All Fall Down (12 page)

It took him ten minutes to check her license and write a warning, on which he’d included his phone number. The whole time his lights had flashed mercilessly over Kathy’s car and blazed across the Avery lawn. Less than a week later Rosie was dead, and now Kathy knew she’d been murdered, no doubt by the guy she’d met at the Avery house—a guy who would have had to be deaf and blind not to have spotted Kathy’s car in front of the house that night. Maybe he didn’t know the car belonged to her. It had been awfully dark that night, and she didn’t have the only Honda Civic in town. In that case, she was safe. But what if she went to the police, and they questioned him and let it slip who’d reported seeing him with Rosie, then let him go for lack of evidence? That kind of thing happened all the time. She’d seen it on TV a million times. Then she’d
really
be in danger. He’d be after her, trying to get revenge, afraid she knew more than she really did.

“I’m sorry about what happened today, Kathy. Will you wish me luck anyway?”

Kathy blinked and looked blankly at the girl standing beside her wearing a petticoat and midriff-baring top. God, Arletta Stroud was trying to look like Madonna! Kathy almost burst into nervous laughter, but managed to keep herself under control long enough to say “Good luck” and watch Arletta hurry out on the stage and begin her bouncing dance. When one of the heavy crosses on her necklace flew up and hit her in the face, Kathy finally broke up. While someone stopped the music and Arletta checked to make sure she hadn’t cracked a tooth, Kathy peeped through a tear in the curtain to see Mrs. Avery’s reaction to
that
performance, but she was lost in the shadows back near the bleachers. In fact, it looked like just about everyone was gone. Oh, well, it didn’t matter. Arletta’s attempt to look sexy was a scream, and she was going to look even dumber when everyone saw
her
the night of the show. Maybe her routine wasn’t all that smooth, but her costume! Just thinking about it gave Kathy a thrill, and she felt like looking at it right now. She knew she’d feel better if she looked at it. Pretty clothes always made her feel better.

She’d had it made last month and didn’t dare leave it at home, where her mother might find it. She’d be so scandalized she’d take the scissors to it, since she’d “found the Lord” a year ago, right after Kathy’s older brother had been killed in a freak accident during a Marine training exercise. Mrs. Foss had encouraged him to join the Marines and now she felt guilty. Kathy’s father had explained that to her, but it didn’t make her mother’s new religious fervor any easier to live with. So far she’d cut up other pieces of Kathy’s clothing she thought were too revealing, and the two had running battles about Kathy’s bleached hair and the short cheerleader’s skirt she wore. If her mother had her way, Kathy would be in something down to her ankles. It was only because Kathy’s father was on her side that she had been able to stay on the cheerleading squad at all.

Kathy went to the basement of the gym, the right half, which comprised the girls’ locker room. She’d expected to see at least a couple of girls changing clothes for their acts, but apparently Arletta was the last to need a costume change. They’d started her number over, and “Like a Virgin” was still blaring upstairs.

The concrete felt cold under Kathy’s feet. She should have remembered to put on shoes—she was sure to snag her tights—but she didn’t want to go back upstairs, where she’d left them, along with the jeans she’d worn over her leotard. Walking on tiptoe, she passed the showers, thrown into half shadow by the weak lights burning overhead. Someday Maintenance would have to knock themselves out and put some decent lights down here, she thought. In the daytime it was okay, when light came through the windows set high in the walls, but at night the place looked weird.

It looked very weird, as a matter of fact. Kathy paused and thought about forgetting the costume and rushing back upstairs. It was cold down here. Cold and gloomy. And she’d been so frightened all day.

But you’re not going to give in to that, she silently reminded herself. Three minutes. That’s all it’ll take to check on my costume, and then I’ll get the hell out of here.

Off the main locker room was a smaller room used mostly to store majorette and cheerleader paraphernalia. Kathy pushed the door open and flipped on the light, which consisted of a dusty single bulb suspended from the ceiling. She hesitated again. She’d been in this little concrete-block room many times and never thought twice about it. But tonight the room seemed full of new shadows. “Two minutes,” she said aloud, carefully closing the door behind her. “This will take
two
minutes, that’s all. Then I’ll know no one’s ripped off my costume, and I won’t have to worry about it on top of everything else.”

