by Ted Dekker
He shrugged. “I just don’t want to. They might tell.”
“We could make them swear not to. They like me; they’d promise not to tell. They could be part of our club.”
“We have fun together without them, don’t we? Why do we need them?”
“Well, you have to start meeting some other people, Kevin. You’re growing up, you know. I can’t understand why your mom won’t let you out to play in the first place. That’s kinda mean—”
“Don’t talk about her that way!”
“Well, it is!”
Kevin lowered his head, suddenly feeling suffocated. They stood in the quiet for a moment.
Sam put her hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry.”
The way she said it made tears come to his eyes. She was so special.
“I’m sorry,” she said again. “I guess just because she’s different doesn’t mean she’s mean. Different strokes for different folks, right?”
He looked up at her, unsure.
“It’s a saying.” She wiped a tear that had leaked from his right eye. “At least your mom isn’t one of those parents who abuse their kids. I’ve heard my dad talk about some things.” She shuddered. “Some people are horrible.”
“My mom is a princess,” Kevin said softly.
Sam grinned politely and nodded. “She’s never hit you, has she, Kevin?”
“Hit me? Why would she hit me?”
“Has she?”
“Never! She sends me to my room and makes me read my books. That’s all. Why would anyone hit someone else?”
“Not everyone’s as sweet as you, Kevin.” Sam took his hand and they started to walk. “I think my dad might know about us.”
Kevin pulled up. “What?”
“He’s asked a few questions. Mom and Dad talk about your family every once in a while. He is a cop, after all.”
“Did . . . did you tell him anything?”
“Of course not. Don’t worry. Your secret’s safe with me.”
They walked for a few minutes, hand in hand.
“Do you like Tommy?” Kevin asked.
“Tommy? Sure.”
“I mean, is he your . . . you know . . .”
“Boyfriend? Don’t gross me out!”
Kevin flushed and giggled. They came to a large tree behind her house and Sam stopped. She faced him and took both of his hands in hers. “I don’t have any boyfriends except you, Kevin. I like you.”
He looked into her bright blue eyes. A gentle breeze lifted her blonde hair so that it swam around her, highlighted by the moon. She was the most beautiful thing Kevin had ever seen. He was so taken with her that he had trouble even speaking.
“I . . . I like you too, Sam.”
“We’re like secret lovers,” she said softly, and suddenly her face softened. “I’ve never kissed a boy before. Could I kiss you?”
“Kiss me?” He swallowed.
“Yes.”
Kevin’s throat was suddenly dryer than baking powder. “Yes.”
She leaned forward and touched her lips to his for a moment.
She pulled back and they stared at each other, wide-eyed. Kevin’s heart throbbed in his ears. He should do something! Before he lost his nerve, he bent and returned the kiss.
The night seemed to disappear around him. He floated on a cloud. They looked at each other, suddenly awkward.
“I should go now,” she said.
“Okay.”
She turned and ran toward her house. Kevin spun around and tore home, and honestly he wasn’t sure if his feet really were on the ground. He did like Samantha. He liked her very, very much. Maybe even more than his mother, which was pretty impossible.
The next few days floated by like a dream. He met Sam two nights later and they made no mention of the kiss. They didn’t need to. They resumed their playing as if nothing at all had changed between them. They didn’t kiss again, and Kevin wasn’t sure he wanted to. It might somehow spoil the magic of that first kiss.
Sam didn’t come to his window for three straight nights, and Kevin decided to sneak out and go to her house. He took the greenway past the two houses between his and Sam’s on light feet, careful not to make the slightest sound. You could never know who might be out at night. They had hidden from the sound of coming voices and approaching footsteps a hundred times before.
A half-moon sat in the black sky, peeking around slowly drifting clouds. Crickets chirped. Sam’s house came into view and his heart thumped a little louder. He eased up to the picket fence and peered over it. Her room was on the bottom floor; he could see the faint glow of light past the tree in front of the window. Please be there, Sam. Please.
