B.J. and wish I could go to the party with a paper bag over my head. Nobody should razzle-dazzle her good looks like B.J. It’s unfair to the rest of us who have to live in the same world.

  My expression must show what I’m thinking, because the corners of B.J.’s mouth turn up, and she gleams at me. “Stacy, you have great possibilities. With a little makeup and a new hairdo we’ll work wonders.”