Along the far wall was an old dresser. It had always looked out of place in this room filled with metal wardrobes and storage boxes, but since the top drawer had a lock, it was a perfect hiding place. Kathy knelt and felt for the key, which she had taped to the underside of the dresser. She found it and tore it loose from its tape. The lock of the top drawer resisted the key at first. Maybe there was too much stickiness left from the tape, she thought. Finally the key turned reluctantly and she pulled out the drawer, which creaked loudly. There lay her costume, untouched. She lifted it out, delighting in how the black sequins sparkled even in the dull light. Cut high over the thighs and low at the neck, it was absolutely dazzling! She loved it. She’d be a knockout at the talent contest. They wouldn’t forget her act any time soon!

Suddenly a click behind her indicated the door was being opened. She went rigid. Probably some nosy girl trying to see what she was up to, Kathy thought, but the answer
felt
wrong. Then the door closed. An intuitive thrill of fear rushed through her body like a deluge of freezing water, and she stood rooted to the floor, absolutely unable to turn around. She’d never had this sensation in her whole life. She was quick and athletic, but now she stood immobile, eyes wide, the costume clutched to her chest. It seemed she could hear her heart thudding behind her ribs. It also seemed she could hear a second heart thudding, but not with fear.

Something furry crossed her feet with a soft, feathery movement and she dropped the costume. A mouse. It squeaked shrilly and ran on its way as Kathy finally found her voice and shrieked, involuntarily stepping back toward the door. That was when the arm locked around her neck. “I’ve been waiting to get you alone,” a hoarse voice whispered in her ear. “I saw you come down here.”

Kathy went rigid as blood drained from her face. She managed a weak scream, although her throat was constricted by a strong arm, but “Like a Virgin” boomed on upstairs. “No one can hear you. Anyway, I have to do this, so we might as well get it over with.”

Mindless with fear, Kathy let her instinct take over, and she clawed the arm, then kicked backward with a strong leg. “Damn!” the grip loosened. Kathy raised her leg, preparing to kick again, but something slammed against the right side of her head. She went down without a sound. She was so stunned she couldn’t move, but she was aware. She saw a figure bending over her and felt a needle jabbing into the muscle of her arm. “No! Please don’t kill me,” she begged, her fists clenching spasmodically. A relentless hand held her down against the cold concrete floor. The mouse, she thought. The mouse will chew on me just like the animals did on Rosie. A tear rolled down her cheek. The stinging in her arm subsided, and she knew the needle had been removed. Whatever had been injected, though, was creeping through her body, traveling along the blood vessels like some deadening, insidious vine. “Please,” she muttered. “Please don’t…Won’t tell…”

“I know you won’t. Not now you won’t.”

I can’t believe I’m going to die in this horrible little room, Kathy thought. I can’t believe, I can’t believe—

She felt something cold and sharp pressing against the back of her neck. A knife. “No, not that,” she said, slurring her words.

“Afraid of knives? Don’t be. I’ll wait until the drug takes effect.”

“Hurt…”

“You think I’m waiting because I don’t want to hurt you? I don’t give a damn whether I hurt you or not, you stupid little slut. I just want to make sure you don’t go running upstairs with your wrists bleeding. They might get you to the hospital before you bleed to death.”

“Don’t want to die…”

The hand was released, and Kathy was able to lift her head from the floor. Her legs and arms, however, felt leaden. She couldn’t possibly get to her feet, or even her knees. Her breathing was becoming more shallow, and she felt herself drooling. Then she vomited.

“Christ! How disgusting!”

Kathy tried to keep her head elevated, but she couldn’t. Her face fell back into the vomit and she choked, although she was still fighting to keep her mind focused.

She was getting very sleepy, but she was aware of the minutes ticking away. In some stubbornly attentive corner of her mind, she could almost feel them ticking away. But time wasn’t helping. Time was only making everything fuzzier, more unreal. She felt as if she were floating.

