Don't Forget Me! (5 page)

I gasped.
Tomb Raider
was his favorite game. Why couldn't he remember how to play it?

He sat there gazing at me, the colors dancing over his face, twisting the controller in his hand. “Do you know how to start it?” he asked softly.

I forced myself not to cry out. I held my breath. I tried not to panic.

I had never played the game, but I knew I could figure out how to get it started. Leaning over him, I moved the controller. After fumbling around for a minute or two, I got the game to start. I picked the beginner level, even though I knew Peter was an expert player.

Peter took the controller and started to play. I watched him, my heart pounding hard, my arms crossed tightly in front of me.

“Hey, this is too easy!” he cried. He moved the controller until the setup screen returned. “You jerk. You set it for Beginner,” he growled. “I'm not a beginner. I've already beaten this game three times!”

He started the game again, leaning into the monitor. The colors danced over his face as if he were in the game.

He didn't even seem to remember that I was standing there. I tiptoed out of the room.

Is he okay or not? I asked myself.

Should I call Dr. Ross?

One minute he's asking me how to start a game he's played a million times. The next minute, he's an expert again….

“What have I done? What have I done?” I repeated in a whisper.

I decided I'd better call the doctor.

My hand shook as I punched in the phone number and listened to the ringing at the other end.

After four rings, a taped message began. No one in the doctor's office. Of course. It was Sunday. I shut the phone off and tossed it onto the couch. As it hit the couch, it rang.

I jumped. What if it's Mom and Dad?

What do I tell them? That everything is fine? Or do I tell them what I did? Tell them how weird Peter is acting?

I stared at the phone. It rang again. Again.

Finally, my heart thudding, I grabbed it. “Hello?” My voice came out tiny and shrill.

“Hey, Danielle?”

“Who is this?”

“It's me. Zack.”

I couldn't help myself. I burst out laughing. I guess I was so relieved that it wasn't my parents.

“What's so funny?” he asked. He sounded hurt.

“Nothing,” I said quickly. “It's … been a little weird around here today.” I dropped onto the couch. “What's up, Zack?”

“Did your parents go away?” he asked.

“Uh … yeah. They're on their way to Cleveland.”

“Well, I thought maybe you and I could grab a hamburger or something.”

Hel-lo. Zack was asking me out? How great was that? But why today of all days?

“I'd really like to,” I said. “But I don't know. I'm in charge of Peter. I can't go out and leave him alone.”

“Bring him,” Zack declared. “He's pretty cool, your brother. Why don't you bring him?”

“Well … yes! Great! Hold on. I'll go ask him.”

I dropped the phone and ran back up to my brother's room. He was still leaning over his computer, frantically playing the game.

“Peter, would you like to come have dinner with Zack and me tonight?” I asked, shouting over the game.

He kept playing for a few seconds, then put the game on pause. He turned slowly. “What?”

“Would you like to go to dinner with Zack and me?” I asked. “You know. Go to Burger Palace or something?”

“Cool!” he cried. He jumped to his feet. “When are we going? Now? I'm starving!”

I burst out laughing. That was the same old Peter! He'd do anything to hang out with my friends.

I had a big smile on my face as I hurried back to the phone to tell Zack we had a date.

Burger Palace was noisy and jammed with people, even though it was a Sunday night. The three of us found a booth in the back. Zack and I slid in on one side. Peter playfully tried to shove into the same side.

“Get over there!” I cried, pushing him out. “You're not funny.”

He laughed and moved to the other side of the table. Then he picked up the menu—upside down—and pretended to read it.

Normally, Peter's stunts to get attention drive me crazy. But tonight I was so thrilled to see him acting like himself, I didn't care if he stood on his head on the table!

“This was an excellent idea,” I told Zack. We started to talk about school and kids we knew. I realized I really liked Zack. I wondered if he really liked me too.

Of course, Peter kept butting into the conversation. He had about a dozen dumb jokes that he insisted on telling.

But I didn't get tense about it. I sat back and enjoyed myself.

I felt so good. So relaxed.

So relieved.

I stayed in a good mood until the food came.

Then I stared across the table at my brother. I stared with growing horror as he picked up French fries and stuffed them into his mouth, then picked up his double cheeseburger.

“Peter—!” I gasped. “What are you doing?”

He gazed at me, chewing hard. “Huh? What's wrong?”

“You—you're right-handed,” I said. “Why are you eating with your left hand?”

 

Mom and Dad called a few minutes after we returned home.

“Hi.” I knew it was them before I answered.

“We're in the car, on the way to the hotel,” Mom said. “Is everything okay, Danielle?”

I opened my mouth to tell them that everything wasn't okay. Come home, quick. I accidentally hypnotized Peter and now he isn't the same. I cast some kind of spell on him, and he's acting totally weird.

But I couldn't tell them. I couldn't. Besides, I knew they wouldn't believe me. Who would believe a crazy story like that?

“Fine,” I said. “Everything is fine, Mom.”

We talked for a minute or so. I told her we went to Burger Palace for dinner. Mom said something, but I couldn't hear very well. The connection kept cutting out.

I told her Peter was up in his room doing homework for tomorrow. She didn't seem to hear me. “Peter is fine,” I lied.

