she’d grown up with — had lots of friends and were involved in all kinds of things: sports teams, the cheerleading squad, the band or the choir. Everyone else seemed to have found a place to fit in. But it wasn’t until she discovered photography that Becky had found her own place: even though she still wasn’t a part of any of the groups in the school, she could at least photograph them. But the best hours were the ones she spent in the darkroom, where she didn’t have to try to fit in with anyone else.
Today she was supposed to have photographed the football team for the yearbook, but that had been cancelled, and Becky knew why: it was because of the bruises on Pete Arneson’s face. That, and the fact that no one wanted to be in the picture with Matt Moore.
All day long she had overheard the gossip. It seemed as if everywhere she went — in the classrooms, in the halls, in the cafeteria, even in the library during her fifth period study hall — everyone was whispering about what Matt had done. By the time the final bell rang, all Becky wanted to do was get away from it. But while she was getting her books out of her locker she couldn’t help overhearing Jessica Amberson talking to Tammy Brewster.
“I’m not going to go anywhere by myself. Nowhere at all!” Jessica was saying. “I can’t believe I used to want to go out with him.” Her eyes widened as she thought of the possibilities. “My God, Tammy, it could be me Matt murdered instead of Kelly!”
Becky slammed her locker shut so hard that Jessica and Tammy jumped as if she’d stuck a pin in them. “Nobody knows Matt did anything!” she told them. “And I don’t care what anyone says, I don’t believe he hurt Kelly, or his grandmother, or anyone else.”
Tammy fixed Becky with her most patronizing look. “Well, if you’re so sure he didn’t do anything, why don’t you just go with him right now?” Tammy tipped her head toward the front doors, and Becky turned around just in time to see Matt push them open and hurry down the steps, his head down.
“Maybe I will!” she shot back. Turning away from Jessica and Tammy, she hurried down the corridor, through the door, and outside. Matt was already across the street, and she called out as she started down the steps. “Matt, wait up!” He didn’t turn around — didn’t seem to hear her at all — and Becky broke into a jog, crossed the street, and caught up with him before he reached the corner. Finally he turned to look at her.
His face was pale and his eyes were clouded with suspicion — and anger.
“What do you want, Becky?” he asked, his voice as guarded as his expression.
“I thought maybe we could walk together. I mean, at least as far as my house.” When Matt made no reply, she nervously went on. “I mean, if you’re going that way.”
Matt’s eyes narrowed. “What did you do, take a dare from Jess and Tammy?”
Becky gasped. “No! I — ” But then she hesitated. In a way, wasn’t that exactly what she’d done? If she hadn’t heard them talking about Matt, would she be here right now? She was about to turn away when she remembered all the times people had turned away from her, and how bad it had always made her feel. But Matt had never turned away from her. Maybe they weren’t as close as when they lived across the street from each other, but unlike everyone else, he’d never been mean to her. And right now she knew he must be feeling as she had most of her life. In fact, he must be feeling a lot worse: at least no one had ever accused her of killing anyone. “I don’t think you did anything,” she said.
A frown creased Matt’s brow. “How come you’re so sure?”
Becky shrugged. “I just am. You wouldn’t do anything like they’re saying you did.”
Matt started walking again, and when Becky fell in beside him, he made no objection. It wasn’t until they’d come to the corner of Burlington Avenue that he spoke again, his voice so low that Becky could hardly hear him. “Do you think it’s possible to do something and not remember it?”
“You mean like — ” She hesitated, then finished her question. “You mean like kill someone?”
Matt didn’t answer for a moment, then shrugged noncommittally.
Becky remembered reading a book once, about hypnotism, and how even when someone was hypnotized, they wouldn’t do something they really didn’t want to do. But if Matt had been angry at Kelly — really angry —
“I don’t think so,” she finally replied. “I think if you did something that bad, you’d remember it.”
Matt stopped walking and turned to face her. The anger she’d seen before was gone, replaced by pain and confusion. “But what about all those people you hear about? The ones who suddenly remember the awful things that happened to them when they were little kids?”
They were across the street from Becky’s house now, and she glanced uneasily toward the curtained window of the small living room, wondering if her mother was looking out, watching her. “I don’t believe it. I think if something terrible happens, you remember it. Especially if you did it yourself.” She thought she saw a glimmer of hope flicker in Matt’s eyes. “You didn’t do anything, Matt,” she said again. “You couldn’t have. I’ve known you my whole life, and I just know you couldn’t have done anything like what everybody’s saying.” Impulsively, she put her arms around him and kissed him on the cheek. “Maybe nobody else believes you,” she said. “But I do.”
As Becky’s arms tightened around Matt, he hugged her close. “Thanks,” he said. “And I don’t care what anyone else thinks. You’re better than all the rest of them put together.”
Her eyes suddenly filling with tears she didn’t want Matt to see, Becky pulled away from him. “I’ve got to go,” she said. “See you tomorrow.”
Before Matt could reply, she was gone, running across the street and disappearing into her house. He was still looking at her front door when a movement at one of the windows caught his eye. He thought for an instant that it might be Becky, but then knew it wasn’t.
It was her mother, and even through the glass and across the distance that separated them, Matt could read her thoughts as clearly as if she’d shouted them at him.
The words echoed in his mind, and suddenly he was running, fleeing down Burlington Avenue, trying to escape the awful accusations that were ringing in his head.
But there was no escape.
Not now.
Not ever.
* * *
JOAN’S EYES FIXED on the blinking red light on the answering machine as if it were an alien creature — vaguely familiar, but at the same time utterly incomprehensible. Why should it be flashing? Didn’t it only go on if someone had called her? And no one had — she’d been home all day — never left the house at all — and the phone hadn’t rung.
Why would it? No one wanted to talk to her anymore.
“Shut up,” Joan whimpered, pressing her hands over her ears as if to shut out the relentless voice of her sister. But it was useless — Cynthia’s voice held her in its thrall.
The red light kept blinking, and as Joan stared at it, it took on an ominous look. Ominous, but at the same time mocking. As mocking as her sister’s laughter.
Her sister’s voice?
Her mother’s?
No! It was only a machine! It had no voice, couldn’t possibly be speaking to her. But the whole house seemed filled with voices now. They seemed to be coming from everywhere. “No!” she blurted, though there was no one there to hear her. “I’m not afraid! I’m not!”
As Cynthia’s throaty laugh boiled up out of nowhere, Joan stabbed at the flashing button with a shaking finger, and a moment later heard Trip Wainwright’s familiar voice.
“It’s Trip, Joan… Look, Gerry Conroe might come out there, and I don’t think you ought to talk to him. He’s got some nutty idea that you’re not Matt’s mother. It’s nonsense, of course, but there’s no reason for you to have to listen to it. So if he shows up — and if you’re there — just don’t even answer the door. And call me when you
