Chapter 18
Kill myself!
Ryan’s brain reeled, and she grabbed the edge of the bed.
Kill myself! What’s she talking about …?
As Steve’s and her mother’s voices faded out of earshot, Ryan held her hands in front of her face, her eyes piercing the darkness. She could feel the pain now, dull and throbbing, and so it must be real, I haven’t imagined the pain, so I must not be crazy, they just don’t know, they couldn’t know because they weren’t there.…
Trying not to make any noise, Ryan fumbled with the phone on the nightstand and torturously dialed Phoebe’s number. The phone rang and rang, and just as she was about to give up, Ryan heard Mrs. Evans’s cheery hello.
“Mrs. Evans”—her voice shook—“Mrs. Evans … this is Ryan.”
Something was wrong. She could tell immediately from the long uncomfortable silence, and then the careful calmness of Mrs. Evans’s voice when she finally spoke again.
“Yes, Ryan. How are you feeling, dear? We heard you had … an accident.”
She knows.… Ryan closed her eyes and fought back tears. She thinks she knows what’s happened, but she’s wrong—“May I speak to Phoebe, please?”
“Phoebe?” There was an awkward pause. Ryan had the distinct feeling that Mrs. Evans had covered the mouthpiece and was whispering to someone. When she spoke again, she sounded strained. “Well … Ryan … this really isn’t a … a good time right now. Could Phoebe—”
“Why won’t she talk to me, Mrs. Evans?” Ryan demanded. She was trying not to raise her voice, trying not to cry, and she knew Phoebe was there, she knew it—“Why won’t she come to the phone? It’s not what you think—why won’t you believe—”
Surprised, she heard the dial tone and looked down to see her own hand on the telephone. I hung it up myself. Who needs Phoebe, anyway? I don’t need anyone—
Sick at heart, Ryan crawled back under the covers, and tried to sleep. She could hear the clock ticking … minutes dragging by into endless hours. She heard Steve and Mom saying their goodbyes in the downstairs hall, then a little while later, her mother’s heartbroken sobs from the living room. She wouldn’t cry for long, Ryan knew—it would only take a couple of the usual sleeping pills, and her mother would be oblivious till morning. Ryan wondered where Charles was, and what he’d been doing all evening—she hadn’t heard him in the house, but maybe he’d been making himself inconspicuous throughout all this tragedy she’d seemed to cause. My fault again … everything’s always my fault …
It started to snow. She could see it from the bed, laciness drifting past the window. She dozed … woke … dozed again. The night waned, and she never knew when the snow let up, and she never knew what woke her, bringing her up from terrible dreams, tapping softly against her window.…
Ryan opened her eyes. She saw the pewter sky of early morning and, upon the windowpane, dribbles of clinging snow. Lying there, she tried to slip back into her twilight state, but as she gazed through half-open lids at the window, something hit the glass and came apart in soft flurries.
A snowball?
Puzzled, Ryan tried to raise herself on her elbows. Almost at once the pain stabbed through her hands and wrists, and she bit her lip to keep from crying out. She didn’t want to remember yesterday or what she’d have to face today—
Splat! The windowpane rattled as more white softness exploded against the glass. Ryan frowned and pushed back the covers. It was a snowball—but who would be out throwing snowballs at this hour?
The world was bathed in shadowy light as she pressed her face to the glass and peered down into the backyard. Fresh wet snow clung everywhere, giving the lawn a surreal appearance that Ryan found unsettling. Her breath fogged up the glass, and she winced as she tried to rub clumsily at the pane …
And then she saw it.
There on the lawn, just beneath her window, a huge, three-tiered snowman, at least six feet tall.
As Ryan gazed in wonder, she saw its long stick arms, reaching toward the sky … the ends branched out, like fingers, desperately clawing …
She saw the round oversize head …
She saw the face—not on the front of the head looking outward, but rather on top of the head, so that it looked straight up at her window.
From where Ryan stood, the eyes were empty black holes.
The mouth formed a silent scream.
