Freddy Krueger's Tales of Terror #4: Twice Burned

by David Bergantino

  "I'm sorry, Colleen. If you never spoke to me again, I'd understand." He started to reach out to her, but stopped himself. "Ricky was so into it — I know that's no excuse. And you mean so much to me." He hung his head. "I don't know if you've ever been in the situation where you'd do anything for someone. Even stupid things."

  Colleen stood. Silently she left Kirk sitting, hopeless, in front of his computer.

  Chapter 19

  As Colleen drove away from Kirk's house, Vicki pulled into the driveway at Mrs. Wodell's house. Actually, she had arrived a half hour before, but a police car had been in the driveway. So she had parked down the street and watched. Finally the front door opened and two police officers exited, got in their car, and drove away. Now, checking herself in the rearview mirror — her new look, but hot all the same — she made her move.

  The doorbell played a quaint melody when she pressed the button, minutes after the police left. After a few seconds, the door opened. Vicki gave Lance a bright smile. Lance did a double take.

  "Vicki?" he asked, surprise giving way to suspicion. The face was recognizable, but the rest was not. Instead of her usual spiked hair, Vicki wore it combed out. Cotton replaced leather as the predominant fabric of her clothing. Gone were the studded biker boots. Soft loafers adorned her feet instead. The only remnants of Vicki's former style were the four empty holes in each earlobe. Now only one set of earrings dangled there. The overall effect was stunningly different — and not at all unattractive.

  "Yes, it's me," Vicki responded cheerfully, after giving him ample time to take in all her details. But he still didn't invite her in.

  "What are you doing here?" Lance's voice hardened a little. He smelled a rat somewhere behind Vicki's delicate perfume.

  "I borrowed most of this stuff," Vicki admitted in a calculated fashion she hoped wasn't obvious. "I'm trying new things. All this murder business and fighting has gotten me thinking."

  "Uh-huh?" Lance grunted, folding his arms in front of his chest.

  Vicki was aware she was going to have to try harder. But not too hard, of course. That would give it away. "I've wanted to make peace with Colleen, but she won't talk to me. Can't say that I blame her, but I'm trying. Or at least I would, but school was out today, y'know."

  "Yeah."

  Beyond the monosyllable, Vicki thought she detected a tremor of belief. So she buckled. "Look, this was stupid. I'm sorry. 'Bye." Turning abruptly, she marched back down the front walk. For effect, she clenched and unclenched her hands at her sides and made just enough noise so that Lance would think she was arguing with herself. Then she heard it.

  "Wait!" Lance called from the front door.

  Vicki turned and saw him standing on the welcome mat. It wasn't running down the walk to stop her, but it would do.

  "Come on back," he called. After a pause, she walked slowly back up the walk. "What's going on?" he asked. He was smiling good-naturedly. Now the suspicion was merely a tremor. Soon it would be stilled.

  Vicki took a deep breath. "I just came to ask you to talk to Colleen for me. Tell her I'm sorry. I don't know if being friends is possible, but I'll take what I can get." Then, with a nervous laugh, she added, "I'm a little short on friends these days."

  Lance was evidently taken by her request. "Of course I'll tell her," he said. Then his expression became mildly suspicious again. "You want to come in? I was just making tea for Mrs. Wodell. I mean, I'd offer you a soda or something, but there isn't any."

  "Oh, I don't think that would be a good idea," Vicki told him. "Mrs. Wodell and I aren't that close, you know."

  Lance laughed at her apparent self-consciousness. "No offense, but I bet she won't even recognize you like this. But we can stay in the living room if you want."

  "Okay, I guess. If you're sure."

  "Sure I'm sure," he said brightly. "C'mon in."

  Soon they were sitting in Mrs. Wodell's painstakingly neat living room, having tea.

  "A police car passed me as I drove up. Were they here?" she asked casually.

  "Yeah," he said. "Wanna hear something strange?" Vicki shrugged, why not? "The other night, when they caught Denny here, it was because of a phone tip."

  "A neighbor?"

  "That's what they thought. But the 911 log says that the call came from this house."

  "There was a woman here that night, right?"

