The Dead Boyfriend (18 page)

“Why?” I said coldly. My jaw was clenched. “Why did you think you had to ambush me?”

“No one is ambushing anyone,” Mom said.

“What was I supposed to do?” Julie asked, near tears. “What you were saying … What you were telling me at that restaurant was so crazy…? I was worried about you. I mean, really worried. You need help, Caitlyn. I mean…” Her voice trailed off.

Mom took my hand and squeezed it between both of hers. “We came as soon as we could. Julie said you were having a breakdown.”

A breakdown?

She wouldn't let go of my hands. Her watery eyes peered into mine. Dad took my arm and pulled me to the couch. “Sit down. Come sit down. You're not well. I can tell by your eyes.”

“Thanks, Doctor,” I said sarcastically.

“Can I get anyone any coffee or tea?” Mrs. Nello chimed in.

No one answered her.

I could hear Julie's sisters talking upstairs in their room. I had a strong impulse to break away from my parents, run up there and join them.

“We're so sorry to intrude,” my mom told Julie's mom.

“You're not intruding. I completely understand. If there's anything I can do.…”

“Caitlyn, I'm sorry.” Julie was still apologizing. She stood by the front door, as if she was afraid to come near me. “You're my friend,” she said. “I couldn't bear to see you in trouble. Please—forgive me.”

“Nothing to forgive,” My dad answered for me. He sat down next to me on the couch. He kept some distance between us, like I was contagious or maybe a wild animal that might attack him if he got too close.

Mom stood over me, her arms crossed in front of her. “Tell us what you told Julie. Okay, Caitlyn? Tell us the story so we can help you. Don't be afraid.”

“You don't understand!” I screamed. “You don't understand! It isn't a story. I didn't tell Julie a
story
! You don't understand!”

I was shrieking at the top of my lungs. I realized I truly
did
sound like a crazy person.

“Screaming won't help,” Dad said softly.

“This isn't going to help, either,” I said sharply.

“Let's have a talk,” Mom said. She motioned for me to slide over so she could sit on my other side. “That's what families do, Caitlyn. They help each other.”

She and Dad were talking to me like I was a mental patient, and they both had these wet-eyed stares that made me nauseous.

“
You
talk about it!” I shouted. I jumped to my feet. I pushed my mother out of the way, dodged past Julie, who uttered a startled cry, and bolted to the front door.

I leaped out onto the front stoop and slammed the door hard behind me, shutting out their cries and pleas to come back. I took a deep breath of the fresh, warm spring air, dove off the stoop, and started to run.

I hesitated, seeing my car at the curb. No. I needed to run. I needed to run off my anger. I needed to feel the air against my face and let the silence clear my mind.

I lowered my head and picked up speed, my bag bouncing on my shoulder, swinging my arms as I ran through the night. Past mostly dark houses and small front yards, an empty lot with a
FOR SALE
sign near the curb, a narrow playground with a swing set and slide.

They think I'm crazy.

Julie thinks I'm crazy.

Some friend.

I knew this would happen if I confided in someone. And now here I was, running full speed, running like an animal at night, running who knows where. On my own.

Deena Fear couldn't help. Julie couldn't help. God knows, my parents couldn't help. They looked ready to have me locked up.

So here I was running along the street, running two blocks, then three, in and out of the dim spotlights of yellow light from the streetlights. Light, then shadow.

Would the rest of my life be spent in shadow?

I couldn't run forever. Even in my crazed state, I knew I'd have to go home. And then what?

My shoes pounded the soft grass. Somewhere in the distance a car horn honked three short beeps. The only other sound was the thudding of my shoes on the dew-wet ground.

When I neared the bus shelter on the corner, I stumbled to a stop. Had to catch my balance. My breaths came so hard, my chest ached.

I caught myself, my arms flailing, the bag suddenly heavy on my shoulder. Stopped, struggling to breathe, and stared at the glass bus shelter, lighted by a tall streetlight.