And fluttering around its head in the morning breéze were long, red ribbons.
Chapter 19
No!”
Ryan raced to the kitchen and out the back door, her screams exploding with unbearable fury. She didn’t even feel the cold as she raced into the yard and attacked the snowman, tearing it apart. She didn’t hear the running footsteps on the porch behind her, didn’t even know anyone was there until she fell down, exhausted, and saw her mother and Charles huddled together on the steps. In the gray morning Mrs. McCauley’s voice carried across the lawn, and it sounded terrified.
“Ryan … my God … what are you—”
“Make it stop!” Ryan screamed, and she pointed to the snow heaped around her. “Please, Mom—please!”
“Oh … oh, Ryan …”
“This isn’t the first time!” Ryan shouted, and she tried to stand, but her legs wouldn’t hold her. “I’ve seen Marissa before—”
Mrs. McCauley looked frantically at Charles, who started forward slowly, as if afraid of making a wrong move.
“I know I’m not crazy!” Ryan babbled. “I tried to hold her—I wouldn’t have left her there! If I’d known she was serious, I wouldn’t have gone off—”
“What’s she talking about, Charles? Oh, Ryan, come here to me—”
“I wish it’d been me!” And suddenly Ryan was laughing uncontrollably, digging through the snow, holding up lumps of charcoal and long strings of curly Christmas ribbon. “I don’t know what’s happening! I’m so sick of all this, I just wish I were dead!”
Mrs. McCauley covered her face with her hands, and Charles moved past her, reaching Ryan in four long strides, trying to coax her gently to her feet. Ryan pushed him and sent him sprawling.
“We have to tell her! No, don’t tell her—get away from me! I wish you’d never come!”
“I’m calling the doctor.” Mrs. McCauley headed into the house, but not before Ryan had time to fling a final comment.
“Yes! Call him! I’m not the sick one here—I’m the alive one! Remember me? I’m the one you’d rather have dead, only I’m still here!”
Charles managed to grab her at last, and as Ryan kicked and fought him, he dragged her back into the house. At the foot of the staircase he lifted her into his arms and started up.
“Put her in my room, Charles.” Mrs. McCauley was following them, wringing her hands, and after another brief struggle, Ryan went limp. She didn’t resist as Charles lowered her into bed; she lay there calmly and closed her eyes to shut out their stares.
“Ryan—”
Mrs. McCauley’s hand lingered on her forehead, but Ryan jerked her head away. She wished they would go away and leave her alone. She felt like that snowman down there—crushed and crumpled and flat.
“Ryan”—her mother sat down on the bed, talking fast—“it’s going to be okay, honey—you’re going to start seeing a very nice doctor.”
“You’re sending me to a psychiatrist. And then you’re locking me up.”
“Locking you up! Of course we’re not locking you up! Where would you ever get such an idea?”
“Please lock me up.” Without warning Ryan sat up and grabbed her mother’s shoulders, her eyes pleading. “Please lock me up, Mom, I want you to. Then maybe all these scary things will stop happening to me—”
“Ryan, no one is going to lock you up—”
“Just leave me alone, then.” She saw Charles framed in the doorway, and she hated the look on his face, so sad, so sorry—“Just go away.”
The phone rang, but Mrs. McCauley ignored the one on her nightstand. N
odding to Charles, she went out into the hallway, and he followed, closing the door behind them. Ryan could barely hear her mother talking in the kitchen, and then someone turned the radio on, and she couldn’t hear anymore. She lay there and watched the sky change from gray to pearl, more snow clouds piling up, quilting the sky, and the bedside clock ticking toward schooltime. Ryan had no intention of going to school today—or any day from now on. She knew she’d never be able to face anyone there—the stares and whispers, the phony, sympathetic smiles …
Someone’s after me, and I’m all alone. Charles knows, but he can’t stop what’s happening.
