Wish You Were Dead Page 12

  Tyler and I stared at each other. That was not the explanation we were hoping for.

  * * *

  Oh, isn’t this fun? Now that there are three of you, we can have a party. Sorry, Adam, you say Lucy is cold? Yes, we always thought she was. Yes, Adam, we know that’s not the way you meant it. Oh, please, Adam, don’t be so hard on Courtney. She has a right to cry if she wants. Frankly, we thought you’d be delighted to have your two favorite women beside you.

  Did you just call us a sadistic psychopath? Oh, my, such harsh words! Oh, now, don’t try to grovel or apologize. We know that’s what you always do. Don’t you know that once the words are out, the damage is done? You can’t apologize away the hurt you cause. You can’t go around thinking that just because you apologize, everything goes back to the way it was.

  * * *

  Dad always had Frank at Soundview Gulf work on our cars. A small, wiry, bald man, dressed in neatly pressed olive green coveralls, Frank had a reputation for being honest and hardworking. Part of the reason he worked so hard was because it was difficult in a place like Soundview to find young people willing to be pump jockeys or assistant mechanics. Parents didn’t want their children taking part-time jobs at the garage when they could be doing schoolwork, or playing sports, or pursuing music or theater or whatever.

  I found Frank under a car on the lift, removing a long rusty pipe.

  “Hello, Madison,” he greeted me. “Everything okay with the Audi? Not having a problem with those new tires, are you?”

  “No, they seem fine, thanks.”

  Frank gave me an uncertain glance, clearly wondering what I was doing there. “So, how can I help you, young lady?”

  “Were you the one who got the car from the stables?” I asked.

  “Yep, that would be me.” Frank reached up under the car again.

  “Do you happen to remember seeing a folded white napkin on the passenger-side floor?”

  “Nope. Are you missing it? ’Cause we don’t take anything out of cars, even the ones that come in with more garbage in them than a sanitation truck.”

  “No. I found it in the car this morning and wondered how it got there.”

  “Well, we don’t eat in cars, either,” Frank said with a smile. “So it’s a hard one to figure.”

  One explanation was that the person who’d slashed the tires had left the note. Once I’d seen that the tires were slashed, I’d never looked inside the car. But why would anyone slash my tires and then leave a note saying that people were still in danger and we needed to meet and talk?

  There was another possibility, as well. “After you put the new tires on the car, you put the car in the lot next to the garage, right?” I said.

  “Yep.”

  “Was it locked?” I asked.

  Frank stopped working and looked at me again. “Might have been, but I couldn’t say, Madison. I mean, it was just a napkin, right? No harm done?”

  “No, Frank, no harm done. I was just wondering how it got there. That’s all.”

  Frank gave me a puzzled look, as if he couldn’t understand why anyone would care so much about a napkin. “Sorry I can’t help you, Madison.”

  “It’s no problem.” I turned to leave. “Sorry to bother you.”

  “Say hello to your folks for me,” Frank called from behind.

  I got in the Audi and left. At the intersection, I stopped at the light and looked in the rearview mirror. A purple car had just pulled into the gas station and Tyler got out, wearing olive green coveralls.

  Str-S-d #11

  This is the last blog I’m writing. I’m really scared. I wished three people would die, and now they’re all gone. I don’t believe anymore that it’s a coincidence. Someone’s been reading this blog. Someone crazy enough to do what I wished for. If you’re reading this right now, you know who you are. You’re the one person in the world who is always nice to me. But today in school you said something. I’m not sure you even realized what you were saying, but it totally creeped me out. Now I don’t know what to do. I could go to the police, but they’ll want to know how I know and then they’ll find out about this blog and blame me. The parents will blame me. Everyone will blame me. Everyone already hates me. But this is the worst thing that ever happened. Maybe I should kill myself. I could kill myself, but then someone would figure it out. I don’t want to be blamed for this. Even if I’m dead.

  2 Comments

  Realgurl4013 said …

  OMG! This is the thing that’s been on TV! I saw it! You go to that school? Unreeeal!

