The Secret Bedroom (8 page)

The roar was still echoing in her ears, as if it had followed her down the ladder. She shook her head trying to rid herself of it, and became aware of another sound too.

A ringing sound. Very nearby.

It took her several rings to realize it was the phone.

Taking in a deep breath and letting it out to calm herself, to slow her racing heartbeat, she made her way into her bedroom and hurried to the night table to pick up the phone.

How long had it been ringing?

“Hello?” Her voice came out shrill and tiny, like a cartoon mouse.

“Hello, Lea?” A boy's voice. Very familiar, but she couldn't quite place it.

“Yes,” she replied breathlessly. “Who is this?”

“This is Don. Don Jacobs.” The voice sounded tinny, far away. Lea could hear a car honking in the background, traffic sounds.

She started to talk, but no voice came out. Got to calm down, she told herself. Calm.
Calm.
She cleared her throat and tried again. “Hi, Don.”

“Listen, Lea—uh, would you like to come meet me? I'm at the mall on Division Street.”

“Meet you?” If only she could clear the roar from her ears. Did he say he wanted her to meet him?

Calm.
Calm.

“Yeah. Can you?” Don asked. “I really would like to make it up to you. You know, for breaking that date last Saturday and everything.”

Don't do it, a voice told her.

But Lea had to get out of the house, away from the roar, away from the noises and the room in the attic.

“Sure. I'll meet you,” she said gratefully.

Yes! I'm getting
out
of here! Away from this creepy old house!

Again she saw the spikes, felt the imagined pain of them shooting into her body. Just a few minutes before.

“Where are you?” she asked eagerly, reaching up to push her hair into place, to straighten her bangs.

“What? I'm at a pay phone. It's very noisy here,” he said, over a honking car horn.

“Where shall I meet you?” she asked, shouting into her phone.

“How about at Pete's Pizza? Do you know where it is?”

“I'm not sure. But I'll find it.”

“Great, Lea. Great. Hurry, okay? Maybe we can still catch a movie. It's not too late.”

“Okay. Bye, Don. I'm on my way.”

Lea hung up and started to her closet, then back to the phone, then to the closet, then she finally stopped in the middle of her room.

Is the room spinning, or am I? she wondered.

She slid down onto the edge of her bed, breathing hard, and closed her eyes. She felt queasy. The roaring in her ears continued, just loud enough to be unsettling.

I've got to get out of here, she thought.

I can't believe he called. What good timing!

She jumped up, feeling quivery all over, still unable to shake away the fear.

Somehow she managed to pull some clothes from the closet, a clean pair of tan corduroy slacks and a new yellow Benetton sweater. Somehow she managed to get dressed and find the car keys and pull on her down jacket and lock the front door and back the car down the drive, the little ten-year-old Honda Civic that had become mostly her car. And somehow she had driven through the dark, unfamiliar streets to the mall.

It began to rain as she pulled into the nearly vacant parking lot. Most stores closed at nine. Several rows were still filled at one end of the lot—most likely they were near the movie theater, she figured.

The windshield wipers scraped noisily, smearing the glass, making it even harder for Lea to see as the rain battered down, attacking the little car.

What am I doing here? Lea thought.

Going to meet Don, she answered.

The thought cheered her. The sound of the rain made the roaring in her head finally disappear. She pulled into a spot at the end of the first row, cut the engine and the headlights, the wipers sliding noisily into place. Then holding her jacket over her head as a rain hood, she ran across the puddled asphalt to the nearest entrance.

The glass door was locked. Keeping the coat above her head, Lea checked in both directions and saw the signs for the movie theater to her left. As she jogged in that direction, the wind blowing a spray of cold rain onto her face, her sneakers splashed into a deep
puddle. She felt cold water soak into the cuffs of her corduroy pants.

I'm going to look great when I finally get there, she thought miserably.

The rain let up a bit. The double-doored entrance beside the sixplex theater was open, and Lea eagerly stepped inside. She lowered her jacket and shook herself like a dog after a swim, water splashing onto the bright, patterned carpet.

Pete's Pizza was directly across from the movie theater. Lea could see that it was crowded, mostly with young people. Laughter and loud voices drifted out into the mall, along with the tangy aroma of cheese and tomato sauce.

Straightening her hair with her hand, she half ran, half walked toward the restaurant, pulling off the down jacket and tugging her sweater down. As she stepped through the open entranceway, the voices grew louder.

As she walked past the cashier in front, she saw Don. He was sitting in a booth in the middle of the restaurant, facing her. She gave him a quick wave, but he didn't seem to notice her.

“Hi, Don,” Lea called happily, stepping up to the booth and starting to toss her jacket down.

And then she saw that someone was sitting across the table from him.

Marci!

“Oh,” Lea uttered weakly, her mouth dropping open.

Marci turned to Lea. “What are you doing here?” she demanded nastily.

“I …” Lea looked at Don. But he only blushed and gave a quick, almost imperceptible shrug before turning away in embarrassment.

“I just wanted to say h-hi,” Lea stammered, feeling her face redden.

Don was signaling her with his eyes now, obviously trying to tell Lea that this wasn't his idea, that Marci had just shown up.

“It's great to see you,” Marci said sarcastically. “But Don and I really would like to be alone.” She reached across the table and put her hand over Don's.

Don seemed to be very uncomfortable, but he didn't pull his hand away. “Uh—Lea, why don't you join us?” he asked.

He's really weak, Lea decided.

“No, thanks. I've got to go. Have a nice night,” Lea said, trying to sound cool and together. But her voice quavered when she said it, revealing how upset she was.

