The Locker (5 page)

“You promised,” I said again, only this time I started off down the sidewalk and didn't even hear the horn honking behind me as Aunt Celia drove up. I stopped in my tracks and turned to see Dobkin standing there, torn between running after me and jumping into the van. So I wheeled around and climbed inside, and he climbed into the front next to Aunt Celia, and neither of us spoke to each other all the way home. I know Aunt Celia noticed, but she was too tactful to say anything. Instead she just directed questions at each of us about how our days had gone, and didn't try to make us chitchat. Once we reached the house, I headed straight for my room while Dobkin hung around in the garage, pretending he'd lost something under one of the car seats.

I closed my door and locked it and threw myself down on the bed. And then I shut my eyes and tried to blank out Dobkin's accusation, but it kept echoing over and over in my head till I thought I'd scream.

“
You remember … you smelled it once before.…
”

“It's a coincidence,” I muttered fiercely to myself. “It's a coincidence, that's
all
it is. It doesn't have anything to do with anything. The stupid door on the stupid locker was just stuck, and I shouldn't have gone to school on an empty stomach—”

Tears filled my eyes, and I buried my face in my pillow, trying not to remember but not being able to help it. That night two years ago … lying across my bed and trying to study for a test … that sick feeling in my stomach, making me weak, making me nauseated … and that awful stench—every nerve, every sense, every heartbeat screaming, on fire, twisting with pain and premonition …

“Dobkin,” I whispered.

I'd gone into Dobkin's room that night. Sick and terrified, I'd gone straight into Dobkin's room, and I'd held him, and then the doorbell had rung.

I could still remember the sound of that doorbell. Shrieking and shrieking through our house that would never be the same again.

“
I'm afraid there's been an accident.…
”

And I'd held Dobkin all through the night and then later all through the funeral, wondering what would happen to us now that both our parents were dead.…

“
You remember … you smelled it once before.…
”

“Oh, God.”

The sound of my voice got through to me somehow. I raised my face from the bed and stared at my door, and then I got up and went across the room and opened it, knowing Dobkin would be standing there silently in the hall.

He was.

We looked at each other without saying a word, and he came in and perched on the foot of my bed while I locked the door behind him.

“Does Aunt Celia know?” I murmured at last.

“She knows you're upset, but I didn't tell her why,” Dobkin said. “Maybe she thinks it's just nerves.”

“Maybe that's all it is.”

He gave me his most Dobkinish look, and I withered beneath it.

“Okay,” I gave in. “So what
does
it mean?”

“The girl.” He screwed up his face, deep in thought. “The one who disappeared. What do you know about her?”

“Just her name. Suellen something.”

“She'd probably be easy to find out about. There must be newspaper articles.”

“Come on.” I sighed, flopping down on my back beside him, folding my arms beneath my head. “You realize we're getting into weird things here. You realize—”

“That is
not
what I'd call a normal locker,” Dobkin reminded me sternly. “Maybe you stirred up something that's been wanting to get out.”

“And somehow … I connected with it?” I mulled this over for several seconds. “A feeling of fear—no, that's not right—
terror
—from an old locker in an old school—most likely because I was so
nervous
about being there.” I cast him a reluctant glance. “Okay, so let's say you
might
be on to something.
Might
be,” I added grudgingly. “Whose terror did I connect with? Suellen's? Or just mine?”

He furrowed his brow, and his double chin tripled. “Both, maybe.”

“Quit going psychic on me, Dobkin.”

“
You're
the one who's psychic. I'm just trying to make you think. Listen. What did those other kids do when you almost passed out?”

“Noreen and Tyler? They kept me from falling on the floor! They stood there and watched me make a total fool of myself!”

“I mean”—Dobkin sighed loudly—”did they say something like, ‘Oh, no, not that haunted locker again!'?”

“Haunted locker?” I propped myself on my elbows and gave him a scathing look. “That's the best one yet, Dobkin. As if I didn't have enough on my mind right now without—”

“You knew when Mom and Dad were killed. You knew the exact second it happened, even though we were miles and miles away. You can't deny that.”

“Stop it,” I muttered, turning over so he couldn't see my face. “How would you remember, anyway? You were too little.”

“I remember,” he said softly.

We both went quiet then. I could hear Aunt Celia in the kitchen below us banging pots and pans and chopping something for dinner, and outside my window a tree branch scraped gently against the glass.

“If it happens again, you won't be able to ignore it,” Dobkin challenged me. “If it happens again, you'll have to admit you've picked up on something. If it happens again—”

“It won't,” I cut him off and swung my feet over the side of the bed. “Do you mind? I've got homework to do.”

I hated ending it like that. I glanced over my shoulder and watched him trudge across the floor. He paused with one hand on the doorknob.

“If it happens again,” Dobkin said reasonably, “what if something happens to
you?
”

I felt a chill go through me, deep and piercing. Somehow I managed to laugh.

“You're so silly, Dobkin. I thought Aunt Celia told you not to watch all those scary shows on TV anymore.”

“The reason I watch them”—Dobkin gazed back over his shoulder at me—”is to keep alert to every possibility.”

Dad's favorite expression … how did Dobkin remember that?

My heart clenched a little, remembering the wink Dad always used to give me when he doled out advice, and I just looked at Dobkin, not really sure what to say. He shut the door behind him, and I wandered over to my back window and stared out.

