The Dead Boyfriend Page 12

  She squinted at me. She scratched her straight black hair, which she wears very short with straight bangs across her forehead. “Deena Fear? I’m sorry. I don’t know her, Caitlyn. Is there a problem?”

  “Well…” I hesitated. I saw Julie at the end of the front row, watching me, her face tight with concern. “It’s kind of an emergency,” I said. “I really need to find her.”

  Ms. Chow nodded. “Why don’t you go to the office? Mrs. Vail can tell you where to find her.”

  “Thanks.” I dropped my backpack onto my desk. “I’ll be right back. I really appreciate it, Ms. Chow.”

  “Hey, Caitlyn,” Julie called to me from across the classroom.

  But I was already out the door and into the hall. Silent and empty out here. The two gym teachers were having some kind of conference in front of the trophy display case. They nodded at me as I jogged past them.

  The principal’s office is near the front entrance. I stepped inside. A couple of solemn-looking boys sat hunched on the bench in front of the main desk. Sophomores, I think. Must have been in some kind of trouble.

  Mrs. Vail, the office secretary, had a phone pressed to her ear. She stood at the desk, sifting through papers as she talked. I stepped up to the desk and rested my arms on the desktop in front of her.

  She nodded and kept on talking. It seemed to be something about the hot-lunch program. She kept saying, “I have no control over that. The state tells us what to serve.”

  I was practically bursting, silently begging her to get off the phone. If she talked much longer, homeroom would be over and I’d be late for Advanced English and my violin report.

  I let out a long whoosh of air when she finally hung up. “Caitlyn, what can I do for you?”

  “I need to find Deena Fear,” I said. “It’s kind of important. Can you tell me her homeroom?”

  “That’s an easy one,” she said, smiling at me. “I like the easy requests.”

  She moved to the desktop computer at the edge of the counter and began to type rapidly on the keyboard. “I’ll just pull up her schedule. What was her name again?”

  I told her.

  Mrs. Vail turned her gaze on me. “A Fear? From the famous Fear family? Really? How come I don’t know her?”

  I shrugged.

  She returned to the computer, squinting at the screen. “That’s strange,” she murmured. She typed some more. “D-e-e-n-a, right?” She spelled the name.

  “Right,” I said. I leaned over the counter, trying to read the screen over her shoulder.

  Mrs. Vail rubbed her chin. “Let me bring up the student directory. Is she a senior like you?”

  “Yes. I’m pretty sure she’s a senior.”

  “Okay. No problem.” She typed some more. Then she studied the screen. She scrolled up and down the list of students.

  “Is she new?”

  “No. I don’t think so. I don’t really know.”

  She typed some more. Gazed at the screen intently.

  Then she turned to me. “Caitlyn, there must be some mistake. There is no student named Deena Fear enrolled at our school.”

  33.

  I tried to hide my shock, but I guess I didn’t do a very good job. Mrs. Vail squeezed my hand. “Caitlyn? Are you okay?”

  No. I’m not okay. I’m losing my mind. I’m inventing imaginary people.

  I swallowed hard. My throat suddenly felt dry as sand. It took me a few seconds to assure myself that I didn’t invent Deena Fear.

  She was definitely real. Julie and Miranda had both seen her and talked about her that night when I bumped into her at Lefty’s.

  “She’s real,” I murmured. I didn’t realize I was talking out loud.

  “Maybe she goes to Collegiate,” Mrs. Vail offered. That’s the private girls’ school in North Hills. “Have you seen her here in school?”

  I wanted to get away from Mrs. Vail. She was gazing at me so suspiciously, like maybe there was something wrong with me. She is a nice person, but you don’t want to confide in her. Anything you tell her she goes and tells to Mr. Hernandez, the principal.

  “Actually…” I said. I tilted my head, thinking hard. “I guess I’ve only seen her out of school.” I forced a smile. “Thanks, Mrs. Vail.”

  I didn’t give her a chance to reply. I spun away and bolted from the office, nearly knocking over the two gym teachers, who were walking in.

