Why is it here? Why is it sticking up from the desk in Lucy’s room?
My hands pressed tightly against the sides of my face, I took another step closer.
The blade had been stabbed through a sheet of paper. A sheet of lined notebook paper.
A dark thumbprint smudged the bottom of the page. The thumbprint was dark purple. A thumbprint made of blood.
Struggling to focus my eyes, I saw writing on the paper. Scrawled handwriting in dark blue ink. Three lines of writing above the spot where the knife punctured the paper.
Squinting in the hazy light, I leaned close to the desk and read the scrawled words:
I HAD TO KILL THEM
I COULDN’T TAKE IT ANYMORE
LUCY K
I swallowed hard. I had to force myself to breathe. “No!” I cried, backing away. “No! Please—no!” I backed up until I reached the bed. Then I dropped onto the smooth bedspread and buried my head in my hands.
I shut my eyes tight, but I could still see the scrawled words in my mind.
The scrawled confession. Lucy’s confession.
She had murdered both of her parents. Stabbed them. Slashed them. Then plunged the murder weapon into the desk.
And then . . .
And then . . .
She took all of her clothes? Escaped with all of her clothes?
No. That made no sense.
I opened my eyes. Glanced up. Caught a glimpse of myself in the dresser mirror.
That glimpse made me realize the full horror. That one-second glimpse made everything come clear.
Lucy had murdered her parents. She wrote her confession. Left the murder weapon in her room for all to see.
Then she switched bodies with me!
Now here I sat. Lucy. I was Lucy.
I was the murderer!
And Lucy had escaped by becoming Nicole.
Lucy escaped by becoming me. And I became the murderer.
Oh, how cold! I realized. How cold, Lucy!
How did you ever plan something so cold?
The perfect crime. The perfect escape.
You are now Nicole. And no one will believe that I am not Lucy.
When I tell the truth, no one will believe me. Because I am Lucy the murderer.
No wonder Lucy was so eager to switch bodies with me, so eager to enter my unhappy, depressing life. She knew exactly what she was doing. She knew she was leaving me to take the blame. The blame for two horrible murders.
She knew she was making a clean escape.
Escape.
The word rang in my ears.
Escape. How can I escape?
I had a sudden impulse to grab the sheet of paper, to tear up the confession. To pull out the knife and hide it.
Then another frantic thought: I’ll take the knife. I’ll take the knife and find Lucy. I’ll threaten her with it. I’ll force her to switch bodies again.
I’ll force her to let me be Nicole again.
If she won’t, I told myself, I’ll kill her! I really will!
No. No. No.
I knew I couldn’t kill anyone.
And I couldn’t kill Lucy, even after what she had done to me.
But what could I do?
I have to find her, I decided. I have to talk to her. I have to—
My wild, unhappy thoughts were interrupted by a loud noise.
Startled, I leaped up off the bed.
A pounding. It repeated. Three knocks.
Someone at the front door?
I clicked off the bedside lamp, casting the room in darkness. Then I made my way past the desk, past the knife, past the handwritten confession.
I crept into the living room and pulled back the curtains just an inch. Stared out at the front stoop.
And saw two grim-faced men in gray suits.
Two police detectives.
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“No way!” I whispered.
No way I was going to stay there and let them catch me. They weren’t wearing uniforms, but I could tell they were police officers. I knew they were after me.
Seeing the two detectives made me forget my fright. A flood of anger rolled over me, sweeping my fear away.
I pushed the curtain back in place and edged away from the window. “No way,” I whispered again.
I’m going to find Lucy, I decided. I’m not going to make this easy for her.
I’m not going to stand here beside the knife and the handwritten confession and say, “Here I am, officers. Take me away.”
I heard the insistent pounding on the front door.
I turned and hurried back along the short hallway, avoiding the clothes hamper this time.
My chest felt fluttery. But my mind was alert, alert to every sound, alert to every sight, every shadow.
I stepped into the kitchen. I had left the light on. I ducked low to keep from being seen through the window. Keeping my head down, I grabbed the back door by the knob and pulled it open.
The screen door rattled as I pushed it.
Had the police officers heard?
Were they coming around the back?
I slid out and carefully, silently closed the screen door behind me.
I glanced to the driveway, but I couldn’t see anything. I listened hard for footsteps or voices.
Silence.
I’m out of here! I told myself. Taking a deep breath, I began jogging across the backyard.
A hazy half moon shimmered above the trees. The air was hot and very still.
My sneakers slipped and squeaked on the dew-wet grass. I was in the middle of the yard, past the small vegetable garden, almost to the rusted old swingset, when I heard a man’s shout behind me.
“Hey—stop!”
I uttered a low cry and glanced back.
Both policemen were at the side of the house. One of them pointed to me. The other waved his hands above his head as if signaling.
“Stop! Don’t move!”
“Stop right there!”
They sounded more surprised than angry.
I ignored their cries. Lowering my head, leaning forward, I ran full speed. Past the swingset. Between two tall maple trees that had once held a hammock. Past a low pile of fireplace logs.
