The Dead Boyfriend Read online

  Back into the gym, the roar of voices ringing in my ears. The scoreboard buzzed. Almost time for the game to resume. The visitors’ bleachers were filled, but no sign of Blade.

  I waved to Julie and Miranda who were starting up the aisle of the home team bleachers. I cupped my hands around my mouth and shouted: “Hey, I have to go!”

  No way I could stay. No way I could watch the game knowing that Blade was back, knowing that he saw me, stared at me from across the gym.

  My two friends rushed back over to me. “You’re going home?” Julie asked.

  I nodded. “My car is in the student lot.”

  “I really think you should let us drive you,” Julie said, her eyes searching mine, as if trying to decide if I’d gone crazy or not.

  “No. I’m fine,” I said. “It’s such a short drive. Really. I’m fine.”

  Miranda gave me a hug. She couldn’t hide her distress. “We’ll talk later,” she said.

  They turned to go back to their seats. I hurried from the gym, into the hall. Only a few stragglers out here. I heard the game start up, the drumbeat of the basketball on the floor, the roar of voices. The sounds followed me as I pushed open the back doors to the school and stepped into the night.

  The air had turned cooler. The moon was hidden behind low clouds. I felt a few cold droplets of rain on my hair and forehead.

  I turned toward the student parking lot, jammed with cars. The halogen lamps along the tall iron fence made the lot nearly as bright as day. Someone with a blue Toyota RAV4 had left the headlights on.

  I saw my car halfway down the back row, facing out. And I saw the red hoodie.

  Blade, leaning casually, his back against the driver’s door of my car, waiting for me.

  30.

  I stopped and stared into the harsh halogen glare. Stared until the hoodie became a red glow in my eyes, and the rest of Blade vanished ghostlike behind the ray of red.

  He pushed himself away from the car, standing up, his eyes on me. He didn’t move toward me. Just waited there, still casual. Did he expect me to go running to him? To throw my arms around him and tell him how thrilled I was that he was back?

  I forced my legs to move. Took a few steps toward him. And then the words tore from my mouth: “You can’t be here. You’re dead! You’re dead, Blade. Why are you here?”

  He gave a slow shrug. His greenish eyes glowed under the lights. He didn’t say anything.

  “Blade? What do you want? Why are you here? You know you can’t be here.” I couldn’t stop myself. I knew I wasn’t making any sense. I was talking to a dead person.

  But he was there, leaning one hand on the side of my car. He was there. I wasn’t imagining him.

  “Blade—say something.” My voice trembled on the air. Raindrops pattered the parking lot, the cars. “Did you come back to hurt me? What do you want? Tell me.”

  The wind ruffled his red hood. He didn’t reply. He didn’t move. He stood there. Waiting. Waiting for me to come closer.

  And then what?

  I had to get to my car. I had to get away from him. I didn’t want to talk to a dead person. I didn’t want to know why he waited for me there so silently, so patiently.

  I wanted him to go away. And stay away.

  Fear choked my throat. I brushed raindrops off my forehead.

  I was only a few feet from him now. “Blade? What do you want?” I asked in a tiny voice. “Blade—please.”

  He didn’t answer. He grabbed my wrist.

  “Hey—let go!”

  He pulled me close. He gripped both of my wrists and pulled me against him. His hands were hard and cold as ice.

  “Let go! What are you doing? Let go!”

  The blank green eyes glowed. He grabbed my face with both frozen hands. Spread his hands over the sides of my head and drew me to him.

  He pressed his lips against mine in a hard kiss. An angry kiss. He held me there, held my face against his, pressed his lips, so hard and cold, against mine, grinding them against my lips until my mouth ached.

  I finally pulled my head back, gasping for breath, the taste of his icy lips still on mine. And then I uttered a horrified gasp.

  His lips were still sewn together.

  I started to gag. I forced myself not to vomit. I rubbed my mouth but I couldn’t get the cold of his lips off them.

