The Locker

by Richie Tankersley Cusick

  I felt a chill go through me, deep and piercing. Somehow I managed to laugh.

  “You’re so silly, Dobkin. I thought Aunt Celia told you not to watch all those scary shows on TV anymore.”

  “The reason I watch them”—Dobkin gazed back over his shoulder at me—”is to keep alert to every possibility.”

  Dad’s favorite expression … how did Dobkin remember that?

  My heart clenched a little, remembering the wink Dad always used to give me when he doled out advice, and I just looked at Dobkin, not really sure what to say. He shut the door behind him, and I wandered over to my back window and stared out.

  At one time the backyard must have been beautiful, with all its trees and shrubs and even what looked like a small plot of garden in one corner beside the storage shed. Someone had been nice enough to mow the grass before we moved in, but weeds still marched along the fence and choked the flowerbeds where a few sorry tulips had managed to stick their heads through. A dream for Aunt Celia, I thought—she’d be spending hours and hours out there trying to turn the place into some sort of exotic paradise.

  I let my gaze roam slowly to the neighbor’s backyard on the right. I could see only part of it—a doghouse and some apple trees—but there was no sign of movement anywhere. It made me realize suddenly that no one had come over to welcome us since we’d been here—but then again, we’d only shown up late Friday night, and the weekend had been taken up with trying to settle in and run errands and stock up the refrigerator. Still … you’d think in a small town where everyone’s supposed to be so curious about you …

  Restlessly I moved to the other windowpane, turning my attention to the neighbor’s house on the left. One second-story window was practically opposite my own, yet it was hard to really see because of the huge old oak tree in our side yard. Its trunk was at least ten feet around, and its massive branches spread out so far, I could easily have crawled out and perched on them. There were more thick heavy limbs stretching all the way across the fence to that upstairs window, making a kind of bridge between the houses. Sliding open the sash, I let the cool air blow across my cheeks as I stared out into the lengthening shadows of late afternoon. We were supposed to have screens put on the windows, but they’d had to be special ordered and hadn’t come in yet, so I could hang out as far as I wanted. Squinting, I tried to see if anyone was visible in that window next door. For one second I thought I saw curtains moving, but I couldn’t be sure.

  “If it happens again, what if something happens to you?”

  I tried not to think about what Dobkin had said, but I couldn’t help it. He has such a wild imagination, and he always tries to sound so mysterious when he’s offering words of wisdom—but this time it really got to me.

  Come on, Marlee, give it a rest. I mean, look around! What could be more peaceful than this boring place?

  Peaceful …

  A little town where nothing ever happens.

  And when Aunt Celia decided it was time to move again, I closed my eyes and moved my hand back and forth over the map, and watched my finger land right on this spot, just as surely as if some invisible force had grabbed it and slammed it smack down on top of Edison.

  “That’s not true,” I mumbled. “It seemed that way, but I could have picked anywhere. Anywhere at all.”

  Shivering, I closed my eyes and just stood there, feeling the breeze on my cheeks, listening to it sift through the oak leaves and sigh around the eaves of the house.

  And then … slowly … my skin began to prickle.

  Eyes wide now, I drew back into my room, hands clenched tightly on the sill.

  Someone’s watching me.

  I knew it just as surely as I was standing there, could feel it, hidden and silent and cold—so very cold—eyes without emotion—without feeling—empty …

  “Aunt Celia,” I whispered, but of course she didn’t hear.

  No one heard as I stood there, too terrified to move—trapped by something I couldn’t even see—

  “Aunt Celia!” I screamed.

  From faraway I heard a muffled voice and then footsteps running up the stairs.

  But I didn’t need Aunt Celia now.

  I knew that whoever had been watching me was gone.

  6

  What on earth’s the matter!”

  I can only imagine what I must have looked like, standing there with my back pressed against the wall, arms out to my sides, trying to breathe normally again. Poor Aunt Celia rushed over to me and put an arm around my shoulders and led me straight over to the bed.

  “You’re as white as a ghost! What happened?”

  “I thought I felt something,” I mumbled. “I mean, I did feel something … I don’t know …”

  “What, dearest? What did you feel?”

  “Eyes.” My voice dropped and I leaned against her, still trembling. “I felt eyes watching me—”

  “Eyes!”

  “But I don’t feel them now.” Gently I disentangled myself from her arms and ran one hand across my forehead. “Really. I’m okay.”

  “I told you,” Dobkin said.

  I hadn’t noticed him standing in the doorway, and now he came into my room, exchanging solemn looks with Aunt Celia. I wished they’d go away and quit fussing—I felt silly now for making such a commotion, and I hated the way both of them had stopped looking at each other and were now staring straight at me.

  “I’m just tired,” I insisted crossly. “You know how hard it is for me when I start a new school.”

  “Hmmm.” Aunt Celia redirected her gaze onto the floor, and her lips pressed into a thin line—a sure sign she was thinking really hard before she said something. At last she added, “You looked so strange this morning.”

  “I look like I always do!” My voice rose defensively. “If that means I look strange, I can’t help it if that’s the way I look.”

  I knew I was sounding childish, but I couldn’t seem to stop myself.