“Stop! Hey—stop!”
I turned back to see that they were chasing after me, running fast, their hands swinging at their sides.
“Stop—!”
With a gasp I tried to pick up speed.
But the tall wooden fence rose up in front of me.
The tall wooden fence the Kramers had built at the back of their yard. The fence Lucy and I had helped to paint white. The fence where we had spent hour after hour bouncing a tennis ball and catching it.
The fence rose up in front of me like a prison wall.
And I knew that I was caught.
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I raised both arms and grabbed at the fence. Jumped.
I had a crazy idea that I could climb over it.
But the fence was at least eight feet tall, the top out of my reach.
I could hear the two gray-suited police officers shouting behind me. I could hear their shoes thudding the ground.
With a loud groan I made another frantic jump, my hands stretched up as far as I could reach.
No. No way.
“Stop! Don’t move!” the voice behind me commanded.
But you don’t understand! I thought. I’m not Lucy. I only look like Lucy.
The fence glowed dully in the pale light of the half-moon. I took a deep breath, preparing to turn around, to face them and tell them who I really was.
But then I remembered the trick boards. The little doorway Lucy’s dad had built for us. We thought it was so cool. The boards tilted back when we pushed them, and we scampered through the narrow opening like puppy dogs.
Was the doorway still there?
Lucy and I hadn’t played with it since we were six or seven.
“Stop! We won’t hurt you
!”
“We want to help you!”
Liars. The voices snapped me out of my paralysis.
I dived at the fence.
Which boards? Which ones?
It had been so many years. I didn’t remember.
I lowered my shoulder and pushed. No. Not there.
I let out a frightened cry. The cry of a trapped animal.
I tried again. Shoved my whole body against the boards to my right.
I heard a cracking sound. Then they gave way slowly. Two boards tilted up.
And I stumbled through the slender opening. Caught my balance. And kept running.
Through a dark alleyway. Past a row of metal trash cans.
Into someone’s backyard.
I could hear the surprised shouts of the two officers. Then I could hear their shoes pounding the alleyway. They had squeezed through the same opening in the fence.
They were still close behind.
I can’t outrun them, I realized. I can’t run much farther.
Breathing hard, I let my eyes sweep over the backyard. A hiding place, I thought. There’s got to be a hiding place.
My eyes stopped at a small shed near the house.
No. Not a shed. A little house with a slanting roof. A doghouse? A playhouse for kids?
My sneakers slipped on the dew-wet grass as I hurtled myself to the little house. I heard the two men at the back of the yard.
I plunged into the little house. Dropped to my knees and crawled inside. Then I tucked myself into a tight ball. Shut my eyes tight. Buried my head in my arms.
Like a little kid pretending she’s invisible.
If I can’t see you, then you can’t see me.
I buried my head, held my breath. And prayed they hadn’t seen me dive into this hiding place.
Over the pounding of my heart, I listened. Listened for their footsteps, their cries. Listened for them to run past, to keep running, to the next yard and the next.
Listened for them to admit they had lost me. To give up the search.
My heart nearly stopped when I heard one of them shout: “Over there!”
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I let out a silent gasp. But I didn’t move.
I stayed tucked in a tight ball, my head buried in my arms, my eyes shut tight.
No, you didn’t see me, I thought, praying hard. You can’t see me. I’m invisible.
“Where? Where’d she go?” The man’s voice sounded breathless, desperate. I heard him start to cough, a long, wheezing cough.
“Next yard,” his partner replied. “I think I saw her go around that garage.”
“Take the front. I’ll try the back.” More coughing.
Then silence.
Yes. Yes.
I wanted to cry out, to leap out of the little house and jump for joy.
But I stayed wrapped up tightly, holding on to myself, holding myself together.
I don’t know how long I remained curled up like that. It might have been only a few seconds. It might have been an hour.
I stayed until my body stopped trembling. Until my head stopped throbbing. Until the red flashes before my eyes dimmed to black.
I stayed until the silence became too loud to bear.
And when I climbed out of the little house, stretching my cramped muscles, raising my hands high over my head, I had a plan.
My car waited for me in the student parking lot behind the high school. My little red Civic. The only car in the narrow asphalt lot.
I had forgotten about it after school. In my excitement of following Lucy to the woods to switch bodies, I had completely forgotten that I had driven to school.
Was that really this afternoon? I asked myself.
It seemed as if it had happened days and days ago.
This has been the longest day of my life, I told myself. And the saddest.
My eyes darted over the empty parking lot. For some reason I felt like a criminal. Stealing my own car.
I usually kept my car keys in my jeans pocket. But I was wearing Lucy’s clothes. Luckily, I kept a spare key hidden in one of those little magnetic cases under the fender.
I pulled open the door and slid behind the wheel.
I glanced tensely into the rearview mirror. I expected the two police officers to jump out from behind the school building.
But there was no one around.
