The Face

by R. L. Stine

  Justine.

  Her lipstick smeared from kissing Aaron.

  Aaron and Justine.

  “Martha—listen,” Aaron started, breathing hard.

  From kissing her? Or from the surprise of seeing me?

  He took a deep breath and started again. “Martha—I have to tell you—”

  Adriana shoved him back. “Not now, Aaron,” she said sharply.

  “Martha is having a tough time,” Laura told him. She tugged me away.

  “Go away, Aaron,” Adriana said coldly. “You too, Justine. Just go away. No way Martha wants to talk to you now.”

  She and Laura pulled me away.

  I saw Aaron give a helpless shrug. I tried to read his expression, but I couldn’t figure it out.

  Did he look guilty? Embarrassed?

  Didn’t he care?

  I saw him and Justine turn and head to the gym.

  Then, suddenly, I was out the door. Into the dark night.

  The darkest night.

  My darkest night.

  Plunged into such cold darkness. Because I believed in Aaron. I believed he cared about me.

  Not Justine. Not Aaron and Justine.

  Now what could I believe in?

  What?

  I can’t even believe in my own mind! I realized.

  Such a dark night of hallucinations, of unreal faces—and real faces.

  Aaron and Justine. Why couldn’t they be a hallucination too?

  Why were they kissing in the hall when I believed in them?

  What can I believe now?

  Before I realized it, Laura and Adriana were gone. I was back in my bedroom. Back in the light.

  Staring into the harsh white light of my desk lamp. Sitting there, sketching again. Drawing the boy’s face. Staring into the bright light as if being warmed by it. Calmed by it.

  I never wanted to see the darkness again.

  I wanted to stay in the light. Swim in it. Bathe in it. Live in it.

  And draw the face. Draw it again and again.

  And as I stared into the light, the face began to move.

  It moved in my memory. Another scene, a lost scene from that forgotten November.

  My memory started to return.

  I stared into the light, willing the memory back, willing it to life.

  Will it all come back this time? I wondered.

  Will I get it all this time? I asked myself, gazing into the warm, white light, filled with eagerness—and cold dread.

  chapter 17

  “Don’t push me like that,” I whispered.

  He grinned at me, his face so close, so close I could smell the chocolate on his breath. “You like it,” he insisted.

  “No.” I tried to shove him back. He had his arm around my shoulder. He pressed against me. “No. I don’t like it. Really.”

  That made him laugh.

  He pressed closer. Lowered his head and kissed me.

  I tasted the chocolate now. He’d been eating a candy bar. He pressed his lips harder against mine.

  Too hard.

  I tried to back away, but he was holding on to me so tightly.

  I couldn’t breathe!

  I heard the others in the other room of the cabin. Heard something crackle loudly in the fireplace. Heard Justine’s high laugh.

  Why wasn’t I with them? Why wasn’t I with my friends?

  Why was I in the dark back room of this cabin, kissing this strange boy when I should be with my friends?

  Where was Aaron?

  Why wasn’t I kissing Aaron?

  I listened for his voice in the other room. Heard Ivan instead. Heard Ivan say, “Throw another log on. Hey, somebody—throw another log on before it dies down.”

  Heard Adriana tell her brother, “You do it. Don’t just sit there ordering us around.”

  I wanted to get up. Join them. See the fire. Be with Aaron. I was still going with Aaron. I should be with him now.

  But the boy held on to me, held me so tightly.

  And kissed me again. Rubbing his face roughly against mine.

  Hurting me.

  “No. Sean—please.”

  His name is Sean?

  Sean?

  Sean?

  I know his name.

  Staring into the white desk light, I struggled to see more. I knew the boy’s name. But I needed to see the rest.

  What happens next? I asked myself.

  I know your name, Sean. But who are you? Why am I sitting in the dark with you? Why am I kissing you?

  What happens next?

  I stared into the light, struggling to see more. Struggling to see everything.

  And I saw myself shove Sean hard. He reacted with an angry cry.

  He shoved me back.

