“Here we go twelve!” Kane yelled through cupped hands.
I leaned toward him. “Who’s twelve?”
He pointed toward a big guy on the field. “He’s on the team. The lacrosse team.”
“Oh! I didn’t know you could be on both teams.”
“Sure. Lacrosse is a spring sport. A few guys from the team play football in the fall.”
“Why don’t you?” I asked over the cacophony of the marching band.
“I don’t want to spread myself too thin. Academics take a lot of my time and I try to keep focused on lacrosse. I play in an indoor league during the winter. And I make sure I practice every day in the fall. Hit the wall for twenty minutes.”
I had no idea what “hit the wall” meant, but didn’t want to extend the sports conversation too long by asking. I know nothing about sports, especially football. Sitting there on a chilly Friday night was usually the last thing I’d want to do. I only fit in by copying what everyone else did. I groaned when they groaned, clapped when they clapped, and stood and exchanged high fives when we got a touchdown. And I didn’t even erroneously call it a “great goal.” Good for me.
By halftime, I was ready to stretch my legs, mingle, and eavesdrop. You know, detective work.
“I’m going to head to the concession stand,” Kane said. “You want anything?”
My teeth were chattering and I would have loved a hot chocolate, but didn’t want him to get it and come looking for me right away. “Not yet,” I said. “Thanks, though.” Most girls seemed to be walking toward the main building. “I’m going to head inside for the bathroom,” I added.
The metal stairs vibrated as a bunch of us descended at once. The smells of popcorn and hot dogs had my stomach growling, but I ignored my hunger. I had work to do. I kept my ears open while I walked through the crowd. I hoped to get involved in some conversations, try to get people to tell me more about Kayla like they had the night of my party.
I was about to join the line for the girls’ room when a shadow farther down the hall waved to me — from the doorway to the art room. I sped down the hall past six other rooms. The door was cracked open, but it was dark inside. I pushed the door open, let my eyes adjust, and smiled. Donovan straddled a chair that had been spun around. His arms were draped over the back, his chin resting on his clasped hands. When he saw me, he stood in one swift motion.
“You came,” he said.
I rushed up to him. I knew what I’d said in school about keeping us quiet, but we were alone here in this darkened room, and I couldn’t hold back. I threw my arms around his neck, rose up on my tiptoes, and pulled his face to mine, kissing him. He responded instantly, his tender kiss quickly turning hotter. His hands tightened on my waist, drawing me closer to him.
I wanted to stay like this, in this room, all night, but knew we couldn’t. I pulled back, and we both took the moment to catch our breaths. He leaned forward, resting his forehead on mine and whispered, “I hate seeing you with him.”
“I had to switch nights for the date. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”
“I figured it was something like that.”
I had so much to tell him — about Kayla’s parents, the intruder, but we didn’t have time. “Can you come over tomorrow? I’ll fill you in on everything.”
“Absolutely. In the meantime … please be careful.”
“I will. I promise.” I paused, hating what I had to say next. “I need to get back.”
“After one more kiss,” he breathed and our lips joined again. But only for a moment.
Because I heard a click.
Donovan froze, his biceps hardening under my hands. I turned and squinted at the bright light of the hallway. In my rush to touch him, I’d left the door open behind me. No one stood in the doorway now, but that noise had been familiar and distinct. The kind of noise a phone makes — when it’s taking a picture.
Donovan dismissed the noise as the click of the wall clock, but I’d been so sure it was the whir and snap of a camera phone. Or maybe I was getting paranoid. That wasn’t too hard to do when your house is haunted and you’re surrounded by murder suspects.
I really did have to use the bathroom, though. That part of what I told Kane wasn’t a lie. But before I pushed the ladies’ room door in, my ears perked up. Someone had said Kane’s name.
I didn’t immediately recognize the girls’ voices, and pressed my ear against the door, straining to listen.
“Seriously, your brother is so hot.”
