The Dead Boyfriend Page 9

  “It will be different this time,” she said, picking up her pace, jogging to the door, her hair flying behind her.

  “Slow down, Deena. You’re not listening to me at all.” We passed the library with all the old, dust-covered volumes from floor to ceiling, books of evil magic, I decided, witchcraft, voodoo, supernatural spells.… I’m sure Deena was familiar with it all.

  “It will be different,” she said, grabbing car keys from a basket on a table in the front entryway. “This time he’ll be mine. This time he will treat me right. It’s going to be awesome. Awesome, Caitlyn. You’ll see.”

  She’s totally insane, I thought. She’s in her own world.

  And here I was, going with her. Climbing into the little Honda Civic beside her. Fastening my seat belt. Preparing … for what?

  “Deena, are you controlling me right now?” I demanded.

  She started the car. Adjusted the mirror outside her window, shifted into reverse, and started to back down the weed-choked obstacle course of a driveway.

  “Are you?” I asked. “Are you controlling me?”

  “Going to be awesome,” she repeated. The car bumped over something hard in the driveway. “You’ll see. So different this time.”

  “But what are we doing?” I screamed. “Tell me. What are we doing right now? Where are we going?”

  She backed off the driveway onto Fear Street. Across the street, the trees shivered in the woods. Long evening shadows fell over our car as she shifted into drive and sped off.

  “We’re going to the chapel, like I told you,” she answered finally. “Blade is waiting for me. Waiting for me to bring him home.”

  I watched the smile spread across her face. “You’re going to take him from his coffin and—”

  “Bring him home and bring him back, back to life. Just like Tweety, my sweet parrot. I’ve already done the prep work, Caitlyn. I spent the whole night preparing. I’ve done everything the book said. I know I can do it. I have no doubt at all.”

  The houses rushed past us as she sped along Division Street. The evening rush hour traffic was mostly going the other way. I wanted to roll down the window and shout to the other cars: “Help me! Help me out of here!”

  But instead, I tilted my head back against the seat and shut my eyes. I couldn’t control my leaping thoughts. And I told myself I had only me to blame for this.

  Why did I obey her text message and come running to her house? I could have avoided all the horrifying insanity—the drowned parrot, the dead parents under their spotlights.…

  Perhaps she used her mind control powers to bring me to Fear Street and her house.

  Perhaps I was never in control today.

  From all the insanity, there was only one good thing I learned. I am not a murderer. Deena was the murderer. I wasn’t in control.

  Of course, the police would never buy that story. No one would. Knowing I wasn’t responsible should have made me feel better. But here I was, a prisoner of this crazy girl, one more victim of the Fear family’s evil, about to break into a chapel and steal a corpse from its coffin.

  How could I possibly feel anything but fear and regret?

  Deena pulled to the curb and parked the car near the corner. The little chapel stood in deep shadow now, the sun having completely gone down. Through the passenger window, I could see a pale sliver of moon hanging low over the trees.

  A wide concrete path cut through the closely trimmed lawn. Deena made me lead the way. I guess, to make sure I didn’t try to escape again.

  We were halfway up the path when the front chapel door swung open.

  “Quick!” Deena grabbed me and pulled me behind a wide evergreen shrub. We both ducked low and watched as Reverend Preller, still in that brown sport jacket, stepped out of the chapel. He turned and locked the door carefully. Then he raised his face to the sky. I think he was just taking a breath of the cool night air.

  Deena pulled me down lower. The evergreen branches prickled my face. I couldn’t see the minister now, but I heard his footsteps on the path. Growing louder. Coming closer.

  My heart started to pound. If he turned in our direction, he would see us crouching there. We would be caught. And how would we explain what we were doing there?

  He walked right past us. His eyes were on the sky. He walked quickly, whistling to himself, swinging his arms in a steady rhythm.

  I turned and watched him reach the curb. He crossed the street and stepped up to a dark green car parked there.

  Deena and I waited till he drove away. Then we straightened up and walked to the chapel entrance. “It’s locked,” I said. “We watched him lock it.”