  "Yeah, but she didn't make the call, or so she says. And besides…" Lance leaned forward, getting into the story. "Now, here's the weird part: The call came in long before Denny broke into the house. Otherwise, the police would never have made it in time. It's like someone knew that he was going to come here."

  "Maybe the phone log is wrong."

  Lance leaned back, thinking. "That must be it. But none of the neighbors will admit they called." He took a sip of his tea. "Probably don't want the hassles."

  "Yeah. That must be it."

  "Of course," Lance agreed. "I mean, how could anyone know where Denny was going to go?"

  * * *

  Gravel ricocheted off the underside of the car as Colleen pulled into the parking area. Blue and red neon illuminated the night, fortunes told. This time, Colleen sincerely hoped so.

  The Indian woman's eyes flared wider than before when Colleen walked into the front room.

  "I need to see Madame Xaviera," Colleen told her. With a sniff, the woman stood and went through the beaded curtain. A moment later, she parted the beads once more and motioned for Colleen to step through.

  Madame Xaviera sat in her high-backed chair. Smiling, she waved Colleen forward, seating her in the chair to her right. The Indian woman left them alone.

  "I've been expecting you," the fortune-teller intoned creepily.

  "You… you have?" Colleen asked in wonder.

  "Of course!" said Madame Xaviera. Then her eyes twinkled. "I knew you'd be angry when you found out those boys had played a mean trick on you. With me, as well as them. I'm not a mean woman, you know."

  "Oh, that," Colleen said when she realized what Madame Xaviera was talking about. "I know you're not a mean woman. I wouldn't be here if I thought you were."

  Madame Xaviera was momentarily perplexed. "Then why have you come?" The theatricality crept back into her voice.

  "Do you know what's been going on since we were here? The killings? Ricky, the boy who used to come here, he was murdered last night." Madame Xaviera bowed her head and nodded slightly. "I've been having these… feelings. Everyone thinks a friend of mine, Denny, did this. I know he didn't. I don't know how I know, but I do. There's an answer right in front of me, but I can't reach it. I've been having these dreams." She stopped, her thoughts suddenly unfocused. "Anyway, despite what happened when we were here, I don't think you're a total fraud." Madame Xaviera rose up slightly at the mere suggestion. "And even if you were, I still think you might understand some of these things. I feel like I can talk to you."

  Madame Xaviera's face was still as stone. Unreadable. Colleen knew she was going out on a limb, but at this point, she felt she had no choice. Lance didn't want to hear it. And she had gotten such a good feeling from Madame Xaviera before — until the very end, of course. But that was theatrics. And looking back, Colleen could tell the genuine moments from the false ones.

  "I owe you one," the fortune-teller said to her, winking. "Now, give me your hands." Colleen rested her hands in Madame Xaviera's. Instantly the woman's eyebrows went up. "I see. You've been having dreams. The dark man I warned you about."

  "Yes. It's Denny, but at the same time, not Denny. More like someone wearing a costume that makes him look that way." Colleen could swear she felt a mild electrical current running between them.

  Madame Xaviera nodded, pleased with Colleen. "You have gifts, my child. They are in front of you, but just out of reach for now. When you master them, you will get your answers."

  "What kind of gifts?" The thought intrigued Colleen.

  "Powers. Of premonition. Intuition. Compassion," the fortune-teller
told her. "Much like one of your former selves."

  " 'Former selves'?" Colleen asked.

  "Past lives. You were Joan of Arc in a past life. Burned as a witch because she had visions."

  "I'm doing a report on her for my history class," Colleen said, amazed at the coincidence.

  Madame Xaviera frowned. "Maybe I just picked that out of your brain, then." She winked slyly at Colleen. "Sometimes I read minds like that. But you never know. In any case, I bet your report will be the best in the class." Madame Xaviera became serious once more. "Unfortunately, I cannot tell you who the dark man is."

  "Why not?" Colleen asked. She realized that's what she wanted from the psychic: a quick, easy answer.

  "I'm sorry to say that evil pervades this world. This place even more than others," Madame Xaviera told her. "To point out a particular mote of evil here would be the same as trying to locate an individual drop of water in the ocean."

