Midnight Games Read online

Confused, I tried to pull myself up. But I sank back onto the ice, my head spinning.

  What happened to me?

  Jamie’s voice broke through the ringing in my ears. I felt her gloved hand on my shoulder. I turned and gazed up into her worried face.

  “Dana, we heard screams. Where’s Ada?”

  Huh? Ada?

  Jamie turned away from me. Her mouth dropped open, and she squeezed my shoulder so hard, I gasped.

  I turned to see what she was staring at. And uttered a sharp cry.

  Ada?

  Yes. Stretched out on her back on the ice.

  Ada . . . Ada in a dark pool of blood.

  Ada with an ice skate . . . the blade . . . the blade . . . driven into her head. Standing straight up. Poking out from between her open, glassy eyes.

  Without realizing it, I jumped to my feet.

  I saw Jamie’s accusing stare.

  I raised my gloved hands to the sides of my face and I started to scream: “I didn’t do it! I didn’t do it! I didn’t do it . . . !”

  Part Three

  18

  I’ve had some hard times lately, with my mom dying and my dad deciding he didn’t want me to live with him. And some other painful stuff.

  But the next three days were a total nightmare, the worst days of my life.

  The Shadyside police showed up about ten minutes after we saw Ada’s body. You can imagine the screams of horror and crying and wailing that went on when the other kids all came skating out to take a look at her. And the cold, accusing stares I got.

  Every kid there thought I was a murderer.

  Including Nate and Jamie, I’m sure.

  At least, Jamie stood by me. I don’t remember seeing Nate. He simply disappeared.

  Anyway, the police took me to their precinct station in the Old Village. They called Jamie’s parents. Her dad is a lawyer, thank goodness.

  We all sat around a beat-up, metal table in a tiny, gray room. Everyone grim and yellow-faced under harsh fluorescent ceiling lights.

  Jamie’s mother kept her eyes down. She wouldn’t look at me. Mr. Richards squeezed my hand and whispered that I didn’t have to answer any questions I didn’t want to.

  “I-I’ll answer what I can,” I stammered.

  Two police officers—a man and a woman—questioned me for hours. I told them everything I could.

  The last thing I remembered was Ada leaping on me and choking me. I told them I remembered the feeling of her wool gloves, scratchy on my neck. How she tightened her fingers around my throat. How she cut off my windpipe.

  I couldn’t breathe.

  I pleaded with her to let go.

  That’s all. Nothing more to tell.

  The next thing I knew, I was sitting up on the ice, feeling dazed. My head felt as if it weighed a hundred pounds, and my eyes wouldn’t focus.

  I must have blacked out because Ada cut off my air. She tried to choke me to death. I tried to get away. I tried to free myself.

  But I didn’t fight back. And I didn’t kill her.

  We went over and over the whole thing. I think the two officers wanted to trick me into changing my story. Or they thought maybe I’d break down and confess.

  They checked my neck. And yes, there were red bruises at my throat, just as I’d said.

  I had tears streaming down my cheeks. I kept drinking cup after cup of water. My hands shook. I clasped them tightly in my lap and stared across the table at the two cops.

  I looked straight into their eyes. I wanted to convince them I was telling the truth.

  And finally, I raised my trembling hands. “Look at my hands,” I said. “Look at my arms. I don’t work out or anything. Look how skinny I am. I’m not strong enough to shove a skate blade through someone’s skull. No way.”

  I held my arms up, and they stared at them. Studied them. I think maybe it helped convince them.

  “I was being choked to death,” I told them. “I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t fight her off. How could I unlace her skate and drive it through her head?”

  “I think we’re going to end this now,” Jamie’s dad said. “Are you going to charge Dana?”

  The two officers whispered to each other. Then they left the room.

  I turned to Jamie’s mom. Mrs. Richards had a handkerchief pressed to her face. I couldn’t see her expression.

  Mr. Richards patted my hand. “I think they believe you,” he murmured. “Did you see anyone else around? Do you know of someone else who had a grudge against Ada or might want to see her dead?”