  “Maybe we should have a discussion,” Aunt Celia began helpfully, but I jumped off the bed and pushed past Dobkin out into the hallway.

  “I’m going to take a walk,” I announced.

  Aunt Celia jumped up after me and nodded with forced brightness. “What a great idea! Fresh air will do you good.”

  “Coward,” Dobkin mumbled, but I ignored him and ran down the stairs and out the front door.

  For several minutes I just stood there on the porch, waiting for my heart to settle down into my chest again. I could smell early flowers and the hint of rain in the air, and the freshness of new leaves just out on the trees. I leaned for a while on the porch rail, but then, as I straightened up again and glanced at the house next door, I realized someone was sitting over there in the porch swing.

  “Hi,” said the voice, and I caught my breath in surprise.

  “Tyler?” I asked cautiously.

  “Yeah.”

  He sprang into full view and draped his body lazily over the front railing. I could see he wasn’t wearing his coat now—just jeans and a black sweatshirt with holes in it—but the cap was still turned around on his head and his hightops had come unlaced. As I watched, he pulled off the cap, shook his hair out of his eyes, then smashed the cap down onto his head again, lopsided.

  “Hi,” he said again quietly. “You look surprised.”

  “Shouldn’t I be?” My tone was accusing. “What are you doing?”

  “I live here.”

  “You do?” I must have sounded shocked, because there was the slightest touch of laughter in his voice.

  “Yeah. I do.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Why didn’t you ask?”

  “Well, I usually don’t go into a new school asking every kid I meet, hey, do you live next door to me?” I was sort of embarrassed, like he’d played a trick on me. “I didn’t see you around this weekend.”

  “I wasn’t here,” he said, not offering to tell me where he’d been. “I just got back late last night.�
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  “Oh.” I didn’t know what else to say. Tyler hopped lightly up onto the railing, his arms straight out at his sides, as if walking a tightrope.

  “You as crazy as old lady Turley?” he asked casually.

  “I might be,” I said.

  “Just wondering.” Again that hint of laughter in his voice, though he kept his face expressionless. I watched him and thought how jealous I was again of his perfect skin and those perfect eyelashes and that perfectly formed mouth.

  “You’re thinking … you’ve seen me in some other lifetime,” he said, and I snapped back to awareness.

  “I’m not thinking anything about you,” I lied.

  “That’s why you keep looking at my face. Am I familiar to you? Did we meet in some other dimension? Were we friends or maybe lovers?”

  “I wasn’t looking at your face.”

  “Yes, you were.” He hopped off the railing and landed at the very bottom of the porch steps. He slid his hands into the pockets of his jeans and leaned lazily against one wooden column of the porch.

  “So how’s it feel living in the museum?”

  I almost laughed at that. “Like a museum.”

  “Maybe you should sell tickets and take tours through.”

  “Maybe. I could use the spending money.”

  “So how was your first day? Any more confrontations with your locker?”

  “I don’t want to talk about that.”

  “How come?”

  “It was very upsetting. And embarrassing. And you’ll just laugh.”

  “No, I won’t.”

  This time he crossed his yard, leapt lightly over the fence, then stood there staring up at me as I watched from my porch.

  “That was Suellen Downing’s locker,” he said.

  “I heard. A girl who disappeared.”

  He nodded. His brown eyes looked almost sad.

  “She was a nice girl. I liked her.”

  “Did you grow up with her, too?”

  “No.” Squatting down, he ran his long fingers slowly over the ivy that grew up through the cracks in the walkway. “She was an outsider. Her dad was on the construction crew that came through Edison when the new highway was being built. She and her family were only living here till his job was over.”

  I let this sink in, feeling a prickle race up my spine. “Did her family happen to rent this house?”

  He looked surprised. “No. They had a place outside of town. Why?”

  Now I felt stupid. “No reason. I was just curious.”

  “So is it?” he asked me.

  “Is what what?”

  “Your house like a museum?”

  I had to laugh. “You can come in if you want. Check for dead teenagers in the basement.”

  He looked at me, and his smile seemed sort of strained, and for just a split second everything seemed to freeze around him, as if I were looking at a movie still.

  “No, thanks,” he said casually. “Some things are better left un—” But before he could say anything else, a woman came outside and called to him, something about not forgetting what he was supposed to do before dinner.

  “I have to go.” He jumped up and swung himself back over the fence into his own yard. “See you around.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “See you.”

  He started toward his house, then stopped in his tracks and spun around to face me.

  “Why don’t you come?” he asked.

  “Me?” I looked around wildly, as if there might be four or five other people standing around behind me that he might be talking to.

  “Yeah. Come with me. I’m just going out to Lost River. I won’t be long.”

  “I … uh … have homework to do.”

  “Do it later.”

  “Well …”

  “Do it later. I’ll help you.”

  I shook my head at the offer, but as I stared into those big dark eyes, my heart betrayed me. What girl could have resisted an offer like that?

  “I’ll have to tell my aunt,” I said.

  “Go do it.”

  It only took a second to make my announcement and grab my jacket, and then I was back out again, hurrying to meet him where he now waited in his driveway next to a battered old gray Mustang.