“Who?” The phone crackled with static.

“Peter,” I repeated.

“I can't hear you,” Mom shouted. “I'd better get off. We'll be home tomorrow night.”

Then silence. The connection was lost.

When I clicked off the phone, I was shaking. I hate lying to my parents. But what choice did I have?

Peter will be normal again by the time they return home tomorrow night, I told myself. Mom and Dad will never have to know.

Late that night I couldn't sleep. I stared up at the cracks in my ceiling and thought about Peter. Maybe he's still hypnotized, I thought. Maybe if I go up to him and snap my fingers or something, I can bring him out of it.

Or maybe I can try to hypnotize him again and—

My mind spun. I couldn't stop thinking about it. I felt so helpless. I didn't know what to do.

I grabbed my pillow and pulled it over my face. I tried to shut out the dim moonlight from outside, shut out the ceiling cracks above my head, shut out my troubled thoughts.

Finally, I fell into a light, restless sleep. I slept until the whispers started. So soft and distant, at first I thought they were part of a dream.

Tiny voices, speaking so quietly. Sighing. Moaning.

I struggled to hear them. What were they whispering?

“Who's there?” I cried, my voice tight, clogged with sleep.

I swung my feet to the floor and clicked on the bedside table lamp. Was I dreaming? Or were the whispers coming from down the hall?

Shivering, I stood unsteadily. “Who—who's there?” I repeated.

Burglars? Had someone broken in?

“Who's there?”

I stumbled to the doorway and peered up and down the dark hall. No one. Peter's door was closed. No light from under it.

And then the whispers began again. “Peter … Peter … ”

I gasped. Was someone calling my brother?

It couldn't be a burglar. A burglar wouldn't be calling Peter.

The whispers seemed to float up the front stairway.

I clicked on the hall light, tugged down the hem of my nightshirt, and ran to the top of the stairs. “Who is it?”

“Peter …”

“Please! Who's there?”

My heart thudding, I raced down the stairs, the wood cold on my bare feet. My hand fumbled on the wall, finally pushing the switch, and the living room lights flickered on.

I gazed around the empty room.

“Peter … we're waiting….”

“Who's here? Is someone in here?” I didn't recognize my shrill, frightened voice.

Danielle, call the police! I ordered myself.

I started to the phone. But I stopped when I saw the door open. The door to the basement stairs. Wide-open again, even though I had carefully closed it before going to bed.

Shivering, I hugged my nightshirt around me. Slowly, I made my way down the hall to the open door.

“Peter … ”

I grabbed the door and peered into the darkness of the basement stairs. “Who's there?” I shouted in a quivering voice. “Please! Who is it? Who?”

 

“
Peter … Peter …
”

The whispers were so faint, so pleading. As if they were calling to him, begging him to come down.

Who was down there?

I took a deep breath, struggling to force my body to stop trembling. Then I reached into the stairwell and clicked on the basement light.

Darkness.

Oh. I remembered. The switch was broken.

“
Peter … Peter …
”

I grabbed the heavy metal flashlight off its hook on the wall. I clicked it on and sent a beam of white light down the stairs. The light bounced over the plaster basement wall below. The steps were steep and crooked, tilted one way and another.

I took another deep breath, then stepped into the stairwell. I swept the light down the stairs, then over the basement floor.

No one there.

The whispers stopped. Damp, heavy air floated up to greet me, sour smelling and musty. I gripped the flashlight so tightly my hand ached.

“I—I'm coming down,” I shouted.

Silence.

I'll stop at the bottom, I decided. If I see someone, I'll run back upstairs and call the police.

Gripping the flashlight in one hand, pressing my other hand against the cold plaster wall, I slowly made my way down. Step-by-step. The stairs groaned beneath my weight. I could feel thick dust collecting on the soles of my bare feet.

The light trembled over the basement wall. As I reached the last step, it cracked under my foot. I grabbed the wall to keep from falling.

Stopping to catch my breath, I stared into the circle of trembling white light, and listened.

Silence. Such a heavy silence. Heavy as the damp, stale air.

And then I heard a moan.

I gasped.

Should I turn and run back up?

“Anyone here?” I tried to shout, but the words escaped in a whisper.

I swept the beam of light around the basement. I could see a large, low-ceilinged room, cluttered with cartons, old wardrobes, a battered dresser and other furniture, a stack of folding chairs, cans and jars, old newspapers piled nearly to the ceiling….

Then … then …
a human figure
! A figure standing stiffly in an empty square of bare floor. He had his back to me. He wore a dark jacket, collar raised, over black pants. At first, I thought it was a mannequin or clothing dummy.

But then he moved.

Captured in the light, he turned slowly. A boy with long, black hair. He raised a bony hand and pointed at me with a slender finger.

“Ohhh,” I whispered. The flashlight started to slip from my hand. And as the light swerved, I saw another figure. A girl standing stiffly beside him. She wore a dark T-shirt over baggy jeans. Her blond hair spiked out around her face.

A wave of panic made my legs tremble. I grasped the flashlight tightly. “Who—who are you?” I choked out.

My hand shook. In the quivering light, I saw another boy, short and chubby with his hands raised to his cheeks. And another boy, pointing another bony finger at me.