  He held my shoulders, breathing heavily into my face. His breath was rotten. It smelled like spoiled meat. Like death.

  A twisted smile spread on the stitched-together lips. I could see the black thread clearly. Some of the stitches at one end had popped.

  I struggled to back away, but he was too strong for me.

  He slid both hands around my head and pulled me forward for another kiss. Choking, I struggled to breathe normally as he moved the cold dead lips over mine, caressing my cheeks with his thumbs as he held my head.

  Held me in a kiss with a corpse. I thought it would never end.

  The stitches scraped against my lips until I cried out in pain.

  I stuck one leg behind his—and gave him a two-handed shove in the chest. He toppled backward and fell to the pavement. His eyes flashed with surprise.

  I grabbed my car door and swung it open. I had the ignition key in my bag. I only had to push the start button to start the car. I dropped behind the wheel, tugged hard to close the door.

  But Blade was on his feet. He grabbed the door by the handle and held it open. Grunting like an animal, his glassy green eyes gleaming, he reached for me with his other hand. Slapping at my shoulder, trying to get a grip on me.

  He was grunting like a dog through his stitched-up lips, grunting and growling and grabbing at me. I struggled to shove him back. Then I grabbed the door handle with both hands and jerked it hard, pulled it with all my strength.

  The door slammed on Blade’s hand. He didn’t even scream. Could he feel it?

  One more hard pull and the door clicked shut. I pushed Start. The car revved up quickly. The chest of the red hoodie was pressed against my window. I ignored it. Slammed the car into Drive. Shot my foot down on the gas, and took off with a squealing roar.

  I saw Blade tumble back. He sprawled over the hood of the car in the next space.

  My car roared into the aisle. Too fast. Too fast. I had to brake hard to avoid crashing into the wire fence.

  I was crazed. Heart beating like crazy. My head throbbing. My lips ached from those horrifying, sick kisses. I swung the car toward the exit. Nearly scraped the Rav4 with its headlights on at the end of the row.

  And then I bumped out of the short driveway, onto Division Street. Made a wide right turn, forgetting to look for traffic. A horn honked angrily close behind me. I sped away. Sped through a stoplight. More horns honking.

  I just had to move, had to get as far away from the living corpse as I could. Rain spattered the window, but I didn’t turn on the wipers. I stared out through the shiny droplets, little diamonds sparkling against the dark night. Like driving through a dream.

  Only this was a nightmare.

  Somehow I made it home. I slammed on the brake in front of our garage. An inch or two from the garage door. The glare of the headlights off the wide white door filled the windshield with eerie white light.

  I sat there staring into the light with my hands gripping the wheel. Sat there as if I didn’t want to open the door and step back out into the world. My throat still tight. My lips scraped and burning.

  I’m home.

  Safe … for a while.

  I cut the engine and started to reach for the headlights switch. But my hand stopped in midair.

  What was that in my lap? Something sitting in my lap.

  What was it?

  I reached down and picked it up. I raised it to my face to see what it was.

  Blade’s hand.

  Blade’s cold, dead hand. I’d sliced it off when I slammed the door.

  I opened my mouth and started to scream.

  PART FOUR

  31.
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br />   I tossed the hand into the alley behind my house. It made a sick soft thud as it bounced off a fence and hit the gravel.

  Should I hide it under something? Should I bury it? I couldn’t think straight. “No one ever goes back there,” I told myself.

  I couldn’t breathe. My stomach churned. The hand felt hard and cold, curled into a fist. Sliced cleanly at the wrist, it didn’t bleed at all.

  It didn’t bleed because Blade was dead.

  I trembled in the light from the house that swept over the backyard. My eyes darted back and forth. Had Blade followed me? Had he come to take his hand back?

  He won’t leave me alone now. He’ll want his hand and he’ll want revenge.

  I slipped into the house through the kitchen door. My parents had gone to bed, but they left a few lights on for me. I tiptoed silently up the stairs and to the bathroom across from my room.

