And an absolutely rotten person.
Kirsten sighed. Maybe Rob had lost his head. Become swept away beyond his ability to control himself by his ardor for Kirsten. Maybe he was still in the park, grieving over his impulsive mistake.
Right.
Kirsten emptied her backpack onto her desk. She would let him make the next move. If he wanted her, he’d have to try real hard. Prove to her he could be trusted.
If he didn’t try at all, too bad. He was history.
But she sure hoped he did try.
Kirsten’s math notebook was upside down. As she turned it over, a handful of papers slid across the desk.
One of them was her flyer for the driver’s ed contest.
She picked it up and looked at the photo of the Escort.
Her heart began to beat faster. She blinked, as if that might change what she was seeing.
The car was in profile. Almost completely. It was angled toward Kirsten, but just a bit.
She let go of it and watched it flutter back to her desktop.
What was going on here?
“Mom?”
Kirsten’s voice was so parched, she barely heard her own call. She swallowed, but she didn’t call out again.
What was she going to tell her mom? I think the car in this flyer moves. You see, I first noticed something weird about Rob’s flyer… . Rob? Oh, he’s the unlicensed driver who let me drive his car to the park tonight.
Uh-huh. Sure.
Time for a reality check.
Okay. First of all, Rob’s flyer. The position of KIRSTEN’S CAR hadn’t changed at all. Rob must have had two flyers. He had written the words on one in advance, knowing that he was going to charm Kirsten. Then, when he looked for it in the car and couldn’t find it, he wrote on another flyer—then unexpectedly pulled out the first at the park!
Perfect explanation, except for one thing. It sounded stupid.
But hey, Maria had said Rob was a scuzzball. And he had lived up to it in the park, so he wasn’t immune from stupid actions.
Kirsten’s flyer? Well, if she were a company sponsoring a contest, would she necessarily give each kid an identical photo? No. Maybe each flyer had a different angle of the Escort. Contestants could drool over the different features in each other’s photos.
It made sense.
Case closed.
She opened her math book.
But before she started, she stuffed the flyer in her desk drawer.
Of all the nights to have three killer assignments, it would have to be tonight. By the time Kirsten flopped into bed, it was almost 12:30. Nat had been sleeping for an hour and a half. Even the intermittent conversation from her parents’ room had stopped.
Kirsten shut her eyes, but her mind was wide open. Unanswered questions poked up, keeping her awake. Why had Rob lied to her? Why had he chosen her? What were those strange expressions on his face when she asked simple questions?
And what about Kirsten’s driving skills? Without Rob’s magic, was she doomed to slide back to Advanced Spaz?
Images began to float around now. Gwen’s smug face, Mr. Busk’s scowl, Maria’s accusing frown, Nat’s idiotic trick, the stained letter to the Trangs… .
A face began to loom in her mind, uninvited, translucent. It was an Asian face, vague and ill-formed, obviously an idea of how Nguyen Trang might have looked.
In her agitated half sleep, Kirsten felt for him—separated from his parents, in love with a fickle creep like Gwen, driven to take his own life.
Chances are he had slept in this room, Kirsten thought. It was the second biggest bedroom in the house. The wood paneling made a definite boy statement.
Wood paneling … had to go … wallpaper … brighter, cheerful …
Kirsten’s thoughts were jumbling, streaming into the rhythms of sleep.
“Ohhhhhhh …”
When she heard the moan, her eyes popped open.
The room was black and still. Silent.
A cat, Kirsten assured herself. They sound so much like people when they wail.
She forced her eyes shut. She thought of sheep. Sugarplums. Boring things. Math. The business section of the newspaper. Upholstery. Cable TV ads for carpet cleaning …
“Ohhhhhhh …”
She was wide awake and flying.
It was from her closet.
No. She had just been in her closet to get her pj’s.
Nat! That’s who it was.
“Nat?”
No answer.
“N-Nat?”
It had to be a dream.
She had dreamed the noise. It was gone now.
I’m awake, she told herself. No need to be afraid.
