The Face (11 page)

Helpless.

So helpless and horrified.

My memory was back. So sharp and clear, I felt sick all over again.

I wiped tears off my face with both hands. I hadn't even realized I was crying.

Now I let the sobs come. Sobs that tightened my face, tightened my throat until I gasped for breath.

Sean. Poor Sean.

And then I remembered even more.

I had a fight with Sean. An ugly fight.

I had a fight with Sean—and then he died.

The night before, Sean and I had fought.

And then he died. And the police came. I remembered their blue-black uniforms against the whiteness of the snow.

Remembered their stern faces, red from the cold. Eyes staring hard at me, studying me.

Remembered their questions. Endless questions.

They questioned us all. For hours and hours.

And then?

I still didn't remember.

But I remembered enough.

Aaron was right. I was better off before the horrible memory came back.

I hugged myself tighter, trying to force away the chills that shook my body.

And then the phone rang.

Adriana.

“I remember everything!” I blurted out. “Adriana, it all came back to me—just now!”

“Oh, I'm so sorry,” she whispered. “It's so horrible, Martha. You must feel so bad.”

“Yes,” I admitted. I tried to say more, but the words caught in my throat.

“It's been so horrible. For all of us,” Adriana murmured into the phone. “Ever since that day, we—”

“Adriana—that wire,” I interrupted. “Did somebody deliberately plan to kill one of us?”

Silence. Then: “No one knows, Martha.”

“Huh?” I cried. “But the police—? Didn't they figure out what happened?”

Adriana sighed. “It took forever for the police to get up the slope. We were all crying and screaming. We were all out of our minds. Poor Laura. They had to give her medication to put her to sleep. And Ivan nearly went nuts.”

“But, the police—” I tried to say.

“They questioned us all. They studied the wire. Then they took it down and brought it to their lab. But they couldn't figure out who strung the wire. Or why.”

Tears rolled down my cheeks. I made no attempt to brush them away. I was concentrating on Adriana's words, trying to understand what she was telling me.

And now I could hear her crying too. Short, gasping sobs. “I—I—I—” she stammered. “I don't know. It was so awful. Such a total nightmare, Martha.”

Silence while she tried to get herself together.
Then she continued in a shaky voice. “I'll never get over it. I haven't slept since. Not a single night, Martha. Not a single night that I didn't live that nightmare again. Again and again.”

“Adriana—” I started.

But she uttered a loud sob and kept talking. “I can't concentrate. I don't hear a word in school. I can't do my homework. My grades—my grades … I can't think straight.”

A cold shudder nearly made me drop the phone. I gripped it tighter in my clammy hand. “Adriana,” I choked out, “you don't think one of us killed Sean—do you?”

“What do
you
think?” she replied, shouting now. Screaming the words as if she were angry. “What do
you
think, Martha? There was no one else up on that hilltop. No one. We were the only ones up there. Who else could have Strung that wire?”

The wire.

The silver wire.

I pictured the wire as I tried to digest Adriana's words.

Who else could have strung that wire?

No one else was up there. We were the only ones.

The only ones who could have killed Sean.

“I'm coming over,” Adriana said suddenly, jarring me from my thoughts. Her voice was filled with emotion. “I'm coming over. I've been so worried about you, Martha. It must have been so horrible for you. Losing your memory. Then starting to draw Sean's face again and again.”

“Yes. I—I didn't understand anything.” I sighed. “It took me so long to put it together. It took me so long to remember.”

A question forced its way into my mind, a question I didn't want to ask myself.

Why did I lose my memory? Why not one of the others, one of my friends?

Why did I take Sean's death so much harder than anyone else? Why did it affect me so strongly?

Was it because I had fought with Sean the night before he was murdered? Did I feel guilty because I had fought with him on his last night on earth?

Why? Why?

It was a question I couldn't answer.

But maybe someone could help answer it now. Maybe Adriana would help me now.

“Yes—please,” I pleaded. “Come over. Come over right now.”

