Wish You Were Dead Page 2

  “Make a right here,” I said with a yawn when we got to Bayside Way. Tyler turned onto the narrow road, passing driveways that disappeared into dark woods. I thought again about his “rich bitch” comment and wasn’t surprised that his forehead furrowed when we stopped at a small white guardhouse with a gate. With a cautious squint, the guard inside slid open the window and leaned forward, peering at the unfamiliar car. When he saw me in the passenger seat, a smile of relief appeared on his lips. “Oh, good evening, Miss Archer.”

  “Hi, Joe,” I said.

  The guard slid the window closed and raised the gate. Tyler drove through. “Miss Archer?” he repeated.

  “It’s just a formality.”

  “That’s his moonlighting job when he’s not being a cop?”

  Surprised, I said, “How did you know he was a policeman?”

  “I can smell ’em.”

  “Sounds like you don’t like the police.”

  Tyler didn’t respond. We were on Premium Point now, a gated community on a thin strip of land that jutted out into the Sound, lined with what could only be described as estates. Tyler drove slowly, peering at the dark silhouettes of vast lawns and large houses.

  “I’m down at the end,” I said.

  A moment later he stopped in the circular driveway and stared through the windshield at the vast stone facade of the place I called home. I had a feeling that he, too, was thinking back to his “rich bitch” comment. I felt bad. I’d had high hopes for us connecting this evening, even going so far as to fantasize ending it with a kiss. But maybe I’d hoped for too much. All we’d done was share a car for Safe Rides, which didn’t exactly qualify as a hot date.

  “Thanks for driving me home.” I reached for my backpack.

  “Wait.” Tyler turned to me. I looked back at him in the dark and felt a shiver of anticipation. Was he going to say that he liked me? That he had also been looking forward all week to this evening?

  But all he said was, “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

  He didn’t have to explain what he was sorry about. We both knew.

  “You don’t have to be sorry,” I said. “It’s just … Things aren’t always what they seem, okay? Maybe not everyone who’s rich is a bitch.”

  “I didn’t say they were,” Tyler said. “I only said Lucy was. I … I don’t think you’re a bitch at all. In fact, I think you’re pretty nice.”

  “Thank you, Tyler,” I said, and thought, Maybe the night wasn’t a total loss after all.

  I got out of the car and let myself through the heavy wooden door into the house, temporarily disabling the alarm system to give me time to get up to my room. Upstairs, even though I could barely keep my eyes open, it was impossible to go to bed without first checking my messages, and that was where I found the latest from PBleeker, my cyberstalker:

  I once heard you say you hated how cliquey school was, but I bet you’d never go out with someone like me. You always act like you’re open-minded and sensitive, but I wonder if, just like everyone else, you judge people by their looks. I know you’re not stuck up like some of those other kids, because you’re always nice and talk to everyone. But how come you only hang out with the people in the most popular clique?

  I shivered and turned away from my laptop, wishing that just this once I hadn’t checked my messages before going to bed. I once heard you say … You always act like … Was PBleeker someone who knew me that well, or was that just part of the mind game he (or was PBleeker a she?) played? All I knew was that for the past year, PBleeker’s presence in my life had become one more curse, like my period, college applications, and zits.

  I went to bed with the disturbed and uncomfortable feeling that always followed a PBleeker message. Sometimes they kept me awake for hours. But not tonight. At least the evening with Tyler had ended on a positive note. And that, plus my overwhelming fatigue, helped me drift off.

  chapter 3

  Sunday 10:34 A.M.

  Oh, poor, poor Lucy, look at you cowering in the corner with your face and hands streaked with dirt and your pretty blonde hair bedraggled and your makeup all smeared. It doesn’t smell very nice in there, does it? We’ve gotten used to it. But then, we’ve never been accustomed to the finer things in life the way you have.

  Please don’t grovel and beg. We know your father is a doctor and has lots of money, but don’t you understand? It’s not about money. That’s not the point. Your medications? No, I’m so sorry, but that’s not something we have here. Really, Lucy, it’s so unbecoming for a young woman of your stature to cry and plead. Look at it this way. You’ve had it so good for so many years. Surely at some point everyone pays the price, don’t you think? Isn’t it only fair? You caused so many so much pain. Now you’ll get to see how the other half lives.

