The Vanishing Game (27 page)

“Hungry, Jocey? Let's get something.”

We bought drinks and bacon burgers from a woman in a checkered vest. Heading down to the river, we found a picnic bench beneath a maple. We sat on top of the table like we'd done when we were kids, our feet on the bench. In the summer the gray-green river would be filled with boats, but under today's cloudy sky there were just a couple of sailboats.

“You know, I've spent a lot of time trying to forget about my past,” Noah said as I bit into my hamburger. “But for the last couple of days, it's been like trying to avoid a bunch of falling meteors.”

I nodded, sensing that he wasn't just making small talk. “It's like Jack is forcing us to remember.”

“Yeah.”

We ate in silence for a while until I finally said, “I think you want to ask me something. I just can't figure out what.”

Noah smiled and I caught a brief glimpse of the boy who had meant so much to me. “I guess it's like having a sliver come to the surface. Until you get it out, you know it's going to keep making you nuts.” His gaze drifted away to a distant marina, where masts swayed gently along the
pier. “I want to know how it happened, when you did what you did. Before you ran away.”

I stiffened, staring down at my now-tasteless hamburger but not answering. He looked at me. “I think you owe me that.”

“But you already know what happened.”

“No, I don't. Jack and I were gone running errands, remember? Hazel sent us to the post office. Then we picked up those things that got left off her grocery order.”

“Maybe if you'd been there it wouldn't have turned out the way it did.”

I squeezed my eyes shut. Noah said nothing and I waited, silently hoping he'd withdraw his request.

I ran across the snowy ground, my feet tingling between numbness and pain. The flakes had quit falling and the night sky was clear, cutting the world in half: glittering white on the ground, star-strewn black overhead. The frozen air burned my nose and throat, pluming ahead of me as I exhaled. Tears became icicles on my cheeks. Despite the bitter sting of freezing weather, it was the pain throbbing inside me that hurt the worst. I kept replaying the look of betrayal in Noah's teary eyes as he slowly raised his head from his arms and stared at me with hatred. “If I ever see you again, I'll kill you.”

I finally opened my eyes. “What's the point? It's just going to make you hate me all over again.”

Noah crumpled up the wrapper from his hamburger. Then he reached out, taking my hand. He held it in his, studying my chewed-up nails. He slid his fingers between mine. “I could never hate you.”

“Back then, you said you'd kill me if you ever saw me again. I thought about that when you were choking me.”

“Jocey, I was just a really scared kid. But from this end of the telescope it's okay. I survived, and so did you.”

“Conner didn't,” I whispered.

I was washing dishes and singing along with the Beatles, holding all the wavering notes of “Ticket to Ride.” We were only allowed to listen to Watertown's oldie station, and to make sure of this, Hazel had used Superglue on the dial
.

“Your singing is so bad,” Beth said, though her tone was mild. Her long, wavy red hair was pulled back with an elastic band, and her eyebrows were so pale you could hardly see them
.

I grinned. “Aw, come on! You know I'm gonna make it big someday as a rock star. Especially with this body.” She just shook her head and I continued to sing
.

Her criticism didn't bother me, since I'd always known my singing voice was more flat than not, and I took her comment as a positive sign because she'd actually spoken. I'd known Beth for a year now. We shared a bedroom, and I had carried on so many one-sided conversations with her I had lost count. Recently, though, she'd started saying a few things to me, and she didn't seem so angry
.

Outside the house the backyard snow was already a foot deep in the bitter-cold world that was Watertown during winter. Just beyond the kitchen window new flakes were falling, whirling mist fairies that both enchanted and dismayed. It was hard for me to believe there was already so much snow on the ground when it wasn't even December yet. And despite the roaring furnace that was in the cellar, the house always felt cold, especially on the second floor. I already had a wistful longing for the days of summer and early fall when we were free from the confines of Seale House
.

I took the plate Beth handed me and dried it. I wished I'd been able to go with Jack and Noah on their errands. More and more, I wondered how much longer life in this house could go on without something bad happening. Only this morning Georgie had tried to set the curtains on fire again, and I'd watched them self-extinguish before chewing him out. Two nights ago I woke up from another dream, finding myself standing by the bedroom wall. It undulated and pulsed beneath my palms like a living organism. I had a fearful vision of it seeping out toward me, engulfing me like the alien blob in the movie. Oddly enough, all this upsetting stuff seemed to run parallel with Hazel's growing agitation and Corner Boy's increasingly warped behavior
.

Since Conner had announced to everyone that he liked it down in the cellar, the lie became his twisted truth. Soon he was spending every free minute down there. If Hazel tried to make him come up, he'd purposely break something or hit one of the little kids to get sent back down. At night he would sneak away, creeping down the stairs to the strange nest he'd made for himself from rags and old blankets. Sometimes Hazel would forget he was there and he'd miss the bus. We
didn't bother to point this out since he was such a problem at school. It was a relief for us to have a break from him too, but coming home was another challenge. All of us were careful about what we said and did, determined not to do anything that might upset him or get us sent into his lair
.