“I'm on my way,” she replied softly. And the phone went dead.

I set down the receiver, thinking hard. My mind whirring at top speed.

Remembering.

Who had a reason to kill Sean?

Who would want Sean dead?

Ivan? No. Sean was Ivan's friend. Ivan had brought him into our group.

Aaron? Laura? Justine?

No. No. Of course not.

Everyone liked Sean. Everyone.

I crossed my bedroom to the closet and pulled
open the door. I wanted to get changed before Adriana arrived.

I pulled a pair of faded jeans from the shelf in back.

I was glad Adriana had decided to come over. Maybe now we could have a long, long talk. Get everything off our chests.

I needed to talk. And I knew it would be good for Adriana.

The poor girl. She was so wrecked. She was having such a bad time of it. Her parents fighting the Battle of the Century. Her brother suspended from school, ruining his life.

I heard a car door slam out front.

Startled, I dropped the jeans.

I bent to pick them up off the closet floor.

And saw a brown bag. A brown canvas carry-all.

“Oh!” I uttered a short cry as I remembered it.

The bag I had taken on the trip up to the cabins. The bag I had packed all my stuff in last November.

What is it doing here in the back of my closet? I wondered. Did I forget to unpack it? Did I just shove it back here and forget about it?

I dragged it out into my room. My hands shook as I opened it.

The bag was nearly full. I pulled out wrinkled sweaters and rolled-up jeans. Two pairs of tights.

I never unpacked, I realized.

I must have been so upset, so out-of-my-mind, I just hid the bag away.

I pulled out more clothes. A cosmetics bag. My old hair dryer.

And then—

“Noooo!” I screamed out loud when I saw it. A high wail of horror.

At the bottom of the bag. Coiled up in a corner of the bag. Tucked tightly away.

Wire.

Silver wire.

Rolled-up tightly.

Beside a pair of wire cutters.

The wire that killed Sean?

I stared into the bag, afraid to move, afraid to look—unable to look away. I stared into the bag, stared at the coiled-up wire.

And I knew.

I knew who killed Sean.

I did.

I was the one.

“You've been drawing him because you killed him.”

I
heard the front door open. I heard Mom talking to Adriana downstairs.

But I didn't move.

I stared into the bag, stared at the silver wire.

One word repeated in my mind: Why? Why? Why?

It drowned out the voices downstairs. Drowned out the pounding thuds of my heartbeats, my shrill, gasping breaths.

Why? Why? Why?

Why did I kill Sean?

I shut my eyes and struggled to remember.

Why did he and I fight?

I couldn't remember.

I remembered shoving him. He wanted to keep
kissing me. And I didn't want him to. I shoved him away from me. Shoved with real anger.

But I couldn't drag up the rest of the scene.

“It makes sense,” I murmured in a dull, lifeless voice. “It all makes sense.”

I was the only one who lost her memory.

And then I began to draw his face. Every time I started to draw, I sketched Sean's face.

Because of my guilt.

Because my subconscious mind knew that I had murdered him.

“Oh!” I backed away from the bag.

It was too much to bear. I felt about to collapse. My head spun and my knees started to give way.

I heard Adriana's footsteps on the stairs.

And then another horrifying question forced its way into my thoughts:
Does everyone know?

Does everyone know that I killed him? I wondered, gripped with cold horror.

Does everyone suspect that I was the one?

Is that why they've all acted so strangely around me? Is that why they've been treating me so carefully, so tenderly?

Is that what drove Aaron away?

Because he knew? Because they all know that I'm a
murderer?

If only I could remember why I killed him….

“Martha—!” Adriana burst into my room. She tried to wrap me in a hug. But I lurched back.

“I know the truth!” I managed to tell her. And then I burst into tears.

Adriana stepped forward and tried again to hug me. This time I didn't move away. “Martha, what are you saying?” she whispered. “Martha, it'll be okay. Really. It'll be okay.”

“No, it won't!” I shrieked, pulling away from her. I wiped my cheeks furiously with both hands. “I know the truth!” I insisted. “It won't be okay!”

