drained out of her face. “Oh my God,” she half-gasped, half-whispered.
“What?” I asked.
“Some of us got together at Greg’s house last night. We just, you know, felt like hanging out. We didn’t stay late. Like not past ten. When it was time to go, Courtney said she’d walk. A couple of us said we’d drive her, but she said it was dumb because she lived on the next block.”
Tyler and I stared at each other. That was not the explanation we were hoping for.
* * *
Oh, isn’t this fun? Now that there are three of you, we can have a party. Sorry, Adam, you say Lucy is cold? Yes, we always thought she was. Yes, Adam, we know that’s not the way you meant it. Oh, please, Adam, don’t be so hard on Courtney. She has a right to cry if she wants. Frankly, we thought you’d be delighted to have your two favorite women beside you.
Did you just call us a sadistic psychopath? Oh, my, such harsh words! Oh, now, don’t try to grovel or apologize. We know that’s what you always do. Don’t you know that once the words are out, the damage is done? You can’t apologize away the hurt you cause. You can’t go around thinking that just because you apologize, everything goes back to the way it was.
* * *
Dad always had Frank at Soundview Gulf work on our cars. A small, wiry, bald man, dressed in neatly pressed olive green coveralls, Frank had a reputation for being honest and hardworking. Part of the reason he worked so hard was because it was difficult in a place like Soundview to find young people willing to be pump jockeys or assistant mechanics. Parents didn’t want their children taking part-time jobs at the garage when they could be doing schoolwork, or playing sports, or pursuing music or theater or whatever.
I found Frank under a car on the lift, removing a long rusty pipe.
“Hello, Madison,” he greeted me. “Everything okay with the Audi? Not having a problem with those new tires, are you?”
“No, they seem fine, thanks.”
Frank gave me an uncertain glance, clearly wondering what I was doing there. “So, how can I help you, young lady?”
“Were you the one who got the car from the stables?” I asked.
“Yep, that would be me.” Frank reached up under the car again.
“Do you happen to remember seeing a folded white napkin on the passenger-side floor?”
“Nope. Are you missing it? ’Cause we don’t take anything out of cars, even the ones that come in with more garbage in them than a sanitation truck.”
“No. I found it in the car this morning and wondered how it got there.”
“Well, we don’t eat in cars, either,” Frank said with a smile. “So it’s a hard one to figure.”
One explanation was that the person who’d slashed the tires had left the note. Once I’d seen that the tires were slashed, I’d never looked inside the car. But why would anyone slash my tires and then leave a note saying that people were still in danger and we needed to meet and talk?
There was another possibility, as well. “After you put the new tires on the car, you put the car in the lot next to the garage, right?” I said.
“Yep.”
“Was it locked?” I asked.
Frank stopped working and looked at me again. “Might have been, but I couldn’t say, Madison. I mean, it was just a napkin, right? No harm done?”
“No, Frank, no harm done. I was just wondering how it got there. That’s all.”
Frank gave me a puzzled look, as if he couldn’t understand why anyone would care so much about a napkin. “Sorry I can’t help you, Madison.”
“It’s no problem.” I turned to leave. “Sorry to bother you.”
“Say hello to your folks for me,” Frank called from behind.
I got in the Audi and left. At the intersection, I stopped at the light and looked in the rearview mirror. A purple car had just pulled into the gas station and Tyler got out, wearing olive green coveralls.
Str-S-d #11
This is the last blog I’m writing. I’m really scared. I wished three people would die, and now they’re all gone. I don’t believe anymore that it’s a coincidence. Someone’s been reading this blog. Someone crazy enough to do what I wished for. If you’re reading this right now, you know who you are. You’re the one person in the world who is always nice to me. But today in school you said something. I’m not sure you even realized what you were saying, but it totally creeped me out. Now I don’t know what to do. I could go to the police, but they’ll want to know how I know and then they’ll find out about this blog and blame me. The parents will blame me. Everyone will blame me. Everyone already hates me. But this is the worst thing that ever happened. Maybe I should kill myself. I could kill myself, but then someone would figure it out. I don’t want to be blamed for this. Even if I’m dead.
2 Comments
OMG! This is the thing that’s been on TV! I saw it! You go to that school? Unreeeal!
I saw it, too. You HAVE to go to the police and tell them. What if those kids are still alive? What if that person has them? Even if it’s too late, do you want that person to GET AWAY with what they’ve done?
chapter 17
Monday 7:45 P.M.
WE’D ALL HEARD of schools being locked down, but this was the first time I’d ever heard of an entire town being locked down. At least, that was the way it felt. As soon as word about Courtney’s disappearance got out, everything went on total red alert. Some parents insisted on keeping their kids at home. And most of those who didn’t insisted on driving their children to and from school and then keeping them home for the rest of the day.
Not that anyone really minded. We were all scared. Three kids had disappeared. Even if we’d been allowed to hang out, nobody wanted to go into town, which was swarming with reporters and TV crews. There were a few kids who got off on being interviewed and seeing themselves on TV. But at school most people reacted coldly to the idea of using such an awful situation for any kind of personal gain or glory. Besides, after you told the media that you were really scared and definitely not going out at night or anywhere alone, what else was there to say?
There was a new message from PBleeker:
Think it’s a coincidence that the kids who’ve disappeared were three of the most popular in the grade? Check this out: http://www.journalnews.com/vtm/news/article/murder_unsolved
I was taken to the Web site of the
ONE YEAR LATER MURDER MYSTERY STILL UNSOLVED
Every morning when Ellen Woodworth wakes up, the first thing she wishes for is to go back to sleep. When that doesn’t work, she imagines her daughter, Megan, coming into the bedroom and saying, “Hey, Mom, what’s up?” And then, every morning, Ellen Woodworth cries.
One year ago, Megan, a popular and vivacious senior at Shawnee Mission High School, disappeared from a
