The Confession (9 page)

And I knew someone was behind us. Someone was watching us.

As we passed a flat, empty lot, dark weeds rustling in the heavy blackness, I grabbed Hillary's arm. Signaled for her to stop.

“There's someone back there,” I whispered. “Someone following us.”

“I know,” she whispered back.

I heard the hedge rustle again. Heard the soft
thud
of a shoe against the ground.

I could feel Hillary's arm muscles tense. I saw her jaw clench.

We both spun around quickly.

And gasped in surprise.

Chapter

15

N
o one there.

The wind rattled the tall hedge at the corner. Something—a tiny creature—scampered silently across the street. A chipmunk? A mouse?

Hillary and I froze in place, staring toward the corner. I held my breath. And listened.

Listened for another soft
thud
. Listened for a breath, a cough, a sigh.

And heard only the whisper of the new leaves. And the high wail of an ambulance siren somewhere far in the distance.

For some reason, Hillary and I both burst out laughing.

Loud, relieved laughter.

“Are we both going totally paranoid?” I cried.

“We're losing it,” Hillary agreed. “We are definitely losing it.”

“I mean, why would anyone follow us?” I added. “What on earth were we thinking of?”

I took a final squint at the hedge. It hovered over the grass, silent and still. Then I turned and led the way down the block.

“Come study at my house,” I urged Hillary. “We can do all the French verbs together. It will be easier with two people.”

I still felt tense. Kind of messed up and frightened. I really didn't feel like being alone.

Hillary hesitated, then said yes. “I can't stay too late, Julie. And you've got to promise one thing.”

“What's that?” I asked.

“We won't talk any more about Sandy and Al.”

“That's a promise,” I quickly agreed.

It was a promise I couldn't keep.

As we turned the corner onto Fear Street, my house came into view. First I saw the black-and-white police cruiser in the driveway. Then I saw the policeman making his way slowly to the front door of my house.

“What does he want?” I cried, feeling a wave of heavy dread sweep over me. “Why don't they leave me alone?”

“I guess we'll soon find out,” Hillary replied softly.

♦ ♦ ♦

I had a strong urge to turn around, to run the other way before the policeman saw me. But Hillary and I didn't run. We made our way up the front lawn and caught up to him as he raised his hand to ring the doorbell.

I recognized Officer Reed.

“My parents aren't home!” I cried. A lie. It just burst out of me.

I wanted him to go away. I didn't want to answer any more questions.

Officer Reed turned to face us. His bald head reflected the glow from the porch light. He wore a blue police uniform, the pants wrinkled, the jacket rumpled and stained at one elbow. He was bigger than I remembered. The uniform jacket stretched tight across his stomach. His dark tie slanted crookedly. He carried his uniform hat in one hand.

I glanced at the pistol in a short brown holster at his waist. I wondered if he had ever shot anyone.

“I was hoping to see you,” he said to me, after nodding at Hillary. “A few more questions.”

“Well, my parents aren't home,” I lied. “So I don't think it would be a good idea.”

Please, please go away
.

“I really shouldn't talk to you if they aren't here,” I continued.

He blinked. Pursed his dry lips.

And the front door swung open. My mom poked her head out. “I thought I heard voices,” she said, peering into the yellow porch light. When she spotted Officer Reed, her expression turned to alarm. “Is everything okay? Julie and Hillary—?”

“I just came to ask a few more questions, Mrs. Carlson,” Officer Reed said, narrowing his eyes at me. “A couple of things to ask Julie, if it's okay. I promise I'll only stay a minute.”

She stepped back to allow us to enter. She had a book in her hand. A Stephen King novel.

How can she be reading horror for fun when
my life
is a horror novel? I thought.

We settled in the living room. Mom took the chair in front of the window. She kept the book in her lap but folded her hands over it.

Hillary and I sat down on opposite sides of the couch. Officer Reed pulled a pencil and small notepad from his shirt pocket. Then, with a grunt, he lowered his big body onto the ottoman in front of us.

“Have you made any progress?” Mom asked the police officer from the window. “I mean, with the case.”

He had his back to her. He turned his head. “A little. I think.”

The words sent a cold stab of fear to my chest. Did he suspect Sandy? Were the police getting close to solving Al's murder?

He turned back to me. My hands were suddenly cold and clammy. I slid them under the couch cushion to warm them.

“Julie, I had the feeling outside that you didn't want to talk to me,” he said.

“Huh?”

I wasn't expecting him to say that.

He kept his eyes locked on me, waiting for me to give a better answer. “Is there any reason why you might want to avoid me?”

“No,” I replied, my heart pounding. “It's just … well … it's hard to keep being reminded of what happened.”

He nodded. His eyes didn't move from my face.
“You've been back at school for a while. Your friends have probably been talking about the murder. You've probably heard some rumors, right?”