The music pounded above her. On and on. If they’d stop the music, maybe she could scream.
Maybe
someone would hear her. But the music wouldn’t stop.

I can’t believe…Kathy thought vaguely one last time. I can’t believe I’m really going to die like this. Then a hand lifted her left wrist and deftly drew the knife gently across the fragile white flesh and blue veins. Blood oozed out and Kathy moaned.

“I don’t know why blood makes most people so nervous. It’s in all of us.”

“No. No, please…” The knife was raised again and this time it gouged, going for the artery, but Kathy barely felt it.

1

Arletta threw her arms in the air, flung herself to the right, and landed on the stage floor with a flat-footed thud. The music stopped, and she peered out into the darkness. “So whaddya think, Miz Avery?” She squinted. “Miz Avery, are you there?”

Blaine reentered the gym and called, “All done, Arletta?”

“All
done?
Weren’t you even watchin’?”

“I stepped out to the rest room for a minute, that’s all.”

“In the middle of my
dance?
”

Arletta’s voice, always high-pitched and twangy, now seemed to screech through the echoing expanse of the gym.

“Arletta, you started over five times. I just couldn’t wait. I’m sorry. In any case, I have a suggestion,” Blaine said, walking nearer the stage. “Two of the talent contest judges are older teachers. I’m not sure they’d approve of the lyrics of this song. You might do better with something else.”

“But, Miz Avery, this is my very favorite song,” Arletta wailed. “My very, very
favorite!
”

“Yes, but…” Blaine trailed off, thinking. It wouldn’t matter if Arletta sang something from
The Sound of Music—
she didn’t stand a chance of winning, so why not let her do what she wanted? “Okay. But how about getting rid of some of the crosses?”

Arletta’s little eyes flew open in horror, and she grabbed one of the crosses as if she thought Blaine was going to tear it off her. “But this is the kind of stuff Madonna wore back when she was gettin’ started. Honest, Miz Avery, she
did
.”

“I know, Arletta. Despite my advanced age, I’ve seen some music videos. It’s just that one of those crosses is going to break your nose.”

“I
have
to wear these great big old crosses. To look
real
, ya know? To look like Madonna did. Please, Miz Avery? I’ll practice so they don’t fly up.”

“It’s your routine,” Blaine said, too tired to argue with the girl any longer. She felt like she’d just run a marathon. “If you want to take a chance on injuring yourself, go right ahead.”

“I’ll be better by Thursday night’s rehearsal,
honest
, I will!”

Blaine forced a smile. “All right. Whatever you want.”

As Arletta took her album off the record player and went backstage to pick up her coat, Blaine slipped on her all-weather coat and found her purse, looking for the gym keys inside. Really, she was going to have to clean out her purse. It probably weighed five pounds with all the stuff she carried around.

Arletta’s parting smile and pleasant “ ’Night, Miz Avery” couldn’t hide the resentful glare in her eyes. Blaine knew the girl thought she was picking on her. Maybe she was. There was no doubt Arletta had the same effect on her as nails scraping a blackboard, but she couldn’t help being an annoying fool. She came by it naturally. Suddenly Blaine wished she hadn’t mentioned the song
or
the jewelry, although if tonight’s performance was any indication, Arletta would probably knock herself out onstage during the talent contest. Still, she determined to be kinder to the girl from now on. Arletta was doing her best.

Blaine glanced at her watch. Ten-ten. Had she really been in the gym less than three hours? It seemed like six. Sighing, she went downstairs to the boys’ locker room to turn off the lights. Then she came upstairs, crossed in front of the stage, and descended once again to the girls’ locker room. She had her hand on the light switch when a sensation of not being alone overcame her. She paused. From where she stood she could even look into the doorless shower stalls. “Anyone still here?” she called, exasperated by the high, thin timbre of her voice. She cleared her throat and said in a more normal tone, “I’m closing up now. Unless you want to spend the night locked up in here, you’d better get a move on.” But the words were unnecessary. She could see for herself that the room was empty. She flipped off the light and hurried back upstairs, deciding that fatigue and the shock of Rosie’s death were making her feel all kinds of prickles and chills. Still, she didn’t like being in the gym alone.