But something was terribly wrong. Kirsten’s skin was prickling. Her breaths came in shallow spasms.
Leave this room, her instincts screamed.
The moon was just over the house, casting pale light through her half-drawn shades. Kirsten’s eyes were adjusting, taking in more shadows and shapes.
Then they stopped at the closet door.
It was vibrating.
Kirsten’s stomach lurched around inside her like a small, frightened animal. She sat up. Blinked.
The motion stopped. The door was completely still.
Suddenly the living room couch seemed like an excellent bedtime choice. Kirsten quietly pulled back the covers. She swung her feet over the side.
Her legs were shaking as she tiptoed toward the door.
Then she froze.
A shadow was emerging from beneath her closet door, black and growing slowly.
But the door was shut tight.
Kirsten choked on a gasp. She watched the shadow spread toward her. It inched into a small rectangle of moonlight on the floor.
And then she could see that the shadow was not a shadow at all. Nor was it black.
It was a liquid, and it was red.
Blood red.
Chapter 10
KIRSTEN OPENED HER MOUTH to scream.
Nothing.
Not a sound.
She tried to move.
Release emergency brake!
She unlocked her knees and bolted.
Kirsten’s knuckles smacked the door. She fumbled for the knob and yanked on it.
She hadn’t reached the bottom of the stairs before she heard her parents’ bedroom door open.
She looked up to see them heading toward her room. “Mom! Dad! Don’t!”
“Don’t what?” answered her mom groggily. “Is … is someone in there?”
“No! Not someone!” Kirsten shot back up the stairs and pulled her door shut.
Her dad looked as if she’d lost her mind. “Kirsten, what are you hiding?”
“Nothing! It’s just—it’s just—”
How can I say it?
Now Nat’s door was opening. Rubbing his eyes, he walked out of the room. “Can’t you guys be quiet?”
“Kirsten, what is in there?” Mrs. Wilkes demanded, her brow knitted with concern. “Did you see a mouse?”
“Gross,” Nat grumbled.
Dr. Wilkes reached for the doorknob. “They never told us there were rodents—”
“No, Dad! Don’t open it!”
“Kirsten, stop it!” her mother snapped.
“Open it!” Nat squealed. “I want to see!”
Dr. Wilkes let go of the knob and folded his arms. “Quiet, please!” he bellowed.
The stairway landing fell silent.
“I will postpone opening this door until Kirsten informs us what we have to look forward to. Kirsten, the floor is yours.”
All eyes stared at her. She took a deep breath and tried to blow out the fear that clogged her body. “Okay. I—I was going to sleep when I saw this blood—I mean, it looked like blood—it was liquid, and it was coming out of the closet—”
“Whoa! Cool!”
Nat zipped past them all and barged into the room.
“Nooooooooo!” Kirsten shrieked.
Slam! Nat p
ulled the door shut behind him.
Before anyone could get to the door after him, it slowly opened again.
Nat appeared. Behind him the room was still dimly moonlit. His eyes were wide, his mouth hung open.
“N-Nat?” Kirsten said. “Are you all right?”
He looked at her obliquely and tried to speak. Then his eyes rolled into his lids and he fell to the floor in a heap.
Kirsten stared in shock.
“Nat!”Mrs. Wilkes gasped.
Dr. Wilkes quickly knelt beside him and cradled his head. “Natty? Can you hear me?”
Nat’s eyes flickered open. A tiny, growing smile gave way to a spurt of laughter. “Rank!”
Kirsten drooped against the wall. It had been twice in two days for his stupid tricks.
Mrs. Wilkes shook her head in disgust.
“Not a smart move, Nathaniel,” Dr. Wilkes said. “I don’t ever want to see you do that again.”
“You know,” Mrs. Wilkes seethed, “it’s after one o’clock in the morning—”
As her parents lectured Nat, Kirsten took a step into her room.
Shivers seized her. The closet area was pitch-black, out of range of the slanting hallway light.
Girding herself, she flicked on the switch by her door.