“Ew, guys, shut up.” Ellie’s voice.
“Is he dating that new senior?”
Um, that would be me. They are talking about me.
I listened closer as Ellie replied, “I think so. But I don’t know.”
The other girl snorted in disbelief. “How can you not know? You two tell each other everything.”
“I don’t know because he doesn’t know. They’re taking it slow.”
Another voice. “I can’t imagine living in that house, where Kayla died. Gross.”
“Seriously,” said the first girl. I guessed there were three in there. Ellie and two of her sophomore friends. “I bet that nasty old man watches her like he watched Kayla. What a perv.”
They knew about Mr. Tucker? My mind was processing this as the door suddenly swung inward. I stumbled, making it quite obvious that my ear had been on the wood.
“Oh, hey, Ellie,” I said, smoothing my hair and walking past her into the bathroom.
Her two friends continued on out the door, but Ellie hung back. “Can I talk to you?” Her voice was sweet as usual, but her eyes were different. Suspicious.
“Sure.” I pretended to primp in the mirror. “What’s up?”
“What’s going on with you and my brother? I mean, are you into him or what?”
My eyes found hers in the reflection of the mirror, and I felt like she was seeing right through me. I was using Kane and she sensed it. I understood her protectiveness. Respected it. I can only imagine how I’d feel about Colby’s girlfriends when he was old enough to date. I couldn’t imagine anyone being good enough for him.
I slowly turned around. “We’re friends. I don’t think either of us is rushing into anything.” I smiled to try to set her at ease and hoped that the blush forming in the hollow of my neck didn’t betray the nonchalance I was forcing into my voice.
Ellie’s posture seemed to relax, but doubt remained in her eyes. “Friends are cool. I just wanted to see if you’re on the same page. I don’t want him getting hurt, you know?”
Kane was lucky, having a sister like this. I wanted to tell her that. Maybe someday I would. But right now I had one priority and that was saving my own brother. I was doing my best not to lead Kane on, but if I did a little bit — well, that was something I had to live with. But it wasn’t like I was completely faking. I did want to be friends with him.
“And one more thing,” she said, worry creasing her forehead. “Watch out for your neighbor.”
“Mr. Tucker?”
“Yeah. There’s something not right about him. The way he watches. And …” she lowered her voice. “Kane told me something Kayla said that I’ve never been able to forget.”
I involuntarily stepped closer. “What?”
“That when she first moved into the house when she was little … there were weird piles of dirt in his backyard. Like Mr. Tucker had buried something.”
Or someone, I thought.
By the time I returned to the bleachers, the third quarter had already started. The conversation about Mr. Tucker had added a mental chill to the already cold air, and I wished I’d worn a coat instead of a hoodie. But when I reached Kane halfway down the row, he smiled and said, “There’s my girl!”
I flinched. My girl. In front of everyone. We were suddenly but surely not on the same page.
He held out a Styrofoam cup. “Even though you said you didn’t want anything, I figured you could use a hot chocolate.”
I felt a dozen eyes
on me, gauging my reaction. If I rejected the “my girl” thing, it would hurt his feelings. And I didn’t want to do that, especially in front of his friends. Plus, I needed access to those friends, hopefully only for a little while longer.
I inhaled a deep, wavering breath. “That was so nice.” I took the cup from his hands. “Thanks.”
I drank a sip and winced as the heat slid down my throat. I tried to swallow my guilt with it.
I went home after the game, a mix of emotions boiling and bubbling in my stomach like a witch’s cauldron. I was a good person. Not the type to lie to people, fake my way into a crowd, lead a boy on. I told myself over and over that I was only doing what had to be done.
I crawled into bed and pulled the covers up to my chin, relieved to finally be warm. The night had taken a lot out of me. I hadn’t played a game out there on the field, but mental exhaustion can wipe you out just as much. Soon, sleep came over me with a welcoming, warm haze.
