Her look said, “I’ll pay you back for this, Kerr.” His continued grin said, “I know you will.”
They often communicated without words. It had been fun when they were younger, but it was disconcerting now. Karen felt the need of more privacy. She shut Kerr out when she could. This year, Jesse had taken Kerr’s place in her life. Finding out that another guy besides her brother could love her was delightful. And, she admitted only to herself, reassuring.
“Care to reveal your night’s adventures, Miss Newton?” Now the professor was teasing her.
“No.” She didn’t look at anyone when she answered. Let them think she still hadn’t remembered. It was the class joke.
The rest of the hour centered around recurring dreams, the night-after-night replay of the same subject.
“The repetitive dream is often caused by your subconscious wanting to tell you something and your not listening. Or by something happening in your life that you don’t have control over,” McArthur said. “I’m recalling a period of my life where I was very stressed and overloaded. My dream was a car going downhill backward out of control. I couldn’t get it to stop, but I would wake up before it crashed.”
“Is it true that you’ll wake up in a dream before you die?” asked Kaziah Cole. “You know, like falling and falling but never hitting bottom?”
“That usually seems to be the case.” McArthur encouraged students to speak out with questions.
“Like that old superstition that if you die in a dream you’ll die for real.” Danah spoke up. Danah questioned everything. She was the class skeptic.
Kerr couldn’t resist. “Anderson dreamed he died, and when he woke up he found he had.” He laughed.
McArthur silenced him with a frown. “Since we can never know what a dying person is dreaming, we can’t know for sure, Miss Thompson, but I suspect that idea is just what you called it, a superstition.”
The bell signaling the end of school shrilled into the classroom. But people hung around talking, in no hurry to end the discussion. Psychology wasn’t a subject they had to take. Everyone in class had elected to be there. All had their own transportation, too, so there was no dash for a school bus.
Karen slipped to the front of the room where Professor McArthur gathered his notes into his briefcase. “Do—do you have a minute?”
“Of course, Karen.” McArthur was less formal on a one-to-one basis. “Have a question?”
“More like a confession,” she joked—or tried to. “I did remember a dream last night. Dr. McArthur, I dreamed about Gordon Anderson. I dreamed the way he died—the—the yellow paint and the flowers—it was awful.” She was practically whispering. But she had to tell someone. She wasn’t sure she even wanted to tell Alysia all the details. Not yet, anyway.
McArthur studied her for a moment. “That’s interesting. I’d like to hear more about it. There is such a thing as a psychic dream, seeing something that’s going to happen. Have you ever had any psychic experiences before?”
“No, never. And I wouldn’t want to. Especially if they are like this.”
“Did anyone talk to you about Gordon yesterday? Did you have any arguments with him yourself? Any kind of contact?”
“No—no, he was absent, remember?”
“Oh, yes, he was. Perhaps already sick. Let me think about this, Karen.” McArthur pulled at his ear-lobe. “And will you do something for me? Will you write down the dream in detail?”
“Do I have to?”
“It will help you get rid of it. Don’t worry about this, Karen. As fascinating as it is, we’ll try to find a reason for the phenomenon.”
Karen was reassured by the way Dr. McArthur always talked like a textbook. It relegated her dream to being something to dissect and study, but nothing as peculiar and frightening as it had seemed to her earlier.
“Karen, let’s go,” Kerr called from the doorway. “If you’re riding with me.”
Jesse stopped her as she hurried after Kerr. “Saturday night? Sorry I can’t see you sooner.”
“Sure, Jesse. I have tons of homework.” She circled Jesse’s waist and gave him a hug. “I know you have practice and Friday’s game.”
She caught up with Kerr and walked beside him to their car. Neither said anything until she told him they had to go to town. As she’d predicted, he was angry about having to stop at the grocery. He grumbled as they headed into town instead of toward home.
“Kerr, want to hear something weird?” She went on, assuming he did, telling him the dream to distract him from his anger. “I dreamed about Gordon dying last night. It was as if I saw the whole thing.”