  I felt sick. My throat tightened. I leaned over the toilet and tried to throw up. But the waves of nausea faded.

  I washed my face. I washed my lips. I could still taste those dead, hard lips on mine. I washed my hands three times.

  I darted into my room and closed the door carefully behind me. I dropped onto the edge of my bed, clasping my hands together tensely in my lap.

  I needed help, and there was only one person who could help me.

  Deena Fear.

  I wished I didn’t need to see Deena again. I never wanted to see her. I pictured the man and woman in the glass cases. Were those really her parents? Did she really stuff them and put them on display there?

  It couldn’t be true. It couldn’t. But I saw them there in that frightening room. And Deena actually bragged about it. Joked about using her taxidermy lessons on them.

  I hugged myself to stop shivering. I suddenly realized I was terrified of Deena. Was she totally psycho? A crazed killer? I didn’t want to go near her again.

  But did I have a choice?

  Even in my terror, I knew she was the only one who could help me.

  Deena brought Blade back to life. She made me kill him. Then she brought him back.

  Deena wanted him to be hers this time. But where was she? She was the only one who could control him. The only one who could protect me. My only hope was that she could stop him from coming after me.

  “Deena.” I whispered her name as I grabbed my phone. I pushed her number and raised the phone to my ear. It rang three times … four times.…

  And then I heard a series of beeps. And a recorded woman’s voice, much too loud, so loud I jerked the phone away from my ear, announced, “You have reached a number that has been disconnected. Please check the number and dial again.”

  Disconnected? No. No.

  Why would Deena disconnect her phone?

  I tried it again and got the same announcement. Then I clicked the phone off and tossed it in frustration, in anger, in fear, across my bed.

  I’ll find her in school tomorrow. She will know what to do about Blade. She will help me.

  I tore off my clothes and tossed them in a heap in the middle of the floor. I pulled on a flannel nightshirt. It was a warm spring night, but I couldn’t stop trembling.

  The rain had picked up. It drummed against the window. My bed is right under the window. Normally, I love lying in bed, looking out at my backyard below.

  But tonight, I pulled the covers up over my head. I shut my eyes tight and listened to the patter of the rain on the window glass.

  Maybe the sound will soothe me to sleep, I told myself.

  But, of course, that was crazy. I lay there curled under the covers until it got too warm to breathe. Then I tossed the covers off and tried sleeping on my side. I kept changing position, hoping to get the horrifying events of the night to fade to the background so I could catch some sleep.

  But no. It all played over and over in my mind.

  I suddenly remembered I had an oral report to give to the class tomorrow. “The History of the Stradivarius Violin.” My grandfather was a classical violinist. He played with the Detroit Symphony and many other orchestras. He owned one of the priceless Stradivarius violins. He showed it to me when I was a little girl and explained why it was so valuable and perfect.

  Shortly before my grandfather died, the violin was stolen. From all those years ago, I remember my grandmother saying that he died a few weeks later of a broken heart.

  I was too young to fully understand then. But her words lingered in my mind. I wanted to add that personal story to my essay about Stradivarius violins. I knew Mr. Lovett, my English teacher, would appreciate it.

  I’m a good writer, Diary. I love to write and tell stories. The essay was kind of special to me since my grandfather died when I was seven. I had started to write it. Actually, I had almost finished it.

  What time was it? Two in the morning? Should I get up and work on it now? Maybe it would take my mind off Blade?

  I yawned. No. No way I could concentrate. I didn’t feel sleepy but I felt worn-out. Wrecked. Maybe if I tried to clear my mind.… Maybe count slowly down from one hundred to one.…

  I was only down to ninety-three when I heard the rattling from outside my window. I sat up, alert.

  The rain had stopped but the window glass was covered in raindrops. A bright half-moon floated high in the gray sky.

  I listened. I heard another sound. Like a low cry. Maybe a cat?

  I leaned forward and pressed my face to the glass and gazed down at the yard. “Oh no. Oh no.”

