Authors: R.L. Stine
The elevator door on the right slid open.
Still convulsed in pain, Reva turned in time to see Pam make a grab for the pistol.
“Heyâ!” Danny cried out angrily, jerking the gun from Pam's grasp.
With a loud shriek Pam snatched at Danny's arm, pulled it behind him, grabbed at his waist.
“I'll kill you! I'll really kill you!” Danny screamed.
He and Pam were down on the floor now, wrestling, hitting each other, uttering sharp cries of pain and fury, twisting over each other.
“Ohh!” Pam groaned as she made another frantic grab for the pistol.
Danny drove his fist toward Pam's jaw, and missed. Pam held on.
“I've got it!” Pam cried. Sprawled on top of Danny, she held up the pistol, then tried to toss it to Reva.
But Danny reached a hand up and batted the gun away. It clattered over the floor, sliding to a stop at the foot of a display case.
With a desperate cry Pam scrambled to her feet and dove for the gun.
“Keep it!” Danny cried breathlessly. “I'm out of here!”
With a loud groan he jumped up quickly and lumbered into the open elevator.
Reva shut her eyes tight. She heard Danny scream all the way down.
The scream ended four floors below in a sickening
splat.
It was a sound Reva knew she would never forget.
P
am slumped against the display case, the gun dangling from her hand. She raised her eyes to Reva, her face white with horror. “Wh-what happened?”
“The elevator on the right,” Reva murmured, pointing. “It wasn't fixed, I guess. The doors shouldn't have opened. The elevator car was still on the first floor. Only the one on the left was fixed. Only the one on the left.” She took a deep breath, hearing the sound of Danny's scream repeat in her mind.
The gun dropped from Pam's hand and clattered to the floor. Neither girl made any attempt to pick it up.
Pam stared blankly at Reva, as if not understanding
what had just happened, as if not
wanting
to understand or believe it.
“It's my fault,” Pam murmured.
“No.” Reva stepped forward to put a comforting arm around her cousin's trembling shoulders. “No, Pam. You may have saved our lives. He wanted to kill us. You were brave, Pam. You really were.”
Pam lowered her eyes and didn't reply.
The elevator on the left opened, startling them both. Four FBI agents in dark coats, their revolvers drawn, burst out, their faces tense and alert.
“Are you okay?” one of them asked Reva.
“Define
okay,”
Reva replied.
Pam snickered and squeezed Reva's hand. “Same old Reva,” she said.
â¢Â â¢Â â¢
In a short while the agents returned with Pres and Diane in handcuffs. Pres received the news about Danny in silent horror. He flinched, his entire body jolting as if hit by an electric current. But he didn't utter a sound.
“No happy ending,” Diane muttered bitterly as she and Pres were taken away.
The man in the blue sunglasses introduced himself as Agent Barkley. “We have to get you both to a hospital,” he said solemnly. “We'll radio for your parents to meet you there.”
A few minutes later Reva and Pam sat in the back of the large gray FBI car as Agent Barkley drove to Shadyside General.
“I just don't understand how you knew where to find us,” Reva said.
Agent Barkley turned to flash her a modest smile.
“Some of it was modern technology. Some of it was luck,” he replied.
“Huh? Come on. Tell me,” Reva insisted.
“Your phone in the house has a number revealer on it,” Barkley explained. “You know. The readout that identifies the phone number of the person calling.”
“Yeah. We got it from the phone company a few months ago,” Reva said.
“Well,” the agent continued, “when the kidnapper phoned your father to ask for the ransom money, the phone number of the store flashed on. So we knew right away that they were holding you at the department store.”
“But it's a big store,” Reva said. “We could've been anywhere in it.”
“That's where the luck part came in,” Barkley replied. “The other agents and I came in through the back of the store. We had no idea where they were keeping you. We split up and started to search. And then I saw the employee elevator start to move. I just happened to be in the right place at the right time. I watched it stop on five. I knew that had to be it.”
He turned into the hospital lot entrance and headed the car toward the emergency room. “I rode the elevator to fiveâand there you were,” he said. “Sometimes we get lucky.”
Reva groaned from a stab of pain in her shoulder. “Yeah. This is my lucky day,” she said, rolling her eyes.
The car stopped. The agent jumped out to help the girls out of the back.
Reva's dad and Pam's parents were waiting by the emergency room door. They came running eagerly.
Hugs and tears.
And then another car pulled up, its headlights sweeping over all of them. Victor came running out, leaving the car door open and the engine running.
At first Reva thought he was rushing to greet her. But when he ran to Pam, grabbing her in his arms, sweeping her up in an emotional hug, Reva found herself feeling relieved.
A happy ending for all, she thought with a sigh. She followed everyone into the hospital.
Stepping into the bright glare of the waiting room, Reva stopped. What was that song, that song on the speaker above the reception desk?
It was “Silent Night.”
“Silent Night.” Of course.
“Where do you get your ideas?”
That's the question that R. L. Stine is asked most often. “I don't know where my ideas come from,” he says. “But I do know that I have a lot more scary stories in my mind that I can't wait to write.”
So far, he has written nearly three dozen mysteries and thrillers for young people, all of them bestsellers.
Bob grew up in Columbus, Ohio. Today he lives in an apartment near Central Park in New York City with his wife, Jane, and fourteen-year-old son, Matt.
Have you read the
latest
books?
BAD DREAMS
DOUBLE DATE
THE THRILL CLUB
ONE EVIL SUMMER
THE MIND READER
WRONG NUMBER 2
TRUTH OR DARE
DEAD END
FINAL GRADE
SWITCHED
COLLEGE WEEKEND
by
R.L. STINE
Available from Simon Pulse
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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Copyright © 1993 by Parachute Press, Inc.
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information address Pocket Books, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020
ISBN: 0-671-78619-9
ISBN: 978-1-44248-780-2 (eBook)
First Simon Pulse printing December 1993
FEAR STREET is a registered trademark of Parachute Press, Inc.
SIMON PULSE and colophon are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster Inc.
Cover art by Bill Schmidt
IL 6+