  I stared at him. I’d already answered those questions for the police officers. “No. I don’t remember anyone,” I said again.

  He nodded. “Dana, have you had blackouts before?” he asked.

  “No one ever tried to strangle me before,” I answered.

  But I suddenly remembered that strange, woozy feeling I’d had at the top of the stairs at Jamie’s party. I felt so weird that night, as if I was blacking out. And the next thing I knew, I was staring down the stairs at Ada, sprawled on the landing on top of all that broken glass.

  I didn’t mention it to Jamie’s dad. But for the first time all night, the question popped quietly into my mind: Did I kill Ada?

  Did I go into some kind of weird blackout and murder her without even knowing it?

  No.

  No way.

  No. No. No.

  The two officers returned to the room, solemn expressions on their faces. I sucked in a deep breath of air. I thought they were going to arrest me.

  But instead, they said they were letting me go. For now. They were continuing their investigation. Blah blah.

  I didn’t hear the rest.

  I was so happy they were letting me go home.

  Mrs. Richards started to sob. Jamie’s dad put his arm around her, trying to comfort her.

  Jamie’s dad helped me to their car. I felt like a limp noodle. I could barely walk. He was really nice to me, very gentle and soothing. Mrs. Richards sat in the front seat of the car and didn’t say a word the whole way home.

  That was three nights ago.

  Now, I sat in Nights Bar at one-thirty on a Wednesday morning, staring at the yellow neon Budweiser sign behind the bar.

  I shared a table with Jamie and Lewis. They had both been so sweet to me ever since Saturday night. I don’t think I could have survived without them.

  You can imagine the cold stares I got when I returned to school Monday morning. And at Ada’s funeral, I could tell that everyone there was accusing me of her murder.

  Yes, I went to Ada’s funeral. I know it would have been easier to stay home. But I wanted to show everyone I am innocent. I had just as much right as anyone else to go to that funeral.

  As we made our way from the church, Aaron, Whitney, and Galen deliberately pushed past me. And I heard Aaron murmur the word “murderer.”

  Now, the three of them sat in a booth in the back of the bar, staring at me coldly, leaning across the table, talking softly, probably about me.

  I tried to ignore them. But I felt uncomfortable and totally tense being near people who thought I could do something that horrible.

  I wanted to run to their booth and scream, “Yes, I’m a Fear. But that doesn’t mean I’m a killer.”

  Of course I didn’t do that. Instead, I tried to make small talk with Jamie and Lewis.

  And then Nate walked into the bar.

  He kissed the bronze plaque of the Fears and then stared right at me.

  Had I talked to Nate since the night of the skating party? No.

  Did he call me to ask how I was feeling? Did he call to say he believed in me, he knew I wasn’t the murderer? No.

  Did he say a single word to me in school?

  Three guesses.

  My breath caught in my throat as he slowly began walking toward our table. I’d been feeling so hurt all week. Hurt that Nate was like all the rest.

  I tried to understand it from his side. Yes, he’d been going with Ada. Yes
, he’d cared about her too.

  But I thought he had real feeling for me. Isn’t that why he invited me to the skating party?

  He nodded his head to Jamie and Lewis. Then he took my arm. His dark eyes locked on mine. “Dana, can I talk to you?”

  He pulled me to the bar. “Nate, where’ve you been?” I asked. I couldn’t hide my anger.

  He shook his head. “In a daze, I guess.” He didn’t let go of my arm. “I’m sorry, Dana. I wanted to call you, but—”

  “But what?” I demanded.

  “I stayed home,” he said, avoiding my gaze. “I couldn’t think about anything. I know I should have called or something. But I didn’t call anyone. I was . . . scared.”

  I pushed his hand away. “Scared of me?”

  “No,” he said quickly. “No way. Just scared. I mean, look. It’s frightening, right? Two girls in our class are dead.”

  “And . . . you think that I—?”

  “No,” he said again. “I don’t know what to think, Dana. I—just—”

  “I didn’t even know Candy,” I said. “She died before I came to Shadyside.”

  “I know,” he said.

  “How can anyone suspect me?” I cried. “I’m a good person. I’d never kill anyone.”