She turned out the gymnasium floor lights, then moved through the lobby, where bright light bounced dully off the metal closures hiding concession windows. After extinguishing the lobby lights, she went outside and firmly shut the glass entrance doors, inserting her key in the lock. Normally one of the school’s two janitors was paid extra to handle the locking up, but one was out with the flu, and the wife of the other was expecting a baby any day and afraid to be alone at night. Blaine shook the door, making sure it was locked securely.

The night had turned damply cold, the moon glimmering faintly through a shroud of thin, ragged clouds, the stars invisible. Blaine pulled her lined raincoat tighter as wind rustled across the big parking lot, picking up dead, brittle leaves and tossing them against the school buildings and her car. Or rather, her car and the white Honda Civic still sitting in the lot. She frowned. Of course, the Honda could belong to someone who had business in the main building, but she couldn’t think of who that would be. Certainly not the principal or vice-principal, whose cars she knew. And if she remembered correctly, Jean Lewis, the school secretary, drove a Buick.

Curious, Blaine strode past her own car and went to the Civic. Peering through the window, she saw a three-ring notebook and a tattered geography book on the front seat. A student’s car, no doubt. She circled to the front of it and stooped down to look at the vanity plate.

Kathy Foss, of course. Blaine rose with a sudden feeling of alarm. No wonder she hadn’t felt alone in the gym—Kathy was probably still there. Maybe she had fainted again and was now locked in for the night.

Blaine hurried back to the building, wondering if she should call the emergency squad. What if Kathy had hurt herself when she fell? But she was only guessing that Kathy had fainted. Maybe she was just playing a game. Maybe she thought she’d have an exciting story to tell about the terror-filled night she’d spent trapped in the big, shadowy building. Or maybe she was trying to get back at Blaine for reprimanding her earlier today for tardiness. True, such antics would be extreme, even for Kathy, but Blaine hoped one was the explanation for the girl’s disappearance.

Blaine unlocked the front doors and went through the lobby, turning on the lights. Then she flipped more light switches, and the large main room of the gym blossomed with light that seemed even brighter as it reflected off the varnished gym floor. “Kathy!” she called. “Kathleen! Are you here!”

No answer came. Blaine hesitated, then went back to the pay phone in the lobby. She would call Logan. After all that had happened, he would understand her uneasiness and not spread word around town about the incident if it turned out to be nothing but a teenager’s prank. She looked up his home phone number in the ragged phone book and inserted coins. They clicked back into the return cup. She put them in again, and the same thing happened. So the phone was broken. As usual.

Sighing in frustration, she slammed down the receiver. Now what? Should she take the time to drive to Logan’s house? Of course not. Kathy could be in serious trouble. She would have to do something herself.

She took a step into the gym and stopped. There they were—those weird prickles in the area of her neck. In books those prickles always resulted from the character’s atavistic awareness of danger, but she wasn’t living a book. She pushed down the uncomfortable sensation and walked across the gym floor. “Kathy! If you can hear me, please yell.”

Again nothing. She stopped in front of the stage. The girl had to be downstairs. Although Blaine had already checked down there once, she hadn’t looked in every nook and cranny, and the upstairs was so brightly lit, there was no place where Kathy wouldn’t be visible.

Blaine pulled the belt of her coat even tighter, as if it could give her the strength to do something she didn’t want to do. But she told herself she was being silly. Going back down to the locker room was a pain, but not a cause for dread. She couldn’t let nerves get the best of her when a girl might be lying down there unconscious, maybe hurt if she’d struck her head on something. Blaine walked with determination to the concrete stairs, flipped on more lights, and descended.

The locker room looked exactly the same as it had fifteen minutes ago, the showers gleaming, the big locker doors shut. “Kathy,” she called again. Her voice cracked.

