Pretty Please (Nightmare Hall) (14 page)

Why had he brought her here?

She didn’t want to know.

Without a sweater or jacket, Jo was quickly frozen to the bone. She couldn’t stop shaking, but she knew it wasn’t only from the cold. Terror, too, was freezing the blood in her veins.

Keeping a tight grip on her right arm, her captor dragged her along the upturned dirt, through ragged ruts in the earth, to the newest section of the wall. Then, with a vicious shove against the back of her neck, Jo was forced to her knees beside a deep, open hole.

“They’ll be pouring the cement tomorrow,” the whisper told her. He handed her a long, thick stick with a sharp point. “Write your name!” he commanded. “In the bottom of the wall, there, where it’s still wet.
Do
it!”

Feeling sick and sad that Evan, whom she had thought was kind and sweet, could be so cruel, and terrified of the open hole gaping next to her, Jo began scrawling her name in the wet cement, holding the long, sharp stick in fingers that were numb with cold.

“That’s your headstone,” she was told. “Don’t worry, you’ll have company. Sharon’s in that second section over there.”

Trembling uncontrollably from both cold and fear, Jo glanced over her shoulder to see a black-gloved finger pointing toward a lower section of the stone wall. “Poor Sharon, she wasn’t as lucky as you, Jo. No headstone. It wouldn’t have been smart to put her name in the wall, with so much work yet to be done. Someone might have noticed. But,” the whisper lightened, “tomorrow’s the last day and the workmen will be so anxious to get out of here, they’ll never notice your name. Besides, I’ll cover it with dirt when we’re…done here.”

Thinking of Sharon buried in the cold, wet ground, Jo was overwhelmed with dizziness. Unable to remain upright, she sank back on her heels.

But a knee in her back urged her upright again. “Now,
write
! Quit stalling! I don’t have all night!” An eerie giggle. “And trust me, neither do
you
!”

As Jo slowly scrawled her name in the damp cement, the voice behind her whispered in a chillingly casual voice, “Sharon never knew what hit her. There she was, walking along campus with her head down, the way she always did so that no one could see her horrible face. She looked so totally miserable, I figured she was probably thinking how she’d like to go down to the old railroad bridge and jump off. So, if you think about it, I was doing the girl a favor, right?”

The stick moved slowly in the wet cement. J…O…H…A…“How did you kill her?” she asked in a hushed voice. She didn’t really want to know, but keeping him talking might buy her some extra time.

“She never felt a thing.” There was pride in the whisper. “I hit her from behind.”

N…N…A…Why wasn’t her name longer? Her middle name was Elizabeth. That would take a while. E…L…

“Hey, skip the middle name! I told you, I haven’t got all night. You’re taking too long as it is.”

She etched out the E and the L, and began writing D…O…N….

Satisfied, he whispered, “Listen, it was so funny. I brought her over here, and there was this great big hole, ready and waiting. I put her in there and filled in the hole halfway.”

“You make me sick,” Jo said forcefully. A…H. “What did that girl ever do to you?”

“I told you! She was ugly! You didn’t see her, so don’t start judging me. If you had, you’d see why I had to do it.”

“No, I wouldn’t. It wasn’t her fault she looked that way. It was the accident.”

“Well,
I
know that! I never said it was her fault. You just don’t get it, do you, Jo? I wasn’t
punishing
Sharon. I was
saving
her. From being an outcast. Just like I’m saving you. And saving the world from both of you. Why can’t you understand that? Don’t make me out to be a terrible person when I’m not!”

U…E. Done. She was done. She had written her name as slowly as she possibly could. Easy, when her fingers were numb with cold. But now…

“Put the date,” came the whispered command. “A headstone should have a date.”

Then, as she began printing numbers, the voice took on a dreamy, lilting quality. “It’s going to be really pretty here. When the workmen have gone, I’m going to clean it up really nice, and when spring comes, I’m going to plant flowers. No one will ask why. Everyone knows I like things pretty. Pretty is the only thing that counts.”

“Oh, it
is
not!” Jo shouted. “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard! Abraham Lincoln wasn’t beautiful. Winston Churchill looked like a bulldog, and Eleanor Roosevelt would never have made Miss America. And those people
mattered
.”

