Don't Scream (9780307823526) (14 page)

That afternoon I lugged home every one of my books and immediately got to work. I was interrupted by Eric's telephone call. I was awfully glad he'd called before Mom got home.

Eric started with details. “Everything here
checks out—names, birthdates, Social Security numbers, former addresses, records of employment, drivers' licenses, school records, all that stuff. There's still a little bit more to come in. Do you want to write down what I have now, or shall I bring it to you when it's all together?”

I heard Mom's car pull up in the driveway. “I'll get it from you later,” I quickly answered. “My mom just got home. Okay?”

“Sure,” Eric said.

“Thanks, Eric,” I said, and hung up.

Mom smiled as she came in and saw me hard at work. “That's my good girl,” she said, and kissed the top of my head.

I winced. I was not anybody's good girl. I was somebody who had goofed and got stuck with two days' homework.

“What's for dinner?” I asked.

“It's your father's turn to cook, so I'm pretty sure we'll have Chinese takeout,” Mom answered. She took off her shoes and headed for the den.

M
OM
HAD
GUESSED
right, but Chinese takeout was fine with me. Good food and not many dishes to wash.

I worked really hard on my homework. I had read in the newspaper and heard on television about different bills being brought up in the House and Senate, but for the first time I really began to understand how lawmaking worked. Government was really interesting.

Mom startled me by appearing in the doorway. “It's getting late, Jessie,” she said. “Are you close to finishing up?”

“I'm finished. I was just doing a little reading ahead.” I closed the book and smiled.

“Good for you.” Mom beamed. “I'm proud of you.”

I cringed. “It's just homework. It's no big deal.”

I had done what Mom had told me to do, and now she was making it a major case. I admitted to myself that if she hadn't said anything, I wouldn't have liked that either. Why is it so hard for mothers and daughters to say the right things to each other?

Mom surprised me when she added, “Your plan to volunteer at the children's ward isn't complete yet, so there's no schedule to follow. Tomorrow's Friday, and you'll have most of Saturday and Sunday to do your weekend studying, so if you'd like, you could spend some time with Ricky tomorrow afternoon.”

“I could do that,” I said, and happily followed Mom upstairs.

I switched off the hall light and entered my bedroom. I closed my bedroom door and quickly crossed to the windows, where I waited, my eyes on the old elm tree.

The watcher was there again. I could feel his presence. I knew I was right when the dark outline of the trunk of the tree shifted slightly and settled back.

He and I waited until the last light in the Malik house snapped off. Then the watcher slipped
away, and I pulled down my window shades and got ready for bed.

Who was the watcher? If I told Mom or Dad about him they'd call the police. Maybe that was the right thing to do, but I wasn't sure, because I couldn't shake the suspicion that the watcher was a guy who seemed so nice—at least Lori really liked him. But Scott was a liar. I knew that for sure. I just didn't know
why
he was lying.

I'd sleep on the problem, I decided. But it took a lot of tossing, and squirming, and beating my pillow into shape before sleep finally arrived.

The next day, Friday, I left early for school. I'd decided to avoid Mark, and I even skipped lunch period in the cafeteria.

After school, I walked to the hospital's children's ward, thinking only about Ricky.

Mrs. Hopkins met me at the desk. She took my arm and led me toward the ward. “I can't wait until you see what Mr. Clark brought us,” she said.

“Mr. Clark?”

“Your journalism teacher. He's so impressed with this project and with the story you wrote about it, he made a contribution—two sturdy Boston rockers. Now our parents and volunteers can rock the kids.” She opened the door and said, “Look!”

A woman cuddling a little girl was seated in one of the rockers. She looked up and smiled at me.

My heart jumped. “Oh! I'll wash and put on a gown. Ricky will love being rocked.”

The gleam went out of Mrs. Hopkins's eyes,
and she placed a hand on my arm. “I'm sorry, Jess, I have some bad news, too. Ricky was sent this morning to the specialists at Texas Children's Hospital in Houston, because our cardiologist thought he detected a heart problem.”

