Don't Scream! (8 page)

Later.

An unhappy scene at home. Me sitting stiffly in the tall armchair in the living room. Dad hunched on the couch facing me, rubbing his chin. Mom pacing back and forth, shaking her head, her hands clasped together in front of her.

Dad raised his eyes to the ceiling. “I really don't believe this happened,” he murmured.

I turned as Rachel poked her head down from the top of the stairs. “Why is Jack in trouble?” she asked.

“Go back to bed,” Mom snapped. “Don't be nosy.”

“Did Jack do something bad?” Rachel demanded. “Is he going to go to jail?”

“We'll talk about it in the morning,” Dad said. “Jack isn't going anywhere. Go back to bed.”

We all watched till she disappeared. Then Dad sighed again. “Want to tell us why you did it, Jack?”

Mom stopped pacing. She stared hard at me, as if trying to read my mind.

I'd had a lot of time to think about what to tell them. If I said, “A voice on my cell phone ordered me to break into the Howells' house,” I knew what Mom and Dad would think.

They'd think I was crazy. And they would drag me off to a bunch of doctors. And the doctors would also think I was crazy.

What else can you think about a person hearing voices?

So, I knew I couldn't tell the truth. I had to keep on lying. Thanks to Emmy, I was becoming the biggest liar in the world.

“It was a dare,” I said.

Mom and Dad both blinked. “A dare?” Mom repeated.

“These two boys on the school bus, they dared me,” I said. “They … they said they'd pound me into lunch meat if I didn't break into the house and take something.”

Mom's eyes bulged. Her face turned red. “Who
are
these boys? Tell me their names! I'm going to call their parents — right now.”

Uh-oh. My lies were going to get me into even
bigger
trouble.

“No, Mom — don't,” I said. “It'll only make it worse. They'll be in my face even more.”

“If these boys are bullying you and getting
you into major trouble, we need to talk to them,” Mom insisted.

Dad frowned at me. “Give us a name, Jack. If you are being bullied, we need to speak to the parents. No stalling.”

“Mick Owens,” I blurted out.

“Okay,” Mom said. “It's late. But I'm going to call his parents right now.”

She started to the phone. But as she reached to pick it up, it rang.

She let out a startled cry. “Hello?” Her expression turned to surprise. “Mrs. Owens? Mick's mother?”

Huh? Why was Mick's mother calling US?

Mom pressed a button to put the phone on speakerphone. Now Dad and I could hear the conversation, too.

“What a coincidence,” Mom said into the phone. “I was just going to call
you
.”

“Oh, I see,” Mrs. Owens said. “So Jack told you that he stole Mick's camera?”

My heart skipped a beat. I let out a gasp.

“He WHAT?!?” Mom cried.

“Stole Mick's camera,” Mrs. Owens repeated.

“Uh … no,” Mom said. “No. Jack didn't tell us that.” She turned and glared at me.

Her stare sent a shiver down my back.

“Jack told Mick it was
his
camera,” Mrs. Owens said. “But when Mick looked at the
pictures inside it, he realized the camera belonged to him. Your son stole it.”

Mom was still flashing me the evil eye. “I'm so sorry, Mrs. Owens —”

“I don't like to tell on a child,” Mrs. Owens said. “But stealing a camera is serious, don't you agree?”

“Yes, I do,” Mom replied. “I don't understand why Jack would do that. Is your son there? I'm going to put Jack on the phone to apologize right now.”

She waved me over. I had no choice. I took the phone and apologized to Mick for stealing his camera.

That total phony kept sniffling, pretending like he was very upset and about to cry. I wanted to punch his fat face. Instead, I said it was all a mistake and would never happen again.

When I got off the phone with Mick, my parents made me call the Howells. I apologized to them, too. I said someone had dared me to do it, and I was stupid to accept the dare. I promised them it would never happen again.

Then I apologized to Mom and Dad for twenty minutes.

By the time I finished, I'd done enough apologizing for a lifetime.

I was furious — ready to explode — when I got up to my room.

I was in the worst trouble of my life. My
parents thought I was a liar and some kind of psycho thief. And why?

All because of Emmy.

I slammed the cell phone down on my dresser top. “That's all,” I said through gritted teeth. “Over. We're done.”

I brought my face close and shouted into the phone. “No more! I don't care what you do! I don't care if you set my
hair
on fire! I am never never NEVER going to help you again!”

Silence for a long moment. And then her voice rose from the phone, softly: “We'll see.”

The next morning, I left the phone on my dresser and went to school.

I forced Emmy from my mind. I didn't think about her once. I felt so much happier all day, so relaxed and normal.

In the afternoon, our class had a good-bye party for Mick. Friday would be his last day in school. His family was moving to Detroit.

Another reason to be happy. I think I had a grin on my face all day.

It lasted until I returned home after school. Charlene let me off the bus, and I trotted into the kitchen. Mindy was at the stove making mac and cheese for Rachel.

I glanced around. “Where's Rachel?” I asked.

