Chain Letter (10 page)

“The suggestion was mine as much as Joan’s,” Tony interjected. “We should have been
gathering and working together since this started, instead of purposely avoiding each
other.”

“Does Joan need help with her clown outfit?” Kipp asked.

“Tell them what happened,” Tony said.

Joan put down her cookie and beer—yes, she had wanted beer with her cookies—and coolly
eyed everyone at the table. “Let me say up front that I don’t think what happened
to me was funny. If any of you laugh when I tell you, especially you, Kipp, I’ll put
this plate of cookies in your face.” That said, Joan lowered her voice and said, “Last
night I went to bed about twelve, my usual time. My folks were home but they were
bombed from a police ball they’d gone to earlier. A gunshot couldn’t have woken them.
They didn’t hear what happened and they still don’t know about it.

“I must have been in bed about half an hour—I wasn’t asleep yet—when my window just
exploded. The glass sprayed all over my whole bed. I had it on my pillow and in my
hair and, when I sat up, I could feel it cutting my arms.” Joan rolled up her right
sleeve and it was indeed badly scratched. “But I didn’t care. I thought, if that’s
the worst that damn Caretaker can do to me, I have nothing to worry about. I would
have jumped to the window right away to see if there was anyone there, but I was in
my bare feet and I knew there must be glass all over the floor. So I decided to first
get to the light switch, which is by the door opposite the window. I carefully slipped
out of the sheets and was tiptoeing across the floor, when I feel this”—she made a
face—“this
thing
crawl up my leg. I tell you, I forgot all about the glass. I pounced on
that light switch quick. Then . . . I saw what was there.” Joan stopped, taking a
swig of beer.

“Please continue,” Kipp said. “The suspense is killing me.”

Joan glared at him. “There were cockroaches all over the room! They were in my bed,
crawling through my clothes, running over my desk, and trying to get up my legs.”
She chewed on her lower lip, and this time, it wasn’t because she was
bad.
“If I live till I’m thirty, I’ll never get over feeling as nauseated as I did then.”

“And as scared?” Alison asked.

Joan nodded faintly. “Yeah, and as scared. I was scared.” She took a deep breath.
“It took me half the night to kill those buggers, if I even got them all. I used my
old man’s CO-2 fire extinguisher. Hell help us if the house catches fire next.”

The group silently considered the Caretaker’s latest ploy. Finally, Tony asked, “Are
you particularly afraid of cockroaches?”

“I hate all bugs,” Joan said. “Doesn’t everybody?”

“I’m sure none of us here like insects,” Tony said. “But disliking and being afraid
of are two different things. My point is, the Caretaker appears to have hit you where
you’re weak.” He had to quickly raise his hand to prevent Joan from defending her
weakness. “We all have our secret phobias—don’t be embarrassed. Now I know you’re
afraid of bugs because of what you said just now. But how did the Caretaker know this?”

The question brought no ready answer. While they racked their brains, Fran’s cookies
enjoyed another wave of interest.
Only Neil abstained, toying with his milk, looking exhausted. But it was he who spoke
next.

“The Caretaker must know Joan,” he said. “The Caretaker
must
be one of us.”

More silence, everyone looking at everyone else, everyone looking equally guilty.

“There is a pattern, of sorts here,” Kipp said with some reluctance. “Fran was proud
of Teddy, I was proud of my Ford. More than anything, Brenda wanted to do well in
her play. And Neil hates how Tony and I are always hassling him about how sickly he
looks. This last ad maintains this pattern. Joan—and please don’t hit me—loves her
mean street girl image. Dressing like Bozo the Clown wouldn’t exactly reinforce that
image.”

“Let’s look at a specific case,” Tony said. “Which of you knew that Joan was afraid
of bugs?”

“I hardly think the Caretaker will admit to knowing about it,” Kipp said.

“But you were the one who said the Caretaker can’t be one of us,” Tony said.

“I haven’t changed my mind,” Kipp said. “When I mentioned the pattern, I was merely
stating the obvious. Lots of people at school are aware of our likes and dislikes,
probably some people we don’t even know. Still, I’ll go along with your questions.
For myself, Joan has always struck me as someone who would love insects.” Suddenly,
Kipp grimaced, bending
over and grabbing his leg. “I asked you not to hit me,” he breathed.