  We jumped to our feet. I could still taste the chocolate on my mouth, the chocolate of his rough kisses.

  But now we were fighting. Shoving each other. Shouting.

  I couldn’t hear the words.

  I could feel my anger. More than anger. I felt rage.

  I shoved him in the chest. I slapped him.

  Oh!

  The sound of that slap.

  But why were we fighting?

  Why?

  With a trembling hand, I clicked off the desk light. I didn’t want to see any more. It was too upsetting.

  My whole body shook. The back of my neck felt cold and damp.

  The memory had been so sharp, so painfully clear. I wasn’t just remembering that night—I was reliving it.

  I started to pull myself to my feet But a blinking red light caught my attention. I stared down at my answering machine. The blinking light meant that I had a message.

  Had it been blinking the whole night?

  I pushed the button and listened to the squeal of the tape rewinding.

  A few seconds later the message began to play. I heard crackling. A lot of background noise. Like from a restaurant or a crowded room.

  And then a girl’s voice, harsh, raspy. A girl’s whispered voice: “You keep drawing him because you killed him.”

  “Huh?” I let out a startled cry.

  Leaned closer, listening for the rest.

  But the caller hung up. A click. Then silence.

  The tape rewound itself.

  I pushed the button. Listened to it again, gripping the edges of my desk.

  “You keep drawing him because you killed him.”

  “Nooo!” I wailed. “Laura—is that you? Laura?”

  It sounded like Laura, making her voice low and raspy. Laura disguising her voice.

  “Is it you, Laura? What do you mean?”

  I pushed the button and played the message again. And again. And again.

  “You keep drawing him because you killed him.”

  No. No, I told myself.

  It can’t be true. It can’t be.

  Laura—was that you? Did you leave that horrifying message?

  Why are you doing this to me?

  chapter 18

  “Please come in.” Dr. Corben held open the door to her inner office, and I followed her inside.

  She was a short, gray-haired woman. Tiny with delicate, doll-like features. She wore a black pantsuit that fit her perfectly. She could have been anywhere between forty and sixty. I really couldn’t tell.

  Her office was small and dark. Every surface was cluttered with piles of books, thick folders, stacks of magazines, and papers.

  She had no nurse or receptionist. She was all alone here. In this dark, cluttered office. Such a serious room. The Garfield the Cat cookie jar on her desk seemed totally out of place.

  I felt the blood start to throb at my temples. I suddenly felt really tense.

  I should turn around and leave, I told myself.

  But no. I felt so desperate now. So frightened after that ugly phone message. I had to find out the truth. All of it. I had to know.

  The doctor’s warm smile reassured me. “Take a seat, Martha.” She motioned to the wooden chair in front of
her desk. “It’s cold in here, isn’t it?”

  I nodded. “A little. It’s very windy out.”

  “I’ve been fighting with the landlord about the heat,” she said, lowering herself into her desk chair and shoving a stack of files aside. “Do you need a sweater or anything?”

  I was wearing a big, long-sleeved T-shirt over black tights. “No. I’m fine. Really.” I crossed my legs, then uncrossed them. I felt so uncomfortable.

  “How can I help you?” Dr. Corben asked, smiling again.

  “I … well …” I took a deep breath and started again. “I’m interested in hypnosis, Dr. Corben. I know it’s your specialty. I mean, you hypnotize people—right?”

  She slid open her center desk drawer and pulled out a long yellow pad. She set it down on the desktop in front of her but didn’t write anything. “Hypnosis is a tool that I use,” she replied. She brushed a strand of gray hair off her forehead.

  “And hypnosis can be used to help people get back their memory—right?” I asked, squeezing the wooden chair arms.

  She nodded. Then she raised her tiny gray-blue eyes to mine. “Do you have memory loss, Martha?”

  “Well … yes.” I sighed. “Something happened last November. Some kind of accident. I haven’t been able to remember it. Just pieces of it.”

  I crossed my legs again. My heart was suddenly pounding. “I really want to know what happened to me, Dr. Corben. Can you hypnotize me? Can you hypnotize me and bring back my memory?”

