Pretty Please (Nightmare Hall) (15 page)

Jo pulled herself to her feet. Standing upright brought her chin to the top of the hole. She could hoist herself up. But he would knock her right back in, and this time a blow with the shovel might do more than stun her.

Her stick…where was her writing stick?

Still in her left hand. What instinct had kept her from dropping it when she fell?

The voice began singing softly, eerily, “I am my sunshine, my only sunshine.” Shoveling, shoveling. The arms in the black jacket had become careless, heedlessly tossing dirt left and right now, much of it missing the hole, and still the voice kept rambling, singing, murmuring to itself.

He doesn’t know what he’s doing, Jo thought, watching in bewilderment. He’s forgotten about me…he’s lost in his own little world now.

Something on the ground behind him glittered silvery in the light from the Quad’s many windows. Keys…the car keys…he must have dropped them in his haste to pick up the shovel. Keeping her eyes on the softly ranting, shoveling figure, Jo lifted her arm, stretched it out, stick in hand, and strained to make contact with the keys. It took her three tries. Twice, she stopped breathing when the soft singing paused. She froze, afraid he had heard her stick scratching in the dirt. Each time, the singing resumed without a turn of his head.

The third time, the keys caught on the end of the stick, and, holding her breath, she slowly, carefully, dragged them backward until they were close enough to be caught up in her hand. As quickly and quietly as possible, she slid them into her jeans pocket.

But she was still in the hole. The keys did her no good as long as she was standing in a hole more than five feet deep. She had to get out before he came back to reality and remembered why she was there.

“Nobody loves me, everybody hates me, guess I’ll go eat worms,” singing, shoveling, shoveling, faster and faster but still carelessly, not even looking down at Jo, not checking to see if the hole was filling up “…not many games you can play alone, can’t play tic-tac-toe alone, can’t play checkers alone, can’t play charades alone, always wanted to play charades, looked like fun on television, no one to play it with…bad, bad child, go to your room and stay there….”

In spite of the careless aim of the shovel, the hole was filling up rapidly. Dirt crawled up to Joe’s kneecaps, warming her legs. She was afraid to move, to call attention to herself now that he seemed so unaware of her. But if she stayed where she was….

“Hot…it’s hot…so hot in my room…summer days are so long.” Singing again, “I am my sunshine, my only sunshine….”

Watching the black-clad figure carelessly shoveling scoop after scoop of dirt, muttering and murmuring, singing softly in that eerie off-key monotone, Jo flashed on what it must have been like for the small child hidden away in a room throughout years of long, hot summer days, and she felt a sudden flash of rage against the people responsible.
He
said they’d been protecting him, and really seemed to believe it. But he’d probably
had
to believe it, so that he wouldn’t have to hate the only two people in his tiny little world.

Whatever he said he believed, there
was
rage there. She could hear it in the disjointed singing and murmuring. That rage had made him kill once, and was making him kill again now.

In spite of her fear, in spite of her anger at what was being done to her, she felt a terrible pain in her heart, as if an arrow had suddenly pierced it. She could see a small child, confined to his room for years, alone and lonely, feeling like a freak because of an accident of birth. Something that wasn’t his fault. But…he’d probably thought it was.

The arms began shoveling furiously. “It’s hot, it’s so hot….” The jacket was shed, tossed on the ground as the exertion raised body temperature in spite of the cold. The voice became the whimper of a small child. “Mommy, please, can I go outside? It’s so hot in here. I won’t let anyone see me, I promise. I’ll stay in the backyard and hide behind the bushes and the trees, please, Mommy, please? It’s so hot….”

The childish pleading brought tears to Jo’s eyes. God, hadn’t they
known
what they were doing, how much damage they were doing?

Suddenly, crying out once again that it was “so hot!” the black-gloved hands reached up to rip off the black ski mask and toss it to the ground.

Silvery-blonde curls rippled to the shoulders.

Perfect, full, red lips smiled to be free of the heavy woolen mask.

Perfect, doe-shaped, turquoise blue eyes turned toward Jo, widening in surprise as if they had forgotten she was there.

Perfect, porcelain skin gleamed in the moonlight.

Forgetting her own plight, Jo’s mouth dropped open and she drew in her breath sharply.

