Driver's Dead (15 page)

Now Mr. Busk's back was to the rear end of the Jeep. He stopped. “Kirsten, I don't know what you're talking about. I—I called to you! I yelled, ‘Push your door open!' I mean, the train was pretty loud by then… .”

Behind Mr. Busk, Kirsten spotted movement in the Jeep's rear window. Slowly, Virgil rose into view, his face covered with blood.

His eyes locked with Kirsten's for a split second.

The expression on Mr. Busk's face flickered with instant understanding. He spun around.

Whack!

The Jeep's rear door flew open, catching Mr. Busk in the chest.

He staggered backward. His foot caught a patch of leaves on the lip of the road.

Windmilling his arms, he fell.

“Hurry!” Virgil urged, pulling the door shut again.

Kirsten raced to the driver's side. She yanked open the door and hopped inside. The key was in the ignition.

Whirrrrrr … whirrrrr!

Flooded. The engine was flooded. That was what Rob had called that noise.
What were you supposed to do?

“He's coming!” Virgil yelled from the back of the Jeep.

Kirsten locked the door. Mr. Busk's shirt filled the side mirror. Now he was grabbing the door handle.

Suddenly Kirsten remembered. She turned the key without touching the gas pedal.

Whirrrrrr … whirrrrr … ka-CHOOOOOM!

The Jeep roared to life.

“OPEN THE DOOR!”
Mr. Busk howled beside her.

“Go! GO!”
Virgil yelled.

Kirsten looked at the dashboard in a panic. She had never driven a Jeep. Everything was in the wrong place.

But she couldn't think about that. She pulled the shift down to Drive. Then she trained her eyes on the road, yanked the steering wheel to the left, and floored the gas pedal.

The tires left the dirt and connected with the road. And Kirsten felt the crash of shattering glass near her head.

“G
O!”
V
IRGIL'S VOICE WAS
a high-pitched wail.

Kirsten screamed and flinched as shards of glass fell against her. Some stuck to her hair, some tinkled to the floor.

She pressed her foot down hard, but the Jeep was swerving out of control.

The window beside her was a jagged hole. But she was unhurt.

She sat up. Her eyes widened. She was heading for an outcropping of solid rock along the other side of the road. Fast.

“We're going to die!”
Virgil cried.

Kirsten pulled the steering wheel to the right. The Jeep felt as if it were going to keel over.

Then they were on the road. Moving. The blacktop stretched out ahead, mottled with swirling eddies of fallen leaves.

“Stop!”
shouted a distant voice.

In the rearview mirror, Kirsten saw Mr. Busk rearing back with a large rock. He let fly.

CRONK!

It hit the roof with a loud, explosive, metallic sound.

But Kirsten kept her eyes forward. Her hands on the wheel. Her foot on the gas.

And in moments, Mr. Busk was an agitated speck in the mirror, disappearing around a bend in the road.

“Yeeeeee-hahhh!” Virgil yelled.

Kirsten grinned. Now this—
this
was a drive!

A couple of miles later Kirsten had to slow down. For one thing, it was getting dark and the old country road had no lights. For another, this section had some treacherous turns.

“Whoa … stop,” Virgil piped up.

He was now sitting in the passenger seat, staring out his window.

“Why?” Kirsten asked.

“This is the place,” he said. “This is where Nguyen died.”

Kirsten applied the brake and stopped at the side of the road. As she shifted to Park, she gazed out at the steep ravine beyond a thick concrete guardrail.

“They crashed through
that?”
Kirsten asked.

Virgil shook his head. “That was put up after the accident. A metal railing used to be there. Rob clipped the end of it.”

“Rob?” Kirsten stared at Virgil. “So
Rob
was driving, not Nguyen.”

Virgil's head lowered. “Yeah. I guess.”

“You
guess?”
Fury exploded from Kirsten. “Damn it, Virgil. You lured me into a trap, and what did I do? Leave you with Mr. Busk, where you belonged? No. I may have just saved your life. And for what? You've been lying to me every step of the way! I know you were involved in the accident, Virgil. So don't
guess.
I swear, if you hold back from me anymore, I will haunt you the rest of your worthless life.”