  ApRilzDay said …

  I saw it, too. You HAVE to go to the police and tell them. What if those kids are still alive? What if that person has them? Even if it’s too late, do you want that person to GET AWAY with what they’ve done?

  chapter 17

  Monday 7:45 P.M.

  WE’D ALL HEARD of schools being locked down, but this was the first time I’d ever heard of an entire town being locked down. At least, that was the way it felt. As soon as word about Courtney’s disappearance got out, everything went on total red alert. Some parents insisted on keeping their kids at home. And most of those who didn’t insisted on driving their children to and from school and then keeping them home for the rest of the day.

  Not that anyone really minded. We were all scared. Three kids had disappeared. Even if we’d been allowed to hang out, nobody wanted to go into town, which was swarming with reporters and TV crews. There were a few kids who got off on being interviewed and seeing themselves on TV. But at school most people reacted coldly to the idea of using such an awful situation for any kind of personal gain or glory. Besides, after you told the media that you were really scared and definitely not going out at night or anywhere alone, what else was there to say?

  There was a new message from PBleeker:

  Think it’s a coincidence that the kids who’ve disappeared were three of the most popular in the grade? Check this out: http://www.journalnews.com/vtm/news/article/murder_unsolved

  I was taken to the Web site of the Shawnee Mission Journal News, a newspaper that served a suburb of Kansas City:

  ONE YEAR LATER MURDER MYSTERY STILL UNSOLVED

  Every morning when Ellen Woodworth wakes up, the first thing she wishes for is to go back to sleep. When that doesn’t work, she imagines her daughter, Megan, coming into the bedroom and saying, “Hey, Mom, what’s up?” And then, every morning, Ellen Woodworth cries.

  One year ago, Megan, a popular and vivacious senior at Shawnee Mission High School, disappeared from a party, never to be seen or heard from again. Her disappearance came roughly two weeks after her best friend, Molly Lincoln, mysteriously vanished after being dropped at her house by her boyfriend late at night.

  A few months later, a hunter discovered Molly’s remains in some woods about five miles from her home. Aside from an undisclosed “mutilation” the police refuse to divulge for fear of compromising their investigation, her remains showed no other sign of trauma or poisoning and medical examiners were unable to identify the exact cause of death, although traces of an animal anesthetic called halothane were found on her clothes.

  Despite repeated and extensive searches, Megan Woodworth’s body has not been found.

  Sitting in her kitchen in this well-to-do suburb of Kansas City, Ellen Woodworth talks about what life has been like for the past year. “We live between misery and despair and hope. There’s no in-between. Sometimes I feel like I’m breathing, but I’m not alive. I’m taking care of things, but nothing makes sense. One of the things I hate most is how Megan’s brother and sister are suffering because I can’t be the mother to them that I once was.”

  There are other frustrations as well. Despite the fact that Molly and Megan were best friends and disappeared within weeks of each other, the police have not been able to connect the two incidents. “Obviously, it’s very tempting to say the two cases are related,” says Shawnee Mission Police Chief Edward James. “But right now we have one unexplained death
that appears to be murder, and one missing person. If we knew for certain that Megan had been abducted, or was the victim of foul play, we might be able to conduct the investigation differently. But we have no leads and nothing to go on. People ask, ‘Are you still looking for her?’ and our answer is, ‘Where do we look?’ ”

  Ellen Woodworth shares Chief James’s frustration. “We both want to get Megan back and we both want to stop whomever was behind this from doing it again,” she said. “Chief James has given me access to all kinds of databases. I look at them all the time because they’re constantly being updated. I wish he could give Megan’s case more of his time, but he has a police department to run, and, of course, Molly’s parents need answers, too.”

  Unlike Ellen Woodworth, Molly Lincoln’s parents do not vacillate between hope and despair. For them there is only despair. “We still can’t understand it,” said Howard Lincoln, a prominent Shawnee Mission lawyer. “Molly was a popular, fun-loving girl. Everybody liked her. Why would anyone do this to her?”