That flawless, perfect oval of a face with its silvery hair and eyes the color of the ocean and skin as smooth as porcelain, belonged to…

Nan.

J
O’S MIND STRUGGLED TO
take in what it was seeing.

Nan? Beautiful, flawless Nan had been the child hidden away for years because of a disfiguring birthmark?

“Oh,” Nan said softly, gazing down at Jo with clouded eyes, “
you’re
here. I’d forgotten.” Her eyes cleared as she snapped back to reality. “What are you staring at?” And then, as if she’d read Jo’s mind, “I
told
you, I had it removed. When I was twelve. Don’t you remember?”

The relief that Jo’s captor wasn’t Evan…wasn’t, wasn’t, wasn’t Evan, was short-lived as the look of confusion on Nan’s face was quickly replaced by one of determination.

“You draped my mirrors?” Jo asked hastily, hoping to stall for time. “That was you?”

Nan leaned on the shovel. “I used the black cape that came with that fuschia dress, the one I wore to Missy’s party. I told you the dress came with a cape. It was ugly, but I wanted the dress, so…” Nan’s upper lip curled slightly. “That cape had ugly big gold buttons on it.
Ruined
the look. Some designers do not understand the first thing about perfection. I didn’t mind cutting up that cape, not one little bit.”

“Where did you get the ski mask?” Jo still had the keys to Evan’s car in her pocket. She could feel them burning into her leg. If Nan noticed they were missing….

“At the costume shop, silly. I went down by myself while you were still in the infirmary. That’s how I knew there was a Marie Antoinette costume there. Then I was afraid the manager would say something when I came back with you and Kelly. But she didn’t even remember me. Kind of insulting, if you ask me. Most people who see me remember me.” She laughed bitterly. “But now it’s because I’m beautiful, not because I’m a freak.”

Jo edged closer to the corner of the trench. If she could distract Nan’s attention somehow, she could hoist a leg up and climb out of the hole. “But you’re driving
Evan’s
car. That’s why I was sure you were Evan.”

Nan laughed again. “I can’t believe you thought I was Evan. He’d never hurt you. He’s nuts about you. Anyone can see that. You should be more trusting, Johanna. Of course, it’s too late now.”

“Where
is
Evan?” she demanded. “What have you done to him?”

“Nothing. Just bopped him on the head, that’s all. He’s in your closet. Honestly, Jo, you really should hang your clothes according to color. How do you ever
find
anything in there? Then I borrowed his keys. He won’t mind.” Suddenly, Nan’s voice changed, became crisper, colder. “Enough talk. I almost forgot why I was here. Let’s get cracking, and get this over with. You must be really cold. You haven’t been working like
I
have.” She laughed then, a brief, mirthless sound that echoed across the construction site. “Well, you won’t feel the cold much longer, I promise you.”

“Nan, don’t do this,” Jo pleaded as a shovelful of dirt was tossed into the hole. “Dr. Trent says my face is going to look good as new. You don’t have to worry about me offending people, or that my feelings will be hurt by things people say.”

“She lied,” Nan said flatly, continuing to shovel. “The good doctor lied. Your face is going to be seriously flawed. Can’t have that, can we?” She stopped and leaned on the shovel. “Listen, Jo, I’m doing you a favor. You wouldn’t be happy living in this world with ugly scars on your face. It’s too hard. This world likes pretty things. Trust me, I know. I’m your friend, and I’m going to save you from finding out what it’s really like to be…different. You should thank me, Jo. You really should.” Then she resumed shoveling.

Jo, shivering with cold again, sagged against the earthen wall. It was no use. She wasn’t going to talk her way out of this. There was no moving Nan. She had a mission, and she had every intention of fulfilling it. She didn’t see it as an act of cruelty. Her sick mind saw it as an act of kindness.

The sharp-pointed writing stick was still in Jo’s hand.

“Nan,” she called softly, “I have a last wish. Can I tell you my last wish? You wouldn’t let me die without at least hearing it, would you?”

Nan paused. She turned to face Jo. “Look, if you’re afraid that I’m going to bury you alive, relax. I wouldn’t do something so nasty. I’ll…I’ll see to it that you don’t know what’s happening to you, okay? It won’t be so bad, you’ll see.”

She’s going to kill me with that shovel before she buries me, Jo thought, sickened. “One last wish,” she repeated insistently. “That’s all I’m asking.”