She drew in a sharp breath. Something was wrong in this room. Maybe those horror writers so often mention atavistic fears because they exist, she thought distantly. They must exist, because my spine feels like an icicle, and there is not one tangible thing in this room to fear. A clean, semi-well-lighted place, that’s what it is. So why is my pulse pounding in my abdomen? Why do I feel like I’m rooted to the floor?

Because the air seems leaden, she thought. Because there’s a weird, coppery smell down here I’ve never noticed before. Because I
know
I’m not alone in here.

Her breath quickening, she looked around nervously. Gray-painted concrete floor. Five white sinks along the wall. Two commodes sitting in stalls whose doors gaped open, leaving no room for anyone to hide. Open, tiled shower stalls. Long wooden benches opposite the sinks and showers. A thirty-foot stretch of massive old lockers that had been moved here when new, compact ones were installed in the main building. Nothing was wrong. Absolutely nothing was—

Blaine’s heart slammed against her ribs. Lockers. The locker halfway down the line. Something was streaming out the bottom of it. Something red.

Blaine stared in amazement and horror at the red pool forming on the floor. Bigger and bigger it grew. She moaned softly. Then, powered by a compulsion she later didn’t understand, she walked to the locker and opened the door. A rush of blood and the body of Kathleen Foss tumbled out, her dead azure eyes staring right into Blaine’s.

2

She was hyperventilating. Her hand, slick with perspiration, slipped on the phone receiver as someone said, “Hello? Is anyone there?”

Logan’s mother. Blaine recognized her distinctive voice, although she hadn’t heard it for years. “Mrs. Quint, it’s Blaine O’Connor. Avery. Is Logan there?” she gasped.

“Yes, Blaine. Are you all right?”

“Tell him to come to the high school.”

“What’s that?”

“High school. A girl’s been murdered.”

“What! Blaine—”

“Tell Logan. Come to the high school.”

She drew a long, shuddering breath and hung up, looking at the phone as she fought for air. Thank God she had insisted on installing a phone in her car after Martin’s accident so she could check on him anytime she wasn’t home. Earlier, before she searched the gym, she had even forgotten it was in the car. Memory block? she wondered now. Did she associate the phone so much with Martin’s paralysis that she didn’t
want
to remember it? Did she recall all the times she’d called home to have Bernice tell her Martin was shut in his study, writing in the notebooks that had become his obsession four months after the accident? To Blaine, that had seemed like another sign of his deteriorating mental state—his preoccupation with those damned notebooks he kept locked in a drawer, then burned before he died. Yes, that must be it, she told herself. There was also the fact that she hadn’t used the car phone since Martin’s death.

Death
. She squeezed her eyes shut, then snapped them open again, checking to make sure both car doors were locked as she sat huddled in the school parking lot. Kathy was dead, just like Rosie. Judging from the amount of blood that flooded out of the locker with her body, she must have bled to death.

Feeling faint again, Blaine leaned forward, putting her head between her knees as well as she could beneath the steering wheel. It’s very dangerous for me to be sitting here like this, she thought. But I can’t drive in this condition, and I should wait for Logan. If only he’d hurry.

She thought of Robin alone in the big house and her head snapped up, striking painfully on the steering wheel. She picked up the phone receiver again. Robin answered on the third ring.

“Are you all right?” Blaine asked immediately.

“You mean after my riveting performance at the rehearsal? Sure. But you don’t sound so good. Where are you?”

“Still at school. Listen, Robin, something has happened—”

“What?”

“I’ll explain later. Now, I want you to make sure the doors are locked and turn on the security system.”

“Why?”

I can’t tell her, Blaine thought. Not now. “As I said, I’ll be a little later than expected, and I just want to make sure you’re safe.”

“Well, the doors
are
locked.”

“Good. I also want you to put the lock panel on the dog door in the kitchen.”

Robin paused, then spoke with an edge of fear in her voice. “Is that because you don’t want Ashley to go out or you don’t want someone getting in?”

“Just do it, Robin.”

“All right. But I wish you’d tell me what’s going on. You’re scaring me.”

“I have to go now.”