  "Thank you anyway for talking with me," Colleen said as she stood and began to open her purse.

  Madame Xaviera held up a hand. "I told you already. I owed you one."

  Colleen accepted without argument, thanked the fortune-teller once more, and started back through the beaded curtain. But Madame Xaviera's voice stopped her before she left.

  "Beware of the dark man, child. He is still out there, and you are very close to him."

  Colleen nodded gravely. There was not a hint of melodrama in the fortune-teller's voice. She was being deadly serious.

  Chapter 20

  During the ride home, Colleen reflected on her encounter with Madame Xaviera. Despite the woman's dire warning as she left, Colleen felt much better. At last she had found someone who accepted her feelings as possibilities. And she had said that Colleen had powers that would bring her the answers. Colleen just hoped she would find the answers before someone else died.

  Rethinking the situation, she still felt certain there was a pattern to all this. Now that the tarot cards had been eliminated, it must be something else. But what? First she eliminated Denny, who was obviously outside the pattern. He was older and had been killed by the police. The students' circumstances had been more mysterious.

  That's when it hit her. They were all students. But not just students at Springwood High. They were all students in Mr. Klusky's history class: Tish in her class, Ricky and Melina in an earlier class. A connection danced in Colleen's mind, then spun away. She was stymied once more. All three had met their ends — or supposed end, in Tish's case — under vastly different circumstances. Another realization struck her: Ricky's death had not been fully explained by the police. Though his body was found in the lake, there had been no mention of drowning. Perhaps he was dead before he was put in the lake.

  That was the key, she thought. Intuition. Somehow, Ricky's death was the key to the whole business. But how would she find out? If the police weren't talking to reporters, she could hardly call them up herself, ask, and expect an answer. Ricky's parents might know, but asking them was out of the question, regardless of the stakes. Ricky's parents. Kirk had seen them. He might know. The business with the tarot cards became instantly insignificant as Colleen realized she had to talk to Kirk. Without stopping to phone ahead, she drove straight to his house.

  Luckily, Kirk himself answered the door. It was getting late and Colleen hadn't prepared a good explanation about why she had returned. At the sight of her, Kirk gaped.

  "Can I come in?" she asked when he continued to stare like an idiot. "We need to talk." He hurriedly ushered her to his room.

  "Look, I promise I won't…" he began pathetically. "Don't worry about it," she cut in. "I have to ask you a question. It's not a nice one, but I hope you know the answer."

  "I don't deserve nice," he said resolutely. "So shoot."

  "Do you know how Ricky died?" she asked quietly. "Did his parents tell you, or did you hear it while you were there?"

  "Yeah," he said, shivering slightly. The room was not cold. "This is what they're trying to keep out of the papers. He bled to death."

  Colleen's eyes widened in horror. She could never have guessed.

  "I know. And, you're not gonna believe this, but for history, his report for Klusky was on Vlad Tepes."

  "Vlad Tep-who?"

  "Vlad Tepes. The real Transylvanian count who was the basis for the legend of Dracula." Another chill seemed to run down Kirk's spine. "Incredible for a guy who was so into horror and scary stuff, to go that way."

  "No," Colleen said, almost inaudibly. "That's perfect." She felt faint.

  "What are you talking about?" Kirk was alarmed by Colleen's appearance.

  "We need to find out who Tish and Melina chose for their history reports." She began to pace the room frantically. "I wish it were tomorrow already. Do you know anyone in Klusky's earlier class?" She shook her head. "No, that doesn't matter; we can get a list for both his classes at the same time. But how? Can't just walk up to him and ask. He'll want to know why…" She stopped when Kirk suddenly stood and grasped her by the shoulders.

  "What're you talking about?" he asked, concern bright in his face. "Why do you need a list of report subjects?"

  "I have a hunch. But unless I have proof, you'll think I'm crazy. Like Lance already thinks." She forced herself to sit down.

  "Look, I don't think you're crazy. If you need to know what reports people are doing, we can find out."

  "How?"

  Kirk sat in front of his computer. "Pull up your chair," he ordered.