“Are you comparing yourself to Eleanor Roosevelt, Johanna? What have
you
ever accomplished that would make your life worthwhile?”

That was when it hit Jo that…the voice didn’t sound at all like Evan’s. It wasn’t the
sound
of the voice that was wrong. With a whisper, you couldn’t tell much. But…he was phrasing things differently than Evan, using words and phrases Evan would never use.

But…when she’d gone into the bathroom, Evan had been the only person in her room. And they’d driven here in
his
car.

“Did you push me through that glass door at Missy’s?” she asked. It was something she needed to know.

“Of course not!” The whisper was deeply offended. “You fell, that’s all. I don’t
hurt
people, Jo. I
save
them. I was as upset when you fell as you were, because I knew what I’d have to do, and I didn’t want to. You have to understand why I’m doing this, Johanna.”

Evan never called her Johanna. Never.

“It’s important to me that you understand. I’ve always liked you. You’re very pretty, and you’re smart, too. Just what the world needs. But then you went and messed up your face. That was very upsetting to me. At first, I believed what the doctor said, that you’d be ‘good as new.’ But then I realized the doctor was wrong. You’d never be the same again. So I had no choice. I have my mission. I have to see to it that there is no more ugliness in this world. Can’t you understand that?”

Jo’s jaw jutted forward. “No. I can’t understand that. What gives you the right to say who can live and who can’t?”

The voice behind the black ski mask rose to a louder, hoarse whisper. “I’ll
tell
you why I have the right!”

And he did.

He told her the story of his life.

M
Y PARENTS WAITED A
long time to have a child. They wanted everything to be perfect. Perfect jobs, perfect house in the country, perfect peace and quiet and stability for Their perfect child.

And when I was born, I had ten perfect fingers and ten perfect toes and a perfect intellect. Not a thing wrong with my mind.

But the whole left side of my face was covered with a repulsive, shocking-red stain, as if I’d been dipped in berry juice.

I can’t even imagine the shock and horror They must have felt. They’d waited so long for me, and They’d expected so much. They must have been heartbroken.

But They didn’t reject me, as some parents would have. They didn’t turn Their backs on Their imperfect child.

They took me home and raised me. But They were smart enough to know that the world would not be kind to a grotesquely disfigured child. So I was educated at home. I was kept safe and protected in that big white house. I never saw the light of day, never went out of that house until it was dark outside. Summer days were the worst, because it didn’t get dark until so late, and it was hot and stuffy inside. Summer days were so long. And so lonely.

Then, when I was twelve, the miracle happened. My mother read about a new technique in the treatment of my kind of disfigurement, a new laser surgery.

And it worked.

Suddenly, the child for whom my parents had waited so long was the child They’d dreamed of. A perfect, flawless, beautiful child. Because underneath the stain, my features were excellent. And I’ve done everything possible to enhance them.

My parents sold Their house and took me to a small community where no one knew Them. I went out into the world for the first time, and I was accepted totally, without question, just as if I always had been part of the world. My new life was happy and pleasant. So many new things to see and hear and learn about. Happiness was a little bit strange, after so many years without it…almost painful, in a way. Hard to adjust to.

I didn’t blame my parents for those twelve years of lonely isolation. I knew They were right. The world wouldn’t have been kind to my kind of ugliness. And the pain of the world’s cruelty would have been unbearable.

They saved me from that.

I realized then that my mission in life was to spare other people with similar, unfortunate deformities from the harsh reality of taunts and teasing and discrimination. I would save them, as I had been saved.

But for a long time, there was no opportunity to fulfill that mission. My parents watched me night and day, as if at any moment, They expected the horrible stain to reappear and ruin everything. I worked really hard at looking perfect every moment of the day, to set Their minds at ease. I could never relax and let myself go, the way other people did, no matter how much I wanted to. They would have worried.

Finally, it was time for college. There wasn’t any college or university in the small town where we lived. They couldn’t keep me at home, deprive me of the education my fine mind deserved. So They had to let go. They weren’t happy about it. They seemed nervous, almost as if They had read my mind and knew what I was planning.

But, of course, that’s ridiculous. They couldn’t have known.

Their eyes were worried when I left, but I was smiling. I was about to get my chance to fulfill my mission.