Kerr’s mood changed all right. He burst into laughter. “You did? Oh, Karen, that’s great. You were there? I love it. Tell me the whole thing, in detail. This is fabulous.”
“It is not. It was awful. You can’t think that someone dying and my dreaming about it is funny.”
“Hey, look, Anderson’s defunct, zip, zero. I can’t do anything about it, can I? And I sure can’t say I’m sorry. He was a public nuisance. But your dreaming about his death is fascinating.”
Karen sighed. She should have known better than to share this with Kerr. “Dr. McArthur thinks so, too. He asked me if I was psychic.”
“Psychic. Hey, if you’re getting psychic, so will I. This is great.”
“Kerr, people don’t become psychic. You’re born that way.”
“Like being born twins? Hummm, it’s probably just as much of a burden, too.” Kerr laughed out loud as he pulled into the City Market parking lot.
“I’m sorry to have caused you so much grief.”
“Hey, don’t take it personally. Life would be dullsville without my better half.”
She jumped out and stomped across the parking lot. “I am not half of you, Kerr, and you aren’t half of me. We’re distinct individuals.”
“But we’re getting psychic. I love it.” Kerr caught up and trapped her by putting an arm around her shoulders. “I love you, older sister. You are one fascinating lady.”
Karen ignored the stares of strangers. But she hoped people realized they were brother and sister.
I love you too, Kerr, she said to herself. As frustrating as you are, as egotistical, as complex, being your sister is always a challenge.
Chapter 3
I did it! I actually did it! It was just an experiment. It’s still hard for me to believe it can really work. And Karen dreamed about it. I’ve thought it strange that she never remembered a dream. The class has talked about it, teased her about it. Everyone remembers some of his dreams. She chose this one. She did choose it, although she’d never believe she did, or admit she did. I hope we can talk about it more.
Pretty, lively Karen. It scared you. I’m sorry it scared you. I’d never deliberately do that to you. You’re too nice a person. But people can be too nice. It gets them in trouble.
I wonder if Gordon was ever nice, even once. I don’t feel at all bad about what I did. He was a miserable human being. He’s a lot better off dead. Maybe he’s happy now.
He was sure scared, though. He knew he was going to die. He’d always worried about choking to death. He told us he had nightmares about it. That’s why he left his window open, even with it twenty below zero. Made it a lot easier for me.
I thought the yellow flowers were a nice touch. A hint of springtime. Gordon won’t see spring this year. It’s obvious that Karen’s favorite color is yellow. She wears yellow all the time. I hope my use of the color won’t spoil that for her.
Colors are very symbolic. Yellow also stands for cowardice. Gordon was a bully and a coward. The yellow stripe down his back was an inspiration.
Killing Gordon gave me a feeling of power that I like. I’ve never felt that kind of power. Now that I’ve proved that it can be done, I won’t have to do it again. But it’s satisfying to know that I can if I want to.
Captain William Martin was a kind man. He didn’t like questioning Karen. She knew that, but it didn’t mak
e her talk to him any easier. She glanced at Dr. McArthur, but he was taking notes and didn’t look up. She felt better having him there, she guessed. At least she felt better not being left alone with a police officer, even one who was trying to be considerate of her feelings.
“You knew Gordon Anderson, Miss Newton?” He toyed with a pencil and stared at her.
“Yes, since third grade.” She wasn’t going to volunteer any information.
“Did you like him?”
“No, not really. I felt sorry for him, but I didn’t like him. I don’t think anyone liked him.” There, she’d told him more than he asked for, already breaking her resolve.
“Why not?”
“He was a bully. He picked on everyone, especially girls, embarrassing them. If you showed him any weakness, any fear you had, he’d use it against you. For instance, he found out that Amy Linker was terrified of spiders. He’d leave them in her locker, press them in her books, bring specimens to school in jars and make sure she got to see them. He could make your life miserable if he wanted to.”
Martin thought about that. “So no one is sorry he’s dead?”