  The hall was bustling now, crowded and noisy. Homeroom had ended and everyone was heading to their first period class.

  I moved slowly to my English class. Some kids called out to me, but I ignored them. I kept rubbing my forehead, massaging my temples as I walked. My head felt about to explode.

  This was an Advanced English course, mainly for creative writing students. We all sit around a big, round table and share our stories and essays and critique them.

  Normally, this is my favorite class. But now, I just wanted to hide in a corner, shut my eyes, and try to think. Of course, that was impossible. There’s nowhere to hide at a round table.

  And naturally, Mr. Lovett tapped me on the shoulder as I walked to my seat and said, “You’ll go first this morning, Caitlyn.”

  As the other kids settled in, I pulled my essay from my bag. I don’t get nervous reading in front of the whole class. I’m pretty confident as a writer, and, everyone knows I’m not shy.

  But today, my hands were shaking as I glanced through the pages I had written. The essay wasn’t quite finished, and I wished I had time to polish it. My head was still throbbing. I hoped maybe reading the essay to everyone would give me a chance to calm down and stop puzzling over Deena Fear.

  That didn’t happen.

  When Mr. Lovett gave the signal, I stood up and introduced my essay. “It’s about the Stradivarius violin,” I said. “I wrote it because this priceless instrument has special meaning to my family.”

  Mr. Lovett leaned forward and crossed his hands on the table. “Interesting,” he murmured. “Go ahead, Caitlyn.”

  I started to read. “Stradivarius musical instruments were made in the seventeenth and eighteenth century by an Italian family named Stradivari. Today, they are valuable beyond belief, not just because of the quality of the workmanship, but because only 650 of them survive in the entire world.”

  I raised my eyes from the paper to see if everyone was listening. And uttered a gasp when I saw Blade. He stood in the open doorway.

  He wore his red hoodie. One sleeve was pulled down low, covering the stump where his hand was missing. His hair was disheveled, falling around his pale white face.

  He gave a thin smile as our eyes met. His eyes flashed. Then he raised the back of his hand to his lips. He puckered his dead lips and, eyes locked on me, began to make loud kissing noises against his hand.

  I lowered the essay and pointed to the door. “Don’t you hear that?” I cried. “Don’t you hear what he’s doing? Look! See him? Do you see him there? It’s Blade!”

  Chairs scraped as everyone turned to the door.

  But Blade was gone. The doorway was empty.

  They quickly turned back to gape at me. I heard whispers and some muffled laughter.

  “Caitlyn, I don’t see anyone.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Blade? You mean the kid who was killed?”

  I tossed my essay onto the table, shoved my chair out of the way, and ran. I hurtled out of the classroom. Mr. Lovett’s startled shouts followed me down the hall.

  I lowered my shoulder and pushed open the side door to the school. I burst outside, breathing hard, my temples throbbing.

  “I can’t go back there,” I told myself. “I can’t go anywhere. Not till Blade is gone. But … how do I get rid of him?”

  34.

  I knew Deena Fear was the only one who could answer that question. I jogged into the student parking lot. I glanced in all directions.

  Every nerve in my body was tense. My skin prickled. I felt sure that Blade would come leaping out at me.


  The parking lot was deserted. Everyone was in class. Across the street, I saw a woman pushing a baby stroller. A tall white poodle followed after them. Normal life.

  I wanted my life to be normal, too.

  I climbed into my car. The steering wheel was hot from the sun burning through the windshield. I pulled out of the narrow parking place.

  I glimpsed someone watching me from the school entrance. Was it Mr. Lovett? I didn’t care. How could I care about school? How could I care about anything with a living corpse following me, haunting me?

  The drive to Deena’s house was a blur of flashing lights and streams of sunlight, shade then sun, houses sliding past, trees and cars and everything … everything just a jumble, a pulsing wave of motion and color. I didn’t even realize I had turned onto Fear Street until the street became dark under the archway of tangled old trees.

  As I reached the cul-de-sac where the street ends and the woods begin, Deena’s house came into view. No car parked in front.

