Wrong Number 2 (15 page)

“Hurry!” Deena urged. “Hurry! Is it cutting?”

“I can't tell,” Chuck replied, working hard. “I can't see what I'm doing.”

“Maybe I can help,” Deena told him. She leaned away from the wall and scooted over to him.

“Let me try it,” she told Chuck. She glanced down at the metal in his hands. It seemed to be a piece from an old door hinge. “It's not very sharp,” she said.

“But is it sawing the rope?” Chuck demanded.

Deena examined Chuck's wrists. “No. No way,” she murmured, unable to hide her disappointment. “It isn't working, Chuck.”

“Hurry! Please hurry,” Jade begged from against the wall.

“It isn't working,” Deena told her with a sob.

“It's got to!” Jade cried. “The candle is almost burned down!”

Deena raised her eyes to the worktable.

Jade was right.

The candle had burned down to less than half an inch.

T
he candle had burned so low that its light was partly hidden by the rags piled around it. To her horror, Deena suddenly realized that it might ignite the rags even
before
it completely burned down.

“I give up!” Chuck cried, rolling away from the metal hinge. “We've got to find some other way.”

Deena sighed in despair. If Chuck was giving up, then there really
was
no hope.

“Let's try crawling out of here,” Chuck suggested. “Maybe we can make it up the stairs in time.”

Deena knew that was a desperate hope. There was no way they could get out of the basement in time.

She turned and saw that Jade was already moving across the floor.

But to Deena's surprise, Jade wasn't moving toward the stairs, she was heading for the burning candle.

“Jade—what are you doing?” Chuck cried in alarm. “The gas fumes could set it off at any minute. Stay away from there!”

“I know what I'm doing,” Jade groaned. She was crawling like a caterpillar, throwing out her feet, then pulling along the upper part of her body.

“Jade, stop!” Deena cried. “It's too dangerous!”

Jade ignored her and kept squirming. She struggled over to Farberson's body.

“Jade—what are you
doing?
” Deena cried.

She watched Jade shudder in horror. Then Jade straightened her legs and began pushing at Farberson's body, shoving it with both feet.

“He's too heavy,” Jade grunted. She shifted, and planting her feet against Farberson's shoulder, pushed again.

Farberson's body slumped heavily onto its side. The blood-spattered saw came into view.

Jade paused for a moment, took a deep breath. Then she turned her back—and began to rub the rope on her wrists across the sharp teeth of the chain.

“Ohhh.” Deena felt sick.

The saw bounced against Farberson as Jade pulled the ropes across it. Farberson's head then bumped heavily against the floor.

“It—it's working!” Jade stammered. “I can feel the rope—
Ow!
”

“Careful!” Chuck cried, struggling toward her.

“I'm free!” Jade announced. She raised her arms, pulled her hands apart. The rope slid off. She bent quickly to untie her feet.

Then Jade got up unsteadily. “Ow. My legs are asleep.” She bent over Chuck and frantically started to untie his ropes.

Deena glanced up at the candle.

It had burned so far down that all she could see was the top of the flame.

“Jade—forget the ropes. Go blow out the candle!” Deena cried.

Jade lurched toward the workbench.

Not in time.

They all heard the loud
whoosh.

T
he rags flared like a bright yellow fire-ball. As Deena gaped in horror, the top of the workbench blazed up.

Jade frantically untied Chuck. Then they both darted over to Deena to untie her.

As they worked, Deena stared past them at the workbench. The workbench was smothered in flames now, the fire climbing the wall.

Deena could feel the heat. She knew that at any moment the whole basement could go up.

Could they get to the stairs before the stairs burst into flame?

Chuck tugged the ropes off Deena's ankles. She struggled to stand up. But her legs had also fallen asleep. She grabbed on to Chuck.

“Hurry!” Jade cried. She ran toward the stairs.

Holding on to Chuck, Deena followed Jade.

A carton flared. The one above it burst into flame.

Deena choked on the thick smoke that blanketed the low room.

Up the stairs now. Her legs still weak and rubbery. Up the dangerous stairs, the fire crackling all around them.

Deena watched as Jade turned the knob. Watched her push against the door. Try the knob again. Push.