Kevin glanced around, saw no one, and pushed aside the board Sam had loosened long ago. Her dad might be a cop, but he’d never found this, had he? That’s because Sam was smart too. He climbed through and brushed his hands. Please be there, Sam.
Kevin took a step. The tree in front of Sam’s window moved. He froze. Sam? Slowly a dark head and then shoulders came into view. Someone was peeking into Sam’s room!
Kevin jerked back, panicked. The form stood taller, angling for a better view. It was a boy! A tall boy with a sharp nose. Staring in on Sam!
A dozen thoughts screamed through Kevin’s head. Who? What was the boy doing? He should run! No, he should yell. Was that Tommy? No, Tommy had longer hair.
The boy spun around, stared directly at Kevin, and then pushed his way past the tree. He stood tall in the moonlight, and a terrible smile twisted his face. He took a step toward Kevin.
Kevin didn’t bother with the loose plank—he went over the fence faster than he could have ever imagined possible and ran for a large tree on the edge of the greenway. He pulled up behind it, panting.
Nothing happened. There was no sound of running or of heavy breathing other than his own. He would have run for home but was afraid the boy was waiting by the fence for the first sign of movement. It took him a full five minutes to work up the courage to peek ever so slowly around the tree.
Nothing.
Another five minutes and he was peering over the fence again. Nothing. Whoever the boy was, he’d gone.
Kevin finally worked up the courage to tap on Sam’s window. She climbed out, all smiles. She was waiting for him, she said. Waiting for the dashing young man to come to the window of the maiden. That’s how it was done in the movies.
He told her about the boy, but she found it funny. One of the neighborhood guys had a crush on her, and her prince charming had sent him packing! Hearing himself tell it, the story did sound funny. They had a good hoot that night. But Kevin had a hard time shaking the image of the boy’s horrible smile.
Three nights went by before Kevin saw the boy again—this time in the greenway on his way home. At first he thought it was a dog or some animal running behind the trees, but after he’d climbed into bed, he began to wonder if it was the boy. What if he was going to spy on Sam again? He tossed and turned for half an hour before working up the resolve to go back and check on Sam. He would never go to sleep until he had.
For the first time in a year, he went out for a second time in the same night—prince charming to check on his damsel in distress. He didn’t really expect to see anything.
Kevin poked his head over the fence in Sam’s backyard and went rigid. The boy! He was there, peering into Sam’s window again! He’d waited until Kevin went home and then snuck up to her window to spy on her!
Kevin ducked and tried to calm his breathing. He had to do something! But what? If he yelled and then took off running, the boy wouldn’t catch him. At least then he might scare off the boy. He could throw a rock. No. What if he broke Sam’s window?
He went up slowly for another peek. The boy was doing something. He had his face planted against the window and was . . . he was moving his face around in circles. What was he doing? Kevin blinked. Was he . . . ? A chill snaked down Kevin’s spine. The boy was licking Sam’s window in slow circles.
&nbs
p; Something ballooned in Kevin’s head. Whether it was rage or just plain terror, he couldn’t be sure, but he spoke while courage strengthened him.
“Hey!”
The boy spun around. For one long, still moment, they stared at each other. The boy stepped forward and Kevin fled. He bolted through the greenway, pumping his skinny arms and legs as fast as they would go without tearing loose. He dove through his fence, flew into his bedroom, and shut the window, surely making enough racket to wake the house.
Ten minutes later the night slept in silence. But Kevin couldn’t. He felt trapped in the small room. What was the boy doing? Had he been stalking Sam every night? He had, hadn’t he? Kevin had only stumbled on him twice, but there was no telling how long the boy had been stalking Sam.
An hour passed, and Kevin could hardly shut his eyes, much less sleep. That’s when he heard the tap on his window. He bolted up in bed. Sam! He scrambled to his knees and lifted the shade.
The boy stood at the back fence, head and shoulders in plain view. He stared directly at Kevin, twirling something in his hand. It was a knife.
Kevin dropped the shade and flung the covers over his head. He lay trembling for two hours before peeking again, ever so carefully, just barely lifting the shade. The boy was gone.