Mindy pointed to the stairs with her long wooden spoon. “Upstairs, I think.”

I suddenly had a bad picture in my mind. A cold stab of dread shot through my body.

I climbed the stairs two at a time. Hurtled down the hall to my room. And …

Yes. I was right. My bad feeling was true.

From the doorway, I stared at my little sister. She sat on the edge of my bed. She held the cell phone in one hand. She frantically pushed the keyboard.

“Rachel, no!” I gasped.

Too late.

I heard a frightening electronic crackle. Rachel's eyes bulged. Her mouth dropped open. Her body twisted and squirmed as a jolt of electricity shot out of the phone.

She made an “UNH UNH UNH” sound as she bounced helplessly in the powerful current.

“NOOOOOO!” I finally found my voice. “YOU CAN'T DO THAT TO MY SISTER!”

I rocketed into the room. My heart pounded so hard, I could barely breathe. I reached out with both hands as if I was about to tackle someone.

With a groan, I grabbed the phone from Rachel's hand and heaved it to the floor.

“Oh oh oh.” Rachel jumped up from the bed, still shaking from the electrical current. Her eyes still wide with fright, she staggered out into the hallway.

I opened my mouth in a roar of anger. My brain whirred. My head felt steaming hot.

I lost it. I'd never been this angry before. Never been this out of control.

I totally lost it.

I stomped on the cell phone with my sneaker. Stomped on it. Stomped as hard as I could, screaming and grunting and gasping like a wild man.

I couldn't think straight. I saw only red. Bright red. I wanted to destroy that phone. Destroy Emmy.

She was ruining my life. I couldn't let her ruin Rachel's life, too.

I stomped on the phone. Kicked it against the wall.

The glass cracked and shattered. Parts flew over the floor.

I kicked it. Kicked it again. Jumped on it. Smashed it under my shoe.

The metal bent. The battery slid out. Other pieces flew from inside it.

My breath came out in loud wheezes. I was screaming in fury.

I gazed down at the shattered, broken phone. But I couldn't see it clearly. I still saw only shades of red.

“You can't destroy me, Jack.” Emmy's voice made me come to a stop.

My chest heaving, I gazed frantically around the room.

“You can't destroy me, Jack. I'm warning you. You'd better stop trying.”

“Noooooo.” Where was her voice coming from? My iPod?

I grabbed the iPod. I tossed it across the room. It hit the wall and bounced to the floor.

“Why are you doing this, Jack? You can't get rid of me so easily.”

In the red haze, I suddenly focused on something leaning against my closet door. The sledgehammer. I'd never returned it to my dad's workshop.

With a crazed roar, I rushed across the room and grabbed the handle in both hands.

Yes, I'd tried it before. Yes, it didn't work the first time. But I wasn't thinking clearly. I wasn't thinking at all.

I just thought:
Destroy. Destroy. Destroy.

I brought the sledgehammer down hard on my iPod. The glass broke. The metal crunched.

“I can hurt you, Jack,” she said. “Don't forget — I can hurt you bad.”

Where was the voice? In my laptop?

I stumbled to my desk. I slammed the laptop shut. Then I swung the sledgehammer at it.

Again. Again.

I was grunting and crying and gasping for breath, but I couldn't stop. I swung it again. I
smashed the laptop. Then I smashed the radio on my bed table.

Then …

Then …

I don't remember.

The next thing I remember, the sledgehammer lay on its side on the carpet. And Mindy was there.

Mindy was hugging me tightly. Holding me in place. Keeping me from destroying anything else.

I was wheezing and coughing. My chest still heaved up and down.

I gazed frantically around the room. Gazed at everything I had wrecked. The clock over my desk. My laptop. My iPod. The cell phone. The TV on my bookshelf.

All smashed. All destroyed.

“Emmy? Are you here?” I screamed.

Mindy hugged me tighter. “Who are you talking to, Jack? No one else is here,” she said softly.

“Emmy? Are you here?” I cried.

Then over Mindy's shoulder, I saw Rachel in the doorway. Rachel staring at me pale and wide-eyed. So frightened.

I snapped back to myself. Seeing my little sister so scared made me stop screaming and shaking.

The shades of red faded quickly. Everything came into sharp focus.

I was me again. I knew I was okay.

“Emmy? Are you still here? Can you hear me? Emmy?”

Silence. No reply. No Emmy.

“I … I'm going to be okay,” I told Mindy. Then I turned to Rachel and repeated it. “I'm going to be okay.”

I had nothing digital left. No electronics. Nothing electrical. Nowhere she could live.

Was Emmy gone? Was she gone for good?

I liked Dr. Martell. She was young and pretty and had a nice soft way of talking. She said a lot of kids my age came to see her because they suddenly lost it. But it was something we could deal with.

I sat in a tall leather armchair across from her desk. She had all kinds of college degrees framed on the wall behind her.

She leaned across the desk and stared at me with her big, green eyes as we talked. Like she was trying to see right into my mind.