“Nothing can happen to Ricky! He's just a baby!” A rush of hot tears blurred my vision.

Mrs. Hopkins led me out into the hallway and through the open doorway of an office. She sat next to me on a bench and said, “Ricky will have excellent care. We must be thankful his problem was detected early.”

I pulled a tissue from the pocket of my jeans and blew my nose. “I was going to teach Ricky to walk. He deserves that.”

“There are other children who need you, too.”

“It's still not fair to Ricky.”

Her grip on my arm was firm. “Jess,” she said, “you can give unbounded love to these children, but you have to remember, your love is a gift. It's not an exchange in which the same amount of love comes back to you. And it doesn't tie the children to you. They come and go from here, some of them healed, some of them not; but they all take with them every scrap of love they can get.

“If you're going to give your time to the children, then give your love, too. Give it generously, no strings attached.”

I nodded because I understood what Mrs. Hopkins was telling me. Maybe Ricky would come back, but until then, or even if he didn't, I had work to do.

“On Monday a two-year-old named Rachel arrived here,” Mrs. Hopkins told me. “She needs someone to play with or talk to. Who here has time to read a book to her?”

I took a deep breath to steady myself, then managed a smile. “Where is Rachel?” I asked. “We can make good use of that other rocking chair.”

I
T
WAS
NEARLY
five o'clock when I arrived home. Mom was in the kitchen as I dropped my backpack on the table.

“How did it go at the children's ward?” she asked.

“Fine,” I said. I remembered Rachel's solemn stare as I sang to her. She had touched my lips and followed their movement closely. Before I left, I had smiled at Rachel, and in return, the briefest of smiles had flickered over her face like the flash of a lit match, brightening her eyes.

“Was Ricky glad to see you?”

“He wasn't there, Mom.”

She paused, one hand on the refrigerator door. “Why not?”

I told Mom what Mrs. Hopkins had said to me. “It hurts,” I said. “It's been a strange time, Mom. I've lost Pepper. I've had to deal with all these emotions about things I can't control. They just happen.”

For once Mom didn't say a word. She just wrapped me in her arms. Oh, how I needed that hug! There were tears in her eyes, but she impatiently wiped them away and said briskly, “Jess,
life must go on, and you can face it. Now, would you mind taking out the trash for tomorrow morning's pickup? We've got to do the humdrum no matter what.”

“I don't mind,” I answered.

I dumped the assorted wastepaper baskets we had around the house into a large black plastic trash bag, hoisted it to my shoulder, and carried it out to the curb. I had no sooner plopped it down than Mrs. Malik drove up and parked her car in front of the Maliks' house. Mark was with her.

As they climbed out of the car, I said, “Hi.”

“Hi, Jess,” Mark said, but his mother looked just as frazzled as she had two days before. “I guess your air-conditioner is still out,” I told her.

Mrs. Malik nodded. “Problems—they never end, do they?” Her voice was bitter.

She obviously wasn't looking for an answer, because she started up the walk to her house. Without stopping to talk, Mark began to follow her. I didn't blame him, since I'd been avoiding him.

“Mark,” I said, surprising myself. “There's something I need to tell you. Someone knocked out the streetlamp twice. Once was last night.” I glanced up at the post and at the broken glass that still clung around the socket.

Mrs. Malik stopped and turned, bristling as she asked, “What's that got to do with us? Are you blaming Mark?”

“No!” I said quickly. “I'm not blaming Mark. Whoever broke the lights was probably the one who was watching your house last night and the night before.”

Mark looked surprised, but I thought I saw a flash of fear in his mother's eyes.

“I didn't mean to scare you,” I said. “I don't know who it was. I didn't get a good look at him, so there's not much I can tell you that will be of any help. But I thought you ought to know.”

“I'm glad you told us,” Mark said, and laughed. “You didn't scare us, Jess, but if we've got some Peeping Tom hanging around, I might put a scare into him.”