Or someone else will.

“No … no.” Virgil was shaking his head. “I didn't lure you, Kirsten. I was trying to save you. To warn you. Mr. Busk called to tell me you'd been hit. He made it sound like it was your fault. He was, like, hyperventilating over the phone. He wanted to meet me, but
not
at West and Riverside. When I called and found out you were alive, I suspected Mr. Busk had tried to kill you. Before I went to meet him, I wanted to tell you the truth—away from your house, in case he checked. I knew he'd gone off the deep end. He'd been acting strange lately. He knew you were about to blow open our alibi. His sister had told him you were snooping around with the E.R. records—”

“Alibi for
what,
Virgil? What happened here?”

Virgil's eyes glazed over. He started breathing heavily. “I vowed I'd never talk about this. I wanted to forget it. I thought … I thought it would go away.”

“It'll never go away, Virgil.”

“I know … I know.” He began speaking in slow, measured tones, his eyes moistening. “Rob had it in for Nguyen—he was convinced Mr. Trang stole his dad's job, and
that
was why his dad had abandoned the family. But that wasn't true. Mr. Maxson was fired because he was a drunk. And he'd been fighting with Mrs. Maxson for years. Anyway, Rob knew I liked Gwen, and he got it in his mind that he would scare Nguyen away from Gwen—for my sake, he said. That was what this whole thing was about. It wasn't really for
me;
it was just an excuse to torment Nguyen.”

“So he
killed
him?”

“No. He wanted to frighten him, take him on a dangerous ride and threaten him. Maybe let him out in the woods without his clothes—something stupid like that. He thought that would be fun. I don't know why he wanted me to come. I don't know why I agreed. But before I knew it, there we were, tooling along in the rain. Nguyen was in the middle, trapped between us. We were slipping and sliding, and … a car came in the other direction, in the wrong lane. Rob swerved into the guardrail, and the car went over. Somehow Rob was thrown clear. His jacket was destroyed, but he wasn't badly hurt. I was wearing a seat belt, but Nguyen wasn't. His head smashed into the windshield. Hard.

“I blacked out, until Rob pulled me from the wreckage. Nguyen was dead; we checked him. Then … then we panicked. We were worried someone would find out. So we—”

Virgil's voice broke off. A sudden, choked sob erupted from him, and he began weeping.

Kirsten waited a moment. She couldn't bring herself to comfort him.

“We moved him,” Virgil continued.

“What do you mean,
moved
him?” Kirsten asked.

“Into the driver's seat. To make it look like he was driving. Alone. Then Rob started freaking out about fingerprints. He wanted me to go in and start wiping all the surfaces. We argued and argued, and suddenly …” Virgil took a breath and stared out the window. “Suddenly we heard an explosion. It knocked us off our feet. When we looked back, the car had burst into flames.”

Kirsten sat back in her seat. She let the horrible tale sink in. She sifted through the details, wondering how such a thing could have happened.

“Virgil,” she said, “what about the car that ran you off the road? Did you find out who it was?”

Virgil shrugged. “A drunk driver.”

“A drunk driver?”

“Yeah.”

“Did he happen to be driving a red Jeep?”

Virgil looked away.

Kirsten's head was pounding. “Busk killed the wrong person that night, Virgil,” she said through clenched teeth. “You and Rob were lucky. You could have at least reported Busk. But what did you do?
You helped him cover up the murder of your own classmate!”

“We had no choice!” Virgil's voice was a harsh, pleading whine. “Busk said the accident was Rob's fault—and if we all didn't cover it up, he'd tell the cops
Rob
caused the accident.”

“But he was drunk. A cop would know—”

“He's a driver's ed teacher, Kirsten!
And Rob was driving a stolen car. Who do you think the cops would believe?”

Kirsten stared straight ahead. “Tell me. Was Busk sober enough to drive you to the hospital, or did Rob drive?”

After a silence that seemed to last an hour, Virgil mumbled, “Rob drove.”

“So that was that, huh? You thought you pulled it off—until Maria told you I was starting to get interested in Nguyen. Was that why you came to my house? You were coming on to me, Virgil. Was that part of the plan, too?”

