Missing Page 2

  “I don’t think they’re coming home tonight,” he said, picking some crushed cans up off the floor.

  “Huh? Of course they are.”

  “It wouldn’t be the first time.” He sounded a little bitter. “I’ll get a big trash bag in the kitchen.”

  I stood there, suddenly feeling very tired, listening to the old floorboards in the hall squeak as he walked to the kitchen. He was right about Mom and Dad. This wouldn’t be the first time they had stayed out all night, either working or partying.

  As I said, my parents were young and didn’t really like the idea of having to act like parents. I’m not putting them down. They were perfectly good parents, more fun than most when they were around. But they just didn’t take being parents as seriously as most other parents did.

  They found a lot of other things more important. Their work, for example. I don’t completely understand what they do. They’re mainframe computer specialists. That means they go into huge companies and install enormous computer systems for them. It takes months, sometimes years. Then they move on to another big corporation, often in another city.

  That’s why we move so much.

  And wherever we move, Mom and Dad get involved in all kinds of things—community things, I mean. You know, clubs and organizations of all kinds. Sometimes I have to admit that I feel hurt that they immediately rush out and find all these clubs to join. I mean, it’s like they don’t want to stay home and spend time with Mark and me.

  But now that I’m older, I realize that’s silly. And selfish. They have the right to their own lives, their own interests.

  But they could at least call and tell us when they’re going to be out late, couldn’t they?

  Mark came back, carrying a large green plastic trash bag. “I’ll hold the bag. Just dump everything in,” he said, and yawned.

  “How come I never get to hold the bag?” I complained, not really serious.

  “What if something happened to them?” he asked, suddenly sounding worried.

  “Huh?”

  “What if they were in an accident or something?”

  “If they were in an accident, they’d call,” I said. It was a standard joke between us. Only it wasn’t very funny tonight.

  “What if the car stalled on Fear Street, back in the woods, and they’re lost in the woods? You know those stories about how people go into the woods and come out looking different and not remembering who they are.”

  “Who told you that story?” I asked, making a face.

  “Cory Brooks. He said it was in the newspaper.”

  “That’s about as funny as his rubber vomit. He was messing with you, Mark.”

  He didn’t say anything for a while. But I knew the look on his face. It was his worried face. I’d seen that look a lot. Someone has to be the worrier in every family, and in our family it was Mark.

  “Stop looking like that,” I told him.

  “Looking like what?”

  “Looking like that. If you keep looking like that, I’ll start to worry, too.”

  “Let’s call them,” he said.

  “Yeah. Okay.” Why hadn’t I thought of that sooner?

  I followed Mark into the kitchen. We had their number written down on a pad by the phone. It was a direct line right to their office, so we could call it at any hour of the day.

  “You call,” Mark said, leaning against the Formica counter. He looked very worried.

  “Sure,” I said. I leafed through the pad till I found the office number. Then I pulled the receiver off the wall and started to dial. Then I stopped.

  “What’s wrong?” Mark asked.

  “There’s no dial tone,” I told him.

  The phone was completely dead.

  CHAPTER 3

  We both stood there staring at the phone, as if it were going to come to life or something. “That’s weird,” Mark said finally. “Why is it out? There hasn’t been a storm or anything.”

  “Well, at least that explains why Mom and Dad haven’t called,” I said. “They couldn’t!”

  I put the silent receiver back. We were both smiling, feeling a little less worried. Mark started to say something, but stopped.

  We both heard the sound. Footsteps above our head. The ceiling creaked.

  Someone was walking around upstairs.

  I caught the look of fear on Mark’s face as the footsteps pounded down the front stairs. I probably looked just as frightened.

  We stood listening to the padding sounds grow louder. And then he walked into the kitchen.

  And we saw that it was only Roger.

  I laughed out loud. Mark was still too shaken to laugh. He was sweating bullets, and he’d become about the same color as the faded gray wallpaper; which made me laugh even harder. I was so relieved.

