The Locker (7 page)

T
he road came to an abrupt end.

Tyler stopped the car and jumped out, walking forward onto a rickety wooden bridge and pulling back a heavy chain with a sign on it that said
PRIVATE.

“Where are we?” I asked him. We must have been riding for half an hour, at least. My ears were still ringing from the wind and the noisy engine, and I gingerly patted my head.

“We have a summer cabin down here,” he informed me, hopping back in again. “My dad just wanted me to check on some things.”

I craned my neck out the window as we drove slowly across the bridge. Broken boards sagged beneath the weight of the car, and in the glare of the headlights I could see what looked like a deep ravine yawning below. Shuddering a little, I drew back inside and watched as the dirt road sloped up a gentle rise, and wound through another stretch of woods, widening at last into a shadowy clearing, where it promptly dead-ended.

“That's our place,” Tyler said.

I looked out at the small wooden cabin, its roof and porch and stone chimney practically swallowed by the surrounding trees. Dormer windows jutted out from the second floor, all of them heavily shuttered, and the encircling yard was tangled with weeds and dead leaves and fallen tree limbs.

“The Taj Mahal it's not,” Tyler added. He stopped the car and turned off the ignition, glancing over at me with a shrug. “But we like it. Once we get it cleaned up for the summer, we spend lots of time here. It's a great place to bring friends. Lots of privacy.”

He shoved open his door and climbed out, motioning me to follow.

“That's the river down there,” he said, heading around to one side of the cabin. “It's high right now—we've had a lot of rain.”

I could see now that the cabin was built at the top of an embankment. As Tyler walked to the edge, I came up behind him and gazed down into the muddy water below. A flight of wooden steps led down to a narrow dock, but I could hardly see it for all the overhanging trees. The place looked dark and spooky, and I pulled back nervously, all too conscious of the spongy ground underfoot.

“Be careful, it's slippery,” Tyler warned me, reaching out for my hand. “You'd think we'd be safe here, wouldn't you, being up this far? But the truth is, a few good storms set in, and it's nothing for that water to come right over the bank. I've seen it flood so bad, we've had to leave the car way back down the road and paddle the boat in over the bridge.”

I couldn't even picture the river rising this high. As Tyler let go of my hand and turned back toward the cabin, I lingered behind, taking another peek at the dock. The bank was matted with weeds and twisted clumps of tree roots, and as I stared, something slithered out of the shadows and into the murky water. Nervously I redirected my gaze to the middle of the river, where I could see a slow, lazy current swirling along. But down there along the bank the water didn't seem to be moving at all—just lying there deep and thick and stagnant …

Dead
…

A chill crept up my arms.

Suddenly, more than anything else, I wanted to get back to the safety of the car.

I started to turn, and to my horror, felt my foot slipping in the mud. Panicking, I whirled around and gasped.

I hadn't heard Tyler come up behind me. I thought he'd gone into the cabin.

But now, as I locked eyes with him, I also felt something hit my arm, shoving me off balance.

I grabbed wildly for something—
anything
—to hold on to.

But there was only the wet ground dissolving beneath my shoes, and the shrill echo of my scream, and the endless rush of dank, dark air as I plunged into nothingness.

8

M
arlee! Are you okay!”

I might have been out for a second or two—I'm not really sure. There was just that endless sensation of falling, and the bone-jarring impact, and then everything finally began to focus again, all blurs and slow motion.

I tried to move but couldn't. I felt like something was trapping me—something huge and alive—and sucking me down into a bottomless hole.

The first thing I saw clearly was Tyler sliding down the embankment after me, and I remember thinking in some weird corner of my mind that it was a miracle he was even staying on his feet at that crazy angle. The next thing I saw was his face above mine, and he looked scared to death.

“Marlee—can you hear me? Don't move!”

I wanted to tell him there was no danger at all of that, I was stuck fast. But my immediate concern wasn't the weeds or the slime or even the throbbing in my head, it was suddenly remembering that slithery thing I'd seen earlier.

“Get me out of here!” I yelled. “I think I saw a snake!”

“If you did, he never knew what hit him. Hang on—your foot's caught.”

I tried to lift myself up, but only sank back helplessly into the muck. I could feel Tyler's fingers around my ankle, and as a terrible pressure suddenly disappeared, I saw him grin triumphantly and toss my sneaker into the water.

“What are you doing to my shoe?” I cried, but his arms were around me now, tugging me to my feet. “I
need
that shoe!”

“Forget the shoe. Can you stand up?” He loosened his hold on me, and I started to crumple. “Negative on standing. Maybe something's broken after all.”

I winced and shook my head. “I'm sorry. I'll try harder—”

And then it happened.

Just like before—only this time I was right in the middle of it—
trapped
in the middle of it—like suddenly finding myself in a movie scene, but not being able to get out because the film's running on fast forward and no one can stop it—

Panic
…
terror … pain pain pain bursting exploding darkness surging in swallowing me
—
something else
—
a smell again
—
only different this time
—
thick … clinging … suffocating wet slippery can't breathe … oh, God, can't breathe, what is it
—

“It's murder,” Tyler was saying.

“Wh-what?” I whispered.

“I said it's
murder
coming down that way. Next time I wish you'd use the steps.”

I looked at him in dismay. I was standing up clutching the top of my head, and Tyler was still holding me. I was shaking all over, but I was also testing my weight on one foot, and everything was sharply back in focus. I was pressed up against his chest, and we were both covered in mud, and as I looked up into his face, a flash of memory came back to me—
something hit my arm … his eyes were so dark … I didn't know he was there …

“You okay?” Tyler asked. “Did you hurt your head?”

