The Dead Boyfriend (20 page)

“Good,” I said. I didn't know what else to say. I stopped at the den doorway and turned back to them. “Sorry,” I murmured. “Sorry you got that phone call from Julie and had to run over there. Sorry. Seriously. Sorry if you were worried about me…” My voice trailed off. “Goodnight.” I grabbed the banister and pulled myself up the stairs.

I paused at the top of the stairs. I could still hear Mom and Dad, both talking heatedly in the den. I heard Dad say, “Teenagers all have secrets. But she'll be okay.”

Secrets? He didn't know the half of it.

I picked up a stray sock that someone must have dropped in the hall and carried it to my room. I closed the bedroom door carefully behind me. The window was closed and the air was stuffy, but I didn't bother to open it. I began to pace tensely back and forth. My room is small. Not much room to pace. I felt like a caged animal.

How would I ever get to sleep?

If Blade was safely back in his coffin, maybe I could begin to rest again. I'd be in even better shape if I knew his coffin was deep in the ground.

But I had no way of knowing Deena's real intentions. I didn't trust her. I knew she was insane about Blade. But … insane enough to awake him again? To try her magic on him one more time?

“No. No way,” I muttered to myself.

I had no way to get in touch with her. She wasn't responding to texts or phone calls. It was too late to sneak out and drive to her house. I just had to pray that she returned Blade's body as she said she would.

I changed into a nightshirt, clicked off the light, and climbed into bed. My hands felt clammy. My heart was still racing. My mind skipped from thought to thought, from ugly picture to ugly picture.

I killed someone. I killed someone tonight.…

I knew it would take a long time to fall asleep, Diary, and it did. I lay staring at the shadows on the window for at least an hour. Somehow, I finally felt myself fading into unconsciousness.

I fell into a deep, dreamless sleep. I must have slept a long time.

When I opened my eyes, red morning sunlight filled the window and poured onto the foot of my bed. I blinked, and slowly realized I'd been awakened by a sound. I started to pull myself up, listening hard.

Yes. A tapping sound.
Tap tap tap.
Soft but insistent.

Tapping on the window. I raised my eyes. A shadow appeared in the red sunlight.

I held my breath. Terror made me grip the bed sheet with both hands.

Tap tap tap
.

Someone tapping on my bedroom window. Just inches away from me.

Blade!

 

43.

The tapping repeated, but the shadow vanished from the window glass. I forced myself to sit up.

Oh, please, no. Go away, Blade. Please go away.

Another drumbeat of soft taps.

Shielding my eyes from the bright sun with one hand, I peered out.

“Blade?”

I uttered a long sigh of relief.

Not Blade.

A woodpecker perched on the siding beside the window, pecked away, tapping its steady rhythm.

If I was in a normal state of mind, I would have remembered. This wasn't the first morning that woodpecker decided to have breakfast right outside my room.

But I wasn't in a normal state of mind. And as I got dressed for school, I wondered sadly if I'd
ever
be in a normal state again.

*   *   *

I avoided Julie and Miranda at school. I saw them watching me from across the hall before homeroom. They were whispering, their faces close together, peering at me as if I were crazy or some strange new animal species.

Julie started toward me. Maybe she wanted to apologize again for getting my parents on my case. But I wasn't ready to tell her everything was hunky-dory again. I felt betrayed. I knew I'd probably get over that. But not yet.

I slammed my locker door and hurried off in the other direction, leaving them both open-mouthed behind me. I stepped into the classroom and searched up and down for Blade. Can you blame me?

He'd surprised me in school before, the day I tried to read my violin essay. I had no guarantee he wouldn't be back to haunt me. No guarantee he wouldn't be waiting for me, waiting to grab me in English class, or my Advanced Math class, or in the library where I had my fourth-period study hall.

I knew I had to stay alert all day, Diary. It wasn't easy. It was a horrible way to spend the day, always frightened, never able to relax or let my guard down for a second.

