The Dead Boyfriend (4 page)

 

7.

I was daydreaming about Blade, Diary, my elbows on the popcorn counter, gazing at the nearly empty movie theater lobby. Someone had spilled a plate of cheese nachos on the floor in front of the men's restroom, and Ricky, the manager, was mopping up the mess. He was in a bad mood. But what else is new?

The popcorn machine was nearly full. It was a really slow night. I thought about helping myself to a bag of Twizzlers. I hadn't had any dinner. But with Ricky in such a foul mood, I decided it wasn't a good idea.

Ricky is twenty-four or twenty-five. He's lanky and blond with freckles around his nose and cheeks. He has these big hands that look like cartoon hands because they're too big for his skinny arms. Everything about him is bony and awkward. His jeans are too big, and the Polo shirts he wears are droopy and wrinkled.

He's almost always in a grouchy mood. I think it's because he doesn't want to be the manager here. He told me once he planned to go to Penn and be a Business major. But he didn't get accepted and now he takes courses online, and he still lives at home with his mother.

My phone vibrated. I pulled it from my pocket. A text from Blade:
C U tomorrow?

Ricky finished mopping and walked over toward me, carrying the mop and bucket. I slid the phone back into my jeans. “Caitlyn, don't just stand there,” he said.

“There's no one here,” I said, motioning with one hand. “What am I supposed to do?”

“Wipe off the display case counters,” he said. “Check the ice machine.”

I nodded. “No problem.” I'd learned not to argue with him. I wanted to keep this job. It was pretty easy, and it paid fifteen dollars an hour (and all the popcorn I could sneak).

I found a cloth in back and started to wipe down the glass countertop. My stomach growled. Those Twizzlers looked mighty tempting. I was at the far end of the counter when I saw someone enter the lobby.

It took me a few seconds to recognize Deena Fear. I stared at her as she approached the counter. She wore a dark purple sweater over a short black skirt and black tights. Her purple lips matched the sweater.

Her long black hair flowed down her back in thick tangles. She had dark mascara circling her eyes. It made me think of a raccoon.

Is she following me? Why am I suddenly seeing her everywhere?

The questions made my whole body tense up. I could feel my muscles tighten. “Hey, Deena.” I tried to look casual.

She leaned her hands on the counter, her black fingernails glistening, smearing the glass I had just wiped. “I remembered you work here,” she said.

I nodded. “What movie are you seeing?”

She pointed to Auditorium Four. “
Vampire High School III,
” she said.

I should have known.

“The first two were awesome,” she said. “Life-changing. Seriously.”

“I … didn't see them,” I said.

“I love the books, too. I have them all. It's the
best
series.”

Over her shoulder, I saw Ricky watching us from the doorway to Auditorium Two.

“How's Blade?” Deena asked. The raccoon eyes peered into mine.

“Fine,” I said. Ricky didn't like for us to chat with people. We were supposed to stick to business. “Do you want some popcorn or something?”

She ignored my question. Her fingernails tapped the countertop. “Sometimes I see things,” she said, lowering her voice to a whisper. “Good things and bad things.”

I felt a chill. I suddenly remembered my bracelet. How her hand wrapped around it. How it burned hot, then melted onto my skin. I lowered my arm, keeping the bracelet out of sight.

“I … don't understand,” I said.

“I want you to be my friend,” she whispered, not lowering her gaze, not blinking. “I don't want anything bad to happen to you.”

“Uh … thanks,” I murmured.

Ricky hadn't moved. He was still watching, an unhappy look on his face.

“Does Blade talk about me?” Deena asked.

My breath caught in my throat. “Talk about you? Well…”

“Does he? Does he talk about me?”

“Well … I don't know,” I said. “About what exactly?”

Her eyes still hadn't blinked. She kept them locked on me. The tiny silver skull on the side of her nose appeared to gleam. “We should talk,” she said finally. “We could be friends, right? We could be friends and sit down together and talk about Blade?”

I was too stunned to hide my surprise. “Talk about him? You mean?”