  Nate finally raised his eyes to mine. “I know,” he said again. And then he wrapped his arms around me and pulled me close.

  For a moment, pressed against him, I felt safe. I held my face against his and hugged him tightly.

  Suddenly, I realized we weren’t alone. I turned to find Whitney, Aaron, and Galen standing in front of us, cold glares on their faces.

  “Oh.” I let out a startled cry and let go of Nate.

  “We heard what you were saying,” Whitney said. “Well, why don’t you tell us this? If you’d never kill anyone, Dana, what about your boyfriend back home? Tell us you didn’t kill him, too!”

  19

  My breath caught in my throat. I felt my heart skip a beat.

  “Dustin?” I choked out. “You found out about Dustin?”

  Whitney stared at me coldly, challenging me, her hands pressed tightly at her waist. She nodded. “I have a friend at your old school. She told me the whole story.”

  I sank back against the wall. I struggled to catch my breath. “But . . . no one knows the whole story.”

  “I do,” Whitney sneered. “You killed him, too.”

  “That’s a LIE!” I screamed. “It was a horrible accident. That’s what the police said—and that’s the truth.”

  Whitney, Aaron, and Galen stared at me, waiting for me to tell them more. Nate put his arm around my shoulder. “Jamie told us you’ve had a hard year,” he said softly. “I didn’t know your boyfriend died.”

  I fought back the tears, but I could feel them running down my cheeks. “It was an accident,” I said. “Dustin and I . . . we were hanging out in my pool. In my backyard. It was a beautiful afternoon. I went in the house to make us some sandwiches.”

  I kept my eyes on Nate as I told the story. I couldn’t stand the cold, accusing expressions of the other three kids.

  “I wasn’t feeling well that day. I had a big fight with my father that morning. It messed me up, made me feel horrible. I . . . I was finishing the sandwiches. I heard a splash outside. And . . . and . . . ”

  Nate squeezed me gently. “It’s okay,” he whispered. “You don’t have to go on if—”

  I took a deep breath and continued. I wanted Whitney and the two boys to know the truth.

  “I carried the sandwiches to the pool. I . . . dropped the tray when I saw Dustin. He—he was floating facedown in the pool. And the water around him—it was pink. The tray broke and the sandwiches scattered around me. And I just stared at the pink water.

  “It took me so long to realize what made the water pink. It was Dustin’s blood. I started shouting his name. I thought maybe it was a joke. Maybe he was trying to scare me. He liked to do that. But, no. He was . . . dead.

  “I just stood there, frozen, and watched his body bob in the pink water. I didn’t scream or anything. I just stood there, not moving, not breathing. Not believing it, I guess.

  “The police decided Dustin had tried a dive and hit his head on the side. It must have knocked him unconscious. His head was cracked open and he drowned.”

  I used my sleeve to wipe the tears from my face. My whole body was trembling. Nate held me tightly.

  I turned to my three accusers. Their cold expressions hadn’t changed.

  “Good story,” Whitney muttered, rolling her eyes.

  “Whitney, that was the worst day of my life!” I cried. “I really loved Dustin. How dare you accuse me! How can you be so cruel?”

  Whitney let out a furious shout. She grabbed my T-shirt with both hands and jerked me close to her. “How can I be so cruel?” she screamed. “How can I be so cruel?”

  “Let go of me,” I said, struggling to pull her hands away.

  “How can I be so cruel?” she repeated, spitting the words in my face. “You killed my best friend—that’s how. I know you did.”

  She tightened her grip on my shirt and jerked me hard, back and forth. Her face was bright red now, and tears flowed down her cheeks.

  “You killed my best friend!” she shrieked. You killed Ada—just to get her boyfriend and her scholarship!”

  “No!” I cried. “No! Let go of me!”

  Jamie and Lewis pushed between Aaron and Galen. Jamie grabbed Whitney around the waist and tried to pull her off me.

  “You killed Ada!” Whitney screamed. “You killed her! You killed her! You’re a Fear—and that means you’re a killer!”