But hours later, in the blackest dark of the middle of the night, I was instantly awoken by a sharp cry. I shot up in bed, holding the comforter up to my face as if it could protect me. My eyes took their time adjusting to the darkness, but my ears were immediately attuned. I listened hard for any sound over the heavy beat of my startled heart.
Had I imagined it? Was it a dream?
I had to check on Colby, just to be sure.
As I slipped out of bed, my breath was loud in my ears. I padded quietly down the hall, the floor cool under my bare feet. Hushed murmurs came from my parents’ bedroom. I peeked my head in. Dad was gone, not returning until Sunday. Marie had fallen asleep with the TV on. The bluish glow illuminated her sleeping face.
The cry came again. Colby’s cry. The sound pierced my heart like a bullet.
I rushed into his room, my quick footsteps almost making me slip on the hardwood floor. He lay in his bed, peacefully at first glance. But as I moved closer, I saw the scrunched up expression on his face. He was having a nightmare.
I was considering whether or not to wake him when a loud thud came from behind me. Colby’s prized baseball, one Dad had caught at a Red Sox game, was on the floor. It was always, always on Colby’s dresser. I realized, with building trepidation, that it couldn’t have fallen off the grooved pedestal on its own. It had to have been nudged.
The temperature in the room plummeted. I started to shiver uncontrollably. I wanted to rub my arms in a feeble attempt to get warm, but my muscles seemed frozen and stuck.
I stared in rapt attention as the ball began slowly rolling toward me. The stitches thumped against the floor as the ball scuffled along. Fear slithered over me, around me, tightening, suffocating.
Colby’s nightmare.
The rolling ball.
They were messages. Reminders. Kayla was playing with his toy, but could just as easily play with him. Possess him at any time. Make him do anything.
“I’m working on it,” I whispered through my suddenly dry throat. “I promise.”
The ball kept on its slow, purposeful roll.
“I made progress tonight. I have a strong suspect. I’m going to investigate him further tomorrow. I have a plan. I’m close, I know it.”
The ball stopped.
Kayla was in control. She could lose her patience with me at any moment. And she needed me to know this. Fear and panic clawed its way up my throat, wanting to emerge in a scream. I swallowed it back down, forcing myself to stay strong.
Colby’s face had changed back into his usual angelic sleeping expression. His nightmare was over.
For now.
1 and 2 told me a secret today. And, all of a sudden, I have to worry about stuff I’ve never had to worry about before.
I don’t know what I’m going to do.
After breakfast Saturday morning, Marie and Colby left to go to some farm a few towns over. It actually sounded kind of fun. They were going to do tractor rides, go apple picking, all that fall stuff.
Me? I was planning on a little breaking and entering.
I’d told Marie a friend was coming over and we were going to do homework. When she found out it was a boy, she gave me this little smirk and an eyebrow waggle. A full night’s sleep and the promise of Dad returning tomorrow had done wonders for her mood.
Donovan arrived fifteen minutes after I texted him. His hair was damp and he smelled faintly of soap. I wanted to pull him into my arms and spend the day drowning in his kisses, but Kayla had made it clear last night that I had no time for that anymore. In fact, time was running out.
I led Donovan into the kitchen, sat him down, and caught him up on everything. That Kayla’s previously wealthy parents weren’t anymore. That someone had broken into my house, though I had no idea what they’d been looking for. And, finally, that Mr. Tucker might not just be a harmless old guy who spent too much time looking out his window.
“Phew.” Donovan leaned back in the chair. “That’s a lot to take in.” He chewed on his thumbnail for a moment. “I don’t know what to do next.”
“I do.” I sat up a little straighter. “Every Saturday, at eleven o’clock in the morning, Mr. Tucker goes out. I’ve noticed it two weekends in a row.” I glanced at the clock on the wall. “If he does it again, ten minutes from now, I’m breaking into his house.”
Donovan’s head rocked back in surprise. “Hold up. I don’t know if that’s such a good idea.”
