Bad Dreams (11 page)

Maggie nodded. “Yeah. Well…” She turned to Andrea. “Good race.”

Andrea was bent over, struggling to untie a knot in her sneaker laces. She heaved the sneaker down hard in frustration. “Please! Just leave me alone,” she muttered.

Fully dressed, Tiffany came over and sat down next to Maggie. She's being awfully friendly, Maggie thought. She had never seen Tiffany so happy before.

“How do you think we'll do on Friday?” Tiffany asked.

“We'll kill them,” Maggie promised.

“Wouldn't that be awesome?” Tiffany asked. “To win at All-State?”

“Awesome,” Maggie repeated without enthusiasm. She caught the scowl on Andrea's face.

“See you,” Tiffany said, climbing to her feet. “Just three days to go.” She hoisted her gym bag onto her shoulder and started out through the pool exit.

“Maggie?” It was Coach Randall in the doorway of her office. “Can I see you a second?”

“Uh-oh,” Andrea whispered. “Maggie's in trouble.”

“Grow up,” Maggie told her sharply. She draped a towel around herself, hooking it tightly above her chest.

Coach Randall was sitting behind her desk when Maggie came in. The coach smiled warmly. “How are you feeling?”

“Exhausted and excited at the same time,” Maggie replied.

Coach Randall nodded. “Your backstroke was looking better today. A lot less side-to-side movement.”

“Yeah, it felt good,” Maggie said. What does she want? Maggie wondered. Since when does she like to chat?

“So how's everything else?” the coach asked casually.

“Everything else?”

“You know,” Coach Randall replied. “Life, things at home, boyfriends, that kind of thing.”

Whoa, thought Maggie. What's up with Coach Randall? Why is she asking me all this?

What was she supposed to do? Pour her heart out? My father died, my boyfriend has been ignoring me ever since I told him about my weird nightmare, I found a knife in my pillow, and I think my bed is haunted.

No, that wouldn't sound too good.

“Everything's fine,” Maggie said.

Coach Randall stared at her for a long time, studying Maggie's eyes. “I've been a little worried about you lately, Maggie. You haven't been yourself.”

“I'm fine,” Maggie insisted. “Really.”

“I hope you and Andrea have worked things out,” the coach said, leaning over her cluttered desk.

“Yeah. No problem,” Maggie lied.

They talked for a little while longer. Finally Coach Randall repeated her instructions about getting plenty of rest, and let her go.

As she left the office, Maggie passed the wide-open door to the pool and glanced in.

What
was
that?

“Oh!” She gasped, not believing her eyes.

She started through the doorway.

Then stopped.

She cried out in horror as she saw Tiffany lying facedown on the floor, bright red blood puddling around her on the tiles.

“T
iffany!” Maggie screamed.

Tiffany didn't stir.

Maggie bent over her.

And saw the blood-spotted knife.

And then the stab wound in Tiffany's side.

“Oh oh ohh …” Maggie uttered a shocked groan and picked up the knife—

Just as Coach Randall came running in from the locker room, and two other teachers pushed through the front doors to the pool.

Maggie glanced up, frozen in horror. Her hand was covered in warm, sticky blood. The knife fell from her hand.

The teachers, their faces wide with horror, were running toward her.

Maggie jumped to her feet. “I didn't do it!” she cried. “Really! I didn't do it!”

*   *   *

Maggie lay on the living room sofa, staring up at the ceiling.

“No one really suspected you, sweetie,” Mrs. Travers said. She sat by Maggie's feet. “Why would they? You had no reason to stab Tiffany. As if you would ever do such a thing even if you
had
a reason!”

“The police—they asked so many questions,” Maggie moaned.

“They were just doing their jobs,” her mother replied. “But they never thought you stabbed Tiffany.”

“I'm just glad she's going to be okay,” Maggie said, sighing.

“Her mother says she's in pain, but she'll be okay,” Mrs. Travers said. She chewed her bottom lip. “Too bad Tiffany didn't see who attacked her. She told the doctors someone grabbed her from behind.”

Maggie felt something wet and warm slop against her hand. She lowered her eyes to find Gus licking her hand as it dangled off the sofa. He panted up at her, putting a paw up on her arm.

“Good dog,” she said, stroking his head. “Good sweet dog.” That was one of the great things about dogs. They always loved you no matter what was going on.

Andrea was in the kitchen, talking to Tiffany on the phone. Maggie could hear snatches of Andrea's end of the conversation. “Important that you rest … Plenty of other meets … Thank goodness you're okay … Could have been so much worse.”

Well, thought Maggie, at least Tiffany is going to be okay. But there was no way Tiffany could swim Friday.

First Dawn, then Tiffany.

Now there were only two swimmers left. Maggie and—

Maggie sat up as Andrea entered the room. Andrea had a pleased smile on her face. She couldn't hide her happiness.

Andrea was in the meet now, Maggie realized. She'd swim the two-hundred IM in Tiffany's place.

“Tiffany's going to be fine,” Andrea assured Maggie and her mother. As if
that
were what she was smiling about! Maggie thought bitterly.

“That's wonderful, Andrea,” Mrs. Travers said. “You see, Maggie? Everything's going to be okay.” She stood up. “I'd better start dinner. How do hot dogs and baked beans sound?”

