The Dead And Buried Part 20

I really did have to use the bathroom, though. That part of what I told Kane wasn't a lie. But before I pushed the ladies' room door in, my ears perked up. Someone had said Kane's name.

I didn't immediately recognize the girls' voices, and pressed my ear against the door, straining to listen.

"Seriously, your brother is so hot."

"Ew, guys, shut up." Ellie's voice.

"Is he dating that new senior?"

Um, that would be me. They are talking about me.

I listened closer as Ellie replied, "I think so. But I don't know."

The other girl snorted in disbelief. "How can you not know? You two tell each other everything."

"I don't know because he doesn't know. They're taking it slow."

Another voice. "I can't imagine living in that house, where Kayla died. Gross."

"Seriously," said the first girl. I guessed there were three in there. Ellie and two of her soph.o.m.ore friends. "I bet that nasty old man watches her like he watched Kayla. What a perv."

They knew about Mr. Tucker? My mind was processing this as the door suddenly swung inward. I stumbled, making it quite obvious that my ear had been on the wood.

"Oh, hey, Ellie," I said, smoothing my hair and walking past her into the bathroom.

Her two friends continued on out the door, but Ellie hung back. "Can I talk to you?" Her voice was sweet as usual, but her eyes were different. Suspicious.

"Sure." I pretended to primp in the mirror. "What's up?"

"What's going on with you and my brother? I mean, are you into him or what?"

My eyes found hers in the reflection of the mirror, and I felt like she was seeing right through me. I was using Kane and she sensed it. I understood her protectiveness. Respected it. I can only imagine how I'd feel about Colby's girlfriends when he was old enough to date. I couldn't imagine anyone being good enough for him.

I slowly turned around. "We're friends. I don't think either of us is rushing into anything." I smiled to try to set her at ease and hoped that the blush forming in the hollow of my neck didn't betray the nonchalance I was forcing into my voice.

Ellie's posture seemed to relax, but doubt remained in her eyes. "Friends are cool. I just wanted to see if you're on the same page. I don't want him getting hurt, you know?"

Kane was lucky, having a sister like this. I wanted to tell her that. Maybe someday I would. But right now I had one priority and that was saving my own brother. I was doing my best not to lead Kane on, but if I did a little bit - well, that was something I had to live with. But it wasn't like I was completely faking. I did want to be friends with him.

"And one more thing," she said, worry creasing her forehead. "Watch out for your neighbor."

"Mr. Tucker?"

"Yeah. There's something not right about him. The way he watches. And ..." she lowered her voice. "Kane told me something Kayla said that I've never been able to forget."

I involuntarily stepped closer. "What?"

"That when she first moved into the house when she was little ... there were weird piles of dirt in his backyard. Like Mr. Tucker had buried something."

Or someone, I thought.

By the time I returned to the bleachers, the third quarter had already started. The conversation about Mr. Tucker had added a mental chill to the already cold air, and I wished I'd worn a coat instead of a hoodie. But when I reached Kane halfway down the row, he smiled and said, "There's my girl!"

I flinched. My girl. In front of everyone. We were suddenly but surely not on the same page.

He held out a Styrofoam cup. "Even though you said you didn't want anything, I figured you could use a hot chocolate."

I felt a dozen eyes on me, gauging my reaction. If I rejected the "my girl" thing, it would hurt his feelings. And I didn't want to do that, especially in front of his friends. Plus, I needed access to those friends, hopefully only for a little while longer.

I inhaled a deep, wavering breath. "That was so nice." I took the cup from his hands. "Thanks."

I drank a sip and winced as the heat slid down my throat. I tried to swallow my guilt with it.

I went home after the game, a mix of emotions boiling and bubbling in my stomach like a witch's cauldron. I was a good person. Not the type to lie to people, fake my way into a crowd, lead a boy on. I told myself over and over that I was only doing what had to be done.

I crawled into bed and pulled the covers up to my chin, relieved to finally be warm. The night had taken a lot out of me. I hadn't played a game out there on the field, but mental exhaustion can wipe you out just as much. Soon, sleep came over me with a welcoming, warm haze.

But hours later, in the blackest dark of the middle of the night, I was instantly awoken by a sharp cry. I shot up in bed, holding the comforter up to my face as if it could protect me. My eyes took their time adjusting to the darkness, but my ears were immediately attuned. I listened hard for any sound over the heavy beat of my startled heart.

Had I imagined it? Was it a dream?

I had to check on Colby, just to be sure.