  A black cat sat watching me from the front yard, very still, green eyes glowing, half-hidden in the tall weeds that led up to the house. The green eyes reminded me of Blade. And once again, I saw those glassy blank eyes green as emeralds, pictured them watching me as he stood in the classroom doorway making those obnoxious sounds. Enjoying himself. Having fun as he haunted me and drove me crazy.

  I pulled to the curb and climbed out of the car, my eyes on the house. Sunlight reflected off the windows along the front. I couldn’t see inside them.

  The cat didn’t move. It sat up straight as if ready to defend its territory. Its eyes followed me as I made my way past it to the door at the side of the house.

  I pushed the doorbell. I didn’t hear it ring inside. I waited a short while. The cat lost interest and wandered toward the burned-out remains of the Fear Mansion.

  I could feel my heartbeats start to race. I rang the bell again. Then I knocked on the door. “Deena? Are you home? Deena?”

  Silence.

  The morning sun, now high in the sky, beamed down hard, but it didn’t warm me. A chill covered my body, as if I’d just stepped from a cold bath.

  “Deena? Where are you?”

  I pulled out my phone. I studied her number again. I’d called it before today, and it had worked. Maybe if I tried it again …

  I punched it and waited. Please be there. Please answer.

  No. I got the same message telling me the number had been disconnected. With a sigh, I dropped the phone into my bag. I turned and pounded the door with both fists. Pounded until my knuckles throbbed.

  “Deena? Deena?” I was about to totally lose it. I could feel myself about to snap, about to explode into a million pieces. “Deena?”

  A window slid open at the side of the house. A head poked out. I squinted into the glare of the sun and recognized Deena. “You’re home?” I said in a tiny, choked voice.

  “Caitlyn, it’s you,” she said. “I’ve been expecting you.”

  Expecting me?

  The window slid shut. A few seconds later, I heard footsteps inside the house, the front door swung open. “I rang and knocked,” I said breathlessly. “I’ve been shouting your name and—”

  She motioned for me to step inside. “I was in the back. Getting ready,” she said. “Getting ready for you.”

  I edged past her into the small front entryway. The house smelled strange, as if something was burning. “Do you have something on the stove?”

  She shook her head. “No. But I am cooking something up.”

  I didn’t like the sound of that. I tried to interpret the thin smile that spread on her black lipsticked lips, but I couldn’t figure it out. Was she making a joke?

  She had her long hair tied back with a wide purple ribbon, but strands had come loose and fell about her owlish face. She wore a satiny purple top over black straight-legged jeans.

  She took a few steps toward me. I instinctively stepped back.

  “I … looked for you in school,” I blurted out.

  “But, Caitlyn, I don’t go to your school.”

  “I didn’t realize,” I said. “Where do you go?”

  “Actually, I’m homeschooled.” For some reason, that made her laugh. A scornful laugh.

  “By your parents? You said your parents are dead,” I said.

  She laughed again. “I homeschool myself.”

  I nodded. My fists were clenched. Every muscle in my body was tensed. Was I crazy to come here?

  No. Just desperate.

  She studied me. She seemed very amused. “Why are you stalling? We don’t have to chat like we’re best friends. I know why you came.”

  “Okay,” I said. “Can you … can you help me?”

  Her smile faded. “I think I can. I’m very prepared. I have what we need.”

  I shook my head. “Deena, you’re talking in mysteries. What are you saying?”

  She reached under the oversized purple blouse. She pulled something out from beneath her shirt, something round, a little smaller than a softball.

  A hand. Coiled into a fist.

  Blade’s hand.

  I stared at it. The thumb poking over the curled fingers. The hand had turned a light purple color. “H-How … did you get that?” I stammered.

  “Never mind,” Deena said. “It doesn’t matter.” She tossed the hand up, then caught it in her palm. Tossed it again and caught it. Then she motioned me toward the hall. “Caitlyn, are you ready to rock and roll?”

  35.

  Deena led me down the long, shadowy hall to her room. The burning smell grew stronger as we walked. And as I followed her into the room, I saw that it came from dozens of burning candles, black candles that she had placed on every surface.

