Prom Date (5 page)

"No," the girl whispered, tears of anguish streaming down her face, streaking her makeup, "no, please, Fll do what you asked, I won't go to the prom, I won't ..."

"Liar." The tip of the shoe pulled back and swung forward, hard, aiming at the remaining three fingers. It connected with a crunching sound and the hand slid free. The girl fell down, down, upon the wet, salt-sticky rocks below.

She screamed once on the way down, a helpless, hopeless shriek of terror.

"You were right." The voice sounded different now. "This place is dangerous."

As the figure turned away from the railing, a small object fell from her pocket. She bent to pick it up, then changed her mind and nodding, let it lie, half hidden beneath a worn wooden bench.

Then the shoe that had kicked out at the hand turned with its mate and the pair of them made their way back down the circular staircase, in no particular hurry.

happened. They'll think I was with them all the time, that I never left the picnic.

ril have to be very careful to act like all the others. If they cry, I'll cry. If they don't, I won't, /test like them, I'll act jtcst like them. No one will notice anything weird about me, I'll make sure of that.

But I feel weird. I feel so weird. But look how it's turned out for me. Better than I thought I think . . . I think that if this doesn't work out the way I want, and it might not because sometimes things don't, I could do this again, and again, and again, until I do get what I want. It's so easy. Easy to make things look accidental. And no one would ever suspect me. I'm much too clever for that.

That look on her face . . . I'll see that in my dreams, maybe even while I'm awake, for the rest of my life. And Til hear that scream even when I'm listening to music or taking part in a conversation or cheering at a ball game. It will ring in my ears as if it were happening at that very second instead of in the past.

I shouldn't punish myself like that It really wasn't my fault She should have been more careful And I certainly couldn't help her after she refused to help me. That wouldn't have been right Not right at all

But she's dead. Gone. Forever. Out there in

the water somewhere, floating like a bright yellow buoy.

There, the shivering has stopped. Because I feel strong now. Stronger than I ever have. I can do anything. I can have what I want

And now I have a date for the prom.

that?" His voice was low, his dark head tilted slightly as if he were still listening.

Margaret's heart resumed its beating. "I don't know."

The sharp crack of a bat sounded from the park. The screams that filled the air then as the runner flew from home plate to first base and then on to second seemed, to Margaret, very unlike the one they'd heard a moment earlier. That had sounded anything but playful to her.

But Mitch's body relaxed and he said, "Oh, thafs what it was! The game. Whew, had me going there for a minute. Sounded like someone having their worst nightmare, didn't it?"

And for just a moment, it was such a relief to be presented with a harmless, even comforting explanation for the bone-chilling shriek, Margaret tried very hard to believe that he was right.

But she knew, somewhere deep inside of her, that he was wrong.

"Yes, it did sound like someone's nightmare," she said, turning around to face the Point. "And it didn't come from the ball games." She pointed toward the lighthouse. "It came from there."

"You sure?"

"Positive." Dread sounded in her voice. "We have to go check."

Someone shouted at Mitch just then, urging him to join the game.

Margaret saw him hesitate. He didn't really agree that the scream had come from the Point, and she could tell that he would much rather play ball than return to the lighthouse to investigate.

"I can go back by myself," she said, and began walking. Fast. Almost running. If she was right about where the scream had come from, she was probably also right that it meant something terrible.

Mitch was beside her in seconds. Didn't argue with her, didn't tell her she was nuts, just ran along beside her. Margaret felt a little better. She wasn't anxious to return to the lighthouse alone if there was trouble there.

They were halfway there when Caroline stepped out of the woods, her hands filled with wildflowers already beginning to wilt. When Margaret told her where they were going and why, she said, "I didn't hear any scream. You can ask Lacey and Scott when they get here. They're in the woods somewhere, too."

"We're not waiting," Margaret said urgently. "You can, if you want. Bring them to

the lighthouse when they get here, just in case. We might need help."

"You're probably getting all upset over nothing," Caroline bent her head to sniff the bouquet in her hands. "Could have been someone screaming at the park. It's 2i picnic, Margaret. People scream when they're having fun."

