“Only her brother. Stepbrother, I guess. He has a different name. And I do my best to avoid him.”
“Have you discussed the case with him at all?”
“I don’t talk to him if I can help it. He couldn’t have been more than a baby when, um—that happened. Probably around seven or eight when she died. He never actually knew her. Mr. Geyer, I really have to leave.”
“Of course.” He edged me toward the door and down the hall. “What about the rest of the family?”
“I never met them. We either went out somewhere or he came to my house. I don’t know where he is right now and I don’t care. I know you’re worried about upsetting them. It was so long ago and we can’t say much, there’s not enough room. I thought we could outline the case and mention just a tiny bit about drugs and alcohol. But no lectures, I promise.”
He stopped when we reached the head of the stairs. He grasped the newel post and shook his head the way people do when they’re fighting off sleep.
“It’s been a long day,” he said, “but I do want to discuss this with you. What do you say we go downstairs and talk over a cup of coffee?”
“I have to be home before dark. And it’s getting there.”
“You have a curfew?” He seemed surprised at that.
“I only have a junior license and I’m not supposed to drive after the sun goes down.”
He took my arm. “We’ll try to hurry it up. I’m sure a little coffee will help us both get home.”
I didn’t feel sleepy but supposed I could spare a couple of minutes. I’d gulp the coffee as fast as I could.
He’d said “downstairs.” The cafeteria was long closed and it didn’t serve coffee anyway.
I found out what he meant when we got there. It was the teachers’ lounge, near the library. I’d known it was there but never thought much about it.
He unlocked the door and flipped a light switch. A row of fluorescents blinked on. It looked like a comfortable room, bigger than I expected, with several upholstered chairs and two sofas. All the upholstery was in autumn colors: brown, orange, and black. The black fabric chairs had leaves outlined in gold. There were three windows, with the blinds closed.
“Make yourself comfortable while I get this thing going,” he said.
The room had everything he needed—a twelve-cup coffeemaker, a tiny sink, and a cupboard above the sink with a three-pound can of coffee, powdered creamer, and mugs. I fidgeted. How long would it take him to get things going?
Someone had tidied it all up and washed every dish for the night. He had to start from scratch, measuring out water and coffee. I took a seat on one of the leaf-patterned chairs and studied the titles in a bookcase next to me. They were light reading, mostly mysteries and romances.
“I really should get home,” I said. “My family’s worried about me and I don’t want to lose my license.”
“We won’t be long. Would you like me to write a note telling them it’s my fault for keeping you?”
I figured he was kidding, but I didn’t laugh. Nor did he.
This was weird, being in the teacher’s lounge, with a teacher, after school.
Uh-oh.
He didn’t seem like the type to try anything. In fact he didn’t seem sexual at all. Maybe he really did want to talk. But why couldn’t it wait until tomorrow? We had a half-day on Wednesday. If it was this important, I could meet him at noon.
I tried to hurry things along. I said, “Are you really concerned about her family’s reaction? I’m sure they can handle it. From what Evan told me, his stepfather, that would be Paula’s dad, is a block of ice. Maybe he got that way after what happened to her.”
Geyer rested back against the table and watched the coffee drip. “You know the oath. First do no harm.”
That was Hippocrates. For doctors. It had nothing to do with journalism. But it was good advice for everybody. About everything.
“We wouldn’t say anything bad about her,” I assured him. “We’ll just be straightforward with what happened. We can mention the booze and pills but only in a general way, not as if we’re blaming her.”
“You’re walking a thin line,” he cautioned.
It looked as if he was trying to talk me out of Paula altogether. I tried to think how I could get around him without making trouble.
The coffee finished its burbling and he turned it off. “How do you take yours?”
“A lot of everything. I hope it’s not too hot. I’ll have to drink it fast and get going.”
“Relax.” He handed me a mug. “Do you have a long way to go?”
“Lake Road.” I took a sip. He had put in a delightful lot of everything. “It’s on the other side of the Vanorden Kill.”