“I didn’t say that, but we probably aren’t going into deep mourning. Or run the flag at half mast, anything like that.”
Why had she said that? She was acting like Kerr. It was something he’d say. A smart aleck remark. She was scared, she admitted to herself. She was afraid she’d tell Captain Martin too much. What did it matter—except that the rest of the story might slip out.
The policeman stared at her. Kept staring at her. She looked away—at her hands, at the professor, at the floor.
“I’m sorry I said that. He didn’t deserve to die, and especially not like that.”
“Like what?”
“Everyone knows the details of what happened.”
“Tell me what you’ve heard, please, Miss Newton.”
“Do I have to?” She looked at him and then at her teacher. He was still scribbling on his notebook page.
“It would be helpful.”
She took a deep breath. “He was naked. Flowers, yellow flowers had been stuffed in his mouth. He had a yellow stripe down his back, painted on.” She paused, trying to rid herself of the sudden, vivid picture. It was so real, as if she’d been there. The dream—she had been there, in a way.
Captain Martin was taking notes. She continued. “I—I guess he choked. He had asthma, you know. Sometimes he had trouble breathing. When he got in trouble from a teacher or the principal, he’d have to use his inhaler. He left his window open at night, no matter how cold it was. I guess someone got into his room that way.”
“Someone?”
“Well, whoever—whoever was there. Whoever did that to him.” Suddenly she got angry. “He wouldn’t do that to himself. That’s why you’re questioning all of us, isn’t it? The seniors, those of us who had classes with him. You’re trying to find out who did that to him.” She felt as if she was doing all the talking. Why didn’t he say more? Why didn’t she shut up?
“How did you know he left his window open at night?”
How did she know? “Everyone knew that. I’m sure everyone knew that. He probably told us.” Had she seen that part of the dream? Had someone mentioned it? She couldn’t remember.
“That wasn’t common knowledge, Karen. There’s something you’re not telling us, isn’t there?”
“What makes you think that? I’ve told you everything I know.”
“I don’t think you have. Why are you so frightened?”
“I’m not used to being grilled by the police.” Grilled—where had she gotten that word? Television, probably. The police grilled criminals. But she wasn’t a criminal. The police grilled witnesses. In a way, she was a witness.
There was another period of silence. The longer it lasted, the more she shifted in her chair. She wanted to get up and run out the door. The classroom was so hot. It smelled of sweaty bodies and chalk dust and floor wax. She felt as if she were choking.
“Tell us what else you know about this, Karen.” Martin stared at her. He had huge, gray eyes. Really gray eyes are unusual, she thought.
She looked at Dr. McArthur again. This time he was looking at her. “Tell him about the dream, Karen. It will be better to get it off your mind.”
She let her eyes dart all around, trying to find someplace safe to focus, trying not to look at the policeman. She wished she hadn’t told the professor anything.
“I dreamed about Gordon getting killed. A lot of boys were teasing him, just like he had teased people all his life. They were bigger than he was. They took off all his clothes. They called him Lardo and Tubby and Fatso, and they laughed and laughed at him. The more they laughed, the smaller he got. Then they picked all the flowers they were standing in. They stuffed them in his mouth until he couldn’t breathe. They laughed and laughed and laughed until he died.”
She started to cry. She couldn’t help it. It was awful to have to remember again. Searching in her purse, she pulled out a wad of tissues, held them to her nose, then wiped her eyes. When she was in control again, the captain said, “Thank you, Karen. You may go now.”
Thank you. “Thank you?” Was that all? “Thank you, you can go.” Not “Why did you dream that?” No explanation? No comment?
“Why did I dream that?” she cried. She looked at Professor McArthur and asked the question again. “Why?”
“I don’t know, Karen. It’s very interesting. If you want to talk about it some more, we can. Another time. I can see that it has upset you.”
“Upset me? Of course, it has upset me! Wouldn’t it upset you?” She looked at both men again. Didn’t either of them have any feelings? They sat there like statues, staring at her.