Stared at the stain of bright red through the glass. Squinted hard, focusing … until I saw that the blotch of red was a red hoodie. Through the shelter glass, I saw the red hoodie. And the boy wearing it. Hood pulled over his head. The boy hunched on the edge of the shelter bench, tapping one leg up and down.

Blade. He didn't see me. His back was turned, as if he was watching for the bus. But I knew. I knew he was waiting for me.

How did he know I would be here? It didn't matter. He was haunting me. I knew he would show up everywhere I went. I knew he would always be there.

I watched him, tapping his foot so casually, rubbing the knees of his jeans. I stood there, fists clenched, letting my anger grow until I saw red spots before my eyes, as red as his hoodie. And now I was seething, boiling over, swept up in a tidal wave of fury.

He can't do this to me!

Deena Fear's words came back to me then. I could hear her as if she were standing beside me. “
You have to kill him again.
”

And I already had the knife from my bag. Already had the handle gripped tightly in my fist. The blade still blood-smeared from before.

I had never cleaned it. I had never tossed it away or hid it. I kept it … kept it because maybe I knew all along that I would have to use it again.

I wanted to shout. I wanted to scream out my fury. But I held it in. I held it in, not breathing, no longer thinking like a human. I held it all in and raised the knife in front of me.

I slipped into the bus shelter before he could turn around—and I stabbed him in the back. Sank the blade into the middle of the red hoodie, sank it deep and pushed, pushed it deeper, pushed it with all my anger.

I slashed it to the right. Then pulled back and sliced it to the left. Dug it in and stabbed and sliced.

His arms flew up weakly. He uttered a long low groan of pain. Then sank forward. Just collapsed on himself.

Panting like a dog, wheezing loudly, I raised my eyes—and started to choke. I started to gag and choke because I saw Blade watching me. Blade, in his red hoodie, watching me from under a streetlight across the street.

 

39.

The knife fell from my hand and bounced into the curb. A cold grin spread over Blade's face, and he flashed me a thumbs-up.

A low howl escaped my throat. My knees started to fold. I grabbed the back of the shelter bench to keep myself up.

I sucked in a deep breath and held it. Then I reached over the back of the bench and grabbed the boy in front of me by the shoulders of his hoodie. I turned him around.

The hood fell back and I saw his lifeless face. Wide dark eyes staring blankly up at me. Mouth frozen open in a startled cry of pain. Curly brown hair matted to his forehead. A silver ring in one ear.

I've never seen him before.

Oh my God. Oh my God. I killed a stranger. I killed the wrong boy.

Over the throbbing pulses of blood at my temples, I heard Blade's laughter. High, giddy laughter, as if he had just heard a funny joke.

I gazed across the street. But he had vanished into the deep shadows. His laughter faded slowly.

I realized I was still gripping the dead boy's shoulders. I had the sudden impulse to pull him to his feet. To tell him he was okay. To make him walk away.

His head fell back, smacking the bench loudly. The sound sent a shattering chill down my body. I let go of his shoulders. I stumbled back.

I'm a murderer.

“Deena! Did you make me do this?” I shouted, surprising myself. “Did you make me kill this boy, too?”

Silence.

Of course I heard only silence.

Deena was nowhere near.

I killed this one. I killed this boy. Not Deena.

I jumped as pale light spread over the grass. I turned to see a light go on in the front window of the house on the corner. Squinting up the lawn, I could see two people staring out the window at me.

I'm a murderer. I'm going to be caught.

I moved to the curb. I bent and picked up the knife. My hands trembled as I folded it and let it drop back into my bag.

Blade's cold laughter rang in my ears. I couldn't see him. But I could hear his gleeful, scornful laugh.

Covering my ears with both hands, I took off running again.

Running across the street and along the curb of the next block. Running. Holding my ears, shutting out the cold laughter of a dead boy.

Running into a blur of gray and purple and black night. Running. But, where?

I thought of Miranda. My only other friend. No. No way. Miranda wouldn't believe me, either. Why should she? I was sure Julie had already been on the phone with her, already shared what I had confided, already described the meeting with my parents. The ambush.