  Wailing and sobbing, Whitney started pounding me with her fists. Covering my face, I tried to squirm away.

  I heard Ryland shouting.

  Someone pulled Whitney away.

  I lowered my hands and saw Galen and Aaron holding her, helping her out of the bar. She was sobbing at the top of her lungs, shaking her fists wildly in front of her.

  Trembling, my heart racing, I turned to Jamie. “What am I going to do? She’s crazy,” I whispered. “She’ll convince everyone I’m a murderer. How can I stop her?”

  20

  Friday night I was hunched over my laptop trying to do some homework when Nate IM’d me:

  Dana, r u there? Can I come see u?

  I was in a bad mood. I messaged him back:

  Aren’t u afraid to be alone with a murderer?

  He ignored my question and wrote:

  c u soon.

  I jumped up and hurried to change out of the torn T-shirt and baggy jeans I was wearing. I pulled on a bright pink sweater over straight-legged black pants. Very sexy. I pulled a necklace from my dresser drawer and slid it around my neck.

  Then I put on lip gloss and brushed my hair.

  I kept thinking about Nate, how he held me in the bar, how he hugged me. How he tried to protect me from Whitney’s attack.

  But a lot of questions nagged at the back of my mind.

  What did Nate really think?

  He didn’t call me for three days after Ada died. Why not? Because he thought I killed Ada?

  If not, who did he think was the murderer?

  Jamie was standing by me. When Whitney glared at me in the hall at school, Jamie glared right back at her. Lewis believed in me too.

  And I wanted Nate to trust me. I really did. I needed someone to rely on, and I hoped that someone was Nate.

  The doorbell rang. Jamie and Lewis were at a movie. Danny was staying with a friend. Jamie’s parents were out too. I was the only one home.

  I ran down the stairs and pulled open the front door.

  Nate had a smile on his face. But when he saw me, his eyes went wide and his mouth dropped open.

  I realized he was staring at my chest. “Nate? What’s wrong?” I asked.

  “That pendant,” he said, pointing. “Where did you get it?”

  My hand went to the necklace. “I made it,” I said. “Why? What�
��s wrong with it?”

  He didn’t answer. He grabbed it gently and smoothed his hand over it. The pendant was made of silver wire with blue glass cut to look like jewels.

  “It’s not old?” he asked finally. He let go of it and took a step back.

  “No. I told you. I made it,” I said.

  It was a cold, blustery kind of night, black storm clouds low in the sky. Nate stood there with his denim jacket open, a black T-shirt underneath. “Aren’t you cold?” I said.

  I stepped aside and motioned for Nate to come into the house. I closed the door behind him. He was still studying the pendant.

  “It just looks old,” I said. “I copied the design from old photos of Angelica Fear.”

  He swallowed. “You did? You have photos of Angelica Fear?”

  I nodded. “Well, yes. I told you I’ve studied the history of the Fears. It is my family, after all.” I tugged his arm. “Want to see the photos of her?”

  “For sure,” he said.

  I led him up to my room in the attic. He looked around, ducking his head under the slanting ceiling. “Cozy,” he said. He grabbed my arms and tried to pull me on top of him on the bed.

  “Hey, I thought you wanted to see old photos,” I said.

  He kissed me. We kissed for a while. I held the sides of his face, held him there, needing him, needing someone to care about me.

  Then, breathless, I pulled away and dropped down to my file drawer. He sat on the bed and watched me as I searched for the Angelica Fear photos.

  “Here.” I handed both of them to him. “The date on the back says eighteen ninety-five. They’re pretty faded. I had to tape that one back together. It kinda crumbled.”

  He studied the first photo for a long time, then moved to the second one. “That’s the amulet,” he murmured.

  “Do you know about it?” I asked.

  He didn’t answer. Just stared from one photo to the other.

  “Angelica Fear was obsessed with immortality,” I said. “I read a lot about her. She was one of the most interesting Fears—and one of the most evil. She was into all kinds of witchcraft and sorcery. She did a lot of experiments, trying to bring dead people back to life. She said she would live forever. She told people she had found the secret.”