Nan looked down at her regretfully. “I wish I didn’t have to do this at all, Jo. You were always really nice to me. Lots of girls aren’t. They’re intimidated by my looks, and don’t even try to get to know me.” She sighed heavily, her lovely face a study in concentration. “Okay, I guess I owe you that much. One last wish. What is it?”

Jo barely whispered her answer.

“What?” Nan moved closer. “I can’t hear you.” She sank to her knees beside the trench. “What? What is your last wish?”

Jo brought the stick out from behind her and thrust her arm upward, aiming blindly.

The stick raked Nan’s cheek from just below the eye to the edge of her chin, leaving a deep scratch, which quickly reddened with a trail of blood.

Although she cried out in pain, shock kept her frozen in place, one hand on her bloody cheek, for several seconds. Her eyes on Jo were full of disbelief.

Then she grasped what had been done to her, and the look turned to one of horror. She jumped up, screaming hysterically, “My face, my face! What have you
done
?” She began staggering about blindly, both hands shielding the injury, as if by hiding it she could make it disappear.

Jo knew this was her chance, probably her only one. The fury in Nan’s eyes…any moment now, she would turn to vent that rage, and there’d be no stopping her this time.

Fueled by fear, Jo was up and over the edge of the trench and stumbling, running on cold, stiff legs, before Nan had turned around.

It was hard to negotiate the upturned earth. Twice, Jo stumbled and nearly fell.

Behind her, she heard an oath, and a shouted, “You’ll
pay
for this. You’ll pay…”

But Jo reached the car first, yanked the keys from her pocket, pulled the door open, and jumped into the driver’s seat. The smell of Evan made her eyes water. Was he okay?

She started the engine, switched on the headlights. Here came Nan, lurching over the rutted earth, her face bloody, her eyes wild.

Jo’s hands were shaking so badly, they kept slipping off the steering wheel.

Nan raced toward the car.

Jo could
feel
the hatred and fury heading straight for her.

Unseeing in her terror, she threw the car into gear and stomped down hard on the gas.

It raced forward.

And Nan ran to meet it, her bloody face twisted in rage, her arms outstretched as if to stop the car.

There was no way of stopping in time.

The thud was sickening.

Jo screamed.

Her hands left the wheel and flew up to cover her eyes as Nan’s body was thrown up over the hood and into the windshield. Her head struck the glass with a sharp cracking sound. The impact bounced her back off the car again, up into the air and then down.

She came to rest on the only patch of grass that hadn’t been destroyed by construction vehicles.

Her arms and legs flopped lifelessly as she landed. Then she lay still and silent.

J
O NEVER KNEW WHO
called the police. She was only vaguely aware that people were around her, as if she were seeing them through a thick gauze curtain. They were gently helping her out of Evan’s car, they were wrapping a heavy jacket around her, they were leading her to the infirmary. Dr. Trent was there, peering into her face again, bringing her hot coffee, wrapping her in blankets. It was Dr. Trent who told her that Nan was alive, after all. In bad shape physically as well as emotionally, but alive. It would be a long time before she would be okay, a very long time.

“But,” the doctor added, “with a lot of help, she’ll make it.”

And then, after a while, Evan was there, too, an egg-shaped patch of dried blood on his left temple, asking her over and over again if she was all right.

She didn’t know. Nothing seemed right. Nothing seemed real.

Kelly arrived, her eyes swollen from crying, in shock over Nan. She kept whispering, “I can’t believe it, I can’t believe it.”

Jo had told the police where to find Sharon Westover. One policeman had returned to thank her and tell her that Sharon’s body would be sent home now, to her family.

Dr. Trent led Kelly away to treat her for shock, and Jo and Evan were left alone in the small white cubicle.

“Quit that,” Evan said quietly. He leaned down very close to Jo and took both her hands in his. “Quit feeling guilty because you thought it was me. I don’t blame you.”

Jo felt herself flushing. “You knew?”

He nodded. “The look on your face when that pink receipt fell out of my wallet was a dead giveaway. And I can just imagine what you thought when you realized you were being taken away in
my
car.” He smiled down at her. “Now you’re thinking that you should have trusted me, and how could you have possibly thought that someone as wonderful as me could do those awful things, right?”