But Margaret was already running again, this time faster. Mitch was right behind her.

They found nothing in the lighthouse. Their footsteps echoed hollowly up the metal stairs, and although they repeatedly called out, no one answered them.

And when they reached the observation deck, it, too, was empty, occupied only by the wliistling wind.

They were about to leave when Margaret noticed that a top section of the railing was gone. "Mitch? Look, the railing is broken."

"That railing's been rotting for years."

"I know it has. But this part of it wasn't broken just a little while ago, when we were up here. Come and look."

"You're right," Mitch agreed. "This piece wasn't gone. I know, because this is where I leaned my elbows until you told me not to. Must have fallen off after we left."

Footsteps pounding up the metal stairs signaled the arrival of Scott, Caroline, and Lacey. When the door opened and the three joined Margaret and Mitch, Margaret showed them the missing railing section.

"So it fell off after you left," Scott suggested. His face was wet with sea spray, his red hair wild.

"Maybe." Careful not to lean against the rickety railing, Margaret peered over its edge. The others did the same.

They all saw it at the same moment. Far below, floating in the churning, foaming water as it pounded up against the rocks, a yellow long-sleeved jacket, the back and sleeves water-laden, puffed up like balloons.

They were too far above it to see any more than that.

"It's just a jacket," Caroline said nervously, backing away from the railing as if she expected it to attack her. "That's all it is, just a jacket/'

"Probably," Mitch agreed. "Can't tell from here. But we'd better go down and check."

Margaret could tell from his voice that he wasn't convinced Caroline was right.

It was impossible to go down those shaky stairs quickly. The descent seemed to take forever, as if someone were continually adding

additional stairs as they moved downward.

When they emerged into sunlight, Caroline said, 'I'm not going down there. To the water. I know it's just a jacket, of course it is. But you guys go look. Fll wait here, okay?"

"FU stay with you," Lacey said hastily.

Leaving them standing beside the stone steps, Mitch, Scott, and Margaret hurried along the rough, uneven ground and down a path leading to the beach.

Margaret's heart was drumming unevenly in her chest. Caroline was probably right. There couldn't be anyone inside that jacket being buffeted by the rough waves and the rocks. Because if there were, that person couldn't possibly be alive. The possibility of someone from the picnic being . . . dead . . . was something Margaret wasn't willing to face.

The climb down the path was a difficult one. The ground was uneven and rocky, and wind and salt spray battled them every inch of the way. As they neared the spot where they had seen the jacket, giant waves crashing into the huge boulders lying at the edge of the water cascaded upward and out, drenching all three of them. Margaret's hair and face were soaked and sticky with salt.

Please, she prayed, stepping carefully, please don't let anyone be inside that floating

^ jacket. Let Caroline be right, please.

They finally made it to the edge of the water. And Margaret could see, then, that Caroline was not right. The shiny yellow jacket was not empty. Someone was still wearing it.

es

"Oh, God," Margaret whispered as the three stood at the water's edge staring in shock and disbelief. "It's Stephanie. It's Stephanie Markham." She knew it even before she saw the long, tangled mass of dark hair splayed out like seaweed around the head that bobbed, face up now, among the thunderous waves. "That's her yellow jacket."

The trio stood, paralyzed with horror, on the rocky ledge, assaulted by a constant spray of salt water and the tugging of the angry wind. Their eyes were riveted to the spot in the churning, silvery waves where Stephanie Markham's left ankle was firmly imprisoned in a narrow crevasse between two huge rocks.

After what seemed like hours, Scott said to no one in particular, "If her foot wasn't stuck between those boulders, she'd be out to sea by now."

Mitch and Margaret made no reply.

Although the force of the water had washed away whatever blood there had been, sparing them at least that, there didn't seem to be a single facial bone left intact. The smooth olive features so admired at Toomey High had puddled into a boneless mass of sodden flesh. Had that not been Stephanie Markham's yellow jacket, had that not been her dark hair, none of the three could possibly have been certain who that was being bufifetted by the rough, wind-driven waves like refuse from a shipwreck.