  How could we have forgotten about Roger?

  Well, he was so quiet and so invisible most of the time, it was easy to forget about him.

  Roger was a distant cousin of my mother’s, and he was boarding with us. He had arrived a few days after we moved in at Fear Street, and my parents told him he could have the attic room all to himself. This was pretty funny, actually, because the attic room is so small, two people couldn’t squeeze into it. Roger had to have it all to himself!

  Even Roger by himself didn’t quite fit into the room. He’s so tall, and the ceiling slants at such a low angle, he has to stoop when he stands up in there. But he has a bed and a desk, and he seems pretty happy living with us.

  We don’t really see him that much. Mark and I try to be friendly. He is a relative, after all, and since we move around so much, we’re kinda lonely for relatives.

  But Roger is hard to get to know. He’s so quiet. He’s the shyest person I ever met, I think. He’s really handsome. He has sandy brown hair and dark, intense eyes. He looks just like a model in a magazine, but I don’t think he has any idea how good-looking he is. He’s just so shy. He goes to the junior college in the next town. So he spends most of his time up in the attic studying and writing papers.

  I don’t really know why Mom and Dad took him in. It can’t be for the rent he pays. We really don’t need the money. Strangely enough, he isn’t the first boarder we’ve had. Other young guys have boarded with us in other towns we’ve lived in. I guess Mom and Dad just like to help college students out.

  “Hi, Roger. You scared us,” Mark said, the color starting to return to his face.

  A look of alarm crossed Roger’s handsome face. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to.”

  Mark and I headed back to the living room to clean up, and Roger followed. “When did you come in?” I asked, starting to gather up soda and beer cans that littered the room.

  “Little while ago. I heard all the noise, so—”

  “You should’ve joined the party,” Mark said, holding open the trash bag and following me around the room.

  “No, that’s okay.” Roger looked embarrassed for some reason. It must be hard to be that shy. I couldn’t picture Roger at a party. I tried to imagine him dancing. He was so stiff and uptight, he probably never danced.

  He bent down and grabbed a handful of goldfish pretzels from a bowl beside the sofa. “I was going to do some reading, but I wanted to ask your parents something.”

  “They’re not home,” I told him.

  He looked very surprised. He looked at his watch.

  “Did they mention to you they’d be working late?” I asked him.

  “No.” He shook his head. He scratched his chin. “Well, no big deal. I guess I can ask them later.”

  He tossed some of the goldfish into his mouth. “You guys okay?”

  “Yeah. Sure,” I told him.

  He gathered up some paper plates and stuffed them into the trash bag Mark was holding.

  “They stay out late a lot,” Mark said.

  “They called?” Roger asked, reaching for another handful of the goldfish.

  “No. The phone’s broken.”

  “Huh? That’s weird. Your pa
rents leave a note?”

  “No, but I’m sure they’re just working late,” I said. “Sometimes they get so caught up with their computer problems they lose track of the time.”

  “Sometimes they work twenty-four hours straight,” Mark added, taking a long drink from someone’s half-empty soda can, tilting it over his mouth till soda trickled down his chin.

  “You’re a pig,” I told him.

  “Hey—I’m thirsty!”

  “So they didn’t leave a note or anything?” Roger asked, sounding impatient. I wondered why he was asking so many questions. It really wasn’t like him. I guess he wanted to see my parents about something important.

  “No. They might be at one of their club meetings,” Mark said, crushing the soda can in his hand and tossing it into the trash bag.

  “They usually come home for dinner before their club meetings,” I said.

  “Did you look in their room?” Roger asked.

  “Huh? What for?” Even Mark was becoming suspicious. This was very strange behavior for Roger.

  Roger blushed. “You know. To see if they left a note or anything.”

  “They always leave notes on the refrigerator,” I told him. “You know Mom and Dad. They’re computer people, right? They do everything by a system, everything the same way all the time.”