  The story sounded disturbingly familiar. Halothane was involved. Both girls were popular. Mysterious mutilation? What could that be about?

  The problem with texts, e-mails, and phone conversations is you can’t see the face of the person you’re talking to. Most of the time it doesn’t matter, or you can use emoticons, but I wanted to talk to Tyler, and I wanted to see his face when I did.

  Dad was away on a trip and Mom had an important board meeting at the hospital. Since I wasn’t allowed to go anywhere at night, I called Tyler and asked if he would come over.

  “Why?” he asked, sounding surprised.

  “I have to talk to you about something.”

  “Well, here I am. Talk away.”

  “In person, Tyler. Please? It’s important.”

  Half an hour later, the guard called me from the gatehouse and asked if it was all right to let Tyler Starling through. I said it was and waited by the front door while he drove up the driveway and parked in the circle. He got out of his car and gave me a perplexed look. “Hi.”

  I held the door open for him. “Thanks for coming.”

  Tyler stepped into the house and looked around with that slightly wondrous expression most people displayed on their first visit. Sometimes people said, “Quite a place you have here,” or “Nice digs,” but Tyler preferred to remain silent. I led him into the kitchen, and he gazed out the windows at the glass-enclosed indoor-outdoor pool.

  “Someone likes to swim?” he asked.

  “My mom, mostly. Would you like something?”

  “Sure. How about, ‘Why did you want to see me?’ ”

  I gestured for him to sit down at the kitchen table. “You work at the garage?”

  Tyler leaned back and stared at me. “That’s what you called me here to ask?”

  “I’m just wondering why you didn’t tell me.”

  “Oh, sure, Madison, that’s just what I’d want everyone to know. That I’m a closet gearhead. Then I’d really fit in around here.”

  “I thought you didn’t care about fitting in.”

  “Look, I’m not ashamed that I work there, okay?” he said. “I just don’t see the point in broadcasting it. You know people have preconceived notions about the kind of guys who like to work on cars.”

  I couldn’t help a small smile.

  “What’s so funny?” he asked.

  “You’re just”—I wasn’t sure how to say it—“complicated.” Tyler smirked.

  “Did you change the tires on my car?” I asked.

  He frowned. I could see that he had no idea what I was getting at. “Matter of fact, I did. Why? Did I do something wrong?”

  “Did you also leave a note in it?”

  He scowled. “No.”

  “You sure?”

  “I think I’d know if I left a note. Why? What did it say?”

  I didn’t want to tell him. Instead, I said, “Tyler, where do you come from?”

  Consternation deepened the furrows in his forehead. “What is this?”

  “I’m just asking where you come from.”

  “Why? And why am I being interrogated by you? Am I under suspicion for something? Who gives you the right to ask me this stuff?”

  “Is there a reason why you won’t tell me where you come from?”

  He placed his hands on the table and started to get up. The part of me that was attracted to him didn’t want him to go. But the part of me that was frightened of him did. I watched him stand, and good manners dictated that I do the same. I followed him out of the kitchen and down the hall toward the front door. All kinds of things whirled around in my head. I felt tempted to apologize for being nosey, but I did want to know where he was from, and I didn’t feel that was something I had to be sorry about.

  He reached for the door, but it was locked and he wound up yanking haplessly at the handle.

  “Let me do it.” I opened the door and turned to face him. The cold air rushed in around us. This was as close as we’d ever stood. Our eyes locked and suddenly everything changed. He gave me a curious, uncertain look. It was like neither of us was sure what we were doing. But I was no longer wondering where he was from, or what had happened to my friends. I was only thinking about how many times in the past month I’d imagined this moment.

  His face moved closer, then stopped, as if he was asking if it was okay.

  I closed my eyes and lifted my mouth to his. A moment later I felt his lips on mine.