They turned and continued up the walk as though they weren't the least bit concerned, but I stood where I was for a few minutes, wondering if I had done the right thing.

That evening some of my friends were going over to Gulfgate to hang out in the mall. I decided not to go. I wanted to be home.

I wanted to know if the watcher returned.

He did.

I
WAS
AT
my post at the bedroom windows when the Maliks turned out their lights. But as I waited for the watcher to silently slip away, something unexpected happened.

The door of the Maliks' house quietly opened, and Mark sprinted down the steps and across the walk toward the elm tree. Dark as it was, I could make out something gripped in his right hand.

The tree gave a single shudder and was still, and I stood frozen, almost unable to breathe. The watcher hadn't glided away and around the corner, or I would have seen him. Mark was going to
catch him! I didn't want Mark, who was carrying some weapon, to catch or hurt anyone.

As I leaned against the frame of the window, I saw Mark circle the tree, stop as if he were puzzled, and walk around the trunk again. His dark shape moved to the sidewalk, vanishing and reappearing.

I knew where the watcher was. The shudder that shook the tree had told me. He had climbed the tree and was over Mark's head, hidden in the blackness of the thick, heavy branches.

I could tug up the window sash. I could call out and tell Mark. Or I could be a silent bystander.

Finally Mark went into his house, defeated. A while later, the tree shook again. I saw a human shape drop from it and leap to the sidewalk.

It turned toward me with its face uplifted.

I gasped and stepped back. I had thought I was invisible, but from his tree perch the watcher had seen me. I glanced down at the pale reflected moonlight on my white T-shirt before I searched again for the watcher. In one brief instant he rounded the corner and was gone.

L
ATE
S
ATURDAY
MORNING
I finished mopping the kitchen floor. I dumped the water from my bucket on the petunias growing in the shade of the back-porch steps and carried the mop and bucket to the garage.

I could hear Mrs. Malik's voice, as shrill as a grackle's, as she argued, “I don't care! I've had enough!”

“Keep it down, Eloise! You want the whole neighborhood to hear you?”

The argument went on, but the sound diminished, and I couldn't make out the words. Feeling like a snoop and knowing that curiosity wasn't a good excuse for listening to private conversations, I hurried back to the house.

I grabbed the broom that lay by the steps and was sweeping them clean when a voice from behind made me jump. I whirled around; Scott was standing on our driveway.

“Jess,” he said quietly, “I've got to talk to you.”

I motioned for him to come in, but he shook his head.

“I see the floor's wet, and I'd just get it dirty again. I'll only be a minute.” He squirmed uncomfortably, staring down at his shoes, before he went on. “I meant what I said about staying out of the woods. There's no ancient cemetery to hunt for.”

“That's what you told us at lunch period.”

“But you didn't believe me. I could see it in your eyes.”

It was my turn to look away, embarrassed. “You weren't telling the truth.”

“It is really important that you trust me. I know how curious you are, Jess. I can't reveal any more. All I can say is, please don't go prowling around the woods by yourself.”

“That's all you can say? You've asked me to trust you before. Why should I? It didn't mean anything. If something weird is going on, I'm willing to listen.”

Scott sighed. “I can only tell you what I've told you.” He shook his head.

“I have just one simple question. Where were you last night, Scott? And the night before?” I asked him.

“Home,” he said. “Where else?”

I tried to penetrate his eyes. “Tell me the truth,” I insisted. “Trust me, Scott. Where were you?”

“You ask too many questions, Jess,” he answered. He abruptly said, “I was home.” Then he turned and walked to the sidewalk.

As I watched him turn the corner in the direction of Dale Street and his apartment, I thought about his warning not to go into the woods. What was in the woods that I shouldn't see?

It was bright daylight. I could take a quick look inside the woods and be home in a short time. It wouldn't exactly be breaking my promise if I didn't go
far
into the woods. I walked into the kitchen and called out, “Mom! Dad! I'll be back in a few minutes!” Then I hurried down the steps and across two streets to the entrance Lori and I always took into the woods.