At lunch period, I grabbed a tuna fish sandwich in the lunchroom and carried it outside to the parking lot. I didn't want to run into Julie and Miranda. We always sat together at a table on the far side, and I figured it would be less awkward for all three of us if I ate outside by myself.

It was a warm day, with strong sunlight making it feel more like summer than spring. The daffodils behind the school, bright as sunshine, fluttered in a soft breeze. Two squirrels scampered together along the edge of the parking lot.

I leaned against the trunk of my car and tried to eat the sandwich. But my throat was dry and I didn't bring anything to drink. I wasn't hungry anyway. My stomach was knotted tight.

Suddenly, I knew what I had to do. The rest of the school day would be a nightmare if I continued to expect seeing Blade. I couldn't go back inside.

I climbed into my car and tossed the uneaten sandwich on the passenger seat. I fumbled the key from my bag and started the engine.

The North Hills Chapel was a short drive from school. My plan was to drive to the chapel and make sure that Blade had been returned. Once I knew that for sure, I could return to school and maybe … just maybe … my life would start to return to normal.

When I arrived at the chapel, I found the front doors open. Blue-uniformed workers were setting up ladders on one wall, preparing to clean the stained glass windows that ran along the ceiling.

I started to the front, searching for someone who could help me. And nearly got tangled in a wide canvas tarp two men were spreading over the aisle.

“Is anyone here?” My voice came out louder than I'd planned. Several of the workers turned to look at me.

A gray-haired woman in a maid's uniform had been hidden behind the podium on the altar. She poked her head up, a dust cloth in her hand. “Can I help you?”

I nodded. “Yes. I'm trying to get some information.”

Before she could answer, the minister appeared from the back hall. Reverend Preller was wearing the same brown sport jacket he had worn at Blade's funeral. He carried a clipboard in one hand and had a pen tucked behind one ear.

He narrowed his eyes at me. “Yes?”

A crash behind me made me jump. I turned to see that one of the workers had dropped a bucket. The soapy water flowed over the carpeted aisle.

The minister scratched the back of his hair. “As you can see, we're closed today. But if you need information—?”

I suddenly realized I didn't know how to ask my question. I couldn't just blurt out “Is Blade Hampton in his coffin?” I stood there with my mouth hanging open, thinking hard.

“I … I came to ask about Blade Hampton,” I finally managed to say.

His eyes flashed. His features tightened. I'd definitely grabbed his attention.

“The funeral was last Saturday. Are you a relative?” he asked, studying me intently.

“Yes,” I lied. “He … he was my cousin.” My heart began to thud. Did he believe me?

“Well, I can't really tell you—” he started.

“I just need to know where he's buried,” I said. “I … My family got to Shadyside late. And we need to know…”

He scratched the back of his hair again. “Buried?”

I nodded, biting my bottom lip.

Please answer. Please tell me that he has been buried.

“Miss, have you talked to Blade's parents? If so, you know they are in shock. You know they are beyond themselves with grief.”

“W-We … we just got here,” I stammered. “We haven't had a chance—”

“Blade hasn't been buried,” Preller said. “Because his body has been stolen.”

 

44.

“Oh, wow.” I couldn't hide my horror and disappointment. I could feel the blood rushing to my face. My knees started to fold. Deena didn't return him to his coffin.

I don't know what Reverend Preller thought. I really didn't care. Blade was out there somewhere. And I knew he wouldn't rest till he dragged me with him, dragged me to my death.

“Sorry for the shock,” he said. But I had already spun away from him and was running full speed, running past the startled workers.

To my car. I slammed the door. Started it up. Pounded my foot on the gas until the engine roared. I wanted to roar along with it. I wanted to roar and scream and howl like a wild animal.

I don't want to die, Blade. I don't want to join you.

But I knew he was waiting somewhere for me. Deena Fear was a liar. Not just a liar, she was evil. She couldn't give up her desperate hope that Blade would decide he wanted her instead of me.

She couldn't give up.…

I pounded the steering wheel with both fists. Pounded till both hands ached. One of the chapel workers stopped to peer in at me. I turned my head away, and he kept walking.