Mrs. McCauley didn’t want to go to work—Ryan could hear Charles offering to drive her, promising to come right back. Ryan was glad when they’d gone, yet she was also terrified to be alone in the house. She groped her way carefully downstairs and checked all the doors. She made herself some hot tea, then sat down at the table to think. For a while I was the only one who thought I was going crazy … but now everyone else thinks so, too, so I really must be.…
The tea warmed her a little. She could feel her nerves relaxing and her mind began to calm and clear. She thought about last night—her terror in the toyshop—the patronizing way everyone had looked at her at the hospital.… She knew she had to stop going over it before she started crying again. She went upstairs to Marissa’s room and stood in the doorway and stared.
The aching in her heart was almost more than she could stand, and she pictured Marissa on the window seat, the way she’d be staring back with a smug smile.
It’s normal for everyone to miss you so much … you were the pretty one, the popular one … you were everything Mom always wanted in a daughter—
The room seemed to hurt around her, the silence long and grieving.
“But still,” Ryan whispered, “still … I know we fought … I know sometimes we even hated each other—but—I never would have left if I thought you were in danger.” Tears burned her throat, and she could hardly speak. “You know that, don’t you … you know I wouldn’t have let anything happen to you. And now … I could be next …”
As Ryan gazed at the windowpane, the sun struggled free of the clouds, and in that instant a ray of light shimmered on the glass, slanting down across one photograph on the crowded sill.
Marissa.
She was sitting in a chair, going through a pile of things in her lap, and someone had obviously surprised her into looking up. She was smiling straight at Ryan, and in the picture she was holding a bunch of photographs.
Photographs …
As Ryan stared at the golden shaft of light, it vanished.
She walked over to Marissa’s desk and rummaged through the phone book. She picked up the phone and called the number of the drugstore.
“Good morning, may I help you?”
She took a deep breath and leaned against the desk. “I’d like to see if my pictures are ready, please.”
“Sure. Your name?”
“McCauley. Ryan.”
“Just a minute.”
Ryan could hear voices laughing. Drawers opened and papers rustled. Someone picked up the receiver again.
“McCauley, you said?”
“Yes.”
“Sorry. There’s nothing here.”
Ryan stared, seeing nothing. Pain crept slowly up her arms.
“But there has to be. They said I could pick them up today.”
“When did you bring them in?”
“Saturday. Late afternoon.”
“Hmmm … okay. Hang on a minute.”
More rummaging, then finally the voice back again, apologetic.
“One of the girls says someone picked them up earlier.”
“Are you sure?” Ryan asked. “Who was it? Who picked them up?”
“She says it was a guy,” the voice said. “She was at the counter, but she didn’t wait on him.”
“What’d he look like?”
The voice mumbled, then came back. “She wasn’t really paying attention, but she heard him give his name—Ryan McCauley.”
“No, I’m—” Ryan broke off, shaking her head impatiently. “Never mind. Thanks.”
She walked slowly to the window, staring out at the wintry day, a feeling of dread washing over her. Charles must have gone by and picked them up, and as soon as he brings them home, then we’ll know for sure, we’ll finally know the truth one way or the other—
The telephone shrilled into the silence. Heart pounding, Ryan picked it up.
“Hello?”
“Mrs. McCauley?”
“No, she’s not here right now. Can I take a message?”
“Well …” The voice sounded businesslike, but now it hesitated. “This is Officer John Henley from the sheriffs department. I need to speak to Mrs. McCauley—it’s in regard to the death of Marissa McCauley.”
Ryan went icy all over. “Yes! This is Ryan! I’m Mrs. McCauley’s daughter! What is it?”
“Well, ma’am …” Another long pause, then a burst of static. Ryan clutched the receiver, wincing.
“Are you there? What is it? Are you there?”
The voice came back, even more solemn than before. “The truth is, ma’am, we’ve located a body over near Platt Valley. A farmer discovered it about an hour ago, and we think it might be—”
“Oh, God, oh, God, where is she? Where are you?”
“—could come down here to make a positive identification—”
“Yes! Yes! Where are you again?” Ryan was trying to get through the door, the cord stretching as far as it could.