  “Okay?” Tyler let the hood crash down. He wiped his hands on a rag, wadded it up, and tossed it onto the porch. Then he tilted his head at me with a sidelong glance.

  “Hope you like bumpy rides.”

  “I don’t mind them,” I said.

  “Good. Climb in.”

  I did, and he did, and then without warning, the car gave a tremendous lurch and bounced off, throwing me right up against him as I desperately tried to keep my balance.

  “Sorry!” I shouted. The windows were wide open, and I could hardly hear myself think, and as I struggled to hold on to the door handle, the car swerved and I bounced right into him again. “Sorry!” I yelled for the second time, but he only gave me that faint little smile and made the Mustang go faster.

  It didn’t take long to get out into the country.

  Since the ride was too bumpy and noisy for conversation, I concentrated on the scenery as we sped along, noticing how we turned off the main highway and then, after several miles down a two-lane blacktop, off again onto a dirt road. It got quieter then, and we slowed down nearly to a crawl, winding back and back through deep twisted woods. I wondered how anyone could ever find his way through there, with the shadows so deep and deceptive, and the early twilight almost full dark. I must have shivered a little because Tyler suddenly reached over and touched my arm.

  “Cold?” he asked.

  “Not really. It’s just so dark out here.”

  He nodded, curling his body back into his seat, resting one arm lazily across the top of the steering wheel.

  “Country dark’s not like any other kind of dark. And the river’s even worse.”

  We rounded a bend in the road, and the headlights picked up a dilapidated little house far back from the curve. Obviously abandoned, it leaned a little to one side, and the weeds grew up as high as the shuttered windows.

  “Suellen used to live there,” Tyler said. “You know … the girl whose locker you have.”

  I moved closer to get a better view. Shadows angled down over the roof, spilling in black puddles across the sagging front porch.

  I shuddered. “It looks haunted.”

  Tyler shrugged and began to whistle. His glance flicked briefly to me and then out his window again.

  “Tell me about Suellen Downing,” I said quietly.

  He didn’t act surprised at the request. In fact, he didn’t act any way at all. He stared straight out at the curving road and thought for several moments and then smiled.

  “She was nice,” he finally said. “I didn’t mind her.”

  “But what was she like? I mean … what kind of person was she?”

  His eyebrow lifted, and his face took on a puzzled look. “Why all this interest in someone you don’t even know?” When I didn’t answer, he added softly, “Someone you’re never going to know.”

  That made me sad. I moved away from him and rested my head against the door, staring out into the gathering dusk.

  “I guess it bothers me,” I admitted. “Having her locker and all. Maybe I feel … you know … connected to her in a way.” I looked down and gave a sheepish laugh. “I know that sounds weird.”

  He didn’t answer. He rested one elbow on the ledge of his open window and leaned his cheek against his palm.

  “You really care about people, don’t you?” He sounded slightly mystified. “That’s so rare these days. Most people don’t care about anything.”

  “Oh, please—”

  “No, I mean it. Here’s this girl you don’t even know—I mean most of us hardly knew her—and you’re … you know … concerned about her.”

  “It’s just that …” I tried to find the right words, wanting to make him understand. “The whole thing seems so tragic to me
. One of those horrible things you always read about that happens to someone else—except it happened to a real person who used to have my locker. And now … it’s like she never even existed. But she did exist! She had a life!”

  In the shadows I could feel his eyes upon my face, could feel the curious way they were watching me.

  “Maybe you shouldn’t think about it,” he said at last. “It makes you too unhappy, and there’s nothing you can do. It’s been over for a long time.”

  “But it’s not over, is it? Not really. Not till someone finds out what really happened to her.”

  “Most people have stopped wondering by now. They’ve gotten on with their lives.”

  “They might not have stopped wondering if she’d been from here.” I sighed.

  “But she wasn’t,” Tyler said. “She was an outsider.”

  “Is that how everyone’s classified? You’re either a townsfolk or an outsider?”

  “Something like that, I guess.” The idea seemed to amuse him. “Why? You afraid you’re gonna get tarred and feathered and run out of town on a rail?”

  “I’m beginning to worry.”

  I heard him laugh softly under his breath. He rearranged his cap in the same crooked position, and then he brushed absentmindedly at the hair blowing in his eyes. I sat there gazing at his profile and heard him say softly, “Quit looking at me.”

  “I’m not looking at you,” I said, and he gave me a sidelong glance.

  “Yes, you are.”

  Maybe it was because he sounded so self-conscious about it that I couldn’t help teasing him.

  “It’s your smile,” I said.

  There was a long silence.

  “Don’t you want to know what I think about it?” I persisted.

  “No.”

  “Well, I’m going to tell you anyway. It’s a sweet smile. A wonderful smile. Sort of funny and whimsical—”

  “Whimsical?”

  “Yes, and kind of teasing and secretive and sly all at the same time.” I hid a smile of my own as the silence dragged on and on. “It makes you look like a little boy,” I finished.

  “It does not.”

  “Yes, it most certainly does. Cute and shy. And vulnerable.”

  No answer.