“You said nothing about kicking you,” Joan said.

“I didn’t know our darling Joan was afraid of bugs,” Brenda said.

“We knew!” Fran said. “Alison and I both knew. Just the other day, we saw Joan scream
at a spider.”

Just the other day
, Alison thought. That had been a very timely demonstration of Joan’s phobia. Had
she purposely jumped at the spider to show she was afraid of bugs so she would fit
right in with the pattern? Had she really had a bottle of cockroaches thrown through
her window?

“Joan,” Alison said, “did you cut your feet getting to the light switch?”

“You better believe it. I cut the right one real bad.”

“May I see it?” Alison asked.

“What?”

“I’d like to see the cut.”

“You calling me a liar?” Joan said savagely.

“Not yet,” Alison said.

Joan steamed for a moment then reached down and slid off her right boot. The rear
section of the foot was heavily bandaged, the gauze wrapped many times around the
ankle. “Are you satisfied?”

“No,” Alison said. “Anybody can put a bandage on. You weren’t limping when you came
in. Take it off.”

“No! You’re sick. You like looking at bloody scars?”

“Alison is just trying to collect more information,” Tony interrupted smoothly. “I
can understand why you don’t want to expose the cut to possible infection, but eliminating
suspects is as valuable as finding them.”

Joan stared at him in disbelief. “She’s really got you wrapped around her little finger.
You’re already parroting whatever she says. I know you two went out. She couldn’t
help but tell the whole school.”

“What was that?” Neil asked, coming back from a daydream.

“I’m no one’s parrot,” Tony said firmly, staring Joan in the eye. She hardly met the
gaze before looking down, scowling at her beer bottle. Tony added, “Put your boot
on. We can check your window after the meeting.”

Joan chuckled, once. “Don’t. I already fixed it. By myself.”

“How convenient,” Alison muttered.

“Is this Down on Joan Day, or what?” Joan complained, her voice shaky. Tony’s harsh
tone must have gotten to her. Alison felt a pang—a rather small one—of guilt. “I came
here for help.”

Tony softened, squeezing her arm. “We shouldn’t be singling you out. That’s largely
my fault and I’m sorry. We’re just trying to learn what we can. Let’s get back to
this bug thing.”

“I knew Joan was afraid of insects,” Neil said. “I’m not sure how I knew.”

“Who knew I liked my car?” Kipp asked, rhetorically. “The whole school. Who knew Brenda
wanted to be in the
play? The whole school. I tell you, Tony, this is not the way to go about it. Granted,
the Caretaker probably knows us. But let’s look to our enemies.”

“Who hates Joan?” Joan mumbled. “The whole school.”

“Joan.” Tony frowned. “I said I’m sorry.”

“I love you, Joan,” Neil said sweetly.

Joan’s pleasure at the remark was obvious. “That’s because you’re such a far-out guy,
Neil,” she said.

“Can any of you think of someone who hates us all?” Tony asked, trying to keep the
discussion on track.

“Joan,” Kipp blurted out, quickly moving his chair lest he absorb another kick. The
joke went over well, even with Joan, and they all enjoyed a good laugh. Neil cut it
short, however, with his next remark.

“Maybe the man hates us,” he said.

“What do you mean?” Fran asked, her eyes wide.

Kipp snorted. “Don’t bring up that nonsense again.”

Neil shrugged. “You asked.”

“Let Neil talk,” Fran said. “All of you think you know everything. I’ve seen lots
of shows on TV, real documentaries, where weird things start happening to a group
of people. And what they find out is that a dark power is at work on them. Maybe that
man has—”

“There are no dark powers,” Tony interrupted. “People who talk about them are usually
trying to scare you into sending them money.” He added, “The man is dead.”

“Not in our memories,” Neil said. His words, gentle as usual, carried unusual force.
“See how he haunts us still. And is that right? Does it have to be this way?” He turned
to his best friend, and Alison could see the pain in his eyes. “Tony, all this talk
ain’t helping us. It doesn’t clear our conscience. But if we face what we have done,
we can take away the Caretaker’s hold on us. We can be free. Go to the police. Tell
them we made a mistake. This whole thing is killing me.
Please
, Tony, tell them we’re sorry.”