  She scooted over as he typed furiously at the keyboard. After a few seconds, she heard the sound of telephone touch tones. There came a click, then a high-pitched whining sound. Then nothing. Soon the computer asked for a password, which he typed in. The screen blanked out for a moment, then returned with the greeting: WELCOME TO THE SPRINGWOOD LIBRARY ON-LINE.

  "What's that?" Colleen asked, feeling a little dumb. Computer literacy was not one of her powers.

  "We're in the library. It's the same system we use to check out books. I'm accessing the database remotely."

  Colleen would have been impressed if she knew what the point of this was.

  "You want to know about book reports. Well, we all know almost everyone in the class got their books at this library. So let's see what they've got checked out, huh?" As his fingers danced on the keyboard, Ricky's name appeared on the screen. Tapping the enter button made the screen go blank again. Then a list came up. Kirk pointed to the top lines. "See? European Myths and Legends, From Transylvania to Hollywood. A couple more. All books dealing with Vlad Tepes." He waved his hands at the lines toward the bottom of the screen. "And here's his history. If we keep going down, we can find the name of every book he's taken out since the system was put in." Suddenly he realized he was talking about his friend, who had died violently the night before. He suddenly seemed about to drown in melancholy.

  Colleen pushed her chair closer to his, as much to keep him on track as to look at the screen. "Try Tish. What books did she check out?"

  Kirk silently entered Tish's name into the computer. Her list replaced Ricky's on screen. "Amelia Earhart," he said dully.

  Colleen knew she was almost there. "Of course. Do you see what I see?" Kirk's look clearly said he didn't. "Amelia Earhart disappeared. So did Tish. Ricky bled to death. His report was on the guy who was the basis for Dracula."

  Now that he could see it, Kirk didn't want to believe. "That's impossible."

  "Melina," Colleen ordered. "Try Melina."

  After another few seconds, Kirk came back with the name Isadora Duncan. Both had heard the name, but neither knew exactly who she was. Or how she had died.

  "I got an idea," Kirk said. "But I gotta log off first." He did so, and after the computer dialed, it was soon connected to yet another computer system. "Almost all the on-line services have an electronic encyclopedia." He clicked his mouse a few times and apparently found what he was looking for. "Yeah, here it is. Isadora Duncan," he said slowly as he typed in her name. He sa
t back as it processed his entry. There were three beeps, which meant either the results of his search were onscreen, or the fries were ready at a fast-food place. "Isadora Duncan," Kirk repeated, reading from the screen. "Considered mother of modern dance. Blah blah blah. Here it is. Died in 1927 in Paris, when her scarf got caught in the workings of an automobile." He and Colleen turned to each other in amazement. "She was strangled."

  Colleen's manic energy returned. "That does it. The murderer knows the report subject of his victim."

  "That's insane!" Kirk exclaimed. When Colleen gave him a sharp look, he clarified himself. "I believe it, believe me, but it's incredible."

  "We need to know two things. First off, who has access to this information? And what about the rest of the class?" She had begun pacing again. Kirk made no attempt to stop her; he was pretty hyped up himself.

  "I'll log back into the library system." He spoke as he tapped at the keyboard. "But the access part is pretty easy. The only people who would know would be Mr. Klusky, since he has the assignment sheet, and us library employees."

  "But that makes it harder," Colleen realized. "No one has a reason."

  "How much reason do you need?" asked Kirk. "Someone's just flat-out crazy. Okay, I'm back in."

  "Can you print out lists?" Colleen asked. "We may need them for evidence."

  "Sure can," Kirk replied. "Hey, look! Peter Caldwell, the linebacker, is doing a report on Dwight Eisenhower. But after you get past the macho books, he's been taking out trashy romance novels! Definitely gonna need hard copy of that."

  Although she was happy that Kirk's regular personality had returned, he was getting characteristically sidetracked. "Just get lists for anyone in our class, and the earlier class if you know anyone. I'd better call Lance," she said suddenly. Without asking, she picked up Kirk's phone. A harsh electronic sound greeted her ear.

  "Hey!" Kirk cried. He tapped the keyboard in frustration. "It's locked up. We only have the one line."

  "I didn't realize."