Her expression changed. Her eyes went dead. “I see,” she murmured. Her pale hands clasped together over the countertop. “I see. You don't want to talk. I get it.”

“No—wait,” I said.

She slammed her hands on the glass. Behind me, the popcorn machine suddenly started to crackle, making new popcorn. I jumped at the sound.

I turned to the machine in surprise. Beside it, both soda dispensers began pouring out soda. Sparks flew from the glass hotdog warmer. It buzzed and shorted out.

“Hey!” I shouted.

Across the lobby, I saw the alarm on Ricky's face. He came trotting toward us, shouting my name.

Deena had a triumphant grin on her purple lips. Her dark eyes flashed. “Sure you don't want to talk?”

I lunged to the back counter to shut off the soda dispensers. The soda was already puddling on the floor. My sneakers sank into the sticky, dark liquid.

I saw Deena slide her hands off the glass countertop. She edged back a step.

Popcorn began flowing over the sides of the machine like lava pouring out of a volcano. I struggled with the soda dispenser. The levers were stuck. A river of soda ran behind the counter.

“I know we'll talk,” Deena said. And then she whispered, “Sorry about your bracelet.”

Over the rattle of the popping popcorn and the rush of the soda pouring onto the floor, I wasn't sure I heard her right. “What did you say?”

But she turned and began to stride quickly toward Auditorium Four.

Ricky stepped breathlessly to the counter. “What's happening? What's happening here? Why did you turn everything on?”

“I didn't!” I cried. “I didn't touch anything.”

Ricky swung himself over the counter. His shoes splashed in the soda on the floor. He reached behind the dispensers and pulled the plugs. I hit the
Stop
button on the popcorn machine again and again. Finally, it slowed and the crackling and popping stopped.

Ricky and I both stood there, breathing hard, staring at the incredible mess.

“This is impossible,” I muttered, shaking my head. “This can't be happening.” I turned to Ricky. “I didn't touch anything. I swear. I was talking to the girl from school and … and…”

Ricky swept a bony hand back over his hair. “Must have been a power surge,” he said. “Some kind of power problem. From the electric company. That's the only thing that could have caused this.”

“Yes,” I agreed. “A power surge.”

But I didn't believe it. I believed it was a warning from Deena Fear.

Ricky walked to the supply closet to get mops. I pulled a large trash can behind the counter and began shoving the extra popcorn into it.

I had no idea the evening was going to get even worse.

 

8.

The soles of my sneakers were sticky from the spilled soda. My shoes made swamp noises—
thwuck thwuck thwuck
—on the concrete of the mall parking lot as I made my way to my car.

It took Ricky and me nearly an hour to clean up the counter area. We worked in silence, but every few minutes Ricky muttered, “How could this happen?”

I had a pretty good idea. But of course I couldn't share it with anyone. Who would believe it? If I said Deena Fear had power over those machines, people would lock me up as a crazed psycho, and I wouldn't blame them.

I now realized that she had a thing about Blade. I probably should have caught on earlier. But what did that mean? Did she plan to ruin my life with wild stunts like with my bracelet and the movie food machines? Was that her plan to win Blade?

That didn't make any sense at all.

I pictured her dark-circled eyes burning into mine, as if trying to penetrate, to invade my brain. And again, I heard the creepy
click
of her long black-and-white fingernails on the counter glass.

My head was swimming with these crazy, impossible thoughts. I debated whether or not to tell Blade about Deena, about how she kept asking about him, asking if he ever talked about her.

Did he know her before I met him? He said he didn't. I should believe what he told me. He said he'd never heard of the Fear family.

Blade hadn't lived in Shadyside for long, but that was a little hard to believe. I think when people move here, they are told immediately to steer clear of the Fears and Fear Street.

I always thought it was all superstition and made-up stories about them. But with Deena around, I was no longer so sure.

With all these thoughts making my brain whir, I walked past my car. I stopped and tried to remember where I'd parked. Level C. And the sign in front of me told me I had walked all the way to D.

Get a grip, Caitlyn.

