“Nobody’s watching.”
“You sure about that? If you’re right, then why shouldn’t I shove your face in the snow until you suffocate, then drag your fat ass into my house? Let your body feed me during the long winter. How does that sound? Maybe we should just fight it out, right here, right now. Give the neighbors a Halloween to remember? Did you bring a gun this time? Why don’t you shoot me? C’mon, Curtis, if you’re such a big man, go ahead and shoot me? Shoot me in the face. See if my blood freezes before it hits the ground. Do it. Shoot me. Do it.”
“I made a mistake,” I said. I slid my hand into my jacket pocket, wincing as my fingers slid across the blade.
Mr. Martin grinned. “You really are going for a gun, huh?”
“No.”
“Okay. I trust you. I thought things were fine between us, Curtis. I thought we were on the same page. It’s hard for me to explain how upsetting this is. But you know what? Go ahead and end the game. Turn me in. Tell whoever the fuck you want about me. See how well it works out. You want to use my phone? Come on in. I’ll get you some milk and cookies while you call. How does that sound?”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I messed up.”
“Oh, well, if you’re sorry, I guess everything is just hunky dory, huh?”
“A kid disappeared tonight. I freaked out.”
“Well, how about in the future you don’t freak out, okay?”
I slowly got to my feet. “It won’t happen again.”
“Good to know.”
“I’m leaving now.”
“Sleep well. Happy Halloween.”
Mr. Martin walked back into his house, shutting the door behind him. The porch light turned off, followed by the light inside his house.
I’d made things even worse, but I was also weirdly relieved that—as far as I could tell—he hadn’t been responsible for Dominick’s disappearance. Maybe Dominick was home by now, fast asleep in his bed.
Now to get home and call Tina.
I hadn’t even walked past his next-door neighbor’s house before I slipped on another patch of ice. My leg twisted as I fell. I cried out in pain as I hit the ground.
I wiggled my toes. My leg wasn’t broken, but God, did it hurt.
After a few tries, I managed to get back up. Then I limped toward home.
I still had forty minutes. Thirty-nine, if Tina called exactly at the one-hour mark. I’d make it, no problem.
At the end of the block, my injured leg shot out from under me and I fell again.
Got back up.
Every step hurt, but I forced myself to keep going. Worst case scenario, I’d pound on somebody’s door and ask to borrow their phone.
I made it home with about seven minutes to spare. The lights weren’t on inside the house. I walked around to the back door, and once again very, very slowly opened it. Then closed it, wondering if this was seriously the loudest fucking door on the planet.
“Curtis…?” my mom called out.
“Sorry!” I answered. “Just getting a drink.”
She didn’t answer. I quickly but quietly got out of my jacket, then bent down and untied my boots, listening carefully for footsteps. I had no cover story if she walked into the kitchen and saw me changing.
The living room light turned on.
Shit!
I continued to untie the boots, praying that Mom wouldn’t walk into the kitchen to check on me or get a drink of her own.
The television turned on.
I slipped off the boots, which now felt like they were attached to my feet with the suction of a thousand vacuum cleaners, and set them out of the way. There was nowhere in the kitchen to hide my jacket or boots.
I was acutely aware of how many steps were involved in the task of getting a glass of water. Open the cabinet. Take down a glass. Turn on the faucet. Hold the glass under the stream of water. All while waiting for my mom to walk into the kitchen and ask why my jacket and boots were on the floor.
I shut off the faucet and walked into the living room.
“I can’t sleep,” said Mom, looking over at me. “Too much excitement, I guess. And I’m worried about Dominick.” She frowned. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, why?”
“Your face is bright red.”
“My makeup wouldn’t come off. I had to scrub really hard.”
My hobo makeup was just supposed to look like I had a dirty face and had come off easily with soap and water. The timing was suspect—why would I have waited until now to take it off?—and I’m sure my ears were bright red from the cold, too. This story could completely fall apart with a single follow-up question.
“Okay,” said Mom. “You should go to bed.”
“I will.”
I couldn’t sneak back into the kitchen and quietly make a phone call. It had a rotary dial. Those things were noisy. Shit.
“I need to call Tina,” I said.
“This late?”
“Yeah. I let her borrow one of my books, but I need it for an open-book quiz tomorrow, so I need to make sure she remembers to bring it.”
“She wouldn’t forget something like that, would she? She’s not going to leave your school book at home.”
“She might.”
“It’s eleven o’clock. Call her in the morning before she gets on the bus.”
“It’s fine. She stays up late. It’ll be quick.” I stepped back into the kitchen, taking the calculated risk that my mom wouldn’t rush in there and knock the phone out of my hand.
I dialed Tina’s number. She answered instantly after the first ring.
“Hey, Tina, it’s me,” I said. “I just wanted to make sure you didn’t forget my math book tomorrow.”
“Did it go okay?” Tina whispered.
“Yep, I had a great time, too. Tell your dad I said hi. See you tomorrow.”
I hung up. If Mom had been trying to overhear my conversation, and I assumed that she was, that shouldn’t have sounded too suspicious. But I had no idea what to