As I slipped out of bed, my breath was loud in my ears. I padded quietly down the hall, the floor cool under my bare feet. Hushed murmurs came from my parents' bedroom. I peeked my head in. Dad was gone, not returning until Sunday. Marie had fallen asleep with the TV on. The bluish glow illuminated her sleeping face.

The cry came again. Colby's cry. The sound pierced my heart like a bullet.

I rushed into his room, my quick footsteps almost making me slip on the hardwood floor. He lay in his bed, peacefully at first glance. But as I moved closer, I saw the scrunched up expression on his face. He was having a nightmare.

I was considering whether or not to wake him when a loud thud came from behind me. Colby's prized baseball, one Dad had caught at a Red Sox game, was on the floor. It was always, always on Colby's dresser. I realized, with building trepidation, that it couldn't have fallen off the grooved pedestal on its own. It had to have been nudged.

The temperature in the room plummeted. I started to shiver uncontrollably. I wanted to rub my arms in a feeble attempt to get warm, but my muscles seemed frozen and stuck.

I stared in rapt attention as the ball began slowly rolling toward me. The st.i.tches thumped against the floor as the ball scuffled along. Fear slithered over me, around me, tightening, suffocating.

Colby's nightmare.

The rolling ball.

They were messages. Reminders. Kayla was playing with his toy, but could just as easily play with him. Possess him at any time. Make him do anything.

"I'm working on it," I whispered through my suddenly dry throat. "I promise."

The ball kept on its slow, purposeful roll.

"I made progress tonight. I have a strong suspect. I'm going to investigate him further tomorrow. I have a plan. I'm close, I know it."

The ball stopped.

Kayla was in control. She could lose her patience with me at any moment. And she needed me to know this. Fear and panic clawed its way up my throat, wanting to emerge in a scream. I swallowed it back down, forcing myself to stay strong.

Colby's face had changed back into his usual angelic sleeping expression. His nightmare was over.

For now.

1 and 2 told me a secret today. And, all of a sudden, I have to worry about stuff I've never had to worry about before.

I don't know what I'm going to do.

After breakfast Sat.u.r.day morning, Marie and Colby left to go to some farm a few towns over. It actually sounded kind of fun. They were going to do tractor rides, go apple picking, all that fall stuff.

Me? I was planning on a little breaking and entering.

I'd told Marie a friend was coming over and we were going to do homework. When she found out it was a boy, she gave me this little smirk and an eyebrow waggle. A full night's sleep and the promise of Dad returning tomorrow had done wonders for her mood.

Donovan arrived fifteen minutes after I texted him. His hair was damp and he smelled faintly of soap. I wanted to pull him into my arms and spend the day drowning in his kisses, but Kayla had made it clear last night that I had no time for that anymore. In fact, time was running out.

I led Donovan into the kitchen, sat him down, and caught him up on everything. That Kayla's previously wealthy parents weren't anymore. That someone had broken into my house, though I had no idea what they'd been looking for. And, finally, that Mr. Tucker might not just be a harmless old guy who spent too much time looking out his window.

"Phew." Donovan leaned back in the chair. "That's a lot to take in." He chewed on his thumbnail for a moment. "I don't know what to do next."

"I do." I sat up a little straighter. "Every Sat.u.r.day, at eleven o'clock in the morning, Mr. Tucker goes out. I've noticed it two weekends in a row." I glanced at the clock on the wall. "If he does it again, ten minutes from now, I'm breaking into his house."

Donovan's head rocked back in surprise. "Hold up. I don't know if that's such a good idea."

"Why not?"

"Well, for one, it's against the law. Second, what if he comes home earlier than you expect and catches you? If he is the person who killed Kayla, he won't hesitate to do it again."

I smiled. "That's where you come in. You're my lookout. If he comes home, text me and I'll feel the vibration in my pocket and get out of there."

He shook his head. "It's dangerous. I think you're rushing into this. We can look into him more, yeah, but -"

"I have to rush," I blurted out. "I have no time left."

His eyes met mine. "What are you talking about?"

I sighed and pulled my fingers through my hair. "The night of the party, after we cleaned up and you left, something happened." I paused, not wanting to say the words out loud because they sounded so crazy. "Kayla possessed Colby."

Donovan's jaw dropped. "Your little brother?"

I nodded. "She somehow took over his body and told me she could do it again at any time and that, if I didn't find out who killed her, she'd kill him." The words sounded so absurd I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't seen it myself.

"How - how -" he stuttered. "How can that even happen?"

"The night of the party, the Ouija board opened some sort of door and gave her this power. This access to him." I shook my head. "We never should have messed with it."

"Why him? Why an innocent little boy?"