“I know where it is. I used to have friends there, back in the old days.”
“Not anymore?” He was starting to make me nervous. Would he be blatant about it, or would he be subtle and try to seduce me? He wasn’t attractive enough to succeed with that. Unless he had a really remarkable line.
“Not at the moment,” he said. “Let’s see if I can find my notes.” He rummaged through the briefcase that rested on top of his jacket on one of the chairs. I took several more gulps of coffee. It was hot, but bearable.
“Go slow on that,” he told me with a chuckle. “Take a little time to enjoy it. The sun’s still up.” He pulled out a legal pad with scribbles and diagrams all over it.
The sun couldn’t still be up. This was November. The blinds covered whatever was out there.
My eyes went back to the chair. His jacket. It was black nylon with a pile lining. I couldn’t see much of the lining. Only enough to know it was pile. Or fuzzy, as Falco put it. A dark, purplish red.
“Something wrong?” he asked.
I jerked my head up and hoped my face kept its normal color. “Excuse me?” I tried for a bright smile.
“You looked as if you were in a trance of some kind.”
“Oh . . . I probably was.” Quickly I improvised, remembering a book I’d read not long ago. “It’s not a trance, really. It’s more like a form of epilepsy. My cousin has it. Kind of like a momentary blackout. You lose a little bit, no more than a few seconds, and you don’t even realize it. But other people notice.” I took several more swallows of coffee, hoping it would pick me up.
“If you have epilepsy,” he said, “you shouldn’t be driving.”
“You’re probably right. But they gave me a license even though they knew about it.” How was I going to get out of this one? The main thing was to stay calm. Act normal. The room was overly warm, making me sweat. I thought they turned down the heat at night. Save the taxpayers some money.
Why was I thinking of taxpayers? I started to set down my cup, and then decided to finish it. And leave. I had to get out of there. But not so fast as to make him notice.
I rambled on, trying to act normal. “You won’t tell them, I hope. The DMV. If they don’t want me driving, they can figure it out for themselves.”
He crossed his ankles, still leaning back against the table, and studied me. “What about your own safety? Do you have any warning when those episodes come on?”
“No, they just come when they please.”
Wrong answer. I should have said plenty of warning, so he would drop the subject.
“It’s under control, mostly,” I tried. “I forgot to take my meds this morning. I was in a hurry. Like now.” I tried to stand, and sat down again.
“Ohmigod. I don’t . . . know what . . .”
My jaw felt stiff. My head spun and my legs wouldn’t hold me.
I heard his voice from far away. “Would you like me to drive you?”
No! I tried to shake my head. That made me dizzier. If I could get outside, the cold air . . .
I couldn’t think what the cold air would do. “So . . . hot.” I tugged at my sleeves. I thought I was talking but couldn’t hear anything. If only I could get outside
He started toward me, his hand outstretched to hel
p me up. I saw him through a black curtain. His doughy face. The glasses.
The black curtain wrapped around me. I was falling. Falling through space.
Chapter Fifteen
It smelled.
I couldn’t see it. Couldn’t see anything, but it smelled like a musty old car.
It moved, too. I felt the shaking, the bouncing. Something gritted against my face. I was lying down.
I tried to remember. What was I doing? How did I get here? Not driving the car. Not even on a padded seat with springs. I tried to open my eyes. They wouldn’t open.
My mouth wouldn’t close. Something held it wide, stretching my jaw so far it hurt. Again I tried to remember. There wasn’t any past and definitely no future. I didn’t have the mental sharpness to feel fear. I simply . . . was.
That thing in my mouth, it hurt. I tried pushing it with my tongue. It was sort of like a tennis ball but didn’t have a stiff rubber core. Instead it was softer. But harder, too, because there was so much of it.
The car hit a bump and I bounced, slamming back down on grit. Why couldn’t I think? My brain didn’t work. I wanted to know where I was and why, but it was all black. All dark. Black curtains filled my head. The only reason I didn’t go to sleep was the bouncing.