Mom must really be worried about me, thought Maggie. The last time she let us eat hot dogs was the week after Dad's funeral.

Maggie and Andrea had done the cooking that week. They made franks and beans every night until there were no franks left in the freezer.

“You know what this means, don't you, Mags?” Andrea asked. “It means I go to All-State.”

Maggie nodded, but she wasn't really paying attention. She was distracted by a very disturbing thought.

Tiffany was stabbed. The girl in my dream was stabbed.

Is there a connection?

Crazy thoughts, Maggie told herself. Crazy thoughts.

But she couldn't force the idea away.

Andrea began pacing in front of her, her hands shoved deep into the front pockets of her denim cutoffs. “I can't believe it. How many people will be there Friday, do you think? I'm so nervous. I know I'll faint or puke or something. Has anyone ever puked in the pool during a meet?”

“Tiffany was stabbed,” Maggie murmured, not really hearing her sister. “Was the dream trying to warn me—!”

“Oh, please don't start with that dream stuff again!” Andrea begged. “You're just making yourself crazy, Maggie.”

She started pacing again. “I'm better than Tiffany anyway. So I guess it's lucky in a way, what happened.”

“Lucky?” Andrea's words broke into Maggie's troubled thoughts. Her mouth dropped open. “Lucky that Tiffany got stabbed?”

“I know. It sounds awful,” Andrea replied without any emotion. “But what am I supposed to do? Act depressed about making the team?”

Maggie jumped up. She was so furious at Andrea, she could barely speak. “The way you're talking, people might think
you
stabbed Tiffany!” Maggie sputtered.

Andrea laughed scornfully. “What an idea!” she exclaimed. “What an idea!”

*   *   *

“Please—please help me!”

Maggie tossed on the bed, back in the nightmare.

Only the dream had changed.

The girl with the ash-blond hair was no longer sleeping in the bed.

Now the girl was running, running for her life.

And Maggie was running with her.

“Miranda!” Maggie called to her. “Miranda—wait for me!”

She followed Miranda through a long, dark tunnel. The tunnel walls were wet and slimy. The roof of the tunnel was low, so that Miranda and Maggie had to bend their heads.

Miranda kept slipping and falling over loose rocks on the floor. Every time she fell, she hurried to her feet again and rushed forward.

Maggie followed her. She knew it was a dream. But it was as real as life to her. “Miranda! Miranda!” she called.

If only the girl in the dream could hear her!

The dark tunnel became narrower and narrower, as if the rock walls were slowly closing in.

Miranda kept running. The tunnel twisted and turned.

Maggie could see only the girl's back, her hair bobbing up and down as she ran.

“Let me see your face! Miranda—please let me see your face!”

But she didn't have to see Miranda's face to know that she was desperate, terrified.

All at once Maggie realized why.

Someone was pursuing Miranda through the tunnel, pursuing her with a knife.

Closer. Closer.

The knife blade gleamed in the gray tunnel light.

Maggie gasped as Miranda slipped and fell once again.

Maggie fell with her this time. Fell through an endless, swirling pink haze.

Below her, the pink canopy came into view.

Maggie's heart froze. She was heading for the canopy.

Miranda was back in the bed now, her head turned away.

So the tunnel was the
beginning
of the nightmare! Maggie realized.

All the other times, I came into the dream in the middle!

The dream repeated as before.

But this time, slowly, very slowly, the girl turned over.

And finally Maggie saw her face.

A pretty face. A terrified face.

And as Maggie stared at the face, she saw the hand of the attacker.

The dark figure moved forward to stab Miranda.

Then Maggie woke up.

Wide awake.

Her eyes blinked open. Her heart thudding.

She took a deep breath, then another.

I'm awake. I'm okay. I saw her face.

And now I'm awake.

Maggie didn't have a chance to scream before the cold hand clamped tightly over her mouth.

This isn't the dream! she realized. This is happening now—to me!

Andrea?

Was it Andrea again?

No.

As the cold hand pressed down over her mouth, Maggie stared up into the darkness.

And saw Miranda.

No! It can't be!

Maggie raised both hands to shove the hand away.

Miranda glared down at her, pale hair falling wildly over her forehead.

“Are you—a
ghost?”
Maggie managed to utter in a choked whisper.

Miranda nodded.

“You—you're really a ghost?”

Miranda nodded again and raised the knife.

T
he knife blade shone in the dim light from the window.

Maggie squirmed desperately and rolled to the floor. She landed hard. Pain shot up through her body.

“Miranda—no!” she pleaded.

The ghost glared down at her, dark eyes peering through tangles of hair that tumbled over her face.

The knife bright in her hand.

“Miranda—please!”

“Maggie?” Mrs. Travers's worried voice rang out in the hall. Maggie heard her mother's footsteps rapidly approaching.

The ghost took a silent step back.

“Maggie—are you okay?” Mrs. Travers called.

Maggie watched in dazed horror as Miranda yanked open the bedroom window—and disappeared.

Maggie pulled herself up from the floor. Her body convulsed in a single shudder of terror.

The bedroom door flew open. The light clicked on. “Maggie—” Mrs. Travers stopped, seeing the dazed expression on Maggie's face.

“Mom—the ghost!” Maggie cried.