The Dead Boyfriend (19 page)

He twisted his body to the side. The knife blade cut only air.

Green eyes glowing angrily, he raised both hands toward me.

I swung the knife again, off-balance this time. He lurched forward and grabbed my arm. Grabbed my hand and struggled to pull the knife free.

I opened my mouth to protest, but I was breathing too hard, wheezing noisily. No sound escaped my mouth.

I tried to pull my arms away, to twist my body away from him. But he wrapped his hand around mine. And grabbed the knife from me.

A wide-eyed look of triumph spread for only an instant over his dead, pale face. And then he moved toward me, holding the knife blade high, aimed at my heart. He swung it down fast.

I stumbled and fell. Fell flat on my back. And before I could scramble to my feet, Blade was on top of me. He straddled my body, his knees digging into my sides.

I shoved him with both hands. Desperate to squirm out from under him. But he had me pinned down. Helpless.

The blank eyes bulging in his head, he raised the knife high, and I watched the blade, the gleaming blade, come plunging down.

 

41.

A scream escaped my throat. With a burst of strength, I grabbed his hand before he could bury the knife in me. Straining, groaning, I pushed the hand away.

We fought, a desperate wrestling match, me on my back, Blade straddling me, bent over me, using all his strength against me to push the blade down.

I gasped as the blade point came within an inch of my neck. With a superhuman heave, I shoved it back up. Blade uttered a cry of anger, frustrated that he could not stab me.

I twisted my body, struggling to squirm out from under him. Twisted hard—and saw Deena Fear running up the driveway.

“Deena—” I gasped her name.

Blade raised his head, turned to the driveway. He stopped his attempts to force the blade down. Just for a second, he loosened up.

And I took advantage to swipe the knife from his hand.

He was still gazing at Deena as I steadied the knife, raised the blade, and plunged it up, straight up, into his stomach.

He uttered a breathy gasp. His hands flew up.

I stabbed him again. Stabbed the top of his stomach. Sliced through the red hoodie. Cut and sliced. Stabbed his chest between his ribs. Again. Again.

No blood this time. How could there be blood? He was dead. And now he was dead again, only he didn't seem to realize it.

I couldn't see Deena's face. Her hair blew wild about her head, covering her face. She stood with her arms crossed at the edge of the driveway, stood very still, made no attempt to interfere. As if she wasn't surprised. As if this was what she expected to find.

Finally, Blade uttered a final groan. His body started to slump to the right. I reached up, grabbed his side, and gave a hard push. He fell off me, his head bouncing on the grass.

I slid away from him. Gave him another push. He was stretched out on his side on the ground now. Eyes wide open but not moving. Not moving. Still as death.

Deena rushed forward and helped pull me to my feet. I stood there, my face wet with tears, my arms aching from the battle, blood pulsing at my temples.

My knees buckled and I started to fall. Deena held onto me, kept me standing up. I leaned against her. I couldn't catch my breath. I felt like I was choking.

“Wh-what are we going to do?” I stammered, my voice a choked rasp.

“Easy. Take it easy,” Deena said softly, holding onto me. “I'll take care of it.”

I blinked. Wiped the cold sweat off my forehead with the back of my hand. “Take care of it? How do you mean?”

She didn't answer. I started to feel a little more normal. My arms ached from my struggle with Blade. My neck felt stiff and sore. I glimpsed Blade, sprawled lifelessly on his side, head tilted at a strange angle, mouth hanging open.

“What do you mean take care of it?” I repeated.

Deena tugged her wild hair off her face with both hands. “I'll take him back to the chapel. Return him to his coffin.”

I studied her eyes, trying to determine if she was telling the truth. Did she mean it? Would she leave him dead this time? Not bring him back to torture me some more? Not bring him back in hopes that he would be
hers
next time?

“His family will want to bury him right away,” Deena murmured. She motioned to the body. “Help me get him in my car.”

I started to follow her across the grass. “I'll come with you,” I said. “I want to make sure—”

“No. You're totally messed up,” Deena said. “He nearly killed you, Caitlyn. Go inside. Take a long hot bath. Get some rest.”