Desk. Computer. Bookshelves. Bed. Closet. Carpet. All blinked into her vision.
Kirsten stared at the carpet next to the closet door. She closed her eyes. Shook her head. Opened her eyes again.
What she saw made her skin crawl.
“You feel better now?” her mom said over her shoulder.
Kirsten could not answer.
This was impossible. The carpet was as blue as always. Not a trace of blood.
She walked in slowly, touching the area with her toes. It was bone-dry.
But she had seen it. After she had awakened.
“Where was it, honey?” her dad asked.
“Under the closet door,” Kirsten replied, her voice a whisper.
Dr. Wilkes went to the door and opened it. Kirsten’s clothes hung undisturbed, her shoes lay in an unruly pile on the dry floor.
“It was a bad dream, sweetheart,” her mom said, putting her hand on Kirsten’s shoulder.
“I guess.”
“It’s been tough moving from our old house, hasn’t it?” Mrs. Wilkes folded Kirsten into a warm embrace.
But not even her mother’s arms could warm the icy chill that had formed inside her.
When the traffic light turned green at 8:45 the next morning, at the corner of Burnside and Merrick, Kirsten Wilkes was waiting.
“All right, you know what to do,” Mrs. Wilkes said.
Kirsten let her foot slip off the brake and stepped on the gas. Her signal clicked softly, then stopped as she turned.
“Good job! Wow, you really are getting the hang of this!”
Kirsten smiled. Thanks to Rob Maxson, she wanted to say. Who also tried to seduce me last night in the park, by the way, Mom.
No. She couldn’t talk about it. Not yet. Not before she gave Rob his chance. Even he deserved that.
Her mom had gotten very close to bringing Rob into the conversation over that morning’s breakfast. Kirsten had managed to veer away from the topic by agreeing to make everybody’s pancakes.
She’d also managed to slip a little too much salt in Nat’s. Enough to ruin them in retaliation for the night before. He spit them out—and got in trouble.
She felt guilty about that. A little.
By now, she was convinced the pool of blood was a dream. She had slept on the living room couch that night, then double-checked her room in the morning.
Sometimes dreams seemed so real.
As she drove past the park, she noticed flashing lights in the wooded area behind the pond. They distracted her just enough to make her veer into the oncoming lane.
“Hey! Don’t kill us!” Mrs. Wilkes said. “The ambulance over there’s already taken.”
Kirsten snapped back to full attention and pulled smoothly to the front of the school.
Her mom applauded as Kirsten shifted to Park and undid her seat belt. “What an improvement! I’m proud of you.”
“Thanks, Mom.”
They kissed good-bye, and Kirsten slipped out of the car.
Homeroom was still thirteen minutes away. Slinging her backpack over her shoulder, she walked toward the park.
As she passed the hedgerow that separated the park from the school, she could see the flashing lights clearly. Two police cars were parked at a skewed angle on the grass, along with the ambulance—in the same area she’d been in the night before.
A crowd had formed behind a yellow police tape, strung between trees. Her view of the accident site was blocked by the people, but over their heads she could see the ambulance doors swing open.
Kirsten picked up her pace. Sobs and murmurs floated toward her, growing louder, drowning out the incessantly cheerful birds overhead.
At the edge of the crowd, Kirsten stood on her toes and angled herself to get a view. Paramedics were loading a body on a stretcher into the ambulance. The body was covered by a white sheet from head to toe.
She caught a glimpse of deep tire marks, slashing through the soil. They seemed to come from the pond itself. A trash basket lay flattened near a bench, papers and wrappers strewn beside it.
Kirsten shouldered her way to the front of the crowd, most of whom were stunned schoolmates.
She almost didn’t see Maria, weeping in Virgil’s arms.
“Hi, Kirsten,” Virgil said softly.
“What happened?” Kirsten asked.
Maria lifted her head. Her eyes were red, and mascara ran down her cheeks like witch’s fingers. “He—he was—run over,” she said between sobbing gulps. “Some kid found him this morning.”
“Who was run over?” Kirsten’s pulse was racing.