Then Jade turned back to them, her face twisted in horror. “The door—it's locked!” she wailed. “That woman locked us in. We're going to die!”

T
hick black smoke billowed up the stair-well. Deena's eyes began to tear. She gasped for breath.

“We've got to break down the door. It's our only chance.” Chuck and Deena stood next to Jade on the landing. “On the count of three, we ram the door with our shoulders,” Chuck instructed. “Ready? One, two, three  . . .”

Their bodies hit the door with a single heavy blow.

The old wood made a cracking sound as it split.

Chuck shoved once again, harder. The door fell apart.

Chuck pushed through the opening. Then he helped pull Jade and Deena out.

As they staggered, coughing and choking, into the
kitchen, an explosion from the basement rocked the house. A hot blast of air hurtled the three of them across the kitchen floor toward the back door.

Deena gratefully stumbled out into the wind-driven sleet and ice.
I'm out
, she told herself.
We're all going to be okay.

Lowering her head against the storm, she led the way around the house and down the driveway. At the street they turned back—in time to see the house erupt in flames.

Then, over the crackling of the fire and the steady drumming of the frozen sleet, they heard a distant wail, the wail of sirens—fire engines on the way to end the horror—forever.

• • •

“Another slice, anyone?” Jade opened the pizza box and pushed it to the center of the coffee table.

“Not for me,” Deena groaned. “I'm stuffed.”

“Is there any pepperoni left?” Steve asked.

“Hey, quiet, everyone!” Chuck ordered. “This is the part my film instructor told me about. Watch!”

The four leaned toward the TV, where an old Alfred Hitchcock movie was playing. “See where the plane's chasing him?” Chuck instructed. “That scene has been copied in dozens of other movies.”

“Some old movies are pretty cool,” Jade said.

“Do they have American movies you can rent in Australia?” Deena asked Steve.

“Of course we do. But they add kangaroos to all the movies!” Steve joked.

“Watch this part, guys,” Chuck continued. He stared intently at the screen, leaning forward on the couch.

Deena sat back and watched the movie. Chuck is totally into this movie course he's taking at Madison College, she thought.

Deena still couldn't believe Chuck had decided to settle down for a while in Shadyside. But ever since they had escaped from the Farberson house six months earlier, he had become calmer, less wild.

Maybe the close call really scared him, she thought. Or maybe he just wants to stay close to Jade.

After Linda Morrison's trial, Farberson's insurance company had given Deena, Jade, and Chuck a reward. Deena's parents put her and Chuck's share in a college fund, which was now paying for Chuck's courses at Madison.

“Someday I'm going to make a movie about the Farberson murders,” Chuck announced when the tape had ended.

“Are you kidding?” Jade cried. “No one would believe it.”

“The way I'll make the movie, they'll believe,” Chuck boasted. “You'll see.”

“I still don't know much about what happened,” Steve said. “Deena never wants to talk about it. Is it true the whole thing started with a phone call?”

“That's right.” Deena sighed. “We were calling people at random. You know. Just as a joke. And Chuck—”

“Here. Let's try one,” Chuck said. “Let's make a funny call. For old times' sake.” He reached for the phone and raised the receiver to his ear.

“No way!” Deena shrieked. Furious, she grabbed the phone from Chuck's hand.

“Just joking!” Chuck declared. “Just joking, Deena.”

Was he just joking? Deena wondered as she slammed the receiver back down. She stared hard at him.

Was he joking? Hard to tell, Deena decided. But she didn't like the mischievous grin on his face. She didn't like it one bit.

Go back to where it all began!

Get the whole terrifying story—read

THE WRONG NUMBER.

“Where do you get your ideas?”

That's the question that R.L. Stine is asked most often. “I don't know where my ideas come from,” he says. “But I do know that I have a lot more scary stories in my mind that I can't wait to write.”

So far, he has written over a hundred mysteries and thrillers for young people, all of them best-sellers.

Bob grew up in Columbus, Ohio. Today he lives in an apartment near Central Park in New York City with his wife, Jane.

This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author's imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

First Simon Pulse edition November 2002

Text copyright © 1995 by Parachute Press, Inc.

Originally published as an Archway Paperback in 1993

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