Invaders From Mars (12 page)

“She said the frogs came from Copper Hill. She must’ve gone there and . . . they got her.”

She sat up straight on the desk, locked her elbows, and pressed her palms down on the edge of the desktop.

He looked so sincere, so desperate to be believed.

“David,” she said, “I want to believe you. I really do, but—”

“Then why don’t you?” David asked so forcefully that it almost brought him to his feet.

“It’s just so farfetched. Not that I don’t believe in UFOs, because I do.”

“You
do?”

“Well . . .” She hesitated, wondering if she should have said that. If she told him about the thing she’d seen in the sky one night six years ago, he might even be more upset if she disbelieved his story. But, having brought it up, she decided to go on. “It was late at night. I was driving back after an evening with friends. This was in Oregon several years ago. I saw this light over the highway, slowed down, and looked out the window and I saw this . . . I don’t know,
something
up in the sky.” She shrugged.

“What’d it look like?”

“Like a . . . well, a glowing Brillo pad,” she said and laughed. “But David, what would you think if someone told you the story you’ve just told me?”

“I’ve believe him!” he said without hesitation.

“You would, huh? And why is that?”

David sat forward in his chair, put his hand over hers, and squeezed. “ ’Cause he wouldn’t lie,” he said earnestly.

His face was full of energy; his lips twitched, his nostrils flared, his eyes narrowed, widened, and narrowed again. He seemed to be willing her to believe him.

Someone knocked hard on the door. “Miss Magnuson?” It was Mrs. McKeltch.

“It’s on her neck,” David whispered to Linda, jerking his head toward the door. “You can see for yourself.”

“Stay here a minute,” Linda said, crossing the office and going out into the hall.

“Well?” Mrs. McKeltch said, her arms folded.

“Mrs. McKeltch,” Linda said and smiled, “David seems concerned about a . . . an injury to your neck.”

The teacher pulled her head back suspiciously and looked down her nose at Linda. “My neck?”

“He says you have a bandage on it.”

Lifting her hand, Mrs. McKeltch pressed her fingers to the back of her neck. “Well, yes. I . . . I have a boil on my neck.”

“Why don’t you let me take a look at it,” Linda said kindly, taking a step toward her. “I might be able to help you clear it up.” She reached her hand toward the woman’s neck.

“Don’t you touch me!” Mrs. McKeltch barked, jerking away from Linda.

Her words were so sharp—sharp even for Mrs. McKeltch—that Linda flinched.

“I want the boy,” Mrs. McKeltch said softly, venomously.

“But maybe I can—”

“Never mind my neck! I want David Gardiner!” She tried to move around Linda toward the office, but Linda stepped in front of the door and stood her ground.

Mrs. McKeltch’s lips pulled back over her yellow teeth and with quiet malice, she said, “If you don’t give him to me . . .”

Linda stared her down, folding her arms as if to say,
I’m not going anywhere.

Mrs. McKeltch turned and stormed down the hall, yelling behind her, “You’ve got a lot of nerve, sister!”

What a bitch!
Linda thought with amazement. It was hard for her to believe the woman had managed to stay in the teaching profession so long.

“Ms. Magnuson!”

Linda recognized the breathy, perky voice and turned to greet Mr. Cross.

“Is David Gardiner with you?” he asked.

Linda suddenly felt very suspicious of everyone around her. After all, David had been right about Mrs. McKeltch’s neck. And if it were really just a boil, why would the teacher be so reluctant to let Linda look at it.

“What if he were . . . ?” Linda asked, cocking a brow.

The tall man blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

“I’m sorry,” she said, chiding herself for making such a foolish remark. “Yes, he’s with me.”

“Oh, dear. Well, anyhow, his father is on the phone and wants to talk to you.”

“Oh. Okay.” She pushed the door open and headed for the phone. She felt David’s hand on her arm and turned, looking down at his worried face.

“Don’t tell them anything I said,” he whispered.

“Hello, this is Linda Magnuson,” she said pleasantly, looking down at David with curious eyes, as if to ask,
What’s going on here, David?

“I understand that you have my son in your office,” Mr. Gardiner said sternly.

“Yes, I do. How did you know?”

“What’s he doing there?”