  I sucked in a breath as I saw Blade in his red hoodie.

  He stood in the cone of yellow light that washed over the grass. The hood was down and I saw his green eyes gazing up at my window.

  “No. Please.” I shut my eyes and tried to erase him, tried to banish him, send him away. I wanted to plead with him, to beg him. Disappear, Blade. You’re dead. Please disappear.

  But when I opened my eyes, he hadn’t moved. He stood in the light, red hoodie gleaming, and I saw the hand. The hand my car door had sliced off. He had it tucked in his hoodie pocket.

  He found the hand. He had it.

  I started to back away from the window, but he had already seen me. I watched him raise his good hand above his head.

  What was he holding? What did he have clenched in his fist?

  I squinted through the rain-smeared glass, struggling to focus. The light from the house caught the object in his fist. A knife. The blade flashed.

  “Oh my God.”

  Blade held the knife above his head. Held it high so I could see it. His head tilted back. His eyes locked on mine.

  I screamed as he plunged the knife down.

  He sank the blade into his head and killed himself again.

  32.

  I swung my gaze to the bedroom door. Had Mom and Dad heard my scream?

  Silence out in the hall.

  I didn’t want to look down into the yard again. I didn’t want to see Blade sprawled on the grass with the knife buried in him.

  But I had no choice. I had to know if he really was dead again. I had to know if—

  Oh my God. No.

  He didn’t kill himself. He dug the knife into his mouth—and sliced the blade between his lips. He was using it to cut away the stitches, to free his mouth.

  In the bright light, I could see the heavy black thread pop, see the stitches fall away until there were just a few scraps of black thread stuck to the sides of Blade’s mouth.

  Gripped in cold horror, my burning face against the cool window glass, I watched him test his mouth. Move his jaw up and down. His lips twitched. He slowly pulled them open. He slid his mouth up and down several times. He tugged bits of thread from his lips and worked his mouth some more.

  Then he raised his eyes to me and shouted in a hoarse, ugly animal groan: “I’m back for you, Caitlyn. I’m back. I’ll never leave you. Never!”

  With a gasp, I slammed the shade down, stumbled back to my bed, and pulled the covers over my head.

  * * *

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nbsp; I didn’t want to go to school the next morning. How could I sit through classes with all this horror whirling in my brain? I started thinking up excuses to give my parents. But then I remembered I couldn’t stay home. I had to go to school and find Deena Fear.

  Deena was my only hope. From those old books in her family library, she had learned the secret, learned the power to bring Blade back to life.

  She had to know a way to send him back to his coffin.

  As I parked my car in the student lot, I thought once again about the two people frozen in glass cases at the back of Deena’s house. I shuddered, my hands squeezing the steering wheel. A sensible person would stay as far away from Deena as she could.

  But I wasn’t a sensible person. I was a crazed, terrified person. Every sound, every fast movement of color or light, made me jump. Every burst of red made me want to scream. I knew I’d see that red hoodie forever in my nightmares.

  Did Blade really say he would stay with me forever? I had to take his words seriously. I had to believe he meant it. Even though just thinking about it made my stomach churn and my heart start to do flip-flops in my chest.

  Deena, where are you?

  I waited in the front hall until it was almost time for the bell to ring. She didn’t show.

  I asked some kids if they knew which homeroom Deena was in. No one seemed to know. With her strange, dark looks, her wild tangles of black hair all the way down her back, and her black outfits and her general weirdness, kids stayed away from her.

  She was a total loner. I don’t know if she had any friends at all in school. She wasn’t in any of my classes. I never saw her with anyone.

  The bell rang. The hall had emptied out. Everyone was in homeroom. I peeked into a few rooms on my way to Ms. Chow’s room. I didn’t see her.

  Ms. Chow looked up from her laptop as I walked in. “Please close the door, Caitlyn,” she said. “Try to be a little more prompt, okay?”

  I closed the door behind me. “Ms. Chow, do you know what homeroom Deena Fear is in?” I asked.