I gagged. It felt like a roll of socks. I gagged again.
What was a roll of socks doing in my mouth?
I tried to remember where I’d been. Was it school? Home? Evan?
That was it. Somebody had to be driving the car. Was this the time he tried to drag me out of the house? I thought my family stopped him. Had him arrested. Maybe we’d somehow gotten into an alternate universe and it was happening again, but differently. I liked the first one better. How could I get back to it?
I thought my brain might be sharpening, since I could figure out someone was driving the car and it was Evan. That awareness started small, and grew. It had gone beyond the confines of the immediate space I was in, which had to be the trunk of a car. It was too tight and stuffy and dark for anything else.
I was a genius to figure that out. But I hadn’t gotten all of it.
Then I lost even that.
We hit a bump. A bad one. The car made a sharp turn. My genius turned to fear. What was happening?
It felt like parts of Fremont Drive. I knew it well. Lake Road went off from it. Its fine houses were interspersed with patches of meadow and patches of woodland. This felt like one of those meadows, bumpy with hummocks of grass. If you crossed the meadow you came to a steep hill with a lot of trees. At the bottom of it, the Vanorden Kill. Were we crossing the meadow?
A tiny point of fear began to grow. I couldn’t put it all together, but I knew it wasn’t good.
Steep hill. Almost a cliff, except it had trees. It could only be the Vanorden Kill. My mouth hurt. I hurt all over. I couldn’t see anything, didn’t know if it was day or night. I couldn’t remember . . .
Bang. Another bump. The car tilted, as if part of it had fallen in a hole.
The engine roared. He rocked it, trying to get it out of the hole. For a moment it felt suspended. Then it bumped down but didn’t roll back. I felt more bruises. Exhaust fumes choked me.
I moaned. I could make sounds, but I couldn’t articulate. More awareness came, reaching farther out from my tight space. I wanted to be home, not here. Home, with my family.
The car stopped.
My heart pounded. Other than that, I couldn’t feel anything.
Yes, I could. I felt fear. I felt the car shake when a door slammed.
Very nearby I heard a clicking sound. A gust of fresh air blew over me. I lay still, not knowing what I would face if I could see. I was blindfolded.
Strong hands picked me up. I knew Evan was strong.
He lifted me out of the trunk and stood me up. My legs wobbled. He grabbed my arm and pulled me along, stumbling over uneven ground. I had guessed right. It was a meadow. I could feel the clumps of grass. I tripped and then he tripped but neither of us fell. I thought of falling on purpose and rolling away. He could outrun me, he was a football player, and I couldn’t see where I was going.
Was it really Evan? The feel wasn’t quite right. Especially when he hoisted me onto his shoulder and kept walking, staggering under my weight. Evan wouldn’t stagger. He was strong.
He should have been protecting me with those strong arms. I wished I could take back all the sarcasm I’d heaped on him. It felt good at the time but I should have had more sense. For my own sake, I should have been kinder even though he wasn’t kind.
He stopped. In the distance I heard water. The Vanorden Kill. I wished I knew whether it was night or day. How long was I asleep, or whatever I was, before waking up in that trunk?
We were almost at the edge of where it started going down. I could tell by the sound of the water.
He let go of my arm and I fell.
I tried to move, to kick. My leg was so weak I could barely lift it. I had a momentary flash of being in a room. Someone else was there, looking at me. The flash disappeared.
He bent over me. I could feel that, too. He reached into my mouth and the gag came out.
I coughed. I had a hard time closing my mouth, it had been so stretched.
I moaned “Evan.” That was all I could manage. I still couldn’t see. I prayed that next he would take off the blindfold.
He didn’t.
Once again he grabbed my arm, nearly pulling it out of its socket. He dragged me through dried leaves, and then stopped. I knew by the feel of it that we were right on the edge.