  She gripped the yellow pad with both hands, sliding her hands up and down the sides of it. “You’ve had memory loss since last November?”

  I nodded.

  She narrowed her eyes and leaned across the desk. “You are under a doctor’s care—right?”

  I nodded again. “Yes, but—”

  She raised a hand to stop me. “Did you bring a note from your doctor? Any instructions?”

  “No. I didn’t tell him,” I blurted out.

  Dr. Corben sank back into the desk chair. “Well, I could telephone your doctor, I suppose. You see, I cannot proceed until I have spoken with him and learned all the details. It wouldn’t be right. In fact, it could be quite damaging.”

  “No. Please—” I started. I knew that Dr. Sayles wouldn’t approve of this. I knew he’d be upset that I came here without telling him.

  Dr. Corben tapped a pencil against the yellow pad. “How did you find out about me, Martha? How did you know to come here?”

  “My friend Adriana,” I told her. “Adriana Petrakis?”

  “Oh, yes. Of course.” Dr. Corben smiled again. “She was having trouble sleeping.”

  “And you really helped her,” I said breathlessly. “She told me how you showed her how to hypnotize herself. It helped her a lot. And the other night, I had some trouble at the basketball game. And Adriana hypnotized me, and she—”

  “She what?” Dr. Corben jumped to her feet, her face tight with shock. “Adriana did what?”

  “She used a coin. She gave me a hypnotic suggestion. To calm me down. I think it worked because—”

  “She has no business doing that!” Dr. Corben exclaimed. “That is so dangerous, Martha. Adriana doesn’t have the skill or the knowledge. She doesn’t know what she’s playing with. You must never let her try that on you again.”

  “I—I’m sorry,” I murmured, swallowing hard.

  Oh, no, I thought, feeling my stomach tighten with dread. Now I’ve gotten Adriana into major trouble.

  “She was just trying to help me,” I offered. “Actually, I think it did help me.”

  Dr. Corben didn’t seem to hear me. “I’ll have to call her,” she said fretfully. “I’ll have to speak to Adriana. And her parents.”

  I uttered a frustrated groan. “But what about me?” I blurted out in a high, shrill voice. “Will you hypnotize me? Will you help me get my memory back?”

  Dr. Corben shook her head. She fixed a sympathetic stare on me. “I’d like to help, Martha,” she said softly. “But I need to talk to your doctor first. And your parents. I need their permission before I can—”

  I didn’t wait for her to finish. I leaped up from the chair—so hard, I sent it toppling to the floor. As it clattered onto its back, I turned and ran.

  Out of the dingy, cluttered office. Through the tiny, dark waiting room. Out the front door of the rundown building.

  Dark clouds hovered low in the sky. The air felt heavy and wet.

  I sucked in mouthfuls of the cold air. Then, as I started to my car, a figure stepped away from the wall.

  “Martha—wait!” he called.

  I froze as he stepped out of the shadows.

  “Sean!”

  My knees started to buckle.

  I felt myself lose my balance, start to collapse to the pavement.

  He hurried across the parking lot.

  Sean?

  No. Not Sean.

  Aaron.

  “Aaron—what are you doing here?” I choked out.

  He wore a brown leather bomber jacket over a black flannel shirt. The jacket flapped open as he ran to catch up to me. His dark hair flew around his head.

  “Martha, whoa.” He stopped in front of me, his breath trailing up over his head. He brushed back his hair with both hands. “I want to explain,” he said breathlessly.

  I could feel my throat tighten. Once again, maybe for the thousandth time, I pictured him in the dark hall at school, kissing Justine. Kissing my friend.

  Aaron and Justine.

  I eyed him coldly. I realized in that instant that I didn’t feel the same way about Aaron anymore.

  I still cared about him. Maybe I even loved him.

  But I didn’t trust him.

  “I want to explain,” he repeated. He placed a hand on the shoulder of my jacket. But I stepped back, away from his hand.

  “Well? Go ahead,” I challenged him. I wanted to sound cold and hard. But my voice trembled.