Someday, I’ll tell Them what I’ve done. I’ll share with Them what I learned from being hidden away from the world for twelve long and lonely years, and how grateful I am to Them for protecting me. Then I’ll explain about the mission and how I accomplished what I set out to do, whenever the opportunity presented itself.

They might not understand at first. But I can make Them understand. And when They do, They’ll be so proud.

After all, I’m only following Their example, right? I’m only doing what I was taught. By Them.

So how can They not be proud?

“Y
OU CAN’T REALLY THINK
your parents would be proud of you,” Jo said with contempt. “You…
killed
someone!”

“I
saved
someone!” the voice hissed. “
They’ll
see that, even if
you’re
too stupid to see it! I saved Sharon, the way They saved me all those years when I was ugly and disgusting.”

Jo stood up, still holding the stick. “I’m sorry you went through all that,” she said, wrapping her arms around her chest for warmth. “But your parents would have done you a bigger favor if they’d let you out in the world, no matter what you face looked like. Sure, some people would have been cruel, especially little kids and stupid grown-ups. But other people would have been nice. You would have learned to deal with your birthmark. Your parents never gave you the chance.”

“Don’t you
dare
criticize Them! They were protecting me! And that’s what I did for Sharon, and what I’m doing for you.” The whisper became a sob. “God, I wish you’d understand, Jo. I really want you to.”

The figure in black bent to pick up a shovel stuck in the overturned earth, and began to move toward Jo.

She understood immediately that she had no more time. She could scream, but they were on the edge of campus, and no one would hear her.

But there had to be something….She couldn’t just let him kill her. It couldn’t happen. Not, she thought grimly, without a fight.

The whisper, when it came, caught her off guard. “I can’t do it. I can’t kill you, Jo. I know it’s the right thing to do, but it’s harder than I thought it would be. I didn’t even
know
Sharon, so that was different.” Tears sounded in the voice. “What am I going to
do
? I can’t just let you go.” The whisper became a tortured wail. “I don’t know what to
do
!”

The moment’s hesitation gave Jo the opportunity she’d been waiting for. She whirled, planning to race away. But she had been kneeling too long, and the cold had slowed her circulation. She stumbled and hadn’t taken more than two steps forward when there was a hissed curse of anger from behind her and something cold and hard slammed against her skull.

Knocked off-balance, she tumbled sideways into the waiting hole.

T
HE EARTH IN THE
hole was cold and damp. Stunned, Jo lay on the bottom, too dazed to think or feel.

Above her, a voice cried, “You
made
me do that! You were going to run! Now I have to finish the job, Johanna. For a minute there, I almost forgot my mission, and how important it is. If you hadn’t tried to run, I might have let you go. Then I’d be a failure. I could never live with that, never.”

A shower of dirt descended upon Jo, then another and another. It fell on her back, her legs, her head. She could feel it in her hair. It was surprisingly warm, a blanket of earth that felt almost comforting when she was so very cold.

The temptation to lie there, unresisting, to let the warm, soft dirt cover her up, warm her frozen bones, lasted only a second. Terrified by the thought of giving in, Jo forced herself up on her elbows, then to a sitting position. Earth continued to cascade down upon her, clinging to her gray sweatshirt and jeans.

Then the voice above her changed, began speaking softly as the figure in black shoveled scoop after scoop of dirt and tossed it into the hole. The voice was too soft to recognize, and the words made no sense.

“Hidden…hidden away…didn’t belong out in the world…Peter, Peter, Pumpkin Eater, had a wife and couldn’t keep her, put her in a pumpkin shell, and there he kept her very well…I was in a pumpkin shell and there I kept
me
very well. No,” the voice became mournful, “
not
so well. Wanted to be
outside
…outside, with people and voices and things to do…but They said no, no, no, that wouldn’t be good, not good at all, had to stay in pumpkin shell.” Grunting now with the effort of shoveling, the voice became ragged, the breathing uneven, but still it kept talking, rambling…“dipped in berry juice,
not
perfect,
not
perfect, bad child, bad child, go to your room and stay there for twelve years…play hide and seek with
yourself
, no one wants you, no one wants to have to look at you, bad child, bad child….”