  “Not a problem,” she said softly. She motioned to the side of the building. “There’s a back entrance behind the minister’s office. I made sure it was unlocked before I left the funeral.”

  I followed her around the side. An orange light flickered dimly through the row of stained glass windows, a dim light inside. The back door was nearly hidden by tall shrubs.

  Deena grabbed the door handle and tugged. The door slid open easily. We slipped inside. The air was hot in here and smelled stale.

  We were in a back hallway. The door to Preller’s small office was open. In the dim light, I could see a narrow desk piled high with papers, a laptop, and a stack of books.

  And what were those things on top of the bookshelf? I squinted hard. Star Wars figures. The minister had a collection of Star Wars figures.

  The floor creaked beneath our shoes. The sound brought me back from my wandering thoughts. I grabbed Deena’s shoulder. “Do you think anyone’s watching the chapel?” I whispered. “A night guard or something?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know. Stay alert.”

  Alert? I’d never been more alert in my life. That’s what fright can do to you. Every creak of the floor made me jump. Every flicker of the light made my heart skip a beat.

  “It’s about time for a cat to jump out at us and scare us to death,” I whispered. “Isn’t that what always happens in these scary situations?”

  Deena turned and glared at me. “Why are you making jokes? This isn’t funny.”

  “I-I,” I stammered. “My brain is trying to keep it light, I guess. That’s one way of dealing with fear.”

  “Just shut up,” she snapped. “Follow me.”

  A narrow doorway led us into the chapel. We were standing a few feet behind the altar. I let my eyes wander to the back of the long room. Electric candles along the walls sent a warm yellow glow over the empty pews, and up to the low wood-beam rafters.

  The huge vases of lilies hadn’t been moved. But the coffin was no longer resting between them. The sick-sweet smell of the lilies overwhelmed everything.

  “There’s no one here,” Deena whispered. She pointed to a narrow side room in the corner. I followed her gaze and saw the dark wood coffin. Blade’s coffin. The lid was down. The coffin was bathed in a deep blackness.

  “They just moved it aside,” Deena whispered. “Follow me. And do exactly as I say. We have to lift him out of the coffin carefully. Once he’s out, we’ll wrap our arms around his waist and walk him out between us.”

  I shivered. I’d never touched a dead person before. Blade was only the second dead person I’d ever seen. My grandmother was the first, and she was over eighty when she died.

  Deena stepped up to the side of the coffin. I hung back. A wave of terror washed over me. What would the corpse feel like? Would it be all squishy and soft? Or had it hardened stiff as a board? Would it smell? Didn’t all dead things smell horrible?

  “What are you waiting for?” Deena motioned impatiently for me to join her.

  I took a deep breath and stepped up beside her. The coffin rested on a low table. The lid was at my shoulders. I held my breath. I didn’t want to smell it.

  “It’s … too dark,” I whispered. “How can we see anything?”

  Deena pulled out her phone. She clicked on the flashlight icon. The phone sent a bright narrow be
am of white light over the coffin.

  “Okay,” she whispered. “Let’s lift the lid together. It’s probably not that heavy.”

  I moved my two hands to the edge of the lid. Deena held the phone light in her teeth and wrapped her hands on the lid.

  “Okay. Now,” she whispered.

  I was shaking so hard, I didn’t know if I could get my arms to move. But somehow I found the strength. We both pushed up. The lid lifted easier than I imagined.

  We raised the lid high, and it clicked into place in an upright position. Then we lowered our arms, took a step back, both breathing noisily. Deena aimed the light into the coffin. It made the white satin lining glow.

  We stared into the light—and both uttered sharp cries that echoed off the rafters.

  The coffin was empty.

  Blade was gone.

  PART THREE

  25.

  “Caitlyn, can we talk to you?”

  I stared at the two cops who stepped up to my car. I recognized them immediately. Rivera and Miller. They had come to my front door a short while after I had stabbed Blade.

