by R. L. Stine
“Looks like they had too much partying,” Cory said. “Look at ’em!”
He and Metcalf laughed. “Later,” Metcalf said, and they headed toward the student parking lot.
“Funny guys,” I muttered.
We walked through the crowded, noisy corridors to the pay phone by the principal’s office. A girl was using it and we had to wait.
“Maybe Mom and Dad are home,” Cara said. “Maybe Mom will pick up the phone.”
“Maybe fish can talk,” I said. She shoved me. I fell into the phone booth, and the girl inside gave me a dirty look.
A few minutes later she came out and I stepped in. I dropped in my quarter and pushed our home number. The phone rang once. Twice. “It’s ringing,” I told Cara.
“What?” It was so noisy in the hallway, she couldn’t hear me.
I didn’t know whether the phones at home were fixed or not. Sometimes phones ring normally even though they’re out of order. I let it ring eight times. I was about to hang up when I heard a click. Someone had picked up.
“Hello?”
I recognized the voice at once. “Roger?”
“Yeah. Mark? Where are you?”
“In school. The phones are fixed?”
“Yeah. I guess so. We’re talking to each other, so they must be fixed.”
“That’s great. Listen, are my mom and dad home?”
His voice dropped. “No. Not yet,”
“No word from them or anything?”
“No.”
“Listen, Roger, we’ve got to talk. I want to ask you—”
“I’ve got to run, Mark. I was just on my way out the door. We’ll talk later, okay?”
“Okay, but—”
“You and Cara are all right?”
“Yeah, sure, we’re fine. But—”
“Good. Talk to you later. Don’t worry.” And he hung up.
“Well, at least the phones are fixed,” I told Cara.
“Let’s go get lunch,” she said. “I’m starving.”
When we got to the lunchroom, Cara wandered off to have lunch with Lisa and Shannon. I looked for Gena, but she wasn’t there. She wasn’t at our usual meeting place across from the gym, either. And she wasn’t in our fifth-period government class, so I figured she must have stayed home.
I hoped she wasn’t sick. I really wanted to talk to her.
I daydreamed about her the rest of the afternoon. I guess I was trying to avoid thinking about Mom and Dad. I didn’t stop thinking about her. I kept trying to relive last night on the couch, trying to remember how she felt, how she tasted. I wondered if I was in love or something. She was such a fox! There were girls I’d daydreamed about at my other schools, but not like this.
I called her as soon as I got home—well, right after checking to see if Mom and Dad were back. They weren’t. And Roger wasn’t home, either.
I was feeling really down. I planned to go out in the backyard and fire off a whole quiver of arrows after I talked to Gena.
The phone rang and rang. Finally, Gena answered. I could tell by the sound of her voice as she said hello that something was wrong. Her voice was shaky, as if she’d been crying.
“Hi, Gena? It’s me. Where were you today? Are you okay?”
And then she started to talk and cry at the same time. She sounded very strange; upset but frightened, too. I had trouble understanding her at first. I guess I didn’t want to understand her because of what she was saying.
“I don’t believe this,” I said, my heart pounding. I suddenly had a throbbing pain at both temples. “But, come on, Gena—you don’t—you’re not serious! But why? I mean—I don’t believe you! Why are you doing this?”
CHAPTER 11
I got home about five o’clock. The house was dark. No one seemed to be home.
What a rotten day. It had to be the worst day of my life, and finding the house dark and empty didn’t help to lift my spirits any.
If only Mom and Dad would get back. I just felt so strange not talking to them for two whole days. I let out a little cry as the thought flashed through my mind that I might never talk to them again.
Where was Mark, anyway?
I dropped my book bag on the kitchen counter and checked the refrigerator for a message. Nothing. Feeling totally worn out and miserable, I slumped into the living room.
“Hey!”
Someone was sitting in the dark on the couch.
“Only me.” It was Mark. He didn’t move or look up.
“You scared me to death,” I said, feeling my heart pound. “Why are you sitting in the dark?”
He didn’t answer.
“What’s wrong? What are you doing, Mark?”
Still no reply.
My first thought was that he had gotten bad news about Mom and Dad.
I flicked the light switch. The lamp by the front window lit up. Mark turned away so I couldn’t see his face.
“What is it?” I screamed. “Is it Mom and Dad? Are they—”
“No,” he said, without turning around.
“Have you heard from them?”
“No.”
I felt really relieved. I walked over to the couch and stood in front of him.
“Get out of my face,” he said, looking down. “Take a walk.”
“Mark, what is your problem?”
He took a deep breath and slowly let it out. He looked up at me. I think he’d been crying. I wasn’t sure. I don’t think I’d seen him cry since he was eight or nine. But his face looked puffy and his eyes were red.
“Are you okay?” I sat down at the other end of the couch.
“Take a walk,” he muttered.
“Come on.”
He shook his head. “Okay. If I tell you, will you leave me alone? Gena broke up with me.”
I wasn’t sure I heard right. “She what?”
“She broke up with me. Do you understand English? She doesn’t want to see me again.”