He turned me so that I faced the sound of water. I could hear it but had no time to think. He whipped off the blindfold and gave me a hard shove.
Chapter Sixteen
I crashed through bushes, hurtling toward the water. The bushes couldn’t stop me. He’d flung me so hard I went right through them. I was nothing but a streak of pain and terror.
Down, down the hill. Branches scratched my face as I hurtled past them. Stones leapt out of the rocky earth and battered me. I couldn’t control my arms or legs.
Finally I hit something. Hit it hard, and stopped. It knocked the breath out of me.
It was a bush. A sturdy bush with a lot of branches. I gasped, trying to pull in some air, and knew I was going to die.
Way up above, a star twinkled. It was nighttime. Finally I managed a shallow breath, and then another. I could breathe, I could see, but I couldn’t move.
Pain seeped through me. I was battered everywhere. My head must have hit a rock. I tried to feel if it was broken.
I remembered the car. Was he still there? I couldn’t see above the top of the cliff.
Nor could I possibly get up there. I was such a broken wreck, I couldn’t imagine trying to move. Or being able to move even if I tried.
The hill loomed above me, almost straight up. Nothing but bushes and rocks. The top edge of it was a dark line against the sky.
And my star.
He said he loved me. Was this love? Would he come back in daylight and pretend to rescue me? I couldn’t count on it.
And there was the blindfold. So I wouldn’t recognize him. What difference would it make if I recognized him, if I was going to die?
But he took it off at the last second. He took the gag out, too. If he left those, then whoever found me would know I’d been murdered. Without them, it would look like an accident. Or suicide.
That was it. Maddie Canfield fell off the cliff. In the middle of the night. A likely story.
Or threw herself off. Even less likely. Anybody who knew me . . .
Evan knew me.
But not very well. He only knew his idea of me and it wasn’t the real me at all. I would show him.
The thought of climbing that hill and proving him wrong was too much. I curled up in dry leaves and rested my head on my hand. I wanted to prove him wrong. But I needed the strength to do it.
* * *
I did it! I was up! Running through the woods. Through cold air.
How did I get on my feet?
Running, running. Keeping warm in the cold air, except it still felt cold. I would have to run harder, faster. If it’s too cold, you can die. I wasn’t running up the hill, but toward the bridge, where someone would see me. What if it was Evan who came along? He’d have a stroke.
I tripped on a rock and fell down. Didn’t feel the fall. I just lay there in the cold. And closed my eyes.
I woke, shivering. Still in the same place. I hadn’t been running at all.
The sky was lighter now and my star had begun to fade. Was it the morning star? I couldn’t see my watch. I could feel that the crystal had broken from my tumble down the hill. It seemed a long time ago, but I still hurt. The water was still there, waiting for me. I could hear it. Too shallow to swim, and much too cold.
I felt myself floating down the river. To the Hudson. That’s where the Vanorden Kill came out. Right into the Tappan Zee, the widest part of the Hudson. Three miles across.
I jerked myself awake. I had to get out of here. Nobody was going to do it for me. I would not let Evan define me. He could take his machismo and shove it.
I pushed myself to a sitting position and began an inventory.
First, me. How damaged was I?
Luckily I had on my jacket. It meant I must have been outside when all this began. Or going out or coming back. I wished I could remember. The jacket was quilted, black nylon, with Hank’s blood dried into it. Call me crazy, but I hadn’t wanted to wash it. No one could see those bloodstains because the coat was black.
Black nylon. That meant something, but what? Another black nylon jacket. Not quilted, like mine, but lined with something. I remembered someone asking me about it.
This was no time to be thinking of that. I had to get out of here.
Where was my handbag? And my purple backpack? The purse had my cell phone in it. Probably still in his car. As soon as he found it, he would toss it into a dumpster. The backpack, too, with all my Tiger notes. Maybe someone would find them and finish the series.
All I wanted was to sleep. But that would mean hypothermia. And death.
The Long Sleep Page 14