“Platt Valley,” the voice said again. “Are you familiar with—”
“I think so, yes! I think I know where it is—”
“Ten Mile Road … you take the northeast turnoff, about twenty miles to a farm—”
“Yes, I’ll find it, I’m coming right now. Wait for me—will you wait for me?”
“Yes, ma’am,” the voice said soberly. “We’ll be right here.”
Ryan hurtled down the stairs and through the kitchen, grabbing up her jacket and purse as she ran. Mom’s car was in the garage, but the keys that were usually in the ignition weren’t there.
“Damn!” Racing back to the kitchen, Ryan pulled open a drawer so fast that it flew off its rollers, spilling all its contents onto the floor. She fell to her knees, digging through all the junk until she found an extra set of keys. She was halfway out the door when the phone rang again.
She wasn’t going to answer it, but as Ryan hesitated the thought suddenly came to her that it might be her mother. Making a split-second decision, she raced back and snatched up the receiver.
“Hello?”
“It wasn’t my idea to call—Mom wants to know if—”
“Jinx—I can’t talk—I have to go—oh, Jinx—”
“Oh, McCauley.”
“They found Marissa—I mean, I think they found Marissa—”
“What? Wait a minute, where?”
“I have to go! Down at Platt Valley out on Ten Mile Road—I have to go identify her—”
“Ryan, wait a minute—is your mom there?”
“No, it’s just me, I have to go!”
She took off at a run, dropping the receiver, leaving the phone cord banging against the wall.
She didn’t hear Jinx calling after her.
She didn’t hear the concern in his voice or the way it suddenly turned to fear.
“But they wouldn’t have you identify it there, would they?” he shouted. “Wouldn’t you go to the morgue?”
Chapter 20
Out on the road Ryan racked her brain, trying to remember exactly where her turnoff was. The sky seemed to press down on all sides, and she grimaced as the first spatter of snow and ice slid down the windshield.
She urged the car to go faster, hanging on painfully to the steering wheel. Within minutes what had started as a flurry became a slushy downpour. Ryan turned on the wipers and hunched forward, squinting. She could already feel slick s
pots beneath the tires. This is unbelievable … I can hardly see the road.…
She flipped on the radio and groaned as she heard the winter storm warning. I can’t have a wreck … I have to get to Marissa.… She tried to find a familiar landmark, but the snowy fields were changing shape before her eyes. Nervously watching ice build up on her wiper blades, she passed the turnoff before she realized and tried to brake on the icy blacktop. Heart pounding, she slammed into reverse and whipped onto the side road.
I wonder what she’ll look like.… Horrified, Ryan tried to stop her mind from its imaginings, but she couldn’t seem to turn it off. Will her skin be blue—stop it stop it stop it! Tears blurred her eyes, and as she blinked them away, she missed a curve and slid toward a tree. She turned into the skid and managed to straighten the car in time. The wind was blowing so hard, it was like driving into a swirling tunnel.
Ryan tasted blood and realized she’d bitten her lip. The wipers were barely moving now, they were so encrusted with ice. How much farther? Ten miles? Fifteen? She had no idea how far she’d come. She rubbed hard at the windshield, trying to clear away the fog. As the wheels gave a sudden jerk, the car plowed into a snowbank.
Ryan floored the gas pedal, but the wheels spun helplessly on ice. Fighting off a wave of panic, she shut off the engine and opened her door.
Miraculously she thought she saw a rooftop in the distance, and she started toward it. As the roof materialized into a building, Ryan called out and saw a vague human form suddenly appear through the snow. For just a moment it seemed to be listening, but then it disappeared.
Ryan could see the barn clearly now, not ten yards ahead. As she called again, she noticed the open doorway, and the human figure framed there, as though it were waiting for her.
“Hello! I’m stuck in the snow! I’m trying to find—”
The words caught in her throat. As she looked up in horror, she saw the lumpy coat … the black ski mask … the eyeholes staring back—
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