“But I should—” I tried to protest.

She waved me back. “No. Just help me lift him into my backseat. I can do this myself. Really.” I grabbed his legs. She started to lift him from under the shoulders. “It's my fault, after all,” she said. “I never should have brought him back. I … I'm sorry.”

I didn't reply to that. I felt too weary. I could barely hold my head up. Blade weighed more than I thought. Or maybe it's just that dead bodies are really heavy.

We dragged him to her car at the bottom of the driveway. We lifted him off the ground and heaved him facedown onto the backseat. His legs stuck stiffly out of the car. Deena carefully tucked him in and slammed the door.

She walked to the driver's door. “I can handle this. Seriously,” she said. “Go inside, Caitlyn. Get some rest.”

I won't be able to rest. How can I rest after what I did tonight?

I stared into her headlights as she backed down the drive. My mind was spinning. My whole body ached. I decided I had to follow her.

She had aroused my suspicions. Why did she insist on returning Blade to the chapel on her own. I didn't think she was just being considerate of me. I didn't think she was that worried about me.

What did she really plan to do? Was she telling the truth, or did she have another plan for Blade's body?

The lights were on in the den at the far side of my house. I knew my parents were waiting there. I slipped into the car and, as silently, as I could, backed slowly down the driveway with the headlights off.

I could see Deena's car a block or so ahead of me. I kept the lights off. I didn't want her to see me following. I slowed down as she stopped for a light. She made a right turn and I waited, even though the light was green.

There was no traffic on the road, so I let her get a three-block lead. Was this the way to the chapel? I'd been concentrating so hard on the back of her car that I hadn't looked to see where we were.

Deena's twin red brake lights floated in front of my eyes. I saw her make another right turn. I kept thinking about Blade, back in his coffin. Blade finally buried deep in the ground where he couldn't come after me, where he couldn't try to pull me with him.

I was nearly to the right turn when I heard the rise and fall of the siren and saw the flashing lights in my rearview mirror.

As the patrol car came into focus in the mirror, I let out a groan and swung the car to the right. The cop car edged past me, and I saw a dark-uniformed officer in the passenger seat wave me to the curb.

I hope Deena really is returning Blade's body to the chapel.

That was my first thought. My second thought was more frightening:
Are the police stopping me because they know I killed Blade? Have they finally solved the case? Are they arresting me for murder?

I gripped the wheel with both hands and clenched my jaw, trying to stop the chills that ran down my body.

I stared straight ahead until I heard the hard tap on my window. I turned and saw Officer Rivera peering in at me. “Caitlyn? Is that you? Step out of the car, please.”

 

42.

I grabbed the door handle, then hesitated. I spun around and saw my bag on the seat. Was the knife inside it? Or had I left it on the ground near my driveway where it had fallen?

Rivera tapped impatiently on the window. “Please step out of the car.” He raised a flashlight and sent a white beam of halogen light over my face.

I shut my eyes and climbed out of the car. I stood there stiffly, blinking in the bright light. “Wh-what's wrong?” I stammered softly. I tensed myself for the bad news.

I turned away from the light and glimpsed his partner still behind the wheel of the patrol car. Rivera studied me intently. He had one hand on his holster.

Ready to arrest me for murder.

He lowered the light from my face. “Caitlyn, were you aware that you were driving without headlights?”

“Huh? Excuse me?”

“Didn't you notice your headlights were off? Didn't it seem a little dark to you?”

“Well…” My throat tightened. I couldn't speak. I wanted to burst out laughing. I was expecting to be handcuffed and dragged off to prison for murder. And these guys pulled me over because of my headlights.

I pressed my hand over my mouth so he wouldn't see my grin.

“Caitlyn, have you been drinking?” Rivera brought his face close to mine, I guess, to smell my breath.

“I don't drink,” I said.

“It's pretty late,” he said, his eyes glancing around the dark street. “Where are you going this time of night?”