  Oh, did we say “lives”?

  Sorry.

  * * *

  TYLER IS DRIVING. It’s so dark that all I can see is the short stretch of road racing toward us beneath the headlights. Tyler is leaning over to kiss me. I like the feel of his lips on mine, but shouldn’t he pull over? It’s too dark to drive and kiss. But I’m afraid he’ll get mad if I ask him to stop kissing me and watch the road. Tyler, it’s not that I don’t want you to kiss me. Really. I just don’t want to crash. Tyler, my parents will be really upset if we die. Tyler, please open your eyes and watch where you’re going.

  Open your eyes.…

  Please.

  My cell phone was ringing. I opened my eyes and looked at the clock on the night table. 10:34. All at once I was both relieved and disappointed. Thank God it was a dream, darn it! Tyler wasn’t kissing me, but he wasn’t driving and not watching where he was going, either.

  The phone rang again. I picked it up and stared blearily at the number. It was Courtney. “What happened to our ‘No Calls Before Noon’ rule?” I answered with a yawn.

  “This can’t wait,” she said. “Like, Lucy Cunningham’s parents are calling her friends, looking for her? Turns out she didn’t come home last night. Did you hear anything?”

  “Hear what? When?” I asked.

  “Like, last night? Didn’t you and Tyler drive her home?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “But she didn’t get there, okay? Jen Waits just called me.”

  My thoughts drifted back to the previous night and my last glimpse of Lucy, standing stubbornly on her front walk with her arms crossed. My heart staggered and skipped. We didn’t wait to watch her go inside.

  “Did Lucy say anything?” Courtney asked.

  “About what?”

  “I don’t know. Just anything.”

  Outside my room, footsteps came up the stairs, rapidly. Rap! Rap! Knocks on my bedroom door. “Madison?” Mom came in, holding the portable phone. The tips of her blonde hair were wet, which slightly darkened the shoulders of her white terry-cloth robe. Her hand was over the phone’s speaker.

  “Later,” I said into my cell phone and snapped it shut.

  “Did you drive Lucy home last night?” Mom asked, worry lines joining the reddened bathing-cap line in her forehead.

  I nodded. It wasn’t hard to guess who was on the phone. My parents and the Cunninghams had been close friends for years. The frown on Mom’s face deepened and she held the phone to her ear. “Paul? Yes, she drove Lucy home last night. Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Yes, I understand.” Mom handed the phone to me. “He wants to speak to you.”

  I took the phone. Everything was happening too fast, and it left me feeling shaky and uncertain. “Hello?”

  “Madison?” Lucy’s father sounded grave and urgent as he explained what I already knew—Lucy hadn’t come home the night before. “Can you tell me where and what time you dropped her off?”

  “Right at your front walk around three.”

  “Did she say she was going anywhere else? Or meeting anyone?”

  “No.”

  “Did she start up the walk toward the house?”

  “Not really,” I said. “She just stood there smoking
a cigarette.”

  This information was met with silence. I suddenly felt guilty and added, “She only does it at parties sometimes.”

  “Had she been drinking?” Dr. Cunningham asked.

  “Yes, I’m pretty sure.”

  Lucy’s father muttered to himself. “Did she say anything that might have indicated that she didn’t plan on going right into the house?” Anxiety and hope slithered through his words.

  “No. She just seemed really upset. I mean, have you talked to Adam?”

  “Yes,” Dr. Cunningham replied tersely. “Did you happen to see anyone else around when you dropped her off?” A hint of desperation tinted the edges of his voice.

  “No. It was really late. I don’t remember seeing anyone. I’m really sorry.”

  “There’s nothing to be sorry about, Madison. Just promise me that if you do remember anything else, anything at all, you’ll call me immediately.”

  “I will,” I said. “I promise.” I hung up and handed the phone to Mom.

  “You’re sure there isn’t something you’re not—” she began.