I didn't know if I was more frightened or angry. I only knew I was about to go insane, totally berserk.

It was time to tell my parents. I had no choice. It was time to tell them the whole story. I knew it would be impossible for them to believe what had happened in the last few weeks.

But I had to try.…

I knew they were both home. Mom thought she might be coming down with the flu, and Dad took a personal day so he could stay home and take care of her.

I burst into the house, my head spinning.
Where do I start? How do I start to tell them what has happened?

I didn't want to burst into tears and be unable to talk. But as I ran through the house, I wasn't sure I could hold myself together.

“Mom? Dad?” I found them sitting side by side on the couch in the den. I roared into the room. Opened my mouth to try to start my story. Stopped when I saw what they had on their laps.

And let out a horrified scream: “What are you
doing
with that?”

 

45.

I stood there, my finger trembling as I pointed at my diary. My diary sitting open in front of them.

“How did you get that? What are you doing with that?” I screamed.

Dad went pale. Mom was the first to speak. “Cathy-Ann, I know we shouldn't have read it. I know we invaded your privacy. But it was open on your desk and … and…”

“We were so worried about you.” Dad finished her sentence.

“B-B-But—” I sputtered.

“We had to find out what has been troubling you,” Mom said. “Cathy-Ann, we had no idea. Reading your diary … So much violence. And killing. And crazy things happening.”

“Your diary reads like a horror story,” Dad said. His eyes were wet. His chin trembled. He was as pale as the sofa cushion.

“It
is
a horror story!” I cried, rushing over to them, standing above them.”

“Why did you change your name?” Mom demanded. “Why did you call yourself Caitlyn?”

I let out a long sigh. “Because it's just a story, Mom. It isn't my diary. It isn't a diary at all.”

Mom blinked. “But Cathy-Ann … all your friends are in it. Julie and Miranda. They're real people. And your teachers are in it. And—”

“I used them in my story, Mom. I used them as characters because I knew them. I knew how to describe them. But it isn't true. It's not a diary. It's a novel I've been writing. None of it is true. I swear. None of it.”

Dad swallowed hard. He kept blinking, as if he was having trouble focusing. “It's a novel? It's fiction?”

“Yes, I've been writing a novel,” I said. I rolled my eyes. I let out a bitter laugh. “Did you two honestly believe that I killed a boy? Seriously? You believed I stabbed a boy to death—
twice
? Did you?”

Mom hesitated. “Well … no. Of course not, dear. But that boy Blade
did
die. He drowned, didn't he? On vacation with his parents?”

I nodded. “It was very upsetting. He was a friend of mine. So I used him in the story. But—”

“It says you killed a stranger,” Mom said, biting her bottom lip. “You wrote that you stabbed an innocent boy in a bus shelter. Cathy-Ann—?”

“It isn't true. It's all made up,” I insisted. “It's fiction, Mom. Can't you understand?”

“Well, who is this Deena Fear?” Dad demanded. “I never heard you mention her before.”

I rolled my eyes again. “That's because she doesn't exist, Dad. There
is
no Deena Fear. I made her up. You know all those crazy stories people tell about Fear Street. I made up a new one.”

He nodded, exchanging a glance with Mom. She ran her hand over a handwritten page in her lap. “Well, Cathy-Ann, this is quite a piece of writing. But … I'm sorry to say this, but it's the work of a very troubled person.”

“Maybe you need to see someone,” Dad said. “These thoughts you have here—”

“You two are ridiculous,” I said. “I'm not troubled at all. You know I love to write. I decided to write a horror novel. That's all. I used my imagination. I dreamed up a frightening story.”

I tugged at both sides of my hair. “But that doesn't mean I'm troubled. That doesn't mean I have horrifying abnormal thoughts. I made up characters and I wrote a story. Can't you two understand that?”

They shook their heads. They couldn't get over the fact that my writing was filled with violence and blood and murder and a boy coming back from the dead. I guess they thought I should write about kittens and lollipops.