The scene on this same couch the night before flashed into my mind. I saw Gena sitting on Mark’s lap. I saw them making out despite the room full of people.
I stared at Mark in disbelief and he turned away again. “Don’t look at me like that.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. I really was. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Well, don’t say anything.” Whenever he was upset about something, Mark got angry at the nearest person. I decided if it would make him feel better to yell at me, then let him.
“When did she tell you?”
“I called right after school. She wasn’t in school today.”
“And she said—”
“She sounded weird. Scared, sort of. I don’t know. She didn’t sound like herself.”
“She said she wanted to break up?”
“She said she couldn’t see me anymore.”
“Couldn’t, or didn’t want to?”
He scowled. “Give me a break.”
“Well, it’s an important difference,” I said. “Did she give a reason?”
“No. No reason. Just said not to call her anymore or try to talk to her in school or anything.”
“Weird. So what did you say?”
“I went over to her house.”
“You did? Just now?”
“Yeah. Right after she told me.”
“And what did she say?”
Mark got up quickly and walked to the window. He stood staring out into the graying night, his back to me. “I didn’t see her. Her father answered the door.”
“And?”
“He was very nice about it. He just said that Gena was very upset, so upset she stayed home from school. I told him I just wanted to talk to her. But he said she didn’t want to talk to me.”
“So what did you do?”
Mark spun around angrily and scowled at me. “So what could I do? I turned around and came home, of course. Then you arrived and started giving me the third degree.”
“I did not. I just asked why you were sitting like a st
atue in a dark room.”
“Well, now you know,” he said bitterly.
I should’ve dropped it, but knowing when to shut up isn’t one of my better talents. “But it doesn’t make any sense. Gena really seemed to like you. I mean, last night—”
“Shut up about last night!” he flared.
“Sorry. I just meant that you two didn’t have any kind of fight or disagreement or anything.”
“No. Nothing,” he agreed, pacing the length of the room. “I’ve only known her three weeks. We didn’t have time to fight about anything.”
“So why in heaven’s name—”
“I don’t know. It’s a mystery.”
“But you and she—”
“I don’t want to talk about it anymore.” He started pacing faster.
“Mark, I think we should call the police right now,” I said.
He stopped pacing and turned around to face me. It was pitch-black outside the window now. Darkness came so early in November. The lamp by the window wasn’t bright enough. The dim light it cast over the old furniture just made the room more gloomy. I suddenly felt chilled.
“Yeah, I guess you’re right. Sorry I barked at you like that, Cara. I just felt like—like my whole life is crumbling, you know?”
“Yes, I know,” I said quietly.
We walked into the kitchen to call the police. I turned on every light we passed. The house was just too creepy in the dark.
“Let me do it,” Mark said, picking up the receiver. “Should we just dial nine-one-one?”
“I guess—no, wait.” I suddenly remembered the policeman who had come to the door the night before and the card he had given me. Now, where had I put it? I reached into my jeans pocket and found it crumpled up in there.
“What’s that?” Mark asked suspiciously.
“That policeman who was here—Captain Farraday. This card has his direct line.”
“Good. Maybe you should call.” Mark backed away from the phone. I wondered if I looked as worried and upset as he did.
“Are you okay?” I asked. His broad forehead was covered with little drops of perspiration.
“No,” he said, frowning. “Why should I be okay?”
I held the little card in one hand and pushed the numbers with the other. He picked up after the first ring. “Police. Farraday speaking.”
“Oh. Captain Farraday. Hi.”
“Yes. Who’s this?” he asked brusquely.
“It’s Cara Burroughs. Remember me?”
“Sure, Cara. Of course I remember you. That party isn’t still going on, is it?”
“No. I’m… uh… calling about my parents.”
His voice turned serious. “Yes. What about them?”
“Well…” I suddenly felt very strange, as if this wasn’t really happening. I wasn’t really calling the police to report my parents missing, was I? That didn’t happen in real life.
“My parents didn’t come home last night and they aren’t home now.”
There was a long silence. “That’s strange,” he said finally, his voice quieter, sympathetic. “Did they call or anything?”
“No. The phone was broken for a while. But my brother and I haven’t heard a word from them.”
“I’m writing this down, Cara,” he said. “I don’t think there’s anything to worry about, but I’m getting it down. Have they ever done this before? You know, not come home?”
“A couple of times. Especially when they were starting new jobs. But they always called.”
“I see.” There was silence while he wrote. “Did you call their office?”
“Well, that’s sort of a problem,” I said. I told him quickly about our trip this morning to Cranford Industries and what Mr. Marcus had told us.
“This is very strange, isn’t it,” Farraday said. I could tell he was taking notes. “But I’m sure we can clear it up really fast.” His voice was calm and reassuring. I wished I had called him sooner.
“Let me look through some things here,” Farraday said. I could hear him shuffling through papers. “I don’t have any accident reports.” More shuffling. “No serious crime reports, either. So you don’t have to think the worst. Nothing terrible has happened to them.”
“That’s a relief,” I said.
Mark grabbed my shoulder. “Does he know where they are?”