She glanced at David again. “He’s upset. We were just having a little talk.”

“Just a little talk . . .” He sounded slightly mocking. “About
what?”

“Well, he, uh . . . he seems to be under some kind of stress.”
Jesus,
she thought,
how did I get into this?

David leaned forward in his chair and buried his face in his palms.

“What has he told you?” Mr. Gardiner asked.

That seemed, to Linda, a rather odd question. As if he had something to hide.

“Um, look, Mr. Gardiner, I don’t—”

“You people have a lot of nerve, meddling into family affairs like this.”

“I’m not meddling, Mr. Gardiner, really. I’m just trying to help your son. He says—”

“No. I don’t want to hear it. His storytelling has gotten him into a lot of trouble.”

Mrs. Gardiner spoke up on another line: “The boy’s got quite an imagination. We had to take him to a psychiatrist last year.”

“Oh?” Linda said, her face relaxing. “A psychiatrist. I didn’t know that.”

David’s head shot up, his mouth gaping, and he stood, shaking his head frantically.

“He needs professional help,” Mrs. Gardiner said coldly.

Linda was alarmed at her tone and the remark about the psychiatrist was immediately forgotten. Mrs. Gardiner sounded as if she were speaking of a total stranger, not her son, perhaps a killer she’d read about in the paper.

“Actually,” Linda said uncertainly, “I think—”

“I’m not particularly interested, Miss Magnuson, in what you
think.
My wife and I are going away on a business trip this afternoon and we want David with us. Keep him in your office until we arrive. We’ll be right there.”

“Of course, no—”

He hung up.

“—problem.”

Linda replaced the receiver slowly, almost afraid to look at David. When she did, he stepped toward her and breathed, “Well?”

“They’re coming to pick you up.”

“No!” he shrieked. “I won’t go with them!” His voice was shrill with panic.

“David, I told them I’d keep you here. I can’t just—”

“No! Let me outta here!” He turned and started for the door, but Linda caught his arm before he could get away.

“David, please, just sit down.”

“Oh, God,” he groaned, sinking into the chair, near tears, “you’re on their side.”

“Oh, boy,” she sighed, running a hand through her hair. “This is going to be a mess.”

Back at the school where she’d worked in Oregon, nothing like this had ever happened. She’d gotten along well with the students, the faculty, and all the parents. Her salary hadn’t been any less than it was at Menzies. Everything had always gone smoothly. She suddenly hadn’t the slightest idea why she’d left. She sat down behind her desk and studied David.

His nose was red and he was sniffling frequently to keep from crying.

“Please,” he whispered, “don’t let them take me.”

Something was wrong, whatever it was.

“Okay,” she said quietly. “You can go out the window.”

He stood, beaming, and hurried toward her, as if to hug her, but only stood across the desk, grinning. “Thank you so much!” He bounded toward the window.

“Wait a sec,” Linda said, grabbing her purse and fishing through it for her key. She decided that, if she was going to get involved with whatever was happening, she was going to be responsible about it. “Here,” she said, handing the key to David. “This opens my back door. I’ll meet you there after school.”

He put the key in his pocket and went to the window, lifted the sash, and hopped onto the sill. As he swung a leg outside, a bag of M&M’s fell out of his backpack.

“Here,” Linda said, picking them up. “Don’t forget these.”

“Thanks.” Gratitude warmed his face as he stuffed the bag into his pack, then lowered himself out the window. Seconds later, he poked his head back in.

“What is it?” Linda asked.

“Where do you live?”

“Oh, uh . . .” She scratched her cheek. She could never remember her new address when she needed it.

“Where?”
David prompted.

“Urn, I just moved and I don’t . . . uh, it’s, uh—”

The door flew open and David ducked back out the window.

“Where’s David?” Heather demanded.

Linda had never heard a child use such a cold tone. “He’s not feeling well, Heather,” she said, trying not to sound guilty. “Why don’t you . . . come back later.”

“Well . . .” Heather’s nose scrunched up, as if she were frustrated. “All right. But if you see him . . . tell him I’m looking for him.”

As the girl turned her back and left, Linda saw, underneath her bobbing ponytail, a small X-shaped bandage and, beneath that, a tiny trickle of dried blood.

