Her son was named Dominick. I didn’t know him very well—he was three years younger than me—but I knew that he lived about five blocks away. I wondered if his mother had gone to every house between theirs and ours. She said she’d called 911, and her husband was waiting at home for word.
And on that bummer of a note, Tina’s dad announced that they needed to go since she had school tomorrow. Goodbyes were exchanged, and everybody agreed that we needed to do this again, minus the Halloween costumes.
My plan to just kind of forget about Mr. Martin for a while had failed. Now I had to figure out what to do about him.
15
Not being a sixteen-year-old with a driver’s license in the twenty-first century made this situation much more challenging. I couldn’t just secretly text or e-mail Tina. We couldn’t even lower the volume on the phone’s ringer—those things were designed to make sure you knew that somebody was calling.
My parents went to bed shortly after Tina and her dad left. I waited until they’d have made it home, then called from the kitchen phone. If Mom or Dad came out of their bedroom to ask why I was calling her, I’d say that she’d promised to bring A Spell for Chameleon to school tomorrow for me to borrow, and I didn’t want her to forget.
“Hello?” her dad answered.
“Hi,” I said. “It’s Curtis. May I speak to Tina?”
“What, you don’t want to talk to me?” He chuckled. “Yeah, but make it quick. You both have school in the morning.”
“Hi,” said Tina, a moment later. Her grim tone made it clear that she knew why I was calling.
I lowered my voice to a whisper. “I’m going over there.”
“Right now?”
“Yes. If I wait until morning, it might be too late.”
“Can’t you just call the police?”
“Dominick’s mom said she already did. I assume he’d be their prime suspect, so they might already be investigating him. If I get over there and I see state troopers parked in his driveway, I’ll come home. But I can’t just go to sleep until I’ve tried to do something to help.”
“I don’t know how to get over there,” said Tina. “My dad is watching TV. There’s no way I can sneak out. And if I wait until he goes to sleep, I’ll have to go to a pay phone to call a cab. I could tell him what’s going on, but—”
“I’m not asking you to come over here. There’s no time for that.” I did some mental calculations. I could get to Mr. Martin’s house in about ten minutes if I ran the entire way. I probably couldn’t run the entire way, so maybe fifteen minutes. If things went badly, I wanted the state troopers on their way to save me as soon as possible, but I didn’t want Tina to call them before it was necessary. How long should I ask her to wait? “Give me one hour. If I haven’t called by then, call 911 and tell them where I am.”
“Are you sure you want to do this?” asked Tina. “Going over to a serial killer’s house after dark? Is this really your responsibility?”
“It’s my fault Todd was killed,” I said. “I’m not going to let something like that happen again.”
I was kind of surprised at myself for saying that. I regretted the fight we’d had that sent Todd walking home on his own, but I’d never really been wallowing in self-blame. Was this some kind of buried guilt? Why hadn’t Dr. Wasser dragged it out of me?
Didn’t matter. Yes, I was going to confront Mr. Martin…as safely as possible.
“I understand,” said Tina. “Are you bringing a gun?”
“No.”
“A knife?”
“I guess I should bring a knife.”
“Be careful, Curtis.”
“Oh, I will. I’ll be completely safe, I promise. I’ll talk to you in less than an hour.”
I hung up. I slid open one of the kitchen drawers and selected a knife, the one my mom used for cutting vegetables. My dad had a pocketknife in his desk in his office, but I wanted to sneak around the house as little as possible. I put on a pair of boots (which I’d never wear to school where my peers could see me, of course, but I was going to have to move quickly and I didn’t want to slip on the ice) and then opened the closet door. I selected a heavy jacket, put it on, and slipped the knife into the pocket.
Did I really want to do this?
No. Not at all. But I was going to anyway.
I returned to the kitchen and very slowly turned the doorknob. Then I very, very slowly eased the door open. The stupid thing creaked of course, which in my state of anxiety felt like it was shaking the entire house and waking up everybody on our block. I continued to swing the door open until I could slip through, and then I just as carefully closed it.
I trudged through the snow in our yard, walking around the side of the house. I suddenly realized just how dark it was out here.
My stomach hurt. I didn’t want to do this. Tina was right—why was this my responsibility? Why was I, a fourteen-year-old kid, on my way to try to rescue somebody from a serial killer? What kind of bullshit was that?
I was on my way over there because I was the one who’d forced Mr. Martin to confess at gunpoint and then proceeded to squander my advantage. I was on my way over there because I’d screwed up. Simple as that.
I started to run, then decided that this would end with me slipping and breaking a leg or two. I settled for jogging. Despite the exercise I’d been getting from doing odd jobs, I was still in terrible shape—all of the junk food I’d eaten this evening didn’t help—and it wasn’t long before I got a cramp in my side. I fought through it and kept jogging.
To