Virgil patiently took hold of her wrist and for some reason she wanted to slap him.
In a barely audible voice, he said, “It was Rob, Kirsten.”
Chapter 11
“NOT FUNNY, VIRGIL!”
The words leaped from Kirsten’s mouth. They protected her. Kept her from believing Virgil’s sick joke.
Nat, Rob, Virgil—all of them thought they could walk over her. Scare her brains out. Take advantage. Lie.
But Maria just burst into tears all over again.
And because of that, Kirsten knew. She was fooling herself.
Rob was dead.
She pushed her way to the front of the crowd. The paramedics were angling the stretcher into place. Putting straps across the body.
One of the straps lifted a section of the sheet. A corner of a black leather jacket flapped out.
Kirsten felt her knees give way.
She grabbed on to the nearest person, who didn’t seem to notice. Around her, colors drained away to black and white. People were moving in slow motion. Faces loomed in front of her, pasty and distorted.
Then a soft, muffled sound welled up in the back of her mind. It began to grow louder, garbled and human and oh, so indescribably sad. Ohhhhh … The black and white colors before Kirsten became suffused with red, blood red, pouring from the sky.
The trees were red. The faces around her wept red tears. The clouds moved across the sky like floating bloodclots. OHHHHH … The moan grew louder and pushed against the inside of her head.
Kirsten felt her eyes crossing. She put her hands to her ears. She pressed against her skull to stop the pressure. To contain the moan before she exploded.
She felt herself buckling, falling to her knees, wanting to scream—
Smack!
The ambulance door slammed shut. Kirsten looked up. Tear-streaked faces were staring down at her. Grief and shock, interrupted by curiosity.
Color had returned. And normal movement.
Between bodies, Kirsten saw a paramedic glance toward her with a tic of concern, then turn away. He joined a coworker, who was comforting a distraught woman in
a raincoat and bedroom slippers. Rob’s mom, Kirsten realized.
The men and the woman got into the ambulance. With a roar of the engine it drove away, its siren wailing.
Kirsten felt two hands lifting her upward. “Hey, are you all right?” Maria asked.
Am I all right? Sure. I killed Rob, that’s all. I left him in the park. Alone. I just up and walked away from him. He didn’t think I’d do it. He held his ground. He thought I’d come back to him. He thought he was teaching me a lesson. But I showed him.
Kirsten wanted to throw up.
“Yeah,” she croaked. I’m … fine.”
Around her, the crying continued, louder. Kids were huddling together to comfort each other, the huddles growing rapidly as more kids arrived.
Out of the corner of her eye, Kirsten spotted a flash of electric purple. A lone figure standing apart from the throng.
At the edge of the park, dressed in a purple anorak, Gwen Mitchell stood against a stout, peeling sycamore tree. Her eyes stared blankly, calmly, as if she were watching a chess game, but her fingers vigorously worked the locket around her neck.
“Come on, Kirsten, let’s go,” Maria urged.
Gwen’s eyes turned. Now they locked on Kirsten’s, and her blank expression changed.
She began walking toward Kirsten, a small, cruel smile growing on her face. Her hand dropped from the locket and reached inside her anorak.
What was she doing?
“Gwen?” Maria whispered.
Kirsten swallowed. Maria and Virgil flanked her on either side.
A dreadful thought shot through Kirsten’s mind. Gwen was here last night. She saw. She waited until Kirsten left. Until she could be alone with Rob. And then she …
She killed him.
Gwen’s hand pulled something from her anorak. Between her fingers it caught the glint of the morning sun.
Where were the police?
“Here.” Gwen stood two feet from Kirsten, holding out her right hand. “I think you left these behind.”
In her palm was a set of keys. Dangling from it was a small block of wood carved into the name KIRSTEN.
“Where—?” Kirsten whispered.
“He had them,” Gwen said, gesturing toward the ambulance. She shrugged. “They won’t do him much good now, will they?”
Rob had taken her keys! After she had given him her jacket. We want your arms to be free. Another lie. How could she ever have believed him?