Don't Scream (9780307823526) (16 page)

I tensed, trying to think.
There are other people around who might hear me if I yell, if I—

“I can read your thoughts, Jess,” Mark said with
a chuckle. “I'll give you just one warning. Don't scream.”

Within a few minutes we had passed through our empty neighborhood and plunged into the woods.

“Please,” I begged, as I struggled to follow Mark over the uneven ground, lumpy with roots and shrubs and an occasional rock, “please don't go past Pepper's grave. It hurts me to see it, to guess what you did to Pepper.”

“I'll be glad to describe every detail to you,” Mark said, but when I began to whimper, the glee left his voice. “I can't understand how people can care so much for a stupid animal.”

“That's because you don't know how to care for anything or anyone,” I told him.

“That's true,” Mark said, as though we were having nothing more than a class discussion. “I've heard about love and read about love, but I've never experienced it. I've never loved anyone.”

“Not even your parents?”

“Especially my parents.”

“Your aunt and uncle gave up their own lives to come here for you.”

“That's their problem, not mine.”

Mark yanked me over a fallen tree trunk and steadied me as I stumbled. There, in front of us, were the two small graves. “Cat-size,” he said. “Child-size.”

I shuddered, and he laughed.

“Pull yourself together, Jess,” Mark said. “We're going only a little farther. I want you to see the graves we talked about.”

“The settlers? You really found them?”

“I did. There's no way of telling whose graves they were, though. Wooden crosses would have disintegrated long ago. There were a couple of stones with names carved on them, but the small cemetery is a mess—a tangle of vines and weeds and underbrush. One grave has completely fallen in.”

He paused and smiled with delight. “Considering my change of plans, the sunken grave is made to order. The perfect final resting place for you. An original settler. A goody-goody from the Old World.”

I dug in my heels and said, “I'm not going with you to be killed—are you crazy?”

“Don't call me that. You haven't got a choice.” Mark's voice was vicious. He held up the pitcher threateningly.

“I have two choices,” I said. “I can give in or I can fight. I'm not going to let you kill me without a fight.”

“Look,” Mark said, his voice changed now, “this isn't my fault, Jess. It's yours. Don't blame me. Blame yourself.”

“Everybody's going to blame you!” I caught a flash of movement behind Mark and thought I heard a twig snap. Was someone coming? I talked more and more loudly, trying to keep Mark's attention on me. “The police are going to blame you! The whole world is going to blame you!
You
are the one with the evil eyes!”

“Stop shouting! No one's going to hear you!”

“I can shout if I want to! If I'm going to die, I'm going to scream as I go.”

I twisted, driving my arm toward his thumb and breaking his grip. I jumped to one side just as Scott and Eric leaped into the clearing.

“Stand back!” Mark waved his chunk of broken glass at them.

The two of them stood half-crouched, arms extended, ready to spring.

Mark had a weapon that could kill; Scott and Eric faced him bare-handed.

In a flash I thought of my cat and the children who would be in danger and poor dead Mr. Chamberlin. I stiffened my right hand and brought it down in a hard chop against Mark's bent elbow. He yelled, his hand fell, and he dropped what was left of the pitcher.

Before he could react, with all my might, I socked him in the stomach.

Giddy with success, I waited for him to go
ooof!
and bend double so I could bring my clenched hands up hard under his chin. But Eric and Scott were suddenly on top of him in a wild scramble, and I was shoved out of the way.

I grabbed the pitcher's handle, snatching it up so that no one would roll on it, and when Mark's head rose from the scuffle, I banged it with what was left of the smooth, heavy glass bottom. He went down without a sound.

As soon as Scott and Eric realized the fight was over, they got to their feet.

“You were great, Jess,” Eric said in awe.

“We've got to get him to the police,” Scott said.

“I'll go,” Eric said.

Scott shook his head. “He may come to, and for safety's sake we should stick together. Jess, you and Eric each take one of his hands, and I'll take his feet. We'll carry him out of the woods.”

“He's heavy,” I said. “He'll be hard to lift. He might bump and scrape along the ground.”

Eric gave Mark a disgusted look. “I have no problem with that,” he said. “Do you?”

I answered by grabbing Mark's right hand. Slowly, and with great difficulty, we carried him from the woods. We yelled as we neared the edge of the woods, “Help! Someone call the police!”

W
E
TOLD
THE
police the entire story while we were waiting for my parents to pick us up.

Scott explained, “Sorry it took so long to get to you, Jess. We had to make sure there was nothing we could do for Mr. Chamberlin.”

I turned to Eric. “How'd you get involved?”

“Remember, I told you I'd get that information to you as soon as it all came in. If you only had a fax …”

“If I had a fax, you wouldn't have been there to help.”

“Good point,” Eric said. “Anyhow, I was bringing the material over to your house when I saw that alarm light flashing. I ran to see if whoever lived there was in trouble. I found Scott there rubbing his head. He filled me in on what had happened.” Eric thought a moment. “My dad keeps
telling me that reality is more interesting than virtual reality. I suppose I'll have to tell him that I concede in this one situation, at least.”

“Well, thanks, Eric,” I said. “You came off the Internet long enough to save us. Why don't you balance your online hours with people hours?”

Eric actually looked pleased. “People hours may be a possibility. I'll give it some serious thought,” he said.

I said to Scott, “I'm glad I heard what you told the police. Some of my questions about you were answered. You didn't even know Edna Turner. You just picked her name out of the newspaper.”

Scott stared at me in surprise. “You actually thought that I …?”

“Well, it was pretty confusing,” I admitted. “Guess you won't be coming back to Oakberry High.” I thought how sad Lori would feel. “When you told the police your real name, you said you graduated from high school two years ago.” I changed the subject quickly. “What's it like being a freelance writer? Do you make enough money to support yourself?”

One eyebrow arched as Scott answered me, and I blushed. “Not nearly enough,” he said. “That's why I'll be leaving to go on to college as soon as I know that Mark Malik—or Wayne Arthur Randall—will be kept from harming anyone else.”

I heard Mom's voice raised over a sudden hubbub out in the hallway. I quickly said, “Lori is going to miss you.”

Scott stood. “I'd like to be the one to tell her,” he said, and strode from the room.

I heard Mom shout, “Why do we have to wait to talk to the detective in charge? I want my daughter … now!”

“My parents are really upset,” I said to Eric.

He grinned. “No surprise. Mine will be, too. But they kept telling me to get a life. They'll have nothing to complain about.”

Eric's grin reminded me of how terrific I had thought he was when I was in seventh grade, and I realized my opinion hadn't changed a bit. “Thanks again, Eric.” I put a hand on his arm. “I'd like to learn more about all the things you can find on the Internet. Maybe you'll teach me.”

“Glad to.” Eric beamed.

“First, could you answer a question that's really bugging me? Why is it that Scott's fake background was easy to detect? And Scott's the good guy. But Mark—or Wayne, the dangerous sociopath—had a perfect background, with nothing left out?”

“Scott took what is called the Tombstone Theory and didn't know it could be broken down so easily. The Feds set up Mark's ID, and they're pros at the job. They don't make mistakes.”

I pictured Mark standing over Mr. Chamberlin and smiling. And I saw in my mind the graves of Peaches and Pepper. I shuddered. “Oh, yes, they do,” I said. “This time they made a big one.”