  Now here they were at the mall, studying me as I climbed out of my car. I had hoped to go to my job. My nice normal boring job behind the popcorn counter.

  But … no way.

  They motioned to their patrol car. My whole body shuddered with dread as I lowered myself into the backseat.

  At the Shadyside precinct house, Rivera and Miller led me into a small square interview room. I gazed around the room, my hands clasped in front of me, my jaw clenched tightly. I was determined not to show how terrified I was.

  What do they know?

  In the patrol car on the way here, they told me they just had a few questions for me. They read my rights to me. Just like on Law & Order. They said I had the right to have my parents and a lawyer present.

  That was the last thing I wanted.

  “Are you arresting me?” I asked, my voice tiny and choked.

  Rivera shook his head. “Just a few questions, that’s all. A few things to clear up.”

  I’m guilty, I thought. How much do you know? Do you know I’m the one who stabbed him?

  “Want us to call your parents?” Miller asked.

  “No,” I repeated. “It isn’t necessary. I mean … if it’s just a few questions.”

  The walls of the interview room were a sick pea soup green, and the paint was peeling near the ceiling. Two lights inside gray cones hung down over a long table. The tabletop was covered in names and initials carved into the wood. The windowless room was hot and smelled of stale cigarette smoke despite the NO SMOKING sign tacked to the wall.

  Rivera motioned for me to sit down at one of the folding chairs that lined the table. Then the two officers disappeared, closing the door behind them.

  I’ve seen this on TV, I thought. They leave me here to sweat and get tense. They want to frighten me.

  About twenty minutes later, Rivera returned and took the chair opposite me. He wiped his mustache with his fingers, his dark eyes studying me. “Caitlyn, would you like some water? It’s hot in here.”

  “That’s okay,” I said. “We won’t be here for long, right?”

  All I wanted to know was how much did they know? Did they bring me here to set a trap for me to confess? Were they going to arrest me?

  “Yeah. Just a few questions,” Rivera said, shifting his weight. He was too tall for the little chair.

  “About Blade?” I said. I squeezed my hands together in my lap.

  He nodded. He twirled a gold ring on the pinky finger of his left hand, twirled it slowly, his eyes locked on me. “We understand you were a friend of his.”

  “Well, we went out a few times,” I said. “I didn’t really know him. I think his family just moved here a few months ago.”

  I tried to return his stare. Somehow, I managed to keep my voice steady. I was glad there was no lie detector in the room.

  A car horn honked somewhere outside. Rivera twisted the ring on his finger and kept his eyes on me. “Where were you Saturday night, Caitlyn? The night Blade was killed.”

  “Saturday night? I … uh … I was home,” I said. “Remember? You and your partner came to my door? I told you then I hadn’t gone out.”

  He let go of the ring and lowered both hands to the edge of the table. Did he believe me? I couldn’t tell anything by his blank expression.

  “Try to remember,” he said. “When was the last time you saw Blade?”

  I hesitated. “I don’t really remember. Maybe Thursday or Friday at Lefty’s.”

  Rivera sighed again. He leaned across the table toward me. He rubbed the black stubble on one side of his face. “Caitlyn,” he said, “why are you lying to me?”

  26.

  My whole body went cold. A choking sound escaped my throat. I struggled to breathe normally. “Wh-what do you mean?” I stammered.

  Don’t lose it, Caitlyn, I warned myself. Don’t let him mess you up. You can play this out.

  I tried to reassure myself. But my heart was going crazy like it was doing a drum solo, and Rivera’s hard stare was sending chill after chill down my back.

  “We have a witness,” Rivera said, speaking softly, slowly.

  Oh my God! Someone saw me kill Blade?

  “We have a witness who told us you were one of the last people to see him alive.”

  I swallowed. I didn’t say a word. I waited for him to continue.

  He brushed a fly off his forehead. He rubbed his cheek again. “Caitlyn, is the witness telling the truth?”

  “Yes,” I said. “I guess. I’m sorry. I’m just so … so upset. My brain isn’t functioning. I mean, I’ve never had a friend die before.”