  “Justine and I are tired of sneaking around,” Aaron said, his dark eyes on mine. “In a way, I’m glad you saw us.”

  “You and Justine—?” I couldn’t keep the hurt out of my voice. But his words cut through me, sharper than the cold wind.

  He nodded. “Justine and I don’t want to hurt you, Martha. But we’ve been going out. For several months.”

  “Is that why Justine and I got into that fight up at the cabins?” I demanded.

  Aaron nodded. “Yes. You remember that?”

  “Yes. I’m remembering things,” I said coldly. “But, Aaron—you and I …?” My voice trailed off. I didn’t know what to say. I felt so much hurt. And my hurt was quickly giving way to anger.

  “I’m really sorry,” he murmured. He lowered his eyes. “We know you’re still in shock. Since what happened.”

  I guess that’s when I totally lost it. I grabbed his shoulders with both hands. I started shaking him. Hard. “What happened?” I demanded. “Tell me, Aaron. Tell me now. What happened? What happened to Sean?”

  His mouth dropped open in shock. He grabbed my hands and held on to them, forced me to stop shaking him. “You—you remember Sean?” he stammered.

  Aaron took a step back. He seemed to stagger, as if overcome with shock. “You remember Sean?”

  I nodded, studying Aaron’s startled expression.

  Why does Aaron look so frightened? I found myself wondering. Why is he frightened that I’m starting to remember?

  “Tell me what happened,” I insisted. “Tell me now, Aaron.”

  “I—I can’t,” he stammered. He turned away from me. “It’s too … horrible.”

  chapter 19

  After school on Wednesday I heard shouts as I made my way to my locker.

  I turned the corner and saw two boys wrestling, shoving each other in the middle of the hall. A crowd had gathered. Kids were screaming and cheering.

  I heard an angry cry. One boy sprawled backward into a metal locker. The sound of the collision rose over the excited screams of the crowd.
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br />   As I jogged toward them, the boys grabbed each other. A hard punch made a head snap back.

  Some kids screamed.

  I saw a trickle of blood puddle the floor.

  Gazing up, I saw Ivan.

  Ivan throwing himself on a boy I didn’t recognize.

  Blood gushing down Ivan’s chin, staining the front of his gray shirt.

  “Ivan—stop!” I shrieked.

  They were down on the floor now, grunting and shouting, punching each other. Ivan, red-faced, sweat drenching his forehead, grabbed the boy’s throat with both hands.

  I dove beside him. Reached for Ivan’s shoulders, determined to pull him off, to pull him away.

  He was choking the other boy. His hands tightening around the boy’s throat.

  Choking him. Choking him.

  They rolled away from me.

  “Ivan—stop!” I shrieked at the top of my lungs. “Stop!”

  And then there were other hands tugging at the two fighters. Other voices. Harsh shouts.

  I climbed to my feet and saw Mr. Hernandez, the principal, tugging Ivan away.

  The other boy lay on his back, rubbing his neck, groaning. He had blood down the front of his denim shirt. Was it his blood? Or Ivan’s?

  I couldn’t tell. I gazed at the blur of bodies, the excited faces. Two teachers were helping the boy to his feet. He groaned, and blood gushed from his open mouth, thickly down his chin.

  “What was that about?” somebody behind me demanded.

  “Ivan started it,” I heard a girl mutter.

  “Who was the other guy?”

  “I don’t think he’s goes to Shadyside.”

  “Well, what were they fighting about?”

  “Look. One of them lost a tooth.”

  “Yuck!”

  I stepped away from the excited conversation. I really didn’t want to hear it.

  I felt so bad for Ivan.

  I turned the corner and saw Mr. Hernandez pulling Ivan down the hall. Ivan had his head lowered, his black hair toppling down in front of his face.

  Like a criminal, I thought.

  My friend. Adriana’s brother.

  Being taken away like a criminal.

  I sighed. “Ivan—what is your problem?”

  The phone was ringing when I finally got home from school. I tossed down my backpack and hurried to answer it.