Noah had several talks with Hazel about Conner. Nothing changed. Once she had been such a stickler about enforcing Seale House's rules, but now she seemed to have lost her determination. We wondered if it was because of her drug use. Either the marijuana and occasional snorts of cocaine weren't giving her the escape she craved or there was a problem with her supplier. We didn't know, and it wasn't a topic we could bring up without getting in serious trouble. But she didn't seem to care as much about what we did unless it crossed her directly, and then she'd fly off the handle
.

And she refused to deal with Conner. So far as she was concerned, if he wanted to live in the cellar that was fine
.

The radio moved on from the Beatles song to a Beach Boys surfing number that seemed out of place in November. I paused to look out the window. Twilight had become a soft shade of violet and flakes began to decorate the black trees with lace. Beth had finished washing the knives and I was drying them. I wiped off the butcher knife and put it back in the block, then reached for the long carving blade when I heard a frightened cry. It was Dixon, rounding the corner and running to me. He wore blue-and-yellow pajamas, and his thin socks slipped on the floor. I put the knife on the table and looked at his frightened face
.

“What is it, buddy?”

He grabbed my waist and clung to me in a desperate grip as
Hazel stormed into the room. She took hold of his thin little arm. “Don't you dare run away from me, you brat!”

Dixon struggled to keep his hold on me, but when she jerked his arm he let go and cried out in pain. “How many times have I told you kids not to run in the house? Now you've broken that lamp, and I've had it!”

She dragged him to the cellar door. He started to sob, a wet stain darkening his crotch. It made Hazel even more furious. I dropped the dish towel and lunged for him, grabbing his other arm. “Hazel—no, please! He can't go down there!”

A cloud of rage turned her ugly face red. “How dare you!”

I'd never seen her so out of control, and I desperately wished Noah and Jack would get home. Her voice turned threatening as she commanded, “Let … go … of … him!”

Dixon was hysterical now, both from fear and from the pain of being in a human tug-of-war. I shook my head. “Conner is down there. Make him come up before you send Dixon down.”

“Maybe,” she said, “Dixon will learn to mind and not pee his pants. And maybe you'll learn to keep your mouth shut when you go down there with him.”

Using her free hand to open the cellar door, she dragged Dixon toward the gaping darkness. She and I were about the same height, and were equally matched in our battle over Dixon, but I was afraid we might pull his arms out of their sockets, so I let go. I heard Corner Boy scurrying up the stairs, his muffled snicker crazed and coldblooded as he waited just out of sight. Dixon squealed like a terrified animal knowing he was going to be eaten alive, and his arms flailed as he tried to escape. I looked at Hazel's unfeeling eyes. She
was as inhuman as a snake. A calm understanding came over me. I absolutely could not let her do this. Lunging forward, I slugged her in the stomach. Hard
.

A little woof of air escaped Hazel as she doubled over. Dixon leaped away and I rammed her, shoving her back into the cellar, where she hit the steps with a thump and tumbled backward. She had just managed to find her voice and began screeching when I slammed the door closed. I locked it with shaking hands. Dixon clung to me, sobbing. Beth scowled and strode forward
.

“You can't do that!”

I snatched the carving knife from the table and pointed it at her. Unable to find my voice, I gave it a little shake. Knives were the one language Beth understood. Her usually intimidating anger now seemed pale next to my own livid feelings. She didn't come any closer but she did say, “You're going to get in big trouble!”

Hazel must have gotten her feet under her, because she started pounding on the door and screaming at me to unlock it
.

“Let her out,” Beth ordered, frantic
.

I shook my head as other children came to see what was happening. They looked at me with wide eyes, and then at the door shuddering beneath Hazel's hammering fists. “Dixon,” I finally managed, putting my hand on his curly head. “Go get me the phone.”

His sobs ebbed as he scurried over to the counter and brought back the handset. Punching in 911, I waited until the operator answered. Then I told her there was an emergency and gave our address. Disconnecting, I glanced around the room. The children were still staring at the cellar door as if it were more fascinating than a movie, while Beth furiously shook her head and Georgie stuck his
thumb in his mouth. I tossed the phone on the table but kept the knife in my hand as I turned to face the door. Hazel was still shouting and banging on it, this time with such force that it seemed she might actually break it down. If she did, then I knew I'd definitely need the knife
.

Dixon came and stood beside me, staring at the closed door as if it were some cursed portal that might at any moment swing wide and swallow us all. Beth said in a frightened, half-pleading voice, “She'll kill you if you don't let her out. Open the door!”

“Not until the police get here.”

Suddenly we heard a startled squawk as Hazel's voice was cut off. I thought about Corner Boy's homemade garrote and wondered if he'd made another one during his days in the cellar. Soon there came some noisy thumping and thrashing that supported my theory
.

Dixon stood with his hands in fists at his sides, his thin little body stiff. “‘The air was littered, an hour or so,'” he whispered, “‘with bits of gingham and calico.'”

Beth took a step forward. “Let her out, Jocey.”