A wave of heat started in her stomach and rose, engulfing her face. She knew her cheeks were bright red. She didn’t care. Grabbing her books and purse, she fled the classroom.
Chapter 4
It didn’t take long for the school to go back to normal. Not nearly long enough, Karen thought. There was a service for Gordon. She didn’t go. She didn’t know anyone who did. The police were still investigating the case, she was sure, but they’d stopped talking to students.
Friday night’s football game was cancelled. Not because of a student’s death, but because of too much snow. Psychology class met, though. Professor McArthur’s college classes finished at noon on Friday, so he’d come up the canyon early in the afternoon, which was fortunate for him, since the road was closed by two o’clock.
“Flatlanders,” Kerr said and laughed as they left school at three-thirty. “Chicken drivers.”
“Well, remember that Professor McArthur said they closed the highway behind him. He was having trouble even with his four-wheel-drive.” Karen hooked her arm through Jesse’s. This meant they had a free evening. She wanted to forget school, forget their psychology class, forget her dream, forget McArthur, who hadn’t said a word to her since he sat in when she was being questioned. If he wanted to know more or say more about her dream, he wasn’t in a hurry.
“Good thing he lives in Evergreen. He might not have wanted to come up here otherwise.” Alysia held to Jesse’s other arm as she waded the heaps of snow the plow had pushed to the sides of the school parking lot.
“Then we’d have gotten out of school at two-thirty. What a shame.” Lucy Bosch pretended to complain. She pulled a red stocking hat over her cap of yellow curls. The curls covered a brain with an IQ so high it was off the scale, disproving the stereotype of “dumb blond.”
“We should have a party,” Karen suggested. “With no ball game, we don’t have anything to do tonight.” She looked at Jesse and raised her eyebrows.
“You do love to keep a crowd around us, don’t you?” Jesse whispered.
“It’s safer.” She laughed out loud, teasing him further.
“Let’s go ice skating on the lake. Then we can rent a movie.” Kaziah danced back and forth, not to get warm, but because she had so much energy s
he could never stand still. “Mom won’t mind if you all come to my house.”
“Have ‘you all’ asked her?” Kerr asked. He was thinking the same thing Karen had in mind. She wished they could invite the gang to her house, but their mother would probably have a heart attack, saying the house was dirty and she hadn’t had time to plan and a million other excuses. She wasn’t very spontaneous.
“You all is plural, Kerr. How many times do I have to tell you that? And I don’t need to ask. I know it’s okay. I’ve done it before, haven’t I?”
She had, and her parents never seemed to mind. Karen envied Kaziah her big family, and parents who welcomed more kids, no matter how many. Of course, their house was huge and Mr. and Mrs. Cole always hid, trusting Kaziah to keep things under control.
“The lake may be closed, too,” Danah Thompson reminded them.
“On Friday night? No way. I’ll plow it off myself if it’s too snowy. It’s been open for two weeks, so the ice is thick enough.” Kerr’s four-wheeler had a plow on the front. He’d love to show off by using it.
“Okay, gang, get your skates. Meet at the lake as soon as possible. Then we’ll order pizzas for dinner.” Karen took charge. “I’ll meet you at the lake, Jesse.” She gave him a hug. “You can take me home after the party, though.”
“You’d better believe it.” Jesse brushed her lips with his. “That’s a preview.”
Smiling, Karen slipped into the car beside Kerr.
“The hunk won’t come get your skates?” Kerr swung onto the plowed road. The roads around the small town were better maintained than Denver streets. It took more than the twenty inches of snow they’d gotten to close down the mountain town.
“That seemed inefficient. He’ll be gone long enough getting himself home and back.”
“So I get the privilege of your company.”
Karen studied her brother. He didn’t appear to be teasing. Was he jealous of Jesse? She had suspected it to some extent, but had written it off as silly.
“Skate with Alysia tonight, Kerr.”
“Why should I? She doesn’t like me.”
The Dreamstalker Page 2