  “Mom, give me some credit, okay?”

  She sighed. “You’re right. I shouldn’t have said that. Those poor people. I feel so terrible for them. They must be worried sick.”

  Once again, I replayed the memory of Lucy standing in the dark, hugging herself against the chill, her cigarette glowing. Where could she have gone?

  “Well, hopefully she’s safe.” Mom checked her watch. “You remember that your father’s expecting you to crew for him this afternoon?”

  I’d forgotten. “Who’re we racing against?”

  “American, I think.”

  The American Yacht Club was on the other side of the Sound. “We won’t be back until after dark. I have homework.”

  “Take it with you,” Mom said, heading for the door.

  I slid back down into the covers and squeezed Rumpy, my ratty old Gund dog. My thoughts drifted back again to the night before. What could have happened? Where could Lucy have possibly gone? Nothing I could think of made sense. And yet, I couldn’t shake the feeling that it was my fault.

  It was dark when Time Off, Dad’s racing sloop, returned to its slip. The other members of the crew had families and Sunday dinners to get back to, and it wasn’t long before Dad and I were left alone to finish the job of packing up and securing the boat. On Sundays Mom was used to keeping dinner warm until we could get home.

  “Get your homework done?” Dad asked as we tied the mainsail to the boom. It had gone from a cool but breezy and sunny afternoon to a chilly, damp, dark evening. My hands were cold and a little stiff. I wished I was wearing gloves.

  “Uh-huh.” I’d done my homework at the galley table below decks while Dad and the other crew members sailed home after the race.

  He smiled. “I know crewing wasn’t your first choice today, Maddy, but it makes me happy when you come along.”

  “No prob, Dad.” I was always glad to spend time with him. These Sunday-afternoon races were his only respite from his role as head of M. Archer and Company, his investment firm. There were often entire weeks when I didn’t see him. Dad literally traveled the world to attend meetings, meet investors, and consider business possibilities. On any given day he might be in Brazil looking at sugarcane producers, then fly overnight to meet a wealthy sheik in Dubai for a breakfast meeting, and then continue to Vietnam to look at a toy-manufacturing facility.

  The smile on my father’s face was replaced by a pensive look. “I hope they’ve found Lucy by now.”

  “Me, too,” I said. But I could not shake the sense of dread that I’d felt all day. An hour before, we’d called Mom from the boat to see if there was any news. There wasn’t. Lucy was still missing.

  By the time we finished securing the mainsail, a crescent moon had risen over the Sound, creating a shimmering white swath of moonlight across the black waters. Dad and I walked through the dark boatyard past the tall, hulking cranes and hoists, the dry-docked hulls, and racks of powerboats. We’d almost reached the parking lot when I realized I’d left my books in Time Off’s galley. I told Dad I’d only be a moment, then rushed back through the dark.

  Walking quickly through the shadows left by the tall white hulls, the only sound I heard was the crunch of my footsteps on the gravel. I reached the ramp that led down to the dock and hurried along, my thunking footsteps now accompanied by the slosh of water. A few moments later I climbed on board the Time Off, dashed into the galley, and grabbed my backpack. While locking the galley door, I thought I heard footsteps on the dock and stretched up to look out at the dark. But there was no one on the dock, just the empty berths and the sticklike silhouette of a mast here and there.

  Pulling my backpack over my shoulder, I walked quickly along the dock, water sloshing beneath me with every step, my eyes darting left and right. Stop it, I told myself. There’s nothing wrong. You’re just freaked by what’s going on with Lucy. Reaching the end, I hurried up the metal ramp and once again started through the boatyard. Something felt odd, but it took several moments for me to realize what it was. Abruptly I stopped and listened. At first all I could hear was the thumping of my own heart and the clinks of halyards knocking against metal masts, but I was certain there’d been another sound, almost an echo of my own footsteps.

  Stop it! You’re just imaging things. I tried to reassure myself, but it didn’t stop the nervousness from creeping up my spine. Once again I told myself I was being silly. There was nothing to be afraid of—except maybe Dad’s impatience if I didn’t get back to the car soon.