  It was a long, passionate kiss. The kind of kiss you don’t want to end. Since it was completely unexpected, I was surprised, but even more surprised by the urgent passion I felt from Tyler. He slid his arms around me and pulled me to him. Was it possible that he’d been yearning for this as much as I had? I put my arms around him, felt his back under my hands as I pressed against him. I wasn’t thinking about anything except this moment—this kiss, this embrace—and staying in it as long as I could.

  It was only the cold that made it end. Tyler pulled his lips away. “You’re shivering.”

  “It’s okay,” I said, my arms still around him, not wanting to let go.

  Our eyes met again. This time, his were softer but no less intense. “Listen to me,” he said in a low voice. “There are things … you don’t know about. You have no idea what’s going on. The best thing you can do is stay out of it. Don’t go to parties. Not that there’ll be any from now on. Don’t go anywhere at night, especially alone.”

  He started to back away, but I held on to his jacket. “If you know something, why don’t you go to the police?”

  He shook his head. “No way. I have to go.”

  chapter 18

  Tuesday 1:07 P.M.

  “HAS ANYONE READ this story?” Mr. Osmond held up the local paper featuring a headline about the police bringing in an FBI profiler to help them with the case. A few hands went up. One of them was Tyler’s. This was the first time I’d seen him since we’d kissed. In the midst of all these terrible developments, I felt privately embarrassed that I’d spent so much time thinking about his lips on mine. But I was frightened and uncertain, too. He’d hinted that he knew something about what was going on. How was that possible? And why, I wondered, hadn’t he even looked in my direction since the class began?

  “What did you think of it?” Mr. Osmond asked.

  “Do we have to talk about this?” asked Reilly. “I mean, can’t we just for one class not think about it?”

  Mr. Osmond sent a searching gaze around the rest of the class as if asking if we agreed.

  “Doesn’t matter what else you talk about, we’re still gonna be thinking about what’s going on,” said Greg. “I mean, how can anyone not think about it?” He pointed out the window at the line of media vans parked across the street. Others around the room nodded in agreement. A shroud of anxiety, fear, and sadness had settled over the school. Teachers tried to get on with the normal task of teaching, students tried to learn, but mostly we were just going through the motions.

/>   Mr. Osmond turned to Reilly. “If it would make you more comfortable, I can give you a pass to the library.”

  Reilly sighed as if to signal her displeasure. But she didn’t take the pass.

  Mr. Osmond pointed at the newspaper. “According to the FBI profiler, the suspect is almost certainly a male, probably in his twenties, white, and a loner.”

  “Why does he have to be a male?” Sharon asked.

  Mr. Osmond turned to the class. “Any answers to Sharon’s question?”

  “Maybe because he had to be strong enough to subdue someone like Adam?” Jake guessed. “He was a pretty big strong guy.”

  Greg raised his hand. “Don’t you mean, Adam is a pretty big strong guy?”

  This crisis had made people change in unexpected ways. Greg, who had always come across as a cutup who cared about sports and partying and little else, had become morose and thoughtful ever since his best friend disappeared.

  “I think there are plenty of women who could handle Adam if they wanted to,” Sharon stated and glanced at Laurie, who nodded.

  What a strange pair, I thought. Not because they’re a couple, but because one is so belligerent and the other so docile.

  “Maybe it’s not one person,” Dave pointed out. “Maybe it’s two.”

  Everybody assumed he was referring to Sharon and Laurie. Sharon made a face at Dave, who smiled back smugly as if he thought he’d won that round.

  “So let’s talk about profiling,” said Mr. Osmond. “Clearly this FBI profiler is basing his assumptions on data gathered from past situations similar to this one, and on the suspects who were eventually apprehended.”

  “But we still don’t know what happened to Lucy, Adam, and Courtney,” I said. “When you talk about past situations, you’re talking about serial killers, aren’t you? We don’t know if they’ve been killed.”

  Again, I glanced at Tyler. He was staring straight ahead. Wouldn’t it be natural for him to look at me since I was the one speaking? Especially since I’d brought up serial killers?