She ran blindly toward the doorway—and collided with a waitress carrying a tray of sodas. The waitress screamed. The tray hit the floor with a clattering crash. Glasses shattered. A river of brown soda rolled over the floor.

“Oh—I'm sorry!” Lea cried, much louder than she had intended.

Everyone turned to gawk. Lea saw Marci and Don staring at her. Marci, craning her neck to see, had a broad grin on her face.

Ready to burst with rage, Lea fled into the nearly empty mall and kept running, her jacket held out in front of her, until she was back in the rain.

I could kill Marci, she thought.
Kill
her!

How could Don
do
this to me?

The steady rain felt cold on her hair, on her shoulders as it soaked through her sweater. But she didn't put on the jacket.

She walked slowly now, as if in a daze, not even sure if she was heading in the right direction. The rush of the rain drowned out all other sounds.

But she could still hear Marci's haughty voice repeating in her ears: “Don and I really would like to be alone.”

I've never been so humiliated, Lea thought, rivulets of cold rainwater dripping down her forehead and cheeks.

Still carrying her jacket in both hands, she didn't bother to brush the rain away.

What did I ever do to her, anyway?

And what is Don's problem?

Is he totally terrified of her? Did he deliberately trick me? Did she make him call me tonight? Was it his idea?

He acted so embarrassed, so uncomfortable when I arrived. It
couldn't
have been his idea, Lea decided. Marci must have arrived
after
he called me.

Why did he just sit there? Why didn't he do anything to help me?

She opened the car door and tossed her jacket across the seat. Then she slid behind the wheel, totally drenched, shivering from the cold, but too angry, too
furious
to notice.

Never again, she thought, fumbling in her jacket pocket for the car keys. Never again.

Back to the dreary, empty house.

Up to her bedroom, pulling the wet sweater off over her head.

She took a hot shower and shampooed her hair, but it didn't make her feel any better.

I never would've gone if I hadn't been so terrified to stay home alone, she thought.

I never would've agreed to meet him if I'd been thinking clearly.

Well, now Marci will have another hilarious story to tell her friends, Lea thought bitterly, climbing into bed. And everyone at Shadyside will have another big laugh at my expense.

She could feel tears welling up in her eyes and fought back the urge to cry.

I could kill Marci. I really could.

Her bitter thoughts were interrupted just then by sounds above her head.

Footsteps again.

The ceiling creaked under their weight.

They were footsteps. No doubt about it.

Right over her head.

Thud thud thud.

Then back the other way.

Thud thud thud.

I
won't be stopped this time, Lea told herself. I'm going to find out who is walking up there—and I won't be frightened away.

She had pulled on her robe and rubber thongs and was climbing the ladder outside her room. A fat, black fly buzzed slowly around the light fixture in the hallway, one of the last flies of autumn.

“Don't you know you're supposed to be dead?” Lea called to it, just to hear her voice.

She pushed the trapdoor up and away and blinked, surprised to find the attic light on.

Then she remembered that she must have left it on when she fled the attic earlier.

I'm not going to run this time, she thought, pulling herself up into the yellow light of the attic and climbing to her feet, wrapping the robe around her, retying the cloth belt more securely.

“This time I'm going to learn your secret,” she said
loudly to the locked door. Talking out loud seemed to give her courage, to strengthen her resolve.

She stood a few feet from the door, studying it, her eyes moving slowly from the top to the floor.

No traces of blood. No iron spikes.

No roar.

She took a tentative step closer, the floorboard squeaking in protest beneath her. She leaned forward to examine the door in the strange yellow light.

The boards crisscrossing the door were covered with a thick layer of dust, she saw. They were lined with deep ruts and cracks, and were warped from age and from the dryness of the attic.

The nail heads protruding from the two-by-fours were rusted. One of the boards was nearly cracked in half and sagged in the middle, held up by only a few nails.

It was obvious even to Lea, who didn't have much knowledge or skill in carpentry, that the nails had been hastily pounded in. Many of them were crooked, the nail heads sticking out at odd angles. Some of the nails had been pounded in only halfway.

Whoever put up these boards, Lea thought, wasn't much of a carpenter or was in a terribly big hurry.

Mrs. Thomas, the real estate agent, had said that the door had been locked and boarded up for over a hundred years. The boards looked that old, Lea decided, but the door itself could have been put up the day before.

The wood was smooth and unblemished. It didn't appear the least bit warped or cracked. Nor did the
brass doorknob show any age. It was bright, shiny almost, as if it were regularly polished.

Studying the door carefully, scientifically, made Lea feel more confident. She stepped right up to the door and, pressing her ear against the smooth wood, listened.

She pulled away quickly.

It sounded as if someone was crying on the other side.

Leaning both arms against the door, pressing her face forward, she listened again.

Yes. It sounded like a young person in there. And that person was sobbing.

“Hello!” Lea called excitedly. “Is someone in there? Can you hear me?”

She listened.

The crying stopped. There was only silence.

Then a girl's voice, muffled by the thick door, but clear enough to hear, called out to Lea. “Open the door! Please—open the door!”

Lea leapt back in surprise.

“Oh!”

There really was someone on the other side, someone locked in, boarded up.

But how could that be?

Taking a deep breath, Lea moved back to the door. “Who are you?” she shouted loudly.

Silence.

“Who are you? How did you get in there?” Lea asked.

Silence.

Then the girl's voice pleading again, sounding very frightened, very unhappy. “Open the door. Please— open the door.”