The next three days dragged by like a slow nightmare. Each night he peeked out his window a hundred times. Each night the backyard remained vacant except for the doghouse and the toolshed. Each night he prayed desperately for Sam to come for a visit. She’d talked about going to a camp, but he couldn’t remember exactly when she was supposed to go. Was it this week?
On the fourth night, Kevin couldn’t wait any longer. He paced in his room for an hour, peering out of his window every few minutes, before deciding that he had to check on Sam before the anxiety killed him.
It took him half an hour to work his way up to her house, using the trees in the greenway as cover. The night was quiet. When he finally inched his head over Sam’s fence, her light was out. He scanned the yard. No boy. Sam was gone and so was the boy.
He collapsed at the base of the fence with relief. She must be at that camp. Maybe the boy had followed her there. No. That was stupid. How could a boy follow a girl all the way to camp?
Kevin eased his way back to the cover of the greenway and headed home, feeling at ease for the first time in nearly a week. Maybe the boy had moved. Maybe he had found something else to occupy his sick little mind.
Maybe he had snuck into Sam’s room and killed her.
He pulled up. No. Kevin would have heard about that. Her father was a cop and—
A blunt object slammed into the side of Kevin’s head and he staggered. A groan broke from his throat. Something wrapped around his neck and jerked him upright.
“Listen, you little punk, I know who you are and I don’t like you!” a voice snarled in his ear. The arm jerked him around and shoved him against a tree. Kevin wobbled at arm’s length from his attacker. The boy.
If his head wasn’t throbbing so badly, he might have panicked. Instead he just stared and tried to keep his legs from collapsing.
The boy sneered. Close up, his face reminded Kevin of a boar. He was older than Kevin and a foot taller, but still young, with pimples all over his nose and chin and a tattoo of a knife high on his forehead. He smelled like dirty socks.
The boy brought his face within a few inches of Kevin’s. “I’m going to give you one warning and one warning only, squat. That girl is mine, not yours. If I ever see you so much as looking at her again, I’ll kill her. If I catch you sneaking out to see her again, I may just kill the both of you. You hear me?”
Kevin just stood dumb.
The boy slapped him across the cheek. “You hear me?”
Kevin nodded.
The boy stepped back and glared at him. A slow lopsided grin split his face at a cruel angle. “You think you’re in love with this little tramp? Huh? You’re too stupid and too young to know what love is. And so is she. I’m going to teach her love, baby, and I don’t need a squat like you messing with our little romance.” He stepped back.
Kevin saw the knife in the boy’s hand for the first time. His mind cleared. The boy saw his eyes on the knife and he lifted it slowly.
“You have any idea what a nine-inch bowie can do to a squat like you?” The boy twirled the blade in his hand. “Do you know how persuasive a bright shiny blade can be to a young girl?”
Kevin suddenly felt like he was going to vomit.
“Get back to your little room, squat, before I decide to cut you just for looking so stupid.”
Kevin fled.
7
Friday
Night
KEVIN SAT IN HIS RECLINER, waiting impatiently for Samantha, flipping through the channels to hear the various versions of the “car bomb,” as they were calling it. He nursed a warm 7UP in his left hand and glanced up at the wall clock. Nine o’clock— nearly five hours had passed since she’d left Sacramento.
“Come on, Samantha,” he muttered softly. “Where are you?” She’d called him halfway down. He told her about the dog and begged her to hurry. She was already doing eighty, she said.
Back to the television. They knew Kevin’s identity, and a dozen reporters had tracked down his number. He’d ignored the calls per Milton’s suggestion. Not that he had anything to add anyway—their theories were as good as his. Channel nine’s suggestion that the bombing might be the work of a well-known fugitive dubbed the Riddle Killer interested him most. The killer had taken the lives of five people up in Sacramento and had vanished three months ago. No more details, but the speculation was enough to plant a knot in Kevin’s throat. The pictures of the charred wreckage, taken from the sky, were stunning. Or terrifying, depending on how he thought of them. If he’d been anywhere near the thing when it blew, he’d be dead. Like the dog.