I could see the confusion on her face. She tugged at her black hair, her dark eyes narrowed on me.

She doesn't know!
I realized.

“Look!” I wailed. I dropped down on my knees beside the canvas bag. I pulled it open wide so she could see. “Look!”

Her hands stayed in her hair, tugging tensely as she peered down into the bag. “No,” she whispered. “No.”

“It's the wire,” I told her, even though she already knew. “The leftover wire. And the wire cutters.”

“But, Martha—”

“I killed Sean,” I said in a low, flat voice. A dead voice. “Here's the proof.”

“But, why—?” Adriana demanded, holding on to her hair as if grasping a life preserver.

“I don't know,” I answered. “I don't remember. But here's the proof. I killed him. Then I hid the rest of the wire in my bag.”

Adriana lowered her eyes to the bag. Then she shut her eyes, and I saw her whole body shudder. “What are you going to do?” she asked.

“Tell Mom and Dad,” I replied. “I'm going to
tell Mom and Dad. I guess they'll have to take me to the police.”

My words made Adriana jerk back. She fell onto my bed, her hands flying up. “But
why,
Martha? Why did you kill him?”

“I don't remember,” I said, shaking my head, trying to force back the tears.

“I saw you two fighting,” Adriana remembered. “That night in the cabin. You and Sean went into the back room. I passed by and I saw you arguing. What was it about?”

I shrugged. “I wish I knew. I just can't remember. He kissed me, I think. Or maybe I kissed him. And then we were fighting. And then …” My voice trailed off.

I took a deep breath. “I don't know anything for sure. I only know that I'm a murderer.”

“No, you're not!”

Another voice invaded my room.

A boy's voice. From the bedroom doorway.

I turned to see Ivan stride in. His black hair disheveled. His dark eyes wild.

“Ivan—!” Adriana cried, jumping up from the bed. “How did you get here? What are you doing here?”

“I followed you,” he told his sister. “Martha's parents let me in just before they left.”

“But what do you want?” Adriana demanded shrilly. “Martha and I need to talk. We don't need you to—”

He waved his hand hard, a rough, sweeping motion intended to shut her up.

His eyes blazed excitedly as he turned to me.

Has he been drinking? I wondered. Is that why he seems so out of control?

Why did he follow Adriana?

Why did he come here?

“I—I heard what you were saying, Martha,” he stammered. His dark eyes burned into mine. “You're wrong. You're not the murderer.”

“Huh?” I gasped in shock. “Ivan—what do you mean? Why do you say that?”

He took a deep breath. His chest heaved up and down. Despite the cold of the night, his forehead was drenched with sweat.

“I know you're not the murderer, Martha,” he repeated. “Because I am. I murdered Sean.”

“N
o!”

Adriana let out a wild shriek and lunged across the room. She grabbed Ivan by the shoulders and started to shake him wildly.

“No! Why are you saying that? Why?”

He tossed her aside easily. She collided with my dresser, her face twisted in surprise, in fear.

“You're not a murderer!” she screamed at her brother.

“Yes!” he insisted. “I did it, Adriana. I have no choice now. I have to tell the truth. I can't let Martha think she was the one.”

Adriana uttered a loud gasp. She opened her mouth to protest, but changed her mind. I saw her shoulders slump, the color drain from her face.

Ivan perched on the edge of my desk. His hand nervously brushed the small, black goatee under his chin. He raised his eyes to me. “I couldn't let you think you were the one,” he said softly.

“I—I—” I sputtered. I didn't know what to say. I glanced at the canvas bag. It had bared its frightening secret.

And now my life would never be the same.

None of our lives would be the same.

“Why did you kill Sean?” I asked Ivan, softly, almost calmly.

“He found out that I'd stolen a car,” Ivan explained. “I stole a car and I wrecked it. I ran away. I wasn't caught.”

“I don't believe it,” Adriana murmured, shaking her head. She lowered herself to her knees on the floor.