At one time the backyard must have been beautiful, with all its trees and shrubs and even what looked like a small plot of garden in one corner beside the storage shed. Someone had been nice enough to mow the grass before we moved in, but weeds still marched along the fence and choked the flowerbeds where a few sorry tulips had managed to stick their heads through. A dream for Aunt Celia, I thought—she'd be spending hours and hours out there trying to turn the place into some sort of exotic paradise.

I let my gaze roam slowly to the neighbor's backyard on the right. I could see only part of it—a doghouse and some apple trees—but there was no sign of movement anywhere. It made me realize suddenly that no one had come over to welcome us since we'd been here—but then again, we'd only shown up late Friday night, and the weekend had been taken up with trying to settle in and run errands and stock up the refrigerator.
Still … you'd think in a small town where everyone's supposed to be so curious about you …

Restlessly I moved to the other windowpane, turning my attention to the neighbor's house on the left. One second-story window was practically opposite my own, yet it was hard to really see because of the huge old oak tree in our side yard. Its trunk was at least ten feet around, and its massive branches spread out so far, I could easily have crawled out and perched on them. There were more thick heavy limbs stretching all the way across the fence to that upstairs window, making a kind of bridge between the houses. Sliding open the sash, I let the cool air blow across my cheeks as I stared out into the lengthening shadows of late afternoon. We were supposed to have screens put on the windows, but they'd had to be special ordered and hadn't come in yet, so I could hang out as far as I wanted. Squinting, I tried to see if anyone was visible in that window next door. For one second I thought I saw curtains moving, but I couldn't be sure.

“
If it happens again, what if something happens to you?
”

I tried not to think about what Dobkin had said, but I couldn't help it. He has such a wild imagination, and he always tries to sound so mysterious when he's offering words of wisdom—but this time it really got to me.

Come on, Marlee, give it a rest. I mean, look around! What could be more peaceful than this boring place?

Peaceful …

A little town where nothing ever happens.

And when Aunt Celia decided it was time to move again, I closed my eyes and moved my hand back and forth over the map, and watched my finger land right on this spot, just as surely as if some invisible force had grabbed it and slammed it smack down on top of Edison.

“That's not true,” I mumbled. “It
seemed
that way, but I could have picked anywhere. Anywhere at all.”

Shivering, I closed my eyes and just stood there, feeling the breeze on my cheeks, listening to it sift through the oak leaves and sigh around the eaves of the house.

And then … slowly … my skin began to prickle.

Eyes wide now, I drew back into my room, hands clenched tightly on the sill.

Someone's watching me.

I knew it just as surely as I was standing there, could
feel
it, hidden and silent and cold—
so very cold
—
eyes without emotion
—
without feeling
—
empty …

“Aunt Celia,” I whispered, but of course she didn't hear.

No one heard as I stood there, too terrified to move—trapped by something I couldn't even see—

“Aunt Celia!” I screamed.

From faraway I heard a muffled voice and then footsteps running up the stairs.

But I didn't need Aunt Celia now.

I knew that whoever had been watching me was gone.

6

W
hat on earth's the matter!”

I can only imagine what I must have looked like, standing there with my back pressed against the wall, arms out to my sides, trying to breathe normally again. Poor Aunt Celia rushed over to me and put an arm around my shoulders and led me straight over to the bed.

“You're as white as a ghost! What happened?”

“I thought I felt something,” I mumbled. “I mean, I
did
feel something … I don't know …”

“What, dearest? What did you feel?”

“Eyes.” My voice dropped and I leaned against her, still trembling. “I felt eyes watching me—”

“Eyes!”

“But I don't feel them now.” Gently I disentangled myself from her arms and ran one hand across my forehead. “Really. I'm okay.”

“I told you,” Dobkin said.

I hadn't noticed him standing in the doorway, and now he came into my room, exchanging solemn looks with Aunt Celia. I wished they'd go away and quit fussing—I felt silly now for making such a commotion, and I hated the way both of them had stopped looking at each other and were now staring straight at me.

“I'm just tired,” I insisted crossly. “You know how hard it is for me when I start a new school.”

“Hmmm.” Aunt Celia redirected her gaze onto the floor, and her lips pressed into a thin line—a sure sign she was thinking really hard before she said something. At last she added, “You looked so strange this morning.”

“I look like I always do!” My voice rose defensively. “If that means I look strange, I can't help it if that's the way I look.”

I knew I was sounding childish, but I couldn't seem to stop myself.

“Maybe we should have a discussion,” Aunt Celia began helpfully, but I jumped off the bed and pushed past Dobkin out into the hallway.

“I'm going to take a walk,” I announced.

Aunt Celia jumped up after me and nodded with forced brightness. “What a great idea! Fresh air will do you good.”

“Coward,” Dobkin mumbled, but I ignored him and ran down the stairs and out the front door.

For several minutes I just stood there on the porch, waiting for my heart to settle down into my chest again. I could smell early flowers and the hint of rain in the air, and the freshness of new leaves just out on the trees. I leaned for a while on the porch rail, but then, as I straightened up again and glanced at the house next door, I realized someone was sitting over there in the porch swing.

“Hi,” said the voice, and I caught my breath in surprise.

“Tyler?” I asked cautiously.

“Yeah.”

He sprang into full view and draped his body lazily over the front railing. I could see he wasn't wearing his coat now—just jeans and a black sweatshirt with holes in it—but the cap was still turned around on his head and his hightops had come unlaced. As I watched, he pulled off the cap, shook his hair out of his eyes, then smashed the cap down onto his head again, lopsided.