“I'm just … coming from a friend's house,” I said. “My friend Julie.”

“And where does Julie live?”

“On Bank Street. A couple of blocks from the mall.”

He nodded. He took off his cap and swept back his black hair. “Well, I'll let you go,” he said. “Is everything okay? Did you just forget about the headlights?”

I nodded. “Yeah. I was thinking about school. I just forgot.”

He pushed down his cap. “Well, be careful, okay? Put on your lights.”

“Will do,” I said. I watched him walk back to the patrol car. He slid into the passenger seat and closed the door. He and his partner didn't pull out. I guess they were waiting for me to go first.

I clicked on the headlights. Then I shifted into drive and drove away. Too late to try to catch up with Deena. I turned at the next block and made my way toward home.

A heavy wave of dread rolled over me. My stomach began to ache. I knew my parents were waiting up for me. How would I explain tonight to them? What was I going to say?

I'm sure they were mortified to have that emotional confrontation with me in front of Julie's parents. And how could I explain it? As I pulled up the driveway, my brain was doing jumping jacks in my head, leaping from thought to thought until I felt like my head was about to blow apart.

Sure enough, the front door swung open before I even climbed out of the car, and Mom and Dad came rushing at me. “Are you okay? Where did you go? How do you feel?”

I had the car door open only a few inches. “At least, let me out of the car,” I said.

They obediently stepped back. I climbed out, straightening my top over my jeans. They put their arms around my shoulders and we walked into the house in a line.

“Can you explain to me what's going on?” Dad demanded after we had settled on facing couches in the den.

“I'm perfectly fine,” I said. “I'm just tired, that's all. Way tired. But I'm okay. Seriously.”
Especially since Blade is dead again and won't be coming to haunt me.

“Do you expect us to believe that?” Mom said, arms crossed tightly in front of her. She's the tough one. I knew I'd have trouble getting past her.

“Well … yes,” I said. “I do expect you to believe me. I'm not a liar, Mom. I think you know that.”

She ignored that. “Where did you go?” she demanded, eyes piercing mine. I could practically feel the heat from them. “Where did you go after you ran out of Julie's?”

I shrugged. “Just drove around.”

“Caitlyn, you have to explain what's going on,” Dad said, his fingers tapping the couch arm. “What did you tell Julie? What did you say to get your friend so upset?”

“You have to tell us,” Mom insisted. “You can't just shrug it off and not say anything.”

“Look, it was a joke,” I said. “I made up a story about Blade Hampton and—”

“That boy who died?” Mom interrupted. She shook her head. “That was so sad.”

“Yes, Blade Hampton,” I said. I shut my eyes and rubbed my temples. “It was a joke. I told Julie a story about him and … I forgot she doesn't have a sense of humor. I guess she thought I was serious.”

They both stared at me in silence. Were they buying my lame story?

No. Not at all.

Too late to make up a new one.

A hush fell over the room. Dad tapped the couch arm rhythmically. Mom didn't move. She finally broke the silence. “Well, Caitlyn … your joke must not have been too funny. Whatever you said to her got her so upset, she called us and said you were having a breakdown.”

I forced a laugh. “Breakdown? What's a breakdown? You mean like a car?”

“Don't be glib,” Dad said sharply. “Your friend was really upset and worried about you.”

“Sorry,” I muttered. “But you've got to believe me. It was all a joke. I guess Julie took it the wrong way. I'm perfectly okay. I'm not a wacko. I haven't gone berserk or anything.”

I started to stand up. Maybe I could make it to the stairs and escape to my room. I could see from their faces that they were unsatisfied.

My parents aren't dumb. In fact, they're really smart. And they knew they weren't getting a very good explanation from me. They knew they weren't getting any explanation at all.

“You'd better go to bed,” Dad said, motioning to the stairs. His expression was suddenly sad, his eyes weary, as if I had disappointed him.

“But we're not finished,” Mom said, jumping up and leaning over me. “We're not finished, Caitlyn. We'll come back to this, hear me. We'll talk when you're not so exhausted.”