After Slater’s call, he’d forced himself to return to the backyard and explain the situation to Balinda, but she wouldn’t even acknowledge him. She’d already put the matter behind them by executive order. Poor Bob would somehow be convinced that Damon was alive and well, just gone. Balinda would have to explain her initial screaming flight across the ash after the explosion, of course, but she was an expert at explaining the unexplainable. The only time she even responded to Kevin was when he suggested they not call the police.
“Of course not. We’ve got nothing to report. The dog’s fine. Do you see a dead dog?”
No, he didn’t. Eugene had already dumped it in the burn barrel and set it on fire. Gone. What were a few more ashes?
His mind drifted to the call with Slater. What boy? Slater didn’t seem to know of any boy. What boy? The key to his sin was found in the riddles. As far as he could see, the riddles had nothing to do with the boy. So then Slater couldn’t be the boy. Thank God, thank God, thank God. Some secrets were best left buried forever.
The doorbell chimed. Kevin set down his 7UP and clambered out of his chair. He stopped at the hall mirror for a quick look. Haggard face. Smudged T-shirt. He scratched the top of his head. The bell chimed again.
“Coming.”
He hurried to the peephole, peered out, saw that it was Samantha, and unlocked the door. It had been ten years since he’d kissed her on the cheek and wished her well in conquering the big bad world. Her hair had been blonde and long; her blue eyes sparkling like stars. She’d had one of those faces that looked airbrushed all the time, even without a speck of makeup. Smooth rounded cheeks and soft upturned lips, high arching eyebrows and a soft pointed nose. The most beautiful girl he’d ever seen. Of course, he wasn’t seeing a lot of girls in those days.
Kevin fumbled with the knob and opened the door. Samantha stood under the porch light, dressed in jeans and smiling warmly. He’d thought of her a thousand times since she’d left, but his mind’s eye could never have prepared him for seeing her now, in the flesh. He had seen a lot of girls in the last five years, and Sam was still the most beautiful girl he’d ever la
id eyes on. Bar none.
“Are you going to invite me in, stranger?”
“Yes. Sorry, of course! Come in, come in.”
She walked past him, set down her bag, and faced him. He shut the door.
“My, you’ve grown up,” she said. “Put on a bit of muscle.”
He grinned and ran his hand over his head. “I guess.”
He was having difficulty not staring at her eyes. They were the kind of blue that seemed to swallow whatever they gazed upon—brilliant and deep and haunting. They didn’t reflect the light so much as shine, as if illuminated by their own source. No man nor woman could look into Samantha’s eyes and not think that there was indeed a God in heaven. She stood just up to his chin, slender and graceful. This was Samantha, his best friend. His only real friend. Looking at her now, he wondered how he’d survived the last ten years.
She stepped forward. “Give me a hug, my knight.”
He chuckled at her childhood reference and hugged her tight. “It’s so good to see you, Samantha.”
She stood up on her toes and kissed his cheek. Beyond that one blissful kiss when they were eleven, their relationship had remained platonic. Neither of them wanted romance from the other. They were bosom buddies, best friends, almost brother and sister. Not that the thought hadn’t crossed Kevin’s mind; a friendship had just always been more appealing. She had always been the damsel in distress, and he the knight in shining armor, even though they both knew she had rescued him in the first place. Now, despite the fact that it was she who’d again come to his rescue, their childhood personas came naturally.
Sam turned to the living room, hands on her hips. “I see you like travel posters.”
He walked with her and grinned self-consciously. Quit rubbing your head; she’ll think you’re a dog. He lowered his hands and tapped his right foot.
“I’d like to go to all those places someday. It’s kinda like looking at the world. Reminds me there’s more. Never did like being shut in.”
“I like it! Well, you’ve come far. And I knew you would, didn’t I? You just had to get away from that mother of yours.”
“Aunt,” he corrected. “She never was my mother.”