  It’s true. My parents like to think they’re such free spirits. But you should see them if I put the Frosted Flakes back in the wrong cabinet!

  Roger yawned and stretched. He’s good-looking even when he yawns, I thought. “Guess I’ll talk to them tomorrow.” He grabbed another handful of goldfish, nearly emptying the bowl, and turned toward the stairs. “G’night.”

  “Night,” Mark and I called, and looked at each other.

  “He’s weird,” Mark said.

  “He’s Mom’s cousin, so he has to be weird,” I cracked. “He certainly seemed nervous tonight.”

  “Yeah. He looked like he wanted to borrow money or something.”

  “Maybe you’re right,” I said, suddenly feeling really tired. “He did look like he wanted something. Where are you going?” Mark was heading into the den.

  “It’s almost twelve. Thought I’d watch Star Trek.”

  “Mark, you’ve seen them all ten times!”

  “No. These are the new ones. I’ve only seen them twice.”

  Mark is a real Star Trek freak. He watches the reruns whenever they’re on, usually after midnight. He isn’t much of a reader, but he reads all the Star Trek novels as soon as they come out. He thinks it’s hilarious to give me the Vulcan salute when no one’s watching. Like I said, my brother doesn’t have much of a sense of humor.

  “Maybe we should take a look in Mom and Dad’s room,” I said.

  He gave me a funny look. “You okay?”

  “Yeah, I know. It’s not like me to be a worrier. I just have a weird feeling about this, you know.”

  “Okay. Let me just see what episode they’re showing.” He plopped down on the leather couch, picked up the remote control, and clicked on the TV.

  I sat down wearily on the arm of the couch, too tired to do any more cleaning up. A few minutes later, Star Trek came on.

  “It’s an old one,” Mark said, “but it’s pretty neat. Kirk, Uhura, and Chekov get captured, and the guys that captured them make them wear these dog collars and train for combat.”

  “Thrills,” I said. I’m not into Star Trek. “Come on. Let’s go upstairs and check out Mom and Dad’s room.”

  “Oh, all right.” He aimed the remote control and turned off the TV. “Help me up.” He raised his arms over his head and expected me to pull him up.

  “No way,” I told him. “You weigh a ton.”

  He looked hurt. Groaning, he pulled himself to his feet. We were both really tired. It was nearly one o’clock in the morning and we had to get up in six hours to go to school.

  I followed Mark out of the den and up the stairs. I hated the way the old wooden steps creaked and squeaked when we stepped on them. Mom and Dad were going to get carpet for the stairs, but they just didn’t have time.

  Our house in Brookline had been brand-new. It was hard to get used to all the creepy noises an old house like this one made. I’m not a nervous person. Mark is the nervous one in the family. But I always have the feeling that someone else is in the room, or someone is coming down the stairs, or someone is creeping up behind me—all because of the creaks and groans and weird noises the house makes.

  I guess I’ll get used to it. But I do have to admit, I feel a lot more comfortable in this run-down old house when Mom and Dad are home.

  Where could they be? I wondered.

  Their bedroom door was closed. That wasn’t unusual. They often closed it when they went out. Neat and tidy. Everything in its place. Everything in perfect order.

  I turned the knob and pushed open the door.

  I was surprised to see light. A lamp on the far bed table had been left on.

  “Oh!”

  I didn’t mean to scream. A noise frightened me. It was just a window shade flapping in the wind against the open window.

  Then I saw their bed and cried out again.

  It was obvious that something terrible had happened.…

  CHAPTER 4

  I’m not sure why my sister went bananas. What’s the matter with her, anyway! She never saw an unmade bed before? I mean, give me a break. Sure, Mom and Dad are neat freaks, and sure they always made their bed before going to work. But one unmade bed is no reason to freak out and start screaming that something terrible has happened!