My god,
Linda thought with a chill.

She stood, rushed to the door, and closed it, then returned to the window.

“I’m on South Arroyo,” she said quickly. “Four two . . . six . . . no,
no!
It’s four-six-two South Arroyo!”

“Bye!”

“Do you know how to get there?” she asked him nervously, sticking her head out the window.

“Yeah! I’ll find you.” Then, under his breath, he said, “Before they find me, I hope.”

When he was gone, Linda closed the window and dropped into her chair with a deep sigh. She sat at her desk and rubbed her eyes for a moment, then stood, deciding to get a cup of tea from the faculty lounge. She walked down the hall hoping to avoid Mrs. McKeltch.

Seconds before she reached the lounge, an angry voice behind her said, “Where’s my son?”

She turned to face Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner. They stood side by side, very straight, and both looked upset, preoccupied.

“I’m sorry,” Linda said slowly, trying to come up with an excuse. “I was out of my office for a minute and when I got back—” She shrugged. “—he was gone.”

“He’s not well,” Mrs. Gardiner said with little concern in her voice.

“He may be in danger,” David’s father said through tight lips. He stepped forward angrily. “We’ll sue, you know. What the hell kind of nurse are you, anyway?” He paused, as if waiting for an answer, then said, “What did he talk to you about?”

“He was upset about . . . he’s having a problem with one of his teachers. That’s all.”

“I
told
you,” Mrs. Gardiner said, “he needs psychiatric help.” She did not sound worried; she sounded impatient.

“Is that all he said?” Mr. Gardiner asked.

“Yes.” She nodded and tried to smile convincingly. “It was just a small problem with one of his teachers. That’s all. I’m sure you have nothing to worry about.”

The parents glanced at one another, then brushed by Linda, as if she weren’t even there.

Jesus,
Linda thought as she went into the lounge,
some people should not be allowed to have children.

David crouched behind the bushes outside Linda’s window for a while, peering through the branches at the parking lot and playground. The students had all returned to class and the grounds were deserted.

Moving through the bushes, he hugged the wall as he made his way toward the lot and the front gate. Looking around once more and seeing no one, he made a run for it, cautiously weaving through the parked cars. He came to a van and stopped a moment, pressing himself against the side.

Footsteps! David tensed and waited.

“I couldn’t see him, but he’s there. She’s hiding him, I think.”

Heather! David looked around the front corner of the van. She was headed straight for him. But who was she talking to?

He went around to the back of the van. Its door was ajar and, giving no thought to the possible consequences, David opened it and got inside, half closing it behind him. When he turned around, he almost screamed.

He was face to face with a skeleton! He clamped his hand over his mouth, breathing hard through his nose as he looked around him.

The bulging eyes of dead reptiles gazed at him from Mason jars.

Stuffed rodents stood frozen in lifelike positions.

Colorful butterflies were mounted on cardboard.

He suddenly realized whose van it was, and he felt weak all over. Looking out the small round window in the side of the van, he saw the back of her head through the tinted glass: gray hair in sharp waves and tight curls, a matronly collar trimmed with lace. He scrunched down in the van listening to the beat of his heart.

“He’s still with the nurse, I’m sure of it,” Heather said outside.

“His parents will take him,” Mrs. McKeltch told her with assurance.

He couldn’t stay. Leaving would mean being seen, but staying in the van was too dangerous. He lunged for the door just as it was slammed hard from the outside. David turned and faced the death cluttered all around him. Quietly, he crawled toward the front of the van and curled up behind the jump seats.

The door on the driver’s side opened and the van shook slightly as someone got in. David softly sniffed the air.

Mothballs.

He closed his eyes tightly and prayed that Mrs. McKeltch wouldn’t—

She started the van, backed out of the space, and drove from the parking lot.

C H A P T E R
Eight

A
burning ache began to spread from David’s lower back as the van rolled over a bumpy road. The ride had been smooth for a while, but Mrs. McKeltch had turned onto a twisty, bumpy road that jostled him mercilessly. His whole body had been tensed since the ride began and he would have given anything to stretch out and relax. But he feared being discovered; his blood chilled at the thought of what Mrs. McKeltch would do if she found him.