I turned and started to walk back, my sticky shoes
thwacking
on the concrete. I guess the sound kept me from hearing the footsteps behind me.

I didn't realize I was being followed until the man was only a few feet behind me. I heard the rapid scrape of shoes and wheezing breath.

I didn't have a chance to run. I didn't even have a chance to be scared. Until he grabbed me roughly and spun me around to face him.

I stared into the red eyes of a thick-stubbled face, angry, half-hidden behind the hood of a dark hoodie. I'd never seen him before.

He squeezed my shoulders and shook me hard, the red eyes glowing, his jaw clenched.

“Let me go!” I screamed. My voice rang loudly off the concrete parking garage walls. I whipped my head around. “Help me! Somebody!”

But the hooded man and I were alone.

“Give me your wallet. I can hurt you.” His voice was a harsh rasp from deep in his throat. He squeezed my arms so hard, pain shot up and down my whole body.

I struggled to breathe. “Let go,” I choked out in a frantic whisper. “Let me go. Please…”

 

9.

He was wheezing now, spit rolling over his lips.

“I can hurt you,” he repeated. “Your wallet. Hurry.”

I forced myself to breathe. My heart was thudding so hard, my chest ached. “Okay,” I choked out.

Still holding my arms, he lowered his head, brought it close to mine, so close I could smell his sour breath.

I knew this was my chance, Diary.

I'm not the kind of girl to give in easily, to surrender without a fight. I knew this was the moment those self-defense classes I took last year would be useful.

I arched back a few inches, as if trying to pull away from him. Then I brought my right leg up. I snapped it up hard and fast. He uttered a startled gurgling sound as my knee smashed the middle of his face.

I heard a sick
crack
. The sound of his nose breaking.

His hands slid off my arms. He grabbed his face, as bright red blood began to spurt from his nose. With an animal howl of pain, he dropped to his knees. He covered his face with both hands. Blood flowed through his fingers, down the front of his hoodie. He howled again.

I stood there for a long moment, gasping for breath, enjoying my victory, my heart thudding in my chest … thudding so hard I could feel every throb of blood.

I watched him for a second or two. Then I forced my legs to move. I took off, my sneakers pounding the concrete, ran to my car, and drove away.

*   *   *

“Wow. Is it heavy? Can I hold it?” Julie asked.

“The handle is pretty awesome,” Miranda said. “How do you open it?”

“This button here,” I said, raising it to her face. “You press it with your thumb and the blade slides open.” I waved it around. “It's a stainless steel blade. Careful. It's amazingly sharp. It'll cut through anything.”

We were in the small den at Julie's house, and I was showing them the knife I had bought at Hunters & Company, at the mall, the knife I planned to carry in my bag from now on.

The guy at Hunters told me all about it and how to use it. It's called a Magnum Ypsilon Tan G-10 Folding Knife. The handle is black-and-tan and it feels great, heavy but not too heavy, comfortable in your hand. The blade is amazing.

I told the salesman my dad was a collector, and I was buying it for a birthday surprise. I think he believed me. I don't think he could see on my face that I was buying it for protection, buying it for me.

“This is dangerous,” Julie said, shaking her head. “I know you went through a bad thing, Caitlyn, but…”

“It's just for emergencies,” I said. “I'm not going to walk around stabbing people.”

“You're not allowed to bring it to school,” Miranda said. “If you get caught…”

“I won't get caught,” I said. “You know that big bag I always carry. I'll keep the knife at the bottom, under everything else.”

They tried to argue. But they know me. Once I make up my mind, that's it. I knew I'd never use the knife. But having it with me made me feel better.

I got lucky in the parking garage with my knee kick. But what if that creep had come after me? What if he had tried to kill me?

The thought made me shudder. I still thought about it all the time, still pictured his stubbly, drooling, red-eyed face, still felt his hands squeezing my arms.

My phone beeped. I tucked the knife into my bag and pulled out the phone. “A text from Blade,” I told them. “We're going out tonight.” I tapped a reply. “We text each other all day long. It's awesome.”