He waited for me to reply, but I couldn't think of anything to say.

“Have you heard any rumors, Julie? Anything at all that you should share with me?”

“Listen, Officer Reed, forget about rumors. I can save you a lot of time and trouble. Al's murderer was a boy in my class named Sandy Miller. He confessed to us all last week.”

Chapter

16

T
hat's what I wanted to say.

That's what I was
dying
to say!

The words were ready to pour out of my mouth in a long stream, a cleansing stream.

I'll feel so much better if I tell him, I realized. If I tell him, it will be over. All the fear. All the worry. All the bad dreams.

But could I do that to Sandy?

No.

Sandy had trusted us. Sandy had trusted me—with the deepest, darkest secret of his life.

And as bad as I felt, as frightened, as upset—I couldn't betray Sandy. As much as the words wanted to explode from my lips, I couldn't say them. I had to swallow them, to hold them in.

I let my gaze slide over to Hillary on the other
end of the couch. I could see by her expression that she was reading my thoughts.

Hillary wanted to tell, even more than me.

Hillary was so angry at Sandy, I knew she was bursting to tell.

Hillary was more upset than any of us that Sandy had confessed to us. Right from the beginning, she was furious that Sandy had involved us.

She slid a hand up and down her long braid. The other hand silently drummed the couch arm.

Hillary wouldn't tell, I knew.

And neither would I.

Officer Reed leaned forward on the ottoman. “You must have heard some rumors,” he insisted. “Your classmates—they must have some thoughts about who murdered Al Freed.”

I shook my head. “Everyone is terribly upset,” I told him. “I mean, no one can believe it. It's all so unreal.”

“Kids don't talk about it that much,” Hillary broke in. Her voice sounded tense and tight. “It's too frightening. We all talk about graduation and stuff. I think we all want to forget, want to shove the whole thing to the back of our minds.”

“She's right,” I quickly agreed. Hillary was so smart. She could always put things into words better than me. “It's supposed to be a happy time. For us seniors, I mean. People don't want to be reminded that something so horrible happened. That's why I acted a little unhappy to see you at the front door.”

Officer Reed nodded grimly. He rubbed his broad forehead. Then he lowered his eyes to the
little notepad. “Let me run a few names by you. See if they mean anything to you.”

He slowly read off a list of six or seven boys' names. None of the boys were from Shadyside High. Hillary and I had never heard of any of them.

“Are those Al's friends from Waynesbridge?” I asked.

Officer Reed tucked the notebook into his shirt pocket. “Yeah. Some of them.”

“He never brought them around,” I told him. “He mostly hung out with them in Waynesbridge.”

“I see.” The police officer pulled himself to his feet. “That's all for now,” he said. “Sorry to take up your time.” He nodded to my mother, who remained by the window.

“Sorry we weren't any help,” I said, showing him to the front door. “If I hear anything … ”

“Please call,” he said. “Good night, everyone.” He stepped out the door.

I watched from the doorway until he climbed into his cruiser. I felt so relieved. Relieved that he was leaving. Relieved that I had fought down my urge to tell him the truth, to tell him everything I knew.

His car door slammed. The headlights flashed on. A few seconds later, he pulled silently away.

When he was out of sight, I closed the front door. As I returned to the living room, my heartbeat slowed to a normal pace, my hands felt warm again.

“I hope he finds the murderer soon,” Mom said, biting her bottom lip.

“I hope so,” I echoed.

Mom stood up. She raised her book. “I'm going upstairs to read. I can't put this book down, even though it's scaring me to death.” She said good night to Hillary and headed up to her room.

I waited till she was upstairs. Then I whispered to Hillary, “Were you thinking what I was thinking?”

“You mean about telling the policeman what we know?”

I nodded. “It was on the tip of my—”

I stopped when I saw a flash of movement through the living room window. Just the flicker of a shadow. A darting move. Out in the front yard.

I cut the lights. Then, in total darkness, stepped up to the window—and saw him. Saw him clearly.

Sandy.

“Ohhh.” I uttered a low cry and motioned for Hillary to join me. We both cupped our hands around our eyes to see better.

“It's Sandy,” I whispered. “Hiding behind the tree.”

“Someone
was
following us!” Hillary exclaimed in a whisper. “It was Sandy.”

“What is he doing out there?” I demanded. “Does he think we told Officer Reed about him? Does he think we turned him in?”

Hillary didn't reply.

We both stared out at him. Lurking behind the fat tree trunk, moonlight trickling along the ground
in front of him, his face nearly hidden in blue shadows.

“He … he's so creepy,” Hillary whispered.

“Why is he just standing there?” I wondered. “Is he
trying
to scare us? What is he doing out there?
What?”

Chapter

17