The Stake

He looked at his hands. “Don’t wanta touch...”

“For God’s sake, Lar! She was all overyou. Come on, grab hold. We can’t just leave her here.”

Pete lifted. The rigid body didn’t bend. Bonnie slanted down, straight as a plank, from her head at Pete’s waist to her heels against the garage floor. “Guess I can just drag her,” he said. “Save you from messing your hands. You can bring the blanket, can’t you?”

“Yeah.” Relieved, Larry crouched and picked up the blanket.

He watched Pete turn the corpse around and walk backward. Bonnie’s heels sounded like newspapers sliding along the concrete.

Pete backed onto the platform. When he stepped onto the first rung of the ladder, Bonnie’s feet rose off the floor. Her Achilles’ tendons scraped the edge of the platform.

And left flakes of brown skin behind.

Larry winced.

He didn’t want to touch her. But it pained him to see her getting hurt.

She’s notgetting hurt, he told himself.

The backs of her feet pounded the ladder rungs as Pete climbed higher.

Larry rushed forward. He tucked the blanket under his right arm, grabbed Bonnie’s ankles and raised them. Holding both feet against his left side, he started up the ladder.

“Good man,” Pete said.

Larry climbed carefully. He kept his eyes away from the corpse. At the top the heat was stifling.

They lowered Bonnie into the coffin. He spread the blanket over her, then hurried down. Pete came after him. They folded the ladder. A yank on the rope sent the trapdoor swinging upward on its springed hinges. It slammed shut.

As they headed for the house, Larry realized that he felt guilty about leaving Bonnie in such a dark, hot place.

Don’t be ridiculous, he thought. She’s dead. She doesn’t feel a thing.

“When do you think we oughta pull the stake?” Pete asked when they reached the living room.

“The sooner the better, I guess. I’ll want to do some research on Sagebrush Flat, though.”

“Right, good idea. Maybe they had some vampire troubles. Maybe that’s how come the place was abandoned.”

“We’ll see. Anyway, I need to fill up more pages somehow.”

“Right. And I need to pick up a video camera before the big event. I want to tape the whole thing, you know? It’ll be great.”

“Yeah.” Larry opened the front door for him.

“See you later, bud. Going good, huh?”

“Well, at least we don’t have to worry about the women catching on.”

Grinning, Pete slapped his arm. “See you later. Don’t let your meat loaf.”

When Pete was gone, Larry hurried to the bathroom. He threw his clothes into the hamper and rushed to the tub.

As he stood under the hot spray of the shower, he wondered why he hadn’t mentioned finding the ring. He should’vetold Pete about it, told him that the body was a girl named Bonnie Saxon who was graduated from Buford High in 1968.

How come I didn’t? he asked himself.

Pete’ll find out sooner or later. He’ll realize I kept it from him.

So what?

Twenty

“Good morning, ma’am.”

Lane swung her locker shut and turned around. “Well, hi, stranger.”

Jim’s hands were pushed into the front pockets of his jeans. Smiling, he drew them out for her to see, and slipped them in again. “Keeping ‘em to myself,” he said.

“Good for you. You’re learning.”

“Did you have a nice trip?”

“It was okay. I missed you. How was Candi?”

“Oh, she was grateful. She’d like you to go away more often.”

Lane tried to hold onto her smile, but she felt it being tugged down. Her arms tightened around the binder and school books clutched to her chest.

“I was kidding.”

“I know.”

“Youbrought her up.”

“I know. Dumb, huh?”

“I wouldn’t go out with Candi. Or anyone else. Not as long as I’ve got you.”

Lane’s smile came back. She lifted an eyebrow. “Think you’ve gotme, do you?”

“Hell, you know what I mean.”

“Yeah. Give me one of those hands.” She moved to his side, dropped one arm away from her load of books and squeezed his hand when he offered it. “Want to walk me to the library?” she asked.

“The library?”

“I’ve got an errand.”

“It’s only ten minutes before the first bell.”

“Shouldn’t take very long.”

Holding hands, they made their way through the crowded hall.

“Is it still on for Friday night?” she asked.

“Sure. I hope so. Rather go out Saturday, but...”

“Hamlet.”

“I know. What a drag.”

Outside, they cut across the quad. Jim opened the library door for her. “Guess I’ll make myself scarce,” he said. “Ol‘ lady Swanson and me don’t exactly hit it off. See you at lunch?”

“Fine. See you.” Lane gave his hand another squeeze, then let go and entered the library. She headed straight for the circulation desk. There, Miss Swanson was busy checking out books to several students.

“Ol' lady Swanson” was probably no older than forty, an attractive woman with very short red hair and a freckled face. But Lane knew what Jim meant. Though the woman was hardly ancient, her rigid posture and high, thin eyebrows suggested a severity that made her seem older than her years.

She’d always been nice to Lane, but she seemed to enjoy visiting grief upon students who acted up. Kids usually referred to her as “the bitch.” She was also known as “the dyke” and “the shithead.” Henry, perhaps the most literate of her detractors, preferred to call her “the Scarlet Pimple.”

After the last student wandered off, Lane stepped up to the desk.

“Good morning, Miss Swanson.”

“Lane? How are you?”

“Fine. I was wondering if you could help me. Are old yearbooks kept around somewhere?”

“Indeed they are. We’re missing certain years, of course. Books flyout of here if I’m not constantly on the alert. The students are a pack of thieves. And several of the teachers are just as bad, if I