  I started to walk again but almost immediately heard the echoing footsteps. I stopped. Was it only the echo of my own steps bouncing off the broad white hulls around me? Or was it something else? Was there someone walking parallel to me one line of boat hulls over?

  My heart was rattling and I could hear my own shallow breaths. This is stupid, I told myself. There’s nothing to be afraid of. I took a tentative step, then stopped to listen. This time there was no echo. I took another. Still no echo. I began to walk.

  There it was again … footsteps crunching … and they weren’t mine.

  I started to run.

  Now the footsteps were louder, accompanied by the scattering of gravel sent flying by my rapidly moving feet. In the clatter it was impossible to distinguish my steps from anyone else’s, and I pictured someone gaining on me from behind. Hands reaching out to grab me. The need to scream gathered in my chest, but just then I reached the parking lot.

  Dad was waiting by the car.

  “You didn’t have to run,” he said.

  I wasn’t so sure. Breathing hard, heart banging in my chest, I looked back at the boatyard and saw nothing but shadows, and the hulls of dry-docked boats. But there’d been someone back there. I was certain of it.

  Str-S-d #6

  There was supposed to be a big party last night. I know because they were talking about it at school on Friday. They know you’re not invited and then they talk about it loud in the hall when you pass and look to see how you react. I haven’t been invited to a party since sixth grade, so you’d think they’d realize that I’m used to it. At this point, I wouldn’t go to a party even if I was invited. Life sucks. People suck. Don’t tell me I have a bad attitude or that things will get better someday. You’re not me. You don’t know what it’s like.

  3 comments

  ApRilzDay said …

  I’m sorry you feel that way.

  IaMnEmEsIs said …

  You’re not alone. We know what it’s like.

  One4therOd said …

  Pathetic self-pitying whiner.

  chapter 4

  Monday 7:43 A.M.

  Did you say something, Lucy? You’re thirsty? Oh, Lucy, really now, we don’t think you’re in a position to complain. Sorry? Of course they’re looking for you. Yes, they surely will find you … sooner or later. We’re sure your parents are doing everything within their power. But let’s be ho
nest, Lucy. Except for your parents, do you really think there’s anyone who’s truly upset that you’re gone?

  Oh, Lucy, we really don’t think you should have said that. No, no, it’s much too late to say you’re sorry.

  * * *

  ON MONDAY MORNING I pulled my Audi into Courtney’s driveway. My parents had given me the choice of any car I wanted as long as it had front and side airbags. I’d thought the Audi was cute.

  Courtney was always late, but I was used to that and had stopped at Starbucks for a venti caramel macchiato. I opened the window, smelled the scent of cool salt air, and sipped my coffee. The Rajwars lived in a sprawling split-level house with a pool and tennis court in the backyard that were hardly ever used. Parked in a corner of the driveway near the garage was Courtney’s VW Bug with a light green tarp over it. She’d lost her license after being caught speeding twice within six months of passing her road test. Now she would have to wait until she was twenty-one to drive.

  Courtney came out wearing black-and-white horizontal-striped leggings, a pink satin skirt, and a thick, baggy green turtleneck sweater. Her black hair had streaks of blonde and pink and she had a tiny diamond stud in one nostril. She was a gorgeous girl with olive skin and dark, almond-shaped eyes.

  “S’up?” she said, getting into the car and taking the caramel macchiato out of my hand for a swig. “Yum.” She looked around. “Got anything to eat?”

  “Do you want to get something from your house before we go?” I asked.

  “Like, there’s nothing to eat in there?” Courtney said. “I haven’t seen my father in days. I don’t even know if he’s here or away on a business trip?”

  Courtney’s mom was back in Chandigarh, the town in India where she’d been born, caring for Courtney’s sick grandmother. Her father worked for a big international corporation and traveled even more than my father. Courtney’s older sister, Abigail, was studying at NYU Law, and was supposed to keep an eye on her younger sister while her parents were away, but Abby spent most of her time at her boyfriend’s apartment in the city. As a result, Courtney was the least supervised person I knew.