We talked for nearly an hour about yesterday afternoon and how I went berserk. Of course, I didn't tell her the real reason.

I didn't want her to think I was crazy.

I made up a story about how kids were teasing me and bullying me on the school bus, and I just couldn't take it any more. “I guess I lost it because I felt so angry,” I said.

It was a lie. Well, maybe it was partly true.

We talked about ways I could control my anger. And things I could do to deal with the other kids.

I said I was totally calm now. “I guess I got it out of my system,” I told her. It sounded like something Mom would say.

Dr. Martell said I could go back to school. And she said we would talk again next week.

I wasn't thrilled about having to see a child psychologist. But she was nice. And I thought going berserk was worth it. Worth it because I got rid of Emmy.

The next day at school, I saw some kids looking at me funny. And I saw some kids start whispering about me when I walked by.

I guessed the story of how I went nuts got around school.

But I didn't care. They'd forget about it soon.

Meanwhile, I felt normal and happy. And free.

The nice feeling lasted until I climbed on the school bus that afternoon.

“Jack, did you miss me?” Emmy asked.

“Huh? Where are you?” I cried.

I was climbing the steps onto the bus. Startled by her voice, I lurched backward and nearly fell off. Two girls in the front seat laughed.

I gripped the rail and pulled myself onto the bus. It was half full, but I didn't see Mick or Darryl.

Charlene squinted at me from the driver's seat. “You okay?”

“No problem,” I said. “I slipped.”

I made my way to the back and hunched low, trying not to be seen. “Where are you?” I repeated.

Silence.

I gazed around. I knew I didn't imagine it. I heard Emmy's voice. Now she was teasing me by not answering.

“Emmy?” I whispered. “Where are you?”

“I'm here, Jack,” she replied finally. “I've been here all along.”

“Where?” I cried. I still couldn't find her.

Some kids turned back to stare at me. I ducked lower behind the seat in front of me.

Emmy giggled. “You're glad to have me back — aren't you?”

She said it coldly. Angrily.

I gasped. I suddenly knew where her voice was coming from. My watch.

The digital watch my grandfather had given me. I smashed everything else that was digital. Everything. But I forgot the watch.

I pulled up my jacket sleeve and stared at it. The time was 3:12. My grandfather said it was one of the first digital watches ever made. It was silver. The face was shiny black.

“You're in my grandfather's watch, aren't you?” I said.

“You're a genius, Jack,” she said coldly. “I know you didn't miss me. But too bad. Too bad for you. I still need your help.”

“No way,” I muttered.

The watch buzzed on my wrist. My skin suddenly burned.

“You're going to start helping me again,” Emmy said. “Tonight. Tonight, Jack.”

“No way,” I repeated. “I'm never helping you again. What don't you understand about
never
?”

The watch grew hotter. I grabbed my burning wrist.

“You're still my friend, Jack. My only friend. And friends help friends, don't they?”

“You … you're ruining my life!” I cried.

“Only for one more day,” a boy's voice said. Mick's grinning face loomed from the seat in front of me. He glanced from my watch to my surprised face.

“Who were you talking to, Jacko?” he demanded.

Darryl popped up beside him. He was working a toothpick up and down between his lips. He scowled, trying to look tough.

“Nobody,” I said.

“Talking to your watch?” Mick asked. “I heard you were going totally mental. Is it true?”

“Give me a break,” I said. I pulled my jacket sleeve over the watch.

“I
am
giving you a break,” Mick said. “I'm not going to
pound
you for stealing my camera.”

“Uh … thanks,” I said.

“I'm moving away — remember?” Mick said. “This is my last day on the school bus. My family is leaving for Detroit tomorrow morning.”

I wanted to jump up and cheer and celebrate. Instead, I said, “Gee, your last day?”

He nodded. His grin grew wider. He leaned over the seat back till he was practically in my lap.

The bus started up. “Everyone, sit down!” Charlene shouted from the front.

Mick and Darryl ignored her.

“What should we do on my last day?” Mick asked me. “What would be fun, Jack?”

“Uh … we could sit down in our seats and pretend we don't know each other?” I said.

It was supposed to be funny, but they didn't laugh.

Mick and Darryl looked at each other. Darryl spit the toothpick onto my chest.

“How about something special today?” Darryl said. “You know. Since it's your last day?”

Mick nodded. “Something to remember me by,” he said.

His words sent a chill to the back of my neck.

“Oh, don't worry, dude. I'll remember you,” I said. I was trying to sound calm, but my voice cracked.

“Let's de-pants him,” Mick said.

Darryl chuckled. “Yeah. De-pants him. And make him walk up and down the aisle so everyone can see him in his underpants.”

“And throw his jeans out the bus window,” Mick added.

That made them both laugh.

“Uh … wait …” I begged.

But Mick grabbed me and pulled me out of my seat. Darryl held my arms behind me. And then Mick grabbed my jeans and tugged hard.

“De-pants him! De-pants him! De-pants him!” Darryl chanted at the top of his lungs.

I knew everyone was watching.

But what could I do?