  I got Cara calmed down in my usual way. I yelled at her and told her to shut up. I mean, I saw right away that there was nothing to be so pushed out of shape about.

  Hey, I’m supposed to be the worrier in the family. Cara’s supposed to be the calm, cool, and collected one. Well, she was blowing her whole image, that’s for sure.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, biting her lower lip the way she always does when she’s done something wrong, which is most of the time. “I didn’t mean to scream like that. It’s just… just—”

  “Just what?” I asked. I wasn’t going to let her off the hook so easily. I mean, she scared the you-know-what out of me when she screamed like that.

  Her voice got tiny and soft. “I guess it was the way the bedspread is half on the floor and the sheet is all balled up like that. It—it just looked like there’s been a fight or something.”

  “You’ve got to chill out,” I told her, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “I don’t know what’s got you so shook. I mean, you act like Mom and Dad have never stayed out late before.”

  Cara was so worked up, I decided I had to act supercalm. I was a little worried, too, but I decided not to let Cara know. Actually, I was worried and I was glad. I was glad they had stayed out late because that meant I could invite Gena over, and Gena was really h-o-t tonight!

  Sitting on the unmade bed, I thought about the big fight I’d had with Mom and Dad that morning. What was their problem, anyway? Gena was a fox! She was real smart, too, and nice, and she really likes me—a lot. I’ve only met her dad a few times, but he seems like a good guy. I think he’s a doctor. So what is Mom and Dad’s problem? Why the big objection to my seeing Gena?

  It was so strange how they couldn’t give any reasons.

  Mom and Dad are always real big with the reasons. They always have at least two or three reasons for everything they do. They’re always putting Gena and me down for doing something just because we felt like doing it and then not being able to explain why we did it.

  Like everything in life should have a reason, right?

  So when I asked their reason for telling me not to see Gena, all they could say was, “Trust us. We know more than you do about things.”

  What kind of reason is that? Trust us!

  I suppose I shouldn’t have lost my cool the way I did. But they’re used to me blowing my stack. Besides, I had good reason. For once, I was right.
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  Of course, I realized, sitting in their room, if something terrible had happened to them, I’d feel pretty bad about having had a fight with them this morning. But I shook away that thought. No point in thinking like that. It wouldn’t do anyone any good.

  “They’ve worked very late before,” I told Cara.

  “They usually call.” She didn’t look any calmer. She was standing over me with her arms crossed over her sweatshirt. “I know, I know. The phone is busted. But they could’ve called and left a message with Mrs. Fisher next door, couldn’t they?”

  “Cara, you’ve got to stop this worrying,” I said. “It’s just not like you.”

  But instead of listening to me, she suddenly let out a little gasp. Her mouth dropped open and her eyes grew wide with fright.

  I realized she wasn’t looking at me. She was looking past me to the window. “Mark—” Her voice came out a whisper. She leaned forward and grabbed my shoulder. Her fingers gripped my sweater. “Mark… there’s someone—”

  “Huh?” I really couldn’t hear her.

  She pushed my shoulder until I spun around. At first I couldn’t see what had frightened her. I saw the window, which was half-open. I saw the darkness beyond the window and a narrow sliver of pale white moon. I saw the patterned floor-length curtains billow a little from the gusting night breeze.

  And then I saw them. The two shoes sticking out from under the curtain to the right of the window.

  Suddenly I understood my sister’s sudden fright—and felt it myself. I stared at the shoes beneath the curtain and at the slight bulge that made the curtain appear to blow in the wind.

  And I realized—as Cara did—that someone else was there with us in our parents’ bedroom.

  CHAPTER 5

  If l had thought about it, I probably wouldn’t have done it. But, like I said, I don’t always have reasons for the things I do. Sometimes I just do them. Then I think up my reasons later, when it’s too late.

  Anyway, I jumped off the bed. And I ran toward the window.

  I could hear Cara yelling to me to stop. But it was too late. I couldn’t stop now.