"Maybe he's the only one she can possess. Or maybe she chose him to control me. To get what she wants. She knows I'll do anything to protect him. So she gave me the ultimatum - find her killer or Colby dies. She gave me another warning last night. I have no time to waste, Donovan. She'll kill him. She told me so."

"I can't believe that. I mean, yeah, she's not the nicest girl on the block, but I can't believe she'd kill a little boy."

"She did some mean things when she was alive," I said.

"Yes, she did." His voice took on a faraway sound. "She did some terrible things ... but that's different from murder."

I wondered again, for a moment, if Donovan was holding something back. "Well, I'm not going to take any chances with my brother's life. I'm giving her what she wants, no matter what it takes. I'm breaking into Mr. Tucker's house. Now. Whether you help me or not."

I slipped in a back window easily enough, but now that I was inside I didn't know what to do. Mr. Tucker's house was dark and musty. Faded, outdated wallpaper lined the walls. Heavy curtains and dark, ornate furniture gave the home a gloomy feel. I first went to the living room window that faced my house. I didn't know what I expected to find. A big note tacked to the wall saying, This is why I stand sentinel over my neighbors' daughters? But it was just an ordinary window.

There had to be something to his behavior. It was more than odd. It was almost ... compulsive. Like he had to watch. And it wasn't like he'd had some single-minded obsession with Kayla because he watched me, too. Was he a pervert? Was it some pedophile thing? An involuntary shiver coursed through me. I never got that vibe from him, but would I really know?

I had to find out. I moved from room to room on the first floor. Everything looked normal. No dead bodies in the freezer. Just an old TV in the living room. He had a small den, but no computer, just stacks of books and newspapers. I searched through them and found nothing suspicious or pervy.

I moved to the bottom of the staircase and gazed up. If there were anything to find, it would be upstairs.

The house was a small Cape. Upstairs only had a bathroom and two bedrooms. The bath was plain and clean. The master bedroom held nothing unusual. I even checked his - eww - underwear drawer and under the bed. The only strange thing was that the wallpaper and bedding were more feminine than I'd expected. I moved on to the second bedroom, my last chance at answers.

The door was closed.

Strange, I thought. He lived alone. Why keep a room closed? Unless it was something he didn't want to see every time he walked by. Something he didn't want to be reminded of. Flashes from crime dramas flickered in my brain. Serial killers on TV usually had a room where they let their crazy out. You know, walls covered with psychopathic scribblings, photos of eyes, and newspaper clippings of their crimes.

The hand I held on the k.n.o.b started to tremble. I wanted to know what was in that room. Needed to know. But I was suddenly terrified.

I closed my eyes and pictured Colby's face, his laugh, his toothy smile. Focus, Jade. You can do this.

I turned the k.n.o.b and gently pushed the door open.

My hand flew up to my mouth. It was a little girl's room. The twin bed had a bright purple comforter. Unicorn figurines, small and large, littered the top of a white dresser. A poster on the wall featured an old cartoon that wasn't even on TV anymore. The room was like a time capsule. A little girl had lived here. One who would be much older than me now, judging by the age of her things.

The only item that seemed out of place was a black, masculine-looking alb.u.m on the little white desk. If this girl had a sc.r.a.pbook it would have been pink and glittery. Not like this. I found myself gravitating toward it. I sat on the small chair, pulled the alb.u.m onto my lap, and opened it.

At first there were only photos. Baby photos, toddler photos, family photos ...

I froze. My eyes blinked and refocused to be sure. Yes, there was a picture that showed a much younger Mr. Tucker, with a wife and a little baby girl.

He'd had a family.

What happened to them? I thought about what Kayla had seen when they moved in. The dirt pile in the backyard. No. Just no. Mr. Tucker could not have murdered his family and then kept his daughter's room as a shrine to her. I knew in my heart this was wrong.

I kept flipping through the alb.u.m. Disney World, holidays, first day of school, swimming in a pool, sledding ... in every picture their eyes were bright and their smiles large. The photos stopped when the girl looked to be around seven or eight years old.

And then came the newspaper clipping.

I read it, with both horror and intense sadness. The little girl had drowned in the inground pool in her own backyard. The mother had been out running errands. The father, Mr. Tucker, had gone in the house to answer the phone. And in those few moments when the girl was alone, something happened, and she drowned. From a quote in the article, it seemed that Mrs. Tucker blamed her husband, calling it an "irresponsible choice to leave our little girl alone." I a.s.sumed she'd divorced him.

He was left alone, in this empty house, surrounded by the constant reminder of the family he'd once had and lost ...