“Why not?”
“Well, for one, it’s against the law. Second, what if he comes home earlier than you expect and catches you? If he is the person who killed Kayla, he won’t hesitate to do it again.”
I smiled. “That’s where you come in. You’re my lookout. If he comes home, text me and I’ll feel the vibration in my pocket and get out of there.”
He shook his head. “It’s dangerous. I think you’re rushing into this. We can look into him more, yeah, but —”
“I have to rush,” I blurted out. “I have no time left.”
His eyes met mine. “What are you talking about?”
I sighed and pulled my fingers through my hair. “The night of the party, after we cleaned up and you left, something happened.” I paused, not wanting to say the words out loud because they sounded so crazy. “Kayla possessed Colby.”
Donovan’s jaw dropped. “Your little brother?”
I nodded. “She somehow took over his body and told me she could do it again at any time and that, if I didn’t find out who killed her, she’d kill him.” The words sounded so absurd I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it myself.
“How — how —” he stuttered. “How can that even happen?”
“The night of the party, the Ouija board opened some sort of door and gave her this power. This access to him.” I shook my head. “We never should have messed with it.”
“Why him? Why an innocent little boy?”
“Maybe he’s the only one she can possess. Or maybe she chose him to control me. To get what she wants. She knows I’ll do anything to protect him. So she gave me the ultimatum — find her killer or Colby dies. She gave me another warning last night. I have no time to waste, Donovan. She’ll kill him. She told me so.”
“I can’t believe that. I mean, yeah, she’s not the nicest girl on the block, but I can’t believe she’d kill a little boy.”
“She did some mean things when she was alive,” I said.
“Yes, she did.” His voice took on a faraway sound. “She did some terrible things … but that’s different from murder.”
I wondered again, for a moment, if Donovan was holding something back. “Well, I’m not going to take any chances with my brother’s life. I’m giving her what she wants, no matter what it takes. I’m breaking into Mr. Tucker’s house. Now. Whether you help me or not.”
I slipped in a back window easily enough, but now that I was inside I didn’t know what to do. Mr. Tucker’s house was dark and musty. Faded, outdated wallpaper lined the walls. Heavy curtains and dark, ornate furniture gave the home a gl
oomy feel. I first went to the living room window that faced my house. I didn’t know what I expected to find. A big note tacked to the wall saying, This is why I stand sentinel over my neighbors’ daughters? But it was just an ordinary window.
There had to be something to his behavior. It was more than odd. It was almost … compulsive. Like he had to watch. And it wasn’t like he’d had some single-minded obsession with Kayla because he watched me, too. Was he a pervert? Was it some pedophile thing? An involuntary shiver coursed through me. I never got that vibe from him, but would I really know?
I had to find out. I moved from room to room on the first floor. Everything looked normal. No dead bodies in the freezer. Just an old TV in the living room. He had a small den, but no computer, just stacks of books and newspapers. I searched through them and found nothing suspicious or pervy.
I moved to the bottom of the staircase and gazed up. If there were anything to find, it would be upstairs.
The house was a small Cape. Upstairs only had a bathroom and two bedrooms. The bath was plain and clean. The master bedroom held nothing unusual. I even checked his — eww — underwear drawer and under the bed. The only strange thing was that the wallpaper and bedding were more feminine than I’d expected. I moved on to the second bedroom, my last chance at answers.
The door was closed.
Strange, I thought. He lived alone. Why keep a room closed? Unless it was something he didn’t want to see every time he walked by. Something he didn’t want to be reminded of. Flashes from crime dramas flickered in my brain. Serial killers on TV usually had a room where they let their crazy out. You know, walls covered with psychopathic scribblings, photos of eyes, and newspaper clippings of their crimes.
The hand I held on the knob started to tremble. I wanted to know what was in that room. Needed to know. But I was suddenly terrified.
The Dead and Buried Page 17