Her eyes were wide open. If her head had not been turned slightly toward the shore, she would have appeared to be gazing up at the sky. Instead, the glassy, doll-like stare led directly to the very top of the lighthouse.

All three heads turned automatically to follow Stephanie's sightless gaze.

"She fell from there." Mitch wasn't asking a question. He was making a statement.

Margaret nodded. "The broken railing. That," she sucked in her breath, "was the scream we heard. Stephanie falling." Shuddering, she turned away from the lighthouse.

"I don't get it." Mitch continued to stare at the white tower. "Steph would never have gone up there alone. She hated the place. Anyway, she never went anywhere alone."

''Well, she couldn't have been with anyone," Scott argued. "They would have helped her. Run to the park and brought people back to save her. Something. No one did that."

"I know that." Mitch wiped salt spray from his face with his sweatshirt sleeve. 'Tm just telling you, I've known Steph all of my life, and she would never have gone up into that lighthouse alone."

Caroline came up behind them so quietly, all three jumped when she asked in a tremulous voice, "Was I right? I was, wasn't I? It's just a jack -- " Then she, too, saw. She let out a sickened cry. "Oh, no, who is it?"

"Stephanie Markham," Margaret was the first to say.

"Is she ... is she . . . ?"

Of course she was. How could she possibly still be alive? "Yes. She's dead." Margaret turned to Mitch. "We have to do something. We have to get her out of there."

"No." Mitch wiped salt spray from his face with the back of his hand. "I don't think we should touch her. We have to leave her just as she is until the police arrive."

"The police?" Caroline squeaked. "You mean an ambulance."

"I mean the police," Mitch insisted. "She's

dead, Caroline-And it looks as if she fell from the deck, but Fm telling you, as a close friend of hers, that she would never have gone up there alone. So, it's time to call the police. Eddie says if you ever find a body and you don't know exactly what happened, don't touch it."

Caroline turned her back to the water and began crying quietly. "We shouldn't leave her there, it's not right,"

Mitch nodded grimly. "I don't like leaving her there any more than you do, but she's already dead, Caroline. You and Scott go and make the call. Margaret and I will stay here. Where's your friend? Lacey?"

Caroline waved backwards. "Up there. She wouldn't come."

When Caroline and Scott had hurried away, Margaret said quietly, "I'm sorry, Mitch, but I can't stay and watch what's happening to her out there. She keeps slamming up against those rocks. It's making me sick. It's horrible!" Margaret's voice broke. "But I don't want to leave her, either. What if we left and her foot slid loose? She'd float out to sea." She shuddered again, this time at the thought of Stephanie lost forever to a deep, dark, watery grave.

"You go sit up at the lighthouse," Mitch

offered. "FU stay here. Go on. When Caroline and Scott come back, they'll bring everyone from the picnic with them. Then it'll be your job to keep Michael from going off the deep end. If he hasn't already been told what's happened, break it to him gently, okay? He and Stephanie had their problems, but they've been dating since ninth grade."

Margaret sat on the stone steps at the bottom of the lighthouse with Lacey, both of them trembling with cold and shock, trying to take in the horrible thing that had happened. Margaret was praying that Caroline and Scott would tell Michael. Please, please, she prayed, let someone else tell Michael so I don't have to. Please!

"I couldn't tell him," Caroline whispered hastily to Margaret as she and Scott, breathless and red-faced, arrived back at the lighthouse, followed by a throng of picnickers curious about what was happening. "I don't even know Michael Danz, Margaret. Let Mitch tell him. They're friends."

But there was no way that Margaret could lead Michael down to Mitch, at the water's edge, and let Stephanie's boyfriend see what they had seen. Instead, she pulled him over to the side, away from the others, and broke the news as gently as she could. Then, when

the awful news finally sank in and he^^^ieo^^ break away from her, she clutched at^s^ft elbow and shouted to David, Kiki's boyfriend, and Beth's boyfriend, Lucas, to help her keep Michael away from the water.

When they had quieted him down, Margaret said gently, "You mustn't go down there, Michael You can't help Stephanie now. Fm sorry. I am really sorry. She must have fallen from the lighthouse deck. There's a piece of the railing missing."