  I wiped sweat off my forehead. It had to be two hundred degrees in the tiny room.

  “Well, do you want to tell me the truth now?” Rivera asked. “You were at the dance club called Fire Saturday night?”

  “Yes. Yes, I was,” I confessed, lowering my eyes. Then I snapped, “Who told you that?”

  “Blade’s girlfriend. Vanessa Blum,” he replied.

  Girlfriend? She said she was his girlfriend?

  A sharp pain exploded in my chest. As if I had been stabbed.

  Blade had a girlfriend. He was just playing with me.

  “Okay. Yes,” I said. “I went to the club.” I crossed my arms tightly in front of me, trying to stop the pain, trying to shield myself from his questions.

  But there was no escape. I had to tell the whole story. Or at least part of the story of Saturday night.

  “I was supposed to go out with Blade,” I said. “We had a date. But he stood me up at the last minute. So … I went to my friend Miranda’s house for a while, and then I was bored. So I went to the dance club. You know. To see if any of my other friends were there.” I took a breath.

  “And you saw Blade?” Rivera urged me on.

  I nodded. “Yes. I saw him there. And I was … well … shocked. I mean, we did have a date, and he told me he got hung up and couldn’t make it. And then there he was, at Fire with another girl.”

  “And that made you angry?” Rivera demanded.

  “Well…”

  “You had a screaming fight with him at the bar?”

  I felt totally trapped. How could I get out of this? Not by telling the truth. Could I get away with half-truths?

  If only I knew how much Rivera knew.

  “Yeah, sure. I was angry,” I said. “He lied to me and there he was with this girl. Vanessa. So yes, I was angry. But … we didn’t have a screaming fight.”

  Rivera’s eyes widened. “You didn’t?”

  “No. No way,” I said. “I told him off, and then I left the club.”

  This was all true. I was telling him the truth.

  Rivera shifted his weight on the little folding chair again. His expression remained blank. “Then what?”

  “Then I went home,” I told him. “I was upset. I went up to my room. You came to my house, remember?”<
br />
  “And found the front door open,” he said. “Caitlyn, did you leave the door open? Were you so upset and angry that you left the front door open?”

  “Maybe it was me,” I admitted. “I don’t know.”

  He toyed with the ring on his pinky finger again as he studied me. “So you went straight home from the club, and you didn’t leave the house again Saturday night?”

  I nodded. “I tried to go to sleep, but I couldn’t.”

  Rivera took a long pause, as if he was trying to think of what to ask next. “You didn’t go to his house and wait for him after you left the dance club?”

  “No,” I said. “I went home. I … I told you, we weren’t that close. I was only at his house once. I’m not even sure I could find it.”

  Did Rivera believe me?

  “Well, Caitlyn, how angry were you Saturday night? Would you say you were angry enough to get violent?”

  “Of course not,” I said. “I … I’m not a violent person. I’ve never had a real fight with anyone. I … think I was more hurt than angry. Just because he lied to me. You know.”

  Rivera nodded. He studied me for a long moment. Then he scooted his chair back till it hit the wall. He climbed to his feet. “I’m sorry if this was hard for you,” he said. “I know—”

  “Yes. Yes, it was hard,” I said. I reached into my bag for a tissue and wiped my eyes. “I liked him. I really liked him. And now I’m totally freaked out knowing I was one of the last people to ever see him. And I’ll never have a chance to make up with him. Never. I … can’t stop thinking about it. I really can’t.” I wiped my eyes some more.

  He opened the door and motioned for me to follow him out. “I appreciate your cooperation,” he said. “Officer Miller will drive you back to the mall.”

  He waved to Miller, who had a desk against the wall in the front room. I strode quickly toward the exit, eager to get away from there.

  Rivera’s voice followed me to the door: “Caitlyn, stick around, okay? I may want to talk to you again. “

  27.

  I hurried to the Cineplex, Diary. I was late but I didn’t care. I needed to get back to a normal life, or at least go through the motions. I knew my life would never be normal again, never be like before.