Driver's Dead (6 page)

She thought of going back. Had she been too severe? Too judgmental? Too violent?

She paused to think. She grabbed her backpack out of Rob's car.

Then, with a sigh, she began the long walk home.

As she turned onto Burnside, Kirsten heard the roar of a car engine and hoped for a moment that Rob was chasing after her. But the noise died out instantly.

All she heard now were hints of sound. The rustling leaves, the distant overhead-wire hum, a ripple of laughter from a nearby house.

At the corner, someone was waiting. He was crouched behind a tree.

Eleven dollars. Right pocket. That's all I have. Take it.
Kirsten mentally rehearsed her response. What were the things you were supposed to do?
Swing your arms crazily. Walk in the street. Sing “The Battle Hymn of the Republic” at the top of your lungs. Drool. Pick your nose.

She veered into the street.
“MINE EYES HAVE SEEN—”

He wasn't moving.

“THE GLORY OF THE—”

A light went on in the second-floor window of a house.

Abruptly she stopped singing.

The mugger was in full sight now.

He had four short legs and a shiny, curved head. The words U.S. MAIL were printed on his side.

A mailbox.

She groaned. Her friends in New York would be howling if they only knew.

In the lit window an old man scowled, then disappeared into a sudden snap of darkness.

Relax. Kirsten needed to relax. This wasn't the city. The streets were safe. People minded their business. You could walk after dark without worry. Here you didn't find panhandlers, crime, filth, danger.

Or, unfortunately, cabs. She could use one right now.

The half mile to her house on Anchor Street was like a marathon. Nat's light was off upstairs, which made her heart sink. If he was already asleep, it was late.

And she was in big trouble.

As she padded up her driveway, she reached into her jacket pocket for the keys.

It was empty except for a headband and some wrappers.

She tried her pants pocket. She rummaged through her backpack, trying not to let anything rattle.

By now she was at the back door. She peered inside. The small foyer between the door and the kitchen was dark.

Where had she put them? She retraced the evening in her mind. They were in her jacket, yes. That much she was sure of. She had taken her jacket off to drive—

And given it to Rob. In front of the house.

Maybe the keys fell into the gutter when he took the jacket. She turned toward the driveway and began tiptoeing back.

And a heavy hand landed on her shoulder.

K
IRSTEN THOUGHT HER HEART
would jump through her mouth.

“Sshhhhh. Easy, baby.”

The voice was soft and familiar._

Kirsten spun around. “What—
Dad!
You scared me out of my mind!”

“Sorry,” her father replied. “But I guess that makes two of us.”

Kirsten heard footsteps in the back hall.

“Ed?”
her mom's voice called from inside. “
Is that you?”

“Make that three,” Dr. Wilkes continued, as the back door swung open.

Kirsten's mom looked washed out. Her face was a tight mask of weariness, her eyes bloodshot and fearful.

“It's okay, Laurie,” Dr. Wilkes said. “She's here.”

The tension disappeared from her mom's face. At first Kirsten thought she was going to cry.

Then Kirsten was sure her mom was going to kill her.

“Out with
a friend?”
she said. “Until eleven on a weekday?”

“Eleven?”
Kirsten squeaked. “Is it that late?”

Her mom turned away sharply. Kirsten watched her go straight to the kitchen phone and pound out a number.

Dr. Wilkes held the door open for Kirsten. “I've been out looking for you,” he said. “I think we need to have a little family talk.”

“Sorry …” Kirsten mumbled. The word sounded so limp and false.

Her mom's voice rang out: “Yes, hello, Officer Schweid, it's Laurie Wilkes. We've found her … yes, she's fine… .”

“She called the
police?”
Kirsten asked.

Dr. Wilkes looked as surprised as Kirsten. He let out a deep breath. “I take it back. A
long
family talk.”

Some talk. Kirsten's parents yelled, Nat peeked in now and then for a well-timed giggle, and Kirsten sat playing with the ends of her hair.

At the end she had to go straight to her room, do her homework, and skip David Letterman—who just happened to have Jason Priestley on that night.

Arrgggh.

Tried, convicted, and sentenced. Without any defense.

It was unfair with a capital U.

Well, one good thing came out of it. Kirsten hadn't had to mention Rob. She couldn't have, even if she'd wanted to. Her parents had been too busy hollering at her and each other.

Now, in the quiet of her dark, wood-paneled bedroom, she could finally think. About the strange day.

About Rob.

Kirsten didn't know how to feel. Rob had been such a pig. A liar. A
criminal,
for coaching her without a driver's license. He was the worst, most disgusting stereotype of a teenage male goon.

But he had been wonderful, too. Kind, patient, funny, sensitive. Not to mention a terrific teacher. Could all of that have been an act?

If so, Rob was a fantastic actor.

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.

K
IRSTEN 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 pulled 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!”