I waved him away and shook my head no. “They weren’t in an accident or anything,” I whispered to Mark.
“I know how it is,” Farraday said, still rustling papers. “You start imagining the most horrible things, right?”
“Yeah, I guess,” I said. “Do you think we should—”
“Tell you what,” he interrupted. I could hear a police radio start to blare in the background. “I’ll get some men on this right away. Maybe I’ll even send one out to Cranford just to make sure there wasn’t some kind of mistake.”
“Oh, thank you,” I said.
“Shadyside is a pretty small town,” Farraday said. “I think we’ll locate your parents very soon.”
“Will you call me back?” I asked.
“Right. I’ll either call or send a patrolman by.”
“Thanks, Captain. I really feel better already.”
“Well, don’t get crazy worrying, you hear? When I catch up with your parents, I’m gonna give ’em a good talking to, tell them they shouldn’t be neglecting such good kids.”
“Okay, I—”
“But the main thing is not to worry. If something bad had happened, I would’ve received a report by now.”
“Thanks again,” I said. “ ’Bye.”
I was about to hang up the receiver when I heard a loud click. I realized immediately what it was.
Roger was upstairs. And he’d been listening in on the attic extension.
I felt a sudden chill. Why didn’t he just come downstairs if he wanted to know what was going on?
Why was Roger spying on us?
CHAPTER 12
“Roger was spying on us,” Cara said, hanging up the phone.
“Huh?”
“You heard me. He was listening m on the upstairs extension.”
“Are you sure?”
She didn’t answer me. She went running to the front steps. “Hey, Roger! Roger!”
I followed her and heard Roger coming down the attic steps. “Yeah?”
“Why were you spying on us, Roger?” Cara wasn’t exactly being subtle.
Roger appeared on the second-floor landing. He looked tired. The front of his sweatshirt had dark stains on it. His usually perfectly slicked-back hair was heading in all directions.
“Hi, Cara. What did you say? I just got home. I was upstairs.”
“I know you were upstairs. You were upstairs listening in on my phone conversation,” Cara said angrily, glaring up at him.
Roger’s eyes bulged in surprise. He ran a hand back through his hair. “What? No. I went up to get changed. I spilled stuff on my sweatshirt and—”
“I heard the click, Roger.” Cara wasn’t going to let him off the hook. I agreed with her. Roger had been acting too suspicious ever since Mom and Dad disappeared. It was time to confront him.
“Phones click for a lot of reasons,” Roger said, not making any move to come down to us. “I wasn’t listening in, Cara. I’d never do that.”
“Roger, there are some questions Mark and I need to ask you,” Cara started.
But Roger interrupted. “Cara, who were you talking to—your mom and dad?”
“No. You know it wasn’t,” Cara insisted.
“I really wasn’t listening in,” Roger said, leaning against the banister. “You have no reason to suspect me.
“Yes, we do,” I broke in. “I saw you run out last night.”
“You mean real late? Right. I told you when I came in. I couldn’t sleep. I went for a walk.”
“But I saw the van, Roger. I saw you climb into it.”
He looked surprised. “Climb into a van? Me? Are you sure, Mark? A
re you sure it was me?”
“Well, of course. Who else?” He was starting to get me steamed.
“Are you sure you were fully awake? When I went out for my walk, I did see a van parked outside. But why would I climb into it?”
“That’s what we want to know,” Cara said angrily.
“And why do you have a gun in your room?” I added.
“Huh?” His mouth dropped open. “A gun?”
“In your bottom desk drawer.”
He dropped down onto the top stair. “You searched my room?”
“Well, yes,” I said. “But we—”
“You searched my room, and then you accuse me of spying?” He sounded really hurt and upset.
“Roger, we—” Cara started.
“Who gave you the right to go through my things?”
“Nobody,” I said. “It’s just that you’ve been acting weird lately, so we thought we’d look around.”
“I haven’t been acting weird. You two have,” Roger said, shaking his head. “Of course I can understand why. You’re upset about your parents. But sneaking into my room, making crazy accusations, and hallucinating people climbing into vans isn’t going to help get your parents back.”
“We didn’t hallucinate the pistol,” I said. “We saw it.”
“Yes, I have a pistol,” Roger said. “It so happens that that pistol means a lot to me.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“It belonged to my dad. He was a policeman. He gave it to me on my eighteenth birthday. He told me I should always keep it nearby. He said he hoped I never had to use it, but he wanted me to have it anyway. A few weeks later, he was shot dead in a drug raid.” Roger turned away. “That pistol is about the only thing I have left from my dad.”
“Look, Roger, I’m sorry that we went in your room,” I said.
“Me, too,” Cara said quietly.
“No need to apologize,” Roger said, climbing to his feet. “It’s just that we’ve got to stick together now. We’ve got to trust each other. Know what I mean?”
“Yeah,” I said.
“We can’t panic and start turning on each other. We have to—”
“I called the police,” Cara said, interrupting.
“Very good idea,” Roger said. “We should’ve done it sooner.” He glanced at his watch. “Oh, I’m late. I’ve got to run. I’ll be back later and we can talk. Okay?”