I was sure they had already discussed my
breakdown
. Crazy Caitlyn and her delusions of her dead boyfriend returning to haunt her. I was sure my two friends were very sympathetic. They wished there was something … anything … they could do to help me recover my sanity.

Yikes.

I couldn't run to Miranda's house. No way. Miranda wouldn't help me.

So where could I go? Where could I go with a blood-stained knife in my bag and chilling laughter in my ears? And the picture of me stabbing that boy, slashing and slicing him, stabbing him again and again, a stranger … the picture lingering in my eyes, replaying itself with every footstep.

Where could I go?

I had no choice. I had to go home. I had to surrender, to give up, to turn myself in, to confess my guilt, to prepare to face the consequences and pay for what I did.

Okay. Maybe I wasn't thinking clearly, Diary. Maybe my thoughts were a jumble. But that's what I was thinking as I ran down the dark, empty streets.

Back to Julie's house. My car parked at the curb. All the lights off in her house. The car bathed in darkness.

I fumbled for the key. Drove home in a frenzied blur of lights and passing houses and trees. Drove home without stopping, without seeing stop signs or traffic lights.

And when my house came into view, the world finally came back into focus. I actually felt relieved. I could stop running. Maybe I could find some safety inside.

My parents would be horrified when I confessed everything to them. They wouldn't understand. And it would be hard to make them believe me. But they would try to help me. I knew I could count on that.

My shoes slipped on the wet grass as I started to the kitchen door. I stopped short when a figure jumped out from the darkness at the side of the house.

Blade. Eyes glowing. He grabbed my arm with his remaining hand. “Time for you to join me, Caitlyn,” he rasped through his ragged, torn lips.

I tried to tug free, but he was too strong. He pulled me toward him. Slipped a hand behind my head. And forced his lips against mine. His cold, dead lips, grinding against mine.

My stomach churned. I couldn't end the kiss. His mouth scraped against mine. I could feel the bump of stitches that he had missed.

Sick. I'm going to be sick.

The horrifying kiss seemed to last forever. Finally, Blade pulled his head back. He stared into my eyes. His glowing green eyes had no pupils. They were solid glass.

“It's time, Caitlyn,” he repeated. “Time for you to come with me.”

I gasped. “Come? Come where?”

He slid his face close to my ear and whispered: “
To the grave
.”

 

40.

“Nooooo!”

The scream burst from deep in my chest.

“Nooooo!” I tossed my head back and shrieked. Gathering all my strength, I shot my arms out and broke his hold on me.

He stumbled back. I struggled to breathe, the cold, sour taste of his lips still on mine.

With a desperate cry, I spun away and searched the ground for my bag. It had fallen into a flower bed at the side of the driveway. I took a step toward it, and Blade came at me. Arms outstretched, he roared as he prepared to tackle me.

I swung to the right and wriggled out of his reach as he dove. He shot past me and plunged to the ground, uttering a cry of surprise.

I made a grab for the bag. But he wrapped a hand around it before I could get there. He tossed it in the air. I watched it come down on the roof of my car.

As he climbed to his feet, grunting and growling like an angry animal, I raced to the car. I pulled the bag off the roof, gripping the handle in both hands.

Blade slashed a fist at me. I ducked, and the punch sailed over my head.

“You're coming with me,” he growled. “You're dead, too, Caitlyn. You and I, we're dead together.”

“No way!” I cried. I shot my hand into the bag, frantically pushing everything out of the way, fumbling, as I watched him prepare to lunge at me again.

There!

I had it. The knife at the bottom of the bag. The knife that had already killed him once. I wrapped my trembling fingers around the handle.

As he dove for me, I slid the blade out and swiped the knife at him.

Missed.

He slammed into the car, so hard it shook on its tires. He uttered a muffled gasp. Bounced off.

I spun and tried to drive the blade into his back.

“
Kill him again.”
Those were Deena's instructions. That was her only solution. The only way to get rid of a dead boyfriend.
“Kill him again.”