  Eleven tall black candles formed a pentagram on the floor. The candles were scented and filled the air with a tangy incense aroma, kind of cinnamon.

  The parrot made a chirping cry as I came near and flapped its wings as if it wanted to escape its perch. Three or four silvery fish floated through the aquarium on the table to the right of the parrot’s perch.

  Deena didn’t speak, silently tossed Blade’s hand up and down as we walked to the center of the room. Red morning sunlight filled the glass wall looking out on the Fear Street Woods.

  She motioned to two black, square cushions she had set down in the middle of the tall, burning candles on the floor. “You sit there, Caitlyn,” she said, breaking the silence.

  I hesitated. “Wh-what are we going to do?”

  “You’ll see. We have a lot of work to do.”

  She walked to the table and picked something up from beside the aquarium. I recognized it as she draped the chain around her neck. The silver bird amulet. She arranged it over her purple blouse and returned to the pentagram.

  She carefully stepped between the flames and, without warning, tossed the hand to me.

  I fumbled it. Caught it before it hit the floor. “You hold it,” Deena said, taking her seat across from me, so close our knees almost touched.

  I gripped Blade’s hand in both hands, afraid I would drop it. The hand had hardened. It felt like grainy plaster. The thumb and fingers were locked tight. At the stub end where the wrist had been, I could see dark spots where there once were veins.

  I shuddered. How did I get involved with this terrifying girl?

  “Deena, tell me,” I insisted. “What are we doing here?”

  She squinted at me through her big, round glasses. “Bringing Blade here, of course.” She raised the amulet off her chest with one hand and smoothed the front of it with two fingers.

  “Bringing him here?”

  She nodded. Candlelight flickered off her pale face, reflected in her glasses. “He betrayed us again,” she murmured. “Well … actually, he betrayed me.”

  Blade’s hand felt heavy between mine. I didn’t want to hold it. I lowered it to my side to get it out of sight. A wave of nausea rolled up from the pit of my stomach.

  “Betrayed you? He’
s been haunting me,” I said. “He said he would never leave me.”

  Her black lips tightened into an angry scowl. “That’s exactly my point, Caitlyn. It was supposed to be my turn. I worked all that night to bring him back … to bring him back to me, not to you.”

  She tossed the loose strands of hair off her face. “He betrayed me again. I cannot allow it.”

  Suddenly, without thinking, my most frightening thought burst from my lips. I never should have said it. But it was there in my mind, terrifying me as I sat cross-legged across from her. As I sat there, such an easy victim.

  “Deena, if you killed me … Blade might be yours. Is that your plan? To get me out of the way?”

  Her eyes widened in shock and she uttered a short gasp. “Kill you? Of course not. What are you thinking? You’re my best friend in the world.”

  She’s crazy. Totally insanely psycho.

  I swallowed, trying to force down my nausea. “So you’re going to bring Blade here and—?”

  “Explain to him,” she said. She leaned over a black candle, lowering her face to the flame. She raised the amulet in front of her. “Caitlyn, pick up Blade’s hand. Hold it in front of you. We want him to know we have it.”

  Obediently, I cupped the hard purple hand between my trembling hands. I raised it high.

  “He will come,” Deena said, lowering her voice to a whisper. “He will know we have it, and he will come for it. And then…” She raised her eyes to me. “… We will have him.”

  She dropped her gaze to the amulet and lowered it to the candle flame. Shutting her eyes, she began to chant. Words in a strange language I’d never heard.

  Her lips moved quickly, her tongue clicking against her teeth, her eyes shut, the sound of her voice just a murmur against the flickering light, a whisper so light, I wasn’t sure I was hearing it.

  She didn’t move a muscle. Kept the amulet in place over the flame and whispered her strange words, her back straight, her legs spread out from the cushion.

  I held the hand in front of me. My arms started to ache, and my back stiffened. I shifted my weight but it didn’t help. I took deep breaths and wondered how long Deena would chant, how long it would take before Blade came knocking on the door.