My hand trembled as I slid the key into the ignition and started up the car. The hum of the engine sounded soothing. I sat there for a while, listening to the car, running my hands over the cool steering wheel.
“Lucy, I’m coming,” I said out loud. “I’m going to find you now, Lucy. You won’t get away.”
I felt a little better, a little calmer, a little more confident as I switched on the headlights, then backed the little car out of the parking space.
A few seconds later I had eased past the side of the school and turned sharply onto Park Drive. A bright spotlight on the front of the school building cast a white cone of light over the bare flagpole. I caught a glimpse of a maroon and white banner, proclaiming GO, TIGERS! over the front doors.
I’m going to drive around town till I find Lucy, I vowed to myself. I’ll drive to all of her hangouts. I’ll drive everywhere she’s ever been.
I won’t give up. I’ll find her. I’ll get my real body back.
And I’ll force her to tell me why she tricked me like this.
“Lucy, I thought you were my friend,” I murmured out loud, easing through a stop sign. “How could you hate me so much? How could you hate me enough to want me to take the blame for your parents’ murders?”
As I drove to my house, I tried to think back. Tried to think of something I had said to her, something I had done to her to make Lucy hate me.
But I drew a blank. I couldn’t think of a thing.
We had always been so close. So honest with each other. If one of us was angry, we would tell the other. We would never keep it inside.
The dark houses and lawns whirred past in a blur of blacks and grays. I gripped the wheel tightly in both hands. It felt so solid, so real. I gripped it as if holding on to the real world. I had the strong feeling that if I let go of the wheel, I’d slip away, slip out of the car, into a dark, unreal world and be lost forever.
I cut the lights as I pulled to the curb in front of my house. If Lucy was home, I didn’t want her to see me coming. I wanted to surprise her.
But I saw no car in the driveway. The porchlight was on, and the spotlight over the front lawn. My parents always left those lights on when they were away.
“Where are you?” I murmured out loud, peering at the dark windows. “Where are you this late at night? Lucy, I need my body back.”
I suddenly found myself wondering if Lucy had been able to fool my parents. Did they think she was Nicole? Did they think that I was with them? That nothing had changed?
I clicked on the headlights and eased away from the curb.
I’m not going to sit here, asking questions I can’t answer, I told myself. I’m going to drive until I find Lucy.
I cruised through town, gripping the wheel tightly. Wherever I drove, Lucy’s face floated in the windshield in front of me.
I’ll find you. I’ll find you. I’ll find you. The vow became a chant in my mind.
I tried friends’ houses without success.
I drove past my house a second time. A third time. Still dark.
I tried Alma’s Coffee Shop, a little place where she sometimes hung out. No sign of her.
Each time I failed, I grew a little calmer, a little angrier, a little stronger and more determined to find her.
When I finally did track her down, I was ready.
She was sitting in a booth at the back of Pete’s Pizza, a favorite hangout for Shadyside High kids at the Division Street Mall.
I had spotted her through the glass doors.
I stopped and stared. Stared at my body, sitting there with two other girls. Lucy in my body,
talking and laughing, as if nothing terrible had happened.
I recognized Margie Bendell and Hannah Franks sitting across from Lucy. They were all playfully tugging at a slice of pizza, the last piece on the tray. Lucy plucked off the top layer of cheese and tossed it at Margie.
I don’t believe this! I thought, leaning against the glass doorway, staring at the three of them, staring at Lucy in my body.
Lucy laughing. Lucy having a great time.
While I lived a nightmare.
While I lived the nightmare she had created.
I could feel the anger flood my body, until I felt that I might explode into a million pieces. I grabbed the restaurant door, shoved it open, and stormed inside.
A waitress flashed me a startled look as I bumped her from behind and kept moving. “Excuse me!” she shouted sarcastically.
I barely heard her. My eyes were on Lucy. Lucy in my body. Lucy laughing with Margie and Hannah as she tore off a section of the pizza slice and stuffed it into her mouth.
I strode past a table of other kids I knew from school. One of them called out “Hi!” but I didn’t reply.
Margie and Hannah sat across from each other. Margie turned as I stepped up to the booth. “Nicole! Hi!” she cried in surprise.
How does she know I’m Nicole? I asked myself.
I quickly answered my own question. Lucy told her. Lucy told that we switched bodies.
Margie and Hannah both know.
Just another broken promise of Lucy’s. Just another lie she told me.
But why? I wondered. Why did Lucy tell them?
Lucy is a murderer. Why would she want these two girls to know that she isn’t really Nicole? Why would she want them to know that she’s hiding in my body?
“Nicole—what’s up?” Hannah asked, tossing her cornrow braids behind her shoulders. She flashed me a smile. But the smile faded as she caught my troubled expression.
“Nicole—are you okay?” Margie demanded.
“No. No. I’m not okay,” I told her. “I—I have to talk to Lucy.”
Both girls gaped at me in surprise.
“But Lucy isn’t here!” Margie declared.
I turned to Lucy’s seat.
She was gone.
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