“You—” I broke off, suddenly confused. Anger and fear and pain roared through me, and I pulled back, pushing him away. “Something … something hit me.

“Did it?” Tyler's face was blank. “I saw you slip-ping, and I couldn't believe it. I tried to get to you—tried to
grab
you, but you were already on your way down.”

I stared at him. His clothes were filthy and torn, and there were streaks of dirt on his face. He ran a hand over one cheek, making it even worse.

“Something pushed me,” I mumbled, and I took another step back.

“You slipped,” he said quietly.

I looked up into his eyes. He held my gaze with a steady one of his own, and with an effort I turned my attention to the riverbank.

“You can't get up the same way you came down,” he deadpanned. “Here. Hold on to me.”

“I can do it myself,” I said.

He didn't argue, only reached over and took my hand, leading the way carefully through the tall grass until he was able to touch the stairs with one shoe. Then, digging in his heels, he gave me an encouraging nod and pulled gently, guiding me to solid ground. Relieved, I felt the steps beneath my feet and Tyler's hands around my waist, boosting me up. I tried to pretend I didn't notice anything, but a curious tingle went through me, and I ended up stumbling.

“You're okay,” he said, catching my elbow, steering me again. “I'm right behind you.”

I didn't want him to be right behind me. I especially didn't want him right behind me when I knew my rear end was wet and covered with mud and grass stains.

“I hope we can fix this big rip back here,” he said.

I whirled around, and he sucked in both his cheeks, making his face clownishly solemn.

“Joke,” he said, holding up one hand. “Really. I swear.”

I was so glad to get to the cabin. While Tyler unlocked the door, I stood behind him, watching his quick, deft movements. I tried to remember exactly what had happened back there on the riverbank … what had happened the second before I fell …
but Tyler said I was already falling when he grabbed for me … I must have felt him trying to catch me, but he missed.…

“Are
my
jeans ripped?” Tyler asked, and I snapped back to attention. He was looking down at himself and frowning.

“Sorry. What?”

“You're undressing me with your eyes,” he said.

“I most certainly am not.”

“Come on, you know you were.” He winked and stepped aside to hold open the door. “After you.”

The cabin was surprisingly homey. At one end was a huge kitchen with a big oak table, and at the other end a cozy living room, one wall taken up by a stone fireplace. The floors were all wood, the walls paneled, and every window had a view of the trees. A wide porch stretched across the entire rear of the cabin, and when Tyler opened the back door, I could see the forest pressing right up to the steps. In one corner of the kitchen an open staircase led to the second story, where Tyler showed me the huge room full of beds and mismatched furniture.

“As you can see, my mom's big on hospitality.” He shrugged. “Everyone comes here to crash, so we always have plenty of sleeping space.”

“It's nice,” I told him. My arm was starting to hurt, and I rubbed distractedly at the torn sleeve. “Do you ever come here by yourself? Just to be alone and think?”

“Actually, it's the best place in the world when nobody else is here. And since you and I are neighbors now, if you ever want to come and be alone and think, be my guest.”

“What about your parents? Won't they mind?”

“Of course not.” He looked surprised. “They both work during the week, and my mom babysits a lot, so she's usually busy on the weekends. Come anytime you want. I'll even show you where we hide the key.”

I couldn't help smiling at the offer. “That's really nice of you. You don't even know me.”

“What does that mean?” he teased. “Is there something I
should
know?”

I shook my head. “Not really.”

“Like … are you an ax murderer? A psychopath? A reform-school escapee?”

Again I shook my head, but this time I was laughing.

“No. None of the above.”

“Well”—he looked me slowly up and down—“you never can tell about people. You
seem
harmless enough, but you can't be too careful these days.”

I started to nod, started to say something clever, but Tyler went over to an old dresser and began rummaging through its drawers.

“Here,” he said, tossing me a bundle of clothes.

“What's this?”

“What do you mean, what's this?” he scolded gently. “Look at you, you're a mess. Put these dry things on before you catch pneumonia.”

I hesitated, staring down at the clothes in my hands. Tyler went back down the stairs, and a second later I heard him whistling as he opened and shut cabinet doors. I kept one eye on the stairs and cautiously began to undress.

“People break in sometimes!” Tyler's voice floated up the stairs, and I moved closer, trying to hear.

“What did you say?”

“I said, people break in sometimes! Into the cabins! All up and down the river!”

“Is that why we're here?”

“Sort of. Jimmy Frank called my dad about changing the locks before we start leaving stuff down here for the summer. We've had stuff stolen before.”

“Like what?”

“Oh … radios. Tools. Fishing tackle … things like that. Most of the time it's not worth much, but last year we lost a boat motor and some of my dad's guns.”

I pulled on a baggy pair of jeans and frowned as the legs billowed out around me. I slipped into the huge shirt and decided both things must belong to Tyler's father.

“Are you finding anything suspicious?” I called back, sliding into dry socks.

“Usually when there's been a break-in, it's just transients, looking for food and a dry place to spend the night—especially if the weather's bad!”

Rattles, crashes, more bangs. Doors opening and closing. Windows being raised and lowered.

“Everything looks okay to me,” Tyler announced.

“Who's Jimmy Frank?” I called to him, rolling my wet things together into a ball.