Tony stood and went to the window. A car door had slammed and he was probably checking
to see if Fran’s mother had returned home. Alison stared at him, hoping she knew not
what, only that he would make the right choice.

“I can’t,” he said at last. “It’s too late for that.”

“And what if the Caretaker really does hurt one of us?” Neil asked.

“Then it will be all my fault,” Tony answered.

“All we can do is hope to find the Caretaker,” Kipp said.

“Will we kill him, too?” Neil asked sadly.

T
ony always spent a long time warming up before a race. His distances were the quarter
mile and the half mile, but before he even stepped to the starting line, he would
have jogged two miles and run a dozen sets of wind sprints. His teammates thought
he carried the warm-up too far, especially when he sweated so much that he always
needed to drink before he ran, which to them was a sure prescription for a cramp.
His stomach didn’t seem to mind. He favored a particular brand of lemonade that came
in eight-ounce clear plastic cartons that could be purchased only at gas stations.
Jogging toward the ice chest in midfield, he felt exceptionally thirsty. The sun had
the sky on fire.

“How do you feel?” Neil asked, sitting beside the ice chest. He came to all the track
meets. He helped keep stats, measured
the shot put tosses, and reset the high jump and pole vault bars. He was a big fan,
though on this particular afternoon, he was only one of many. Today’s track meet was
the biggest of the year. Over half the stadium was filled.

“Are you referring to my mental or physical state?” Tony asked. Three days after Joan
had put on her homemade Bozo outfit—much to the delight of the entire senior class,
which was catcalling Joan to this day—and the day after he had received the chain
letter from her, a not unexpected ad had appeared in the paper.

T.H. Come Last Next Races

The meet was against Crete High, which was tied with Grant High for first place in
the league. If he did not win both the quarter mile and the half mile, Grant would
probably lose the title. Coach Sager had already penciled in the sure ten points to
the final score. Tony could not lose, it was as simple as that.

He was getting a crick in his neck guarding his back.

“Both,” Neil said, hugging his knees to his chest. He did not seem so down today,
and Tony was glad.

“Great.” Tony smiled, flipping open the chest, reaching for his lemonade. There were
four cartons on ice, all for him—no one else could stand the stuff. He tore off the
tinfoil cap and leaned his head back to finish it in one gulp. Neil stopped him.

“Let me taste it. You never know.”

“Are you serious?”

Neil plucked it from his hand. “Just a sip, to be sure it’s kosher.” He took a drink,
rolled it around inside his mouth and made a face. “It tastes sour.”

“It’s lemonade, for godsake.” Tony took the carton back and downed it quickly. Reaching
for another container, he hesitated. Was that an aftertaste in his mouth or what?
He decided he was the victim of suggestion. He didn’t, however, take any more. “Where
are the others?”

“Keeping their distance. They’re afraid the earth’s going to open up and swallow you.”
Neil laughed. “Not really. Kipp and Brenda were here a few minutes ago. I told them
you like to be by yourself before a race. They’re in the stands somewhere. I hope
you didn’t mind my speaking for you.” He added, “I told Alison the same thing.”

Although his friend was acting nonchalant, Tony could hear the tension in his last
line. He had told himself he wouldn’t do this to Neil, and he had gone right ahead
and done it just the same. He was an SOB, why didn’t he just accept the fact and have
the initials tattooed on his forehead so he wouldn’t be able to fool anyone else?
The problem was, Alison was the first girl he had found who made him feel important
without having to swell his already bloated ego. Quite simply, he was happy around
her. But these feelings, they seemed to totter on a balance: Add a gram of joy to
this side and you had to put a pound of misery on the other side. That is what he
had been
trying to tell Alison that night in the car.
I feel guilty, baby.
He would have, except it would have been like stealing a piece of Neil’s pride, and
he would never do that.

“I should have told you I went out with her,” Tony said. “I meant to.”

“That’s OK. You better keep stretching. The starter is . . . ”

“It’s not OK. I stabbed you in the back. But . . . I didn’t even intend to ask her
out. I just did it, you know?”

“Did you have fun?” Neil sounded genuinely curious.

He hesitated. “I did.”

“Are you going to go out with her again?”

Tony sat down on the ice chest and yawned. The sun must be getting to him; he felt
like he’d already run his races and was recovering. “Not if you tell me you don’t
want me to.”