“I—I knew the Trangs had moved without finding Nguyen's diary,” Virgil said. “I got worried that you would. Rob had been worried about that, too. So I figured I'd become your … friend. Maybe I'd find the diary first.”

“You left the attic door open!” Kirsten blurted out. “When you were taking that long time in the upstairs bathroom …”

“I wasn't in the bathroom at all. I was snooping around—you know, looking for loose floorboards, hidden cracks, anyplace a book might fit. I hadn't thought it'd be on a disk. Anyway, I was in your room when I heard that crash downstairs.”

The plate.
The door had swung open, knocked it over, and created a distraction.

Kirsten mumbled, “Nguyen …”

“What?”

Telekinesis. When you move things by thinking about them.
Those had been Maria's words. Joking about Nguyen.

Some joke.

Kirsten's mind was racing. If he could move a plate, could he … ? “He took Rob. He's going to take you, Virgil. Maybe Gwen, too. And me. Maybe everybody, until he gets what he wants!”

Virgil looked at her as if she'd completely lost it. “What are you talking about?
Who?”

“Just hear me, Virgil, You don't have to believe a word. I thought Gwen had killed Rob, but she didn't. Nguyen is trying to get revenge. The picture of the Escort on that driver's ed contest flyer—it moves. Slowly. It turns toward you a little at a time, and then—”.”And then what? It drives off the page?”

“Rob had a flyer with him the night he died. I found it the next day. The car was missing, Virgil.”

“Oh my God … oh my God …”

“I know you think I'm crazy, but—”

Virgil shook his head. “That's not why I'm saying that. Look in the back, Kirsten.”

Kirsten craned her neck.

A manila envelope sat on the backseat. It was labeled CONTEST FLYERS.

“W
HAT DO WE DO
with them?” Virgil asked.

“I don't know,” Kirsten replied.

“Throw them out?” Virgil reached into the back.

“Don't touch them!” Kirsten snapped. “We don't know what might happen.”

“Is the … mechanism, the spell,
whatever
you call it—is it activated if the flyer's inside an envelope?”

“I—I don't know.”

“Or does it have to do with, like, personal possession? In other words, only if it actually belongs to you—”

“Virgil, how should I know?”

Virgil reached for the handle. “Well, I don't know about you, but I'm getting out of here.”

“No, don't!” Kirsten said. “Mr. Busk is out there somewhere. He's probably coming after us. It's already getting too dark to go home through the woods. We can drive into Fenimore Village and circle home using the expressway.”

“But the flyers—”

“They haven't done anything to us yet. It'll be only ten minutes to get home the long way. Let's take the chance. We can ditch the Jeep when we get into Port Lincoln.”

“Okay, fine. But if I get run over while we're in here, you're in trouble!” Virgil sank back into his seat. “Wait a minute. If we're
in
a car, can another car materialize inside it? And if it does, would the surrounding car inhibit its growth, or …”

Kirsten let him ramble on as she shot down Riverside Drive.

By the time she wound through Fenimore Village and found the expressway, Virgil had fallen silent.

Kirsten clutched the steering wheel, staying carefully in the right lane at forty miles an hour. She
hated
expressway driving. Cars hurtled by her like rockets.

“Kirsten?” Virgil finally said.

“This is as fast as I'm going to go!” she retorted.

Virgil didn't seem to hear the comment. “Maybe Nguyen is a revenant.”

“Huh?”

“You know … a restless spirit. I saw a show about this once. It's someone who dies before he's supposed to, and he can't die in peace unless he gets something that he really wanted before he died. They need, like, some tribal headdress, or a picture of their newborn baby, or—”

“Virgil, I'm trying to concentrate—”

“Sorry—”

Suddenly Kirsten slammed on the brakes and veered into the breakdown lane. She came to a full stop and turned to Virgil. “What did you say?”

“I said, ‘Sorry.'”

“I mean, before that. About the revenants.”

“I was just mouthing off. I don't know, it was just a TV movie—”

Kirsten cut him off. “Virgil, did Nguyen wear any jewelry?”

“Jewelry? Like an earring or something? I don't think so. He was pretty conservative.”

“Like around his neck? He kept pointing to his neck.”